David Hume and his influence on philosophy and theology

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THE WORLD'S EPOCH-MAKERS

EDITED BY

•OLIPHANT SMEATON

David Hume and

His Influence on Philosophy
and Theology

By James Orr, M.A., D,D.

Previous Volumes in this Series : —

CRANMER AND THE ENGLISH REFORMATION.
By A. D. Innes, M.A.

WESLEY AND METHODISM.

By F. J. Snell, M.A.

LUTHER AND THE GERMAN REFORMATION.
By Principal T. M. LiNDSAV, D.D.

BUDDHA AND BUDDHISM.

By Arthur Lillie.

WILLIAM HERSCHEL AND HIS WORK.

By James Sime, M.A., F.R.S.E.

FRANCIS AND DOMINIC.

By Prof. J. Herkless, D.D.

SAVONAROLA.

By Rev. G. M^Hardy, D.D.

ANSELM AND HIS WORK.

By Rev. A. C. Welch, M.A., B.D.

MUHAMMAD AND HIS POWER.

By P. De Lacy Johnstone, M.A.(Oxon.)
ORIGEN AND GREEK PATRISTIC THEOLOGY.

By Rev. William Fairweather, M.A.

THE MEDICI AND THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE.
By Oliphant Smeaton, M.A,

PLATO.

By Prof. D. G. Ritchie, M.A., LL.D.

PASCAL AND THE PORT ROYALISTS.

By Prof. William Clark, LL.D., D.C.L.
EUCLID: HIS LIFE AND SYSTEM.

By Thomas Smith, D.D., LL.D.
HEGEL AND HEGELIANISM.

By Prof. R. Mackintosh, D.D.

THE WORLD^S EPOCH-MAKERS

David Hume

and

His Influence on Philosophy
and Theology

By

James Qrr, M.A,, D.D.

Professor of Apologetics and Systematic Theology
United Free Church College, Glasgotv

Edinburgh. T. & T. Clark
1903

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Ml

PRINTED BY
MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED,

FOR

T. & T. CLARK, EDINBURGH.

LONDON : SlilPKlN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, AND CO. LIMITED.
NEW YORK : CHARLES SCBIBNER'S SONS.

PREFACE

The present sketch of the life, philosophy, and influ-
ence of Hume is based on well - nigh a lifetime's
familiarity with the works of that author ; but is, the
writer feels, still very imperfect. It is only necessary
in this Preface to specify sources of information, with
the editions of Hume's Works referred to in the text,
or that may profitably be consulted, and briefl.y to
indicate one or two principles that have been followed
in the composition of the book.

For the Life of Hume the main authority must
always be Dr. J. Hill Burton's elaborate work, the
Life and Correspondence of David Hume^ supple-
mented by Dr. G. Birkbeck Hill's Letters of David
Hume to William Strahan, with the full and valu-
able notes in that volume. With both will naturally
be compared the brief sketch, entitled My Own Life,
which Hume himself wrote shortly before his death, with
a view to its being prefixed to future editions of his
works. The ease of style, naivete, and candour of self-
revelation of the life-motives of its author, invest this
autobiographical piece with more than usual interest.
For the outer and anecdotal side of Hume's Edinburgh
life, with sketches of his contemporaries, and of the

VI

PREFACE

society in which he and they moved, the reader may
be referred to "Jupiter" Carlyle's Autobiography, and
to the recent works of the Rev. H. G. Graham on
Social Life in Scotland, and Scottish Men of Letters,
in the eighteenth century. The spirit in these will
be found entirely sympathetic.

The references in the text to Hume's works are to
that edition which the writer has been longest
acquainted with, and has mainly used — the old four-
volume edition of Hume's Philosophical Works, pub-
lished by Messrs. A. & C. Black in 1854. It was his
intention to adjust the references to the excellent later
edition of Hume's Works by T. H. Green and T. H.
Grose; but in the end he found that certain advan-
tages attached to the method originally adopted, and
accordingly adhered to it. The peculiar value of
Green and Grose's edition, it need hardly be said, lies
in Prof. Green's exhaustive examination of Hume's
Treatise in his Introduction to that work, and in the
" History of the Editions," prefixed to the Essays by
Mr. Grose. More recently, fresh proof has been given
of the interest in Hume by the publication by the
Clarendon Press of careful reprints of Hume's Treatise
and his two Enquiries, edited with admirable Introduc-
tions, coinparative tables, and full analytical indices,
by Mr. L. A. Selby-Bigge, M.A. Mention should also
be made of Leslie Stephen's English Thought in the
Eighteenth Century. With these aids, and the more
popular works of Huxley, Kniglit, and Calderwood,
the student should be at no loss to c^et at the true
" inwardness " of Hume's philosophy. This little work
can only be offered as a further humble contribution,
from its own point of view, to the same end.

PREFACE vii

The edition of the History to which references are
made is (unless otherwise specified) the final edition,
embracing the author's " last corrections and improve-
ments." The edition is in eight volumes, and the
special issue used is that of 1796.

It is indicated in the test that the point of view
from which Hume's philosophy is mainly regarded is
that of an experiment to explain knowledge, and
generally the intellectual and moral outfit of man,
without the assumption of a rational nature in man.
The criticism in the volume, on the other hand, is
directed to show (1) that the processes of Hume which
ignore the rational self — the operation of reason — in
the building up of a theory of knowledge, are invalid ;
and (2) that the rational self — the assumption of a
rational thinking principle in man — alone solves the
problems he raises. Hume is treated in this endeavour
to solve the problem of knowledge without rational
presuppositions as a type. It is astonishing to those
familiar with his thouo:ht to find how much of it is
present in, and continues in varying forms to be re-
produced by, popular empirical philosophy. Origin of
knowledge in vivid and faint states of consciousness ;
the potency of association ; the " I " as a flowing
stream of consciousness ; no substantive self ; no
objectively existing world ; no freedom ; good as
pleasure and evil as pain ; utility the standard of
morals ; dismissal of rational Theism, and " natural
histories " of religion ; with much else that will readily
occur to the observer of present-day tendencies.

In dealing with this widespread and prolonged
influence of Hume, some method had to be adopted.
It was impossible to deal with all ramifications of that

viii PREFACE

influence, and the simplest principle seemed to be to
keep in view mainly certain representative authors
and schools. Kant has been chosen as representing
the critical-rational standpoint — the more that he
acknowledges his direct awakening by Hume; Reid
and Hamilton (in part Brown) represent the Scottish
school ; J. S. Mill and Mr. Bain are selected as promi-
nent Associationalists ; Mr. Spencer stands for himself ;
Wundt and Prof. W. James are taken as types of the
physiological psychology of the newer period. Mr.
J. S. Mill is called upon also to do duty for utilitarian-
ism in morals. Mr. Green may be held to represent
idealism. It is impossible that in so brief a sketch
even scant justice should be done to all these phases of
thought, but there is at least the consistent endeavour
to do none of them injustice. Such as the book is, it
must now further speak for itself.

The thanks of the writer are due to the Rev. J. M.
Wilson, B.D., London, for his kind assistance in correc-
tion of the proofs.

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. Introductory ,.,... 1
11. Life of Htjme — 1. Till the ruBLicATiON of the

Treatise . . . . . . .14

III. Do. — 2. Literary Labours till the Publication of

THE History . . . . . .34

IV. Do. — 3, From the Publication of the History till

HIS Death . . . . . .57

V.I Hume in relation to previous Philosophy — his

Scepticism . .... 85 -

VI. Hume and the First Principles of Knowledge . 104
VII. Hume on Cause and Effect : Free-Will . . 122 '

VIII. Hume on Substance : the Material World : the

Ego . . . . . . .143

IX. Hume on Morals: Utilitarianism . . .166

X. Hume and Theology : Miracles . . . 192

XI. Hume's Miscellaneous Writings : Political Economy

—Hume as Historian . . . . .217

APPENDIX.— On some Editions of Hume's Works . . 237
INDEX 243

DAVID HUME

CHAPTER I

Introductoey

David Hume justly takes rank as the most distin-
guished member of that brilliant circle of literary men
whose names gave such a lustre to the second half of
the eighteenth century in Scotland. His speculations
were the most profound, and, with the possible excep-
tion of Adam Smith in a particular department, his
influence was the widest and most deeply felt, of any.
Hume's contemporaries could hardly be expected to
do him justice. His daring subtleties and avowed
scepticism excited so many prejudices, and exposed
him to so much dislike, that only a few were able and
prepared to recognise his substantial merits. But even
his warmest friends could scarcely have predicted the
influence he was destined to exercise, or the important
results that were to spring from his thoughts. It
required time to clear away the mists that had gathered
round his name, and to place him in his true light in
the eyes of posterity. At a century and a half's dis-
tance, we are in a better position to take an impartial

2 DAVID HUME

survey of his work and its effects. The result must be,
that, however we luay judge of Hume in particular
respects, we cannot deny to him a right to the title of
a great and independent thinker. It will be recognised
that he arose at the proper time to accomplish a
necessary task. He excited thought; he awoke men
from their " dogmatic slumbers " ; he gave an impulse to
fresh speculation on the most important questions ; by
exploding old systems, he prepared the way for new.
The study of such a man and his work can only be for
our advantage. It is the purpose of this volume, after
sketching his career, to describe the character, and
endeavour to appraise the value, of the services he has
directly or indirectly performed in the different direc-
tions of his influence.

It is not necessary at this preliminary stage to
say much of Hume himself, though the man and his
philosophy are in good measure of a piece, and must
always be studied together. Hume's character, happily,
is not one which it is difficult to sum up. Of easy,
passionless disposition, good-tempered and kindly of
heart, with little interest in outward nature, but much
in the springs of human thought and action, with
barely a spark of ideality in his composition, and, as
one is compelled to judge, almost wholly without experi-
, ence of the religious sentiment, he had yet, within the
limits which such a nature imposes, a keen, subtle, and
observant mind in the various branches of speculative
inquiry, and a firm and settled purpose to work out for
himself a reputation as an original discoverer in
philosophy and morals. It is not unfair to speak, as
is here done, of religion as an element almost entirely
"lacking in Hume's nature. We can at least find no

INTRODUCTORY 3

unambiguous trace of it in anything he ever said, or
did, or wrote. He seems to have early convinced him-
self that the bases of the ordinary religious beliefs,
even those of the current Deism, were vanity, and that
the philosopher would spend his time better in sceptic-
ally explaining, or explaining away, these beliefs, than
in allowing them any influence over his own conduct.
He has himself told us^ that his ruling passion was
"love of literary fame"; but, combined with this, he
had a stubborn independence of nature, a praiseworthy
desire to excel in what was best, and a courage and
perseverance, that bore him easily through rebuffs and
difficulties. He never lost his faith that, whatever the
immediate j udgment might be upon his work, his
reputation was safe with posterity ; and in this par-
ticular, at least, his confidence has been justified. His
place in the world of thought and letters is assured
beyond all possibility of altering it.

The influences which moulded the mind of Hume
were partly Scotch, partly English, and in considerable
measure French. With respect to Scotland, it must be
acknowledged that Hume did far more to arouse the
reflective spirit, and encourage the literary taste, of his
countrymen, than they ever did to develop his. Till
Francis Hutcheson — an Irishman — began, by his lec-
tures in Glasgow, to attract attention to Scotland as a
seat of the higher learning,^ our country had but a
poor reputation in that regard. Her literature was

^ My Own Life ; cf. below, p. 18.

2 Dugald Stewart dates the rise of Scotland's metaphysical philosophy,
and indeed of her literary taste in general, from the period of Hutche-
son's lectures about 1729. But this lack of culture in Scotland may
easily be exaggerated, and often has been. See below on the Scottish
gentry, p. 15.

4 DAVID HUME

scanty ; her scholarship, except in theology, associated
mainly with one illustrious name — that of Buchanan.
The reaction which, after the middle of the century,
raised Edinburgh to a pinnacle of distinction in letters,
was yet in its infancy when Hume began to write.
Nevertheless, his admiration for Hutcheson, and the
close intimacy which he afterwards maintained with
most of the literary characters of the metropolis, must
have exercised not a little influence on his later style.
To England his debt was greater, though his rooted
dislike to the English people prevented him from ever
fully acknowledging it. His own strong ambition
from the first was to gain distinction as an elegant
writer of the English language, and this naturally led
him to the study of the best models. A large share of
his attention, in republishing his works, was always
given to weeding out any lingering " Scotticisms " from
their pages. His own estimate of the state of literature
in England was far from high. *' The first polite prose
we have," he tells us in one of his Essays, " was writ by
a man who is still alive " (Dean Swift).^ Philosophy,
except in the department of ethics, was, in his judg-
ment, at an even lower ebb.^ Men's minds had sunk
to sleep under the influence of Locke. Vigorous,
original thinking in regard to fundamental questions
there was practically none. The Essay form of litera-
ture, which had risen into prominence, represented an
attempt to unite thoughtful and instructive readino"
with the charm of a free and popular style ; in this
way it diffused important moral lessons and helped to
elevate the public taste. Such compositions, especially

1 " Of Civil Liberty" (Works, iii. p. 98).
^ See Introduction to the Treatise.

INTRODUCTORY S

after the failure of his first great work to attract
attention, Hume seems to have looked on as models of
an " easy and humane " philosophy, and to have kept
them before him in the preparation of his books. But
his deepest impressions were probably those which he
derived from France. It was there that he composed
his Treatise of Human Nature, and during his whole
life his relations with France and with French authors
were very intimate. The easy, pleasure-loving temper
of that light-hearted people appears always to have
possessed a singular fascination for his mind. He
eulogises them repeatedly as models of what " sensible,
polite, and knowing " people ought to be.^ He caught
the tone of their principal writers ; he adopted many
of their views of life; he made it the aim of his
philosophy to justify their views by reasoning away
every notion which could give life a higher meaning ;
he lowered his moral standard to a level almost exactly
suited to their practice. The contrast of French life and
manners to the narrow, intolerant spirit he found pre-
vailing in certain circles in his own country (though all
earnestness was apt to be harshly judged by him), may
have helped to create a deeper sympathy in his mind
with the former.

One feature of Hume's character requiring to be kept
in view in all estimates of his work and aims is that
already mentioned — his prevailing ambition to excel in
literature. It was, he does not conceal, his " ruling pas-
sion" to take a permanent and brilliant place in the world
of " polite letters." It is no disparagement of Hume to
say that this predominant literary ambition was not

^ See My Oion Life, and the panegyric in the Essay above quoted
("Works, iii. pp. 97-8) ; and cf. below, pp. 64,

6 DAVID HUME

favourable to the highest development of his powers as
a thinker. There is a limit beyond which a man cannot
go in philosophy without being content to sacrifice
many of the graces of composition which are essential
to purely literary success. Abstruse thinking will
never bring in large returns of immediate popularity.
To think or write like an Aristotle, a Kant, or a Hegel,
is certainly not the road to literary fame such as Hume
was in search of. And Hume was latterly, at least,
perfectly aware of this. He contrasts the " easy and
obvious philosophy" of popular writers, with "the
abstruse philosophy" of deeper thinkers — which had
also been his own earlier and nobler ideal ^ — and
remarks, " It is certain that the easy and obvious
philosophy will always, with the generality of man-
kind, have the preference over the accurate and
abstruse. . . . This also must be confessed, that the
most durable, as well as the justest fame, has been
acquired by the eas}^ philosophy. . . . The fame of
Cicero flourishes at present, but that of Aristotle is
utterly decayed." ^ In these circumstances, as a man
bent on " the most durable as well as justest fame,'
Hume has scarcely an alternative. He must either re-
sign altogether the pursuit of the abstruser philosophy,
or at least so modify and popularise it, that it will not
debar him from taking his place among the " easy "
writers. This, in fact, is what he proposes to attempt.
" The difficulty," he saj^s, " may perhaps be surmounted
by care and art. . . . Happy if we can unite the bound-
aries of the different species of pliilosophj^, by recon-
ciling profound inquir^^ Avith clearness, and truth with

^ Introduction to Treatise (Works, i. p. 6) ; see below, \>. 32.
- In Enrquinj (Works, iv. pp. 2, 3).

INTRODUCTORY 7

novelty." ^ It is easy to see that a thinker with such
aims is committed to a style of writing in which more
durable qualities are apt to be sacrificed to a desire to
please.^ It is a significant commentary on Hume's
judgment, that it is the unfortunate Treatise, which he
was fain to disavow because of its abstruseness, on
which his fame as a philosopher now securely rests ;
while the more polished version of his principles in the
Enquiry is relegated to a quite secondary place.

The purely literary merit of Hume's writings is,
nevertheless, very great. He bestowed the utmost
pains on the acquirement of an easy, fascinating style,
and, once it was acquired, he lost no opportunity of
polishing and perfecting it. His success in this latter
endeavour may be almost regarded as complete. His
style combines the greater number of those excellences
of diction and smooth arrangement, for the study of
which the eighteenth century was distinguished beyond
most periods of our literature. It wants the *' pomp
and strut" of the style of Gibbon; it is less artificial
than Robertson's; it unites the ease and grace of
Addison with a peculiar clearness derived from his
French favourites. It was a style admirably suited to
the acute and flexible mind of the man who used it.

^ Works, iv. p. 14. In a letter late in life he expresses the wish that
he had always confined himself to "the more easy parts of erudition"
(Burton's Xz/c, i. p. 98).

2 Professor Huxley also remarks; "Indeed, it appears to be by no
means improbable that this peculiarity of Hume's constitution was
the cause of his gradually forsaking philosophical studies, after the
publication of the third part (on Morals) of the Treatise, in 1740, and
turning to those political and historical topics which were likely to
yield, and did in fact yield, a much better return of that sort of success
his soul loved. . . . Verily he had his reward, but not the crown he
might have won" {Hume, pp. 11, 12).

8 DAVID HUME

It served him to equal purpose in the literary essay,
in the subtle analysis of mental phenomena, in the
close train of metaphysical reasoning, and in the con-
nected exposition of historical events and sequences.
If it has any special fault, it may be said to lie in a
certain lack of concentration and vigour, and in the
absence of anything resembling passion. This is, per-
haps, scarcely a defect in treating of subjects of a
purely speculative nature, where the lumen siccum
is a condition of success ; but it is different in the
study of history and of religion, where sympathy and
the power of appreciating spiritual forces are indis-
pensable qualifications. Still, as a master of correct
and pleasing composition, Hume will always hold an
honourable place among the great writers of our
language. Dugald Stewart traces much of the elegance
observable in the style of some of Hume's opponents
to the careful and minute study which their desire
to refute his views caused them to bestow upon
his works,^ and there can be no question that his
influence in this respect has been both great and
beneficial.

Of the contemporaries of Hume, the two who stand
next to him in the measure of their importance are
undoubtedly Adam Smith and Thomas Eeid. The one
is the acknowledged founder of political economy as a
distinct branch of knowledge ; the other is the i^ecog-
nised head of the Scottish School in philosophy. But
even as regards these distinguished men, a pre-eminence
must be assigned to Hume; for apart from his in-
fluence probably neither of the two would have
written as he did. To Hume, as we shall And, more

^ Dissertation^ p. 208.

INTRODUCTORY 9

than to any living man, Adam Smith was indebted
for the leading ideas of his principal work ; and from
Hume, as best understanding the completeness and
value of the exposition, the Wealth of Nations re-
ceived its first emphatic welcome. Many suggestions
of Smith's peculiar moral theories are scattered up and
down the works of Hume. With regard to Reid, it is
only necessary to refer to his own express acknow-
ledgment that it was Hume's sceptical conclusions
which first of all startled him into independent inquiry.
" I acknowledge," he says, " that I never thought of
calling in question the principles commonly received
with regard to the human understanding until the
Treatise of Hwinan Nature was published in the year
1739. The ingenious author of that treatise upon the '
principles of Locke — who was no sceptic — hath built a
system of scepticism which leaves no ground to believe
any one thing rather than its contrary. His reasoning
appeared to me to be just ; there was, therefore, a necess-
ity to call in question the principles on which it was
founded, or to admit the conclusion." ^ In Germany,
the philosopher Kant, in a well-known passage, makes
a similar acknowledgment,^ so that the two principal
philosophical movements of the last century — that of
Scotland, which passed likewise into France, and that
of Germany, which took its origin in Kant — were due
directly to the influence of Hume. If it be argued
that these movements represent rather a recoil from
Hume's scepticism than any proper development of his
ideas, it may be replied that only a thinker of the first

^ Dedication to his Inquiry into ike Human Mind (Hamilton's Reid^
p. 95) J see also his letter to Hume below, p. 63.
^ Prolegoiiievay p. 13.

lo DAVID HUME

rank could have called forth such a reaction.^ But
it would be a mistake to look merely to this, and
to disregard the intrinsic merit of many of Hume's
speculations. The literature of simple antagonism, so
plentifully produced in Hume's own day, was little
worth, and is now almost forgotten. But more
thoughtful writers found in his works, not only
doubts, but germs of higher thoughts, and even germs
in the doubts themselves. It is doubtful if Kant
was acquainted with the Treatise;'^ if he had been,
he must have found Hume's speculations on Space,
Time, Externality, Mathematical Certainty, nearly as
fruitful in hints as his discussions on Causation. In
our own country it would be difficult to estimate how
much of our later philosophy, apart from the line of
Reid, is due directly or indirectly to Hume's influence.
One important school, at least, — the Associationist, —
must be traced to him in direct lineage ; but echoes of
Hume — vibrations of ]iis thinking — are perceptible in
all the empirical philosophies since his d?iy, and never
more distinctly than in our own time.

That which gave Hume his special value for subse-
quent speculation was above all the thoroughness with
which he did his work. Hume is commonly and justly
described as a sceptic. But the word in his case needs
explanation. It will be seen when we come to deal
with that topic,^ that Hume was not a sceptic in the

^ Mr. Leslie Stephen lias said; "The -writer who provokes a re-
action does as much in generating thought as the writer who pro-
pagates his own ideas" {English Thoiight in the Eighteenth Century,
ii. p. 5).

'^ Of. Dr. H. Stirling's Text-Booh to Kant^ p. 16 ; contra, Green's Intro-
dnction to Hume (Works, i. p. 3).

^ Chapter V.

INTRODUCTORY 1 1

sense that lie had not a very deep and serious
interest in the philosophical questions he discussed,
or was not really persuaded that his results, on their
negative side at least, and in many positive respects
as well, were not established beyond all reasonable
cavil. But the peculiarity of Hume's thinking was
that, in destroying the beliefs of other people, he
could not avoid undermining the authority of reason
itself. Reason ' and natural belief are lef b by him
in irreconcilable opposition; but, more than that,
reason gives such an account of its own origin as
effectually to destroy its claim to be trusted in any
conclusions at which it arrives. But it was precisely
through .this rigour of his sceptical procedure that
Hume was able to do the service he did to philosophy.
Starting from principles which, at the time he wrote;
were received without question on nearly all hands,
he carried these out to their results in such a way
as to show that either the principles must be re-:
nounced, or the conclusions to which they lead must
be accepted. Discarding all rational elements in
knowledge, he had to show, in a positive respect,
how the ideas which men have — even those which'
are believed to have a higher origin — can be ex-
plained by the simple operation of association and
custom ; and it may be affirmed with confidence that,
if Hume has failed in this task, no other is likely to
succeed.'

The importance of Hume's philosophy may, there-
fore, be said to lie in the fact that it is really an
ex2:)erimentum crucis as to the possibility of construct-
ing a theory of knowledge which admits no rational or
ideal elements, but works solely with empirical factors,

12 DAVID HUME

like association. Criticism of Hume, on the other hand,
resolves itself at every point into the one contention
that this endeavour is futile. Hume is a clever writer,
but the cleverest writer cannot do impossibilities, and
1 Hume could not write a sentence or paragraph without
implicitly overthrowing the system he was advocating.
Affecting to ignore the rational nature of man, and
seeking to get along without it, he yet is compelled
continually to presuppose its existence, and avail him-
self of its help, in his reasonings and language. Proof
of this in regard to Hume is really proof of it in regard
to empirical philosophy generally ; for theorising which
proceeds on empirical lines can do little more than re-
produce Hume's arguments, and imitate his methods,
while perhaps shutting its eyes to the full bearings
and issues of the principles involved, as Hume made
them apparent. When even so good a psychologist as
Professor William James is found commencing with a
"sensation" which, even as we look at it, becomes
transformed into an "object," and ere long is part of a
"world" of such objects, which by and by are them-
selves posited as the " causes " of the sensations we
began with, — when such a writer can satisfy himself
with " cognitive sensations " and the treatment of self as
" a stream of mental states," and conclude that " the
.states of consciousness are all that psychology needs to
do her work with," and that " metaphysics or theology
may prove the soul to exist, but for psychology the
hypothesis of such a substantial principle of unity is
superfluous," ^ — it may be felt how far Hume is from
being obsolete, and how imperative is the need of
recurrence to his drastic, but at least consistent, logic.

^ Text-Book of Psychology, pp. 202-3, and _^a^5im.

INTRODUCTORY 13

In view of Professor James's speculations, not to speak
of Mr. Spencer s " vivid and faint states " of conscious-
ness, and Mr. Bain's alchemy of association, Hume may
be welcomed as a valuable ally in arguing for a more
rational theory.

CHAPTEE II

Life of Hume — I. Till the Publication of the

Treatise

The future philosopher was born on 26th April 1711
(Old Style), " within the Tron Parish " ^ of Edinburgh,
where his parents must at the time have been residing.
His father, Joseph Hume (or Home), was a border
laird of moderate means, but of good family, claiming
descent from Lord Home, of Dunglas, who crossed into
France with the Douglas' in the French wars of the
fifteenth century, and lost his life, probably at Verneuil
(1423-4). His mother, who, her son says, was "a
woman of singular merit," ^ and for whom he always
entertained the warmest affection, was a daughter of
Sir David Falconer, President of the Court of Session.
The paternal estate was Ninewells, on the northern
bank of the Whitadder, in the parish of Chirnside, in
Berwickshire. The old, plain mansion, of which a
picture is preserved in Chambers's Booh of Days,^ was
situated on an elevation overlooking the river as it
flowed to join the Tweed; and from the declivit}^ in
front issued a number of springs, which gave the place
its name. Living was plain, and tastes were simple ;

1 Cliambers's Book of Days, i. p. 555. 2 Hume's My Oicn Life.

^ Ut supra.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 15

but the Scottish gentry of that time embraced many
men of exceptional intelligence and culture/ and the
library which David found at Nine wells showed that
his father must have belonged to that cultured class.
Joseph Hume died while David was yet an infant, and
he, with an elder brother and sister, were left to the
care of their mother, who, though still "young and
handsome," devoted herself entirely to their upbringincr.
As the younger son of the family, his patrimony was
necessarily, as he tells us, " very slender."

No details are preserved to us of David's sayings or
doings in childhood or youth. The one stray remin-
iscence that floats down is a reputed saying of his
mother's : " Our Davie's a fine, good-natured crater, but
uncommon wake-minded." Speculation has naturally
been rife as to the meaning of this enigmatical utter-
ance. The riddle is not, perhaps, after all, very difficult
to read. The " good-nature " of Hume was proverbial,
though his biographer does well to remind us that he
" was far from being that docile mass of imperturb-
ability, which so large a portion of the world have
taken him for,"^ and, with regard to the less com-
plimentary part, it may be assumed from what is
known of Hume in after life, that he had abstracted
ways,^ and would not readily impress himself on the

^ Cf. Burton's Life, pp. 150 ff. 2 j^^^^ ^ p^ iiq_

^ In his quarrel with Rousseau (see below, p. 75) he thus defends him-
self: "What! because sometimes, when absent in thought, I have a
fixed look or stare, you suspect me to be a traitor. . . . Are not most
studious men (and many of them more than I) subject to such reveries or
fits of silence " ( Works, i. p. cii). Burton says of him in middle life :
"It is pretty clear that he had acquired the outward manner of an
absent, good-natured man, unconscious of much that was going on
around him " (i. p. 352).

1 6 DAVID HUME

observer in boyhood as of quick and observant parts.
His forte was at no time the outward and practical ; his
reflections, besides, from an early period, were not such
as he would be disposed to communicate to others, or
as others would easily apprehend. A youthful meta-
physician, who, before eighteen, had his doubts of
the reality of an external world, and was pondering
whether, as Barrie humorously puts it in his Edin-
burgh Eleven, he himself existed "strictly so called,"
might appear " weak " enough to the average, active-
minded people about him. So Hume would keep his
thoughts to himself, and content himself with turning
on company that good-natured but somewhat vacant
expression, which in manhood was noted as a feature of
his appearance.^ As to exterior, we happen to know
from his own pen that till the age of twenty he had not
the plump, ruddy, healthful look of his maturity, but
was a " tall, lean, raw-boned lad." ^

A silence almost as complete as that which rests on
his early days attaches to Hume's school life, and to
the period of his university attendance. It is known
that he matriculated as an entrant in the class of Greek
in Edinburgh University in 1723, at the age of twelve;
but no other trace of his curriculum remains. We have
it from himself that he " passed through the ordinary
course of education with success " ; ^ and as he elsewhere
indicates that " our college education in Scotland, extend-
ing little further than the languages, ends commonly
when we are about fourteen or fifteen years of age," *
it may be presumed that this was the term of his
attendance. Thereafter he returned home, and it is

^ Burton, i. p, 270 ; see below, p. 42. 2 ^j-^_ j^ ^ 3^_

3 My Own Life. 4 Burton, i. p. 31.

HUME AND LOVE OF NATURE 17

during the six or seven years that followed of his
residence at Ninewells, diversified by occasional visits
to the city/ that we begin to see something directly of
the workings of his mind, and of the character of his
ambitions.

It is still, however, only the growth of a mind we
have to study, for then, as throughout life, the merely
external interested Hume little. All his biographers
have observed how, living in a region of much natural
beauty, and rich in romantic associations, he seems to
have looked on its scenes without emotion, and hardly
allows a trace of its existence, much less of any impulse
or impression received from it, to stray into his pages.
Nature, indeed, in a way, he did appreciate. In one of
his early letters he speaks of the pleasure he found in
" an eclogue or georgick of Virgil." ^ But it is nature
at second-hand — nature as seen through the eyes, and
reflected in the descriptions, of the poets — that interested
him, not as stamping fresh impressions on his own soul ;
nature as a Virgil or a Pope portiuyed it, not as a Words-
worth would have felt it. Even then he values Virgil
less for the images he presents to his imagination, than
for the reflections he excites in his mind. There is the
same lack of interest in music, painting, and architecture.
For none of the plastic arts does he show the slightest
original appreciation ; and even in awarding the palm
of merit in the higher kinds of poetry, his judgments
are often ludicrously astray.^ One quality he does dis-

1 Burton, i. p. 31. - Ibid. i. p. 14.

^ Thus, while Shakespeare incurs the reproach of "barbarism," Home's
Douglas is thought to redeem the stage from that reproach, and is "the
only tragedy, " as Wilkie's Epigoniad is *'the second epic" (next to
Milton's), in the language. Burton, i. p. 392 ; ii. pp. 17, 28. See
below, p. 59.
2

1 8 DAVID HUME

play is the instinct, derived from long and close study of
the orators, for polished and flowing composition in prose.

The more remarkable, on account of this indifference
to the outward, is the intensity and individuality of
the reflective life which Hume had already begun to
develop. The law had been fixed on as the profession
most suitable for one of his industry and sobriety of
mind ; but his own tastes did not in the least incline
him to legal pursuits. " While they fancied," he says,
" I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and
Virgil were the authors I was secretly devouring."^
This distaste did not arise from any inherent incapacity
for legal studies, but because his ambitions had already
(from about his eighteenth year ^) taken other and very
definite directions. "I was early seized," he tells us,
in a passage formerly alluded to, " with a passion for
literature, which has been the ruling passion of my life,
and the great source of my enjoyments";^ but with
this attachment to literature was combined a habit of
philosophical reflection, which opened to him visions
of conquest and distinction in the region of abstract
thought. Three proofs remain to us of the singular
development his mind was going through at this period,
each fitted to awaken astonishment at the precocity,
independence, and maturity of judgment of a youth
yet in his teens. The fact that none of the three was
intended for the public eye gives them the more value
as mirrors of the state of his thoughts.

The first of these evidences is a letter %vritten to a
friend, Michael Ramsay, of whom little is known save
that he was Hume's life-long correspondent.* It is dated

^ My Own Life, - Letter to Physician, refeiTcJ to below.

2 My Own Life. ■* Burton, i. p. 12.

EARLY STUDIES AT NINEWELLS 19

7th July 1727, when Hume was yet scarcely more than
sixteen. It is, however, already composed with delibera-
tion and sententiousness, and pictures the writer as
"entirely confined" to himself and to the library at
Ninewells for his " diversion." He varies his reading,
— "sometimes a philosopher, sometimes a poet," — and
apparently finds his favourites in the Latin authors,
as Cicero, Virgil, and Longinus.^ From the two former
he derives the ideal of a life independent of fortune
which pretty much remained with him to the end.
"The philosopher's wise man and the poet's husband-
man," he says, " agree in peace of mind, in a liberty
and independeuc}^ on fortune, and a contempt of riches,
power, and glory. Everything is placid and quiet in
both; nothing perturbed or disordered." He is well
content with his present mode of existence — "I live
like a king, pretty much by myself, neither full of
action nor perturbation, — inolles somnos" — and only
fears his happiness may not continue. The panacea
against the blows of fortune is to be sought in philo-
sophy — and here we touch the quick of his thought.
" This greatness and elevation of soul," he says, " is to
be found only in study and contemplation — this alone
can teach us to look doM^n on human accidents. You
must allow me to talk this, like a philosopher ; 'tis a
subject I think much on, and could talk all day long
of." There is another still more characteristic passage
on the nature of his studies which deserves special
attention : —

^ Various indications show that Hnme gave assiduous study to the
Greek and Latin classics. For his Essay on ' ' The Populousness of
Ancient Nations " he claims to have read ''almost all the classics, both
Greek and Latin" (Burton, i. p. 326).

20 DAVID HUME

"Would you have me send in my loose incorrect
thoughts? Were such worth the transcribing? All
the progress I have made is but drawing the outlines
on loose bits of paper : here a hint of a passion ; there
a phenomenon in the mind accounted for ; in another
the alteration of these accounts ; sometimes a remark
upon an author I have been reading ; and none of them
worth to anybody, and I believe scarcely to myself."

In these " hints " of a passion, and " accountings " for
phenomena in the mind, of this singular sixteen-year-
old philosopher, it is not too much to say that we have
the first germs of the future Treatise,

Kext to be referred to is an "Historical Essay on
Chivalry and Modern Honour/' which, if it really
belongs, as Mr. Burton thinks, to this youthful period,
is a remarkable early anticipation of Hume's later
essay style, and a striking evidence of the power he
had already attained of looking at historical subjects
from an independent point of view. It excellently
illustrates his method of seeking an explanation of
historical phenomena by tracing them to general
principles in human nature ; but is not less typical
of his habit of finding his means of explanation in
principles the least rational and commendable. As at
a later stage we find him accounting for the growth
of monotheism out of polytheism through the tendency
to vulgar flattery ; ^ so, in this initial attempt, he finds
the key to chivalry- — " that monster of romantic chivalry
or knight-errantry," as he calls it — in the propensity of
the mind, " when smit with any idea of merit or per-
fection beyond what its faculties can attain,'* to create
an imaginary world, in which it pleases itself with the

1 See below, p. 199.

LETTER TO A PHYSICIAN 21

fancy of an excellence which does not exist. In the
course of the Essay he contrasts Greek with Gothic
architecture — the former "plain, simple, and regular,
but withal majestic and beautiful"; the latter "a
heap of confusion and irregularity "—an evidence of
" what kind of monstrous birth this of chivalry must
prove." ^

Of much greater importance, as a clue to Hume*s
youthful feelings and aims, is the third paper — a
sketch of his mental history contained in a letter to a
London physician (believed to be Dr. George Cheyne),
whom he desired to consult in a crisis of his health.
It is doubtful if this mysterious epistle, found neatly
written out among his papers, was ever really sent.^
In belongs in any case to the year 1734. Hume was
now twenty-three years of age, but the letter goes
back on his whole life, and gives a sort of confidential
account of his mental development from the beginning.
He first recounts the joy he had felt, after his abandon-
ment of law, at the thought of pushing his fortune in
the world as a scholar and philosopher. This lasted
till about September 1729, when a sudden chill fell
upon his spirits. " All my ardour," he says, *' seemed
in a moment to be extinguished, and I could no longer
raise my mind to that pitch, which formerly gave me
such excessive pleasure." His recluse life, and intense
application in study, had, it is evident, affected both
mind and body ; and though, by the use of remedies

^Burton, i. p. 22. Mr. Burton observes that "the reflections on
Gothic architecture are the commonplaces of the day, uttered by one
who was singularly destitute of sympathy with the human intellect, in
its early efforts to resolve itself into symmetry and elegance " (p. 26).

^ See regarding it, Burton, i. pp. 30-9.

22 DAVID HUME

and exercise, his strength was gradually restored, so
that, as he tells us, from being "tall and lean," he
suddenly blossomed out into " the most sturdy, robust,
healthful-Hke fellow you have seen,*' the inability for
sustained and severe mental work remained.^ This
sense of frustrated effort he describes as "such a
miserable disappointment I scarce ever remember to
have heard of." " Here," he characteristically declares,
" lay my greatest calamity. I had no hope of deliver-
ing my opinions with such elegance and neatness as to
draw on me the attention of the world, and I would
rather live and die in obscurity than produce them
maimed and imperfect." He asks the advice of the
physician, and intimates his intention of entering the
employment of a merchant in Bristol — of which more
anon.

What further relates to Hume's health may be left
aside to look at the remarkable revelations the letter
gives of his mental occupations and plans. These are
of a nature to dispel any idea of frivolity that might
be suggested by his scepticism, and to deepen the
impression of sincerity and purpose in his thought and
life. Here is how he describes what may be called his
mental awakening : —

" I was after that [return from college] left to my
own choice in my reading, and found it incline me
almost equally to books of reasoning and philosophy,
and to poetry and the polite authors. Every one who
is acquainted either with the philosophers or critics,

^ One can hardly help being reminded of the Vfiy similar crisis in the
life of J. S. Mill, related in his Autobiography (p, 134) ; and of Carlyle's
description in his Sartor (ii. ch. vii.) and the Hcminiscenccs of what he
calls his **conyersion."

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL REVELATIONS 23

knows that there is nothing yet established in either
of these two sciences, and that they contain little more
than endless disputes, even in the most fundamental
articles. Upon examination of these, I found a certain
boldness of temper growing in me, which was not
inclined to submit to any authority in these subjects,
but led me to seek out some new medium, by which
truth might be established. After much study and
reflection on this, at last, when I was about eighteen
years of age, there seemed to be opened up to me a
new scene of thought, which transported me beyond
measure, and made me, with an ardour natural to young
men, throw up every other pleasure or business to apply
entirely to it."

Then ensued the collapse above referred to, in con-
nection with which we have other interesting glimpses
of the kind of thoughts that occupied him. The
principal passage, however, is the following, which
may be said to furnish the programme of his whole
life-work in philosophy : —

" Having now time and leisure to cool my inflamed
imagination, I began to consider seriously how I
should proceed in my philosophical inquiries. I found
that the moral philosophy transmitted to us by
antiquity laboured under the same inconvenience that
has been found in their natural philosophy, of being
entirely hypothetical, and depending more on invention
than experience ; every one consulted his fancy in erect-
ing schemes of virtue and happiness, without regarding
human nature, upon which every moral conclusion
must depend. This, therefore, I resolved to make my
principal study, and the source from which I would
derive every truth in criticism as well as in morality.

24 DAVID HUME

I believe it is a certain fact, that most of the pliilo-
sophers who have gone before us, have been over-
thrown by the greatness of their genius, and that little
more is required to make a man succeed in this study,
than to throw off all prejudices either for his own
opinions or for those of others. At least this is all I
have to depend on for the truth of my reasonings,
which I have multiplied to such a degree, that within
these three years I have scribbled many a quire of
paper, in which there is nothing contained but my
own inventions. This with the reading most of the
celebrated books in Latin, French, and English, and
acquiring the Italian, you may think a sufficient
business for one in perfect health, and so it would had
it been done to any purpose; but my disease was a
cruel incumbrance to me.''

These paragraphs enable us to appreciate the truth
of Mr. Burton's judgment on Hume : *' He was an
economist of all his talents from early youth: no
memoir of a literary man presents a more cautious
and vigilant husbandry of the mental powers and
acquirements " ; ^ and to understand a later sentence
of the same writer with reference to the Essays
Moral and Political : " It is into * The Stoic ' that
the writer has thrown most of his hea,Yt and sympathy;
and it is in that sketch that, though probablj'- without
intention, some of the features of his own character are
pourtrayed." ^

One outcome of Hume's anxieties on the state of his
health was the conviction that his " distemper " was
partly due to his sedentary mode of life, and that it
would be to his advantage to lay aside his studies for

1 Burton, i. p. 17. 2 jy^^ j p_ ;^43^

HUME AS MERCHANT 25

a time, and try the effect of a more active career. The
difficulty he felt in carrying out his schemes with his
" very slender income " fortified this resolve. He had,
as he informs the physician, obtained a recommenda-
tion to " a very considerable trader" in Bristol ; and he
now entered the employment of this gentleman, and
continued for some time in his service. It was by no
means unusual in that age for younger sons of good
families to eke out their scanty means of livelihood
in trade; but in Hume's case the experiment was
eminently unsuccessful. The merchant, like Hume's
mother, not improbably thought his new assistant
" uncommon wake-minded " in the duties of his office ;
and it is not surprising that Hume himself, his head
more occupied with the genesis of ideas than with the
prices and qualities of goods, after a short trial threw
up his situation, and resolved that, come what might,
he would confine himself to the line of occupation for
which nature had more obviously fitted him. '' I went
over to France," he says briefiy, " with a view of pro-
secuting my studies in a country retreat ; and I then
laid that plan of life which I have steadily and success-
fully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality
supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired
my independence, and to regard every object as con-
temptible except the improvement of my talents in
literature." ^

The sojourn in France to which allusion is here
made was a very eventful period in Hume's life. It
was during his three years' residence in that country —
from 1734 to 1737 — that the Treatise of Himnan
Nature was composed. After a brief stay in Paris, he

^ 3fy Own Life.

26 DAVID HUME

spent some months in the ancient town of Rheims,
then took up his abode for two years at La Fleche,
where was the Jesuits' College at which, a century
and a quarter earlier, the philosopher Descartes had
been educated. In these retreats Hume passed his
days "very agreeably," but, as one gathers from a
letter to his friend Ramsay, filled with acute remarks
on the contrast of French and English manners,^ also
very observantly. A feature of some interest in this
French sojourn is its bearing on the future Essay
on Miracles. When Hume passed through Paris, the
city was still stirred on the subject of the alleged
miracles at the tomb of the Abb6 de Paris, which two
years before (1732) had caused gi-eat commotion, and
had been the subject of prolonged investigation and
debate. These miracles, readers of the Essay will
remember, furnished Hume with not the least service-
able part of his material for his argument.^ Then, as
he himself relates in a letter to Principal Campbell, it
was while at La Fleche, during a walk with a Jesuit
in the cloisters of the College, that the idea of the
argument itself was suggested to him.

" As my head was full," he says, " of the topics of my
Treatise of Hwman Nature, which I was at that time
composing, this argument immediately occurred to me,
and I thought it very much gravelled 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 against the Catholic
miracles ; — which observation I thought proper to
admit as a sufficient answer." ^

^ Biixtou, i. p. 51. 2 ggg below, p. 215.

^ Preface to Campbell's Dissertation on Miracles.

