PART I.

ALL the objects of human reaſon or enquiry may naturally be divided into two kinds, viz. Re⯑lations of Ideas and Matters of Fact. Of the firſt kind are the ſciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arith⯑metic; and in ſhort, every affirmation, which is either intuitively or demonſtratively certain. That the ſquare of the hypothenuſe is equal to the ſquares of the two ſides, is a propoſition, which expreſſes a relation between theſe figures. That three times five is equal to the half of thirty, expreſſes a relation between theſe numbers. Propoſitions of this kind are diſcoverable by the mere operation of thought, without dependence on what is any where exiſtent in the univerſe. Tho' there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the truths demon⯑ſtrated by EUCLID, would for ever retain their cer⯑tainty and evidence.

[46] MATTERS of fact, which are the ſecond objects of human reaſon, are not aſcertained int the ſame man⯑ner; nor is our evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with the foregoing. The con⯑trary of every matter of fact is ſtill poſſible; be⯑cauſe it can never imply a contradiction, and is con⯑ceived by the mind with equal facility and diſtinct⯑neſs, as if ever ſo conformable to reality. That the ſun will not riſe to-morrow is no leſs intelligible a propoſition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation, that it will riſe. We ſhould in vain, therefore, attempt to demonſtrate its falſhood. Were it demonſtratively falſe, it would imply a contradic⯑tion, and could never be diſtinctly conceived by the mind.

IT may, therefore, be a ſubject worthy curioſity, to enquire what is the nature of that evidence, which aſſures us of any real exiſtence and matter of fact, beyond the preſent teſtimony of our ſenſes, or the re⯑cords of our memory. This part of philoſophy, 'tis obſervable, has been little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and therefore our doubts and er⯑rors, in the proſecution of ſo important an enquiry, may be the more excuſable, while we march thro' ſuch difficult paths, without any guide or direction. They may even prove uſeful, by exciting curioſity, and deſtroying that implicit faith and ſecurity, which is the bane of all reaſoning and free enquiry. The [47] diſcovery of defects in the common philoſophy, if any ſuch there be, will not, I preſume, be a diſcou⯑ragement, but rather an incitement, as is uſual, to attempt ſomething more full and ſatisfactory, than has yet been propoſed to the public.

ALL reaſonings concerning matter of fact ſeem to be founded in the relation of Cauſe and Effect. By means of that relation alone can we go beyond the evidence of our memory and ſenſes. If you were to aſk a man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is abſent; for inſtance, that his friend is in the coun⯑try, or in FRANCE; he would give you a reaſon; and this reaſon would be ſome other fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowlege of his former reſolutions and primiſes. A man, finding a watch or any other machine in a deſart iſland, would con⯑clude, that there had once been men in that iſland. All our reaſonings concerning fact are of the ſame nature. And here 'tis conſtantly ſuppoſed, that there is a connexion between the preſent fact and that in⯑ferred from it. Were there nothing to bind them to⯑gether, the inference would be entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice and rational diſ⯑courſe in the dark aſſures us of the preſence of ſome perſon: Why? becauſe theſe are the effects of the human make and fabric, and cloſely connected with it. If we anatomize all the other reaſonings of this nature, we ſhall find, that they are founded in the [48] relation of cauſe and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote, direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect may juſtly be inferred from the other.

IF we would ſatisfy ourſelves, therefore, concern⯑ing the nature of that evidence, which aſſures us of all matters of fact, we muſt enquire how we arrive at the knowlege of cauſe and effect.

I SHALL venture to affirm, as a general propoſition, which admits of no exception, that the knowlege of this relation is not, in any inſtance, attained by reaſonings à priori; but ariſes entirely from experience, when we find, that any particular objects are conſtantly con⯑joined with each other. Let an object be preſented to a man of ever ſo ſtrong natural reaſon and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him, he will not be able, by the moſt accurate examination of its ſenſible qualities, to diſcover any of its cauſes or effects. ADAM, tho' his rational faculties be ſuppoſed, at the very firſt, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from the fluidity and tranſparency of water, that it would ſuffocate him, or from the light and warmth of fire, that it would conſume him. No object ever diſ⯑covers, by the qualities which appear to the ſenſes, either the cauſes, which produced it, or the effects, which will ariſe from it; nor can our reaſon, unaſ⯑ſiſted [49] by experience, ever draw any inferences con⯑cerning real exiſtence and matter of fact.

THIS propoſition, that cauſe and effects are diſcover⯑able, not by reaſon but by experience, will readily be admitted with regard to ſuch objects, as we remem⯑ber to have been once altogether unknown to us; ſince we muſt be conſcious of the utter inability which we then lay under of foretelling what would ariſe from them. Preſent two ſmooth pieces of marble to a man, who has no tincture of natural philoſophy; he will never diſcover, that they will adhere together, in ſuch a manner as to require great force to ſeparate them in a direct line, while they make ſo ſmall a re⯑ſiſtance to a lateral preſſure. Such events, as bear little analogy to the common courſe of nature, are alſo readily confeſſed to be known only by experience; nor does any man imagine that the exploſion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a loadſtone could ever be diſco⯑vered by arguments à priori. In like manner, when an effect is ſuppoſed to depend upon an intricate ma⯑chinery or ſecret ſtructure of parts, we make no dif⯑ficulty to attribute all our knowlege of it to experi⯑ence. Who will aſſert, that he can give the ultimate reaſon, why milk or bread is proper nouriſhment for a man, not for a lion or a tyger?

