CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF E, T. Paine D4.ino r.«^°''S?i! University Library B1403.B36 E7 1812 ^^^IJfiiiSMiiiiteiiimiiV^^ ^"'^ immutability of olin 3 1924 029 012 164 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029012164 AN ESSAY ON THE NATURE AND IMMUTABILITY TRUTH, ra OPPOSITION TO SOPHISTRY AND SCEPTICISM. BY JAMES BEATTIE, L.L. D. PROFESSOR OP MORAL PHILOSOPHY AND LOGIC IN THE MARISCHAL COLLEGE AND UNIVERSITY OP ABERDEEN. 'Nunquanv aliud Natura, aliud Sapientia dicit. JuveiuiU THE EIGHTH EDITION, CORRECTED i TO WHICH IS NOW PREFIXED, A SKETCH OF THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF THE WORK. LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. MAWMAN, 39, LUD6ATE-STEEET. 1812. ^. S. llAiUlABB, ^aiKTSn, SKIMSBII-STMBT, MHitOII. CONTENTS. Aif Essay o\ the Nature and Immutabilitv ob Truth, in Opposition to SopHisTay and Scep- ticism. rASE. Preface to this Edition. Introduction -..«.. I PART I. Of the Standard of Truth « - - 21 Chap. 1. Of the Perception of Truth in geneiul - ^23 Chap. II. All Reasoning terminates in fifst Principles. All Evi- dence ultimately intuitive. Common Sense the Standard ofTruth to Man .... 40 Sect. 1. Of Mathematical Reasoning - - 42 Sect. 2. Of the Evidence of Extermd Sense - 48 Sect. 3. Of the Evidence of Internal Sense, or Con- sciousness ----- 55 Sect. 4. Of the Evidence of Memory - - 74 Sect. 5. Of Reasoning from the Effect to the Cause 83 Sect. 6. Of Probable or Experimental Reasoning .101 Sect. 7. Of AnalogiMl Reasoning ... 107 Sect. 8. Of Faith in Testimony - - - 1 10 Sect. 9. Conclusion of this Chapter. Further Proof. Qenerd Remarks on Scevticism - 118 a 2 PART ir CONTENTS. PART ir. Illustrations of the preceding Doctrine, WITH Inferences ... - - 132 Chap. I. Confirmation of this Doctrine, from the Practice. Sect. 1, Of Mathematician^ .... 135 Sect. 2. Of Natural Philosophers - - - 145 Sect. 3. 7 he Subject continued. Intuitive Truths distinguishable into Classes - - 177 CHAP. II. This Doptrine rejected by Sceptical Philosophers 189 Sect. 1. General Observations. Rise and Progress of modern Scepticism. — Of Ues Cartes and Malebrpnche. — Loche and Berkeley. — General' View of Mr. Hume^s Theory oft}},c Understanding « - - 190 Sect. 2. Of the Non-existence of Matter - - 229 Sect. 3. Of Liberty and Necessity - - - 259 Chap. III. Recapitulation and Inference - . - , 3^ PART III. Objections Answered - - - . 331 Chap. I. The Principles of this Essay consistent with the In- terests of Science, and the Rights of Mankind. Imperfection of the School-logic - . , 333 Chap. II. The Subject continued. Estimate of Metaphysjc 359 Chap. III. Consequences of Metaphysical Scepticism - . 429 PoSTSCRii'T 444, SKETCH ORIGIN AND PROGRESS ESSAY ON TRUTH. J- HERE are few subjects of more importance, or which tend to gratify a more useful curiosity, than a history of the studies of eminent literary characters. We seldom, indeed, peruse a book without desiring to know something of its author; and the stamp of popu- larity is, perhaps, never adixed to any work without ex- citing a wish to know by what hints it was originally suggested, by what studies it was perfected, and from Vtrhat motives, primary or ultimate, it was given to the world in the form in which we find it. The Essay on Truth enjoyed so much celebrity on its first appearance, and still continues to add so much weight to the name of Dr. Beattie, that on gratifying the public demand for a new edition, it seems requisite to give some accoimt of its origin and progress ; which Tve are now enabled to accomplish from the copious stores of information contained in Sir William Forbes's Life of the Author, lately published. What concerns the work before us, we have therefore thrown into nar- rative, and trust that it will be considered as no unim- portant distinction to the present edition. As ri ON THE OBIttlN AND PROGRESS As early as the year 1766, Dr. Beattie's thoughts ap- pear to have been direct|Bd to the subject of this volume. He then belonged to a society, to which the public is indebted for Dr. Gregory's " Comparative View," and Dr. Reid's " Enquiry into Human Nature, on the Prin- ciples of Common Sense." At one of the meetings of this society, an accidental question furnished Dr. Beattie with a hint, which he made the subject of an elaborate discourse. He had long been wishing for an opportu- nity of publishing something relating to the business of his own profession (moral philosophy), and he conceiv- ed he had now found that opportunity. In the 4iscourse which he drew up, his doctrine was this : that as we know nothing of the eternal relation of things, that to us is and must be truths which we feel that we must believe ; and that to us is falsehood;, which we feel that we must disbelieve. He shews that all genuine reasoning altimately terminates in certain principles, which it is impossible to disbelieve, and as impossible tjo prove ; that therefore the ultimate standard of truth to us is common sense, or that instinctive conviction iato which all true reasoning resolves itself: that, therefore, whajlf contradicts common sense is in iteelif absurd, however subtle the arguments which support ii: fop such is the ambiguity and insufficiency of language, that it is easy to argue on either side of any question with acuteness sufficient to confound one who is not expert in the art of reasoning. Dr. Beattie's principles are here uot essentiaUy dif- ferent from Di". Reid's, but they seem to o&r a BHtre compendious method of destroying scepticism. Hi&fkV'> ther intention was to shew that all sceptical reasaiiiDg i^ marked with certain characters which distinguifihitfrora ^ue investigation, and he hogedtobe iible to discover a iBethod:^ OF THE lESSAY ON TRUTH. VH method of detecting sophistry, even when one is not able to give a logical confutation of its arguments. It was part of his plan, likewise, to enquire into the nature of that modification of intellect which qualifies a man for being a sceptic ; and, he adds, " 1 think I am able to prove that it is not genius, but the want of it." Such was the original outline of this Essay cOmmuni* cated by our author to Sir William Forbes in the year above-mentioned. The approbation of that excellent friend is implied in the following remarks which. Dr. Beattie sent to him, and which give an intimation of our author's motives in writing, and afterwards publishing the Essay, " Your neglect of the modern philosophical sceptics^ who have too much engaged the attention of these times, does equal honour to your understanding and to your heart. To suppose that every thing may be made matter of dispute, is an exceeding false principle, subversive of all true science, and prejudicial to the happiness of man- kind. To confute without convincing is a common case, and indeed a very easy matter: in all conviction (at least in all moral and religious conviction) the heart is engag- ed as well as the understanding : and the understaftding may be satisfied, or at least confounded, with a doctrine from, which the heart recoils with the strongest aversion. This is not the l^oiguage of a logician ; but this, I hope^ is the language of an honest man, who considers all science as IHvoloug, whidi does not make men wiserand better; and to puzzle witb words, without producing conviction (which !£ all that our metaphysical sceptics have been able to do)) can never promote either the wisdom or the virtue of mankind. It is strange tha£ msA shoakl so often forget, that < happiness is our bwBf 'i end and mm^ Happin^w is desirald* §ca it» 6 own Viii ON THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS own sake : truth is desirable only as a mean of produc- ing happiness : for who would not prefer an agreeable delusion to a melancholy truth ? What, then, is the use of the philosophy which aims to inculcate truth at the expence of happiness, by introducing doubt and disbe- lief in the plac^ of confidence and hope? Surely the promoters of all such philosophy are either the enemies of mankind, or the dupes of their own most egregious folly. 1 mean not to make any concessions in favour of metaphysical truth: genuine truth and genuine happi- ness were never inconsistent ; but metaphysical truth (such as we find in our sceptical systems) is not genuine, for it is perpetually changing ; and no wonder, since it depends not on the common sense of mankind (which is always the same), but varies according as the talents and inclinations of different authors are. different. The doctrines of metaphysical scepticism are either true or false : if false, we have little to do with them ; if true, they prove the fallacy of the human faculties, and ther6» fore prove too much : for it follows as an undeniable consequence, that all human doctrines whatsoever (themselves not excepted) are fallacious, and conse- quently pernicious, insignificant, and vain." Such was the zeal for genuine truth, in opposition to sophistry, which appears to have animated our author, while he was revolving the subject of the Essay in his mind, and extending its plan. About March 1767 he finished it, all but a proper title. He called it " An Essay on Reason and tJommon Sense," but afterwards altered that. In the mean time, he submitted the ma- nuscript to his learned friends, who expressed their wishes to see it in print. They were of opinion that ha had set the sceptics in a new point of view, by treating them without any kind of reserve or deference: and that it OF THE ESSAY ON TRUTH. IX it might be of use to those who may be in danger from' their doctrines, to consider them in the same light. The author, however, was far from being convinced that it would be proper to publish such a treatise : as the prin- ciples were unfashionable, and there was a keenness of expression in some passages which could please only those who are thoroughly convinced of ihe truth and im- portance of sreligion. If it be asked, why then was it written ? he affords a satisfactory answer : " 1 do not re- pent my having written it : it has rivetted my convic- tion of the insignificance of metaphysics and scepticism ; and I hope it will be of some use to the young people under my care, for whose principles (at least as fer as they depend upon me) I hold myself accountable to my own conscience and the public!" In the following year, 1768, we find him developing his plan and his motives with somewhat more decision, in a letter to his chief correspondent, Sir William Forbes. *' I have, for a tiitae, laid aside my favourite studies, that I might have leisure to prosecute a philosophical en- quiry, less amusing indeed than poetry and criticism, but not less important. The extraordinary success of the sceptical philosophy has long filled me with regret. I wish I could undeceive mankind in regard to this matter : perhaps this wish is vain ; but it can do no harm to make the trial. The point I am now labouring to prove, is the universality and immutability of moral sentiment, a point which has been brought into dispute both by the friends and by the enemies of virtue. In an age less licientious in its principles, it would not, per- haps, be necessary to insist much on this point. At present it is very necessary. Philosophers have as- cribed all rdigion to human policy. Nobody knows how soon they may ascribe all morality to the same origin ; X ON THE ORIGIN AND PROG HESS origin ; and then the foundations of human society, as well as of human happiness, will be effectually under- mined. To accomplish this end, Hobbes, Hume, Man- deville, and even Locke, have laboured ; and I am sorry to say, from my knowledge of mankind, that their la- bour has not been altogether in vain. Not that the works of these philosophers are generally read, or evert understood by the few who read them. It is not the Mndie, now-a-days, for a man to think for himself; bui ftey greedily adopt the conclusions, without any con- cern about the arguments or principles whence they pi*oGeed: and they justify their own credulity by general declamations upon the transcendent merit of their ia- vonrite authors, and the universal deference that is paid to their genius and learning. If I can prove those au- thors guilty of gross misrepresentations of matters* of feet, unacquainted with the human heart, ignorant even of their own principlesj and dupes of verbal ambigui- ties, and the votaries of frivolous, though dangerous philosophy, I shall do some little service- to the cause of truth : and all this I will undertake to prove in many instances of high importance." In the beginning of the year 1769, his Essay was not yet so complete as he could wish. On a second tran- scription of it, he purposed to enlarge some parts and shorten others ; to increase tile examples from history, and the authorities from ancient authors, to correct the language throughout, and to divide the whole into chap- ters and sections. In a letter to Dr.^ Elacklodc, he ex- plains his motives, and what led him originally feito these enquiries, which terminated in this work. From this, after what we have already given, it seems neces- sary to extract the following passage only: — "One gentleman, a friend of your's (Hume), I shall have oc- casion OF THE ESSAY ON TRUTH. Xl casion to treat with much freedom. I have heard of his virtues. I know he has many virtues: God forbid I should ever seek to lessen them, or wish them to be found insincere; I hope they are sincere, and that they will increase in number and merit every day. To his- virtues I shall do justice; but I must also do justice to his &ults, at least to those &ults which are public, and whicb^ for the sake of truth and of mankind, ought not to be concealed or disguised." He still, however, ap- pears to hesitate as to publishing, and at this time had fixed on no other title than "An Essay on the Immuta- bility of Moral Sentiment." At length having overcome all his scruples, and the manuscript being completed, he became desirous of sefling it to a bookseller for publication, not with any view, as he had often declared, of obtaining a great price, hat in ©rder that he might avoid all risk to him- self, and that the puMisher might feel his own interest connected with the sale of the book, which otherwise, he feared, would never make its way into the wcwli. H& ■fterefore committed the care of this business to his: friends Mr. Arbuthnot and Sir William Forbes, with ample authority to dispose of the manuscript as they should judge {Hooper. It appears by the account of his biographer, that tihere wa« much more difficulty in this affair than will Tea(£ly be believed in our times, when the liberality of the bookseller is so generally and justly acknowledged. -rT>On these gentlemen's applying to Uie bookselleiv lichcMn tiiey thought most likely to publish it to advan- tage^ diey were ijiortified by his positive refusal to pur- diase the, manuscri^ althougH he readily offered to* ni]b)i^ it on Dr. B^ittie's account, a mode to wMch, they knew Dr. Beattie never would, agree. la thia di- lemma Xii ON THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS lemma it occurred to Sir William Forbes that his coad- jutor might, without much artifice, bring the business to an easy conclusion by their own interposition. They therefore resolved to become themselves the purchasers, at a sum with which they knew Dr. Beattie would be well satisfied as the price of the first edition. Sir Wil- liam accordingly wrote to him what was certainly the truth, but not the whole truth, that the manuscript was sold for jifti/ guineas, and added, that they had stipu-, lated with the bookseller who was to print the book, that they should be partners in the publication. " On, such trivial causes," Sir William remarks, " do things^ of considerable moment often depend. For had it not been for this interference, in a manner somewliat am- biguous, perhaps the Essay on Truth, on which all Dr.- Seattle's future fortunes hinged, might never have seen the light. It also," he adds, " strongly marks the slen- der opinion entertained by the booksellers at that pe- riod, of the value of a work which has risen into such well-merited celebrity." It does not appear, however, by Sir William's account, that more than one bookseller had been consulted. It may yet appear more surprising, that Dr. Beattie declared that " this price really exceeded his warmest expectations," and was much afraid that it exceeded the real commercial value of the book ; a book, the pub- lication of which had been advised by the most eminent literary characters of their day, and on which he had bestowed the almost unremitting labour of four years, during which he had written it three times over, and some parts of it oftener. Among the last revisers of it were his friends Drs. Campbell and Gerard, who were perfectly conversant in the subject, and predicted the success of the Essay. AU OP THE ESSAY ON THUTH. XlU All preliminaries being settled in the month of May 1770, the work appeared under the title of " An Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth, in Opposi- tion to Sophistry and Scepticism." As the manuscript had been seen by several eminent men of learning, and as it was known to be written as a direct attack on the philosophical principles of Mr. Hume, its publication had been looked for with considerable expectation. The boldness, too, of a writer so little known in the world, as Beattie was at this time (for he had only pub- lished a few juvenile poems) in attacking an author so formidable as Mr. Hume, contributed not a little to ex- cite the public curiosity. The sale of the first edition was consequently very rapid, and early in the year 1771 a second edition was published. In this he made several corrections and improvements, and subjoined a postscript, the rough draught of which he submitted to some of his literary friends, and candidly, and even thankfully, adopted such alterations as they suggested. They were of opinion that the warmth of his zeal in the cause of truth, and his desire to vindicate himself from some attacks which had been made upon him, as he conceived most unjust- ly, had led him to express himself, in some instances, with a degree of acrimony, which they thought had better be corrected. It is unnecessary to inform those who are acquainted with Dr. Beattie's history, that this Essay proved the foundation of his fame and fortune. In England it be- came popular beyond all expectation, and perhaps be- yond all precedent. In that cotintry, too, it procured him not only the friendship of the most eminent charac- ters of the day either for talents or rank, but also the special favour of his majesty, who Avas pleased to bestow a pension xiv ON THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS a pension on him, and admitted him to more than one private conference. The university of Oxfoi"d, and some foreign universities, at the same time honoured him with degrees ; and he had the happiness to see his Essay pass through several editions, with great rapidity, and to be translated into Dutch, French, and German. On its first appearance in London, it received the highest praises from the Monthly and CriticalJleviews, the only literary journals then in existence. What is ad- vanced by the former seems worthy of being transcribed in this place, as the writers of the Monthly Review, at that time, were supposed to be somewhat deficient in orthodoxy of sentiment. " Whoever," says the reviewer, " is acquainted with the genius and spirit of scepticism, and has reflected on its obvious and manifest tendency to throw darkness and perplexity into the understanding, and coldness and in- sensibility into the heart, to spread a gloom over the whole intellectual and moral world, to divest the mind of man of every principle, to subvert the most solid foundations of his happiness, and, in a word, to render him an useless and a wretched being, will be highly pleased with this ingenious author's well meant and laudable attempt to expose it in its genuine colours, and to vindicate the cause of truth and virtue. Such of our readers, too, as have been long wandering in meta- physical mazes, being fond of the refinements and sub- tleties of modern sceptics, and, as the fruit of their cold, intricate, and often uninteresting investigations, have reaped little more than darkness and uncertainty in re- gard to the first principles of action and science, will receive no small conufbtt and s&,tisfaction from an atten- tive p6iru«al of Mr. Beattie's EsBay : through the whole «)f which he appears not only iii the character Of a good citizen. OP THE ESSAY ON TRUTH. XV citizm, earnestly desirous of promoting the best inte- rests of mankind, but in that of a judicious philosopher and agreeable writer. His style is clear and easy, hi$ manner of writing lively and entertaining, and the many illustrations interspersed through his Essay, are ex- tremely pertinent and ingenious. In a word, we cannot lielp considering his performance as an excellent anti- dote against scepticism and infidelity, and accordingly we recommend it to our readers." After many veiy long extracts, the same reviewer concludes his account in the following words: " Our author's manner of treating the modem sceptics, especially Mr. Hume, gives great ofiFence, we are told, to many readers. In what light the generality of readers consider this matter we know not : as for us, though we have the sincerest respect for Mr. Hume's distinguished abilities, yet we cannot think that he is treated with any greater degree of freedom or severity than he deserves ; nay, farther, we think it impossible for any writer, endowed with sensibility of heart, the love of mankind, and a regard for the interests of virtue and religion, to express him- self with less warmth than Mr. Beattie has done." In the year 1776, a new edition of the Essay was pub- lished in quarto, accompanied with other essays on lite- rary subjects. Of this publication, by subscription, an ample account is given in his life. It is only necessary to add, in this place, that it underwent the author's final corrections and amendments, and continued after- wards' to be the standard for the octavo editions. We cannot close this article, without giving the opi- nion of Professor Dugald Stewart on the Essay on Truth, as we find it in an extract from one of his letter* to Sir William Forbes. " In a work professedly pole- pjpal," says this eminent philosopher, " it was impos- sible Xvi ON THE ORIGIN, &C. sible for the author to aim at unity or at elegance of design ; but what was really practicable, he appears to me to have executed with an uncommon degree of skill\ and judgment; arranging his materials in a distinct and luminous order, and leading the attention agreeably from one part of his argument to another, by those ha|)- py transitions, which form one of the chief secrets in the art of composition; above all, enlivening and adorning his importaht subject (so unattractive in itself to the generality of readers) by a power of varied and happy illustration, peculiarly characteristic of his own ge- nius." LuDGATE-STREET, January^ 1812. PREFACE. PREFACE. JLHIS Edition will, it is hoped, be found less faulty than any of the former. Several inaccuracies are now removed, unnecessary words and sentences expunged, a few errone- ous passages either cancelled or rectified, and some new-modelled in the style, which before seemed too harshly or too strongly expressed. In regard to the reasonings and general principles of this Essay, I have not as yet seen cause to alter my opinion ; though I have carefully attended to what has been urged against them by several ingenious authors. Some objections will perhaps be found ob- viated by occasional remarks and amend- ments interspersed in this Edition. I once intended to have offered a more complete vindication, and had actually prepared ma- terials for it : but, finding them swell to a considerable bulk, and recollecting, that dis- putes of this dature, when once begun, are not soon terminated, and are apt to become less useful as they grow more voluminous, I was easily prevailed with to lay aside that design, at least till Providence should be ■pleased to grant me better health. Even then, the prosecution of this controversy may not perhaps be thought requisite. To the b wise xviii PREFACE. tvise a word is said to be enough. If the principles of this Booii be good, they need no further support ; if erroneous or bad, they deserve none. All I shall add at present on this head, is, that after a long examination of these matters, it appears, not to rrje only, but to many other persons of far superior under- standing, that my principles are founded on right reason, and on that way of thinking and judging, which has in every age been most familiar to the human mind. To ad^ vance paradoxes, or to be an innovator in philosoph}^ was never my design. I hate paradoxes ; I am no friend to innovation. If I cannot reconcile myself to some modern theories of the understanding, it is for this reason, among others, because I look upon them as paradoxical, and inconsistent with those dictates of Rationality, which seem to me to be as old and as extensive as human nature. It is possible 1 may h'dxe thrown a little light on some points relating to Moral Science ; but to discover in the human mind any thing which was never discovered before, would require a degree of sagacity which I am certain I do not possess. * A complete theory of evidence is not to be expected in this book. The attentive reader will see I never intended one. That is a very copious and difficult subject ; and I have not prosecuted it further than my ar- gument seemed to require. It is with great pleasure I take this opportunity to declare, that PREFACE. xix that the best Theory of Evidence I have ever seen, is delivered by rriy exceUepit friend Pr, Campbell, in that inost ingenious and learned performance, The PkUo^ophijt of Rhetoric. His principles and mine, though they differ somewhat in the arrangement (in which I am inclined to think that his have the advan- tage), will not be found to differ in any thing material. I have been blamed for borrowing some hints, without acknowledgment, from D,n Price, Dr. Oswald, and Buffier. I beg leave to say, that I am to this hour totally unac- quainted with that work of Dr. Price which is alluded to ; and that, when I published the first Edition of the Essay on Truth, I was totally unacquainted with the writings of 3uffier and Dr. Oswald. I had heard indeed, that the French philosopher used the term Common Sense in a way similar to that in which I use it ; but this was only hearsay ; and I have since found, that though between his fundamental opinions and mine there is a striking reseOiblance, his application of that term is not entirely the same. I should not have mentioned this, if I did not think, that it supplies an argument in favour of our eommon principles. 1 liad finished all these papers for the press, when a friend at London sent me an Adver- tisement, which had just then appeared pre- fixed to a new edition of Mr. Hume's Es- says; and whicli, in justice to that author, b 2 I shall XX PREFAOfi: I shall here insert, subjoiiiing a few remarks in justice to myself. " Most of the principles and reasonings *' contained in this volume were published " in a work in three volumes, intitled, A ^ Treatise of Human JNature : a work which " the author had projected before he left " college, and which he wrote and published " not long after. But not finding it success- " ful, he was sensible of his error in going " to the press too early, and he cast the " whole anew in the following pieces ; where " some negligences in his former reasoning, *' and more in the expression, are, he hopes, " corrected. Yet several writers, who have " honoured the author's philosophy with " answers, have taken care to direct all " their batteries against that juvenile work, " which the author never acknowledged ; " and have affected to triumph in any ad- " vantages which, they imagined, they had " obtained over it : a practice very conti*ary " to all rules of candour and fair-dealing, " and a strong instance of those polemical " artifices, which a bigotted zeal thinks it- " self authorized to employ. Henceforth the " author desires, that the following pieces " may alone be regarded as containing^ his " philosophical sentiments and principles.'' Thus far Mr. Hume. I do not think it was with an evil pur-? pose, that any of those who attacked this au- thor's philosophy directed their batteries a [gainst, PREFACE. xxi Against the Treatise of Human Nature. In regard to myself, the case was briefly this : Ever since I began to attend to matters of this kind, I had heard Mr. Hume's philoso- phy mentioned as a system very unfriendly to religion both revealed and natural, as vi^ell as to science ; and its author spoken of as a teacher of sceptical and atheistical doctrines, and withal as a most acute and ingenious writer. I had reason to believe, that his arr guments, and his influence as a great literary character, had done harm, by subverting or weakening the good principles of some, and countenancing the licentious opinions of others. Being honoured with the care of a part of the British youth, and considering it as my indispensable duty (from which I trust I shall never deviate) to guard their minds against impiety and error, I endea- voured, among other studies that belonged to my office, to form a right estimate of Mr. Hume's philosophy, so as not only to under- stand his peculiar tenets, but also to perceive their connection and consequences. In forming this estimate, I thought it at once the surest and the fairest method to be- gin with the Treatise of Human Nature, which Avas allowed, and is well known to be, the ground-work of the whole; and in which some of the principles and reasonings are more fully prosecuted, and their connection and consequences more clearly seen by an attentive reader (notwithstanding some in- feriority xsir PRiiFACE. feriority in point of style), than in those moi'e elegant re-publications of the system, that have appeared in the form of Essays. Every sound argumtnt that may have been urged against the paradoxes of the Treatise^ particularly Against its first principles, does, in my opinion, tend to discredit the system ; as every successful attempt to weaken the foundation of a building does in effect pro- mote the downfal of the superstructure. Pa- radoxes there are in the Treatise, which are not in the Essays ; and, in like manner, there are licentious doctrines in these, which are not in the other : and therefore I have ilot directed all my batteries against the first. And if the plan I had in view when I pub- lished this book, had been completed, the reader would have seen, that, though I be- gan with the Treatise of Human ]\'atiire, it was never my intention to end with it. In fact, the Essay on Truth is only one part of what I had projected. Another part waS then in so great forwardness, that I thought its publication not very remote, and had even made proposals to a bookseller concerning it: though afterwards, on enlarging the plan, I found I had not taken so wide a view of the subject as would be necessary. In that part, my meaning was, to have applied the prin-< ciplcs of this book to the illustration of cer- tain truths of morality and religion, to which the reasonings of Helvctius, of Mr. Hume in his JEssays, and of some other modern philo- sopheEs, PREFACE. xxiii sophers, seemed unfavourable. That work, however, 1 have been obliged, on account of iny health, to lay aside ; and whether I shall ever be in a condition to resume it, is at pre* sent very uncertain. For these eighteen years past (and before that period I knew nothing of this author's writings), I have always heard the Treatise of Human Naticre spoken of as the work of Mr. Hume. Till after publishing the Essay on Truth, I knew not that it had ever been said, or insinuated, or even suspected, that he either did not acknowledge that Treatise, or wished it to be considered as a work which he did not acknow^ledge. On the contrary, from his reprinting so often, in Essays that bore his name, most of the principles and reasonings contained in it ; q.nd never, so far as I had heard, disavowing any part of it ; I could not but think that he set a very high value upon it. By the literary people with whom I was then acquainted, it had been much read ; and by many people it was much admired ; and, in general, it was considered as the author's chief work in philosophy, and as one of the most curious systems of human natu^ that had ever appeared. Those who favoured his principles spoke of it as an unanswerable performance. And whatever its success might have been as an article of sale (a circumstance which I did not think it material to enquire into), I had reason to believe, that, as a system of licentious doc- trine. xxiv PREFACE. trine, it had been but too successful ; and thatV. to the author s reputation as a philosopher, and to his influence as a promoter of infide- hty, it had contributed not a Httle. Our author certainly merits praise, for thus publicly disowning, though late, his Treatise of Human Nature ; though I am sorry to observe, from the tenor of his decla- ration, that he still seems inclined to adhere to " most of the reasonings and principles " contained in that Treatise." But if he has now at last renounced any one of his errors, I congratulate him upon it with all my heart. He has many good as well as great qualities ; and I rejoice in the hope, that he may yet be prevailed on to relinquish totally a system, which I should think would be as uncom- fortable to him, as it is unsatisfactory to others. In consequence of his Advertise- ment, I thought it right to mitigate in this Edition some of the censures that more espe- cially refer to the Treatise of Human Nature : but as that Treatise is still extant, and will probably be read as long at least as any thing I write, I did not think it expedient to make any material change in the reasoning or m the plan of this performance. April 30, 1776. INTRODUCTION. INTRODUCTION. JLO those who love learning and mankind, and who are more ambitious to distinguish themselves as men than as disputants, it is matter of humiliation and regret, that names and things have so oft been mistaken for each Other ; that so much of the philosopher's time must be employed in ascertaining the signi- fication of words ; and that so many doc- trines, of high renown, and of ancient date, when traced to their first principles, have been found to arise from verbal ambiguitv- If I have any knowledge of my own heart, or of the subject I intend to examine, I maj venture to assure the reader, that it is no part of the design of this book to encourage ver- bal disputation. On the contrary, it is my sincere purpose to avoid, and to do every thing in my power to check it ; convinced as I am, that it never can do any good, and that it has been the cause of much evil, both in philosophy and in common life. And I hope I have a fairer chance to escape it, than some who have gone before me in this part of science. I aim at no paradoxes; my prejudices (if certain instinctive sugges- tions of the understanding may be so called) are all in favour of truth, virtue, and Chris- tianity ; and I havAio principles to support, but t INTKODUCTION. but sUch as seem to me to have influenced the judgment of the rational part of mankind in all ages of the world. Some readers may think, that there is but little merit in this declaration; it being as much for my own credit, as for the interest of mankind, that I guard against a practice, which is ackno^vledged to be always unpro- fitable, and generally pernicious. A verbal disputant ! what claim can he have to the title of Philosopher ! what has he to do with the laws of nature, with the observation of fe.cts, with life and manners ! Let him not intrude upon the company of men of science: but repose, with his brethren, Aquinas and Suares, in the corner of some Gothic cloister, dark as his understanding, and cold as his heart. Men are now become too wise to be amused with words, and too J! rm-minded to be confuted Avith quibbles. Many of my contemporaries would join in tliis apo^- strophe, who yet are themselves the dupes of the most egregious dealers in logomachy that ever j>erverted the faculty of speech. In tact, from some instances that have oc- curred to my own observation, I have rea-* son to believe, that verbal controversy has not always^ even in this age, been accounted a contemptible thing: and the reader, when ho comes to be better acquainted Avith my sentiments, will perhaps think the foregoing declaration more disinterested than at first sight it may appear. They who form opinions concernmg the 1 ipanne]"* INTRODUCTION. 3 manners and principles of the times, may be divided into three classes- Some will tell us, that the present age transcends all that have gone before it, in politeness, learning, and good sense ; will thank Providence (or their stars) that their lot of life has been cast in so glorious a period ; and wonder how men could support existence amidst the ignorance and barbarism of former days. By others we are accounted a generation of triflers and profligates ; sciolists in learning, hypoerates in virtue, and formalists in good-breeding ; wise only when we follow the ancients, and foolish whenever we deviate from them. Sentiments so violent are generally wrong : and therefore I am disposed to adopt the no- tions of those who may be considered as forming an intermediate class ; who, though not blind to the follies, are yet willing to acknowledge the \ irtues, both of past ag^, and of the present. And surely, in every age, and in every man, there is something to praise, as well as something to blame. When 1 survey the philosophy of the pre- sent age, I find much matter of applause and admiration. Matheniatics, Natural Philoso- phy, and Natural History, in all their branches, have risen to a pitch of perfection, that does signal honour to human capacity, and far surpasses what the most sanguine projectors of former times had any reason to look for: and the paths to fiirther im- provement in those sciences are so clearly marked out, that Nothing but honesty and attention 4> INTRODUCtlGifT. attention seems requisite to ensure the suc« cess of future adventurers. Moral Philosophy and Logic have not been so fortunate. Yet, even here, we have happily got rid of much pedantry and jargon ; our systems have more the appearance of liberal sentiments, good taste, and correct composition, than those of the schoolmen; we disclaim (at least in words) all attachment to hypothesis and party ; pro- fess to study men and things, as well as books and words} and assert, with the ut^ most vehemence of protestation, our love of truth, of candour, and of sound philosophy. But let us not be deceived by appearances. Neither Moral Philosophy, nor the kindred sciences of Logic and Criticism, are at pre- sent upon the most desirable footing. The rage of paradox and system has transformed these, which of all sciences ought to be the simplest and the clearest, into a mass of con- fusion, darkness, and absurdity. One kind of jargon is laid aside ; but another has been adopted, more fashionable indeed, but not less frivolous. Hypothesis, though verbally disclaimed, is really adhered to with as much obstinacy as ever. Words have been defin- ed ; but their meaning still remains indefi- nite. Appeals have been made to experi- ence; but with such misrepresentation of fact, and in such equivocal language, as plainly show the authors to have been more concerned for their theory, than for tke truth. All sciences, and especially Moral Philosophy, ought to regulate humaif practice : practice 3 is INTRODUCTION. 5 is supposed conviction ; yet the aim of some of our celebrated moral systems is, to divest the mind of every principle, and of all convic- tion ; and, consequently, to disqualify man for action, and to render him useless and wretched. In a word, Scepticism is now the profession of our fashionable enquirers into human nature ; a scepticism, that is not confined to points of mere speculation, but has been extended to practical truths of the highest importance, even to those of morality and religion. I said, that my prejudices are all in fa- vour of truth and virtue. To avow any sort tof prejudice, may perhaps startle some read- ers. If it should, 1 must here entreat all such to pause a moment, and ask of their own hearts these simple questions. — Are virtue and truth useful to mankind ? Are they matters of inditference ? Or are they perni- cious ?^ — ^^If any one .finds himself disposed to ihink them pernicious, or matters of indiffer- ence, I would advise him to lay my book aside; for it does not contain one sentiment in which he can be interested, nor one ex- pression with which he can be pleased. But he who believes thfit virtue and truth are of the highest importance, that in them is laid the foundation of human happiness, and that on them depends tlie very existence of human society, and of human creatures, — that per- son and I are of the same mind ; I have no prejudices that he would wish me not to ■Jiave : he may proceed ; and I hope he will proceed 6 INTRODUCTIOISr. proceed with pleasure, and encourage, by his approbation, this honest attempt to vin^ dicate truth and virtue ; and to overturn that pretended philosophy, which supposes, or which may lead us to suppose, every dic- tate of conscience, every impulse of undefr- standing, and every information of sense, questionable and doubtful. This sceptical philosophy (as it is called) seems to me to be dangerous, not because it is ingenious, but because it is subtle and obscure. Were it rightly understood, no confutation would be necessary; for it does, in fact, confute itself, as I hope to demons strate. But many, to ray certain knoAvledge, have read it, and admitted its tenets, who do not understand the grounds of them ; and many more, swa^'ed by the fashion of the times, have greedily adopted its conclusions, without any knowledge of the premises, or any concern about them. An attempt there- fore to expose this pretended philosophy to public view, in its proper colours, will not^ I hope, be censured as impertinent by any whose opinion I value : if it should,! shall be satisfied with the approbation of my own con- science, which will never reproach me for in- tending to do good. I am sorry, that in the course of this en- quiry, it will not always be in my power to speak of some celebrated names with that deference, to which superior talents, and su- perior virtue, are always intitled. Every friend to civil 9.nd religious liberty, every lover INTRODUCTriON. 7 lover of mankind, every admirer of sincerity and simple manners, every heart that warms at tlie recollection of distinguished virtue, must consider Locke as one of the most ami* able, and most illustrious men, that ever our nation produced. Such he is, such he ever will be, in my estimation. The parts of his philosophy to which truth obliges me to object, are but few, and, compared with the extent and importaaace of his other ivrit- ings, extremely inconsiderable. I object to them, because I think them erroneous and dangerous; and I am convinced, that their author, if he had lived to see the inferences that have been drawn from them, would have been the first to declare them absurd, and would have expunged them from his works with indignation. — Berkeley was equally amiable in his life, and equally a friend to truth and virtue. In elegance of composition he was perhaps superior. I ad- mire his virtues: I can never sufficiently ap- plaud his zeal in the cause of religion : but some of his reasonings on the subject of hu- man nature I cannot admit, without renounc- ing my claim to rationality. — ^There is a writer now alive, of whose philosophy I have much to say. By his philosophy, I mean the sentiments he has pubhshed in a book called, A Treatise of Human Nat ure,m three volumes, printed in the year 1739; the principal doc- trines of which he has since republished again and again, under the title of, Essays Moral and Political, &c. Of his other works I say S INTRODUCTION. I say nothing; nor have I at present any con- cern with them. Virgil is said to have been a bad prose-writer ; Cicero was certainly a bad poet : and this author, though his phi- losophy of human nature be in many things exceedingly reprehensible, may yet be a pro- found politician, and a learned, elegant, and accurate historian. His high merit in these characters is indeed generally allowed : and if my suffrage could' add any thing to the lustre of his reputation, I should here, with great sincerity and pleasure, join my voice to that of the public, and make such an en- comium on the author of the History of Eng^ land as would not offend any of his rational admirers. But why is this author's character so replete with inconsistency ! why should his principles and his talents extort at once our esteem and detestation, our applause and con- tempt! That he, whose manners in private life are said to be so agreeable, should yet, in the public capacity of an author, have given so much cause of just offence to all the friends of virtue and mankind, is to me matter of astonishment and sorrow, as well as of in- dignation. That he, who succeeds so well in describing the fates of nations, should yet have failed so egregiously in explaining the operations of the mind, is one of those in- congruities in human genius, for which per- haps philosophy will never be able fully to account. That he, wjio has so impartially stated the opposite pleas and principles of our pohticai factions, should yet have adopted the INTRODUCTION. § the most illiberal prejudices agailQBt natural and revealed religion ; that he, who on many occasions has displayed a profound eru- dition, should sometimes, when intoxicated witli a favourite theory, have suffered affirm- ations to escape him, which men of no great learning might perceive to be ill«-found- ed : and, finally, that a moral philosopher, who seems to have exerted his utmost inge- nuity insearchingafter paradoxes, should yet happen to light on none but such as are on the side of licentiousness and scepticism r-*^ these are inconsistencies equally inexplicable. And yet, that this author is chargeable with all these inconsistencies, will not, I think, be denied by any person of sense and candour. who has read his writings with attention. His philosophy Jias done great harm. Its admirers, I know, are niamerous ; but I have not as yet met with one person, who both •admired and understood it We are prone to believe what we wish to be true : and most of this author's philosophical tenets are so well adapted to what I fear I may call the fashionable notions of the times, that those who are ambitious to conform to the latter, will hardly be disposed to examine scrupu- lously the evidence of the former. — jHaving made this declaration, which I do in the spi^ Tit of an honest man, I must take the liber- ty to treat this author with that plainness, which the cause of truth, and the interests of society, seem to me to require. The same candour that prompts me to praise, will also c pblige TO INTRODUCTIGN. oblige me to blame. The inconsistency is* not in me, but in him- Had I done but half as much as he, in labouring to subvert principles which ought ever to be held sa-' cred, I know not whether the friends of truth would have granted me any indulg- ence: I am snre they ought not. If it shall be acknowledged by the candid and intelligent reader, that I have in this book contributed something to the establish- ment of old truths, I shall not be much of-' fended, though others should pretend to dis- cover, that I have advanced nothing new. Indeed I would not wish to say any thing on these subjects, that has not often occurred to the rational part of mankind. In Logic and Ethics, we may have new treatises, and new theories ; but we are not now to expect new discoveries. The principles of moral duty have long been understood in these enlight- ened parts of the world ; and mankind, in the time that is past, have had more truth under their consideration, than they will pro-- bably have in the time to come. Yet he who makes these sciences the study of his life, may perhaps collect particulars concerning their evidence, which, though known to a few, are unknown to many ; may set some principles in a more striking light than that in which they have been tbrmerly viewed ; may devise; methods of confuting new errors,, and expos- ing new paradoxes ; and may hit upon a moxe popular way of displaying what ha^ ■ . ' hitherto introduction; u hitherto been exhibited in too dark and mjscerious a form. It is commonly allowed, that the science of human nature is of all human sciences the most ctirious and important. To know our- seivcis is a precept which the wise in all ages have ieco:amended, and which is enjoined by the autliority of revelation itself. Can any thing be ot more consequence to man, than to know what is his duty, and how he may arrive at happiness ? It is from the ex- amination of his own heart, that he receives the first intimations of the one, and the only sure criterion of the other. — What can be more useful, more delightful, and more sub- lime, than to contemplate the Deity.'' It is in the \yorks of nature, particularly in the constitution of the human soul, that we dis- oern the first and most conspicuous traces of the Almighty : for without some previous ac* quaintance with our own moral nature, we could not have any certain knowledge of His. —-Destitute of the hope of immortality, and a future retribution, how contemptible, hovv^ miserable is riian ! And yet, did not our mo- ral feelings, in concert with what reason dis- covers of the Deity, evidence the probability of a future state, and that it is necessary to the full vindication of the divine government, we should be much less qualified, than we now are, to judge rationally of that revela- tion, by which life and immortality have been brought to light. liovv then is this science to be learned.'' c3 In 1$ INTEODUC^TION. In ^yhat manner are w^ to study humai^ na- ture? Doubtless by examining our owr^ hearts and feelings, and by attending to the QOnduct of other men. But are not the writ- ings of philosophers useful towards the at- tainment of this science ? Most certainly they are ; for whatever improves the sagacity of judgment, the sensibility of moral percep- tion, or the delicacy of taste ; Avhatever ren- ders our knowledge of moral and intellectual facts more extensive ; whatever impresses our minds with more enlarged and more power- ful sentiments of duty, with more affecting views of God and Providence, and with greater energy of belief in th§ doctrines of natural religion ; every thing of this sort either makes us more thoroughly acquainted, or prepares us for becoming more thoroughly acquainted with our own nature, and with that of other beings, and with the relations they and we bear to one another. But I f^ar we shall not be able to improve ourselves in any one of these respects, by reading the mo- dern systems of scepticism. What account then are we to make of those systenis and their authors? The following Essay is partly^ designed as an answer to this question. But it has a further view: which is, to exa- mine the foundations of this scepticism, and see whether these be consistent with what all mankind acknowledge to be the foundations of truth ; to enquire, whether the cultivation of scepticism be salutary or pernicious to sci- ence and mankind; and whether it may not be |3€ possible to device certain criteria^ hj wh^iot^ the absurdity pf it^ cpnelusjans may be ,d^ tectedj even by those who may not hav^ lei- sure, or subtlety, or metaphysical knowledge, sufficient to qualify th^ip for a logical confur^ tatipn of aW its premises. If it be confessed, that the present ages has sovne tendency to Mr pentiousness, bot^ in principle aud practice, and that the works of scept^c^l writers have some tendency to favour th^t licentiousness ; it will also be confessed, that this design is neither absurd nor un^easpnable. A celebrated writer* on hunian n?tture h?i§ observed, that " if ti'uth be at all within thp " reach of human capacity, it is certain it " m\io\, lie very deep Etnd abstruse:" and a little after he adds, " that he would e§teen^ " it a strong presumption against the philo- " sophy he is going to unfold, were it so very " easy and obvious/' I am so far from adopU ing this opinion, that I declare, in regard to the few things I have to say on human nature^ that I should esteem it a very strong pvesump^ tion against them, if they were not easy and obvious. Physical and mathematipal truths are often abstruse; but facts and experiments relating to the human mind, when expressed in proper words, ought to be ojbvious to all, I find that those poets, historians, aud no- velists, who have given the most lively dis- plays of human nature, and who abound most in sentiments easily comprehended, and readily admitted as true, are the most enter- » Treatise of Iluman Nature, vol. 1. p. 3, 4. 2 taining, 14 INTRODUCTION. taining, as Avell as the most useful. How then should the philosophy of the- human mind be so difficult ? Indeed, if it be an au- thor's determinate purpose to advance para- doxes, some of which are incredible, and others beyond comprehension ; if he be will^ i'ng; to avail himself all he can of the natural ambiguity of language in supportmg those paradoxes : or if he enter upon enquiries too refined for human understanding; he must often be obscure, and often unintelligible. But my views are very different. I intend only to suggest some hints for guarding the mind against error; and these, 1 hope, will be found to be deduced from principles which every man of common capacity' may examine by his daily experience. It is true, that several subjects of intricate speculation are treated of in this book. But I have endeavoured, by constant appeals to fact and experience, by illustrations and ex- amples the most familiar I coiild think of, and by a plainness and perspicuity of expres- sion, v/hich sometimes may appear too much, affected to treat of them in a Avay, that I hope cannot fail to render them intelligible, even to those Avho are not much conversant' in studies of this kind. Truth, like virtue, to be loved, needs only to be seen. My pi-in-. ciples require no disguise ; on the contrary,' they will, if I mistake not, be most easily ad- mitted by those who best understand them. And I am persuaded, that the sceptical system would never have made such an alarming. progress, INTRODUCTION. 15 progress, if it had been well understood. The ambiguity of its language, and the in- tricacy and length of some of its fundamental investigations, have unhappily been too suc- cessful in producing that confusion of thought and indistinctness of apprehension, in the minds both of authors and readers, which are so favourable to error and sophistry. Few men have ever engaged in controver- sy, religious, political, or philosophical, with- out being in some degree chargeable with misconception of the adversary's meaning. That 1 have never erred in this way, I dare not affirm. B\it I am conscious of having done every thing in my power to guard against it. The greater part of these papers have lain by me for several years. They have been repeatedly perused by some of the acutest philosophers of the age, whom I have the honour to call my friends, and to whose advice and assistance, on this, as on other occasions, I am deeply indebted. I have availed myself all I could of reading and con- versation ; and endeavoured, with all the candour I am master of, to profit by every hint of improvement, and to examine to the bottom every objection, that others have of- fered, or myself could devise. And may I not be permitted to add, that every one of those who have perused this Essay, has advised the author to publish it; and that many of them have encouraged him by this insinuation, to him the most flattering of alt others, That by so doing, he would probably be of some service i6 JfNTRdDtJCtlON. service to the cauise Of trutb, virtue, ahii mankind? In this hopfe he submits h to the public. And it is this hope only that could have induced him to attempt polemical dis- cjuisition : a species of writing, which, in his own judgment, is not the most Credit- able; which he knows, to his cost, is not the most pleasing ; and of which he is well aware, that it will draw upon him the resent- ment of a numerous, powerful, and fashion- able party. But, Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past; i'^or thee, fair V^irtiie! welcome e'en the last. If these pages, which he hopes none will ^condemn who have not read, shall throw any light on the first principles of moral science; if they shall suggest, to the young and unwary, any cautions against that so- phistry^ and hcentiousness of principle, which too much infect the conversations and com- positions of the age ; if they shall, in any measure, contribute to the satisfaction of any •of the friends of truth and virtue ; his pur- pose will be completely answered : and he will, to the end of his life, rejoice in the re- co>ll€ction of those painful hours which he passed in the examination of this most im- portant controversy. January, 1770, AN (D O) CO CL (Ji CQ Tl (Q CD AX ESSAY eS THE Nature and immutability TRUTH, IK OPPOSITIOK TO SOPHISTRY AND SCEPTICISM. I PURPOSE to treat this subject in the following manner : First, I shall endeavour to trace the seve- ral kinds of Evidence and Reasoning up. to their first principles ; with a view to ascer- tain the Standard of Truth, and explain its immutability. Secondly, I shall show, that my senti- ments on this head, however inconsistent with the genius of scepticism, and with the prac- B tice 20 . AN ESSAY tice and principles of sceptical writers, are yet perfectly consistent with the genius of true philosophy, and with the practice and prin- ciples of those who are allowed to have been the most successful in the investigation of truth : concluding: with some inferences or rules, by which the most important fallacies of the sceptical philosophy may be detected by every person of common sense, even tho' lie should not possess acuteness or metaphy- sical knowledge sufficient to qualify him for a logical confutation of them. Thirdly, I shall answer some objections ; and make some remarks, by way of Estimate of scepticism and sceptical writers. I divide my discourse in this manner, chiefly with a view to the reader's accommo- dation. An exact arrangement of parts is necessary to confer elegance on a whole ; but I am more studious of utility than of ele- gance. And though my sentiments might have been exhibited in a more systematic order, I am apt to think, that the order in which they first occurred to me is the most natural, and may be the most eifectual for accomplishing my purpose. . PART ON TRUTH. 21 PART I. OV THE STANDARD OT TRUTH. JLHE love of truth has ever been ac- counted a good principle. Where it is known to prevail, we expect to find integrity and steadiness ; a temper of mind favourable to every virtue, and tending in an eminent degree to public utility. To have no concern for the truth, to be false and fallacious, is a character which no person who is not utter- ly abandoned would cliuse to bear; it is a character from Avhich we expect nothing but levity and inconsistence. Truth seems to be considered by all mankind as something fix- ed, unchangeable, and eternal ; it may there- fore be thought, that to vindicate the perma- nency of truth is to dispute without an ad- versary. And indeed, if these questions were proposed in general terms, — Is there such a thing as truth? Are truth and falsehood different and opposite.? Is truth permanent and eternal? — few persons would be hardy enough .to answer in the negative. Attempts, however, have been made, sometimes through inadvertence, and sometimes (I fear) fiom design, to undennine the foundations of B 2 truth, 22 AN ESSAY [Part I. truth, and to render their stability question- able; and these attempts have been so vi- gorously forwarded, and so often renewed, that they now constitute a great part of what is called the philosophy of the human mind. It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to give a definition of Truth. But we shall endea- vour to give such a description of it, as may make others understand what we mean by the word. The definitions of former writers are not so clear, nor so accurate, as could be wished. These therefore Ave shall over- look, without seeking either to explain or to correct them ; and shall satisfy ourselves with taking noticd of some of the mental pheno- mena that attend the perception of truth. This seems to be the safest way of introduc- ing the subject. CHAP I. Of the Perception of Truth in general. On hearing these propositions, — I exist. Things equal to one and the same thing are equal to one another. The sun rose to- day, There is a God, Ingratitude ought to be blamed and punished. The three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, &c.— I am conscious that my mind admits and Ch, I.] ON TRUTH. 23 and acquiesces in them. I say, that I beUeve thera to be true ; that is, I conceive them to express something conformable to the nature of things*. Of the contrary propositions I should say, that my mind does not acquiesce in them, but disbelieves them, and conceives them to express something not conformable to the nature of things. My judgment in this case, I conceive to be the same that I should form in regard to these propositions, if I vi^ere perfectly acquainted with all na- ture, in all its parts, and in all its laws.f* If I be asked, what I mean by the nature of things, I cannot otherwise explain myself, than by saying, that there is in my mind something which induces me to think, that every thing existing in nature, is determined to exist, and to exist after a certain man- ner, in consequence of established laws ; and that whatever is agreeable to those laws is agreeable to the nature of things, because by those laws the nature of all things is de- termined. Of tlipse laws I do not pretend to know any thing, except so far as they seem to be intimated to me by my own feelings, and by the suggestions of my own under- Aristot. Metaph. lib. 2. cap. 1. ' + This remark, when applied to truth in general, is subject to certain limitations; for which see part 2. chap. 1. sect. 3. standing. U AN ESSAY [Parti. standing. But these feelings and suggestions are sucii, and affect me in such a manner, that I cannot help receiving them, and trust- ing in them, and believing that their inti- mations are not fallacious, but such as I should approve if I were perfectly acquainted with every thing in the universe, and such as I may approve, and admit of, and regu- late my conduct by, without danger of any inconvenience. It is not easy on this subject to avoid iden- tical expressions. I am not certain that I have been able to ax'^oid them. And perhaps I might have expressed my meaning more shortly and more clearly, by saying, that I account That to be truth which the consti- tution of our nature determines us to be- lieve, and That to be falsehood which the constitution of our nature determines us to disbelieve*. Believing and disbelieving are simple acts of the mind ; I can neither de- fine nor describe them in words ; and there- fore the reader must judge of their nature from his own experience. We often believe what we afterwards find to be false ; but while belief continues, we think it true; * I might have said more explicitly, but tlie meaning is the same, " That I account that to be truik which the " constitution of human nature determines man to be- " lieve, and that to be falsehood whicli the constitution " of human nature determines ipan to, disbelieYC." wheii Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. 25 when we discover its falsitj, we believe it no longer. Hitherto I have used the word belief to de- note an act of the mind which attends the perception of truth in general. But truths are of different kinds ; some are certain, others only probable : and we ought not to call that act of the mind which attends the perception of certainty, and that which at- tends the perception of probability, by one and the same name. Some have called the former conviction, and the latter assent. All convictions are equally strong: but assent admits of innumerable degrees, from moral certainty, which is the highest degree, down- ward, through the several stages of opinion, to that suspense of judgment which is called douht. We may, without absurdity, speak of pro- bable truth, as well as of certain truth. Whatever a rational being is determined, by the constitution of his nature, to admit as probable, may be called probable truth ; the acknowledgment of it is as universal as that rational nature, and will be as permanent. But, in this enquiry, we propose to confine ourselves chiefly to that kind of truth which may be called certain, which enforces our conviction, and the belief of which, in a sound mind, is not tinctured with any doubt or un- certainty. The investigation and perception of truth is commonly ascribed to our rational facul- ties; 26 AN ESSAY. [Parti, ties ; and these have by some been reduced to two, — Reason and Judgment ; the former being supposed to be conversant about cer- tain truths, the latter chiefly about proba^ bihties. But certain truths are not all of the same kind ; some being supported by one sort of evidence, and others by another: different energies of the understanding must therefore be exerted in perceiving them ; and these different energies must be expressed by differ^- ent names, if we would speak of them dis^ tinctly and intelligibly. I'he certainty of some truths, for instance, is perceived intui!- tively ; the certainty of others is perceived not ir^taitively, but in consequence of a proof. Most of the propositions of Euclid are of the latter kind ; the axioms of geomc:^ try are of the former. Now, if that faculty by which we perceive truth in consequence of a proof, be called Reason^ that power by which we perceive self-evident truth, ought to be distinguished by a different name. It is of little consequence what name we make choice of, provided that in chusing it we depart not from the analogy of language: and that, in applying it, we avoid equivo- cation and ambiguity*. Some philosophers pf notef have given the naine ofComnon Sens^ * We might call the one Reason and the other Reason- ing; bntthe similarity of the terms would frequently oc- casion Ifoth obscurity in the sense, and harshness in thq sound. t Dr. Reid, &p, tQ Ch. I.] ON TRUTIi 27 to that faculty by which we perceive self- evident truth ; and, as the term seems pro- per enough, we shall adopt it. But in a sub- ject of this kind, there is great danger of our being imposed upon by words ; we cannot therefore be too much upon our guard against that species of illusion. We mean to draw some important inferences from this doctrine of the distinction between Reason and Common Sense. Now' these words are not always used in the strict signification we have here assigned them : let us therefore take a view of all the similar senses in which they are commonly used, and let us explain more particularly that sense in which we are to use them ; and thus we shall take every method in our power to secure ourselves against the impropriety of confounding our notions by the use of ambiguous and inde- finite langviage. These philological discus- sions are indeed no part of philosophy ; but they are very necessary to prepare us for it. " Qui ad interpretandum naturam accesse- *' rit," says Bacon, " verbomm mixtam na- *' turam, et juvamenti et nocumenti impri- *' mis participem, distincte sciat*." 'JL'his distinction between Common Sense gnd Reason is no modern discovery-f. The ancient * De Interpretatione Naturse, sent. 9. + The »Jiv!)yo>),«oo-L.vn pf the Greek Stoics seems to mean t)iaj benevolent affection which men owe to society and to 28 AN ESSAY [Part I. ancient geometricians were all acquainted with it. Aristotle treats of self-evident prin- ciples in many parts of his works, particu- larly in the fourth book of his Metaphysics, and in the first book of his latter Analytics. He calls them. Axioms or Dignities, Princi- ples, and Common Sentiments* ; and says of them, " That they are known by their own to one another. Some modern moralists have called it the Public Sense. But the notion or idea we mean to ex- press by the terra Common Sense is quite different. The Sensus Communis of the Latins hath several signi- fications. 1. It denotes this Public Sense, or ""vovotifioo-iv.;. See Shaftesbury s Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Hu- mour, part 3. sect. 1. Note. 2. It denotes that experiehee and knowledge of life which is acquired by living in so- ciety. Thus Horace seems to use it, lib. 1. satir. 3. lin. 66. And thus Quintilian, speaking of the advantages of a public education : " Sensum ipsum qui communisdi- *' citur, ubi discet, cum se a congressu, qui non homini- " bus solum, sed inutis quoque animalibus natui'alis est, " segregarit;" lib. 1. cap. 2. 3. It seems to signify that instinctive persuasion of truth which arises from intuitive evidence, and is the foundation of all reasoning : " Corpus enim per se communis deliquat esse " Sensus : quo nisi prima fides fundata valebit, " Haud erit occultis de rebus quo referentes " Confirmare animi quicquam I'atione queamus." Lucretius, lib. ,] . ver. 423. *■ AfiaiftKTa, Apx^ai, Koiyai Jofai. — Asytu Si MTroSfc/.^utiif, xosl Ta; Miluf eo^isf,^ t; siv axaa-irig Jhuvukiti- aioi, on Tray avayKai'ov n ifisvai, S ajrofavaf xoi^w^L/vaToy ttjOiot My«i auX fji,h Tiv«(, Metapht/s. lib. 3. cap. 2. 1 " evidence ; Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. $9 " evidence* ; that except some first prin- " ciples be taken for granted, there can be *' neither reason nor reasoning^ ; that it is " impossible that every truth should admit *' of proof, otherwise proof would extend in " irijinittim, which is incompatible with its * Analytic, lib. 2. cap. 16. Of these first principles, a French Peripatetic, who wrote about the beginning of the last century, expresses himself thur: " Cesprincipes *' portent le nom de communs, non seulement parce *' qu'ils servent a plusieurs sciences, mais aussi parce que *' V intelligence en est commune a tous. On les appelle *' aussi dignitez et notions communes : a sgavoir, dignitez, *' quasi comme dignes entre toutes les autres qu'on y " adiouste foy, a cause de la grande excellence de leur " clarte et evidence ; , et notions communes, pour ce " qu'ils sont si connus, qu' aussi tost que la signification *' des termes dont ils sont composez est entendue, sans " discourir ny argumenter davantage dessus, chacun en- " tend naturellement leur verite ; si ce n'est quelque he- *' bete priv6 de raison ; lequel je revoye a Aristote, qui " pronounce, que ceux qui doutent, qu'il faut reverer *' les Dieux, on aymer les parents, meritent d'estre pu- " nis ; et que ceux qui doutent que la nege est blanche " out besoin de sens : et a Averroes, qui dit, que ceux *' qui ne s^auroient distinguer ce qui est connu par soy *' d'avec ci qui ne I'est pas, sont incapables de pliiloso- *' pher ; et que ne pouvoir connoistre ces principes, *' procede de quelque defeut de nature ou de peu " d'excercice, ou d'une mauvaise accoustumance enra- « cinee. Corps de toute la Philosophie de Theophraste Bouju, p. 79. Aristot. Metaphys. lib. 2. cap. 6. " nature ; 56 AN ESSAY [Parti. " nature* ; and that if ever men attempt to " prove a first principle, it is because they " are ignorant of the nature of prooff/' The word Reason is used in several differ- ent senses. It is used to signify that qua- lity of human nature which distinguishes man from the inferior animals. Man is called a reasonable being, and the brutes are said to be irrational. But the faculty of reason, taking the word in a strict sense, is perhaps the more characteristical of the nature of man, than his moral faculty, or his imagi- nation, or his power of artificial language, or his risibility. Reason, in this accepta- tion, seems to be a general name for all the intellectual powers, as distinguished from the sensitive part of our constitution. 2. Every thing that is called truth is said to be per- ceived by reason : by reason, Ave are said to perceive, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles ; and we are also said to perceive, by reason, that it is, * OXwf [XEV ynp aTTKVTtfJV aSCvarav airo^ei^iv Hvur ft; aurwpov yccj av Aristot. Metaphi/s. lib. 4. cap. 4. •f- Afi3-Jcri Ji xa'i T.~T3 a7roJ«!tvuval tive; ■^i' kira.iirja-iri.