PHIL 315: MODERN PHILOSOPHY
James Fieser
#CHAPTER 4
BRITISH EMPIRICISM
“British Empiricism” refers to the 18th -century philosophical movement in Great Britain which held that all knowledge comes from experience. Continental Rationalists maintained that knowledge comes from foundational concepts known intuitively through reason, such as innate ideas. Other concepts are then deductively drawn from these. British Empiricists staunchly rejected the theory of innate ideas and argued that knowledge is based on both sense experience and internal mental experiences, such as emotions and self-reflection. 18th-century British Empiricists took their cue from Francis Bacon who, in the very first aphorism of his New Organon, hails the primacy of experience, particularly the observation of nature:
Man, who is the servant and interpreter of nature, can act and understand no further than he has observed in either the operation or the contemplation of the method and order of nature.
Although British Empiricists disavowed innate ideas in favor of ideas from experience, it is important to note that the Empiricists did not reject the notion of instinct or innateness in general. Indeed, they believed that we have inborn propensities which regulate our bodily functions, produce emotions, and even direct our thinking. What Empiricists deny, though, is that we are born with detailed, picture-like, concepts of God, causality, and even mathematics.
Like Bacon, British Empiricists also moved away from deductive proofs and used an inductive method of arguing which was more conducive to the data of experience. In spite of their advocacy of inductive argumentation, though, British Empiricists still made wide use of deductive arguments. Three principal philosophers are associated with British Empiricism: John Locke, George Berkeley, and David Hume.
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D. ANNE CONWAY
British philosopher Anne Conway (1631-1678) was educated privately by Henry More, a prominent member of a 17th century intellectual movement known as Cambridge Platonism. Like More, members of the group were connected with Cambridge University – as either teachers or students – and appreciated Plato’s emphasis on both reason and the spirit-realm. Turned off by scientists of the time who offered purely mechanistic views of the universe, the Cambridge Platonists held that God and spirit were active components of the universe. In addition to the influence of Cambridge Platonists, Conway was also inspired by mystical writers of the Jewish Cabalistic tradition, who developed theories about female forces in the universe. Some years after her death, Conway’s private notebook was translated into Latin and, in 1690 was published in Holland – a country in which more controversial ideas could be disseminated without fear of political reprisal. Two years later the Latin work was translated back into English under the title The Principles of the Most Ancient and Modern Philosophy (1692).
Two themes stand out in her work: (1) things are capable of changing much more than we typically might think, and (2) body and soul are more or less the same thing, differing only in degree, and not in kind. Although Conway is not a rationalist in the continental European tradition of Descartes, her emphasis on soul and her resistance to mechanical scientific explanations place her more among rationalist philosophers than among empiricists such as Francis Bacon. Leibniz himself noted an affinity between his and Conway’s views. Selections below are from Chapters 6, 8 and 9 of her Principles.
ALL CREATURES ARE CHANGEABLE.
Conway divides all things in the universe into three categories. First, there is God, who, being infinitely perfect, is incapable of change. Second, there is Christ, who changes only for the better. Third, there are created things, which can change in innumerable ways, for the better or the worse. Conway argues that species of things can change; for example, a horse can become a human being. Although in theory any physical thing can become anything else, Conway argues that God does not do this in reality because of problems that would invariably arise regarding moral responsibility.
That all creatures in their own nature are changeable (the distinction between God and creatures duly considered) evidently evinces, and the same is by daily experience confirmed. Now if any creature be in its own nature changeable, it has this mutability (as it is a creature), and consequently all creatures will have the same, according to that rule: Whatsoever agrees to anything as placed under this or that species, agrees to all comprehended under the same species. But mutability agrees to a creature (which is the most general name of that species, under which all creatures are comprehended), and from thence it is manifest. For otherwise there would be no distinction between God and creatures. For if any creature were of itself, and in its own nature unchangeable, that creature would be God, because immutability is one of his incommunicable attributes.
Now let us consider how far this mutability may reach, or be extended, and, first, whether one individual can be changed into another of the same or a different species? This, I say, is impossible. For then the very essences of things would be changed, which would make a great confusion, not only in the creatures, but in the wisdom of God, which made all things. As for example, if this man could be changed into that, viz. Paul into Judas, or Judas into Paul, then he that sinned would not be punished for his sin, but another in his stead, who was both virtuous and innocent. So then a good man would not receive the reward of his virtue, but a vicious man in his stead. But if we suppose one good man to be changed into another, as Paul into Peter, and Peter into Paul, Paul would not receive his own proper reward, but Peter’s nor Peter his, but Paul’s, which would be a confusion, and unbecoming the wisdom of God.
(1) What is the moral problem with God changing one human being into another?
Moreover, if the very individual essences of things could be changed one into another, it would follow [that] creatures were not true in themselves. And so we could not be assured, nor have any certain knowledge of anything. And then all the inbred notions and dictates of truth, which men generally find in themselves, would be false, and by consequence the conclusions drawn from thence. For every true science, or certainty of knowledge, depends upon the truth of the objects, which are commonly called veritates objectivæ, or objective truths. If therefore these objective truths should be changed the one into the other, certainly the truth of the propositions depending thereon would be changed also; and so no proposition could be unchangeably true, no not the most clear and obvious as these are: the whole is greater than its part, and two halves make a whole.
(2) If we could change the individual essences of things, what would we sacrifice?
Body and Soul Differ only in Degree, not in Kind. According to Conway, not only can one species change into another, but a thing made out of a material body can change into a soul, and vice verse. Her underlying reasoning is that body and soul are not essentially different kinds of things. With few exceptions, philosophers throughout history held that body and soul are radically different in nature. For example, bodies take up space, are incapable of moving by themselves, and are subject to decompose over time; none of this is so with souls. Conway disputes all of the conventional points of distinction between body and soul. Instead, she argues that bodies and souls fall into a spectrum, and intermingle with each other in differing degrees. She offers a series of arguments for her position, one of which, presented below, is based on the intimate connection and interaction between bodies and souls.
To prove that spirit and body differ not essentially, but gradually, I shall deduce my fourth argument from the intimate band or union, which intercedes between bodies and spirits. [It is] by means whereof the spirits have dominion over the bodies with which they are united, that they move them from one place to another, and use them as instruments in their various operations. For if spirit and body are so contrary one to another (so that a spirit is only life, or a living and sensible substance, but a body a certain mass merely dead; a spirit penetrable and indiscerpible [i.e., indivisible into parts], which are all contrary attributes) what (I pray you) is that which does so join or unite them together? Or, what are those links or chains, whereby they have so firm a connection, and that for so long a space of time? Moreover also, when the spirit or soul is separated from the body, so that it has no longer dominion or power over it to move it as it had before, what is the cause of this separation?
(3) What are some of the problems involved with the connection between body and soul?
If it be said, that the vital agreement ([which] the soul has to the body) is the cause of the said union, and that the body being corrupted that vital agreement ceases, I answer, we must first inquire in what this vital agreement does consist. For if they cannot tell us wherein it does consist, they only trifle with empty words, which give a sound, but want a signification. For certainly in the sense which they take body and spirit in, there is no agreement at all between them. For a body is always a dead thing, void of life and sense, no less when the spirit is in it, than when it is gone out of it. Hence there is no agreement at all between them. And if there is any agreement, that certainly will remain the same, both when the body is sound, and when it is corrupted.
If they deny this, because a spirit requires an organized body (by means whereof it performs its vital acts of the external senses – moves and transports the body from place to place, which organical action ceases when the body is corrupted) certainly by this the difficulty is never the better solved. For why does the spirit require such an organized body? ex. gr. Why does it require a corporeal eye so wonderfully formed and organized, that I can see by it? Why does it need a corporeal light to see corporeal objects? Or, why is it requisite that the image of the object should be sent to it, through the eye, that I may see it? If the same were entirely nothing but a spirit, and no way corporeal, why does it need so many several corporeal organs, so far different from the nature of it?
(4) Defenders of the body/soul distinction might argue that the two are connected by means of a “vital agreement” between the two. What, for Conway, is the problem with this explanation.
Furthermore, how can a spirit move its body, or any of its members, if a spirit (as they affirm) is of such a nature, that no part of its body can in the least resist it, even as one body is wont to resist another, when it is moved by it, by reason of its impenetrability? For if a spirit could also easily penetrate all bodies, wherefore does it not leave the body behind it when it is moved from place to place, seeing it can so easily pass out without the least resistance? For certainly this is the cause of all motions which we see in the world, where one thing moves another, viz. because both are impenetrable in the sense aforesaid. For, were it not for this impenetrability, one creature could not move another, because this would not oppose that, nor at all resist it. An example whereof we have in the sails of a ship, by which the wind drives the ship, and that so much the more vehemently, by how much the fewer holes, vents, and passages, the same finds in the sails against which it drives. When on the contrary, if, instead of sails, nets were expanded, through which the wind would have a freer passage, certainly by these the ship would be but little moved, although it blew with great violence. Hence we see how this impenetrability causes resistance, and this makes motion. But if there were no impenetrability, as in the case of body and spirit, then there would be no resistance, and by consequence the spirit could make no motion in the body. ...
(5) Defenders of the body/soul distinction might similarly argue that souls move impenetrable bodies, just as the wind pushes a sail. However, Conway argues that – even on the dualist’s view – souls can penetrate everything; thus, there is no resistance which might allow a soul to move a body. Explain how she makes this point with her analogy of the net.
How then should we visualize the interaction between souls and bodies? According to Conway, we should first recognize how light bodies impact heavy bodies – such as air pushing against a heavy windmill. Heavy spirits, then, interact with lighter bodies in the same way.
For we may easily understand how one body is united with another, by that true agreement that one has with another in its own nature. And so the most subtle and spiritual body may be united with a body that is very gross and thick, sc, by means of certain bodies partaking of subtlety and grossness, according to divers degrees consisting between two extremes. And these middle bodies are indeed the links and chains by which the soul, which is so subtle and spiritual, is conjoined with a body so gross – which middle spirits (if they cease, or are absent) the union is broken or dissolved. So from the same foundation we may easily understand how the soul moves the body, viz. as one subtle body can move another gross and thick body. And seeing body itself is a sensible life, or an intellectual substance, it is no less clearly conspicuous how one body can wound, or grieve, or gratify, or please another. [It is] because things of one, or alike nature can easily affect each other. ...
I shall draw a fifth argument from what we observe in all visible bodies, as in earth, water, stones, wood, etc. What abundance of spirits is in all these things? For earth and water continually produce animals, as they have done from the beginning, so that a pool filled with water may produce fishes though none were ever put there to increase or breed. And seeing that all other things do more originally proceed from earth and water, it necessarily follows, that the spirits of all animals were in the water. And therefore it is said in Genesis, that the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, viz. that from hence he might produce whatsoever was afterwards created.
(6) Conway defends her view of body/soul similarity by describing an array of situations in which spirits interact with material things. Give some of her examples.
But if it be said, this argument does not prove that all spirits are bodies, but that all bodies have in them the spirits of all animals (so that every body has a spirit in it, and likewise a spirit and body, and although they are thus united, yet they still remain different in nature one from another, and so cannot be changed one into another) to this I answer. If every body, even the least, has in it the spirits of all animals, and other things, even as matter is said to have in it all forms, now I demand, whether a body has actually all those spirits in it, or potentially only? If actually, how is it possible that so many spirits essentially distinct from body can actually exist in their distinct essences in so small a body (even in the least that can be conceived) unless it be by intrinsic presence, which is not communicable to any creature, as already proved. For if all kinds of spirits are in any, even the least body, how comes it to pass that such an animal is produced of this body and not another? Yea, how comes it to pass that all kinds of animals are not immediately produced out of one and the same body, which experience denies. For we see that nature keeps her order in all operations, whence one animal is formed of another, and one species proceeds from another, as well when it ascends to a farther perfection, as when it descends to a viler state and condition.
But if they say, all spirits are contained in any body, not actually in their distinct essences, but only potentially as they term it, then it must be granted, that the body and all those spirits are one and the same thing. That is, that a body may be turned into them, as when we say wood is potentially fire (that is, can be turned into fire), water is potentially air (that is, may be changed into air)...
(7) Responding to her previous argument, critics might argue that the presence of souls in the world not show that bodies are souls shows; instead, it only shows bodies contain souls, either actually or potentially. What is her response to the claim that bodies might contain souls potentially?
AGAINST DESCARTES, HOBBES, AND SPINOZA.
Conway was aware that her theory of body and soul ran counter to views of the subject held by famous philosophers of her time. Descartes believed that bodies and souls were radically distinct things. Hobbes held that everything was composed of matter, including God himself. Spinoza held that God’s creations were all part of God himself .
From what has been lately said, and from divers reasons alleged, that spirit and body are originally in their first substance but one and the same thing, it evidently appears that the philosophers (so called) which have taught otherwise, whether ancient or modern, have generally erred...
And none can object, that all this philosophy is no other than that of Descartes or Hobbes under a new mask. For, first, as touching the Cartesian philosophy, this says that every body is a mere dead mass, not only void of all kind of life and sense, but utterly incapable thereof to all eternity. This grand error also is to be imputed to all those who affirm body and spirit to be contrary things, and inconvertible one into another, so as to deny a body all life and sense, but utterly incapable thereof to all eternity. This grand error also is to be imputed to all those who affirm body and spirit to be contrary things, and inconvertible one into another, so as to deny a body all life and sense, which is quite contrary to the grounds of this our philosophy. Wherefore it is so far from being a Cartesian principle, under a new mask, that it may be truly said it is anti-Cartesian, in regard of their fundamental principles -- although, it cannot be denied that Descartes taught many excellent and ingenious things concerning the mechanical part of natural operations, and how all natural motions proceed according to rules and laws mechanical, even as indeed nature herself, i.e., the creature, as an excellent mechanical skill and wisdom in itself (given it from God, who is the fountain of all wisdom) by which it operates. But yet in nature, and her operations, they are far more than merely mechanical, and the same is not a mere organical body, like a clock, wherein there is not a vital principle of motion, but a living body, having life and sense, which body is far more sublime than a mere mechanism, or mechanical motion.
(8) According to Conway, what is Descartes’s view of body?
But, secondly, as to what pertains to Hobbes’s opinion, this is more contrary to this our philosophy, than that of Descartes. For Descartes acknowledged God to be plainly immaterial, and an incorporeal spirit. Hobbes affirms God himself to be material and corporeal -- yea, nothing else but matter and body -- and so confounds God and the creatures in their essences, and denies that there is any essential distinction between them. These and many more the worst of consequences are the dictates of Hobbes’s philosophy, to which may be added that of Spinoza, for this Spinoza also confounds God and the creatures together, and makes but one being of both, all which are diametrically opposite to the philosophy here delivered by us.
(9) According to Conway, what is wrong with Hobbes’s view that God is material?
#CHAPTER 4
EMPIRICISM
A. JOHN LOCKE
John Locke (1632-1704) was born in Wrington, England just before civil war broke out. He writes, “I no sooner perceived myself in the world than I found myself in a storm.” Sporadically, he was a student at Christ Church, Oxford for more than 30 years until a royal mandate deprived him of his studentship in 1684. His principal area of study was medicine, and he was employed as the house physician and later political advisor to the Earl of Shaftesbury. Shaftesbury had a checkered and controversial political career and in 1783 Locke fled to Holland for refuge because of his association with Shaftesbury. Living under an assumed name, Locke used this time for writing. Prior to his return to England in 1689 he completed the manuscript of his greatest philosophical work, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. On his return, his previous political services were more favorably recognized and he was offered an ambassadorship at either Berlin or Vienna. He declined this in favor of more minor offices in England. Beginning in 1789, a series of Locke’s publications appeared in rapid succession, most of which were composed at earlier dates. Included are his Letters on Toleration (1789-1792), Two treatises of Government (1790), and his long awaited Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1790). His final years were spent in residence at the house of Francis and Lady Masham. He died in 1704. Locke’s writings had an instant and lasting impact in a variety of disciplines, including political theory, education theory, and theology, as well as philosophy. The following selections are from Locke’s Essay, which is his longest and most important discussion of metaphysical and epistemological issues. All primary and secondary subdivision titles below are Locke’s, as they appear in the table of contents to the Essay.
1:2. NO SPECULATIVE INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND
The first book of Locke’s Essay is devoted to refuting the theory of innate ideas. Although his arguments are often considered to be definitive attacks on Descartes’ notion of innate ideas, Locke does not have Descartes specifically in mind. Some Locke commentators question whether Locke has any particular philosopher in mind for most of his critique. Nevertheless, defenders of innate ideas suggested that there are both speculative and practical ideas implanted in us at birth. Locke rejects both of these contentions. In the following selections from Book I, Locke attacks the view that there are speculative innate ideas. He begins by noting that the theory of innate ideas is an unnatural way of explaining the origin of our ideas.
1. The Way Shown How We Come By Any Knowledge, Sufficient To Prove It Not Innate. It is an established opinion among some people that there are in the understanding certain innate principles (some primary notions, koinai ennoiai, characters) as it were stamped upon the mind of man, which the soul receives in its very first being and brings into the world with it. It would be sufficient to convince unprejudiced readers of the falseness of this supposition, if I should only show (as I hope I shall in the following parts of this Discourse) how people, barely by the use of their natural faculties, may attain to all the knowledge they have, without the help of any innate impressions, and may arrive at certainty without any such original notions or principles. For I imagine anyone will easily grant that it would be impertinent to suppose [that] the ideas of colors [are] innate in a creature to whom God has given sight, and a power to receive them by the eyes from external objects. And no less unreasonable would it be to attribute several truths to the impressions of nature, and innate characters, when we may observe in ourselves faculties fit to attain as easy and certain knowledge of them as if they were originally imprinted on the mind.
(1) What is the reasonable position to take on the origin of our ideas of colors?
But because a person is not permitted without censure to follow his own thoughts in the search of truth when they lead him ever so little out of the common road, I shall set down the reasons that made me doubt of the truth of that opinion, as an excuse for my mistake, if I be in one; which I leave to be considered by those who, with me, dispose themselves to embrace truth wherever they find it.
The most common argument for innate ideas is that, presumably, people universally agree about the truth of various speculative and practical principles. He calls this the argument from “universal consent.”
2. General Assent the Great Argument. There is nothing more commonly taken for granted than that there are certain principles, both speculative and practical, (for they speak of both), universally agreed upon by all men: which therefore, they argue, must needs be the constant impressions which the souls of people receive in their first beings, and which they bring into the world with them, as necessarily and really as they do any of their inherent faculties.
3. Universal Consent Proves Nothing Innate. This argument, drawn from universal consent, has this misfortune in it, that if it were true in matter of fact, that there were certain truths wherein all men agreed, it would not prove them innate, if there can be any other way shown how people may come to that universal agreement, in the things they do consent in, which I presume may be done.
(2) For Locke, what will undermine the argument from universal consent?
Locke examines versions of two of Aristotle’s famous “laws of thought” which some philosophers believed to be innate: the law of identity (what is, is), and the law of noncontradiction (the same thing cannot be and not be at the same time).
4. “What Is, Is,” And “It Is Impossible For The Same Thing To Be And Not To Be,” Not Universally Assented To. But, which is worse, this argument of universal consent (which is made use of to prove innate principles) seems to me a demonstration that there are none such. [This is] because there are none to which all men give an universal assent. I shall begin with the speculative, and instance in those magnified principles of demonstration, “Whatsoever is, is,” and “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be”; which, of all others, I think have the most allowed title to innate. These have so settled a reputation of maxims universally received, that it will no doubt be thought strange if any one should seem to question it. But yet I take liberty to say, that these propositions are so far from having an universal assent, that there are a great part of men to whom they are not so much as known.
Having presented the two leading candidates for speculative innate ideas, Locke attacks the contention that these principles are innate.
5. Not On The Mind Naturally Imprinted, Because Not Known To Children, Idiots, &C. For, first, it is evident, that all children and idiots have not the least apprehension or thought of them. And the want of that is enough to destroy that universal assent which must needs be the necessary concomitant of all innate truths: it seeming to me near a contradiction to say, that there are truths imprinted on the soul, which it perceives or understands not: imprinting, if it signify anything, being nothing else but the making certain truths to be perceived. For to imprint anything on the mind without the mind’s perceiving it, seems to me hardly intelligible. If therefore children and idiots have souls, have minds, with those impressions upon them, they must unavoidably perceive them, and necessarily know and assent to these truths. Which since they do not, it is evident that there are no such impressions. For if they are not notions naturally imprinted, how can they be innate? and if they are notions imprinted, how can they be unknown? To say a notion is imprinted on the mind, and yet at the same time to say, that the mind is ignorant of it, and never yet took notice of it, is to make this impression nothing.
(3) What is Locke’s argument against the innateness of these ideas based on the knowledge which children and “idiots” (i.e., the retarded) have of them?
The key point of Locke’s argument is that if an idea is truly in one’s mind, then it must be understood. Since some humans do not understand these ideas, then such ideas are not in their minds, and thus are not innate. He develops this reasoning in the following.
No proposition can be said to be in the mind which it never yet knew, which it was never yet conscious of. For if anyone may [say this], then, by the same reason, all propositions that are true (and the mind is capable ever of assenting to) may be said to be in the mind, and to be imprinted. Since, if any one can be said to be in the mind, which it never yet knew, it must be only because it is capable of knowing it; and so the mind is of all truths it ever shall know. Nay, thus truths may be imprinted on the mind which it never did, nor ever shall know. For a person may live long, and die at last in ignorance of many truths which his mind was capable of knowing, and that with certainty. So that if the capacity of knowing be the natural impression contended for, all the truths a person ever comes to know will, by this account, be every one of them innate; and this great point will amount to no more, but only to a very improper way of speaking; which, whilst it pretends to assert the contrary, says nothing different from those who deny innate principles.
(4) Suppose I claim that I have a proposition in my mind of which I am not conscious. For Locke, what absurd position follows from my contention?
Locke does not dispute the fact that certain human mental faculties are innate. However, Locke argues that the innateness of a faculty does not imply that any ideas are innate.
For nobody, I think, ever denied that the mind was capable of knowing several truths. The capacity, they say, is innate; the knowledge acquired. But then to what end such contest for certain innate maxims? If truths can be imprinted on the understanding without being perceived, I can see no difference there can be between any truths the mind is capable of knowing in respect of their original. They must all be innate or all adventitious. In vain shall a person go about to distinguish them. He therefore that talks of innate notions in the understanding cannot (if he intend thereby any distinct sort of truths) mean such truths to be in the understanding as it never perceived, and is yet wholly ignorant of. For if these words (“to be in the understanding”) have any propriety, they signify to be understood. So that to be in the understanding, and not to be understood, [and] to be in the mind and never to be perceived, is all one as to say anything is and is not in the mind or understanding. If therefore these two propositions, “Whatsoever is, is,” and “It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” are by nature imprinted, children cannot be ignorant of them. Infants, and all that have souls, must necessarily have them in their understandings, know the truth of them, and assent to it.
Defenders of the theory of innate ideas might respond to Locke’s reasoning above by arguing that even though these ideas are innate, they lie dormant in our minds until we access them through our reason. Thus a child can have such ideas innately implanted in him, yet cannot know them until his rational capacity develops.
6. That People Know Them When They Come to the Use of Reason, Answered. To avoid this, it is usually answered, that all people know and assent to them, when they come to the use of reason; and this is enough to prove them innate. I answer:
7. Doubtful Expressions, that have Scarce any Signification, Go for Clear Reasons to Those who, being Prepossessed, Take not the Pains to Examine Even What They Themselves Say. For, to apply this answer with any tolerable sense to our present purpose, it must signify one of these two things: either that as soon as people come to the use of reason these supposed native inscriptions come to be known and observed by them; or else, that the use and exercise of people’s reason assists them in the discovery of these principles, and certainly makes them known to them.
(5) What are the two ways reason might uncover innate ideas according to the above dormancy theory.
Locke starts by attacking the second of these possible explanations. The function of reason is to deduce one idea from another. Thus, if reason assists in discovering any idea, then that idea is deduced, and cannot be innate.
8. If Reason Discovered Them, that would not Prove Them Innate. If they mean that by the use of reason people may discover these principles (and that this is sufficient to prove them innate) their way of arguing will stand thus, viz. that whatever truths reason can certainly discover to us, and make us firmly assent to, those are all naturally imprinted on the mind. Since that universal assent (which is made the mark of them) amounts to no more but this, that by the use of reason we are capable to come to a certain knowledge of and assent to them; and by this means, there will be no difference between the maxims of the mathematicians, and theorems they deduce from them, [then] all must be equally allowed innate (they being all discoveries made by the use of reason, and truths that a rational creature may certainty come to know) if he apply his thoughts rightly that way.
9. It Is False That Reason Discovers Them. But how can these people think [that] the use of reason [is] necessary to discover principles that are supposed innate, when reason (if we may believe them) is nothing else but the faculty of deducing unknown truths from principles or propositions that are already known? That certainly can never be thought innate which we have need of reason to discover; unless, as I have said, we will have all the certain truths that reason ever teaches us to be innate. We may as well think [that] the use of reason [is] necessary to make our eyes discover visible objects, as that there should be need of reason, or the exercise thereof, to make the understanding see what is originally engraven on it, and cannot be in the understanding before it be perceived by it. So that to make reason discover those truths thus imprinted is to say that the use of reason discovers to a person what he knew before. And if people have those innate impressed truths originally, and before the use of reason, and yet are always ignorant of them till they come to the use of reason, it is in effect to say that people know and know them not at the same time.
(6) What is the faculty of reason?
10. No Use Made Of Reasoning In The Discovery Of These Two Maxims. It will here perhaps be said that mathematical demonstrations, and other truths that are not innate, are not assented to as soon as proposed, wherein they are distinguished from these maxims and other innate truths. I shall have occasion to speak of assent upon the first proposing, more particularly by and by. I shall here only, and that very readily, allow that these maxims and mathematical demonstrations are in this different: that the one have need of reason, using of proofs to make them out and to gain our assent; but the other, as soon as understood, are, without any the least reasoning, embraced and assented to. But I withal beg leave to observe that it lays open the weakness of this subterfuge, which requires the use of reason for the discovery of these general truths: since it must be confessed that in their discovery there is no use made of reasoning at all. And I think those who give this answer will not be forward to affirm that the knowledge of this maxim, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” is a deduction of our reason. For this would be to destroy that bounty of nature they seem so fond of, while they make the knowledge of those principles to depend on the labor of our thoughts. For all reasoning is search, and casting about, and requires pains and application. And how can it with any tolerable sense be supposed that what was imprinted by nature, as the foundation and guide of our reason, should need the use of reason to discover it?
(7) What is the main difference between mathematical demonstrations, and the above two Aristotelian laws of reason?
11. And If There Were, This Would Prove Them Not Innate. Those who will take the pains to reflect with a little attention on the operations of the understanding, will find that this ready assent of the mind to some truths depends not either on native inscription or the use of reason, but on a faculty of the mind quite distinct from both of them, as we shall see hereafter. Reason, therefore, having nothing to do in procuring our assent to these maxims, if by saying, that “people know and assent to them, when they come to the use of reason,” be meant, that the use of reason assists us in the knowledge of these maxims, it is utterly false; and were it true, would prove them not to be innate.
Locke continues by attacking the first theory of innateness (described in section seven above), that as soon as people know innate ideas once they come to the use of reason. He argues that this theory is false.
12. The Coming To The Use Of Reason Not The Time We Come To Know These Maxims. If by knowing and assenting to them “when we come to the use of reason,” be meant that this is the time when they come to be taken notice of by the mind; and that as soon as children come to the use of reason, they come also to know and assent to these maxims, this also is false and frivolous. First, it is false because it is evident [that] these maxims are not in the mind so early as the use of reason. And therefore the coming to the use of reason is falsely assigned as the time of their discovery. How many instances of the use of reason may we observe in children, a long time before they have any knowledge of this maxim, “That it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be?” And a great part of illiterate people and savages pass many years, even of their rational age, without ever thinking on this and the like general propositions.
(8) What examples does he give to show that it is false what we have knowledge of Aristotle’s laws of thought once we become rational?
For Locke, these laws of thought are known empirically, and we don’t gain knowledge of them until we have gained the appropriate experience and reason about such experience.
I grant, people come not to the knowledge of these general and more abstract truths, which are thought innate, till they come to the use of reason; and I add, nor then neither. Which is so, because, till after they come to the use of reason, those general abstract ideas are not framed in the mind, about which those general maxims are, which are mistaken for innate principles, but are indeed discoveries made and verities introduced and brought into the mind by the same way, and discovered by the same steps, as several other propositions, which nobody was ever so extravagant as to suppose innate. This I hope to make plain in the sequel of this Discourse. I allow therefore, a necessity that people should come to the use of reason before they get the knowledge of those general truths; but deny that people’s coming to the use of reason is the time of their discovery. [Essay 1:2:1-12]
After attacking the view that humans have innate knowledge of speculative principles (such as Aristotle’s laws of thought), Locke continues in Book I by attacking the view that we have innate knowledge of practical principles, such as those of morality and of God. His target here is Lord Herbert of Cherbury (1583-1648), founder of English Deism, who proposed five “common notions” pertaining to the existence of God and our moral obligation. With the theory of innate ideas behind him, Locke turns to Book II, the longest and most influential of the four Books, and explains how our various ideas are based on experience.
2:1. OF IDEAS IN GENERAL AND THEIR ORIGIN
In the first chapter of Book II, Locke argues that all ideas come from experience. Locke’s use of the word “idea” is atypical, as he himself acknowledges in his introduction to the Essay:
... I must here in the entrance beg pardon of my reader for the frequent use of the word idea, which he will find in the following treatise. It being that term which, I think, serves best to stand for whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a person thinks, I have used it to express whatever is meant by phantasm, notion, species, or whatever it is which the mind can be employed about in thinking; and I could not avoid frequently using it.
Descartes used the term “idea” in a manner similar to our common use today. Ideas are thoughts which sometimes represent the world, such as the idea I have of my car, and sometimes do not represent the world, such as the idea I have of a unicorn. In either case, though, my “ideas” are different than my initial visual perceptions, such as the visual image I have of my actual car, or the visual image I have of a painting of a unicorn. Unlike Descartes, Malebranche used the term “idea” in reference to my initial visual images, such as my immediate perception of my car, and not in reference to my thoughts. Locke combines both Descartes’ and Malebranche’s use of the term. Thus, for Locke, an idea is any mental event of which we are aware, including both thoughts and our initial visual images.
1. Idea Is The Object Of Thinking. Every man being conscious to himself that he thinks; and that which his mind is applied about whilst thinking being the ideas that are there, it is past doubt that men have in their minds several ideas, – such as are those expressed by the words whiteness, hardness, sweetness, thinking, motion, man, elephant, army, drunkenness, and others: it is in the first place then to be inquired, How he comes by them?