BUT the ſame truth may not appear, at firſt ſight, to have the ſame evidence with regard to events, [50] which have become familiar to us from our firſt ap⯑pearance in the world, which bear a cloſe analogy to the whole courſe of nature, and which are ſuppoſed to depend on the ſimple qualities of objects, without any ſecret ſtructure of parts. We are apt to ima⯑gine, that we could diſcover theſe effects, by the mere operations of our reaſon, without experience. We fancy, that, were we brought, on a ſudden, into this world, we could at firſt have inferred, that one Bil⯑liard-ball would communicate motion to another up⯑on impulſe; and that we needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pronounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of cuſtom, that, where it is ſtrongeſt, it not only covers our natural ignorance, but even conceals itſelf, and ſeems not to take place, merely becauſe it is found in the higheſt degree.

BUT to convince us, that all the laws of nature and all the operations of bodies, without exception, are known only by experience, the following reflec⯑tions, may, perhaps, ſuffice. Were any object pre⯑ſented to us, and were we required to pronounce con⯑cerning the effect, which will reſult from it, without conſulting paſt obſervation; after what manner, I be⯑ſeech you, muſt the mind proceed in this operation? It muſt invent or imagine ſome event, which it aſcribes to the object as its effect; and 'tis plain that this invention muſt be entirely arbitrary. The mind can [51] never poſſibly find the effect in the ſuppoſed cauſe, by the moſt accurate ſcrutiny and examination. For the effect is totally different from the cauſe, and conſe⯑quently can never be diſcovered in it. Motion in the ſecond Billiard-ball is a quite diſtinct event from mo⯑tion in the firſt; nor is there any thing in the one to ſuggeſt the ſmalleſt hint of the other. A ſtone or piece of metal raiſed into the air, and left without any ſupport, immediately falls: But to conſider the matter à priori, is there any thing we diſcover in this ſituation, which can beget the idea of a downward, rather than an upward, or any other motion, in the ſtone or metal?

AND as the firſt imagination or invention of a par⯑ticular effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we conſult not experience; ſo muſt we alſo eſteem the ſuppoſed tye or connexion between the cauſe and effect, which binds them together, and ren⯑ders it impoſſible, that any other effect could reſult from the operatioon of that cauſe. When I ſee, for inſtance, a Billiard-ball moving in a ſtrait line towards another; even ſuppoſe motion in the ſecond ball ſhould by accident be ſuggeſted to me, as the reſult of their contact or impulſe; may I not conceive, that a hundred different events might as well follow from that cauſe? May not both theſe balls remain at abſo⯑lute reſt? May not the firſt ball return in a ſtrait line, or leap off from the ſecond in any line or direction? [52] All theſe ſuppoſitions are conſiſtent and conceivable. Why then ſhould we give the preference to one, which is no more conſiſtent nor conceivable than the reſt? All our reaſonings à priori will never be able to ſhew us any foundation for this preference.

IN a word, then, every effect is a diſtinct event from its cauſe. It could not, therefore, be diſcovered In the cauſe, and the firſt invention or conception of it, à priori, muſt be entirely arbitrary. And even after it is ſuggeſted, the conjunction of it with the cauſe muſt appear equally arbitrary; ſince there are always many other effects, which, to reaſon, muſt ſeem fully as conſiſtent and natural. In vain, there⯑fore, ſhould we pretend to determine any ſingle event, or infer any cauſe or effect, without the aſſiſtance of obſervation and experience.

HENCE we may diſcover the reaſon, why no philo⯑ſopher, who is rational and modeſt, has ever pretended to aſſign the ultimate cauſe of any natural operation, or to ſhow diſtinctly the action of that power, which produced any ſingle effect in the univerſe. 'Tis con⯑feſſed, that the utmoſt effort of human reaſon is, to reduce the principles, productive of natural phaeno⯑mena, to a greater ſimplicity, and to reſolve the many particular effects into a few general cauſe, by means of reaſonings from analogy, experience, and obſervation. But as to the cauſes of theſe general [53] cauſes, we ſhould in vain attempt their diſcovery; nor ſhall we ever be able to ſatisfy ourſelves, by any particular explication of them. Theſe ultimate ſprings and principles are totally ſhut up from human curi⯑oſity and enquiry. Elaſticity, gravity, coheſion of parts, communication of motion by impulſe; theſe are probably the ultimate cauſes and principles which we ſhall ever diſcover in nature; and we may eſteem ourſelves ſufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reaſoning, we can trace up the particular phaeno⯑mena to, or near to, theſe general principles. The moſt perfect philoſophy of the natural kind only ſtaves off our ignorance a little longer: As perhaps the moſt perfect philoſophy of the moral or metaphy⯑ſical kind ſerves only to diſcover larger portion of our ignorance. Thus the obſervation of human blindneſs and weakneſs is the reſult of all philoſophy, and meets us, at every turn, in ſpight of our endea⯑vours to elude or avoid it.

