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HUME'S
TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
Z. A. SELBY-BIGGE
Oxford Uni'versity Press, Amen House, London E.C.4
GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE WELLINGTON
BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS KARACHI KUALA LUMPUR
CAPE TOWN IBADAN NAIROBI ACCRA
A TREATISE
OF
HUMAN NATURE
BT
DAVID HUME
REPRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITION
IN THREE VOLUMES
AND EDITED, WITH AN ANALYTICAL INDEX^-By
L. A. SELBY-BIGGE, M.i, ]^\
FORMBRLV FELLOW AND LECTURER OF UNIVERSITY COLLteiiS, OXFOII
coLLteiis, oxroHy
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
FIRST EDITION It
REPRINTKD 1897, IQI?, I928, I94I
1946, 1949, I95I, 1955, 1958, i960
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
L
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
The length of the Index demands apology or at least
justification. An index may serve several purposes.
It enables a reader or student to find some definite
passage, or to see whether a certain point is discussed
or not in the work. For this purpose a long is evi-
dently better than a short index, an index which
quotes than one which consists of the compiler's ab-
breviations, and its alphabetical arrangement gives it
an advantage over a table of contents which is hardly
secured by placing the table at the end instead of the
beginning. But besides this, in the case of a well
known and much criticised author, an index may very
well serve the purpose of a critical introduction. If well
devised it should point, not loudly but unmistakeably,
to any contradictions or inconsequences, and, if the
work be systematic, to any omissions which are of
importance. This is the aim of the index now offered :
it undoubtedly is not what it should be, but Hume's
Treatise seems to offer an excellent field for an
attempt. Hume loses nothing by close and critical
reading, and, though his language is often perversely
loose, yet it is not always the expression of loose
thinking: this index aims at helping the student to
see the difference and to fix his attention on the real
merits and real deficiencies of the system : it does not
aim at saving him the trouble of studying it for
himself.
TREATISE
o F
Human Nature :
BEING
An Attempt to introduce the ex-
perimental Method of Reafoning
IN TO
MORAL SUBJECTS.
Rara temporum f elicit as ^ ubl fenfire^ qua velis ; <& qu^e
fenttaSj dicer e licet. Tacit.
Book I.
OF THE
UNDERSTANDING,
LONDON:
Printed for John Noon, at the White-Hart^ near
Mercer s-Ckapel in Ckeapjide.
MDCCXXXIX.
ADVERTISEMENT TO BOOKS I AND II.
My design in the present work is sufficiently explain d in
the introduction. The reader must only observe, that all the
subjects I have there plannd out to my self, are not treated
of in these two volumes. The subjects of the understanding
and passions make a compleat chain of reasoning by them-
selves ; and I was willittg to take advantage of this natural
division, in order to try the taste of the public. If I have
the good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the
examination of morals, politics, and criticism ; which will
compleat this Treatise of human nature. The approbation
of the public I consider as the greatest reward of my labours;
but am determined to regard its judgment, whatever it be, as
my best instruction.
THE
CONTENTS.
Introduction
rAGE
xvii
BOOK I.
Of the Understandino.
PART I.
Of ideas ; their origin, composition, abstraction, connexion, Vc.
SECT.
I. Of the origin of our ideas ....
II. Division of the subject ....
Of the ideas of the memory and imagination
Of the connexion or association of ideas .
Of relations
Of modes and substances ....
Of abstract ideas • • . . .
Ill,
IV.
V,
VI
VII,
PART II.
0/ the ideas of space and time
I. Of the infinite divisibility of our ideas of space and time
II. Of the infinite divisibility of space and time
III. Of the other qualities of our ideas of space and time
IV. Objections answer'd .... . •
V. The same subject continu'd
VL Of the idea of existence and of external existence .
PART III.
Of knowledge and probability.
I. Of knowledge .......
II. Of probability ; and of the idea of cause and effect
IJI. Why a cause is always necessary ?
33
7
8
ID
n
17
26
29
33
39
53
66
69
73
78
XIV
CONTENTS.
SKCT. FAGK
IV. Of the component parts of our reasonings concerning causes
and effects ^2
V. Of the impressions of the senses and memory ... 84
VI. Of the inference from the impression to the idea . . 86
VII. Of the nature of the idea, or belief 94
VIII. Of the causes of belief 9^
IX. Of the effects of other relations, and other habits . . 106
X. Of the influence of belief 118
XI. Of the probability of chances . . . • .124
XII. Of the probability of causes '3°
XIII. Of unphilosophical probability ...... i43
XIV. Of the idea of necessary connexion 155
XV. Rules by which to judge of causes and effects . . .173
XVI. Of the reason of animals l?^
PART IV.
Of the sceptical and other systems of philosophy.
I. Of scepticism with regard to reason .
II. Of scepticism with regard to the senses
III. Of the antient philosophy . .
IV. Of the modern pliilosophy .
V. Of the immateriality of the soul
VI. Of personal identity ....
VII. Conclusion of this book . . .
180
187
219
225
232
251
263
BOOK II.
Of the Passions.
PART I.
0/ pride and humility.
I. Division of the subject 275
II. Of pride and humility ; their objects and causes . . . 277
III. Whence these objects and causes are deriv'd . . . 2S0
IV, Of the relations of impressions and ideas .... 28a
V. Of the influence of these relations on pride and humility . 285
CONTENTS.
XV
BKCT. PAGB
VI. Limitations of this system 390
VII. Of vice and virtue 394
VIII. Of beauty and deformity 398
IX. Of external advantages and disa ^vantages .... 303
X. Of property and riclies 309
XI. Of the love of fame 316
XII. Of the pride and humility of animals . . . . .324
PART II.
Of love and hatred.
I. Of the objects and causes of love and hatred
II. Experiments to confirm this system .
III. Difficulties solv'd ....
IV. Of the love of relations
V. Of our esteem for the rich and powerful
VI. Of benevolence and anger
VII. Of compassion .....
VIII. Of malice and envy ....
IX. Of the mixture of benevolence and anger with compassion
and malice .....
X. Of respect and contempt .
XI. Of the amorous passion, or love betwixt the sexes
XII. Of the love and hatred of animals
329
332
347
351
357
366
368
372
381
389
394
397
PART III.
Of the will and direct passions.
I. Of liberty and necessity
II. The same subject continn'd
•*• III. Of the influencing motives of the will ,
IV. Of the causes of the violent passions
V. Of the effects of custom
VI. Of the influence of the imagination on the passions
VII. Of contiguity and distance in space and time
VIII. The same subject continu'd . . .
IX. Of the direct passions ....
X. Of curiosity, or the love of truth
399
407
413
418
423
424
427
432
438
44S
XVI
CONTENTS.
seer.
BOOK III.
Ok Morals.
PART I.
Of virtue and vice in general.
I. Moral distinctions not dciiv'd from reason .
— II. Moral distinctions dei iv'd from » moral sense
PART II.
0/ justice and injustice.
I. Justice, whether a natural or artificial virtue
II. Of the origin of justice and property .
III. Of the rules that determine property .
IV. Of the transference of property by consent
V. Of the obligation of promises
VI. Some farther reflections concerning justice and injustice
VII. Of the origin of government
VIII. Of the source of allegiance
IX. Of the measures of allegiance
X. Of the objects of allegiance
XI. Of the laws of nations
XII. Of chastity and modesty .
PA6K
455
470
477
484
501
514
516
526
534
539
549
553
567
570
PART III.
Of the other virtues and vices.
I. Of the origin of the natural virtues and vices
II. Of greatness of mind .....
III. Of goodness and benevolence
IV. Of natural abilities .....
V. Some farther reflections concerning the natural virtues
VI. Conclusion of this book
• •
. 574
•
• 592
. ,
. 603
• •
. 606
'iitues
. 614
• •
. 618
TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
INTRODUCTION.
Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who
pretend to discover any thing new to the world in philo-
sophy and the sciences, than to insinuate the praises of their
own systems, by decrying all those, which have been ad-
vanced before them. And indeed were they content with
lamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the
most important questions, that can come before the tribunal
of human reason, there are few, who have an acquaintance
with the sciences, that would not readily agree with them.
'Tis easy for one of judgment and learning, to perceive
the weak foundation even of those systems, which have ob-
tained the greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions
highest to accurate and profound reasoning. Principles
taken upon trust, consequences lamely deduced from them,
want of coherence in the parts, and of evidence in the whole,
these are every where to be met with in the systems of the
most eminent philosophers, and seem to have drawn dis-
grace upon philosophy itself.
Nor is there requir'd such profound knowledge to discover
the present imperfect condition of the sciences, but even the
XVlll A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
rabble without doors may judge from the noise and clamour,
which they hear, that all goes not well within. There is
nothing which is not the subject of debate, and in which
men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most
trivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most
momentous we are not able to give any certain decision.
Disputes are multiplied, as if every thing was uncertain ;
and these disputes are managed with the greatest warmth,
as if every thing was certain. Amidst all this bustle 'tis not
reason, which carries the prize, but eloquence ; and no man
needs ever despair of gaining proselytes to the most extra-
vagant hypothesis, who has art enough to represent it in any
favourable colours. The victory is not gained by the men
at arms, who manage the pike and the sword ; but by the
trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the army.
From hence in my opinion arises that common prejudice
against metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst
those, who profess themselves scholars, and have a just value
for every other part of literature. By metaphysical reason-
ings, they do not understand those on any particular branch
of science, but every kind of argument, which is any way
abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended.
We have so often lost our labour in such researches, that
we commonly reject them without hesitation, and resolve,
if we must for ever be a prey to errors and delusions, that
they shall at least be natural and entertaining. And indeed
nothing but the most determined scepticism, along with a
great degree of indolence, can justify this aversion to meta-
physics. For if truth be at all within the reach of human
capacity, 'tis certain it must lie very deep and abstruse; and
to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest
geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly
INTRODUCTION. XIX
be esteemed sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend
to no such advantage in the philosophy I am going to un-
fold, and would esteem it a strong presumption against it,
were it so very easy and obvious.
'Tis evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater
or less, to human nature ; and that however wide any of
them may seem to run from it, they still return back by one
passage or another. Even Mathematics, Natural Philosophy^
and Natural Religion, are in some measure dependent on
the science of Man ; since they lie under the cognizance
of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties.
'Tis impossible to tell what changes and improvements we
might make in these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted
with the extent and force of human understanding, and
cou'd explain the nature of the ideas we employ, and of
the operations we perform in our reasonings. And these
improvements are the more to be hoped for in natural reli-
gion, as it is not content with instructing us in the nature
of superior powers, but carries its views farther, to their
disposition towards us, and our duties towards them ; and
consequently we ourselves are not only the beings, that
reason, but also one of the objects, concerning which we
reason.
If therefore the sciences of Mathematics, Natural Philo-
sophy, and Natural Religion, have such a dependence on
the knowledge of man, what may be expected in the other
sciences, whose connexion with human nature is more close
and intimate ? The sole end of logic is to explain the prin-
ciples and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the
nature of our ideas : morals and criticism regard our tastes
and sentiments : and politics consider men as united in
society, and dependent on each other. In these four sciences
XX A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
of Logic, Morals, Criticism, and Politics, is comprehended
almost every thing, which it can any way import us to be
acquainted with, or which can tend either to the improve-
ment or ornament of the human mind.
Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope
for success in our philosophical researches, to leave the
tedious lingring method, which we have hitherto followed,
and instead of taking now and then a castle or village on
the frontier, to march up directly to the capital or center
of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once
masters of, we may every where else hope for an easy
victory. From this station we may extend our conquests
over all those sciences, which more intimately concern
human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure to dis-
cover more fully those, which are the objects of pure curi-
osity. There is no question of importance, whose decision
is not compriz'd in the science of man ; and there is none,
which can be decided with any certainty, before we become
acquainted with that science. In pretending therefore to
explain the principles of human nature, we in effect pro-
pose a compleat system of the sciences, built on a found-
ation almost entirely new, and the only one upon which
they can stand with any security.
And as the science of man is the only solid foundation
for the other sciences, so the only solid foundation we can
give to this science itself must be laid on experience and
observation. 'Tis no astonishing reflection to consider, that
the application of experimental philosophy to moral subjects
should come after that to natural at the distance of above
a whole century ; since we find in fact, that there was about
the same interval betwixt the origins of these sciences ; and
that reckoning from Thales to Socrates, the space of time
INTRODUCTION. xxi
is nearly equal to that betwixt my Lord Bacon * and some
late philosophers in Engla^id, who have begun to put the
science of man on a new footing, and have engaged the
attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true
it is, that however other nations m.ay rival us in poetry, and
excel us in some other agreeable arts, the improvements
in reason and philosophy can only be owing to a land of
toleration and of liberty.
Nor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in
the science of man will do less honour to our native country
than the former in natural philosophy, but ought rather to
esteem it a greater glory, upon account of the greater im-
portance of that science, as well as the necessity it lay under
of such a reformation. For to me it seems evident, that the
essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with that
of external bodies, it must be equally impossible to form
any notion of its powers and qualities otherwise than from
careful and exact experiments, and the observation of those
particular effects, which result from its diflferent circum-
stances and situations. And tho' we must endeavour to
render all our principles as universal as possible, by tracing
up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining all effects
from the simplest and fewest causes, 'tis still certain we
cannot go beyond experience ; and any hypothesis, that pre-
tends to discover the ultimate original qualities of human
nature, ought at first to be rejected as presumptuous and
chimerical.
I do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself
so earnestly to the explaining the ultimate principles of the
soul, would show himself a great master in that very science
* Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftsbury, Dr. Alandeville, Mr. Hutchinson.
Dr. Butler, &c.
xxil A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
of human nature, which he pretends to explain, or very
knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the mind of
man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has
almost the same effect upon us with enjoyment, and that
we are no sooner acquainted with the impossibility of satis-
fying any desire, than the desire itself vanishes. When we
see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of human
reason, we sit down contented ; tho' we be perfectly satisfied
in the main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give
no reason for our most general and most refined principles,
V beside om;_experience of^thejiijceality ; which is the reason
of the mere vulgar, and what it required no study at first
to have discovered for the most particular and most extra-
ordinary phoenomenon. And as this impossibility of making
any farther progress is enough to satisfy the reader, so the
writer may derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free
confession of his ignorance, and from his prudence in avoid-
ing that error, into which so many have fallen, of imposing
their conjectures and hypotheses on the world for the most y
certain principles. When this mutual contentment and satis-
faction can be obtained betwixt the master and scholar, I
know not what more we can require of our philosophy.
But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles
should be esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will
venture to affirm, that 'tis a defect common to it with all
the sciences, and all the arts, in which we can employ our-
selves, whether they be such as are cultivated in the schools
of the philosophers, or practised in the shops of the meanest
artizans. None of them can go beyond experience, or esta-
blish any principles which are not founded on that authority.
Moral philosophy has, indeed, this peculiar disadvantage,
which is not found in natural, that in collecting its experi-
INTRODUCTION. XXlii
ments, it cannot make them purposely, with premeditation,
and after such a manner as to satisfy itself concerning every
particular difficulty which may arise. When I am at a loss
to know the effects of one body upon another in any situa-
tion, I need only put them in that situation, and observe
what results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up
after the same manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by
placing myself in the same case with that which I consider,
'tis evident this reflection and premeditation would so disturb
the operation of my natural principles, as must render it
impossible to form any just conclusion from the phsenome-
non. We must therefore glean up our experiments in this
science from a cautious observation of human life, and take
them as they appear in the common course of the world,
by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and in their
pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are judiciously
collected and compared, we may hope to establish on them
a science, which will not be inferior in certainty, and will
be much superior in utility to any other of human com-
prehension.
TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
BOOK I.
OF THE UNDERSTANDING.
PART I.
OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION,
ABSTRACTION, Ifc.
SECTION I.
Of the Origin of our Ideas.
All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves Sect. I,
into two distinct kinds, which I shall call Impressions and •*
Ideas. The difference betwixt these consists in the degrees gyigin of
of force and liveliness with which they strike upon the mind, our ideas,
and make their way into our thought or consciousness.
Those perceptions, which enter with most force and violence,
we may name impressions', and under this name I compre-
hend all our sensations, passions and emotions, as they
make their first appearance in the soul. By ideas I mean
the faint images of these in thinking and reasoning ; such as,
for instance, are all the perceptions excited by the present
discourse, excepting only, those which arise from the sight
and touch, and excepting the immediate pleasure or uneasi-
ness it may occasion. I believe it will not be very necessary
to employ many words in explaining this distinction. Every
a A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. one of himself will readily perceive the difference betwixt
." feeling and thinking. The common degrees of these are
their 0)1- Cosily distinguished; tho' it is not impossible but in par-
gin, com- ticular instances they may very nearly approach to each
P^^ 'on, Qthgj.. Thus in sleep, in a fever, in madness, or in any very
violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to our
impressions : As on the other hand it sometimes happens,
that our impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot
distinguish them from our ideas. But notwithstanding this
near resemblance in a few instances, they are in general so
very different, that no-one can make a scruple to rank them
under distinct heads, and assign to each a peculiar name to
mark the difference \
There is another division of our perceptions, which it will
be convenient to observe, and which extends itself both to
our impressions and ideas. This division is into Simple and
Complex. Simple perceptions or impressions and ideas are
such as admit of no distinction nor separation. The complex
are the contrary to these, and may be distinguished into
parts. Tho' a particular colour, taste, and smell are qualities
all united together in this apple, 'tis easy to perceive they are
not the same, but are at least distinguishable from each
other.
Having by these divisions given an order and arrangement
to our objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider with
the more accuracy their qualities and relations. The first
circumstance, that strikes my eye, is the great resemblance
betwixt our impressions and ideas in every other particular,
except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem to
be in a manner the reflexion of the other ; so that all the
' I here make use of these terms, impression and idea, in a sense
differeiU from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed me.
Perhaps I rather restore the word, idea, to its original sense, from which
Mr. Locke had perverted it, in making it stand for all our perceptions.
By the term of impression I would not be understood to express tlie
manner, in wliich our lively perceptions are produced in the soul, but
merely the j^erceptions themselves; for which there is no particular
name either in the English or any other language, that I know oJ.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 3
perceptions of the mind are double, and appear both as Sect. I
impressions and ideas. When I shut my eyes and think of —** —
my chamber, the ideas I form are exact representations of ^;^y^-^' ^z-
the impressions I felt ; nor is there any circumstance of the our ideas.
one, which is not to be found in the other. In running over
my other perceptions, I find still the same resemblance and
representation. Ideas and impressions appear always to
correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me
remarkable, and engages my attention for a moment.
Upon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried
away too far by the first appearance, and that I must make
use of the distinction of perceptions into sitnple and complex,
to limit this general decision, thai all our ideas and impres-
sions are resembling. I observe, that many of our complex
ideas never had impressions, that corresponded to them, and
that many of our complex impressions never are exactly
copied in ideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the
New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold and walls are rubies,
tho' I never saw any such. I have seen Paris ; but shall I
affirm I can form such an idea of that city, as will perfectly
represent all its streets and houses in their real and just
proportions 1*
I perceive, therefore, that tho* there is in general a great
resemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet
the rule is not universally true, that they are exact copies of
each other. We may next consider how the case stands
with our simple perceptions. After the most accurate ex-
amination, of which I am capable, I venture to affirm, that
the rule here holds without any exception, and that every
simple idea has a simple impression, which resembles it;
and every simple impression a correspondent idea. That
idea of red, which we form in the dark, and that impression,
which strikes our eyes in sun-shine, differ only in degree,
not in nature. That the case is the same with all our simple
impressions and ideas, 'tis impossible to prove by a par-
ticular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of ideas,
their ori-
fr'w, com-
tosition.
in this point by running over as many as he pleases. But if
any one should deny this universal resemblance, I know no
way of convincing him, but by desiring him to shew a simple
impression, that has not a correspondent idea, or a simple
idea, that has not a correspondent impression. If he does
not answer this challenge, as 'tis certain he cannot, we may
from his silence and our own observation establish our con-
clusion.
Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resem-
ble each other ; and as the complex are formed from them,
we may affirm in general, that these two species of perception
are exactly correspondent. Having discover'd this relation,
which requires no farther examination, I am curious to find
some other of their qualities. Let us consider how they
stand with regard to their existence, and which of the im-
pressions and ideas are causes, and which effects.
The _/?^// examination of this question is the subject of the
present treatise; and therefore we shall here content our-
selves with establishing one general proposition, That all
our simple ideas iti their first appearance are deriv'd from
simple impressions^ which are correspondent to them, and which
they exactly represe7it.
In seeking for phsenomena to prove this proposition, I
find only those of two kinds ; but in each kind the phae-
nomena are obvious, numerous, and conclusive. I first
make myself certain, by a new review, of what I have
already asserted, that every simple impression is attended
with a correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a
correspondent impression. From this constant conjunction
of resembling perceptions I immediately conclude, that there
is a great connexion betwixt our correspondent impressions
and ideas, and that the existence of the one has a consider-
able influence upon that of the other. Such a constant
conjuncuon, in such an infinite number of instances, can
never arise from chance ; but clearly proves a dependence
of the impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 5
impressions. That I may know on which side this de- Sect. I
pendence hes, I consider the order of their first appearance ; — ^*^
and find by constant experience, that the simple impressions ^/ipin t>f
always take the precedence of their correspondent ideas, but our ideas.
never appear in the contrary order. To give a child an
idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet or bitter, I present the
objects, or in other words, convey to him these impressions ;
but proceed not so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce the
impressions by exciting the ideas. Our ideas upon their
appearance produce not their correspondent impressions,
nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any sensation merely
upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that
any impressions either of the mind or body is constantly
followed by an idea, which resembles it, and is only dif-
ferent in the degrees of force and liveliness. The constant
conjunction of our resembling perceptions, is a convincing
proof, that the one are the causes of the other; and this
priority of the impressions is an equal proof, that our im-
pressions are the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of our
impressions.
To confirm this I consider another plain and convincing
phsenomenon ; which is, that where-ever by any accident the
faculties, which give rise to any impressions, are obstructed
in their operations, as when one is born blind or deaf; not
only the impressions are lost, but also their correspondent
ideas ; so that there never appear in the mind the least traces
of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs
of sensation are entirely destroy'd, but likewise where they
have never been put in action to produce a particular im-
pression. We cannot form to ourselves a just idea of the
taste of a pine-apple, without having actually tasted it.
There is however one contradictory phgenomenon, which
may prove, that 'tis not absolutely impossible for ideas to go
before their correspondent impressions. I believe it will
readily be allow'd, that the several distinct ideas of colours,
which enter by the eyes, or those of sounds, which are con-
6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. vey'd by the hearing, are really different from each other,
" tho' at the same time resembling. Now if this be true of
tfieir oH- different colours, it must be no less so of the different shades
pn, com- of the same colour, that each of them produces a distinct idea,
posuion, independent of the rest. For if this shou'd be deny'd, 'tis
possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a
colour insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if
you will not allow any of the means to be different, you can-
not without absurdity deny the extremes to be the same.
Suppose therefore a person to have enjoyed his sight for
thirty years, and to have become perfectly well acquainted
with colours of all kinds, excepting one particular shade of
blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet
with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that
single one, be plac'd before him, descending gradually from
the deepest to the lightest; 'tis plain, that he will perceive a
blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible, that
there is a greater distance in that place betwixt the contiguous
colours, than in any other. Now I ask, whether 'tis possible
for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency,
and raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, the'
it had never been conveyed to him by his senses ? I believe
there are few but will be of opinion that he can ; and this
may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas are not always
derived from the correspondent impressions; tho' the instance
is so particular and singular, that 'tis scarce worth our ob-
serving, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter
our general maxim.
But besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark
on this head, that the principle of the priority of impressions
to ideas must be understood with another limitation, 773. that
as our ideas are images of our impressions, so we can form
secondary ideas, which are images of the primary; as appears
from this very reasoning concerning them. This is not, pro-
perly speaking, an exception to the rule so much as an
explanation of it. Ideas produce the images of themselves
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. ^
in new ideas ; but as the first ideas are supposed to be Sect, II.
derived from impressions, it still remains true, that all our ; ♦• ■
simple ideas proceed either mediately or immediately from ^/^^/w/W.
their correspondent impressions.
This then is the first principle I establish in the science
of human nature ; nor ought we to despise it because of the
simplicity of its appearance. For 'tis remarkable, that the
present question concerning the precedency of our impres-
sions or ideas, is the same with what has made so much
noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether there
be any mtjate ideas, or whether all ideas be derived from
sensation and reflexion. We may observe, that in order to
prove the ideas of extension and colour not to be innate,
philosophers do nothing but shew, that they are conveyed by
our senses. To prove the ideas of passion and desire not to
be innate, they observe that we have a preceding experience of
these emotions in ourselves. Now if we carefully examine
these arguments, we shall find that they prove nothing but
that ideas are preceded by other more lively perceptions, from
which they are derived, and which they represent. I hope
this clear stating of the question will remove all disputes
concerning it, and will render this principle of more use in
our reasonings, than it seems hitherto to have been.
SECTION 11.
Division of the subject.
Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to
their correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very
rare, method seems to require we should examine our im-
pressions, before we consider our ideas. Impressions may
be divided into two kinds, those of Sensation and those of
Reflexion. The first kind arises in the soul originally,
from unknown causes. The second is derived in a great
measure from our ideas, and that in the following order. An
8
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of ideas,
their ori-
gin, com-
position,
Part L impression first strikes upon the senses, and makes us per-
ceive heat or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain of some
kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken by
the mind, which remains after the impression ceases ; and
this we call an idea. This idea of pleasure or pain, when it
returns upon the soul, produces the new impressions of desire
and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called im-
pressions of reflexion, because derived from it. These again
are copied by the memory and imagination, and become
ideas ; which perhaps in their turn give rise to other impres-
sions and ideas. So that the impressions of reflexion are
only antecedent to their correspondent ideas ; but posterior
to those of sensation, and deriv'd from them. The examina-
tion of our sensations belongs more to anatomists and natural
philosophers than to moral ; and therefore shall not at present
be enter'd upon. And as the impressions of reflexion, viz.
passions, desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our
attention, arise mostly from ideas, 'twill be necessary to
reverse that method, which at first sight seems most natural ;
and in order to explain the nature and principles of the
human mind, give a particular account of ideas, before we
proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here chosen
to begin with ideas.
SECTION III.
Of the ideas of the memory and imagination.
We find by experience, that when any impression has been
present with the mind, it again makes its appearance there as
an idea ; and this it may do after two different ways : either
when in its new appearance it retains a considerable degree
of its first vivacity, and is somewhat intermediate betwixt an
impression and an idea ; or when it entirely loses that vivacity,
and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we repeat our
impressions in the first manner, is called the Memory, and the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. g
other the Imagination. 'Tis evident at first sight, that the Sect. III.
ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than ' **
those of the imagination, and that the former faculty paints ils ideas of tht
objects in more distinct colours, than any which are employ'd memory
by the latter. When we remember any past event, the idea "^fiJiion.
of it flows in upon the mind in a forcible manner ; whereas
in the imagination the perception is faint and languid, and
cannot without difficulty be preserv'd by the mind steddy and
uniform for any considerable time. Here then is a sensible
difference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of
this more fully hereafter ^.
There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of
ideas, which is no less evident, namely that tho' neither the
ideas of the memory nor imagination, neither the lively nor
faint ideas can make their appearance in the mind, unless
their correspondent impressions have gone before to prepare
the way for them, yet the imagination is not restrain'd to the
same order and form with the original impressions ; while
the memory is in a manner ty'd down in that respect, without
any power of variation.
'Tis evident, that the memory preserves the original form,
in which its objects were presented, and that where-ever we
depart from it in recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some
defect or imperfection in that faculty. An historian may,
perhaps, for the more convenient carrying on of his narration,
relate an event before another, to which it was in fact
posterior ; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if he be
exact; and by that means replaces the idea in its due posi-
tion. 'Tis the same case in our recollection of those places
and persons, with which we were formerly acquainted. The
chief exercise of the memory is not to preserve the simple
ideas, but their order and position. In short, this principle
is supported by such a number of common and vulgar
phsenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of in-
sisting on it any farther.
^ Part III. sect. 5.
lO
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part 1,
♦ * —
Of ideas,
their ori-
gin, com-
position.
The same evidence follows us in our second principle, 0/
the liberty of the imaginaiion to transpose and change its ideas.
The fables we meet with in poems and romances put this
entirely out of question. Nature there is totally confounded,
and nothing mentioned but winged horses, fiery dragons,
and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy
appear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are
copy'd from our impressions, and that there are not any two
impressions which are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention,
that this is an evident consequence of the division of ideas
into simple and complex. Where-ever the imagination per-
ceives a difference among ideas, it can easily produce a
separation.
SECTION IV.
Oftlie coiinexion or association 0/ ideas.
As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination,
and may be united again in wliat form it pleases, nothing
wou'd be more unaccountable than the operations of that
faculty, were it not guided by some universal principles,
which render it, in some measure, uniform with itself in all
times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and unconnected,
chance alone wou'd join them ; and 'tis impossible the same
simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they
commonly do) without some bond of union among them,
some associating quality, by which one idea naturally intro-
duces another. This uniting principle among ideas is not to
be consider'd as an inseparable connexion ; for that has been
already excluded from the imaginaiion : nor yet are we to
conclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas ; for
nothing is more free than that faculty : but we are only to
regard it as a gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is
the cause why, among other things, languages so nearly
correspond to each other; nature in a manner pointing out to
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. II
every one those simple ideas, which are most proper to be Sect. IV.
united into a complex one. The quahties, from which this - ♦* ■
association arises, and by which the mind is after this manner J^ximor
convey'd from one idea to another, are three, viz. Resem- association
BLANCE, CoNTicfjiTY in time or place, and Cause and Effect. °^ ^ ^"'^'
I beheve it will not be very necessary to prove, that these
qualities produce an association among ideas, and upon the
appearance of one idea naturally introduce another. 'Tis
plain, that in the course of our thinking, and in the constant
revolution of our ideas, our imagination runs easily from one
idea to any other that resembles it, and that this quality alone
is to the fancy a sufficient bond and association. 'Tis like-
wise evident, that as the senses, in changing their objects, are
necessitated to change them regularly, and take them as they
lie contiguous to each other, the imagination must by long
custom acquire the same method of thinking, and run along
the parts of space and time in conceiving its objects. As to
the connexion, that is made by the relation of cause and effect^
we shall have occasion afterwards to examine it to the
bottom, and therefore shall not at present insist upon it.
'Tis sufficient to observe, that there is no relation, which
produces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes one
idea more readily recall another, than the relation of cause
^ and effect betwixt their objects.
That we may understand the full extent of tXeSe-relations,
we must consider, that two objects are conneate'd together ifl\
the imagination, not only when the one 'is' \ii;rfftl'ediatefy/
resembling, contiguous to, or the cause of the btber^ buf'ais6
when there is interposed betwixt them a third object, which
bears to both of them any of these relations. This may be
carried on to a great length ; tho' at the same time we may
observe, that each remove considerably weakens the relation.
Cousins in the fourth degree are connected by causation, if I
may be allowed to use that term ; but not so closely as
brothers, much less as child and parent. In general we may
observe, that all the relations of blood depend upon cause
12
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
> » .
0/ ideas,
their ori-
gin, com'
position,
ifc.
and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, according to
the number of connecting causes interpos'd betwixt the
persons.
Of the three relations above-mention'd this of causation is
the most extensive. Two objects may be consider'd as
plac'd in this relation, as well when one is the cause of any
of the actions or motions of the other, as when the former is
the cause of the existence of the latter. For as that action
or motion is nothing but the object itself, consider'd in a
certain light, and as the object continues the same in all its
different situations, 'tis easy to imagine how such an influence
of objects upon one another may connect them in the
imagmation.
We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two
objects are connected by the relation of cause and effect,
when the one produces a motion or any action in the other,
but also when it has a power of producing it. And this we
may observe to be the^ source of all the relations of interest
and duty, by which men influence each other in society, and
are plac'd in the ties of government and subordination. A
master is such-a-one as by his situation, arising either from
force or agreement, has a power of directing in certain
particulars the actions of another, whom we call servant. A
judge is one, who in all disputed cases can fix by his opinion
the possession or property of any thing betwixt any members
of the society. When a person is possess'd of any power,
there is no more required to convert it into action, but the
exertion of the will ; and that in every case is consider'd as
possible, and in many as probable ; especially in the case of
authority, where the obedience of the subject is a pleasure
and advantage to the superior.
These are therefore the principles of union or cohesion
among our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the
place of that inseparable connexion, by which they are
united in our memory. Here is a kind of Attraction,
which in the mental world will be found to have as extra-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 3
ordinary effects as in the natural, and to shew itself in as Sect. V,
many and as various forms. Its effects are every where con- "
spicuous ; l^ut as to its causes, they are mostly unknown, ^/^^^^ '^'
and must be resolv'd into original qualities of human nature,
which I pretend not to explainTl Nothing is more requisite
for a true philosopher, than to restrain the intemperate desire
of searching into causes, and having establish'd any doctrine
upon a sufficient number of experiments, rest contented with
that, when he sees a farther examination would lead him into
obscure and uncertain speculations. In that case his enquiry
wou'd be much better employ'd in examining the effects than
the causes of his principle.
Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas,
there are none more remarkable, than those complex ideas,
which are the common subjects of our thoughts and reason-
ing, and generally arise from some principle of union among
our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be divided into
Relations, Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine
each of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations
concerning our general and particular ideas, before we leave
the present subject, which may be consider'd as the elements
of this philosophy.
SECTION V.
Of relations.
The word Relation is commonly used in two senses
considerably different from each other. Either for that
quality, by which two ideas are connected together in the
imagination, and the one naturally introduces the other, after
the manner above-explained; or for that particular circum-
stance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas
in the fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In
common language the former is always the sense, in which
we use the word, relation ; and 'tis only in philosophy, that
B
14 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. we extend it to mean any particular subject of comparison,
^, .*' without a connectinpr principle. Thus distance will be
Of ideas, „,,,., , , i • ,
their ori' allowed by philosophers to be a true relation, because we
gin, com- acquire an idea of it by the comparing of objects: But in
^f^ ' a common way we say, //^a/ nothing can be more distaiit than
such or such things from each other, nothing can have less
relation ; as if distance and relation were incompatible.
It may perhaps be esteemed an endless task to enumerate
all those qualities, which make objects admit of comparison,
and by which the ideas oi philosophical relation are produced.
But if we diligently consider them, we shall find that without
difficulty they may be compriz'd under seven general heads,
which may be considered as the sources of all philosophical
relation.
1. The first is resemhlajice \ And this is a relation, without
which no philosophical relation can exist ; since no objects
will admit of comparison, but what have some degree of
resemblance. But tho' resemblance be necessary to all phi-
losophical relation, it does not follow, that it always produces
a connexion or association of ideas. When a quality be-
comes very general, and is common to a great many indi-
viduals, it leads not the mind directly to any one of them ; but
by presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby pre-
vent the imagination from fixing on any single object.
2. Identity may be esteem'd a second species of relation.
This relation I here consider as apply'd in its strictest sense
to constant and unchangeable objects ; without examining
the nature and foundation of personal identity, which shall
find its place afterwards. Of all relations the most universal
is that of identity, being common to every being, whose
existence has any duration.
3. After identity the most universal and comprehensive
relations are those of Space and Time, which are the sources
of an infinite number of comparisons, such as distant, conti-
guous, above, below, before, after, &c.
4. All those objects, which admit of quantity, or number.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 5
may be compar'd in that particular ; which is another very Sect. VI.
fertile source of relation. *' '
1 7-, • Of modes
5. When any two objects possess the same quah/ym com- and sub-
mon, the degrees, in which they possess it, form a fifth species stances.
of relation. Thus of two objects, which are both heavy, the
one may be either of greater, or less weight than with the
other. Two colours, that are of the same kind, may yet be
of different shades, and in that respect admit of comparison.
6. The relation of contrariety may at first sight be re-
garded as an exception to the rule, that no relation of any
kind can subsist without some degree of resemblance. But let
us consider, that no two ideas are in themselves contrary,
except those of existence and non-existence, which are plainly
resembling,' as implying both of them an idea of the object ;
tho' the latter excludes the object from all times and places,
in which it is supposed not to exist.
7. All other objects, such as fire and water, heat, and cold,
are only found to be contrary from experience, and from the
contrariety of their causes or effects ; which relation of cause
and effect is a seventh philosophical relation, as well as a
natural one. The resemblance implied in this ^relation, shall
be explain'd afterwards.
It might naturally be expected, that I should'-jbin difference
to the other relations. But that I consider rather us a nega-
tion of relation, than as any thing real orpositi^. Differ-
ence is of two kinds as oppos'd either to identity or
resemblance. The first is called a difference oi number', the
other of kind,
SECTION VI.
Of modes and substances.
I wou'd fain ask those philosophers, who found so much
of their reasonings on the disdnction of substance and acci-
dent, and imagine we have clear ideas of each, whether the
idea of substance be deriv'd from the impressions of sensation
i6
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
» t
0/ ideas,
their ori-
gin, com-
position,
or reflexion? If it be convey 'd to us by our senses, 1 ask,
which of them ; and after what manner ? If it be perceiv'd
by the eyes, it must be a colour ; if by the ears, a sound ; if
by the palate, a taste ; and so of the other senses. But
I believe none will assert, that substance is either a colour, or
sound, or a taste. The idea of substance must therefore be
deriv'd from an impression or reflexion, if it really exist.
But the impressions of reflexion resolve themselves into our
passions and emotions ; none of which can possibly represent
a substance. We have therefore no idea of substance, dis-
tinct from that of a collection of particular qualities, nor have
we any other meaning when we either talk or reason con-
cerning it.
The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing
but a collection of simple ideas, that are united by the imagin-
ation, and have a particular name assigned them, by which
we are able to recall, either to ourselves or others, that col-
lection. But the difference betwixt these ideas consists in
this, that the particular qualities, which form a substance, are
commonly refer'd to an unknown something, in which they
are supposed to inhere ; or granting this fiction should not
take place, are at least supposed to be closely and inseparably
connected by the relations of contiguity and causation. The
effect of this is, that whatever new simple quality we discover
to have the same connexion with the rest, we immediately
comprehend it among them, even tho' it did not enter into
the first conception of the substance. Thus our idea of gold
may at first be a yellow colour, weight, malleableness, fusibi-
lity ; but upon the discovery of its dissolubility in aqua regt'a,
we join that to the other qualities, and suppose it to belong
to the substance as much as if its idea had from the begin-
ning made a part of the compound one. The principle of
union being regarded as the chief part of the complex idea,
gives entrance to whatever quality afterwards occurs, and is
equally comprehended by it, as are the others, which first
presented themselves.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 17
That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from con- Sect. VII.
sidering their nature. The simple ideas of which modes are — •♦-
formed, either represent qualities, which are not united by ,-^^/ ^'^^
contiguity and causation, but are dispers'd in different sub-
jects ; or if they be all united together, the uniting principle
is not regarded as the foundation of the complex idea. The
idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes ;
that of beauty ot the second. The reason is obvious, why
such complex ideas cannot receive any new idea, without
changing the name, which distinguishes the mode.
SECTION VII.
Of abstract ideas.
A VERY material question has been started concerning
abstract or general ideas, whether they be general or particular
in the mincts conception of them. A ^ great philosopher has
disputed the receiv'd opinion in this particular, and has
asserted, that all general ideas are nothing but particular
ones, annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more
extensive signification, and makes them recall upon occasion
other individuals, which are similar to them. As I look
upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable
discoveries that has been made of late years in the re-
public of letters, I shall here endeavour to confirm it by some
arguments, which I hope will put it beyond all doubt and
controversy.
*Tis evident, that in forming most of our general ideas, if
not all of them, we abstract from every particular degree of
quantity and quality, and that an object ceases not to be of
any particular species on account of every small alteration in
its extension, duration and other properties. It may there-
fore be thought, that here is a plain dilemma, that decides
concernmg the nature of those abstract ideas, which have
> Dr. Berkeley.
i8
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATL RE.
Part I.
- «»
0/ ideas,
their ori-
gin, com'
position.
afforded so much speculation to philosophers. The abstract
idea of a man represents men of all sizes and all qualities ;
which 'tis concluded it cannot do, but either by representing
at once all possible sizes and all possible qualities, or by
representing no particular one at all. Now it having been
esteemed absurd to defend the former proposition, as imply-
ing an infinite capacity in the mind, it has been commonly
infer'd in favour of the latter ; and our abstract ideas have
been suppos'd to represent no particular degree either of
quantity or quality. But that this inference is erroneous,
1 shall endeavour to make appear, first, by proving, that 'tis
utterly impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without
forming a precise notion of its degrees : And secondly by
showing, that tho' the capacity of the mind be not infinite,
yet we. can at once form a notion of all possible degrees of
quantity and quality, in such a manner at least, as, however
imperfect, may serve all the purposes of reflexion and con-
versation.
To begin with the first proposition, that the mind cannot
form any notion of quantity or quality without formirig a pre-
cise notion of degrees of each; we may prove this by the three
following arguments. First, We have observ'd, that what-
ever objects are different are distinguishable, and that what-
ever objects are distinguishable are separable by the thought
and imagination. And we may here add, that these proposi-
tions are equally true in the inverse, and that whatever objects
are separable are also distinguishable, and that whatever
objects are distinguishable are also different. For how
is it possible we can separate what is not distinguishable, or
distinguish what is not different? In order therefore to
know, whether abstraction implies a separation, we need only
consider it in this view, and examine, whether all the circum-
stances, which we abstract from in our general ideas, be such
as are distinguishable and different from those, which we retain
as essential parts of them. But 'tis evident at first sight,
that the precise length of a line is not different nor distin-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. I9
guisbable from the line itself; nor the precise degree of any Sect. VII Jf
quality iFrom the quality. These ideas, therefore, admit no ♦»
more of separation than they do of distinction and difference. P/^^^^^'^^
They are consequently conjoined with each other in the
conception ; and the general idea of a line, notwithstanding
all our abstractions and refinements, has in its appearance in
the mind a precise degree of quantity and quality ; however
it may be made to represent others, which have different
degrees of both.
Secondly, 'tis confest, that no object can appear to the
senses ; or in other words, that no impression can become
present to the mind, without being determin'd in its degrees ..^
both of quantity and quality. The confusion, in which
impressions are sometimes involv'd, proceeds only from
their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in
the mind to receive any impression, which in its real ex-
istence has no particular degree nor proportion. That is a
contradiction in terms; and even implies the flattest of all
contradictions, viz. that 'tis possible for the same thing both
to be and not to be.
Now since all ideas are deriv'd from impressions, and are
nothing but copies and representations of them, whatever is
true of the one must be acknowledg'd concerning the other.
Impressions and ideas differ only in their strength and
vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on any
particular degree of vivacity. It cannot therefore be affected
by any variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker
impression; and as a strong impression must necessarily
have a determinate quantity and quality, the case must be
the same with its copy or representative.
Thirdly, 'tis a principle generally receiv'd in philosophy,
that every thing in nature is individual, and that 'tis utterly
absurd to suppose a triangle really existent, which has no
precise proportion of sides and angles. If this therefore
be absurd \xv fact and reality, it must also be absurd in idea',
since nothing of which we can form a clear and distinct
20 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the idea of an
•' object, and to form an idea simply is the same thing; the
their ori- reference of the idea to an object being an extraneous
^>/, com- denomination, of which in itself it bears no mark or character.
position, JsJq^ as 'tis impossible to form an idea of an object, that
is possest of quantity and quality, and yet is possest of no
rrr precise degree of either; it follows, that there is an equal
impossibility of forming an idea, that is not limited and
__ confin'd in both these particulars. Abstract ideas are there-
fore in themselves individual, however they may become
general in their representation. The image in the mind is
only that of a particular object, tho' the application of it in
our reasoning be the same, as if it were universal.
This application of ideas beyond their nature proceeds
from our collecting all their possible degrees of quantity and
quality in such an imperfect manner as may serve the
purposes of life, which is the second proposition I propos'd
to explain. 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 observe in
the degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other
differences may appear among them. After we have ac-
quired a custom of this kind, the hearing of that name
revives the idea of one of these objects, and makes the
imagination conceive it with all its particular circumstances
and proportions. But as the same word is suppos'd to have
been frequently applied to other individuals, that are different
in many respects from that idea, which is immediately
present to the mind ; the word not being able to revive the
idea of all these individuals, only touches the soul, if I may
be allow'd so to speak, and revives that custom, which we
have acquir'd by surveying them. They are not really
and in fact present to the mind, but only in power ; nor do
we draw them all out distinctly in the imagination, but keep
ourselves in a readiness to survey any of them, as we may
be prompted by a present design or necessity. The word
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 21
raises up an individual idea, along with a certain custom ; Sect. VII,
and that custom produces any other individual one, for which ■ **
we may have occasion. But as the production of all the ^jj^^^"^^*
ideas, to which the name may be apply'd, is in most cases
impossible, we abridge that work by a more partial con-
sideration, and find but few inconveniences to arise in our
reasoning from that abridgment.
For this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in
the present affair, that_after the mind has produc'd an indi-
vidual idea, upon which we reason, the attendant custom,
reviv'd by the general or abstract term, readily suggests any
other individual, if by chance we form any reasoning, that
agrees not with it. Thus shou'd we mention the word,
triangle, and form the idea of a particular equilateral one to
correspond to it, and shou'd we afterwards assert, thai the
three angles of a triangle are equal to each other, the other
individuals of a scalenum and isoceles, which we over-
look'd at first, immediately crowd in upon us, and make us
perceive the falshood of this proposition, tho' it be true with
relation to that idea, which we had form'd. If the mind
suggests not always these ideas upon occasion, it proceeds
from some imperfection in its faculties ; and such a one as
is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. But
this is principally the case with those ideas which are abstruse
and compounded. On other occasions the custom is more
entire, and 'tis seldom we run into such errors.
Nay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may
be annext to several different words, and may be employ'd
in different reasonings, without any danger of mistake.
Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle of an inch per-
pendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a rectilineal
figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an equilateral
triangle. All these terms, therefore, are in this case attended
with the same idea ; but as they are wont to be apply'd in
a greater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits,
and thereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no
22 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. conclusion be form'd contrary to any ideas, which are usually
" compriz'd under them.
their'ori- Before those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps
f?«. com- the mind may not be content with forming the idea of only
pojttion, Qj^g individual, but may run over several, in order to make
itself comprehend its own meaning, and the compass of that
collection, which it intends to express by the general term.
That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may
revolve in our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelo-
grams, triangles of different sizes and proportions, and may
not rest on one image or idea. However this may be, 'tis
j certain that we form the idea of individuals, whenever we use
any general term ; that we seldom or never can exhaust
these individuals ; and that those, which remain, are only
represented by means of that habit, by which we recall
them, whenever any present occasion requires it. This
then is the nature of our abstract ideas and general terms ;
and 'tis after this manner we account for the forejroinsr
paradox, that some ideas are particular in their nature, but
general in their representation. A particular idea becomes
general by being annex'd to a general term ; that is, to
a term, which from a customary conjunction has a relation
to many other particular ideas, and readily recalls them in the
Limagination.
The only difficulty, that can remain on this subject, must
be with regard to that custom, which so readily recalls every
particular idea, for which we may have occasion, and is ex-
cited by any word or sound, to which we commonly annex it.
The most proper method, in my opinion, of giving a satis-
factory explication of this act of the mind, is by producing
other instances, which are analogous to it, and other principles,
which facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate causes
of our mental actions is impossible. 'Tis suflUcient, if we can
give any satisfactory account of them from experience and
analogy.
First then I observe, that when we mention any great
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 23
number, such as a thousand, the mind has generally no ade- Sect. VII.
quate idea of it, but only a power of producing such an idea, ^^ **
^. , ., r,j-,j ,-,L 1. Of abstract
by its adequate idea 01 the decimals, under which the number i^^^as,
is comprehended. This imperfection, however in our ideas, is
never felt in our reasonings ; which seems to be an instance
parallel to the present one of universal ideas.
Secondly, we have several instances of habits, which may
be reviv'd by one single word ; as when a person, who has
by rote any periods of a discourse, or any number of verses,
will be put in remembrance of the whole, which he is at
a loss to recollect, by that single word or expression, with
which they begin.
Thirdly, I believe every one, who examines the situation
of his mind in reasoning, will agree with me, that we do not
annex distinct and compleat ideas to every term we make
use of, and that in talking of government, church, negoiialion,
co7tqu€st, we seldom spread out in our minds all the simple
ideas, of which these complex ones are compos'd. 'Tis how-
ever observable, that notwithstanding this imperfection we
may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects, and may
perceive any repugnance among the ideas, as well as if we
had a full comprehension of them. Thus if instead of say-
ing, Ihai 171 war the weaker have always recourse to negotiatioji.
we shou'd say, that they have always recourse to conquest, the
custom, which we have acquir'd of attributing certain relations
to ideas, still follows the words, and makes us immediately
perceive the absurdity of that proposition ; in the same
manner as one particular idea may serve us in reasoning
concerning other ideas, however different from it in several
circumstances.
Fourthly, As the individuals are collected together, and
plac'd under a general term with a view to that resemblance,
which they bear to each other, this relation must facilitate
their entrance in the imagination, and make them be sug-
gested more readily upon occasion. And indeed if we
consider the common progress of the thought, either in
t^c.
24 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. reflexion or conversation, we shall find great reason to be
** satisfy'd in this pariicular. Nothing is more admirable, than
their ori- ^^^ readiness, with which the imagination suggests its ideas,
gift, cent- and presents them at the very instant, in which they become
position, necessary or useful. The fancy runs from one end of the
universe to the other in collecting those ideas, which belong
to any subject. One would think the whole intellectual
world of ideas was at once subjected to our view, and that
we did nothing but pick out such as were most proper for
our purpose. There may not, however, be any present,
beside those very ideas, that are thus collected by a kind of
magical faculty in the soul, which, tho' it be always most per-
tect in the greatest geniuses, and is properly what we call
a genius, is however inexplicable by the utmost efforts of
human understanding.
Perhaps these four reflexions may help to remove all
difficulties to the hypothesis I have propos'd concerning
abstract ideas, so contrary to that, which has hitherto pre-
vail'd in philosophy. But to tell the truth I place my chief
confidence in what I have already prov'd concerning the
impossibility of general ideas, according to the common
method of explaining them. We must certainly seek some
new system on this head, and there plainly is none beside
what I have propos'd. If ideas be particular in their nature,
and at the same time finite in their number, 'tis only by
custom they can become general in their representation, and
contain an infinite number of other ideas under them.
Before I leave this subject I shall employ the same princi-
ples to explain that distinction of reason, which is so much
talk'd of, and is so little understood, in the schools. Of this
kind is the distinction betwixt figure and the body figur'd;
motion and the body mov'd. The difficulty of explaining
this distinction arises from the principle above explain'd, that
all ideas, which are different, are separable. For it follows
from thence, that if the figure be different Irom the body,
their ideas must be separable as well as distinguishable ; if
Book I. OF THE UI^DERSTANDING. 115
tliey be not difTerent, their ideas can neither be separable nor Sect. vn.
distinguishable. What then is meant by a distinction of "-** ■
reason, since it implies neither a difference nor separation ? %as^'^'"^
To remove this difficulty we must have recourse to the
foregoing explication of abstract ideas. 'Tis certain that the
mind wou'd never have dream'd of distinguishing a figure
from the body figur'd, as being in reality neither distinguish-
able, nor different, nor separable; did it not observe, that
even in this simplicity there might be contain'd many
different resemblances and relations. Thus when a globe of
white marble is presented, we receive only the impression of
a white colour dispos'd in a certain form, nor are we able to
separate and distinguish the colour from the form. But
observing afterwards a globe of black marble and a cube of
white, and comparing them with our former object, we find
two separate resemblances, in what formerly seem'd, and
really is, perfectly inseparable. After a little more practice
of this kind, we begin to distinguish the figure from the
colour by a distinction of reason ; that is, we consider the
figure and colour together, since they are in effect the same
and undistinguishable ; but still view them in different
aspects, according to the resemblances, of which they are
susceptible. When we wou'd consider only the figure of the
globe of white marble, we form in reality an idea both of the
figure and colour, but tacitly carry our eye to its resemblance
with the globe of black marble : And in the same manner,
when we wou'd consider its colour only, we turn our view to
its resemblance with the cube of white marble. By this
means we accompany our ideas with a kind of reflexion, of
which custom renders us, in a great measure, insensible. A
person, who desires us to consider the figure of a globe of
white marble without thinking on its colour, desires an
impossibility ; but his meaning is, that we shou'd consider
the colour and figure together, but still keep in our eye the
resemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to any
other globe ot whatever colour or substance.
PART II.
OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.
SECTION I.
Of the infinite divisibility of our ideas of space and time.
Part IJ. Whatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the
" first and most unprejudic'd notions of mankind is often
ideas of greedily embrac'd by philosophers, as shewing the superiority
sf'ace and of their science, which cou'd discover opinions so remote
from vulgar conception. On the other hand, any thing pro-
pos'd to us, which causes surprize and admiration, gives such
a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those agree-
able emotions, and will never be perswaded that its pleasure
is entirely without foundation. From these dispositions in
philosophers and their disciples arises that mutual com-
plaisance betwixt them ; while the former furnish such plenty
of strange and unaccountable opinions, and the latter so
readily believe them. Of this mutual complaisance I cannot
give a more evident instance than in the doctrine of infinite
divisibility, with the examination of which I shall begin this
subject of the ideas of space and time.
'Tis universally allow'd, that the capacity of the mind is
limited, and can never attain a full and adequate conception
of infinity : And tho' it were not allow'd, 'twou'd be suffi-
ciently evident from the plainest observation and experience.
'Tis also obvious, that whatever is capable of being divided
in infinitum, must consist of an infinite number of parts, and
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 27
that 'tis impossible to set any bounds to the number of parts, Sect. 1.
without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It "
requires scarce any induction to conclude from hence, that J„i/fjll\.
the idea, which we form of any finite quality, is not infinitely sibiUty of
divisible, but that by proper distinctions and separations we "^'7 .'''^^
may run up this idea to inferior ones, which will be perfectly and time.
simple and indivisible. In rejecting the infinite capacity of
the mind, we suppose it may arrive at an end in the division
of its ideas ; nor are there any possible means of evading the
evidence of this conclusion.
'Tis therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a
mi'mmum, and may raise up to itself an idea, of which it
cannot conceive any sub-division, and which cannot be
diminished without a total annihilation. When you tell me
of the thousandth and ten thousandth part of a grain of sand,
I have a distinct idea of these numbers and of their different
proportions ; but the images, which I form in my mind to
represent the things themselves, are nothing different from
each other, nor inferior to that image, by which I represent
the grain of sand itself, which is suppos'd so vastly to exceed
them. What consists of parts is distinguishable into them,
and what is distinguishable is separable. But whatever we
may imagine of the thing, the idea of a grain of sand is not
distinguishable, nor separable into twenty, much less into
a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of different
ideas.
'Tis the same case with the impressions of the senses
as with the ideas of the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon
paper, fix your eye upon that spot, and retire to such a
distance, that at last you lose sight of it; 'tis plain, that
the moment before it vanish'd the image or impression was
perfectly indivisible. 'Tis not for want of rays of light striking
on our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies convey
not any sensible impression ; but because they are remov'd
beyond that distance, at which their impressions were reduc'd
to a minimum, and were incapable of any farther diminution.
time.
28 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. A microscope or telescope, which renders them visible, pro-
■ *• ■ duces not any new rays of light, but only spreads those,
ideas'of which always flow'd from them; and by that means both
sf'ace and gives parts to impressions, which to the naked eye appear
simple and uncompounded, and advances to a minimum, vi\\2X
was formerly imperceptible.
We may hence discover the error of the common opinion,
that the capacity of the mind is limited on both sides, and
that 'lis impossible for the imagination to form an adequate
idea, of what goes beyond a certain degree of minuteness as
well as of greatness. Nothing can be more minute, than
some ideas, which we form in the fancy ; and images, which
appear to the senses ; since there are ideas and images per-
fectly simple and indivisible. The only defect of our senses
is, that they give us disproportion^ images of things, and
represent as minute and uncompounded what is really great
and compos'd of a vast number of parts. This mistake we
are not sensible of; but taking the impressions of those
minute objects, which appear to the senses, to be equal or
nearly equal to the objects, and finding by reason, that there
are other objects vastly more minute, we too hastily conclude,
that these are inferior to any idea of our imagination or
impression of our senses. This however is certain, that we
can form ideas, which shall be no greater than the smallest
atom of the animal spirits of an insect a thousand times less
than a mite : And we ought rather to conclude, that the
difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much as to
form a just notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand
times less than a mite. For in order to form a just notion of
these animals, we must have a distinct idea representing every
part of them ; which, according to the system of infinite
divisibility, is utterly impossible, and according to that of
indivisible parts or atoms, is extremely difficult, by reason of
the vast number and multiplicity of these parts.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 29
Sect. II
SECTION II.
Of the in-
Of the vifim'ie divisibility of space and time. fi'.\^!^ ^'^J"
•^ -^ sibility of
Wherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, f^^^^l
the relations, contradictions and agreements of the ideas are
all applicable to the objects; and this we may in general
observe to be the foundation of all human knowledge. But
our ideas are adequate representations of the most minute
parts of extension; and thro' whatever divisions and sub-
divisions we may suppose these parts to be arriv'd at, they
can never become inferior to some ideas, which we form.
The plain consequence is, that whatever appears impossible
and contradictory upon the comparison of these ideas, must
be really impossible and contradictory, without any farther
excuse or evasion.
Every thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an
infinite number of parts; otherwise the division would be
stopt short by the indivisible parts, which we should im-
mediately arrive at. If therefore any finite extension be
infinitely divisible, it can be no contradiction to suppose, that
a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts : And
vice versa, if it be a contradiction to suppose, that a finite
extension contains an infinite number of parts, no finite
extension can be infinitely divisible. But that this latter sup-
position is absurd, I easily convince myself by the considera-
tion of my clear ideas. I first take the least idea I can form
of apart of extension, and being certain that there is nothing
more minute than this idea, I conclude, that whatever I dis-
cover by its means must be a real quality of extension.
I then repeat this idea once, twice, thrice, &;c. and find the
compound idea of extension, arising from its repetition,
always to augment, and become double, triple, quadruple,
^•c. till at last it swells up to a considerable bulk, greater
or smaller, in proportion as I repeat more or less the same
idea. When I stop in the addition of parts, the idea of
30 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. extension ceases to augment ; and were I to carry on the
'* addition in tnfiniium, I clearly perceive, that the idea of
ideas of extension must also become infinite. Upon the whole, I
space and conclude, that the idea of an infinite number of parts is in-
dividually the same idea with that of an infinite extension;
that no finite extension is capable of containing an infinite
number of parts ; and consequently that no finite extension
is infinitely divisible *.
I may subjoin another argument propos'd by a noted
author'^, which seems to me very strong and beautiful. 'Tis
evident, that existence in itself belongs only to unity, and is
never applicable to number, but on account of the unites, of
which the number is compos'd. Twenty men may be said
to exist ; but 'tis only because one, two, three, four, Sfc. are
existent ; and if you deny the existence of the latter, that of
the former falls of course. 'Tis therefore utterly absurd to
suppose any number to exist, and yet deny the existence of
unites; and as extension is always a number, according to
the common sentiment of metaphysicians, and never resolves
itself into any unite or indivisible quantity, it follows, that
extension can never at all exist. 'Tis in vain to reply, that
any determinate quantity of extension is an unite ; but such-
a-one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is
inexhaustible in its sub-divisions. For by the same rule
these twenty men may be consider d as an unite. The whole
globe of the earth, nay the whole universe may be considered
as an unite. That term of unity is merely a fictitious
denomination, which the mind may apply to any quantity
of objects it collects together ; nor can such an unity any
more exist alone than number can, as being in reality a
* It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility supposes only
an infinite number oi proportional not of aliquot parts, and tiiat an infi-
nite number of proportional parts does not form an infinite extension.
But this distinction is entirely frivolous. Whether these parts be call'd
aliquot or proportional, they cannot he inferior to those minute parts we
conceive ; and therefore cannot form a less extension by tlicir con-
junction.
* Mons. Malezieu.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 3 1
true number. But the unity, which can exist alone, and Sect. II.
whose existence is necessary to that of all number, is of "
another kind, and must be perfectly indivisible, and incapable /nn'^^divi-
of being resolved into any lesser unity. sibility of
All this reasoning takes place with regard to time ; along J-. ^ '^^
with an additional argument, which it may be proper to take
notice of. 'Tis a property inseparable from time, and which
in a manner constitutes its essence, that each of its parts
succeeds another, and that none of them, however conti-
guous, can ever be co-existenL For the same reason, that
the year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738,
every moment must be distinct from, and posterior or ante-
cedent to another. 'Tis certain then, that time, as it exists,
must be compos'd of indivisible moments. For if in time
we could never arrive at an end of division, and if each
moment, as it succeeds another, were not perfectly single
and indivisible, there would be an infinite number of co-
existent moments, or parts of time ; which I believe will be
allow'd to be ap arrant contradiction.
The infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is
evident from the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore,
be impossible, the former must be equally so.
I doubt not but it will readily be allow'd by the most
obstinate defender of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that
these arguments are difficulties, and that 'tis impossible to
give any answer to them which will be perfectly clear and
satisfactory. But here we may observe, that nothing can be
more absurd, than this custom of calling a difficulty what
pretends to be a demonstration, and endeavouring by that
means to elude its force and evidence. 'Tis not in demon-
strations as in probabilities, that difficulties can take place,
and one argument counter-ballance another, and diminish its
authority. A demonstration, if just, admits of no opposite
difficulty; and if not just, 'tis a mere sophism, and con-
sequently can never be a difficulty. 'Tis either irresistible,
or has no manner of force. To talk therefore of objections
32
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
ideas of
space and
time.
Part II. and replies, and ballancing of arguments in such a question
as this, is to confess, either that human reason is nothing but
a play of words, or that the person himself, who talks so, has
not a capacity equal to such subjects. Demonstrations may
be difficult to be comprehended, because of the abstracted-
ness of the subject; but can never have any such difficulties
as will weaken their authority, when once they are compre-
hended.
'Tis true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are
here equally strong arguments on the other side of the ques-
tion, and that the doctrine of indivisible points is also liable
to unanswerable objections. Before I examine these argu-
ments and objections in detail, I will here take them in a
body, and endeavour by a short and decisive reason to prove
at once, that 'tis utterly impossible they can have any just
foundation.
'Tis an establish'd maxim in metaphysics, That ivhaiever
the mind clearly conceives i?icludes the idea of possible existence,
or in other words, that nothing we imagine is absolutely impos-
sible. We can form the idea of a golden mountain, and from
thence conclude that such a mountain may actually exist.
We can form no idea of a mountain without a valley, and
therefore regard it as impossible.
Now 'tis certain we have an idea of extension ; for other-
wise why do we talk and reason concerning it ? 'Tis like-
wise certain, that this idea, as conceiv'd by the imagination,
tho' divisible into parts or inferior ideas, is not infinitely
divisible, nor consists of an infinite number of parts : For
that exceeds the comprehension of our limited capacities.
Here then is an idea of extension, which consists of parts or
inferior ideas, that are perfectly indivisible : consequently this
idea implies no contradiction : consequently 'tis possible for
extension really to exist conformable to it : and consequently
all the arguments employ'd against the possibility of mathe-
matical points are mere scholastick quibbles, and unworthy
of our attention.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 33
These consequences we may carry one step farther, and Sect. III.
conclude that all the pretended demonstrations for the infinite — ^ —
divisibility of extension are equally sophistical; since 'tis cer- ^/^^^l^^^.
tain these demonstrations cannot be just without proving the lities of our
impossibility of mathematical points : which 'tis an evident 't*'^'^ "J ,
r J r J space and
absurdity to pretend to. time.
SECTION III.
0/ the other qualities of our ideas of space and time.
No discovery cou'd have been made more happily for
deciding all controversies concerning ideas, than that above-
mention'd, that impressions always take the precedency of
them, and that every idea, with which the imagination is
furnish'd, first makes its appearance in a correspondent im-
pression. These latter perceptions are all so clear and
evident, that they admit of no controversy ; tho' many of
our ideas are so obscure, that 'tis almost impossible even for
the mind, which forms them, to tell exactly their nature and
composition. Let us apply this principle, in order to dis-
cover farther the nature of our ideas of space and time.
Upon opening my eyes, and turning them to the surround-
ing objects, I perceive many visible bodies ; and upon shut-
ting them again, and considering the distance betwixt these
bodies, I acquire the idea of extension. As every idea is
deriv'd from some impression, which is exactly similar to it,
the impressions similar to this idea of extension, must either
be some sensations deriv'd from the sight, or some internal
impressions arising from these sensations.
Our internal impressions are our passions, emotions,
desires and aversions ; none of which, I believe, will ever be
asserted to be the model, from which the idea of space is
deriv'd. There remains therefore nothing but the senses,
which can convey to us this original impression. Now what
impression do our senses here convey to us ? This is the
tinu.
34 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. principal question, and decides without appeal concerning the
*• nature of the idea.
iaeas'of '^^^ ^zh\t before me is alone sufficient by its view to give
space and me the idea of extension. This idea, then, is borrow'd from,
and represents some impression, which this moment appears
to the senses. But my senses convey to me only the impres-
sions of colour'd points, dispos'd in a certain manner. If the
eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire it may be pointed
out to me. But if it be impossible to shew any thing farther,
we may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is
nothing but a copy of these colour'd points, and of the
manner of their appearance.
Suppose that in the extended object, or composition of
colour'd points, from which we first receiv'd the idea of exten-
sion, the points were of a purple colour ; it follows, that in
every repetition of that idea we wou'd not only place the
points in the same order with respect to each other, but also
bestow on them that precise colour, with which alone we are
acquainted. But afterwards having experience of the other
colours of violet, green, red, white, black, and of all the dif-
ferent compositions of these, and finding a resemblance in
the disposition of colour'd points, of which they are compos'd,
we omit the peculiarities of colour, as far as possible, and
found an abstract idea merely on that disposition of points,
or manner of appearance, in which they agree. Nay even
when the resemblance is carry'd beyond the objects of one
sense, and the impressions of touch are found to be similar
to those of sight in the disposition of their parts ; this does
not hinder the abstract idea from representing both, upon
account of their resemblance. All abstract ideas are really
nothing but particular ones, consider'd in a certain light; but
being annexed to general terms, they are able to represent
a vast variety, and to comprehend objects, which, as they are
alike in some particulars, are in otliers vastly wide of each
other.
The idea of time, being deriv'd from the succession of our
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 35
perceptions of every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and Sect, in
impressions of reflection as well as of sensation, will afford us *'
an instance of an abstract idea, which comprehends a still ^^^^r guc-
greater variety than that of space, and yet is represented in Utiesof
the fancy by some particular mdividual idea of a determinate o/^p^lg ^
quantity and quality. and time.
As 'tis from the disposition of visible and tangible objects
we receive the idea of space, so from the succession of ideas
and impressions we form the idea of time, nor is it possible
for time alone ever to make its appearance, or be taken
notice of by the mind. A man in a sound sleep, or strongly
occupy'd with one thought, is insensible of time ; and accord-
ing as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or less
rapidity, the same duration appears longer or shorter to his
imagination. It has been remark'd by a ^ great philosopher,
that our perceptions have certain bounds in this particular,
which are fix'd by the original nature and constitution of the
mind, and beyond which no influence of external objects on
the senses is ever able to hasten or retard our thought. If
you wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, it will present
to the senses an image of a circle of fire ; nor will there seem
to be any interval of time betwixt its revolutions; meerly
because 'tis impossible for our perceptions to succeed each
other with the same rapidity, that motion may be commu-
nicated to external objects. Wherever we have no successive
perceptions, we have no notion of time, even tho' there be
a real succession in the objects. From these phsenomena, as
well as from many others, we may conclude, that time cannot
make its appearance to the mind, either alone, or attended
with a steady unchangeable object, but is always discover'd
by some perceivable succession of changeable objects.
To confirm this we may add the following argument,
which to me seems perfectly decisive and convincing. 'Tis
evident, that time or duration consists of different parts : For
otherwise we cou'd not conceive a longer or shorter dura-
* Mr. Locke.
'tnu.
36 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. tion. 'Tis also evident, that these parts are not co-existent :
•• For that quality of the co-existence of parts belongs to
ideas'of extension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now
tpace and as time is compos'd of parts, that are not co-existent; an
unchangeable object, since it produces none but co-existent
impressions, produces none that can give us the idea of
time ; and consequently that idea must be deriv'd from a suc-
cession of changeable objects, and time in its first appearance
can never be sever'd from such a succession.
Having therefore found, that time in its first appearance
to the mind is always conjoin'd with a succession of change-
able objects, and that otherwise it can never fall under our
notice, jwe must now examine whether it can be conceivd
without our conceiving any succession of objects, and
whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the imagina-
tion.
In order to know whether any objects, which are join'd in
impression, be separable in idea, we need only consider, if
they be different from each other ; in which case, 'tis plain
they may be conceiv'd apart. Every thing, that is different,
is distinguishable; and every thing, that is distinguishable,
may be separated, according to the maxims above-explain'd.
If on the contrary they be not different, they are not dis-
tinguishable ; and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot
be separated. But this is precisely the case with respect to
time, compar'd with our successive perceptions. The idea
of time is not deriv'd from a particular impression mix'd up
with others, and plainly distinguishable from them; but
arises altogether from the manner, in which impressions
appear to the mind, without making one of the number.
Five notes play'd on a flute give us the impression and idea
of time ; tho' time be not a sixth impression, which presents
itself to the hearing or any other of the senses. Nor is it
a sixth impression, which the mind by reflection finds in itself.
These five sounds making their appearance in this particular
manner, excite no emotion in the mind, nor produce an
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 37
affection of any kind, whicli being observ'd by it can give Sect. 113
rise to a new idea. For that is necessary to produce a new —^ —
idea of reflection, nor can the mind, by revolving over f, '
a thousand times all its ideas of sensation, ever extract from HHes of
them any new original idea, unless nature has so fram'd its °^^ ^^^'^^
,-,•,. r 1 .... . . of space
faculties, that it feels some new original impression ^lU'&q and thne,
from such a contemplation. But here it only takes notice
of the manner, in which the different sounds make their
appearance ; and that it may afterwards consider without
considering these particular sounds, but may conjoin it with
any other objects. The ideas of some objects it certainly
must have, nor is it possible for it without these ideas ever to
arrive at any conception of time ; which since it appears not
as any primary distinct impression, can plainly be nothing
but different ideas, or impressions, or objects dispos'd in
a certain manner, that is, succeeding each other.
I know there are some who pretend, that the idea of
duration is applicable in a proper sense to objects, which are
perfectly unchangeable ; and this I take to be the common
opinion of philosophers as well as of the vulgar. But to
be convinc'd of its falsehood we need but reflect on the
foregoing conclusion, that the idea of duration is always
deriv'd from a succession of changeable objects, and can
never be convey'd to the mind by any thing stedfast and
unchangeable. For it inevitably follows from thence, that
since the idea of duration cannot be deriv'd from such an
object, it can never in any propriety or exactness be apply'd
to it, nor can any thing unchangeable be ever said to have
duration. Ideas always represent the objects or impressions,
from which they are deriv'd, and can never without a fiction
represent or be apply'd to any other. By what fiction we
apply the idea of time, even to what is unchangeable, and
suppose, as is common, that duration is a measure of rest as
well as of motion, we shall consider ^ afterwards.
' Sect. V (p. 65).
(I me.
33 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. There is another very decisive argument, which establishes
** • the present doctrine concerning our ideas of space and time,
ideas' of ^"^ '^ founded only on that simple principle, that our ideas
ipace and 0/ ihem are compounded 0/ parts, which are itidivisible. This
argument may be worth the examining.
Every idea, that is distinguishable, being also separable,
let us take one of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the
compound one of extension is form'd, and separating it
from all others, and considering it apart, let us form a judg-
ment of its nature and qualities.
'Tis plain it is not the idea of extension. For the idea
of extension consists of parts; and this idea, according
to the supposition, is perfectly simple and indivisible. Is it
therefore nothing? That is absolutely impossible. For as
the compound idea of extension, which is real, is compos'd
of such ideas ; were these so many non-entities, there
wou'd be a real existence compos'd of non-entiues ; which
is absurd. Here therefore I must ask, Wha/ is our idea of^
a simple and indivisible point ? No wonder if my answer
appear somewhat new, since the question itself has scarce
ever yet been thought of. We are wont to dispute concern-
ing the nature of mathematical points, but seldom concerning
the nature of their ideas.
The idea of space is convey'd to the mind by two
senses, the sight and touch ; nor does any thing ever appear
extended, that is not either visible or tangible. That
compound impression, which represents extension, consists of
several lesser impressions, that are indivisible to the eye or
feeling, and may be call'd impressions of atoms or corpuscles
endow'd with colour and solidity. But this is not all. 'Tis
not only requisite, that these atoms shou'd be colour'd or
tangible, in order to discover themselves to our senses ; 'tis
also necessary we shou'd preserve the idea of their colour or
tangibility in order to comprehend them by our imagination
There is nothing but the idea of their colour or tangibility
which can render them conceivable by the mind. Upon the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 39
removal of the ideas of these sensible qualities, they are Sect. TV
utterly annihilated to the thought or imagination, - ♦♦
Now such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point Ol'J^<^^^°>"
^ ^ , ■ , . answer a.
be not consider d as colour d or tangible, it can convey to us
no idea ; and consequently the idea of extension, which is
compos'd of the ideas of these points, can never possibly
exist. But if the idea of extension really can exist, as we are
conscious it does, its parts must also exist ; and in order to
that, must be consider'd as colour'd or tangible. We have
therefore no idea of space or extension, but when we regard
it as an object either of our sight or feeling.
The same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible
moments of time must be fill'd with some real object or
existence, whose succession forms the duration, and makes
it be conceivable by the mind.
SECTION IV.
Objections answer d.
Our system concerning space and time consists of two
parts, which are intimately connected together. The first X'
depends on this chain of reasoning. The capacity of the
mind is not infinite ; consequently no idea of extension or
duration consists of an infinite number of parts or inferior
ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple and indi-
visible : 'Tis therefore possible for space and time to exist
conformable to this idea : And if it be possible, 'tis certain
they actually do exist conformable to it; since their infinite
divisibility is utterly impossible and contradictory.
The other part of our system is a consequence of this.
The parts, into which the ideas of space and time resolve
themselves, become at last indivisible; and these indivisible
parts, being nothing in themselves, are inconceivable when
not fiU'd with something real and existent. The ideas of
space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas,
/
40
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of (he
ideas of
spaa atid
time.
but merely those of the manner or order, in which objects
exist : Or, in other words, 'tis impossible to conceive either
a vacuum and extension without matter, or a time, when
there was no succession or change in any real existence.
The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our system is
the reason why we shall examine together the objections,
which have been urg'd against both of them, beginning with
those against the finite divisibility of extension.
I. The first of these objections, which I shall take notice
of, is more proper to prove this connexion and dependance
of the one part upon the other, than to destroy either of
them. It has often been maintain'd in the schools, that
extension must be divisible, in infinittan, because the system
of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd,
because a mathematical point is a non-entity, and conse-
quently can never by its conjunction with others form a real
existence. This_\vgu'd be perfectly decisive, were there no
medium betwixt the infinite divisibility of matter, and the
non-entity of mathematical points. But there is evidently
a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on these
points ; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demon-
stration of the truth and reality of this medium. The system
of physical points, which is another medium, is too absurd to
need a refutation. A real extension, such as a physical
point is suppos'd to be, can never exist without parts,
diff"erent from each other; and wherever objects are dif-
ferent, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagin-
ation.
II. The second objection is deriv'd from the necessity
there wou'd be of penetration, if extension consisted of
mathematical points. A simple and indivisible atom, that
touches another, must necessarily penetrate it; for 'tis im-
jpossible it can touch it by its external parts, from the very
supposition of its perfect simplicity, which excludes all parts.
It must therefore touch it intimately, and in its whole essence,
secundum se, to/a, ^- tota/iter ; which is the very definition of
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 41
penetration. But penetration is impossible : Mathematical Sect. IV
points are of consequence equally impossible. _ *\ '
I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea '^^ answered
penetration. Suppose two bodies containing no void within
their circumference, to approach each other, and to unite
in such a manner that the body, which results from their '
union, is no more extended than either of them ; 'tis this
we must mean when we talk of penetration. But 'tis evident
this penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of
these bodies, and the preservation of the other, without our
being able to distinguish particularly which is preserv'd and
which annihilated. Before the approach we have the idea
of two bodies. After it we have the idea only of one. 'Tis
impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of difference
betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same
place at the same time.
Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation
of one body upon its approach to another, I ask any one, if
he sees a necessity, that a colour'd or tangible point shou'd
be annihilated upon the approach of another colour'd or
tangible point? On the contrary, does he not evidently
perceive, that from the union of these pomts there results an
object, which is compounded and divisible, and may be
distinguish'd into two parts, of which each preserves its
existence distinct and separate, notwithstanding its contiguity
to the other? Let him aid his fancy by conceiving these
points to be of different colours, the better to prevent their
coalition and confusion. A blue and a red point may surely
lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation. For
if they cannot, what possibly can become of them ? Whether
shall the red or the blue be annihilated ? Or if these colours
unite into one, what new colour will they produce by their
union ?
What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the
same time renders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer
to them, is the natural infirmity and unsteadiness both of
i
42 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Tart II. our imagination and senses, when employ'd on such minute
■ ♦♦ objects. Put a spot of ink upon paper, and retire to such
0/ the a distance, that the spot becomes altogether invisible; you
f/ace and ^^'^'^ fij^<^> '^hat upon your return and nearer approach the
time. spot first becomes visible by short intervals; and afterwards
becomes always visible ; and afterwards acquires only a new
force in its colouring without augmenting its bulk ; and
afterwards, when it has encreas'd to such a degree as to be
really extended, 'tis still difficult for the imagination to break
it into its component parts, because of the uneasiness it finds
in the conception of such a minute object as a single point.
This infirmity aff"ects most of our reasonings on the present
subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an
intelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions
which may arise concerning it.
III. There have been many objections drawn from the
mathematics against the indivisibility of the parts of extension ;
tho' at first sight that science seems rather favourable to the
present doctrine ; and if it be contrary in its demonstrations,
'tis perfectly conformable in its definitions. I\Iy present
business then must be to defend the definitions, and refute
the demonstrations.
A surface is defind to be length and breadth without depth :
A line to be length without breadih or depth : A point to be
what has neither length, breadth nor depth. 'Tis evident
I that all this is perfectly unintelligible upon any other sup-
position than that of the composition of extension by in-
divisible points or atoms. How else cou'd any thing exist
without length, without breadth, or without depth ?
Two different answers, I find, have been made to this
argument; neither of which is in my opinion satisfactory.
The first is, that the objects of geometry, those surfaces,
lines and points, whose proportions and positions it examines,
are mere ideas in the mind ; and not only never did, but
never can exist in nature. They never did exist; for no
one will pretend to draw a line or make a surface entirely
■lo
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 43
conrormable to the definition: They never can exist; for we Sect. IV.
may produce demonstrations from these very ideas to prove " *•
., ^ ^, . .,1 Objections
that they are impossible. answer d
But can any thing be imagin'd more absurd and contra-
dictory than this reasoning? Whatever can be conceiv'd
by a clear and distinct idea necessarily implies the possibility
of existence ; and he who pretends to prove the impossibility
of its existence by any argument deriv'd from the clear idea,
in reality asserts, that we have no clear idea of it, because we
have a clear idea. 'Tis in vain to search for a contradiction
in any thing that is distinctly conceiv'd by the mind. Did
it imply any contradiction, 'tis impossible it cou'd ever be
conceiv'd.
There is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least
the possibility of indivisible points, and denying their idea;
and 'tis on this latter principle, that the second answer to
the foregoing argument is founded. It has been ^ pretended,
that tho' it be impossible to conceive a length without any
breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation, we can
consider the one without regarding the other ; in the same
manner as we may think of the length of the way betwixt two
towns, and overlook its breadth. The length is inseparable
from the breadth both in nature and in our minds ; but this
excludes not a partial consideration, and a disti7iciion 0/ reason,
after the manner above explain'd.
In refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument,
which I have already sufficiently explain'd, that if it be
impossible for the mind to arrive at a minimum in its ideas,
its capacity must be infinite, in order to comprehend the
infinite number of parts, of which its idea of any extension
wou'd be compos'd, I shall here endeavour to find some
new absurdities in this reasoning.
A surface terminates a solid ; a line terminates a surface ;
a point terminates a line ; but I assert, that if the ideas of
a point, line or surface were not indivisible, 'tis impossible we
' U Art de penser.
/
time.
44 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. shou'd ever conceive these terminations. For let these
" *♦ ■ ideas be suppos'd infinitely divisible ; and then let the fancy
ideas'of endeavour to fix itself on the idea of the last surface, line or
space and point ; it immediately finds this idea to break into parts ;
and upon its seizing the last of these parts, it loses its hold
by a new division, and so on in infinitum, without any pos-
sibility of its arriving at a concluding idea. The number of
fractions bring it no nearer the last division, than the first
idea it form'd. Every particle eludes the grasp by a new
fraction; like quicksilver, when we endeavour to seize it.
But as in fact there must be something, which terminates
the idea of every finite quantity; and as this terminating
idea cannot itself consist of parts or inferior ideas ; otherwise
it wou'd be the last of its parts, which finish'd the idea, and
so on ; this is a clear proof, that the ideas of surfaces, lines
and points admit not of any division ; those of surfaces in
depth ; of Hnes in breadth and depth ; and of points in any
dimension.
The schoolmen were so sensible of the force of this argu-
ment, that some of them maintain'd, that nature has mix'd
among those pardcles of matter, which are divisible in infini-
tum, a number of mathematical points, in order to give
a termination to bodies ; and others eluded the force of this
reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and distinctions.
Both these adversaries equally yield the victory. A man
who hides himself, confesses as evidently the superiority of
his enemy, as another, who fiirly delivers his arms.
Thus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy
the pretended demonstrations ; and that if we have the idea
of indivisible points, lines and surfaces conformable to the
definition, their existence is certainly possible: but if we
have no such idea, 'tis impossible we can ever conceive the
termination of any figure ; without which conception there
can be no geometrical demonstration.
But I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demon-
strations can have sufficient weight to establish such a
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 45
principle, as this of infinite divisibility; and that because with Sect. IV.
regard to such minute objects, they are not properly demon- — **—
strations, being built on ideas, which are not exact, and 1^,^^^°^^
maxims, which are not precisely true. When geometry
decides any thing concerning the proportions of quantity,
we ought not to look for the \x\xao%\. precision and exactness.
None of its proofs extend so far. It takes the dimensions
and proportions of figures justly ; but roughly, and with
some liberty. Its errors are never considerable ; nor wou'd
it err at all, did it not aspire to such an absolute perfection.
I first ask mathematicians, what they mean when they say
one line or surface is equal to, or greater, or less than
another ? Let any of them give an answer, to whatever sect
he belongs, and whether he maintains the composition of
extension by indivisible points, or by quantities divisible in
infinitum. This question will embarrass both of them.
There are few or no mathematicians who defend the
hypothesis of indivisible points ; and yet these have the
readiest and justest answer to the present question. They
need only reply, that lines or surfaces are equal, when the
numbers of points in each are equal ; and that as the pro-
portion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines
and surfaces is also vary'd. But tho' this answer be just, as
well as obvious ; yet I may affirm, that this standard of
equality is entirely useless, and that it never is from such
a comparison we determine objects to be equal or unequal
with respect to each other. For as the points, which enter
into the composition of any line or surface, whether perceiv'd
by the sight or touch, are so minute and so confounded with
each other, that 'tis utterly impossible for the mind to com-
pute their number, such a computation will never aflford us
a standard, by which we may judge of proportions. No one
will ever be able to determine by an exact numeration, that
an inch has fewer points than a foot, or a foot fewer than an
ell or any greater measure ; for which reason we seldom or
never consider this as the standard of equality or inequality.
C
46
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
ideas of
space and
time.
ii
Part II. As to those, who imagine, that extension is divisible in
infinitum^ 'tis impossible they can make use of this answer,
or fix the equality of any line or surface by a numeration of
jts component parts. For since, according to their hypo-
thesis, the least as well as greatest figures contain an infinite
number of parts ; and since infinite numbers, properly
speaking, can neither be equal nor unequal with respect to
each other ; the equality or inequality of any portions of
space can never depend on any proportion in the number of
th^ir parts. 'Tis true, it may be said, that the inequality of
an ell and a yard consists in the different numbers of the
feet, of which they are compos'd ; and that of a foot and a
yard in the number of the inches. But as that quantity we
call an inch in the one is ^uppos'd equal to what we call an
inch in the other, and as 'tis impossible for the mind to find
this equality by proceeding in infiniium with these references
to inferior quantities; 'tis evident, that at last we must fix
some standard of equality different from an enumeration of
the parts.
There are some ', who pretend, that equality is best defin'd
by congruity, and that any two figures are equal, when upon
the placing of one upon the other, all their parts correspond
to and touch each other. In order to judge of this definition
let us consider, that since equality is a relation, it is not,
strictly speaking, a property in the figures themselves, but
arises merely from the comparison, which the mind makes
betwixt them. If it consists, therefore, in this imaginary
applicadon and mutual contact of parts, we must at least
have a distinct notion of these parts, and must conceive their
contact. Now 'tis plain, that in this conception we wou'd
run up these parts to the greatest minuteness, which can
possibly be conceiv'd ; since the contact of large parts wou'd
never render the figures equal. But the minutest parts we
can conceive are mathematical points ; and consequently
this standard of equality is the same with that deriv'd from
* See Dr. Barrow's mathematical lectures-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 47
the equality of the number of points ; which we have already Sect. IV.
determin'd to be a just but an useless standard. We must - ♦' -
therefore look to some other quarter for a solution of the „J^'^^^°^J
^ answer a.
present difficulty.
'Tis evident, that the eye, or rather the mind is often able
at one view to determine the proportions of bodies, and pro-
nounce them equal to, or greater or less than each other,
without examining or comparing the number of their minute
parts. Such judgments are not only common, but in many
cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard
and that of a foot are presented, the mind can no more
question, that the first is longer than the second, than it
can doubt of those principles, which are the most clear and
self-evident.
There are therefore three proportions, which the mind dis-
tinguishes in the general appearance of its objects, and calls
by the names of greater, less and equal. But tho' its de-
cisions concerning these proportions be sometimes infallible,
they are not always so ; nor are our judgments of this kind
more exempt from doubt and error, than those on any other
subject. We frequently correct our first opinion by a review
and reflection ; and pronounce those objects to be equal,
which at first we esteem'd unequal ; and regard an object as
less, tho' before it appear'd greater than another. Nor is
this the only correction, which these judgments of our senses
undergo ; but we often discover our error by a juxta-position
of the objects ; or where that is impracticable, by the use of
some common and invariable measure, which being succes-
sively apply 'd to each, informs us of their different propor-
tions. And even this correction is susceptible of a new
correction, and of different degrees of exactness, according
to the nature of the instrument by which we measure the
bodies, and the care which we employ in the comparison.
When therefore the mind is accustom'd to these judgments
and their corrections, and finds that the same proportion
which makes two figures have in the eye that appearance,
48 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. which we call equality, makes them also correspond to each
'~** — other, and to any common measure, with which they are
ideas^of compar'd, we form a mix'd notion of equality deriv'd both
space and from the looser and stricter methods of comparison. But
time, ^^ ^j.g j^Qj. content with this. For as sound reason convinces
us that there are bodies vastly more minute than those,
which appear to the senses ; and as a false reason wou'd
perswade us, that there are bodies infinitely more minute;
we clearly perceive, that we are not possess'd of any instru-
ment or art of measuring, which can secure us from all error
and uncertainty. We are sensible, that the addition or re-
moval of one of these minute parts, is not discernible either
in the appearance or measuring ; and as we imagine, that
two figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal after
this removal or addition, we therefore suppose some ima-
ginary standard of equality, by which the appearances and
measuring are exactly corrected, and the figures reduc'd en-
tirely to that proportion. This standard is plainly imaginary.
For as the very idea of equality is that of such a particular
appearance corrected by juxta-position or a common mea-
sure, the notion of any correction beyond what we have
instruments and art to make, is a mere fiction of the mind,
and useless as well as incomprehensible. But tho' this
standard be only imaginary, the fiction however is very
natural ; nor is any thing more usual, than for the mind to
proceed after this manner with any action, even after the
reason has ceas'd, which first determin'd it to begin. This
appears very conspicuously with regard to time ; where tho'
'tis evident we have no exact method of determining the pro-
portions of parts, not even so exact as in extension, yet the
various corrections of our measures, and their different degrees
of exactness, have given us an obscure and implicit notion of
a perfect and entire equality. The case is the same in many
other subjects. A musician finding his ear become every
day more delicate, and correcting himself by reflection and
attention, proceeds with the same act of the mind, even when
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 49
the subject fails him, and entertains a notion of a compleat Sbct. IV.
tierce or octave, without being able to tell whence he derives "
his standard. A painter forms the same fiction with regard answer d
to colours. A mechanic with regard to motion. To the one
light 2in<\ shade] to the other swift and slow are imagin'd to
be capable of an exact comparison and equality beyond the
judgments of the senses.
We may apply the same reasoning to curve and right
lines. Nothing is more apparent to the senses, than the dis-
tinction betwixt a curve and a right line ; nor are there any
ideas we more easily form than the ideas of these objects.
But however easily we may form these ideas, 'tis impossible
to produce any definition of them, which will fix the precise
boundaries betwixt them. When we draw lines upon paper
or any continu'd surface, there is a certain order, by which
the lines run along from one point to another, that they may
produce the entire impression of a curve or right line ; but
this order is perfectly unknown, and nothing is observ'd but
the united appearance. Thus even upon the system of in-
divisible points, we can only form a distant notion of some
imknown standard to these objects. Upon that of infinite
drvisibility we cannot go even this length ; but are reduc'd
meerly to the general appearance, as the rule by which we
determine Hnes to be either curve or right ones. But tho' we
can give no perfect definition of these lines, nor produce any
very exact method of distinguishing the one from the other ;
yet this hinders us not from correcting the first appearance by
a more accurate consideration, and by a comparison with
some rule, of whose rectiiude from repeated trials we have
a greater assurance. And 'tis from these corrections, and by
carrying on the same action of the mind, even when its
reason fails us, that we form the loose idea of a perfect
standard to these figures, without being able to explain or
comprehend it.
'Tis true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact de-
finition of a right line, when they say, it is the shortest way
/
time.
50 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. helwixt two points. But in the first place, I observe, that this
" is more properly the discovery of one of the properties of
ideas of ^ ''^S^'^ \yc\t, than a just definition of it. For I ask any one,
space and if upon mention of a right line he thinks not immediately on
such a particular appearance, and if 'tis not by accident only
that he considers this property? A right line can be com-
prehended alone ; but this definition is unintelligible without
a comparison with other lines, which we conceive to be more
extended. In common life 'tis establish'd as a maxim, that
the streightest way is always the shortest ; which wou'd be as
absurd as to say, the shortest way is always the shortest, if
our idea of a right line was not different from that of the
shortest way betwixt two points.
Secondly, I repeat what I have already establish'd, that we
have no precise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and
longer, more than of a right line or a curve ; and conse-
quently that the one can never aflford us a perfect standard
for the other. An exact idea can never be built on such as
are loose and undeterminate.
The idea oi 2, plain surface is as little susceptible of a pre-
cise standard as that of a right line; nor have we any other
means of distinguishing such a surface, than its general
appearance. 'Tis in vain, that mathematicians represent a
plain surface as produc'd by the flowing of a right line.
'Twill immediately be objected, that our idea of a surface
is as independent of this method of forming a surface, as our
idea of an ellipse is of that of a cone ; that the idea of a right
line is no more precise than that of a plain surface ; that
a right line may flow irregularly, and by that means form a
figure quite different from a plane; and that therefore we
must suppose it to flow along two right lines, parallel to each
other, and on the same plane ; which is a description, that
exjjlains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle.
It appears, then, that the ideas which are most essential to
geometry, viz. those of equality and inequality, of a right
line and a plain surface, are far from being exact and
bookl of the understanding. 51
determinate, according to our common method of conceiving Sect. IV.
them. Not only we are incapable of telling, if the case be **;"
in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are amwer'd
equal ; when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a
plain one; but we can form no idea of that proportion,
or of these figures, which is firm and invariable. Our appeal
is still to the weak and fallible judgment, which we make
from the appearance of the objects, and correct by a compass
or common measure ; and if we join the supposition of any
farther correction, 'tis of such-a-one as is either useless or
imaginary. In vain shou'd we have recourse to the common
topic, and employ the supposition of a deity, whose omni-
potence may enable him to form a perfect geometrical figure,
and describe a right line without any curve or inflexion. As
the ultimate standard of these figures is deriv'd from nothing
but the senses and imagination, 'tis absurd to talk of any
perfection beyond what these faculties can judge of; since
tjie true perfection of any thing consists in its conformity to
its standard.
Now since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I wou'd
fain ask any mathematician what infallible assurance he has,
not only of the more intricate and obscure propositions of
his science, but of the most vulgar and obvious principles ?
How can he prove to me, for instance, that two right lines
cannot have one common segment ? Or that 'tis impossible
to draw more than one right line betwixt any two points?
Shou'd he tell me, that these opinions are obviously absurd,
and repugnant to our clear ideas ; I wou'd answer, that I do
not deny, vvhere two right lines incline upon each other with
a sensible angle, but 'tis absurd to imagine them to have
a common segment. But supposing these two lines to
approach at the rate of an inch in twenty leagues, I perceive
no absurdity in asserting, that upon their contact they
become one. For, I beseech you, by what rule or standard
do you judge, when you assert, that the line, in which I have
suppos'd them to concur, cannot make the same right line
time.
52 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. with those two, that form so small an angle betwixt them?
"^ You must surely have some idea of a right line, to which
ideas of ^^^^ ''"^ *^°^^ ^°* agree. Do you therefore mean, that it
space ajid takes not the points in the same order and by the same rule,
as is peculiar and essential to a right Hne? If so, I must
inform you, that besides that in judging after this manner
you allow, that extension is compos'd of indivisible points
(which, perhaps, is more than you intend) besides this, I say,
I must inform you, that neither is this the standard from
which we form the idea of a right line ; nor, if it were, is
there any such firmness in our senses or imagination, as to
determine when such an order is violated or preserv'd. The
original standard of a right line is in reality nothing but
a certain general appearance ; and 'tis evident right lines
may be made to concur wath each other, and yet correspond
to this standard, tho' corrected by all the means either
practicable or imaginable.
This may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no
geometrical demonstration for the infinite divisibility of ex-
tension can have so much force as what we naturally attribute
to every argument, which is supported by such magnificent
pretensions. At the same time we may learn the reason,
why geometry fails of evidence in this single point, while all
its other reasonings command our fullest assent and appro-
bation. And indeed it seems more requisite to give the
reason of this exception, than to shew, that we really must
make such an exception, and regard all the mathematical
arguments for infinite divisibility as utterly sophistical. For
'tis evident, that as no idea of quantity is infinitely divisible,
there cannot be imagin'd a more glaring absurdity, than
to endeavour to prove, that quantity itself admits of such
a division ; and to prove this by means of ideas, which are
directly opposite in that particular. And as this absurdity is
very glaring in itself, so there is no argument founded on it,
which is not attended with a new absurdity, and involves not
an evident contradiction.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 53
I might give as instances those arguments for infinite Sect. V.
divisibility, which are deriv'd from the pohit of contact. I "
know there is no mathematician, who will not refuse to be ^Ji^:g^i"^'„
judg'd by the diagrams he describes upon paper, these being tiim'd.
loose draughts, as he will tell us, and serving only to convey
with greater facility certain ideas, which are the true found-
ation of all our reasoning. This I am satisfy'd with, and
am willing to rest the controversy merely upon these ideas.
I desire therefore our mathematician to form, as accurately
as possible, the ideas of a circle and a right line ; and I then
ask, if upon the conception of their contact he can conceive
them as touching in a mathematical point, or if he must
necessarily imagine them to concur for some space. Which-
ever side he chuses, he runs himself into equal difficulties.
If he affirms, that in tracing these figures in his imagination,
he can imagine them to touch only in a point, he allows the
possibility of that idea, and consequently of the thing. If he
says, that in his conception of the contact of those lines he
must make them concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy
of geometrical demonstrations, when carry'd beyond a certain
degree of minuteness ; since 'tis certain he has such demon-
strations against the concurrence of a circle and a right line ;
that is, in other words, he can prove an idea, viz. that of
concurrence, to be incompatible with two other ideas, viz.
those of a circle and right line; tho' at the same time he
acknowledges these ideas to be inseparable.
SECTION V.
The same subject continud.
If the second part of my system be true, that the idea oj
space or extension is nothirig but the idea of visible or tangible
points distributed in a certain order; it follows, that we can
form no idea of a vacuum, or space, where there is nothing
visible or tangible. This gives rise to three objections, which
time.
54 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. I shall examine together, because the answer I shall give to
" one is a consequence of that which I shall make use of for
%a'l'of the others.
space and First, It may be said, that men have disputed for many
ages concerning a vacuum and a plenum, without being
able to bring the affair to a final decision ; and philosophers,
even at this day, think themselves at liberty to take party on
either side, as their fancy leads them. But whatever found-
ation there may be for a controversy concerning the things
themselves, it may be pretended, that the very dispute is
decisive concerning the idea, and that 'tis impossible men
cou'd so long reason about a vacuum, and either refute
or defend it, without having a notion of what they refuted or
defended.
Secondly; If this argument shou'd be contested, the reality
or at least possibility of the idea of a vacuum may be prov'd
by the following reasoning. Every idea is possible, which
is a necessary and infallible consequence of such as are pos-
sible. Now tho' we allow the world to be at present a
plenum, we may easily conceive it to be depriv'd of motion ;
and this idea will certainly be allow'd possible. It must also
be allow'd possible, to conceive the annihilation of any part
of matter by the omnipotence of the deity, while the other
parts remain at rest. For as every idea, that is distinguish-
able, is separable by the imagination ; and as every idea,
that is separable by the imagination, may be conceiv'd to be
separately existent ; 'tis evident, that the existence of one
particle of matter, no more implies the existence of another,
than a square figure in one body implies a square figure in
every one. This being granted, I now demand what results
' from the concurrence of these two possible ideas of rest and
annihilation, and what must we conceive to follow upon the
annihilation of all the air and subtile matter in the chamber,
supposing the walls to remain the same, without any motion
or alteration ? There are some metaphysicians, who answer,
that since matter and extension are the same, the annihila-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 55
tion of one necessarily implies that of the other ; and there Sect. V
being now no distance betwixt the walls of the chamber, - "
they touch each other ; in the same manner as my hand „J-g^/"l^
touches the paper, which is immediately before me. But timt'd.
tho' this answer be very common, I defy these metaphy-
sicians to conceive the matter according to their hypothesis,
or imagine the floor and roof, with all the opposite sides
of the chamber, to touch each other, while they continue in
rest, and preserve the same position For how can the two
walls, that run from south to north, touch each other, while
they touch the opposite ends of two walls, that run from
east to west ? And how can the floor and roof ever meet,
while they are separated by the four walls, that lie in a con-
trary position ? If you change their position, you suppose a
motion. If you conceive any thing betwixt them, you sup-
pose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the two ideas
of rest and annihilation, 'tis evident, that the idea, which
results from them, is not that of a contact of parts, but
something else ; which is concluded to be the idea of a
vacuum.
The third objection carries the matter still farther, and
not only asserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and
possible, but also necessary and unavoidable. This asser-
tion is founded on the motion we observe in bodies, which,
'tis maintain'd, wou'd be impossible and inconceivable with-
out a vacuum, into which one body must move in order to
make way for another. I shall not enlarge upon this objec-
tion, because it principally belongs to natural philosophy,
which lies without our present sphere.
In order to answer these objections, we must take the
matter pretty deep, and consider the nature and origin of
several ideas, lest we dispute without understanding per-
fectly the subject of the controversy. 'Tis evident the idea
of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the negation of
light, or more properly speaking, of colour'd and visible
objects. A man, who enjoys his sight, receives no other
56 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. perception from turning his eyes on every side, wiien entirely
•• depriv'd of light, than what is common to him with one
ideas^of ^^''^ blind; and 'tis certain such-a-one has no idea either
space and of light or darkness. The consequence of this is, that 'tis
^"'^'' not from the mere removal of visible objects we receive the
impression of extension without matter ; and that the idea of
utter darkness can never be the same with that of vacuum.
Suppose again a man to be supported in the air, and to
be softly convey'd along by some invisible power ; 'tis evi-
dent he is sensible of nothing, and never receives the idea of
extension, nor indeed any idea, from this invariable motion.
Even supposing he moves his limbs to and fro, this cannot
convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a certain
sensation or impression, the parts of which are successive
to each other, and may give him the idea of time : But cer-
tainly are not dispos'd in such a manner, as is necessary to
convey the idea of space or extension.
Since then it appears, that darkness and motion, with the
utter removal of every thing visible and tangible, can never
give us the idea of extension without matter, or of a vacuum ;
the next question is, whether they can convey this idea, when
mix'd with something visible and tangible ?
'Tis commonly allow'd by philosophers, that all bodies,
which discover themselves to the eye, appear as if painted
on a plain surface, and that their different degrees of re-
moteness from ourselves are discover'd more by reason than
by the senses. When I hold up my hand before me, and
spread my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by the
blue colour of the firmament, as they cou'd be by any
visible object, which I cou'd place betwixt them. In order,
therefore, to know whether the sight can convey the impres-
sion and idea of a vacuum, we must suppose, that amidst an
entire darkness, there are luminous bodies presented to us,
whose light discovers only these bodies themselves, without
giving us any impression of the surrounding objects.
We must form a parallel supposition concerning the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 57
objects of our feeling. 'Tis not proper to suppose a perfect Sect. V.
removal of all tangible objects : we must allow something •' '
to be perceiv'd by the feeling; and after an interval ^"^^ subject con
motion of the hand or other organ of sensation, another tinu'd.
object of the touch to be met with ; and upon leaving that,
another ; and so on, as often as we please. The question
is, whether these intervals do not afford us the idea of exten-
sion without body ?
To begin with the first case; 'tis evident, that when only
two luminous bodies appear to the eye, we can perceive,
whether they be conjoin'd or separate ; whether they be
separated by a great or small distance ; and if this distance
varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, with the
motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this
case any thing colour'd or visible, it may be thought that
there is here a vacuum or pure extension, not only intel-
ligible to the mind, but obvious to the very senses.
This is our natural and most familiar way of thinking ;
but which we shall learn to correct by a little reflexion. We
may observe, that when two bodies present themselves, where
there was formerly an entire darkness, the only change, that
is discoverable, is in the appearance of these two objects,
and that all the rest continues to be as before, a perfect
negation of light, and of every colour'd or visible object.
This is not only true of what may be said to be remote
from these bodies, but also of the very distance ; which is
interpos'd betwixt them ; thai being nothing but darkness, or
the negation of light; without parts, without composition,
invariable and indivisible. Now since this distance causes
no perception different from what a blind man receives from
his eyes, or what is convey'd to us in the darkest night, it
must partake of the same properties: And as blindness and
darkness afford us no ideas of extension, 'tis impossible that
the dark and undistinguishable distance betwixt two bodies
can ever produce that idea.
The sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the
time.
58 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. appearance of two or more visible luminous objects consists,
— **— as I said, in the objects themselves, and in the manner they
ideas'of ^ff^ct our senses. The angles, which the rays of light
space and flowing from them, form with each other ; the motion that is
requir'd in the eye, in its passage from one to the other ;
and the different parts of the organs, which are affected by
them; these produce the only perceptions, from which we
can judge of the distance. But as these perceptions are
each of them simple and indivisible, they can never give us
the idea of extension.
We may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling,
and the imaginary distance or interval interpos'd betwixt
tangible or solid objects. I suppose two cases, viz. that
of a man supported in the air, and moving his limbs to and
fro, without meeting any thing tangible ; and that of a man,
who feeling something tangible, leaves it, and after a motion,
of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible object;
and I then ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these
two cases ? No one will make any scruple to affirm, that it
consists meerly in the perceiving those objects, and that
the sensation, which arises from the motion, is in both cases
the same : And as that sensation is not capable of conveying
to us an idea of extension, when unaccompany'd with some
other perception, it can no more give us that idea, when
mix'd with the impressions of tangible objects ; since that
mixture produces no alteration upon it.
But tho' motion and darkness, either alone, or attended
with tangible and visible objects, convey no idea of a vacuum
or extension without matter, yet they are the causes why we
falsly imagine we can form such an idea. For there is a
close relation betwixt that motion and darkness, and a real
extension, or composition of visible and tangible objects.
First, We may observe, that two visible objects appearing
in the midst of utter darkness, affect the senses in the same
manner, and form the same angle by the rays, which flow
from them, and meet in the eye, as if the distance betwixt
Book I, OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 59
them were fill'd with visible objects, that give us a true idea Sect. V.
of extension. The sensadon of motion is likewise the same, - **
when there is nothing tangible interpos'd betwixt two bodies, sub;ca7on-
as when we feel a compounded body, whose dilTerent parts tiiiud.
are plac'd beyond each other.
Secondly, We find by experience, that two bodies, which
are so plac'd as to affect the senses in the same manner with
two others, that have a certain extent of visible objects
interpos'd betwixt them, are capable of receiving the same
extent, without any sensible impulse or penetration, and
without any change on that angle, under which they appear
to the senses. In like manner, where there is one object,
which we cannot feel after another without an interval, and
the perceiving of that sensation we call motion in our hand
or organ of sensation ; experience shews us, that 'tis possible
the same object may be felt with the same sensation of
motion, along with the interpos'd impression of solid and
tangible objects, attending the sensation. That is, in other
words, an invisible and intangible distance may be converted
into a visible and tangible one, without any change on the
distant objects.
Thirdly, We may observe, as another relation betwixt
these two kinds of distance, that they have nearly the same
effects on every natural phenomenon. For as all qualities,
such as heat, cold, light, attraction, &c. diminish in proportion
to the distance; there is but little difference observ'd, whether
this distance be mark'd out by compounded and sensible
objects, or be known only by the manner, in which the
distant objects affect the senses.
Here then are three relations betwixt that distance, which
conveys the idea of extension, and that other, which is not
fill'd with any colour'd or solid object. The distant objects
affect the senses in the same manner, whether separated by
the one distance or the other ; the second species of distance
is found capable of receiving the first ; and they both equally
diminish the force of every quality.
6o A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. These relations betwixt the two kinds of distance will
♦* - afford us an easy reason, why the one has so often been
ideas' of taken for the other, and why we imagine we have an idea of
space and extension without the idea of any object either of the sight
time. Qj. feelings Por we may establish it as a general maxim in
this science of human nature, that wherever there is a close
relation betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake
them, and in all its discourses and reasonings to use the one
for the other. This phsenomenon occurs on so many
occasions, and is of such consequence, that I cannot forbear
stopping a moment to examine its causes. I shall only
premise, that we must distinguish exactly betwixt the phoe-
nomenon itself, and the causes, which I shall assign for it ;
and must not imagine from any uncertainty in the latter,
that the forrner is also uncertain. The phaenomenon may
be real, tho' my explication be chimerical. The falshood of
the one is no consequence of that of the other ; tho' at the
same time we may observe, that 'tis very natural for us to
draw such a consequence ; which is an evident instance of
that very principle, which I endeavour to explain.
When I receiv'd the relations of rese?nblance, contiguity and
causation, as principles of union among ideas, without ex-
amining into their causes, 'twas more in prosecution of my
first maxim, that we must in the end rest contented with
experience, than for want of something specious and plausible,
which I might have display'd on that subject. 'Twou'd
have been easy to have made an imaginary dissection of the
brain, and have shewn, why upon our conception of any
idea, the animal spirits run into all the contiguous traces, and
rouze up the other ideas, that are related to it. But tho'
I have neglected any advantage, which I might have drawn
from this topic in explaining the relations of ideas, I am
afraid I must here have recourse to it, in order to account
for the mistakes that arise from these relations. I shall
therefore observe, that as the mind is endow'd with a power
of exciting any idea it pleases ; whenever it dispatches the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 6l
spirits into that region of the brain, in which the idea is Sect. V.
plac'd; these spirits always excite the idea, when they run ♦* '
precisely into the proper traces, and rummage that cell, sitl>!ect"con
which belongs to the idea. But as their motion is seldom tinud.
direct, and naturally turns a little to the one side or the
other ; for this reason the animal spirits, falling into the
contiguous traces, present other related ideas in lieu of that,
which the mind desir'd at first to survey. This change we
are not always sensible of; but continuing still the same
train of thought, make use of the related idea, which is
presented to us, and employ it in our reasoning, as if it were
the same with what we demanded. This is the cause of
many mistakes and sophisms in philosophy ; as will naturally
be imagin'd, and as it wou'd be easy to shew, if there was
occasion.
Of the three relations above-mention'd that of resemblance
is the most fertile source of error ; and indeed there are few
mistakes in reasoning, which do not borrow largely from that
origin. Resembling ideas are not only related together, but
the actions of the mind, which we employ in considering
them, are so little different, that we are not able to distinguish
them. This last circumstance is of great consequence ; and
we may in general observe, that wherever the actions of the
mind in forming any two ideas are the same or resembling,
we are very apt to confound these ideas, and take the one for
the other. Of this we shall see many instances in the
progress of this treatise. But tho' resemblance, be the
relation, which most readily produces a mistake in iddas, yet
the others of causation and contiguity may also concur in the.
same influence. We might produce the figures' e^ poets and
orators, as sufficient proofs of this, were it as usual, as it
is reasonable, in metaphysical subjects to draw our arguments
from that quarter. But lest metaphysicians shou'd esteem
this below their dignity, I shall borrow a proof from an
observation, which may be made on most of their own
discourses, viz. that 'tis usual for men to use words for ideas.
63 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. and to talk instead of thinking in their reasonings. We use
" words for ideas, because they are commonly so closely
ileas of connected, that the mind easily mistakes them. And this
ipace atul likewise is the reason, why we substitute the idea of a distance,
which is not considered either as visible or tangible, in the
room of extension, which is nothing but a composition of
visible or tangible points dispos'd in a certain order. In
causing this mistake there concur both the relations of
causation and resemblance. As the first species of distance is
found to be convertible into the second, 'tis in this respect
a kind of cause ; and the similarity of their manner of affecting
the senses, and diminishing every quality, forms the relation
of resemblance.
After this chain of reasoning and explication of my
principles, I am now prepared to answer all the objections
that have been ofTer'd, whether deriv'd from metaphysics or
mechanics. The frequent disputes concerning a vacuum,
or extension without matter, prove not the reality of the idea,
upon which the dispute turns ; there being nothing more
common, than to see men deceive themselves in this par-
ticular; especially when by means of any close relation, there
is another idea presented, which may be the occasion of their
mistake.
We may make almost the same answer to the second
objection, deriv'd from the conjunction of the ideas of rest
and annihilation. When every thing is annihilated in the
chamber, and the walls continue immoveable, the chamber
must be conceiv'd much in the same manner as at present,
when the air that fills it, is not an object of the senses. This
annihilation leaves to the eye, that fictitious distance, which is
discover'd by the different p:irts of the organ, that are affected,
and by the degrees of light and shade; and to \.\\t /eelitig,
that which consists in a sensation of motion in the hand,
or other member of the body. In vain shou'd we search any
farther. On whichever side we turn this subject, we shall find
that these are the only impressions such an object can
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 63
produce after the suppos'd annihilation ; and it has already Sect. V.
been remark'd, that impressions can give rise to no ideas, but *»
to such as resemble them. '^^^. ^f '"
stwject con-
Since a body interpos'd betwixt two others may be sup- tinu'd.
pos'd to be annihilated, without producing any change upon
such as lie on each hand of it, 'tis easily conceiv'd, how it
may be created anew, and yet produce as little alteration.
Now the motion of a body has much the same effect as its
creation. The distant bodies are no more affected in the one
case, than in the other. This suffices to satisfy the imagina-
tion, and proves there is no repugnance in such a motion.
Afterwards experience comes in play to persuade us that two
bodies, situated in the manner above-describ'd, have really
such a capacity of receiving body betwixt them, and that
there is no obstacle to the conversion of the invisible and
intangible distance into one that is visible and tangible.
However natural that conversation may seem, we cannot
be sure it is practicable, before we have had experience
of it.
Thus I seem to have answer'd the three objections above-
mention'd ; tho' at the same time I am sensible, that few will
be satisfy'd with these answers, but will immediately propose
new objections and difficulties. 'Twill probably be said, that
my reasoning makes nothing to the matter in hand, and that
I explain only the manner in which objects affect the senses,
without endeavouring to account for their real nature and
operations. Tho' there be nothing visible or tangible inter-
pos'd betwixt two bodies, yet we find by experience, that the
bodies may be plac'd in the same manner, with regard to the
eye, and require the same motion of the hand in passing from
one to the other, as if divided by something visible and
tangible. This invisible and intangible distance is also found
by experience to contain a capacity of receiving body, or
of becoming visible and tangible. Here is the whole of
my system ; and in no part of it have I endeavour'd to
explain the cause, which separates bodies after this manner,
64
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. and gives them a capacity of receiving others betwixt them,
without any impulse or penetration.
I answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by con-
fessing that my intention never was to penetrate into the
Inature of bodies, or explain the secret causes of their
operations. For besides that this belongs not to my present
Of the
ideas of
space and
time.
K>nti avi
purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprize is beyond the
Teach of human understanding, and that we can never
pretend to know body otherwise than by those external pro-
perties, which discover themselves to the senses. As to those
kvho attempt any thing farther, I cannot approve of their
ambition, till I see, in some one instance at least, that they
have met with success. But at present I content myself with
knowing perfectly the manner in which objects affect my
senses, and their connections with each other, as far as
experience informs me of them. This suffices for the conduct
of life ; and this also suffices for my philosophy, which pre-
tends only to explain the nature and causes of our per-
ceptions, or impressions and ideas.
I shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox,
which will easily be explain'd from the foregoing reasoning.
This paradox is, that if you are pleas'd to give to the in-
visible and intangible distance, or in other words, to the
capacity of becoming a visible and tangible distance, the name
of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, and yet
there is a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion
is possible in a plenum, without any impulse in vififiiium,
without returning in a circle, and without penetration. But
however we may express ourselves, we must always confess,
that we have no idea of any real extension without filling
it with sensible objects, and conceiving its parts as visible or
tangible.
As to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner, in
which some real objects exist ; we may observe, that 'tis
liable to the same objections as the similar doctrine with
regard to extension. If it be a sufficient proof, that we have
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 65
the idea of a vacuum, because we dispute and reason con- Sect. V.
cerning it ; we must for the same reason have the idea "
^ . . , , II- ... The same
of time without any changeable existence ; since there is suHect con-
no subject of dispute more frequent and common. But that tmud.
we really have no such idea, is certain. For whence shou'd
it be deriv'd } Does it arise from an impression of sensation
or of reflexion ? Point it out distinctly to us, that we may
know its nature and qualities. But if you cannot point out
any such impression, you may be certain you are mistaken,
when you imagine you have any such idea.
But tho' it be impossible to shew the impression, from
which the idea of time without a changeable existence is
deriv'd ; yet we can easily point out those appearances,
which make us fancy we have that idea. For we may
observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions
in our mind ; so that the idea of time being for ever present
with us ; when we consider a stedfast object at five-a-clock,
and regard the same at six ; we are apt to apply to it that
idea in the same manner as if every moment were distin-
guish'd by a different position, or an alteration of the object.
The first and second appearances of the object, being com-
par'd with the succession of our perceptions, seem equally
remov'd as if the object had really chang'd. To which we
may add, what experience shews us, that the object was
susceptible of such a number of changes betwixt these ap-
pearances ; as also that the unchangeable or rather fictitious
duration has the same effect upon every quality, by encreas-
ing or diminishing it, as that succession, which is obvious to
the senses. From these three relations we are apt to con-
found our ideas, and imagine we can form the idea of a time
and duration, without any change or succession.
Tart II.
Of the
66 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
SECTION VI.
ideas of Qf fjjg ^y^^ ^ existence, and of external existence
space ana -^ •' •'
time.
It may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to
explain the ideas of existence and of external existence; which
have their difficulties, as well as the ideas of space and time.
By this means we shall be the better prepar'd for the ex-
amination of knowledge and probability, when we under-
stand perfectly all those particular ideas, which may enter into
our reasoning.
There is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we
have any consciousness or memory, that is not conceiv'd as
existent ; and 'tis evident, that from this consciousness the
most perfect idea and assurance of bei7ig is deriv'd. From
hence we may form a dilemma, the most clear and conclu-
sive that can be imagin'd, viz. that since we never remember
any idea or impression without attributing existence to it,
the idea of existence must either be deriv'd from a distinct
impression, conjoin'd with every perception or object of our
thought, or must be the very same with the idea of the per-
ception or object.
As this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle,
that every idea arises from a similar impression, so our de-
cision betwixt the propositions of the dilemma is no more
doubtful. So far from there being any distinct impression,
attending every impression and every idea, that I do not think
there are any two distinct impressions, which are inseparably
conjoin'd. Tho' certain sensations may at one time be
united, we quickly find they admit of a separation, and may
be presented apart. And thus, tho* every impression and
idea we remember be considcr'd as existent, the idea of
existence is not deriv'd from any particular impression.
The idea of existence, then, is the very same with the
idea of what we conceive (o be existent. To reflect on any
thing simply, and to reflect on it as existent, are nothing
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 67
different from each other. That idea, when conjoin'd with Sect. VI.
the idea of any object, makes no addition to it. Whatever "
we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please of exist-
to form is the idea of a being ; and the idea of a being is eme, and
any idea we please to form. of external
■' , *^ _ existence.
Whoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that
distinct impression, from which the idea of entity is deriv'd,
and must prove, that this impression is inseparable from
every perception we believe to be existent. This we may
without hesitation conclude to be impossible.
Our foregoing ^ reasoning concerning the distinction of
ideas without any real di^erence will not here serve us in any
stead. That kind of distinction is founded on the different
resemblances, which the same simple idea may have to
several different ideas. But no object can be presented
resembling some object with respect to its existence, and
different from others in the same particular; since every
object, that is presented, must necessarily be existent.
A like reasoning will account for the idea of external
existe7ice. We may observe, that 'tis universally allow'd by ^"
philosophers, and is besides pretty obvious of itself, that i
nothing is ever really present with the mind but its percep- > '))
tions or impressions and ideas, and that external objects
become known to us only by those perceptions they occasion.
To hate, to love, to think, to feel, to see ; all this is nothing
but to perceive.
Now since nothing is ever present to the mind but
perceptions, and since all ideas are deriv'd from something
antecedently present to the mind; it follows, that 'tis im-
possible for us so much as to conceive or form an idea of
any thing specifically different from ideas and impressions.,'
Let us fix our attention out of ourselves as much as possible :
Let us chace our imagination to the heavens, or to the
utmost limits of the universe; we never really advance a step
beyond ourselves, nor can conceive any kind of existence,
' Part I. sect. 7.
time.
68 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. but those perceptions, which have appear'd in that narrow
— **~ compass. This is the universe of the imagination, nor have
ideas'of ^^ ^^^ '^^^^ ^^^ what is there produc'd.
space and The farthest we can go towards a conception of external
objects, when suppos'd specifically different from our percep-
tions, is to form a relative idea of them, without pretending
to comprehend the related objects. Generally speaking we
do not suppose them specifically different ; but only attribute
to them different relations, connexions and durations. But
of this more fully hereafter ^
1 Part IV. sect. 2.
PART III.
OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY,
SECTION I.
Of knowledge.
There are ^ seven different kinds of philosophical relation, Sect. I.
viz. resemblance, identity, relations of ti?ne a?id place, proper- — **~~
tio7i in quantity or number, degrees in any quality, contrariety, i{^Jg°'^'
and causation. These relations may be divided into two
classes.; into such as depend entirely on the ideas, which we
compare together, and such as may be chang'd without any
change in the ideas. 'Tis from the idea of a triangle, that
we discover the relation of equality, which its three angles
bear to two right ones ; and this relation is invariable, as
long as our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the
relations oi contiguity and distance betwixt two objects may ^
be chang'd merely by an alteration of their place, without
any change on the objects themselves or on their ideas ;
and the place depends on a hundred different accidents,
which cannot be foreseen by the mind. 'Tis the same case
with identity and causation. Two objects, tho' perfectly re-
sembling each other, and even appearing in the same place
at different times, may be numerically different : And as the
power, by which one object produces another, is never
discoverable merely from their idea, 'tis evident cause and
effect are relations, of which we receive information from
experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or reflex-
ion. There is no single phaenomenon, even the most simple,
* Part I. sect. 5.
70 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. which can be accounted for from the qualities of the objects,
•• ■ as they appear to us ; or which we cou'd foresee without the
led"^'emid ^^^P ^^ ^^^ memory and experience.
probabidty. It appears, therefore, that of these seven philosophical
relations, there remain only four, which depending solely
upon ideas, can be the objects of knowledge and certainty.
These four are resemblatice, contrariety, degrees iti quality, and
proportions in quantity or number. Three of these relations
are discoverable at first sight, and fall more properly under
the province of intuition than demonstration. When any
objects resemble each other, the resemblance will at first
strike the eye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires
a second examination. The case is the same with contrariety,
and with the degrees of any quality. No one can once doubt
but existence and non-existence destroy each other, and are
perfectly incompatible and contrary. And tho' it be im-
possible to judge exactly of the degrees of any quality, such
as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the difference betwixt them
is very small; yet 'tis easy to decide, that any of them is
superior or inferior to another, when their difference is con-
siderable. And this decision we always _pronounce at first
sight, without any enquiry or reasoning.
We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the
proportions of quaiitHy or number, and might at one view
observe a superiority or inferiority betwixt any numbers, or
figures ; especially where the difference is very great and
remarkable. As to equality or any exact proportion, we can
only guess at it from a single consideration ; except in very
short numbers, or very limited portions of extension ; which
are comprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an
impossibility of falling into any considerable error. In all
other cases we must settle the proportions with some iiberiy,
or proceed in a more artificial manner.
I have already observ'd, that geometry, or the art, by
which we fix the proportions of figures ; tho' it much excels,
both in universality and exactness, the loose judgments of
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 71
the senses and imagination ; yet never attains a perfect Sect. 1.
precision and exactness. Its first principles are still drawn - »♦ -
from the general appearance of the objects ; and that appear- Yknow
ance can never afford us any security, when we examine the
prodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our
ideas seem to give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines
can have a common segment ; but if we consider these ideas,
we shall find, that they always suppose a sensible inclination
of the two lines, and that where the angle they form is
extremely small, we have no standard of a right line so
precise, as to assure us of the truth of this proposition. 'Tis
the same case with most of the primary decisions of the
mathematics.
There remain, therefore, algebra and arithmetic as the
only sciences, in which we can carry on a chain of reason-
ing to any degree of intricacy, and yet preserve a perfect
exactness and certainty. We are possest of a precise
standard, by which we can judge of the equality and pro-
portion of numbers ; and according as they correspond or
not to that standard, we determine their relations, without
any possibility of error. When two numbers are so combin'd,
as that the one has always an unite answering to every unite
of the other, we pronounce them equal ; and 'tis for want of
such a standard of equality in extension, that geometry canl
scarce be esteem'd a perfect and infallible science.
But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which
may arise from my asserting, that tho' geometry falls short of
that perfect precision and certainty, which are peculiar to
arithmetic and algebra, yet it excels the imperfect judgments
of our senses and imagination. The reason why I impute
any defect to geometry, is, because its original and funda-
mental principles are deriv'd merely fiom appearances ; and
it may perhaps be imagin'd, that this defect must always
attend it, and keep it from ever reaching a greater exactness
in the comparison of objects or ideas, than what our eye or
imagination alone is able to attain. I own that this defect so
72 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. far attends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to a full
^,, " certainty: But since these fundamental principles depend on
Of know- , i , . ,.r, ,1-
iet{<rg and '^he easiest and least deceitful appearances, they bestow on
probability, their consequences a degree of exactness, of which these
consequences are singly incapable. 'Tis impossible for the
eye to determine the angles of a chiliagon to be equal to 1996
right angles, or make any conjecture, that approaches this
proportion ; but when it determines, that right lines cannot
concur; that we cannot draw more than one right line
between two given points ; its mistakes can never be of any
consequence. And this is the nature and use of geometry,
to run us up to such appearances, as, by reason of their
simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error.
I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation
concerning our demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested
by the same subject of the mathematics. 'Tis usual with
mathematicians, to pretend, that those ideas, which are their
objects, are of so refin'd and spiritual a nature, that they fall
not under the conception of the fancy, but must be com-
prehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the
superior faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same
notion runs thro' most parts of philosophy, and is principally
made use of to explain our abstract ideas, and to shew how
we can form an idea of a triangle, for instance, which shall
neither be an isosceles nor scalenum, nor be confin'd to any
particular length and proportion of sides. 'Tis easy to see,
why philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual
and refin'd perceptions; since by that means they cover
many of their absurdities, and may refuse to submit to the
decisions of clear ideas, by appealing to such as are obscure
and uncertain. But to destroy this artifice, we need but
reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that all our ideas
are copy d from our wipressions. For from thence we may
immediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear
and precise, the ideas, which are copy'd from them, must be
of the same nature, and can never, but from our fault, con-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 73
tain any thing so dark and intricate. An idea is by its very Sect. II.
nature weaker and fainter than an impression ; but being in ♦♦
every other respect the same, cannot imply any very great ^^y,^^^ ^^j
mystery. If its weakness render it obscure, 'tis our business o/the idea
to Remedy that defect^ as^uch as possibfe, by keeping the v'^"^'
idea steady and precise ; and till we have done so, 'tis in
vain to pretend to reasoning and philosophy.
SECTION 11.
Of probability ; and of the idea of cause and effect.
This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those
four relations^ which are the foundation of science ; but as to
the other three, which depend not upon the idea, and may be
absent or present even while that remains the same, 'twill be
proper to explain them more particularly. These three
relations are identity, the situations in time and place, and
causatioft.
All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison,
and a discovery of those relations, either constant or incon-
stant, which two or more objects bear to each other. This
comparison we may make, either when both the objects are
present to the senses, or when neither of them is present, or
when only one. When both the objects are present to the
senses along with the relation, we call this perception rather
than reasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the
thought, or any action, properly speaking, but a mere passive
admission of the impressions thro' the organs of sensation.
According to this way of thinking, we ought not to receive as
rjeasoning any of the observations we may make concerning
identity, and the relatiotis of time and place ; since in none of
them the mind can go beyond what is immediately present to
the senses, either to discover the real existence or the rela-
tions of objects. 'Tis only fg?^jg//g;i!, which, produces such
a connexion, as tp^giyej^assm-ancej^rornthe^ or
74 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. action of one object, that 'twas follow'd or preceded by any
■ *♦ ■ other existence or action ; nor can the other two relations be
hdJe°and ^^'^^ made use of in reasoning, except so far as they either
frobability. affect or are affected by it. There is nothing in any objects
to perswade us, that they are either always remote or always
contiguous ; and when from experience and observation we
discover, that their relation in this particular is invariable,
we always conclude there is some secret cause, which separates
or unites them. The same reasoning extends to identity.
We readily suppose an object may continue individually the
same, tho' several times ab?ent from and present to the
senses; and ascribe to it an identity, notwithstanding the
interruption of the perception, whenever we conclude, that if
we had kept our eye or hand constantly upon it, it wou'd
have convey'd an invariable and uninterrupted perception.
But this conclusion beyond the impressions of our senses
can be founded only on the connexion of cause a7id effect ;
nor can we otherwise have any security, that the object is not
chang'd upon us, however much the new object may resemble
that which was formerly present to the senses. Whenever
we discover such a perfect resemblance, we consider, whether
it be common in that species of objects ; whether possibly or
probably any cause cou'd operate in producing the change
and resemblance ; and according as we determine concerning
these causes and effects, we form our judgment concerning
the identity of the object.
Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which
depend not upon the mere ideas, the only one, that can be
trac'd beyond our senses, and informs us of existences and
objects, which we do not see or feel, is causation. This rela-
tion, therefore, we shall endeavour to explain fully before we
leave the subject of the understanding.
To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation,
and see from what origin it is deriv'd. 'Tis impossible to
reason justly, without understanding perfectly the idea con-
cerning which we reason ; and 'tis impossible perfectly to
EooK I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 75
understand any idea, without tracing it up to its origin, and Sect. II.
examining that primary impression, from which it arises. "
The examination of the impression bestows a clearness on hjif/y". a]td
the idea ; and the examination of the idea bestows a like o/i/ie vJea
clearness on all our reasoning. ^-^ ^^"i?
Let us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which
we call cause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order
to find that impression, which produces an idea of such
prodigious consequence. At first sight I perceive, that I
must not search for it in any of the particular qualities of the
objects ; since, which-ever of these qualities I pitch on, I
find some object, that is not possest of it, and yet falls under
the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed there is
nothing existent, either externally or internally, which is not I
to be consider'd either as a cause or an effect ; tho' 'tis plain
there is no one quality, which universally belongs to all I
beings, and gives them a title to that denomination. !
The^idea, then, of causation must be deriv'd from some
relation among objects; and that relation we must now
endeavour to discover. I find in the first place, that what-
ever objects are consider'd as causes or effects, are contiguous;
and that nothing can operate in a time or place, which is
ever so little remov'd from those of its existence. Tho'
distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other,
they are commonly found upon examination to be link'd by
a chain of causes, which are contiguous among themselves,
and to the distant objects ; and when in any particular
instance we cannot discover this connexion, we still presume
it to exist. We may therefore consider the relation of con- /,
TiGuiTY as essential to that of causation; at least may
suppose it such, according to the general opinion, till we
can find a more ^ proper occasion to clear up this matter, by
examining what objects are or are not susceptible of juxta-
position and conjunction.
The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes
^ Part IV, sect. 5.
76 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. and effects, is not so universally acknowledg'd, but is liable
*' to some controversy. 'Tis that of priority of time in the
ledge and c^pse before the effect. Some pretend that 'tis not absolutely
probability, necessary a cause shou'd precede its effect ; but that any
/ object or action, in the very first moment of its existence,
may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another
object or action, perfectly co-temporary with itself. But
beside that experience in most instances seems to con-
tradict this opinion, we may establish the relation of priority
by a kind of inference or reasoning. 'Tis an establish'd
maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that an object,
which exists for any time in its full perfection without pro-
ducing another, is not its sole cause ; but is assisted by some
other principle, which pushes it from its state of inactivity,
and makes it exert that energy, of which it was secretly
possest. Now if any cause may be perfectly co-temporary
with \\.% effect, 'tis certain, according to this maxim, that
they must all of them be so ; since any one of them, which
retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not itself at
I that very individual time, in which it might have operated ;
i and therefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this
wou'd be no less than the destruction of that succession of
causes, which we observe in the world ; and indeed, the utter
annihilation of time. For if one cause were co-temporary
with its effect, and this effect with its effect, and so on, 'tis
plain there wou'd be no such thing as succession, and all
^objects must be co-existent.
If this argument appear satisfactory, 'tis well. If not,
I beg the reader to allow me the same liberty, which I have
us'd in the preceding case, of supposing it such. For he
shall find, that the affair is of no great importance.
Having thus discover'd or suppos'd the two relations of
contiguity and succession to be essential to causes and effects,
I find I am stopt short, and can proceed no farther in con-
sidering any single instance of cause and effect. Motion in
one body is regarded upon impulse as the cause of motion
'■^t
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 77
in another. When we consider these objects with the utmost Sect. II.
attention, we find only that the one body approaches the **
other ; and that the motion of it precedes that of the other, ({/ff^". ^"„^
but without any sensible interval. 'Tis in vain to rack our- o/ike idea
selves with farther thought and reflexion upon this subject. "{^^^"J ^
We can go no farther in considering this particular instance.
Shou'd any one leave this instance, and pretend to define
a cause, by saying it is something productive of another, 'tis
evident he wou'd say nothing. For what does he mean by
productmi ? Can he give any definition of it, that will not
be the same with that of causation ? If he can ; I desire it
may be produc'd. If he cannot ; he here runs in a circle,
and gives a synonimous term instead of a definition.
Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of
contiguity and succession, as affording a compleat idea of
causation? By no means. An object may be contiguous
and prior to another, without being consider'd as its cause.
There is a necessary connexion to be taken into considera-
tion]^ and that relation is of much greater importance, than
any^^£the other two above-mention'd.
Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to dis-
cover the nature of this necessary connexion, and find the
impression, or impressions, from which its idea may be
deriv'd. When I cast my eye on the known qualities of
objects, I immediately discover that the relation of cause
and effect depends not in the least on them. When I con-
sider their relations, I can find none but those of contiguity
and succession ; which I have already regarded as imperfect
and unsatisfactory. Shall the despair of success make me
assert, that I am here possest of an idea, which is not
preceded by any similar impression? This wou'd be too
strong a proof of levity and inconstancy ; since the contrary
principle has been already so firmly establish'd, as to admit
of no farther doubt ; at least, till we have more fully examin'd
the present difficulty.
We must, therefore, proceed like those, who being in
D
78 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. search of any thing that lies conceal'd from them, and not
•' • finding it in the place they expected, beat about all the
led're'^nd ri^ighbouring fields, without any certain view or design, in
probability. Iiopes their good fortune will at last guide them to what they
search for. 'Tis necessary for us to leave the direct survey
of this question concerning the nature of that necessary con-
nexion, which enters into our idea of cause and effect ; and
endeavour to find some other questions, the examination of
which will perhaps afford a hint, that may serve to clear up
the present difliiculty. Of these questions there occur two,
which I shall proceed to examine, viz.
First, For what reason we pronounce it necessary, that
every thing whose existence has a beginning, shou'd also
have a cause ?
Secondly, Why we conclude, that such particular causes
must necessarily have such particular effects ; and what is the
nature of that inference we draw from the one to the other,
and of the belief vit repose in it?
I shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that
tho' the ideas of cause and effect be deriv'd from the im-
pressions of reflexion as well as from those of sensation, yet
for brevity's sake, I commonly mention only the latter as the
origin of these ideas; tho' I desire that whatever I say of
them may also extend to the former. Passions are con-
nected with their objects and with one another; no less
than external bodies are connected together. The same
relation, then, of cause and effect, which belongs to one,
must be common to all of them.
SECTION III.
Why a cause is always necessary.
To begin with the first question concerning the necessity
of a cause : 'Tis a general maxim in philosophy, that what-
iver begins to exist, must have a cause of existence. This is
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 79
commonly taken for granted in all reasonings, without any Sect. III.
proof given or demanded. 'Tis suppos'd to be founded on ♦♦ ■
intuition, and to be one of those maxims, which tho' they '-^ ?
' ... cause IS
may be deny'd with the lips, 'tis impossible for men in their always m-
hearls really to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by <'^"«'7'
the idea of knowledge above-explain'd, we shall discover
in it no mark of any such intuitive certainty; but on the
contrary shall find, that 'tis of a nature quite foreign to that
species of conviction.
All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and
from the discovery of such relations as are unalterable, so
long as the ideas continue the same. These relations are
resemblance^ proportions in quantity and number, degrees of
any quality, and contrariety \ none of which are imply'd in
this proposition. Whatever has a beginning has also a cause of
existence. That proposition therefore is not intuitively certain.
At least any one, who wou'd assert it to be intuitively certain,
must deny these to be the only infallible relations, and must
find some other relation of that kind to be imply'd in it;
which it will then be time enough to examine.
But here is an argument, which proves at once, that the
foregoing proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably
certain. We can never demonstrate the necessity of a cause
to every new existence, or new modification of existence,
without shewing at the same time the impossibility there is,
that any thing can ever begin to exist without some pro-
ductive principle ; and where the latter proposition cannot
be prov'd, we must despair of ever being able to prove the
former. Now that the latter proposition is utterly incapable
of a demonstrative proof, we may satisfy ourselves by con-
sidering, that as all distinct ideas are separable from each
other, and as the ideas of cause and effect are evidently
distinct, 'twill be easy for us to conceive any object to be
non-existent this moment, and existent the next, without
conjoining to it the distinct idea of a cause or productive
principle. The separation, therefore, of the idea of a cause
8o A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. from that of a beginning of existence, is plainly possible
" for the imagination ; and consequently the actual separation
Ud<^e aftd °f these objects is so far possible, that it implies no contra-
trobability. diction nor absurdity ; and is therefore incapable of being
refuted by any reasoning from mere ideas; without which
'tis impossible to demonstrate the necessity of a cause.
Accordingly we shall find upon examination, that every
demonstration, which has been produc'd for the necessity of
a cause, is fallacious and sophistical. All the points of time
and place, ^ say some philosophers, in which we can suppose
any object to begin to exist, are in themselves equal ; and
unless there be some cause, which is peculiar to one time
and to one place, and which by that means determines and
fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspence ; and
the object can never begin to be, for want of something to
fix its beginning. But I ask ; Is there any more difficulty in
supposing the time and place to be fix'd without a cause,
than to suppose the existence to be determin'd in that
manner ? The first question that occurs on this subject is
always, whether the object shall exist or not : The next,
when and where it shall begin to exist. If the removal of
a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so in
the other : And if that absurdity be not clear without a proof
in the one case, it will equally require one in the other. The
absurdity, then, of the one supposition can never be a proof
of that of the other; since they are both upon the same
footing, and must stand or fall by the same reasoning.
The second argument, * which I find us'd on this head,
labours under an equal difficulty. Every thing, 'tis said,
must have a cause ; for if any thing wanted a cause, it wou'd
produce itself', that is, exist before it existed ; which is im-
possible. But this reasoning is plainly unconclusive ; because
it supposes, that in our denial of a cause we still grant what
we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a cause; which
therefore is taken to be the object itself; and that, no doubt,
' Mr. Hohhes, * Dr. Clarke and others.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 8l
is an evident contradiction. But to say that any thing is Sect. III.
produc'd, or to express myself more properly, comes into ••
existence, without a cause, is not to affirm, that 'tis itself its ^^,^^ ^j.
own cause ; but on the contrary in excluding all external always ne-
causes, excludes a fortiori the thing itself which is created. ""'^^•
An object, that exists absolutely without any cause, certainly
is not its own cause ; and when you assert, that the one
follows from the other, you suppose the very point in
question, and take it for granted, that 'tis utterly impossible
any thing can ever begin to exist without a cause, but that
upon the exclusion of one productive principle, we must still
have recourse to another.
'Tis exactly the same case with the Mhird argument, which
has been employ'd to demonstrate the necessity of a cause.
Whatever is produc'd without any cause, is produc'd by
nothing ; or in other words, has nothing for its cause. But
nothing can never be a cause, no more than it can be some-
thing, or equal to two right angles. By the same intuition,
that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right angles,
or not to be something, we perceive, that it can never be
a cause ; and consequently must perceive, that every object
has a real cause of its existence.
I believe it will not be necessary to employ many words
in shewing the weakness of this argument, after what I have
said of the foregoing. They are all of them founded on the
same fallacy, and are deriv'd from the same turn of thought.
'Tis sufficient only to observe, that when we exclude all
causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose
nothing nor the object itself to be the causes of the existence;
and consequently can draw no argument from the absurdity
of these suppositions to prove the absurdity of that exclusion.
If every thing must have a cause, it follows, that upon the
exclusion of other causes we must accept of the object
itself or of nothing as causes. But 'tis the very point in
question, whether every thing must have a cause or not;
* Mr. Locke.
82 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. and therefore, according to all just reasoning, it ought never
" to be taken for granted.
Ud^e and They are still more frivolous, who say, that every effect
probability, must have a cause, because 'lis imply'd in the very idea of
effect. Every effect necessarily pre-supposes a cause ; effect
being a reladve term, of which cause is the correlative. But
this does not prove, that every being must be preceded by
a cause ; no more than it follows, because every husband
must have a wife, that therefore every man must be marry'd.
The true state of the question is, whether every object, which
begins to exist, must owe its existence to a cause ; and this
I assert neither to be intuitively nor demonstratively certain,
and hope to have prov'd it sufficiently by the foregoing
arguments.
Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning,
that we derive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every
new production, that opinion must necessarily arise from
observation and experience. The next question, then, shou'd
naturally be, how experience gives rise to such a priticiple P
But as I find it will be more convenient to sink this question
in the following, Why zve conclude, that such particular causes
must necessarily have such particular effects, and why we form
en i7iference from one to another ? we shall make that the
subject of our future enquiry, 'Twill, perhaps, be found in
the end, that the same answer will serve for both questions.
SECTION IV.
Of the component parts of our reasonings concerning
cause and effect.
Tho' the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects
carries its view beyond those objects, which it sees or remem-
bers, it must never lose sight of them entirely, nor reason
merely upon its own ideas, without some mixture of impres-
sions, or at least of ideas of the memory, which are equivalent
to impressions. When we infer effects from causes, we must
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 83
establish the existence of these causes ; which we have only Sect. I\'.
two ways of doing, either by an immediate perception of our •'
memory or senses, or by an inference from other causes ; component
which causes again we must ascertain in the same manner, parts of out
either by a present impression, or by an inference from Iheir ^f^^°^rnvn
causes, and so on, till we arrive at some object, which we catise and
see or remember. 'Tis impossible for us to carry on our 'M^'^^-
inferences in infinitum ; and the only thing, that can stop
them, is an impression of the memory or senses, beyond
which there is no room for doubt or enquiry.
To give an instance of this, we may chuse any point of
history, and consider for what reason we either believe or
reject it. Thus we believe that Caesar was kill'd in the
senate-house on the ides of March ; and that because this
fact is establish'd on the unanimous testimony of historians,
who agree to assign this precise time and place to that event.
Here are certain characters and letters present either to our
memory or senses ; which characters we likewise remember
to have been us'd as the signs of certain ideas ; and these
ideas were either in the minds of such as v/ere immediately
present at that action, and receiv'd the ideas directly from its
existence ; or they were deriv'd from the testimony of others,
and that again from another testimony, by a visible gradation,
'till we arrive at those who were eye-witnesses and spectators
of the event. 'Tis obvious all this chain of argument or con-
nexion of causes and effects, is at first founded on those
characters or letters, which are seen or remember'd, and that
without the authority either of the memory or senses our
whole reasoning wou'd be chimerical and without foundation.
Every link of the chain wou'd in that case hang upon
another; but there wou'd not be any thing fix'd to one end
of it, capable of sustaining the whole ; and consequently
there wou'd be no belief nor evidence. And this actually is
jhe case with all hypothetical arguments, or reasonings upon
a^ supposition ; there being in them, neither any present
impression, nor belief of a real existence.
84 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part TIL I need not observe, that 'tis no just objection to the present
" doctrine, that we can reason upon our past conclusions or
0/ know- • • 1 • 1 1 • ,
/ed^e and principles, without having recourse to those impressions,
probability, from which they first arose. For even supposing these
impressions shou'd be entirely effac'd from the memory, the
conviction they produc'd may still remain ; and 'tis equally
true, that all reasonings concerning causes and effects are
originally deriv'd from some impression ; in the same
manner, as the assurance of a demonstration proceeds
always from a comparison of ideas, tho' it may continue
after the comparison is forgot.
SECTION V.
Of the impressions of the senses and memory.
In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ
materials, which are of a mix'd and heterogeneous nature,
and which, however connected, are yet essentially different
from each other. All our arguments concerning causes and
effects consist both of an impression of the memory or
senses, and of the idea of that existence, which produces the
object of the impression, or is produc'd by it. Here there-
fore we have three things to explain, viz. First, The original
impression. Secondly, The transition to the idea of the con-
nected cause or effect. Thirdly, The nature and qualities of
that idea.
As to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their
ultimate cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by
human reason, and 'twill always be impossible to decide with
certainty, whether they arise immediately from the object, or
are produc'd by the creative power of the mind, or are
deriv'd from the author of our being. Nor is such a question
any way material to our present purpose. We may draw
inferences from the coherence of our perceptions, whether
they be true or false ; whether they represent nature justly,
or be mere illusions of the senses.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 85
When we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes Sect. V.
the viemory from the imagination, we must immediately '*
, • ,• • u • 1 -J •. . / Ofthetm-
perceive, that it cannot he m the simple ideas it presents to pl-essions of
us ; since both these faculties borrow their simple ideas from ike senses
and ni '
mory.
the impressions, and can never go beyond these original '^"'
perceptions. These faculties are as httle distinguish'd from
each other by the arrangement of their complex ideas. For
tho' it be a peculiar property of the memory to preserve the
original order and position of its ideas, while the imagination
transposes and changes them, as it pleases ; yet this difference
is not sufficient to distinguish them in their operation, or
make us know the one from the other ; it being impossible
to recal the past impressions, in order to compare them with
our present ideas, and see whether their arrangement be
exactly similar. Since therefore the memory is known,
neither by the order of its complex ideas, nor the nature of
its simple ones ; it follows, that the difference betwixt it and
the imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity.
A man may indulge his fancy in feigning any past scene of
adventures ; nor wou'd there be any possibility of distinguish-
ing this from a remembrance of a like kind, were not the
ideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure.
A painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion
of any kind, wou'd endeavour to get a sight of a person
actuated by a Hke emotion, in order to enliven his ideas, and
give them a force and vivacity superior to what is found in
those, which are mere fictions of the imagination. The more
recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea ; and when after
a long interval he would return to the contemplation of his
object, he always finds its idea to be much decay'd, if not
wholly obliterated. We are frequently in doubt concerning
the ideas of the memory, as they become very weak and
feeble ; and are at a loss to determine whether any image
proceeds from the fancy or the memory, when it is not
drawn in such lively colours as distinguish that latter faculty.
I think, I remember such an event, says one; but am not
86 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Part III. sure. A long tract of time has almost worn it out of my
" ■ memory, and leaves me uncertain whether or not it be the
%g^'^td P"'<^ offspring of my fancy.
probability. And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and
vivacity, may degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for
an idea of the imagination ; so on the other hand an idea
of the imagination may acquire such a force and vivacity,
as to pass for an idea of the memory, and counterfeit its
effects on the belief and judgment. This is noted in the
case of liars ; who by the frequent repetition of their lies,
come at last to believe and remember them, as realities;
custom and habit having in this case, as in many others, the
same influence on the mind as nature, and infixing the idea
with equal force and vigour.
Thus it appears, that the belief or assent, which always
attends the memory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of
those perceptions they present; and that this alone distin-
guishes them from the imagination. To believe is in this
case to feel an immediate impression of the senses, or
a repetition of that impression in the memory. 'Tis merely
the force and liveliness of the perception, which constitutes
tlie first act of the judgment, and lays the foundation of that
reasoning, which we build upon it, when we trace the relation
of cause and effect
SECTION VI.
Of the inference from the impression to the idea.
'Tis easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the
inference we draw from cause to effect, is not deriv'd merely
from a survey of these particular objects, and from such
a penetration into their essences as may discover the depend-
ance of the one upon the other. There is no object, which
implies the existence of any other if we consider these
objects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 87
which we form of them. Such an inference wou'd amount Sect. VT.
to knowledge, and wou'd imply the absolute contradiction — «—
and impossibility of conceiving any thing different. But VJ^''-^
as all distinct ideas are separable, 'tis evident there can h& from the
no impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present ""'%""^'l
impression to the idea of any object, we might possibly have
separated the idea from the impression, and have substituted
any other idea in its room.
Tis therefore by experience only, that we can infer the
existence of one object from that of another. The nature of
experience is this. We remember to have had frequent in-
stances of the existence of one species of objects ; and also
remember, that the individuals of another species of objects
have always attended them, and have existed in a regular order
of contiguity and succession with regard to them. Thus we
remember to have seen that species of object we call flaine,
and to have felt that species of sensation we call heat. We
likewise call to mind their constant conjunction in all past
instances. Without any farther ceremony, we call the one
cause and the other effect, and infer the existence of the one
from that of the other. In all those instances, from which we
learn the conjunction of particular causes and effects, both
the causes and effects have been perceiv'd by the senses, and
are remember'd : But in all cases, wherein we reason con-
cerning them, there is only one perceiv'd or remember'd, and!
the other is supply'd in conformity to our past experience. If
Thus in advancing we have insensibly discover'd a new
relation betv.ixt cause and effect, when we least expected it,
and were entirely employ'd upon another subject. This re-
lation is their constant conjunction. Contiguity and succes-
sion are not sufficient to make us pronounce any two objects
to be cause and effect, unless we perceive, that these two
relations are preserv'd in several instances. We may now
see the advantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation,
in order to discover the nature of that necessary connexion,
which makes so essential a part of it. There are hopes, that
88 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. by this means we may at last arrive at our propos'd end;
~** — tho' to tell the truth, this new-discover'd relation of a constant
Ud'y^and conjunction seems to advance us but very little in our way.
probability. For it implies no more than this, that like objects have always
been plac'd in like relations of contiguity and succession ;
and it seems evident, at least at first sight, that by this means
we can never discover any new idea, and can only multiply,
but not enlarge the objects of our mind. It may be thought,
that what we learn not from one object, we can never learn
from a hundred, which are all of the same kind, and are per-
fectly resembling in every circumstance. As our senses
shew us in one instance two bodies, or motions, or qualities
in certain relations of succession and contiguity; so our
memory presents us only with a multitude of instances,
wherein we always find like bodies, motions, or qualities in
like relations. From the mere repetition of any past impres-
sion, even to infinity', there never will arise any new original
idea, such as that of a necessary connexion ; and the number
of impressions has in this case no more effect than if we
confin'd ourselves to one only. But tho' this reasoning seems
just and obvious ; yet as it wou'd be folly to despair too
soon, we shall continue the thread of our discourse ; and
having found, that after the discovery of the constant con-
junction of any objects, we always draw an inference from
one object to another, we shall now examine the nature of
that inference, and of the transition from the impression to
the idea. Perhaps 'twill appear in the end, that the necessary
connexion depends on the inference, instead of the inference's
depending on the necessary connexion.
Since it appears, that the transition from an impression
present to the memory or senses to the idea of an object,
which we call cause or effect, is founded on past experiefice,
and on our remembrance of their constant conjimction, the
next question is. Whether experience produces the idea by
means of the understanding or of the imagination; whether
we are determin'd by reason to make the transition, or by
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 89
a certain association and relation of perceptions. If reason Sect. VI.
determin'd us, it wou'd proceed upon that principle, Ihat *♦ -
instances, of which we have had no experience, must rese?nble -^J ^^
those, of which we have had experience, and that the course of from the
nature continues always uniformly the sajiie. In order there- ^"'P''^^^\''^'-
. , , . -^ -^, -^ to the idea.
tore to clear up this matter, let us consider all the arguments,
upon which such a proposition may be suppos'd to be founded;
and as these must be deriv'd either from knowledge or proba-
bility, let us cast our eye on each of these degrees of evidence,
and see whether they afford any just conclusion of this nature.
Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince
us, that there can be no demonstrative arguments to prove,
that those instances, of which we have had no experience, I 1
resemble those, of which we have had experience. We can at
least conceive a change in the course of nature ; which
sufficiently proves, that such a change is not absolutely
impossible. To form a clear idea of _anj_thmg-. is an
.undeniable argument for its possibilit}'-, and is alone a refu-
tation of any pretended demonstration against it.
Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, con-
sider'd as such, but only those of objects, must in som^
respects be founded on the impressions of our memory and
senses, and in some respects on our ideas. Were there no
mixture of any impression in our probable reasonings, the
conclusion wou'd be entirely chimerical : And were there no
mixture of ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the
relation, wou'd, properly speaking, be sensation, not reason-
ing. 'Tis therefore necessary, that in all probable reasonings
there be something present to the mind, either seen or
remember'd; and that from this we infer something con-
nected with it, which is not seen nor remember'd.