I know it is a received doctrine, that men have native ideas, and original characters, stamped upon their minds in their very first being. This opinion I have at large examined already; and, I suppose what I have said in the foregoing Book will be much more easily admitted, when I have shown whence the understanding may get all the ideas it has; and by what ways and degrees they may come into the mind; – for which I shall appeal to every one’s own observation and experience.
2. All Ideas Come From Sensation Or Reflection. Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters, without any ideas: – How comes it to be furnished? Whence comes it by that vast store which the busy and boundless fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless variety? Whence has it all the materials of reason and knowledge? To this I answer, in one word, from experience. In that all our knowledge is founded; and from that it ultimately derives itself. Our observation employed either, about external sensible objects, or about the internal operations of our minds perceived and reflected on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the materials of thinking. These two are the fountains of knowledge, from whence all the ideas we have, or can naturally have, do spring.
(9) At birth, what is the contents of our minds?
Locke notes that our various ideas derive from two sources: sensation and reflection. He describes both of these.
3. The Objects Of Sensation One Source Of Ideas. First, our Senses, conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways wherein those objects do affect them. And thus we come by those ideas we have of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities; which when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean, they from external objects convey into the mind what produces there those perceptions. This great source of most of the ideas we have, depending wholly upon our senses, and derived by them to the understanding, I call sensation.
4. The Operations Of Our Minds, The Other Source Of Them. Secondly, the other fountain from which experience furnisheth the understanding with ideas is, – the perception of the operations of our own mind within us, as it is employed about the ideas it has got; – which operations, when the soul comes to reflect on and consider, do furnish the understanding with another set of ideas, which could not be had from things without. And such are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different actings of our own minds; – which we being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do from these receive into our understandings as distinct ideas as we do from bodies affecting our senses.
(10) What do ideas of reflection include?
This source of ideas every man has wholly in himself; and though it be not sense, as having nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very like it, and might properly enough be called internal sense. But as I call the other sensation, so I Call this reflection, the ideas it affords being such only as the mind gets by reflecting on its own operations within itself. By reflection then, in the following part of this discourse, I would be understood to mean, that notice which the mind takes of its own operations, and the manner of them, by reason whereof there come to be ideas of these operations in the understanding. These two, I say, viz. external material things, as the objects of sensation, and the operations of our own minds within, as the objects of reflection, are to me the only originals from whence all our ideas take their beginnings. The term operations here I use in a large sense, as comprehending not barely the actions of the mind about its ideas, but some sort of passions arising sometimes from them, such as is the satisfaction or uneasiness arising from any thought.
Ideas of reflection are based on the operations of our minds. Such operations include reflecting on our various ideas and also reflecting on our emotions. Locke offers an initial proof that all ideas come from only these two sources: for any idea we examine, we will be able to trace it to either sensation or reflection (or a combination of both).
5. All Our Ideas Are Of The One Or The Other Of These. The understanding seems to me not to have the least glimmering of any ideas which it doth not receive from one of these two. External objects furnish the mind with the ideas of sensible qualities, which are all those different perceptions they produce in us; and the mind furnishes the understanding with ideas of its own operations.
These, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their several modes, combinations, and relations, we shall find to contain all our whole stock of ideas; and that we have nothing in our minds which did not come in one of these two ways. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and thoroughly search into his understanding; and then let him tell me, whether all the original ideas he has there, are any other than of the objects of his senses, or of the operations of his mind, considered as objects of his reflection. And how great a mass of knowledge soever he imagines to be lodged there, he will, upon taking a strict view, see that he has not any idea in his mind but what one of these two have imprinted; – though perhaps, with infinite variety compounded and enlarged by the understanding, as we shall see hereafter.
Locke’s theory has clear implications for child development. We come into the world with no previous ideas, and as we grow we form our ideas based on experience.
6. Observable In Children. He that attentively considers the state of a child, at his first coming into the world, will have little reason to think him stored with plenty of ideas, that are to be the matter of his future knowledge. It is by degrees he comes to be furnished with them. And though the ideas of obvious and familiar qualities imprint themselves before the memory begins to keep a register of time or order, yet it is often so late before some unusual qualities come in the way, that there are few men that cannot recollect the beginning of their acquaintance with them. And if it were worth while, no doubt a child might be so ordered as to have but a very few, even of the ordinary ideas, till he were grown up to a man. But all that are born into the world, being surrounded with bodies that perpetually and diversely affect them, variety of ideas, whether care be taken of it or not, are imprinted on the minds of children. Light and colors are busy at hand everywhere, when the eye is but open; sounds and some tangible qualities fail not to solicit their proper senses, and force an entrance to the mind; – but yet, I think, it will be granted easily, that if a child were kept in a place where he never saw any other [colors] but black and white till he were a man, he would have no more ideas of scarlet or green, than he that from his childhood never tasted an oyster, or a pine-apple, has of those particular relishes.
(11) Suppose a child was raised in an environment in which he only experienced black and white. What impact would this have on his ideas?
An infant, then, begins with an influx of raw experiences. He becomes familiar with repeated sensory experiences (such as the image of a toy), and thereby acquires his first knowledge about the objects behind the experiences.
22. The Mind Thinks In Proportion To The Matter It Gets From Experience To Think About. Follow a child from its birth, and observe the alterations that time makes, and you shall find, as the mind by the senses comes more and more to be furnished with ideas, it comes to be more and more awake; thinks more, the more it has matter to think on. After some time it begins to know the objects which, being most familiar with it, have made lasting impressions. Thus it comes by degrees to know the persons it daily converses with, and distinguishes them from strangers; which are instances and effects of its coming to retain and distinguish the ideas the senses convey to it. And so we may observe how the mind, by degrees, improves in these; and advances to the exercise of those other faculties of enlarging, compounding, and abstracting its ideas, and of reasoning about them, and reflecting upon all these; of which I shall have occasion to speak more hereafter.
(12) By degrees our minds amplify our first distinct ideas. Which faculties “improve” our initial ideas?
23. A Person Begins To Have Ideas When He First Has Sensation. What Sensation Is. A man begins to have ideas when he first has sensation. What sensation is. If it shall be demanded then, when a man begins to have any ideas, I think the true answer is, – when he first has any sensation. For, since there appear not to be any ideas in the mind before the senses have conveyed any in, I conceive that ideas in the understanding are coeval with sensation; which is such an impression or motion made in some part of the body, as produces some perception in the understanding. It is about these impressions made on our senses by outward objects that the mind seems first to employ itself, in such operations as we call perception, remembering, consideration, reasoning, &c.
(13) For Locke, we get our first ideas when we get our first sensations. What kind of operations does our mind engage in with these elementary idea?
In short, Locke describes three distinct developments in acquiring our first ideas: (a) we have our first sensory idea, (b) our minds instinctively process these in various ways (such as through one’s memory), and (c) we have more ideas when we reflect on these processes (such as the memory process).
24. The Original Of All Our Knowledge. In time the mind comes to reflect on its own operations about the ideas got by sensation, and thereby stores itself with a new set of ideas, which I call ideas of reflection. These are the impressions that are made on our senses by outward objects that are extrinsical to the mind; and its own operations, proceeding from powers intrinsical and proper to itself, which, when reflected on by itself, become also objects of its contemplation – are, as I have said, the original of all knowledge. Thus the first capacity of human intellect is, – that the mind is fitted to receive the impressions made on it; either through the senses by outward objects, or by its own operations when it reflects on them. This is the first step a man makes towards the discovery of anything, and the groundwork whereon to build all those notions which ever he shall have naturally in this world. All those sublime thoughts which tower above the clouds, and reach as high as heaven itself, take their rise and footing here: in all that great extent wherein the mind wanders, in those remote speculations it may seem to be elevated with, it stirs not one jot beyond those ideas which sense or reflection have offered for its contemplation.
(14) What is the source of even our most sublime thoughts?
For Locke, this initial process of gaining elementary ideas is a purely instinctive, mechanical procedure and does not involve any willful decisions that we make.
25. In The Reception Of Simple Ideas, The Understanding Is For The Most Part Passive. In this part the understanding is merely passive; and whether or no it will have these beginnings, and as it were materials of knowledge, is not in its own power. For the objects of our senses do, many of them, obtrude their particular ideas upon our minds whether we will or not; and the operations of our minds will not let us be without, at least, some obscure notions of them. No man can be wholly ignorant of what he does when he thinks. These simple ideas, when offered to the mind, the understanding can no more refuse to have, nor alter when they are imprinted, nor blot them out and make new ones itself, than a mirror can refuse, alter, or obliterate the images or ideas which the objects set before it do therein produce. As the bodies that surround us do diversely affect our organs, the mind is forced to receive the impressions; and cannot avoid the perception of those ideas that are annexed to them. [Essay 2:1:1-6, 22-25]
2:2 OF SIMPLE IDEAS
In the previous section (Book 2:1) Locke explained in general how we first arrive at our ideas through sensory and reflective experiences. In this section (Book 2:2) Locke explains that these first experiences only give us what he calls simple ideas. These simple ideas, in turn, become the building blocks of more complex ideas. For example, my unified sense perception of a flower (a complex idea) consists of more elementary perceptions of color, smell, texture and shape (which are simple ideas).
1. Uncompounded Appearances. The better to understand the nature, manner, and extent of our knowledge, one thing is carefully to be observed concerning the ideas we have; and that is, that some of them are simple and some complex.
Though the qualities that affect our senses are, in the things themselves, so united and blended, that there is no separation, no distance between them; yet it is plain, the ideas they produce in the mind enter by the senses simple and unmixed.
(15) What exactly is “blended” and what is “unblended” in a given sensory event (such as perceiving a flower)?
For, though the sight and touch often take in from the same object, at the same time, different ideas; – as a man sees at once motion and color; the hand feels softness and warmth in the same piece of wax: yet the simple ideas thus united in the same subject, are as perfectly distinct as those that come in by different senses. The coldness and hardness which a man feels in a piece of ice being as distinct ideas in the mind as the smell and whiteness of a lily; or as the taste of sugar, and smell of a rose. And there is nothing can be plainer to a man than the clear and distinct perception he has of those simple ideas; which, being each in itself uncompounded, contains in it nothing but one uniform appearance, or conception in the mind, and is not distinguishable into different ideas.
(16) List some of Locke’s examples of simple ideas.
Locke continues explaining that our minds can neither create simple idea of their own, or destroy the ones it has formed.
2. The Mind Can Neither Make Nor Destroy Them. These simple ideas, the materials of all our knowledge, are suggested and furnished to the mind only by those two ways above mentioned, viz. sensation and reflection. When the understanding is once stored with these simple ideas, it has the power to repeat, compare, and unite them, even to an almost infinite variety, and so can make at pleasure new complex ideas.
(17) What processes does the mind use in forming complex ideas out of more simple ones?
But it is not in the power of the most exalted wit, or enlarged understanding, by any quickness or variety of thought, to invent or frame one new simple idea in the mind, not taken in by the ways before mentioned: nor can any force of the understanding destroy those that are there. The dominion of man, in this little world of his own understanding being muchwhat the same as it is in the great world of visible things; wherein his power, however managed by art and skill, reaches no farther than to compound and divide the materials that are made to his hand; but can do nothing towards the making the least particle of new matter, or destroying one atom of what is already in being. The same inability will every one find in himself, who shall go about to fashion in his understanding one simple idea, not received in by his senses from external objects, or by reflection from the operations of his own mind about them. I would have any one try to fancy any taste which had never affected his palate; or frame the idea of a scent he had never smelt: and when he can do this, I will also conclude that a blind man hath ideas of colors, and a deaf man true distinct notions of sounds.
(18) What does Locke say about anyone who tries to imagine a taste which never affected one’s palate?
For Locke, if we had fewer than five senses or more than five senses, our simple ideas of sensation would be restricted to those.
3. Only The Qualities That Affect The Senses Are Imaginable. This is the reason why – though we cannot believe it impossible to God to make a creature with other organs, and more ways to convey into the understanding the notice of corporeal things than those five, as they are usually counted, which he has given to man – yet I think it is not possible for any man to imagine any other qualities in bodies, howsoever constituted, whereby they can be taken notice of, besides sounds, tastes, smells, visible and tangible qualities. And had mankind been made but with four senses, the qualities then which are the objects of the fifth sense had been as far from our notice, imagination, and conception, as now any belonging to a sixth, seventh, or eighth sense can possibly be; – which, whether yet some other creatures, in some other parts of this vast and stupendous universe, may not have, will be a great presumption to deny. He that will not set himself proudly at the top of all things, but will consider the immensity of this fabric, and the great variety that is to be found in this little and inconsiderable part of it which he has to do with, may be apt to think that, in other mansions of it, there may be other and different intelligent beings, of whose faculties he has as little knowledge or apprehension as a worm shut up in one drawer of a cabinet hath of the senses or understanding of a man; such variety and excellency being suitable to the wisdom and power of the Maker. I have here followed the common opinion of man’s having but five senses; though, perhaps, there may be justly counted more; – but either supposition serves equally to my present purpose.. [Essay 2:2:1-3]
(19) Suppose that a creature in another part of the universe had more than five senses. What would our human knowledge be of that creature’s sensory experiences?
2:3 OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSE.
In the next few chapters, Locke illustrates the various types of simple ideas we receive. He begins by explaining that simple ideas come from four possible combinations of sensation and reflection.
1. Division Of Simple Ideas. The better to conceive the ideas we receive from sensation, it may not be amiss for us to consider them, in reference to the different ways whereby they make their approaches to our minds, and make themselves perceivable by us.
First, then, There are some which come into our minds by one sense only.
Secondly, There are others that convey themselves into the mind by more senses than one.
Thirdly, Others that are had from reflection only.
Fourthly, There are some that make themselves way, and are suggested to the mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection.
We shall consider them apart under these several heads.
Some of our simple ideas, such as the spherical shape of a ball, can be detected by both our visual and tactile senses. Others, though, can only be obtained through a single sense organ, such as the smell of a flower. Locke begins by illustrating the latter of these which can be experienced only through a single sense organ.
Ideas Of One Sense. There are some ideas which have admittance only through one sense, which is peculiarly adapted to receive them. Thus light and colors, as white, red, yellow, blue; with their several degrees or shades and mixtures, as green, scarlet, purple, sea-green, and the rest, come in only by the eyes. All kinds of noises, sounds, and tones, only by the ears. The several tastes and smells, by the nose and palate. And if these organs, or the nerves which are the conduits to convey them from without to their audience in the brain, – the mind’s presence-room (as I may so call it) – are any of them so disordered as not to perform their functions, they have no postern to be admitted by; no other way to bring themselves into view, and be perceived by the understanding.
The most considerable of those belonging to the touch, are heat and cold, and solidity: all the rest, consisting almost wholly in the sensible configuration, as smooth and rough; or else, more or less firm adhesion of the parts, as hard and soft, tough and brittle, are obvious enough.
(20) Give some examples of simple ideas that result from single senses.
2. Few Simple Ideas Have Names. I think it will be needless to enumerate all the particular simple ideas belonging to each sense. Nor indeed is it possible if we would; there being a great many more of them belonging to most of the senses than we have names for. The variety of smells, which are as many almost, if not more, than species of bodies in the world, do most of them want names. Sweet and stinking commonly serve our turn for these ideas, which in effect is little more than to call them pleasing or displeasing; though the smell of a rose and violet, both sweet, are certainly very distinct ideas. Nor are the different tastes, that by our palates we receive ideas of, much better provided with names. Sweet, bitter, sour, harsh, and salt are almost all the epithets we have to denominate that numberless variety of relishes, which are to be found distinct, not only in almost every sort of creatures, but in the different parts of the same plant, fruit, or animal. The same may be said of colors and sounds. I shall, therefore, in the account of simple ideas I am here giving, content myself to set down only such as are most material to our present purpose, or are in themselves less apt to be taken notice of though they are very frequently the ingredients of our complex ideas; amongst which, I think, I may well account solidity, which therefore I shall treat of in the next chapter.
(21) According to Locke, a vast number of simple ideas have no names. Describe some of these ideas.
In Book 2:6 (not included here) Locke gives an account of the simple idea of solidity which we get from the resistance we feel in a body. The idea of solidity also includes extension in space, which we can see visually.
2:5. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF DIVERSE SENSES
Locke briefly lists simple ideas which come from two senses, particularly vision and tactility.
Ideas Received Both By Seeing And Touching. The ideas we get by more than one sense are, of space or extension, figure, rest, and motion. For these make perceivable impressions, both on the eyes and touch; and we can receive and convey into our minds the ideas of the extension, figure, motion, and rest of bodies, both by seeing and feeling. But having occasion to speak more at large of these in another place, I here only enumerate them.
(22) Give some examples of simple ideas that result from both vision and tactile sensation.
In Book 2:9 (not included here) Locke amplifies this brief discussion and considers the possible situation in which a person blind from birth formed simple ideas of a globe and cube based on tactile sensation alone. If that person were then made to see, would he visually be able to distinguish a glove from a cube? Locke believes that he could not make the visual distinction.
2:6. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION
Locke turns next to our simple ideas of reflection, that is, the ideas we have when we reflect on the mental operations by which we experience simple ideas of sensation.
1. Simple Ideas Are The Operations Of Mind About Its Other Ideas. The mind receiving the ideas mentioned in the foregoing chapters from without, when it turns its view inward upon itself, and observes its own actions about those ideas it has, takes from thence other ideas, which are as capable to be the objects of its contemplation as any of those it received from foreign things.
2. The Idea Of Perception, And Idea Of Willing, We Have From Reflection. The two great and principal actions of the mind, which are most frequently considered, and which are so frequent that every one that pleases may take notice of them in himself, are these two: –
Perception, or Thinking; and
Volition, or Willing.
The power of thinking is called the Understanding, and the power of volition is called the Will; and these two powers or abilities in the mind are denominated faculties.
Of some of the modes of these simple ideas of reflection, such as are remembrance, discerning, reasoning, judging, knowledge, faith, &c., I shall have occasion to speak hereafter.
(23) What are the two key simple ideas of reflection?
In later chapters in Book 2 of the Essay (not included here) Locke amplifies is discussion of simple ideas of reflection. His list of such ideas includes perception, memory, contemplation, attention, repetition, discernment, comparison, composition, and abstraction. For Locke, these ideas are the result of underlying mental faculties with which we were created.
2:7. OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSATION AND REFLECTION
Locke next explores simple ideas which we can obtain either though sensation or through reflecting on our mental processes. He examines five such ideas in the sections below: pleasure/pain, existence, unity, power, and succession.
1. Ideas Of Pleasure And Pain. There be other simple ideas which convey themselves into the mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection, viz. pleasure or delight, and its opposite, pain, or uneasiness; power; existence; unity.
Locke begins noting that the ideas of pleasure and pain accompany almost all of our sensory and reflective experiences.
2. Mix With Almost All Our Other Ideas. Delight or uneasiness, one or other of them, join themselves to almost all our ideas both of sensation and reflection: and there is scarce any affection of our senses from without, any retired thought of our mind within, which is not able to produce in us pleasure or pain. By pleasure and pain, I would be understood to signify, whatsoever delights or molests us; whether it arises from the thoughts of our minds, or anything operating on our bodies. For, whether we call it satisfaction, delight, pleasure, happiness, &c., on the one side, or uneasiness, trouble, pain, torment, anguish, misery, &c., on the other, they are still but different degrees of the same thing, and belong to the ideas of pleasure and pain, delight or uneasiness; which are the names I shall most commonly use for those two sorts of ideas.
(24) How does Locke define pleasure and pain?
For Locke, God had a specific purpose in linking pleasure with ideas of sensation and reflection. If an object or thought is pleasing, then we are motivated to pursue it.
3. As Motives Of Our Actions. The infinite wise Author of our being, having given us the power over several parts of our bodies, to move or keep them at rest as we think fit; and also. by the motion of them, to move ourselves and other contiguous bodies, in which consist all the actions of our body: having also given a power to our minds, in several instances, to choose, amongst its ideas, which it will think on, and to pursue the inquiry of this or that subject with consideration and attention, to excite us to these actions of thinking and motion that we are capable of, – has been pleased to join to several thoughts, and several sensations a perception of delight. If this were wholly separated from all our outward sensations, and inward thoughts, we should have no reason to prefer one thought or action to another; negligence to attention, or motion to rest. And so we should neither stir our bodies, nor employ our minds, but let our thoughts (if I may so call it) run adrift, without any direction or design, and suffer the ideas of our minds, like unregarded shadows, to make their appearances there, as it happened, without attending to them. In which state man, however furnished with the faculties of understanding and will, would be a very idle, inactive creature, and pass his time only in a lazy, lethargic dream. It has therefore pleased our wise Creator to annex to several objects, and the ideas which we receive from them, as also to several of our thoughts, a concomitant pleasure, and that in several objects, to several degrees, that those faculties which he had endowed us with might not remain wholly idle and unemployed by us.
(25) For Locke, what would happen if pleasures and pains were not linked with our sensations and reflections?
Just as pleasures motivate us to pursue certain objects or thoughts, and pains motivate us to avoid other objects and thoughts. Locke notes that some things which cause us pleasure also cause us pain. This prompts us to be cautious about such things since an excess of it might harm us.
4. An End And Use Of Pain. Pain has the same efficacy and use to set us on work that pleasure has, we being as ready to employ our faculties to avoid that, as to pursue this: only this is worth our consideration, that pain is often produced by the same objects and ideas that produce pleasure in us. This their near conjunction, which makes us often feel pain in the sensations where we expected pleasure, gives us new occasion of admiring the wisdom and goodness of our Maker, who, designing the preservation of our being, has annexed pain to the application of many things to our bodies, to warn us of the harm that they will do, and as advices to withdraw from them. But he, not designing our preservation barely, but the preservation of every part and organ in its perfection, hath in many cases annexed pain to those very ideas which delight us. Thus heat, that is very agreeable to us in one degree, by a little greater increase of it proves no ordinary torment: and the most pleasant of all sensible objects, light itself, if there be too much of it, if increased beyond a due proportion to our eyes, causes a very painful sensation. Which is wisely and favourably so ordered by nature, that when any object does, by the vehemency of its operation, disorder the instruments of sensation, whose structures cannot but be very nice and delicate, we might, by the pain, be warned to withdraw, before the organ be quite put out of order, and so be unfitted for its proper function for the future. The consideration of those objects that produce it may well persuade us, that this is the end or use of pain. For, though great light be insufferable to our eyes, yet the highest degree of darkness does not at all disease them: because that, causing no disorderly motion in it, leaves that curious organ unharmed in its natural state. But yet excess of cold as well as heat pains us: because it is equally destructive to that temper which is necessary to the preservation of life, and the exercise of the several functions of the body, and which consists in a moderate degree of warmth; or, if you please, a motion of the insensible parts of our bodies, confined within certain bounds.
(26) Give one of Locke’s examples of something which causes both pain and pleasure.
5. Another End. Beyond all this, we may find another reason why God hath scattered up and down several degrees of pleasure and pain, in all the things that environ and affect us; and blended them together in almost all that our thoughts and senses have to do with; – that we, finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and want of complete happiness, in all the enjoyments which the creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the enjoyment of Him with whom there is fullness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for
evermore.
(27) What is a second and more spiritual reason why God has us experience both pleasure and pain in the same object?
Just as pleasure and pain accompany our various simple ideas of sensation and reflection, other metaphysical ideas are also present, specifically existence, unity, power, and succession.
7. Ideas Of Existence And Unity. Existence and Unity are two other ideas that are suggested to the understanding by every object without, and every idea within. When ideas are in our minds, we consider them as being actually there, as well as we consider things to be actually without us; – which is, that they exist, or have existence. And whatever we can consider as one thing, whether a real being or idea, suggests to the understanding the idea of unity.
(28) How do the ideas of existence and unity emerge along with simple ideas, such as the perception of a round object?
8. Idea Of Power. Power also is another of those simple ideas which we receive from sensation and reflection. For, observing in ourselves that we do and can think, and that we can at pleasure move several parts of our bodies which were at rest; the effects, also, that natural bodies are able to produce in one another, occurring every moment to our senses, – we both these ways get the idea of power.
(29) The term “power” in modern philosophy refers to the causal force present in any cause-effect relation. Explain how the concept of power accompanies a simple idea of bodily motion.
9. Idea Of Succession. Besides these there is another idea, which, though suggested by our senses, yet is more constantly offered to us by what passes in our minds; and that is the idea of succession. For if we look immediately into ourselves, and reflect on what is observable there, we shall find our ideas always, whilst we are awake, or have any thought, passing in train, one going and another coming, without intermission.
(30) What is the simple idea of succession?
According to Locke, the simple ideas examined in this and previous chapters are the building blocks of all more complex ideas.
10. Simple Ideas The Materials Of All Our Knowledge. Simple ideas the materials of all our knowledge. These, if they are not all, are at least (as I think) the most considerable of those simple ideas which the mind has, and out of which is made all its other knowledge; all which it receives only by the two forementioned ways of sensation and reflection.
Nor let any one think these too narrow bounds for the capacious mind of man to expatiate in, which takes its flight further than the stars, and cannot be confined by the limits of the world; that extends its thoughts often even beyond the utmost expansion of Matter, and makes excursions into that incomprehensible Inane. I grant all this, but desire any one to assign any simple idea which is not received from one of those inlets before mentioned, or any complex idea not made out of those simple ones. Nor will it be so strange to think these few simple ideas sufficient to employ the quickest thought, or largest capacity; and to furnish the materials of all that various knowledge, and more various fancies and opinions of all mankind, if we consider how many words may be made out of the various composition of twenty-four letters; or if, going one step further, we will but reflect on the variety of combinations that may be made with barely one of the above-mentioned ideas, viz. number, whose stock is inexhaustible and truly infinite: and what a large and immense field doth extension alone afford the mathematicians?
(31) Suppose someone is dissatisfied with Locke’s assertion that a few simple ideas are the building blocks of all complex ideas. Give one of Locke’s analogies which helps explain his assertion.
2:8. SOME FARTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE IDEAS
In this section Locke makes his classic distinction between simple ideas of primary qualities and simple ideas of secondary qualities. Briefly, a primary quality is a property of an object that resides in the object itself. A secondary quality is a property of an object that is spectator dependent. The conceptual distinction between primary and secondary qualities appears early in the history of philosophy, even though the terms “primary” and “secondary” had not yet been introduced. The origin of the distinction may perhaps be traced to Democritus. In the modern period, though, the distinction becomes more pronounced. In the Assayer (1623) Galileo introduces the distinction as follows:
I say that whenever I conceive any material or corporeal substance, I immediately feel the need to think of it as bounded and as having this or that shape; as being large or small in relation to other things, and in some specific place at any given time; as being in motion or at rest; as touching or not touching some other body; and as being one number, or few, or many. From these conditions I cannot separate such a substance by any stretch of my imagination. But that it must be white or red, bitter or sweet, noisy or silent, and of sweet or foul odor, my mind does not feel compelled to bring in as necessary accompaniments.
For Galileo, then, primary qualities are those which are integral to the notion of material substance, such as shape and motion. Secondary ones, then, are those which do not necessarily belong to the notion of material substance, such as colors and smells. Using Aristotle’s terminology, then, primary qualities are essential attributes of all material things. Secondary qualities, by contrast, are accidental attributes of physical things (that is, it would be theoretically possible for such objects to exist without exhibiting those secondary qualities). In the Meditations (1641), Descartes echoes this distinction using the terms “objects of mathematics” (primary) and “objects of sense” (secondary). Of the former he writes,
To such a class of things pertains corporeal nature in general, and its extension, the figure of extended things, their quantity or magnitude and number, as also the place in which they are, the time which measures their duration, and so on. [Meditation I]
Again, for Descartes, the key point of distinction is that primary qualities are essential to an object’s extended or physical existence. The words “primary” and “secondary” were occasionally used in this connection by Robery Boyle in his Origin of Forms and Qualities (1666; pp. 10, 43, 100, 101), and his Tracts (1671; Introduction, p. 18). Using Boyle’s terminology, Locke more systematically describes the distinction between primary and secondary qualities. He begins by defining a quality as the power to produce an idea.
8. Our Ideas And The Qualities Of Bodies. Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call idea; and the power to produce any idea in our mind, I call quality of the subject wherein that power is. Thus a snowball having the power to produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and round, – the power to produce those ideas in us, as they are in the snowball, I call qualities; and as they are sensations or perceptions in our understandings, I call them ideas; which ideas, if I speak of sometimes as in the things themselves, I would be understood to mean those qualities in the objects which produce them in us.
(32) What are the qualities in a snowball?
Like Galileo and Descartes, Locke defines primary qualities as those which are inseparable from any physical body.
9. Primary Qualities Of Bodies. Qualities thus considered in bodies are,
First, such as are utterly inseparable from the body, in what state soever it be; and such as in all the alterations and changes it suffers, all the force can be used upon it, it constantly keeps; and such as sense constantly finds in every particle of matter which has bulk enough to be perceived; and the mind finds inseparable from every particle of matter, though less than to make itself singly be perceived by our senses: v.g. Take a grain of wheat, divide it into two parts; each part has still solidity, extension, figure, and mobility: divide it again, and it retains still the same qualities; and so divide it on, till the parts become insensible; they must retain still each of them all those qualities. For division (which is all that a mill, or pestle, or any other body, does upon another, in reducing it to insensible parts) can never take away either solidity, extension, figure, or mobility from any body, but only makes two or more distinct separate masses of matter, of that which was but one before; all which distinct masses, reckoned as so many distinct bodies, after division, make a certain number. These I call original or primary qualities of body, which I think we may observe to produce simple ideas in us, viz. solidity, extension, figure, motion or rest, and number.
(33) For Locke, what are primary qualities?
For Locke, objects also have the power of producing other ideas (or perceptions) in our minds, although such perceptions do not resemble anything in the objects themselves. These are secondary.
10. Secondary Qualities Of Bodies. Secondly, such qualities which in truth are nothing in the objects themselves but power to produce various sensations in us by their primary qualities, i.e. by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of their insensible parts, as colors, sounds, tastes, &c. These I call secondary qualities. To these might be added a third sort, which are allowed to be barely powers; though they are as much real qualities in the subject as those which I, to comply with the common way of speaking, call qualities, but for distinction, secondary qualities. For the power in fire to produce a new color, or consistency, in wax or clay, – by its primary qualities, is as much a quality in fire, as the power it has to produce in me a new idea or sensation of warmth or burning, which I felt not before, – by the same primary qualities, viz. the bulk, texture, and motion of its insensible parts.
(34) What is the “third sort” of qualities in objects?
Locke continues describing the physiological mechanisms by which objects give us sensations of colors and smells (not included here).