-r eVti yaa azai- ^fjjt7iv a.'na^'ec^tv, Hat '^ivujv oy S'h, Aristot. Metaphi/s. lib. 4. cap. 4.. J cite tliese authorities, that I ma;^ not be supposed to affect eitiier an uncommon doctrine, or uncommon modes of expression, impossible Cb. I.] ON TRUTH. 31 impossible for the same thing to be, and not to be. But these truths are of different kinds ; and therefore the energies of under- standing to which they are referred, ought to be called by different names. 3. The power of invention is sometimes ascribed to reason. Locke tells us, that it is reason which discovers and arranges the several in- termediate proofs in an argument ; an office which, according to the common use of words, is to be referred, not to reason, but to iniagination. 4. Reason, as implying a faculty not marked by any other name, is used by those who are most accurate in dis- tinguishing, to signify that power of the hu- man mind by which we draw inferences, or by which Ave are convinced, that a relation belongs to two ideas, on account of our hav- ing found, that these ideas bear certain re- lations to other ideas. In a Avord, it is that faculty which enables us, from relations or ideas that are known, to investigate such as are unknown ; and without which we never could proceed in the discovery of truth a single step beyond first principles or intui- tive axioms. And it is in this last sense we are to use the word Reason in the course 431 this enquiry. The term Common Sense has also seve- ral different significations. 1. Sometimes it seems to be synonymous with prudence. Thus we say, that a man has a large stock of common sense, who is quick in perceiving remote S2 AN ESSAY [Part I. remote consequences, and thence instanta- neously determines concerning the propriety of present conduct. 2. We often meet with persons of great sagacity in most of the or- dinary affairs of life, and very capable of ac- curate reasoning, who yet, without any bad intention, commit blunders in regard to de- corum ; by saying or doing what is offensive to their company, and inconsistent with their own character : and this we are apt to im- pute to a defect in common sense. But it seems rather to be owing to a defect in that kind of sensibility, or sympathy, by which we suppose ourselves in the situations of others, adopt their sentiments, and in a man- ner perceive their thoughts; and which is indeed the foundation of good breeding*. It is by this secret, and sudden, and (to those who are unacquainted with it) inexplicable communication of feelings, that a man is enabled to avoid what would appear incon- gruous or offensive. They who are prompt- ed by inclination, or obliged by necessity, to study the art of recommending themselves to others, acquire a Avonderful facility in perceiving and avoiding all possible ways of giving offence ; which is a proof, that this kind of sensibility may be improved by ha- bit : although, there are, no doubt, in respect of this, as well as of some other modificaT tions of perception, original and constitu-j * See Smith's Theory of Mo^fal Sentiments, sect. 1. , tional Ch. L] ON TRUTH. 33 tional differences in the frame of different minds. 3. Some men are distinguished by an uncommon acuteness in discovering the characters of others : they seem to read the soul in the countenance, and with a single glance to penetrate the deepest recesses of the heart. In their presence, the hyprocrite is detected, notwithstanding his specious out- side ; the gay effrontery of the coxcomb can- not conceal his insignificance ; and the man of merit appears conspicuous under all the disguises of an ungainly modesty. This ta- lent is sometimes called Common Sense ; but improperly. It is far from being common ; it is even exceedingly rare : it is to be found in men who are not remarkable for any other mental excellence ; and we often see those who in other respects are judicious enough, quite destitute of it. 4. Neither ought every common opinion to be referred to common sense. Modes in dress, religion, and conver- sation, however absurd in themselves, may suit the notions or the taste of a particular people : but none of us will say, that it is agreeable to common sense, to worship more gods than one ; to believe that one and the same body may be in ten thousand different places at the same time* ; to like a face the better because it is painted, or to dislike a per- son because he does not lisp in his pronun- ciation. Lastly, the term Common Sense has * Transubstantiatioiv been 34 AK tSSAY [Part I. been used by some philosophers to signify that power of the mind which perceives truth, or commands behef, not by progressive ar- gumentation, but by an instantaneous and instinctive impulse; derived neither from education nor from habit, but from nature ; acting independently on our will, whenever its object is presented, according to an esta- blished laAV, and therefore not improperly called Seme ; and acting in a similar manner upon all mankind, and therefore properly called Common Sense. It is in this significa- tion that the term Common Sense is used in the present enquiry. That there is a real and essential difference between these two faculties ; that common sense cannot be accounted for, by being call- ed the perfection of reason, nor reason, by being resolved into common sense, Avill per- haps appear from the following remarks. 1. We are conscious, from internal feeling, that the energy of understanding which per- ceives intuitive truth, is ditferent from that other energy which vmites a conclusion with a first principle, by a gradual chain of inter- mediate relations. We believe the truth of an investigated conclusion, because we can assign a reason for our belief; we believe an intuitive principle, without being able to as- sign any other reason but this, that we know it to be true; or that the law of our nature, or the constitution of the human imderstand- in^, determines us to believe it. 2. We can- not Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. 35 not discern any necessary connection between reason and common sense: they are indeed generally connected ; but we can conceive a being endued with the one who is destitute of the other. Nay, we often find, that this jSiHi fact the case. In dreams, we sometimes reason without common sense. Through a defect of common sense, we adopt absurd principles ; but supposing our principles true, our reasoning is often unexceptionable. The same thing may be observed in certain kinds of madness. A man who believes himself made of glass, shall yet reason very justly concerning the means of preserving his sup- posed brittleness from flaws and fractures. It deserves also to be remarked, that a dis- tinction similar to the present is acknowledg- ed by the vulgar, who speak of mother-wit as something different from the deductions of reason, and the refinements of science. When puzzled with argument, the}^ have re- course to their common sense, and acquiesce in it so steadily, as to render all the arts of the logician ineffectual. " I am confuted, " but not convinced," is an apology some- times offered, Avhen one has nothing to op- pose to the arguments of the antagonist, but the original undisguised feelings of his own mind. This apology is indeed very incon- sistent with the dignity of philosophic pride ; which taking for granted that nothing ex- ceeds, the limits of human capacity, pro- fesses to confute whatever it cannot believe, c %nd» 56 AN ESSAY [Parti. and, which is still more difficult, to believe whatever it cannot confute : but this apolo- gy may be perfectly consistent with sincerity and candour; and with that principle of which Pope says, that " though no science, it " is fairly worth the seven." Thus far I have endeavoured to distinguish those two powers of our rational nature, to which I give the names Reason and Common Sense. Their connection and mutual depend- ance, and the extent of their respective juris- dictions, I now proceed more particulaily to investigate. — I ought perhaps to make an apology for these, and some other metapho- rical expressions. And indeed it were to be wished, that in all matters of science they could be laid aside; for the indiscreet use of metaphor has done great harm, by leading philosophers to mistake verbal analogies for real ones ; and often, too, by giving plausi- bility to nonsense, as well as by disguising Yery plain doctrines with an affected pomp of high-sounding words and gaudy images. But in the philosophy of the human mind, it is impossible to keep clear of metaphor ^ because we cannot speak intelligibly of im- material things, without continual allusions to matter and its qualities. All I need to say further on this head is, that I mean not by these metaphors to impose upon the read- er; and that I shall do my utmost to prevent their imposing upon myself. , It is strange to observe, with what re- 1 luctance Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. 37 luctance some people acknowledge the power of instinct. That man is governed by rea- son, and the brutes by instinct, is a favourite topic with certain philosophers; who, like other froward children, spurn the hand that leads them ; and desire, above all things, to be left at their OAvn disposal. Were this boast founded on truth, it might be supposed to mean little more, than that man is governed by himself, and the brutes by their Maker.* But, luckily for man, it is not founded in truth, but in ignorance and inattention. Our instincts, as well as our rational powers, are far superior, both in number and dig- nity, to those which the brutes enjoy ; and it were well for us, on many occasions, if we laid our systems aside, and were mojre at- tentive to these impulses of nature, wherein reason has no part. Far be it from me to speak Avith disrespect of any of the gifts of God : every work of his is good ; but the best things, when abused, may become per- nicious. Reason is a noble faculty, and, when kept within its proper sphere, and ap- plied to useful purposes, proves a means of exalting human creatures almost to the rank of superior beings. But this faculty has been much perverted, often to vile, and often to insignificant purposes; sometimes chained And Reason raise o'er instinct as you can, In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man. Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. 3. ver. 99. c2 like 38 AN ESSAY [Part I: like a slave or malefactor, and sometimes soaring in forbidden and unknown regions. y^o wonder, then, if it has been frequently made the instrument of seducing and bewil- dering mankind, and of rendering philosophy contemptible. In the science of body, glorious discoveries Imve been made by a right use of reason. When men are once satisfied to take things as they find them ; Avhen they believe Na- ture upon her bare declaration, without sus- pecting her of any design to impose upon them ; when their utmost ambition is to be her servants and interpreters ; then, and not till then» will philosophy prosper. But of those who have applied themselves to the science of human nature, it may truly be said, (of many of them at least), that too much reasoning hath made them mad. Nature speaks to us by our external, as well as by our internal senses: it is strange, that we should believe her in the one case, and not in the other; it is most strange, that suppos- ing her fallacious, we should think ourselves, capable of detecting the cheat. Common sense tells me, that the ground on which I stand is hard, material, and solid, and has, a real, separate, independent existence. Be r k e- LEY and Hume- tell mc, that I am imposed upon in this matter : for that the ground under my feet is ically an idea in my mind; that its very essence consists in being per- ceived ; and that th.e same instant it ceases to be Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. 39 be perceived, it must also cease to exist: in a word, that to be, and to be perceived, when predicated of the ground, the sun, the star- ry heavens, or any corporeal object, signify precisely the same thing. Now, if my com- mon sense be mistaken, who shall ascertain and correct the mistake? Our reason, it is said. Are then the inferences of reason in this instance clearer, and more decisive, than the dictates of common sense? By no means : I still trust to my common sense as before; and I feel that I must do so. But supposing the inferences of. the one faculty as clear and decisive as the dictates of the other ; yet who will assure me, that my reason is less hable to mistake than my common sense? And if reason be mistaken, what shall we say ? Is this mistake to be rectified by a se- cond reasoning, as liable to mistake as the first? — In a word, we must deny the dis- tinction between truth and falsehood, adopt universal scepticism, and-wander without end from one maze of uncertainty to another ; a state of mind so miserable, that Milton makes it one of the torments of the damned ; — or else we must suppose, that one of these facul- ties is of higher authority than the other ; and that either reason ought to submit to common sense, or common sense to reason, whenever a variance happens between them ; — in other words, that no doctrine ought to be admitted as true that exceeds belief, and contradicts a first principle. It 40 AN ESSAY [Part I. It has been said, that every enquiry in phi- losophy ought to begin with doubt; — that nothing is to be taken for granted, and no- thing beheved, without proof. If this be ad- mitted, it must also be admitted, that rea- son is the ultimate judge of truth, to which common sense must continually act in subor- dination. But this I cannot admit ; because I am able to prove the contrary by incontest- able evidence. I am able to prove, that " ex- " cept we believe many things without proof, " we never can believe any thing at all ; for " that all sound reasoning must ultimately " rest on the principles of common sense ; " that is, on principles intuitively certain, " or intuitively probable; and consequent- " ly, that common sense is the ultimate *' judge of truth, to which reason must con- " tinually act in subordination." — This I mean to prove by a fair induction of parti- culars. CHAP II. All Reasomng ierminates injirst Principles. All Evidence ultimately intmti'ce. Common Sense the Standard of Truth to Man. Xn this induction, Ave cannot comprehend all sorts of evidence, and modes of rea- goning ; but we shalj endeavour to inveteti- gatQ Cli. II.] ON TRUTH. 41 gate the origin of those which are the most important, and of the most extensive influ- ence in science and common Hfe*; begin- ning with the simplest and clearest, and ad- vancing gradually to those which are more complicated, or less perspicuous. * That the induction here given is sufficiently compre- hensive, will appear from the following analysis : All the objects of the human understanding may be reduced to two classes, viz. Abstract Ideas, and Things really existing. Gt Abstract Ideas andtheir Relations, all our knowledge is certain, being founded on Mathematical Evi- dence (ay, which comprehends, I. Intuitive Evidence, and, S. the Evidence of strict Demonstration. We judge o^ Things really existing, either, I. from our tKisn experience ; or, 2. from the -experience of other men. 1. Judging of Real Existences from our own experience, we attain either Certainty or Probability. Our know- l that tke *flotroa of bodied placed at a distance from me does not follotv or de- fied on the motion H^ey ate no less necessary to our existence* What can be of gj'eater consequence to migja, than his moral sentiments. Ins reason, hi& memory, his imaginatiofi? What more in- teresting, than to know, whether his notipps of, duty and of truth be, the djutatfe^^his nature, that is, the voice of God, m tfe^ Ho** sitive . institutions i v ■ If a man \^ere sceptical in this matter, it woul4 Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 59 wDuld not be in the power of argument to cure him*. Such a man could not be said to have any moral principle distinct from the hope of reward, the fear of punishment, or the force of custom. But that there is in hu« man nature a moral principle distinct from those motives, has been felt and acknowledg- ed by men of all ages and nations ; and in- deed was never denied or doubted, except by a few metaphysicians, who, through want either of sense or of honesty, found them- selves disposed to deny the existence, or ques- tion the authenticity, of our moral feelings. In the celebrated dispute concerning liberty and necessity, some of the advocates for the Ja,tter have either maintained, that we have no sense of moral liberty; or, granting that we have such a sense, have endeavoured to * All that is here meant in regard to Moral Obliga- tion, is, that Mprality, like other sciences, is founded on certain firSt priilciples, and that the dictates of conscience are to e^ery good man the highest authority in matters of duty. I see no paradox in this doctrine ; which, if I mistake not, is admitted by the best divines and moralists, and by mankind in general. How far this doctrine may be afrected by what casuists have urged in regard to an erroneous conscience, or by the opinions of some philo- sophers concerning the mutability of moral sentiment, and its liableness to be perverted by education and habit, is an enquiry of very great extent, which I have not here entered upon at all (though i have written many a pasfe on the subject), because I inteijd^d long ago, and do still intend, when I shall have health and leisure, to make it the argument of another book. See below, part 2. ch. 1, gcct. 3. § 4, prove 60 AN ESSAY [Parti. prove it deoeitfal. Now, if we be conscious that we have a sense of moral hberty, it is certainly as absurd to argue against the exist- ence of that sense,' as against the reality of any other matter of fact. And if the real existence of that sense be acknow^ledged, it cannot be proved to be deceitful by any ar- guments which may not be applied to prove other powers of our nature deceitful ; and consequently, to show, that man ought not to believe any thing that depends, for its evi- dence on these internal su^estions^ But more of this afterwards. We have no other direct evidence than this of consciousness, or internal sensation, for the existence and identity of our own soul*. I exist * I say, rfjjTrt evidence. But there are net wanting other irrefragable, though indirect, evidences of the exist- ence of the human soul. Such is that which results from a, contp9,rison of the known qualities qf matter with the phenomena of animal motion and thought. The further we carry our enquiries into matter, the more we are con- vinced of its incapacity to begin motion. And as to thought, and its several modes, if we tliink that they migktlfe produced bya^iy possible arrangement of the mi- nute particles of matter, we form a supposition as arbit;:a- ry^ as little >varranted by experience or evidence of ac^y lund, and as contrary to the rules that determine us in all our rational conjecture, as if tve were to suppose, that diamonds mght be produced from the smoke of a candle, or that men might groyr like mushrooms p^t ,pf the earth. Theje must then, in all aniim^Is, and ^^^ cially in man, be a principle, not only distinct and.di&r- ent from body, but in some respects of a quite contrary nature. To ask, whether the Deity, without uniting body eh. II, 3.] ON TRUTH. 61 I exist ;-i-I am the same being to-day I was ye&terday, and twenty years ago; this principle, or being, within me, that thinks and body widi spirit, could create tbinking^ matter, is just such a question, as, whether he could create a being essentially icttve and essentially inactive, capable of beginning mo- tion, and at the same time ilica^ble of beginning mo- tion : queBtloDs, which; if we jul-ow .experience to be a rational ground of knowledge, we need not scruple to answer in the negative, fot these questions, according to the bfest Kghts that our rational fecuMies cafe aflford, seem to us to refer to the production of an effect as truly impossible, as round squareness, hot cold, black white- ness, or true falsehood. Yet I am inclined to think, it is not by this arguiiient that the g^ierality Of mankind are led to acknowledge the existence of .their own minds. An evidence more di- rect, much more obvious, and pot less convincing, every ftan discioVerfe in the instinctive suggestions of nature. We perceive *he existence of our souls by intuition ; and this I believe is the only way in which the vulgar perceive it. But their conviction is oot on Jthat account the weaker ; on the contrary, they would think the man mad who Should se^iii to entertain any doubts on this su°bjeet. One of the first thoughts thai, occur to Mjil^on s Adam, tehen " nevr- waked from soundest sleep,'^ is to enquire after the cause oit 6xistenc,e : i « Thou Bun, iBaid I, f^r light ! " And thou enlighten'd earth, so fresh and gat •' " Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woo^ds, and plpins, " And yfe that Hve and mot*,'fai¥ creatures, Mlj " Tell, if yfe «aw, hoW came 1 thus, how here ; " Not ofntyatiffi-^hy s6me great Maker then, " In goodiiteSs and in p6'wyt p^emiiieht. * T«ffl me, bow I may know him, how adore, " Fropi whom I ha,ve, that thus I move and liye^ " AndftSdlthatlaiiihapl^erthanlknow.'^ Para$se JLost^ viiu 275. Of 62 AN ESSAY [Part L and acts, is one permanent and individual principle, distinct from all other principles, beings, or things ; — — these are dictates of internal sensation natural to man, and uni- versally acknowledged: and they are of so great importance, that while we doubt of their truth, we can hardly be interested in any thing else whatsoever. If I were to believe, with some authors, that my mind is perpe- tually changing, so as to become every differ- ent moment a different thing, the remem- brance of past, or the anticipation of future good or evil, could give me neither pleasure nor pain ; yea, though I were to believe, that a cruel death would overtake me within an hour, I should be no more concerned, than if I were told, that a certain elephant, three thousand years hence, would be sacrificed on Of the reality of his own life, motion, and existence, it is observable that he makes no question ; and indeed it would have been strange if he had. But Dryden, in his opera called The state of Innocence^ would needs- attempt an improvement on this passage; and to make surer work, obliges Adam to prove his existence by argu- ment, before he allows him to enter upon any other enquiry. : . . " What am I ? or from whence ? — For that! am " I know, because I think : biit whence I came, " Or how this frame of mine began to be, " What other being can disclose to me ? . , Act. % scene \. Dryden, it seems, had read Des Cartes ; but Milton had studied nature : accordingly Diyden speaks like a mejta- pbysician, Milton like a poet and philosopher. the Ch.II.3.] ON TRUTH. 63 the top of Mount Atlas. To a man who doubts the individuahty or identity of his own mind, virtucj truth, religion, good and evil, hope, and fear, are absolutely nothing. Metaphysicians have taken some pains to confound our notions on the subject of iden- tity ; and, by establishing the currency of certain ambiguous phrases, have succeeded so well, that it is now hardly possible for us to explain these dictates of our nature, ac- cording to common sense and common expe- rience, in such language as shall be liable to no exception. The misfortune is, that many of the words we must use, though extremely well understood, are either too simple or too conaplex in their meaning, to admit a logi- cal definition ; so that the caviller is never at a loss for an evasive reply, to any thing we may advance. But I will take it upon me to affirm, that there are hardly any human no- tions more clearly, or more universally un- derstood, than those we entertain concerning the identity both of ourselves and of other things, however difficult we may sometimes find it to express those notions in proper words. And I will also venture to affirm, that the sentiments of the generality of man- kind on this head are grounded on such evifi dence, that he who refuses to be convinced by it, acts irrationally, and cannot, consist- ently with such refusal, believe any things 1. The existence of our own mind, as something different and distinct from the bod^, U AN ESSAY [Part I. body, is universally acknowledged. I say uni- versally ; having never heard of arty nation of men upon earth,: who did not, in theif convfirsation and behaviour, show, by the plaiiaest signs, that they made this distinction. Nayyso strongly are mankind impressed with it, that the rudest barbarians, by their in- cantations, thdr funeral solemnities, their traditions concerning invisible beings, and their hopes of a future state, seem to declare^ that to the existence of the soul the body is not, in their opinion, necessary. All philo- sophers, a few Epicureans and Pyrriwnists excepted, have acknoAvledged the existence of the soul, as one of the first and most unex- ceptionable principles of human science. Now whence couid' a notion so universal arise? Let us examine our own minds, and we shall find, that it could arise from nothing but consciousness, a certain irresistible per- suasion, that we have a soul distinct from the body. The evidence of this notion is intui<< ^ve; it is the evidence of internal sense. E^asoning can neither prove nor disprove it; Des Cartes, and his disciple Male- BBANCHE, acknowledge, that the exiiitence of the human soul must be believed by all men, even by those who can bring them- selves to doubt of every thing else. Mr* Simon Brown^, a learned and piow ' i * See his affecting, st^ry in the Adventurer* vjq|. S. 5 clergyman; Oi. H. 3.] ON TRUTH. 65 clergyman of the last age, is perhaps the only person on record of whom there is reason to think, that he seriously disbeUeved the exist- ence of his own soul. He imagined, that in GOBsequence pf an extraordinary interposition of divine power, his rational soul was grsu* dually annihilated, and that nothing was now left him, but a principle of animal life, which he held in common with the brutes. Bttt wherever the story of this excellent per- son is known, his unhappy mistake will be ipipated to madness, and to a deprivation of intellect, as real, and as extraordinary, as if he had dishidieved the existence of his body, (St the axioms of mathematics. 2. That the thinking prindple, which we believe to be within us, continues the same thnough lifei, is equally self-evident, and ec|U)aMy agreeable to the univeriml consent of niankind. If a, man were to speak and act in the evening, as if he believed himself to have become a different person since the morning, the whole world would proaouada* him mad> Were we to attempt to disbelieve our own identity, we should labour in vain j we could ia^ easily briiag ourselves to beliei^e, that it is possible for the same thing tO'be and not to he. But there is no reason ta think, that tins attempt was ever made bf any miai^i n©t.ivenby Mr. Hume himself ;ttioiigb1h«t ajithor, in. his Treatise of Human maituEt^ has asserted, yea, and proved too (according , to his notioas of proo^, that the humati' soul is 66 AN ESSAY [PartL is perpetually changing; being nothing but " a bundle of perceptions, that succeed each " other with inconceivable rapidity, and are " (as he chuses to express it) in a perpetual " llux*." He might as easily, in my opi- nion, and as decisively, with equal credit to his own understanding, and with equal ad- vantage to the reader, by a method of rea- soning no less philosophical, and with the same degree of discretion in the use of words, have attacked the axioms of mathematics, or any other truths intuitive or demonstrable, and produced a formal and serious confuta- tion of them. In explaining the evidence on which we believe our own identity, it is not necessary that I should here examine his. ar- guments against that belief: first, because the point in question is self-evident ; and therefore all reasoning on the other side un- philosophical and irrational : and, secondly, because I shall afterwards prove, that some of Mr. Hume's first principles are inconceiv- able, and that this very notion of his, con- cerning identity, when fairly stated, is pal- pably absurd. It has been asked, how we can pretend to have full evidence of our identity, when of identity itself we are so far from having a distinct notion, that we cannot define it. It might, with as good reason be asked, how we come to beUeve that two and two are » Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 438, &c, equal Ch.II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 67 equal to four, or that a circle- is different from a triangle, if we cannot define either equar- lity or diversity: — why we believe in our own existence, since we cannot define exist- ence : — why, in a word, the vulgar believe any thing at all, since they know nothing about the rules of definition, and hardly ever attempt it. In f9,ct, we have numberless ideas that admit not of definiton, and j^et concerning which we may argue, and believe and know with the utmost clearness and cer- tainty. To define heat or cold, identity or diversity, red or white, an ox or an ass, would puzzle all the logicians on earth ; yet nothing can be clearer, or more certain, than many of our judgments concerning those objects. The rudest of the vulgar know most perfectly what they mean, when they say, Three months ago I was at such a town, and have ever since been ,at home : and the conviction they have of the truth of this proposition is founded on the best of evidence, namely, on that of in- ternal sense ; in which all men, by the la\y of their nature, do and must implicitly be- lieve. It has been asked, whether this continued consciousness of our being always the same ^oes not constitute our sameness or identity. Ko more, I should answer, than our percep- tion of truth, light, or cold, is the efficient cause of truth, light, or cold. Our identity is perceived by consciousness ; but conscious- ness is. "as different from identity, .as. tlj^eun- E • derstanding 68 AN ESSAY [Part I. derstanding is different from truth, as past events are different from memory, as colours from the power of seeing. Consciousness of identity is so far from constituting identity, that it presupposes it. An animal might continue the same being, and yet not be con- scious of its identity ; which is probably the case with many of the brute creation ; nay, which is often the case with man himself. When we sleep without dreaming, or fall in- to a fainting fit*, or rave in a fever, and often too in our ordinary dreams, we lose all sense of our identity, and yet never conceive that * The following case, which M. Crozaz gave into the Academy of Sciences, is the most extraordinary instance of interrupted consciousness I have ever heard of. A nobleman of Lausanne, as he was giving orders to a ser- vant, suddenly lost his speech and all his senses. Differ- ent remedies were tried without effect for six months ; during all which time he appeared to bp in a deep sl^ep, or deliquium, with various symptoms at different pe- riods, which are particularly specified in the narration. At last, after some chirurgical operations, at the end of six months his speech and senses were suddenly restor- ed. When he recovered, the servant to whom he ha,d been giving orders when he was first seized with the dis- temper, happening to be in the room, he asked whether he had executed his commission ; not being sensible, it seems, that any interval of time, except perhaps a very short one, had elapsed during his illness. He lived ten years after, and died of another disease. See UHistoire de r Academic Royale des Sciences, pour Vannie 1719, -p. 28. Van Sweiten also relates this story in his com- mentaries on Boerhaave's Aphorisms, under the head Apoplexy. I mention it chiefly with a view to the read- er's amusement : he may consider the evidence, and be- lieve Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 69 that our identity has suffered any interrup- tion or change ; the moment we awake or re- cover, we are conscious that we are the same individual beings we were before. Man}'^ doubts and difficulties have been started about our manner of conceiving iden- tity of person under a change of substance. Plutarch tells us, that in the time of Deme- trius Phalereus, the Athenians still preserved the custom of sending every year to Delos the same galley which, about a thousand years before, had brought Theseus and his com- pany from Crete; and that it then used to be a question in the schools, how this could be the same vessel, when every part of its materials had been changed oftener than once*. It is asked, how a tree can be ac- counted the same, when, from a plant of an inch long, it has grown to the height of fifty feet ! and how identity can be ascribed to the human body, since its parts are continually changing, so that not one particle of the body I now have^ belonged to the body I had twenty years ago. iieve or disbelieve as he pleases. But that consciousness taay be interrupted by a total deliquium, without any change in our notions of our own identity, I know by my own experience. I am therefore fully persuaded, that the identity of this substance which I call my soul, may continue even when I am unconscious of it : and if for a shorter space, why not for a longer ? * Pluta«'ch, in Theseo. Plato, in Phaedone. e2 It 70 AN ESSAY [Fart I. It were well, if metaphysicians would think more and speak less on these subjects : they would then find, that the difficulties so much complained of are rather verbal than real. Was there a single Athenian who did not know in what respects the galley of Theseus continued the same, and in what respects it was changed ? It was the same in respect of its name, its destination, its shape perhaps, and size, and some other particulars; in re- spect of substance, it was altogether different. And when one party in the schools maintain- ed, that it was the same, and the other, that it Avas not the same, all the difference be- tween them was this, that the one used the word same in one sense, and the other in an- other. The identity of vegetables is as easily con- ceived. No man imagines, that the plant of an inch long is the same in substance with the tree of fifty feejt. The latter is by the vulgar supposed to retain all the substance of the former, but with the addition of an im- mense quantity of adventitious matter. Thus far, and no further, do they suppose the sub- stance of the tree to continue the same. They call it, however, the same tree : and the same it is in many respects, Avhich, to every person of common understanding, are obvious enough, though not easily expressed^ in unexceptionable language. Of the changes made in the human body by attrition, the vulgar have no notion. They Ch. II. ^.] ON TRUTH. 71 They believe the substance of a full-grown body to continue the same, notwithstanding its being sometimes fatter, and sometimes leaner; even as they suppose the substance of a wall to be the same before and after it is plaistered, or painted. They therefore do not ascribe to it identity of person, and diversity of substance, but a real and proper identity both of substance and person. Of the iden- tity of the body while increasing in stature, they conceive nearly in the same way as of the identity of vegetables : they know in what respects it continues the same, and in what respects it becomes different ; there is no confusion in their notions ; they never suppose it to be different in those respects in which they know it to be the same. When philosophers speak of the identity of the human body^ they must mean, not that its substance is the same, for this they say is perpetually changing ; but that it is the same, in respect of its having been all along animated with the same vital and thinking principle, distinguished by the same name, marked with the same or similar features, placed in the same relations of life, &c. It must be obvious to the intelligent reader, that the difficulties attending this subject arise, not from any ambiguity or intricacy in our notions or judgments, for these are ex- tremely clear, but from our way of expressing them: the particulars in which an object con- tinues the same, are often so blended with those 72 AN ESSAY [Part I. those in which it has become different, that we cannot find proper words for marking the distinction, and therefore must have recourse to obscure circumlocutions. But whatever judgments we form of the identity of corporeal objects, we cannot from them draAV any inference concerning the identity of our mind. We cannot ascribe ex- tention or solidity to the soul, far less any in- crease or diminution of solid or extended parts. Here, therefore, there is no ground for distinguishing diversity of substance from identity of person. Our soul is the very same being now it was yesterday, last year, twenty years ago. This is a dictate of common sense, an intuitive truth, which all man- kind, by the law of their nature, do and must believe, and the contrary of which is inconceivable. We have perhaps changed many of our principles ; we may have ac- quired many new ideas and notions, and lost many of those we once had ; but that the sub- stance, essence, or personality of the soul has suffered any change, increase, or dimi- nution, we never have supposed, nor can suppose. New faculties have perhaps appear- ed, with which we were foi-merly unac- quainted ; but these we cannot conceive to have affected the identity of the soul, any more than learning to write, or to play on a musical instrument, is conceived to affect the identity of the hand ; or than the perception of harmony the first time one hears music, is Ch.II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 73 is conceived to affect the identity of the ear'^ . Biit if we per(*eive our identity by con- sciousness, and if the acts of consciousness by which we perceive it be interrupted, how can we know that our identity is not inter- rupted ? I answer. The law of our nature determines us, whether we will or not, to believe that we continue the same thinking beings. The interruption of consciousness, whether more or less frequent, makes no change in this belief. My perception of the visible creation is every moment interrupted by the winking of my eyes. Am I therefore to believCj that the visible universe, which 1 this moment perceive, is not the same with * I beg leave to quote a few lines from an excellent poem, written by an author, whose genius and virtue were an honour to his country, and to human nature : " Am I but what I seem, mere flesh and blood, " A branching channel, and a mazy flood ? *' The purple stream, that through my vessels glides, " Dull and unconscious, flows like common tides. " The pipes, thi'oueh which the circling juices stray^ " Are hot that thinking I, no more than they. " TTiis frame, compacted with transcendent skill, " Of moving joints, obedient to my will, " Nursed from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree, *' Waxes arid wastes : I call if mine, not me. *' New matter still the mouldering mass su^kinsj *' The mansion changed, the tenant still remains ; *',,And, fjfbm the fleetiujg stream repair'd by food, *^ Distinct, as is the swimmer from the flood." Ahbuthnot. See Dodsky's Colkction,vol- l-p- ISO. the 74 ANTESSAY [Part I. the visible universe I perceived last moment? Then must I also believe, that the existence of the universe depends on the motion of my eyelids ; and that the muscles which move them have the power of creating and annihi- lating worlds. To conclude: That our soul exists, and continues - through life the same individual being, is a dictate of common sense ; a truth which the law of our nature renders it impos- sible for us to disbelieve ; and in regard to which, we cannot suppose ourselves in an error, without supposing our faculties fallaci- ous, and consequently disclaiming all convic- tion, and all certainty, and disavowing the distinction between truth and falsehood. SECT. IV. Of the Evidence of Memory. -I- HE evidence of memory commands our belief as effectually as that of sense. With regard to any of my transactions of yes- terday which I now remember, I cannot doubt whether I performed them or not. That I dined/to-day,: and was in bed last night, is as certain- to me, as that I at pre- sent see the colour of this paper. If we had no meraory,,knowledge and experience would be Ch. II. 4.] ON TRUTH. 73 be impossible ; and if we had any tendency to distrust our memory, knowledge and expe- rience would be of as little use in directing our conduct and sentiments, as our dreams now are. Sometimes we doubt, whether in a particular case we exert memory or imagi- nation ; and our belief is suspended accord- ingly: but no sooner do we become con- scious that we remember^ than conviction in- stantly takes place; we say, I am certain it was so, for now I remember I was an eye- witness. But who is it that teaches the child to be- lieve, that yesterday he was punished, be- cause he remembers to have been punished yesterday 1 Or, by what argument will you convince him, that, notwithstanding his re- membrance, he ought not to believe that he was punished yesterday, because memory is fallacious ? The matter depends not on edu- cation or reasoning. We trust to the evi- dence of memory, because we cannot help trusting to it. The same Providence that en- dued us with memory, without any care of ours, endued us also with an instinctive pro- pensity to believe in it, previously to all rea- soning ^nd experience. Nay, all reasoning supposes the testimony of memory to be au- thentic; for, without trusting implicitly to this testimony, no train of reasoning could be prosecuted ; we could never be convinced, that the conclusion is fair, if we did not re- member the several steps of the argument, and if 76 AN ESSAY [Part 1. if we were not certain that this remenibrance is not fallacious. The diversities of hiemory in different men are very remarkable ; arid in the same man the remembrance of some things is more last- ing, and more lively, than that of others. Some of the ideas of memory seem to decay gi'adually by leiigth of time'; so that there may be some things Which I distinctly re- membered seven years ' agb, but which at present I remetnbei' very imperfectly, and which in seven years more (if I live so long), I shall have utterly forgotten. Hence some have been led to think, that the evidence of memory decays gradually^ from absolute cer- tainty, through all the degtees of probability, down to that suspetiSe of judgiuent which We call dduht. They seetti to have imagined^ that the vivacity of the idea is in some sort necessary to the estiablishment of belief. Nay, one author* has gone so far as to say, that belief is iiothing else but this vivacity of ideas ; as if we never believed what we have no lively conceptibn of, nor doubted of any thing of which We have a lively conception. But this doctrine i^ so absurd, that it hardly deserves coiifutation. I have a more lively idea of Don Qilixote than of the present King <£ I'russia ; and yet I believe thAt the latter d6es^ exist, aiid that the former never did. When I was a schoolboy, I read an abridg- :■* Treatise of Human Nature, vol. i. p.-lTS. ment Ch. II. 4.] ON TRUTH. 77 ment of the History of Robinson Crusoe, and believed every word of it; since I grew up, I have read that ingenious work at large, and consequently have a much livelier conception of it than before ; yet now I believe the whole to be a fiction. Some months ago, I read the Treatise of Human Nature, and have at pre- sent a pretty clear remembrance of its con- tents ; but I shall probably fongetthe greater part in a short time. When that happens, I ought not, according to this theory, to be- lieve that I ever read it. As long, however, as my faculties remain unimpaired, I fear I shall hatdly be able to bring myself to this pitch of scepticism. No, no ; 1 shall ever have good reason to remember my having read that book ; however itaperfect ttiy re- membrance may be, and however little ground I may have to congratulate myself upon my acquaintance with it. The vivacity of a perception does not seem necessary to our belief of the existence of the thing perceived. I see a town afar off; its visible magliitude is not more than all inch square, and therefore my perception of it is neither lively nor distinct ; and yet I as cei"- tainly believe that town to exist, as if 1 were in the centre of it. I see an object in motion on the top of yonder hill ; I cannot discern whether it be a man, or a horse, or both : I therefore exert no belief in regard to the class or species of things to which it belongs; but I believe with as much assurance that it 4 exists, 78 AN ESSAY [Part I. exists, as if I saw it distinctly in all its parts and dimensions. We have never any doubt of the existence of an object so long as we are sure that we perceive it by our senses, whether the perception be strong or weak, distinct or confused ; but whenever we begin to doubt, whether the object be perceived by our senses, or whether we only imagine that we perceive it, then we likewise begin to doubt of its existence. These observations are applicable to me- mory. I saw a certain object some years ago ; my remembrance of it is less distinct, now than it was the day after I saw it ; but I be- lieve the evidence of my memory as much at present as I did then, in regard to all the parts of it which I now am conscious that I remember. Let a past event be ever so re- mote in time, if I am conscious that I re- member it, I still believe, with equal assur- ance, that this event did once take place. For what is memory, but a consciousness of our having formerly done or perceived some- thing.? And if it be true, that something is perceived or done at this present moment, it will always be true, that at this moment that thing was perceived or done. The evi- dence of memory does not decay in propor- tion as the ideas of memory becomes less live- ly ; as long as we are conscious that we re- member, so long will the evidence attending that remembrance produce absolute certain- ty ; and absolute certainty admits not of de- grees. Ch. II. 4.] ON TRUTH. 79 grees. Indeed, as was already observed, when remembrance becomes so obscure, that we are at a loss to determine whether we remember or only imagine an event, — in this case belief will be suspended till we become certain whether we remember or not; when- ever we become certain that we do remem- ber, conviction instantly arises. Some have supposed that the evidence of memory is liable to become uncertain, be- cause we are not well enough acquainted with the difference between memory and imagina- tion, to be able at all times to determine, whether the one or the other be exerted in regard to the events or facts we may have oc- casion to contemplate. " You say, that while " you only imagine an event, you neither " believe nor disbelieve the existence or rea- " lity of it ; but that as soon as you become " conscious that you remember it, you in- " stantly believe it to have been real. You " must then know with certainty the differ- " ence between memory and imagination, " and be able to tell by what marks you " distinguish the operations of the former " from those of the latter. If you cannot do " this, you may mistake the one for the " other, and think that you imagine when you " really remember, and that you remember " when you only imagine. That belief, " therefore, must be very precarious, which " is built upon the evidence of memory, " since this evidence is so apt to be con- *' founded 80 AM ESSAY [Part I. " founded with the visionary exhibitions of " imagination, which, by your own acknow- " ledgment, can never constitute a founda- " tion for true rational behef*/' This is an objection according to the metaphysical mode ; which, without consulting experience, is satisfied if a few plausible words can be put together in the form of an argument: but this objection will have no credit with those who acknowledge ultimate instinctive principles of conviction, and who have more faith in their own feelings than in the sub- tleties of logic. It is certain the vulgar are not able to give a satisfactory account of the difference be- tween memory and imagination ; even philo- sophers h^ve not always succeeded in their attempts to illustrate this point-f-. Mr. Hume tells * I do not remember where 1 have met with this ar- gument. Perhaps I may have heard it in conversation. + Addison, in the Spectator, No. 411, seems to con- sider imagination as a faculty conversant among those idfeas only which are derived from the sense of seeing". But is not this acceptation of the word too limit;ed ? I. can invept, and consequently imagine, a tune which I never heard. When I look at Hogarth's humorous print of The. Enraged Musician, I can imagine the several discordant sounds supposed to proceed fiom the persons and instruments there assembled. Men born blind, or who have lost all remembrance of liglit and colours, are as capable of invention, and dream as frequently as those who see : my learned, ingenious, and worthy friend, Dr. BlacLlock of Edinburgh, who lost his sight at five months old, is an example of both. Some authors have defined imagination^ Ch.II.4.] OH TRUTH. 81 tells us, that ideas of memory are distin- guished from those of imagination by the su- perior vivacity of the former*. This may sometimes, but cannot always, be true : for ideas of imagination are often mistaken for objects of sense; ideas of memory never. The former, therefore, must often be more lively than the latter: for, according to this au- thor's own account, all ideas are weaker than impressions, or informations of sense-f-. Dreaming persons, lunatics, stage-players, enthusiasts, and all who are agitated by fear, or other violent passions, are apt to mistake ideas of imagination for real things, and the perception of those ideas for real sensation. And the same thing is often experienced by persons of strong fancy, and great sensibility of temper, at a time when they are not troubled with any fits of irrationality or vio- lent passion. imagination, The simple apprehension of corporeal ob- jects when absent. But cannot a good man imagine the remorse of a murderer, or the anxieties of a miser ! Cannot one invent new theories in the abstract philoso- phy, or even an entire new system of it .'-—Imagina- tion, in the modem philosophic language, seems to de- note two things : 1. That power of the mind which con- templates ideas (that is, thoughts or notions) without re- ferring them to real existence, or to our past experience ; ^. That power which combines ideas ioto new forms or assemblages. * Treatise of Human Nature, vol.i. p. 153- + Ibid. p. 41. But 82 AN ESSAY [Parti. But whatever difficulty we may find in de- fining or describing memory, so as to distin- guish it from imagination, we are never at any loss about our own meaning, when we speak of remembering and of imagining. We all know what it is to remember, and what it is to imagine; a retrospect to former experience always attends the exertions of memory ; but those of imagination are not attended with any such retrospect. " I re- " member to have seen a lion ; and I can " imagine an elephant or centaur, which I " have never seen/' — Every body who uses these words knows very well what they mean, whether he be able to explain his meaning by other words or not. The truth is, that when we remember, we generally know that we remember ; when Ave imagine, we generally know that we imagine* : such is our consti- tution. We therefore do not suppose the evi- dence of memory uncertain, notwithstand- ing that we may be at a loss to explain the difference between that faculty and imagina- tion : this difference is perfectly known to every man by experience, though perhaps no man can fuUy express it in words. There are many things very familiar to us, which * In dreams indeed this is not the case ; but the delu- sions of dreaming, for all our frequent experience of them, are never supposed to affect in the least degree either the veracity of our faculties, or the certainty of our knowledge. See below. Part. ii. chap. ii. sect. ii. we CluII.S.] ON TRUTH. 83 we have no words to express. I cannot de- scribe, or define, either a red colour, which I know to be a simple object, or a white colour, which I know to be a composition of seveii colours : but will any one hence infer, that I am ignorant of their difference, so as not ta knoAv, when I look on ermine, whether it be white or red ? Let it not then be said, that because we cannot define memory and ima- gination, therefore "we are ignorant- of their difference: every .person of a .sound mind knows their difference, and can with certainty- determine, Avhen it is that he exerts the one, and when it is that he exerts the other. SECT, V. Of Tleasoning from the Effect of the Caust. rS.:t X LEFT my chamber an hour ago^ and now at my return find a book on the table, the size, and binding, and contents of which- are so remarkable, that I am certain it was not here when I went out, and that I never saw it before. I ask, who brought this book ; and am told, that nobody has entered my apartment since I left it. ThaU say I, is im- possible. I make a more particular enquiry ; and a servant, in whose veracity I can con- fide, assures me, that he hasi had his eye on. F my 84 AN ESSAY [Part h my chamber-door the whole iday, and that no person has entered it but myself only. Then, say I, the person who brought this book must have come in by the window or the chimney : for it is impossible that this book could have come hither of itself. The servant bids me remember, that my ciiimney is too narrow to admit any human creature, and that the window is secured on the inside in such a manner that it cannot be opened from without. I examine the walls ; it i» evident no breach has been made ; and there is but one door to the apartment. What shall I think? If the servant's report be true, and if the book have not been brought by any visible agent, it must have come in a mi- raculous manner, by the interposition of some invisible cause ; for still I must repeat, that without some cause it could not possibly have come hither. Let the reader consider the 6ase, and de- liberate with himself, whether I think irra- tionally on this occasion, or express myself too strongly, when I speak of the impossibility of a book appearing in my chamber without some cause of its appearance, either visible or invisible. I would not willingly refer such a phenomenon to a miracle ; but still a mi- rsicle is possible: whereas it is absolutely im- possible that this could have happened with- out a cause ; at least it seems to me to be as real an impossibility, as that a part should be greater than the whole, or that things equaJ CJi. II.^.] ON TRtrtH. 85 equal to one and the same thing should be unequal to one another. And I presume the reader will be of my opinion ; for, in all my intercourse with others, and after a careful examination of my own mind, I have never fouud any reason to think, that it is possible for a human, or for a rational creature, to conceive a thing beginning to exist, and pro- ceeding from no cause. I pronounce it tlierefore to be an axiorn^ «lear, certain, ahd undeniable. That " what- " ever beginnetfh to exist, pro ceedeth from *' some cause." I cannot bring myself to think, that the reverse of any geometrical ■axiom is more incredible than the revisrse oi this ; and therefore I am ds certain of, the truth of this, as I can be of the truth of the other ; and cannot, without contradictingj myself^ and doing violence to my nature, €ven attempt to believe otherwise. Whether this maxim be intuitive or de^ monstrable, may perhaps admit of some dis- pute; but the determination of that point will not in the least affect thfe truth of the maxim. If it be demonstrable, we can then assign a reason fw our belief of it : if it be intuitive, it is on the same footing with other intuitive axioms; that is, We believe it, be*^ cause the law of bur nature renders it im»- possible for us to disbeUere it In proof of this maxim it has been said, that nothing can p&xwJwJe itsdf. Bui this tfuth is not more evident than the truth to 3p2 be S6 AN ESSAY [Parti. be proved, and therefore is no proof at all. Kay, this last proposition seems to be only a different, and less proper way of expressing the same thing: — Nothing can produce it- self; — that is, every thing produced must be produced by some other thing ; — that is, every effect must proceed from a cause ; — and that is (for all effects being posterior tp their causes, must necessarily have a begin- ning), " every thing beginning to exist pro- " ceeds from some cause.^' Other arguments have been offered in proof of this maxim, which I think are sufficiently confuted by Mr. Hume, in iiis Treatise of Human Nature*. This maxim therefore he affirms, and I al- low, to be not demonstrably certain. But he further affirms, that it is not intuitively certain ; in which I cannot agree with him. " All certainty," says he, " arises from the " comparison of ideas, and from the disco-/ " very of such relations as are unalterable so '* long as the ideas continue the same ; but " the only relations -f- of this kind are re- " semblance, proportion in quantity and * Book l.partS. sect. 3. + There are, aciconling to Mr. HtJMF., seven different kinds of pliilosophieal relation, to wit, Resemblance, Identity, Rielations of time and place, Proportion in quan- tity or number, ^Degrees in any common quality, Con- trariety, and Causation. And by the word Uclation he here means, that particular circumstance in which we may tliink proper to compare ideas. See Treatise of JJu*. man Nature^ zoL 1, p. 32. 14.^. " number. Ch.II.o.] ON TRUTH. 87 " number, degrees of any quality, and con- " trariety ; none of which is implied in the " niaxim, J f hat ever begins to exist, proceeds *' from some cause : — that maxim therefore is " not intuitively certain."^ — ^This argument, if it prove any thing at all, would prove, that the rhaxim is not even certain ; for we are here told, that it has not that character or quality from which all certainty arises. But, if I mistake not, both the premises of this syllogism are false. In the first place, I cannot admit, that all certainty arises from a comparison of ideas. 1 am certain of the existence of myself, and of the other things that affect my senses ; I am certain that " whatever is, is ;" and yet I cannot con- ceive, that any comparison of ideas is neces- sary to produce these convictions in my mind. Perhaps I cannot speak of them without using words expressive of relation ; but the simple act or perception of the understanding by which I am conscious of them, implies not any comparison that I can discover. If it did, then the simplest intuitive truth requires proof, or illustration at least, before it can be acknowledged as truth by the mind ; wliich I presume will not be found warranted by experience. Whether others are conscious of making such a comparison, before they yield assent to the simplest intuitive truth, I know not; but this I know, that my mind is often conscious of certainty \\}\eve no such comparison 83 AN ESSAY [Parti, comparison has been made by me. I ac- knowledge, indeed, that no certain truth can become an object of science., till it be ex- pressed in words ; that, if expressed in words,, it must assume the form of a proposition ; and that every proposition, being either affirma- tive or negative, must imply a comparison of the thing or subject, with that quality or cir- cumstance which is affirpaed or denied to be- long to or agree with it : and therefore X acknowledge, that in science all certainty may be said to arise from a comparison o|" ideas. But the generality of mankind be- lieve many things as certain, which they never thought of expressing in words. iVn ordinary man believes, that himself, his. fami-; ly, his house, and, cattle, exist ; but, in ordei; to produce this belief in hi^ mind, is it ne- cessary, that he compare those objects with the general idea of es,istence or non-existence, so as to discern their agreement with the one, or disagreement with the other ? I cannot think it: at least, if he has ever made such a comparison, it must have been without hi& knowledge ; for I a,m convinced, tliat, if we were to, ask him the question,, he- wo,uld not understand us. Secondly. I apprehend, that o^r author Jiias not enumerated all the relations which, when discovered, give risp to certainty. I §.m certain, that I am the same person to-day I was yesterday. This indeed our author denies Ch. II. 5.] ON TRUTH. «9 denies*. I cannot help it ; I am cei'tain not- withstanding ; and 1 flatter myself there are not many peRsons in the world who would think this sentiment of mine a paradox. I say, then, I am certjiin, that I am the same person to-day I was yesterday. Now, the re- > lation expressed in this proposition is not re- semblance, nor proportion in quantity and number, nor degrees of any common quali- ty, nor contrariety : it is a relation different from all these ; it is identity or sameness.— That London is contiguous to the Thames, is a proposition which many of the most sen- sible people in Europe hold to be certainly true ; and yet the relation ej^pressed in it is none of those four which our author supposes to be the sole proprietors of certainty. For it is not in respect of resemblance, of propor- tion in quantity or number, or contrariety, or of degrees in 9.ny common quality, that London and the Thames are here compared, but purely in respect of place or sjtiiation. , Again? That the foregoing maxim is nei- ther intuitively nor demonstrably certain, our author attempts to prove, from this con- sideration, that we c3nnot demonstrate the impossibility of the contrary. Nay, the con- trary, he says, is not inconceivable ; " for '' we can conceive an object non-existent this ^' moment, and existent the next, without * See part % chap, 2. sect. 1. of tliis £)ssay. ** joiniog 90 AN ESSAY [Part X. " joining it to the idea of a cause, which, is *' an idea altogether distinct and different." But this, I presume, is not a fair state of the case. Can we cor)ceive a thing beginning to exist, and yet bring ourselves to think that a cause is not necessary to the production of such a thing? If we cannot, (I am sure I cannot,) then is the contrary of this maxim, when fairly stated, found to be truly and pro- perly inconceivable. But whether the contrary of this maxim be inconceivable or not, the maxim itself may be intuitively certain. Of intuitive, as well as of demonstrable truths, there are dif- ferent kinds. It is a character of some, that their contraries are inconceivable : such are ' the axioms of geometry. But of many other intuitive truths, the contraries are conceiv- able. " I do feel a hard body ;"— "• I da ^' not feel a hard body;" — these proposi- tions are equally conceivable : the first is true, for I have a pen between my fingers ; but I cannot prove its truth by argument ; therefore its truth is perceived intuitively. Thus far we have argued for the sake of argument, and opposed metaphysiq to meta- physic*, in order to prove, that our au- thor's reasoning on the present subject is not conclusive. It is now time to enter into the merits of the cause, and consider the matter' philosophically, that is, according to fact and * See part 3. chap. '2. of this Essay. -« u experience. Ch. 11,5.] ON TRUTH. 91 experience. And in this way we bring it to a very short issue. The point in dispute is, Whether this maxim, " Whatever begins to *' exist, proceeds from some cause," be intui-. tively certain ? That the mind naturally and necessarily assents to it without an}'^^ doubtj and considers its contrary as impossible, I have already shewn ; the maxim, therefore, is certainly true. That it cannot, b}^ any ar- gument, or medium of proof, be rendered more evident than it is when first apprehend- ed by the mind, is also certain ; for it is of itself as evident as any proposition that can be urged in proof of it. If, therefore, this maxim be true (as every rational being feels, and acknowledges), it is a principle of com- pion sense : we believe it, not because we can give a reason, but because, by the law of our nature, we must believe it. Our opinion of the necessity of a cause to the production of every thing that has a be- ginning, is by our author , supposed to arise from observation and experience. It is true, that in our experience we have never found any thing beginning to exist, and proceeding from no cause ; but I imagine it will not ap- pear, that our belief of this axiom hath expe- rience for its foundation. For let it be re- marked, that some children, at a time when their experience is very scanty, seem to he as sensible qf the truth of this axiom, as many persqns arrived at maturity. I do not mean, that they ever repeat it in the form of a pror position ; 9S AN ESSAY [Part I. position ; or that, if they were to hear it re- peated in that form, they would instantly declare their assent to it ; for a proposition can never be rationally assented to, except by those who understand the words that com- pose it : but I mean, that these children have a natural propensity to enquire after the cause of any effect or event that engages their at- tention ; which they would not do, if the view of an event or effect did not suggest to them, that a cause is necessary to its pro- duction. Their curiosity in asking the rea- sons and causes of every thing they see and hear, is often very remarkable, and rises even to impertinence; at least it is called so when one is not prepared to give them an answer. I have known a child break open his drum, to see if he could discover the cause of its ex-» traordinary sound ; and that at the hazard of rendering the plaything unserviceable, and of being punished for his indiscretion. If the ardour of this curiosity were always pror portioned to the extent of a child's experience, or to the care his teachers have taken to make him attentive to the dependance of effects on causes, we might then ascribe it to the power of education, or to a habit contracted by ex- perience. But every one who has had an op- p>ortunity of conversing with children, knows that this is not the case ; and that their cu- riosity cannot otherwise be accounted for, than by supposing it instinctive, and, like other instincts, stronger in some minds, and weaker Ch. II.-5.] ON TRUTH. 93 weaker in others, independently on expe- rience and education, and in consequence of the appointment of that Being who has been pleased to make ofie man differ from another in his intellectual accomplishments, as well as in his features, complexion, and size. Nor let it be imagined, because some children are in this respect more curious than others, that therefore the belief of this maxim is instinct- ive in some minds only : the maxim may be equally believed by all, notwithstanding this diversity. For do we not find a similar di- versity in the genius of different men ? Some inen have a philosophical turn of mind, and love to investigate causes, and to have a rea- son ready on every occasion ; others are in- different as to these matters, being ingrossed by studies of another kind. And yet I pre- sume it will be found, that the truth of this maxim is felt by every man, though perhaps tnany men never thought of putting it in words in the form of a proposition. We repeat, therefore, that this axiom is ©ne of the principles of common sense, which every rational mind does and must acknow- ledge to be true ; not because it can be prov- ed, but because the law of nature determines us to believe it without proof, and to look upon its contrary as absurd and impossible. The axiom now before us is the founda- tion of the most important argument that pver employed human reason ; I mean that which, from the works that are created, evinces 94 AN ESSAY [Parti evinces the eternal power and godhead of the Creator. That argument, as far as ^ it rcsol ves itself into this axiom, is properly a demon- stration, being a clear deduction from a self- evident principle ; and therefore no man can pretend to understand it without feeling it to be conclusive. So that what the Psalmist says, of the Atheist is literally true. He is a fool ; as really irrational aS if he refused to be con- vinced by a mathematical demonstration. Nay, he is more irrational ; because there is no truth demonstrated in mathematics which so many powers of our nature conspire to ra- tify, and with which all rational minds are so deeply impressed. The contemplation of the Divine Nature is the most useful and tlie most ennobling exercise in which our faculties can be engaged ; and recommends itself to every man of sound judgment and good taste, as the most durable and most perfect enjoyment that can fall to the share of any created be- ing. Sceptics may wrangle, and mockers may blaspheme ; but the pious man knows by evidence too sublime for their comprc^ hension^, that his affections are not misplac-r ed, and that his hopes shall not be disap- pointed ; by evidence which, to every sound * My meaning is only this, that the faith of pious men will be strengthened by such supernatural aid as unbe- lievers or blasphemers can have no reason to expec^ ; a doctrine which, if I mistake npt^ ^s warranted by th^ scripture ; John. vii. 17. mir^d, Ch. II. 5.] ON TRUTH. 95 mind, is fuHy satisfactory ; but which, to the humble and tender-hearted, is altogether overvvhelniing, irresistible, and divine. That many of the objects in nature have had a beginning, is obvious to our own senses and memory, or confirmed by unquestionable testimony ; these, therefore, according to the axiom we are, here considering, must be be- lieved to have proceeded from a cause ade- quate at least to the effects produced. That the whole sensible universe hath to us the ap-- pearance of an effect, of something which once was not, and which exists not by any necessity of nature, but by the appointment of some powerful and intelligent cause differ- ent from and independent on it ; — that the universe, I say, has this appearance, cannot be denied : and that it is Avhat it appears to be, an effect ; that it had a beginning, and was not from eternity, is proved by every sort of evidence the subject will admit. And if so, we offer violence to our understanding, when we attempt to believe that the whole universe does not proceed from some cause ; and we argue unphilosophically when we en- deavour to disprove this natural and univer- sal suggestion of th^ human mind. It is true, the universe is, as one may say, a work siii generis, altogether singular, and such, as we cannot properly compjare to other " works; because indeed all works are compre* hended in it. But that natural dictate of the mind by which we believe the universe to havQ m A:N essay [Part I. have proceeded from a cause, arises from our considering it as an effect ; a circumstance in which it is perfectly similar to all works whatsoever. The singularity of the effect rather confirms (if that he possible) than weakens our belief of the necessity of a cause ; at least it makes us more atteijtive to the cause, and interests us more deeply in it? What is the universe, but a vast system of works or effects, some of them great, and others small ; some more and some less con- siderable ? If each of these works, the least as well as the greatest, require a cavise for its production; is it not in the highest degree absurd to say, that the whole is not the effect of a cause ? — Each link of a great chain must be supported l^y something, but the whole chain may be supported by nothing: — nothing less than an ounce can be a coun- terpoise to an ounce, nothing less than a pound to a pound ; but the wing of a gnat, or nothing at all, may be a sufficient coun- terpoise to ten hundred thousand pounds*— Are not these assertions too absurd to deserve ian answer ? The reader, if he be acquainted with Mr. Hume's Essay on a particular Providence and a future Stat€, will see, that these remarks are intended as an answer to a very strange argument there advanced agaitist the belief of a Deity. " The universe," we are told, " is *' an object quite singular and unparalleled ; ** no other object that has fallen under our *' observatioii Qi. II. 5.] ON TRUTH. 97 *' observatioft bears any similarity to it; nei- " ther it nor its cause can be comprehended '-' under any known species ; and therefore *' concerning the cause of the oiniverse we " can form no rational conclusioa at all." 