THE THRESHOLD OF AUTHORSHIP 27

The irony of the last sentence is a trait in Hume's
style of which we shall afterwards have abundant
examples. It would appear that either then, or soon
after, he had reduced his argument to shape, and
intended publishing it as part of the Treatise, But
prudential reasons, as he avows, held him back. He
writes on 2nd December 1737 to Henry Home (after-
wards Lord Karnes) : '' I enclose some Reasonings Con-
cerning Miracles which I once thought of publishing
with the rest, but which I am afraid will give too much
offence, even as the world is disposed at present." ^

On his arrival in London, it was Hume*s first busi-
ness to arrange for the publication of his now com-
pleted book. It was a daring step for a young man
of twenty-six to enter the field of authorship with a
work at once so novel and so difficult ; but Hume was
conscious of the enormous pains he had bestowed on
the elaboration of his thoughts ; he knew that into
this book he had put the best part of himself — the
whole force and originality of his mind ; and he rightly
judged that by his success or failure in tliis attempt
his reputation as a philosopher must stand or fall. No
one will now question that into the Treatise Hume has
concentrated everything of real value he had to offer
in metaphysics and morals ; that later works may
popularise and polish, but add nothing to the essential
content of this earlier eftbrt. It has already been
seen how incessantly for years his thoughts had been
engrossed with his great project. Now that the time
had come for the realisation of his expectations, the
tension of his feeling was naturally very great. Dur-
ing the months that negotiations were proceeding with

1 Burton, i. p. 63.

28 DAVID HUME

the booksellers, he was unweariedly engaged in im-
proving the style and diction of his work.^ He was
anxious to have the opinion of others on its merits,
and was furnished by Henry Home with an intro-
duction to Bishop Butler, whose Analogy had been
published the year before; but Butler, to his dis-
appointment, was in the country. " My own [opinion],"
he declares, " I dare not trust to ; both because it con-
cerns myself, and because it is so variable, that I know
not how to fix it. Sometimes it elevates me above the
clouds ; at other times, it depresses me with doubts and
fears ; so that, whatever be my success, I cannot be
entirely disappointed." ^ One other confession he makes,
also having reference to the introduction to Butler,
which produces a less favourable impression. " I am,"
he says, " at present castrating my work, that is,
cutting off its nobler parts ; that is, endeavouring it
shall give as little offence as possible, before which, I
could not pretend to put it into the Doctor's hands.
This is a piece of cowardice, for which I blame myself,
though I believe none of my friends will blame me.
But I was resolved not to be an enthusiast in philo-
sophy while I was blaming other enthusiasms."^
Whether the parts thus excised were restored before
publication cannot be affirmed, but, apart from the
reasonings on miracles, it may be presumed that they
were.

In these preliminaries about a year passed by, and
it was not till the 26th of September 1738 that a
contract was finally framed between Hume and John
Noone, bookseller, of Cheapside, by which the latter
bound himself to pay the former £50, with twelve

1 Burton i. p. 63. 2 /j^-^ ^ ^^ g5_ 3 j^.^^ -_ ^ g^^

PUBLICATION OF TREATISE 29

copies of the book, for the sole right of printing and
publishing the first edition, not to exceed 1000 copies.
The transaction was, as Mr. Burton says, " on the
whole creditable to the discernment and liberality of
Mr. Noone." ^ When one reflects that the author was yet
young and unknown ; that the book was of a kind not
adapted to attract the public attention, but more likely
to be denounced as a farrago of metaphysical conceits ;
and that, tested by the value of money in these days,
£50 was a considerable sum, the bargain may be called
exceedingly generous. This, too, was probably the
opinion of the bookseller himself, when, after the
publication of the two volumes containing the first
and second Books of the Treatise^ in January 1739, he
discovered that, so far from arousing the interest, or
exciting the opposition Hume had anticipated, the work
had practically no sale whatever. Hume's own succinct
account of the matter is : " Never literary attempt was
more unfortunate than my Treatise of Htvonan Nature.
It fell dead-horn from the press; without reaching
such distinction as even to excite a murmur among the
zealots." 2 The book was published anonymously; a
circumstance which may have helped to doom it to
obscurity. The work, in reality, was before its time.
The taste capable of appreciating it, and living interest
in the questions it discussed, were, in Scotland at least,
only beginning to be developed. Half a century later
it might have had a difierent reception. There is no
doubt that, meanwhile, Hume was keenly disappointed ;
though the result did not shake his faith in the merits

^ Hume, on the other hand, thought he had parted with his book too
easily (Letter to Hutcheson, Burton, i. p. 117).
^ 3/7/ Own Life.

30 DAVID HUME

of the book, but only his confidence in the discernment
of the public, and in the wisdom of his method of pre-
sentins: doctrines so abstract and unusual. Within a
fortnight of the date of publication he saw that the
success of the book was doubtful : —

"I am afraid/' he says, "'twill remain so very
loncf. Those who are accustomed to reflect on such
abstract subjects are commonly full of prejudices ;
and those M^ho are unprejudiced are unacquainted
with metaphysical reasonings. My principles are also
so remote from all the vulgar sentiments on the
subjects, that were they to take place, they would
produce an almost total revolution in philosophy;
and you know, revolutions of this kind are not easily
brought about." ^

While from Ninewells, to which soon after he re-
turned to await developments, he wrote on 1st June to
Henry Home : —

" I am not much in the humour of such comparisons
at present; having received news from London of the
success of my Philosophy, which is but indifferent if
I may judge by the sale of the book, and if I may
believe my bookseller. I am now out of humour with
myself ; but doubt not, in a little time, to be only out
of humour with the world, like other unsuccessful
authors. After all, I am sensible of my folly in
entertaining any discontent, much more despair, upon
this account, since I could not expect any better from
such abstract reasonings; nor, indeed, did I promise
myself much better. My fondness for what I imagined
my discoveries made me overlook all common rules of
prudence ; and, having enjoyed the usual satisfaction of

^ Burton, i. p. 105.

CHARACTER OF THE TREATISE 31

projectors, 'tis but just I should meet with their dis-
appointments." ^

The Treatise did not, indeed, pass altogether un-
noticed. A long review of the work, written in a
spirit of raillery at Hume's paradoxes, but ending with
a handsome acknowledgment of the "incontestable
marks of a great capacity," and of " a soaring genius "
in the author, appeared in the November issue of a
periodical of the day. The History of the Works of the
Learned. Still, from an observation made long after-
wards (1748-9) by his bookseller, Mr. A. Millar, to
Hume, that his former publications, " all but the un-
fortunate Treatise" were beginning to be the subject
of conversation,^ we may gather that Hume did not
exaggerate in speaking of his book as falling " dead-
born from the press."

The examination of the principles of the work
ushered into the world in these discouraging circum-
stances belongs to later chapters. It is only necessary
to indicate here in a few sentences its general character
and aim. In its completed form the Treatise consists
of three Books — the first treating " Of the Under-
standing," the second, " Of the Passions," and the third,
"Of Morals." The volumes published in 1739 com-
prised the first and second of these Books, and it ^is in
the Book dealing with the Understanding that the
really vital part of Hume's system lies. The treatment,
as the author acknowledges, is throughout highly
abstract; and, what is an even greater disadvantage,
is unmethodical and desultory in its exposition of its
various topics. But these faults are mainly on the
surface. In the thoughts which compose it the work is
1 Burton, i. p. 108. ^ My Own Life.

32 " DAVID HUME

powerfully and compactly one ; while the style has a
vigour and cohesion with the idea, to which a touch of
ruggedness only lends additional strength. Its spirit
and purpose are best illustrated by quoting from its
own pages. Hume opens with a vindication of the
right of metaphysical inquiry not easily reconcilable
with his later sentiments on the advantages of an
" easy and obvious " philosophy : —

" And, indeed," he says, " nothing but the most deter-
mined scepticism, along with a great degree of in-
dolence, can justify this aversion to metaphysics. For,
if truth be at all within the reach of human capacity, it
is certain that it must lie very deep and abstruse ; and
to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the
greatest geniuses have failed with the utmost pains,
must certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain and pre-
sumptuous. I pretend to no such advantage in the
philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it
a strong presumption against it, were it so very easy
and obvious." ^

His method is announced in the following passage : —
" Here then is the only expedient, from which we
can hope for success in our philosophical researches,
to leave the lingering tedious method, which we have
hitherto followed, and, instead of taking now and then a
castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to
the capital or centre of these sciences, to human nature
itself ; which being once masters of, we may every-
where else hope for an easy victory. ... In pretending
therefore to explain the principles of human nature, we
in effect propose a complete system of the sciences, built
on a foundation almost entirely new, and the only one

^ Introduction to Treatise (Works, i, p. 6).

HUME'S METHOD 33

on which they can stand with any security. . . . And
as the science of man is the only solid foundation for
the other sciences, so the only solid foundation we can
give to this science itself must be laid on experience
and observation." ^

Human nature, then, we find, is the subject of
Hume's investigation, and his method is defined to be
the experimental. Already we can perceive the bold-
ness of his enterprise, and the revolutionary character
of the conceptions he proposes to expound.

1 Introduction to Treatise (Woiks, i. p. 8).

CHAPTER III

Life of Hume — II. Literary Labours till the
Publication of the History

Hume was too genuine a philosopher to allow himself
to be unduly depressed by the apparent failure of his
first attempt at authorship ; and, accordingly, he is
found without delay setting himself to the preparation
for publication of the third Book of his Treatise — that
on Morals. This part of the work, as following on the
treatment of the Understanding and the Passions, deals
with moral judgments, and the qualities of virtue and
vice in character and actions. It comes, therefore,
properly under the general head of an inquiry into
human nature, and is conducted on the same principles
of rigorous experimental analysis as the previous
Books, but without startling the reader with the
sceptical paradoxes of the speculative sections. In
handling moral questions Hume was entering a field
which, since the time of Hobbes, English philosophers
had diligently cultivated, and on which, more recently,
interest had been concentrated by the lectures of
Francis Hutcheson.^ Not unnaturally, therefore, he
was anxious to obtain the opinions and suggestions
of the distinguished Glasgow moralist on his perform-

^ On Hvitclieson's popularity, ef. Burton, i. p. 111.
34

ESSAYS MORAL AND POLITICAL 35

ance, and submitted his manuscript to Dr. Hutcheson
for this purpose. An interesting correspondence ensued,
chiefly remarkable as showing how tenaciously, while
welcoming criticism from others, Hume held by his
own ideas. This is characterivstic of his epistolary
intercourse all through. An incidental result of the
correspondence was the opening of an acquaintance
between Hume and a " Mr. Smith " — no doubt Adam
Smith — then a student at Glasgow, and barely seven-
teen. Hume, probably at Hutcheson's suggestion, sent
Smith a copy of his Treatise, a fact which sufiiciently
indicates the report he had received of the youthful
Adam's abilities. It comes out in another letter that
Hume was desirous of changing his publisher, and
obtained from Hutcheson an introduction to Mr.
Longman. It was actually by this publisher that the
book was brought out in 1740.

Apart from a stray fact or two, as for instance his
attempt to obtain a tutorship in a nobleman's family
with a view to travel,^ Hume's life at this stage is
little more than a record of his literary labours. In
1741 appeared in Edinburgh the first volume of his
Essays Moral and Political, speedily followed by the
second volume in 1742.^ The Essays, like the Treatise,
were published anonymously, but had a distinctly
better reception. " The work," Hume says, " was
favourably received, and soon made me entirely forget
my former disappointment."^ To Henry Home he
writes in 1742 : " The Essays are all sold in London, as

^ Burton, i. p. 115.

2 The publisher of the first two editions was Kincaid, Edinburgh, and
of the third, A. Millar, London.
^ My Own Life.

36 DAVID HUME

I am informed by two letters from English gentlemen
of my acquaintance. There is a demand for them;
and, as one of them tells me, Innys, the great book-
seller in Paul's Churchyard, wonders there is not a new
edition, for that he cannot find copies for his customers.
I am also told that Dr. Butler has everywhere recom-
mended them; so that I hope they will have some
success."^ This popularity of the Essays is not sur-
prising. They were cast in a mould at that time
fashionable. Hume tells us they were originally
designed as "weekly papers" on the model of the
Spectator and the Craftsman ; but, beyond this, alike
in the selection and variety of their subjects, and the
finish of their style, they exhibited qualities which, to
discerning minds, gave them at once a high rank in
literature. As at first published, the volumes contained
twenty-seven Essays. Of these as many as eight
were gradually dropped, while several new ones were
introduced, and other changes made. The third edition,
for instance, published in 1748, omitted three of the
original Essays, and received an addition of three.^

The next years in Hume's history are comparatively
uneventful. Two occurrences slightly break the mono-
tony. In 1743-4 some stir was caused by a sermon
published by the Rev. Dr. Leechman, of Beith, on
Prayer, followed by the appointment of its author to
the Chair of Divinity in the University of Glasgow.
The sermon, which resolved the efficacy of prayer into
its reflex influence on the mind of the worshipper, was
submitted to Hume for suggestions through his friend,
William (afterwards Baron) Mure, of Caldwell, and the

1 Burton, i. p. 143,

2 On tlie history of the Editions, see Appendix.

HUME ON PRAYER 37

reply is interesting, as showing how far Hume's mind
was severed from everything in religion, except, as he
says, " the practice of morality, and the assent of the
understanding to the proposition that God exists."'^
Affection to Deity cannot, he thinks, owing to the
invisibility and incomprehensibility of its object, be
required of man as his duty, and, even " were devotion
never so much admitted, prayer must still be excluded."
He shows that Dr. Leechman's doctrine reduces prayer
to " a kind of rhetorical figure," and by encouraging
the idea that prayers have a direct influence, "leads
directly, and even unavoidably, to blasphemy." ^ On
the main point, therefore, though from opposite sides,
Hume and Dr. Leechman's theological opponents were
at one. The other event which gives a little colour to
this period is the effort made by Hume to secure the
appointment to the chair of "Ethics and Pneumatic
Philosophy" in the University of Edinburgh. The
occupant of the chair, Dr. (afterwards Sir John)
Pringle, had been appointed physician to the Earl of
Stair, Commander of the British Forces in the Low
Countries, and, in accordance with a loose practice of
these times, had been for two years absent from his
duties in the University. The Town Council of Edin-

^ Burton, i. p. 162. The description given by the admiring biographer
(Rev. James Wodrow) of Dr. Leechman of his method as Professor is
very characteristic : "No dictatorial opinion, no infallible or decisive
judgment on any great controverted point was ever delivered from that
theological chair. After the point had undergone a full discussion,
none of the students yet knew the opinion of this venerable professor,
in any other way than by the superior weight of the arguments he had
brought under their view ; so delicately scrupulous was he to throw any
bias at all upon ingenuous minds, in their inquiries after sacred truth "
(Preface to Sermons),

2 Ihid, i. pp. 163-4.

38 DAVID HUME

burgh, to which he offered his resignation, thought it
necessary that at least a term be put to his further
absence, and in March 1745 he actually did resign.
When the vacancy was in prospect, Hume was induced
to put himself forward as a candidate (August 1744),
and, backed by the Provost's influence, thought himself
secure of the appointment. " I found presently," he
writes, " that I should have the whole Council on my
side, and that, indeed, I should have no antagonist."^
Opposition, however, soon showed itself, and from
unexpected quarters, " The accusation of heresy,
deism, scepticism, atheism, etc. etc. etc.," he says,
*' was started against me ; but never took, being bore
down by the contrary opinion of all the good company
in town." ^ Much more to his surprise, he found that
" Mr. Hutcheson and even Mr. Leechman " were in the
ranks of those who agreed that he " was a very unfit
person for such an office."^ The efforts also of the
" good company " to persuade the public that Hume
was no heretic, deist, or sceptic, must have failed;* for,
when the vacancy actually occurred, his name was not
even mentioned. The post was given in June 1745
to William Cleghorn, who had taught in Dr. Pringle's
absence.

A disagreeable episode in Hume's career fills up the
interval from April 1745 to April 1746. The Marquis
of Annandale, — last of that title, — a man of excitable
disposition, and, as it proved, in the first stages of

' Burton, i. p. 166. " Ibid. i. p. 167. "' Ibid.

"^ Ibid. p. 178: "I am informed that such a popular clamour has
been raised against me in Edinburgli, on account of scepticism, hetero-
doxy, and other hard names, which confound the ignorant, that my
friends find some difficulty in working out the point of my professorship,
which once appeared so easy."

RELATIONS WITH ANNANDALE 39

insanity, had been attracted by Hume's Essays, and,
early in 1745, invited Hume to became his companion
at his residence at Weldhall, near St. Albans, in
Hertfordshire. He sent Hume £100, and finally an
arrangement was come to, by which Hume was to
receive £300 a year so long as the connection lasted.
The position, though not an enviable one, had its obvious
advantages, and Hume might have endured it, but for
the offensive tyranny of a Captain Vincent, a relation
of the Dowager-Marchioness, to whom was entrusted
the management of the Marquis's affairs. The self-
seeking designs of this man Hume early detected and
sought to counteract, with the result that Vincent,
who at first had been friendly, became his bitter
enemy, plotted to reduce his salary by one-half, and
made his situation as servile and galling as a man
of coarse nature, invested with authority, could. The
perturbation of spirit occasioned by his affronts leads
Hume to break out in his correspondence into quite
unusual strains. He had resisted his suspicions of
Vincent, he tells us, as he would " a temptation of the
devil," and in his excitement he thus accosts Sir James
Johnstone : " God forgive you, dear Sir, God forgive
you, for neither coming to us, nor writing to us." ^
The Marquis's temper became daily more uncontrol-
lable, and when self-respect could stand the indignities
heaped upon him no longer, Hume took his departure.
A sequel to the quarrel was a claim put in by Hume
for £75 of arrears of salary, the somewhat sordid dis-
pute in regard to which dragged on till at least 1761.
It is not known how it was settled.

Hume's next experiences were of a much more

1 Burton, i, p. 183.

40 DAVID HUME

pleasant order. They relate to his connection with
General St. Clair in the capacity of secretary, first,
during a naval expedition conducted in 1746 against
the coasts of France; and, second, during a military
embassy in 1748 to the Court of Turin, the progress of
which gave him an opportunity of seeing a large part
of the Continent. These two years Hume speaks of
as "almost the only interruptions which my studies
have received during the course of my life"^ — lan-
guage which it is difiicult to reconcile with his later
occupations in France and England. The expedition
first named had a somewhat inglorious history. It
was originally intended to be sent against the French
possessions in Canada; then resolved itself into a
descent on the coast of France itself. It set sail on
14th September 1746, and landed its forces on the
20th at the town of Fort L'Orient, on the coast of
Brittany. The attempt to compel the town to surrender
proved a failure. Sickness set in, and in less than a
week it was found necessary to raise the siege, and
retreat to the fleet. The expedition soon after returned
home. In addition to his position as secretary, Hume
was appointed by the General Judge-advocate to all
the forces under his command He formed, besides,
valuable acquaintances, and saw a little of actual
warfare. The most interesting point in his corre-
spondence in this period is the indication of certain
"historical projects," ^ which we can trace rapidly
settling into the purpose of writing a History.

The year 1747 was spent at Ninewells, an interval
of which his biographer takes advantage to introduce
some specimens of Hume's versification, and to discuss

1 My Own Life. 2 Burton, i. p. 221.

THE MISSION TO TURIN 41

the probability of his ever having been in love.
Assuredly, if the Clarindas and Lauras of Hume's muse
were real persons, his passion for them must have
been of a very mild sort ; nor, while avowing himself
fond of the society of " modest women," does he ever
seem to have been peculiarly susceptible to female
charms. In his Essays, as Mr. Burton says, " he
frequently discusses the passion of love, dividing it
into its elements about as systematically as if he had
subjected it to a chemical analysis, and laying down
rules regarding it as distinctly and specifically as if it
were a system of logic." ^

It was in the year following, 1748, that General
St. Clair showed his appreciation of Hume's previous
services by inviting him to attend him as his secretary
on his mission to Turin. This was an opportunity not
to be lost, though it was not without regret that Hume
laid aside the plans of study he had formed. We now
hear from him distinctly, " I have long had an inten-
tion, in my riper years, of composing sonie history " ; ^
but he was wise enough to see that some wider experi-
ences of cities and men, and of " the intrigues of the
Cabinet," would be a valuable aid in the carrying out
of his design. Nor did the experience of the next few
months disappoint his expectations. His letters begin
to show an unwonted interest in people and things, and
his descriptions of the cities through which he passed
— of the Hague, Breda, Nimeguen, Cologne, Bonn,
Coblentz, Frankfort, Ratisbon, on to Vienna, Trent,
Mantua, and finally Turin — are lively and entertain-
ing. His enthusiasm for Virgil comes out at Mantua :
'' We are now on classic ground ; and I have kissed the
1 Barton, i. p. 231. ^ j^^^^^ i p. 236.

42 DAVID HUME

earth that produced Virgil, and have admired those
fertile plains that he has so finely celebrated." ^ But
it is noted that he never once condescends to mention
any of the fine specimens of Gothic architecture he met
with in his progress — not even the imposing fragment
of the Cathedral of Cologne. Hume's appearance on
this embassy, clad in military scarlet, seems to have
afforded some entertainment to his friends, if one may
judge from the grotesque description given of him by
that versatile Irish politician, Lord Charlemont : —

" Nature, I believe," says this witness, " never formed
any man more unlike his real character than David
Hume. The powers of physiognomy were bafSed by
his countenance ; neither could the most skilful in that
science pretend to discover the smallest trace of the
faculties of his mind in the unmeaning features of his
visage. His face was broad and fat, his mouth wide,
and without any other expression than that of im-
becility. His eyes vacant and spiritless, and the cor-
pulence of his whole person, was far better fitted to
communicate the idea of a turtle-eating alderman, than
of a refined philosopher. His speech in English was
rendered ridiculous by the broadest Scotch accent, and
his French was, if possible, still more laughable ; so
that Wisdom most certainly never disguised herself
before in so uncouth a garb. Though now near fifty
years of age [he was thirty-seven], he was healthy and
strong, but his health and strength, far from being
advantageous to his figure, instead of manly comeliness,
had only the appearance of rusticity. His "wearing a
uniform added greatly to his natural awkwardness, for
he wore it like a grocer of the train bands." ^

' Burton, i. p. 265. 2 jj^i^^ ^ p^ 270.

DEATH OF HUME'S MOTHER 43

The mission to Turin was superseded by the treaty
of Aix-la-Chapelle on 7th October, and at some uncer-
tain date thereafter Hume returned to London. There,
soon after his arrival, he received a great blow in the
news of the death of his mother. The reality of his
emotion, and the spirit in which he met the bereave-
ment, are attested by the following narrative, by Dr.
Carlyle, of Inveresk, which also sufficiently disposes of
certain absurd stories set afloat by unscrupulous in-
ventors : —

" David and he [the Hon. Mr. Boyle, brother of the
Earl of Glasgow] were both in London at the period
when David's mother died. Mr. Boyle, hearing of it,
soon after went into his apartment, for they lodged in
the same house, where he found him in the deepest
affliction, and in a flood of tears. After the usual topics
of condolence, Mr. Boyle said to him, ' My friend, you
owe this uncommon grief to having thrown ofl" the
principles of religion; for if you had not, you would
have been consoled with the Arm belief that the good
lady, who was not only the best of mothers, but the
most pious of Christians, was completely happy in the
realms of the just.' To which David replied, * Though
I throw out my speculations to entertain the learned
and metaphysical world, yet in other things I do not
think so diflerently from the rest of the world as you
imagine.' " ■'■

Notwithstanding this utterance, there is no reason to
suppose that Hume's general attitude of disbelief in
the Christian religion was anything but entirely serious,
or ever altered. Of this, as well as of the unchanged
character of his philosophical foundations, a conclusive

1 Burton, i. pp. 293-4.

44 DAVID HUME

proof had just been given by the publication in 1748,
while he was on his way to Turin, of the recast and
popularised version of his speculations under the title
of Philosophical Essays concerning Huvian Under-
standing, subsequently modified to Enquiry concern-
ing the Human Understanding. The book was
published in London by Andrew Millar. At first it
Ijore simply to be by ' the Author of the Essays Moral
and Political! But in November of the same year
a new edition was issued with the author's name. At
first the Enquiry seemed fated to attract as little
attention as the Treatise ; but Hume's gro\ving reputa-
tion, and the bolder pronouncements of the book on
subjects afiecting revealed religion, soon led to wider
notice, and hostile criticism. Hume's own design was
that this simplified and improved form of his system
should take the place of his older work, which he now
desired to withdraw from circulation. His feeling on
this point is best expressed in the " Advertisement " pre-
fixed to the book in the posthumous and authoritative
edition of 1777. He there rebukes the adversaries for
directing " all their batteries against that juvenile work,
which the author never acknowledged, and have affected
to triumph in any advantages which, they imagined,
they had obtained over it " — " a practice," he says, " very
contrary to all rules of candour and fair dealing, and
a strong instance of those polemical artifices which a
bigoted zeal thinks itself authorised to employ." Now,
however, he expressly desires " that the following Pieces
may alone be regarded as containing his philosophical
sentiments and principles."

It has already been seen that Hume s wishes with
regard to the neglect of his Treatise have not been

THE TREATISE AND THE ENQUIRY 45

fulfilled. It is not "bigoted zeal/' but that world of
philosophy aud letters to which he appealed, which has
refused to let the older work drop out of sight, or be
displaced by the newer Enquiry. It is not simply
that the Treatise is by far the abler and more vigorous
and original work ; beyond this there is the fact that
the second work really alters nothing in the philo-
sophical basis pf the first, while it leaves out much
that is necessary for the understanding of the system
as a whole. It was not, after all, the subject-matter,
but the lack of popularity, of his earlier work which
distressed Hume; he claims only that, in the newer
handling, "some negligences in his former reasoning,
and more in the expression, are, he hopes, corrected."
Had it been given to him to foresee the estimate that
posterity would put upon his Treatise, in comparison
with its later echo, the suppression of it is the last
thing he would have desired. The utmost that can
be claimed is, that where difierences of view emerge,
the later statement shall be taken as the final one.
One advantage, at least, of the Enquiry is, that it
helps to throw into relief the things that Hume him-
self thought of most importance in his philosophy.
While much that is in the Treatise is omitted, we have,
sometimes in briefer, occasionally in more expanded
form, a re-statement of his theories on the origin of
ideas, on association, on causation, on the idea of
necessary connection, on liberty and necessity, etc. ;
while important additions are made in the Essays on
" Miracles " and on " a Particular Providence and a
Future State." ^ Two extracts will suffice at this

^ Mr. Burton mistakenly says : " It was in the Inquiry concerning
the Hiiman Understanding that Hume promulgated the theory of

46 DAVID HUME

stage to show the general spirit of the work — one
from the commencement, the other from the close.

The first suggests comparison with Kant : —

" The only method of freeing learning at once from
these abstruse questions is to inquire seriously into the
nature of human understanding, and show, from an
exact analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by
no means fitted for such remote and abstruse subjects.
We must submit to this fatigue, in order to live at
ease ever after ; and must cultivate true metaphysics
with some care, in order to destroy *the false and
adulterated." ^

The second is the drastic conclusion, dear to Professor
Huxley : —

*' If we take in our hand any volume, of school
divinity, or metaphysics, for instance; let us ask,
Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning
quantity or number ? No. Does it contain any
experwiental reasoning concerning matter of fact
and existence ? No. Commit it then to the flames ;
for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illu-
sion." 2

During 1749 and 1750 Hume lived peacefully at
Ninewells, though brain and pen were still unceasingly
busy. His correspondence in these years with Dr.
Clephane, of London, Colonel Abercromby, and others,
reveals a vein of sportiveness not ordinarily found in
his compositions.^ We find him more seriously engaged

Association which called forth so much admiration of its simplicity,
beauty, and truth" (i. p. 286). The doctrine of Association is even
more fully developed in the earlier Treatise.

1 Works, iv. p. 9. » Ihid. p. 187.

3 Cf. his squib on Fraser in connection with the AVestminster Election,
and his "Bellman's Petition" (Burton, i. pp. 307-18).

ENQUIRY CONCERNING MORALS 47

in earnest preparation of his Political Discourses} pub-
lished two years later ; and his letters to Sir Gilbert
Elliot, a gentleman of great accomplishment, reveal
also that by this time (1751) he had composed his
Dialogues concerning Natural Eeligion,^ of which a
good deal will afterwards be heard. In these Dia-
logues, which were not published till after his death,
the cause of Theism is upheld by Cleanthes, and Hume
tells his correspondent that whatever he can think of
to strengthen that side of the argument will be most
acceptable to him.^ Sir Gilbert gave him his views at
length,* but few will regard the Dialogues as a prop to
theistic belief. The chief outcome of this period of
labour, however, was the publication in 1751 of his
Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, which
answers to the third Book of the original Treatise, and
completes, with the exception of the Dissertation on
the Passions,^ the recasting of that earlier work. The
publisher was again Mr, Millar. In Hume's own judg-
ment, this was, of all his works, " historical, philoso-
phical, and literary, incomparably the best." ^ Posterity
may not endorse this opinion, but most will allow
that, from a purely literary point of view, the work is
elaborated and polished to a high degree. Hume had
now clearly grasped the principle of " utility " as a key
to -the phenomena of morals, and developed his thesis

^ Burton, i. pp. 301-4. A correspondence with Montesquieu belongs
also to this period.

2 See below, pp. 200 ff. ^ Burton, pp. 308-36.

^ His letter is given in Note CCO. to Dugald Stewart's Dissertation,

^ See below, pp. 58, 169.

^ My Own Life. Hume gives the date of publication as 1752. This
may be due to the difference in the English and Scotch ways of reckon-
ing. 1752 was the year of the change of the Calendar.

48 DAVID HUME

with a skill which made his book a landmark in the
history of discussion on the subject. As before, the
work attracted little attention at the time, though a
reply from the pen of James (afterwards Professor)
Balfour, of Pilrig, appeared in 1753, the abihty and
courtesy of which induced Hume to seek the acquaint-
ance of the author.

It was probably before the appearance of the last-
named work that Hume effected the change of his
residence to Edinburgh, which opens a new period
in his career. The immediate occasion of this step
was his brother's marriage ; ^ but the removal was
prompted also by a natural desire to be in a city
already rising to distinction as an abode of letters,
and affording exceptional facilities for the carrying out
of his literary designs. Hume was now, moreover, in
comparatively easy circumstances. He was, he tells us,
the happy possessor of about £1000.^ He writes to his
friend Ramsay (June 1751) that he could reckon on an
income of about £50 a year, and by joining with his
sister, who brought another £30, was able, with
frugality, to set up a house in the capital.^ Accord-
ingly, somewhat later in the year, he removed, as he
informs us, "from the country to the town, the true
scene for a man of letters." ^ His first settled residence
(of which, however, he does not seem to have taken
possession till about May 1752)^ was in ''Riddell's
Land," near the head of the West Bow, in the Lawn-

^ Burton, ii. p. 50. - My Own Life,

3 Burton, i. p. 342. ^ My Own Life.

'* In a letter of date 5th January 1753, from this address, he speaks of
himself as having set up house about " seven months ago " (Burton, i.

p. 377).

THE POLITICAL DISCOURSES 49

market. Next year he removed to "Jack's Land,"
another of Edinburgh's tall tenements/ in the Canon-
gate. Here he remained till his purchase, in 1762, of a
house of his own in James's Court.

It was shortly after this removal to Edinburgh, in
1752, that Hume published his Political Discourses,
mostly on subjects of Political Economy, and as
remarkable in their grasp of sound principles, as in
their anticipations of some of the later doctrines of
Adam Smith in his Wealth of Nations. He speaks
of this book as "the only work of mine that was
successful on its first publication," and informs us that
"it was well received abroad and at home."^ An
indication of this acceptance is that a translation of it
was soon made into French. The book was published
by Kincaid, of Edinburgh, and in its original form
consisted of twelve Essays.^ One of these on " The
Populousness of Ancient Nations" affords striking
evidence of the author's wide range of reading, and
faculty of just observation, and evoked a good deal of
controversy. The Essay on an " Ideal Commonwealth "
which closes the volume, on the other hand, as con-
spicuously illustrates Hume's limitations as a con-
structive thinker. It is as curious a day-dream as
ever emanated from the brain of a really sensible man.

Meanwhile, the winter of 1751 had seen Hume in-
volved in a fresh attempt to obtain tlie dignity of
Professor. The Chair of Logic had become vacant by

^ ''The term 'Land,'" says Mr. Burton, "applied to one of those
edifices— some of them ten or twelve stories high — in which the citizens
of Edinburgh, pressed upwards as it were by the increase of the popula-
tion within a narrow circuit of walls, made staircases supply the place
of streets, and erected perpendicular thoroughfares" (i. p. 343).

2 My Own Life. ^ On the Editions, see Appendix.

4

so DAVID HUME

the transference of Adam Smith to the Chair of Moral
Philosophy, and Hume's friends, with his concurrence,
interested themselves to secure the position for him,
but, as before, in vain. The disappointment which this
occasioned was partially soothed next year (1752) by
his election to the office of librarian to the Faculty of
Advocates in Edinburgh, at a salary of £40 a year.
For this post also a contest was waged, which, if Hume
is not exaggerating, was attended with a good deal of
excitement. " 'Twas vulgarly given out," he writes
to Dr. Clephane, " that the contest was between Deists
and Christians, and when the news of my success came
to the Playhouse, the whisper ran round that the
Christians were defeated. Are you not surprised that
we could keep our popularity, notwithstanding this
imputation, which our friends could not deny to be
well founded ? " ^ The appointment was one of great
value to Hume, as aiding his historical researches ; but
he did not long retain it. Resentment at a sHght
passed upon him by the curators, led him, two years
later, voluntarily to transfer the emoluments of the
office to the blind poet Blacklock;^ and in January
1757 he resigned it altogether.^

The ten years succeeding the publication of the
Political Discourses had really but one absorbing
occupation — the composition and publication of the
successive volumes of the work which at length rais^ed
Hume to the height of a truly European fame, if it
also exposed him to the blasts of adverse criticism at
home. This was his History of England, extending,
when complete, from the invasion of Julius Ccesar to
the Revolution of 1688. Hume had begun by giving

1 Burton, i. p. 371. ^ /^^-^^ j^ ^^ 3>r^^ s ^^^-^^ j_ ^^ gg^^

PUBLICATION OF HISTORY 51

to the world his metaphysical and moral speculations.
He had next developed in his Essays his theories on
taste, on politics, on economics ; and had practically
completed his message on all these heads. He was
now to enter a field for success in which new powers
were needed, and in which his principles would be at
once applied and tested. Hume had but a poor opinion
of the performances of his predecessors in the domain
of English history. "You know," he writes to Dr.
Clephane, " that there is no post of honour in the
English language more vacant than that of history.
Style, judgment, impartiality, care — everything is
wanting to our historians; and even Rapin, during
this latter period, is extremely deficient."^ On the
other hand, he entertained no doubt at all of his own
ability to produce a history worthy of the subject and
of literature ; and, despite the glaring defects of the
work, to which reference will afterwards be made,
posterity has on the whole accorded him the niche in
the temple of fame he coveted. A remarkable circum-
stance was the extraordinary rapidity with which the
successive instalments of the History were composed.
Hume conceived it wiser, though he afterwards re-
gretted his decision,^ to begin with the period of the
Stuarts, and before the end of 1754 he had published
the first volume of his History of Great Britain, a
quarto of 473 pages, containing the reigns of James I.
and Charles i. Notwithstanding the discouragement
which, we shall see, the reception of this first volume
caused him, he had produced by 1756 his second
volume, bringing down the narrative to the Revolution
of 1688. His first volume was published by Hamilton,
1 Burton, ii. p. 378, ^ xbid. ii. p. 38.

5 2 DAVID HUME

Balfour, & Neill, Edinburgh; his second, by Andrew
Millar, London, who thereafter secured the copyright
of both, and became the publisher of the subsequent
volumes.^ Having finished his history of the Stuarts,
he reverted to the period of the Tudors, and in 1759
published the two volumes of his history of the House
of Tudor. This was followed at no greater interval
than 1762 by two other quartos, comprising the history
of England from Julius Ceesar till the accession of
Henry vil. Quartos, in fact, in this period of pheno-
menal activity, literally flowed from Hume. There
remained, according to the original plan, the period
succeeding the Revolution, and for a considerable time
Hume had the preparation of this concluding part of
his work before his thoughts. Bookseller and friends
urged him to the task ; ^ but his visit to France and
other engagements intervened, and all the pressure
they could exert failed to bring him to set about the
undertaking in right earnest. The project wae finally
abandoned ; and, apart from corrections and alterations
of his volumes, Hume's literary productivity may be
said to have ceased in 1762.

The merits and defects of the History will be con-
sidered in their proper place ; ^ but a few words may
be said here on the reception accorded to the work

^ It would appear that Hume was to receive from Hamilton 561200
for the three volumes originally projected, and probably got £400 for
the first. Thereafter his transactions are with Millar, who appears to
have given him (Burton, ii. p. 37) £700 for the second volume ; also
for copyright of the two volumes the sura of 800 guineas, or £840.
His total remuneration for the Stuart volumes was therefore £1940.
His Tudors were offered for £700, but this when only Cfne volume was
in view. Of. Hill's Letters to Strahan, pp. 13-15.

2 Burton, ii. pp. 135, 147, 244, 392, etc. s chapter XI.

RECEPTION OF VOLUME ON STUARTS 53

produced under these remarkable conditions. Hume's
own account of the reception of the original volume is
as follows : —

" I was, I own, sanguine in my expectations of the
success of this work. I thought I was the only
historian that had at once neglected present power,
interest, and authority, and the cry of popular pre-
judices; and as the subject was suited to every
capacity, I expected proportional applause. But miser-
able was my disappointment. I was assailed by one
cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation :
English, Scotch, and Irish, Whig and Tory, Churchman
and Sectary, Free-thinker and Religionist, Patriot and
Courtier, united in their rage against the man who
had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of
Charles I. and the Earl of Strafford ; and after the first
ebullitions of their fury were over, what was still
more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion.
Mr. Millar told me that in a twelvemonth he sold only
forty-five copies of it." ^

Hume goes on to confess that this unexpected recep-
tion of his book " discouraged " him ; so much so, that,
had it not been that war was at the time breaking out
between France and England, he would certainly have
retired to some provincial town of the former kingdom,
have changed his name, and never more have returned
to his native country .^ Here, however, as in other
instances, his excessive desire for popularity leads him
to exaggerate the ill-success of his volume.^ Hostility,

1 My Own Life. ^ Ibid.

^Burton observes: "The literary success that would satisfy Hume
required to be of no small amount. Though neither, in any sense, a
vain man, nor a caterer for ephemeral applause, he was greedy of praise,

54 DAVID HUME

intense and widespread, the History, indeed, did en-
counter; but the opposition rather gave it notoriety
than doomed it to oblivion. Hume's own letters show
that, in Scotland at least, it had a remarkably cordial
reception. "The sale," he writes to Adam Smith in
December 1754, " has been very great in Edinburgh;
but how it goes on in London, we have not been pre-
cisely informed."^ And to the Earl of Balcarras on
same date (I7th December), " I am very proud that my
History, even upon second thoughts, appears to have
something tolerable in your loi-dship s eyes. It has
been very much canvassed and read here in town, as I
am told ; and it has full as many inveterate enemies as
partial defenders. The misfortune of a book, says
Boileau, is not the being ill-spoken of, but the not
being spoken of at all. The sale has been very con-
siderable here, about four hundred and fifty copies in
five weeks. How it has succeeded in London I cannot
precisely tell ; only I observe that some of the weekly
papers have been busy with me." ^ In truth, as we
shall see, Hume had no reason to be surprised at the
amount or ^■iolence- of the opposition his History
called forth. It had, as every critic admits, many of
the qualities of a first-class historical work. But its
excellences were counterbalanced by equally serious
defects. Hume prides liimself on nothing so much as
on his " impartiality " ; yet '' impartiality," in the real
sense of the word, is precisely the quality in which the
work is conspicuously wanting. For the higher range
of motives he has, as we shall see, little comprehension ;

and what would have been to others pre-eminent success, appears to
have, in his eyes, scarcely risen above failure" (i. p. 403 ; cf. ii. p. 262).
1 Burton, i. p. 411. 2 jn^^ j^ p^ 4^2.

RECEPTION OF LATER VOLUMES 55

hence, while his "generous tear" drops for Strafford
and Charles, he has no insight into the genius and
meaning of a great religious movement like Puritanism,
or into a character like that of Cromwell, who is to
him throughout what he names him on his first
appearance — " this fanatical hypocrite." ^ Yet Hume
was genuinely amazed that any one should impugn
the justice, or challenge the perfect impartiality, of
his judgments !

The second volume of the History — that dealing
with the Commonwealth, Charles 11., and James ii. —
*' happened," Hume says, "to give less displeasure to
the Whigs, and was better received. It not only rose
itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother." ^
It was really written with more caution. Hume was
resolved, as he assured his publish er, to " give no
further umbrage to the godly." ^ The publication of
the volumes of the Tudors, on the other hand, revived
all the former animosities. " The clamour against this
performance," he says, " was almost equal to that against
the history of the two first Stuarts." ^ The reign of
Elizabeth was particularly obnoxious. The fame of
Hume, however, was by this time too securely estab-
lished to be shaken by these outbursts of disapproba-
tion. Still the critics had not misjudged. Every new
issue of the volumes showed that the spirit pervading
them was one wholly antipathetic to genuine love of
liberty. It is noticed that nearly all the changes in
later editions are on the side adverse to popular rights.
Hume himself says : " In above a hundred alterations
which further study, reading, and reflection, engaged

1 History, ch. li. (vol. vi. p. 274). ^ My Own Life.

3 Burton, i. p. 416, ^ Ihid. i. p. 416.

56 DAVID HUME

me to make in the reigns of the first two Stuarts, I
have made all of them invariably to the Tory side." ^
Nothing need be said of the volumes of the History
prior to the period of the Tudors. These are the
least original and valuable of the whole, and need to
be corrected at every point from later research.

1 My Own Life; cf. Burton, ii. pp. 73-8, 144-7, 434.

CHAPTEE IV

Life of Hume — III. From the Publication of
THE History till his Death.

A FEW events, partly personal and partly literary,
which belong to the period when Hume was occupied
with his History, have still to be mentioned. Hume's
sceptical opinions were well known, and in 1755-6,
attempts were made, at the instance of a polemical
individual, the Rev. George Anderson, to bring him, in
conjunction with Lord Karnes,^ under the censure of
the General Assembly of the Church. The Assembly
went so far as to pass a resolution expressive of the
Church's " utmost abhorrence " of " impious and infidel
principles," and of " the deepest concern on account
of the prevalence of infidelity and immorality, the
principles of which have been, to the disgrace of our
age and nation, so openly avowed in several books
published of late in this country, and which are but
too well known among us." ^ When, however, in the
following year, the attack was renewed in a Committee
of Assembly against Hume personally, the proposal to
send up an overture on the subject was rejected.^

^ Karnes's Essays had really been written in opposition to Hume.

2 Burton, i. p. 429.

^ The indefatigable Anderson tried afterwards to have the publishers

67

58 DAVID HUME

The next year (1757) saw the publication by Mr.
Millar of a volume consisting of Four Dissertations,
which, as it turned out afterwards, had a curious and
complicated history. The Dissertations in question
were on *' The Natural History of Religion," " The
Passions " (taking the place of the corresponding Book
in the Treatise), " Tragedy/' and " The Standard of
Taste." Originally, it would seem, the volume was
meant to include a Dissertation on " Geometry," prob-
ably with reference to the discussions on that subject
in the older work. Then (excluding Geometry), it was
intended to embrace, alonc^ with the first three of the
above-named Essays, two others on " Suicide " and
"The Immortality of the Soul." These Essays were
actually printed as part of the volume, but were
subsequently suppressed, and in their room was
inserted, finally, the disquisition on " The Standard of
Taste." The fact of the suppression was brought to
light by the unauthorised publication, in 1783, of the
two Essays, with adverse comments, by a person who
had surreptitiously obtained copies of them.^ The
motive of the suppression is sufficiently obvious from
their character : one a thoroughgoing defence of the
lawfulness of suicide ; the other a sceptical under-
mining of the arguments for a future life. The Essay
on Immortality is not rendered less distasteful by its
ironical allusions at the beginning and the end to the
obligations of mankind to divine revelation.^

The volume of Dissertations casts light on Hume's
mind in other ways. As originally printed, it was

of Lord Karnes's Essays arraigned before tlie Presbytery, but died before
the case came on.

^ Cf. Burton, ii. p. 202. See Appendix, ^ ggg below, p. 207.