14. They Depend On The Primary Qualities. What I have said concerning colors and smells may be understood also of tastes and sounds, and other the like sensible qualities; which, whatever reality
we by mistake attribute to them, are in truth nothing in the objects themselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us; and depend on those primary qualities, viz. bulk, figure, texture, and motion of parts as I have said.
(35) What other qualities in objects do secondary qualities depend upon?
15. Ideas Of Primary Qualities Are Resemblances; Of Secondary, Not. From whence I think it easy to draw this observation, – that the ideas of primary qualities of bodies are resemblances of them, and their patterns do really exist in the bodies themselves, but the ideas produced in us by these secondary qualities have no resemblance of them at all. There is nothing like our ideas, existing in the bodies themselves. They are, in the bodies we denominate from them, only a power to produce those sensations in us: and what is sweet, blue, or warm in idea, is but the certain bulk, figure, and motion of the insensible parts, in the bodies themselves, which we call so.
(36) What specifically is the power which objects have regarding secondary qualities?
Locke summarizes his points about the three kinds of qualities of objects.
23. Three Sorts Of Qualities In Bodies. The qualities, then, that are in bodies, rightly considered, are of three sorts: –
First, The bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion or rest of their solid parts. Those are in them, whether we perceive them or not; and when they are of that size that we can discover them, we have by these an idea of the thing as it is in itself; as is plain in artificial things. These I call primary qualities.
Secondly, The power that is in any body, by reason of its insensible primary qualities, to operate after a peculiar manner on any of our senses, and thereby produce in us the different ideas of several colors, sounds, smells, tastes, &c. These are usually called sensible qualities.
Thirdly, The power that is in any body, by reason of the particular constitution of its primary qualities, to make such a change in the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of another body, as to make it operate on our senses differently from what it did before. Thus the sun has a power to make wax white, and fire to make lead fluid. These are usually called powers.
The first of these, as has been said, I think may be properly called real, original, or primary qualities; because they are in the things themselves, whether they are perceived or not: and upon their different modifications it is that the secondary qualities depend.
The other two are only powers to act differently upon other things: which powers result from the different modifications of those primary qualities.
2:12. OF COMPLEX IDEAS
After covering our simple ideas, Locke explains how we build complex ideas from our simple ones. As noted, we receive simple ideas automatically, or, in Locke’s terms, “passively.” The creation of complex ideas, though, require an active effort on our part. Complex ideas are created through three distinct mental acts: combining, comparing, and abstracting.
1. Made By The Mind Out Of Simple Ones. We have hitherto considered those ideas, in the reception whereof the mind is only passive, which are those simple ones received from sensation and reflection before mentioned, whereof the mind cannot make one to itself, nor have any idea which does not wholly consist of them. But as the mind is wholly passive in the reception of all its simple ideas, so it exerts several acts of its own, whereby out of its simple ideas, as the materials and foundations of the rest, the others are framed. The acts of the mind, wherein it exerts its power over its simple ideas, are chiefly these three: (1) Combining several simple ideas into one compound one; and thus all complex ideas are made. (2) The second is bringing two ideas, whether simple or complex, together, and setting them by one another, so as to take a view of them at once, without uniting them into one; by which way it gets all its ideas of relations. (3) The third is separating them from all other ideas that accompany them in their real existence: this is called abstraction: and thus all its general ideas are made. This shows man’s power, and its ways of operation, to be much the same in the material and intellectual world. For the materials in both being such as he has no power over, either to make or destroy, all that man can do is either to unite them together, or to set them by one another, or wholly separate them. I shall here begin with the first of these in the consideration of complex ideas, and come to the other two in their due places. As simple ideas are observed to exist in several combinations united together, so the mind has a power to consider several of them united together as one idea; and that not only as they are united in external objects, but as itself has joined them together. Ideas thus made up of several simple ones put together, I call complex; – such as are beauty, gratitude, a man, an army, the universe; which, though complicated of various simple ideas, or complex ideas made up of simple ones, yet are, when the mind pleases, considered each by itself, as one entire thing, and signified by one name.
(37) Give some of Locke’s examples of complex ideas.
Of the three ways of creating complex ideas mentioned above, Locke first focuses on the method of combining two or more ideas together.
2. Made Voluntarily. In this faculty of repeating and joining together its ideas, the mind has great power in varying and multiplying the objects of its thoughts, infinitely beyond what sensation or reflection furnished it with: but all this still confined to those simple ideas which it received from those two sources, and which are the ultimate materials of all its compositions. For simple ideas are all from things themselves, and of these the mind can have no more, nor other than what are suggested to it. It can have no other ideas of sensible qualities than what come from without by the senses; nor any ideas of other kind of operations of a thinking substance, than what it finds in itself But when it has once got these simple ideas, it is not confined barely to observation, and what offers itself from without; it can, by its own power, put together those ideas it has, and make new complex ones, which it never received so united.
(38) What are our complex ideas confined to?
As we create complex ideas, they all fall into one of three categories: modes, substances, or relations. Locke briefly considers each of these.
3. Complex Ideas Are Either Of Modes, Substances, Or Relations. COMPLEX IDEAS, however compounded and decompounded, though their number be infinite, and the variety endless, wherewith they fill and entertain the thoughts of men; yet I think they may be all reduced under these three heads: – 1. modes. 2. substances. 3. relations.
For Locke, modes are complex properties which cannot exist by themselves but must inhere in some substance. For example, the mode “triangularity” is a property of a two dimensional plane. The mode “gratitude” is a property which a person exhibits.
4. Ideas Of Modes. First, Modes I call such complex ideas which, however compounded, contain not in them the supposition of subsisting by themselves, but are considered as dependences on, or affections of substances; – such as are the ideas signified by the words triangle, gratitude, murder, &c. And if in this I use the word mode in somewhat a different sense from its ordinary signification, I beg pardon; it being unavoidable in discourses, differing from the ordinary received notions, either to make new words, or to use old words in somewhat a new signification; the later whereof, in our present case, is perhaps the more tolerable of the two.
5. Simple And Mixed Modes Of Simple Ideas. Of these modes, there are two sorts which deserve distinct consideration:
First, there are some which are only variations, or different combinations of the same simple idea, without the mixture of any other; – as a dozen, or score; which are nothing but the ideas of so many distinct units added together, and these I call simple modes as being contained within the bounds of one simple idea.
Secondly, there are others compounded of simple ideas of several kinds, put together to make one complex one; – v.g. beauty, consisting of a certain composition of color and figure, causing delight to the beholder; theft, which being the concealed change of the possession of anything, without the consent of the proprietor, contains, as is visible, a combination of several ideas of several kinds: and these I call mixed modes.
(39) Give some of Locke’s examples of both simple and mixed modes.
Later in Book II (not included here) Locke discusses how we arrive at complex ideas of several philosophically important modes. Such simple modes include space, duration, number, infinity, motion, various emotions, and the power of one’s will. Locke continues describing the second type of complex idea: substance. Unlike modes, substances are complex ideas of things which can exist by themselves, such as a rock or a person. Each substance gets its characteristics from the modes attached to the substance, such as a marbled rock or a grateful person.
6. Ideas Of Substances, Single Or Collective. Secondly, the ideas of Substances are such combinations of simple ideas as are taken to represent distinct particular things subsisting by themselves; the supposed or confused idea of substance, such as it is, is always the first and chief Thus if to substance be joined the simple idea of a certain dull whitish color, with certain degrees of weight, hardness, ductility, and fusibility, we have the idea of lead; and a combination of the ideas of a certain sort of figure, with the powers of motion, thought and reasoning, joined to substance, the ordinary idea of a man. Now of substances also, there are two sorts of ideas: – one of single substances, as they exist separately, as of a man or a sheep; the other of several of those put together, as an army of men, or flock of sheep – which collective ideas of several substances thus put together are as much each of them one single idea as that of a man or an unit.
(40) Locke distinguishes between single substances and collective substances. Give one of Locke’s examples of each.
Locke turns to the third and final type of complex idea, namely, relations.
7. Ideas Of Relation. Thirdly, the last sort of complex ideas is that we call Relation, which consists in the consideration and comparing one idea with another.
Of these several kinds we shall treat in their order.
Later in Book II (not included here) Locke discusses several philosophically important relations, including cause and effect, identity and diversity, and moral relations. Locke concludes this chapter by noting that even the most detailed of our complex ideas ultimately reduce to combinations of simple ideas of sensation and reflection.
8. The Abstrusest Ideas We Can Have Are All From Two Sources. If we trace the progress of our minds, and with attention observe how it repeats, adds together, and unites its simple ideas received from sensation or reflection, it will lead us further than at first perhaps we should have imagined. And, I believe, we shall find, if we warily observe the originals of our notions, that even the most abstruse ideas, how remote soever they may seem from sense, or from any operations of our own minds, are yet only such as the understanding frames to itself, by repeating and joining together ideas that it had either from objects of sense, or from its own operations about them: so that those even large and abstract ideas are derived from sensation or reflection, being no other than what the mind, by the ordinary use of its own faculties, employed about ideas received from objects of sense, or from the operations it observes in itself about them, may, and does, attain unto. ...
The remaining 200 pages of Book II analyze the above mentioned complex ideas of modes, substance, and relation. In Book III of the Essay Locke discusses the nature of words and language and how they denote our various ideas. In Book IV, the final Book of the Essay, Locke describes the scope of human knowledge, noting the things we are both capable and incapable of knowing.
4:3. OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE
At the outset of Book IV Locke defines knowledge as “the perception of the connection and agreement, or disagreement and repugnancy of any of our ideas.” More precisely, we know that a particular proposition is true when our ideas surrounding that proposition agree or disagree with each other. There are four ways ideas can agree or disagree with each other. Most basically, we know that our ideas have identity insofar as each idea agrees with itself. For example, we know that yellow is yellow, or that yellow is not blue. Secondly, we know whether two distinct ideas are similar or different insofar as they agree with each other. For example, we know that “two triangles upon equal basis, between two parallels are equal.” Thirdly, we know something about an object X whenever the idea of X is always accompanied by a second idea about a property of X. For example, we know that gold is never consumed by fire. This means that our idea of gold is always accompanied by a second idea that it is never consumed by fire. Finally, we know that an object exists whenever our idea of that object agrees with the object itself. For example, I know that my car exists if my idea of my car agrees with reality. Locke explains that we have varying degrees of knowledge depending on how evident the agreement or disagreement is. In view of his concept of knowledge, Locke argues that knowledge is initially confined to our ideas. Additionally, though, knowledge is restricted by the degree to which the agreement or disagreement is evident.
1. Extent Of Our Knowledge. Knowledge, as has been said, lying in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas, it follows from hence That,
It extends no further than we have ideas. First, we can have knowledge no further than we have ideas.
2. It Extends No Further Than We Can Perceive Their Agreement Or Disagreement. Secondly, That we can have no knowledge further than we can have perception of that agreement or disagreement. Which perception being: 1. Either by intuition, or the immediate comparing any two ideas; or, 2. By reason, examining the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the intervention of some others; or, 3. By sensation, perceiving the existence of particular things: hence it also follows:
(41) What are the three ways in which we can confirm agreement or disagreement of our various ideas?
Each of these three avenues to knowledge involve additional restrictions. That is, intuition, reason and sensation each apply only to their own special class ideas.
3. Intuitive Knowledge Extends Itself Not To All The Relations Of All Our Ideas. Thirdly, That we cannot have an intuitive knowledge that shall extend itself to all our ideas, and all that we would know about them; because we cannot examine and perceive all the relations they have one to another, by juxta-position, or an immediate comparison one with another. Thus, having the ideas of an obtuse and an acute angled triangle, both drawn from equal bases, and between parallels, I can, by intuitive knowledge, perceive the one not to be the other, but cannot that way know whether they be equal or no; because their agreement or disagreement in equality can never be perceived by an immediate comparing them: the difference of figure makes their parts incapable of an exact immediate application; and therefore there is need of some intervening qualities to measure them by, which is demonstration, or rational knowledge.
(42) Under what conditions will we fail to have knowledge through intuition?
4. Nor Does Demonstrative Knowledge. Fourthly, It follows, also, from what is above observed, that our rational knowledge cannot reach to the whole extent of our ideas: because between two different ideas we would examine, we cannot always find such mediums as we can connect one to another with an intuitive knowledge in all the parts of the deduction; and wherever that fails, we come short of knowledge and demonstration.
(43) Under what conditions will we fail to have knowledge through demonstration?
5. Sensitive Knowledge Narrower Than Either. Fifthly, Sensitive knowledge reaching no further than the existence of things actually present to our senses, is yet much narrower than either of the former.
(44) Under what conditions will we fail to have knowledge through the senses?
Given the all of the above limitations on knowledge, Locke concludes that many of our ideas can never be confirmed. This means that the range of our knowledge is far more narrow than the range of our ideas.
6. Our Knowledge, Therefore, Narrower Than Our Ideas. Sixthly, From all which it is evident, that the extent of our knowledge comes not only short of the reality of things, but even of the extent of our own ideas. Though our knowledge be limited to our ideas, and cannot exceed them either in extent or perfection; and though these be very narrow bounds, in respect of the extent of All-being, and far short of what we may justly imagine to be in some even created understandings, not tied down to the dull and narrow information that is to be received from some few, and not very acute, ways of perception, such as are our senses; yet it would be well with us if our knowledge were but as large as our ideas, and there were not many doubts and inquiries concerning the ideas we have, whereof we are not, nor I believe ever shall be in this world resolved. ...
4.9. OF OUR THREEFOLD KNOWLEDGE OF EXISTENCE
In view of the above three general methods of gaining knowledge (intuition, demonstration, and sensation), Locke explores three corresponding areas of knowledge we have of existing things. They are knowledge of oneself (through intuition), knowledge of God (through demonstration), and knowledge of external objects (through sensation).
2. A Threefold Knowledge Of Existence. ... let us proceed now to inquire concerning our knowledge of the existence of things, and how we come by it. I say, then, that we have the knowledge of our own existence by intuition; of the existence of God by demonstration; and of other things by sensation.
3. Our Knowledge Of Our Own Existence Is Intuitive. As for our own existence, we perceive it so plainly and so certainly, that it neither needs nor is capable of any proof. For nothing can be more evident to us than our own existence. I think, I reason, I feel pleasure and pain: can any of these be more evident to me than my own existence? If I doubt of all other things, that very doubt makes me perceive my own existence, and will not suffer me to doubt of that. For if I know I feel pain, it is evident I have as certain perception of my own existence, as of the existence of the pain I feel: or if I know I doubt, I have as certain perception of the existence of the thing doubting, as of that thought which I call doubt. Experience then convinces us, that we have an intuitive knowledge of our own existence, and an internal infallible perception that we are. In every act of sensation, reasoning, or thinking, we are conscious to ourselves of our own being; and, in this matter, come not short of the highest degree of certainty.
(45) List the kinds of internal experiences that immediately inform us as to our own existence.
For Locke, knowledge of God is arrived at through demonstration, in particular, through a cosmological-type argument for God’s existence:
(1) The existence we see around us is finite
(2) Finite existences cannot come from nothing
(3) Therefore, there exists an eternal being which is responsible for finite existence
Locke argues further that the power we see in finite objects must also derive from this greater eternal source. God must also be an immaterial mind since (a) human cognition is an immaterial (or spiritual) activity, and (b) a material thing cannot create an immaterial thing. Locke turns next to our knowledge of external objects.
4.11. OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS
For Locke, simply having a mental picture of a thing, such as the idea of my car, doesn’t guarantee that the thing actually exists. I am only justified in inferring the existence of my car if I have a sensory perception of it.
1. Knowledge Of The Existence Of Other Finite Beings Is To Be Had Only By Actual Sensation. The knowledge of our own being we have by intuition. The existence of a God, reason clearly makes known to us, as has been shown.
The knowledge of the existence of any other thing we can have only by sensation: for there being no necessary connection of real existence with any idea a man hath in his memory; nor of any other existence but that of God with the existence of any particular man: no particular man can know the existence of any other being, but only when, by actual operating upon him, it makes itself perceived by him. For, the having the idea of anything in our mind, no more proves the existence of that thing, than the picture of a man evidences his being in the world, or the visions of a dream make thereby a true history.
2. Instance: Whiteness Of This Paper. It is therefore the actual receiving of ideas from without that gives us notice of the existence of other things, and makes us know, that something doth exist at that time without us, which causes that idea in us; though perhaps we neither know nor consider how it does it. For it takes not from the certainty of our senses, and the ideas we receive by them, that we know not the manner wherein they are produced: v.g. whilst I write this, I have, by the paper affecting my eyes, that idea produced in my mind, which, whatever object causes, I call white; by which I know that that quality or accident (i.e. whose appearance before my eyes always causes that idea) doth really exist, and hath a being without me. And of this, the greatest assurance I can possibly have, and to which my faculties can attain, is the testimony of my eyes, which are the proper and sole judges of this thing; whose testimony I have reason to rely on as so certain, that I can no more doubt, whilst I write this, that I see white and black, and that something really exists that causes that sensation in me, than that I write or move my hand; which is a certainty as great as human nature is capable of, concerning the existence of anything, but a man’s self alone, and of God.
(46) What proof does Locke have that the what paper which appears before him actually exists?
3. This Notice By Our Senses, Though Not So Certain As Demonstration, Yet May Be Called Knowledge, And Proves The Existence Of Things Without Us. The notice we have by our senses of the existing of things without us, though it be not altogether so certain as our intuitive knowledge, or the deductions of our reason employed about the clear abstract ideas of our own minds; yet it is an assurance that deserves the name of knowledge. If we persuade ourselves that our faculties act and inform us right concerning the existence of those objects that affect them, it cannot pass for an ill-grounded confidence: for I think nobody can, in earnest, be so skeptical as to be uncertain of the existence of those things which he sees and feels. ...
(47) What does Locke imply about the possibility of skepticism?
Thus, the testimony of our senses gives us confidence in the existence of external material things. However, this poses a problem for our knowledge of external spiritual entities whose existence we do not perceive through our senses.
12. The Existence Of Other Finite Spirits Not Knowable, And Rests On Faith. What ideas we have of spirits, and how we come by them, I have already shown. But though we have those ideas in our minds, and know we have them there, the having the ideas of spirits does not make us know that any such things do exist without us, or that there are any finite spirits, or any other spiritual beings, but the Eternal God. We have ground from revelation, and several other reasons, to believe with assurance that there are such creatures: but our senses not being able to discover them, we want the means of knowing their particular existences. For we can no more know that there are finite spirits really existing, by the idea we have of such beings in our minds, than by the ideas any one has of fairies or centaurs, he can come to know that things answering those ideas do really exist.
(48) What is the ground we have in believing in the existence of immaterial beings such as angels?
And therefore concerning the existence of finite spirits, as well as several other things, we must content ourselves with the evidence of faith; but universal, certain propositions concerning this matter are beyond our reach. For however true it may be, v.g., that all the intelligent spirits that God ever created do still exist, yet it can never make a part of our certain knowledge. These and the like propositions we may assent to, as highly probable, but are not, I fear, in this state capable of knowing. We are not, then, to put others upon demonstrating, nor ourselves upon search of universal certainty in all those matters; wherein we are not capable of any other knowledge, but what our senses give us in this or that particular.
(49) What should our belief attitude be concerning the existence of such immaterial beings?
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B. GEORGE BERKELEY
The second great philosopher in the school of British Empiricism was George Berkeley (1685-1753) an Irish minister and, later in his life, Bishop of Cloyne. Berkeley was born at Dysert Castle, Ireland. He was a student at Trinity College, Dublin where he later held various teaching and admininstrative offices. Berkeley’s most important philosophical writings appeared before he turned 30. The underlying theme of even his earliest writings is idealism: nothing, including material objects, exists apart from perception. Berkeley kept a scrapbook of his reflections while in college and in it he writes that only persons exist: “all other things are not so much existences as manners of the existence of persons.” In his first publication, An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision (1709) he did not openly announce his idealism. The work addresses a single problem, which is the relation between the ideas we have from vision, and those we acquire through touch. A problem was originally proposed by William Molyneux to Locke: suppose a person who was blind from birth suddenly gained eye sight; from sight alone, would he be able to recognize objects which he previously knew only through touch? Molyneux and Locke thought the person would not be able to recognize the objects. Berkeley agrees, but for a different reason: “The objects of sight and touch make... two sets of ideas which are widely different from each other.... A person born blind, being made to see, would at first have no idea of distance by sight: the sun and stars, the remotest objects as well as the nearer, would all seem to be in his eye, or rather in his mind.”
The next year Berkeley published his Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (1710); shortly after he produced a more popular account of the same material in Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous (1713). These works present the theory of idealism for which he is best remembered. According to Berkeley, the only things which exist are minds and the ideas those minds. Material objects do not exist, and the things we call “external objects” are ultimately collections of ideas and sensations. Thus, to be is to be perceived (esse is percipi). Although Berkeley denied the existence of material objects, he is nevertheless an empiricist. Like Locke, Berkeley denied innate ideas and argued that all ideas derive from sensory impressions. For Berkeley, though, the ultimate source of external sensory impressions is not material objects (as Locke supposed); instead, our bodiless minds receive external sensory input directly from God. The selections below are from the Dialogues. In this work, Berkeley presents a three-day discussion in three dialogs between two characters: Philonous and Hylas. Philonous, the mouthpiece of Berkeley, defends idealism, and Hylas initially defends the existence of matter.
DIALOGUE ONE
The first Dialogue opens describing how Hylas could not sleep well the previous night since the evening before he was in a discussion with philosophers about those who deny the existence of matter (particularly Philonous). Hylas believes such a view is dangerous skepticism. He meets with Philonous early in the morning and they discuss this issue. Philonous also believes that skepticism is dangerous, but denies that his rejection of material existence is skeptical. For, by denying matter, one does not necessarily deny sensible things.
Definition of “Sensible Thing”. The key to Berkeley’s argument is the definition of a “sensible thing”: a thing perceived immediately by the senses, excluding any possible cause of that sensible thing.
Phil. This point then is agreed between us – That sensible things are those only which are immediately perceived by sense. You will farther inform me, whether we immediately perceive by sight anything beside light, and colors, and figures; or by hearing, anything but sounds; by the palate, anything beside tastes; by the smell, beside odours; or by the touch, more than tangible qualities.
Hyl. We do not.
Phil. It seems, therefore, that if you take away all sensible qualities, there remains nothing sensible?
Hyl. I grant it.
Phil. Sensible things therefore are nothing else but so many sensible qualities, or combinations of sensible qualities?
Hyl. Nothing else.
Phil. Heat then is a sensible thing?
Hyl. Certainly.
Phil. Doth the reality of sensible things consist in being perceived? or, is it something distinct from their being perceived, and that bears no relation to the mind?
Hyl. To exist is one thing, and to be perceived is another.
Phil. I speak with regard to sensible things only. And of these I ask, whether by their real existence you mean a subsistence exterior to the mind, and distinct from their being perceived?
(1) For Philonous, what does the reality of sensible things consist in?
Secondary Qualities of Heat in Sensible Things. Most of the first Dialogue shows that all primary and secondary qualities of sensible things exist only in the mind of the perceiver. Berkeley begins by making his case with secondary qualities: tactile qualities (heat, warmth, coldness), tastes (bitterness, sweetness), smells, sounds, and colors. Even Locke maintained that secondary qualities are spectator dependent. Nevertheless, at this stage of the Dialogue, Hylas resists ascribing secondary qualities to the perceiver.
Phil. Is it not an absurdity to think that the same thing should be at the same time both cold and warm?
Hyl. It is.
Phil. Suppose now one of your hands hot, and the other cold, and that they are both at once put into the same vessel of water, in an intermediate state; will not the water seem cold to one hand, and warm to the other?
Hyl. It will.
Phil. Ought we not therefore, by your principles, to conclude it is really both cold and warm at the same time, that is, according to your own concession, to believe an absurdity?
Hyl. I confess it seems so.
Phil. Consequently, the principles themselves are false, since you have granted that no true principle leads to an absurdity.
(2) Suppose we place a hot and cold hand in the same warm water. What does this show about the quality of coldness and warmth?
Hyl. But, after all, can anything be more absurd than to say, there is no heat in the fire?
Phil. To make the point still clearer; tell me whether, in two cases exactly alike, we ought not to make the same judgment?
.Hyl. We ought.
Phil. When a pin pricks your finger, doth it not rend and divide the fibres of your flesh?
Hyl. It doth.
Phil. And when a coal burns your finger, doth it any more?
Hyl. It doth not.
Phil. Since, therefore, you neither judge the sensation itself occasioned by the pin, nor anything like it to be in the pin; you should not, conformably to what you have now granted, judge the sensation occasioned by the fire, or anything like it, to be in the fire.
Hyl. Well, since it must be so, I am content to yield this point, and acknowledge that heat and cold are only sensations existing in our minds. But there still remain qualities enough to secure the reality of external things.
(3) Where does painful feeling produced by a sharp pin reside?
Secondary Qualities of Sound in Sensible Things. As to sounds, Hylas argues that sound qualities in themselves are external air motions, but to us they register differently through our ears.
Phil. Then as to sounds, what must we think of them: are they accidents really inherent in external bodies, or not?
Hyl. That they inhere not in the sonorous bodies is plain from hence: because a bell struck in the exhausted receiver of an air-pump sends forth no sound. The air, therefore, must be thought the subject of sound.
Phil. What reason is there for that, Hylas?
Hyl. Because, when any motion is raised in the air, we perceive a sound greater or lesser, according to the air’s motion; but without some motion in the air, we never hear any sound at all.
Phil. And granting that we never hear a sound but when some motion is produced in the air, yet I do not see how you can infer from thence, that the sound itself is in the air.
Hyl. It is this very motion in the external air that produces in the mind the sensation of sound. For, striking on the drum of the ear, it causeth a vibration, which by the auditory nerves being communicated to the brain, the soul is thereupon affected with the sensation called sound.
Phil. What! is sound then a sensation?
Hyl. I tell you, as perceived by us, it is a particular sensation in the mind.
Phil. And can any sensation exist without the mind?
Hyl. No, certainly.
Phil. How then can sound, being a sensation, exist in the air, if by the air you mean a senseless substance existing without the mind?
Hyl. You must distinguish, Philonous, between sound as it is perceived by us, and as it is in itself; or (which is the same thing) between the sound we immediately perceive, and that which exists without us. The former, indeed, is a particular kind of sensation, but the latter is merely a vibrative or undulatory motion the air.
Phil. I thought I had already obviated that distinction, by answer I gave when you were applying it in a like case before. But, to say no more of that, are you sure then that sound is really nothing but motion?
Hyl. I am.
Phil. Whatever therefore agrees to real sound, may with truth be attributed to motion?
Hyl. It may.
Phil. It is then good sense to speak of motion as of a thing that is loud, sweet, acute, or grave.
(4) For Philonous, why can’t we reduce sounds to external motions of the air?
Primary Qualities of Extension in Sensible Things. Having shown that secondary qualities are spectator dependent, Berkeley turns next to primary qualities which, according to Galileo, Descartes and Locke, reside in the objects themselves. The key primary qualities include extension (the property of occupying space), motion, solidity, and time. As to extension, Philonous argues that the same object appears to have different extension, depending on the size of the perceiver.
Phil. But what if the same arguments which are brought against Secondary Qualities will hold good against these also?
Hyl. Why then I shall be obliged to think, they too exist only in the mind.
Phil. Is it your opinion the very figure and extension which you perceive by sense exist in the outward object or material substance?
Hyl. It is.
Phil. Have all other animals as good grounds to think the same of the figure and extension which they see and feel?
Hyl. Without doubt, if they have any thought at all.
Phil. Answer me, Hylas. Think you the senses were bestowed upon all animals for their preservation and well-being in life? or were they given to men alone for this end?
Hyl. I make no question but they have the same use in all other animals.
Phil. If so, is it not necessary they should be enabled by them to perceive their own limbs, and those bodies which are capable of harming them?
Hyl. Certainly.
Phil. A mite therefore must be supposed to see his own foot, and things equal or even less than it, as bodies of some considerable dimension; though at the same time they appear to you scarce discernible, or at best as so many visible points?
Hyl. I cannot deny it.
Phil. And to creatures less than the mite they will seem yet larger?
Hyl. They will.
Phil. Insomuch that what you can hardly discern will to another extremely minute animal appear as some huge mountain?
Hyl. All this I grant.
Phil. Can one and the same thing be at the same time in itself of different dimensions?
Hyl. That were absurd to imagine.
Phil. But, from what you have laid down it follows that both the extension by you perceived, and that perceived by the mite itself, as likewise all those perceived by lesser animals, are each of them the true extension of the mite’s foot; that is to say, by your own principles you are led into an absurdity.
Hyl. There seems to be some difficulty in the point.
Phil. Again, have you not acknowledged that no real inherent property of any object can be changed without some change in the thing itself?
Hyl. I have.
Phil. But, as we approach to or recede from an object, the visible extension varies, being at one distance ten or a hundred times greater than another. Doth it not therefore follow from hence likewise that it is not really inherent in the object?
Hyl. I own I am at a loss what to think.
Phil. Your judgment will soon be determined, if you will venture to think as freely concerning this quality as you have done concerning the rest. Was it not admitted as a good argument, that neither heat nor cold was in the water, because it seemed warm to one hand and cold to the other?
Hyl. It was.
Phil. Is it not the very same reasoning to conclude, there is no extension or figure in an object, because to one eye it shall seem little, smooth, and round, when at the same time it appears to the other, great, uneven, and regular?
Hyl. The very same. But does this latter fact ever happen?
Phil. You may at any time make the experiment, by looking with one eye bare, and with the other through a microscope.
(5) What examples does Philonous give to show that an object’s extension is only a matter of the spectator’s perspective?
Hyl. I know not how to maintain it; and yet I am loath to give up extension, I see so many odd consequences following upon such a concession.
Phil. Odd, say you? After the concessions already made, I hope you will stick at nothing for its oddness. But, on the other hand, should it not seem very odd, if the general reasoning which includes all other sensible qualities did not also include extension? If it be allowed that no idea, nor anything like an idea, can exist in an unperceiving substance, then surely it follows that no figure, or mode of extension, which we can either perceive, or imagine, or have any idea of, can be really inherent in Matter; not to mention the peculiar difficulty there must be in conceiving a material substance, prior to and distinct from extension to be the substratum of extension. Be the sensible quality what it will – figure, or sound, or color, it seems alike impossible it should subsist in that which doth not perceive it.
Hyl. I give up the point for the present, reserving still a right to retract my opinion, in case I shall hereafter discover any false step in my progress to it.
(6) For Philonous, where does the mode of extension reside?