The only connexion or relation of objects, which can
lead us beyond, the immediate impressions of our memory
and senses, is that of cause and effect ; and that because 'tis
the only one, on which we can found a just inference from
one object to another. The idea of cause and effect is
90 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. deriv'd from experience, which informs us, that such par-
*' • ticular objects, in all past instances, have been constantly
ledp-'ean'd conjoin'd with each other : A.nd as an object similar to one
probability, of these is suppos'd to be immediately present in its im-
pression, we thence presume on the existence of one similar
to its usual attendant. According to this account of things,
which is, I think, in every point unquestionable, probability
is founded on the presumption of a resemblance betwixt
those objects, of which we have had experience, and those,
of which we have had none ; and therefore 'tis impossible
this presumption can arise from probability. The same prin-
ciple cannot be both the cause and effect of another ; and
this is, perhaps, the only proposition concerning that relation,
which is either intuitively or demonstratively certain.
Shou'd any one think to elude this argument; and with-
out determining whether our reasoning on this subject be
deriv'd from demonstration or probability, pretend that all
conclusions from causes and eflects are built on solid
reasoning: I can only desire, that this reasoning may be
produc'd, in order to be expos'd to our examination. It
may, perhaps, be said, that after experience of the constant
conjunction of certain objects, we reason in the following
manner. Such an object is always found to produce another.
'Tis impossible it cou'd have this effect, if it was not endow'd
with a power of production. The power necessarily implies
the effect ; and therefore there is a just foundation for
drawing a conclusion from the existence of one object to
p< 0 that of its usual attendant. The past production implies
a power : The power imphes a new production : And the
new production is what we infer from the power and the past
production.
'Twere easy for me to shew the weakness of this reasoning,
were I willing to make use of those observations 1 have
already made, that the idea oi production is the same with
'il*'^ that oi causation, and that no existence certainly and demon-
stratively implies a power in any other object; or were
Book L OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 91
it proper to anticipate what I shall have occasion to remark Sect. VI.
afterwards concerning the idea we form o^ power and efficacy. —**—
But as such a method of proceeding may seem either to iljr^rmce
weaken my system, by resting one part of it on another, from the^
or to breed a confusion in my reasoning, I shall endeavour ^"'{^"j^^
to maintain my present assertion without any such assistance.
It shall therefore be allow'd for a moment, that the pro-
duction of one object by another in any one instance implies
a power; and that this power is connected with its effect.
But it having been already prov'd, that the power lies not
in the sensible qualities of the cause; and there being
nothing but the sensible qualities present to us ; I ask, why
in other instances you presume that the same power still
exists, merely upon the appearance of these qualities? Your
appeal to past experience decides nothing in the present
case ; and at the utmost can only prove, that that very object,
which produc'd any other, was at that very instant endow'd
with such a power ; but can never prove, that the same
power must continue in the same object or collection of
sensible qualities; much less, that a like power is always
conjoin'd with like sensible qualities. Shou'd it be said,
that we have experience, that the same power continues
united with the same object, and that like objects are
endow'd with like powers, I wou'd renew my question, w/ijy
from this experience we form any conclusion beyond those past
instances, of which we have had experience. If you answer
this question in the same manner as the preceding, your
answer gives still occasion to a new question of the same
kind, even in i7ifinitum ; which clearly proves, that the fore-
going reasoning had no just foundation.
Thus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the
ultimate co7i7iexion of causes and effects, but even after ex-
perience has inform'd us of their constant conjunction, 'tis
impossible for us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we
shou'd extend that experience beyond those particular in-
stances, which have fallen under our observation. We
92 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. suppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be
*' a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had
Ud'^e"atid ^'^perience, and those which lie be}'ond the reach of our
frobabilily. discovery.
We have already taken notice of certain relations, which
make us pass from one object to another, even tho' there be
no reason to determine us to that transition ; and this we
may establish for a general rule, that wherever the mind
constantly and uniformly makes a transition without any
reason, it is influenc'd by these relations. Now this is
exactly the present case. Reason can never shew us the
connexion of one object with another, tho' aided by ex-
perience, and the observation of their constant conjunction
in all past instances. When the mind, therefore, passes from
the idea or impression of one object to the idea or belief of
another, it is not determin'd by reason, but by certain
principles, which associate together the ideas of these objects,
t andjinite them in the imagination. Had ideas no more
union in the fancy than objects seem to have to the under-
standing, we cou'd never draw any inference from causes
to effects, nor repose belief in any matter of fact. The
inference, therefore, depends solely on the union of ideas.
The principles of union among ideas I have reduc'd to
three general ones, and have asserted, that the idea or
impression of any object naturally introduces the idea of any
other object, that is resembling, contiguous to, or connected
with it. These principles I allow to be neither the infallible
nor the sole causes of an union among ideas. They are not
the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention during
some time on any one object without looking farther. They
are not the sole causes. For the thought has evidently a
very irregular motion in running along its objects, and may
leap from the heavens to the earth, from one end of the
creation to the other, without any certain method or order.
But tho' I allow this weakness in these three relations, and
this irregularity in the imagination ; yet I assert that the only
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING 93
general^ principles, which associate ideas, are resemblance, Sect. VI.
contiguity and causation. »« ■
There is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which ^J^'^^
at first sight may be esteem'd different from any of Xhts,^, from the
but will be found at the bottom to depend on the same \ff^P^^^^Jfn
• • 1TTL > • 1- • 1 1 r . ,. . to the idea.
origm. VVfien ev ry mdividual of any species of objects is
found by experience to be constantly united with an in-
dividual of another species, the appearance of any new
individual of either species naturally conveys the thought to
its usual attendant. Thus because such a particular idea
is commonly annex'd to such a particular word, nothing is
requir'd but the hearing of that word to produce the corre-
spondent idea ; and 'twill scarce be possible for the mind, by
its utmost efforts, to prevent that transition. In this case it
is not absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such a par-
ticular sound, we shou'd reflect on any past experience, and
consider what idea has been usually connected with the
sound. The imagination of itself supplies the place of this
reflection, and is so accustom'd to pass from the word to
the idea, that it interposes not a moment's delay betwixt the
hearing of the one, and the conception of the other.
But tho' I acknowledge this to be a true principle of
association among ideas, I assert it to be the very same with
that betwixt the ideas of cause and effect, and to be an
essential part in all our reasonings from that relation. We
have no other notion of cause and effect, but that of certain
objects, which have been always conjoin'd together, and
which _in . all past instances have been found inseparable.
We cannot penetrate into the reason of the conjunction^ /
We only observe the thing itself, and always find that from
the constant conjunction the objects acquire an union in the
imagination. When the impression of one becomes present
to us, we immediately form an idea of its usual attendant ;
and consequently we may establish this as one part of the
definition of an opinion or belief, that 'tis an idea related to
or associated with a present impression.
94
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part TII. Thus tho' causation be a philosophical relation, as im-
•• plying contiguity, succession, and constant conjunction, yet
ledcre and '^^^ ^"^7 ^° ^^'" ^^ '"^^ ^^ ^ natural relation, and produces an
frobabiliiy. union among our ideas, that we are able to reason upon it,
or draw any inference from it.
v
SECTION VII.
Of the nature of the idea or belief .
The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of
it, but not the whole. We conceive many things, which we
do not believe. In order then to discover more fully the
nature of belief, or the qualities of those ideas we assent to,
let us weigh the following considerations.
'Tis evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects
terminate in conclusions, concerning matter of fact; that is,
concerning the existence of objects or of their qualities. 'Tis
also evident, that the idea of existence is nothing different
from the idea of any object, and that when after the simple
concepdon of any thing we wou'd conceive it as existent, we
in reality make no addition to or alteration on our first idea.
Thus when we affirm, that God is existent, we simply form
the idea of such a being, as he is represented to us ; nor is
the existence, which we attribute to him, conceiv'd by a
particular idea, which we join to the idea of his other
qualities, and can again separate and distinguish from them.
But I go farther; and not content with asserting, that the
conception of the existence of any object is no addition to
the simple conception of it, I likewise maintain, that the
belief of the existence joins no new ideas to those, which
compose the idea of the object. When I think of God,
when I think of him as existent, and when I believe him to
be existent, my idea of him neither encreases nor diminishes.
But as 'tis certain there is a great difference betwixt the
simple conception of the existence of an object, and the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 95
belief of it, and as this difference lies not in the parts or Sect. VIT
composition of the idea, which we conceive ; it follows, that '*
^ ,. . ^, . , . , ... Of the na-
it must lie in the manner, in which we conceive it. ^j^^^ of the
Suppose a person present with me, who advances pro- idea or be-
positions, to which I do not assent, that Csesar dyd in his "^'
bed, that silver is more fusible than lead, or mercury heavier
than gold ; 'tis evident, that notwithstanding my incredulity,
I clearly understand his meaning, and form all the same ideas,
which he forms. My imagination is endow'd with the same
powers as his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any
idea, which I cannot conceive ; or conjoin any, which I
cannot conjoin. I therefore ask, Wherein consists the dif-
ference betwixt believing and disbelieving any proposition ?
The answer is easy with regard to propositions, that are
prov'd by intuition or demonstration. In that case, the
person, who assents, not only conceives the ideas according
to the proposition, but is necessarily determin'd to conceive
them in that particular manner, either immediately or by the
interposition of other ideas. Whatever is absurd is unin-
telligible ; nor is it possible for the imagination to conceive
any thing contrary to a demonstration. But as in reason-
ings from causation, and concerning matters of fact, this
absolute necessity cannot take place, and the imagination is
free to conceive both sides of the question, I still ask, Wherein
consists the difference betwixt incredulity and belief? since in
both cases the conception of the idea is equally possible and
requisite.
'Twill not be a satisfactory answer to say, that a person,
who does not assent to a proposition you advance ; after
having conceiv'd the object in the same manner with you ;
immediately conceives it in a different manner, and has
different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory ; not
because it contains any falsehood, but because it discovers
not all the truth, 'Tis confest, that in all cases, wherein we
dissent from any person, we conceive both sides of the
question ; but as we can believe only one, it evidently
96
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. follows, that the belief must make some difference betwixt
— ►*— that conception to which we assent, and that from which we
ledcrean'd ^i^sent. We may mingle, and unite, and separate, and
probability, confound, and vary our ideas in a hundred different ways ;
but 'till there appears some principle, which fixes one of
these different situations, we have in reality no opinion : And
this principle, as it plainly makes no addition to our precedent
ideas, can only change the manner of our conceiving them.
All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. im-
pressions and ideas, which differ from each other only in
their different degrees of force and vivacity. Our ideas are
copy'd from our impressions, and represent them in all their
parts. When you wou'd any way vary the idea of a par-
ticular object, you can only encrease or diminish its force
and vivacity. If you make any other change on it, it repre-
sents a different object or impression. The case is the same
as in colours. A particular shade of any colour may acquire
a new degree of liveliness or brightness without any other
variation. But when you produce any other variation, 'tis no
longer the same shade or colour. So that as belief does
nothing but vary the manner, in which we conceive any
object, it can only bestow on our ideas an additional force
and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, or belief may be most
accurately defin'd, A lively idea related to or associated
WITH a present impression \
* We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error,
which being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind of
establish'd maxim, and is universally received by all logicians. This
error consists in the vulgar division of the acts of the understanding, into
conception, jt<dgf)ieitt and reasoning, and in the definitions we give of
them. Conception is defin'd to be the simple survey of one or more
ideas : Judgment to be the separating or uniting of different ideas :
Reasoning to lie the separating or uniting of different ideas by the inter-
position of others, which show the relation they bear to each other. But
these distinctions and definitions are faulty in very considerable articles.
For Jirst, 'tis far from being true, that in every judgment, which we
form, we unite two different ideas ; since in that proposition, God is, or
indeed any other, which regards existence, the idea of existence is no
distinct idea, which we unite with that of the object, and which is
caEable_ of forming a compound idea by the union. Secondly, As we
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 97
Here are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to Sect. VIL
this conclusion. When we infer the existence of an object •"•
from that of others, some object must always be present ^^^^^'^^^^^
either to the memory or senses, in order to be the founda- idea or be-
tion of our reasoning ; since the mind cannot run up with ''^'
its inferences in infiniliim. Reason can never satisfy us that
the existence of any one object does ever imply that of
another ; so that when we pass from the impression of one
to the idea or belief of another, we are not determin'd by
reason, but by custom or a principle of association. But
belief is somewhat more than a simple idea. 'Tis a par-
ticular manner of forming an idea : And as the same idea
can only be vary'd by a variation of its degrees of force and
vivacity ; it follows upon the whole, that belief is a lively idea
produc'd by a relation to a present impression, according to
the foregoing definition.
This definition will also be found to be entirely conform-
able to every one's feeling and experience. Nothing is more
evident, than that those ideas, to which we assent, are more
strong, firm and vivid, than the loose reveries of a castle-
builder. If one person sits down to read a book as a
romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive
can thus form a proposition, which contains only one idea, so we may
exert our reason without employing more than two ideas, and without
having recourse to a third to serve as a medium betwixt them. We
infer a cause immediately from its effect ; and this inference is not only
a true species of reasoning, but the strongest of all others, and more con-
vincing than when we interpose another idea to connect the two extremes.
What we may in general affirm concerning these three acts of the under-
standing is, that taking them in a proper light, they all resolve them-
selves into the first, and are nothing but particular ways of conceiving
our objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several ; whether
we dwell on these objects, or run from them to others ; and in whatever
form or order we survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a simple
conception ; and the only remarkable difference, which occurs on this
occasion, is, when we join belief to the conception, and are perswaded
of the truth of what we conceive. This act of the mind has never yet
been explain'd by any philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty to
propose my hypothesis concerning it ; which is, that 'tis only a strong
and steady conception of any idea, and such as approaches in some
measure to an immediate impression.
98 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. the same ideas, and in the same order ; nor does the in-
^' '• credulity of the one, and the belief of the other hinder them
Of know- r • 1 1 • 1 TT-
leds^e and i^om puttmg the very same sense upon their author. His
probabiliiy. words produce the same ideas in both ; tho' his testimony
has not the same influence on them. The latter has a more
lively conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper
into the concerns of the persons : represents to himself their
actions, and characters, and friendships, and enmities : He
even goes so far as to form a notion of their features, and
air, and person. While the former, who gives no credit to
the testimony of the author, has a more faint and languid
conception of all these particulars ; and except on account
of the style and ingenuity of the composition, can receive
little entertainment from it.
SECTION VIII.
Of the causes of belie/.
Having thus explain'd the nature of belief, and shewn that
it consists in a lively idea related to a present impression ;
let us now proceed to examine from what principles it is
deriv'd, and what bestows the vivacity on the idea.
I wou'd willingly establish it as a general maxim in the
science of human nature, that when any impression becomes
present to us, it not only trafisports the 7nind to such ideas as are
related to it, but likewise communicates to them a share of its
force and vivacity. All the operations of the mind depend in
a great measure on its disposition, when it performs them ;
and according as the spirits are more or less elevated, and
the attention more or less fix'd, the action will always have
more or less vigour and vivacity. When therefore any object
is presented, which elevates and enlivens the thought, every
action, to which the mind applies itself, will be more strong
and vivid, as long as that disposition continues. Now 'tis
evident the continuance of the disposition depends entirely
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING, 99
on the objects, about which the mind is employ'd ; and that Sect.VIII
any new object naturally gives a new direction to the spirits, •'
and changes the disposition ; as on the contrary, when the ^/,^ J^ ^/
mind fixes constantly on the same object, or passes easily and belief.
insensibly along related objects, the disposition has a much
longer duration. Hence it happens, that when the mind is
once inliven'd by a present impression, it proceeds to form a
more lively idea of the related objects, by a natural transition
of the disposition from the one to the other. The change of
the objects is so easy, that the mind is scarce sensible of
it, but applies itself to the conception of the related idea
with all the force and vivacity it acquir'd from the present
impression.
If in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of
transition, which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves
concerning the reality of this phaenomenon, 'tis well : But I
must confess I place my chief confidence in experience to
prove so material a principle. We_niay, therefore, observe, ^
as the first experiment to our present purpose, that upon the }
appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea of him
is_evidently inliven'd by the resemblance, and that every passion,
which that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires
new force and vigour. In producing this effect there conciir
both a relation and a present impression. ; Where the picture
bears him no resemblance, or at least was not intended for
him, it never so much as conveys our thought to him : And
where it is absent, as well as the person ; tho' the mind may
pass from the thought of the one to that of the other ; it feels
its idea to be rather weaken'd than inliven'd by that transition.
We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when
'tis set before us ; but when 'tis remov'd, rather choose to
consider him directly, than by reflexion in an image, which
is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be
consider'd as experiments of the same nature. The devotees
of that strange superstition usually plead in excuse of the
lOO A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they feel the
" good effect of those external motions, and postures, and
ledp^and actions, in inUvening their devotion, and quickening their
probability, fervour, which otherwise wou'd decay away, if directed
entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We shadow out
the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images,
}__ arid render them more present to us by the immediate pre-
sence of these types, than 'tis possible for us to do, merely by
an intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible objects
have always a greater influence on the fancy than any other ;
and this influence they readily convey to those ideas, to
which they are related, and which they resemble. I shall
only infer from these practices, and this reasoning, that the
r eff"ect of resemblance in inlivening the idea is very common ;
and as in every case a resemblance and a present impression
must concur, we are abundantly supply'd with experiments to
prove the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by others of a
different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity, as well
as of resemblance. 'Tis certain, that distance diminishes the
force of every idea, and that upon our approach to any
object ; tho' it does not discover itself to our senses ; it
operates upon the mind with an influence that imitates an
immediate impression. The thinking on any object readily
transports the mind to what is contiguous ; but 'tis only the
actual presence of an object that transports it with a superior
vivacity. When I am a few miles from home, whatever re-
lates to it touches me more nearly than when I am two
hundred leagues distant; tho' even at that distance the
reflecting on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends
and family naturally produces an idea of them. But as in
this latter case, both the objects of the mind are ideas ; not-
withstanding there is an easy transition betwixt them ; that
transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any
of the ideas, for want of some immediate impression.
No one can doubt but causation has the same influence as
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. lOI
the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity. Sect. VIII
Superstitious people are fond of the relicts of saints and holy —**—
men, for the same reason that they seek after types and ^ausfsof
images, in order to inliven their devotion, and give them belief.
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary
lives, which they desire to imitate. Now 'tis evident, one of
the best relicks a devotee cou'd procure, wou'd be the handy-
work of a saint ; and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to
be consider'd in this light, 'tis because they were once at his
disposal, and were mov'd and affected by him ; in which re-
spect they are to be consider'd as imperfect effects, and as
connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than
any of those, from which we learn the reality of his existence.
This phsenomenon clearly proves, that a present impression
with a relation of causation may enliven any idea, and conse-
quently produce belief or assent, according to the precedent
definition of it.
But why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that
a present impression with a relation or transition of the fancy
may inliven any idea, when this very instance of our reason-
ings from cause and effect will alone suffice to that purpose? ^c*^.,,,..
'Tis certain we must have an idea of every matter of fact, i
which we believe. *Tis certain, that this idea arises onlya^
from a relation to a present impression. 'Tis certain, that 3
the belief super-adds nothing to the idea, but only changes
our manner of conceiving it, and renders it more strong and
lively. The present conclusion concerning the influence of
relation is the immediate consequence of all these steps ; and
every step appears to me sure and infallible. There enters
nothing into this operation of the mind but a present impres-
sion, a lively idea, and a relation or association in the fancy
betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no
suspicion of mistake.
In order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us con-
sider it as a question in natural philosophy, which we must
determine by experience and observation. I suppose there
I02 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. is an object presented, from which I draw a certain conclu-
— *• — sion, and form to myself ideas, which I am said to believe or
ledseand ^^sent to. Here 'tis evident, that however that object, which
probability, is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence I
infer by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by
their particular powers or qualities ; yet as the phaenomenon
of belief, which we at present examine, is merely internal,
these powers and qualities, being entirely unknown, can have
no hand in producing it. 'Tis the present impression, which
is to be consider'd as the true and real cause of the idea, and
of the belief which attends it. We must therefore endeavour
to discover by experiments the particular qualities, by which
'tis enabled to produce so extraordinary an effect.
First then I observe, that the present impression has not
this effect by its own proper power and efficacy, and when
consider'd alone, as a single perception, limited to the pre-
sent moment. I find, that an impression, from which, on its
first appearance, I can draw no conclusion, may afterwards
become the foundation of belief, when I have had experience
of its usual consequences. We must in every case have
observ'd the same impression in past instances, and have
found it to be constantly conjoin'd with some other impres-
sion. This is confirm'd by such a multitude of experiments,
that it admits not of the smallest doubt.
^ From a second observation I conclude, that the belief,
which attends the present impression, and is produc'd by a
number of past impressions and conjunctions ; that this
belief, I say, arises immediately, without any new operation
of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain,
because I never am conscious of any such operation, and
find nothing in the subject, on which it can be founded.
Now as we call every thing custom, which proceeds from
a past repetition, without any new reasoning or conclusion,
we may establish it as a certain truth, that all the behef,
which follows upon any present impression, is deriv'd solely
from that origin. When we are accustom'd to see two im-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 103
pressions conjoin'd together, the appearance or idea of the SECT.vni.
one immediately carries us to the idea of the other. - *♦-
Being fully satisfy'd on this head, I make a third set of ex- ^aiLes of
periments, in order to know, whether any thing be requisite, belief.
beside the customary transition, towards the production of
this phsenomenon of belief. I therefore change the first
impression into an idea ; and observe, that tho' the customary
transition to the correlative idea still remains, yet there is in
reality no belief nor perswasion. A present impression, then, j
is absolutely requisite to this whole operation ; and when after
this I compare an impression with an idea, and find that
their only difference consists in their different degrees of
force and vivacity, I conclude upon the whole, that belief is
a more vivid and intense conception of an idea, proceeding
from its relation to a present impression.
Thus all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of
sensation. 'Tis not solely in poetry and music, we must
follow our taste and sentiment, but likewise in philosophy.
When I am convinc'd of any principle, 'tis only an idea,
which strikes more strongly upon me. When I give the pre-
ference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing
but decide from my feeling concerning the superiority of their
influence. Objectsjiaye no discoverable connexion together; ^
nor is it from any other principle but custom operating upon
the imagination, that we can draw any inference from the_
appearance of one to the existence of another^
'Twill here be worth our observation, that the past experi-
ence, on which all our judgments concerning cause and
effect depend, may operate on our mind in such an insensible
manner as never to be taken notice of, and may even in some
measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops short in
his journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the con-
sequences of his proceeding forward ; and his knowledge of
these consequences is convey'd to him by past experience,
which informs him of such certain conjunctions of causes and
effects. But can we think, that on this occasion he reflects
I04 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. on any past experience, and calls to remembrance instances,
""•"" — that he has seen or heard of, in order to discover the effects
ledre and of water on animal bodies ? No surely ; this is not the method
probability, in which he proceeds in his reasoning. The idea of sinking
is so closely connected with that of water, and the idea of
suffocating with that of sinking, that the mind makes the
transition without the assistance of the memory. The
custom operates before we have time for reflexion. The
objects seem so inseparable, that we interpose not a moment's
delay in passing from the one to the other. But as this
transition proceeds from experience, and not from any
primary connexion betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily
acknowledge, that experience may produce a belief and a
judgment of causes and effects by a secret operation, and
without being once thought of. This removes all pretext, if
there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is convinc'd
by reasoning of that principle, that instances of which we have
no experience, must Jiecessarily resemble those, of which we have.
For we here find, that the understanding or imagination can
draw inferences from past experience, without reflecting on
it ; much more without forming any principle concerning it,
or reasoning upon that principle.
In general we may observe, that in all the most establish'd
and uniform conjunctions of causes and effects, such as those
of gravity, impulse, solidity, &c., the mind never carries its
view expressly to consider any past experience : Tho' in
other associations of objects, which are more rare and unusual,^
it may assist the custom and transition of ideas by this
reflexion. Nay we find in some cases, that the reflexion
produces the belief without the custom; or more properly
speaking, that the reflexion produces the custom in an
oblique and artificial manner. I explain myself. 'Tis certain,
that not only in philosophy, but even in common life, we
may attain the knowledge of a particular cause merely by one
experiment, provided it be made with judgment, and after a
careful removal of all foreign and superfluous circumstances.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 105
Now as after one experiment of this kind, the mind, upon the Sect.VIIL
appearance either of the cause or the effect, can draw an in- ** ■
ference concerning the existence of its correlative ; and as cause's of
a habit can never be acquir'd merely by one instance ; it may belief.
be thought, that belief cannot in this case be esteem'd the
effect of custom. But this difficulty will vanish, if we con-
sider, that tho' we are here suppos'd to have had only one
experiment of a particular effect, yet we have many millions
to convince us of this principle ; that like objects, plac d in like
circumstances, will always produce like effects ; and as this
principle has establish'd itself by a efficient custom, it
bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion, to which
it can be apply'd. The connexion of the ideas is not
habitual after one experiment ; but this connexion is compre-
hended under another principle, that is habitual; which
brings us back to our hypothesis. In all cases we transfer
our experience to instances, of which we have no experience,^^^^
either expressly or tacitly, either directly or indirectly.
I must not conclude this subject without observing, that 'tis
very difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with per-
fect propriety and exactness ; because common language has
seldom made any very nice distinctions among them, but has
generally call'd by the same term all such as nearly resemble
each other. And as this is a source almost inevitable of
obscurity and confusion in the author ; so it may frequently
give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which other-
wise he wou'd never have dream'd of. Thus my general
position, that an opinion or belief is nothing but a strong and
lively idea deriv' d from a prese7it tjnpressiort related to it, may
be liable to the following objection, by reason of a little
ambiguity in those words strorig and lively. It may be said,
that not only an impression may give rise to reasoning, but
that an idea may also have the same influence; especially
upon my principle, that all our ideas are deriv d from
correspondeftt impressions. For suppose I form at present
an idea, of which I have forgot the correspondent im-
106 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III, pression, I am able to conclude from this idea, that
" such an impression did once exist ; and as this conclu-
Ofknow- gJQj^ jg attended with belief, it may be ask'd, from whence are
prdhabiliiy. the qualities of force and vivacity deriv'd, which constitute
this belief? And to this I answer very readily, from the
present idea. For as this idea is not here consider'd as the
representation of any absent object, but as a real perception
in the mind, of which we are intimately conscious, it must be
able to bestow on whatever is related to it the same quality,
call \i jirni?iess, or solidity, or force, or vivacity, with which the
mind reflects upon it, and is assur'd of its present existence.
The idea here supplies the place of an impression, and is
entirely the same, so far as regards our present purpose.
Upon the same principles we need not be surpriz'd to hear
of the remembrance of an idea; that is, of the idea of an
idea, and of its force and vivacity superior to the loose con-
ceptions of the imagination. In thinking of our past thoughts
we not only delineate out the objects, of which we were
thinking, but also conceive the action of the mind in the
meditation, that ctx\.2i\r\ Je-ne-scai-quoi, of which 'tis impossible
to give any definition or descripiion, but which every one
sufficiently understands. When the memory offers an idea
of this, and represents it as past, 'tis easily conceiv'd how
that idea may have more vigour and firmness, than when we
think of a past thought, of which we have no remembrance.
After this any one will understand how we may form the
idea of an impression and of an idea, and how we may believe
the existence of an impression and of an idea.
SECTION IX.
Of the effects of other relations and otJur habits.
HowEVKR convincing the foregoing arguments may appear,
we must not rest contented with them, but must turn the
subject on every side, in order to find some new points of
view, from which we may illustrate and confirm such extra-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING.
107
ordinary, and such fundamental principles, A scrupulous Sect. IX
hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable — «—
a disposition in philosophers, and so necessary to the ^^^ f
examination of truth, that it deserves to be comply'd with, other rela
and requires that every argument be produc"d, which may ^'^'" ''"'^
tend to their satisfaction, and every objection remov'd, which habits.
may stop them in their reasoning.
I have often observ'd, that, beside cause and effect, the two
relations of resemblance and contiguity, are to be consider'd
as associating principles of thought, and as capable of con-
veying the imagination from one idea to another. I have
also observ'd, that when of two objects connected together
by any of these relations, one is immediately present to the
memory or senses, not only the mind is convey'd to its
co-relative by means of the associating principle; but like-
wise conceives it wiih an additional force and vigour, by the
united operation of that principle, and of the present im-
pression. All this I have observ'd, in order to confirm by
analogy, my explication of our judgments concerning cause
and effect. But this very argument may, perhaps, be turn'd
against me, and instead of a confirmation of my hypothesis,
may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that if
all the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz. that these three
species of relation are deriv'd from the same principles ; that
their effects in inforcing and inlivening our ideas are the
same ; and that belief is nothing but a more forcible and
vivid conception of an idea ; it shou'd follow, that that action
of the mind may not only be deriv'd from the relation of cause
and effect, but also from those of contiguity and resemblance.
But as we find by experience, that belief arises only from
causation, and that we can draw no inference from one object
to another, except they be connected by this relation, we may
conclude, that there is some error in that reasoning, which
leads us into such difficulties.
This is the objection ; let us now consider its solution
'Tis evident, that whatever is present to the memory, striking
Io8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. upon the mind with a vivacity, which resembles an immediate
_,,*• impression, must become of considerable moment in all the
Of know- .
ledge atid operations of the mmd, and must easily distinguish itself
prolahihiy. above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of these im-
pressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system,
comprehending whatever we remember to have been present,
either to our internal perception or senses ; and every par-
ticular of that system join'd, to the present impressions, we are
pleas'd to call a reality. But the mind stops not here. For
finding, that with this system of perceptions, there is another
connected by custom, or if you will, by the relation of cause
or effect, it proceeds to the consideration of their ideas ; and
as it feels that 'tis in a manner necessarily determin'd to view
these particular ideas, and that the custom or relation, by
which it is determin'd, admits not of the least change, it
forms them into a new system, which it likewise dignifies with
the title of realities. The first of these systems is the object
of the memory and senses; the second of the judgment.
j 'Tis this latter principle which peoples the world, and
brings us acquainted with such existences, as by their re-
moval in time and place, lie beyond the reach of the senses
__and memory. By means of it I paint the universe in my
imagination, and fix my attention on any part of it I please.
I form an idea of Rome, which I neither see nor remember ;
but which is connected with such impressions as I remember
to have received from the conversation and books of travellers
and historians. This idea oi Ro77ie I place in a certain situa-
tion on the idea of an object, which I call the globe. I join
to it the conception of a particular government, and religion,
and manners. I look backward and consider its first founda-
tion ; its several revolutions, successes, and misfortunes. All
this, and every thing else, which I believe, are nothing but
ideas ; tho' by their force and settled order, arising from
custom and the relation of cause and effect, they distinguish
themselves from the other ideas, which are merely the offspring
of the imagination.
Book 1. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 109
'As to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may Sect. IX,
observe, that if the contiguous and resembling object be com- — •"• —
prehended in this system of realities, there is no doubt but ^^^^^/^z-
Jhese t\yoj"elations will assist that of cause and effect, ^nd other rela-
infix the related idea with more force in the imagination^''',","^ '^
— o — I other
This I shall enlarge upon presently. Mean while I shall habits.
carry my observation a step farther, and assert, thatfeven
where the related object is but feign'd, the relation will serve
to enliven the idea, and encrease its influence?) A poet, no
doubt, will be the better able to form a strong description of
the Elysian fields, that he prompts his imagination by the
view of a beautiful meadow or garden ; as at another time he
may by his fancy place himself in the midst of these fabulous
regions, that by the feign'd contiguity he may enliven his
imagination.
But tho' I cannot altogether exclude the relations of re-
semblance and contiguity from operating on the fancy in
this manner, 'tis observable that, when single, their influence
is very feeble and uncertain. TAs the relation of cause and
efi"ect is requisite to persuade us of any real existence, so is
this persuasion requisite to give force to these other relationsT^
For where upon the appearance of an impression we not
only feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our
mere good-will and pleasure give it a particular relation to
the impression, this can have but a small effect upon the
mind; nor is there any reason, why, upon the return of the
same impression, we shou'd be determin'd to place the same
object in the same reladon to it. There is no manner of
necessity for the mind to feign any resembling and contiguous
objects ; and if it feigns such, there is as litde necessity for
it always to confine itself to the same, without any diff"erence
or variation. And indeed such a fiction is founded on so
little reason, that nothing but pure caprice can determine the
mind to form it; and that principle being fluctuating and
uncertain, tis impossible it can ever operate with any con-
siderable degree of force and constancy. The mind forsees
E
no A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. and anticipates the change ; and even from the very first
'• instant feels the looseness of its actions, and the weak hold it
Jec^ge and ^^^^ of its objects. And as this imperfection is very sensible
probability, in every single instance, it still encreases by experience and
observation, when we compare the several instances we may
remember, and form a gmeral rule against the reposing any
assurance in those momentary glimpses of light, which arise
in the imagination from a feign'd resemblance and con-
tiguity.
The relation of cause and effect has all the opposite
advantages. The objects it presents are fixt and unalterable.
The impressions of the memory never change in any con-
siderable degree ; and each impression draws along with it
a precise idea, which takes its place in the imagination, as
something solid and real, certain and invariable. The
thought is always determin'd to pass from the impression to
the idea, and from that particular impression to that par-
ticular idea, without any choice or hesitation.
But not content with removing this objection, I shall
endeavour to extract from it a proof of the present doctrine.
Contiguity and resemblance have an effect much inferior to
causation ; but still have some effect, and augment the con-
viction of any opinion, and the vivacity of any conception.
If this can be prov'd in several new instances, beside what we
- have already observ'd, 'twill be allow'd no inconsiderable
argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea related to
a present impression.
To begin with contiguity; it has been remark'd among
the Mahometans as well as Christians, that those pilgrims,
who have seen Mecca or the Holy Land are ever after more
faithful and zealous believers, than those who have not had
that advantage. A man, whose memory presents him with
a lively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem,
and Galilee, can never doubt of any miraculous events, which
are related either by Illoses or the Evangelists. The lively
idea of the places passes by an easy transition to the facts,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. Ill
which a.-e suppos'd to have been related to them by con- Sect. IX.
tiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity of — ^ —
the conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers g'^g^i' gf
has the same influence on the vulgar as a new argument ; other reia-
and from the same causes, '"'"/" """^
other
We may form a like observation concerning resemblance, habits.
We have remark'd, that the conclusion, which we draw
from a present object to its absent cause or effect, is never
founded on any qualities, which we observe in that object,
consider'd in itself; or, in other words, that 'tis impossible
to determine, otherwise than by experience, what will result
from any phgenomenon; or what has preceded it. But tho'
this be so evident in itself, that it seem'd not to require
any proof; yet some philosophers have imagin'd that there
is an apparent cause for the communication of modon, and
that a reasonable man might immediately infer the motion
of one body from the impulse of another, without having
recourse to any past observadon. That this opinion is
false will admit of an easy proof. For if such an inference
may be drawn merely from the ideas of body, of motion, and
of impulse, it must amount to a demonstration, and must
imply the absolute impossibility of any contrary supposition.
Every effect, then, beside the communication of motion,
implies a formal contradicdon : and 'tis impossible not only
that it can exist, but also that it can be conceiv'd. But
we may soon satisfy ourselves of the contrary, by forming
a clear and consistent idea of one body's moving upon
another, and of its rest immediately upon the contact ; or
of its returning back in the same line, in which it came;
or of its annihilation ; or circular or elliptical motion : and
in short, of an infinite number of other changes, which we
may suppose it to undergo. These suppositions are all
consistent and natural ; and the reason, why we imagine the
communication of motion to be more consistent and natural
not only than those suppositions, but also than any other
natural effect, is founded on the relation of resemblance
112 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. betwixt the cause and effect, which is here united to ex-
" perience, and binds the objects in the closest and most
ledge°mid ^^^^imate manner to each other, so as to make us imagine
prebabiliiy. them to be absolutely inseparable. Resemblance, then, has
the same or a parallel influence with experience ; and as
the only immediate effect of experience is to associate our
ideas together, it follows, that all belief arises from the
association of ideas, according to my hypothesis.
'Tis universally allow'd by the writers on optics, that
the eye at all times sees an equal number of physical points,
and that a man on the top of a mountain has no larger
an image presented to his senses, that when he is cooped up
in the narrowest court or chamber. 'Tis only by experience
that he infers the greatness of the object from some peculiar
qualities of the image ; and this inference of the judgment
he confounds with sensation, as is common on other occa-
sions. Now 'tis evident, that the inference of the judgment
is here much more lively than what is usual in our common
reasonings, and that a man has a more vivid conception of
the vast extent of the ocean from the image he receives
by the eye, when he stands on the top of the high
promontory, than merely from hearing the roaring of the
waters. He feels a more sensible pleasure from its mag-
nificence ; which is a proof of a more lively idea : And
he confounds his judgment with sensation ; which is another
proof of it. But as the inference is equally certain and
immediate in both cases, this superior vivacity of our con-
ception in one case can proceed from nothing but this, that
in drawing an inference from the sight, beside the customary
conjunction, there is also a resemblance betwixt the image
and the object we infer ; which strengthens the relation, and
conveys the vivacity of the impression to the related idea with
an easier and more natural movement.
No weakness of human nature is more universal and
conspicuous than what we commonly call Credulity, or
a too easy faith in the testimony of others ; and this weak-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 13
ness is also very naturally accounted for from the influence Sect. IX.
of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon — ^ —
human testimony, our faith arises from the very same origin effects of
as our inferences from causes to effects, and from effects other rela-
to causes; nor is there any thing but our experiettce of the ^^g;"^
governing principles of human nature, which can give us any habits.
assurance of the veracity of men. But tho' experience
be the true standard of this, as well as of all other judg-
ments, we seldom regulate ourselves entirely by it ; but
have a remarkable propensity to believe whatever is reported,
even concerning apparitions, enchantments, and prodigies,
however contrary to daily experience and observation. The
words or discourses of others have an intimate connexion
with certain ideas in their mind ; and these ideas have also
a connexion with the facts or objects, which they represent.
This latter connexion is generally much over-rated, and
commands our assent beyond what experience will justify;
which can proceed from nothing beside the resemblance
betwixt the ideas and the facts. Other effects only point
out their causes in an oblique manner ; but the testimony of
men does it directly, and is to be consider'd as an image as
well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are so rash
in drawing our inferences from it, and are less guided by
experience in our judgments concerning it, than in those
upon any other subject.
As resemblance, when conjoin'd with causation, fortifies
our reasonings ; so the want of it in any very great degree
is able almost entirely to destroy them. Of this there is
a remarkable instance in the universal carelessness and stupi-
dity of men with regard to a future state, where they show as
obstinate an incredulity, as they do a blind credulity on other y/
occasions. There is not indeed a more ample matter of
wonder to the studious, and of regret to the pious man, than
to observe the negligence of the bulk of mankind concerning
their approaching condition ; and 'tis with reason, that
many eminent theologians have not scrupled to affirm, that
114 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. tho' the vulgar have no formal principles of infidelity, yet
^,," they are really infidels in their hearts, and have nothina: like
Of know- , 11 1 1- ,- r . 11. /. 1 •
lejirg and ^''''^^'^ we Can call a belief of the eternal duration of their
p-obahility. souls. For let us consider on the one hand what divines
have display'd with such eloquence concerning the import-
ance of eternity; and at the same time reflect, that tho'
in matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our account with some
exaggeration, we must in this case allow, that the strongest
figures are infinitely inferior to the subject : And after this let
us view on the other hand the prodigious security of men in
this particular: I ask, if these people really believe what
is inculcated on them, and what they pretend to affirm ; and
the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief is an act
ofjthe mind arising from custom, 'tis not strange the want of
resemblance shou'd overthrow what custom has establish'd,
and diminish the force of the idea, as much as that latter
principle encreases it. A future slate is so far remov'd from
our comprehension, and we have so obscure an idea of
the manner, in which we shall exist after the dissolution
of the body, that all the reasons we can invent, however
strong in themselves, and however much assisted by educa-
tion, are never able with slow imaginations to surmount this
difficulty, or bestow a sufficient authority and force on the
idea. I rather choose to ascribe this incredulity to the faint
idea we form of our future condition, deriv'd from its want of
resemblance to the present life, than to that deriv'd from
its remoteness. For I observe, that men are every where
concern'd about what may happen after their death, provided
it regard this world; and that there are few to whom their
name, their family, their friends, and their country are in any
period of time entirely indifferent.
And indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely
destroys belief, that except those few, who upon cool reflection
on the importance of the subject, have taken care by repeated
meditation to imprint in their minds the arguments for a future
state, there scarce are any, who believe the immortality of the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. II5
soul with a true and establish'd judgment ; such as is deriv'd Sect. IX
from the testimony of travellers and historians. This appears **
very conspicuously vi'herever men have occasion to compare effects of
the pleasures and pains, the rewards and punishments of this other rela
life with those of a future ; even tho' the case does not con- ^/^^^^
cern themselves, and there is no violent passion to disturb habits.
their judgment. The Roman Catholicks are certainly the
most zealous of any sect in the christian world ; and yet
)'Ou'll find few among the more sensible people of that com-
munion, who do not blame the Gunpowder-treason, and the
massacre of St. Bartholomew, as cruel and barbarous, tho'
projected or executed against those very people, whom with-
out any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite punish-
ments. All we can say in excuse for this inconsistency
is, that they really do not believe what they affirm concerning
a future state ; nor is there any better proof of it than the
very inconsistency.
We may add to this a remark ; that in matters of religion
men take a pleasure in being terrify'd, and that no preachers
are so popular, as those who excite the most dismal and
gloomy passions. In the common affairs of life, where we
feel and are penetrated with the solidity of the subject,
nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror;
and 'tis only in dramatic performances and in religious
discourses, that they ever give pleasure. In these latter
cases the imagination reposes itself indolently on the idea ;
and the passion, being soften'd by the want of belief in the
subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of enlivening
the mind, and fixing the attention.
The present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation,
if we examine the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as
of other relations. To understand this we must consider,
that custom, to which I attribute all belief and reasoning,
may operate upon the mind in invigorating an idea after two
several ways. For supposing that in all past experience we
have found two objects to have been always conjoin'd to-
Il6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. gether, 'tis evident, that upon the appearance of one of these
— ^ — objects in an impression, we must from custom make an easy
Udgean'd transition to the idea of that object, which usually attends it ;
Probability, and by means of the present impression and easy transition
must conceive that idea in a stronger and more lively manner,
than we do any loose floating image of the fancy. But let
us next suppose, that a mere idea alone, without any of this
curious and almost artificial preparation, shou'd frequently
make its appearance in the mind, this idea must by degrees
acquire a facility and force ; and both by its firm hold and
easy introduction distinguish itself from any new and unusual
idea. This is the only particular, in which these two kinds
of custom agree ; and if it appear, that their eff'ects on the
judgment are similar and proportionable, we may certainly
conclude, that the foregoing explication of that faculty is
satisfactory. But can we doubt of this agreement in their
influence on the judgment, when we consider the nature and
effects of EDUCATION ?
All those opinions and notions of things, to which we
have been accustom'd from our infancy, take such deep root,
that 'tis impossible for us, by all the powers of reason and
experience, to eradicate them ; and this habit not only
approaches in its influence, but even on many occasions
prevails over that which arises from the constant and insepar-
able union of causes and effects. Here we must not be
contented with saying, that the vividness of the idea produces
the belief: We must maintain that they are individually the
same. The frequent repetition of any idea infixes it in the
imagination ; but cou'd never possibly of itself produce
belief, if that act of the mind was, by the original constitution
of our natures, annex'd only to a reasoning and comparison
of ideas. Custom may lead us into some false comparison of
ideas. This is the utmost effect we can conceive of it. But
'tis certain it cou'd never supply the place of that comparison,
nor produce any act of the mind, which naturally belong'd to
that principle.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 17
A person, that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation, Sect. IX
endeavours for a long time afterwards to serve himself with — ^ —
them. After the death of any one, 'tis a common remark of a-^^^ ^f
the whole family, but especially of the servants, that they can other rela-
scarce believe him to be dead, but still imagine him to be ^'//*^ '^"^
° other
in his chamber or in any other place, where they were habits.
accustom'd to find him. I have often heard in conversation,
after talking of a person, that is any way celebrated, that
one, who has no acquaintance with him, will say, / have
never seen such-a-otie, but almost fancy I have ; so often have
I heard talk of him. All these are parallel instances.
If we consider this argument from education in a proper
light, 'twill appear very convincing ; and the more so, that 'tis
founded on one of the most common phsenomena, that is any
where to be met with. I am persuaded, that upon examina-
tion we shall find more than one half of those opinions, that
prevail among mankind, to be owing to education, and that the
principles, which are thus implicitely embrac'd, over-ballance
those, which are owing either to abstract reasoning or experi-
ence. As liars, by the frequent repetition of their lies, come
at last to remember them ; so the judgment, or rather the
imagination, by the like means, may have ideas so strongly
imprinted on it, and conceive them in so full a light, that they
may operate upon the mind in the same manner with those,
which the senses, memory or reason present to us. But as
education is an artificial and not a natural cause, and as its
maxims are frequently contrary to reason, and even to them-
selves in difi'erent times and places, it is never upon that
account recogniz'd by philosophers ; tho' in reahty it be built
almost on the same foundation of custom and repetition as
our reasonings from causes and effects \
* In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable reason-
ings is founded on the vivacity of ideas, it resembles many of those
whimsies and prejudices, which are rejected under the opprobrious
character of being the offspring of the imagination. By this expression
it appears that the word, imagination, is commonly us'd in two different
senses ; and tho' nothing be more contrary to true philosophy, than this
Il8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Fart III.
Of know- SECTION X.
ledge and
probabilUy. Of the influence of beliej.
But tho' education be disclaim'd by philosophy, as a falla-
cious ground of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless
in the world, and is the cause why all systems are apt to be
rejected at first as new and unusual. This perhaps will be
the fate of what I have here advanc'd concerning lelief
and tho' the proofs I have produc'd appear to me perfectly
conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes to my
opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that eflects
of such consequence can flow from principles, which are
seemingly so inconsiderable, and that the far greatest part of
our reasonings, with all our actions and passions, can be
deriv'd from nothing but custom and habit. To obviate this
objection, I shall here anticipate a little what wou'd more
properly fall under our consideration afterwards, when we
come to treat of the passions and the sense of beauty.
There is implanted in the human mind a perception of
pain and pleasure, as the chief spring and moving principle
of all its actions. But pain and pleasure have two ways of
making their appearance in the mind ; of which the one has
effects very different from the other. They may either ap-
pear in impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as
at present when I mention them. 'Tis evident the influ-
ence of these upon our actions is far from being equal.
Impressions always actuate the soul, and that in the highest
degree ; but 'tis not every idea which has the same effect.
Nature has proceeded with caution in this case, and seems to
innccuracy, yet in the following reasonings I have often been oblig'd to
fall into it. When I oppose the imagination to the memory, I mean
the faculty, by which we form our tainter ideas. When I oppose it
to reason, I mean the same faculty, excluding only our demonstrative
and probable reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, 'tis indifferent
whether it be taken in the larger or more limited sense, or at least
the context will sufficiently explain the meaning.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. II9
have carefullv avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. Sect. X.
Did impressioiJb alone influence the will, we should every •"" —
, ... , . , 1 • • Of the in-
moment of our lives be subject to the greatest calamities ;y^^^^„^^ ^
because, tho' we foresaw their approach, we should not be belief.
provided by nature with any principle of action, which might
/mpel us to avoid them. On the other hand, did every idea
influence our actions, our condition would not be much
mended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of
thought, that the images of every thing, especially of goods
and evils, are always wandering in the mind; and were it
mov'd by every idle conception of this kind, it would never
enjoy a moment's peace and tranquillity.
Nature has, therefore, chosen a medium, and has neither
bestow'd on every idea of good and evil the power of
actuating the will, nor yet has entirely excluded them from
this influence. Tho' an idle fiction has no efficacy, yet we
find by experience, that the ideas of those objects, which we
believe either are or will be existent, produce in a lesser
degree the same eff"ect with those impressions, which are
immediately present to the senses and perception. The
effectj then, of belief is to raise up a simple idea to an equality
with our impressions, and bestow on it a like influence on
the passions. This eff"ect it can only have by making an
idea approach an impression in force and vivacity. For as
the different degrees of force make all the original difference
betwixt an impression and an idea, they must of consequence
be the source of all the diff"erences in the eff"ects of these
perceptions, and their removal, in whole or in part, the cause
of every new resemblance they acquire. Wherever we can
make an idea approach the impressions in force and vivacity,
it will likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind ; and
vice versa, where it imitates them in that influence, as in the
present case, this must proceed from its approaching them in
force and vivacity. Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea
to imitate the effects of the impressions, must make it
resemble them in these qualities, and is nothing but a more
I20 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. vivt'd and intense conception of any idea. This, then, may both
— •- — serve as an additional argument for the present system, and
ledeeand "^^^ o'^^ ^^ ^ notion after what manner our reasonings from
probability, causation are able to operate on the will and passions.
As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our
passions, so the passions in their turn are very favourable to
belief; and not only such facts as convey agreeable emotions,
but very often such as give pain, do upon that account
become more readily the objects of faith and opinion.
A coward, whose fears are easily awaken'd, readily assents to
every account of danger he meets with; as a person of
a sorrowful and melancholy disposition is very credulous of
every thing that nourishes his prevailing passion. When any
affecting object is presented, it gives the alarm, and excites
immediately a degree of its proper passion; especially in
persons who are naturally inclined to that passion. This
emotion passes by an easy transition to the imagination ; and
diffusing itself over our idea of the affecting object, makes us
form that idea with greater force and vivacity, and conse-
quently assent to it, according to the precedent system.
Admiration and surprize have the same effect as the other
passions ; and accordingly we may observe, that among the
vulgar, quacks and projectors meet with a more easy faith
upon account of their magnificent pretensions, than if they
kept themselves within the bounds of moderation. The
first astonishment, which naturally attends their miraculous
relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so vivifies
and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we
draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we
may be already a little acquainted, and which we shall have
farther occasion to be let into in the progress of this
treatise.
After this account of the influence of belief on the passions,
we shall find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the
imagination, however extraordinary they may appear. 'Tis
certain we cannot take pleasure in any discourse, where our
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 121
judgment gives no assent to those images which are presented Sect. X.
to our fancy. The conversation of those, who have acquir'd "
a habit of lying, tho' in affairs of no moment, never gives ^"^J /uenceof
satisfaction ; and that because those ideas they present to us, belief.
not being attended with belief, make no impression upon the
mind. Poets themselves, tho' liars by profession, always
endeavour to give an air of truth to their fictions j and
where that is totally neglected, their performances, however
ingenious, will never be able to afford much pleasure. In
short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no manner
of influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are still
requisite, in order to make them entertaining to the ima-
gination.
But if we compare together all the phsenomena that occur
on this head, we shall find, that truth, however necessary it
may seem in all works of genius, has no other effect than to
procure an easy reception for the ideas, and to make the
mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction, or at least without
reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may easily be
supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, accord-
ing to my system, attend those ideas that are establish'd by
reasonings from causation ; it follows, that all the influence
of belief upon the fancy may be explained from that system.
Accordingly we may observe, that wherever that influence
arises from any other principles beside truth or reality, they
supply its place, and give an equal entertainment to the ima-
gination. Poets have form'd what they call a poetical system
of things, which tho' it be believ'd neither by themselves
nor readers, is commonly esteem'd a sufficient foundation
for any fiction. We have been so much accustom'd to the
names of Mars, Jupiter, Venus, that in the same manner
as education infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of
these ideas makes them enter into the mind with facility,
and prevail upon the fancy, without influencing the judg-
ment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their fable,
or at least the names of their principal actors, from some
123 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. known passage in history ; and that not in order to deceive
— ^ — the spectators ; for they will frankly confess, that truth is not
Uii/eaii'l '" ^^y circumstance inviolably observed ; but in order to
probabiiity. procure a more easy reception into the imagination for those
extraordinary events, which they represent. But this is
a precaution, which is not required of comic poets, whose
personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind,
enier easily into the conception, and are received v.ithout
any such formality, even tho' at first sight they be known to
be fictitious, and the pure offspring of the fancy.
This mixture of truth and falshood in the fables of tragic
poets not only serves our present purpose, by shewing, that
the imagination can be satisfy'd without any absolute belief
or assurance ; but may in another view be regarded as a very
strong confirmation of this system. 'Tis evident, that poets
make use of this artifice of borrowing the names of their
persons, and the chief events of their poems, from history, in
order to j)rocure a more easy reception for the whole, and
cause it to make a deeper impression on the fancy and
affections. The several incidents of the piece acquire a kind
of relation by being united into one poem or representation ;
and if any of these incidents be an object of belief, it bestows
a force and vivacity on the others, which are related to it.
The vividness of the first conception diffuses itself along the
relations, and is convey'd, as by so many pipes or canals, to
every idea that has any communication with the primary one.
This, indeed, can never amount to a perfect assurance ; and
that because the union among the ideas is, in a manner,
accidental: But still it approaches so near, in its influence, as
may convince us, that they are deriv'd from the same origin.
Belief must please the imagination by means of the force and
vivacity which attends it; since every idea, which has force
and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.
To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is
mutual betwixt the judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt
the judgment and passion; and that belief not only gives
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 123
vigour to the imagination, but that a vigorous and strong Sect. X.
imagination is of all talents the most proper to procure — "-^
belief and authority. 'Tis difficult for us to withold our 9^/^^''^'"'
assent from what is painted out to us in all the colours belief.
of eloquence ; and the vivacity produc'd by the fancy is in
many cases greater than that which arises from custom and
experience. We are hurried away by the lively imagination
of our author or companion ; and even he himself is often
a victim to his own fire and genius.
Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination — 1
very often degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it |
a great resemblance in its operations ; so they influence the
judgment after the same manner, and produce belief from
the very same principles. When the imagination, from any—'
extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such
a vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no
means of distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood ; but
every loose fiction or idea, having the same influence as the
impressions of the memory, or the conclusions of the judg-
ment, is receiv'd on the same footing, and operates with equal
force on the passions. A present impression and a cus-
tomary transition are now no longer necessary to inliven our
ideas. Every chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as
any of those inferences, which we formerly dignify'd with the
name of conclusions concerning matters of fact, and some-
times as the present impressions of the senses.
We may observe the same efl"ect of poetry in a lesser
degree; only with this ditference, that the least reflection
dissipates the illusions of poetry, and places the objects in
their proper light. 'Tis however certain, that in the warmth
of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a counterfeit belief, and
even a kind of vision of his objects : And if there be any
shadow of argument to support this belief, nothing contri-
butes more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical
figures and images, which have their eff"ect upon the poet
himself, as well as upon his readers.
124 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III.
^jr*— SECTION XL
0/ know-
''^'oLZlty. Of ^^' ProhabiUty of chances.
But in order to bestow on this system its full force and
evidence, we must carry our eye from it a moment to con-
sider its consequences, and explain from the same principles
some other species of reasoning, which are deriv'd from the
same origin.
Those philosophers, who have divided human reason into
knowledge and probability, and have defin'd the first to be that
evidejice, which arises from the comparison of ideas, are oblig'd
to comprehend all our arguments from causes or effects under
the general term of probability. But tho' every one be free
to use his terms in what sense he pleases; and accordingly
in the precedent part of this discourse, I have follow'd this
method of expression ; 'tis however certain, that in common
discourse we readily affirm, that many arguments from
causation exceed probability, and may be receiv'd as a
superior kind of evidence. One wou'd appear ridiculous, who
wou'd say, that 'tis only probable the sun will rise to-morrow,
or that all men must dye ; tho' 'tis plain we have no further
assurance of these facts, than what experience affords us.
For this reason, 'twould perhaps be more convenient, in
order at once to preserve the common signification of words,
and mark the several degrees of evidence, to distinguish
human reason into three kinds, viz. that from knowledge, from
_ proofs, and from probabilities. By knowledge, I mean the
4/ assurance arising from the comparison of ideas. By proofs,
those arguments, \\hich are deriv'd from the relation of cause
and effect, and which are entirely free from doubt and uncer-
.^. tainty. By ^probability, that evidence, which is still attended
with uncertainty. 'Tis this last species of reasoning, I pro-
ceed to examine.
Probability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided
_A into two kinds, viz. that which is founded on chance, and that
V
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 125
which arises from causes. We shall consider each of these in Sect. XL
order. /iTT*
The idea of cause and effect is deriv'd from experience, probability
which presenting us with certain objects constantly conjoin'd of chances.
with each other, produces such a habit of surveying them in
that relation, that we cannot without a sensible violence
survey them in any other. On the other hand, as chance is
nothing real in itself, and, properly speaking, is merely the ^•
negation of a cause, its influence on the mind is contrary^ to
that of causation ; and 'tis essential to it, to leave the imagina-
tion perfectly indifferent, either to consider the existence or
non-existence of that object, which is regarded as contingent.
A cause traces the way to our thought, and in a manner
forces us to survey such certain objects, in such certain
relations. Chance can only destroy this determination of
the thought, and leave the mind in its native situation
of indifference ; in which, upon the absence of a cause, 'tis
instantly re-instated.
Since therefore an entire indifference is essential to chance,
no one chance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise
than as it is compos'd of a superior number of equal chances.
For if we affirm that one chance can, after any other manner,
be superior to another, we must at the same time affirm, that
there is something, which gives it the superiority, and deter-
mines the event rather to that side than the other : That is,
in other words, w^e must allow of a cause, and destroy the
supposition of chance ; which we had before establish'd. A
perfect and total indifference is essential to chance, and
one total indifference can never in itself be either superior or
inferior to another. This truth is not peculiar to my system,
but is acknowledg'd by every one, that forms calculations
concerning chances.
And here 'tis remarkable, that tho' chance and causation
be directly contrary, yet 'tis impossible for us to conceive this
combination of chances, which is requisite to render one
hazard superior to another, without supposing a mixture of
126 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. causes among the chances, and a conjunction of necessity in
— ^ — some particulars, with a total indifference in others. Where
kd'r"and nothing limits the chances, every notion, that the most extrava-
frobability. gant fancy can form, is upon a footing of equality ; nor can
there be any circumstance to give one the advantage above
another. Thus unless we allow, that there are some causes to
make the dice fall, and preserve their form in their fall, and
lie upon some one of their sides, we can form no calculation
concerning the laws of hazard. But supposing these causes
to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest to be indifferent
and to be determin'd by chance, 'tis easy to arrive at a notion
of a superior combination of chances. A dye, that has four
sides mark'd with a certain number of spots, and only two
with another, affords us an obvious and easy instance of this
superiority. The mind is here limited by the causes to such
a precise number and quality of the events ; and at the same
time is undetermin'd in its choice of any particular event.
Proceeding then in that reasoning, wherein we have
"^ • advanc'd three steps ; ^a/ chance is merely the negation of
. a cause, and produces a total indifference in the mind ; that
one negation of a cause and one total indifference can never
3. be superior or inferior to another ; and that there must always
be a mixture of causes among the chances, in order to be the
foundation of any reasoning : We are next to consider what
effect a superior combination of chances can have upon the
mind, and after what manner it influences our judgment and
opinion. Here we may repeat all the same arguments we
employ'd in examining that belief, which arises from causes ;
and may prove after the same manner, that a superior
number of chances produces our assent neither by devionstra-
tion nor probability. 'Tis indeed evident, that we can never
by the comparison of mere ideas make any discovery, vi'hich
can be of consequence in this affair, and that 'tis impossible
to prove with certainty, that any event must fall on that side
where there is a superior number of chances. To suppose
in this case any certainty, were to overthrow what we have
>v*,Tr>vn »->p>
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 27
establish'd concerning the opposition of chances, and their Sect. XI
perfect equality and indifference. ~'^ — •
Shou'd it be said, that tho' in an opposition of chances 'tis /ygi,abiHtv
impossible to determine with certainly, on which side the of chances
event will fall, yet we can pronounce with certainty, that 'tis
more hkely and probable, 'twill be on that side where there
is a superior number of chances, than where there is an
inferior: Shou'd this be said, I wou'd ask, what is here
meant by likelihood and probability ? The likelihood and
probability of chances is a superior number of equal chances ;
and consequently when we say 'tis likely the event will fall on
the side, which is superior, rather than on the inferior, we do
no more than affirm, that where there is a superior number
of chances there is actually a superior, and where there is an
inferior there is an inferior ; which are identical propositions,
and of no consequence. The,..quegion_ is^ by, what nieans^
a superior number of equal chances operates upon the mind,
and produces belief or assent ; since it appears, that 'lis
neither by arguments deriv'd from demonstration, nor from
probability. _l
In order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose-
a person to take a dye, form'd after such a manner as that '
four of its sides are mark'd wiih one figure, or one number e,g,
of spots, and two with another ; and to put this dye into the
box with an intention of throwing it : 'Tis plain, he must con-
clude the one figure to be more probable than the other, and
give the preference to that which is inscrib'd on the greatest
number of sides. He in a manner believes, that this will lie
uppermost ; tho' still with hesitation and doubt, in proportion
to the number of chances, which are contrary : And according
as. these contrary chances diminish, and Jhe superiority
encreases on the other side, his belief acquires new degrees-
of stability and assurance. This belief arises from an opera-
tion of the mind upon the simple and limited object before
us ; and therefore its nature will be the more easily discover'd
and explain'd. We have nothing but one single dye to
128 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. contemplate, in order to comprehend one of the most curious
'TT* operations of the understanding.
Of know- rr., • , r »J , . ,
ledge and ^ "'s dye lorm d as above, contams three circumstances
probability, worthy of our attention. First, Certain causes, such as
gravity, solidity, a cubical figure, ^r. which determine it to
fall, to preserve its form in its fall, and to turn up one of its
sides. Secoftdly, A certain number of sides, which are
supposed indifferent. Thirdly, A certain figure, inscrib'd on
each side. These three particulars form the whole nature of
the dye, so far as relates to our present purpose ; and conse-
quently are the only circumstances regarded by the mind in
its forming a judgment concerning the result of such a throw.
Let us, therefore, consider gradually and carefully what must
be the influence of these circumstances on the thought and
imagination.
First, We have already observ'd, that the mind is deter-
min'd by custom to pass from any cause to its effect, and
that upon the appearance of the one, 'tis almost impossible
for it not to form an idea of the other. Their constant
conjunction in past instances has produc'd such a habit in
the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and
infers the existence of the one from that of its usual attend-
ant. When it considers the dye as no longer supported
by the box, it cannot without violence regard it as suspended
in the air ; but naturally places it on the table, and views it as
turning up one of its sides. This is the effect of the inter-
mingled causes, which are requisite to our forming any
calculation concerning chances.
Secondly, 'Tis suppos'd, that tho' the dye be necessarily
determin'd to fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is
nothing to fix the particular side, but that this is determin'd
entirely by chance. The very nature and essence of chance
is a negation of causes, and the leaving the mind in a perfect
indifference among those events, which are suppos'd con-
tingent. When therefore the thought is determin'd by the
causes to consider the dye as falling and turning up one of
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. l'2g
its sides, the chances present all these sides as equal, and Sect. XL
make us consider every one of them, one after another, as ^ —
alike probable and possible. The imagination passes from /yghabUitv
the cause, viz. the throwing of the dye, to the effect, viz. the of chances.
turning up one of the six sides ; and feels a kind of impos-
sibility both of stopping short in the way, and of forming any
other idea. But as all these six sides are incompatible, and
the dye cannot turn up above one at once, this principle
directs us not to consider all of them at once as lying upper-
most ; which we look upon as impossible : Neither does it
direct us with its entire force to any particular side; for in
that case this side wou'd be consider'd as certain and in-
evitable ; but it directs us to the whole six sides after such
a manner as to divide its force equally among them. We
conclude in general, that some one of them must result from
the throw : We run all of ihem over in our minds : The
determination of the thought is common to all ; but no more
of its force falls to the share of any one, than what is suitable
to its proportion with the rest. 'Tis after this manner the
original impulse, and consequently the vivacity of thought,
arising from the causes, is divided and split in pieces by the
intermingled chances.
We have already seen the influence of the two first quali-
ties of the dye, viz. the causes, and the nwnher and indifference
of the sides, and have learn'd how they give an impulse to the
thought, and divide that impulse into as many parts as there
are unites in the number of sides. We must now consider
the effects of the third particular, viz. the figures inscrib'd on
each side. 'Tis evident that where several sides have the
same figure inscrib'd on them, they must concur in their
influence on the mind, and must unite upon one image or
idea of a figure all those divided impulses, that were dis-
pers'd over the several sides, upon which that figure is
inscrib'd. Were the question only what side will be turn'd
up, these are all perfectly equal, and no one cou'd ever have
any advantage 3hovft another. But as the question is con-
130 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. cerning the figure, and as the same figure is presented by
— •"• — • more than one side ; 'lis evident, that the impulses belong-
ltjJe°and ^"o ^^ "^ ^tit sides must re-unite in that one figure, and
probability, become Stronger and more forcible by the union. Four
sides are suppos'd in the present case to have the same
figure inscrib'd on them, and two to have another figure,
The impulses of the former are, therefore, superior to those
of the latter. But as the events are contrary, and 'tis im-
possible both these figures can be turn'd up ; the impulses
likewise become contrary, and the inferior destroys the supe-
rior, as far as its strength goes. The vivacity of the idea is
. always proportionable to the degrees of the impulse or ten-
dency to the transition ; and belief is the same with the
vivacity of the idea, according to the precedent doctrine.
SECTION XII. X;^
vV t"'*
I'/ I
Of the probability of causes. 1
What I have said concerning the probability of chances J
can serve to no other purpose, than to assist us in explaining
the probability of causes ; since 'tis commonly allow'd by
philosophers, that what the vulgar call chance is nothing but
a secret and conceal'd cause. That species of probability,
therefore, is what we must chiefly examine.
The probabilities of causes are of several kinds ; but are
all deriv'd from the same origin, viz. the association of ideas to
a present impression. As the habit, which produces the asso-
ciation, arises from the frequent conjunction of objects, it
must arrive at its perfection by degrees, and must acquire
new force from each instance, that falls under our observa-
tion. The first instance has little or no force : The second
makes some addition to it : The third becomes still more
sensible ; and 'tis by these slow steps, that our judgment
arrives at a full assurance. But before it attains this pitch of
perfection, it passes thro' several inferior degrees, and in all
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 131
of them is only to be esteem'd a presumption or probability. Sect. XII
Tlie gradation, therefore, from probabilities to proofs is in ~~*'
many cases insensible ; and the difference betwixt these kinds probability
of evidence is more easily perceiv'd in the remote degrees, ofcattses.
than in the near and contiguous.
'Tis worthy of remark on this occasion, that tho' the
species of probability here explain'd be the first in order,
and naturally takes place before any entire proof can exist,
yet no one, who is aniv'd at the age of maturity, can any
longer be acquainted with it. *Tis true, nothing is more
common than for people of the most advanc'd knowledge
to have attain'd only an imperfect experience of many parti-
cular events ; which naturally produces only an imperfect
habit and transidon : But then we must consider, that the
mind, having form'd another observation concerning the con-
nexion of causes and effects, gives new force to its reasoning
from that observation ; and by means of it can build an
argument on one single experiment, when duly prepar'd and
examin'd. What we have found once to follow from any /isf^eiMi'-
object, we conclude will for ever follow from it ; and if this
maxim be not always built upon as certain, 'tis not for want
of a sufficient number of experiments, but because we fre-
quently meet with instances to the contrary ; which leads us
to the second species of probability, where there is a contra-
riety in our experience and observation.
'Twou'd be very happy for men in the conduct of their
lives and actions, were the same objects always conjoin'd
together, and we had nothing to fear but the mistakes of our
own judgment, without having any reason to apprehend the
uncertainty of nature. But as 'tis frequently found, that one _.
observation is contrary to another, and that causes and"'^'»*>'^"^*'''^*^t
effects follow not in the same order, of which we have had
experience, we are oblig'd to vary our reasoning on account
of this uncertainty, and take into consideration the contra-
riety of events. The first question, that occurs on this head,
is concerning the nature and causes of the contrariety.
132 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. The vulgar, who take things according to their first ap-
— ^ — pearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to such an
'.edg^an'd uncertainty in the causes, as makes them often fail of their
t)robability. usual influence, tho' they meet with no obstacle nor impedi-
ment in their operation. But philosophers observing, that
almost in every part of nature there is contain'd a vast
variety of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of
their minuteness or remoteness, find that 'tis at least possible
the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contin-
gency in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary
causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by farther
observation, when they remark, that upon an exact scrutiny,
a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes,
and proceeds from their mutual hindrance and opposition.
A peasant can give no better reason for the stopping of any
clock or watch than to say, that commonly it does not go
right : But an artizan easily perceives, that the same force in
the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the
wheels ; but fails of its usual effect, perhaps by reason of
a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement.
-From the observation of several parallel instances, phi-
losophers form a maxim, that the connexion betwixt all
causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming
! uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret oppo-
-"-sition of contrary causes.
But however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in
their explication of the contrariety of events, their inferences
from it are always of the same kind, and founded on the
same principles. A contrariety of events in the past may
give us a kind of hesitating belief for the future after two
several ways. First, By producing an imperfect habit and
transition from the present impression to the related idea.
When the conjunction of any two objects is frequent, without
being entirely constant, the mind is determin'd to pass from
one object to the other; but not with so entire a habit, as
when the union is uninterrupted, and all the instances we have
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 133
ever met with are uniform and of a piece. We find from Sect. XII
common experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, — ^ —
that a constant perseverance in any course of life produces a ^//!^\r
strong inclination and tendency to continue for the future; tho' of causes.
there are habits of inferior degrees of force, proportion'd to the
inferior degrees of steadiness and uniformity in our conduct.
There is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place,
and produces those inferences we draw from contrary pheeno-
mena ; the' I am perswaded, that upon examination we shall
not find it to be the principle, that most commonly influences
the mind in this species of reasoning. When we follow only
the habitual determination of the mind, we make the transi-
tion without any reflection, and interpose not a moments
delay betwixt the view of one object and the belief of that,
which is often found to attend it. As the custom depends
not upon any dehberation, it operates immediately, without
allowing any time for reflection. But this method of pro-
ceeding we have but few instances of in our probable reason-
ings ; and even fewer than in those, which are deriv'd I'rom
the uninterrupted conjunction of objects. In the former
species of reasoning we commonly take knowingly into con-
sideration the contrariety of past events; we compare the
different sides of the contrariety, and carefully weigh the
experiments, which we have on each side : Whence we may
conclude, that our reasonings of this kind arise not directly
from the habit, but in an oblique manner; which w^e must
now endeavour to explain.
'Tis evident, that when an object is attended with contrary
effects, we judge of them only by our past experience, and always
consider those as possible, which we have observ'd to follow
from it. And as past experience regulates our judgment
concerning the possibility of these effects, so it does that
concerning their probability ; and that eff"ect, which has been
the most common, we always esteem the most likely. Here
then are two things to be consider'd, viz. the reasons which
determine us to make the past a standard for the future, and
134 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. the maimer how we extract a single judgment from a con-
— ^ — trariety of past events.
kd^Tand ^^'"^'- ^^'^ "^"^y observe, that the supposition, that the future
pyobability. resembles the past, is not founded on arguments of any kind,
but is deriv'd entirely from habit, by which we are determin'd
to expect for the future the same train of objects, to which
we have been accustom'd. This habit or determination to
transfer the past to the future is full and perfect ; and con-
sequently the first impulse of the imagination in this species
of reasoning is endow'd with the same qualities.
But, secondly, when in considering past experiments we
find them of a contrary nature, this determination, tho' full
and perfect in itself, presents us with no steady object, but
offers us a number of disagreeing images in a certain order
and proportion. The first impulse, therefore, is here broke
into pieces, and diffuses itself over all those images, of which
each partakes an equal share of that force and vivacity, that
is deriv'd from the impulse. Any of these past events may
again happen ; and we judge, that when they do happen,
they will be mix'd in the same proportion as in the past.
If our intention, therefore, be to consider the propor-
tions of contrary events in a great number of instances, the
images presented by our past experience must remain in
their first form, and preserve their first proportions. Suppose,
for instance, I have found by long observation, that of twenty
ships, which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I see
at present twenty ships that leave the port : I transfer my
past experience to the future, and represent to myself nine-
teen of these ships as returning in safety, and one as perish-
ing. Concerning this there can be no difficulty. But as we
frequently run over those several ideas of past events, in order
to form a judgment concerning one single event, which
appears uncertain ; this consideration must change the first
form of our ideas, and draw together the divided images
presented by experience; since 'tis to it we refer the de-
termination of that particular event, upon which we reason.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING, 1 35
Many of these images are suppos'd to concur, and a superior Sect. XII.
number to concur on one side. These agreeing images unite *"
together, and render the idea more strong and lively, not only Jr^.bability
than a mere fiction of the imagination, but also than any idea, of causes
which is supported by a lesser number of experiments. Each
new experiment is as a new stroke of the pencil, which bestows
an additional vivacity on the colours, without either multiplying
or enlarging the figure. This operation of the mind has been
so fully explain'd in treating of the probability of chance, that
I need not here endeavour to render it more intelligible. Every
past experiment may be consider'd as a kind of chance ; it
being uncertain to us, whether the object will exist conformable
to one experiment or another : And for this reason every thing
that has been said on the one subject is applicable to both.
Thus upon the whole, contrary experiments j)ioduce an
imperfect belief, either by weakening the habit, or by dividing
and afterwards joining in different parts, that perfect )^2^jX,
which makes us conclude in general, that instances, of which
we have no experience, must necessarily resemble those of
which we have.
To justii'y still farther this account of the second species of
probability, where we reason with knowledge and reflection
from a contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the
following considerations, without fearing to give offence by
that air of subtilty, which attends them. Just reasoning
ought still, perhaps, to retain its force, however subtile; in
the same manner as matter preserves its solidity in the air,
and fire, and animal spirits, as well as in the grosser ai.d
more sensible forms.
First, We may observe, that there is no probability so great
as not to allow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise
'twou'd cease to be a probability, and wou'd become a cer-
tainty. That probability of causes, which is most extensive,
and which we at present examine, depends on a contrariety
of experiments ; and 'tis evident an experiment in the past
proves at least a possibility for the future.
136 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. Secondly, The component parts of this possibility and
— ** — probability are of the same nature, and differ in number only,
hd<re°and ^^^ ^°^ ^^ kind. It has been observ'd, that all single chances
probability, are entirely equal, and that the only circumstance, which can
give any event, that is contingent, a superiority over another,
is a superior number of chances. In like manner, as the
uncertainty of causes is discover'd by experience, which
presents us with a view of contrary events, 'tis plain, that
when we transfer the past to the future, the known to the
unknown, every past experiment has the same weight, and
that 'tis only a superior number of them, which can throw the
ballance on any side. The possibility, therefore, which enters
into every reasoning of this kind, is compos'd of parts, which
are of the same nature both among themselves, and with
those, that compose the opposite probability.
Thirdly, We may establish it as a certain maxim, that in
all moral as well as natural phaenomena, wherever any cause
consists of a number of parts, and the effect encreases or di-
minishes, according to the variation of that number, the effect,
properly speaking, is a compounded one, and arises from the
union of the several effects, that proceed from each part of the
cause. Thus because the gravity of a body encreases or dimin-
ishes by the encrease or diminution of its parts, we conclude
that each part contains this quality and contributes to the
gravity of the whole. The absence or presence of a part of
the cause is attended with that of a proportionable part of the
effect. This connexion or constant conjunction sufficiently
proves the one part to be the cause of the other. As the belief,
which we have of any event, encreases or diminishes accord-
ing to the number of chances or past experiments, 'tis to be
consider'd as a compounded effect, of which each part arises
from a proportionable number of chances or experiments.
Let us now join these three observations, and see what
conclusion we can draw from them. To every probability
there is an opposite possibility. This possibility is compos'd
of parts, that are entirely of the same nature with those of the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 137
probability ; and consequently have the same influence on Sect. XII
the mind and understanding. The belief, which attends the "'"'
probability, is a compounded effect, and is form'd by the probability
concurrence of the several effects, which proceed from each of causes.
part of the probability. Since therefore each part of the
probability contributes to the production of the belief, each
part of the possibiHty must have the same influence on the
opposite side ; the nature of these parts being entirely the
same. The contrary belief, attending the possibility, implies
a view of a certain object, as well as the probability does an
opposite view. In this particular both these degrees of belief
are alike. The only manner then, in which the superior
number of similar component parts in the one can exert its
influence, and prevail above the inferior in the other, is by
producing a stronger and more lively view of its object.
Each part presents a particular view ; and all these views
uniting together produce one general view, which is fuller
and more distinct by the greater number of causes or prin-
ciples, from which it is deriv'd.
The component parts of the probability and possibility,
being alike in their nature, must produce like effects ; and
the likeness of their effects consists in this, that each of them
presents a view of a particular object. But tho' these parts
be alike in their nature, they are very different in their
quantity and number ; and this difference must appear in the
effect as well as the similarity. Now as the view they present
is in both cases full and entire, and comprehends the object
in all its parts, 'tis impossible that in this particular there can
be any difference; nor is there any thing but a superior
vivacity in the probability, arising from the concurrence
of a superior number of views, which can distinguish these
effects.
Here is almost the same argument in a different light.
All our reasonings concerning the probability of causes are
founded on the transferring of past to future. The trans-
ferring of any past experiment to the future is sufficient
138 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. to give us a view of the object; whether that experiment be
— ** — single, or combin'd with oihers of the same kind; whether
Udeeati'd '^^ ^^ entire, or oppos'd by others of a contrary kind.
probabiliiy. Suppose, then, it acquires both these quah'ties of combination
and opposition, it loses not upon that account its former
power of presenting a view of the object, but only concurs
with and opposes other experiments, that have a like in-
fluence. A question, therefore, may arise concerning the
manner both of the concurrence and opposition. As to the
concurrence, there is only the choice left betwixt these two
hypotheses. First, That the view of the object, occasion'd
by the transference of each past experiment, preserves itself
entire, and only multiplies the number of views. Or, secondly,
That it runs into the other similar and correspondent views,
and gives them a superior degree of force and vivacity.
But that the first hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from
experience, which informs us, that the belief, attending any
reasoning, consists in one conclusion, not in a multitude of
similar ones, which wou'd only distract the mind, and in
many cases wou'd be too numerous to be comprehended
distinctly by any finite capacity. It remains, therefore, as
the only reasonable opinion, that these similar views run into
each other, and unite their forces ; so as to produce a
stronger and clearer view, than what arises from any one
alone. This is the manner, in which past experiments
concur, when they are transfer'd to any future event. As
to the manner of their oppositioji, 'tis evident, that as the
contrary views are incomjiatible with each other, and 'tis
impossible the object can at once exist conformable to
both of them, their influence becomes mutually destructive,
and the mind is determin'd to the superior only with that
force, which remains after subtracting the inferior.
I am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear
to the generality of readers, who not being accustom'd to such
profound reflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind,
will be apt to reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in
Cook I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 139
with the common receiv'd notions, and with the easiest and Sect. XII.
most obvious principles of philosophy. And no doubt there **~~
are some pains requir'd to enter into these arguments ; tho' Jyobability
perhaps very little are necessary to perceive the imperfection of causes.
of every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the little
light, which philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and
such curious speculations. Let men be once fully perswaded
of these two principles, That there is nothing in any object,
consider d in itself, ivhich caii afford us a reason for drawing
a conclusion beyond it ; and. That even after the observatmi of
the frequent or constant conjunction of objects, we have no reason
to draw any inference cojicerning any object beyond those of
which we have had experience ; I say, let men be once fully
convinc'd of these two principles, and this will throw them so
loose from all common systems, that they will make no
difificuliy of receiving any, which may appear the most ex-
traordinary. These principles we have found to be suffi-
ciently convincing, even with regard to our most certain
reasonings from causation : But I shall venture to affirm, that
with regard to these conjectural or probable reasonings they
still acquire a new degree of evidence.
First, 'Tis obvious, that in reasonings of this kind, 'tis not
the object presented to us, which, consider'd in itself, affords
us any reason to draw a conclusion concerning any other
object or event. For as this latter object is suppos'd un-
certain, and as the uncertainty is deriv'd from a conceal'd
contrariety of causes in the former, were any of the causes
plac'd in the known qualities of that object, they wou'd
no longer be conceal'd, nor wou'd our conclusion be un-
certain.
But, secondly, 'tis equally obvious in this species of reason-
ing, that if the transference of the past to the future were
founded merely on a conclusion of the understanding, it
cou'd never occasion any belief or assurance. When we
transfer contrary experiments to the future, we can only
repeat these contrary experiments with their particular
I40 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. proportions ; W'hich cou'd not produce assurance in any
" — single event, upon which we reason, unless the fancy melted
led^^e'and together all those images that concur, and extracted from
probability, them one single idea or image, which is intense and lively in
proportion to the number of experiments from which it is
deriv'd, and their superiority above their antagonists. Our
past experience presents no determinate object; and as our
belief, however faint, fixes itself on a determinate object, 'tis
evident that the belief arises not merely from the transference
of past to future, but from some operation of the fancy
conjoin'd with it. This may lead us to conceive the manner,
in which that faculty enters into all our reasonings.
I shall conclude this subject with two reflections, which
may deserve our attention. The first may be explain'd after
this manner. When the mind forms a reasoning concerning
any matter of fact, which is only probable, it casts its eye
backward upon past experience, and transferring it to the
future, is presented with so many contrary views of its object,
of which those that are of the same kind uniting together,
and running into one act of the mind, serve to fortify and
inliven it. But suppose that this multitude of views or
glimpses of an object proceeds not from experience, but
from a voluntary act of the imagination ; this effect does not
follow, or at least, follows not in the same degree. For tho'
custom and education produce belief by such a repetition, as
is not deriv'd from experience, yet this requires a long tract
of time, along with a very frequent and widesignd repetition.
In general we may pronounce, that a person, who wou'd
"^ volu7itarily repeat any idea in his mind, tho' supported by
one past experience, wou'd be no more inclin'd to believe the
existence of its object, than if he had contented himself with
one survey of it. Beside the effect of design ; each act of
the mind, being separate and independent, has a separate
influence, and joins not its force with that of its fellows.
Not being united by any common object, producing them,
* Pages xxii, xxiii.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 141
they have no relation to each other ; and consequently make Sect. XII.
no transition or union of forces. This phaenomenon we ~~** —
shall understand better afterwards. probability
My second reflection is founded on those large probabilities, of causes.
which the mind can judge of, and the minute differences it
can observe betwixt them. When the chances or experi-
ments on one side amount to ten thousand, and on the other
to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives the preference
to the latter, upon account of that superiority ; tho' 'tis
plainly impossible for the mind to run over every particular
view, and distinguish the superior vivacity of the image
arising from the superior number, where the difference is so
inconsiderable. We have a parallel instance in the affec-
tions. 'Tis evident, according to the principles above-
mention'd, that when an object produces any passion in us,
which varies according to the different quantity of the object ;
I say, 'tis evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not
a simple emotion, but a compounded one, of a great number
of weaker passions, deriv'd from a view of each part of the
object. For otherwise 'twere impossible the passion shou'd
encrease by the encrease of these parts. Thus a man, who
desires a thousand pound, has in reality a thousand or more
desires, which uniting together, seem to make only one pas-
sion ; tho' the composition evidently betrays itself upon
every alteration of the object, by the preference he gives to
the larger number, if superior only by an unite. Yet
nothing can be more certain, than that so small a difference
wou'd not be discernible in the passions, nor cou'd render
them distinguishable from each other. The difference, there-
fore, of our conduct in preferring the greater number depends
not upon our passions, but upon custom, and gerieral rules.
We have found in a multitude of instances, that the augment-
ing the numbers of any sum augments the passion, where the
numbers are precise and the difference sensible. The mind
can perceive from its immediate feeling, that three guineas
produce a greater passion than two ; and Ihi's it transfers to
F
142 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Pai?t III. larger numbers, because of the resemblance ; and by a gene-
^, ," ral rule assigns to a thousand guineas, a stronger passion
Of know , ^ " o t
icJ^e and than to nine hundred and ninety nine. These general rules
probability. •\ve shall explain presently.
But beside these two species of probability, which are de-
riv'd from an imperfect experience and from contrary causes,
there is a third arising from Analogy, which differs from
them in some material circumstances. According to the
hypothesis above explain'd all kinds of reasoning from causes
or effects are founded on two particulars, viz. the constant
conjunction of any two objects in all past experience, and the
resemblance of a present object to any one of them. The
effect of these two particulars is, that the present object
invigorates and inlivens the imagination ; and the resem-
blance, along with the constant union, conveys this force and
vivacity to the related idea ; which we are therefore said to
believe, or assent to. If you weaken either the union or
resemblance, you weaken the principle of transition, and of
consequence that belief, which arises from it. The vivacity
of the first impression cannot be fully convey'd to the related
idea, either where the conjunction of their objects is not con-
stant, or where the present impression does not perfectly
resemble any of those, whose union we are accustom'd to
observe. In those probabilities of chance and causes above-
explain'd, 'tis the constancy of the union, which is diminish'd;
and in the probability deriv'd from analogy, 'tis the resem-
blance only, which is affected. Without some degree of
resemblance, as well as union, 'tis impossible there can be any
reasoning: but as this resemblance admits of many different
degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more or less
firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when
transferr'd to instances, which are not exactly resembling ;
tho' 'tis evident it may still retain as much as may be the
foundation of probability, as long as there is any resem-
blance remaining.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 143
Sect.XIII.
SECTION XIII. — —
Of unphi'
Of unphilosophical probability. losophical
probability
All these kinds of probability are receiv'd by philosophers,
and allow'd to be reasonable foundations of belief and opi-
nion. But there are others, that are deriv'd from the same
principles, tho' they have not had the good fortune to obtain
the same sanction. The first probability of this kind ma}' be
accounted for thus. The diminution of the union, and of
the resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the facility
of the transition, and by that means weakens the evidence ;
and Ave may farther observe, that the same diminution of the
evidence will follow from a diminution of the impression,
and from the shading of those colours, under which it ap-
pears to the memory or senses. The argument, which we
found on any matter of fact we remember, is more or less
convincing, according as the fact is recent or remote; and
tho' the difference in these degrees of evidence be not
receiv'd by philosophy as solid and legitimate; because in
that case an argument must have a different force to day,
from what it shall have a month hence ; yet notwithstanding
the opposition of philosophy, 'tis certain, this circumstance
has a considerable influence on the understanding, and
secretly changes the authority of the same argument, accord-
ing to the different times, in which it is propos'd to us. A
greater force and vivacity in the impression naturally con-
veys a greater to the related idea ; and 'tis on the degrees of
force and vivacity, that the belief depends, according to the
foregoing system.
There is a second difference, which we may frequently
observe in our degrees of belief and assurance, and which
never fails to take place, tho' disclaimed by philosophers.
An experiment, that is recent and fresh in the memory,
affects us more than one that is in some measure obli-
terated; and has a superior influence on the judgment, as
144 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. well as on the passions. A lively impression produces more
— ♦*— assurance than a faint one ; because it has more original
ledoTand ^"^''^^ ^° communicate to the related idea, which thereby
probability, acquires a greater force and vivacity. A recent observation
has a like effect ; because the custom and transition is there
more entire, and preserves better the original force in the
communication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his
companion die of a debauch, is struck with that instance for
some time, and dreads a like accident for himself: But as
the memory of it decays away by degrees, his former security
returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.
I add, as a third instance of this kind, that tho' our rea-
sonings from proofs and from probabilities be considerably
different from each other, yet the former species of reasoning
often degenerates insensibly into the latter, by nothing but
the multitude of connected arguments. 'Tis certain, that
when an inference is drawn immediately from an object,
without any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction is
much stronger, and the persuasion more lively, than when
the imagination is carry'd thro' a long chain of connected
arguments, however infallible the connexion of each link may
be esteem'd. 'Tis from the original impression, that the
vivacity of all the ideas is deriv'd, by means of the customary
transition of the imagination ; and 'tis evident this vivacity
must gradually decay in proportion to the distance, and must
lose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this distance
has a greater influence than even contrary experiments wou'd
have ; and a man may receive a more lively conviction from
a probable reasoning, which is close and immediate, than
from a long chain of consequences, tho' just and conclusive
in each part. Nay 'tis seldom such reasonings produce any
conviction ; and one must have a very strong and firm ima-
gination to preserve the evidence to the end, where it passes
thro' so many stages.
But here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious
phaenomenon, which the present subject suggests to us. 'Tis
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. I45
evident there is no point of ancient history, of which we Sect.XIII.
can have any assurance, but by passing thro' many millions '•
of causes and effects, and thro' a chain of arguments ^'^ losopliical
almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge o'i probability.
the fact cou'd come to the first historian, it must be convey'd
thro' many mouths ; and after it is committed to writing, each
new copy is a new object, of which the connexion with the
foregoing is known only by experience and observation.
Perhaps, therefore, it may be concluded from the precedent
reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must now
be lost ; or at least, will be lost in time, as the chain of causes
encreases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems
contrary to common sense to think, that if the republic of
letters, and the art of printing continue on the same footing
as at present, our posterity, even after a thousand ages, can
ever doubt if there has been such a man as Julius C^sar ;
this may be consider'd as an objection to the present system.
If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, convey'd from
an original impression, it wou'd decay by the length of the
transition, and must at last be utterly extinguish'd : And
vice versa, if belief on some occasions be not capable of such
an extinction; it must be something different from that
vivacity.
Before I answer this objection I shall observe, that from
this topic there has been borrow'd a very celebrated argument
against the Christian Religion ; but with this difference, that
the connexion betwixt each link of the chain in human
testimony has been there suppos'd not to go beyond proba-
bility, and to be liable to a degree of doubt and uncertainty.
And indeed it must be confest, that in this manner of con-
sidering the subject, (which however is not a true one) there
is no history or tradition, but what must in the end lose all
its force and evidence. Every new probability diminishes
the original conviction; and however great that conviction
may be suppos'd, 'tis impossible it can subsist under such
reiterated diminutions. This is true in general ; the' we shall
146 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. find ^ afterwards, that there is one very memorable exception,
" which is of vast consequence in the present subject of the
Udg^d understanding.
probability. Mean while to give a solution of the preceding objection
upon the supposition, that historical evidence amounts at
first to an entire proof; let us consider, that tho' the links
are innumerable, that connect an}' original fact with the
present impression, which is the foundation of belief ; yet they
are all of the same kind, and depend on the fidelity of
Printers and Copists. One edition passes into another, and
that into a third, and so on, till we come to that volume we
peruse at present. There is no variation in the steps. After
we know one, we know all of them ; and after we have made
one, we can have no scruple as to the rest. This circum-
stance alone preserves the evidence of history, and will
perpetuate the memory of the present age to the latest
posterity. If all the long chain of causes and effects, which
connect any past event with any volume of history, were
compos'd of parts different from each other, and which 'twere
necessary for the mind distinctly to conceive, 'tis impossible
we shou'd preserve to the end any belief or evidence. But as
most of these proofs are perfectly resembling, the mind runs
easily along them, jumps from one part to another with
facility, and forms but a confus'd and general notion of each
link. By this means a long chain of argument, has as little
effect in diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter
wou'd have, if compos'd of parts, which were different from
each other, and of which each requir'd a distinct considera-
tion.
A fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that
deriv'd from general rules, which we rashly form to ourselves,
and which are the source of what we properly call Prejudice.
An Irishman cannot have wit, and a Frenchman cannot
have solidity ; for which reason, tho' the conversation of the
former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, and of the
' Part IV. sect. i.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 147
latter very judicious, we have entertain'd such a prejudice Sect.XIII
against them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of " ,
sense and reason. Human nature is very subject to errors /^"^w/^^/
of this kind; and perhaps this nation as much as zxiy probability.
other.
Siiou'd it be demanded why men form general rules, and
allow them to influence their judgment, even contrary to
present observation and experience, I shou'd reply, that in
my opinion it proceeds from those very principles, on which
all judgments concerning causes and effects depend. Our
judgments concerning cause and effect are deriv'd from habit
and experience ; and when we have been accustom'd to see
one object united to another, our imagination passes from
the first to the second, by a natural transition, which precedes
reflection, and which cannot be prevented by it. Now 'tis
the nature of custom not only to operate with its full force,
when objects are presented, that are exactly the same
with those to which we have been accustom'd ; but also to
operate in an inferior degree, when we discover such as are
similar ; and tho' the habit loses somewhat of its force by
every difference, yet 'tis seldom entirely destroy'd, where any
considerable circumstances remain the same. A man, who
has contracted a custom of eating fruit by the use of pears or
peaches, will satisfy himself with melons, where he cannot
find his favourite fruit ; as one, who has become a drunkard
by the use of red wines, will be carried almost with the same
violence to white, if presented to him. From this principle
I have accounted for that species of probability, deriv'd from
analogy, where we transfer our experience in past instances
to objects which are resembling, but are not exactly the same
with those concerning which we have had experience. In
proportion as the resemblance decays, the probability
diminishes ; but still has some force as long as there remain
any traces of the resemblance.
This observation we may carry farther ; and may remark,
that tho' custom be the foundation of all our judgments, yet
148 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. sometimes it has an effect on the imagination in opposition
^, , " to the iud2:ment, and produces a contrariety in our sentiments
Of know- ■ , ^. T ,• ,rT,
ledgx and concerning the same object. I explam myself. In almost
probability, all kinds of causes there is a complication of circumstances,
of which some are essential, and others superfluous ; some
are absolutely requisite to the production of the effect, and
others are only conjoin'd by accident. Now we may observe,
that when these superfluous circumstances are numerous, and
remarkable, and frequently conjoin'd with the essential, ihey
have such an influence on the imagination, that even in the
absence of the latter they carry us on to the conception of
the usual effect, and give to that conception a force and
vivacity, which make it superior to the mere fictions of the
fancy. We may correct this propensity by a reflection on the
nature of those circumstances ; but 'tis still certain, that
custom takes the start, and gives a biass to the imagination.
To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the
case of a man, who being hung out from a high tower in
a cage of iron cannot forbear trembling, when he surveys the
precipice below him, tho' he knows himself to be perfectly
secure from falling, by his experience of the solidity of the
iron, which supports him ; and tho' the ideas of fall and
descent, and harm and death, be deriv'd solely from custom
and experience. The same custom goes beyond the
instances, from which it is deriv'd, and to which it perfectly
corresponds ; and influences his ideas of such objects as are
in some respect resembling, but fall not precisely under the
same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent strike
so strongly upon him, that their influence cannot be destroy'd
by the contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which
ought to give him a perfect security. His imagination runs
away with its object, and excites a passion proportion'd to it.
That passion returns back upon the imagination and inlivens
the idea ; which lively idea has a new influence on the
passion, and in its turn augments its force and violence ; and
both his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting each
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 149
Other, cause the whole to have a very great influence upon Sect.XIII
him. — M —
But why need we seek for other instances, while the present ^'f^^"^'^'/
subject of [philosophical] ' probabilities offers us so oWxovlS probcUiility
an one, in the opposition betwixt the judgment and imagina-
tion arising from these effects of custom ? According to my
system, all reasonings are nothing but the effects of custom ;
and custom has no influence, but by inlivening the imagina-
tion, and giving us a strong conception of any object. It
may, therefore, be concluded, that our judgment and imagina-
tion can never be contrary, and that custom cannot operate
on the latter faculty after such a manner, as to render it
opposite to the former. This difficulty we can remove after
no other manner, than by supposing the influence of general
rules. We shall afterwards^ take notice of some general
rules, by which we ought to regulate our judgment concerning
causes and effects ; and these rules are form'd on the nature
of our understanding, and on our experience of its operations
in the judgments we form concerning objects. By them we
learn to distinguish the accidental circumstances from the
efficacious causes ; and when we find that an effect can be
produc'd without the concurrence of any particular circum-
stance, we conclude that that circumstance makes not a part
of the efficacious cause, however frequently conjoin'd with it.
But as this frequent conjunction necessarily makes it have
some effect on the imagination, in spite of the opposite con-
clusion from general rules, the opposition of these two
principles produces a contrariety in our thoughts, and causes
us to ascribe the one inference to our judgment, and the
other to our imagination. The general rule is attributed to
our judgment ; as being more extensive and constant. The
exception to the imagination ; as being more capricious and
uncertain.
Thus our general rules are in a manner set in opposition
to each other. When an object appears, that resembles any
* [unphilosophical?]. =* Sect. 15.
150 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. cause in very considerable circumstances, the imagination
•• naturally carries us to a lively conception of the usual effect,
ledz"aTd ^^°' ^^^ object be different in the most material and most
probability, efficacious circumstances from that cause. Here is the first
influence of general rules. But when we take a review of
this act of the mind, and compare it with the more general
and authentic operations of the understanding, we find it to
be of an irregular nature, and destructive of all the most
establish'd principles of reasonings ; which is the cause of
our rejecting it. This is a second influence of general rules,
and implies the condemnation of the former. Sometimes the
one, sometimes the other prevails, according to the disposi-
tion and character of the person. The vulgar are com-
monly guided by the first, and wise men by the second.
IMean while the sceptics may here have the pleasure of
observing a new and signal contradiction in our reason, and
of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a principle
of human nature, and again sav'd by a new direction of the
very same principle. The following of general rules is a
very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet 'tis only
by following them that we can correct this, and all other
unphilosophical probabilities.
Since we have instances, where general rules operate on
the imagination even contrary to the judgment, we need not
be surpriz'd to see their effects encrease, when conjoin'd with
that latter faculty, and to observe that they bestow on the
ideas they present to us a force superior to what attends any
other. Every one knows, there is an indirect manner of
insinuating praise or blame, which is much less shocking
than the open flattery or censure of any person. However
he may communicate his sentiments by such secret insinua-
tions, and make them known with equal certainty as by the
open discovery of them, 'tis certain that their influence is not
equally strong and powerful. One who lashes me with con-
ceal'd strokes of satire, moves not my indignation to such
a degree, as if he flatly told me I was a fool and coxcomb ;
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 151
tho' I equally understand his meaning, as if he did. This Sect.XIIL
difference is to be attributed to the influence of general **
I Oftinphi-
^"'^^' losophical
Whether a person openly abuses me, or slyly m\AVi\2iX.t'i probability.
his contempt, in neither case do I immediately perceive his
sentiment or opinion ; and 'tis only by signs, that is, by its
effects, I become sensible of it. The only difference, then,
betwixt these two cases consists in this, that in the open dis-
covery of his sentiments he makes use of signs, which are
general and universal ; and in the secret intimation employs
such as are more singular and uncommon. The effect of
this circumstance is, that the imagination, in running from
the present impression to the absent idea, makes the transi-
tion with greater facility, and consequently conceives the
object with greater force, where the connexion is common
and universal, than where it is more rare and particular.
Accordingly we may observe, that the open declaration of
our sentiments is call'd the taking off the mask, as the secret
intimation of our opinions is said to be the veiling of them.
The difference betwixt an idea produc'd by a general con-
nexion, and that arising from a particular one is here
compar'd to the difference betwixt an impression and an idea.
This difference in the imagination has a suitable effect on the
passions ; and this effect is augmented by another circum-
stance. A secret intimation of anger or contempt shews that
we still have some consideration for the person, and avoid
the directly abusing him. This makes a conceal'd satire less
disagreeable ; but still this depends on the same principle.
For if an idea were not more feeble, when only intimated, it
wou'd never be esteem'd a mark of greater respect to proceed
in this method than in the other.
Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire,
because it revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very
time it is committed, by affording us a just reason to blame
and contemn the person, who injures us. But this pbaeno-
menon likewise depends upon the same principle. For why
152 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless it be,
" ■ because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity?
l-dp'e'"nd ^^^ ^^'^^^ ^^ ^^ contrary, unless it be more shocking than
probability, any delicate satire ? The rules of good-breeding condemn
whatever is openly disobliging, and gives a sensible pain and
confusion to those, with whom we converse. After this is
once establish'd, abusive language is universally blam'd, and
gives less pain upon account of its coarseness and incivility,
which render the person despicable, that employs it. It be-
comes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more
so ; and 'tis more disagreeable, because it affords an in-
ference by general and common rules, that are palpable and
undeniable.
To this explication of the different influence of open and
conceal'd flattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of
another phaenomenon, which is analogous to it. There are
many particulars in the point of honour both of men and
women, whose violations, when open and avow'd, the world
never excuses, but which it is more apt to overlook, when
the appearances are sav'd, and the transgression is secret
and conceal'd. Even those, who know with equal certainty,
that the fault is committed, pardon it more easily, when the
proofs seem in some measure oblique and equivocal, than
when they are direct and undeniable. The same idea is
presented in both cases, and, properly speaking, is equally
assented to by the judgment ; and yet its influence is dif-
ferent, because of the different manner, in which it is pre-
sented.
Now if we compare these two cases, of the open and con-
ceal d violations of the laws of honour, we shall find, that the
difference betwixt them consists in this, that in the first case
the sign, from which we infer the blameable action, is single,
and suffices alone to be the foundation of our reasoning and
judgment ; whereas in the latter the signs are numerous, and
decide little or nothing when alone and unaccompany'd with
many minute circumstances, which are almost imperceptible.
I
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 153
But 'tis certainly true, that any reasoning is always the more Sect.XIII.
convincing, the more single and united it is to the eye, and ■ ♦' ■
the less exercise it gives to the imagination to collect all its ?-^"Jl^^^i
parts, and run from them to the correlative idea, which forms probability
the conclusion. The labour of the thought disturbs the
regular progress of the sentiments, as we shall observe
presently ^ The idea strikes not on us with such vivacity ;
and consequently has no such influence on the passion and
imagination.
From the same principles we may account for those ob-
servations of the Cardinal de Retz, that there are many
things, in which the world wishes to be deceivd ; and that it
more easily excuses a person in acting thari in talking contrary
to the decorum of his profession and character. A fault in
words is commonly more open and distinct than one in
actions, which admit of many palliating excuses, and decide
not so clearly concerning the intention and views of the
actor.
Thus it appears upon the whole, that every kind of opinion
or judgment, which amounts not to knowledge, is deriv'd
entirely from the force and vivacity of the perception, and
that these qualities constitute in the mind, what we call the
BELIEF of the existence of any object. This force and this
vivacity are most conspicuous in the memory ; and therefore
our confidence in the veracity of that faculty is the greatest
imaginable, and equals in many respects the assurance of
a demonstration. The next degree of these qualities is that
deriv'd from the relation of cause and effect ; and this too is
very great, especially when the conjunction is found by ex-
perience to be perfectly constant, and when the object, which
is present to us, exactly resembles those, of which we have
had experience. But below this degree of evidence there
are many others, which have an influence on the passions
and imagination, proportion'd to that degree of force and
vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas. 'Tis by habit
* Part IV. sect. i.
154 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. we make the transition from cause to effect ; and 'tis from
^ some present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we
ledge and ^i^^^se over the correlative idea. But when we have not
probability, observ'd a sufficient number of instances, to produce a strong
habit ; or when these instances are contrary to each other ;
or when the resemblance is not exact ; or the present im-
pression is faint and obscure ; or the experience in some
measure obliterated from the memory ; or the connexion
dependent on a long chain of objects; or the inference
deriv'd from general rules, and yet not conformable to
them : In all these cases the evidence diminishes by the
diminution of the force and intenseness of the idea. This
therefore is the nature of the judgment and probability.
What principally gives authority to this system is, beside
the undoubted arguments, upon which each part is founded,
the agreement of these parts, and the necessity of one to
explain another. The belief, which attends our memory, is
of the same nature with that, which is deriv'd from our judg-
ments : Nor is there any difference betwixt that judgment,
which is deriv'd from a constant and uniform connexion of
causes and effects, and that which depends upon an inter-
rupted and uncertain. 'Tis indeed evident, that in all
determinations, where the mind decides from contrary ex-
periments, 'tis first divided within itself, and has an inclination
to either side in proportion to the number of experiments we
have seen and remember. This contest is at last determin'd
to the advantage of that side, where we observe a superior
number of these experiments ; but still with a diminution of
force in the evidence correspondent to the number of the
opposite experiments. Each possibility, of which the proba-
bility is compos'd, operates separately upon the imagination;
and 'tis the larger collection of possibilities, which at last
prevails, and that with a force proportionable to its superi-
ority. All these phsenomena lead directly to the precedent
system ; nor will it ever be possible upon any other principles
to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of them.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 155
Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom Sect. XIV.
on the imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual con- "
... J , ,. Of the idea
tradiction and absurdity. of necessary
connexion.
SECTION XIV.
0/ the idea of necessary connexion.
Having thus explain'd the manner, irt which we reason
beyond our ifnmediate impressio7is, aiid cojiclude that such par-
ticular causes must have such particular effects ; we must now
return upon our footsteps to examine that question, which ^
first occur'd to us, and which we dropt in our way, viz.
What is our idea 0/ necessity, when we say that two objects are
necessarily connected together. Upon this head I repeat what
I have often had occasion to observe, that as we have no
idea, that is not deriv'd from an impression, we must find
some impression, that gives rise to this idea of necessity,
if we assert we have really such an idea. In order to this I
consider, in what objects necessity is commonly suppos'd to
lie ; and finding that it is always ascrib'd to causes and
effects, I turn my eye to two objects suppos'd to be plac'd
in that relation ; and examine them in all the situations, of
which they are susceptible. I immediately perceive, that
they are contiguous in time and place, and that the object we
call cause precedes the other we call effect. In no one instance
can I go any farther, nor is it possible for me to discover
any third relation betwixt these objects. I therefore enlarge
my view to comprehend several instances ; where I find like
objects always existing in like relations of contiguity and
saccession. At first sight this seems to serve but little to my
purpose. The reflection on several instances only repeats
the same objects ; and therefore can never give rise to a new
idea. But upon farther enquiry I find, that the repetition is
not in every particular the same, but produces a new impres-
sion, and by that means the idea, which I at present examine.
^ Sect a.
156 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. For after a frequent repetition, I find, that upon the appear-
-~^ — ance of one of the objects, the mind is deiernmid by custom
leJn'ati'd ^^ consider its usual attendant, and to consider it in a
probability. Stronger hght upon account of its relation to the first object.
'Tis this impression, then, or deiermi7iaiion, which affords me
the idea of necessity.
I doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be
receiv'd without difficulty, as being evident deductions from
principles, which we have already establish'd, and which we
have often employ'd in our reasonings. This evidence both
in the first principles, and in the deductions, may seduce us
unwarily into the conclusion, and make us imagine it con-
tains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity. But
tho' such an inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this
reasoning, 'twill make it be the more easily forgot; for
which reason I think it proper to give warning, that I have
just now examin'd one of the most sublime questions in
philosophy, viz. that concerning the power and efficacy of
causes ; where all the sciences seem so much interested.
Such a warning will naturally rouze up the attention of the
reader, and make him desire a more full account of my doc-
trine, as well as of the arguments, on which it is founded.
This request is so reasonable, that I cannot refuse comply-
ing with it ; especially as I am hopeful that these principles,
the more they are examin'd, will acquire the more force and
evidence.
There is no question, which on account of its importance,
as well as difficulty, has caus'd more disputes both among
antient and modern philosophers, than this concerning the
efficacy of causes, or that quality which makes them be
followed by their eflfects. But before they enter'd upon these
disputes, methinks it wou'd not have been improper to have
examin'd what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the
subject of the controversy. This is what I find principally
wanting in their reasonings, and what I shall here endeavour
to supply.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 157
I begin with observing that the terms of efficacy, agency, Sect.XIV.
power, force, energy, necessity, connexion, and productive ^*~
quality, are all nearly synonimous ; and therefore 'tis an of necessary
absurdity to employ any of them in defining the rest. By connexion.
this observation we reject at once all the vulgar definitions,
which philosophers have given of power and efficacy ; and
instead of searching for the idea in these definitions, must
look for it in the impressions, from which it is originally
deriv'd. If it be a compound idea, it must arise from com-
pound impressions. If simple, from simple impressions.
I believe the most general and most popular explication
of this matter, is to say, ^ that finding from experience, that
there are several new productions in matter, such as the
motions and variations of body, and concluding that there
must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we
arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea of power and
efficacy. But to be convinc'd that this explication is more
popular than philosophical, we need but reflect on two very
obvious principles. First, That reason alone can never give
rise to any original idea, and secondly, that reason, as distin-
guish'd from experience, can never make us conclude, that a
cause or productive quality is absolutely requisite to every
beginning of existence. Both these considerations have
been sufficiently explain'd ; and therefore shall not at present
be any farther insisted on.
I shall only infer from them, that since reason can never
give rise to the idea of efficacy, that idea must be deriv'd
from experience, and from some particular instances of this
efficacy, wliich make their passage into the mind by the
common channels of sensation or reflection. Ideas always
represent their objects or impressions ; and vice versa, there
are some objects necessary to give rise to every idea. If we
pretend, therefore, to have any just idea of this efficacy,
we must produce some instance, wherein the efficacy is
plainly discoverable to the mind, and its operations obvious
* See Mr. Locke ; chapter of power.
158 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. to our consciousness or sensation. By the refusal of this, we
" acknowledge, that the idea is impossible and imaginary ;
UJo-e and since the principle of innate ideas, which alone can save us
probability, from this dilemma, has been already refuted, and is now
almost universally rejected in the learned world. Our present
business, then, must be to find some natural production,
where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly
conceiv'd and comprehended by the mind, without any
danger of obscurity or mistake.
In this research we meet with very little encouragement
from that prodigious diversity, which is found in the opinions
of those philosophers, who have pretended to explain the
secret force and energy of causes '. There are some, who
maintain, that bodies operate by their substantial form ;
others, by their accidents or qualities ; several, by their
matter and form ; some, by their form and accidents ; others,
by certain virtues and faculties distinct from all this. All
these sentiments again are mix'd and vary'd in a thousand
different ways ; and form a strong presumption, that none of
them have any solidity or evidence, and that the supposition
of an efficacy in any of the known qualities of matter is
entirely without foundation. This presumption must en-
crease upon us, when we consider, that these principles of
substantial forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not in
reality any of the known properties of bodies, but are per-
fectly unintelligible and inexplicable. For 'tis evident philo-
sophers wou'd never have had recourse to such obscure
and uncertain principles had they met with any satisfaction
in such as are clear and intelligible ; especially in such an
affair as this, which must be an object of the simplest under-
standing, if not of the senses. Upon the whole, we may
conclude, that 'tis impossible in any one instance to shew the
principle, in which the force and agency of a cause is plac'd ;
and that the most refin'd and most vulgar understandings are
* See Father Malbranche, Book VI. Part ii. chap. 3, and the illustra-
tions upon it.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 59
equally at a loss in this particular. If any one think proper Sect. XIV.
to refute this assertion, he need not put himself to the trouble ""^
of inventing any long reasonings ; but may at once shev/ us of necessary
an instance of a cause, where we discover the power or connexion.
operating principle. This defiance we are oblig'd frequently
to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a
negative in philosophy.
The small success, which has been met with in all the
attempts to fix this power, has at last oblig'd philosophers to
conclude, that the ultimate force and efficacy of nature is
perfectly unknown to us, and that 'tis in vain we search for it
in all the known qualities of matter. In this opinion they
are almost unanimous ; and 'tis only in the inference they
draw from it, that they discover any difference in their senti-
ments. For some of them, as the Cartesians in particular,
having establish'd it as a principle, that we are perfectly
acquainted with the essence of matter, have very naturally
inferr'd, that it is endow'd with no efficacy, and that 'tis
impossible for it of itself to communicate motion, or produce
any of those effects, which we ascribe to it. As the essence
of matter consists in extension, and as extension implies not
actual motion, but only mobility ; they conclude, that the
energy, which produces the motion, cannot lie in the extension.
This conclusion leads them into another, which they
regard as perfectly unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself
entirely unactive, and depriv'd of any power, by which it may
produce, or continue, or communicate motion : Bui since
these effects are evident to our senses, and since the power,
that produces them, must be plac'd somewhere, it must lie in
the Deity, or that divine being, who contains in his nature
all excellency and perfection. 'Tis the deity, therefore, who
is the prime mover of the universe, and who not only first
created matter, and gave it it's original impulse, but likewise
by a continu'd exertion of omnipotence, supports its existence,
and successively bestows on it all those motions, and confi-
gurations, and qualities, with which it is endow'd.
l6o A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. This opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our
^^,*' attention ; but 'twill appear superfluous to examine it in this
Of know- ^ .r r,
ledge and placc, if we reflect a moment on our present purpose m
probability, taking notice of it. We have establish'd it as a principle,
that as all ideas are deriv'd from impressions, or some pre-
cedent perceptions, 'tis impossible we can have any idea of
power and efiicacy, unless some instances can be produc'd,
wherein this power is perceiv d \.o exert itself. Now as these
instances can never be discover'd in body, the Cartesians,
proceeding upon their principle of innate ideas, have had
recourse to a supreme spirit or deity, whom they consider as
the only active being in the universe, and as the immediate
cause of every alteration in matter. But the principle of
innate ideas beiiig allow'd to be false, it follows, that the
supposition of a deity can serve us in no stead, in accounting
for that idea of agency, which we search for in vain in all the
objects, which are presented to our senses, or which we are
internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every idea
be deriv'd from an impression, the idea of a deity proceeds
from the same origin ; and if no impression, either of sensa-
tion or reflection, implies any force or efficacy, 'tis equally
impossible to discover or even imagine any such active
principle in the deity. Since these philosophers, therefore,
have concluded, that matter cannot be endow'd with any
efficacious principle, because 'tis impossible to discover in it
such a principle ; the same course of reasoning shou'd
determine them to exclude it from the supreme being. Or if
they estem that opinion absurd and impious, as it really is, I
shall tell them how they may avoid it ; and that is, by conclud-
ing from the very first, that they have no adequate idea of
power or efficacy in any object ; since neither in body nor
spirit, neither in superior nor inferior natures, are they able to
discover one single instance of it.
The same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis
of those, who maintain the efficacy of second causes, and
attribute a derivative, but a real power and energy to matter.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. l6l
For as they confess, that this energy lies not in any of the Sect.XIV.
known quaUties of matter, the difficulty still remains concern- *'
ing the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea of power, of necessary
we may attribute power to an unknown quality : But as 'tis connexion.
impossible, that that idea can be deriv'd from such a quality,
and as there is nothing in known qualities, which can produce
it ; it follows that we deceive ourselves, when we imagine
we are possest of any idea of this kind, after the manner we
commonly understand it. All ideas are deriv'd from, and
represent impressions. We never have any impression, that
contains any power or efficacy. We never therefore have
any idea of power.
It has been establish'd as a certain principle, that general
or abstract ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a
certain light, and that, in reflecting on any object, 'tis as
impossible to exclude from our thought all particular degrees
of quantity and quality as from the real nature of things. If
we be possest, therefore, of any idea of power in general, we
must also be able to conceive some particular species of
it ; and as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded
as an attribute of some being or existence, we must be able
to place this power in some particular being, and conceive
that being as endow'd with a real force and energy, by
which such a particular effect necessarily results from its
operation. We must distinctly and particularly conceive the
connexion betwixt the cause and effect, and be able to pro-
nounce, from a simple view of the one, that it must be
follow'd or preceded by the other. This is the true manner
of conceiving a particular power in a particular body : and a
general idea being impossible without an individual ; where
the latter is impossible, 'tis certain the former can never
exist. Now nothing is more evident, than that the human
mind cannot form such an idea of two objects, as to conceive
any connexion betwixt them, or comprehend distinctly that
power or efficacy, by which they are united. Such a con-
nexion wou'd amount to a demonstration, and wou'd imply
1 62 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. the absolute impossibility for the one object not to follow, or
— •"• — to be conceiv'd not to follow upon the other : Which kind of
kd^Tand connexion has already been rejected in all cases. If any
probability, one is of a contrary opinion, and thinks he has attain'd
a notion of power in any particular object, I desire he
may point out to me that object. But till I meet with
such-a-one, which I despair of, I cannot forbear concluding,
that since we can never distinctly conceive how any par-
ticular power can possibly reside in any particular object,
we deceive ourselves in imagining we can form any such
general idea.
Thus upon the whole we may infer, that when we talk of
any being, wheth-er of a superior or inferior nature, as en-
dow'd with a power or force, proportion'd to any effect;
when we speak of a necessary connexion betwixt objects,
and suppose, that this connexion depends upon an efficacy
or energy, with which any of these objects are endow'd ;
in all these expressions, so apply' d^ we have really no distinct
meaning, and make use only of common words, without any
clear and determinate ideas. But as 'tis more probable, that
these expressions do here lose their true meaning by being
wro7ig apply d, than that they never have any meaning ; 'twill
be proper to bestow another consideration on this subject, to
see if possibly we can discover the nature and origin of those
ideas, we annex to them.
Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the
one is the cause and the other the effect ; 'tis plain, that
from the simple consideration of one, or both these objects
we never shall perceive the tie, by which they are united,
or be able certainly to pronounce, that there is a connexion
betwixt them. 'Tis not, therefore, from any one instance,
that we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary
connexion of power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy.
Did we never see any but particular conjunctions of objects,
entirely different from each other, we shou'd never be able to
form any such ideas.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 163
But again ; suppose we observe several instances, in which Sect.XIV.
the same objects are always conjoin'd together, we im- *'~~
mediately conceive a connexion betwixt them, and begin of necessary
to draw an inference from one to another. This multiplicity connexion.
of resembling instances, therefore, constitutes the very essence
of power or connexion, and is the source, from which the
idea of it arises. In order, then, to understand the idea
of power, we must consider that multiplicity ; nor do I ask
more to give a solution of that difficulty, which has so long
perplex'd us. For thus I reason. The repetition of per-
fectly similar instances can never alojte give rise to an
original idea, different from what is to be found in any
particular instance, as has been observ'd, and as evidently
follows from, our fundamental principle, that all ideas are
copy d from impressions. Since therefore the idea of power is
a new original idea, not to be found in any one instance, and
which yet arises from the repetition of several instances,
it follows, that the repetition alone has not that effect, but
must either discover or produce something new, which is
the source of that idea. Did the repetition neither discover
nor produce any thing new, our ideas might be multiply'd by
it, but wou'd not be enlarg'd above what they are upon
the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement,
therefore, (such as the idea of power or connexion) which
arises from the multiplicity of similar instances, is copy'd
from some effects of the multiplicity, and will be perfectly
understood by understanding these effects. Wherever we
find any thing new to be discover'd or produc'd by the
repetition, there we must place the power, and must never
look for it in any other object.
But 'tis evident, in the first place, that the repetition of
like objects in like relations of succession and contiguity
discovers nothing new in any one of them; since we can
draw no inference from it, nor make it a subject either of
our demonstrative or probable reasonings ; ' as has been
1 Sect. 6.
164 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. already prov'd. Nay suppose we cou'd draw an inference,
■ — ** — 'twou'd be of no consequence in the present case ; since
UdJeaiid "^ ^"^^ °^ reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such
Probability, as this of power is ; but wherever we reason, we must ante-
cedently be possest of clear ideas, which may be the objects
of our reasoning. The conception always precedes the
understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is
uncertain ; where the one fails, the other must fail also.
Secondly, 'Tis certain that this repetition of similar objects
in similar situations produces nothing new either in these
objects, or in any external body. For 'twill readily be
allow'd, that the several instances we have of the conjunction
of resembling causes and effects are in themselves entirely
independent, and that the communication of motion, which
I see result at present from the shock of two billiard-balls, is
totally distinct from that which I saw result from such an
impulse a twelve-month ago. These impulses have no in-
fluence on each other. They are entirely divided by
time and place ; and the one might have existed and
communicated motion, tho' the other never had been in
being.
There is, then, nothing new either discover'd or produc'd
in any objects by their constant conjunction, and by the
uninterrupted resemblance of their relations of succession
and contiguity. But 'tis from this resemblance, that the
ideas of necessity, of power, and of efficacy, are deriv'd.
These ideas, therefore, represent not any thing, that does
or can belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoin'd.
This is an argument, which, in every view we can examine it,
will be found perfectly unanswerable. Similar instances are
still the first source of our idea of power or necessity ; at the
same time that they have no influence by their similarity
either on each other, or on any external object. We must
therefore, turn ourselves to some other quarter to seek the
origin of that idea.
Tho' the several resembling instances, which give lise to
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 65
the idea of power, have no influence on each other, and can Sect.XIV
never produce any new quality in the object, which can be the "
model of that idea, yet the observation of this resemblance ofmcelsan
produces a new impression in the mind, which is its real connexion.
model. For after we have observ'd the resemblance in
a sufficient number of instances, we immediately feel a de-
termination of the mind to pass from one object to its usual
attendant, and to conceive it in a stronger light upon account
of that relation. This determination is the only effect of the
resemblance ; and therefore must be the same with power or
efficacy, whose idea is deriv'd from the resemblance. The
several instances of resembling conjunctions leads us into the
notion of power and necessity. These instances are in them-
selves totally distinct from each other, and have no union but
in the mind, which observes them, and collects their ideas.
Necessity, then, is the effect of this observation, and is
nothing but an internal impression of the mind, or a deter-
mination to carry our thoughts from one object to another.
Without considering it in this view, we can never arrive at
the most distant notion of it, or be able to attribute it either
to external or internal objects, to spirit or body, to causes or
effects.
The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the
foundation of our inference from one to the other. The
foundation of our inference is the transidon arising from the
accustom'd union. These are, therefore, the same.
The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There
is no impression convey'd by our senses, which can give rise
to that idea. It must, therefore, be deriv.'d from some internal
impression, or impression of reflexion. There is no internal . -
impression, which has any relation to the present busjness, '^ '
but that propensity, which custom produces, to pass from an
object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore is
the essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is some-
thing, that exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it
possible for us ever to form the most distant idea of it,
l66 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. consider'd as a quality in bodies. Either we have no idea
— •^ — of necessity, or necessity is nothing but that determination of
ledzeat'd ^^^ thought to pass from causes to eflfects and from effects to
probability, causes, according to their experienc'd union.
Thus as the necessity, which makes two times two equal
to four, or three angles of a triangle equal to two right ones,
lies only in the act of the understanding, by which we con-
sider and compare these ideas ; in like manner the necessity
or power, which unites causes and effects, lies in the deter-
mination of the mind to pass from the one to the other.
The efficacy or energy of causes is neither plac'd in the
causes themselves, nor in the deity, nor in the concurrence
of these two principles ; but belongs entirely to the soul,
which considers the union of two or more objects in all past
instances. 'Tis here that the real power of causes is plac'd,
along with their connexion and necessity.
I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes, which I have had,
or shall hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of
this treatise, the present one is the most violent, and that 'tis
merely by dint of solid proof and reasoning I can ever hope
it will have admission, and overcome the inveterate prejudices
of mankind. Before we are reconcil'd to this doctrine, how
often must we repeat to ourselves, ihat the simple view of any
two objects or actions, however related, can never give us
any idea of power, or of a connexion betwixt them : that this
idea arises from the repetition of their union : that the repeti-
tion neither discovers nor causes any thing in the objects, but
has an influence only on the mind, by that customary transi-
tion it produces : that this customary transition is, therefore,
the same with the power and necessity ; which are conse-
quently qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and are in-
ternally felt by the soul, and not perceiv'd externally in bodies ?
There is commonly an astonishment attending every thing
extraordinary; and this astonishment changes immediately
into the highest degree of esteem or contempt, according as
we approve or disapprove of the subject. I am much afraid,
\
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 167
that tho' the foregoing reasoning appears to me the shortest Sect.XIV.
and most decisive imaginable; yet with the generaUty of — ^*~~
readers the biass of the mind will prevail, and give them ofyiecelsc^
a prejudice against the present doctrine. connexion.
This contrary biass is easily accounted for. 'Tis a common
observation, that the mind has a great propensity to spread
itself on external objects, and to conjoin with them any
internal impressions, which they occasion, and which always
make their appearance at the same time that these objects
discover themselves to the senses. Thus as certain sounds
and smells are always found to attend certain visible objects,
we naturally imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt
the objects and qualities, tho' the quahties be of such
a nature as to admit of no such conjunction, and really exist
no where. But of this more fully ' hereafter. Mean while
'tis sufficient to observe, that the same propensity is the
reason, why we suppose necessity and power to lie in the
objects we consider, not in our mind, that considers them.;
notwithstanding it is not possible for us to form the most
distant idea of that quality, when it is not taken for the
determination of the mind, to pass from the idea of an object
to that of its usual attendant.
But tho' this be the only reasonable account we can give
of necessity, the contrary notion is so riveted in the mind
from the principles above-mention'd, that I doubt not but
my sentiments will be treated by many as extravagant and
ridiculous. Whatl the efficacy of causes lie in the deter-
mination of the mind ! As if causes did not operate entirely
independent of the mind, and wou'd not continue their
operation, even tho' there was no mind existent to contem-
plate them, or reason concerning them. Thought may well
depend on causes for its operation, but not causes on
thought. This is to reverse the order of nature, and make
that secondary, which is really primary. To every operation
there is a power proportion'd ; and this power must be
^ Part IV. sect. 5.
I68 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. plac'd on the body, that operates. If we remove the power
— **~~ from one cause, we must ascribe it to another : But to
ledge and remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being, that is
probability, no ways related to the cause or effect, but by perceiving
them, is a gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain
principles of human reason.
I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is
here much the same, as if a blind man shou'd pretend to
find a great many absurdities in the supposition, that the
colour of scarlet is not the same with the sound of a trumpet,
nor light the same with solidity. If we have really no idea of
a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion
betwixt causes and effects, 'twill be to little purpose to prove,
that an efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not
understand our own meaning in talking so, but ignorantly
confound ideas, which are entirely distinct from each other.
I am, indeed, ready to allow, that there may be several
qualities both in material and immaterial objects, with which
we are utterly unacquainted ; and if we please to call these
power or efficacy, 'twill be of little consequence to the world.
But when, instead of meaning these unknown qualities, we
make the terms of power and efficacy signify something, of
which we have a clear idea, and which is incompatible with
those objects, to which we apply it, obscurity and error
begin then to take place, and we are led astray by a false
philosophy. This is the case, when we transfer the deter-
mination of the thought to external objects, and suppose any
real intelligible connexion betwixt them ; that being a quality,
which can only belong to the mind that considers them.
As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are
independent of our thought and reasoning, I allow it ; and
accordingly have observ'd, that objects bear to each other
the relations of contiguity and succession ; that like objects
may be observ'd in several instances to have like relations ;
and that all this is independent of, and antecedent to the
operations of the understanding. But if we go any farther,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 169
and ascribe a power or necessary connexion to these objects ; Sect.XIV.
this is what we can never observe in them, but must draw »* ■
the idea of it from what we feel internally in contemplating ^jnecesfa'^
them. And this I carry so far, that I am ready to convert connexion.
my present reasoning into an instance of it, by a subtility,
which it will not be diflBcult to comprehend.
When any object is presented to us, it immediately con-
veys to the mind a lively idea of that object, which is usually
found to attend it ; and this determination of the mind forms
the necessary connexion of these objects. But when we
change the point of view, from the objects to the perceptions ;
in that case the impression is to be considered as the cause,
and the lively idea as the effect ; and their necessary con-
nexion is that new determination, which we feel to pass from
the idea of the one to that of the other. The uniting prin-
ciple among our internal perceptions is as unintelligible as
that among external objects, and is not known to us any
other way than by experience. Now the nature and effects
of experience have been already sufficiently examin'd and
explain'd. It never gives us any insight into the internal
structure or operating principle of objects, but only accus-
toms the mind to pass from one to another.
'Tis now time to collect all the different parts of this
reasoning, and by joining them together form an exact defini-
tion of the relation of cause and effect, which makes the subject
of the present enquiry. This order wou'd not have been
excusable, of first examining our inference from the re-
lation before we had explain'd the relation itself, had it
been possible to proceed in a different method. But as
the nature of the relation depends so much on that of the
inference, we have been oblig'd to advance in this seemingly
preposterous manner, and make use of terms before we
were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning. We
shall now correct this fault by giving a precise definition
of cause and effect.
There may two definitions be given of this relation, which
I70 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. are only different, by their presenting a different view of the
*' same object, and making us consider it either as a philo-
ddge and sophical or as a natural relation ; either as a comparison of
probability, two ideas, or as an association betwixt them. We may
define a cause to be ' An object precedent and contiguous to
another, and where all the objects resembling the former
are placM in like relations of precedency and contiguity
to those objects, that resemble the latter.' If this definition
be esteem'd defective, because drawn from objects foreign to
the cause, we may substitute this other definition in its place,
viz. *A CAUSE is an object precedent and contiguous to
another, and so united with it, that the idea of the one
determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and
the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of
the other.* Shou'd this definition also be rejected for the
same reason, I know no other remedy, than that the persons,
who express this delicacy, should substitute a juster defini-
tion in its place. But for my part I must own my incapacity
for such an undertaking. When I examine with the utmost
accuracy those objects, which are commonly denominated
causes and effects, I find, in considering a single instance,
that the one object is precedent and contiguous to the other ;
and in inlarging my view to consider several instances, I find
only, that like objects are constantly plac'd in like relations of
succession and contiguity. Again, when I consider the in-
fluence of this constant conjunction, I perceive, that such
a relation can never be an object of reasoning, and can never
operate upon the mind, but by means of custom, which
determines the imagination to make a transition from the
idea of one object to that of its usual attendant, and from
the impression of one to a more lively idea of the other.
However extraordinary these sentiments may appear, I think
it fruitless to trouble myself with any farther enquiry or
reasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself on them
as on establiih'd maxims.
'Twill only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 171
some corrcllaries from it, by which we may remove several Sect.XIV.
prejudices and popular errors, that have very much pre- "
vail'd in philosophy. First, We may learn from the fore- g/necesla'y
going doctrine, that all causes are of the same kind, and connexion.
that in particular there is no foundation for that distinc-
tion, which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes,
and causes sine qua non ; or betwixt efficient causes, and
formal, and material, and exemplary, and final causes. For
as cur idea of efficiency is deriv'd from the constant con-
junction of two objects, wherever this is observ'd, the
cause is efficient ; and where it is not, there can never
be a cause of any kind. For the same reason we must
reject the distinction betwixt cause and occasion, when
suppos'd to signify any thing essentially different from each
other. If constant conjunction be imply'd in what we call
occasion, 'tis a real cause. If not, 'tis no relation at all, and
cannot give rise to any argument or reasoning.
Secondly, The same course of reasoning will make us
conclude, that there is but one kind of necessity, as there
is but one kind of cause, and that the common distinction
betwixt moral and physical necessity is without any founda-
tion in nature. This clearly appears from the precedent
explication of necessity. 'Tis the constant conjunction of
objects, along with the determination of the mind, which
constitutes a physical necessity : And the removal of these
is the same thing with chance. As objects must either be
conjoin'd or not, and as the mind must either be de-
termin'd or not to pass from one object to another, 'tis
impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and
an absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction and
determination you do not change the nature of the neces-
sity; since even in the operation of bodies, these have
different degrees of constancy and force, without producing
a different species of that relation.
The distinction, which we often make betwixt power and
the exercise of it, is equally without foundation.
172 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. Thirdly, We may now be able fully to overcome all that
'• repugnance, which 'tis so natural for us to entertain against
lld'^eati'd ^^^ foregoing reasoning, by which we endeavour'd to prove,
probability, that the necessity of a cause to every beginning of existence
is not founded on any arguments either demonstrative or
intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear strange after the
foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be an object
precedent and contiguous to another, and ivhere all the objects
resembling the /ort7ier are placd I'ti a like relation of priority
and co7itiguity to those objects, that resemble tfie latter ; we may
easily conceive, that there is no absolute nor metaphysical
necessity, that every beginning of existence shou'd be
attended with such an object. If we define a cause to
be, An object precedent and contiguous to another, and so united
with it in the imagination, that the idea of the one determines
the mind to form the idea 0/ the other, and the impression 0/ the
07ie tofor7n a 77iore lively idea of the other ; we shall make still
less difficulty of assenting to this opinion. Such an influ-
ence on the mind is in itself perfectly extraordinary and
incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality, but
from experience and observation.
I shall add as a fourth corrollary, that we can never have
reason to believe that any object exists, of which we cannot
form an idea. For as all our reasonings concerning exist-
ence are deriv'd from causation, and as all our reasonings
concerning causation are deriv'd from the experienc'd con-
junction of objects, not from any reasoning or reflexion, the
same experience must give us a notion of these objects, and
must remove all mystery from our conclusions. This is so
evident, that 'twou'd scarce have merited our attention, were
it not to obviate certain objections of this kind, which might
arise against the following reasonings concerning matter and
substance. I need not observe, that a full knowledge of the
object is not requisite, but only of those qualities of it, which
we believe to exist.
Book I. OB THE UNDERSTANDING. 173
Sect. XV.
Joules by
SECTION XV. J^fJ;:^
causes and
Rules ly which to judge of causes and effects. effects.
According to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects,
which by the mere survey, without consulting experience, we
can determine to be the causes of any other ; and no objects,
which we can certainly determine in the same manner not to
be the causes. Any thing may produce any thing. Crea-
tion, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may
arise from one another, or from any other object we can
imagine. Nor will this appear strange, if we compare two
principles explain'd above, thai the constant conjunction of
objects determines their causation, and ^ that properly speaking,
no objects are contrary to each other, but existence and non-
existence. Where objects are not contrary, nothing hinders
them from having that constant conjunction, on which the
relation of cause and effect totally depends.
Since therefore 'lis possible for all objects to become
causes or effects to each other, it may be proper to fix some
general rules, by which we may know when they really
are so.
1. The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and
time.
2. The cause must be prior to the effect.
3. There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and
effect. 'Tis chiefly this quality, that constitutes the relation.
4. The same cause always produces the same effect, and
the same effect never arises but from the same cause. This
principle we derive from experience, and is the source of
most of our philosophical reasonings. For when by any
clear experiment we have discover'd the causes or effects of
any phsenomenon, we immediately extend our observation to
' Part I. sect. 5.
G
174 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. every phaenomenon of the same kind, without waiting for
*• ' that constant repetition, from which the first idea of this
Of know- 1 .. • J • »j
ledge and relation is deriv d.
probability. 5. There is another principle, which hangs upon this, viz.
that where several different objects produce the same effect,
it must be by means of some quality, which we discover to
be common amongst them. For as like effects imply like
causes, we must always ascribe the causation to the circum-
stance, wherein we discover the resemblance.
6. The following principle is founded on the same reason.
The difference in the effects of two resembling objects must
proceed from that particular, in which they differ. For as
like causes always produce like effects, when in any instance
we find our expectation to be disappointed, we must conclude
that this irregularity proceeds from some difference in the
causes.
7. When any object encreases or diminishes with the
encrease or diminution of its cause, 'tis to be regarded as a
compounded effect, deriv'd from the union of the several
different effects, which arise from the several different parts
of the cause. The absence or presence of one part of
the cause is here suppos'd to be always attended with the
absence or presence of a proportionable part of the effect.
This constant conjunction sufficiently proves, that the one
part is the cause of the other. We must, however, beware
not to draw such a conclusion from a few experiments. A
certain degree of heat gives pleasure ; if you diminish that
heat, the pleasure diminishes ; but it does not follow, that if
you augment it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will
likewise augment ; for we find that it degenerates into pain.
8. The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that
an object, which exists for any time in its full perfection with-
out any effect, is not the sole cause of that effect, but requires
to be assisted by some other principle, which may forward
its influence and operation. For as like effects necessarily
follow from like causes, and in a contiguous time and place,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 75
their separation for a moment shews, that these causes are Sect. XV.
not compleat ones. ■ **
Here is all the Logic I think proper to employ in my ^l\ f^
reasoning; and perhaps even this was not very necessary, yw^^.? <?/
but might have been supply'd by the natural principles of our ^J^^J^ ^"'^
understanding. Our scholastic headpieces and logicians shew
no such superiority above the mere vulgar in their reason
and ability, as to give us any inclination to imitate them in
delivering a long system of rules and precepts to direct our
judgment, in philosophy. All the rules of this nature are
very easy in their invention, but extremely difficult in their
application ; and even experimental philosophy, which seems
the most natural and simple of any, requires the utmost
stretch of human judgment. There is no phaenomenon in
nature, but what is compounded and modify'd by so many
different circumstances, that in order to arrive at the decisive
point, we must carefully separate whatever is superfluous, and
enquire by new experiments, if every particular circumstance
of the first experiment was essential to it. These new expe-
riments are liable to a discussion of the same kind ; so that
the utmost constancy is requir'd to make us persevere
in our enquiry, and the utmost sagacity to choose the
right way among so many that present themselves. If this
be the case even in natural philosophy, how much more in
moral, where there is a much greater complication of circum-
stances, and where those views and sentiments, which are
essential to any action of the mind, are so implicit and
obscure, that they often escape our strictest attention, and
are not only unaccountable in their causes, but even un-
known in their existence ? I am much afraid, lest the
small success I meet with in my enquiries will make
this observation bear the air of an apology rather than of
boasting.
If any thing can give me security in this particular, 'twill
be the enlarging the sphere of my experiments as much as
possible ; for which reason it may be proper in this place
176 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. to examine the reasoning faculty of brutes, as well as that of
""•"• — human creatures.
Of knozv-
ledge and
probability.
SECTION XVI.
0/ the reason of aniinah.
Next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that
of taking much pains to defend it ; and no truth appears to
me more evident, than that beasts are endow'd with thought
and reason as well as men. The arguments are in this case
so obvious, that they never escape the most stupid and
ignorant.
We are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to
ends, are guided by reason and design, and that 'tis not
ignorantly nor casually we perform those actions, which tend
to self-preservation, to the obtaining pleasure, and avoiding
pain. When therefore we see other creatures, in millions of
instances, perform like actions, and direct them to like ends,
all our principles of reason and probability carry us with an
invincible force to believe the existence of a like cause.
'Tis needless in my opinion to illustrate this argument by the
enumeration of particulars. The smallest attention will
supply us with more than are requisite. The resemblance
betwixt the actions of animals and those of men is so entire
in this respect, that the very first action of the first animal we
shall please to pitch on, will afford us an incontestable argu-
ment for the present doctrine.
This doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us
with a kind of touchstone, by which we may try every system
in this species of philosophy. 'Tis from the resemblance of
the external actions of animals to those we ourselves per-
form, that we judge their internal likewise to resemble ours ;
and the same principle of reasoning, cany'd one step farther,
will make us conclude that since our internal actions re-
semble each other, the causes, from which they are deriv'd,
I
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. I^^
must also be resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, Sect.XVI.
is advanc'd to explain a mental operation, which is common •'
to men and beasts, we must apply the same hypothesis to ^{ason of
both ; and as every true hypothesis will abide this trial, so animals.
I may venture to affirm, that no false one will ever be able to
endure it. The common defect of those systems, which
philosophers have employ'd to account for the actions of the
mind, is, that they suppose such a subtility and refinement of
thought, as not only exceeds the capacity of mere animals,
but even of children and the common people in our own
species; who are notwithstanding susceptible of the same
emotions and affections as persons of the most accomplish'd
genius and understanding. Such a subtility is a clear proof
of the falshood, as the contrary simplicity of the truth, of
any system.
Let us therefore put our present system concerning the
nature of the understanding to this decisive trial, and see
whether it will equally account for the reasonings of beasts as
for these of the human species.
Here we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of
animals, which are of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on
a level with their common capacities, and those more extra-
ordinary instances of sagacity, which they sometimes dis-
cover for their own preservation, and the propagation of
their species. A dog, that avoids fire and precipices, that
shuns strangers, and caresses his master, affords us an in-
stance of the first kind. A bird, that chooses with such care
and nicety the place and materials of her nest, and sits upon
her eggs for a due time, and in a suitable season, with all
the precaution that a chymist is capable of in the most
delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance of the
second.
As to the former actions, I assert they proceed from
a reasoning, that is not in itself dilTerent, nor founded on
different principles, from that which appears in human
nature. 'Tis necessary in the first place, that there be some
178 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. impression immediately present to their memory or senses,
^ , .'* in order to be the foundation of their iudirment. From the
Of know- , f • , J . r , . ,
ledge and ^^"^ °' voice the dog mters his master s anger, and foresees
probability, his own punishment. From a certain sensation afifecting his
smell, he judges his game not to be far distant from him.
Secondly, The inference he draws from the present impres-
sion is built on experience, and on his observation of the
conjunction of objects in past instances. As you vary this
experience, he varies his reasoning. INIake a beating follow
upon one sign or motion for some time, and afterwards upon
another; and he will successively draw different conclusions
according to his most recent experience.
Now let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to
explain that act of the mind, which we call beliefs and give
an account of the principles, from which it is deriv'd, in-
dependent of the influence of custom on the imagination, and
let his hypothesis be equally applicable to beasts as to the
human species ; and after he has done this, I promise to
embrace his opinion. But at the same time I demand as an
equitable condition, that if my system be the only one, which
can answer to all these terms, it may be receiv'd as entirely
satisfactory and convincing. And that 'tis the only one,
is evident almost without any reasoning. Beasts certainly
never perceive any real connexion among objects. 'Tis
therefore by experience they infer one from another. They
can never by any arguments form a general conclusion, that
those objects, of which they have had no experience, re-
semble those of which they have. 'Tis therefore by means
of custom alone, that experience operates upon them. All
this was sufficiently evident with respect to man. But with
respect to beasts there cannot be the least suspicion of mis-
take ; which must be own'd to be a strong confirmation, or
rather an invincible proof of my system.
Nothing shews more the force of habit in reconciling us to
any plisenomenon, than this, that men are not astonish'd
at the operations of their own reason, at the same time, that
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 79
they admire the instinct of animals, and find a difficulty in Sect. XVI
explaining it, merely because it cannot be reduc'd to the very • «* •
same principles. To consider the matter aright, reason is ^f^'^^
, '^ ^ D > reason of
nothmg but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct in our animals.
souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and
endows them with particular qualities, according to their
particular situations and relations. This instinct, 'tis true,
arises from past observation and experience ; but can any
one give the ultimate reason, why past experience and
observation produces such an effect, any more than why
nature alone shou'd produce it? Nature may certainly
produce whatever can arise from habit : Nay, habit is
nothing but one of the principles of nature, and derives
all its force from that origin.
PART IV.
OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF
PHILOSOPHY.
SECTION I.
Of scepticism with regard to reason.
Part IV. In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and
•' ■ infallible; but when we apply them, our fallible and un-
scettical Certain faculties are very apt to depart from them, and fall
and other into error. We must, therefore, in every reasoning form
systems of ^ ^^^ judgment, as a check or controul on our first iudgment
philosophy. . JO
or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a kind
of history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has
deceiv'd us, compar'd with those, wherein its testimony was
just and true. Our reason must be consider'd as a kind of
cause, of which truth is the natural effect ; but such-a-one as
by the irruption of other causes, and by the inconstancy of our
mental powers, may frequently be prevented. By this means
all knowledge degenerates into probabihty; and this pro-
bability is greater or less, according to our experience of the
veracity or deceitfulness of our understanding, and according
to the simplicity or intricacy of the question.
There is no Algebraist nor Mathematician so expert in his
science, as to place entire confidence in any truth imme-
diately upon his discovery of it, or regard it as any thing, but
a mere probability. Every time he runs over his proofs, his
confidence encreases; but still more by the approbation of
his friends; and is rais'd to its utmost perfection by the
universal assent and applauses of the learned world. Now
'tis evident, that this gradual encrease of assurance is nothing
but the addition of new probabilities, and is deriv'd from the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. l8l
constant union of causes and effects, according to past Sect. I
experience and observation. «» ■
In accompts of any length or importance, Merchants %,^"^%
seldom trust to the infallible certainty of numbers for their regard to
security ; but by the artificial structure of the accompts, pro- ^''^^°"-
duce a probability beyond what is deriv'd from the skill and
experience of the accomptant. For that is plainly of itself
some degree of probability; tho' uncertain and variable,
according to the degrees of his experience and length of the
accompt. Now as none will maintain, that our assurance in
a long numeration exceeds probability, I may safely affirm,
that there scarce is any proposition concerning numbers, of
which we can have a fuller security. For 'tis easily possible,
by gradually diminishing the numbers, to reduce the longest
series of addition to the most simple question, which can be
form'd, to an addition of two single numbers ; and upon this
supposition we shall find it impracticable to shew the precise
hmits of knowledge and of probability, or discover that
particular number, at which the one ends and the other
begins. But knowledge and probability are of such con-
trary and disagreeing natures, that they cannot well run
insensibly into each other, and that because they will not
divide, but must be either entirely present, or entirely absent.
Besides, if any single addition were certain, every one wou'd
be so, and consequently the whole or total sum ; unless the
whole can be difi'erent from all its parts. I had almost said,
that this was certain; but I reflect, that it must reduce
itself, as well as every other reasoning, and from knowledge
degenerate into probability.
Since therefore all knowledge resolves itself into proba-
bility, and becomes at last of the same nature with that
evidence, which we employ in common Hfe, we must now
examine this latter species of reasoning, and see on what
foundation it stands.
In every judgment, which we can form concerning pro-
bability, as well as concerning knowledge, we ought always
C
1 82
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of (he
ueptical
xnd other
systems of
philosophy
Part IV. to correct the first judgment, deriv'd from the nature of
the object, by another judgment, deriv'd from the nature of the
understanding, 'Tis certain a man of solid sense and long
experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assur-
ance in his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant,
and that our sentiments have different degrees of authority,
even with ourselves, in proportion to the degrees of our
reason and experience. In the man of the best sense and
longest experience, this authority is never entire ; since even
such-a-one must be conscious of many errors in the past,
and must still dread the like for the future. Here then arises
a new species of probability to correct and regulate the first,
and fix its just standard and proportion. As demonstration
is subject to the controul of probability, so is probability
liable to a new correction by a reflex act of the mind, wherein
the nature of our understanding, and our reasoning from the
first probability become our objects.
Having thus found in every probability, beside the original
uncertainty inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty deriv'd
from the weakness of that faculty, which judges, and having
adjusted these two together, we are oblig'd by our reason to
add a new doubt deriv'd from the possibility of error in the
estimation we make of the truth and fidelity of our faculties.
This is a doubt, which immediately occurs to us, and of
which, if we wou'd closely pursue our reason, we cannot
avoid giving a decision. But this decision, tho' it shou'd
be favourable to our preceeding judgment, being founded
only on probability, must weaken still further our first
evidence, and must itself be weaken'd by a fourth doubt
of the same kind, and so on /« infiniiuvi ; till at last there
remain nothing of the original probability, however great
we may suppose it to have been, and however small the
diminution by every new uncertainty. No finite object can
subsist under a decrease repeated in infiniium ; and even the
vastest quantity, which can enter into human imagination,
must in this manner be reduc'd to nothing. Let our
reason.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 183
first belief be never so strong, it must infallibly perish Sect. I
by passing thro' so many new examinations, of which each —^ —
diminishes somewhat of its force and vigour. When I reflect %^nwith
on the natural fallibility of my judgment, I have less con- regard to
fidence in my opinions, than when I only consider the
objects concerning which I reason; and when I proceed
still farther, to turn the scrutiny against every successive
estimation I make of my faculties, all the rules of logic
require a continual diminution, and at last a total extinction
of belief and evidence.
Shou'd it here be ask'd me, whether I sincerely assent to
this argument, which I seem to take such pains to inculcate,
and whether I be really one of those sceptics, who hold that
all is uncertain, and that our judgment is not in any thing
possest of any measures of truth and falshood; I shou'd
reply, that this question is entirely superfluous, and that
neither I, nor any other person was ever sincerely and con-
stantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and uncon-
troulable necessity has determin'd us to judge as well as to
breathe and feel; nor can we any more forbear viewing
certain objects in a stronger and fuller light, upon account of
their customary connexion with a present impression, than
we can hinder ourselves from thinking as long as we are
awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies, when we turn our
eyes towards them in broad sunshine. Whoever has taken
the pains to refute the cavils of this total scepticism, has
really disputed without an antagonist, and endeavour'd by
arguments to establish a faculty, which nature has antecedently
implanted in che mind, and render'd unavoidable.
My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments
of that fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of
the truth of my hypothesis, that all our reasonings concerning
causes and effects are den'v' d /ro?n nothing but custom ; and that
belief is more properly an act 0/ the sensitive, than 0/ the cogita-
tive part of our natures. I have here prov'd, that the very
same principles, which make us form a decision upon any
1 84
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy
Part IV. subject, and correct that decision by the consideration of our
genius and capacity, and of the situation of our mind, when
we examin'd that subject; I say, I have prov'd, that these
same principles, when carry'd farther, and apply'd to every
new reflex judgment, must, by continually diminishing the
original evidence, at last reduce it to nothing, and utterly
subvert all belief and opinion. If belief, therefore, were
a simple act of the thought, without any peculiar manner of
conception, or the addition of a force and vivacity, it must
infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in a total
suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently
convince any one, who thinks it worth while to try, that tho'
he can find no error in the foregoing arguments, yet he still
continues to believe, and think, and reason as usual, he may
safely conclude, that his reasoning and belief is some sensa-
tion or peculiar manner of conception, which 'tis impossible
for mere ideas and reflections to destroy.
But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens,
even upon my hypothesis, that these arguments above-
explain'd produce not a total suspense of judgment, and
after what manner the mind ever retains a degree of assur-
ance in any subject ? For as these new probabilities, which
by their repetition perpetually diminish the original evidence,
are founded on the very same principles, whether of thought
or sensation, as the primary judgment, it may seem unavoid-
able, that in either case they must equally subvert it, and by
the opposition, either of contrary thoughts or sensations,
reduce the mind to a total uncertainty. I suppose, there is
some question propos'd to me, and that after revolving over
the impressions of my memory and senses, and carrying my
thoughts from them to such objects, as are commonly con-
join'd with them, I feel a stronger and more forcible conception
on the one side, than on the other. This strong conception
forms my first decision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine
my judgment itself, and observing from experience, that 'tis
sometimes just and sometimes erroneous, I consider it as
I
I
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 185
regulated by contrary principles or causes, of which some Sect. I.
lead to truth, and some to error; and in ballancing these "
contrary causes, I diminish by a new probability the assurance Jsmwith
of my first decision. This new probability is liable to Xht regard to
same diminution as the foregoing, and so on, in infinitum. ^^'^"^
'Tis therefore demanded, how it happens, thai even after all we
retain a degree of belief which is sufficient for our purpose,
either in philosophy or common life.
I answer, that after the first and second decision ; as
the action of the mind becomes forc'd and unnatural, and the
ideas faint and obscure; tho' the principles of judgment, and
the ballancing of opposite causes be the same as at the very
beginning ; yet their influence on the imagination, and the
vigour they add to, or diminish from the thought, is by no
means equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with
easiness and facility, the same principles have not the same
effect as in a more natural conception of the ideas ; nor does
the imagination feel a sensation, which holds any proportion
with that which arises from its common judgments and
opinions. The attention is on the stretch : The posture
of the mind is uneasy ; and the spirits being diverted from
their natural course, are not govern'd in their movements by
the same laws, at least not to the same degree, as when they
flow in their usual channel.
If we desire similar instances, 'twill not be very difficult
to find them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply
us abundantly. The same argument, which wou'd have
been esteem'd convincing in a reasoning concerning history
or polidcs, has little or no influence in these abstruser subjects,
even the' it be perfectly comprehended ; and that because
there is requir'd a study and an effort of thought, in order to
its being comprehended : And this effort of thought disturbs
the operation of our sentiments, on which the belief depends.