INFLATED LITERARY JUDGMENTS 59

introduced by an affectionate dedication to John
Home, who was at the time in trouble with the
Church over the production of his tragedy of Douglas
on the stage in Edinburgh ; and Hume was persuaded
to suppress this dedication, lest it should further com-
promise his friend's prospects. Almost immediately
he repented his decision, moved probably by the
knowledge that Home intended resigning his charge
at Athelstaneford. But the edition was issued, and it
was only later that the Dedication could be restored.
Its inflated language is a characteristic illustration
of Hume's curious blindness in matters of literary
judgment, where personal friendship, and especially
anything Scottish, was concerned. He thus addresses
Home : " You possess the true Theatric Genius of
Shakespeare and Otway, refined from the unhappy
Barbarism of the one, and the Licentiousness of the
other." ^ He writes to Adam. Smith concernine: the
tragedy itself : " When it shall be printed (which will
be soon), I am persuaded it will be esteemed the best,
and by Erench critics the only tragedy in the lan-
guage " ! 2 An instance of the like overweening
estimate of the performances of his friends occurs
about the same time in his extravagant appreciation
of the Epigoniad of the poet Wilkie. To Hume's
mind Wilkie was almost the equal of Homer. His
production was "the second epic poem in our lan-
guage." " It is certainly," he says, " a most singular
production, full of sublimity and genius, adorned by a
noble, harmonious, forcible, and even correct versifica-
tion." ^ This generous temper had no doubt its praise-

1 Cf. HiU's Letters to Strahan, p. 16. ^ Burton, ii. p. 17.

^ Ibid. ii. pp. 25-28. Burton says: "No Scotchman could write a

6o DAVID HUME

worthy side, enabling Hume to take a disinterested
delight in the literary successes even of those who
stood to him more nearly in the position of rivals. He
rejoiced unfeignedly in the chorus of approval which
greeted the appearance of his friend Dr. E-obertson's
History of Scotland (1758), and in the welcome
accorded to The Theory of Moral Sentiments of Adam
Smith (1759).^ He even seems for a time (though not
quite unreservedly) to have yielded to belief in the
genuineness of the poems of *' Ossian," in defence of
which Dr. Hugh Blair had written a learned Disserta-
tion. Eefleetion soon led him to a very different
judgment on this last point. There is preserved from
his pen an "Essay on the Authenticity of Ossian's
Poems/' in which the claims of the poems to antiquity
are mercilessly demolished. The Essay was not pub-
lished in his lifetime ; but it is characteristic that he
continues to write to Blair as if his mind was still in
the balance on the question.^ From the end of 1758
till about November 1759, Hume resided in London,
superintending the publication of his volumes on the
Tudors, and rendering service to Dr. Kobertson in
seeing his History of Scotland through the press. He
had even at one time (1757) the thought of taking up
his permanent residence in London.^ Edinbui-gh, how-
book of respectable talent ^^dtllout calling forth his loud and warm
eulogiums. AVilkie was to be the Homer, Blacklock the Pindar, and
Home the Shakespeare, or something still greater, of his country "
{p. 31).

1 Burton, ii. pp. 32, 43, 49, 55, etc.

2 Hume's correspondence with Blair, and the Essay referred to, are
given in the Appendix to vol. i. of Burton's Life. But see also vol. ii.
pp. 175, 180, 196, 267, 288 ; and his letter to Gibbon, p. 485.

3 Bui-ton, ii. p. 39.

RESIDENCE IN JAMES'S COURT 6i

ever, was still the place most congenial to him. In
1762, as formerly mentioned, he changed his residence
in that city to a house he had acquired in James's
Court, a large square enclosure, into which one still
enters by a '' close " from the Lawnmarket. Tall
buildings surrounded the Court. The house which
Hume occupied was on the third storey on the northern
side, and from its windows commanded a fine view of
the lake in the hollow below, and of the open spaces
beyond, now covered by the New Town of Edinburgh.
The erection of which his domicile formed part has
since been replaced by the " Offices " of what, formerly
the Free Church, is now the United Free Church of
Scotland. Here Hume, when in town, spent tranquil
days, and, amidst the whirl and gaiety of Paris,
sighed (he tells us) " twice or thrice a day " for the
"arm-chair" and the "retreat" it afforded him.^ It is
a curious fact that the house was for a time rented
from Hume by James Boswell, who there received Dr.
Samuel Johnson, whose antipathy to its owner was so
extreme ; and during Hume's absence in France it was
occupied by Dr. Blair.

Among the new friendships made by Hume in these
years, mention should be made of two of some interest
in a controversial respect. In 1761, Hume had sub-
mitted to him the sermon of Dr. Campbell, of Aberdeen,
afterwards enlarged into the Dissertation on Miracles,
and, in offering his criticisms, took considerable excep-
tion to some of its expressions — particularly one in
which he was denominated " an infidel writer." Camp-
bell complaisantly toned down the offensive passages,
and an interchange of complimentary letters followed,

^ Burton, ii. p. 173.

62 DAVID HUME

in one of which Hume gives the account, formerly
alluded to/ of how the Essay on Miracles originated.
One paragraph from a letter to Dr. Blair in this
connection deserves to be quoted, as showing the terms
on which Hume maintained his intimacy with his
clerical friends. It is this : —

" Having said so much to your friend [Dr. C], who
is certainly a very ingenious man, though a little too
zealous for a philosopher, permit me also the freedom
of saying a word to yourself. Whenever I have had
the pleasure to be in your company, if the discourse
turned upon any common subject of literature, or
reasoning, I always parted from you both entertained
and instructed. But when the conversation was
diverted by you from this channel towards the sub-
ject of your prof ession ; though I doubt not but your
intentions were very friendly towards me, I own I
never received the same satisfaction. I was apt to
be tired, and you to be angry. I would therefore
wish for the future, whenever my good fortune throws
me in your way, that these topics should be foreborne
between us. I have long since done with all inquiries
on such subjects, and am become incapable of instruc-
tion, though I own that no one is more capable of
conveying it than yourself."^

Two years later (1763) Hume was brought into
communication, again through Dr. Blair, with another
and more formidable opponent — Dr. Thomas Eeid. Reid
was at the time preparing his Inquiry into the Hmnan
Mind, in confutation of Hume's principles. " I wish,"
said Hume, when he heard of it, "that the parsons
would confine themselves to their old occupation of
^ See above, p. 26. 2 Burton, ii. p. 177.

CORRESPONDENCE WITH REID 63

worrying one another, and leave philosophers to argue
with temper, moderation, and good manners"^ — an
observation of which neither the "temper" nor the
"good manners" is conspicuous. The perusal of the
manuscript changed his opinion, and he wrote to Reid
in warm appreciation of the " deeply philosophical "
spirit of his work. The reply he received must have
more than gratified his vanity, and soothed him for
any disappointment he had felt at the earlier neglect
of his works. Reid wrote : —

" In attempting to throw some new light upon these
abstruse subjects, I wish to preserve the due mean
betwixt confidence and despair. But whether I have
any success in this attempt or not, I shall always avow
myself your disciple in metaphysics. I have learned
more from your writings in this kind than from all
others put together. Your system appears to me
not only coherent in all its parts, but likewise justly
deduced from principles commonly received among
philosophers; principles which I never thought of
calling in question until the conclusions you draw
from them in the Treatise of Human Nature made
me suspect them. If these principles are solid, yonr
system must stand ; and whether they are or not, can
better be judged after you have brought to light the
whole system that grows out of them, than when the
greater part of it was wrapped up in clouds and dark-
ness. I agree with you, therefore, that if this system
shall ever be demolished, you have a just claim to a
great share of the praise, both because you have made
it a distinct and determinate aim to be marked at,
and have furnished proper artillery for the purpose." ^
1 Burton, ii. p. 153. " Ibid. ii. p. 155.

64 DAVID HUME

We now approach what may be termed the crowning
triumph of Hume's life — the period of his French visit.
Hume made no secret at any time that the French
were the people he most admired.^ He was now to
have experience of the extraordinary degree in which
they admired him. The new period is led up to by a
correspondence opened in 1761 with a lady of accom-
plishment and high social rank — the Comtesse de
Boufflers — who, if we may believe herself, had been
transported almost beyond the power of expression
by the exquisite qualities of Hume's genius. The
fact that this lady held the equivocal position of
mistress to the Prince of Conti, seems neither to
have occasioned any trouble in her own mind nor
excited any disapprobation in that of Hume.^ In
the interchange of letters that followed, Hume and
the Comtesse vied with each other in the exuberance
of their compliments ; and if Hume escaped thinking
himself a demi-god, or something very near it, the
blame cannot be laid at the door of his fair corre-
spondent. For instance : —

"I know no terms capable of expressing what I
felt in reading this work (the History). I was moved,
transported ; and the emotion which it caused in me
is, in some measure, painful by its continuance. . . .
But how shall I be able to express the effect produced
on me by your divine impartiality ? I would that I
had, on this occasion, your own eloquence in which

^ Burton, ii. pp. 165, 179, etc.

^ Her regard for the Prince he considered as '* really honourable and
virtuous" (Burton, ii. p. 248). He became her confidant, and did his
best to console her for her disappointment in not being made Princess at
her husband's death.

SECRETARY TO FRENCH EMBASSY 65

to express my thought! In truth, I believed I had
before my eyes the work of some celestial being, free
from the passions of humanity, who, for the benefit
of the human race, has deigned to write the events
of these latter times." ^

Madame de Boufflers had heard that Hume had
some intention of coming to Paris, and exerted all
her powers of persuasion to induce him to do so.
She also wrote soliciting his interest on behalf of the
exiled J. J. Rousseau, in the event of that persecuted
man seeking an asylum in England. We shall see
what came of that request afterwards. Meanwhile
the way for the visit to Paris was opened up in an
unexpected manner. In the middle of 1763, Hume
received an invitation from the Marquis of Hertford,
Ambassador to the Court of France, to accompany
him in the capacity of acting secretary .^ No offer
could be more flattering to Hume, or more agreeable
to his inclinations ; and its material advantages — the
settlement upon him of a pension of £200 for life,
with the near prospect of becoming full secretary to
the Embassy at £1000 a year — were very great. His
first impulse was to decline ; but, bethinking himself,
as he instructively says, "that I had in a manner
abjured all literary occupations; that I resolved to
give up my future life entirely to amusements ; that
there could not be a better pastime than such a
journey, especially with a man of Lord Hertford's
character,"^ he decided to accept, and in August 1763

^ Burton, ii. pp. 95-6.

2 The official secretary was one Sir Charles Bunbury, an incapable
man, whom Hertford refused to have with him.
* Burton, ii. p. 158.

5

66 DAVID HUME

set out for London, arriving in Paris with the Embassy
on the 14th of October following.

It would be unprofitable to dwell on the details
of Hume's residence in France during the next two
years, and only general features need be sketched.
His welcome in that country exceeded all expecta-
tions. Lord Elibank, writing from Paris on 11th May
1763, had said to him: "No author ever yet attained
to that degree of reputation in his own lifetime that
you are now in possession of at Paris " ; ^ and Hume
found that this statement was no exaggeration. His
connection with Hertford opened to him the circles
of highest distinction at Court ; his literary celebrity
was an even surer passport to the brilliant society
of the salons. On all sides he was feted, flattered,
honoured ; was smothered in compliments by the ladies ;
was extolled among the literati as a genius of tran-
scendent merit. A paragraph or two from his letters
will suffice in illustration of his reception at Paris and
at Fontainebleau : —

"I have been three days at Paris, and two at
Fontainebleau," he says, '* and have everywhere met
with the most extraordinary honours, which the most
exorbitant vanity could wish or desire. The compli-
ments of dukes and marischals of France, and foreign
ambassadors, go for nothing with me at present; I
retain a relish for no kind of flattery but that which
comes from the ladies." (To Adam Smith.) ^

" I have now passed four days at Paris, and about
a fortnight in the Court of Fontainebleau, amidst a
people who, from the royal family downwards, seem
to have it much at heart to persuade me, by every

1 Burton, ii. p. 1G7. 2 _^j/^_ jj^ p_ lg3_

RECEPTION IN PARIS 67

expression of esteem, that they consider me one of
the greatest geniuses in the world. I am convinced
that Louis xiv. never, in any three weeks of his
hfe, suffered so much flattery; I say suffered, for it
really confounds and embarrasses me, and makes me
look sheepish." (To Professor Ferguson.)^

" Do you ask me about my course of life ? I can
only say, that I eat nothing but ambrosia, drink nothing
but nectar, breathe nothing but incense, and tread on
nothing but flowers ! Every man I meet, and, still
more, every lady, would think they were wanting in
the most indispensable duty if they did not make a
long and elaborate harangue in my praise." (To Dr.
Robertson.) ^

France — gay, corrupt, and unbelieving — was hasten-
ing to its inevitable doom of twenty-flve years later ;
but Hume seems to have had not the remotest inkling
of the fact. What he did see was a charmingly culti-
vated and polite people, wholly possessed b}^ a rage
for letters ! In the halls of the great, and at the
supper-tables of the ladies who presided nightly over
their respective coteries of wits and philosophers, Hume
soon made the acquaintance of most of the men of
distinction of the day — of D'Alembert, Turgot, Hel-
vetius, Marmontel, Buffon, Diderot, and a host of others
— and was lionised by all to the top of his bent. It
is to the credit of the good sense of Hume that this
excess of flattery did not altogether spoil him. It
would be foolish to say that it was not agreeable to
him ; it amused him and gratified his vanity ; he could
not help contrasting it with the coldness of his recep-
tion at home ; at the bottom of his mind, perhaps, he

^ Burton, ii. p. 172. 2 jj,/^, n. p, 177,

68 DAVID HUME

did not disdain the thought that he deserved it. But
his letters give abundant evidence that he did not lose
his head over it. He constantly protests that it made
little difference to his happiness ; that the excess of it
palled upon him ; that he longed to escape from it to
the quiet of his old life.

" I am sensible/' he writes to Ferguson, in a passage
formerly alluded to, " that I set out too late, and that
I am misplaced ; and I wish, twice or thrice a day,
for my easy-chair and my retreat in James's Court !
Never think, dear Ferguson, that as long as you are
master of your own fireside and your own time, you
can be unhappy, or that any other circumstance can
make an addition to your enjoyment."^

But this, too, was a mood; and, on the whole, it
must be pronounced that Hume thoroughly enjoyed
his life at Paris — got so used to it, indeed, that it
became a question with him whether he could ever
part with it !

Many anecdotes, naturally, cluster round this period
when Hume was, as Walpole maliciously called him,
the " mode " in fashionable and literary circles in the
French capital. Hume himself tells that as society
got more familiar with him it found in him a source
of some amusement. " They now begin to banter me,"
he says, " and tell droll stories of me, which they have
either observed themselves, or have heard from others." ^
This was inevitable, for neither in personal appear-
ance nor in address could Hume ever be aught but a
contrast to the gay, frivolous company in which he
mingled. "No lady's toilet,'' Lord Charlemont sar-
castically tells us, " was complete without Hume's

1 Burton, ii. p. 173. ~ Ibid. ii. p. 178.

HUME IN SOCIETY 69

attendance " ; " at the opera his broad unmeaning face
was usually seen entre dewjc jolis ^niinois." ^ It is an
amusing picture which Madame d'Epinay has given
of his appearance, in his role of Sultan, in an acted
tableau at a fashionable evening entertainment. Seated
on a sofa between two of the loveliest women of Paris,
he is supposed to be demonstrating his affections to two
slaves, who turn a deaf ear to his protestations. But
during a quarter of an hour he can think of nothing
better to do than, fixing his gaze upon the beauties, to
beat upon his knees and stomach, and keep repeating,
Eh bien ! ones demoiselles. . . . Eh Men I vans voild
done. . . . Eh hien! votes voild . . . voits voild iei /
One of the ladies at length bounces off in her im-
patience, exclaiming. Get homvie n'est bo 11 qv/ d vianger
du veavb I ("' This man is only fit to eat veal.")^

Of a different stamp is a story told to Sir Samuel
Romilly by Diderot of a dinner at Baron d'Holbach's.
There was a large company, and the conversation
turned on natural religion. "As for atheists," said
Hume, " I don't believe that they exist ; I never saw
one." "You have been a little unfortunate," replied
his host ; " you are here at table for the first time ivith
seventeen of them" ^

Hume's position in the Embassy, as already seen,
was that of acting secretary, while another (Sir Charles
Bunbury) held the title to the office, and drew its
emoluments in London. This was manifestly an un-
fair arrangement, and Hume's patron and Hume him-
self were alike anxious to have the office and its
rewards transferred to the person who really did the

1 Burton, ii. p. 223. ^ Ihid. ii. p. 224.

3 Ibid. ii. p. 229.

70 DAVID HUME

work.^ Hume was concerned also, lest, in the rapid
changes of political parties in England, he should find
the life-pension that had been promised him suddenly
vanishing. In letters to Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Minto,
and other acquaintances, he solicits, at Lord Hertford's
instigation, their influence on his behalf, though he
intimates that he is doubtful of success. The matter,
however, happily arranged itself in the end through
the transference of Sir Charles Bunbury to the post
(for which he was equally unqualified) of Secretary for
Ireland, when, by the aid of friends, among whom
Madame de Boufflers is to be named, Hume was (June
1765) made secretary to the Embassy, with a salary of
£1200 a year. But his ambition in this respect had
scarcely been realised when a new change took place.
Lord Hertford was recalled to fill the high office of
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and Hume was left for the
time as charge d'affaires in Paris. The duties of that
responsible position he discharged with assiduity and
ability till near the close of the year. Lord Hertford's
original design had been to take Hume with him to
Ireland. This he did not accomplish ; but he succeeded
in obtaining for him the comfortable pension of £400
a year for life. Thus, at the conclusion of his two and
a half years' sojourn in Paris, our philosopher was, if
not rich, at least in possession of a very substantial
income.

A piece of correspondence wliich belongs to this
Parisian period cannot here be passed over, though the
light it throws on Hume's principles of conduct is any-
thing but a pleasant one. It is his reply to the letter
of Colonel Edmonstone, asking, with regard to a young

1 Burton, ii. p. 189.

ADVOCATES DISSIMULATION 71

man who was " a sort of a disciple " of Hume's own,
whether it would be legitimate for him to take orders
as a clergyman of the Churcli of England. '' You'll
determine/' the writer says, " whether a man of probity
can accept of a living, a bishoprick, that does not be-
lieve all the Thirty -nine Articles, for you only can fix
him : he has been hitherto irresolute." Hume's answer
gives us a glimpse into his own mind : —

" It is putting too great a respect on the vulgar, and
on their superstitions, to pique oneself on sincerity
with regard to them. Did ever any one make it a
point of honour to speak the truth to children or
madmen? If the thing were worthy being treated
gravely, I should tell him, that the Pythian oracle,
with the approbation of Xenophon, advised every one
to worship the gods — I'o/^f^ -TroXfw^. I wish it were still
in my power to be a hypocrite in this particular. The
common duties of society usually require it ; and the
ecclesiastical profession only adds a little more to an
innocent dissimulation, or rather simulation, without
which it is impossible to pass through the world. Am
I a liar, because I order my servant to say, I am not at
home, when I do not desire to see company ? " ^

To this, then, Hume's philosophy brings us —
deliberate falsehood and hypocrisy in the holiest region
of our lives !

The story of this part of Hume's career may be
briefly completed. After many fluctuations of pur-
pose as to the place of his abode, he returned to
England Muth Rousseau (of whom more anon), in
January 1766. He remained in London till mid-
summer, then went north to Edinburgh ; but had not

^ Burton, ii. p. 187.

72 DAVID HUME

been many months there when he was honoured with
a fresh invitation to become Under-Secretary of State
for Scotland (there being at the time no principal
Secretary). Early in 1767, accordingly, we find him
again in London, installed in this secretarial office,
whose duties he continued to discharge till 20th July
1768. In the following year he came back to Edin-
burgh, re-establishing himself in his domicile in
James's Court. His own account is : "I returned to
Edinburgh in 1769, very opulent (for I possessed a
revenue of £1000 a year), and though somewhat
stricken in years [he was fifty-eight years of age],
with the prospect of enjoying long my ease, and of
seeing the increase of my reputation." Strange how
this note of his " reputation " is invariably the domi-
nant one !

A little must now be said of an episode which per-
haps stirred Hume more deeply than any other experi-
ence in his life : his f eftmous quarrel with the eccentric
and only half responsible Swiss genius and sentimen-
talist, Jean Jacques Rousseau. There is nothing in
this episode but what redounds to Hume's credit and
kindness of heart ; but it reveals, what other instances
also discover,^ how much passion, and vehemence of
resentment, when his amour propre was touched,

^ His biographer remarks on an earlier correspondence (with Lord
Elibank), that "it shows that he was by no means exempt from the
passion of anger, and that when under its influence he was liable to be
harsh and unreasonable," and refutes "the general notion formed of
his character," viz., "that he passed through life unmoved and
immovable, a placid mass of breathing flesh, on which the ordinary
impulses which rouse the human passions into life might expend them-
selves in vain" (ii. p. 251). Hume, in fact, could be aroused to an
astonishing strength of indignation, when either his person or opinions
received what he regarded as injustice. Cf. pp. 15, 39.

JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU 73

lurked beneath our philosopher's ordinarily placid
demeanour. Eeference was made above to a letter of
the Comtesse de Boufflers in 1762, recommending
Rousseau to Hume's good offices, should he come to
England. Letters from the exiled Earl Marischal of
Scotland, then Governor of Neufchatel, bore on the
same subject.^ The facts, briefly, were that Rousseau,
who had been living peacefully at Montmorency under
the protection of his friends the Duke and Duchess of
Luxembourg, had been compelled in 1762, by the storm
of persecution which broke out on the publication of
his E'tnile, to flee the kingdom of France, and take
refuge in Switzerland. He found an asylum at Neuf-
chatel, then under Prussian sovereignty; but his
friends thought it wiser that he should seek refuge in
England. Hume warmly interested himself in the
project, assuring Madame de Boufflers that "there is no
man in Europe of whom I have entertained a higher
idea, and whom I would be prouder to serve." ^ Rous-
seau's pride, however, prevented him from receiving
the proffered favours; and he continued to reside at
various retreats in Switzerland, persecuted by priests
and populace, and made miserable by his own self-
tormenting disposition, until October 1765, when he
left for Strassburg, and, in December, at Hume's
invitation,^ found his way to Paris. In all these
wanderings he was accompanied by his coarse-natured
mistress, Therese le Vasseur. With genuine goodness
of heart, Hume took him in hand, had him provided
for by the Prince of Conti, and, as we have seen,
brought him with himself to England in January 1766.

' Burton, ii. pp. 102-110. - Ihid. ii. p. 108.

3 Ibid. ii. p. 309.

74 DAVID HUME

He could not be unobservant of Rousseau's peculiar
humours, but then and for months afterwards, he
entertained the highest opinion of the strange being
with whose fame Europe at the time was ringing.
" My companion," he writes on 19th January, " is very
amiable, always polite, gay often, commonly sociable. . . .
I love him very much, and hope that I may have some
share in his affections." ^ And on 2nd February, " He
is a very modest, mild, well-bred, gentle-spirited, and
warm-hearted man, as ever I knew in my life. He is
also to appearance very sociable. I never saw a man
who seems better calculated for good company, nor
who seems to take more pleasure in it." ^ Hume kept
him at his house in London, obtained for him from the
King the promise of a pension of £100 a year, and, not
to delay on other kindnesses, as Kousseau seemed bent
on a life of solitude, finally arranged for his being
established in the charmingly situated country mansion
of Wooton, in Derbyshire, the property of a Mr.
Davenport, who took a warm interest in the fortunes
of the wanderer. To soothe Rousseau's susceptibilities,
Mr. Davenport agreed to accept £30 a year for board !

All this, however, was in vain, so far as the securing
of Rousseau's happiness was concerned. It was the
misfortune of this singularly - constituted individual,
that, as one has said, he had an " utter incapacity for
establishing healthy relations with one single human
being ";^ and his morbid sensibility, egoistic jealousy,
and passionate craving for a notoriety which he con-
tinually affected to denounce, made liim the victim

^ Burton, ii. p. 303. ~ Ibid. ii. p. 309.

^ Caird's Essays on Literature and Philosophy ("Rousseau"), i.
p. 107.

HUME'S QUARREL WITH ROUSSEAU 75

of perpetual suspicions and delusions. He coquetted
with the proposed pension from the King, and appeared
to refuse it ; then, in answer to a letter of Hume on
the subject, amazed that philosopher by an epistle
(23rd June) in which he flatly accused Hume of being
engaged, all the while he was professing friendship,
of deep designs against his honour, and broke off
further correspondence with him. Hume replied in
not unnatural heat, demanding an explanation of these
extraordinary charges. This elicited, in three weeks'
time, an " enormous " letter — thirty-five pages of print
— in which Rousseau, in the form of a continuous
narrative, piles up, with no better a foundation than
his own diseased imaginations, the supposed proofs of
Hume's wicked conspiracies against him since their
relations began. It would be profitless to enter into
the details of charges so ridiculous. The occasion
of the whole was a silly satire on Rousseau which
Sir Robert Walpole had set abroad in Paris in form of
a letter from Frederick of Prussia, by which Rousseau's
vanity was deeply wounded. He at first thought the
insult was by Voltaire ; when he discovered Walpole's
share in the jest, he immediately suspected Hume of
being privy to it. This suspicion once planted in his
mind, he found confirmations of it in every word, act,
and look of Hume's — even those in which Hume was
most his friend. Hume was not less shocked at the
discovery he supposed he had made of the baseness
and ingratitude of one for whom he had done so much ;
and, not content with repelUng Rousseau's own attacks,
wrote freely on the subject to his friends in Scotland and
France. He declares to Blair that Rousseau is " surely
the blackest and most atrocious villain, beyond com-

T6 DAVID HUME

parison, that now exists in the world, and I am heartily
ashamed of anything I ever wrote in his favour."^
His letters to Baron d'Holbach, to D'Alembert, to
Madame de Boufflers, and others in Paris, are couched
in the same indignant and vindicatory strain. " Surely,"
he says to the Abb6 Le Blanc, "never was there so
much wickedness and madness combined in one human
creature." ^ In all this Hume did not exhibit his usual
self-restraint. He was even moved, though Rousseau
had published nothing, to give to the world an exfosi
of the whole quarrel, and this, with accompanying
documents, was published, first in French, then in
English. It need only be added that in April 1767
Kousseau voluntarily fled with Mademoiselle le Vas-
seur from his retreat at Wooton, leaving about £30,
with his baggage, in Mr. Davenport's possession. He
betook himself to Paris, where he had an unfriendly
reception ; ^ and he seems afterwards to have regretted
his foolish behaviour. Hume also is known to have
exerted himself in 1767 to protect him from the French
Government. We gather from a letter of Mr. Daven-
port's that Rousseau's pension was continued to him.*
This gentleman's kind forbearance to the unhappy exile
is one of the relieving features of a sordid story.

The short remaining period of Hume's life — the quiet
evening of his days— was spent in Edinburgh with
scarcely any stronger excitement than that aflbrded
by literary occupations and the society of congenial

^ Burton, ii. p. 344. " Ihid. ii. p. 347. ^ Ihid. ii. p. 377.

* Ihid. ii. p. 368. The full account of this dispute may be read in
Burton, with whose narrative should be conapared Mr. Morley's in his
lioiisscau, vol. ii. ch. vi. Hume's published account of the contro-
versy, with the letters, should also be consulted. It is printed in the
Introduction to Hume's "Works (1854), \kA. \,

DISLIKE OF THE ENGLISH Ty

friends. In 1771 the house in James's Court was
exchanged for one more suitable to his enlarged means,
built at the corner of what is now St. David Street, in
the new part of the city. The name of the street
originatedj it is well known, from the wit of a young
lady, who chalked the words on the walls of Hume's
habitation. Hume took the jest in good part, remark-
ing to the servant-girl who ran in, much excited, to tell
him what had been done, " Never mind, lassie, many a
better man has been made a saint of before ! " ^ The
desire for further travel or change seems absolutely to
have deserted him once he was ensconced in his old
quarters. " I have been settled here two months," he
writes in 1769, "and am here body and soul, without
casting the least thought of regret to London, or even
to Paris." ^ The English he had always cordially dis-
liked, and his feelings towards them in these last years
seemed to acquire a character of ever-deepening anti-
pathy. What repelled him was the scorn and contempt
of the English for the Scots and for things Scotch. He
had written earlier (1765) to Millar (one of many
similar ebullitions) : " The rage and prejudice of
parties frighten me; above all, this rage against the
Scots, which is so dishonourable, and indeed so in-
famous to the English nation. We hear that it
increases every day without the least appearance of
provocation on our part." ^ Now we find him denounc-
ing to Sir Gilbert Elliot " the daily and hourly progress
of madness, and folly, and wickedness in England,"^
and declaring, " Our Government has become a chimera,
and is too perfect, in point of liberty, for so rude a

1 Burton, ii. p. 436. - lUd, ii. p. 431.

3 lUd. ii. p. 265. ^ Ihid, ii. p. 431.

7^ DAVID HUME

beast as an Englishman ; who is a man, a bad animal
too, corrupted by above a century of licentiousness." ^
The only literary work in which he indulged himself,
besides correspondence, was the continued revision of
his former works. And this, again, as regards the
History, meant chiefly, as we saw, the purging out of
remaining traces of Whiggism. Thus, to Elliot: "I
am running over again the last edition of my History,
in order to correct it still further. I either soften or
expunge many villainous, seditious Whig strokes, which
had crept into it. ... I am sensible that the first
editions were too full of those foolish English pre-
judices, which all nations and all ages disavow." ^

The social life of Edinburgh in which Hume partici-
pated was such as had many charms for a man of his
genial disposition, and literary and philosophic tastes.
His habits were simple, and his circumstances suf-
ficiently afiluent to raise him above all worldly cares.
He had obtained the fame which was his chief object in
life, and he was welcomed as visitor or friend in the
best society. His intimate associates were men of
liberal, cultivated mind; and the conversation at the
supper-table, in the philosophical gathering, or at the
more convivial club, was sure to be enlivened by
abundance of anecdote, witty repartee, or criticism
of what was newest in politics or letters. Free from
the faintest taint of religious feeling himself, he had no
sympathy with " fanaticism " and " enthusiasm " in
others, and could rely on finding this element abso-

^ Burton, ii. p. 434.

2 Ibid, With all his desire and labour to clear his writings from
Scotticisms, it is characterislic that ho preserved to the last lus broad
Doric in conversation.

AMIABILITY OF CHARACTER 79

lutely excluded from the eminently " rational " circles in
which he moved. With a Blair and a Robertson it was
a condition of his intercourse that the subject of religion
should not be obtruded.^ With more jovial spirits like
Carlyle, of Inveresk, he could have little fear that it
would ever be introduced, save by way of jest. In the
calm, philosophic heights to which it was relegated
by a Ferguson or an Adam Smith, it could not affect
him much either one way or another. Yet it is the
testimony of every one who knew him, that Hume never
wantonly or inconsiderately wounded the religious sus-
ceptibilities of others by untimely airing of his own
sceptical opinions. His amiable social qualities, on the
other hand, are universally extolled. He was, his
friends unite in telling us, simple, natural, and plaj^ful ;
unaffected in manner, and kindly in disposition ; charit-
able to those in need ; pleasing and instructive in his
conversation alike to young and old. His mother's
epithet " good-natured " clung to him to the last, what-
ever might be said of the " wake-mindedness." His
own description of his character in his Life is, it will
perhaps be felt, as good as any : —

" I was, I say, a man of mild disposition, of command
of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour,
capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity,
and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my
love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured
my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappoint-
ments. My company was not unacceptable to the
young and careless, as well as to the studious and
literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the
company of modest women, I had no reason to be

^ See above, p. 62.

8o DAVID HUME

displeased with the reception I met with from
them."

Yet in the whole picture which Hixme draws of
himself, it is remarkable that he does not acknow-
ledge, or hint at, a single fault. The sketch is self-
complacency throughout.

The letters of this closing period would seem to
indicate that in his last years Hume's thought and
conversation turned a good deal on politics, and that
his wide connection with public men and public affairs
furnished him with a store of anecdote and reminis-
cence on which he was never unwilling to draw. It is
worth observing that, with all his Tory leanings, Hume
was from the first opposed to the American War, and
foresaw its disastrous results. His views are indicated
in various letters, but may perhaps best be inferred jper
opposituT)! from the following letter, in reply to one of
his, from Mr. Strahan, his printer, which is in its own
way a gem — of unwisdom. Mr. Strahan says : —

" I differ from you toto codo with regard to America.
I am entirely for coercive methods with those obstinate
madmen ; and why should we despair of success ? Why
should we suffer the empire to be so dismembered,
without the utmost exertions on our part ? I see
nothing so very formidable in this business, if we
become a little more unanimous, and could stop the
mouths of domestic traitors, from whence the evil
originated. Not that I wish to enslave the colonists,
or to make them one jot less happy than ourselves;
but I am for keeping them subordinate to the British
Legislature; and their trade, to a reasonable degree,
subservient to the interest of the mother country ; but
which she must inevitably lose, if they are emanci-

LAST ILLNESS 8i

pated, as yo\i propose. I am very surprised you are of
a different opinion. Very true, things look oddly at
present ; and the dispute hath, hitherto, been very ill
managed ; but so we always do at the commencement
of every war. So we did most remarkably in the
last. . . . But, so soon as the British lion is roused,
we never fail to fetch up our leeway, as the sailors
say. And so I hope you will find it in this important
case." ^

In the spring of 1775, Hume experienced the first
symptoms of that internal disorder — a haemorrhage of
the bowels — which had its fatal termination in the
course of the following year. At first the distemper
created little alarm, but its persistence and increasing
gravity soon marked it as likely to be incurable. By
the commencement of 1776, Hume found that he had
fallen off " fivecojnplete stones " in weight.^ His cheer-
fulness coiltinued unabated, and his letters to Gibbon
and Adam Smith show the lively interest excited in
his mind by the publication of The Decline and Fall of
the one, and The Wealth of Nations of the other.^
The serious state of his health led him, on 4th January,
to execute a settlement, in which, besides the provisions
for the disposal of his estate, he made careful arrange-
ment for the publication of his Dialogues on Natural
Religion, hitherto, by the urgency of his friends, with-
held from the press. The bulk of his fortune he left
to his brother, and after him to his nephew David ;
his sister was to receive £1200; among his legacies
was one to DAlembert of £200, and another of the

^ Burton, ii. p. 477. Probably Hume's French connection influenced
his views.
2 Ibid. ii. p. 483. ' lUd. ii. pp. 484-7.

6

82 DAVID HUME

same sum to Jlclam Ferguson. Adam Smith was
appointed his literary executor, and on him was laid
the injunction of publishing the formidable Dialogues.
Difficulties, however, arose on this point. Dr. Blair,
Sir Gilbert Elliot, and Smith himself, were strongly
opposed to the publication of this work, which struck,
as they regarded it, at the foundations of Theism ; and
the last must have plainly indicated to Hume his
unwillingness to take the responsibility laid upon him.
Hume was as firmly resolved that the Dialogues should
see the light ; and while, in a qualifying letter to Smith
of 3rd May, he left it to his discretion to publish or
not as he saw fit, he soon after, in a codicil to his will
(7th August), altered the disposition he had made, and
left his manuscripts to the care of Mr. William Strahan,
" trusting to the friendship that has long subsisted
between us, for his careful and faithful execution of
my intentions.'' He desii'ed that the Dialogues might
be printed and published any time within two years
after his death ; and, failing this, he ordained that the
property should return to his nephew David, " whose
duty, in publishing them, as the last request of his
uncle, must be approved by all the world." ^ In point
of fact, the duty was declined by Strahan, as by the
others; and the Dialogues were only at length pub-
lished, in accordance with Hume's wishes, by his nephew
in 1779. In April 1776, Hume wrote the sketch of his
own life which has been frequently referred to, and
directions were left that it should be prefixed to any
future edition of his works.

The end was now drawing sensibly near. A journey
which Hume undertook in April and May, at the desire

^ Burton, ii. pp. 493-4.

HUME'S DEATH 83

of his friends, to London and Bath, though marked by
gleams of hope, failed of any lasting good effect, and
in the beginning of June he returned to Edinburgh,
consciously to take leave of his friends and of the
world. The prospect filled him with no alarm. If he
cherished no religious hopes, it must be confessed that
he had scliooled his mind into a scepticism which
seemed to enable him to dispense with them. He
spoke of his approaching end with calmness and even
playfulness ; lie maintained his usual unafFecfced cheer-
fulness in company ; he uttered no repining at a de-
parture which, he reasoned, only cut off a few years of
infirmities. In his own last words in his Life, one
finds the old note of his literary reputation still upper-
most. " Though I see," he says, " many symptoms of
my literary rep utation's breaking out at last with
additional lustre, I knew that I could have but few
years to enjoy it/' His friends, who were unremitting
in their devotion to him, overflow in their admiration
and astonishment at the composure, the imperturb-
ability, the cheerfulness, the gaiety even, — as in his jest-
inof about Charon and his boat,^ — with which he met the
dread event of death, to most so sad and solemn. He
is to them the very ideal of the sage. And so, indeed,
he would be, if the foundations on which his philo-
sophic indifference rested were sound, — if human life
had, indeed, no higher meaning, no weightier responsi-
bilities, no more earnest purpose, no more awful issues,
than he supposed. But that " if " makes all the
difference in our sense of the fitness of things in the
way of quitting life.

Hume died on the Sunday, 25th August 1776, "in

^ Burton, ii. p. 511.

84 DAVID HUME

such a liappy composure of mind," says his physician,
" that nothing could exceed it." ^ He was buried,
amidst abundant manifestations of the public interest,
friendly and hostile, evoked by his person and opinions,
in the old graveyard on Calton Hill, then in the open
country ; and above his remains was reared the circular
monument still to be seen, on which is inscribed, by
his express directions, only the simple words, " David
Hume," with the years of his birth and death — " leaving
it," as he significantly says in his will, " to posterity to
add the rest/'

^ Burton, ii. p. 511.

CHAPTER V

Hume in relation to previous Philosophy —
His Scepticism

It is chiefly in connection with his speculations in
philosophy and morals that Hume's name will go down
to posterity. In other walks of literature he holds a
high and honourable, but by no means a peculiar place.
He is umis ex midtis — no more. Even as a historian
his fame in later years has been eclipsed by that of
abler, and more learned and impartial writers. But as
philosopher his speculations have passed into universal
thought. Here his niche is his own. There is but
one Hume, as there is but one Descartes and one Kant.

It has been seen that Hume's first and greatest
philosophical work was his celebrated Treatise of
Human Nature, published anonymously in 1739-40,
and that the chief portion of this work was afterwards
recast, and published in more compact and literary
form, in the Enquiry concerning the Human Under-
standing, in 1748. The roots of his system, however,
are all to be sought for in the Treatise.

The aim of both of these works is avowedly to
inquire into the nature, operations, and limits of the
human mind. The different parts of this inquiry, held
to be the grand prerequisite to success in all other

85

86 . DAVID HUME

departments of human knowledge, are stated with
great distinctness in the introductory section of the
Enquiry on "The Different Species of Philosophy." ^
There is first psychology, or, as Hume terms it, " the
geography of the mental faculties.'' Here, at least, he
admits, we are on solid ground.^ The next inquiry is
a deeper one. "May we not hope," he says, "that
philosophy, if cultivated with care, may carry its
researches still further, and discover, at least in some
degree, the secret springs and principles by which the
human mind is actuated in its operations." ^ The
purpose of his investigation, therefore, is to disclose
the ultimate principle or principles of intelligence — to
run up all the operations of the mind to some principle
which is ''general and universal."* As yet there is no
hint given of his peculiar scepticism ; on the contrary,
though the investigation is owned to be a difficult one,
his tone is courageous and hopeful. He chooses to
start with the usual assumption that truth is within
our reach, leaving it to his after reasonings to disprove
the postulate. It is only as the sj'stem advances that
we begin to see whither we are drifting. It will
facilitate the understanding of Hume's positions, and
especially of his scepticism, if, before entering on the
details of his system, we look shortly at the ante-
cedents of his thinking in Locke and Berkeley, the
philosophers by whom he was most influenced. We
shall then consider more precisely the nature of the
scepticism itself.

^ With Hume's remarks in tliis section may be compared Locke's
"Epistle to the Reader," prefixed to this Jlsso}/, and the Preface to a
still greater work — Kant's Kritik.

2 Works, iv. p. 10. '^ Unci p. 12. * ji^^i

PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY ^7

Philosophy may be described in general as the study
of the nature of knowledge, and, through that, of the
nature of reality as given in our experience. There
are two mjiin questions in the present connection : —

\st. How do we know the external world, all
knowledge (ideas) being in the mind, while objects are
ex hypothesi ont of and separate from the mind ?

2nd. Is all our knowledge derived from experi-
ence, or does any of it spring from the nature of the
thinking faculty, or from reason ?

The ambiguity of this second mode of stating the
question will appear after. The real question will be
found to be, what is experience ? Is sense the whole,
or is there a rational factor involved in the constitution
of even the simplest experience ? It was, however,
in the assumption underlying the first question that
Hume and the philosophers who preceded him found
their common ground. Whatever differences divided
Descartes and Locke on such a subject as "innate
ideas," they were at one in the fundamental point that
the sole object of the mind's knowledge is its own
ideas. This was regarded by all thinkers as so self-
evident as to need no proof. " It is universally allowed
by philosophers," says Hume, ''and is besides pretty
obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present
with the mind but its perceptions or impressions and
ideas, and that external objects become known to us
only by those perceptions they occasion."^ From
the admission of this position, it has commonly been
attempted to show that the whole of Hume's conclu-
sions follow by inevitable sequence. This, we shall see,
is only in part correct. The statement is strictly true

1 Works, i. p. 93.

88 DAVID HUME

only of the Lockean or empirical variety of the
theory of ideas. Kaut, e.g., is as subjective as Hume
in the assertion that objects are only known to us
through the impressions they excite in us, but his
theory involves rational elements which save know-
ledge from the utter disintegration it undergoes at
the hands of Hume. It is in the line of the empirical
development of philosophy, however, that Hume stands.
Hence it is sufficient to trace the genealogy of his views,
as proposed, from Locke and Berkeley.^

The answer given by Locke to the question of the
origin of knowledge was on lines which the average
intelligence of mankind would regard as those of plain
common sense. He rejects the hypothesis of innate
ideas. The mind has no ideas but those which it
derives from experience, and, in the first instance,
through the gateways of the senses. Prior to sen-
sible experience, the mind is a tabula rasa, a " white
paper, void of all characters, without any ideas," ^ an
" empty cabinet," waiting to be furnished with ideas
" let in " by the senses.^ Knowledge begins with the
impressions produced by the outward world on the
organs of sense. These, conveyed to the brain, give
rise to sensations. Thus originate " ideas of sensation,"
which are the first kind of " simple ideas." Through
sensation the mind receives ideas of the qualities of
the things which affect it from without — through sight,
e.g., ideas of form and colour; through touch, ideas
of hardness, softness, roughness, extension, solidity;

^ Hegel says: *' Hume's pliilosophy starts immediately from the
standpoint of Bacon and Locke, which derives our ideas from experi-
ence, and liis scepticism has the Berkeleian idealism as its hasis "
{Geschichte d. Fhilosoj^hie, iii. p. 446).

^ Essay, bk. ii. ch. i. ^ Ibid. bk. i. ch. ii.

LOCKE'S THEORY OF IDEAS 89

through hearing, idea of sounds, etc. But, next, the
mind can reflect on its own operations in dealing with
this first class of ideas, as in perception, memor}?",
imagination, reasoning, and on the affections and
emotions to which they give rise ; and this furnishes
it with a second class of ideas, distinguished from
the former as " ideas of reflection." " Simple ideas "
of both kinds yield through combination "complex
ideas," etc. From the ideas derived from these two
sources — sensation and reflection — all our knowledge,
he contends, is, in the last analysis, built up." ^

There is another distinction to be observed in regard
to these "ideas of sensation," from which, according
to Locke, our knowledge of the external world is
derived. They fall, he explains, into two classes.
The one class of ideas are properly only effects pro-
duced in us by the operation of external objects, and
the idea bears no resemblance to the quality or property
in the object which produces it. Such, e.g., are the
ideas of sweetness, of warmth, of sound, of colour,
which exist only in the mind, and have no resemblance
to the physical properties which are their causes. Ideas
thus produced in us by properties of body which they
in no wise resemble, are called by Locke "ideas of
secondary qualities." It is different with the other
class of ideas. These, it is held, do resemble, are in
a manner " copies " or pictures of, the qualities in the
object. Thus, the ideas of shape, of figure, of solidity,
are produced in us, as before, by the operation of the
object; but, unlike the ideas of the secondary qualities,

^ Essay J bk. ii. clis. i., xxiii,, xxiv. Certain ideas, as those of exist-
ence, power, succession, are supposed to be derived from both sources
(bk. ii. ch. vi.).

90 DAVID HUME

they have their counterparts in actual qualities of the
object, which they resemble. These ideas which have
qualities in bodies corresponding to them Locke names
" ideas of primary qualities." The qualities in bodies
themselves are similarly distinguished.