Primary Qualities of Motion in Sensible Things. Philonous continues making his case concerning primary qualities of motion. These, too, are spectator dependent. His argument is as follows: (a) A rapid motion involves the passing of an object through space in a given amount of time; (b) Time is measured by the succession of ideas in our mind, which varies; (c) One motion may be perceived as rapid or slow; (d) Therefore, the quality of motion is not inherent in the object.
Phil. That is a right you cannot be denied. Figures and extension being despatched, we proceed next to motion. Can a real motion in any external body be at the same time very swift and very slow?
Hyl. It cannot.
Phil. Is not the motion of a body swift in a reciprocal proportion to the time it takes up in describing any given space? Thus a body that describes a mile in an hour moves three times faster than it would in case it described only a mile in three hours.
Hyl. I agree with you.
Phil. And is not time measured by the succession of ideas in our minds?
Hyl. It is.
Phil. And is it not possible ideas should succeed one another twice as fast in your mind as they do in mine, or in that of some spirit of another kind?
Hyl. I own it.
Phil. Consequently the same body may to another seem to perform its motion over any space in half the time that it doth to you. And the same reasoning will hold as to any other proportion: that is to say, according to your principles (since the motions perceived are both really in the object) it is possible one and the same body shall be really moved the same way at once, both very swift and very slow. How is this consistent either with common sense, or with what you just now granted?
Hyl. I have nothing to say to it.
(7) A moving object appears to be moving at different speeds by different people. For Philonous, what is wrong (or inconsistent) with saying that the same object moves at different speeds?
Primary Qualities of Solidity in Sensible Things. The final primary quality considered by Philonous is solidity.
Phil. Then as for solidity; either you do not mean any sensible quality by that word, and so it is beside our inquiry: or if you do, it must be either hardness or resistance. But both the one and the other are plainly relative to our senses: it being evident that what seems hard to one animal may appear soft to another, who hath greater force and firmness of limbs. Nor is it less plain that the resistance I feel is not in the body.
(8) According to Philonous, what must the notion of solidity mean?
Hyl. I own the very sensation of resistance, which is all you immediately perceive, is not in the body; but the cause of that sensation is.
Phil. But the causes of our sensations are not things immediately perceived, and therefore are not sensible. This point I thought had been already determined.
Hyl. I own it was; but you will pardon me if I seem a little embarrassed: I know not how to quit my old notions.
Phil. To help you out, do but consider that if extension be once acknowledged to have no existence without the mind, the same must necessarily be granted of motion, solidity, and gravity; since they all evidently suppose extension. It is therefore superfluous to inquire particularly concerning each of them. In denying extension, you have denied them all to have any real existence.
Hylas next questions why is there a distinction made between primary and secondary qualities, if both exist only in one’s mind.
Hyl. I wonder, Philonous, if what you say be true, why those philosophers who deny the Secondary Qualities any real existence should yet attribute it to the Primary. If there is no difference between them, how can this be accounted for?
Phil. It is not my business to account for every opinion of the philosophers. But, among other reasons which may be assigned for this, it seems probable that pleasure and pain being rather annexed to the former than the latter may be one. Heat and cold, tastes and smells, have something more vividly pleasing or disagreeable than the ideas of extension, figure, and motion affect us with. And, it being too visibly absurd to hold that pain or pleasure can be in an unperceiving substance, men are more easily weaned from believing the external existence of the Secondary than the Primary Qualities. You will be satisfied there is something in this, if you recollect the difference you made between an intense and more moderate degree of heat; allowing the one a real existence, while you denied it to the other. But, after all, there is no rational ground for that distinction; for, surely an indifferent sensation is as truly a sensation as one more pleasing or painful; and consequently should not any more than they be supposed to exist in an unthinking subject.
(9) According to Philonous, why do philosophers distinguish between primary and secondary qualities considering that they are both spectator dependent?
Perhaps we get Sensible Extension through Abstraction. In the final portion of the first Dialogue, Hylas offers several theories attempting to rescue primary qualities from Philonous’s idealism. In one argument Hylas says that abstraction is responsible for our notion of extension. Hylas distinguishes between two kinds of extension. Sensible extension is the space objects appear to have to us, and absolute extension is the space an objects has in its abstraction.
Hyl. It is just come into my head, Philonous, that I have somewhere heard of a distinction between absolute and sensible extension. Now, though it be acknowledged that great and small, consisting merely in the relation which other extended beings have to the parts of our own bodies, do not really inhere in the substances themselves; yet nothing obliges us to hold the same with regard to absolute extension, which is something abstracted from great and small, from this or that particular magnitude or figure. So likewise as to motion; swift and slow are altogether relative to the succession of ideas in our own minds. But, it doth not follow, because those modifications of motion exist not without the mind, that therefore absolute motion abstracted from them doth not.
Phil. Pray what is it that distinguishes one motion, or one part of extension, from another? Is it not something sensible, as some degree of swiftness or slowness, some certain magnitude or figure peculiar to each?
Hyl. I think so.
Phil. These qualities, therefore, stripped of all sensible properties, are without all specific and numerical differences, as the schools call them.
Hyl. They are.
Phil. That is to say, they are extension in general, and motion in general.
Hyl. Let it be so.
Phil. But it is a universally received maxim that Everything which exists is particular. How then can motion in general, or extension in general, exist in any corporeal substance?
Hyl. I will take time to solve your difficulty.
Phil. But I think the point may be speedily decided. Without doubt you can tell whether you are able to frame this or that idea. Now I am content to put our dispute on this issue. If you can frame in your thoughts a distinct abstract idea of motion or extension, divested of all those sensible modes, as swift and slow, great and small, round and square, and the like, which are acknowledged to exist only in the mind, I will then yield the point you contend for. But if you cannot, it will be unreasonable on your side to insist any longer upon what you have no notion of.
Hyl. To confess ingenuously, I cannot.
(10) How does Philonous explain the phenomenon of mental abstraction?
Thus, there is no idea of absolute extension apart from sensible extension. Hylas considers other theories which might explain matter.
Perhaps there is a Material Substratum. Hylas next tries to rescue the notion of matter by appealing to the Aristotelian concept of Material Substratum.
Hyl. ... But then, on the other hand, when I look on sensible things in a different view, considering them as so many modes and qualities, I find it necessary to suppose a material substratum, without which they cannot be conceived to exist.
Phil. Material substratum call you it? Pray, by which of your senses came you acquainted with that being?
Hyl. It is not itself sensible; its modes and qualities only being perceived by the senses.
Phil. I presume then it was by reflection and reason you obtained
the idea of it?
Hyl. I do not pretend to any proper positive idea of it. However, I conclude it exists, because qualities cannot be conceived to exist without a support.
Phil. It seems then you have only a relative notion of it, or that you conceive it not otherwise than by conceiving the relation it bears to sensible qualities?
Hyl. Right.
Phil. Be pleased therefore to let me know wherein that relation
consists.
Hyl. Is it not sufficiently expressed in the term substratum, or substance?
(11) How does Hylas initially define “material substratum”?
When pressed, the notion of a material substratum amounts to a substance spread beneath its particular qualities. Philonous attacks this notion with the following argument: if matter is spread beneath all qualities, then such spreading requires extension. And, extension is mentally dependent.
Phil. If so, the word substratum should import that it is spread under the sensible qualities or accidents?
Hyl. True.
Phil. And consequently under extension?
Hyl. I own it.
Phil. It is therefore somewhat in its own nature entirely distinct
from extension?
Hyl. I tell you, extension is only a mode, and Matter is something that supports modes. And is it not evident the thing supported is different from the thing supporting?
Phil. So that something distinct from, and exclusive of, extension is supposed to be the substratum of extension?
Hyl. Just so.
Phil. Answer me, Hylas. Can a thing be spread without extension? or is not the idea of extension necessarily included in spreading?
Hyl. It is.
Phil. Whatsoever therefore you suppose spread under anything must have in itself an extension distinct from the extension of that thing under which it is spread?
Hyl. It must.
Phil. Consequently, every corporeal substance, being the substratum of extension, must have in itself another extension, by which it is qualified to be a substratum: and so on to infinity. And I ask whether this be not absurd in itself, and repugnant to what you granted just now, to wit, that the substratum was something distinct from and exclusive of extension?
(12) What is the infinite regress of substrata which Philonous describes here?
Philonous maintains that same problems emerge for any metaphor use to describe the function of a substratum, such as spreading, supporting, or standing. After considering more rescue attempts by Hylas, Philonous concludes by briefly noting that matter does not exist, since it would be parasitic on primary qualities, but primary qualities exist only in the mind. This point is further developed in the next Dialogue.
DIALOGUE TWO
The second Dialogue shows that matter, regardless of how it is described, does not exist. The clear implication of the rejection of matter is idealism, where only perceiving minds and perceptions (or ideas) exist.
Proof for God’s Existence. Philonous begins the second Dialogue with a causal-type proof for God’s existence. When looking out in the world, it is intuitively clear that sensible objects exist apart from us, although they cannot exist apart from mind. It follows that there exists some all perfect mind which continually perceives all sensible objects. This argument for God’s existence is not based on the design of the perceived world, but only on the bare existence of the sensible world.
Phil. ... To me it is evident for the reasons you allow of, that sensible things cannot exist otherwise than in a mind or spirit. Whence I conclude, not that they have no real existence, but that., seeing they depend not on my thought, and have all existence distinct from being perceived by me, there must be some other Mind wherein they exist. As sure, therefore, as the sensible world really exists, so sure is there an infinite omnipresent Spirit who contains and supports it.
Hyl. What! This is no more than I and all Christians hold; nay, and all others too who believe there is a God, and that He knows and comprehends all things.
Phil. Aye, but here lies the difference. Men commonly believe that all things are known or perceived by God, because they believe the being of a God; whereas I, on the other side, immediately and necessarily conclude the being of a God, because all sensible things must be perceived by Him.
Hyl. But, so long as we all believe the same thing, what matter is it how we come by that belief?
Phil. But neither do we agree in the same opinion. For philosophers, though they acknowledge all corporeal beings to be perceived by God, yet they attribute to them an absolute subsistence distinct from their being perceived by any mind whatever; which I do not. Besides, is there no difference between saying, There is a God, therefore He perceives all things; and saying, Sensible things do really exist; and, if they really exist, they are necessarily perceived by an infinite Mind: therefore there is an infinite Mind or God? This furnishes you with a direct and immediate demonstration, from a most evident principle, of the being of a God. Divines and philosophers had proved beyond all controversy, from the beauty and usefulness of the several parts of the creation, that it was the workmanship of God. But that – setting aside all help of astronomy and natural philosophy, all contemplation of the contrivance, order, and adjustment of things – an infinite Mind should be necessarily inferred from the bare existence of the sensible world, is an advantage to them only who have made this easy reflection: that the sensible world is that which we perceive by our several senses; and that nothing is perceived by the senses beside ideas; and that no idea or archetype of an idea can exist otherwise than in a mind. ...
(13) According to Philonous, there is are important differences between how most philosophers prove God’s existence, and his own proof. What is one such difference?
Perhaps we See All Things through God. Malebranche argued that God is responsible for providing human souls with ideas. Our immaterial souls cannot directly encounter or perceive material things. God, though, is pure spirit and can encounter both the material and immaterial. Thus, we see all things through God. Philonous replies by using Ockham’s razor: there is no real need for the external material world, hence the material world would be a useless creation.
Hyl. It cannot be denied there is something highly serviceable to religion in what you advance. But do you not think it looks very like a notion entertained by some eminent moderns, of seeing all things in God?
Phil. I would gladly know that opinion: pray explain it to me.
Hyl. They conceive that the soul, being immaterial, is incapable of being united with material things, so as to perceive them in themselves; but that she perceives them by her union with the substance of God, which, being spiritual, is therefore purely intelligible, or capable of being the immediate object of a spirit’s thought. Besides the Divine essence contains in it perfections correspondent to each created being; and which are, for that reason, proper to exhibit or represent them to the mind.
(14) According to Hylas, what is Malebranche’s position?
Phil. I do not understand how our ideas, which are things altogether passive and inert, can be the essence, or any part (or like any part) of the essence or substance of God, who is an impassive, indivisible, pure, active being. Many more difficulties and objections there are which occur at first view against this hypothesis; but I shall only add that it is liable to all the absurdities of the common hypothesis, in making a created world exist otherwise than in the mind of a Spirit. Besides all which it hath this peculiar to itself; that it makes that material world serve to no purpose. And, if it pass for a good argument against other hypotheses in the sciences, that they suppose Nature, or the Divine wisdom, to make something in vain, or do that by tedious roundabout methods which might have been performed in a much more easy and compendious way, what shall we think of that hypothesis which supposes the whole world made in vain?
Hyl. But what say you? Are not you too of opinion that we see all things in God? If I mistake not, what you advance comes near it.
Phil. Few men think; yet all have opinions. Hence men’s opinions are superficial and confused. It is nothing strange that tenets which in themselves are ever so different, should nevertheless be confounded with each other, by those who do not consider them attentively. I shall not therefore be surprised if some men imagine that I run into the enthusiasm of Malebranche; though in truth I am very remote from it. He builds on the most abstract general ideas, which I entirely disclaim. He asserts an absolute external world, which I deny. He maintains that we are deceived by our senses, and, know not the real natures or the true forms and figures of extended beings; of all which I hold the direct contrary. So that upon the whole there are no Principles more fundamentally opposite than his and mine. It must be owned that I entirely agree with what the holy Scripture saith, “That in God we live and move and have our being.” But that we see things in His essence, after the manner above set forth, I am far from believing. Take here in brief my meaning: – It is evident that the things I perceive are my own ideas, and that no idea can exist unless it be in a mind: nor is it less plain that these ideas or things by me perceived, either themselves or their archetypes, exist independently of my mind, since I know myself not to be their author, it being out of my power to determine at pleasure what particular ideas I shall be affected with upon opening my eyes or ears: they must therefore exist in some other Mind, whose Will it is they should be exhibited to me. The things, I say, immediately perceived are ideas or sensations, call them which you will. But how can any idea or sensation exist in, or be produced by, anything but a mind or spirit? This indeed is inconceivable. And to assert that which is inconceivable is to talk nonsense: is it not?
Hyl. Without doubt.
(15) For Philonous, what are the key points of difference between his view and that of Malebranche?
Phil. But, on the other hand, it is very conceivable that they should exist in and be produced by a spirit; since this is no more than I daily experience in myself, inasmuch as I perceive numberless ideas; and, by an act of my will, can form a great variety of them, and raise them up in my imagination: though, it must be confessed, these creatures of the fancy are not altogether so distinct, so strong, vivid, and permanent, as those perceived by my senses – which latter are called red things. From all which I conclude, there is a Mind which affects me every moment with all the sensible impressions I perceive. And, from the variety, order, and manner of these, I conclude the Author of them to be wise, powerful, and good, beyond comprehension. Mark it well; I do not say, I see things by perceiving that which represents them in the intelligible Substance of God. This I do not understand; but I say, the things by me perceived are known by the understanding, and produced by the will of an infinite Spirit. And is not all this most plain and evident? Is there any more in it than what a little observation in our own minds, and that which passeth in them, not only enables us to conceive, but also obliges us to acknowledge.
(16) What “daily experiences” does Philonous have which confirm his view that sensations exist in and are produced by a mind or spirit?
Perhaps Matter is an Instrument. Hylas next contends that God uses matter as an instrument to cause our ideas. Philonous counters that this kind of instrument would be devoid of all sensible qualities, even extension. Hylas suggests that perhaps matter may be an instrument in a very general sense. Philonous criticizes that instruments are used only when there is a need, but God has no need.
Hyl. I give up the point entirely. But, though Matter may not be a cause, yet what hinders its being an instrument, subservient to the supreme Agent in the production of our ideas?
Phil. An instrument say you; pray what may be the figure, springs, wheels, and motions, of that instrument?
Hyl. Those I pretend to determine nothing of, both the substance and its qualities being entirely unknown to me.
Phil. What? You are then of opinion it is made up of unknown parts, that it hath unknown motions, and an unknown shape?
Hyl. I do not believe that it hath any figure or motion at all, being already convinced, that no sensible qualities can exist in an unperceiving substance.
Phil. But what notion is it possible to frame of an instrument void of all sensible qualities, even extension itself?
Hyl. I do not pretend to have any notion of it.
Phil. And what reason have you to think this unknown, this inconceivable Somewhat doth exist? Is it that you imagine God cannot act as well without it; or that you find by experience the use of some such thing, when you form ideas in your own mind?
Hyl. You are always teasing me for reasons of my belief. Pray what reasons have you not to believe it?
Phil. It is to me a sufficient reason not to believe the existence of anything, if I see no reason for believing it. But, not to insist on reasons for believing, you will not so much as let me know what it is you would have me believe; since you say you have no manner of notion of it. After all, let me entreat you to consider whether it be like a philosopher, or even like a man of common sense, to pretend to believe you know not what ‘ and you know not why.
Hyl. Hold, Philonous. When I tell you Matter is an instrument, I do not mean altogether nothing. It is true I know not the particular kind of instrument; but, however, I have some notion of instrument in general, which I apply to it.
Phil. But what if it should prove that there is something, even in the most general notion of instrument, as taken in a distinct sense from cause, which makes the use of it inconsistent with the Divine attributes?
Hyl. Make that appear and I shall give up the point.
Phil. What mean you by the general nature or notion of instrument?
Hyl. That which is common to all particular instruments composeth the general notion.
Phil. Is it not common to all instruments, that they are applied to the doing those things only which cannot be performed by the mere act of our wills? Thus, for instance, I never use an instrument to move my finger, because it is done by a volition. But I should use one if I were to remove part of a rock, or tear up a tree by the roots. Are you of the same mind? Or, can you shew any example where an instrument is made use of in producing an effect immediately depending on the will of the agent?
(17) According to Hylas, what is involved in the notion of an “instrument”?
Hyl. I own I cannot.
Phil. How therefore can you suppose that an All-perfect Spirit, on whose Will all things have an absolute and immediate dependence, should need an instrument in his operations, or, not needing it, make use of it? Thus it seems to me that you are obliged to own the use of a lifeless inactive instrument to be incompatible with the infinite perfection of God; that is, by your own confession, to give up the point.
Hyl. It doth not readily occur what I can answer you.
Phil. But, methinks you should be ready to own the truth, when it has been fairly proved to you. We indeed, who are beings of finite powers, are forced to make use of instruments. And the use of an instrument sheweth the agent to be limited by rules of another’s prescription, and that he cannot obtain his end but in such a way, and by such conditions. Whence it seems a clear consequence, that the supreme unlimited agent useth no tool or instrument at all. The will of an Omnipotent Spirit is no sooner exerted than executed, without the application of means; which, if they are employed by inferior agents, it is not upon account of any real efficacy that is in them, or necessary aptitude to produce any effect, but merely in compliance with the laws of nature, or those conditions prescribed to them by the First Cause, who is Himself above all limitation or prescription whatsoever.
(18) What kind of beings make use of instruments?
Perhaps Matter is an Occasion for God to Give us Perceptions. Hylas considers another theory of Malebranche’s, that the presence of matter is the occasion at which God excites ideas in our minds. Philonous responds as above by arguing that God’s power alone can account for these ideas without the crutch of material things.
Hyl. I will no longer maintain that Matter is an instrument. However, I would not be understood to give up its existence neither; since, notwithstanding what hath been said, it may still be an occasion.
Phil. How many shapes is your Matter to take? Or, how often must it be proved not to exist, before you are content to part with it? But, to say no more of this (though by all the laws of disputation I may justly blame you for so frequently changing the signification of the principal term) – I would fain know what you mean by affirming that matter is an occasion, having already denied it to be a cause. And, when you have shewn in what sense you understand occasion, pray, in the next place, be pleased to shew me what reason induceth you to believe there is such an occasion of our ideas?
Hyl. As to the first point: by occasion I mean an inactive unthinking being, at the presence whereof God excites ideas in our minds.
Phil. And what may be the nature of that inactive unthinking being?
Hyl. I know nothing of its nature.
Phil. Proceed then to the second point, and assign some reason why we should allow an existence to this inactive, unthinking, unknown thing.
Hyl. When we see ideas produced in our minds, after an orderly and constant manner, it is natural to think they have some fixed and regular occasions, at the presence of which they are excited.
(19) What does Hylas mean by “occasion” and why does he think matter is such an occasion?
Phil. You acknowledge then God alone to be the cause of our ideas, and that He causes them at the presence of those occasions.
Hyl. That is my opinion.
Phil. Those things which you say are present to God, without doubt He perceives.
Hyl. Certainly; otherwise they could not be to Him an occasion of acting.
Phil. Not to insist now on your making sense of this hypothesis, or answering all the puzzling questions and difficulties it is liable to: I only ask whether the order and regularity observable in the series of our ideas, or the course of nature, be not sufficiently accounted for by the wisdom and power of God; and whether it doth not derogate from those attributes, to suppose He is influenced, directed, or put in mind, when and what He is to act, by an unthinking substance? And, lastly, whether, in case I granted all you contend for, it would make anything to your purpose; it not being easy to conceive how the external or absolute existence of an unthinking substance, distinct from its being perceived, can be inferred from my allowing that there are certain things perceived by the mind of God, which are to Him the occasion of producing ideas in us?
Hyl. I am perfectly at a loss what to think, this notion of occasion seeming now altogether as groundless as the rest.
Phil. Do you not at length perceive that in all these different acceptations of Matter, you have been only supposing you know not what, for no manner of reason, and to no kind of use?
(20) For Philonous, what sufficiently accounts for the order and regularity which we observe in the succession of our ideas?
DIALOGUE THREE
In Dialogues One and Two, Berkeley refutes the view that matter is the source of our external sense impressions. He suggests that God, and not material objects, feeds us these external sense impressions. In Dialogue Three Berkeley explains why this view is not skepticism, and he further clarifies God’s role as the source of external sense impressions.
Hylas’s Skepticism. Dialogue Three opens with Hylas conceding to Philonous’s arguments against matter. However, Hylas goes a step further and adopts the skeptical position that denies that absolute knowledge anything, other than our immediate perceptions, is impossible.
Philonous. Tell me, Hylas, what are the fruits of yesterday’s meditation? Has it confirmed you in the same mind you were in at parting? or have you since seen cause to change your opinion?
Hylas. Truly my opinion is that all our opinions are alike vain and uncertain. What we approve to-day, we condemn to-morrow. We keep a stir about knowledge, and spend our lives in the pursuit of it, when, alas I we know nothing all the while: nor do I think it possible for us ever to know anything in this life. Our faculties are too narrow and too few. Nature certainly never intended us for speculation.
Phil. What! Say you we can know nothing, Hylas?
Hyl. There is not that single thing in the world whereof we can know the real nature, or what it is in itself.
Phil. Will you tell me I do not really know what fire or water is?
Hyl. You may indeed know that fire appears hot, and water fluid; but this is no more than knowing what sensations are produced in your own mind, upon the application of fire and water to your organs of sense. Their internal constitution, their true and real nature, you are utterly in the dark as to that.
Phil. Do I not know this to be a real stone that I stand on, and that which I see before my eyes to be a real tree?
Hyl. Know? No, it is impossible you or any man alive should know it. All you know is, that you have such a certain idea or appearance in your own mind. But what is this to the real tree or stone? I tell you that color, figure, and hardness, which you perceive, are not the real natures of those things, or in the least like them. The same may be said of all other real things, or corporeal substances, which compose the world. They have none of them anything of themselves, like those sensible qualities by us perceived. We should not therefore pretend to affirm or know anything of them, as they are in their own nature.
(21) According to Hylas, even though we may have an appearance of a rock, what can’t we say about the rock itself?
Phil. But surely, Hylas, I can distinguish gold, for example, from iron: and how could this be, if I knew not what either truly was?
Hyl. Believe me, Philonous, you can only distinguish between your own ideas. That yellowness, that weight, and other sensible qualities, think you they are really in the gold? They are only relative to the senses, and have no absolute existence in nature. And in pretending to distinguish the species of real things, by the appearances in your mind, you may perhaps act as wisely as he that should conclude two men were of a different species, because their clothes were not of the same color.
Phil. It seems, then, we are altogether put off with the appearances of things, and those false ones too. The very meat I eat, and the cloth I wear, have nothing in them like what I see and feel.
Hyl. Even so.
Phil. But is it not strange the whole world should be thus imposed on, and so foolish as to believe their senses? And yet I know not how it is, but men eat, and drink, and sleep, and perform all the offices of life, as comfortably and conveniently as if they really knew the things they are conversant about.
Hyl. They do so: but you know ordinary practice does not require a nicety of speculative knowledge. Hence the vulgar retain their mistakes, and for all that make a shift to bustle through the affairs of life. But philosophers know better things.
Phil. You mean, they know that they know nothing.
Hyl. That is the very top and perfection of human knowledge.
Phil. But are you all this while in earnest, Hylas; and are you seriously persuaded that you know nothing real in the world? Suppose you are going to write, would you not call for pen, ink, and paper, like another man; and do you not know what it is you call for?
Hyl. How often must I tell you, that I know not the real nature of any one thing in the universe? I may indeed upon occasion make use of pen, ink, and paper. But what any one of them is in its own true nature, I declare positively I know not. And the same is true with regard to every, other corporeal thing. And, what is more, we are not only ignorant of the true and real nature of things, but even of their existence. It cannot be denied that we perceive such certain appearances or ideas; but it cannot be concluded from thence that bodies really exist. Nay, now I think on it, I must, agreeably to my former concessions, farther declare that it is impossible any real corporeal thing should exist in nature.
(22) As a skeptic for the time being, what things does Hylas claim that we cannot know?
Philonous continues by explaining the source of Hylas’s skepticism regarding an external reality.
Phil. You amaze me. Was ever anything more wild and extravagant than the notions you now maintain: and is it not evident you are led into all these extravagances by the belief of material substance? This makes you dream of those unknown natures in everything. It is this occasions your distinguishing between the reality and sensible appearances of things. It is to this you are indebted for being ignorant of what everybody else knows perfectly well. Nor is this all: you are not only ignorant of the true nature of everything, but you know not whether anything really exists, or whether there are any true natures at all; forasmuch as you attribute to your material beings an absolute or external existence, wherein you suppose their reality consists. And, as you are forced in the end to acknowledge such an existence means either a direct repugnancy, or nothing at all, it follows that you are obliged to pull down your own hypothesis of material Substance, and positively to deny the real existence of any part of the universe. And so you are plunged into the deepest and most deplorable skepticism that ever man was. Tell me, Hylas, is it not as I say?
(23) According to Philonous, why does Hylas fall into skepticism?
Hyl. I agree with you. Material substance was no more than an hypothesis; and a false and groundless one too. I will no longer spend my breath in defense of it. But whatever hypothesis you advance, or whatsoever scheme of things you introduce in its stead, I doubt not it will appear every whit as false: let me but be allowed to question you upon it. That is, suffer me to serve you in your own kind, and I warrant it shall conduct you through as many perplexities and contradictions, to the very same state of skepticism that I myself am in at present.
Common Sense Notion of External Sense Perceptions. Philonous argues that we should accept what our common sense tells us about external things as they appear to the senses. And our ordinary experiences tell us that external things are linked to our experiences of them.
Phil. I assure you, Hylas, I do not pretend to frame any hypothesis at all. I am of a vulgar cast, simple enough to believe my senses, and leave things as I find them. To be plain, it is my opinion that the real things are those very things I see, and feel, and perceive by my senses. These I know; and, finding they answer all the necessities and purposes of life, have no reason to be solicitous about any other unknown beings. A piece of sensible bread, for instance, would stay my stomach better than ten thousand times as much of that insensible, unintelligible, real bread you speak of. It is likewise my opinion that colors and other sensible qualities are on the objects. I cannot for my life help thinking that snow is white, and fire hot. You indeed, who by snow and fire mean certain external, unperceived, unperceiving substances, are in the right to deny whiteness or heat to be affections inherent in them. But I, who understand by those words the things I see and feel, am obliged to think like other folks. And, as I am no skeptic with regard to the nature of things, so neither am I as to their existence. That a thing should be really perceived by my senses, and at the same time not really exist, is to me a plain contradiction; since I cannot prescind or abstract, even in thought, the existence of a sensible thing from its being perceived. Wood, stones, fire, water, flesh, iron, and the like things, which I name and discourse of, are things that I know. And I should not have known them but that I perceived them by my senses; and things perceived by the senses are immediately perceived; and things immediately perceived are ideas; and ideas cannot exist without the mind; their existence therefore consists in being perceived; when, therefore, they are actually perceived there can be no doubt of their existence. Away then with all that skepticism, all those ridiculous philosophical doubts. What a jest is it for a philosopher to question the existence of sensible things, till he hath it proved to him from the veracity of God; or to pretend our knowledge in this point falls short of intuition or demonstration! I might as well doubt of my own being, as of the being of those things I actually see and feel.
Hyl. Not so fast, Philonous: you say you cannot conceive how sensible things should exist without the mind. Do you not?
Phil. I do.
(24) Concerning external things, Philonous maintains that “their existence therefore consists in being perceived.” What leads him to his conclusion?
God Sustains all Things. Although Hylas (now a skeptic) no longer defends the existence of matter, he still thinks Philonous’s idealism has flaws. He contends that it is unreasonable to think that an object disappears once we are through perceiving it. In the Principles Berkeley expresses this point as follows: “But, say you, surely there is nothing easier than for me to imagine trees, for instance, in a park, or books existing in a closet, and nobody by to perceive them” (Principles, 23).
Hyl. Supposing you were annihilated, cannot you conceive it possible that things perceivable by sense may still exist?
Phil. I can; but then it must be in another mind. When I deny sensible things an existence out of the mind, I do not mean my mind in particular, but all minds. Now, it is plain they have an existence exterior to my mind; since I find them by experience to be independent of it. There is therefore some other Mind wherein they exist, during the intervals between the times of my perceiving them: as likewise they did before my birth, and would do after my supposed annihilation. And, as the same is true with regard to all other finite created spirits, it necessarily follows there is an omnipresent eternal Mind, which knows and comprehends all things, and exhibits them to our view in such a manner, and according to such rules, as He Himself hath ordained, and are by us termed the laws of nature.
(25) Why do things continue to exist when we are no longer there to perceive them?
Our Idea of God. Hylas next contends that we have no idea of God, hence we cannot conceive of things existing in his mind. Philonous replies that we have an idea of ourselves; when we strip away the imperfections in this idea, we then have some idea of an active thinking God.
Hyl. Answer me, Philonous. Are all our ideas perfectly inert beings? Or have they any agency included in them?
Phil. They are altogether passive and inert.
Hyl. And is not God an agent, a being purely active?
Phil. I acknowledge it.
Hyl. No idea therefore can be like unto, or represent the nature of God?
Phil. It cannot.