'I appeal to any man of sound judg- ment, whether that suggestion of his under- standing, which prompts him to infer a cause from an effect, has any dependance upon a prior operation of his mind, by which the effect in question is referred to its genus or species. When he pronounces concerning any object which he conceives to have had a beginning, that it must have proceeded from some cause, does this judgment necessarily imply any comparison of that object with others of a like kind ? If the new object were in every respect unlike to other objects, would this have any influence on his judgment? Would he not acknowledge a cause to be a§ necessary for the production of the most un- common, as of the most famihar object ?-«- If therefore I believe, that I myself owe my existence to some cause, because there is something in my mind which necessarily de- tennines me to this belief, I must also, for the very same reason, believe, that the whole universe, (supposed to have had a bfeginning) proceeds from some cause. The evidence of Jboth is the same. If I believe the first and, not the second, I believe and disbelieve the same evideace at the same time ; I believe that 2. 98 AN ESSAY jTart t that the very same suggestion of my under- standing is both, true and false. Though I were to grant, that, when an ob- ject is reducible to no known genus, no ra- tional inference can be made concerning its cause; yet it will not follow, that our in- ferences concerning the cause of the universe are irrational, supposing it reasonable to be- lieve that the universe had a beginning. If there be in the universe any thing which is' reducible to no known genus, let it be men- tioned : if there be any presumption for the existence of such a thing, let the foundation of that presumption be explained. And, if you please, I shall, for argument's sake, ad- mit, that concerning the cause of that parti- cular thing, no rational conclusion can be formed. But it has never been asserted, that the existence of such a thing is either real or probable. Mr. Hume only asserts, that the universe itself,' not any particular thing* in the universe, is reducible to no known genus. Well, then, let me ask. What is the universe ? A word ? No ; it is a vast col- lection of things. — Are all these things re- ducible to genera ? Mr. Hume does not deny. it. — Each of these things, then, if it had a beginning, must also have had a cause ? It must. — What thing in the universe exists un- caused.'* Nothing. — Is this a rational con-' elusion? So it seems.— It seems, then, that though it be rational to assign a qause to every thing in the universe, yet to assign a cause to Ch. II. 5.] ON TRUTH. 99 to the univei'se is not rational ! It. is shame^ fill thus to trifle with words. — In fact, this argument, so highly admired by its author, is no argument at all. It is founded on a distinction that is perfectly inconceivable. Twenty shillings make a pound : though you lay twenty shillings on the table, you have not laid down a pound, you have only laid down twenty shillings. If the reader cannot enter into this distinction, he will never be able to conceive in what the force ofMr. Hume's argument consists. If the universe had a beginning, it must have had a cause. This is a self-evident axiom, or at least an undeniable consequence of one. We necessarily assent to it ; such is the law of our nature. If we deny it, we cannot, without absurdity, believe any thing else ; because we at the same time deny the authenticity of those instinctive suggestions which are the foundation of all trijth. The Atheist will never be able to elude the force of this argument, till he can prove, that every thing in nature exists necessarily, independ- ently, and from eternity. If Mr. Hume's argument be found to turn to so little account, from the simple consi-^, .deration of the universe, as existing, and as having had a beginning, it will appear (if possible) still more irrational, when we take a view of the universe, and its parts, as of works curiously adapted to certain ends. Their existence displays the necessity of a • ' a powerful 100 AN ESSAY [Part I. powerful cause ; their frame proves the cause to be inteUigent, good, and wise. The meanest of the works of Nature (if any of Nature's works may be called mean), — the arrange- ment necessary for the production of the smallest plant, requires in the cause a degree of poWer and wisdom, which infinitely tran- scends the sublimest exertions of human abi- lity. What then shall we say of the cause that produces an animal, a rational soul, a world, a system of worlds, an universe? Shall we say, that infinite power and wisdom are not necessary attributes of that universal cause, though they be necessary attributes of the cause that ptoduces a plant ? Shall we say, that the maker of a plant may be acknow- ledged to be powerful, intelligent, and wise, because there are many other things in na- ture that resemble a plant ; but that we can- not rationally acknowledge the maker of the universe to be wise, powerful, or intelligent, because there is nothing which the universe resembles, or to which it may be compared ? Can the man wha argues in this manner have any meaning to his w^ords ? The other cavils thrown out agaitist the divine attributes, in this flimsy essay, I may ,4)erhaps have occasion to animadvert on here- after. Meantime to those readers who may be in danger from them, I would recommeaid a careful perusal of Butler's Analogy of Na- tural and Revealed Religion. 5 SECT. Ch. II. 6.] ON TRUTH. 101 SECT. VI. Of Probable or Experimental Reasomng. JLN all our reasonings from the cause to the effect, we proceed on a supposition, and a belief, that the course of nature will con- tinue to be in time to come what we expe- rience it to be at present, and remember it to have been in time past. This presump- tion of continuance is the foundation of all our judgments concerning future events ; and this, in many cases, determines our con*- viction as effectually as any proof or demon* stration whatsoever ; although the conviction arising from it be different in kind from what is produced by strict demonstration, as well as from those kinds of conviction that attend the evidence of sense, memory, and abstract intuition. The highest degree of conviction in reasoning from causes to effects, is called moral certainty ; and the inferior de- grees result from that species of evidence which is called probabiUty or verisimilitude. That all men will die ; that the sun will rise to-morrow, and the sea ebb amd flow ; that G 3 «leep 102 AN ESSAY [Part I. sleep will continue to refresh, and food to nourish us; that the same articulate sounds which to-day communicate the ideas of vir- tue and vice, meat and drink, man and beast, will to-morrow communicate the same ideas to the same persons, — no man can doubt, without being accounted a fool. In these, and in all other instances where our expe- rience of the past has been equally extensive and uniform, our judgment concerning the future amounts to "moral certainty : we be- lieve, with full assurance, or at least without doubt, that the same laws of nature which; have hitherto operated, will continue to ope- rate, as long as we foresee no cause to inter- rupt or hinder their operation. But no person who attends to his own mind will say, that, in these cases, our be- lief, or conviction, is the effect of a proof, or of any thing like it. If reasoning be at all employed, it is only in order to give us a clear view of our past experience with regard to the point in question. When this view is ob- tained, reasoning is no longer necessary ; the mind, by its own innate force, and in con- sequence of an irresistible and instinctive im- pulse, infers the future from the past,- im- mediately, and without the ihtervention of any argument. The sea has ebbed and flowed twice every day in time past ; therefore the sea will continue to ebb and flow twice every day in the time to come, — is by no means alo- Ch. II. 6.] ON TRUTH. 103 a logical deduction of a conclusion from pre- mises*. When our experience of the past has not been uniform nor extensive, our opinion with regard to the future falls short of moral cer- tainty ; and amounts only to a greater or less degree of persuasion, according to the greater or smaller proportion of favourable instances : — ^we say, such an event will pro- bably happen, such another is wholly impro- bable. If a medicine has proved salutary in one ' instance, and hurtful in five, a physi- cian would not chuse to recommend it,' ex. cept in a desperate case; and would then con- sider its success as a thing rather to be wish- ed than expected. An equal number of fa- vourable and unfavourable instances leave the mind in a state of suspense, without ex- citing the smallest degree of assurance on either side, except, perhaps, what may arise from our being more interested on the one side than on the other. A physician, influence ed by such evidence, would say, " My pa- ** tient may recover, and he may die : I am " sorry to say, that the former event is not " one whit more ■ probable than the latter." When the favouraWe instances exceed the un- favourable in number, we begin to think the . * This remark was first made by Mr. Hcme. See' it iUuBtratod at -great length in his Essays, part 2., sect. 4. See also Dr. Campbell s Dissertation on Mirades, p. 13, 14. edit. 2, X . ' , ' " . future 104 AN ESSAY [Parti. future event in some degree probable ; and more or less so, according to the surplus of favourable instances. A few favourable in- stances, without any mixture of unfavourable onissj Tender an event probable in a pretty high degree : but the favourable experience must be both extensive and uniform, before it can produce moral certainty. A man brought into being at maturity, and placed in a desert island, would abandoil himself to despair, when he first saw the sun set, ^nd the nigbt come on ; for he could have no expectation that ever the day would be re- newed. But he is transported with joy, when he again beholds the glorious orb appearing in the east, and the heavens and the earth illuirlinated as before. He a^in vifewsthe declining sun with apprehension, yet not without hope ; the second night is less dis- mal than the first, but is still uncomfortable, on account of the weakness of the probability produced by one favourable instance. As the instances grow more numerous, the probabi- lity becomes stronger and stronger : yet it may be questioned, whether a man in these circumstances would ever arrive at so high a degrefe of moral certainty in this matter as we experience ; who know, not only that the sun has risen every day since we began to exist, but also that the same phenomenon has happened regularly for more than five thou- sand years, without failing in a single in- stance. The judgment of our great epic poet Ch. II. 6.] ON TRUTH. 105 po^t appears no where to more advantage^ than in his eighth book ; where Adam relate* . to the angel what passed in his mind imme- diately after his awaking into life. The fol- lowing passage is at once transqend^ly. beautiful, and philosophieally just. " While thus I call'd, and stray'd I knew not whither, " From where I first drew air, and first beheld " This happy light, when answer none return'd, " On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, " Pensive I sat me down ; there gentle sleep " First found me, and with soft oppression seiz'd " My droused sense ; untroubled^ though I thought " / then taas passing to my former state *' Insensible^ and forthwith to tfemfoe.*" Paradise I^st,b. 8. 1. 383. Adam at this time had no experience of sleep, and therefore could not, with any' probabili- ty, expect that he was to recover from it. Its approaches were attended with feelings simi- lar to those he had experienced when awak-- ing from non-existence, and wouJ4 P94;u- rally suggest that idea to his mind ; aijd as he had no reason to expect that his life was to continue, wavdd intimate the profeability \- * The beauty of these lines ^id not escape the elegant and judicious Addison ; but ttiat «u4jier do«s not^tesign the reason of bis apprQbation.->Sp8et. No. M5. that 106 AN ESSAY [Part I. that he was again upon the verge of an in- sensible state"*. ' Now it is evident, from what has been al- ready said, that the degree of probabihtj must be intuitively perceived, or the degree of as- surance spontaneously and instinctively ex- cited in the mind, upon the bare consideration of the instances on either side ; and that with- out any medium of argument to connect the future event with the past experience. Rea- soning may be employed in bringing the in- stances into view; but when that is done, it is no longer necessary. And if you were to argue with a man, in order to convince him that a certain future event is not so impro- bable as he seems to think, you would tJUly make him take notice of some favourable in- stance which he had overlooked, or endea- vour to render him suspicious of the reality of some of the unfavourable instances ; leav- ing it to himself to estimate the degree of probability. If he continue refractory, not- withstanding that his view of the subject is the same with yours, he can be reasoned with in no other way, than by your appealing to the common sense of mankind. * ^' Several things (says Butler) greatly affect all our " living powers, and at length suspend the exercise of " them ; as, for instance, drousiness, increasing till it " ends in sound sleep : and from hence we might have ♦' imagined it would destroy them, till we found by ex- « perience the weakness of this way of judging." Butler's Analog7/,part 1. ck. I. To Ch. II. 7.] ON TRUTH. 107 To the Supreme Intelligence all knoAvledge is intuitive and certain. But it is not unrea- sonable to suppose, that probabilities of one sort or other may sometimes employ the un- derstanding of all created beings. To man, probability (as an excellent author* observes) is the very guide of life. SECT. VII. Of Analogiml Reasoning, JvEASONING from analogy, when traced up to its source, will be found in like manner to terminate in a certain instinctive propen- sity, implanted in us by our Maker, which leads us to expect, that similar causes, in similar circumstances, do probably produce, or will probably produce, similar effects. The probability which this kind of evidence is fitted to illustrate, does, like the former, ad- mit of a vast variety of degrees, from abso- lute doubting up to moral certainty. When the ancient philosopher, who was shipwreck- ed in a strange country, discovered certain geometrical figures drawn upon the sand by the, sea-shore, he was naturally led to believe, with a degree of assurance not inferior to * Butler's Analogy. Introduction' moral 108 AN ESSAY [Part I. moral certainty, that the country was inha- bited by men, some of whom were men of study and science, like himself. Had these figures been less regular, and liker chance- work, the presumption from analogy, of the country being inhabited, would have been weaker 5 and had they been of such a nature as left it altogether dubious, whether they were the work of accident or of design, the evidence would have been too ambiguous to serve as a foundation for any opinion. In reasoning from analogy, we atgxiefrom a fact or thing experienced to something similar not experienced ; and from our view of the former arises an opinion with regard to the latter ; which opinion will be found to imply a ^«ater or less degree of assurance, according as the instance from which we argue is more or less similar to the instance to which we argue.- Why the degree of our as- surance is determined by the degree of like- ness, we cannot tell ; but we know by experi- ence, that this is the case : and by experi- ence also we know, that our assurance, such as it is, arises immediately in the mind, whenever we fix our attention on the circum- stances in which the probable event is ex- pected, so as to trace their resemblance to those circumstances in which we have known a similar event to take place. A child who has been burnt with a red-hot coaJ, is care- ful to avoid touching the flame of a candle ; for as the visible q-ualities of the latter are hke to Ch. II. 7.] ON TRUTH. 109 i;o those of the former, he Expects, with a very high degree of assurance, that the ef- fects produced by the candle operating on his fingers, will be similar to those produced by the burning coal. And it deserves to be re- marked, that the judgment a child forms on these occasions may arise, and often doth arise, previous to education and reasoning, and while experience is very limited. Know- ing that a lighted candle is a dangerous ob- ject, he Avill be shy of touching a glow-worm', or a piece of wet fish shining in the dark, because of their resemblance to the flame of a candle : but as this resemblance is but im- perfect, his judgment, with regard to the consequences of touching these objects, will probably be more inclined to doubt, than in the former case, where the instances were more similar. Those Avho are acquainted with astronomy, think it probable, that the planets are inha- bited by living creatures, on account of their being in all other respects so hke our earth. A man who thinks them not much bigger than they appear to the eye, never dreams of such a notion ; for to him they seem in every respect unlike our earth : and there is no other way of bringing him over to the astro- nomer's opinion than by explaining to him those particulars in which the planets and our earth resemble one another. As soon as he comprdiends these particulars, and this resemblance, his mind of its oAvn accord ad* mitg fllO AN ESSAY [Parti. mits the probability of the new opinion, with- out being led to it by any medium of proof, connecting the facts he hath experienced with other similar and probable facts lying be- yond the reach of his experience. Such a proof indeed could not be given. If he were not convinced of the probability by the bare view of the facts, you would impute his per- severance in his old opinion, either to obsti- -nacy, or to want of common sense; two mental disorders for which logic provides no remedy. SECT. VIII. Of Faith iji Testimony. X HERE are in the world many men, whose declaration concerning any fact which they have seen, and of which they are compe- tent judges, would engage my belief as eiFec- tually as the evidence of my own senses. A metaphysician may tell me, that his im- plicit confidence in testimony is unworthy of a philosopher, and that my faith ought to be more rational. It may be so; but! believe as before notwithstanding. And I find that all men have the same confidence in the tes* timony of certain persons ; and that if a man should refuse to think as other men do in Cli.II. 8.] ON TRUTH. Ill in this matter, he would be called obstinate, whimsical; narrow-minded, and a fool. If, after the experience of so many ages, men are still disposed to believe the word of an honest man, and find no inconvenience in doing so, I must conclude, that it is not only natural, but rational, expedient, and manly, to credit such testimony : and though I were to peruse volumes of metaphysic written in proof of the fallibility of testimony, I should still, like the rest of the world, believe cre- dible testimony without fear of inconveni- ence. I know very well, that testimony is not admitted in proof of any doctrine in mathematics, because the evidence of that science is of a different kind. But is truth to be found in mathematics only ? is the geo- metrician the only person who exerts a ratio- nal belief? do we never find conviction arise in our minds, except when we contemplate an intuitive axiom, or run over a mathema- tical demonstration.'' In natural philosophy, a science not inferior to pure mathematics in the certainty of its conclusions, testimony is admitted as a sufficient proof of many facts. To believe testimony, therefore, is agreeable to nature, to reason, and to sound philo- sophy. When we believe itlje declaration of an honest man, in regard.to facts of which he has. had experience, we suppose, that by the view or perception of those facts, his senses have beeij affected in the same manner as ours would 112 AN ESSAY [Parti. would have been, if we had been in his place. So that faith in testimony is in part resolvable into that conviction which is produced by the evidence of sense : at least, if we did not believe our senses, we could not, without absurdity, believe testimony; if we have any tendency to doubt the evidence of sense, we must, in regard to testimony, be equally sceptical. Those philosophers, therefore, who would persuade us to reject the evidence of sense, among whom are to be reckoned all- who deny the existence of matter, are not to be considered as mere theorists, whose spe- culations are of too abstract a nature to do any harm, but as men pf very dangerous principles. Not to mention the bad effects of such doctrine upon science in general*, I would only at present call upon the reader to attend to its influence upon our religious opinions and historical knowledge. Testi- mony is the grand external evidence of Chris- tianity. All the miracles wrought by our Sa- viour, and particularly that great decisive miracle, his resurrection from the dead, were so many appeals to the senses of men, in proof of his divine mission : and whatever some unthinking cavillers may object, this we afRrm to be not only the most proper, but the only proper, kind of external-evi- dence that can be employed, consistently with man's free Agency and moral probation, * See belpw, part 2, chap. 2. sect. 8. for Ch. II.7.] ON TRUTH. 113 for establishing a popular and universal reli- gion among mankind. Now, if matter lias no existence but in our mind, our senses are deceitful : and if so, St. Thomas must have been deceived when he felt, and the rest of the apostles when they saw, the body of their Lord after his resurrection ; and all the facts recorded in history, both sacred and civil, were no better than dreams or delusions, with which perhaps St. Matthew, St. John, and St. Luke, Thucydides, Xenophon, and Caesar, were aflfected, but which they had no more ground of believing to be real, than I have of believing, in consequence of my having dreamed it, that I was last night in Constantinople. Nay, if I admit the non- existence of matter, I must believe, that what my senses declare to be true, is not only not truth, but contrary to it. For does not this phitosophy teach, that what seems to human sense to exist does not exist ; and that what seems corporeal is incorporeal ? and are not existence and non-existence, materiality and immateriality, contraries? Now, if men ought to believe the contrary of what their senses declare to be true, the evidence of all feastory, of all testimony, and indeed of all external percjeption, is no loi^ger any evidence of the reality of the, facts warranted by it 5 but becomes rather a proof that those facts did never happen. If it be urged, as an ob» jeetion to this reasoning, that Berkeley was a Christian, notwithstanding his scepti- cisni 114 AN ESSAY [Parti. cism (or paradoxical belief) in other matters ; I answer, that though he maintained the doc- trine of the non-existenee of body, there is no evidence that he understood it : nay, there is positive evidence that he did not, as I shall have occasion to shew afterwards*. ; Again, when we believe a man's word, because we know him to be honest, or, in other words, have had experience of his vera- city, all reasoning on such testimony is sup- ported by the evidence of experience, and by our presumption of the continuance of the laws of nature : — the first evidence resolved itself into instinctive conviction, and the second is itself an instinctive presumption. The principles of common sense, thereforq, are the foundation of all true reasoning cour cerning testimony of this kind. It is said by Mr. Hume in his Essay on Miracles, that our belief of any fact from the report of eye-witnesses is derived from no other principle than experience^ that is, from our observation of the veracity of human tes- timony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the report of witnesses. This doctrine is confuted with great elegance and precision, and with invincible force of argument, in Dr. Campbell's Dissertation on Miracles. It is^ indeed, like most of Mr. Hume's caplital doctrines, repugnant to matter of fact : for our credulity is greatest when our experience See part 2. chap. S. sect. 2. of this Essays. IS ^h. It. 8.] ON TRUTH. 115 is least ; that is, when we are children ^ and ^neraily grows less and less, in proportion as our experience becomes more and more ex- tensive ; the very contrary of which must happen, if Mr. Hume's doctrine were true. There is then in man a propensity to be* ii^ve testimony antecedent to that experience, which Mr. Hume supposes, of the conform- ity of facts to the report of witnesses. But there is another sort of experience, which may perhaps have some influence in deter- mining children to believe in testimony. Man is naturally disposed to speak as he thinks, and most men do so ; for the great- est liars speak truth much oftener than they titter falsehood. It is unnatural for human creatures to falsify ; and they never think of departing from the truth, except they have some end to answer by it. Accordingly, chil- dren, while their native simplicity remains uncdrrupted, ' while they have no vice to dis- guise, no punishment to fear, and no arti- ficial scheme to promote, da always speak as they think: and so generally is then' vera- city acknowledged, that it has passed into a proverb, That children and fools tell truth. Now I am not certain, but this their innate propensity to speak truth, may in part ac- count for their readiness to believe what others speak. They do not suspect the verai- city of others, because they are conscious and confident of their own. However, there is nothing absurd or unphilosophical iiv suppos- 116 AN ESSAY [Part I, ingj that the}' believe testimony by one law of their nature, and §peak truth by another. I seek not therefore to resolve the former prin- piple into the latter ; I mention them for the sake only of observing, that whether they be allowed to be different principles, or differ- ent effects of the same principle, our general doctrine remains equally clear, namely, That all reasoning concerning the evidence of tes- timony does finally terminate in the prin- ciples of common sense. This is true, as far as our faith in testimony is resolvable into experimental conviction ; because we have already shewn, that all reasoning from expe- .rience is resolvable into intuitive principles,! either of certain or of probable evidence : and surely it is no less true, as far as our faith in testimony is itself instinctive, and such as cannot be resolved into any higher principle. Our faith in testimony does oftenj but not always, amount to absolute certainty. That there is such a city as Constantinople, such a country as Lapland, and such a mountain as the peak of Te.neriffe; that ther^were such men as Hannibal and Julius Cesar ^^ that England was conquered by William the Nor* man; that Charles I. was beheaded ;—=of these, and such like truths, every person ac- quainted with history and geography accounts- himself absolutely certain. When a number of persons, not acting in concert^ having no interest to disguise the truth, and sufficient judges Ch. n.8.] ONTRUtH. lit judges of that to which they bear testi- mony, concut in making the same report, it would be accounted madness not to beheve them. Nay, when a number of witnessesi iseparately examined, and having had no op- iportunity to concert a plan beforehand, do all agree in their declarations, we make no scruple of yielding full faith to their testi- mony, even though we have no evidence of their honesty or skill ; nay, though they be notorious both for knavery and folly : be- cause the fictions of the human mind being infinite, it is impossible that each of these witnesses should^ by mere accident, devise the very sartie circumstances ; if therefore their declarations concliri this is a proof that there is no fiction in the case^ and that they all speak from real experience and know- ledge; The inference we form On these oc^ rasions is supported by arguments drawn from our experience ; and all arguments of this sort are resolvable into the principles of common sense. In general, it will be found true of all our reasonings concerning testi- mony, that they are founded^ either me- diately or immediatelyj upon instinctive con- viction or instinctive assent ; so that he who has resolved to believe nothing but what he can give a reason for, can never j consistently with this resolution, believe any thing, eithei* as certain or as probable, upon the testimony of other men. H 2 SECT. lis . AK ESSAY [Part I. SECT. IX. Conclusion of this Chapter^ JLHE coftclusion to which we are led hy the above inductionj would perhaps be admitted , by some to be self-evident, or at least to stand in no great need of illustration ; to others it might have been proved d priori in very few words ; but to the greater part of readers a detail of particulars may be ne* cessary, in order to produce that steady and well-grounded conviction which it is my ambi- tion to establish. The argument d priori might be compre- hended in the following words :^-If there be feny creatures in human shape, who deny the distinction between truth and falsehood, or who are unconscious of that distinction, tliey are far beyond the reach, and below the no- tice, of philosophy, and therefore have no concern in this enquiry. Whoever is sensible of that distinction, and is willing to acknow- ledge it, must confess, that truth is some- thing fixed and determinate, depending not upon man, but upon the Author of Nature* The ftmdamental principles of truth must therefore rest upon their own evidence, per- ceived intuitively by the understanding. If they Oi. II.9.] ON TRUTH. U9 they did not, if reasoning were necessary to enforce them, they must be exposed to per-* petual vicissitude, and appear under a differ- ent form in every individual, according to the pecuhar turn and character of his rea- soning powers. Were this the case, no man could know of any proposition, whether it were true or felse, till after he had heard all the argyments that had been urged for and against it ; and, even then, he could not know with certainty whether he had heard all that could be urged ; future disputants might overturn the former arguments, and produce new ones, to continue unanswered for a while* and then submit, in their turn, to their suc- cessors. Were this the case, there could be no such thing as an appeal to the common sense of mankind, even as in a state of nature there can be no appeal to the law ; every man would be *' a law unto himself," not in morals only, but in science of every kind. We sometimes repine at the narrow limits prescribed to human capacity. HitJierto shalt thou come, and no further, seems a hard pro- hibition, when applied to the operations of mind. But as, in the material world, it is to this prohibition man owes his security and -existence ; so, in the immaterial system, it is to this we owe our dignity, our virtue, and our happiness. A beacon blazing from a well-known promontory is a welcome object to the bewildered mariner, who is so far from repining that he has not the beneficial light 120 AN ESSAY [P^irtl, in his own keeping, that he is stensible its uti-i lity depends on its being placed on t^e firm land, and committed to the care of others. We have now proved, that "except we be-i *' lieve many things without proof, we never " can beheye any thipg at all; for that *' all sound reasoning must ultimately rest on " the principles of common sense ; that, is, " on principles intuitively . certain, or intui-, " tively probable;, and, consequently, that i' common sense is the ultimate judge of ^' truth, to which reason must continually " act in subordination*" To common sense, therefore, all truth must be conformable; this is its fixed and invariable standard. And. "whatever contradicts common sense, or is in-, consistent with that standard, though sup- ported by argunlents that are deemed unan- swerable, and by names that are celebrated \)j all the critics, academies, and potentates on earth, is not tr\ith but falsehood. In a word, the dictates of common sense are, in respect to human knowledge in general, what the axioms of geometry are in respect to ma- thematics : on the supposition that those axioms are false, or dubious, all mathematical Reasoning falls to the ground ; and on the supposition that the dictates pf common sense are erroneous or deceitful, all science, truth, ^nd virtue, are vain. » I know not but it may be urged as an ob^ * See part 1. chap. 1. sub. fin. jectibn Ch.II. 9.] ON TRUTH. 121 jection to this doctrine, that, if we grant common sense to be the»ultimate judge in all disputes, a great part of ancient and mo- dern philosophy becomes useless. I admit the objection with all my heart, in its full force, and with all its consequences ; and yet I must repeat, that if common sense be sup- posed fallacious, all knowledge is at an end ; and that even a demonstration of the fallacy would itself be fallacious and frivolous. For if the dictates of my nature deceive me in one case, how shall I know that they do not deceive me in another? When a philoso- pher demonstrates to me, that matter exists not but in my mind, and, independent on me and my faculties, has no existence at all ; before I admit his demonstifation, I must dis- believe all my senses, and tlistrust every prin- ciple of belief within me : before I admit his demonstration, I must be convinced that I and all mankind are fools ; that our Maker made us such, and from the beginning in- tended to impose on us ; and that it was not till about the six thousandth year of the world when this imposture was discovered ; and then discovered, not by a divine re vela-, tion, not by any rational investigation of the laws of nature, n6t by any inference from previous truths of acknowledged authority, but by a pretty 'play of Englisli and French words, to which the learned have given the name of metaphysical reasoning. Before 1 a.dmit this pretended demonstratipn, I must' bring in AN ESSAT [Part I; bring myself to believe what I find to be in- credible ; which seems to me not a whit less difficult than to perform what is impossible* And when all'this is done, if it were possibly that all this could be done, pray what i^ science, or truth, or falsehood ? Shall I bet lieve nothing ? or shall I believe every thing ? Or am I capable either of belief, or of dis- belief? Or do I exist ? or is there such a thing as existence ? The end of all science, and indeed of every wsefiil pursuit, is to make men happier, by improving them in wisdom and virtue. I beg leave to ask, whether the present race of men owe any part of their virtue, Avis- dom, or happiness, to* what metaphysicians have written in proof of the non-existence of matter, and the necessity of human ac- tions ? If it be answered. That our happi- ness, wisdom, and virtue, are not at all affected by such- controversies, then I must affirm, that all such controversies are useless. And if it be true, that they have a tendency to promote Avrangling, which ofall kinds of conversation is the most unpleasant and the most unprofitable ; or vain polemical disqui- sition, which cannot be carried on without waste of time, and prostitution of talents ; or scepticism, which tends to make a man uncomfortable in himself, and unserviceable to , others : — then I must affirm, that all such controversies are both useless and mis- chievous; and that the world would be more wise. Ch. II.9.] ON TRUTH. 12S wise, more virtuous, and more happy, with- out them. — But it is said, that they improve the understanding, and render it more ca- pable of discovering truth, and detecting error. Be it so : — but though bars and locks render our houses secure ; and tliough acute- ness of hearing and feeling be a valuable endowment ; it will not follow, that thieves are a public blessing, or that the man is en- titled to my gratitude, who quickens my touch and hearing, by putting out my eyes. It is further said, that such controversies make us sensible of the weakness of human reason, and the imperfection of human know- ledge; and for the sanguinary principles of bigotry and enthusiasm, substitute the milky ones of scepticism and moderation . And this is conceived to be of prodigious emolument to mankind ; because a firm attachment to religion, which a man may call bigotry if he pleases, doth often give rise to a persecuting spirit ; whereas a perfect indifference about it, which some men are good-natured enough to call moderation, is a principle of great good-breeding, and gives no sort of disturb- ance, either in private or public life. This is a plea on which our modern sceptics plume themselves not a little. And who will venture to arraign the virtue or the sagacity of these projectors.'* To accomplish so great effects by means so simple ; to prevent such dreadful calamities by so innocent an artifice, — does it not display the perfection of benevolence and 124 AN ESSAY [Part I. and wisdom ? Truly I can hardly imagine such another scheme, except perhaps the fol- lowing. Suppose a physician of the Sangrado gchool, out of zeal for the interest of the fa- culty, and the public good, to prepare a bill to be laid before the parliament, in these words,: " That whereas good health, espe- '* cially when of long standing, has a ten- .'* dency to prepare the human frame for in-. ^' flammatory distempers, which have been " known to give extreme pain to the unhap- ^' py patient, and sometimes even bring him ^' to the grave; and whereas the said health, '* bj making us bi'isk, and hearty, and hap- " py, is apt also, on some occasions, to make " us disorderly and licentious, to the great "' detriment of glass windows, lanterns, *' aiid watchmen : Be it therefore enacted, " That all the inhabitants of these realms, " for the peace of government, arid the re^ " pose of the subject, be compelled, on pain " of death, to bring their bodies down to a " consumptive habit ; and that heatiEeforth " no person presume to walk abroad with a " cane, on pain of having his head broke ^' with it, and being set ip the stocks for " six months ; nor to walk at all, except with " crutches, to be delivered at the public " charge to each person who makes affidavit " that he is no longer able to walk with- " out them," &c. — He w ho can eradicate conviction from the human heart, may doubt- less prevent all the fatal effects of enthusiasm and, Ch. II. 9.] ON TRUTH. 123 9-nd bigotr}' ; and if all human bodies were thrown into a consumption, I believe there would be an end of riot, as well as of in-, flammatory diseases. Whether the inconve- niences, or the remedies, be the greater grievance, might perhaps bear a question. Bigotry, enthusiasm, and a persecuting spirit, are very dangerous and destructive ; univer^ gal scepticism would, I am sure, be equally go, if it were to infect the generality of man-, kind. But what has reUgion and rational conviction to do with either? Nothing more than good health has to do with acute dis- tempers, and rebellious insurrections ; or than the peace of government, and tranquilhty pf the subject, have to do with a gradual decay of our muscular flesh. True religion tends to make men great, and good, and happy ; and if so, its doctrines can never be too firmly believed, nor held in too high veneration. And if truth be at all attainable in philosophy, I cannot see why we should scruple to receive it as such, when we have attained it; and how it can promote candour, good-breeding, and humanity, to pretend to, doubt what we do and must believe, to pror fess to maintain doctrines of which we are conscious that they shock our understanding, to differ in judgment from all the world ex- cept a few metaphysicians, and to question the evidence of those principles which all other men think unquestionable and sacred. C!onvictions,^nd steadiness of principlei is that which 126 AN ESSAY [Parti: which gives dignity, uniformity, and spirit, to human conduct, and without which our happiness can neither be lasting nor sincere. It constitutes,^ as it were, the vital stamina of a great and manly character ; whereas scep- ticism betrays a sickly imdei'standing, and a levity of mind, fi'om which nothing can be expected but inconsistence and folly. In con- junction with ill-nature, bad taste, and a hard heart, steadiness and strong conviction will doubtless make a bad man, and scepti- cism will make a worse : but good-nature, elegant taste, and sensibility of heart, when united with firmness of mind, become doubly respectable; whereas no man can act on the principles of scepticism without incurring universal contempt.' But to return : Mathematicians, and natural philosophers, do in effect admit the distinction between common sense and reason, as illustrated above; for they are content to rest- iheit sciences either on self-evident axioms, or on experiments warranted by the evidence of external sense. The philosophers who treat of the mind, do also sometimes profess to found their doctrines on the evidence of sense : but this profession is merely verbal ; for when- ever experience contradicts the system, they question the authenticity of that experience, and show you, by a most elaborate investiga- tion, that it is all a cheat. Tor it is easy to w^rite plausibly on any subject, and in vin- dication of any doctrine, when either the indolence Cii. II. 9.] ON TRUTH. 127 indolence of the reader, or the nature of the composition, gives the writer an opportunity to avail himself of the ambiguity of lan- guage. It is not often that men attend to the operations of the mind j and when they do, it is perhaps with some metaphysical book in their hands, which they read with a re* solution to admire or despise, according- as the fashion or their humour directs them. In this situation, or even when they are dis- posed to judge impartially of the wiiter, their attention to what passes in their own mind is but superficial, and is very apt to be sway- ed by a secret bias in favour of some theory. And iheu, it is sometimes difficult to distin- guish between a natural feeling and a preju- dice of education ; and our deference to the Opinion of a favourite author, makes us think it more difficult than it really is, and often leads us to mistake the one for the oart t lemnity of the expression ; we conclude^ that ** more is meant than meets the ear ;" and begin to fancy, not that the author is absurd or unintelUgible, but that we have not saga- city enough to discover his meaning. It were tedious to reckon up one half of the impro* prieties and errors which have been intro- duced into the philosophy of human nature, by the indefinite application of the words, idea, impression, perception, seiisation, &c. Nay, it is well known, that Berkeley's pretend* ed proof of the non-^existence of matter, at which common sense stood aghast for many years, has no better foundation than the am- biguous use of a word. He who considers these things, ivill not be much disposed to overvalue metaphysical truth (as it is called), when it happens to contradict any of the na- tural sentiments of mankind. In the laws of nature, when thoroughly understood, there appear no contradictions : it is only in the systems of plylosophers that reason and common sense are at variance. Ko man of common sense ever did or could *believe, that the horse he saw coming toward him at full gallop, was an idea in his mind, and nothing else ; no thief was ever such a fool as to plead in his own defence, that his crime was necessary and unavoidable, for that man is born to pick pockets as the sparks fly upward. When Reason invades the rights of Common Sense, and presumes to arraign that authority by which she herself 2 acts, ofi: ti. 9.] t)N tRXJ*rH. 131 acts, nonsense and c6nfusiori must of neces- sity ensue ; science will soon come to have neither head nor tail, beginning nor end ; phi- losophy will grow contenlptible ; and its ad^ heren^s, far from being treated, as in former timesi upon the footing of conjurers, will be thouglit by the vulgarj and by every man of sense, to' be little better than downright foolsi _ -:^ PART 132, AN ESSAY , [Part ll. -idq PAHT II. !LLUSTRA*riO]SFS OF THE PRECEDING DOC- TRINE, WITH INFERENCES. x5UT no«i' a difficulty occurs, which it is not easy to solve. Granting what is said above tb be true, that all legitimate reason- ing, whether of certain or of probable evi- dence, does fmallj resolve itself into princi- ples of common sense, which we must admit as certain, or as probable, upon their own authority ; that therefore common sense is the foundation and the standard of all just reasoning; and that the genuine sentiments of nature are never erroneous : — yet by Avhat criterion shall we know a sentiment of na- ture from a prejudice of education, a dictate of common sense from the fallacy of an in- veterate opinion ? Must every principle be admitted as true, which Ave believe without being able to assign a reason ? then where is our security against prejudice and implicit faith ! Or must every principle that seems intuitively certain, or intuitively probable, be reasoned upon, that we may know whether it be really what it seems ? then where our security Part II.] ON TRUTH. ' 135 securitv against the abuse so much insisted on, of subjecting common sense to the test of reasoning! — At what point must reason stop in its investigations, and the dictates of conmion sense be admitted as decisive and final ? It is much to be regretted thtt this mat- te^r has been so httle attended to : for a full and satisfactory discussion of it would do more real ser\ice to the philosophy of human nature, than all the systems Of logic in the world ; would at once exalt pneumatology to the dignity of science, by settling it on a firm and unchangeable foundation, and Avould go a great way to banish sophistry, from science, and rid the world of scepticism. This is indeed the grand desideratum in logic ; of no less importance to the moral sciences, than the discovery of the longitude to navigation. That I shall fully solve this difficult}^ I am not so vain, nor so ignorant, as to imagine ; but I humbly hope I shall be able to throw some light on the subject, and contribute a little to facilitate the pro- gress of those who may hereafter engage in the same pursuit. If I can accomplish even this, I shall do a service to truth, philosophy, and mankind : if 1 should be thought to fail, there is yet something meritorious in the at- tempt. To have set the example may be of consequence, 1 shall entleaA^our to conduct the reader to ttie th. when he is doubtful, *' and when he is not dombtfwl'^. ; ;Soiae- " times, indeed, we pbilosopheus are abso-' " lutely and necessarily det^mined to hve, " and talk, and act, like other people, and " to believe the existence both of ourselves " and of other things : but to this absolute " and necessary determination, we ought not ^' to submit, but in every incident of hfe still " to preserve our scepticism. Yes, friend, 1 tell youii we ought still to do what is con- trary to that to which we are absolutely " and necessarily determined -f-: I see you * " A true sceptic will be diffident of his philosophical " doubts, as well as of his philosophical conviction." Treatise of Human Nature, vol. I, p. 474. + " I dine, I play a game at back-gammoji, 1 converse, *' and am merry with ray friends ; and when, after three^ *' or four hours amusement, I would, return to these spe- " culations, they appear so cold, so strained, and so ridi- " ciilous, that I cannot find in my heeu-t toentecinto " them any further. Here then I find myself absolutely " and necessarily determined to live, and talk, , and act, " like ojjier people in the common affairs of lifes" Treatise of Human Nature, vol.. I. p. 467. " In all the incidents of life we ought still to pi^sei've* ** our scepticism,. If we l>elieve that fire warms, or water " refreshes, 'tis only because it costs us too much pains " to think, otherwise. Nay, if we are pliilosophevs, it " ought only to fee upon sceptical principles." Id. p. 469. ' " preparing 142 AN ESSAY [PartlL- " preparing to speak ; but I tell you once* '* for all, that if you reason or believe any " thing certainly you are a fool*. — Good " Sir, how deep must we dig? Is not this *' a sure foundation ? — I have no reason to " think so, as I cannot see what is under it. *' Then we must dig downward in infinitum ! " — And why not.? You think you are ar- " rived at certainty. This very conceit of " yours is a proof that you have not gone *' deep enough : for you must know, that " the understanding, when it acts alone, and '* according to its most general principles,' " entirely subverts itself, and leaves not the' <" lowest degree of evidence in any proposi^ ' '* tion, either in philosophy or common " lifcf-. This to the illiterate vulgar may " seem as great a contradiction or paradox, '* as if we were to talk of a man^s jumping " down his own throat: but we whose " brains are heated with metaphysic, are not M startled at paradoxes or contradictions, " because we are ready to reject all belief " and reasoning, and can look upon no opi- *^ nion even as more probable or more likely * " If 1 must be a fool, as all thpse who reagon or be- ♦' lieve any thing certainly are, my follies shall at least f< be natural and agreeable." Trtatne of Human Nature^ ■col. 1. p. 468, + Verbatim from Trp^tise of Hymap nature, vol, 1. p, 4^4, 465. '^ th^n Ch. I. 1.] ON TRUTH. l^S' than another*. You are no true philoso- pher if you either begin or end your en- quiries with the behef of any things- Well, Sir, you may doubt and dispute a'^ long as you please ; but I believe that I ani come to a sure foundation : here therefore will I begin to build, for 1 am certain there can be no (danger in trusting to the stabi- lity of that which is immoveable. Cer- tain ! Poor credulous fool ! Hark ye, Sir, you may be what the vulgar call art honest man, and a good workman ; but I am certain (I mean I am in doubt whether I may not be certain) that you are no philosopher. Philosopher indeed ! to take a thing of such consequence for granted, without proof, without examination! I hold you four to one, that I shall demon- strate d, priori, that this same edifice of yours will be good for nothing. I am in-^ clined to think, that we live in too early a period to discover any principles that will bear the examination of the latest pos- terity ; the world, Sir, is not yet arrived at the years of discretion : it will be time enough, two or three thousand years hence. * " The intense view of these manifold contradictions " and imperfections in human reason, has so wrought " upon me, and heated my brain, that I am ready to re- '' ject all belief and reasoning, and can look upon no *' opinion even as more probable or likely than another." Jreatise of Human Nature^ vol. l.p. 466. . *i-. ♦' for 144 AN ESSAY [Part 11. " for men to begin to dogmatise, and affirm, " that two and two are four, that a triangle " is not a square, that the radii of the same " circle are equal, that a whole is greatef " tlian one of its parts ; that ingratitude " and murder are crimes ; that benevolence, " justice, and fortitude, are virtues ; that " &e burns, that the sun shines, that hu- " man. creatures exist, W that there is such " a thing as existence. These are points " which our posterity, if they be wise, will " probably reject*. These are points, which if they do not reject, they will be arrant «i * " Perhaps we are still in too early an age of the " world, to discover an^ principles which will bear th0 " examination of the latest posterity." Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1 . p. 473. Some perhaps may blame me for laying any stress on detached sentences, and for understanding these strong expressions in a strict signification. But it is not my in* tention to take any unfair advantages. 1 should willingly impute these absurd sentences and expressions to the au- thor's inadvertency : but then I must impute the whole system to the same cause ; for they imply nothing that ig not again and again inculcated, either directly or indi- rectly, in Mr. Hume's writings. It is true some of them are self-contradictory, and all of them strongly display the futility of this pretended science. But whp is to blame for this? — Again, if this science be so useless, and if its inutility be sometimes acknowledged even by Mr. Hume himself, why, it may be said, so much zeal in confuting it? For this plain reason, Because it is im- moral and pernicious, as well as unprofitable and absurd ; and because, with all its absurdity, it has been approved and admired; and been the occasion of evil to individuals, and of detriment as well as^danger to society. 1 " fools. Ch. I. ?.] ON TRUTH. 145 " fools. This is my judgment, and I am " certain it is right. 1 maintain, indeed, " that mjankind are^ pertain of nothing : but " I maintain, notwithstanding, that my own " opinions are true. And if any body is ill- *' natured enough to call this a contradiction, " I protest against his judgment, and once " for all declare, that I mean not either to " contradict myself, or to acknowledge my- *' self guilty of self-contradiction."' I am well aware, that mathematical cer- tainty is not to be expected in any science but mathematics. But" I suppose that in every science, some kind of certainty is at- tainable, or something at least sufficient to command belief: and whether this rest on self-evident axioms, or on the evidence of sense, , memory, or testimony, it is still cer- tain to me, if I feel that I must believe it. And in every science, as Avell as in geometry, I presume it would be consistent both with logic and with good sense, to take that for ai} ultimate principle, which forces our belief by its own instritmc evidence, and which cannot by any .reasonitig be rendered more evident. SECT. 11. In D^atural philosophy, the evidence of sense and mathematical evidenq© go hand in hand ; and the one produces conviction as effec- tually U^ AK ESSAt [Pahth tually ks- the other. A natural philoso- pher would make a poor figUre, should he take it in his head to disbelieve or distrust the evidence of his senses. The time was, in- deed, when matter's were on a different foot- ing ; when physical truths were made outj not by experiment and observation, but by dint of syllogism, or in the more compen- dious Avay of ipse dixit. But natural philoso- phy was then, what the philosophy of the mind in the hands of our sceptics is now, a system of sopliisms, contriveid for* the vindi- cation of false theories. That natural philosophers never question the evidence of sense, nor seek either to dis^ prove or to correct it by reasoning, is a posi- tion, which to many may at first sight seem disputable. I foresee several objections, but shall content myself with examining two of the most important. And these I shall set in such a, light, as will, I hope, show them to be inconclusive, and at the same time pre- clude all other objections. 1. Do Ave not (it will be said), both ill our physical observations, and in the com- mon affahs of life, reject the evidence of sight, in regard to the magnitude, extension, figure, and distance of visible objects^ and trust to that of touch, which we know to be less fallacious ? I see two buildings on the top of yonder mountain ; they seem to my eyes to be only three or four feet asunder, of a round shapcj and not larger than ray two thumbs J CK. 1. 2.] ON TRm*H. 147 thumbs : but I have been at the place, and having ascertained their distance, size, and figure, by touch or mensuration, I know, that they are square towers, forty yards asun- der, and fifty feet high. Do I not in this case reject the evidence of my sight as falla^ cious, and trust to that of touch ? And what is it but reason that induces me to do so? How then can it be said that from the evi- dence of sense there is no appeal to reason ? — It will, however, be easy to show, that in this instance we distrust neither sight nor touch, but believe implicitly in both ; not because we can confirm their evidence by reasoning, but because the law of our nature will not permit us to disbelieve their evi- dence. Do you perceive these two objects when you shut your eyes ? No. — It is, then, by your sight Only that 3^ou perceive them ? It is. — Does your sight perceive any thing in -these two objects, but a certain visible mag* nitude, extension, and figure? No. — Do you believe that these towers really appear to your eyes round, three feet asunder, and of th& size of your thumbs ? Yes, I believe they have that appearance to my eyes.- — And do you not also believe^ that, to the eyes of all men who see as you do, and look at these ob- jects from the place in which you now stand, they have the very same appearance ? I have no reason to think otherwise. — ^You believe, theh, that the visible magnitude, distance, K and 148 A^ ESSAY [^art II. and shape of these towers, are what they ap- pear to be ? or do you think that your eyesj see wrong?. Be sure, the visible magnitude, figure, and distance, are not different from what I perceave them to be, — But how do you know, that what you perceive by sight either exists, or is what it appears to be? Not by reasoning, but by instinct. Of the visible magnitude, extensiouN, and iigure, our eyes give us a true perception. It is a law of nature, That Avhile visible ob- jects retire from the eye, the visible magni-* tude becomes less as the distance becomes greater : and the proportion between the in- creasing distance and the decreasing visible magnitude is so well known, that the visible magnitude of any given object placed at a given distance, may be ascertained with geo- metrical exactness. The true visible magni- tude of objects is therefore a fixed and deter- minate thing; that is, the visible magnitude of the same object, at the same distance, isi; always the same : we believe, that it is what our eyes perceive it to be ; if we did not, the art of perspective would be impossible ; at least we could not acknowledge that there is any truth in that art. But the object (you reply) seems no bigger tlian your thumb; and you believe it to b6 fifty feet high : how is that sensation recon- cilable with this belief? You may easily re- concile them, by recollecting, (what is ob- vious enough), . that the object of your be- lief Cli. I.2.] OK TRUTH. 149 lief is the" tangible magnitude ; that of your sensation, the visible.n.The visible magnitude is a perception of sense; and we have seen already, that it is conceived to be a true, and not a fallacious perception : the tangible magnitude you do not at present perceive by sense ; you only remember it ; or perhaps you infer it frorq the visible, in consequence of your knowledge of the laws of perspective. When we see a lump of salt at a little dis- tance, we may perhaps take it for sugar. Is this a false sensation ? is this a proof, either that our taste, or that our sight is fallacious? No : this is only an erroneous opinion form- ed upon a true sensation. A false sensation we cannot suppose it to be, without suppos- ing -^that tastes are perceived by the eyes. And you cannot believe your opinion of the magnitude of these towers to be a false sen- isation, except you believe that tangible quali- ties are perceived by sight. When we speak of the magnitude of objects, we generally mean the tangible magnitude, which is no more an object of sight than of hearing. For it is demonstrated in optics*, that a person endued with sight, but so fettered from his birth as to have no opportunity of gaining experience by touch, could never form any distinct notion of the distance, extension, magnitude, or figure of any thing. These are perceptions, not of sight but of touch. We judge of them indeed from the visible appearance ; but it is only in consequence of K 2 our 150 AN ESSAY [Part II our having found, that certain changes in the visible appearance do always accompany, and intimate, certain changes in the tangible distance, magnitude, and figure. Visible magnitude, and tangible magnitude, are quite different things ; the former changes with every change of distance, the latter is always the same ; the one is perceived by one sense, the other by another. So that when 3' ou say, I see a tower two miles off, which appears no bigger than my thumb, and yet I believe it to be a thousand times bigger than my whole body, — your sensation is per- fectly consistent with your belief: the con- trariety is merely verbal ; for the word bigger, in the first clause, refers to visible, in the se- cond to tangible magnitude. There is here no more real inconsistency than if you were to say, I see a conical body of a white co- lour, and I believe it to have a sweet taste. If there be any difficulty in conceiving this, it must arise from our being more apt to con- found the objects of sight and touch, than those of any other two senses. As the loiow- ledge of tangible qualities is of more conse- quence to our happiness and preservation, than the knowledge of visible appearance, which in themselves can do neither good nor harm ; we fix our principle attention on the tangible magnitude, the visible appearance serving only as a sign by which we judge of it : the mind makes an instantaneous transi- tion fi-om the vi?ib!p appearance, which it overlooks. Ch. I.2.] ON TRUTH. 151 overlooks, to the tangible quality, on which it fixeth its attention ; and the sign is as little attended to, in comparison of the thing sig- nified, as the shape of written characters, or the sound of articulate voices, in comparisoii of the ideas which the writer or speaker means to communicate. But all men (it may be said) do not thus distinguish between visible and tangible mag- nitude. Many philosophers have affirmed, and the vulgar still believe, that magnitude is a sensation both of sight and touch : those people, therefore, when sensible of the di- minished visible appearance of the distant ob- ject, must suppose, that the perception they receive by sight of the magnitude of that ob-^- ject, is really a false perception ; because dif- ferent from what they should receive by touch, or even by sight, if the object were within three yards of their eyes. At any rate, they must suppose, that what their sight perceives concerning magnitudes is not al- ways to be depended on ; and therefore that their sight is a fallacious faculty. Let this objection have as much weight as you please; yet will it not prove, that the evidence of sense may be either confirmed or confuted by reason. Suppose then I perceive real magnitude both by sight, and touch. I observe, that what my sight perceives of mag- nitude is not always consistent, either with itself, or with the sensations received by touch from the same object. The same man, Avithin 153 AN .ESSAY [Part II. within the same hour, appears six feet high, and not one foot high, according as I view him at the distance of two yards or of two ■miles. What is to be done in this case? both sensations I cannot beheve; for that the man really changes his stature, is altogether incredible. I believe his stature to be always the same; and I find, that to my touch it al- ways appears the same ; and that, when I look at the man at the distance of a few feet, my visible perception of his magnitude coin- cides with my tangible perception. I must therefore believe, that what my sight inti- mates concerning the magnitude of distant objects is not to be depended on. But whence arises this belief? Can I prove, by argu- ment, that the man does not change his sta- ture ? that the sense, whose perceptions arc all consistent, is a true, and not a fallacious faculty? or that a sense is not fallacious, when its perceptions coincide with the per- ceptions of another sense? No; I can prove none of these points. It is instinct, and not reason, that determines me to believe my touch; it is instinct and not reason, that determines me to believe, that visible sensa- tions, when consistent with tangible, are not fallacious ; and it is either instinct, or rea- soning founded on experience (that is, on the evidence of sense), that determines me to believe the man s stature a permanent, and not a changeable thing. The evidence of sense is therefore decisive ; from it there is no appeal Cli 1. 2.] ON TRUTH- 15S appeal- to reason : and if I were to become sceptical in regard to it, I should believe nei- tlier the one sense nor the other; and of all. experience, and experimental reasoning,, I should become equally distrustful. As the experience of an undiscerning or careless spectator may be confirmed, or cor- rected, by that of one who is more attentive, or more sagacious, so the evidence of an im- perfect sense may be corrected by that of an- other sense which we conceive to be more perfect- But the evidence of sense can never be corrected by any reasoning, except by that which proceeds on a supposition, that our senses are not fallacious. And all our notions concerning the perfection or imper- fection of sense are either instinctive, and therefore principles of common sense; or founded in experience, and therefore ulti- mately resolvable into this maxim, That things are what our senses represent them. Lucretius js much puzzled (as his master Epicurus had been before him) about the de- gree of credit due to our visible perceptions of magnitude. He observes*, justly enough, that * See Diogenes Laertius, book 10.— Lucretius de Berum Natura, lib. 4. ver. 480. This author had saga- city enough to perceive the absurdity of Pyrrhonism, and to make several judicious remarks on the nature of evi* dence. But in applying these to his own theory, every one knows that he is by no means consistent, The poem, of Lucretius is a melancholy spectacle ; it is the picture of a great genius in the state of lunacy. Except whfp the 154 AN ESSAY [Part II. that no principle can be confuted, except by another more evident principle ; and, there- fore, that the testimony of sense, than which nothing is more evident, cannot be confuted at all: that the testimony of the nostrils concerning odour cannot be corrected or re- futed by that of the eye, nor the eye by the ear, nor the ear by the touch, nor the touch by the taste ; because each of these senses hath a set of objects peculiar to itself, of which the other senses cannot judge, because indeed they cannot perceive them. All this is very well ; but there is one thing Avanting, which I should think obvious enough, even to one of Epicurean principles. Of tastes we judge by the palate only ; of smell, by the nostrils only ] of sound, by the ears only ; of co- lours, by the sight only; of hardness, soft- tlie whim of his sect comes across Iiis imagination, he argues with propriety, perspicuity, and elegance. Pathos of sentiment, sweetness of style, harmony of numbers, and a beauty, and sometimes a majesty, of description, not unworthy of Virgil, render liis poem highly amusing, in spite of its absurd philosophy. A talent for extensive observation he seems to have possessed in an extraordi- nary degree ; but wherever the peculiar tenets of Epi- ' cureanism are concerned, he sees every thing through a false medium. So fatal is the admission of wrong prin- ciples. Persons of the most exalted understanding have as much need to guard against them, as those of the meanest capacity. If they are so imprudent, or so un- fortunate, as to adopt them, their superior genius, like the strength of a madman, will serve no other purpose than to involve them in greater difficulties, and give them the power of doing more mischief. ness, Ch. 1. 2.] ON TRUTH. 155 ness, heat, cold, &c. by the touch only ; but of magnitude we judge both by sight and touch. In regard to magnitude, we must therefore believe either our sight, or our touch, or both, or neither. To believe nei- ther is impossible: if we believe both, we shall contradict ourselves: if we trust our sight, and not our touch, our belief at one time will be inconsistent with our belief at another ; we shall think the same man six feet high, and not one foot high ; we must therefore believe our touch, if we would exert any consistent belief in regard to mag- nitude. 2. But do we not, in physical experiments, acknowledge the deceitfulness of sense, when we have recourse to the telescope and micro- scope ; and when, in order to analyse hght, which, to our unassisted sight, appears one uniform uncompounded thing, we transmit the rays of it through a prism ? I ansAver, this implies the imperfection, not the deceitfnl- jiessy of sense. For if I suppose my sight de- ceitful, I can no more trust it, when assisted by a telescope or microscope, that when un- assisted. I cannot prove, that things are as they appear to my unassisted sight; and I can as little prove, that things ai'e as they ap- pear to my sight assisted by glasses. But is it not agreeable to common sense to^ believe, that hght is one uniform uncom- pounded thing? and if so, is not common sense in an error .'' and what can rectify this J error 156 AN ESSAY [Part II, error but reasoning ? — I answer, it is unde-- niable, that light to the unassisted eye ap- pears uncompounded and uniform. If from this I infer, that hght is precisely what it ap- pears to be, I form a wrong judgment, which I may afterwards rectify, upon the evidence of sense, when I see a ray of light transmitted through a prism. Here an er- ror of judgment, or a false inference of reason, is rectified by my trusting to the evidence of sense ; to which evidence instinct or common sense determines me to trust. But is it not common sense that leads me to form this wrong judgment ? Do not all mankind naturally, and previously to all in- fluence from education, judge in the same manner.'* Did not all philosophers before Newton, and do not all the unlearned to this day, believe that light is a simple fluid .'' I answer. Common Sense teacheth me, and all mankind, to trust to experience. Experi- ence tells us, that our unassisted sight, though sufficiently acute for the ordinary purposes of life, is not acute enough to discern the miT- nute texture of visible objects. If, notwith- standing this experience, we believe, that the minute texture of light, or of any other visi- ble substance, is nothing different from that appearance which we perceive by the naked eye ; then our belief contradicts our experi- ence, and consequently is inconsistent with common sense. But what if you have had no experience sufficient Ch.1.2.] ON TRUTH. 157 sufficient to convince you, that your senses are not acute enough to discern the texture of the minute parts of bodies ? Tlien it is certain, that I can never attain this conviction by mere reasoning. If a man were to reason d priori about the nature of hght, he might chop logic till doomsday, before he convinced me that light is compounded of rays of seven different colours. But if he tell me of experiments which he has made, or which he knows to have been made, this is quite an- other matter, I believe his testimony, and it makes up for my own want of experience.; When I confide in his veracity, I conceive, and believe, that his senses communicated a true perception ; and that, if I had been in his place, I should also have been convinced, by the evidence of my sense, that light is truly compounded of rays of seven different CO7 lours. But I must repeat, that a supposition of my senses being fallacious, would render me wholly inaccessible to conviction, both on the one side and on the other. Suppose a man on seeing the coloured rays throAvn off from the prism, should think the wl^ole a delusion, and OAving to the nature of the medium through which the light is transmitted, not to the nature of the light itself; and should tell me, that he could as easily believe my face to be of a green colour, because it has that appearance when viewed through a pair of green spectacles, as that ^very ray of light consists of seven distinct colour^, 158 AN ESSAY [Part 11. colours, because it has that appearance when transmitted through a prism ; — would it be possible to get the better of this prejudice without reasoning ? 1 answer, it would not : but the reasoning used must all depend upon experiments; every one of which must be re- jected, if the testimony of sense be not ad- mitted as decisive. I could think of several expedients, in the way of appeals to sense, by which it might be possible to reconcile him to the Newtonian theory of light ; but, in the way of argument, I cannot devise a single one. On an imperfect view of nature, false opi- nions may be formed; but these may be rectified by a more perfect view ; or, which in many cases will amount to the same thing, by the testimony of those who have obtained a more perfect view. The powers of man operate only within a certain sphere ; and till an object be brought within that sphere, it is impossible for them to perceive it. I see a small object, which I know to be a man, at the distance of half a mile, but cannot discern his complexion, whether it be black or tair ; nor the colour of his cloaths, whe- ther it be brown, or black, or blue ; nor his nose, whether it be long or short ; I cannot even discern, whether he have any nose at all : and his whole body seems to be of one uniform black colour. Perhaps I am so fool- ish as to infer, that therefore the man has no nose ; that his cloaths are black, and his face of Ch. 1. 