This eminently common-sense account of the origin
of our knowledge, however, proves much less satis-
factory on closer inspection. The theory bristles, in
fact, as the slightest touch of criticism shows, with
inconsequences. On the one hand, Locke lays down
the doctrine that the mind has knowledge only of its
own ideas ; while, to account for these ideas he assumes
a world of objects lying beyond consciousness, of which
the world within our minds is so far a representation.
But what is the warrant for this assumption ? How
can an idea which, (?,;; liypothesi, is wholly within the
mind, yield us the knowledge of an object without the
mind, or tell us anything of its nature ? It is declared
that the ideas of " primary " qualities are copies of
qualities in the objects. But how is this to be ascer-
tained ? Who can overleap his own consciousness to
verify the supposed resemblance ? If reliance is placed
on the principle of causation, it is easy to retort, as
was done by both Berkeley and Hume, (1) that causa-
tion gives us no title to infer resemblance in the case
of " primary " any more than of " secondary " qualities ;
and (2) that it does not entitle us to infer a material
cause — the cause may be spiritual} Hume adds to
this criticism (3) that the whole procedure is illegiti-
mate, as going beyond experience. " As no beings," he
says, " are ever present to the mind but perceptions, it
follows that we may observe a conjunction or relation

1 Works, iv. pp. 174-6.

LOCKE ON SUBSTANCE 91

of cause and eff'ect between different perceptions, but
can never observe it between perceptions and objects.
It is impossible, therefore, that from the evidence of
any of the qualities of the former, we can ever form
any conclusion concerning the existence of the latter,
or ever satisfy our reason in this particular." ^

The difficulty, on Locke's theory, is accentuated by
the fact that the knowledge we have of the external
world is supposed to be derived wholly from sensation.
It will be seen later that sensation, as a mode of pure
feeling, can give us no idea of objects, or of anything
beyond its own immediate existence. But even con-
ceding that, through sensation, we have the idea of
external qualities, we are only at the beginning of our
difficulties. Qualities, as Locke admits when he comes
to deal with that subject,^ do not subsist of themselves.
They are " modes," and modes, he tells us, are neces-
sarily thought of as inhering in "substances." The
qualities are qualities of "something." But how are
we to represent to ourselves this something, this sub-
stance, this substratum of qualities, which, after all,
is the real being of the thing ? It is not an idea of
sensation ; as little is it an idea of reflection. Whence,
then, is it obtained? On Locke's principles there is
no room for it at all. No idea, therefore, gave him
more trouble. He could neither admit it, nor do
without it. He could only reiterate that we must
suppose a substratum of qualities, though our idea
of it is quite " obscure." Locke is in equal difficulties
when he passes to the idea of self — the abiding subject
of the mental states. That self exists and abides he
has no manner of doubt ; but whence the idea comes
^ Works, i. p. 266. - Sssay, bk. ii. cli. xii.

92 DAVID HUME

he has no means of showing. It is not an idea of
sense ; it is not an idea of a mental operation ; whence,
then, do we obtain it ? It would be easy to show that
the theory equally breaks down in the attempt to
account for many other ideas ; ideas, e.g., of space, time,
power, cause, infinity. Such ideas can only be got out
of sense if they are first of all surreptitiously put
into it.

Berkeley, who followed Locke, had an easy task in
disposing of some of these assumptions of his pre-
decessor — especially of that of material substance.
Starting from Locke's premiss that the immediate
objects of all knowledge are ideas, he pointed out,
with perfect logical conclusiveness, that the assumption
of a second world of variously-qualified things, outside
of and behind the world we know, is entirely without
justification. How, indeed, he argued, can ideas of the
mind be copies of qualities of objects \vhich we suppose
to subsist apart from, and independently of, mind ? Is
it not the very nature of an idea that it exists only
in being perceived ? " Their esse is percipi, nor is it
possible they sliould have any existence out of the minds
or thinking things that perceive them." ^ Especially
does Berkeley direct his artillery against the Lockean
assumption of " substance." Locke had himself ad-
mitted that we have no proper idea of this m^^sterious
something, which is made known to us neither by
sensation nor by reflection. Berkeley'', therefore, j ustly
enough on his premises, swept away these imaginary
substances, and with them the world of independently
existing objects, and boldly declared that the ideas we
perceive by the senses are all the world there is. What

^ P/incijJlas of Human Knoivledgc, pt. i. ch. iii.

IDEALISM OF BERKELEY 93

we are entitled to infer from their presence is, not that
there is, or can be, a world of permanent objects, of
which our ideas are images, but that our ideas must
have some adequate spiritual cause, and this Berkeley
finds in the will of God, who ordains the system of
the world in the sense that he causes the ideas to
appear in regular series, and in the orderly connection
which we call " laws of nature." Hume's criticism on
this theory (or class of theory) in turn is : —

" It is too bold ever to carry conviction with it to a
man sufficiently apprised of the weakness of human
reason. Though the chain of arguments which con-
duct to it were ever so logical, there must arise a
strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance, that it
has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties,
when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary, and so
remote from common life and experience. We are got
into fairyland long ere we have reached the last steps
of our theory ; and there we have no reason to trust
our common methods of argument." ^

As if Hume's own reasonings did not conduct to con-
clusions " extraordinary and remote from common life
and experience " !

With regard to mind, on the other hand, Berkeley
was plainly in a dilemma. Having, on Locke's prin-
ciples, discarded "substance" in the sensible world, it
was not obvious how he could with consistency retain
it in the world of mind. If, however, he could dispense
with matter, he as plainly could not dispense with
mind as a receptacle of his ideas ; and, accordingly, at
this point he was compelled to take a step which
Locke's principles would not justify. This was to
1 Works, iv. p. 82.

94 DAVID HUME

concede what he calls, not an " idea," but a " notion,"
of a self as the permanent subject of mental acts and
states. When, in his Principles of Human Know-
ledge, he extends this mode of knowledge by means of
" notions " to relations, he seems on the verge of break-
ing away from Locke's principles altogether.

It is now easy, perhaps, to see in a general way how
Hume got his starting-point, and was led to his main
conclusions. He adopts — we must believe in good
faith — the principles of Locke and Berkeley, and draws
them out to their ultimate conclusions. Like these
philosophers, he takes it for granted as self-evident
that the mind has nothing to work on in knowledge
but its own ideas, or, as he prefers to call them,
" perceptions." The details of his system will occupy
us after; meanwhile it is not difficult to forecast
what kind of consequences were bound to follow from
his stringent logical procedure. The idea of " sub-
stance " of course goes. Berkeley had already banished
it from the material world, and Hume as summarily
dismisses it from the world of mind. The bond of
identity is cut, and all existence, inner and outer, is
resolved into a train of " impressions and ideas,"
originating we know not how, and representing
nothing but themselves. Objective reality, as we
have been accustomed to conceive of it, disappears.
There is no self, no external world, no God,^ — nothing
but this stream of perishable " perceptions." Still the
irresistible conviction of mankind in the existence of
the world and self remains as a fact to be accounted
for. Here begins Hume's constructive task, which he

^ That is, not logically on Hume's premises. On his concessions to
Theism, see below, Chapter X.

HUME'S SCEPTICISM 95

seeks to accomplish by showing how association and
custom create a species of union among our ideas
which we mistake for an objective one. The real
bearing of all this will be better understood when we
have examined, as we now proceed to do, the precise
nature of Hume's scepticism.

Philosophy with Hume, as ere long becomes apparent,
resolves itself into scepticism. His earliest and most
original work represents a vigorous and unsparing
attack upon the very foundations of our intelligence,
the only object of which seems to be to subvert all
rational certainty, and, as Dugald Stewart expressed
it, " to produce in the reader a complete distrust of his
own faculties." ^ His scepticism was more thorough
and systematic than that of any who had preceded
him. The " doubt " of Descartes was only prized as it
led to a higher certainty, and the same might be said
of the scepticism of Pascal. Hume, on the other hand,
never sought to go beyond his doubts, but spent his
strength in reducing them to scientific form. Even his
professed solutions are avowedly " sceptical." ^ Bayle
had preceded him in the attempt to establish universal
scepticism, availing himself for this purpose of the
contradictory opinions of different sects, and skilfully
attacking the grounds on which special dogmas were
assumed to rest. But Hume, to use his own words,
" marched up directly to the capital and centre of the
sciences — to human nature itself " ^ — and sought by
capturing that to secure an easy victory. He labours
to divide the mind against itself, and, by involving it
in inextricable self-contradictions, to shake the ground
of all its certitude. There are, however, certain peculi-

^ Dissertation, p. 209. ^ EnqiUryy sec. 5. ^ "Works, i, p. 8.

96 DAVID HUME

arities of this scepticism of Hume which it will be
necessary to examine with greater care ; the more that
its exact nature has been made the subject of consider-
able discussion.

One question which has been raised is — Did Hume
really accept the conclusions of his own system ? The
late J. S, Mill, for example, in his Uxa')ninaHon of
Hartiilton, broached the peculiar view that Hume's
scepticism was simply a thin disguise thrown over his
real convictions, intended rather to avoid offence than
to conceal his own opinion. " He preferred to be called
a sceptic rather than by a more odious name, and
having to promulgate conclusions which he knew
would be regarded as contradictory, on the one hand,
to the evidence of common sense, on the other, to the
doctrines of religion, did not like to declare them as
positive convictions, but thought it more judicious to
exhibit them as the results we might come to, if we
put complete confidence in the trustworthiness of our
rational faculties." ^ This view of Mill's is opposed to
that of Sir William Hamilton, who had represented
Hume as reasoning from premises '' not established by
himself," but " accepted only as principles universally
conceded in the previous schools of philosophy." ^ Mr.
Mill's judgment is " that Hume seriously accepted both
the premises and the conclusions." ^ A narrower inspec-
tion may convince us that the truth upon the subject
does not lie exclusively with either side.

There can be no doubt that, whatever may have
been Hume's real opinions, his avowed sentiments were
those of a sceptic, and his reasonings lay all in that

^ Exam, of Ram, p. 555. ^ Discussions, pp. 87, 89.

^ Appendix to Trcathc (1740).

UNDERLYING CONVICTIONS 97

direction. He was always ready to " plead the privilege
of a sceptic," ^ and no donbt correctly interpreted his
own state of mind when he wrote : " A true sceptic
will be diffident of his philosophical doubts, as well as
of his philosophical convictions." ^ On the other hand,
it must be conceded to Mr. Mill's view, that, so far as
Hume could allow himself to attain to certainty about
anything, he was perfectly serious both in his philo-
sophical starting-point, and in the main conclusions to
which his reasonings conducted him. Pie was playing
neither with himself nor with his reader. It is thus,
he would hold, we must think, if we are to think
philosophically at all. It is difficult to doubt his
sincerity in his acceptance of his fundamental position
that the mind has nothing present to it but its own
" perceptions " ; or his bona fides in the use he makes of
his grand canon, that every idea must be the copy of a
previous impression. He would admit that the same
certainty does not attach to all his hypotheses in
accounting for the particular beliefs of men ; but on
the whole he is satisfied with the explanations he
gives ; is sure, at any rate, that if it is not quite thus,
it is sonieliOiD thus, that the thing has come about.
We may safely assume that his conviction was as
entire as in such a mind it could be, that there is no
necessary connection between cause and effect, no
substantiality in self or things, no external world
apart from our perceptions, no principle stronger than
association connecting our ideas.^

^ Appendix to Treatise [11^.0).

2 Works, i. p. 376.

3 The most important qualification of this statement is in a passage
in the Appendix to Ms Treatise in 1740, in which, ^vhile declaring that

7

98 DAVID HUME

There is not, however, the inconsistency which might
be supposed "between this appearance of certainty in
Hume's convictions and the statements formerly made
as to his scepticism. The true explanation, as was
previously pointed out, undoubtedly is, that Hume's
reasonings, pushed to their issues, had a yet more
fatal effect than the overthrow of the beliefs of ordi-
nary common sense ; they destroyed the authority of
reason itself. Mr. Mill had a difficulty in understand-
ing how Hume, if really a sceptic, could reason so
seriously and accurately throughout the course of his
main discussions. Does not this, he held, imply a cer-
tain faith in the operation of "the rational faculty"?
He overlooked that, if Hume's premises and conclusions
are accepted, there is no " rational faculty " left for us
to have faith in. In the last result, reason — or what
we call such — destroys its own claim to credit. There
is no rational self ; no rational instrument which self
employs ; only combinations of impressions and ideas
engendered through association and custom.^ If it is
still argued that this is incompatible with the evident
earnestness which Hume shows in reasoning out his
conclusions, the answer is furnished by Hume himself.
In the Treatise of Hihinan Nature he has expressly
met this objection, and as the passage casts perhaps
a stronger light on the real spirit of that book than
any other, we make no apology for quoting it : —

" If the sceptical reasonings be strong, they say, 'tis

he can find no flaw in his reasonings, he confesses his difficulty on the
subject of Personal Identity.

^ See his Treatise, pt. iv., "Of Scepticism with regard to Reasonj"
and "Of Scepticism with regard to the Senses"; and the Miquiry, sec.
12, "Of the Academic or Sceptical Philosophy."

AUTHORITY OF REASON DESTROYED 99

a proof that reason may have some force and authority ;
if weak, they can never be sufficient to invalidate all
the conclusions of our understanding. The argument
is not just. . . . Reason first appears in possession of
the throne, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with
an absolute sway and authority. Her enemy, therefore,
is obliged to take shelter under her protection, and by
making use of rational arguments to prove the fallaci-
ousness and imbecility of reason produces in a manner
a patent under her own hand and seal. This patent
has at first an authority proportioned to the present
and immediate authority of reason, from which it is
derived. But as it is supposed contradictory to reason,
it gradually diminishes the force of the governing
power, and its own at the same time ; till at last they
both vanish away into nothing by a regular and just
diminution." ^

It requires considerable faith after this to believe
that Hume " put complete confidence in the trust-
worthiness of our rational faculty," as Mr. Mill "has
little doubt that he did."^ Mr. Mill is certainly in
error when he affirms that any intimations to the
contrary are found only " in a few detached passages "
in a single essay — that " On the Academical or Scep-
tical Philosophy." ^ The Treatise of Human Nature
abounds with them. In the Enquiry, no doubt, in
harmony with the moral purpose of his philosophy
— to clear the way for an easy, humane, and obvious
treatment of moral subjects by removing the "abstruse
philosophy" for ever from the field — Hume tries to
soften the impression of the earlier work by toning
down his scepticism to a very considerable extent.

1 Works, i. p. 236. ^ Exam. p. 555. ^ Ibid. p. 554.

loo DAVID HUME

He still advocates scepticism, but more by insinuation
than assertion, and the scepticism is of a " mitigated "
kind. In all essential respects, however, the main
principles of the two words are the same. In both,
" Pyrrhonism " holds the field so far as reason is con-
cerned, though Hume in the Enquiry affects to jest
at its "curious researches," and to temper its excess
of doubt by appeal to " natural instinct." ^ But even
in the Treatise it is not pretended that the scepticism
of reason can maintain itself against the non-rational
force of instinct. The very contrary : —

" It is happy," he says, in the conclusion of the
passage above quoted, "therefore, that nature breaks
the force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps
them from having any considerable influence on
the understanding. Were Ave to trust entirely to
their self-destruction, that can never take place,
until they have first subverted all conviction, and
have totally destroyed human reason. . . . Thus the
sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even
though he asserts that he cannot defend his reason by
reason." ^

And later : —

"This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason
and the senses, is a malady M^hich can never be radi-
cally cured, but must return upon us every moment,
however we may chase it away, and sometimes may
seem entirely free from it. It is impossible, upon any
system, to defend either our understanding or our
senses; and we but expose them further when we
endeavour to portray them in that manner. As the
sceptical doubt arises naturally from a profound and

1 Works, iv. pp. 182-3. 2 j^^j j^ ^^ 237.

REASON AND NATURAL INSTINCT loi

intense reflection on those subjects, it alwaj's increases
the further we carry our reflections, whether in oppo-
sition or conformity to it. Carelessness and inattention
alone can afford us any reinedy" ^

Beyond this Hume never got at any stage. This,
indeed, is one feature and main point in his scepticism
— to show that what our reason constrains us to re- ;
gard as false and contradictory, our natural instincts
compel us to believe and act upon as true. He does
not deny us the luxury of believing in an external
world, in the soul, in the necessary connection of causes
and effects ; he only shows that we have no reasonable
ground for so doinp- — that reason is diametrically
opposed to such benef. Practically things remain
as they are ; theoretically they are subverted. The
sceptical arguments, like those of Berkeley, " admit of
no answer, and produce no conviction." ^ Only when
we venture to transcend the range of common experi-
ence, and begin to think or speak of such far more
important subjects as God, Immortality, Providence,
Creation, Destiny, does Hume bring in his " doubt " to
show us that such " sublime " topics are entirely beyond
our reach — are, in fact, as exercises of mind, extrava-
gant and ridiculous. This is indeed the great use of his
philosophy — to scare us from these " abstruse " studies
by revealing to us the incapacity and fallibility of
the mind that proposes to deal with them.

The worst effect of a scepticism like Hume's is, that
it must inevitably react to vitiate the mind that
indulges in it, and to unfit that mind for earnest
dealing with any subject whatever. It destroys the
power of close and patient investigation for the sake

1 "Works, i. p. 273. " Ihid. iv. \\ 176.

102 DAVID HUME

of the truth itself. All throughout the reader is sen-
sible of this defect in the works of Hume. In his
later writings, especially, we are made to feel, as com-
pared with his earlier, a growing want of strictness
in method, and the absence of a fresh interest in the
subjects of which he treats. On the other hand, we
mark an increased elegance of style, and a more con-
cise and effective presentation of his separate ideas.
Hume's scepticism particularly unfitted him for doing
justice to men whose minds were possessed by warm
and earnest convictions in regard to the unseen, and
whose lives were actuated by correspondingly high
motives. To enter into the ideas and experiences of
such men was utterly beyond his power. His two
ready categories here are superstition and enthusiasmj
and to one or other of these every inexplicable phe-
nomenon in the moral and religious history of man-
kind is unhesitatingly referred. Hume forgets that
if "practical instincts" have validity in the lower
sphere, they are no less necessary and valid in the
higher. Men need convictions in regard to the ideal
and unseen quite as much as in reference to the seen
and temporal.

A scepticism like Hume's is, as he rightly says,
incurable. Diffidence in regard to the operations of
intelligence in difficult and recondite subjects is one
thing; distrust of the principles on which all truth
and certainty depend is another. It is useless to ask
in Hume's philosophy whether the error may not lie
in the road by which conclusions have been reached,
and whether another line of reasoning might not cor-
rect that error, and put us in the path of truth. The
very asking of that question implies the supposition

A RATIONAL UNIVERSE 103

of, and comparison with, a realm of truth, to wliich
our faculties stand in relation, and within which the
discovery and recognition of truth is believed to be
possible. Such a conception of a rationally-constituted
universe, to which reason in man stands in essential
relation, is precisely what Hume's philosophy excludes.
It is not considered that the very fact that man can
conceive of such a region of truth, even so far as to
be at the trouble of denying the power of the mind
to reach it, is itself a proof of its existence ; for the
mind that can deny rationality in the universe, in
the very act of its doing so proclaims itself rational,
and the universe as well.

CHAPTER VI

Hume and the First Principles of Knowledge

There is abundant evidence that Hume regarded him-
self as an original discoverer in philosophy. He speaks
repeatedly and complacently of " my system." He is
confident tliat he has succeeded where others had failed
in establishing the theory of human nature upon a just
foundation. It has now to be asked whether his own
contributions to the doctrine of knowledge will prove
more permanent than those of his predecessors; or
whether, as he wrote to Hutcheson, that " in a cool
hour" he was apt to suspect most of his reasonings
" will be found more useful in furnishing hints and
awakening curiosity, than as containing principles that
will augment the stock of knowledge that must pass to
future ages." ^

The basis of Hume's system is laid in his chapters
on '' The Origin of Ideas." ^ Here he connects himself
with Locke, but with significant changes of nomen-
clature. Locke had used " ideas " as the general de-
signation for all mental acts and states. The name
Hume uses for the same purpose is " perceptions " — a
designation in every way as open to criticism. Locke
had no distinction of terms for an idea in its fii'st vivid

^ Burton, i. p. 118. - "Works, i. pp. 16 ff. ; iv. pp. L' ff .

104

IMPRESSIONS AND IDEAS 105

appearance in the mind, and its subsequent paler re-
production in memory and imagination. Hume, with
more precision, distinguishes his " perceptions " into two
kinds — impressions and ideas. The original element
in knowledge is the " impression," under which he
includes " all our sensations, passions, and emotions."
The impression is given with a " force and liveliness "
in consciousness peculiar to itself. " Ideas " are the
fainter copies of these impressions in memory and
imagination. In memory the impressions retain a con-
siderable portion of their original vivacity ; in imagina-
tion they are less forcible and vivid, and appear in new
combinations. Imagination is thus with Hume, as
with Hobbes, nothing more than " a decaying sense."
The next point is to prove that we have no idea
which is not copied from some previous impression.
Hume adduces two arguments. First, we have only to
analyse our thoughts, however complex, to find that
they always resolve themselves into sucli simple ideas
as are copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment.^
This, however, is plainly not an argument in the proper
sense at all, but merely an assertion of the point to
be proved. Second, if we find a man who, through a
defect in the organ, is not susceptible of any particular
impression, he is always found to be as little susceptible
of the corresponding idea.^ This may be granted in
regard to sensible ideas. But the cjuestion is, Are these
our only ones ? Hume is not unaware that his first
argument is very much a begging of the question ; he
therefore adds : " Those who would assert that the
position is not universally true, have only one, and that
a very easy method of refuting it ; by producing that

1 "Works, iv. p. 17. ' Jhvt iv. p. 18.

io6 DAVID HUME

idea which in their opinion is not derived from that
source." ^ This last remark might have suggested to
Hume the illegitimacy of his whole procedure. Before
we are competent to sit in judgment upon the origin of
our ideas, it is necessary to come to some distinct
understanding as to their nature. "What are these
ideas of whose origin we speak ? Are they such as can
all be ascribed to one source ? Granted that some of
them may have their origin in the senses, are there not
others whose peculiar features demand for them a
nobler origin ? ^ As Hume leaves the matter, the way
is obviously open to vast assumptions. He has not
really proved that every idea is the copy of a previous
impression, but has only thrown the onus of proof on
those who differ from him. Yet, as if he had satis-
factorily established his main position, he immediately
proceeds to erect it into a universal test. " When we
entertain, therefore," he says, " any suspicion that a
philosophical term is employed without any meaning or
idea, as is too frequent, we need but inquire, from
ivhat mxpression is that supposed idea derived ? " ^ No
philosopher was ever more peremptory or a priori

^ "Works, iv. p. 17.

2 The truth wiU prove to be that even what Hume calls impressions
of sensation are not mere products of sense, hut involve an element of
rational judgment.

^ Works, iv. p. 20. It will afterAvards appear that Hume is not con-
sistent in the application of his own canon. It may be (1) that the
philosophical term is used, as he says, '* without any meaning or idea."
But it may also be (2) that there is an idea, or (^w«si-idea, only it is a
"fiction," or is due to confusion of thought. Hume would hold the
ideas of self, substance, external existence, to be of this nature. Or (3)
there may be a real idea, derived from an impression, bntthe idea is not
what we take it to be. Such is the idea of necessary connection, which
has, according to him, a subjective basis in the feeling of expectation.

REJECTS IDEAS OF REFLECTION 107

than Hume in the application of this rule-of-thumb
method of " no impression, no idea." It is not difficult
to see how readily on this principle the mind may be
despoiled of most of its richest possessions.

In one important respect Hume is more consistent
than Locke, and rather resembles his French con-
temporary Oondillac. Locke had distinguished between
ideas of sensation and ideas of reflection, resting his
distinction on the contrast of ideas received from
without, and ideas received from within. But Hume
more logically perceived that without and within are
assumptions we are not entitled to make at starting.
*' All impressions," he tells us in one place, " are internal
and perishing existences, and appear as such." ^ Re-
flection, therefore, is no separate source of ideas.^
Locke, indeed, evades this consequence, but only by an
inconsistency. He assumes, as the receptacle of his
sensations, a mind, well furnished with active faculties,
each working according to its own laws on the material
provided to it from without. Yet there is nothing
" innate " ! Leibnitz well replied, JSfisi intellectus ipse.
Later empiricism, therefore, has done well to dismiss
this second source of ideas altogether, and to try to get
on, as best it can, with simple sensations. But in point
of fact, no empiricist, not even Hume himself, adheres
consistently to this original position. Hume is forced
to fall back continually on certain "original prin-
ciples," which, as permanent factors in our experience,
and conditions of it, constitute an original " mind " of

1 Works, i. p. 245.

2 If, in one or two early passages, Hume adopts the Lockean phrase-
ology (Works, i. pp. 23, 31), it has no proper place in his system, and
serves only to indicate the contrast between sense -impressions and the
passions and emotions.

io8 DAVID HUME

a meagre sort, which, however, he never distinctly
accounts for. Such, for instance, are his " principles of
association," ^ and the principle of " custom," of which
he afterwards makes so large a use.^ These principles
of association are, it must be allowed, something of a
mystery in Hume. At times they appear as original
pi'inciples of the "mind" or of "human nature";
at other times they figure as mysterious powers of
" attraction " between impressions and ideas themselves,
" Here is a kind of attraction," he says, " which in the
mental world will be found to have as extraordinary
effects as in the natural." ^ How attraction can arise
between ideas which, on his hypothesis, are entirely
separate and "in perpetual flux and movement,"* is
far from obvious.

The essential assumptiveness of Hume's philosophy
receives mucli stronger illustration if we observe the
very great liberty which, while professing to start only
with impressions and ideas, Hume constantly allows
himself in the use of the ordinary terminology of mind.
He disavows, indeed, any assumption as to the origin of
impressions.^ These "arise in the soul," he tells us,
"from unknown causes."^ But, as the words quoted
show, he does not disavow in the same way, a " mind "
or " soul " as the seat of these impressions. On the
contrary, he continually^ and in so many words, takes
its existence and operations for granted; endows it
with faculties ; furnishes it with " original principles " ;
ascribes to it powers of comparison and reasoning;
concedes to it ideas of " relation " ; under guise of the

1 Works, i. pp. 25 ff.; iv. pp. 22 ff. Cf. pp. 123, 148, etc.

2 Ihid. iv. pp. 50 ff. 3 jii^^ I p^ 28.

» Ibid. i. pp. 312-13. » Ihid. i. p. 16. ^ xhld. \. p. 22.

TERMINOLOGY OF MIND 109

personal pronouns ("I," "we," etc.), makes unceasing
drafts on its activity. This peculiarity is so marked,
and so much depends on it for the right understanding
of Hume's philosophy, that space may profitably be
spared for a few examples (the italics are ours) : —

"I first mate myself certain by a neiv revieiv, of
what I have already asserted, that every simple im-
pression is attended by a corresponding idea. . , . I
ivimediately conclude that there is a great connection
between our correspondent impressions and ideas." ^
..." Of this impression there is a cojjy taken by the
■mind which remains after the impression ceases." ^
..." The fctctdty by which we refeat our impressions
in the first manner is called the memory, and the other
the imagination" ^ . . . " The liberty of the imagina-
tion to transpose and change its ideas." '^ . . . " When-
ever the imagination perceives a difference among
ideas." ^ . . . " Nothino^ would be more unaccountable
than the operation of that faculty were it not guided
by so'ine universcd "principles, which render it, in some
measure, uniform with itself in all times and places." ^
..." The qualities from which this association arises,
and by which the "tnind is, after this manner, con-
veyed from one idea to another." ^ . . . " That parti-
cular circumstance in which, even apart from the
arbitrary union of two ideas in the fancy, we onay
think proper to compare ther)i."^ . . . "When we have
found a resemblance among several objects that often
occur to us, we apply the same name to all of them,
whatever differences we may perceive in the degrees of

^ Works, i. pp. 18, 19. 2 /;,^VZ. i. p. 22. ^ lUd. i. p. 23.

■" Ihid. i. p. 24 (cf. p. 113). ^ Ibid, i. p. 25. *» lUd. i. p. 25.

7 Ibid. i. p. 2G. ^ Ihid. i. p. 29.

no DAVID HUME

their quality and quantity." ^ . . . " One would think
the whole intellectual world of ideas was at once siih-
jectecl to our view, and that we did nothing but 'pich
out such as were moat proper for our purpose. There
may not, however, be any present, besides those very
ideas, that are thus collected by a kind of magical
faculty in the soidf ^ . . . " We begin to distinguish
the figure from the colour by a distinction of reason." ^
. . " Identity is merely a quality which we. attribute
(to perceptions) because of the union of their ideas in
the imagination when we reflect on them." *

If it is replied that this employment of current ideas
and phraseology on the part of Hume is merely an
accommodation to popular speech till the system is
sufficiently advanced to show how these ideas can be
dispensed with, the answer is that it is only by the
assumption of these ideas that the system is able to
get under weigh at all, and that, without their help,
it could not present even a momentary appearance of
plausibility. Suppose, for instance, we hold Hume
strictly to his impressions and ideas, and ask the
question. How does he knoiv that his ideas are faint
"copies" of previous impressions, as he tells us they
are ? what answer could he give ? The two, to be
compared, must have been present at some point in
consciousness together. But the impression ex hypo-
thesi has vanished before the idea comes upon the
scene. When the comparison is made, there is nothing
present but the assumed copy. What then yields the
knowledge of its resemblance to the impression, or
what or who is to make the comparison between

1 Works, i. p. 36. 2 /^^^^ ^ p^ 41^

^Ibid. i. p. 43. * Ibid i. p. 321.

IDEAS AS "COPIES" in

them ? ^ If it is said that memory retains the image
of the past impression, this is only to repeat that a
*' faint " idea is present, which, for some reason un-
known, we take to be a copy of a former "lively"
state. And the "lively" state is now known to us
only through the idea. But the same difficulty recurs
in regard to memory itself. Memory differs from
imagination, Hume tells us, not only in the livelier
character of its ideas, but in the fact that it is " tied
down " to the same " order and form " as the original
impression.^ This, it may be remarked to begin with,
is in no way a complete account of memory. In
memory an image is not only given, but is recognised
as the mxage of a past event or experience. It is
connected with an idea of past time, and is accom-
panied by belief in the fidelity of the representation.
But, in the next place, the theory leaves us entirely
in the dark as to how we become atvare that the
image in memory represents the " order and form " of
a past experience. "Belief," with Hume, is simply "a
lively idea related to, or associated with, a present
impression."^ But the mere liveliness of an idea is
surely no guarantee that it is an accurate copy of a
past (and now vanished) impression. Nor is a solution
possible on Hume's principles. The real and only key
to the possibility of recall in memory is that persist-
ence of the self which Hume ignores. The self, which
is one and the same throughout, knows the acts which
it images to itself as its own acts. With this has to

^ Note the curious assumption in Hume that it is the original impres-
sion that is making "a new appearance" in the idea. Of course, on
his theory, the idea is an entirely new and separate mental fact.

2 Works, i. p. 24. ^ Ihid. i. p. 128 ; iv. p. 56.

112 DAVID HUME

be taken the fact that in no case is memory the mere
reproduction of a sense impression. Even in percep-
tion, as will appear later, the " impression " has passed
into the form of thought — has become fixed in perma-
nent relations — and so is preserved in its abiding
character as knowledge.

These considerations open the way for a more funda-
mental criticism of Hume's positions.

It has just been seen that Hume's theory has not
gone far before it has involved itself in considerable
difficulties, rendering necessary, not only the borrow-
ing of a number of new principles, but a somewhat
abundant use of the terminology of personal conscious-
ness. The crucial question that now arises is — Is this
construction of knowledge without a conscious think-
ing principle to unite and combine the various parts
of that knowledge possible ? Both Reid and Kant
assailed the account given by Hume of the nature of
knowledge. They took up the challenge to produce
an idea which has not its prototype in a sense-
impression, and showed that a quality attaches to
many of our ideas and judgments for which the theory
of Hume, or any theory which traces all our know-
ledge to sensation, can never adequately account.^
But Kant had a deeper way of attacking the problem.
He goes back from the nature to the more funda-
mental question of the 2^ossibility of knowledge, and
lays down as self-evident the proposition that there
can be no knowledge of any kind except on the sup-
position of a principle of synthesis in consciousness —
of a relation of " impressions and ideas " (to use Hume's
phrase) to a central "self." "The 'I think,'" in his

1 See below, p. 118.

KANT ON KNOWLEDGE 113

own words, " accompanies all my representations." ^
We may illustrate this by a remark of Mr. J. S. Mill's
on the ultimate nature of belief in memory. "Our
belief in the veracity of memory/' that writer says, " is
evidently ultimate; no reason can be given for it
which does not presuppose the belief, and assume it
to be well founded." ^ This involves an important
principle. That is ultimate in knowledge for which no
reason can be given which does not presuppose the
thing to be explained. Now what Mr. Mill here grants
to be true of memory, Kant shows to be true of all
sensible experience ; there are certain things involved
in it which can never be explained by the experience,
because the experience itself presupposes them. And
most fundamental of all is this condition, that impres-
sions can only become impressions /or me if they exist
together in a common self-consciousness. I know a
thing in consciousness only as I relate it with the other
elements of consciousness to ^myself. Self -consciousness,
in other words, with all that it involves, is an ultimate
fact, and any attempt to explain it by the chemistry of
association, is a case of circle-reasoning of the most
glaring kind.

It will be obvious that this principle, if admitted, is
fatal to Hume's whole theory of the origin of know-
ledge. "A train of impressions and ideas " — but how
do we know them as a train .? " A bundle or collection
of different perceptions " ^ — but what holds the bundle
together, or knows it as a hiondle ? The perceptions
are, on Hume's showing, " in perpetual flux and move-
ment." ^ Each, at the most, knows itself in the single

1 Kritilc, p. 21 (Boliii). ^ Exam, of Ham. p. 174.

3 Works, i. p. 312. ^ Ihid.

8

114 DAVID HUME

moment of its existence, and knows nothing of the
others. One perception has perished before another
appears; what holds the vanished members of the
series in knowledge, and now represents the whole
as a succession ? Single impressions and ideas are one
thing; the idea of a succession is another. Applying
Hume's canon to it, we may ask, From what impression
is it derived ? But it has already been seen that Hume
does not succeed in dispensing with this relating
principle. The " we " thrusts in its head at every
point in his expositions, engaged in the most essential
operations. We " make a review " of facts of conscious-
ness ; we " compare " ideas ; we " perceive " resem-
blances and difference; we "reflect" on experiences,
and draw conclusion^ ; '' when we have found a resem-
blance" we give names. Take away the implied self
from these operations, and what is left of them ? On
this first rock, therefore, Hume's philosophy, with
every other which rests on a like empirical basis, is
already irretrievably shattered.

But this first step in the criticism of Hume's
theory leads immediately to a second. It has hitherto
been assumed, in accordance AA^ith Hume's principles,
that impressions and ideas are something wholly sub-
jective— "internal perishing existences." On psycho-
logical grounds, hoAvever, this position also must be
pronounced untenable. The " I " or self, viewed as the
principle of relation among the elements of conscious-
ness, is, after all, only an abstraction. The " I " never
subsists in consciousness by itself — without relation to
something else, which it distinguishes from itself as
object In plain terms, as thinkers of all schools are
now well agreed, there is no subject-consciousness

SUBJECT- & OBJECT-CONSCIOUSNESS 115

which has not as its invariable counterpart an object-
consciousness. This is a fact wliich evidently deserves
careful attention. In both the "primary" and the
" secondary " qualities of Locke we found that, however
illegitimately on his principles, there was involved a
reference to an outward world. But this answers to
the fact of consciousness itself. From the first dawn
of conscious life the subject- and the object-conscious-
ness grow up together. There is, as Kant again
showed, no uniting together of the elements of personal
consciousness which has not as its correlate the uniting
of other elements in that consciousness in the form of
an objective experience. This raises more definitely
the question — What precisely is meant by an "object"?
Here we come on another fundamental ambiguity in
Hume's system. Hume can as little dispense with the
idea of the " object " as with the idea of "self." His
pages teem with references to "objects," of which we
are assumed to have knowledge. But two things here
require to be distinguished which Hume, in his philo-
sophy, as constantly confounds. One is the order or
succession of impressions and ideas within the mind —
the subjective succession; the other is the order or
succession of phenomena in nature — the objective suc-
cession. The order of succession in consciousness is, of
course, in part determined by the order in nature ; e.g.,
I hear the report of a gun, and observe a bird fall.
Still it is evident that the current of my thoughts is
one thing, and the order of events in nature is another,
and there is no necessary correspondence between
them. When we speak of an objective order, as will
be seen more clearly later, we mean by it something
which we definitely distinguish from our own thoughts;

ii6 DAVID HUME

which has a connection, coherence, and progress of its
own, determined by its own laws ; which exists in at
least relative independence of our knowledge of it.
And the important fact to be observed is, that when
we speak of " object," it is this external order of nature,
not the internal succession, we have in view. For me
to speak of a thing as an "object" means that I place
it definitely in this system or order which I distinguish
from myself ; that I regard it as having its fixed place
and coherence in that order; as set in determinate
relations with the other parts of the order; as con-
nected with it in what goes before and what comes
after, — in short, as belonging to it, and not to the
course of my individual thoughts. It is, as we shall
come to see, by habitually confounding two orders, and
illegitimately passing from one to the other in his
reasonings, that Hume is able to persuade himself
that he has solved the problem of causation by
"custom," and can even imagine, in the end of his
Treatise, that he explains by association how the
"fiction" of the idea of an independently existing
world is arrived at.

Kant's answer to Hume on this as on the other point,
then, is— that an object-consciousness, 'or idea of an
objective system, is already implied in the possession
of the subject-consciousness from which Hume would
derive it, and that the essential principles which go to
constitute that object-consciousness must be furnished
by reason itself, since they antecede experience, and are
the conditions of its possibility. Thus far Kant, we
take it, is irrefutable; but he laid himself open to
criticism equally with Hume when he held that these
principles which we employ in knowledge are only

THE OBJECT GIVEN IN RELATIONS 117

principles of our own thought, and not principles
constitutive of the world itself. This, however, opens
up questions which belong to a later part of our
investigation.

One important result which accrues from these
inquiries is, that the object is given only in relations,
and therefore can never be, as Locke and Hume would
have it, a mere datum of sense. There is at least the
act by which I relate it to myself in consciousness;
but there are also the acts by wliich I relate it to the
other objects of the world of which it forms part —
through which, in fact, I constitute it "object." This,
indeed, is what is properly called " knowledge " — not
the passive reception of impressions, but the apprehen-
sion of objects under their permanent relations. This
leads, as a third test of Hume's theory, to a glance at
his doctrine of relations. Kant, it is well known,
analysed the relations through which our knowledge
is constituted into two groups : forms of intuition, and
categories of the understanding. The first condition
of the knowledge of objects in an outward world is
that I apprehend them under the forms of space and
time ; then I cognize and unite them through the
understanding under such categories as unity and
plurality, substance and accident, cause and effect. It
will be sufficient here to keep to the list of relations
which Hume himself gives. It may easily be shown
that the admission of ideas of relation of any kind —
and Hume admits no fewer than seven heads of them :
resemblance, identity, space and time, quantity and
number, degree, contrariety, cause and effect ^ — is irre-
concilable with the primary assumptions of his theory.
1 Works, i. p. 95.

ii8 DAVID HUME

In the first place, a relation implies two terms, and a
comparison between them which gives rise to the idea^
and therefore is unthinkable except on the supposition
of a relating principle such as has been seen to be
implied in all knowledge. And in the next place, an
idea of relation is not, and for this very reason cannot
be, an idea of sense. It is not the copy of a sense-
impression, but is the product of an intellectual act.^
We have just seen, besides, that relations play a much
larger part in the constitution of our knowledge than
Hume allowed. Every object is given in i-elations as
the condition of its being known at all. It exists in
relations, and through relations is known to be what
it is. In strictness it may be said that the object is
much more an object of the understanding than it ever
was of sense. It will be seen after how this bears on
the philosophy of perception. It may now be shown
that the admission of even such a list of relations as
Hume gives involves problems of origin which, on his
principles, are incapable of solution.

It has been stated above that both Reid and Kant
took exception to Hume's account of the origin of ideas,
not only on the ground that certain of these ideas are
involved in all possible knowledge, but likewise because
they have a character of their own which bars us from
attributing to them an origin in sense. Such is the
quality of universality and necessity which attaches

^ Professor Huxley admits the incousequeiice of Hume deriving ideas
of relations from sense-impressions, though he himself errs (like some
other psychologists) in speaking of them as "feelings." "They are,"
he says, "no more capable of being described than sensations are ; and,
as it appears to me, they are as little susceptible of analysis into simpler
elements. . . . When Hume discusses relations, he f\ills into a chaos of
confusion and self-contradiction " {S^ime, p. 69),

IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME 119

to many of our ideas and judgments, as, e.g., to our
ideas of space and time and number, and the mathe-
matical sciences based on these, of cause and effect,
of substance and accident. Here, then, is another
crucial test for Hume's system ; the account it has to
give of this peculiarity in part of our knowledge. We
leave out of consideration for the present the ideas of
cause and substance, and confine ourselves to the funda-
mental ideas of space and time. This is a test-case for
Hume, as for the schools descended from him, and it
need not be said that he entirely fails to show the
origin of these ideas from sense-impressions. It is not
that he does not make the attempt. He discusses the
ideas of space and time at great length, and with much
ingenuity, in his Treatise. They are for him " no
separate and distinct ideas, but merely those of the
manner or order in which bodies exist." ^ " As it is
from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we
receive the idea of space, so from the succession of
ideas and impressions we form the idea of time." -
Precisely ; but it is strange it did not occur to so acute
a reasoner that to derive the idea of space from the
" manner or order " in which visible and tangible
objects are "disposed," or the idea of time from the
" succession " of impressions and ideas, is simply, under
a change of phraseology, to derive these ideas from
themselves. The *' distinct ideas " sought for are
already implied in the expressions used. For the
"manner or order" of the "disposition" of visible
and tangible bodies, means simply their arrangement
in a particular manner in space ; and the " succession "
of impressions and ideas means simply that they are

1 Works, i. \y. 60. ^ Uid, i. p. 54.

120 DAVID HUME

coirnized as one after another in time. On this latter
point Reid aptly remarks in his criticism of Locke, that
" it would be more proper to derive the idea of succes-
sion from that of duration/' than vice versa, " because
succession presupposes duration, and can in no sense be
prior to it." ^ Time, in other words, as Kant showed
more thoroughly, is already implied in all apprehension
of succession, and to derive the former from the latter
is a case of the old fallacy of explaining a thing by
itself. It is not otherwise with the attempts to derive
the idea of space from the perception of " distance " or
" extension " ; as if " distance " were anything else than
spatial remoteness, or " extension " (partes extra partes)
could be defined except in terms of space. Mr. Mill
says in one place : " Whatever else we may suppose
removed, there always remains the conception of empty
space." ^ If this is so, space is a distinct and necessary
idea, and is not to be confused with the idea of the
extension of material objects, which are in space. A
favourite device of a certain school of psychologists
has been to derive the idea of space from that of time.
Dr. Thomas Brown did his best to explain in this way
the genesis of the ideas of space and extension ; and his
efforts in this direction were heartily seconded by the
two Mills, and later by Mr. Bain.*^ Even if the attempt
had been as successful as it was really the reverse, it
would still have left the idea of time to be explained.
Kant, in truth, had already met by anticipation this
attempt of the Association school to confound the ideas
of space and time by deriving the one from the other.
So far, he argued, are we from the deriving the idea of

^ Hamilton's Meid, pp. 347-8. ^ £_^.a,n. of Ham. p. 291.

'^ Mill, ihid. pp. 227 ff. ; Bain, Mental and Moral Science, pp. 48 tf.

MATHEMATICAL IDEAS 121

space from that of time, that we can only picture the
latter to our imagination through an image of the
former. We figure duration to ourselves as a drawn-
out line.^

Hume's boldness in deriving all our ideas from sense-
impressions reaches its culmination in his attempts
to explain in this manner even the pure ideas of
" geometry, algebra, and arithmetic." ^ This, while
conceding that the relations involved in these ideas
are " intuitively or demonstratively certain." ^ Kant
remarks that if Hume had only considered this point
as carefully as he did the fact of causation, he would
have been saved from many of his conclusions. He
came nearest of all philosophers to a solution of the
great problem, but failed, because " it never acquired in
his mind sufficient precision, nor did he regard the
question in its universality." ^

^ Kritik, p. 95 (Bohn). ^ Treatise, bk. i. pt. ii.