The case is the same in other subjects. The straining of
the imagination always hinders the regular flowing of the
passions and sentiments. A tragic poet, that wou'd re-
i86
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy
Part IV. present his heroes as very ingenious and witty in their mis-
fortunes, wou'd never touch the passions. As the emotions
of the soul prevent any subtile reasoning and reflection, so
these latter actions of the mind are equally prejudicial to the
former. The mind, as well as the body, seems to be endow'd
with a certain precise degree of force and activity, which it
never employs in one action, but at the expence of all the
rest. This is more evidently true, where the actions are of
quite different natures ; since in that case the force of the
mind is not only diverted, but even the disposition chang'd,
so as to render us incapable of a sudden transition from one
action to the other, and still more of performing both at
once. No wonder, then, the conviction, which arises from
a subtile reasoning, diminishes in proportion to the efforts,
which the imagination makes to enter into the reasoning,
and to conceive it in all its parts. Belief, being a lively
conception, can never be entire, where it is not founded on
something natural and easy.
This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot
approve of that expeditious way, which some take with the
sceptics, to reject at once all their arguments without enquiry
or examination. If the sceptical reasonings be strong, say
they, 'tis a proof, that reason may have some force and
authority : if weak, they can never be sufficient to invalidate
all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument is
not just; because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible
for them to exist, and were they not destroy'd by their sub-
tility, wou'd be successively both strong and weak, according
to the successive dispositions of the mind. Reason first
appears in possession of the throne, prescribing laws, and
imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and authority.
Her enemy, therefore, is oblig'd to take shelter under her
protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove
the fallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in
a manner, a patent under her hand and seal. This patent
has at first an authority, proportion'd to the present and
the senses.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 187
immediate authority of reason, from which it is deriv'd. But Sect. IL
as it is suppos'd to be contradictory to reason, it gradually "
diminishes the force of that governing power, and its own at Jsmwith
the same time ; till at last they both vanish away into nothing, regard to
by a regular and just diminution. The sceptical and dog-
matical reasons are of the same kind, tho' contrary in their
operation and tendency ; so that where the latter is strong,
it has an enemy of equal force in the former to encounter ;
and as their forces were at first equal, they still continue so,
as long as either of them subsists ; nor does one of them
lose any force in the contest, without taking as much from
its antagonist. 'Tis happy, therefore, that nature breaks the
force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them
from having any considerable influence on the understanding.
Were we to trust entirely to their self-destruction, that can
never take place, 'till they have first subverted all conviction,
and have totally destroy'd human reason.
SECTION II.
Of scepticism with regard to the senses.
Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even
tho' he asserts, that he cannot defend his reason by reason ;
and by the same rule he must assent to the principle con-
cerning the existence of body, tho' he cannot pretend by any
arguments of philosophy to maintain its veracity. Nature
has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless esteem'd it
an affair of too great importance to be trusted to our un-
certain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask.
What causes induce us to believe in the existence of body ?
but 'tis in vain to ask. Whether there be body or not? That
is a point, which we must take for granted in all our
reasonings.
The subject, then, of our present enquiry is concerning
the <rattjf.r which induce us to believe in the existence of
l88 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. body : And my reasonings on this head I shall begin with
~*^ — a distinction, which at first sight may seem superfluous, but
sceptical which will contribute very much to the perfect understanding
and other of what follows. We ought to examine apart those two
'thT^^ti Questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz.
Why we attribute a continu'd existence to objects, even
when they are not present to the senses ; and why we
suppose them to have an existence distinct from the mind
and perception. Under this last head I comprehend their
situation as well as relations, their external position as well
as the independence of their existence and operation. These
two questions concerning the continu'd and distinct existence
of body are intimately connected together. For if the objects
of our senses continue to exist, even when they are not
perceiv'd, their existence is of course independent of and
distinct from the perception ; and vice versa, if their existence
be independent of the perception and distinct from it, they
must continue to exist, even tho' they be not perceiv'd.
But tho' the decision of the one question decides the other ;
yet that we may the more easily discover the principles
of human nature, from whence the decision arises, we
shall carry along with us this distinction, and shall consider,
whether it be the senses, reason, or the imagination, that
produces the opinion of a continiid or of a distinct existence.
These are the only questions, that are intelligible on the
present subject. For as to the notion of external existence,
when taken for something specifically different from our
perceptions, ^ we have already shewn its absurdity.
To begin with the senses, 'tis evident these faculties are
incapable of giving rise to the notion of the conti?iud
existence of their objects, after they no longer appear to
the senses. For that is a contradiction in terms, and sup-
poses that the senses continue to operate, even after they
have ceas'd all manner of operation. These faculties, there-
fore, if they have any influence in the present case, must
' Part II. sect. 6.
*>■
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 189
produce the opinion of a distinct, not of a continu'd exist- Sect. II.
ence 3 and in order to that, must present their impressions "
either as images and representations, or as these very distinct J^,„ ^^^^
and external existences. regard to
That our senses offer not their impressions as the images '' •^^"■f"'
of something distinct, or i?idependent, and external^ is evident; \/
because they convey to us nothing but a single perception, y
and never give us the least intimation of any thing beyond.
A single perception can never produce the idea of a double ■^
existence, but by some inference either of the reason or y
imagination. When the mind looks farther than what
immediately appears to it, its conclusions can never be put to
the account of the senses ; and it certainly looks farther, when
from a single perception it infers a double existence, and
supposes the relations of resemblance and causation betwixt
them.
If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct
existences, they must convey the impressions as those very
existences, by a kind of fallacy and illusion. Upon this head
we may observe, that all sensations are felt by the mind, such
as they really are, and that when we doubt, whether they
present themselves as distinct objects, or as mere impres-
sions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but
concerning their relations and situation. Now if the senses
presented our impressions as external to, and independent of
ourselves, both the objects and ourselves must be obvious to
our senses, otherwise they cou'd not be compar'd by these
faculties. The difficulty, then, is how far we are ourselves the
objects of our senses.
'Tis certain there is no question in philosophy more
abstruse than that concerning identity, and the nature of
the uniting principle, which constitutes a person. So far
from being able by our senses merely to determine this
question, we must have recourse to the most profound
metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it ; and in com-
mon hfe 'tis evident these ideas of self and person are never
190 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. very fix'd nor determinate. 'Tis absurd, therefore, to imagine
" the senses can ever distinguish betwixt ourselves and external
Of the , . "
scf/^(ual objects.
<ind other Add to this, that every impression, external and internal,
philosophy. P^^sions, affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are
originally on the same footing ; and that whatever other
differences we may observe among them, they appear, all of
them, in their true colours, as impressions or perceptions. '
And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, 'tis scarce
possible it shou'd be otherwise, nor is it conceivable that our
senses shou'd be more capable of deceiving us in the situa-
tion and relations, than in the nature of our impressions.
For since all actions and sensations of the mind are known
to us by consciousness, they must necessarily appear in
every particular what they are, and be what they appear.
Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality as the
perception, 'tis impossible any thing shou'd to /eelhig appear
different. This were to suppose, that even where we are
most intimately conscious, we might be mistaken.
But not to lose time in examining, whether 'tis possible
for our senses to deceive us, and represent our perceptions
as distinct from ourselves, that is as external to and in-
dependent of us ; let us consider whether they really do so,
and whether this error proceeds from an immediate sensation,
or from some other causes.
To begin with the question concerning external existence,
it may perhaps be said, that setting aside the metaphysical
question of the identity of a thinking substance, our own
body evidently belongs to us ; and as several impressions
appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also exterior
to ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is
beyond my hand. The table is beyond the paper. The
walls of the chamber beyond the table. And in casting my
eye towards the window, I perceive a great extent of fields
and buildings beyond my chamber. From all this it may be
infer'd, that no other faculty is requir'd, beside the senses, to
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 191
convince us of the external existence of body. But to prevent Sect. IL
this inference, we need only weigh the three following con- —**—
siderations. First, That, properly speaking, 'tis not our J^^^^i(}i
body we perceive, when we regard our limbs and members, regard to
but certain impressions, which enter by the senses ; so that ''** ""^"•
the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these im-
pressions, or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult
to explain, as that which we examine at present. Secondly,
Sounds, and tastes, and smells, tho' commonly regarded by
the mind as continu'd independent qualities, appear not to
have any existence in extension, and consequently cannot
appear to the senses as situated externally to the body. The
reason, why we ascribe a place to them, shall be consider'd
^ afterwards. Thirdly, Even our sight informs us not of
distance or outness (so to speak) immediately and without
a certain reasoning and experience, as is acknowledg'd by
the most rational philosophers.
As to the independency of our perceptions on ourselves, this
can never be an object of the senses ; but any opinion we
form concerning it, must be deriv'd from experience and
observation : And we shall see afterwards, that our con-
clusions from experience are far from being favourable to
the doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. Mean
while we may observe that when we talk of real distinct
existences, we have commonly more in our eye their in-
dependency than external situation in place, and think an
object has a sufficient reality, when its Being is uninter-
rupted, and independent of the incessant revolutions, which
we are conscious of in ourselves.
Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses ;
they give us no notion of continu'd existence, because they
cannot operate beyond the extent, in which they really
operate. They as little produce the opinion of a distinct
existence, because they neither can offer it to the mind as
represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented,
» Sect. 5.
192 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. they must present both an object and an image. To make
•• it appear as original, they must convey a falshood ; and this
sceptical falshood must lie in the relations and situation : In order to
and other which they must be able to compare the object with our-
'thilosothv ^^^^^^ ' "^^^ ^^^^ ''^ ^'^^ ^^^^ ^^^y ^^ ^ot> ^°'' ^^ ^'^ possible
they shou'd, deceive us. We may, therefore, conclude with
certainty, that the opinion of a continu'd and of a distinct
existence never arises from the senses.
To confirm this we may observe, that there are three
different kinds of impressions convey'd by the senses. The
first are those of the figure, bulk, motion and solidity of
bodies. The second those of colours, tastes, smells, sounds,
heat and cold. The third are the pains and pleasures, that
arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as by the
cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philoso-
phers and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have
a distinct continu'd existence. The vulgar only regard the
second as on the same footing. Both philosophers and the
vulgar, again, esteem the third to be merely perceptions ;
and consequently interrupted and dependent beings.
,y Now 'tis evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical
opinion, colours, sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to
the senses, exist after the same manner with motion and
solidity, and that the difference we make betwixt them in
this respect, arises not from the mere perception. So strong
is the prejudice for the distinct continu'd existence of the
former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is advanc'd
by modern philosophers, people imagine they can almost
refute it from their feeling and experience, and that their
very senses contradict this philosophy. 'Tis also evident,
that colours, sounds, &c. are originally on the same footing
with the pain that arises from steel, and pleasure that pro-
ceeds from a fire ; and that the difference betwixt them is
founded neither on perception nor reason, but on the
imagination. For as they are confest to be, both of them,
nothing but perceptions arising from the particular configu-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 193
rations and motions of the parts of body, wherein possibly Sect. II.
can their difference consist ? Upon the whole, then, we may " ■
conclude, that as far as the senses are judges, all perceptions Jsmwitk
are the same in the manner of their existence. regard to
We may also observe in this instance of sounds and ^'"^"•
colours, that we can attribute a distinct continu'd existence
to objects without ever consulting reason, or weighing our
opinions by any philosophical principles. And indeed,
whatever convincing arguments philosophers may fancy they
can produce to establish the belief of objects independent of
the mind, 'tis obvious these arguments are known but to very
few, and that 'tis not by them, that children, peasants, and
the greatest part of mankind are induc'd to attribute objects
to some impressions, and deny them to others. Accordingly
we find, that all the conclusions, which the vulgar form
on this head, are directly contrary to those, which are
confirm'd by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that
every thing, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a /-,
perception, and is interrupted, and dependent on the mind ;
whereas the vulgar confound perceptions and objects, and
attribute a distinct continu'd existence to the very things they
feel or see. This sentiment, then, as it is entirely unreason-
able, must proceed from some other faculty than the
understanding. To which we may add, that as long as we
take our perceptions and objects to be the same, we can never
infer the existence of the one from that of the other, nor
form any argument from the relation of cause and effect;
which is the only one that can assure us of matter of fact.
Even after we distinguish our perceptions from our objects,
'twill appear presently, that we are still incapable of reasoning
from the existence of one to that of the other : So that upon
the whole our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever
shou'd, upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the
continu'd and distinct existence of body. That opinion must
be entirely owing to the'^uiAGiNATiON : which must now be
the subject of our enquiry.
194 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences,
'• and appear as such, the notion of their distinct and continu'd
sceptical existence must arise from a concurrence of some of their
and other qualities with the qualities of the imagination; and since this
'philTslphy. "O^'O'^ ^oes not extend to all of them, it must arise from
certain qualities peculiar to some impressions. 'Twill there-
fore be easy for us to discover these qualities by a comparison
of the impressions, to which we attribute a distinct and
continu'd existence, wiih those, which we regard as internal
and perishing.
We may observe, then, that 'tis neither upon account
of the involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly
suppos'd, nor of their superior force and violence, that we
attribute to them a reality, and continu'd existence, which
we refuse to others, that are voluntary or feeble. For 'tis
evident our pains and pleasures, our passions and affections,
which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our
perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally
involuntary, as the impressions of figure and extension,
colour and sound, which we suppose to be permanent beings.
The heat of a fire, when moderate, is suppos'd to exist in the
fire ; but the pain, which it causes upon a near approach, is
not taken to have any being except in the perception.
These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must
search for some other hypothesis, by which we may discover
those peculiar qualities in our impressions, which makes
us attribute to them a distinct and continu'd existence.
5 • After a little examination, we shall find, that all those
objects, to which we attribute a continu'd existence, have a
peculiar constancy, which distinguishes them from the im-
pressions, w'hose existence depends upon our perception.
Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie at present
under my eye, have always appear'd to me in the same
order ; and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes
or turning my head, I soon after find them return upon me
without the least alteration. My bed and table, my books
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 195
and papers, present themselves in the same uniform manner, Sect. TI.
and change not upon account of any interruption in my "
seeing or perceiving them. This is the case with all the ^(^,^ ^^(f^
impressions, whose objects are suppos'd to have an external regard to
existence; and is the case with no other impressions, whether ' ""^^'^
gentle or violent, voluntary or involuntary.
This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit
of very considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their
position and qualities, and after a little absence or interrup-
tion may become hardly knowable. But here 'tis observable,
that even in these changes they preserve a cohtreiice, and have
a regular dependence on each other ; which is the foundation v/
of a kind of reasoning from causation, and produces the ^
opinion of their continu'd existence. When I return to my
chamber after an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the
same situation, in which I left it : But then I am accustom'd
in other instances to see a Hke alteration produc'd in a like
time, whether I am present or absent, near or remote. This
coherence, therefore, in their changes is one of the character- 1/
islics of external objects, as well as their constancy.
Having found that the opinion of the continu'd existence
of body depends on the coherence and constancy of certain
impressions, I now proceed to examine after what manner
these qualities give rise to so extraordinary an opinion. To
begin with the coherence ; we may observe, that tho' those
internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and perish-
ing, have also a certain coherence or regularity in their
appearances, yet 'tis of somewhat a different nature, from that
which we discover in bodies. Our passions are found by
experience to have a mutual connexion with and dependance
on each other ; but on no occasion is it necessary to suppose,
that they have existed and operated, when they were not
perceiv'd, in order to preserve the same dependance and
connexion, of which we have had experience. The case is
not the same with relation to external objects. Those re-
quire a continu'd existence, or otherwise lose, in a great
196
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Ofthi
ueptical
ind other
systems of
thilosophy.
Part IV. measure, the regularity of their operation. I am here seated
in my chamber with my face to the fire ; and all the objects,
that strike my senses, are contain'd in a few yards around
me. My memory, indeed, informs me of the existence of
many objects ; but then this information extends not beyond
their past existence, nor do either my senses or memory give
any testimony to the continuance of their being. When
therefore I am thus seated, and revolve over these thoughts,
I hear on a sudden a noise as of a door turning upon its
hinges ; and a little after see a porter, who advances towards
me. This gives occasion to many new reflexions and
reasonings. First, I never have observ'd, that this noise
cou'd proceed from anything but the motion of a door; and
therefore conclude, that the present phsenomenon is a con-
tradiction to all past experience, unless the door, which I
remember on t'other side the chamber, be still in being.
Again, I have always found, that a human body was possest
of a quality, which I call gravity, and which hinders it from
mounting in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive
at my chamber, unless the stairs I remember be not
annihilated by my absence. But this is not all. I receive a
letter, which upon opening it I perceive by the hand-writing
and subscription to have come from a friend, who says he is
two hundred leagues distant. 'Tis evident I can never
account for this phaenomenon, conformable to my experience
in other instances, without spreading out in my mind the
whole sea and continent between us, and supposing the effects
and continu'd existence of posts and ferries, according to my
memory and observation. To consider these phsenomena of
the porter and letter in a certain light, they are contradictions
to common experience, and may be regarded as objections
to those maxims, which we form concerning the connexions
of causes and effects. I am accustom'd to hear such a sound,
and see such an object in motion at the same time. I have
not receiv'd in this particular instance both these perceptions. ^
These observations are contrary, unless I suppose that the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 197
door still remains, and that it was open'd without my per- Sect. IL
ceiving it : And this supposition, which was at first entirely ••
arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by J^^^^ ^^-^^
its being the only one, upon which I can reconcile these regard to
contradictions. There is scarce a moment of my life, wherein ' ■f^«'f"
there is not a similar instance presented to me, and I have ^
not occasion to suppose the continu'd existence of objects,
in order to connect their past and present appearances, and
give them such an union with each other, as I have found by
experience to be suitable to their particular natures and
circumstances. Here then I am naturally led to regard the
world, as something real and durable, and as preserving its
existence, even when it is no longer present to my percep-
tion.
But tho' this conclusion from the coherence of appear-
ances may seem to be of the same nature with our reasonings
concerning causes and effects ; as being deriv'd from custom,
and regulated by past experience ; we shall find upon
examination, that they are at the bottom considerably
different from each other, and that this inference arises from
the understanding, and from custom in an indirect and
oblique manner. For 'twill readily be allow'd, that since
nothing is ever really present to the mind, besides its own
perceptions, 'tis not only impossible, that any habit shou'd
ever be acquir'd otherwise than by the regular succession of
these perceptions, but also that any habit shou'd ever exceed
that degree of regularity. Any degree, therefore, of regularity
in our perceptions, can never be a foundation for us to infer
a greater degree of regularity in some objects, which are not
perceiv'd ; since this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit
acquir'd by what was never present to the mind. But 'tis
evident, that whenever we infer the continu'd existence of
the objects of sense from their coherence, and the frequency
of their union, 'tis in order to bestow on the objects a greater
regularity than what is observ'd in our mere perceptions.
We remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects in their
198
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
ueptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
Part IV. past appearance to the senses, but are not able to observe this
connexion to be perfectly constant, since the turning about
of our head, or the shutting of our eyes is able to break it.
What then do we suppose in this case, but that these objects
still continue their usual connexion, notwithstanding their
apparent interruption, and that the irregular appearances are
join'd by something, of which we are insensible ? But as all
reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only from custom,
and custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions,
the extending of custom and reasoning beyond the per-
ceptions can never be the direct and natural effect of the
constant repetition and connexion, but must arise from the
co-operation of some other principles,
I have already^ observ'd, in examining the foundation of
mathematics, that the imagination, when set into any train
of thinking, is apt to continue, even when its object fails it,
and like a galley put in motion by the oars, carries on its
course without any new impulse. This I have assign'd for
the reason, why, after considering several loose standards of
equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed to
imagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation, as
is not liable to the least error or variation. The same
principle makes us easily entertain this opinion of the con-
tinu'd existence of body. Objects have a certain coherence
even as they appear to our senses ; but this coherence is
much greater and more uniform, if we suppose the objects
to have a condnu'd existence; and as the mind is once
in the train of observing an uniformity among objects,
it naturally continues, till it renders the uniformity as com-
pleat as possible. The simple supposition of their continu'd
existence suffices for this purpose, and gives us a notion of a
much greater regularity among objects, than what they have
when we look no farther than our senses.
But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am
afraid 'tis too weak to support alone so vast an edifice, as is
» Part II. sect. 4.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 1 99
that of the continu'd existence of all external bodies ; and Sect. 11
that we must join the constancy of their appearance to the ~**~.
coherence, in order to give a satisfactory account of that ctsm-wiih
opinion. As the explication of this will lead me into a con- regard to
siderable compass of very profound reasoning ; I think it
proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or
abridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its
parts in their full compass. This inference from the con- "^
stancy of our perceptions, like the precedent from their
coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the continu'd existence "^
of body, which is prior to that of its distinct existence, and
produces that latter principle.
When we have been accustom'd to observe a constancy in
certain impressions, and have found, that the perception of
the sun or ocean, for instance, returns upon us after an
absence or annihilation with like parts and in a like order, as
at its first appearance, we are not apt to regard these inter-
rupted perceptions as different, (which they really are) but
on the contrary consider them as individually the same, upon
account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of
their existence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes
us regard the first impression as annihilated, and the second
as newly created, we find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and
are involv'd in a kind of contradiction. In order to free
ourselves from this difficulty, we disguise, as much as
possible, the interruption, or rather remove it entirely, by
supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected
by a real existence, of which we are insensible. This sup-
position, or idea of continu'd existence, acquires a force and
vivacity from the memory of these broken impressions,
and from that propensity, which they give us, to suppose them
the same ; and according to the precedent reasoning, the
very essence of belief consists in the force and vivacity of /
the conception.
In order to justify this system, there are four things ^
requisite. First, To explain the principium individuationis.
20O A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. or principle of identity. Secojidly, Give a reason, why the
~~^ resemblance of our broken and interrupted perceptions
sceptical induces us to attribute an identity to them. Thirdly, Account
and other for that propensity, which this illusion gives, to unite these
^hilosothv ^''o''^^" appearances by a continu'd existence. Fourthly and
lastly, Explain that force and vivacity of conception, which
arises from the propensity.
First, As to the principle of individuation ; we may observe,
that the view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the
idea of identity. For in that proposition, an object is the
same with itself, if the idea express'd by the word, object, were
no ways distinguish'd from that meant by itself; we really
shou'd mean nothing, nor wou'd the proposition contain
a predicate and a subject, which however are imply'd in this
affirmation. • One single object conveys the idea of unity, not
that of identity.
On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never
convey this idea, however resembling they may be suppos'd.
The mind always pronounces the one not to be the other,
and considers them as forming two, three, or any determinate
number of objects, whose existences are entirely distinct and
independent.
Since then both number and unity are incompatible with
the relation of identity, it must lie in something that is neither
of them. But to tell the truth, at first sight this seems utterly
impossible. Betwixt unity and number there can be no
medium; no more than betwixt existence and non-existence.
After one object is suppos'd to exist, we must either suppose
another also to exist; in which case we have the idea of
number: Or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case
the first object remains at unity.
To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea
"~-^ of time or duration. 1 have already observ'd \ that time, in
a strict sense, implies succession, and that when we apply its
idea to any unchangeable object, 'tis only by a fiction of the
' Part II. sect. 5.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 20l
imagination, by which the unchangeable object is suppos'd Sect. II.
to participate of the changes of the co-existent objects, and «» ■
in particular of that of our perceptions. This fiction of the ^f ^^'P^}-
• • • • 11 1 "■^^^ with
imagination almost universally takes place ; and tis by regard to
means of it, that a single object, plac'd before us, and ^^^ senses.
survey 'd for any time without our discovering in it any in-
terruption or variation, is able to give us a notion of identity, v
For when we consider any two points of this time, we may
place them in different lights : We may either survey them
at the very same instant; in which case they give us the
idea of number, both by themselves and by the object ; which
must be multiply'd, in order to be conceiv'd at once, as
existent in these two different points of time : Or on the
other hand, we may trace the succession of time by a like
succession of ideas, and conceiving first one moment, along
with the object then existent, imagine afterwards a change
in the time without any variation or interruption in the
object; in which case it gives us the idea of unity. Here
then is an idea, which is a medium betwixt unity and number;
or more properly speaking, is either of them, according
to the view, in which we take it : And this idea we call that
of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech, say,
that an object is the same with itself, unless we mean, that
the object existent at one time is the same with itself existent
at another. By this means we make a difference, betwixt
the idea meant by the word, object, and that meant by itself,
without going the length of number, and at the same time
without restraining ourselves to a strict and absolute unity.
Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the
invariableness and uninterruptedness of any object, thro' a
suppos'd variation of time, by which the mind can trace
it in the different periods of its existence, without any break
of the view, and without being oblig'd to form the idea of -^
multiplicity or number.
I now proceed to explain the second part of my system,
and shew why the constancy of our perceptions makes us
202 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. ascribe to them a perfect numerical identity, tho' there
•• be very long intervals betwixt their appearance, and they
sLttical ^'^^^ only one of the essential qualities of identity, viz.
and other invariableness. That I may avoid all ambiguity and confusion
sysiems of ^^ ^j^jg j^g^d, I shall observe, that I here account for the
philosophy. . ' ' .
opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence
of body; and therefore must entirely conform myself to their
manner of thinking and of expressing themselves. Now we
have already observ'd, that however philosophers may dis-
tinguish betwixt the objects and perceptions of the senses;
which they suppose co-existent and resembling; yet this is
a distinction, which is not comprehended by the generality
of mankind, who as they perceive only one being, can never
assent to the opinion of a double existence and representation.
Those very sensations, which enter by the eye or ear, are
with them the true objects, nor can they readily conceive that
this pen or paper, which is immediately perceiv'd, represents
another, which is different from, but resembling it. In order,
therefore, to accommodate myself to their notions, I shall at
first suppose; that there is only a single existence, which
I shall call indifferently object or perception^ according as it
shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by both
of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or
stone, or any other impression, convey'd to him by his senses.
I shall be sure to give warning, when I return to a more
philosophical way of speaking and thinking.
To enter, therefore, upon the question concerning the
source of the error and deception with regard to identity,
when we attribute it to our resembling perceptions, notwith-
standing their interruption ; I must here recall an observa-
tion, which I have already prov'd and explain'd *. Nothing
is more apt to make us mistake one idea for another, than
any relation betwixt them, which associates them together in
the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to
the other. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this
» Part II. sect. 5.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 203
respect the most efficacious ; and that because it not only Sect. IL
causes an association of ideas, but also of dispositions, and "
makes us conceive the one idea by an act or operation cfsmwit'k
of the mind, similar to that by which we conceive the other, regard to
This circumstance I have observ'd to be of great moment ; '* "*^^"-
and we may establish it for a general rule, that whatever
ideas place the mind in the same disposition or in similar
ones, are very apt to be confounded. The mind readily
passes from one to the other, and perceives not the change
without a strict attention, of which, generally speaking, 'tis
wholly incapable.
In order to apply this general maxim, we must first
examine the disposition of the mind in viewing any object
which preserves a perfect identity, and then find some other
object, that is confounded with it, by causing a similar dis-
position. When we fix our thought on any object, and
suppose it to continue the same for some time ; 'tis evident
we suppose the change to lie only in the time, and never
exert ourselves to produce any new image or idea of the
object. The faculties of the mind repose themselves in
a manner, and take no more exercise, than what is necessary
to continue that idea, of which we were formerly possest, and
which subsists without variation or interruption. The pas-
sage from one moment to another is scarce felt, and disdn-
guishes not itself by a different perception or idea, which
may require a diff"erent direction of the spirits, in order to its
conception.
Now what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable
of placing the mind in the same disposition, when it con-
siders them, and of causing the same uninterrupted passage
of the imagination from one idea to another? This question
is of the last importance. For if we can find any such
objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing prin-
ciple, that they are very naturally confounded with identical
ones, and are taken for them in most of our reasonings.
But tho' this question be very important, 'tis not verv
204 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. difficult nor doubtful. For I immediately reply, that a
** succession of related objects places the mind in this disposi-
sceptical tion, and is consider'd with the same smooth and uninter-
and other rupted progress of the imagination, as attends the view of
philosophy. ^^ same invariable object. The very nature and essence
of relation is to connect our ideas with each other, and
upon the appearance of one, to facilitate the transition to its
correlative. The passage betwixt related ideas is, therefore,
so smooth and easy, that it produces little alteration on the
mind, and seems like the continuation of the same action ;
and as the continuation of the same action is an effect of the
continu'd view of the same object, 'tis for this reason we
attribute sameness to every succession of related objects.
The thought slides along the succession with equal facility,
as if it consider'd only one object ; and therefore confounds
the succession with the identity.
We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of
relation to make us ascribe an identity to different objects ; but
shall here confine ourselves to the present subject. We find by
experience, that there is such a cotistancy in almost all the
impressions of the senses, that their interruption produces no
alteration on them, and hinders them not from returning the
same in appearance and in situation as at their first existence.
I survey the furniture of my chamber ; I shut my eyes, and
afterwards open them ; and find the new perceptions to re-
semble perfectly those, which formerly struck my senses. This
resemblance is observ'd in a thousand instances, and naturally
connects together our ideas of these interrupted perceptions
by the strongest relation, and conveys the mind with an easy
transition from one to another. An easy transition or pas-
sage of the imagination, along the ideas of these different
and interrupted perceptions, is almost the same disposition of
mind with that in which we consider one constant and un-
interrupted perception. 'Tis therefore very natural for us to
mistake the one for the other \
' This reasoning, it must be confest, is somewhat abstruse, and diffi-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 205
The persons, who entertain this opinion concerning the Sect. II.
identity of our resembling perceptions, are in general all the "
unthinking and unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all clsmwith
of us, at one time or other) and consequently such as suppose regard to
their perceptions to be their only objects, and never think of ^ ^"""-
a double existence internal and external, representing and
represented. The very image, which is present to the senses,
is with us the real body; and 'tis to these interrupted images
we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the
appearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally
leads us to regard these resembling perceptions as different
from each other, we here find ourselves at a loss how to
reconcile such opposite opinions. The smooth passage of
the imagination along the ideas of the resembling perceptions
makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The interrupted
manner of their appearance makes us consider them as
so many resembling, but still distinct beings, which appear
after certain intervals. The perplexity arising from this
contradiction produces a propension to unite these broken
appearances by the fiction of a continu'd existence, which is
the third part of that hypothesis I propos'd to explain.
Nothing is more certain from experience, than that any
contradiction either to the sentiments or passions gives a
sensible uneasiness, whether it proceeds from without or
from within ; from the opposition of external objects, or
from the combat of internal principles. On the contrary,
whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and either
externally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs
cult to be comprehended ; but it is remarkable, that this very difficulty
may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. We may observe, that
there are two relations, and both of them resemblances, which contribute
to our mistaking the succession of our interrupted perceptions for an
identical object. The first is, the resemblance of the perceptions : The
second is the resemblance, which the act of the mind in surveying a suc-
cession of resembling objects bears to that in surveying an identical
object. Now these resemblances we are apt to confound with each
other ; and 'tis natural we shou'd, according to this very reasoning.
But let us keep them distinct, and we shall find no difficulty in conceiv-
ing the precedent argument.
H
2o6
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
\\
Part IV. with their movements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure.
Now there being here an opposition betwixt the notion of
the identity of resembling perceptions, and the interruption
of their appearance, the mind must be uneasy in that
situation, and will naturally seek relief from the uneasiness.
Since the uneasiness arises from the opposition of two con-
trary principles, it must look for relief by sacrificing the one
to the other. But as the smooth passage of our thought
along our resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them
an identity, we can never without reluctance yield up that
opinion. We must, therefore, turn to the other side, and
suppose that our perceptions are no longer interrupted, but
preserve a continu'd as well as an invariable existence, and
are by that means entirely the same. But here the inter-
ruptions in the appearance of these perceptions are so long
and frequent, that 'tis impossible to overlook them ; and as
the appearance of a perception in the mind and its existence.
seem at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted,
whether we can ever assent to so palpable a contradiction,
and suppose a perception to exist without being present to
the mind. In order to clear up this matter, and learn how
the interruption in the appearance of a perception implies
not necessarily an interruption in its existence, 'twill be
proper to touch upon some principles, which we shall have
occasion to explain more fully afterwards '.
We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the
present case is not concerning the matter of fact, or whether
the mind forms such a conclusion concerning the continu'd
existence of its perceptions, but only concerning the manner
in which the conclusion is form'd, and principles from which
it is deriv'd. 'Tis certain, that almost all mankind, and even
philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of their lives,
take their perceptions to be their only objects, and suppose,
that the very being, which is intimately present to the mind,
is the real body or material existence. 'Tis also certain, that
» Sect. 6.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 207
this very perception or object is suppos'd to have a con- Sect. II.
tinu'd uninterrupted being, and neither to be annihilated by "
our absence, nor to be brought into existence by our presence, cismwith
When we are absent from it, we say it still exists, but that regard to
we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are present, we ^ ' ^^"■^'^
say we feel, or see it. Here then may arise two questions ;
First, How we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a per-
ception to be absent from the mind without being annihilated.
Secondly, After what manner we conceive an object to become
present to the mind, without some new creation of a percep-
tion or image ; and what we mean by this seeing, 2x1^ feeling ,
and perceiving.
As to the first question; we may observe, that what we
call a mind, is nothing but a heap or collection of different /y
perceptions, united together by certain relations, and sup-
pos'd, tho' falsely, to be endow'd with a perfect simplicity and
identity. Now as every perception is distinguishable from
another, and may be consider'd as separately existent ; it
evidently follows, that there is no absurdity in separating any
particular perception from the mind ; that is, in brealdng off
all its relations, with that connected mass of perceptions,
which constitute a thinking being.
The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second
question. If the name oi perception renders not this separation
from a mind absurd and contradictory, the name of object,
standing for the very same thing, can never render their con-
junction impossible. External objects are seen, and lelt,
and become present to the mind ; that is, they acquire such
a relation to a connected heap of perceptions, as to in-
fluence them very considerably in augmenting their number
by present reflexions and passions, and in storing the
memory with ideas. The same continu'd and uninterrupted
Being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the mind, and
sometimes absent from it, without any real or essential
change in the Being itself An interrupted appearance to
the senses implies not necessarily an interruption in the
208 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. existence. The supposition of the continu'd existence of
Of~the~ ^^"sible objects or perceptions involves no contradiction.
sceptical We may easily indulge our inclination to that supposition.
and other When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us
systems of • j • r r
philosophy, ^scribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming
interruption by feigning a continu'd being, which may fill
those intervals, and preserve a perfect and entire identity to
our perceptions.
But as we here not only feign but believe this continu'd
existence, the question is, fro7n whence arises such a belief;
and this question leads us to the fourth member of this
system. It has been prov'd already, that belief in general
consists in nothing, but the vivacity of an idea ; and that an
idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation to some present
impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid percep-
tions of the mind ; and this quality is in part convey'd by
the relation to every connected idea. The relation causes a
smooth passage from the impression to the idea, and even
gives a propensity to that passage. The mind falls so easily
from the one perception to the other, that it scarce perceives
the change, but retains in the second a considerable share of
the vivacity of the first. It is excited by the lively impression ;
and this vivacity is convey'd to the related idea, without any
great diminution in the passage, by reason of the smooth
transition and the propensity of the imagination.
But suppose, that this propensity arises from some other
principle, besides that of relation ; 'tis evident it must still
have the same effect, and convey the vivacity from the impres-
sion to the idea. Now this is exactly the present case. Our
memory presents us with a vast number of instances of
perceptions perfectly resembling each other, that return at
different distances of time, and after considerable interruptions.
This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these
interrupted perceptions as the same ; and also a propension
to connect them by a continu'd existence, in order to justify
this identity, and avoid the contradiction, in which the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 209
interrupted appearance of these perceptions seems necessarily Shct. II.
to involve us. Here then we have a propensity to feign the ^f"^.
continu'd existence of all sensible objects ; and as this pro- ^sm with
j^pensity arises from some lively impressions of the memory, regard io
(/ it bestows a vivacity on that fiction ; or in other words,
makes us believe the continu'd existence of body. If some-
times we ascribe a continu'd existence to objects, which are
perfectly new to us, and of whose constancy and coherence
we have no experience, 'tis because the manner, in which
they present themselves to our senses, resembles that of con-
stant and coherent objects ; and this resemblance is a source
of reasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the same
qualities to the similar objects.
I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to
assent to this system, than to comprehend it fully and dis-
tinctly, and will allow, after a little reflection, that every part
carries its own proof along with it. 'Tis indeed evident, that
as the vulgar suppose their perceptions to be their only objects,
and at the same time believe the continu'd existence of matter,
we must account for the origin of the belief upon that sup- , ^
position. Now upon that supposition, 'tis a false opinion
that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically the /
same after an interruption ; and consequently the opinion of
their identity can never arise from reason, but must arise from '^
the imagination. The imagination is seduc'd into such an
opinion only by means of the resemblance of certain percep-
tions ; since we find they are only our resembling perceptions,
which we have a propension to suppose the same. This
propension to bestow an identity on our resembling percep- \r
tions, produces the fiction of a continu'd existence ; since
that fiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is
acknowledg'd by all philosophers, and has no other eff"ect
than to remedy the interruption of our perceptions^ which is
the only circumstance that is contrary to their identity. In
the last place this propension causes belief by means of the
present impressions of the memory; since without the
t
2IO
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Part IV.
«♦
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
fhilosophy.
remembrance of former sensations, 'tis plain we never shou'd
have any belief of the continu'd existence of body. Thus
in examining all these parts, we find that each of them is
supported by the strongest proofs; and that all of them
together form a consistent system, which is perfectly con-
vincing. A strong propensity or inclination alone, without
any present impression, wil' sometimes cause a belief or
opinion. How much more when aided by that circum-
stance ?
But tho' v/e are led after this manner, by the natural
propensity of the imagination, to ascribe a continu'd existence
to those sensible objects or perceptions, which we find to
resemble each other in their interrupted appearance; yet
a very little reflection and philosophy is sufficient to make
us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have already
observ'd, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those
two principles, of a continu'd and of a distinct or independent
existence, and that we no sooner establish the one than
the other follows, as a necessary consequence. 'Tis the
opinion of a continu'd existence, which first takes place,
and without much study or reflection draws the other along
with it, wherever the mind follows its first and most natural
tendency. But when we compare experiments, and reason
a little upon them, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine of
the independent existence of our sensible perceptions is
contrary to the plainest experience. This leads us back-
ward upon our footsteps to perceive our error in attributing
a continu'd existence to our perceptions, and is the origin of
many very curious opinions, which we shall here endeavour
to account for.
'Twill first be proper to observe a few of those experiments,
which convince us, that our perceptions are not possest of
any independent existence. When we press one eye with
a finger, we immediately perceive all the objects to become
double, and one half of them to be remov'd from their
common and natural position. But as we do not attribute
BooKl. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 211
a continu'd existence to both these perceptions, and as they Sect. II
are both of the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our "
perceptions are dependent on our organs, and the disposition cismwitk
of our nerves and animal spirits. This opinion is confirm 'd regard to
by the seeming encrease and diminution of objects, according "^ •*■''""
to their distance; by the apparent alterations in their figure;
by the changes in their colour and other qualities from our
sickness and distempers ; and by an infinite number of other
experiments of the same kind ; from all which we learn, that
our sensible perceptions are not possest of any distinct or "^
independent existence.
The natural consequence of this reasoning shou'd be,
that our perceptions have no more a continu'd than an in-
dependent existence ; and indeed philosophers have so far
run into this opinion, that they change their system, and
distinguish, (as we shall do for the future) betwixt perceptions
and objects, of which the former are suppos'd to be inter-
rupted, and perishing, and different at every different return ;
the latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continu'd
existence and identity. But however philosophical this new
system may be esteem'd, I assert that 'tis only a palliative
remedy, and that it contains all the difficulties of the vulgar
system, with some others, that are peculiar to itself. There
are no principles either of the understanding or fancy, which
lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double
existence of perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at
it but by passing thro' the common hypothesis of the identity
and continuance of our interrupted perceptions. Were we
not first perswaded, that our perceptions are our only objects,
and continue to exist even when they no longer make their
appearance to the senses, we shou'd never be led to think,
that our perceptions and objects are different, and that
our objects alone preserve a continu'd existence. 'The
latter hypothesis has no primary recommendation either to
reason or the imagination, but acquires all its influence on
the imagination from the former.' This proposition contains
^
212 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. two parts, which we shall endeavour to prove as distinctly
•• and clearly, as such abstruse subjects will permit.
sceptical -^^ ^'^ ^^^ ^""^^ P^^*- °^ ^^ proposition, that this philosophical
and other hypothesis has no primary reconimeJidation, either to reason or
%h'lTs^th ^^^ imagination, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to
reason by the following reflections. The only existences, of
which we are certain, are perceptions, which being imme-
diately present to us by consciousness, command our strongest
assent, and are the first foundation of all our conclusions.
The only conclusion we can draw from the existence of
one thing to that of another, is by means of the relation
of cause and effect, which shews, that there is a connexion
betwixt them, and that the existence of one is dependent on
that of the other. The idea of this relation is deriv'd from
past experience, by which we find, that two beings are
constantly conjoin'd together, and are always present at once
to the mind. But as no beings are ever present to the mind
but perceptions; it follows that we may observe a conjunction
or a relation of cause and effect between different perceptions,
but can never observe it between perceptions and objects.
'Tis impossible, therefore, that from the existence or any of
the qualities of the former, we can ever form any conclusion
concerning the existence of the latter, or ever satisfy our
reason in this particular.
'Tis no less certain, that this philosophical system has no
primary recommendation to the imagination, and that that
faculty wou'd never, of itself, and by its original tendency,
have fallen upon such a principle. I confess it will be some-
what difficult to prove this to the full satisfaction of the
reader ; because it implies a negative, which in many cases
will not admit of any positive proof. If any one wou'd
take the pains to examine this question, and wou'd invent
a system, to account for the direct origin of this opinion from
the imagination, we shou'd be able, by the examination of
that system, to pronounce a certain judgment in the present
subject. Let it be taken for granted, that our pcrceulions
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 213
are broken, and interrupted, and however like, are still Sect. IL
different from each other ; and let any one upon this ♦* ~
supposition shew why the fancy, directly and immediately, Jj"^ii\
proceeds to the belief of another existence, resembling these regard to
perceptions in their nature, but yet continu'd, and uninter- ' ««J«
rupted, and identical; and after he has done this to my
satisfaction, I promise to renounce my present opinion.
Mean while I cannot forbear concluding, from the very
abstractedness and difficulty of the first supposition, that
'tis an improper subject for the fancy to work upon. Who-
ever wou'd explain the origin of the comvion opinion concern-
ing the continu'd and distinct existence of body, must take
the mind in its common situation, and must proceed upon the
supposition, that our perceptions are our only objects, and
continue to exist even when they are not perceiv'd. Tho'
this opinion be false, 'tis the most natural of any, and has
alone any primary recommendation to the fancy.
As to the second part of the proposition, that the philo-
sophical system acquires all its influence on the imagitiation
from the vulgar one ; we may observe, that this is a natural
and unavoidable consequence of the foregoing conclusion,
that it has no primary recommendation to reason or the
imagination. For as the philosophical system is found by
experience to take hold of many minds, and in particular of
all those, who reflect ever so little on this subject, it must
derive all its authority from the vulgar system ; since it has
no original authority of its own. The manner, in which
these two systems, tho' directly contrary, are connected
together, may be explain'd, as follows.
The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking.
Our perceptions are our only objects: Resembling per-
ceptions are the same, however broken or uninterrupted in
their appearance : This appearing interruption is contrary to
the identity : The interruption consequently extends not
beyond the appearance, and the perception or object really
continues to exist, even when absent from us : Our sensible
2T4
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
thilosophy.
Part IV. perceptions have, therefore, a continu'd and uninterrupted
existence. But as a little reflection destroys this conclusion,
that our perceptions have a continu'd existence, by shewing
that they have a dependent one, 'twou'd naturally be ex-
pected, that we must altogether reject the opinion, that there
is such a thing in nature as a continu'd existence, which
is preserv'd even when it no longer appears to the senses.
The case, however, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far
from rejecting the opinion of a continu'd existence upon
rejecting that of the independence and continuance of our
sensible perceptions, that tho' all sects agree in the latter
sentiment, the former, which is, in a manner, its necessary
consequence, has been peculiar to a few extravagant sceptics;
who after all maintain'd that opinion in words only, and were
never able to bring themselves sincerely to believe it.
There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we
form after a calm and profound reflection, and such as we
embrace by a kind of instinct or natural impulse, on account
of their suitableness and conformity to the mind. If these
opinions become contrary, 'tis not difficult to foresee which
of them will have the advantage. As long as our attention
is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and study'd
principle may prevail ; but the moment we relax our thoughts,
nature will display herself, and draw us back to our former
opinion. Nay she has sometimes such an influence, that she
can stop our progress, even in the midst of our most pro-
found reflections, and keep us from running on with all the
consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus tho'
we clearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our
perceptions, we stop short in our carreer, and never upon
that account reject the notion of an independent and continu'd
existence. That opinion has taken such deep root in the
imagination, that 'tis impossible ever to eradicate it, nor will
any strain'd metaphysical conviction of the dependence of
our perceptions be sufficient for that purpose.
But tho' our natural and obvious principles here prevail
BooKl. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 215
above our study'd reflections, 'tis certain there must be some Sect. II.
struggle and opposition in the case; at least so long as these - ♦♦ -
reflections retain any force or vivacity. In order to set our- Js^"^[]\
selves at ease in this particular, we contrive a new hypothesis, regard to
which seems to comprehend both these principles of reason ^^*"^i'
and imagination. This hypothesis is the philosophical one
of the double existence of perceptions and objects; which
pleases our reason, in allowing, that our dependent percep-
tions are interrupted and different ; and at the same time is
agreeable to the imagination, in attributing a continu'd exist-
ence to something else, which we call objects. This philo-
sophical system, therefore, is the monstrous offspring of two
principles, which are contrary to each other, which are both
at once embrac'd by the mind, and which are unable mutu-
ally to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, that
our resembling perceptions have a continu'd and uninter-
rupted existence, and are not annihilated by their absence.
Reflection tells us, that even our resembling perceptions are
interrupted in their existence, and different from each other.
The contradiction betwixt these opinions we elude by a new
fiction, which is conformable to the hypotheses both of re-
flection and fancy, by ascribing these contrary quahties to
different existences ; the interruption to perceptions, and the
continutifice to objects. Nature is obstinate, and will not
quit the field, however strongly attack'd by reason; and at
the same time reason is so clear in the point, that there is
no possibility of disguising her. Not being able to reconcile
these two enemies, we endeavour to set ourselves at ease
as much as possible, by successively granting to each what-
ever it demands, and by feigning a double existence, where
each may find something, that has all the conditions it
desires. Were we fully convinc'd, that our resembling per-
ceptions are continu'd, and identical, and independent, we
shou'd never run into this opinion of a double existence ;
since we shou'd find satisfaction in our first supposition, and
wou'd not look, beyond. Again, were we fully convinc'd.
2l6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. that our perceptions are dependent, and interrupted, and
" different, we shou'd be as little inclin'd to embrace the
sceptical Opinion of a double existence ; since in that case we shou'd
and other clearly perceive the error of our first supposition of a con-
^Philosoiiv ^'^^'*^ existence, and wou'd never regard it any farther.
'Tis therefore from the intermediate situation of the mind,
that this opinion arises, and from such an adherence to these
two contrary principles, as makes us seek some pretext to
justify our receiving both ; which happily at last is found in
the system of a double existence.
Another advantage of this philosophical system is its
similarity to the vulgar one ; by which means we can
humour our reason for a moment, when it becomes trouble-
some and sollicitous ; and yet upon its least negligence
or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural
notions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect
not this advantage ; but immediately upon leaving their
closets, mingle with the rest of mankind in those exploded
opinions, that our perceptions are our only objects, and
continue identically and uninterruptedly the same in all
their interrupted appearances.
There are other particulars of this system, wherein we
may remark its dependence on the fancy, in a very con-
spicuous manner. Of these, I shall observe the two following.
First, We suppose external objects to resemble internal
perceptions. I have already shewn, that the relation of
cause and effect can never afford us any just conclusion
from the existence or qualities of our perceptions to the
existence of external continu'd objects : And I shall farther
add, that even tho' they cou'd afford such a conclusion, we
shou'd never have any reason to infer, that our objects
resemble our perceptions. That opinion, therefore, is deriv'd
from nothing but the quality of the fancy above-explain'd,
thai it borrows all its ideas from some precedent perception.
We never can conceive any thing but perceptions, and
therefore must make every thing resemble them.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 21 7
Secondly, As we suppose our objects in general to Sect. II.
resemble our perceptions, so we take it for granted, that " '
every particular object resembles that perception, which it ctsmwith
causes. The relation of cause and effect determines us to regard to
join the other of resemblance ; - and the ideas of these ^^^ senses.
existences being already united together in the fancy by
the former relation, we naturally add the latter to com pleat
the union. We have a strong propensity to compleat every
union by joining new relations to those which we have
before observ'd betwixt any ideas, as we shall have occasion
to observe presently ^
Having thus given an account of all the systems both
popular and philosophical, with regard to external existences,
I cannot forbear giving vent to a certain sentiment, which
arises upon reviewing those systems. I begun this subject
with premising, that we ought to have an implicit faith
in our senses, and that this wou'd be the conclusion, I shou'd
draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be in-
genuous, I feel mysdi at present o^ a quite contrary sentiment,
and am more inclin'd to repose no faith at all in my senses,
or rather imagination, than to place in it such an implicit
confidence. I cannot conceive how such trivial qualities
of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions, can
ever lead to any solid and rational system. They are the
coherence and constancy of our perceptions, which produce
the opinion of their continu'd existence ; tho' these qualities
of perceptions have no perceivable connexion with such
an existence. The constancy of our perceptions has the
most considerable effect, and yet is attended with the greatest
difficulties. 'Tis a gross illusion to suppose, that our re-
sembling perceptions are numerically the same ; and 'tis
this illusion, which leads us into the opinion, that these
perceptions are uninterrupted, and are still existent, even
when they are not present to the senses. This is the case
with our popular system. And as to our philosophical one,
» Sect. 5.
2l8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. 'tis liable to the same difficulties ; and is over-and-above
'• loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and
sceptical establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our
and other resembling perceptions to be identically the same, and
^thilosothv ui^^J^terrupted ; and yet have so great a propensity to believe
them such, that they arbitrarily invent a new set of per-
ceptions, to which they attribute these qualities. I say, a
new set of perceptions : For we may well suppose in general,
but 'tis impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to
be in their nature any thing but exactly the same with
perceptions. What then can we look for from this confusion
of groundless and extraordinary opinions but error and
falshood? And how can we justify to ourselves any belief
we repose in them ?
This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the
senses, is a malady, which can never be radically cur'd,
but must return upon us every moment, however we may
chace it away, and sometimes may seem entirely free from
it. 'Tis impossible upon any system to defend either our
understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther
when we endeavour to justify them in that manner. As
the sceptical doubt arises naturally from a profound and
intense reflection on those subjects, it always encieases,
the farther we carry our reflections, whether in opposition
or conformity to it. Carelessness and in-attention alone can
afford us any remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon
them ; and take it for granted, whatever may be the reader's
opinion at this present moment, that an hour hence he will
be persuaded there is both an external and internal world ;
and going upon that supposition, I intend to examine some
general systems both ancient and modern, which have been
propos'd of both, before I proceed to a more particular
enquiry concerning our impressions. This will not, perhaps,
in the end be found foreign to our present purpose.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 219
Sect. Ill
SECTION III. -^*-
O/tJie
Of the anli'eni philosophy. antient
■' Jr- r y philosophy
Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent
method of becoming acquainted with our own hearts, and
knowing our progress in virtue, to recollect our dreams in a
morning, and examine them with the same rigour, that we
wou'd our most serious and most deliberate actions. Our
character is the same throughout, say they, and appears best
where artifice, fear, and policy have no place, and men can
neither be hypocrites with themselves nor others. The
generosity, or baseness of our temper, our meekness or
cruelty, our courage or pusilanimity, influence the fictions
of the imagination with the most unbounded liberty, and
discover themselves in the most glaring colours. In like
manner, I am persuaded, there might be several useful dis-
coveries made from a criticism of the fictions of the antient
philosophy, concerning substances, and substantial forms, and
accidents, and occult qualities ; which, however unreasonable
and capricious, have a very intimate connexion with the
principles of human nature.
'Tis confest by the most judicious philosophers, that our
ideas of bodies are nothing but collections form'd by the
mind of the ideas of the several distinct sensible qualities, of
which objects are compos'd, and which we find to have a
constant union with each other. But however these qualities
may in themselves be entirely distinct, 'tis certain we
commonly regard the compound, which they form, as One
thing, and as continuing the Same under very considerable
alterations. The acknowledg'd composition is evidently
contrary to this suppos'd simplicity, and the variation to the
identity. It may, therefore, be worth while to consider the
causes, which make us almost universally fall into such
evident contradictions, as well as the means by which we
endeavour to conceal them.
220 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV, 'Tis evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct
** ' successive qualities of objects are united together by a very
sceptical close relation, the mind, in looking along the succession,
and other must be carry'd from one part of it to another by an easy
^thilTsophy transition, and will no more perceive the change, than if it
contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy
transition is the effect, or rather essence of relation ; and as
the imagination readily takes one idea for another, where
their influence on the mind is similar ; hence it proceeds, that
any such succession of related qualities is readily consider'd
as one continu'd object, existing without any variation. The
smooth and uninterrupted progress of the thought, being alike
in both cases, readily deceives the mind, and makes us ascribe
an identity to the changeable succession of connected qualities.
But when we alter our method of considering the succes-
sion, and instead of tracing it gradually thro' the successive
points of time, survey at once any two distinct periods of its
duration, and compare the diiferent conditions of the succes-
sive qualities ; in that case the variations, which were
insensible when they arose gradually, do now appear of con-
sequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. By
this means there arises a kind of contrariety in our method
of thinking, from the different points of view, in which we
survey the object, and from the nearness or remoteness of
those instants of time, which we compare together. When
we gradually follow an object in its successive changes, the
smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe an identity
to the succession ; because 'tis by a similar act of the mind
we consider an unchangeable object. When w'e compare its
situation after a considerable change the progress of the
thought is broke ; and consequently we are presented with
the idea of diversity : In order to reconcile which contradic-
tions the imagination is apt to feign something unknown and
invisible, which it supposes to continue the same under all
these variations ; and this unintelligible something it calls a
substance, or original and first matter.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 221
We entertain a like notion with regard to the simplicity of Sect. III.
substances, and from like causes. Suppose an object per- ' **
fectly simple and indivisible to be presented, along with antient
another object, whose co-existent parts are connected together philosophy
by a strong relation, 'tis evident the actions of the mind, in
considering these two objects, are not very different. The
imagination conceives the simple object at once, with facility,
by a single effort of thought, without change or variation.
The connexion of parts in the compound object has almost
the same effect, and so unites the object within itself, that
the fancy feels not the transition in passing from one part to
another. Hence the colour, taste, figure, solidity, and other
qualities, combin'd in a peach or melon, are conceiv'd to form
one thing; and that on account of their close relation, which
makes them affect the thought in the same manner, as if
perfectly uncompounded. But the mind rests not here.
Whenever it views the object in another light, it finds that all
these qualities are different, and distinguishable, and separ-
able from each other ; which view of things being destructive
of its primary and more natural notions, obliges the imagina-
tion to feign an unknown something, or original substance
and matter, as a principle of union or cohesion among these
qualities, and as what may give the compound object a title
to be call'd one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and
composition.
The peripatetic philosophy asserts the original matter to
be perfectly homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire,
water, earth, and air, as of the very same substance ; on
account of thei^ gradual revolutions and changes into each
other. At the same time it assigns to each of these species
of objects a distinct substantial form, which it supposes to be
the source of all those different qualities they possess, and to
be a new foundation of simplicity and identity to each par-
ticular species. All depends on our manner of viewing the
objects. When we look along the insensible changes of
bodies, we suppose all of them to be of the same substance
222 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. or essence. When we consider their sensible differences, we
" attribute to each of them a substantial and essential difference.
sceptical ^"^ ^^ order to indulge ourselves in both these ways of con-
and other sidcring our objects, we suppose all bodies to have at once
^IL'illlfh,. ^ substance and a substantial form.
philosophy.
The notion of accidents is an unavoidable consequence of
this method of thinking with regard to substances and sub-
stantial forms ; nor can we forbear looking upon colours,
sounds, tastes, figures, and other properties of bodies, as
existences, which cannot subsist apart, but require a subject
of inhesion to sustain and support them. For having never
discover'd any of these sensible qualities, where, for the
reasons above-mention'd, we did not likewise fancy a sub-
stance to exist ; the same habit, which makes us infer a
connexion betwixt cause and effect, makes us here infer
a dependance of every quality on the unknown substance.
The custom of imagining a dependance has the same effect
as the custom of observing it wou'd have. This conceit,
however, is no more reasonable than any of the foregoing.
Every quality being a distinct thing from another, may be
conceiv'd to exist apart, and may exist apart, not only from
every other quality, but from that unintelligible chimera of
a substance.
But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in
their sentiments concerning ocailt qualities, and both suppose
a substance supporting, which they do not understand, and
an accident supported, of which they have as imperfect an
idea. The whole system, therefore, is entirely incompre-
hensible, and yet is deriv'd from principles as natural as any
of these above-explain'd.
In considering this subject we may observe a gradation of
three opinions, that rise above each other, according as the
persons, who form them, acquire new degrees of reason and
knowledge. These opinions are that of the vulgar, that of a
false philosophy, and that of the true; where we shall find
upon enquiry, that the true philosophy approaches nearer to
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING, 223
the sentiments of the vulgar, than to those of a mistaken Sect. TIL
knowledge. 'Tis natural for men, in their common and ^ " ,** "
careless way 01 thmkmg, to imagme they perceive a con- antient
nexion betwixt such objects as they have constantly found /''"''^^^/^i'
united together ; and because custom has render'd it difficult
to separate the ideas, they are apt to fancy such a separation
to be in itself impossible and absurd. But philosophers, who
abstract from the effects of custom, and compare the ideas of
objects, immediately perceive the falshood of these vulgar
sentiments, and discover that there is no known connexion
among objects. Every different object appears to them
entirely distinct and separate ; and they perceive, that 'tis not
from a view of the nature and qualities of objects we infer
one from another, but only when in several instances we
observe them to have been constantly conjoin'd. But these
philosophers, instead of drawing a just inference from this
observation, and concluding, that we have no idea of power
or agency, separate from the mind, and belonging to causes ;
I say, instead of drawing this conclusion, they frequently
search for the qualities, in which this agency consists, and
are displeased with every system, which their reason suggests
to them, in order to explain it. They have sufficient force
of genius to free them from the vulgar error, that there is
a natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several
sensible qualities and actions of matter ; but not sufficient to
keep them from ever seeking for this connexion in matter, or
causes. Had they fallen upon the just conclusion, they
wou'd have return'd back to the situation of the vulgar, and
wou'd have regarded all these disquisitions with indolence
and indifference. At present they seem to be in a very
lamentable condition, and such as the poets have given us
but a faint notion of in their descriptions of the punishment
of Sisyphus and Tantalus. For what can be imagin'd more
tormenting, than to seek with eagerness, what for ever flies
us; and seek for it in a place, where 'tis impossible it can
ever exist }
224 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. But as nature seems to have observ'd a kind of justice and
•• compensation in every thing, she has not neglected philo-
scettical sophcrs more than the rest of the creation ; but has reserv'd
and other them a consolation amid all their disappointments and aflElic-
^trT'^i^i t'o^s- This consolation principally consists in their invention
of the words /acuUy and occult quality. For it being usual,
after the frequent use of terms, which are really significant
and intelligible, to omit the idea, which we wou'd express by
them, and to preserve only the custom, by which we recal
the idea at pleasure ; so it naturally happens, that after the
frequent use of terms, which are wholly insignificant and
unintelligible, we fancy them to be on the same footing with
the precedent, and to have a secret meaning, which we might
discover by reflection. The resemblance of their appearance
deceives the mind, as is usual, and makes us imagine a
thorough resemblance and conformity. By this means these
philosophers set themselves at ease, and arrive at last, by an
illusion, at the same indifference, which the people attain by
their stupidity, and true philosophers by their moderate
scepticism. They need only say, that any phoenomenon,
which puzzles them, arises from a faculty or an occult quality,
and there is an end of all dispute and enquiry upon the
matter.
But among all the instances, wherein the Peripatetics
have shewn they were guided by every trivial propensity of
the imagination, no one is more remarkable than their
sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of a vacuujn. There
is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to bestow
on external objects the same emotions, which it observes
in itself; and to find every where those ideas, which are
most present to it. This inclination, 'tis true, is suppress'd
by a little reflection, and only takes place in children, poets,
and the antient philosophers. It appears in children, by
their desire of beating the stones, which hurt them : In
poets, by their readiness to personify every thing : And
in the antient philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 225
and antipathy. We must pardon children, because of their Sect. IV.
age ; poets, because they profess to follow implicitly the "
suggestions of their fancy : But what excuse shall we find to /lodem
justify our philosophers in so signal a weakness ? philosophy
SECTION IV.
Of the modern philosophy.
But here it may be objected, that the imagination, ac-
cording to my own confession, being the ultimate judge
of all systems of philosophy, I am unjust in blaming the
antient philosophers for makeing use of that faculty, and
allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their
reasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish
in the imagination betwixt the principles which are per-
manent, irresistable, and universal; such as the customary
transition from causes to effects, and from effects to causes :
And the principles, which are changeable, weak, and ir-
regular; such as those I have just now taken notice of.
The former are the foundation of all our thoughts and
actions, so that upon their removal human nature must
immediately perish and go to ruin. The latter are neither
unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or so much as useful
in the conduct of life ; but on the contrary are observ'd
only to take place in weak minds, and being opposite to
the other principles of custom and reasoning, may easily
be subverted by a due contrast and opposition. For this
reason the former are received by philosophy, and the latter
rejected. One who concludes somebody to be near him,
when he hears an articulate voice in the dark, reasons justly
and naturally ; tho' that conclusion be deriv'd from nothing
but custom, which infixes and inlivens the idea of a human
creature, on account of his usual conjunction with the present
impression. But one, who is tormented he knows not why,
226 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. with the apprehension of spectres in the dark, may, perhaps,
" be said to reason, and to reason naturally too : But then it
tceptical '^''"^^ ^^ ^'^ ^^ same sense, that a malady is said to be
and other natural; as arising from natural causes, the' it be contrary to
^philTsophy. health, the most agreeable and most natural situation of man.
The opinions of the antient philosophers, their fictions
of substance and accident, and their reasonings concerning
substantial forms and occult qualities, are like the spectres
in the dark, and are deriv'd from principles, which, however
common, are neither universal nor unavoidable in human
nature. The modern philosophy pretends to be entirely free
from this defect, and to arise only from the solid, permanent,
and consistent principles of the imagination. Upon what
grounds this pretension is founded must now be the subject
of our enquiry.
The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion
concerning colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold;
which it asserts to be nothing but impressions in the mind,
deriv'd from the operation of external objects, and without
any resemblance to the qualities of the objects. Upon
examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly
produc'd for this opinion to be satisfactory, viz. that deriv'd
from the variations of those impressions, even while the
external object, to all appearance, continues the same.
These variations depend upon several circumstances. Upon
the different situations of our health : A man in a malady
feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before pleas'd him
the most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions
of men: That seems bitter to one, which is sweet to another.
Upon the difference of their external situation and position :
Colours reflected from the clouds change according to the
distance of the clouds, and according to the angle they make
with the eye and luminous body. Fire also communicates
the sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that of pain
at another. Instances of this kind are very numerous and
frt-quent.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 227
The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satis- Sect. IV.
factory as can possibly be imagin'd. 'Tis certain, that when *'
different impressions of the same sense arise from any object, modem
every one of these impressions has not a resembling quality philosophy.
existent in the object. For as the same object cannot, at the
same time, be endow'd with different qualities of the same
sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions
entirely different ; it evidently follows, that many of our
impressions have no external model or archetype. Now
from like effects we presume like causes. Many of the
impressions of colour, sound, ^t. are confest to be nothing
but internal existences, and to arise from causes, which no
ways resemble them. These impressions are in appearance
nothing different from the other impressions of colour, sound,
S,-c. We conclude, therefore, that they are, all of them,
deriv'd from a like origin.
This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines
of that philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence.
For upon the removal of sounds, colours, heat, cold, and
other sensible qualities, from the rank of continu'd inde-
pendent existences, we are reduc'd merely to what are
called primary qualities, as the only real ones, of which
we have any adequate notion. These primary qualities
are extension and solidity, with their different mixtures and
modifications ; figure, motion, gravity, and cohesion. The
generation, encrease, decay, and corruption of animals and
vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure and motion;
as also the operations of all bodies on each other; of fire,
of light, water, air, earth, and of all the elements and powers
of nature. One figure and motion produces another figure
and motion ; nor does there remain in the material universe
any other principle, either active or passive, of which we can
form the most distant idea.
I believe many objections might be made to this system :
But at present I shall confine myself to one, which is in my
opinion very decisive. I assert, that instead of explaining
228 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. the operations of external objects by its means, we utterly
~^ annihilate all these objects, and reduce ourselves to the
Of the . . . . •"
sceptical opinions or the most extravagant scepticism concerning
and other them. If colours, sounds, tastes, and smells be merely
'thilolothv perceptions, nothing we can conceive is possest of a real,
continu'd, and independent existence ; not even motion,
extension and solidity, which are the primary quahties chiefly
insisted on.
To begin with the examination of motion ; 'tis evident
this is a quality altogether inconceivable alone, and without
a reference to some other object. The idea of motion
necessarily supposes that of a body moving. Now what
is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is
incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of
extension or of solidity; and consequently the reality of
motion depends upon that of these other qualities.
This opinion, which is universally acknowledg'd concerning
motion, I have prov'd to be true with regard to extension;
and have shewn that 'tis impossible to conceive extension,
but as compos'd of parts, endow'd with colour or solidity.
The idea of extension is a compound idea ; but as it is not
compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior ideas,
it must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly
simple and indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts,
not being ideas of extension, must be non-entities, unless
conceiv'd as colour'd or solid. Colour is excluded from
any real existence. The reality, therefore, of our idea of
extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity, nor
can the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us,
then, lend our attention to the examination of the idea of
solidity.
The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which being
impell'd by the utmost force, cannot penetrate each other ;
but still maintain a separate and distinct existence. Solidity,
therefore, is perfectly incomprehensible alone, and without
the conception of some bodies, which are solid, and maintain
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 229
this separate and distinct existence. Now what idea have Sect. IV.
we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and "-**—
other secondary qualities are excluded. The idea of motion „{gjg^„
depends on that of extension, and the idea of extension on philosophy
that of solidity. 'Tis impossible, therefore, that the idea of
solidity can depend on either of them. For that wou'd be
to run in a circle, and make one idea depend on another,
while at the same time the latter depends on the former.
Our modern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor
satisfactory idea of solidity ; nor consequently of matter.
This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one
that comprehends it ; but because it may seem abstruse and
intricate to the generality of readers, I hope to be excus'd, if
I endeavour to render it more obvious by some variation of
the expression. In order to form an idea of solidity, we must
conceive two bodies pressing on each other without any
penetration ; and 'tis impossible to arrive at this idea, when
we confine ourselves to one object, much more without con-
ceiving any. Two non-entities cannot exclude each other
from their places ; because they never possess any place, nor
can be endow'd with any quality. Now I ask, what idea do
we form of these bodies or objects, to which we suppose
solidity to belong ? To say, that we conceive them merely
as solid, is to run on in infinitum. To affirm, that we paint
them out to ourselves as extended, either resolves all into
a false idea, or returns in a circle. Extension must necessarily
be consider'd either as colour'd, which is a false idea ; or as
solid, which brings us back to the first question. We may
make the same observation concerning mobility and figure;
and upon the whole must conclude, that after the exclusion
of colours, sounds, heat and cold from the rank of external
existences, there remains nothing, which can aff"ord us a just
and consistent idea of body.
Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetra-
bility is nothing, but an impossibility of annihilation, as ^ has
* Part II. sect. 4.
230
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
Part IV. been already observ'd : For which reason 'lis the more
necessary for us to form some distinct idea of that object,
whose annihilation we suppose impossible. An impossibility
of being annihilated cannot exist, and can never be conceived
to exist, by itself; but necessarily requires some object or
real existence, to which it may belong. Now the difficulty
still remains, how to form an idea of this object or existence,
without having recourse to the secondary and sensible
qualities.
Nor must we omit on this occasion our accustom'd method
of examining ideas by considering those impressions, from
which they are deriv'd. The impressions, which enter by the
sight and hearing, the smell and taste, are affirm'd by modern
philosophy to be without any resembling objects ; and con-
sequently the idea of solidity, which is suppos'd to be real,
can never be deriv'd from any of these senses. There
remains, therefore, the feeling as the only sense, that can
convey the impression, which is original to the idea of
solidity; and indeed we naturally imagine, that we feel the
solidity of bodies, and need but touch any object in order
to perceive this quality. But this method of thinking is
more popular than philosophical; as will appear from the
following reflections.
First, 'Tis easy to observe, that the' bodies are felt by
means of their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different
thing from the solidity; and that they have not the least
resemblance to each other. A man, who has the palsey in
one hand, has as perfect an idea of impenetrability, when he
observes that hand to be supported by the table, as when he
feels the same table with the other hand. An object, that
presses upon any of our members, meets with resistance;
and that resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and
animal spirits, conveys a certain sensation to the mind ; but
it does not follow, that the sensation, motion, and resistance
are any ways resembling.
Secondly, The impressions of touch are simple impressions.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 231
except when consider'd with regard to their extension ; which Sect. IV.
makes nothing to the present purpose : And from this sim- '*'"
plicity I infer, that they neither represent solidity, nor any niodem
real object. For let us put two cases, viz. that of a man, who philosophy
presses a stone, or any solid body, with his hand, and that of
two stones, which press each other ; 'twill readily be allow'd,
that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but that
in the former there is conjoin'd with the solidity, a feeling or
sensation, of which there is no appearance in the latter. In
order, therefore, to make these two cases alike, 'tis necessary
to remove some part of the impression, which the man feels
by his hand, or organ of sensation; and that being impossible
in a simple impression, obliges us to remove the whole, and
proves that this whole impression has no archetype or model
in external objects. To which we may add, that solidity
necessarily supposes two bodies, along with contiguity and
impulse; which being a compound object, can never be
represented by a simple impression. Not to mention, that
tho' solidity continues always invariably the same, the im-
pressions of touch change every moment upon us ; which
is a clear proof that the latter are not representations of
the former.
Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our
reason and our senses ; or more properly speaking, betwixt
those conclusions we form from cause and effect, and those
that persuade us of the continu'd and independent existence
of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we
conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste, nor smell have
a continu'd and independent existence. When we exclude
these sensible qualities there remains nothing in the universe,
which has such an existence.
232 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV.
Of the
sceptical
and other ,^ ^ , . • » • r- r >
systems of (J/ the immaieriality of the soul.
SECTION V.
philosophy.
Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every
system concerning external objects, and in the idea of matter,
which we fancy so clear and determinate, we shall naturally
expect still greater difiiculties and contradictions in every
hypothesis concerning our internal perceptions, and the
nature of the mind, which we are apt to imagine so much
more obscure, and uncertain. But in this we shou'd deceive
ourselves. The intellectual world, tho' involv'd in infinite
obscurities, is not perplex'd with any such contradictions, as
those we have discover'd in the natural. What is known
concerning it, agrees with itself; and what is unknown,
we must be contented to leave so.
'Tis true, wou'd we hearken to certain philosophers, they
promise to diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid 'tis
at the hazard of running us into contradictions, from which
the subject is of itself exempted. These philosophers are the
curious reasoners concerning the material or immaterial
substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to inhere.
In order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides,
I know no better method, than to ask these philosophers
in a few words. What they mean by substance and inhesion ?
And after they have answer'd this question, 'twill then be
reasonable, and not till then, to enter seriously into the
dispute.
This question we have found impossible to be answer'd
with regard to matter and body : But besides that in the
case of the mind, it labours under all the same difiiculties, 'tis
burthen'd with some additional ones, which are peculiar
to that subject. As every idea is deriv'd from a precedent
impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds,
we must also have an impression of it; which is very
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 233
difficult, if not impossible, to be conceiv'd. For how can Sect. V.
an impression represent a substance, otherwise than by " •* ;
resembling it ? And how can an impression resemble a Jiateriau'h
substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not z. of the soul.
substance, and has none of the peculiar quahlies or charac-
teristics of a substance ?
But leaving the question of what may or may 7iot he, for that
other what actually is, I desire those philosophers, who pretend
that we have an idea of the substance of our minds, to point out
the impression that produces it, and tell distinctly after what
manner that impression operates, and from what object it is
deriv'd. Is it an impression of sensation or of reflection ? Is
it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent? Does it attend us
at all times, or does it only return at intervals ? If at
intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by
what causes is it produc'd?
If instead of answering these questions, any one shou'd
evade the difficulty, by saying, that the definition of a sub-
stance is something which may exist by itself ; and that
this definition ought to satisfy us : Shou'd this be said, I
shou'd observe, that this definition agrees to every thing, that
can possibly be conceiv'd ; and never will serve to distinguish
substance from accident, or the soul from its perceptions.
For thus 1 reason. Whatever is clearly conceiv'd may exist ;
and whatever is clearly conceiv'd, after any manner, may
exist after the same manner. This is one principle, which
has been already acknowledg'd. Again, every thing, which is
different, is distinguishable, and every thing which is dis-
tinguishable, is separable by the imagination. This is another
principle. My conclusion from both is, that since all our
perceptions are different from each other, and from every
thing else in the universe, they are also distinct and separable,
and may be consider'd as separately existent, and may exist
separately, and have no need of any thing else to support
their existence. They are, therefore, substances, as far as
this definition explains a substance.
234 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. Thus neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor
■ **~ by means of a definition are we able to arrive at any satis-
scettical ^^^tory notion of substance ; which seems to me a sufficient
and other reason for abandoning utterly that dispute concerning the
'ih'T'^tJ ^^^■^^"^li'-y ^i^d immateriality of the soul, and makes me
absolutely condemn even the question itself. We have no
perfect idea of any thing but of a perception. A substance
is entirely different from a perception. We have, therefore,
no idea of a substance. Inhesion in something is suppos'd
to be requisite to support the existence of our perceptions.
Nothing appears requisite to support the existence of a
perception. . We have, therefore, no idea of inhesion. What
possibility then of answering that question, Whether percep-
tions inhere in a material or immaterial substance, when
we do not so much as understand the meaning of the
question ?
There is one argument commonly employ 'd for the
immateriality of the soul, which seems to me remarkable.
Whatever is extended consists of parts ; and whatever con-
sists of parts is divisible, if not in reality, at least in the
imagination. But 'tis impossible any thing divisible can be
conjoin d to a thought or perception, which is a being alto-
gether inseparable and indivisible. For supposing such a
conjunction, wou'd the indivisible thought exist on the left or
on the right hand of this extended divisible body ? On the
surface or in the middle? On the back- or fore-side of it?
If it be conjoin'd with the extension, it must exist somewhere
within its dimensions. If it exist within its dimensions, it
must either exist in one particular part ; and then that par-
ticular part is indivisible, and the perception is conjoin'd only
with it, not with the extension : Or if the thought exists in
every part, it must also be extended, and separable, and
divisible, as well as the body ; which is utterly absurd and
contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of a
yard in length, a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness?
Thought, therefore, and extension are qualities wholly in-
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 235
compatible, and never can incorporate together into one Sect. V.
subject. •'
This argument affects not the question concerning the „{aUriaJi(y
substance of the soul, but only that concerning its local con- of the soul,
junction with matter ; and therefore it may not be improper
to consider in general what objects are, or are not susceptible
of a local conjunction. This is a curious question, and may
lead us to some discoveries of considerable moment.
The first notion of space and extension is deriv'd solely
from the senses of sight and feeling ; nor is there any thing,
but what is colour'd or tangible, that has parts dispos'd after
such a manner, as to convey that idea. When we diminish
or encrease a relish, 'tis not after the same manner that we
diminish or increase any visible object ; and when several
sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and reflection
alone make us form an idea of the degrees of the distance
and contiguity of those bodies, from which they are deriv'd.
Whatever marks the place of its existence either must be
extended, or must be a mathematical point, without parts or
composition. What is extended must have a particular
figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which will
agree to a desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except
of these two senses above-mention'd. Neither ought a desire,
tho' indivisible, to be consider'd as a mathematical point.
For in that case 'twou'd be possible, by the addition of others,
to make two, three, four desires, and these dispos'd and
situated in such a manner, as to have a determinate length,
breadth and thickness ; which is evidently absurd.
'Twill not be surprizing after this, if I deliver a maxim,
which is condemn'd by several metaphysicians, and is
esteem'd contrary to the most certain principles of human
reason. This maxim is that an object may exist, and yet be no
where: and I assert, that this is not only possible, but that
the greatest part of beings do and must exist after this
manner. An object may be said to be no where, when its
parts are not so situated with respect to each other, as to
236 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. form any figure or quantity ; nor the whole with respect to
•• other bodies so as to answer to our notions of contiguity or
sceptical distance. Now this is evidently the case with all our percep-
and other tions and objects, except those of the sight and feeling. A
^hil'^^th "^^''^^ reflection cannot be plac'd on the right or on the left
hand of a passion, nor can a smell or sound be either of a
circular or a square figure. These objects and perceptions,
so far from requiring any particular place, are absolutely
incompatible with it, and even the imagination cannot
attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of supposing
them to be no where, we may consider, that if the passions
and sentiments appear to the perception to have any par-
ticular place, the idea of extension might be deriv'd from
them, as well as from the sight and touch; contrary to what
we have already establish'd. If they appear not to have any
particular place, they may possibly exist in the same manner ;
since whatever we conceive is possible.
'Twill not now be necessary to prove, that those per-
ceptions, which are simple, and exist no where, are incapable
of any conjunction in place with matter or body, which
is extended and divisible ; since 'tis impossible to found
a relation^ but on some common quality. It may be better
worth our while to remark, that this question of the local
conjunction of objects does not only occur in metaphysical
disputes concerning the nature of the soul, but that even
in common life we have every moment occasion to examine
it. Thus supposing we consider a fig at one end of the
table, and an olive at the other, 'tis evident, that in forming
the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most
obvious is that of their different relishes; and 'tis as evident,
that we incorporate and conjoin these qualities with such
as are colour'd and tangible. The bitter taste of the one,
and sweet of the other are suppos'd to lie in the very visible
body, and to be separated from each other by the whole
length of the table. This is so notable and so natural an
' Part I. sect. .s.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 237
illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles, Sect, V.
trom which it is deriv'd. _^^*' .
. . Of the im-
Tho' an extended object be incapable of a conjunction in materiality
place with another, that exists without any place or ex- o/tf^e mtl.
tension, yet are they susceptible of many other relations.
Thus the taste and smell of any fruit are inseparable from
its other qualities of colour and tangibility ; and which-ever
of them be the cause or effect, 'tis certain they are always
co-existent. Nor are they only co-existent in general, but
also co-temporary in their appearance in the mind; and
'tis upon the application of the extended body to our senses
we perceive its particular taste and smell. These relations,
then, of causation, and contiguity in the time of their appear-
ance, betwixt the extended object and the quality, which
exists without any particular place, must have such an effect
on the mind, that upon the appearance of one it will
immediately turn its thought to the conception of the other.
Nor is this all. We not only turn our thought from one to
the other upon account of their relation, but likewise en-
deavour to give them a new relation, viz. that of a conjunction
in place, that we may render the transition more easy and
natural. For 'tis a quality, which I shall often have occasion
to remark in human nature, and shall explain more fully
in its proper place, that when objects are united by any
relation, we have a strong propensity to add some new
relation to them, in order to compleat the union. In our
arrangement of bodies we never fail to place such as are
resembling, in contiguity to each other, or at least in corre-
spondent points of view: Why? but because we feel a
satisfaction in joining the relation of contiguity to that ol
resemblance, or the resemblance of situation to that of
qualities. The effects of this propensity have been * already
observ'd in that resemblance, which we so readily suppose
betwixt particular impressions and their external causes.
But we shall not find a more evident effect of it, than in the
* Sect. 2, towards the end.
I
238 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. present instance, where from the relations of causation and
** ■ contiguity in time betwixt two objects, we feign likewise
sceptical ^^^'^ ^^ ^ conjunction in place, in order to strengthen the
and other connexion.
^philosophy. ^^^ whatever confus'd notions we may form of an union
in place betwixt an extended body, as a fig, and its particular
taste, 'tis certain that upon reflection we must observe in
this union something altogether unintelligible and contra-
dictory. For shou'd we ask ourselves one obvious question,
viz. if the taste, which we conceive to be contain'd in the
circumference of the body, is in every part of it or in one
only, we must quickly find ourselves at a loss, and perceive
the impossibility of ever giving a satisfactory answer. We
cannot reply, that 'tis only in one part: For experience
convinces us, that every part has the same relish. We can
as little reply, that it exists in every part : For then we
must suppose it figur'd and extended ; which is absurd
and incomprehensible. Here then we are influenc'd by
two principles directly contrary to each other, viz. that
inclination of our fancy by which we are determin'd to
incorporate the taste with the extended object, and our
reason, which shows us the impossibility of such an union.
Being divided betwixt these opposite principles, we renounce
neither one nor the other, but involve the subject in such
confusion and obscurity, that we no longer perceive the
opposition. We suppose, that the tasle exists within the
circumference of the body, but in such a manner, that it
fills the whole without extension, and exists entire in every
part without separation. In short, we use in our most
familiar way of thinking, that scholastic principle, which,
when crudely propos'd, appears so shocking, of totum in ioto
4' toliim ill qualihet parte : Which is much the same, as if we
shou'd say, that a thing is in a certain place, and yet is not
there.
All this absurdity proceeds from our endeavouring to
bestow a place on what is utterly incapable of it ; and that
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 239
endeavour again arises from our inclination to compleat Sect. V.
an union, which is founded on causation, and a contiguity of •'
time, by attributing to the objects a conjunction in place. fi^ateriaUty
But if ever reason be of sufficient force to overcome prejudice, 0/ the soui.
'tis certain, that in the present case it must prevail. For we
have only this choice left, either to suppose that some beings
exist without any place ; or that they are figur'd and ex-
tended; or that when they are incorporated with extended
objects, the whole is in the whole, and the whole in every
part. The absurdity of the two last suppositions proves
sufficiently the veracity of the first. Nor is there any fourth
opinion. For as to the supposition of their existence in the
manner of mathematical points, it resolves itself into the
second opinion, and supposes, that several passions may
be plac'd in a circular figure, and that a certain number
of smells, conjoin'd with a certain number of sounds, may
make a body of twelve cubic inches ; which appears ridiculous
upon the bare mentioning of it.
But tho' in this view of things we cannot refuse to condemn
the materialists, who conjoin all thought wiih extension ; yet
a little reflection will show us equal reason for blaming their
antagonists, who conjoin all thought with a simple and
indivisible substance. The most vulgar philosophy informs
us, that no external object can make itself known to the mind
immediately, and without the interposition of an image or
perception. That table, which just now appears to me,
is only a perception, and all its qualides are qualities of a
perception. Now the most obvious of all its qualities is
extension. The perception consists of parts. These parts
are so situated, as to afford us the notion of distance and con-
tiguity ; of length, breadth, and thickness. The termination
of these three dimensions is what we call figure. This figure
is moveable, separable, and divisible. Mobility, and separ-
ability are the distinguishing properties of extended objects.
And to cut short all disputes, the very idea of extension is
copy'd from nothing but an impression, and consequently
240 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. must perfectly agree to it. To say the idea of extension
■ *♦" agrees to any thing, is to say it is extended.
sceptical ^^^ free-thinker may now triumph in his turn ; and having
and other found there are impressions and ideas really extended, may
IbhilTsothv ^'^ ^^^ antagonists, how they can incorporate a simple and
indivisible subject with an extended perception? All the
arguments of Theologians may here be retorted upon them.
Is the indivisible subject, or immaterial substance, if you
will, on the left or on the right hand of the perception ? Is it
in this particular part, or in that other ? Is it in every part
without being extended ? Or is it entire in any one part with-
out deserting the rest ? 'Tis impossible to give any answer
to these questions, but what will both be absurd in itself, and
will account for the union of our indivisible perceptions with
an extended substance.
This gives me an occasion to take a-new into consideration
the question concerning the substance of the soul ; and tho'
I have condemn'd that question as utterly unintelligible, yet
I cannot forbear proposing some farther reflections concern-
ing it. I assert, that the doctrine of the immateriality,
simplicity, and indivisibility of a thinking substance is a true
atheism, and will serve to justify all those sentiments, for
which Spinoza is so universally infamous. From this topic,
I hope at least to reap one advantage, that my adversaries will
not have any pretext to render the present doctrine odious by
their declamations, when they see that they can be so easily
retorted on them.
The fundamental principle of the atheism oi Spinoza is the
doctrine of the simplicity of the universe, and the unity
of that substance, in which he supposes both thought and
matter to inhere. There is only one substance, says he,
in the world ; and that substance is perfectly simple and
indivisible, and exists every where, without any local presence.
Whatever we discover externally by sensation ; whatever we
feel internally by reflection; all these are nothing but modifi-
cations of that one, simple, and necessarily existent being,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 241
and are not possest of any separate or distinct existence. Sect. V.
Every passion of the soul ; every configuration of matter, " ;•
however different and various, inhere in the same substance, /lauriaTity
and preserve in themselves their characters of distinction, o/"M<f j<w/.
without communicating them to that subject, in which they
inhere. The same substrattim, if I may so speak, supports
the most different modifications, without any diflference in it-
self; and varies them, without any variation. Neither time, nor
place, nor all the diversity of nature are able to produce any
composition or change in its perfect simplicity and identity.
I believe this brief exposition of the principles of that
famous atheist will be sufficient for the present purpose, and
that without entering farther into these gloomy and obscure
regions, I shall be able to shew, that this hideous hypothesis
is almost the same with that of the immateriality of the soul,
which has become so popular. To make this evident, let us
^remember, that as every idea is deriv'd from a preceding
perception, 'tis impossible our idea of a perception, and that
of an object or external existence can ever represent what are
specifically different from each other. Whatever difference
we may suppose betwixt them, 'tis still incomprehensible to
us ; and we are oblig'd either to conceive an external object
merely as a relation without a relative, or to make it the very
same with a perception or impression.
The consequence I shall draw from this may, at first sight,
appear a mere sophism ; but upon the least examination will
be found solid and satisfactory, I say then, that since we
may suppose, but never can conceive a specific difference
betwixt an object and impression; any conclusion we form
concerning the connexion and repugnance of impressions,
will not be known certainly to be applicable to objects ; but
that on tlie other hand, whatever conclusions of this kind we
form concerning objects, will most certainly be applicable to
impressions. The reason is not difficult. As an object is
suppos'd to be different from an impression, we cannot be
» Part II. sect. 6.
242
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
Part IV, sure, that the circumstance, upon which we found our reason-
ing, is common to both, supposing we form the reasoning
upon the impression. 'Tis still possible, that the object may
differ from it in that particular. But when we first form our
reasoning concerning the object, 'tis beyond doubt, that the
same reasoning must extend to the impression: And that
because the quality of the object, upon which the argument is
founded, must at least be conceiv'd by the mind ; and cou'd
not be conceiv'd, unless it were common to an impression ;
since we have no idea but what is deriv'd from that origin.
Thus we may establish it as a certain maxim, that we can
never, by any principle, but by an irregular kind * of reason-
ing from experience, discover a connexion or repugnance
betwixt objects, which extends not to impressions ; tho' the
inverse proposition may not be equally true, that all the dis-
coverable relations of impressions are common to objects.
To apply this to the present case ; there are two different
systems of beings presented, to which I suppose myself under
a necessity of assigning some substance, or ground of inhesion.
I observe first the universe of objects or of body : The sun,
moon and stars; the earth, seas, plants, animals, men, ships,
houses, and other productions either of art or nature. Here
Spinoza appears, and tells me, that these are only modifica-
tions ; and that the subject, in which they inhere, is simple
incompounded, and indivisible. After this I consider the
other system of beings, viz. the universe of thought, or my
impressions and ideas. There I observe another sun, moon
and stars; an earth, and seas, cover'd and inhabited by
plants and animals; towns, houses, mountains, rivers; and
in short every thing I can discover or conceive in the first
system. Upon my enquiring concerning these, Theologians
present themselves, and tell me, that these also are modifi-
cations, and modifications of one simple, uncompounded,
and indivisible substance. Immediately upon which I am
deafen'd with the noise of a hundred voices, that treat the
* Such as that of Sect. 2, from the coherence of onr perceptions.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 243
first hypothesis with detestation and scorn, and the second Sect. V
with applause and veneration. I turn my attention to these " *•
hypotheses to see what may be the reason of so great Jatcrialitv
a partiality; and find that they have the same fault of being of the soul.
unintelligible, and that as far as we can understand them,
they are so much alike, that 'tis impossible to discover any
absurdity in one, which is not common to both of them.
We have no idea of any quality in an object, which does not
agree to, and may not represent a quality in an impression ;
and that because all our ideas are deriv'd from our impressions.
We can never, therefore, find any repugnance betwixt an
extended object as a modification, and a simple uncompounded
essence, as its substance, unless that repugnance takes place
equally betwixt the perception or impression of that extended
object, and the same uncompounded essence. Every idea of a
quality in an object passes thro' an impression ; and therefore
QvtTy perceivable relation, whether of connexion or repugnance,
must be common both to objects and impressions.
But tho' this argument, consider'd in general, seems
evident beyond all doubt and contradiction, yet to make it
more clear and sensible, let us survey it in detail ; and see
whether all the absurdities, which have been found in the
system of Spinoza, may not likewise be discover'd in that of
Theologians ^.
First, It has been said against Spinoza, according to the
scholastic way of talking, rather than thinking, that a mode,
nor being any distinct or separate existence, must be the very
same with its substance, and consequently the extension of
the universe, must be in a manner identify'd with that simple,
uncompounded essence, in which the universe is suppos'd to
inhere. But this, it may be pretended, is utterly impossible
and inconceivable unless the indivisible substance expand
itself, so as to correspond to the extension, or the extension
contract itself, so as to answer to the indivisible substance.
This argument seems just, as far as we can understand it;
' See Bayles dictionary, article of Spinoza,
244 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. and 'tis plain nothing is requir'd, but a change in the terms,
~** — to apply the same argument to our extended perceptions,
sceptical ^"^ ^^^ simple essence of the soul ; the ideas of objects and
and other perceptions being in every respect the same, only attended
^philosophy ^^'^^^ ^^® supposition of a difference, that is unknown and
incomprehensible.
Secondly, It has been said, that we have no idea of sub-
stance, which is not applicable to matter; nor any idea of
a distinct substance, which is not applicable to every distinct
portion of matter. Matter, therefore, is not a mode but
a substance, and each part of matter is not a distinct mode,
but a distinct substance. I have already prov'd, that we
have no perfect idea of substance ; but that taking it for
someiht'tig, that can exist by tlself, 'tis evident every percep-
tion is a substance, and every distinct part of a perception
a distinct substance : And consequently the one hypothesis
labours under the same difficulties in this respect with the
other.
Thirdly, It has been objected to the system of one simple
substance in the universe, that this substance being the
support or substratum of every thing, must at the very same
instant be modify'd into forms, which are contrary and in-
compatible. The round and square figures are incompatible
in the same substance at the same time. How then is it
possible, that the same substance can at once be modify'd
into that square table, and into this round one ? I ask the
same question concerning the impressions of these tables ;
and find that the answer is no more satisfactory in one case
than in the other.
It appears, then, that to whatever side we turn, the same
difficulties follow us, and that we cannot advance one step
towards the establishing the simplicity and immateriality
of the soul, without preparing the way for a dangerous and
irrecoverable atheism, 'Tis the same case, if instead of
calling thought a modification of the soul, we shou'd give it
the more antient, and yet more modish name of an action.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 245
By an action we mean much the same thing, as what is Sect. V.
commonly call'd an abstract mode ; that is, something, which, *♦
properly speaking, is neither distinguishable, nor separable materiality
from its substance, and is only conceiv'd by a distinction oi of the soul.
reason, or an abstraction. But nothing is gain'd by this
change of the term of modification, for that of action ; nor
do we free ourselves from one single difficulty by its means ;
as will appear from the two following reflexions.
First, I observe, that the word, action, according to this
explication of it, can never justly be apply'd to any percep-
tion, as deriv'd from a mind or thinking substance. Our
perceptions are all really different, and separable, and distin-
guishable from each other, and from every thing else, which
we can imagine; and therefore 'tis impossible to conceive,
how they can be the action or abstract mode of any sub-
stance. The instance of motion, which is commonly made
use of to shew after what manner perception depends, as an
action, upon its substance, rather confounds than instructs
us. Motion to all appearance induces no real nor essential
change on the body, but only varies its relation to other
objects. But betwixt a person in the morning walking in
a garden with company, agreeable to him ; and a person in
the afternoon inclos'd in a dungeon, and full of terror, de-
spair, and resentment, there seems to be a radical difference,
and of quite another kind, than what is produc'd on a body
by the change of its situation. As we conclude from the
distinction and separability of their ideas, that external objects
have a separate existence from each other; so when we
make these ideas themselves our objects, we must draw the
same conclusion concerning them, according to the precedent
reasoning. At least it must be confest, that having no idea
of the substance of the soul, 'tis impossible for us to tell how
it can admit of such differences, and even contrarieties of
perception without any fundamental change; and conse-
quently can never tell in what sense perceptions are actions
of that substance. The use, therefore, of the word, action,
246 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. unaccompany'd with any meaning, instead of that of modi-
•• fication, makes no addition to our knowledge, nor is of
sceptical '^"X advantage to the doctrine of the immateriality of the
atid other soul.
^philosophy ^ ^^^ ^" ^^^ second place, that if it brings any advantage
to that cause, it must bring an equal to the cause of atheism.
For do our Theologians pretend to make a monopoly of the
word, action, and may not the atheists likewise take posses-
sion of it, and affirm that plants, animals, men, ^r. are
nothing but particular actions of one simple universal
substance, which exerts itself from a blind and absolute
necessity? This you'll say is utterly absurd. I own 'tis
unintelligible ; but at the same time assert, according to the
principles above-explain'd, that 'tis impossible to discover
any absurdity in the supposition, that all the various objects
in nature are actions of one simple substance, which ab-
surdity will not be applicable to a like supposition concerning
impressions and ideas.
From these hypotheses concerning the substance and local
conjunction of our perceptions, we may pass to another,
which is more intelligible than the former, and more im-
portant than the latter, viz. concerning the cause of our
perceptions. Matter and motion, 'tis commonly said in the
schools, however vary'd, are still matter and motion, and
produce only a difference in the position and situation of
objects. Divide a body as often as you please, 'ds still
body. Place it in any figure, nothing ever results but figure,
or the relation of parts. IMove it in any manner, you still
find modon or a change of relation. 'Tis absurd to imagine,
that motion in a circle, for instance, shou'd be nothing but
merely motion in a circle; while motion in another direction,
as in an ellipse, shou'd also be a passion or moral reflexion :
That the shocking of two globular particles shou'd become
a sensation of pain, and that the meeting of two triangular
ones shou'd afford a pleasure. Now as these different shocks,
and variations, and mixtures are the only changes, of which
Book I, OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 247
matter is susceptible, and as these never afford us any idea of Sect. V.
thought or perception, 'tis concluded to be impossible, that ^. ,•* .
,1,11 Of the tm-
thought can ever be caus d by matter. materiality
Few have been able to withstand the seeming evidence of the soul.
of this argument ; and yet nothing in the world is more easy
than to refute it. We need only reflect on what has been
prov'd at large, that we are never sensible of any connexion
betwixt causes and effects, and that 'tis only by our experi-
ence of their constant conjunction, we can arrive at any
knowledge of this relation. Now as all objects, which are
not contrary, are susceptible of a constant conjunction, and
as [no real objects are contraryj] ^I have inferr'd from these
principles, that to consider the matter a priori, any thing
may produce any thing, and that we shall never discover
a reason, why any object may or may not be the cause of
any other, however great, or however little the resemblance
may be betwixt them. This evidently destroys the precedent
reasoning concerning the cause of thought or perception.
For tho' there appear no manner of connexion betwixt
motion or thought, the case is the same with all other causes
and effects. Place one body of a pound weight on one end
of a lever, and another body of the same weight on another
end; you will never find in these bodies any principle of
motion dependent on their distances from the center, more
than of thought and perception. If you pretend, therefore,
to prove a priori, that such a position of bodies can never
cause thought; because turn it which way you will, 'tis
nothing but a position of bodies; you must by the same
course of reasoning conclude, that it can never produce
motion ; since there is no more apparent connexion in the
one case than in the other. But as this latter conclusion
is contrary to evident experience, and as 'tis possible we
may have a like experience in the operations of the mind,
and may perceive a constant conjunction of thought and
motion; you reason too hastily, when from the mere con-
» Part III. sect. 15.
248 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
Part IV. sideration of the ideas, you conclude that 'tis impossible
*' motion can ever produce thought, or a different position
sceptical of parts give rise to a different passion or reflexion. Nay
and other 'tis not only possible we may have such an experience, but
systems of ,. ^ . ■, . ■ • ^u ^
philosophy ^'^ certam we have it ; smce every one may perceive, that
the different dispositions of his body change his thoughts
and sentiments. And shou'd it be said, that this depends on
the union of soul and body ; I wou'd answer, that we must
separate the question concerning the substance of the mind
from that concerning the cause of its thought ; and that
confining ourselves to the latter question we find by the com-
paring their ideas, that thought and motion are different
from each other, and by experience, that they are constantly
united ; which being all the circumstances, that enter into the
idea of cause and effect, when apply'd to the operations
of matter, we may certainly conclude, that motion may be,
and actually is, the cause of thought and perception.
There seems only this dilemma left us in the present
case ; either to assert, that nothing can be the cause of
another, but where the mind can perceive the connexion
in its idea of the objects : Or to maintain, that all objects,
which we find constantly conjoin'd, are upon that account
to be regarded as causes and effects. If we choose the first
part of the dilemma, these are the consequences. First,
We in reality affirm, that there is no such thing in the
universe as a cause or productive principle, not even the
deity himself; since our idea of that supreme Being is
deriv'd from particular impressions, none of which contain
any efficacy, nor seem to have atty connexion with any other
existence. As to what may be said, that the connexion
betwixt the idea of an infinitely powerful being, and that
of any effect, which he wills, is necessary and unavoidable ;
I answer, that we have no idea of a being endow'd with any
power, much less of one endow'd with infinite power. But
if we will change expressions, we can only define power
by connexion; and then in saying, that the idea of an
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 249
infinitely powerful being is connected with that of every Sect. V.
effect, which he wills, we really do no more than assert, " .
that a being, whose volition is connected with every effect, JiaUrialit}
is connected with every effect; which is an identical propo- of the soul.
sition, and gives us no insight into the nature of this power
or connexion. But, secondly, supposing, that the deity were
the great and efficacious principle, which supplies the
deficiency of all causes, this leads us into the grossest
impieties and absurdities. For upon the same account,
that we have recourse to him in natural operations, and
assert that matter cannot of itself communicate motion, or
produce thought, viz. because there is no apparent connexion
betwixt these objects; I say, upon the very same account,
we must acknowledge that the deity is the author of all
our volitions and perceptions ; since they have no more
apparent connexion either with one another, or with the
suppos'd but unknown substance of the soul. This agency
of the supreme Being we know to have been asserted by
^several philosophers with relation to all the actions of the
mind, except volition, or rather an inconsiderable part of
volition ; tho' 'tis easy to perceive, that this exception is
a mere pretext, to avoid the dangerous consequences of
that doctrine. If nothing be active but what has an
apparent power, thought is in no case any more active
than matter; and if this inactivity must make us have
recourse to a deity, the supreme being is the real cause
of all our actions, bad as well as good, vicious as well as
virtuous.
Thus we are necessarily reduc'd to the other side of the
tfilemma, viz. that all objects, which are found to be con-
stantly conjoin'd, are upon that account only to be regarded
as causes and effects. Now as all objects, which are not
contrary, are susceptible of a constant conjunction, and
as no real objects are contrary; it follows, that for ought
we can determine by the mere ideas, any thing may be
' As father Malebranche and other Cartesians.
250 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. the cause or effect of any thing ; which evidently gives the
~^ — advantage to the materiaHsts above their antagonists.
sceptical ^^ pronounce, then, the final decision upon the whole;
and oi her the question concerning the substance of the soul is ab-
^^'h'T"tl solutely unintelligible : All our perceptions are not susceptible
of a local union, either with what is extended or unextended ;
there being some of them of the one kind, and some of
the other: And as > the constant conjunction of objects
constitutes the very essence of cause and effect, matter and
molion may often be regarded as the causes of thought, as
far as we have any notion of that relation.
'Tis certainly a kind of indignity to philosophy, whose
sovereign authority ought every where to be acknowledg'd,
to oblige her on every occasion to make apologies for her
conclusions, and justify herself to every particular art and
science, which may be offended at her. This puts one in
mind of a king arraign'd for high-treason against his subjects.
There is only one occasion, when philosophy will think it
necessary and even honourable to justify herself, and that is,
when religion may seem to be in the least offended ; whose
rights are as dear to her as her own, and are indeed the
same. If any one, therefore, shou'd imagine that the fore-
going arguments are any ways dangerous to religion, I hope
the following apology will remove his apprehensions.
There is no foundation for any conclusion a priori, either
concerning the operations or duration of any object, of which
'tis possible for the human mind to form a conception. Any
object may be imagin'd to become entirely inactive, or to be
annihilated in a moment ; and 'tis an evident principle, that
whatever we can imagine, is possible. Now this is no more
true of matter, than of spirit ; of an extended compounded
substance, than of a simple and unextended. In both cases
the metaphysical arguments for the immortality of the soul
are equally inconclusive ; and in both cases the moral argu-
ments and those deriv'd from the analogy of nature are
equally strong and convincing. If my philosophy, therefore,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 251
makes no addition to the arguments for religion. I have at Sect. VI.
least the satisfaction to think it takes nothing from them, but " '
that every thing remains precisely as before. iJent/tv"'^
SECTION VI.
Of personal identity.
There are some philosophers, who imagine we are every
moment intimately conscious of what we call our Self ;
that we feel its existence and its continuance in existence;
and are certain, beyond the evidence of a demonstration,
both of its perfect identity and simplicity. The strongest
sensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of
distracting us from this view, only fix it the more intensely,
and make us consider their influence on self either by their
pain or pleasure. To attempt a farther proof of this were ton
weaken its evidence ; since no proof can be deriv'd from any
fact, of which we are so intimately conscious; nor is there 1
any thing, of which we can be certain, if we doubt of this. J
Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that
very experience, which is pleaded for them, nor have we any
idea of sef after the manner it is here explain'd. For from~]
what impression cou'd this idea be deriv'd ? This question
'tis impossible to answer without a manifest contradiction
and absurdity; and yet 'tis a question, which must neces-
sarily be answer'd, if we wou'd have the idea of self pass for
clear and intelligible. It must be some one impression, that
gives rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any
one impression, but that to which our several impressions
and ideas are suppos'd to have a reference. If any im-
pression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression
must continue invariably the same, thro' the whole course of
our lives ; since self is suppos'd to exist after that manner. \
But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain i
252 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed
•• ■ each other, and never all exist at the same time. It cannot,
sceptical therefore, be from any of these impressions, or from any
and other Other, that the idea of self is deriv'd; and consequently there
systems of is no such idea.
philosophy.
But farther, what must become of all our particular per-
ceptions upon this hypothesis ? All these are different, and
distinguishable, and separable from each other, and may be
separately consider'd, and may exist separately, and have no
need of any thing to support their existence. After what
manner, therefore, do they belong to self; and how are they
connected with it ? For my part, when I enter most in-
timately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some
. particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade,
love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself
at any time without a perception, and never can observe any
thing but the perception. When my perceptions are remov'd
for any time, as by sound sleep ; so long am I insensible ot
viysef and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my
perceptions remov'd by death, and cou'd I neither think, nor
feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate after the dissolution of my
body, I shou'd be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive
what is farther requisite to make me a perfect non-entity.
If any one upon serious and unprejudic'd reflexion, thinks
he has a different notion of himsef, I must confess I can
reason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, that he
may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially
different in this particular. He may, perhaps, perceive some-
thing simple and continu'd, which he calls himsef; tho' I am
certain there is no such principle in me.
But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may
venture to affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing
but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which
succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are
in a perpetual flux and movement. Our eyes cannot turn in
their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our thought
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 253
is Still more variable than our sight ; and all our other senses Sect. VI.
and faculties contribute to this change ; nor is there any **
single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, identity.
perhaps for one moment. The mind is a kind of theatre,
where several perceptions successively make their appearance ;
pass, re-pass, 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 pro-
pension we may have to imagine that simpHcity and identity.
The comparison of the theatre must not mislead us. They
are the successive perceptions only, that constitute the mind ;
nor have we the most distant notion of the place, where these
scenes are represented, or of the materials, of which it is
compos'd.
' What then gives us so great a propension to ascribe an
identity to these successive perceptions, and to suppose our-
selves possest of an invariable and uninterrupted existence
/.thro' the whole course of our lives? In order to answer this
question, we must distinguish betwixt personal identity, as it
regards our thought or imagination, and as it regards
our passions or the concern we take in ourselves. The first
is our present subject; and to explain it perfectly we must
take the matter pretty deep, and account for that identity,
which we attribute to plants and animals ; there being a great
analogy betwixt it, and the identity of a self or person.
( We have a distinct idea of an object, that remains in- x
variable and uninterrupted thro' a suppos'd variation of time ;
and this idea we call that of identity or sameness. We have
also a distinct idea of several diff'erent objects existing in
succession, and connected together by a close relation ; and
this to an accurate view affords as perfect a notion of diversity,
as if there was no manner of relation among the objects.
But tho' these two ideas of identity, and a succession of
related objects be in themselves perfectly distinct, and even
contrary, yet 'tis certain, that in our common way of thinking
they are generally confounded with each other. That action
254 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. of the imagination, by which we consider the uninterrupted
" and invariable object, and that by which we reflect on the
sceptical Succession of related objects, are almost the same to the
and other feeling, nor is there much more effort of thought requir'd
^thilolothy ^" ^^ latter case than in the former. The relation facilitates
the transition of the mind from one object to another,
and renders its passage as smooth as if it contemplated
one continu'd object. This resemblance is the cause
of the confusion and mistake, and makes us substitute
the notion of identity, instead of that of related objects.
However at one instant we may consider the related suc-
cession as variable or interrupted, we are sure the next
to ascribe to it a perfect identity, and regard it as invariable
and uninterrupted. Our propensity to this mistake is so
great from the resemblance above-mention'd, that we fall into
it before we are aware ; and tho' we incessantly correct our-
selves by reflexion, and return to a more accurate method of
thinking, yet we cannot long sustain our philosophy, or take
off this biass from the imagination. Our last resource is to
yield to it, and boldly assert that these different related
objects are in effect the same, however interrupted and
variable. In order to justify to ourselves this absurdity, we
often feign some new and unintelligible principle, that con-
nects the objects together, and prevents their interruption or
variation. Thus we feign the continu'd existence of the
perceptions of our senses, to remove the interruption ; and
run into the notion of a soul, and self, and substance, to
disguise the variation. But we may farther observe, that
where we do not give rise to such a fiction, our propension to
confound identity with relation is so great, that we are apt
to imagine ' something unknown and mysterious, connecting
the parts, beside their relation ; and this I take to be the case
' If the reader is desirous to see how a grent genius may be influenc'd
by these seemingly trivial principles of the imagination, as well as the
mere vulgar, let him read my 1-ord Shaftsbury\ reasonings concerning
the uniting principle of the universe, anil the identity of plants and
animals. See his Moralists • or. rhiiosophical rhapsody.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 255
with regard to the identity we ascribe to plants and vegetables. Sect. VL
And even when this does not take place, we still feel a •'
propensity to confound these ideas, tho' we are not able fully i^fj^[i°!''^
to satisfy ourselves in that particular, nor find any thing
invariable and uninterrupted to justify our notion of identity.
Thus the controversy concerning identity is not merely
a dispute of words. For when we attribute identity, in an
improper sense, to variable or interrupted objects, our mistake
is not confin'd to the expression, but is commonly attended
with a fiction, either of something invariable and uninter-
rupted, or of something mysterious and inexplicable, or
at least with a propensity to such fictions. What will sufl[ice
to prove this hypothesis to the satisfaction of every fair
enquirer, is to shew from daily experience and observation,
that the objects, which are variable or interrupted, and yet
are suppos'd to continue the same, are such only as consist of
a succession of parts, connected together by resemblance,
contiguity, or causation. For as such a succession answers
evidently to our notion of diversity, it can only be by mistake
we ascribe to it an identity; and as the relation of parts, which
leads us into this mistake, is really nothing but a quality,
which produces an association of ideas, and an easy transition
of the imagination from one to another, it can only be from
the resemblance, which this act of the mind bears to that, by
which we contemplate one continu'd object, that the error
arises. Our chief business, then, must be to prove, that
all objects, to which we ascribe identity, without observing
their invariableness and uninterruptedness, are such as consist
91 a succession of related objects.
In order to this, suppose any mass of matter, of which the
parts are contiguous and connected, to be plac'd before us ;
'tis plain we must attribute a perfect identity to this mass,
provided all the parts continue uninterruptedly and invariably
the same, whatever motion or change of place we may
observe either in the whole or in any of the parts. But
supposing some very small or inconsiderable part to be added
256 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. to the mass, or substracted from it; tho' this absolutely
" destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking ; yet as
sceptical ^^ seldom think so accurately, \ve scruple not to pronounce
and other a mass of matter the same, where we find so trivial an
^thilolothv alteration. The passage of the thought from the object
before the change to the object after it, is so smooth and
easy, that we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt
to imagine, that 'tis nothing but a continu'd survey of the
same object.
There is a very remarkable circumstance, that attends
this experiment ; which is, that tho' the change of any
considerable part in a mass of matter destroys the identity
of the whole, yet we must measure the greatness of the
part, not absolutely, but by its proportion to the whole. The
addition or diminution of a mountain wou'd not be suf-
ficient to produce a diversity in a planet ; tho' the change of
a very few inches wou'd be able to destroy the identity
of some bodies. 'Twill be impossible to account for this,
but by reflecting that objects operate upon the mind, and
break or interrupt the continuity of its actions not according
to their real greatness, but according to their proportion to
each other: And therefore, since this interruption makes
an object cease to appear the same, it must be the un-
interrupted progress of the thought, which constitutes the
[perfect?] [imperfect] identity.
^ This may be confirm'd by another phenomenon. A change
in any considerable part of a body destroys its identity;
but 'tis remarkable, that where the change is produc'd
gradually and insensibly we are less apt to ascribe to it
the same effect. The reason can plainly be no other, than
that the mind, in following the successive changes of the
body, feels an easy passage from the surveying its condition
in one moment to the viewing of it in another, and at no
particular time perceives any interruption in its actions.
From which continu'd perception, it ascribes a continu'd
existence and identity to the object.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 257
But whatever precaution we may use in introducing the Sect. VI.
changes gradually, and making them proportionable to the ^ , *' ' ,
, , , . . , , , , , , ,j Of personal
whole, tis certam, that where the changes are at last observ d identity.
to become considerable, we make a scruple of ascribing
identity to such different objects. There is, however, another
artifice, by which we may induce the imagination to advance
a step farther ; and that is, by producing a reference of
the parts to each other, and a combination to some common
end or purpose. A ship, of which a considerable part has
been chang'd by frequent reparations, is still consider'd as
the same ; nor does the difference of the materials hinder
us from ascribing an identity to it. The common end,
in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their
variations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination
from one situation of the body to another.
But this is still more remarkable, when we add a sympathy
of parts to their common end, and suppose that they bear
to each other, the reciprocal relation of cause and effect
in all their actions and operations. This is the case with all
animals and vegetables ; where not only the several parts
have a reference to some general purpose, but also a mutual
dependance on, and connexion with each other. The effect
of so strong a relation is, that tho' every one must allow,
that in a very few years both vegetables and animals endure
a total change, yet we still attribute identity to them, while
their form, size, and substance are entirely alter' d. An oak,
that grows from a small plant to a large tree, is still the
same oak; tho' there be not one particle of matter, or
figure of its parts the same. An infant becomes a man,
and is sometimes fat, sometimes lean, without any change in
his identity.
We may also consider the two following phsenomena, j
which are remarkable in their kind. The first is, that tho'
we commonly be able to distinguish pretty exactly betwixt
numerical and specific identity, yet it sometimes happens,
that we confound them, and in our thinking and reasoning
258
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Ofihe
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
Part IV. employ the one for the other. Thus a man, who hears
a noise, that is frequently interrupted and renew'd, says,
it is still the same noise ; tho' 'tis evident the sounds have
only a specific identity or resemblance, and there is nothing
numerically the same, but the cause, which produc'd them.
In like manner it may be said without breach of the pro-
priety of language, that such a church, which was formerly
of brick, fell to ruin, and that the parish rebuilt the same
church of free-stone, and according to modern architecture.
Here neither the form nor materials are the same, nor is
there any thing common to the two objects, but their
relation to the inhabitants of the parish ; and yet this alone
is sufficient to make us denominate them the same. But
we must observe, that in these cases the first object is
in a manner annihilated before the second comes into
existence ; by which means, we are never presented in
any one point of time with the idea of difference and
multiplicity ; and for that reason are less scrupulous in
calling them the same.
Secondly, We may remark, that tho* in a succession of
related objects, it be in a manner requisite, that the change
of parts be not sudden nor entire, in order to preserve the
identity, yet where the objects are in their nature changeable
and inconstant, we admit of a more sudden transition, than
wou'd otherwise be consistent with that relation. Thus
as the nature of a river consists in the motion and change
of parts ; tho' in less than four and twenty hours these
be totally alter'd; this hinders not the river from continuing
the same during several ages. What is natural and essential
to any thing is, in a manner, expected ; and what is ex-
pected makes less impression, and appears of less moment,
than what is unusual and extraordinary. A considerable
change of the former kind seems really less to the imagina-
tion, than the most trivial alteration of the latter ; and by
breaking less the continuity of the thought, has less influence
in destroying the identity.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 259
We now proceed to explain the nature o^ personal identity, Sect. VI.
which has become so great a question in philosophy, especi- ^, " ,
• -w, 7 , 1111 . Of personal
ally of late years in England, where all the abstruser sciences identity.
are study'd with a peculiar ardour and application. And
here 'tis evident, the same method of reasoning must be con-
tinu'd, which has so successfully explain'd the identity of
plants, and animals, and ships, and houses, and of all the
compounded and changeable productions either of art or
nature. The identity, which we ascribe to the mind of man,^
is only a fictitious one, and of a like kind with that which we
ascribe to vegetables and animal bodies. It cannot, there-
fore, have a different origin, but must proceed from a like
operation of the imagination upon like objects. J
But lest this argument shou'd not convince the reader ;
tho' in my opinion perfectly decisive ; let him weigh the
following reasoning, which is still closer and more immediate.
'Tis evident, that the identity, which we attribute to the
human mind, however perfect we may imagine it to be, is
not able to run the several different perceptions into one,
and make them lose their characters of distinction and
difference, which are essential to them. 'Tis still true, that
every distinct perception, which enters into the composition
of the mind, is a distinct existence, and is different, and dis-
tinguishable, and separable from every other perception,
either contemporary or successive. But, as, notwithstanding
this distinction and separability, we suppose the whole train
of perceptions to be united by identity, a question naturally
arises concerning this relation of identity : whether it be
something that really binds our several perceptions together,
or only associates their ideas in the imagination. That is,
in other words, whether in pronouncing concerning the
identity of a person, we observe some real bond among his
perceptions, or only feel one among the ideas we form of
them. This question we might easily decide, if we wou'd
recollect what has been already prov'd at large, that the
understanding never observes any real connexion among
26o A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. objects, and that even the union of cause and effect, when
" strictly examin'd, resolves itself into a customary association
sceptical °^ ideas. For from thence it evidently follows, that identity
and other is nothing really belonging to these different perceptions, and
^thihsoJhv ^"^^^"o them together ; but is merely a quality, which we
attribute to them, because of the union of their ideas in the
imagination, when we reflect upon them. Now the only
qualities, which can give ideas an union in the imagination,
are these three relations above-mention'd. These are the
uniting principles in the ideal world, and without them every
distinct object is separable by the mind, and may be separately
consider'd, and appears not to have anymore connexion with
any other object, than if disjoin'd by the greatest difference
and remoteness. 'Tis, therefore, on some of these three re-
lations of resemblance, contiguity and causation, that identity
depends ; and as the very essence of these relations consists
in their producing an easy transition of ideas ; it follows, that
our notions of personal identity, proceed entirely from the
smooth and uninterrupted progress of the thought along a
train of connected ideas, according to the principles above-
explain'd.
The only question, therefore, which remains, is, by what
relations this uninterrupted progress of our thought is pro-
duc'd, when we consider the successive existence of a mind or
thinking person. And here 'tis evident we must confine our-
selves to resemblance and causation, and must drop contiguity,
which has little or no influence in the present case.
To begin with resemblance ; suppose we cou'd see clearly
into the breast of another, and observe that succession of
perceptions, which constitutes his mind or thinking principle,
and suppose that he always preserves the memory of a con-
siderable part of past perceptions ; 'tis evident that nothing
cou'd more contribute to the bestowing a relation on this
succession amidst all its variations. For what is the memory
but a faculty, by which we raise up the images of past per-
ceptions ? And as an image necessarily resembles its object,
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 261
must not the frequent placing of these resembling perceptions Sect. VI.
in the chain of thought, convey the imagination more easily "
from one link to another, and make the whole seem like the ijfndty.
continuance of one object? In this particular, then, the
memory not only discovers the identity, but also contributes
to its production, by producing the relation of resemblance
among the perceptions. The case is the same whether we
consider ourselves or others.
As to causation ; we may observe, that the true idea of the
human mind, is to consider it as a system of different per-
ceptions or different existences, which are link'd together by
the relation of cause and effect, and mutually produce,
destroy, influence, and modify each other. Our impressions
give rise to their correspondent ideas ; and these ideas in
their turn produce other impressions. One thought chaces
another, and draws after it a third, by which it is expell'd in
its turn. In this respect, I cannot compare the soul more
properly to any thing than to a republic or commonwealth, in
which the several members are united by the reciprocal ties
of government and subordination, and give rise to other
persons, who propagate the same republic in the incessant
changes of its parts. And as the same individual republic
may not only change its members, but also its laws and
constitutions ; in hke manner the same person may vary his
character and disposition, as well as his impressions and
ideas, without losing his identity. Whatever changes he
endures, his several parts are still connected by the relation
of causation. And in this view our identity with regard
to the passions serves to corroborate that with regard to the
imagination, by the making our distant perceptions influence
each other, and by giving us a present concern for our past
or future pains or pleasures.
As memory alone acquaints us with the continuance and
extent of this succession of perceptions, 'tis to be consider'd,
upon that account chiefly, as the source of personal identity.
Had we no memory, we never shou'd have any notion of
262 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. causation, nor consequently of that chain of causes and
♦* effects, which constitute our self or person. But having once
•cettical ^cquir'd this notion of causation from the memory, we can
and other extend the same chain of causes, and consequently the
^^i-V'^^ff identity of our persons beyond our memory, and can com-
prehend times, and circumstances, and actions, which we
have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have existed.
For how few of our past actions are there, of which we have
any memory ? Who can tell me, for instance, what were
his thoughts and actions on the first o{ January 17 15, the
nth oi March 1719, and the 3d of August 1733 ? Or will
he affirm, because he has entirely forgot the incidents of
these days, that the present self is not the same person with
the self of that time ; and by that means overturn all the
most establish'd notions of personal identity ? In this view,
therefore, memory does not so much produce as discover
personal identity, by shewing us the relation of cause and
effect among our different perceptions. 'Twill be incumbent
on those, who affirm that memory produces entirely our
personal identity, to give a reason why we can thus extend
our identity beyond our memory.
The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion, which
is of great importance in the present affair, viz. that all
the nice and subtile questions concerning personal identity
can never possibly be decided, and are to be regarded rather
as grammatical than as philosophical difficulties. Identity
depends on the relations of ideas ; and these relations produce
identity, by means of that easy transition they occasion. But
as the relations, and the easiness of the transition may
diminish by insensible degrees, we have no just standard, by
which we can decide any dispute concerning the time, when
they acquire or lose a title to the name of identity. All the
disputes concerning the identity of connected objects are
merely verbal, except so far as the relation of parts gives rise
to some fiction or imaginary principle of union, as we have
already observ'd.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 263
What I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty Sect. VIL
of our notion of identity, as apply'd to the human mind, may ^ V .
,,,,,., , . , c . ,. ., Conclusion
be extended with httle or no variation to that 01 simpUcity. of this book.
An object, whose different co-existent parts are bound
together by a close relation, operates upon the imagination
after much the same manner as one perfectly simple and
indivisible, and requires not a much greater stretch of
thought in order to its conception. From this similarity
of operation we attribute a simplicity to it, and feign a
principle of union as the support of this simplicity, and
the center of all the different parts and qualities of the
object.
Thus we have finish'd our examination of the several
systems of philosophy, both of the intellectual and moral
world ; and in our miscellaneous way of reasoning have been
led into several topics ; which will either illustrate and con-
firm some preceding part of this discourse, or prepare the
way for our following opinions. 'Tis now time to return to
a more close examination of our subject, and to proceed in
the accurate anatomy of human nature, having fully explain'd
the nature of our judgment and understanding.
SECTION VII.
Conclusion of this book.
But before I launch out into those immense depths of
philosophy, which lie before me, I find myself inclin'd to stop
a moment in my present station, and to ponder that voyage,
which I have undertaken, and which undoubtedly requires
the utmost art and industry to be brought to a happy con-
clusion. Methinks I am like a man, who having struck on
many shoals, and having narrowly escap'd ship-wreck in
passing a small frith, has yet the temeiity to put out to sea
in the same leaky weather-beaten vessel, and even carries
264 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. his ambition so far as to think of compassing the globe
• ** " under these disadvantageous circumstances. My memory of
sceptical P^^' errors and perplexities, makes me diffident for the future.
and other The wretched condition, weakness, and disorder of the
^ihl"'\k f^cuUies, I must employ in my enquiries, encrease my appre-
hensions. And the impossibility of amending or correcting
these faculties, reduces me almost to despair, and makes me
resolve to perish on the barren rock, on which I am at
present, rather than venture myself upon that boundless
ocean, which runs out into immensity. This sudden view of
my danger strikes me with melancholy ; and as 'tis usual for
that passion, above all others, to indulge itself; I cannot
forbear feeding my despair, with all those desponding reflec-
tions, which the present subject furnishes me with in such
abundance.
I am first affrighted and confounded with that forelorn
solitude, in which I am plac'd in my philosophy, and fancy
myself some strange uncouth monster, who not being able to
mingle and unite in society, has been expell'd all human
commerce, and left utterly abandon'd and disconsolate.
Fain wou'd I run into the crowd for shelter and warmth;
but cannot prevail with myself to mix with such deformity.
I call upon others to join me, in order to make a company
apart ; but no one will hearken to me. Every one keeps at
a distance, and dreads that storm, which beats upon me from
every side. I have expos'd myself to the enmity of all
metaphysicians, logicians, mathematicians, and even theolo-
gians ; and can I wonder at the insults I must sufler ? I
have declar'd my dis-approbation of their systems ; and can
I be surpriz'd, if they shou'd express a hatred of mine and of
my person ? When I look abroad, I foresee on every side,
dispute, contradiction, anger, calumny and detraction. When
I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but doubt and igno-
rance. All the world conspires to oppose and contradict
me ; tho' such is my weakness, that I feel all my opinions
loosen and fall of themselves, when unsupported by the
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 265
approbation of others. Every step I take is with hesitation, Sect. VIL
and every new reflection makes me dread an error and — ^*~_
u J-, • • Conclusion
absurdity m my reasonmg. of this book.
For with what confidence can I venture upon such bold
enterprizes, when beside those numberless infirmities pecuhar
to myself, I find so many which are common to human
nature? Can I be sure, that in leaving all establish'd
opinions I am following truth ; and by what criterion shall
I distinguish her, even if fortune shou'd at last guide me on
her foot-steps? After the most accurate and exact of my
reasonings, I can give no reason why I shou'd assent to it ;
and feel nothing but a strong propensity to consider objects
strongly in that view, under which they appear to me. Ex-
perience is a principle, which instructs me in the several
conjunctions of objects for the past. Habit is another
principle, which determines me to expect the same for the
future; and both of them conspiring to operate upon the
imagination, make me form certain ideas in a more intense
and lively manner, than others, which are not attended with
the same advantages. Without this quality, by which the
mind enlivens some ideas beyond others (which seemingly is
so trivial, and so little founded on reason) we cou'd never
assent to any argument, nor carry our view beyond those
few objects, which are present to our senses. Nay, even to
these objects we cou'd never attribute any existence, but
what was dependent on the senses ; and must comprehend
them entirely in that succession of perceptions, which con-
stitutes our self or person. Nay farther, even with relation
to that succession, we cou'd only admit of those perceptions,
which are immediately present to our consciousness, nor
cou'd those lively images, with which the memory presents
us, be ever receiv'd as true pictures of past perceptions. The
memory, senses, and understanding are, therefore, all of them
founded on the imagination, or the vivacity of our ideas.
No wonder a principle so inconstant and fallacious shou'd
lead us into errors, when implicitely follow'd (as it must be) in
266
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosofhy
Part IV. all its variations. 'Tis this principle, which makes us reason
from causes and effects ; and 'tis the same principle, which
convinces us of the continu'd existence of external objects,
when absent from the senses. But tho' these two operations
be equally natural and necessary in the human mind, yet in
some circumstances they are ^ directly contrary, nor is it
possible for us to reason justly and regularly from causes
and eflfects, and at the same time believe the continu'd exist-
ence of matter. How then shall we adjust those principles
together ? Which of them shall we prefer ? Or in case we
prefer neither of them, but successively assent to both, as
is usual among philosophers, with what confidence can we
afterwards usurp that glorious title, when we thus knowingly
embrace a manifest contradiction ?
This ^ contradiction wou'd be more excusable, were it
compensated by any degree of solidity and satisfaction in the
other parts of our reasoning. But the case is quite contrary.
When we trace up the human understanding to its first
prhiciples, we find it to lead us into such sentiments, as seem
to turn into ridicule all our past pains and industry, and
to discourage us from future enquiries. Nothing is more
curiously enquir'd after by the mind of man, than the causes
of every phaenomenon ; nor are we content with knowing the
immediate causes, but push on our enquiries, till we arrive at
the original and ultimate principle. We wou'd not willingly
stop before we are acquainted with that energy in the cause,
by which it operates on its effect; that tie, which connects
them together ; and that efficacious quality, on which the tie
depends. This is our aim in all our studies and reflections :
And how must we be disappointed, when we learn, that this
connexion, tie, or energy lies merely in ourselves, and is
nothing but that determination of the mind, which is acquir'd
by custom, and causes us to make a transition from an
object to its usual attendant, and from the impression oi
one to the lively idea of the other ? Such a discovery not
' Sect. 4 (p. 231). » Part III. sect. 14.
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 267
only cuts off all hope of ever attaining satisfaction, but even Sect. VIT.
prevents our very wishes ; since it appears, that when we say " *• "
we desire to know the ultimate and operating principle, as ofthisbook
something, which resides in the external object, we either
contradict ourselves, or talk without a meaning.
This deficiency in our ideas is not, indeed, perceiv'd in
common life, nor are we sensible, that in the most usual
conjunctions of cause and effect we are as ignorant of the
ultimate principle, which binds them together, as in the most
unusual and extraordinary. But this proceeds merely from
an illusion of the imagination ; and the question is, how far
we ought to yield to these illusions. This question is very
difficult, and reduces us to a very dangerous dilemma, which-
ever way we answer it. For if we assent to every trivial
suggestion of the fancy; beside that these suggestions are
often contrary to each other ; they lead us into such errors,
absurdities, and obscurities, that we must at last become
asham'd of our credulity. Nothing is more dangerous to
reason than the flights of the imagination, and nothing has
been the occasion of more mistakes among philosophers.
Men of bright fancies may in this respect be compar'd to
those angels, whom the scripture represents as covering their
eyes with their wings. This has already appear'd in so
many instances, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of
enlarging upon it any farther.
But on the other hand, if the consideration of these
instances makes us take a resolution to reject all the trivial
suggestions of the fancy, and adhere to the understanding,
that is, to the general and more establish'd properties of the
imagination ; even this resolution, if steadily executed, wou'd
be dangerous, and attended with the most fatal consequences.
For I have already shewn,* that the understanding, when it
acts alone, and according to its most general principles,
entirely subverts itself, and leaves not the lowest degree
of evidence in any proposition, either in philosophy or
' Sect. I (p. 182 f.).
268 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. common life. We save ourselves from this total scepticism
•• only by means of that singular and seemingly trivial pro-
sceptical perty of the fancy, by which we enter with difficulty into
and other remote views of things, and are not able to accompany them
sysemsof ^j^|^ g^ sensible an impression, as we do those, which are
more easy and natural. Shall we, then, establish it for a
general maxim, that no refin'd or elaborate reasoning is ever
to be receiv'd ? Consider well the consequences of such
a principle. By this means you cut off entirely all science
and philosophy : You proceed upon one singular quality of
the imagination, and by a parity of reason must embrace all
of them: And you expresly contradict yourself; since this
maxim must be built on the preceding reasoning, which will
be allow'd to be sufficiently refin'd and metaphysical. What
party, then, shall we choose among these difficulties ? If we
embrace this principle, and condemn all refin'd reasoning,
we run into the most manifest absurdities. If we reject it in
favour of these reasonings, we subvert entirely the human
understanding. We have, therefore, no choice left but
betwixt a false reason and none at all. For my part, I know
not what ought to be done in the present case. I can only
observe what is commonly done ; which is, that this difficulty
is seldom or never thought of; and even where it has once
been present to the mind, is quickly forgot, and leaves but a
small impression behind it. Very refin'd reflections have
little or no influence upon us; and yet we do not, and
cannot establish it for a rule, that they ought not to have any
influence ; which implies a manifest contradiction.
But what have I here said, that reflections very refin'd and
metaphysical have little or no influence upon us? This
opinion I can scarce forbear retracting, and condemning
from my present feeling and experience. The intense view
of these manifold contradictions and imperfections in human
reason has so wrought upon me, and heated my brain, that
I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can look
upon no opinion even as more probable or likely than
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 269
another. Where am I, or what ? From what causes do Sect. VIL
I derive my existence, and to what condition shall I return ? ■ *■* '
Whose favour shall I court, and whose anger must I dread ? onhisbook
What beings surround me ? and on whom have I any in-
fluence, or who have any influence on me ? I am confounded
with all these questions, and begin to fancy myself in the
most deplorable condition imaginable, inviron'd with the
deepest darkness, and utterly depriv'd of the use of every
member and faculty.
Most fortunately it happens, that since reason is incapable
of dispelling these clouds, nature herself suffices to that
purpose, and cures me of this philosophical melancholy
and delirium, either by relaxing this bent of mind, or by
some avocation, and lively impression of my senses, which
obliterate all these chimeras. I dine, I play a game of
back-gammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends ;
and when after three or four hours' amusement, I wou'd
return to these speculations, they appear so cold, and strain'd,
and ridiculous, that I cannot find in my heart to enter into
them any farther.
Here then I find myself absolutely and necessarily de-
termin'd to live, and talk, and act like other people in the
common affairs of life. But notwithstanding that my natural
propensity, and the course of my animal spirits and passions
reduce me to this indolent belief in the general maxims
of the world, I still feel such remains of my former dis-
position, that I am ready to throw all my books and papers
into the fire, and resolve never more to renounce the
pleasures 01 hfe for the sake of reasoning and philosophy.
For those are my sentiments in that splenetic humour,
which governs me at present. I may, nay I must yield
to the current of nature, in submitting to my senses and
understanding; and in this blind submission I shew most
perfectly my sceptical disposition and principles. But does
it follow, that I must strive against the current of nature,
which leads me to indolence and pleasure; that I must
K
270 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. seclude myself, in some measure, from the commerce and
•' society of men, which is so agreeable; and that I must
sceptical ^orture my brain with subtilities and sophistries, at the very
and other time that I cannot satisfy myself concerning the reasonable-
^thilTsothv "^^^ °^ ^° painful an application, nor have any tolerable
prospect of arriving by its means at truth and certainty.
Under what obligation do I lie of making such an abuse
of time ? And to what end can it serve either for the
service of mankind, or for my own private interest? No:
If I must be a fool, as all those who reason or believe
any thing certainly are, my follies shall at least be natural
and agreeable. Where I strive against my inclination,
I shall have a good reason for my resistance ; and will
no more be led a wandering into such dreary solitudes, and
rough passages, as I have hitherto met with.
These are the sentiments of my spleen and indolence ;
and indeed I must confess, that philosophy has nothing
to oppose to them, and expects a victory more from the
returns of a serious good-humour'd disposition, than from
the force of reason and conviction. In all the incidents
of life we ought still to preserve our scepticism. If we
believe, that fire warms, or water refreshes, 'tis only because
it costs us too much pains to think otherwise. Nay if we
are philosophers, it ought only to be upon sceptical principles,
and from an inclination, which we feel to the employing
ourselves after that manner. Where reason is lively, and
mixes itself with some propensity, it ought to be assented
to. Where it does not, it never can have any title to operate
upon us.
At the time, therefore, that I am tir'd with amusement
and company, and have indulg'd a reverie in my chamber,
or in a solitary walk by a river-side, I feel my mind all
collected within itself, and am naturally incliiid to carry
my view into all those subjects, about which I have met
with so many disputes in the course of my reading and
conversation. I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 27 1
acquainted with the principles of moral good and evil, the Sect. VII,
nature and foundation of government, and the cause of ~** .
those several passions and inclinations, which actuate and of this book.
govern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one object,
and disapprove of another; call one thing beautiful, and
another deform'd; decide concerning truth and falshood,
reason and folly, without knowing upon what principles
I proceed. I am concern'd for the condition of the learned
world, which lies under such a deplorable ignorance in all
these particulars. I feel an ambition to arise in me of
contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of acquiring
a name by my inventions and discoveries. These sentiments
spring up naturally in my present disposition; and shou'd
I endeavour lo banish them, by attaching myself to any other
business or diversion, I feel I shou'd be a loser in point of
pleasure ; and this is the origin of my philosophy.
But even suppose this curiosity and ambition shou'd
not transport me into speculations without the sphere of
common life, it wou'd necessarily happen, that from my
very weakness I must be led into such enquiries. 'Tis
certain, that superstition is much more bold in its systems
and hypotheses than philosophy; and while the latter
contents itself with assigning new causes and principles
to the phaenomena, which appear in the visible world, the
former opens a world of its own, and presents us with
scenes, and beings, and objects, which are altogether new.
Since therefore 'tis almost impossible for the mind of man
to rest, like those of beasts, in that narrow circle of objects,
which are the subject of daily conversation and action,
we ought only to deliberate concerning the choice of our
guide, and ought to prefer that which is safest and most
agreeable. And in this respect I make bold to recommend
philosophy, and shall not scruple to give it the preference to
superstition of every kind or denomination. For as super-
stition arises naturally and easily from the popular opinions
of mankind, it seizes more strongly on the mind, and is
272
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV.
■ «>
Of the
sceptical
and other
systems of
philosophy.
often able to disturb us in the conduct of our lives and
actions. Philosophy on the contrary, if just, can present
us only with mild and moderate sentiments ; and if false
and extravagant, its opinions are merely the objects of a
cold and general speculation, and seldom go so far as to
interrupt the course of our natural propensities. The Cynics
are an extraordinary instance of philosophers, who from
reasonings purely philosophical ran into as great extrava-
gancies of conduct as any Monk or Dervise that ever was
in the world. Generally speaking, the errors in religion
are dangerous ; those in philosophy only ridiculous.
I am sensible, that these two cases of the strength and
weakness of the mind will not comprehend all mankind, and
that there are in England, in particular, many honest gentle-
men, who being always employ'd in their domestic affairs, or
amusing themselves in common recreations, have carried
their thoughts very little beyond those objects, which are
every day expos'd to their senses. And indeed, of such
as these I pretend not to make philosophers, nor do I expect
them either to be associates in these researches or auditors of
these discoveries. They do well to keep themselves in their
present situation; and instead of refining them into philo-
sophers, I wish we cou'd communicate to our founders of
systems, a share of this gross earthy mixture, as an ingredient,
which they commonly stand much in need of, and which
wou'd serve to temper those fiery particles, of which they are
compos'd. While a warm imagination is allow'd to enter
into philosophy, and hypotheses embrac'd merely for being
specious and agreeable, we can never have any steady
principles, nor any sentiments, which will suit with common
practice and experience. But were these hypotheses once
remov'd, we might hope to establish a system or set of
opinions, which if not true (for that, perhaps, is too much to
be hop'd for) might at least be satisfactory to the human
mind, and might stand the test of the most critical examina-
tion. Nor shou'd we despair of attaining this end, because
Book I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 273
of the many chimerical systems, which have successively Sect. VII.
arisen and decay'd away among men, wou'd we consider the — **— ;
shortness of that period, wherein these questions have been ^y^^^ ^^^^
the subjects of enquiry and reasoning. Two thousand years
with such long interruptions, and under such mighty dis-
couragements are a small space of time to give any tolerable
perfection to the sciences; and perhaps we are still in too
early an age of the world to discover any principles, which
will bear the examination of the latest posterity. For my
part, my only hope is, that I may contribute a little to the
advancement of knowledge, by giving in some particulars
a different turn to the speculations of philosophers, and
pointing out to them more distinctly those subjects, where
alone they can expect assurance and conviction. Human
Nature is the only science of man ; and yet has been hitherto
the most neglected. 'Twill be sufficient for me, if I can
bring it a little more into fashion; and the hope of this
serves to compose my temper from that spleen, and invigorate
it from that indolence, which sometimes prevail upon me. If
the reader finds himself in the same easy disposition, let
him follow me in my future speculations. If not, let him
follow his inclination, and wait the returns of application
and good humour. The conduct of a man, who studies
philosophy in this careless manner, is more truly sceptical
than that of one, who feeling in himself an inclination to it,
is yet so over-whelm'd with doubts and scruples, as totally
to reject it. A true sceptic will be diffident of his philo-
sophical doubts, as well as of his philosophical conviction ;
and will never refuse any innocent satisfaction, which offers
itself, upon account of either of them.
Nor is it only proper we shou'd in general indulge our
inclination in the most elaborate philosophical researches,
notwithstanding our sceptical principles, but also that we
shou'd yield to that propensity, which inclines us to be
positive and certain in particular points, according to the
light, in which we survey them in z.ny particular instant. 'Tis
274 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IV. easier to forbear all examination and enquiry, than to check
— •"• — ourselves in so natural a propensity, and guard against that
sLltkal assurance, which always arises from an exact and full survey
and other of an object. On such an occasion we are apt not only
'thi"^\Y to forget our scepticism, but even our modesty too; and
make use of such terms as these, Uis evident, 'its certain,
'tis undeniable ; which a due deference to the public ought,
perhaps, to prevent. I may have fallen into this fault after
the example of others ; but I here enter a caveat against any
objections, which may be offer'd on that head ; and declare
that such expressions were extorted from me by the present
view of the object, and imply no dogmatical spirit, nor con-
ceited idea of my own judgment, which are sentiments that I
am sensible can become no body, and a sceptic still less than
any other.
T R EATI S E
O F
Human Nature :
BEING
An Attempt to introduce the ex-
perimental Method of Reafoning
INTO
MORAL SUBJECTS.
Rara temporum f elicit as ^ ubi fentirCj qu^e velis ,• <& qua
fevtias^ dicere licet. Tacit.
Book II.
OF THE
PASSIONS
L 0 N D ON:
Printed for John Noon, at the IVhite-Hart, near
Mercers-Chapel^ in Cheapftde.
MDCCXXXIX.
BOOK II.
OF THE PASSIONS.
PART I.
OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY.
SECTION I.
Division of the Subject.
As all the perceptions of the mhid may be divided into Sect. 1
impressions and ideas, so the impressions admit of another "~**~
division into original and secondary. This division of the im- gf ^j^^
pressions is the same with that which ' I formerly made use subject.
of when I distinguish'd them into impressions of sensation and
reflexion. Original impressions or impressions of sensation
are such as without any antecedent perception arise in the
soul, from the constitution of the body, from the animal
spirits, or from the appHcation of objects to the external
organs. Secondary, or reflective impressions are such as
proceed from some of these original ones, either immediately
or by the interposition of its idea. Of the first kind are all
the impressions of the senses, and all bodily pains and plea-
sures : Of the second are the passions, and other emotions
resembling them.
'Tis certain, that the mind, in its perceptions, must begin
somewhere ; and that since the impressions precede their
correspondent ideas, there must be some impressions, which
without any introduction make their appearance in the soul.
As these depend upon natural and physical causes, the
examination of them wou'd lead me too far from my present
1 Book I. Part I. sect. 2.
276 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. subject, into the sciences of anatomy and natural philosophy.
r.f**.j For this reason I shall here confine myself to those other
and humi- impressions, which I have call'd secondary and reflective, as
^'<y- arising either from the original impressions, or from their
ideas. Bodily pains and pleasures are the source of many
passions, both when felt and consider'd by the mind; but
arise originally in the soul, or in the body, whichever you
please to call it, without any preceding thought or percep-
tion. A fit of the gout produces a long train of passions, as
grief, hope, fear; but is not deriv'd immediately from any
affection or idea.
The reflective impressions may be divided into two kinds,
viz. the calm and the violent. Of the first kind is the sense of
beauty and deformity in action, composition, and external
objects. Of the second are the passions of love and hatred,
grief and joy, pride and humility. This division is far from
being exact. The raptures of poetry and music frequently
rise to the greatest height; while those other impressions,
properly called passions, may decay into so soft an emotion,
as to become, in a manner, imperceptible. But as in general
the passions are more violent than the emotions arising from
beauty and deformity, these impressions have been commonly
distinguish'd from each other. The subject of the human
mind being so copious and various, I shall here take advantage
of this vulgar and specious division, that I may proceed with
t?je greater order; and having said all I thought necessary
concerning our ideas, shall now explain these violent
emotions or passions, their nature, origin, causes, and effects.
When we take a survey of the passions, there occurs a
division of them into direct and indirect. By direct passions
I understand such as arise immediately from good or evil,
from pain or pleasure. By indirect such as proceed from
the same principles, but by the conjunction of other qualities.
This distinction I cannot at present justify or explain any
farther. I can only observe in general, that under the in-
direct passions I comprehend pride, humility, ambition, vanity,
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 277
love, hatred, envy, pity, malice, generosity, with their depen- Sect. L
dants. And under the direct passions, desire, aversion, grief, . /•.
joy, hope, fear, despair and security. 1 shall begin with the of t^^
former. '«^>^'-
SECTION II.
Of pride and humility ; their objects and causes.
The passions of pride and humility being simple and
uniform impressions, 'tis impossible we can ever, by a multi-
tude of words, give a just definition of them, or indeed of any
of the passions. The utmost we can pretend to is a descrip-
tion of them, by an enumeration of such circumstances, as
attend them : But as these words, pride and humility, are of
general use, and the impressions they represent the most
common of any, every one, of himself, will be able to form a
just idea of them, without any danger of mistake. For which
reason, not to lose time upon preliminaries, I shall imme-
diately enter upon the examination of these passions.
'Tis evident, that pride and humility, tho' directly contrary,
have yet the same object. This object is self, or that suc-
cession of related ideas and impressions, of which we have an
intimate memory and consciousness. Here the view always
fixes when we are actuated by either of these passions.
According as our idea of ourself is more or less advan-
tageous, we feel either of those opposite affections, and are
elated by pride, or dejected with humility. Whatever other
objects may be comprehended by the mind, they are always
consider'd with a view to ourselves; otherwise they wou'd
never be able either to excite these passions, or produce the
smallest encrease or diminution of them. When self enters
not into the consideration, there is no room either for pride
or humility.
But tho' that connected succession of perceptions, which
we call self, be always the object of these two passions, 'tis
impossible it can be their cause, or be sufficient alone to
2/8
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of pride
and humi
lity.
Part I. excite them. For as these passions are directly contrary,
and have the same object in common ; were their object also
their cause ; it cou'd never produce any degree of the one
passion, but at the same time it must excite an equal degree
of the other ; which opposition and contrariety must destroy
both. 'Tis impossible a man can at the same time be both
proud and humble ; and where he has different reasons for
these passions, as frequently happens, the passions either take
place alternately; or if they encounter, the one annihilates
the other, as far as its strength goes, and the remainder only
of that, which is superior, continues to operate upon the
mind. But in the present case neither of the passions cou'd
ever become superior ; because supposing it to be the view
only of ourself, which excited them, that being perfectly in-
different to either, must produce both in the very same pro-
portion ; or in other words, can produce neither. To excite
any passion, and at the same time raise an equal share of its
antagonist, is immediately to undo what was done, and must
leave the mind at last perfectly calm and indifferent.
We must, therefore, make a distinction betwixt the cause
and the object of these passions; betwixt that idea, which
excites them, and that to which they direct their view, when
excited. Pride and humility, being once rais'd, immediately
turn our attention to ourself, and regard that as their ulti-
mate and final object; but there is something farther requisite
in order to raise them : Something, which is peculiar to one
of the passions, and produces not both in the very same
degree. The first idea, that is presented to the mind, is that
of the cause or productive principle. This excites the
passion, connected with it; and that passion, when excited,
turns our view to another idea, which is that of self. Here
then is a passion plac'd betwixt two ideas, of which the one
produces it, and the other is produc'd by it. The first idea,
therefore, represents the cause, the second the object of the
passion.
To begin with the causes of pride and humility ; we may
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 279
observe, that their most obvious and remarkable property is Sect. II.
the vast variety of subjects, on which they may be plac'd. ' '•
Every valuable quality of the mind, whether of the imagina- ^„/^^„^/.
tion, judgment, memory or disposition; wit, good-sense, /?<;/; //i«>
learning, courage, justice, integrity ; all these are the causes °^^^J^ "^
of pride; and their opposites of humility. Nor are these
passions confin'd to the mind, but extend their view to the
body likewise. A man may be proud of his beauty, strength,
agility, good mein, address in dancing, riding, fencing, and
of his dexterity in any manual business or manufacture.
But this is not all. The passion looking farther, comprehend
whatever objects are in the least ally'd or related to us.
Our country, family, children, relations, riches, houses,
gardens, horses, dogs, cloaths; any of these may become
a cause either of pride or of humility.
From the consideration of these causes, it appears neces-
sary we shou'd make a new distinction in the causes of the
passion, betwixt that quality, which operates, and the subject,
on which it is plac'd. A man, for instance, is vain of a
beautiful house, which belongs to him, or which he has him-
self built and contrived. Here the object of the passion is
himself, and the cause is the beautiful house : Which cause
again is sub-divided into two parts, viz. the quality, which
operates upon the passion, and the subject, in which the
quality inheres. The quality is the beauty, and the subject
is the house, consider'd as his property or contrivance. Both
these parts are essential, nor is the distinction vain and
chimerical. Beauty, consider'd merely as such, unless plac'd
upon something related to us, never produces any pride or
vanity ; and the strongest relation alone, without beauty, or
something else in its place, has as little influence on that
passion. Since, therefore, these two particulars are easily
separated, and there is a necessity for their conjunction, in
order to produce the passion, we ought to consider them as
component parts of the cause; and infix in our minds an
exact idea of this distinction.
28o
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of pride
and humi'
lity.
SECTION III.
Whence these objects and causes are deriv'd.
Being so far advanc'd as to observe a difference betwixt
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 inheres ; we now proceed to examine
what determines each of them to be what it is, and assigns
such a particular object, and quality, and subject to these
affections. By this means we shall fully understand the
origin of pride and humility.
'Tis evident in the first place, that these passions are
determin'd to have self for their object, not only by a natural
but also by an original property. No one can doubt but
this property is natural from the constancy and steadiness of
its operations. 'Tis always self, which is the object of pride
and humility ; and whenever the passions look beyond, 'tis
still with a view to ourselves, nor can any person or object
otherwise have any influence upon us.
That this proceeds from an original quality or primary
impulse, will likewise appear evident, if we consider that 'tis
the distinguishing characteristic of these passions. Unless
nature had given some original qualities to the mind, it
cou'd never have any secondary ones ; because in that case
it wou'd have no foundation for action, nor cou'd ever begin
to exert itself. Now these qualities, which we must consider
as original, are such as are most inseparable from the soul,
and can be resolv'd into no other : And such is the quality,
which determines the object of pride and humility.
We may, perhaps, make it a greater question, whether the
causes, that produce the passion, be as ttatural as the object,
to which it is directed, and whether all that vast variety pro-
ceeds from caprice or from the constitution of the mind.
Tliis doubt we shall soon remove, if we cast our eye upon
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 281
human nature, and consider that in all nations and ages, the Sect. TIL
same objects still give rise to pride and humility: and that „„ " '
Whcitct
upon the view even of a stranger, we can know pretty nearly, these ob-
what will either encrease or diminish his passions of this -/'^'^''■f '^"'^
kind. If there be any variation in this particular, it proceeds deriv'd.
from nothing but a difference in the tempers and complexions
of men ; and is besides very inconsiderable. Can we imagine
it possible, that while human nature remains the same, men
will ever become entirely indifferent to their power, riches,
beauty or personal merit, and that their pride and vanity will
not be affected by these advantages ?
But tho' the causes of pride and humility be plainly natural,
we shall find upon examination, that they are not original,
and that 'tis utterly impossible they shou'd each of them be
adapted to these passions by a particular provision, and
primary constitution of nature. Beside their prodigious
number, many of them are the effects of art, and arise partly
from the industry, partly from the caprice, and partly from
the good fortune of men. Industry produces houses, furni-
ture, cloaths. Caprice determines their particular kinds and
qualities. And good fortune frequently contributes to all
this, by discovering the effects that result from the different
mixtures and combinations of bodies. 'Tis absurd, therefore,
to imagine, that each of these was foreseen and provided for
by nature, and that every new production of art, which causes
pride or humility ; instead of adapting itself to the passion by
partaking of some general quality, that naturally operates on
the mind ; is itself the object of an original principle, which
till then lay conceal'd in the soul, and is only by accident at
last brought to light. Thus the first mechanic, that invented
a fine scritoire, produc'd pride in him, who became possest
of it, by principles different from those, which made him
proud of handsome chairs and tables. As this appears
evidently ridiculous, we must conclude, that each cause of
pride and humility is not adapted to the passions by a distinct
original quality; but that there are some one or more cir-
282 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. cumstances common to all of them, on which their efficacy
" •♦ - depends.
andhumi- Besides, we find in the course of nature, that tho' the
lity. effects be rriany, the principles, from which they arise, are
commonly but few and simple, and that 'tis the sign of an
unskilful naturalist to have recourse to a different quality, in
order to explain every different operation. How much more
must this be true with regard to the human mind, which
being so confin'd a subject may justly be thought incapable
of containing such a monstrous heap of principles, as wou'd
be necessary to excite the passions of pride and humility,
were each distinct cause adapted to the passion by a distinct
set of principles ?
Here, therefore, moral philosophy is in the same condition
as natural, with regard to astronomy before the time of Co'
pernicus. The antients, tho' sensible of that maxim, that
nature does nothwg in vain, contriv'd such intricate systems
of the heavens, as seem'd inconsistent with true philosophy,
and gave place at last to something more simple and natural.
To invent without scruple a new principle to every new
phsenomenon, instead of adapting it to the old ; to overload
our hypotheses with a variety of this kind ; are certain proofs,
that none of these principles is the just one, and that we only
desire, by a number of falsehoods, to cover our ignorance of
the truth.