2.] ON TRUTH. 159 of the colour of his cloaths. On going up to him, I discover that, he is a handsome man, of a fair complexion, dressed in blue. Surely it is not reasoning that sets me right in this instance ; but it is a perfect view of an object that rectifies a wrong opinion form- ed upon an imperfect view. I hear the sound of a musical instrument at a distance ; but hear it so faintly, that I cannot determine As^hether it be that of a trumpet, a hautboy, a German flute, a French horn, or a common flute. I want to know from what instrument the sound proceeds ; and I have no opportunity of knowing from the information of others. Shall I stand still where I am, and reason about it ? No ; that would make me no wiser. I go forward to the place from whence the sound seems to come ; and by and b}-^ I can perceive that the sound is different from that of a French horn and of a trumpet : but as yet I cannot determine whether it be the sound of a haut- boy or of a flute. I go on a little further, and now I plainly distinguish the sound of a flute ; btit* perhaps I shall not be able to know whether it be a German or a common flute, except by means of my other senses, that is, by handling or looking at it. It is needless to multiply instances for illus- trating the difference between a perfect and an imperfect view of an object, and for show- ing that the mind trusts to the former, but distrusts the latter. For obtaining a perfect view 160 AN ESSAT [Part IL view (of perfect perception), we sometimes employ the same sense in a nearer situation; sometimes we make use of instruments, as ear-trumpets, spectacles, microscopes, te- lescopes ; sometimes we hare recourse to tlic testimony of our other senses, or of the senses of other men; in a word, we rectify or as- Certain the evidence of sense by the evidence of sense : but Ave never subject the evidence of sense to the cognizance of reason ; for in sensations that are imperfect or indistinct, reason could neither supply what is de^cient, nor ascertain what is indefinite. Our internal, as well as external senses, may be, and often are, imposed upon, by inaccurate views of their objects. We may in sincerity of heart applaud, and afterwards condemn, the same person for the same ac- tion, according to the different lights in which that action is presented to our moral faculty. Just now I hear a report, that a human body is found dead in the neighbouring fields, with marks of violence upon' it. Here a con- fused suspicion arises in my mind of murder committed; but my conscience'suspends its judgment till the true state of the case be better known : I am not as yet in a condi-^ tion to perceiA'-e those qualities of this event which ascertain the morality of the action ; no more than I can perceive the beauty or deformity of a face while it is veiled, or at too great a distance. A passenger informs me, that a person has been apprehended who con- fesses Ch. 1. 2-1 ON TRUTH. 161 fesses himself the murderer: my moral fa- culty instantly suggests, that this persan has committed a crime worthy of a most severe and exemplary punishment. By and by I learn, from what I think good authority, that my former information is false, for that the man now dead had made an unprovoked as- sault on the other, who was thus driven to the necessity of killing him in self-defence : my conscience immediately acquits the man- slayer. I send a messenger to make particu- lar enquiry into this affair ; who brings word, that the man Avas accidentl}"^ killed by a fowler shooting at a bird, Avho, before he fired, had been at all possible pains to dis- cover whether any human creatvire was in the way ; but that the deceased was in such a situation that he could not be discovered. 1 regret the accident; but I blame neither party. Afterwards 1 learn, that this fowler was a careless fellow, and though he had no bad intention, was not at due pains to observe whether any. human creature would be hurt by his firing. I blame his negligence with great severity, but I cannot charge him with guilt so enormous as that of murder. Here my moral faculty passes several different judgments on the same action ; and each of them is right, and will be in its turn be- lieved to be right, and trusted to accordingly, as long as the information which gave rise to it is believed to be true. I say, the same action^ not the same intention ; a different in- tention 162 AN ESSAY [PartlL tention appears in the manslayer from each inforniation; and it is only the intention and affections that the moral faculty condemns or approves. To discover the intention wherewith actions are performed, reasoning is often necessary : but the design of such reasoning, is not to sway or inform the con- science, but only to ascertain those circum- stances or qualities of the action from which the intention of the agent may appear. When this becomes manifest, the conscience of man- kind immediately and intuitively declares it to be virtuous, or vicious, or innocent. — These different judgments of the moral- fa- culty are so far from proving it fallacious, that they prove the contrary : at least this faculty would be extremely fallacious, and absolutely useless, if, in the case now sup- posed, it did not form different judgments. While the intention of the agent is wholly unknown, an action is upon the same footing in regard to its morality, as a human face in regard to its beauty, while it is veiled, or at too great a distance. By re- moving the veil, or walking up to the object, we perceive its beatity and features ; and by reasoning, or by information concerning the circumstances of the action, we are enabled to discover or infer the intention of the agent. The act of removing the veil, or of walking up to the object, has no effect on the eye : nor has the reasoning any effect on the conscience,— While we view an object through Ch. 1. 2.] ON TRUTH. 163 through an impure or linequal medium, through a pair of green spectacles, br an un- even ipaih of glass, we see.it discdloured -or' distorted;' just so, when liiisrejiresented^ a good action may seenl'evil, and'an evil actio4' good. If we be? suspicious of the re'presentar^ tion, if Ave be aware of the impi^bper irie-' dium, we distrust the appearance accord- ingly ; if not, We do and must believe it ge- nuine. It is' by reasoning frbi^i our expe- rience of hulhan actions and their causes", or- by the testimony of credible AVitnesse§, that ■ We detect ntiisrepresehtations concerning mo-^' ral conduct; and it is also tiy the experience of our own senses, or by our' belief in those who have had such experience, that we be- come sensible of^ inequalities or obscurities in the medium throuoh which \ve contem- plate visible objects; In either case the e\^i- dence of sense Is admitted as finally decisive. A distempered sense, as well as an impure or unequal medium, 'may doubtless communi- cate false sensatioiis ; but we are never ilu* posed upon by them in any thing inaterial. A person in a fe\^er may think honey bittel", and the smell' of si I'Ose offensiAe; but the de- lusion is of so short continuance, and of so singular a kind, that it can do no harm, either to him or to the cause of truth. To a jaun- diced e3^e, the whole creation may seem tinc- tured with yellow ; but the patient^s former experience, and his belief in the testimony of others, Avho assure him, that they perceive L 110 ^64 AN ESSAY [Part II. ho alteration in the colour of bodies, and, that the alteration he perceives is a common at- tepdant on his disease, will sufficiently guarjl. him against mistakes. If he were to distrust, the evidence of sense, he could believe nei- tner his own experience nor their testimony. He corrects, or at least becomes sensible, of, the false sensation, by means of sensations, formerly received when he was in health; that is, he corrects the evidence of an ill- informed sense txy that of a well-informed sens^, or by the declarations of those whose senses he believes to be better informed than his own. Still it is plain, that, from the evidence of sense, there can be no appeal to reason. , We conclude, therefore, that in natural philosophy our sensations are not supposed; deceitfu,!, and that reasoning is not carried: be3'ond the principles of common sense. And yet in this science full scope is given; to impartial investigation. If, after- the first experimental process, you suspect that the ob- ject may be set in a still fairer light, I know no, laAv in logic, or iu good sense, that can or ought to hinder you from making a new trial: but if this new trial turn to no ac- count, if the object still appear the same, or if it appear less distinct than before, it were folly not to remain satisfied with the fust ti'ial. Newton tran^smitted one of the^ refracted primitive colours thiiough a second prism, thinking;^ it not impossible that this colour Ch. I; 2.3 ON TRUTH. 165 colour miffht resolve itself into others still ihore simple; but finding it remain unalter- ed, he was satisfied thjlt the primitive co- lours are not compounded, but simple, and. that the experimental process had been car- ried far enough. I take in ray hand a per- spective glass, whose tube may be lengthened and shortened at pleasure; and I am to find out, by my own industry, that precise length at which the maker designed it should be used in looking at distant objects. I make several trials to no purpose ; the distant object ap- pears not at all, or but very confusedly. I hold one end of the perspective at my eye with one hand, and with the other I gra- dually shorten the tube, having first drawn it out to its greatest length. At first all is c-onfusion; now I can discern the inequalities of the mountains in the horizon; now the object I am in quest of begins to appear ; it becomes less and less confused ; I see it dis- tinctly. I continue to shorten the tube ; the object loses its distinct appearance, and be- gins to relapse into its former obscurity. After many trials, I find, that my perspective exhibits no distinct appearance, except when it is of one particular length. Here then I fix ; I have adjusted the glasses according to the intention of the maker ; and I believe, that the distinct appearance is an accurate re- presentation of the distant object, or at least more accurate than an}' of the confused ap- pearances ; of which I believe, that they come L 2 the AN ESSAY [Part II. the nearer to truth the more they approach U) distinctness, and that the most confused represciitatJons are the most false. d • It Ayas not by reasoning about the fallacj of the senses, and prosecuting a train of ar^ guuient beyond; the principles : of common t^ense, that men discovered tlxe true system of the world. In the eai-lier ages, when they imagined the sun to be little bigger than the mountain beyond which he disappeared, it was absurd to think of the earth revolving round him. But in process of time, inge- nious men, who applied themselves to the. observation of the heavenly bodies, not with a view to confute popular errors, for they cpuld not as yet even suspect the vulgar opi-r nipn to be erroneous, but merely to gratify their own laudable curiosity, began to cion- ceive more exalted notions of the mundane system. They soon distinguished the planets from the fixed stars, l^y observing the tbnmer to be more variable in their appearances. After a long succession of years, they came at last to understand the motions of the sun and moon so well, that, to the. utter astonish- ment of the vulgar, they began to calculate- eclipses : a degree of knowledge they could : not attain, without being convinced, that: the sun and moon are very large bodies, plac« cd at very great distances Irora the earth, tlie former much laiger, and more remote, than the latter. Thus far it is impossible to show, that any reasoning had been employed , ■:■> .: by Gh;1. 2.] ONTRUtii. 1^1' by those ancient astronomers, cither to prove or to disprove, the evidence of the senses. On the contrary, they must all along liavc taken it for granted, that the senses are not fallacious; supposing only (what it is cer- tainly agrteabie to common sense to suppose), t^iat tte experience of a diligent observer is •more to be depended on than that of the in- . attentive multitude. As men grew more and more acquainted with the motions and ap- pearances of the heavenly bodies, they be- came more and more sensible, that'the guji, earth, and planets, bear soriie Very peculiaV relation to one another : and haviiig learned from the phenotriena of eclipses, 'and some other natural appearances, that the suii is bigger than the earth*, tbey might, without absurdity, begin to suspect, that possibly tfic sun might be the centre round which the earth and other planets revolve : especially considering the magnificence of that glorioils luminary, and the wonderful and delightfiil effects produced by the influence of' his * Heraclitus maintained, that the sun is but a foot broad; Anaxagdras, that the is ranch larger than the country of Peloponnesus ; and Epicurus, that he is pp bigger than he appears to the eye. But the astronomers of antiquity maintaiiied, that he is bigger than the earth ; «ight times, according to the Egyptians ; eighteen times, according to Eratostheues ; three hundred times, accord* ing to Cleomedes; one thousand and fifty times, accord- ing to Ilipparchus ; arid fifty-nine thousand three hun- ^icd and nineteen times,^ according to Possidonius. beams. 168 AN ESSAY [Part 11. beams, while at the same time he seems not to derive any advantage from the e^rth, or other planets. But if the matter had, been carried no further, no reasoning from, these circumstances could ever have arnounted" to a proof of the point in question, though it might breed a faint presumption in its fa- vour. For still the evidence of sense seemed to contradict it; an evidence that nothing can disprove, but the evidence of sense placed in circumstances more favourable to accurate observation. The invention of optical glasses did at last furnish the means of making §y,- pei'iments with regard to this matter, and of putting man in circumstances more favour- able to accurate observation ; and thus the point was brought to the test of commoti sense. And now, we not only know, lha,t the Copernican theory is true, for every per- son who understands it is convinced of its truth ; but we also know to what causes the universal belief of the conti'ary doctrine is tp be ascribed. We know that men, copsider- ing the remote situation of our earth, and the imperfection of our senses, could not have judged otherwise than they did, tijl that im- perfection was remedied, either by accuracy of observation, or by the invention of opti- cal instruments. We speak not of revelation ; which has indeed been vouchsafed to man for the regulation of his moral conduct ; but which it would be presumption to expect^ or I desire. ^h. 1. 2.] ON TRUTH. 169 desire, merely for the gratification Gf cu* riosity. It is evident, from what has been said, that iti natural philosophy, as well as in mathe- matics, no argumentation is prosecuted be- yond self-evident principles ; that as in the latter all reasoning terminates in intuition^ sd in the former all reasoning terminates in the evidence of sense. And as, in mathematics, that is accounted an intuitive axiom, which is of itself so clear and evident, that it can- not be illustrated or enforced by any medium of proof, and which must be belieted, and is in fact believed, by all, on its own autho- rity; so, in natural philosophy, that is ac- counted an ultimate principle, undeniable and unquestionable, which is supported by the evidence of a well-informed sense, placed so as to perceive its object. In mathematics, that is accounted false doctrine which is in- consistent with any self-evident principle ; in natural philosophy, that is rejected which contradicts matter of fact, or, in other words, which is repugnant to the appearances of things as perceived by external sense. Regulated by this criterion of truth, ma- thematics and natural phUosophy have be- come of all sciences the most respectable m point of certainty. Hence I am encouraged to hope, that if the same criterion were uni» versally adopted in tlie philosophy of the mind, the science of human nature, insteiad' of being, as at present, a chaos of uncertain* ty 170 ,: AN ESSAY , [PartH. ty and contradiction, would acquire. a consi" derable degree of certainty, perspicuity, and order. Xfj; truth be at ajl attainable, in this science, (and if it is not. attainable, ; why should we ti:ouble our h^ads; about it?) sure^ ly it must be attained by the same means as^ in those other sciences, ; • -' ^ I therefore would, propose, "• That in the " philosophy of human nature, as well as, " in physics and mathematics,, principles bq " examined accordino; to the standard qf "common sen.se, and be admitted or reject^ " ed as they are found to agree or disagree " with it ;" more explicitly, " That those *' doctrines be rejected which contradict " matter of fact, that is, which are repug- " nant to the appearances of things, as per- " ceived by external and internal sense ; and " that those principles be accounted ulti- " m^ate, undeniable, and uiiquestionable, ■' which arq warranted by the evidence of a, " well-informed sense, placed in circumstan- '' ces favourable to a distinct perception of " its object/' But what do you mean by a well-informed ^^nse ? How shall I know that any particu- lar faculty of mine is not defective, deprav- ed, or fctllacious ?-^Perhaps it is not easy, at least it would furnish mattei- for too long a digression, to give a full answer to this ques^ tipn : nor is it at present necessary ; because it will appear in the sequel, that, however- difficult it may be '\\i soine cases to distin- guish Ch. I.2.] ON. TRUTH... 17i guish afirst principle, yet th^re aret;Certaiij marks, by which those reasonings tbat tend to the subversion of a first principle, may be detected, at least in/ all cases of importance. However, we shall offer a remark or two in answer to the question; which, though tliey should not appear perfectly unexceptionable, may yet throw light on the subject, a,nd scr\ e to prepare the mind of the reader; for some things that are to follow. First, then, if I Avanted to certify. myself concerning any particular sense or percipient faculty, that it is neither depraved nor dc-r fective, I should attend to th : feelings or sen- sations communicated by it;, and observe, whether they be clear and definite,, and such as lam, of my OAvn accord, disposed to cout fide in without hesitation, as true, genuine, and natural. If they are such, I should cer^ tainly act upon thiem till I had some positive reason to think them fallacious. — SecondJ3% I consider whether the sensations received by this faculty be uniformly similar in similar circumstances. If they arc not, I should suspect, either that it is now depraved, of was formerly so : and if I had no other cri- terion to direct me, should be much at a loss to know whether I ought to trust-the foruu^r or the latter experience; perhay^s I tjhould distrust both. If they are uniforp.i, if my present and my pastexperience do f xactly co- ^ncide> I shall then be disposed to. think theni i?oth right, — Thijrdly, I. consider, whether, in 172 AN ESSAY [Part 11. in acting upon the supposition that the facul* ty in question is well-informed, I have ever been misled to my hurt or inconvenience; if not, then have I good reason to think, that 1 was not mistaken when I formed that supposition, and that this faculty is really what I supposed it to be. — Fourthly, if the sensations communicated by this faculty be incompatible with one another, or irrecon- cilable to the perceptions of m}'^ other fa- culties, I should suspect a depravation of the former : for the laws of nature as far as my experience goes, are consistent ; and I am apt to believe that they are universally so. It is therefore a presumption, that my faculties are well-informed, when the perceptions of one are quite consistent with those of the rest, and with one another. — In a state of soli- tude I must satisfy myself with these crite^ via ; but in society I have access to another criterion, which, in many cases, will be reck- oned more decisive than any of these, and which, in concurrence with these, will be sufficient to banish doubt from every rational jnind. I compare my sensations and notions with those of other men ; and if I find a per- fect coincidence, I shall then be satisfied that my sensations are according to the law of human nature, and therefor^ right. — ^To illus- trate all this by an example : I want to know whether my sense of see- ing be a well-informed faculty. First, I have reason to think that it is; because my eyes €h. 1. 2.] ON TRUTH. 113 eyes communicate to me such sensations as I, of my own accord, am disposed to confide in. There is something in my perceptions of sight so distinct, and so definite, that I do not find myself in the least disposed to doubt whether things be what my eyes represent them. Even the obscurer informations of this faculty carry along with them their own evidence, and my belief. I am confident, that the sun and moon are round, as they ap- pear to be, that the rainbow is arched, that grass is green, snow white, and the heavens azure ; and this I should have believed, though I had passed all my days in solitude, and never known any thing of other animals, or their senses. — Secondly, I find that my no- tions of the visible qualities of bodies are the same now they have always been. If this were not the case ; if where I saw greenness yesterday I were to see yellow to-day, I should be apt to suppose, that my sight had suffer-; ed some depravation, unless I had reason ta think, that the object had really changed co- lour. But indeed we have so strong a ten- dency to believe our senses, that I doubt not but in such a case I should be more disposed to suspect a change in the object than in my eyesight: much would depend on the cir^ cumstances of the case. We rub our eyes when we want to look at any thing with ac- curacy ; for^^ we know by experience, that motes, and ^^loudy specks, that may be re-« moved by rubbing, do sometimes float in the eye 174 AN ESSAY* [Part II. eye, and hurt, the .sight " But if the- altera- tion of the visible qualities in the external object be such as we have never experienced from a depravation of the organ, we should be inclined to trust our eyesight, rather than to suppose, that the external object has re- mained unaltered.— Thirdly, No evil conse- quence has ever happened to me when acting upon the supposition, that my faculty of see- ing is a well-informed sense ; whereas, if I were to act on the contrary supposition, I should soon have cause to regret my scepti- cism. I see a post in my way ; by turning a little aside, I pass it unhurt; but if I had supposed my sight fallacious,: and gone straight forward, a bloody nose, or some- thing worse, might . have been the conse^ quence. If, \vhen I bend my course oblique- ly, in order to avoid the post that seems to stand directly before me, I were to run tny head full against it, 1 should instantly suspect a depravation of my eyesight : but as 1 ne- ver experience any misfortune of this kind, I belieA'e that my sense of seeing is a well-in- formed faculty. — Fourthly, The perceptions received by this sense are perfectly consistent with one another, and with the perceptions received by my other faculties. When I see the appearance of a solid body in my way, my touch always confirms the testimony of my sight ; if it did not, I should suspect a fallacy in one or other of those senses, per^ haps in both. When I look on a line of soldiers. Ch.I.^.] ON THUTH. 175 soldiers, they all seem standing perpendicu- lar, as L 'myself 1 stand ; but if the men at the extremities of tlie line, without leaning against any thing, were to appear as if the/ formed an angle of forty-five degrees with the eai'th's surfa(^c, I should suspect some un-' accountable obliquity in my vision, l^astlyv After the experience of many years, after all the knowledge I have been able to gather, concerning. the sensations of other men, frbm reading, discourse, and observation, I havfe no reason to think their sensations of sight different from mine. Every body who uses tlie English language, calls snow white,!- and grass green ; and it would be in the highest degree absurd to suppose, that what they call.. the sensation of whiteness, is not: the same sensation which I call bv that name. Some few, perhaps, see differently from me. A man in the jaundice sees that rose yellow which 1 see red; a short-sighted man sees that picture confusedly at the distance of thr^e^ yards, which I see distinctly. But far the greater part of mankind see as I do, and dif- ferently from those few individuals; wh<5$e- sense of seeing I therefore consider as less' perfect than mine. Nay, though the generality of mankind were short-sighted, still itwoiildi ba true, that we, who are not so, have the* most perfect sight ; for our sight is more ac-- mu'ate in its. perceptions, qualifies us better' for the business of life, and coincides more exactly, or more immediately, with the sen* + ' sations 176 AN ESSAY [PartIL sations received by the other senses. Yet the short-sighted, as well as they who have the acutest sight, trust to this sense, as soon as they are placed in a situation favourable to accurate observation ; all the diiFerence is, that it is more difficult, and often more in- convenient, for short-sighted persons to place themselves in such a situation. Still it should l?e remembered, that the perfect sense and a well-informed sense are not synonymous terms.- We call a sense well-informed, in opposition to one that is depraved or fallacious. Per- fection and imperfection of sense are relative terms ; implying a comparison, either be- tween different men, in respect of the acute- ness of their senses and faculties ; or between any sense, as it appears in a particular man, and the degree of acuteness which is found to belong to that sense as it appears in the generality of mankind. There are two tele- scopes, one of which gives a distinct view of an, object at two, and the other at four miles distance ; both are equally well-informed (if I may so speak), that is, equally true in their representations ; but the one is much more imperfect than the other. I. do not, at present, offer any further il- lustrations of these criteria of a well-informed sense. The reader who examines them by the rules of common prudence, will perhaps be satisfied with them : at leapt I am apt to think, that few will suspect the veracity of \X\m faculties when they stand thig test But let Oh. I. S.] ON TRUTH. 177 let it not be supposed, that I mean to insi- nuate, that a man never trusts his faculties till he first examine them after this, manner : wej believe our senses previously to all re- flection or examination ; and we never disbe- lieve them, but upon the authoritj of our senses placed in circumstances more favour- able to accurate observation. , If the reader is not satisfied with these cri- teria, it is- no great matter. The question concerning a well-informed sense it is not perhaps easy to answer. I offer these rema,rks rather as hints to be attended to by other adventurers in this part of science, than as a complete solution of the difficulty. If it were not that I presume some advantage may be derived from them in this way, I should .have omitted them altogether ; for on them does not depend the doctrine I mean to esta- blish. SECT. III. The Subject continued^ Intuitive Truths dis- tinguishable into Classes. Of the notions attending the perception of cefftaiii truth, we formerfy mentioned this as one, **That in regard to such truth, " we its AN ESSAY [Part It ** we Suppose we should entertain the same? *' Sentiuieuts and belief if Ave were perfectly " acquainted with all nature*"/' Lest it should' be thought that we mean to extend this notion too far, it seems proper to intro-' duce'here the foHovving remarks. •■ "1. The axioms and demonstrated conclu-* sions of geometry are certainly true, and cer- tainly agreeable to the nature of things; Thus we judge of them at present ; and thus Ave necessarily believe, that we should judge of them, even if we were endued with om- nisciisnce and infallibility. It is a natural dictate of human understanding, that the contrary of these truths must for ever remain absiird and impossible; and that Omnipo- tence itself cannot change their nature ; though' it might so deprave ouf judgment, as to make' US-disbelieve, or not perceive them-f-. 2. That * See part 1. chap. I, + Some authors are of opinion, that all mathematical truth is resolvable into identical propositions. The fol- lowing remark to this purpose is taken from a Dissertar tion on Evidence, printed at Berlin in the year 1764. " Omnes mathematicorum propositiones sunt identicae, " et reprajsentantur liac formula ft=a. . Sunt veritatesi " identicsE, sub varia fopia expressa;, ipio ipsiim, quod " dicitur, contradictionis principium, vario modo enun- " ciatum et iuvolutum ; siquidem omnes hujus generis " proposiliopis revera in eo contineantur. Se^yndwni " nostrati) autem intelligendi facultateiti ea est proposi- " tionum differentia, quod quaedani longa ratiociniomiMF " sierie, alia autem breyiori via^ ad primum omnium, " principium reducantur, et in illud resolvaniur. Sic "■ V. g., Ch. 1. 3.] ON TRUTH. 179 2. That my body exists, and is endued with a thinking, active, and permanent prin^ ciple, Avhich I call my soul; — ^That the ma- terial world has such an existence as the vulgar ascribe to it, that is, a real separate existence, to which its being perceived is in no wise necessary; — That the men, beasts, houses, and mountains, we see and feel around us, are not imaginary, but real and material beings, and such, in respect of shape and tangible magnitude, as they appear to our senses ; I am not only conscious that I believe, but also certain, that such is the na- ture of these things; and that, thus far at least, in regard to the nature of these things,. an omniscient and infallible being cannot think me mistaken. Of these truths I am so certain, that I scruple not to pronounce every being in an error who is of a contrary senti- ment concerning them. For suppose an in- " v.g. propositio2-t-2=4,statimhuccedit l-4-l-|-l-|-l== " l-|-l-}-l-j-l, i.e. idem est idem ; et, propria loqiien- " do, hoc modo enunciari debet. — Si contingat adesse " vel existerequatuorentia, turn existunt quatuor entia; •' nam de existentia npn agunt geometrae, sed ea hjpo- *■' thetice tantum subintelligitur. Inde summa oritur cer- " titudo ratiocinia perspicienti ; observat nempe ideal*uin " identitatera; et haec est evidentia, assensum immediate " cogens, quam mathematicam aut geometr^cam voca- " mus. Mathesia tamen sua natura priv^non«st et pro- '• pria; oritur etenim ex identitatis perceptione, quae " locum habere potest, etiamsi ideae non re^T^gentent " extensum." — Of the connection of geometrical axioms with identical propositions^ see Dr. Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, book 1. chap. 5. sect. 1. Af telligent a 18d AN ESSAY [Part II. teliigent creature, an angel for instance, to believe that there are not in the universe any such things as this solar system, this earth* these mountains, houses, animals, this being whom I call myself; could I, by any effovt,: bring myself to belief, that his opinion is a true one, and implies a proposition expressive of something agreeable to the nature of things? It is impossible and inconceivable. My understanding intimates, that such an opinion would as certainly be false, as it is false that two and tAvo are equal to ten, or that things equal to one and the same thing, are unequal to one another. Yet this is an opinion which Omnipotence could render true, by annihilating the whole of this solar system ; or make me admit as true, by de- priving me of understanding. But so long as this solar system remains un annihilated, and my intellect undepraved, there is not a geo- metrical axiom more true, or more evident to me, than that this solar system, and all the objects above-mentioned, do exist; there is not a geometrical axiom that has any better title to be accounted a principle of human knowledge ; there is not a geometrical axiom, against which it is more absurd, more unrea- sonable, more unphilosophical, to argue. 3. That snow is white, fire hot, gold yel- low, and sugar sweet, we believe to be cer~ tainly true. These bodies affect our eyes,, touch, and palate, in a peculiar manner ; and we have no reason to think, that the}'^ affect the Ch. I. s.] ON TRUTH. i81 the organs of different men in a different manner: on the contrary, we believe, with full assurance, founded on sufficient reason, that they affect the senses of all men in the same manner. The peculiar sensation we re- ceive from them depends on three things ; on the nature of the object perceived, on thie nature of the organ of perception, and on the nature of the percipient being. Of each of these things the Deity could change the na- ture ; and make sugar bitter, fire cold, snow black, and gold green. But till this be done^ in other words, while things continue as they are, it is as certainly true, that snow is white, fire hot, &c. as that two and two are equal to four, or a whole greater than a part. If we suppose that snow, notwithr standing its appearance, is black, or not white, we must also suppose, that our senses and intellect are fallacious faculties; an4 therefore cannot admit any thing as true which has no better evidence than that of §ense and intellect. If a creature of a dif- ferent nature from man were to say, that snow is black and hot, I should reply (sup- posing him to use these words in^the same sense in which I use them). It may possibly have that appearance to your senses, but it has not that appearance to mine: it may therefore, in regard to your faculties, be true; and if so, it ought to constitute a part of your philosophy : but of my philosophy M 2 it 183 AN ESSAY [Part 11. it cannot constitute a part, because, in re- spect of my faculties, it is false, being con- trary to my experience*. If the same being were to affirm, that a part is equal to a whole, I should answer. It is impossible; none can think so but those who are destitute of understanding. If he were to say. The solar system explained by Newton does not exist, I should answer. You are mistaken; if your knowledge were not imperfect, you would think otherwise; I am certain that it does exist.— We see^ by thus stating the case, * This dbfes riot imply, that the sathe thini? may bebotti true and false; true in respect of one, and false in re- spect of another : and consequently, that truth is not something absolute and imnlutable, but variable and re- lative. I had remarked, that our sensations depend on three things, the nature of the object perceived, the na- ture of the organ of perception, and the nature of the percipient. Consequently, an alteration in any one of these, though th^ other two remain Unaltered, alters the sensation. The quality of the snovv^ therefore, the thing perceived, remaining the same, it may affect one kind of percipient being with one sort of sensation, and another kind with a sensation entirely different. — A difference of sensation will also arise from the different states of the organ. A man who has had one hand wrapt up in his bosom, and the other exposed to frosty air, will feel the same watet cold with one hand, and vt^arm with the other. Yet he does not believe that there is any change in the water ; but lie believes that the same temperature in it oicasions both feelings. In like manner, we do not conceive ariy change to be made on the cloth, or evert oft the colour considered as a quality in the body, though ifl day-light it appear to us greeu, and in candle-light blue, and in every light to a person in the jaundice yel- low. what Ch. 1. 3.] ON TRUTH. 183 what is the difference between these three sorts of certainty. But still, in respect tq man, these three sorts are all equally evident, equally certain, and equally unsusceptible of confutation : and none of them can be disbe- lieved or doubted by us, except we disavow the distinction between truth and falsehood, by supposing our faculties fallacious. 4. Of moral truth, we cannot bring our- selves to think, that the Deity's notions (par- don the expression) are contrary to ours. If we believe Him omniscient and infallible, can we also believe, that, in his sight, cruelty, injustice, and ingratitude, are worthy of re- ward and praise, and the opposite virtues of blame and punishment.'^ It is absolutely impossible. The one belief destroys the other. Common sense declares, that a being possessed of perfect knowledge can no more entertain such a sentiment, than I with my eyes open can just now avoid seeing the light. If a created being were to think that virtue which we think vice, and that vice which we think virtue, what would be our notions of his intelligence? Should we not, without hesitation, pronounce him irrational, and his opinion an absurdity ? The absurdity indeed is conceivable, arid may be expressed in words that imply no contradiction : but that any being should think in this manner, and yet not think wrong, is to us. as perfectly M 3 incpn- 184 AN ESSAY [Part II. inconceivable, as that the same thing should be both true and false*. We speak here of the great and leading principles of moral duty. Many subordinate duties there are, which result from the form of particular governments, and from parti- cular modes of education; and there are some, which, though admirably adapted to the improvement of our nature, are yet so sublime, that the natural conscience of man- kind, unassisted by revelation, can hardly be supposed capable of discovering them : but in regard to justice, gratitude, and those other virtues, of which no rational beings (so far as we know) are or can be ignorant, it is impossible for us to believe that our sen- timents are wrong. I say, there are duties of which no rational beings can be igno- rant : for if moral sentiments be the result of a bias, or vis insita, communicated to the ra- tional soul by its Creator, then must they be * Locke says, that Moral Truth is susceptible of de- monstration. If by this he means, that it admits of evi- dence sufficient to satisfy every rational mind, he is cer- tainly in the right. But if by the word demonstration be meant, what geometricians mean by it, a proof that may be, resolved into one or more self-evident axioms, whose contraries are inconceivable, we confess that neither mo- ral nor historical truth is susceptible of demonstration, nor many other truths of the most unquestionable cer- tainty. However, it is not to be supposed, that Locke intended to use this word in any stricter sense than what is fixed by general practice ; according to which, every proof that brings indubitable evidence to the reason or senses may properly be called a demonstration. as Ch. 1. 3.] ON TRUTH. 185 as universal as rational nature, and as per- manent as the effects of any other natural law; and it is as absurd to argue against their truth or authenticity, as against the reality of any other matter of fact. But, se- veral authors of note have denied this infer- ence, as well as the principle whence it pro* ceeds4 or at least, by calling the one in ques- tion, have endeavoured to make us sceptic eal in regard to the other. They have en- deavoured to prove, that moral sentiment is different in different countries, and under different forr;ns of religion, government, and manners; that therefore, in respect of it, there is no v'n insita in the mind ; for that, previous to education, we are in a state of perfect indifference as to virtue and vice ; and that an opposite course of education would have made us think that virtue which now we think vice, and that vice which now we think virtue : in a word, that moral senti- ments are as much the effect of custom and human artifice, as our taste in dress, furni- ture, and the modes of conversation. In proof of this doctrine, a multitude of facts have been brought together to show the prodigious diversity, and even contrariety, that takes place in the moral opinions of different ages, nations, and climates. Of all our modern sceptical notians, this seemed to me one of the most dangerous. For my own satisfaction, and for the sake of those whom it is my duty to instruct, I have been at great pains 186 AN ESSAY [Part II. pains to examine it; and the examination has turned out to my entire satisfaction. But the materials I have collected on this sub- ject are far too bulky to be inserted here. The sceptical arguments are founded, not only on mistakes concerning the nature of virtue, but also on some historical facts mis- represented, and on others so equivocal, and bare of circumstances, that they really have no meaning. From the number of histori- cal, as well as philosophical, disquisitions, which I found it necessary to introduce, the enquiry concerning the universality and immuta- bility of moral truth, which I thought to have comprised in a few pages, soon swelled into a treatise. I meant to have finished it some years ago; but have been prevented by a number of unforeseen accidents. 5. Of probable truth, a superior being may think differently from us, and yet be in the right. For every proposition is ei- ther true or false ; and every probable past event has either happened, or not happened; as every probable future event will either happen or not happen. From the imper- fection of our faculties, and from the nar- rowness of our experience, we may judge wrong, when we think that a certain event has happened, or will happen : and a being of more extensive experience, and more per- fect understanding, may see that we Judge wrong ; for that the event in question never did happen, nor ever will. Yet it does not fellow, Ch. 1. 3.] ON TRUTH. 187 follow, that a man may either prudently or rationally distrust his probable notions as fal- lacious. That which man, by the constitu- tion of his nature, is determined to admit as probable, he ought to admit as probable;, for in regard to man, that is probable truth. Not to admit it probable, when at the same time he must believe it to be so, is mere ob- stinacy : and not to believe that probable, which all other men who have the same vieAV of all the circumstances, believe probable, would be ascribed to caprice, or want of un- derstanding. If one in such a case were re- fractory, Ave should naturally ask, How comes it that you think differently from us in this matter ? have you any reason to think us in a mistake? is your knowledge of the circum- stances from Avhich we infer the probability of this etent, different from ours ? do you know any thing about it of which we are ignorant ? If he reply in the negative, and yet persist in contradicting our opinion, we should certainly think him an unreasonable man. Every thing, therefore, which to hu- man creatures seems intuitively probable, is to be accounted one of the first principles of probable human knowledge. A human creature acts an irrational part when he ar- gues against it ; and if he refuse to acknow- ledge it probable, he cannot, without contra- dicting himself, acquiesce in any other hu- man probability whatsoever. It appears from what has been said, that there 188 AN ESSAY [Part II. there are various kinds of intuitive certainty ; and that those who will not allow any truth to be self-evident, except what has all the characteristics of a geometrical axiom, are much mistaken. From the view we have given of this subject, it would be easy to re- duce these intuitive certainties into classes ; but this is not necessary on the present occa- sion. We are here treating of the nature and immutability of truth as perceived by human faculties. Whatever intuitive proposition man, by the law of his nature, must believe as certain, or as probable, is in regard to him, certain or probable truth ; and must constitute a part of human knowledge, and remain unalterably the same, as long as the human constitution remains unaltered. And we must often repeat, that he who attempts to disprove such intuitive truth, or to make men sceptical in regard to it, acts a part as inconsistent with sound reasoning, and as effectually subversive of human knowledge, as if he attempted to disprove truths which he knew to be agreeable to the eternal and necessary relations of things. Whether the Deity can or can not change these truths into falsehoods, we need not seek to determine, because it is of no consequence to us to know, It becomes us better to enquire, with humi- lity and reverence, into what he has done, than vainly, and perhaps presumptuously, into what he can do. Whatever he has been pleased to establish in the universe, is as cer- tainly C^. II.] ON TRUTH. 189 tainly established, as if it were in itself un- changeable and from eternity ; and, while he wills it to remain what he made it, is as per- manent as his own nature. !*R CHAP. II. The preceding Theory rejected by Sceptical Writers. W E have seen, that mathematicians and natural philosophers do, in effect, acknow- ledge the distinction between common sense and reason, as above explained ; admitting the dictates of the former as ultimate prin- ciples, and never attempting either to prove or to disprove them by reasoning. If we enquire a little into the genius of modern scepticism, we shall see, that, there, a very different plan of investigation has been i^dopted. This will best appear by itistances taken from that |)i^tended philosophy. But first let us offer a few general remarks, SECT. 190 AN ESSAY [Part II. SECT. I. General Observations. Rise and Progress of Modern Scepticism. 1- The Cartesian philosophy is to be con- sidered as the ground-work of modern scep- ticism. The source of Locke's reasoning against the separate existence of the second- ary quahties of matter, of Berkeley's rea- soning against the existence of a material world, and of Hume's reasoning against the existence both of soul and body, may be found in the first part of the Princijna of Des Cartes. Yet nothing seems to have been further from the intention of this worthy and most ingenious philosopher, than to give countenance to irreligion or licentiousness. He begins with doubting; but it is with a view to arrive at conviction : his successors (sorrte of them at least) the further they ad- vance in their systems, become more and more sceptical ; and at length the reader is told, to his infinite pleasure and emolument, that the understanding, acting alone, does entirely subvert itself, and leaves not the lowest degree of evidence in any proposi- tion*. * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 464. The Ch. II. L] ON TRUTH. 191 The first thing a philosopher ought to do, according to Des Cartes, is to divest him- self of all prejudices, and all his former opi- nions ; to reject the evidence of sense, of intuition, and of mathematical demonstra- tion; to svippose that there is^noGod, nor heaven, nor earth ; and that man has nei- ther hands, nor feet, nor body : — in a word, he is to doubt of every thing of which it is possible to doubt, and to be persuaded, that every thing is false which can possibly be conceived to be doubtful. Now there is only one point of which it is impossible to doubt, namely, That I, the person who doubts, am thinking. This proposition, therefore, I think, and this only, may be taken for grant- ed ; and nothing else whatsoever is to be be- lieved without proof. What is to be expected from this strange introduction? One or other of these two things must necessarily follow. This author will either believe nothing at all ; or if he believe any thing, it must be upon the re- commendation of sophistical reasoning*. But Des Cartes is no sceptic in his moral rea- sonings : therefore, in his moral reasonings, he must be a sophister. Let us see, whether we can make good this charge against him by facts. Taking it for granted that he thinks, he * See the first part of tliis Essay. thence 192 AN ESSAY [Part II. thenciB infers, that he exists : Ego cogito, ergo sum ; I think, therefore I exist. Now there cannot be thought where there is no exist- ence; before he take it for granted that he thinks, he must also take it for granted that he exists. This argument, therefore, pro- ceeds on a supposition, that the thing to be proved is true ; in other words, it is a so- phism, a petitio principii. Even supposing it possible to conceive thinking, without at the same time conceiving existence, still this is no conclusive argument, except it could be shown, that it is more evident to a man that he thinks, than that he exists ; for in every true proof a less evident proposition is infer- red from one that is more evident. But, I think, and, I e^ist, are equally evident. Therefore this is no true proof. — To set an example of false reasoning in the very found- ation of a system, can hardly fail to have bad consequences. Having in this manner established his own existence, our author next proceeds to prove the veracity of his faculties : that is, to show by reasoning, that what he thinks true, is really true, and that what he thinks false, is really false. He would have done better to have taken this also for granted : the argu- ment by which he attempts to prove it, does more honour to his heart than to his under- standing. It is indeed a sOphism of the same kind with the former, in which he takes that for granted which he means to prove. It 2 runs Ch. II, 1,] ON TRUTH. 193 runs thus. We are conscious^ that we have in our iniiids the idea of a being infinitely |)erfect, inteUigent, and powerful, necessarily existent and eternal. This idea differs from all our other ideas in two respects : — It im- plies the notions of eternal and necessary ex- istence, and of infinite perfection : — it nei- ther is, nor can be, a fiction of the fancy ; and therefore exhibits no chimera or imagi- nary being, but* a true and immutable na- ture, wliich must of necessity exist, because necessary existence is comprehended in the idea of it. Therefore there is a God, neces- sarily existent, infinitely wise, powerful, and true, and possessed of all perfection. This Being is the maker of us and of all our fa- culties ; he cannot deceive, because he is in- finitely perfect ; therefore our faculties are true, and not fallacious*. — The same argu- ment has been adopted by others, particu- larly by Dr. Barrow. " Cartesius," says that pious and learned author, " hath well •' observed, that, to make us absolutely cer- " tain of our having attained the truth, it " is required to be known, whether our fa- " culties of apprehending and judging the " truth, be true; which can only be known *' from the power, goodness, and truth?, of " our Creator -f-." * Oartesii Prmcip. Philos. part I. sect, 14, 15. 18. t Lect, Geomet 7. , ,. , i . I object 194 AN ESSAY [Part II. I object not to this argument for the di- vine existence, drawn from the idea of an all-perfect being, of which the human mind is conscious ; though perhaps this is not the most unexceptionable method of evincing that great truth. I allow, that when a man beheves a God, he cannot, Avithout absurdi- ty and impiety, deny or question the veraci- ty of the human faculties ; and that to ac- knowledge a distinction between truth and falsehood, implies a persuasion, that certam laws are established in the universe, on which the natures of all created things depend, which (to me at least) is incomprehensible, except on the supposition of a supreme, intel- ligent, directing cause. But I acquiesce in these principles, because I take the veracity of my faculties for granted; and this I feel myself necessitated to do, because I feel it to be the law of my nature, which I cannot possibly counteract. Proceeding then upon this innate and irresistible notion, that my faculties are true, I infer, by the justest rea- soning, that God exists ; and the evidence for this great truth is so clear and convincing, that I cannot withstand its force, if I believe any thing else whatever. Des Cartes argues in a different manner. Because God exists (says he), and is perfect, therefore my faculties are true. Right. — But how do you know that God exists ? I in- fer it from the second principle of my philo- sophy, already established, Cogito, trgo sum. ' How Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 195 — How do you know that your inference is just? It satisfies my reason. — Your argu- ment proceeds on a supposition, that what sa- tisfies your reason is true? It does,--^Do you not then take it for granted, that your reason is not a fallacious, but a true faculty? This must be taken for granted, otherwise the ar- gument is good for nothing. And if so, your argument proceeds on a supposition, that the point to be proved is true. In a word, you pretend to prove the truth of our faculties, by an argument which evidently and necessarily supposes their truth. Your philosophy is built on sophisms ; how then can it be according to common sense? As this philosopher doubted where he ought to have been confident, so he is often confi- dent where he ought to doubt. He admits not his own existence, till he thinks he has proved it; yet his system is replete with hy- pothesis taken for granted, without proof, almost without examination. He sets out with the profession of universal scepticism; but many of his theories are founded in the most unphilosophical credulity. Had he taken a little more for granted, he would have proved a great deal more : he takes almost nothing for granted (I speak of what he pro- fesses, not of what he performs) ; and there- fore he proves nothing. In geometry, how- evei', he is rational and ingenious; there are some curious remarks in his discourse on the passions; his physics are fanciful and plau- ¥ sible; 196 AN ESSAY , [Part II. sible; his- treatise on music perspicuous, though superficial : a lively imagination seems to have been his chief talent ; want of know- ledge in the grounds of evidence his princi- pal defect. We are informed by Father Male- BRANCHE, that the senses were at first as ho- nest faculties as one could desire to be en- dued with, till after they were debauched by original sin; an adventure, from which they contracted such an invincible propensity to cheating, that they are noAV continually lying in wait to deceive us. But there is in man, it seems, a certain clear-sighted, stout, old faculty, called Reason, which, without being deceived by appearances, keeps an eye upon the rogues, and often proves too cunning for them. Malebranche therefore adviseth us to doubt with all our might. " If a man " has only learned to doubt," says he, " let; " him not imagine that he has made an in- " considerable progress*." Progress! in what? in science? Is it not a contra- diction, or at least an inconsistency, in terms, to say that a man makes progress in science by doubting f? If one were to ask the way to Dublin, and to receive for answer, that he * Qu'on ne s'imagine pas, que Ton ait peu avance, si on a seulement appris a douter. La Recherche de la Vcrite, liv. 1. ch. 20. t Est contrarietas inter verba scivi, et dubia sunt. Des Caries, Object, et Respons. septimae. ought Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 197 ought first of all to sit down ;' for that if he had only learned to sit still, he might be assur- ed, that he had made no inconsiderable pro- gress in his journey; I suppose he would hardly trouble his informer with a second question. It is true, this author makes a distinction between the doubts of passion, brutality, and bhndness, and those of prudence, dis- trust, and penetration: the former, says he, are the doubts of Academics and Atheists : the latter are the doubts of the true philoso- pher*. It is true also, that he allows us to give an entire consent to the things that ap- pear entirely evident-f-. But he adopts, not- withstanding, the principles of Des Cartes* first philosophy, That we ought to begin our enquiries with universal doubt, taking only our own consciousness for granted, and thence inferring our existence, and the existence of God, and proving, from the divine veracity, that our faculties are not fallacious. Where- ever it is possible that a deluding spirit may deceive us, there, says Malebranche, we ought to doubt]; ; but a deluding spirit may * Itecherche de la Verite, liv. 1. ch. 20. sect. 3. t Qu'on ne doit jamais donner un consentement entier, qu'a des choses qui paiQissent entierement evidentes.— Mecherche de la Virite, liv. 1. ch. 20. sect. 3. — This is indeed a rational scepticism, such a^ Aristotle recom- mends, and ev^ry friend (o truth must approve^ t Id. liv, 6. ch. 6. If 2 deceive 198 AN ESSAY [Part II, deceive us wherever our memory is em- ploj'^ed in reasoning; therefore, in all such reasonings, there may be error. And if so, there may be error in reasoning of every kind ; for without memory there can be no reasoning: but in the truths discovered by a-single glance (connoissances de simple vue)^ such as this, That two and two make four, it is not possible, he says, for a deluding God, (Dieu trompeur), however powerful, to de- ceive him. — It is easy to see that such doc- trines must lead to sophistry, or to universal scepticism, or rather to both. For if a demon- strated conclusion may be false for any thing I know to the contrary, an axiom may be so too : my belief of the first is not less neces- sary, than my belief of the last. Intuition is, of all evidence, the clearest, and most im- mediately convincing; but demonstration produces absolute certainty, and full con- viction, in the mind of him who understands it*. — Malebranche, indeed, acknow- ledges, that we may reason when once we know that God is no deceiver: but this, he says, must be known at one glance, (that is, I suppose, intuitively), or it cannot be known * See the second chapter of the first book of the lat- ter Anali^tics of Aristotle. This great philosopher holds, that intuition and demonstration are equally productive of knowledge; though the former be the first, the clearest^ and most immediate evidence. at Ch. U. 1.] ON TRUTH. 199 at all ; for all reasoning on this subject may be fallacious*. But I do not pretend to unfold all the false and sceptical principles of this author's phi- losophy. To confess the truth, I do not well understand it. He is generally mystical j often, if I mistake not, self-contradicfory ; and his genius is strangely warped by a ve- neration for the absurdities of Popery. He rejects the evidence of sense, because it seems repugnant to his reason ; he admits transub- stantiation, though certainly repugnant both to reason and sense. Of Aristotle and Seneca, and the other ancient philosophers, he says, that their lights are nothing but thick dark- ness, and their most illustrious virtues, no- thing but intolerable pride-f-. Fy, M. Male- BRANCHE ! Popery, with all its absurdities, requires not from its adheraits so illiberal a declaration. An Aristotelian, of your own religion and country, and nearly of your own age, delivers a very different doctrine : *' AristotlCj supported by philosophy, hatk " ascended by the steps of motion even t© " the knowledge of one first mover, who is *' God- In order to. arrive at the know- *' ledge of divine things, we must learn sci- " ence, otherwise we shall fall into error. ** Philosophy and theology beaar testimony * Recherches de la V^ritd, liv. 6. ch. §. f Id. ik "to. 200 AN ESSAY [PaT,t II. *' to, and mutually confirm, each other, and " produce a more perfect knowledge of the " truth: the latter teaches what we ought *' to believe, and reason makes us believe it •' more easily, and with greater steadiness. " They are two lights, which, by their " union, yield a more brilliant lustre than ei- " ther of them could yield singly, or both " if separated. Moses learned-the philoso- *' phy of the Egvptians, and Daniel in Ba- *' bylon that of the Chaldeans*." This learned Peripatetic goes on to show, that Je- rome, Augustine, Gregory of Nice, and Cle- mens Alexandrinus, entertained the same ho- nourable opinion of the ancient philosophers, — If Des Cartes, and his disciple Male- BRANCiiE, had studied the ancients more, and indulged their own imagination less, they would have made a better figure ip phi- losophy, and done much more service to mankind. But it was their aim to decry the ancients as much as possible: and ever since their time, it has been too much the fashion, to overlook the discoveries of former ages, as unnecessary to the improvement of the pre- sent. Malebranche often inveighs against Aristotle in particular, with the most viru- lent bitterness ; and affects, on all occasions, to treat him with supreme contempt-f . Had * Bouju. IntroductioH a la Philosophic, chap. 9. Paris, 1614:, folio. t See Recherche de la Verite, liv. 6. ch. 5. this Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 201 this great ancient employed his genius in the subversion of virtue, or in estabhshing te- nets incompatible with the principles of na- tural religion, he would have deserved the severest censure. But Malebranche lays nothing of this kind to his charge; he only finds him guilty of some speculative errors in natural philosophy. Aristotle was not ex- empted from that fallibility which is incident .to human nature ; yet it would not be amiss, if our modern wits would study him a little, before they venture to decide so positively on his abilities and character. It is observable, that he is most admired by those who best understand him. Now, the contrary is true of our modern sceptics : they are most ad- mired by those who read them least, and who take their characters upon trust, as they find them delivered in coffee-houses and drawing- rooms, and other places of fashionable con- versation, whose doctrines do so much ho- nour to the virtue and good sense of this en- lightened age. I have sometimes heard the principles of the Socratic school urged as a precedent to justify our modern sceptics. Modern scepti- cism is of two kinds, unlike in their nature, though the one be the foundation of the other. Des Cartes begins with universal doubt, that in the end he may arrive at conviction: Hume begins with hypothesis, ai^d ends with universal doubt. Now, does not Aristotle propose, that all investigation should 202 AN ESSAY [Part 11. should begin with doubt ? And does not So- crates affirm, that he knows nothing certain- ly, except his own ignorance ? All this is true. Aristotle proposes, that investigation should begin with doubt*. He compares doubting to a knot, Avhich it is the end of investigation to disin tangle; and there can be no solution where there is no knot or difficulty to be solved. But Aristotle's doubt is quite of a different nature from that of Des Cartes. The former admits as true whatever is self-evident, without seeking to prove it ; nay, he affirms, that those men who attempt to prove self-evident principles, or who think that such principles may be proved, are ignorant of the nature of prooff ■. It differs also most essentially from the scep- ticism of Mr. Hume. The reasonings of this author terminate in doubt; whereas Aris- totle's constant aim is, to disct)ver truth, and establish conviction. He defines philosophy the science of Truth ; divides it into specula- tive and practical; and expressly declares, that truth is the end of the former, and action of the latter J. * Aristot. Metapliys. lib, 3. cap. 1. Ai"v i' «x ir» iyVouVTOS TOV JtO'fiOV, &C. t Aristot. Metaphys. lib. 4. cap. 4. &WJWX11J ijev yBp riXos A'MOhcf ■jrjaxTtx^f, S' Vgyiv. Metaphj/s. lib. 2. cap. 1. Cicero, Cli. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 203 Cicero, in order to Compliment a sect, of which, however, he was not a consistent dis- ciple, ascribes to Socrates a very high degree of scepticism* ; making his principles near- ly the same with those of the New Academy, who professed to believe, that all things are so involved in darkness, that nothing can be known with certainty. The only difference between them, according to Cicero in this place, is, that Socrates affirmed, that he knew nothing but his own ignorance; whereas Arcesilas, and the rest of the New Academy, held, that man could know nothing, not even his own ignorance, with certainty ; and therefore, that affirmation of every kind is absurd and un philosophical. But we need not take this on the authority of Cicero, as we have access to the same original authors from whom he received his information: and if we consult them, particularly Xeno* phon, the most unexceptionable of them all in point of veracity, we shall find, that the reasonings, the sentiments, and the conduct of Socrates, are altogether incompatible vnth scepticism. The first science that engaged his attention was natural philosophy ; which, as it was taught in those days by Zeno, Aiiaxagoras, and Xenophianes, had little to re^ commend it to a man of sense and candour. Socrates soon relinquished k, from a persua- sion that it was at once unprofitable, and * Cic. Academ. lib. 1. cap. 1^. 4 founded £04 AN ESSAY [Part IL founded in uncertainty ; and employed the rest of his hfe in the cultivation of moral philosophy ; a science which to him seemed more satisfactor}'^ in its evidence, and more useful in its application*. So far was he from being sceptical in regard to the princi- ples of moral duty, that he inculcated them with earnestness wherever he found oppor- tunity, and thought it incumbent on every man to make himself acquainted with them. In his reasonings, indeed, he did not formal- ly lay down any principle, because it was his method to deduce his conclusions from what was acknowledged by his antagonist : but is this any proof, that he himself did not be- lieve his own conclusions ? Read the story of his life; his conduct never belied his principles: observe the manners of our scep- tics ; their conduct and principles do mu- tually and invariably belie one another. Do you seek still more convincing evidence, that Socrates felt, believed, and avowed the truth? Read the defence he made before his judges. See you there any si^ns of doubt, hesitation, or fear? any suspicion of the possibility of his being in the wrong ? any dissimulation, sophistry, or art ? See you not, on the con- trary, the utmost plainness and simplicity, the calmest and most deliberate fortitude, and that noble assurance which so well b6- * Xenoph. Memorab. lib. 1. cap. 1. etlib. 4. cap. 7. comes Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 205 comes the cause of truth and virtue ? Few men have shown so firm an attachment to truth, as to lay down their hfe for its sake : yet this did Socrates. He made no exter- nal , profession of any philosophical creed ; but in his death, and through the whole of his life, he showed the steadiest adherence to principle; and his principles were all consistent. Xenophon has recorded many of these; and tells us in regard to some of them, that Socrates scrupled not to call those men fools who differed from his opinion*.-^ The sophists of his age were not solicitous to discover truth, but only to confute an ad- versary, and reason plausibly in behalf of their theories. That they might have the ampler field for this sort of speculation, they confined themselves, hke our modern meta- physicians, to general topics, such as the na- ture of good, of beauty, and the like ; on which one may say a great many things with little meaning, and offer a variety of argu- ments without one word of truth. Socrates did much to discredit this abuse of science. In his conversations he did not trouble him- self with the niceties of artificial logic. His aim was, not to confute an adversary, nor to guard against that verbal confutation which the sophists were perpetually attempting; but to do good to those with whom he con- versed, by laying their duty before them in * Xenoph. Memorab. lib. l.icap. I. passim. a strik- 206 AN ESSAY [Part II. a striking and persuasive* manner*. He was not fond of reasoning on abstract subjects, especially when he had to do with a so- phist ; well knowing, that this could answer no other purpose than to furnish matter for endless and unprofitable logomachy, AVhen therefore, Aristippus asked him concerning the nature of good-f-, with a view to con- fute, or at least to tease him, with quibbling evasions, Socrates declined to answer in ge- neral terms ; and desired the sophist to limit his question, by confining the word good to some particular thing. Do you ask me, says he, what is good for a fever, for sore eyes, or for hunger ? No, says the sophist. If, re- plies he, you ask me concerning the nature of a good which is good for no particular purpose, I tell you once for all, that I know of none such, and have no desires after it. — In like manner, he answers to the general question concerning beauty, by desiring his adversary to confine himself to some parti- cular kind of beauty. What would the great moralist have thought of those modern trea- tises, which seem to have nothing else in view, but to contrive vain definitions of ge- Tagw^Xliy i ^/uK^WTii; Aitt^UarOjUy^ uaa-tUfo ol f&Xarfojutvo*, jiati tij o layoff Xenoph. Memorab. lib. 3. cap. 8. + Id. ibid. neral Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 207 neral ideas ! Simple, certain, and useful truth, was the constant and the only object of this philosopher's enquiry. True it is, he sometimes said, that he knew nothing but his own ignorance. And surely the highest attainments in human know- ledge are imperfect and unsatisfying. Yet man knows something: Socrates was con- scious that he knew something; otherwise Xenophon would not have asserted, that his opinions concerning God, and Providence, and Religion, and Moral Duty, were well known to all the Athenians*. But Socrates was humble, and made no pretensions to any thing extraordinary, either in virtue or in knowledge. He professed no science; he in- structed others without pedantry and with- out parade ; exemplifying the beauty and the practicability of virtue, by the integrity of his life, and by the charms of an instructive, though most insinuating conversation -f-. His address, in conducting an argument or enquiry, was very remarkable. He put on the appearance of an ignorant person, and seemed to be only asking questions for his information, when he was leading his dis- ciple or antagonist to the acknowledgment of some useful truth. It is a pity that this mode of instruction is not more generally * Xenoph. Memorab. lib. I. cap. I. t Ibid. cap. 2. practised. 208 AN ESSAY [Part II. practised. No other method conveys so clear conviction to the mind of the young student, or so effectually cultivates his understanding : for, by thus co-operating with the teacher in the investigation of truth, his attention is fixed, his fancy directed, and his judgment exercised, no less than if the discovery were altogether his own. Cicero seems to have been an Academic ra- ther in name than in reality ; and I am apt to think, from several passages in his works*, that he made choice of this denomination, in order to have a pretence for reasqning on either side of every question, and conse- quently an ampler field for a display of his rhetorical talents- j-. To Pyrrho, Herillus, Aristo, and other sceptics, who, by asserting that all things are indifferent, destroy the dis- tinction of virtue and vice, he will not allow even the name of philosopher: nay, he insi- nuates that it is impudence in such persons to pretend to it;|:- " I Avish,'' says he in another place, " that they who suppose me a sceptic " were sufficiently acquainted with ray senti- " ments : fori am not one of those whose mmd * See particularly De Officiis, lib. 3. cap. i; De Fato, cap. 2; De Oratore, lib. 3. cap. 21. + See this point illustrated in Remarks upon a Dis- course OF Free-thinking, &c. Bi/ PJiileleutherus JUpsiensis (Dr. Bentley)^ edit. 7. p. 262. X De OfBciisj lib. 1. cap. 2, '* wanders Ch. IL 1.] ON TRUTH. ^09 " wanders in error, without any fixed prin- " ciple. For what sort of understanding " must that man possess, what sort of life *' must that man lead, who, by divesting " himself of principle, divests himself of the " means both of reasoning and of living*!" Let it be observed also, that when the sub- ject of his enquiry is of high importance, as in his books on moral duties, and on the nature of the gods, he follows the doctrine of the Dogmatists, particularly the Stoics; and asserts his moral and religious principles with a warmth and energy which prove him to have been in earnest. 