3 Works, iv. p. 30. "* Kritik, pp. 12, 13 (Bohn).

CHAPTER VII

Hume on Cause and Effect: Frke-Will

Hume's theory may be said to concentrate itself in
his doctrine of cause and effect. He himself doubtless
felt this to be the strongest and most original part of his
system, and in the later edition of his philosophy he
spared no pains in perfecting it. Viewed as a carry-
ing out of his principles to their legitimate issues, his
reasonings have all the force of demonstration. They
end by depriving the notion of cause and effect of all
real validity. It is merely, in Hamilton's terse descrip-
tion, " the offspring of experience engendered on
custom." 1'^''

In a familiar passage, Hume divides all objects of
knowledge into two classes : relations of ideas and
matters of fact.^ Relations of ideas yield us know-
ledge which is either intuitively or demonstrably
certain ; in regard to matters of fact, on the other
hand, the one relation which carries us beyond the
experience we have, and gives us new knowledge, is
tliat of cause and effect. A priori argument avails us
nothing here ; our knowledge of everything that lies
beyond the immediate impression of sense must be
deduced, by a longer or shorter train of reasoning,

1 Lects. on Met. ii. p. 394. - Worlcs, iv. pp. 30, 41.

THE PRINCIPLE OF CAUSATION 123

through this single principle of causation. If, there-
fore, this pillar of the house of knowledge is over-
thrown, the whole edifice of our reasonings in regard
to matters of fact is brought to the ground. To show,
accordingly, that this is li^w the case actually stands
with respect to causation — that there is, in reality, no
rational basis for our belief in the connection of causes
and effects, nor any necessary principle connecting the
phenomena we so denominate — is the end to which
Hume applies himself with all his force. He has to
show, first, that the ordinary belief in cause and effect
is without rational justification ; and, second, what the
real origin and nature of this belief is.

The first point to be established is, that the relation
of causes and effects is one which is discoverable only
by experience.^ ^Reason can furnish us with no aid in;
determining what particular effects will follow from
particular causes. No man, e.g., could predict, prior to
experience, that fire would burn, or water drown him.
This must, of course, be admitted, but it has often been
pointed out that it evades the real question at issue.
This is not, whether, before experience, ^we can tell
what par^icuto' effects will follow from particular
causes, but whether, either before experience or after
it, we can believe that any change or event will ever
happen without sovie cause. There is an obvious dis-
tinction between a cause and the cause. This Hume
must admit, for he afterwards assumes that it is
possible to strip the causal judgment of its original
particularity, and erect it into a universal principle.'

1 Works, iv. pp. 105-6, 139. This, no doubt, in Hume's case, is
an inconsistency. (1) His doeti'ine allows no place for abstract or
general ideas, so leaves no room for general principles deduced from

124 DAVID HUME

What we have found to be true of particular cases, we
come to assume will be true of all others. But if we
can thus universalise our judgments, then we are able
to aflQrm that there must be a cause, even where we
are is^norant of what it is.

The knowledge of causes and effects being thus
traced solely to experience, the question which next
arises is, What is there in experience which can
generate this idea ?

" When it is asked," says Hume, " What is the nature
of all our reasonings concerning matters of fact ? the
proper answer seems to be, that they are founded on
the relation of cause and effect. When, again, it is
asked, What is the foundation of all our reasoning and
conclusions concerning that relation ? it may be replied
in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on our
sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all
our conclusions from exjDerience ? this implies a new
question which may be of more difficult solution and
explication." ^

I There are several difficulties to be got over. (1)
Experience gives us only " loose and separate " events, -
but the relation of cause and effect is supposed to be
that of necessary connection. (2) Experience gives us
information of those precise objects only which fall
under our cogniziance ; but this do6s not? explain why
we should extend this experience to other and different
objects. (3) Experience relates only to what has been

particular instances ; and (2) the utmost his theory of association will
yield him is, that antecedents similar to those observed might be sup-
posed to have similar consequents, not that there is a necessary relation
between antecedents and consequents generally.

^ Works, iv. p. 38. 2 jn^^ ^^^ ^^ 8^4^

GROUND OF CAUSAL INFERENCE 125

observed in the past ; but the inference from cause and
effect is extended into the future. " We always pre-
sume," he says, "when we see like sensible qualities,
that tbey have like secret powers, and expect that
effects similar to those which we have experienced will
follow from them. . . . Now this is a process of the
mind of which I would willingly know the founda-
tion." ^ Hume then shows that this inference from
the past to the future, however it is to be explained, is
not founded on any process of arguvient These two
propositions are far from' being the same — " I have
found that such an object has always been attended,
with such an effect," and, " I foresee that other objects'
which are in appearance similar, will be attended with
similar effects." ^ If the inference is made by reason-
ing, there should be some middle term which connects
he two judgments ; but this, of course, can never be
jroduced. He concludes, therefore, with perfect justice,
that the uniformity of the operation of causes and
effects which would enable us to infer the future from
the past, can never be proved by argument.

It may be questioned, however, whether Hume is not
here chargeable with another confusion, besides that of
constantly identifying tlie_juestion of a cause with
that of some particular cause. He rightly assumes
that when we find a cause in nature we expect it to
operate uniformly. The idea of a cause, nevertheless,
is not quite the same as that of the ibniforun operation
of the cause. " I say, then," he himself remarks, " that
even after we have experience of the operations of
cause and effect, our conclusions from that experience
are not founded on reasoning." ^ The experience of

1 Works, iv. p. 39. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 40. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 38.

126 DAVID HUME

the operation of causes, then, precedes, and is distinct
from, the discovery that they operate uniformly. The
distinction may be perceived if we reflect on the
phenomena of volition, or think of that crude stage
in the history of mankind when effects in nature are
ascribed to the volition of living agents. Here there
is causation, but it is conceived of as capricious and
irregular. The ground of our expectation of uni-
formity in the operation of causes will be investigated
later.

^The main difficulty Hume has to encounter is the
apparent existence of an " idea of necessary connec-
tion " in the causal judgment. He treats of this in a
separate Essay, bub it is really the same question as he
had previously before him. We infer that the future
in natural operations will resemble the past because
we have already somehow come to believe in the
necessary connection of events. The gist of Hume's
theory lies, therefore, in th^ explanation he has to give
of this idea of necessary connection. He first shows
that no such necessary connection is implied in any-
thing given directly by observation. He easily refutes
Locke's doctrine that \^e receive the idea from sensa-
tion and reflection. What we observe is simply
constant succession, or constant conjunction ; of a
supposed bond or connection between events, the
experience of the senses can teach us nothing.^ "^He
argues with great force that the idea cannot be derived
even from the consciousness of our acts of volition.
His arguments on this point are in part valid against

1 ''All events seem entii'cly loose aud separate. One event follows
another, but we can never observe any tie between them. They seem
conjoined J but never connected' (Works, iv. p. 84).

IDEA ENGENDERED BY CUSTOM, 127

Maine de Biran and others of the French school, who
adopt this explanation ; and against Mansel, who sup-
poses that we transfer the idea of cause, gained from
the power of the will over its own determinations, to
beings and objects generally.^ We do know ourselves
as spiritual causes, but this recognition already implies
the idea of causation, and the legitimacy of the trans-
ference of the idea to nature, and universalising of it,
is not obvious. Failing every other explanation, there-
fore, Hume falls back on Custom, in which he claims to
find the solution of the problem. When we have had
frequent experience of similar conjunctions of events,
a connection between the two is firmly established in
the mind. The presence of the one event naturally
suggests the idea of its usual attendant, and leads us
to expect it. This tie, which is purely a connection
between our own ideas formed by association, we
transfer to the objects, and think of it as existing
between themP' So arises the idea of a necessary con-
nection among objects. '^

Briefly expressed, therefore, the idea of necessary
connection among events is the result of custom and
association uniting their ideas firmly in the mind.
The mere fact of one event following another in a
single instance, or in a few instances, would not of
itself beget the idea of causation; but when, of two
events, one is found constantly following the other,
an association is formed which creates a firm con-
nection in idea, and brings it about that the appear-
ance of the one invariably suggests the idea of the

1 Prol. Log. pp. 139-40 ; Met. pp. 266-8.

- ''Necessity is something that exists in the mind, not in ohjects "
(Works, i. p. 212).

128 DAVID HUME

other.^ In the vividness of conception with which the
mind is carried from the one idea to the other, consists
the nature of belief} With delightful naivete Hume
points out how this tendency is confirmed when we
find that the actual order of the world is conformable
to the train of our thoughts and imaginations, and
speaks of this as " a kind of pre-established harmony
between the course of nature and the succession of our
ideas." ^

This searching examination of the validity of the
causal idea was, as every one now acknowledges, pro-
ductive of the best results in philosophy. First, like
Hume's other speculations, it showed men clearly what
were the legitimate consequences of certain principles ;
and, second, it prompted them to a reinvestigation of
the whole question. For it did not require a great
degree of acumen to perceive that the explanation
offered by Hume Avas far from covering all the facts.
It labours under the radical defect of seeking to
account for an idea, the nature and characteristics of
which have never been sufficiently examined. Hume
does not begin with a careful analysis of what is in-
volved in the notion of cause, but proceeds at once
to demand the impression from which the idea is
deijved. He admits that there is a necessary con-
nection to be taken into account ; but, instead of first
examining the nature of this necessity, and then ask-
ing, as Kant did, how such an idea of necessary con-
nection is possible, he forecloses discussion by the
assumption that, if the idea is not copied from a
sensible impression, it can have no meaning or validity.

' Works, iv. p. 85 ; cf. i. p. 213. 3 Ihid. iv. p. 56.

3 Ibid. iv. p. 62.

THE PRINCIPLE OF CUSTOM 129

As a preliminary criticism on the theory, a remark
may be made on the peculiar place which Hume gives
to the principle of custom in connection with it. It is
difficult to know how precisely Hume conceives of this
principle in relation to the general principles of associa-
tion; whether it is supposed to be distinct, or is re-
garded as only a special case of the latter. At all
events, it is described by him in terms which imply
that it itself operates as a true cause, or force, in the
mind, determining the connection of ideas. The passage
is instructive : —

" By employing that word (custom), we pretend not
to have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity.
We only point out a principle of hitman nature which
is universal, acknowledged, and which is well known
by its effects. Perhaps we can push our inquiries no
further, or pretend to give the cwiise of this cause ; but
must rest contented with it as the ultiviate principle,
which we can assign, of all our conclusions from ex-
perience." ^

That is to say, in order to make out that causation
has no real existence, Hume is compelled to assume a
principle of causation operating in the very way he
proposes to get rid of. Causation is to mean strictly
nothing but constant conjunction of antecedent and
consequent; but in order to explain how we come to
have a feeling of necessary connection between these
two, he presupposes a cause which is not an antecedent,
but an " ultimate principle " of mind, determining the
-connection of ideas. He disproves causation by the
help of a principle of causation ; shows the idea to be

^ "Works, iv. p. 51. The italics call attention to the words and phrases
deserving special notice.

9

I30 DAVID HUME

a fiction by means of a hypothesis which assumes its
reality. Similar in effect is his continual use of
language which implies the reality of " power," " force,"
"influence," "determination," "necessity," at the very
moment when he is endeavouring to disprove that the
mind has any such ideas.

To see how -far Hume's theory comes short of an
adequate explanation of the ordinary notion of cause
and effect, we may begin by quoting two passages from
his writings on the nature of this relation : —

" We suppose," he says, " that there is some connec-
tion between them : some power in the one by which
it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the
greatest certainty and strongest necessity T ^

A£:ain : " When we consider the unknown circum-
stance in one object by which the degree or quantity
of its effect is fixed and determined, we call that its
power." 2

It is implied in these statements that the idea of
cause and effect is, as already seen, (1) that of a
necessary connection ; (2) that of an objective rela-
tion ; and (3) involves the idea of power. Subsequent
speculators, who have impugned the doctrine of Hume,
have assailed it mainly either on the first of these
grounds, showing that the confessed necessity inherent
in the relation could never be engendered by custom ;
or on the second, showing that custom and association
could never account for the idea of a " fixed and de-
termined" order of nature. On the other hand, the
Association school have substantially adopted and de-
fended the doctrine of Hume, Mr. Mill, e.g., resolutely

^ Works, iv. p. 85,

^ Ihid. iv. p. S8 (italics in both passages ours).

DR. T. BROWN ON CAUSATION 131

upholding it in his Examination of Hamilton^ under
the name of " inseparable association " for Hume's
"custom." An intermediate position was occupied by
Dr. Thomas Brown, who, while adopting Hume's view
so far as it denied the objective connection of events,
yet differed strongly from Hume on the power of
custom to generate belief in the uniformity of nature.
On this latter point Brown has left many acute re-
marks, but his own theory is not much better than
the one he criticises. " Power," he says, " is nothing
more than invariableness of antecedence." ^ This, how-
ever, is a simple question of fact. Do men really
mean no more than Brown asserts when they speak
of power ? They mean, surely, by it, not only that one
event follows another, has always followed it, and will
always do so in the future, but that one obj ect or event
exercises a determining influence on another — has an
efficacy in producing change in the other. This ele-
ment Brown entirely leaves out. He resolves the idea
of cause into that of uniformity of nature, and, after
showing that custom could never account for our belief /
in that uniformity, calls in an ultimate principle to
explain the latter. As if that principle were not itself
a cause in the rejected sense. Hume is more consistent
in the description he gives of power, but likewise
holds the idea to be a figment, because copied from
no impression. The idea of power, however, which
has its root for us in the consciousness of voluntary
energy, is not to be thus summarily got rid of. Not
to speak of modern systems which find the principle
of existence even more in " Will " than in " Idea "
(Schopenhauer, Hartmann), and of the preponderant

^ Cause and Effect, p. 30.

132 DAVID HUME

place occupied by the ideas of "force" and "energy" in
modern science, it is surely a most curious inversion of
Hume's position that our latest " positive " philosophy
should be found basing its whole interpretation of
nature and mind on the idea of Unknowable " Power " !
TThe objection to Hume on the ground of the
'necessity of the causal judgment has been urged by
Kant (in connection with his general theory of know-
ledge), by Reid, Hamilton, and many others, and is the
favourite argument of those who adhere to what is
called the " Intuitional " school. Custom, it is pointed
out, cannot explain the quality of necessity in the causal
judgment. It is a judgment we make, apparently, as
soon as reflection commences, and not a single fact can
be adduced to show that it increases in strength as
time goes on.^ It is also a judgment we make uni-
versally ; it extends to all new events, as well as to
those which have been previously observedj) Now, as
Hamilton remarks, " Allow the force of custom to be as
great as may be, it is always limited to the customary,
and the customary has nothing whatever in it of the
necessary. But we have here to account, not for a
strong, but for an absolutely irresistible belief." ^ The
reply of the empirical school to this is, that " inseparable
association " has the power of engendering "irresistible
belief," i.e., of creating a feeling equiv^alent to necessity.
Mr. Spencer adds hereditary transmission of acquired

^ Here again cause is not to be off-hand identified witli uniformity of
nature, as to wliicli our knowledge is clarified and sti'engtliened by ex-
perience. But no change is ever held to be causeZcss.

2 Lects. oil Met ii. p. 393. The matter, however, it seems to us, is
Avrongly put, when rested on subjective necessity of belief. The necessity
rather lies in the nature of the truth or principle, which shines in the
light of its own rational self-evidence.

ASSOCIATION AND NECESSITY 133

beliefs as giving them enhanced strength. The diffi-
culties of this explanation, however, become insuperable
if we take into account the very stringent limits within
which, by admission of the advocates of the theory, the
principle of association can operate to generate an irre-
sistible belief. " The phenomenon," Mr. Mill says,
" must be so closely united to our experience, that
we never perceive the one, without at the same time,
or at the immediately succeeding moment, perceiving
the other." ^ Again, " No frequency of conjunction
between two phenomena will create an inseparable
association, if counter-associations are being created
all the while." ^ But can any one affirm that these
conditions have ever been complied with in the case
of the sequences of nature which we relate as causes
and effects ?

The more carefully, in fact, this theory of Hume's
as to the genesis of the causal idea is examined,
the more clearly it is seen to abound in assumptions
and inconsequences. The explanation of belief in
causal connection is thought to be found in experi-
ence of constant conjunction of objects and events.
But, in the first place, every constant conjunction is
not a case of causation. There may be antecedence
and consequence, invariable so far as our experience
goes, to which we yet do not attribute causal con-
nection. To take the familiar example, day follows
night, and night follows day ; but it is not held that
the one is the cause of the other. Else, as Reid
observes, every case of habitual association would be
a case of causation. There is a German proverb, " Who
says A, says B," but A is not on that account held
^ Exam, of Ham. p. 266. ^ j^^^^

134 DAVID HUME

to be the cause of B. The idea of even invariable
sequence, therefore, is to be distinguished from that
of causation. But, in the second place, granting, as
of course we must, that causes and effects are con-
stantly conjoined in nature, it is certainly not the case
that belief in causal connection arises from experience
of this constant conjunction. In how many instances
do we observe changes of which the causes are wholly
unknown to us ? Nature is full of apparent irregu-
larities. The cases in which a sequence has been
observed so often as to generate a fixed belief through
custom, are few in comparison with the others. " Among
so man^'- unconnected but coexisting phenomena,'' says
Dr, Brown, "as are perpetually taking place around
us, it is impossible tliat in the multitude of trains of
sequence the parts of one train alone should always
be observed by us; and the mind, therefore, even
though originally led to believe in causation or original
sequence, must soon be rendered doubtful of its first
belief, when, from the comparison of parts of trains,
the expected sequence is found to be different." ^ Again,
speaking of the numberless cases in which we observe
a new phenomenon, the same ingenious writer observes :
" If it be the experience of custom alone which can
give us that belief of connection by whicli we denomi-
nate a change an effect, we are in this case not merely
without a customary sequence; we have not seen a
single case of it. Yet there is no one who does not
believe the change to be an effect as completely as
if he had witnessed every preceding circumstance."^
This leads to a tJdrd remark, that it is not the case
that long experience of conjunction is needed to pro-

'- Cause and Effect, p. 122. 2 ^j^-^_ p_ ^33^

OBJECTIVITY OF CAUSAL JUDGMENT 135

duce the conviction of causation. It is often sufficient
to produce the idea of causal connection to see one
clear instance of the change. The child, e.g., that
burns its fingers at the candle (to use an illustration
of Hume's own ^), does not need a second trial to deter
it from repeating the experiment. So in science, one
crucial experiment under appropriate conditions may
be decisive.

We pass to yet deeper ground when we proceed,
as a next step, to the second form of objection to
Hume's theory — that it can render no account of the
objective character of the judgment of causality. The
force of this will be apparent in view of what has been
said in the previous chapter, of our idea of an objective
order. On Hume's principles, what we have passing
through the mind — or rather what constitutes the
mind — is simply a succession of impressions and ideas.
Any conjunction or association of these is only a union
of our ideas with each other. But it was before shown
that there is the broadest possible distinction between
the succession of our own thoughts, and the objective
succession of events in nature, and that a large part
of the plausibility of Hume's doctrine depends on his
continually confounding these two orders — the order
of thought and the order of things — with each other.
On any hypothesis, it must be admitted that men do
make this distinction between the course of their own
thoughts and the objective course of nature, — we found
Hume himself making the distinction, and even speak-
ing (popularly, no doubt) of the " pre-established har-
mony" between them, — and there is as little doubt
that when we speak of the relation of cause and effect,
^ Works, iv. p. 45.

136 DAVID HUME

it is tjie objective order, not the subjective, we have
in view. To say that fire melts wax, that prussic acid
destroys life, that a storm wrecks a ship, is more than
a description of a succession of impressions and ideas
in the mind. It expresses a relation of these objects
among themselves, and modes of their actions upon
one another, irrespective of the order in which they
may chance to be presented to our thoughts. In point
of fact, the effect may be observed before the cause,
or the cause may never be observed at all. Flame
causes heat (another of Hume's illustrations), but I
may perceive the heat before I am led to observe
the flame. It is not without reason, therefore, that
Hume is found constantly exchanging "ideas" with
** objects," and affirming of the latter what is true
only of the former.

(^ B ut Kant goes deeper. It is essential to Hume's
theory of the derivation of the causal judgment, that,
prior to the possession of the idea of causality, we should
observe successions of phenomena in a fixed order.
It is from observation of their regular conjunctions
that the idea is supposed to be obtained. It is here
that Kant strikes in with his penetrating criticism.
In assuming the existence of an objective world, and
of orderly succession in that world, you have, he
argues, already implicitly supposed the operation of
that causal principle which you imagine yourself to
obtain from your experience of it. For what is meant
by speaking of objects, and of a succession of objects,
in the natural world ? To speak of a thing as object
at all, is, as shown in last chapter, to give that thing
a place in an order or system which has a subsistence,
coherence, and connection of parts, irrespective of the

KANT ON CAUSATION 137

course of our ideas of it. It implies an order in which
the parts are definitely related to each other, in which
each has its place fixed by relation to the other parts.
But such an order already involves — is constituted for
our thought and experience through — this very prin-
ciple of causation which we are proposing to derive
from it.^This does not mean that in the system of
nature each antecedent is regarded as the cause of its
immediate consequent. But it does mean that every
term in that succession has its definite place assigned
to it in the order of the whole, and this is only possible
through causal relations. The idea of cause may not
per se imply that of a fixed order; ^ut it is indis-
putable that the idea of a fixed order implies that
of cause. Else any given phenomenon would be an
accident ; it might appear equally well at any point
of the series of events; lit would not be integrated
with the other phenomena as part of an objective
system.") If this be clearly understood, it is fatal to
the acceptance of Hume's theory, for it shows that his
derivation of the causal judgment from experience of
constant ^conjunctions is an inversion of the actual
state of the case.

This enables us to give an answer to the question
formerly postponed as to the real ground of our belief
in the uniformity of nature. Hume wishes to know
how it comes about that, having observed causation
in a particular instance, we are led to extend this belief
in causation to similar and future instances. The
simple answer would seem to be that, in default of
reason to the contrary, we regard bodies which exhibit
similar properties, or, as Hume would say, have like
sensible qualities, as being the same in nature; we

138 DAVID HUME

therefore expect them to operate in the same way.
That judgment may be correct, or may prove, on
experiment, to be in whole or part erroneous. Objects
apparently similar may really differ in some unknown
respect, or the uniformity we have discovered in their
action may prove liable to modification {e.g., the ex-
pansion of water at freezing-point). We thus correct
mistakes, and enlarge our knowledge of the true laws
and constitution of nature ; but our confidence is never
shaken that, so far as we have discovered the real
nature of objects, they will continue to act according
to that nature. So far from reason having nothing
to do with the "inference" we make, it is precisely
because we believe nature to be a rationally-constituted
system that we expect constancy in it.

A few words may now be said, on the basis of
these discussions, on the true origin and nature of this
idea of causation.\l Hume seeks to subvert the causal
judgment by showing that it springs (to use words
employed in another connection), not from the " cogita-
tive," but from the " sensitive " part of our nature —
that is, that there is no ground for it in reason.^ In
truth, as just said, it is reason, and reason alone, that
will yield it. The fundamental postulate of reason is,
that whatever exists, has some rational explanation of
its existence ; that whatever changes take place, there
is always a reason which explains these changes.*^ A
mind to which this is not self-evident on the mere
statement of it, can never have it proved to it by argu-
ment. In pure thinking, at least, it will be admitted that
there is a rational sequence in ideas. In a geometrical
demonstration, e.g.y what we have is not simply one idea
following upon another, and united with that other by

GROUND OF IDEA IN REASON 139

association. There is perceived a connection in reason
between the premises and the conclusion. In the world
of reality it is not different. We may not perceive the
reason of a change, but we have no manner of doubt
that there is a reason, and a sufficient one. Either, as
in the case of a self- determining agent, the being has
the reason of the change within himself ; or, as in the
case of natural (selfless) phenomena, the object is deter-
mined to be what it is by something beyond itself. It
is this idea of established connection on some rational
principle which we denominate " necessary connection "
in nature — a connection not indeed metcvphysically
necessary, as if the constitution of nature might not
conceivably have been other than it is, but factually
necessary. Metaphysical necessity inheres only in the
rational principle that a cause or reason there must be.
When, accordingly, Hume says that there is never per-
ceived any rational connection between cause and
effect, he greatly oversteps the evidence. A man
frames, we shall suppose, the plan of a house or design
of a machine ; will any one say that when his plan or
design is executed, it is simply a case of one thing
following another, and that there is no rational con-
necting principle between means and end ? "When a
writer like Hume conceives a book intended to convey
to other minds an idea of a particular philosophical
system, will any one affirm that there is no connection
save that of accidental succession between the thoughts
of the original author, the book he has produced, and
the impression it makes upon the reader? Even in
external nature, if the laws concerned in the production
of a particular phenomenon are clearly grasped, — say
the laws of chemical combination, — is it correct to say

I40 DAVID HUME

that you cannot, up to a certain point, give a rational
explanation of the effects that are produced? Else
what do we mean by explanation ? The result of the
whole is, that Hume's endeavour to get rid of reason
in the sphere of causation is as vain as his efforts to
explain the rise of knowledge without a conscious,
thinking mind, without rational principles of connec-
tion among ideas, and without the recognition of an
objective world, by reference to which our internal
states are known to be internal.

In closing this chapter, allusion must be made to one
other topic directly connected with the subject of
causation. None of the gTeat speculators on causation
have left out of view the bearings of their doctrine on
Free- Will ; and Hume likewise has an application of
his theory to "Liberty and Necessity," in which he
consistently reduces all human action to the same law
of necessity as prevails in nature. " Thus it appears,"
he says, "that the conjunction between motives and
voluntary actions is as regular as that between cause
and effect in any part of nature;^ while he defines
liberty as simply "a power of acting or not acting
according to the determinations of the will."^ And
at first Hume seems justified; for if causation is a
necessary principle of connection among phenomena,
how shall volitions, any more than other phenomena,
be withdrawn from its scope ?

One answer that might be given, which is also in part
Kant's, is that causation applies only to nature — to the
phenomenal world— not to the world of spirit. In the
outward world necessity rules ; in mind or spirit,
freedom. Dugald Stewart wrote : " This maxim (that

1 Works, iv. p. 100. 2 jj^i^^ ^ io7.

CAUSATION AND FREE-WILL 141

every change implies the operation of a cause), although
true with respect to inanimate matter, does not apply
to intelligent agents, which cannot be conceived without
the power of self-determination." The obvious fault of
this statement is, that it does not cover all the facts.
It is not true that causation is confined only to the
objective world, or to inanimate nature. The will itself
is a cause, and acts outwards on nature, as well as in
the regulation of thought and conduct. The principle
of causation does not apply only to changes in nature,
but to the fact of change as such. In a large part (the
involuntary part) of our inward life — in the sensitive
nature, the passions, the emotions, the workings of
association and habit — the reign of causation is as
obvious as in the world of matter.

Yet probably it is in this line of what Kant says of
causation as a category of nature that the real solution
of our problem is to be sought. If, as was previously
urged, it is the " I " which is the relating principle in
knowledge — that which relates objects in their causal,
as in other, connections — it seems obvious that it
cannot itself be treated as one of the objects which
it helps to relate. It is above the natural order,
with its laws of causation. This is viewing the self
as thinking, but the same applies to it as acting— as
ivill. In the simple fact of self -consciousness, the self
knows itself raised above nature with its law of external
necessitation — of determination ab extra. To it belongs
the power, which is wanting to external nature, of dis-
tinguishing itself from objects without, and from desires
and passions within, and of determining itself freely
in light of principles and ends. Man, as Kant says, is a
being that acts under the representation of ends. This

142 DAVID HUME

does not mean that the will at any time acts without
reason or motive ; for every act of a free, rational
nature, there will always be a " why." But it is given
to the self to determine itself ab intra ; it is a cause
which originates action, but is not itself an effect.
Through unfaithfulness or vicious choice, a man may,
indeed, part with this high prerogative, and become
the slave of passion : it is the problem of our moral con-
dition that we do find ourselves in alienation from our
truest selves, and in bondage to evil. But regarded
in the light of his essential nature, man's dignity
consists in his power of self-determination, and in
regulation of his life by rational and moral ends.

In human freedom, therefore, there is no contradic-
tion of the law of causation, but rather the raising of
that law to its own ultimate principle in self-conscious
personality. It is but following out the same thought,
if we come to see that the final explanation of the
causal order even of nature — of the objective system —
must lie, not in an infinite regress of finite causes and
effects, but in a principle on which the whole depends ;
a principle rational and self-conscious — in Spinoza's
phrase, but in a personal sense, Causa sioi.

CHAPTER VIII

Hume on Substance — The Material Would :
THE Ego

The two great metapliysical categories are those of
cattsality and substance. On them rests the entire
structure of physical science. The natural philosopher
must assume the unconditional validity of the prin-
ciple of causation; not less implicitly must he assume
the principle of the indestructibility of substance. All
his reasonings and calculations would else be abortive.
The sceptic, therefore, who can subvert these two
important categories by showing them to be chimerical
and unreal, insiy justly claim to have overturned tlie
whole fabric of knowledge. It has been shown how
Hume attempted to achieve this with regard to the
category of cause. It is now to be considered how it
fares with his assault on the second of these categories
—that of substance.

Substance we found to be one of the ideas which
caused Locke particular difficulty. He was unwilling
to part with it; he upheld to the last its validity;
but he could give no intelligible account of it.
The senses reveal to us only qualities of objects —
colours, sounds, tastes, hardness, etc.; they tell us
nothing of an unknown something in which these

143

144 DAVID HUME

qualities inhere. Hume was less considerate and more
consistent.

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

" The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode,
is notliing but a collection of simple ideas, that are
united by the imagination, and have a particular name
assigned them, by which we are able to recall, either
to ourselves or others, that collection." ^

The language of Dr. Thomas Brown is almost iden-
tical with that of Hume on this subject.^ So too is
tliat of J. S. Mill in his Logic,^ though iu his Examina-
tion of Hamilton he is forced to add somethinor to his
view by the introduction of " permanent possibilities of

1 Works, i. pp. 31, 32. = Cmcsc and Effect, Note C, p. 499.

^ Logic, i. p. 63.

HUME'S DENIAL OF SUBSTANCE 145

sensation." In Mr. Spencer, substance expresses the
persistence of the Unknowable Power (Force), which
is the ultimate reality behind both matter and mind.^

This denial of the idea of substance by Hume leads
naturally to certain important sceptical results.

1. And, tirst, as the consequence of this denial, there
falls necessarily the idea of an independently existing
material world. Here, also, we saw that Locke was
guilty of several patent inconsistencies. Assuming, to
account for his ideas, a world of objects outside the
mind, he began by taking this external world for
granted, and only when his theory was completed,
considered the question of his right to make so vast
an assumption. Hume proceeds more regularly, and
examines at length the question of the veracity of the
senses in Pt. iv. sec. 2 of his Treatise. He assumes
as a point which admits of no doubt, that men do
believe in the existence of body, that is, in its con-
tinued and distinct existence, and proposes to investi-
gate the causes wherefore they do so. The opinion
must arise either from the senses, the reason, or the
imag-ination. But it cannot arise from the senses,
for these give only isolated perceptions, and say
nothing of existences which lie beyond. As little can
this opinion arise from reason, for reason teaches,
first, that nothing can ever be present to the mind but
its own perceptions ; and, second, that perceptions can
only exist while they are actually perceived. So far
we have little more than a reproduction of the
Berkeleian idealism. To reconcile these contradic-
tions, philosophers {e.g., Locke) have feigned a world
of objects which lie beyond ideas and produce them.

* Friticiplcs of Psychology, i. pt. ii. cli. i.

146 DAVID HUME

But this is not only in itself absurd and opposed to
popular belief, but it is incapable of proof. The vulgar
idea of the natural world is simply that of the con-
tinued existence of the sense-perceptions themselves.^
The belief must therefore be due to imagination.
Hume accordingly attempts to show how it can be
accounted for by the principles of association, co-
operating with the coherence and constancy of the
sense appearances, and with a " propensity to feign "
continued existence in the case of inteiTupted percep-
tions.2 The result is that we are compelled by irre-
sistible instinct to believe in the independent existence
of material things, while, on the other hand, the
slio'htest reflection demonstrates this belief to be an
illusion.

" The opinion of external existence, if rested on
natural instinct, is contrary to reason, and, if referred
to reason, is contrary to natural instinct, and carries
no rational evidence with it to convince an impartial
inquirer." ^

^ It is certain, ou the other hand, that mankind generally distinguish
the objects they perceive from their perceptions, and regard them as
other thau their perceptions. Even as regards the so-called "secondary
qualities," the " vulgar " are quite capable of discerning that the sweet
taste they feel is in them and not in the sugar, the humitig sensation in
them, and not iu the poker that touches them, etc. They can dis-
tinguish the objects from their sensations.

2 Works, i. p. 262.

3 Ibid. iv. p. 177. "VVundt may be compared. The external world is
explained through "ideas which we distinguish as objects and images of
objects." The idea of an external world is "that of a sum-total of
objects" ; and it is gi-anted that "external nature is a constituent part
of our consciousness." B\U, "it belongs to our inner experience just as
much as any single object does, and has no reality apart from the
experiences" {Ethics, ii. p. 44, Eng. tr.). So, "matter is a hypothetical
conception which we ourselves, impelled on the one hand by the

REJECTION OF IDEA OF SELF 147

It is very remarkable that when Hume is dwelling
on the fact that " all these objects (mountains, houses,
trees, etc.) to which we attribute a continued existence
have a peculiar constancy, which distinguishes them
from the impressions whose existence depends on our
perceptions," and that even in their changes "they
preserve a coherence, and have a regular dependence on
each other "^ (the fire, e.g., wc left burning is extinct
by the time we return), he does not perceive that
he is already assuming the existence of that very
objective order for which it is his business to account.
It is not as " fleeting and perishing " internal impres-
sions - that our perceptions exhibit this constancy and
coherence, but as presenting objects to the mind under
independent relations of coexistence, succession, and
causation.

2. But, second, rejecting the notion of an external
world, have we any better ground for assei*ting the
reality, permanence, and distinct existence of the mind
or sclf.^ The discussion of this subject is omitted
in the later Enquiry, but the question is fully gone
into in the Treatise, sec. 6, "of Personal Identity,''
and elsewhere. In these places Hume clearly shows
that on his original principles we must dismiss the idea
of a selfy as well as that of material objects.

" What we call a mind," he says, " is nothing but a
heap or collection of different perceptions, united
together by certain relations, and supposed, though
falsely, to be endowed with perfect simplicity and
identity." ^

relative constancy of objects, and on the other by the logical demands
of thought, have manufactured" (p. 46).

1 Works, i. p. 246. ^ Ibid. i. pp. 240-7. ^ Ibi'L i. p. 2G0.

148 DAVID HUME

More expressly : " Setting aside some metaphysicians
of this kind, I may venture to affirm of the rest of man-
kind, 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. . . . 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 com-
parison 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 whei'e these scenes are represented, or of the
materials of which it is composed." ^

In this uncompromising theory Hume passes far
beyond Berkeley, though there are indications that the
latter had also the extreme position before his mind.

It was these daringly sceptical conclusions which,
as we formerly saw, awakened Reid, and prompted
him to a reinvestigation of the principles from which
they followed. Reid, standing on the gi'ound of com-

^ Works, i. pp. 312-13. "Wundt, again, whom Professor James largely
follows, may be compared. "The self- contradictory conception of an
immaterial matter [ ! ], a substance lacking in permanence, an infinitely
divisible atom, can be regarded only as a. metaphysical superfluity,
which perplexes rather than facilitates our understanding of psychical
life." . . . " Kepresentations will then not be objects but processes,
phenomena belonging to a ceaseless inner stream of events. Feeling,
desires, and volitions will be parts of this stream, insejiarable in actuality
from representations, and like these tlie expressions of no independent
existences or forces ; rather possessing rcalily only as individual feel-
ings, desires, or volitions" {Ethics, iii. pp. 46-7).

NECESSITY OF THE SELF 149

inon sense, naturally and justly regarded the attempt
to disprove the permanent reality of a self in conscious-
ness as the Tcchtctio ad absurdurti of all philosophy.
His reply, however, was not as profound as it might
have been. He could only fall back on the resistless
conviction possessed by every man, tliat the thoughts of
wliich he is conscious belong to one and the same think-
ing principle — what he calls hivisdf, — a conviction
which Hume did not deny. The true answer would
luive been to sliow, as a previous chapter indicated,^ that
without the presupposition of this permanent self or
ego in consciousness there could be no consciousness at
all. This was the irrefutable principle enunciated by
Kant in his " Deduction of the Categories," and in liglit
of it, the untenable character of Hume's position is
very apparent. LHume, in the above passage, makes
self " nothing but a heap (or bundle) or collection
of different perceptions, united together by certain
relations." But what unites the perceptions in one
consciousness ? It cannot be the perceptions them-
selves, for these arc " fleeting and perishing,'' and each
has knowledge only of its own existence. What then
is it whicli binds the perceptions into their several
"bundles,'' or who or what perceives tlie relations
between them ? How, e.g., is perception a known to
belong to bundle A lather than to bundles B or C ?
How can the individual even a-p'pear to himself as a
unity ? There is no answer to these questions on the
principles of Hume ; none, perhaps, even on the prin-
ciples of Mr. Spencer, whose '* aggregates " of states of
consciousness bear a doubtful resemblance to Hume's
" bundles." We have only to go back to Hume's own

' See aljove, p. 112.

I50 DAVID HUME

sentences to see how inevitably the "we" slips in, if
only in " the natural propension we have to imagine "
simplicity and identity. Mr. Mill indeed felt the force
of some of these difficulties ; but his " series of feelings
aware of itself as past and future " ^ only made the
position more hopeless than ever. As he himself put
it, " wc are reduced to the alternative of believing
that the mind or ego is something different from any
scries of feelings or possibility of them, or of accepting
the paradox that something which ex hypothesi is but
a series of feelings, can be aware of itself as a series." ^
It does not destroy the value of this deduction of the
reality of the ego in consciousness, that, under the
influence of his peculiar idealism, Kant refused to
identify this " I " with the " noumenal " self, or to
permit the application to it of the categories.^ The
great point against Hume is to show that there is an
" I " at all in consciousness, as distinct from the par-
ticular impressions or ideas. It may be a fair question
whether " substance " (which with Kant is a category
of nature) is the best term to apply to a spiritual
subject like the self. There need be no controversy
on a question of mere nomenclature. The essential
thing is the admission of a thinking principle which
abides one and the same throufjh the chansinof states

' Exam, of Ham. pp. 212-13.

- Ibid. p. 213. Lotze puts the point thus : "Our belief iu the soul's
unity rests not on our appearing to ourselves such a uuity, but on our
being able to appear to ourselves at all. . . . "What a being appears
to itself to be is not the import.ant point; if it can appear anyhow to
itself, or other things to it, it must be capable of unifying manifold
phenomena in an absolute indivisibility of its nature" {Microcosvius, i,
p. 157).

^ Kant admits that if the phenomenal self docs not represent the real
self, it at least indicates its existence.

REALITY OF EXTERNAL WORLD 151

of consciousness, knows them as its own states, relates
them to itself, to one another, and to objects. Hume
said, " I never can catch myself at any time without
a perception " ; ^ to which Professor Calderwood very
appositely I'ctorted that it was enough if he could catch
klniself with one. This is the self of which each one
o£ us is conscious, and which we cannot think without
assuming. Tlie consciousness of personal identity may
arise through memory, in comparison of the present
state of self with a past state ; but it is not through
memory, as is sometimes assumed, that personal iden-
tity is constitided} The reverse is the truth, for it is
only as I am one and the same person throughout, that
I retain the memory of past acts, and am able to recog-
nise them as imaged in consciousness as my \^ery own.
Reverting to the question of the reality of an ex-
ternal world — which in its connection with the theory
of perception has always been the crux of philosophy
— it is probably again to Kant that we must look for
the deepest vindication, not certainly of the independent
existence of the world, but of the rational character
and necessity of tlic principle of substance implied in
our apprehension of it. It has been shown in the
previous discussion that the question of self and that
of the reality of an objective world are far from unre-
lated ; that they are, in fact, but different sides of
tlie same question. There is no consciousness of self
which does not include, as its inseparable correlative,
the consciousness of an other than self, which the
mind grows to apprehend as a world of " objects,"
with which it stands in closest relations, alike as
receiving impressions from it, and as itself acting
> "Works, i. \\ 312. ^ ^f^ Butler on "Personal Identity."

152 DAVID HUME

upon it and effecting changes in it. This, in fact,
Hume admits under the name of "vulgar belief";
but it is to be observed that, apart from vulgar belief,
and speaking purely as philosopher, he is compelled
continually to make the same acknowledgment. His
pages, as has been shov\^n, are full of language which
has no meaning except on the assumption that there
is a world of " objects," a " succession of events," a
" course of nature,*' different and distinguishable from
the subjective course of thought and feeling.^ It is
for the constitution of such a world that Kant is able
to show the indispensableness and a priori character
of the principle of substance. In the view of Hume,
substance is a " fictitious " idea — the imaginary sup-
port of qualities, perceptions, states of consciousness,
which are given in " heaps " or " bundles," as others
would say, " groups " — without any such suggestion
of invisible support. But the question is — Are the
objects we perceive cognized as mere "bundles of per-
ceptions," or, in Mr. Spencer's phrase, " vivid states
of consciousness " ? Is it not of the very idea of an
object-world that it is conceived of as having a sub-
sistence, connection, modes of action, and successions
of its own — that it goes its own way, in obedience
to its own laws — not necessarily in independence of

* Numberless passages might be quoted in illustration, but the follow-
ing may suffice : —

*' We may discover that though those internal impressions which \vc
regard as fleeting and perishing [the same description is applied on
previous page (p. 24-6) to all impressions] have also a certain coherence
or regularity in their appearances, yet it is of a somewhat different
nature from that which we discover in bodies. . . . The case is not the
same with external objects. Those reciuire a continued existence, or
otherwise lose, in a gi'eat measure, the regularity of their operation
(Works, i. p. 247).

KANT'S CATEGORY OF SUBSTANCE 153

all thought, but independently at least of tny indi-
vidual knowledge and experience of it ? The question
i.s not, how a " bundle of perceptions " is held together
in the mind, but how a world of the kind now
described can exist? Kant fixes on the true idea of
substance as that of a permanent subsisting in the
midst of change, and proves, we think in*efutably,
that this idea is involved in the very possibility^ of
such experience as we have. He does not, like Hume,
raise the question as to whether we have a knowledge
of an objective order; but, starting from the fact of
such an order as given in experience, he asks only
what principles of rational connection are implied in it,
and finds the principle of substance to be one of them.
This important position of Kant deserves furtlier
elucidation. Others besides him have seen the need
of explaining the permanent in experience ; but the
theories they frame to account for it would be less
plausible if they paid more attention to the fact of
change, wliich Kant emphasises. Mr. Mill, e.g., sup-
poses that, having found by long experience a group
of attributes regularly appearing under certain circum-
stances, we learn to expect their return, and come to
regard them, even when absent, as "permanent possi-
bilities of sensation." ^ But this is by no means the
prominent idea in the thought of substance. We
understand by substance something which persists,
not merely when circiiinstanccs and groups of sen-
mtions remain the savie, but when all these are
changing. How is the idea of substance in this sense
to be accounted for ? Association can hai'dly come
into play here, for all appearances are against the
1 Exam, of Ham, pp. 192-200, etc.

154 DAVID HUME

permanence. But the strongest objection to this whole
group of theories turns on the point already men-
tioned, that one and all they fail to give an account
of permanence in an objective system. Association
may create a subjective union among ideas which have
always been found together ; but unquestionably it is
a very different kind of bond among phenomena we
are in search of when we speak of the permanence
of substance. Mr. Mill himself says : " The matter
composing the universe, whatever philosophical theory
we hold concerning it [?], we know by experience [?]
to he constant in quantity, never beginning, never
ending, only changing its foi^m."^ The truth is, that
the principle of the permanence of substance whicli
lies at the basis of our conception of an "object"
cannot be manufactured b}' any process which does
not already imply its existence. It is the firm basis
of all objective experience, and to subvert it would
be to destroy at once the possibility of experience
and the possibility of science.

To these considerations in support of the substan-
tiality of the material universe, the reply may lie
pertinently made, that we have not yet, in answer
to Hume, shown how real knowledge of such a world
is possible, or met his arguments in proof that what
we call perception of objects is simply a subjective
state. Is the proof not overwhelming, it may be said,
that what we name sense-impressions are simply in-
ternal affections of mind, and not the apprehension of
any qualities existing in objects without? And have
we not daily corroboration of this in the fallacy of
the reports which the senses bring (e.g., the bent stick

* Exam, of Ham. p. 295.