SECTION IV.
0/ the relations 0/ impressions and ideas.
Thus we have establish'd two truths without any obstacle
or difliculty, that 'tis from natural principles this variety of
causes excite pride and humility, and that 'tis not by a different
principle each different cause is adapted to its passion. We
shall now proceed to enquire how we may reduce these
principles to a lesser number, and find among the causes
something common, on which their influence depends.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 283
In order to this we must reflect on certain properties of Sect. IV.
human nature, which tho' they have a mighty influence on " ** '
every operation both of the understanding and passions, are lations^o'f
not commonly much insisted on by philosophers. The first impressions
of these is the association of ideas, which I have so often ^^eas.
observ'd and explain'd. 'Tis impossible for the mind to fix
itself steadily upon one idea for any considerable time ; nor
can it by its utmost efforts ever arrive at such a constancy.
But however changeable our thoughts may be, they are not
entirely without rule and method in their changes. The
rule, by which they proceed, is to pass from one object to
what is resembling, contiguous to, or produc'd by it. "When
one idea is present to the imagination, any other, united by
these relations, naturally follows it, and enters with more
facility by means of that introduction.
The second property I shall observe in the human mind is
a like association of impressions. All resembling impressions
are connected together, and no sooner one arises than the
rest immediately follow. Grief and disappointment give rise
to anger, anger to envy, envy to malice, and malice to grief
again, till the whole circle be compleated. In like manner
our temper, when elevated with joy, naturally throws itself
into love, generosity, pity, courage, pride, and the other
resembling affections. 'Tis difficult for the mind, when
actuated by any passion, to confine itself to that passion
alone, without any change or variation. Human nature is
too inconstant to admit of any such regularity. Changeable-
ness is essential to it. And to what can it so naturally change
as to affections or emotions, which are suitable to the temper,
and agree with that set of passions, which then prevail ? 'Tis
evident, then, there is an attraction or association among
impressions, as well as among ideas ; tho' with this remark-
able difference, that ideas are associated by resemblance,
contiguity, and causation ; and impressions only by resem-
blance.
In the third place, 'tis observable of these two kinds of
284 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. association, that they very much assist and forward each
' ". other, and that the transition is more easily made where they
andhunii- ^^^^ concur in the same object. Thus a man, who, by any
lity. injury from another, is very much discompos'd and ruffled in
his temper, is apt to find a hundred subjects of discontent,
impatience, fear, and other uneasy passions ; especially if he
can discover these subjects in or near the person, who was
the cause of his first passion. Those principles, which forward
the transition of ideas, here concur with those, which operate
on the passions ; and both uniting in one action, bestow on
the mind a double impulse. The new passion, therefore,
must arise with so much greater violence, and the transition
to it must be render'd so much more easy and natural.
Upon this occasion I may cite the authority of an elegant
writer, who expresses himself in the following manner. ' As
the fancy delights in every thing that is great, strange, or
beautiful, and is still more pleas'd the more it finds of these
perfections in the same object, so it is capable of receiving a
new satisfaction by the assistance of another sense. Thus any
continu'd sound, as the music of birds, or a fall of waters,
awakens every moment the mind of the beholder, and makes
him more attentive to the several beauties of the place, that
lie before him. Thus if there arises a fragrancy of smells or
perfumes, they heighten the pleasure of the imagination, and
make even the colours and verdure of the landschape appear
more agreeable ; for the ideas of both senses recommend
each other, and are pleasanter together than when they enter
the mind separately : As the different colours of a picture,
when they are well disposed, set off one another, and receive
an additional beauty from the advantage of the situation.' In
this phsenomenon we may remark the association both of
impressions and ideas, as well as the mutual assistance they
lend each other.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 285
Sect. V.
SECTION V. 0/i/iet»-
^uence of
Of the influence of these relations on pride and humility. V".' *""'
pHde a7id
These principles being establish'd on unquestionable ex- humility.
perience, I begin to consider how we shall apply them, by
revolving over all the causes of pride and humility, whether
these causes be regarded, as the qualities, that operate, or as
the subjects, on which the qualities are plac'd. In examining
these qualities I immediately find many of them to concur in
producing the sensation of pain and pleasure, independent of
those affections, which I here endeavour to explain. Thus
the beauty of our person, of itself, and by its very appearance,
gives pleasure, as well as pride; and its deformity, pain as
well as humility. A magnificent feast delights us, and a
sordid one displeases. What I discover to be true in some
instances, I suppose to be so in all ; and take it for granted at
present, without any farther proof, that every cause of pride,
by its peculiar qualities, produces a separate pleasure, and of
humility a separate uneasiness.
Again, in considering the subjects, to which these qualities
adhere, I make a new supposition, which also appears probable
from many obvious instances, viz. that these subjects are
either parts of ourselves, or something nearly related to us.
Thus the good and bad qualities of our actions and manners
constitute virtue and vice, and determine our personal char-
acter, than which nothing operates more strongly on these
passions. In like manner, 'tis the beauty or deformity of our
person, houses, equipage, or furniture, by which we are
render'd either vain or humble. The same qualities, when
transfer'd to subjects, which bear us no relation, influence not
in the smallest degree either of these affections.
Having thus in a manner suppos'd two properties of the
causes of these affections, viz. that the qualities produce a
separate pain or pleasure, and that the subjects, on which the
236
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of pride
and kunii-
lity.
Part I, qualities are plac'd, are related to self; I proceed to examine
the passions themselves, in order to find something in them,
correspondent to the suppos'd properties of their causes.
First, I find, that the peculiar object of pride and humility is
determin'd by an original and natural instinct, and that 'tis
absolutely impossible, from the primary constitution of the
mind, that these passions shou'd ever look beyond self, or
that individual person, of whose actions and sentiments each
of us is intimately conscious. Here at last the view always
rests, when we are actuated by either of these passions ; nor
can we, in that situation of mind, ever lose sight of this
object. For this I pretend not to give any reason ; but
consider such a peculiar direction of the thought as an
original quality.
The second quality, which I discover in these passions, and
which I likewise consider as an original quality, is their
sensations, or the peculiar emotions they excite in the soul,
and which constitute their very being and essence. Thus
pride is a pleasant sensation, and humility a painful; and
upon the removal of the pleasure and pain, there is in reality
no pride nor humility. Of this our very feeling convinces
us; and beyond our feeling, 'tis here in vain to reason or
dispute.
If I compare, therefore, these two estahlisJid properties of
the passions, viz. their object, which is self, and their sensa-
tion, which is either pleasant or painful, to the two suppos'd
properties of the causes, viz. their relation to self, and their
tendency to produce a pain or pleasure, independent of the
passion; I immediately find, that taking these suppositions to
be just, the true system breaks in upon me with an irresistible
evidence. That cause, which excites the passion, is related
to the object, which nature has attributed to the passion ; the
sensation, which the cause separately produces, is related to
the sensation of the passion : From this double relation of
ideas and impressions, the passion is deriv'd. The one idea
is easily converted into its cor-relative ; and the one im-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 287
pression into that, which resembles and corresponds to it : Sect. V.
With how much greater facility must this transition be made, —- >♦—
where these movements mutually assist each other, and the ^{^^^^ ^"}
mind receives a double impulse from the relations both of \\.^' these re-
impressions and ideas ? latwns on
rr-ii 1 1 • 1 prtae ana
1 hat we may comprehend this the better, we must suppose, humility.
that nature has given to the organs of the human mind, a
certain disposition fitted to produce a peculiar impression or
emotion, which we call pride : To this emotion she has
assign'd a certain idea, viz. that of self, which it never fails
to produce. This contrivance of nature is easily conceiv'd.
We have many instances of such a situation of affairs. The
nerves of the nose and palate are so dispos'd, as in certain
circumstances to convey such peculiar sensations to the
mind : The sensations of lust and hunger always produce in
us the idea of those peculiar objects, which are suitable to
each appetite. These two circumstances are united in pride.
The organs are so dispos'd as to produce the passion ; and
the passion, after its production, naturally produces a certain
idea. All this needs no proof. 'Tis evident we never shou'd
be possest of that passion, were there not a disposition of
mind proper for it; and 'tis as evident, that the passion
always turns our view to ourselves, and makes us think of
our own qualities and circumstances.
This being fully comprehended, it may now be ask'd,
Whether nature produces the passion immediately, of herself ;
or whether she must he assisted by the co-operation of other
causes? For 'tis observable, that in this particular her
conduct is different in the different passions and sensations.
The palate must be excited by an external object, in order to
produce any relish : But hunger arises internally, without the
concurrence of any external object. But however the case
may stand with other passions and impressions, 'tis certain,
that pride requires the assistance of some foreign object, and
that the organs, which produce it, exert not themselves like
the heart and arteries, by an original internal movement.
288 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. For first, daily experience convinces us, that pride requires
•• certain causes to excite it, and languislies when unsupported
and hiimi- ^X some excellency in the character, in bodily accomplish-
iity. ments, in deaths, equipage or fortune. Secondly, 'tis evident
pride wou'd be perpetual, if it arose immediately from nature ;
since the object is always the same, and there is no disposition
of body peculiar to pride, as there is to thirst and hunger.
Thirdly, Humility is in the very same situation with pride ;
and therefore, either must, upon this supposition, be perpetual
likewise, or must destroy the contrary passion from the very
first moment; so that none of them cou'd ever make its
appearance. Upon the whole, we may rest satisfy'd with the
foregoing conclusion, that pride must have a cause, as well
as an object, and that the one has no influence without the
other.
The diflkulty, then, is only to discover this cause, and find
what it is that gives the first motion to pride, and sets those
organs in action, which are naturally fitted to produce that
emotion. Upon my consulting experience, in order to re-
solve this difficulty, I immediately find a hundred different
causes, that produce pride; and upon examining these
causes, I suppose, what at first I perceive to be probable,
that all of them concur in two circumstances ; which are,
that of themselves they produce an impression, ally'd to the
passion, and are plac'd on a subject, ally'd to the object of
the passion. When I consider after this the nature of relation,
and its effects both on the passions and ideas, I can no longer
doubt, upon these suppositions, that 'tis the very principle,
which gives rise to pride, and bestows motion on those
organs, which being naturally dispos'd to produce that
affection, require only a first impulse or beginning to theii
action. Any thing, that gives a pleasant sensation, and is
related to self, excites the passion of pride, which is also
agreeable, and has self for its object.
What I have said of pride is equally true of humility.
The sensation of humility is uneasy, as that of pride is agree-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 289
able; for which reason the separate sensation, arising from the Sect. V
causes, must be revers'd, while the relation to self continues " .
the same. Tho' pride and humility are directly contrary 'vciji„f,ii.e of
their effects, and in their sensations, they have notwithstand- these v.-
ing the same object; so that 'tis requisite only to change the f -^^"^^^
relation of impressions, without making any change upon hiunility.
that of ideas. Accordingly we find, that a beautiful house,
belonging to ourselves, produces pride ; and that the same
house, still belonging to ourselves, produces humility, when
by any accident its beauty is chang'd into deformity, and
thereby the sensation of pleasure, which corresponded to
pride, is transform'd into pain, which is related to humility
The double relation between the ideas and impressions sub-
sists in both cases, and produces an easy transition from the
one emotion to the other.
In a word, nature has bestow'd a kind of attraction on
certain impressions and ideas, by which one of them, upon
its appearance, naturally introduces its correlative. If these
two attractions or associations of impressions and ideas con-
cur on the same object, they mutually assist each other, and
the transition of the affections and of the imagination is
made with the greatest ease and facility. When an idea
produces an impression, related to an impression, which is
connected with an idea, related to the first idea, these two
impressions must be in a manner inseparable, nor will the
one in any case be unattended with the other. 'Tis after
this manner, that the particular causes of pride and humility
are determin'd. The quality, which operates on the passion,
produces separately an impression resembling it ; the subject,
to which the quality adheres, is related to self, the object of
the passion : No wonder the whole cause, consisting of a
quality and of a subject, does so unavoidably give rise to the
passion.
To illustrate this hypothesis, we may compare it to that,
by which I have already explain'd the belief attending the
judgments, which we form from causation. I have observ'd,
290
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of pride
and humi-
lity.
that in all judgments of this kind, there is always a present
impression, and a related idea; and that the present im-
pression gives a vivacity to the fancy, and the relation con-
veys this vivacity, by an easy transition, to the related idea.
Without the present impression, the attention is not fix'd,
nor the spirits excited. Without the relation, this attention
rests on its first object, and has no farther consequence.
There is evidently a great analogy betwixt that hypothesis,
and our present one of an impression and idea, that transfuse
themselves into another impression and idea by means of
their double relation : Which analogy must be allow'd to be
no despicable proof of both hypotheses.
SECTION VI.
Ltviitations of this system.
But before we proceed farther in this subject, and ex-
amine particularly all the causes of pride and humility, 'twill
be proper to make some limitations to the general system,
that all agreeable objects, related to ourselves, by an association
of ideas and of impressions, produce pride, and disagreeable
ofies, humility: And these limitations are deriv'd from the
very nature of the subject.
L Suppose an agreeable object to acquire a relation to
self, the first passion, that appears on this occasion, is joy ;
and this passion discovers itself upon a slighter relation than
pride and vain-glory. We may feel joy upon being present
at a feast, where our senses are regal'd with delicacies of
every kind : But 'lis only the master of the feast, who,
beside the same joy, has the additional passion of self-
applause and vanity. 'Tis true, men sometimes boast of a
great entertainment, at which they have only been present ;
and by so small a relation convert their pleasure into pride :
But however, this must in general be own'd, that joy arises
from a more inconsiderable relation than vanity, and that
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 291
many things, which are too foreign to produce pride, are yet Sect.VL
able to give us a delight and pleasure. The reason of the "
difference may be explain'd thus. A relation is requisite to tiJ^lgf
joy, in order to approach the object to us, and make it give this system
us any satisfaction. But beside this, which is common to
both passions, 'tis requisite to pride, in order to produce a
transition from one passion to another, and convert the satis-
faction into vanity. As it has a double task to perform, it
must be endow'd with double force and energy. To which
we may add, that where agreeable objects bear not a very
close relation to ourselves, they commonly do to some other
person ; and this latter relation not only excels, but even
diminishes, and sometimes destroys the former, as we shall
see afterwards '.
Here then is the first limitation, we must make to our
general position, that every ilmig related to us, which produces
pleasure or pain, produces likewise pride or humility. There is
not only a relation requir'd, but a close one, and a closer
than is requir'd to joy.
II. The second limitation is, that the agreeable or dis-
agreeable object be not only closely related, but also peculiar
to ourselves, or at least common to us with a few persons.
'Tis a quality observable in human nature, and which we
shall endeavour to explain afterwards, that every thing,
which is often presented, and to. which we have been long
accustom'd, loses its value in our eyes, and is in a little
time despis'd and neglected. We likewise judge of objects
more from comparison than from their real and intrinsic
merit; and where we cannot by some contrast enhance
their value, we are apt to overlook even what is essentially
good in them. These qualities of the mind have an effect
upon joy as well as pride; and 'tis remarkable, that goods,
which are common to all mankind, and have become familiar
to us by custom, give us little satisfaction ; tho' perhaps of a
more excellent kind, than those on which, for their singu-
» Part II. sect. 4.
292 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. larity, we set a much higher value. But tho' this circum-
—**— stance operates on both these passions, it has a much greater
jnil' ' • ''i^u^^ce on vanity. We are rejoic'd for many goods, which,
Hiy. on account of their frequency, give us no pride. Health,
when it returns after a long absence, affords us a very
sensible satisfaction ; but is seldom regarded as a subject of
vanity, because 'tis shar'd with such vast numbers.
The reason, why pride is so much more delicate in this
particular than joy, I take to be, as follows. In order to
excite pride, there are always two objects we must contem-
plate, viz. the cause or that object which produces pleasure ;
and self, which is the real object of the passion. But joy has
only one object necessary to its production, viz. that which
gives pleasure ; and tho' it be requisite, that this bear
some relation to self, yet that is only requisite in order to
render it agreeable ; nor is self, properly speaking, the object
of this passion. Since, therefore, pride has in a manner two
objects, to which it directs our view ; it follows, that where
neither of them have any singularity, the passion must be
more weaken'd upon that account, than a passion, which has
only one object. Upon comparing ourselves with others, as
we are every moment apt to do, we find we are not in the
least disiinguish'd ; and upon comparing the object we
possess, w^e discover still the same unlucky circumstance.
By two comparisons so disadvantageous the passion must be
entirely destroy'd.
III. The third limitation is, that the pleasant or painful
object be very discernible and obvious, and that not only to
ourselves, but to others also. This circumstance, like the
two foregoing, has an effect upon joy, as well as pride. We
fancy ourselves more happy, as well as more virtuous or
beautiful, when we appear so to others ; but are still more
ostentacious of our virtues than of our pleasures. This pro-
ceeds from causes, which I shall endeavour to explain
afterwards.
IV. The fourth limitation is deriv'd from the inconstancy
Book II, OF THE PASSIONS. 293
of the cause of these passions, and from the short duration of Sect. VI
its connexion with ourselves. What is casual and inconstant ; ♦* ■
gives but little joy, and less pride. We are not much satis- ff^^'^'f
fy'd with the thing itself; and are still less apt to feel ^ny this system
new degrees of self-satisfaction upon its account. We foresee
and anticipate its change by the imagination ; which makes
us little satisfy'd with the thing : We compare it to ourselves,
whose existence is more durable ; by which means its incon-
stancy appears still greater. It seems ridiculous to infer an
excellency in ourselves from an object, which is of so much
shorter duration, and attends us during so small a part of
our existence. 'Twill be easy to comprehend the reason,
why this cause operates not with the same force in joy as in
pride ; since the idea of self is not so essential to the former
passion as to the latter.
V. I may add as a fifth limitation, or rather enlargement
of this system, ih^X general rules have a great influence upon
pride and humility, as well as on all the other passions.
Hence we form a notion of different ranks of men, suitable
to the power or riches they are possest of; and this notion
we change not upon account of any peculiarities of the
health or temper of the persons, which may deprive them of
all enjoyment in their possessions. This may be accounted
for from the same principles, that explain'd the influence of
general rules on the understanding. Custom readily carries
us beyond the just bounds in our passions, as well as in our
reasonings.
It may not be amiss to observe on this occasion, that the
influence of general rules and maxims on the passions very
much contributes to facilitate the effects of all the principles,
which we shall explain in the progress of this treatise. For
'tis evident, that if a person full-grown, and of the same
nature with ourselves, were on a sudden transported into our
world, he wou'd be very much embarrass'd with every object,
and wou'd not readily find what degree of love or hatred,
pride or humility, or any other passion he ought to attribute
294 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. to it. The passions are often vary'd by very inconsiderable
** - principles ; and these do not always play with a perfect
andhumi- ^^g'^^^^'iiy, especially on the first trial. But as custom and
lity. practice have brought to light all these principles, and have
settled the just value of every thing; this must certainly
contribute to the easy production of the passions, and guide
us, by means of general establish'd maxims, in the propor-
tions we ought to observe in preferring one object to
another. This remark may, perhaps, serve to obviate diffi-
culties, that may arise concerning some causes, which I shall
hereafter ascribe to particular passions, and which may be
esteem'd too refin'd to operate so universally and certainly, as
they are found to do.
I shall close this subject with a reflection deriv'd from
these five limitations. This reflection is, that the persons,
who are proudest, and who in the eye of the world have most
reason for their pride, are not always the happiest ; nor the
most humble always the most miserable, as may at first sight
be imagin'd from this system. An evil may be real, tho' its
cause has no relation to us : It may be real, without being
peculiar : It may be real, without shewing itself to others : It
may be real, without being constant : And it may be real,
without falling under the general rules. Such evils as these
will not fail to render us miserable, tho' they have little ten-
dency to diminish pride : And perhaps the most real and the
most solid evils of life will be found of this nature.
SECTION VII.
Of vice and virtue.
Taking these limitations along with us, let us proceed to
examine the causes of pride and humility; and see, whether
in every case we can discover the double relations, by which
they operate on the passions. If we find that all these causes
are related to self, and produce a pleasure or uneasiness
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 295
separate from the passion, there will remain no farther Sect. VII.
scruple with rep:ard to the present system. We shall princi- ^ , •' .
,, , ° , , . ^ r 1- • Of vice and
pally endeavour to prove the latter pomt; the former bemg j,,>/^^.
in a manner self-evident.
To begin with vice and virtue, which are the most
obvious causes of these passions ; 'twou'd be entirely foreign
to my present purpose to enter upon the controversy, which
of late years has so much excited the curiosity of the publick,
ivheiher these moral distinctions be founded on natural and
original principles, or arise from interest and educatio?i. The
examination of this I reserve for the following book; and in
the mean time shall endeavour to show, that my system
maintains its ground upon either of these hypotheses; which
will be a strong proof of its solidity.
For granting that morality had no foundation in nature, it
must still be allow'd, that vice and virtue, either from self-
interest or the prejudices of education, produce in us a real
pain and pleasure ; and this we may observe to be stren-
uously asserted by the defenders of that hypothesis. Every
passion, habit, or turn of character (say they) which has a
tendency to our advantage or prejudice, gives a delight or
uneasiness ; and 'tis from thence the approbation or dis-
approbation arises. We easily gain from the liberality of
others, but are always in danger of losing by their avarice :
Courage defends us, but cowardice lays us open to every
attack : Justice is the support of society, but injustice, unless
check'd, wou'd quickly prove its ruin : Humility exalts ; but
pride mortifies us. For these reasons the former qualities
are esteem'd virtues, and the latter regarded as vices. Now
since 'tis granted there is a delight or uneasiness still
attending merit or demerit of every kind, this is all that is
requisite for my purpose.
But I go farther, and observe, that this moral hypothesis
and my present system not only agree together, but also that,
allowing the former to be just, 'tis an absolute and invincible
proof of the latter. For if all morality be founded on the
296 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. pain or pleasure, which arises from the prospect of any loss
■ *• ■ or advantage, that may result from our own characters, or
andhumi' ^'^^"^ those of Others, all the effects of morality must be
lily. deriv'd from the same pain or pleasure, and among the rest,
the passions of pride and humility. The very essence of
virtue, according to this hypothesis, is to produce pleasure,
and that of vice to give pain. The virtue and vice must be
part of our character in order to excite pride or humility.
What farther proof can we desire for the double relation of
impressions and ideas ?
The same unquestionable argument may be deriv'd from
the opinion of those, who maintain that morality is some-
thing real, essential, and founded on nature. The most pro-
bable hypothesis, which has been advanc'd to explain the dis-
tinction betwixt vice and virtue, and the origin of moral
rights and obligations, is, that from a primary constitution of
nature certain characters and passions, by the very view and
contemplation, produce a pain, and others in like manner
excite a pleasure. The uneasiness and satisfaction are not
only inseparable from vice and virtue, but constitute their
very nature and essence. To approve of a character is to
feel an original delight upon its appearance. To disapprove
of it is to be sensible of an uneasiness. The pain and
pleasure, therefore, being the primary causes of vice and
virtue, must also be the causes of all their effects, and conse-
quently of pride and humility, which are the unavoidable
attendants of that distinction.
But supposing this hypothesis of moral philosophy shou'd
be allow'd to be false, 'tis still evident, that pain and pleasure,
if not the causes of vice and virtue, are at least inseparable
from them. A generous and noble character affords a satis-
faction even in the survey; and when presented to us, tho'
only in a poem or fable, never fails to charm and delight us.
On the other hand cruelty and treachery displease from their
very nature ; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these
qualities, either in ourselves or others. Thus one hypothesis
Book II, OF THE PASSIONS. 297
of morality is an undeniable proof of the foregoing system, Sect. VII.
and the other at worst agrees with it. "
But pride and humility arise not from these qualities alone yirtue.
of the mind, which, according to the vulgar systems of ethicks,
have been comprehended as parts of moral duty, but from
any other that has a connexion with pleasure and uneasiness.
Nothing flatters our vanity more than the talent of pleasing
by our wit, good humour, or any other accomplishment ;
and nothing gives us a more sensible mortification than a
disappointment in any attempt of that nature. No one has
ever been able to tell what wit is, and to shew why such a
system of thought must be receiv'd under that denomination,
and such another rejected. 'Tis only by taste we can decide
concerning it, nor are we possest of any other standard, upon
which we can form a judgment of this kind. Now what is
this tasle, from which true and false wit in a manner receive
their being, and without which no thought can have a title to
either of these denominations ? 'Tis plainly nothing but a
sensation of pleasure from true wit, and of uneasiness from
false, without our being able to tell the reasons of that plea-
sure or uneasiness. The power of bestowing these opposite
sensations is, therefore, the very essence of true and false
wit ; and consequently the cause of that pride or humility,
which arises from them.
There may, perhaps, be some, who being accustom'd to
the style of the schools and pulpit, and having never con-
sider'd human nature in any other light, than that in which
they place it, may here be surpriz'd to hear me talk of virtue
as exciting pride, which they look upon as a vice ; and of
vice as producing humility, which they have been taught to
consider as a virtue. But not to dispute about words, I
observe, that by pride I understand that agreeable impression,
which arises in the mind, when the view either of our virtue,
beauty, riches or power makes us satisfy'd with ourselves :
And that by humility I mean the opposite impression. 'Tis
evident the former impression is not always vicious, nor the
298 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. latter virtuous. The most rigid morality allows us to receive
" a pleasure from reflecting on a generous action ; and 'tis by
andhumi- "o^^ esteem'd a virtue to feel any fruitless remorses upon
lity. the thoughts of past villainy and baseness. Let us, therefore,
examine these impressions, consider'd in themselves ; and
enquire into their causes, whether plac'd on the mind or
body, without troubling ourselves at present with that merit
or blame, which may attend them.
SECTION VIII.
Of beatdy and deformily.
Whether we consider the body as a part of ourselves, or
assent to those philosophers, who regard it as something
external, it must still be allow'd to be near enough connected
with us to form one of these double relations, which I have
asserted to be necessary to the causes of pride and humility.
Wherever, therefore, we can find the other relation of impres-
sions to join to this of ideas, we may expect with assurance
either of these passions, according as the impression is
pleasant or uneasy. But beauty of all kinds gives us a pecu-
liar delight and satisfaction ; as deformily produces pain,
upon whatever subject it may be plac'd, and whether survey'd
in an animate or inanimate object. If the beauty or de-
formity, therefore, be plac'd upon our own bodies, this
pleasure or uneasiness must be converted into pride or
humility, as having in this case all the circumstances re-
quisite to produce a perfect transition of impressions and
ideas. These opposite sensations are related to the opposite
passions. The beauty or deformity is closely related to self,
the object of both these passions. No wonder, then, our
own beauty becomes an object of pride, and deformity of
humility.
But this effect of personal and bodily qualities is not only
a proof of the present system, by shewing that the passions
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 299
arise not in this case without all the circumstances I have Sect.VIIL
requir'd, but may be employ'd as a stronger and more con- • ♦♦ ■■
vincing argument. If we consider all the hypotheses, which ^^^''''"'^
have been form'd either by philosophy or common reason, deformity.
to explain the difference betwixt beauty and deformity, we
shall find that all of them resolve into this, that beauty is
such an order and construction of parts, as either by the
primary constitution of our nature, by custom, or by caprice,
is fitted to give a pleasure and satisfaction to the soul. This
is the distinguishing character of beauty, and forms all the
difference betwixt it and deformity, whose natural tendency
is to produce uneasiness. Pleasure and pain, therefore, are
not only necessary attendants of beauty and deformity, but
constitute their very essence. And indeed, if we consider,
that a great part of the beauty, which we admire either in
animals or in other objects, is deriv'd from the idea of con-
venience and utility, we shall make no scruple to assent to
this opinion. That shape, which produces strength, is
beautiful in one animal ; and that which is a sign of agility
in another. The order and convenience of a palace are no
less essential to its beauty, than its mere figure and ap-
pearance. In like manner the rules of architecture require,
that the top of a pillar shou'd be more slender than its base,
and that because such a figure conveys to us the idea of
security, which is pleasant ; whereas the contrary form gives
us the apprehension of danger, which is uneasy. From in-
numerable instances of this kind, as well as from considering
that beauty like wit, cannot be defin'd, but is discern'd only
by a taste or sensation, we may conclude, that beauty is
nothing but a form, which produces pleasure, as deformity is
a structure of parts, which conveys pain ; and since the
power of producing pain and pleasure make in this manner
the essence of beauty and deformity, all the effects of these
qualities must be deriv'd from the sensation ; and among the
rest pride and humility, which of all their effects are the
most common and remarkable.
300 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. This argument I esteem just and decisive ; but in order
""*♦— to give greater authority to the present reasoning, let us
andhnmi- suppose it false for a moment, and see what will follow.
lity. 'Tis certain, then, that if the power of producing pleasure
and pain forms not the essence of beauty and deformity, the
sensations are at least inseparable from the qualities, and 'tis
even difficult to consider them apart. Now there is nothing
common to natural and moral beauty, (both of which are the
causes of pride) but this power of producing pleasure ; and
as a common effect supposes always a common cause, 'tis
plain the pleasure must in both cases be the real and in-
fluencing cause of the passion. Again ; there is nothing
originally different betwixt the beauty of our bodies and the
beauty of external and foreign objects, but that the one has
a near relation to ourselves, which is wanting in the other.
This original difference, therefore, must be the cause of all
their other differences, and among the rest, of their different
influence upon the passion of pride, which is excited by the
beauty of our person, but is not affected in the least by that
of foreign and external objects. Placing, then, these two
conclusions together, we find they compose the preceding
system betwixt them, viz. that pleasure, as a related or re-
sembling impression, when plac'd on a related object, by a
natural transition, produces pride ; and its contrary, humility.
This system, then, seems already sufficiently confirm'd by
experience ; tho' we have not yet exhausted all our argu-
ments.
'Tis not the beauty of the body alone that produces pride,
but also its strength and force. Strength is a kind of pow'er ;
and therefore the desire to excel in strength is to be consider'd
as an inferior species of ambilion. For this reason the pre-
sent phsenomenon will be sufficiently accounted for, in
explaining that passion.
Concerning all other bodily accomplishments we may
observe in general, that whatever in ourselves is either useful,
beautiful, or surprising, is an object of pride ; and it's con-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 301
trary, of humility. Now 'tis obvious, that every thing useful, Sect.VIII.
beautiful or surprising, agrees in producing a separate plea- ■ ♦* ■■
sure, and agrees in nothing else. The pleasure, therefore, J^/'^"^^
with the relation to self must be the cause of the passion. dejormity
Tho' it shou'd be question'd, whether beauty be not some-
thing real, and different from the power of producing pleasure,
it can never be disputed, that as surprize is nothing but a
pleasure arising from novelty, it is not, properly speaking,
a quality in any object, but merely a passion or impression in
the soul. It must, therefore, be from that impression, that
pride by a natural transition arises. And it arises so naturally,
that there is nothing in us or belonging to us, which produces
surprize, that does not at the same time excite that other
passion. Thus we are vain of the surprising adventures we
have met with, the escapes we have made, and dangers we
have been expos'd to. Hence the origin of vulgar lying;
where men without any interest, and merely out of vanity,
heap up a number of extraordinary events, which are either
the fictions of their brain, or if true, have at least no con-
nexion with themselves. Their fruitful invention supplies
them with a variety of adventures ; and where that talent is
wanting, they appropriate such as belong to others, in order
to satisfy their vanity.
In this phsenomenon are contain'd two curious experi-
ments, which if we compare them together, according to the
known rules, by which we judge of cause and effect in
anatomy, natural philosophy, and other sciences, will be an
undeniable argument for that influence of the double relations
above-mention'd. By one of these experiments we find, that
an object produces pride merely by the interposition of plea-
sure; and that because the quality, by which it produces
pride, is in reality nothing but the power of producing
pleasure. By the other experiment we find, that the pleasure
produces the pride by a transition along related ideas ; because
when we cut off that relation the passion is immediately de-
stroy'd. A surprising adventure, in which we have been
302
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of pride
and humi
lity.
Part I. ourselves engag'd, is related to us, and by that means pro-
duces pride : But the adventures of others, tho' they may
cause pleasure, yet for want of this relation of ideas, never
excite that passion. What farther proof can be desired for
the present system ?
There is only one objection to this system with regard to
our body; which is, that tho' nothing be more agreeable
than health, and more painful than sickness, yet commonly
men are neither proud of the one, nor mortify'd with the
other. This will easily be accounted for, if we consider the
second ^nd/ourih limitations, propos'd to our general system.
It was observ'd, that no object ever produces pride or
humility, if it has not something /^rw/zar to ourself; as also,
that every cause of that passion must be in some measure
cojistant, and hold some proportion to the duration of ourself,
which is its object. Now as health and sickness vary inces-
santly to all men, and there is none, who is solely or certainly
fix'd in either, these accidental blessings and calamities are
in a manner separated from us, and are never consider'd as
connected with our being and existence. And that this
account is just appears hence, that wherever a malady of any
kind is so rooted in our constitution, that we no longer enter-
tain any hopes of recovery, from that moment it becomes
an object of humility ; as is evident in old men, whom
nothing mortifies more than the consideration of their age
and infirmities. They endeavour, as long as possible, to
conceal their blindness and deafness, their rheums and gouts;
nor do they ever confess them without reluctance and un-
easiness. And tho' young men are not asham'd of every
head-ach or cold they fall into, yet no topic is so proper to
mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion
of our nature, than this, that we are every moment of our
lives subject to such infirmities. This sufficiently proves that
bodily pain and sickness are in themselves proper causes of
humility ; tho' the custom of estimating every thing by com-
parison more than by its intrinsic worth and value, makes us
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 303
overlook these calamities, which we find to be incident to Sect. IX.
every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and "
character independent of them. advanfales
We are asham'd of such maladies as affect others, and are and dis-
either dangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epilepsy ; "' ^^"^'^S"-
because it gives a horror to every one present : Of the itch ;
because it is infectious : Of the king's-evil ; because it com-
monly goes to posterity. Men always consider the senti-
ments of others in their judgment of themselves. This has
evidently appear'd in some of the foregoing reasonings ; and
will appear still more evidently, and be more fully explain'd
afterwards.
SECTION IX.
Of external advantages and disadvantages.
But tho' pride and humility have the qualities of our mind
and body, that is self, for their natural and more immediate
causes, we find by experience, that there are many other
objects, which produce these affections, and that the primary
one is, in some measure, obscur'd and lost by the multiplicity
of foreign and extrinsic. We found a vanity upon houses,
gardens, equipages, as well as upon personal merit and
accomplishments ; and tho' these external advantages be in
themselves widely distant from thought or a person, yet they
considerably influence even a passion, which is directed to
that as its ultimate object. This happens when external
objects acquire any particular relation to ourselves, and are
associated or connected with us. A beautiful fish in the
ocean, an animal in a desart, and indeed any thing that
neither belongs, nor is related to us, has no manner of influ-
ence on our vanity, whatever extraordinary qualities it may
be endow'd with, and whatever degree of surprize and
admiration it may naturally occasion. It must be some
way associated with us in order to touch our pride. Its
idea must hang in a manner, upon that of ourselves; and
304
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
M
Of pride
and humi-
lity.
the transition from the one to the other must be easy and
natural.
But here 'tis remarkable, that tho' the relation of resemblance
operates upon the mind in the same manner as contiguity and
causation, in conveying us from one idea to another, yet 'lis
seldom a foundation either of pride or of humility. If we
resemble a person in any of the valuable parts of his character,
we must, in some degree, possess the quality, in which we
resemble him ; and this quality we always chuse to survey
directly in ourselves rather than by reflexion in another
person, when we wou'd found upon it any degree of vanity.
So that tho' a likeness may occasionally produce that passion
by suggesting a more advantageous idea of ourselves, 'tis
there the view fixes at last, and the passion finds its ultimate
and final cause.
There are instances, indeed, wherein men shew a vanity in
resembling a great man in his countenance, shape, air, or
other minute circumstances, that contribute not in any degree
to his reputation ; but it must be confess'd, that this extends
not very far, nor is of any considerable moment in these
affections. For this I assign the following reason. We can
never have a vanity of resembling in trifles any person, unless
he be possess'd of very shining qualities, which give us a
respect and veneration for him. These qualities, then, are,
properly speaking, the causes of our vanity, by means of their
relation to ourselves. Now after what manner are they
related to ourselves ? They are parts of the person we value,
and consequently connected with these trifles; which are also
suppos'd to be parts of him. These trifles are connected
with the resembling qualities in us ; and these qualities in us,
being parts, are connected with the whole; and by that
means form a chain of several links betwixt ourselves and the
shining qualities of the person we resemble. But besides
that this multitude of relations must weaken the connexion ;
'lis evident the mind, in passing irom the shining qualities to
the trivial ones, must by that contrast the better perceive the
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 305
minuteness of the latter, and be in some measure asham'd of Sect. IX.
the comparison and resemblance. *" -
The relation, therefore, of contiguity, or that of causation, Jdvanta^s
betwixt the cause and object of pride and humility, is alone and dis-
requisite to give rise to these passions ; and these relations ^'^'"'^^^^^i"
are nothing else but qualities, by which the imagination is
convey'd from one idea to another. Now let us consider
what effect these can possibly have upon the mind, and by
what means they become so requisite to the production of the
passions. 'Tis evident, that the association of ideas operates
in so silent and imperceptible a manner, that we are scarce
sensible of it, and discover it more by its effects than by any
immediate feeling or perception. It produces no emotion,
and gives rise to no new impression of any kind, but only
modifies those ideas, of which the mind was formerly possess'd,
and which it cou'd recal upon occasion. From this reasoning,
as well as from undoubted experience, we may conclude, that
an association of ideas, however necessary, is not alone
sufficient to give rise to any passion.
'Tis evident, then, that when the mind feels the passion
either of pride or humility upon the appearance of a related
object, there is, beside the relation or transition of thought,
an emotion or original impression produc'd by some other
principle. The question is, whether the emotion first pro-
duc'd be the passion itself, or some other impression related
to it. This question we cannot be long in deciding. For
besides all the other arguments, with which this subject
abounds, it must evidently appear, that the relation of ideas,
which experience shews to be so requisite a circumstance to
the production of the passion, wou'd be entirely superfluous,
were it not to second a relation of affections, and facilitate
the transition from one impression to another. If nature
produc'd immediately the passion of pride or humility, it
wou'd be compleated in itself, and wou'd require no farther
addition or encrease from any other affection. But supposing
the first emotion to be only related to pride or humility, 'tis
3o6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. easily conceiv'd to what purpose the relation of objects may
•• serve, and how the two different associations, of impressions
Jud humi- ^"^ ideas, by uniting their forces, may assist each other's
^ity' operation. This is not only easily conceiv'd, but I will
venture to affirm 'tis the only manner, in which we can con-
ceive this subject. An easy transition of ideas, which, of
itself, causes no emotion, can never be necessary, or even
useful to the passions, but by forwarding the transition
betwixt some related impressions. Not to mention, that the
same object causes a greater or smaller degree of pride, not
only in proportion to the encrease or decrease of its
qualities, but also to the distance or nearness of the relation ;
which is a clear argument for the transition of affections
along the relation of ideas ; since every change in the rela-
tion produces a proportionable change in the passion. Thus
one part of the preceding system, concerning the relations of
ideas is a sufficient proof of the other, concerning that of im-
pressions ; and is itself so evidendy founded on experience,
that 'twou'd be lost time to endeavour farther to prove it.
This will appear still more evidently in particular instances.
Men are vain of the beauty of their country, of their county,
of their parish. Here the idea of beauty plainly produces a
pleasure. This pleasure is related to pride. The object or
cause of this pleasure is, by the supposition, related to self,
or the object of pride. By this double relation of impressions
and ideas, a transition is made from the one impression to
the other.
Men are also vain of the temperature of the climate, in
which they were born ; of the fertility of their native soil ; of
the goodness of the wines, fruits or victuals, produc'd by it ;
of the softness or force of their language ; with other par-
ticulars of that kind. These objects have plainly a relerence
to the pleasures of the senses, and are originally consider'd as
agreeable to the feeling, taste or hearing. How is it possible
they cou'd ever become objects of pride, except by means of
that transition above-explain'd?
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 307
There are some, that discover a vanity of an opposite kind, Sect. IX.
and affect to depreciate their own country, in comparison of ^.^ '.' ,
those, to which they have travell'd. These persons find, advantages
when they are at home, and surrounded with their country- ««^"'"-
adv ail t ages ■
men, that the strong relation betwixt them and their own
nation is shar'd with so many, that 'tis in a manner lost to
them ; whereas their distant relation to a foreign country,
which is form'd by their having seen it and hv'd in it, is
augmented by their considering how few there are who
have done the same. For this reason they always admire the
beauty, utility and rarity of what is abroad, above what is at
home.
Since we can be vain of a country, climate or any inanimate
object, which bears a relation to us, 'tis no wonder we are
vain of the qualities of those, who are connected with us by
blood or friendship. Accordingly we find, that the very
same qualities, which in ourselves produce pride, produce
also in a lesser degree the same affection, when discover'd in
persons related to us. The beauty, address, merit, credit
and honours of their kindred are carefully display'd by the
proud, as some of their most considerable sources of their
vanity.
As we are proud of riches in ourselves, so to satisfy our
vanity we desire that every one, who has any connexion with
us, shou'd likewise be possest of them, and are asham'd of
any one, that is mean or poor, among our friends and
relations. For this reason we remove the poor as far from
us as possible ; and as we cannot prevent poverty in some
distant collaterals, and our forefathers are taken to be our
nearest relations ; upon this account every one affects to be
of a good family, and to be descended from a long succession
of rich and honourable ancestors.
I have frequently observ'd, that those, %vho boast of the
antiquity of their families, are glad when they can join this
circumstance, that their ancestors for many generations have
been uninterrupted proprietors of the same portion of land.
3o8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. and that their family has never chang'd its possessions, or
■ •• been transplanted into any other county or province. I have
andhumi- '^'^^ observ'd, that 'tis an additional subject of vanity, when
Uty. ihey can boast, that these possessions have been transmitted
thro' a descent compos'd entirely of males, and that the
honours and fortune have never past thro' any female. Let
us endeavour to explain these phaenomena by the foregoing
system.
'Tis evident, that when any one boasts of the antiquity of
his family, the subjects of his vanity are not merely the extent
of time and number of ancestors, but also their riches and
credit, which are suppos'd to reflect a lustre on himself on
account of his relation to them. He first considers these
objects ; is affected by them in an agreeable manner ; and
then returning back to himself, thro' the relation of parent
and child, is elevated with the passion of pride, by means of
the double relation of impressions and ideas. Since therefore
the passion depends on these relations, whatever strengthens
any of the relations must also encrease the passion, and
whatever weakens the relations must diminish the passion.
Now 'tis certain the identity of the possession strengthens the
relation of ideas arising from blood and kindred, and conveys
the fancy with greater facility from one generation to another,
from the remotest ancestors to their posterity, who are both
their heirs and their descendants. By this facility the im-
pression is transmitted more entire, and excites a greater
degree of pride and vanity.
The case is the same with the transmission of the honours
and fortune thro' a succession of males without their passing
thro' any female. 'Tis a quality of human nature, which we
shall consider 'afterwards, that the imagination naturally
turns to whatever is important and considerable ; and where
two objects are presented to it, a small and a great one,
usually leaves the former, and dwells entirely upon the latter.
As in the society of marriage, the male sex has the advantage
' Part II. sect. a.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 309
above the female, the husband first engages our attention ; Sect. X.
and whether we consider him direcdy, or reach him by **
passing thro' related objects, the thought both rests upon J,fJ'°^^Lf
him with greater satisfaction, and arrives at him with greater
facility than his consort. 'Tis easy to see, that this property
must strengthen the child's relation to the father, and weaken
that to the mother. For as all relations are nothing but a
propensity to pass from one idea to another, whatever
strengthens the propensity strengthens the reladon ; and as
we have a stronger propensity to pass from the idea of the
children to that of the father, than from the same idea to that
of the mother, we ought to regard the former relation as the
closer and more considerable. This is the reason why
children commonly bear their father's name, and are esteem'd
to be of nobler or baser birth, according to his family. And
tho' the mother shou'd be possest of a superior spirit and
genius to the father, as often happens, the general rule
prevails, notwithstanding the exception, according to the
doctrine above-explain'd. Nay even when a superiority of
any kind is so great, or when any other reasons have such an
effect, as to make the children rather represent the mother's
family than the father's, the general rule still retains such an
efficacy that it weakens the relation, and makes a kind of
break in the line of ancestors. The imagination runs not
along them with facility, nor is able to transfer the honour
and credit of the ancestors to their posterity of the same
name and family so readily, as when the transition is con-
formable to the general rules, and passes from father to son,
or from brother to brother.
SECTION X.
0/ property and riches.
But the relation, which is esteem'd the closest, and which
of all others produces most commonly the passion of pride,
is that o\ property. This relation 'twill be impossible for me
3IO A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. fully to explain before I come to treat of justice and the
*' other moral virtues. 'Tis sufficient to observe on this
d/' ^ '• occasion, that property may be defin'd, such a relation betwixt
lity. a person and an object as permits him, but forbids any other ^
the free use and possession of it, without violating the laws of
Justice and moral equity. If justice, therefore, be a virtue,
■which has a natural and original influence on the human
mind, property may be look'd upon as a particular species
of causation \ whether we consider the liberty it gives the
proprietor to operate as he please upon the object, or the
advantages, which he reaps from it, 'Tis the same case, if
justice, according to the system of certain philosophers,
shou'd be esteem'd an artificial and not a natural virtue.
For then honour, and custom, and civil laws supply the
place of natural conscience, and produce, in some degree,
the same effects. This in the mean time is certain, that the
mention of the property naturally carries our thought to the
proprietor, and of the proprietor to the property ; which being
a proof of a perfect relation of ideas is all that is requisite to
our present purpose. A relation of ideas, join'd to that of
impressions, always produces a transition of affections ; and
therefore, whenever any pleasure or pain arises from an
object, connected with us by property, we may be certain,
that either pride or humility must arise from this conjunction
of relations ; if the foregoing system be solid and satisfactory.
And whether it be so or not, we may soon satisfy ourselves
by the most cursory view of human life.
Every thing belonging to a vain man is the best that is
any where to be found. His houses, equipage, furniture,
cloaths, horses, hounds, excel all others in his conceit ; and
'tis easy to observe, that from the least advantage in any of
these, he draws a new subject of pride and vanity. His
wine, if you'll believe him, has a finer flavour than any other;
his cookery is more exquisite ; his table more orderly ; his
servants more expert; the air, in which he lives, more
healthful ; the soil he cultivates more fertile ; his fruits ripen
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 3II
earlier and to greater perfection: Such a thing is remarkable Sect. X.
for its novelty; such another for its antiquity. This is the ••
workmanship of a famous artist, that belong'd once to such andruhei
a prince or great man: All objects, in a word, that are useful,
beautiful or surprizing, or are related to such, may, by means
of property, give rise to this passion. These agree in giving
pleasure, and agree in nothing else. This alone is common
to them; and therefore must be the quality that produces
the passion, which is their common effect. As every new
instance is a new argument, and as the instances are here
without number, I may venture to affirm, that scarce any
system was ever so fully prov'd by experience, as that which
I have here advanc'd.
If the property of any thing, that gives pleasure either by
its utility, beauty or novelty, produces also pride by a double
relation of impressions and ideas ; we need not be surpriz'd,
that the power of acquiring this property, shou'd have the
same effect. Now riches are to be consider'd as the power
of acquiring the property of what pleases ; and 'tis only in
this view they have any influence on the passions. Paper
will, on many occasions, be consider'd as riches, and that
because it may convey the power of acquiring money : And
money is not riches, as it is a metal endow'd with certain
qualities of solidity, weight and fusibility; but only as it has
a relation to the pleasures and conveniences of life. Taking
then this for granted, which is in itself so evident, we may
draw from it one of the strongest arguments I have yet
employ 'd to prove the influence of the double relations on
pride and humility.
It has been observ'd in treating of the understanding, that
the distinction, which we sometimes make betwixt a power
and the exercise of it, is entirely frivolous, and that neither
man nor any other being ought ever to be thought possest
of any ability, unless it be exerted and put in action. But
tho' this be strictly true in a just and philosophical way of
thinking, 'tis certain it is not Ihi philosophy of our passions ;
312
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of pride
and hutni-
lity.
Part I. but that many things operate upon them by means of the
idea and supposition of power, independent of its actual
exercise. We are pleas'd when we acquire an ability of
procuring pleasure, and are displeas'd when another acquires
a power of giving pain. This is evident from experience;
but in order to give a just explication of the matter, and
account for this satisfaction and uneasiness, we must weigh
the following reflections.
'Tis evident the error of distinguishing power from its
exercise proceeds not entirely from the scholastic doctrine of
free-will, which, indeed, enters very little into common life,
and has but small influence on our vulgar and popular ways
of thinking. According to that doctrine, motives deprive us
not of free-will, nor take away our power of performing or
forbearing any action. But according to common notions
a man has no power, where very considerable motives lie
betwixt him and the satisfaction of his desires, and determine
him to forbear what he wishes to perform. I do not think
I have fallen into my enemies power, when I see him pass
me in the streets with a sword by his side, while I am un-
provided of any weapon. I know that the fear of the civil
magistrate is as strong a restraint as any of iron, and that
I am in as perfect safety as if he were chain'd or imprison'd.
But when a person acquires such an authority over me, that
not only there is no external obstacle to his actions; but also
that he may punish or reward me as he pleases, without any
dread of punishment in his turn, I then attribute a full power
to him, and consider myself as his subject or vassal.
Now if we compare these two cases, that of a person, who
has very strong motives of interest or safety to forbear any
action, and that of another, who lies under no such obliga-
tion, we shall find, according to the philosophy explain'd in
the foregoing book, that the only known diff^erence betwixt
them lies in this, that in the former case we conclude trom
past experience, that the person never will perform that action,
and in the latter, that he possibly or probably will perform it.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 313
Nothin,^ is more fluctuating and inconstant on many occa- Sect. X.
sions, than the will of man ; nor is there any thing but strong • " ■
motives, which can give us an absolute certainty in pronounc- and^^r^hl'^
ing concerning any of his future actions. When we see a
person free from these motives, we suppose a possibility
either of his acting or forbearing; and tho' in general we
may conclude him to be determin'd by motives and causes,
yet this removes not the uncertainty of our judgment con-
cerning these causes, nor the influence of that uncertainty on
the passions. Since therefore we ascribe a power of per-
forming an action to every one, who has no very powerful
motive to forbear it, and refuse it to such as have; it may
justly be concluded, that power has always a reference to its
exercise, either actual or probable, and that we consider
a person as endow'd with any ability when we find from past
experience, that 'tis probable, or at least possible he may
exert it. And indeed, as our passions always regard the
real existence of objects, and we always judge of this reality
from past instances; nothing can be more likely of itself,
without any farther reasoning, than that power consists in
the possibility or probability of any action, as discover'd by
experience and the practice of the world.
Now 'tis evident, that wherever a person is in such a situa-
tion with regard to me, that there is no very powerful
motive to deter him from injuring me, and consequently 'tis
uncertain whether he will injure me or not, I must be uneasy
in such a situation, and cannot consider the possibility or
probability of that injury without a sensible concern. The
passions are not only aff"ected by such events as are certain
and infaflible, but also in an inferior degree by such as are
possible and contingent. And tho' perhaps I never really
feel any harm, and discover by the event, that, philosophically
speaking, the person never had any power of harming me ;
since he did not exert any ; this prevents not my uneasiness
from the preceding uncertainty. The agreeable passions
may here operate as well as the uneasy, and convey a
314 -^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part T. pleasure when I perceive a good to become either possible
*♦ ' or probable by the possibility or probability of another's
anThumi- bestowing it on me, upon the removal of any strong motives,
lity. which might formerly have hinder'd him.
But we may farther observe, that this satisfaction encreases,
when any good approaches in such a manner that it is in
one's own power to take or leave it, and there neither is any
physical impediment, nor any very strong motive to hinder
our enjoyment. As all men desire pleasure, nothing can be
more probable, than its existence when there is no external
obstacle to the producing it, and men perceive no danger in
following their inclinations. In that case their imagination
easily anticipates the satisfaction, and conveys the same joy,
as if they were perswaded of its real and actual existence.
But this accounts not sufficiently for the satisfaction, which
attends riches. A miser receives delight from his money;
that is, from the power it affords him of procuring all the
pleasures and conveniences of life, tho' he knows he has
enjoy'd his riches for forty years wilhout ever employing
them ; and consequently cannot conclude by any species of
reasoning, that the real existence of these pleasures is nearer,
than if he were entirely depriv'd of all his possessions. But
tho' he cannot form any such conclusion in a way of reason-
ing concerning the nearer approach of the pleasure, 'tis certain
he imagines it to approach nearer, whenever all external
obstacles are remov'd, along with the more powerful motives
of interest and danger, which oppose it. For farther satis-
faction on this head I must refer to my account of the will,
where I shall ' explain that fiilse sensation of liberty, which
makes us imagine we can perform any thing, that is not very
dangerous or destructive. Whenever any other person is
under no strong obligations of interest to forbear any pleasure,
we judge from experiaice, that the pleasure will exist, and
that he will probably obtain it. But when ourselves are in
that situation, we judge from an illusion of the fancy, that the
^ Part III. sect. a.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 315
pleasure is still closer and more immediate. The will seems Sect. X.
to move easily every way, and casts a shadow or image of ^~**~ ^
,.,.i.-i 1 T) Of property
itself, even to that side, on which it did not settle. 13y means and riches.
of this image the enjoyment seems to approach nearer to us,
and gives us the same lively satisfaction, as if it were per-
fectly certain and unavoidable.
'Twill now be easy to draw this whole reasoning to
a point, and to prove, that when riches produce any pride or
vanity in their possessors, as they never fail to do, 'tis only by
means of a double relation of impressions and ideas. The
very essence of riches consists in the power of procuring the
pleasures and conveniences of life. The very essence of this
power consists in the probability of its exercise, and in its
causing us to anticipate, by a true ox false reasoning, the real
existence of the pleasure. This anticipation of pleasure is, in
itself, a very considerable pleasure ; and as its cause is some
possession or property, which we enjoy, and which is thereby
related to us, we here clearly see all the parts of the foregoing
system most exactly and distinctly drawn out before us.
For the same reason, that riches cause pleasure and pride,
and poverty excites uneasiness and humility, power must
produce the former emotions, and slavery the latter. Power
or an authority over others makes us capable of satisfying all
our desires ; as slavery, by subjecting us to the will of others,
exposes us to a thousand wants, and mortifications.
'Tis here worth observing, that the vanity of power, 01
shame ox slavery, are much augmented by the consideration
of the persons, over whom we exercise our authority, or who
exercise it over us. For supposing it possible to frame
statues of such an admirable mechanism, that they cou'd
move and act in obedience to the will ; 'tis evident the pos-
session of them wou'd give pleasure and pride, but not to
such a degree, as the same authority, when exerted over
sensible and rational creatures, whose condition, being com-
par'd to our own, makes it seem more agreeable and honour-
able. Comparison is in every case a sure method of aug-
3l6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. menting our esteem of any thing. A rich man feels thr
•• feHcity of his condition better by opposing it to that oi
aiidhumi- ^ ^^aS^^- B""^ there is a peculiar advantage in power, by
lity. the contrast, which is, in a manner, presented to us, betwixt
ourselves and the person we command. The comparison is
obvious and natural : The imagination finds it in the very
subject: The passage of the thought to its conception is
smooth and easy. And that this circumstance has a con-
siderable effect in augmenting its influence, will appear after-
wards in examining the nature of malice and €7ivy.
SECTION XI.
0/ the love of fajne.
But beside these original causes of pride and humility,
there is a secondary one in the opinions of others, which has
an equal influence on the affections. Our reputation, our
character, our name are considerations of vast weight and
importance; and even the other causes of pride; virtue,
beauty and riches ; have little influence, when not seconded
by the opinions and sentiments of others. In order to
account for this phsenomenon 'twill be necessary to take some
compass, and first explain the nature of sympathy.
No quality of human nature is more remarkable, both in
itself and in its consequences, than that propensity we have
to sympathize with others, and to receive by communication
their inclinations and sentiments, however different from, or
even contrary to our own. This is not only conspicuous in
children, who implicitly embrace every opinion propos'd to
them ; but also in men of the greatest judgment and under-
standing, who find it very difficult to follow their own reason
or inclination, in opposition to that of their friends and daily
companions. To this principle we ought to ascribe the
great uniformity we may observe in the humours and turn of
thinking of those of the same nation ; and 'tis much more
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 317
probable, that this resemblance arises from sympathy, than Sect. XI.
from any influence of the soil and climate, which, tho' they "
continue invariably the same, are not able to preserve the offameT^
character of a nation the same for a century together. A
good-natur'd man finds himself in an instant of the same
humour with his company; and even the proudest and most
surly take a tincture from their countrymen and acquaintance.
A chearful countenance infuses a sensible complacency and
serenity into my mind ; as an angry or sorrowful one throws
a sudden damp upon me. Hatred, resentment, esteem, love,
courage, mirth and melancholy; all these passions I feel more
from communication than from my own natural temper and
disposition. So remarkable a phgenomenon merits our
attention, and must be trac'd up to its first principles.
When any affection is infus'd by sympathy, it is at first
known only by its effects, and by those external signs in the
countenance and conversation, which convey an idea of it
This idea is presently converted into an impression, and
acquires such a degree of force and vivacity, as to become
the very passion itself, and produce an equal emotion, as any
original affection. However instantaneous this change of the
idea into an impression may be, it proceeds from certain
views and reflections, which will not escape the strict scrutiny
of a philosopher, tho' they may the person himself, who
makes them.
'Tis evident, that the idea, or rather impression of ourselves
is always intimately present with us, and that our conscious-
ness gives us so hvely a conception of our own person, that
'tis not possible to imagine, that any thing can in this par-
ticular go beyond it. Whatever object, therefore, is related to
ourselves must be conceived with a like vivacity of conception,
according to the foregoing principles ; and tho' this relation
shou'd not be so strong as that of causation, it must still have
a considerable influence. Resemblance and contiguity are
relations not to be neglected ; especially when by an inference
from cause and effect, and by the observation of external
3l8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Fart 1. signs, we are inform'd of the real existence of the object,
which is resembling or contiguous.
and'humi- Now 'tis obvious, that nature has preserv'd a great resem-
lity. blance among all human creatures, and that we never remark
any passion or principle in others, of which, in some degree
or other, we may not find a parallel in ourselves. The case
is the same with the fabric of the mind, as with that of the
body. However the parts may differ in shape or size, their
structure and composition are in general the same. There
is a very remarkable resemblance, which preserves itself
amidst all their variety; and this resemblance must very
much contribute to make us enter into the sentiments of
others, and embrace them with facility and pleasure. Accord-
ingly we find, that where, beside the general resemblance of
our natures, there is any peculiar similarity in our manners,
or character, or country, or language, it facilitates the sym-
pathy. The stronger the relation is betwixt ourselves and
any object, the more easily does the imagination make the
transition, and convey to the related idea the vivacity of
conception, with which we always form the idea of our own
person.
Nor is resemblance the only relation, which has this effect,
but receives new force from other relations, that may accom-
pany it. The sentiments of others have little influence, when
far remov'd from us, and require the relation of contiguity,
to make them communicate themselves entirely. The rela-
tions of blood, being a species of causation, may sometimes
contribute to the same effect; as also acquaintance, which
operates in the same manner with education and custom; as
we shall see more fully ^ afterwards. All these relations,
when united together, convey the impression or consciousness
of our own person to the idea of the sentiments or passions
of others, and makes us conceive them in the strongest and
most lively manner.
It has been remark'd in the beginning of this treatise, that
' Part II. sect. 4
Book II, OF THE PASSIONS. 319
all ideas are borrow'd from impressions, and that these two Sect. XI.
kinds of perceptions differ only in the degrees of force and '*
vivacity, with which they strike upon the soul. The com- S fa„it,
ponent parts of ideas and impressions are precisely alike.
The manner and order of their appearance may be the same.
The different degrees of their force and vivacity are, there-
fore, the only particulars, that distinguish them : And as this
diiference may be remov'd, in some measure, by a relation
betwixt the impressions and ideas, 'tis no wonder an idea of
a sentiment or passion, may by this means be so inliven'd as
to become the very sentiment or passion. The lively idea
of any object always approaches its impression ; and 'tis
certain we may feel sickness and pain from the mere force of
imagination, and make a malady real by often thinking of it.
But this is most remarkable in the opinions and affections ;
and 'tis there principally that a lively idea is converted into an
impression. Our affections depend more upon ourselves,
and the internal operations of the mind, than any other
impressions; for which reason they arise more naturally from
the imagination, and from every lively idea we form of them.
This is the nature and cause of sympathy ; and 'tis after this
manner we enter so deep into the opinions and affections of
others, whenever we discover them.
What is principally remarkable in this whole affair is the
strong confirmation these phasnomena give to the foregoing
system concerning the understanding, and consequently to
the present one concerning the passions ; since these are
analogous to each other. 'Tis indeed evident, that when we
sympathize with the passions and sentiments of others, these
movements appear at first in our mind as mere ideas, and
are conceiv'd to belong to another person, as we conceive
any other matter of fact. 'Tis also evident, that the ideas of
the affections of others are converted into the very impres-
sions they represent, and that the passions arise in conformity
to the images we form of them. All this is an object of the
plainest experience, and depends not on any hypothesis of
320
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of pride
and humi-
lity.
philosophy. That science can only be admitted to explain
the phsenomena; tho' at the same time it must be confest,
they are so clear of themselves, that there is but little occasion
to employ it. For besides the relation of cause and effect,
by which we are convinc'd of the reality of the passion, with
which we sympathize ; besides this, I say, we must be assisted
by the relations of resemblance and contiguity, in order to
feel the sympathy in its full perfection. And since these re-
lations can entirely convert an idea into an impression, and
convey the vivacity of the latter into the former, so perfectly
as to lose nothing of it in the transition, we may easily con-
ceive how the relation of cause and effect alone, may serve
to strengthen and inliven an idea. In sympathy there is an
evident conversion of an idea into an impression. This con-
version arises from the relation of objects to ourself Ourself
is always intimately present to us. Let us compare all these
circumstances, and we shall find, that sympathy is exactly
correspondent to the operations of our understanding; and
even contains something more surprising and extraordinary.
'Tis now time to turn our view from the general considera-
tion of sympathy, to its influence on pride and humility, when
these passions arise from praise and blame, from reputation
and infamy. We may observe, that no person is ever prais'd
by another for any quality, which wou'd not, if real, produce,
of itself, a pride in the person possest of it. The elogiums
either turn upon his power, or riches, or family, or virtue ;
all of which are subjects of vanity, that we have already
explain'd and accounted for. 'Tis certain, then, that if
a person consider'd himself in the same light, in which he
appears to his admirer, he wou'd first receive a separate plea-
sure, and afterwards a pride or self-satis(aciion, according to
the hypothesis above explain'd. Now nothing is more natural
than for us to embrace the opinions of others in this par-
ticular ; both from sympathy, which renders all their senti-
ments intimately present to us; and from reasoning, which
makes us regard their judgment, as a kind of argument for
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 32 1
what they affirm. These two principles of authority and Sect. XI.
sympathy influence almost all our opinions; but must have ■ *♦ "
a peculiar influence, when we judge of our own worth and of fame""
character. Such judgments are always attended with
passion ' ; and nothing tends more to disturb our under-
standing, and precipitate us into any opinions, however un-
reasonable, than their connexion with passion ; which dif-
fuses itself over the imagination, and gives an additional force
to every related idea. To which we may add, that being
conscious of great partiality in our own favour, we are
peculiarly pleas'd with any thing, that confirms the good
opinion we have of ourselves, and are easily shock'd with
whatever opposes it.
All this appears very probable in theory ; but in order to
bestow a full certainty on this reasoning, we must examine
the phenomena of the passions, and see if they agree with it.
Among these phaenomena we may esteem it a very
favourable one to our present purpose, that tho' fame in
general be agreeable, yet we receive a much greater satis-
faction from the approbation of those, whom we ourselves
esteem and approve of, than of those, whom we hate and
despise. In like manner we are principally mortify'd with
the contempt of persons, upon whose judgment we set some
value, and are, in a great measure, indiff'erent about the
opinions of the rest of mankind. But if the mind receiv'd
from any original instinct a desire of fame, and aversion to
infamy, fame and infamy wou'd influence us without distinc-
tion ; and every opinion, according as it were favourable or
unfavourable, wou'd equally excite that desire or aversion.
The judgment of a fool is the judgment of another person, as
well as that of a wise man, and is only inferior in its influence
on our own judgment.
We are not only better pleas'd with the approbation of a
wise man than with that of a fool, but receive an additional
satisfaction from the former, when 'tis obtain'd after a long
* Book I. Part III. sect. 10.
322
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of pride
and humi-
lity.
and intimate acquaintance. This is accounted for after the
same manner.
The praises of others never give us much pleasure, unless
they concur with our own opinion, and extol us for those
qualities, in which we chiefly excel. A mere soldier little
values the character of eloquence : A gownman of courage :
A bishop of humour : Or a merchant of learning. Whatever
esteem a man may have for any quality, abstractedly con-
sider'd ; when he is conscious he is not possest of it ; the
opinions of the whole world will give him little pleasure in
that particular, and that because they never will be able to
draw his own opinion after them.
Nothing is more usual than for men of good families, but
narrow circumstances, to leave their friends and country, and
rather seek their livelihood by mean and mechanical em-
ployments among strangers, than among those, who are
acquainted with their birth and education. We shall be un-
known, say they, where we go. No body will suspect from
what family we are sprung. We shall be remov'd from all
our friends and acquaintance, and our poverty and meanness
will by that means fit more easy upon us. In examining
these sentiments, I find they afford many very convincing
arguments for my present purpose.
First, We may infer from them, that the uneasiness oi
being contemn'd depends on sympathy, and that sympathy
depends on the relation of objects to ourselves ; since we
are most uneasy under the contempt of persons, who are both
related to us by blood, and contiguous in place. Hence we
seek to diminish this sympathy and uneasiness by separating
these relations, and placing ourselves in a contiguity to
strangers, and at a distance from relations.
Secondly, We may conclude, that relations are requisite to
sympathy, not absolutely consider'd as relations, but by their
influence in converting our ideas of the sentiments of others
into the very sentiments, by means of the association betwixt
the idea of their persons, and that of our own. For here the
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 323
relations of kindred and contiguity both subsist; but not Sect. XI
being united in the same persons, they contribute in a less —^*—
degree to the sympathy. _ ^^^^if'^'
Thirdly, This very circumstance of the diminution of sym-
pathy by the separation of relations is worthy of cur atten-
tion. Suppose I am plac'd in a poor condition among
strangers, and consequently am but lightly treated; I yet
find myself easier in that situation, than when I was every
day expos'd to the contempt of my kindred and countrymen.
Here I feel a double contempt ; from my relations, but they
are absent ; from those about me, but they are strangers.
This double contempt is likewise strengthen'd by the two
relations of kindred and contiguity. But as the persons are
not the same, who are connected with me by those two rela-
tions, this difference of ideas separates the impressions arising
from the contempt, and keeps them from running into each
other. The contempt of my neighbours has a certain in-
fluence ; as has also that of my kindred : But these influences
are distinct, and never unite ; as when the contempt proceeds
from persons who are at once both my neighbours and
kindred. This phenomenon is analogous to the system of
pride and humility above-explain'd, which may seem so
extraordinary to vulgar apprehensions.
Fourthly, A person in these circumstances naturally con-
ceals his birth from those among, whom he lives, and is very
uneasy, if any one suspects him to be of a family, much
superior to his present fortune and way of living. Every
thing in this v;orld is judg'd of by comparison. What is an
immense fortune for a private gentleman is beggary for a
prince. A peasant wou'd think himself happy in what can-
not afford necessaries for a gentleman. When a man has
either been accustom'd to a more splendid way of living, or
thinks himself intitled to it by his birth and quality, every
thing below is disagreeable and even shameful ; and 'tis with
the greatest industry he conceals his pretensions to a better
fortune. Here he himself knows his misfortunes ; but as
324 .4 TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. those, with whom he Hves, are ignorant of them, he has the
" disagreeable reflexion and comparison suggested only by
/ndhumi- ^^^ ^^^'^ thoughts, and never receives it by a sympathy with
lity. others ; which must contribute very much to his ease and
satisfaction.
If there be any objections to this hypothesis, that the
pleasure, which we receive from praise, arises from a communi-
cation of sentiments, we shall find, upon examination, that
these objections, when taken in a proper light, will serve to
confirm it. Popular fame may be agreeable even to a man,
who despises the vulgar ; but 'tis because their multitude
gives them additional weight and authority. Plagiaries are
delighted with praises, which they are conscious they do not
deserve ; but this is a kind of casde-building, where the
imagination amuses itself with its own fictions, and strives to
render them firm and stable by a sympathy with the senti-
ments of others. Proud men are most shock'd with con-
tempt, tho' they do not most readily assent to it ; but 'tis
because of the opposition betwixt the passion, which is
natural to them, and that receiv'd by sympathy. A violent
lover in like manner is very much displeas'd when you blame
and condemn his love ; tho' tis evident your opposition can
have no influence, but by the hold it takes of himself and by
his sympathy with you. If he despises you, or perceives you
are in jest, whatever you say has no eflTect upon him.
SECTION XII.
Of the pride and humility of animals.
Thus in whatever light we consider this subject, we may
still observe, that the causes of pride and humility correspond
exacUy to our hypothesis, and that nothing can excite either
of these passions, unless it be both related to ourselves, and
produces a pleasure or pain independent of the passion. We
animals.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 325
have not only prov'd, that a tendency 10 produce pleasure or Sect. XII.
pain is common to all the causes of pride or humility, but ~**~
also that 'tis the only thing, which is common ; and conse- p{.ijg ^„^
quently is the quality, by which they operate. We have humility of
farther prov'd, that the most considerable causes of these pas-
sions are really nothing but the power of producing either
agreeable or uneasy sensations ; and therefore that all their
effects, and amongst the rest, pride and humility, are deriv'd
solely from that origin. Such simple and natural principles,
founded on such solid proofs, cannot fail to be receiv'd by
philosophers, unless oppos'd by some objections, that have
escap'd me.
'Tis usual with anatomists to join their observations and
experiments on human bodies to those on beasts, and from
the agreement of these experiments to derive an additional
argument for any particular hypothesis. 'Tis indeed certain,
that where the structure of parts in brutes is the same as in
men, and the operation of these parts also the same, the
causes of that operation cannot be different, and that what-
ever we discover to be true of the one species, may be con-
cluded without hesitation to be certain of the other. Thus
tho' the mixture of humours and the composition of minute
parts may justly be presum'd to be somewhat dilTerent in
men from what it is in mere animals ; and therefore any ex-
periment we make upon the one concerning the effects of
medicines will not always apply to the other ; yet as the
structure of the veins and muscles, the fabric and situation
of the heart, of the lungs, the stomach, the liver and other
parts, are the same or nearly the same in all animals, the
very same hypothesis, which in one species explains muscular
motion, the progress of the chyle, the circulation of the blood,
must be applicable to every one ; and according as it agrees
or disagrees with the experiments we may make in any
species of creatures, we may draw a proof of its truth or
falsehood on the whole. Let us, therefore, apply this method
of enquiry, which is found so just and useful in reasonings
326 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. concerning the body, to our present anatomy of the mind,
'~**^ and see what discoveries we can make by it.
andhttmi- ^^ order to this we must first shew the correspondence of
lity. passions in men and animals, and afterwards compare the
causes, which produce these passions.
'Tis plain, that almost in every species of creatures, but
especially of the nobler kind, there are many evident marks
of pride and humility. The very port and gait of a swan, or
turkey, or peacock show the high idea he has entertain'd of
himself, and his contempt of all others. This is the more
remarkable, that in the tv/o last species of animals, the pride
always attends the beauty, and is discover'd in the male only.
The vanity and emulation of nightingales in singing have
been commonly remark'd ; as likewise that of horses in swift-
ness, of hounds in sagacity and smell, of the bull and cock in
strength, and of every other animal in his particular excel-
lency. Add to this, that every species of creatures, which
approach so often to man, as to familiarize themselves with
him, show an evident pride in his approbation, and are pleas'd
with his praises and caresses, independent of every other con-
sideration. Nor are they the caresses of every one without
distinction, which give them this vanity, but those principally
of the persons they know and love ; in the same manner as
that passion is excited in mankind. All these are evident
proofs, that pride and humility are not merely human pas-
sions, but extend themselves over the whole animal creation.
The causes of these passions are likewise much the same
in beasts as in us, making a just allowance for our superior
knowledge and understanding. Thus animals have little oi
no sense of virtue or vice ; they quickly lose sight of the re-
lations of blood ; and are incapable of that of right and pro-
perty; For which reason the causes of their pride and humi-
lity must lie solely in the body, and can never be plac'd eithei
in the mind or external objects. But so far as regards the
body, the same qualities cause pride in the animal as in the
human kind ; and 'tis on beauty, strength, swiftness or some
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 327
other useful or agreeable quality that this passion is always Sect. XII.
founded. "
The next question is, whether, since those passions are the p{./jf^„j
same, and arise from the same causes thro' the whole crea- humility of
tion, the manner, in which the causes operate, be also the '^>"'"'^'^-
same. According to all rules of analogy, this is justly to be
expected ; and if we find upon trial, that the explication of
these phsenomena, which we make use of in one species, will
not apply to the rest, we may presume that that explication,
however specious, is in reality without foundation.
In order to decide this question, let us consider, that there
is evidently the same relation of ideas, and deriv'd from the
same causes, in the minds of animals as in those of men.
A dog, that has hid a bone, often forgets the place ; but
when brought to it, his thought passes easily to what he
formerly conceal'd, by means of the contiguity, which pro-
duces a relation among his ideas. In like manner, when he
has been heartily beat in any place, he will tremble on his
approach to it, even tho' he discover no signs of any present
danger. The effects of resemblance are not so remarkable ;
but as that relation makes a considerable ingredient in causa-
tion, of which all animals shew so evident a judgement, we
may conclude that the three relations of resemblance, con-
tiguity and causation operate in the same manner upon beasts
as upon human creatures.
There are also instances of the relation of impressions,
sufficient to convince us, that there is an union of certain
affections with each other in the inferior species of creatures
as well as in the superior, and that their minds are frequently
convey'd thro' a series of connected emotions. A dog, when
elevated with joy, runs naturally into love and kindness,
whether of his master or of the sex. In like manner, when
full of pain and sorrow, he becomes quarrelsome and ill-
natur'd ; and that passion, which at first was grief, is by the
smallest occasion converted into anger.
Thus all the internal principles, that are necessary in us
328
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
«t
Of pride
and humi-
lity.
to produce either pride or humility, are common to all crea-
tures ; and since the causes, which excite these passions, are
likewise the same, we may justly conclude, that these causes
operate after the same vianner thro' the whole animal crea-
tion. My hypothesis is so simple, and supposes so little re-
flexion and judgement, that 'tis applicable to every sensible
creature ; which must not only be allow'd to be a convincing
proof of its veracity, but, I am confident, will be found an
objection to every other system.
1
PART II.
OF LOVE AND HATRED,
SECTION I.
0/ the objects and causes of love and hatred.
'Tis altogether impossible to give any definition of the Sect. I, I
passions of love and hatred ; and that because they produce ~**~
1 •!• ••!_ ■ . Of the
merely a simple impression, without any mixture or com- oh^cts and V
position. 'Twou'd be as unnecessary to attempt any de- causes of
scription of them, drawn from their nature, origin, causes and ^^h-ed.
objects ; and that both because these are the subjects of our
present enquiry, and because these passions of themselves
are sufficiently known from our common feeling and ex-
perience. This we have already observ'd concerning pride
and humility, and here repeat it concerning love and hatred ;
and indeed there is so great a resemblance betwixt these two
sets of passions, that we shall be oblig'd to begin with a kind
of abridgment of our reasonings concerning the former, in
order to explain the latter.
As the immediate object of pride and humility is self or
that identical person, of whose thoughts, actions, and sensa-
tions we are intimately conscious ; so the object of love and ,,
hatred is some other person, of whose thoughts, actions, and !l
sensations we are not conscious. This is sufficiently evident
from experience. Our love and hatred are always directed
to some sensible being external to us ; and when we talk of
self-love, 'tis not in a proper sense, nor has the sensation it
produces any thing in common with that tender emotion,
which is excited by a friend or mistress. 'Tis the same case
330
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. with hatred. We may be mortified by our own faults and
** follies ; but never feel any anger or hatred, except from the
0//^.Wi„j^^i^3^f^o^hers. _
But tho' the object of love and hatred be always some
other person, 'tis plain that the object is not, properly
speaking, the cause of these passions, or alone sufficient to
excite them. For since love and hatred are directly contrary
in their sensation, and have the same object in common, if
that object were also their cause, it wou'd produce these
opposite passions in an equal degree ; and as they must,
from the very first moment, destroy each other, none of them
wou'd ever be able to make its appearance. There must,
therefore, be some cause different from the object.
If we consider the causes of love and hatred, we shall find
they are very much diversify'd, and have not many things in
common. The virtue, knowledge, wit, good sense, good
humour of any person, produce love and esteem ; as the
opposite qualities, hatred and contempt. The same passions
arise from bodily accomplishments, such as beauty, force,
swiftness, dexterity ; and from their contraries ; as likewise
from the external advantages and disadvantages of family,
possessions, cloaths, nation and climate. There is not one
of these objects, but what by its different qualities may
produce love and esteem, or hatred and contempt.
From the view of these causes we may derive a new dis-
tinction betwixt the quality that operates, and the subject on
which it is plac'd. A prince, that is possess'd of a stately
palace, commands the esteem of the people upon that
account ; and that first, by the beauty of the palace, and
secondly, by the relation of property, which connects it with
him. The removal of either of these destroys the passion ;
which evidently proves that the cause is a compounded on?.
'Twou'd be tedious to trace the passions of love and
hatred, thro' all the observations which we have form'd
concerning pride and humility, and which are equally
applicable to both sets of passions. 'Twill be sufficient to
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 33 1
remark in general, that the object of love and hatred is Sect. I.
evidently some thinking person ; and that the sensation of -^7V~
the former passion is always agreeable, and of the latter un- oiji^ts and
easy. We may also suppose with some shew of probability, causes of
that the cause of both these passioits is always related to a l^^^"
thinking being, and that the cause of the former produce a
separate pleasure, and of the latter a separate uneasiness.
One of these suppositions, viz. that the cause of love and
hatred must be related to a person or thinking being, in
order to produce these passions, is not only probable, but too
evident to be contested. Virtue and vice, when consider'd in
the abstract ; beauty and deformity, when plac'd on in-
animate objects ; poverty and riches, when belonging to a
third person, excite no degree of love or hatred, esteem or
contempt towards those, who have no relation to them. A
person looking out at a window, sees me in the street, and
beyond me a beautiful palace, with which I have no concern :
1 believe none will pretend, that this person will pay me the
same respect, as if I were owner of the palace.
'Tis not so evident at first sight, that a relation of im-
pressions is requisite to these passions, and that because in
the transition the one impression is so much confounded with
the other, that they become in a manner undistinguishable.
But as in pride and humility, we have easily been able to make
the separation, and to prove, that every cause of these passions
produces a separate pain or pleasure, I might here observe
the same method with the same success, in examining par-
ticularly the several causes of love and hatred. But as I
hasten to a full and decisive proof of these systems, I delay
this examination for a moment : And in the mean time shall
endeavour to convert to my present purpose all my reasonings
concerning pride and humility, by an argument that is
founded on unquestionable experience.
There are few persons, that are satisfy'd with their own
character, or genius, or fortune, who are not desirous of
shewing themselves to the world, and of acquiring the love
M
332 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. and approbation of mankind. Now 'tis evident, that the very
*• same qualities and circumstances, which are the causes of
hatred^" pride or self-esteem, are also the causes of vanity or the
desire of reputation ; and that we always put to view those
particulars with which in ourselves we are best satisfy'd.
But if love and esteem were not produc'd by the same
qualities as pride, according as these qualities are related to
ourselves or others, this method of proceeding wou'd be very
absurd, nor cou'd men expect a correspondence in the senti-
ments of every other person, with those themselves have
entertain'd. 'Tis true, few can form exact systems of the
passions, or make reflexions on their general nature and
resemblances. But without such a progress in philosophy,
we are not subject to many mistakes in this particular, but
are sufficiently guided by common experience, as well as by
a kind of presensation ; which tells us what will operate on
others, by what we feel immediately in ourselves. Since
then the same qualities that produce pride or humility, cause
love or hatred ; all the arguments that have been employ'd
to prove, that the causes of the former passions excite a pain
or pleasure independent of the passion, will be applicable
with equal evidence to the causes of the latter.
SECTION II.
Experiments to confirm this system.
Upon duly weighing these arguments, no one will make
any scruple to assent to that conclusion I draw from them,
concerning the transition along related impressions and ideas,
especially as 'tis a principle, in itself, so easy and natural.
But that we may place this system beyond doubt both with
regard to love and hatred, pride and humility, 'twill be proper
to make some new experiments upon all these passions, as
well as to recall a few of these observations, which I have
formerly touch'd upon.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 333
In order to make these experiments, let us suppose I am Sect. XL
in company with a person, whom I formerly regarded with- ".
out any sentiments either of friendship or enmity. Here I ments to
have the natural and ultimate object of all these four passions confirm
plac'd before me. Myself am the proper object of pride or ' '"^ •9''^^''»«
humility ; the other person of love or hatred.
Regard now with attention the nature of these passions,
and their situation with respect to each other. 'Tis evi-
dent here are four affections, plac'd, as it were, in a square
or regular connexion with, and distance from each other.
The passions of pride and humility, as well as those of love
and hatred, are connected together by the identity of their
object, which to the first set of passions is self, to the second
some other person. These two lines of communication or
connexion form two opposite sides of the square. Again,
pride and love are agreeable passions; hatred and humility
uneasy. This similitude of sensation betwixt pride and love,
and that betwixt humility and hatred form a new connexion,
and may be consider'd as the other two sides of the square.
Upon the whole, pride is connected with humility, love with
hatred, by their objects or ideas : Pride with love, humility
with hatred, by their sensations or impressions.
I say then, that nothing can produce any of these passions
without bearing it a double relation, viz. of ideas to the object
of the passion, and of sensation to the passion itself. This
we must prove by our experiments.
First Experiment. To proceed with the greater order in
these experiments, let us first suppose, that being plac'd in
the situation above-mention'd, viz. in company with some
other person, there is an object presented, that has no rela-
tion either of impressions or ideas to any of these passions.
Thus suppose we regard together an ordinary stone, or other
common object, belonging to neither of us, and causing of
itself no emotion, or independent pain and pleasure : 'Tis
evident such an object will produce none of these four pas-
sions. Let us try it upon each of them successively. Let
334
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
Part II. us apply it to love, to hatred, to humility, to pride ; none of
•• them ever arises in the smallest degree imaginable. Let us
haOeJ ""' change the object, as oft as we please ; provided still we
choose one, that has neither of these two relations. Let us
repeat the experiment in all the dispositions, of which the mind
is susceptible. No object, in the vast variety of nature, will, in
any disposition, produce any passion without these relations.
Second Experiment. Since an object, that wants both
these relations can ever produce any passion, let us bestow
on it only one of these relations ; and see what will follow.
Thus suppose, I regard a stone or any common object, that
belongs either to me or my companion, and by that means
acquires a relation of ideas to the object of the passions :
'Tis plain, that to consider the matter a priori, no emotion
of any kind can reasonably be expected. For besides, that
a relation of ideas operates secretly and calmly on the mind,
it bestows an equal impulse towards the opposite passions of
pride and humility, love and hatred, according as the object
belongs to ourselves or others ; which opposition of the pas-
sions must destroy both, and leave the mind perfectly free
from any affection or emotion. This reasoning a priori is
confirmed by experience. No trivial or vulgar object, that
causes not a pain or pleasure, independent of the passion,
, will ever, by its property or other relations, either to ourselves
or others, be able to produce the affections of pride or humi-
lity, love or hatred.
Third Experiment. 'Tis evident, therefore, that a relation
of ideas is not able alone to give rise to these affections.
Let us now remove this relation, and in its stead place a
relation of impressions, by presenting an object, which is
agreeable or disagreeable, but has no relation either to our-
self or companion ; and let us observe the consequences.
To consider the matter first a priori, as in the preceding
experiment ; we may conclude, that the object will have a
small, but an uncertain connexion with these passions. For
besides, that this relation is not a cold and imperceptible
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 335
one, it has not the inconvenience of the relation of ideas, Sect. n.
nor directs us with equal force to two contrary passions, •*
which by their opposition destroy each other. But if we „;^„/^'^^
consider, on the other hand, that this transition from the confirm
sensation to the affection is not forwarded by any principle, " ^y^(f^
that produces a transition of ideas ; but, on the contrary,
that tho' the one impression be easily transfus'd into the
other, yet the change of objects is suppos'd contrary to all
the principles, that cause a transition of that kind ; we may
from thence infer, that nothing will ever be a steady or
durable cause of any passion, that is connected with the
passion merely by a relation of impressions. What our
reason wou'd conclude from analogy, after ballancing these
arguments, wou'd be, that an object, which produces plea-
sure or uneasiness, but has no manner of connexion either
with ourselves or others, may give such a turn to the dis-
position, as that it may naturally fall into pride or love,
humility or hatred, and search for other objects, upon which,
by a double relation, it can found these affections ; but that
an object, which has only one of these relations, tho' the
most advantageous one, can never give rise to any constant
and establish'd passion.
Most fortunately all this reasoning is found to be exactly
conformable to experience, and the phgenomena of the pas-
sions. Suppose I were travelling with a companion thro*
a country, to which we are both utter strangers ; 'tis evident,
that if the prospects be beautiful, the roads agreeable, and
the inns commodious, this may put me into good humour
both with myself and fellow-traveller. But as we suppose,
that this country has no relation either to myself or friend,
it can never be the immediate cause of pride or love; and
therefore if I found not the passion on some other object,
that bears either of us a closer relation, my emotions are
rather to be consider'd as the overflowings of an elevate or
humane disposition, than as an establish'd passion. The
case is the same where the object produces uneasiness.
336 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II, Fourth Experiment. Having found, that neither an object
" without any relation of ideas or impressions, nor an object.
Of love ana , , , , . . , , .,. '
bcund. that has only one relation, can ever cause pride or humility,
love or hatred; reason alone may convince us, without any
farther experiment, that whatever has a double relation must
necessarily excite these passions ; since 'tis evident they must
have some cause. But to leave as little room for doubt as
possible, let us renew our experiments, and see whether the
event in this case answers our expectation. I choose an
object, such as virtue, that causes a separate satisfaction:
On this object I bestow a relation to self; and find, that from
this disposition of affairs, there immediately arises a passion.
But what passion ? That very one of pride, to which this
object bears a double relation. Its idea is related to that of
self, the object of the passion : The sensation it causes
resembles the sensation of the passion. That I may be sure
I am not mistaken in this experiment, I remove first one
relation ; then another ; and find, that each removal destroys
the passion, and leaves the object perfectly indifferent. But
I am not content with this. I make a still farther trial ; and
instead of removing the relation, I only change it for one of
a different kind. I suppose the virtue to belong to my com-
panion, not to myself; and observe what follows from this
alteration. I immediately perceive the affections to wheel
about, and leaving pride, where there is only one relation, viz.
of impressions, fall to the side of love, where they are attracted
by a double relation of impressions and ideas. By repeating
the same experiment, in changing anew the relation of ideas,
I bring the affections back to pride ; and by a new repetition
I again place them at love or kindness. Being fully con-
vinc'd of the influence of this relation, I try the effects of the
other ; and by changing virtue for vice, convert the pleasant
impression, which arises from the former, into the disagree-
able one, which proceeds from the latter. The effect still
answers expectation. Vice, when plac'd on another, excites,
by means of its double relations, the passion of hatred.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 337
instead of love, which for the same reason arises from Sect. II
virtue. To continue the experiment, I change anew the ^~^
relation of ideas, and suppose the vice to belong to myself, fnents to
What follows? What is usual. A subsequent change ci confirm
the passion from hatred to humility. This humility I con- ^'
vert into pride by a new change of the impression ; and find
after all that I have compleated the round, and have by these
changes brought back the passion to that very situation, in
which I first found it.
But to make the matter still more certain, I alter the
object ; and instead of vice and virtue, make the trial upon
beauty and deformity, riches and poverty, power and servi-
tude. Each of these objects runs the circle of the passions
in the same manner, by a change of their relations : And in
whatever order we proceed, whether thro' pride, love, hatred,
humility, or thro' humility, hatred, love, pride, the experiment
is not in the least diversify'd. Esteem and contempt, indeed,
arise on some occasions instead of love and hatred ; but
these are at the bottom the same passions, only diversify'd
by some causes, which we shall explain afterwards.
Fifth Experiment. To give greater authority to these
experiments, let us change the situation of affairs as much
as possible, and place the passions and objects in all the
different positions, of which they are susceptible. Let us
suppose, beside the relations above-mention'd, that the
person, along with whom I make all these experiments, is
closely connected with me either by blood or friendship.
He is, we shall suppose, my son or brother, or is united to
me by a long and familiar acquaintance. Let us next sup-
pose, that the cause of the passion acquires a double relation
of impressions and ideas to this person ; and let us see
what the effects are of all these complicated attractions and
relations.
Before we consider what they are in fact, let us determine
what they ought to be, conformable to my hypothesis. 'Tis
plain, that, according as the impression is either pleasant or
338 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. uneasy, the passion of love or hatred must arise towards the
■ ♦♦ person, who is thus connected to the cause of the impression
ha/red '^" by these double relations, which I have all along requir'd.
The virtue of a brother must make me love him ; as his vice
or infamy must excite the contrary passion. But to judge
only from the situation of aflfairs, I shou'd not expect, that
the affections wou'd rest there, and never transfuse themselves
into any other impression. As there is here a person, who by
means of a double relation is the object of my passion, the
very same reasoning leads me to think the passion will be
carry'd farther. The person has a relation of ideas to my-
self, according to the supposition ; the passion, of which he
is the object, by being either agreeable or uneasy, has a rela-
tion of impressions to pride or humility. 'Tis evident, then,
that one of these passions must arise from the love or
hatred.
This is the reasoning I form in conformity to my hypo-
thesis ; and am pleas'd to find upon trial that every thing
answers exactly to my expectation. The virtue or vice of a
son or brother not only excites love or hatred, but by a new
transition, from similar causes, gives rise to pride or humility.
Nothing causes greater vanity than any shining quality in our
relations ; as nothing mortifies us more than their vice or
infamy. This exact conformity of experience to our reason-
ing is a convincing proof of the solidity of that hypothesis,
upon which we reason.
Sixth Experiment. This evidence will be still augmented,
if we reverse the experiment, and preserving still the same
relations, begin only with a different passion. Suppose, that
instead of the virtue or vice of a son or brother, which
causes first love or hatred, and afterwards pride or humility,
we place these good or bad qualities on ourselves, without
any immediate connexion with the person, who is related to
us: Experience shews us, that by this change of situation
the whole chain is broke, and that the mind is not convey'd
from one passion to another, as in the preceding instance.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 339
We never love or hate a son or brother for the virtue or vice Sect, II
we discern in ourselves ; tho' 'tis evident the same qualities in **. '
. . . Experi-
him give us a very sensible pride or humility. The transition „^^;;/j tg
from pride or humility to love or hatred is not so natural confirtn
as from love or hatred to pride or humility. This may at ^^^^y^^"^
first sight be esteem'd contrary to my hypothesis : since the
relations of impressions and ideas are in both cases precisely
the same. Pride and humility are impressions related to love
and hatred. Myself am related to the person. It shou'd,
therefore, be expected, that like causes must produce like
effects, and a perfect transition arise from the double relation,
as in all other cases. This difficulty we may easily solve by
the following reflexions.
'Tis evident, that as we are at all times intimately conscious
of ourselves, our sentiments and passions, their ideas must
strike upon us with greater vivacity than the ideas of the
sentiments and passions of any other person. But every
thing, that strikes upon us with vivacity, and appears in a
full and strong light, forces itself, in a manner, into our
consideration, and becomes present to the mind on the
smallest hint and most trivial relation. For the same reason,
when it is once present, it engages the attention, and keeps it
from wandering to other objects, however strong may be
their relation to our first object. The imagination passes
easily from obscure to lively ideas, but with difficulty from
lively to obscure. In the one case the relation is aided by
another principle : In the other case, 'tis oppos'd by it.
Now I have observ'd, that those two faculties of the mind,
the imagination and passions, assist each other in their
operation, when their propensities are similar, and when they
act upon the same object. The mind has always a pro-
pensity to pass from a passion to any other rejated to it ;
and this propensity is forwarded when the object of the one
passion is related to that of the other. The two impulses
concur with each other, and render the whole transition
more smooth and easy. But if it shou'd happen, that while
340 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. the relation of ideas, strictly speaking, continues the same,
,,•' its influence, in causint^ a transition of the imadnation,
0/ love and , ,^ ' , f , . _ . ■ „ ,
hatred. shou d no longer take place, tis evident its influence on the
passions must also cease, as being dependent entirely on that
transition. This is the reason why pride or humility is not
transfus'd into love or hatred with the same ease, that the
latter passions are chang'd into the former. If a person be
my brother I am his likewise : But tho' the relations be
reciprocal, they have very diff"erent eff'ects on the imagination.
The passage is smooth and open from the consideration of
any person related to us to that of ourself, of whom we are
every moment conscious. But when the aff"ections are once
directed to ourself, the fancy passes not with the same facility
from that object to any other person, how closely so ever
connected with us. This easy or difficult transition of the
imagination operates upon the passions, and facilitates or
retards their transition ; which is a clear proof, that these
two faculties of the passions and imagination are connected
together, and that the relations of ideas have an influence
upon the affections. Besides innumerable experiments that
prove this, we here find, that even when the relation remains;
if by any particular circumstance its usual effect upon the
fancy in producing an association or transition of ideas, is
prevented ; its usual eff"ect upon the passions, in conveying
us from one to another, is in like manner prevented.
Some may, perhaps, find a contradiction betwixt this
phaenomenon and that of sympathy, where the mind passes
easily from the idea of ourselves to that of any other object
related to us. But this diflliculty will vanish, if we consider
that in sympathy our own person is not the object of any
passion, nor is there any thing, that fixes our attention on
ourselves ; as in the present case, where we are suppos'd to
be actuated with pride or humility. Ourself, independent of
the perception of every other object, is in reality nothing :
For which reason we must turn our view to external objects ;
and 'tis natural for us to consider with most attention such
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 34I
as lie contiguous to us, or resemble us. But when self is the Sect. II
object of a passion, 'tis not natural to quit the consideration ".
of it, till the passion be exhausted ; in which case the double f,ig„^s io
relations of impressions and ideas can no longer operate. confirm
Seventh Experiment. To put this whole reasoning to a ^y^^'*"
farther trial, let us make a new experiment ; and as we have
already seen the effects of related passions and ideas, let us
here suppose an identity of passions along with a relation of
ideas ; and let us consider the effects of this new situation.
'Tis evident a transition of the passions from the one object
to the other is here in all reason to be expected ; since the
relation of ideas is suppos'd still to continue, and an identity
of impressions must produce a stronger connexion, than the
most perfect resemblance, that can be imagin'd. If a double
relation, therefore, of impressions and ideas is able to
produce a transition from one to the other, much more an
identity of impressions with a relation of ideas. Accordingly
we find, that when we either love or hate any person, the
passions seldom continue within their first bounds ; but
extend themselves towards all the contiguous objects, and
comprehend the friends and relations of him we love or hate.
Nothing is more natural than to bear a kindness to one
brother on account of our friendship for another, without any
farther examination of his character. A quarrel with one
person gives us a hatred for the whole family, tho' entirely
innocent of that, which displeases us. Instances of this kind
are every where to be met with.
There is only one difficulty in this experiment, which it
will be necessary to account for, before we proceed any
farther. 'Tis evident, that tho' all passions pass easily from
one object to another related to it, yet this transition is made
with greater facility, where the more considerable object is
first presented, and the lesser follows it, than where this order
is revers'd, and the lesser takes the precedence. Thus 'tis
more natural for us to love the son upon account of the
father, than the father upon account of the son ; the servant
342 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. for the master, than the master for the servant ; the subject
~ *• ■ for the prince, than the prince for the subject. In like
hatred. nianner we more readily contract a hatred against a whole
family, where our first quarrel is with the head of it, than
where we are displeas'd with a son, or servant, or some
inferior member. In short, our passions, like other objects,
descend with greater facility than they ascend.
That we may comprehend, wherein consists the difficulty
of explaining this phsenomenon, we must consider, that the
very same reason, which determines the imagination to pass
from remote to contiguous objects, with more facility than
from contiguous to remote, causes it likewise to change with
more ease, the less for the greater, than the greater for the
less. Whatever has the greatest influence is most taken
notice of; and whatever is most taken notice of, presents
itself most readily to the imagination. We are more apt to
overlook in any subject, what is trivial, than what appears of
considerable moment ; but especially if the latter takes the
precedence, and first engages our attention. Thus if any
accident makes us consider the Satellites o{ Jupiter, our fancy
is naturally determin'd to form the idea of that planet; but if
we first reflect on the principal planet, 'tis more natural for
us to overlook its attendants. The mention of the provinces
of any empire conveys our thought to the seat of the empire ;
but the fancy returns not with the same facility to the con-
sideration of the provinces. The idea of the servant makes
us think of the master ; that of the subject carries our view to
the prince. But the same relation has not an equal influence
in conveying us back again. And on this is founded that
reproach of Cornelia to her sons, that they ought to be
asham'd she shou'd be more known by the title of the
daughter of ^r/^^ib, than by that of the mother of the Gracchi.
This was, in other words, exhorting them to render them-
selves as illustrious and famous as their grandfather, other-
wise the imagination of the people, passing from her who
was intermediate, and plac'd in an equal relation to both,
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 343
wou'd always leave them, and denominate her by what was Sect. II.
more considerable and of greater moment. On the same „ "
Experi-
principle is founded that common custom of making wives ments to
bear the name of their husbands, rather than husbands that confirm
of their wives ; as also the ceremony of giving the precedency ' ^'^ ^'"
to those, whom we honour and respect. We might find
many other instances to confirm this principle, were it not
already sufficiently evident.
Now since the fancy finds the same facility in passing
from the lesser to the greater, as from remote to contiguous,
why does not this easy transition of ideas assist the transition
of passions in the former case, as well as in the latter ? The
virtues of a friend or brother produce first love, and then
pride; because in that case the imagination passes from
remote to contiguous, according to its propensity. Our own
virtues produce not first pride, and then love to a friend or
brother ; because the passage in that case wou'd be from
contiguous to remote, contrary to its propensity. But the
love or hatred of an inferior causes not readily any passion
to the superior, tho' that be the natural propensity of the
imagination : While the love or hatred of a superior, causes
a passion to the inferior, contrary to its propensity. In
short, the same facility of transition operates not in the same
manner upon superior and inferior as upon contiguous and
remote. These two phasnomena appear contradictory, and
require some attention to be reconcil'd.
As the transition of ideas is here made contrary to the
natural propensity of the imagination, that faculty must be
overpower'd by some stronger principle of another kind;
and as there is nothing ever present to the mind but im-
pressions and ideas, this principle must necessarily lie in the
impressions. Now it has been observ'd, that impressions or
passions are connected only by their resemblance, and that
where any two passions place the mind in the same or in
similar dispositions, it very naturally passes from the one to
the other : As on the contrary, a repugnance in the dispo-
344 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. sitions produces a difficulty in the transition of the passions.
" But 'tis observable, that this repugnance may arise from a
hatred. difference of degree as well as of kind ; nor do we experience
a greater difficulty in passing suddenly from a small degree
of love to a small degree of hatred, than from a small to
a great degree of either of these affections. A man, when
calm or only moderately agitated, is so different, in every
respect, from himself, when disturbed with a violent passion,
that no two persons can be more unlike ; nor is it easy to
pass from the one extreme to the other, without a consider-
able interval betwixt them.
The difficulty is not less, if it be not rather greater, in
passing from the strong passion to the weak, than in passing
from the weak to the strong, provided the one passion upon
its appearance destroys the other, and they do not both of
them exist at once. But the case is entirely alter'd, when
the passions unite together, and actuate the mind at the
same time. A weak passion, when added to a strong, makes
not so considerable change in the disposition, as a strong
when added to a weak ; for which reason there is a closer
connexion betwixt the great degree and the small, than
betwixt the small degree and the great.
The degree of any passion depends upon the nature of
its object ; and an affection directed to a person, who is
considerable in our eyes, fills and possesses the mind
much more than one, which has for its object a person
we esteem of less consequence. Here then the contradiction
betwixt the propensities of the imagination and passion dis-
plays itself. When we turn our thought to a great and
a small object, the imagination finds more facility in passing
from the small to the great, than from the great to the
small ; but the affections find a greater difficulty : And as
the affections are a more powerful principle than the imagina-
tion, no wonder they prevail over it, and draw the mind to
their side. In spite of the difficulty of passing from the idea
of great to that of little, a passion directed to the former,
Book II OF THE PASSIONS. 345
produces always a similar passion towards the latter ; when Sect. II.
the great and little are related together. The idea of the ** '
servant conveys our thought most readily to the master ; ^^;f/"^^
but the hatred or love of the master produces with greater confirm
facility anger or good-will to the servant. The strongest ^^^^^y^^^"^
passion in this case takes the precedence; and the addition
of the weaker making no considerable change on the dispo-
sition, the passage is by that means rendered more easy and
natural betwixt them.
As in the foregoing experiment we found, that a relation of
ideas, which, by any particular circumstance, ceases to pro-
duce its usual effect of facilitating the transition of ideas,
ceases likewise to operate on the passions ; so in the present
experiment we find the same property of the impressions.
Two different degrees of the same passion are surely related
together ; but if the smaller be first present, it has little or no
tendency to introduce the greater; and that because the
addition of the great to the litde, produces a more sensible
alteration on the temper, than the addition of the little to the
great. These phsenomena, when duly weigh'd, will be found
convincing proofs of this hypothesis.
And these proofs will be confirm'd, if we consider the
manner in which the mind here reconciles the contradiction,
I have observ'd betwixt the passions and the imagination.
The fancy passes with more facility from the less to the
greater, than from the greater to the less : But on the con-
trary a violent passion produces more easily a feeble, than
that does a violent. In this opposition the passion in the
end prevails over the imagination; but 'tis commonly by
complying with it, and by seeking another quality, which
may counter-ballance that principle, from whence the oppo-
sition arises. When we love the father or master of a family,
we little think of his children or servants. But when these
are present with us, or when it lies any ways in our power to
serve them, the nearness and contiguity in this case encreases
their magnitude, or at least removes that opposition, which
346 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. the fancy makes to the transition of the affections. If ihe
" imagination finds a difficulty in passing from greater to less,
luUred^"' it finds an equal facility in passing from remote to con-
tiguous, which brings the matter to an equality, and leaves
the way open from the one passion to the other.
Eighth Experiment. I have observ'd that the transition
from love or hatred to pride or humility, is more easy than
from pride or humility to love or hatred ; and that the diffi-
culty, which the imagination finds in passing from contiguous
to remote, is the cause why we scarce have any instance of
the latter tiansition of the affections. I must, however, make
one exception, viz. when the very cause of the pride and
humility is plac'd in some other person. For in that case
the imagination is necessitated to consider the person, nor
can it possibly confine its view to ourselves. Thus nothing
more readily produces kindness and affection to any person,
than his approbation of our conduct and character : As on
the other hand, nothing inspires us with a stronger hatred,
than his blame or contempt. Here 'tis evident, that the
original passion is pride or humility, whose object is self;
and that this passion is transfus'd into love or hatred, whose
object is some other person, notwithstanding the rule I have
already establish'd, that the imagination passes with difficulty
from contiguous to rernote. But the transition in this case is
not made merely on account of the relation betwixt our-
selves and the person ; but because that very person is the
real cause of our first passion, and of consequence is inti-
mately connected with it. 'Tis his approbation that pro-
duces pride; and disapprobation, humility. No wonder,
then, the imagination returns back again attended with the
related passions of love and hatred. This is not a contra-
diction, but an exception to the rule; and an exception that
arises from the same reason with the rule itself.
Such an exception as this is, therefore, rather a confirmation
of the rule. And indeed, if we consider all the eight experi-
ments I have explain'd, we shall find that the same principle
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 347
appears in all of thern, and that 'tis by means of a transition Sect. Ill
arising from a double relation of impressions and ideas, pride ♦♦
and humility, love and hatred are produc'd. An object fg/^^/^^*"
without ^ a relation, or "^ with but one, never produces
either of these passions; and 'tis ^ found that the passion
always varies in conformity to the relation. Nay we may
observe, that where the relation, by any particular circum-
stance, has not its usual effect of producing a transition either
of * ideas or of impressions, it ceases to operate upon the
passions, and gives rise neither to pride nor love, humility nor
hatred. This rule we find still to hold good®, even under
the appearance of its contrary ; and as relation is frequently
experienc'd to have no eifect; which upon examination is
found to proceed from some particular circumstance, that
prevents the transition ; so even in instances, where that cir-
cumstance, tho' present, prevents not the transition, 'tis found
to arise from some other circumstance, which counter-
ballances it. Thus not only the variations resolve them-
selves into the general principle, but even the variations of
these variations.
SECTION III.
Difficulties solv'd.
After so many and such undeniable proofs drawn from
daily experience and observation, it may seem superfluous
to enter into a particular examination of all the causes of
love and hatred. I shall, therefore, employ the sequel of this
part, Ftist, In removing some difficulties, concerning par-
ticular causes of these passions. Secondly, In examining the
compound affections, which arise from the mixture of love
and hatred with other emotions.
' First Experiment. * Second and Third Experiments.
* Fourth Experiment. * Sixth Experiment.
* Seventh and Eighth Experiments,
348 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IL Nothing is more evident, than that any person acquires
— ** — our kindness, or is expos'd to our ill-will, in proportion to the
hatred. °" pleasure or uneasiness we receive from him, and that the pas-
sions keep pace exactly with the sensations in all their changes
and variations. Whoever can find the means either by his
services, his beauty, or his flattery, to render himself useful
or agreeable to us, is sure of our affections : As on the other
hand, whoever harms or displeases us never fails to excite
our anger or hatred. When our own nation is at war with
any other, we detest them under the character of cruel, per-
fidious, unjust and violent : But always esteem ourselves and
allies equitable, moderate, and merciful. If the general of
our enemies be successful, 'tis with difficulty we allow him
the figure and character of a man. He is a sorcerer : He
has a communication with daemons ; as is reported of Oliver
Cromwell and the Duke of Luxembourg: He is bloody-
minded, and takes a pleasure in death and destruction. But if
the success be on our side, our commander has all the opposite
good qualities, and is a pattern of virtue, as well as of courage
and conduct. His treachery we call policy : His cruelty is
an evil inseparable from war. In short, every one of his
faults we either endeavour to extenuate, or dignify it with
the name of that virtue, which approaches it. 'Tis evident the
same method of thinking runs thro' common life.
There are some, who add another condition, and require
not only that the pain and pleasure arise from the person,
but likewise that it arise knowingly, and with a particular
design and intention. A man, who wounds and harms us by
accident, becomes not our enemy upon that account, nor do
we think ourselves bound by any ties of gratitude to one, who
does us any service after the same manner. By the intention
we judge of the actions, and according as that is good or bad,
they become causes of love or hatred.
But here we must make a distinction. If that quality in
another, which pleases or displeases, be constant and in-
herent in his person and character, it will cause love or hatred
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 349
independent of the intention : But otherwise a knowledge and Sect. III.
design is requisite, in order to give rise to these passions. " '•
One that is disagreeable by his deformity or folly is the Jy^ '"
object of our aversion, tho' nothing be more certain, than
that he has not the least intention of displeasing us by these
qualities. But if the uneasiness proceed not from a quality,
but an action, which is produc'd and annihilated in a
moment, 'tis necessary, in order to produce some relation, and
connect this action sufficiently with the person, that it be deriv'd
from a particular fore-thought and design. 'Tis not enough,
that the action arise from the person, and have him for its
immediate cause and author. This relation alone is too
feeble and inconstant to be a foundation for these passions.
It reaches not the sensible and thinking part, and neither
proceeds from any thing durable in him, nor leaves any thing
behind it ; but passes in a moment, and is as if it had never
been. On the other hand, an intention shews certain
qualities, which remaining after the action is perform'd, con-
nect it with the person, and facilitate the transition of ideas
from one to the other. We can never think of him without
reflecting on these qualities ; unless repentance and a change
of life have produc'd an alteration in that respect : In which
case the passion is likewise alter'd. This therefore is one
reason, why an intention is requisite to excite either love or
hatred.
But we must farther consider, that an intention, besides its
strengthening the relation of ideas, is often necessary to pro-
duce a relation of impressions, and give rise to pleasure and
uneasiness. For 'tis observable, that the principal part of an
injury is the contempt and hatred, which it shews in the
person, that injures us; and without that, the mere harm
gives us a less sensible uneasiness. In like manner, a good
office is agreeable, chiefly because it flatters our vanity, and
is a proof of the kindness and esteem of the person, who
performs it. The removal of the intention, removes the mor-
tification in the one case, and vanity in the other ; and must
350 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. of course cause a remarkable diminution in the passions of
•* love and hatred.
hatred. ^ g^'aiit, that these effects of the removal of design, in
diminishing the relations of impressions and ideas, are not
entire, nor able to remove every degree of these relations.
But then I ask, if the removal of design be able entirely to
remove the passion of love and hatred ? Experience, I am
sure, informs us of the contrary, nor is there any thing more
certain, than that men often fall into a violent anger for
injuries, which they themselves must own to be entirely in-
voluntary and accidental. This emotion, indeed, cannot be
of long continuance; but still is sufficient to shew, that there
is a natural connexion betwixt uneasiness and anger, and
that the relation of impressions will operate upon a very small
relation of ideas. But when the violence of the impression is
once a little abated, the defect of the relation begins to be
better felt; and as the character of a person is no wise
interested in such injuries as are casual and involuntary, it
seldom happens that on their account, we entertain a lasting
enmity.
To illustrate this doctrine by a parallel instance, we may
observe, that not only the uneasiness, which proceeds from
another by accident, has but little force to excite our passion,
but also that which arises from an acknowledg'd necessity
and duty. One that has a real design of harming us, pro-
ceeding not from hatred and ill-will, but from justice and
equity, draw's not upon him our anger, if we be in any degree
reasonable ; notwithstanding he is both the cause, and the
knowing cause of our sufferings. Let us examine a little
this phaenomenon.
'Tis evident in the first place, that this circumstance is not
decisive ; and tho' it may be able to diminish the passions,
'tis seldom it can entirely remove them. How few criminals
are there, who have no ill-will to the person, that accuses
them, or to the judge, that condemns them, even tho' they be
conscious of their own deserts? In like manner our an-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 35 1
tagonist in a law-suit, and our competitor for any office, are Sect. IV.
commonly regarded as our enemies, tho' we must acknow- "
ledge, if we wou'd but reflect a moment, that their motive is of relations
entirely as justifiable as our own.
Besides we may consider, that when we receive harm from
any person, we are apt to imagine him criminal, and 'tis with
extreme difficulty we allow of his justice and innocence. This
is a clear proof, that, independent of the opinion of iniquity,
any harm or uneasiness has a natural tendency to excite our
hatred, and that afterwards we seek for reasons upon which
we may justify and establish the passion. Here the idea of
injury produces not the passion, but arises from it.
Nor is it any wonder that passion should produce the
opinion of injury ; since otherwise it must suffer a consider-
able diminution, which all the passions avoid as much as
possible. The removal of injury may remove the anger,
without proving that the anger arises only from the injury.
The harm and the justice are two contrary objects, of which
the one has a tendency to produce hatred, and the other
love ; and 'tis according to their different degrees, and our
particular turn of thinking, that either of the objects prevails,
and excites its proper passion.
SECTION IV.
0/ the love of relations.
Having given a reason, why several actions, that cause
a real pleasure or uneasiness, excite not any degree, or but a
small one, of the passion of love or hatred towards the
actors ; 'twill be necessary to shew, wherein consists the
pleasure or uneasiness of many objects, which we find by
experience to produce these passions.
According to the preceding system there is always requir'd
a double relation of impressions and ideas betwixt the cause
and effect, in order to produce either love or hatred. But
352 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II, tho' this be universally true, 'tis remarkable that the passion
•• of love may be excited by only one relation of a different
hatred. kind, viz. betwixt ourselves and the object ; or more properly
speaking, that this relation is always attended with both the
others. Whoever is united to us by any connexion is always
sure of a share of our love, proportion'd to the connexion,
without enquiring into his other qualities. Thus the relation
of blood produces the strongest tie the mind is capable of
in the love of parents to their children, and a lesser degree
of the same affection, as the relation lessens. Nor has con-
sanguinity alone this effect, but any other relation without
exception. We love our country-men, our neighbours, those
of the same trade, profession, and even name with ourselves.
Every one of these relations is esteemed some tie, and gives
a title to a share of our affection.
There is another phaenomenon, which is parallel to this,
viz. that acquaintance, without any kind of relation, gives rise
to love and kindness. When we have contracted a habitude
and intimacy with any person ; tho' in frequenting his com-
pany we have not been able to discover any very valuable
quality, of which he is possess'd; yet we cannot forbear
preferring him to strangers, of whose superior merit we are
fully convinced. These two phaenomena of the effects of
relation and acquaintance will give mutual light to each
other, and may be both explain'd from the same principle.
Those, who take a pleasure in declaiming against human
nature, have observ'd, that man is altogether insufficient to
support himself; and that when you loosen all the holds,
which he has of external objects, he immediately drops down
into the deepest melancholy and despair. From this, say
they, proceeds that continual search after amusement in
gaming, in hunting, in business; by which we endeavour to
forget ourselves, and excite our spirits from the languid state,
into which they fall, when not sustain'd by some brisk and
lively emotion. To this method of thinking I so far agree,
that I own the mind to be insufficient, of itself, to its own
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 353
entertainment, and that it naturally seeks after foreign Sect. IV
objects, which may produce a lively sensation, and agitate ■ *♦
the spirits. On the appearance of such an object it awakes, ^f*^'{^^
as it were, from a dream : The blood flows with a new tide :
The heart is elevated : And the whole man acquires a vigour,
which he cannot command in his solitary and calm moments.
Hence company is naturally so rejoicing, as presenting the
liveliest of all objects, viz. a rational and thinking Being like
ourselves, who communicates to us all the actions of his mind;
makes us privy to his inmost sentiments and affections ; and
lets us see, in the very instant of their production, all the
emotions, which are caus'd by any object. Every lively idea
is agreeable., but especially that of a passion, because such
an idea becomes a kind of passion, and gives a more sensible
agitation to the mind, than any other image or conception.
This being once admitted, all the rest is easy. For as the
company of strangers is agreeable to us for a short time, by
inlivening our thought ; so the company of our relations and
acquaintance must be peculiarly agreeable, because it has
this effect in a greater degree, and is of more durable influ-
ence. Whatever is related to us is conceiv'd in a lively
manner by the easy transition from ourselves to the related
object. Custom also, or acquaintance facilitates the entrance,
and strengthens the conception of any object. The first case
is parallel to our reasonings from cause and effect ; the
second to education. And as reasoning and education
concur only in producing a lively and strong idea of any
object ; so is this the only particular, which is common to
relation and acquaintance. This must, therefore, be the
influencing quality, by which they produce all their common
efl'ects ; and love or kindness being one of these effects, it
must be from the force and liveliness of conception, that the
passion is deriv'd. Such a conception is peculiarly agree-
able, and makes us have an affectionate regard for every-
thing, that produces it, when the proper object of kindness
and good-will.
354 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. 'Tis obvious, that people associate together according to
" their particular tempers and dispositions, and that men of
haired."" ?>^y tempers naturally love the gay; as the serious bear an
affection to the serious. This not only happens, where they
remark this resemblance betwixt themselves and others, but
also by the natural course of the disposition, and by a
certain sympathy, which always arises betwixt similar charac-
ters. Where they remark the resemblance, it operates after
the manner of a relation, by producing a connexion of ideas.
Where they do not remark it, it operates by some other prin-
ciple ; and if this latter principle be similar to the former, it
must be receiv'd as a confirmation of the foregoing reasoning.
The idea of ourselves is always intimately present to us,
and conveys a sensible degree of vivacity to the idea of any
other object, to which we are related. This Hvely idea
changes by degrees into a real impression ; these two kinds
of perception being in a great measure the same, and differ-
ing only in their degrees of force and vivacity. But this
change must be produc'd with the greater ease, that our
natural temper gives us a propensity to the same impression,
which we observe in others, and makes it arise upon any
slight occasion. In that case resemblance converts the idea
into an impression, not only by means of the relation, and
by transfusing the original vivacity into the related idea ; but
also by presenting such materials as take fire from the least
spark. And as in both cases a love or affection arises from
the resemblance, we may learn that a sympathy with others
is agreeable only by giving an emotion to the spirits, since
an easy sympathy and correspondent emotions are alone
common to relation, acquaintance, and resemblance.
The great propensity men have to pride may be consider'd
as another similar phaenomenon. It often happens, that
after we have liv'd a considerable time in any city; however
at first it might be disagreeable to us; yet as we become
familiar with the objects, and contract an acquaintance, tho'
merely with the streets and buildings, the aversion diminishes
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 355
by degrees, and at last changes into the opposite passion. Sect. IV.
The mind finds a satisfaction and ease in the view of objects, ■ ♦• "
to which it is accustom'd, and naturally prefers them to others, ofrelatioiii
which, tho', perhaps, in themselves more valuable, are less
known to it. By the same quality of the mind we are seduc'd
into a good opinion of ourselves, and of all objects, that
belong to us. They appear in a stronger light ; are more
agreeable ; and consequently fitter subjects of pride and
vanity, than any other.
It may not be amiss, in treating of the affection we bear
our acquaintance and relations, to observe some pretty
curious phsenomena, which attend it. 'Tis easy to remark
in common life, that children esteem their relation to their
mother to be weaken'd, in a great measure, by her second
marriage, and no longer regard her with the same eye, as if
she had continu'd in her state of widow-hood. Nor does
this happen only, when they have felt any inconveniencies
from her second marriage, or when her husband is much
her inferior ; but even without any of these considerations,
and merely because she has become part of another family.
This also takes place with regard to the second marriage of
a father ; but in a much less degree : And 'tis certain the ties
of blood are not so much loosen'd in the latter case as by
the marriage of a mother. These two phgenomena are re-
markable in themselves, but much more so when compar'd.
In order to produce a perfect relation betwixt two objects,
'lis requisite, not only that the imagination be convey'd from
one to the other by resemblance, contiguity or causation,
but also that it return back from the second to the first with
the same ease and facility. At first sight this may seem a
necessary and unavoidable consequence. If one object
resemble another, the latter object must necessarily resemble
the former. If one object be the cause of another, the
second object is effect to its cause. 'Tis the same case with
contiguity : And therefore the relation being always re-
ciprocal, it may be thought, that the return of the imagination
356 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. from the second to the first must also, in every case, be
" equally natural as its passage from the first to the second.
haired.'^" ^^^ upon farther examination we shall easily discover our
mistake. For supposing the second object, beside its re-
ciprocal relation to the first, to have also a strong relation to
a third object; in that case the thought, passing from the
first object to the second, returns not back with the same
facility, tho' the relation continues the same ; but is readily
carry'd on to the third object, by means of the new relation,
which presents itself, and gives a new impulse to the imagina-
tion. This new relation, therefore, weakens the tie betwixt
the first and second objects. The fancy is by its very nature
wavering and inconstant ; and considers always two objects
as more strongly related together, where it finds the passage
equally easy both in going and returning, than where the
transition is easy only in one of these motions. The double
motion is a kind of a double tie, and binds the objects
together in the closest and most intimate manner.
The second marriage of a mother breaks not the relation
of child and parent ; and that relation suffices to convey my
imagination from myself to her with the greatest ease and
facility. But after the imagination is arriv'd at this point of
view, it finds its object to be surrounded with so many other
relations, which challenge its regard, that it knows not which
to prefer, and is at a loss what new object to pitch upon.
The ties of interest and duty bind her to another family, and
prevent that return of the fancy from her to myself, which is
necessary to support the union. The thought has no longer
the vibration, requisite to set it perfectly at ease, and indulge
its incHnation to change. It goes with facility, but returns
with difficulty; and by that interruption finds the relation
much weaken'd from what it wou'd be were the passage open
and easy on both sides.
Now to give a reason, why this effect follows not in the
same degree upon the second marriage of a father : we may
reflect on what has been prov'd already, that tho' the imagina-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 357
tion goes easily from the view of a lesser object to that of Sect. V.
a greater, yet it returns not with the same facility from the •'
greater to the less. When my imagination goes from myself teemfo"tht
to my father, it passes not so readily from him to his second rich and
wife, nor considers him as entering into a different family, Z"^''^^" •
but as continuing the head of that family, of which I am
myself a part. His superiority prevents the easy transition of
the thought from him to his spouse, but keeps the passage
still open for a return to myself along the same relation of
child and parent. He is not sunk in the new relation he
acquires ; so that the double motion or vibration of thought
is still easy and natural. By this indulgence of the fancy in
its inconstancy, the tie of child and parent still preserves its
full force and influence.
A mother thinks not her tie to a son weaken' d, because
'tis shar'd with her husband : Nor a son his with a parent,
because 'tis shar'd with a brother. The third object is here
related to the first, as well as to the second; so that the
imagination goes and comes along all of them with the
greatest facility.
SECTION V.
0/ our esteem for the rich and powerful.
Nothing has a greater tendency to give us an esteem for
any person, than his power and riches ; or a contempt, than
his poverty and meanness : And as esteem and contempt
are to be consider'd as species of love and hatred, 'twill be
proper in this place to explain these phsenomena.
Here it happens most fortunately, that the greatest diffi-
culty is not to discover a principle capable of producing such
an effect, but to choose the chief and predominant among
several, that present themselves. The satisfaction we take in
the riches of others, and the esteem we have for the possessors
may be ascrib'd to three different causes. First, To the
objects they possess; such as houses, gardens, equipages;
358 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. which, being agreeable in themselves, necessarily produce a
—**— sentiment of pleasure in every one, that either considers or
hatred"" surveys them. Secondly, To the expectation of advantage
from the rich and powerful by our sharing their possessions.
Thirdly, To sympathy, which makes us partake of the satis-
faction of every one, that approaches us. All these principles
may concur in producing the present phsenomenon. The
question is, to which of them we ought principally to
ascribe it.
'Tis certain, that the first principle, viz. the reflection on
agreeable objects, has a greater influence, than what, at first
sight, we may be apt to imagine. We seldom reflect on
what is beautiful or ugly, agreeable or disagreeable, without
an emotion of pleasure or uneasiness; and tho' these sensa-
tions appear not much in our common indolent way of
thinking, 'tis easy, either in reading or conversation, to dis-
cover them. Men of wit always turn the discourse on
subjects that are entertaining to the imagination; and poets
never present any objects but such as are of the same
nature. Mr. Philips has chosen Cyder for the subject of an
excellent poem. Beer wou'd not have been so proper, as
being neither so agreeable to the taste nor eye. But he wou'd
certainly have preferr'd wine to either of them, cou'd his
native country have afforded him so agreeable a liquor.
We may learn from thence, that every thing, which is agree-
able to the senses, is also in some measure agreeable to the
fancy, and conveys to the thought an image of that satisfac-
tion, which it gives by its real application to the bodily
organs.
But tho' these reasons may induce us to comprehend this
delicacy of the imagination among the causes of the respect,
which we pay the rich and powerful, there are many other
reasons, that may keep us from regarding it as the sole or
principal. For as the ideas of pleasure can have an influence
only by means of their vivacity, which makes them approach
impressions, 'tis most natural those ideas shou'd have that
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 359
influence, which are favour'd by most circumstances, and Sect. V.
have a natural tendency to become strong and lively; such — *♦—
as our ideas of the passions and sensations of any human Jg°"fg'^fig
creature. Every human creature resembles ourselves, and rich and
by that means has an advantage above any other object, in powerful.
operating on the imagination.
Besides, if we consider the nature of that faculty, and the
great influence which all relations have upon it, we shall
easily be perswaded, that however the ideas of the pleasant
wines, music, or gaidens, which the rich man enjoys, may
become lively and agreeable, the fancy will not confine itself
to them, but will carry its view to the related objects; and in
particular, to the person, who possesses them. And this is
the more natural, that the pleasant idea or image produces
here a passion towards the person, by means of his relation
to the object ; so that 'tis unavoidable but he must enter into
the original conception, since he makes the object of the
derivative passion. But if he enters into the original con-
ception, and is consider'd as enjoying these agreeable objects,
'tis sympathy, which is properly the cause of the affection ;
and the third principle is more powerful and universal than
the first.
Add to this, that riches and power alone, even tho' un-
employ'd, naturally cause esteem and respect : And con-
sequently these passions arise not from the idea of any
beautiful or agreeable objects. 'Tis true; money implies
a kind of representation of such objects, by the power it
affords of obtaining them ; and for that reason may still be
esteem'd proper to convey those agreeable images, which
may give rise to the passion. But as this prospect is very
distant, 'tis more natural for us to take a contiguous object,
viz. the satisfaction, which this power affords the person,
who is possest of it. And of this we shall be farther satisfy'd,
if we consider, that riches represent the goods of life, only by
means of the will; which employs them; and therefore imply
in their very nature an idea of the person, and cannot be
36o A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. consider'd without a kind of sympathy with his sensations
" and enioyments.
hatred, ^" '^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ confirm by a reflection, which to some will,
perhaps, appear too subtile and refin'd. I have already
observ'd, that power, as distinguish'd from its exercise, has
either no meaning at all, or is nothing but a possibility or
probability of existence ; by which any object approaches to
reality, and has a sensible influence on the mind. I have
also observ'd, that this approach, by an illusion of the fancy,
appears much greater, when we ourselves are possest of the
power, than when it is enjoy'd by another ; and that in the
former case the objects seem to touch upon the very verge
of reality, and convey almost an equal satisfaction, as if
actually in our possession. Now I assert, that where we
esteem a person upon account of his riches, we must enter
into this sentiment of the proprietor, and that without such
a sympathy the idea of the agreeable objects, which they give
him the power to produce, wou'd have but a feeble influence
upon us. An avaritious man is respected for his money,
tho' he scarce is possest of a power ; that is, there scarce
is a probability or even possibility of his employing it in the
acquisition of the pleasures and conveniences of life. To
himself alone this power seems perfect and entire; and
therefore we must receive his sentiments by sympathy, before
we can have a strong intense idea of these enjoyments, or
esteem him upon account of them.
Thus we have found, that the first principle, viz. the
agreeable idea of those objects, which riches afford the enjoy-
ment of; resolves itself in a great measure into the third,
and becomes a sympathy with the person we esteem or love.
Let us now examine the second principle, viz. the agreeable
expectation of advantage, and see what force we may justly
attribute to it.
'Tis obvious, that tho' riches and authority undoubtedly
give their owner a power of doing us service, yet this power
is not to be consider'd as on the same footing with that, which
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS, 361
they afford him, of pleasing himself, and satisfying his own Sect. V.
appetites. Self-love approaches the power and exercise very —**—
near each other in the latter case ; but in order to produce t{g^fg"tkt
a similar effect in the former, we must suppose a friendship rich and
and good-will to be conjoin'd with the riches. Without that A^'"^'/«^-
circumstance 'tis difficult to conceive on what we can found
our hope of advantage from the riches of others, tho' there is
nothing more certain, than that we naturally esteem and
respect the rich, even before we discover in them any such
favourable disposition towards us.
But I carry this farther, and observe, not only that we
respect the rich and powerful, where they shew no inclination
to serve us, but also when we lie so much out of the sphere
of their activity, that they cannot even be suppos'd to be en-
dow'd with that power. Prisoners of war are always treated
with a respect suitable to their condition; and 'tis certain
riches go very far towards fixing the condition of any person.
If birth and quality enter for a share, this still affords us an
argument of the same kind. For what is it we call a man of
birth, but one who is descended from a long succession of
rich and powerful ancestors, and who acquires our esteem by
his relation to persons whom we esteem ? His ancestors,
therefore, tho' dead, are respected, in some measure, on
account of their riches, and consequently without any kind
of expectation.
But not to go so far as prisoners of war and the dead to
find instances of this disinterested esteem for riches, let us
observe with a little attention those phaenomena that occur
to us in common life and conversation. A man, who is him-
self of a competent fortune, upon coming into a company of
strangers, naturally treats them with different degrees of re-
spect and deference, as he is inform'd of their different for-
tunes and conditions \ tho' 'tis impossible he can ever pro-
pose, and perhaps wou'd not accept of any advantage from
them. A traveller is always admitted into company, and
meets with civility, in proportion as his train and equipage
362 A TREATISE Of HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. speak him a man of great or moderate fortune. In short,
•• the different ranks of men are, in a great measure, regulated
ha/red'^" by riches, and that with regard to superiors as well as in-
feriors, strangers as well as acquaintance.
There is, indeed, an answer to these arguments, drawn
from the influence of general rules. It may be pretended,
that being accustom'd to expect succour and protection from
the rich and powerful, and to esteem them upon that account,
we extend the same sentiments to those, who resemble them
in their fortune, but from whom we can never hope for any
advantage. The general rule still prevails, and by giving a
bent to the imagination draws along the passion, in the same
manner as if its proper object were real and existent.
But that this principle does not here take place, will easily
appear, if we consider, that in order to establish a general
rule, and extend it beyond its proper bounds, there is requir'd
a certain uniformity in our experience, and a great superiority
of those instances, which are conformable to the rule, above
the contrary. But here the case is quite otherwise. Of a
hundred men of credit and fortune I meet with, there is not,
perhaps, one from whom I can expect advantage ; so that 'tis
impossible any custom can ever prevail in the present case.
Upon the whole, there remains nothing, which can give us
an esteem for power and riches, and a contempt for mean-
ness and poverty, except the principle of sympathy, by which
we enter into the sentiments of the rich and poor, and par-
take of their pleasures and uneasiness. Riches give satis-
faction to their possessor ; and this satisfaction is convey'd
to the beholder by the imagination, which produces an idea
resembling the original impression in force and vivacity.
This agreeable idea or impression is connected with love,
which is an agreeable passion. It proceeds from a thinking
conscious being, which is the very object of love. From this
relation of impressions, and identity of ideas, the passion
arises, according to my hypothesis.
The best method of reconciling us to this opinion is to
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 363
take a general survey of the universe, and observe the force Sect. V,
of sympathy thro' the whole animal creation, and the easy •*
communication of sentiments from one thinking being to teem fo" he
another. In all creatures, that prey not upon others, and are rich and
not agitated with violent passions, there appears a remarkable f°'^^U^^'
desire of company, which associates them together, without
any advantages they can ever propose to reap from their
union. This is still more conspicuous in man, as being the
creature of the universe, who has the most ardent desire
of society, and is fitted for it by the most advantages. We
can form no wish, which has not a reference to society, A
perfect solitude is, perhaps, the greatest punishment we can
suffer. Every pleasure languishes when enjoy'd a-part from
company, and every pain becomes more cruel and intoler-
able. \^'hatever other passions we may be actuated by ;
pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge or lust ; the soul
or animating principle of them all is sympathy ; nor wou'd
they have any force, were we to abstract entirely from the
thoughts and sentiments of others. Let all the powers and
elements of nature conspire to serve and obey one man :
Let the sun rise and set at his command: The sea and rivers
roll as he pleases, and the earth furnish spontaneously what-
ever may be useful or agreeable to him : He will still be
miserable, till you give him some one person at least, with
whom he may share his happiness, and whose esteem and
friendship he may enjoy.
This conclusion from a general view of human nature, we
may confirm by particular instances, wherein the force of
sympathy is very remarkable. Most kinds of beauty are
deriv'd from this origin; and tho' our first object be some
senseless inanimate piece of matter, 'tis seldom we rest there,
and carry not our view to its influence on sensible and
rational creatures. A man, who shews us any house or
building, takes particular care among other things to point
out the convenience of the apartments, the advantages of
their situation, and the little room lost in the stairs, anti-
N
364 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. chambers and passages ; and indeed 'tis evident, the chiei
•' part of the beauty consists in these particulars. The obser-
katreJ ''" ^'3-tion of convenience gives pleasure, since convenience is a
beauty. But after what manner does it give pleasure ? 'Tis
certain our own interest is not in the least concern'd ; and as
this is a beauty of interest, not of form, so to speak, it must
delight us merely by communication, and by our sympathizing
with the proprietor of the lodging. We enter into his interest
by the force of imagination, and feel the same satisfaction,
that the objects naturally occasion in him.
This observation extends to tables, chairs, scritoires,
chimneys, coaches, sadles, ploughs, and indeed to every work
of art; it being an universal rule, that their beauty is chiefly
deriv'd from their utility, and from their fitness for that purpose,
to which they are destin'd. But this is an advantage, that
concerns only the owner, nor is there any thing but sympathy,
which can interest the spectator.
'Tis evident, that nothing renders a field more agreeable
than its fertility, and that scarce any advantages of ornament
or situation will be able to equal this beauty. 'Tis the same
case with particular trees and plants, as with the field on
which they grow. I know not but a plain, overgrown with
furze and broom, may be, in itself, as beautiful as a hill
cover'd with vines or olive-trees ; tho' it will never appear so
to one, who is acquainted with the value of each. But this
is a beauty merely of imagination, and has no foundation in
what appears to the senses. Fertility and value have a plain
reference to use ; and that to riches, joy, and plenty ; in
which tho' we have no hope of partaking, yet we enter into
them by the vivacity of the fancy, and share them, in some
measure, with the proprietor.
There is no rule in painting more reasonable than that of
ballancing the figures, and placing them with the greatest
exactness on their proper center of gravity. A figure, which
is not justly ballanc'd, is disagreeable ; and that because it
conveys the ideas of its fall, of harm, and of pain : Which
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 365
ideas are painful, when by sympathy they acquire any degree Sect. V.
of force and vivacity. *' "
Add to this, that the principal part of personal beauty is an tlemfor^ht
air of health and vigour, and such a construction of members rich and
as promises strength and activity. This idea of beauty cannot /^«'^'/«^-
be accounted for but by sympathy.
In general we may remark, that the minds of men are
mirrors to one another, not only because they reflect each
others emotions, but also because those rays of passions,
sentiments and opinions may be often reverberated, and may
decay away by insensible degrees. Thus the pleasure, which
a rich man receives from his possessions, being thrown upon
the beholder, causes a pleasure and esteem; which senti-
ments again, being perceiv'd and sympathiz'd with, encrease
the pleasure of the possessor; and being once more re-
flected, become a new foundation for pleasure and esteem in
the beholder. There is certainly an original satisfaction in
riches deriv'd from that power, which they bestow, of enjoy-
ing all the pleasures of life ; and as this is their very nature
and essence, it must be the first source of all the passions,
which arise from them. One of the most considerable of
these passions is that of love or esteem in others, which
therefore proceeds from a sympathy with the pleasure of the
possessor. But the possessor has also a secondary satis-
faction in riches arising from the love and esteem he ac-
quires by them, and this satisfaction is nothing but a second
reflexion of that original pleasure, which proceeded from
himself. This secondary satisfaction or vanity becomes one
of the principal recommendations of riches, and is the chief
reason, why we either desire them for ourselves, or esteem
them in others. Here then is a third rebound of the original
pleasure ; after which 'tis difficult to distinguish the images
and reflexions, by reason of their faintness and confusion.
366
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
0/ love and
hatred.
SECTION VI.
0/ benevolence and anger.
Ideas may be compar'd to the extension and solidity of
matter, and impressions, especially reflective ones, to colours,
tastes, smells and other sensible qualities. Ideas never admit
of a total union, but are endow'd with a kind of impenetra-
bility, by which they exclude each other, and are capable of
forming a compound by their conjunction, not by their
mixture. On the other hand, impressions and passions are
susceptible of an entire union ; and like colours, may be
blended so perfectly together, that each of them may lose itself,
and contribute only to vary that uniform impression, which
arises from the whole. Some of the most curious phaenomena
of the human mind are deriv'd from this property of the
passions.
In examining those ingredients, which are capable of
uniting with love and hatred, I begin to be sensible, in some
measure, of a misfortune, that has attended every system of
philosophy, with which the world has been yet acquainted.
'Tis commonly found, that in accounting for the operations
of nature by any particular hypothesis ; among a number of
experiments, that quadrate exactly with the principles we
wou'd endeavour to establish ; there is always some phae-
nomenon, which is more stubborn, and will not so easily bend
to our purpose. We need not be surpriz'd, that this shou'd
happen in natural philosophy. The essence and composition
of external bodies are so obscure, that we must necessarily,
in our reasonings, or rather conjectures concerning them,
involve ourselves in contradictions and absurdities. But as
the perceptions of the mind are perfectly known, and 1 have
us'dall imaginable caution in forming conclusions concerning
them, I have always hop'd to keep clear of those contradic-
tions, which have attended every other system. Accordingly
the difhculty, which I have at present in my eye, is no-wise
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 367
contrary to my system ; but only departs a little from that Sect. VI.
simplicity, which has been hitherto its principal force and ■ *♦ -
beauty. Ofbenevo-
•' ^ lence and
The passions of love and hatred are always followed by, or an^er.
rather conjoin'd with benevolence and anger. 'Tis this con-
junction, which chiefly distinguishes these affections from
pride and humility. For pride and humility are pure emo-
tions in the soul, unattended with any desire, and not imme-
diately exciting us to action. But love and hatred are not
compleated within themselves, nor rest in that emotion,
which they produce, but carry the mind to something
farther. Love is always follow'd by a desire of the happiness
of the person belov'd, and an aversion to his misery : As
hatred produces a desire of the misery and an aversion to
the happiness of the person hated. So remarkable a differ-
ence betwixt these two sets of passions of pride and humility,
love and hatred, which in so many other particulars corre-
spond to each other, merits our attention.
The conjunction of this desire and aversion with love and
hatred may be accounted for by two different hypotheses.
The first is, that love and hatred have not only a cause,
which excites them, viz. pleasure and pain ; and an object, to
which they are directed, viz. a person or thinking being ; but
likewise an end, which they endeavour to attain, viz. the
happiness or misery of the person belov'd or hated; all
which views, mixing together, make only one passion. Ac-
cording to this system, love is nothing but the desire of
happiness to another person, and hatred that of misery.
The desire and aversion constitute the very nature of love
and hatred. They are not only inseparable but the same.
But this is evidently contrary to experience. For tho' 'tis
certain we never love any person without desiring his happi-
ness, nor hate any without wishing his misery, yet these
desires arise only upon the ideas of the happiness or misery
of our friend or enemy being presented by the imagination,
and are not absolutely essential to love and hatred. They
368 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. are the most obvious and natural sentiments of these affec-
•• tions, but not the only ones. The passions may express
haired. themselves in a hundred ways, and may subsist a considerable
time, without our reflecting on the happiness or misery
of their objects ; which clearly proves, that these desires
are not the same with love and hatred, nor make any essential
part of them.
We may, therefore, infer, that benevolence and anger are
passions different from love and hatred, and only conjoin'd
with them, by the original constitution of the mind. As
nature has given to the body certain appetites and inclina-
tions, which she encreases, diminishes, or changes according
to the situation of the fluids or solids ; she has proceeded in
the same manner with the mind. According as we are pos-
sess'd with love or hatred, the correspondent desire of the
happiness or misery of the person, who is the object of these
passions, arises in the mind, and varies with each variation
of these opposite passions. This order of things, abstractedly
consider' d, is not necessary. Love and hatred might have
been unattended with any such desires, or their particular
connexion might have been entirely revers'd. If nature had
so pleas'd, love might have had the same effect as hatred,
and hatred as love. I see no contradiction in supposing a
desire of producing misery annex'd to love, and of happiness
to haired. If the sensation of the passion and desire be
opposite, nature cou'd have alter'd the sensation without
altering the tendency of the desire, and by that means made
them compatible with each other.
SECTION VII.
0/ compassion.
But tho' the desire of the happiness or misery of others,
according to the love or hatred we bear them, be an arbi-
trary and original instinct implanted in our nature, we find
it may be counterfeited on many occasions, and may arise
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 369
from secondary principles. Pity is a concern for, and malice Sect. VII,
a joy in the misery of others, without any friendship or enmity "
. , . • ,TT • . Of compcu
to occasion this concern or joy. We pity even strangers, j,-^„^
and such as are perfectly indifferent to us: And if our ill-will
to another proceed from any harm or injury, it is not, pro-
perly speaking, malice, but revenge. But if we examine
these affections of pity and malice we shall find them to be
secondary ones, arising from original affections, which are
varied by some particular turn of thought and imagination.
'Twill be easy to explain the passion of pity, from the
precedent reasoning concerning sympathy. We have a lively
idea of every thing related to us. All human creatures are
related to us by resemblance. Their persons, therefore,
their interests, their passions, their pains and pleasures must
strike upon us in a lively manner, and produce an emotion
similar to the original one ; since a lively idea is easily con-
verted into an impression. If this be true in general, it must
be more so of afHiction and sorrow. These have always a
stronger and more lasting influence than any pleasure or
enjoyment.
A spectator of a tragedy passes thro' a long train of grief,
terror, indignation, and other affections, which the poet
represents in the persons he introduces. As many tragedies
end happily, and no excellent one can be compos'd without
some reverses of fortune, the spectator must sympathize with
all these changes, and receive the fictitious joy as well as
every other passion. Unless, therefore, it be asserted, that
every distinct passion is communicated by a distinct original
quality, and is not deriv'd from the general principle of
sympathy above-explain'd, it must be allow'd, that all of
them arise from that principle. To except any one in
particular must appear highly unreasonable. As they are all
first present in the mind of one person, and afterwards
appear in the mind of another ; and as the manner of their
appearance, first as an idea, then as an impression, is in
every case the same, the transition must arise from the same
370 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. principle. I am at least sure, that this method of reasoning
" wou'd be consider'd as certain, either in natural philosophy
Of love and ,.-.
hatred. '^^ common hie.
Add to this, that pity depends, in a great measure, on the
contiguity, and even sight of the object ; which is a proof,
that 'tis deriv'd from the imagination. Not to mention that
women and children are most subject to pity, as being most
guided by that faculty. The same infirmity, which makes
them faint at the sight of a naked sword, tho' in the hands of
their best friend, makes them pity extremely those, whom
they find in any grief or affliction. Those philosophers, who
derive this passion from I know not what subtile reflec-
tions on the instability of fortune, and our being liable to the
same miseries we behold, will find this observation contrary
to them among a great many others, which it were easy to
produce.
There remains only to take notice of a pretty remarkable
phsenomenon of this passion ; which is, that the communi-
cated passion of sympathy sometimes acquires strength from
the weakness of its original, and even arises by a transition
from affections, which have no existence. Thus when a
person obtains any honourable office, or inherits a great for-
tune, we are always the more rejoic'd for his prosperity, the
less sense he seems to have of it, and the greater equanimity
and indifference he shews in its enjoyment. In like manner
a man, who is not dejected by misfortunes, is the more
lamented on account of his patience ; and if that virtue
extends so far as utterly to remove all sense of uneasiness, it
still farther encreases our compassion. When a person of
merit falls into what is vulgarly esteem'd a great misfortune,
we form a notion of his condition ; and carrying our fancy
from the cause to the usual effect, first conceive a lively idea
of his sorrow, and then feel an impression of it, entirely over-
looking that greatness of mind, which elevates him above
such emotions, or only considering it so far as to encrease
our admiration, love and tenderness for him. We find from
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 37 1
experience, that such a degree of passion is usually con- Sect. VII.
nected with such a misfortune ; and tho' there be an excep- — ♦*—
tion in the present case, yet the imagination is aflfected by J^f '^^
the general rule, and makes us conceive a lively idea of the
passion, or rather feel the passion itself, in the same manner,
as if the person were really actuated by it. From the same
principles we blush for the conduct of those, who behave
themselves foolishly before us ; and that tho' they shew no
sense of shame, nor seem in the least conscious of their folly.
All this proceeds from sympathy; but 'tis of a partial kind,
and views its objects only on one side, without considering
the other, which has a contrary effect, and wou'd entirely
destroy that emotion, which arises from the first appearance.
We have also instances, wherein an indifference and insen-
sibility under misfortune encreases our concern for the mis-
fortunate, even tho' the indifference proceed not from any
virtue and magnanimity. 'Tis an aggravation of a murder,
that it was committed upon persons asleep and in perfect
security ; as historians readily observe of any infant prince,
who is captive in the hands of his enemies, that he is more
worthy of compassion the less sensible he is of his miserable
condition. As we ourselves are here acquainted with the
wretched situation of the person, it gives us a lively idea and
sensation of sorrow, which is the passion that gejierally
attends it ; and this idea becomes still more lively, and the
sensation more violent by a contrast with that security and
indifference, which we observe in the person himself. A con-
trast of any kind never fails to affect the imagination,
especially when presented by the subject; and 'tis on the
imagination that pity entirely depends ^
* To prevent all ambiguity, I must observe, that where I oppose the
imagination to the memory, I mean in general the faculty that presents
our fainter ideas. In all other places, and particularly when it is oppos'd
to the understanding, I understand the same faculty, excluding only our
demonstrative and probable reasonings.
372 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
-*^ SECTION VIII.
Of love and
■<^tyi<i- Of malice and envy.
We must now proceed to account for the passion of
malice, which imitates the effects of hatred, as pity does those
of love ; and gives us a joy in the sufferings and miseries of
others, without any offence or injury on their part.
So Httle are men govern'd by reason in their sentiments
and opinions, that they always judge more of objects by
comparison than from their intrinsic worth and value. When
the mind considers, or is accustom'd to, any degree of per-
fection, whatever falls short of it, tho' really esteemable, has
notwithstanding the same effect upon the passions, as what is
defective and ill. This is an original quality of the soul, and
similar to what we have every day experience of in our
bodies. Let a man heat one hand and cool the other ; the
same water will at the same time, seem both hot and cold,
according to the disposition of the different organs. A small
degree of any quality, succeeding a greater, produces the
same sensation, as if less than it really is, and even some-
times as the opposite quality. Any gentle pain, that follows
a violent one, seems as nothing, or rather becomes a plea-
sure; as on the other hand a violent pain, succeeding a
gentle one, is doubly grievous and uneasy.
This no one can doubt of with regard to cur passions and
sensations. But there may arise some difficulty with regard
to our ideas and objects. When an object augments or
diminishes to the eye or imagination from a comparison with
others, the image and idea of the object are still the same,
and are equally extended in the reiina, and in the brain or
organ of perception. The eyes refract the rays of light, and
the optic nerves convey the images to the brain in the very
same manner, whether a great or small object has preceded ;
nor does even the imagination alter the dimensions of its
object on account of a comparison with others. The ques-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 373
tion then is, how from the same impression and the same Sect. VIII.
idea we can form such different judgments concerning the "
same object, and at one time admire its bulk, and at another onTeuvy
despise its littleness. This variation in our judgments must
certainly proceed from a variation in some perception; but
as the variation lies not in the immediate impression or idea
of the object, it must lie in some other impression, that
accompanies it.
In order to explain this matter, I shall just touch upon
two principles, one of which shall be more fully explain'd in
the progress of this treatise ; the other has been already ac-
counted for. I believe it may safely be establish'd for a
general maxim, that no object is presented to the senses, nor
image form'd in the fancy, but what is accompany'd with
some emotion or movement of spirits proportion'd to it ; and
however custom may make us insensible of this sensation,
and cause us to confound it with the object or idea, 'twill be
easy, by careful and exact experiments, to separate and dis-
tinguish them. For to instance only in the cases of exten-
sion and number; 'tis evident, that any very bulky object,
such as the ocean, an extended plain, a vast chain of moun-
tains, a wide forest ; or any very numerous collection of
objects, such as an army, a fleet, a crowd, excite in the mind
a sensible emotion ; and that the admiration, which arises
on the appearance of such objects, is one of the most lively
pleasures, which human nature is capable of enjoying. Now
as this admiration encreases or diminishes by the encrease
or diminution of the objects, we may conclude, according to
our foregoing * principles, that 'tis a compound effect, pro-
ceeding from the conjunction of the several effects, which
arise from each part of the cause. Every part, then, of ex-
tension, and every unite of number has a separate emotion
attending it, when conceiv'd by the mind; and tho' that
emotion be not always agreeable, yet by its conjunction
with others, and by its agitating the spirits to a just pitch,
» Book I. Part III. sect. 15.
374 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. it contributes to the production of admiration, which is
" always agreeable. If this be allow'd with respect to ex-
hitred^" tension and number, we can make no difficulty with respect
to virtue and vice, wit and folly, riches and poverty, hap-
piness and misery, and other objects of that kind, which are
always attended with an evident emotion.
The second principle I shall take notice of is that of our
adherence to general rules ; which has such a mighty in*
fluence on the actions and understanding, and is able to
impose on the very senses. When an object is found by
experience to be always accompany'd with another ; when-
ever the first object appears, tho' chang'd in very material
circumstances; we naturally fly to the conception of the
second, and form an idea of it in as lively and strong a
manner, as if we had infer'd its existence by the justest and
most authentic conclusion of our understanding. Nothing
can undeceive us, not even our senses, which, instead of
correcting this false judgment, are often perverted by it, and
seem to authorize its errors.
The conclusion I draw from these two principles, join'd to
the influence of comparison above-mention'd, is very short
and decisive. Every object is attended with some emotion
proportion'd to it ; a great object with a great emotion, a
small object with a small emotion. A great object, therefore,
succeeding a small one makes a great emotion succeed a
small one. Now a great emotion succeeding a small one
becomes still greater, and rises beyond its ordinary pro-
portion. But as there is a certain degree of an emotion,
which commonly attends every magnitude of an object ;
when the emotion encreases, we naturally imagine that the
object has likewise encreas'd. The effect conveys our view
to its usual cause, a certain degree of emotion to a certain
magnitude of the object ; nor do we consider, that com-
parison may change the emotion without changing any thing
in the object. Those, who are acquainted with the meta-
physical part of optics, and know how we transfer the judg-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 375
ments and conclusions of the understanding to the senses, Sect.VIII.
will easily conceive this whole operation. "
But leaving this new discovery of an impression, that /nTenvy.
secretly attends every idea ; we must at least allow of that
principle, from whence the discovery arose, that objects appear
greater or less by a comparison with others. We have so many
instances of this, that it is impossible we can dispute its
veracity ; and 'tis from this principle I derive the passions of
malice and envy.
'Tis evident we must receive a greater or less satisfaction
or uneasiness from reflecting on our own condition and cir-
cumstances, in proportion as they appear more or less for-
tunate or unhappy, in proportion to the degrees of riclies,
and power, and merit, and reputation, which we think our-
selves possest of. Now as we seldom judge of objects from
their intrinsic value, but form our notions of them from a
comparison with other objects ; it follows, that according as
we observe a greater or less share of happiness or misery in
others, w^e must make an estimate of our own, and feel a
consequent pain or pleasure. The misery of another gives
us a more lively idea of our happiness, and his happiness of
our misery. The former, therefore, produces delight; and
the latter uneasiness.
Here then is a kind of pity reverst, or contrary sensations
arising in the beholder, from those which are felt by the
person, whom he considers. In general we may observe,
that in all kinds of comparison an object makes us always
receive from another, to which it is compar'd, a sensation
contrary to what arises from itself in its direct and imme-
diate survey. A small object makes a great one appear still
greater. A great object makes a little one appear less.