Hyl. Since therefore you have no idea of the mind of God, how can you conceive it possible that things should exist in His mind? Or, if you can conceive the mind of God, without having an idea of it, why may not I be allowed to conceive the existence of Matter, notwithstanding I have no idea of it?
Phil. As to your first question: I own I have properly no idea, either of God or any other spirit; for these being active, cannot be represented by things perfectly inert, as our ideas are. I do nevertheless know that 1, who am a spirit or thinking substance, exist as certainly a s I know my ideas exist. Farther, I know what I mean by the terms I and myself; and I know this immediately or intuitively, though I do not perceive it as I perceive a triangle, a color, or a sound. The Mind, Spirit, or Soul is that indivisible unextended thing which thinks, acts, and perceives. I say indivisible, because unextended; and unextended, because extended, figured, moveable things are ideas; and that which perceives ideas, which thinks and wills, is plainly itself no idea, nor like an idea. Ideas are things inactive, and perceived. And Spirits a sort of beings altogether different from them. I do not therefore say my soul is an idea, or like an idea.
(26) What are some attributes of mental or spiritual things?
However, taking the word idea in a large sense, my soul may be said to furnish me with an idea, that is, an image or likeness of God – though indeed extremely inadequate. For, all the notion I have of God is obtained by reflecting on my own soul, heightening its powers, and removing its imperfections. I have, therefore, though not an inactive idea, yet in myself some sort of an active thinking image of the Deity. And, though I perceive Him not by sense, yet I have a notion of Him, or know Him by reflection and reasoning. My own mind and my own ideas I have an immediate knowledge of; and, by the help of these, do mediately apprehend the possibility of the existence of other spirits and ideas. Farther, from my own being, and from the dependency I find in myself and my ideas, I do, by an act of reason, necessarily infer the existence of a God, and of all created things in the mind of God. So much for your first question.
(27) Where does our idea of God come from?
For the second: I suppose by this time you can answer it yourself. For you neither perceive Matter objectively, as you do an inactive being or idea; nor know it, as you do yourself, by a reflex act, neither do you mediately apprehend it by similitude of the one or the other; nor yet collect it by reasoning from that which you know immediately. All which makes the case of Matter widely different from that of the Deity.
Difference Between Spiritual and Material Substance. Hylas next asks, if we can conceive of spiritual substances without having a distinct idea of it (e.g. God or ourselves), why can’t we conceive of matter in the same way?
Hyl. You say your own soul supplies you with some sort of an idea or image of God. But, at the same time, you acknowledge you have, properly speaking, no idea of your own soul. You even affirm that spirits are a sort of beings altogether different from ideas. Consequently that no idea can be like a spirit. We have therefore no idea of any spirit. You admit nevertheless that there is spiritual Substance, although you have no idea of it; while you deny there can be such a thing as material Substance, because you have no notion or idea of it. Is this fair dealing? To act consistently, you must either admit Matter or reject Spirit. What say you to this?
Philonous replies noting two differences between asserting the existence of matter, and asserting the existence of spirit.
I say, in the first place, that I do not deny the existence of material substance, merely because I have no notion of it’ but because the notion of it is inconsistent; or, in other words, because it is repugnant that there should be a notion of it. Many things, for aught I know, may exist, whereof neither I nor any other man hath or can have any idea or notion whatsoever. But then those things must be possible, that is, nothing inconsistent must be included in their definition. I say, secondly, that, although we believe things to exist which we do not perceive, yet we may not believe that any particular thing exists, without some reason for such belief: but I have no reason for believing the existence of Matter. I have no immediate intuition thereof: neither can I immediately from my sensations, ideas, notions, actions, or passions, infer an unthinking, unperceiving, inactive Substance – either by probable deduction, or necessary consequence. Whereas the being of my Self, that is, my own soul, mind, or thinking principle, I evidently know by reflection.
(28) The first difference between the concepts of matter and spirit is that the notion of matter is “repugnant,” or internally inconsistent. He clarifies this below. The second difference is that there is no basis whatever for the idea of matter. What is the basis of his idea of spirit?
You will forgive me if I repeat the same things in answer to the same objections. In the very notion or definition of material Substance, there is included a manifest repugnance and inconsistency. But this cannot be said of the notion of Spirit. That ideas should exist in what doth not perceive, or be produced by what doth not act, is repugnant. But, it is no repugnancy to say that a perceiving thing should be the subject of ideas, or an active thing the cause of them.
(29) What specifically is repugnant or internally inconsistent about the notion of matter?
It is granted we have neither an immediate evidence nor a demonstrative knowledge of the existence of other finite spirits; but it will not thence follow that such spirits are on a foot with material substances: if to suppose the one be inconsistent, and it be not inconsistent to suppose the other; if the one can be inferred by no argument, and there is a probability for the other; if we see signs and effects indicating distinct finite agents like ourselves, and see no sign or symptom whatever that leads to a rational belief of Matter. I say, lastly, that I have a notion of Spirit, though I have not, strictly speaking, an idea of it. I do not perceive it as an idea, or by means of an idea, but know it by reflection.
Unified Self. Anticipating Hume’s famous discussion of personal identity, Hylas maintains that the “self” for Philonous reduces to a series of disconnected perceptions.
Hyl. Notwithstanding all you have said, to me it seems that, according to your own way of thinking, and in consequence of your own principles, it should follow that you are only a system of floating ideas, without any substance to support them. Words are not to be used without a meaning. And, as there is no more meaning in spiritual Substance than in material Substance, the one is to be exploded as well as the other.
Phil. How often must I repeat, that I know or am conscious of my own being; and that I myself am not my ideas, but somewhat else, a thinking, active principle that perceives, knows, wills, and operates about ideas. I know that I, one and the same self, perceive both colors and sounds: that a color cannot perceive a sound, nor a sound a color: that I am therefore one individual principle, distinct from color and sound; and, for the same reason, from aft other sensible things and inert ideas. But, I am not in like manner conscious either of the existence or essence of Matter. On the contrary, I know that nothing inconsistent can exist, and that the existence of Matter implies an inconsistency. Farther, I know what I mean when I affirm that there is a spiritual substance or support of ideas, that is, that a spirit knows and perceives ideas. But, I do not know what is meant when it is said that an unperceiving substance hath inherent in it and supports either ideas or the archetypes of ideas. There is therefore upon the whole no parity of case between Spirit and Matter.
(30) Why does Philonous believe that he is “one individual principle” distinct from the specific colors and sounds which he perceives?
Idealism and Common Sense. Hylas believes that the average person would deny that existence is being perceived. Philonous replies that the average person would say he believes that a tree exists because he can see it.
Hyl. I own myself satisfied in this point. But, do you in earnest think the real existence of sensible things consists in their being actually perceived? If so; how comes it that all mankind distinguish between them? Ask the first man you meet, and he shall tell you, to be perceived is one thing, and to exist is another.
Phil. I am content, Hylas, to appeal to the common sense of the world for the truth of my notion. Ask the gardener why he thinks yonder cherry-tree exists in the garden, and he shall tell you, because he sees and feels it; in a word, because he perceives it by his senses. Ask him why he thinks an orange-tree not to be there, and he shall tell you, because he does not perceive it. What he perceives by sense, that he terms a real, being, and saith it is or exists; but, that which is not perceivable, the same, he saith, hath no being.
Hyl. Yes, Philonous, I grant the existence of a sensible thing consists in being perceivable, but not in being actually perceived.
Phil. And what is perceivable but an idea? And can an idea exist without being actually perceived? These are points long since agreed between us.
Hyl. But, be your opinion never so true, yet surely you will not deny it is shocking, and contrary to the common sense of men. Ask the fellow whether yonder tree hath an existence out of his mind: what answer think you he would make?
Phil. The same that I should myself, to wit, that it doth exist out of his mind. But then to a Christian it cannot surely be shocking to say, the real tree, existing without his mind, is truly known and comprehended by (that is exists in) the infinite mind of God. Probably he may not at first glance be aware of the direct and immediate proof there is of this; inasmuch as the very being of a tree, or any other sensible thing, implies a mind wherein it is. But the point itself he cannot deny. The question between the Materialists and me is not, whether things have a real existence out of the mind of this or that person, but whether they have an absolute existence, distinct from being perceived by God, and exterior to all minds. This indeed some heathens and philosophers have affirmed, but whoever entertains notions of the Deity suitable to the Holy Scriptures will be of another opinion.
(31) According to Philonous, where does the “real” tree exist?
Distinguishing Dreaming from Waking. Hylas contends dreams and reality are equally dependent upon the mind, thus idealism cannot distinguish between the two. Philonous replies that dreams and products of the imagination are faint, and depend on the will. Sense impressions are more lively and do not depend on the will.
Hyl. But, according to your notions, what difference is there between real things, and chimeras formed by the imagination, or the visions of a dream – since they are all equally in the mind?
Phil. The ideas formed by the imagination are faint and indistinct; they have, besides, an entire dependence on the will. But the ideas perceived by sense, that is, real things, are more vivid and clear; and, being imprinted on the mind by a spirit distinct from us, have not the like dependence on our will. There is therefore no danger of confounding these with the foregoing: and there is as little of confounding them with the visions of a dream, which are dim, irregular, and confused. And, though they should happen to be never so lively and natural, yet, by their not being connected, and of a piece with the preceding and subsequent transactions of our lives, they might easily be distinguished from realities. In short, by whatever method you distinguish things from chimeras on your scheme, the same, it is evident, will hold also upon mine. For, it must be, I presume, by some perceived difference; and I am not for depriving you of any one thing that you perceive.
Hyl. But still, Philonous, you hold, there is nothing in the world but spirits and ideas. And this, you must needs acknowledge, sounds very oddly.
Phil. I own the word idea, not being commonly used for thing, sounds something out of the way. My reason for using it was, because a necessary relation to the mind is understood to be implied by that term; and it is now commonly used by philosophers to denote the immediate objects of the understanding. But, however oddly the proposition may sound in words, yet it includes nothing so very strange or shocking in its sense; which in effect amounts to no more than this, to wit, that there are only things perceiving, and things perceived; or that every unthinking being is necessarily, and from -the very nature of its existence, perceived by some mind; if not by a finite created mind, yet certainly by the infinite mind of God, in whom “we five, and move, and have our being.” Is this as strange as to say, the sensible qualities are not on the objects: or that we cannot be sure of the existence of things, or know any thing of their real natures – though we both see and feel them, and perceive them by all our senses?
(32) What does Philonous mean by the word “idea”?
Extravagance of Denying Corporeal Causes. Hylas argues that idealism is too extravagant insofar as it denies the reality of external, physical causes. Philonous responds that it is more extravagant to say that an inert thing operates on the mind. Further, the scriptures represent God as the sole and immediate author of all things.
Hyl. And, in consequence of this, must we not think there are no such things as physical or corporeal causes; but that a Spirit is the immediate cause of all the phenomena in nature? Can there be anything more extravagant than this?
Phil. Yes, it is infinitely more extravagant to say – a thing which is inert operates on the mind, and which is unperceiving is the cause of our perceptions, without any regard either to consistency, or the old known axiom, Nothing can give to another that which it hath not itself. Besides, that which to you, I know not for what reason, seems so extravagant is no more than the Holy Scriptures assert in a hundred places. In them God is represented as the sole and immediate Author of all those effects which some heathens and philosophers are wont to ascribe to Nature, Matter, Fate, or the like unthinking principle. This is so much the constant language of Scripture that it were needless to confirm it by citations.
God as the Cause of Evil. Hylas implies that if God was the cause of all our perceptions, then God would be the immediate cause of evil conduct – or at least a co-conspirator along with us. Philonous counters that if God was a mediator between matter and mind, then he would be responsible for evil; but God is not a mediator. Further, evil does not consist of outward actions, but inward attitudes; the same action may be good or bad depending on the motive. Evil, then, rests in our human motives, not in God’s role as the source of our perceptions
Hyl. You are not aware, Philonous, that in making God the immediate Author of all the motions in nature, you make Him the Author of murder, sacrilege, adultery, and the like heinous sins.
Phil. In answer to that, I observe, first, that the imputation of guilt is the same, whether a person commits an action with or without an instrument. In case therefore you suppose God to act by the mediation of an instrument or occasion, called Matter, you as truly make Him the author of sin as I, who think Him the immediate agent in all those operations vulgarly ascribed to Nature. I farther observe that sin or moral turpitude doth not consist in the outward physical action or motion, but in the internal deviation of the will from the laws of reason and religion. This is plain, in that the killing an enemy in a battle, or putting a criminal legally to death, is not thought sinful; though the outward act be the very same with that in the case of murder. Since, therefore, sin doth not consist in the physical action, the making God an immediate cause of all such actions is not making Him the Author of sin. Lastly, I have nowhere said that God is the only agent who produces all the motions in bodies. It is true I have denied there are any other agents besides spirits; but this is very consistent with allowing to thinking rational beings, in the production of motions, the use of limited powers, ultimately indeed derived from God, but immediately under the direction of their own wills, which is sufficient to entitle them to all the guilt of their actions.
(33) On Philonous’s view, only spirits exist, and God interjects perceptions of external things in the minds of human spirits. What type of “motion” (or mental activity) is within the power of humans?
Consensus Against Idealism. Hylas suggests that a survey would show that most people affirm material existence. Philonous replies that if the questions were worded impartially, people would deny matter in favor of idealism.
Hyl. But the denying Matter, Philonous, or corporeal Substance; there is the point. You can never persuade me that this is not repugnant to the universal sense of mankind. Were our dispute to be determined by most voices, I am confident you would give up the point, without gathering the votes.
Phil. I wish both our opinions were fairly stated and submitted to the judgment of men who had plain common sense, without the prejudices of a learned education. Let me be represented as one who trusts his senses, who thinks he knows the things he sees and feels, and entertains no doubts of their existence; and you fairly set forth with all your doubts, your paradoxes, and your skepticism about you, and I shall willingly acquiesce in the determination of any indifferent person. That there is no substance wherein ideas can exist beside spirit is to me evident. And that the objects immediately perceived are ideas, is on all hands agreed. And that sensible qualities are objects immediately perceived no one can deny. It is therefore evident there can be no substratum of those qualities but spirit; in which they exist, not by way of mode or property, but as a thing perceived in that which perceives it. I deny therefore that there is any unthinking-substratum of the objects of sense, and in that acceptation that there is any material substance. But if by material substance is meant only sensible body, that which is seen and felt (and the unphilosophical part of the world, I dare say, mean no more) – then I am more certain of matter’s existence than you or any other philosopher pretend to be. If there be anything which makes ,die generality of mankind averse from the notions I espouse, it is a misapprehension that I deny the reality of sensible things. But, as it is you who are guilty of that, and not 1, it follows that in truth their aversion is against your notions and not mine. I do therefore assert that I am as certain as of my own being, that there are bodies or corporeal substances (meaning the things I perceive by my senses); and that, granting this, the bulk of mankind will take no thought about, nor think themselves at all concerned in the fate of those unknown natures, and philosophical quiddities, which some men are so fond of.
(34) For the sake of argument, Philonous states that he would agree to the existence of material substance if the term “material substance” were defined according what we actually perceive. What is that definition of “material substance”?
Idealism and Optical Illusions. Hylas argues that idealism cannot explain optical illusions since people judge reality by their senses and we can’t be mistaken about our perceptions. Philonous explains that an error in judgment occurs when we connect the ideas we apprehend to those immediately perceived. That is, we err by assuming that all perceptions of the same event (even up close) would be represented in the same way.
Hyl. What say you to this? Since, according to you, men judge of the reality of things by their senses, how can a man be mistaken in thinking the moon a plain lucid surface, about a foot in diameter; or a square tower, seen at a distance, round; or an oar, with one end in the water, crooked?
Phil. He is not mistaken with regard to the ideas he actually perceives, but in the inference he makes from his present perceptions. Thus, in the case of the oar, what he immediately perceives by sight is certainly crooked; and so far he is in the right. But if he thence conclude that upon taking the oar out of the water he shall perceive the same crookedness; or that it would affect his touch as crooked things are wont to do: in that he is mistaken. In like manner, if he shall conclude from what he perceives in one station, that, in case he advances towards the moon or tower, he should still be affected with the like ideas, he is mistaken. But his mistake lies not in what he perceives immediately, and at present, (it being a manifest contradiction to suppose he should err in respect of that) but in the wrong judgment he makes concerning the ideas he apprehends to be connected with those immediately perceived: or, concerning the ideas that, from what he perceives at present, he imagines would be perceived in other circumstances. The case is the same with regard to the Copernican system. We do not here perceive any motion of the earth: but it were erroneous thence to conclude, that, in case we were placed at as great a distance from that as we are now from the other planets, we should not then perceive its motion.
(35) According to the Copernican system, the Earth is constantly moving, even though we don’t perceive that motion. How does this fact illustrate Philonous’s point that perceptions of an object will not be present in differing circumstances?
C. DAVID HUME
Scottish philosopher David Hume (1711-1776) was born into a moderately wealthy aristocratic family near Edinburgh. Like many other philosophers, Hume was educated in the field of law, but abandoned this in favor of philosophical pursuits. Because of his father’s early death – and the fact that he was not the oldest son and principal inheritor – much of Hume’s adult life was preoccupied with gaining an independent income. In his brief autobiography Of My Life, written just before his death, Hume chronicles the slow but progressive increase of his wealth over the years. Like Berkeley, Hume published his most important philosophical work while he was still in his twenties: A Treatise of Human Nature (1739-40). In spite of the Treatise’s importance in the history of philosophy, it did poorly when it first came out, selling only a few dozen copies. In Hume’s own words, the Treatise “fell dead born from the press.” The work revealed his affinity with the Pyrrhonian skeptical tradition, and those who did read the Treatise accused him of universal skepticism, atheism, and undermining the foundations of morality. Although these attacks are a little strong, they established Hume’s reputation as a skeptic. On two occasions he applied for a university teaching post, and in each case he was turned down as his reputation preceded him. He thus focused on his writing career, occasionally taking administrative posts with the British military. Shortly after the failure of the Treatise, he published a collection of light essays. About a decade later — still largely unknown in the literary world – Hume wrote the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748) and the Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (1751) as an attempt to produce a shorter and more popular account of his views. Within three years after the publication of the first Enquiry, Hume was famous throughout Europe as a champion of skepticism. Hume continued publishing a collection of political essays, as six volume history of Great Britain, and some controversial works on the subject of religion, most notably his posthumously published Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion (1779). Paradoxically, Hume’s sober skeptical views did not carry over into his active social life. His sharp sense of humor and friendly personality made him desirable company in both British and French intellectual circles. Hume eventually came to reject the Treatise as an immature work, and wished to have his philosophical views represented by his later writings. Indeed, throughout the 18th and most of the 19th century, the Treatise was ignored in favor of the two Enquiries.
SECTION 2: OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS
The starting point for Hume’s philosophy is his distinction between various mental events. His distinctions assume many of Locke’s key notions, such as those between sensation and reflection, or simple and complex ideas. Distinctions which took Locke one hundred pages to explain, Hume outlines here in just a few pages. Nevertheless, in this short section Hume lays the foundation for the remaining sections of the Enquiry.
Ideas And Impressions. Hume opens by noting a general distinction between two types of mental events: ideas (thoughts) and impressions (feelings).
Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigor, is, that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistinguishable. All the colors of poetry, however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation.
We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colors which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in which our original perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.
(1) Give some of Hume’s examples of thoughts vs. feelings.
For Hume, perceptions are of two types: ideas (or thoughts), and impressions (feelings). An initial feature which distinguishes ideas from impressions is that ideas are less lively than impressions. This can be referred to as Hume’s liveliness thesis.
Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other species want a name in our language, and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned.
(2) What does Hume mean by the term “impression”?
An important difference between Locke and Hume is the use of the term “idea.” For Locke, ideas referred to all mental events, including sensations, thoughts, memories, and emotions. In the opening of the Treatise Hume writes that “Mr. Locke had perverted it [i.e., the term “idea”] in making it stand for all our perceptions.” Hume prefers the general term “perception” to Locke’s term “idea” and initially outlines all mental events as follows:
Ideas
Perceptions <
Impressions
Copy Thesis. Hume next argues that the content of all ideas is ultimately copied from impressions. This is commonly called Hume’s copy thesis.
Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of man, which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the thought can in an instant transport us into the most distant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute contradiction.
But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from our outward or inward sentiment: The mixture and composition of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones.
(3) At first it appears that our ideas are boundless insofar as they can have anything as their subject. However, what restricts the subject matter of our ideas?
(4) What is the source of an idea we may have of a golden mountain?
In the above paragraph, Hume notes that “all the materials of thinking are derived either from our outward or inward sentiment.” In the Treatise (and later in the Enquiry) he describes this as a distinction between impressions of sensation and those of reflection:
Ideas
Perceptions < Sensations (outward)
Impressions <
Reflection (inward)
This distinction clearly follows Locke who described ideas of sensation as sense perceptions, and those of reflection as ideas we have when reflecting on our own mental operations. In the Treatise, Hume reduces impressions of reflection to emotions, such as desire, aversion, hope and fear. In the Enquiry, however, he returns in part to Locke’s more general account of “reflection” as impressions we get from reflecting on our mental operations. In the paragraph below, Hume also makes use of Locke’s distinction between simple and complex ideas. In the Treatise he defines them as follows: “Simple perceptions or impressions and ideas are such as admit of no distinction nor separation. The complex are the contrary to these, and may be distinguished into parts.” The simple/complex distinction is less central to Hume’s discussion than it is to Locke’s. Hume continues by offering two proofs of his copy thesis.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to what length we please; where we shall always find, that every idea which we examine is copied from a similar impression. Those who would assert that this position is not universally true nor without exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception, which corresponds to it.
(5) What is Hume’s first argument in defense of the copy thesis?
Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find that he is as little susceptible of the correspondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colors; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negroe has no notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess many senses of which we can have no conception; because the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.
(6) What is Hume’s second argument in defense of the copy thesis?
The Missing Shade Of Blue. In Book 2:2:2 of his Essay Locke argues that simple ideas cannot be created by one’s mind. Locke then offers the following challenge: “I would have anyone try to fancy any taste which had never affected his palate, or frame the idea of a scent he had never smelt.” Although Hume agrees in principle with Locke’s position about simple ideas, he accepts Locke’s challenge and explains how we might get a simple idea that doesn’t come from an immediate experience.
There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct ideas of color, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of different colors, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same color; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a color insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly acquainted with colors of all kinds except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that color, except that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous color than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion that he can: And this may serve as a proof that the simple ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the correspondent impressions; though this instance is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
(7) Hume finds one exception to his claim that all ideas are ultimately derived from impressions. What is this exception?
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure: The mind has but a slender hold of them: They are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any term, though without a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a determinate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid: The limits between them are more exactly determined: Nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, <from what impression is that supposed idea derived>? And if it be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, concerning their nature and reality.
(8) On the basis of his copy thesis, Hume formulates a rule by which to determine the meaning of any proposition or idea. What is his rule of meaning.
SECTION 3: OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
Consider the various ideas that float through our minds in a short amount of time. I might visualize my vacation last summer in the Bahamas, then think about my office computer, then the man who cleans my office, then my uncle Pete. It might seem as though my stream of ideas are disconnected. Hume thinks otherwise, and in this section argues that three basic principles of association connect the flow of all ideas. They are resemblance, contiguity (or nearness in space or time), and cause/effect. Hume’s theory is part of a larger movement in the history of philosophy and psychology called associationism. Aristotle first suggested that the principles of similarity, contrast, and contiguity connect our thoughts. Locke introduced the phrase “association of ideas” to explain this phenomenon, and over the next 150 British philosophers quarreled over the exact number of principles.
The Three Principles Of Association. Hume argues that there is regularity to our thoughts both with serious and fanciful thinking.
It is evident that there is a principle of connection between the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that in their appearance to the memory or imagination, they introduce each other with a certain degree of method and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse this is so observable that any particular thought, which breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still a connection upheld among the different ideas, which succeeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversation to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed something which connected it in all its transitions. Or where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least connection or communication, it is found, that the words, expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly correspond to each other: A certain proof that the simple ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound together by some universal principle, which had an equal influence on all mankind.
(1) According to Hume, what would we find if we transcribed the loosest and freest conversation?
Hume continues by offering three principles of association of ideas, and briefly illustrating each.
Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that different ideas are connected together; I do not find that any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three principles of connection among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.
That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original [i.e., resemblance]: the mention of one apartment in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse concerning the others [i.e., contiguity]: and if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it [i.e., causality]. But that this enumeration is complete, and that there are no other principles of association except these, may be difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even to a man’s own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases, is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the principle which binds the different thoughts to each other, never stopping till we render the principle as general as possible. The more instances we examine, and the more care we employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is complete and entire.
(2) Give Hume’s illustrations of his three principles of association.
(3) What is Hume’s proof that resemblance, contiguity and cause and effect are the only three means of associating ideas?
SECTION 7: OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNECTION
Since Aristotle, Philosophers believed that the concept of causality was essential to our understanding of the world. The importance of the principle of causality is also evident in theology insofar as it provided an important avenue to our knowledge of God, as formulated in cosmological proofs for God’s existence. Descartes believed that the idea of causality was innate, or implanted in us at birth by God. As an empiricist, Hume did not accept this explanation and argued instead that the idea of causality traces back to experience. In his Treatise, Hume explains that causality is a complex idea which is made up of three more foundational ideas: (1) priority, (2) proximity, and (3) necessary connection. Concerning priority, if we say that event A causes event B, one thing we mean is that A is prior to B. If B were to occur before A, then it would be absurd to say that A was the cause of B. Concerning the idea of proximity, if we say that A causes B, then we mean that B is in proximity with (or close to) A. For example, if I throw a rock, and at that moment someone’s window in China breaks. I would not conclude that my rock broke a window on the other side of the world since The broken window and the rock must be in proximity with each other. Priority and proximity alone, however, do not make up our entire notion of causality. For example, if I sneeze and the lights go out, I would not conclude that my sneeze was the cause, even though the conditions of priority and proximity were fulfilled. We also believe that there is a necessary connection between cause A and effect B. During the modern period of philosophy, philosophers thought of necessary connection as a power or force connecting two events. When billiard ball A strikes billiard ball B, there is a power that the one event imparts to the other. In keeping with his empiricist copy thesis (i.e., all ideas are copied from impressions), Hume tries to uncover the experiences that give rise to our notions of priority, proximity, and necessary connection. The first two are easy to explain. Priority traces back to our various experiences of time. Proximity traces back to our various experiences of space. But what is the experience that gives us the idea of necessary connection? Hume addresses that question in this section of the Enquiry.
Hume opens his discussion explaining the general importance of clarifying key philosophical terms, one of which is the idea of necessary connection.
There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary connection, of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore, endeavor in this section to fix, if possible, the precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species of philosophy.
Determining the Meaning of an Idea. As noted in Section 2 of the Enquiry, the meaning of any idea is determined by the impressions from which the idea was formed. So, to determine the meaning of the idea of necessary connection, Hume investigates various impressions that may have formed this idea.
It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dispute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses. I have endeavored to explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas, may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still more ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and render them altogether precise and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the impressions or original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their correspondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry.
(3) Suppose that we explain a complex idea in terms of the simple ideas that make it up. What should we then do to explain those simple ideas especially if they are obscure?
Proposed Plan. It was also noted in Section 2 that there are two kinds of impressions: those of sensation (external) and those of reflection (internal). Hume’s strategy for defining “necessary connection,” then, is to determine if either of these two kinds of impressions produced the idea of a necessary connection. In the second paragraph below, he foreshadows the outcome of his investigation?
To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connection, let us examine its impression; and in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived.
When we look about us towards external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connection; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard- ball is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects: Consequently, there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary connection.
(4) What does Hume expect to find when he searches for the origin of our idea of necessary connection among impressions of sensation (outward) and impressions of reflection (inward)?
Sense Perceptions. Hume begins the quest for the source of our idea of necessary connection by examining various impressions of sensation (outward). Locke our idea of necessary connection comes from simply observing causal activity in the external world. Hume quickly sees Locke’s explanation as a dead end.
From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by mere dint of thought and reasoning.
(5) What is Hume’s point above about our inability to predict effects without directly experiencing those effects?
In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are continually shifting, and one object follows another in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body. We know that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame; but what is the connection between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any power, which can be the original of this idea.
(6) How does Hume’s example of heat and flame show that there is no specific sense perception from which we get the idea of necessary connection?
Various Impressions Of Reflection. Since impressions of sensation (outward) fail as a source of our idea of necessary connection, Hume turns next to examine possible impressions of reflection (inward) which might account for the origin of this idea. As noted in Section 2 of the Enquiry, Hume follows Locke’s account of an impression of reflection, which is an experience we have when reflecting on our own mental operations. For both Locke and Hume, humans have a variety of mental faculties which help us process ideas, such as our memory, imagination, reasoning, and our will. We directly experience these mental faculties and get impressions from them. Philosophers before Hume suggested that various impressions of our internal mental operations might be the source of our idea of necessary connection. Hume examines four such impressions, and ultimately rejects them all. The two impressions he proposes to examine involve our wills: we experience a distinct impression when we willfully command parts of our body to move (such as our fingers), or when we willfully conjure up an idea
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connection, by their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination. This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.
Willful Bodily Motion Hypothesis. Locke believed that the idea of necessary connection could trace back to the impression of reflection we experience when we will a bodily motion. Hume rejects this explanation since we don’t have a precise experience of our wills in action. He defends his objection with three arguments.
We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only by experience, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry.
Hume’s first argument is based on the fact that we do not know the secret union between the soul and body.
For first, is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul with body, by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered by a secret wish to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit, this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power. We must know its connection with the effect. We must know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both these substances, by which the one is able to operate in so many instances upon the other.
(7) According to Hume, if we were conscious of the precise power of willful bodily motion, what would that enable us to know?
Hume’s argument above can be summarized as follows:
(a) If the experience of willful bodily motion is the source of our idea of necessary connection, then we would know the secret union between mind and body.
(b) It is not the case that we know the secret union between mind and body.
(c) Therefore it is not the case that this feeling is the source of our idea of necessary connection
Hume’s remaining arguments follow the above model. His second argument is based on the fact that we can’t fully explain why we can willfully move some parts of our bodies, such as our arms, and not others, such as our hearts. Hume undoubtedly recognizes that an anatomist could give us the answer by showing us the presence of various nerves. However, if we had a genuine internal experience of willful bodily motion, we could understand this without appealing to the anatomist.