FALLACIES OF THE SENSES 155

in water)? On this much exploited subject of the
" fallacy " of the senses, it may be sufficient to observe
at present tliat we can only properly speak of " fallacy "
by an implied contrast with a real order of nature,
wliich, therefore, is assumed to exist, and to be at
least in part known. Just as the physiolo<(ical method
of speakint^f of sensations as affections of (or images
in) the " brain " implies the existence as 2?'?'it£S of that
important organ. Every one is familiar to some extent
with the limits to be set to the trustworthiness of the
senses ; but every one is also aware that, assuming our
knowledge of the objective world to be as well founded
as we ordinarily suppose it to be, it is possible from
the laws of light, sound, etc., to give an explanation
of these alleged deceptions of the senses, which clearly
enough sliows how tl\e appearances arise from which
our wrono- inferences arc drawn. It is because there
is an objective system, with its fixed laws, that these
appearances are what they are. Still the question is
not answered as to how we have this knowledge of
reality external to ourselves at all. Hume's dilemma
is twofold : (1) Either the object is something truly
external to the mind, in which case the mind cannot
know it, or even obtain a clue to the fact of its exist-
ence, since mind cannot in the nature of things over-
leap its own consciousness — get outside its own ideas ;
or (2) the object is an idea of the mind — or " bundle of
perceptions " (which is his own liypothesis) — in which
case there is no external world to know, and our
knowlcdofe of it is illusion.

It may be of use here to glance briefly first at some
of the results brought out by Hume's speculations in
the school most opposed to him — that of Reid and

156 DAVID HUME

Hamilton, Reid, as is well known, attacked Hume
in his fundamental position that nothing can ever be
present to the mind but its own perceptions — a point
too readily conceded by Kant. This at least is Hamil-
ton's interpretation of Reid ; and though Reid was not
always guarded in his language, yet, taking his whole
position into account, it seems probable that it is the
correct one. Reid meant, in other words, to defend the
doctrine of what Hamilton afterwards called " Natural
Realism." He did so, as usual, on the ground of com-
mon sense, or natural irresistible conviction. So far,
it is a fair reply that Hume never denied the existence
of that natural conviction to which Reid appealed ;
what he did attempt to show was that it was irre-
concilable with reason. But beyond this, Reid met
Hume on his own ground, and sought with more or
less success to prove that this natural belief is not
vierely instincti\'c, — a product of the sensitive, and not
of the cogitative part of our nature, — but is based on
knowledge ; i.e., a priori intellectual principles are in-
volved in it. Dr. Thomas Brown, who came after,
yielded the whole ground to the sceptic. He grants
that the mind is conscious only of its own states,
concedes that on the principles of reason the sceptical
arguments admit of no reply, and has nothing to op-
pose to Hume but the invincible persuasion of external
reality which Hume had not thought of disputing.
The doctrine of Reid was ta,ken up and developed by
Sir William Hamilton. But in developing it Hamilton
found so much to alter and correct, that in the end the
homely Reid would have felt it hard to discover any
trace of himself in his critic's recondite speculations.
Hamilton's position may be described as an attempt

THEORIES OF PERCEPTION 157

to combine a realistic system, founded on Rcid's, with
a doctrine of relativity, akin in some respects to Kant's.
Some of the difficulties that pressed on Reid s theory
he endeavours to avoid by his distinction of Prcscnta-
tive and Representative Perception, and of an Organic
and Extra-Organic sphere of sense-perception. In the
perception of a table, e.g., it is not the outward object
I directly perceive, but its illuminated retinal image ;
in pressing the table with my hand, on the contrary-,
I am directly conscious of the presence of an extended,
solid object, external to myself. Sense, in both cases,
contributes its part, and qualifies and modifies the
total impression — lience the "relativity" of all our
perceptions. The counter developments in the Associa-
tion school, which stand in direct lineage to Hume,
need not detain us. The service of this school is the
minute attention it has bestowed on the influence of
association in all mental processes ; but the result
arrived at is the same as in Hume, viz., that be-
lief in an external world is a product of association
workinor on sensations which arc found to have a
certain coherence and constancy in their appearances.
Mr. Spencer attempts a " sj'-nthesis " of the opposing
views. On the metaphysical side his theory claims
to be one of Realism — a " Transfigured Realism " —
but on the psychological side is not unlike Hume's
in seeking to show how from the association of vivid
and faint states of consciousness, we come to form
ideas of objects without us.^ The modern school has

^ Cf. Clrccii's searching criticism in published JForks, voh i. The
apparently intuitional character of some of our ideas, as of space and
time, Sir. Spencer explains hy inheritance. But inheritance cannot
account for these ideas unless they lay also in the original experiences.

158 DAVID HUME

devoted itself specially to the investigation of the
physiological conditions of perceptioa The value of
these labours in their own sphere is very great; but
their importance for the solution of the ultimate
problem may easily be exaggerated.

Looking at the problem from our own standpoint,
it may first be conceded that Hume is not altogether
wrong in the account he gives of perception, though,
at every stage, through neglect of the rational element
in know^ledge, his treatment is marked by oversights.
He is right, e.g., in his original concession of the irre-
sistible compulsion laid on mankind— even on philo-
sophers — to believe in the reality and continiied
existence of an external Avorld, and in his vivid
descriptions of the coherence and constancy of those
perceptions which determine the mind to belief in that
continued existence. He is right, further, in his conten-
tion that this belief is not the result of reason in the
sense of conscious ratiocination. It is the case, as he
declares, that our belief in an external world is not the
product of conscious or voluntary reflection. Nature
takes in hand with the formation of the judgments
involved in this belief long before reflective thought
awakens; and so thoroughly does she do her work,
that, in the first dawn of self-conscious life, we already
find ourselves in possession of the knowledge of a
world \vhich experience, while correcting many primi-
tive judgments by more mature ones, finds in the main
to be reliable. This, however, does not imply, as Hume
supposes, that the process is irrational, or originates in
the " sensitive " as distinguished from the " coo^itative "
part of our nature. It only shows that there is an
unconscious operation of reason before there is a

THE LIVELINESS OF PERCEPTIONS 159

conscious one. We are here in the i*egiou of what
Professor James would term "the subhminal self."
We may not be able to re-think the process, but we
are assured that, if we could re-think it, it would
explain and justify the beHef we have in an external
world, as well as elucidate the anomalies of what we
call the " illusions " of the senses.

Yet again, we found that Hume connects the im-
mediate presentation of the object in perception with
the peculiar " liveliness " of our impressions (cf. Mr.
Spencer's " vivid states ") ; nor is he altogether wrong
in this, though he states the fact inaccurately. The
sensation which is always connected with perception
is of a peculiarly lively nature, has an indefinable
quality of vividness, which, as Hume says, distinguishes
it from its image in memory and imagination. But he
errs, first, in supj^osing that the perception consists
merely — or in its distinctive character of perception
consists at all — in this presence of sensation. In
reality, as deeper analysis shows, it involves a multi-
tude of judgments through which we define an object
to ourselves as existing in relations.^ Into it there
enters likewise a lar^e number of other elements derived
from previous experience — from memor}*, association,
acquired judgments, etc. — constituting it in its totality
a highly complex fact.^ But, secondj Hume inverts the
real relation in basing our belief in the object on the
vividness of the mental impressions, whereas in truth it
is our belief in the reality and pi-esence of the object, or

^ See above, p. 117.

2 Cf. Green, jrort% i. jip. 403-4 ; James, Tcxt-Bc^ok of FsyckchgT/,
pp. 163-6. "Every object appears with a fringe of relations." See
also below, p. 162.

i6o DAVID HUME

rather our immediate apprehension of it, which imparts
its forcible character to our perceptions. He errs, third,
in attributing the vividness in question to the sense-
affection alone, and in not perceiving that, from the same
cause, a like character of vividness, force, and indefin-
able assurance, belongs to all the mental acts involved

Two points are involved in the criticism of Hume s
theory: (1) the possibility of even forming the idea of
an external world ; and (2) the possibility of the know-
ledge of that world as existing. But these two are inti-
mately connected ; for it is evident that if we can form
the idea of an object distinguishable from self, there
is no inherent impossibility in tlie existence of such an
object, or in its becoming known by us as existing.
Logically, on his principles, Hume ought to say, not
that the idea of an external world is " fictitious," a
product of imagination, but that we have no such idea
at all. This, however, would be going too far. It is
plainly absurd to say that the mind cannot form the
idea of an object which it distinguishes from itself, and
conceives of as part of an external world, when, apart
from our constant consciousness of possessing such an
idea, if the idea did not exist, we could not even be
found disputing as to the possibility of knowing such
external objects.^

We come, then, to the second and main point, viz.,
the possibility of knowing such objects if they exist.
And here we venture to think that the fallacy which
runs through Hume's arguments may be summed up

^ The form of externality is space. In strictness, therefore, as has
often been pointed out, it is not the world that is external to the mind,
but the objects of the world (wliieh include our bodies) that arc external
to one another.

THE OBJECT NOT AN IDEA i6i

in one simple proposition — that to say we have an idea
of an object is the same thing as to say that the object
is an idea. Is this proposition true? To Hume's
mind it is incontestable. In his language, " ideas,"
"objects/' "ideas of objects," all stand for the same
thing — subjective states or combinations of them.^
But is it the case ? The matter may he brought to a
very simple test. We leave out of account for the
moment the ideas we form of the external world, und
would take onl^^ the ideas we form of our fellow human-
beings — of other 'persons. Does Hume, or the veriest
sceptic that ever lived, mean hy his denial to the mind
of a power of knowing anything beyond its own ideas,
to affirm that the belief he entertains in the existence
of other minds than his own is also a chimera — a sub-
jective illusion, or " fiction "' ? In consistency he ought
to do this, for it is certain that we know our fellow-
men in no other way than we know the external world,
through our ideas of them. But it is ver}' curious to
observe that Hume in practice never reasons against
the existence of other minds as he does ag-ainst the
existence of an external world. To do this would
be to reduce his system to too palpable an absurdity-.
The picture of tlie philosopher (not the "vulgar" man)
sitting down to compose a treatise directed to other
minds, to convince them of the truth of speculations
which implied that no minds but the philosopher's own
(if even that) existed, would be too much for most
people's sense of the ridiculous. Hume, therefore,
makes no scruple throughout his work in assuming

^ Sometimes the usage is ludicmi-.s enough. -E.g., "The idea of Rome
I place in a certain situation on the idea of an object which I call the
globe" (Works, i. p. HO).
1 1

i62 DAVID HUME

that there are other minds besides his own, to which
he can, in all seriousness, address himself. But if the
philosopher can do this without thereby reducing the
minds of his readers to ideas, — with the calmest assur-
ance, in fact, that they are something more, — what
becomes of the principle that to have the idea of an
object means that the object itself is an idea ; or of the
assertion that because the mind knows only its own
perceptions, it can have no knowledge of beings or
objects outside itself ? ^ Why, if the mind is capable of
knowing real existences beyond itself in the case of
other persons, should the same power not be conceded
to it in regard to external nature ? Is my conviction
of the existence of my fellow-men one whit stronger or
more reasonable than my conviction of the existence
of the dog running at my side, of the fowls I see
strutting in the barn-yard, of the birds I hear singing
in the trees ?

There remains, on the assumption of the perception
of an actual world, the question of the rationale of the
act of perception, a subject which involves too man}'
complex psychological elements to be considered in any
detail here. To the how of the act of perception it
may be impossible for us wholly to give an answer ;
but we are not precluded by this from a know-
ledge of the that — the fact. And in the investigation
of that fact, notwithstanding all our investigations of
physiological antecedents and conditions, we do not
seem to get much beyond what direct consciousness
yields us, viz., — an immediate awareness, in some rela-
tion, or what comes to the same thinor, under some
quality, of an object, which we apprehend as existing,
^ Mr. Mill, of course, is in the same dilemma.

ELEMENTS IN PERCEPTION 163

and distinguish from ourselves as part of a world, with
whose other parts it stands in connection. It may be
a question whethei*, from the sense of sight alone, pre-
senting to us, as Hume would say, coloured points
disposed in a certain manner, we could attain to that
consciousness of an external, solid, and extended world,
to which in fact we do attain tlirouofh the combina-
tion of sight with the sense of touch and experience of
muscular resistance. It is not a question that, when
the act of perception is fully analysed, it is found, as
already said, to involve many elements and factors,
some of them primitive, many acquired, others results
of association, perhaps of inheritance, most of them
probably interpretations of the sense-accompaniments
of perception (muscular feelings, e.g., as the indices of
space relations in judging of distances, etc.) — all of
which mental science cannot too narrowly investigate.
But the broad fact remains, that through all we reach
the apprehension of a world of objects, which increas-
ing experience, and scientific investigation of its laws,
warrant us in regarding as actually, permanently, and
independently (of our minds) existing.

When all is said, it must be granted that an ultimate
inexplicability attaches to this act in which, under
sense conditions, a world which is not ourselves enters
as a real factor into our knowledge. How is this
possible ? Only, it may be replied, on the hypothesis
that the distinction between ourselves who know and
the world we know is not after all final — that there is
a deeper ground and ultimate unity, that the universe,
including ourselves, is a single system the parts of
which stand in reciprocal relation through the spiritual
principle on which in the last resort the whole

1 64 DAVID HUME

depends,^ Here, however, we enter a transcendental
region which leaves Hume far behind, and into which,
in this connection, we need not travel further.

The conclusions we have reached may be summed
up in three propositions, which, we take it, represent
positions that can never finally be extruded from
philosophy.

1. The first, which is the truth of idealism, is that
the universe, however construed, can never be divorced
from intelligence or thought. It is an intelligible
system; is constituted through intelligence; exists for
intelligence. Its ultimate principle can only be an
understanding akin in nature to our own.

2. The second, which is the truth of realism, is
that the universe, whatever it may be, is something
actiuil and independent of man's individual conscious-
ness. It is as much another*s as mine, and as real for
him as for me. It appears in our consciousness, but it
is more than our consciousness. Its reality is not our
knowledge of it, whatever may be its relations to
knowledge absolutely. This is the point in which the
school of Reid is impregnable, and in maintaining
which it did its peculiar service.

3. The third, which is the truth of relativity, is
that the universe we know is yet known to us under
tho conditions &nd limitations that belong to human
consciousness,^ and arrayed in the sense-clothing that

* The idea may be studied in Lotze.

2 Even in regard to such a quality as extension, e.g., we have only to
reflect that there is no such thiug as absolute magnitude, that with
different optical organs things would appear quite differently (under
different conditions the atom might be a world, or the microbe a
monster), to see that this relativity goes through all our natural or
sense knowledge. It is different with intellectual relations.

RELATIVITY OF KNOWLEDGE 165

such consciousness gives it. Here comes in the mind's
own contribution to the world as it knows it — the
brightness of light, the gaiety of colour, the melody of
sound, the fragrance of odours, delights of the palate,
the robing of sensation generally — which is the prin-
cipal source of its delight and charm to the sentient
being. Thus, after all, Locke's distinction of primary
and secondary qualities is vindicated, though on a
different ground from that on which lie placed it.

CHAPTEE IX

Hume on Morals: Utilitarianism

In the history of ethical systems^ three prevaiHng
modes of contemplating the phenomena of morals may
be distinguished, each connected with great names, and
each still finding its defenders. They may be termed
respectively the Esthetic, the Stoic or Jural, and the
Utilitarian. The ruling thought in the first cla^s of
systems is the Beautiful (to Tia^ov)] in the second, the
Right; in the third, the Useful. Plato and Shaftes-
bury may represent the first ; Kant may stand for the
second; Hume was an advocate of the third, though
not to the exclusion of the first.

Since the time of Hume, the utilitai'ian philosophy
has risen into great prominence in Britain. Fixing on
the acknowledged tendency of virtuous acts and dis-
positions to promote the happiness of the individual
and of society, this system erects utility to the place
of a universal moral standard, and proclaims it as
the one source of moral distinctions. The theory
assumes two forms, according as the end contemplated
is the happiness of the individual, or the happiness
of society in general. The former is the selfish, the
latter the disinterested type of utilitarianism. The
system has, however, its natural parent in the ancient

FORMS OF UTILITARIANISM 167

Epicureanism, Mriih. its exaltation of pleasure as the
chief good ; and if the doctrine, in its later form, has
received into itself elements in virtue of which it is
capable of assuming a more plausible character, it
achieves this only by a happy inconsistency.^ With
the rise of the evolutionary philosophy, specially in
the hands of Mr. Spencer, the utilitarian hypothesis has
undergone radical transformations. This has happened
mainly in three respects : (1) in the explanation of
moral "intuitions" through the accumulated experi-
ences of the race transmitted by inheritance ; (2) in
the attempt to deduce the laws of morality directly
from the laws of evolution; (3) in modifications of
the idea of the moral end in the substitution, e.g.^ of
" efficiency," " life," " health " of the social organism for
the older " happiness." ^ Most of these later develop-
ments lie beyond our purview, nor does the final con-
fession of the author of the evolutionary mode of
treatment lead us to look with much hope to its
results.^

In this development of the utilitarian philosophy
in Britain, Hume's writings take a very important
place. In some respects the theory of utility has

^ So Wundt declares that "the term 'utilitarian' is hardly an
adequate substitute for the older term ' eudEemonism ' " {Ethics, ii.

p. ne).

- Cf, Mr. Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics.

^ In the Preface to Parts V. and VI. of his Ethics (on "Justice"),
Mr Spencer says—" N"ow that . . . I have succeeded in completing the
second volume of The Principles of Ethics . . . my satisfaction is some-
what dashed by the thought that the new parts fall short of expecta-
tion. . . . The doctrine of evolution has not furnished guidance to the
extent I had hoped. Most of the conclusions, drawn empirically, are
such as right feelings, enlightened by cultivated intelligence, have
already sufficed to establish," etc.

i68 DAVID HUME

never found a better advocate than it did in him.
Hume was not, indeed, the first to lay stress, in the
philosophy of morals, on the disinterested afiections.
Cumberland and Shaftesbury had done that far earher ;
and many of Hume's arguments on this head are simple
adaptations of those of Hutcheson and Butler. Still,
it cannot be doubted that Hume's able advocacy gave
a new impetus to the more disinterested form of the
theory of utility; and, notwithstanding a partial re-
action to the selfish view under Paley, we may trace
since his day an increased prevalence of what is called,
in utilitarian phraseology, " the greatest happiness
principle." Alike in Jeremy Bentham, who is specially
identified with this principle,^ and in James Mill, there
is obvious difficulty in adjusting the relations of the
two interests, public and private; and justice and
benevolence on their theory constantly tend to sink
back into more refined forms of self-love. J. S.
Mill, however, distinctly enunciates the principle, " The
utilitarian standard is not the agent's own greatest
happiness, but the greatest amount of happiness alto-
gether." ^ The selfish doctrine of Hobbes and Paley,
therefore — the " ethics of interest," as Cousin called
it — is thus set aside as defenceless by the best advo-
cates of the theory^ To Hume, with his powerful
polemic against seinove as the principle of morals,
must be attributed part of the credit of this result.

^ The author of the phrase is really Priestley, who in his £ssaif on
Government in 1768 introduced as the proper object of government,
"the greatest happiness of the greatest number." Bentham followed
in 1776 (the year of Hume's death), adopting the phrase. Mr. Leslie
Stephen carries it still further back to Hutcheson {English TJimight, ii.
p._^61).

* Utilitarianism^ p. 24.

HUME ON THE PASSIONS 169

But we shall see that the credit has to be qualified in
several important ways.

Hume's theory of morals, originally published (1740)
as Book III. of the Treatise on Human Nature, was,
like the first Book, recast, and afterwards published
as the Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals.
With this work has to be taken the " Dissertation on
the Passions," appended to the Enquiry concerning
the Hurnan Understanding, which corresponds to the
original Book II. of the Treatise. The "Dissertation"
of itself does not contain much that need detain us.
It is interesting as an attempt, which in parts reminds
of Spinoza, to give not merely a classification of the
" passions " (under which Hume includes all appetites,
desires, affections, emotions), but as far as possible a
rationale of them. Occasionally Hume falls back on
" original instincts," as when he says of pride, " I find
that the peculiar object of pride and humility is de-
termined by an original and natural instinct " ; ^ and of
benevolence, "It is a constitution of nature of which
we can give no further explanation." ^ In explaining
the passions, he makes use of what he calls " the
double relations of ideas and impressions,^ e.g., both
the object of pride and the passion of pride have
relation to "self"; again, the object is something
agreeable, and the passion is likewise an agreeable
feeling. His whole aim he thus sums up at the
close : " It is sufficient for my purpose if I have
made it appear that in the production and conduct
of the passions there is a certain regular mechanism,

1 Works, ii. p. 16. 2 lUd. iv. pp. 212-13.

3 Ihid. ii. p. 17 ; cf, iv. p. 216 : "The double relations of sentiments
and ideas." The discussion is intricate and confusing.

170 DAVID HUME

which is susceptible of as accurate a disquisition, as
the laws of motion, optics, hydrostatics, or any part
of natural philosophy." ^ Which " accurate disquisi-
tion," assuredly, Hume's " Dissertation " has not ap-
proved itself to be.

Hume's determination in his " Dissertation " to know
nothing but impressions and ideas in arbitrary con-
junction, involves him in curious paradoxes. What
could be odder, e.g.y than his contention that "if
nature had so pleased, love might have had the same
effect as hatred, and hatred as love. I see no con-
tradiction in supposing a desire of producing misery
annexed to love, and of happiness to hatred."^ Oc-
casionally, too, under the influence of his defective
psychology, we find him slipping into such confusions
of intellectual and emotional phenomena as the follow-
ing : " What is commonly, in a popular sense, called
reason ... is nothing but a calm passion which
takes a comprehensive and a distinct view of its object,
and actuates the will without any sensible emotion." ^
It would be easy to show that, nevertheless, the " Dis-
sertation " involves many principles, which, if pushed,
would be fatal to his main doctrine. /THis whole theory
of pride and humility, e.g., turns on the possession of
that idea of " self " which, in his theoretic philosophy,
he had demonstrated could not exist, since we have no
" impression " of it. How, again, in the light of his
first principles, are we to construe such a sentence as
the following ? —

"Being so far advanced as to observe a difference

1 Works, iv. p. 226, - Ibid. ii. p. 112.

^ Tbid. iv. p. 220. One is reminded of the Hobbean notion of con-
templative and reasoning passions.

DOCTRINE OF GOOD AND EVIL 171

between the object of the passions and their cause,
and to distinguish in the cause the quality which
operates on the passions, from the subject in which it
inhereSj we now proceed," etc.^

It is, however, only with the bearings of the '' Dis-
sertation " on the theory of morals we are at present
concerned, and here its principal interest lies in the
opening positions on Good and Evil, and on the rela-
tions of our desires and emotions to these. Hume's
theory on this subject is, in brief, precisely that of
Hobbes and Locke, viz., that Good and Evil are but
naroes for pleasure and pain respectively.

"Some objects,'' he says, " produce immediately an
agreeable sensation, by the original structure of our
organs, and are thence denominated Good; as others,
from their immediately disagreeable sensations, acquire
the appellation Evil. . . . Some objects, again, by being
naturally conformable or contrary to passion, excite an
agreeable or painful sensation; and are thence called
Good or Evil." ^

When good or evil is certain, or very probable, there
arises, in the one case JoY, in the other Grikf or
Sorrow ; when the good or evil is uncertain, it gives
rise to Hope or Fear.

"Desire arises from good, considered simply, and
Aversion from evil. The Will exerts itself, when
either the presence of the good, or absence of the evil,
may be attained by any action of the mind or body." ^

That is to say, good and evil, which awaken desire
and aversion, and alone can set the will in motion, are

' Works, ii. p. 9. Only some of the italics are Hume's.

2 Md. iv. p. 189. Cf. Locke's Ussay, bk. ii. ch, 20.

3 Ibid. iv. pp. 190-1 ; cf. ii. p. 353.

172 DAVID HUME

agreeable or disagreeable sensations, or personal plea-
sure and pain. The effect of this initial doctrine on
the theory of morals can readily be anticipated.

We return now to the Enquiry in its connection
with the Treatise. A comparison of these two shows
that, if the earlier work is somewhat rough and
unsystematic, it is nevertheless the more vigorous ex-
position of Hume's ideas. |The Enquiry, however,
is the more polished and readable. In it the doctrine
of utility as the foundation of morals is more dis-
tinctly expounded. It has been mentioned that Hume
himself regarded it as the best of his works, and
perhaps it is, if judged by a purely literary standard.
It has at least this merit, that its drift is not, like
some of his other works, sceptical and destructive.
Hume has reached the smooth waters of the "easy"
philosophy, and avows himself as on the side of
" common sense and reason," as against those " disin-
genuous disputants " who " have denied the reality of
moral distinctions " ! ^

In the Enquiry, as in the Treatise, Hume begins by
considering the question of " the general foundation of
morals ; whether they be derived from reason or senti-
ment " ; ^ and, after weighing the matter j^'f'O and eon.,
he concludes that both have to do with our moral
decisions. Reason is required to sift the facts, and
make the proper distinctions, exclusions, and com-

^ Works, iv. p. 229. His own speculations do tend to take the
foundation from morality, e.g., in his "Dialogue" on moral distinc-
tions (Works, iv. pp. 395 ff.). In a letter to Hutcheson he wishes
he could ''avoid concluding" that morality, as determined by
sentiment, is something quite relative to humanity (Burton, i. pp.
119-20).

^ Ibid, iv. p. 231.

THE MORAL SENSE 173

parisons;^ but he thinks it probable that "the final
sentence depends on some internal sense or feeling
which nature has made universal in the whole species." ^
For the better determination of this question, he pro-
poses to analyse " that complication of mental qualities
which form what, in common life, we term Personal
Merit" ^ The method by which he proceeds is that of
an induction of particular instances. His only object,
he assures us, " is to discover the circumstances on
both sides which are common to the estimable and
blamable 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 founda-
tion of ethics, and find those universal principles from
which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived." *
We shall have occasion to notice that in Hume's treat-
ment of morals, he deals almost entirely with the
estimable and blamable qualities of the agent, scarcely
ever with the abstract morality of theTtHT"^ In this
respect his system constitutes a curious contrast to
the doctrine of later utilitarians, who give chief pro-
minence to the morality of the action. The purpose of
utilitarianism, Mr. Mill tells us, is to show what actions
are right and what wrong, irrespective of the character
or feelings from which they spring.^

We have already anticipated the result of Hume's proof.
It leads himjio^conclude in favour of public utility as
tiremark„and test of virtuous qualities and dispositions.^

^ it will be observed how a distinguishing, judging, comparing reason
is constantly assumed.

2 Works, iv. p. 233. It is shown below that this * ' sense " is not after
all regarded as original.

3 iMd. iv. p. 234. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 235. ^ Utilit. p. 29.

*^ As early as 1739 we find him writing to Hutcheson, *'Now I desire

174 DAVID HUME

"The necessity of justice (to Hume an * artificial'
virtue) to the support of society is the Sole foundation
of that virtue ; and since no moral excellence is more
highly esteemed, we may conclude that this circum-
stance of usefulness has, in general, the strongest
energy, and most entire command over our sentiments.
It must therefore be the source of a consideraBle part
of the merit ascribed to humanity, benevolence, friend-
ship, public spirit, and other social virtues of that
stamp : as it is the Sole source of the moral appro-
bation paid to fidelity, justice, veracity, integiity, and
those other estimable and useful qualities and principles.
It is entirely agreeable to the rules of philosophy, and
even of common reason, where any principle has been
found to have a great force and energy in one instance,
to ascribe to it a like energy in all similar instances.
This indeed is Newton's chief rule of philosophising." ^

This conclusion, indeed, is not drawn with great
logical strictness. In regard to benevolence, for
example, he claims to have proved no more than that
the utility resulting from the social virtues forms at
least a part of their merit,^ and he sums up thus : —

" It appears to be a matter of fact that the circum-
stance of utility, in all subjects, is a source of praise
and approbation ; that it is constantly appealed to in
all moral decisions concerning the merit and demerit
of actions; that it is the sole source of that high
regard paid to justice, fidelity, honour, allegiance,
and chastity ; that it is inseparable from all the other

you to consider if there be any quality that is virtuous, without having
a tendency either to the public good or to the good of the person who
possesses it," etc. (Burton, i. p. 115).

1 Works, iv. p. 267. '' Ibid. iv. p. 243.

THE UTILE AND DULCE 175

social virtues, humanity, generosity, charity, affability,
levity, mercy, and moderation ; and, in a word, it is a
foundation of the chief, part of morals, which has a
reference to mankind and our fellow creatures." ^

The reason of the important qualification which
Hume here makes proves to be that, besides the
quality of usefulness to ourselves and others, he re-
cognises the quality of agreeableness to ourselves and
0ffiefs,_as a ground of moral approbation. In his for-
mal statements he always joins together "useful and
agreeable " : the utile and the dulcet The distinc-
tion may at first sight not seem to be great, but by
useful Hume has in view qualities directed to ends
other than themselves ; by agreeable, qualities which
give immediate satisfaction to their possessors or to
others. Such are cheerfulness, greatness of mind, cour-
age, tranquillity, in the former class ; politeness, wit,
decorum, in the latter. The fault of such a classifica-
tion is obvious, since, as was objected at the time,
(1) it confounds talents and accomplishments with
virtues, and (2) overlooks that mere "agreeableness"
is far from constituting virtue. Beauty of person, e.g.,
is an agreeable quality to its possessor, but is not a
virtue. It is more important to notice that, in Hume s
view, the qualities in question are adjudged to be
virtues, not from the standpoint of their possessors,
but from that of the syonpathetic onlooker. The cheer-
ful man's state of mind may be a gratification to him-
self, but it is the sympathetic pleasure felt in it by the
disinterested observer which contributes the element of
approbation.^ Of course qualities that are agreeable^
can be also useful, and qualities that are useful, e.g.,

1 Works, iv. p. 295. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 335. " Cf. ihid. ii. pp. 372-3.

176 DAVID HUME

benevolence, are likewise agreeable in themselves. Hence
the other part of the merit ascribed to benevolence. ^

The next question relates to the nature of the moral
sentiment, and this Hume discusses chiefly under the
heading, " Why Utility Pleases." It cannot be affirmed
that his doctrine on the point is either clear or satis-
factory. We have found him declaring above, in
accordance with " the elegant Shaftesbury ''* and with
Hutcheson, that it is probable that the final sentence
in morals '' depends on some internal sense or feeling
which nature has made universal in the whole species." ^
Similarly in the Treatise, " moral distinctions " are held
to be " derived from a moral sense." ^

" An action, or sentiment, or character, is virtuous or
vicious : why ? Because its view causes a pleasure or
uneasiness of a particular kind. In giving a reason,
therefore, for the pleasure or uneasiness, we sufficiently
explain the vice or virtue. To have the sense of virtue,
is nothing but to feel a satisfaction of a particular kind
from the contemplation of a character. The very
feeling constitutes our praise or admiration. We can
go no further ; nor do we inquire into the cause of the
satisfaction." ^

It is natural to pi'esume that, as with the writers
above named, this " internal sense " is regarded as an

^ " As love is immediately agreeable to the person who is actuated by
it, and hatred ivimediately disagreeable, this may also be a considerable
reason why we praise all the passions that partake of the former, and
blame all those that have any considerable share of the latter. . . .
All this seems to me a proof that our approbation has, in these cases, an
origin different from the prospect of utility and advantage, either to
ourselves or others" (Works, ii. p. 388).

2 Works, iv. p. 233 ; cf. p. 356. ^ See above, p. 173.

4 IMd. ii. p. 233 ; cf. pp. 231, 238, 354.

ORIGIN OF MORAL SENSE 177

original principle of human nature. As we proceed,
however, we make the discovery that it is not so. We
have not gone far before we find our author departing
from the underived " moral sense " of Shaftesbury and
Hutcheson, and identifying the principle of approval
and disapproval with the sentiment of benevolence,
humanity, or generous sympathy. This is " Why
Utility Pleases." We are constituted to take pleasure
in the happiness of others, to sympathise with them,
to seek their good. This leads us to look with com-
placency on all acts and qualities that tend to this end,
as on the end itself. "It is impossible for such a
creature as man to be wholly indifferent to the well-
or ill-being of his fellow-creatures, and not readily of
himself to pronounce . . . that what promotes their
happiness is good, what tends to their misery is evil." ^\
It is not, therefore, acts useful to ourselves, but acts;
useful to others, or to society as a whole, we approve of]

"Thus in whatever light we take this subject, the
merit ascribed to the social virtues appears still uniform,
and arises chiefly from that regard which the natural
sentiment of benevolence engages us to pay to the
interests of mankind and society." ^

"The notion of morals implies some sentiment
common to all mankind, which recommends the same
object to general approbation, and makes every man,
or most men, agree in the same opinion or decision
concerning it. It also implies some sentiment, so
universal and comprehensive, as to extend to all man-
kind, and render the actions and conduct, even of the
persons the most remote, an object of applause or
censure, according as they agree or disagree with that
1 Works, iv. p. 294. » Ibid,

12

178 DAVID HUME

rule of right which is established. These two requisite
circumstances belong alone to the sentiment of humanity
here insisted on." ^

One curious result of this derivation of moral senti-
ment entirely from benevolence, is that the theory of
Hume, like that of Hutcheson, would seem to have no
room left in it for duties to self. It fails to give any
reason why conscience should smile approval on a man
for any act tending to Ids own good. It was probably
in view of this defect, and with the purpose of meeting
it, that Adam Smith developed his peculiar doctrine of
reflex sympathy. It is the more interesting, therefore,
to observe that Hume, in his earlier work, has already
anticipated this objection, and given an explanation
which is almost identical with Smith's, — which prob-
ably, indeed, furnished the latter with the germ of his
peculiar theory. The close of the following passage
illustrates this. The point of Adam Smith's theory, it
may be remembered, is, that the individual's approba-
tion of merit in himself arises from sympathy M^th the
approval of the disinterested spectator — a sufficiently
roundabout hypothesis. So Hume says : —

*'Nay, when the injustice is so distant from us as
in no way to affect our interest, it still displeases
us; because we consider it as prejudicial to human
society, and pernicious to every one that approaches
the person guilty of it. We partake of their uneasiness
by sympathy ; and as everything that gives uneasiness
in human actions, upon the general survey, is called
vice, and whatever produces satisfaction, in the same
manner, is denominated virtue, this is the reason why
the sense of moral good and evil follows upon justice

1 Works, ii. p. 339.

THEORY OF SYMPATHY 179

and injustice. And though this sense, in the present
case, be derived only from contemplating the actions
of others, yet we fail not to extend it even to our own
actions. The general rule reaches beyond these in-
stances from which it arose ; while, at the same time,
we naturally sympathise with others in the sentiments
they entertain of us." ^

Apart from deeper criticism, the obvious remark to
be made on this view is, that mere sympathy with the
agreeable experiences of others, whatever pleasure it
may yield us, is a very different sentiment from that
of moral approbation. It is far from true that every-
thing which excites " uneasiness " in human actions, on
a survey of them, is called " vice," or that which pro-
duces satisfaction, " virtue " ; else our sympathy with
the feelings of a criminal about to be hanged might
lead to a condemnation of the act which sentenced
him. The acts must be of the kind we judge moral,
before the feelings we call approbation or disapproba-
tion can arise, and the feelings are regulated by the
character of our judgment. This was another defect
in Hume's doctrine which Adam Smith attempted to
supply by his doctrine of " propriety." A deeper ques-
tion will arise immediately as to the origin of the
disinterested sentiment itself.

To complete this view of Hume's doctrine, we have
still to consider another point necessarily brought up
in all discussions of moral subjects — the idea or feeling
of obligation. Here, most of all, the theory of Hume,
and utilitarian systems generally, are felt to be deficient.
The question is. Why am I hound to perform certain
actions rather than others? What constitutes the
' "Works, ii. p. 266 ; cf. p. 373.

1 80 DAVID HUME

oughtness which I feel in regard to them ? Butler
answers by an appeal to the authority of conscience ;
Kant, by an appeal to the " categorical imperative " of
moral law. But Hume and Mill have no answer to
give based on a moral demand which carries with it its
own authoiity. Hume in particular can hardly be
said to have faced the question at all ; he rather
adroitly avoids it, and substitutes another in its place.

'' Having explained the moral approbation attending
merit or virtue, there remains nothing but briefly to
consider our interested obligation to it, and to inquire
whether every man, who has any regard to his own
happiness or welfare, will not best find his account in
the practice of every moral duty." ^

The object of this concluding section, accordingly, is
to show "that all the duties which it (the foregoing
system) recommends are also the true interest of each
individual." ^ Obligation, in other words, is simply, on
this doctrine, another name for the selfish impulse.
Here surely is the truth coming out at last ! In what-
ever the rightness of an action was placed, it might
have seemed evident that the obligation to perform it
was something ivhich flowed from that Tightness, and
needed nothing else to account for it. I ought to do
the action because I see it to be right. But Hume has
placed the rightness of actions on the ground of their
conduciveness to the public benefit. And this con-
sideration of utility will not yield the consciousness of
obligation. Hence he is compelled in the last resort to
identify obligation with self-interest. I ought to do a
thing because it is for my oiun good? This is a return

^ Works, iv. p. 346. 2 jj;-^_ j^.^ ^ 345^

3 In another x^lace, in speaking of political justice, he says "the

OBLIGATION F^i^^C/^" SELF-INTEREST i8i

to precisely that selfish view of morals which he had
previously rejected. It implies that a stronger motive
than the simple goodness of the action is required to
make a moral agent feel his obligation, and that self-
interest is the strongest motive which can be brought
to bear upon him. Only, unfortunately, when it is
brought to bear upon him, it is not the motive of
moral obligation. Between that motive and the con-
sideration of self-interest, there is a world of difference.
The thing chiefly important to notice in this con-
nection is, that this is no accidental flaw in Hume's
theory, or in any theory of the kind ; it springs from
its essential nature. Starting from Hume's principle
(which was that of Hobbes, Locke, and of nearly all
moral speculators before him), that the Good — the sole
object of desire, that which ultimately moves the will,
and alone can finally move it — is pleasi(.Te, no other
conclusion is possible than that which Hume reaches.
It might be shown that the sentimental moralists, even
those who lay most stress on the benevolent affections,
necessarily fall into the same snare ; finding, as they
must, the ultimate sanction of morality in a state
of feeling^ viz., the peculiar pleasure yielded by the
moral sense. This is true of Shaftesbury, who labours
to establish that " to have the natural affections (such
as are founded in Love, Complacency, and Good-will,
and in a sympathy with the kind or species) is to have
the chief means and power of self-enjoyment ; and
that to want them is certain misery and ill";^ of
Hutcheson, who thinks that any fear of sacrifice of

moral obligation holds proportion with the usefulness " (Works, iv. p.
269). He should rather say " with the self-iuterest."
^ Inquiry concerning Virtue, i, 2. 1 ; cf. ii. 1. 3.

1 82 DAVID HUME

individual happiness must be removed, "if we have
a moral sense and public affections, whose gratifica-
tions are constituted by nature our most intense and
durable pleasures";^ of even Butler, who strangely
declares that "when we sit down in a cool hour we
can neither justify to ourselves this or that pursuit,
till we are convinced that it will be for our happiness,
or at least not contrary to it."^ Hume's position is
quite identical. " Each person loves himself better
than any other single person. ... It appears that, in
the original frame of our mind, our strongest attention
is confined to ourselves; our next is extended to our
relatives and acquaintance," etc.^ Nay, ere long it
comes to be seen that there is an inconsistency in
the admission of purely disinterested affections at
all. However strongly their existence is affirmed, the
necessity of the case tends to an explanation of them
which finds their origin in egoistic principles. That
Hume should derive justice from the selfish impulse
in man, is comprehensible ; ^ but in addition to this,
tliere are attempts even to give a rationale of sym-
pathy of a kind which robs it of its primary disinter-
ested character. E.cr. : —

" The minds of all men are similar in their feelings
and operations ; nor can any one be actuated by any
affection of which all others are not in some degree
susceptible. As in strings equally wound up, the
motion of one communicates itself to the rest, so all
the affections readily pass from one person to another,
and beget correspondent movements in every human

^ On Passions and Affections, p. 19.

^ SermonSj xi. Cf. Sorley's Ethics of Naturalism, p. 88.

2 Works, ii. p. 252-3. -^ Ihid. ii. p. 355.

THEORY OF OBLIGATION 183

creature. . . . When I perceive the causes of any
emotion, my mind is conveyed to its effects, and is
actuated by a like emotion. . . . No passion of another
discovers itself immediately to the mind. We are only
sensible of its causes or effects. From these we infer
the passion ; and consequently these give rise to our
sympathy."^ Sympathy is thus a sort of automatic
process, by which pains or pleasures similar to those
we witness are reproduced in ourselves.

" When any quality or character has a tendenc}^ to
the good of mankind, we are pleased with it, and
approve of it, because it presents the lively idea of
pleasure ; which idea affects us by sympathy, and is
itself a kind of pleasure." -

It is the case, accordingly, that in the utilitarian
schools _ which succeeded Hume, the egoistic genesis
of even benevolent sentiments is frankly recognised,^
and the motive of self-interest is invariably fallen back
on as the ground of obligation. The representatives
of these schools saw, indeed, that Hume's theory needed
supplementing. They recognised, what he did not,
that obligation has reference, not immediately to self-
interest, but to law and authority. _If_men_wfire^left
merely^ to .. con^t-^what- .they-.xx)nsidered their own
interests in relation to moral action, society would
soon fall to pieces. There is a necessity for an out-
ward check or constraint. The law of the State, there-
fore, and the force of public opinion, are the great
elements in what Mr. Mill calls " the external sanction

' Works, ii. p. 355. ^ ji^^^^ n p, 36I.

^ Not by every one so frankly as Bentham, when he wrote : " I am
a selfish man, as selfish as any man can he. But in me, somehow or
other, so it happens, selfishness has taken the shape of benevolence."

1 84 DAVID HUME

of virtue.^ But clearly this is still an utterly inade-
quate account of obligation. Enforced obedience is
no true obedience in the moral sense. It is only when
we feel the law to be right that we regard ourselves
as under real obligation to perform it. This is virtually
admitted by Mr. Mill when he says : '' It is part of the
notion of duty that a man may be rightfully com-
pelled to perform it." When the man perceives this
rigid in the compulsion, the obligation is already trans-
ferred to another sphere. Mr. Mill, however, lays
comparatively little stress on the external sanction,
as compared with what he calls the internal sanction.
We question whether, after all, he has thereby ap-
proached much nearer the solution of the problem.
This " internal sanction " is derived from our social
feelings, combined with education, association, and
elements derived from other sources, to wliich the
evolutionary school would add the accumulated results
of inheritance. The binding force then consists, Mr.
Mill would tell us, in the " mass of feeling " which
must be broken through in order to violate that stan-
dard of right, and which, if we do violate it, will have
to be encountered in the specific form of remorse. But
why of remorse ? Granted a nucleus of original moral
ideas, around which the mass of associated feelings
gathers, we can understand the peculiar nature of the
compound, but not otherwise. An accumulation of
feelings, none of them originally moral, can hardly,
by any chemistry of association, develop features so
marked and unique as those of the moral sentiments.
Has this " mass of feeling " no moral elements in the
heart of it ? Or is it something to which we must

^ So also Benthani, Austin, and James Mill.

NATURE OF MORAL END 185

perforce submit because we cannot now shake off its
power ? Then it ceases to be obligation the moment a
man, from any cause, feels strong enough to break from
its yoke. Even on the evolutionist hypothesis that
the feelino^s have influence, because in them is reo:is-
tered the experience of the race as to what is best
for its "life," "efficiency," or "well-being," this alone
does not suffice to constitute obligation. The indi-
vidual has still to be brought to perceive the reason-
ableness and duty of subordinating his individual will,
it may be of sacrificing his personal interest, to that
which is best for the good of the whole.

This brings us to the really crucial point in the
judgment of Hume's and similar theories — the true
nature of the Tnoral end. Is it pleasure, in Hume's
sense of " agreeable sensation " ? Or is it something
higher — say the realisation of man's complete nature
in the due subordination of its power and capacities
— the attainment, not of happiness in the sense of
" a sum of pleasures," but of " perfection," which brings
with it, indeed, the purest pleasures, but only as de-
light and satisfaction in the things which are esteemed
the true goods of the soul, among which the pure heart,
the upright will, the wise mind, the social affections,
will take the highest rank ? It should by this time
be a truth so well understood as to need no vindication,
that happiness in the true sense — as real satisfaction
of the self — is not to be found by direct seeking of it,
but only by devotion to ends other than happiness —
ends having value in themselves — in the pursuit and
attainment of which happiness comes. But the subject
requires a deeper elucidation.