Deformity of itself produces uneasiness; but makes us re-
ceive new pleasure by its contrast with a beautiful object,
whose beauty is augmented by it; as on the other hand,
beauty, which of itself produces pleasure, makes us receive
a new pam by the contrast with any thing ugly, whose de-
376 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. formity it augments. The case, therefore, must be the same
" with happiness and misery. The direct survey of another's
tuiired.'^" pleasure naturally gives us pleasure, and therefore produces
pain when compar'd with our own. His pain, consider'd in
itself, is painful to us, but augments the idea of our own
happiness, and gives us pleasure.
Nor will it appear strange, that we may feel a reverst sen-
sation from the happiness and misery of others ; since we
find the same comparison may give us a kind of malice
against ourselves, and make us rejoice for our pains, and
grieve for our pleasures. Thus the prospect of past pain is
agreeable, when we are satisfy'd with our present condition ;
as on the other hand our past pleasures give us uneasiness,
when we enjoy nothing at present equal to them. The
comparison being the same, as when we reflect on the sen-
timents of others, must be attended with the same effects.
Nay a person may extend this malice against himself,
even to his present fortune, and carry it so far as designedly
to seek affliction, and encrease his pains and sorrows. This
may happen upon two occasions. First, Upon the distress
and misfortune of a friend, or person dear to him. Secondly,
Upon the feeling any remorses for a crime, of which he has
been guilty. 'Tis from the principle of comparison that both
these irregular appetites for evil arise. A person, who in-
dulges himself in any pleasure, while his friend lies under
affliction, feels the reflected uneasiness from his friend more
sensibly by a comparison with the original pleasure, which
he himself enjoys. This contrast, indeed, ought also to in-
liven the present pleasure. But as grief is here suppos'd to
be the predominant passion, every addition falls to that side,
and is swallow'd up in it, without operating in the least upon
the contrary affection. 'Tis the same case with those pen-
ances, which men inflict on themselves for their past sins
and failings. When a criminal reflects on the punishment
he deserves, the idea of it is magnify'd by a comparison with
his present ease and satisfaction ; which forces him, in a
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. Zll
manner, to seek uneasiness, in order to avoid so disagreeable Sect.VIIL
a contrast.
This reasoning will account for the origin oi emy as well and envy.
as of malice. The only difference betwixt these passions
lies in this, that envy is excited by some present enjoyment of
another, which by comparison diminishes our idea of our
own : Whereas malice is the unprovok'd desire of producing
evil to another, in order to reap a pleasure from the com-
parison. The enjoyment, which is the object of envy, is
commonly superior to our own. A superiority naturally
seems to overshade us, and presents a disagreeable com-
parison. But even in the case of an inferiority, we still
desire a greater distance, in order to augment still more the
idea of ourself. When this distance diminishes, the com-
parison is less to our advantage ; and consequently gives us
less pleasure, and is even disagreeable. Hence arises that
species of envy, which men feel, when they perceive their
inferiors approaching or overtaking them in the pursuit of
glory or happiness. In this envy we may see the effects of
comparison twice repeated. A man, who compares himself
to his inferior, receives a pleasure from the comparison :
And when the inferiority decreases by the elevation of the
inferior, what shou'd only have been a decrease of pleasure,
becomes a real pain, by a new comparison with its preceding
condition.
'Tis worthy of observation concerning that envy, which
arises from a superiority in others, that 'tis not the great
disproportion betwixt ourself and another, which pro-
duces it; but on the contrary, our proximity. A common
soldier bears no such envy to his general as to his sergeant
or corporal ; nor does an eminent writer meet with so great
jealousy in common hackney scriblers, as in authors, that
more nearly approach him. It may, indeed, be thought,
that the greater the disproportion is, the greater must be the
uneasiness from the comparison. But we may consider on
the other hand, that the great disproportion cuts off the rela-
37S A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. tion, and either keeps us from comparing ourselves with what
-, ,*' ,is remote from us, or diminishes the effects of the com-
Of love and
haired. parison. Resemblance and proximity always produce a
relation of ideas ; and where you destroy these ties, however
other accidents may bring two ideas together ; as they have
no bond or connecting quality to join them in the imagina-
tion; 'tis impossible they can remain long united, or have
any considerable influence on each other.
I have observ'd in considering the nature of ambition, that
the great feel a double pleasure in authority from the com-
parison of their own condition with that of their slaves ; and
that this comparison has a double influence, because 'tis
natural, and presented by the subject. When the fancy, in
the comparison of objects, passes not easily from the one
object to the other, the action of the mind is, in a great
measure, broke, and the fancy, in considering the second
object, begins, as it were, upon a new footing. The impres-
sion, which attends every object, seems not greater in that
case by succeeding a less of the same kind ; but these two
impressions are distinct, and produce their distinct effects,
without any communication together. The want of relation in
the ideas breaks the relation of the impressions, and by such
a separation prevents their mutual operation and influence.
To confirm this we may observe, that the proximity in the
degree of merit is not alone sufficient to give rise to envy,
but must be assisted by other relations. A poet is not apt
to envy a philosopher, or a poet of a diflferent kind, of a
different nation, or of a different age. All these differences
prevent or weaken the comparison, and consequently the
passion.
This too is the reason, why all objects appear great or
little, merely by a comparison with those of the same
species. A mountain neither magnifies nor diminishes a
horse in our eyes ; but when a Flemish and a Welsh horse
are seen together, the one appears greater and the other less,
than when view'd apart.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 379
From the same principle we may account for that remark Sect.VIII
of historians, that any party in a civil war always choose to "
call in a foreign enemy at any hazard rather than submit to JyiTcnvy
their fellow-cilizens. Guicciardin applies this remark to the
wars in Italy, where the relations betwixt the different states
are, properly speaking, nothing but of name, language, and
contiguity. Yet even these relations, when join'd with supe-
riority, by making the comparison more natural, make it
likewise more grievous, and cause men to search for some
other superiority, which may be attended with no relation,
and by that means may have a less sensible influence on the
imagination. The mind quickly perceives its several advan-
tages and disadvantages ; and finding its situation to be most
uneasy, where superiority is conjoin'd with other relations,
seeks its repose as much as possible, by their separation, and
by breaking that association of ideas, which renders the com-
parison so much more natural and efficacious. When it
cannot break the association, it feels a stronger desire to re-
move the superiority ; and this is the reason why travellers
are commonly so lavish of their praises to the Chinese and
Persians, at the same time, that they depreciate those neigh-
bouring nations, which may stand upon a foot of rivalship
with their native country.
These examples from history and common experience are
rich and curious; but we may find parallel ones in the arts,
which are no less remarkable. Shou'd an author compose a
treatise, of which one part was serious and profound, another
light and humorous, every one wou'd condemn so strange a
mixture, and wou'd accuse him of the neglect of all rules
of art and criticism. These rules of art are founded
on the qualities of human nature; and the quality of
human nature, which requires a consistency in every per-
formance, is that which renders the mind incapable of passing
in a moment from one passion and disposition to a quite
different one. Yet this makes us not blame Mr. Prior for
joining his Alma and his Solomon in the same volume; tho'
380 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. that admirable poet has succeeded perfectly well in the
•♦ ■ gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy of the other.
haired^" Even supposing the reader shou'd peruse these two composi-
tions without any interval, he wou'd feel little or no difficulty
in the change of passions : Why, but because he considers
these performances as entirely different, and by this break
in the ideas, breaks the progress of the affections, and hinders
the one from influencing or contradicting the other ?
An heroic and burlesque design, united in one picture,
wou'd be monstrous; tho' we place two pictures of so
opposite a character in the same chamber, and even close by
each other, without any scruple or difficulty.
In a word, no ideas can affect each other, either by com-
parison, or by the passions they separately produce, unless
they be united together by some relation, which may cause
an easy transition of the ideas, and consequently of the
emotions or impressions, attending the ideas ; and may pre-
serve the one impression in the passage of the imagination to
the object of the other. This principle is very remarkable,
because it is analogous to what we have observ'd both con-
cerning the understanding and the passions. Suppose two
objects to be presented to me, which are not connected by
any kind of relation. Suppose that each of these objects
separately produces a passion ; and that these two passions
are in themselves contrary : We find from experience, that
the want of relation in the objects or ideas hinders the natural
contrariety of the passions, and that the break in the transi-
tion of the thought removes the affections from each other,
and prevents their opposition, 'Tis the same case with com-
parison; and from both these phsenomena we may safely
conclude, that the relation of ideas must forward the transition
of impressions ; since its absence alone is able to prevent it,
and to separate what naturally shou'd have operated upon
each other. When the absence of an object or quality re-
moves any usual or natural effect, we may certainly conclude
that its presence contributes to the production of the effect.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 381
SECTION IX. Sect, IX.
0/ the mixture of benevolence and anger with compassion Of the
and malice. mixture of
benevo-
Thus we have endeavour'd to account iox pity and malice. '' '
Both these affections arise from the imagination, according
to the hght, in which it places its object. When our fancy
considers directly the sentiments of others, and enters deep
into them, it makes us sensible of all the passions it surveys,
but in a particular manner of grief or sorrow. On the con-
trary, when we compare the sentiments of others to our own,
we feel a sensation directly opposite to the original one, viz.
a joy from the grief of others, and a grief from their joy.
But these are only the first foundations of the affections of
pity and malice. Other passions are afterwards confounded
with them. There is always a mixture of love or tenderness
with pity, and of hatred or anger with malice. But it must
be confess'd, that this mixture seems at first sight to be
contradictory to my system. For as pity is an uneasiness,
and malice a joy, arising from the misery of others, pity
shou'd naturally, as in all other cases, produce hatred; and
malice, love. This contradiction I endeavour to reconcile,
after the following manner.
In order to cause a transition of passions, there is requir'd
a double relation of impressions and ideas, nor is one
relation sufficient to produce this effect. But that we may
understand the full force of this double relation, we must
consider, that 'tis not the present sensation alone or moment-
ary pain or pleasure, which determines the character of any
passion, but the whole bent or tendency of it from the
beginning to the end. One impression may be related to
another, not only when their sensations are resembling, as
we have all along suppos'd in the preceding cases ; but also
when their impulses or directions are similar and corre-
spondent. This cannot take place with regard to pride and
382 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. humility ; because these are only pure sensations, without
'• any direction or tendency to action. We are, therefore, to
hatred. ^oo\i for instances of this peculiar relation of impressions
only in such affections, as are attended with a certain appe-
tite or desire ; such as those of love and hatred.
Benevolence or the appetite, which attends love, is a desire
of the happiness of the person belov'd, and an aversion to his
misery; as anger or the appetite, which attends hatred, is a
desire of the misery of the person hated, and an aversion to
his happiness. A desire, therefore, of the happiness of
another, and aversion to his misery, are similar to benevo-
lence ; and a dcL-ire of his misery and aversion to his
happiness are correspondent to anger. Now pity is a
desire of happiness to another, and aversion to his misery;
as malice is the contrary appetite. Pity, then, is related to
benevolence ; and malice to anger : And as benevolence has
been already found to be connected with love, by a natural
and original quality, and anger with hatred ; 'tis by this chain
the passions of pity and malice are connected with love and
hatred.
This hypothesis is founded on sufficient experience. A
man, who from any motives has entertain'd a resolution of
performing an action, naturally runs into every other view
or motive, which may fortify that resoludon, and give it
authority and influence on the mind. To confirm us in
any design, we search for motives drawn from interest, from
honour, from duty. What wonder, then, that pity and
benevolence, malice, and anger, being the same desires
arising from different principles, shou'd so totally mix
together as to be undistinguishable? As to the connexion
betwixt benevolence and love, anger and hatred, being
original and primary, it admits of no difficulty.
We may add to this another experiment, viz. that benevo-
lence and anger, and consequently love and hatred, arise
when our happiness or misery have any dependance on
the happiness or misery of another person, without any
' Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 383
farther relation. I doubt not but this experiment will Sect. IX
appear so singular as to excuse us for stopping a moment to "
consider it. mixiure oj
Suppose, that two persons of the same trade shou'd seek benevo-
employment in a town, that is not able to maintain both, '
'tis plain the success of one is perfectly incompatible with that
of the other, and that whatever is for the interest of either is
contrary to that of his rival, and so vice versa. Suppose
again, that two merchants, tho' living in different parts of
the world, shou'd enter into co-partnership together, the
advantage or loss of one becomes immediately the advan-
tage or loss of his partner, and the same fortune necessarily
attends both. Now 'tis evident, that in the first case, hatred
always follows upon the contrariety of interests ; as in the
second, love arises from their union. Let us consider to what
principle we can ascribe these passions.
'Tis plain they arise not from the double relations of
impressions and ideas, if we regard only the present sensa-
tion. For takeing the first case of rivalship ; tho' the pleasure
and advantage of an antagonist necessarily causes my pain
and loss, yet to counter-ballance this, his pain and loss causes
my pleasure and advantage ; and supposing him to be unsuc-
cessful, I may by this means receive from him a superior
degree of satisfaction. In the same manner the success of
a partner rejoices me, but then his misfortunes afflict me in
an equal proportion ; and 'tis easy to imagine, that the latter
sentiment may in many cases preponderate. But whether
the fortune of a rival or partner be good or bad, I always
hate the former and love the latter.
This love of a partner cannot proceed from the relation or
connexion betwixt us; in the same manner as I love a
brother or countryman. A rival has almost as close a rela-
tion to me as a partner. For as the pleasure of the latter
causes my pleasure, and his pain my pain ; so the pleasure
of the former causes my pain, and his pain my pleasure.
The connexion, then, of cause and effect is the same in both
384 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. cases; and if in the one case, the cause and effect has a
*^ farther relation of resemblance, they have that of contrariety
kairedf" ^^ ^^^ Other; which, being also a species of resemblance,
leaves the matter pretty equal.
The only explication, then, we can give of this phseno-
menon is deriv'd from that principle of a parallel direction
above-mention'd. Our concern for our own interest gives us
a pleasure in the pleasure, and a pain in the pain of a partner,
after the same manner as by sympathy we feel a sensation
correspondent to those, which appear in any person, who is
present with us. On the other hand, the same concern for
our interest makes us feel a pain in the pleasure, and a
pleasure in the pain of a rival ; and in short the same con-
trariety of sentiments as arises from comparison and malice.
Since, therefore, a parallel direction of the affections, pro-
ceeding from interest, can give rise to benevolence or anger,
no wonder the same parallel direction, deriv'd from sympathy
and from comparison, shou'd have the same effect.
In general we may observe, that 'tis impossible to do good
to others, from whatever motive, without feehng some touches
of kindness and good-will towards 'em ; as the injuries we
do, not only cause hatred in the person, who suffers them,
but even in ourselves. These phaenomena, indeed, may in
part be accounted for from other principles.
But here there occurs a considerable objection, which 'twill
be necessary to examine before we proceed any farther. I
have endeavour'd to prove, that power and riches, or poverty
and meanness; which give rise to love or hatred, without
producing any original pleasure or uneasiness ; operate upon
us by means of a secondary sensation deriv'd from a sym-
pathy with that pain or satisfaction, which they produce in
the person, who possesses them. From a sympathy with his
pleasure there arises love ; from that with his uneasiness,
hatred. But 'tis a maxim, which 1 have just now establish'd,
and which is absolutely necessary to the explication of the
phaenomena of pity and malice, ' That 'tis not the present
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 385
sensation oi momentary pain or pleasure, which determines Sect. IX
the character of any passion, but the general bent or tendency " "
of it from the beginning to the end.' For this reason, pity Jiixture of
or a sympathy with pain produces love, and that because it benevo-
interests us in the fortunes of others, good or bad, and gives ^""'
us a secondary sensation correspondent to the primary ; in
which it has the same influence with love and benevolence.
Since then this rule holds good in one case, why does it not
prevail throughout, and why does sympathy in uneasiness
ever produce any passion beside good-will and kindness ? Is
it becoming a philosopher to alter his method of reasoning,
and run from one principle to its contrary, according to the
particular phsenomenon, which he wou'd explain ?
I have mention'd two different causes, from which a tran-
sition of passion may arise, viz. a double relation of ideas and
impressions, and what is similar to it, a conformity in the
tendency and direction of any two desires, which arise from
different principles. Now I assert, that when a sympathy
with uneasiness is weak, it produces hatred or contempt by
the former cause ; when strong, it produces love or tender-
ness by the latter. This is the solution of the foregoing
difficulty, which seems so urgent ; and this is a principle
founded on such evident arguments, that we ought to have
establish'd it, even tho' it were not necessary to the explica-
tion of any phoenomenon.
'Tis certain, that sympathy is not always limited to the
present moment, but that we often feel by communication
the pains and pleasures of others, which are not in being,
and which we only anticipate by the force of imagination.
For supposing I saw a person perfectly unknown to me, who,
while asleep in the fields, was in danger of being trod under
foot by horses, I shou'd immediately run to his assistance ;
and in this I shou'd be actuated by the same principle of
sympathy, which makes me concern'd for the present sorrows
of a stranger. The bare mention of this is suflScient. Sym-
pathy being nothing but a lively idea converted into an
386 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. impression, 'tis evident, that, in considering the future possible
•• or probable condition of any person, we may enter into it
hatred. ^^'^^ ^° vivid a conception as to make it our own concern;
and by that means be sensible of pains and pleasures, which
neither belong to ourselves, nor at the present instant have
any real existence.
But however we may look forward to the future in sympa-
thizing with any person, the extending of our sympathy
depends in a great measure upon our sense of his present
condition. 'Tis a great effort of imagination, to form such
lively ideas even of the present sentiments of others as to feel
these very sentiments ; but 'tis impossible we cou'd extend
this sympathy to the future, without being aided by some
circumstance in the present, which strikes upon us in a lively
manner. When the present misery of another has any strong
influence upon me, the vivacity of the conception is not con-
fin'd merely to its immediate object, but diffuses its influence
over all the related ideas, and gives me a lively notion of all
the circumstances of that person, whether past, present, or
future ; possible, probable or certain. By means of this
lively notion I am interested in them ; take part with them ;
and feel a sympathetic motion in my breast, conformable
to whatever I imagine in his. If I diminish the vivacity
of the first conception, I diminish that of the related ideas ;
as pipes can convey no more water than what arises at the
fountain. By this diminution I destroy the future prospect,
which is necessary to interest me perfectly in the fortune of
another. I may feel the present impression, but cany my
sympathy no farther, and never transfuse the force of the first
conception into my ideas of the related objects. If it be
another's misery, which is presented in his feeble manner,
I receive it by communication, and am affected with all the
passions related to it : But as I am not so much interested
as to concern myself in his good fortune, as well as his
bad, I never feel the extensive sympathy, nor the passions
related to it.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 387
Now in order to know what passions are related to these Sect. IX.
different kinds of sympathy, we must consider, that benevo- "
lence is an original pleasure arising from the pleasure of the mixture oj
person belov'd, and a pain proceeding from his pain : From I'cnevo-
which correspondence of impressions there arises a subse- ''"''^ '
quent desire of his pleasure, and aversion to his pain. In
order, then, to make a passion run parallel with benevolence,
'tis requisite we shou'd feel these double impressions, corre-
spondent to those of the person, whom we consider ; nor is
any one of them alone sufficient for that purpose. When we
sympathize only with one impression, and that a painful one,
this sympathy is related to anger and to hatred, upon account
of the uneasiness it conveys to us. But as the extensive or
limited sympathy depends upon the force of the first sym-
pathy ; it follows, that the passion of love or hatred depends
upon the same principle. A strong impression, when com-
municated, gives a double tendency of the passions ; which
is related to benevolence and love by a similarity of direction ;
however painful the first impression might have been. A
weak impression, that is painful, is related to anger and
hatred by the resemblance of sensations. Benevolence,
therefore, arises from a great degree of misery, or any degree
strongly sympathiz'd with : Hatred or contempt from a small
degree, or one weakly sympathiz'd with; which is the prin-
ciple I intended to prove and explain.
Nor have we only our reason to trust to for this principle,
but also experience. A certain degree of poverty produces
contempt; but a degree beyond causes compassion and
good-will. We may under- value a peasant or servant; but
when the misery of a beggar appears very great, or is painted
in very lively colours, we sympathize with him in his afflic-
tions, and feel in our heart evident touches of pity and
benevolence. The same object causes contrary passions
according to its different degrees. The passions, therefore,
must depend upon principles, that operate in such certain
degrees, according to my hypothesis. The encrease of the
388 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. sympathy has evidently the same effect as the encrease of the
"~*^~* misery.
hatred. ^ barren or desolate country always seems ugly and dis-
agreeable, and commonly inspires us with contempt for the
inhabitants. This deformity, however, proceeds in a great
measure from a sympathy with the inhabitants, as has been
already observ'd; but it is only a weak one, and reaches no
farther than the immediate sensation, which is disagreeable.
The view of a city in ashes conveys benevolent sentiments ;
because we there enter so deep into the interests of the
miserable inhabitants, as to wish for their prosperity, as well
as feel their adversity.
But tho' the force of the impression generally produces
pity and benevolence, 'tis certain, that by being carry'd too
far it ceases to have that effect. This, perhaps, may be
worth our notice. When the uneasiness is either small in
itself, or remote from us, it engages not the imagination, nor
is able to convey an equal concern for the future and con-
tingent good, as for the present and real evil. Upon its
acquiring greater force, we become so interested in the con-
cerns of the person, as to be sensible both of his good and
bad fortune ; and from that compleat sympathy there arises
pity and benevolence. But 'twill easily be imagin'd, that
where the present evil strikes with more than ordinary force,
it may entirely engage our attention, and prevent that double
sympathy, above-mention'd. Thus we find, that tho' every
one, but especially women, are apt to contract a kindness for
criminals, who go to the scaffold, and readily imagine them
to be uncommonly handsome and well-shap'd ; yet one, who
is present at the cruel execution of the rack, feels no such
tender emotions ; but is in a manner overcome with horror,
and has no leisure to temper this uneasy sensation by any
opposite sympathy.
But the instance, which makes the most clearly for my
liypolhesis, is that wherein by a change of the objects we
separate the double sympathy even from a midling degree of
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 389
the passion; in which case we find, that pity, instead of pro- Sect. X,
ducino- love and tenderness as usual, always gives rise to the .^ "
° , . . f 0/ respect
contrary affection. When we observe a person in misior- and con-
tunes, we are affected with pity and love ; but the author of tempt.
that misfortune becomes the object of our strongest hatred,
and is the more detested in proportion to the degree of our
compassion. Now for what reason shou'd the same passion
of pity produce love to the person, who suffers the misfortune,
and hatred to the person, who causes it ; unless it be because
in the latter case the author bears a relation only to the
misfortune ; whereas in considering the sufferer we carry our
view on every side, and wish for his prosperity, as well as are
sensible of his affliction ?
I shall just observe, before I leave the present subject, that
this phaenomenon of the double sympathy, and its tendency
to cause love, may contribute to the production of the kind-
ness, which we naturally bear our relations and acquaintance.
Custom and relation make us enter deeply into the senti-
ments of others ; and whatever fortune we suppose to attend
them, is render'd present to us by the imagination, and
operates as if originally our own. We rejoice in their
pleasures, and grieve for their sorrows, merely from the force
of sympathy. Nothing that concerns them is indifferent to
us ; and as this correspondence of sentiments is the natural
attendant of love, it readily produces that affection.
SECTION X.
Of respect atid contempt.
There now remains only to explain the passions of respect
and contempt, along with the amorous affection, in order to
understand all the passions which have any mixture of love
or hatred. Let us begin with respect and contempt.
In considering the qualities and circumstances of others,
we may either regard them as they really are in themselves ;
390 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. or may make a comparison betwixt them and our own
•• qualities and circumstances ; or may join these two methods
hainJ.'^" °^ consideration. The good qualities of others, from the
first point of view, produce love ; from the second, humility ;
and from the third, respect ; which is a mixture of these two
passions. Their bad qualities, after the same manner, cause
either hatred, or pride, or contempt, according to the light in
which we survey them.
That there is a mixture of pride in contempt, and of
humility in respect, is, I think, too evident, from their very
feeling or appearance, to require any particular proof. That
this mixture arises from a tacit comparison of the person
contemn'd or respected with ourselves is no less evident.
The same man may cause either respect, love, or contempt
by his condition and talents, according as the person, who
considers him, from his inferior becomes his equal or
superior. In changing the point of view, tho' the object
may remain the same, its proportion to ourselves entirely
alters ; which is the cause of an alteration in the passions.
These passions, therefore, arise from our observing the pro-
portion ; that is, from a comparison.
I have already observ'd, that the mind has a much
stronger propensity to pride than to humility, and have
endeavour'd, from the principles of human nature, to assign
a cause for this phaenomenon. Whether my reasoning be
receiv'd or not, the phsenomenon is undisputed, and appears
in many instances. Among the rest, 'tis the reason why
there is a much greater mixture of pride in contempt, than of
humility in respect, and why we are more elevated with the
view of one below us, than mortify'd with the presence of
one above us. Contempt or scorn has so strong a tincture
of pride, that there scarce is any other passion discernable :
Whereas in esteem or respect, love makes a more consider-
able ingredient than humility. The passion of vanity is
so prompt, that it rouzes at the least call; while humanity
requires a stronger impulse to make it exert itself.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 391
But here it may reasonably be ask'd, why this mixture Sect. X.
takes place only in some cases, and appears not on every ~** —
occasion. All those objects, which cause love, when plac'd J^^"on-^
on another person, are the causes of pride, when transfer'd tempt.
to ourselves ; and consequently ought to be causes of
humility, as well as love, while they belong to others, and are
only compar'd to those, which we ourselves possess. In like
manner every quality, which, by being directly consider' d,
produces hatred, ought always to give rise to pride by com-
parison, and by a mixture of these passions of hatred and
pride ought to excite contempt or scorn. The difficulty then
is, why any objects ever cause pure love or hatred, and
produce not always the mixt passions of respect and con-
tempt.
I have suppos'd all along, that the passions of love and
pride, and those of humility and hatred are similar in their
sensations, and that the two former are always agreeable, and
the two latter painful. But tho' this be universally true, 'tis
observable, that the two agreeable, as well as the two painful
passions, have some diiferences, and even contrarieties, which
distinguish them. Nothing invigorates and exalts the mind
equally with pride and vanity ; tho' at the same time love or
tenderness is rather found to weaken and infeeble it. The
same diiference is observable betwixt the uneasy passions.
Anger and hatred bestow a new force on all our thoughts
and actions ; while humility and shame deject and discourage
us. Of these qualities of the passions, 'twill be necessary to
form a distinct idea. Let us remember, that pride and
hatred invigorate the soul; and love and humility in-
feeble it.
From this it follows, that tho' the conformity betwixt lovo
and hatred in the agreeableness of their sensation makes
them always be excited by the same objects, yet this other
contrariety is the reason, why they are excited in very different
degrees. Genius and learning are pleasant and magnificent
objects, and by both these circumstances are adapted to
392 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. pride and vanity ; but have a relation to love by their
" ** ' pleasure only. Ignorance and simplicity are disagreeable and
hatred!^" w^a«, which in the same manner gives them a double con-
nexion with humility, and a single one with hatred. We
may, therefore, consider it as certain, that the' the same
object always produces love and pride, humility and hatred,
according to its different situations, yet it seldom produces
either the two former or the two latter passions in the same
proportion.
'Tis here we must seek for a solution of the difficulty
above-mention'd, why any object ever excites pure love or
hatred, and does not always produce respect or contempt, by
a mixture of humility or pride. No quality in another gives
rise to humility by comparison, unless it wou'd have produc'd
pride by being plac'd in ourselves ; and vice versa no object
excites pride by comparison, unless it wou'd have produc'd
humility by the direct survey. This is evident, objects always
produce by coinparison a sensation directly contrary to their
original one. Suppose, therefore, an object to be presented,
which is peculiarly fitted to produce love, but imperfectly to
excite pride ; this object, belonging to another, gives rise
directly to a great degree of love, but to a small one of
humility by comparison ; and consequently that latter passion
is scarce felt in the compound, nor is able to convert the
love into respect. This is the case with good nature, good
humour, facility, generosity, beauty, and many other qualities.
These have a peculiar aptitude to produce love in others ;
but not so great a tendency to excite pride in ourselves :
For which reason the view of them, as belonging to another
person, produces pure love, with but a small mixture of
humility and respect. 'Tis easy to extend the same reasoning
to the opposite passions.
Before we leave this subject, it may not be amiss to
account for a pretty curious phaenomenon, viz. why we
commonly keep at a distance such as we contemn, and
a. low not our inferiors to approach too near even in place
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 393
and situation. It has already been observ'd, that almost Sect, X.
every kind of idea is attended with some emotion, even the ^7"^*""
ideas of number and extension, much more those of such ^^ J^.
objects as are esteem'd of consequence in life, and fix our tempu
attention. 'Tis not with entire indifference we can survey
either a rich man or a poor one, but must feel some faint
touches, at least, of respect in the former case, and of con-
tempt in the latter. These two passions are contrary to
each other ; but in order to make this contrariety be felt, the
objects must be someway related ; otherwise the affections
are totally separate and distinct, and never encounter. The
relation takes place wherever the persons become con-
tiguous ; which is a general reason why we are uneasy at
seeing such disproportion'd objects, as a rich man and a poor
one, a nobleman and a porter, in that situation.
This uneasiness, which is common to every spectator,
must be more sensible to the superior ; and that because the
near approach of the inferior is regarded as a piece of ill-
breeding, and shews that he is not sensible of the dispropor-
tion, and is no way affected by it. A sense of superiority in
another breeds in all men an inclination to keep themselves
at a distance from him, and determines them to redouble the
marks of respect and reverence, when they are oblig'd to
approach him ; and where they do not observe that conduct,
'tis a proof they are not sensible of his superiority. From
hence too it proceeds, that any great difference in the degrees
of any quality is call'd a distance by a common metaphor,
which, however trivial it may appear, is founded on natural
principles of the imagination. A great difference inclines us
to produce a distance. The ideas of distance and difference
are, therefore, connected together. Connected ideas are
readily taken for each other; and this is in general the
source of the metaphor, as we shall have occasion to observe
afterwards.
394 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of love and SECTION XI.
hatred.
Of the amorous passion, or love betwixt the sexes.
Of all the compound passions, which proceed from a
mixture of love and hatred with other affections, no one
better deserves our attention, than that love, which arises
betwixt the sexes, as well on account of its force and violence,
as those curious principles of philosophy, for which it aflbrds
us an uncontestable argument. 'Tis plain, that this affection,
in its most natural state, is deriv'd from the conjunction of
three different impressions or passions, viz. The pleasing
sensation arising from beauty; the bodily appetite for genera-
tion ; and a generous kindness or good-will. The origin of
kindness from beauty may be explain'd from the foregoing
reasoning. The question is how the bodily appetite is
excited by it.
The appetite of generation, when confin'd to a certain
degree, is evidently of the pleasant kind, and has a strong
connexion with all the agreeable emotions. Joy, mirth,
vanity, and kindness are all incentives to this desire ; as well
as music, dancing, wine, and good cheer. On the other
hand, sorrow, melancholy, poverty, humility are destructive
of it. From this quality 'tis easily conceiv'd why it shou'd
be connected with the sense of beauty.
But there is another principle that contributes to the same
efiect. I have observ'd that the parallel direction of the
desires is a real relation, and no less than a resemblance in
their sensation, produces a connexion among them. That
we may fully comprehend the extent of this relation, we must
consider, that any principal desire may be attended with
subordinate ones, which are connected with it, and to which
if other desires are parallel, they are by that means related
to the principal one. Thus hunger may oft be consider'd
as the primary inclination of the soul, and the desire of ap-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 395
proaching the meat as the secondary one; since 'tis absolutely Sect. XI
necessary to the satisfying that appetite. If an object, there- ♦* ■
fore, by any separate qualities, inclines us to approach the J„jg'g„^
meat, it naturally encreases our appetite; as on the conirzry , passion,
whatever inclines us to set our victuals at a distance, is con- ^^'
tradictory to hunger, and diminishes our inclination to them.
Now 'tis plain that beauty has the first effect, and deformity
the second : Which is the reason why the former gives us
a keener appetite for our victuals, and the latter is sufficient
to disgust us at the most savoury dish, that cookery has
invented. All this is easily applicable to the appetite for
generation.
From these two relations, viz. resemblance and a parallel
desire, there arises such a connexion betwixt the sense of
beauty, the bodily appetite, and benevolence, that they be-
come in a manner inseparable : And we find from ex-
perience, that 'tis indifferent which of them advances first ;
since any of them is almost sure to be attended with the
related affections. One, who is inflam'd with lust, feels at
least a momentary kindness towards the object of it, and at
the same time fancies her more beautiful than ordinary ; as
there are many, who begin with kindness and esteem for the
wit and merit of the person, and advance from that to the
other passions. But the most common species of love is
that which first arises from beauty, and afterwards diffuses
itself into kindness and into the bodily appetite. Kind-
ness or esteem, and the appetite to generation, are too
remote to unite easily together. The one is, pertiaps, the
most refin'd passion of the soul ; the other the most gross
and vulgar. The love of beauty is plac'd in a jusft -medium
betwixt them, and partakes of both their natures : From
whence it proceeds, that 'tis so singularly fitted to' produce
both. ^^•*^^'
This account of love is not peculiar to my system, but is
unavoidable on any hypothesis. The three affections, which
compose this passion, are evidently distinct, and has each of
O
396 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IT. them its distinct object. 'Tis certain, therefore, that 'tis only
•• by their relation they produce each other. But the relation
haired!^" of passions is not alone sufficient. 'Tis likewise necessary,
there shou'd be a relation of ideas. The beauty of one
person never inspires us with love for another. This then is
a sensible proof of the double relation of impressions and
ideas. From one instance so evident as this we may form a
judgment of the rest.
This may also serve in another view to illustrate what I
have insisted on concerning the origin of pride and humility,
love and hatred. I have observ'd, that tho' self be the object
of the first set of passions, and some other person of the
second, yet these objects cannot alone be the causes of the
passions ; as having each of them a relation to two contrary
affections, which must from the very first moment destroy
each other. Here then is the situation of the mind, as I have
already describ'd it. It has certain organs naturally fitted to
produce a passion ; that passion, when produc'd, naturally
turns the view to a certain object. But this not being suffi-
cient to produce the passion, there is requir'd some other
emotion, which by a double relation of impressions and ideas
may set these principles in action, and bestow on them their
first impulse. This situation is still more remarkable with
regard to the appetite of generation. Sex is not only the
object, but also the cause of the appetite. We not only turn
our view to it, when actuated by that appetite ; but the re-
flecting on it suffices to excite the appetite. But as this
cause loses its force by too great frequency, 'tis necessary it
shou'd be quicken'd by some new impulse ; and that impulse
we find to arise from the beauty of the person ; that is, from a
double relation of impressions and ideas. Since this double
relation is necessary where an affection has both a distinct
cause, and object, how much more so, where it has only a
distinct object, without any determinate cause ?
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 397
Sect. Xll.
SECTION XII. o/Z'
love mid
Of the love and haired of animals. hatred of
animals.
But to pass from the passions of love and hatred, and
from their mixtures and compositions, as they appear in man,
to the same affections, as they display themselves in brutes ;
we may observe, not only that love and hatred are common
to the whole sensitive creation, but likewise that their causes,
as above- explain'd, are of so simple a nature, that they may
easily be suppos'd to operate on mere animals. There is no
force of reflection or penetration requii'd. Every thing is
conducted by springs and principles, which are not peculiar
to man, or any one species of animals. The conclusion from
this is obvious in favour of the foregoing system.
Love in animals, has not for its only object animals of the
same species, but extends itself farther, and comprehends
almost every sensible and thinking being. A dog naturally
loves a man above his own species, and very commonly meets
with a return of affection.
As animals are but little susceptible either of the pleasures
or pains of the imagination, they can judge of objects only by
the sensible good or evil, which they produce, and from that
must regulate their affections towards them. Accordingly we
find, that by benefils or injuries we produce their love or
hatred ; and that by feeding and cherishing any animal, we
quickly acquire his afiections; as by beating and abusing
him we never fail to draw on us his enmity and ill-will.
Love in beasts is not caus'd so much by relation, as in
our species; and that because their thoughts are not so
active as to trace relations, except in very obvious instances.
Yet 'tis easy to remark, that on some occasions it has a
considerable influence upon them. Thus acquaintance, which
has the same effect as relation, always produces love in ani-
mals either to men or to each other. For the same reason
398 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. anv likeness amona: them is the source of affection. An ox
■■ ♦* ■ confin'd to a park with horses, will naturally join their com-
hatred '^" P^^X' ^^ I ™^y SO speak, but always leaves it to enjoy that of
his own species, where he has the choice of both.
The affection of parents to their young proceeds from
a peculiar instinct in animals, as well as in our species.
'Tis evident, that sympathy, or the communication of pas-
sions, takes place among animals, no less than among men.
Fear, anger, courage and other affections are frequently
communicated from one animal to another, without their
knowledge of that cause, which produc'd the original pas-
sion. Grief likewise is receiv'd by sympathy ; and produces
almost all the same consequences, and excites the same
emotions as in our species. The howhngs and lamentations
of a dog produce a sensible concern in his fellows. And 'tis
remarkable, that tho' almost all animals use in play the same
member, and nearly the same action as in fighting ; a lion,
a tyger, a cat their paws ; an ox his horns ; a dog his teeth ;
a horse his heels : Yet they most carefully avoid harming
their companion, even tho' they have nothing to fear from
his resentment ; which is an evident proof of the sense brutes
have of each other's pain and pleasure.
Every one has observ'd how much more dogs are animated
when they hunt in a pack, than when they pursue their game
apart; and 'tis evident this can proceed from nothing but
from sympathy. 'Tis also well known to hunters, that this
effect follows in a greater degree, and even in too great a
degree, where two packs, that are strangers to each other,
are join'd together. We might, perhaps, be at a loss to
explain this phsenomenon, if we had not experience of a
similar in ourselves.
Envy and malice are passions very remarkable in animals.
They are perhaps more common than pity ; as requiring less
effort of thought and imagination.
PART III.
OF THE WILL AND DIRECT PASSIONS.
SECTION I.
0/ liberty and necessity.
We come now to explain the direct passions, or the im- Sect. L
pressions, which arise immediately from good or evil, from ~"**~
pain or pleasure. Of this kind are, desire and aversion, grief J^d luccs-
and joy, hope and fear. sity.
Of all the immediate effects of pain and pleasure, there is
none more remarkable than the will ; and tho', properly
speaking, it be not comprehended among the passions, yet
as the full understanding of its nature and properties, is
necessary to the explanation of them, we shall here make
it the subject of our enquiry. I desire it may be observ'd,
that by the will, I mean nothing but the internal impression
we feel a7id are conscious of, when we knowingly give rise to (- iv;\.v^
any neiv motion of our body, or -new perceptio7i of our mind. }
This impression, like the preceding ones of pride and humi-
lity, love and hatred, 'tis impossible to define, and needless
to describe any farther; for which reason we shall cut off all
those definitions and distinctions, with which philosophers
are wont to perplex rather than clear up this question ; and
entering at first upon the subject, shall examine that long
disputed question concerning liberty and necessity; which
occurs so naturally in treating of the will.
'Tis universally acknowledg'd, that the operations of ex-
ternal bodies are necessary, and that in the communication
of their motion, in their attraction, and mutual cohesion,
400 A rREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. there are not the least traces of indifference or liberty.
•' . Every object is determin'd by an absolute fate to a certain
wd direlt degree and direction of its motion, and can no more depart
passions, from that precise line, in which it moves, than it can convert
itself into an angel, or spirit, or any superior substance.
The actions, therefore, of matter are to be regarded as in-
stances of necessary actions ; and whatever is in this respect
on the same footing with matter, must be acknowledg'd to
be necessary. That we may know whether this be the case
with the actions of the mind, we shall begin with examining
matter, and considering on what the idea of a necessity in
its operations are founded, and why we conclude one body
or action to be the infallible cause of another.
It has been observ'd already, that in no single instance the
ultimate connexion of any objects is discoverable, either by
our senses or reason, and that we can never penetrate so far
into the essence and construction of bodies, as to perceive
the principle, on which their mutual influence depends. 'Tis
their constant union alone, with which we are acquainted ;
and 'tis from the constant union the necessity arises. If
objects had not an uniform and regular conjunction with
each other, we shou'd never arrive at any idea of cause and
effect ; and even after all, the necessity, which enters into
that idea, is nothing but a determination of the mind to pass
from one object to its usual attendant, and infer the existence
of one from that of the other. Here then are two particulars,
which we are to consider as essential to necessity, viz. the
constant union and the inference of the mind ; and wherever
we discover these we must acknowledge a necessity. As the
actions of matter have no necessity, but what is deriv'd from
these circumstances, and it is not by any insight into the
'' essence of bodies we discover their connexion, the absence qf^
this insight, while the union and inference remain, will
/ nev-er, in any case, remove the necessity. 'Tis the observa-
tion of the union, which produces the inference ; for which
reason it might be thought sufficient, if we prove a constant
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 40 1
union in the actions of the mind, in order to establish the Sect. 1
inference, along with the necessity of these actions. But _•• "
that I may bestow a greater force on my reasoning, I shall andntces
examine these particulars apart, and shall first prove from ^i(y.
experience, that our actions have a constant union with our
motives, tempers, and circumstances, before I consider the
inferences we draw from it.
To this end a very slight and general view of the common
course of human affairs will be sufficient. There is no
light, in which we can take them, that does not confirm this
principle. Whether we consider mankind according to the
difference of sexes, ages, governments, conditions, or methods
of education ; the same uniformity and regular operation of
natural principles are discernible. Like causes still produce
like effects ; in the same manner as in the mutual action of
the elements and powers of nature.
There are different trees, which regularly produce fruit, "^V
whose relish is different from each other; and this regularity j Al^-*
will be admitted as an instance of necessity and causes in / '/
external bodies. But are the products of Guienne and of
Cha}npag?ie more regularly different than the sentiments,
actions, and passions of the two sexes, of which the one are
distinguish'd by their force and maturity, the other by their
delicacy and softness .?
Are the changes of our body from infancy to old age more
regular and certain than those of our mind and conduct?
And wou'd a man be more ridiculous, who wou'd expect that
an infant of four years old will raise a weight of three hundred
pound, than one, who from a person of the same age, wou'd
look for a philosophical reasoning, or a prudent and well-
concerted action?
We must certainly allow, that the cohesion of the parts of
matter arises from natural and necessary principles, whatever
difficulty we may find in explaining them : And for a like
reason we must allow, that human society is founded on like
principles ; and our reason in the latter case, is better than
402 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. even that in the former ; because we not only observe, that
•• men ahvays seek societ)^ but can also explain the principles,
Of the will t,- u*u- • i •. • r j j -n • •
and direct °^ which this universal propensity is founded. For is it more
passions, certain, that two flat pieces of marble will unite together,
than that two young savages of different sexes will copulate ?
Do the children arise from this copulation more uniforml}',
than does the parents care for their safety and preservation ?
And after they have arriv'd at years of discretion by the care
of their parents, are the inconveniencies attending their sepa-
ration more certain than their foresight of these incon-
veniencies, and their care of avoiding them by a close union
and confederacy?
The skin, pores, muscles, and ner\'es of a day-labourer are
different from those of a man of quality : So are his senti-
ments, actions and manners. The different stations of life
influence the whole fabric, external and internal; and these
different stations arise necessarily, because uniformly, from
the necessary and uniform principles of human nature. Men
cannot live without society, and cannot be associated without
government. Government makes a distinction of property,
and establishes the different ranks of men. This produces
industry, trafiic, manufactures, law-suits, war, leagues, alliances,
voyages, travels, cities, fleets, ports, and all those other
actions and objects, which cause such a diversity, and at the
same time maintain such an uniformity in human life.
Shou'd a traveller, returning from a far country, tell us,
that he had seen a climate in the fiftieth dej^ree of northern
latitude, where all the fruits ripen and come to perfection in
the winter, and decay in the summer, after the same manner
as in England they are produc'd and decay in the contrary
seasons, he wou'd find few so credulous as to believe him. I
am apt to think a traveller wou'd meet with as little credit,
who shou'd inform us of people exactly of the same character
^ with those in Plato's Republic on the one hand, or those in
Hobbes's Leviathan on the other. There is a general course
of nature in human actions, as well as in the operations of
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 403
the sun and the climate. There are also characters peculiar Sect. I.
to different nations and particular persons, as well as common - ♦* -
to mankind. The knowledge of these characters is founded andneus-
on the observation of an uniformity in the actions, that flow sity.
from them; and this uniformity forms the very essence of
necessity.
I can imagine only one way of eluding this argument,
which is by denying that uniformity of human actions, on
which it is founded. As long as actions have a constant
union and connexion with the situation and temper of the
agent, however we may in words refuse to acknowledge the
necessity, we really allow the thing. Now some may, per-
haps, find a pretext to deny this regular union and con-
nexion. For what is more capricious than human actions .?
What more inconstant than the desires of man ? And what
creature departs more widely, not only from right reason, but
from his own character and disposition? An hour, a
moment is sufficient to make him change from one extreme
to another, and overturn what cost the greatest pain and
labour to establish. Necessity is regular and certain. Human
conduct is irregular and uncertain. The one, therefore,
proceeds not from the other.
To this I reply, that in judging of the actions of men we
must proceed upon the same maxims, as when we reason
concerning external objects. When any phaenomena are
constantly and invariably conjoin'd together, they acquire
such a connexion in the imagination, that it passes from one
to the other, without any doubt or hesitation. But below
this there are many inferior degrees of evidence and pro-
bability, nor does one single contrariety of experiment
entirely destroy all our reasoning. The mind ballances the
contrary experiments, and deducting the inferior from the
superior, proceeds with that degree of assurance or evidence,
which remains. Even when these contrary experiments are
entirely equal, we remove not the notion of causes and
necessity ; but supposing that the usual contrariety proceeds
404
^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. from the operation of contrary and conceal'd causes, we con-
■ •• _ elude, that the chance or indifference lies only in our judg-
and direct "^^^^ on account of Our imperfect knowledge, not in the
piissions. things themselves, which are in every case equally necessary,
tho' to appearance not equally constant or certain. No
union can be more constant and certain, than that of some
actions with some motives and characters ; and if in other
cases the union is uncertain, 'tis no more than what happens
in the operations of body, nor can we conclude any thing
from the one irregularity, which will not follow equally from
the o;her.
'Tis commonly allow'd that mad-men have no liberty.
■^ V^ut were we to judge by their actions, these have less regu-
larity and constancy than ihe actions of wise-men, and con-
sequently are fariher remov'd from necessity. Our way of
thinking in this particular is, therefore, absolutely inconsistent ;
but is a natural consequence of these confus'd ideas and un-
defin'd terms, which we so commonly make use of in our
reasonings, especially on the present subject, j
We must now shew, that as the U7ii07t betwixt motives and
actions has the same constancy, as that in any natural opera-
tions, so its influence on the understanding is also the same,
in determviing us to infer the existence of one from that of
another. If this shall appear, there is no known circumstance,
that enters into the connexion and production of the actions
of matter, that is not to be found in all the operations of the
mind; and consequently we cannot, without a manifest
absurdity, attribute necessity to the one, and refuse it to the
other.
There is no philosopher, whose judgment is so riveted to
this fantastical system of liberty, as not to acknowledge the
force of moral evidence, and both in speculation and practice
proceed upon it, as upon a reasonable foundation. Now
moral evidence is nothing but a conclusion concerning the
actions of men, deriv'd from the consideration of their
motives, temper and situation. Thus when we see certain
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 405
characters or figures describ'd upon paper, we infer that the Sect. I
person, who produc'd them, would affirm such facts, the •• '
death of CcBsar, the success of Augustus, the cruelty '^^ JiJ^eces-
Nero', and remembring many other concurrent testimonies sity,
we conclude, that those facts were once really existent, and
that so many men, without any interest, wou'd never con-
spire to deceive us ; especially since they must, in the
attempt, expose themselves to the derision of all their con-
temporaries, when these facts were asserted to be recent
and universally known. The same kind of reasoning runs
thro' politics, war, commerce, ©economy, and indeed mixes
itself so entirely in human life, that 'tis impossible to act or
subsist a moment without having recourse to it. A prince,
who imposes a tax upon his subjects, expects their com-
pliance. A general, who conducts an army, makes account
of a certain degree of courage. A merchant looks for fidelity
and skill in his factor or super-cargo. A man, who gives
orders for his dinner, doubts not of the obedience of his
servants. In short, as nothing more nearly interests us than
our own actions and those of others, the greatest part of our
reasonings is employ'd in judgments concerning them. Now
I assert, that whoever reasons after this manner, does ipso
facto believe the actions of the will to arise from necessity,
and that he knows not what he means, when he denies it.
All those objects, of which we call the one cause and the
other effect, consider'd in themselves, are as distinct and
separate from each other, as any two things in nature, nor
can we ever, by the most accurate survey of them, infer the
existence of the one from that of the other. 'Tis only from
experience and the observation of their constant union, that
we are able to form this inference ; and even after all,.Jlifi^
inference is nothing but the effects of custom on the imagina-
tion. We must not here be content with saying, that the
idea of cause and effect arises from objects constantly united ;
but must affirm, that 'tis the very same with the idea of these
objects, and that the necessary co7inexion is not discover'd by
406 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. a conclusion of the understanding, but is merely a perception
•♦ ■ of the mind. Wherever, therefore, we observe the same
and direct union, and wherever the union operates in the same manner
passions, upon the behef and opinion, we have the idea of causes
and necessity, tho' perhaps we may avoid those expressions.
Motion in one body in all past instances, that have fallen
under our observation, is follow'd upon impulse by motion in
another. 'Tis impossible for the mind to penetrate farther.
From this constant union it forms the idea of cause and
effect, and by its influencey^^/i- the necessity. As there is the
same constancy, and the same influence in what we call
moral evidence, I ask no more. 'JVhat remains can only be
a dispute of words.n
And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and
moral evidence cement together, and form only one chain of
argument betwixt them, we shall make no scruple to allow,
that they are of the same nature, and deriv'd from the same
principles. A prisoner, who has neither money nor interest,
discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well from the
obstinacy of the goaler, as from the walls and bars with
which he is surrounded; and in all attempts for his freedom
chuses rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one,
than upon the inflexible nature of the other. The same
prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees his death
as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards as
from the operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs
along a certain train of ideas: The refusal of the soldiers
to consent to his escape, the action of the executioner ; the
separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive
motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural
causes and voluntary actions ; but the mind feels no differ-
ence betwixt them in passing from one link to another; nor
is less certain of the future event than if it were connected
with the present impressions of the memory and senses by a
train of causes cemented together by what we are ploas'd to
call a physical necessily. The same experienc'd union has
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 407
the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be Sect. II.
motives, voHtions and actions ; or figure and motion. We *» "
may-efeange the names of things ; but their nature _and their J^y^^^t^
operation on the understanding never change^^.^ continud.
I dare be positive no one will ever endeavour to refute .
these reasonings otherwise than by altering my definitions, \
and assigning a different meaning to the terms of cause^ and \
effect, and necessity, ajid liberty, and chance. According to i
my definitions, necessity makes an essential part of causa- \
tion ; and consequently liberty, by removing necessity, re-
moves also causes, and is the very same thing with chance.
lAs chance is commonly thought to imply a contradiction,
and is at least directly contrary to experience, there are
always the same arguments against liberty or free-will. \ If
any one alters the definitions, I cannot pretend to argue
with him, 'till I know the meaning he assigns to these
terms.
SECTION II.
The same subject contifiud.
I BELIEVE we may assign the three following reasons for
the prevalence of the doctrine of liberty, however absurd it
may be in one sense, and unintelligible in'any other, j First,
After we have perform'd any action; tho' we confess \ve
\F7ere infiuenc'd by particular views and motives; 'tis difficult
for us to perswade ourselves we were govern'd by necessity,
and that 'twas utterly impossible for us to have acted other-
wise ; the idea of necessity seeming to imply something of
force, and violence, and constraint, of which we are not
sensible. Few are capable of distinguishing betwixt the
- liberty of spontaniety, as it is call'd in the schools, and the
liberty of tttdifference ; betwixt that which is oppos'd to vio-
lence, and that which means a negation of necessity and
causes. The first is even the most common sense of the
-word ; and as 'tis only that species of liberty, which it con-
<^o8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III.\ cerns us to preserve, our thoughts have been principally
•• turn'd towards it, and have almost universally confounded it
Cf the will .,, ^, ,, ^
and direct with the other.
passions. Secondly, there is ^ false sensation er experience even of
the liberty of indifference; which is regarded as an argu-
ment for its real existence. The necessity of any action,
whether of matter or of the mind, is not properly a quality
in the agent, but in any thinking or intelligent being, who
may consider the action, and consists in the determination
of his thought to infer its existence from some preceding
objects : As liberty or chance, on the other hand, is nothing
but the want of that determination, and a certain looseness;
which we feel in passing or not passing from the idea of one
to that of the other. <; Now we may observe, that tho' in re-
flecting on human actions we seldom feel such a looseness
or indifference, yet it very commonly happens, that in per-
forming the actions themselves we are sensible of something
like it :^And as all related or resembling objects are readily
taken for each other, this has been employ'd as a demon-
strative or even an intuitive proof of human liberty. > We
feel that our actions are subject to our will on most occa-
sions, and imagine we feel that the will itself is subject to
nothing; because when by a denial of it we are provok'd
to try, we feel that it moves easily every way, and produces
an image of itself even on that side, on which it did not
settle. This image or faint motion, we perswade ourselves,
cou'd have been compleated into the thing itself; because,
shou'd that be deny'd, we find, upon a second trial, that it
can. QBut these efforts are all in vain ;'^ and whatever capri-
cious and irregular actions we may perform ; as the desire
\( of showing our liberty is the sole motive of our actions; we
V can never free ourselves from the bonds of necessity. CWe
^ may imagine we feel a liberty within ourselves ; but a spec-
tator can commonly infer our actions from our motives and
character ; J and even where he cannot, he concludes in
general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted witli
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 409
every circumstance of our situation and temper, and the Sect. II.
most secret springs of our complexion and disposition. Now **
this is the very essence of necessity, according to the fore- ^^.■g^/^'^
going doctrine. continu'd.
A third reason why the doctrine of liberty has generally
been better receiv'd in the world, than its antagonist, pro-
ceeds from religion, which has been very unnecessarily in-
terested in this question. CThere is no method of reasoning
more common, and yet none more blameable, than in philo-
sophical debates to endeavour to refute any hypothesis by
a pretext of its dangerous consequences to religion and
morality. When any opinion leads us into absurdities, 'tis
certainly false ; but 'tis not certain an opinion is false, be-
cause 'tis of dangerous consequence. Such topics, there-
fore, ought entirely to be foreborn, as serving nothing to
the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an
antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without pre-
tending to draw any advantage from it. I submit myself
frankly to an examination of this kind, and dare venture
to affirm, that the doctrine of necessity, according to my
explication of it, is not only innocent, but even advantageous
to religion and morality.
I define necessity two ways, conformable to the two \/
definitions of cause, of which it makes an essential part.
U^ I place it either in the constant union and conjunction of
like objects, ^or in the inference of the mind from the one
to the other. Now necessity, in both these senses, has
universally, tho' tacitely, in the schools, in the pulpit, and
in common life, been allow'd to belong to the will of man,
and no one has ever pretended to deny, that we can draw
inferences concerning human actions, and that those infer-
ences are founded on the experienc'd union of like actions
with like motives and circumstances. The only particular
in which any one can differ from me, is either, that per-
haps he will refuse to call this necessity. But as long
as the meaning is understood, I hope the word can do no
410 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. harm. Or that he will maintain there is something else
♦• in the operations of matter. Now whether it be so or not
and direct ^^ °^ "° consequence to religion, whatever it may be to
passions, natural philosophy. I may be mistaken in asserting, that
we have no idea of any other connexion in the actions of
body, and shall be glad to be farther instructed on that
head : But sure I am, I ascribe nothing to the actions of
the mind, but what must readily be allow'd of. Let no
one, therefore, put an invidious construction on my words,
by saying simply, that I assert the necessity of human ac-
tions, and place them on the same footing with the opera-
tions of senseless matter. 1. 1 do not ascribe to the will that
unintelligible necessity, which is suppos'd to lie in matter,
K^' But I ascribe to matter, that intelligible quality, call it
V^ necessity or not, which the most rigorous orthodoxy does
or must allow to belong to the will. I change, therefore,
nothing in the receiv'd systems, with regard to the will, but
only with regard to material objects.^}
Nay I shall go farther, and assert, that this kind of neces-
sity is so essential to religion and morality, that without it
there must ensue an absolute subversion of both, and that
every other supposition is entirely destructive to all laws both
divine and human. 'Tis indeed certain, that as all human
laws are founded on rewards and punishments, 'tis suppos'd
as a fundamental principle, that these motives have an in-
fluence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent
the evil actions. We may give to this influence what name
we please; but as 'tis usually conjoin'd with the action,
common sense requires it shou'd be esteem'd a cause, and be
look'd upon as an instance of that necessity, which I wou'd
establish.
This reasoning is equally solid, when apply'd to divine
laws, so far as the deity is consider'd as a legislator, and is
suppos'd to inflict punishment and bestow rewards with a
design to produce obedience. But I also maintain, that even
where he acts not in his magisterial capacity, but is regarded
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 411
as the avenger of crimes merely on account of their odiousness Sect. II.
and deformity, not only 'tis impossible, without the necessary "•**• '
connexion of cause and effect in human actions, that punish- stibiect^^
ments cou'd be inflicted compatible with justice and moral continu'd.
equity ; but also that it cou'd ever enter into the thoughts of
any reasonable being to inflict them. The constant and
universal object of hatred or anger is a person or creature
endow'd with thought and consciousness; and when any
criminal or injurious actions excite that passion, 'tis only by
their relation to the person or connexion with him. But
according to the doctrine of liberty or chance, this connexion
is reduc'd to nothing, nor are men more accountable for those
actions, which are design'd and premeditated, than for such
as are the most casual and accidental. Actions are by their
very nature temporary and perishing ; and where they pro-
ceed not from some cause in the characters and disposition
of the person, who perform'd them, they infix not themselves
upon him, and can neither redound to his honour, if good,
nor infamy, if evil. The action itself may be blameable ; it
may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion :
But the person is not responsible for it ; and as it proceeded
from nothing in him, that is durable or constant, and leaves
nothing of that nature behind it, 'tis impossible he can, upon
its account, become the object of punishment or vengeance.
According to the hypothesis of liberty, therefore, a man is as
pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid
crimes, as at the first moment of his birth, nor is his character
any way concern'd in his actions ; since they are not deriv'd
from it, and the wickedness of the one can never be us'd as a
proof of the depravity of the other. 'Tis only upon the prin-
ciples of necessity, that a person acquires any merit or de-
merit from his actions, however the common opinion may
incline to the contrary.
But so inconsistent are men with themselves, that tho' they
often assert, that necessity utterly destroys all merit and de-
merit either towards mankind or superior powers, yet they
412 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. continue still to reason upon these very principles of neces-
" . sity in all their judgmeats concerning this matter. Men are
and direct ^°^ blam'd for such evil actions as they perform ignorantly
painom. and casually, whatever may be their consequences. Why ?
but because the causes of these actions are only momentary,
and terminate in them alone. Men are less blam'd for such
evil actions, as they perform hastily and unpremeditately,
than for such as proceed from thought and deliberation.
For what reason ? but because a hasty temper, tho' a con-
stant cause in the mind, operates only by intervals, and
infects not the whole character. Again, repentance wipes off
every crime, especially if attended with an evident reforma-
tion of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for ?
But by asserting that actions render a person criminal,
merely as they are proofs of criminal passions or principles
in the mind ; and when by any alteration of these principles
they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be
criminal. But according to the doctrine of liberty or chance
they never were just proofs, and consequently never were
criminal.
Here then I turn to my adversary, and desire him to free
his own system from these odious consequences before he
charge them upon others. Or if he rather chuses, that this
question shou'd be decided by fair arguments before philoso-
phers, than by declamations before the people, let him return
to what I have advanc'd to prove that liberty and chance are
synonirr.ous ; and concerning the nature of moral evidence
and the regularity of human actions. Upon a review of these
reasonings, I cannot doubt of an entire victory ; and there-
fore having prov'd, that all actions of the will have particular
causes, I proceed to explain what these causes are, and
how they operate.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 413
Sect. III.
SECTION III. -^
Of the
0/ the infliienciiig motives of the will. influencing
motives of
Nothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common ^ ' "*
life, than to talk of the combat of passion and reason, to give
the preference to reason, and to assert that men are only so
far virtuous as they conform themselves to its dictates.
Every rational creature, 'tis said, is oblig'd to regulate his
actions by reason ; and if any other motive or principle chal-
lenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to oppose it, 'till
it be entirely subdu'd, or at least brought to a conformity
with that superior principle. On this method of thinking
the greatest part of moral philosophy, ancient and modern,
seems to be founded ; nor is there an ampler field, as well for
metaphysical arguments, as popular declamations, than this
suppos'd pre-eminence of reason above passion. The eter-
nity, invariableness, and divine origin of the former have
been display'd to the best advantage : The blindness, uncon-
stancy and deceitfulness of the laiter have been as strongly
insisted on. In order to shew the fallacy of all this philosophy,
I shall endeavour to proveyfrj/, that reason alone can never be
a motive to any action of the will ; and secondly, that it can
never oppose passion in the direction of the will.
The understanding exerts itself after two different ways, as
it judges from demonstration or probability ; as it regards
the abstract relations of our ideas, or those relations of
objects, of which experience only gives us information. I
believe it scarce will be asserted, that the first species of
reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As it's
proper province is the world of ideas, and as the will always
places us in that of realities, demonstration and voUtion seem,
upon that account, to be totally remov'd, from each other.
Mathematics, indeed, are useful in all mechanical operations,
and arithmetic in almost every art and profession : But 'tis
not of themselves they have any influence. Mechanics are
I
414 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. the art of regulating the motions of bodies io some design'd
, •' end or purpose ; and the reason why we employ arithmetic in
Ofthewill c ■ \\. r f , • 1 u .
and direct "•'^i^'o the proportions of numbers, is only that we may
passions, discover the proportions of their influence and operation.
A merchant is desirous of knowing the sum total of his
accounts with any person : Why ? but that he may learn
what sum will have the same effects in paying his debt, and
going to market, as all the particular articles taken together.
Abstract or demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never influ-
ences any of our actions, but only as it directs our judgment
concerning causes and effects ; which leads us to the second
operation of the understanding.
'Tis obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or
pleasure from any object, we feel a consequent emotion of
aversion or propensity, and are carry'd to avoid or embrace
what will give us this uneasiness or satisfaction. 'Tis also
obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but making us cast
our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are
connected with its original one by the relation of cause and
effect. Here then reasoning takes place to discover this
relation ; and according as our reasoning varies, our actions
receive a subsequent variation. But 'tis evident in this case,
that the impulse arises not from reason, but is only directed
by it. 'Tis from the prospect of pain or pleasure that the
aversion or propensity arises towards any object : And these
emotions extend themselves to the causes and effects of that
object, as they are pointed out to us by reason and experience.
It can never in the least concern us to know, that such objects
are causes, and such others effects, if both the causes and
effects be indifferent to us. Where the objects themselves
do not affect us, their connexion can never give them any
influence ; and 'tis plain, that as reason is nothing but the
discovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its means that
the objects are able to affect us.
Since reason alone can never produce any action, or give
rise to volition, I infer, that the same faculty is as incapable
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 415
ot preventing voliLion, or of disputing the preference with Sect. III. .u
any passion or emotion. This consequence is necessary. ~~*^ |.
'Tis impossible reason cou'd have the latter effect of pre- iifliutuing \
venting volition, but by giving an impulse in a contrary motives of j
direction to our passion ; and that impulse, had it operated ^^^ '^^^^
alone, wou'd have been able to produce volition. Nothing
can oppose or retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary
impulse ; and if this contrary impulse ever arises from reason,
that latter faculty must have an original influence on the
will, and must be able to cause, as well as hinder any act of
volition. But if reason has no original influence, 'tis impos-
sible it can withstand any principle, which has such an
efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspence a moment.
Thus it appears, that the principle, which opposes our
passion, cannot be the same with reason, and is only call'd
so in an improper sense. We speak not strictly and philo-
sophically when we talk of the combat of passion and of
reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the
passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to
serve and obey them. As this opinion may appear somewhat
extraordinary, it may not be improper to confirm it by some
other considerations.
A passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modi-
fication of existence, and contains not any representative
quality, which renders it a copy of any other existence or
modification. When I am angry, I am actually possest with
the passion, and in that emotion have no more a reference
to any other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more
than five foot high. 'Tis impossible, therefore, that this
passion can be oppos'd by, or be contradictory to truth and
reason ; since this contradiction consists in the disagreement
of ideas, consider'd as copies, with those objects, which they
represent.
What may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing
can be contrary to truth or reason, except what has a
reference to it. and as the judgments of our understanding
4l6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. only have this reference, it must follow, that passions can be
" contrary to reason only so far as they are accompany d with
Of ike will . , , . . . J- . , • . • ,
and direct some judgment or opinion. According to this principle,
passions, which is SO obvious and natural, 'tis only in two senses, that
any affection can be call'd unreasonable. First, When a
passion, such as hope or fear, grief or joy, despair or
security, is founded on the supposition of the existence of
objects, which really do not exist. Secondly, When in
exerting any passion in action, we chuse means insufficient
for the design'd end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment
of causes and effects. Where a passion is neither founded
on false suppositions, nor chuses means insufficient for the
end, the understanding can neither justify nor condemn it.
'Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the
whole world to the scratching of my finger. 'Tis not con-
trary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin, to prevent the
least uneasiness of an Indta?i or person wholly unknown to
me. 'Tis as little contrary to reason to prefer even my own
acknowledg'd lesser good to my greater, and have a more
ardent affection for the former than the latter. A trivial good
may, from certain circumstances, produce a desire superior
to what arises from the greatest and most valuable enjoy-
ment ; nor is there any thing more extraordinary in this, than
in mechanics to see one pound weight raise up a hundred by
the advantage of its situation. In short, a passion must be
accompany'd with some false judgment, in order to its being
unreasonable ; and even then 'tis not the passion, properly
speaking, which is unreasonable, but the judgment.
The consequences are evident. Since a passion can
never, in any sense, be call'd unreasonable, but when founded
on a false supposition, or when it chuses means insufficient
for the design'd end, 'tis impossible, that reason and passioD
can ever' oppose each other, or dispute for the government
of the will and actions. The moment we perceive the fals-
hood of any supposition, or the insufficiency of any means
our passions yield to our reason without any opposition. J
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 417
may desire any fruit as of an excellent relish ; but whenever Sect. Ill
you convince me of my mistake, my longing ceases. I may ** •
will the performance of certain actions as means of obtaining infl^'ndn
any desir'd good ; but as my willing of these actions is only motives of
secondary, and founded on the supposition, that they are ' ^^^'
causes of the propos'd effect ; as soon as I discover the
falshood of that supposition, they must become indifferent
to me.
'Tis natural for one, that does not examine objects with a
strict philosophic eye, to imagine, that those actions of the
mind are entirely the same, which produce not a different
sensation, and are not immediately distinguishable to the
feeling and perception. Reason, for instance, exerts itself
without producing any sensible emotion ; and except in the
more sublime disquisitions of philosophy, or in the frivolous
subtilties of the schools, scarce ever conveys any pleasure or
uneasiness. Hence it proceeds, that every action of the
mind, which operates with the same calmness and tran-
quillity, is confounded with reason by all those, who judge of
things from the first view and appearance. Now 'tis certain,
there are certain calm desires and tendencies, which, tho'
they be real passions, produce little emotion in the mind, and
are more known by their effects than by the immediate
feeling or sensation. These desires are of two kinds ; either
certain instincts originally implanted in our natures, such as
benevolence and resentment, the love of life, and kindness to
children ; or the general appetite to good, and aversion to evil,
consider'd merely as such. When any of these passions are
calm, and cause no disorder in the soul, they are very readily
taken for the determinations of reason, and are suppos'd to
proceed from the same faculty, with that, which judges of truth
and falshood. Their nature and principles have been sup-
pos'd the same, because their sensations are not evidently
different.
Beside these calm passions, which often determine the
will, there are certain violent emotions of the same kind,
41 8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. which have likewise a great influence on that faculty. When
•• I receive an}' injury from another, I often feel a violent passion
Of the will r , i-L 1 j-i- •, ,.,
and direct ^^ resentment, which makes me desire his evil and punish-
passions. ment, independent of all considerations of pleasure and
advantage to myself. When I am immediately threaten'd
with any grievous ill, my fears, apprehensions, and aversions
rise to a great height, and produce a sensible emotion.
The common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing
the direction of the will entirely to one of these principles,
and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often
act knowingly against their interest : For which reason the
view of the greatest possible good does not always influence
them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecu-
tion of their interests and designs: 'Tis not therefore the
present uneasiness alone, which determines them. In general
we may observe, that both these principles operate on the
will ; and where they are contrary, that either of them pre-
vails, according to the general character or prese7it disposition
of the person. What we call strength of mind, implies the
prevalence of the calm passions above the violent ; tho' we
may easily observe, there is no man so constantly possess'd
of this virtue, as never on any occasion to yield to the sollici-
tations of passion and desire. From these variations of
temper proceeds the great difficulty of deciding concerning
the actions and resolutions of men, where there is any con-
trariety of motives and passions.
SECTION IV.
Of the causes of the violent passions.
There is not in philosophy a subject of more nice specula-
tion than this of the different causes and effects of the calm
and violent passions. 'Tis evident passions influence not the
will in proportion to their violence, or the disorder they
occasion in the temper ; but on the contrary, that when a
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 419
passion has once become a settled principle of action, and is Sect. IV
the predominant inclination of the soul, it commonly pro- »* ■
duces no longer any sensible agitation. As repeated custom ^J ^^^^
and its own force have made every thing yield to it, it directs the violent
the actions and conduct without that opposition and emotion, P^"^°^^'-
which so naturally attend every momentary gust of passion.
We must, therefore, distinguish betwixt a calm and a weak
passion ; betwixt a violent and a strong one. But notwith-
standing this, 'tis certain, that when we wou'd govern a
man, and push him to any action, 'twill commonly be better
policy to work upon the violent than the calm passions, and
rather take him by his inclination, than what is vulgarly call'd
his reason. We ought to place the object in such particular
situations as are proper to encrease the violence of the
passion. For we may observe, that all depends upon the
situation of the object, and that a variation in this particular
will be able to change the calm and the violent passions into
each other. Both these kinds of passions pursue good, and
avoid evil ; and both of them are encreas'd or diminish'd by
the encrease or diminution of the good or evil. But herein
lies the difference betwixt them : The same good, when near,
will cause a violent passion, which, when remote, produces
only a calm one. As this subject belongs very properly
to the present question concerning the will, we shall here
examine it to the bottom, and shall consider some of those
circumstances and situations of objects, which render a
passion either calm or violent.
'Tis a remarkable property of human nature, that any
emotion, which attends a passion, is easily converted into it,
tho' in their natures they be originally different from, and
even contrary to each other. 'Tis true ; in order to make a
perfect union among passions, there is always requir'd a
double relation of impressions and ideas ; nor is one
relation sufficient for that purpose. But tho' this be
confirm'd by undoubted experience, we must understand it
with its proper limitations, and must regard the double
420 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. relation, as requisite only to make one passion produce
" another. When two passions are already produc'd by their
Ofthewill .^ , . ■ ^ • J .u
and direct separate causes, and are both present in the mind, they
paisions. readily mingle and unite, tho' they have but one relation, and
sometimes without any. The predominant passion swallows
up the inferior, and converts it into itself. The spirits, when
once excited, easily receive a change in their direction ; and
'tis natural to imagine this change will come from the pre-
vailing affection. The connexion is in many respects closer
betwixt any two passions, than betwixt any passion and
indifference.
When a person is once heartily in love, the little faults and
caprice of his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to which
that commerce is so subject ; however unpleasant and re-
lated to anger and hatred ; are yet found to give additional
force to the prevailing passion. 'Tis a common artifice of
politicians, when they wou'd affect any person very much by
a matter of fact, of which they intend to inform him, first to
excite his curiosity ; delay as long as possible the satisfying
it; and by that means raise his anxiety and impatience to
the utmost, before they give him a full insight into the busi-
ness. They know that his curiosity will precipitate him into
the passion they design to raise, and assist the object in its
influence on the mind. A soldier advancing to the battle, is
naturally inspir'd with courage and confidence, when he
thinks on his friends and fellow-soldiers ; and is struck with
fear and terror, when he reflects on the enemy. Whatever
new emotion, therefore, proceeds from the former naturally
encreases the courage ; as the same emotion, proceeding
from the latter, augments the fear; by the relation of ideas,
and the conversion of the inferior emotion into the predo-
minant. Hence it is that in martial discipline, the uniformity
and lustre of our habit, tlie regularity of our figures and
motions, with all the pomp and majesty of war, encourage
ourselves and allies; while the same objects in the enemy strike
terror into us, tho' agreeable and beautiful in themselves.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 42 1
Since passions, however independent, are naturally trans- Sect. IV.
fus'd into each other, if they are both present at the same •*
time; it follows, that when good or evil is plac'd in such a causes of
situation, as to cause any particular emotion, beside its direct the violent
passion of desire or aversion, that latter passion must acquire P'^^"""'-
new force and violence.
This happens, among other cases, whenever any object
excites contrary passions. For 'tis observable that an oppo-
sition of passions commonly causes a new emotion in the
spirits, and produces more disorder, than the concurrence of
any two affections of equal force. This new emotion is easily
converted into the predominant passion, and encreases its
violence, beyond the pitch it wou'd have arriv'd at had it met
with no opposition. Hence we naturally desire what is
forbid, and take a pleasure in performing actions, merely
because they are unlawful. The notion of duty, when
opposite to the passions, is seldom able to overcome them ;
and when it fails of that effect, is apt rather to encrease
them, by producing an opposition in our motives and
principles.
The same effect follows whether the opposition arises from
internal motives or external obstacles. The passion com-
monly acquires new force and violence in both cases. The
efforts, which the mind makes to surmount the obstacle, ex-
cite the spirits and inliven the passion.
Uncertainty has the same influence as opposition. The
agitation of the thought ; the quick turns it makes from one
view to another ; the variety of passions, which succeed each
other, according to the different views : All these produce an
agiiation in the mind, and transfuse themselves into the pre-
dominant passion.
There is not in my opinion any other natural cause, why
security diminishes the passions, than because it removes that
uncertainty, which encreases them. The mind, when left to
itself, immediately languishes ; and in order to preserve its
ardour, must be every moment supported by a new flow of
422 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. passion. For the same reason, despair, tho* contrary to
" security, has a like influence.
and direct "^^^ certain nothing more powerfully animates any afTec-
fassions. tion, than to conceal some part of its object by throwing it
into a kind of shade, which at the same time that it shews
enough to pre-possess us in favour of the object, leaves still
some work for the imagination. Besides that obscurity is
always attended with a kind of uncertainty ; the eff"ort, which
the fancy makes to compleat the idea, rouzes the spirits, and
gives an additional force to the passion.
As despair and security, tho' contrary to each other, pro-
duce the same effects ; so absence is observ'd to have con-
trary effects, and in different circumstances either encreases
or diminishes our affections. The Due de la RochefoucauU
has very well observ'd, that absence destroys weak passions,
but encreases strong ; as the wind extinguishes a candle, but
blows up a fire. Long absence naturally weakens our idea,
and diminishes the passion : But where the idea is so strong
and lively as to support itself, the uneasiness, arising from
absence, encreases the passion, and gives it new force and
violence.
SECTION V,
Of the effects of custom.
But nothing has a greater effect both to encrease and
diminish our passions, to convert pleasure into pain, and pain
into pleasure, than custom and repetition. Custom has two
origitial tStcis upon the mind, in bestowing 2^ facility in the
performance of any action or the conception of any object ;
and afterwards a teiidency or inclination towards it ; and from
these we may account for all its other effects, however
extraordinary.
When the soul applies itself to the performance of any
action, or the conception of any object, to which it is not
accustom'd, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties,
I
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 4.23
and a difficulty of the spirit's moving in their new direction. Sect. V.
As this difficulty excites the spirits, 'tis the source of wonder, ^,~7*~
surprize, and of all the emotions, which arise Irom novelty ; gp^f^ ^
and is in itself very agreeable, like every thing, which inlivens custom.
the mind to a moderate degree. But tho' surprize be agree-
able in itself, yet as it puts the spirits in agitation, it not only
augments our agreeable affections, but also our painful,
according to the foregoing principle, that every emotion^
which precedes or attends a passion, is easily converted into it.
Hence every thing, that is new, is most affecting, and gives
us either more pleasure or pain, than what, strictly speaking,
naturally belongs to it. When it often returns upon us, the
novelty wears off; the passions subside ; the hurry of the
spirits is over; and we survey the objects with greater
tranquillity.
By degrees the repetition produces a facility, which is
another very powerful principle of the human mind, and an
infallible source of pleasure, where the facility goes not
beyond a certain degree. And here 'tis remarkable that the
pleasure, which arises from a moderate facility, has not the
same tendency with that which arises from novelty, to
augment the painful, as well as the agreeable affections.
The pleasure of facility does not so much consist in any
ferment of the spirits, as in their orderly motion ; which will
sometimes be so powerful as even to convert pain into
pleasure, and give us a relish in time for what at first was
most harsh and disagreeable.
But again, as facility converts pain into pleasure, so it
often converts pleasure into pain, when it is too great, and
renders the actions of the mind so faint and languid, that
they are no longer able to interest and support it. And
indeed, scarce any other objects become disagreeable thro'
custom ; but such as are naturally attended with some
emotion or affection, which is destroy'd by the too frequent
repetition. One can consider the clouds, and heavens, and
trees, and stones, however frequently repeated, without ever
/
424 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. feeling any aversion. But when the fair sex, or music, or
" good cheer, or any thing, that naturally ought to be agree-
and direct ^^'^' ^ecomes indifferent, it easily produces the opposite
passions, affection.
But custom not only gives a facility to perform any action,
but likewise an inclination and tendency towards it, where it
is not entirely disagreeable, and can never be the object of
inclination. And this is the reason why custom encreases all
active habits, but diminishes /aj'jiVif, according to the observa-
tion of a late eminent philosopher. The facility takes off
from the force of the passive habits by rendering the motion
of the spirits faint and languid. But as in the active, the
spirits are sufficiently supported of themselves, the tendency
of the mind gives them new force, and bends them more
strongly to the action.
SECTION VI.
Of the influence of the imagination on the passions.
*Tis remarkable, that the imagination and affections have
a close union together, and that nothing, which affects the
former, can be entirely indifferent to the latter. Wherever
our ideas of good or evil acquire a new vivacity, the passions
become more violent ; and keep pace with the imagination in
all its variations. Whether this proceeds from the principle
above-mention'd, that any attendant ernotion is easily co7i-
verted itito the predominant, I shall not determine. 'Tis
sufficient for my present purpose, that we have many
instances to confirm this influence of the imagination upon
the passions.
Any pleasure, with which we are acquainted, affects us
more than any other, which we own to be superior, but of
whose nature we are wholly ignorant. Of the one we can
form a particular and determinate idea : The other we con-
ceive under the general notion of pleasure ; and 'tis certain,
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 425
that the more general and universal any of our ideas are, the Sect. VI.
less influence they have upon the imagination. A general ^rV~
., , , . , , . , • , -J .J • Of the in.
idea, tho it be nothing but a particular one consider d in ^ flueme of
certain view, is commonly more obscure ; and that because ihe imagi-
no particular idea, by which we represent a general one, is ' ' *^
ever fix'd or determinate, but may easily be chang'd for
other particular ones, which will serve equally in the repre-
sentation.
There is a noted passage in the history of Greece, which
may serve for our present purpose. Themistocles told the
Athenians, that he had form'd a design, which wou'd be
highly useful to the public, but which 'twas impossible for
him to communicate to them without ruining the execution,
since its success depended entirely on the secrecy with which
it shou'd be conducted. The Athenians, instead of granting
him full power to act as he thought fitting, order'd him to
communicate his design to Aristides, in whose prudence they
had an entire confidence, and whose opinion they were
resolv'd blindly to submit to. The design of The?nistocles
was secretly to set fire to the fleet of all the Grecian
commonwealths, which was assembled in a neighbouring
port, and which being once destroy'd, wou'd give the
Athenians the empire of the sea without any rival. Aristides
return'd to the assembly, and told them, that nothing cou'd
be more advantageous than the design of Themistocles ; but
at the same time that nothing cou'd be more unjust : Upon
which the people unanimously rejected the project.
A late celebrated ^ historian admires this passage of antient
history, as one of the most singular that is any where to be
met with. Here, says lie, they are not philosophers, to whom
'tis easy in their schools to establish the finest maxims and most
sublime rules of morality, who decide that interest ought never to
trevail above justice. ' Tis a whole people interested in the
proposal, which is made to them, who consider it as 0/ im-
portatict to the public good, and who notwithstanding reject it
' Mons. Rollin,
426 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. unant'jnously , and without hesitation, merely because ii is con-
— ♦^ — _ irary to justice. For my part I see nothing so extraordinary in
Jnd direct this proceeding of the ^Mf;//i2«j. The same reasons, which
passions, render it so easy for philosophers to establish these sublime
maxims, tend, in part, to diminish the merit of such a
conduct in that people. Philosophers never ballance betwixt
profit and honesty, because their decisions are general, and
neither their passions nor imaginations are interested in the
objects. And tho' in the present case the advantage was
immediate to the Athenians, yet as it was known only under
the general notion of advantage, without being conceiv'd by
any particular idea, it must have had a less considerable
influence on their imaginations, and have been a less violent
temptation, than if they had been acquainted with all its
circumstances : Otherwise 'tis difficult to conceive, that a
whole people, unjust and violent as men commonly are,
shou'd so unanimously have adher'd to justice, and rejected
any considerable advantage.
Any satisfaction, which we lately enjoy'd, and of which the
memory is fresh and recent, operates on the will with more
violence, than another of which the traces are decay'd, and
almost obliterated. From whence does this proceed, but
that the memory in the first case assists the fancy, and gives
an additional force and vigour to its conceptions ? The
image of the past pleasure being strong and violent, bestows
these qualities on the idea of the future pleasure, which is
connected with it by the relation of resemblance.
A pleasure, which is suitable to the way of life, in which
we are engag'd, excites more our desires and appetites than
another, which is foreign to it. This phsenomenon may be
explain'd from the same principle.
Nothing is more capable of infusing any passion into the
mind, than eloquence, by which objects are represented in
their strongest and most lively colours. We may of ourselves
acknowledge, that such an object is valuable, and such
another odious ; but 'till an orator excites the imagination,
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 427
and gives force to these ideas, they may have but a feeble Sect. VII.
influence either on the will or the affections. ^. " .
■mi .1 rrii 1 • • Of COntt-
iiut eloquence is not always necessary. The bare opinion ,ruity, and
of another, especially when inforc'd with passion, will cause distance in
an idea of good or evil to have an influence upon us, which f^^^^g
wou'd otherwise have been entirely neglected. This pro-
ceeds from the principle of sympathy or communication ;
and sympathy, as I have already observ'd, is nothing but
the conversion of an idea into an impression by the force of
imagination.
'Tis remarkable, that lively passions commonly attend a
lively imagination. In this respect, as well as others, the
force of the passion depends as much on the temper of the
person, as the nature or situation of the object.
I have already observ'd, that belief is nothing but a lively
idea related to a present impression. This vivacity is a
requisite circumstance to the exciting all our passions, the
calm as well as the violent ; nor has a mere fiction of the
imagination any considerable influence upon either of them.
'Tis too weak to take any hold of the mind, or be attended
with emotion.
SECTION VII.
Of coniigtdty, and distance in space and time.
There is an easy reason, why every thing contiguous to
us, either in space or time, shou'd be conceiv'd with a peculiar
force and vivacity, and excel every other object, in its in-
fluence on the imagination. Ourself is intimately present to
us, and whatever is related to self must partake of that
quality. But where an object is so far remov'd as to have
lost the advantage of this relation, why, as it is farther re-
mov'd, its idea becomes still fainter and more obscure, wou'd,
perhaps, require a more particular examination.
'Tis obvious, that the imagination can never totally forget
the points of space and time, in which we are existent ; but
P
428 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. receives such frequent advertisements of them from the
^rT~ .„ passions and senses, that however it may turn its attention
Oj the will J. . J .... . ,
and direct ^^ loreign and remote objects, it is necessitated every moment
passions, to reflect on the present. 'Tis also remarkable, that in the
conception of those objects, which we regard as real and
existent, we take them in their proper order and situation,
and never leap from one object to another, which is distant
from it, without running over, at least in a cursory manner,
all those objects, which are interpos'd betwixt them. When
we reflect, therefore, on any object distant from ourselves,
we are oblig'd not only to reach it at first by passing thro'
all the intermediate space betwixt ourselves and the object,
but also to renew our progress every moment ; being every
moment recall'd to the consideration of ourselves and our
present situation. 'Tis easily conceiv'd, that this interruption
must weaken the idea by breaking the action of the mind,
and hindering the conception from being so intense and
continu'd, as when we reflect on a nearer object. 'Y\iQfeiver
steps we make to arrive at the object, and the smoother the
road is, this diminution of vivacity is less sensibly felt, but
still may be observ'd more or less in proportion to the
degrees of distance and difl[iculty.
Here then we are to consider two kinds of objects, the
contiguous and remote ; of which the former, by means of
their relation to ourselves, approach an impression in force
and vivacity ; the latter by reason of the interruption in our
manner of conceiving them, appear in a weaker and more
imperfect light. This is their effect on the imagination. If
my reasoning be just, they must have a proportionable effect
on the will and passions. Contiguous objects must have an
influence much superior to the distant and remote. Accord-
ingly we find in common life, that men are principally
concern'd about those objects, which are not much remov'd
either in space or time, enjoying the present, and leaving
what is afar off to the care of chance and fortune. Talk to
a man of his condition thirty years hence, and he will not
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 429
regard you. Speak of what is to happen to-morrow, and he Sect. VII.
will lend you attention. The breaking of a mirror gives us ♦•
more concern when at home, than the burning of a house, ouity and
wlien abroad, and some hundred leagues distant. distance in
But farther ; tho' distance both in space and time has a ^f!^" '^"'^
considerable effect on the imagination, and by that means on
the will and passions, yet the consequence of a removal in
space are much inferior to those of a removal in lime. Twenty
years are certainly but a small distance of time in comparison
of what history and even the memory of some may inform
them of, and yet I doubt if a thousand leagues, or even the
greatest distance of place this globe can admit of, will so
remarkably weaken our ideas, and diminish our passions.
A West-India merchant will tell you, that he is not without
concern about what passes in Jamaica ; tho' few extend
their views so far into futurity, as to dread very remote
accidents.
The cause of this phaenomenon must evidently lie in the
different properties of space and time. Without having re-
course to metaphysics, any one may easily observe, that
space or extension consists of a number of co-existent parts
dispos'd in a certain order, and capable of being at once
present to the sight or feeling. On the contrary, time or
succession, tho' it consists likewise of parts, never presents
to us more than one at once ; nor is it possible for any two
of them ever to be co-existent. These qualities of the ob-
jects have a suitable effect on the imagination. The parts
of extension being susceptible of an union to the senses,
acquire an union in the fancy ; and as the appearance of
one part excludes not another, the transition or passage of
the thought thro' the contiguous parts is by that means ren-
der'd more smooth and easy. On the other hand, the in-
compatibility of the parts of time in their real existence
separates them in the imagination, and makes it more diffi-
(uli for that faculty to trace any long succession or series
of events. Every part must appear single and alone, nor
430 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. can regularly have entrance into the fancy without banishing
" what is suppos'd to have been immediately precedent. By
and direct ^^'^ means any distance in time causes a greater interruption
passions, in the thought than an equal distance in space, and con-
sequently weakens more considerably the idea, and conse-
quently the passions ; which depend in a great measure,
on the imagination, according to my system.
There is another phsenomenon of a like nature with the
foregoing, viz. the superior effects of the same distance m
futurity above that z>; the past. This difference with respect
10 the will is easily accounted for. As none of our actions
can alter the past, 'tis not strange it shou'd never determine
the will. But with respect to the passions the question is
yet entire, and well worth the examining.
Besides the propensity to a gradual progression thro* the
points of space and time, w-e have another peculiarity in our
method of thinking, which concurs in producing this phse-
nomenon. We always follow the succession of time in
placing our ideas, and from the consideration of any object
pass more easily to that, which follows immediately after it,
than to that which went before it. We may learn this,
among other instances, from the order, which is always
observ'd in historical narrations. Nothing but an absolute
necessity can oblige an historian to break the order of
time, and in his narratioti give the precedence to an event,
which was in reality posterior to another.
This will easily be apply'd to the question in hand, if we
reflect on what I have before observ'd, that the present situa-
tion of the person is always that of the imagination, and that
'tis from thence we proceed to the conception of any distant
object. When the object is past, the progression of the
thought in passing to it from the present is contrary to
nature, as proceeding from one point of time to that which
is preceding, and from that to another preceding, in oppo-
sition to the natural course of the succession. On the other
hand, when we turn our thought to a future object, our
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 431
fancy flows along the stream of time, and arrives at the Sect.VIL
object by an order, which seems most natural, passing "
always from one point of time to that which is immediately Jiilylarid
posterior to it. This easy progression of ideas favours the distance in
imagination, and makes it conceive its object in a stronger ^f-^^^^^ ^"^
and fuller light, than when we are continually oppos'd in our
passage, and are oblig'd to overcome the difficulties arising
from the natural propensity of the fancy. A small degree
of distance in the past has, therefore, a greater effect, in
interrupting and weakening the conception, than a much
greater in the future. From this effect of it on the ima-
gination is deriv'd its influence on the will and passions.
There is another cause, which both contributes to the
same effect, and proceeds from the same quality of the
fancy, by which we are determin'd to trace the succession
of time by a similar succession of ideas. When from the
present instant we consider two points of time equally dis-
tant in the future and in the past, 'tis evident, that, ab-
stractedly consider'd, their relation to the present is almost
equal. For as the future will sometime be present, so the
past was once present. If we cou'd, therefore, remove this
quality of the imagination, an equal distance in the past
and in the future, wou'd have a similar influence. Nor is
this only true, when the fancy remains fix'd, and from the
present instant surveys the future and the past; but also
when it changes its situation, and places us in different
periods of time. For as on the one hand, in supposing
ourselves existent in a point of time interpos'd betwixt the
present instant and the future object, we find the future
object approach to us, and the past retire, and become
more distant : So on the other hand, in supposing our-
selves existent in a point of time interpos'd betwixt the pre-
sent and the past, the past approaches to us, and the future
becomes more distant. But from the property of the fancy
above-mention'd we rather chuse to fix our thought on the
point of time interpos'd betwixt the present and the future,
432 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
Part III. than on that betwixt the present and the past. We advance,
" rather than retard our existence; and following what seems
and^dit'ect ^^^ natural succession of time, proceed from past to present,
■passions, and from present to future. By which means we conceive
the future as flowing every moment nearer us, and the past
as retiring. An equal distance, therefore, in the past and
in the future, has not the same effect on the imagination ;
and that because we consider the one as continually en-
creasing, and the other as continually diminishing. The
fancy anticipates the course of things, and surveys the ob-
ject in that condition, to which ii tends, as well as in that,
which is regarded as the present.
SECTION VIII.
The same subject contintid.
Thus we have accounted for three phaenomena, which
seem pretty remarkable. Why distance weakens the concep-
tion and passion : Why distance in time has a greater effect
than that in space : And why distance in past time has still
a greater effect than that in future. We must now consider
three phaenomena, which seem to be, in a manner, the reverse
of these : Why a very great distance encreases our esteem
and admiration for an object : Why such a distance in time
encreases it more than that in space : And a distance in past
time more than that in future. The curiousness of the sub-
ject will, I hope, excuse my dwelling on it for some time.
To begin with the first phaenomenon, why a great distance
encreases our esteem and admiration for an object ; 'tis evi-
dent that the mere view and contemplation of any greatness,
whether successive or extended, enlarges the soul, and give it
a sensible delight and pleasure. A wide plain, the ocean,
eternity, a succession of several ages ; all these are entertain-
ing objects, and excel every thing, however beautiful, which
accompanies not its beauty with a suitable greatness. Now
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 433
when any very distant object is presented to the imagination, Sect.VTU
we naturally reflect on the interpos'd distance, and by that "
, . , .„ . The sane
means, conceivmg somethmg great and magnificent, receive subject
the usual satisfaction. But as the fancy passes easily from continu'd,
one idea to another related to it, and transports to the second
all the passions excited by the first, the admiration, which is
directed to the distance, naturally diffuses itself over the dis-
tant object. Accordingly we find, that 'tis not necessary the
object shou'd be actually distant from us, in order to cause
our admiration ; but that 'tis sufficient, if, by the natural
association of ideas, it conveys our view to any considerable
distance. A great traveller, 'tho in the same chamber, will
pass for a very extraordinary person; as a Greek medal,
even in our cabinet, is always esteem'd a valuable curiosity.
Here the object, by a natural transition, conveys our view to
the distance ; and the admiration, which arises from that
distance, by another natural transition, returns back to the
object.
But tho' every great distance produces an admiration for
the distant object, a distance in time has a more considerable
efifect than that in space. Antient busts and inscriptions are
more valu'd than Japan tables : And not to mention the
Greeks and Romans, 'tis certain we regard with more venera-
tion the old Chaldeans and Egyptians, than the modern
Chinese and Persians, and bestow more fruitless pains to
clear up the history and chronology of the former, than it
wou'd cost us to make a voyage, and be certainly inform'd of
the character, learning and government of the latter. I
shall be oblig'd to make a digression in order to explain this
phsenomenon.
'Tis a quality very observable in human nature, that any
opposition, which does not entirely discourage and intimidate
us, has rather a contrary effect, and inspires us with a more
than ordinary grandeur and magnanimity. In collecting our
force to overcome the opposition, we invigorate the soul, and
give it an elevation with which otherwise it wou'd never have
434
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Part III. been acquainted. Compliance, by rendering our strength
•• useless, makes us insensible of it ; but opposition awakens
Of the will J , .^
and direct ^^^ employs it.
passions. This is also true in the inverse. Opposition not only
enlarges the soul ; but the soul, when full of courage and
magnanimity, in a manner seeks opposition.
Spwnantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis
Optat aprtim, aut fulvum descenders monte leonem.
Whatever supports and fills the passions is agreeable to
us ; as on the contrary, what weakens and infeebles them is
uneasy. As opposition has the first effect, and facility the
second, no wonder the mind, in certain dispositions, desires
the former, and is averse to the latter.
These principles have an effect on the imagination as well
as on the passions. To be convinc'd of this we need only
consider the influence of heights and depths on that faculty.
Any great elevation of place communicates a kind of pride
or sublimity of imagination, and gives a fancy'd superiority
over those that lie below ; and, vice versa, a sublime and
strong imagination conveys the idea of ascent and elevation.
Hence it proceeds, that we associate, in a manner, the idea
of whatever is good with that of height, and evil with lowness.
Heaven is suppos'd to be above, and hell below. A noble
genius is call'd an elevate and sublime one. Atqiie udam
spernit humum /tigiente penna. On the contrary, a vulgar and
trivial conception is slil'd indifferently low or mean. Pros-
perity is denominated ascent, and adversity descent. Kings
and princes are suppos'd to be plac'd at the top of human
affairs ; as peasants and day-labourers are said to be in the
lowest stations. These methods of thinking, and of express-
ing ourselves, are not of so little consequence as they may
appear at first sight.
'Tis evident to common sense, as well as philosophy, that
there is no natural nor essential difference betwixt high
and low, and that this distinction arises only from the gravi-
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 435
tation of matter, which produces a motion from the one to Sect.VIH
the other. The very same direction, which in this part of the ^*~
globe is call'd ascent, \s denominated descent in our antipodes; subject
which can proceed from nothing but the contrary tendency contimCd.
of bodies. Now 'tis certain, that the tendency of bodies,
continually operating upon our senses, must produce, from
custom, a like tendency in the fancy, and that when we con-
sider any object situated in an ascent, the idea of its weight
gives us a propensity to transport it from the place, in which
it is situated, to the place immediately below it, and so on,
till we come to the ground, which equally stops the body and
our imagination. For a like reason we feel a difficulty in
mounting, and pass not without a kind of reluctance from the
inferior to that which is situated above it ; as if our ideas
acquir'd a kind of gravity from their objects. As a proof of
this, do we not find, that the facility, which is so much
study'd in music and poetry, is call'd the fall or cadency of
the harmony or period ; the idea of facility communicating
to us that of descent, in the same manner as descent pro-
duces a facihty ?
Since the imagination, therefore, in running from low to
high, finds an opposition in its internal qualities and prm-
ciples, and since the soul, when elevated with joy and
courage, in a manner seeks opposition, and throws itself
with alacrity into any scene of thought or action, where its
courage meets with matter to nourish and employ it; it
follows, that every thing, which invigorates and inlivens the
soul, whether by touching the passions or imagination,
naturally conveys to the fancy this inchnation for ascent,
and determines it to run against the natural stream of its
thoughts and conceptions. This aspiring progress of the
imagination suits the present disposition of the mind; and
the difficulty, instead of extinguishing its vigour and alacrity,
has the contrary effect, of sustaining and encreasing it.
Virtue, genius, power, and riches are for this reason asso-
ciated with height and sublimity; as poverty, slavery, and
436 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. folly are conjoin'd with descent and lowness. Were the case
•• ■_ the same with us as Milton represents it to be with the
znd direct ^.ngels, to whom descent is adverse, and who cannot sink
passions, without labour and compulsion, this order of things wou'd be
entirely inverted ; as appears hence, that the very nature of
ascent and descent is deriv'd from the difficulty and propen-
sity, and consequently every one of their effects proceeds
from that origin.
All this is easily apply'd to the present question, why a
considerable distance in time produces a greater veneration
for the distant objects than a like removal in space. The
imagination moves with more difficulty in passing from one
portion of time to another, than in a transition thro' the
parts of space ; and that because space or extension appears
united to our senses, while time or succession is always
broken and divided. This difficulty, when join'd with a
small distance, interrupts and weakens the fancy : But has
a contrary effect in a great removal. The mind, elevated by
the vastness of its object, is still farther elevated by the diffi-
culty of the conception ; and being oblig'd every moment to
renew its efforts in the transition from one part of time to
another, feels a more vigorous and sublime disposition, than
in a transition thro' the parts of space, where the ideas flow
along with easiness and facility. In this disposition, the
imagination, passing, as is usual, from the consideration of
the distance to the view of the distant objects, gives us a pro-
portionable veneration for it ; and this is the reason why all
the relicts of antiquity are so precious in our eyes, and
appear more valuable than what is brought even from the
remotest parts of the world.
The third phaenomenon I have remark'd will be a full
confirmation of this. 'Tis not every removal in time, which
has the effect of producing veneration and esteem. We are
not apt to imagine our posterity will excel us, or equal our
ancestors. This phaenomenon is the more remarkable, be-
cause any distance in futurity weakens not our ideas so much
Book 11. OF THE PASSIONS. 437
as an equal removal in the past. Tho' a removal in the Sect.VIH
past, when very great, encreases our passions beyond a like "
removal in the future, yet a small removal has a greater subject
influence in diminishing them. continud.
In our common way of thinking we are plac'd in a kind
of middle station betwixt the past and future; and as our
imagination finds a kind of difficulty in running along the
former, and a facility in following the course of the latter,
the difficulty conveys the notion of ascent, and the facility of
the contrary. Hence we imagine our ancestors to be, in
a manner, mounted above us, and our posterity to lie below
us. Our fancy arrives not at the one without effort, but easily
reaches the other: Which effort weakens the conception,
where the distance is small ; but enlarges and elevates the
imagination, when attended wiih a suitable object. As on
the other hand, the facility assists the fancy in a small
removal, but takes off from its force when it contemplates
any considerable distance.
It may not be improper, before we leave this subject of
the will, to resume, in a few words, all that has been said
concerning it, in order to set the whole more distinctly
before the eyes of the reader. What we commonly under-
stand by passion is a violent and sensible emotion of mind,
when any good or evil is presented, or any object, which, by
the original formation of our faculties, is fitted to excite an
appetite. By reason we mean affections of the very same
kind with the former; but such as operate more calmly,
and cause no disorder in the temper : Which tranquillity leads
us into a mistake concerning them, and causes us to regard
them as conclusions only of our intellectual faculties. Both
the causes and effects of these violent and calm passions are
pretty variable, and depend, in a great measure, on the pecu-
liar temper and disposition of every individual. Generally
speaking, the violent passions have a more powerful influence
on the will ; tho' 'tis often found, that the calm ones, when
corroborated by reflection, and seconded by resolution, are
438 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. nble to controul them in their most furious movements.
" What makes this whole affair more uncertain, is, that a
and direct Calm passion may easily be chang'd into a violent one, eithei
passions, by a change of temper, or of the circumstances and situation
of the object, as by the borrowing of force from any attendant
passion, by custom, or by exciting the imagination. Upon
the whole, this struggle of passion and of reason, as it is
call'd, diversifies human life, and makes men so different not
only from each other, but also from themselves in different
times. Philosophy can only account for a few of the greater
and more sensible events of this war ; but must leave all the
smaller and more delicate revolutions, as dependent on
principles too fine and minute for her comprehension.
SECTION IX.
0/ the direct passions.
*Tis easy to observe, that the passions, both direct and
indirect, are founded on pain and pleasure, and that in order
to produce an affection of any kind, 'tis only requisite to
present some good or evil. Upon the removal of pain and
pleasure there immediately follows a removal of love and
hatred, pride and humility, desire and aversion, and of most
of our reflective or secondary impressions.
The impressions, which arise from good and evil most
naturally, and with the least preparation are the direct
passions of desire and aversion, grief and joy, hope and fear,
along with volition. The mind by an original instinct tends
to unite itself with the good, and to avoid the evil, tho' they
be conceiv'd merely in idea, and be consider'd as to exist in
any future period of time.
But supposing that there is an immediate impression of
pain or pleasure, and thai arising from an object related to
ourselves or others, this does not prevent the propensity or
aversion, with the consequent emotions, but by concurring
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 439 *''
with certain dormant principles of the human mind, excites SEcr. IX- gi
the new impressions of pride or humility, love or hatred. — "*—
That propensity, which unites us to the object, or seperates ^{^.gj
us from it, still continues to operate, but in conjunction with passions.
the indirect passions, which arise from a double relation of
impressions and ideas.
These indirect passions, being always agreeable or uneasy,
give in their turn additional force to the direct passions, and
encrease our desire and aversion to the object. Thus a suit
of fine deaths produces pleasure from their beauty ; and this
pleasure produces the direct passions, or the impressions of
volition and desire. Again, when these cloaths are consider'd
as belonging to ourself, the double relation conveys to us the
sentiment of pride, which is an indirect passion; and the
pleasure, which attends that passion, returns back to the
direct affections, and gives new force to our desire or voHtion,
joy or hope.
When good is certain or probable, it produces joy. When
evil is in the same situation there arises grief or sorrow.
When either good or evil is uncertain, it gives rise to fear
or HOPE, according to the degrees of uncertainty on the one
side or the other.
Desire arises from good consider'd simply, and aversion
is deriv'd from evil. The will exerts itself, when either the
good or the absence of the evil may be attain'd by any
action of the mind or body.
Beside good and evil, or in other words, pain and pleasure,
the direct passions frequently arise from a natural impulse or
instinct, which is perfectly unaccountable. Of this kind is
the desire of punishment to our enemies, and of happiness to
our friends; hunger, lust, and a few other bodily appetites.
These passions, properly speaking, produce good and evil,
and proceed not from them, like the other affections.
None of the direct affections seem to merit our particular
attention, except hope and fear, which we shall here en-
deavour to account for. 'Tis evident that the very same
440
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of the will
and direct
t>assioni.
Part III. event, which by its certainty wou'd produce grief or joy,
gives always rise to fear or hope, when only probable and
uncertain. In order, therefore, to understand the reason why
this circumstance makes such a considerable difference, we
must reflect on what I have already advanc'd in the pre-
ceding book concerning the nature of probability.
Probability arises from an opposition of contrary chances
or causes, by which the mind is not allow'd to fix on either
side, but is incessantly tost from one to another, and at one
moment is determin'd to consider an object as existent, and
at another moment as the contrary. The imagination or
understanding, call it which you please, fluctuates betwixt the
opposite views ; and tho' perhaps it may be oftner turn'd to
the one side than the other, 'tis impossible for it, by reason
of the opposition of causes or chances, to rest on either. The
pro and con of the question alternately prevail ; and the
mind, surveying the object in its opposite principles, finds
such a contrariety as utterly destroys all certainty and
establish'd opinion.
Suppose, then, that the object, concerning whose reality
we are doubtful, is an object either of desire or aversion, 'tis
evident, that, according as the mind turns itself either to the
one side or the other, it must feel a momentary impression
of joy or sorrow. An object, whose existence we desire,
gives satisfaction, when we reflect on those causes, which
produce it; and for the same reason excites grief or un-
easiness from the opposite consideration : So that as the
understanding, in all probable questions, is divided betwixt
the contrary points of view, the affections must in the same
manner be divided betwixt opposite emotions.
Now if we consider the human mind, we shall find, that
with regard to the passions, 'tis not of the nature of a wind-
instrument of music, which in running over all the notes
immediately loses the sound after the breath ceases; but
rather resembles a string-instrument, where after each stroke
the vibrations still retain some sound, which gradually and
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS: 44I
insensibly decays. The imagination is extreme quick and Sect. IX.
agile ; but the passions are slow and restive : For which ^ '
reason, when any object is presented, that affords a variety ^j^g^^
of views to the one, and emotions to the other ; tho' the passions.
fancy may change its views with great celerity ; each stroke
will not produce a clear and distinct note of passion, but the
one passion will always be mixt and confounded with the
other. According as the probability inclines to good or evil,
the passion of joy or sorrow predominates in the composi-
tion : Because the nature of probability is to cast a superior
number of views or chances on one side; or, which is the
same thing, a superior number of returns of one passion ; or
since the dispers'd passions are collected into one, a superior
degree of that passion. That is, in other words, the grief
and joy being intermingled with each other, by means of
the contrary views of the imagination, produce by their union
the passions of hope and fear.
Upon this head there may be started a very curious ques-
tion concerning that contrariety of passions, which is our
present subject, 'Tis observable, that where the objects of
contrary passions are presented at once, beside the encrease
of the predominant passion (which has been already ex-
plain'd, and commonly arises at their first shock or ren-
counter) it sometimes happens, that both the passions exist
successively, and by short intervals ; sometimes, that they
destroy each other, and neither of them takes place; and
sometimes that both of them remain united in the mind. It
may, therefore, be ask'd, by what theory we can explain
these variations, and to what general principle we can reduce
them.
When the contrary passions arise from objects entirely
different, they take place alternately, the want of relation in
the ideas seperating the impressions from each other, and
preventing their opposition. Thus when a man is afflicted
for the loss of a law-suit, and joyful for the birth of a son,
the mind running from the agreeable to the calamitous
442 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Part III. object, with whatever celerity it may perform this motion, can
~** scarcely temper the one affection with the other, and remain
Ofthewill , . , . r- j-o-
and direct betwixt them m a state of mdinerence.
passions. It more easily attains that calm situation, when the same
event is of a mixt nature, and contains something adverse and
something prosperous in its different circumstances. For in
that case, both the passions, mingling with each other by
means of the relation, become mutually destructive, and leave
the mind in perfect tranquility.
But suppose, in the third place, that the object is not
a compound of good or evil, but is consider'd as probable or
improbable in any degree ; in that case I assert, that the
contrary passions will both of them be present at once in the
soul, and instead of destroying and tempering each other,
will subsist together, and produce a third impression or
affection by their union. Contrary passions are not capable
of destroying each other, except when their contrary move-
ments exactly rencounter, and are opposite in their direction,
as well as in the sensation they produce. This exact ren-
counter depends upon the relations of those ideas, from which
they are deriv'd, and is more or less perfect, according to the
degrees of the relation. In the case of probability the con-
trary chances are so fcir related, that they determine concern-
ing the existence or non-existence of the same object. But
this relation is far from being perfect; since some of the
chances lie on the side of existence, and others on that
of non-existence ; which are objects altogether incompatible.
'Tis impossible by one steady view to survey the opposite
chances, and the events dependent on them ; but 'tis
necessary, that the imagination shou'd run alternately from
the one to the other. Each view of the imagination pro-
duces its peculiar passion, which decays away by degrees,
and is follow'd by a sensible vibration after the stroke. The
incompatibility of the views keeps the passions from shocking
in a direct line, if that expression may be allow'd ; and yet
their relation is sufficient to mingle their fainter emotions.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 443
'Tis after this manner that hope and fear arise from the Sect. DC
different mixture of these opposite passions of grief and joy, '*
and from their imperfect union and conjunction. direce
Upon the whole, contrary passions succeed each other alter- passions,
nately, when they arise from different objects : They mutually
destroy each other, when they proceed from different parts of
the same : And they subsist both of them, and mingle
together, when they are deriv'd from the contrary and in-
compatible chances or possibilities, on which any one object
depends. The influence of the relations of ideas is plainly
seen in this whole affair. If the objects of the contrary
passions be totally different, the passions are like two
opposite liquors in different bottles, which have no influence
on each other. If the objects be intimately connected, the
passions are like an alcali and an acid, which, being mingled,
destroy each other. If the relation be more imperfect, and
consists in the contradictory views of the same object, the
passions are like oil and vinegar, which, however mingled,
never perfectly unite and incorporate.
As the hypothesis concerning hope and fear carries its own
evidence along with it, we shall be the more concise in our
proofs. A few strong arguments are better than many weak
ones.
The passions of fear and hope may arise when the chances
are equal on both sides, and no superiority can be discover'd
in the one above the other. Nay, in this situadon the passions
are rather the strongest, as the mind has then the least
foundation to rest upon, and is toss'd with the greatest un-
certainty. Throw in a superior degree of probability to the
side of grief, you immediately see that passion diffuse itself
over the composition, and tincture it into fear. Encrease the
probability, and by that means the grief, the fear prevails
still more and more, till at last it runs insensibly, as the joy
continually diminishes, into pure grief. After you have
brought it to this situation, diminish the grief, after the same
manner that you encreas'd it ; by diminishing the probability
444 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. on that side, and you'll see the passion clear every moment,
^ •' ' 'till it changes insensibly into hope : which again runs, after
Of the will , ^ , , , . .
and direct ^"^ Same manner, by slow degrees, mto joy, as you encrease
passions, that part of the composition by the encrease of the prob-
ability. Are not these as plain proofs, that the passions of
fear and hope are mixtures of grief and joy, as in optics 'tis
a proof, that a colour'd ray of the sun passing thro' a prism,
is a composition of two others, when, as you diminish or
encrease the quantity of either, you find it prevail propor-
tionably more or less in the composition ? I am sure neither
natural nor moral philosophy admits of stronger proofs.
Probability is of two kinds, either when the object is really
in itself uncertain, and to be determin'd by chance ; or when,
tho' the object be already certain, yet 'tis uncertain to our
judgment, which finds a number of proofs on each side of
the question. Both these kinds of probabilities cause fear
and hope; which can only proceed from that property, in
which they agree, viz. the uncertainty and fluctuation they
bestow on the imagination by that contrariety of views, which
is common to both.
'Tis a probable good or evil, that commonly produces
hope or fear; because probability, being a wavering and
unconstant method of surveying an object, causes naturally
a like mixture and uncertainty of passion. But we may
observe, that wherever from other causes this mixture can be
produc'd, the passions of fear and hope will arise, even tho'
there be no probability ; which must be allow'd to be
a convincing proof of the present hypothesis.
We find that an evil, barely conceiv'd as possible, does
sometimes produce fear ; especially if the evil be very great.
A man cannot think of excessive pains and tortures without
trembling, if he be in the least danger of suffering them.
The smallness of the probability is compensated by the
greatness of the evil ; and the sensation is equally lively, as
if the evil were more probable. One view or glimpse of the
former, has the same eftect as several of the latter.
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 445
But they are not only possible evils, that cause fear, but Sect. IX,
even some allow'd to be impossible : as when we tremble on '*
. ' . Of (he
the brink of a precipice, tho we know ourselves to be m ^Hrect
perfect security, and have it in our choice whether we will passions.
advance a step farther. This proceeds from the immediate
presence of the evil, which influences the imagination in the
same manner as the certainty of it wou'd do ; but being
encounter'd by the reflection on our security, is immediately
retracted, and causes the same kind of passion, as when
from a contrariety of chances contrary passions are produc'd.
Evils, that are certain, have sometimes the same effect in
producing fear, as the possible or impossible. Thus a man
in a strong prison well-guarded, without the least means of
escape, trembles at the thought of the rack, to which he
is sentenc'd. This happens only when the certain evil is
terrible and confounding; in which case the mind con-
tinually rejects it with horror, while it continually presses in
upon the thought. The evil is there fix'd and establish'd,
but the mind cannot endure to fix upon it; from which
fluctuation and uncertainty there arises a passion of much
the same appearance with fear.
But 'tis not only where good or evil is uncertain, as to its
existence, but also as to its kind, that fear or hope arises.
Let one be told by a person, whose veracity he cannot doubt
of, that one of his sons is suddenly kill'd, 'tis evident the
passion this event wou'd occasion, wou'd not settle into pure
grief, till he got certain information, which of his sons he
had lost. Here there is an evil certain, but the kind of it
uncertain : Consequently the fear we feel on this occasion is
without the least mixture of joy, and arises merely from the
fluctuation of the fancy betwixt its objects. And tho' each
side of the question produces here the same passion, yet that
passion cannot settle, but receives from the imagination a
tremulous and unsteady motion, resembling in its cause, as
well as in its sensation, the mixture and contention of grief
and joy.
446 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. From these principles we may account for a phsenomenon
*^~ in the passions, which at first sight seems very extraordinary,
Ofthewill . , ^ .' . . 1 . r J 1..
and direct ^''^' ^"^^ surprize IS apt to change mto lear, and every thing
passions, that is unexpected affrights us. The most obvious con-
clusion from this is, that human nature is in general pusilani-
mous ; since upon the sudden appearance of any object we
immediately conclude it to be an evil, and without waiting
till we can examine its nature, whether it be good or bad,
are at first affected with fear. This I say is the most obvious
conclusion ; but upon farther examination we shall find that
the phaenomenon is otherwise to be accounted for. The
suddenness and strangeness of an appearance naturally excite
a commotion in the mind, like every thing for which we are
not prepar'd, and to which we are not accustom'd. This
commotion, again, naturally produces a curiosity or inquisi-
tiveness, which being very violent, from the strong and
sudden impulse of the object, becomes uneasy, and re-
sembles in its fluctuation and uncertainty, the sensation of
fear or the mix'd passions of grief and joy. This image of
fear naturally converts into the thing itself, and gives us a
real apprehension of evil, as the mind always forms its judg-
ments more from its present disposition than from the nature
of its objects.
Thus all kinds of uncertainty have a strong connexion
with fear, even tho' they do not cause any opposition of
passions by the opposite views and considerations they
present to us. A person, who has left his friend in any
malady, will feel more anxiety upon his account, than if he
were present, tho' perhaps he is not only incapable of giving
him assistance, but likewise of judging of the event of his
sickness. In this case, the' the principal object of the
passion, viz. the life or death of his friend, be to him equally
uncertain when present as when absent ; yet there are a
thousand little circumstances of his friend's situation and
condition, the knowledge of which fixes the idea, and prevents
that fluctuation and uncertainty so near ally'd to fear. Un-
I
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 447
certainty is, indeed, in one respect as near ally'd to hope as Sect. IX.
to fear, since it makes an essential part in the composition ' " "
of the former passion ; but the reason, why it inclines not to ^^if.gj
that side, is, that uncertainty alone is uneasy, and has 2, passions.
relation of impressions to the uneasy passions.
'Tis thus our uncertainty concerning any minute circum-
stance relating to a person encreases our apprehensions of
his death or misfortune. Horace has remarked this phae-
nomenon.
Ut assidens tinpluviihus pullus avis
Serpentitim allapsus timet,
lilagis relictis ; non, ut adsit, auxUi
Latura phis presenlibus.
But this principle of the connexion of fear with uncer-
tainty I carry farther, and observe that any doubt produces
that passion, even tho' it presents nothing to us on any side
but what is good and desireable. A virgin, on her bridal-
night goes to bed full of fears and apprehensions, tho' she
expects nothing but pleasure of the highest kind, and what
she has long wish'd for. The newness and greatness of the
event, the confusion of wishes and joys, so embarrass the
mind, that it knows not on what passion to fix itself; from
whence arises a fluttering or unsettledness of the spirits,
w^hich being, in some degree, uneasy, very naturally de-
generates into fear.
Thus we still find, that whatever causes any fluctuation or
mixture of passions, with any degree of uneasiness, always
produces fear, or at least a passion so like it, that they are
scarcely to be distinguished.
I have here confin'd myself to the examination of hope
and fear in their most simple and natural situation, without
considering all the variations they may receive from the
mixture of different views and reflexions. Terror, con-
sternation, astonishment, anxiety, and other passions of that
kind, are nothing but different species and degrees of fear.
'Tis easy to imagine how a different situation of the object,
448 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. or a different turn of thought, may change even the sensation
" •• of a passion; and this may in general account for all the
and direct Particular sub-divisions of the other affections, as well as of
passions, fear. Love may shew itself in the shape of tenderness, friend-
ship, iniimacy, esteem, good-will, and in many other appear-
ances; which at the bottom are the same affections, and
arise from the same causes, tho' with a small variation, which
it is not necessary to give any particular account of. 'Tis
for this reason I have all along confin'd myself to the
principal passion.
The same care of avoiding prolixity is the reason why I
wave the examination of the will and direct passions, as they
appear in animals ; since nothing is more evident, than that
they are of the same nature, and excited by the same causes
as in human creatures. I leave this to the reader's own
observation ; desiring him at the same time to consider the
additional force this bestows on the present system.
SECTION X.
Of curiosity, or the love of truth.
But methinks we have been not a little inattentive to run
over so many different parts of the human mind, and
examine so many passions, without taking once into the
consideration that love of truth, which was the first source of
all our enquiries. 'Twill therefore be proper, before we
leave this subject, to bestow a few reflexions on that passion,
and shew its origin in human nature. 'Tis an affection of
so peculiar a kind, that 'twoud have been impossible to have
treated of it under any of those heads, which we have
examin'd, without danger of obscurity and confusion.
Truth is of two kinds, consisting either in the discovery
of the proportions of ideas, consider'd as such, or in the con-
formity of our ideas of objects to their real existence. 'Tis
certain, that the former species of truth, is not desir'd merely
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 449
as truth, and that 'tis not the justness of our conclusions, Sect. X
which alone gives the pleasure. For these conclusions are ■■ *♦-
equally just, when we discover the equality of two bodies by sity^orthi
a pair of compasses, as when we learn it by a mathematical love of
demonstration ; and tho' in the one case the proofs be de- *^^^'
monstrative, and in the other only sensible, yet generally
speaking, the mind acquiesces with equal assurance in the
one as in the other. And in an arithmetical operation,
where both the truth and the assurance are of the same
nature, as in the most profound algebraical problem, the
pleasure is very inconsiderable, if rather it does not degene-
rate into pain : Which is an evident proof, that the satisfac-
tion, which we sometimes receive from the discovery of truth,
proceeds not from it, merely as such, but only as endow'd
with certain qualities.
The first and most considerable circumstance requisite to
render truth agreeable, is the genius and capacity, which is
employ'd in its invention and discovery. What is easy and
obvious is never valu'd; and even what is in zXr^^ difficult, if
we come to the knowledge of it without difficulty, and with-
out any stretch of thought or judgment, is but little regarded.
We love to trace the demonstrations of mathematicians ; but
shou'd receive small entertainment from a person, who
shou'd barely inform us of the proportions of lines and
angles, tho' we repos'd the utmost confidence both in his
judgment and veracity. In this case 'tis sufficient to have
ears to learn the truth. We never are oblig'd to fix our
attention or exert our genius; which of all other exercises of
the mind is the most pleasant and agreeable.
But tho' the exercise of genius be the principal source of
that satisfaction we receive from the sciences, yet I doubt, if
it be alone sufficient to give us any considerable enjoyment.
The truth we discover must also be of some importance.
'Tis easy to multiply algebraical problems to infinity, nor is
there any end in the discovery of the proportions of conic
sections ; tho' few mathematicians take any pleasure in these
450 -4 TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. researches, but turn their thoughts to what is more useful
, " and important. Now the question is, after what manner this
Of the will .,. J . , rr., T^ ,
and direst utihty and importance operate upon us? The difficulty on
tassions, this head arises from hence, that many philosophers have
consum'd their time, have destroy'd their health, and neg-
lected their fortune, in the search of such truths, as they
esteem'd important and useful to the world, tho' it appear d
from their whole conduct and behaviour, that they were not
endow'd with any share of public spirit, nor had any concern
for the interests of mankind. Were they convinc'd, that
their discoveries were of no consequence, they wou'd entirely
lose all relish for their studies, and that tho' the conse-
quences be entirely indifferent to them ; which seems to be
a contradiction.
To remove this contradiction, we must consider, that there
are certain desires and inclinations, which go no farther than
the imagination, and are rather the faint shadows and
images of passions, than any real affections. Thus, suppose
a man, who takes a survey of the fortifications of any city ;
considers their strength and advantages, natural or acquir'd ;
observes the disposition and contrivance of the bastions,
ramparts, mines, and other military works ; 'tis plain, that in
proportion as all these are fitted to attain their ends, he will
receive a suitable pleasure and satisfaction. This pleasure,
as it arises from the utility, not the form of the objects, can
be no other than a sympathy with the inhabitants, for whose
security all this art is employ'd ; tho' 'tis possible, that this
person, as a stranger or an enemy, may in his heart have no
kindness for them, or may even entertain a hatred against
them.
It may indeed be objected, that such a remote sympathy is
a very slight foundation for a passion, and that so much
industry and application, as we frequently observe in philo-
sophers, can never be deriv'd from so inconsiderable an
original. But here I return to what I have already remark'd,
that the pleasure of study consists chiefly in the action of the
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 451
mind, and the exercise of the genius and understanding in Sect. X.
the discovery or comprehension of any truth. If the im- •'.
portance of the truth be requisite to compleat the pleasure, Jty, or tht
'tis not on account of any considerable addition, which of ^^« of
itself it brings to our enjoyment, but only because 'tis, in
some measure, requisite to fix our attention. When we are
careless and inattentive, the same action of the understanding
has no effect upon us, nor is able to convey any of that
satisfaction, which arises from it, when we are in another
disposition.
But beside the action of the mind, which is the principal
foundation of the pleasure, there is likewise requir'd a degree
of success in the attainment of the end, or the discovery of
that truth we examine. Upon this head I shall make a general
remark, which may be useful on many occasions, viz. that
where the mind pursues any end with passion ; tho' that pas-
sion be not deriv'd originally from the end, but merely from
the action and pursuit ; yet by the natural course of the
affections, we acquire a concern for the end itself, and are
uneasy under any disappointment we meet with in the pur-
suit of it. This proceeds from the relation and parallel
direction of the passions above-mention'd.
To illustrate all this by a similar instance, I shall observe,
that there cannot be two passions more nearly resembling
each other, than those of hunting and philosophy, whatever
disproportion may at first sight appear betwixt them. 'Tis
evident, that the pleasure of hunting consists in the action of
the mind and body ; the motion, the attention, the difficulty,
and the uncertainty. 'Tis evident likewise, that these actions
must be attended with an idea of utility, in order to their
having any effect upon us. A man of the greatest fortune,
and the farthest remov'd from avarice, tho' he takes a pleasure
in hunting after partridges and pheasants, feels no satisfaction
in shooting crows and magpies ; and that because he con-
siders the first as fit for the table, and the other as entirely
useless. Here 'tis certain, that the utility or importance of
452 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. itself causes no real passion, but is only requisite to support
- ** • ihe imagination ; and the same person, who over-looks a ten
arid direct ^^"1^8 greater profit in any other subject, is pleas'd to bring
passions, home half a dozen woodcocks or plovers, after having em-
ploy'd several hours in hunting after them. To make the
parallel betwixt hunting and philosophy more compleat, we
may observe, that tho' in both cases the end of our action
may in itself be despis'd, yet in the heat of the action we
acquire such an attention to this end, that we are very uneasy
under any disappointments, and are sorry when we either miss
our game, or fall into any error in our reasoning.
If we want another parallel to these affections, we may
consider the passion of gaming, which affords a pleasure
from the same principles as hunting and philosophy. It has
been remark'd, that the pleasure of gaming arises not from
interest alone ; since many leave a sure gain for this enter-
tainment: Neither is it deriv'd from the game alone; since
the same persons have no satisfaction, when they play for
nothing : But proceeds from both these causes united, tho'
separately they have no effect. 'Tis here, as in certain
chymical preparations, where the mixture of two clear and
transparent liquids produces a third, which is opaque and
colour'd.
The interest, which we have in any game, engages our
attention, without which we can have no enjoyment, either
in that or in any other action. Our attention being once
engag'd, the difTiculty, variety, and sudden reverses of fortune,
still farther interest us ; and 'tis from that concern our satis-
faction arises. Human life is so tiresome a scene, and men
generally are of such indolent dispositions, that whatever
amuses them, tho' by a passion mixt with pain, does in the
main give them a sensible pleasure. And this pleasure is here
encreas'd by the nature of the objects, which being sensible,
and of a narrow compass, are enter'd into with facility, and
are agreeable to the imagination.
The same theory, that accounts for the love of truth in
Book II. OF THE PASSIONS. 453
mathematics and algebra, may be extended to morals, politics, Sect. X.
natural philosophy, and other studies, where we consider not **
the abstract relations of ideas, but their real connexions and f^'^T^t/,.
' siiy, OT int
existence. But beside the love of knowledge, which displays love of
itself in the sciences, there is a certain curiosity implanted in '''"'^*
human nature, which is a passion deriv'd from a quite dif-
ferent principle. Some people have an insatiable desire of
knowing the actions and circumstances of their neighbours,
tho' their interest be no way concern'd in them, and they
must entirely depend on others for their information; in
which case there is no room for study or application. Let
us search for the reason of this phaenomenon.
It has been prov'd at large, that the influence of belief is
at once to inliven and infix any idea in the imagination, and
prevent all kind of hesitation and uncertainty about it. Both
these circumstances are advantageous. By the vivacity of the
idea we interest the fancy, and produce, tho' in a lesser
degree, the same pleasure, which arises from a moderate pas-
sion. As the vivacity of the idea gives pleasure, so its cer-
tainty prevents uneasiness, by fixing one particular idea in
the mind, and keeping it from wavering in the choice of its
objects. 'Tis a quality of human nature, which is conspicuous
on many occasions, and is common both to the mind and
body, that too sudden and violent a change is unpleasant to
us, and that however any objects may in themselves be indif-
ferent, yet their alteration gives uneasiness. As 'tis the nature
of doubt to cause a variation in the thought, and transport us
suddenly from one idea to another, it must of consequence
be the occasion of pain. This pain chiefly takes place, where
interest, relation, or the greatness and novelty of any event
interests us in it. 'Tis not every matter of fact, of which we
have a curiosity to be inform'd ; neither are they such only
as we have an interest to know. 'Tis sufficient if the idea
strikes on us with such force, and concerns us so nearly, as
to give us an uneasiness in its instability and inconstancy.
A stranger, when he arrives first at any town, may be entirely
454
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. indifferent about knowing the history and adventures of the
inhabitants ; but as he becomes farther acquainted with them,
and has liv'd any considerable time among them, he acquires
the same curiosity as the natives. When we are reading the
history of a nation, we may have an ardent desire of clearing
up any doubt or difficulty, that occurs in it; but become
careless in such researches, when the ideas of these events
are, in a great measure, obliterated.
Ofthe
will and
direct
passions.
TREATISE
OF
Human Nature :
BEING
An Attempt to introduce the ex-
perimental Method of Reafoning
INTO
MORAL SUBJECTS.
Dur.e femper 'virttitls amatovj
^Ijt^re quid eji virtus j et pofce exemplar honejll.
L u c A N.
Book III.
OF
MORALS.
WITH AN
APPENDIX.
Wherein fome Paffages of the foregoing
Volumes are Illuflrated and explaln'd.
L 0 N D ON,
Printed for THOMAS LoNGMAN, at the Ship in
Fater-noJier-Ro'Wy M DCC XL.
BOOK III.
OF MORALS.
PART I.
OF VIRTUE AND VICE IN GENERAL,
SECTION I.
Moral DistinctioTis not deriv d from Reason.
There is an inconvenience which attends all abstruse Sect. I.
reasoning, that it may silence, without convincing an an- '' "
tagonist, and requires the same intense study to make us disthictiom
sensible of its force, that was at first requisite for its inven- *^°^ deriifd
tion. When we leave our closet, and engage in the common -^^^^^^
affairs of life, its conclusions seem to vanish, like the phan-
toms of the night on the appearance of the morning ; and
'tis difficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we
had attain'd with difficulty. This is still more conspicuous
in a long chain of reasoning, where we must preserve to the
end the evidence of the first propositions, and where we
often lose sight of all the most receiv'd maxims, either of
philosophy or common life. I am not, however, without
hopes, that the present system of philosophy will acquire i
new force as it advances; and that our reasonings concerning /
morals will corroborate whatever has been said concerning \
the understanding and the passions. Morality is a subject ;
that interests us above all others: We fancy the peace
of society to be at stake in every decision concerning it;
and 'tis evident, that this concern must make our specula-
tions appear more real and solid, than where the subject is,
in a great measure, indifferent to us. What affects us, we
456 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. conclude can never be a chimera ; and as our passion is
;• engag'd on the one side or the other, we naturally think that
atiTvicxin ^^ question lies within human comprehension ; which, in
general. other cases of this nature, we are apt to entertain some
doubt of. Without this advantage I never should have ven-
tur'd upon a third volume of such abstruse philosophy, in an
age, wherein the greatest part of men seem agreed to convert
reading into an amusement, and to reject every thing that
requires any considerable degree of attention to be compre-
hended.
It has been observ'd, that nothing is ever present to the
mind but its perceptions ; and that all the actions of seeing,
hearing, judging, loving, hating, and thinking, fall under this
denomination. The mind can never exert itself in any action,
which we may not comprehend under the term o[ perception ;
and consequently that term is no less applicable to those
judgments, by which we distinguish moral good and evil,
than to every other operation of the mind. To approve of
one character, to condemn another, are only so many
different perceptions.
Now as perceptions resolve themselves into two kinds, viz.
impressions and ideas, this distinction gives rise to a question,
with which we shall open up our present enquiry concerning
morals, Whether 'tis by means 0/ our ideas or impressions we
distinguish betwixt vice and virtue, and pronounce an action
blameable or praise-worthy ? This will immediately cut off
all loose discourses and declamations, and reduce us to some-
thing precise and exact on the present subject.
Those who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity
to reason ; that there are eternal fitnesses and unfitnesses of
things, which are the same to every rational being that con-
siders them; that the immutable measures of right and
wrong impose an obligation, not only on human creatures,
but also on the Deity himself: All these systems concur in
the opinion, that morality, like truth, is discern'd merely by
Book III. OF MORALS, 457
ideas, and by their juxta-position and comparison. In order, Sect. I.
therefore, to judge of these systems, we need only consider, ''
whether it be possible, from reason alone, to distinguish be- distinctions
twixt moral good and evil, or whether there must conznx not derived
_some other principles to enable us to make that distinction, ^/ason.
If morality had naturally no influence on human passions
and actions, 'twere in vain to take such pains to inculcate it ;
and nothing wou'd be more fruitless than that multitude of
rules and precepts, with which all moralists abound. Philo-
sophy is commonly divided into speculative and practical;
and as morality is always comprehended under the latter
division, 'tis supposed to influence our passions and actions,
and to go beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the
understanding. And this is confirm'd by common experi-
ence, which informs us, that men are often govern'd by their
duties, and are deter'd from some actions by the opinion of
injustice, and impell'd to others by that of obligation.
Since morals, therefore, have an influence on the actions^
and aflfections, it follows, that they cannot be deriv'd from
..reason; and that because reason alone, as we have already
_prov'd, can never have any such influence, INIorals excite
passions, and produce or prevent actions. Reason of itself
is utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of morality,
therefore, are not conclusions of our reason.
No one, I believe, will deny the justness of this inference ;
nor is there any other means of evading it, than by denying
that principle, on which it is founded. As long as it is
allow'd, that reason has no influence on our passions and
actions, 'tis in vain to pretend, that morality is discover'd
only by a deduction of reason. An active principle can
never be founded on an inactive ; and if reason be inactive
in itself, it must remain so in all its shapes and appearances,
whether it exerts itself in natural or moral subjects, whether
it considers the powers of external bodies, or the actions of
rational beings.
It would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which
Q
458 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I, I have prov'd ', that reason is perfectly inert, and can never
, V either prevent or produce any action or affection. 'Twill be
and vice in ^^^y to recollect what has been said upon that subject. I
central. shall only recall on this occasion one of these arguments,
which I shall endeavour to render still more conclusive, and
more applicable to the present subject.
Reason is the discovery of truth or falshood. Truth or
falshood consists in an agreement or disagreement either to
the real relations of ideas, or to real existence and matter of
fact. Whatever, therefore, is not susceptible of this agree-
ment or disagreement, is incapable of being true or false,
and can never be an object of our reason. Now 'tis evident
our passions, volitions, and actions, are not susceptible of
any such agreement or disagreement; being original facts
and realities, compleat in themselves, and implying no refer-
ence to other passions, volitions, and actions. 'Tis impossible,
therefore, they can be pronounced either true or false, and
be either contrary or conformable to reason.
This argument is of double advantage to our present
purpose. For it proves directly, that actions do not derive
th_eir merit from a conformity to reason, nor their blame
from a contrariety to it ; and it proves the same truth more
indirectly, by shewing us, that as reason can never imme-
diately prevent or produce any action by contradicting or
approving of it, it cannot be the source of moral good and
evil, which are found to have that influence. Actions may
be laudable or blameable; but they cannot be reasonable or
unreasonable : Laudable or blameable, therefore, are not the
same with reasonable or unreasonable. The merit and
demerit of actions frequently contradict, and sometimes con-
troul our natural propensities. But reason has no such
influence. Moral distinctions, therefore, are not the offspring
of reason. Reason is wholly inactive, and can never be the
source of so active a principle as conscience, or a sense of
morals.
« Book II. Part III. sect. 3.
Book III. OF MORALS. 459
But perhaps it may be said, that tho' no will or action can Sect. L
be immediately contradictory to reason, yet we may find *y~ ii
such a contradiction in some of the attendants of the action, distinction
that is, in its causes or effects. The action may cause a *^^ deriv'd
judgment, or may be obliquely caus'd by one, when the reason.
judgment concurs with a passion ; and by an abusive way of
speaking, which philosophy will scarce allow of, the same
contrariety may, upon that account, be ascrib'd to the action.
How far this truth or falshood may be the source of morals,
'twill now be proper to consider.
It has been observ'd, that reason, in a strict and philo-
sophical sense, can have an influence on our conduct only •
after two ways : Either when it excites a passion by informing \ \
us of the existence of something which is a proper object of
it ; or when it discovers the connexion of causes and effects,
so as to afford us means of exerting any passion. These
are the only kinds of judgment, which can accompany our j
actions, or can be said to produce them in any manner; and ;
it must be allow'd, that these judgments may often be false
and erroneous. A person may be affected with passion, by ||
supposing a pain or pleasure to lie in an object, which has 1
no tendency to produce either of these sensations, or which
produces the contrary to what is imagin'd. A person may ' 1
also take false measures for the attaining his end, and may i
retard, by his foolish conduct, instead of forwarding the
execution of any project. These false judgments may be
thought to affect the passions and actions, which are con-
nected with chem, and may be said to render them unreason-
able, in a figurative and improper way of speaking. But tho'
this be acknowledg'd, 'tis easy to observe, that these errors
are so far from being the source of all immorality, that they
are commonly very innocent, and draw no manner of guilt
upon the person who is so unfortunate as to fall into them.
They extend not beyond a mistake ol fact, which moralists
have not generally suppos'd criminal, as being perfectly
involuntary. I am more to be lamented than blam'd, if I
460
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I.
Of virtue
and vice in
gciural.
am mistaken with regard to the influence of objects in pro-
ducing pain or pleasure, or if I know not the proper means
of satisfying my desires. No one can ever regard such
errors as a defect in my moral character. A fruit, for
instance, that is really disagreeable, appears to me at a
distance, and thro' mistake I fancy it to be pleasant and
delicious. Here is one error. I choose certain means of
reaching this fruit, which are not proper for my end. Here
is a second error ; nor is there any third one, which can ever
possibly enter into our reasonings concerning actions. I
ask, therefore, if a man, in this situation, and guilty of these
two errors, is to be regarded as vicious and criminal, how-
ever unavoidable they might have been ? Or if it be possible
to imagine, that such errors are the sources of all im-
morality?
And here it may be proper to observe, that if moral distinc-
tions be deriv'd from the truth or falshood of those judgments,
they must take place wherever we form the judgments ; nor
will there be any difference, whether the question be con-
cerning an apple or a kingdom, or whether the error be
avoidable or unavoidable. For as the very essence of morality
is suppos'd to consist in an agreement or disagreement to
reason, the other circumstances are entirely arbitrary, and
can never either bestow on any action the character of
virtuous or vicious, or deprive it of that character. To which
we may add, that this agreement or disagreement, not admit-
ting of degrees, all virtues and vices wou'd of course be equal.
Shou'd it be pretended, ihat tho' a mistake oi fad be not
criminal, yet a mistake of right often is ; and that this may
be the source of immorality : 1 would answer, that 'tis impos-
sible such a mistake can ever be the original source of
immorality, since it supposes a real right and wrong ; that is,
a real distinction in morals, independent of these judgments.
A mistake, therefore, of right may become a species of
immorality ; but 'tis only a secondary one, and is founded on
some other, antecedent to it.
Book III. OF MORALS. 461
As to those judgments which are the effecls of our actions, Sect. I.
and which, when false, give occasion to pronounce the actions , , ••
1 J u 1 Moral
contrary to truth and reason ; we may observe, that our distinctions
, actions never cause any judgment, either true or false, in *^°^ deri^/d
J ourselves, and that 'tis only on others they have such ^"^ reason.
I influence. 'Tis certain, that an action, on many occasions,
Way give rise to false conclusions in others; and that a
person, who thro' a window sees any lewd behaviour of mine
with my neighbour's wife, may be so simple as to imagine
she is certainly my own. In this respect my action resembles
somewhat a lye or falshood ; only with this difference, which
is material, that I perform not the action with any intention
of giving rise to a false judgment in another, but merely to
satisfy my lust and passion. It causes, however, a mistake
and false judgment by accident ; and the falshood of its effects
may be ascribed, by some odd figurative way of speaking, to
the action itself. But still I can see no pretext of reason for
asserting, that the tendency to cause such an error is the first
spring or original source of all immorality \
' One might think it were entirely superfluous to prove this, if a late
author [Wollaston], who has had the good fortune to obtain some reputa-
tion, had not seriously affirmed, that such a falshood is the foundation of
all guilt and moral deformity. That we may discover the fallacy of his
hypothesis, we need only consider, that a false conclusion is drawn from an
action, only by means of an obscurity of natural principles, which makes
a cause be secretly interrupted in its operation, by contrary causes, and
renders the connexion betwixt two objects uncertain and variable. Now,
as a like uncertainty and variety of causes take place, even in natural
objects, and produce a like error in our judgment, if that tendency to
produce error were the very essence of vice and immorality, it shou'd
follow, that even inanimate objects might be vicious and immoral.
'Tis in vain to urge, that inanimate objects act without liberty and
choice. For as liberty and choice are not necessary to make an action
produce in us an erroneous conclusion, they can be, in no respect,
essential to morality ; and I do not readily perceive, upon this system,
how they can ever come to be regarded by it. If the tendency to cause
error be the origin of immorality, that tendency and immorality wou'd
in every case be inseparable.
Add to this, that if I had used the precaution of shutting the windows,
while I indulg'd myself in those liberties with my neighbour's wife, I
should have been guilty of no immorality ; and that because my action,
being perfectly conceal'd, wou'd have had no tendency to produce any
false conclusion.
462
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. Thus upon the whole, 'tis impossible, that the distinction
\* betwixt moral good and evil, can be made by reason ; since
and viuin '^^* distinction has an influence upon our actions, of which
general. reason alone is incapable. Reason and judgment may,
indeed, be the mediate cause of an action, by prompting, or
by directing a passion : But it is not pretended, that a judg-
ment of this kind, either in its truth or falshood, is attended
with virtue or vice. And as to the judgments, which are
For the same reason, a thief, who steals in by a ladder at a window,
and takes all imaginable care to cause no disturbance, is in no respect
criminal. For either he will not be perceiv'd, or if he be, 'tis impossible
he can produce any error, nor will any one, from these circumstances,
take him to be other than what he really is.
'Tis well known, that those who are squint-sighted, do very readily
cause mistakes in others, and that we imagine they salute or are talking
to one person, while they address themselves to another. Are they
therefore, upon that account, immoral ?
Besides, we may easily observe, that in all those arguments there is
an evident reasoning in a circle. A person who takes possession of
another % goods, and uses them as his own, in a manner declares them to
be his own ; and this falshood is the source of the immorality of injus-
tice. But is property, or right, or obligation, intelligible, without an
antecedent morality?
A man that is ungrateful to his benefactor, in a manner affirms, that
he never received any favours from him. But in what manner? Is it
because 'tis his duty to be grateful? But this supposes, that there is
some antecedent rule of duty and morals. Is it because human nature
is gejierally grateful, and makes us conclude, that a man who does any
harm never received any favour from the person he harm'd ? But
human nature is not so generally grateful, as to justify such a conclusion.
Or if it weie, is an exception to a general rule in every case criminal,
for no other reason than because it is an exception ?
But what may suffice entirely to destroy this whimsical system is, that
it leaves us under the same difficulty to give a reason why truth is
virtuous and falshood vicious, as to account for the merit or turpitude
of any other action. I shall allow, if you please, that all immorality is
derived from this supposed falshood in action, provided you can give
me any plausible reason, why such a falshood is immoral. If you
consider rightly of the matter, you will find yourself in the same
difficulty as at the beginning.
This last argument is very conclusive ; because, if there be not an
evident merit or turpitude aniiex'd to this species of truth or falshood, it
can never have any influence upon our actions. For, who ever thought
of forbearing any action, because others might possibly draw false con-
clusions from it? Or, who ever perform'd any, that he might give rise
to true conclusions?
Book III. OF MORALS. 463
caused by our judgments, they can still less bestow those Sect. I.
moral qualities on the actions, which are their causes. ** "
But to be more particular, and to shew, that those eternal distinction:
immutable fitnesses and unfitnesses of things cannot be not derivd
defended by sound philosophy, we may weigh the follo^ing-^^^^'^^^^^
considerations.
If the thought and understanding were alone capable
of fixing the boundaries of right and wrong, the character
of virtuous and vicious either must lie in some relations
of objects, or must be a matter of fact, which is discovered
by our reasoning. This consequence is evident. As the
operations of human understanding divide themselves into
two kinds, the comparing of ideas, and the inferring of
matter of fact ; were virtue discover'd by the understanding ;
it must be an object of one of these operations, nor is there
any third operation of the understanding, which can discover
it. There has been an opinion very industriously propagated
by certain philosophers, that morality is susceptible of demon-
stration ; and tho' no one has ever been able to advance
a single step in those demonstrations; yet 'tis taken for
granted, that this science may be brought to an equal certainty
with geometry or algebra. Upon this supposition, vice and
virtue must consist in some relations ; since 'lis allow'd on all
hands, that no matter of fact is capable of being demon-
strated. Let us, therefore, begin with examining this hypo-
thesis, and endeavour, if possible, to fix those moral qualities,
which have been so long the objects of our fruitless researches.
Point out distinctly the relations, which constitute moraUty or
obligation, that we may know wherein they consist, and after
what manner we must judge of them.
If you assert, that vice and virtue consist in relations sus-
ceptible of certainty and demonstration, you must confine
yourself to those yb«r relations, which alone admit of that
degree of evidence ; and in that case you run into absurdi-
ties, from which you will never be able to extricate yourself.
For as you make the very essence of morality to lie in the
464 ^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. relations, and as there is no one of these relations but what
• I* is applicable, not only to an irrational, but also to an in-
andvi"fin ^^^i^^^i^ object; it follows, that even such objects must be
general. susceptible of merit or demerit. Resemblatice, contrariety,
degrees in quality, and proportions in quantity and tiumber ;
all these relations belong as properly to matter, as to our
actions, passions, and volitions. 'Tis unquestionable, there-
fore, that morality lies not in any of these relations, nor the
sense of it in their discovery \
Shou'd it be asserted, that the sense of morality consists in
the discovery of some relation, distinct from these, and that
our enumeration was not compleat, when we comprehended all
demonstrable relations under four general heads : To this I
know not what to reply, till some one be so good as to point
out to me this new relation. 'Tis impossible to refute a
system, which has never yet been explain'd. In such a
manner of fighting in the dark, a man loses his blows in the
air, and often places them where the enemy is not present.
I must, therefore, on this occasion, rest contented with
requiring the two following conditions of any one that wou'd
undertake to clear up this system. First, As moral good
and evil belong only to the actions of the mind, and are
deriv'd from our situation with regard to external objects, the
relations, from which these moral distinctions arise, must lie
* As a proof, how confus'd our way of thinking on this subject
commonly is, we may observe, that those who assert, that molality is
demonstrable, do not say, that morality lies in the relations, and that the
relations are distinguishable by reason. They only say, that reason can
discover such an action, in such relations, to be virtuous, and such another
vicious. It seems they thought it sufficient, if they cou'd bring the word.
Relation, into the proposition, without troubling themselves whether it
was to the purpose or not. But here, I think, is plain argument. Demon-
strative reason discovers only relations. But that reason, according to
this hypothesis, discovers also vice and virtue. These moral qualities,
therefore, must be relations. When we blame any action, in any situa-
tion, the whole complicated object, of action and situation, must form
certain relations, wherein the essence of vice consists. Tliis hypothesis
is not otherwise intelligible. For what does reason discover, when it
pronounces any action vicious? Does it discover a relation or a matter
of fact ? These questions are decisive, and must not be eluded.
Book III. OF MORALS. 465
only betwixt internal actions, and external objects, and must Sect. I.
not be applicable either to internal actions, compared among "
themselves, or to external objects, when placed in opposition distinction:
to other external objects. For as morality is supposed to not derived
attend certain relations, if these relations cou'd belong io*^°"J'„^
' ° reason,
internal actions consider'd singly, it wou'd follow, that we
might be guilty of crimes in ourselves, and independent of
our situation, with respect to the universe : And in like
manner, if these moral relations cou'd be apply'd to external
objects, it wou'd follow, that even inanimate beings wou'd be
susceptible of moral beauty and deformity. Now it seems
difficult to imagine, that any relation can be discover'd be-
twixt our passions, volitions and actions, compared to
external objects, which relation might not belong either to
these passions and volitions, or to these external objects,
compar'd among themselves.
But it will be still more difficult to fulfil the second con-
dition, requisite to justify this system. According to the
principles of those who maintain an abstract rational difler-
ence betwixt moral good and evil, and a natural fitness and
unfitness of things, 'tis not only suppos'd, that these relations,
being eternal and immutable, are the same, when consider'd
by every rational creature, but their effects are also suppos'd
to be necessarily the same ; and 'tis concluded they have no
less, or rather a greater, influence in directing the will of the
deity, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own
species. These two particulars are evidently distinct. 'Tis
one thing to know virtue, and another to conform the will to
it. In order, therefore, to prove, that the measures of right
and wrong are eternal laws, obligatory on every rational
mind, 'tis not sufficient to shew the relations upon which they
are founded : We must also point out the connexion betwixt
the relation and the will ; and must prove that this connexion
is so necessary, that in every well-disposed mind, it must
take place and have its influence ; tho' the difference betwixt
these minds be in other respects immense and infinite. Now
466 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Part I. besides what I have already prov'd, that even in human
" nature no relation can ever alone produce any action ; be-
idtil vice in sides this, I say, it has been shewn, in treating of the under-
^eneral. standing, that there is no connexion of cause and effect, such
as this is suppos'd to be, which is discoverable otherwise than
by experience, and of which we can pretend to have any
security by the simple consideration of the objects. All
beings in the universe, consider'd in themselves, appear
entirely loose and independent of each other. 'Tis only by
experience we learn their influence and connexion; and this
influence we ought never to extend beyond experience.
Thus it will be impossible to fulfil the first condition re-
quired to the system of eternal rational measures of right and
wrong ; because it is impossible to shew those relations, upon
which such a distinction may be founded : And 'tis as im-
possible to fulfil the second condition ; because we cannot
prove a priori, that these relations, if they really existed and
were perceiv'd, wou'd be universally forcible and obligatory.
But to make these general reflexions more clear and
convincing, we may illustrate them by some particular in-
stances, wherein this character of moral good or evil is the
most universally acknowledged. Of all crimes that human
creatures are capable of committing, the most horrid and
unnatural is ingratitude, especially when it is committed
against parents, and appears in the more flagrant instances
of wounds and death. This is acknowledg'd by all mankind,
philosophers as well as the people ; the question only arises
among philosophers, whether the guilt or moral deformity
of this action be discover'd by demonstrative reasoning, or
be felt by an internal sense, and by means of some sentiment,
which the reflecting on such an action naturally occasions.
This question will soon be decided against the former
opinion, if we can shew the same relations in other objects,
without the notion of any guilt or iniquity attending them.
Reason or science is nothing but the comparing of ideas,
and the discovery of their relations ; and if the same relations
Book III. OF MORALS. 467
have different characters, it must evidently follow, that those Sect. I.
characters are not discover'd merely by reason. To put the — **—
affair, therefore, to this trial, let us chuse any inanimate aiZLaiom
object, such as an oak or elm ; and let us suppose, that by not derived
the dropping of its seed, it produces a sapling below it,-{.^^^^,
which springing up by degrees, at last overtops and destroys
the parent tree : I ask, if in this instance there be wanting
any relation, which is discoverable in parricide or ingratitude ?
Is not the one tree the cause of the other's existence ; and
the latter the cause of the destruction of the former, in the
same manner as when a child murders his parent? 'Tis not
sufficient to reply, that a choice or will is wanting. For in
the case of parricide, a will does not give rise to any different
relations, but is only the cause from which the action is
deriv'd ; and consequently produces the same relations, that
in the oak or elm arise from some other principles. 'Tis a
will or choice, that determines a man to kill his parent ; and
they are the laws of matter and motion, that determine a
sapling to destroy the oak, from which it sprung. Here then
the same relations have different causes ; but still the relations
are the same : And as their discovery is not in both cases
attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that that
notion does not arise from such a discovery.
But to chuse an instance, still more resembling; I would
fain ask any one, why incest in the human species is criminal,
and why the very same action, and the same relations in
animals have not the smallest moral turpitude and deformity ?
If it be answer'd, that this action is innocent in animals,
because they have not reason sufficient to discover its turpi-
tude ; but that man, being endow'd with that faculty, which
ought to restrain him to his duty, the same action instantly
becomes criminal to him ; should this be said, I would reply,
that this is evidently arguing in a circle. For before reason
can perceive this turpitude, the turpitude must exist; and
consequently is independent of the decisions of our reason,
and is their object more properly than their effect. Ac-
468 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. cording to this system, then, every animal, that has sense,
-**— and appetite, and will ; that is, every animal must be sus-
anTvium ^eptible of all the same virtues and vices, for which we
general. ascribe praise and blame to human creatures. All the
diflference is, that our superior reason may serve to discover
j the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment the blame
I or praise : But still this discovery supposes a separate being
in these moral distinctions, and a being, which depends only
on the will and appetite, and which, both in thought and
reality, may be distinguish'd from the reason. Animals are
susceptible of the same relations, with respect to each other,
as the human species, and therefore wou'd also be susceptible
of the same morality, if the essence of morality consisted in
these relations. Their want of a sufficient degree of reason
may hinder them from perceiving the duties and obligations
of morality, but can never hinder these duties from existing ;
since they must antecedently exist, in order to their being
perceiv'd. Reason must find them, and can never produce
them. This argument deserves to be weigh'd, as being, in
my opinion, entirely decisive.