The Resistive Force Hypothesis. Locke argued that our idea of solidity is based on the experience we have when we meet with a resistive physical force, such as pressing one’s hand against a wall. As a variation on the willful bodily motion hypothesis, Hume considers that the experience of a resistive force might be a source of our idea of necessary connection. For two reasons Hume does not believe that this experience adequately explains the idea of necessary connection. First, things which don’t have physical resistance (such as God and nonphysical minds) are said to have causal power. So, at best, this is an incomplete explanation. Second, the only connection resistance has with power is known by experience. (Hume presents the following paragraph as a footnote to his discussion of the willful bodily motion hypothesis).
It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging us frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong endeavor, of which we are conscious, that is the original impression from which this idea is copied. But, first, we attribute power to a vast number of objects, where we never can suppose this resistance or exertion of force to take place; to the Supreme Being, who never meets with any resistance; to the mind in its command over its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the effect follows immediately upon the will, without any exertion or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not capable of this sentiment. Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavor to overcome resistance has no known connection with any event: What follows it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori. It must, however, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which we experience, though it can afford no accurate precise idea of power, enters very much into that vulgar, inaccurate idea, which is formed by it.
(10) What does Hume concede about the “animal nisus” (or strong endeavor)?
Thought Control Hypothesis. Malebranche discussed the view that people have the power within themselves to willfully produce ideas. For example, if I wish to think about an idea of an elephant, then the image of an elephant appears in my mind. Malebranche rejected the contention that we have such an ability without God’s help. Nevertheless, Hume considers this experience of thought control as a possible source of our idea of necessary connection. Hume rejects this explanation for three reasons, similar to those presented above. First, if we had a genuine experience of causal power through thought control, then we would know the precise connection between our minds and the ideas that we conjure up. However, the connection between the two is far from evident to us.
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the contemplation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy.
First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the effect: For these are supposed to be synonymous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the other? This is a real creation; a production of something out of nothing: Which implies a power so great, that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the will: But the manner, in which this operation is performed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
(11) According to Hume, when we conjure up an idea, what is mere event that we feel?
Hume continues arguing that one’s willful power over mental events is limited, and if we actually experienced the power of thought control we would know why.
A Final Explanation. So far Hume has rejected impressions of sensation (outward) as the possible source of our idea of necessary connection, and four possible impressions of reflection (inward). Hume repeats his theory of meaning: if we can find no impression which serves as the basis of our idea of necessary connection, then the term “necessary connection” is meaningless. All we witness one event following another, but we have no conception of a causal power connecting such events.
But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length: We have sought in vain for an idea of power or necessary connection in all the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing but one event following another, without being able to comprehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or any connection between it and its supposed effect. The same difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on body – where we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: So that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one instance of connection which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of connection or power at all, and that these words are absolutely, without any meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.
(21) According to Hume, all we can say is that events are conjoined, but not connected. What is the difference between the two?
Habitual Feeling of Expectation from Observing Constant Conjunction. Before accepting the above conclusion, Hume examines one final type of impression of reflection: a feeling of expectation which habitually results from observing two constantly conjoined events. The first step in creating of this feeling is the observation of two events, one which always follows the other.
But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object which is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment where we have observed a particular event to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some connection between them; some power in the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.
(22) According to Hume, under what condition do we call one event a cause, and another event an effect?
The second step in creating this feeling is that we instinctively form a habit by which we come to expect the second event every time we see the first.
It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connection among events arises from a number of similar instances which occur of the constant conjunction of these events; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist. This connection, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of power or necessary connection. Nothing farther is in the case. Contemplate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of connection, and a number of similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard-balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was connected: But only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed several instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of connection? Nothing but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only that they have acquired a connection in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they become proofs of each other’s existence: A conclusion 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 skeptical suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to skepticism than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity.
(22) Hume argues that the first time someone saw billiard ball A move billiard ball B, the most that person could say is that A and B are merely conjoined. What else must happen for that person to say that A and B are causally connected?
Two Definitions of Causality. Hume emphasizes how foundational the notion of causality is to any kind of empirical reasoning and scientific inquiry. Ironically, it is difficult to give any precise definition to the notion of causality. In view of the above analysis of the idea of necessary connection, he offers two definitions of causality. The first hinges on the constant conjunction of two events A, and B. The second hinges on the habitual feeling to expect B whenever A arises.
And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the present. For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which are removed from the present testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed about this relation: Yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to the first are followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may, therefore, suitably to this experience, form another definition of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumstances in the cause, which gives it a connection with its effect. We have no idea of this connection, nor even any distant notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavor at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds; or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it.
(23) In view of everything that he has argued, what are the two ways Hume defines “causality”?
SECTION 8: OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY. In section 8 of the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Hume looks at the age old debate between free will and determinism (or liberty and necessity). Hume argues that free will and determinism are compatible concepts, so long as both concepts are defined properly. Determinism, he believes, is a fact: all human action is causally determined by prior motivations. If "liberty" means the ability to act contrary to our motives, then we simply have no liberty. However, Hume defines liberty in a much more narrow sense as acting in accord with our motivations. Defined this way, necessity and liberty are compatible concepts.
THE NATURE OF THE DISPUTE. Hume opens by emphasizing the need to define philosophical terms carefully. The dispute between liberty and necessity, he believes, owes to poorly defined terms.
Resolving Disputes though Precise Definition. Hume believes that some philosophical disputes are needlessly perpetuated over the ages simply because the key concepts of the dispute have not been carefully defined. He believes this is the case with the dispute between liberty and necessity, and he proposes to resolve the dispute by properly defining the terms.
It might reasonably be expected in questions which have been canvassed and disputed with great eagerness since the first origin of science and philosophy, that the meaning of all the terms, at least, should have been agreed upon among the disputants; and [that] our inquiries, in the course of two thousand years, [have] been able to pass from words to the true and real subject of the controversy. For how easy may it seem to give exact definitions of the terms employed in reasoning, and make these definitions (not the mere sound of words) the object of future scrutiny and examination? But if we consider the matter more narrowly, we shall be apt to draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance alone, that a controversy has been long kept on foot and remains still undecided, we may presume that there is some ambiguity in the expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas to the terms employed in the controversy. For as the faculties of the mind are supposed to be naturally alike in every individual (otherwise nothing could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together), it were impossible, if people affix the same ideas to their terms, that they could so long form different opinions of the same subject; especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn themselves on all sides in search of arguments which may give them the victory over their antagonists. It is true, if people attempt the discussion of questions which lie entirely beyond the reach of human capacity (such as those concerning the origin of worlds, or the economy of the intellectual system or region of spirits) they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and never arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the question regard any subject of common life and experience, nothing, one would think, could preserve the dispute so long undecided but some ambiguous expressions, which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and hinder them from grappling with each other.
(1) Hume notes that questions which reach beyond human capacity may never be resolved. How, though, might we resolve questions that fall within the range of common life?
This has been the case in the long disputed question concerning liberty and necessity; and to so remarkable a degree that, if I be not much mistaken, we shall find that all humankind, both learned and ignorant, have always been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and that a few intelligible definitions would immediately have put an end to the whole controversy. I own that this dispute has been so much canvassed on all hands, and has led philosophers into such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no wonder if a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn a deaf ear to the proposal of such a question, from which he can expect neither instruction or entertainment. But the state of the argument here proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention as it has more novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy, and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning.
I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all people have ever agreed in the doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, according to any reasonable sense, which can be put on these terms; and that the whole controversy, has hitherto turned merely upon words. We shall begin with examining the doctrine of necessity.
(2) Hume believes that, in practice, everyone agrees about the nature of liberty and necessity. How does he aim to put an end to the theoretical controversy?
Definition of Necessity. Hume believes that in practice we all subscribe to the doctrine of necessity: all human behavior is causally determined. This would be evident to us if we simply understood exactly what we mean by the notion of "necessity," namely, that events are causally related. He makes his case with the following argument:
(a) From the observed causal interaction of all material substances (i.e. matter) we conclude that all interaction of material substances are determined (or necessitated).
(b) We observe causal relations in all psychological processes.
(c) Therefore, by analogy, all psychological processes are determined (or necessitated)
It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause that no other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness that a living creature may as soon arise from the shock of two bodies as motion in any other degree or direction than what is actually produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea of necessity, we must consider whence that idea arises when we apply it to the operation of bodies.
It seems evident that, if all the scenes of nature were continually shifted in such a manner that no two events bore any resemblance to each other, but every object was entirely new, without any similitude to whatever had been seen before, we should never in that case have attained the least idea of necessity, or of a connection among these objects. We might say upon such a supposition, that one object or event has followed another, not that one was produced by the other. The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown to humankind. Inference and reasoning concerning the operations of nature would, from that moment, be at an end, and the memory and senses remain the only canals by which the knowledge of any real existence could possibly have access to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of necessity and causation arises entirely from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature, where [first,] similar objects are constantly conjoined together, and [second,] the mind is determined by custom to infer the one from the appearance of the other. These two circumstances form the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and the consequent inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity or connection.
(3) For Hume, the concept of necessity is based on the notion of causality. What are the two ways that we can understand causality?
If it appear, therefore, that all humankind have ever allowed, without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances take place in the voluntary actions of people, and in the operations of mind, it must follow, that all humankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto disputed, merely for not understanding each other.
From the above two definitions of causality, any time events are (1) constantly conjoined, and (2) produce a mental inference from one event to the other, those events are causally determined. His proof that mental events are determined draw from illustrations which confirm the above two criteria of causal determination as pertains to psychological processes. Hume's account of the specific psychological processes presupposes a theory known as volitional theory of action. According to this theory, there is a psychological chain of events involving motivations which influence the will to perform an action. The connecting links are these:
motives > will > action
The job of my will is to start an action as directed by my motives. In its simplest form, Hume is arguing that every action is causally determined by a motive. Suppose that I perform the act of drinking a glass of water. This act begins with my motive of thirst which causes my will to start that action.
CONSTANT CONJUNCTION BETWEEN MOTIVES AND ACTIONS. Hume begins by giving illustrations of the first definition of causality (i.e. constant conjunction) which show that specific dominant motives are constantly conjoined with specific actions.
Uniformity Seen in History and Character Assessment. Hume first notes that throughout history we see a machine-like uniformity in the motives people have and the corresponding actions they perform.
As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction of similar events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following considerations. It is universally acknowledged that there is a great uniformity among the actions of people, in all nations and ages, and that human nature remains still the same, in its principles and operations. The same motives always produce the same actions. The same events follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity, friendship, generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed in various degrees and distributed through society, have been from the beginning of the world, and still are, the source of all the actions and enterprises which have ever been observed among humankind. Would you know the sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks and Romans? Study well the temper and actions of the French and English. You cannot be much mistaken in transferring to the former most of the observations which you have made with regard to the latter. Humankind are so much the same in all times and places that history informs us of nothing new or strange in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant and universal principles of human nature, by showing people in all varieties of circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with materials from which we may form our observations and become acquainted with the regular springs of human action and behavior. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so many collections of experiments, by which the politician or moral philosopher fixes the principles of his science, in the same manner as the physician or natural philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and other external objects, by the experiments which he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle, and Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under our observation than the people described by Polybius and Tacitus are to those who now govern the world.
(4) From what history tells us, what are some of the dominant motives which generate human conduct?
For Hume, we always assume that there are ironclad links between specific motives and corresponding actions. When someone reports events in which those links are absent, we immediately suspect falsehood.
Should a traveler, returning from a far country, bring us an account of people, wholly different from any with whom we were ever acquainted, people who were entirely divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should immediately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in history, we cannot make use of a more convincing argument than to prove that the actions ascribed to any person are directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no human motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce him to such a conduct. The veracity of Quintus Curtius is as much to be suspected, when he describes the supernatural courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly to attack multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural force and activity, by which he was able to resist them. So readily and universally do we acknowledge a uniformity in human motives and actions as well as in the operations of body.
(5) How might we detect the falsehood of a traveler's reports of a foreign society?
(6) How might we detect the falsehood in a history book which describes courageous actions by Alexander?
In the usual course of assessing people's characters, Hume argues that we trace people's motives from their actions, and vice versa.
Hence likewise [this is true of] the benefit of that experience acquired by long life and a variety of business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles of human nature, and regulate our future conduct as well as speculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of people's inclinations and motives from their actions, expressions, and even gestures, and again descend to the interpretation of their actions from our knowledge of their motives and inclinations. The general observations treasured up by a course of experience give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and appearances no longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the specious coloring of a cause. And though virtue and honor be allowed their proper weight and authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended to, is never expected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their leaders; and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment which we could form of this kind irregular and anomalous, it were impossible to collect any general observations concerning humankind. And no experience, however accurately digested by reflection, would ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more skillful in his calling than the young beginner but because there is a certain uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and earth towards the production of vegetables; and experience teaches the old practitioner the rules by which this operation is governed and directed.
(7) What examples does Hume give showing how we trace people's motives from their actions, and vice versa?
Uniformity Seen Even Within Variation. Hume recognizes that there is a wide variety of human behavior. Corresponding to these various behaviors, though, are an equally wide variety of motivating factors. Thus, even when there appears to be variation in human behavior, if we look hard enough we will see an underlying uniformity between specialized motives and specialized actions.
We must not, however, expect that this uniformity of human actions should be carried to such a length as that all people, in the same circumstances, will always act precisely in the same manner, without making any allowance for the diversity of characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a uniformity in every particular, is found in no part of nature. On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in different people, we are enabled to form a greater variety of maxims, which still suppose a degree of uniformity and regularity.
Are the manners of people different in different ages and countries? We learn thence the great force of custom and education, which mold the human mind from its infancy and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the behavior and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the other? Is it thence we become acquainted with the different characters which nature has impressed upon the sexes, and which she preserves with constancy and regularity? Are the actions of the same person much diversified in the different periods of his life, from infancy to old age? This affords room for many general observations concerning the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the different maxims which prevail in the different ages of human creatures. Even the characters, which are peculiar to each individual, have a uniformity in their influence; otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our observation of their conduct could never teach us their dispositions, or serve to direct our behavior with regard to them.
(8) What are some factors which influence the range of human inclinations?
Hume acknowledges that some human behavior is so bizarre that no uniformity can be immediately found. In such cases, we should still assume that there are hidden causal factors at work, such as diseases which affect our behavior.
I grant it possible to find some actions which seem to have no regular connection with any known motives, and are exceptions to all the measures of conduct which have ever been established for the government of people. But if we would willingly know what judgment should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary actions, we may consider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to those irregular events which appear in the course of nature, and the operations of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their usual effects with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only dead matter may be disappointed of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct of sensible and intelligent agents.
The vulgar (who take things according to their first appearance) attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter often fail of their usual influence, though they meet with no impediment in their operation. But philosophers (observing that almost in every part of nature there is contained a vast variety of springs and principles which are hid by reason of their minuteness or remoteness) find that it is at least possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by farther observation, when they remark that, upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not commonly go right. But an artist [i.e., artisan] easily perceives that the same force in the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels, but fails of its usual effects perhaps by reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the observation of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim that the connection between all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret opposition of contrary causes.
(9) Suppose that a watch stops working. What explanations might be offered by the "vulgar" an the artisan respectively?
Thus, for instance, in the human body, when the usual symptoms of health or sickness disappoint our expectation; when medicines operate not with their wonted powers; when irregular events follow from any particular cause; the philosopher and physician are not surprised at the matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity and uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy is conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty complicated machine; that many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether beyond our comprehension; that to us it must often appear very uncertain in its operations; and that therefore the irregular events, which outwardly discover themselves, can be no proof that the laws of nature are not observed with the greatest regularity in its internal operations and government.
The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same reasoning to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and unexpected resolutions of people may frequently be accounted for by those who know every particular circumstance of their character and situation. A person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer, but he has the toothache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow discovers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage, but he has met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as sometimes happens, cannot be particularly accounted for either by the person himself or by others, we know, in general, that the characters of people are, to a certain degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the constant character of human nature, though it be applicable in a more particular manner to some persons who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a continued course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these seeming irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain, cloud, and other variations of the weather are supposed to be governed by steady principles; though not easily discoverable by human sagacity and inquiry.
(10) What are some causal explanations we give to explain bizarre behavior?
INFERRING ACTIONS FROM MOTIVES. Having provided evidence for the constant conjunction between human motivation and human action, Hume turns next to the second condition of causal determinism: the mental inference of one event from another. Here Hume argues that, given the presence of a certain human motive, we immediately infer that a specific event will follow.
Thus it appears not only that the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform as that between the cause and effect in any part of nature, but also that this regular conjunction has been universally acknowledged among humankind, and has never been the subject of dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is from past experience that we draw all inferences concerning the future, and as we conclude that objects will always be conjoined together which we find to have always been conjoined, it may seem superfluous to prove that this experienced uniformity in human actions is a source whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights we shall also insist, though briefly, on this latter topic.
Examples. He gives several examples from our ordinary interactions with people which show how we invariably make such inferences from motive to action.
The mutual dependence of people is so great in all societies that scarce any human action is entirely complete in itself, or is performed without some reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the intention of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labors alone, expects at least the protection of the magistrate to ensure him the enjoyment of the fruits of his labor. He also expects that, when he carries his goods to market and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others to supply him with those commodities which are requisite for his subsistence. In proportion as people extend their dealings, and render their intercourse with others more complicated, they always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater variety of voluntary actions which they expect (from the proper motives) to cooperate with their own. In all these conclusions they take their measures from past experience (in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning external objects) and firmly believe that people, as well as all the elements, are to continue in their operations the same that they have ever found them. A manufacturer reckons upon the labor of his servants for the execution of any work as much as upon the tools which he employs, and would be equally surprised were his expectations disappointed. In short, this experimental inference and reasoning concerning the actions of others enters so much into human life that no person, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore, to affirm that all humankind have always agreed in the doctrine of necessity according to the foregoing definition and explication of it?
(11) Given the assumption that a worker has the motive to work, what does his employer infer?
Nor have philosophers even entertained a different opinion from the people in this particular. For, not to mention that almost every action of their life supposes that opinion, there are even few of the speculative parts of learning to which it is not essential. What would become of history had we not a dependence on the veracity of the historian according to the experience which we have had of humankind? How could politics be a science, if laws and forms of government had not a uniform influence upon society? Where would be the foundation of morals, if particular characters had no certain or determinate power to produce particular sentiments, and if these sentiments had no constant operation on actions? And with what pretense could we employ our criticism upon any poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and sentiments of his actors either natural or unnatural to such characters, and in such circumstances? It seems almost impossible, therefore, to engage either in science or action of any kind without acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive to voluntary actions, from characters to conduct.
And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles. A prisoner who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well when he considers the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as from the operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs along a certain train of ideas: The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner; the separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions; but the mind feels no difference between them in passing from one link to another: Nor is it less certain of the future event than if it were connected with the objects present to the memory or senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the name of things; but their nature and their operation on the understanding never change.
(12) How is the predictability of action from motive seen in Hume's example of the executioner?
Were a person, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I live in intimate friendship, to come into my house where I am surrounded with my servants, I rest assured that he is not to stab me before he leaves it in order to rob me of my silver standish. And I no more suspect this event than the falling of the house itself, which is new, and solidly built and founded. -- But he may have been seized with a sudden and unknown frenzy. -- So may a sudden earthquake arise, and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore change the suppositions. I shall say that I know with certainty that he is not to put his hand into the fire and hold it there till it be consumed. And this event, I think I can foretell with the same assurance, as that, if he throw himself out at the window, and meet with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment suspended in the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the least possibility to the former event, which is so contrary to all the known principles of human nature. A person who at noon leaves his purse full of gold on the pavement at Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will fly away like a feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after. Above one half of human reasonings contain inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or less degrees of certainty proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct of humankind in such particular situations.
(13) How is the predictability of action from motive seen in Hume's example of sticking one's hand in a flame?
(14) How is this predictability seen in Hume's example of finding a lost purse filled with gold?
WHY PEOPLE OPPOSE DETERMINISM. Hume offers two reasons for why people oppose determinism even though they assume it in the ordinary course of their lives.
Absence of a Feeling of Necessity. One reason that people deny the doctrine of psychological necessity is because we do not have a feeling of being psychologically determined. Hume argues that this is based on a common error that people think they can perceive a necessary connection between causes and effects.
I have frequently considered what could possibly be the reason why all humankind (though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged the doctrine of necessity in their whole practice and reasoning) have yet discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather shown a propensity in all ages to profess the contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for after the following manner. If we examine the operations of body, and the production of effects from their causes, we shall find that all our faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge of this relation than barely to observe that particular objects are constantly conjoined together, and that the mind is carried, by a customary transition from the appearance of one to the belief of the other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance be the result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, people still entertain a strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther into the powers of nature, and perceive something like a necessary connection between the cause and the effect. When again they turn their reflections towards the operations of their own minds, and feel no such connection of the motive and the action, they are thence apt to suppose that there is a difference between the effects which result from material force, and those which arise from thought and intelligence.
(15) Given the fact that people erroneously believe that they can perceive a necessary connection between causes and effects, why does this incline them to deny psychological necessity?
But being once convinced that we know nothing farther of causation of any kind than merely the constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent inference of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two circumstances are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of many philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we shall find upon reflection that they dissent from it in words only, not in their real sentiment. Necessity, according to the sense in which it is here taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can perceive in the operations of matter some farther connection between the cause and effect, and connection that has not place in voluntary actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can only appear upon examination. And it is incumbent on these philosophers to make good their assertion by defining or describing that necessity, and pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.
(16) Hume, of course, rejects the view that we can perceive a necessary connection between causes and effects. What, for Hume, is the foundation of causality?
False Sensation of Liberty. In a footnote, presented here, Hume offers another reason why people deny the doctrine of psychological necessity, namely, when we perform an action as an agent, we sometimes have a false sensation of free will (or liberty). Consider my decision to reach for a glass of water. Before my will actually starts the motion of my hand, I have a prior conscious wish to move my hand. This conscious wish (the primal or embryonic stage of a willful action) is called velleity by medieval philosophers. According to Hume, this wish or velliety is the false sensation we have of a free will. Hume begins his discussion noting that, from the standpoint of the spectator observing the actions of others, we believe that actions are necessarily caused by motives. However, as agents performing actions ourselves, we experience a velleity.
The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted for from another cause, viz. a false sensation of seeming experience which we have, or may have, of liberty or indifference in many of our actions. The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of mind, is not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but [is instead] in any thinking or intelligent being who may consider the action [as the spectator], and it consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the existence of that action from some preceding objects; [this is just] as liberty, when opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and a certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing, or not passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding one. Now we may observe, that, though in reflecting on human actions [of others as spectators], we seldom feel such a looseness, or indifference, but are commonly able to infer them with considerable certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of the agent. Yet it frequently happens that, in performing the actions themselves, we are sensible of something like it. And as all resembling objects are readily taken for each other, this has been employed as a demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel that our actions are subject to our will on most occasions, and [we] imagine we feel that the will itself is subject to nothing, because, when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we feel that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or a velleity, as it is called in the schools) even on that side on which it did not settle. This image or faint motion, we persuade ourselves, could at that time have been completed into the thing itself; because, should that be denied, we find upon a second trial, that at present it can. We consider not that the fantastical desire of showing liberty is here the motive of our actions.
(17) Suppose that I want to prove to myself that I have freedom to move my pencil to either point A or point B. I feel a velleity when considering either choice. To confirm that I have freedom to do either, I first move my pencil to point A, then point B. For Hume, what additional motive underlies my decision to move my pencil to point B?
And it seems certain that, however we may imagine we feel a liberty within ourselves, a spectator can commonly infer our actions from our motives and character. And even where he cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted with every circumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition. Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.
(18) For Hume, the feeling of liberty we have in ourselves is irrelevant. A spectator will infer our actions from our motives. Even if a spectator doesn't immediately make that inference, what does he assume?
For Hume, it is a mistake to address the free will issue by examining our psychological feelings of freedom. Instead, we should establish the nature of causal necessity in physical objects, and then see that causal necessity applies to human actions as well.
It would seem, indeed, that people begin at the wrong end of this question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body and of brute unintelligent matter; and try whether they can there form any idea of causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality, the whole of that necessity which we conceive in matter, and if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end, [or] at least, [the dispute] must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long as we will rashly suppose that we have some farther idea of necessity and causation in the operations of external objects (at the same time that we can find nothing farther in the voluntary actions of the mind) there is no possibility of bringing the question to any determinate issue while we proceed upon so erroneous a supposition. The only method of undeceiving us is to mount up higher, to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to material causes, and to convince ourselves that all we know of them is the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. We may, perhaps, find that it is with difficulty we are induced to fix such narrow limits to human understanding. But we can afterwards find no difficulty when we come to apply this doctrine to the actions of the will. For as it is evident that these have a regular conjunction with motives and circumstances and characters, and as we always draw inferences from one to the other, we must be obliged to acknowledge in words that necessity, which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in every step of our conduct and behavior.
(19) What is the "narrow extant of science when applied to material causes?
THE NOTION OF LIBERTY. So much for his proof that our actions are determined by our motives. As noted earlier, Hume's strategy is to show that free will and determinism are compatible concepts. He turns next to the definition of "liberty". There are two alternative definitions open to Hume. The first, which may be called "strong freedom," is that liberty is the power to override the motivations of the will. Although our motivations may incline us in a given direction, we have the ability to override those inclinations. This is the notion of liberty held by philosophers such as Samuel Clarke, Ralph Cudworth, and Thomas Reid. The second notion, which may be called "weak freedom" is the power to act according to what our motives determine. This notion of libery merely says only that the will initiates or refrains from initiating actions, depending on how strong the motivation is. However, weak liberty does not include the ability to willfully override our motives. Locke, the principal 18th century champion of the notion of weak liberty, defines it as follows:
the idea of a power in any agent to do or forbear any particular action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, where either of them is preferred to the other.
Endorsement of Weak Liberty. Hume endorses Locke's weak notion of liberty and argues that it is perfectly compatible with necessity.
But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to the question of liberty and necessity (the most contentious question of metaphysics, the most contentious science) it will not require many words to prove that all humankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also, has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty, when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot surely mean that actions have so little connection with motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference by which we can conclude the existence of the other. For these are plain and acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to the determinations of the will. This is, if we choose to remain at rest, we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical liberty is universally allowed to belong to everyone who is not a prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is no subject of dispute.
(20) How does Hume define "liberty"?
As defined here, Hume's notion of "liberty" in no way contradicts determinism. Hume's notion of weak liberty says only that the will initiates or refrains from initiating actions, depending on how strong the motivation is. And this is perfectly compatible with the deterministic position that the will is causally or mechanically determined by motives.
Rejection of Strong Liberty. Hume recognizes that many readers may reject the Lockean-type definition of weak liberty and prefer instead the strong version held by Clarke and others. For Hume, the notion of strong liberty should be rejected since it entails that will is uncaused, and the notion of any uncaused event is nonsense.
Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be careful to observe two requisite circumstances; first, that it be consistent with plain matter of fact; secondly, that it be consistent with itself. If we observe these circumstances, and render our definition intelligible, I am persuaded that all humankind will be found of one opinion with regard to it.
It is universally allowed that nothing exists without a cause of its existence, and that chance, when strictly examined, is a mere negative word, and means not any real power which has anywhere a being in nature. But it is pretended that some causes are necessary, some not necessary. Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let anyone define a cause, without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a necessary connection with its effect; and let him show distinctly the origin of the idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall readily give up the whole controversy. But if the foregoing explication of the matter be received, this must be absolutely impracticable. Had not objects a regular conjunction with each other, we should never have entertained any notion of cause and effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference of the understanding, which is the only connection, that we can have any comprehension of. Whoever attempts a definition of cause, exclusive of these circumstances, will be obliged either to employ unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous to the term which he endeavors to define. And if the definition above mentioned be admitted; liberty, when opposed to necessity, not to constraint, is the same thing with chance; which is universally allowed to have no existence.
(21) Suppose that an advocate of strong liberty maintained that some events are not through absolute necessity. What is Hume's response?
RECONCILING NECESSITY WITH MORALITY AND RELIGION. Many philosophers and theologians argued that strong free will is essential to both morality and religion. Unless a person is in free control of his actions, it would make no sense to hold him accountable. Similarly, salvation is often seen as an act of free choice. Thus, many moral philosophers and theologians have strongly rejected determinism on these grounds. Given the compatibility of free will and determinism, Hume thinks this rejection of determinism is unwarranted. In the next part of this chapter, section Hume defends determinism against these attacks by showing that determinism is presupposed in morality and is not harmful to religion.[1]
Attacking an Theory Because of its Danger. Hume notes that philosophers frequently try to refute a theory since it leads to dangerous consequences. Hume argues that the potential danger of a theory is irrelevant to its truth.
There is no method of reasoning more common, and yet none more blamable, than in philosophical disputes to endeavor the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pretense of its dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When any opinion leads to absurdities, it is certainly false. But it is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequence. Such topics, therefore, ought entirely to be forborne, as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without pretending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly submit to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm that the doctrines, both of necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only consistent with morality, but are absolutely essential to its support.
Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably to the two definitions of cause of which it makes an essential part. It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects, or in the inference of the understanding from one object to another. Now necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom the same) has universally (though tacitly) in the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to belong to the will of humans. And no one has ever pretended to deny that we can draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those inferences are founded on the experienced union of like actions, with like motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only particular in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will refuse to give the name of necessity to this property of human actions (but as long as the meaning is understood, I hope the word can do no harm); or that he will maintain it possible to discover something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it must be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality or religion, whatever it may be to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting that there is no idea of any other necessity or connection in the actions of body. But surely we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what everyone does, and must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the received orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with regard to material objects and causes. Nothing, therefore, can be more innocent, at least, than this doctrine.
(22) Hume again maintains that in normal life, we assume that human actions are causally determined. What are the two ways that people might respond to our normal life assumption about determinism?
Morality And Necessity. Hume first addresses the "dangerous consequence" that if determinism was true, then it would make no sense to hold someone accountable for a bad action. This is the intuition behind the insanity defense in criminal cases. If I am insane to the point that I am not in control of my actions, then I cannot be morally responsible for my actions. Since, according to the determinist, I am not in control of any of my actions, then I cannot be held morally responsible for any of my actions. Hume responds arguing that the doctrine of determinism is actually essential for us to make any moral judgments. When making moral judgments, we praise or condemn an agent's motives, and not his actions. Since we cannot read another the agent's mind, we need to infer what his motives are based on his actions. Thus, the only way we can properly assess a person's motives is if his actions are causally determined by the motives.
All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a fundamental principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform influence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions. We may give to this influence what name we please; but, as it is usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause, and be looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we would here establish.