To test this theory, then, let us start with its root-

I 86 DAVID HUME

conception — that of Hobbes, Locke, Bentham, Mill, even
of Mr. Spencer/ as well as of Hume — that good is
merely a synonym for pleasure. A first question here
might be : Is this even a possible end for a rational
being, not to say for one seeking to live rationally?
Pleasure is a state of simple feeling, and of indi-
vidital feeling. But a rational being is one who, in
virtue of his reason, has passed bej^ond mere feeling,
has risen above it, has constituted for himself relations
with his fellow-men, and a " realm of ends," in which
his higher self and its interests have expressed them-
selves; who is the subject of desires, ambitions, aims,
which only thought could originate, and a self-con-
scious agent experience. The self of the rational being
is thus immensely larger than his egoistic self : takes
in a world of persons and interests that lie beyond
his narrow personal horizon. It is in the nature of
things impossible, therefore, that such a being should
not set before him ends other and higher than pleasure.
But even if it were possible to make pleasure the sole
end, a next question would be : Is a life which has
only pleasure for its end one worthy of a rational
being ? If he stoops to make pleasure his sole end,
is he not o^nsciously degrading and impoverishing
himself? It can only be maintained that he is not,
if there are no higher ends to which his rational and
spiritual nature points him; and this we explicitly
deny to be the case.

The answer that will be given to this kind of reason-
ing naturally will be, that we are playing upon an

^ Cf. Data of Ethics, p. 27. The question of optimism is declared to
be simply that of ** a surplus of pleasurable feeling over painful feeling"
(pp. 29-30).

QUALITY IN PLEASURES 187

ambiguity in the word " pleasure " ; are using it in the
sense of mere animal gratification ; whereas the utili-
tariaUj it will be held, has in view the whole scale o£
pleasures from lowest to highest, and, equally with
others, discriminates between their values. It is not
strictly the ease that all utilitarians do this (Mr.
Bentham for one did not); some, however, as J. S.
Mill, have done so, but thereby have only introduced
into the system a new inconsistency. For obviously,
as soon as we have introduced the element of quality
into pleasures, we raise a new question, — that of the
standard or ideal. How else are we to determine
which pleasures are high and which loiv ; which men
ought to choose, and which they ought to despise and
reject ? Reflection will show that, in another respect,
whenever we introduce the idea of scale into pleasures,
the problem is entirely changed. The pleasures we
place higher in the scale — intellectual pleasures, e.g., or
moral pleasures — cease to be mere pleasures ; they are
results, reflexes, accompaniments, of the higher energies
wliich give rise to them, and they derive their dignity
and excellence solely from these. It is the objects of
the energies which are the ends, not the pleasures.
Take the case of benevolence — the disinterested seek-
ing of another's welfare. This is in a sense the
foundation of Hume*s whole theory ; it is the more
strange that he did not perceive how, instead of being
an instance of the seeking of pleasure as one's only
good, it is, in its very nature, a refutation of that
principle. Pleasure, in the nature of the case, is the
pleasure of the person experiencing it, not of the
person conferring it, or of the mere spectator. The
well-doer may derive pleasure from his benevolence,

1 88 DAVID HUME

or from seeing the happiness of others ; but that

pleasure is not the motive of his action. The good to
which his action is directed is not his own good, but
the good of another. Pleasure, in the sense of an
" agreeable sensation " to Jiiin, is not his end, not the
thing he desires, or which moves his will. To resolve
the motive of benevolence into the pleasure derived
from it by the doer, is to deny its disinterested char-
acter, and reduce it to a finer form of selfishness. But
in respect e\'en of the person benefited, must it be
" pleasure " only which I desire for him ? If my own
well-being includes higher ends, why should his not do
so also ? If I regard a disinterested habit of soul as a
good for myself, it cannot but be that I shall desire it
for others as well, and include it also in m}- ideal of
the " well-being " of society. What is now said of
benevolence applies to all the higher desires which
intelligence goes to constitute — desire of knowledge,
desire of society, desire of power, desire of property,
etc. The pleasures arising from these desires are no
longer '}nere pleasures. They are accompaniments of
energies directed to ends which are esteemed to be of
worth for themselves, and he^ice beget pleasure.

Finally, the question may be brought to the test of
fact. Is it the case that all men do set happiness, in
the sense of pleasure, before them as their highest end,
and the only thing desirable ? For this is what Hume
and all utilitarians assume. We recall here, in the
first place, a remark of ]\Ir. Mill's own : " It is better
to be a Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." ^ We
notice, secondly, the admission of all the higher class
of utilitarians, that virtue ought to become an end,

^ UtUltarianism. p. 14.

DISINTERESTED LOVE OF VIRTUE 189

and to be loved for its own sake. *' The mind," says
Mr. Mill, " is not in a right state, nor in a state con-
formable to utility, not in a state most conducive to
the general happiness, unless it does love virtue in this
manner, as a thing desirable in itself." ^ This, it must
be felt, is a very remarkable position. The utilitarian
tells us, in the first instance, that the rightness, the
goodness, of actions lies only in their conduciveness to
happiness; yet we are informed that it is right and
even necessary that men should come to believe in
virtue as having a goodness and value in itself. Why
it should be advantageous that men should come under
this delusion is not very obvious. It seems like saying
that, however true utilitarianism may be, it is not
desirable that men should believe in it ; that, prac-
tically, it is necessary that they should act on another
hypothesis. But, thirdly, without dwelling on this,
are there not numberless cases in which we judge that
we ought to do a certain action for far higher reasons
than merely that it conduces to happiness ? Hume
regards justice as resting wholly on human conven-
tion; but are there not judgments in the sphere of
justice which arise prior to, and independently of, all
human sanction ? When, for instance, we reflect that
we ought to be fair and candid in our dealings with
others even in our thoughts, is there no motive
except that such fairness and candour will be pre-
eminently useful to society ? Do we not feel that it
would be in itself an unworthy thing to act otherwise ;
unworthy of our own character and dignity as rational
and moral beings ? Do we not recognise that we
ought to respect the rights of others, as Kant would say,

1 Utilitarianism, p. 56.

I90 DAVID HUME

for the sake of the humanity that is in them ? Are
we not bound to respect their liberty, their consciences,
their intelligence, their possessions lawfully acquired,
on the simple grounds that they are persons ? For the
same reason every man owes a certain respect to him-
self, and is bound to use every means to conserve and
perfect his nature. Those qualities, e.g., which Hume
specifies as useful or agreeable to one's self — self-control,
magnanimity, tranquillity, and the like — shall we say
that it is their utility or agreeableness which is the
ground on which we pronounce them virtues ? Why
do we praise them ? Is it not because we discern in
them an intrinsic excellence ? And is not their
" agreeableness " to us simply the index and result of
this high esteem in which we hold them ? When
Kant says, "There is nothing in the world which
can be termed absolutely and altogether good, a good
will alone excepted," ^ do we not feel instinctively the
nobility of his utterance, and recognise that siich a
possession is more desirable than any amount of
" pleasure " ? It may be true — though it is far from
being always the case — that the highest dignity and
integrity of a nature brings with it also the greatest
happiness; but the happiness assuredly is not the
first thing aimed at. The man who would barter his
integrity for any increase of pleasure has no true
integrity to barter.

There is no coldness in Hume's praises of virtue,
though it is rather the " beauty " and " amiability " of
moral qualities than the character of acts as " right "
and " wrong " that engage his interest. But the defect
in his foundation weakens his whole structure, and

^ Met. of Ethics, ch. i.

ETHICS OF "RESPECTABILITY" 191

leaves him with no room for " duty for duty's sake.'*
Everything becomes precarious because based simply on
the pleasing and customary. This is seen in the easy
view he takes of male chastity, and in his defence of
the right of suicide. There is no place for heroic
virtue of any kind in Hume. His ethics, as Mr. Green
remarked, never rise above the level of " respectability."
Language like Wordsworth's in his " Ode to Duty," or
such as Carlyle's on the eternal and infinite difference
between right and wrong, would sound meaningless to
him. Even Justice in his hands sinks down to mere
human " artifice." As for the higher obligations and
sanctions of religion, these, it is needless to say,
altogether disappear.

CHAPTER X

Hume and Theology: Mikacles

After metaphy.sics, there is perhaps no sphere in
which Hume's influence has been so palpably felt as
in theology. Hume is not, as we shall immediately
-see, to be off-hand classed with English deists or
French atheists. His speculations went much deeper
than those of either. On the one hand, he always
px'ofessed, however inconsistently, some kind of belief
in a Supreme Being ; on the other, his philosophy was
as fatal to the natural revelation of Deism as it was
to the supernatural revelation of Christianity. His
arguments, a little altered, have passed into the camp
of unbelief, and taken a permanent place in its armoury.
It is significant that nearly every modern theorist on
the subject of religion — deist, pantheist, agnostic,
pessimist, believer in a limited God, and believer in
no God at all — can find his share in Hume, and fortify
himself by his reasonings.

It was remarked in the Introduction, that in
Hume, as in some of his contemporaries, the sense
for religion appears almost entirely wanting. He tells
Sir William Elliot, indeed, a ijvopos of the Dialogues
concerning Natiiixd Religion, that he began his
inquiries with a search for arguments to confirm the

192

IRRELIGION OF AGE. 193

common opinion, but that gradually doubts "stole in."^
That stage, however, if it ever existed to any marked
extent, was prehistoric in Hume's career ; it antecedes
any definite knowledge we have of him. It is certain,
as before hinted, that at a very early period he had
reasoned himself out of all positive beliefs in respect
of religion, and had betaken himself for his ideals of
life to his two favourites, Cicero and Virgil. The
influences of French literature and society were not
likely to do much towards the removal of this anti-
pathy ; and it is to be feared that his personal
disposition — his easy temper, his love of fame, his
engrained sceptical habit — made him naturally averse
from any system which identified itself with earnest
faith, or intensity of moral purpose.

It contributed to this aversion that the age in which
Hume lived was one marked by a cold, rationalising
temper generally. The account he gives in one of his
Essays of the state of religion in his time recalls a
well-known passage in Butler : —

" Most people in this Island," he says, " have divested
themselves of all superstitious reverence to names and
authority; the clergy have lost much of their credit,
their pretensions and doctrines have been ridiculed; and
even religion can scarcely support itself in the world." ^

^ Burton, i. p. 332. See above, p. 47.

2 Works, iii. p. 51. Butler's statement in the Advertisement to the
first edition of his Analogy is : "It is come, I know not how, to be
taken for granted, by many persons, that Christianity is not so much
as a subject of inquiry ; but that it is, now at length, discovered to be
fictitious. And accordingly they treat it as if, in the present age, this
were an agreed point among all people of discernment ; and nothing
remained, but to set it up as a principal subject of mirth and ridicule,
as it were by way of reprisals, for its having so long interrupted the
pleasures of the world."

13

194 DAVID HUME

It never enters Hume's mind to doubt that morals,
politics, social life, could go on quite well without
religion ; on the contrary, he has a firm persuasion
that things would be better in its absence, Philo's
words in the Dialogues may be assumed to be a true
expression of his own sentiments on this point : —

"If the religious spirit be ever mentioned in any
historical narration, we are sure to meet afterwards
with a detail of the miseries which attend it. And no
period of time can be happier or more prosperous than
those in which it is never regarded or heard of." ^

Naturally, with such views, repugnance to every-
thing savouring of "priesthood" was one of the
strongest passions of Hume's nature ; and his custom-
ary synonym for religion was " enthusiasm " or
" fanaticism." No doubt all this is spoken of the
religion of the " vulgar,'' or " religion as it has
commonly been found in the world," ^ and exception
is made, as we shall find, of the " philosophical "
religion, which resolves itself into the " speculative
tenet of Theism," ^ and is admittedly the possession
only of a few. But the poverty of Hume's conception
of religion generally is manifest in nearly every line
he wrote about it. No man, e.g., who ever really
understood what true religion is, could have written
as he did in the Essay on Immortality : —

" But if any purpose of nature be clear, we may
afl&rm that the whole scope and intention of man's
creation, so far as we can judge by natural reason, is
limited to the present life. . . . There arise, indeed, in
some minds some unaccountable terroi's with regard to
futurity; but these would quickly vanish were they

1 Works, ii. p. 530. - Ibid. ii. p. 534. » Ibid,

HUME AS RELIGIOUS SCEPTIC 195

not artificially fostered by precept and example. And
those who f ostei^ them, what is their motive ? Only to
gain a livelihood, and to acquire power and riches in
this world. Their very zeal and industry, therefore,
are an argument against them." ^

It will not be questioned that Hume's philosophical
principles were such as readily lent themselves to the
purposes of the religious sceptic, and Hume was by no
means slow to make the application. His system liad
undermined the foundations of all certitude, and,
harmless though he might esteem this to be in the
common affairs of life, the case was different when it
came to questions of religion. His aim here avowedly
was "to subvert that abstruse philosophy and meta-
physical jargon which, being m.ixed up with popular
superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to
careless reasoners, and gives it the air of superior
wisdom." ^ This could readily be accomplished by a
system which grounded all our knowledge and beliefs
on sense-experiences. Our inferences may be valid
for practical purposes within the circle of experience,
but we have no guarantee that they are so beyond it.
Hence all questions are at once ruled out which relate
to God,^ the origin of the world, providence, destiny,
and the future life. How far Hume meant to include
Christianity among his "popular superstitions," may
be gathered from other parts of his writings. The
Essay on Miracles is a bold attempt to reduce Chris-
tianity, as respects its historical foundations, to a
tissue of fables, believable only by those who are
willing to part with their reason. " Our most holy

1 Works, iv. p. 549. ^ xud. iv. p. 9.

^ On Hume's concessions to Theism, see below.

196 DAVID HUME

religion," he says, " is founded on Fcdth, not 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 bear." ^ We may
conjecture how much " faith " Hume would be prepared
to concede to a system against which reason was in
arms. This mocking deference to a religion in which
he had no particle of real belief, is one of the most
offensive features in his writings — the adding, if that
were possible, of insult to injury.- In the Essay on
Parties he takes an opportunity of showing in what
esteem he held the system here denominated " our most
holy religion." Christianity is there represented as a
" sect " which owed its success to certain accidental
circumstances, and the result of which has been to the
world " the greatest misery and devastation." The
"furious persecutions of Christianity," he* traces, for
the most part, to " the imprudent zeal and bigotry of
the first propagators of the sect." ^ Of good efiects
resulting from Christianity there is no mention. It is
no real contradiction of this, though a fact curious in
itself, that, as a concession to the prejudices of the
" vulgar," Hume was willing to have an established

1 "Works, iv. p. 149.

"Prof. Huxley says: "If ever he seems insiucerc, it is when he
wishes to insult theologians by a parade of sarcastic respect " {Sumc,
p. 140), This, however, was a characteristic feature of the kind of
literature which Hume represents. Gibbon's "irony" is proverbial.
Shaftesbury indulges profusely in this kind of sarcasm. Rejecting
every article of the Christian faith, he professes "his steady orthodoxy,
resignation, and entire submission to the truly Christian and Catholic
doctrines of our Holy Church, as by hur <-.<<( ahliahcd/* On miracles he
"submits most willingly, and with full confidence and trust, to the
opinions hy htiv established" {Misc-U. BejirdionSy ii. chs. ii. and iii.).
Hume, to his credit, never went so far as that.

^ Works, iii. p. 61.

NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION 197

Church, on the Presbyterian model too, in his ideal
commonwealth.^ His establishment was meant as a
curb on religious enthusiasm, not as a means of pro-
moting religion, save of the " philosophical " sort. As
Mr. Leslie Stephen says of Shaftesbury : " The Church
was excellent as a national refrigerator ; but no culti-
vated person could believe in its doctrines." ^

In looking at Hume's positions more in detail, we
have first to seek to make clear to ourselves his atti-
tude to Theism. We may begin with his Natural
History of Religion, which was published in his life-
time. This production, which it would not be unjust
to describe as a daring piece of satire, yet with a
definite enough purpose in the heart of it, forms an
essential part of Hume's system. For, even if it be
granted that the idea of the supernatural is an illusion,
the belief is still at least there as a psychological fact
to be accounted for. There are two questions, we are
told, to be considered in relation to religion: (1) con-
cerning its foundation in Human Reason; and (2)
concerning its origin in Human Nature.

"Happily," says the sceptic, "the former question,
which is the more important, admits of the most
obvious, at least the clearest solution. The whole
frame of nature bespeaks an Intelligent Author ; and
no rational inquirer can, after serious reflection, suspend

^ Works, iii. p. 554. It was essential to Hume's scheme that the
Church should be entirely under the control of the magistrates. " The
magistrates name rectors or ministers to all the parishes." *'The
magistrates may take any cause from this (ecclesiastical) court, and
determine of themselves." " The magistrates may try, and depose or
suspend any presbyter. " Thus Hume's boasted liberality turns round
into the sheerest tyranny.

^ English Thoitght in the Eighteenth Centunjj ii. p. 19.

198 DAVID HUME

his belief for a moment with regard to the primary
principles of genuine Theism and Religion." ^

We are apt to suspect that here again we are on the
track of saicasm ; and the rest of the treatise shows us
that beyond doubt we are. The direct purpose of the
work is to prove that in reality the belief in God and
in supernatural existences had a very different origin,
viz., in men's ignorance and superstitious fears. Re-
ligion has no basis in the essential nature of man —
" springs not from an original instinct or primary
impression of nature," but arises from "secondary
principles^ — mainly from man's hopes and fears in
view of the uncertainties and contrary events of nature
and life. Hume's treatment in this, as in most of his
other works, has the decided merit of showing clearly
where the true issue lies. If man's nature is not
conceived of as spiritual, and religion is not regarded
as springing from the depths of that nature in the
consciousness of a relation to a supra-natural power,
necessity is laid on the theorist of accounting for it
from purely psychological, i.e., non-Te\igiovLS and ir~
rational, causes. This is precisely what Hume attempts
to do in the treatise in question. His work is not only
the precursor of that long train of " natural histories
of religion " with Avliich the " Science of Religion " has
made us so familiar, but is wonderfully acute in some
of its anticipations of modern theories. Dr. Tylor
will readily recognise his " animistic " principle in such
a sentence as the following : " There is a universal
tendency among men to conceive all beings like them-
selves, and to transfer to every object tliose qualities
of which they are intimatel}^ conscious." ^ Through

1 Works, iv. p. 419. - Ibid. iv. p. 420, ^ /j^y^^ [y^ p_ 409.

ORIGIN OF MONOTHEISM 199

this principle, with the help of the " allegorising " (as
moderns would say, " mythological ") tendency, and the
deification of heroes, Hume believes himself able to
explain the rise of polytheism — in his view the earliest
form of religion, and the only one possible to man,
when he was yet " a barbarous, necessitous animal." ^
The next step is to show how " this gross polytheism
of the vulgar '" passed into monotheism ; and here Hume
may certainly claim to be original. He explains the
transition wholly by reference to the tendency in men to
magnify and flatter those on whom they depend.^ The
same principle of flattery leads them to ascribe to the
Deity the formation of the world. This is on a level with
his theory of the origin of " priests," who, he says, " may
justly be regarded as proceeding from one of the grossest
inventions of a timorous and abject superstition." ^ He
goes on, finally, to compare these two forms of religion
— polytheism and monotheism — in their character and
efiects, the result in every case turning out in favour of
polytheism. Thus, in regard to toleration : " The intoler-
ance of almost all religions which have maintained the
unity of God, is as remarkable as the contrary principle
of polytheists." ^ Having thus completely nullified his

^ Works, iv. p. 422. Hume's statements on this point are not, indeed,
consistent. " It is a matter of fact incontestable," he says in one place,
"that about 1700 years ago all mankind were polytheists " (p. 420);
the Jews apparently count for nothing. But ere long we read : "The
doctrine of one Supreme Deity, the author of nature, is very ancient ;
has spread over great and populous nations," etc. (p. 445). . , . "The
Getes . . . were genuine theists and unitarians. They affirmed
Zamolxis, their deity, to be the only true God," etc. (p. 452).

2 Sec. 6. ^ Works, iv. p. 79.

* Works, iv. p. 458. On this view, we must conclude, Rome did not
persecute the Christians, missionaries have not been massacred by
idolators, etc. Altogether, what is said of the tolerance of polytheists

200 DAVID HUME

original concession, he concludes with a few general
corollaries, of which the satire is scarcely concealed.

But Hume has not left us in ignorance of the real
value he put on the theistic proof — that "admirable
adjustment of final causes"^ — which on occasion we
find him extolling. His posthumous Dialogues con-
cerning Natural Religion, and his Essay on " Provi-
dence and a Future State/' bear mainly on this and
related topics. The Dialogues, elaborated and revised
with the utmost care, and bequeathed to his executors
under stringent provisions for their publication,^ may
be regarded as the most mature expression of his
opinions on these grave subjects of any of his works.
They are constructed somewhat on the model of
Cicero's discussion on the Nature of the Gods, and
close in language almost identical with his.^ Hume
evidently regards the whole question of Theism as a
perfectly open one. As much can always be said on
the one side as on the other; or rather, as he exerts
himself in the sceptical interest to show, generally a
great deal more against Theism than for it. Demea,
the defender of a faith that repudiates reason, serves

has to be taken vnth considerable limitations. Rome had laws enough
against foreign rites ; even "when they were permitted, the permission
did not extend to Romans. Hume's own tender mercies towards
"enthusiasts" in religion were not great. See below, p. 232.

* Works, iv. p. 431. 2 ggg above, p. 83.

^ '* The conversation ended here " Clean thes and Philo pursued

and we parted. Velleius judged not this conversation much further,
that the arguments of Cotta (the ... I confess that, upon a serious
Academic) were truest ; but those review of the whole, I cannot but
of Balbus (Stoic, and defender of think that Philo's arguments are
the gods) seemed to me to have the more probable than Demea's ; but
greater probability " (Cicero). that those of Cleanthes approached

still nearer to the truth" (Hume).

DIALOGUES ON RELIGION 20t

mainly as £L foil to the other two disputants ; of the
latter, it is easy to see that it is into the arguments
of Philo, the sceptic, that Hume puts his whole
strength; while Cleanthes, with his solemn rhetoric
about the testimony which universal creation bears to
" its intelligent Author " (" the whole chorus of nature
raises one hymn to the praises of its Creator")/
advances arguments only to have the bottom taken
out of them by Philo, and in any case does not argue
for more than a being "finitely perfect, though far
exceeding mankind." ^ It is Cleanthes with whom,
as we saw, Hume would have his friends believe that
he is personally most in agreement ; ^ but as Philo does
no more than reason from Hume's own principles on
causation and the nature of mind, and in every case
gains an easy argumentative victory over his opponent,
it is difficult to credit this preference. If, towards the
close, Philo himself is allowed to assume the pious r61e,
ahd declaim on his " adoration to the Divine Being, as
he discovers himself to reason, in the inexplicable con-
trivance and artifice of nature," ^ one knows what value
to put on this profession, while the previous reasonings
are unref uted. On both sides, of course, the disputants
have a cultivated " abhorrence of vulgar superstitions." ^
How far Hume did allow any academic value to the
theistic arguments is considered below.

The question of Theism, in a speculative point of
view, is at bottom simply that of a rational and moral
constitution in men and things. Man as a rational

1 Works, ii. p. 458. 2 /j^, „_ p, 507.

^ See his correspondence with Elliot referred to above (Burton, i.
pp. 331-2), and the close of the Dialogues.
^ lUd. ii. n. 552. ^ lUd. ii. v. 529.

202 DAVID HUME

being, finds himself in a rationally - constituted uni-
verse ; he cannot, therefore, without self-contradiction,
construe it to himself otherwise than as proceeding
from an intelligence kindred in principle with his
own.^ He is self-conscious and pex-sonal; he cannot,
therefore, think of the ultimate principle and cause of
things in terms lower than those of self -consciousness
and personality. He is above all moral, and cannot,
without renunciation of his ethical standpoint, regard
the universe as other than a moral system, proceeding
from a moral will, and subserving moral ends. [The
theist, in other words, takes in earnest, what Hume
can at most admit only dialectically or sceptically, that
Deity is "Mind or Thought," ^ and draws out this
admission to its legitimate conclusions. From this
standpoint everything in religion assumes a new aspect,
and admits of a new interpretation, from the dim grop-
ings of the savage after a Higher than himself, whose
presence he feels even where he cannot articulately
express the nature of his feelings, to the tendency
constantly evinced in thought and aspiration to rise
from the finite to the infinite, from the caused to the
uncaused, from the temporal to the eternal, from the
conditioned to the unconditioned. To one occupying
this standpoint, Hume's sceptical dialectics, based on
the contrary assumption of the '?^07^-rational constitu-
tion of man and of the universe, must always appear
frivolous.

What are his objections to the theistic hypothesis ?

^ Cf. T. H. Green, ProL to EtTiics, p. 23 : "The un del-standing which
presents an order of nature to us is in principle one with an understand-
ing which constitutes that order itself."

2 Works, ii. p. 526.

ARGUMENTS AGAINST THEISM 203

First, and perhaps mainly, that the whole subject is
"quite beyond the reach of our faculties."^ The
analogy between what we call thought in man and
the infinite intelligence we assume as the cause of the
universe, is so inconceivably remote, that no inference
from one to the other is warrantable.

" What peculiar advantage has this little agitation
of the brain which we call thought, that we must thus
make it the model of the whole universe ? ... 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 cause of all things V ^

' In the next place, our belief in causation rests solely
on the custom of seeing objects and events in invari-
able conjunction,^ and therefore fails us where, as in
the present case, custom cannot operate. " Our ideas
reach no further than experience," but " we have no
experience of divine attributes and operations." * In
causation we are entitled only to infer from observed
cases to similar cases ; but here, " does not the great
disproportion bar all comparison and inference ? " ^
Reasoning from causation rests on experienced con-
junctions ; but there is no " experience of the origin of
worlds." How can the argument have place " where
the objects, as in the present case, are singular, indi-
vidual, without parallel or specific resemblance " ? ® As
he puts the point in the Essay on Providence, the world
is " a singular efifect." ^ Or, viewing the cause as an
ideal plan in the divine mind, must we not say that

1 Wtrks, ii. pp. 421, 431. 2 ^j^^^^ ij, pp, 433-9.

^ Ihid. ii. p. 441. ^ Ibid. ii. pp. 431, 438.

^ Ibid. ii. p. 438. ^ Ibid, ii. p. 441. ^ Ibid. ii. p. 168.

204 DAVID HUME

this collocation of ideas needs another cause to explain
it, and so ad infinittun. Hume's reasoning here is so
deliciously illustrative of the conception he forms of a
rational mind, that a few sentences must be quoted :—

" Have we not the same reason to trace that ideal
world into another ideal world, or new intelligent
principle ? But if we stop, and go no further ; why-
go so far ? Why not stop at the material world ? . . .
To say that the different ideas which compose the
reason of the Supreme Being, fall into order of them-
selves, and by their own nature, is really to talk
without meaning. If it has a meaning, I would fain
know, why it is not as good sense to say, that the parts
of the material world fall into order of themselves, and
by their own nature. ... If it requires a cause in
both, what do we gain by your system in tracing the
universe of objects into a similar universe of ideas?
The first step which we make leads us on for ever. It
were therefore wise in us to limit all our inquiries to
the present world, without looking further." ^

The whole point being, that a rational mind can
think, and form a plan, while the parts of the material
world cannot.

A more trenchant, because really inductive, argu-
ment is based on the imperfection, evil, and misery of
the world, which, it is argued, negatives the idea of a
perfectly wise and beneficent author of the universe.-
Mr. Mill's famous indictment of Xature in his Three
Essays on Religion ^ is ably anticipated in these sec-

^ Works, ii. pp. 455-6. Cf. on the }/iod7is oj)cran(Ji of tlimking — "The
ideas in a human mind, we see, by an unkno^^ni, inexplicable economy,
arrange themselves so as to form the plan of a watch or house " (p. 436),
- Parts X., XI. 3 Pp. 2S£f.

IMPERFECTION OF WORLD 205

tions of Hume's. In the Essay on Providence and a
Future State the argument is directed to prove that
the safety of the State and social order generally are
as secure without the belief in a providence as vi^ith it.
For, Hume reasons, on the principle that we are not
entitled to put into the cause more than we find in the
effect, it is illegitimate to ascribe to the Creator greater
perfection than already belongs to the material order,
taken by itself. The order of the world being in any
case what it is, the assumption of a providence adds
nothing to it, and the argument for a future life based
on the injustices of the present state likewise falls.
For we have no warrant to infer any more perfect
j ustice than the facts of the present disclose. To
Hume's reasoning, like Mill's, it must be replied, first,
that their picture of the evil and misery wrought by
mere nature is egregiously overcharged. On Hume's
principles, the only consistent philosophy of existence
would be Pessimism. But the description is an exag-
geration. The " nature red in tooth and claw " theory
is only one aspect of the facts. There is sound sense
in Paley's rejoinder : " It is a happy world after all.
The air, the earth, the waters teem with delighted
existence." ^ But next, it is not solely on induc-
tion from nature that belief in the perfection of the
Creator is established. It stands or falls, in truth,
with the reality of the moral ideal. The man whose
faith is anchored there will not lack the power to
discern a moral system, if in imperfect degree, even in
nature.

How then has the universe, with its wondrous
" adjustments," which are not denied, come into exist-
1 Nat, Theol, ch. xxvi. Cf. Dr. H. Stirling's Darwinism, pp. 205 ff.

2o6 DAVID HUME

cnce ? That problem remains, even if the theistic
explanation is rejected. Here, in the person of his
sceptic, Hume fairly revels in hypotheses. It would
liardly seem as if there need be any difficulty — so
fertile is he in the invention of theories. Need there
be any cause at all ? For the principle of causation,
engendered through custom, has no application beyond
the sphere of experience. Or why should not the
world, as the old philosophers thought, be analogous
to an animal or vegetable, having the principle of its
development within itself ? ^ Order, arrangement, or
the adjustment of final causes, is not of itself any proof
of design ; " but only so far as it has been experienced
to prtjceed from that principle." ^ Nay, even the
Epicurean hypothesis of a " fortuitous concourse of
atoms " is not beyond defence : —

" A finite number of particles is only susceptible of
finite transpositions ; and it must happen, in an eternal
duration, that every possible order or position must
be tried an infinite number of times. . . . Xo one, who
has a conception of the powers of infinite, in compari-
son of finite, will ever scruple this determination." ^

It w^ould be idle to refute these phantasies. The
fallacy of the last lies in supposing that the fortuitous
clashing of elements even through infinite duration
must result in all possible combinations — even such
as we attribute to mind. Tltat, it is certain, an aimless
concourse would never do ; an}' more than compositor's
types clashing together to all eternity w^ould produce
an Iliad, a Hamlet, or a Treatise of Human JS^aturey
though that is a possible combination of them. The
matter is not mended when, as in Darwinism, processes

1 Works, ii. p. 463. ^ ji^j^ ^ ^^ 43g^ 3 j^^^^^ - ^,_ ^gi_

HUME ON IMMORTALITY 207

essentially fortuitous are clothed with sounding titles
like " natural selection " and " survival of the fittest."

In the Essay on the Immortality of the Soul, sup-
pressed in Hume's lifetime/ similar modes of reasoning
are employed to destroy all physical or metaphysical
arguments for immortality. It seems to Hume that,
in words already quoted, " if any purpose of nature be
clear, we may affirm that the whole scope and inten-
tion of man's creation, so far as we can judge by
natural reason, is limited to the present life." ^ Widely
different has been the judgment formed of man's capaci-
ties by other and deeper thinkers, from Plato down to
Wordsworth and Browning, and even J. S. Mill ! ^ The
Essay commences and concludes in Hume's most repre-
hensible mock-pious style : —

"In reality it is the gospel, and the gospel alone,
which has brought life and immortality to light." *

"Nothing could set in a fuller light the infinite
obligations which mankind have to divine revelation,
since we find that no other medium could ascertain
this great and important truth." ^

A " truth," which is represented in the Essay not
only as unsupported by reason, but as positively
outraging it !

jls Hume's final attitude to Theism, then, to be de-
scribed as one of absolute negation, or only as one of
scepticism ? If regard be had solely to the principles of
his philosophy, there can be no hesitation as to the
answer ; for through them the foundations of Theism
are undeniably destroyed. On the other hand, if any

1 See above, p. 58. ^ Works, iv. p. 549.

3 Cf. Mill's striking remarks in his Tliree Essays, pp. 249-50.
^ Ibid, iv. p. 547. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 555.

2o8 DAVID HUME

weight is to be attached to Hume's own repeated pro-
fessions, — if they are not simply to be regarded as
accommodations to popular opinion, like his admiration
for " our most holy religion," — he did stop short in
practice of this extreme position, and gave Theism the
benefit of the Academic doubt. The frame of things,
he would allow, did suggest the idea of an intelligent
author, though the instant the solvents of reason were
applied to it, the grounds of that belief, or tendency to
belief, vanished.^ But when the utmost is granted to
Hume that he ever thought of claiming, his Theism is
found to be a purely speculative, inoperative thing,
hardly deserving to be described by so dignified a
name. It is a Theism between which and atheism, as
comes out in the close of the Dmloffiies^ the difierence
is only verbal. It amounts to no more than the
acknowledgment of the probability " that the principle
which first arranged, and still maintains order in the
universe," bears also " some remote inconceivable
analogy to the other operations of nature, and among
the rest, to the economy of human nature and thought." ^
In respect of moral attributes — if such can be spoken
of at all — this " principle " is at a still greater remove
from man.* Moreover, this belief in Deity, such as it
is, is entirely otiose. It is not allowed, any more than
the idle belief of the Epicurean in his gods, to havaany
influence on affection or conduct. It excludes prayer.
As Hume succinctly summed it up in his letter on
Dr. Leechman's sermon, the religion of the rational

- Huxley observes : "Hume's theism, sucli as it is, dissolves away in
the dialectic river, until nothing is left but the verbal sack in which it
was contained" {Tfumc, p, 1-16).

2 Works, ii. pp. 627-8. ^ Ibid. ii. p. 52S. * Ibul; cf. p. 502.

ESSAY ON MIRACLES 209

man is confined to "the practice of morality, and the
assent of the understanding to the proposition that God
exists" ^ Here Hume drew the line for himself, with a
large mark of interrogation behind.

Hume's task, however, was not yet finished. On the
basis of reasonings like the above, the fate of historical
revelation was no longer doubtful. Since, however,
in that age, belief in revelation was supposed to be
supported chiefly by the evidence of miracles, it re-
mained for Hume, as the culmination of his philo-
sophical undertaking, to subvert efiectually that reputed
foundation of the Christian religion. This is the work
he takes in hand in the most famous of all his sceptical
writir _js — the Essay on Miracles. It has been seen
in an earlier chapter how the idea of the Essay
originated.^ Hume himself, with that complacency
which never failed him when judging of his own
performances, regarded its reasonings as absolutely
fatal to the belief assailed.

" I flatter myself," he says, " that I have discovered
an argument of like nature [to that of Tillotson against
transubstantiation], which, if just, will, with the wise
and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of
superstitious delusion, and consequently will be useful
as long as the world endures ; for so long, I presume,
will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be found in
all history, sacred and profane." ^

^ Burton, i. p. 162. See above, p. 37. ^ See above, p. 26.

^ Works, iv. p. 125. Hume's argument was reviewed by La Place,
the French astronomer, in his Sitr les Probabilities, and was supported
by an elaborate criticism in the Edinburgh Review (No. 46), universally
attributed to Professor Leslie. The most noted of the many replies was
that of Dr. Campbell of Aberdeen. His Dissertation on Miracles (see
above, p. 61) is an acute and well-reasoned production.

14 .

2IO DAVID HUME

Notwithstanding this preUminary flourish of trumpets,
it is not difficult to show that this celebrated argument
of Hume's, in the form in which he presents it, is httle
better than an elaborate sophism. Its essence may be
said to be contained in the two following propositions : —

" 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
nature of the case, is as entire as any argument from
experience can possibly be imagined." ^

" No testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle
unless this testimony be of such a kind that its false-
hood would be more miraculous than the fact which it
endeavours to establish." ^

Something might be said in limine on the definition
of a miracle as a " violation " of the laws of nature,
and on the manifest inconsistency of the reasoning
with Hume's own account of the origin of our belief in
the uniformity of nature. How can a behef which is
simply a product of custom — of subjective association
of our ideas — be set up as a bar against any number of
" violations " of the ordinary course of nature ? To
make good his contention, Hume would have to show
that the power of custom was so strong that what he
calls a " violation " of the laws of nature was not even
conceivable, or at least believable, by us. But then his
argument would not have been needed, and would have
been stultified by his own admission that " stccounts of
miracles and prodigies " are found in all history,^

^ Works, iv. p. 130. ^ Ibid. iv. p. 131.

^ Part of Hume's argumout agaiust Theism in the Dialog^ies is that
Deity might have prevented the evils flowing from "general laws "by
means of "particular volitions" (Works, ii. p. 511).

MIRACLE AND NATURAL LAW 211

More important is the objection that, taken on its
own merits, the argument is a glaring begging of
the question. " A firm and unalterable experience,"
Hume says, " has established these laws." Even this,
it may be remarked in passing, is an erroneous state-
ment. Belief in a law of nature does not, as a rule,
rest on any such induction from universal experience.
How, if it did, could the " firm and unalterable experi-
ence " ever be proved ? Many laws are quite recent
discoveries, and rest on a very few observed instances.
A few crucial experiments in a laboratory may establish
the existence of a law to the satisfaction of all thinking
men. Besides, as has often been pointed out, in this
way of putting it, there can be no proper contrast
between " experience " and " testimony," or room for
the mathematical weighing of the one against the
other. All the experience we have on this or any
similar point, except our own, is testimony — only
reaches us through testimony.

Two things may be supposed to be covered by
Hume's statement that " a firm and unalterable experi-
ence has established" the laws of nature. It may
mean (1) that experience has established that there are
laws of nature; or (2) that experience has established
that no events ever take ijlace in " violation " of these
laws. On either supposition the reasoning must be
pronounced fallacious. No one questions that there
are laws of nature ; the strength of the argument must
lie, therefore, in the assertion that "firm and unalter-
able experience " has established that none but natural
causes have ever been concerned in the production of
events — that natural laws, in Hume's phrase, have
never been " violated." But this is very manifestly

212 DAVID HUME

the begging of the very point at issue. For the
assertion of a miracle is precisely the assertion that
this has not been the universal experience. The " firm
and unalterable experience " can only be gained by
discrediting beforehand all testimony to miracle; by
refusing it a hearing. " It is a miracle," Hume says,
" that a dead man should ever come to life, because that
has never been observed in any age or country." ^ But
then, has it not ? That is the very question to be
answered. There is no need for going through the
form of an argument, if the whole matter is to be taken
for granted at the outset. Better say at once with Mr.
Arnold — '' Miracles do not happen " ^--and leave it so.

Mr. J. S. Mill is conscious of this weakness of
Hume's argument, and seeks to avoid some of these
objections by giving it a new turn. He interprets
it to mean simply that no testimony can ever prevail
against a complete induction.^ This is not the shape
that Hume himself gave it ; but even so, it is inter-
esting to observe that Mr. Mill does not admit its
cogency. The assertion of a miracle, he concedes,
contradicts nothing which the experience of mankiud
has "firmly and unalterably established." His own
words are worth quoting. " In order that any alleged
fact," he says, " should be contradictory to a law of
causation, the allegation must be, not simply that the
cause existed without being followed by the effect,
for that would be no uncommon occurrence ; but that
this happened in the absence of any adequate counter-
acting cause. Now, in the case of an alleged miracle,
the assertion is the exact opposite of this. It is, that

^ Works, iv. j). 130. - Preface to LUcraturc and Dopim (1883).

^ Logic, ii. p. 151.

J. S. MILL ON MIRACLE 213

the effect was defeated, not in the absence, but in
consequence of a counteracting cause, namely, a direct
interposition of an act of the will of some being who
has power over nature ; and in particular of a Being,
whose will being assumed to have endowed all the
causes with the powers by Avhich they produce their
effects, may well be supposed able to counteract them.
... Of the adequacy of that cause, if present, there
can be no doubt; and the only antecedent improb-
ability which can be ascribed to the miracle is the
improbability that any such cause existed."^

What real cogency Hume's argument possesses does
not lie in these logical subtleties, based on an assumed
"firm and unalterable experience," but in the other
direction of the strong antecedent improbability of
deviations from the known course of nature, as com-
pared with the admitted fallibility of human testi-
mony. Every one recognises that the presumption
against a really miraculous event is so strong as, in
ordinary circumstances, to be practically insuperable.
As Hume argues, the course of nature is uniform,
while human testimony is notoriously fallible. How,
then, shall the one ever be successfully pitted against
the other ? The simply unusual is frequently dis-
credited on this ground, often with an excess of scepti-
cism ; 2 how much more the positively miraculous ?
Even here, however, it may be shown that Hume

^ Logic, pp. 161-2. Cf. Brown in Cause and Effect (notes A and F) :
"A miracle is no contradiction of the law of cause and effect ; it is a
new effect supposed to be produced by the introduction of a new
cause."

^ Cf. Hume's case of the Indian prince (from Locke) refusing to
believe in water freezing because he had never seen it ("Works, iv.
p. 129).

214 DAVID HUME

pushes his argument beyond its due bounds. The
improbability in question is felt when the circum-
stances are ordinary; but what if they are extra-
ordinary ? Hume assumes that the presumption
against a miracle must always be practically infinite.
But everything here depends on circumstances. It is
quite conceivable that the circumstances may be such
as not only to create no antecedent presumption against
the miracle, but to yield a strong presumption for it.
A miracle, that is, can never be treated as a whoUy
isolated event. If it is, the presumption against it
will be invariably strong. If the miracle, in addition
to being sporadic, is frivolous or absurd, as, e.g., in
the case of Mr. Arnold's prodigy of the pen being
turned into a pen-wiper/ or Professor Huxley's centaur
trotting down the street,^ it may be summarily dis-
missed from consideration. Where, on the other hand,
the miracle is not isolated, but stands in a context
which renders it rational and credible, the case is widely
altered. Given, e.g., — to state the Christian position
— such a Person as Jesus Christ declared Himself to
be, the miracles that are attributed to Him become
in the highest degree natural — events to be expected
from such an One. Given, again, a great scheme of
divine revelation, extending through many ages,
in successive historical dispensations, it is in itself
anything but incredible that miracles should have been
employed in the founding of these dispensations, or
in connection with them. Even in nature, it can be
argued, the founding of a new kingdom, or rise from
a lower to a higher — as at the introduction of life —
cannot well be construed without something analogous
1 Lit. and Dogma, i\ 95 (1883). ^ s'umc, p. 134.

MIRACLE AND TESTIMONY 215

to miracle. This is a class of considerations of which
Hume takes no account — perhaps was incapable of
appreciating.

But Hume shows himself equally in error in unduly
belittling the force of the testimony for miracle. Here,
as in the other case, everything depends on circum-
stances. Human testimony may generally be very
faulty ; but there are instances in which testimony is
given by such persons, of such character, and under
such conditions, that it would do more violence to
reason wholly to reject, than it would do to accept,
their witness. Testimony is not to be measured by
the mathematical rules of which Hume is so fond —
so many instances for the general rule, so many for
this particular exception to it. There is not neces-
sarily any real contradiction between the two sets
of experiences. Contradiction can only arise where,
of two persons on the spot, one affirms and the other
denies. When the two conditions which have been
mentioned coincide : (1) a presumption in the nature of
the case, not against, but for the miracle ; and (2) the
testimony of reliable witnesses, in cases where the
matter is one on which they are plainly competent
to judge, the evidence for miracle, instead of being
weak, may be very strong indeed.^

It may be noted as a last criticism on Hume's argu-
ment, that it narrows down the testimony for miracles
too exclusively to individual testimony. It is over-

^ On the parallels which Hume draws in his Essay hetween the
miracles at the tomb of the Abb6 de Paris and the Christian miracles,
the reader had better suspend his judgment till he has studied the
real facts about the former, as brought out by Campbell, Leland, and
others, in their respective replies to Hume.