NOR is geometry, when taken into the aſſiſtance of natural philoſophy, ever able to remedy this de⯑fect, or lead us into the knowlege of ultimate cauſes, by all that accuracy of reaſoning, for which it is ſo juſtly celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics goes upon the ſuppoſition, that certain laws are eſta⯑bliſhed by nature in her operations; and abſtract rea⯑ſonings are employed, either to aſſiſt experience in the diſcovery of theſe laws, or to determine their in⯑fluence [54] in particular inſtances, where it depends upon any preciſe degrees of diſtance and quantity. Thus 'tis a law of motion, diſcovered by experience, that the moment or force of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or proportion of its ſolid contents and its velocity; and conſequently, that a ſmall ſorce may remove the greateſt obſtacle or raiſe the greateſt weight, if by any contrivance or machinery we can encreaſe the velocity of that force, ſo as to make it an over⯑match for its antagoniſt. Geometry aſſiſts us in the application of this law, by giving us the juſt di⯑menſions of all the parts and figures, which can enter into any ſpecies of machine; but ſtill the diſcovery of the law itſelf is owing merely to experience, and all the abſtract reaſonings in the world could never lead us one ſtep towards the knowlege of it. When we reaſon à priori, and conſider merely any object or cauſe, as it appears to the mind, independent of all obſervation, it never could ſuggeſt to us the notion of any diſtinct object, ſuch as its effect; much leſs, ſhew us the inſeparable and inviolable connection be⯑tween them. A man muſt be very ſagacious, who could diſcover by reaſoning, that cryſtal is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without being previouſly acquainted with the operations of theſe qualities.

PART II.

BUT we have not, as yet, attained any tolerable ſatisfaction with regard to the queſtion firſt propoſed. Each ſolution ſtill gives riſe to a new queſtion as dif⯑ficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to farther en⯑quiries. When it is aſked, What is the nature of all our reaſonings concerning matter of fact? The proper anſwer ſeems to be, that they are founded on the rela⯑tion of cauſe and effect. When again it is aſked, What is the foundation of all our reaſonings and con⯑cluſions concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word, EXPERIENCE. But if we ſtill carry on our ſifting humour, and aſk, What is the foundation of all our concluſions from experience? this implies a new queſtion, which may be of more difficult ſolution and explication. Philoſophers, that give themſelves airs of ſuperior wiſdom and ſufficiency, have a hard taſk, when they encounter perſons of inquiſitive diſ⯑poſitions, who puſh them from every corner, to which they retreat, and who are ſure at laſt to bring them to ſome dangerous dilemma. The beſt expedient to prevent this confuſion, is to be modeſt in our preten⯑ſions; and even to diſcover the difficulty ourſelves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit of our very ignorance.

[56] I SHALL content myſelf, in this ſection, with an eaſy taſk, and ſhall pretend only to give a negative anſwer to the queſtion here propoſed. I ſay then, that even after we have experience of the operations of cauſe and effect, our concluſions from that experi⯑ence are not founded on reaſoning, or any proceſs of the underſtanding. This anſwer we muſt endeavour, both to explain and to defend.

IT muſt certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great diſtance from all her ſecrets, and has aoffrded us only the knowlege of a few ſuperficial qualities of objects, while ſhe conceals from us thoſe powers and principles, on which the influence of theſe objects entirely depends. Our ſenſes inform us of the colour, weight, and conſiſtence of bread; but neither ſenſes nor reaſon ever can inform us of thoſe qualities, which fit it for the nouriſhment and ſupport of a human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that won⯑derful force or power, which would carry on a mov⯑ing body for ever in a continued change of place, and which bodies never loſe but by communicating it to others; of this we cannot form the moſt diſtant conception. But notwithanding this ignorance of natural powers^* and principles, we always preſume, [57] where we ſee like ſenſible qualities, that they have like ſecret powers, and lay our account, that effects, ſimilar to thoſe, which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of like colour and conſiſtence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be preſented to us, we make no ſcruple of re⯑peating the experiment, and expect, with certainty, like nouriſhment and ſupport. Now this is a proceſs of the mind or thought, of which I would willingly know the foundation. 'Tis allowed on all hands, that there is no known connection between the ſenſible qualities and the ſecret powers; and conſequently, that the mind is not led to form ſuch a concluſion concerning their conſtant and regular conjunction, by any thing which it knows of their nature. As to paſt Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain information only of thoſe preciſe objects, and that preciſe period of time, which fell under its cogni⯑zance: But why this experience ſhould be extended to future times, and to other objects, which, for aught we know, may be only in appearance ſimilar; this is the main queſtion on which I would inſiſt. The bread, which I formerly eat, nouriſhed me; that is, a body of ſuch ſenſible qualities, was, at that time, endued with ſuch ſecret powers: But does it follow, that other bread muſt alſo nouriſh me at another time, and that like ſenſible qualities muſt always be attended with like ſecret powers? The conſequence ſeems no [58] way neceſſary. At leaſt, it muſt be acknowleged, that there is here a conſequence drawn by the mind; that there is a certain ſtep taken; a proceſs of thought, and an inference, which wants to be explained. Theſe two propoſitions are far from being the ſame, I have found that ſuch an object has always been attended with ſuch an effect, and I foreſee, that other objects, which are, to appearance, ſimilar, will be attended with ſimi⯑lar effects. I ſhall allow, if you pleaſe, that the one propoſition may juſtly be inferred from the other: I know in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you inſiſt, that the inference is made by a chain of reaſon⯑ing, I deſire you to produce that reaſoning. The con⯑nection between theſe propoſitions is not intuitive. There is required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw ſuch an inference; if indeed it be drawn by reaſoning and argument. What that medium is, I muſt confeſs, paſſes my comprehenſion; and 'tis incumbent on thoſe to produce it, who aſſert, that it really exiſts, and is the origin of all our concluſions concerning matter of fact.