Nor does this reasoning only prove, that morality consists
not in any relations, that are the objects of science; but if
examin'd, will prove with equal certainty, that it consists not
in any matter of fact, which can be discover'd by the under-
standing. This is the second part of our argument ; and if it
can be made evident, we may conclude, that morality is not
an object of reason. But can there be any difficulty in
proving, that vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whose
existence we can infer by reason? Take any action allow'd
to be vicious : Wilful murder, for instance. Examine it in
all lights, and see if you can find that matter of fact, or real
existence, which you call vice. In which-ever way you take
it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions and
thoughts. There is no other matter of fact in the case. The
vice entirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object.
You never can find it, till you turn your reflexion into your
Book III. OF MORALS. 469
own breast, and find a sentiment of disapprobation, which Sect, T.
arises in you, towards this action. Here is a matter of fact ; ^^^^J^*
but 'tis the object of feeling, not of reason. It lies in your- distinctiom
self, not in the object. So that when you pronounce any ^"t deriv'd
action or character to be vicious, you mean nothing, but that reasoTu
from the constitution of your nature you have a feeling or
sentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and
virtue, therefore, may be compar'd to sounds, colours, heat
and cold, which, according to modern philosophy, are not
qualities in objects, but perceptions in the mind : And this
discovery in morals, like that other in physics, is to be re-
garded as a considerable advancement of the speculative
sciences ; tho', like that too, it has little or no influence on
practice. Nothing can be more real, or concern us more,
than our own sentiments of pleasure and uneasiness; and if
these be favourable to virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no
more can be requisite to the regulation of our conduct and
behaviour.
I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observa-
tion, which may, perhaps, be found of some importance.
In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with,
I have always remark'd, that the author proceeds for som.e
time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the
being of a God, or makes observations concerning human
affairs; when of a sudden I am surpriz'd to find, that in-
stead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not,
I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an
oughl, or an oughl not. This change is imperceptible ; but
is, however, of the last consequence. For as this ought, or
ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, 'tis
necessary that it shou'd be observ'd and explain'd ; and at
the same time that a reason should be given, for what seems
altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a de-
duction from others, which are entirely different from it. But
as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall pre-
sume to recommend it to the readers ; and am persuaded,
470 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. that this small attention wou'd subvert all the vulgar systems
—**— of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and
Qfy^^f"'. virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor
Qua vice in _ ' ■> '
general. is perceiv'd by reason.
SECTION IL
Moral distinctions derivd from a moral sense.
Thus the course of the argument leads us to conclude,
that since vice and virtue are not discoverable merely by
reason, or the comparison of ideas, it must be by means of
some impression or sentiment they occasion, that we are
able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our decisions
concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently per-
ceptions; and as all perceptions are either impressions or
ideas, the exclusion of the one is a convincing argument for
•^ the other. Morality, therefore, is more properly felt than
judg'd of; tho' this feeling or sentiment is commonly so soft
and gentle, that we are apt to confound it with an idea,
according to our common custom of taking all things for
the same, which have any near resemblance to each other.
The next question is, Of what nature are these impres-
sions, and after what manner do they operate upon us?
Here we cannot remain long in suspense, but must pro-
nounce the impression arising from virtue, to be agreeable,
and that proceeding from vice to be uneasy. Every mo-
ment's experience must convince us of this. There is no
spectacle so fair and beautiful as a noble and generous
action ; nor any which gives us more abhorrence than one
that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals the
satisfaction we receive from the company of those we love
and esteem ; as the greatest of all punishments is to be
oblig'd to pass our lives with those we hale or contemn.
A very play or romance may aflord us instances of this
Book III. OF MORALS. 471
pleasure, which virtue conveys to us ; and pain, which Sect. TI.
arises from vice. "
Now since the distinguishing impressions, by which moral distindiom
good or evil is known, are nothing but particular pains or derivd
pleasures ; it follows, that in all enquiries concerning these -''^^^f
moral distinctions, it will be sufficient to shew the principles, sense.
which make us feel a satisfaction or uneasiness from the sur-
vey of any character, in order to satisfy us why the character
is laudable or blameable. An action, or sentiment, or cha-
racter 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 suffi-
ciently 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 go no
farther; nor do we enquire into the cause of the satisfac-
tion. We do not infer a character to be virtuous, because
it pleases : But in feeling that it pleases after such a par-
ticular manner, we in effect feel that it is virtuous. The
case is the same as in our judgments concerning all kinds
of beauty, and tastes, and sensations. Our approbation is
imply'd in the immediate pleasure they convey to us.
I have objected to the system, which establishes eternal
rational measures of right and wrong, that 'tis impossible
to shew, in the actions of reasonable creatures, any rela-
tions, which are not found in external objects ; and there-
fore, if morality always attended these relations, 'twere pos-
sible for inanimate matter to become virtuous or vicious.
Now it may, in like manner, be objected to the present
system, that if virtue and vice be determin'd by pleasure
and pain, these qualities must, in every case, arise from the
sensations ; and consequently any object, whether animate
or inanimate, rational or irrational, might become morally
good or evil, provided it can excite a satisfaction or uneasi-
ness. But tho' this objection seems to be the very same,
472 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. it has by no means the same force, in the one case as in
•• the other. For, first, 'tis evident, that under the term plea-
andvice ^^re, we comprehend sensations, which are very different
in general, from each other, and which have only such a distant re-
semblance, as is requisite to make them be express'd by
the same abstract term. A good composition of music and
a bottle of good wine equally produce pleasure ; and what
is more, their goodness is determin'd merely by the pleasure.
But shall we say upon that account, that the wine is har-
monious, or the music of a good flavour? In like manner
an inanimate object, and the character or sentiments of any
person may, both of them, give satisfaction ; but as the satis-
faction is different, this keeps our sentiments concerning
them from being confounded, and makes us ascribe virtue
to the one, and not to the other. Nor is every sentiment of
pleasure or pain, which arises from characters and actions,
of that peculiar kind, which makes us praise or condemn.
The good qualities of an enemy are hurtful to us ; but may
still command our esteem and respect. 'Tis only when
a character is considered in general, without reference to our
particular interest, that it causes such a feeling or sentiment,
as denominates it morally good or evil. 'Tis true, those
sentiments, from interest and morals, are apt to be con-
founded, and naturally run into one another. It seldom
happens, that we do not think an enemy vicious, and can
distinguish betwixt his opposition to our interest and real
villainy or baseness. But this hinders not, but that the sen-
timents are, in themselves, distinct ; and a man of temper
and judgment may preserve himself from these illusions.
In like manner, tho' 'tis certain a musical voice is nothing
but one that naturally gives a particular kind of pleasure ;
yet 'tis difficult for a man to be sensible, that the voice of an
enemy is agreeable, or to allow it to be musical. But
a person of a fine ear, who has the command of himself,
can separate these feelings, and give praise to what de-
serves it.
Book III. OF MORALS. 473
Secondly, We may call to remembrance the preceding Sect. II.
system of the passions, in order to remark a still more con- "
siderable diflference among our pains and pleasures. Pride distinction)
and humility, love and hatred are excited, when there is any deriv'd
thing presented to us, that both bears a relation to the object-^^^^^
of the passion, and produces a separate sensation related to senst.
the sensation of the passion. Now virtue and vice are
attended with these circumstances. They must necessarily
be plac'd either in ourselves or others, and excite either
pleasure or uneasiness ; and therefore must give rise to one
of these four passions ; which clearly distinguishes them from
the pleasure and pain arising from inanimate objects, that
often bear no relation to us : And this is, perhaps, the most
considerable effect that virtue and vice have upon the human
mind.
It may now be ask'd in general, concerning this pain or
pleasure, that distinguishes moral good and evil. From what
principles is it derived, and whejice does it arise in the human
mind? To this I reply, _/frj/, that 'tis absurd to imagine, that
in every particular instance, these sentiments are produc'd by
an original quality and primary constitution. For as the
number of our duties is, in a manner, infinite, 'tis impossible
that our original instincts should extend to each of them,
and from our very first infancy impress on the human mind
all that multitude of precepts, which are contain'd in the
compleatest system of ethics. Such a method of proceeding
is not conformable to the usual maxims, by which nature is
conducted, where a few principles produce all that variety we
observe in the universe, and every thing is carry'd on in the
easiest and most simple manner. 'Tis necessary, therefore,
to abridge these primary impulses, and find some more
general principles, upon which all our notions of morals
are founded.
But in the second place, should it be ask'd, Whether we
ought to search for these principles in nature, or whether
we must look for them in some other origin? I wou'd
474 '^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. reply, that our answer to this question depends upon the
~7~ definition of the word, Nature, than which there is none more
and vice in ^nibiguous and equivocal. If nature be oppos'd to miracles,
general. not only the distinction betwixt vice and virtue is natural, but
also every event, which has ever happen'd in the world,
excepting those miracles, on which our religion is founded. In
saying, then, that the sentiments of vice and virtue are
natural in this sense, we make no very extraordinary dis-
covery.
But nature may also be opposed to rare and unusual ; and
in this sense of the word, which is the common one, there
may often arise disputes concerning what is natural or un-
natural; and one may in general affirm, that we are not
possess'd of any very precise standard, by which these dis-
putes can be decided. Frequent and rare depend upon the
number of examples we have observ'd ; and as this number
may gradually encrease or diminish, 'twill be impossible to
fix any exact boundaries betwixt them. We may only
affirm on this head, that if ever there was any thing, which
cou'd be call'd natural in this sense, the sentiments of
morality certainly may; since there never was any nation of
the world, nor any single person in any nation, who was
utterly depriv'd of them, and who never, in any instance,
shew'd the least approbation or dislike of manners. These
sentiments are so rooted in our constitution and temper,
that without entirely confounding the human mind by
disease or madness, 'tis impossible to extirpate and destroy
them.
But nature may also be opposed to artifice, as well as to
what is rare and unusual ; and in this sense it may be dis-
puted, whether the notions of virtue be natural or not. We
readily forget, that the designs, and projects, and views of
men are principles as necessary in their operation as heat and
cold, moist and dry : But taking them to be free and entirely
our own, 'tis usual for us to set them in opposition to the
other principles of nature. Shou'd it, therefore, be demanded,
Book III. OF MORALS. ^-j^
whether the sense of virtue be natural or artificial, I am of Sect. IL
opinion, that 'tis impossible for me at present to give any •'
precise answer to this question. Perhaps it will appear distimtiom
afterwards, that our sense of some virtues is artificial, and deriv'd
that of others natural. The discussion of this question will-^^^^^^^
be more proper, when we enter upon an exact detail of each senst.
particular vice and virtue \
Mean while it may not be amiss to observe from these
definitions of natural and unnatural, that nothing can be
more unphilosophical than those systems, which assert, that
virtue is the same with what is natural, and vice with what
is unnatural. For in the first sense of the word, Nature,
as opposed to miracles, both vice and virtue are equally
natural ; and in the second sense, as oppos'd to what is un-
usual, perhaps virtue will be found to be the most unnatural.
At least it must be own'd, that heroic virtue, being as un-
usual, is as little natural as the most brutal barbarity. As to
the third sense of the word, 'tis certain, that both vice and
virtue are equally artificial, and out of nature. For however
it may be disputed, whether the notion of a merit or demerit
in certain actions be natural or artificial, 'tis evident, that the
actions themselves are artificial, and are perform'd with a
certain design and intention ; otherwise they cou'd never be
rank'd under any of these denominations. 'Tis impossible,
therefore, that the character of natural and unnatural can
ever, in any sense, mark the boundaries of vice and virtue.
Thus we are still brought back to our first position, that
virtue is distinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain,
that any action, sentiment or character gives us by the mere
view and contemplation. This decision is very commodious;
because it reduces us to this simple question, Why any
action or sentiment upon the general view or survey, gives
a certain satisfaction or uneasiness, in order to shew the origin
' In the following discourse natural is also opposed sometimes to
civil, sometimes to moral. The opposition will always discover the
sense, in which it is taken.
476 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part I. of its moral rectitude or depravity, without looking for any
~** — incomprehensible relations and qualities, which never did
Ofvirtue . . ^ ..... ,
and vice in ^'^'^^^ m nature, nor even m our imagmation, by any clear
general. and distinct conception. I flatter myself I have executed
a great part of my present design by a state of the question,
which appears to me so free from ambiguity and obscurity.
!!
PART IT.
OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE.
SECTION I.
/lisfi'ce, whether a natural or artificial virtue?
I HAVE already hinted, that our sense of every kind of Sect, l
virtue is not natural ; but that there are some virtues, that ^ ."
Jus tic t,
produce pleasure and approbation by means of an artifice or whether a
contrivance, which arises from the circumstances and necessity natural or
of mankind. Of this kind I s-ssert justice to be; and shall ^^^y^^^ ^
endeavour to defend this opinion by a short, and, I hope,
convincing argument, before I examine the nature of the
artifice, from which the sense of that virtue is derived.
'Tis evident, that when we praise any actions, we regard
only the motives that produced them, and consider the actions
as signs or indications of certain principles in the mind and
temper. The external performance has no merit. We must
look within to find the moral quality. This we cannot do
directly; and therefore fix our attention on actions, as on
external signs. But these actions are still considered as
signs ; and the ultimate object of our praise and approbation
is the motive, that produc'd them.
After the same manner, when we require any action, or
blame a person for not performing it, we always suppose,
that one in that situation shou'd be influenc'd by the proper
motive of that action, and we esteem it vicious in him to be
regardless of it. If we find, upon enquiry, that the virtuous
motive was still powerful over his breast, tho' check'd in its
operation by some circumstances unknown to us, we retract
478
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of justice
and
injustice.
our blame, and have the same esteem for him, as if he had
actually perform'd the action, which we require of him.
It appears, therefore, that all virtuous actions derive their
merit only from virtuous motives, and are consider'd merely
as signs of those motives. From this principle I conclude,
that the first virtuous motive, which bestows a merit on any
action, can never be a regard to the virtue of that action, but
must be some other natural motive or principle. To sup-
pose, that the mere regard to the virtue of the action, may
be the first motive, which produc'd the action, and render'd
it virtuous, is to reason in a circle. Before we can have such
a regard, the action must be really virtuous ; and this virtue
must be deriv'd from some virtuous motive : And conse-
quently the virtuous motive must be different from the re-
gard to the virtue of the action. A virtuous motive is
requisite to render an action virtuous. An action must be
virtuous, before we can have a regard to its virtue. Some
virtuous motive, therefore, must be antecedent to that regard.
Nor is this merely a metaphysical subtilty ; but enters into
all our reasonings in common life, tho' perhaps we may not
be able to place it in such distinct philosophical terms. We
blame a father for neglecting his child. Why? because it
shews a want of natural affection, which is the duty of every
parent. Were not natural affection a duty, the care of chil-
dren cou'd not be a duty; and 'twere impossible we cou'd
have the duty in our eye in the attention we give to our off-
spring. In this case, therefore, all men suppose a motive to
the action distinct from a sense of duty.
Here is a man, that does many benevolent actions; relieves
the distress'd, comforts the afilicted, and extends his bounty
even to the greatest strangers. No character can be more
amiable and virtuous. We regard these actions as proofs of
the greatest humanity. This humanity bestows a merit on
the actions. A regard to this merit is, therefore, a secondary
consideration, and deriv'd from the antecedent principle of
humanity, which is meritorious and laudable.
Book 111. OF MORALS. 479
In short, it may be establish'd as an undoubted maxim, Sect. I.
that no action can be virtuous, or morally good, unless there be _"
in human nature some motive to produce it, distinct from ^he'^^j^^^j^'^^ ^
sense of its morality. natural or
But may not the sense of morality or duty produce an "^^^f^lf
action, without any other motive ? I answer. It may : But
this is no objection to the present doctrine. When any
virtuous motive or principle is common in human nature,
a person, who feels his heart devoid of that motive, may hate
himself upon that account, and may perform the action with-
out the motive, from a certain sense of duty, in order to
acquire by practice, that virtuous principle, or at least, to
disguise to himself, as much as possible, his want of it. A
man that really feels no gratitude in his temper, is still pleas'd
to perform grateful actions, and thinks he has, by that means,
fulfill'd his duty. Actions are at first only consider'd as signs
of motives : But 'tis usual, in this case, as in all others, to fix
our attention on the signs, and neglect, in some measure, the
thing signify'd. But tho', on some occasions, a person may
perform an action merely out of regard to its moral obligation,
yet still this supposes in human nature some distinct princi-
ples, which are capable of producing the action, and whose
moral beauty renders the action meritorious.
Now to apply all this to the present case; I suppose
a person to have lent me a sum of money, on condidon that
it be restor'd in a few days ; and also suppose, that after the
expiration of the term agreed on, he demands the sum : I
ask. What reason or motive have I to restore the money ? It
will, perhaps, be said, that my regard to justice, and abhor-
rence of villainy and knavery, are sufficient reasons for me, if
I have the least grain of honesty, or sense of duty and obli-
gation. And this answer, no doubt, is just and satisfactory
to man in his civiliz'd state, and when train'd up according
to a certain discipline and education. But in his rude and
more natural condition, if you are pleas'd to call such a con-
dition natural, this answer wou'd be rejected as perfectly
480 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. unintelligible and sophistical. For one in that situation
." . wou'd immediately ask you, Wherein consists this honesty
and and Justice, which you find in restoring a loan, and abstaining
injustice, from the property of others ? It does not surely lie in the
external action. It must, therefore, be plac'd in the motive,
from which the external action is deriv'd. This motive can
never be a regard to the honesty of the action. For 'tis a
plain fallacy to say, that a virtuous motive is requisite to
render an action honest, and at the same time that a regard
to the honesty is the motive of the action. We can never
have a regard to the virtue of an action, unless the action be
antecedently virtuous. No action can be virtuous, but so far
as it proceeds from a virtuous motive. A virtuous motive,
therefore, must precede the regard to the virtue; and 'tis
impossible, that the virtuous motive and the regard to the
virtue can be the same.
'Tis requisite, then, to find some motive to acts of justice
and honesty, distinct from our regard to the honesty; and in
this lies the great difficulty. For shou'd we say, that a con-
cern for our private interest or reputation is the legitimate
motive to all honest actions ; it wou'd follow, that wherever
that concern ceases, honesty can no longer have place. But
'tis certain, that self-love, when it acts at its liberty, instead
of engaging us to honest actions, is the source of all injustice
and violence ; nor can a man ever correct those vices, with-
out correcting and restraining the natural movements of that
appetite.
But shou'd it be affirm'd, that the reason or motive of such
actions is the regard to publick interest, to which nothing is
more contrary than examples of injustice and dishonesty ;
shou'd this be said, I wou'd propose the three following con-
siderations, as worthy of our attention. First, public interest
is not naturally attach'd to the observation of the rules of
justice ; but is only connected with it, after an artificial con-
vention for the establishment of these rules, as shall be shewn
more at large hereafter Secondly, if we suppose, that the
Book III. OF MORALS. 481
loan was secret, and that it is necessary for the interest of Sect. I.
the person, that the money be restor'd in the same manner **
(as when the lender wou'd conceal his riches) in that case "^X/X'r a
the example ceases, and the public is no longer interested in natural or
the actions of the borrower: tho' I suppose there is no '^'^'^"f'
' ^^ virtue (
moralist, who will affirm, that the duty and obligation ceases.
Thirdly, experience sufficiently proves, that men, in the
ordinary conduct of life, look not so far as the public in-
terest, when they pay their creditors, perform their promises,
and abstain from theft, and robbery, and injustice of every
kind. That is a motive too remote and too sublime to
affect the generality of mankind, and operate with any force
in actions so contrary to private interest as are frequently
those of justice and common honesty.
In general, it may be affirm'd, that there is no such
passion in human minds, as the love of mankind, merely as
such, independent of personal qualides, of services, or of
relation to ourself. 'Tis true, there is no human, and indeed
no sensible, creature, whose happiness or misery does not, in
some measure, affect us, when brought near to us, and repre-
sented in lively colours : But this proceeds merely from
sympathy, and is no proof of such an universal affection to
mankind, since this concern extends itself beyond our own
species. An affection betwixt the sexes is a passion evidently
implanted in human nature ; and this passion not only
appears in its peculiar symptoms, but also in inflaming every
other principle of affection, and raising a stronger love from
beauty, wii, kindness, than what wou'd otherwise flow from
them. Were there an universal love among all human
creatures, it wou'd appear after the same manner. Any
degree of a good quality wou'd cause a stronger affection
than the same degree of a bad quality wou'd cause hatred ;
contrary to what we find by experience. Men's tempers are
different, and some have a propensity to the tender, and
others to the rougher, affections : But in the main, we may
affirm, that man in general, or human nature, is nothing but
482
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of Justice
and
injustice.
Part II. the object both of love and hatred, and requires some other
cause, which by a double relation of impressions and ideas,
may excite these passions. In vain wou'd we endeavour to
elude this hypothesis. There are no pha^nomena that point
out any such kind affection to men, independent of their merit,
and every other circumstance. We love company in general ;
but 'tis as we love any other amusement. An Englishman
in Italy is a friend : A EuropCBan in China ; and perhaps a
man wou'd be belov'd as such, were we to meet him in the
moon. But this proceeds only from the relation to our-
selves ; which in these cases gathers force by being confined
to a few persons.
If public benevolence, therefore, or a regard to the interests
of mankind, cannot be the original motive to justice, much
less can private benevolence, or a regard to the interests of the
party concern d, be this motive. For w^hat if he be my enemy,
and has given me just cause to hate him ? What if he be
a vicious man, and deserves the hatred of all mankind ? What
if he be a miser, and can make no use of what I wou'd deprive
him of? What if he be a profligate debauchee, and wou'd
rather receive harm than benefit from large possessions ?
What if I be in necessity, and have urgent motives to acquire
something to my family? In all these cases, the original
motive to justice wou'd fail ; and consequently the justice
itself, and along with it all property, right, and obligation.
A rich man lies under a moral obligation to communicate
to those in necessity a share of his superfluities. Were private
benevolence the original motive to justice, a man wou'd not
be oblig'd to leave others in the possession of more than he
is oblig'd to give them. At least the difference wou'd be very
inconsiderable. Men generally fix their affections more on
what they are possess'd of, than on what they never enjoy'd :
For this reason, it wou'd be greater cruelty to dispossess
a man of any thing, than not to give it him. But who will
assert, that this is the only foundation of justice?
Besides, we must consider, that the chief reason, why men
Book III. OF MORALS. 483
attach themselves so much to their possessions is, that they Sect. I,
consider them as their property, and as secur'd to them in- ■ \*
violably by the laws of society. But this is a secondary con--^;^/^'^ a
sideration, and dependent on the preceding notions of justice natural ot
-d property. '^'f
A man's property is suppos'd to be fenc'd against every
mortal, in every possible case. But private benevolence is,
and ought to be, weaker in some persons, than in others:
And in many, or indeed in most persons, must absolutely
fail. Private benevolence, therefore, is not the original
motive of justice.
From all this it follows, that we have no real or universal
motive for observing the laws of equity, but the very equity
and merit of that observance ; and as no action can be equit-
able or meritorious, where it cannot arise from some separate
motive, there is here an evident sophistry and reasoning in
a circle. Unless, therefore, we will allow, that nature has
establish'd a sophistry, and render'd it necessary and unavoid-
able, we must allow, that the sense of justice and injustice is
not deriv'd from nature, but arises artificially, tho' necessarily
from education, and human conventions.
I shall add, as a corollary to this reasoning, that since no
action can be laudable or blameable, without some motives
or impelling passions, distinct from the sense of morals, these
distinct passions must have a great influence on that sense.
'Tis according to their general force in human nature, that
we blame or praise. In judging of the beauty of animal
bodies, we always carry in our eye the oeconomy of a certain
species ; and where the limbs and features observe that pro-
portion, which is common to the species, we pronounce them
handsome and beautiful. In like manner we always consider
the natural and usual force of the passions, when we deter-
mine concerning vice and virtue ; and if the passions depart
very much from the common measures on either side, they
are always disapprov'd as vicious. A man naturally loves his
children better than his nephews, his nephews better than his
484
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. cousins, his cousins better than strangers, where every thing
else is equal. Hence arise our common measures of duty, in
preferring the one to the other. Our sense of duty always
follows the common and natural course of our passions.
To avoid giving offence, I must here observe, that when
I deny justice to be a natural virtue, I make use of the word,
natural, only as oppos'd to ariificial. In another sense of the
word; as no principle of the human mind is more natural
than a sense of virtue ; so no virtue is more natural than
justice. Mankind is an inventive species ; and where an
invention is obvious and absolutely necessary, it may as
properly be said to be natural as any thing that proceeds
immediately from original principles, without the intervention
of thought or reflexion. Tho' the rules of justice be artificial,
they are not arbitrary. Nor is the expression improper to
call them Laws of Nature ; if by natural we understand what
is common to any species, or even if we confine it to mean
what is inseparable from the species.
SECTION II.
Of the origin of justice and property.
We now proceed to examine two questions, viz. concerning
the manner, in which the rules of justice are establish' d by the
artifice of men ; and concerning the reasons, which determine
us to attribute to the observance or neglect of these rules a moral
beauty ajid deformity. These questions will appear afier\vards
to be distinct. We shall begin with the former.
Of all the animals, with which this globe is peopled, there
is none towards whom nature seems, at first sight, to have
exercis'd more cruelty than towards man, in the numberless
wants and necessities, with which she has loaded him, and in
the slender means, which she affords to the relieving these
necessities. In other creatures these two particulars gene-
rally compensate each other. If we consider the lion as a
Book III, OF MORALS. 485
voracious and carnivorous animal, we shall easily discover Sect. II.
him to be very necessitous; but if we turn our eye to his '•
make and temper, his agility, his courage, his arms, and his ^{^J^ gf
force, we shall find, that his advantages hold proportion \i'\'Ca. justice and
his wants. The sheep and ox are depriv'd of all these P^'^P^^'y-
advantages ; but their appetites are moderate, and their food
is of easy purchase. In man alone, this unnatural conjunc-
tion of infirmity, and of necessity, may be observ'd in its
greatest perfection. Not only the food, which is requir'd
for his sustenance, flies his search and approach, or at least
requires his labour to be produc'd, but he must be possess'd
of cloaths and lodging, to defend him against the injuries of
the weather ; tho' to consider him only in himself, he is
provided neither with arms, nor force, nor other natural
abilities, which are in any degree answerable to so many
necessities.
'Tis by society alone he is able to supply his defects, and
raise himself up to an equality with his fellow-creatures, and
even acquire a superiority above them. By society all his
infirmities are compensated; and tho' in that situation his
wants multiply every moment upon him, yet his abilities are
still more augmented, and leave him in every respect more
satisfied and happy, than 'tis possible for him, in his savage
and solitary condition, ever to become. When every indivi-
dual person labours a-part, and only for himself, his force is
too small to execute any considerable work ; his labour being
employ'd in supplying all his different necessities, he never
attains a perfection in any particular art ; and as his force
and success are not at all times equal, the least failure in
either of these particulars must be attended with inevitable
ruin and misery. Society provides a remedy for these three
inconveniences. By the conjunction of forces, our power is
augmented : By the partition of employments, our ability
encreases : And by mutual succour we are less expos'd to
fortune and accidents. 'Tis by this additional ybrr^, ability ^
and security, that society becomes advantageous.
486
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE,
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. But in order to form society, 'tis requisite not only that it
be advantageous, but also that men be sensible of these
advantages; and 'tis impossible, in their wild uncultivated
state, that by study and reflexion alone, they should ever be
able to attain this knowledge. Most fortunately, therefore,
there is conjoin'd to those necessities, whose remedies are
remote and obscure, another necessity, which having a pre-
sent and more obvious remedy, may justly be regarded as
the first and original principle of human society. This
necessity is no other than that natural appetite betwixt the
sexes, which unites them together, and preserves their union,
till a new tye takes place in their concern for their common
offspring. This new concern becomes also a principle of
union betwixt the parents and offspring, and forms a more
numerous society ; where the parents govern by the ad-
vantage of their superior strength and wisdom, and at the
same time are restrain'd in the exercise of their authority by
that natural affection, which they bear their children. In a
little time, custom and habit operating on the tender minds
of the children, makes them sensible of the advantages, which
they may reap from society, as well as fashions them by
degrees for it, by rubbing off those rough corners and un-
toward affections, which prevent their coalition.
For it must be confest, that however the circumstances of
human nature may render an union necessary, and however
those passions of lust and natural affection may seem to
render it unavoidable ; yet there are other particulars in
our natural temper, and in our outward circumstances,
which are very incommodious, and are even contrary to the
requisite conjunction. Among the former, we may justly
esteem our selfishness to be the most considerable. I am
sensible, that, generally speaking, the representations of this
quality have been carried much too far ; and that the descrip-
tions, which certain philosophers delight so much to form of
mankind in this particular, are as wide of nature as any
accounts of monsters, which we meet with in fables and
Book III. OF MORALS. 487
romances. So far from thinking, that men have no affection Sect. IT.
for any thing beyond themselves, I am of opinion, that tho' ••
it be rare to meet with one, who loves any single person better J^icnn of
than himself; yet 'tis as rare to meet with one, in whom z.\\ justice aM
the kind affections, taken together, do not over-balance all ■^^''■^^''^^'
the selfish. Consult common experience: Do you not see,
that tho' the whole expence of the family be generally under
the direction of the master of it, yet there are few that do not
bestow the largest part of their fortunes on the pleasures of
their wives, and the education of their children, reserving the
smallest portion for their own proper use and entertainment.
This is what we may observe concerning such as have those
endearing ties; and may presume, that the case would be
the same with others, were they plac'd in a like situation.
But tho' this generosity must be acknowledg'd to the
honour of human nature, we may at the same time remark,
that so noble an affection, instead of fitting men for large
societies, is almost as contrary to them, as the most narrow
selfishness. For while each person loves himself better than
any other single person, and in his love to others bears the
greatest affection to his relations and acquaintance, this must
necessarily produce an opposition of passions, and a conse-
quent opposition of actions ; which cannot but be dangerous
to the new-establish'd union.
'Tis however worth while to remark, that this contrariety
of passions wou'd be attended with but small danger, did it
not concur with a peculiarity in our outward circumstajices^
which affords it an opportunity of exerting itself. There are
three different species of goods, which we are possess'd of;
the internal satisfaction of our minds, the external advantages
of our body, and the enjoyment of such possessions as we
have acquir'd by our industry and good fortune. We are
perfectly secure in the enjoyment of the first. The second
may be ravish'd from us, but can be of no advantage to him
who deprives us of them. The last only are both expos'd to
the violence of others, and may be transferr'd without suffer-
488
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. ing any loss or alteration ; while at the same time, there is
not a sufficient quantity of them to supply every one's desires
and necessities. As the improvement, therefore, of these
goods is the chief advantage of society, so the instahility of
their possession, along with their scarcity^ is the chief impedi-
ment.
In vain shou'd we expect to find, in uncultivated nature,
a remedy to this inconvenience ; or hope for any inartificial
principle of the human mind, which might controul those
partial affections, and make us overcome the temptations
arising from our circumstances. The idea of justice can
never serve to this purpose, or be taken for a natural prin-
ciple, capable of inspiring men with an equitable conduct
towards each other. That virtue, as it is now understood,
wou'd never have been dream'd of among rude and savage
men. For the notion of injury or injustice implies an
immorality or vice committed against some other person :
And as every immorality is deriv'd from some defect or
unsoundness of the passions, and as this defect must be
judg'd of, in a great measure, from the ordinary course of
nature in the constitution of the mind ; 'twill be easy to know,
whether we be guilty of any immorality, with regard to others,
b}' considering the natural, and usual force of those several
affections, which are directed towards them. Now it appears,
that in the original frame of our mind, our strongest atten-
tion is confin'd to ourselves ; our next is extended to our
relations and acquaintance ; and 'tis only the weakest which
reaches to strangers and indifferent persons. This partiality,
then, and unequal affection, must not only have an influence
on our behaviour and conduct in society, but even on our
ideas of vice and virtue ; so as to make us regard any re-
markable transgression of such a degree of partiality, either
by too great an enlargement, or contraction of the affections,
as vicious and immoral. This we may observe in our
common judgments concerning actions, where we blame a
person, who either centers all his affections in his family, or
Book III. OF MORALS. 489
is so regardless of them, as, in any opposition of interest, to Sect. II.
give the preference to a stranger, or mere chance acquaint- "
ance. From all which it follows, that our natural unculti- J^ai'^ ^
vated ideas of morality, instead of providing a remedy {ox Justice and
the partiality of our affections, do rather conform themselves '^''''■^^''•^*
to that partiality, and give it an additional force and influ-
ence.
The remedy, then, is not deriv'd from nature, but from
artifice] or more properly speaking, nature provides a
remedy in the judgment and understanding, for what is
irregular and incommodious in the affections. For when
men, from their early education in society, have become
sensible of the infinite advantages that result from it, and
have besides acquir'd a new affection to company and con-
versation ; and when they have observ'd, that the principal
disturbance in society arises from those goods, which we call
external, and from their looseness and easy transition from
one person to another ; they must seek for a remedy, by
putting these goods, as far as possible, on the same footing
with the fix'd and constant advantages of the mind and body.
This can be done after no other manner, than by a conven-
tion enter'd into by all the members of the society to bestow
stability on the possession of those external goods, and leave
every one in the peaceable enjoyment of what he may acquire
by his fortune and industry. By this means, every one knows
what he may safely possess ; and the passions are restrain'd
in their partial and contradictory motions. Nor is such a
restraint contrary to these passions ; for if so, it cou'd never
be enter'd into, nor maintain'd ; but it is only contrary to
their heedless and impetuous movement. Instead of depart-
ing from our own interest, or from that of our nearest friends,
by abstaining from the possessions of others, we cannot
better consult both these interests, than by such a convention;
because it is by that means we maintain society, which is so
necessary to their well-being and subsistence, as well as to
our own.
490
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
«»
Of Justice
and
injustice.
This convention is not of the nature of z. promise: For
even promises themselves, as we shall see afterwards, arise
from human conventions. It is only a general sense of
common interest; which sense all the members of the
society express to one another, and which induces them to
regulate their conduct by certain rules. I observe, that it
will be for my interest to leave another in the possession of
his goods, provided he will act in the same manner with
regard to me. He is sensible of a like interest in the regu-
lation of his conduct. When this common sense of interest
is mutually express'd, and is known to both, it produces a
suitable resolution and behaviour. And this may properly
enough be call'd a convention or agreement betwixt us, tho'
without the interposition of a promise ; since the actions of
each of us have a reference to those of the other, and are
perform'd upon the supposition, that something is to be
perform'd on the other part. Two men, who pull the oars of
a boat, do it by an agreement or convention, tho' they have
never given promises to each other. Nor is the rule con-
cerning the stability of possession the less deriv'd from
human conventions, that it arises gradually, and acquires
force by a slow progression, and by our repeated experience
of the inconveniences of transgressing it. On the contrary,
this experience assures us still more, that the sense of interest
has become common to all our fellows, and gives us a con-
fidence of the future regularity of their conduct : And 'tis
only on the expectation of this, that our moderation and
abstinence are founded. In like manner are languages
gradually establish'd by human conventions without any
promise. In like manner do gold and silver become the
common measures of exchange, and are esteem'd sufficient
payment for what is of a hundred times their value.
After this convention, concerning abstinence from the
possessions of others, is enter'd inio, and every one has
acquir'd a stability in his possessions, there immediately arise
the ideas of justice and injustice ; as also those of properly,
Book III. OF MORALS. 491
right, and obligation. The latter are altogether unintelligible Sect. IL
without first understanding the former. Our property is " ♦*
nothing but those goods, whose constant possession '^'^ origin of
establish'd by the laws of society ; that is, by the laws oi justice and
justice. Those, therefore, who make use of the words P''°P^>^y-
property, or right, or obligation, before they have explain'd
the origin of justice, or even make use of them in that
explication, are guilty of a very gross fallacy, and can never
reason upon any solid foundation. A man's property is some
object related to him. This relation is not natural, but moral,
and founded on justice. 'Tis very preposterous, therefore, to
imagine, that we can have any idea of property, without fully
comprehending the nature of justice, and shewing its origin
in the artifice and contrivance of men. The origin of justice
explains that of property. The same artifice gives rise to
both. As our first and most natural sentiment of morals
is founded on the nature of our passions, and gives the
preference to ourselves and friends, above strangers; 'tis
impossible there can be naturally any such thing as a fix'd
right or property, while the opposite passions of men impel
them in contrary directions, and are not restrain'd by any
convention or agreement.
No one can doubt, that the convention for the distinction
of property, and for the stability of possession, is of all circum-
stances the most necessary to the establishment of human
society, and that after the agreement for the fixing and
observing of this rule, there remains little or nothing to be
done towards settling a perfect harmony and concord. AH
the other passions, beside this of interest, are either easily
restrain'd, or are not of such pernicious consequence, when
indulg'd. Vanity is rather to be esteem'd a social passion,
and a bond of union among men. Pity and love are to be
consider'd in the same light. And as to envy and revenge,
tho' pernicious, they operate only by intervals, and are
directed against particular persons, whom we consider as
our superiors or enemies. This avidity alone, of acquiring
492
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justict
and
injustice.
Part II, goods and possessions for ourselves and our nearest friends,
is insatiable, perpetual, universal, and directly destructive of
society. There scarce is any one, who is not actuated by it;
and there is no one, who has not reason to fear from it, when
it acts without any restraint, and gives way to its first and
most natural movements. So that upon the whole, we are
to esteem the difficulties in the establishment of society, to be
greater or less, according to those we encounter in regulating
and restraining this passion.
'Tis certain, that no affection of the human mind has both
a sufficient force, and a proper direction to counter-balance
the love of gain, and render men fit members of society,
by making them abstain from the possessions of others.
Benevolence to strangers is too weak for this purpose ; and
as to the other passions, they rather inflame this avidity,
when we observe, that the larger our possessions are, the
more ability we have of gratifying all our appetites. There
is no passion, therefore, capable of controlling the interested
affection, but the very affection itself, by an alteration of its
direction. Now this alteration must necessarily take place
upon the least reflection ; since 'tis evident, that the passion
is much better satisfy'd by its restraint, than by its liberty,
and that in preserving society, we make much greater
advances in the acquiring possessions, than in the solitary
and forlorn condition, which must follow upon violence
and an universal licence. The question, therefore, con-
cerning the wickedness or goodness of human nature,
enters not in the least into that other question con-
cerning the origin of society; nor is there any thing to
be consider'd but the degrees of men's sagacity or folly.
For whether the passion of self-interest be esteemed
vicious or virtuous, 'tis all a case; since itself alone
restrains it: So that if it be virtuous, men become
social by their virtue; if vicious, their vice has the same
effect.
Now as 'tis by establishing the rule for the stability of
Book III. OF MORALS. 493
possession, that this passion restrains itself: if that rule be very Sect. II.
abstruse, and of difficult invention ; society must be esteem'd, "
in a manner, accidental, and the effect of many ages. But '^^ ori^n of
it be found, that nothing can be more simple and ohv'iou'^ j'j^stice and
than that rule ; that every parent, in order to preserve Y>^2iCt^"'^"'^^'
among his children, must establish it ; and that these first
rudiments of justice must every day be improv'd, as the
society enlarges : If all this appear evident, as it certainly
must, we may conclude, that 'tis utterly impossible for men
to remain any considerable time in that savage condition,
which precedes society ; but that his very first state and situa-
tion may justly be esteem'd social. This, however, hinders
not, but that philosophers may, if they please, extend their
reasoning to the suppos'd stale of nature \ provided they
allow it to be a mere philosophical fiction, which never had,
and never cou'd have any reality. Human nature being
compos'd of two principal parts, which are requisite in all its
actions, the aflfections and understanding ; 'tis certain, that
the blind motions of the former, without the direction of the
latter, incapacitate men for society : And it may be allow'd
us to consider separately the effects, that result from the
separate operations of these two component parts of the
mind. The same liberty may be permitted to moral, which
is allow'd to natural philosophers; and 'tis very usual with
the latter to consider any motion as compounded and con-
sisting of two parts separate from each other, tho' at the
same time they acknowledge it to be in itself uncompounded
and inseparable.
This state of nature, therefore, is to be regarded as a mere
fiction, not unlike that of the golden age, which poets have in-
vented ; only with this diflference, that the former is describ'd as
full of war, violence and injustice ; whereas the latter is painted
out to us, as the most charming and most peaceable con-
dition, that can possibly be imagin'd. The seasons, in that
first age of nature, were so temperate, if we may believe the
poets, that there was no necessity for men to provide them-
494
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IL
»» ■
Of justice
and
injustice.
selves with deaths and houses as a security against the vio-
lence of heat and cold. The rivers flow'd with wine and
milk : The oaks yielded honey ; and nature spontaneously
produc'd her greatest delicacies. Nor were these the chief
advantages of that happy age. The storms and tempests
were not alone remov'd from nature ; but those more furious
tempests were unknown to human breasts, which now cause
such uproar, and engender such confusion. Avarice, ambi-
tion, cruelty, selfishness, were never heard of: Cordial affec-
tion, compassion, sympathy, were the only movements, with
which the human mind was yet acquainted. Even the
distincdon of mine and Ihine was banish'd from that happy
race of mortals, and carry'd with them the very notions of
property and obligation, justice and injustice.
This, no doubt, is to be regarded as an idle fiction ; but
yet deserves our attention, because nothing can more evi-
dently shew the origin of those virtues, which are the subjects
of our present enquiry. I have already observ'd, that justice
takes its rise from human conventions; and that these are
intended as a remedy to some inconveniences, which proceed
from the concurrence of certain qualities of the human mind
with the situaiion of external objects. The qualities of the
mind are selfishness and limited generosity : And the situation
of external objects is their easy change, join'd to their scarcity
in comparison of the wants and desires of men. But how-
ever philosophers may have been bewilder'd in those specu-
lations, poets have been guided more infallibly, by a certain
taste or common instinct, which in most kinds of reasoning
goes farther than any of that art and philosophy, with which
we have been yet acquainted. They easily perceiv'd, if every
man had a tender regard for another, or if nature supplied
abundantly all our wants and desires, that the jealousy of
interest, which justice supposes, could no longer have place ;
nor would there be any occasion for those distinctions and
limits of property and possession, which at present are in use
among mankind. Encrease to a sufficient degree the bene-
Book III. OF MORALS. 495
volence of men, or the bounty of nature, and you render Sect. II.
justice useless, by supplying its place with much nobler vir- ^rT~
tues, and more valuable blessings. The selfishness of men is origin of
animated by the few possessions we have, in proportion to j^^tice and
our wants ; and 'tis to restrain this selfishness, that men have ^''"^"^^^
been oblig'd to separate themselves from the community,
and to distinguish betwixt their own goods and those of
others.
Nor need we have recourse to the fictions of poets to learn
this; but beside the reason of the thing, may discover the
same truth by common experience and observation. 'Tis
easy to remark, that a cordial affection renders all things
common among friends ; and that married people in par-
ticular mutually lose their property, and are unacquainted
with the nu'fie and thine, which are so necessary, and yet
cause such disturbance in human society. The same effect
arises from any alteration in the circumstances of mankind;
as when there is such a plenty of any thing as satisfies all the
desires of men : In which case the distinction of property is
entirely lost, and every thing remains in common. This we
may observe with regard to air and water, tho' the most
valuable of all external objects ; and may easily conclude,
that if men were supplied with every thing in the same
abundance, or if every one had the same affection and tender
regard for every one as for himself; justice and injustice
would be equally unknown among mankind.
Here then is a proposition, which, I think, may be re-
garded as certain, thai '/is only from the selfishjiess and con-
find generosity of men, alotig with the scanty provision nature
has made for his wants, that justice derives its origin. If we
look backward we shall find, that this proposition bestows an
additional force on some of those observations, which we
have already made on this subject.
First, we may conclude from it, that a regard to public
interest, or a strong extensive benevolence, is not our first
and original motive for the observation of the rules of jus-
496
A rREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
■ >«
Of justice
and
injustice.
tice ; since 'tis allow'd, that if men were endow'd with such
a benevolence, these rules would never have been dreamt of.
Secondly, we may conclude from the same principle, that
the sense of justice is not founded on reason, or on the dis-
covery of certain connexions and relations of ideas, which
are eternal, immutable, and universally obligatory. For since
it is confest, that such an alteration as that above-mention'd,
in the temper and circumstances of mankind, wou'd entirely
alter our duties and obligations, 'tis necessary upon the
common system, that the sense of virtue is deriv d from reason,
to shew the change which this must produce in the relations
and ideas. But 'tis evident, that the only cause, why the ex-
tensive generosity of man, and the perfect abundance of
every thing, wou'd destroy the very idea of justice, is because
they render it useless ; and that, on the other hand, his con-
fin'd benevolence, and his necessitous condition, give rise to
that virtue, only by making it requisite to the publick in-
terest, and to that of every individual. 'Twas therefore a
concern for our own, and the pubHck interest, which made
us establish the laws of justice ; and nothing can be more
certain, than that it is not any relation of ideas, which gives
us this concern, but our impressions and sentiments, without
which every thing in nature is perfectly indifferent to us, and
can never in the least affect us. The sense of justice, there-
fore, is not founded on our ideas, but on our impressions.
Thirdly, we may farther confirm the foregoing proposition,
that those ii7ipressions, which give rise to this sense of justice,
are not tiatural to the mind of man, hut arise from artifice and
hur?ian conventions. For since any considerable alteration of
temper and circumstances destroys equally justice and in-
justice ; and since such an alteration has an effect only by
changing our own and the publick interest; it follows, that
the first establishment of the rules of justice depends on
these different interests. But if men pursu'd the publick
interest naturally, and with a hearty affection, they wou'd
never have dream'd of restraining each other by these rules;
Book III. OF MORALS. 497
and if they pursu'd their own interest, without any precau- Sect. II.
tion, they wou'd run head-long into every kind of injustice *' ■
and violence. These rules, therefore, are artificial, and seek J-ia-itiof
their end in an oblique and indirect manner ; nor is the in- justice and
terest, which gives rise to them, of a kind that cou'd be P^'°P^^^y-
pursu'd by the natural and inartificial passions of men.
To make this more evident, consider, that tho' the rules of
justice are establish'd merely by interest, their connexion
with interest is somewhat singular, and is different from
what may be observ'd on other occasions. A single act of
justice is frequently contrary to public interest; and were it
to stand alone, without being foUow'd by other acts, may,
in itself, be very prejudicial to society. When a man of
merit, of a beneficent disposition, restores a great fortune
to a miser, or a seditious bigot, he has acted justly and laud-
ably, but the public is a real sufferer. Nor is every single
act of justice, consider'd apart, more conducive to private
interest, than to public; and 'tis easily conceiv'd how a man
may impoverish himself by a signal instance of integrity,
and have reason to wish, that with regard to that single act,
the laws of justice were for a moment suspended in the
universe. But however single acts of justice may be con-
trary, either to public or private interest, 'tis certain, that
the whole plan or scheme is highly conducive, or indeed
absolutely requisite, both to the support of society, and the
well-being of every individual. 'Tis impossible to separate
the good from the ill. Property must be stable, and must be
fix'd by general rules. Tho' in one instance the public be a
sufferer, this momentary ill is amply compensated by the
steady prosecution of the rule, and by the peace and order,
which it establishes in society. And even every individual
person must find himself a gainer, on ballancing the account ;
since, without justice, society must immediately dissolve, and
every one must fall into that savage and solitary condition,
which is infinitely worse than the worst situation that can
possibly be suppos'd in society. When therefore men have
498
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
0/ justice
and
injustice.
Part II. had experience enough to observe, that whatever may be the
consequence of any single act of justice, perform'd by a
single person, yet the whole system of actions, concurr'd in
by the whole society, is infinitely advantageous to the whole,
and to every part ; it is not long before justice and property
take place. Every member of society is sensible of this in-
terest : Every one expresses this sense to his fellows, along
with the resolution he has taken of squaring his actions by
it, on condition that others will do the same. No more is re-
quisite to induce any one of them to perform an act of justice,
who has the first opportunity. This becomes an example to
others. And thus justice establishes itself by a kind of con-
vention or agreement ; that is, by a sense of interest, sup-
pos'd to be common to all, and where every single act is
perform'd in expectation that others are to perform the like.
Without such a convention, no one wou'd ever have dream'd,
that there was such a virtue as justice, or have been induc'd
to conform his actions to it. Taking any single act, my
justice may be pernicious in every respect ; and 'tis only
upon the supposition, that others are to imitate my example,
that I can be induc'd to embrace that virtue ; since nothing
but this combination can render justice advantageous, or
afford me any motives to conform my self to its rules.
We come now to the second question we propos'd, viz.
Why we annex the idea of virtue to justice, and of vice to in-
justice. This question will not detain us long after the
principles, which we have already establish'd. All we can
say of it at present will be dispatch'd in a few words : And
for farther satisfaction, the reader must wait till we come to
the third part of this book. The natural obligation to
justice, viz. interest, has been fully explain'd ; but as to the
moral obligation, or the sentiment of right and wrong, 'twill
first be requisite to examine the natural virtues, before we
can give a full and satisfactory account of it.
After men have found by experience, that their selfishness
Book III. OF MORALS. 499
and confin'd generosity, acting at their liberty, totally inca- Sect. IL
pacitate them for society ; and at the same time have observ'd, • **
that society is necessary to the satisfaction of those very ^^^^^^^ ^f
passions, they are naturally induc'd to lay themselves wndtx Justice and
the restraint of such rules, as may render their commerce ■^'''''^'^^•''
more safe and commodious. To the imposition then, and
observance of these rules, both in general, and in every par-
ticular instance, they are at first induc'd only by a regard to
interest ; and this motive, on the first formation of society, is
sufficiently strong and forcible. But when society has be-
come numerous, and has encreas'd to a tribe or nation, this
interest is more remote; nor do men so readily perceive,
that disorder and confusion follow upon every breach of
these rules, as in a more narrow and contracted society. But
tho' in our own actions we may frequently lose sight of that
interest, which we have in maintaining order, and may follow
a lesser and more present interest, we never fail to observe
the prejudice we receive, either mediately or immediately,
from the injustice of others ; as not being in that case either
blinded by passion, or byass'd by any contrary temptation.
Nay when the injustice is so distant from us, as 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 every thing, which
gives uneasiness in human actions, upon the general survey,
is call'd 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 and in-
justice. And tho' this sense, in the present case, be deriv'd
only from contemplating the actions of others, yet we fail not
to extend it even to our own actions. The general rule
reaches beyond those instances, from which it arose ; while
at the same time we naturally sympathize with others in the
sentiments they entertain of us. Thus self-interest is the
original motive to the establishment 0/ justice : but a sympathy
500
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
♦ » ■
Of justice
and
injustice.
with public interest is the source of the moral approbation,
which attends that virtue.
Tho' this progress of the sentiments be natural, and even
necessary, 'tis certain, that it is here forwarded by the artifice
of poHticians, who, in order to govern men more easily, and
preserve peace in human society, have endeavour'd to produce
an esteem for justice, and an abhorrence of injustice. This,
no doubt, must have its effect ; but nothing can be more
evident, than that the matter has been carry'd too far by
certain writers on morals, who seem to have employ'd their
utmost efforts to extirpate all sense of virtue from among
mankind. Any artifice of politicians may assist nature in the
producing of those sentiments, which she suggests to us, and
may even on some occasions, produce alone an approbation
or esteem for any particular action ; but 'tis impossible it
should be the sole cause of the distinction we make betwixt
vice and virtue. For if nature did not aid us in this particular,
'twou'd be in vain for politicians to talk of honourable or dis-
honourable, praiseworthy or blameable. These words wou'd be
perfectly unintelligible, and wou'd no more have any idea
annex'd to them, than if they were of a tongue perfectly un-
known to us. The utmost politicians can perform, is, to
extend the natural sentiments beyond their original bounds ;
but still nature must furnish the materials, and give us some
notion of moral distinctions.
As publick praise and blame encrease our esteem for
justice; so private education and instruction contribute to
the same effect. For as parents easily observe, that a man is
the more useful, both to himself and others, the greater degree
of probity and honour he is endow'd with; and that those
principles have greater force, when custom and education
assist interest and reflexion : For these reasons they are in-
duc'd to inculcate on their children, from their earliest infancy,
the principles of probity, and teach them to regard the ob-
servance of those rules, by which society is maintain'd, as
worthy and honourable, and their violation as base and
Book III. OF MORALS. 50T
infamous. By this means the sentiments of honour may Sect. IIL
take root in their tender minds, and acquire such firmness *'
and solidity, that they may fall little short of those principles, ^j^^
which are the most essential to our natures, and the most which
deeply radicated in our internal constitution. iroierlv^
What farther contributes to encrease their solidity, is the
interest of our reputation, after the opinion, that a merit or
demerit attends Justice or injustice, is once firmly establish'd
among mankind. There is nothing, which touches us more
nearly than our reputation, and nothing on which our repu-
tation more depends than our conduct, with relation to the
property of others. For this reason, every one, who has any
regard to his character, or who intends to live on good terms
with mankind, must fix an inviolable law to himself, never, by
any temptation, to be induc'd to violate those principles, which
are essential to a man of probity and honour.
I shall make only one observation before I leave this sub-
ject, viz. that iho' I assert, that in the state of nature, or that
imaginary state, which preceded society, there be neither
justice nor injustice, yet I assert not, that it was allowable, in
such a state, to violate the property of others. I only main-
tain, that there was no such thing as property; and conse-
quently cou'd be no such thing as justice or injustice. I
shall have occasion to make a similar reflexion with regard
to promises, when I come to treat of them ; and I hope this
reflexion, when duly weigh'd, will suffice to remove all odium
from the foregoing opinions, with regard to justice and
injustice.
SECTION III.
Of the rules, which determine property.
Tho' the establishment of the rule, concerning the stability
of possession, be not only useful, but even absolutely neces-
sary to human society, it can never serve to any purpose.
502
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. while it remains in such general terms. Some method must
be shewn, by which we may distinguish what particular goods
are to be assign'd to each particular person, while the rest of
mankind are excluded from their possession and enjoyment.
Our next business, then, must be to discover the reasons
which modify this general rule, and fit it to the common use
and practice of the world.
'Tis obvious, that those reasons are not deriv'd from any
utility or advantage, which either the particular person or the
public may reap from his enjoyment of any particular goods,
beyond what wou'd result from the possession of them by any
other person. 'Twere better, no doubt, that every one were
possess'd of what is most suitable to him, and proper for his
use : But besides, that this relation of fitness may be com-
mon to several at once, 'tis liable to so many controversies,
and men are so partial and passionate in judging of these
controversies, that such a loose and uncertain rule wou'd be
absolutely incompatible with the peace of human society.
The convention concerning the stabiUty of possession is
enter'd into, in order to cut off all occasions of discord and
contention; and this end wou'd never be attain'd, were we
allow'd to apply this rule differently in every particular case,
according to every particular utility, which might be dis-
cover'd in such an application. Justice, in her decisions,
never regards the fitness or unfitness of objects to particular
persons, but conducts herself by more extensive views.
Whether a man be generous, or a miser, he is equally
well receiv'd by her, and obtains with the same facility
a decision in his favour, even for what is entirely useless
to him.
It follows, therefore, that the general rule, that possession
must be stable, is not apply'd by particular judgments, but by
other general rules, which must extend to the whole society,
and be inflexible either by spite or favour. To illustrate
this, I propose the following instance. I first consider men
in their savage and solitary condition; and suppose, that
Book III. OF MORALS. 503
being sensible of the misery of that state, and foreseeing the Sect. IIL
advantages that wou'd result from society, they seek each — *^—
other's company, and make an offer of mutual protection and ^^/^j*
assistance. I also suppose, that they are endow'd with such whick
sagacity as immediately to perceive, that the chief impedi- J^Z^]"'
ment to this project of society and partnership lies in the
avidity and selfishness of their natural temper; to remedy
which, they enter into a convention for the stability of pos-
session, and for mutual restraint and forbearance. I am
sensible, that this method of proceeding is not altogether
natural ; but besides that I here only suppose those reflexions
to be form'd at once, which in fact arise insensibly and by
degrees ; besides this, I say, 'tis very possible, that several
persons, being by different accidents separated from the
societies, to which they formerly belong'd, may be oblig'd to
form a new society among themselves; in which case they
are entirely in the situation above-mention'd.
'Tis evident, then, that their first difficulty, in this situation,
after the general convention for the establishment of society,
and for the constancy of possession, is, how to separate their
possessions, and assign to each his particular portion, which he
must for the future inalterably enjoy. This difficulty will not
detain them long; but it must immediately occur to them, as
the most natural expedient, that every one continue to enjoy
what he is at present master of, and that property or con-
stant possession be conjoin'd to the immediate possession.
Such is the effect of custom, that it not only reconciles us to
any thing we have long enjoy'd, but even gives us an affection
for it, and makes us prefer it to other objects, which may be
Oiore valuable, but are less known to us. What has long
lain under our eye, and has often been employ'd to our
advantage, thai we are always the most unwilling to part
with ; but can easily live without possessions, which we never
have enjoy'd, and are not accustom'd to. 'Tis evident,
therefore, that men wou'd easily acquiesce in this expedient,
that every one continue io enjoy what he is at present possess d
504
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. qf; and this is the reason, why they wou'd so naturally agree
-** ■ in preferring it^
Ofjttsiice
and • No questions in philosophy are more difficult, than when a number
injustice. of causes present themselves for the same phsenomenon, to determine
which is the principal and predominant. There seldom is any very
precise argument to fix our choice, and men must be contented to be
guided by a kind of taste or fancy, arising from analogy, and a com-
parison of similar instances. Thus, in the present case, there are, no
doubt, motives of public interest for most of the rules, which determine
property ; but still I suspect, that these rules are principally fix'd by the
imagination, or the more frivolous properties of our thought and con-
ception. I shall continue to explain these causes, leaving it to the
reader's choice, whether he will prefer those deriv'd from publick utility,
or those deriv'd from the imagination. We shall begin with the right
of the present possessor.
'Tis a quality, which (a) I have already observ'd in human nature,
that when two objects appear in a close relation to each other, the mind
is apt to ascribe to them any additional relation, in order to compleat
the union ; and this inclination is so strong, as often to make us run
into errors (such as that of the conjunction of thought and matter) if we
find that they can serve to that purpose. Many of our impressions are
incapable of place or local position ; and yet those very impressions we
suppose to have a local conjunction with the impressions of sight and
touch, merely because they are conjoin'd by causation, and are already
united in the imagination. Since, therefore, we can feign a new relation,
and even an absurd one, in order to compleat any union, 'twill easily be
imagin'd, that if there be any relations, which depend on the mind,
'twill readily conjoin them to any preceding relation, and unite, by a
new bond, such objects as have already an union in the fancy. Thus for
instance, we never fail, in our arrangement of bodies, to place those
which are resembling in contiguity to each other, or at least in cor-
respondent points of view ; because we fee) a satisfaction in joining the
relation of contiguity to that of resemblance, or the resemblance of
situation to that of qualities. And this is easily accounted for from the
known properties of human nature. When the mind is dctermin'd to
join certain objects, but undetermin'd in its choice of the particular
objects, it naturally turns its eye to such as are related together. They
are already united in the mind : They present themselves at the same
time to the conception ; and instead of requiring any new reason for
their conjunction, it wou'd require a very powerful reason to make us
over-look this natural affinity. 'J'his we shall have occasion to explain
more fully afterwards, when we come to treat of beauty. In the mean
time, we may content ourselves with observing, that the same love of
order and uniformity, which arranges the books in a library, and the
chairs in a parlour, contribute to the formation of society, and to the
well-being of mankind, by modifying the general rule concerning the
stability of possession. And as property forms a relation betwixt a
person and an object, 'tis natural to found it on some preceding relation;
and as properly is nothing but a constant possession, secur'd by the laws
(a) Book I. Part IV. sect. 5.
Book III. OF MORALS. 505
But we may observe, that tho' the rule of the assignment Sect. III.
of property to the present possessor be natural, and by that *•
means useful, yet its utility extends not beyond the first ^^/^^
formation of society ; nor wou'd any thing be more per- which _
nicious, than the constant observance of it ; by which >^jX'r/T'
restitution wou'd be excluded, and every injustice wou'd be
authoriz'd and rewarded. We must, therefore, seek for some
other circumstance, that may give rise to property after
society is once establish'd ; and of this kind, I find four
most considerable, viz. Occupation, Prescription, Accession,
and Succession. We shall briefly examine each of these,
beginning with Occupation.
The possession of all external goods is changeable and
uncertain ; which is one of the most considerable impedi-
ments to the establishment of society, and is the reason why,
by universal agreement, express or tacite, men restrain them-
selves by what we now call the rules of justice and equity.
The misery of the condition, which precedes this restraint, is
the cause why we submit to that remedy as quickly as
possible ; and this aff"ords us an easy reason^ why we annex
the idea of property to the first possession, or to occupation.
Men are unwilling to leave property in suspence, even for
the shortest time, or open the least door to violence and
disorder. To which we may add, that the first possession
always engages the attention most; and did we neglect it,
there wou'd be no colour of reason for assigning property to
any succeeding possession \
of society, 'tis natural to add it to the present possession, which is a
relation that resembles it. For this also has its influence. If it be
natural to conjoin all sorts of relations, 'tis more so, to conjoin such
relations as are resembling, and are related together.
* Some philosophers account for the right of occupation, by saying,
that every one has a property in his own labour; and when he joins that
labour to any thing, it gives him the property of the whole: But, i.
There are several kinds of occupation, where we cannot be said to join
our labour to the object we acquire : As when we possess a meadow by
grazing our cattle upon it. 2. This accounts for the matter by means of
accession ; which is taking a needless circuit. 3. We cannot be said to
join our labour in any thing but in a figurative sense. Properly speaking.
5o6
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
0/ justice
aiiJ
injustice.
There remains nothing, but to determine exactly, what is
meant by possession ; and this is not so easy as may at first
sight be imagin'd. We are said to be in possession of any
thing, not only when we immediately touch it, but also when
we are so situated with respect to it, as to have it in our
power to use it ; and may move, alter, or destroy it, accord-
ing to our present pleasure or advantage. This relation,
then, is a species of cause and effect ; and as property is
nothing but a stable possession, deriv'd from the rules of
justice, or the conventions of men, 'tis to be consider 'd as
the same species of relation. But here we may observe,
that as the power of using any object becomes more or less
certain, according as the interruptions we may meet with are
more or less probable ; and as this probability may increase
by insensible degrees ; 'tis in many cases impossible to deter-
mine when possession begins or ends ; nor is there any
certain standard, by which we can decide such controversies.
A wild boar, that falls into our snares, is deem'd to be in our
possession, if it be impossible for him to escape. But what
do we mean by impossible ? How do we separate this im-
possibility from an improbability ? And how distinguish that
exactly from a probability? Mark the precise limits of the
one and the other, and shew the standard, by which we may
decide all disputes that may arise, and, as we find by experi-
ence, frequently do arise upon this subject *.
we only make an alteration on it by our labour. This forms a relation
betwixt us and the object ; and thence arises the property, according to
the preceding principles.
* If we seek a solution of these difficulties in reason and public interest,
we never shall find satisfaction ; and if we look lor it in the imagination,
'tis evident, that the qualities, which operate upon that faculty, run so
insensibly and gradually into each other, that 'tis impossible to give them
any precise bounds or termination. The difficulties on this head must
encrease, when we consider, that our judgment alters very sensibly,
according to the subject, and that the same power and proxiinity will be
deem'd possession in one case, which is not esteem'd such in anothrr.
A person, who has hunted a hare to the last degree of weariness, wou'd
look upon it as an injustice for another to rush in before him, and seize
bis prey. IJut the same person, advancing to pluck an apple, that hangs
within his reach, has no reason to complain, if another, more alert, passes
Book III. OF MORALS. 507
But such disputes may not only arise concerning the real Sect. III.
existence of property and possession, but also concerning "
their extent ; and these disputes are often susceptible of no ,.{^1^^
decision, or can be decided by no other faculty than the itjhich
imagination. A person who lands on the shore of a small J^gZ'rty.
island, that is desart and uncultivated, is deem'd its possessor
from the very first moment, and acquires the property of
the whole ; because the object is there bounded and circum-
scrib'd in the fancy, and at the same time is proportion'd to
the new possessor. The same person landing on a desart
island, as large as Great Britain, extends his property no
farther than his immediate possession ; tho' a numerous
colony are esteem'd the proprietors of the whole from the
instant of their debarkment.
But it often happens, that the title of first possession
becomes obscure thro' time; and that 'tis impossible to
determine many controversies, which may arise concerning
him, and takes possession. What is the reason of this difference, but
that immobility, not being natural to the hare, but the effect of industry,
forms in that case a strong relation with the hunter, which is wanting in
the other ?
Here then it appears, that a certain and infallible power of enjoyment,
without touch or some other sensible relation, often produces not
property : And I farther observe, that a sensible relation, without any
present power, is sometimes sufficient to give a title to any object. The
sight of a thing is seldom a considerable relation, and is only regarded
as such, when the object is hidden, or very obscure; in which case we
find, that the view alone conveys a property ; according to that maxim,
that even a whole continent belongs to the nation, which first discover d
it. 'Tis however remarkable, that both in the case of discovery and that
of possession, the first discoverer and possessor must join to the relation
an intention of rendering himself proprietor, otherwise the relation will
not have its effect ; and that because the connexion in our fancy betwixt
the property and the relation is not so great, but that it requires to be
help'd by such an intention.
From all these circumstances, 'tis easy to see how perplex'd many
questions may become concerning the acquisition of property by occupa-
tion ; and the least effort of thought may present us with instances, which
are not susceptible of any reasonable decision. If we prefer examples,
which are real, to such as are feign'd, we may consider the following one,
which is to be met with in almost every writer, that has treated of the
laws of nature. Two Grecian colonies, leaving their native country, in
search of new seats, were inform'd that a city near them was deserted by
its inhabitants. To know the truth of this report, they dispatch'd at once
5o8
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of Justice
and
injustice.
it. In that case long possession or prescription naturally
takes place, and gives a person a sufficient property in any
thing he enjoys. The nature of human society admits not
of any great accuracy ; nor can we always remount to the
first origin of things, in order to determine their present
condition. Any considerable space of time sets objects at
such a distance, that they seem, in a manner, to lose their
reality, and have as little influence on the mind, as if they
never had been in being. A man's title, that is clear and
certain at present, will seem obscure and doubtful fifty years
hence, even tho' the facts, on which it is founded, shou'd be
prov'd with the greatest evidence and certainty. The same
facts have not the same influence after so long an interval of
time. And this may be receiv'd as a convincing argument
for our preceding doctrine with regard to property and
justice. Possession during a long tract of time conveys a
title to any object. But as 'tis certain, that, however every
two messengers, one from each colony ; who finding on their approach,
that their information was true, began a race together with an intention
to take possession of the city, each of them for his countrymen. One of
these messengers, finding that he was not an equal match for the other,
launch'd his spear at the gates of the city, and was so fortunate as to fix
it there before the arrival of his companion. This produc'd a dispute
betwixt the two colonies, which of them was the proprietor of the empty
city ; and this dispute still subsists among philosophers. For my part
I find the dispute impossible to be decided, and that because the whole
question hangs upon the fancy, which in this case is not possess'd of any
jirecise or determinate standard, upon which it can give sentence. To
make this evident, let us consider, that if these two persons had been
simply members of the colonies, and not messengers or deputies, their
actions wou'd not have been of any consequence ; since in that case their
relation to the colonies wou'd have been but feeble and imperfect. Add
to this, that nothing determin'd them to run to the gates rather than the
walls, or any other part of the city, but that the gates, being the most
obvious and remaikable part, satisfy the fancy best in taking them for
the whole ; as we find by the ]5oets, who frequently draw their images and
metaphors from them. Besides we may consider, that the touch or
contact of the one messenger is not properly possession, no more than
the piercing the gates with a spear ; but only forms a relation ; and
there is a relation, in the other case, equally obvious, tho' not, perhaps,
of equal force. Which of these relations, then, conveys a right and
property, or whether any of them be sufficient for that effect, I leave to
the decision of such as are wiser than myself.
Book III. OF MORALS. 509
thing be produc'd in time, there is nothing real, that is Sect. IIL
produc'd by time; it follows, that property being produc'd "
by time, is not any thing real in the objects, but is the ^j^/^j
offspring of the sentiments, on which alone time is found which
to have any influenced ^^^-^'
We acquire the property of objects by accession, when they
are connected in an intimate manner with objects that are
already our property, and at the same time are inferior to
them. Thus the fruits of our garden, the offspring of our
cattle, and the work of our slaves, are all of them esteem'd
our property, even before possession. Where objects are
connected together in the imagination, they are apt to be put
on the same footing, and are commonly suppos'd to be
endow'd with the same qualities. We readily pass from one
to the other, and make no difference in our judgments
concerning them ; especially if the latter be inferior to the
former '^.
^ Present possession is plainly a relation betwixt a person and an
object ; but is not sufificient to counter-ballance the relation of first posses-
sion, unless the former be long and uninterrupted : In which case the
relation is encreas'd on the side of the present possession, by the extent
of time, and diminish'd on that of first possession, by the distance. This
change in the relation produces a consequent change in the property.
^ This source of property can never be explain'd but from the ima-
ginations ; and one may affirm, that the causes are here unmix'd. We
shall proceed to explain them more particularly, and illustrate them by
examples from common life and experience.
It has been observ'd above, that the mind has a natural propensity to
join relations, especially resembling ones, and finds a kind of fitness and
uniformity in such an union. From this propensity are deriv'd these
laws of nature, that upon the first formation of society, property always
follows the present possession ; and afterwards, that it arises from first
or from long possession. Now we may easily observe, that relation is
not confin'd merely to one degree ; but that from an object, that is
related to us, we acquire a relation to every other object which is related
to it, and so on, till the thought loses the chain by too long a progress.
However the relation may weaken by each remove, 'tis not immediately
destroy'd ; but frequently connects two objects by means of an inter-
mediate one, which is related to both. And this principle is of such
force as to give rise to the right of accession, and causes us to acquire
the property not only of such objects as we are immediately possess'd of,
Dut also of such as are clf.sely connected with them.
Suppose a German, a Frenchman, and a Spatiiard to come into a
room, where there are plac'd upon the table three bottles of wine
5IO
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. The right of succession is a very natural one, from the
" presum'd consent of the parent or near relation, and from
f^„j the general interest of mankind, which requires, that men's
injustice, possessions shou'd pass to those, who are dearest to them, in
Rhenish, Burgundy and Por-t; and suppose they shou'd fall a quarrel-
ling about the division of them ; a person, who was chosen for umpire,
wou'd naturally, to shew his impartiality, give every one the product of
his own country : And this from a principle, which, in some measure, is
the source of those laws of nature, that ascribe property to occupation,
prescription and accession.
In all these cases, and particularly that of accession, there is first a
natural union betwixt the idea of the person and that of the object, and
afterwards a new and moral union produc'd by that right or property,
which we ascribe to the person. But here there occurs a difficulty,
which merits our attention, and may afford us an opportunity of putting
to tryal that singular method of reasoning, which has been employ'd on
the present subject. I have already observ'd, that the imagination
passes with greater facility from little to great, than from great to little,
and that the transition of ideas is always easier and smoother in the
former case than in the latter. Now as the right of accession arises
from the easy transition of ideas, by which related objects are connected
together, it shou'd naturally be imagin'd, that the right of accession
must encrease in strength, in proportion as the transition of ideas is per-
form'd with greater facility. It may, therefore, be thought, that when
we have acquir'd the property of any small object, we shall readily
consider any great object related to it as an accession, and as belonging
to the proprietor of the small one ; hence the transition is in that case
very easy from the small object to the great one, and shou'd connect
them together in the closest manner. But in fact the case is always
found to be otherwise. The empire of Great Britain seems to draw
along with it the dominion of the Orkneys, the Hebrides, the isle oi Man,
and the isle of Wight ; but the authority over those lesser islands does
not naturally imply any title to Great Britain. In shoit, a small object
naturally follows a great one as its accession ; but a great one is nevei
suppos'd to belong to the proprietor of a small one related to it, merely
on account of that property and relation. Yet in this latter case the
transition of ideas is smoother from the proprietor to the small object,
which is his property, and from the small object to the great one, than
in the former case from the proprietor to the great object, and from the
great one to the small. It may therefore be thought, that these phze-
nomena are objections to the foregoing hypothesis, that the ascribing of
property to accession is nothing but an effect of the relations of ideas,
and of the smooth transition of the imagination.
'Twill be easy to solve this objection, if we consider the agility and
unsteadiness of the imagination, with the different views, in which it is
continually placing its objects. When we attribute to a person a
property in two objects, we do not always pass from the person to one
object, and from that to the other related to it. The objects being here
to be considcr'd as the property of the person, we are apt to join them
Book III. OF MORALS. 511
order to render them more industrious and frugal. Perhaps Sect. Ill
these causes are seconded by the influence of relation, or the -*♦—
association of ideas, by which we are naturally directed to ^^/J'
consider the son after the parent's decease, and ascribe to -which
determine
together, and place them in the same light. Suppose, therefore, a great P^^P^'^V-
and a small object to be related together ; if a person be strongly related
to the great object, he will likewise be strongly related to both tlie
objects, consider'd together, because he is related to the most consider-
able part. On the contrary, if he be only related to the small object,
he will not be strongly related to both, consider'd together, since his
relation lies only with the most trivial part, which is not apt to strike
us in any great degree, when we consider the whole. And this is the
reason, why small objects become accessions to great ones, and not
great to small.
'Tis the general opinion of philosophers and civilians, that the sea is
incapable of becoming the property of any nation ; and that because 'tis
impossible to take possession of it, or form any such distinct relation
with it, as may be the foundation of property. Where this reason
ceases, property immediately takes place. Thus the most strenuous
advocates for the liberty of the seas universally allow, that friths and
bays naturally belong as an accession to the proprietors of the sur-
rounding continent. These have properly no more bond or union with
the land, than the paci^e ocean wou'd have; but having an union in the
fancy, and being at the same time inferior, they are of course regarded
as an accession.
The property of rivers, by the laws of most nations, and by the
natural turn of our thought, is attributed to the proprietors of their
banks, excepting such vast rivers as the Rhine or the Danube, which
seem too large to the imagination to follow as an accession the property
of the neighbouring fields. Yet even these rivers are consider'd as the
property of that nation, thro' whose dominions they run ; the idea of a
nation being of a suitable bulk to correspond with them, and bear them
such a relation in the fancy.
The accessions, which are made to lands bordering upon rivers,
follow the land, say the civilians, provided it be made by what they
call alluvion, that is, insensibly and imperceptibly ; which are circum-
stances that mightily assist the imagination in the conjunction. Where
there is any considerable portion torn at once from one bank, and join'd
to another, it becomes not his property, whose land it falls on, till it
unite with the land, and till the trees or plants have spread their roots
into both. Before that, the imagination does not sufficiently join them.
There are other cases, which somewhat resemVjle this of accession,
but which, at the bottom, are considerably different, and merit our
attention. Of this kind is the conjunction of the properties of different
persons, after such a manner as not to admit of separation. The
question is, to whom the united mass must belong.
Where this conjunction is of such a nature as to admit of division,
but not of separation, the decision is natural and easy. The whole
mass must be suppos'd to be common betwixt the proprietors of the
512
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. him a title to his father's possessions. Those goods must
"7**~ become the property of some body : But of whom is the
and question. Here 'tis evident the persons children naturally
injustice, present themselves to the mind ; and being already connected
several parts, and afterwards must be divided according to the pro-
portions of these parts. But here I cannot forbear taking notice of a
remarkable subtilty of the Roman law, in distinguishing betwixt con-
fusion and commixtion. Confusion is an union of two bodies, such as
different liquors, where the parts become entirely undistinguishable.
Commixtion is the blending of two bodies, such as two bushels of com,
where the parts remain separate in an obvious and visible manner. As
in the latter case the imagination discovers not so entire an union as in
the former, but is able to trace and preserve a distinct idea of tlie pro-
perty of each; this is the reason, why the civil law, tho' it establish'd
an entire community in the case of confusion, and after that a propor-
tional division, yet in the case of commixtion, supposes each of the
proprietors to maintain a distinct right; however necessity may at last
force them to submit to the same division.
Quod si frumetitum Tiiii frumento iuo mistum fuerit : siquidem ex
vohintate vestra, cotnmune est : quia singula corpora, id est, singula
grana, quce cuj usque propria fuerunt, ex consensu vestro commu7ticata
sunt. Quod si casu id mistum fuerit, vcl Tit ins id miscuerit sine ttia
voluntate, non videtur id commuttc esse ; quia singula corpora in sua
substantia durant. Sednec magis islis casilms commune sit fruincntum
quam grex intelligitur esse comf/tunis, si pecora Titii tuis pecoribus
mista fuerint. Sed si ab alterutro vestrum ioturn id frumentum
retineatur, in rem quidem actio pro tnodo frumenti cujusque competit.
Arbitrio aiitem judtcis, ut ipse cesiimet quale cujusque frumentum J uerit.
Inst. Lib. II. Tit. i. § 28.
Where the properties of two persons are united after such a manner
as neither to admit of division nor separation, as when one builds a
house on another's ground, in that case, the whole must belong to one
of the proprietors : And here I assert, that it naturally is conceiv'd to
belong to the proprietor of the most considerable part. For however
the compound object may have a relation to two different persons, and
carry our view at once to both of them, yet as the most considerable
part principally engages our attention, and by the strict union draws the
inferior along it; for this reason, the whole bears a relation to the
proprietor of that part, and is regarded as his property. The only
difficulty is, what we shall be pleas'd to call the most considerable part,
and most attractive to the imagination.
This quality depends on several different circumstances, which have
little connexion with each other. One part of a compound object may
become more considerable than another, either because it is more con-
stant and durable ; because it is of greater value ; because it is more
obvious and remarkable ; because it is of greater extent ; or because its
existence is more separate and independent. 'Twill be easy to conceive,
that, as these circumstances may be conjoin'd and oppos'd in all the
different ways, and according to all the different degrees, which can be
Book III. OF MORALS. 513
to those possessions by means of their deceas'd parent, we Sect. Ill
are apt to connect them still farther by the relation of ' **
property. Of this there are many parallel instances ^ ^^^^^ '
imagin'd, there will result many cases, where the reasons on both sides , ,
are so equally ballanc'd, that 'tis impossible for us to give any satis- .
factory decision. Here then is the proper business of municipal laws, to " ^ •^'
fix what the principles of human nature have left undetermin'd.
The superficies yields to the soil, says the civil law : The writing to
the paper : The canvas to the picture. These decisions do not well
agree together, and are a proof of the contrariety of those principles, from
wliich they are deriv'd.
But of all the questions of this kind the most curious is that, which
for so many ages divided the disciples oi Froculus and Salnnus. Sup-
pose a person shou'd make a cup from the metal of another, or a ship
from his wood, and suppose the proprietor of the metal or wood shou'd
demand his goods, the question is, whether he acquires a title to the cup
or ship. Sa/>ifius maintain'd the affirmative, and asserted that the sub-
stance or matter is the foundation of all the qualities ; that it is in-
corruptible and immortal, and therefore superior to the form, which is
casual and dependent. On the other hand, Proculus observ'd, that the
form is the most obvious and remarkable part, and that from it bodies
are denominated of this or that paiticular species. To which he might
have added, that the matter or substance is in most bodies so fluctuating
and uncertain, that 'tis utterly impossible to trace it in all its changes.
For my part, I know not from wliat principles such a controversy can
be certainly determined. I shall therefore content my self with ob-
serving, that the decision of Trebonian seems to me pretty ingenious ;
that the cup belongs to the proprietor of the metal, because it can be
brought back to its first form : But that the ship belongs to the author
of its form for a contrary reason. But however ingenious this reason
may seem, it plainly depends upon the fancy, which by the possibility of
such a reduction, finds a closer connexion and relation betwixt a cup and
the proprietor of its metal, than betwixt a ship and the proprietor of its
wood, where the substance is more fix'd and unalterable.
* In examining the different titles to authority in government, we
shall meet with many reasons to convince us, that the right of succession
depends, in a great measure, on the imagination. Mean while I shall
rest contented with observing one example, which belongs to the present
subject. Suppose that a person die without children, and that a dispute
arises among his relations concerning his inlieritance ; 'tis evident, that
if his riches be deriv'd partly from his father, partly from his mother,
the most natural way of determining such a dispute, is, to divide his
possessions, and assign each part to the family, from whence it is
deriv'd. Now as the person is suppos'd to have been once the full and
entire proprietor of those goods ; I ask, what is it makes us find a
certain equity and natural reason in this partition, except it be the
imagination? His affection to these families does not depend upon his
possessions ; for which reason his consent can never be presumd
precisely for such a partition. And as to the public interest, it seems
not to be in the least concern'd on the one side or the other.
SH
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
»>
0/justict
and
injustUe.
SECTION IV.
0/ the transference of property by consent.
However useful, or even necessary, the stability of
possession may be to human society, 'tis attended with
very considerable inconveniences. The relation of fitness
or suitableness ought never to enter into consideration, in
distributing the properties of mankind ; but we must govern
ourselves by rules, which are more general in their appli-
cation, and more free from doubt and uncertainty. Of this
kind is present possession upon the first establishment of
society; and afterwards occupation, prescription, accession, and
succession. As these depend very much on chance, they
must frequently prove contradictory both to men's wants and
desires; and persons and possessions must often be very ill
adjusted. This is a grand inconvenience, which calls for a
remedy. To apply one directly, and allow every man to seize
by violence what he judges to be fit for him, wou'd destroy
society; and therefore the rules of justice seek some medium
betwixt a rigid stability, and this changeable and uncertain
adjustment. But there is no medium better than that obvious
one, that possession and property shou'd always be stable,
except when the proprietor consents to bestow them on some
other person. This rule can have no ill consequence, in
occasioning wars and dissentions ; since the proprietor's
consent, who alone is concern'd, is taken along in the
alienation : And it may serve to many good purposes in
adjusting property to persons. Different parts of the earth
produce different commodities; and not only so, but different
men both are by nature fitted for different employments, and
attain to greater perfection in any one, when they confine
themselves to it alone. All this requires a mutual exchange
and commerce ; for which reason the translation of property
by consent is founded on a law of nature, as well as its
stability without such a consent.
Book III. OF MORALS. 515
So far is determin'd by a plain utility and interest. But Sect. IV
perhaps 'tis from more trivial reasons, that delivery, or *'
a sensible transference of the object is commonly requir'd transfer-
by civil laws, and also by the laws of nature, according to 'nee of
most authors, as a requisite circumstance in the translation Iv consent
of property. The property of an object, when taken for
something real, without any reference to morality, or the
sentiments of the mind, is a quality perfectly insensible, and
even inconceivable; nor can we form any distinct notion,
either of its stability or translation. This imperfection of our
ideas is less sensibly felt with regard to its stability, as it
engages less our attention, and is easily past over by the mind,
without any scrupulous examination. But as the translation of
property from one person to another is a more remarkable
event, the defect of our ideas becomes more sensible on that
occasion, and obliges us to turn ourselves on every side in
search of some remedy. Now as nothing more enlivens any
idea than a present impression, and a relation betwixt that
impression and the idea; 'tis natural for us to seek some
false light from this quarter. In order to aid the imagination
in conceiving the transference of property, we take the
sensible object, and actually transfer its possession to the
person, on whom we wou'd bestow the property. The
suppos'd resemblance of the actions, and the presence of this
sensible delivery, deceive the mind, and make it fancy, that
it conceives the mysterious transition of the property. And
that this explication of the matter is just, appears hence, that
men have invented a symbolical delivery, to satisfy the fancy,
where the real one is impracticable. Thus the giving the
keys of a granary is understood to be the delivery of the corn
contain'd in it : The giving of stone and earth represents
the delivery of a mannor. This is a kind of superstitious
practice in civil laws, and in the laws of nature, resembling
the Rovian catholic superstitions in religion. As the Roman
catholics represent the inconceivable mysteries of the Christian
religion, and render them more present to the mind, by
516
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. a taper, or habit, or grimace, which is suppos'd to resemble
them ; so lawyers and moralists have run mto like inventions
for the same reason, and have endeavour'd by those means
to satisfy themselves concerning the transference of property
by consent.
Of justice
and
injustice.
SECTION V.
0/ the obligation 0/ promises.
That the rule of morality, which enjoins the performance
of promises, is not natural, will sufficiently appear from these
two propositions, which I proceed to prove, viz. that a promise
wou'd not be intelligible, be/ore human conventions had establish' d
it ; and that even if it were intelligible, it woud not be attended
with any moral obligation.
I %z.y, first, that a promise is not intelligible naturally, nor
antecedent to human conventions; and that a man, un-
acquainted with society, could never enter into any engage-
ments with another, even tho' they could perceive each other's
thoughts by intuition. If promises be natural and intelligible,
there must be some act of the mind attending these words,
I promise ; and on this act of the mind must the obligation
depend. Let us, therefore, run over all the faculties of the
soul, and see which of them is exerted in our promises.
The act of the mind, exprest by a promise, is not a resolu-
tion to perform any thing : For that alone never imposes any
obligation. Nor is it a desire of such a performance : For
we may bind ourselves without such a desire, or even with
an aversion, declar'd and avow'd. Neither is it the willing
of that action, which we promise to perform : For a promise
always regards some future time, and the will has an influence
only on present actions. It follows, therefore, that since the
act of the mind, which enters into a promise, and produces its
obligation, is neither the resolving, desiring, nor willing any
particular performance, it must necessarily be the willing of
that obligation, which arises from the promise. Nor is this
Book III. OF MORALS. 517
only a conclusion of philosophy ; but is entirely conformable Sect. V.
to our common ways of thinking and of expressing ourselves, ♦*
when we say that we are bound by our own consent, and /hUpation
that the obligation arises from our mere will and pleasure, ofpromisei.
The only question, then, is, whether there be not a manifest
absurdity in supposing this act of the mind, and such an
absurdity as no man cou'd fall into, whose ideas are not
confounded with prejudice and the fallacious use of language.
All morality depends upon our sentiments ; and when any
action, or quality of the mind, pleases us after a certain
manner, we say it is virtuous; and when the neglect, or
non-performance of it, displeases us after a like manner, we
say that we lie under an obligation to perform it. A change
of the obligation supposes a change of the sentiment; and
a creation of a new obligation supposes some new sentiment
to arise. But 'tis certain we can naturally no more change
our own sentiments, than the motions of the heavens ; nor by
a single act of our will, that is, by a promise, render any action
agreeable or disagreeable, moral or immoral; which, without
that act, wou'd have produc'd contrary impressions, or have
been endow'd with different qualities. It wou'd be absurd,
therefore, to will any new obligation, that is, any new senti-
ment of pain or pleasure ; nor is it possible, that men cou'd
naturally fall into so gross an absurdity. A promise, there-
fore, is naturally something altogether unintelligible, nor is
there any act of the mind belonging to it \
* Were morality discoverable by reason, and not by sentiment,
'twon'd be still more evident, that promises cou'd make no alteration
apon it. Morality is suppos'd to consist in relation. Every new im-
position of morality, therefore, must arise from some new relation of
objects ; and consequently the will cou'd not produce inimediaiely any
change in morals, but cou'd have that effect only by producing a change
npon the objects. But as the moral obligation of a promise is the pure
effect of the will, without the least change in any part of the universe ;
it follows, that promises have no natural obligation.
Shou'd it be said, that this act of the will being in effect a new object,
produces new relations and new duties ; I wou'd answer, that this is a
pure sophism, which may be detected by a very moderate share of
accuracy and exactness. To will a new obligation, is to will a new
5i8
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IL
0/ justice
atid
injusiice.
But, secondly, if there was any act of the mind belonging
to it, it could not naturally produce any obligation. This
appears evidently from the foregoing reasoning. A promise
creates a new obligation. A new obligation supposes new
sentiments to arise. The will never creates new sentiments.
There could not naturally, therefore, arise any obligation
from a promise, even supposing the mind could fall into the
absurdity of willing that obligation.
The same truth may be prov'd still more evidently by
that reasoning, which prov'd justice in general to be an
artificial virtue. No action can be requir'd of us as our duty,
unless there be implanted in human nature some actuating
passion or motive, capable of producing the action. This
motive cannot be the sense of duty. A sense of duty sup-
poses an antecedent obligation : And where an action is not
requir'd by any natural passion, it cannot be requir'd by any
natural obligation ; since it may be omitted without proving
any defect or imperfection in the mind and temper, and con-
sequently without any vice. Now 'tis evident we have no
motive leading us to the performance of promises, distinct
from a sense of duty. If we thought, that promises had no
moral obligation, we never shou'd feel any inclination to
observe them. This is not the case with the natural virtues.
Tho' there was no obligation to relieve the miserable, our
humanity wou'd lead us to it ; and when we omit that duty,
the immoraUty of the omission arises from its being a proof,
that we want the natural sentiments of humanity. A father
knows it to be his duty to take care of his children : But he
relation of objects ; and therefore, if this new relation of objects were
form'd by the volition itself, we shou'd in effect will the volition ; which
is plainly absurd and impossible. The will has here no object to which
it cou'd tend ; but must return upon itself in infinitum. The new
obligation depends upon new relations. The new relations depend upon
a new volition. The new volition has for object a new obligation, and
consequently new relations, and consequently a new volition ; which
volition again has in view a new obligation, relation and volition,
without any termination. 'Tis impossible, therefore, we cou'd ever will
a new obligation ; and consequently 'tis impossible the will cou'd ever
accompany a promise, or produce a new obligation of morality.
Book III. OF MORALS. 519
has also a natural inclination to it. And if no human crea- Sect. V.
ture had that inclination, no one cou'd lie under any such ■ ♦♦ •
obligation. But as there is naturally no inclination to observe gdi^^tiov
promises, distinct from a sense of their obligation ; it follows, of promises
that fidelity is no natural virtue, and that promises have no
force, antecedent to human conventions.
If any one dissent from this, he must give a regular proof
of these two propositions, viz. thai there is a peculiar act of
the mind, annext to promises ; and that consequent to this act
of the mind, there arises an inclination to perform, distinct from
a sense of duty. I presume, that it is impossible to prove
either of these two points ; and therefore I venture to con-
clude, that promises are human inventions, founded on the
necessities and interests of society.
In order to discover these necessities and interests, we
must consider the same qualities of human nature, which we
have already found to give rise to the preceding laws of
society. Men being naturally selfish, or endow'd only with
a confin'd generosity, they are not easily induc'd to perform
any action for the interest of strangers, except with a view
to some reciprocal advantage, which they had no hope of
obtaining but by such a performance. Now as it frequently
happens, that these mutual performances cannot be finish'd
at the same instant, 'tis necessary, that one party be con-
tented to remain in uncertainty, and depend upon the grati-
tude of the other for a return of kindness. But so much
corruption is there among men, that, generally speaking, this
becomes but a slender security; and as the benefactor is
here suppos'd to bestow his favours with a view to self-
interest, this both takes off from the obligation, and sets an
example of selfishness, which is the true mother of ingrati-
tude. Were we, therefore, to follow the natural course of our
passions and inclinations, we shou'd perform but few actions
for the advantage of others, from disinterested views ; be-
cause we are naturally very limited in our kindness and
affection : And we shou'd perform as few of that kind, out of
520
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. a regard to interest ; because we cannot depend upon their
gratitude. Here then is the mutual commerce of good
offices in a manner lost among mankind, and every one
reduc'd to his own skill and industry for his well-being and
subsistence. The invention of the law of nature, concerning
the stability of possession, has already render'd men tolerable
to each other ; that of the transjerence of property and pos-
session by consent has begun to render them mutually
advantageous : But still these laws of nature, however strictly
observ'd, are not sufficient to render them so serviceable to
each other, as by nature they are fitted to become. Tho'
possession be stable, men may often reap but small advantage
from it, while they are possess'd of a greater quantity of any
species of goods than they have occasion for, and at the same
time suffer by the want of others. The transference of pro-
perty, which is the proper remedy for this inconvenience,
cannot remedy it entirely; because it can only take place
with regard to such objects as are present and individual, but
not to such as are absent or getieral. One cannot transfer the
property of a particular house, twenty leagues distant ; be-
cause the consent cannot be attended with delivery, which is
a requisite circumstance. Neither can one transfer the pro-
perty of ten bushels of corn, or five hogsheads of wine, by
the mere expression and consent; because these are only
general terms, and have no direct relation to any particular
heap of corn, or barrels of wine. Besides, the commerce of
mankind is not confin'd to the barter of commodities, but
may extend to services and actions, which we may exchange
to our mutual interest and advantage. Your corn is ripe to-
day ; mine will be so to-morrow. 'Tis profitable for us
both, that I shou'd labour with you to-day, and that you
shou'd aid me to-morrow. I have no kindness for you, and
know you have as little for me. I will not, therefore, take
any pains upon your account ; and should 1 labour with }ou
upon my own account, in expectation of a return, I know I
shou'd be disappointed, and that I shou'd in vain depend upon
Book III. OF MORALS. 52 1
your gratitude. Here then I leave you to labour alone : You Sect. V.
treat me in the same manner. The seasons change ; and both of "
us lose our harvests for want of mutual confidence and security, obligation
All this is the effect of the natural and inherent principles of promises.
and passions of human nature; and as these passions and
principles are inalterable, it may be thought, that our con-
duct, which depends on them, must be so too, and that
'twou'd be in vain, either for moralists or politicians, to
tamper with us, or attempt to change the usual course of
our actions, with a view to public interest. And indeed, did
the success of their designs depend upon their success in
correcting the selfishness and ingratitude of men, they wou'd
never make any progress, unless aided by omnipotence,
which is alone able to new-mould the human mind, and
change its character in such fundamental articles. All they
can pretend to, is, to give a new direction to those natural
passions, and teach us that we can better satisfy our appetites
in an oblique and artificial manner, than by their headlong
and impetuous motion. Hence I learn to do a service to
another, without bearing him any real kindness; because
I forsee, that he will return my service, in expectation of
another of the same kind, and in order to maintain the same
correspondence of good offices with me or with others. And
accordingly, after I have serv'd him, and he is in possession
of the advantage arising from my action, he is induc'd to
perform his part, as foreseeing the consequences of his
refusal.
But tho' this self-interested commerce of men begins to
take place, and to predominate in society, it does not entirely
abolish the more generous and noble intercourse of friendship
and good offices. I may still do services to such persons as
I love, and am more particularly acquainted with, without any
prospect of advantage ; and they may make me a return in
the same manner, without any view but that of recompensing
my past services. In order, therefore, to distinguish those
two different sorts of commerce, the interested and the dis-
522
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. interested, there is a certain form of ivords invented for the
former, by which we bind ourselves to the performance of
any action. This form of words constitutes what we call a
promise, which is the sanction of the interested commerce of
mankind. When a man says he promises any thing, he in
effect expresses a resolution of performing it; and along
with that, by making use of this form of words, subjects
himself to the penalty of never being trusted again in case of
failure, A resolution is the natural act of the mind, which
promises express: But were there no more than a resolution
in the case, promises wou'd only declare our former motives,
and wou'd not create any new motive or obligation. They
are the conventions of men, which create a new motive, when
experience has taught us, that human affairs wou'd be con-
ducted much more for mutual advantage, were there certain
symbols or signs instituted, by which we might give each other
security of our conduct in any particular incident. After
these signs are instituted, whoever uses them is immediately
bound by his interest to execute his engagements, and must
never expect to be trusted any more, if he refuse to perform
what he promis'd.
Nor is that knowledge, which is requisite to make man-
kind sensible of this interest in the institution and observance
of promises, to be esteem'd superior to the capacity of human
nature, however savage and uncultivated. There needs but
a very little practice of the world, to make us perceive all
these consequences and advantages. The shortest experience
of society discovers them to every mortal ; and when each
individual perceives the same sense of interest in all his
fellows, he immediately performs his part of any contract, as
being assur'd, that they will not be wanting in theirs. All
of them, by concert, enter into a scheme of actions, calculated
for common benefit, and agree to be true to their word ; nor
is there any thing requisite to form this concert or conven-
tion, but that every one have a sense of interest in the faith-
ful fulfilling of engagements, and express that sense to other
Book III. OF MORALS. 523
members of the society. This immediately causes that Sect. V.
interest to operate upon them ; and interest is the first '*
obligation to the performance of promises. obligation
Afterwards a sentiment of morals concurs with interest, ofpromists
and becomes a new obligation upon mankind. This senti-
ment of morality, in the performance of promises, arises
from the same principles as that in the abstinence from the
property of others. Public interest, education, and the artifices
of politicians, have the same effect in both cases. The
difficulties, that occur to us, in supposing a moral obligation
to attend promises, we either surmount or elude. For in-
stance; the expression of a resolution is not commonly
suppos'd to be obligatory; and we cannot readily conceive
how the making use of a certain form of words shou'd be
able to cause any material difference. Here, therefore, we
feign a new act of the mind, which we call the willing an
obligation ; and on this we suppose the moraHty to depend.
But we have prov'd already, that there is no such act of the
mind, and consequently that promises impose no natural
obligation.
To confirm this, we may subjoin some other reflexions
concerning that will, which is suppos'd to enter into a
promise, and to cause its obligation. 'Tis evident, that the
will alone is never suppos'd to cause the obligation, but
must be express'd by words or signs, in order to impose a
tye upon any man. The expression being once brought in
as subservient to the will, soon becomes the principal part of
the promise ; nor will a man be less bound by his word, tho'
he secretly give a different direction to his intention, and
with-hold himself both from a resolution, and from willing an
obligation. But tho' the expression makes on most occasions
the whole of the promise, yet it does not always so ; and one,
who shou'd make use of any expression, of which he knows
not the meaning, and which he uses without any intention of
binding himself, wou'd not certainly be bound by it. Nay,
tho' he knows its meaning, yet if he uses it in jest only, and
524 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. with such signs as shew evidently he has no serious intention
*• . of binding himself, he wou'd not lie under any obligation
and of performance ; but 'ds necessary, that the words be a
injustice, perfect expression of the will, without any contrary signs.
Nay, even this we must not carry so far as to imagine, that
one, whom, by our quickness of understanding, we conjec-
ture, from certain signs, to have an intention of deceiving us,
is not bound by his expression or verbal promise, if we
accept of it; but must limit this conclusion to those cases,
where the signs are of a different kind from those of deceit.
All these contradictions are easily accounted for, if the
obligation of promises be merely a human invention for the
convenience of society ; but will never be explain'd, if it be
something real and natural, arising from any action of the
mind or body.
I shall farther observe, that since every new promise im-
poses a new obligation of morality on the person who pro-
mises, and since this new obligation arises from his will ;
'tis one of the most mysterious and incomprehensible opera-
tions that can possibly be imagin'd, and may even be com-
par'd to transubstanltati'on, or holy orders \ where a certain
form of words, along with a certain intention, changes en-
tirely the nature of an external object, and even of a human
creature. But tho' these mysteries be so far alike, 'tis very
remarkable, that they differ widely in other particulars, and
that this difference may be regarded as a strong proof of
the difference of their origins. As the obligation of pro-
mises is an invention for the interest of society, 'tis warp'd
into as many different forms as that interest requires, and
even runs into direct contradictions, rather than lose sight
of its object. But as those other monstrous doctrines are
merely priestly inventions, and have no public interest in
view, they are less disturb'd in their progress by new ob-
stacles; and it must be own'd, that, after the first absurdity,
• I mean so far, as holy orders are suppos'cl to produce the indelible
character. In other respects they are only a legal qualification.
Book III. OF MORALS. 525
they follow more directly the current of reason and good Skct. V.
sense. Theologians clearly perceiv'd, that the external form —**—
of words, being mere sound, require an intention to make obligation
them have any efficacy ; and that this intention being once of promises
consider'd as a requisite circumstance, its absence must
equally prevent the effect, whether avow'd or conceal'd,
whether sincere or deceitful. Accordingly they have com-
monly determin'd, that the intention of the priest makes the
sacrament, and that when he secretly withdraws his inten-
tion, he is highly criminal in himself; but still destroys the
baptism, or communion, or holy orders. The terrible con-
sequences of this doctrine were not able to hinder its taking
place; as the inconvenience of a similar doctrine, with re-
gard to promises, have prevented that doctrine from estab-
Hshing itself. Men are always more concern'd about the
present life than the future ; and are apt to think the
smallest evil, which regards the former, more important
than the greatest, which regards the latter.
We may draw the same conclusion, concerning the origin
of promises, from the force, which is suppos'd to invalidate
all contracts, and to free us from their obligation. Such a
principle is a proof, that promises have no natural obligation,
and are mere artificial contrivances for the convenience and
advantage of society. If we consider aright of the matter,
force is not essentially different from any other motive of hope
or fear, which may induce us to engage our word and lay
ourselves under any obligation. A man, dangerously wounded,
who promises a competent sum to a surgeon to cure him,
wou'd certainly be bound to performance ; tho' the case be
not so much different from that of one, who promises a sum
to a robber, as to produce so great a difference in our sen-
timents of morality, if these sentiments were not built entirely
on public interest and convenience.
Part II.
Of justice
and
injustice.
526 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
SECTION VI.
Some farther reflexions concerning justice and injustice.
We have now run over the three fundamental laws of
nature, that of the stability of possession, of its transference
hy consent^ and of the performance of promises. 'Tis on the
strict observance of those three laws, that the peace and
security of human society entirely depend ; nor is there any
possibility of establishing a good correspondence among
men, where these are neglected. Society is absolutely neces-
sary for the well-being of men ; and these are as necessary
to the support of society. Whatever restraint they may im-
pose on the passions of men, they are the real offspring of
those passions, and are only a more artful and more refin'd
way of satisfying them. Nothing is more vigilant and in-
ventive than our passions ; and nothing is more obvious,
than the convention for the observance of these rules. Na-
ture has, therefore, trusted this affair entirely to the conduct
of men, and has not plac'd in the mind any peculiar original
principles, to determine us to a set of actions, into which the
other principles of our frame and constitution were sufficient
to lead us. And to convince us the more fully of this truth,
we may here stop a moment, and from a review of the pre-
ceding reasonings may draw some new arguments, to prove
that those laws, however necessary, are entirely artificial, and
of human invention; and consequently that justice is an
artificial, and not a natural virtue.
I. The first argument I shall make use of is deriv'd from
the vulgar definition of justice. Justice is commonly defin'd
to be a constant and perpetual will of giving every one his due.
In this definition 'tis supposed, thai there are such things as
right and property, independent of justice, and antecedent to
it ; and that they wou'd have subsisted, tho' men had never
Book III. OF MORALS. 527
dreamt of practising such a virtue. I have already observ'd, Sect. VL
in a cursory manner, the fallacy of this opinion, and shall •'
here continue to open up a little more distinctly my senti- farther
ments on that subject. rejlexiom
I shall begin with observing, that this quality, which we '^/"//'^"^"^
call property, is like many of the imaginary qualities of the injustice,
peripatetic philosophy, and vanishes upon a more accurate
inspection into the subject, when consider'd a-part from our
moral sentiments. 'Tis evident property does not consist in
any of the sensible qualities of the object. For these may
continue invariably the same, while the property changes.
Property, therefore, must consist in some relation of the
object. But 'tis not in its relation with regard to other
external and inanimate objects. For these may also continue
invariably the same, while the property changes. This
quality, therefore, consists in the relations of objects to in-
telligent and rational beings. But 'tis not the external and
corporeal relation, which forms the essence of property. For
that relation may be the same betwixt inanimate objects, or
with regard to brute creatures ; tho' in those cases it forms
no property. 'Tis, therefore, in some internal relation, that
the property consists ; that is, in some influence, which the
external relations of the object have on the mind and actions.
Thus the external relation, which we call occupation or first
possession, is not of itself imagin'd to be the property of the
object, but only to cause its property. Now 'tis evident,
this external relation causes nothing in external objects, and
has only an influence on the mind, by giving us a sense of
duty in abstaining from that object, and in restoring it to the
first possessor. These actions are properly what we call
justice; and consequently 'tis on that virtue that the nature
of property depends, and not the virtue on the property.
If any one, therefore, wou'd assert, that justice is a natural
virtue, and injustice a natural vice, he must assert, that
abstracting from the notions oi property, and right and obli'
gation, a certain conduct and train of actions, in certain
528 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. external relations of objects, has naturally a moral beauty or
.*• . deformity, and causes an original pleasure or uneasiness. Thus
^„-^ ' the restoring a man's goods to him is consider'd as virtuous,
injustice, not because nature has annex'd a certain sentiment of pleasure
to such a conduct, with regard to the property of others, but
because she has annex'd that sentiment to such a conduct,
with regard to those external objects, of which others have had
the first or long possession, or which they have receiv'd by
the consent of those, who have had first or long possession.
If nature has given us no such sentiment, there is not,
naturally, nor antecedent to human conventions, any such
thing as properly. Now, tho' it seems sufficiently evident, in
this dry and accurate consideration of the present subject,
that nature has annex'd no pleasure or sentiment of appro-
bation to such a conduct ; yet that I may leave as little room
for doubt as possible, I shall subjoin a few more arguments
to confirm my opinion.
First, If nature had given us a pleasure of this kind, it
wou'd have been as evident and discernible as on every other
occasion ; nor shou'd we have found any difilculty to per-
ceive, that the consideration of such actions, in such a situation,
gives a certain pleasure and sentiment of approbation. We
shou'd not have been oblig'd to have recourse to notions of
property in the definition of justice, and at the same time
make use of the notions of justice in the definition of pro-
perty. This deceitful method of reasoning is a plain proof,
that there are contain'd in the subject some obscuiiiies and
diflkulties, which we are not able to surmount, and which we
desire to evade by this artifice.
Secondly, Those rules, by which properties, rights, and
obligations are determine], have in them no marks of a
natural origin, but many of artifice and contrivance. They
are too numerous to have proceeded from nature : They are
changeable by human laws : And have all of them a direct
and evident tendency to public good, and the support of civil
society. This last circumstance is remarkable upon two
Book III. OF MORALS. 529
accounts. First, because, tho' the cause of the establishment Sect. VI.
of these laws had been a regard for the pubHc good, as much **
as the public good is their natural tendency, they wou'd ^iiW farther
have been artificial, as being purposely contriv'd and directed reflexions
J r> 77 u T u J L concerning
to a certam end. ctecondly, because, 11 men had o^t"^ justice and
endow'd with such a strong regard for public good, they injustice.
wou'd never have restrain'd themselves by these rules; so
that the laws of justice arise from natural principles in a
manner still more oblique and artificial. 'Tis self-love which
is their real origin ; and as the self-love of one person is
naturally contrary to that of another, these several interested
passions are oblig'd to adjust themselves after such a manner
as to concur in some system of conduct and behaviour.
This system, therefore, comprehending the interest of each
individual, is of course advantageous to the public ; tho' it be
not intended for that purpose by the inventors.
II. In the second place we may observe, that all kinds of
vice and virtue run insensibly into each other, and may
approach by such imperceptible degrees as will make it very
difficult, if not absolutely impossible, to determine when the
one ends, and the other begins ; and from this observation
we may derive a new argument for the foregoing principle.
For whatever may be the case, with regard to all kinds of
vice and virtue, 'tis certain, that rights, and obligations, and
property, admit of no such insensible gradation, but that a
man either has a full and perfect property, or none at all ;
and is either entirely oblig'd to perform any action, or lies
under no manner of obligation. However civil laws may
talk of a perfect dommion, and of an imperfect, 'tis easy to
observe, that this arises from a fiction, which has no founda-
tion in reason, and can never enter into our notions of
natural justice and equity. A man that hires a horse, tho'
but for a day, has as full a right to make use of it for that
lime, as he whom we call its proprietor has to make use of it
any other day ; and 'tis evident, that however the use may be
53°
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. bounded in time or degree, the right itself is not susceptible
of any such gradation, but is absolute and entire, so far as it
extends. Accordingly we may observe, that this right both
arises and perishes in an instant ; and that a man entirely
acquires the property of any object by occupation, or the
consent of the proprietor ; and loses it by his own consent ;
without any of that insensible gradation, which is remarkable
in other qualities and relations. Since, therefore, this is the
case with regard to property, and rights, and obligations, I
ask, how it stands with regard to justice and injustice?
After whatever manner you answer this question, you run
into inextricable difficulties. If you reply, that justice and
injustice admit of degree, and run insensibly into each other,
you expressly contradict the foregoing position, that obliga-
tion and property are not susceptible of such a gradation.
These depend entirely upon justice and injustice, and follow
them in all their variations. Where the justice is entire, the
property is also entire : Where the justice is imperfect,
the property must also be imperfect. And vice versa, if the
property admit of no such variations, they must also be in-
compatible with justice. If you assent, therefore, to this last
proposition, and assert, that justice and injustice are not
susceptible of degrees, you in effect assert, that they are not
naturally either vicious or virtuous ; since vice and virtue,
moral good and evil, and indeed all natural qualities, run
insensibly into each other, and are, on many occasions, un-
distinguishable.
And here it may be worth while to observe, that tho'
abstract reasoning, and the general maxims of philosophy
and law establish this position, that property, arid right, and
obligation admit not of degrees, yet in our common and negli-
gent way of thinking, we find great difficulty to entertain
that opinion, and do even secretly embrace the contrary
jjrinciple. An object must either be in the possession of
one person or another. An action must either be perform'd
or not. The necessity there is of choosing one side in these
Book III. OF MORALS. 53I
dilemmas, and the impossibility there often is of finding an}' Sect. VI.
just medium, obligre us, when we reflect on the matter, to „ •'
, , , , ,, , , ,. . . S^ome
acknowledge, that all property and obligations are entire, yartker
But on the other hand, when we consider the origin of pro- reflexions
perty and obligation, and find that they depend on public j^istue and
utility, and sometimes on the propensities of the imagination, injustice.
which are seldom entire on any side; we are naturally
inclin'd to imagine, that these moral relations admit of an
insensible gradation. Hence it is, that in references, where
the consent of the parties leave the referees entire masters of
the subject, they commonly discover so much equity and
justice on both sides, as induces them to strike a medium,
and divide the difference betwixt the parties. Civil judges,
who have not this liberty, but are oblig'd to give a decisive
sentence on some one side, are often at a loss how to deter-
mine, and are necessitated to proceed on the most frivolous
reasons in the world. Half rights and obligations, which
seem so natural in common Hfe, are perfect absurdities in
their tribunal ; for which reason they are often oblig'd to take
half arguments for whole ones, in order to terminate the affair
one way or other.
III. The third argument of this kind I shall make use of
may be explain'd thus. If we consider the ordinary course
of human actions, we shall find, that the mind restrains
not itself by any general and universal rules; but acts on
most occasions as it is determin'd by its present motives
and inclination. As each action is a particular individual
event, it must proceed from particular principles, and from
our immediate situation within ourselves, and with respect
to the rest of the universe. If on some occasions we extend
our motives beyond those very circumstances, which gave rise
to them, and form something like general rules for our con-
duct, 'tis easy to observe, that these rules are not perfectly
inflexible, but allow of many exceptions. Since, therefore,
this is the ordinary course of human actions, we may conclude,
532
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
»t •
Of Justice
and
injustice.
that the laws of justice, being universal and perfectly inflexible,
can never be derive! from nature, nor be the immediate off-
spring of any natural motive or inclination. No action can
be either morally good or evil, unless there be some natural
passion or motive to impel us to it, or deter us from it; and
'tis evident, that the morality must be susceptible of all
the same variations, which are natural to the passion. Here
are two persons, who dispute for an estate ; of whom one is
rich, a fool, and a batchelor ; the other poor, a man of sense,
and has a numerous family : The first is my enemy ; the
second my friend. Whether I be actuated in this affair by
a view to public or private interest, by friendship or enmity,
I must be induc'd to do my utmost to procure the estate to
the latter. Nor wou'd any consideration of the right and
property of the persons be able to restrain me, were I actu-
ated only by natural motives, without any combination or
convention with others. For as all property depends on
morality ; and as all morality depends on the ordinary course
of our passions and actions ; and as these again are only
directed by particular motives ; 'tis evident, such a partial
conduct must be suitable to the strictest morality, and cou'd
never be a violation of property. Were men, therefore, to
take the liberty of acting with regard to the laws of society,
as they do in every other affair, they wou'd conduct them-
selves, on most occasions, by particular judgments, and wou'd
take into consideration the characters and circumstances of
the persons, as well as the general nature of the question.
But 'tis easy to observe, that this wou'd produce an infinite
confusion in human society, and that the avidity and par-
tiality of men wou'd quickly bring disorder into the world,
if not restrain'd by some general and inflexible principles.
'Twas, therefore, with a view to this inconvenience, that men
have esiablish'd those principles, and have agreed to restrain
themselves by general rules, which are unchangeable by spite
and favour, and by particular views of private or public in-
terest. These rules, then, are artificially invented for a certain
Book III. OF MORALS. 533
purpose, and are contrary to the common principles of human Sect. VI.
nature, which accommodate themselves to circumstances, and " "
have no stated invariable method of operation. farther
Nor do I perceive how I can easily be mistaken in this reflexions
matter. I see evidently, that when any man imposes ^'^ Jus7iceand
himself general inflexible rules in his conduct with others, he injustice.
considers certain objects as their property, which he supposes
to be sacred and inviolable. But no proposition can be more
evident, than that property is perfectly unintelligible without
first supposing justice and injustice ; and that these virtues
and vices are as unintelligible, unless we have motives,
independent of the morality, to impel us to just actions, and
deter us from unjust ones. Let those motives, therefore,
be what they will, they must accommodate themselves to
circumstances, and must admit of all the variations, which
human aff"airs, in their incessant revolutions, are susceptible
of. They are consequently a very improper foundation
for such rigid inflexible rules as the laws of [justice .?] ;
and 'tis evident these laws can only be deriv'd from human
conventions, when men have perceiv'd the disorders that
result from following their natural and variable principles.
Upon the whole, then, we are to consider this distinction
betwixt justice and injustice, as having two different founda-
tions, viz. that of interest, when men observe, that 'tis impos-
sible to live in society without restraining themselves by certain
rules; and that o'i morality, when this interest is once observ'd,
and men receive a pleasure from the view of such actions as
tend to the peace of society, and an uneasiness from such as
are contrary to it. 'Tis the voluntary convention and artifice
of men, which makes the first interest take place ; and there-
fore those laws of justice are so far to be consider'd as
artificial. After that interest is once establish'd and acknow-
ledg'd, the sense of morality in the observance of these rules
follows naturally, and of itself; tho' 'tis certain, that it is also
augmented by a new artifice, and that the public instructions
534 -^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. of politicians, and the private education of parents, contribute
." to the giving us a sense of honour and duty in the strict regu-
and"^ "' lation of our actions with regard to the properties of others.
injustice.
SECTION VII.
0/ the origm of government.
Nothing is more certain, than that men are, in a great
measure, govern'd by interest, and that even when they
extend their concern beyond themselves, 'tis not to any great
distance; nor is it usual for them, in common life, to look
farther than their nearest friends and acquaintance. 'Tis no
less certain, that 'tis impossible for men to consult their
interest in so effectual a manner, as by an universal and
inflexible observance of the rules of justice, by which alone
they can preserve society, and keep themselves from falling
into that wretched and savage condition, which is commonly
represented as the state of nature. And as this interest, which
all men have in the upholding of society, and the observation
of the rules of justice, is great, so is it palpable and evident,
even to the most rude and uncultivated of human race ; and
'tis almost impossible for any one, who has had experience of
society, to be mistaken in this particular. Since, therefore,
men are so sincerely attach'd to their interest, and their
interest is so much concern'd in the observance of justice,
and this interest is so certain and avow'd ; it may be ask'd,
how any disorder can ever arise in society, and what prin-
ciple there is in human nature so powerful as to overcome
so strong a passion, or so violent as to obscure so clear
a knowledge ?
It has been observ'd, in treating of the passions, that men
are mightily govern'd by the imagination, and proportion
their affections more to the light, under which any object
appears to them, than to its real and intrinsic value. What
strikes upon them with a strong and lively idea commonly
Book III. OF MORALS. 535
prevails above what lies in a more obscure light ; and it must Sect. VII
be a great superiority of value, that is able to compensate this "
advantage. Now as every thing, that is contiguous to ^% origin of
either in space or time, strikes upon us with such an idea, it govern-
has a proportional effect on the will and passions, and "^'"^'
commonly operates with more force than any object, that lies
in a more distant and obscure light. Tho' we may be fully
convinc'd, that the latter object excels the former, we are not
able to regulate our actions by this judgment ; but yield to
the sollicitations of our passions, which always plead in favour
of whatever is near and contiguous.
This is the reason why men so often act in contradiction
to their known interest; and in particular why they prefer
any trivial advantage, that is present, to the maintenance of
order in society, which so much depends on the observance
of justice. The consequences of every breach of equity seem
to lie very remote, and are not able to counterballance any
immediate advantage, that may be reap'd from it. They are,
however, never the less real for being remote; and as all
men are, in some degree, subject to the same weakness, it
necessarily happens, that the violations of equity must be-
come very frequent in society, and the commerce of men, by
that means, be render'd very dangerous and uncertain. You
have the same propension, that I have, in favour of what is
contiguous above what is remote. You are, therefore, natu-
rally carried to commit acts of injustice as well as me. Your
example both pushes me forward in this way by imitation,
and also aff"ords me a new reason for any breach of equity,
by shewing me, that I should be the cully of my integrity, if
I alone shou'd impose on myself a severe restraint amidst the
licentiousness of others.
This quality, therefore, of human nature, not only is very
dangerous to society, but also seems, on a cursory view, to
be incapable of any remedy. The remedy can only come
from the consent of men ; and if men be incapable of
themselves to prefer remote to contiguous, they will never
536
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
' M
OJ justice
and
injustice.
oblige
them to such
a manner, their
consent to any thing, which wou'd
a choice, and contradict, in so sensible
natural principles and propensities. Whoever chuses the
means, chuses also the end ; and if it be impossible for us to
prefer what is remote, 'tis equally impossible for us to submit
to any necessity, which wou'd oblige us to such a method
of acting.
But here 'tis observable, that this infirmity of human nature
becomes a remedy to itself, and that we provide against
our negligence about remote objects, merely because we are
naturally inclin'd to that negligence. When we consider any
objects at a distance, all their minute distinctions vanish, and
we always give the preference to whatever is in itself pre-
ferable, without considering its situation and circumstances.
This gives rise to what in an improper sense we call reason,
which is a principle, that is often contradictory to those
propensities that display themselves upon the approach of the
object. In reflecting on any action, which I am to perform
a twelve-month hence, I always resolve to prefer the greater
good, whether at that time it will be more contiguous or
remote ; nor does any difference in that particular make
a difference in my present intentions and resolutions. My
distance from the final determination makes all those minute
differences vanish, nor am I affected by any thing, but the
general and more discernable qualities of good and evil. But
on my nearer approach, those circumstances, which I at first
over-look'd, begin to appear, and have an influence on my
conduct and affections. A new inclination to the present
good springs up, and makes it difficult for me to adhere
inflexibly to my first purpose and resolution. This natural
infirmity I may very much regret, and I may endeavour, by
all possible means, to free my self from it. I may have
recourse to study and reflexion within myself; to the advice
of friends ; to frequent meditation, and repeated resolution :
And having experienc'd how ineffectual al' these are, I may
embrace with pleasure any other expedient, by which
Book III. OF MORALS. 537
I may impose a restraint upon myself, and guard against Sect. VII.
this weakness. •♦
The only difficulty, therefore, is to find out this expedient, origin of
by which men cure their natural weakness, and lay them- govern-
selves under the necessity of observing the laws of justice '"^"'"
and equity, notwithstanding their violent propension to prefer
contiguous to remote. 'Tis evident such a remedy can never
be effectual without correcting this propensity; and as 'tis
impossible to change or correct any thing material in our
nature, the utmost we can do is to change our circumstances
and situation, and render the observance of the laws of justice
our nearest interest, and their violation our most remote.
But this being impracticable with respect to all mankind, it
can only take place with respect to a few, whom we thus
immediately interest in the execution of justice. These are
the persons, whom we call civil magistrates, kings and their
ministers, our governors and rulers, who being indifferent
persons to the greatest part of the state, have no interest, or
but a remote one, in any act of injustice; and being satisfied
with their present condition, and with their part in society,
have an immediate interest in every execution of justice,
which is so necessary to the upholding of society. Here
then is the origin of civil government and society. Men
are not able radically to cure, either in themselves or others,
that narrowness of soul, which makes them prefer the present
to the remote. They cannot change their natures. All they
can do is to change their situation, and render the observance
of justice the immediate interest of some particular persons,
and its violation their more remote. These persons, then,
are not only induc'd to observe those rules in their own
conduct, but also to constrain others to a like regularity, and
inforce the dictates of equity thro' the whole society. And
if it be necessary, they may also interest others more imme-
diately in the execution of justice, and create a number of
officers, civil and military, to assist them in their government.
But this execution of justice, tho' the principal, is not the
538
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
0/ justice
and
injustice.
Part II. only advantage of government. As violent passion hinders
men from seeing distinctly the interest they have in an equit-
able behaviour towards others ; so it hinders them from seeing
that equity itself, and gives them a remarkable partiality in
their own favours. This inconvenience is corrected in the
same manner as that above-mention'd. The same persons,
who execute the laws of justice, will also decide all con-
troversies concerning them; and being indifferent to the
greatest part of the society, will decide them more equitably
than every one wou'd in his own case.
By means of these two advantages, in the execution and
decision of justice, men acquire a security against each others
weakness and passion, as well as against their own, and
under the shelter of their governors, begin to taste at ease
the sweets of society and mutual assistance. But government
extends farther its beneficial influence ; and not contented to
protect men in those conventions they make for their mutual
interest, it often obliges them to make such conventions, and
forces them to seek their own advantage, by a concurrence
in some commion end or purpose. There is no quality in
human nature, which causes more fatal errors in our conduct,
than that which leads us to prefer whatever is present to
the distant and remote, and makes us desire objects more
according to their situation than their intrinsic value. Two
neighbours may agree to drain a meadow, which they possess
in common ; because 'tis easy for them to know each others
mind; and each must perceive, that the immediate conse-
quence of his failing in his part, is the abandoning the whole
project. But 'tis very difficult, and indeed impossible, that
a thousand persons shou'd agree in any such action ; it being
difficult for them to concert so complicated a design, and still
more difficult for them to execute it ; while each seeks a pre-
text to free himself of the trouble and expence, and wou'd lay
the whole burden on others. Political society easily remedies
both these inconveniences. IMagistrates find an immediate
mterest in the interest of any considerable part of their
Book III. OF MORALS. 539
subjects. They need consult no body but themselves to form Sect. VII.
any scheme for the promoting of that interest. And as the •♦'"
, .; r . . , . . . J .1- ' 0/the
failure of any one piece in the execution is connected, tho „yj-^i„ ^
not immediately, with the failure of the whole, they prevent govern-
that failure, because they find no interest in it, either im-
mediate or remote. Thus bridges are built; harbours
open'd ; ramparts rais'd ; canals form'd ; fleets equip'd ; and
armies disciplin'd ; every where, by the care of government,
which, tho' compos'd of men subject to all human infirmities,
becomes, by one of the finest and most subtle inventions
imaginable, a composition, which is, in some measure,
exempted from all these infirmities.
SECTION VIII.
Of the source of allegiance.
Though government be an invention very advantageous,
and even in some circumstances absolutely necessary to
mankind ; it is not necessary in all circumstances, nor is it
impossible for men to preserve society for some time, without
having recourse to such an invention. Men, 'tis true, are
always much inclin'd to prefer present interest to distant and
remote ; nor is it easy for them to resist the temptation of
any advantage, that they may immediately enjoy, in appre*
hension of an evil, that lies at a distance from them : But
still this weakness is less conspicuous, where the possessions,
and the pleasures of life are few, and of little value, as they
always are in the infancy of society. An Indian is but little
tempted to dispossess another of his hut, or to steal his bow,
as being already provided of the same advantages ; and as to
any superior fortune, which may attend one above another in
hunting and fishing, 'tis only casual and temporary, and will
have but small tendency to disturb society. And so far am
I from thinking with some philosophers, that men are utterly
incapable of society without government, that I assert the
54°
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of justice
and
injustice.
first rudiments of government to arise from quarrels, not
among men of the same society, but among those of different
societies. A less degree of riches will suffice to this latter
effect, than is requisite for the former. Men fear nothing
from public war and violence but the resistance they meet
with, which, because they share it in common, seems less
terrible ; and because it comes from strangers, seems less
pernicious in its consequences, than when they are expos'd
singly against one whose commerce is advantageous to them,
and without whose society 'tis impossible they can subsist.
Now foreign war to a society without government necessarily
produces civil war. Throw any considerable goods among
men, they instantly fall a quarrelling, while each strives to
get possession of what pleases him, without regard to the
consequences. In a foreign war the most considerable of
all goods, life and limbs, are at stake ; and as every one
shuns dangerous ports, seizes the best arms, seeks excuse for
the slightest wounds, the laws, which may be well enough
observ'd, while men were calm, can now no longer take
place, when they are in such commotion.
This we find verified in the American tribes, where men
live in concord and amity among themselves without any
establish'd government ; and never pay submission to any of
their fellows, except in time of war, when their captain enjoys
a shadow of authority, which he loses after their return from
the field, and the establishment of peace with the neighbour-
ing tribes. This authority, however, instructs them in the
advantages of government, and teaches them to have recourse
to it, when either by the pillage of war, by commerce, or by
any fortuitous inventions, their riches and possessions have
become so considerable as to make them forget, on every
emergence, the interest they have in the preservation of peace
and justice. Hence we may give a plausible reason, among
others, why all governments are at first monarchical, without
any mixture and variety ; and why republics arise only from
the abuses of monarchy and despotic power. Camps are the
Book III. OF MORALS. 54 1
true mothers of cities ; and as war cannot be administred, Sect.VIII
by reason of the suddenness of every exigency, without some "
authority in a single person, the same kind of authority source of
naturally takes place in that civil government, which succeeds allegiance.
the military. And this reason I take to be more natural, than
the common one deriv'd from patriarchal government, or the
authority of a father, which is said first to take place in one
family, and to accustom the members of it to the government
of a single person. The state of society without government
is one of the most natural states of men, and must subsist
with the conjunction of many families, and long after the first
generation. Nothing but an encrease of riches and posses-
sions cou'd oblige men to quit it ; and so barbarous and un-
instructed are all societies on their first formation, that many
years must elapse before these can encrease to such a degree,
as to disturb men in the enjoyment of peace and concord.
But tho' it be possible for men to maintain a small unculti-
vated society without government, 'tis impossible they shou'd
maintain a society of any kind without justice, and the observ-
ance of those three fundamental laws concerning the stability
of possession, its translation by consent, and the performance
of promises. These are, therefore, antecedent to govern-
ment, and are suppos'd to impose an obligation before the
duty of allegiance to civil magistrates has once been thought
of. Nay, I shall go farther, and assert, that government,
upon its first esiablishmetit, wou'd naturally be suppos'd to
derive its obligation from those laws of nature, and, in par-
dcular, from that concerning the performance of promises.
When men have once perceiv'd the necessity of government
to maintain peace, and execute justice, they wou'd naturally
assemble together, wou'd chuse magistrates, determine their
power, and promise them obedience. As a promise is sup-
pos'd to be a bond or security already in use, and attended
with a moral obligation, 'tis to be consider'd as the original
sanction of government, and as the source of the first obliga-
tion to obedience. This reasoning appears so natural, that
542 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. it has become the foundation of our fashionable system of
•• politics, and is in a manner the creed of a party amongst us,
and"^ ^" ^^^° pride themselves, with reason, on the soundness of their
injustice, philosophy, and their liberty of thought. All men, say they,
are born free and equal: Government and superiority can only
be establish' d by consent : The consetit of men, in establishing
government, imposes on them a new obligation, unknown to the
laws 0/ nature. Men, there/ore, are bound to obey their magis-
trates, only because they promise it ; and if they had not given
their word, either expressly or tacitly, to preserve allegiance, it
would never have become a part of their moral duty. This
conclusion, however, when carried so far as to comprehend
government in all its ages and situations, is entirely
erroneous ; and I maintain, that tho' the duty of allegiance
be at first grafted on the obligation of promises, and be for
some time supported by that obligation, yet it quickly takes
root of itself, and has an original obligation and authority,
independent of all contracts. This is a principle of moment,
which we must examine with care and attention, before we
proceed any farther.
'Tis reasonable for those philosophers, who assert justice
to be a natural virtue, and antecedent to human conventions,
to resolve all civil allegiance into the obligation of a promise,
and assert that 'lis our own consent alone, which binds us to
any submission to magistracy. For as all government is
plainly an invention of men, and the origin of most govern-
ments is known in history, 'tis necessary to mount higher, in
order to find the source of our political duties, if we wou'd
assert them to have any natural obligation of morality. These
philosophers, therefore, quickly observe, that society is as
antient as the human species, and those three fundamental
laws of nature as antient as society : So that taking advantage
of the antiquity, and obscure origin of these laws, they first
deny them to be artificial and voluntary inventions of men,
and then seek to ingraft on them those other duties, which
are more plainly artificial. But being once undeceiv'd in this
Book III. OF MORALS. 543
particular, and having found that natural, as well as a'f?'/ jus- Sect.VIII.
tice, derives its origin from human conventions, we shall quickly •• *
perceive, how fruitless it is to resolve the one into the other, J^^^fg gf
and seek, in the laws of nature, a stronger foundation for our allegiance.
political duties than interest, and human conventions ; while
these laws themselves are built on the very same foundation.
On which ever side we turn this subject, we shall find, that
these two kinds of duty are exactly on the same footing, and
have the same source both of their first invention and moral
obligation. They are contriv'd to remedy like inconveniences,
and acquire their moral sanction in the same manner, from
their remedying those inconveniences. These are two points,
which we shall endeavour to prove as distinctly as possible.
We have already shewn, that men invented the three fun-
damental laws of nature, when they observ'd the necessity of
society to their mutual subsistance, and found, that 'twas
impossible to maintain any correspondence together, without
some restraint on their natural appetites. The same self-
love, therefore, which renders men so incommodious to each
other, taking a new and more convenient direction, produces
the rules of justice, and is the ^rj/ motive of their observance.
But when men have observ'd, that tho' the rules of justice be
suflficient to maintain any society, yet 'tis impossible for
them, of themselves, to observe those rules, in large and
polish'd sociedes ; they establish government, as a new
invention to attain their ends, and preserve the old, or procure
new advantages, by a more strict execution of justice. So
far, therefore, our civil duties are connected with our natural,
that the former are invented chiefly for the sake of the latter;
and that the principal object of government is to constrain
men to observe the laws of nature. In this respect, however,
that law of nature, concerning the performance of promises,
is only compriz'd along with the rest ; and its exact observ-
ance is to be consider'd as an effect of the institution of
government, and not the obedience to government as an
effect of the obligation of a promise. Tho' the object of our
544
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. civil duties be the enforcing of our natural, yet the ^ first
' ** ; motive of the invention, as well as performance of both, is
and"^ ^" nothing but self-interest : And since there is a separate
injustice, interest in the obedience to government, from that in the
performance of promises, we must also allow of a separate
obligation. To obey the civil magistrate is requisite to pre-
serve order and concord in society. To perform promises is
requisite to beget mutual trust and confidence in the common
offices of life. The ends, as well as the means, are perfectly
distinct ; nor is the one subordinate to the other.
To make this more evident, let us consider, that men will
often bind themselves by promises to the performance of
what it wou'd have been their interest to perform, independent
of these promises ; as when they wou'd give others a fuller
security, by super-adding a new obligation of interest to that
which they formerly lay under. The interest in the perform-
ance of promises, besides its moral obligation, is general,
avow'd, and of the last consequence in life. Other interests
may be more particular and doubtful ; and we are apt to
entertain a greater suspicion, that men may indulge their
humour, or passion, in acting contrary to them. Here,
therefore, promises come naturally in play, and are often
requir'd for fuller satisfaction and security. But supposing
those other interests to be as general and avow'd as the
interest in the performance of a promise, they will be regarded
as on the same footing, and men will begin to repose the
same confidence in them. Now this is e.xactly the case with
regard to our civil duties, or obedience to the magistrate ;
without which no government cou'd subsist, nor any peace
or order be maintain'd in large societies, where there are so
many possessions on the one hand, and so many wants, real
or imaginary, on the other. Our civil duties, therefore, must
soon detach themselves from our promises, and acquire a
separate force and influence. The interest in both is of the
very same kind : 'Tis general, avow'd, and prevails in all
* First in time, not in dignity or force.
Book III. OF MORALS. 545
times and places. There is, then, no pretext of reason for Sect. VIII
founding the one upon the other ; while each of them has a *♦ "
foundation peculiar to itself. We might as well resolve the slurce of
obligation to abstain from the possessions of others, into the allegiance
obligation of a promise, as that of allegiance. The interests
are not more distinct in the one case than the other. A
regard to property is not more necessary to natural society,
than obedience is to civil society or government ; nor is the
former society more necessary to the being of mankind, than
the latter to their well-being and happiness. In short, if the
performance of promises be advantageous, so is obedience to
government : If the former interest be general, so is the
latter : If the one interest be obvious and avow'd, so is the
other. And as these two rules are founded on like obligations
of interest, each of them must have a peculiar authority,
independent of the other.
But 'tis not only the natural obligations of interest, which
are distinct in promises and allegiance ; but also the moral
obligations of honour and conscience : Nor does the merit
or demerit of the one depend in the least upon that of the
other. And indeed, if we consider the close connexion there
is betwixt the natural and moral obligations, we shall find
this conclusion to be entirely unavoidable. Our interest is
always engag'd on the side of obedience to magistracy ; and
there is nothing but a great present advantage, that can lead
us to rebellion, by making us over-look the remote interest,
which we have in the preserving of peace and order in
society. Bui tho' a present interest may thus blind us with
regard to our own actions, it takes not place with regard to
those of others ; nor hinders them from appearing in their
true colours, as highly prejudicial to public interest, and to
our own in particular. This naturally gives us an uneasiness,
in considering such seditious and disloyal actions, and makes
us attach to them the idea of vice and moral deformity. 'Tis
the same principle, which causes us to disapprove of all kinds
of private injustice, and in particular of the breach of pro-
546
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. mises. We blame all treachery and breach of faith ; because
we consider, that the freedom and extent of human commerce
depend entirely on a fidelity with regard to promises. We
blame all disloyalty to magistrates ; because we perceive,
that the execution of justice, in the stability of possession, its
translation by consent, and the performance of promises, is
impossible, without submission to government. As there are
here two interests entirely distinct from each other, they
must give rise to two moral obligations, equally separate and
independant. Tho' there was no such thing as a promise in
the world, government wou'd still be necessary in all large
and civiliz'd societies ; and if promises had only their own
proper obligation, without the separate sanction of govern-
ment, they wou'd have but little efficacy in such societies.
This separates the boundaries of our public and private
duties, and shews that the latter are more dependant on the
former, than the former on the latter. Education, and tht
artifice of politicians, concur to bestow a farther morality on
loyalty, and to brand all rebellion wiih a greater degree of
guilt and infamy. Nor is it a wonder, that politicians shou'd
be very industrious in inculcating such notions, where their
interest is so particularly concern'd.
Lest those arguments shou'd not appear entirely conclusive
(as I think they are) I shall have recourse to authority, and
shall prove, from the universal consent of mankind, that the
obligation of submission to government is not deriv'd from
any promise of the subjects. Nor need any one wonder, that
tho' I have all along endeavour'd to establish my system on
pure reason, and have scarce ever cited the judgment even of
philosophers or historians on any article, I shou'd now appeal
to popular authority, and oppose the sentiments of the rabble
to any philosophical reasoning. For it must be observ'd, that
the opinions of men, in this case, carry with them a peculiar
authority, and are, in a great measure, infallible. The dis-
tinction of moral good and evil is founded on the pleasure
or pain, which results from the view of any sentiment, or
Book III. OF MORALS. 547
character ; and as that pleasure or pain cannot be unknown to Sect.VIII.
the person who feels it, it follows, ^ that there is just so much "
vice or virtue in any character, as every one places in it, and J^yc'eof
that 'tis impossible in this particular we can ever be mistaken, allegiance.
And tho' our judgments concerning the origin of any vice or
virtue, be not so certain as those concerning their degrees ;
yet, since the question in this case regards not any philo-
sophical origin of an obligation, but a plain matter of fact, 'tis
not easily conceiv'd how we can fall into an error. A man,
who acknowledges himself to be bound to another, for a
certain sum, must certainly know whether it be by his own
bond, or that of his father ; whether it be of his mere good-
will, or for money lent him ; and under what conditions, and
for what purposes he has bound himself In like manner, it
being certain, that there is a moral obligation to submit to
government, because every one thinks so ; it must be as
certain, that this obligation arises not from a promise ; since
no one, whose judgment has not been led astray by too strict
adherence to a system of philosophy, has ever yet dreamt of
ascribing it to that origin. Neither magistrates nor subjects
have form'd this idea of our civil duties.
We find, that magistrates are so far from deriving their
authority, and the obligation to obedience in their subjects,
from the foundation of a promise or original contract, that
they conceal, as far as possible, from their people, especially
from the vulgar, that they have their origin from thence.
Were this the sanction of government, our rulers wou'd never
receive it tacitly, which is the utmost that can be pretended ;
since what is given tacitly and insensibly can never have such
influence on mankind, as what is perform'd expressly and
openly. A tacit promise is, where the will is signified by
* This proposition must hold strictly true, with regard to every quality,
that is determin'd merely by sentiment. In what sense we can talk either
of a right or a wrong taste in morals, eloquence, or beauty, shall be con-
sider'd afterwards. In the mean time, it may be observ'd, that there is
such an uniformity in the general sentiments of mankind, as to render
such questions of but small importance.
548
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. other more diffuse signs than those of speech ; but a will there
must certainly be in the case, and that can never escape the
person's notice, who exerted it, however silent or tacit. But
were you to ask the far greatest part of the nation, whether
they had ever consented to the authority of their rulers, or
promis'd to obey them, they wou'd be inclin'd to think very
strangely of you ; and wou'd certainly reply, that the affair
depended not on their consent, but that they were born to
such an obedience. In consequence of this opinion, we fre-
quently see them imagine such persons to be their natural
rulers, as are at that lime depriv'd of all power and authority,
and whom no man, however foolish, wou'd voluntarily chuse ;
and this merely because they are in that line, wiiich rul'd
before, and in that degree of it, which us'd to succeed ; tho'
perhaps in so distant a period, that scarce any man alive
cou'd ever have given any promise of obedience. Has a
government, then, no authority over such as these, because
they never consented to it, and wou'd esteem the very
attempt of such a free choice a piece of arrogance and
impiety? We find by experience, that it punishes them very
freely for what it calls treason and rebellion, which, it seems,
according to this system, reduces itself to common injustice.
If you say, that by dwelling in its dominions, they in effect
consented to the establish'd government ; I answer, that this
can only be, where they think the affair depends on their
choice, which few or none, beside those philosophers, have
ever yet imagin'd. It never was pleaded as an excuse for
a rebel, that the first act he perform'd, after he came to years
of discretion, was to levy war against the sovereign of the
state ; and that while he was a child he cou'd not bind himself
by his own consent, and having become a man, show'd plainly,
by the first act he perform'd, that he had no design to impose
on himself any obligation to obedience. We find, on the
contrary, that civil laws punish this crime at the same age as
any other, which is criminal, of itself, without our consent;
that is, when the person is come to the full use of reason :
Book III. OF MORALS. 549
Whereas to this crime they ought in justice to allow some Sect. IX.
intermediate time, in which a tacit consent at least might be *'
suppos'd. To which we may add, that a man living under „\i,asureso/
an absolute government, wou'd owe it no allegiance; since, allegiance.
by its very nature, it depends not on consent. But as that is
as natural and common a government as any, it must certainly
occasion some obligation ; and 'tis plain from experience, that
men, who are subjected to it, do always think so. This is a
clear proof, that we do not commonly esteem our allegiance
to be deriv'd from our consent or promise ; and a farther
proof is, that when our promise is upon any account expressly
engag'd, we always distinguish exactly betwixt the two obliga-
tions, and believe the one to add more force to the other, than
in a repetition of the same promise. Where no promise is
given, a man looks not on his faith as broken in private
matters, upon account of rebellion; but keeps those two
duties of honour and allegiance perfectly distinct and sepa-
rate. As the uniting of them was thought by these philoso-
phers a very subtile invention, this is a convincing proof, that
'lis not a true one ; since no man can either give a promise,
or be restrain'd by its sanction and obligation unknown to
himself.
SECTION IX.
0/ the measures of allegiance.
Those political writers, who have had recourse to a promise,
or original contract, as the source of our allegiance to govern-
ment, intended to establish a principle, which is perfectly
just and reasonable; tho' the reasoning, upon which they
endeavour'd to establish it, was fallacious and sophistical.
They wou'd prove, that our submission to government
admits of exceptions, and that an egregious tyranny in the
rulers is sufficient to free the subjects from all ties of
allegiance. Since men enter into society, say they, and
submit themselves to governmentj by their free and voluntary
550
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of Justice
and
injustice.
Part II. consent, they must have in view certain advantages, which
they propose to reap from it, and for which they are con-
tented to resign their native liberty. There is, therefore,
something mutual engag'd on the part of the magistrate, viz.
protection and security ; and 'tis only by the hopes he affords
of these advantages, that he can ever persuade men to
submit to him. But when instead of protection and security,
they meet with tyranny and oppression, they are free'd from
their promises, (as happens in all conditional contracts) and
return to that state of liberty, which preceded the institution
of government. Men wou'd never be so foolish as to enter
into such engagements as shou'd turn entirely to the ad-
vantage of others, without any view of bettering their own
condition. Whoever proposes to draw any profit from our
submission, must engage himself, either expressly or tacitly,
to make us reap some advantage from his authority ; nor
ought he to expect, that without the performance of his part
we will ever continue in obedience.
I repeat it : This conclusion is just, tho' the principles be
erroneous ; and I flatter myself, that I can establish the same
conclusion on more reasonable principles. I shall not take
such a compass, in establishing our political duties, as to
assert, that men perceive the advantages of government;
that they institute government with a view to those advan-
tages ; that this institution requires a promise of obedience ;
which imposes a moral obligation to a certain degree, but
being conditional, ceases to be binding, whenever the other
contracting party performs not his part of the engagement.
I perceive, that a promise itself arises entirely from human
conventions, and is invented with a view to a certain interest.
I seek, therefore, some such interest more immediately con-
nected with government, and which may be at once the
original motive to its insiilution, and the source of our
obedience to it. This interest I find to consist in the
security and protection, which we enjoy in political society,
and which we can never attain, when perfectly free and
k
Book III. OF MORALS. 551
independent. As interest, therefore, is the immediate sanction Sect. IX,
of government, the one can have no longer being than the '*
other; and whenever the civil magistrate carries his oppres- measures 0/
sion so far as to render his authority perfectly intolerable, we allegiance-
are no longer bound to submit to it. The cause ceases ; the
effect must cease also.
So far the conclusion is immediate and direct, concerning
the natural obligation which we have to allegiance. As to
the moral obligation, we may observe, that the maxim wou'd
here be false, that when the cause ceases, the effect must cease
also. For there is a principle of human nature, which we
have frequently taken notice of, that men are mightily addicted
to general rules, and that we often carry our maxims beyond
those reasons, which first induc'd us to establish them.
Where cases are similar in many circumstances, we are apt
to .put them on the same footing, without considering, that
they differ in the most material circumstances, and that the
resemblance is more apparent than real. It may, therefore,
be thought, that in the case of allegiance our moral obligation
of duty will not cease, even tho' the natural obligation of
interest, which is its cause, has ceas'd; and that men may be
bound by conscience to submit to a tyrannical government
against their own and the public interest. And indeed, to
the force of this argument I so far submit, as to acknowledge,
that general rules commonly extend beyond the principles, on
which they are founded ; and that we seldom make any
exception to them, unless that exception have the qualities
of a general rule, and be founded on very numerous and
common instances. Now this I assert to be entirely the
present case. When men submit to the authority of others,
'tis to procure themselves some security against the wicked-
ness and injustice of men, who are perpetually carried, by
their unruly passions, and by their present and immediate
interest, to the violation of all the laws of society. But as
this imperfection is inherent in human nature, we know that
it must attend men in all their states and conditions ; and
552
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
■ t» ■
Of Justice
and
injustice.
that those, whom we chuse for rulers, do not immediately
become of a superior nature to the rest of mankind, upon
account of their superior power and authority. What we
expect from them depends not on a change of their nature
but of their situation, when they acquire a more immediate
interest in the preservation of order and the execution of
justice. But besides that this interest is only more immediate
in the execution of justice among their subjects; besides
this, I say, we may often expect, from the irregularity of
human nature, that they will neglect even this immediate
interest, and be transported by their passions into all the
excesses of cruelty and ambition. Our general knowledge of
human nature, our observation of the past history of man-
kind, our experience of present times ; all these causes must
induce us to open the door to exceptions, and must make us
conclude, tliat we may resist the more violent efiects of
supreme power, without any crime or injustice.
Accordingly we may observe, that this is both the general
practice and principle of mankind, and that no nation, that
cou'd find any remedy, ever yet suffer'd the cruel ravages of
a tyrant, or were blam'd for their resistance. Those who took
up arms against Dmiysius or Nero, or Philip the second, have
the favour of every reader in the perusal of their history;
and nothing but the most violent perversion of common
sense can ever lead us to condemn them. 'Tis certain,
therefore, that in all our notions of morals we never en-
tertain such an absurdity as that of passive obedience, but
make allowances for resistance in the more flagrant instances
of tyranny and oppression. The general opinion of mankind
has some authority in all cases; but in this of morals 'tis
perfectly infallible. Nor is it less infallible, because men
cannot distinctly explain the principles, on which it is founded.
Few persons can carry on this train of reasoning : ' Govern-
ment is a mere human invention for the interest of society.
Where the tyranny of the governor removes this interest, it
also removes the natural obligation to obedience. The
Book III. OF MORALS. 553
moral obligation is founded on the natural, and therefore Sect. X
must cease where that ceases ; especially where the subject is ••
such as makes us foresee very many occasions wherein the gLg^^^ ^
natural obligation may cease, and causes us to form a kind o'i allegiance
general rule for the regulation of our conduct in such occur-
rences.' But tho' this train of reasoning be too subtile for
the vulgar, 'tis certain, that all men have an implicit notion of
it, and are sensible, that they owe obedience to government
merely on account of the public interest ; and at the same
time, that human nature is so subject to frailties and passions,
as may easily pervert this institution, and change their
governors into tyrants and public enemies. If the sense of
common interest were not our original motive to obedience,
I wou'd fain ask, what other principle is there in human
nature capable of subduing the natural ambition of men,
and forcing them to such a submission Imitation and
custom are not sufficient. For the question still recurs, what
motive first produces those instances of submission, which
we imitate, and that train of actions, which produces the
custom ? There evidently is no other principle than common
interest ; and if interest first produces obedience to govern-
ment, the obligation to obedience must cease, whenever the
interest ceases, in any great degree, and in a considerable
number of instances.
SECTION X.
0/ the objects of allegiance.
But tho', on some occasions, it may be justifiable, both in
sound politics and morality, to resist supreme power, 'tis
certain, that in the ordinary course of human affairs nothing
can be more pernicious and criminal ; and that besides the
convulsions, which always attend revolutions, such a practice
tends directly to the subversion of all government, and the
causing an universal anarchy and confusion among man-
kind. As numerous and civiliz'd societies cannot subsist
T
554
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. without government, so government is entirely useless without
an exact obedience. We ought always to weigh the ad-
vantages, which we reap from authority, against the dis-
advantages ; and by this means we shall become more
scrupulous of putting in practice the doctrine of resistance.
The common rule requires submission ; and 'tis only in
cases of grievous tyranny and oppression, that the exception
can take place.
Since then such a blind submission is commonly due to
magistracy, the next question is, to whom it is due, and whom
we are to regard as our lawful magistrates? In order to
answer this question, let us recollect what we have already
establish'd concerning the origin of government and political
society. When men have once experienc'd the impossibility
of preserving any steady order in society, while every one is
his own master, and violates or observes the laws of society,
according to his present interest or pleasure, they naturally
run into the invention of government, and put it out of
their own power, as far as possible, to transgress the laws of
society. Government, therefore, arises from the voluntary
convention of men ; and 'tis evident, that the same conven-
tion, which establishes government, will also determine the
persons who are to govern, and will remove all doubt and
ambiguity in this particular. And the voluntary consent of
men must here have the greater efficacy, that the authority
of the magistrate does at first stand upon the foundation of a
promise of the subjects, by which they bind themselves to
obedience ; as in every other contract or engagement. The
same promise, then, which binds them to obedience, ties
them down to a particular person, and makes him the object
of their allegiance.
But when government has been establisn'd on this footing
for some considerable time, and the separate interest, which
we have in submission, has produc'd a separate sentiment of
morality, the case is entirely alter'd, and a promise is no
longer able to determine the particular magistrate ; since it
Book III. OF MORALS. 555
is no longer consider'd as the foundation of government. Sect. X
We naturally suppose ourselves born to submission ; and ••
imagine, that such particular persons have a right to com- gL^J^ ^r
mand, as we on our part are bound to obey. These notions allegiance.
of right and obligation are deriv'd from nothing but the
advantage we reap from government, which gives us a re-
pugnance to practise resistance ourselves, and makes us
displeas'd with any instance of it in others. But here 'tis
remarkable, that m this new state of affairs, the original
sanction of government, which is interest, is not admitted to
determine the persons, whom we are to obey, as the original
sanction did at first, when affairs were on the footing of a
promise, h. promise fixes and determines the persons, without
any uncertainty : But 'tis evident, that if men were to regu-
late their conduct in this particular, by the view of a peculiar
interest, either public or private, they wou'd involve them-
selves in endless confusion, and wou'd render all government,
in a great measure, ineffectual. The private interest of every
one is different; and tho' the public interest in itself be always
one and the same, yet it becomes the source of as great
dissentions, by reason of the different opinions of particular
persons concerning it. The same interest, therefore, which
causes us to submit to magistracy, makes us renounce itself
in the choice of our magistrates, and binds us down to a
certain form of government, and to particular persons, with-
out allowing us to aspire to the utmost perfection in either.
The case is here the same as in that law of nature concerning
the stability of possession. 'Tis highly advantageous, and
even absolutely necessary to society, that possession shou'd
be stable ; and this leads us to the establishment of such a
rule : But we find, that were we to follow the same advantage,
in assigning particular possessions to particular persons, we
shou'd disappoint our end, and perpetuate the confusion,
which that rule is intended to prevent. We must, therefore,
proceed by general rules, and regulate ourselves by general
interests, in modifying the law of nature concerning the
556
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of Justice
atid
injustice.
Stability of possession. Nor need we fear, that our attach-
ment to this law will diminish upon account of the seeming
frivolousness of those interests, by which it is determin'd.
The impulse of the mind is deriv'd from a very strong in-
terest; and those other more minute interests serve only to
direct the motion, without adding any thing to it, or diminish-
ing from it. 'Tis the same case with government. Nothing
is more advantageous to society than such an invention ; and
this interest is sufficient to make us embrace it with ardour
and alacrity; tho' we are oblig'd afterwards to regulate and
direct our devotion to government by several considerations,
which are not of the same importance, and to chuse our
magistrates without having in view any particular advantage
from the choice.