2i6 DAVID HUME

looked that miracle may be verifiable on the large
scale as well as on the small, so that it may some-
times be easier to establish the supernatural character
of a general system, than to verify all the particular
miracles connected with it as parts or corollaries. Even
as respects testimony, the individual form is far from
being the only, or always, even, the most important
one. There is, e.g., such a thing as the testimony of
the collective or national consciousness, which may
retain the memory of great events, where individual
witnesses can no longer be identified ; or, as in Chris-
tianity, the witness of the consciousness of the his-
toric Church to the great facts connected with its
origin. But this class of considerations, again, is quite
foreign to the mode of thought of our author, who,
confident of having destroyed the defences of revealed
religion, closes with great satisfaction in his usual
strain of satire : —

" So that, upon the whole, we may conclude that
the Christian Religimi not only was at filrst 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 who-
ever is moved by Faith to assent to it is conscious
of a continued miracle in his o^^^l person, which sub-
verts all the principles of his understanding, and gives
him a determination to believe what is most contrary
to custom and experience." ^

1 Works, iv. p. 150.

CHAPTER XI

Hume's Miscellaneous Writings: Political
Economy — Hume as Historian

Under the heading of "Miscellaneous Writings," we
have in view chiefly the Essays Moral and Political,
originally published in 1741-2 (changes and additions
after), and the Political Discourses, which appeared
first in 1752 — the whole subsequently comprised under
Essays and Treatises on severed Subjects} The Essays
were Hume's first popular writings, and in the main
deserved their popularity. They are written with
excellent taste and finish, and, though by no means
the most important part of Hume's contribution to
literature, are nearly always learned, thoughtful, and
suggestive. As already told, they were commenced
with a view to weekly publication on the model of
the Spectator and the Craftsman,^ and affect the easy,
natural treatment proper to that class of composition.
Dividing the " elegant part of mankind " into " the
learned and the conversible," Hume describes himself
as a " kind of ambassador " whose mission it is to pro-
mote a good correspondence between the two States.^
He accepts Addison's definition of fine writing as con-

^ On the history of the Editions, see Appendix.

2 See above, p. 36. ^ «' Of Essay Writing," Works, iv. p. 519.

217

2i8 DAVID HUME

sisting of sentiments which are natural, without being
obvious ; ^ and sets it before him as his aim to earn
that distinction for his own performances. Save, how-
ever, for some papers of the slighter sort, afterwards
dropped, the Essays are of too solid and durable a
quality to be well adapted for the purposes of mere
" polite " recreation. Even the abstrusest of them is
marked by the utmost literary care. No one who
reads the papers on " Delicacy of Taste," on " Elo-
quence," on "Simplicity and Refinement in Writing,"
will doubt that Hume had bestowed great pains on the
study of style, and on the canons of literary excellence
generally, and that, however curiously awry some of
his own critical judgments unquestionably were, he
entertained on the whole very correct views on these
subjects. The Essay on " The Standard of Taste," in
particular (later in date than the others), is in its way
a model of fine "vrating on a purely literary theme. It
abounds in just and discriminating observations, and
manifests on every page the author's own refinement
of judgment and delicacy of taste. A favourite method
of Hume in the Essays is to lay down his thesis in the
form of a paradox, bringing up first all that can be
said against it, then proceeding to explain, illustrate,
and defend his own position.

One incidental advantage of the Essays is that they
frequently afford interesting side-lights on Hume's
opinions in regard to subjects other than those of
which the Essay directly treats. The " abstruse philo-
sophy " is now, indeed, left wholly behind. " Impres-
sions and ideas " have disappeared, and we stand on
the broad ground of common humanity. The trans-
^ "Of Simplicity aud Refinement," "Works, iii. p. 211.

HUME'S POLITICAL VIEWS 219

formation is so curious that the reflective reader can
hardly help sometimes being amused by it. No longer
are causes and effects arbitrary conjunctions of pheno-
mena, but " effects will always correspond to causes," ^
and the rational connection between the two is so clearly
seen, that effect may be deduced from cause with per-
fect certainty. The principles from which the author
reasons are no longer precarious subjective assumptions,
but " eternal and immutable truths." E.g. : —

"So great is the force of laws, and of particular
forms of government, and so little dependence have
they on the humours and tempers of men, that conse-
quences almost as general and certain may sometimes
be deduced from them as anytliing which the mathe-
matical sciences afford us."

The " inconveniences " of an elective monarchy are
" such as are founded on causes and principles eternal
and immutable."

" An observation of Machiavel . . . which, I think,
may be regarded as one of those eternal political truths
which no time nor accidents can vary." ^

A special interest attaches to the " political " Essays,
as showing how Hume's mind, even at this early date,
was working forward to his great History. Most of
the principles of the History, in fact, are already here
in nuce. There is already the evidence of extensive
reading in the history of the past, of keen powers of
observation, of accurate comparison of forms of political
government, of the habit of mind that is not content
till it has traced eflfects to their causes, and particular
facts to the general principles that explain them.

1 "Works, iii. p. 20.

2 On "Politics a Science," "Works, iii. pp. 12, 14, 18.

220 DAVID HUME

There is the same wide knowledge of human nature,
and interest in its workings, as in the History ; the
same philosophic impartiality, or affectation of it ; the
same inability to comprehend the profounder springs
of human action ; the same intense antipathy to
" priesthood " and '' fanaticism." In one of his letters
he says of the Essay on the Protestant Succession : " I
treat that subject as coolly and indifferently as I would
the dispute between Csesar and Pompey." ^ His views
on the general principles of government, and the
workings of different constitutions, are based on a
wide induction from Greek and Roman, Venetian,
Italian, French, and other forms of rule, and are fre-
quently marked by shrewd insight. His own judgment
is in favour of such a balance of the constitution as
existed in England — a " mixed monarchy," \d\h. a
hereditary ruler — though from the first there is all too
favourable an estimate of the effects of despotism.

"It may, therefore, be pronounced," he says, "as an
universal axiom in politics, That an hereditary prince,
a nobility ivithoiit vassals, and a people voting by their
representatives, form the best Monarchy, Aristocracy,
and Democracy." 2 Yet, while not unfriendly to a
republic in the abstract, he avows : —

" I would frankly declare that, though liberty be
preferable to slavery, in almost every case, yet I should
rather wish to see an absolute monarch than a republic
in this Island." ^

One thing wliich unduly biassed Hume in favour of
absolutism was what he took to be the peculiar success
of that form of monarchy in France.^ Though not blind

^ Burton, i. p. 239. - "Works, iii. p. 15.

3 Ibid. iii. p. 52. ^ Hid. iii. pp, 98, 102.

GROWING CONSERVATISM 221

to the evils of oppressive taxation in that country, he
had not the dimmest perception of the terrible cata-
strophe that was preparing beneath the brilhant sur-
face he beheld, and thought the mischiefs could be
remedied by a better system of finance.^ He was
strangely insensible to the evils of even such a govern-
ment as that of Turkey, and had a high opinion of
the " integrity, gravity, and bravery " of the Turkish
people ; *' a candid, sincere people," he calls them.^

Yet there is a difference between the earlier and the
later Hume on this point of attachment to political
liberty, though it must be owned that the distinction
is at best a relative one. When Hume first wrote, the
English Revolution was not far behind, and the Crown
had long been dependent on Whig support. But
change was impending, and, while Hume's sympathies
were in the main with freedom, he took up, from his
philosophic standpoint, a very detached attitude to
parties in general. He says of his Essay on the
Protestant Succession, "The conclusion shows me a
Whig, but a very sceptical one." ^ Walpole, the head
of the party, had been in power for well-nigh a genera-
tion, and, in an Essay which he wrote on that statesman,
(afterwards reduced to a note), Hume showed that he
had formed by no means too flattering a judgment on
his character and administration. " During his time,"
he says, "trade has flourished, liberty declined, and
learning gone to ruin. As I am a man, I love him ; as
I am a scholar, I hate him ; as I am a Briton, I calmly
wish his fall." ^ Probably the most genuine evidence
of his interest in freedom is his defence (still how far

1 Works, iii. p. 103. ^ jj^vz. iii. pp. 225, 232.

3 Burton, i. p. 239. •* Works, iii. p. 27.

222 DAVID HUME

from the elevated note of Milton !) of the liberty of the
press in his Essay on that subject in the earlier editions.
In the course of the discussion he says : —

" It has also been proved, as the experience of man-
kind increases, that the people are no such dangerous
monsters as they have been represented, and that it is
in every respect better to guide them like rational
creatures than to lead or drive them like brute beasts."^

But it is significant that the passages containing
these liberal sentiments were subsequently expunged ;
and at the close of his Essay on Parties in Great
Britain he made a yet more general retractation.
" Some of the opinions in these Essays" he writes,
" with regard to the public transactions in the last
century, the author, on more accurate examination,
found occasion to retract in his History of Great
Britain. . . . Nor is he ashamed to acknowledge his
mistakes. These mistakes were, indeed, at that time,
almost universal in that kingdom."^

Of all Hume's Essays, hoAvever, the most impoiiant
are unquestionably those originally published under
the title of Political Discourses. In the present state
of economical science, indeed, the Essaj^s contain
scarcely anything which we may not find much better
stated elsewhere ; but in a historical respect, they form
a link in the development of that science of no mean
importance. " The Political Discourses of Mr. Hume,"
says Dugald Stewart, in his life of Adam Smith, " were
certainly of greater use to Mr. Smith than any other
book that had appeared prior to his Lectures." Adam
Smith, strangely enough, does not take much direct
notice of Hume in the Wealth of Nations, but the

1 Works, iii. p. 10. 2 j^^^ ^jj^ p_ ^g^

HUME AS ECONOMIST 223

careful reader will easily discern Hume's influence, and
will observe that, incidentally, there are few of Hume's
speculations which are not taken up, and carefully con-
sidered. In this connection, the Essays on " Money,"
"Interest," "The Balance of Trade," "The Jealousy of
Trade," "Taxes," and "Public Credit," are the most
important. The spirit in all these papers is identical
with that of the Wealth of Nations. In the very first
sentence of the Essay on Money, e.g., we have the
key-note of Smith's epoch-making work :~

" Money is not, properly speaking, one of the subjects
of commerce. ... It is indeed evident that money is
nothing but the representation of labour and com-
modities, and serves only as a means of rating or
estimating them."^

Hence the folly, Hume goes on to show, of supposing,
as had been done by nearly all European nations, that
the real wealth of a country could be increased by the
mere increase of its gold and silver. This is exactly
the error which, under the name of " The Mercantile
System," Adam Smith spends his strength in combat-
ing, sometimes in language that might seem almost an
echo of Hume's own. On certain minor points, indeed,
he differs from Hume ; for instance, on the question
whether, even in the case of war, or of any negotiations
with a foreign power, an abundance of the precious
metals is, as Hume supposes, any real advantage. But
in regard to main principles, the two are perfectly
at one. So, again, on the question of Commerce and
Free Trade, Hume shows unanswerably, as Smith did
more fully after him, that no policy can ever be whole-
some which attempts to place restraints either on

1 Works, iii. p. 309.

224 DAVID HUME

home manufacture or on foreign commerce. He main-
tains the thesis that the tendency of industry, arts, and
trades is to increase the power of the sovereign, as
well as the happiness of the subject. The true policy
of any country, therefore, must ever be to encourage
trade and manufacture, as bringing commodities into
the market, and into contact with the circulating
specie. As in the former case, there are parts of
Hume's exposition to which well-grounded exception
may be taken ; but, on the whole, his defence of the prin-
ciple of unrestricted competition will bear comparison
with that of his more illustrious successor. It is
strange that with such clear views of the fallacies
involved in the idea of a " Balance of Trade," Hume
should have remained so enamoured a^s he was of the
idea of a " Balance of Power " in politics. He regarded
this as " a secret in politics fully known only to the
present age," ^ and devoted an Essay to the discussion
of the question, " Whether the idea of the balance of
power be owing entirely to modern policy, or whether
the phrase only has been invented in these later ages." ^
He was not, withal, insensible to the fact that the prin-
ciple had been pushed much too far in the politics of
his time.^ In certain other respects, as in his idea that
a tax on German linen " encourages home manufactm^es
and thereby multiplies our people and industry," and
that a tax on brandy " increases the sale of rum, and
supports our foreign colonies," * he is clearly in incon-
sistency with his own principles. It is chiefly, how-
ever, on the subject of bank credit, paper-currency,
and related topics, tliat his views, though ingeniously

1 Works, iii. p. 100. " Ihid. iii. p. 364.

5 Ibid. iii. p. ;"!71. ■* Jbkl iii. p. 356.

HUME AS HISTORIAN 225

explained and defended, are out of accord with those of
modern economists, and have been most convincingly
refuted by experience.^ Hume was unduly influenced
by the dread of " banishing " the precious metals from
the country ; a fear from which, again, his own reason-
ings might have saved him. But he confesses that the
subject is "extremely complicated," and states fairly
enough the advantages of the system he opposes.^

The originality of the economical speculations of
Hume will hardly be questioned. He had few pre-
decessors in England,^ and the French economists,
Quesnay, Turgot, and others of their school, had not
yet written. In fact, a powerful influence of Hume
may be traced in these authors, as well as in Adam
Smith.^ The Discourses were early translated into
French, and Turgot himself produced a translation of
several of them.

It remains now to speak of Hume in that depart-
ment of his work in which his fame culminated,
viz., as historian.

A truly great History is a work of art. Lord
Macaulay represents history as occupying the border
land between reason and imagination, and therefore as
coming partly under the jurisdiction of both. The
solid qualities of the historian — learning, veracity,
sound sense — are all important; but he fails in the
higher department of his work if he cannot, in addition,
throw over the details of his narration the fresh
interest and warm glow of imagination ; if he cannot

1 Works, iii. pp. 311, 347 ff. - Ibid. iii. p. 349.

* Dugald Stewart has a note on some of these in his Life of Adam
Smith.

* Cf. Burton, i. p. 365, and Dugald Stewart's Life of Adam Smith.

15

226 DAVID HUME

combine vivid and picturesque description of situations
and incidents, with the philosophical exhibition of the
course and connection of events. It was in these
higher qualities of historical presentation that Hume
showed himself a master. His History, as we shall
immediately see, was far from perfect; abounded
indeed in faults. But its excellences were also con-
spicuous. Gibbon declared that its ease and grace
filled him " with a mixed sensation of delight and
despair." ^ Hume has the rare art of presenting the
circumstances of a long and complicated train of events
in such a light that the art is liidden by the apparent
naturalness of the arrangement. Few have excelled
him in the picturesque and vivid grouping of details,
and in the combination of elaborate description with
clearness, simplicity, and ease. He has the eye of the
artist for the things that contribute to dramatic effect ;
and when he finds a subject suited to his pen, as, for
instance, the Gunpowder Conspiracy, or the meeting of
the Long Parliament, or the trial of King Charles, or,
on another plane, such a chapter of court scandal as the
rise and amours of Somerset, he extends his canvas,
and lingers to produce a picture which shall at once fill
the mind and captivate the imagination. As in his
other writings, so here, he makes skilful use of the
principle of contrast ; in a complex case, e.g.y setting
forth first the reasons of one side, then those of the
other, and finally summing up as the impartial spec-
tator.^ Beyond all, the History is characterised by the
presence of a subtle yet unobtrusive vein of reflection,

^ Autdbiograj'iJiy.

^ As examples, the chapters on the Gunpowder Plot and on the
Petition of Eights may he compared.

MERITS AND FAULTS OF HISTORY 227

which makes it in many parts a model of what
"reflective" history ought to be. Hume's temper,
commonly, is so even, his judgment so calm, in all
matters where his own prejudices are not involved
(unfortunately a serious qualification), that it would be
a misfortune if, with all its faults, his History should
ever be allowed to be forgotten. It was the first really
great History of which our language could boast, and
there are critics who doubt whether, in certain respects,
it is not the best still.

The faults of the work, however, are equally mani-
fest. They are such faults as were inevitable in any
History proceeding from the mind of Hume. One
must try, of course, to be scrupulously just to the
author even here. If Hume took the side of arbitrary
power to an extent which jars upon our sense of jus-
tice and impartiality, it may be allowed that he did so,
not because he sympathised with tyranny as such, but
because, in the circumstances, that seemed to him the
side of order. His natural dislike of all turbulence and
fanaticism operated strongly to prejudice him against
the popular party in the nation, as well as against the
principles with which that party was identified. A
popular cause can never be altogether separated from
inflamed passions, unreasonable excesses, extravagant
demands, and misguided zeal. These abuses a calm
and enlightened historian ought to have been able to
distinguish from the true merits of the case. But
Hume looked mainly to the faults. His high apprecia-
tion of the interests of learning and literature threw a
powerful weight into the scale of the party possessed
of the greatest education, politeness, and refinement.
Still, after every allowance for the colour which must

228 DAVID HUME

be given to every historian's narrative by the peculiar
lights of his own mind, it is impossible to acquit Hume
of making an unfair and careless use of his materials.
Hallam, the model of a temperate and impartial his-
torian, is compelled at times to speak in the strongest
terms of his unreliability. Macaulay is himself far
from blameless in the matter of bias, but his estimate
of Hume can scarcely be accused of exaggeration.
" Hume," he says, " is an accomplished advocate.
Without positively asserting much more than he can
prove, he gives prominence to all the circumstances
which support his case; he glides lightly over those
wliich are unfavourable to it ; his own witnesses are
applauded and encouraged ; the statements which seem
to throw discredit on them are contradicted ; the con-
tradictions into which they fall are explained away ; a
clear and connected abstract of their evidence is given.
Everything that is offered on the other side is
scrutinised with the utmost severity ; every suspicious
circumstance is a ground for comment and invective ;
what cannot be denied or extenuated is passed by
without notice ; concessions even are sometimes made ;
but the insidious candour only increases the effect of
the vast mass of sophistry." ^

The History was conceived and written, as Hmne
himself indicates, with a very definite purpose, viz., to
correct what he supposed to be the " misrepresenta-
tions of factions " in connection with the reigns of the
Stuarts.^ Mr. Maurice has, we think, not imjustly
connected this design of Hume's with the spirit of the
so-called " Philosophical History " at that time in vogue

^ On History, Mis. JFn'liuga, p. 154.
- My Oivn Life.

SPIRIT OF THE HISTORY 229

in France under the auspices of Voltaire.^ History
was to be made a popular and interesting medium for
diffusing the principles of that " easy and obvious "
philosophy, of which the essence was the absence of
every high and ideal aim. The past was to be made
to speak, as far as possible, the thoughts, the feelings,
the temper of the present. Everything that might
interfere with that temper — the belief in God, in
providence, in eternal destiny — was to be skilfully
extracted, and in this way the reader was to be trained
to regard every attempt to rise above the sphere with
which he was habitually conversant, as extravagant
and ridiculous. Hume need not, indeed, be supposed to
have formed any deliberate design of introducing these
French modes of thought and literature into Scotland.
It is asserted only that his History is strongly imbued
with the same spirit and tendency. His mind was
naturally disposed in this direction ; the contagion was
in the air, and he naturally caught the prevailing
distemper.

The History, we saw,'^ was commenced in 1752,
after Hume had been appointed Librarian to the
Faculty of Advocates in Edinburgh. The influences
already noticed had not a little to do with his choice
of the accession of the House of Stuart as the starting-
point of his undertaking. Then commenced in Britain,
not merely the grand struggle between court and
country, but also what Maurice calls "the great theo-
cratical conflict " for religious principle and liberty of
conscience. The fullest admission may be made of
the grave faults, the uncultured narrowness, the mani-
festations of bigotry, which may frequently be charged
1 Mod, Phil,, ch. ix. ^ See above, pp. 50 ff.

230 DAVID HUME

against both English Puritans and Scotch Covenanters,
though it is easily possible here to exaggerate. But
what is inexcusable is that one should be indifferent to
the higher meaning of these struggles, out of which
have sprung nearly all our modern civil and religious
rights and privileges. Hume himself, in a passage
which is retained to the last edition, remarks on the
Puritans, most inconsistently, indeed, with other parts
of hLs work : " The precious spark of liberty had been
kindled, and was preserved by the Puritans alone ; it
was to this sect, whose principles appear so frivolous,
and their habits so ridiculous, that the English owe
the whole freedom of their constitution." ^ If this was
so, what is to be said of the historian who, in the same
and in earlier volumes, condemns all, or nearly all,
their important acts in the struggle for freedom, and
as warmly espouses the cause of their opponents ? For
this is what Hume did. Throughout he was a zealous
defender of the royal prerogative against the party
identified with religion and constitutional liberty.
Wliatever evils may be supposed to attend an absolute
monarchy, and he does not pretend to ignore them,
they are not, in his judgment, comparable to the far
worse evils which spring from anarchy and faction.
And the chief source of anarchy and faction, in Hume's
view, was religion, or, as he prefers to name it, " en-
thusiasm." The spirit of English freedom he believed
to be inseparably associated in its progress with
religious fanaticism and bigotry, and this was sufficient
to condemn it in his eyes. His philosophical preference
for freedom did not avail to overcome his repugnance
to the persons and parties identified with its cause;

' Ch. xl. {Hist. V. p. 183).

PARTIALITY OF HUME 231

while it permitted him to look with great placidity
on the usurpations, tyrannies, and persecutions of the
rulers who sought to crush it, and to find palliations
and excuses for their worst acts.

The general course of the publication of the History ^
and the character of the reception it met with from the
public, have been described in a previous chapter. The
first volume, published in 1754, narrates, as was seen,
the struggle for civil and religious liberty, from the
accession of James up to the execution of Charles I.
Here, most of all, the critics found reason to complain
of Hume's strong spirit of partisanship, his unjustifi-
able bias, and his general untrustworthiness as an
authority. In this volume his Tory leanings are
extreme. He admits in numerous passages that
liberty was being justly contended for, and maintains
a certain appearance of partiality by blaming particu-
lar acts of James or Charles, or their instruments.
But with little qualification he takes the side of the
monarch, even in his most arbitrary exercises of
power. He might be acting wrongly, but it is Hume's
habitual contention that he had ancient or more recent
precedents to justify him.^ Whatever incidental con-
cessions may be made, therefore, the scale, in nearly
every instance of unconstitutional action, is caused to
turn heavily against the opponents. It was not neces-
sary that Hume should pretend — nor did he — that the
Court of High Commission or the Star Chamber were
salutary institutions ; or that Hampden was not justi-
fied in his resistance to ship-money; or that Laud's

1 Eist. vi. p. 52 ; cf. pp. 160 £F. The illusory character of many of
these alleged precedents has been repeatedly shown (by Brodie, Hallam,
and others).

232 DAVID HUME

character and policy were commendable ; or that
Charles acted wisely in his dealings with the Scots.
But it was open to him to produce the same impression
by subtler methods. When, for instance, the above-
named engines of tyranny, the Court of High Com-
mission and the Star Chamber, are represented as
old and accredited instruments of justice,^ and their
victims are turned into ridicule as fanatics who got
little more than they deserved ; ^ when the King's
arbitrary impositions are bolstered up by precedents,^
and it is declared that " the grievances under which
the English laboured," considered in themselves,
" scarcely deserve the name " ; * when Hampden, not-
withstanding his acknowledged virtues, is denied " the
praises of a good citizen " ; ^ when Strafford is vindi-
cated in his policy of " Thorough," ® and Laud is
apologised for, his offences minimised, and his memory
hallowed ; ^ when the Covenanters are scoffed at for
their fury against " the mild, the humane Charles, with
his inoffensive liturgy," ^ and their grievances are
roundly declared to be " imaginary," ® — it is not easy to
distinguish the result upon the mind from that of
direct approval of the obnoxious measures. The Puri-
tans are, of course, Hume's pet aversion, and the
smallest possible allowance of respect is meted out to
them.^** They are seldom alluded to without some term
of opprobrium being applied to them ; their scruples
about ceremonies are jeered at;^^ if they are called

1 Hist. vi. pp. 160, 307, etc. = ^^g^^ ,/j;-^_ yi, pp^ 295, 299.

3 Cf. ibid. vi. p. 5'J. •* Ibid. vi. p. 319.

^ Ibid. vi. p. 521. *^ Ibid. vi. p. 418.

■^ Ibid. vii. p. 42. « Ibid, vi. p. 330.

y Ibid, vi. p. 348. i" Of. ibid, vi. pp. 11. 13, S5.
" Ibid. vii. pp. 13, 19, 203, 303.

SUPPORT OF DESPOTISM 233

to suffer for their opinions, it is well if a spice of
mockery is not thrown into the description — always
unsympathetic — of their sufferings.^ They are gloomy,
unreasonable, fanatical, hypocritical zealots ; and while,
in the character finally given of him, Charles, as man
and ruler, is pictured as a model of all the virtues,^
Cromwell, as we saw, is branded on his first appear-
ance as " this fanatical hypocrite." ^

It is scarcely to be wondered at that, as Hume tells
us, this first volume was assailed on its appearance by
a universal cry of disapprobation. The second volume,
issued in 1756, covered the period from the death of
Charles i. till the Revolution. It was, as before shown,
better received. There was probably less room for the
intrusion of the historian's offensive sentiments in this
period; but it will be difficult entirely to exculpate
Hume from deliberately toning down his work, and
bating his breath, to secure for his book a more favour-
able reception. In this volume, too, a long note was
inserted for the express purpose of explaining away
the more violent and offensive statements in Vol. i.
This was subsequently cancelled, and numerous altera-
tions were made in later editions, all on the Tory side.
Then, in 1759, appeared the third and fourth volumes,
comprising the history of the House of Tudor. Por-
tions of these volumes, especially in the reign of
Elizabeth, contain some remarkably strong historical
writing ; but it is universally conceded that his desire
to justify the actions of Charles I. led him, in this
earlier period, to represent the Royal prerogative under
the Tudors as much greater and more absolute than

1 Cf. as above, vi. pp. 295, 299, etc.

2 Hist. vii. p, 150.. ^ Ibid, vi. p. 274,

234 DAVID HUME

the facts will warrant. He had committed himself to
an indefensible thesis, and was obviously shackled
throughout. After this the work became more a
matter of drudgery and profit than of inclination.
What interest had the philosophical historian in
" skirmishes of kites or crows," ^ or in the doings and
institutions of a people only emerging out of bar-
barism ? Apart from the pleasingness of the style,
therefore, Hume's account of the Anglo-Saxon and
succeeding early periods presents little that is of
permanent value to the student.

It is hardly necessary to speak of the influence
which, as historian, Hume has exerted on our litera-
ture. For long his History was the standard book on
the periods of which it treats. It entered largely into
school instruction, and in this and more direct ways
helped to form opinions and establish prejudices which
in some instances have lasted to our own generation.
Expurgated editions of it were produced for the use
of " Christians." '^ Hosts of replies were published on
the appearance of the several volumes, controverting
what were thought to be their main misrepresentations.
Most of its important errors have been pointed out
by critics and historians since Hume's day — by none
more fairly than by Mr. Hallam. But the History
of Hume stills stands alongside of those of his con-

^ HisL i. p. 28.

2 One such, published in 1816, heai-s the title — "Hume's History of
England, Revised for Family Use, with such Omissions and Altera-
tions as may render it Salutary to the Young, and unexceptionable to
the Christian. Dedicated by Permission to the Right Rev. the Lord
Bishop of Rochester, By the Rev. George Berkeley Mitchell, A.M.,
Vicar of St. Mary, in Leicester, etc. In Eight Vols." [The Alterations
have only reference to the Church of England.]

CONCLUSION 23s

temporaries Robertson and Gibbon as a great work
of genius ; and probably no historian of England will
ever think himself properly equipped for his work
till he has made himself familiar with its page and
mastered the secret of its charm.

Our sketch may here close. No formal summing-
up of the character and abilities of Hume is necessary
after what has been said in the course of the foregoing
narrative, exposition, and comment. Enough if it has
been established that, for good or harm, Hume's
memory and influence are likely to abide with us
as long as our literature lasts.

APPENDIX

ON SOME EDITIOI^S OF HUME'S WORKS

[This Appendix is based partly on examination of the editions
themselves, partly on the lists of editions in Hume's Works
(A. & C. Black), vol. i., and in Green and Grose, vol. iii. pp.
85-6, with Mr. Grose's Hidoi^y of Editions. These are
checked by reference to Burton, etc.]

The Philosophical Works

The Treatise of Human Nature, Being an Attempt to
introduce the experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral
Subjects. Book 1. Of the Understanding. Book II. Of the
Passions. London, John Noon[e], 1739 (two vols.).

Do. Book III. Of Morals. With an Appendix wherein
some Passages of the foregoing volumes are illustrated and
explained, London, Thomas Longman, 1740.

The above were recast and popularised as under : —

Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding.
By the Author of the Essays, Moral and Political. London,
A. Millar (April), 1748. (Includes Essays on Miracles and
on A Particular Providence and a Future State.)

Do. Reprinted in I^ovember with the Author's Name
(Grose, iii. pp. 48-9).

Do. Second edition, with Additions and Corrections.

237

238 APPENDIX

London, A. Millar, 1750. [Publication delayed "because of
the eartliquakes," cf. Burton, i. p. 300.] Burton says it was
published by Millar in 1751. Grose omits tbis edition
(given in list in Black's vol. i.) and substitutes next.

Do. Second edition, with Additions and Corrections.
London, M. Cooper. [Thus Grose. Copy in Bodl. Same
edition transferred ?]

In the collected Essays (1758) the title of this work was
changed to An Enquiry concerning the Human Understanding^
by which it is generally known.

An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals. By David
Hume, Esq. London, A. Millar, 1751.

The above, with the other Essays of Hume, were finally
published under the general title of Essays and Treatises on
several Subjects (1753-4, 1758, etc. See below).

The Essays and Dissertations

The history of the editions of the Essays is intricate, hut
the main facts are these. We take in order the Essays
Moral and Political, the Political Discourses, and the Four
Dissertations.

1. Essays Moral and Political. Edinburgh, A. Kincaid,
1741.

Do. Second edition, corrected, 1742.

Do. Vol. ii., 1742.

Do. Third edition (one vol.), corrected, with Additions.
London, A. Millar; and Edinburgh, A. Kincaid, 1748.

As origmally published, vol. i. of this collection contained
15 Essays, and vol. ii. 12 Essays,— 27 in all, as compared
with the 23 that appear in Part I. of the Essays and Treatises,
in their final adjustment. The changes are accoimted for
as follows: (1) As many as 8 of the original Essays were
gradually dropped, or were never reprinted, reducmg the
number to 19. Thus, the Essays on Essay- Writing, on Moral

APPENDIX 239

Prejudices, and on the Middle Station in Life (in vol. ii.)
were never reprinted. Other three (in vol. i.), on Impudence
and Modesty, Love and Marriage, and the Study of History,
were dropped in 1764. The Essay on Avarice (vol. i.) was
dropped m 1770. Finally, the Essay on the Character of Sir
Robert Walpole (vol. ii.) was first reduced to a footnote in
1748, and was finally omitted in 1770. (2) To balance these
losses, three new Essays were added in 1748 (third edition),
viz., those on the Original Contract, on Passive Obedience,
and on National Characters [at first these were published
separately]. The two former, however, were subsequently
transferred to the Political Discourses, so that the gain thus
far is only one Essay. (3) The Essay on the Origin of Govern-
ment first appeared in the posthumous edition of 1777. (4)
It will be seen below that two of the pieces originally published
as Dissertations, viz., those on Tragedy and on The Standard
of Taste, were in 1758 incorporated in Part I. of the " Essays,
Moral, Political, and Literary." This total addition of 4
Essays brmgs up the number from 19 to the existing 23.

2. Political Discourses. By David Hume, Esq. Edin-
burgh, A. Kincaid and A. Donaldson, 1752. [Misprint in
Grose of ''Gent. Mafj. Feb. 1742" for 1752.]

The volume as published in 1752 contained only 12 Essays
as compared with the final 16. None were omitted (though
title of second Essay is changed from " Luxury " to " Refine-
ment in the Arts ") ; but it has been seen that two Essays (on
Original Contract and Passive Obedience) were transferred
to the group from the Moral and Political Essays, and two
others were added in 1758, those, viz.,- on Jealousy of
Trade and on Coalition of Parties. Thus the number 1 6 is
made up.

Before referring to the final distribution, it is necessary to
look to the complicated history of the Four Dissertations.

3. Four Dissertations. I. The Natural History of Religion.
n. Of the Passions. IIL Of Tragedy. IV. Of the Standard

240 APPENDIX

of Taste. By David Hume, Esq. Londou, A. Millar,

1757.

In 1758 a readjustment was made in the Essays arid
Treatises. The Dissertation on the Passions (answermg to
Book II. of the Treatise, was appended to the Enquiry
concerning Human Understanding ; and the Natural History
of Religion was similarly made to follow the Enquiry con-
cerning the Princij^les of Alorals. The two remaining Dis-
sertations, those, viz., on Tragedy and on the Standard of
Taste, were transferred to Part II. of the "Essays, Moral,
Political, and Literary. ''

But besides this public history, the Dissertations had a secret
history, which was only gradually unravelled. Originally it
was meant to be a work of Fiv' Dissertations, including two
which were subsequently suppressed, namely, those on Suicide
and on the Immortality of the Soul. [The Essay on the
Standard of Taste was not yet inserted.] The Advocates'
Library contains a first proof of the work, without title-page,
but with the following in what is thought to be Hume's
handwriting ; —

Five Dissertations J to wit. The !N"atural History of Religion;
of the Passions ; of Tragedy ; of Suicide ; of the Immortality
of the Soul. The Essay on vSuicide is cut out in this copy,
but that on Immortality remains.

It was vaguely known that suppression had taken place,
but the facts were first brought clearly to light by the publica-
tion in 1784 of a book entitled "Essays on Suicide and. the
Immortality of the Soul, ascribed to the late David Hume,
Esq. Never before published. With remarks, intended as
an Antidote to the Poison contained in these Performances,
by the Editor.'' The whole circumstances of the publication
may be read in Burton or in Grose. It appears that
Hume had at first intended to include as No. 1 of his
list a Dissertation on Geometry. This was never printed.
When the obnoxious Essays were suppressed, the Essay

APPENDIX 241

on tlie Standard of Taste was inserted to make up the
volunie.

It remains to refer to the final arrangement in the Essays
and Treatises. First came —

Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By David
Hume, Esq. ; in four volumes. London, A. Millar ; Edin-
burgh, A. Kincaid and A. Donaldson, 1753-4.

The Dissertations intervened in 1757 ; then appeared —

Do. A ITew Edition, 1758 (one volume). To this edition
is prefixed the following Advertisement : " Some alterations
are made on the Titles of the Treatises, contained in the
following volume. What in former editions was called
Essays Moral and Political, is here entitled, Essays, Moral,
Political, and Literary, Part I. The Political Discourses
form the Second Part. What in former editions was called
Philosophical Essays concerning Human Under standing^ is
here entitled An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding.
The Four Dissertations lately published are dispersed through
different Parts of this Volume."

The slight modifications made in subsequent editions of
the Essays by omissions and additions have already been
referred to. The editions (1760, 1764, 1768, 1770— finally
the authoritative edition in 1777) vary from two to four
volumes; the two-volume form prevailing. In the 1777
edition a section of the Enquiry concerning Morals was
transferred to the Appendix under the title, Of Self Love.

The History

The dates of the publication of the successive volumes are
given in the text, and need not be repeated. The authoritative
edition is that of 1777, since reproduced in various forms.

16

INDEX

Association, 10, 11, 45, 95, 98,
108, 116, 120 ; in causation,
127 ff.; Mill on, 130, 133; in
perception, 157, 159 ; in morals,
184.

Atheism, in France, 69 ; Hume's
relation to, 192, 208.

Bain, A., 13, 120.

Belief, 111, 128.

Benthara, J., 168, 183, 184, 187.

Berkeley, his idealism, 92 ff., 101,

145, 148.
Blair, Dr. Hugh, on Ossian, 60, 61,

62, 75, 79.
Boufflers, Madame de, 64 ff., 70, 73,

76.
Brown, Dr. T., on extension, 120 ;

on substance, 144; on causation,

131, 134 ; on perception, 156 ;

on miracles, 213.
Butler, Bp., 28, 180, 182.

Calderwood, Prof., 151.
Campbell, Principal, on miracles,

26, 61, 209, 215.
Carlyle, Dr., 43, 79.
Causation, Hume's view of, 116,

122; origin in custom, 127 ff. ;

Brown on, 131, 134 ; Kant on,

136 ff. ; relation to free-will, 140 ;

rational basis of, 138 ff.

Christianity, Hume's view of, 195 ;

ironical references to, 26, 58,

195-6, 207, 216; relation to

miracles, 214.
Condillac, 107.
Cromwell, 55, 233.
Custom, principle of, 108, 127,

129 ff.

Deism, 3, 50, 192.
Descartes, 26, 84, 95.
Dissertations y their curious history,
58. Cf. Appendix.

English, dislike of the, 4, 77-8.

French, love of the, 5, 64, 68.

Green, T. H., 157, 159, 202.

Hamilton, Sir Wm., on Hume's
scepticism, 96 ff. ; on cause, 122 ;
on perception, 156-7.

History of England, 40, 41, 50,
53 ff., 231, 226 ff. See Hume.

Hobbes, 34, 105, 170-1, 181, 186.

Hume, place and influence, 1, 9-13,
84, 128, 167, 192; character, 2,
15, 72, 79 ; influences moulding,

243

244

INDEX

3 fF. ; love of fame, 3, 5ff., 53,
72, 79, 83 ; style, 7-8, 32, 36,
47, 172, 217-18 ; appearance, 15,
16, 42, 68.

Hume, Life of : — Parentage, 14 ;
youth, 15 ; at university, 16 ;
early studies, 18 tf. ; letter to
physician, 21 ff. ; illness, 21 ; in
business, 25 ; in France, 25 ff. ;
publication of Treatise, 27 ff. ;
its reception, 29 ff. ; scope of
work, 31 ; Treatise completed,
34; Essays Moral and Political,
35 ff. ; on prayer, 36-7 ; candi-
date for chair, 37 ; relations with
Annandale, 39 ; secretary to St.
Clair, 40 ff. ; mission to Turin,
41 ff. ; Philosophical Essays, 44 ;
Enquiry concerning Morals, 47 ;
removal to Edinburgh, 48 ; Po-
litical Discourses, 49 ; candidate
for chair in Glasgow, 49 ; elected
librarian to Faculty of Advocates,
50 ; composition oi History, 50 ff. ;
reception of volumes, 53 ff.;
accused to Assembly, 57 ; Dis-
sertations, 58 ; correspondence
\vith Campbell and Reid, 61-4 ;
secretary to Embassy, 65 ; popu-
larity in Paris, QQ ff. ; charge
d'affaires, 70 ; advocates dissimu-
lation, 71 ; Under Secretary for
Scotland, 72 ; relations with
Rousseau, 65, 72 ff. ; quarrel with
Rousseau, 78 ff. ; closing years
in Edinburgh,' 77 ff. ; dislike of
English, 77 ; occupations and
friendships, 78 ; views on Ameri-
can rebellion, 80 ; last illness,
81 ; will, 81 ; difficulty about
Dialogues, 82 ; death, 83.

Hume, Philosophy of:— Scope of
Treatise, 32-3, 85 ; of Enquiry,
46, 86 ; relations to Locke and
Berkeley, 88 ff. ; scepticism, 10,
95 ff. ; theory of knowledge, 11,
104 ff. ; ideas of space and time,
119-20; causation, 122 ff. ; prin-
ciple of custom, 108, 127-9 ;
free-will, 140; idea of substance,

143 ff. ; denial of material reality,
94, 145 ff.; of self, 94, 147 ff. ;
inconsistencies of Hume, 12,
109 ff., 114-16, 135, 149, 152;
external perception, 158 ff. ;
ideas and objects, 161 ff. [See
under special heads, Scepticism,
Causation, Perception, Substance,
etc.]

Hume, Moral theory of: — Principle
of utility, 47, 167 ff.; doctrine of
passions, 169 ; good and evil,
171 ; merit and demerit of actions,
174 ff.; moral sense, 173, 176 ff.;
theory of sympathy, 175, 177-8;
theory of obligation, 179 ff. ; dis-
interested sentiments, 182-3 ; the
moral end, 185 ff. ; ethics of re-
spectability, 191,

Hume, Religion and theology ; —
Irreligious character of age, 193 ;
lack of sympathy with religion,
2, 3, 37, 55, 71, 83, 192-4, 229 ;
bearing of philosophy on religion,
5, 101, 195, 229 ; on Christianity,
195; Natural History of Meligion,
197 ff. ; origin of Monotheism,
199; Dialogues concerning Kat\i.-
ral Puiligion, 200 ff. ; arguments
against theism, 202 ff. ; personal
attitude to theism, 207 ff. ; essay
on miracles, 209 ff. [See under
special heads, Theism, Miracles,
etc.]

Hume, Politics and Literatui-e : —
On forms of Government, 220 ;
on political parties, 221-2, cf.
55, 78, 80 ; on political economy,
222; merits of History, 52 ff.,
226-7 ; its defects, 54-5, 227-8 ;
injustice to Puritans, 230 ff.;
defence of royal prerogative, 231.

Hutcheson, F., 3, 34-5, 38, 168,

176, 177.
Huxley, T., 7, 118, 196, 208, 214.

Idealism of Berkeley, 92, 145 ;
truth of, 164.

INDEX

245

Immortality, essay on, 58, 194,

207.
Impressions and ideas, 94, 104 fif.,

147 ff.

James, Prof. Wm., 12, 148, 159.

Kant, 6 ; indebtedness to Hume,
9-10, 46, 84 ; subjectivity of, 88,
116, 151 ; on knowledge, 112 ff.,
118,121 ; on causation, 128, 132,
136 ff.; on freedom, 140-1; on
self, 112, 149-50 ; on substance,
151 if., 180.

Knowledge. See under Locke, Ber-
keley, Kant, etc.

Leechman, Dr., on prayer, 36-7,
208.

Literary judgments, Hume's, 17,
59 ff., 218.

Locke, 4, 9 ; theory of ideas, 86 ff.,
104 ; primary and secondary
qualities, 89, 115, 165 ; on sub-
stance, 91 ff., 143, 145 ; on ex-
ternal world, 90, 92, 145 ; on
the good, 171, 186.

Lotze, H., on self, 150 ; on world,
164.

Mill, J. S., 22 ; on Hume's scepti-
cism, 96 ff.; on self, 150; on
memory, 120 ; on space, 120 ; on
cause, 130 ; on substance, 144,
153-4, 162 ; utilitarianism of,
173, 183 ff., 188 ff.; on religion,
204 ; on miracles, 212.

Miracles, essay on, 26-7, 45, 62,
209 tf.; and natural law, 211 ff'.;
and testimony, 213.

Morals, theory of. See under
Hume, Mill, Hutcheson, Utility,
etc.

Objects and objective order, 12,

115-17, 135, 147.
Ossian, Dr. Blair on, 60.

Pekception, problem of, 87 ; theo
ries of Locke, 88 ff. ; Berkeley,
92 ff.; Hume, 104 ff., 145 ff'.
Spencer, 13, 149, 157, 159
Reid, 155 ff.; Hamilton, 156 ff.
James, 12, 148; Wundt, 146
148 ; complexity of, 159, 162-3
results, 164.

Philosophy, importance of Hume
for, 11, 85 ; problems of, 87 ; on
special philosophies, see Locke,
Berkeley, Kant, etc.

Political economy, Hume's influ-
ence on, 222 ; on money, 223 ;
on free trade, 223 ; on banking,
224.

Qualities, primary and secondary,
89, 115, 165.

Rationality of mind and universe,
12, 103, 112 ff, 117-18, 138 ff.,
149 ff., 164, 201-2.

Realism, of Scottish school, 156 ;
of Spencer, 157 ; truth of,
164.

Reid, Dr. T., indebtedness to
Hume, 8, 62-4, 148 ; on know-
ledge, 112, 113 ff.; on cause,
132 ; on self, 148-9 ; on per-
ception, 156, 164.

Relativity of knowledge, 164-5.

Robertson, Dr., his History, 7, 60,
67, 79, 235.

Rousseau, J. J., Hume's relations
with, 65, 72 ff. ; quarrel with,
78 ff.

Scepticism, Hume's, 10, 56, 79,

95 ff, 195.
Self, 94, 108-14, 147-51, 169.
Shaftesbury, 168, 176, 177, 196-7.
Smith, Adam, 1, 9, 10, 35, 49, QQ,

81-2, 178, 179, 222 ff.
Spencer, H., 13, 132 ; on substance,

145 ; on self, 149, 152 ; on real-

246

INDEX

ism, 157 ; on perception, 159 ;

on evolutionary ethics, 167 ; on

the good, 186.
Stephen, Leslie, 10, 167, 168,

197.
Stewart, Dugald, 3, 8, 47, 95,

140.
Stirling, Dr. H., 10, 205.
Strahan, W., 80, 82.
Style, Hume's, 7-8, 217-18. See

Hume.
Substance, views of Locke, 91 IT.,

143, 145 ; Berkeley, 92 ff.;

Hume, 94, 144 flf. ; Spencer, 145 ;

Kant, 151 ff.: idea of, 153.

Suicide, essay on, 58, 191. See
Appendix.

Theism, speculative, 37, 47, 194 ;
arguments against, 202 fF. ;
Hume's attitude to, 192, 197 ff.,
207 ff.

Utility, in morals, 47, 166,
173 ff. ; utilitarian schools, 166 ff.

WuNDT, 146-8, 167.

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