THIS negative argument muſt certainly, in proceſs of time, become altogether convincing, if many pe⯑netrating and able philoſophers ſhall turn their inqui⯑ries this way; and no one be ever able to diſcover any connecting propoſition or intermediate ſtep, which ſupports the underſtanding in this concluſion. But as the queſtion is yet new, every reader may not truſt ſo [59] far to his own penetration, as to conclude, becauſe an argument eſcapes his reſearch and enquiry, that there⯑fore it does not really exiſt. For this reaſon it may be requiſite to venture upon a more difficult taſk; and enumerating all the branches of human knowlege, endeavour to ſhew, that none of them can afford ſuch an argument.

ALL reaſonings may be divided into two kinds, viz. demonſtrative reaſonings, or thoſe concerning relations of ideas, and moral reaſonings or thoſe con⯑cerning matter of fact and exiſtence. That there are no demonſtrative arguments in the caſe, ſeems evi⯑dent; ſince it implies no contradiction, that the courſe of nature may change, and that an object ſeemingly like thoſe which we have experienced, may be at⯑tended with different or contrary effects. May I not clearly and diſtinctly conceive, that a body falling from the clouds, and which, in all other reſpects, reſembles ſnow, has yet the taſte of ſalt or feeling of fire? Is there any more intelligible propoſition than to affirm, that all the trees will flouriſh in DE⯑CEMBER and JANUARY, and decay in MAY and JUNE? Now whatever is intelligible, and can be diſ⯑tinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and can never be proved falſe by any demonſtrative argu⯑ments or abſtract reaſonings à priori.

[60] IF we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put truſt in paſt experience, and make it the ſtandard of our future judgment, theſe arguments muſt be pro⯑bable only, or ſuch as regard matter of fact and real exiſtence, according to the diviſion above-mentioned. But that there are no arguments of this kind, muſt appear, if our explication of that ſpecies of reaſoning be admitted as ſolid and ſatisfactory. We have ſaid, that all arguments concerning exiſtence are founded on the relation of cauſe and effect; that our knowlege of that relation is derived entirely from experience, and that all our experimental concluſions proceed upon the ſuppoſition that the future will be conformable to the paſt. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this laſt ſuppoſition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding exiſtence, muſt be evidently going in a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very point in queſtion.

IN reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the ſimilarity, which we diſcover among natural objects, and by which we are induced to ex⯑pect effects ſimilar to thoſe, which we have found to follow from ſuch objects. And tho' none but a fool or madman will ever pretend to diſpute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide of human life; it may ſurely be allowed a philoſopher to have ſo much curioſity at leaſt, as to examine the principle of human nature which gives this mighty authority to [61] experience, and makes us draw advantage from that ſimilarity, which nature has placed among different objects. From cauſes, which appear ſimilar, we ex⯑pect ſimilar effects. This is the ſum of all our expe⯑rimental concluſions. Now it ſeems evident, that if this concluſion were formed by reaſon, it would be as perfect at firſt, and upon one inſtance, as after ever ſo long a courſe of experience. But the caſe is far otherwiſe. Nothing ſo like as eggs; yet no one, on account of this apparent ſimilarity, expects the ſame taſte and reliſh in all of them. 'Tis only after a long courſe of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and ſecurity with regard to a particular event. Now where is that proceſs of rea⯑ſoning, which from one inſtance draws a concluſion, ſo different from that which it infers from an hun⯑dred inſtances, that are no way different from that ſingle inſtance? This queſtion I propoſe as much for the ſake of information, as with an intention of raiſ⯑ing difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any ſuch reaſoning. But I keep my mind ſtill open to inſtruction, if any one will vouchſafe to beſtow it on me.

SHOULD it be ſaid, that from a number of uni⯑form experiments, we infer a connection between the ſenſible qualities and the ſecret powers; this, I muſt confeſs, ſeems the ſame difficulty, couched in diffe⯑rent [62] terms. The queſtion ſtill recurs, On what pro⯑ceſs of argument this inference is founded? Where is the medium, the interpoſing ideas, which join pro⯑popoſitions ſo very wide of each other? 'Tis con⯑feſſed, that the colour, conſiſtence and other ſenſible qualities of bread appear not, of themſelves, to have any connexion with the ſecret powers of nouriſhment and ſupport. For otherwiſe we could infer theſe ſe⯑cret powers from the firſt appearance of theſe ſenſible qualities, without the aid of experience; contrary to the ſentiment of all philoſophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here then is our natural ſtate of ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied by experience? It only ſhews us a number of uniform effects, reſult⯑ing from certain objects, and teaches us, that thoſe particular objects, at that particular time, were en⯑dowed with ſuch powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with ſimilar ſenſible qualities is pro⯑duced, we expect ſimilar powers and forces, and lay our account with a like effect. From a body of like colour and conſiſtence with bread, we look for like nouriſhment and ſupport. But this furely is a ſtep or progreſs of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man ſays, I have found, in all paſt inſtances, ſuch ſenſible qualities, conjoined with ſuch ſecret powers: And when he ſays, ſimilar ſenſible qualities will always be conjoined with ſimilar ſecret powers; he is not guilty [63] of a tautology, nor are theſe propoſitions in any re⯑ſpect the ſame: You ſay that the one propoſition is an inference from another. But you muſt confeſs, that the inference is not intuitive; neither is it de⯑monſtrative: Of what nature is it then? To ſay it is experimental is begging the queſtion. For all in⯑ferences from experience ſuppoſe, as their foundation, that the future will reſemble the paſt, and that ſimi⯑lar powers will be conjoined with ſimilar ſenſible qua⯑lities. If there be any ſuſpicion, that the courſe of nature may change, and that the paſt may be no rule for the future, all experience becomes uſeleſs, and can give riſe to no inference or concluſion. 'Tis im⯑poſſible, therefore, that any arguments from experi⯑ence can prove this reſemblance of the paſt to the future; ſince all theſe arguments are founded on the ſuppoſition of that reſemblance. Let the courſe of things be allowed hitherto ever ſo regular; that alone, without ſome new argument or inference, proves not, that, for the future, it will continue ſo. In vain do you pretend to have learnt the nature of bodies from your paſt experience. Their ſecret nature, and con⯑ſequently, all their effects and influence may change, without any change in their ſenſible qualities. This happens ſometimes, and with regard to ſome objects: Why may it not happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, what proceſs of argument [64] ſecures you againſt this ſuppoſition? My Practice, you ſay, refutes my doubts. But you miſtake the purport of my queſtion. As an agent, I am quite ſatisfied in the point; but as a philoſopher, who has ſome ſhare of curioſity, I will not ſay ſcepticiſm, I want to learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me ſatisfaction in a matter of ſuch vaſt im⯑portance. Can I do better than propoſe the difficulty to the public, even tho', perhaps, I have ſmall hopes of obtaining a ſolution? We ſhall at leaſt, by this means, be ſenſible of our ignorance, if we do not augment our knowlege.