2. Nothing was further from the intention of Locke, than to encourage verbal con- troversy, or advance doctrines favourable to scepticism. To do good to mankind, by en- forcing virtue, illustrating truth, and vindi- cating liberty, was his sincere purpose : and he did not labour in vain. His writings are to be reckoned among the few books that have been productive of real utility to man- kind. But candour obliges me to remark, that some of his tenets seem to be too rashly admitted, for the sake of a favourite hypo- thesis. That some of them have promoted * Quibus vellem satis cognita esset nostra sententia. Non enim sumus ii, quorum vagetur animus errore, nee habeat unquam quid sequatur. Quae enim esset ista mens, vel quae vita potius, non modo disputandi, sed Vi- vendi ratione sublata ! Cic, de Offidis, lib. 2. cap. 2. scepticism. 210 AN ESSAY [Part 11. scepticism, is undeniable. He seems indeed to have been sensible, that there were inac- curacies in his work ; and candidly owns, that " some hasty and undigested thoughts " on a subject never before considered, gave " the first entrance to his Essay ; which be- " ing begun ,by chance, was continued by " intreaty, written by incoherent parcels, " and after long intervals of neglect re- " sumed again, as humour or occasion per- " mitted*-." The first book of his Essay, which, with submission, I think the worst, tends to esta- blish this dangerous doctrine, That the hu- man mind, previous to education and habit, is as susceptible of any one impression as of any other: a doctrine which, if true, would go near to prove, that truth and virtue are no better than human contrivances ; or, at least, that they have nothing permanent in their nature, but may be as changeable as the inclinations and capacities of men ; and that, as we understand the term, there is no such thing as common sense in the world. Surely this is not the doctrine that Locke meant to establish ; but his zeal against in- nate ideas, and innate principles, put him off his guard, and made him allow too little to instinct, for fear of allowing too much. This controversy, as far as it regards moral * Preface to the Essay oo Human Understanding. sentiment. Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 211 sentiment, I propose to examine in another place. At present I would only qhsisrve, that if truth be any thing permanent,, which it must be if it be any thing at all, those per- ceptions or impulses of understandjing, by which we become conscious of it, must be equally permanent; which they could not be, if th.ey depended on education, and if there were not a law of nature, independ- ent on man, which determines the under- standing in some cases to believe, in others to disbelieve. Is it possible to imagine, that any course of education could ever bring a rational creature to believe, that two and two are equal to three, that he is not the same person to-day he was yesterday, that the ground he stands on does not exist? could make him disbelieve the testimony of his own senses, or that of other men? could make him expect unlike events in like circum- stances? or that the course of nature, of which he has hitherto had experience, will be changed, even when he foresees no cause to hinder its continuance? I can no more beHeve, that education- could produce such a depravity of judgment, than that educa- tion could make me see all human bodies in an inverted position, or hear with my no- strils, or take pleasure in burning or cutting my flesh. Why should not our judgments concerning truth be acknowledged to result from a bias impressed upon the mind by its Creator, as well as our desire of self-preser- o vation, 312 AN ESSAY [Part II. vation, our love of society, our resentment of injury, our joy in the possession of good ? If those judgments be not instinctive, I should be glad to know how they come to be universal : the modes of sentiment and be- haviour produced by education are uniform only where education is uniform ; but there are many truths which have obtained uni- versal acknowledgmient in all ages and na- tions. If those judgments be not instinctive, I should be glad to know how men find it so difficult, or rather impossible, to lay them aside : the false opinions we imbibe from habit and education, may be, and often are, relinquished by those Avho make a proper use of their reason ; and he who thus renounces former prejudices, upon conviction of their falsity, is applauded by all as a man of can- dour, sense, and spirit ; but if one were to suffer himself to be argued out of his com- mon sense, the whole world would pronounce him a fool. The substance, or at least the foundation, of Berkeley's argument against the exist- ence of matter, may be_ found in Locke's Essay, and in the Principia ofDEs Cartes. And if this argument be conclusive, it proves that to be false which every man must ne- cessarily believe every moment of his life to be true, and that to be true which no man since the foundation of the world was ever capable of believing for a single moment. Berkeley's doctrine attacks the most in- contestable Ch. II. 1] ON; TRUTH. ns contestable dictates of common sense; pnd pretends to demonstrate, that the clearest principles of human conviction, and those which have determined the judgment of all men in all ages, and bj which the judgment of all rational men must be determined, are certainly fallacious. Mr. Hume, more subtle, and less reserved, than any of his predecessors, hath gone still greater lengths in the demolition of com- mon sense; and reared in its place a most tremendous fabric of doctrine ; upon which, if it were not for the liimsiness of its mate- rials, engines might easily be erected, suffi- cient to overturn all belief, science, rehgion, virtue, and society, from the very founda-» tion. He calls this work, " A Treatise of *' Human Nature ; being an attempt to in- *' -troduce the experimental method of rea- *' soning into moral subjects." This is, in the style of Edmund Curl, a taking title-page ; but, alas ! " Fronti nulla fides !" The whole of this author's system is founded on a false hypothesis taken for granted ; and whenever a fact contradictory to that Gilse hypothesis occurs to his observation, he either denies it, or labours hard to explain it away. This, it seems, in his jiidgment, is experimental reasoning ! He begins his book with affirming. That all the perceptions of the human mind re- solve themselves into two classes, impressions and ideas ; that the latter are all copied from o 2 the 214 AN ESSAY [Part II. the former j and that an idea differs from its correspondent impression only in being a weaker perception. Thus, when I sit by the fir6, 1 have an impressibn of heal, and I can form an idea of heat when I am shivering with cold ; in the one case I have a stronger perception of heat, in the other a weaker. Is ttere any warmth in this idea of heat ? There must, according to this doctrine ; only the warmth of the idea is not quite so strong as that of the impression. For this author repeats it again and again, that " an idea is " by its nature weaker and fainter than an " impression, but is in every other respect " [not only similar, but] the same*.** Nay, fie goes further, and says, that " whatever " is true of the one must be acknowledged " concerning the other-f-; and he is so con- lident of the truth of this riiaxim, that he makes it one of the pillars of his philosophy. To those who may be inclined to admit this maxim on his authority, I would propose a few plain questions. Do you feel any, even the least, warmth, in the idea of a bonfire, a burning mountain, or the general confla- gration? Do you feel more real cold in Virgil's Scythian winter, than in Milton's description of the flames of hell ? Do you acknowledge that to be true of the idea of * Treatise of Human NatOre, Tol. 1. p. 131, + Ibid. p. 41. 4 eating. Gh. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 215 eating, which is certainly true of the im- pression of it, that it alleviates hunger, fills the belly, and contributes to the support of human life ? If you answer the?e questions in the negative, you deny one of the funda- mental principles of this philosophy. We have, it is true, a livelier perception of a friend when we see him, than when we think of him in his absence. But this is not all : every person of a sound mind knows, that in the one case we believe, and are certain, that the object exists, and is present with us ; in the other we believe, and are certain, that the object is not present: which, however, they must deny, who maintain, that an idea differs from an impression only in being weaker, and in po other respect whatsoever. That every idea shoiil4 be a copy and re- semblg,nce of the impression whence it is derived ; — that, for example, the idea of red should be a red icjea ; tlie idea of a roaring lion a roaring idea; the idea of an ass, a liairy, long-eared, sluggish idea, patient of labour, and rnuch addicted to thistfles ; that the idea of extensioij should be extended, and that of solidity solid : — that a thought of the mind should be endued with all, or any, of the qualities of matter, — is, in my judg- ment, inconceiv^jble and impossible. Yet our "author takes it for granted ; and it is an- <>ther of his fundamental maxims. Such is the credulity of Scepticism ! If 216 AN ESSAY [Part I If every idea be an exact resemblance of its correspondent impression (or object, for these terras, ' according to this author, seem to amount to the same thing*) ; — if the ide^, of extension be extended, as the same author al- io ws-f-"; — then the idea of a line, the shortest tlaat sense can perceive, must be equal in length to the line itself; for if shorter, it would be imperceptible ; and it will not be said, either that an imperceptible idea can be perceived, or tliat the idea of an impercep- tible object can be formed : — consequently the idea of a line a hundred times as long, must be a hundred times as long as the for- mer idea ; for, if shorter, it would be the idea, not of this, but of some other shorter line. And so it clearly follows, nay it ad- mits of demonstration, that the idea of an inch is really an inch long : and that of a mile, a mile long. In a word, every idea of any particular extension is equal in length to the extended object. The same reasoning holds good in regard to the other dimenSiojns of breadth and thickness. All ideas, there- fore, of solid objects, must be, (according' to this philosophy) equal in magnitude and So- lidity to the objects themselves. Now liiark the consequence. I am just now in an apart- ment containing a thoi^and cubic feet,, be- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. I. p. 12, 13.363. + Ibid. p. 416, 417. mg Ch. ILL] ON TRUTH. 21? ing ten feet square, and ten high ; the door and tv'indows are shut, as well as my eyes and ears. Mr. Hume will allow, that, in this situation, I may form ideas, not only of the visible appearance, but also of the real tan- .gible magnitude of the whole house, of a first-rate man of war, of St. Paul's cathedral, or even of a much larger object. But thq solid magnitude of these ideas is equal to thi& solid magnitude of the objects from which they are copied : therefore I have now pre- sent with me an idea, that is, a solid extend- ed thing, whose dimensions extend to a rail- lion of cubic feet at least. The question now is, Where is this thing placed? for a place it must have, and a pretty large one too. I should answer, In my mind; for I know not where else the ideas of my mind can be so conveniently deposited. Now my mind is lodged in a body of no great dimensions, and my body is contained in a room tea feet square, and ten feet high. It seems .then, that, into this room, I have it in my power at pleasure to introduce a solid object a thou- sand, or ten thousand, times larger .than the room itself I contemplate it a while, and then, by another volitiou, send it a-packing, to make way for another object of equal or superior magnitude. Nay, in no larger ve- Ifhicle than a common post-chaise, I can trans- J port from one place to another, a building equal to the largest Egyptian pyramid, and a mountain as big as tfe peak of Teneriff. — Take 218 AN iESSAY. [Pdrtll. Take care, ye disciples of Hume, and be very well advised before ye reject this mystery as impossible and incomprehensible. It seems to be geometrically deduced from the prin- ciples, nay from the first principles, of your master. Say, ye candid and intelligent, what are we to expect from a logical and systematic treatise founded on a supposition that leads into such absurdity,^ Shall we expect truth? then must it not be inferred by false reason- ing? — Shall we expect sound reasoning? then must not the inferences be false? — In- deed, though I cannot much admire this au- thor's sagacity on the present occasion, I must confess myself not a little astonished at his courage. A witch going to sea in an egg- shell, or preparing to take a trip through the air on a broom-stick, would be a surprising phenomenon ; but it is nothing to Mr. Hume, on such a bottom, "launching out into the " immense depths of philosophy.'' To multiply examples for the confutation of so glaring an absurdity, is ridiculous. I therefore leave it to' the reader to determine, whether, if this doctrine of solid and ex- tended ideas be true, it -^vill not follow, that the idea of a roaring lion must emit audible sound, almost as loiid and as- terrible as the royal beast in person coi;ild exhibit; — that two ideal bottles of brandy Ivill intoxicate as far at least as two genuin'e bottled of wine; — and that I must be greatly hurt, if not dashed Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 219 dashed to pieces, if I am so imprudent as to form only the idea of a bomb bursting undqr my feet. For has not our author said, that " impressions and ideas comprehend all the " perceptions (or objects) of the human " mind ; that whatsoever is true of the one " must be acknowledged concerning the " other ; nay, that they are in every respect " the same, except that the former strike *' with more force than the latter?" The absurdity and inconceivableness of the distinction between objects and perceptions, is another of our author's doctrines. " Hbw- " ever philosophers may distinguish (says he) " betwixt the objects and perceptions of the " senses, this is a distinction which is not " comprehended by the generality of man- " kind.*" Now hoAV are we to know whe- ther * See Treatise of Human' Nature, vol. 1. p. 353. 365. -The word perception (and the same is true of the words sensation, smell, taste, and many others) has, in common Janguages, two, and sometimes three, distinct significa- tions. It means, 1. The thing perceived. Thus we speak of the taste of a fig, the smell of a rose. 2. The power or faculty perceiving; as when we say, "I have lost my " smell by a severe cold, and therefore my taste is not " so quick as usual." 3. It-sometimes denotes that im- pulse or impression which is cpmmunicated to the mind by the external object operating upon it throvigh the or- gan of sensation. Thus we speak of a sweet or hitter taste, a distinct or confused, a clear av^obscure, sensation or perception. Most of our sceptical philosophers have ei- ther been ignorant of, or in«ittentive to, this .distinction. Malebbanche, indeed (liv. 1. ch. 10.), seems to have had some notion of it : but either I do not understand this 220 AN ESSAY [Part 11. ther this distinction be conceived and ac- knowledged by the generaUty ? If we put the question to any of them, we shall find it no easy matter to make ourselves understood, and, after all, perhaps be laughed at for our pains. Shall we reason d, priori about their sentiments and comprehensions? this is nei- ther philosophical nor fair. Will you allow me to reckon myself one of the generality? Then I declare, for my own part, that I do comprehend and acknowledge this distinc- tion, and have done so ever since I was ca- pable of reflection. Suppose me to address the common people in these words: " I see a strange sight a little " way off; but my sight is weak, so that I " see it imperfectly ; let me go nearer, that " I may have a more distinct sight of it." — —If the generality of mankind be at all incapable of distinguishing between the ob- ject and the perception, this incapacity will doubtless discover itself most when ambi- guous words are used on purpose to confound their ideas ; but if their ideas on this subject are not confounded even by ambiguous lan- this author, or there is a strange obscurity and want of f decision in almost every thing he says. Mr. Hume's phi- osophy does n.;t allow this to be a rational distinction ; so that it is impossible to know precisely what he means by the word perception in this and many other places. But I have disproved his assertion, whatever sense (con- sistent with common use) we affix to the word. guage Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 221 guage, there is reason to think, that they are extremely clear, distinct, and accurate. Now I have here proposed a sentence, in which there is a studied ambiguity of language ; and yet I maintain, that every person, who understands English, will instantly, on hear- ing these words, perceive, that by the word sight I mean, in the first clause, the thing seen ; in the second, the power, or perhaps the organ, bf seeing; in the third, the per- ception itself, as distinguished both from the percipient faculty, and from the visible ob- ject*. If one of the multitude, on hearing me * To every person of common understanding this distinction is in reality and practice quite familiar. But as the words we use in expressing- it are of ambiguous sigr- nification, it is not easy to write about it so as to be im- mediately understood by every reader. — The thing^ seen or perceived is something permanent and external, and is believed to exist, whether perceived or not ; the faculty of seeing or perceiving is also something permanent in the mind, and is believed to exist, whether exerted or not ; but what I here call the perception itself is tem- porary, arid is conceived to have no existence but in the mind that perceives it, and to exist no longer than while it is perceived ; for in being perceived, its very essence does consist : so that to be, and to be perceived, when predicated of it, do mean precisely the same thing. Thus, I just now see this paper, which I call the exter- nal object : I turn away, or shut my eyes, and then I see it no longer, but I still believe it to exist; though bu- ried an hundred fathoms deep in the earth, or left in an uninhabitable island, its existence would be as real as if it were gazed at by ten thousand men. Again, when 1 shut my, eyes, or tie a bandage over them, or go into a dark pl^e, I see no longer; that is, roy faculty of seeing acts, or 222 AN ESSAY [Part II. me pronounce this sentence, were to reply as follows : " The sight is not at all strange ; " it is a man on horseback : but your sight " must needs be weak, as you are lately re- *' covered from sickness : however, if you " wait a little, till the man and horse, which *' are now in the shade, come into the sun- " shine, you will then have a much more " distinct sight of them " I would ask, Is the study of any part of philosophy ne- cessary to make aman comprehend the mean- ing of these two sentences? Is there any thing absurd or unintelligible, either in the former or in the latter ? Is there any thing in the reply, that seems to exceed the capa- city of the vulgar, and supposes them to be more acute than they really are? If there be not, and I am certain there is not, here is an unquestionable proof, that the vulgar, or is acted upon,, no longer; but I still believe it to re- main in my mind, ready to act, or to be acted upon, whenever it is again placed in the proper circumstances ; for no body supposes, that by shutting our eyes, or go- ing into a dark place, we annihilate our faculty of seeing. 3ut, thirdly, my percep/fow of this paper is no perma- nent thing ; nor has it any existencej but while it is per- ceived ; nor does it at all exist, but in the mind that per- ceives it ; I can put an end to or annihilate it, when- ever I please, by shutting my. eyes; and I can at pleasure renew it, again, by opening them. — It is really astonish- ing, that so many of our modern philosophers should Kave pverlookeda distinctioi), which is of so great import- ance, that if we were unacq^uainted with it, a great part of human language wpidd seem lobe perfect nonsense. and Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 223 and indeed all men whom metaphysic has not depii\'ed of their senses, do distinguish between the object perceived, the faculty per- ceiving, and the perception or impulse com- municated by the external object to the mind through the organ of sensation. What though all the three are sometimes expressed by the same name? This only shews, that accuracy of language is not always necessary for an- swering the common purposes of life. If the ideas of the vulgar are sufficiently dis- tinct notwithstanding, what shall we say of that philosopher, whose ideas are really con- founded by this inaccuracy, and who, because there is no difference in the signs, imagines that there is none in the thing signified! That the understanding of such a. philosopher is not a vulgar one will be readily allowed ; whether it exceeds, or falls short, let the reader determine*. This author's method of investigation is no less extraordinary than his fundamental principles. There are many notions in the human mind, of which it is not easy perhaps to explain the origin. If you can describe in words what were the circumstances in which * Mr. Hume does not seem to me to be always consist- ent with himself in affirming, that the vulgar do not comprehend the distinction between perceptions and ob- jects. But, upon the whole, he seems to hold this dis- tinction to be unreasonable, unphiiosophical, and unsap- Sorted by the evidence of sense. — See Treatise of Human Tature, p. 330—332. you 224 AN ESSAY [Part 11. you received an impression of any particular notion, it is well ; he will allow that you may form an idea of it. But if you cannot do this, then, says he, there is no such no- tion in your mind ; for all perceptions are either impressions or ideas; and it is not possible for us so much as to conceive any thing specifically different from ideas and impressions*; now all ideas are copied from impressions : therefore you can hiave no idea nor conception of any thing of which you have not received an impression. — All man- kind have a notion of power or energy. No, says he, an impression of power or energy was never received by any man ; and there- fore an idea of it can never be formed in the human mind. If you insist on your expe- rience and consciousness of power, it is all a mistake ; his hypothesis admits not the idea of power; and therefore there is no such idea-f-. All mankind have an- idea of self. That I deny, says our author ; I maintain, that no man ever had, or can have, an im- pression of self; and therefore no man can form any idea of itj. If you persist, and say, that certainly you have some notion or idea of yourself: My dear Sir, he would say, you do not consider, that this assertion con- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1, p. 123. f Ibid. p. 282. t Ibid. p. 437; 43a tradicts Ch. ILL] ON TRUTH. 225 tradicts my hypothesis of impressions and ideas ; how then is it possible it should be true ! But though the author deny that I have any notion of self, surely he does not mean to affirm, that I do not exist, or that I have no notion of myself as an existent being. In truth, it is not easy to say what he means on this subject. Most philosophical subjects be- come obscure in the hands of this author ; for he has a notable talent in puzzling his readers and himself: but when he treats of consciousness, of personal identity, and of the nature of the soul, he expresses himself so strangely, that his words either have no meaning, or imply very great absurdity. " The question," says he, " concerning the " substance of the soul is unintelligible *." Well, Sir, if you think so, you may let it alone. — No, that must not be neither. " What we call a mind, is nothing but a " heap or collection of different perceptions " (or objects) united together by certain rela^- " tions, and supposed, though falsely, to be " endued with perfect simplicity and iden- " tity-f-. If any one, upon serious and " unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a " different notion of himself, I must confess " I can reason with him no longer. All I * Treatise of Human Nature, Vol. 1. p, 434, 435. t Ibid. p. 361, 362. " can 226 AN ESSAY [Part H. " can allow him is, that, he may be in the " right as well as I, and that we are essen- ** tially different in this particular. He may " perhaps perceive something simple an4 " continued, which he calls himself; though " I am certain there is no such principle in " rae. But setting aside some metaphysicians " of this kind," — that is, who feel and be- lieve that they have a soul, — " I may ven- *' ture to affirm of the rest of mankind, that " they are nothing but a bundle or collection ' " of different perceptions, which succeed " each other with inconceivable rapidity, *' and are in a perpetual flux and movement " ^There is properly no simplicity in the " mind at one time, nor identity in different " [times], whatever natural propension we " may have to imagine that simplicity and " identity. — They are the successive percep- " tions only that constitute the mind*." If these words have any meaning it is this: My soul (or rather that which I call my soul) is not one simple thing, nor is it the same thing to-day it was yesterday ; nay, it is not the same this moment it was the last ; it is nothing but a mass, collection, heap, or bundle of different perceptions, or objects, that fleet away in succession, with incon- ceivable rapidity, perpetually changing, and perpetually in motion. There may be some * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 438, 439. 440. metaphysicians Ch. II. 1.] ON TRUTH. 227 metaphysicians, to whose souls this descrip- tion cannot be appUed ; but I am certain, that this is a true and complete description of my soul, and of the soul of every other in- dividual of the human race, those few meta- physicians excepted. That body has no existence but as a bundle of perceptions,whose existence consists in their being perceived, our author all along maintains. He now affirms, that the soul in like manner, is a bundle of perceptions, and nothing else. It follows, then, that there is nothing in the universe but impressions and ideas ; all possible perceptions being by our author comprehended in those two classes. This philosophy admits of UiO other existence whatsoever, not even of a jpercipient being, to perceive these perceptions. So that we are now arrived at the height of human wisdom^ at that intellectual eminence, from whence there is a full prospect of all that we can rea- sonably believe to exist, and of all that can possibly become the object of our knowledge. Alas ! what is become of the magnificence of external nature, and the wonders of intel- lectual energy, the immortal beauties of truth and virtue, and the triumphs of a good conscience ! Where now the warmth of be- nevolence, the fire of generosity, the exulta- tions of hope, the tranquil ecstasy of devo- tion, and the pang of sympathetic delight I All, around, above, and beneath, is one vast vacuity, or rather an enormous chaos, en- F compassed 228 AN ESSAY [Part II. compassed with darkness universally and eternally impenetrable. Body and spirit are annihilated ; and there remains nothing (for we must again descend into metaphysic) but a vast collection, bundle, mass, or heap, of impressions and ideas. Such, in regard to existence, seems to be the result of this theory of the understand- ing. And what is this result ? If the au- thor can prove, that there is a possibility of expressing it in words which do not imply a contradiction, I will not call it nonsense. If he can prove, that it is compatible with any one acknowledged truth in philosophy, in morality, in religion natural or revealed, I will not call it impious. If he can prove, that it does not arise /toot common facts misre- presented, and common words misunderstood, I. shall admit that it may have arisen from ac- curate observation, candid and liberal en- quiry, perfect knowledge of human nature, and the enlarged viev/s of true philosophic genius. SECT. Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 229 SECT. II. Of the Non^enstence of Matter. XN the preceding section I have taken a shght survey of the principles, and method of investigation, adopted by the most cele- brated promoters of modern scepticism. And it appears that they have not attended to the distinction of reason and common sense, as explained in the first part of this Essay, and as acknowledged by mathematicians and natural philosophers. Erroneous, absurd, and self-contradictory notions, have been the consequence- And now, by entering into a more particular detail, we might easily shew, that many of thoscabsurditiesthat disgrace the philosophy of human nature, would never have existed, if men had acknowledged and attended to this distinction ; regulating their enquh'ies by the criterion above-men- tioned, and never prosecuting any chain of argument beyond self-evident principles. I shall confine myself to two instances ; one of which is connected with the evidence of ex- ternal sense, and the other with that of in- ternal. That matter or body has a real, separate, p 2 independent fSO AN ESSAY [f>art II. independent existence* ; that there is a real sun above us, a real air around us, and a real earth under our feet, — has been the belief of all men who were, not mad, ever since the creation. This is believed, not be- cause it is or can be proved by argument, but because the constitution of our nature is such that we must believe it. It is absurd, nay, it is impossible^ to believe the contrary. I could as easily believe, that I do not exist, that two and two are equal to ten, that what- ever is, is not ; as that I have neither hands, nor feet, nor head, nor cloaths, nor house, nor country, nor acquaintance; that the sun, moon, and stars, and ocean, and tempest, thunder and lightning, mountains, rivers, and cities, have no existence but as ideas or thoughts in toy mind, and, independent on me and my faculties, do not exist at all, and eould not exist if I were to be annihilated ; that fire, and burning, and pain, which I feel, and the recollection of pain that is past, and the idea of pain which I never felt, are all in the same sense ideas or perceptions in my mind, and nothing else ; that the qua- lities of matter are not qualities of matter, but affections of spirit ; and that I have no * By independent existence, we mean an existence that does not depend on us, nor, so far as we know, on any being except tlie Creator. Berkeley and others say, that matter exists not but in the minds that perceive it ; and consequently depends, in respect of its existence, wpon those minds- evidence Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 23i evidence that any being exists in nature but myself. Philosophers may say what they please ; and the world, who are apt enough to admire what is monstrous, may give them credit; but I affirm, that it is not in the power, either of wit or of madness, to con- trive any conceit more absurd, or more non- sensical than this. That the material world has no existence but in my mind. Des Cartes admits, that every person must be persuaded of the existence of a ma- terial world : but he does not allow this point to be self-evident, or so certain as not to admit of doubt; because, says he, we find in experience, that our senses are sometimes in an error, and because, in dreams, we often mistake ideas for external things really exist- ing. He therefore begins his philosophy of bodies with a formal proof of the existence of body*. ' But however imperfect, and however fal- lacious, we acknowledge our senses to be in other matters, it is certain, that no man ever thought them fallacious in regard to the ex- istence of body ; nay, every man of a sound mind, is, by the law of his nature, convinc- ed, that, in this respect at least, they are not, and cannot be mistaken- Men have sometimes been deceived by sophistical argu- ment, because the human understanding is ^ Cartesin PriQcifna, part 1. sect. i. part 3. sect. I. in 232 AN ESSAY [Part II. in some, and indeed in many, respects, fal- lible; but does it follow, that we cannot, without proof, be certain of any thing, not even of oui' own existence, nor of the truth of a geometrical axiom? Some diseases are so fatal to the mind, as to confound men's notions even of their own identity; but does it follow, that I cannot be certain of my be- ing the same person to-day I was yesterday, and twenty years ago, till I have first proved this point by argument? And because we are sometimes deceived by our senses, does it therefore follow, that we never are certain of our not being deceived by them, till we have first convinced ourselves by reasoning, that they are not deceitful? — If a Cartesian can prove, that there have been a few per- sons of sound understanding, who, fi'om a conviction of the deceitfulness of their senses, have really disbelieved, or seriously doubted, the existence of a material world, I shall al- low a conviction of this deceitfulness to be a sufficient ground for such doubt or disbe- lief, in one or a few instances : and if he can prove that such doubt or disbelief has at any time been general among mankind, I shall allow that it may be so again : — but if it be certain, as I think it is, that no man of a sound mind, however suspicious of the veracity of his senses, ever did or could real- ly disbelieve, or seriously doubt, the existence of a material world, then is this point self- evident, and a principle of common sense, even Ch. 11.2.] ON TRUTH. S33 even on the supposition that our senses are as deceitful as Des Cartes and Male- bra nc he chuse to represent them. But we have formerly proved, that our senses are ne- ver supposed to be deceitful, except when we are conscious, that our experience is partial, or our observation inaccurate; and that even then, the fallacy is detected, and rectified, only by the evidence of sense placed in cir- cumstances more favourable to accurate ob- servation. In regard to the existence of mat- ter, there cannot t?e a suspicion that our ob- servation is inaccurate, or our experience partial; and therefore it is not possible, that ever we shall distrust our senses in this particular. If it were possible, our distrust could never be removed either by reasoning or by experience. As to the suspicion against the existence of matter that is supposed to arise from our ex- perience of the delusions of .dreaming ; we observe, in the first place, that if this be al- lowed a sufficient ground for suspecting, that our waking perceptions are equally delusive, there is at once an end of all truth, rea- soning, and common sense. That I am at present awake, and not asleep, I certainly know; but I cannot prove it: for there is no criterion for distinguishing dreaming fancies from waking perceptions, more evident than that I am noAV awake, which is the point in question; and, as we have often remarked, it is essential to every proof, to be more evi- dent 234 AN ESSAY [Part 11. dent than that which is to be proved. That I am now awake, must therefore carry its own evidence along with it; if it be evident at all, it must be self-evident And so it is : we may mistake dreams for realities, but no rational being ever mistook a reality for a dream. Had we the command of our un- derstanding and memory in sleep, we should probably be sensible, that the appearances of our dreams are all delusive: which, in fact, is sometimes the case ; at least I have some- times been conscious, that my dream was a dream: and when it was disagreeable, have actually made efforts to awake myself, which have succeeded. But sleep has a won- derful power over all our faculties. Some- times we seem to have lost our moral facul- ty ; as when we dream of doing that, with- out scruple or remorse, which when awake we could not bear to think of. Sometimes memory is extinguished ; as when we dream of conversing with our departed friends, without remembering any thing of their death, though it was, perhaps, one of the most striking incidents we had ever experi- enced, and is seldom or never out of our thoughts when we are awake. Sometimes our understanding seems to have quite for- saken us; as when we dream of talking with a dead friend, remembering at the same time that he is dead, but without being conscious of any thing absurd or unusual in the cir- cumstance of conversing with a dead man. Considering Ch. 11.2.] ON TRUTH. 235 Considering these and the other effects of sleep upon the mind, we need not be surpris- ed, that it should cause us to mistake our own ideas for real things, and be affected with those in the same manner as with these. But the moment we awake, and recover the use of our faculties, we are sensible, that the dream was a delusion, and that the objects which now solicit our notice are real. To demand a reason for the implicit confidence we repose in our waking perceptions ; or to desire us to prove, that things are as they ap- pear to our waking senses, and not as they appear to us in sleep, is as unreasonable as to demand a reason for our belief in our own existence: in both cases our belief is ne- cessary and unavoidable, the result of a law of nature, and what we cannot in practice contradict, but to our shame and perdition. Further: If Des Caetes thought an ar- gument necessary to convince him, that his perception of the external world was not imaginary, but real, I would ask, how he could know that his argument was real, and not imaginary? How could he know that he was awake, and not asleep, when he wrote his Principles of Philosophy, if his waking thoughts did not, previous to all reasoning, carry along with them undeniable evidence of their reality ? I am awake, is a principle which he must have taken for granted, even before he could satisfy himself of the truth of what he thought the first of all principles, Cogito, 236 AN ESSAY [Part IL Cogita, ergo sum, — ^To which we may add, that if there be any persons in the world who never dream at all* (and some such I think there, are), and whose belief in the existence of a material world is not a whit stronger than that of those whose sleep is al- ways attended with dreaming; this is a proof from experience, that the delusions of sleep do not in the least affect our conviction of the authenticity of the perceptions we re- ceive, and of the faculties we exert, when awake. The first part ofDEs Cartes' argument for the existence of bodies, would prove the reality of the visionary ideas we perceive in dreams; for they, as well as bodies, present themselves to us, independent on our will. But the principal part of his argument is founded on the veracity of God, which he had before inferred from our consciousness of the idea of an infinitely perfect, independ- ent, and necessarily-existent being: Our senses inform us of the existence of body ; they give us this information in consequence * " I once knew a man," says Mr. Locke, who was " bred a scholar, and had no bad memory, who told me, *' that he had never dreamed in his life, till he had that f^ fever he was then newly recovered of, which was about " the five or six and twentieth year of his age. I suppose " the world affords more such instances." Essai/ on Human Understanding, book 2. ch. 1. A young gentleman of my acquaintance never dreame «,t all, except when his health is disordered. of Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 237 of a law established by the divine will ; but God is no deceiver ; therefore is their infor- mation true. I have formerly given my opinion of this argument, and shown that it is a sophism, as the author states it. We must believe our faculties to be true, before we can be convinced, either by proof, or by intuitive evidence. If we refuse to believe in our faculties, till their veracity be first as- certained by reasoning, we shall never believe in them at all*. Malebranche-)- says, that men are more certain of the existence of God, than of the existence of body. He allows, that Des Cartes has proved the existence of body, by the strongest arguments that reason alone could furnish; nay, he seems to acknowledge those arguments to be unexceptionable:}:: yet he * See the preceding section. + Recherche de la Verite, torn. 3. p. 30. A Paris, chez Pralard, 1679. ± Mais quoiques M. Des Cartes ait donne lespreuyes les plus fortes que la raison toute seple puisse fournir pour I'existence des corps ; quoiqu'il soit evident, que Dieu n'est point trompeur, et qu'on puisse dire qu'il nous tromperoit effectivement, si nous nous trompions nous- memes en faisant I'usage que nous devons faire de ndtre esprit, et des autres facultez dont il est I'auteur ; cepen- dant on peut dire que I'existence de la matiere n'est point encore parfaitement demontree. Car, enfin, en mstiere de philosophie, nous ne devons croire quoique ce soit, que lorsque f evidence nous y oblige. Nous devons faire usage de notre liberie autant que nous le pouvons. Pour 238 AN ESSAY [Part II. he does not admit, that they amount to a full demonstration of the existence of matter. In philosophy, says he, we ought to maintain our liberty as long as we can, and to believe nothing but what evidence compels us to be- lieve. To be fully convinced of the existence of bodies, it is necessary that we have it de- monstrated to us, not only that there is a God, and that he is no deceiver, but also that God hath assured us, that he has actually created such bodies ; and this, says he, I do not find proved in the works of M. Des Cartes. There are, according to Malebrancxie, but two ways in which God speaks to the mind, and compels (or obliges) it to believe ; to wit, by evidence, and by the faith. " The " faith obliges us to believe that bodies exist ; ** but as to the evidence of this truth, it " certainly is not complete : and it is also " certain, that we are not invincibly deter- *' mined to believe, that any thing exists, " but God, and our own mind. It is true, *' that we have an extreme propensity to be- " lieve, that we are surrounded Avith corpo- " real beings] so far I agree with M. Des " Cartes : but this propensity, natural as Pour fitre plainement convaincus qu'il y a des coips, il feut qu'on nous demontre, non seulement qu'il y a un Dieu, et que Dieu n'est point trompeur, maig encore que Dien nous a assure qu'il en a effecAivement cree : ce que je ne trouve point prouv^ dans les ouvrages de M. Des Cartes. Tom. 3.p. 37, S8, 39. « it Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. Q39 *' it is, doHi not force our belief by evi- " dence ; it only inclines us to believe by " impression. Now we ought not to be de- " termined, in our free judgments, by any *' tiling but light and evidence; if we suffer " ourselves to be guided by the sensible im- " pression, we shall be almost always mis- " taken*."— — Our author then proposes, in brief, the substance of that argument against the existence of body, which Berkeley afterwards took such pains to illustrate; and discovers, upon the whole, that, as a point of philosophy, the existence of matter is but a probability, to which we have it in our power either to assent, or not to assent, as we please. In a word, it is by the faith, and * Dieu ne parle a resprit, et ne I'oblige a croire qu'ea deux manieres; par revidence, et par la foi. Je demeure d'accord, que 2a foi oblige a croire qu'il y a des corps : mais pour I'evidence, il est certain, qu'eile n'est point en« tiere, et que nous ne sommes point invinciblement portez a croire qu*il y ait quelqu' autre chose que Dieu et notrfe esprit. 11 est vray, que nous avons un penchant ex- treme a croire qu'il y a des corps qui nous envirdnnent. Je I'accorde a M. Des Cartes : mais ce penchant, tout naturel qu'il est, ne nous y force point par evidence ; il nous y incline seulement par impression. Or nous ne de- vons suivre dans nos jugemens libres que la lumiere et i'evidence ; et si nous nous laissons conduire k l'impres<- sion sensible, nous nous tromperons presque toujours. Tom. 3. p. 39. — La foi I translate T%e faith, because T suppose the author to mean the Christian or CathoU/(f faith. If we take it to denote faith or belief in general^ 1 know not hew we shall make any sense ofthe passage. not 240 AN ESSAY' [Part II. not by evidence, that we become certain of this truth. This is not a proper place for analysing the passage above quoted, otherwise it would be easy to show, that the doctrine (such as it is) which the author here delivers, is not recon- cilable with other parts of his system. But I only mean to observe, that what is here asserted, of our belief in the existence of body being not necessary, but such as we may withhold if we plea,se, is contrary to my ex- perience. That my body, and this pen and paper, and the other corporeal objects around me, do really exist, is to me as evident as that my soul exists ; it is indeed so evident, that nothing is or can be more so ; and though my life depended upon the consequence, I could not bring myself to entertain a doubt of it, even for a single moment. I must therefore affirm, that the existence of matter can no more be disproved by ar- gument, than the existence of myself, or than the truth of a self-evident axiom in geome- try. To argue against it, is to set reason in opposition to common sense; which is in- directly to subvert the foundation of all just reasoning: and to call in question the distinc- tion between truth and falsehood. We are told, however, that a great philosopher has actually demonstrated, that matter does not exist. Demonstrated ! truly this is a piece of strange information. At this rate, any false- hood may be proved to be true, and any 4 truth Ch. 11. 2.] ON TRUTH. 241 truth to be false. For it is impossible, that any truth should be more evident to me than this, that matter does exist. Let us see, how- ever, what Berkeley has to say in behalf of this extraordinary doctrine. It is natural for demonstration, and for all sound reason- ing, to produce conviction, or at least some degree of assent, in the person who attends to it, and understands it. I read The Principles of HumanKnowledge,togetherw'\th.TheDialogues between Hylas and Philonous. The arguments, I confess, are subtle, and well adapted to the purpose of puzzling and confounding. Per- haps I will not undertake to confute them- Perhaps I am busy, or indolent, or unac- quainted with the principles of this philo- sophy, or little versed in your metaphysical logic. But am I convinced, from this pre- tended demonstration, that matter has no existence but as an idea in the mind .'' Not in the least ; my belief now is precisely the same as before. Is it unphilosophical, not to be convinced by arguments which I am not able to confute ? Perhaps it may, but I can- not help it : you may, if you please, strike me off the list of philosophers, as a noncon- formist ; you may call me unpliant, unrea- sonable, unfashionable, and a man with whom it is not worth while to argue : but till the frame of my nature be unhinged, and a new set of faculties given me, I cannot believe this strange doctrine, because it is perfectly incredible. But if I were permitted to pro- pose 242 AN ESSAY [Part II. pose one clownish question, I would fain ask, Where is the harm of my continuing in my old opinion, and believing, with the rest of the world, that I am not the only created being in the universe, but that there are many othersjwhoseexistence is as independent on me, as mine is on them ? Where is the harm of my believing, that if I were to fall down yonder precipice, and break my neck, I should be no more a man of this world ? My neck. Sir, may be an idea to you, but to me it is a reality, and an important one too. Where is the harm of ray believing, that if, in this severe weather, I were to neg* lect to throw (what you call) the idea of a coat over the ideas of my shoulders, the idea of cold would produce the idea of such pain and disorder as might possibly terminate in my real death? What great offence shall I commit against God or man, church or state, pliilosophy or common sense, if I continue to believe, that material food will nourish pie, though the idea of it Avill not ; that the real sun will warm and enlighten me, though the liveliest idea of him will do neither ; and that, if I would obtain true peace of mind and self-approbation, I must not only form ideas of compassion, justice, and generosity, but also really exert those virtues in external performance? — What harm is there in all this ? — O ! no harm at ail, Sir ;— but — the truth, — the truth, — will you shut your eyes against the truth? — No honest man ever will : Ch. 11. 2;] On TRUTH; 243 will : convince me that your doctrine is true^ and 1 will instantly embrace it. Have 1 not convinced thee, thoxl obstinate, unaccount- able^ inexorable ? Answer my argu- ments, if thou canst. Alas! Sir, you have given me arguments in abundance, but you have not given me conviction ; and if your argument produce no conviction, they are worth nothing to mc; They are like coun- terfeit bank-bills i some of which are so dex- terously forged, that neither your eye nor mine can detect them 5 yet a thousand of them would go for nothing at the bank ; and even the paper-maker would allow mc more handsomely for old rags. You need not give yourself the trouble to tell me, that 1 ought to be convinced : I ought to be convinced only when 1 feel conviction ; when 1 feel no conviction I ought not to be convinced. — It has been observed of some doctrines and reasonings, that their extreme absurdity pre- vents their admitting a rational confutation. What! am I to believe such doctrine ? am 1 to be convinced by such reasoning? Now, 1 never heard of any doctrine more scandal- ously absurd, than this of the non-existence of niatter. There is not a fiction in the Pei- sian Tales that I could not as easily believe j the silliest conceit of the most contemptible superstition that ever disgraced human na- ture) is not more shocking to common sense, nor more repugnant to every principle of human belief. And. must I admit this jargon Q for ilU AN ESSAY [Part II, for truth, because I cannot confute the argu- ments of a man who is a more subtle dispu- tant than I ? Does philosophy require this of me? Then it must suppose, that truth is as variable as the fancies, the characters, and the intellectual abilities of men, and that there is no such thing in nature as common sense. But all this, I shall perhaps be told, is but cavil and declamation. What if, after ally this very doctrine be believed, and the so- phistry (as you call it) of Berkilley be ad- mitted as sound reasoning, and legitimate proof? What then becomes of your com- mon sense, and your instinctive convictions? What then do you ask? Then indeed I acknowledge the fact to be very extraordi- nary ; and I cannot help being in some pain about the consequences, which must be im- portant and fatal. IIS a man, out of vanity, or from a desire of being in the fashion, or in order to pass for wonderfully wise, shall say, that Be rk e leva's doctrine is true, while, at the same time, his belief is precisely the same with mine, it is well ; I leave him to enjoy the fruits of his hypocrisy, which will no doubt contribute mightily to his im- provement in candour, happiness, and wis- dom. If a man professing this doctrine, act like other men in the common affairs of life^ I will not believe his profession to be sincere. For this doctrine, by removing body out of the universe, makes a total change in the circum- Ch. 11. 2.] ON tRUTH. 245 circumstances of, men; and therefore, if it is not merely verbal, must produce a total change in their conduct. When a man is only turned out of his house, or stripped of his cloaths, or robbed of his money, he rtiust change his behaiviouf, and act differently from other men, who enjoy those advantages. Persuade a man that he is a beggar and a vagabond, and you Shall instantly see him change his manners. If your arguments against the existence of matter have ever car- ried conviction along with them, they must at the same time have produced a much more extraordinary change of conduct ; but if they have produced no change of conduct, I insist on it, they have never carried con- viction alottg with them, whatever vehemence of protestation men may have used in avow- ing such conviction. If you say, that though: a man's understanding be convinced, there are certain instincts in his nature that will not permit him to alter his conduct ; or, if he did, the rest of the world would account him a mad-ma-n ; by the first apology, you allow the belief of the non-existence of body to be inconsrstetrt with the law^s of nature ; by the second, to be inconsistent Avith com- mon seilse. But if a man be convinced, that matter has no existence, and believe this strange tenet as steadily, and with as little distrust, as I be- lieve the contrary; he will, I am afraid, have but little reason to applaud himself on Q 2 this 246 AN ESSAY [Part II. this new acquisition in science ; he will soon find, it had been better for him to have rea- soned, and believed, and acted, like the rest of the world. If he fall down a precipice, or be trampled under foot by horses, it will avail him little, that he once had the honour to be a disciple of Berkeley, and to be- lieve that those dangerous objects are no- thing but ideas in the mind. And yet, if such a man be seen to avoid a precipice, or to get out of the way of a coach and six- horses at full speed, he acts as inconsistently with his belief, as if he ran away from the picture of an angry man, even while he be- lieved it to be a picture. Supposing his life preserved by the care of friends, or by the strength of natural instinct urging him to act contrary to his belief; yet will this belief cost him dear. For if the plainest evidence, and fullest conviction, be certainly fallacious, I beg to be informed, what kind of evi- dence, and what degree of conviction, may reasonably be depended on. If nature be a juggler by trade, is it for us, poor purblind reptiles, to attempt to penetrate the mysteries of her art, and take upon us to decide, when it is she presents a true, and when a false appearance! I will not say, however, that this man runs a greater risk of universal scepticism, than of universal credulity. Ei- ther the one or the other, or both, must be his portion ; and either the one or the othejT would be sufficient to irabitter my whole life^ Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 247 life, and to disqualify me for every duty of a rational creature. ' He who can believe against common sense, and against the clear- est evidence, and against the fullest couAac- tion, in any one case, may do the same in any other ; consequently he may beco^Ale thp dupe of every wrangler who is more acute than he; and then, if he is not entirely se- cluded from mankind, his liberty and hap- piness are gone for ever. Indeed a cheerful temper, strong habits of virtue, and the com- pany of the wise and good, may still save liins from perdition, if he have no tempta- tions nor difficulties to encounter. But it is the end of every useful art to teach us to sur- mount difficulties, not to disqualify us for attempting them. Men have been known to live many years in a warm chamber, after they were become too delicate to bear the open air ; but who will say, that such a habit of body is desirable? what physician will recommend to the healthy such a regimen as would produce it ? But, that I may no longer suppose, what I maintain to be impossible, that mankind in general, or even one rational being, could, by force of argument, be convinced, that this absurd doctrine is true;— what if all men were in one instant deprived of their understanding by almighty power, and made tq l?elieve, that matter has no existence but as an idea in the mind, all other earthly things remaining as they are? — Poubtless this 248 AN ESSAY [Part II. this catastrpplje would, according to our metaphysicians, throw a wonderful light on all the parts of knowledge. I pretend not even to guess at the number, ex ten tj or qua- lity, of, astonishing discoveries that would then start forth into view. But of this I am certain, that, in less than a month after, there could not, without another miracle, be one human creature alive on the face of the earth*. Berkeley foresaw, and has done what he could to obviate, some of these objections. There are t^vo points which he has taken great pains to prove. The first is, That his, system differs not from the belief of the rest of mankind ; the second. That our conduct cannot be in the least affected by our disbelief of the existence of a material world. 1. As to the first, it is certainly false. Mr. Hume himself seems willing to give it up. I have known many who could not answer Berkeley's arguments; I never knew one who believed his doctrine. I have mention- ed it to Siome who were unacquainted with philosophy, and therefore could not be sup? * This, I think, must follow, if we allow that our ex- ternal senses are necessary to our preservation. And I do not see how that can be denied. A blind or deaf man may live not uncomfortably in the society of those who see or hear : but if all mankind \yere blind or deaf, or deprived of their reason so as to disbelieve their eyes and ears, and other percipient faculties, I know not how human life could be preserved without a miracle, posed Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 249 posed to have any bias in favour of eithqr sys- tem ; they all treated it as most contemptible jargon, and what no man in his senses ever did or could believe. I have carefully at- tended to the effects produced by it upon nty own mind; and it appears to meat this mo- ment, as when I first heard it, incredible and incomprehensible. I say incomprehensible: for though, by reading it over and over, I have got a set of phrases and arguments by heart, which would enable me, if I were so disposed, to talk, and argue, and write, " about it and about it;" yet, when I lay systems and syllogisms aside, when I enter on any part of the business of life, or waen I refer the matter to the unbiassed decision of my own mind, I plainly see, that I had no distinct meaning to my words, when I said, that the material world has no exist- ence but in the mind that perceives it. In a word, if this author had asserted, that I and. all mankind acknowledge and believe the Arabian Nights Entertainment to be a true history, I could not have had any better rea- son for contradicting that assertion, than I have for contradicting this, "That Berk e- " ley's principles in regard to the existence " of matter, differ not from the belief of the " rest of mankind." In behalf of the: second point he argues, " That nothing gives us an interest in the " material world, except the feelings plea- " sant or painful which accompany our per- " ceptions ; :250 AN ESSAY [Part II, *' ceptions; that these perceptions are the " same, whether we beheve the material " world to exist or not to exist: consequentT " ly, that our pleasant or painful feelings are ^' also the same; and therefore, that our " conduct, which depends on our feelings " and perceptions, must be the same, whcr " ther we believe or disbelieve the existence " of matter/' But if it be certain, that by the law of our jiature we are unavoidly determined to be- lieve that matter exists, and to act upon this belief (and nothing, I think, is more cer- tain), how can it be imagined, that a con- trary belief would produce no alteration in our conduct and sentiments? Surely the laws of nature are not such trifles, as that it should be a matter of perfect indifference, whether we act and think agreeably to them or not? I believe that matter exists; I must believe that matter exists; I must continually act upon this belief; such is the law of my constitution. Suppose my consti- tution changed in this respect, all other things remaining as they are; would there then be no change in my sentiments and con- duct? If there would not, then is this law of nature, in the first place, useless, because men could do as well without it; secondly, inconvenient, because its end is to keep us ignorant of the truth; and, thirdly, absurd, ]3ecause insufficient for answering its end ; the Bishop of Cloync, and others, having, it seems, Ch.II. 2.] ON TRUTH. 251 seems, discovered the truth in spite of it. Is this according to the usual economy of Na» ture? Does this language become her ser- vants and interpreters? Is it possible to de-^ vise any sentiments or maxims more subver- sive of truth, and more repugnant to the spirit of true philosophy ? Further: All external objects have some qualities in common ; but between an exter^ nal object and an idea, or thought of the mind, there is not, there cannot possibly be, any resemblance. A grain of sand, and the globe of the earth; a burning coal, and a Imnp of ice; a drop of ink, and a sheet of white paper, resemble each other, in being extended, solid, figured, coloured, and divi- sible; but a thought or idea has no exten- sion, solidity, figure, colour, nor divisibility ; so that no two external objects can be so imlike, as an external object and (what philosophers call) the idea of it. Now we are taught by Berkeley, that external ob- jects (that is, the things we take for exter- nal objects) are nothing but ideas in our minds; in other words, that they are in every respect different to what they appear to be. This candle, it seems, hath not one of those qualities it appears to have : it is not white, nor luminous, nor round, nor divi- sible, nor extended; for to an idea of the mincl, not one of these quaHtiel5 can possibly belong. How then shall I know what it real- ly is? From what it seems to lx% I can con- clude 252 AN ESSAY [Part II. elude nothing; no more than a blind man, by handling a bit of black wax, can judge of the colour of snow, or the visible appear- ance of the starry heavens. The candle may be an Egyptian pyramid, the King of Prussia, a mad dog, or nothing at all: it may be the island of Madagascar, Saturn s ring, or one of the Pleiades, for any thing I know, or can ever know, to the contrary, except you allow me to judge of its nature from its appearance ; which, however, I cannot reasonably do, if its appearance and nature are in every respect so different and unhke as not to have one single quality in common. I must therefore believe it to be, what it appears to be, a real, corporeal, external object, and so reject Beekeley's system; or I never can, with any shadoAV of reason, believe any thing whatsoever concerning it. Will it yet be said, that the belief of this system cannot in the least affect our sentiments and conduct; With equal truth may it be said, that New- ton's conduct and sentiments would not have been in the least affected by his being meta- morphosed into an ideot, or a pillar of salt. Some readers may perhaps be dissatisfied with this reasoning, on account of the ambi- guity of the w^ords external object and idea ; which, however, the assertors of the non- existence of matter have not as yet fully-ex- plained. Others may think that I must have misunderstood the axithor; for that he was too acute a logician to leave his system ex- , ■ ■ posed Ch. II. 2.] ON TRUTH. g53 posed to objections so decisive and so ob- vious. To gratify such readers, I will not insist on these objections. That, I mayhave misunderstood the author's doctripe, is not only possible, but highly probable ; nay, I have reason to think, that it was not per- fectly understood even by himself. Tor did not Berkeley write his Principles of Human Knowledge with this express View (which does him great honour), to banish scepticism both from science and from religion ? Was he not sanguine in the hope of success.? Aud has ncrt the event proved, that he was egregiously mistaken? For is it not evident, from the use to which other authors have applied it, that his system leads to atheism and universal scepticism? And if a machine, disappoint its inventor, so far as to produce effects contrary to those he wished, intended, and expected ; may we not, without breach of charity, conclude, that he did not per-, fectly understand his plan ? At any rate, it appears from this fact, that oiu' author did not foresee all the objections to which his theory is liable. He did not foresee, that it might be made the foundation of a sceptical "system: if he had, we know he would have renounced it with abhorrence. This one objection, therefore (in which I think I cannot be mistaken), will fully an- swer my present purpose: Our author's doc- trine is contrary to common belief, and leads to universal scepticism. Suppose it, then, universally i254 AN ESSAY [Part 11. universally and seriously adopted ; suppose all men divested of all belief, and consequently of all principle: would not the dissolution of society, and the destruction of mankind, necessaril}' ensue? Still I shall be told, that Berkeley was a good man, and that his principles did him no hurt. 1 allow it ; he was indeed a most excellent person ; none can revere his memo- ry more than I. But does it appear, that he ever acted according to his principles, or that he thoroughly understood them? Does it appear, that, if he had put them in practice, no hurt would have ensued to himself*, or to society? Does it appear that he was a sceptic, or a friend to scepticism ? Does it appear, that men may adopt his principles without danger of becoming sceptics ? Th& * Let it not be pretended, that a man may disbelieve ]iis senses without danger of inconvenience. Pyrrho (as we read in Diogenes Laertius) professed to disbelieve Jjis senses, and to be in no apprehension from any of the ob- jects that affected them. The appearance of a precipice or wild beast was nothing to Pjrrho; at least he said so: he would not avoid them ; he knew they were nothing at all, or at least that they were not what they seemed to be. Suppose him to have been in earnest; and suppose his keepers to have in earnest adopted the same prin- ciples: would not their limbs and lives have been in as_ great danger, as the limbs and life of a blind and deaf man wandering by himself in a solitary place, with his hands tied behind his back ? I would as soon say, that our senses are useless faculties, as that we migh^ djsbe-. lieve them without danger of inconvenience, contrary Ch. II. 2.} ON TRUTH. 255 contrary of all this appears with uncontro- vertible evidence. Surely pride was not made for man. The most exalted genius may find in himself many affecting memorials of human frailty, and such as often render him an object of compassion to those who in virtue and under- standing are far inferior. I pity Berkeley's weakness in patronising an absurd and dangerous theory ; I doubt not but it may have overcast many of his days with a gloom, which neither the approbation of his con- science, nor the natural serenity of his tem- per, could entirely dissipate. And though I were to believe, that he was intoxicated with this theory, and rejoiced in it; yet still I should pity the intoxication as a weakness : for candour will not permit me to give it a harsher name ; as I see in his other writings, and know by the testimony of his contem- poraries, particularly Pope and Swift, that. he was a friend to virtue, and to human nature. We must not suppose a false doctrine harm- less, merely because it has not been able to corrupt the heart of a good man. Nor, be- cause a few sceptics have not authority to render science contemptible, nor power to overturn society, must we suppose, that there- fore scepticism is not dangerous to science or mankind. The effects of a general scepticism would be dreadful and fatal. We must, therefore, notwithstanding our reverence for the 256 AN ESSAY [Part II. the cliaracter of Berkeley, be permitted to affirm, what we have sufficiently proved, that his doctrine is subversive of man^s most important interests, as a moral, intelligent, and percipient being. After all, though I were to grant, that the disbelief of the existence of matter could not produce any considerable change in our prin- ciples of action and reasoning, the reader will find in the sequel*, that the point I have chiefly in \ lew would not be much affected even by that concession. I say not this, as being diffident or sceptical in regard to what I have advanced on the present subject. Doctrines which I do not believe, I will never recommend to others. I am absolutely cer- tain that to me the belief of Behkeley's system would be attended with the most fatal consequences ; and that it would be equally dangerous to the rest of mankind, I cannot doubt, so long as I believe their nature and mine to be the same. Though it be absurd to attempt a proof of what is self-evident, it is manly and merito- rious to confute the objections that sophistry may urge against it. This, with respect to the subject in question, has been done,: in a decisive M\d masterly manner, by the learn- ed and sagacious Dr. Reid-^-; who proves. * Part g. chap. 3. 3 that + Eaquii*y into the Human Mind on thd Principles of C!otBinon Sense. Ch. IL2.] ON TRUTH. 257 that the reasonings of Berkeley, and others, concerning primary and secondary qiiaUties*", owe all their strength to the amr biguity of words. I have proved, that, though this fundamental error had never been de- tected, the philosophy of Berkeley is in its own name absurd, because it supposes the original principles of common sense con- trovertible and fallacious : a supposition re- pugnant to the genius of true philosophy ; and which leads to universal credulity, or universal scepticism, and, consequently, to the subversion of all knowledo-e and virtue. It is proper, before we proceed to the next * Des Cartes, Locke, and Berkeley, suppose, that what we call a hodjj is nothing but a collection of (Qualities ; and these they divide into primctry and second^ arif. Of the former kind are magnitiide, extension,^ s(;Klidity, &c. which Locke and the Cartesians allow to belong to bodies at all times, whether perceived or not. Df the fatter kind are, the heat of fire, the smeM and taste of a rose, &c. and these, by the same authors, and by Berkeley, are said to exist, not in the bodies them- selves, but only in the mind that perceives them : an er- ror they are led kito by stipposing', that the words Aea#, t&stc, smell, &c. signify nothing but a perception ; where, as we have formerly shown, that they also signify an ex- ternal thins- Berkeley, following tl^e hints which he found in Des Cartes, Malebranche, and LocAe, has applied the same mode of reasoning to pi-ove, that primary, as well as secondary qualities, have no exter- nal existence ; and consequently, that body (which con- sists of these two classes of qualities, and nothing else) eJsists only as an idea in the mind that perceives it, and exists no longer than while it is perceived. in&tanccy 258 AN ESSAY [Pdrt II. instance, to make a remark or two on what has been said. 1. Here we have an instance of a doctrine advanced bj some philosophers, in direct contradiction to the general belief of all men in all ages. 2. The reasoning by which it is support- ed, though long accounted unanswerable, did never produce a serious and steady con- viction. Common sense 5till declared the doctrine to be false ; we were sorry to find the powers of human reason so limited, as not to afford a logical confutation of it ; we were convinced it merited confutation, and flattered ourselves, that one time or other it would be confuted. 3. The real and general belief of this doc- trine would be attended with fatal conse- quences to science, and to human nature ; for this is a doctrine according to which a, man could not act nor reason in the common affairs of life, without incurring the charge of insanity or folly, and involving himself in distress and perdition. ^ 4. An ingenious man, from a sense of the bad tendency of this doctrine, applies him- self to examine the principles on which it is founded ; discovers them to be erroneous ; and proves, to the full conviction of compe- tent judges, that from beginning to end it is all a mystery of falsehood, arising from the use of ambiguous words, and from the gra- tuitous admission of principles which never could Gh. II. 3.] ON TRUtH. 