The first of those principles I shall take notice of, as a
foundation of the right of magistracy, is that which gives
authority to all the most establish'd governments of the world
without exception : I mean, long possession in any one form
of government, or succession of princes. 'Tis certain, that
if we remount to the first origin of every nation, we shall find,
that there scarce is any race of kings, or form of a common-
wealth, that is not primarily founded on usurpation and
rebellion, and whose title is not at first worse than doubtful
and uncertain. Time alone gives solidity to their right; and
operating gradually on the minds of men, reconciles them to
any authority, and makes it seem just and reasonable. No-
thing causes any sentiment to have a greater influence upon
us than custom, or turns our imagination more strongly to
any object. When we have been long accustom'd to obey
any set of men, that general instinct or tendency, which we
have to suppose a moral obligation attending loyalty, takes
easily this direction, and chuses that set of men for its
objects. 'Tis interest which gives the general instinct ; but
'tis custom which gives the particular direction.
And here 'tis observable, that the same length of time has
a different influence on our sentiments of morality, according
Book III. OF MORALS. 557
to its different influence on the mind. We naturally judge of Sect. X.
every thing by comparison ; and since in considering the fate ~"^^
of kingdoms and republics, we embrace a long extent of time, gLg^.^^ gf
a small duration has not in this case a like influence on our allegiance.
sentiments, as when we consider any other object. One
thinks he acquires a right to a horse, or a suit of cloaths, in
a very short time ; but a century is scarce sufficient to esta-
blish any new government, or remove all scruples in the minds
of the subjects concerning it. Add to this, that a shorter
period of time will suffice to give a prince a tide to any addi-
tional power he may usurp, than will serve to fix his right,
where the whole is an usurpation. The kings of France have
not been possess'd of absolute power for above two reigns ;
and yet nothing will appear more extravagant to Frenchmen
than to talk of their liberties. If we consider what has been
said concerning accession, we shall easily account for this
phsenomenon.
When there is no form of government establish'd by long
possession, the present possession is sufficient to supply its
place, and may be regarded as the second source of all public
authority. Right to authority is nothing but the constant
possession of authority, maintain'd by the laws of society and
the interests of mankind ; and nothing can be more natural
than to join this constant possession to the present one,
according to the principles above-mention'd. If the same
principles did not take place with regard to the property of
private persons, 'twas because these principles were counter-
ballanc'd by very strong considerations of interest ; when we
observ'd, that all restitution wou'd by that means be pre-
vented, and every violence be authoriz'd and protected. And
tho' the same motives may seem to have force, with regard
to public authority, yet they are oppos'd by a contrary in-
terest ; which consists in the preservation of peace, and the
avoiding of all changes, which, however they may be easily
produc'd in private affairs, are unavoidably attended with
bloodshed and confusion, where the public is interested.
558
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. Any one, who finding the impossibility of accounting for
the right of the present possessor, by any receiv'd system of
ethics, shou'd resolve to deny absolutely that right, and assert,
that it is not authoriz'd by morality, wou'd be justly thought
to maintain a very extravagant paradox, and to shock the
common sense and judgment of mankind. No maxim is
more conformable, both to prudence and morals, than to
submit quietly to the government, which we find establish'd
in the country where we happen to live, without enquiring too
curiously into its origin and first establishment. Few govern-
ments will bear being examin'd so rigorously. How many
kingdoms are there at present in the world, and how many
more do we find in history, whose governors have no better
foundation for their authority than that of present possession?
To confine ourselves to the Roman and Grecian empire ; is
it not evident, that the long succession of emperors, from the
dissolution of the Roman liberty, to the final extinction of
that empire by the Turks, cou'd not so much as pretend to
any other title to the empire? The election of the senate
was a mere form, which always follow'd the choice of the
legions ; and these were almost always divided in the different
provinces, and nothing but the sword was able to terminate
the difference. 'Twas by the sword, therefore, that every
emperor acquir'd, as well as defended his right ; and we must
either say, that all the known world, for so many ages, had
no government, and ow'd no allegiance to any one, or must
allow, that the right of the stronger, in public affairs, is to be
receiv'd as legitimate, and authoriz'd by morality, when not
oppos'd by any other title.
The right of conquest may be consider'd as a third source
of the title of sovereigns. This right resembles very much
that of present possession ; but has rather a superior force,
being seconded by the notions of glory and honour, which
we ascribe to conquerors, instead of the sentiments of hatred
and detestation, which attend usurpers. Men naturally favour
those they love ; and therefore are more apt to ascribe a
Book III. OF MORALS. 559
right to successful violence, betwixt one sovereign and an- Sect. X.
other, than to the successful rebellion of a subject against "
his sovereign \ objects of
When neither long possession, nor present possession, nor allegiance.
conquest take place, as when the first sovereign, who founded
any monarchy, dies ; in that case, the right of succession
naturally prevails in their stead, and men are commonly
induc'd to place the son of their late monarch on the throne,
and suppose him to inherit his father's authority. The pre-
sum'd consent of the father, the imitation of the succession
to private families, the interest, which the state has in chusing
the person, who is most powerful, and has the most numerous
followers; all these reasons lead men to prefer the son of
their late monarch to any other person ^.
These reasons have some weight ; but I am persuaded,
that to one, who considers impartially of the matter, 'twill
appear, that there concur some principles of the imagination,
along with those views of interest. The royal authority
seems to be connected with the young prince even in his
father's life-lime, by the natural transition of the thought ;
and still more after his death : So that nothing is more natu-
ral than to compleat this union by a new relation, and by
putting him actually in possession of what seems so naturally
to belong to him.
To confirm this we may weigh the following phsenomena,
which are pretty curious in their kind. In elective monarchies
the right of succession has no place by the laws and settled
custom ; and yet its influence is so natural, that 'tis impossible
^ It is not here asserted, XhaX present possession or c^w^r/^^j/ are sufficient
to give a title against long possession and positive laws : But only that
they have some force, and vi\\\ be able to cast the ballance where the
titles are otherwise equal, and will even be sufficient someti?nes to sanctify
the weaker title. What degree of force they have is difficult to determine.
I believe all moderate men will allow, that they have great force in all
disputes concerning the rights of princes.
^ To prevent mistakes I must observe, that this case of succession is
not the same with that of hereditary monarchies, where custom has fix'd
the right of succession. These depend upon the principle ot long posses-
sion above explain'd.
56o
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
OfjustUt.
and
injustice.
entirely to exclude it from the imagination, and render the
subjects indifferent to the son of their deceas'd monarch.
Hence in some governments of this kind, the choice com-
monly falls on one or other of the royal family; and in some
governments they are all excluded. Those contrary phseno-
mena proceed from the same principle. Where the royal
family is excluded, 'tis from a refinement in politics, which
makes people sensible of their propensity to chuse a sovereign
in that family, and gives them a jealousy of their liberty, lest
their new monarch, aided by this propensity, shou'd establish
his family, and destroy the freedom of elections for the future.
The history of Artaxerxes, and the younger Cyrus, may
furnish us with some reflections to the same purpose. Cyrus
pretended a right to the throne above his elder brother,
because he was born after his father's accession. I do not
pretend, that this reason was valid. I wou'd only infer from
it, that he wou'd never have made use of such a pretext, were
it not for the qualities of the imagination above-mention'd, by
which we are naturally inclin'd to unite by a new relation
whatever objects we find already united. Artaxerxes had an
advantage above his brother, as being the eldest son, and the
first in succession : But Cyrus was more closely related to
the royal authority, as being begot after his father was invested
with it.
Shou'd it here be pretended, that the view of convenience
may be the source of all the right of succession, and that
men gladly take advantage of any rule, by which they can fix
the successor of their late sovereign, and prevent that anarchy
and confusion, which attends all new elections : To this I
wou'd answer, that I readily allow, that this motive may
contribute something to the effect ; but at the same time
I assert, that without another principle, 'tis impossible such a
motive shou'd take place. The interest of a nation requires,
that the succession to the crown shou'd be fix'd one way or
other ; but 'tis the same thing to its interest in what way it
be fix'd : So that if the relation of blood had not an effect
Book III. OF MORALS 561
independent of public interest, it wou'd never have been Sect. X-
-M-
recrarded, without a positive law: and 'twou'd have been
Of the
impossible, that so many positive laws of different nations gL-gcts of
cou'd ever have concur'd precisely in the same views and alhgiatice.
intentions.
This leads us to consider \\\t fifth source of authority, viz.
positive laws ; when the legislature establishes a certain form
of government and succession of princes. At first sight it
may be thought, that this must resolve into some of the pre-
ceding tides of authority. The legislative power, whence the
positive law is deriv'd, must either be establish'd by original
contract, long possession, present possession, conquest, or
succession ; and consequently the positive law must derive
its force from some of those principles. But here 'tis re-
markable, that tho' a positive law can only derive its force
from these principles, yet it acquires not all the force of the
principle from whence it is deriv'd, but loses considerably in
the transition ; as it is natural to imagine. For instance ;
a government is establish'd for many centuries on a certain
system of laws, forms, and methods of succession. The
legislative power, establish'd by this long succession, changes
all on a sudden the whole system of government, and intro*
duces a new constitution in its stead. I believe few of the
subjects will think themselves bound to comply with this
alteration, unless it have an evident tendency to the public
good : But will think themselves still at liberty to return to
the antient government. Hence the notion o^ /imda?nental
laws ; which are suppos'd to be inalterable by the will of the
sovereign : And of this nature the Salic law is understood to
be in France. How far these fundamental laws extend is
not determin'd in any government ; nor is it possible it ever
shou'd. There is such an insensible gradation from the
most material laws to the most trivial, and from the most
antient laws to the most modern, that 'twill be impossible
to set bounds to the legislative power, and determine
how far it may innovate in the principles of government.
562
^ TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. That is the work more of imagination and passion than of
reason.
Whoever considers the history of the several nations of
the world ; their revolutions, conquests, increase, and dimi-
nution ; the manner in which their particular governments
are establish'd, and the successive right transmitted from one
person to another, will soon learn to treat very lightly all
disputes concerning the rights of princes, and will be con-
vinc'd, that a strict adherence to any general rules, and the
rigid loyalty to particular persons and families, on which
some people set so high a value, are virtues that hold less of
reason, than of bigotry and superstition. In this particular,
the study of history confirms the reasonings of true philo-
sophy; which, shewing us the original qualities of human
nature, teaches us to regard the controversies in politics as
incapable of any decision in most cases, and as entirely
subordinate to the interests of peace and liberty. Where
the public good does not evidently demand a change ; 'tis
certain, that the concurrence of all those titles, original con-
tract, long possession, present possession, succession, and positive
laws, forms the strongest title to sovereignty, and is justly
regarded as sacred and inviolable. But when these titles are
mingled and oppos'd in different degrees, they often occasion
perplexity ; and are less capable of solution from the argu-
ments of lawyers and philosophers, than from the swords of
the soldiery. Who shall tell me, for instance, whether Ger-
manicus, or Drusus, ought to have succeeded Tiberius, had he
died while they were both alive, without naming any of them
for his successor ? Ought the right of adoption to be receiv'd
as equivalent to that of blood in a nation, where it had the
same effect in private families, and had already, in two in-
stances, taken place in the public ? Ought Germanicus to be
esteem'd the eldest son, because he was born before Drusus;
or the younger, because he was adopted after the birth of
his brother ? Ought the right of the elder to be regarded in
a nation where the eldest brother had no advantage in the
Book III. OF MORALS. 563
succession to private families ? Ought the Roman empire at Sect. X.
that time to be esteem'd hereditary, because of two examples; ^ ""**""
J J u 1 • . .u Of the
or ought It, even so early, to be regarded as belongmg to the objects of
stronger, or the present possessor, as being founded on so allegiance
recent an usurpation? Upon whatever principles we may
pretend to answer these and such like questions, I am afraid
we shall never be able to satisfy an impartial enquirer, who
adopts no party in political controversies, and will be satisfied
with nothing but sound reason and philosophy.
But here an English reader will be apt to enquire con-
cerning that famous revolution, which has had such a happy
influence on our constitution, and has been attended with
such mighty consequences. We have already remark'd,
that in the case of enormous tyranny and oppression, 'tis
lawful to take arms even against supreme power ; and that as
government is a mere human invention for mutual advantage
and security, it no longer imposes any obligation, either
natural or moral, when once it ceases to have that tendency.
But tho' this general principle be authoriz'd by common
sense, and the practice of all ages, 'tis certainly impossible
for the laws, or even for philosophy, to establish 2Siy particular
rules, by which we may know when resistance is lawful ; and
decide all controversies, which may arise on that subject.
This may not only happen with regard to supreme power ;
but 'tis possible, even in some constitutions, where the legisla-
tive authority is not lodg'd in one person, that there may be
a magistrate so eminent and powerful, as to oblige the laws
to keep silence in this particular. Nor wou'd this silence be
an effect only of their respect, but also of their prudence ;
since 'tis certain, that in the vast variety of circumstances,
which occur in all governments, an exercise of power, in so
great a magistrate, may at one time be beneficial to the
public, which at another time wou'd be pernicious and
tyrannical. But notwithstanding this silence of the laws in
limited monarchies, 'tis certain, that the people still retain the
5^4
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. right of resistance; since 'tis impossible, even in the most
^" despotic governments, to deprive them of it. The same
necessity of self-preservation, and the same motive of public
good, give them the same liberty in the one case as in the
other. And we may farther observe, that in such mix'd
governments, the cases, wherein resistance is lawful, must
occur much oftener, and greater indulgence be given to the
subjects to defend themselves by force of arms, than in
arbitrary governments. Not only where the chief magistrate
enters into measures, in themselves, extremely pernicious to
the public, but even when he wou'd encroach on the other
parts of the constitution, and extend his power beyond the
legal bounds, it is allowable to resist and dethrone him ; tho'
such resistance and violence may, in the general tenor of the
laws, be deem'd unlawful and rebellious. For besides that
nothing is more essential to public interest, than the pre-
servation of public liberty ; 'tis evident, that if such a mix'd
government be once suppos'd to be establish'd, every part or
member of the constitution must have a right of self-defence,
and of maintaining its antient bounds against the encroach-
ment of every other authority. As matters wou'd have been
created in vain, were it depriv'd of a power of resistance,
without which no part of it cou'd preserve a distinct existence,
and the whole might be crowded up into a single point : So
'tis a gross absurdity to suppose, in any government, a right
without a remedy, or allow, that the supreme power is shar'd
with the people, without allowing, that 'tis lawful for them to
defend their share against every invader. Those, therefore,
who wou'd seem to respect our free government, and yet
deny the right of resistance, have renounc'd all pretensions to
common sense, and do not merit a serious answer.
It does not belong to my present purpose to shew, that
these general principles are applicable to the late revolution ;
and that all the rights and privileges, which ought to be sacred
to a free nation, were at that time threaten'd with the utmost
danger. I am better pleas'd to leave this controverted
Book III. OF MORALS, 565
subject, if it really admits of controversy; and to indulge Sect.X
myself in some philosophical reflections, which naturally ** "
arise from that important event. odjecis of
First, We may observe, that shou'd the lords and commons allegiance
in our constitution, without any reason from public interest,
either depose the king in being, or after his death exclude the
prince, who, by laws and settled custom, ought to succeed,
no one wou'd esteem their proceedings legal, or think them-
selves bound to comply with them. But shou'd the king, by
his unjust practices, or his attempts for a tyrannical and
despotic power, justly forfeit his legal, it then not only
becomes morally lawful and suitable to the nature of political
society to dethrone him ; but what is more, we are apt like-
wise to think, that the remaining members of the constitution
acquire a right of excluding his next heir, and of chusing
whom they please for his successor. This is founded
on a very singular quality of our thought and imagination.
When a king forfeits his authority, his heir ought naturally
to remain in the same situation, as if the king were remov'd
by death ; unless by mixing himself in the tyranny, he forfeit
it for himself But tho' this may seem reasonable, we
easily comply with the contrary opinion. The deposition
of a king, in such a government as ours, is certainly an
act beyond all common authority, and an illegal assuming
a power for public good, which, in the ordinary course of
government, can belong to no member of the constitution.
When the public good is so great and so evident as to justify
the action, the commendable use of this licence causes us
naturally to attribute to \k\& parliament a right of using farther
licences; and the antient bounds of the laws being once
transgressed with approbation, we are not apt to be so strict
in confining ourselves precisely within their limits. The
mind naturally runs on with any train of action, which it has
begun ; nor do we commonly make any scruple concerning
our duty, after the first action of any kind, which we perform.
Thus at the revolution, no one who thought the deposition of
566
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
0/ justice
and
injustice.
the father justifiable, esteem'd themselves to be confin'd to his
infant son ; tho' had that unhappy monarch died innocent at
that time, and had his son, by any accident, been convey'd
beyond seas, there is no doubt but a regency wou'd have
been appointed till he shou'd come to age, and cou'd be
restor'd to his dominions. As the slightest properties of
the imagination have an effect on the judgments of the
people, it shews the wisdom of the laws and of the parlia-
ment to take advantage of such properties, and to chuse
the magistrates either in or out of a line, according as the
vulgar will most naturally attribute authority and right
to them.
Secondly, Tho' the accession of the Prince of Orange to
the throne might at first give occasion to many disputes, and
his title be contested, it ought not now to appear doubtful,
but must have acquir'd a sufficient authority from those three
princes, who have succeeded him upon the same title.
Nothing is more usual, the' nothing may, at first sight, appear
more unreasonable, than this way of thinking. Princes often
seem to acquire a right from their successors, as well as from
their ancestors ; and a king, who during his life-time might
justly be deeni'd an usurper, will be regarded by posterity as
a lawful prince, because he has had the good fortune to
settle his family on the throne, and entirely change the
antient form of government. Julius CcEsar is regarded as
the first Reman emperor; while Sylla and Marius, whose
titles were really the same as his, are treated as tyrants and
usurpers. Time and custom give authority to all forms of
government, and all successions of princes ; and that power,
which at first was founded only on injustice and violence,
becomes in time legal and obligatory. Nor does the mind
rest there ; but returning back upon its footsteps, transfers to
their predecessors and ancestors that right, which it naturally
ascribes to the posterity, as being related together, and united
in the imagination. The present king of France makes Hugh
Capet a more lawful prince than Cromwell; as the establish'd
Book III. OF MORALS. 567
liberty of the Dutch is no inconsiderable apology for their Sect. XI
obstinate resistance to Philip the second.
Of the
laws of
nations.
SECTION XI.
Of the laws of nations.
When civil government has been establish'd over the
greatest part of mankind, and different societies have been
form'd contiguous to each other, there arises a new set of
duties among the neighbouring states, suitable to the nature
of that commerce, which they carry on with each other.
Political writers tell us, that in every kind of intercourse, a
body politic is to be consider'd as one person ; and indeed
this assertion is so far just, that different nations, as well as
private persons, require mutual assistance ; at the same time
that their selfishness and ambition are perpetual sources of
war and discord. But tho' nations in this particular resemble
individuals, yet as they are very different in other respects,
no wonder they regulate themselves by different maxims, and
give rise to a new set of rules, which we call the laws of
nations. Under this head we may comprize the sacredness
of the persons of ambassadors, the declaration of war, the
abstaining from poison'd arms, with other duties of that kind,
which are evidently calculated for the commerce, that is
peculiar to different societies.
But tho' these rules be super-added to the laws of nature,
the former do not entirely abolish the latter; and one may
safely affirm, that the three fundamental rules of justice, the
stability of possession, its transference by consent, and the
performance of promises, are duties of princes, as well as of
subjects. The same interest produces the same effect in
both cases. Where possession has no stability, there must
be perpetual war. Where property is not transferr'd by
consent, there can be no commerce. Where promises are
not observ'd, there can be no leagues nor alliances. The
568 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II. advantages, therefore, of peace, commerce, and mutual
** succour, make us extend to different kingdoms the same
and*^ "^' notions of justice, which take place among individuals.
injustice. There is a maxim very current in the world, which few
politicians are willing to avow, but which has been authoriz'd
by the practice of all ages, that there is a system of morals
calculated for princes, much more free than that which ought to
govern private persons. 'Tis evident this is not to be under-
stood of the lesser extent of public duties and obligations ;
nor will any one be so extravagant as to assert, that the most
solemn treaties ought to have no force among princes. For
as princes do actually form treaties among themselves, they
must propose some advantage from the execution of them ;
and the prospect of such advantage for the future must
engage them to perform their part, and must establish that
law of nature. The meaning, therefore, of this political
maxim is, that tho' the morality of princes has the same
extent, yet it has not the szxnQ force as that of private persons,
and may lawfully be transgress'd from a more trivial motive.
However shocking such a proposition may appear to certain
philosophers, 'twill be easy to defend it upon those principles,
by which we have accounted for the origin of justice and
equity.
When men have found by experience, that 'tis impossible
to subsist without society, and that 'tis impossible to maintain
society, while they give free course to their appetites; so
urgent an interest quickly restrains their actions, and imposes
an obligation to observe those rules, which we call the laws
of justice. This obligation of interest rests not here ; but by
the necessary course of the passions and sentiments, gives
rise to the moral obligation of duty ; while we approve of
such actions as tend to the peace of society, and disapprove
of such as tend to its disturbance. The same natural
obligation of interest takes place among independent king-
doms, and gives rise to the same morality ; so that no one of
ever so corrupt morals will approve of a prince, who volun-
Book III. OF MORALS. 569
tarily, and of his own accord, breaks his word, or violates Sect. XI.
any treaty. But here we may observe, that tho' the inter- "
course of different states be advantageous, and even some- i^.^, ^y
times necessary, yet it is not so necessary nor advantageous nations.
as that among individuals, without which 'tis utterly im-
possible for human nature ever to subsist. Since, therefore,
the natural obligation to justice, among different states, is
not so strong as among individuals, the moral obligation,
which arises from it, must partake of its weakness ; and we
must necessarily give a greater indulgence to a prince or
minister, who deceives another; than to a private gentleman,
who breaks his word of honour.
Shou'd it be ask'd, what proportion these two species of
morality bear to each other ? I wou'd answer, that this is a
question, to which we can never give any precise answer ;
nor is it possible to reduce to numbers the proportion, which
we ought to fix betwixt them. One may safely affirm, that
this proportion finds itself, without any art or study of men ;
as we may observe on many other occasions. The practice
of the world goes farther in teaching us the degrees of our
duty, than the most subtile philosophy, which was ever yet
invented. And this may serve as a convincing proof, that all
men have an implicit notion of the foundation of those moral
rules concerning natural and civil justice, and are sensible,
that they arise merely from human conventions, and from
the interest, which we have in the preservation of peace and
order. For otherwise the diminution of the interest wou'd
never produce a relaxation of the morality, and reconcile us
more easily to any transgression of justice among princes and
republics, than in the private commerce of one subject with
another.
570
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part II.
Of justice
and
injustice.
SECTION XII.
Of chastity and modesty.
If any difficulty attend this system concerning the laws of
nature and nations, 'twill be with regard to the universal ap-
probation or blame, which follows their observance or trans-
gression, and which some may not think sufficiently explain'd
from the general interests of society. To remove, as far as
possible, all scruples of this kind, I shall here consider
another set of duties, viz. the modesty and chastity which
belong to the fair sex : And I doubt not but these virtues
will be found to be still more conspicuous instances of the
operation of those principles, which I have insisted on.
There are some philosophers, who attack the female
virtues with great vehemence, and fancy they have gone very
far in detecting popular errors, when they can show, that
there is no foundation in nature for all that exterior modesty,
which we require in the expressions, and dress, and behaviour
of the fair sex. I believe I may spare myself the trouble of
insisting on so obvious a subject, and may proceed, without
farther preparation, to examine after what manner such
notions arise from education, from the voluntary conventions
of men, and from the interest of society.
Whoever considers the length and feebleness of human
infancy, with the concern which both sexes naturally have for
their offspring, will easily perceive, that there must be an
union of male and female for the education of the young, and
that this union must be of considerable duration. But in
order to induce the men to impose on themselves this re-
straint, and undergo chearfully all the fatigues and expences,
to which it subjects them, they must believe, that the children
are their own, and that their natural instinct is not directed
to a wrong object, when they give a loose to love and tender-
ness. Now if we examine the structure of the human body,
we shall find, that this security is very difficult to be atiain'd
Book III. OF MORALS. 571
on our part ; and that since, in the copulation of the sexes, Sect. XIl.
the principle of generation goes from the man to the woman, '• _
an error may easily take place on the side of the former, tho' ^„/ '^
it be utterly impossible with regard to the latter. From this modesty.
trivial and anatomical observation is deriv'd that vast differ-
ence betwixt the education and duties of the two sexes.
Were a philosopher to examine the matter a priori, he
wou'd reason after the following manner. Men are induc'd
to labour for the maintenance and education of their children,
by the persuasion that they are really their own ; and there-
fore 'tis reasonable, and even necessary, to give them some
security in this particular. This security cannot consist
entirely in the imposing of severe punishments on any trans-
gressions of conjugal fidelity on the part of the wife ; since
these public punishments cannot be inflicted without legal
proof, which 'tis difficult to meet with in this subject. What
restraint, therefore, shall we impose on women, in order to
counter-balance so strong a temptation as they have to
infidelity ? There seems to be no restraint possible, but in
the punishment of bad fame or reputation ; a punishment,
which has a mighty influence on the human mind, and at the
same time is inflicted by the world upon surmizes, and con-
jectures, and proofs, that wou'd never be receiv'd in any
court of judicature. In order, therefore, to impose a due
restraint on the female sex, we must attach a peculiar degree
of shame to their infidelity, above what arises merely from its
injustice, and must bestow proportionable praises on their
chastity.
But tho' this be a very strong motive to fidelity, our
philosopher wou'd quickly discover, that it wou'd not alone be
sufficient to that purpose. All human creatures, especially of
the female sex, are apt to over-look remote motives in favour
of any present temptation : The temptation is here the
strongest imaginable : Its approaches are insensible and
seducing : And a woman easily finds, or flatters herself she
shall find, certain means of securing her reputation, and pre-
572
A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Of justice
and
injustice.
Part II. venting all the pernicious consequences of her pleasures. *Tis
necessary, therefore, that, beside the infamy attending such
licences, there shou'd be some preceding backwardness or
dread, which may prevent their first approaches, and may
give the female sex a repugnance to all expressions, and
postures, and liberties, that have an immediate relation to
that enjoyment.
Such wou'd be the reasonings of our speculative philosopher:
But I am persuaded, that if he had not a perfect knowledge
of human nature, he wou'd be apt to regard them as mere
chimerical speculations, and wou'd consider the infamy at-
tending infidelity, and backwardness to all its approaches, as
principles that were rather to be wish'd than hop'd for in the
world. For what means, wou'd he say, of persuading man-
kind, that the transgressions of conjugal duty are more in-
famous than any other kind of injustice, when 'tis evident
they are more excusable, upon account of the greatness of
the temptation ? And what possibility of giving a backward-
ness to the approaches of a pleasure, to which nature has
inspir'd so strong a propensity ; and a propensity that 'tis
absolutely necessary in the end to comply with, for the
support of the species?
But speculative reasonings, which cost so much pains to
philosophers, are often form'd by the world naturally, and
without reflection : As difficulties, which seem unsurmount-
able in theory, are easily got over in practice. Those, who
have an interest in the fidelity of women, naturally disapprove
of their infidelity, and all the approaches to it. Those, who
have no interest, are carried along with the stream. Educa-
tion takes possession of the ductile minds of the fair sex in
their infancy. And when a general rule of this kind is once
establish'd, men are apt to extend it beyond those principles,
from which it first arose. Thus batchelors, however de-
bauch'd, cannot chuse but be shock'd with any instance of
lewdness or impudence in women. And tho' all these
maxims have a plain reference to generation, yet women past
Book III. OF MORALS. 573
child-bearing have no more privilege in this respect, than Sect. XII.
those who are in the flower of their youth and beauty. Men " _
have undoubtedly an implicit notion, that all those ideas o^Jj "'^^^
modesty and decency have a regard to generation ; since modesty.
they impose not the same laws, with the same force, on the
male sex, where that reason takes not place. The exception
is there obvious and extensive, and founded on a remarkable
difference, which produces a clear separation and disjunction
of ideas. But as the case is not the same with regard to the
different ages of women, for this reason, tho' men know, that
these notions are founded on the public interest, yet the
general rule carries us beyond the original principle, and
makes us extend the notions of modesty over the whole sex,
from their earliest infancy to their extremest old-age and
infirmity.
Courage, which is the point of honour among men, derives
its merit, in a great measure, from artifice, as well as the
chastity of women ; tho' it has also some foundation in na-
ture, as we shall see afterwards.
As to the obligations which the male sex lie under, with
regard to chastity, we may observe, that according to the
general notions of the world, they bear nearly the same pro-
portion to the obligations of women, as the obligations of
the law of nations do to those of the law of nature. 'Tis
contrary to the interest of civil society, that men shou'd have
an entire liberty of indulging their appetites in venereal en-
joyment : But as this interest is weaker than in the case of
the female sex, the moral obligation, arising from it, must be
proportionably weaker. And to prove this we need only
appeal to the practice and sentiments of all nations and
ages.
PART 111
OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES.
SECTION I.
Of the origin of the natural virtues and vicci..
vues.
Part III. We come now to the examination of such virtues and
^ , ' * . vices as are entirely natural, and have no dependance on the
w>/«;ja«t/ artifice and contrivance of men. The examination of these
will conclude this system of morals.
The chief spring or actuating principle of the human mind
is pleasure or pain ; and when these sensations are remov'd,
both from our thought and feeling, we are, in a great mea-
sure, incapable of passion or action, of desire or volition.
The most immediate effects of pleasure and pain are the
propense and averse motions of the mind ; which are diver-
sified into volition, into desire and aversion, grief and joy,
hope and fear, according as the pleasure or pain changes its
situation, and becomes probable or improbable, certain or
uncertain, or is consider'd as out of our power for the pre-
sent moment. But when along with this, the objects, that
cause pleasure or pain, acquire a relation to ourselves or
others; they still continue to excite desire and aversion,
grief and joy : But cause, at the same time, the indirect pas-
sions of pride or humility, love or hatred, which in this case
have a double relation of impressions and ideas to the pain
or pleasure.
We have already observ'd, that moral distinctions depend
entirely on certain peculiar sentiments of pain and pleasure,
and that whatever mental quality in ourselves or others gives
Book III. OF MORALS. 575
us a satisfaction, by the survey or reflexion, is of course vir- Sect. I.
tuous ; as every thing of this nature, that gives uneasiness, is **~^
vicious. Now since every quality in ourselves or others, ^;-,Vj«
which gives pleasure, always causes pride or love ; as every of the
one, that produces uneasiness, excites humility or hatred : j){j."^g^
It follows, that these two particulars are to be consider'd as and vices.
equivalent, with regard to our mental qualities, virtue and the
power of producing love or pride, vice and the power of pro-
ducing humility or hatred. In every case, therefore, we must
judge of the one by the other; and may pronounce any
quality of the mind virtuous, which causes love or pride ;
and anv one vicious, which causes hatred or humility.
If any action be either virtuous or vicious, 'tis only as a
sign of some quality or character. It must depend upon
durable principles of the mind, which extend over the whole
conduct, and enter into the personal character. Actions
themselves, not proceeding ,from any constant principle, have
no influence on love or hatred, pride or humility; and con-
sequently are never consider'd in morality.
This reflexion is self-evident, and deserves to be attended
to, as being of the utmost importance in the present subject.
We are never to consider any single action in our enquiries
concerning the origin of morals ; but only the quality or
character from which the action proceeded. These alone
are durable enough to affect our sentiments concerning the
person. Actions are, indeed, better indications of a character
than words, or even wishes and sentiments ; but 'tis only so
lar as they are such indications, that they are attended with
love or hatred, praise or blame.
To discover the true origin of morals, and of that love or
hatred, which arises from mental qualities, we must take the
matter pretty deep, and compare some principles, which have
been already examin'd and explain'd.
We may begin with considering a-new the nature and
force of sympathy. The minds of all men are similar in
their feelings and operations, nor can any one be actuated
576 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. by any affection, of which all others are not, in some degree,
•• susceptible. As in strings equally wound up, the motion of
Of the other ^ . • ,f , , , , .r •
mrtues and o^^ communicates itself to the rest ; so all the affections
vtces, readily pass from one person to another, and beget cor-
respondent movements in every human creature. When
I see the effects of passion in the voice and gesture of any
person, my mind immediately passes from these efYects to
their causes, and forms such a lively idea of the passion,
as is presently converted into the passion itself. In like
manner, when I perceive the causes of any emotion, my mind
is convey'd to the effects, and is actuated with a like emo-
tion. Were I present at any of the more terrible operations
of surgery, 'tis certain, that even before it begun, the pre-
paration of the instruments, the laying of the bandages in
order, the heating of the irons, with all the signs of anxiety
and concern in the patients and assistants, wou'd have a great
effect upon my mind, and excite the strongest sentiments of
pity and terror. No passion of another discovers itself im-
mediately 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.
Our sense of beauty depends very much on this principle ;
and where any object has a tendency to produce pleasure in
its possessor, it is always regarded as beautiful ; as every
object, that has a tendency to produce pain, is disagreeable
and deform'd. Thus the conveniency of a house, the fertility
of a field, the strength of a horse, the capacity, security, and
swift-sailing of a vessel, form the principal beauty of these
several objects. Here the object, which is denominated
beautiful, pleases only by its tendency to produce a certain
effect. That effect is the pleasure or advantage of some
other person. Now the pleasure of a stranger, for whom we
have no friendship, pleases us only by sympathy. To this
principle, therefore, is owing the beauty, which we find in
every thing that is useful. How considerable a part this is
of beauty will easily appear upon reflexion. Wherever an
Book III. OF MORALS. 577
object has a tendency to produce pleasure in the possessor, Sect. L
or in other words, is the proper cause of pleasure, it is sure ••
to please the spectator, by a delicate sympathy with the pos- J.i„j^
sessor. Most of the works of art are esteem'd beautiful, in of the
proportion to their fitness for the use of man, and even many ^^^^.'"^
of the productions of nature derive their beauty from that and vices.
source. Handsome and beautiful, on most occasions, is not
an absolute but a relative quality, and pleases us by nothing
but its tendency to produce an end that is agreeable \
The same principle produces, in many instances, our
sentiments of morals, as well as those of beauty. No virtue
is more esteem'd than justice, and no vice more detested
than injustice ; nor are there any qualities, which go farther
to the fixing the character, either as amiable or odious. Now
justice is a moral virtue, merely because it has that tendency
to the good of mankind ; and, indeed, is nothing but an
artificial invention to that purpose. The same may be said
of allegiance, of the laws of nations, of modesty, and of good-
manners. All these are mere human contrivances for the
interest of society. And since there is a very strong senti-
ment of morals, which in all nations, and all ages, has
attended them, we must allow, that the reflecting on the
tendency of characters and mental qualities, is sufficient to
give us the sentiments of approbation and blame. Now as
the means to an end can only be agreeable, where the end
is agreeable ; and as the good of society, where our own
interest is not concern'd, or that of our friends, pleases only
by sympathy: It follows, that sympathy is the source of the
esteem, which we pay to all the artificial virtues.
Thus it appears, Ihai sympathy is a very powerful principle
in human nature, thai it has a great influence on our taste of
beauty, and that it produces our sentiment of morals in all
* Decentior equus cujus astricta sunt ilia ; sed idem velocior. Pulcher
aspectu sit atiileta, cujus lacertos exercilatio expressit ; idem certamini
paratior. Nunquam vero species ab utilitate dividitur. Sed hoc quidem
discernere, modici judicii est. Quinct. lib. 8.
578 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. the artificial virtues. From thence we may presume, that it
" also gives rise to many of the other virtues ; and that quali-
vir lues and ^^^^ acquire our approbation, because of their tendency to
vues. the good of mankind. This presumption must become a
certainty, when we find that most of those qualities, which
we naturally approve of, have actually that tendency, and
render a man a proper member of society : While the quali-
ties, which we nahirally disapprove of, have a contrary
tendency, and render any intercourse with the person
dangerous or disagreeable. For having found, that such
tendencies have force enough to produce the strongest senti-
ment of morals, we can never reasonably, in these cases, look
for any other cause of approbation or blame ; it being an
inviolable maxim in philosophy, that where any particular
cause is sufficient for an effect, we ought to rest satisfied with
it, and ought not to multiply causes without necessity. We
have happily attain'd experiments in the artificial virtues,
where the tendency of qualities to the good of societ}'^, is the
sole cause of our approbation, without any suspicion of the
concurrence of another principle. From thence we learn the
force of that principle. And where that principle may take
place, and the quality approv'd of is really beneficial to
society, a true philosopher will never require any other prin-
ciple to account for the strongest approbation and esteem.
That many of the natural virtues have this tendency to the
good of society, no one can doubt of. Meekness, beneficence,
charity, generosity, clemency, moderation, equity, bear the
greatest figure among the moral qualities, and are commonly
denominated the social virtues, to mark their tendency to the
good of society. This goes so far, that some philosophers
have represented all moral distinctions as the effect of artifice
and education, when skilful politicians endeavour'd to restrain
the turbulent passions of men, and make them operate to the
public good, by the notions of honour and shame. This
system, however, is not consistent with experience. For,
first, there are other virtues and vices beside those which
Book III. OF MORALS. 579
have this tendency to the public advantage and loss. Se- Sect. I.
condly, had not men a natural sentiment of approbation and " **
blame, it cou'd never be excited by politicians ; nor wou'd J-igi^
the words laudable and praise-worthy, blameable and odious, of the
be any more intelligible, than if they were a language per- "^y^^'J^
fectly unknown to us, as we have already observ'd. ^Miandvica.
tho' this system be erroneous, it may teach us, that moral
distinctions arise, in a great measure, from the tendency of
qualities and characters to the interests of society, and that
'tis our concern for that interest, which makes us approve or
disapprove of them. Now we have no such extensive con-
cern for society but from sympathy ; and consequently 'tis
that principle, which takes us so far out of ourselves, as to
give us the same pleasure or uneasiness in the characters of
others, as if they had a tendency to our own advantage or loss.
The only difference betwixt the natural virtues and justice
lies in this, that the good, which results from the former,
arises from every single act, and is the object of some natural
passion: Whereas a single act of justice, consider'd in itself,
may often be contrary to the public good ; and 'tis only the
concurrence of mankind, in a general scheme or system of
action, which is advantageous. When I relieve persons in
distress, my natural humanity is my motive ; and so far as
my succour extends, so far have I promoted the happiness
of my fellow-creatures. But if we examine all the questions,
that come before any tribunal of justice, we shall find, that,
considering each case apart, it wou'd as often be an instance
of humanity to decide contrary to the laws of justice as con-
formable to them. Judges take from a poor man to give to a
rich ; they bestow on the dissolute the labour of the indus-
trious \ and put into the hands of the vicious the means of
harming both themselves and others. The whole scheme,
however, of law and justice is advantageous to the society;
and 'twas with a view to this advantage, that men, by their
voluntary conventions, establish'd it. After it is once estab-
lish'd by these conventions, it is naturally attended with a
580 A TREATISF OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. strong sentiment of morals ; which can proceed from nothing
♦♦ • but our sympathy with the interests of society. We need no
Oftheother Q^jjgj. explication of that esteem, which attends such of the
virtues and ^ '
viitt. natural virtues, as have a tendency to the public good.
I must farther add, that there are several circumstances,
which render this hypothesis much more probable with regard
to the natural than the artificial virtues. 'Tis certain, that
the imagination is more affected by what is particular, than
by what is general ; and that the sentiments are always mov'd
with difficulty, where their objects are, in any degree, loose
and undetermin'd : Now every particular act of justice is not
beneficial to society, but the whole scheme or system : And
it may not, perhaps, be any individual person, for whom we
are concern'd, who receives benefit from justice, but the
whole society alike. On the contrary, every particular act of
generosity, or relief of the industrious and indigent, is bene-
ficial; and is beneficial to a particular person, who is not
undeserving of it. 'Tis more natural, therefore, to think, that
the tendencies of the latter virtue will affect our sentiments,
and command our approbation, than those of the former;
and therefore, since we find, that the approbation of the
former arises from their tendencies, we may ascribe, with
better reason, the same cause to the approbation of the latter.
In any number of similar effects, if a cause can be discover'd
for one, we ought to extend that cause to all the other effects,
which can be accounted for by it : But much more, if these
other effects be attended with peculiar circumstances, which
facilitate the operation of that cause.
Before I proceed farther, I must observe two remarkable
circumstances in this afiair, which may seem objections to
the present system. The first may be thus explain'd. When
any quality, or character, has a tendency to the good of
mankind, we are pleas'd 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. But as this
sympathy is very variable, it may be thought, that our senti-
Book III. OF MORALS. 581
ments of morals must admit of all the same variations. We Sect. T.
sympathize more with persons contiguous to us, than with "
persons remote from us : With our acquaintance, than with prj^^
strangers : With our countrymen, than with foreigners. But of the
notwithstanding this variation of our sympathy, we give the ^'^//mT
same approbation to the same moral qualities in China as in and vices.
England. They appear equally virtuous, and recommend
themselves equally to the esteem of a judicious spectator.
The sympathy varies without a variation in our esteem. Our
esteem, therefore, proceeds not from sympathy.
To this I answer: The approbation of moral qualities most
certainly is not deriv'd from reason, or any comparison of
ideas; but proceeds entirely from a moral taste, and from
certain sentiments of pleasure or disgust, which arise upon the
contemplation and view of particular qualities or characters.
Now 'tis evident, that those sentiments, whence-ever they are
deriv'd, must vary according to the distance or contiguity of
the objects ; nor can I feel the same lively pleasure from the
virtues of a person, who liv'd in Greece two thousand years
ago, that I feel from the virtues of a familiar friend and
acquaintance. Yet I do not say, that I esteem the one more
than the other : And therefore, if the variation of the senti-
ment, without a variation of the esteem, be an objection, it
must have equal force against every other system, as against
that of sympathy. But to consider the matter a- right, it has
no force at all; and 'tis the easiest matter in the world to
account for it. Our situation, with regard both to persons
and things, is in continual fluctuation ; and a man, that hes
at a distance from us, may, in a little time, become a familiar
acquaintance. Besides, every particular man has a peculiar
position with regard to others ; and 'tis impossible we cou'd
ever converse together on any reasonable terms, were each
of us to consider characters and persons, only as they appear
from his peculiar point of view. In order, therefore, to
prevent those continual contradictions, and arrive at a more
stable judgment of things, we fix on some steady and general
583 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. points of view ; and always, in our thoughts, place ourselves
' •• in them, whatever may be our present situation. In like
vtrtifes and ^^^^^^^^^' external beauty is determin'd merely by pleasure;
vices. and 'tis evident, a beautiful countenance cannot give so much
pleasure, when seen at the distance of twenty paces, as when
it is brought nearer us. We say not, however, that it appears
to us less beautiful : Because we know what effect it will have
in such a position, and by that reflexion we correct its
momentary appearance.
In general, all sentiments of blame or praise are variable,
according to our situation of nearness or remoteness, with
regard to the person blam'd or prais'd, and according to the
present disposition of our mind. But these variations we
regard not in our general decisions, but still apply the terms
expressive of our liking or dislike, in the same manner, as if
we remain'd in one point of view. Experience soon teaches
us this method of correcting our sentiments, or at least, of
correcting our language, where the sentiments are more
stubborn and inalterable. Our servant, if diligent and faith-
ful, may excite stronger sentiments of love and kindness than
Marcus Brutus, as represented in history ; but we say not
upon that account, that the former character is more laudable
than the latter. We know, that were we to approach equally
near to that renown'd patriot, he wou'd command a much
higher degree of affection and admiration. Such corrections
are common with regard to all the senses ; and indeed 'twere
impossible we cou'd ever make use of language, or com-
municate our sentiments to one another, did we not correct
the momentary appearances of things, and overlook our
present situation.
'Tis therefore from the influence of characters and quali-
ties, upon those who have an intercourse with any person,
that we blame or praise him. We consider not whether the
persons, affected by the qualities, be our acquaintance or
strangers, countrymen or foreigners. Nay, we over-look our
own interest in those general judgments; and blame not
Book III. OF MORALS. 583
a man for opposing us in any of our pretensions, when his Sect. T.
own interest is particularly concern'd. We make allowance "
for a certain degree of selfishness in men ; because we know J.{pi„
it to be inseparable from human nature, and inherent in our of the
frame and constitution. By this reflexion we correct those "^^"[^^^
sentiments of blame, which so naturally arise upon any and vices.
opposition.
But however the general principle of our blame or praise
may be corrected by those other principles, 'tis certain,
they are not altogether efficacious, nor do our passions
often correspond entirely to the present theory. 'Tis seldom
men heartily love what lies at a distance from them, and
what no way redounds to their particular benefit ; as 'tis no
less rare to meet with persons, who can pardon another any
opposition he makes to their interest, however justifiable that
opposition may be by the general rules of morality. Here
we are contented with saying, that reason requires such an
impartial conduct, but that 'tis seldom we can bring our-
selves to it, and that our passions do not readily follow the
determination of our judgment. This language will be
easily understood, if we consider what we formerly said
concerning that reason, which is able to oppose our passion ;
and which we have found to be nothing but a general calm
determination of the passions, founded on some distant
view or reflexion. When we form our judgments of persons,
merely from the tendency of their characters to our own
benefit, or to that of our friends, we find so many contra-
dictions to our sentiments in society and conversation, and
such an uncertainty from the incessant changes of our
situation, that we seek some other standard of merit and
demerit, which may not admit of so great variation. Being
thus loosen'd from our first station, we cannot afterwards fix
ourselves so commodiously by any means as by a sympathy
with those, who have any commerce with the person we
consider. This is far from being as lively as when our own
iaterest is concern'd, or that of our particular friends ; nor
584 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. has it such an influence on our love and hatred : But being
•• equally conformable to our calm and general principles, 'tis
virtues at!d ^^'^ ^° \\2iWQ an equal authority over our reason, and to com-
vices. mand our judgment and opinion. We blame equally a bad
action, which we read of in history, with one perform'd in
our neighbourhood t'other day : The meaning of which is,
that we know from reflexion, that the former action wou'd
excite as strong sentiments of disapprobation as the latter,
were it plac'd in the same position.
I now proceed to the second remarkable circumstance,
which I propos'd to take notice of. Where a person is
possess'd of a character, that in its natural tendency is
beneficial to society, we esteem him virtuous, and are
delighted with the view of his character, even tho' particular
accidents prevent its operation, and incapacitate him from
being serviceable to his friends and country. Virtue in rags
is still virtue ; and the love, which it procures, attends a man
into a dungeon or desart, where the virtue can no longer be
exerted in action, and is lost to all the world. Now this may
be esteem'd an objection to the present system. Sympathy
interests us in the good of mankind ; and if sympathy were
the source of our esteem for virtue, that sentiment of appro-
bation cou'd only take place, where the virtue actually
attain'd its end, and was beneficial to mankind. Where it
fails of its end, 'tis only an imperfect means ; and therefore
can never acquire any merit from that end. The goodness
of an end can bestow a merit on such means alone as are
compleat, and actually produce the end.
To this we may reply, that where any object, in all its
parts, is fitted to attain any agreeable end, it naturally gives
us pleasure, and is esteem'd beautiful, even tho' some external
circumstances be wanting to render it altogether effectual.
'Tis sufficient if every thing be compleat in the object itself.
A house, that is contriv'd with great judgment for all the
commodities of life, pleases us upon that account; tho'
perhaps we are sensible, that no-one will ever dwell in it.
Book ITI. OF MORALS. 585
A fertile soil, and a happy climate, delight us by a reflexion Sect. L
on the happiness which they wou'd afford the inhabitants, ' *»-
tho' at present the country be desart and uninhabited. A g{j~^
man, whose limbs and shape promise strength and activity, of the
is esteem'd handsome, tho' condemn'd to perpetual imprison- *^^J"*'^^
ment. The imagination has a set of passions belonging to and vices.
it, upon which our sentiments of beauty much depend. These
passions are mov'd by degrees of liveliness and strength,
which are inferior to belief, and independent of the real
existence of their objects. Where a character is, in every
respect, fitted to be beneficial to society, the imagination
passes easily from the cause to the effect, without considering
that there are still some circumstances wanting to render the
cause a compleat one. General rules create a species of
probability, which sometimes influences the judgment, and
always the imagination.
'Tis true, when the cause is compleat, and a good dis'
position is attended with good fortune, which renders it
really beneficial to society, it gives a stronger pleasure to
the spectator, and is attended with a more lively sympathy.
We are more affected by it ; and yet we do not say that it is
more virtuous, or that we esteem it more. We know, that an
alteration of fortune may render the benevolent disposition
entirely impotent ; and therefore we separate, as much as
possible, the fortune from the disposition. The case is the
same, as when we correct the different sentiments of virtue,
which proceed from its different distances from ourselves.
The passions do not always follow our corrections; but
these corrections serve sufficiently to regulate our abstract
notions, and are alone regarded, when we pronounce in
general concerning the degrees of vice and virtue.
'Tis observ'd by critics, that all words or sentences, which
are difficult to the pronunciation, are disagreeable to the
ear. There is no difference, whether a man hear them pro-
nounc'd, or read them silently to himself. When I run
over a book with my eye, I imagine I hear it all ; and also,
U
586 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. by the force of imagination, enter into the uneasiness, which
•• the delivery of it wou'd give the speaker. The uneasiness is
znrtues atid ^'^^ '^^^^ ' ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^ Composition of words has a natural
vices. tendency to produce it, this is sufficient to affect the mind
with a painful sentiment, and render the discourse harsh and
disagreeable. 'Tis a similar case, where any real quality is,
by accidental circumstances, render'd impotent, and is de-
priv'd of its natural influence on society.
Upon these principles we may easily remove any contra-
diction, which may appear to be betwixt the extensive
sy?7ipathy, on which our sentiments of virtue depend, and that
liviited generosity which I have frequently observ'd to be
natural to men, and which justice and property suppose,
according to the precedent reasoning. My sympathy with
another may give me the sentiment of pain and disapproba-
tion, when any object is presented, that has a tendency to
give him uneasiness ; tho' I may not be willing to sacrifice
any thing of my own interest, or cross any of my passions,
for his satisfaction. A house may displease me by being 111-
contriv'd for the convenience of the owner ; and yet I may re-
fuse to give a shilling towards the rebuilding of it. Sentiments
must touch the heart, to make them controul our passions ;
But they need not extend beyond the imagination, to make
them influence our taste. When a building seems clumsy
and tottering to the eye, it is ugly and disagreeable ; tho' we
be fully assur'd of the solidity of the workmanship. 'Tis a
kind of fear, which causes this sentiment of disapprobation ;
but the passion is not the same with that which we feel, when
oblig'd to stand under a wall, that we really think tottering
and insecure. The seeming tendencies of objects affect the
mind : And the emotions they excite are of a like species
with those, which proceed from the real consequences of
objects, but their feeling is different. Nay, these emotions
are so different in their feeling, that they may often be con-
trary, without destroying each other; as when the fortifica-
tions of a city belonging to an enemy are esteem'd beautiful
Book III. OF MORALS. 587
upon account of their strength, tho' we cou'd wish that they Sect. I.
were entirely destroy'd. The imagination adheres to the ~**~
general views of things, and distinguishes the feelings they ^n^n
produce, from those which arise from our particular and o/^Ae
momentary situation. natural
^ virtues
and vices.
If we examine the panegyrics that are commonly made of
great men, we shall find, that most of the qualities, which are
attributed to them, may be divided into two kinds, viz. such
as make them perform their part in society; and such as
render them serviceable to themselves, and enable them to
promote their own interest. T\i€vi prudence, temperance, fru-
gality, itidustry, assiduity, enterprize, dexterity, are celebrated,
as well as their generosity and humanity. If we ever give an
indulgence to any quality, that disables a man from making
a figure in life, 'tis to that of indolence, which is not suppos'd
to deprive one of his parts and capacity, but only suspends
their exercise; and that without any inconvenience to the
person himself, since 'tis, in some measure, from his own
choice. Yet indolence is always allow'd to be a fault, and
a very great one, if extreme : Nor do a man's friends ever
acknowledge him to be subject to it, but in order to save
his character in more material articles. He cou'd make
a figure, say they, if he pleas'd to give application: His
understanding is sound, his conception quick, and his
memory tenacious ; but he hates business, and is indifferent
about his fortune. And this a man sometimes may make
even a subject of vanity; tho' with the air of confessing
a fault: Because he may think, that this incapacity for
business implies much more noble qualities; such as a philo-
sophical spirit, a fine taste, a delicate wit, or a relish for
pleasure and society. But take any other case : Suppose
a quality, that without being an indication of any other good
qualities, incapacitates a man always for business, and is
destructive to his interest ; such as a blundering understand-
ing, and a wrong judgment of every thing in life ; inconstancy
588 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. and irresolution ; or a want of address in the management of
^, ,** , men and business: These are all allow'd to be imperfections
Of the other . , , » , , , i j
virtues and '^^ a Character; and many men wou d rather acknowledge
vices. the greatest crimes, than have it suspected, that they are, in
any degree, subject to them.
'Tis very happy, in our philosophical researches, when
we find the same phaenomenon diversified by a variety of
circumstances ; and by discovering what is common among
them, can the better assure ourselves of the truth of any
hypothesis we may make use of to explain it. Were nothing
esteem'd virtue but what were beneficial to society, I am
persuaded, that the foregoing explication of the moral sense
ought still to be receiv'd, and that upon sufficient evidence :
But this evidence must grow upon us, when we find other
kinds of virtue, which will not admit of any explication
except from that hypothesis. Here is a man, who is not re-
markably defective in his social qualities ; but what principally
recommends him is his dexterity in business, by which he
has extricated himself from the greatest difficulties, and con-
ducted the most delicate aff"airs with a singular address and
prudence. I find an esteem for him immediately to arise in
me : His company is a satisfaction to me ; and before I have
any farther acquaintance with him, I wou'd rather do him a
service than another, whose character is in every other respect
equal, but is deficient in that particular. In this case, the
qualities that please me are all consider'd as useful to the
person, and as having a tendency to promote his interest and
satisfaction. They are only regarded as means to an end,
and please me in proportion to their fitness for that end. The
end, therefore, must be agreeable to me. But what makes
the end agreeable? The person is a stranger: I am no way
interested in him, nor lie under any obligation to him : His
happiness concerns not me, farther than the happiness of
every human, and indeed of every sensible creature: Tliat is,
it affects me only by sympathy. From that principle, when-
ever I discover his happiness and good, whether in its causes
Book III. OF MORALS. 589
or effects, I enter so deeply into it, that it gives me a sensible Sect. I.
emotion. The appearance of qualities, that have a iendettcy *♦
to promote it, have an agreeable effect upon my imagination, J^iJ^
and command my love and esteem. of the
This theory may serve to explain, why the same qualities, "^y^'^'^j
in all cases, produce both pride and love, humility and hatred ; and vices.
and the same man is always virtuous or vicious, accomplish'd
or despicable to others, who is so to himself. A person, in
whom we discover any passion or habit, which originally is
only incommodious to himself, becomes always disagreeable
to us, merely on its account ; as on the other hand, one
whose character is only dangerous and disagreeable to others,
can never be satisfied with himself, as long as he is sensible
of that disadvantage. Nor is this observable only with regard
to characters and manners, but may be remark'd even in the
most minute circumstances. A violent cough in another
gives us uneasiness; tho' in itself it does not in the least
affect us. A man will be mortified, if you tell him he has a
stinking breath ; tho' 'tis evidently no annoyance to himself.
Our fancy easily changes its situation ; and either surveying
ourselves as we appear to others, or considering others as
they feel themselves, we enter, by that means, into sentiments,
which no way belong to us, and in which nothing but sym-
pathy is able to interest us. And this sympathy we sometimes
carry so far, as even to be displeas'd with a quality com-
modious to us, merely because it displeases others, and makes
us disagreeable in their eyes ; tho' perhaps we never can
have any interest in rendering ourselves agreeable to them.
There have been many systems of morality advanc'd by
philosophers in all ages; but if they are strictly examin'd,
they may be reduc'd to two, which alone merit our attention.
Moral good and evil are certainly distinguish'd by our senii'
minis, not by reason : But these sentiments may arise either
from the mere species or appearance of characters and
passions, or from reflexions on their tendency to the happi-
ness of mankind, and of particular persons. My opinion is,
590 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. that both these causes are intermix'd in our judgments of
' " morals ; after the same manner as they are in our decisions
y^^/^^j ^„j/ concerning most kinds of external beauty: Tho' I am also
nces. of opinion, that reflexions on the tendencies of actions have
by far the greatest influence, and determine all the great
lines of our duty. There are, however, instances, in cases of
less moment, wherein this immediate taste or sentiment
produces our approbation. Wit, and a certain easy and
disengag'd behaviour, are qualities immediately agreeable to
others, and command their love and esteem. Some of these
qualities produce satisfaction in others by particular original
principles of human nature, which cannot be accounted for :
Others may be resolv'd into principles, which are more
general. This will best appear upon a particular enquiry.
As some qualities acquire their merit from their being
immediately agreeable to others, without any tendency to
public interest; so some are denominated virtuous from
their being immediately agreeable to the person himself, who
possesses them. Each of the passions and operations of the
mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable
or disagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious.
This particular feeling constitutes the very nature of the
passion ; and therefore needs not be accounted for.
But however directly the distinction of vice and virtue may
seem to flow from the immediate pleasure or uneasiness,
which particular qualities cause to ourselves or others ; 'tis
easy to observe, that it has also a considerable dependence
on the principle of sympathy so often insisted on. We
approve of a person, who is possess'd of qualities immediately
agreeable to those, wilh whom he has any commerce ; tho'
perhaps we ourselves never reap'd any pleasure from them.
We also approve of one, who is possess'd of qualities, that
are immediately agreeable to himself; tho' they be of no
service to any mortal. To account for this we must have
recourse to the foregoing principles.
Thus, to take a general review of the present hypothesis :
Book III. OF MORALS. 591
Every quality of the mind is denominated virtuous, which Sect. I.
gives pleasure by the mere survey ; as every quality, which '*
produces pain, is call'd vicious. This pleasure and this pain oy.i^„
may arise from four different sources. For we reap 2, of the
pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally ^^r/w^j
fitted to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or and vices
which is agreeable to others, or to the person himself. One
may, perhaps, be surpriz'd, that amidst all these interests and
pleasures, we shou'd forget our own, which touch us so
nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily satisfy
ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every par-
ticular person's pleasure and interest being different, 'tis
impossible men cou'd ever agree in their sentiments and
judgments, unless they chose some common point of view,
from which they might survey their object, and which might
cause it to appear the same to all of them. Now, in judging
of characters, the only interest or pleasure, which appears
the same to every spectator, is that of the person himself,
whose character is examin'd ; or that of persons, who have a
connexion with him. And tho' such interests and pleasures
touch us more faintly than our own, yet being more constant
and universal, they counter-ballance the latter even in practice,
and are alone admitted in speculation as the standard of
virtue and morality. They alone produce that particular
feeling or sentiment, on which moral distinctions depend.
As to the good or ill desert of virtue or vice, 'tis an evident
consequence of the sentiments of pleasure or uneasiness.
These sentiments produce love or hatred ; and love or hatred,
by the original constitution of human passion, is attended
with benevolence or anger ; that is, with a desire of making
happy the person we love, and miserable the person we hate.
We have treated of this more fully on another occasion.
592 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III.
-H~ SECTION II.
Oftheother
virtues and Of greatness of mind.
vices.
It may now be proper to illustrate this general system of
morals, by applying it to particular instances of virtue and
vice, and shewing how their merit or demerit arises from the
four sources here explain'd. We shall begin with examining
the passions of pride and humility, and shall consider the
vice or virtue that lies in their excesses or just proportion.
An excessive pride or over-weaning conceit of ourselves is
always esteem'd vicious, and is universally hated ; as modesty,
or a just sense of our weakness, is esieem'd virtuous, and
procures the good-will of every-one. Of the four sources of
moral distinctions, this is to be ascrib'd to the third; viz. the
immediate agreeableness and disagreeableness of a quality
to others, without any reflexions on the tendency of that
quality.
In order to prove this, we must have recourse to two
principles, which are very conspicuous in human nature.
The first of these is the sympathy, and communication of
sentiments and passions above-mention'd. So close and
intimate is the correspondence of human souls, that no sooner
any person approaches me, than he diffuses on me all his
opinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or
lesser degree. And tho', on many occasions, my sympathy
with him goes not so far as entirely to change my sentiments,
and way of thinking ; yet it seldom is so weak as not to
disturb the easy course of my thought, and give an authority
to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his assent
and approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what
subject he and I employ our thoughts. Whether we judge
of an indifferent person, or of my own character, my
sympathy gives equal force to his decision : And even his
sentiments of his own merit make me consider him in the
same light, in which he regards himself.
Book III. OF MORALS. 593
This principle of sympathy is of so powerful and insinuat- Sect. II.
ing a nature, that it enters into most of our sentiments and ' ♦*
passions, and often takes place under the appearance of its JgfJ'gf '
contrary. For 'ds remarkable, that when a person opposes viUtd.
me in any thing, which I am strongly bent upon, and rouzes
up my passion by contradiction, I have always a degree of
sympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from
any other origin. We may here observe an evident conflict
or rencounter of opposite principles and passions. On the
one side there is that passion or sentiment, which is natural
to me ; and 'tis observable, that the stronger this passion is,
the greater is the commotion. There must also be some
passion or sentiment on the other side ; and this passion can
proceed from nothing but sympathy. The sentiments of
others can never affect us, but by becoming, in some mea-
sure, our own ; in which case they operate upon us, by
opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very same
manner, as if they had been originally deriv'd from our own
temper and disposition. While they remain conceal'd in
the minds of others, they can never have any influence upon
us : And even when they are known, if they went no farther
than the imagination, or conception ; that faculty is so accus-
tom'd to objects of every different kind, that a mere idea, tho'
contrary to our sentiments arid inclinations, wou'd never
alone be able to affect us.
The jf<:ci«<f principle I shall take notice of is that oi com-
parison, or the variation of our judgments concerning objects,
according to the proportion they bear to those with which we
compare them. We judge more of objects by comparison,
than by their intrinsic worth and value; and regard
every thing as mean, when set in opposition to what is
superior of the same kind. But no comparison is more
obvious than that with ourselves ; and hence it is that on all
occasions it takes place, and mixes with most of our passions.
This kind of comparison is directly contrary to sympathy in
its operation, as we have observ'd in treating of compassion
vices.
594 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. and malice. ' In all kinds of comparison an object makes us
' ♦* ' always receive from another, to which it is compar'd, a sensa-
other'vir- ^^°" contrary to what arises from itself in its direct and
iues atid immediate survey. The direct survey of another'' s pleasure
naturally gives us pleasure ; and therefore produces pain, when
compared with our own. His pain, consider d in itself is
painful ; but augments the idea of our own happiness, and gives
us pleasure.
Since then those principles of sympathy, and a comparison
with ourselves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while
to consider, what general rules can be form'd, beside the
particular temper of the person, for the prevalence of the one
or the other. Suppose I am now in safety at land, and
wou'd willingly reap some pleasure from this consideration :
I must think on the miserable condition of those who are at
sea in a storm, and must endeavour to render this idea as
strong and lively as possible, in order to make me more
sensible of my own happiness. But whatever pains I may
take, the comparison will never have an equal efficacy, as
if I were really on ^ the shore, and saw a ship at a distance,
tost by a tempest, and in danger every moment of perishing
on a rock or sand-bank. But suppose this idea to become
still more lively. Suppose the ship to be driven so near me,
that I can perceive distinctly the horror, painted on the
countenance of the seamen and passengers, hear their lament-
able cries, see the dearest friends give their last adieu, or
embrace with a resolution to perish in each others arms : No
man has so savage a heart as to reap any pleasure from
such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the tenderest
compassion and sympathy. 'Tis evident, therefore, there is
a medium in this case ; and that if the idea be too feint, it
» Book II. Part II. sect. 8.
* Suave mari magno turbantibus sequora ventis
E terra magnum allerius spectare laborem ;
Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas,
Sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cemere suav' est.
Luc ret.
Book III. OF MORALS. 595
has no influence by comparison ; and on the other hand, if Sect. II.
it be too strong, it operates on us entirely by sympathy, -■»* ■
which is the contrary to comparison. Sj-mpathy being the ^f^fj^f
conversion of an idea into an impression, demands a greater mind.
force and vivacity in the idea than is requisite to com-
parison.
All this is easily applied to the present subject. We sink
very much in our own eyes, when in the presence of a great
man, or one of a superior genius; and this humility makes
a considerable ingredient in that respect, which we pay our
superiors, according to our ^ foregoing reasonings on that
passion. Sometimes even envy and hatred arise from the
comparison ; but in the greatest part of men, it rests at re-
spect and esteem. As sympathy has such a powerful influ-
ence on the human mind, it causes pride to have, in some
measure, the same effect as merit ; and by making us enter
into those elevated sentiments, which the proud man enter-
tains of himself, presents that comparison, which is so
mortifying and disagreeable. Our judgment does not
entirely accompany him in the flattering conceit, in which
he pleases himself; but still is so shaken as to receive the
idea it presents, and to give it an influence above the loose
conceptions of the imagination. A man, who, in an idle
humour, wou'd form a notion of a person of a merit very
much superior to his own, wou'd not be mortified by that
fiction: But when a man, whom we are really persuaded
to be of inferior merit, is presented to us ; if we observe in
him any extraordinary degree of pride and self-conceit ; the
firm persuasion he has of his own merit, takes hold of the
imagination, and diminishes us in our own eyes, in the same
manner, as if he were really possess'd of all the good qualities
which he so liberally attributes to himself. Our idea is here
precisely in that medium, which is requisite to make it
operate on us by comparison. Were it accompanied with
belief, and did the person appear to have the same merit,
* Book II. Part IL sect. 10.
596 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. which he assumes to himself, it wou'd have a contrary effect,
•• and wou'd operate on us by sympathy. The influence of
virtues and ^^^^ principle wou'd then be superior to that of comparison,
vices. contrary to what happens where the person's merit seems
below his pretensions.
The necessary consequence of these principles is, that
pride, or an over-weaning conceit of ourselves, must be
vicious ; since it causes uneasiness in all men, and presents
them every moment with a disagreeable comparison. 'Tis a
trite observation in philosophy, and even in common life and
conversation, that 'tis our own pride, which makes us so
much displeas'd with the pride of other people; and that
vanity becomes insupportable to us merely because we are
vain. The gay naturally associate themselves with the gay,
and the amorous with the amorous : But the proud never
can endure the proud, and rather seek the company of those
who are of an opposite disposition. As we are, all of us,
proud in some degree, pride is universally blam'd and con-
demn'd by all mankind ; as having a natural tendency to
cause uneasiness in others by means of comparison. And
this effect must follow the more naturally, that those, who
have an ill-grounded conceit of themselves, are for ever
making tiiose comparisons, nor have they any other method
of supporting their vanity. A man of sense and merit is
pleas'd with himself, independent of all foreign considera-
tions : But a fool must always find some person, that is more
foolish, in order to keep himself in good humour with his
own parts and understanding.
But tho' an over-weanmg conceit of our own merit be
vicious and disagreeable, nothing can be more laudable, than
to have a value for ourselves, where we really have qualities
that are valuable. The utility and advantage of any quality
to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well as its agreeableness
to others ; and 'lis certain, that nothing is more useful to us
in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which
Book III. OF MORALS. 597
makes us sensible of our own merit, and gives us a confidence Sect. II,
and assurance in all our projects and enterprizes. Whatever " ***
capacity any one may be endow'd with, 'tis entirely useless JgsTof'
to him, if he be not acquainted with it, and form not designs mind.
suitable to it. 'Tis requisite on all occasions to know
our own force; and were it allowable to err on either
side, 'twou'd be more advantageous to overrate our merit,
than to form ideas of it, below its just standard. For-
tune commonly favours the bold and enterprizing; and
nothing inspires us with more boldness than a good opinion
of ourselves.
Add to this, that tho' pride, or self-applause, be sometimes
disagreeable to others, 'tis always agreeable to ourselves; as
on the other hand, modesty, tho' it give pleasure to every
one, who observes it, produces often uneasiness in the
person endow'd with it. Now it has been observ'd, that
our own sensations determine the vice and virtue of any
quality, as well as those sensations, which it may excite in
others.
Thus self-satisfaction and vanity may not only be allow-
able, but requisite in a character. 'Tis, however, certain,
that good-breeding and decency require that we shou'd
avoid all signs and expressions, which tend directly to show
that passion. We have, all of us, a wonderful partiality for
ourselves, and were we always to give vent to our sentiments
in this particular, we shou'd mutually cause the greatest
indignation in each other, not only by the immediate pre-
sence of so disagreeable a subject of comparison, but also by
the contrariety of our judgments. In like manner, therefore,
as we establish the laws of nature^ in order to secure property
in society, and prevent the opposition of self-interest; we
establish the rules 0/ good-breeding, in order to prevent the
opposition of men's pride, and render conversation agreeable
and inofi'ensive. Nothing is more disagreeable than a man's
over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has
a strong propensity to this vice : No one can well distinguish
59B A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. in himself heiw'ixi tlie vice and virtue, or be certain, that his
" esteem of his own merit is well-founded : For these reasons,
virtues arid ^^^ direct expressions of this passion are condemu'd; nor do
vices. we make any exception to this rule in favour of men of sense
and merit. They are not allow'd to do themselves justice
openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if
they show a reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves
justice in their own thoughts, they will be more applauded.
That impertinent, and almost universal propensity of men,
to over-value themselves, has given us such a prejudice
against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by
a general rule, wherever we meet with it ; and 'tis with some
difficulty we give a privilege to men of sense, even in their
most secret thoughts. At least, it must be own'd, that some
disguise in this particular is absolutely requisite ; and that if
we harbour pride in our breasts, we must carry a fair outside,
and have the appearance of modesty and mutual deference
in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every
occasion, be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat
them with a kind of deference, even tho' they be our equals ;
to seem always the lowest and least in the company, where
we are not very much distinguish'd above them : And if we
observe these rules in our conduct, men will have more
indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them
in an oblique manner.
I believe no one, who has any practice of the world, and
can penetrate into the inward sentiments of men, will assert,
that the humility, which good-breeding and decency require
of us, goes beyond the outside, or that a thorough sincerity
in this particular is esteem'd a real part of our duty. On the
contrary, we may observe, that a genuine and hearty pride,
or self-esteem, if well conceal'd and well founded, is essential
to the character of a man of honour, and that there is no
quality of the mind, which is more indispensibly requisite to
procure the esteem and approbation of mankind. There are
certain deferences and mutual submissions, which custom
liooK 111. OF MORALS, 599
requires of the different ranks of men towards each other ; Sect. II.
and whoever exceeds in this particular, if thro' interest, is "
accus'd of meanness ; if thro' ignorance, of simpHcity. 'Tis J^^f^f '
necessary, therefore, to know our rank and station in the mind.
world, whether it be fix'd by our birth, fortune, employments,
talents or reputation, 'Tis necessary to feel the sentiment
and passion of pride in conformity to it, and to regulate our
actions accordingly. And shou'd it be said, that prudence
may suffice to regulate our actions in this particular, without
any real pride, I wou'd observe, that here the object of
prudence is to conform our actions to the general usage and
custom ; and that 'tis impossible those tacit airs of superiority
shou'd ever have been establish'd and authoriz'd by custom,
unless men were generally proud, and unless that passion
were generally approv'd, when well-grounded.
If we pass from common Ufe and conversation to history,
this reasoning acquires new force, when we observe, that all
those great actions and sentiments, which have become the
admiration of mankind, are founded on nothing but pride
and self-esteem. Go, says Alexander the Great to his
soldiers, when they refus'd to follow him to the Indies, go
tell your counirymen, thai you left Alexander covipleating the
conquest of the world. This passage was always particularly
admir'd by the prince of Conde, as we learn from St. Evre-
mond. ^Alexander,' said that prince, ' abandon'd by his
soldiers, among barbarians, not yet fully subdu'd, felt in
himself such a dignity and right of empire, that he cou'd
not believe it possible any one cou'd refuse to obey him.
Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or Persians,
all was indifferent to him : Wherever he found men, he
fancied he had found subjects.'
In general we may observe, that whatever we call heroic
virtue, and admire under the character of greatness and
elevation of mind, is either nothing but a steady and well-
establish'd pride and self-esteem, or partakes largely of that
passion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love of glory, mag-
6oo A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. nanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind, have
•• plainly a strong mixture of self-esteem in them, and derive
virtues and ^ o^'^^^ P^''^ o^ ^heir merit from that origin. Accordingly we
vices. find, that many religious declaimers decry those virtues as
purely pagan and natural, and represent to us the excellency
of the Christian religion, which places humility in the rank of
virtues, and corrects the judgment of the world, and even of
philosophers, who so generally admire all the efforts of pride
and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has been
rightly understood, I shall not pretend to determine. I am
content with the concession, that the world naturally esteems
a well-regulated pride, which secretly animates our conduct,
without breaking out into such indecent expressions of
vanity, as may offend the vanity of others.
The merit of pride or self-esteem is deriv'd from two
circumstances, viz. its utility and its agreeableness to our-
selves ; by which it capacitates us for business, and, at the
same time, gives us an immediate satisfaction. When it
goes beyond its just bounds, it loses the first advantage, and
even becomes prejudicial ; which is the reason why we con-
demn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated
by the decorums of good-breeding and politeness. But as
such a passion is still agreeable, and conveys an elevated and
sublime sensation to the person, who is actuated by it, the
sympathy with that satisfaction diminishes considerably the
blame, which naturally attends its dangerous influence on his
conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may observe, that
an excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when
it displays itself under the frowns of fortune, contributes,
in a great measure, to the character of a hero, and will render
a person the admiration of posterity; at the same time, that it
ruins his affairs, and leads him into dangers and difficulties,
with which otherwise he wou'd never have been acquainted.
Heroism, or military glory, is much admir'd by the
generality of mankind. They consider it as the most
sublime kind of merit. Men of cool reflexion are not so
Book III. OF MORALS. 6oi
sanguine in their praises of it. The infinite confusions and Sect. II.
disorder, which it has caus'd in the world, diminish much of ^/~**~7
its merit in their eyes. When they wou'd oppose the popular „g^; ^y
notions on this head, they always paint out the evils, which mind.
this suppos'd virtue has produc'd in human society; the
subversion of empires, the devastation of provinces, the sack
of cities. As long as these are present to us, we are more
inclin'd to hate than admire the ambition of heroes. But when
we fix our view on the person himself, who is the author of all
this mischief, there is something so dazling in his character,
the mere contemplation of it so elevates the mind, that we
cannot refuse it our admiration. The pain, which we receive
from its tendency to the prejudice of society, is over-power'd
by a stronger and more immediate sympathy.
Thus our explication of the merit or demerit, which attends
the degrees of pride or self-esteem, may serve as a strong
argument for the preceding hypothesis, by shewing the effects
of those principles above explain'd in all the variations of our
judgments concerning that passion. Nor will this reasoning
be advantageous to us only by shewing, that the distinction
of vice and virtue arises from the /our principles of the
advantage and of the pleasure of the person himself, and of
others : But may also afford us a strong proof of some
under-parts of that hypothesis.
No one, who duly considers of this matter, will make any
scruple of allowing, that any piece of ill-breeding, or any
expression of pride and haughtiness, is displeasing to us,
merely because it shocks our own pride, and leads us by
sympathy into a comparison, which causes the disagreeable
passion of humility. Now as an insolence of this kind is
blam'd even in a person who has always been civil to our-
selves in particular ; nay, in one, whose name is only known
to us in history ; it follows, that our disapprobation proceeds
from a sympathy with others, and from the reflexion, that
sucn a character is highly displeasing and odious to every
602 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. one, who converses or has any intercourse with the person
^, ," , possest of it. We sympathize with those people in their
Oftheother * . , , . . , .
j,,-^j<^ja„^/ uneasiness ; and as their uneasiness proceeds in part from
vices. a sympathy with the person who insults them, we may here
observe a double rebound of the sympathy; which is a
principle very similar to what we have observ'd on another
occasion \
SECTION III.
Of goodness and benevolence.
Having thus explain'd the origin of that praise and appro-
bation, which attends every thing we call great in human
affections; we now proceed to give an account of their
goodness, and shew whence its merit is deriv'd.
When experience has once given us a competent know-
ledge of human affairs, and has taught us the proportion
they bear to human passion, we perceive, that the generosity
of men is very limited, and that it seldom extends beyond
their friends and family, or, at most, beyond their native
country. Being thus acquainted with the nature of man, we
expect not any impossibilities from him; but confine our
view to that narrow circle, in which any person moves, in
order to form a judgment of his moral character. When the
natural tendency of his passions leads him to be serviceable
and useful within his sphere, we approve of his character,
and love his person, by a sympathy with the sentiments of
those, who have a more particular connexion with him. We
are quickly oblig'd to forget our own interest in our judg-
ments of this kind, by reason of the perpetual contradictions,
we meet with in society and conversation, from persons that
are not plac'd in the same situation, and have not the same
interest with ourselves. The only point of view, in which
our sentiments concur with those of others, is, when we con-
sider the tendency of any passion to the advantage or harm
' Book II. Part II. sect. 5.
Book 111. OF MORALS. 603
of those, who have any immediate connexion or intercourse Sect. IIL
with the person possess'd of it. And tho* this advantage or "
harm be often very remote from ourselves, yet sometimes 'tis anlb^nevih
very near us, and interests us strongly by sympathy. This knee.
concern we readily extend to other cases, that are resembling;
and when these are very remote, our sympathy is propor-
tionably weaker, and our praise or blame fainter and more
doubtful. The case is here the same as in our judgments
concerning external bodies. All objects seem to diminish
by their distance : But tho' the appearance of objects to our
senses be the original standard, by which we judge of them,
yet we do not say, that they actually diminish by the distance;
but correcting the appearance by reflexion, arrive at a more
constant and establish'd judgment concerning them. In like
manner, tho' sympathy be much fainter than our concern for
ourselves, and a sympathy with persons remote from us
much fainter than that with persons near and contiguous;
yet we neglect all these differences in our calm judgments
concerning the characters of men. Besides, that we ourselves
often change our situation in this particular, we every day
meet with persons, who are in a different situation from our-
selves, and who cou'd never converse with us on any reasonable
terms, were we to remain constantly in that situation and
point of view, which is peculiar to us. The intercourse of
sentiments, therefore, in society and conversation, makes us
form some general inalterable standard, by which we may
approve or disapprove of characters and manners. And tho'
the /lear/ does not always take part with those general
notions, or regulate its love and hatred by them, yet are they
sufficient for discourse, and serve all our purposes in com-
pany, in the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools.
From these principles we may easily account for that
merit, which is commonly ascrib'd to generosity, humanity,
compassion, gratitude, friendship, fidelity, zeal, disinterestedness,
liberality, and all those other qualities, which form the
character of good and benevolent. A propensity to the
6o4 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. tender passions makes a man agreeable and useful in all the
" parts of life; and gives a just direction to all his other
virtues and qualities, which otherwise may become prejudicial to society.
vices. Courage and ambition, when not regulated by benevolence,
are fit only to make a tyrant and public robber. 'Tis the
same case with judgment and capacity, and all the qualities
of that kind. They are indifferent in themselves to the
interests of society, and have a tendency to the good or ill
of mankind, according as they are directed by these other
passions.
As love is immediately agreeable to the person, who is
actuated by it, and hatred immediately 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. 'Tis certain we are infinitely
louch'd with a tender sentiment, as well as with a great one.
The tears naturally start in our eyes at the conception of it ;
nor can we forbear giving a loose to the same tenderness
towards the person who exerts it. All this seems to me
a proof, that our approbation has, in those cases, an origin
different from the prospect of utility and advantage, either to
ourselves or others. To which we may add, that men natu-
rally, without reflexion, approve of that character, which is
most like their own. The man of a mild disposition and
tender affections, in forming a notion of the most perfect
virtue, mixes in it more of benevolence and humanity, than
the man of courage and enterprize, who naturally looks upon
a certain elevation of mind as the most accomplish'd character.
This must evidently proceed from an immediate sympathy,
which men have with characters similar to their own. They
enter with more warmth into such sentiments, and feel more
sensibly the pleasure, which arises irom them.
'Tis remarkable, that nothing touches a man ol humanity
more than any instance of extraordinary delicacy in love or
friendship, where a person is attentive to the smallest con-
cerns of his friend, and is willing to sacrifice to them the
Book III. OF MORALS. 605
most considerable interest of his own. Such delicacies have Sect. III.
little influence on society : because they make us res^ard the ~**~
-r, , , • , Of goodness
greatest trifles : J3ut they are the more engagmg, the ^ort a„d benevo-
minute the concern is, and are a proof of the highest merit in lence.
any one, who is capable of them. The passions are so con-
tagious, that they pass with the greatest facility from one
person to another, and produce correspondent movements in
all human breasts. Where friendship appears in very signal
instances, my heart catches the same passion, and is warm'd
by those warm sentiments, that display themselves before
me. Such agreeable movements must give me an aff'ection
to every one that excites them. This is the case with every
thing that is agreeable in any person. The transition from
pleasure to love is easy : But the transition must here be still
more easy ; since the agreeable sentiment, which is excited
by sympathy, is love itself; and there is nothing requir'd but
to change the object.
Hence the peculiar merit of benevolence in all its shapes
and appearances. Hence even its weaknesses are virtuous
and amiable ; and a person, whose grief upon the loss of
a friend were excessive, wou'd be esteem'd upon that account.
His tenderness bestows a merit, as it does a pleasure, on his
melancholy.
We are not, however, to imagine, that all the angry passions
are vicious, tho' they are disagreeable. There is a certain
indulgence due to human nature in this respect. Anger and
hatred are passions inherent in our very frame and constitu-
tion. The want of them, on some occasions, may even be
a proof of weakness and imbecillity. And where they appear
only in a low degree, we not only excuse them because they
are natural ; but even bestow our applauses on them, because
they are inferior to what appears in the greatest part of
mankind.
Where these angry passions rise up to cruelty, they form
the most detested of all vices. All the pity and concern
which we have for the miserable suff'erers by this vice, turns
6o6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part IIL against the person guilty of it, and produces a stronger
""■•* ■ hatred than we are sensible of on any other occasion.
mrtutsand -^^^^ when the vice of inhumanity rises not to this extreme
vices. degree, our sentiments concerning it are very much influenc'd
by reflexions on the harm that results from it. And we may
observe in general, that if we can find any quality in a
person, which renders him incommodious to those, who live
and converse with him, we always allow it to be a fault or
blemish, without any farther examination. On the other
hand, when we enumerate the good qualities of any person,
we always mention those parts of his character, which render
him a safe companion, an easy friend, a gentle master, an
agreeable husband, or an indulgent father. We consider
him with all his relations in society; and love or hate him,
according as he affects those, who have any immediate
intercourse with him. And 'tis a most certain rule, that if
there be no relation of life, in which I cou'd not wish to
stand to a particular person, his character must so far be
allow'd to be perfect. If he be as little wanting to himself
as to others, his character is entirely perfect. This is the
ultimate test of merit and virtue.
SECTION IV.
Of natural abilities.
No distinction is more usual in all systems of ethics, than
that betwixt natural abilities and moral virtues ; where the
former are plac'd on the same footing with bodily endow-
ments, and are suppos'd to have no merit or moral worth
annex'd to them. Whoever considers the matter accurately,
will find, that a dispute upon this head wou'd be merely
a dispute of words, and that tho' these qualities are not
altogether of the same kind, yet they agree in the most
material circumstances. They are both of them equally
mental qualities : And both of them equally produce pleasure;
Book III. OF MORALS. 607
and have of course an equal tendency to procure the love Sect. IV.
and esteem of mankind. There are few, who are not as "
jealous of their character, with regard to sense and know- abilities.
ledge, as to honour and courage ; and much more than with
regard to temperance and sobriety. Men are even afraid of
passing for good-natur'd ; lest that shou'd be taken for want
of understanding : And often boast of more debauches than
they have been really engag'd in, to give themselves airs of
fire and spirit. In short, the figure a man makes in the
world, the reception he meets with in company, the esteem
paid him by his acquaintance ; all these advantages depend
almost as much upon his good sense and judgment, as upon
any other part of his character. Let a man have the best
intentions in the world, and be the farthest from all injustice
and violence, he will never be able to make himself be much
regarded, without a moderate share, at least, of parts and
understanding. Since then natural abilities, tho', perhaps,
inferior, yet are on the same footing, both as to their causes
and effects, with those qualities which we call moral virtues,
why shou'd we make any distinction betwixt them ?
Tho' we refuse to natural abilities the title of virtues, we
must allow, that they procure the love and esteem of man-
kind; that they give a new lustre to the other virtues; and
that a man possess'd of them is much more intitled to our
good-will and services, than one entirely void of them. It
may, indeed, be pretended, that the sentiment of approbation,
which those qualities produce, besides its being inferior, is
also somewhat different from that, which attends the other
virtues. But this, in my opinion, is not a sufficient reason
for excluding them from the catalogue of virtues. Each of
the virtues, even benevolence, justice, gratitude, integrity,
excites a diff"erent sentiment or feeling in the spectator.
The characters of CcBsar and Caio, as drawn by Sallusl, are
both of them virtuous, in the strictest sense of the word ; but
in a different way : Nor are the sentiments entirely the same,
which arise from them. The one produces love ; the other
6o8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. esteem : The one is amiable ; the other awful : We cou'd
•• wish to meet with the one character in a friend ; the other
mrtiiesatid character we wou'd be ambitious of in ourselves. In like
vices. manner, the approbation, which attends natural abilities, may
be somewhat different to the feeling from that, which arises
from the other virtues, without making them entirely of a
diff^erent species. And indeed we may observe, that the
natural abilities, no more than the other virtues, produce not,
all of them, the same kind of approbation. Good sense and
genius beget esteem : Wit and humour excite love \
Those, who represent the distinction betwixt natural abilities
and moral virtues as very material, may say, that the former
are entirely involuntary, and have therefore no merit attending
them, as having no dependance on liberty and free-will. But
to this I answer, first, that many of those qualities, which all
moralists, especially the antients, comprehend under the tide
of moral virtues, are equally involuntary and necessary, with
the quahties of the judgment and imagination. Of this nature
are constancy, fortitude, magnanimity ; and, in short, all the
qualities which form the great man. I might say the same,
in some degree, of the others ; it being almost impossible for
the mind to change its character in any considerable article,
or cure itself of a passionate or splenetic temper, when they
are natural to it. The greater degree there is of these blame-
able qualities, the more vicious they become, and yet they are
the less voluntary. Secondly, I wou'd have any one give me
a reason, why virtue and vice may not be involuntary, as well
as beauty and deformity. These moral distinctions arise
from the natural distinctions of pain and pleasure ; and when
we receive those feelings from the general consideration of
' Love and esteem are at the bottom the same passions, and arise
from like causes. The qualities, tliat produce both, are agreeable, and
give pleasure. But where this pleasure is severe and serious ; or where
its object is great, and makes a strong impression ; or where it produces
any degree of humility and awe : In all these cases, the passion, which
arises from the pleasure, is more properly denominated esteem than
love. Benevolence attends both : But is connected with love in a more
eminent degree.
Book III. OF MORALS. 609
any quality or character, we denominate it vicious or virtuous. Sect. IV.
Now I believe no one will assert, that a quality can never ' ^ —
produce pleasure or pain to the person who considers it, abiJuieV
unless it be perfectly voluntary in the person who possesses
it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have shewn that it has no
place with regard to the actions, no more than the qualities
of men. It is not a just consequence, that what is voluntary
is free. Our actions are more voluntary than our judgments;
but we have not more liberty in the one than in the other.
But tho' this distinction betwixt voluntary and involuntary
be not sufficient to justify the distinction betwixt natural
abilities and moral virtues, yet the former distinction will
afford us a plausible reason, why moralists have invented the
latter. Men have observ'd, that tho' natural abilities and
moral qualities be in the main on the same footing, there is,
however, this difference betwixt them, that the former are
almost invariable by any art or industry ; while the latter, or
at least, the actions, that proceed from them, may be chang'd
by the motives of rewards and punishments, praise and blame.
Hence legislators, and divines, and moralists, have principally
applied themselves to the regulating these voluntary actions,
and have endeavour'd to produce additional motives for being
virtuous in that particular. They knew, that to punish a man
for folly, or exhort him to be prudent and sagacious, wou'd
have but little effect ; tho' the same punishments and exhor-
tations, with regard to justice and injustice, might have a
considerable influence. But as men, in common life and
conversation, do not carry those ends in view, but naturally
praise or blame whatever pleases or displeases them, they
do not seem much to regard this distinction, but consider
prudence under the character of virtue as well as benevolence,
and penetration as well as justice. Nay, we find, that all
moralists, whose judgment is not perverted by a strict
adherence to a system, enter into the same way of thinking ;
and that the antient moralists in particular made no scruple
of placing prudence at the head of the cardinal virtues.
6lO A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. There is a sentiment of esteem and approbation, which may
—**— be excited, in some degree, by any faculty of the mind, in its
■virtues and Perfect State and condition ; and to account for this sentiment
vices. is the business of Philosophers. It belongs to Grammarians
to examine what qualities are entitled to the denomination of
virtue; nor will they find, upon trial, that this is so easy
a task, as at first sight they may be apt to imagine.
The principal reason why natural abilities are esteem'd, is
because of their tendency to be useful to the person, who is
possess'd of them. 'Tis impossible to execute any design
with success, where it is not conducted with prudence and
discretion ; nor will the goodness of our intentions alone
suffice to procure us a happy issue to our enterprizes. Men
are superior to beasts principally by the superiority of their
reason ; and they are the degrees of the same faculty, which
set such an infinite difference betwixt one man and another.
All the advantages of art are owing to human reason ; and
where fortune is not very capricious, the most considerable
part of these advantages must fall to the share of the prudent
and sagacious.
When it is ask'd, whether a quick or a slow apprehension
be most valuable ? whether one, that at first view penetrates
into a subject, but can perform nothing upon study; or a
contrary character, which must work out every thing by dint
of application ? whether a clear head, or a copious invention ?
whether a profound genius, or a sure judgment ? in short,
what character, or peculiar understanding, is more excellent
than another ? 'Tis evident we can answer none of these
questions, without considering which of those qualities
capacitates a man best for the world, and carries him farthest
in any of his undertakings.
There are many other qualities of the mind, whose merit is
deriv'd from the same origin. Industry, perseverance, patience,
activity, vigilance, application, constancy, with other virtues of
that kind, which 'twill be easy to recollect, are esteem'd
valuable upon no other account, than their advantage in the
Book III. OF MORALS. 6ll
conduct of life. 'Tis the same case with femperance, frugality, Sect. IV.
oeconomy, resolution: As on the other hand, prodigality, — *^'~~
luxury, irresolution, uncertainty, are vicious, merely because abilities'
they draw ruin upon us, and incapacitate us for business and
action.
As wisdom and good-sense are valued, because they are
useful to the person possess'd of them ; so wit and eloquence
are valued, because they are immediately agreeable to others.
On the other hand, good humour is lov'd and esteem'd,
because it is immediately agreeable to the person himself.
'Tis evident, that the conversation of a man of wit is very
satisfactory; as a chearful good-humour'd companion diffuses
a joy over the whole company, from a sympathy with his
gaiety. These qualities, therefore, being agreeable, they
naturally beget love and esteem, and answer to all the
characters of virtue.
'Tis difficult to tell, on many occasions, what it is that
renders one man's conversation so agreeable and entertaining,
and another's so insipid and distasteful. As conversation is
a transcript of the mind as well as books, the same qualities,
which render the one valuable, must give us an esteem for
the other. This we shall consider afterwards. In the mean
time it may be affirm'd in general, that all the merit a man
may derive from his conversation (which, no doubt, may be
very considerable) arises from nothing but the pleasure it
conveys to those who are present.
In this view, cleanliness is also to be regarded as a virtue ;
since it naturally renders us agreeable to others, and is a
very considerable source of love and affection. No one will
deny, that a negligence in this particular is a fault ; and as
faults are nothing but smaller vices, and this fault can have
no other origin than the uneasy sensation, which it excites in
others, we may in this instance, seemingly so trivial, clearly
discover the origin of the moral distinction of vice and virtue
in other instances.
Besides all those qualities, which render a person lovely
6l2 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. or valuable, there is also a certain yV-w^-jfa/'-^ttoz of agreeable
•• and handsome, that concurs to the same effect. In this
virtues and case, as well as in that of wit and eloquence, we must have
vices. recourse to a certain sense, which acts without reflexion,
and regards not the tendencies of qualities and characters.
Some moralists account for all the sentiments of virtue by
this sense. Their hypothesis is very plausible. Nothing but
a particular enquiry can give the preference to any other
hypothesis. When we find, that almost all the virtues have such
particular tendencies; and also find, that these tendencies are
sufficient alone to give a strong sentiment of approbation :
We cannot doubt, after this, that qualities are approv'd
of, in proportion to the advantage, which results from
them.
The decorum or indecorum of a quality, with regard to the
age, or character, or station, contributes also to its praise or
blame. This decorum depends, in a great measure, upon
experience. 'Tis usual to see men lose their levity, as they
advance in years. Such a degree of gravity, therefore, and
such years, are connected together in our thoughts. When
we observe them separated in any person's cliaracter, this
imposes a kind of violence on our imagination, and is dis-
agreeable.
That faculty of the soul, which, of all others, is of the
least consequence to the character, and has the least virtue or
vice in its several degrees, at the same time, that it admits
of a great variety of degrees, is the memory. Unless it rise
up to that stupendous height as to surprize us, or sink so
low as, in some measure, to affect the judgment, we com-
monly take no notice of its variations, nor ever mention
them to the praise or dispraise of any person. 'Tis so far
from being a virtue to have a good memory, that men
generally affect to complain of a bad one; and endeavouring
to persuade the world, that what they say is entirely of tlieir
own invention, sacrifice it to the praise of genius and judg-
ment. Yet to consider the matter abstractedly, 'twou'd be
Book III. OF MORALS. 613
difficult to give a reason, why the faculty of recalling past Sect. IV.
ideas with truth and clearness, shou'd not have as much merit ""•*"
in it, as the faculty of placing our present ideas in such an abilities'''^*
order, as to form true propositions and opinions. The
reason of the difference certainly must be, that the memory is
exerted without any sensation of pleasure or pain ; and in all
its middling degrees serves almost equally well in business
and affairs. But the least variations in the judgment are
sensibly felt in their consequences ; while at the same time
that faculty is never exerted in any eminent degree, without
an extraordinary delight and satisfaction. The sympathy
with this utility and pleasure bestows a merit on the under-
standing; and the absence of it makes us consider the
memory as a faculty very indifferent to blame or praise.
Before I leave this subject of natural abilities, I must
observe, that, perhaps, one source of the esteem and affection,
which attends them, is deriv'd from the importance and
weight, which they bestow on the person possess'd of them.
He becomes of greater consequence in life. His resolutions
and actions affect a greater number of his fellow-creatures.
Both his friendship and enmity are of moment. And 'tis
easy to observe, that whoever is elevated, after this manner,
above the rest of mankind, must excite in us the sentiments
of esteem and approbation. Whatever is important engages
our attention, fixes our thought, and is contemplated with
satisfaction. The histories of kingdoms are more interesting
than domestic stories : The histories of great empires more
than those of small cities and principalities : And the histories
of wars and revolutions more than those of peace and order.
We sympathize with the persons that suffer, in all the various
sentiments which belong to their fortunes. The mind is
occupied by the multitude of the objects, and by the strong
passions, that display themselves. And this occupation or
agitation of the mind is commonly agreeable and amusing.
The same theory accounts for the esteem and regard we pay
to men of extraordinary parts and abilities. The good and
6l4 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. ill of multitudes are connected with their actions. Whatever
. ,** they undertake is important, and challenges our attention.
virtues and Nothing is to be over-look'd and despis'd, that regards them.
vices. And where any person can excite these sentiments, he soon
acquires our esteem ; unless other circumstances of his
character render him odious and disagreeable
SECTION V.
Some farther reflexions concerning the natural virtues.
It has been observ'd, in treating of the passions, that pride
and humility, love and hatred, are excited by any advantages
or disadvantages of the mind, body, ox fortune ; and that these
advantages or disadvantages have that effect, by producing
a separate impression of pain or pleasure. The pain or
pleasure, which arises from the general survey or view of any
action or quality of the mind, constitutes its vice or virtue,
and gives rise to our approbation or blame, which is nothing
but a fainter and more imperceptible love or hatred. We
have assign'd four different sources of this pain and pleasure;
and in order to justify more fully that hypothesis, it may here
be proper to observe, that the advantages or disadvantages
of the body and o^ fortune, produce a pain or pleasure from
the very same principles. The tendency of any object to
be useful to the person possess'd of it, or to others; to
convty pleasure to him or to others; all these circumstances
convey an immediate pleasure to the person, who considers
the object, and command his love and approbation.
To begin with the advantages of the body ; we may observe
a phaenomenon, which might appear somewhat trivial and
ludicrous, if any thing cou'd be trivial, which fortified a con-
clusion of such importance, or ludicrous, which was employ'd
in a philosophical reasoning. 'Tis a general remark, that
those we call good women's men, who have either signaliz'd
themselves by their amorous exploits, or whose make of body
Book III. OF MORALS. . 615
promises any extraordinary vigour of that kind, are well Sect. V.
received by the fair sex, and naturally engage the affections *'
even of those, whose virtue prevents any design ot ever givmgy^^^^^^
emplovment to those talents. Here 'tis evident, that the reflexions
, .;. ' ^ , . . , • .1 1 concerning
ability of such a person to give enjoyment, is the real source ^^^ nahircU
of that love and esteem he meets with among the females; at virtues.
the same time that the women, who love and esteem him,
have no prospect of receiving that enjoyment themselves,
and can only be affected by means of their sympathy with
one, that has a commerce of love with him. This instance
is singular, and merits our attention.
Another source of the pleasure we receive from consider-
ing bodily advantages, is their utility to the person himself,
who is possess'd of them. 'Tis certain, that a considerable
part of the beauty of men, as well as of other animals, con-
sists in such a conformation of members, as we find by
experience to be attended with strength and agility, and to
capacitate the creature for any action or exercise. Broad
shoulders, a lank belly, firm joints, taper legs; all these are
beautiful in our species, because they are signs of force and
vigour, which being advantages we naturally sympathize with,
they convey to the beholder a share of that satisfaction they
produce in the possessor.
So far as to the uiility, which may attend any quality of
the body. As to the immediate pleasure, 'tis certain, that an
air of health, as well as of strength and agility, makes a con-
siderable part of beauty ; and that a sickly air in another is
always disagreeable, upon account of that idea of pain and
uneasiness, which it conveys to us. On the other hand, we
are pleas'd with the regularity of our own features, tho' it be
neither useful to ourselves nor others ; and 'tis necessary for
us, in some measure, to set ourselves at a distance, to make
it convey to us any satisfaction. We commonly consider
ourselves as we appear in the eyes of others, and sympathize
with the advantageous sentiments they entertain with regard
to us.
6l6 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. How far the advantages of fortune produce esteem and
•• approbation from the same principles, we may satisfy our-
virtuesand selves by reflecting on our precedent reasoning on that sub-
vitti. ject. We have observ'd, that our approbation of those, who
are possess'd of the advantages of fortune, may be ascrib'd
to three different causes. First, To that immediate pleasure,
which a rich man gives us, by the view of the beautiful
cloaths, equipage, gardens, or houses, which he possesses.
Secondly, To the advantage, which we hope to reap from him
by his generosity and liberality. Thirdly^ To the pleasure
and advantage, which he himself reaps from his possessions,
and which produce an agreeable sympathy in us. Whether
we ascribe our esteem of the rich and great to one or all of
these causes, we may clearly see the traces of those princi-
ples, which give rise to the sense of vice and virtue. I believe
most people, at first sight, will be inclin'd to ascribe our
esteem of the rich to self-interest, and the prospect of advan-
tage. But as 'tis certain, that our esteem or deference ex-
tends beyond any prospect of advantage to ourselves, 'tis
evident, that that sentiment must proceed from a sympathy
with those, who are dependent on the person we esteem and
respect, and who have an immediate connexion with him.
We consider him as a person capable of contributing to the
happiness or enjoyment of his fellow-creatures, whose senti-
ments, with regard to him, we naturally embrace. And this
consideration will serve to justify my hypothesis in preferring
the third principle to the other two, and ascribing our esteem
of the rich to a sympathy with the pleasure and advantage,
which they themselves receive from their possessions. For
as even the other iwo principles cannot operate to a due
extent, or account for all the phaenomena, without having re-
course to a sympathy of one kind or other ; 'tis much more
natural to chuse that sympathy, which is immediate and direct,
than that which is remote and indirect. To which we may
add, that where the riches or power are very great, and render
the person considerable and important in the world, the
Book III. OF MORALS. 617
esteem attending them, may, in part, be ascrib'd to another Sect, V.
source, distinct from these three, viz. their interesting the " '
mind by a prospect of the multitude, and importance of theiry^^Y^^^
consequences : Tho*, in order to account for the operation reflexions
of this principle, we must also have recourse to sympathy ; "hJ^^aturai
as we have observ'd in the preceding section. virtues.
It may not be amiss, on this occasion, to remark the
flexibility of our sentiments, and the several changes they
so readily receive from the objects, with which they are
conjoin'd. All the sentiments of approbation, which attend
any particular species of objects, have a great resemblance
to each other, tho' deriv'd from different sources ; and, on
the other hand, those sentiments, when directed to different
objects, are different to the feeling, tho' deriv'd from the
same source. Thus the beauty of all visible objects causes
a pleasure pretty much the same, tho' it be sometimes de-
riv'd from the mere species and appearance of the objects;
sometimes from sympathy, and an idea of their utility. In
like manner, whenever we survey the actions and characters
of men, without any particular interest in them, the pleasure,
or pain, which arises from the survey (with some minute
differences) is, in the main, of the same kind, tho' perhaps
there be a great diversity in the causes, from which it is
deriv'd. On the other hand, a convenient house, and a
virtuous character, cause not the same feeling of appro-
bation; even tho' the source of our approbation be the
same, and flow from sympathy and an idea of their utility.
There is something very inexplicable in this variation of our
feelings ; but 'tis what we have experience of with regard to
all our passions and sentiments.
6l8 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. SECTION VI.
♦ » ■
Oftheother Conclusion of this hook,
virtues and
Thus upon the whole I am hopeful, that nothing is
wanting to an accurate proof of this system of ethics. We
are certain, that sympathy is a very powerful principle in
human nature. We are also certain, that it has a great
influence on our sense of beauty, when we regard external
objects, as well as when we judge of morals. We find,
that it has force sufficient to give us the strongest senti-
ments of approbation, when it operates alone, without the
concurrence of any other principle ; as in the cases of
justice, allegiance, chastity, and good-manners. We may
observe, that all the circumstances requisite for its operation
are found in most of the virtues ; which have, for the most
part, a tendency to the good of society, or to that of the
person possess'd of them. If we compare all these circum-
stances, we shall not doubt, that sympathy is the chief
source of moral distinctions ; especially when we reflect,
that no objection can be rais'd against this hypothesis in
one case, which will not extend to all cases. Justice is
certainly approv'd of for no other reason, than because it
has a tendency to the public good : And the public good
is indiff'erent to us, except so far as sympathy interests us
in it. We may presume the like with regard to all the other
virtues, which have a like tendency to the public good.
They must derive all their merit from our sympathy with
those, who reap any advantage from them : As the virtues,
which have a tendency to the good of the person possess'd
of them, derive their merit from our sympathy with him.
Most people will readily allow, that the useful qualities of
the mind are virtuous, because of their utility. This way of
thinking is so natural, and occurs on so many occasions, that
few will make any scruple of admitting it. Now this being
once admitted, the force of sympathy must necessarily be
II
Book III. OF MORALS. 619
acknowledg'd. Virtue is consider'd as means to an end. Sect. VI.
Means to an end are only valued so far as the end is valued. ** ■
But the happiness of strangers affects us by sympathy alone. of"li"bTk
To that principle, therefore, we are to ascribe the sentiment
of approbation, which arises from the survey of all those
virtues, that are useful to society, or to the person possess'd
of them. These form the most considerable part of mo-
rality.
Were it proper in such a subject to bribe the readers
assent, or employ any thing but solid argument, we are here
abundantly supplied with topics to engage the affections.
All lovers of virtue (and such we all are in speculation, how-
ever we may degenerate in practice) must certainly be
pleas'd to see moral distinctions deriv'd from so noble
a source, which gives us a just notion both of the generosity
and capacity of human nature. It requires but very little
knowledge of human affairs to perceive, that a sense of
morals is a principle inherent in the soul, and one of the
most powerful that enters into the composition. But this
sense must certainly acquire new force, when reflecting on
itself, it approves of those principles, from whence it is
deriv'd, and finds nothing but what is great and good in its
rise and origin. Those who resolve the sense of morals into
original instincts of the human mmd, may defend the cause
of virtue with sufficient authority ; but want the advantage,
which those possess, who account for that sense by an ex-
tensive sympathy with mankind. According to their system,
not only virtue must be approv'd of, but also the sense of
virtue : And not only that sense, but also the principles, from
whence it is deriv'd. So that nothing is presented on any
side, but what is laudable and good.
This observation may be extended to justice, and the
other virtues of that kind. Tho' justice be artificial, the sense
of its morality is natural. 'Tis the combination of men, in a
system of conduct, which renders any act of justice beneficial
620 A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.
Part III. to society. But when once it has that tendency, we naturally
" approve of it; and if we did not so, 'tis impossible any com-
virtties and bination or convention cou'd ever produce that sentiment.
vices. Most of the inventions of men are subject to change.
They depend upon humour and caprice. They have a vogue
for a time, and then sink into oblivion. It may, perhaps, be
apprehended, that if justice were allow'd to be a human
invention, it must be plac'd on the same footing. But the
cases are widely different. The interest, on which justice is
founded, is the greatest imaginable, and extends to all times
and places. It cannot possibly be serv'd by any other
invention. It is obvious, and discovers itself on the very first
formation of society. All these causes render the rules ol
justice stedfast and immutable ; at least, as immutable as
human nature. And if they were founded on original
instincts, cou'd they have any greater stability?
The same system may help us to form a just notion of the
happiness, as well as of the dignity of virtue, and may interest
every principle of our nature in the embracing and cherishing
that noble quality. Who indeed does not feel an accession
of alacrity in his pursuits of knowledge and ability of every
kind, when he considers, that besides the advantage, which
immediately result from these acquisitions, they also give
him a new lustre in the eyes of mankind, and are universally
attended with esteem and approbation ? And who can
think any advantages of fortune a sufficient compensation
for the least breach of the social virtues, when he considers,
that not only his character with regard to others, but also
his peace and inward satisfaction entirely depend upon his
strict observance of them ; and that a mind will never be able
to bear its own survey, that has been wanting in its part to
mankind and society ? But I forbear insisting on this subject.
Such reflexions require a work a-part, very different from
the genius of the present. The anatomist ought never to
emulate the painter : nor in his accurate dissections and
portraitures of the smaller parts of the human body, pretend
Book III. OF MORALS. 621
to give his figures any graceful and engaging attitude or Sect. VI.
expression. There is even something hideous, or at least "
, . r I • 1-11 1 > • Conclusion
minute m the views of thmgs, which he presents; and ^^& of this book
necessary the objects shou'd be set more at a distance, and
be more cover'd up from sight, to make them engaging
to the eye and imagination. An anatomist, however, is
admirably fitted to give advice to a painter; and 'tis even
impracticable to excel in the latter art, without the assistance
of the former. We must have an exact knowledge of the
parts, their situation and connexion, before we can design
with any elegance or correctness. And thus the most abstract
speculations concerning human nature, however cold and
unentertaining, become subservient \.o practical morality; and
may render this latter science more correct in its precepts,
and more persuasive in its exhortations.
.
4
APPENDIX.
There is nothing I wou'd more willingly lay hold of, than
an opportunity of confessing my errors ; and shou'd esteem
such a return to truth and reason to be more honourable
than the most unerring judgment. A man, who is free from
mistakes, can pretend to no praises, except from the justness
of his understanding : But a man, who corrects his mistakes,
shews at once the justness of his understanding, and the
candour and ingenuity of his temper. I have not yet been
so fortunate as to discover any very considerable mistakes in
the reasonings deliver'd in the preceding volumes, except on
one article : But I have found by experience, that some of my
expressions have not been so well chosen, as to guard against
all mistakes in the readers ; and 'tis chiefly to remedy this
defect, I have subjoin'd the following appendix.
We can never be induc'd to believe any matter of fact,
except where its cause, or its effect, is present to us; but
what the nature is of that belief, which arises from the
relation of cause and effect, few have had the curiosity to
ask themselves. In my opinion, this dilemma is inevitable.
Either the belief is some new idea, such as that of reality or
existence, which we join to the simple conception of an object,
or it is merely a peculiar y^^//«^ or sentiment. That it is not
a new idea, annex'd to the simple conception, may be evinc'd
from these two arguments. First, We have no abstract idea
of existence, distinguishable and separable from the idea of
particular objects. 'Tis impossible, therefore, that this idea
of existence can be annex'd to the idea of any object, oi
form the difference betwixt a simple conception and belief
Secondly, The mind has the command over all its ideas, and
624 APPENDIX.
can separate, unite, mix, and vary them, as it pleases; so
that if belief consisted merely in a new idea, annex'd to the
conception, it wou'd be in a man's power to believe what he
pleas'd. We may, therefore, conclude, that belief consists
merely in a certain feeling or sentiment ; in something, that
depends not on the will, but must arise from certain de-
terminate causes and principles, of which we are not masters.
When we are convinc'd of any matter of fact, we do nothing
but conceive it, along with a certain feeling, different from
what attends the mere reveries of the imagination. And when
we express our incredulity concerning any fact, we mean,
that the arguments for the fact produce not that feeling. Did
not the belief consist in a sentiment different from our mere
conception, whatever objects were presented by the wildest
imagination, wou'd be on an equal footing with the most
establish'd truths founded on history and experience. There
is nothing but the feeling, or sentiment, to distinguish the
one from the other.
This, therefore, being regarded as an undoubted truth,
Ihat belief is nothing hit a peculiar feeling, differetit from the
simple conception, the next question, that naturally occurs, is,
what is the nature of this feeling, or sentiment, and whether it
be analogous to any other sentiment of the humafi mind? This
question is important. For if it be not analogous to any
other sentiment, we must despair of explaining its causes,
and must consider it as an original principle of the human
mind. If it be analogous, we may hope to explain its causes
from analogy, and trace it up to more general principles.
Now that there is a greater firmness and solidity in the con-
ceptions, which are the objects of conviction and assurance,
than in the loose and indolent reveries of a castle-builder,
every one will readily own. They strike upon us with more
force ; they are more present to us ; the mind has a firmer
hold of them, and is more actuated and mov'd by them. It
acquiesces in them ; and, in a manner, fixes and reposes
itself on them. In short, they approach nearer to the im-
APPENDIX. 625
pressions, which are immediately present to us; and are
therefore analogous to many other operations of the mind.
There is not, in my opinion, any possibility of evading this
conclusion, but by asserting, that belief, beside the simple
conception, consists in some impression or feeling, distin-
guishable from the conception. It does not modify the
conception, and render it more present and intense : It is
only annex'd to it, after the same manner that will and desire
are annex'd to particular conceptions of good and pleasure.
But the following considerations will, I hope, be sufficient to
remove this hypothesis. First, It is directly contrary to
experience, and our immediate consciousness. All men have
ever allow'd reasoning to be merely an operation of our
thoughts or ideas; and however those ideas may be varied
to the feeling, there is nothing ever enters into our conclusions
but ideas, or our fainter conceptions. For instance ; I hear
at present a person's voice, whom I am acquainted with ; and
this sound comes from the next room. This impression of
my senses immediately conveys my thoughts to the person,
along with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to
myself as existent at present, with the same qualities and
relations, that I formerly knew them possess'd of. These
ideas take faster hold of my mind, than the ideas of an
inchanted castle. They are different to the feeling; but
there is no distinct or separate impression attending them.
'Tis the same case when I recollect the several incidents of
a journey, or the events of any history. Every particular
fact is there the object of belief. Its idea is modified dif-
ferently from the loose reveries of a castle-builder : But no
distinct impression attends every distinct idea, or conception
of matter of fact. This is the subject of plain experience.
If ever this experience can be disputed on any occasion, 'tis
when the mind has been agitated with doubts and difficulties;
and afterwards, upon taking the object in a new point of
view, or being presented with a new argument, fixes and
reposes itself in one settled conclusion and belief. In this
626 APPENDIX.
case there is a feeling distinct and separate from the con-
ception. The passage from doubt and agitation to tranquility
and repose, conveys a satisfaction and pleasure to the mind.
But take any other case. Suppose I see the legs and thighs
of a person in motion, while some interpos'd object conceals
the rest of his body. Here 'tis certain, the imagination
spreads out the whole figure. I give him a head and
shoulders, and breast and neck. These members I conceive
and believe him to be possess'd of. Nothing can be more
evident, than that this whole operation is perform'd by the
thought or imagination alone. The transition is immediate.
The ideas presently strike us. Their customary connexion
with the present impression, varies them and modifies them
in a certain manner, but produces no act of the mind,
distinct from this peculiarity of conception. Let any one
examine his own mind, and he will evidently find this to be
the truth.
Secondly, Whatever may be the case, with regard to this
distinct impression, it must be allow'd, that the mind has
a firmer hold, or more steady conception of what it takes to
be matter of fact, than of fictions. Why then look any
farther, or multiply suppositions without necessity ?
Thirdly, We can explain the causes of the firm conception,
but not those of any separate impression. And not only so,
but the causes of the firm conception exhaust the whole
subject, and nothing is left to produce any other effect. An
inference concerning a matter of fact is nothing but the idea
of an object, that is frequently conjoin'd, or is associated
with a present impression. This is the whole of it. Every
part is requisite to explain, from analogy, the more steady
conception; and nothing remains capable of producing any
distinct impression.
Fourthly, The effects of belief, in influencing the passions
and imagination, can all be explain'd from the firm concep-
tion ; and there is no occasion to have recourse to any other
principle. These arguments, with many others, enumerated
i
APPENDIX. 627
in the foregoing volumes, sufficiently prove, that belief only
modifies the idea or conception ; and renders it different to
the feeling, without producing any distinct impression.
Thus upon a general view of the subject, there appear to
be two questions of importance, which we may venture to
recommend to the consideration of philosophers, Wliether
there be any thing to distinguish belief from the simple conception
beside the feeling or sentiment ? And, Whether this feeling be
any thing but a fir77ier conception, or a faster hold, that we take
of the object?
If, upon impartial enquiry, the same conclusion, that I
have form'd, be assented to by philosophers, the next
business is to examine the analogy, which there is betwixt
belief, and other acts of the mind, and find the cause of the
firmness and strength of conception : And this I do not
esteem a difficult task. The transition from a present im-
pression, always enlivens and strengthens any idea. When
any object is presented, the idea of its usual attendant imme-
diately strikes us, as something real and solid. 'Tis felt,
rather than conceiv'd, and approaches the impression, from
which it is deriv'd, in its force and influence. This I have
prov'd at large. I cannot add any new arguments; tho'
perhaps my reasoning on this whole question, concerning
cause and effect, wou'd have been more convincing, had the
following passages been inserted in the places, which I have
mark'd for them. I have added a few illustrations on other
points, where I thought it necessary.
To be inserted in Book I. page 85. line 22. after these words
(fainter and more obscure.) beginning a new paragraph.
It frequently happens, that when two men have been
engag'd in any scene of action, the one shall remember it
much better than the other, and shall have all the difficulty in
the world to make his companion recollect it. He runs over
several circumstances in vain ; mentions the time, the place,
62b APPENDIX.
the company, what was said, what was done on all sides ;
till at last he hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives
the whole, and gives his friend a perfect memory of every
thing. Here the person that forgets receives at first all the
ideas from the discourse of the other, with the same circum-
stances of time and place ; tho' he considers them as mere
fictions of the imagination. But as soon as the circumstance
is mention'd, that touches the memory, the very same ideas
now appear in a new light, and have, in a manner, a different
feeling from what they had before. Without any other
alteration, beside that of the feeling, they become imme-
diately ideas of the memory, and are assented to.
Since, therefore, the imagination can represent all the
same objects that the memory can offer to us, and since
those faculties are only distinguish'd by the differenty^^//;/^
of the ideas they present, it may be proper to consider what
is the nature of that feeling. And here I believe every one
will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the memory are
more strong and lively than those of the fancy. A painter,
who intended, c^r.
To be inserted in Book I. p. 97. line 16, after these words
(according to the foregoing definition.) beginyiing a new
paragraph.
This operation of the mind, which forms the belief of
any matter of fact, seems hitherto to have been one of the
greatest mysteries of philosophy : tho' no one has so much
as suspected, that there was any difl!iculty in explaining it.
For my part I must own, that I find a considerable difl^culty
in the case ; and that even when I think I understand the
subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express my
meaning. I conclude, by an induction which seems to me
very evident, that an opinion or belief is nothing but an idea,
that is different from a fiction, not in the nature, or the order
of its parts, but in the manner of its being conceiv'd. But
APPENDIX. 629
when I wou'd explain this manner, I scarce find any word
that fully answers the case, but am oblig'd to have recourse
to every one's feeling, in order to give him a perfect notion
of this operation of the mind. An idea assented to /eels
different from a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone presents
to us : And this different feeling I endeavour to explain by
calling it a superior _/cirf(?, or vivacity, or solidity, o\ firmness,
or steadi7iess. This variety of terms, which may seem so un-
philosophical, is intended only to express that act of the
mind, which renders realities more present to us than fictions,
causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a
superior influence on the passions and imagination. Pro-
vided we agree about the thing, 'tis needless to dispute about
the terms. The imagination has the command over all its ideas,
and can join, and mix, and vary them in all the ways possible.
It may conceive objects with all the circumstances of place
and lime. It may set them, in a manner, before our eyes in
their true colours, just as they might have existed. But as it
is impossible, that that faculty can ever, of itself, reach belief,
'tis evident, that belief consists not in the nature and order of
our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their
feeling to the mind. I confess, that 'tis impossible to explain
perfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may
make use of words, that express something near it. But its
true and proper name is belie/, which is a term that every one
sufficiently understands in common life. And in philosophy
we can go no farther, than assert, that it is something y^// by
the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgment
from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more
force and influence ; makes them appear of greater import-
ance ; infixes them in the mind ; and renders them the
governing principles of all our actions.
630 APPENDIX.
A note to Book I. page 100. line 35. after these words (im-
mediate impression.).
Naturafie nobis, ifiqm't, datum dica?n, an errore quodam^
ut, cum ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria digjios viros
acceperivius vmliiim esse versatos, magis moveaviur, quam
siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus, aut scriptum
aliquod legamus ? velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim viihi
Platonis in vientem : quem accipimus priinum hie disputare
solitum: Cujus etiam illi hortuli p)ropinquinon memoriam solum
viihi afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu meo hie ponere.
Hie Speusippus, hie Xenocrates, hie ejus auditor Poleino ; cujus
ipsa ilia sessio fuit, quam videamus. Equide7n etiam curiam
nostram, hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, qucB mihi minor esse
videtur postquam est major , solebam intuens Scipionem, Catonem,
Lcilinm, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis
admonitionis inest in locis ; ut no?i sine causa ex his memoricE
ducta sit disciplina. Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.
To be inserted in Book I. page 123. line 26. after these words
(impressions of the senses.) beginning a neiv paragraph.
We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser
degree; and this is common both to poetry and madness,
that the vivacity they bestow on the ideas is not deriv'd from
the particular situations or connexions of the objects of these
ideas, but from the present temper and disposition of the
person. But how great soever the pitch may be, to which
this vivacity rises, 'tis evident, that in poetry it never has the
same feeling with that which arises in the mind, when we
reason, tho' even upon the lowest species of probability.
The mind can easily distinguish betwixt the one and the
other; and whatever emotion the poetical enthusiasm may
give to tlie spirits,' tis still the mere phantom of belief or
persuasion. The case is the same with the idea, as with the
passion it occasions. There is no passion of the human
APPENDIX. 631
mind but what may arise from poetry ; tho' at the same time
tht feelings of the passions are very different when excited by
poetical fictions, from what they are when they arise from
beUef and reality. A passion, which is disagreeable in real
life, may afford the highest entertainment in a tragedy, or epic
poem. In the latter case it lies not with that weight upon
us : It feels less firm and solid : And has no other than the
agreeable effect of exciting the spirits, and rouzing the atten-
tion. The difference in the passions is a clear proof of a like
difference in those ideas, from which the passions are deriv'd.
Where the vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with
a present impression; tho' the imagination may not, in
appearance, be so much mov'd ; yet there is always some-
thing more forcible and real in its actions, than in the fervors
of poetry and eloquence. The force of our mental actions
in this case, no more than in any other, is not to be measur'd
by the apparent agitation of the mind. A poetical descrip-
tion may have a more sensible effect on the fancy, than an
historical narration. It may collect more of those circum-
stances, that form a compleat image or picture. It may seem
to set the object before us in more lively colours. But still
the ideas it presents are different to ih^ feeling from those,
which arise from the memory and the judgment. There is
something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehe-
mence of thought and sentiment, which attends the fictions
of poetry.
We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the re-
semblances and differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm,
and a serious conviction. In the mean time I cannot forbear
observing, that the great difference in their feeling proceeds
in some measure from reflexion and general rules. We
observe, that the vigour of conception, which fictions receive
from poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely acci-
dental, of which every idea is equally susceptible ; and that
such fictions are connected with nothing that is real. This
observation makes us only lend ourselves, so to speak, to the
632 APPENDIX.
fiction: But causes the idea to feel very different from the
eternal establish'd persuasions founded on memory and
custom. They are somewhat of the same kind : But the one
is much inferior to the other, both in its causes and effects.
A like reflexion on general rules keeps us from augmenting
our belief upon every encrease of the force and vivacity of
our ideas. Where an opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite
probability, we attribute to it a full conviction; tho' the
want of resemblance, or contiguity, may render its force in-
ferior to that of other opinions. 'Tis thus the understanding
corrects the appearances of the senses, and makes us imagine,
that an object at twenty foot distance seems even to the eye
as large as one of the same dimensions at ten.
To be viserted in Book I. page 161. line 12. after these words
(any idea of power.) begintmig a new paragraph.
Some have asserted, that we feel an energy, or power, in
our own mind ; and that having in this manner acquir'd the
idea of power, we transfer that quality to matter, where we
are not able immediately to discover it. The motions of our
body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our mind, (say
they) obey the will ; nor do we seek any farther to acquire
a just notion of force or power. But to convince us how
fallacious this reasoning is, we need only consider, that the
will being here consider'd as a cause, has no more a dis-
coverable connexion with its effects, than any material cause
has with its proper effect. So far from perceiving the con-
nexion betwixt an act of volition, and a motion of the body ;
'tis allow'd that no effect is more inexplicable from the powers
and essence of thought and matter. Nor is the empire of
the will over our mind more intelligible. The effect is there
distinguishable and separable from the cause, and cou'd not
be foreseen without the experience of their constant con-
junction. We have command over our mind to a certain
degree, but beyond that lose all empire over it : And 'tis
APPENDIX. 633
evidently impossible to fix any precise bounds to our
authority, where we consult not experience. In short, the
actions of the mind are, in this respect, the same with those
of matter. We perceive only their constant conjunction ; nor
can we ever reason beyond it. No internal impression has
an apparent energy, more than external objects have. Since,
therefore, matter is confess'd by philosophers to operate by
an unknown force, we shou'd in vain hope to attain an idea
of force by consulting our own minds '.
I HAD entertain'd some hopes, that however deficient our
theory of the intellectual world might be, it wou'd be free
from those contradictions, and absurdities, which seem to
attend every explication, that human reason can give of the
material world. But upon a more strict review of the section
conctxnxng persofial t'denlt'iy, I find myself involv'd in such a
labyrinth, that, I must confess, I neither know how to correct
my former opinions, nor how to render them consistent. If
this be not a good general reason for scepticism, 'tis at least
a sufficient one (if I were not already abundantly supplied)
for me to entertain a diffidence and modesty in all my
decisions. I shall propose the arguments on both sides,
beginning with those that induc'd me to deny the strict and
proper identity and simplicity of a self or thinking being.
When we talk of self or substance, we must have an idea
annex'd to these terms, otherwise they are altogether unin-
telligible. Every idea is deriv'd from preceding impressions;
and we have no impression of self or substance, as something
simple and individual. We have, therefore, no idea of them
in that sense.
The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity ; but this can
have no effect either on religion or morals. The order of the universe
proves an omnipotent mind ; that is, a mind whose will is constantly
attended with the obedience of every creature and being. Nothing more
is requisite to give a foundation to all the articles of religion, nor is it
necessary we shou'd form a distinct idea of the force and energy of the
supreme Being.
634 APPENDIX.
' i'*'^"^ Whatever is distinct, is distinguishable; and whatever is
distinguishable, is separable by the thought or imagination.
All perceptions are distinct. They are, therefore, distin-
guishable, and separable, and may be conceiv'd as separately
existent, and may exist separately, without any contradiction
or absurdity.
When I view this table and that chimney, nothing is
present to me but particular perceptions, which are of a like
nature with all the other perceptions. This is the doctrine
of philosophers. But this table, which is present to me, and
that chimney, may and do exist separately. This is the
doctrine of the vulgar, and implies no contradiction. There
is no contradiction, therefore, in extending the same doctrine
to all the perceptions.
In general, the following reasoning seems satisfactory. All
ideas are borrow'd from preceding perceptions. Our ideas of
objects, therefore, are deriv'd from that source. Consequently
no proposition can be intelligible or consistent with regard to
objects, which is not so with regard to perceptions. But 'tis
intelligible and consistent to say, that objects exist distinct
and independent, without any common simple substance or
subject of inhesion. This proposition, therefore, can never
be absurd with regard to perceptions.
When I turn my reflexion on myself, I never can perceive
this self without some one or more perceptions ; nor can
I ever perceive any thing but the perceptions. 'Tis the
composition of these, therefore, which forms the self.
We can conceive a thinking being to have either many or
few perceptions. Suppose the mind to be reduc'd even below
the life of an oyster. Suppose it to have only one per-
ception, as of thirst or hunger. Consider it in that situation.
Do you conceive any thing but merely that perception?
Have you any notion of sel/ or substance^ If not, the
addition of other perceptions can never give you that notion.
The annihilation, which some people suppose to follow
upon death, and which entirely destroys this self, is nothing
APPENDIX. 635
but an extinction of all particular perceptions ; love and
hatred, pain and pleasure, thought and sensation. These
therefore must be the same with self; since the one cannot
survive the other.
Is self the same with substance ? If it be, how can that
question have place, concerning the subsistence of self, under
a change of substance ? If they be distinct, what is the
difference betwixt them ? For my part, I have a notion of
neither, when conceiv'd distinct from particular perceptions.
Philosophers begin to be reconcil'd to the prmciple, that
zve have no idea of external substance, distinct /ram the ideas of
particular qualities. This must pave the way for a like
principle with regard to the mind, that we have no notion of
it, distinct from the particular perceptions.
So far I seem to be attended with sufficient evidence. But
having thus loosen'd all our particular perceptions, when ^
I proceed to explain the principle of connexion, which binds
them together, and makes us attribute to them a real simpli-
city and identity; I am sensible, that my account is very
defective, and that nothing but the seeming evidence of the
precedent reasonings cou'd have induc'd me to receive it. If
perceptions are distinct existences, they form a whole only by
being connected together. But no connexions among distinct
existences are ever discoverable by human understanding.
We only feel a connexion or determination of the thought, to
pass from one object to another. It follows, therefore, that
the thought alone finds personal identity, when reflecting on
the train of past perceptions, that compose a mind, the ideas
of them are felt to be connected together, and naturally intro-
duce each other. However extraordinary this conclusion
may seem, it need not surprize us. Most philosophers seem
inclin'd to think, that personal identity arises from conscious-
ness; and consciousness is nothing but a reflected thought
or perception. The present philosophy, therefore, has so far
a promising aspect. But all my hopes vanish, when 1 come
* Book I. page 260.
636 APPENDIX.
to explain the principles, that unite our successive percep-
tions in our thought or consciousness. I cannot discover
any theory, which gives me satisfaction on this head.
In short there are two principles, which I cannot render
consistent ; nor is it in my power to renounce either of them,
viz. that all our distinct perceptions are distinct existences, and
that the mind never perceives any real connexion among distinct
existences. Did our perceptions either inhere in something
simple and individual, or did the mind perceive some real
connexion among them, there wou'd be no difficulty in the
case. For my part, I must plead the privilege of a sceptic,
and confess, that this difficulty is too hard for my under-
standing. I pretend not, however, to pronounce it absolutely
insuperable. Others, perhaps, or myself, upon more mature
reflexions, may discover some hypothesis, that will reconcile
those contradictions.
I shall also take this opportunity of confessing two other
errors of less importance, which more mature reflexion has
discover'd to me in my reasoning. The first may be found
in Book I. page 58. where I say, that the distance betwixt
two bodies is known, among other things, by the angles,
which the rays of light flowing from the bodies make with
each other. 'Tis certain, that these angles are not known to
the mind, and consequently can never discover the distance.
The second error may be found in Book I. page 96. where
I say, that two ideas of the same object can only be different
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. I believe there
are other differences among ideas, which cannot properly be
comprehended under these terms. Had I said, that two ideas
of the same object can only be different by their different
feeling, I shou'd have been nearer the truth.
There are two errors of the press, which affect the sense,
and therefore the reader is desir'd to correct them. In Book I.
page 190. lines 16, 17. for as the perception read a perception
In Book I. p. 263. line 14. for moral read 7iatural.
APPENDIX. 637
A note to Book I. page 20. line 17. to the ivord
(resemblance.)
'Tis evident, that even different simple ideas may have
a similarity or resemblance to each other ; nor is it neces-
sary, that the point or circumstance of resemblance shou'd
be distinct or separable from that in which they differ.
Blue and green are different simple ideas, but are more
resembling than blue and scarlet; tho' their perfect sim-
plicity excludes all possibility of separation or distinction.
'Tis the same case with particular sounds, and tastes and
smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon the
general appearance and comparison, without having any
common circumstance the same. And of this we may be
certain, even from the very abstract terms simple idea. They
comprehend all simple ideas under them. These resemble
each other in their simplicity. And yet from their very
nature, which excludes all composition, this circumstance,
in which they resemble, is not distinguishable nor separable
from the rest. 'Tis the same case with all the degrees in
any quahty. They are all resembling, and yet the quality,
in any individual, is not distinct from the degree.
To be inserted in Book I. page 47. line 4. after these words
(of the present difficulty.) beginning a new paragraph.
There are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any
standard of equality, but assert, that 'tis sufficient to present
two objects, that are equal, in order to give us a just notion
of this proportion. All definitions, say they, are fruitless,
without the perception of such objects ; and where we per-
ceive such objects, we no longer stand in need of any defi-
nition. To this reasoning I entirely agree ; and assert, that
the only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is deriv'd
from the whole united appearance and the comparison of
particular objects. For 'tis evident that the eye, SjC.
638 APPENDIX.
To be itiserkd in Book I. page 52. line 17. a/ier these zvords
(practicable or imaginable.) begmning a new paragraph.
To whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still
meets them. If they judge of equality, or any other pro-
portion, by the accurate and exact standard, viz. the enume-
ration of the minute indivisible parts, they both employ a
standard, which is useless in practice, and actually establish
the indivisibility of extension, which they endeavour to ex-
plode. Or if they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate
standard, deriv'd from a comparison of objects, upon their
general appearance, corrected by measuring and juxta posi-
tion ; their first principles, tho' certain and infallible, are too
coarse to afford any such subtile inferences as they com-
monly draw from them. The first principles are founded on
the imagination and senses : The conclusion, therefore, can
never go beyond, much less contradict these faculties.
A note to Book I. page 64. line 19. to these words (impressions
and ideas.)
As long as we confine our speculations to the appearances
of objects to our senses, without entering into disquisitions
concerning their real nature and operations, we are safe from
all difficulties, and can never be embarrass'd by any question.
Thus, if it be ask'd, if the invisible and intangible distance,
interpos'd betwixt two objects, be something or nothing :
'Tis easy to answer, that it is something, viz. a property of
the objects, which affect the senses after such a particular
manner. If it be ask'd, whether two objects, having such
a distance betwixt them, touch or not : It may be answer'd,
that this depends upon the definition of the word, touch. If
objects be said to touch, when there is nothing sensible inter-
pos'd betwixt them, these objects touch: If objects be said to
touch, when their images strike contiguous parts of the eye,
APPENDIX. 639
and when the hand /eels both objects successively without
any interpos'd motion, these objects do not touch. The
appearances of objects to our senses are all consistent ; and
no difficulties can ever arise, but from the obscurity of the
terms we make use of.
If we carry our enquiry beyond the appearances of objects
to the senses, I am afraid, that most of our conclusions
will be full of scepticism and uncertainty. Thus if it be ask'd,
whether or not the invisible and intangible distance be always
full of body, or of something that by an improvement of our
organs might become visible or tangible, I must acknowledge,
that I find no very decisive arguments on either side ; tho'
I am inclin'd to the contrary opinion, as being more suitable
to vulgar and popular notions. If the Newtonian philosophy
be rightly understood, it will be found to mean no more.
A vacuum is asserted : That is, bodies are said to be plac'd
after such a manner, as to receive bodies betwixt them,
without impulsion or penetration. The real nature of this
position of bodies is unknown. We are only acquainted with
its effects on the senses, and its power of receiving body.
Nothing is more suitable to that philosophy, than a modest
scepticism to a certain degree, and a fair confession of
ignorance in subjects, that exceed all human capacity.
FINIS.
INDEX.
Explanation of signs used.
[Methods], [Wollaston] — words are placed in square brackets which
are not actually used by the author : thus Wollaston is not referred to
by name.
26f. = page 26 and following pages.
The references have been grouped under sections and sub-sections
simply for convenience of reference : the sections do not correspond to
any divisions in the Treatise, and have nothing to do with Hume's own
sections.
A.bilities, natural — 606 f.; distinguished from moral virtues (q. v.)
because invariable by art or praise, and so naturally neglected by
politicians, 609.
&.bstract — ideas, 17 f.; abstraction does not involve separation, 18, 43 ;
illustration from idea of space, 34 ; and time, 35 ; abstract idea of
power, i6i ; of existence, 623.
Accession — and property, 509 f.
Accidents — fiction of, 222.
Action — thought cannot be described as an action any more than as
a modification of the soul, 245-6 (cf. 632-3) ; internal actions
opposed to external objects, 465 ; all actions artificial, 475.
Actions — and truth ; actions ' original facts and realities complete ir.
themselves,' and ' cannot be pronounced either true or false, nor be
either contrary or conformable to reason,' 458 (cf. 415); except in
an improper sense as obliquely caused by or causing a false judg-
ment, 459.
Actions — and will (7/. Will, Necessity) — constant union between motives
and actions produces inference from one to the other, in spite of the
acknowledged capriciousness of human actions, 401 f., 411, 632-3
icf- 575) ; necessity of any action not a quality in the agent, but
a determination of the mind of a spectator, 408 ; actions more
voluntary than judgments, but we have no more liberty in the one
than in the other, 609.
642 INDEX.
Actions — merit of, only exists so far as they proceed from something
constant and durable in a man, from a character, and thus requires
the doctrine of necessity, 411, 575 (cf. 632); only character and actions
capable of exciting the peculiar pleasure which is called virtue, 472 ;
* when we praise any actions we regard only the motives that pro-
duced them ; ' ' actions are only signs of certain principles in the
mind and temper,' the external performance has no merit, 477 ; we
blame a man for not doing an action, as not being influenced by
the proper motive of that action, 477 ; ' the first virtuous motive
which bestows a merit on any action can never be a regard to the
virtue of that action,' 47S ; 'no action can be virtuous or morally
good unless there is in human nature some motive to produce it
distinct from the sense of its morality,' 479 ; intention in the agent
necessary to morality in the action, 461 and n.
Agent — necessity of an action no quality in the agent, 40S (cf. 632) ;
intention in the agent, 461.
[Agreement] — method of, 300, 301, 311.
Allegiance — v. Government, 539 f.
Ambition — an inferior species of, 300.
Analogy — a third kind of probability, 142, 147 ; leads us beyond ex-
perience, 209 ; feeling of belief can only be explained by analogy
with other feelings, 624.
Ancient — philosophy, 219 f.
Anger — and benevolence, 366; not all angry passions vicious : detestable
in form of cruelty, 605.
Animals — reason of, inferred from resemblance of their actions to our
own, T76; man superior to animals chiefly from superiority of his
reason, 326, 610; theories of mind to be tested by their power of
explaining actions of mind in animals and children and common
people, 177 (cf. 325) ; ordinary actions of, imply inference based on
experience and belief, 178; identity which we attribute to mind of
man like that which we attribute to plants and animals, 253 f. ;
'sympathy of parts' of animals to a common end, 257; pride and
humility of, 324, due to same causes as in men, 326, 327 ; have no
sense of virtue and vice, and incapable of relations of right and
property, 326 ; sympathy observable through whole animal creation,
363, 398 ; love and hatred ot, 397 ; little susceptible of pleasures
or pains of imagination, 397 ; possess will and direct passions in
same way as men, 448 ; animals have no morality, therefore morality
cannot consist in a relation : illustration from incest, 468.
Appearance — and existence and reality are for the senses identical, iS8f.;
all sensations are felt by the mind as they really are, 1S9; 'all
actions and sensations of the mind must necessarily appear in every
particular what they are and be what they appear,' 190 (cf. 385, 417,
583, 603, 632 ) ; the distinction between appearance and existence due
to imagination, 193 f. ; we could have no language or conversation
INDEX, 643
Appearance.
' did we not correct the momentary appearance of things and over-
look our present situation,' 5S2 ; the appearance of objects to the
senses requires to be continually corrected by reflexion, 603, and
by general rules framed by the understanding, 632.
A priori — a priori anything may be produced by anything, 247 ; no
connexion necessary a priori, 466 ; a priori argument about modesty,
671.
Aj^guments — long, reduce proofs to probabilities by diminishing
vivacity, 144 ; except in history where the links are of the same
kind, 146.
Artifice — political, not the sole cause of the distinctions we make
between vice and virtue, 500, 521, 533, 57S.
Artificial — opposed to'natural' in case of education, 117, and justice, 310
(cf. 474 f) > artificial = result of design and intention; hence all actions
artificial, 475, 529; =result of intervention of thought or reflexion,
484; artifice = a remedy provided by Nature in the judgment and
understanding for what is irregular and incommodious in the
affections, 489, 496 ; artificial opposed to natural virtues, 475, 577,
580 ; though justice arises artificially yet it does so necessarily, and
is not arbitrary, 483-4 ; the three fundamental laws of Nature, how-
ever necessary, are entirely artificial, 526 ; though justice be artificial,
the sense of its morality is natural, 619.
Assent — to any opinion depends entirely on a felt strong propensity to
consider anything strongly in a particular light, 265 {v. Belief,
Scepticism) .
Association — of ideas, by imagination guided by certain principles or
qualities of ideas, viz. Resemblance, contiguity, and causation, 1 1 f.,
though these are not the infallible nor the sole causes of a union
among ideas, 92 ; impressions associated only by resemblance, 283;
association of ideas gives rise to no new impression, and so to no
passion, 305, but it assists the passions by forwarding the transition
between related impressions, 306 ; the associations between ideas
and impressions assist one another, 284, as in the double relations
of impressions and ideas in pride, 286 ; association = attraction, 289;
physiological explanation of, 60 ; complex ideas called relations,
modes, and substances, the result of association, 13 ; succession to
property assisted by it, 513; probability or presumption the result
of imperfect association, 130.
Atheism— Spinoza's, the same as the doctrine of the immateriality,
indivisibility, and simplicity of a thinking substance, 240 f., 244.
Attraction — mental, compared to natural: its causes inexplicable, 13.
Barrow — cit. 46.
Beauty — pleasure not only its necessary attendant, but its essence :
nothing but a form which produces pleasure, 299 ; natural and
644 INDEX.
Beauty.
moral, 300 ; can there be a right or a wrong taste in beauty? 547 n ;
involuntary, 608 ; derived from sympathy, 364 ; sense of, produced
by sympathy with the pleasure of a possessor in his possession:
hence we find beauty in everything useful, 576 ; but a tiling is still
beautiful though actually useful to nobody, 584 ; sentiments of
beauty like those of morals arise either immediately from ' the mere
species and appearance ' or from reflexion on the tendency of things
to produce happiness, 590.
Belief {v. Scepticism).
§ 1. The vivacity of a perception, 86 ; a strong and steady con-
ception of any idea, 97 «, loi, 103, 116, 119; 'vivacity' distinguished
from ' clearness,' since there is as clear an idea of the object in
disbelief as in belief, but in belief the idea is conceived in a different
manner, 96 ; the force or strength of an idea distinguished from the
agitation it produces in the mind ; hence the difference between
poetry and history, 631 (cf. 419) ; vivacity not the only difference
between ideas : ideas really feel different, 636 (cf. 629) ; vivacity of
impression not the test of truth nor the only source of belief, 143,
144; thus philosophical differs from unphilosophical probability,
because it corrects vivacity by reflexion and general rules, 146 f.,
631.
§ 2. Is a lively idea produced by a relation to a present im-
pression, 93, 97, 98, 209, 626, which relation is produced by custom,
102 ; belief arises only from causation, not from resemblance and
contiguity, 107, though assisted by their presence and weakened by
their absence, 113.
§ 3. Belief weakened by a long argument, 144; this a remedy of
scepticism, 186 (cf. 218), 268; exception in case of history, 146, and
morals, owing to their peculiar interest, 455 ; imperfect belief the
direct result of an imperfect habit or the indirect result of a divided
perfect habit, 133 f. ; belief which attends probability a compounded
effect, 137 ; unphilosojihical probability, 146 f.
§ 4. Belief in existence of an object which arises from relation of
cause and effect is no new idea attached to the simple conception of
the object, 623 (cf. 66 f.) ; (a) it is not the idea of existence attached
to the idea of the object, for we have no abstract idea of existence,
623; {b) it is not an idea at all : if it were, a man could believe
what he pleased, since the mind has the command over all its ideas,
624 (cf 184) ; belief is ' merely a certain feeling or sentiment' which
depends not on the will, and which alone distinguishes fact from fancy,
624, 153 ; it is more properly an act of the sensitive than of the
cogitative part of our natures, 183 (cf. 103), and is not a simple act
of thought, 184. But it is not a feeling or impression distinguishable
from the conception, for (a) there is no distinct impression which
attends every distinct conception of matter of fact, 635 ; [b) a vivid
INDEX. 645
Belief.
idea accounts for everything; {c) the cause of the firm conception
explains all there is to be explained, 626 ; {d) the influence of a
firm conception on the passions accounts for all effects of belief,
625 (of. 119) ; the feeling which distinguishes belief from conception
is only a firmer conception, 627 ; vagueness of terms, force, vivacity,
solidity, firmness, steadiness, 629.
§ 5. Belief in existence of body (q.v.), 187; continued existence
of perceptions not only supposed but believed, 209; belief whether
in senses and imagination or in reason never justifiable ; carelessness
and inattention the only remedy for sceptical doubt, 218 (cf 186,
268, 146, 632).
§ 6. Influence of belief on the passions, 119, 625, on imagination,
e.g. in poetry, 120; reaction of imagination on belief, 123.
Benevolence.
§ 1. A calm desire or passion, 417; 'strictly speaking, produces
good and evil, and proceeds not from them,' 439.
§2. Conjoined with love by the 'original constitution of the
mind,' by 'nature,' by an arbitrary and original instinct: but 'ab-
stractedly considered ' this conjunction is not necessary ; there is
no contradiction in supposing love joined to a desire of producing
misery, 368 ; an instinct originally implanted in our natures like
love of life and kindness to children, 417, 439.
§ 3. ' No such passion in human minds as a love of mankind
merely as such,' 481 ; man in general not the cause but the object of
love and hatred, 482 ; public benevolence not the original motive
to justice, 480, nor private benevolence, 482; 'strong extensive
benevolence ' would render justice unnecessary, 495; we must only
expect a man to be useful in his own sphere, 602.
§ 4. The merit of benevolence depends on our possession of a
fixed unalterable standard by which we praise and blame, 603 ; love
immediately agreeable and hatred painful to the person actuated by
it, hence we praise the passion which partakes of the former and
blame that which partakes of the latter, 604 ; the transition from
love to love peculiarly easy, hence the peculiar merit of benevolence
in all its shapes and appearances, 605 ; not praised from prospect of
advantage to self or others, 604.
Berkeley — theory of abstract ideas, 17.
Body.
§ 1. Its real nature undiscoverable, only its external properties
knowable, 64 ; power and necessity not qualities of bodies but of
perceptions, 166.
§ 2. A. ' 'Tis vain to enquire whether there be body or not: that
is a point we must take for granted in all our reasonings,' 187. But
why do we believe in the existence of body? i. e. (a) why do we
attribute continued existence to perceptions when they are not
646 INDEX.
Body.
present to the senses? {b) why do we suppose them to have an
existence distinct from the mind and perception? 'the notion of
external existence when taken for something specifically different
from our perceptions' is absurd, iSS (cf. 66 f.). The senses can
never give rise to the opinion of a continued and distinct existence,
189-193; nor the reason: therefore Imagination must be the
source, 193 ; it is only to certain perceptions we attribute continued
existence, 192, and we do so not because of their involuntari-
ncss and vivacity but because of their peculiar constancy and
coherence, 194-197; confusing coherence with continuance, 19S,
and constancy or resemblance at different times with identity, 199-
204 ; supporting this by the further supposition of distinct existence,
205 ; a supposition which does not imply any contradiction to the
nature of the mind and which we believe, 209 ; though it is contrary
to the plainest experience, 210.
B. To avoid this difficulty philosophers distinguish between per-
ceptions and objects, which view retains all the difficulties of the
vulgar view, together with some peculiar to itself, 211-213; it
ascribes the interruption to perceptions, the continuance to objects,
215 ; 'tis impossible upon any system to defend either our under-
standing or our senses — either to accept or reject the continued and
distinct existence of perceptions, tliat is, of body, 218.
C. Our idea of a body admitted to be nothing but a collection of
sensible qualities which we find constantly united, and this compound
we regard as simple and identical, though its composition contra-
dicts its simplicity and its variation its identity, 219 ; to avoid these
contradictions imagination has feigned an unknown, invisible, and
unintelligible something called substance or matter, 220; but ' every
quality being a distinct thing from another, may be conceived to exist
apart, and may exist apart, not only from every other quality, but
from that unintelligible chimera of a substance,' 222; 'the whole
system is entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles
jis natural as any of those above-explained,' 222.
§ 3. The modern philosophy by its distinction between pri/na>y,
and secondary qualities, instead of explaining the operations of
external objects annihilates them and reduces us to the most ex-
travagant scepticism concerning them, 22S; if colours, sounds, etc.,
be merely perceptions, there remains nothing which can afford us a
just and consistent idea of body, 329 (cf. 192) ; there is no impression
from which the idea of body can be derived — not touch, ' for though
bodies are felt by means of their solidity, yet the feeling is quite
a different thing from the solidity, and they have not the least
resemblance to each other,' 230; there is a direct opposition be-
tween arguments from cause and effect and arguments which persuade
us of the continued and independent existence of body, 231 (cf. 266).
INDEX. 647
Calm — passions, to be distinguished from weak, 419 (cf. 631), con-
founded with reason, 417, 437 (cf. 583).
Cartesian — argument on power or efficacy, 159; argument to God,
160.
Cause.
§ 1. Impressions the cause of ideas because constantly conjoined
with and prior to them, 5 ; one object the cause of another when it
produces either the actions and motions or the existence of the other,
or when it has a power of producing it, 12 (cf. 172).
§ 2. Cause and effect a quality of ideas producing association, II,
101 ; causation associates ideas but not impressions, 283 ; a natural
as well as a philosophical relation, 15, 94 ; definitions of cause as a
natural and philosophical relation, 170; property a particular species
of causation, 310, 506.
§ 3. Causation a relation which is a source of probability (cf. 124,
153) discovered by reasoning, because 'the mind goes beyond what
is immediately present to the senses,' 73 (cf. 103, 141) ; it is the only
relation which ' informs us of existences and objects, which we do not
see or feel,' 74.
8 4. The origin of our ideas of causation to be found in some im-
pressions, 74 (cf. 165); but there is 'no one quality which univer-
sally belongs to all beings and gives them a title ' to be called
causes : therefore the idea must be derived from some relation
among objects, 75 ; now the relations of contiguity (cf 100) and suc-
cession in time are essential to that of causation, 76 (but relation of
causation exists between taste or smell and colour of a fruit because
they are inseparable, though coexistent in general and also cotempo-
raneous in their appearance in the mind, 237, 238) ; also the relation
of ' necessary connexion,' ' for an object may be contiguous and prior
to another without being considered as its cause,' 77 (cf 87) ; but it
is impossible to discover directly the impression from which the idea
ol necessary connexion is derived, 77.
§ 5. [Law of Causation.] So we ask indirectly {a) why a cause is
always necessary, i. e. ' why it is necessary that everything whose
existence ha 1 a beginning should also have a cause,' 78 f., 157 (cf 172)..
this is neither intuitively nor demonstratively certain, 79 ; it is not
contradictory or absurd to separate the idea of a cause from that of
a beginning of existence, 80; weakness of Hobbes' and Clarke's
demonstration of necessity of a cause, 80, of Locke's argument,
81, of the argument from cause and effect being correlative, 82 ; this
opinion therefore based on ' observation and experience,' 82 ; this
leads to the further question {b) ' why we conclude that such par-
ticular causes have such particular effects, and why we form an
inference from one to the other,' 82.
§ 6. A, The argument from effect to cause requires somewhere
sc impression of the senses or memory. S3 (cf. 97), or of the imagina-
648 INDEX.
Cause.
tion, which in some cases produces belief; which is only the vivacity
of a perception, 85, 86 ; it is only by experience that we can pass from
the impression to the idea: when we consider the constant conjunc-
tion of two objects in a regular order of succession and contiguity,
' without further ceremony ' we call the one cause and the other
effect, and infer the existence of the one from that of the other, 87
(cf. 102, 149, 153); but constant conjunction can never give rise to
any new idea such as necessary connexion, it only gives rise to an
inference : does this inference give rise to necessary connexion ? SB
(cf. 155, 163).
B. [Uniformity of Nature.] This inference or transition from
impression to idea does not arise from experience through reason, for
that would require the principle of the uniformity of nature, viz.
that the future will resemble the past, which is provable neither
demonstratively, 89, nor probably, for probable reasoning itself
assumes the principle, 90 (cf. lo^, 105, 134) ; nor can we justify the
inference by arguments from production, power, or efficacy : such
arguments either circular or have no end, 90 (cf. 632). Thus even
when experience has informed us of the constant conjunction of two
objects ' 'tis impossible for us to satisfy ourselves by our reason why
we should extend that experience beyond those particular instances
which have fallen under our observation,' 91 (v. § 7. B).
C. The inference then depends solely on the union of the ideas in
the fancy by three general principles — resemblance, 97 (cf. 168);
contiguity, 100 (cf. 168); and causation, 92 (cf. loi, 109), which
= ' habitual union in the imagination,' 93 ; thus causation as a
natural relation is the basis of causation as a philosophical relation,
94, cf. II, 15, loi, 170 (v. § 7. C).