I MUST confeſs, that a man is guilty of unpar⯑donable arrogance, who concludes, becauſe an argu⯑ment has eſcaped his own inveſtigation, that there⯑fore it does not really exiſt. I muſt alſo confeſs, that tho' all the learned, for ſeveral ages, ſhould have employed their time in fruitleſs ſearch upon any ſub⯑ject, it may ſtill, perhaps, be raſh to conclude poſi⯑tively, that the ſubject muſt, therefore, paſs all hu⯑man comprehenſion. Even tho' we examine all the ſources of our knowlege, and conclude them unfit for ſuch a ſubject, there may ſtill remain a ſuſpicion, that the enumeration is not compleat, or the exami⯑nation not accurate. But with regard to the preſent ſubject, there are ſome conſiderations, which ſeem to [65] remove all this accuſation of arrogance or ſuſpicion of miſtake.

'TIS certain, that the moſt ignorant and ſtupid pea⯑ſants, nay infants, nay even brute beaſts improve by experience, and learn the qualities of natural objects, by obſerving the effects, which reſult from them. When a child has felt the ſenſation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but will expect a ſimilar effect from a cauſe, which is ſimilar in its ſenſible qualities and appearance. If you aſſert, there⯑fore, that the underſtanding of the child is led into this concluſion by any proceſs of argument or ratio⯑cination, I may juſtly require you to produce that argument; nor have you any pretext to refuſe ſo equitable a demand. You cannot ſay, that the ar⯑gument is abſtruſe, and may poſſibly eſcape your enquiry; ſince you confeſs, that it is obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you heſitate, there⯑fore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any intricate or profound argument, you, in a man⯑ner, give up the queſtion, and confeſs, that it is not reaſoning which engages us to ſuppoſe the paſt reſembling the future, and to expect ſimilar effects from cauſes, which are, to appearance, ſimilar. This is the propoſition, which I intended to enforce in the preſent ſection. If I be right, I pretend to have [66] made no mighty diſcovery. And if I be wrong, I muſt acknowlege myſelf to be indeed a very back⯑ward ſcholar: ſince I cannot now diſcover an argument, which, it ſeems, was perfectly familiar to me, long before I was out of my cradle.

PART I.

THE paſſion for philoſophy, like that for religion, ſeems liable to this inconvenience, that, tho' it aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpa⯑tion of our vices, it may only ſerve, by imprudent management, to foſter a predominant inclination, and puſh the mind, with more determined reſolution, to⯑wards that ſide, which already draws too much, by the byaſs and propenſity of the natural temper. 'Tis certain, that, while we aſpire to the magnani⯑mous firmneſs of the philoſophic ſage, and endeavour to confine our pleaſures altogether within our own minds, we may, at laſt, render our philoſophy, like that of EPICTETUS, and other Stoics, only a more refined ſyſtem of ſelfiſhneſs, and reaſon ourſelves out of all virtue, as well as ſocial enjoyment. While we ſtudy with attention the vanity of human life, and turn all our thoughts on the empty and tranſitory nature of riches and honors, we are, perhaps, all the [68] while flattering our natural indolence, which, hating the buſtle of the world and drudgery of buſineſs, ſeeks a pretext of reaſon, to give itſelf a full and uncontroled indulgence. There is, however, one ſpecies of philoſophy, which ſeems little liable to this inconvenience, and that becauſe it ſtrikes in with no diſorderly paſſion of the human mind, nor can mingle itſelf with any natural affection or propenſity; and that is the ACADEMIC or SCEPTICAL philoſo⯑phy. The academics talk always of doubts, and ſuſpenſe of judgment, of danger in haſty determina⯑tions, of confining to very narrow bounds the enqui⯑ries of the underſtanding, and of renouncing all ſpe⯑culations which lie not within the limits of common life and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary than ſuch a philoſophy to the ſupine indo⯑lence of the mind, its raſh arrogance, its lofty pre⯑tenſions, and its ſuperſtitious credulity. Every paſ⯑ſion is mortfied by it, except the love of truth; and that paſſion never is, nor can be carried to too high a degree. 'Tis ſurprizing, therefore, that this philo⯑ſophy, which, in almoſt every inſtance, muſt be harmleſs and innocent, ſhould be the ſubject of ſo much groundleſs reproach and obloquy. But, per⯑haps, the very circumſtance which renders it ſo inno⯑cent, is what chiefly expoſes it to the public hatred, and reſentment. By flattering no irregular paſſion, it gains few partizans: By oppoſing ſo many vices and [69] follies, it raiſes to itſelf abundance of enemies, who ſtigmatize it as libertine, profane, and irreligious.