The only proper object of hatred or vengeance is a person or creature, endowed with thought and consciousness; and when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion, it is only by their relation to the person, or connection with him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing, and where they proceed not from some cause in the character and disposition of the person who performed them, they can neither redound to his honor, if good, nor infamy, if evil. The actions themselves may be blamable; they may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion: But the person is not answerable for them; and as they proceeded from nothing in him that is durable and constant, and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is impossible he can, upon their account, become the object of punishment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore, which denies necessity (and consequently causes) a person is as pure and untainted after having committed the most horrid crime, as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise concerned in his actions, since they are not derived from it, and the wickedness of the one can never be used as a proof of the depravity of the other.
(23) What is the permanent feature of a person which is the object of moral judgment?
Hume continues that if it were not for the doctrine of determinism, we could not link a person's action to his motive as we normally do when making ethical judgments.
People are not blamed for such actions as they perform ignorantly and casually, whatever may be the consequences. Why? But because the principles of these actions are only momentary, and terminate in them alone. People are less blamed for such actions as they perform hastily and unpremeditatedly than for such as proceed from deliberation. For what reason? but because a hasty temper, though a constant cause or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals, and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for? but by asserting that actions render a person criminal merely as they are proofs of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration of these principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be criminal. But, except upon the doctrine of necessity, they never were just proofs, and consequently never were criminal.
(24) Why aren't people blamed for the actions they perform ignorantly?
It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same arguments, that liberty, according to that definition above mentioned, in which all people agree, is also essential to morality, and that no human actions, where it is wanting, are susceptible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or dislike. For as actions are objects of our moral sentiment, so far only as they are indications of the internal character, passions, and affections; it is impossible that they can give rise either to praise or blame, where they proceed not from these principles, but are derived altogether from external violence.
God And Necessity. Hume next examines a different objection to the doctrine of necessity: if determinism were true, then the cause of all action would ultimately regress back to God. Hence, God would ultimately responsible for all human actions, including evil human actions. The problem Hume notes is in fact a classic problem which was addressed by various theologians and philosophers. For example, in his Treatise on Providence, the Protestant reformer Ulrich Zwingli (1484-1531) defends a kind of determinism noting that human free will is absorbed into divine activity, and humans are merely an instrument in the hands of God. Zwingli's solution to the problem is that moral standards apply to humans, and not to God. Hume first presents the problem, highlighting precisely which theological doctrines are at stake.
I pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections, derived from topics which have not here been treated of. It may be said, for instance, that, if voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of necessity with the operations of matter, there is a continued chain of necessary causes, pre-ordained and pre-determined, reaching from the original cause of all to every single volition of every human creature. No contingency anywhere in the universe; no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the same time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of all our volitions is the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on this immense machine, and placed all beings in that particular position, whence every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must result. Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral turpitude at all, as proceeding from so good a cause. Or if they have any turpitude, they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a person who fired a mine is answerable for all the consequences whether the train he employed be long or short, so wherever a continued chain of necessary causes is fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite, who produces the first, is likewise the author of all the rest, and must both bear the blame and acquire the praise which belong to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish this rule, upon unquestionable reasons, when we examine the consequences of any human action. And these reasons must still have greater force when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded for so limited a creature as the human; but those imperfections have no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended all those actions of people, which we so rashly pronounce criminal. And we must therefore conclude either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity, not humans, is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is absurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine from which they are deduced cannot possibly be true, as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd consequence, if necessary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd; in the same manner as criminal actions render criminal the original cause, if the connection between them be necessary and inevitable.
This objection consists of two parts, which we shall examine separately; First, that, if human actions can be traced up, by a necessary chain, to the Deity, they can never be criminal, on account of the infinite perfection of that Being from whom they are derived, and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable. Or, Secondly, if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute of perfection which we ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge him to be the ultimate author of guilt and moral turpitude in all his creatures.
(25) What are the two parts to this objection?
Solution to the Religious Problem. Hume first argues against the first horn of this dilemma. Like Hume, Stoic philosophers argue that all of our actions are causally determined. Further, the Stoic sees God as the causal source of all that happens, including human actions. However, the Stoic tries to dismiss the evils of the world by seeing them as part of a lofty and benevolent plan of God's. Thus, criminal acts are not really criminal. Hume finds this unconvincing. Good and evil have a more immediate and natural foundation in the pleasure and pain we experience. Hence, it is simply false that criminal acts are not really criminal. He first makes his point with our experience of physical suffering.
The answer to the first objection seems obvious and convincing. There are many philosophers who, after an exact scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature, conclude, that the whole, considered as one system, is, in every period of its existence, ordered with perfect benevolence; and that the utmost possible happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings, without any mixture of positive or absolute ill or misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an essential part of this benevolent system, and could not possibly be removed, even by the Deity himself, considered as a wise agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or excluding greater good, which will result from it. From this theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among the rest, derived a topic of consolation under all afflictions, while they taught their pupils that those ills under which they labored were, in reality, goods to the universe; and that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the whole system of nature, every event became an object of joy and exultation. But though this topic be specious and sublime, it was soon found in practice weak and ineffectual. You would surely more irritate than appease a person lying under the racking pains of the gout by preaching up to him the rectitude of those general laws, which produced the malignant humors in his body, and led them through the proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the imagination of a speculative person, who is placed in ease and security; but neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind, even though undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less can they maintain their ground when attacked by such powerful antagonists. The affections take a narrower and more natural survey of their object; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by such events as appear good or ill to the private system.
(26) In the above, Hume considers the suffering that results from purely physical causes. What is Hume's response to the Stoic who says that physical suffering is part of a larger perfect plan?
Hume continues making the same point with the suffering we experience from moral causes.
The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot reasonably be supposed, that those remote considerations, which are found of so little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful influence with regard to the other. The mind of humans is so formed by nature that, upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions, and actions, it immediately feels the sentiment of approbation or blame. Nor are there any emotions more essential to its frame and constitution. The characters which engage our approbation are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security of human society; as the characters which excite blame are chiefly such as tend to public detriment and disturbance. Whence it may reasonably be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise, either mediately or immediately, from a reflection of these opposite interests. What though philosophical meditations establish a different opinion or conjecture; that everything is right with regard to the whole, and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in the main, as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention of nature as those which more directly promote its happiness and welfare? Are such remote and uncertain speculations able to counterbalance the sentiments which arise from the natural and immediate view of the objects? A person who is robbed of a considerable sum; does he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished by these sublime reflections? Why then should his moral resentment against the crime be supposed incompatible with them? Or why should not the acknowledgment of a real distinction between vice and virtue be reconcilable to all speculative systems of philosophy, as well as that of a real distinction between personal beauty and deformity? Both these distinctions are founded in the natural sentiments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not to be controlled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation whatsoever.
(27) For Hume, what is that natural basis of the suffering we experience from moral causes?
Having dismissed the Stoic's argument that criminal acts are not really criminal, Hume turns to the second option above, namely, that, as the source of all evil conduct, God himself is evil. Hume's literal answer is that the issue cannot be resolved since it falls beyond the scope of human investigation. However, his implied answer is probably that we should reject the traditional concept of God, at least insofar as it includes the attribute of benevolence.
The second objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory an answer, nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the actions of people without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These are mysteries which mere natural and unassisted reason is very unfit to handle, and whatever system she embraces, she must find herself involved in inextricable difficulties and even contradictions at every step which she takes with regard to such subjects. To reconcile the indifference and contingency of human actions with prescience, or to defend absolute decrees and yet free the Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed all the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible of her temerity, when she pries into these sublime mysteries, and leaving a scene so full of obscurities and perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to her true and proper province, the examination of common life; where she will find difficulties enough to employ her inquiries, without launching into so boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction!
(28) What is the proper province of human investigation?
SECTION 10: OF MIRACLES
In this section Hume gives his infamous argument against miracles which drew more critical reaction during his life than any other aspect of his philosophy. His argument can be summarized in a single sentence: the testimony of uniform natural law outweighs the testimony of any alleged miracle. To explain, imagine a scale with two balancing pans. In the one pan we place the strongest evidence in support of the occurrence of a miracle. In the other we place our life long experience of consistent laws of nature. According to Hume, the second pan will always outweigh the first. In a letter to George Campbell, Hume explains the circumstance in which he first formulated this argument:
I was walking in the cloisters of the Jesuits College of La Fleche, a town in which I passed two years of my youth, and was engaged in a conversation with a Jesuit of some parts and learning, who was relating to me, and urging some nonsensical miracle performed lately in their Convent, when I was tempted to dispute against him; and, as my head was full of the topics of my Treatise of human Nature, which I was at the time composing, this argument immediately occurred to me, and I thought it very much graveled my companion; but at last he observed to me, that it was impossible for that argument to have any solidity, because it operated equally against the Gospel as the Catholic miracles; which observation I thought proper to admit as a sufficient answer. I believe you will allow that the freedom at least of this reasoning makes it somewhat extraordinary to have been the produce of a Convent of Jesuits, though perhaps you may think that the sophistry of it favors plainly of the place of its birth.
An early draft of Hume’s Treatise contained a discussion on the subject of miracles, but Hume removed it prior to publication for reasons of “prudence.” He waited almost 10 years before writing on the subject in his Enquiry. To understand Hume’s argument, it is important to be clear about what Hume is specifically arguing against. Hume is not arguing that miracles are impossible, for, there is no logical contradiction in the idea of a miracle. Nor is he arguing that miracles have never occurred, since, without the aid of a time machine, we could never establish this absolutely. Instead, he is arguing that it is never reasonable to believe that a miracle has occurred. We must also distinguish between a first hand account of a miracle which we would witness ourselves, and a second hand report of a miracle which we read about in a book or a newspaper. Since few of us claim to witness miracles directly, Hume launches his attack against our belief in second hand accounts of miracles. In short, Hume is arguing that it is never reasonable to believe second hand reports concerning miracles.
Hume’s argument rests on the nature of empirically-based belief in general. All empirical judgments — and not just those involving miracles – are best understood using the metaphor of a weighing scale with two balancing pans, as noted above. We place all of our empirical evidence for a particular contention in one pan, and all of our evidence against that contention in the other pan. We then believe whichever view has the weightier evidence.
Levels of Evidence. The evidence we get from our experience is not always accurate, such as when I predict from past experience that the weather will be warmer next June than it will be next December.
Though experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning matters of fact; it must be acknowledged, that this guide is not altogether infallible, but in some cases is apt to lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect better weather in any week of June than in one of December, would reason justly, and conformably to experience; but it is certain, that he may happen, in the event, to find himself mistaken. However, we may observe, that, in such a case, he would have no cause to complain of experience; because it commonly informs us beforehand of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with like certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are found, in all countries and all ages, to have been constantly conjoined together: Others are found to have been more variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations; so that, in our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are all imaginable degrees of assurance, from the highest certainty to the lowest species of moral evidence.
(2) What are the possible levels or degrees of assurance when assessing matters of fact?
Given these differing degrees or levels of assurance, Hume argues that the higher the degree of evidence is, the stronger our belief should be.
A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. In such conclusions as are founded on an infallible experience, he expects the event with the last degree of assurance, and regards his past experience as a full proof of the future existence of that event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution: He weighs the opposite experiments: He considers which side is supported by the greater number of experiments: To that side he inclines, with doubt and hesitation; and when at last he fixes his judgement, the evidence exceeds not what we properly call probability. All probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and observations, where the one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of assurance. In all cases, we must balance the opposite experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the superior evidence.
(3) How should a wise person proportion his belief in a given claim?
(4) All judgments about matters of fact (or empirical experience) involve probability. What does probability suppose?
Empirical Evidence from Testimony. There several ways of gaining empirical evidence for a particular contention. We may personally conduct scientific experiments, as Hume notes above. We may draw from the ordinary life experiences which we have gained over the years. Perhaps most importantly, we may rely on the testimonies of other people. Testimonies also counts as empirical evidence which we must balance against our other empirical experiences.
To apply these principles to a particular instance; we may observe, that there is no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men, and the reports of eye- witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient to observe that our assurance in any argument of this kind is derived from no other principle than our observation of the veracity of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects have any discoverable connection together, and that all the inferences, which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our experience of their constant and regular conjunction; it is evident, that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connection with any event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory tenacious to a certain degree; had not men commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity; were they not sensible to shame, when detected in a falsehood: Were not these, I say, discovered by experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we should never repose the least confidence in human testimony. A man delirious, or noted for falsehood and villainy, has no manner of authority with us.
(5) What other empirical evidence gives or takes away from the confidence we have in a person’s testimony?
Other Factors in Evaluating Testimonies. Before discussing testimonies of miracles in particular, Hume continues listing general factors which weigh in favor of or against someone’s testimony.
And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human testimony, is founded on past experience, so it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability, according as the conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of object has been found to be constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances to be taken into consideration in all judgements of this kind; and the ultimate standard, by which we determine all disputes, that may arise concerning them, is always derived from experience and observation. Where this experience is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended with an unavoidable contrariety in our judgements, and with the same opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate concerning the reports of others. We balance the opposite circumstances, which cause any doubt or uncertainty; and when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to it; but still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the force of its antagonist.
This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from several different causes; from the opposition of contrary testimony; from the character or number of the witnesses; from the manner of their delivering their testimony; or from the union of all these circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when the witnesses contradict each other; when they are but few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation, or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations. There are many other particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or destroy the force of any argument, derived from human testimony.
(6) What are some reasons that we are suspicious of some testimonies?
Hume notes that sometimes a reported event seems so improbable that we wouldn’t be persuaded of its truth even if told by the most reliable witness. In such cases, the alleged event is incompatible with what we know about the world in general.
Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavors to establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous; in that case, the evidence, resulting from the testimony, admits of a diminution, greater or less, in proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The reason why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is not derived from any connection, which we perceive a priori, between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed to find a conformity between them. But when the fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences; of which the one destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another degree of assurance against the fact, which they endeavor to establish; from which contradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoize, and mutual destruction of belief and authority.
I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato; was a proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that philosophical patriot. The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate so great an authority.
The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first relations concerning the effects of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required very strong testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little analogy to those events, of which he had had constant and uniform experience. Though they were not contrary to his experience, they were not conformable to it.
(7) Consider a prince from India who never personally witnessed frost. According to Hume, would it be reasonable for him to believe someone’s testimony who claimed that water could freeze?
Given the above points about evaluating testimonies in general, Hume turns to evaluating testimonies of miracles.
The Evidence Of Nature Vs. The Testimony Of Miracles. Just as testimonies of improbable events (such as alien abductions) are counterbalanced by our general life experiences, this is even more so with testimonies of miracles. The testimony itself counts as evidence for the alleged miracle, but this is outweighed by our life experiences which speak against such a possibility.
But in order to encrease the probability against the testimony of witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact, which they affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is really miraculous; and suppose also, that the testimony considered apart and in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there is proof against proof, of which the strongest must prevail, but still with a diminution of its force, in proportion to that of its antagonist.
A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as a firm and unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can possibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die; that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the air; that fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it be, that these events are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of these laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: Because such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that a dead man should come to life; because that has never been observed in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the event would not merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts to a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature of the fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can such a proof be destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof, which is superior.
(8) What is Hume’s definition of a miracle?
(9) Why does uniform experience constitute evidence against the existence of any miracle?
Definition of a Miracle. Hume recognizes that we must be clear about which type of events qualify as miracles. In the above paragraph he defines a miracle as a violation of a law of nature. This eliminates many events which are commonly called miracles, such as fortunate accidents, or improbable medical recoveries. In a footnote he discusses possible events which fit the definition of a miracles. The footnote is as follows.
Sometimes an event may not, in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and yet, if it were real, it might, by reason of some circumstances, be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to these laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine authority, should command a sick person to be well, a healthful man to fall down dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in short, should order many natural events, which immediately follow upon his command; these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are really, in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion remain, that the event and command concurred by accident there is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of nature. If this suspicion be removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a transgression of these laws; because nothing can be more contrary to nature than that the voice or command of a man should have such an influence. A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not. This alters not its nature and essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle. The raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not so sensible with regard to us.
(10) Suppose that a divine authority commands some natural event, such as the clouds pouring rain, and that event happens. What aspect of this would involve a violation of a law of nature?
(11) Suppose that a feather would start to move without any air current. Even though it violated a law of nature, to an observer it would not appear that way. For Hume would this still count as a miracle?
Suppose that a well respected and rational person reports a miracle. In theory, the evidence in support of his testimony might rise to the level of a proof (given his good reputation). However, Hume argues that most miracle testimonies do not rise to that level of evidence. He describes four factors which reduce the credibility of most miracle testimonies.
In the foregoing reasoning we have supposed, that the testimony, upon which a miracle is founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and that the falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy: But it is easy to shew, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession, and that there never was a miraculous event established on so full an evidence.
Witnesses lack Integrity. The first factor which reduces the credibility of most miracle testimonies is that the witnesses lack integrity.
For first, there is not to be found, in all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such undoubted integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to deceive others; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being detected in any falsehood; and at the same time, attesting facts performed in such a public manner and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable: All which circumstances are requisite to give us a full assurance in the testimony of men.
(13) Which character traits do eyewitnesses of miracles typically lack?
Propensity to Sensationalize. The second factor which reduces the credibility of most miracle testimonies is that people fall prey to a tendency to sensationalize. We enjoy hearing and telling strange stories, and this encourages others to invent strange stories.
Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish extremely the assurance which we might, from human testimony, have in any kind of prodigy. The maxim by which we commonly conduct ourselves in our reasonings is that the objects, of which we have no experience, resembles those of which we have; that what we have found to be most usual is always most probable; and that where there is an opposition of arguments, we ought to give the preference to such as are founded on the greatest number of past observations. But though in proceeding by this rule we readily reject any fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet in advancing farther, the mind observes not always the same rule; but when anything is affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the more readily admits of such a fact, upon account of that very circumstance, which ought to destroy all its authority. The passion of surprise and wonder arising from miracles, being an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief of those events from which it is derived. And this goes so far, that even those who cannot enjoy this pleasure immediately, nor can believe those miraculous events, of which they are informed, yet love to partake of the satisfaction at second-hand or by rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the admiration of others.
(14) Which emotions surrounding sensational stories make them so enjoyable?
Hume notes that religious leaders capitalize on this tendency to sensationalize and invent such stories for the greater good of their religious cause.
With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of travellers received, their descriptions of sea and land monsters, their relations of wonderful adventures, strange men, and uncouth manners? But if the spirit of religion join itself to the love of wonder, there is an end of common sense; and human testimony, in these circumstances, loses all pretensions to authority. A religionist may be an enthusiast, and imagine he sees what has no reality: He may know his narrative to be false, and yet persevere in it, with the best intentions in the world, for the sake of promoting so holy a cause: Or even where this delusion has not place, vanity, excited by so strong a temptation, operates on him more powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any other circumstances; and self-interest with equal force. His auditors may not have, and commonly have not, sufficient judgement to canvass his evidence: What judgement they have, they renounce by principle, in these sublime and mysterious subjects: Or if they were ever so willing to employ it, passion and a heated imagination disturb the regularity of its operations. Their credulity increases his impudence: And his impudence overpowers their credulity.
(15) What motivates religious leaders to take advantage of our desire to hear sensational stories?
Abound in Barbarous Nations. The third factor which reduces the credibility of most miracle testimonies is that such stories typically originate in ignorant and barbarous countries. This factor is similar to the first mentioned above. However, the first factor targeted the integrity of the individual eyewitness, whereas this third factor targets the entire social context from which such stories arise.
Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all supernatural and miraculous relations, that they are observed chiefly to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a civilized people has ever given admission to any of them, that people will be found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted them with that inviolable sanction and authority, which always attend received opinions. When we peruse the first histories of all nations, we are apt to imagine ourselves transported into some new world; where the whole frame of nature is disjointed, and every element performs its operations in a different manner, from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions, pestilence, famine and death, are never the effect of those natural causes, which we experience. Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we advance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there is nothing mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all proceeds from the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvellous, and that, though this inclination may at intervals receive a check from sense and learning, it can never be thoroughly extirpated from human nature.
(17) In such countries, what are causes assigned to events such as battles, revolutions, pestilence, famine, and death?
Support Rival Religious Systems. The fourth factor which reduces the credibility of miracle testimonies is that miracles are done in the context of a given religious system, particularly to defend that religious system. Suppose that there are ten religions each one doctrinally incompatible with the other nine religions, and each one supported by its own miracles. The credibility of a miracle in any single religious system would be outweighed by the miracles of the nine other nine religious systems.
I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the authority of prodigies, that there is no testimony for any, even those which have not been expressly detected, that is not opposed by an infinite number of witnesses; so that not only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony destroys itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that, in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary; and that it is impossible the religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey, of Siam, and of China should, all of them, be established on any solid foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them abound in miracles), as its direct scope is to establish the particular system to which it is attributed; so has it the same force, though more indirectly, to overthrow every other system. In destroying a rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of those miracles, on which that system was established; so that all the prodigies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary facts, and the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong, as opposite to each other. According to this method of reasoning, when we believe any miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we have for our warrant the testimony of a few barbarous Arabians: And on the other hand, we are to regard the authority of Titus Livius, Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short, of all the authors and witnesses, Grecian, Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any miracle in their particular religion; I say, we are to regard their testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that Mahometan miracle, and had in express terms contradicted it, with the same certainty as they have for the miracle they relate. This argument may appear over subtile and refined; but is not in reality different from the reasoning of a judge, who supposes, that the credit of two witnesses, maintaining a crime against any one, is destroyed by the testimony of two others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues distant, at the same instant when the crime is said to have been committed.
(20) Suppose that a miracle in Islam is supported by the testimony of a few Arabic believers. Suppose, also, that the ancient Greeks report their own miracles for their own Greek religion. How should we regard the Greek reports in relation to the initial Muslim report?
Summary. Hume summarizes the key point of his essay. Most testimonies about miracles are unreliable, but even if they were reliable, they should not be believed since they go against the immense evidence we have in favor of constant natural law. His argument can be outlined as follows:
(a) The evidence from experience in support of a law of nature is extremely strong.
(b) A miracle is a violation of a law of nature.
(c) Therefore, the evidence from experience against the occurrence of a miracle of extremely strong.
Upon the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for any kind of miracle has ever amounted to a probability, much less to a proof; and that, even supposing it amounted to a proof, it would be opposed by another proof; derived from the very nature of the fact, which it would endeavor to establish. It is experience only, which gives authority to human testimony; and it is the same experience, which assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these two kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but subtract the one from the other, and embrace an opinion, either on one side or the other, with that assurance which arises from the remainder. But according to the principle here explained, this subtraction, with regard to all popular religions, amounts to an entire annihilation; and therefore we may establish it as a maxim, that no human testimony can have such force as to prove a miracle, and make it a just foundation for any such system of religion.
(27) What does Hume believe we should do when comparing two contrary experiences, specifically, miracles versus natural law?
Hume continues by arguing that, even if miracles did occur, it would be unreasonable to make them the foundation of religious systems, as is typically done in the world’s religions.
Miracles in Christianity. In conclusion, Hume notes that theologians typically base the truth of Christianity upon the occurrence of miracles (such as the virgin birth and the resurrection). Hume argues instead that Christianity is founded on faith. Thus, he sees his attack on miracles above as an aid to true Christian belief since it undermines any attempt to rationally prove Christianity by appealing to Christian miracles. Hume’s concluding comments here are among the most problematic for Hume scholars. On the surface, Hume appears to endorse a faith-oriented belief in Christianity, similar to Pascal. However, even Hume’s critics in his own day saw his comments as an attempt to conceal his true views, which is that Christianity has no merit whatsoever, whether based on miracles or on faith.
I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here delivered, as I think it may serve to confound those dangerous friends or disguised enemies to the Christian Religion, who have undertaken to defend it by the principles of human reason. Our most holy religion is founded on Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure method of exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to endure. To make this more evident, let us examine those miracles, related in scripture; and not to lose ourselves in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we find in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the principles of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of God himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and historian. Here then we are first to consider a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when they were still more barbarous, and in all probability long after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no concurring testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts, which every nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it full of prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state of the world and of human nature entirely different from the present: Of our fall from that state: Of the age of man, extended to near a thousand years: Of the destruction of the world by a deluge: Of the arbitrary choice of one people, as the favourites of heaven; and that people the countrymen of the author: Of their deliverance from bondage by prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I desire any one to lay his hand upon his heart, and after a serious consideration declare, whether he thinks that the falsehood of such a book, supported by such a testimony, would be more extraordinary and miraculous than all the miracles it relates; which is, however, necessary to make it be received, according to the measures of probability above established.
(32) How does Hume think that we should evaluate the miracles of the Old Testament (particularly those he describes from Genesis)?
The concluding paragraph is the most controversial part of the whole chapter. Hume argues that Christianity is intimately linked with miracles. Since a reasonable person should not believe reports of miracles, then an act of God is required to make him believe. In Hume’s words, it requires a miracle of faith. According to John Briggs, an 18th century critic of Hume, Hume’s real point is that belief in Christianity requires “miraculous stupidity.”
What we have said of miracles may be applied, without any variation, to prophecies; and indeed, all prophecies are real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted as proofs of any revelation. if it did not exceed the capacity of human nature to foretell future events, it would be absurd to employ any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or authority from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude, that the Christian Religion not only was at first attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable person without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of its veracity: And whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom and experience.
(33) Hume concludes that whoever is moved by faith to believe in the miracles of Christianity are “conscious of a continued miracle in his own person.” What does this miracle of Christian faith determine us to believe?
SECTION 12: OF THE ACADEMICAL OR SKEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY
Hume openly avowed skepticism in his philosophical writings. The term “skepticism” has a variety of philosophical meanings, and Hume’s task in this concluding section is to identify and evaluate some of these. In the concluding part of this section Hume endorses a version of skepticism that he calls mitigated, and which he associates with the ancient Greek Academic school of skepticism (as opposed to the more excessive ancient Greek Pyrrhonian school).
Caution and Modesty. The first type of mitigated skepticism involves resisting dogmatism.
There is, indeed, a more mitigated skepticism or academical philosophy, which may be both durable and useful, and which may, in part, be the result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive skepticism, when its undistinguished doubts are, in some measure, corrected by common sense and reflection. The greater part of mankind are naturally apt to be affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions; and while they see objects only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising argument, they throw themselves precipitately into the principles, to which they are inclined; nor have they any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks their passion, and suspends their action. They are, therefore, impatient till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy: And they think, that they could never remove themselves far enough from it, by the violence of their affirmations and obstinacy of their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners become sensible of the strange infirmities of human understanding, even in its most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its determinations; such a reflection would naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve, and diminish their fond opinion of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists. The illiterate may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all the advantages of study and reflection, are commonly still diffident in their determinations: And if any of the learned be inclined, from their natural temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small tincture of Pyrrhonism might abate their pride, by showing them, that the few advantages, which they may have attained over their fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared with the universal perplexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature. In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty, which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to accompany a just reasoner.
(20) According to this first type of mitigated skepticism, what is the benefit of “a small tincture of Pyrrhonism”?
The Limits of Rational Inquiry. A second form of mitigated skepticism is that all rational inquiry should be confined to very narrow limits.
Another species of mitigated skepticism which may be of advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural result of the Pyrrhonian doubts and scruples, is the limitation of our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow capacity of human understanding. The <imagination> of man is naturally sublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary, and running, without control, into the most distant parts of space and time in order to avoid the objects, which custom has rendered too familiar to it. A correct Judgment observes a contrary method, and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to common life, and to such subjects as fall under daily practice and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the embellishment of poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians. To bring us to so salutary a determination, nothing can be more serviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and of the impossibility, that any thing, but the strong power of natural instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a propensity to philosophy, will still continue their researches; because they reflect, that, besides the immediate pleasure attending such an occupation, philosophical decisions are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations. While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after a thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from, and to eternity?
(21) What is the second type of mitigated skepticism which may be advantageous to humankind ?
This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so reasonable, that it suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural powers of the human mind and to compare them with their objects, in order to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper subjects of science and enquiry.
It seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract science or of demonstration are quantity and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number are entirely similar, their relations become intricate and involved; and nothing can be more curious, as well as useful, than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality or inequality, through their different appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly distinct and different from each other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny, than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection, pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the undeterminate meaning of words, which is corrected by juster definitions. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides, cannot be known, let the terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of reasoning and enquiry. But to convince us of this proposition, that where there is no property, there can be no injustice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and explain injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which may be found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences of quantity and number; and these may safely, I think, be pronounced the only proper objects of knowledge and demonstration.
All other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence; and these are evidently incapable of demonstration. Whatever is may not be. No negation of a fact can involve a contradiction. The non-existence of any being, without exception, is as clear and distinct an idea as its existence. The proposition, which affirms it not to be, however false, is no less conceivable and intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The case is different with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition, which is not true, is there confused and unintelligible. That the cube root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false proposition, and can never be distinctly conceived. But that Caesar, or the angel Gabriel, or any being never existed, may be a false proposition, but still is perfectly conceivable, and implies no contradiction.
(22) What are the two principles which determine the limits of rational inquiry?
The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments from its cause or its effect; and these arguments are founded entirely on experience. If we reason a priori, any thing may appear able to produce any thing. The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the planets in their orbits. It is only experience, which teaches us the nature and bounds of cause and effect, and enables us to infer the existence of one object from that of another. Such is the foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the greater part of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action and behaviour.
Moral reasonings are either concerning particular or general facts. All deliberations in life regard the former; as also all disquisitions in history, chronology, geography, and astronomy.
The sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics, natural philosophy, physic, chemistry, &c. where the qualities, causes and effects of a whole species of objects are enquired into.
Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity, and the immortality of souls, is composed partly of reasonings concerning particular, partly concerning general facts. It has a foundation in reason, so far as it is supported by experience. But its best and most solid foundation is faith and divine revelation.
Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the understanding as of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is felt, more properly than perceived. Or if we reason concerning it, and endeavor to fix its standard, we regard a new fact, to wit, the general tastes of mankind, or some such fact, which may be the object of reasoning and enquiry.
(23) What do all of the above areas of experimental reasoning have in common (including history, physics, theology, and morals)?
When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make? If we take in our hand any volume; of divinity or school metaphysics, for instance; let us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experimental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No. Commit it then to the flames: For it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion.
(24) Hume rejects all remaining areas of study which claim to establish truths about the world, but are about neither (a) abstract reasoning concerning quantity and number (relations of ideas) nor (b) experimental reasoning concerning matters of fact. What does he suggest that we do with books that contain such studies?