259 could have been admitted if they had been thoaroughly understood. SECT. III. Of Liberty and I^ecessity, , JL HE second instance to which I purpose to apply the principles of this discourse, by showing the danger of carrying any investi- gation beyond the dictates of common sense, is no other than the celebrated question con- cerning liberty and necessity ; a question on which many things have been saidj and soUie things, I presume, to httlc purpose. To enter ■into all the particulars of this controversyj is foreign to my present design ; and I would not wish to add to a dispute already t<3(J bulky. My intention is, to treat the doctrine of necessity as I treated that of the non-ex- istence of matter ; by enquiring, whether the one be not, as Well as the Other, contrary to C0mmbn sense, and therefore absurd. 1. That certain intentions and actions are in theffiselveSj and previous to ail considera- tion of their consequences, good, laudable, and meritorious; and that other actions and intentions are bad, blameable, knd worthy of punishment, — has been felt and «cknow- R ledged 260 AN ESSAY [Part it ledged by all reasonable creatures in ail ages and nations. We need not wonder at the uni- versality 6f this sentiment : it is as naitural to the human constitution, as the faculties of hearing, seeing, and memory ; it is as clear, unequivocal, and affecting, as any intimation from any sense external or internal. 2. That we cannot do Some things, but have it in our power to do others, is what no man in his senses Ivill hesitate to affirm. I can take up my staff from the ground^ but I cannot lift a stone of a thousand weight. On a common, I may walk southward or northward, eastward or westward ; but I can^^ not ascend to the clouds, nor sink doAvn ward to the centre of the earth. Just now I have power to, think of an absent friend, of the Peak of Teneriffj of a passage in Homer, or of the death of Charles I. When a man asks me a question, I have it in my power to an- swer or be silent, to answer softly or rough- ly, in terms of respect or in terms of con* tempt. Frequent temptations to vice fall in my way j I may yield, or I may resist : if I resist, I applaud myself, because I am con- scious it was in my power to do otherwise ; if I yield, I am filled with shame and re- morse, for having neglected to do what I jnight have done, and ought to have done. My liberty in these instances I cannot prove by argument; but there is not a truth in geometry of whiph J am more certain. . , Is not this doctrine sufficiently obtious ? Must Gh. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 261 Must I quote EpictetuSj or any other ancient author, to prove that nien were of the, same opinion in former times? No idea occurs more frequently in my reading and conver- sation, than that of power' or agency ; and I think I understand my own meaning as well when I speak of it as when I speak of any thing else. But this idea has had the raisfbr-: tune to come under the exariiination of a cer- tain author, who, according to custdm, has found means so to darken and disfigure it, that, till we have cleared it of his nlisrepre- sentatioris, we cannot proceed any further in the present subject. And we are the more inclined to digress on this occasion, because he has made his theoty of power the ground of some Atheistical inferences, which we should not scruple at any time to step out of our way to overturn, — Perhaps these fre- quent digressions are offensive to the reader; they are equally so to the writer. To remove ' rubbish is neither an degarit nor a pleasant work, but it is often necessary. It is pecu- liarly necessary in. the philosophy of human nature. The road to moral truth has been left in such a plight, b}' some modern pro- jectors, that a man of honesty and plain sense must either, \yith great labour and loss of time, delve his way through, or be swal- lowed up in a quagmire. The metaphysician advances more easily. Hin levity, perhaps, enables him, like Camilla in Virgil, to skim along the surface without sinkings or per-"* R 2 haps, 262- AN ESSAY [Part II. haps, the extreme subtlety of his genius can, like Satan in Paradise Lost, penetrate this chaos, without being iijuch incumbered or retarded in his progress. But men of or- dinary talents have not those advalntages, and must therefore be allowed to flounce along, though with no Very graCfeful motion, the, best way they can. All ideas, according to Mr. Hume's fun- damental hypothesis, are derived frcrtn and f'epresent impressions : But we have never any impression that contains any poWer or efficacy : We never, therefore, have any idea of power*. In prbof of the minor proposi- tion of this syllogism, he remarks. That " when we think we perceive our mind act- " ing on matter, or one piece of matter act- " ing upon another, we do in fact perceive *' only two objects or events contiguous and *' successive, the second of which is always *' found in experience to follow the first; " but that we never perceive, either by ex- " ternal sense, or by consciousness, that ** power, energy, or efficacy, which connects " the one eveht with the other. By observ- " ing that the two events do alv/ays ac- " compaiiy each othet, the imagination ac- " quires a habit of going readily from the " first to the second, and from the second *' to the first ; and hence we are led to con- *' ceive a kind of necessary connection be- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. gS2. tween Oh. II. S.] ON THUTH. 263 " tween them. But in fact there 4? pejth^r " necessity nor power in the objects -^ve coii- " sidei:, but only in the mind that CQttsi,d§i:s " them; and even in the mind, this power " of necessity is notliing but a determinatiop " of the fancy, acquired by habit, to pas,s " from the idea of an object to that of il;s " usual attpndij,nt*."— ' — So that what we call the efficacy of a cause to produce an effect, is neither in the cause nor in the effect, but only in the imagination, which has contracted a habit of passing from the object called the cause, to the object called the effect, and thus associating them together. Has the fire a power to melt lead .'' No ; bu^t the fancy is determined by habit to pass from the idea of fire to that of melted lead, on account of our having always perceived them contiguous and successive; and this is the whole matter. Have I a power to move my arm? No; the volition that precedes the motion of my arm has no connection with that motion; but the motion having been al- ways observed to follow the volition, comca to be associated with it in the fancy; and what we call the power, or necessary con- nection, has nothing to do, either with the volition, or with the motion, but is merely a determination of my fancy, or your fancy, or any body's fancy, to associate t}ae idea or * Treatise of Human Nature, vol, 1. p. 272—300. impression 264 AN ESSAY [Part II, impression of my volition with the impression or idea of the motion of my arm, I am sor- ry I Cannot express myself more clearly ; but i should not do justice to my author, if I did not imitate his language on the present occasion: plain words will never do when one has an unintelligible doctrine to support, What shall we say to this collection of strange phrases ? or what name shall we give it? Shall we call it a most ingenious dis- covery, illustrated by a most ingenious argu- ment? This would be complimenting the author at a very great expence; for this would imply, not only that he is the wisest of mortal men, but also that he is the only individual of that species of animals who is not a fool. Certain it is, that all men have in all ages talked, and argued, and acted, from a persuasion that they had a - very distinct notion of power. If our author can prove, that they had no such notion, he can also prove, that all human discourse is non- sense, all human actions absurdity, and all human compositions (his own not excepted), words without meaning. The boldness of this theory will, however, pass with many for a proof of its being ingenious. Be it so : Gentlemen, I dispute not about epithets; if you will have it, that genius consisteth in the art of putting words together so as to, form absurd propositions, I have nothing more to say. Others Avill admire this doc- trine, because the words by which the au- thor Ch. 11. a] ON TRUTH. 26'S thor means to illustrate and prove it, if print- ed on a good paper and with an elegant type, would of themselves make a pretty sizeable volume. It were pity to deprive these people of the pleasure of admiring ; other- wise I might tell them, that nothing is more easy than this method of composition ; for that I would undertake, at a very short warn- ing (if it could be done innocently, and without prejudice to my health), to write as many pages, with equal appearance of rea- son and argument, and Avith equal advan- tage to philosophy and mankind, in vindica- tion of any given absurdity ; provided only, that (like the absurdity in question) it were expressed in words of which one at least is ambiguous. In truth, I am so little disposed to admire this extraordinary paradox, that nothing could make me believe its author to have been in earnest, if I had not found him drawing inferences from it too serious to be jested with by any person who is not abso-r lutely distracted. It is one of Mr. Hume's maxims, " That we can never have reason *^ to believe, that any object, or quality of '* an object, exists, of which we cannot form " an idea*." But, according to this asto- nishing theory of power and causation, *' we have tio idea of power, nor of a being * f reatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 302. ^' endowed tm AN ESSAY [Pautll. " endowed >with any power, much less of *' one endowed with infinite power*." The inference is but too glaring ; and though our author does not plainly and avowedly express it, he once and again puts his reader in mind, that this inference, or something very like it, is deducible from his theory-j-: — for which, no doubt, every friend to truth, vir- tue, and human nature, is infinitely obliged to him ! But what do you say in opposition to my theory ? You affect to treat it with a con- tempt which hardly becomes you, and which my philosophy ha5 not met with from your betters ! pray let us hear your arguments. — Alid do you. Sir, really think it incumbent on me to prove by argument, thiit I, and ^11 other men, have a notion of power ; and that the efficacy of a cause (of iire, for in- stance, to melt le^d) is in the cause, and not in my mind ? Would you think it in- cumbent on me to rconfute you with argu- ments, if you were pleased to affirm, that all men have tails and cloven feet ; and that it was I who produced the earthquake that de- stroyed Lisbon, the plague that depopulates Constantinople, the heat that scorches the wilds of Africa, and the cold that, freezes the Hyperbprean Ocean ? Truly, Sir, I have not * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. i22. t Ibid. p. 284. 291, &c. ,^'f^ * the Ch. II. 3.] ON TRt^TH. 267 the face to undertake a direct confutation of what I de not understand; and I am so far from comprehending th,i§ part of your system, that I will venti:^re to pronounce it per- fectly unintelligible. I know there are some who say th,ey understand it ; but I also know, that there are some who speak, and read, and write too, with very little expence of thought. These are all hut evasions, you exclaim; and insist on my coming to the point. Never fear, Sir; I am too deeply interested in some of the consequences of this theory of yoursj to put you off with evasions. To come therefore to the point, I shall first state your doctrine in your own words, that there may be no risk of misrepresentation ; and then, if I should not be able directly to prove it false (for the reason already given), I shall demonstrate, indirectly at least, or by the apagogical method, that it is not, and can- not be true. " As the necessity," says our author, ^' 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 un- " derstanding, by which we consider and " compare thfs? ideas*; in like maimer, * What ! is it an act of my u'ndejr^tanding that makes two and two equal to four? Was it not so before I was born, and would it not be so though all intellag^ence were to cease throughout the universe ?— rBut it is idle to spend time in confuting what eveiy chiW who has Jearned the very first elenients of science, feoows to be absurd. "the " 268 AN ESSAY [Part II. " the necessity or power which unites causes " and effects, lies in the determinafion of the " mind to pass from the one to the other. " The efficacy, or energy, of causes, is nei- " ther 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 connection and " necessity*." To find that his principles lead to Atheism, would stagger an ordinary philosopher, and make him suspect his fundamental h3'pothe- sis, and all his subsequent reasonings. But the author now quoted is not apt to be stag- gered by considerations of this kind. On the contrary, he is so intoxicated with his discovery, that, however sceptical in other points, he seems willing to admit this as oqe certain conclusion-}-. If a man can reconcile himself to Atheism, which is the greatest of all absurdities, I fear I shall hardly put him out of conceit with his * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 291. + Speaking of it in another place, he says, " A con- *' elusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but which " seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its " evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the " understanding, or sceptical suspicion, concerning every " conclusion which is new and extraordinary. No con- " elusions Ch. 11. 3.] ON TRUTH. 269 his doctrine, when I show him that other less enormous absurdities are impKed in it. We may make the trial however. Gentlemen are sometimes pleased to entertain unac- countable prejudices against their Maker; who yet, in other matters, where neither fashion nor hypothesis interfere, condescend to acknowledge, that the good old distinction between truth and falsehood is not altogether without foundation. On the supposition that we have no idea of power or energy, and that the preceding theory of causation is just, our author gives the following definition of a cause; which seems to be fairly deduced from his theory, and which he says is the best that he can give. " 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 f elusions can he inore agreeftble to scepticism than such f as make discoyeries concerning the weakness and nar- ^' row liniits of humaii reason and capacity." Hume's Essai/s, vol. 2. p. 87, edit. 1767, I know not what discoveries this conclusion may lead others to make concerning our author's reason and capa- city ; but I have some ground to think, tlrat in him it has not wrought any extraordinary self-abasement; ptherwise he would not have asserted, with so much con- iSdence, what he acknowledges to be a most violent para~ dox, and what is indeed contrary to the experience and conviction of every person of common sense. See Trea^ iiise of Human N<:itur;e, vol. I. p. 291. 299. <' idea «7() AN ESSAY [Part II. f' idea of the othei"*." There are now in niy view two contjgu,ous houses, one of which was built last summer, and the other t^^o years ago. By seeing them constantly to- gether for several months, I find, that the idea of the one determines my mind to form the idea of the other, and the impression of the one to form a more lively icjea of the other. So that, according to our author's definition, the one house is the cause, and the other the effect! — Again, day and night have al- ways been contiguous and successive; the imagination naturally runs from the idea or impression of the one to the idea of the .other ] consequently, according to the same profound theory and definition, either day * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 298. This is not the only definition of a cause which Mr. Hume has given. But his other definitions are all, in my opinion, inadequate ; being all founded on the same absurd theory. My business, however, at present is, not to criticise Mr. Hume's definitions, but to confute (ifl can) his licen- tious dQctrines. These will be allowed to be absurd, if they be fouml to lead to absurd consequences. So Mr. Hume himself, in another place, very justly deter- mines : " When any opinion leads into absurdities, it is " certainly false." Essmjon Liberty and Necessity, part 2. The definition of a cause, here quoted, is a consequence drawn by Mr. Huiv|e himself (and in my opinion fairly drawn) from the theory of power and causation. By proving that consequence to be absurd 1 prove (accord- ing to Mr. Hume's own rules of logic) the absui'dity of the opinion that leads to it. This is all that I mean by quoting it; and this I presume is enough. A doctrine is sufficiently confuted, if it be shown to lead into am absurdity. is Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 271 h the cause of night, or night the cause of day, just as we consider the one or the other to have been originally prior in time ; that is, in Other words, light is either the cause ot thfe effect of darkness ; and its being the one or the other depends entirely on my imagin'SP- tion ! Let those admire this discovery who understand it. Causation* implies more than priority and contiguity of the cause to the effect. This relation cannot be conceived at all, Avithout a supposition of power or energy in the cause -j-. Let the readei" recollect two things that stand related as cause and effect; let him contemplate them with a view to this relation ; thefl let him conceive the cause di- vested of all power ; and he must at the same instant conceive that it is a cause no longer; for a cause divested of power, is divested of that by which it is a cause. If a man, after exatnining his notion of causation in this matter, is conscious that he has an idea of power, then I say he has that idfea. If all men, in all ages, have used the word power, or something syfionymcrus to it, and if all men knew what they mean when they speak of power, I maintain, thatt all men have a * Causation denotes the relation of cause and effect. t Non sic causa intelligi debet, ut qfiod cuique antece- dat itl ei causa sit, sed quod cuiqUe efficienter ailtecedat. Cicero de Fato, cap. 15. notion. %n Aisr ESSAY [Pai-tIL notion, conception^ or idea of power, in what- ever way they came by it ; and I also main- tain, that no true philosopher eveir denied the existence or reality of any thing, merely because he could not give an account of its origin, or because the opinion commonly re- ceived concerning its origin did not happen to quadrate with his system. When, therefore, our author says, that the efficacy or energy of causes is not placeid in the causes themselves, he says neither less nor more than thisj that what is essential to a cause is not in a cause ; or, in other words, — that a cause is not a cause. — Are there any persons who, upon the authority of this theorist, have rashly adopted Atheisti- cal principles? I believe there are such. Ye dupes of unmeaning words and incompre- hensible arguments, behold on what a cham- pion ye have placed your confidence All the comfort I can give you is, that if it be possible for the same thing at the same time to be and not to be, you may possibly be in the right. It follows from what has been said, that we cannot admit this theory of power and causation, without admitting, at the same time, the grossest and most impious absurdi- ties. Is this a sufficient confutation of it? I think it is. If any person think other- wise, I take a shorter method, and utterly deny all the premises from which this strange conclusion is supposed to result. I deny the doctrine Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 273 doctrine of impressions and ideasj as the au- thor has explained it ', nay, I have already affirmed, and proved, it to be not only Mse^ but unintelligible. And I maintain, that though it could be shown, that all simple ideas are derived from impressions, or inti-* mations of sense, it is true, notwithstand* ing, that all men have an idea of power. They get it by. experience, that is, by inti* mations of sense, both external and inter* naL Their mind acting upon their body gives them this notion or idea ; their body acting on other bodies, and acted on by other bodies, gives them the same idea; which is also suggested by all the effects and changes they see produced in the universe. So tho- roughly are we acquainted with it, that we can, in cases innumerable, determine, with the utmost accuracy and certainty, the de- gree of power necessary to produce a given £flFect. I repeat, therefore, that some things are in our power, and others are not ; and that we perfectly understand our own meaning when we say so. — ^That the reader may not lose any chain in our reasoning, he will please to look back to the second and third paragraphs of this section. 3. By attending to my own internal feel- ings, and to the evidence given by other men of theirs, I am sensible that I deserve reward or punishment for those actions only.iwhich are iii my own power. I am no more ac- countable 27« AN ESSAY [Part II. eountabte for the evil which I can neither prevent nor remedy, than for the destruction of Troj, or the plagues of Egypt ; and for the good which happens by my meansj but against hiy will, I no more deserve reward or praise, than if I were a piece of inanimate matter. This is the doctrine of common sense; and this doctrine has in all ages been supported by some of the most powerful principles of our nature ; by principles which, in the com- mon affairs of lite, no man dares suppose to be equivocal or fallacious. A man may as well tell me that I am blind, or deaf, or that I feel no heat when I approach the fire, as that I have not a natural sentiment disposing me to blame intentional injury, and to praise intentional beneficence; and which makes me feel and be coUscious, that the evil I am compelled to do is not criminal, and that the good I perform against my will is not merito- rious. That other men are conscious of the same sentimentj I know with as much cer- tainty as I can know any thing of what passes in the minds of other men ; for I have daily and hourly opportunities of making observa- tions in regard to this very point. Th€ greatest part of conversation turns upon the morality of human actions ; and I never yet heard any person seriously blamed or ap- J)lauded, by a reasonable creature, for an ac- tion in the performance of which he was not considered 2 Ch. II. 3.] On TRUtH. 275 COtisidered as a free agent*. The mbst rigid Predestinarians suppose freedom of will to be in one way or other consistent with leternal and unconditional decrees : if they cannot explain in what way,- — they call it a mys- tery ; it surpasses their understanding ; — but it must be so ; for otherwise the mora lity of actions is altogether inconceivable •^'. Do * Si omnia fato fiunt, omnia fiunt causa antecedente ; et, si appetitus, ilia etiam quae appetitum sequuntur: ergo, etiam assensiones. At si causa appetitus non est sita in nobis, ne ipse quidem appetitus est in nostra potestate. Quod si ita est, ne ilia quidem quaj appetu efficiuntut sunt sita in nobis. Non sunt igitur, neque assensiones neque actiones, in nostra potestate : ex quo efficitur, ut nee laudationes justce sint, nee vituperationes, nee honor es, nee supplicia. Quod cum vitiosum sit, probabiliter con-* cludi putant, non omnia fato fieri qu£ecunque fiant. Cicero, l)e Fato, cap. 17. + The reader, I hope, does not think me such a no- vice in reasoning, as to urge the judgment of the coun- cil of Trent in behalf of any doctrine, philosophical or religious. Yet every fact in logic and morality is worth our notice, if we would establish those sciences on their enlyfirm foundation, the universal consent and pi-actice of mankind. It deserves, therefore, to be remarked, that, at the Reformation, this consciousness of free will was acknowledged, both by the Lutherans, and by the church of Rome, to, be a principle of common sense, which was to be ascertained, not by reasoning, but by experimental proof. So says a most judicious and ele- gant historian, whpse words are remarkably apposite to the present subject, and to the manner in which we treat it. Speaking of some articles said to be maintained by the Lutherans, in opposition to free-wjll, the historian in- forms us, that, in the judgment of many of that celebrat- ed council, the opinion implied in these articles, " E S ** empirf 276 AN ESSAY [Part 11. Do the interests of science, or of virtue, suffer by this representation of the mp-tter ? I think not. But sQuie philosophers, pot satisfied with this \iew of it, are fqr bringing the senti- ment of moral liberty to the test of reason. They want to prove by argument, either that I have, or that I have not, such a feeling ; or, if I shall be found to have it, they want to know whether it be fallacious or not. In other Avords, they want to prove, or to dis- prove, what I know by instinct to be unques- tionably certain : or they want to enquire, whether it be reasonable for me to act and think according to a principle, v.hieh, by the law of my nature, I cannot contradict, either in thought or in action. "Would not the same spirit of enquiry lead a geometrician to attempt a proof or confutation of his axioms ; a natural philosopher to doubt whe- ther things be what his senses represent them j an ordinary man to argue concerning the " erapia, e blasfenia contra Dio. — Ch'era una pazzis " contra il senso comune, esperimentando ogni huonio la " propria libertd,che non merita contesiatione, ma, comine '' Aristotele dice, o castigo, oprona esperimentale. Che i " medesimi discepoli di Luthero s'erano accorti della " pazzia; e, raoderando rassordita, dissero poi, esservi " liberta neU'huomo in quejlo, the tocca le attioni esteme " politiche ed economiciie, e quanto ad offni giustitia ci- " vile ; le quali e sciocco clii non conoscc xenir dal conscglio " edellellione ; restringendosi a negar la liberta quanto " alia sola giustitia divina." Istoria del Concili Trid. di P. Sarpi, lib. 2. p. 2J4, edit. 4. propriety th. 11. 3j ON TRUTH. 277 propriety of perceiving colours by the eyes, and odours by the nostrils ? Would not the same spirit of doubt and disputation applied to more familiar instances, transforrn a phi- losopher into a madman, and a pg;rson of plain sense into an idiot ? But let us not be too rigid. If a philo- sopher must needs have his rattles and play- things, let him have them : only, for his own sake, and for the sake of his neigh- bours,'! would advise, that edge-tools, and other dangerous instruments of amusement, be kept out of his reach. If a Cartesian will not, on any account, believe his own exist- ence, except I grant him his Cogito, ergo sum, far be it from me to deprive the poor man of that consolation. The reasoning indeed is bad, but the principle is good ; and a good principle is so good a thing, that rather than oblige a man to renounce it, I would dis- pense with the strict observance of a logical precept. If a star-gazer cannot see the inha- bitants of the moon With one perspective, let him tie a score of them together, with all tny heart. If a virtuoso is inclined to look at the sun through a microscope, and at rot- ten cheese through a telescope, to apply eaj"- trumpets to his eyes, arid equip his two ears with as many pairs of spectacles, he has my full permission 5 and much good may do him. These amusements are idle, but they are innocent. The Cartesian, if the truth were known, would be found neither th0 S 2 better 2r§ AN ESSAY [Fart II. better nor the worse for his enthymeme. The star-gazer has not achieved a single ghmpse of liis lunar friends, but sees more confusedly than before : however, be may console himself with this reflection, that one may pass through life with the character of a. very honest and tolerably happy man, though he should never have it in his poiver to ex- tend the sphere of his acquaintance beyond this sublunary globe. The virtuoso takes a wrong, and indeed a preposterous method, for improving his sight and hearing; but if he is careful to confine these froHcs to his private apartment, and never boast in pub- lic of his auditory, or optical apparatus, he may live comfortably and respectably enough, though he should never see the spots in the sun, nor the bristles on a mite's back. I would, however, earnestly exhort my friend the metaphysician, to believe himself a free agent upon the bare authority of his feelings, and not to imagine that Nature is such a bungler in her trade, as first to in- tend to impose upon him, and then inad- vertently give him sagacity to see through the imposture. Indeed, if it were a matter of indifference whether we believe our moral feelings or disbelieve them, I should not ob- ject to the use of a little unbelief now and then, by way of experiment or cordial, pro- vided it were a thing that a reasonable man could take any pleasure in. But I am con- tinccd that habitual dram-drinking; is not more Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 279 more pernicious to our animal nature, than habitual scepticism to our rational. And when once this scepticism comes to affect our moral sentiments, or active principles, all is over with us : we are in the condition of a man intoxicated ; fit only for raving, dozing, and doing mischief. But, alas ! the metaphysician is too head- strong to follow my advice. It would be a fine thing, indeed, says he, if gentlemen were to yield to the dictates of natvire. Is there a single dictate of nature to Avhich people of fashion now-a-days pay any regard? No, no; the world is grown wiser. As to this sentiment of moral liberty, I very much ques- tion its title to be ranked with the dictates of nature. It seems to be a piece of vile so-- phistication, a paltry prejudice, hatched by the nurse, and fostered by the priest, I am determined to take it roundly to task, and examine its pretensions with the eye of a philosopher and freethinker. Very well. Sir, you may take your own way ; it re- quires no skill in magic to be able to foretell the consequence. A traveller no sooner quits the right road, on supposition of its being wrong, than he gets into one that is really so. If you set out in your enquiry with sus- pecting the principles of common sense to be erroneous, you have little chance of falling in with any other principles tli^t are not er- yorjeous, The 280 AN ESSAY • [PartlJ. The result of the metaphysical enquiry is as follows. " Every human action must proceed from some motive as its cause, The motive or cause must be sufficient to produce the action or effect ; otherwise it is no motive : and, if sufficient to produce it, must necessarily produce it; for every effect proceeds necessarily from its cause, as heat necessarily proceeds from fire. Now, the immediate causes of action are voli- tions, or energies of the will : these arise necessarily from passions or appetites ; which proceed necessarily from judg- ments, or opinions ; which are the neces- sary effect of external things, or of ideas, operating, according to the necessary laws of nature, upon our senses, intellect, or fancy: and these ideas, or things, pre- sent themselves to our powers of percep-, tion, as necessarily as light presents itself when we turn our open eyes to the sun. In a word, every human action is the ef- fect of a series of causes, each of which does necessarily produce its own proper effect : so that if the first operate, all the rest must follow. It is confessed, that an action may proceed immediately from vo- lition, and may therefore properly be called voluntary: but the primiim mobile, or first cause, even of a voluntary action, is something as independent on our will, asi the production of the great-grandfather is " independent Ch. II. 3.] • ON TRUTH. 281 ' independent on the grandson. Between ' ph3^sicat and moral nececessity there is no ' difference; the phenomena' of the moral ^ world being no less necessary than those ' of the material. And, to conclude, if we * are conscious of a feelirig or sentiment of ' moral liberty, it must be a deceitful one; ' for no past action of our lives could have ' been prevented, and no future action can ' be contingent. Therefore man is not a ' free, but a necessary agent." - This is just such a conclusion as I should have expected ; for thus it always has been, and will be, when the dictates of common sense are questioned and disputed. The ex- istence of body, the existence of, the soul, the reality of our idea of po^/er, the differ- ence between moral and intellectual virtue, the certainty of the inference from an effect to the cause, and many other such truths, dictates of common sense, have been called in question, and argued upon. And what is the result? Why truly it has been found, that there is no body, that, thei'e is no soul, that we have no idea of power, that moral and in- tellectual virtue are not different, and that a cause is not necessary to the production of that which hath a beginning. And now the liberty of human actions is questioned and debated, what could we expect, but that it would share the same fate But passing this %m AN ESSAY • [Part II, this for the present*, which, however, seems to merit attention, we shall here only en- quire, whether this doctrine of iiecessty be not in some important points extremely simi- lar to that of the non-existence of matter. 1. Of this doctrine we observe, in the first place, that, if any regard is to be had to the meaning; of words, and if human actions may reasonably be taken for the signs of hu- ijian sentiments, all mankind have, in all ages, been of a different opinion, The num- ber of professed philosophers who have main- tained that all things happen through una-: voidable necessity, is but small ; nor are we to imagine that all the ancient Fatalists were of this number, The Stoics were Fatalists by profession ; but they still endeavoured, as Avell as they could, to reconcile fate with mo- ral frecdomf' ; and the first sentence of the Enchiridion * Some readers may possibly, on this occasion, call tot mind a saying- of an old Greek author, who, though now obsolete, was in his day, and for several ages after, aicconnted a man of considerable peneti'ation. I neither mention his name, nor translate his words, for fear of of- fending (pardon a fond author's va.mty\)mT/ polite readers. AN® 'flN THN ArADHN THE AAHeEIAS OTK EAEHANTO AIA TOTTQ IIEM-i-EI AYTOIE 'O ®£0E ENEPFEIAN IIAANHS EIS TO itlSTETZAI !aTTOTS Tli *ETAEi. I " By Fate the Stoics seem to have understood a se- " ries of events appointed by the immutable counsels of '^ Qod ; or, that law of his providence by which he " goveriis Ch. II. 3.] * ON TRUTH. 283 Enchiridion of Erpictelus contains a decla- mtion, that " opinion, pursuit, desire, and " aversion, and, in one word, whatever are " our own actions, are i^i our own power/' We see in Cicero's fragment De Fato, and in the beginning of the sixth book of Aulus (jeliius, by what subterfuges and quibbling distinctions the Stoic Chrysippus reconciled the seemingly opposite principles of fate and free-will. I am not surprised, that what he says on this subject is unsatisfactory : for many Christians have puzzled themselves to no purpose in the same argument. But though the manner in which the divine pre- science is exerted be mysterious and inexpli- cable, it does not follow that the freedom of our Avill is equally so. Of this we may be, and we are competent judges. It is suffi- ciently intimated to every man by his owi^ experience ; and every man is satisfied with this intimation, and by his conduct declares, that he trusts to it as certain and authentic. Nothing can be a clearer proof, that the sen- timent of moral liberty is one of the most powerful in human nature, than its having been so long able to maintain its ground, and often in opposition to other popular <' governs the world. It is evident bj their writini^s, " that they meant it in no sense which interferes with " the liberty of human actions." See Mrs. Carter's ad- mirable Introduction to her very elegant translation of the works of Epictetus, § 17. opinions 584 AN ESSAY [Part II. opinions apparently repugnant. The notion of fate has prevailed much in the world, and yet could never subvert this sentiment even in the vulgar. — If it be asked, where the Vulgar opinions of ancient times are to be found, I answer, that in the writings of the most popular poets we have a chance to find them more genuine than in systems of philo- sophy. — To advance paradoxes, and conse- quently to disguise facts, is often the most effectual recommendation of a philosopher : but a poet must conform himself to the ge- neral principles and manners of mankind ; otherwise he can never become a general fa- vourite. Now the system of Homer and Virgil con- cerning fate and free-will is perfectly expli- cit. " Homer assigns three causes," I quote the words of Pope, " of all the good and evil that happen in this world ; which he takes a particular care to distinguish. First, the will of God, superior to all. Secondly, destiny or fate, meaning the laws and or- der of nature, affecting the constitutions of men, and disposing them to good or evil, prosperity or misfortune ; which the Supreme Being, if it be his pleasure, may over-rule, (as Jupiter is inclined to do io the case of Sarpedon*) ; but which he ge- nerally suffers to take effect. Thirdly, our own free-will, which cither by prudence + Iliad, xvi. 433. " overcomes Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 283 *' overcomes those natural influences and *• passions, or by foll^^ suffers us to fall un- " der them*/' In regard to some of the de- crees of fate. Homer informs us, that they were conditional, or such as could not take effect, except certain actions were perform- ed by men. Thus Achilles had it in his power to continue at Troy, or to retyrn home before the end of the war. If he chose to stay, his life would be short and glorious ; if to return, he was to enjoy peace and leisure to a good old age-j-. He prefers the former^ though * Iliad, i. 5. xjx. 90. Odyss. i. 7. 39. See Pdpe's ftotes on these passages. Ai^Sa^iaj xiipa; ipEpt'^wiv ffavaToto TEXoff^e — &C. Iliad, ix. 415. My fates long since by Thetis were disclos'cJ, And each alternate, life or fame, propos'd. Here if I stay before the Trojan town, Short is my date, but deathless my renown; If I return, I quit immortal praise. For years on years, and long extended days. Pope. On voit (says M. Dacier, in her note on this passage) partout dans Ilomere des marques qu'il avoit connu cette double destinee des homraes, si necessaire pour accorder ie libre arbitre avec la predestination. En voicy un tes- moignage bien formel et bien expres. II y a deUx che- mins pour tous les hommes : s'ili prertnent celny-la, il leur arrivera telle chose ; s'ils prennent celuy-cy, leur sort sera different. Sophocles, in like manner, represents the decree of Destiny concerning Ajax as conditional. The anger of Minerva 286 AN ESSAY [Part II. though he well knew what was to folloAV : and I know not whether there be any other circumstance in the character o£ this hero, except his love to his friend and to his fa- ther, which so powerfully recommends him to our regard. This gloomy resolution in^ vests him with a mournful dignity, the ef- fects of which the reader often feels at his heart, in a sentiment made up of adniiration, pity, and horror. But this by the by. :- According to Virgil, the completion, even of the absolute decrees of fate, may be re- tarded by the agency of beings inferior to Jupiter*: a certain term is fixed to every man, beyond which his life cannot last ; but before this period arrives, he may die, by accidental misfortune, or deserved punish-. Minerva against thai hero was to last only one day : if his fi-iend kept him within doors during that space, all would be well ; if they suffered him to go abroad unat- tended, his death was inevitable. Ajax. Mastig. 112, 794, oJo. El ju-v fv^ov ^fvft (says the scholiast), ern)^fi" divinity was. That the question was a very ♦* childish one j as every man alive must be * P. 243. *' conscious Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 289 *' conscipus, tbat he himself is a free agent." —If it be true, as I beheve it i?, that the pommon people in most countries ^ye ineiin* ed to acknowledge a destijiy or fate ; an,d if it be also true, that they are conscious of their own free agency notwithstanding ; this alone would convince me, though I had never consulted my own experience, that the sentiment of moral liberty is one of the strong- est in human nature. For how many of their vices might they not excuse, if they could persuade themselves, or others, that these proceed from causes as independent on their will, as those from which storms, earth- quakes, and eclipses arise, and the tempera- ture of soils and seasons, and the sound and unsound constitutions of the human body ! Such a persuasion, however, we find not that they have at any time entertained or at- tempted ; from which I think there is good reason to conclude, that it is not in ^their power. There is no- principle in man, religion ex- cepted, that has produced so great revolu- tions, and makes such a figure in the his- tory of the world, as the love of political li- berty, of which indeed all men do not form the same notion; some placing \t in the power of doing Avhat they please, others in, the power of doing what is lawful ; some in being governed by laws of their own mak- ing,, and others in being governed by equi- table laws, and tried by equitable judges ; "but 290 AN ESSAY [PartIL — but of which it is universally agreed, that it leaves in our power many of our most im- portant actions. And yet, say some authors, all things happen through irresistible neces- sity, and there is not in the human mind any idea of any power. Strange! that so many, especially among the best, the bravest, and the Avisest of men, should have been so passionately enamoured of an inconceivable non-entity, as to abandon, for its sake, their ease, their health, their fortunes, and their lives ! At this rate we are wonderfully mis- taken, when we speak of Don Quixote as a madman, and of Leonidas, Brutus, Wal- lace, Hampden, Paoli, as wise, and good, and great ! The case, it seems, is just the re- verse : these heroes deserve no other name than that of raving bedlamites ; and the il- lustrious knight of La Mancha, to whom the object of his valour was at least a conceivable phantom, was a person of excellent under- standing, and most perfect knowledge of the woiid ! Do not all mankind distinguish between mere harm and injury ? Is there one rational being unacquainted with this distinction? If a man were to act as if he did not com- prehend it, would not the world pronounce him a fool ? And 3'et this distinction is in- comprehensible, except we suppose some be- ings to act necessarily, and others from free choice. A man gives me a blow, and in- stantly I feel resentment: but a bystander in-^ forms Ch. 11. 3.] ON TRUTH. 291 forms me, that the man is afflicted with the epilepsy, which deprives him of the power of managing his Hmbs ; that the blow was not only without design, but contrary to his in- tention ; and that he could not have prevent- ed it. My resentment is gone, though I still feel pain from the blow. Can there be any mistake in this experience.'' Can I think that I feel resentment, when in reality I do not feel it? that I feel no resentment, when I am conscious of the contrary? And if I feel re-> sentment in the one case, and not in the other, it is certain there seems to me to be some dissimilitude between them. But it is only in respect of the intention of him who gave the blow that there can be any dissimi- litude: for all that I learn from the infor- mation by which my resentment was extin-«^ guished is, that what I supposed to proceed from an evil intention, did really proceed from no evil intention, but from the ne- cessary effect of a material cause, in which the will had no concern. What shall we say then? that the distinction between injury and mei'e harm, acknowledged by all man- kind, does imply, that all mankind suppose the actions of moral beings to be free? or shall we say, that resentment, though it arises uniformly in all men on certain occasions, does yet proce^ from no caus6; the actions which do give rise to it being in every respect the same with those which do not give rise to it? * Further, 292 AN ESSAY [Part II. Further, all men expect, with full assur- ance, that fire Avill burn to-morrow ; but all men do not with full assurance expect, that a thief will steal to-morrow, or a miser refuse an alms to a beggar, or a debauchee commit an aeft of intemperance, even though opportu-j nities offer. If I had found, on blowing up my fire this morning, that the flame Avas cold, and converted water into ice, I should have been much more astonished, than if I had detected a man reputed honest in the com- mission of an act of theft. The former 1 Avould call a prodigy, a contradiction to the known laws of nature: of the latter I should say, that I am sorry for it, and could never have expected it ; but I should not suppose any prodigy in the case. All general rules, that regard the influence of human characters en human actions, admit of exceptions; but the general laws of matter admit of none. Ice was cold, and fire hot, ever since the crea- tion ; hot ice, and cold fire, are, according to the present constitution of the world, im- possible: but that a man should steal to-day, who never stole before, is no impossibility at all. The coldness of the flame I should doubt- less think owing to some cause, and the dishonesty of the man to some strange revo- lution in his sentiments and principles; but I never could bring myself to think the man as passive, in regard to this revolution, as the fire must be supposed to be, in regard to the cause by which its nature is changed. Th? Ch. U.S.] ONTRUTIL ^93 The man has done what he ought not to have donCj what he might have prevented, and what he deserves punishment for not pre- venting ; tins is the language of all rational beings : but the fire is wholly unconscious and inert. AVho will say that there is the same necessity in both cases! Fatalists are fond of inferring moral ne- cessity from physical, in the way of analogy. But some of their arguments on this topic are most ridiculously absurd. "There is," sa.jsYoltaire'ii Ig7iorant Philosopher, "nothing " without a cause. An effect without a " cause, are words without meaning. Every " time I have a will, this can only be in " consequence of my judgment, good or " bad; this judgment is necessary; there- " fore so is my will." — All this hath been said by others : but what follows is, I be- lieve, peculiar to this Ignorant Philosopher. " In effect," continues he, " it would be very " singular, that all nature, all the planets, " should obey eternal laws, and that there " should be a little animal, five feet high, " who, in cantempt of these laws, could act " as he pleased, solely according to his " caprice.^' Singular! aye, singular indeed. So very singular, that yours. Sir, if I mis- take not, is the first human bra:in that ever conceived such a notion. If man be free, no body ever dreamed that he made himself so, in contempt of the laws of nature; it is in consequence of a law of nature that he is T 2 a free 294 AN ESSAY [Part It a free agettt. But passing this, let us attend to the reasoning. The planets are not free agents; therefore it would be very singu* lar, that man should be one. Not a whit more singular, than that this same animal of five feet should perceive, and think, and read, and write, and speak ; attributes which no 'astronomer has ever supposed to belong to the planets, notwith'standing their brilliant appearance, and stupendous magnitude*. We do top much honour to such reasoning, when Ave repl}'^ to it in the bold, but sublime words of the poet : Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal? Behold this midnight glory, worlds on worlds f Amazing * M. Voltaire has often laboured, with more zeal than success, to prove, amongst other strange doctrines, that Shakespeare and Milton were not great poets. What if I should here help him to an argument as decisive on that point as any he has yet invented,-and framed exactly according to the rules of his own logic, as exemplified in the passage now before us ? " The English say, that " Shakespeare anf' ^Tittpn were great poets. Now it is " well known, th^ij ^Iher Plinlimmon in Wales, nor ** Mealfourvouny in Scotland, neither Lebanon in Syri^, " nor Atlas in Mauritania, ever wrote one good verse in " their days ; and yet each of these mountains exceeds " in corporeal magnitude ten thousand Miltons, and as *' many Shafcespeares. But it would be very singular, " that masses of so great distinction should never have " been able to put pen to paper with any success, and yet '^ that no fewer than two pieces of lilnglish flesh and ** blood, scarce six feet long, should, in contempt of Na- *' ture and all her laws, have penned poems that are-in* " titled to general admiration." o Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 29.1 Amazing pomp ! i^double this amaze ; Ten thousand add ; and twice ten thousand more ; Then weigh the whole ; one sout outweighs them all. And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation poor. Complaint, Night 7. Or in the simpler language of another great genius : " If we consider the dignity of an ** intelligent being, and put that in the scale " against brute and inanimate matter, we " may affirm, without overvaluing human " nature, that the soul of one virtuous and " religious man is of greater worth and " excellency, than the sun and his planets, " and all the stars in the world*." Mr. Hume, in an essay on this subject, maintains, that the appearances in the moral and material world are equally uniform, and equally necessary ; nay, and acknowledged to be so, both by philosophers and by the vul- gar. In proof of this, he confines himself to general topics, on which he declaims with some plausibility. Human nature has been nearly the same in all ages. True. For all men possess nearly the same faculties, which are employed about nearly the same objects,, and destined to operate within the same nar- row sphere. And if a man have power to * Bentlej's Sermons at Boyle's Lectures, Serm, VIII. cliuse 296 AN ESSAY [Part II, chuse one of two things, to act or not to act, he has all the liberty we contend for. How is it possible then that human nature, taken in the gross, should not be found nearly the same in all ages ! But if we come to par- ticulars, we shall not perhaps find two hu^ man minds exactly alike. 'In two of the most congenial characters on earth, the same causes will not produce the same effects; nay, the same causes will not always produce the same effects even in the same character. Some Fatalists deny, that our internal feel- ings are in favour of moral liberty. " It is " true," says a worthy and ingenious, though fanciful, author, " that a man by internal " feeling may prove his owii free-will, if by " free-will be meant the power of doing *' what a man wills or desires ; or of resist- " ing the motives of sensuality, ambition, " &c. ; that is free-will in the popular and " practical sense. Every person may easily " recollect instances, where he has done these " several things. But these are entirely fo- " reign to the present question. To prove " that a man has free-will in the sense op- " posite to mechanism, he ought to feel, that " he can do different things Avhile the mo- " fives remain pi'ecisely the same. And here " I apprehend the internal feelings are en- " tirely against free-will, where the motives " are of a sufficient magnitude to be evi- " dent : where they are not, nothing ca.n be " proved Cli. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 297 " proved*." — Questions of this kind would be more easily solved, if authors would ex- plain their doctrine by examples. When this is not done, we cannot always be sure that we understand their meaning, especially in abstract subjects, where langua;ge, after all our care, is often equivocal and inadequate. If I rightly vinderstand this author, and am allowed to examine his principles by my own experience, I must conclude, that he very much mistakes the fact. Let us take an ex- ample. A man is tempted to the commission of a crime : his motive to commit, is the love of money, or the gratification of appe- tite: his motive to abstain, is a regard to duty, or to reputation. Suppose him to weigh these motives in his mind, for an hour, a day, or a week ; and suppose, that, during this space, no additional consideration oc^ curs to him on either side : which, I think, may be supposed, because I know it is possir ble, and I believe often happens. While his mind is in this state, the motives remain precisely the same ; and yet it is to me in^ conceivable, that he should at any time, dur- ing this space, feel himself under a necessi- ty of committing, or under a necessity of not committing the crime. He is indeed under a necessity either to do, or not; to do: but every man, in such a case, feels that he * Partlej's Observations on Man, yol, 1. p. 507, . has* 298 AN ESSAY [Part II. has it in his power to chuse the one or the other. At least, in all my experience, I have never been conscious, nor had any reason to believe that other men were conscious, of any such necessity as the author here speaks of. Again: Suppose two men, in the circum- stances above mentioned, to yield to the temptation, and to be differently affected by a review of their conduct ; the one repining at fortune, or fate, or providence, for having placed him in too tempting a situation, and solicited him by motives too powerful to be resisted ; the other blaming and upbraiding himself for yielding to the bad motive, and resisting the good : — I would ask, which of these two kinds of remorse or regret is the most rational ? The first, according to the doctrine, of the Fatalists ; the last, according to the opinion of mankind. No divine, no moralist, no man of sense, ever supposes true penitence to begin, till the criminal become conscious, that he has done, or neglected, something which he ought not to have done or neglected: a sentiment which would be not only absurd, but impossible, if all cri- minals and guilty persons beheved, from in- ternal feeling, that what is done could not have been prevented. Whenever you can sa- tisfy a man of this, he may continue to be- wail himself, or repine at fortune : but his repentance is at an end. It is always a part, and too often the whole, of the language of remorse : Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 299 remorse : " I wish the deed had never been " done ; wretch that I was, not to resist the " temptation \" Does this imply, that the penitent supposes himself to have been under a necessity of committing the action, and that his conduct could not have been different from what it is ? To me it seems to imply just the contrary. And am not I a compe^ tent judge of this matter ? Have not I been in these circumstances ? Has not this been often the language of my soul ? And will any man say, that I do not know my own thoughts, or that he knows them better than I ? — All men, indeed, have but too frequent experience of at least this part of repentance : then why multiply words, when by facts it is so easy to determine the controversy ? Other Fatalists acknowledge, that the free agency of man is universally felt and believ- ed: That though man in truth is a neces- sary agent, having all his actions determined by fixed and immutable laws ; yet, this be- ing concealed from him, he acts with the conviction of being a free agent*. — Con- cealed from him! Who conceals it? Does the Author of nature conceal it, — and do these writers discover it? What deference is * In the former editions of this Essay, a particular book was here specified and quoted. But I have lately heard, that in a second edition of that book, which, however, I have not yet seen, the author has made some altera- tions, by which he gets clear of the absurdity exposed in this passage. not 300 AN ESSAY [Part II. not due to the judgment of a metaphysin cian, whose sagacity is so irresistibly (I had almost said omnipotently) penetrating? But, Gentlemen, as ye are powerful, ye should have been merciful. It was not kind to rob poor mortals of this crumb of comfort which had been provided for them in their igno- rance; nor generous to publish so openly the secrets of Heaven, and thus baffie the de- signs of Providence by a few strokes of your pen ! In truth, metaphysic is a perplex- ing affair to the passions, as well as to the judgment. Sometimes it is so absurd, that not to be merry is impossible ; and some- times so impious, that not to be angry were unpardonable: but often it partakes so much of both qualities, that one knows not with what temper of mind to consider it : " To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace ; *' And to be grave, exceeds all power of face." But why insist so long on the universal ac- knowledgment of man's free agency ? To me it is as evident, that all men believe them- selves free, as that all men think. I cannot see the heart; I judge of the sentiments of others from their outward behaviour; from the highest to the lowest, as far as history and experience can carry me, I find the con- duct of human beings similar in this respect to my own: and of my own free agency I have never yfet been able to entertain the least doubt. Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 301 doubt. " Here then we have an instance of *' a doctrine advanced by some philosophers, " in direct contradiction to the general be- " hef of all men in all ages." This is a re- petition of the first remark formerly made on the non-existence of matter. 2. The second was to this purpose : " The reasoning by which this doctrine is sup- ported, though long accounted unanswer- able, did never produce a serious and stea- dy conviction ; common sense still declared it to be false ; we were sorry to find the powers of human reason so limited as not to afford a logical confutation of it; we were convinced it merited confutation, and flattered ourselves, that one time or other it would be confuted." I shall here take it for granted, that the scheme of necessity has not as yet been fully Qonfuted; and on this supposition (which the Fatalists can hardly fail to acknowledge a fair one) I would ask, whether the remark just now quoted be applicable to the reason- ings urged in behalf of that scheme? My experience tells me, it is. After giving the advocates for necessity a fair hearing, my be- lief is exactly the same as before. I am puzzled perhaps, but not convinced, no not in the least degree. In reading some late es- says on this subject, I find many things al- lowed to pass without scruple, which 1 can- not admit : and when I have got to the end, and ask myself, whether I am a free or a necessary 502 AxV ESSAY [Part 11. necessary agent, nature recurs upon me So ir- resistibly, that the investigation I have just fi- nished seems (as Shakespeare says) " like the '-' fierce vexation of a dream," which, while it lasted, had some resemblance of reality, but now, when it is gone, appears to have been altogether a delusion. This is preju- dice, you say ; be it so. Before the confu- tation of Berkeley's system, would it have been called prejudice not to, be convinced by his arguments ? I know not but it might ; but I am sure,, that of such prejudice no ho- nest man, nor lover of truth, needs be asham- ed. I confess, that Avhen I enter upon the controversy in question, I am not wholly in- different ; I am a little biassed in favour of common sense, and I cannot help it : yet if the reasoning were conclusive, I am confident it would breed in my mind some suspicion, that my sentiment of moral liberty is ambi- guous. As I experience nothing of this kind, my conviction remaining the same as before, what must I infer? Surely I must infer, and I sin against my own understanding if I do not infer, that though the reasoning be subtle, the doctrine is absurd. But what if a man be really convinced by that reasoning, that he is a necessary agent? — Then I expect he will think and act according to his conviction. If he con- tinue to act and think as he did before, and as I and the rest of the Avorld do now, he must pardon me if I should suspect his con- viction Ch. II. 3.] On TRUTH. 303 viction to be insincere. For let it be observ- ed, that the Fatalists are not satisfied with calling their doctrine probable ; they affirm, that it is certain, and rests on evidence not inferior to demonstration. If, therefore, it convince at all, it must convince thoroughly. Between rejecting it as utterly false, and re- ceiving it as undeniably true, there is no medium to a considerate person. And let it be observed further, that the changes which the real belief of fatality must produce in the conduct and sentiments of men, are not slight and imperceptible, but, as will ap- pear afterwards, important and striking. If you say, that the instincts of your nature, the customs of the world, and the force of human laws, oblige you to act like free agents, you acknowledge fatality to be con- trary to common sense; which is the point I want to prove. Clay is not more obsequious to the potter, than words to the skilful disputant. They may be made to assume almost any form, to enforce almost any doctrine. So true it is, that much may be said on either side of most questions, that we have known dealers in controversy, who were always of the same mind with the author whom they read last. We have seen theories of morality deduced from pride, from sympathy, from self-love, from benevolence; and all so plausible, as would surprise one who is unacquainted with the ambiguities of language. Of these the 304 AN ESSAY [Part ih the advocates for simple truth are less careful to avail themselves, than their paradoxical antagonists. The arguments of the former, being more obvious, stand less in need of il-* lustration ; those of the latter require all the embellishments of elegance and refinement to recommend them. Robbers seldom go abroad without arms; thej examine every corner and countenance with a penetrating feje, which habitual distrust and circum- spection have rendered intensely sagacious; the honest man walks carelessly about his. business, intending no harm, and suspecting none. It cannot be denied, that philosophers do often, in the use of words, imppse on themselves, as well as on others; an ambi- guous word slipping in by accident will often perplex a whole subject, to the equal sur- prise of both parties; and perhaps, in a long course of years, the cause of this perplexity shall not be discovered. This was never more remarkably the case, than in the controversy about the existence of matter; and this no doubt is one great hinderance to the utter confutation of the doctrine of necessity. Fatalists, indeed, make a stir, and seem much in earnest about settling the signification of words: but "words beget words,'' as Bacon well observeth ; and it cannot be expected, that they who are interested in supporting a system will be scrupulously impartial in their definitions. With a few of these a theorist commonly begin* Ch. 11. 3.] ON TRUTH. 305 begins his system. This has the appearance of fairness and perspicuity. We hold it for a maxim, that a man may use words in any sense he pleases, provided he explain the sense in which he uses them; and we think it captious to find fault with words. We there- fore are easily prevailed on to admit his de- finitions, which are generally plausible, and not apparently repugnant to the analogy of language. But the understandino; of the au- thor when he writes, and that of the stu- dent when he reads them, are in very differ- ent circumstances. The former knows his system already, and adapts his definitions to it : the latter is ignorant of the system, and therefore can have no notion of the tenden- cy of the definitions. Besides, every system is in some degree obscure to one who is but beginning to study it ; and this obscurity serves to disguise whatever in the preliminary illustrations is forced or inexplicit. Thus the mind of the most candid and most attentive reader is prepared for the reception of error, long before he has any suspicion of the au- thor s real design. And then, the more he is accustomed to use words in a certain signifi- cation, the more he is disposed to think it natural ; so that, the further he advances in the system, he is still more and more recon- ciled to it. Need we wonder then at the Marc. Antonin. bably Cli. U.S.] ON tRUTH. 300 bably foresaw, that the tendency of his prin- ciples would be urged as an argument against them; and being somewhat appre- hensive of the consequences, as well he might, he insinuates, that all such reasoning is no better than personal invective. " There is no method of reasoning," sajs he, more common, and yet none more blame- able, than in philosophical debates to en- deavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pretence of its dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When any opi- nion leads into absurdities, it is Certainly false ; but it is not certain that an opi- nion is false, because it is pf dangerous consequence; Such topics therefore ought entirely to be forborn ; as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make' the person of an antagonist odious*." If your philosophy be such, that its conse- quences cannot be unfolded without render- ing your person odious, pray, Sir, who is to blame? you, who contrive and publish it ; or I, who criticise it .'' There is a kind of philosophy so salutary in its effects, as to en- dear the person of the author to evefry good man : why is not yours of this kind ? If it is notj as you yourself seem to apprehend, do. you think, that I ought tO applaud your principlesjor suffer them to pass unexamined^ * Esssly On Liberty and Necessityj part. 2. V 9, even $10- AN ESSAY [Part If. even though I am certain of their per- nicious tendency ? or that, out of respect to your j^erson, 1 ought not to put others on their guard against them ? , Surely you can- not be so blinded by self-admiration, as to think it the duty of any man to sacrifice the iiiterest of mankind to your interest, or ra- ther to your reputation as a metaphysical tyriter. If you do think so, I must take the liberty to differ from your judgment in this as in many other matters. , Nor can I agree to Avhat our author says of this method of reasoning, that it tends nothing to the discovery of truth. Does not every thing tend to the discovery of truth, that disposes men to think for themselves, and to consider opinions with attention, be- fore they adopt them ? And have not many well-meaning persons rashly adopted a plau- sible opinion on the supposition of its being harmless, who, if they bad been aware of its })a.d tendency, would have proceeded with more caution, and made a better use of their understanding ? This is truly a notable expedient for deter- mining controversy in favour of licentious theories. An author publishes a book, in which are many doctrines fatal to humari hap- pinessy and subversive of human society. If, from a regard to truth, and to mankind, we endeavour to expose them in their proper colours, and, by displaying their dangerous and absurd consequenceis, to deter men from rashly Ch.II. 3.] ON^fRUTIL ' 311 rasMy adopting them without examination ; our adversary immediately exclaims, " This " is not fair reasoning; this is personal in^ " vective." Were the sentiments of the pub- hc to be regulated by this^ exclamatjo-n', h- centiOus Avriters might do vvliat mischief they pleased, and lio matt' durst appear in opposi- tion, without being hooted at for his want of breeding. — It is happy for u'S all, that the taw is not to be brow-beaten by insinua- tions of this kind; otherwise we should hear some folks exclaifti against it every day, as otte of the most ungenteel things in the world. And truly they would have reason : for it cannot be denied, that an indictment at the Old Bailey has much the air of a personal in^ vcctive ; and banishment, or burning in the hand, amounts nearly to a personal assault ; nay, both have often this express end, to make the person of the criminal odious ; and yet, in his judgment, perhaps, there was- no great harm in picking a pocket of a handkerchief, val«e thirteen pence, provided ,jt was done with a good grace. Let not the majesty of science be oftended by this allu- sion ; I meaii not to ai*gue from it, for it is not quite similar to the case in hand. T'liat those men act»the part of good citizens, who endeavour to bvertum the plainest principles of human knowledge, and to subvert the foundations of all religion', I am far fi-om thinking; but I should be extremely sorry to see any Other weapons employed against them thau 312 AN ESSAY [Part H, than those of reason and ridicule chastised by flecency and truth. Other weapons this cause requires not; nay, in this cause, all pther weapons would do more harm than good. And let it still be remembered, that the object of our strictures is not men, but books; and that these incur our censure, not because they bear certain names, but because they contain certain principles. ' These remarks relate rather to the doc- trines of scepticism in general, than to thig of necessity in particular ; which I arn not ignorant tl^at many men, respectable both for their talents and principles, have assert- ed. I presume, however, they would have been more cautious, if they had attendee^ to the consequences that may be dra"\v]:i from it. — To which I now return. Some of the Fatalists are willing to recon- cile their system with our natural notions of moral goqd and evil; but all they have been able to do is, to remove the difficulty a step or two further off. Put others of that party are not sohcitous to render these points consistent. If they can only establish necessi- ty, they ^eave natural religion to shift for itself. Mr. Hume allows, that, on the prin- ciples of those who deny liberty and con- tingence, it is impossible for natural reason to vindicate the divine character :— for that, on the supposition that God is the ultimate cause of every one of our volitions and ac- tions, either none of these can be criminal ;; or. Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 313 or, if they be criminal (which Mr. Hume seems to admit), " we must retract the attri.. " bute of perfection which we ascribe to the " Deity, and acknowledge him to be the " ultimate author of guilt and moral turpi^ " tude in all his creatures."- — Were authors possessed of that inodesty, which Mr. Hume recommends in the conclusion of this essay, I should think they would shudder at the thought of inculcating a doctrine, which they know to be ^irreconcilable with the very first principles of religion ; and of which, there- fore, they must know that it tends to sub- vert the only durable foundation of human society and human happiness. The advocates for liberty, on the other hand, have zealously asserted the infinite wisr dom and purity of the divine nature. Now, I confess, that this very consideration is, ac^ cording to my notion of things, a strong ar^ gument in favour of the last-mentioned doc- trine. Here are two opinions ; the one iu:- consistent with the first principles of natural religion, as some of those who maintain it acknowledge, as well as with the experience, the belief, and the practice, of the generality of rational beings ; the other perfectly con- sistent with religion, conscience, and com- mon sense. If the reader believe, with me, that the Deity is infinitely good and wise, he cannot balance a moment between them ; nor hesitate to affirm, that the universal belief of' X\ie forrqer would produce niuch jflisphief ^n4 314 AN ESSAY [Part II, and misery to mankind, If he be prepossess sed in favour of Mr. Hume's necessity, he ought, however, before he acquiesce in it as true, to be well assured, that the evidences of natural religion, particularly of the divine existence and attributes, are weaker than the proofs that have been urged in behalf of this necessity, But will any one say,, that this doctrine admits of a proof, as unexception- able as that by Avhich we evince the being and attributes of God ? I appeal to his own heart, I appeal to the experience and con- sciousness of mankind; are you as tho^ roughly convinced,, that no past action of your life could possibly have been prevented, and that no future action can possibly be contingent, as that God is infinitely wise, powerful, and good ? Examine the evi- dence of both propositions, examine with candour the instinctive suggestions of your own mind ; and then tell me, whether you find Atheism or man's moral liberty hardest to be believed. Perhaps I shall be told, that the belief of moral liberty is attended with equal difficul- ties; for that, to- reconcile the contingency of human actions with the prescience of God, is as impossible as to reconcile necessi- ty with his goodness and wisdom. Others have answered this objection at length ; I make therefore only two brief remarks upon it. 1. As it implies not any reflection on the divine power, to say th<»;t it cannot per-r form Ch. II. 3] ON TRUTH. 