NOR need we fear, that this philoſophy, while it endeavours to limit our enquiries to common life, ſhould ever undermine the reaſonings of common life, and carry its doubts ſo far as to deſtroy all action, as well as ſpeculation. Nature will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over any abſtract reaſoning whatſoever. Tho' we ſhould conclude, for inſtance, as in the foregoing ſection, that, in all reaſonings from experience, there is a ſtep taken by the mind, which is not ſupported by any argument or proceſs of the underſtanding; there is no danger, that theſe reaſonings, on which almoſt all knowledge depends, will ever be affected by ſuch a diſcovery. If the mind be not engaged by argument to make this ſtep, it muſt be induced by ſome other principle of equal weight and authority; and that principle will preſerve its influence as long as human nature re⯑mains the ſame. What that principle is, may well be worth the pains of enquiry.

SUPPOSE a perſon, tho' endowed with the ſtrong⯑eſt faculties of reaſon and reflection, to be brought on a ſudden into this world; he would, indeed, im⯑mediately obſerve a continual ſucceſſion of objects, and one event following another; but he would not be able to diſcover any thing farther. He would [70] not, at firſt, by any reaſoning, be able to reach the idea of cauſe and effect; ſince the particular powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never appear to the ſenſes; nor is it reaſonable to conclude, merely becauſe one event, in one inſtance, precedes another, that therefore the one is the cauſe, and the other the effect. Their conjunction may be arbitra⯑ry and caſual. There may be no reaſon to infer the exiſtence of the one from the appearance of the other. And in a word, ſuch a perſon without more experience, could never employ his conjecture or rea⯑ſoning concerning any matter or fact, or be aſſured of any thing beyond what was immediately preſent to his memory and ſenſes.

SUPPOSE again, that he has acquired more expe⯑rience, and has lived ſo long in the world as to have obſerved ſimilar objects or events to be conſtantly conjoined together; what is the conſequence of this experience? He immediately inſers the exiſtence of the one object from the appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired any idea or knowlege of the ſecret power, by which the one object produces the other; nor is it, by any pro⯑ceſs of reaſoning, he is engaged to draw this infe⯑rence. But ſtill he finds himſelf determined to draw it: And tho' he ſhould be convinced, that his under⯑ſtanding has no part in the operation, he would ne⯑vertheleſs continue in the ſame courſe of thinking. [71] There is ſome other principle, which determines him to form ſuch a concluſion.

THIS principle is CUSTOM or HABIT. For where⯑ever the repetition of any particular act or operation produces a propenſity to renew the ſame act or ope⯑ration, without being impelled by any reaſoning or proceſs of the underſtanding; we always ſay, that this propenſity is the effect of Cuſtom. By employ⯑ing that word, we pretend not to have given the ulti⯑mate reaſon of ſuch a propenſity. We only point out a principle of human nature, which is univerſally ac⯑knowledged, and which is well known by its effects. Perhaps, we can puſh our enquiries no farther, or pretend to give the cauſe of this cauſe; but muſt reſt contented with it as the ultimate principle, which we can aſſign of all our concluſions from experience. 'Tis ſufficient ſatisfaction, that we can go ſo far; without repining at the narrowneſs of our faculties, becauſe they will carry us no farther. And 'tis cer⯑tain we here advance a very intelligible propoſition at leaſt, if not a true one, when we aſſert, that, after the conſtant conjunction of two objects, heat and flame, for inſtance, weight and ſolidity, we are de⯑termined by cuſtom alone to expect the one from the appearance of the other. This hypotheſis ſeems even the only one, which explains the difficulty, why we draw, from a thouſand inſtances, an in⯑ference, which we are not able to draw from [72] one inſtance, that is, in no reſpect, different from them. Reaſon is incapable of any ſuch varia⯑tion. The concluſions, which it draws from conſi⯑dering one circle, are the ſame which it would form upon ſurveying all the circles in the univerſe. But no man, having ſeen only one body move after being impelled by another, could infer, that every other body will move after a like impulſe. All inferences from experience, therefore, are effects of cuſtom, not of reaſoning^*.

[73] CUSTOM, then, is the great guide of human life. 'Tis that principle alone, which renders our expe⯑rience [74] uſeful to us, and makes us expect for the fu⯑ture, a ſimilar train of events with thoſe which have [75] appeared in the paſt. Without the influence of cuſ⯑tom, we ſhould be entirely ignorant of every matter of fact, beyond what is immediately preſent to the memory and ſenſes. We ſhould never know how to adjuſt means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the production of any effect. There would be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief part of ſpeculation.