PERSONAL IDENTITY
Not all of the philosophically important arguments in Hume’s Treatise made their way into the Enquiries. One such argument is Hume’s discussion of the personal identity.
Hume’s Original Argument in Treatise Book I. Hume begins his discussion noting how philosophers typically understand the notion of the self. One philosopher Hume possibly has in mind is Descartes in Meditation Two. According to Hume, philosophers such as Descartes argue that the self (a) is a simple and unified thing/experience, and (b) continues over time as a unified thing/experience.
There are some philosophers who imagine we are every moment intimately conscious of what we call our self; that we feel its existence and its continuance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evidence of a demonstration, both of its perfect identity and simplicity. The strongest sensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of distracting us from this view, only fix it the more intensely, and make us consider their influence on self either by their pain or pleasure. To attempt a further proof of this were to weaken its evidence; since no proof can be derived from any fact of which we are so intimately conscious; nor is there any thing of which we can be certain if we doubt of this.
(1) What kind of proofs do these philosophers offer for their view?
Keeping with his copy thesis, Hume argues that if we do have an idea of single, continuous self, this idea must have come from some impression. However, it appears that we have no such single, continuous impression of the self.
Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very experience which is pleaded for them; nor have we any idea of self, after the manner it is here explained. For, from what impression could this idea be derived? This question it is impossible to answer without a manifest contradiction and absurdity; and yet it is a question which must necessarily be answered, if we would have the idea of self pass for clear and intelligible. It must be some one impression that gives rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any one impression, but that to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to have a reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression must continue invariably the same, through the whole course of our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner. But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never all exist at the same time. It cannot therefore be from any of these impressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and consequently there is no such idea.
(2) Why does Hume think we can form no such idea of a single, continuous self?
But further, what must become of all our particular perceptions upon this hypothesis? All these are different, and distinguishable, and separable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may exist separately, and have no need of any thing to support their existence. After what manner therefore do they belong to self, and how are they connected with it? For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception.
(3) What kind of perceptions do we have of ourselves?
When my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long am I insensible of myself, and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my perceptions removed by death, and could I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate, after the dissolution of my body, I should be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive what is further requisite to make me a perfect nonentity.
(4) Why does he think that the self must be identical to our varied perceptions?
If any one, upon serious and unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a different notion of himself, I must confess I can reason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, that he may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially different in this particular. He may, perhaps, perceive something simple and continued, which he calls himself; though I am certain there is no such principle in me.
But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our eyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our thought is still more variable than our sight; and all our other senses and faculties contribute to this change: nor is there any single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, perhaps for one moment.
(5) What kind of perceptions are contained in the “bundle”?
The mind is a kind of theatre, where several perceptions successively make their appearance; pass, repass, glide away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations. There is properly no simplicity in it at one time, nor identity in different, whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must not mislead us. They are the successive perceptions only, that constitute the mind; nor have we the most distant notion of the place where these scenes are represented, or of the materials of which it is composed.
Hume concedes that we have a “natural propensity” or inclination to believe in a simple and continuous self, even though we are in fact only a bundle of perceptions. At first he suggests that we instinctively connect our various moments of perception because they resemble each other and are causally related. Thus, we have an artificially constructed idea of a unified self.
Modified View in the Appendix. A year after Hume published the above discussion in Book I of the Treatise, he abandoned his initial explanation of the artificially constructed idea of the self. His final position on the issue, as appears below from the Appendix to the Treatise, is that not only is the self in fact merely a bundle of perceptions, but he has no explanation of how we arrive at an artificially constructed notion of the self.
But upon a more strict review of the section concerning personal identity, I find myself involv’d in such a labyrinth, that, I must confess I neither know how to correct my former opinions, now how to render them consistent. If this be not a good general reason for skepticism, ‘tis at least a sufficient one (if I were not already abundantly supplied) for me to entertain a diffidence and modesty in all my decisions. ...
In short there are two principles, which I cannot render consistent; nor is it in my power to renounce either of them, viz. that all our distinct perceptions are distinct existences, and that the mind never perceives any real connection among distinct existences. Did our perceptions either inhere in something simple and individual, or did the mind perceive some real connection among them, there wou’d be no difficulty in the case. For my part, I must plead the privilege of a skeptic, and confess, that this difficulty is too hard for my Understanding. I pretend not, however, to pronounce it absolutely insuperable. Others, perhaps, or myself, upon more mature reflections, may discover some hypothesis, that will reconcile those contradictions.
(6) What does Hume say about the possibility of solving this problem in the future?
MORAL THEORY
Hume's discussion of morality appeared first in Book 3 of his Treatise of Human Nature (1740). The book sold only a few dozen copies, which Hume blamed on its style, rather than content. A decade later he recast the work in a more popularized form, which was published as An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (1751). Hume wrote that of all his writings the moral Enquiry “is incomparably the best.” There are two principal contributions in Hume’s moral writings. The first is his attack on the role of reason in moral judgments and his notion that moral judgments are pleasing feelings experienced by a spectator. The second contribution is that Hume lays the foundations for the utilitarian moral theory. The litmus test for morally proper conduct is that it produces useful or pleasing consequences to the agent herself or the spectator.
Moral Distinctions not Derived from Reason. Hume opens his moral Enquiry arguing that the role of reason in moral decisions is very limited, and that moral approval is essentially a feeling. For Hume, the key problem in moral theory is whether a person's moral approval of something is a judgment of reason, or only a feeling in the mind of that person.
There has been a controversy started of late... concerning the general foundation of morals: whether they be derived from reason or from sentiment; whether we attain the knowledge of them by a chain of argument and induction, or by an immediate feeling and finer internal sense; whether, like all sound judgment of truth and falsehood, they should be the same to every rational intelligent being; or whether, like the perception of beauty and deformity, they be founded entirely on the particular fabric and constitution of the human species.
(7) What is the controversy concerning the general foundation of morals?
The ancient philosophers, though they often affirm that virtue is nothing but conformity to reason, yet, in general, seem to consider morals as deriving their existence from taste and sentiment. On the other hand, our modern inquirers (though they also talk much of the beauty of virtue and deformity of vice, yet) have commonly endeavored to account for these distinctions by metaphysical reasonings, and by deductions from the most abstract principles of the understanding. Such confusion reigned in these subjects, that an opposition of the greatest consequence could prevail between one system and another, and even in the parts of almost each individual system. And yet nobody, till very lately, was ever sensible of it.
(8) How do the ancient moral philosophers stand in this controversy?
Reason vs. Sentiment. Hume continues by noting that there are arguments on both sides of the dispute between reason and feeling. In the end, though, moral approval appears to be only a pleasing feeling or sentiment. He defends this position arguing that reason can only present us with facts, but reason is incapable of motivating us to action. For example, no matter how many starving people I see, I will not be motivated to help feed these people unless I am driven by emotion, not by reason. Therefore, only emotion can be the source of our moral obligation to act.
It must be acknowledged that both sides of the question are susceptible of specious arguments. Moral distinctions, it may be said, are discernible by pure reason. Else, whence the many disputes that reign in common life as well as in philosophy with regard to this subject: the long chain of proofs often produced on both sides, the examples cited, the authorities appealed to, the analogies employed, the fallacies detected, the inferences drawn, and the several conclusions adjusted to their proper principles. Truth is disputable, not taste. What exists in the nature of things is the standard of our judgment, [but] what each man feels within himself is the standard of sentiment. Propositions in geometry may be proved, systems in physics may be controverted. But the harmony of verse, the tenderness of passion, the brilliance of wit must give immediate pleasure. No man reasons concerning another's beauty, but frequently concerning the justice or injustice of his actions. In every criminal trial the first object of the prisoner is to disprove the facts alleged, and deny the actions imputed to him. The second [is] to prove that, even if these actions were real, they might be justified as innocent and lawful. It is confessedly by deductions of the understanding that the first point [of alleged facts] is ascertained. How can we suppose that a different faculty of the mind is employed in fixing the other [point regarding moral justification]?
(9) Hume confesses that there appears to be evidence for both sides of the controversy. How do criminal trials support the claim that morality is based on reason?
On the other hand, those who would resolve all moral determinations into sentiment may endeavor to show that it is impossible for reason ever to draw conclusions of this nature. To virtue, say they, it belongs to be amiable, and [to] vice odious. This forms their very nature or essence. But can reason or argumentation distribute these different epithets to any subjects, and pronounce beforehand that this must produce love, and that hatred? Or what other reason can we ever assign for these affections but the original fabric and formation of the human mind, which is naturally adapted to receive them?
The end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty, and (by proper representations of the deformity of vice and beauty of virtue) beget correspondent habits, and engage us to avoid the one, and embrace the other. But is this ever to be expected from the inferences and conclusions of the understanding, which, of themselves, have no hold of the affections nor set in motion the active powers of men? They discover truths. But where the truths which they discover are indifferent, and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no influence on conduct and behavior. What is honorable, what is fair, what is becoming, what is noble, what is generous, takes possession of the heart and animates us to embrace and maintain it. What is intelligible, what is evident, what is probable, what is true, procures only the cool assent of the understanding, and gratifying a speculative curiosity, puts an end to our researches.
It is not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of my finger. It is not contrary to reason for me to choose my total ruin, to prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknown to me. It is as little contrary to reason to prefer even my own acknowledged lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good may, from certain circumstances, produce a desire superior to what arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoyment. Nor is there anything more extraordinary in this than in [the field of] mechanics to see [a] one pound weight raise up a hundred by the advantage of its situation [such as by a lever]. In short, a passion must be accompanied with some false judgment in order to its being unreasonable. [The preceding paragraph is from A Treatise of Human Nature, Book 2, Part 3, Section 3.]
Extinguish all the warm feelings and prepossessions in favor of virtue, and all disgust or aversion to vice; render men totally indifferent towards these distinctions, and morality is no longer a practical study, nor has any tendency to regulate our lives and actions.
(10) In support of the claim that morality is based on sentiment, what would happen if we extinguished our warm feelings of virtue?
These arguments on each side (and many more might be produced) are so plausible, that I am apt to suspect they may, the one as well as the other, be solid and satisfactory, and that reason and sentiment concur in almost all moral determinations and conclusions. The final sentence, it is probable, which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praise-worthy or blamable; that which stamps on them the mark of honor or infamy, approbation or censure; that which renders morality an active principle and constitutes virtue our happiness, and vice our misery; it is probable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal sense or feeling which nature has made universal in the whole species. For what else can have an influence of this nature?
(11) Hume concludes that perhaps reason and sentiment together are involved in moral judgments. On this hypothesis what role would sentiment play?
The Limited Role Of Reason. The role of reason in moral decision making is very restrictive. First, reason can inform us of the relevant facts, such as the fact that Jones is starving. Second, reason can help us calculate the consequences of our actions, such as the fact that my feeding Jones would have beneficial consequences for both Jones and myself. In either case, though, that actual moral pronouncement, "I should feed Jones," is a feeling, and not a rational judgment.
But in order to pave the way for such a sentiment, and give a proper discernment of its object, it is often necessary, we find, that much reasoning should precede, [so] that nice distinctions be made, just conclusions drawn, distant comparisons formed, complicated relations examined, and general facts fixed and ascertained.
[First,] some species of beauty, especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, command our affection and approbation. And where they fail of this effect, it is impossible for any reasoning to redress their influence, or adapt them better to our taste and sentiment. But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of the finer arts, it is requisite to employ much reasoning in order to feel the proper sentiment. And a false relish may frequently be corrected by argument and reflection. There are just grounds to conclude that moral beauty partakes much of this latter species, and demands the assistance of our intellectual faculties, in order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind.
[Second,] one principal foundation of moral praise being supposed to lie in the usefulness [or beneficial consequences] of any quality or action, it is evident that reason must enter for a considerable share in all decisions of this kind. [This follows] since nothing but that faculty can instruct us in the tendency of qualities and actions, and point out their beneficial consequences to society and to their possessor. In many cases, this is an affair liable to great controversy. Doubts may arise, opposite interests may occur, and a preference must be given to one side [versus the other side] from very nice views, and a small overbalance of utility [or benefit which is in its favor]. This is particularly remarkable in questions with regard to justice (as is, indeed, natural to suppose from that species of utility, which attends every virtue). Were every single instance of justice, like that of benevolence, useful to society, this would be a more simple state of the case, and seldom liable to great controversy. But as single instances of justice are often pernicious in their first and immediate tendency (and as the advantage to society results only from the observance of the general rule, and from the concurrence and combination of several persons in the same equitable conduct) the case here becomes more intricate and involved. The various circumstances of society, the various consequences of any practice, the various interests which may be proposed; these, on many occasions, are doubtful and subject to great discussion and inquiry. The object of municipal laws is to fix all the questions with regard to justice. The debates of civilians, the reflections of politicians, the precedents of history and public records, are all directed to the same purpose. And a very accurate reason or judgment is often requisite to give the true determination, amidst such intricate doubts arising from obscure or opposite utilities.
But though reason, when fully assisted and improved, be sufficient to instruct us in the pernicious or useful tendency of qualities and actions, it is not alone sufficient to produce any moral blame or approbation. Utility is only a tendency to a certain end. And were the end totally indifferent to us, we should feel the same indifference towards the means. It is requisite [that] a sentiment should here display itself, in order to give a preference to the useful above the pernicious tendencies. This sentiment can be no other than a feeling for the happiness of humankind, and a resentment of their misery, since these are the different ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to promote. Here, therefore, reason instructs us in the several tendencies of actions, and humanity [or sentiment] makes a distinction in favor of those which are useful and beneficial.
(12) What roles would reason play in moral judgment?
Thus, the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood. The latter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers objects as they really stand in nature, without addition or diminution. The other has a productive faculty and (gilding or staining all natural objects with the colors borrowed from internal sentiment) raises in a manner a new creation. Reason, being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining happiness or avoiding misery. Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain (and thereby constitutes happiness or misery) becomes a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and volition. From circumstances and relations known or supposed, the former leads us to the discovery of the concealed and unknown. After all circumstances and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us feel from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approbation. The standard of the one, being founded on the nature of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the will of the Supreme Being. The standard of the other, arising from the internal frame and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from that Supreme will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and arranged the several classes and orders of existence.
Arguments Against Other Roles Of Reason In Morality. In the First Appendix to the Moral Enquiry,Hume launches five attacks against the view that moral pronouncements are judgments of reason. The first argument is based on the restrictive function of our rational faculty in general. Reason involves only judgments of about reality: either of facts we perceive through our five senses, or of abstract relations in mathematics and logic. When we closely examine the contents of any morally significant action, such as a murder, we will never locate a special moral fact or relation about which we can make a judgment. All we will find is our own feeling. Hume is especially interested in refuting the view of 17th century rationalist Samuel Clarke. Clarke argued that moral assessments are rational judgments about the relation between an action, and a universal standard of moral rightness. Hume counters that, even if such abstract moral standards exist, humans do not have the faculties to perceive that particular breed of abstract principles. The second argument is that moral pronouncements do not parallel logical and mathematical reasoning. In these disciplines, we begin with known facts, such as theorems, and deduce from these a new and previously unknown fact. But with moral pronouncements, all the relevant facts must be first known. The third argument is that moral pronouncements more closely parallel our aesthetic pronouncements about beauty, which are clearly feelings and not rational judgments. The fourth argument is that moral pronouncements cannot be judgments about relations since we find exactly the same abstract relations in both moral and nonmoral situations. The fifth and final argument is that moral pronouncements cannot be rational judgments, since all moral actions are done for the final and foundational purpose of happiness. And no final or foundational purpose can be accounted for by reason. Hume concludes noting the distinct boundaries between reason and sentiment in moral judgment.
Deriving Ought From Is. Hume’s most influential attack on the role of reason in moral jugment is in Book III of his Treatise. He argues that rationalist discussions of morality all begin with statements of fact, such as "Jones is starving," and then conclude with a statement of obligation, such as "We should help feed Jones." According to Hume, it is impossible to rationally deduce statements of obligation from statements of fact. This view of Hume's is encapsulated in the dictum that, "Ought cannot be derived from is."
I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. In every system of morality which I have hitherto met with, I have always remarked that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs. When of a sudden, I am surprized to find that, instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is and is not, I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an ought or an ought not. The change is imperceptible, but is, however, of the last [and greatest] consequence. For as this ought or ought not expresses some new relation or affirmation, it is necessary that it should be observed and explained. And at the same time, [it is necessary] that a reason should be given for (what seems altogether inconceivable) how this new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers. And [I] am persuaded that this small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see that the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects nor is perceived by reason. [The preceding paragraph is from A Treatise of Human Nature, Book 3, Part 1, Section 1.]
The Theory of Utility. In the 18th and early 19th centuries, Hume was known as the creator of the “theory of utility” especially as described in his moral Enquiry. The theory is this: useful and immediately agreeable actions are the only actions which a spectator will morally approve of. That is, utility and agreeability are the only intrinsic moral goods. Hume's proof of his thesis is straight forward. (1) He lists several actions (and virtues) of a moral agent which produce pleasing sentiments in the mind of the spectator. (2) He observes that all of these actions have the consequence of either utility (i.e. usefulness) or immediate agreeableness. Some of useful actions include charity, justice, benevolence, and telling the truth. Immediately agreeable actions include wit, eloquence, cleanliness, and pride. The bulk of the moral Enquiry -- seven of its nine chapters -- is devoted to this these first two tasks. (3) He then generalizes from this observation and concludes that all morally good actions are either useful or immediately agreeable.
Method Of Moral Investitation. Hume notes his intent to use the experimental method of reasoning in discovering the constituents of personal merit (Hume's term for morally applaudable conduct). He says he will begin by listing all those qualities (or virtues) which are traditionally admired.
But though this question, concerning the general principles of morals, be curious and important, it is needless for us, at present, to employ farther care in our researches concerning it. For if we can be so happy, in the course of this inquiry, as to discover the true origin of morals, it will then easily appear how far either sentiment or reason enters into all determinations of this nature. In order to attain this purpose, we shall endeavor to follow a very simple method: We shall analyze that complication of mental qualities, which form what, in common life, we call personal merit: We shall consider every attribute of the mind, which renders a man an object either of esteem and affection, or of hatred and contempt; every habit or sentiment or faculty, which , if ascribed to any person, implies either praise or blame, and may enter into any panegyric or satire of his character and manners. The quick sensibility, which, on this head, is so universal among humankind, gives a philosopher sufficient assurance, that he can never be considerably mistaken in framing the catalogue, or incur any danger of misplacing the objects of his contemplation: He needs only enter into his own breast for a moment, and consider whether or not he should desire to have this or that quality ascribed to him, and whether such or such an imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy. The very nature of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of this nature; and as every tongue possesses one set of words which are taken in a good sense, and another in the opposite, the least acquaintance with the idiom suffices, without any reasoning, to direct us in collecting and arranging the estimable or blamable qualities of men. The only object of reasoning is to discover the circumstances on both sides, which are common to these qualities; to observe that particular in which the estimable qualities agree on the one hand, and the blamable on the other; and thence to reach the foundation of ethics, and find those universal principles, from which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived. As this is a question of fact, not of abstract science, we can only expect success, by following the experimental method, and deducing general maxims from a comparison of particular instances.
(13) Which version of the experimental method does Hume follow in his quest for personal merit?
The other scientifical method, where a general abstract principle is first established, and is afterwards branched out into a variety of inferences and conclusions, may be more perfect in itself, but suits less the imperfection of human nature, and is a common source of illusion and mistake in this as well as in other subjects. Men are now cured of their passion for hypotheses and systems in natural philosophy, and will hearken to no arguments but those which are derived from experience. it is full time they should attempt a like reformation in all moral disquisitions; and reject every system of ethics, however subtle or ingenious, which is not founded on fact and observation.
(14) Which version of the experimental method does Hume not follow, and why?
Constituents of Personal Merit. In the concluding section of the Enquiry, Hume argues that an agent's character trait or action is approved of morally if and only if it is useful or agreeable to oneself or to others.
It may justly appear surprising, that any man, in so late an age, should find it requisite to prove, by elaborate reasoning, that PERSONAL MERIT consists altogether in the possession of mental qualities, useful or agreeable to the person himself, or to others. It might be expected, that this principle would have occurred even to the first rude, unpracticed inquirers concerning morals, and been received from its own evidence, without any argument or disputation. Whatever is valuable in any kind, so naturally classes itself under the division of useful or agreeable, the utile or the dulce, that it is not easy to imagine, why we should ever seek farther, or consider the question as a matter of nice research or inquiry. And as every thing useful or agreeable must possess these qualities with regard either to the person himself or to others, the complete delineation or description of merit seems to be performed as naturally as a shadow is cast by the sun, or an image is reflected upon water. If the ground, on which the shadow is cast, be not broken and uneven; nor the surface, from which the image is reflected, disturbed and confused; a just figure is immediately presented, without any art or attention. And it seems a reasonable presumption, that systems and hypotheses have perverted our natural understanding; when a theory, so simple and obvious, could so long have escaped the most elaborate examination.
And as every quality, which is useful or agreeable to ourselves or others, is, in common life, allowed to be a part of personal merit; so no other will ever be received, where men judge of things by their natural, unprejudiced reason, without the delusive glosses of superstition and false religion. Celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude, and the whole train of monkish virtues; for what reason are they every where rejected by men of sense, but because they serve to no manner of purpose; neither advance a man's fortune in the world, nor render him a more valuable member of society; neither qualify him for the entertainment of company, nor increase his power of self-enjoyment? We observe, on the contrary, that they cross all these desirable ends; stupify the understanding and harden the heart, obscure the fancy and sour the temper. We justly, therefore, transfer them to the opposite column, and place them in the catalogue of vices; nor has any superstition force sufficient among men of the world, to pervert entirely these natural sentiments. A gloomy, hair-brained enthusiast, after his death, may have a place in the calendar; but will scarcely ever be admitted, when alive, into intimacy and society, except by those who are as delirious and dismal as himself.
(15) Why does Hume think that the so-called monkish virtues are, in fact, vices?
THE DESIGN ARGUMENT FOR GOD
From his earliest philosophical productions, Hume was highly critical of religion and argued that religious belief was driven by superstition and fanaticism. In his middle 40s, he composed his Dialogues, which systematically attacks the most recent versions of the theological proofs, including the design argument. When Hume presented the manuscript of this work to his close friends, they were shocked by its controversial nature and discouraged him from ever publishing it. 20 years later as his health was rapidly declining, Hume made arrangements to have the Dialogues published after his death. The work finally appeared in 1779 and, as expected, it met with heated criticism. The Dialogues is a conversation between three principal characters: Cleanthes, Philo, and Demea. The initial design argument from analogy is presented by the character Cleanthes.
[Cleanthes:] I shall briefly explain how I conceive this matter. Look round the world: contemplate the whole and every part of it: You will find it to be nothing but one great machine, subdivided into an infinite number of lesser machines, which again admit of subdivisions to a degree beyond what human senses and faculties can trace and explain. All these various machines, and even their most minute parts, are adjusted to each other with an accuracy which ravishes into admiration all men who have ever contemplated them. The curious adapting of means to ends, throughout all nature, resembles exactly, though it much exceeds, the productions of human contrivance; of human designs, thought, wisdom, and intelligence. Since, therefore, the effects resemble each other, we are led to infer, by all the rules of analogy, that the causes also resemble; and that the Author of Nature is somewhat similar to the mind of man, though possessed of much larger faculties, proportioned to the grandeur of the work which he has executed. By this argument a posteriori, and by this argument alone, do we prove at once the existence of a Deity, and his similarity to human mind and intelligence. [Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, Part 2]
(16) According to Cleanthes, in what ways is the world “one great machine”?
The Failure of the Analogy. Cleanthes’ design argument is then challenged by Philo – who here represents Hume’s views. A central assumption in the design argument is that the universe resembles a machine (premise two above). Perhaps there is some superficial resemblance between the two – such as with the circular movement of planets around the sun and the movement of gears within clocks. However, Philo argues that such resemblance doesn’t hold up to close scrutiny. The universe is quite different from human machines. Philo begins explaining a basic principle of logic: the more dissimilar two objects are, the weaker the analogy between those two objects becomes.
[Philo:] ... That a stone will fall, that fire will burn, that the earth has solidity, we have observed a thousand and a thousand times; and when any new instance of this nature is presented, we draw without hesitation the accustomed inference. The exact similarity of the cases gives us a perfect assurance of a similar event; and a stronger evidence is never desired nor sought after. But wherever you depart, in the least, from the similarity of the cases, you diminish proportionably the evidence; and may at last bring it to a very weak analogy, which is confessedly liable to error and uncertainty. After having experienced the circulation of the blood in human creatures, we make no doubt that it takes place in Titius and Maevius. But from its circulation in frogs and fishes, it is only a presumption, though a strong one, from analogy, that it takes place in men and other animals. The analogical reasoning is much weaker, when we infer the circulation of the sap in vegetables from our experience that the blood circulates in animals; and those, who hastily followed that imperfect analogy, are found, by more accurate experiments, to have been mistaken.
If we see a house, Cleanthes, we conclude, with the greatest certainty, that it had an architect or builder; because this is precisely that species of effect which we have experienced to proceed from that species of cause. But surely you will not affirm, that the universe bears such a resemblance to a house, that we can with the same certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy is here entire and perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking, that the utmost you can here pretend to is a guess, a conjecture, a presumption concerning a similar cause; and how that pretension will be received in the world, I leave you to consider.
(17) Philo presents examples of weak analogies. Give one of these.
[Cleanthes:] It would surely be very ill received, replied Cleanthes; and I should be deservedly blamed and detested, did I allow, that the proofs of a Deity amounted to no more than a guess or conjecture. But is the whole adjustment of means to ends in a house and in the universe so slight a resemblance? The economy of final causes? The order, proportion, and arrangement of every part? Steps of a stair are plainly contrived, that human legs may use them in mounting; and this inference is certain and infallible. Human legs are also contrived for walking and mounting; and this inference, I allow, is not altogether so certain, because of the dissimilarity which you remark; but does it, therefore, deserve the name only of presumption or conjecture?
(18) Cleanthes responds to Philo by specifying the precise features that the universe has in common with objects of human design, such as houses. What are these features?
Philo insists again that any difference between two compared things weakens the analogy. Objects of human design such as houses certainly do exhibit intelligent thought. However, when we survey the various systems of the universe, we find many causal forces that do not apparently depend upon conscious thought. Why single out those that seem to require intelligent design as the main ones?
[Philo:] That all inferences, Cleanthes, concerning fact, are founded on experience; and that all experimental reasonings are founded on the supposition that similar causes prove similar effects, and similar effects similar causes; I shall not at present much dispute with you. But observe, I entreat you, with what extreme caution all just reasoners proceed in the transferring of experiments to similar cases. Unless the cases be exactly similar, they repose no perfect confidence in applying their past observation to any particular phenomenon. Every alteration of circumstances occasions a doubt concerning the event; and it requires new experiments to prove certainly, that the new circumstances are of no moment or importance. A change in bulk, situation, arrangement, age, disposition of the air, or surrounding bodies; any of these particulars may be attended with the most unexpected consequences: And unless the objects be quite familiar to us, it is the highest temerity to expect with assurance, after any of these changes, an event similar to that which before fell under our observation. The slow and deliberate steps of philosophers here, if any where, are distinguished from the precipitate march of the vulgar, who, hurried on by the smallest similitude, are incapable of all discernment or consideration.
But can you think, Cleanthes, that your usual phlegm and philosophy have been preserved in so wide a step as you have taken, when you compared to the universe houses, ships, furniture, machines, and, from their similarity in some circumstances, inferred a similarity in their causes? Thought, design, intelligence, such as we discover in men and other animals, is no more than one of the springs and principles of the universe, as well as heat or cold, attraction or repulsion, and a hundred others, which fall under daily observation. It is an active cause, by which some particular parts of nature, we find, produce alterations on other parts. But can a conclusion, with any propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole? Does not the great disproportion bar all comparison and inference? From observing the growth of a hair, can we learn any thing concerning the generation of a man? Would the manner of a leaf’s blowing, even though perfectly known, afford us any instruction concerning the vegetation of a tree?
(19) What are some of the actuating “springs and principles” that the universe exhibits aside from intelligent design?
But, allowing that we were to take the operations of one part of nature upon another, for the foundation of our judgment concerning the origin of the whole, (which never can be admitted,) yet why select so minute, so weak, so bounded a principle, as the reason and design of animals is found to be upon this planet? What peculiar privilege has this little agitation of the brain which we call thought, that we must thus make it the model of the whole universe? Our partiality in our own favor does indeed present it on all occasions; but sound philosophy ought carefully to guard against so natural an illusion.
(10) What is Hume’s point when he refers to “this little agitation of the brain which we call thought”?
So far from admitting, continued Philo, that the operations of a part can afford us any just conclusion concerning the origin of the whole, I will not allow any one part to form a rule for another part, if the latter be very remote from the former. Is there any reasonable ground to conclude, that the inhabitants of other planets possess thought, intelligence, reason, or any thing similar to these faculties in men? When nature has so extremely diversified her manner of operation in this small globe, can we imagine that she incessantly copies herself throughout so immense a universe? And if thought, as we may well suppose, be confined merely to this narrow corner, and has even there so limited a sphere of action, with what propriety can we assign it for the original cause of all things? The narrow views of a peasant, who makes his domestic economy the rule for the government of kingdoms, is in comparison a pardonable sophism.
But were we ever so much assured, that a thought and reason, resembling the human, were to be found throughout the whole universe, and were its activity elsewhere vastly greater and more commanding than it appears in this globe; yet I cannot see, why the operations of a world constituted, arranged, adjusted, can with any propriety be extended to a world which is in its embryo state, and is advancing towards that constitution and arrangement. By observation, we know somewhat of the economy, action, and nourishment of a finished animal; but we must transfer with great caution that observation to the growth of a fetus in the womb, and still more to the formation of an animalcule in the loins of its male parent. Nature, we find, even from our limited experience, possesses an infinite number of springs and principles, which incessantly discover themselves on every change of her position and situation. And what new and unknown principles would actuate her in so new and unknown a situation as that of the formation of a universe, we cannot, without the utmost temerity, pretend to determine.
A very small part of this great system, during a very short time, is very imperfectly discovered to us; and do we thence pronounce decisively concerning the origin of the whole?
Admirable conclusion! Stone, wood, brick, iron, brass, have not, at this time, in this minute globe of earth, an order or arrangement without human art and contrivance; therefore the universe could not originally attain its order and arrangement, without something similar to human art. But is a part of nature a rule for another part very wide of the former? Is it a rule for the whole? Is a very small part a rule for the universe? Is nature in one situation, a certain rule for nature in another situation vastly different from the former?