315 form impossibilities; so neither, I presume, does it imply any refjection on his know- ledge, to say that he cannot foresee^ as cer- tain, that which he himself has determined to be not certain, but only contingent. Yet he sees all possible eifects of all possible causes ; and our fi'eedom to chuse good or evil can BO more be conceived to interfere with the final purposes of his providence, than our power of moving our limbs is inconsistent with our inability to remove mountains, 2. No man will take it upon him to say, that he distinctly understands the manner in which the Deity acts, perceives, and knows : but the incomprehensibleness of his nature will never induce men to doubt his exist- ence and attributes, unless there be men who iancy themselves infallible, and of infinite capacity. Shall I then conclude, because I cannot fully comprehend the manner in which the divine prescience operates, that therefore the Deity is not infinitely perfect? or that therefore I cannot be certain of the truth of a sentiment which is warranted by my con- stant experience, and by that of all man- kind ? Shall I say, that because my know- ledge is not infinite, therefore 1 have no linowledge ? Because I know not when I shall die, does it follow, that I cannot be certain of ray being now alive? Because God has not told me every thing, shall I refuse to be- lieve what he has told me ? To draw such g. conclusion from such premises, is, in my judgment, 316 AN ESSAY [Partli: judgment, as contrary to reason, as to say, that, because I am ignorant of the cause of magnetical attraction, therefore I ought not to beheve that the needle points to the north. — That I am a free agent, I know and be- lieve; that God foresees whatever can be fore- seen, as he can do whatever can be done, I also know and believe: nor have the Fatalists ever proved, nor can they ever prove, that tlie one behef is inconsistent with the other. The assertors of human liberty have always maintained, that to believe all actions and intentions necessary, is the same thing as to believe, that man is not an accountable be- ing, or, in other words, no moral agent. And indeed this notion is natural to every person who has the courage to trust his own experience, without seeking to puzzle plain matter of fact with verbal distinctions and metaphysical refinement. But, it is said, the sense of moral beauty and turpitude still remains with us, even after we are convinc- ed, that all actions and intentions are ne- cessary; that thi^ sense maketh us moral agents ; and therefore that our moral agency is perfectly consistent with our necessary agency. But this is nothing to the purpose; it is putting us off with mere words. For what is moral agency, and what is implied in it? This at least must be implied in it, that Ave ought to do some things, and not to do others. But if every intention and ac- tion of my life is tixed by eternal laAvs^- which Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 317 which I can neither elude nor alter, it is as absurd to say to me, You ought to be lionest to-morrow, as to say. You ought to stop the motion of the planets to-morrow. Unless some events depend on my determination, QUght, and ought not, have no meaning when applied to me. Moral agency further implies, that we are accountable for our conduct; and that if we do what we ought not to do, we deserve blame and punishment. My con-j science tells me, that I am accountable for those actions only that are in my own power; and neither blames nor approves, in myself or in others, that conduct which is the ef- fect, not of choice, but of necessity. Con- vince me, that all my actions are equally necessary, and you silence my conscience lor ever, or at least prove it to be a fallacious and ipfipertinent monitor: you will then con- vince me, that all circumspection is unne- , cessary, and all remorse absurd. And is it a matter of httle moment, whether I believe my moral feelings authentic and true, or equivocal and fallacious ? Can any principle be of more fatal consequence to me, or to society, than to believe, that the dictates of conscience are false, unreasonable, or insig- nificant ? Yet this is one certain effect of my becoming a Fatalist, or even sceptical in re- gard to moral liberty. I observe, that when a man's understand- ing begins to be so far perverted by de- bauchery, as tq make him imagine his crimes unavoidable. 318 AN ESSAY [Part II. unavoidable, from that moment he begins to think them innocent, and deems it a suffi- cient apology, that in respect of them he is no longer a free, but a necessary agent. The drunkard pleads his constitution, the blas- phemer urges the invincible force of habit, and the sensualist would have us believe, that his appetites are too strong, to be resisted- Suppose all men so far perverted as to argue in the same manner with regard' to crimes of every kind — then it is certain, that all men would be equally disposed to think all crim^es innocent. And what would be the conse- quence.'' Licentiousness, misery, and desola- tion, irremediable and universal. If God in- tended that men should be happy, and that the human race should continue for many generations, he certainly intended also that men should believe themselves free, moral, and accountable creatures. Supposing it possible for a man to act upon the belief of his being a necessary agent, let us see how he would behave in some of the common affairs of life. He does me an in- jury. I go to him and remonstrate. You will excuse me, says he; I was put upon it by one on whom I am dependant, and who threatened me with beggary and perdition if 1 refused to comply. 1 acknowledge this to be a considerable alleviation of the poor man's guilt. Next day he repeats the injury ; and, on my renewing niy remonstrances, Truly, says he, 1 was offered sixpence to do it; or I 2 did Ch. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 31P did it to please my humour : but I know you •will pardon me, when I tell you, that as all motives are tlie necessary causes of the actions that proceed from them, it follows, that all motives productive of the same ac- tion are irresistible, and therefore, in respect of the agent, equally strong : I am therefore as innocent now as I was formerly ; for the event has proved, that the motive arising from the offer of sixpence, or from the im- pulse of whim, was as effectual in produc- ing the action which you call an injury, as the motive arising from the fear of ruin. Notwithstanding this fine speech, I should be afraid, that these principles, if persisted in, and acted upon, would soon bring the poor Fatalist to Tyburn or Bedlam. Will you promise to assist me to-morrow with your labour, advice, or inter-est? No, says the practical Fatalist ; I can promise nothing: for my conduct to-morrow will cer- tainly be determined by the motive that then happens to predominate. Let your promise, say I, be your motive. How can you be so ignorant, he replies, as to imagine that our motives to action are in our own power ! O sad, O sad ! you must study metaphysic, indeed you must. Why, Sir, our motives to action are obtruded upon us by irresistible necessity. Perhaps they arise, immediately^ from some passion, judgment, fancy, or (if you please) volition ; but this volition, fan- cy, judgment, or passion, ^what is it? an S^O AN ESSAY [Pan 11. an effect without a cause? No, no; it is necessarily excited by some idea, object, or notion, which presents itself independently on me, and iii consequence of some extrin-* sic cause, the operation of which I can nei^ ther foresee nor prevent.— Where is the man who would chuse this Fatalist for his friend^ companion, or fellow-citizen? who will sayj that society could at all subsist, if the genera-* lity of mankind were to think, and speak^ and act, on such principles* ? But, says the Fatalist, is it not easy to imagine cases in which the men who believe themselves free, would act the part of fools or knaves? Nothing indeed is more easy/ But let it be observed, that the folly or knavery of such men arises, not from theii* persuasion of their own free agency ; for many millions of this persuasion have passed through life with a fair character ; but from other causes. I cannot conceive any greater discouragement from knavery and folly, than the consideration, that man is an account-- able being; and I know not how we can suppose him accountable, in the common ac- * This, it maj' be said, would suppose a partial necessi- ty. It may be so : but in this manner I apprehend that mankind will always argue, as long as thej are conscious of a power of self-determination. And while they are' conscious of that power, and argpe in this manner, they must consider the doctrine of necessity as repugnant to our most familiar and most permanent notions in regard to morality and human agency. ceptation Oh. II. 3.] ON TRUTH. 321 ceptation of that wordj unless we suppose him free. The reader^ if disposed to pursue these hints, and attend, in imagination, to the be- haviour of the consistent and practical Fa- talist, in the more interesting scenes of pri- vate and public life, may entertain himself with a series of very strange and comical ad- ventures. I presume I have said enough to shew, that it is not without reason I af- firm, "That the real and general belief of " necessity would be attended with fatal " consequences to science, and to human *' nature ;" — which is a repetition of the third remark we formerly made on the doctrine of the non-existence of body.* And now we have proved, that if there was any reason for rejecting Berkeley's doctrine as absurd, and contrary to common sense, before his arguments were shewn to arise from the abuse of words, there is at present the same reason for rejecting the doc- trine of necessity, even on the supposition that it hath not as yet been logically confuted. Both doctrines are repugnant to the general belief of mankind: both, notwithstanding all the efforts of the subtlest sophistry, are still incredible : both are so contrary to na- ture, and to the condition of human beings, that they cannot Ije carried into practice ; * See the end of the preceding section. and ,^n AN ESSAY [Pavtil. and so coiitrary to true philoSopiiy, that they cannot be admitted into science, with- out bringing scepticism along with them, and rendering ques^tionablethe plainest principles of moral truth. In a word, we have proved^ that common sense, as it teachethus ta be- lieve and be assured of the existence of mat- ter, doth also teach Us to believe and be as- sured, that man is a free agent. It would lead us too far from our present purpose, to enter upon a logical examinatiort of the argument for necessity. Om' design is only to explain, by what marks one may distinguish the principles of common sense, that is, intuitive or self-evident notions, from those deceitful and inveterate opinions that iiave sometimes assumed the same appear- ance. If I have satisfied the reader, that the free agency of man is a self-evident fact, I have also satisfied him, that all reasoning on the side of necessity, though accounted un- answerable, is, in its very nature, and pre- viously to all confutation, absurd and irra- tional, and contrary to the practice and prin- ciples of true philosophy. Let not the friends of liberty be discou- raged by the perplexing arguments of the Fa- talist*. Arguments in opposition to self- * There Is no subject on which doubts and difficurUies may not be started by ingenious and disputatious men s and therefore, from the number of their objections, and the length of the controversy to which they give occasion, evident Ch. 11. 3.] OK TRUTH. 323 evident truth, must, if plausible, be perplex* ing. Think what method of argumentation a man must pursuCj who sets himself to Con- fute any axiom in geometry, or to argue, against the existence of a sentiment,^ acknow- ledged and felt by all mankind. Indeed I cannot see how such a person should ever impose upon people of sense, except by availing himself of expressions, which either are in themselves ambiguous, or become so by his manner of applying them. If the ambi- guity be discernible, the argument can have no force ; if there be no suspicion of ambigu- ity, the dispute may be continued from ge- neration to generation, without working any change in the sentiments of either party. When fact is disregarded, when intuition goes for nothing, when no standard of truth is acknowledged, and every unanswered ar- gument is deemed unanswerable, true rea- soning is at an end ; and the disputant, hav- ing long ago lost sight of common sense, is so far from regaining the path of truth, that, like Thomson's peasant bewildered in the sion^ we cannot, in any case, conclude, that the original evidence is weak, or even that it is not obvious and strik- ing. Were we to presume, that every principle is du- bious against which specious objections may be contrived, "we should be quickly led into universal scepticism. The two ways in which the ingenuity of speculative men has befin mo§t commonly employed, are, dogmatical assertioRS of doubtful opinions, and subtle cavus against certa|ji truths. Gerard's Dissertations, ii. 4:, ■ X snow. 3g4^ AN ESSAY [Part It snow, lie .cpntinues " to wander on, still ", more and, more astray." If any person, will give }iimselt\the trquble to examine the ■^v'dole controversy concerning liberty and ne- cessit}'^ he will find, that the arguments on bf t|i sides come at last to appear unanswer- able : — there is no common principle ac- knowledged by both parties, to which an appeal can be made, and each party charges the other with .begging the question. Is it not. then better to rest satisfied with the sim- ple feelings of the understanding ? 1 feel tliat it is in my power to will or not to will : all, you, can say abovit th^ influence of motives; will never convince me of the contrary; or. if I should say, that I am convinced by your arguments, my conduct must continually be-, lie niy profession. One thing is undeniable : your words are obscure, m)^ feeling is not; — :tliis is univjsrsally attended to, acknow- ledged, and acted upon ; those to the majo- rity of mankind would bq unintelligible, nay,: perhaps they are in a great measure so even hi yourselves*'. CHAP. *^ " It is evident (sayi, a great philosopher) that as it is from internal co:)scious?iess I know any thing of liberty, .^ so no assertion contrary to what lam conscious of con- ,.^1 cernirig it can bo admitted : and it were better per- ' haps to treat of Ua- abstruse subject after the manner "of cM iit:f ok TSttiffi. 32^ CHAP. III. Recapitulation, and Inference. XHE substance of the preceding illustra-^ tions, when apphed to the principal purpose of this discourse, is as follows: Although it be certain, that all just reason- ing does ultimately terminate in the princi- ples of common sense ; that is, in principles which must be admitted as certain, or as probable, upon their own authority, without evidence, or at least without proof ; even as all mathematical reasoning does ultimately " of experimental philosophy, than to fill a thousand " pages with metaphysical discussions concerning it." Maclaurin's Aciount of Netefon's Discoveries, book 1. chap. 4. " The constitution of the present world (says Bishop " Butler), and the condition in which we are dctuall;^ " placed, is as if we were free. And it may perhaps be " justly concluded, that since the whole process of action, " through every step of it, is as if we were free, therefore *' we are so." Analogy, part 1. chap. 6. sect. 6. One who is a Fatalist, and — one who keeps to his na- tural sense of things, and believes himself a free agent, — theso two are contrasted bj the same excellent author, pai't 1, chap. 6. sect 3,' X 2 terminate 326 AN ESSAY [Part. IIv terminate in self-evident axioms : yet philo- sophers, especially those who have applied themselves to the investigation of the laws of human nature, have not always been careful to confine the reasoning faculty within its proper sphere, but have vainly imagined, that even the principles of common sense are subject to the cognizance of reason, and may be either confirmed or confuted by argument. They have accordingly, in many instances, carried their inx^estigations higher than the ultimate arid self-supported principles of common sense ; and by so domg, have in- troduced many errors, and much false rea- soning, into the moral sciences. To remedy this, it was proposed, as a matter deserving serious attention, to ascertain the separate provinces of reason and common sense. And because, in many cases, it may be difficult to distinguish a principle of common sense from an acquired prejudice; and, conse- quently, to know at what point reasoning ought to stop, and the authority of common sense to be admitted as decisive; it was there- forejudged expedient to enquire, " Whether *' such reasonings as have been prosecuted " beyond ultimate principles, be not mark- " ed with some peculiar characters, by which " they may be distinguished from legitimate " investigation." To illustrate this point, the doctrines of the non-existence of matter, and the necessity of human actions, were given as examples ; in which, at least- in the for^ mer Ck III.T ON TRUTH. 327 mer of which, common sense, in the opi- nion of all competent judges, is confessedlj violated; — the natural effects produce^ upon the mind by the reasonings that have been urged in favour of these doctrines, were c6hsidei:ed ; — and the consequences, resulv ing from the admission of such reasonings, were taken notice of, and expla,ine(i. An^ it was found, that the reasonings that have been, urged in favour of these doctrines, are really marked with some, peculiar charac- ters, which, it is presumed, can belong to ho legitimate argumentation. Of these rea- sonings it was observed, and proved, " That " the doctrines they are intended to establish "are contradictory to the general belief of "all men in all ages; ^Th^t, though " enforced and supported with singular sub-» " tlety, and though admitted by some pro- " fessed philosophers, they do not produce " that conviction which sound reasoning " hev^er fails to produce in the intelligent " mind ;— and, lastly. That really to be-. " lieve, and to act from a real belief t)f, such " doctrines and reasonings, must be atteij^j.^ " ed with fatal consequences to. science, tO; ^* virtue, and to human society." , I do not suppose, that all, the errors which- have arisen from not attending to the founda- tion of truth, and essential rules of reason- ing, as here explained are equally danger- ous. Some of thqm perhaps ijiay be inno-^, cent; to such the last of these characters can- not 328 A^^i;^A,y .[PartJJ. not belong. If wholly innocent, it is of little consequence, whether 'we know them to be errors or not. When a new tenet is advanc- ed in tooral science, thei'e will be a strong presumption 'against it, if Contfarj^ to uni- versal opitiiori : for as every man maj find the evidence' of moral science in his own breast, it is not to be svipposed, that the generality of iliankind would, for ariy length of time, persist in an error, which their "own daily experience, if attended to without pre- judice, could not fail to rectify. Let, there- fore, the evidfence of the nfew tenet be dare- fully examined, and attended to. If it pro- duce a full and clear conviction in the in- telligent mind, and at the same time serve to explain the causes of the universality and long continuance oflhe old erroneous opinion, the new one ought certainly to be received as triie. 'But if-the assent produced by the new doctrine be vagite, indefinite, and unsatis- fying : if nature and cohimbri sehse reclaim against it; if it recommend modes of thought that are incohceivable, or modes of action that are iinpracticable ; — it is not, it can- ndt'be,'' true, however plausible its evidence may appear,. "'.^ i . ' - Some will think, perhaps, that a straighter and - shorter CouVse might have brought, me sooner, and with equal security, to this conclusion. I acknowledge I have taken a pretty: \vide circuit. This was owing in part t& ihy Mve of perspicuity, which in these subjects Ch. IIL] ON TOU¥H. ^329 subjects hath not -always Ibe'eh studied 'sb much as it'o'irght to have 'been; and pdr(iy, and chiefly, to tay desire' rtf coiifutin^, <3h this occasion, as vAkiiy of the rtidst pernidi- ods tenets of mbdferh scepticism as could l)e brought within my 'present plan. "'BUt tKe reader will perceive, that I have endeavoured to conduct all my digressions in such a man- ner, as that they might serve for illustrations of the principal subject To teach men to distinguish by intuition a dictate of common sense froni an acquired prejudice, is a work which nature only can accomplish. We shall ever be more or less sagacious in this respect, according as Hea- ven has endowed us with greater or less strength of mind, vivacity of perception, and solidity of judgment The method here recommended is more laborious, and much less expeditious. Yet this method, if I am not greatly mistaken, may be of consi- derable use, to enable us to form a proper estimate of those reasonings, which, by vio- lating common sense, tend to subvert every principle of rational belief, to sap the foun- dations of truth and seiencr, and to lea,ve the mind exposed to all the horrors of scep- ticism. To be puzzled by such reasonii^gs, is neither a crime nor a dishonour ; though in many cases it may be both dishonourable and criminal to suffer ourselves to be deluded by them. For is not this to prefer the equivocal voice of an ensnaring wrangler, to ' the 330 AN E33AY [Part H, the clear, the benevolent, the infallible dici- tates of nature ? Is not this to belie our sen^ timents, and to violate our constitution ? Is not this " to forsake the fountains of living " water, and to hew out unto ourselves bro- *' ken cisterns that can hold no water?" PAUT Part III,] ON TEtJTH. 331 PART III. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. f XHEY who consider virtue as a subject r of mere curiosity, and think that the prin- ji ciples of morals and properties of conic ii sections ought to be explained with the same degree of apathy and indifference, will find abundant matter for censure in the pre- ceding observations. As the author is not very ambitious of the good opinion of such theorists, he will not give himself much trou- ble in multiplying apologies for what, to them, may have the appearance of keenness of se- verity in the animadversions he has hitherto made, or may hereafter make, on the prin- ciples of certain noted philosophers. He con- siders happiness as the end and aim of our being ; and he thinks philosophy valuable only so far as it may be conducive to this end. Hu- man happiness seemeth to him wholly unat- tainable, except by the means that virtue and religion provide. He is therefore persuaded, that while employed in pleading the cause of virtue, and of true science, its best auxi* liary, 332 AN ESSAY [P^rt IIL liary, he supports, in some measure, the cha- racter of a friend to humankind ; and he would think his right to that glorious appel- lation extremely questionable, if the warmth of his zeal did not bear some proportion to the importance of his cause. However sus- picious he may be of his ability to vindicate the rights of his fellow-creatures, he is not suspicious of his inchnation. He feels, that, on such a subject, he must speak from the heart, or not speak at all. — For the genius and manner of his discourse, he has no other a-pology to otfer: and by every person of spirit, candour, and benevolence, he is sure that this apology will be deemed sufBcient. As to the principles and matter of it, he is less confident. These, though neither vi- sionary nor unimportant, may possibly be taisunderstopd. - He therefi)re begis leave to urge a few things, for the furthet vindica- tion and illustration of them. To his own mind they are fully satisfactory ; he hopes to render them equally so to every candid reader. Happy, if he should be as succfessH ful in establishing conviction, as others hhve been in subverting it! CHAP. Ch.L] ON PP]^UTH. 333 CRAVA. Further Re,ma^]£S an the Consistenct/ of these Frinciples foith the Interests of Science^ and the Rights of Mankmd. XT ci,ay possibly be objected to tljiis dis- c'owse, Th^,]t. "it tends to discourage free- " dom of enquiry, and to promote implicit « laith." Biit nothing is more contrary to my de- design ; as thipse "yi^ho attend, without preju- dice, to the full ipiport of what I have g,d- yanced on the subject of evidence, will un- doubtedly perceive. Let me be permitted to repeat, that the truths in which man is most concerned ^o not lie exceedingly deep; nor are we to estimate either their importance, or ^heir certainty, by the length of the line of pur investigation. The evidences of the p^iilosophy of human nature are found in our own breast; we need not roam abroad in quest of them ; the unlearned are judges of them as well as the learned. Ambiguities have arisen, when the feelings of the heavt S^nd understanding were expressed in words; but ^34 AK ESSAY [Part III. but the feelings themselves were not ambi- guous. Let a man attentively examine him- self, with a sincere purpose of discovering the truth, and without any bias in favour of particular theories, and he will seldom be at a loss in regard to those truths, at least, that are most essential to his happiness and duty. If men must needs amuse them- selves with metaph^'sical investigation, let them apply it, where it can do no harm, to the distinctions and logomachies of ontology. In the science of human nature it cannot do good, but must of necessity do great harm. ■What ava,il the obscure deductions of ver- bal argument, in illustrating what we suffi- ciently know by experience? or in showing that to be fictitious and false, whose energy we must feel and acknowledge every mo- ment.'' When therefore I find a pretended principle of human nature evinced by a dark and intricate investigation, I am tempted to suspect, not without reason, that its evidence is no where to be found but in the argu- ments of the theorist ; and these, when dis- guised by quaint distinctions, and ambi- s^uous language, it is sometimes hard to con- fute, even when tlie heart recoils from the doctrine with contempt or detestation. If the doctrine be true, it must also be agreeable to experience; to experience, there- fore, let the appeal be made ; let the circum- stances br pointed out, in which the contro^ verted sentiment arises, or is supposed to* arise. Ch. I.] ON TRUTH, 535 arise. This is to act the philosopher, .not tlic rnetaphysician ; the interpreter of nature, not the builder of systems. But let us considet tlie objectiorj more particularly. What then do you mean by that implicit faith, to which you suppose these principles too favourable? Do you mean an acquies- cence in the dictates of our own understand- ing, or in those of others? If the former, I must tell you, that such implicit faith is the only kind of belief which true philosophy recommends. I have already remarked, that, while man continues in his present state, our own intellectual feelings are, and must be, the standard of truth to us. All evidence productive of belief, is resolvable into the evidence of consciousness ; and comes at last to this point, I believe because I believe, or because the law of rational nature determines me to believe. This belief may be called implicit; but it is the only rational belief of which we are capable : and to sa}', that our minds ought not to submit to it, is as absurd as to say, that our bodies ought not to be nourished with food. Revelation itself must be attended with evidence to satisfy consciousness or common sense ; Otherwise it can never be rationally believed. By the evidence of the gospel, the rational Christian is persuaded that' it comes from God. He acquiesces in it as truth, not because it is recommended by others, but because it sa- tisfies his own understanding. But ^S6' A!sF ESSAY [Mt'III? Biitifi by irriplicit'faith you tnean, wh^ I think is commonly meaM by ' that ternii an unwarrantable or unquestioned acquies- cence in the sentiments of othisr men, I de- ny that any part of this discourse hath a ten- dency to promote it. I never said, that doctrines ar« to be taken for granted with- out ^examination; though I affirmed, that, in regard to moral doctrines,' a long' and in- tricate examination is neither necessary nor' expedient. With moral truth, it is the bu- ' siness of every man to be acquainted; and therefore the Deity has- made it level to every capacity. Far be it from a lover of truth to discou- rage freedom of eoquir}^! Man is possessed of reasoning powers, by means of which he may bring that within the sphere of com- mon sense, which was originally beyond it. Of these powers he may, and ought to, avail himself; for many important truths are not self-evident, and our faculties were not de- signed for a state of inactivity. But neither were they designed to be employed in fruit- less or dangerous investigation. Our know- ledge and capacity are limited ; it is fit and necessary they should be so: we need ndt wander into forbidden paths, or attempt to- penetrate inaccessible regions,' in queSt of- employment; the cultivation of useful and practical science, the imprOveinent of arts, and the indispensable duties -of life^ will furnish ample scope to all the exertions 1 of Ch.-I.] 0:^- TRUTH. 337 of human genius. Surely that 'man is my fpieodv who dissuades me from attempting , what I cannot perform, nor ■ even-attempt without danger. And is not he a friend to science and mankind, who endeavours to discoupage-fali^cious and unprofitable specu- lation j an li to propose a criterion by which it- may i be, known and aiyoided'? ■ But 'if reasoning ought not to be fcarried beyond a certain boundary, and if it is the authority of common sense that fixeth this boundary^j and if it be possible to mistake a prajudic« for a principle of common sense, how (it may be said) are prejudices to be detected? At this rate, a man has nothing to do, but to call his prejudice a dictate of common sense, and then it is established in perfect security, bej^ond the reach of argu- ment.' Does not this furnish a pretence for limiting the freedom of enquiry? — Having already said a great deal in answer to the first part' of this question. I need not nOAV say mujch in answer to the last. I shall only ask, on the other hand," what method of reasoning is the properest for overcoming the prejudices of an obstinate man? Are we to wrangle with him in hifinitumy without ever arfiving at any filed principle? That surely is not the way to illustrate truth, or rectify error. Do we mean to ascertain^ the importdnee of our arguments by their num- ber, and' to pronounce that the better causie- whose champioli gives the last word? This, I fear. ;JS8 AN ESSAY [Part III. I fear, would not mend the matter. Sup- pose our antagonist should deny a self-evi- dent truth, or refuse his assent to an intui- tive probability ; must we not refer him to the common sense of mankind? If, we do not, we must either hold our peace, or have recourse to sophistry : for when a principle comes to be intuitively true or false, all legi- timate reasoning is at an end, and ;ill fur- ther reasoning impertinent. To the/ com- mon sense of mankind we must therefore re- fer him sooner or later ; and if he continue obstinate, we must leave him. Is it not then of consequence to truth, and may it not serve to present many a sophistical aargu- ment, and unprofitably logomachy, that we have it continually in xiew, that common sense is the standard of truth? a maxim, which men are not always disposed to ad- mit in its full latitude, and which, in the heat and hurry of dispute, they are apt to overlook altogether. Some men will always be found, Avho think the most absurd preju- dices founded in common sense. Reason- able men never scruple to submit their preju- dices or principles to examination : but if that examination turn to no account, or if it turn to a bad account; if it only puzzle where it ought to convince, and darken what it ought to illustrate; if it recommend im- practicable modes of action, or inconceiv- able modes of thought; — I must confess. I cannot perceive the use of it. This is the only G^. I.] QN TRiJT?, 359 coMi-age. It 4S tl»s kind of r^i^q^aiDg ik^, if^p prov^.^o fatal to t^ abstrapt scienC]^^." 1^ it.jaU our scepti^ gystenis , are founded;^ c^ it they consist; i^nd by it they ^re sup- ported. TiJl U\e abstract -&qiej>c^s be clear* f{J of this kind of reasoning, they 4QS|erve not the name of philosophy: they jBp^ amuse a weak ,and turbulent mind, a^ r,en- der it still weaker apd imore turbpl^t i bvit t^ey qannot convey any r^l; i?istr;auo4erniin-e the foundajt^iO^ of vir- tue aJid science; rl)uj^ t^ey cajApot iU-ustrate a single truth, ijor establish ojie„©ri«ciple C(f importance, nor improve the mind Qf man fn any respect whatsoever. By gome it may be thought an . objection to , the principles of this essay, "That they " seem )to recomnjiend a method .of confuf " tation which is not strictly according to " logic, and .do actually contradict some of " the, established laws of that science." It will readily be acknowledged, that many of tbe maxims of the school-logic are founded iji truth and natiire, and hajKe so long obtained imiversal approbation, that they aue Jilow become proverbial in philoso- phy. iManj of its rules and distinctions are extremely useful, jiot so much for strength- ^aing the judgment^ as for enabling the disputant quickly to comprehend, and per- »picuously to express, , in. what the forqe or fallacy of an argument consists. Theground- Y work 340 AN ESSAY [Part lit work of this science, the Logic of Aristotle, if we may judge of the whole by the part now extant, is one of the most successful and liiost extraordinary efforts of philosophic genius that ever appeared in the world. And , yet, if we consider this science, with regard to its design and consequences, we shall perhaps see reason to think, that a strict ob- servance of its laws is not always necessary to the discovery of truth. It was originally intended as a help to dis- course among a talkative and sprightly peo- iple. The constitution of Athens made public speaking of great importance, and almost a certain road to preferment or dis- tinction. This was also in some measure the case al; Rome; but the Romans were more reserved, and did not, till about the time of Cicero, think of reducing conversa- tion or public speaking to rule. The viva- city of the Athenians, encouraged by their democratical spirit, made them fond of dis- putes and declamations, which were often carried on without any view to discover truth, but merely to gratify humour, give employ- ment to the tongue, and amuse a vacant hour. Some of the dialogues of Plato are to be con- sidered in this light, rather as exercises iri declamation, than serious disquisitions in philosophy. It is true, this is not the only merit even of such of them as seem the least considerable. If we are often dissatisfied with his doctrine ; if we have little curiosity- 1& learn Ch.L] ON.TI^UTH. 341 learn the characters and manners of that age, whereof he has given so nati^rjil are- presentation-, we must yet acknowledge, that as models for elegance and simplicity of com- position, the most inconsiderable of piatp's dialogues are very useful and ingenious. His speakers often compliment each other on the beauty of their style, even when there is no- thing very striking in the sentiment*. If, therefore, we would form a just estimate of Plato, we must regard him, not only as a philosopher, but also as a rhetorician ; for it is. evident he was ambitious to excel in both characters. But it appears not to have been his opinion, that the practice of ex- temporary speaking and disputing, so fre- quent in his time, had any direct tendency to promote the investigation of truth, or the acquisition of wisdom. The Lapedemo- nians, the most reserved and most silent peo- ple in Greece, and who made the least pre- tensions to a literary character, were, in his judgment, a nation, not only of the wisest men, but of the greatest philosophers. Their words were few, their address not without rusticity ; but the meanest of them was able, by a single expression, dexterously aimed, and seasonably introduced, to make the * See tte Symposium. Platonis Opera, vol. 3. p. 198. edit- Serxan. Y t stranger ^4^ AN ESSAY [Part III. strtoger with whom he conversed appear tio^ ■w'ls&r than a child*. The Athenians, accustomed to reduce every thing to art, and among Avhom the spitit 6f science was more prevalent than in any other nation, had contrived a kind of teclitiical logic long before the days of Aris- totie. Their sophists taught it in conjunc- ti6n with rhetoric and philosophy. Bilt Aris- totle brought it to perfection, and seemis to have been the first who professedly disjoined it from the other arts and sciences. On his to«jic Was founded that of the schoolmen. But they, Hke othei- commentators, often IniSiinderstood the text, and ofte!h perverted it to the purpose of a favourite system. They differed from one another in their no- ti6ns of Aristotle's doctrine, ranged thera- selvres into sects and parties ; and, instead ©f explaining the prihciples of their master, made it their sole business to comment upon one another. Now and then men of learn- ing arose, who endeavoured to revive the true Peripatetic philosophy : but their ef- forts, instead of proving successful, served only to provoke persecutibn ; and at length h roT; \oyoig tv^r^rrn airhv ^pniDXov tiv« ^paiVo^xEVov, rjTHTa o-arov bv Tv-^ot v'mv Xryofx/vwv, hiSaXt 'pTjfj.* a^iov Xoyoy ^^a-Xp "'** cryVij-pajt^ju-EVov, ^ by ' wrangling in company, or by solemn disputation in the schools, I be- lieve it would appear^ that the conteilding parties ' might diave been>fei»plo3"ed as ad- vantageously to mankind, and much more so to themselves, in whipping a top, or brandish-, ing a rattle. • «{,;]"' J ' The ejttravagant fondness of the Stoics for logical quibbles is one of the most disagree- able nj>ecu]iariti€s in the- writings of that sect. Every body must have been disgusts ed with it in reading some passages of the Conversations^ of Epictetus preserved by Ar- yian ; and must be satisfied, that it tended father to weaken and betvilder, than to im- prove the understanding. i^One could hard- ly believe to what ridiculous excess they car» 345 AN ESSAY [Pai-tlll, ried it. There was a famous problem among them called the Tseudomenos, , which was to this purpose : " When a man says, I lie, *' does he lie, or does he not? If he lies, he " speaks truth : if he speaks truth, he lies." Many were the books that their philoso- phers i wrote, in order to solve this wonder- ful problem. Chrysippus favoured the world with no fewer than six : and Philetas studied himself to death in his attempts to solve it. EpictetUs, whose good sense often triumphs over the extravagance of Stoicisim^ justly ri- dicules this logical phrenzy*. , Socrates made little account of the sub- tleties of logic ; being more solicitous to in- struct others, than to distinguish himself-f-. He inferred his doctrine from the; concessions of those with whom he conversed; so that he left no room ' for .dispute, as the adver- sary could not contradict him, without con- tradicting himself And yet, to Socrates philosophy is perhaps more indebted, than to any other person whatever^. We * Arrian, lib. 2. cap. 17. ; Cicero Lucull. cap. 30. ' *" + Supra, parts, chap. 2.. sect. J. :|: Cicero in one place (de Finib. lib. 2.) calls him Pit" rens Philosophim, and in another (de Orat. lib. 3.) afhrnis, thatt, in the judgment of all Greece, and according to the testipiony of all the learned, Socrates, on every sub- ject to which he applied himself, excelled all men in wisdom, politeness^ and penetration, as well as in co- piousness Gh. L] ON TRUTH. 349 We have therefore no reason to tliink, that truth is discoverable by those means only which the technical logic prescribes. Aristotle knew the theory both of sophisms and syllogisms, better than any other man : yet Aristotle himself is sometimes imposed on by sophisms of his own invention*. And piousness and variety of eloquence ; and that succeed- ing philosophers, though they differed widely in their principles,: were however ambitious to be thought to belong to, the Socratic school, and willing to believe that they derived their doctrines from that great seminary of knowledge, — Socrates was the first Grecian philoso- pher who made experience the ground-work of all his reasonings, who applied philosophy to the regulation of human coiiduct, and who taught, that those theories only were valuable, which could be applied to practi- cal and useful purposes. The more we consider the state of learning at the time of his appearance, and the pride and insignificancy of those sophists, whom Greece then regarded as the oracles of wisdom, and to whose cha- racter and profession his conduct as a public teacher formed so striking a contrast,, the more we shall be sensible of our obligations to this great and excellent man, who was said to have brought philosophy down ^om heaven ; and who may truly be said to have r- turn'd the reasoning art From words to things, frpm fancy to th^ heart. * Thus be is said to have proved the earth to be the centre of the universe by the following sophism. — *' Heavy bodies naturally tend to the centre of the uni- *' verse ; we know by experience, that heavy, bodies *' tend to the centre of the earth ; therefore tlie centre <' of the earth is the same with that of the Universe." . Which is wliat the logicians c&U petitio principii, or ifegging the question, • . ■ , it 35d AN ESSAY [Pafrt III. it is penaarkable, thait bi^ m^a-U rb^twcal, s,nd political writings, in which his Qwn ex» cellent judgment is little warped hy logical subtleties, are far the most useful, and, in poiat of sound reasoning, the naost unexcep- tionajale part of his philosophy, , The apparent tendency of the school-lfjgiq is, to render men disputatious and scepti- cal, adepts in the knowledge of words, but inattentive to fact and experience. It makes them fonder of speaking than thinking, and therefore strangers to thenlselves ; s0licitous chiefly abjout rules, namesS,, and distinctions, and therefore leaves them neither leisure nor inclination for the study of life and manners. In a word, it makes them mpre ambitious to distinguish themselves as the partisans of ^ dogmatist, than as enqpirfers after truth. It is easy to see how far a man of this tem- pei" is qualified to make discoveries in know- ledge. To such a man, indeed, the name of truth is only a pretence : he neither is, nor can be, much interested, in the solidity or importance of his tenets ; it is enough if he c;an render them plausible ; nay, it is enough if he can silence his adversary by any means, T)ie .captious turn of an habitual wrangler deadens the understanding, sours thp tem^ per, and hardens the heart ; by rendering the mind suspicious, and attentive to trifles, it Weakens the sagacity of instinct, and ex- tinguishes the fire of -imagination ; it trans* fpxms cojiversation into a gtat* of warfare ; and Oh. I.] ON TRtJTH. S51 and i-estrains those lively *iallies of feteeyi so effectual in ptxDmoting gdbd^iuiMeAir ai^d good-will, which, thouoh ■ofteh erpoai^biiis^ are a thoLraand timeis ¥nore valuable than ihfe diill* correctness of a inood-ancU%iire discipht'iarian. One of the first toaxims of the school- \&^ is, I^kt nothing is to be believed, but well as by argimieHta- tive. The doctrine we have been endeaTOMr>. ifi'g to illustrate, tends not to encOMSrkge any prejudices, or any opinions, Mnfrmmy: to truth or virtue: its dnly &im is, to- esta- blish the authority of those instinctive prin^ eiples of conviction and assent, which the rational pai^t of tnankind havfe acknowledged Mall ages, and Which thfe condition of man,' in respect both of actions and intelligence, ]*enders it absiwd not to acknowledge. — We caninot supfKise that the i^uraaa mindv 1 unlike 352 AN ESSAY [Part III. imlikfe to all other natural systems, is made up of incompatible principles : in it, as in all the rest, there must be unity of design ; and therefore the principles of human beliet, and of human action, must have one and the same tendency. But many of our mo- dern philosophers teach a different doctrine ; endeavouring to persuade themselves, and others, that they ought not to believe what they cannot possibly disbesheve ; and that those actions may be absurd, and contrary to truth, the performance of which is necessary to our very existence. If they will have it, that this is philosophy, I shall not dispute about the word ; but I insist on it, that all such philosophy is no better than pedantic nonsense; and that, if a man were to write a book, to prove, that fire is the element in which we ought to live, he would not act more absurdly, than some metaphysicians of these times would be thought to have acted, if their works were understood, and rated according to their intrinsic merit. That every thing may be made matter of dispute, is another favourite maxim of the school-logic; and it would not be easy to deyise one more detrimental to true science. What a strange propensity these doctors have jb^ad.to disputation | One would think, that> in their judgment, " the chief end of man " is, to contradict his neighbour, and wrangle ** with him for ever." To attempt a proof of wha|; I .know to be false^ and a confu- .; tatioo Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. S5S tation of what I know toi be true, is an ex- ercise from which I can never expect advan- tage so long as I deem rationality a blessing. I never heard it prescribed as a recipe for strengthening the sight, to keep constantly blindfolded in the day-time, and put on spectacles when we go to sleep; nor can I imagine how the ear of a musician could be improved, by his playing frequently on an ill-tuned j fiddle. And yet the schoolmen seem to have thought, that the more we shut our eyes against the truth, we shall the more distinctly perceive it ; and that the oft- ener we practise falsehood, we shall be the more sagacious in detecting, and the more hearty in abhorring it. To suppose, that we may make every thing matter of dispute, is to suppose, that we can account for every thing. Alas! in most cases, to feel and believe, is all we have to do, or can do. Desr tined for action rather than for knowledge, and governed more by instinct than by rea- son, we can extend our investigations, espe-i cially with regard to ourselves, but a very little way. And, after all, when we ac^ quiesce with implicit confidence in the dic- tates of our nature, where is the harnt or the danger of such a conduct ? Is our life shortened, or health injured by it ? No, Are our judgments perverted, or oUr heslrts cor- rupted ? No- Is oUr happiness impaired, or the sphere of our gfatification contracted ? Quite the contrary. Have we less leisure for attehding $S4s Ar$^A5r> [Pai-fJIl attending to tbe diities of life, ^nd fcytc&^rvt* ing our mind with useful and aidant li- terature ? We have -evident! j more tium left for those purposes. Why the?i so much lo- gic, so many disputes, and so many theories,j aJbout t^e first philosophy ? Rather Uian irv disguising falsehood, and labouring to sub- vert the foundations of truth, why do we not, Avith humility and candour, employ our fa- culties in the attainment of plain, practical, and useful knowledge*? The * It is far from my intention to sqy^ tliat a taXeiit for arguine: oji either side of a controvertible question is of no use. When exerted with good-nature and modesty, it may sometimes helpto enliven conversation, and give play to the intellectual faculties. And it may ako be appliiea with good effect to purposes still more import^ant. It would seem that Cicero thought, thatthe end of piibiic speaking was not to elucidate or investigate truth, bat only 4!04na>k6 one opinion appear more probable than another; and that when an orator -had ^one his bfes^j.it could only be ^d, " Ilium prudentibiiis diserte, stpltis '' etiam veredicere videri." DeOratore,lib.\.Sf'3. ¥ot such ffn employtoent, disputation was a ye(ty>prdper,pr«-t paratory exercise, as the same author oftep ^^cl^fcs. But it does not follow, that a habit of disputation is 9f benefit to tlie philosopher, or to those public speakers, whose aim, 'fer more noble than thai of the Ciceronian orator, isto jiifarm the j u(igm?ut» and im prove the abeai;t. I In a. senate orcouQcii, ,met for the ,puvpose of pre-? paring or maki(ig la»vs^ it is highly expedient, that the reasftns-for^nd against every public measure be nrge^ ?Wi:tii5 fiffeS^dofin. T(hi9 tends not only to .Reserve the laws and eonstitution, but also to quiet laen's^^nds, by re- |nioyi|ig tho^e jealousies which are generally entertained agairilst perspus ifl'hfg:h^fl5ce. Besides, peflificaltpifth de^ Ch. I.] ON TRtJTH. 355 The consequences of submitting every sen- timent and principle to the test of reason- ing, have been considered already. Thi$ practice has, in every age, tended much to confound science, to prevent the detection of error, and (may not we add ?) to debase the human understanding. For have we not seen real genius under the influence of ■ a disputaf- pends often on principles so exceedingly complicated, that a magistrate or senator will liardly trust his own judg- ment, till he finds it warranted by that of others, and has heard the most material reasons that can be urged in opposition. But to argue against conviction, and for the sake of argument, or in order to gratify pri- vate pique, or to support a faction, is surely unworthy of senators met in solemn assembly, and deliberating up- on affairs of the utmost importance, both to the present, and to future generations. Moreover : As it is better that a criminal escape, than an innocent man. suffer punishment; and as the law should not 6nly determine the differences, but as much as possible satisfy the minds of men; it will be readily allowed, that in a court of justice every prisoner should be presumed to be innocent, till the proofs of his guilt appear, and every cause thoroughly discussed on both sides, that the grounds upon which the sentence pro- ceeds may be evident to all concerned. It is therefore right, that each party should be permitted to exert itself, as far as truth and decency will permit, in its own vin- dication. So that a habit of devising arguments on either side of controverted questions seems to be a neces- sary qualification to every person who wishes to make a figure at the bar. For the more fully those questions are discussed before the judges, the greater honour redounds, not to the pleader only, but to the law also, and conse- quently the greater emolument to the community. Yet even these judicial disputations may be carried too far. And the more a pleader indulges himself in deviating z from S56 A^ ESSAY [Part IIL a disputatious spirit, derived from nature, fashion, or education, evaporate in subtlety, sophistry, and vain refinement? Lucretius, Cicero, and Des Cartes, might be mentioned as examples. And it will be matter of lasting regret in the republic of letters, that one, greater in some respects than the greatest of these, I mean John Milton, had the misfor- tune to be born in an age when the study of scholastic theology was deemed an essential part of intellectual discipline. from truth, in perplexing the cause with arguments that he knows to be frivolous, in confounding the judg- inent of his hearers by unreasonable appeals to theilr passions, or in wearing out their attention with studied prolixity, the less respectable will he be in his private character, and the less useful as a member of society. I never heard a lawyer blamed for declining a cause notoriously bad : but to engage for hire in all causes, good and bad, with equil leal, and equal alacrity, is surely not commendable. To be able to speak readily and plausibly in ^ndicatioft of any opinion, is no doubt an ornamental, and may be an useful accomplishment. But to teach it, belongs rather to the rhetorician, than to the philosopher. And it is to be feared, that, iri tlieir ardour to acquire it, young men have sometimes become more enamoured of victory than of truth, and tftore intent upon words than upon argument ; and that they may have also been too eager to display it in private company, wliere^ unless seasoned with wit and modesty, with sweetness of temper, and softness of voice, it soon becomes a most intolerable nui" sance. To philosophy, that is, to the right observation and interpretation of nature, habits of wrangling, and theories of syllogism, seem to me to be just as necessary a prelude, as the art of rope-dancing is to the study of agriculture. Ch. I.] ON TRUTH. S57 It is either affectation, or false modesty, that makes men say they know nothing with certainty. Man's knowledge, indeed, com'- pared with that of superior beings, may be very inconsiderable; and compared Avith that of The Supreme, is " as nothing, and " vanity :" and it is true, that we are daily puzzled in attempting to account for the most familiar appearances. But it is true, notwithstanding, that we do know, and can- not doubt of our knowing, some things with certainty. And " Let school-taught pride dissemble all it cap, " These little things are great to little man*." To be vain of any attainment, is presump- tion and folly : but to think every thing dis- putable, is a proof of a weak mind and cap- tious temper. And however sceptics may boast of their modesty, in disclaiming all pre- tensions to certain knowledge, I would ap- peal to the man of candour, whether they or we seem to possess least of that virtue J they, who suppose, that they can raise in- surmountable objections in every subject ; or we, who believe, that our Maker has per- mitted us to know with certainty some few things? In opposition to this practice of making every thing matter of dispute, we have en- deavoured to show, that the instinctive sug- * Croldsmith's Traveller. z 2 gestiong 358 AK ESSAY [Part UI cestions of common sense are the ultimate standard of truth to man; that whatever jcontradicts them is contrary to fact, and therefore false ; that to suppose them cognis-' able by reason, is to suppose truth as vari- able as the intellectual, or as the argumen- tative, abihties of men; and that it is aii abuse of reason, and tends to the subversion of scieace, to call in question the authen- ticity ot our natural feelings, and of the na- tural suggestions of the human understanding. That science never prospered while the old logic continued in fashion, is undeniable. Lord Verulam was one of the first who brought it into disrepute; and proposed a different method of investigating truth, name- ly, that the appearances of nature should be carefully observed; and, instead of facts being wrested to make them fall in with the- ory, that theory should be cautiously infer-^ red from facts, and from them only. The event has fully proved, that our great phi- losopher was in the right : for science has made more progress since his time, and by his method, than for a thousand years be- fore. The court of Rome well knew the im- portance of the school-logic in supporting their authority ; they knew it could be em- ployed more successfully in disguising er- ror, than in vindicating truth ; and PufFen- dorff scruples not to insinuate, that they pa- tronised it for this very reason*. Let it not * De MoRDtrchia Pontifi«is Ramani. then Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 35g then be urged, as an objection to this dis- course, that it recommer.ds a method of eon- ftitation which is not strictly logical. It is enough for me, that the method here r-ecom-' mended is agreeable to good sense and sound philosophy, and to tlie general notions amJ practices otmen. CHAP. II. The Subject continued. Estimate of Meta-' physic. Causes of the Degeneracy of Moral Science. JL he reader has no doubt observed, that I have frequently used the terra Metaphysic, as if it implied something worthy of con- tempt or censure. That no lover of science may be offended, I shall now account for this, by explaining the nature of that metaphysic which 1 conceive to be repugnant to tru(3^ philosophy, though it has often' assumed tha name : and which, th^jrefore, in my judg- ment, the friends of truth ought solicitously to guard against. This explanation Avill lead to some remarks that may perhaps throw ad- ditional light on the present subject. Aristotle bequeathed by legacy his writings to 360 AN ESSAY [f prt III. to Theophrastus; who left them, together with his own, to Neleus of Scepsis. The posterity of Neleus, being illiterate men, kept them for gome time locked up ; but after- wards hearing, that the king of the country was making a general search for books to furnish his library at Pergamus, they hid them in a hole under ground; where thej lay for many years, and suffered much from worms and dampness. At last, however, they were sold to one Apellicon ; who caus- ed them to be copied out ; and, having (ac- cordingtoStrabo)agreater passion for books than for knowledge, ordered the transcribers to supply the chasms from their own inven- tion. When Sylla took Athens, he seized on Apellicon's library, and carried it to Rome. Here the books of Aristotle were revised by Tyrannio the grammarian, and afterwards by Andronicus of Rhodes, a Peripatetic philosopher, who published the first complete edition of them*. To fourteen of these books, which it seems had no general title, Andro- nicus prefixed the words, Ta meta ta phy- sical; that is, The boohs posterior to the phy- sics ; either because, in the order of the for- iner arrangement, they happened to be placed, or because the editor meant that they should be studied, pext after the physics. » Strabo,p.609. Paris, edit. 16£0. Plut. SjUa. This Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 361 This is said to be the origin of the word Me* taphi/sic. Tne subject of these fourteen books is mis- cellaneous : yet the Peripatetics seem to have considered them as constituting but one branch of science; the place of which in their system may be thus conceived : All philosophy is either speculative or practical. The practical regulates the moral and intel- lectual operations of men, and therefore cora»f phehends ethics and logic. The speculative rests in the knowledge of truth ; and is di-- vided into three parts, to»wit, Physics, which enquire into the nature of material sub- stances, and the human soul : Mathematics, which consider certain properties of body as abstracted from body; and this Meta- physic (which Aristotle is said to have called Theology, and the First Philosophy), which, besides some remarks on truth in general, the method of discovering it, and the errors of former philosophers, explains, first, the gene-!- ral properties of being ; and, secondly, the nature of things separate from matter, namely, of God the one first cause, and of the forty-seven inferior deities. Following the notion, that these fourteen books comprehend only one part of philo- sophy, the Christian Peripatetics divided metaphysics into universal and particular. In the first, they treated of being, and its ^ properties and parts, considered as it is be-. ing 362 AN ESSAY [Part III, ing* ; in the second, of God and angels. The schoolmen disjoined the philosophy of the human mind from physics, where Aristotle had placed it; and added it to me-r taphysics, because its object is an immaterial substance. So that their metaphysics con^ sisted of three parts : Ontology, in which they pretended to ex plain the general proper-: ties of being ; Pneumatics, which treated of the human mind ; and Natural Theology, which treated of the Supreme Being, and of those spirits which have either no body, at all, or one so very fine as to be imperceptir ble of human sense. From the account we have given of the manner in which Aristotle's works were first published, the reader will admit, that some of the errors to be found in them may rea- sonably enough be imputed to the first tran- scribers and editors. It Avas a gross error in distribution, to reduce God, and the infe- rior deities, Avho were conceived to be a par- ticular species of beings, to the same class with those qualities or attributes that are common to all being, and to treat of both in the same part of philosophy. It was no less improper than if a physiologist should compose a treatise " Of men, horses, and " identity.'' This inaccuracy could not have * Metaphysique universelle — a laquelleil esttraicte de I'estant, et des ses proprietez, et des parties ou mem- bres de I'estant, selon qu'il est estant, &c. Boujpu. escaped Ck II.] ON TRUTH. 363 escaped Aristotle : it is to be chapged on his editoFs, who probably mistook a series of treatises on various subjects for one treatise on one particular subject. To many this may seem a trifling mistake; but it has pro- duced important consequences. It led the earlier Peripatetics into, the impropriety of explaining the divine existence, and the ge^ neral properties of being, by the same me- thod of reasoning ; and it induced the school- jnen to confound the important sciences of pneumatics and natural theology with the idle distinctions and logomachies of ontology. Natural theology ought to consist of legiti- mate inferences from the effect to the cause ; pneumatics, or the philosophy of the human mind, are nothing but a detail of facts, illustrated, methodized, and applied to prac- tice, by obvious and convincing reasonings : both sciences are founded in experience; but ontology pretends to ascertain its princi- ples by demonstrations d priori. In fact, though ontology were, what it professes to be, an explication of the general properties of being, it could not throw any light on natural theology and pneumatics ; for in them the ontological method of reasoning would be as improper as the mathematical. But the systems of ontology that have come into my hands are little better than vocabularies of those hard words which the schoolmen had contrived, in order to give an air of mystery and importance to their doctrine. While, ,364 AN ESSAY [Part III. While, therefore, the sciences of Natural Theology and Pneumatics were, by this pre- posterous division, referred to the same part of philosopliy with ontology, how was it pos^ sible they could prosper, or be explained by their own proper evidence! In fact, they did not prosper : experience, their proper evi- dence, was laid aside; and fictitious theory, disguised by ontological terms and distinc- tions, and supported by ontological reason- ing, was substituted in its stead. Locke was one of the first who rescued the philosophy of human nature out of the hands of the schoolmen, cleared it of the enormous incvuxiberance of strange words which they had heaped upon it, and set the example of ascertaining our internal opera- tions, not by theory, but by experience. His success was wonderful; for, though he has sometimes fallen into the scholastic way of arguing, as in his first book, and sometimes suffered himself to be imposed on by words, as in his account of secondary qualities, too rashly adopted from the Cartesians ; yet has he done more to establish the abstract sci-r ences on a proper foundation, than could have been expected from one man, who derived almost all his lights from himself. His suc- cessors, Butler and Hutcheson excepted, have not been very fortunate. Berkeley's book, though written with a good design, did more harm than good, by recommending and exemphfying a method of argumentation sub^ versive Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 365 versive of all knowledge, and leading directly to universal scepticism. Mr. Hume's Treatise and Essays are still more exceptionable. This author has revived the scholastic way of reasoning from theory, and of wresting facts to make them coincide with it. His language indeed is more modish, but equally favoura- ble, to sophistical argument, and equally proper for giving an air of plausibility and importance to what is frivolous and unintel- ligible. What regard we are to pay to his profession of arguing from experience, has been already considered. The word metaphysics, according to vulgar use, is applied to all disquisitions concerning^ things immaterial. In this sense, the plain- est account of the faculties of the mind, and of the principles of morality and natural re- ligion, would be termed metaphysics. Such metaphysics, however, we are so far from despising or censuring, that we account it the sublimest and most useful part of science. Those arguments also and illustrations in the abstract philosophy, which are not ob- vious to ordinary understandings, are some- times called metaphysical. But as the princi-r pies of this philosophy, however well ex- pressed, appear somewhat abstruse to one who is but a novice in the study ; and as very plain principles may seem intricate in an author who is inattentive to his expression, as the best authors sometimes are, it would ^)e unfair to reject, or conceive ^ prejudice against, 366 AN ESSAY [Part III. against, every moral doctrine that is not per- fectly free from obscurity. Yet a continued obscurity, in matters whereof every man should be a competent judge, cannot fail to breed a suspicion, either that the doctrine is faulty, or that the writer is not equal to his subject. The term metaphysical, in those passages of this book where it is expressive of censure, will be found to allude to that mode of ab- stract investigation so common among the sceptics and the schoolmen, which is sup- ported, either wholly by an ambiguous and indefinite phraseology, or by that in con- junction with a partial experience ; and which seldom fails to lead to such conclusions as contradict matter of fact, or truths of in- disputable authority. It is this mode of in- vestigation that has introduced so many er- rors into the moral sciences ; for ievf, even of our most candid moral philosophers, are entirely free from it. The love of system, or partiality to a favourite opinion, not only puts a man off his guard, so as to make him overlook inaccurate expressions, and inde- finite notions, but may sometimes occasion even a mistake of fact. When such mistakes are frequent, and affect the most important truths, Ave must blame the author for want of candour, or want of capacity ; when they are innocent, and recur but seldom, we ought to ascribe them to the imperfection of human nature. 2 Instances Ch. II.] ON TRUTH- 367 Instances of this metaphysic are so com- mon, that we might almost fill a volume with a list of them. Spinosa^s pretended demonstration of the existence of the one great being, by which, however, he meant only the universe, is a metaphysical argu- ment, founded in a series of false or unin- telligible, though plausible, definitions*. Berkeley's proof of the non-existence of matter is wholly metaphysical; and arises chiefly from the mistake of supposing certain words to have but one meaning, which real- ly have two, and sometimes three. Locke's discourse against innate ideas and principles, is likewise too metaphysical. Some of his notions on that subject are, I believe, right; but he has not explained them with his wonted precision; and most of his arguments are founded on an ambiguous acceptation of the words idea and innate. The author of the Fable of the Bees seems to have carried this mode of reasoning as far as it will go. If there had been no am- biguous worcfe in the English language, the understanding of mankind would never have been affronted with his system. Many of our appetites become criminal only when excessive; and we have not always names to express that degree of indulgence which is consistent with virtue. The shameless Avord- * See the Appendix to vol. 1. of Che v. Ramsay's Prin-* Oples of Religioo. ■< catcher 368 AN ESSAY [Part III. catcher takes advantage of this, and con- founds the innocent gratification with the excessive or criminal indulgence; calling both by the same name, and taking it for granted, that what he proves to be true of the one is also true of the other. What is it that may not be proved by this way of ar- guing ? May not vice be proved to be vir- tue, and virtue to be vice ? May not a re- gard to reputation, cleanliness, industry, generosity, conjugal love, be proved to be the same with vanity, luxury, avarice, pro- fusion, sensuality ? May it not be proved, that private virtues are private vices ; and, consequently, that private vices are public benefits? Such a conclusion is indeed so easily made out by such logic, that nothing but ignorance, impudence, and a hard heart, is necessary to qualify a man for making it. If it be said, that considerable genius must be employed in dressing up these absurd doc- trines, so as to render them plausible; I would ask, who are the persons that think them plausible ? Never did I hear of one man of virtue or learning, who did not both detest and despise them. They seem plausible, per- haps, to gamblers, highwaymen, and petits maitres; but it will not be pretended, that those gentlemen have leisure, inchnation, or capacity, to reflect on what they read or hear, so as to separate truth from falsehood. Among metaphysical writers, Mr. Hume holds a distinguished place. Every part of philosophy Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 369 philosophy becomes metaphysic in his hands. JHis whole theory of the understanding is founded on the doctrine of impressions and ideas, which, as he explains it, is so contrary to fact, that nothing but the illusion of words could make it pass upon any reader. I have already given several instances of this author's metaphysical spirit. I shall give one more; which I beg leave to consider at some length, that I may have an opportunity of confuting a very dangerous error, and, at the same time, of displaying more mi- nutely, than by this general description, the difference between metaphysical and phi- losophical investigation. Does any one imagine, that moral and intellectual virtues, that justice and genius, are virtues of the same kind ; that they are contemplated with the same sentiments, and known to be virtues by the same criterion? Few, I presume, are of this opinion; but Mr. Hume has adopted it, and taken pains to prove it. I shall demonstrate, that this very important error has arisen, either from inaccurate observation, or from his being im- posed on by words not well understood, or rather from both causes. It is true, that justice, great geniui^, and bodily strength, are all useful to the possessor ,and to society; and all agreeable to, or (vrhich in this author's style amounts to the same 'thing) approved by, every one wh6 considers or contemplates them. They therefore, Srt) AK ESSAY [Part 111. therefore^ at least the two first, completely answer our author's definition of virtue** And it w^ould be easy to write a great book, to show the reasons why moral, intellec«« tuaJ, and corporeal abilities, yield pleasure to the beholder and possessor, and to trace out a number of analogies, real or verbal, subsisting between them. But this is no- thing to the purpose: they may resemble in ten thousand respects, and yet differ as widely, as a beast or statue differs from a man. Let us trace the author'* argument to its source. Virtue is known by a certain agreeable feeling or sentiment, arising from the con* sciousness of certain affections or qualities in ourselves, or from the view of them in others. Granted. Justice, humanity, gene^ rosity, excite approbation; — a handsome face excites approbation; — great genius excites approbation : the effect or sentiment pro- duced is the same in each instance : the object, or cause, must therefore, in each in- stance, be of the same kind. This is ge-" nuine metaphysic: but before a man can * It is the nature, and indeed the definitibii, of virtue^ " that it is a quality of the mind agreeable to, or ap- " proved by, every one who considers or contemplates " It." Hume's Essays, vol. 2. p. 333. edit. 1767. Notiti Bodily qualities are excluded by this definition, but Seem to be^ admitted by our author in some of higj.