BUT here it may be proper to remark, that tho' our concluſions from experience carry us beyond our memory and ſenſes, and aſſure us of matters of fact, which happened in the moſt diſtant places and moſt remote ages; yet ſome fact muſt always be preſent to the ſenſes or memory, from which we may firſt pro⯑ceed in drawing theſe concluſions. A man, who ſhould find in a deſert country the remains of pomp⯑ous buildings, would conclude, that the country had, in antient times, been cultivated by civilized inhabi⯑tants; but did nothing of this nature occur to him, he could never form ſuch an inference. We learn the events of former ages from hiſtory; but then we muſt peruſe the volumes, in which this inſtruction is con⯑tained, and thence carry up our inferences from one teſtimony to another, till we arrive at the eye-witneſ⯑ſes and ſpectators of theſe diſtant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon ſome fact, preſent to the me⯑mory or ſenſes, our reaſonings would be merely hy⯑pothetical; and however the particular links might [76] be connected with each other, the whole chain of in⯑ferences would have nothing to ſupport it, nor could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowlege of any real exiſtence. If I aſk, why you believe any particular matter of fact, which you relate, you muſt tell me ſome reaſon; and this reaſon will be ſome other fact, connected with it: But as you cannot pro⯑ceed after this manner, in infinitum, you muſt at laſt terminate in ſome fact, which is preſent to your me⯑mory or ſenſes; or muſt allow, that your belief is en⯑tirely without foundation.

WHAT then is the concluſion of the whole matter? A ſimple one; tho' it muſt be confeſſed, pretty re⯑mote from the common theories of philoſophy. All belief of matter of fact or real exiſtence is derived merely from ſome object, preſent to the memory or ſenſes, and a cuſtomary conjunction betwixt that and any other object. Or in other words; having found, in many inſtances, that any two kinds of objects, flame and heat, ſnow and cold, have always been conjoined together; if flame or ſnow be preſented anew to our ſenſes; the mind is carried by cuſtom to expect heat or cold, and to believe, that ſuch a qua⯑lity does exiſt, and will diſcover itſelf upon a nearer approach. This belief is the neceſſary reſult of plac⯑ing the mind in ſuch circumſtances. 'Tis an opera⯑tion of the ſoul, when we are ſo ſituated, as unavoid⯑able as to feel the paſſion of love, when we receive [77] benefits, or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All theſe operations are a ſpecies of natural inſtincts, which no reaſoning or proceſs of the thought and un⯑derſtanding is able, either to produce, or to prevent.

AT this point, it would be very allowable for us to ſtop our philoſophical reſearches. In moſt queſ⯑tions, we can never make a ſingle ſtep farther; and in all queſtions, we muſt terminate here at laſt, after our moſt reſtleſs and curious enquiries. But ſtill our curioſity will be pardonable, perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to ſtill farther reſearches, and make us examine more accurately the nature of this belief, and of the cuſtomary conjunction, whence it is derived. By this means we may meet ſome explications and analogies, that will give ſatisfaction; at leaſt to ſuch as love the abſtract ſciences, and can be entertained with ſpeculations, which, however accurate, may ſtill retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty. As to readers of a different taſte; the remaining part of this ſection is not calculated for them, and the fol⯑lowing enquiries may well be underſtood, tho' it be neglected.

PART II.

THERE is nothing more free than the imagination of man; and tho' it cannot exceed that original ſtock of ideas, which is furniſhed by the internal and ex⯑ternal [78] ſenſes, it has unlimited power of mixing, com⯑pounding, ſeparating, and dividing theſe ideas, to all the varieties of fiction and viſion. It can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of reali⯑ty, aſcribe to them a particular time and place, con⯑ceive them as exiſtent, and paint them out to itſelf with every circumſtance, that belongs to any hiſtorical fact, which it believes with the greateſt certainty. Wherein, therefore, conſiſts the difference between ſuch a fiction and belief? It lies not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to ſuch a conception, as commands our aſſent, and which is wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this particular idea to any fiction, and conſequently be able to be⯑lieve whatever it pleaſes; contrary to what we find by daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head of a man to the body of a horſe; but it is not in our power to believe, that ſuch an animal has ever really exiſted.

IT follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction and belief lies in ſome ſentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends not on the will, nor can be com⯑manded at pleaſure. It muſt be excited by nature, like all other ſentiments; and muſt ariſe from the par⯑ticular ſituation, in which the mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object is pre⯑ſented [79] to the memory or ſenſes, it immediately, by the force of cuſtom, carries the imagination to con⯑ceive that object, which is uſually conjoined to it; and this conception is attended with a feeling or ſen⯑timent, different from the looſe reveries of the fancy. In this conſiſts the whole nature of belief. For as there is no matter of fact which we believe ſo firmly, that we cannot conceive the contrary, there would be no difference between the conception aſſented to, and that which is rejected, were it not for ſome ſen⯑timent, which diſtinguiſhes the one from the other. If I ſee a billiard-ball moving towards another, on a ſmooth table, I can eaſily conceive it to ſtop upon contact. This conception implies no contradiction; but ſtill it feels very differently from that conception, by which I repreſent to myſelf the impulſe, and the communication of motion from one ball to another.