§ 7. A. [Belief.] The conclusion of all reasoning from cause and
effect is a belief (q. v.) in the existence of an object, which is the
same as the idea of the object, only conceived in a diffeient manner,
96 (cf. 34,37, 153, 623); this manner = 'with additional force or
vivacity': a belief = ' a lively idea related to or associated with a
present impression' by means of custom, 97 (cf. 102), the impression
communicating to its related idea a share of its own force or vivacity,
98 ; there is notliing in the whole operation but ' a present impres-
sion, a lively idea, and a relation or association in the fancy between
the impression and the idea,' loi ; experimental proof of this, 102 ;
thus ' all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation,'
103 (cf. 132, 141, 149, 173 f-), 405-6, 458-
B. Inference from past experience does not imply reflexion on it,
still less ' the formation of any principle concerning it,' such as that
of the uniformity of nature, 104 (v. § 6. B.) ; but in some cases
reflexion on past experience ' produces the belief without the custom,'
or rather ' produces the custom in an oblicjue an<i artificial manner.'
INDEX. 649
Cause.
e.g. in discovering a particular cause by one experiment, 104; but in
this case custom has already established the principle ' that like
objects placed in like circumstances will always produce like effects'
(cf. 89, 90, 134), and this habitual principle 'comprehends' the con-
nexion of the ideas which is not habitual after one experiment, 105.
C. Belief arises only fjvm causation, 107; custom and the rela-
tion of cause and effect give our ideas as much reality as those of
the memory and senses— indeed, realities may be divided into two
classes — the objects of the memory and the senses, and the objects of
the judgment, e. g. the idea of Rome, 108 ; the effect of the relations
of contiguity and resemblance when single is uncertain, for they can
be feigned arbitrarily and are subject to caprice, whereas custom is
unchangeable and irresistible, 109 ; in arguments from cause and
effect we employ principles of imagination, which are permanent,
irresistible, and universal, 225 (cf. 231, 267) ; the objects presented
by the relation of cause and effect are 'fixed and unalterable,' the
mind cannot hesitate or choose the idea to which it shall pass from
a given impression, no (cf. 175, 461 «, 504) ; still resemblance and
contiguity augment the vivacity of any conception, 11 1 f. ; the want
of resemblance especially weakens belief and overthrows what custom
has established, 114.
D. Two kinds of custom, q. v. one indirectly giving vivacity to an
idea by producing an easy transition from an impression, the other
directly introducing a lively idea into the mind and so producing
belief, 115; this done by education, 116, which, however, is an arti-
ficial and not a natural cause, and so not regarded by philosophers as
an adequate ground of belief, ' though in reality it be built on almost
the same foundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from
causes and effects,' 117 (cf. 145 f.) ; education ' a fallacious ground of
assent to any opinion,' 118.
E. Reasoning from causation is able to operate on our will and
passions (q. v.), 119 ; as belief excites the passions so the passions
excite belief, 120; a lively imagination, madness, and folly influence
the judgment and produce belief by enlivening the ideas just as
completely as inference and sensation, 123; causation where united
with contiguity and resemblance produces sympathy, 318, 320; an
action ' obliquely ' caused by a judgment, 459 ; reason can never
cause a passion but is perfectly inert and inactive, 458, 4 15-4 16 (cf.
103).
§ 8. [Probability.] A. Arguments from cause and effect not
probable in the ordinary sense of the word, since they are free from
doubt and uncertainty though based on experience, 124; two kinds
of probability, one founded on chance, the other on causes, 124.
B. Chance, the negation of cause, = total indifference or absence of
determination in thought; all chances equal, 125; the calculation or
Y
650 INDEX.
Cause.
combination of chances implies a mixture of causes among the
chances, 126; the question, ' how is a thing probable? ' = the question
' what is the effect on the mind of a superior number of equal
chances?' 137; the vivacity of thought or the original impulse to
come to a conclusion is split up into a number of impulses, and the
probability of chances is the victory of one combination of these
separate impulses over all others, 129 ; * what the vulgar call chance
is nothing but a secret and concealed cause' 130.
C. i. Probabilily 0/ causes = {a) im-^Gxicci e.\^tritT\ct — i. e. a habit
of transition not yet complete, {b) assurance modified by contrariety in
experience, {c) uncertainty or contrariety of events not due to contin-
gency in the causes but to the secret operation of contrary causes,
' since the connexion between all causes and effects is equally neces-
sary,' 132 (cf. 404,461 «) ; this contrariety results in a hesitating belief,
(a) by weakening our habit of transition, 132 ; {b^ indirectly, by
' dividing and afterwards joining in different parts that perfect habit
which makes us conclude that instances of which we have no ex-
perience must necessarily resemble those of which we have,' 135 (cf.
105) ; probability 'a superior vivacity arising from the concurrence of
a superior number of views,' 137 ; it is that amount of vivacity which
remains when you have subtracted the vivacity produced by an
inferior number of experiments from that which is produced by
a supeiior number, 138.
ii. Two great principles of all arguments from causation, (a) no
object in itself can afford a reason for drawing a conclusion beyond
it, {b) constant conjunction of objects affords us no reason for drawing
an inference concerning any objects beyond those of which we have
experience, 139; the belief that a certain future event will occur
derived from an operation of the fancy which extracts from the
balance of experiments a single lively idea, 140 ; but a voluntary
repetition of experiments does not produce this lively idea since
' these separate acts of the mind are not united by any common object
producing them,' 140, cf. xxii, xxiii; the minute differences in pro-
babilities not felt, e.g. the difference between ninety-nine and one
hundred experiments: our preference of the greater number based on
general rules, 141, cf 146, 173 (but cf. 103).
iii. Analogy, a third kind of probability of causes, where the
resemblance of the present object to one of the objects conjoined is
weak, and the transition correspondingly weak, 142.
D. Unphilosophical probability = 1,0) diminished assurance resulting
from a diminished vivacity of the related impression owing to time
or distance : such difference in degree of evidence not admitted as
solid or legitimate, otherwise the force of an argument would vary
from day to day, 143; we are also the victims of such probability
when (J)) we allow ourselves to be more influenced by a recent than
INDEX. 651
Cause.
a remote experiment, 143 ; (f) by a short and simple argnment than
by a long and complicated one, 144 (of. 185); {d) when we are preju-
diced and led into analogical reasoning by general rules, 146 f.; does
belief thus ' consist only in a certain vivacity conveyed from an
original impression,' or is it something different from that viva-
city? 145 (cf. § 7 A, B.) ; [legitimate belief = vivacity justified by
reflexion and general rules, 146 f. (cf. 173)] though general rules give
rise to prejudice and false reasoning yet they are their only remedy,
for by general rules we distinguish in an antecedent between essential
and accidental circumstances : this distinction generally attributed to
the judgment and the confusion to the imagination, though both
judgment and imagination are the slaves of custom, 149 ; 'when we
find that an effect can be produced without the concurrence of any
particular circumstance, we conclude that that circumstance makes
not a part of the efficacious cause, however frequently conjoined with
it,' 149 (cf. 87, 248).
E. The several degrees of assurance or belief are {a) that of' know-
ledge ' or ' demonstration,' {b) that of memory, (c) that of 'judgment,'
derived from the relation of cause and effect, arising from perfectly
constant conjunction of two objects and e.xact resemblance of the
present object to one of them, 153; (</) that of probability, in all
cases of which there is less vivacity, for whatever reason it may be,
and so less assurance, 154 (cf. § 7).
§ 9. [Idea of necessary connexion or Power, 155 f.]
A. The idea of power or efficacy not derived from reason nor any
single experience, 156; account given by Locke, 157, Malbranche,
158, the Cartesians, 159, the proper result of whose speculation is
that we have no adequate idea of power or efficacy in any object,
160; the idea cannot be derived from any unknown quality of
matter, 160 ; we can have no general idea of power if we have no
particular idea of it, 161 ; so we have no clear idea of power as
belonging to any object or being : when we talk of it we only use
words without any determinate idea, 162 (cf. 172, 311) ; we have no
idea of any being endowed with power, still less with infinite power,
249 ; idea of power not copied from feeling of energy in our own
mind and so transferred to matter, 632.
B. Only the multiplicity of resembling instances can produce the
idea, and even this can only do so indirectly, for the repetition does
not discover anything new in the related objects, 163 ; nor does it
produce anything new in them, 164; but it does produce a new
impression in the mind which is the ' real model ' of the idea of
power, viz. 'a determination to pass from an object to its usual
attendant,' which is an ' impression of reflexion^ 165 (cf, 155,
74, 77)-
C. Thus ' necessity is something that exists in the mind, not in
652 INDEX.
Cause.
objects,' 165 ; just as the necessity by which twice two = four 'lies
only in the act of understanding by which we compare these ideas.'
Power and necessity are qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and
are internally felt by the soul, not perceived externally in bodies, 166
(cf. 428); propensity of the mind to 'spread itself on external
objects,' 167 ; we are driven by our nature to seek for an efficacious
quality in objects, which yet really lies only in ourselves, 266 ; still
the operations of nature are independent of our thought and
reasoning, e. g. the contiguity, succession and resemblance of objects
' is independent of and antecedent to the operations of the under-
standing,' 168; 'the uniting principle among our internal percep-
tions is as unintelligible as that among external objects,' 169
(cf. 636).
Two definitions of cause, 170.
§ 10. Corollaries : (a) all causes are of the same kind — no dis-
tinction between efficient, formal, etc., nor between cause and
occasion (in pride and love we distinguish between the quality
which operates, the subject in which it is placed, and the object,
279, 283, 330), (cf. 174, 504); {b) only one kind of necessity — no
distinction between physical and moral necessity : also no medium
between chance and an absolute necessity, 171 (cf § 8. C.) ; the
distinction between power and the exercise of it invalid, 172 (cf 12) ;
but admissible in morals, 311 {v. Poiver) : (c) no absolute or metaphy-
sical necessity that every beginning of existence should be attended by
a cause, 172 (cf § 5) ; ^d) 'we can never have any reason to believe
that an object exists of which we cannot form an idea,' 172.
§ 11. Rules by which to judge of causes and effects, 173 f (cf. 146);
' anything may produce anything,' i. e. ' when objects are not con-
trary nothing hinders them from having that constant conjunction on
which the relation of cause and effect totally depends,' and only
existence and non-existence are contrary, 173-247; 'the same cause
always produces the same effect, and the same effect never arises but
from the same cause : this principle we derive from experience,' 173
[methods of induction, 174] ; 'an object which exists for any time
in its full perfection without any effect, is not the sole cause of that
effect,' 174; these rules easy to invent, but hard to apply, especially
in morals, where the circumstances are very complicated, and where
many of our sentiments are 'even unknown in their existence,' 175
(cf. no); difficult to distinguish the chief cause out of a number,
504; no multiplicity of causes in nature, 282, 578 ; uncertainty and
vaiiely of causes in the natural world, 461 « (cf no).
^ 12. Matter the cause of our perceptions, 246 f. ; no reason
a priori why thought should not be caused by matter: though
there appears no manner of connexion between motion or thought,
the case is the same with all causes and effects, 247 ; matter actually
INDEX. 653
Cause.
is constantly conjoined with thought and is different from it, and so
may be, and actually is, the cause of thought and perception, 248 ;
a dilemma, showing that we must be content to regard all constantly
conjoined objects as causes and effects, otherwise there can be no
such cause as God, 248-9 (cf. 149)-
§ 13. In plants and animals we suppose 'a sympathy of parts to
a common end,' and ' suppose that they bear each other the reci-
frocal relation of cause and effect,' 259; the mind a system of different
perceptions which mutually produce, destroy, and influence one
another, 261 ; the notion of causation or a chain of causes which
gives rise to personal identity derived from memory, 261 ; but it is
possible to extend the chain of causes beyond memory, 262.
§ 14. Will {v. Necessity), 400 f. ; will only a cause, and like other
causes has no discoverable connexion with its effects, 632 ; in case
of actions we have often to suppose contrary and concealed causes,
404, 461 n (cf. 132) ; the necessity of any action is not a quality in
the agent, but a determination of the mind of a spectator, 408
(cf. 166).
Ceremonies — their influence on imagination, 99.
Certainty — {v. Probability, Cause, § 8) ; only four out of seven philo-
sophical relations are objects of knowledge (q. v.) and certainty, 70
(cf. 81, 87, 104) ; results from experience in arguments from cause
and effect, 124 (cf. 153) ; in particular points not to be denied himself
by the sceptic, 273 (t/. Scepticism).
Chance — {v. Cause, § 8) excluded by constant conjunction, 4; and proba-
bility, 1 24 f. ; the negation of cause and = total indifference : hence all
chances equal, and probability consists in a superior number of equal
chances, 125; this combination of chances implies a mixture of cause
among the chances, 126; what is the effect of a superior combination
of equal chances on the mind, so as to produce belief or assent? 127;
each chance = an impulse of the mind, the original impulse being
di\-ided into as many impulses as there are chances, 129; probability
of chances = the superior vivacity of any superior combination of
these impulses, 130; what the vulgar call chance is nothing but a
secret and concealed cause, 130; no medium between chance and
necessity, 171 ; 'liberty of indifference ' = chance, 407-8 (cf. 125);
rules of stability of property depend largely on chance, 514.
Character — possibility of inferring actions from character, 400 f. ;
something durable and constant in man which gives his actions
moral quality, 41 1 (cf. 477) ; only character and actions capable of
exciting the peculiar pleasure which we call virtue, and that only
when ' considered in general,' 472 ; actions only virtuous as the sign
of some qnality or character ; it must depend on durable principles
cf the mind which extend over the whole conduct and enter into the
personal character, 575 (cf. 349); it is the effect of the character of a
654 INDEX.
Character.
person on those who have any intercourse with him which causes our
moral sentiments, 582 ; it is almost impossible for the mind to change
its character in any considerable article, 608 {v. Identity, § 4).
Chastity — and modesty, 570 f.; their obligation extended by general
rules, 573; less obligation to male chastity because less interest, 573.
Choice — ' will or choice,' 467.
Civil — opposed to ' natural,' 475 «, 543.
Clarke — on cause, 80.
Cleanliness — 61 1.
Coherence — of our sensations a source of the fiction of their continued
existence, 195 f.; =the regular dependence of the changes of our
perceptions on one another, 195; of pleasures 'of a somewhat
different kind ' to that of other impressions, 195 ; does not lead us to
attribute continued existence to our passions, but only to such percep-
tions as motion, solidity, figure, &c. ; we cannot explain the regularity
of certain of our perceptions without imagining their continued exist-
ence, 196-7; this coherence works through custom, but ' indirectly
and obliquely' — i. e. by exciting the propensity of the imagination
to continue in the path in which it is travelling and to complete tlie
observed partial uniformity into a complete uniformity, 198 (cf. 237) ;
an irregular kind of reasoning from experience, e. g. coherence
enables us to discover relations between objects as opposed to
perceptions, 342.
Common — = natural, 549.
Comparison — the function of reasoning, 73; men always judge objects
more by comparison than from their intrinsic worth or value. 372-5 ;
must be with members of the same species, 378 ; illustration from
history and arts, 379; directly contrary to sympathy in its operation,
593 ; symi)athy requires greater vivacity in the idea than suffices for
comparison, 595.
Composite nature of all bodies, 219.
Conception — all acts of understanding, whether reasoning, judgment,
or belief, resolvable into conception, 97 n ; always precedes and
conditions understanding, 164; conception of an object distinguished
from belief in its existence only by the greater firmness of the latter,
624, 627.
Conquest — a title to government, 558.
Conscience — or 'a sense of morals,' is 'an active principle of which
Reason can never be the cause,* 458 (». Moral, §1).
Consent — not the basis of government (q.v.), 543 f. ; dwelling in its
dominions not consent to a government, 549.
Constancy — of our impressions a source of the fiction of their con-
tinued existence, and afterwards of their distinct existence, I99f. ;
constancy of impressions = their lesemblance at different times,
199 ; this resemblance leads us to mistake a succession of related
I
INDEX. 655
Constancy.
objects for an identical object, as also does the resemblance between
the act of mind in contemplating a succession, and the act of mind
in contemplating an identical object, 204.
Constant Conjunction v. Cause.
Contiguity — a relation essential to the idea of cansation, 75 ; an im-
pression enlivens an idea to which it is related by contiguity, 100,
no; not a source of belief as causation is, 107; a relation in
* nature,' independent of and antecedent to the operations of the
miderstanding, 168 ; associates ideas, but not impressions, 283.
Its influence on the imagination or fancy, 109 ; leads to violation
of laws of justice and necessitates government, 535 ; contiguity
between cause and object of pride is necessary to produce pride,
304 ; when united with causation and resemblance produces sym-
pathy, 318, 320 ; its influence on the passions, 427 f.
Contrariety — a source of relation, 15 ; one of the four demonstrable
relations, and perceived by intuition, 70, 464.
Only obtains between existence and non-existence, 173 ; no real
objects are contrary, 247 ; pride and humility directly contrary, and
annihilate one another, 278 ; also love and hatred, 330 ; contrariety
of passions results (a) in alternation ; (b) mutual destruction ;
{c) mixture, 441.
In experience produces probability, 131 ; due to secret operation
of contrary causes, 132, 404.
Convention — to bestow stability on possessions, 489 ; not a promise,
' only a general sense of common interest, which sense all the mem-
bers of the society express to one another,' like that of two men
rowing the same boat, 490 ; convention without promise the source
of language, 490 ; a promise unintelligible before human conven-
tions, 516 ; convention creates a new motive in the case of a
promise, 522 ; a source of natural as well as civil justice, 543.
Co-operation — increases man's power, 485.
Copernicus — natural philosophy before, 282.
Courage — duty of, largely enforced by artifice, 573.
Cruelty — detestable, 605.
Curiosity — pleases because it produces belief, and removes uneasiness
of doubt, 453.
Custom.
§ 1. ' We call everything custom which proceeds from a past
repetition without any new reasoning or conclusion ' ; it operates
before we have time for reflexion, and is 'a secret operation,'
104.
§ 2. The source of the general representativeness of abstract
ideas, 20.
§ 3. (v. Cause, § 7) determines us to pass from the impression of one
object to the idea or belief of another, 97, 170 ; produced by reflexion
656 INDEX.
Custom.
' in an oblique and artificial manner,' in the case of an inference
after one experiment, 105 (cf. 197) ; assures us of the principle of
the uniformity of nature, 105, 134; there is a 'full and perfect
habit' to transfer the past to the future, 135; scepticism confirms
the view that all reasonings from cause and effect are founded on
custom, 183 (cf. 223).
Two kinds of, one indirectly producing a vivid idea and belief, the
other directly, e.g. education, 116; but the latter an artificial, and
not a natural cause, and so regarded by philosophers as a fallacious
ground of assent to any opinion, 117; nor does a voluntary repetition
of experiments produce a proper custom, 140.
An imperfect habit a direct source oi probability, 130 (w. Cause,
§ 8. C) ; a perfect habit divided an indirect source, I33f. , it is
' broken into pieces and diffused ' by contrary experience, and re-
united afterwards by the concurrence of experience, 135.
A source of unphilosophical probability, and also its only
remedy, 146 f. ; in the form of general rules (q. v.) influences judg-
ment even contrary to present observation and experience, 1 47 ;
hence causes an opposition between imagination and judgment,
§ 4. (v. Body) the argument from the coherence of our perceptions
to their continued existence based on custom, but still is quite
different from our arguments from cause and effect, for ' this in-
ference arises from the understanding and custom in an indirect and
oblique maimer, 197 (cf. 105, 133); no regularity of our perceptions
can lead us to infer a greater degree of regularity in some objects
which are not perceived, for this supposes a contradiction, viz. 'a
habit acquired by what was never present to the mind,' 197, ' this
extension of custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can never
be the direct and natural effect of the constant repetition and con-
nexion, but must arise from the co-operation of some other principles,'
viz. those of imagination, 198.
§ 5. ' Readily carries us beyond the just bounds in our passions, as
well as in our reasonings,' 293 ; gives us a good opinion of our-
selves, because the mind finds a satisfaction and ease in the view of
objects to which it is accustomed,' 355.
Has great power to increase and diminish passions; has two
original effects on the mind : produces a facility in performance or
conception, and afterwards a tendency or inclination, 422 ; facility
when too great converts pleasure into pain, 423; increases all active
habits, but diminishes passive, 424; source of relation of present
possession as a title to property, 503.
Decorum — 612.
Definition — of cause, 1 79 ; of simple impressions impossible, 277, 329,
399-
*
INDEX. 657
Deliberate — distinction between deliberate and casual actions implies
doctrine of necessity, 412.
Delivery — symbolical, in transfer of property (q. v.), 575.
Demonstration — and probability, 31 ; mathematical demonstrations,
42, 166, not properly demonstrations because founded on inexact
ideas, 45 f. ; implies absolute impossibility of the contrary, 161 (cf.
166) ; the rules of demonstrative science certain and infallible, but
faculties liable to err in their application, 180; discovers proportions
of ideas considered as such, 448 ; four demonstrable relations —
Resemblance, contrariety, degree in quality, proportions in quantity
or number, 464 ; no matter of fact capable of being demonstrated,
463-
Regards abstract relations of ideas : its province is ' the world of
ideas,' while will places us in that of realities : thus demonstration
and volition are totally removed from each other, 413; only in-
directly influences our actions, 414 ; why demonstration pleases, 449;
opinion ' that morality is susceptible of demonstration,' criticised —
no one has ever advanced a single step in this demonstration, 463.
Design — to be inferred in actions of animals, 176; on the part of a
person assisting or injuring us increases our love or hatred, because
it points to certain qualities in him ' which remain after the action
is performed,' and by which we are affected through sympathy,
348-9 ; all actions artificial as performed from design, 475.
Desire — a direct passion, 438 (cf. 278, 574) ; arises from good considered
simply, 439; 'the mind by an original instinct seeks to unite itself
with the good and to avoid the evil, though they be conceived merely
in idea, and be considered as to exist in any future period of time,*
43S ; desire of harm to enemies and happiness to friends, lust, hunger,
&c., are direct passions which 'arise from a natural impulse and
instinct which is perfectly unaccountable': 'these passions strictly
speaking produce good and evil, and proceed not from them like the
other affections,' 439.
Attends love and hatred, and distinguishes them from pride and
humility which are pure emotions in the soul, 367.
Calm desites often confused with reason, 417; such are benevo-
lence, love of life, kindness to children, which are 'instincts originally
implanted in our nature ' : also ' the general appetite to good and
aversion to evil considered as such,' 417 ^cf. 438) ; calm passions often
determine the will in opposition to the violent ; ' 'tis not the present
uneasiness alone which determines men': strength of mind is preva-
lence of the calm passione over the violent, 418 {v. Passion, § 3).
Difference — a negation of relation : has two kinds, 15 ; different, dis-
tinguishable, separable by thought or imagination — relation of these
terms, iS; methods of, and agreement, 300, 301, 311.
Direct — passions (q. v.), 278, 438.
Direction — parallel directions of impressions a source of relatiop
658 INDEX.
Direction.
between them : thus pity and benevolence related not by their sensa-
tions but by their directions, 38 1 , 384, 394 ; direction of passions
altered by convention, 492, 521, 526.
Distance — discovered rather by reason than senses, 56, 191 ; not known
by angles of rays of light, 636, 638 ; two kinds of, 59 ; distance and
difference, 393 ; its influence on the passions, 427 f.
Dogmatism — and scepticism (q.v.), 187.
Drama, 115 ; dramatic unity, 122.
Duty V. Obligation, moral.
Education — a kind of custom directly producing belief, 116 ; an artificial
cause and so a fallacious ground of assent to any opinion, 117; and
moral distinctions, 2i;5 ; assists interest and reflexion in producing
moral approbation of justice, 500.
Efficacy — of causes (q. v. § 9), 1 56 ; idea of, not derived from reason,
157; but from an impression, 158 f.; of second causes, 160.
Efficient — causes not distinguishable from formal, &c., 171 {v. Cause,
§ 10).
Eloquence, 611.
Emotion — some emotion accompanies every idea and eveiy object pre-
sented to the senses, 373, 393 ; hence when the emotion increases
we imagine that the object has also increased, 374 ; this explains
how objects appear greater and less by comparison with others,
375-
End — supposition of a common end of parts assists notions of identity
of an object, 257.
Envy, and malice, 372, 377.
Equality — of lines, &c., difficulties of, 45 f. ; perfect equality a fiction,
448.
Error — physiological explanation of, 60 f. ; resemblance the most fertile
source of, 61 ; illustration from case of vacuum, 62 ; the source of
error where we mistake resembling impressions for an identical ob-
ject is their resemblance, 202 ; w^hatever ideas place the mind in the
same or similar dispositions are apt to be confounded, 203 ; the acts
of mind in contemplating an identical object and a succession of
related objects are very similar, 204, 254 f. ; all except philosophers
imagine that ' those actions of the mind are the same which produce
not a different sensation ' : hence calm desires confounded with
reason, 417 (but cf. 624, 627); confusion of liberty of spontaneity
and liberty of indifference, 408 ; confusion between the impression of
morality and an idea, because it is soft and gentle, 470; due to the
employment of the weak, changeable and irregular principles of the
imagination instead of the permanent, irresistible and universal, 225 ;
obscurity of our ideas our own fault and remediable, 72 ; discovered
by philosophers who abstract from the effects of custom and compare
1
INDEX. 659
Error.
ideas, 223 ; results from use of general rules and yet can only be cor-
rected by them, 146-149 {v. Canst, § 8. D) ; does not constitute vice,
whether it is caused by or causes an action, 459 f. ; mistakes of fact
not criminal, 459 ; mistakes of right not source of immorality, but
imply an antecedent morality, 460.
Essential and accidental circumstances in an antecedent confused by
imagination and distinguished by judgment by aid of general rules,
148, 149 (cf- 173)-
Esteem — for rich and powerful, 357 f , mainly derived from sympathy
rather than expectation of advantage, 361 (cf. 616); love and esteem,
6oS«.
Evidence — moral and natural, 404, 406 [v. Cause, § 11).
Exemplary — cause, 171.
Exercise — distinction between exercise and possession of power (q. v.)
frivolous, but holds a place in the philosophy of our passions, 311,
360 (cf. 12, 172).
Existence.
8 1. Whatever appears impossible on comparison of certain ideas
must be really impossible, 29 ; of an idea proved by our talking about
it, 32 (but cf. 62); 'whatever the mind clearly conceives includes the
idea of possible existence,' 32 ; reality of objects of mathematics
proved by our possession of a clear idea of them, 43 (cf. 52, 89);
' real existence and matter of fact,' opposed to ' relations of ideas,'
458, 463 (cf. 413) ; ike idea of the existence of an object is the same
as the idea of the object, 66 (cf. 94, 153, 623) ; 'any idea we please
to form is the idea of a being and the idea of a being is any idea we
please to form,' 67 (cf. 189, 190 ) ; idea of external existence as some-
thing specifically different from ideas and impressions impossible, 67
(cf. 188) ; only a 'relative idea ' of external objects possible, 68 ; we
have no abstract ' idea of existence ' and so belief in existence of an
object is not the conjunction of the idea of existence to the simple
conception of the object, 623 {v. Belief, § 4, 5, Cause, § 7. A),
§ 2. Idea of continued and distinct existence of perceptions (q. v.)
not derived from the senses, 188-192, for to the senses there is no
distinction between appearance (q.v.) and existence, 189 ; ' all actions
and sensations of the mind must necessarily appear in every particular
what they are, and be what they appear,' 190; not derived from
reason, 193; but from imagination, which leads to the distinction
between appearance and existence, to the idea of continued existence
and distinct existence, 194-209, to conceal the contradictions in
which suppositions, philosophers have invented the idea of ' double
existence,' and distinguish between that of objects (q.v.) and that of
perceptions, 211 ; but it is impossible to argue from existence of im-
pressions to that of objects, 212 ; but this system is the ' monstrous
offspring' of two contrary principles, 213; modern philosophy,
66o INDEX.
Existence.
basing its proof of existence of body on the distinction between
primary and secondary qualities, renders that existence impossible,
226 f. ; all our perceptions may exist separately and have no need of
anything to support their existence, 232 {v. Mind, § 1).
Existential judgments do not imply union of two ideas, 96 n.
Expectation— explains distinction between power and the exercise of
it, 313 {v. Cause, § 9. B).
Experience — opposed to knowledge and scientific reasoning, 82 (cf.
157); its nature illustrated, 87 ; the basis of inference, 87; yields
certainty in arguments from cause (q. v., § 7. B) and effect, 124 (cf.
623) ; imperfect and contradicted experience yields probability, 131 ;
contrariety in, due to secret operation of concealed causes, 132 ; no
justification of inference to objects beyond our experience, 139 ; con-
trasted with a 'voluntary act of imagination,' experience being united
by a ' common object producing them,' while experiments are not,
140 ; experience and idea of efficacy, 157 f.
Experiment — valid inference after a single experiment, 105 {v. Cause,
§ 7. Bl ; by means of principle of uniformity of nature, 131 ; 'in
arguing to the future every past experiment has the same weight, and
'tis only a superior number of them which can throw the balance on
any side,' 1 36 ; concurrence of experiments ' increases the vivacity of
a view,' 138 (cf. 140).
Extension.
§ 1 — 29 f. a number according to the common sentiment of meta-
physicians, 31 ; consists of indivisible parts, because the idea of such
an extension implies no contradiction, 32 ; idea of extension acquired
by considering distance between bodies : is a copy of coloured
points and of the manner of their appearance, 34 (cf. 235 f ) ; dis-
tinguished from duration as having co-existent parts, 36 ; these parts
are indivisible ideas copied from impressions of coloured and tangible
objects, 38 ; mathematical definitions and demonstrations opposed
in the matter of extension, 42 ; confusion with distance, 62 ; theory
of Cartesians, 159.
§ 2 — and solidity, as primary qualities, 227; if colours, sounds,
&c., be merely perceptions, not even motion, extension, and solidity
can possess 'real continued and independent existence,' 228 (cf. 192) ;
motion implies a body moving : body resolved into extension or
solidity : extension can only be conceived as composed of parts
endowed with colour or solidity : colour is excluded ex hypothesi :
therefore idea of extension depends for its reality on that of solidity,
228 ; but solidity can only be explained as dependent on colour, or
on extension, 229.
§ 3— and thought: argument from their incompatibility to the
immateriality of the soul {v. Mind), 21^ f. ; only things coloured
and tangible are extended, 235 (cf. 34, 38) ; thus all perceptions,
INDEX. 661
Extension.
except those of sight and touch, exist and yet are nowhere, are
neither figured nor extended, 236, e.g. the taste of a fruit has no
local conjunction with its colour or shape except to our fancy, 238 ;
thus the materialists are wrong who conjoin all thought with exten-
sion, 239 ; but on the other hand extension is a quality of certain
perceptions, e.g. this table is only a perception, 239 ; ' the very idea
of extension is copied from nothing but an impression, and con-
sequently must perfectly agree to it. To say the idea of extension
agrees to anything is to say it is extended,' thus there are impressions
and ideas really extended, 240.
External — opposed to internal, 166, 167; objects (q. v.) opposed to
internal actions, 464 ; opposed to internal motives, principles, or
qualities, 477 f ; no idea of external existence (q. v.) as something
specifically different from ideas and impressions, 67 (cf. 188, 211 f.) ;
when an impression is external to our bodies it is not external to
ourselves, 190; for our limbs are themselves only impressions : also
impressions which are not in extension, e. g. sounds, smells, &c.,
cannot be external to anything, 191 ; 'no external object can make
itself known to the mind immediately and without the interposition
of an image or perception,' 239.
Fact, matter of— truth = agreement ' to real relations of ideas or to real
existence and matter of fact,' 458 ; understanding either compares
ideas or infers matters of fact : its objects either relations of objects
or matters of fact, 463 (cf. 413) ; (cf. Cause, § 7) ; morality does
not consist in any matter of fact which can be discovered by the
understanding, 468 ; when you look for the morality of an act, you
can only find approbation or disapprobation in yourself : ' here is
matter of fact, but it is the object of feeling, not of reason,' 469.
Faculty — fiction of, 224.
Fame — love of, 316 f, explained by sympathy, 316, assists moral
approbation of justice, 501 {v. pride, § 2).
Family — a source of pride, 307, beginning of state, 486, patriarchal,
not origin of monarchy, 541.
Fancy — and belief (q.v.), 140, 624; illusion of, in the miser, 314.
Feeling.
§ 1. {v. Belief, § 4 ; Appearance) ; belief only a certain feeling :
there is nothing but the feeling or sentiment to distinguish fact
from fancy, and this feeling is only a greater firmness of the con-
ception of the object, 624; it is not distinguishable from the
conception, 625, 627 ; an idea assented to feels different from a
fictitious idea ; this feeling we call a superior force, vivacity, firm-
ness, solidity, and steadiness, 629 ; ideas distinguished not only by
force and vivacity, they really feel different, 636; it is wrong to sup-
pose that those actions of the mind are the same which produce not
a different sensation, 417.
562 INDEX.
Feeling.
§ 2. (v. Moral, § 2^ ; when you pronounce an act vicious you
only mean that you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the
contemplation of it, 469 ; ' morality more properly felt than judged
of,' 470, 5S9 ; we do not infer a character to be virtuous because it
pleases : but in feeling that it pleases, we in fact feel that it is
virtuous, 471 ; pleasure includes many different kinds of feeling,
472 ; moral distinctions depend entirely on certain peculiar seiiti-
ments of pain and pleasure excited by a mental quality in ourselves
or others, 574; *a convenient house and a virtuous character cause
not the same feeling of approbation, though the source of our
approbation be the same ': 'there is something very inexplicable in
this variation of our feelings,' 617; each of the virtues excites a
different feeling of approbation in the spectator, and so the fact that
the natural abilities and moral virtues excite different feelings of
approbation is no reason for placing them in distinct classes, 607.
§ 3. Requires correction by reflexion and understanding, 417, 5S2,
603, 672 {V. Sensation, Senses).
Fear — and probability, 440 ; caused by a mixture of joy and grief,
441 f.
Fiction (v. Belief, § i) — of duration as a measure of rest, 37, 65 ; of
perfect equality, 48 ; of continued and distinct existence of per-
ceptions, 193 f. ; this fiction believed, 209, derived from custom, but
obliquely and indirectly, 197; of double existence of perceptions
and oljjects, 211 f., altogether the offspring of the fancy, 216; of
substance or matter, 220 ; of substantial forms, 221 ; of accidents,
222 ; of faculties and occult qualities, sympathies, and antipathies in
Nature, 224; of personal identity, soul, self, and substance, to dis-
guise the variation of our perceptions, 254, 259 ; philosophic fiction
of 'state of Nature," 493; poetic, of 'golden age,' 494 (cf. 631);
of 'willing an obligation,' 523; of imperfect dominion, 529;
examination of, useful in the same way as examination of our
dreams, 219.
Final cause, 171,
Fitness — not a principle to be used in assigning property, 502.
Force — and vivacity, vagueness of terms, 105, 629 {v. Belief); differs
from agitation, 631 (cf. 419); invalidates promises: a proof that
they have no natural obligation, for ' force is not essentially different
from any other motive of hope and fear,' 525.
Form — sulistantial, fiction of, 221.
Formal cause, 171.
I Free, will — (z/. A'ecessity, Liberty, IVill), 312, 314, 399 f., 609.
I Freedom.
Friendship — exists side by side with the ' interested commerce of men,'
521.
INDEX. 663
General (». Abstract) — idea of power, 161; ideas of pleasure, 425;
character and actions ' considered in general ' produce a particular
kind of pleasure or pain which we call virtue or vice, 472; every-
thing which gives uneasiness in human actions upon the general
survey is called vice, 499.
Genius — a magical faculty of collecting appropriate ideas when rising
general terms, 24.
Geometry (v. Mathematics), 45 f., 71, 72.
God — as prime mover, 159 ; idea of, derived from an impression, 160;
the doctrine of an immaterial thinking substance leads necessarily to
Atheism just as Spinoza's system does, 240 f. ; the idea of God
derived from particular impressions, none of which contain any
efficacy nor seem to have any connexion with any other existence,
and so we can have no idea of the efficacy of God as a cause, 248 ;
to regard God as the efficacious principle which supplies the
deficiency of all causes is to make him the author of all our per-
ceptions and volitions, good and bad, 249 ; the order of the universe
proves an omnipotent mind, but we can have no idea of God any
more than we can of force, 633 «.
Good — general appetite to good, considered merely as such, 417;
and evil= pleasure and pain, 276, 399, 438, 439 {v. Moral); three
kinds of goods distinguished ; internal satisfaction of our minds,
external advantages of our body, enjoyment of possessions, 487.
Good humour, 611.
Goodness and benevolence, 602 f.
Golden age — poetical fiction of, contains a valuable truth, 494.
Governraent.
§ 1. The origin of, 534 f. ; necessaiy to remedy man's inclination
to prefer a near to a remote good, and so to violate the laws of
property, 534-6 ; this remedied by making the observance of those
laws the nearest interest of a certain few men, 537 ; though com-
posed of men subject to all human infirmities becomes a composition
which is in some measure exempted from all those infirmities, 539 ;
not necessary in all societies : generally arises from quarrels between
men belonging to different societies : foreign war without govern-
ment produces civil war : ' camps are the true mothers of cities,' 540 ;
monarchy arises rather from war than patriarchal authority : the state
of society without government is one of the most natural states of
men, and survives long after the first generation : but in it the laws
of justice are obligatory, 541.
§ 2. Allegiance or submission to government, 539 f., at first
rests on promises which are ' the original sanction of government
and the source of the first obligation to obedience,' 541 ; hence
the theory that it rests on consent, which is only true of it at first,
not in all ages, 542 ; its principal object is to constrain men to
observe the laws of Nature (q.v.) which include the duty to observe
664 INDEX.
Government.
promises, the exact performance of which is the effect of govern-
ment, not its source, 543 ; there is a separate interest and obligation
in obedience to the magistrate and performance of promises, 544 ;
allegiance and performance of promises have thus a separate founda-
tion and a separate moral obligation, 545 ; government would be
necessary in all large societies were there no such thing as a promise,
and promises would be obligatory were there no such thing as
government, 546 ; this is also the popular opinion, 547 ; magistrates
themselves do not believe their authority to rest on a promise : if
they did, they would never be content to receive it tacitly, 547 ;
subjects believe they were born to obedience, 548 ; dwelling in its
dominions not consent to a government, 548 ; according to this view
there would be no allegiance to an absolute government which yet
is as natural and common a form as any, 549 ; this theory of consent
really only proves that our siib/uission to government admits of
exceptions, 549 ; the conclusion is just, but the principles erroneous,
550; the natural obligation ceases when the interest ceases, but the
moral obligation continues owing to the influence of general rules,
552; but in all our notions of morals we never entertain such an
absurdity as that of passive obedience, 552.
§ 3. The objects of allegiance, i.e. our lawful magistrates, at first
fixed by convention and a specific promise, 554; afterwards by
general rules invented in our interest, 555, viz. those of {a) long
possession, 556; {b) present possession, 557; {c) conquest, 558;
{d) succession, 559, {e) positive laws, 561 ; rigid loyalty akin to
superstition : controversies in politics generally trivial and insoluble
by reason, 562 ; the English Revolution, 563 ; resistance more often
lawful in mixed than in absolute governments, 564 ; in no govern-
ment a right without a remedy, 564 ; influence of imagination in
politics, 565-6.
Habit {v. Custoni) — is nothing but one of the principles of Nature, and
derives all its force from that origin, 179.
Heroism — nothing but a steady and well-established pride and self-
esteem, 599.
History— credibility of, 145 ; links in, are all of same kind, and so the
transition easy, the ideas lively, and belief strong, 146 ; and poetry,
631.
Hobbes — on cause, 80.
Hope— and fear, 440 f. ; caused by mixture of joy and grief, 441.
Humility — perfect sincerity in, not to be expected, 598.
Hypothetical arguments, 83.
Ideas.
§ 1. Origin and classification of, i f. ; derived from impressions
from which they differ only in vivacity, i (cf. 106, 629) ; Locke's
INDEX. 665
Ideas.
use of the term too wide, 2 ; simple and complex, a (cf. 13) ; simple
ideas exactly represent simple impressions, but complex ideas and
impressions do not exactly correspond, 3 (cf. 231); impressions
causes of ideas, because constantly conjoined and prior, 5 ; an
exception to this in the case of a series, 6 ; primary and secondary,
6; give rise to impressions of reflexion, 7 (cf. 165, 289); the
question of innate ideas the same as that of the precedency of
impressions, 7, 158, its importance, 33, 74, 161 ; of memory
more lively than those of imagination, 8 f., the former ' equivalent
to impressions,' 82 ; the idea of an idea, 106 ; obscure as compared
with impressions, 33 ; obscurity of, our own fault and remediable,
72; the mind has the command over all its ideas, 624, 629; the
fact that we talk and reason about an idea no proof that we have it,
62 (cf. 32) ; not infinitely divisible, 27, 52 ; every lively idea agree-
able, 353; attended with some emotion, 373, 375, 393.
§2. A. Association of (q. v.), 10; on three guiding principles,
resemblance, contiguity, and causation (q. v.), 11 f. (cf. 92), 283 f,
305 f. ; physiological explanation of, 60.
B. Associated with impressions and enlivened by them, 98, loi
(cf. 317) ; associations of ideas and impressions assist one another,
e.g. in double relation of impressions and ideas, 284, 286, 380;
association of, gives rise to no new impressions, only modifies the
ideas, and so produces no passions, 305 ; law of transition between,
viz. from faint to lively, from remote to contiguous, 339; hence
easy to pass from idea of another person to idea of self, but not
conversely, except in case of sympathy (q. v.), 340 ; law of ideas
opposed to that of impressions, 341-2 (cf. 283), but yields to
it when there is a conflict, 344-5 ; an idea converted into an im-
pression in sympathy by relation, 317 f.; never admit of a total
union : can only be conjoined, not mixed, while impressions and
passions can be mixed, 366 ; related ideas liable to be confused
{v. error), 60, 62, 203, 264; related in animals as well as men, 327.
§ 3. A. Reasoning, judgment, conception, and belief (q. v.), only
particular ways of conceiving ideas, 97 « (cf. 164), reasoning merely
on operation of our thoughts or ideas, and nothing ever enters into
our conclusions but ideas or fainter conceptions, 625 (cf. 73, 183).
B. Abstract relations of, opposed to experienced relations of
objects, 414, 463 ; the world of ideas the province of demonstration
(q. V.) ; the world of realities that of the will, 414 ; truth a propor-
tion of ideas considered as such, i. e. not as representative, 448, 458 ;
four demonstrable relations, 464 ; is morality a demonstrable re-
lation? 456, 463,496.
C. Truth belongs only to ideas as representative, = agreement of
ideas considered as copies with those objects which they represent,
415 ; = the conformity of our ideas of objects to their real existence.
666 INDEX.
Ideas.
44S, 458 ; understanding either compares ideas or infers matters of
fact, 463.
§4. abstract or general, 17 f.; are nothing but particular ideas
annexed to a certain term which gives them a more extensive
signification, 17 ; the particular circumstances are not discarded but
retained, 18 ; every idea determinate in quality and quantity, and
individual, 19 ; abstract ideas therefore individual in themselves, 20;
and become 'general in their representation' because annexed to
a name vyhich revives a certain custom of surveying other individuals
to which it is applied, 20-24; "^^ abstract idea of power, 161 ; nor
of existence, 623 (cf. 66 f.).
§ 5. of space and time, 33 f. ; derived from the manner in which
impressions appear, 34, 37 (cf. 96) ; mathematical, 45 f., 52, 72;
of existence and external existence, 66 f. ; of causation, 74 f.,
and necessity, derived from an impression of reflexion, 155, 165 ;
of body, 229 f., and substance, 232; of extension, itself extended,
339; of self, 251 f. {v. Identity'); of God, 248; of another person,
' of whose thoughts, actions, and sensations we are not conscious,'
329 ; of another's affection, though it be not actually felt by any one
{v. Sympathy), 370 (cf. 385).
Identity.
§1. The most universal relation, 14; discovered rather by per-
ception than reasoning, except when discovered by relation of
causation, 74; a relation which does not 'depend upon the idea'
and hence only a source of probability, 73 ; of impressions produces
a stronger connexion than the most perfect resemblance, 341.
§ 2. A. The ' principitim individuationis^ 200 f.; one object only
gives idea of unity, a multiplicity of objects the idea of number:
Time or Duration the source of idea of identity, 200 ; ' an object is
the same with itself = 'an object existent at one time is the same
with itself existent at another : ' the ' principium ' is nothing but the
invariableness and uninterruptednessof any object through a supposed
variation of time, 201.
§ 2. B. The identity of a mass of matter is preserved for us (a)
when the variation is small in proportion to the whole, and gradual,
256 ; {b) when the parts combine to a common end, and especially
when there is a 'sympathy of parts' as in an organism, 257; (<•)
when the object is naturally variable — e. g. a river, 258.
§ 3. The constancy of our impressions, i. e. their resemblance at
different times, makes us consider them individually the same, 199,
202, 253 f. ; a succession of related impressions places the mind in
the same disposition as does an identical object, 203, and so we
confound succession with identity, 204 ; two kinds of resemblance
produce tliis confusion, 204 m; but this supposed identity is con-
tradicted by the obvious interruption of our perceptions, and we
INDEX. 667
Identity.
avoid it by the fiction of their continued exirtencc, 205 f. ; and
further by the fiction of substance or matter, 219 (cf. 254 f.), {v.
Body, § 2, Existence, § 2\
§4. A. Personal identity or the idea of self , 251 f . ; impressions
never felt as distinct from ourselves, 1S9 ; how far we ourselves are
the object of our senses a very difficult question, 190 ; externality to
our body or our limbs is not externality to ourselves, 191 ; no im-
pression of Self from which the idea of a simple and identical person
can be derived, 251, 189 [v. Senses) (cf. 633) ; we are never intimately
conscious of anything but a particular perception; a man is 'a bundle
or collection of different perceptions which succeed one another with
an inconceivable rapidity and are in a perpetual flux and movement,'
252, 634 ; the identity which we attribute to the mind analogous to
that which we attribute to plants and animals : imagination causes
us to mistake a succession of related objects for an identical object,
254; we hide the interruption by feigning a soul, self, or substance,
or ' imagine something unknown and mysterious connecting the
parts beside their relation,' 254; the identity which we attribute to
the mind of man is a fictitious one ; it cannot run the different per-
ceptions into one, and it is no real bond between them, 259 ; it is
only an idea arising from an easy transition produced by resemblance
and causation, 260, 636 ; memory as the source of these relations
not only discovers but produces the identity, 261, but still we
extend the chain of causes beyond memory, 262 ; the same explana-
tion to be given of the simplicity as of the identity of the mind, 2'S3 ;
are self and substance the same thing? 635 ; there is no satisfactory
theory to explain the principles that unite our successive impressions
in our thought or consciousness, 636; we must 'distinguish between,
personal identity as it regards our thought or imagination, and as
it regards our passions or the concern we take in ourselves,' 253.
B. Self^\^& object of pride and humility, 277, 286 ; the existence
of ourselves durable, 293; 'self or that succession of related ideas
and impressions of which we have an intimate memory and con-
sciousness,' 277; 'that connected succession of perceptions which we
call self,' 277 ; ' self or that individual person of whose actions and
sentiments each of us is intimately conscious,' 286 ; ' the qualities of
our mind and body, that is, self,' 303 ; ' the idea, or rather im-
pression, of ourselves is always intimately present with us, and our
consciousness gives us so lively a conception of our own person that
'tis not possible to imagine that anything can in this particular go
beyond it,' 307, 320, 339, 340, 354, 427; the relation between our
self and another person the foundation q{ sympathy (q. v.)) 318, 322,
359 ; easy to pass from idea of another person to idea of self, but
not the reverse way, 340; self love not love in the proper sense,
329, 480.
668 INDEX.
Imagination — contrasted with memory, 8 f., 86, 93, 97 «, 62S (cf.
265), with memory and reason, 117, with experience, 140, with
judgment, 148-9, with understanding, 97, 267 (cf. 182) ; has power
to transpose and change ideas, 10, 92, 629; chiefly occupied in
forming complex ideas, 10 ; associates ideas on certain principles.
10 ; which are sometimes ' permanent, irresistible, and universal,'
at others weak, changeable, irregular, and not even useful in conduct
of life, 225 (cf. 148) ; and so leads us into directly contrary opinions,
266 (cf. 231) ; the understanding = 'the general and more established
properties of the imagination, 267 ; this activity of imagination
only natural as a malady is natural, and so rejected by Philosophy,
226; passes from obscure to lively ideas, 339; but conversely
in the case of the passions, 340-5 (cf. 509 «) ; vibration of,
between two ideas, constitutes a perfect relation, 355 ; extends
'custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions,' 197; continues in
its course even when its object fails, like a boat under way : com-
pletes an imperfect uniformity, 198, 213, 237; source of general
rules, 371, 385, 504 « ; little influenced by abstruse reasonings,
185, 268; more affected by what is contiguous than what is re-
mote, hence government becomes necessary, 535; an<l the passions,
340 f. ; by a great effort enables us to sympathise with an unfelt
feeling, 371, 385-6 ; converts an idea into an impression in sympathy
(q. V. , 47 ; source of rules which determine property, 504;/, 509 «,
513, 531, 559, 566; animals little susceptible of pleasures or pains
of imagination, 397.
Immortality — of soul, 114.
Impressions {v. Idea, Feeling, Senses, Sensaticn'^,
§ 1. Of sensation and rtfle.xion : the latter derived principally
from ideas, the former ' arise in the soul originally from un-
known causes,' 7, 84 ; original impressions depend on physical and
natural causes, 275; the determination of the mind to pass from
the idea of an object to that of its usual attendant an impression
of reflexion, 165, 275; pains and pleasures original impressions,
passions secondary or reflective, 276; reflective, divided roughly
into calm and violent, passions being violent and divided into
direct and indirect, 276; simple and complex, 2; an exception
to the rule that every simple idea has a preceding impression, 6 ;
simple and uniform impressions undefmable, 277, 329; will an
internal impies?ion, 399; impressions which give rise to sense of
justice not natural but artificial, 497; impression of extension itself
extended, 239.
§ 2. Cannot be presented by the senses as anything but im-
pressions; must necessarily appear what they are and be what
they appear, 190; not felt as different from ourselves or as copies
of anything else, '89; not felt as external to ourselves, 191 ; how
far there is an impression of ourselves, very doubtful, 190, 251 (cf.
1
INDEX. 669
Impressions.
3^7. 320, V. Identity, § 4. A) ; impression of self always present and
lively, 317.
§ 3. Three classes of, conveyed by the senses, (a) figure, bulk,
motion, and solidity ; {li) colours, tastes, smells, heat, etc. ; {c) pains
and pleasures : all these as felt and as far as the senses are judges
are the same in the manner of their existence, 193; but to the first
and sometimes to the second kind we attribute continued existence,
while the third kind we regard as merely perceptions, 194 f.; 'all
impressions are internal and perishing existences, and appear as
such,' 194, 251 ; distinction of modern philosophy between impres-
sions which do and do not resemble the qualities of the objects
which produce them, 226 f. ; no impression from which idea of body
can be derived : touch cannot give it us, ' for though bodies are felt
by means of their solidity, yet the feeling is quite a different thing
from the solidity, and they have not the least resemblance to each
other,' 230.
§ 4 (z". Idea, § 2). Only associated by resemblance, 283, 343;
one impression related to another ' not only when their sensations
are resembling but also when their impulses or directions are similar
or correspondent,' 381, 384, 394; identity of impressions produces
a stronger connexion than the most perfect resemblance, 341 ;
impressions and passions capable of an entire union, as opposed to
ideas, 366; double relation of impressions and ideas, 286, 381
{v. Pride) ; no new impression and so no new passion produced by
association of ideas, 305, law of transition of, 342 ; opposed to that
of ideas, 342 ; an idea converted into an impression in sympathy,
317, even when the impression is not felt by any body, 370, 385.
§ 5. Whether it is by our impressions or ideas we distinguish
between virtue and vice, 456 f. (r. Moral, § i, 2) ; the impression
which distinguishes virtue and vice often mistaken for an idea
because it is soft and gentle, 470.
Indifiference = chance, 125, 408; liberty of, confused with liberty of
spontaneity, 407.
Indirect— and direct passions, 276; or oblique effect of custom, 197.
Indolence — why excused, 587.
Inference — {y. Belief, Cause), does not necessarily require three ideas,
97 «•
Infinite — divisibility of space and time, 26 f., of points, lines, etc., 44,
of quantity, 52.
Inhesion — no idea of substance or inhesion, 234.
Instinct — ' reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct
in our souls, which arises from past experience,' 179 ; as opposed to
reflexion = imagination as opposed to reason, 215; benevolence,
love of life, kindness to children, instincts originally implanted in
our natures, 417; the mind by an original instinct seeks to unite
670 INDEX.
Instinct.
itself with the good and to avoid the evil, 438 ; direct passions often
arise from an unaccountable instinct, 439.
Intention, 348, 349, 412, 461 and n.
Interest {v. Juslice) — sentiments from interest and morals apt to be
confounded, 473 ; imposes a natural as opposed to a moral obliga-
tion, 498, 546 ; and promises (q. v.), 519 f. ; the source of the three
fundamental ' laws of nature,' 526; and allegiance {v. Government),
537 f.; and chastity, 573.
Internal — opposed to external (q. v.), 464, 478 iy. Body, Identity).
Intuition— a source of knowledge and certainty, perceiving three out
of four demonstrable relations, viz., resemblance, contrariety, and
degree in any quality, 70 ; does not inform us of necessity of a cause
to a beginning of existence, 79.
Joy — and pride, 290 ; a mixture of, with grief produces hope and fear,
441 f.
Judgment.
§ 1. Does not necessarily imply union of two ideas, 96 « ; only
a form of conception, 'we can form a proposition which contains only
one idea,' 97 « ; judgments are ' perceptions,' 456 ; only judgments
can be unreasonable, not passions or actions, 416, 459; morality
more properly felt than judged of, 470 ; our judgments less voluntary
than our actions, 609.
§ 2. The object of the judgment a system of realities, loS ; con-
fusion between judgment and sensation in vision, 112; opposed to
imagination, as employing general rules to distinguish essential
from accidental circumstances in an antecedent, 147-149; and
understanding provide a natural remedy for the selfishness of men
by altering the direction of the passions, 489, 493 ; as contrasted
with memory has merit or demerit
Justice.
8 1. Produces pleasure and approbation by means of an aitifice
or contrivance, 477; the motive to acts of jnstice cannot be regard
to their justice, 477-480; nor can it be concern for our private
interest or reputation, since pure self-love is the source of all in-
justice, 480 ; nor regard to public interest, 481, 495 ; for there is no
such passion in human minds as the love of mankind merely as
such, 4S2 ; nor private benevolence, or regard to the interests of the
party concerned, 482; 'hence we must allow that the sense of
justice and injustice is not derived from nature, but arises artificially,
though necessarily, from education and human conventions,' 4S3
(cf. 530); artificial, but not therefore arbitrary: its rules are
the result of the ' intervention of thought and conception,' which
however is so obvious and necessary th«t it is really quite as natural
as anything else, 484 ; its rules may be called ' Laws of Nature,' if
INDEX. 671
Justice.
by 'Nature' we mean 'common to or inseparable from any species,'
484, 526; though a human invention, yet as immutable as human
nature, because based on so great an interest, 620.
§ 2. How the rules of justice and property are established by the
artifice of man, 484 f. ; though society increases man's power,
ability, and security, 485, yet in a savage state he is not sensible
of this, and so cannot produce society : but the natural appetite
between the iexes and concern for common offspring makes the first
beginning, 486 ; both the natural temper and outward circumstances
of man adverse to society, viz. his limited generosity, 'for each man
loves himself better than any other single person,' and the instability
and scarcity of such goods as can be possessed, 487 ; 'uncultivated
nature ' could never remedy this : justice at this stage can only mean
possession of the usual passions, viz. selfishness and partiality, so
the ' idea of justice is no remedy,' 488 ; the remedy is not derived
from Nature but from artifice ; or rather, ' Nature provides a remedy
in the judgment and understanding for what is irregular and in-
commodious in the affections,' 489 ; men remedy the instability of
possessions by a convefition, this restraint not being contrary to, but
in the interest of the passions, 489, 526; this convention not a
promise, ' only a general sense of common ittterest, which sense all
the members of the society express to one another,' like that of two
men rowing a boat, 490 ; after this arises immediately the idea of
justice, also those of property, obligation, and right, which are
unintelligible without the former, 491 ; vanity, pity, and love, being
social passions, assist, 491 ; in this convention it is only the direction
of the passions which is altered : there is no question of the goodness
or wickedness, but only of the sagacity or folly of man, 492 ; since
this convention is so simple, the savage state must be very short,
and 'man's very first state and situation may justly be esteemed
social ' ; the ' state of nature ' a philosophic fiction, 493 ; as the
'golden age' is a poetic, though it expresses a great truth, 494;
' strong, extensive benevolence ' cannot be the original motive of
justice, since it would render it unnecessary, 495 ; nor can reason,
496 ; the impressions which give rise to the sense of justice not
natural, but arise from artifice, otherwise no convention would be
necessary, 497 ; the connexion of the rules of justice with interest is
singular, for a single act of justice is often contrary both to public
and private interest, 497 (cf. 579).
§ 3. Why we annex the idea of virtue to justice ? 498 ; interest
the natural obligation to justice, the sentiment of right and wrong
the moral obligation, 498; by sympathy we take a general survey,
and perceive that injustice always brings uneasiness, hence the sense
of moral good and evil follows upon injustice, 499 ; ' self-interest is
the original motive to the establishment of justice, but a sympathy
672 INDEX.
Justice.
with public interest is the source of the moral approbation which
attends that virtue,' 500 ; political artifice assists this approbation,
but can never be the sole cause of the distinction we make between
vice and virtue, 500, 533; education and interest in our reputation
also assist, 501 ; ' though justice be artificial, the sense of its morality
is natural,' 619.
§ 4. The vulgar definition of justice, 'a constant and perpetual will
of giving every one his due,' supposes right and property independent
of justice, which is absurd, 526-7; justice and injustice do not
admit of gradations, therefore not naturally either virtuous or vicious,
since 'all natural qualities run insensibly into each other,' 530; the
laws of, being universal and perfectly inflexible, can never be derived
from nature, 532 ; government required to enforce justice, 535-538;
both natural and civil, derived from conventions, 543 ; the moral
obligation to, not so strong between states as between individuals,
because the natural obligation is weaker, 569 ; differs from the
natural virtues, because in them every single act is good, 579
(cf. 497).
Knowledge — opposed to probability, 69 f ; opposed to ' observation
and experience,' 81, 87; defined as 'the assurance arising from the
comparison of ideas,' as distinguished from that which arises from
' proofs,' i. e. arguments from cause and effect, and that which arises
from probability or the calculation of chances, 104 ; distinguished
from the assurance arising from memory, causation, and probability,
153; only four out of seven philosophical relations objects of know-
ledge and certainty, 70 ; three of these perceived by intuition, the
fourth by mathematical reasoning, 73 ; but all knowledge degenerates
into probability when we consider the fallibility of our faculties, 180
(». Scepticism) ; of men superior to that of animals, 326.
Labour — division of, increases man's ability, 485 ; theory that a man
has property in his labour, 505 n.
Language — arises from convention without promise, 490.
Law — implies doctrine of necessity which alone explains responsibility,
411 ; rules of justice may be called ' Laws of Nature,' 4S4 ; laws of
nature invented by man, 520, 526, 543 ; positive, a title to govem-
Dient, 561 ; laws of nations and of nature, 567.
Liberty {v. Necessity), 400 i. ; madmen have no liberty, 404 ; can only
= chance, 407 ; confusion between liberty of spontaneity and liberty
of indifference, ' between that which is opposed to violence and that
which means a negation of necessity and causes,' 407 ; false sensation
of liberty : fallacious experiment to prove it, 408 ; the doctrine of,
and religion, 409 ; and choice, 461 n ; 'it is not a just consequence
that what is voluntary is free,' 609.
INDEX. 673
Zjiveliness — of impressions, 98 f., 119; vagueness of term, 105 {v. idea).
Locke— his misuse of word ' idea,' 2 ; cited, 35 ; argument to prove
necessity of a cause, 81 ; on idea of power, 157.
Logic — rules of, 175.
Love.
§ 1. And hatred, 329 f. ; explained in same way as pride (q. v.)
and humility; their object is 'some other person, of whose thoughts,
actions, and sensations we are not conscious,' 229 (cf. 482) ; 'some
person or thinking being,' 331; experiment to confirm this, 332;
transition from love to pride easier than that from pride to love,
339-
§ 2. Difficulties in this theory, 347 f. ; we do not love or hate a
man unless either the quality in him which pleases or displeases us
be constant and inherent in him, or unless he does it from design
which points to certain permanent qualities in him which remain
after the action is performed, 348 (cf. 609) ; the man's design affects
us by sympathy with his esteem or hatred of us, 349 ; we love
relations and acquaintance apart from any direct pleasure they
afford us, 352 ; because our connexion with them is always giving
ns new lively ideas by sympathy, and every lively idea is pleasant,
353 ; sympathy with others is agreeable ' only by giving an emotion
to the spirits,' 354.
§ 3. Always attended with a desire, which distinguishes it from
pride, which is a pure emotion in the soul, 367 ; its conjunction with
a desire is arbitrary, original, and instinctive, 368.
8 4. Between the sexes, derived from the conjunction of three
different impressions or passions, 394 ; produces the first rudiments
of society, 486.
§ 5. Self-love not love in proper sense, 329 ; self-love the source
of all injustice, 480 ; ' no such passion in human minds as love of
mankind merely as such,' 481 ; ' man in general ' or human nature
the object but not the cause of love, 482 ; a social passion, 491 ;
dejects the soul like humility, 391 ; love and hatred of animals, 397 ;
love of truth, 448 f.
§ 6. Virtue = power of our mental qualities to produce pride and
love, 575; why the same qualities in all cases produce both pride
and love, humility and hatred, 589 ; we praise all passions which
partake of love, e. g. benevolence, because love is immediately
agreeable to the person actuated by it, 604 ; and because the tran-
sition of love to love is peculiarly easy, 605 ; praise and blame a
fainter love and hatred, 614; love and esteem, 608 n.
Loyalty — rigid, akin to superstition, 562,
Malbranche — on power, 158, 249.
Malezieu, 30.
Malice — and envy, 371 f . ; is pity reversed : the misery of others gives
674 INDEX.
Malice.
us a more lively idea of our own happiness, 375 ; against ourselves,
376; mixture of with hatred by means of relation through parallel
directions, 380 f.
Man — his need of society, 4S5 ; ' man in general ' not the cause but
only the object of love and hatred, 481 ; no question of original
goodness of man but only of his sagacity, 492 ; human nature
composed of affections and understanding which are requisite in
all its actions, 493; superior to animals (q. v.) chiefly by superiority
of his reason, human nature the ' only science of man,' 273 ; a
man is a bundle or collection of different perceptions, 252, 634 (».
Identity, § 4).
Material — cause, 171.
Mathematics — mathematical points, nature of ideas of, 38 f. ; defini-
tions of, consistent with theory of indivisible parts of extension,
though its demonstrations are inconsistent with it, 42 ; objects of,
really exist because we have clear ideas of them, 45 ; demonstrations
of geometry not properly so called, because founded on ideas which
are not exact, 45 f., e. g. idea of perfect equality in geometry a
fiction, 48 ; right lines, 49 ; plane surfaces, 50 ; inferior exactness of
geometry to that of arithmetic and algebra, 71 ; value of geometry,
72 ; no mystery in ideas which are objects of mathematics since
copied from impressions, 72 ; mathematical necessity depends on an
act of the understanding, 166 ; demonstrations of only probable,
especially when long, 180; subject to imagination, 19S (^cf. 48).
Matter.
8 1. — and force according to Cartesians, 159 ; or substance, a
fiction to support the simplicity and identity of bodies, 219 f. {v.
body); homogeneity of in Peripatetic philosophy, 221; implies
powers of resistance, 564.
§ 2.— and mind (q. v.) 232 f . ; the greater part of beings exist out
of local relation to extended body, i. e. have no local conjunction
with matter, 235 ; the materialists wrong in conjoining all thought
with extension, as also are those who conjoin it with a simple indi-
visible substance, 239, as does Spinoza who supposes a unity of sub-
stance in which both thought and matter inhere, 241 (cf 244).
— or motion as the cause of ottr perceptions, 246 f. ; a priori no
reason why matter should not cause thought, 247 ; as a matter of
fact we find matter or motion has a constant conjunction with
thought, ' since every one may perceive that the different dispositions
of the body change his thouglits and sentiments,' 248 ; thus matter
may be and is the cause of thought and perception, 248.
83. — actions of, necessary, but only through a determination of
the mind produced by constant union, 400 ; ' I do not ascril)e to will
that unintelligible necessity which is supposed to lie in matter, but
ascribe to matter that intelligible quality, call it necessity or not.
INDEX. 675
Matter.
which the most rigorons orthodoxy does or must allow to belong to
the will,' 410.
Matter of fact — the conclusion of all reasoning from cause and effect,
94 ; opposed to relations of ideas, 463 (of. 413) ; {v. Fact).
Memory— and imagination, 8 f , 108, 117 « (cf. 265, 370 w, 628) ; has
no power of varying order and position of simple ideas, 9 ; but this
property not perceivable by us, so the difference between it and
imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity, 85 ; ideas of,
equivalent to impressions, 82, 83 ; attended by belief, 86 ; the
system of impressions or ideas of memory is real, and is con-
trasted with that system which is the object of the judgment, 108 ;
assurance derived from, almost equals that of demonstration or know-
ledge, and superior to that derived from arguments from cause and
effect, 153 ; a source of belief in continued and distinct existence of
perceptions, 199, 209; not only discovers but produces personal
identity, 261, though from another point of view the converse is
true, 262; 'of all faculties has least vice or virtue in its several
degrees,' 370 « ; though extremely useful yet is exerted without any
sense of pleasure and pam, and so has no merit while the judgment
always has, 613.
Merit {v. Moral) — implies something constant and durable in the
man, and thus requires the doctrine of necessity, 411 ; depends on
motives (q.v.), 477 f.
Metaphysics, 31, 32, 190.
[Method] — of agreement and difference, 300, 301, 311, 33J.
Mind {v. Identity, § 4).
§1. A. 'Is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions
united together by certain relations (cf. 636) and supposed, though
falsely, to be endowed with a perfect simplicity or identity,' so there
is no absurdity in separating any particular perception from the
mind, nor in conjoining an object to the mind, 207 {v. Identity,
251 f.) ; ' is a kind of theatre : there is properly no simplicity in it at
one time, nor identity in different' : but the comparison of the theatre
must not mislead us, for ' they are the successive perceptions alone
which constitute the mind,' 253; compared to a republic or com-
TOonwealth, 261 ; ' the true idea of the human mind is to consider it
as a system of different perceptions or different existences which are
linked together by the relation of cause and effect, and mutually pro-
duce, destroy, and influence one another,' 261.
B. Is like a string instrument, the passions slowly dying away,
441 (cf. 576); only qualities of the mind virtuous or vicious, 574;
some 'durable principles of the mind required for virtue or vice,' 575;
the minds of all men similar in their feelings and operations, 576;
has the command over all its ideas, and so belief cannot be an idea,
624 ; ' it is almost impossible for the mind to change its character
676 INDEX.
Mind.
in any considerable article,' 60S ; the intellectual world has no sUch
contradictions as the natural: 'what is known concerning; it agrees
with itself, and what is unknown we must be content to leave so,'
232 ; * the perceptions of the mind are perfectly known,' 366
(cf. 175).
§ 2. A. Its immateriality, 332-250 ; we have no idea of the
substance of the mind because no impression, 232 ; if substance
means something which can exist by itself, then perceptions are
substances, 233 ; nor have we any idea of inhesion, 234 ; the question
concerning the substance of the mind is absolutely unintelligible,
250.
B. Its local conjunction with matter: it is argued that thought
and extension are wholly incompatible and therefore the soul
must be immaterial, 234; now it is true that the greater part of
beings exist and yet are nowhere, viz. all objects and perceptions
except those of sight and touch, 235, and others to which im-
agination gives local position, 237 ; hence the materialists wrong
who conjoin all thought with extension (q. v.), 239 ; yet there
are impressions and ideas really extended, 240 ; the doctrine of
the immateriality, indivisibility, and simplicity of a thinking sub-
stance is a true atheism and will justify all Spinoza's infamous
opinions, 241 ; Spinoza says the universe of objects is a modification
of a simple subject, theologians that the universe of thought is a
modification of a simple substance, 242 ; both views unintelligible
and equally absurd, 243-4, and result in a dangerous and irrecover-
able atheism, 244; it is just the same if you call thought an action
instead of a modification of the soul, 245, 246; the cause of our
perceptions may be and is matter (q.v.) and motion, 247-S.
Miraculous — opposed to 'natural,' 474.
Miser — illustration from, 314.
Modes — a kind of complex ideas produced by association, 13; and sub-
stances, 1 7 ; Spinoza's theory of modes or modifications compared
with that of the ' theologians,' 242-4 (z/. Mind, § 2 15).
Modesty, 570 f.
Monarchy — originates in war, not in patriarchal government, 541.
Moral.
§ 1. Moral distinctions not derived from reason, 455 f. ; 'is
morality like truth discerned merely by ideas and by their juxta-
position and comparison?' is virtue conformity to reason, 456: (a)
'since morals have an influence on the actions and affections it fol-
lows they cannot be derived from reason, '45 7, because reason is wholly
inactive and can never be the source of so active a principle as con-
science or a sense of morals, 45S (cf. 413 f.) ; {l> ) since passions,
volitions and actions are ' original facts and realities complete in
themselves, they cannot be either true or false, contrary or conform-
INDEX. 677
Moral.
able to reason,' 458 ; (c) though an action can improperly be called
false as it causes or is obliquely caused by a false judgment, yet this
falsehood does not constitute its immorality, 459 : for (i) as caused
by a false judgment, such errors are only mistakes of fact and not a
defect in moral character; a mistake of right again cannot be the
original source of immorality, for it implies an antecedent right
and wrong, 460; (ii) as causing false judgments— such false judg-
ments take place in others not in ourselves, and another man's mistake
cannot make my action vicious, 461 (of. 597); Wollaston's theory
would make inanimate objects vicious, since they also cause mistakes,
461 n; and if no mistake is made, then there is no vice, 461, 462 n;
the argument also is circular, and leaves unexplained why truth is
virtuous and falsehood vicious, 462 « ; (d) morality is neither a rela-
tion of objects nor a matter of fact, and therefore not an object of the
understanding, 463 f.; (i) it is not a demonstrable relation, 464 and n;
there exists no relation which lies solely between external objects and
internal actions, 465 ; all the relations we can find in ingratitude exist
also between inanimate objects, 466; and all which belong to incest
exist also between animals, 467 ; every animal is capable of the same
relations as man, 468 ; also it is impossible to show how any relations
could be universally obligatory, 465-6; (ii) morality is no matter of
fact which can be discovered by the understanding, 468 ; it is impos-
sible to discover in wilful murder the matter of fact or real existence
which you call vice : you can only find a sentiment of disapprobation in
your own breast, ' here is a matter of fact but it is the object of feeling
not of reason,' 469 (cf. 517) ; 'when you pronounce any action or
character to be vicious you mean nothing but that from the constitu-
tion of your nature you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from the
contemplation of it' (cf. 591) ; vice and virtue therefore may be com-
pared to colours, sounds, heat and cold, which according to the
modern philosophy are not qualities in objects but perceptions in the
mind, 469 (cf. 589) ; this discovery in morals of great speculative but
little practical importance, 469 ; each of the virtues excites a dif-
ferent feeling of approbation, 607; approbation or blame 'nothing
but a fainter and more imperceptible love or hatred,' 614; 'a conveni-
ent house and a virtuous character cause not the same feeling of appro-
bation, though the source of our approbation be the same,' ' there is
something very inexplicable in this variation of our feelings,' 617.
§ 2. Moral distmctions derived from a moral sense, 470 f. (cf.
612); morality more properly felt than judged of, though this feeling
is so soft and gentle that it is confounded with an idea, 470 ; we dis-
tinguish virtue and vice by particular pleasures and pains; ' we do not
inter a character to be virtuous because it pleases ; but in feeling that
it pleases after such a particular manner we in effect feel that it is
virtuous,' 47 1, 547, 574; this particular kind of pleasure feels different
678 INDEX.
Moral.
from all other pleasures : it is only excited (a) by the character and
sentiments of a person, 472, 575 (cf. 607, 617) ; {b) and only by these
when considered in general without reference to our particular in-
terest, 473 (cf. 499^ {v. Sympathy) ; (c) it must have the power of
producing pride (q. v.), 473 (cf- 675)5 it is not produced in every
instance by an 'original quality and primary constitution,' 473;
whether these principles are natural depends on the different senses
of 'natural,' 474-5 ; it is at all events most unphilosophical to say
that virtue is the same with what is n;itural, 475 ; it only remains to
show 'why any action or sentiment upon the general view and survey
gives a certain satisfaction and uneasiness,' 475 (cf. 591) {v. Sympathy).
§ 3. A. Moral approbation. Sense of right and wrong different
from sense of interest, 498 (cf. 523) ; in society the interest which
leads to justice becomes remote but is perceived by sympathy with
others, 499 ; and since everything which gives uneasiness in human
actions upon the general survey is called vice, hence the sense of
moral good and evil follows upon justice and injustice, 499 ; self-
interest the original motive to the establishment of justice, but a
sympathy (q. v.) with public interest is the source of the moral
approbation which attends that virtue, 500, 533 ; political artifice
can only strengthen not produce this approbation : nature furnishes
the materials and gives us some notion of moral distinctions,
500, 578 (cf. 619).
B. Our sense of virtue like that of beauty rests on sympathy, viz.
sympathy chiefly with the pleasure which a quality or character
tends to give the possessor, 577 ; though our sympathies vary, yet
our moral judgments do not vary with them ; for ' we fix on some
steady and general points of view, and always in our thoughts place
ourselves in them whatever may be our present situation,' 58/ (cf.
602) ; thus we only consider the effect of the character of a person
on those who have intercourse with him and disregard its effect on
ourselves, 5S2 (cf. 596, 602); again, though a character produces no
actual good to any one with which we could sympathise, we still
consider it virtuous, 584; owing to the influence of general rules
(q. v.) on imagination, 585 ; we always regard benevolence as virtuous
because we judge by a 'general and unalterable standard,' 603;
through sympathy the same man is always virtuous and vicious to
others who is so to himself, and through it we are even able to blame
a quality advantageous to ourselves if it displeases others, 589
(cf- 59O- . ^ ^
C. The sentiments of virtue and vice arise either from the mere
ipecies or appearance of characters and ])assions, or from reflexions
on their tendency to the happiness of mankind or of particular persons,'
589; the latter the most important source of our judgments of beauty
and virtue; but wit is 'a quality immediately agreeable to others.'
INDEX. 679
Moral.
590 ; some qualities called virtuous because immediately agreeable
to the person who possesses them, 590 ; four different sources of the
pleasure we feel in the mere survey of qualities, 591 ; we deliberately
exclude our own interest and only admit that of the person or his
neighbours which touches us more faintly than our own, ' yet being
more constant and durable ' counterbalance the latter even in practice,
591 ; an action only approved as the sign of some 'durable prin-
ciples of the mind ' (z;. Character), 575.
D. ' Any quality of the mind is virtuous which causes love or
pride,' 575 (cf. 473) ; pride and humility are called virtuous and
vicious according as they are agreeable or disagreeable to others
without any reflexions on their tendency, 592; 'the utility and
advantage of any quality to ourselves is a source of virtue as well as
its agreeableness to others,' 596 ; our own sensations determine the
vice and virtue of any quality as well as those sensations which it
may excite in others, 597 (cf. 461, 582, 591) ; we praise the passions
akin to love because it is immediately agreeable to the person
actuated by it, 604 ; we praise characters akin to our own because
we have an immediate sympathy with them, 604 (cf. 596) ; not all
angry passions vicious though disagreeable, 605.
^ 4. Why do we distinguish natural abilities from moral virtues ?
606 f. (». Natural) ; both are mental qualities which produce pleasure
and have an equal tendency to procure the love and esteem of man-
kind, 607 ; reasons suggested are, (i) that they produce a different
feeling of approbation ; but so does each single virtue, 607 (cf. 617) ;
(2) that they are involuntary ; but many virtues and vices are equally
involuntary, and there is no reason why virtue should not be as
involuntary as beauty, 608 ; also even if the virtues are voluntary
they are not therefore free, 609 ; but still virtues or the actions pro-
ceeding from them can be altered by rewards or praise, while natural
abilities cannot, hence the distinction made between them by
moralists and politicians, 609 ; * it belongs to Grammarians to examine
what qualities are entitled to the denomination of \irtue,' 610 ;
memory of all faculties has least vice or virtue in its several degrees,
because it is exerted without any sensation of pleasure or pain, 612.
§ 5. ' There is just so much virtue and vice in any character as
every one places in it, and 'tis impossible in this particular we can
ever be mistaken,' there is a moral obligation to submit to govern-
ment because every one thinks so, 547 ; ' the general opinion of man-
kind has some authority in all cases, but in this of morals it is
perfectly infallible,' and none the less so because it cannot explain
the principles on which it is founded, 552 ; can there be a right or
a wrong taste in morals, eloquence, or beauty? 547 «.
§ 6. A. Morality depends on motives (q. v.), ' virtuous actions de-
rive their merit from virtuous motives and are considered as signs of
68o INDEX.
Moral.
those motives,' ' we must look within to find the moral quality,' ' the
external performance has no merit,' 477, 575 ; but ' no action can be
virtuous or morally good unless there is in human nature some
motive to produce it distinct from the sense of its morality,' 479 (of.
518. 523)-
B. Passions (q. v.) are moral or immoral according as they are
exercised or not with their natural and usual force, 483-4 ; before
society exists, morality = the usual force of the passions, e.g. selfish-
ness and partiality are virtuous, 4S8 (cf. 518); 'every immorality is
derived from some defect or unsoundness of the passions, which must
be judged of in great measure from the ordinary course of nature
in the constitution of the mind,' 48S ; 'all morality depends on the
ordinary course of our passions and actions,' 532 (cf. 547, 552,
581).
§ 7. Doctrine of necessity not only harmless to morality but
essential to it, 409-412 (cf. 375) {v. Necessity, Will); moral philo-
sophy, 175, 282 ; abstruse speculations in morals carry conviction
owing to the interest of the subject, 453.
Moral and natural — beauty, 300 ; evidence, 404, 406 ; obligation, 545
(v. Natural).
Moral and physical, 171.
Moral obligation, 517, 523, 547, 569 {v. Obligatioti).
Motion— Cartesian theory of God as prime mover, 159 ; cannot be real
if we accept the modern distinction between primary and secondary
qualities, 228 f. ; or matter, the cause of our perceptions, 246 f. ; 'we
find by comparing their ideas that thought and motion are ditTerent
from each other, and by experience that they are constantly united,'
which are 'all the circumstances which enter into the idea of cause
(q. V.) and effect,' 248.
Motive.
§ 1. {v. Necessity, § 400 f.). Actions have a constant union with
motives, temper, and circumstances, 400, hence an inference from
one to the other, 401 ; desire of showing liberty a motive of action,
408 ; force not essentially different from any other motive, 525 ; the
influencing motives of the will, 413 f. ; reason alone can never be a
motive to the will, 414 f.
§ 2. ' When we praise any actions we regard only the motives that
produced them' (w. C;^arar/«r), when we blame a man for not doing any
action we blame him as not being influenced by the proper motive of
that action, 477 (cf. 483, 488, 518, where a virtuous motive appears
as a usual passion on any occasion) : ' the first motive that bestows
merit on any action can never be a regard to the virtue of that action
but must be some other natural motive or principle,' 478 (cf 518) ;
' no action can be virtuous or morally good unless there is in human
nature sf)me motive to produce it distinct from the sense of its
INDEX. 68 T
Motive.
morality,' though afterwards the sense of morality or duty may pro-
duce an action without any other motive, 479, 518; the motive to
acts of justice or honesty distinct from regard to the honesty, 480 f.,
is sense of interest directed by reflexion, 489 ; when this interest be-
comes remote and general and only felt by sympathy it becomes
moral, 499 ; 'self-interest the original motive to the establishment of
justice, but a sympathy with public interest is the source of the moral
approbation which attends that virtue,' 500 {v. Justice),
Names — common : their function in forming ideas of substances, 16,
in making abstract ideas generally representative, 20; used without
a clear idea, 162.
Nationality— sense of, 317.
Nations — Laws of, 567 f. ; the moral obligation to observe them not so
strong as in the case of individuals, 569 ; ' national and private
morality,' 569.
Natural —
§1. Opposed io p/it7oso/>AtcaI relations, 13, 170 (v. Cause, § 6 C) ;
opposed to normal : our false reasonings are only natural as a
malady is natural, 226 ; opposed to artificial (q. v.), 117, 475, 489,
526, 619 ; opposed to original, 280, aSl ; = original, 368; opposed
to miraculous, 474 ; opposed to rare and unusual, 549 (cf. 483) ;
opposed to civil, 528 ; our civil duties chiefly invented for the sake
of our natural, 543 ; and moral evidence, 404, 406.
§ 2. and moral obligation (q.v.), 475 «, 491 ; no natural obligation
to perform promises, 516 f. ; there is only a natural obligation to an
act when it is required by a natural passion, when we have an in-
clination towards it as we have to humanity and the other natural
virtues, 518, 519, 525 (cf. 546); natural obligation = interest, 551 ;
moral obligation varies with natural, 569 ; most unphilosophical to
say that virtue is the same with what is natural, 475 ; the natural
virtttes or vices are those which have no dependance on the artifice
and contrivance of man, 574 f. (cf. 530); those qualities which we
naturally approve of have a tendency to the good of mankind and
render a man a proper member of society, 578 (cf. 528) ; e.g. meek-
ness, beneficence, charity, generosity, equity, 578 ; the good which
results from the natural virtues results from every single act, while
it does not result from single acts of justice, 579 (cf. 497) ; natural
abilities, why distinguished from moral virtues, 606 f. {v. Moral, § 4).
Nature —
§ 1. Operations of, ' independent of our thought and reasoning,'
viz. relations of contiguity, successions and resemblance, 168; com-
plexity of, 175 ; few and simple principles in, 282, 473, 528 (cf. 578);
natural world more full of contradictions than intellectual, 232.
§ 2. ' By an absolute and uncontrollable necessity, has determined
Z
682 INDEX.
Nature.
us to jiK^ge as well as to breathe and feel,' 183 ; compels the sceptic
to assent to the existence of body, 187; determines the object of
pride, 286-8 ; not opposed to habit, for ' habit is nothing but one of
the principles of nature, and derives all its force from that origin,'
179; inconstancy of human nature, 283; opposed to interest and
education as origin of virtue, 295 ; nature = the original constitution
of the mind, an arbitrarj' and original instinct, 36S (of. 280-1) ;
= that which is common to or inseparable from any species, 4S4.
§ 3. The state of A'ature, a philosophic fiction, 493 ; like the
poetic fiction of a golden age, 494 ; in a state of nature no property
and no promises, 501 ; man's very first state and condition may
justly be esteemed social, 493 ; Laws of Nature, 484, 520, 526, 543
{v. Justice, §1); not abolished by laws of nations, 567.
Necessary — connexion {v. Cause), § 6 A, § 9 C, § 10.
Necessity — and Liberty of the Will, 400 f.
§ 1. Operations of external bodies necessary and determined by
an ' absolute fate' : this necessity only a determination of mind pro-
duced by constant union, 400 (cf. 165); our actions have a similar
constant union with our motives and circumstances, and therefore
a similar necessity, 401 ; nor does the acknowledged capriciousness
of human actions remove the necessity, for (i) contrary experience
either reduces certainty to probability or makes us suppose contrary
and concealed causes, the apparent chance or indifference only being
due to our ignorance, 404 (cf. 130, 132) ; (2) madmen are generally
allowed to have no liberty, though there is no regularity in their
actions, 404 ; moral evidence implies an inference from actions to
motives, 404 ; also the easy combination of natural and moral
evidence, 406; Liberty thus can only = chance, 407.
§ 2. Three reasons for the prevalence of the doctrine of Liberty,
(i) Confusion between liberty of spontaneity and liberty of indif-
ference, 407 (cf. 609); (2) a false sensation or experience of the
liberty of indifference : the necessity of an action is not a quality in
the agent but in the spectator (cf. 165); and liberty is only an ab-
sence of determination in the spectator's mind, and = indifference,
which is often felt by the agent but seldom by the spectator, 408 ;
false experiment on part of agent to prove his liberty, 408 ; a spec-
tator can generally infer our actions from our motives and character,
and when he cannot it is due to his ignorance, 40S ; (3) religion,
409 (cf. 271, 241). 'I do not ascribe to will that unintelligible
necessity which is supposed to lie in matter, but ascribe to matter
that intelligible quality . . . which the most rigorous orthodoxy does
or must allow to belong to the will,' 410.
§ 3. Further, this kind of necessity essential to religion and
morality, without it there could be no law, no merit or demerit, no
responsibility, 411 (cf. 575); no distinction between ignorantly and
INDEX. 683
Necessity.
knowingly, between deliberately and cksnally, no forgiveness or
repentance, 412; voluntariness of natural abilities and moral virtues
compared, 608 f. ; a mental quality need not be entirely voluntary in
order to produce approbation in the spectator, 609; 'free virill has
no place with regard to the actions no more than the qualities of
men'; 'it is not a just consequence that what is voluntary is free'
(cf. 407) ; ' our actions are more voluntary than our judgments, but
we have not more liberty in the one than in the other,' 609.
Object.
§ 1. Distinguished from cause of pride and humility, 277, 286,
3S7, 304, 305, 330 (cf. 482) ; of love and hatred, 329, 331.
§ 2. {v. Body, Coherence, Constancy, Custom, Existence, § 3,
Identity, Perception).
A. Experiences united by a common object which produces them,
140; animals cannot feel pride in external (q. v.) objects, 326 ; idea
of self nothing without perception of other objects, and so compels
us to turn our view to external objects, 340.
B. The question of the existence of external objects = the question
of the continued and distinct existence of perceptions, 18S; the
vulgar think that perceptions are their only objects, 193, 202, 206,
209, and yet some perceptions they regard as merely perceptions,
others they regard as having continued and distinct existence, 192 ;
this distinction due to imagination, 194, which leads us to mistake
a succession of resembling impressions for an identical object, 203,
254 ; philosophers invent the double existence of objects and per-
ceptions, 211 f. ; but even if objects exist differently from perceptions
you can never argue from the existence of the latter to that of the
former, 212, still less to their resemblance, 216, 217; the modern
distinction between primary and secondary qualities annihilates
external objects and reduces us to a most extravagant scepticism
concerning them, 226-231.
C. When external objects are felt they acquire a relation to
a connected heap of perceptions which we call the mind, 207 ; 'no
external object can make itself known to the mind immediately and
without the interposition of an image or perception,' 'this table which
now appears to me is only a perception,' 239 ; ' the idea of a per-
ception and of an object cannot represent what are specifically
different from one another,' we must either conceive an external
object as a relation without a relative or make it the very same
with an impression or perception, 241 ; hence whatever relations we
can discover between objects will hold good between impressions,
but not conversely, 242.
Obligation.
§ 1. Unintelligible without an antecedent morality, 462 n (cf.
684 INDEX.
Obligation.
491) ; universal, of virtue not explained l)y those who derive morality
from reason, ' 'tis one thing to know virtue, and another to conform
the will to it,' 465-6 ; impossible to will an obligation, 517, 523, 524,
a new obligation supposes new sentiments to arise, and ' the will
never creates new sentiments,' 51S; obligations do not admit of
degrees, 529 ; though we imagine them to do so, 531.
§ 2. Interest the natural obligation to justice (q. v. § 3), the senti-
ment of right and wrong the moral obligation, 498 ; of promises
(q. v.), not natural, 516; when an action or quality of the mind
' pleases us after a certain manner we say it is virtuous, and when
the neglect or non-performance of it displeases us after a like manner,
we say that we lie under an obligation to perform it,' 517 ; there is
only a natural obligation to an act when it is required by a natural
passion, but there is no natural inclination leading us to perform
promises as there is leading us to humanity and the natural virtues,
5J^> 519 (cf- 546); interest the first obligation to performance of
promises : afterwards a sentiment of morals concurs and creates
a new obligation, 522, 523; the fact that force invalidates promises
shows they have no natural obligation, 525 ; oliligation of allegiance,
541 {v. Government, § 2) ; there is a separate interest and therefore
a separate obligation in obedience to the magistrate and the per-
formance of promises, 544 ; and also there is a separate moral obli-
gation in each, 546 ; there is a moral obligation to submit to govern-
ment because every one thinks so, 547 ; the natural obligation to
allegiance ceases when the interest ceases, but the moral obligation
continues owing to the influence of general rules, 551 ; the strength
of the moral obligation varies with that of the natural, 569, 573.
Occasion — and cause, no distinction between, 171.
Occupation — and property, 505 f.
Original — and secondary impressions, 275-6; distinguished from
natural, 280, 281 ; whether virtue founded on original principles,
295; original constitution of the mind = nature, 36S (cf. 372);
original instinct of the mind to unite itself with the good, 438.
' Ought ' not distinguished from ' is,' nor explained by popular morality,
469.
Passions.
g 1. Are secondary impressions (q. v. § i) or impressions of reflex-
ion, i.e. they proceed from some original impression of sensation,
'either immediately or by the interposition of its idea,' 275 (cf. 7,
119); reflective impressions are calm or violent; the passions of
love, joy, pride, and their opposites belong to the violent class,
though the division is not exact, 276; divided into direct and indi-
rect : the direct, e. g. desire, aversion, grief, joy, hope, lear, despair,
security, arise immediately from good or evil, from pain or pleasure;
INDEX, 655
Passions
the indirect, e. g. pride, humility, ambition, vanity, love, hatred,
pity, envy, malice, generosity, proceed from the same principles but
by conjunction of other qualities, 276 (cf. 438).
§ 2. T/ie indirect passions (v. Pride). Conversion of the idea of
a passion into the very passion itself by sympathy (q. v.) 319 (cf.
576) ; association of ideas can never give rise to any passion, 305-6 ;
law of the transition of passions opposed to that of the imagination
and ideas, since passions pass most easily from strong to weak, 341-
2 ; in case of conflict the law of the passions prevails over that of the
imagination, 344-5, but its scope is less, since passions are asso-
ciated only by resemblance, 343 ; passions * susceptible of an entire
union,' 366 (cf. 441) ; ' 'tis not the present sensation or momentary
pain or pleasure which determines the character of any passion but
the general bent or tendency of it from beginning to end,' 385 (cf.
190) ; a transition of passions may arise from (i) a double relation
of impressions and ideas, (2) a conformity in tendency and direction
of any two desires ; when sympathy with uneasiness is weak it pro-
duces hatred by the former cause, when strong it produces love by
the latter, 385 (cf. 420) ; any emotion attendant on a passion easily
converted into it, even though contrary to it and with no relation
to it, 419 ; double relation of impressions, and ideas only necessary to
production of a passion, not to its transformation into another, 420
(cf. 385) ; hence passions made more violent by opposition, uncer-
tainty, concealment, absence, 421-2; custom has most power to
increase and diminish passions, 422; imagination influences the
vivacity of our ideas of good and ill, and so our passions, 424,
especially by sympathy, 427 ; influence of contiguity and distance in
space and time, 427 f. ; indirect passions often increase the force of
the direct, 439 ; hope and fear caused by a mi.xture of grief and joy,
441 ; contrariety of passions results in (i) their alternate existence,
(2) mutual destruction, (3) mixture, 441 (cf. 278); this depends on
relation of ideas, 443 ; probability and passion, 444 f. ; love of
truth and curiosity, 448 f. ; vanity, pity, and love, social passions,
491.
§ 3. A. IVii/ (q. v.) and the direct passions and Reason (q. v.),
399 f. ; will and direct passions exist and are produced in animals in
the same way as in men, 448 ; will an immediate effect of pleasure and
pain but not strictly a passion, 399 (cf. 438) ; passions never produced
by reasoning, only directed by it ; they arise only from the prospect of
pain or pleasure, hence reason can never be any motive to the will, 414,
492, 521, 526 {v. Moral, § i) ; reason can never dispute the preference
with any passion or emotion, thus ' reason is and ought only to be the
slave of the passions,' 415, 457-8 ; ' the moment we perceive the false-
hood of any supposition or the insufficiency of any means, our passions
yield to our reason without any opposition,' 416 ; passions cannot be
686 INDEX.
Passions.
contrary to reason or truth, since they are original existences and not
representative, 415, 458 ; they can only be contrary to reason so far
as accompanied by some judgment, and then it is not the passion but
the judgment which is unreasonable ; ' 'tis not contrary to reason to
prefer any acknowledged lesser good to any greater,' 416,
B. Calm passions or desires often confounded with reason because
they produce little emotion, e. g. benevolence, and love of life, and
' general appetite to good and aversion to evil considered as such,' 417
(cf. 437) » calm passions often determine the will in opposition to
the violent; ' 'tis not the present uneasiness alone which determines
men ' ; ' strength of mind ' = ' prevalence of the calm passions
above the violent,' 41S; calm passions to be distinguished from
weak, violent from strong ; a calm passion is one 'which has become
a settled principle of action,' 419 (cf. 631) ; the affections and under-
standing make up human nature and both are requisite in all its
actions, 493 ; our passions often refuse to follow our reason, 'which
is nothing but a general calm determination of the passions founded
on some distant view or reflexion,' 5S3.
C. Desire and direct passions, 438 ; ' arise from good considered
simply, and aversion is derived from evil,' 439 ; ' besides good and
evil, or in other words pain or pleasure, the direct passions frequently
arise from a natural impulse and instinct which is perfectly unac-
countable,' e. g. desire of punishment to enemies and happiness to
friends, hunger, lust, and a few other bodily appetites ; ' these pas-
sions strictly speaking produce good and evil, and proceed not from
them like the other affections,' 439.
§ 4. Passions praised and blamed according as they are exercised
with their natural and usual force, 483 ; our sense of duty always
follows the common and natural course of our passions, 4S4 ; in the
condition of man before society, selfishness and partiality are the
usual passions and therefore praiseworthy, 488 ; ' every immorality is
derived from some defect or unsoundness of the passions,' 4S8 ;
a natural passion or inclination towards an act constitutes a natural
obligation to do it, 518; 'all morality depends on the ordinary
course of our passions and actions,' 532 ; praise and blame nothing
but a fainter and more imperceptible love and hatred, 614 {v. Aloral,
§ 5. Personal identity as it concerns our passions to be distinguished
from personal identity as it concerns our thought and imagination,
253 ; philosophy of our passions distinguished from strict philosophy
in the matter of 'power,' 311.
Patriarchal theory of origin of government, 541.
Patriotism — 306; anti- patriotic bias explained, 307.
Perception.
^ 1. Divided into impressions and ideas (q. v.), i ; simple and
INDEX. 687
Perception.
complex, 2 ; opposed to reasoning as passive to active, * a mere
passive admission of the impressions through the organs of sensation,'
73 ; may be and is caused by matter or motion, 246 f. ; includes
judgment, 456.
§2. Contimied and distinct existence of perceptions, 187 f. (of.
66), {v. Object)', belief in this not derived from senses, 18S-193;
nor reason, 193, but imagination, 194 f.; it is the coherence and
constancy of certain perceptions which makes us suppose their con-
tinued existence, 194, and distinguish between their existence and
appearance, 199; the opinion of their distinct and continued exist-
ence is 'contrary to the plainest experience,' 210; the philosophic
distinction between perceptions and objects is only ' a palliative
remedy' and contains all the faults of the vulgar system with some of
its own, 21 1 ; impossible to reason from existence of perceptions to
that of objects, still more to their resemblance, 216, or to the re-
semblance of particular objects and perceptions, 217 ; our senses tell
us that perceptions are our only objects, imagination tells us that
our perceptions continue to exist even when not perceived, reflexion
tells us that this is false and yet we continue to believe it, 214; the
vulgar make no distinction between perceptions and objects, 193,
202, 206, 209; though they consider that some of their perceptions
have a continued and distinct existence and that some have not but
are 'merely perceptions,' 192 ; the externality of our perceptions to
ourselves not felt, 1 90-191 ; ' our idea of a perception and an object
cannot represent what are specifically different from each other,'
241 ; the interposition of a perception or image necessary to make
an external object known to the mind, 239 ; all discoverable relations
of objects apply also to perceptions but not conversely, 242.
§ 3. All perceptions except those of sight and touch ' exist and yet
are nowhere,' i. e. are neither figured nor extended and have no
place, 236; perceptions do not exist like mathematical points, 239 ;
extension a quality of perception, i. e. some perceptions are them-
selves extended, 240 (». Extension, § 3).
§ 4. A perception can very well be separate from the mind, since
the mind is only ' a heap or collection of different perceptions united
together by certain relations,' 207 ; our resembling impressions are
not really identical nor their existence continued, 210 ; 'all our per-
ceptions may exist separately and have no need of anything to sup-
port their existence, 233,633; all particular perceptions may exist
separately and so are not necessarily related to a self or person,
252 ; when we look intimately into ourselves we never can find any-
thing but some particular perceptions, 252, 456, 634; a man only
' a bundle of particular perceptions which succeed one another with
an inconceivable rapidity and are in a perpetual flux and movement,*
252 ; ' they are the successive perceptions which constitute the mind;
688 INDEX.
Perception.
no real bond perceived by understanding between perceptions, 259 ;
yet the different perceptions which constitute the mind are linked
together by the relation of cause and effect, and mutually produce,
destroy, and influence one another, 261 ; there is no satisfactory
theory to explain the principles that unite our successive impressions
in our thought or consciousness, 636 {v. Mind, § i).
Peripatetic fiction of sympathies and antipathies in nature, 224,
Person — (v. Identity, % 4, Mind). The object of love and hatred 'some
other person of whose thoughts, actions, and sensations we are not
conscious,' 329, 'some person or thinking being,' 331 ; easy to pass
from idea of another person to idea of self, but not the reverse way
except in sympathy (q. v.), 340.
Philosophy {v. Scepticism).
§1. 19, 76, 78, 143, 165, 282; experimental and moral, 175;
moral and natural, 2S2 ; contradictory phenomena to be expected in
natural philosophy but not in mental, since ' the perceptions of the
mind are perfectly known,' 366 (cf. 175) ; speculative and practical,
457; compared to hunting, 45 1 ; strict philosophy rejects the distinction
between power (q. v.) and the exercise of it, but ' in the pliilosophy
of our passions' there is room for it, 311 ; used as equivalent to
'reason,' 193; and religion, 250 (cf. 272); character of a true philo-
sopher, 13.
§2. Philosophical opposed to natural relation, 14, 69, 73 f., 170
(v. Cause, § 6. C) ; 'unphilosophical probability,' 143 f- {v. Cause,
§ 8. D).
§3. A. Ancient, 219 f.; its fiction of substance or matter, 219;
peripatetic, its distinction between substantial forms and substance,
221, 527; ancient, employs principles of imagination which arc
changeable, weak, and irregular, ' nor so much as useful in the con-
duct of life,' 225, 227.
B. Modern, 225 f.; bases its belief in body (q. v.) or external
objects on the distinction between primary and secondary qualities,
226; but by this system, 'instead of explaining the operation of
external objects we utterly annihilate them and reduce ourselves to
the most extravagant scepticism concerning them,' 228.
C. 'l"he opinion of true philosophers much nearer to that of the
vulgar than is that of the false, 223; philosophers who 'abstract
from the effects of custom and compare ideas' discover that there is
no known connexion between objects, 223 ; false jihilosophcrs arrive
at last by an illusion at the same indifference which the people attain
by their stupidity, and true iihilosophers by their niodeiate scep-
ticibm, 224; all except iihiloso])lieri suppose that lliose actions of
the mind are the same which ' produce not a diflcrent sensation,'*
417.
D. Philosophic fiction of ' state of nature,' 493.
INDEX. 689
Philosophy.
§ 4. Only to be justified by ' the inclination which we feel towards
employing ourselves after tliat manner,' 270; to be preferred as a
guide in our speculations, for if it is just it only presents us with
'mild and moderate sentiments,' and if extravagant it is harmless,
271 ; errors in religion are dangerous, those in philosophy only ridi-
culous, 272.
Physical — and moral necessity, no distinction between, 171; physical
and moral science, 175.
Pity — a secondary affection ; arises from sympathy, 369 ; malice is pity
reversed, 375 ; being painful is related to benevolence, which is
pleasant, by similarity or correspondence of their impulses or direction,
381 ; a social passion, 491.
Place, 235 f. (». Extension, § 3 ; Mind, § 2).
Pleasure.
8 1. and pain, a kind of impression to which no one attributes
continued existence ; they are regarded as ' merely perceptions,' 192 ;
though just as involuntary and violent as other kinds : but they are
not as constant as some others, 194 ; and though they have coherence
it is ' of a somewhat different nature,' 195.
§ 2. and pain arise originally in the soul or body, whichever you
please to call it, 276 (cf. 324) ; the pleasure which we receive fiom
praise arises through sympathy, 324; arises from sympathy alone
which provides us with lively ideas, since every lively idea is agree-
able, 353-4; and pain produce direct passions immediately, 276,
399, 438 ; ' good and evil, or in other words, pleasure and pain,'
439; and pain chief actuating principles of the human mind; with-
out these we are in a great measure (cf. 439) incapable of passion
or action, desire or volition, 574; why the pursuit of truth pleases,
448 f. ; includes many different sensations, 472.
§ 3. and pain, ' if not the causes of virtue and vice at least in-
separable from them,' 296 ; not only the necessary attendant but the
essence of beauty, 299; and wit, 297 (cf. 590, 611); virtue and
vice, a particular pleasure and pain excited by characters and actions
consideied generally, 472; moral distinctions depend entirely on
certain peculiar sentiments of pain and pleasure excited by a mental
quality in ourselves or others, 574 ; this pain or pleasure may arise
from four different sources, 591 ; each of the virtues excites a dif-
ferent feeling in the spectator, 607 ; transition from pleasure to
love easy, 605 ; the pleasure of approbation can be excited by a
quality which is not entirely voluntary in the possessor, 609 (».
Moral, § 2-4 ; Sympathy, § 3. A).
§ 4. The only justification of philosophy, curiosity, or ambition to
know is, that ' I feel I should be a loser in point of pleasure if 1 did
not gratify them,' 271 ; the most pleasant guide in our speculations
to be preferred, 271.
690 INDEX.
Poetry — 120, 121 ; poetic fiction of golden age, 494; and history;
poetical enthusiasm and serious conviction differ through reflexion
and general rules, 631.
Points — mathematical, reality of, 32 ; ideas of, 38 ; coloured and solid,
40; physical, 40; penetration of, 41 ; finite divisibility of, 44.
Political — artifice can never be the sole cause of the distinction we
make between virtue and vice, 500, 533, 578, can only alter the
direction of the passions, 521.
Politics— controversies in, 'incapable of any decision in most cases,
and entirely subordinate to the interests of peace and liberty,' 562.
Possession — long, a title to government, 556 ; present, 503, 557 ; first,
505 ; = power of using a thing, 506.
Power {v. Cause, § 9) ; distinction between power and its exercise
inadmissible, 172 ; but though 'in a philosophical way of thinking'
frivolous, it yet obtains in the philosophy of our passions, 311 ; the
distinction not based on scholastic doctrine of free will, 312; sense of,
compared with false sensation of liberty, 314; = possibility or pro-
bability of an action as discovered by experience ; = anticipation or
expectation of its being done, 313; the power of riches to acquire
property = the anticipation or expectation of the actual acquirement,
315 (cf. 360).
Praise — and blame, nothing but a fainter and more imperceptible love
and hatred, 614.
Prejudice — produced, and yet can only be corrected by general rules,
146 f.
Prescription — and property, 508.
Pride and Humility, 277 f.
§ 1. A. are indirect violent impressions of reflexion, 276 ; being
simple and uniform are indefinable, 277 ; pure emotions in the soul,
and so distinguished from love and hatred, which are always attended
by a desire, 367.
B. have the same object, viz. self, 277 ; which cannot however be
their cause, 278 (cf. 443); in their cause distinguish between the
quality which operates and the subject on which it is placed, e. g.
in a beautiful house, beauty is the quality, the house ' considered as
a man's property or contrivance ' is the subject, for the subject must
be something related to us, 279 (cf 290) ; they have self as their
object by a natural and also original property, 2S0; their causes are
natural but not original, 28 1-3.
C. Every cause of pride by its peculiar qualities produces a sepa-
rate jileasure : the subject is either part of ourselves or something
nearly related to us, 28-; ; the object is determined by an original
natural instinct and is self; pride is a pleasant feeling, 286; hence
the passion is derived from a double relation of impressions and
ideas: the cause is related to the object, the sensation which the
cause separately produces to the sensation of pride : the one idea is
I
}
INDEX. bpl
Pride.
easily converted into its correlative, and the one impression into that
which resembles it, and these two movements mutually assist one
another, 2S6 ; anything that gives a pleasant or painful sensation
and is related to self can cause pride or humility, as the case may be,
288, 303.
D. Tliese statements limited : (i) the relation between the subject
and self must be close, closer than joy requires, 290 ; (2) the agree-
able thing or subject must be peculiar to ourselves, 291 (cf. 302),
(3) and evident both to ourselves and others, 292, (4) and constant
and durable, 293 (cf. 302) ; (5) the passion is much assisted by
general rules or custom, 293 ; a man can be proud and yet not happy,
for there are many real evils which make us miserable, though they
do not diminish pride, 294.
E. Besides ' the qualities of our mind and body, that is self,' any
object particularly related to us can cause pride, 303 ; resemblance
between cause and object seldom a foundation of either pride or
humility, 304 ; the relations of contiguity and causation are required,
305 ; and also an association of impressions, 306 ; pride in country
or birthplace, in travels, in friends and relations, 307 ; in family,
30S ; in property, 309, which is a particular species of causation,
310; in riches, 311, 312 {v. Power); the opinions of others also
produce pride by means of sympathy (q.v.), 316-322.
F. Pride of animals, 324, due to same causes as in men — but
they can only be proud of their bodies, not of their mind or external
objects, since they have no sense of virtue and are incapable of the
relations of right and property, 326 ; but the causes operate in same
manner, 327 ; experiments to confirm this theory, 332 f.
G. Transition from pride to love not so easy as from love to
pride, 339; the mind more prone to pride than humility, hence
more pride in contempt than humility in respect, 390 ; pride and
hatred invigorate the soul, love and humility deject it, 391 (cf. 295).
§ 2. A. Virtue and vice the most obvious causes of pride and
humility because they always produce pleasure and pain respectively:
thus the virtue of humility exalts, and the vice of pride mortifies us,
295 (cf. 286, 391) ; other qualities, such as wit, also produce pride
because their essence is to please our taste, 297; pride not always
vicious nor humility virtuous, for pride = the pleasure of self-satis-
faction, and humility the reverse, 297 ; beauty also produces pride,
299, 300, as does that which is surprising, 301 ; health not a cause
of pride because not peculiar nor constant, 302 (cf. 291).
B. Virtue and vice distinguished from pleasures produced by
inanimate objects, by their power of exciting pride and humility,
473 (cf. 288) ; all qualities which produce pleasure also produce
pride and love : therefore virtue and the power of producing pride,
vice and the power of producing humility and hatred, are to be con-
692 INDEX.
Pride.
sidcred as equivalent with regard to our mental qualities: 'any
quality of the mind is virtuous which causes love or pride,' 575 ; the
same qualities always produce pride and love, humility and hatred,
owing to sympathy, 589.
C. The vice and virtue of, 592 f. ; they are called virtuous or
vicious according as they are agreeable or disagreeable to others
without any reflexions on their tendency, 592 ; this due to sympathy
and comparison, 593 ; sympathy causes pride to have in some
measure tlie same effect as merit, but comparison causes us to hate
it, and pride appears vicious to us, especially if we are ourselves
proud, 596 ; pride advantageous to the possessor as increasing his
power, and also agreeable, 597 (cf. 295, 391, 600); humility only
required in externals, 598 ; heroic virtue is stendy and well-established
pride and self-esteem, 599 {v. Moral, § 2. A, 3. D, Sympathy, § 2, 3).
Primary and secondary qualities, 226-231 [v. Body).
Private — and public duties, 546 ; the proportions of private and national
morality settled by the practice of the world, 569.
Probability {v. Cause, § 8; — and possibility, 133, 135; used in two
senses : (1) including all evidence except knowledge, and so including
arguments from cause and effect; (2) confined to uncertain argu-
ments from conjecture, and distinguished both from knowledge and
proof or arguments from cause and effect, 124; probable reasoning
nothing but a species of sensation, 103; two kinds of, viz. uncertainty
in the object itself or in the judgment, 444 ; general rules create a
species of, which sometimes influences the judgment and always the
imagination, 585; all knowled^e_ deg£ii£ratcs into probability by
consideration of the fallibility of our faculties, iSo; but even this
estimate of our faculties is only probable, and this new probability
diminishes the force of the former, and so a third probability will
arise, and so on, ad iiifiniUim, till at last we have a total extinction of
belief and evidence^ 182 ; a certain amount of probability is however
always retained owing to the small influence which subtle doubts
have on our imagination, so that our belief is really only affected by
the first doubts, 185 ; the only remedy for scepticism is carelessness
and inattention, 218 {y. Sceptidsvi); explains distinction between
power (q. V.) and its exercise, 313; probable reasoning influences
direction of our passions, 414 ; influence of on our passions, 444 f.
Promises — The convention which establishes justice not a promise,
490; none in a state of nature, 501 ; obligation of, 516 f . ; the rule
which enjoins performance of, not natural because (1) a promise
unintelligible before human conventions, (2) even if intelligible
would not be obligatory, 516; the act of mind expressed by a,
not a resolution or desire to perform anything, nor the willing
tiie action, 516, nor the willing the obligation, 517, 518, 523, 524:
we have no motive leading to their performance distinct ironi a
INDEX. 693
Promises.
sense of duty, 518 (cf. 478, § 522) ; there is no natural inclination
to tlieir performance as there is to be humane, therefore fidelity is
not a natural virtue, 519 ; the rule to observe, is required to supple-
ment the laws of nature concerning stability or transference of pro-
perty, 520 (cf. 526) ; we create a new motive by a form of words or
symbol by which we subject ourselves to the penalty of never being
trusted again if we fail in fidelity : but interest the first obligation to
their performance, 522 ; afterwards a sentiment of morals concurs
with interest and becomes a new obligation, 523; but the form of
words soon becomes the chief part of the promise, which leads to
certain contradictions, 524; the fact that force invalidates, shows
they have no natural obligation, 525 ; performance of, a third funda-
mental law of nature invented by man, 536, its obligation antece-
dent to government : they are the original sanction of government
and the source of the first obligation to obedience, 541 ; but
allegiance quickly gets an obligation of its own, and so all govern-
ment does not rest on consent, 542 ; the moral obligations of
promises and allegiance dift'erent, as well as the natural obligations
of interest, 545 (cf. 519) {v. Government, Obligation).
Property.
§ 1. A very close relation and the most common source of pride,
309; definition of, 310; a particular species of causation, 310;
animals incapable of the relation of property, 326 ; a quality per-
fectly insensible and even inconceivable apart from the sentiments
of the mind, 515 (cf. 509) ; the quality which we call property is no
sensible quality of the object, no relation of the object, but an in-
ternal relation, i. e. some influence which the external relations of
the object have on the mind and actions, 527 ; admits of no degrees,
529, except in the imagination, 531.
§ 2. And justice (q.v. § 2) their origins, 484 f. ; none in a state of
nature, 501 ; unintelligible without an antecedent morality, 462 n,
491 ; a moral not a natural relation, 491 ; none independent of
justice, 526.
§ 3. The rule that property shall be stable requires further
determination by other rules, 502 ; that property shall be suitable to
the person not one of these, 502 ; the rule that every one shall con-
tinue to enjoy what he is at present possessed of rests on custom,
503 ; imagination always the chief source of such rules, 504 w,
509 « ; the utility of this rule confined to first formation of society,
505; afterwards the chief rules are those of (i) occupation or first
possession : this not based on man's property in his labour, 505 n ;
impossible to determine where possession begins and ends, 506 ; its
extent not determinable by reason or imagination, 507 ; (2) pre-
scription or long possession : since property in this case is produced
by time, it cannot be any real thing in the object but only the offspring
694 INDEX.
Property.
of the sentiments, 509 ; (3) accession, 509, which can only be explained
by imagination, which in this case proceefls from great to little, con-
trarj' to its usual course, 509-510 n ; small objects become accessions
to great, not conversely, 511 n; illustration from rivers, confusion, and
commixtion, 512 n; Proclus and Sabinus, 513 n; (4) succession,
assisted by association and ideas, 510, largely depends on imagina-
tion, 513 «; in transference of, by consent, 514, delivery required,
515 ; but since property is insensible delivery can only be symbolic,
which resembles the superstitious practices of the Catholics, 515
(cf. 524) ; stability and transference of, laws of nature, 526 (of. 514);
the relation which determine, too numerous to proceed from nature,
and also they are changeable by human laws, 528.
Proof = assurance derived from arguments from cause and effect; some-
times included under probable reasoning, sometimes not, 124 (cf.
103) ; sensible distinguished from demonstrative, 449.
Proportion — ' of ideas considered as such,' one kind of truth, 44S ;
in equality or number, a demonstrable relation, 464.
Proposituri — {v. Judgment).
Prudence — tries to ' conform our actions to the general usage and
custom,' 599 ; placed by some moralists at the head of the virtues,
though only a ' natural ability,' 610.
Public— opposed to private (q.v.), 546, 569.
Punishment — can only be justified by doctrine of necessity, 411.
Quality — a source of relation, 15 ; degree in, a demonstrable rela-
tion perceived by intuition, 70, 464 ; power, and necessity, and exten-
sion, qualities of perceptions, 166 f., 239 ; unknown qualities possible,
168 (cf. 172) ; our idea of a body, a collection of ideas of sensible
qualities, 219 ; 'every quality, being a distinct thing from another, may
be conceived to exist apart and may exist apart not only from every
other quality but from that unintelligible chimaera of a substance,'
322 ; fiction of occult quality, 224 ; distinction between primary and
secondary qualities, 226-231 {v. Body); sensible or secondary
qualities, 227; the quality which operates distinguished from the
subject in which it is placed in the cause of pride (q.v. § i, Cause,
§ 10), 279, 330 ; permanent qualities in a person * which remain after
an action is performed,' 349; we are only to consider the quality or
character from which the action proceeded, 575 ; only mental
qualities virtuous or vicious, 607 ; natural qualities, 5.',o.
Quantity — and number a source of relation, 14 ; proportion in quantity
or number a demonstrable relation, 70, 464.
Reality (w. Existence) — two classes of realities, one the object of the
memory and senses, the other of the judgment, 108 ; 'we commonly
think an object has a sufficient reality when its being is uninter-
INDEX. 695
Reality.
rupted and independent of the incessant revolutions of which we are
conscious in ourselves, 191 : will places us in the 'world of realities'
as opposed to the ' world of ideas ' which is the province of demon
stration, 414; truth = an agreement either to the real relations of
ideas, or to real existence and matter of fact, 448.
Keason.
§1. Distinctions of, e.g. between figure and body figured, 25,
43 ; not reason but custom determines us to pass from the impression
of one object to the idea or belief of another, 97 ; opposed to imagina-
tion, 108, 268 ; opposed to experience, 157; three kinds of, knowledge,
proofs, and probability, 1 24 ; can never give rise to idea of efficacy
since (i) it can never give rise to any original idea (cf. 164) ; (2) as
distinguished from experience can never make us conclude that a
cause is necessary to every beginning of existence, 157 (cf. 79, 172);
of animals, inferred from the resemblance of their actions to man's,
176 (cf. 610) ; 'is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct
in our souls,' 179; scepticism with regard to, 180 f., can only be
cured by carelessness and inattention, 218, 269; informs us of dis-
tance or outness, 191 ; does not distinguish between different kinds
of perceptions, 192 ; neither does nor can ever give us an assurance
of the continued and distinct existence of bod)', 193 ; reason or re-
flexion in conflict with imagination or instinct, telling us that all our
perceptions are interrupted, 215 (cf. 266) ; opposition between reason
and the senses, or rather between arguments from cause and effect,
and arguments which convince us of continued and independent
existence of body, 231, 266 ; shov/s us the impossibility of giving the
taste of a fruit local relation to its shape, etc., 238 ; opposed to
imagination : ' we have no choice left but between a false reason and
none at all,' 268 ; is the discovery of truth and falsehood, 458 ;
either compares ideas or infers matters of fact : it is concerned either
with relations of objects or matters of fact, 463 (cf. 413) ; argument
from ' pure reason,' opposed to argument from authority, 546 ; chief
ground of superiority of men to beasts, 610 (cf. 176).
§ 2. A. Reason and will, 413 f. ; can never be any motive to the
will, 414 (cf. 457); can never prevent volition, and 'is and only
ought to be the slave of the passions,' 415 ; a passion cannot be con-
trary to reason, * 'tis not unreasonable to prefer my acknowledged,
lesser good to my greater,' 416 (cf. 458) ; calm desires or passions
confused with reason, 417, 437, 536, 583 {v. Passion, § 3).
B. Moral distinctions not derived from reason, 455 f . ; reason is
* perfectly inert,' and ' can never be the source of so active a principle
as conscience or a sense of morals,' 457, 458 ; actions can be neither
true nor false, contrary or conformable to reason, 458 ; virtue and
vice are neither relations nor matters of fact, they are objects of
feeling not of reason, 463-9 (w. Moral, §1).
696 INDEX.
Reasoning — a comparison of two objects and discovery of their con-
stant or inconstant relations, properly employed in the absence of at
least one object from sensation, 73 ; opposed to perception, 73, 87,
89 (cf. 103); does not require three ideas, e. g. we infer a cause im-
mediately from its effect, and this is the strongest kind of reasoning,
97 «; resolvable into conception, 97 n\ implies antecedent posses-
sion of ideas, 164; probable, nothing but a species of sensation, 103
(c(. 73, 625) ; influence of reasoning from cause and effect on will,
119; and belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of conception
which 'tis impossible for mere ideas and reflexions to destroy, 184;
the conviction which arises from subtle reasoning diminishes in
proportion to the effort requiied to enter into it, 186 (cf. 455);
demonstrative and probable : the province of the former is ' the
world of ideas' as opposed to the 'world of realities,' 413; is
merely an operation of our thoughts and ideas, and nothing can
enter into our conclusions but ideas or fainter conceptions, 635
(cf. 103).
Rebellion {v. Resisiattce).
Reflexion — impressions of, 7, 84, 276; cannot destroy belief, 184;
'reason or reflexion,' 215; artificial = that which is the result of re-
flexion, 484 ; changes directions of passions, 492 ; on tendency of
characters and passions to produce happiness, the chief source of
moral sentiments, 589 ; continually required to correct appearance
of objects to our senses, 603.
Relation.
§ 1. A. Relations a class of complex ideas produced by associ-
ation, 13; defined and divided into philosophical and natural, 14
(cf. 94, 69, 170); seven sources of philosophical relation, 14;
physiological explanation of, 60 ; of causation, an impression of re-
flexion, 165; perfect, between two objects implies a 'vibration of
imagination,' i. e. an equal ease in passing from either to the other,
355 ; contiguity, succession, and resemblance independent of and
antecedent to the operations of the understanding, 16S; impossible
to found a relation except on some common quality, 236.
B. Four kinds only of philosophical relation are ' objects of
knowledge and certainty ' and ' the foundation of science,' as ' de-
pending solely upon ideas,' and unalterable so long as the ideas con-
tinue the same, 69 (cf. 413, 463); viz. resemblance, contrariety,
degrees of quality whidi aie discoverable at first sight by intuition,
70, and proportions in quantity or number, which can only be settled
precisely by arithmetic and algebra, and less precisely by geo-
metry, 71.
C. Discovery of constant or inconstant relations of two objects by
comparison, the function of all reasoning, 73 ; discovery of relations
of time and place and identity the work of perception rather than
reasoning, 73 ; tiiree inconstant relations which depend not upon
INDEX. 697
Belation.
the idea and they are only probable, 73 ; the discovery of causation
the special work of reasoning, for it is the only relation of its class
' which can be traced beyond our senses and informs us of existences
and objects which we do not see or feel,' 74 (cf. 103); causation
a natural as well as a philosophical relation, 15, 94 {v. Cause,
§§ 2, 3) ; property a very close relation, 309, 310; animals incapable
of relations of property and right, 326 ; but relation of ideas and
impressions exists for animals, who show 'an evident judgment' of
causation, 327.
D. Contiguity, resemblance, and causation not only transport the
mind from the impression to the idea but also convey the vivacity
of the former to the latter, 98 f. {v. Syvipathy) ; only causation
a source of belief, 107 ; resemblance employed in all arguments from
cause and effect, 142 ; exact resemblance of the present object to
one of the two constantly conjoined objects necessary to arguments
from cause and effect, 153 ; also resemblance of all past instances to
one another, 163 f. (». Cause, § 7 C, § 9 B).
§ 2. Ideas related by contiguity, causation, and resemblance, im-
pressions only by resemblance, 283, 343 (cf. 381); double relation
ol ' npressions and ideas, 2S6, 381 (z*. Pride) ; of ideas opposed
in direction to that of impressions, 339 ; identity (q. v.) produces
a stronger relation than the most perfect resemblance, 341 ; relation
of ideas forwards that of impressions, since its absence alone is able
to prevent it, 3S0 ; one impression may be related to another not
only where their sensations are resembling, but also where their im-
pulses or directions are similar or correspondent, 381 ; thus pity which
is painful is related to benevolence which is pleasant, 382, 384;
parallel direction of desires is a 'real relation,' 394 ; a transition of
passions may arise either from a double relation of impressions and
ideas or a conformity in direction and tendency of any two desires,
3S5 ; double relation of impressions and ideas only necessary to pro-
duction of a passion not to its transformation into another, 420 ;
the predominant passion swallows up the inferior even without any
relation, ^19 ; of ideas, explains mixture of grief and joy in hope and
fear, 443.
§ 3. vice and virtue not relations, 463 f. ; if they are any of the
demonstrable relations, then inanimate objects arc virtuous and
vicious, since they are susceptible of these relations, 464 ; to say
that reason discovers such an action in such relations to be
virtuous does not make virtue a relation, 464 n ; if they are
relations, these relations must be solely between external objects
and internal actions : but there are no such peculiar relations, 465 ;
thus all the relations which we discover in ingratitude between men
are found between inanimate objects, and those of incest between
animals, 466-7 ; even if there were such relations it would be im-
698 INDEX.
Relation.
possible to show their universal obligatoriness and effect on action,
465-6 (cf. 496) ; property a moral not a natural relation, 491.
Religion — and philosophy, 250; 'errors in religion are dangerous,
those in philosophy only ridiculous,' 272 ; a cause of the prevalence
of the doctrine of liberty, tho' that of necessity is not only harmless
but even essential to it, 409 f . ; a ' blamable method of reasoning '
to condemn a doctrine because it is dangerous to religion, 409
(cf. 241, 271 f.) ; based on miracles, 474.
Repentance — and forgiveness require doctrine of necessity, 412.
Resemblance (». Relation) — a source of association, 11; a source of
philosophic relation, 14 ; a demonstrable relation, discovered by in-
tuition, 69, 70, 413, 463 ; between an impression and an idea enlivens
the latter, 99, 110 (cf. 142 f., 163 f.); illustrated, from pictures and
ceremonies, 100 ; not a source of belief because it does not compel
the mind, 107 ; but assists belief, and want of it destroys belief, 113;
used in all arguments from cause and effect, 142 ; in analogy, 143 ;
produces a new impression in the mind, 165; independent of and
antecedent to the operations of the understanding, 168 ; the most
fertile source of error, 61 ; of our perceptions at different times =
constancy, and makes us consider our resembling impressions as
individually the same, as one single identical impression, 199 ; this
belief the result of another resemblance, viz. between the act of mind
in contemplating an identical object and in contemplating a succes-
sion of resembling objects, 202, since 'ideas which place the mind
in the same or a similar disposition are very apt to be confounded,
203, 204 «, 253 f. iv. Identity, Error); we can never argue from
existence of perceptions to their resemblance to objects, 217; an im-
pression must resemble its idea, 232 ; depends on memor}', 261, and
produces notion of personal identity (q. v.), 253 f., 261 ; impressions
associated only by resemblance, 2S3, 343 ; between cause and object
of pride not sufficient to produce it, 304-5 ; a cause of sympathy,
318, 320; identity of impressions produces a stronger connexion
than the most perfect resemblance, 341.
Resistance — right of, not based on origin of government in consent,
549; passive obedience an absurdity, 552; impossible for phi-
losophy to establish any particular rules to tell when resistance is
lawful, 562 ; more often lawful in mixed than absolute governments,
564-
Respect — and contempt, 389 ; a ipixture of love and humility, 390.
Responsibility— requires doctrine of necessity, 411.
Revolution — the English, 563.
Riches — 311; esteem for the rich, 357, arises chiefly from sympathy
with the imagined satisfaction of the owner, 359-362 (cf. 616).
Right— animals inca])able of relation of right, 326 ; implies an antece-
dent morality, 462 n, 491.
INDEX. 699
Rules.
§1. Rules to judge of cause and effect, 173 f. (cf. 149, 631)
{v. Cause, § 11); of demonstrative science certain and infallible but
in the application of them our faculties are liable to err, 180.
§ 2. — General, 141 ; a source of unphilosophic probability or preju-
dice, 146; influence judgment even contrary to present observation
and experience, 147 ; used by judgment to distinguish between essen-
tial and accidental circumstances, 149 (cf. 173) ; set in opposition to
one another, for it is only by following general rules that we correct
the prejudice resulting from them, 149; illustrated by satire, 150;
and law of honour, 152 ; correct appearances of the senses and
make the difference between serious conviction and poetical enthu-
siasm, 631-2 ; their influence on pride, 293, 598 ; require a certain
nniformity of experience and a superiority of positive over negative
instances, 362 ; their influence on imagination in sympathy, 371 ;
able to impose on the very senses, 374, cf. 147 ; all ordinary general
rules admit of exceptions, but those of justice are inflexible and
therefore highly artificial, 532 ; preserve moral obligation long after
the natural obligation has ceased, 551 ; settle title to government,
555 ; largely extend duty of modesty, 573.
§ 3. Correct the variations in our sympathies and so give steadiness
to our sentiments of morals, 581 f. (cf 602) ; cause us to find beauty
and virtue in things and acts which are not actually any good to any
one, 584 f. ; create a species of probability which always influences
the imagination, 585, and so remove the contradiction between the
extensive sympathy on which our sentiments of virtue depend and
that limited generosity which is natural to man and the source of
justice, 5S6.
Salic law, 561.
Satire, 150.
Scepticism.
S5 1. With regard to the reason (q. v.), 1 80 f. ; consideration of the
fallibility of our faculties reduces all knowledge to probabiUty and
ultimately produces a total extinction of belief and evidence, 1S0-3;
but such total scepticism impossible ; 'nature by an absolute and un-
controllable necessity has determined us to judge as wejl as to breathe
and feel,' 183; it only shows us that all reasonings are founded on
custom and that belief is not a simple act of thought but a kind of
sensation,' ' which 'tis impossible for mere ideas and reflexions to
destroy,' 184; we always retain a certain degree of belief, because
effort to understand sceptical subtleties weakens their power, 185;
and so the force of all sceptical arguments is broken by nature, 187,
268 ; the expeditious way which some take with the sceptics, saying
that they employ reason to destroy reason, is not the best answer
to them, 186; does not justify dogmatism, but they are mutually
700 INDEX.
Scepticibm.
destructive, though happily nature does not wait for that constini-
mation, 1S7.
§ 2. With regard to tht senses, 1S7 f. ; just as the sceptic is com-
pelled to reason and brlieve, so by nature he is compelled to assent
to the existence of body (q. v.) : 'it is vain to ask whether tliere be
body or not,* 1S7 ; shows us (1) that the senses afford no justification
for the belief in body, iSS; (2) that this belief is the result of an ille-
gitimate propensity of imagination, 193 f.; (3) that the philosophic
system of a double existence of objects and perceptions is a monstrous
offspring of two opposing systems, 213; (4) that the distinction be-
tween primary and secondary qualities destroys external objects
altogether, and results in an extravagant scepticism, 228 ; moderate,
of the true philosopher leads to the same indifference as the stupidity
of the vulgar or the illusions of the false philosopher, 224.
§ 3. In general, 263 f. ; the only criterion of truth, the only reason
for assent to any opinion, is 'a strong propensity to consider objects
in that view under which they appear to me ' ; this due to imagina-
tion worked on by experience and habit ; memory, sense, and under-
standing all founded on imagination or the vivacity of our ideas,
265 ; but imagination leads us to directly contrary opinions, 266, of.
231 ; and yet we cannot rely solely on 'the understanding, that is,
the general and more established principles of imagination,' for
understanding alone entirely subverts itself, 267 (cf. i82f.); we are
saved from this total scepticism only by the weak influence of ab-
struse reasonings on the imagination, 268 (cf. 1S5); yet we cannot
reject all abstract reasoning—' we have no choice but between a false
reason and none at all,' 268 ; nature supplies the ordinary remedy of
indifference, and my scepticism shows itself most perfectly in blind
submission to senses and understanding, 269 ; we can only justify
scepticism or philosophy by our inclination towards it ; because
' I feel I should be a loser in point of pleasure if I did not pursue
them,' 270; since we cannot rest content with every-day conversation
and action, we ought only to deliberate about our choice of a guide,
and choose the safest and most agreeable, viz. Philosophy, whose
errors are only ridiculous and whose extravagances do not influence
our lives, 271 ; all we want is a satisfactory set of opinions, and we
are most likely to get them by studying human nature, 272 ; ' a true
sceptic will be diffident of his philosophic doubts as well as of his
philosophic convictions, and will never refuse any innocent satisfac-
tion which offers itself upon account of either of them ' ; nor will he
deny himself ceitainty in particular points, 273.
Bcholaatic — doctrine of free will, 312.
Self (z/. Identity, § 4, Mind, Sympathy).
Selfishness— of man n:uch over-estimated, since it is 'rare to meet
any one in whom tlie kind affections taken together do not over-
INDEX. 701
Selfishness.
balance the selfish;' still each man loves himself better than any
other single person, 4S7 ; a source of justice, 487 f., 494, 500; con-
tradiction between the extensive sympathy, which is the source of our
sentiments of morals, and the limited generosity, which is natural to
man, and the source of justice, removed by general rules, 586; self-
love, 480.
Sensation {v. Feeling) — opposed to reasoning, 89 ; probable reasoning
nothing but a species of sensation, 103 ; confusion between, and judg-
ment in vision, 112; 'tis not the present sensation or momentary pain
or pleasure which determines the character of any passion, but the
general bent or tendency of it from beginning to end, 385 ; all except
philosophers imagine ' that those actions of the mind are the same
which produce not a different sensation,' 417; our own sensations
determine the vice and virtue of any quality as well as those sensa-
tions which it may excite in others, 597 (cf. 469 f.).
Sense — moral, the source of moral distinctions, 470 f. {v. Moral,
§ 2) ; a very plausible hypothesis that the source of all sentiments
of virtue is ' a certain sense which acts without reflexion, and regards
not the tendencies of actions and qualities,' 612.
Senses— scepticism with regard to, 187 f. {v. Scepticism, § i) ; cannot
tell us of continued existence of perceptions, for that would mean
that they operate when they have ceased to operate, 188; nor of
their distinct existence, neither as models of impressions (q.v.), since
they convey to us nothing but a single perception, and never give us
the least intimation of anything beyond, 189, nor by an illusion,
since all sensations are felt by the mind as they really are, 189, 190
(cf. Appearance) ; also to present our impressions as distinct from
ourselves the senses would have to present both the impressions and
ourselves at the same time, 1S9 ; whereas it is very doubtful how far
we ourselves are the object of our senses, 190 (&. Identity, § 4) ; as
a matter of fact the senses only present impressions as external to our
bod)', which is not the same as external to ourselves, 191; again
sight does not really inform us of distance or outness, but reason,
191 ; three kinds of impressions conveyed by, 192 (z;. Impressions) ;
so far as the senses are judges all perceptions are the same in the
manner of their existence, 193; 'founded on imagination or the
vivacity of our ideas,' 265 ; require continual correction, and we
could have no language or conversation ' did we not correct the
momentary appearances of things and overlook our present situation,'
582, 603; appearances of, corrected by the understanding, 632 (cf.
189).
Sensible — proof, opposed to demonstrative, 449.
Shaftesbury, 254.
Simplicity — supposed, of bodies leads to fiction of substance, 219.
Society (t. Justice, § 2) — necessary to supply men's wants, 485 ; in
702 INDEX,
Society.
first instance produced by natural appetite between sexes, 4S6 ; and
afterwards by reflexion on common interest leading to a convention
which is not a promise, 487 ; this reflexion so simple and obvious
that the savage state cannot last long, and ' man's very first state and
condition may justly be esteemed social,' 493; 'state of nature' a
philosophic fiction, 493; vanity, pity, love, social passions, 491 ; no
promises before society, 516; government not necessary to all
societies, bnt arises from foreign war, 540 ; the state of, without
government, * one of the most natural states of men,' and survives
long after the first generation, but no society can be maintained
without justice, 541 ; as ancient as the human species, and the laws
of nature as ancient as society, 542 ; social virtues, 578.
Solidity — a 'primary quality,' 227; cannot possess 'real continued
and independent existence' if colours, sounds, &c. be regarded as
'merely perceptions,' 228; our 'modern philosophy ' leaves no just
nor satisfactory idea of solidity, nor consequently of matter, 229;
= impossibility of annihilation, but this implies some real object to
be annihilated, 230 ; no impressions from which idea of, can be
derived : not from touch for (i) 'tho' bodies are felt by means of their
solidity, yet the feeling is quite a different thing from the solidity,
and they have not the least resemblance to each other,' 230, (2) im-
pressions of touch are simple impressions, idea of solidity is com-
pound, (3) impressions of touch are variable, 231.
Soul [v. AJitid) — immortality of, 114; 'soul or body whichever you
please to call it,' the place in which pleasures and pains arise, 276.
Space {v. Extension, § i) — a source of philosophic relation, 14; infinite
divisibility of, 29 f ; extension consists of indivisible parts, because
such an idea implies no contradiction, 32 ; summary of argument,
39; objections answered, 40 f. ; origin of our idea of, 33 f. ; idea of,
a copy of coloured points and of the manner of their appearance, 34 ;
the parts of, are impressions of coloured and solid atoms, 38 ; no
vacuum, 40 ; idea of vacuum, 53 f. ; explanation of way in which we
fancy we have an idea of empty space, 62 f ; parts of, coexistent,
427 ; qualities of, in relation to the passions, 429 f.
Spinoza— his hideous hypothesis almost the same with that of the im-
materiality of the soul, 241 f ; his theory of modes, 242 ; his system
and that of the theologians have all their absurdities in common,
243-4-
Spontaneity — liberty of, opposed to violence, 407 (v. A^ectssity, § 2).
Standard — of morals fixed and unalterable, owing to intercourse of
sentiments in society and conversation, 603 icf 581) [v. Moral, § 3. B).
Strength — vagueness of term, 10;, 629 ; of mind = prevalence of calm
passions over violent, 418 ; of a passion to be distinguished from its
violence. 419 fcf 631).
Subject — and substance, 242 f. ; in which the quality is placed distin-
INDEX. 703
Subject.
guished from the quality which operates, the two together foiming
the cause, 279, 285 (v. Pride).
Substance.
§ 1. A. Substances, a class of complex ideas produced by associa-
tion, 13; idea of substance, a collection of simple ideas, united by
imagination, which have a common name assigned to them, 16.
B. Fiction of, to support the supposed simplicity and identity of
bodies, 219 f.; 'an unintelligible chimaera,' 222; peripatetic dis-
tinction of substance and substantial form, 221 ; the whole system
incomprehensible, 222 ; no impression from which the idea of it can
be derived, 232 (cf. 633); definition of, as 'something which
may exist by itself,' ' agrees to everything which can possibly be
conceived,' 233.
§ 2. Of the soul, 232 f. ; (v. Mind), ' the question concerning the
substance of the soul is absolutely unintelligible,' 250 ; impossible to
conjoin all thought with a simple and indivisible substance, just as
it is to conjoin all thought with extension, 239 ; ' the doctrine of
immateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of a thinking substance
is a true atheism,' and is the same as Spinoza's doctrine of the
unity of substance in which both thought and matter inhere, 240 f. ;
theory of modes and substance of Spinoza and theologians compared,
243-4 ; are self and substance the same ? 635.
Success makes us take pleasure in ends which originally were not
pleasant, 451.
Buccessiou.
§ 1. Independent of and antecedent to the operations of the under-
standing, 168; confounded with identity, 204, 254 f. ; self a succes-
sion of perceptions, 277 ; no satisfactory theory to explain principles
that unite our successive impressions in our thought or consciousness,
636 (v. Time, Identity, § 3, 4).
§2. And property, 505, 513; and government, 559; aided by
imagination, e. g. the claims of Cyrus, 560.
Superstition — and philosophy, 271.
Svirprise, 301.
Sympathy.
§ 1. A. {v. Identity, § 4), explained by the conversion of an idea
into an impression, 317, 427 ; the idea or impression of self is always
present and lively, 317, 320 (cf. 340); so any object related to ourselves
must be conceived with a like vivacity of conception, 317 ; now other
people very closely resemble ourselves (cf. 359, 575) ; so this resem-
blance makes us easily enter into their sentiments ; the relations of
contiguity and causation assist, and all together convey the impression
or consciousness of one person to the idea of the sentiments or pas-
sions of others, 318, 320; and thus the idea of another's sentiment
or passion may be ' so enlivened as to become the very sentiment or
704 INDEX.
Sympathy.
passion,' 319 ; since all ideas are borrowed from impressions, and
only differ from them in vivacity, this difference being removed, the
ideas of the passions of others are converted into the very impres-
sions they represent, 319 (cf. 371); relations produce sympathy by
means of the association between the idea of another's person and
that of our own, 322 (cf. 576); in sympathy the mind passes from
idea of self to that of another object, which is contrary to the law of
transition of ideas; it does so because 'ourself independent of the
perception of every other object is in reality nothing,' so 'we must
turn our view to external objects and 'tis natural for us to consider
with most attention such as lie contiguous to us or resemble us,* 340;
every human creature resembles ourselves and by that means has an
advantage over every other object in operating on the imagination,
359 ; ' the minds of men are mirrors to one another,' 365 ; we only
infer the passion with which we sympathise from its external signs
(cf. 371) ; 'no passion of another discovers itself immediately to the
mind,' all the affections readily pass from one person to another, as
motion between strings equally wound up, 576.
§ 1. B. The source of pity, 369 f. ; ' the communicated passion
of sympathy sometimes acquires strength from the weakness of its
original, and even arises by a transition from affections which have
no existence,' 370 (cf. 319, 584); ' we carry our fancy from the cause,
misfortune, to the usual effect, sorrow ; first conceive a lively idea of
his passion and then feel an impression of it, the imagination being
here affected by the 'general rule' 371 (cf. 319); 'we often feel by com-
munication the pains and pleasures of others which are not in being
and which we only anticipate by the force of imagination,' 3S5 ; this
requires a great effort of imagination which must be assisted by
some present lively impression, 386.
C. Arises from two different causes, (i) a double relation of im-
pressions and ideas, (2) parallel direction of impulses, thus when
sympathy with uneasiness is weak it produces hatred by the former
cause, when strong it produces love by the latter, 385 : also since
we judge of objects by comparison more than as they are in them-
selves, an opposite passion sometimes arises by sympathy to that
which is felt by the other person, 375 (cf 589) ; often takes place
under the appearance of its contrary, e. g. when contradiction in-
creases my passion, for the sentiments of others can never affect us
but by becoming in some measure our own : comparison directly
contrary to sympathy in its operation, 593 ; requires greater force
and vivacity in the idea which is converted into an impression
than does comparison, 595 ; of a partial kind, ' which views its
objects only on one side,' 371 ; double, 389; a double rebound
of, 602.
§ 2. Is found in all men, and is the source of uniformity of temper
INDEX. 705
Sympathy.
in men of the same nation, 317; assists love and hatred, 349; a
cause of love of relations, and acquaintance, liecause by it we are
supplied with lively ideas, and every lively idea is agreeable, 353 ;
with others, is agreeable only * by giving an emotion to the spirits,'
354; the chief cause of our esteem for the rich, which is often dis-
interested, 358, 361, 616 ; observable tlirough whole animal creation,
S^S) 398 ; especially in man, who can form no wish which has not
a reference to society, 363 ; even in pride, ambition, avarice, curi-
osity, lust, the soul or animating principle is sympathy, 363 ; source
of beauty, 364 ; hence we find beauty in everything useful, 576 ; .a
reason why utility is necessary to make truth pleasant, 450.
§ 3. A. The reason why other men's judgments influence us, 320 ;
the source of the pleasure we receive from praise, 323 ; with the
opinion of others makes us regard our own unjust acts as vicious,
499 : with public interest, the source of the moral approbation
which attends justice, 500 ; sense of beauty depends largely on our
sympathy with pleasure of the possessor of the object or quality,
576; in the same way often p)-oduces our sentiments oftnorals; is
'the source of the esteem which we pay to all the artificial virtues,'
577; it also gives rise to many of the other virtues, viz. to all those
which we approve because they tend to the good of mankind, 578 ;
we have no extensive concern for society except by sympathy, 579 ;
makes us approve of qualities beneficial to the possessors, even
though they be strangers, 586 (cf. 591) ; explains fact that the same
qualities always cause pride and love, 589 ; enables us to survey
ourselves as we appear to others and even to disapprove of qualities
advantageous to ourselves, 589 ; the source of the vice and virtue
which we attribute to pride and humility, 592 ; ' so close and inti-
mate is the correspondence of human souls, that no sooner any
person approaches than he diffuses on me all his opinions and draws
along my judgment in a greater or less degree,' hence I naturally
consider a man in the same light as he considers himself, 592 ;
causes pride to have in some degree the same effect as merit, 595 ;
we have an immediate sympathy with characters similar to our own,
604; the chief source of moral distinctions, 618; and a very noble
source, more so than any original instinct of the human mind, 619.
§ 3. B. Objections (i) that sympathy varies without a variation in
our esteem : hence our esteem proceeds not from sympathy, 581 ;
(2) even though a mental quality produces no good to any one yet we
still esteem it virtuous : * virtue in rags is virtue still,' but there can
be no sympathy with a good of mankind which does not exist, 584
(cf. 370, 371); this due to ^general rules': we make it a rule to
sympathise 'only with those who have any commerce with the people
we consider,' 5S3 (cf. 602) ; 'the contradiction between the extensive
sympathy on which our sentiments of virtue depend, and that limited
7o6 INDEX.
Sympathy.
generosity which is natural to man and the source of justice, 'removed
by supposing the influence of * general rules,' 5S6.
Taste — the only judge of wit, 297; can there be a right or a wrong
taste in morals, eloquence, or beauty ? 547 «.
Theologians — their doctrine of a thinking substance a true atheism,
and ihe same as Spinoza's, 240 f. ; their system and Spinoza's have all
their absurdities in common, 243.
Thought {v. Mind, Matter) — its relation to extension, 234 f.; the
materialists wrong who conjoin all thought with extension, 235 ; as
also their antagonists who conjoin all thought with a simple and
indivisible substance, 239, whether they regard it as a ' modification '
or 'mode,' 243, or as an ' action' of the thinking substance, 244;
can be and is caused by matter or motion, ' since everyone may
perceive that the different dispositions of his body chant,'e his
thoughts and sentiments,' 248 ; ' by comparing their ideas we find
that thought and motion are different from each other, and by
experience that they are constantly united,' and therefore the one is
the cause of the other, 248.
Time (v. Succession) — a source of philosophic relation, 14; infinite
divisibility of, 29 f. ; essence of, that its parts are never coexistent,
therefore composed of indivisible moments, 31 (cf. 429); idea of,
derived from the succession of onr perceptions of every kind, 35 ; no
idea of time alone, 36 ; idea of, not derived from any particular
impression, whether of sensation or reflexion, but from the manner
in which impressions appear, 37 (cf. 96) ; ideas of time or duration
applied by a fiction to unchangeable objects, 37 (cf. 65) ; indivisible
moments of, filled with some real object or existence, 39 ; hence no
empty time, 40, 65; annihilated by assertion of coexistence of cause
and effect, 76; or duration, intermediate between unity and number,
and hence the source of the idea of identity, 201 ; relation of 'co-
existence in general' distinguished from relation of ' contemporaneity
in appearance to the mind,' 237; contiguity and distance in, 427 f . ;
produces nothing real, therefore property, being produced by time,
is not any real thing in the objects, but is the offspring of the
sentiments, 515,
Touch — impressions of, not source of idea of solidity, 230-1; impres-
sions of sight and touch, source of our idea of extension and space,
335 ; and are the only ones which are themselves ' figured and
extended,' 236 f.
Tragedy, 121.
Truth — and poetry, 121 ; criterion of, to be found in feeling (qv.), 265 ;
we cannot hope for a true, but only a satisfactory set of opinions, 272 ;
or reason, contradiction to, consists in the disagreement of ideas con-
sidered as copies with those objects which they represent, 415; two
INDEX. 707
Truth.
kinds of (i) the discovery of proportions of ideas considered as such,
(2) the conformity of our ideas of objects to their real existence, 448 ;
'truth or falsehood consists in an agreement or disagreement either
to the real relations of ideas, or to real exi.'>tence and matter of fact.'
Thus since passions, volitions, and actions are ' original facts and
realities complete in themselves,' they cannot be either true or false,
45S (cf. 415) ; only judgments can be true or false, 416, 45S ; an ac-
tion improperly called true as joined with a true judgment, 459 ;
love of, and curiosity, 428 f. ; why truth pleases; (i) because it re-
quires exertion and attention, (2) because it is uselul, though utility
only acts here through sympathy and by fixing our attention, 449-
51-
Understanding — acts of, 97 ; subsequent to conception and conditioned
by it, 164; contiguity, succession, and resemblance independent of
and antecedent to the operations of the understanding, 168; never
observes any real connexion among objects, 260 ; founded on imagi-
nation or the vivacity of our ideas, 265 ; we cannot adhere solely to
'the understanding, that is, to the general and more established
properties of the imagination,' for ' understanding, when it acts
alone according to its most general principles entirely subverts itself,'
267 (cf. 182 f.) ; opposed to imagination, 371 «; remedies the incom-
modiousness of the affections, 489, by changing their direction, 492 ;
understanding, as well as the affections, necessary to all the actions
of human nature ; the philosophers who invented the 'state of nature'
considered the effects of the latter without those of the former, 493 ;
corrects appearances of the senses, 632.
Uniformity of nature — undemonstrable, 89 ; the foundation not the
result of probability, 90; the principle of, based on custom, 105, 133,
134; the basis of inference after one experiment, 105; a source of
probability indirectly, 135 {v. Cause, § 6. B).
Unity — distinguished from identity, 200.
Usual — = natural (q.v.), 4S3, 549; the usual force of the passions a
standard of praise, 4S3, 488.
Utility — makes truth agreeable, but only by sympathy, 450 ; a source
of beauty, 576 ; a source of our sentiments of morals through
sympathy, 577.
Vacuum — idea of, 53 f., 638 {v. Space).
Vanity — a ' social passion,' 491.
Violent — impressions of reflexion divided into calm and violent, the
passions being violent, 276 ; violent to be distinguished from strong
passions, and calm from weak, 419.
Vivacity — alone distinguishes impressions from ideas, I (cf. 319); vague-
ness of the term, 105 (cf. 629); communicated by an impression to
7o8 INDEX.
Vivacity.
its related idea, 98 f., 119; and unphilosophical probability, 144;
every kind of opinion or judgment which amounts not to knowledge
is derived entirely from the force and vivacity of the perception, and
these qualities constitute in the mind what we call the belief of the
existence of any object, 153 {v. Cause, § 7) ; of our ideas or imagina-
tion the basis of all assent, and the foundation of the senses, memory,
and understanding, 265 ; not a ground of the distinction of our im-
pressions into ' mere perceptions,' and perceptions that have a con-
tinued and distinct existence, 194; every lively idea agreeable, 353;
not the only difference between ideas ; ideas really feel different, 636 ;
synonymous with force, solidity, firmness, steadiness, 629.
Virtue {v. Moral).
Vision — sight does not inform us of distance or outness, but reason, 191;
sight and touch give us our ideas of extension, 235 ; only impres-
sions of sight and touch are figured and extended, 236 f.
Volitions — are original facts and realities, so neither true nor false con-
formable nor contrary to reason, 458 ; an immediate effect of pain
and pleasure, 574 {v. IVill).
"War — foreign, the source of Government, 540.
Will.
§1. A. An exertion of, converts power into action, 12 (cf. 172);
influenced by vivid ideas of pleasure and pain, 119; scholastic and
popular doctrines of, 312; and motive, 312; inconstancy of will of
man, 313 ; and direct passions, 399 f. ; not strictly a passion, though
an immediate effect of pleasure and pain : * by will 1 mean nothing
but the internal impression we feel and are conscious of when we
knowingly give rise to any new motion of our body or new percep-
tions of our mind:' this impression indefinable, 399 (cf. 518);
volition a direct passion, 438 ; ' the will exerts itself when either the
good or the absence of the evil may be attained by any action of the
mind or body,' 439 ; volitions as original existences neither true nor
false, reasonable nor unreasonable, 458; 'will or choice,' 467;
possessed by animals, 468 ; will = character or something durable
or constant in man, 411, 412 (cf. 348, 575)-
B. Willing an obligation strictly impossible, 517; the will never
creates new sentiments and therefore cannot create a new obligation,
518 (cf. 399); but we feign the willing an obligation in order to
avoid contradictions, 523.
§ 2. A. Liberty and necessity of, 400 f. {v. A^ccessity) ; false sen-
sation or experience of liberty by the agent who leels the easy
movement of his will on either side, and imagines that the will is
subject to nothing, and makes a fallacious experiment to prove it,
40S ; ' I do not ascribe to will that unintelligible neces-ity which is
supposed to lie in matter, but I ascribe to matter that intelligible
INDEX, 709
Will.
quality. . . which the most rigid orthodoxy must allow to belong to
will, 410; the will only a cause, and like other causes has no
discoverable connexion with its effects: we can never see the con-
nexion of a volition witli a motion of the body, still less with an
action of the mind, 632 ; we only perceive the constant conjunction
of the actions of the mind as we do of those of matter, 633,
B. Influencing motives of, 413 f.; reason (q. v.) alone can never
be any motive to the will : demonstration is concerned with the
world of ideas, ' will always places us in that of realities :' probable
reasoning only directs a desire or aversion which already exists, 414 ;
reason incapable of preventing volition, 415; reason and passion
can never dispute for the government of the will and of actions, 416 ;
calm passions often determine the will in opposition to the violent,
418, 419.
§ 3. Natural abilities not distinguished from moral virtues because
involuntary, 60S f. ; for (i) most of the virtues are equally involun-
tary ; indeed it is almost impossible for the mind to change its
character in any considerable article, 608 (of. 624) ; (2) no one will
assert that a quality can never produce pleasure or pain to the
person who considers it unless it be perfectly voluntary in the person
who possesses it, 609 (cf. 348-9) ; (3) free will has no place with
regard to the actions no more than the qualities of men : ' it is not
a just consequence that what is voluntary is free ; ' ' our actions are
more voluntary than our judgments, but we have not more liberty in
the one than in the other,' 609 ; belief not an idea, because the mind
has the command over all its ideas, 624.
Wit — true, distinguished only by taste, i. e. by resulting pleasure, 297 ;
'a quality immediately agreeable to others, and so virtuous,' 590;
and eloquence, 61 1.
[Wollaston] — Theory of vice as tendency to cause false judgments,
461 w.
THE END.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, OXFORD
BY VIVIAN RIDLER
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