-rea- sonings on the subject, as indeed upon his principles they very tvell may* *"' be Ch. IL] ON TRUTH. 371 be misled by it, he must either find, on con- sulting his experience, that the feeling excit- ed by the contemplation of these objects is the same in each instance; in which case 1 would say, that his feelings are defective, or himself an inaccurate observer of nature: - — or he must suppose, that the word appro- bation, because written and pronounced the same way, does really mean the same thing in each of the three propositions above-men- tioned ; in which case, I would say, that hisS judgment and ideas are confounded by the mere sound and shape of a word. I am con- scious, that my approbation of a fine face is different in kind from my approbation of great genius; and that both are extremely different from my approbation of justice, hu- manity, and generosity : if I call these three different kinds of approbation by the same general name, I use that name in three dif- ferent significations. Therefore moral, intel- lectual, and corporeal virtues, are not of the same, but of different kinds. I confess, says our author, that these three virtues are contemplated with three different kinds of approbation. But the same thing is true of different moral virtues : piety ex- cites one kind of approbation, justice another, and compassion a third : the virtues of Cato '^xcite our esteem, those of Cesar our love : if therefore piety, justice, and compassion, fele virtues of the same kind, notwithstand- ing that they excite different kinds of appro- A a bation, 372 AN ESSAY [Part IIJ. bation, wh}' should justice, genius, and beauty, be accounted virtues of different kinds *?-^This is another metaphysical ar- gument ; an attempt to determine by word* what facts only can determine. I still insist On fact and experience. My sentiments, in regard to these virtues, are so diversified, and in each variety so peculiar, that I know, and am assured, that piety, justice, and humanity, are distinct individual virtues of the same kind; and that piety, genius, and beauty, are virtues of different kinds. AppHed to each of the former qualities, the word virtiie means the same thing; but beauty is virtue in one sense, genius in another, and piety in a third. Well, if the sentiments excited in you by the contemplation of these virtues, are So much diversified, and in each variety so pc- euliar, you must be able to explain in what respect 3'our approbation of intellectual virtue differs from your approbation of nioral: which I presume you will find no easy task. • — It is not so difficult, Sir, as you seem to apprehend. When a man has acted gene- rousl}"^ or justly, I praise him, and think him worthy of praise and reward, for having done his duty; when ungenerously or un- justly, 1 blanic him, and think him worthy of blame and punishment : but a, man de- serves neither punishment nor blame for * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 3. p. 258. 1 wantv Ch. IL] ON TRUTH. 375 want of beauty or of understanding; nor reward nor prabe for being handsome or ingenious. — -But why are we thought worthy of blame and punishment for being unjust, and not for being homely, or void of un- derstanding? The general conscience of mankind would reply, Because we have it in our power to be just, and ought to be so; but an ideot cannot help his want of under- standing, nor an ugly man his want of beau- ty. This our author will not allow to be a satisfactory answer ; because, says he, I have shown, that free-will has no place with re- gard to the actions, no more than the quali- ties of men*. What an immense metaphysi- cal labyrinth should we have to run through if we were to disintangle ourselves out of this argument in the common course of lo- gic ! To shorten the controversy, I must beg leave to affirm, in ray turn, that our moral actions are in our own power, though beau- ty and genius are not; and to appeal, for proof of this affirmation, to the second part of this Essay, or, rather, to the common sense of mankind. Again, " Moral distinctions," says Mr. Hume, "arise from the natural distinctions " of pain and pleasure ; and when we re- " ceive those feelings from the general con- *' sideration of any quality or character, we " denominate it virtuous or vitious. Now * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 3. p. 260. A a 2 "I believe 374 AN ESSAY [Part IIL " I believe no one will assert, that a quality *' can never produce pleasure or pain to the " person who considers it, unless it be per- ** fectly voluntary in the person who pos- '* sesses it*/' — More metaphysic! and a sophism too — a petitio principii / Here our author endeavours to confound intellectual with moral virtue, by an argument which supposeth his own theory of virtue to be true; of which theory this confusion of the virtues is a necessary consequence. The read- er must see, that this argument, if it prove any thing at all, might be made to prove, that the smell or beauty of a rose, the taste of an apple, the hardness of steel, and the glitter- ing of a diamond, as well as bodily strength and great genius, are all virtues of the same kind with justice, generosity, and gratitude. Still we wander Irom the point. How often must it be repeated, that this matter is to be determined, not by metaphysical arguments founded on ambiguous words, but by facts and experience! " Have I not appealed to facts .''" he will say. " Are not all the qualities that con- " stitute the great man, constancy, forti- " tude, magnanimity, as involuntary and " necessary, as the qualities of the judg- *' rnerit and imagination -f-?" The term great man is so very equivocal, that I will * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 3. p. 2ffQ. t md' p. SiiSnv nrHpaa-o/otftt. y&op, SOv TuJ ^ix*ftu Tov ffov iv Taf^m ipo^ov. vers. 1279. — ' — Neop. Wise as thou art, Ulysses, Thou talk'st most idly. Uhys. Wisdom is not thine. Either in word or deed. Neop. Know, to be just Js belter far than to be wise. Uli/s. But -where, Where is the justice, thus unauthoris'd, To give a treasure back thou owest to me, And to my counsels ? Neop. I have done a wrong. And I will try to make-atonement for it. Utj/s. Dost thou not fear the power of Greece ? Neop. I fear Nor Greece, nor thee, when I am doing right. Franklin. Throughout the whole play, the fire and generosity of the young hero (so well becoming the son of Achilles) is finely opposed to the caution and craft of the politi- cian, and forms one of the most striking contras|;s that can well be imagined. blameable eh. IL] ON TRUTH. 383 blameable and hateful*. Does Virgil con- sign cripples and ideots, as well as tyrants, to Tartarus? Does he say, that a great genius, and handsome face, as well as a pure heart, were the passports to Elysium? No. Virgil was too good a man to injure the cause of virtue, and too wise to shock common sense, by so preposterous a distribu- tion of reward and punishment. The im- pious, the unnatural, the fraudulent, the avaricious; adulterers, incestuous persons, traitors, corrupt judges, venal statesmen, ty- rants, and the minions of tyrants, are those whom he dooms to eternal misery: and he peoples Elysium with the shades of the pure and the pious, of heroes who have died in defence of their country, of ingenious men who have employed their talents in recom- * Quippe cum ea (justitia) sine prudentia satis ha- beat auctoritatis, prudentia sine justitia nihil valet ad fa- ciendam fidem. Quo enim quis versutior et calidior est, hoc invisior et suspectior, detracta opinione probita- tis. De Officiis, lib. 2. cap. 9. Fundamentum perpetuje commendationis et famae est justitia, sine qua nihil potest esse laudabile. Ibid. cap. 20. The same doctrine is repeatedly inculcated in the third, book, and in otheir parts of his works, and indeed in all the good books I am acquainted with. And in all the rational conversations I ever witnessed, the same doctrine was implied; nor could any man be thought seriously to believe the contrary, without forfeiting the esteem and confidence of mankind. mending 384 AN ESSAY [Part Itt. mending piety and Yirtue, and of all who by acts of beneficence have merited the love and gratitude of their fellow-creatures*. ^ The * Virgil. JEneid. vL 547 — 665. — As the moral sentJ- ments of nations may often be learned from their fables and traditions, as well as from their histor;y and philo- sophy, it will not perhaps be deemed foreign from our design, to give the following brief abstract of this poet's sublime theory of future rewards and punishments; the outlines of which he is known to have taken from the Pythagoreans and Platonists, who probably were in- debted for them to some ancient tradition. The shades below are divided by Virgil into three dis- tricts or provinces. On this side Styx, the souls of those whose bodies have not been honoured Avith the rites of sepulture, wander about in a melancholy con- dition for a hundred years, before they are permitted to pass the river. When this period expires, or when their bodies are buried, they are ferried over, and appear be- fore Minos and the other judges, who allot them such a mansion as their lives on earth are found to have de- served. They who have been of little or no use to mankind; or who have not been guilty of any very atrocious crimes ; or whose crimes, though atrocious, were the effects rather of an unhappy destiny, than of wilful depravation, are disposed of in different parts of the regions of mourning (lugentes carapi), where they un- dergo a variety of purifying pains. From thence, when thoroughly refined from all the remains of vice^ they pass into Elysium ; where tliey live a thousand years in a state of happiness; and then, after taking a draught of the waters of oblivion, are sent back to earth to animate new bodies. Those who have been guilty of great crimes, as impiety, want of natural affection, adul- tery, incest, breach of trust, si ^verting the liberties of their counti-y, &c. are delivered by the judge Rhada- manthus to Tisiphone and the other furies, who shut them up in an immense dungeon of darkness and iire, csilled Tartarus, where their torments are unspeakable and Ch. II.] 0^ TRUTH. 385 The Peripatetics held prudence to be an active princi})le diiFused through the whole of moral and eternal. The souls of good men are re-united, ei- ther with the Deity himself, or with that universal spirit which he created in the beginninpr, and which animates the world ; and their shades, gho^s, or idola, enjoy for ever the repose and pleasures of Elysium. These shades might be seen, though not touched ; they resembled the bodies with which they had formerly been invested ; and retained a consciousness of their identity, and a remem- brance of their past life, with almost the same affections and character that had distinguished them on earth. On this system,Virgil lias founded a series ofthe sublim- est descriptions that are to be met with in poetry. Mil- ton alone has equalled them in the first and second books of Paradise Lost. Homer's iVi9av(, k ^Eyoj«,Ey or* coipoj, 3 <7Uvjtoj, ojAX' Sti 'Trpoo; « iriof owv. Ptkk. ad Nicom. lib. 1, sub. [fin. B b 3 " and 390 AN ESSAY [Part IIi: ** and of its prinopal part, the understand- *' ing, are various, but may be reduced to " two kinds. The first are those which Na- " ture has implanted, and which are call- " ed not voluntary. The second kind arc " more properly called virtues, because they " depend on the Avill ; and these, as objects "of approbatiofl, are transcendently supe- " rior. Of the former kind are docility,, '^^ memory, and all the virtues distinguished *' by the general name of genius, or ca- " paeity : persons possessed of them are call- "^ ed ingenious. The lattei' class corapre-^ " hends the great and genuine virtues, which " we denominate voluntary ; as prudence,. " temperance, fortitude, justice, and others *' of the same kind*.'* The word virtue has indeed gseat latitude ©f signification. It denotes any quality of a thing tending tb the happiness of a percipient * Aniiinia«tem, €t ejus animi partis quae princeps .est, gucEque mens nominatur, plures sunt virtutes, sed duo prima genfsra : unum earum qus ihgenei^antur suapte natura, appellanturque non voluntariie : alterum auteia earum, for he has twenty reasons ready to offer, by \^hiGh it is de- irtonstrable, that they cannot fail : and ifc is well, if Experience at last convince himy that theie was a small verbal ambiguity in his principles, and that his views of man- Jtind were not qnite so extensive as they ought to have been. In a Word, unless he be very good-natured, and of a passive disposition, his refinements will do more harm than even the stiff stupidity of an idiot. If inclined to fraud, or any sort of vice, he will never be at a los& for an evasion ; which, if it should not satisfy his associate, will, however^ perplex and plague him. I need not enlarge; the reader may conceive the rest. To aid his fancy, he Will find some traits of this cha- racter in one of its most amusing and least disagreeable forms, delineated with a master- ly pencil in the person of Walter Shandy, Esq. It is astonishing to consider, how little mankind value the good within their reach, and how ardently they pursue what Natui-e has placed beyond it; how blindly they over-' rate what they have no experience of, and how fondly they admire what they do not understand ! This verbal metaphysic has been dijgnified with the name of Science: and 1 verbal 396 AN ESSAY [Part III. Verbal metaphysicians have been reputed phi- losophers, and men of genius. Doubtless a man of genius may, by the fashion of the times, be seduced into these studies : but that particular cast of mind which fits a man for them, and recommends them to his choice, is not genius, but a minute and feeble understanding ; capable indeed of being made, by long practice, expert in the manage- ment of Avords ; but which never did, and never will, qualify any man for the discovery or illustration of sentiment. For what is genius ? What, but sound judgment, sensi- bility of heart, and a talent for accurate and extensive observation ? And will sound judg- ment prepare a . man for being imposed on by words ? Avill sensibility of heart ren- der him insensible to his own feelings, and inattentive to those of other men ? will a talent for accurate and extensive observation, make him ignorant of the real phenomena of Naturfe, and, consequently, incapable of de- tecting Avhat is false or equivocal in the re- presentation of facts ? And yet, when facts are iairly and fully represented ; when hur man sentiments are strongly felt, and per- spicuously described ; and when the meaning of words is ascertained, and the same word has abvays the same idea annexed to it, there is. an end of meta physic. A bodv is neither vigorous nor beautiful, in which the size of some members is above, and that of others belqw, their due propor» ' tion ; Ch. IL] ON TRUTH. 397 tion : every part must have its proper size and strength, otherwise the result of the whole will be deformity and weakness. Nei- ther is real genius consistent with a dispro- portionate strength of thq reasoning powers above those of taste and imagination. Those minds in whom all the faculties are united in their due proportion, are far superior to the puerilities of metaphysical scepticism. They trust to their own feelings, which are strong and decisive, and leave no room for hesitation or doubts about their authen- ticity. They see through moral subjects at one glance ; and what they say carries both the heart and the understanding along with it. When one has long drudo-ed in the dull and unprofitable pages of metaphysic, how- pleasing the transition to a moral writer of ti'ue genius ! Would you know what that genius is, and where it may be found .'* Go to Shakespeare, to Bacon, to Johnson, to Montesquieu, to Rousseau*; and when you * As several persons, highlj respectable Ijoth for their talents and principles, have desired to know my reasons for joining Rousseau's name to those of Bacon, Shakespeare, Johnson, and Montesquieu, I beg leave to take this opportunity of explaining- my sentiments in regard to tl)at celebrated author. It is because I consider Rousseau as a moral writer of true genius, that I mention his name in this place. Sen- sibility of heart, a talent for extensive and accurate ob- servation, liveliness and ardour of fancy, and a style copious, nervous, and elegant, beyond that of any other French 598 AN ESSAY [Part III. you have studied them, return, jf you can, toHuME,andHoBBES,andMALEBRA?rcHE» and French writer, — are his distinguishing characteristics. In argument he is not always equally successful, for h^ often mistakes declamation for proof, and hypothesis for faQs it is sublime ! Can the sajlae thing be sai4 with truth of any one, or of all the meta- physical treatises that have been written on the nature of man ? If an inhabitant of an- other planet were to read The Treatise of Hit- man 'Nature, what notions of human nature could he gather from it? That man must believe one thing by instinct, and must also believe the contrary by reason: That the -universe is nothing but a heap of perceptions without a substance : That though a man could bring himself to believe, yea, and have reason to believe, that every thing in the universe proceeds from some cause ; yet it would be unreasonable for him to believe, that the universe itself proceeds from a cause : That the soul of man is not the same this moment it was the last ; that we know not what it is; that it is not one, but many -things ; and that it is nothing at all ; and yet, 'that in this soul is the agency of all the causes that operate throughout the sensible- creation ; and yet, that in this soul there is neither power nor agency, nor any idea of either : That the pei'fi?ction of human knowledge is to doubt : That man ought ■to believ-e nothing, and yet that man's fedfief ought to be influenced and determined by certain princi^ples : That we ought to doubt of -every thing, yea of our doubts themselves; and therefore the utmost that' philosopfhy can do, is to give a doubtful solution of doubt- ful Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 403 ful doubts*: That Nature contmuallj irti- po^ies on us, and continually counteracts hei- ieK, by giving us sagacity to detect the ini- ^osture : That we are necessarily and unia- voidably determined to think in" certain case* after d, certain mantier ; but that we ought not to submit to this uiliaVoidable necessity ; and that they are fools who do so : That man, in all his perceptions, actions, and volitions, is a mere passive machine, and has no separate existence of his own, being en- tirely made up of other things, of the ex- istence of which, however, he is by no rtleans certain ; and yet, that the nature of all things depends so much upon man, that two and two could not be equal to four, nor fire produce heat, nor the sun light, without an act of the human understanding: That' none of our actions are in our power ; that we ought to' exercise power over our actions; and that there is no such thing as power ; That body and motion may be regarded as the cause of thought ; and that body does not' exist: That the universe exists in the mind; and that the mind does not exist: That the human understanding, acting alone, does entirely subvert itself, and prove * Stramge as this expression may seem, it is not without., a precedent. The fourth section of Mr. Hume's Essays oh the Human Understanding k ca]led,Sceptical doubts con- cerning the operations of the understanding ; and the fifth section bears this title, Sceptical solution of these dotibis, c c by 404 AN ESSAY [Part tlh by argument, that by argument nothing can be pi-oved : Th^se, are a few of the,, many subhme mysteries brought to Ught by this great philosopher, or plainly deducible from his principles. But these, however they may illuminate our terrestrial literati, would con- vey no information to the planetary stranger, .except perhaps, that the sage metaphysician knew nothing of his subject. , . What a strange detail ! does not the reader exclaim ? Can it be, that any man should ever bring himself to think, or imagine that he could bring others to think, so absurdly!; What a taste, what a heart* must they pos- sess, * " A free and impartial enquiry after truth, wherever it is to be found, is indeed a noble and most com- mendable disposition : a disposition, which every man ought himself to labour after, and to the utmost of his power encourage in all others. It is the great foundation of all useful knowledge, of all true vir- tue, and of all sincere religion. But when a man, in his searches into the nature of things, finds his enqui- ries leading him towards such notions as, if they should prove true, would manifestly subvert the very es- sences of good and evil ; the least that a sober- minded man can in such a case possibly be supposed to owe to God, to virtue, to the dignity of a rational nature, is, that he ought to be in the highest degree artful and suspicious of himself, lest he be led away by any prejudice, lest he be deceived by any erroneous argument, lest he suflTep himself to be imposed on by any wrong inclination. Too great an assurance in arguments of this nature, even though at present they seemed to him to be demonstrations, — rejoicing in the stFeng'th of them, and taking pleasure iu the car- " ryinjf 2 tJh. II.] b^ TRUTri. 405 sessi whose delight it is, to represeiit nature as a chaos, and man as a monster; td search " lying of such a ta\iS^, is what a good mind can never " be capable of. To such a person, the > finding his " own aguments unanswerable would be the greatest " grief; triumphing in so melancholy a field '^ould be " the! highcist dissatisfaction; and nothing^ dould aflfbrd " so pleasingj so agreeable a disappointment, as to find; " his own reasonings shewn to be inconclusive." Dr. S. ClarWs Remarks on a book enlUted, A Philosophical Enquiry concerning Human Liberty — p. 45. " This is certain (says Shaftesbury) that it can be no " great strengthening to the moral affectionj no great " support to the pure love of goodness and virtue, to " suppose thjtt there is neither goodness nor beauty in " the Whole itself; nor any example or precedent of " any good affection in any superior being. Such a be- " lief must tend rather to the weaning the affections from " any thing amiable or self-worthy, and to the sup- *' pressing the very habit and familiar custom of admir- " ing natural beauties, or whatever in the order of " things is according to just design, harmony, and pror '^ portion. For how little disposed must a pferson be, " to love or admire any thing as orderly in the uni- ", verse, who thinks the universe itself a pattern of dis- " ordpr ? How unapt to reverence or respect any par- " ticular subordinate beauty of a part, when even the " whole itself is thought to want perfection, &nd to be " only a vast and infinite deformity? Nothing indeed " can be more melancholy, than the thought of living " in a distracted u;iiverse, from whence many ills toJ^y "" be suspected, and where there is nothing good or " lovely which presents itself, nothing which can satisfy " in contemplaupn, or raise any passion besides that of " contempt, hatred, or dislike. Such an opinion as " this may by degrees imbitter the temper, and not only " make the love of virtue to be less felt, but help to " impair and ruin the very principle of virtue, to wit, " natural and kind affection." Enquiry concerning Virtue, b. l.p.3. § 3, c c 2 for 406 AN ESSAY' (P^xt HL for deformity and contusipn, vyljjsre others rejoice in the perception of Qrdj^r. and, beaur, ty ; and to seek to imbitter the happiest mo- roents of humanJife, namely, those we. era- ploy in contemplating the works of crea-, tion, ap(^ adoring their Authpr, by thia sjjggqstiow, eqxially false and malevolent, that the" moral as well as material worldj is no- tjiing but darkness, dissonance, aijd per- plexity ! " Where alllife dies, death lives, and nature breeds ", Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, •^^ Abominable, unuttera,ble, a^diWorfie. *' Tihan fables yet have feign'dji or fear conceiv'dJ" M'iere this doctrine true, we should, be little obliged to him who gives it to the public ; for we could hardly imagine a greater mis- fortune; tfian such a cast of understanding as would make us believe it. But founded^ as it is, in words misunderstood, and facts niis- . represented; supported, as it is, by sophis- try so egregious, and often so puerile, that We can hardly conceive how even the author himself shoul^ibe im,pqsed^ upon by it; surely they who attempt to obtrude it on the weak and unwary, must have something.; in, their disposition, which, tpa man of a good heart, or good taste, can never be the object of envy. ' "We jire jtold, that the end of scepticism, as-it was taught by Pyrrho, Sextus Empiri- cus, Ch.II.] OH TRUTH. CUS-, and bllier anGieritSi, was to obtain in- distU7'hmic€*. I know not whether this be the end our rndderh sceptics have in view ; if it is, the means they employ for attkin- ing it are very preposterous. If the prospect of nature exhibited in their systems |irbduce! tranquilUty dr indisturbance, how dreadful must that tranquillity be ! It is likfe that of a man, turned adrift amidst a d'ark and tempestuods ocean,' in a crazy skiff,- with neither rudder nor compass, who^ exhausted by the agitations of despair, loses at last all sense of his rriisery, and becomes totally stupid. In fact, the onlj^ thing that can enable sceptics to endure existence, is insen- sibility. And htow far that is consistent with delicac^ of mind, let those among them ex- plain who are ambitious of passing for men of taste. It is Remarked by a very ingenious and' * Pyrrho, as he affected not to believe his senses, aP- fecj>fiich cqntinues tp this day, of neglecting the p,pcients in all tjieir philosophical en- quiries. We seem to think, bec3,use we are confessedlv superipr in some sciences, that >V'e niu^^ pe so in ^11. But that this is a rash judgnient, may easily be pis^tde appear, even on the supposition, t^^t human genius is nearly tt^e s^me in ^U ^ges. W hen accidentfil discpyery , longexperience, (^ prgifo.und investigation, are the me^ns oi' advancing a science, \t is reasonable to ex-r pect, tha,t the improvements of that science will increase with length of time. Accord-* SveIY- '^^^ ^W^r ^}^^ ii?, natural pJnlosophy, nat\iral history, and some ps^rts of mathe-^ ipiatiCcil learning, the moiderniS are far supe-» r^or tOL the ancients, l^ut the seience of hu- m^n n,ature, being attain^-ble rather by intui-. tlon than by deep, reasoning or nice expe^ riment, must depend for its eultivatipn up-, pn o,ther cauaeSf Different ages and na- tions ha.ve dij^erent cu^tomSi. Sometimes it is the fashioUj to be reserved and affected, at othjer times to be simple and sincere : some- times, therefore, it wiH be easy, and at 9ther times difhcnit, to gain- a competent l^nowledge of human, nature by observation. Xn thp old romances, we spek for hnman, nar ture in vain ; the manners are all affected ; prudery 412 • AN Essay [Part in, prudery is tlie highest, and almost the onlj ornament of the women; and a fantastical honour of the raeii : but the writers adapted themselves to the prevailing taste, and paiiited the manneirs as they saw them. In our own country, we have seen various modes of aflfectation, successively prevail within a few years. To say nothing of pre- sent tirties ; every body knows, how much pedantry, libertinism, and false wit, contri-. ■ buted to disguise human nature in the last century. And I apprehend, that in all mo- narchies one mode or other of artificial man- ners must always prevail; to the formation of which the cha:racter of princes, the taste of the times, and a variety of other causes will co-operate. Montesquieu's opinion, that the courts of monarchs must always of necessity be cor- rupt, I cannot subscribe to : I think, that virtue may be, and sometimes is, the prin- ciple of action, even in the highest offices of monarchy : my meaning is, that under this form of government, -human manners must generally deviate, more or less, from the sirnplicity of nature ; and that, consequently, human sentiments must be of more diffi- cult investigation than under some othe^" forms. In courts, it seems requisite, for the sake of that order which is essential to dignity, to establish certain punctilios in dress, language;, and gesture : there too, the most "inviolable secrecy is expedient: and thercj t2h. II.] i ON TRUTH, 413 there, where men are always under the eye pf their superiors, and for the most part en- gaged in the pursuits of ambition or interests, a smoothness of behaviour will naturally take place, which, among persons of ordinary talents, and ordinary virtue, must on many occasions degenerate into hypocrisy. The customs of the court are always imitated by the higher ranks ; the middle ranks follow the higher ; and the people . come after as fast as they can. It is, however, in the last* mentioned class, where nature appea'rs witli the least disguise: but, unhappily for moral science, the vulgar are seldom objects of curiosity, either to our philosophers, or his- torians. The influence of these causes, in distin- guishing human sentiments, will, I presume, be greater or less, according as the monar- chy partakes more or less of democratical principles. There is, indeed, one set of sentiments, which monarchy and modern manners are peculiarly fitted for disclosing, I mean thgse that relate to gallantry : and it is evident that these (taking the word Gal- lantry in the best sense) tend in some respects to render society comfortable, and to enlarge the sphere of comic writing ; but whether to make the essential principles of human nature more or less known, might perhaps bear a question. Modern history ought, on many accounts, to interest us |nore than the ancient. It de- scribes 414 AN ESSAY [P&rt III. scribes manners that are familiar to us, events whereof we see and fed the conse- quences, political establishments On which our property and security depend, and places and persons in which experience or tradi- tion has already given us a concern. And yet I beheve it will be acknowledged, that the ancient histories, particularly of Greece and Rome, are more interesting than those of latter times. |n fact, the most affecting part, both of history and of poetry, is that which best displays the characters, manners, and sentiments of men. Histories that are deficient in this respect, may communicate instruction to the geographer, the warrior, the genealogist, and the politician ; but will sever please the general taste, becatise they excite no passion, and awaken no S3'mpathy. Now, I cannot help thinking, that the per- sonages described in modern history have, with a very few exceptions, a stiffness and reserve about them, which doth not seen* to adhere to the great men of antiquity^ particularly of Greece. I Avill not say, that: our historians, have less ability or less in- dustry ; but I would say, tliat dtemocratical governments, like those of ancient Greece, are more favourable to simplicity of man- ners, and consequently to the knowledge of the human mind, than our modern monar- chies. At Athens and Sparta, tiie publi(? assemblies, the public exercises^ the regular attendance given to all the public solenmi- ties, Ch. H.] 01^ TRWTH. 4ri5 ties, wlietter religious of civi], aiid other; institutions; that might' be' mentioned;, gave* the citizens many opportunities of being wqll acquainted with one another. Tliere^ the great men were not cooped up in palaJGes'> audi coaches i; they; were almost eonatantlyr in tlie open air, and on foot^ The people saw them every day, conversed, with them, and observed their behaviour in tjie hours of relaxation, as well as of basioess. The-- mistocles could; call every citizeuiof Athens by his name; a proof that the great men courted an universal acquaintance. JSFo degree of genius will ever make one a proficient in the science of man, without accurate observation of human nature in all- its varieties. Homer, the greatest master in this science ever known, passed the most of his life in travelling: his poverty, and other, misfortunes, m:ade him often dependant on the. meanest, as his talents recommended- him to the friendship of the greatest ; so that what he says of Uljsses may justly be- applied to himself, that " he visited many: " states and nations j and knew the charac- " ters of many men." Yirgil had not the same opportunities : he lived in an age of more refinement, and was perhaps too much conversant in courtly life, as well as too bash- fid in his deportment, and delicate in his con- stitution, to study the varieties of human na*. ture, where in a monarchy they are most conspicuous, namely, in the middle and- lower m AN JESSAY (Pari ith tower ranks of mankind. Need We wonder^ then, that in the display of character he falls so far short of his great original ? Shake- fepeare was familiarly atqtaainted with all ranks and conditions of men ; without Which, notwithstanding his unbounded iniagination, it is not to be supposed, that he could have succeeded so well in dehneating every spe- cies of human character, from the con-r stable to the monarch, from the hero to the clown. And it deserves our notice* that, however ignorant he might be of Latin and Greek, he was well acquainted, by transla-' tion, with some of the ancientsj particularly Plutarch, whom he seems to have studied with much attention, and who indeed excels all historians in exhibiting lively and inte- resting views of human nature. Great vicis- situdes of fortune gave Fielding an opportu-^ nity of associating with all classes of men,, except perhaps the highest, whom he rarely attempts to describe : Swift's way of life is well known : and I have been told, that Congreve used to mingle in disguise with the common people, and pass whole days and weeks among them. That the ancient painters and statuaries were in many respects superior to the mo- dern, is universally allowed. The monu- ments of their genius that still remain, would convince us of it, even though we were to suppose the accounts given by Pliny, Lucian, and other contemporary authors, to be a little exaggerated. Gh. II.] ON TRUTH. 417 exaggerated. The uncommon spirit and el&- gance of their attitudes and proportions are obvious to every eye: and a great master seems to think, that modern artists, though they ought to imitate, can never hope to equal the magnificence of their ideas, or the beauty of their figures*. To account for this, we need not suppose, that human genius decays as the world grows older. It may be ascribed, partly to the superior elegance of the human form in those days, and partly to the artists having then better opportu- nities of observing the human body, free from the incumbrances of dress, in all the varieties of action and motion. The ancient discipline of the Greeks and Rornans, parti- cularly the former, was admirably calculated for improving the human body in health, strength, swiftness, flexibility, and grace. In these respects, therefore, they could hardly fail to excel the moderns, whose education and manners tend rather to enervate the body, and cramp all its faculties. And as the ancients performed their exercises in public, and performed many of them naked, and thought it honourable to excel in them ; as their cloathing was less cumbersome than our Gothic apparel, and showed the body to more advantage; it must be allowed, that their painters and statuaries had better 6p- * Fresnoy, De Arte Graphica, lln. 190. portunities 4n Ali^ ]fcSS AY [Afi lif: pbTtuTiiliies of observation tlian oiiTs enjoyV \^ho see nothino' but auk^v^ard attd languid figures, disguised Iry an unwieldy atidr un- g-pa'ceftil attire*. Will it not, thcfi, be atkumiledg^di, tliat' the aiicients' may have excelled the moderns' in the Science of human nature, provided it' can' be sh6wn, that they had better opportu- nities of observing it? That this was th6' case, appears from what Has^ been already said. And that they really excelled us in this science, will not be doubted by those' who acknowledge their superiority in rheto- ric and criticism ; two arts which are found- ed in the philosophy of the human mind.- But a more direct proof of the poiiit in ques-" tion may be had in the writings of Homer, Plutarch, and the Socratic philosophers ; which, for their admirable pictures of hu- man nature in its genuine siniplicity, are not equalled by any compositions of a' later date. Of Aristotle' I say nothing. AVe are- assured by those who have read his works,' that no author ever understood human na- ture better than he. Fielding himself -f- pays him this compliment-; and his testi-- mony will be allowed to have considerable^ ■w^eight. '■ ' Let me therefore recoriiraeiid it to thosd ■ * See Algarotti on painting, chap. 2. t Fielding's works, v6l. ll-p,3Bli London, ITffG, 12mo. philosophers Ch. II.] 0^ TRUTH. 419 philosophei's who may hereafter make humati nature the subject of their speculation, to study the ancients more than our mode*ii sceptics seem to have done. If Ave set" out, like the author of The Treatise of Human Ne^ ture, with a fixed purpose to advance as many paradoxes as possible : or with this foolish conceit, that men in all former ageiS Were utter strangers to themselves, and to one another ; and that we are the first of our spe* cies on whom Nature has bestowed any glim-i merings of discernment ; we may depend on it, that in proportion as our vanity is greats our success will be small. It will be, like that of a musician, who shall take it in his head, that CorelU had no taste in counter-* point, nor Handel or Jackson any genius for melody ; of an epic poet, who should fancy, that Homer, Virgil, and Milton, were bad Writers ; or of a painter, who should suppose all his brethern of former times to have been unacquainted With the colours, lineaments, and proportions of visible objects. If Columbus, before he set out oti his fa^ mous expeditioii to the western world, had amused himself with writing a history of thfe countries he was going to visit ; would the lovers of truth, and interpreters of nature, have received any improvement or satisfac- tion from such a specimen of his ingenuity ? And is not the system which, without re- gard to experience, a philosopher frames in his closet, concerning the nature of man, D d equally 420 AN ESSAY [Part III. .equally frivolous ? If Columbus, in such a history, had described the Americans with two heads, cloven feet, wings, and a scarlet complexion ; and, after visiting them, and finding his description false in every parti- cular, had yet published that description to the world, affirming it to be true, and at the same time acknowledging, that it did not correspond with his experience ; I know not whether mankind would have been most dis- posed to blame his disingenuity, to laugh at his absurdity, or to pity bis want of under- standing. And yet we have known a me- taphysician contrive a system of human na- ture, and, though sensible that it did not correspond with the real appearances of hu- man nature, deliver it to the world as sound philosophy ; we have heard this system applauded as a masterpiece of genius; and we have seen the experience of individuals, the consent of nations, the accumulated wis- dom of ages, the principles of science, the truths of religion, and the dictates of com- mon sense, sacrificed to this contemptible and self-contradictory chimera. I would further recommend it to our mo-r ral philosophers, to study themselves with candour and attention, and cultivate an ac- quaintance Avith mankind, especially with those whose manners retain most of the truth and simplicity of nature. Acquaintance with the great makes a man of fashion, but will not make a philosopher. They who are Ch. IL] ON TRUTH. 421 are ambitious to merit this appellation, thinl? nothing below them which the Author, of Nature has been pleased to create, to pre* serve, and to adorn.— Awaj with this paS'^ sion for system-building! it is pedantry*: aAvay with this lust of paradox! it is. pre- . sumption; Be equally ashamed of dogma* tical prejudice, and sceptical incredulity •: for both are as remote from the spirit of true philosophy, as bullying and cowardice from true valour^ It will be said, perhaps,' that a general knowledge of man is s^ufficient for the phi^ losopher ; and that this particular know- ledge which we recommend j is necessary only for the novelist and poet. But let it be remembered, that many important errors in moral philosophy have arisen li'om the want of this particular knowledge ; and that it is by too little, not by too nmch experience,' by, scanty, not by copious, induction, that philosophy is corrupted. Men have rarely framed a system, without first consulting ejjperience in regard to some few obvious facts. We are apt to be prejudiced in favour of the notions that prevail within our own nasraw circle : but we must quit that cir- cle, if we would divest ourselves of prejudice^ as we must go from home, if we would get rid of our provincial accent. " Horace as- '' scrts wisdom and good sense to be the ** source and principle of good writing ; for " the attainment of A^hich he prescribes a : D d 2 *' careful 422 AN ^SSAY [Part III. " carefiij study of the Socratic, that is, itio- '' ral wisdom, and a thoroiagh acquaintance " with hutnan nature, that great exemplar of " irianners-, as he finally calls it; or, in other " WOrds^ a wide extensive view of real prac- *' tical life. The joint direction of these " two," I quote the words of an admirable cjitic and most ingenious philosopher, " as? ** ineanS of acquiring moral knowledge, is " perfectly necessary. For the former, when " alone, is apt to grow abstracted and unaf- " fecting; the latter tminstructing and su" •' perficial. The philosopher talks without " experience, anrl the man of the world " without principles. United they supply " each other's defects; while- the man of the " world borrows so much of the philosopher^ " as to be able to adjust the several senti- " ments with precision and exactness ; and " the philosopher so ftiuch of the man of the *' world, as to copy the manners of life " (which we can only do by experience) with " truth and spirit. Both together furnish a " thorough arid complete comprehension of " human Hfe*." That I may not be thought a bhnd ad-^ mirer of antiquity, I would here crave-the reader's indulgence for one short digression' more, in order to pnt him in mind of an important error in morals, inferred from par-* * Hurd's Commentary on HoraceV Epistle to the Pisos^ jp. §5. eiUt. 4. . i '■.''• '• tial Ch.II.] ON TRUTH. 423 tial and inaccurate experience, by no less a person thaii Aristotle himself. He argue^, " That men of little genius, and great bp- " dily strength, are by nature destined to " serve, and those of better capacity to. CQxn- *' mand ; that the natives of Greece, and of ^' some other countries, being superior in " genius, have a natural T\ght to empire; *' and that the rest of mankind, being aa- " turally stupid, are destined to labour and *' slavery*." This reasoning is now, alas! of little advantage to Aristotle's countrymen, who have for many ages been doomed to thai? slavery which, in his judgment. Nature had destined them to impose on others; and many nations whom he would have consigned to everlasting stupidity, have shewn themselves equal in genius to the most exalted of human kind. It would have been more wqrthy of Aristotle, to have inferred man's natural and universal right to liberty, from th^t natural and universal passion with which men de^. sire it, and from the salutary consequencep to learning, to virtue, and to every human improvement, of which it never fails tq be productive. He wanted, perhaps, to devise some excuse for servitude ; a practice which, to their eternal reproach, both Greeks and llomaps tolerated even in the days of their glory. * Pe Repul)!. lib. |. cap. 5, 6. Mr 424 AN ESSAY [Part III. Mr. Hume argues nearly in the same man- ner in regard to the superiority of white men over black. " I am apt to suspect," says he, "the negroes, and in general all " the other species o^ men (for there are " four or five different kinds), to be natu- " rally inferior to the Avhites. There never *' was a civilized nation of any other com- " plexion than white, nor even anij individual " eminent either in action or speculation. " No ingenious manufactures among them, " no arts, no sciences. — ^There are negro- " slaves dispersed all over Europe, of which " nojie ever discovered any symptoms of in^ " genuity*." These assertions are strong; but I know not whether they have any thing else to recommend them. — For, first, though true, they would not prove the point in ques- tion, except it were also proved, that the Africans and Americans, even though arts and sciences were introduced among them, would still remain unsusceptible of cultiva^ tion. The inhabitants of Great Britain and France were as savage two thousand years ago, as those of Africa and America are at this day. To civilize a nation, is a work which it requires long time to accomplish. And one may as well say of an infant, that he can never become a man, as of a nation now barbarous, that it never can be civi- lized. — Secondly, of the facts here asserted * Hume's Essay on National Characters. no Ch. II.] ON TRUTH. 425 no man could have sufficient evidence, ex-? cept fi-om a personal acquaintance with all the negroes that now are, or ever were, on the face of the earth. These people write no histories; and all the reports of all the tra- vellers that ever visited them, will not amount to any thing like a proof of wliat is here affirmed. — But, thirdly, we know that these assertions are not true. The em- pires of Peru and Mexico could not have been governed, nor the metropolis of the lat- ter built after so singular a manner, in the middle of a lake, Avithout men eminent both for action and speculation. Every body has heard of the magnificence, good government, and ingenuity, of the ancient Peruvians. The Africans and Americans are known to have many ingenious manufactures and arts among them, which even Europeans woul^ find it no easy matter to imitate. Sciences indeed they have none, because they have no letters ; but in oratory, some of them, particularly the Indicms of the Five Nations, are said to be greatly our superiors. It will be readily allowed, that the condition of a slave is not favourable to genius of any kind ; and yet the negro-slaves dispersed over Eu- rope, have often discovered symptoms of in- genuity, notwithstanding their unhappy cir- cumstances. They become excellent handi- craftsmen, and practical musicians, and in- deed learn every thing their masters are at pains to teach them, perfidy and debauchery pot 426 AN ESSAY [Part III. not excepted. That a negro-slave, who can peither rea.d no;- write, nor speak any Eur ropean language, who is not permitted to do any thing but what his master commands, and who has not a single friend on earth, but is universally considered and treated as if Jie were a species inferior to the human ; — that such a creature should so distinguish himself among Europeans, as to be talked of through the world as a man of genius, is surely no reasonable expectation. To sup- pose him of an inferior species, because he does not thus distinguish hirnself, is just as rational as to suppose any private Eur ropean of an inferior species because he has not raised himself to the condition of roy- alty. Had the Europeans been destitute of the 9,rts of writing, and working in iron, they inight have remained to this day as barba-^ rous as the natives of Africa and America. $^or is the invention of these arts to be ^scribed to our superior capacity. The genius, of the inventor is not always to be estimated ?Lcqording to the importance of the invention. Gunpowder, and the mariner^s compass, have produced wonderful revolutions in hu- man affairs, and yet were accidental disco- veries. Such, probably, were the first essays in writing, and working in iron. Suppose ihem the effects of contrivance, they were ^t least contrived by a few individuals ; and if they required a superiority of understand- ins: Ch.IL] ON TRUTH. ' ing, or of species, in the inventors, thos9 inventors, and their descendants, are the only persons who can lay claim to the bononr of that superiority. That every practice and sentiment is bar-^ barons >vhich is not aqcerding to the usages of modern Europe, seems to be a fnnda-i mental maxim with some of our philosophers. Their remarks often put us in mind of the fable of the man and the lion. If negroes or Indians were disposed to recriminate ; il a Lucian or a Voltaire, from the coast of Guinea, or from tk^ Five Nations, were to pay us ^ visit ; what a picture of European manners might be present to his countrymen at his return ! Nor would caricature, or ex-r aggeration, be necessary to render it hide^ ous. A plain historical account of some of our most fashionable duellists, gamblers, and adulterers (to name no more), would exhibit specimens of brutish barbarity and sottish in^ fatuation, such as might vie with any that ever appeared in Kamschatka, California, or the land of Hottentots. The natural inferiority of negroes is a favourite topic with some , modern writers. They mean perhaps to invaUdate the au- thority of that Book, which declares, that " Eve was the mother of all living," and that "God hath made of one blood aU " nations of men, for to dwell on all the " face of the earth." And perhaps some of them 428 AN ESSAY [Part III, them may have it in view to vindicate a certain barbarous piece of pohcy, which, though it does no honour to the Christian world, and is not, I beheve, attended with pecuniary advantage to the commercial, has notwithstanding many patrons even in this age of hght and liberty. But Britons are famous for generosity; a virtue in which it is easy for them to excel both the Ro- mans and the Greeks. Let it never be said, that slavery is countenanced by the bravest and most generous people on earth; by a people who are animated with that heroic passion, and the love of liberty, beyond all nations ancient or modern ; and the fame of ' whose toilsome, but unwearied perseverance, in vindicating, at the expence of life and for- tune, the sacred rights of mankind, will strike terror into the hearts of sycophants and ty- rants, and excite the admiration and grati- tude of all good men to the latest posterity. CHAP. Cji. III.] ON TRtFTH. m CHAP. Ill, ( Consequenpes of Metaphysical Scepticism. After all, it win perhaps be objected tCr this discourse, that I have laid too much stress upon the consequences of metaphy-r sical absurdity, and represented them as much more dangerous than they are found to be in fact. 1 shall be told that many of the controversies in metaphysic are merely verbal; and the errors proceeding froni them of so abstract a nature, that philoso- phers run little risk, and the vulgar no risk at all, of being influenced by them in prac- tice. It will be said, that I never heard of any man who fell a sacrifice to Berkeley's system, by breaking his neck over a material precipice, which he had taken for an ideal one; nor of any Fatalist, whose morals were, upon the whole, more exceptionable than those of the assertors of free agency : in a word, that whatever effect such tenets may have upon the understanding, they seldom or never produce any sensible effects upon the heart. In considering this objection, I must 430 AN ESSAY [Part III. must confine myself to a few topics ; for the subject to which it leads is of a vast extent. The influence of the metaphysical spirit up- on art, science, and manners, would furnish matter for a large treatise. It will suffice at present to show, that metaphysical errors are not harmless, but may produce, and ac- tually have produced, some very important and interesting consequences. I begin with an observation often made, and indeed obvious enough, namely. That happiness is the end of our being; and that knowledge, and even truth itself, are va- luable only as they tend to promote it. Every useless study is a pernicious thing; because it wastes our time, and misemploys our fa- culties. To prove th9,t metaphysical absur- clities do no good, would therefore sufficiently justify the present undertaking. But it re- quires no deep sagacity to be able to prove a great deal more. We acknowledge, however, that all meta- physical errors are not equally dangerous. There is an obscurity in the abstract sci- ences, as they are commonly taught, which is often no bad preservative against their in- fluence. This obscurity is sometimes un- avoidable, on account of the insufficiency of language ; sometimes it is owing to the spi- ritless or slovenly style of the writer; and ^sometimes it is affected ; as when a philoso- pher, from prudential considerations, thinks fit to disguise any occasional attack on the religion Ch. III.] 0:t* TRUTH. 431 J^ligion or laws of his country, by some art- ful equivocation, in the form of allegory, dialogue, or fable. The style of The Treatise of Human Nature is so obscure and un-^ interesting, that if the author had not in his Esmys republished the capital doctrines of that work in a more elegant style, a con* futa^ion of them would not have been very necessary : their uncouth and gloomy aspect would have deterred most people from court-- ing their acquaintance. And, after allj though this author is one of the deadliest, he is not, perhaps, one of the most dangerous^ enemies, of religion. Bolingbroke, his in- ferior in subtlety, but far superior in wit and eloquence, is more dangerous, because more entertaining. So that, though the reader may be disposed to applaud the pa- triotism of the grand jury of Westminster, who represented the posthumous works of that Noble Lord as a public nuisance, he must be sensible, that there was no necessity for affixing any such stigma to the philosophical writings of the Scottish author. And yet it cannot be denied, that even these, notwith- standing their obscurity, have done mischief enough to make every sober-minded person earnestly wish that they had never existed. Further, some metaphysical errors are so frossly absurd, that there is hardly a possi- ility of their perverting our conduct. Such, considered in itself, is the doctrine of the non-existence of matter; which no man in 2 ' hi» 432 AN E5SAY [Partllli his senses was ever capable of believing for a single moment; Pyrrho was a vain hy-^ pocrite : he took it in his head to say, that he believed nothing, because he wanted to be taken notice of: he affected too, to apt up tb this pretended belief; and would not of his own accord step aside to avoid a dog, a chariot, or a precipice; but he always took care to have some friends or servants at hand, whose business it was to keep the phi^ losopher out of harm's way. — ^I'hat the uni- verse is nothing but a heap of impressions and ideaSj is another of those profound mys- teries, from which we need not apprehend much danger; because it is so absurd, that no words but such as imply a contradiction^ will fully express it* I know not whether the absurdity of a system was ever before nrged as an apology for its author. But it is better to be absurd than mischievous : and happy it were for the world, and much to the credit of some persons now in it, if me- taphysicians were chargeable with nothing worse than absurdity. Again, certain errors in Our theories of human nature, considered in themselves, are in some measure harmless, when the prin- ciples that oppose their influence are strong- and active; A gentle disposition, confirmed habits of virtue, obedience to law, a regard to order, or even the fear of punishment, often prove antidotes to metaphysical poison. When Fatahty has these principles' to com-' bat J Clu III.] ON TRUTH, 433 bat, it may puzzle the judgment, but will not corrupt the heart. Natural instinct ne- ver fails to oppose it; all men believe them- selves free agents, as long at least as they keep clear of metaphysic; nay, so powerful is the sentiment of moral liberty, that I can- not think it was ever entirely subdued in any rational being. But if it were subdued, (and surely no Fatalist will acknowledge it invincible); if the opposite principles should at the sanie time cease to act ; and if debauch- ery, bad example, and licentious writings^ should extinguish or weaken the sense of du- ty; what might not be apprehended from men who are above law, or can screen them- selves from punishment ? What virtue is to be expected from a being who believes itself a mere machine ? If I were persuaded, that the evil I commit is imposed upon me by fatal necessity, I should think repentance as absurd as Xerxes scourging the waves of the Hellespont; and be as httle disposed to form resolutions of amendment, as to contrive schemes for preventing the frequent eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter. Every author who publishes an essay in behalf of Fata- lity, is willing to run the risque of bringing all men over to his opinion- What if this should be the consequence ? If it be possible to make one reasonable creature a Fatalist, may it not be possible to make many such ; And would this be a matter of little or no' moment ? It is, I think,, demonstrable, that it would 4S4 AN ESSAY [Part lit, iiir<3u\d i!iot. But I have already explained myself on this head* Other taetaphysical errors there are, which, though they do not strike more directly at the foundations of virtue, are more apt to influence mankind, because they are not so vigorously counteracted by any particular propensity. What shall we say to the theory i5f HoBBES, who makes the distinction be- tween vice and virtue artificial, and depend- knt on the arbitrary laws of human govern^ ors? According to this account,- no action that is commanded by a king or chief ma- gistrate can be vitious, and none virtuous except warranted by that authority*. Were this opinion universal, what could deter men from secret wickedness, or siich as is not cognizable by law ? What could restrain go-* Vernors from the utmost insolence of ty-" ranny -f? What but a miracle could save theS human race from perdition f la * See this doctrine of Mr. ttobbes more particu^arlj^ explained, and very well confut6d' by Dr. Clarke, in his Evidences of Natural and Retealed Jieligion^ vol. 2j prop. J. ,+ It is Vain to quote history to meii who will not be- lieve their own eyes; and such I take all those to be ^ho look round them in the world, and deny that the licentious theoiies of philosophers haVe any influence on human practice. Yet perhaps it may not be impro- per to lay before some readers the following passage frorii Ch. m.] ON TRUTH- 435 In tbeprefaice to one of Mr. Hume's lat© publications, we are presented with an ela- borate panegyric on the author. " He hatfe " exerted," says the writer of the preface, " those great talents he received from Nar " ture, and the acquisitions he made by *' study, in the search of truth, and in pro- " moting the good of mankind." A noble encomium from Plutarch's Life of Alexander, as it is elegant^ translated by Dr. Langhorne. " Alexander snatched a spear from one of the fuardB, and meeting Clitus, — ran him through the body, [e fell immediately to the ground, and with a dismal froan expired. — ^Alexander's rage subsided in a moment: e came to himself ; and seeing his friends standing ii> silent astonishment by him, he hastily drew the spear out of the dead body, and was applying it to his own throat, wh^i his guards seized his hands, and carried him by force into his chamber. He passed that night and the next day in anguish inexpressible ; and when he had wasted himself with tears and lamentations, he lay ii^ speechless grief, uttering only now and then a groan. His friends, alarmed at this melancholy silence, forced themselves into the room, and attempted to console him. But he would listen to none of them, except Aristander, who put him in mind of his dream, and the ill omen ofthe ^he&p, and assured him^ that the whole was bi/ the decree of Fate. As he seemed a little comforted, Calis- thenes the philosopher, Aristotle's near relation, and Anaxarchus the Abderite, were called in. Calisthenes began in a soft and tender manner, endeavouring to re- lieve him, without searching the wound. But Anaxar- chus, who had a particular walk in philosophy, and look" ed upon his fellow-labourers in science with contempt, cried out^ on entering the room, " Is this Alexander, " upon whom the whole world have their eyes ? Can it ^ b« he who Vies extended on the ground, crying like a ]E e " slave. 436 A J^ ESSAY' [fartlllr encomium indeed ! If it be a true one, wiiat are we to think of a Douglas, a Campbelf^ a Gerard, a Reid, and some others, who have attacked several of Mr. H lime's bpi- nions, and proved them to be contrary to truth, and subversive of the good of man- kind ? I thought indeed that the works of those excellent writers had given great sa- tisfaction to the friends of truth and virtue, and done an important service to society : but, if I believe this prefacer, I must look On them, as well as on this attempt of my own, with detestation and horror. But be- fore so great a change in my sentiments can take place, it will be necessary that Mr. Hume prove, to my satisfaction, that he is neither the author nor the publisher of the jEssfl?/s that bearhis name, nor of the Treatise of Human Nature, For I will not take it on his, *' slare, in fear of the law, and the tongues of men^ " to w/tom fie should himself be a law, and the measure of '' right and wrong ? What did he conquer for, but to rule " and to command, not servilely to submit to tJie vain opi- *' nions of men ? Know you not, (continued he), that Ju- " piter IS represented with iFhemis and Justice by his '^' side, to shew, that whatever is done by supreme power " is right ? " By this and other discourses of tlie same liind, he alleviated the king's grief indeed, hM made him xBJthal more haughty and unjust. At the same time he in- sinuated himself into his favour in so extraordinary a rnanner, that he could no longer bear the conversation of Calisthenes, who before was not very agreeable, oa account of his austerity. Langhorne's Plutarch, vol. 4. p. 294^ nor Ch.III.] ON TRUTH. 437 nor on any man's word, that religion, both- revealed and natural, and all conviction in regard to truth, are detrimental to mankinds And it is most certain that he, if he is in- deed the author of those Essays, and of that Treatise, hath exerted his great talents, and employed several years of his life, in endea- vouring to persuade the world, that the fun- damental doctrines of natural religion are ir- rational, and the proofs of revealed religion such as ought not to satisfy an impartial mind ; and that there is not in any science an evi- dence 6f truth sufficient to produce certainty. Suppose these opinions established in the world, and say, if you can, that the good of mankind Avould be promoted by them. To me it seems impossible for society to exist under the influence of such opinions. Nor let it be thought, that we give an unfavour- able view of human nature, when we insist on the necessity of good principles for the preservation of good order. Such a total subversion of human sentiment is, I believe; impossible: mankind, at their very worst, are not such monsters, as to admit it; rea- son, conscience, taste, habit, interest, fear, must perpetually oppose it : but the philo- sophy that aims at a total subversion of hu- man sentiment is not on that account the less detestable. And yet it is said of the authors of this philosophy, that they exert their great talents in promoting the ^od of man- kind. What an insult on human nature E ^ 2! and 438 A^ ESSAY [fart Ul. and coBimon sense! If" mankind are tam« enough to acquiesce in such an insult, and servile enough to reply, " It is true, we have " been much obliged to the celebrated " sceptics of this most enlightened age." — they would, almost tempt one to express himself in the style of misanthropy, and say, "Si populus vult decipi, decipia^ " tur." Every doctrine is dangerous that tends to discredit the evidence of our senses, exter- nal or internal, and to subvert the original in- stinctive principles of human belief. In this • respect the most unnatural and incomprehen- sible absurdities, such as the doctrine of the non-existence of matter, and of perceptions- without a percipient substance, are far from being harmless; as they seem to lead, and actually ha^'e led, to universal scepticism ; and set an example of a method of reason- ing sufficient to overturn all truth, and per- vert every human faculty. In this respect also we have proved the doctrine of Fatality to be of most pernicrous tendency, as it leads men to suppose their moral sentiments luljacious or equivocal; not to mention itSj influence on our notions of God;, and na- tural religion. When a sceptic attacks ona, principle of common sense, he does ia .effect attack all; for if we are made dis- trustful of the veracity of instinctive con- viction in one instance, we must, pr at least we inay, become equally distrustful in every CJh. III.] ON TRUTH. 439 every other. A little scepticism introduced into science will soon assimilate fhe whole to its own nature ; the fatal fermentation, once began, spreads wider and wider every mo- ment) till all the mass be transformed into rottenness and poison. There is no exaggeration here. The pre- sent state of the abstract sciences is a melan- choly ^proof, that what 1 say is truie. This is called the age of reason and philosophy ; and this is the age of arowed and dogmatic cal Atheism. Sceptics have at last growa wieary of doubting ; and have now discovered, by the fome of their gre^t taleiits, that one thing at least is certaki, namely, that God, and religion, and imn^ortality, are empty sbunds. This is the foal triumph of our so much boasted philosophic spirit; these are the limits of the dominion of error, beyond- which we can hardly conceive it possible for human sophistry to peneta-ate! Exult, 0~ JVTetaphysic, at the consummation of thy glories! More thou canst not hope, more thou caHSt not desire. Fall down, ye mor- tals, aiftd acknowledge tlie stuptendous bless^ ifi^- : adore tbose men of great talents, those da^iftg spirits, those patrons of modesty,. gfefttlettess, and candout^ those prodigies of genirfs, those heroes in beneiiceftee, who hare th'us laboured— to strip you of every fati^ttal consolation, and to make your con- dition ten thousand times worse than that tjf the feeaits n'ounce t' -with a more decisive air, not upon the ^rength of hia *' oyvn Judgment, but,, on the . rev^erence due from alt " mankind to the tribunal to which he appeals." OswaMsAppealinbihalfofRdi^dn^p.W. c e 2 and 470 AWESSAXl jT.S. and when opinions'^arariooJiiBbated'bj.sach M^eapons onlj (which would probably be the case if the law were to interpose), ^ susp©- <;ion arises in the minrds of men;' that no x)ther weapons are to be faad ; and thereftxue that the sectary, though; destitute of poweh is not wanting in argument. Let opinions then be combated by reason, and let ridictriia be employed to expose nonsence. And to keep our licentious authors in awe, and to make it thein interest to think before they write,' to examine tacts before they draw in- ferences,''to read books before they criticise them, and to study both sides' of a question before they take it upon them to' give judg- ment, it would not be amiss, if their vices and follies, as authors, were sometimes chas- tised by a satirical severity of expre^ont This is a proper punishment for their fault; this punishment they certainly deserve ; and this it is not beneath the dignity of a phii losopher, or divine, or any man whoioves God and his fellow-creatures, to inflict; Milton, Locke, Cudworth, Sidney, Tillot- son,"and several of the greatest and best writ- ers of the present age have set the example j and have, -1 doubt not, done good by their nervous and animated expression,' as well as by the solidity of their arguments. This punishment, *« if inflicted Mvith 'discretion, might ' teach out 'licentious authors some- thing of modesty, apd of deference to the judgment of mankind ; and, it is to be hoped, v/ould p. S.'] ON TRUTH. 47i would in time bring down that spirit of presumption, and affected superiority, whicli hath of late distinguished their writ- ings, and contributed, more perhaps than all their subtietyand sophistry, to the seduc^- tion of the ignotant, the unwary, and the i&shionable. It is true, the best of causes may be pleaded with an excess of warmth i as when the advocate is so blinded by his zeal, as to lose sight of his argument ; or as when, in order to render his adversaries odious, he alludes to such particulars of their character or private history as are not to foiP gathered from their writings. The former ikult never fails to injure the cause which the writer m^ns to defend ; the latter, which is properly termed personal abuse, is in itself 60 hateful, that every person of common prudence would be inclined to avoid it for his own sake, even though he were -not re- strained by more weighty? oiotives. If an author's writings be subversive of virtue, and dangerous to private happiness, and the public ^od^ we ought to hold them in de* testation^ and, in order to counteract their baneful tendency, to endeavour to render them detestable in the eyes of others; thui fer we act the part of honest men, and good citizens: but with his private history we have no concern; nor with his.character4 except so fa:r as he has thought proper to sub- mit it to the pubhc judgment, by display- ing- it in his works- When these are of that 1 peculiar ^72 AN. ESSAY £?. S. peculiar sort, that wc cannot expose them in their fjroper> colours, without reflecting on his abilities and moral character, we ought b J no means to sacrifice oar love of truth and mankind to a complaisance, which, if we are what we pretend to be, and ought to be, would be hypocritical at best, as well as mockery of the public, and treachery to our cause. The good of society is always to be considered as. a matter of higher import^ ance than the gratification of an author's va- nity, it If she does^not think of this in time, and take care that the latter be consistent with the former, he has himself to blame for all the consequences. The severity of Col- lier's attack upon the stage, in the end o^f the last century, was, evein in the judgment of one*j who thought it excessive, and who will not be suspebted of partiality to that au- thor's doctrinCv productive of very good ef- fects; as it obliged the succeeding dramatic poets to curb that 'propension to indecency, which had carried some of their predecessors so far beyond the bounds of' good taste and good mannei's.-'^If we are not permitted, to answer the objections ^f the infidelas plain- ly, and with as little reserve, as he makes them, we engage him on unequal termsi. And many will be disposed to think most favourably of that cause, whose adherents display the greatest ardour ; and some,'^ per- -7- ' ♦ f CoUey Cibber. See his Apology, vol, 1. p. 201, ; '>^' ^,!i».n' >:-.-;;.. •■•.'' ;-„haps^ p. S.] ON TRUTH. 473 haps, may be tempted to impute to timidity, or to a secret diffidence of our principles, what might have been owing to a much more pardonable weakness. For my own part, though I have always been, and shall always be, happy in applaud- ing excellence wherever 1 find it; yet nei- ther the pomp of wealth nor the dignity of office; neither the frown of the great nor the sneer of the fashionable, neither the scio- list's clamour nor the profligate's resentment, shall ever sooth or frighten me into an ad- miration, real or pretended, of impious te- jiets, sophistical reasoning, or that paltry me- taphysic with which literature has been so disgraced and pestered of late years. I am not so much addicted to controversy, as ever to enter into any but Avhat I judge to be of very great importance: and into such con- tifoversy I cannot, I will not, enter with coldi ness and unconcern. If I should, I might please a party, but I must offend the public ; i might escape the censure of those whose praise I would not value, but I should justly, forfeit the esteem of good men, and incur the disapprobation of my own conscience, "^v THE END. i. Q. Barowdj f r iater, Skinner Street, Lo*cleii>