WERE we to attempt a definition of this ſentiment, we ſhould, perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impoſſible taſk; in the ſame manner as if we ſhould endeavour to define the feeling of cold or paſſion of anger, to a creature who never had an experience of theſe ſentiments. BELIEF is the true and proper name of this feeling; and no one is ever at a loſs to know the meaning of that term; becauſe every man is every moment conſcious of the ſentiment, repre⯑ſented by it. It may not, however, be improper to attempt a deſcription of this ſentiment; in hopes we [80] may, by that means, arrive at ſome analogies, which may afford a more perfect explication of it. I ſay then, that belief is nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, ſteady conception of an object, than what the imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may ſeem ſo unphilo⯑ſophical, is intended only to expreſs that act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken for ſuch, more preſent to us than fictions, cauſes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a ſuperior influence on the paſſions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, '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 ficti⯑tious objects with all the circumſtances of place and time. It may ſet them, in a manner, before our eyes, in their true colors, juſt as they might have exiſted. But as it is impoſſible, that that faculty of imagina⯑tion can ever, of itſelf, reach belief, 'tis evident, that belief conſiſts not in the peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confeſs, that 'tis im⯑poſſible perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception. We may make uſe of words, which ex⯑preſs ſomething near it. But its true and proper name, as we obſerved before, is belief; which is a term, that every one ſufficiently underſtands in com⯑mon life. And in philoſophy, we can go no farther [81] than aſſert, that belief is ſomething felt by the mind, which diſtinguiſhes the ideas of the judgment from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more force and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; inforces them in the mind; and renders them the governing principle of all our actions. I hear at preſent, for inſtance, a perſon's voice, with whom I am acquainted; and the ſound comes as from the next room. This impreſſion of my ſenſes imme⯑diately conveys my thought to the perſon, together with all the ſurrounding objects. I paint them out to myſelf as exiſting at preſent, with the ſame qualities and relations, of which I formerly knew them poſſeſt. Theſe ideas take faſter hold of my mind, than ideas of an inchanted caſtle. They are very different to the feeling, and have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give pleaſure or pain, joy or ſor⯑row.

LET us, then, take in the whole compaſs of this doctrine, and allow, that the ſentiment of belief is nothing but a conception of an object more intenſe and ſteady than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of conception ariſes from a cuſtomary conjunction of the object with ſomething preſent to the memory or ſenſes: I believe that it will not be difficult, upon theſe ſuppoſitions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it, [82] and to trace up theſe phaenomena to principles ſtill more general.

WE have already obſerved, that nature has eſta⯑bliſhed connexions among particular ideas, and that no ſooner one idea occurs to our thoughts than it in⯑troduces its correlative, and carries our attention to⯑wards it, by a gentle and inſenſible movement. Theſe principles of connexion or aſſociation we have re⯑duced to three, viz. Reſemblance, Contiguity, and Cauſation; which are the only bonds, that unite our thoughts together, and beget that regular train of reflection or diſcourſe, which, in a greater or leſs de⯑gree, takes place among all mankind. Now here ariſes a queſtion, on which the ſolution of the preſent difficulty will depend. Does it happen, in all theſe relations, that, when one of the objects is preſented to the ſenſes or memory, the mind is not only carried to the conception of the correlative, but reaches a ſteadier and ſtronger conception of it than what other⯑wiſe it would have been able to attain? This ſeems to be the caſe with that belief, which ariſes from the relation of cauſe and effect. And if the caſe be the ſame with the other relations or principles of aſſoci⯑ation, we may eſtabliſh this as a general law, which takes place in all the operations of the mind.

WE may, therefore, obſerve, as the firſt experi⯑ment to our preſent purpoſe, that, upon the appear⯑ance [83] of the picture of an abſent friend, our idea of him is evidently enlivened by the reſemblance, and that every paſſion, which that idea occaſions, whe⯑ther of joy or ſorrow, acquires new force and vi⯑gor. In producing this effect, there concur both a relation and a preſent impreſſion. Where the picture bears him no reſemblance, or at leaſt was not intend⯑ed for him, it never ſo much as conveys our thought to him: And where it is abſent, as well as the per⯑ſon; though the mind may paſs from the thought of the one to that of the other; it feels its idea to be rather weakened than enlivened by that tranſition. We take a pleaſure in viewing the picture of a friend, when 'tis ſet before us; but when 'tis removed, ra⯑ther chuſe to conſider him directly, than by reflection in an image, which is equally diſtant and obſcure.

THE ceremonies of the ROMAN CATHOLIC reli⯑gion may be conſidered as experiments of the ſame nature. The devotees of that ſuperſtition uſually plead in excuſe of the mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they feel the good effect of thoſe external motions, and poſtures, and actions, in en⯑livening their devotion and quickening their ſervor, which otherwiſe would decay, if directed intirely to diſtant and immaterial objects. We ſhadow out the objects of our faith, ſay they, in ſenſible types and images, and render them more preſent to us by the immediate preſence of theſe types, than 'tis poſſible [84] for us to do, merely by an intellectual view and con⯑templation. Senſible objects have always a greater influence on the fancy than any other; and this in⯑fluence they readily convey to thoſe ideas, to which they are related, and which they reſemble. I ſhall only infer from theſe practices, and this reaſoning, that the effect of reſemblance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in every caſe a reſemblance and a preſent impreſſion muſt concur, we are abun⯑dantly ſupplied 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 conti⯑guity as well as of reſemblance. 'Tis certain that di⯑ſtance 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, which 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 tranſ⯑ports it with a ſuperior vivacity. When I am a few miles from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I am two hundred leagues diſtant; tho' even at that diſtance the reflecting on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends or fa⯑mily naturally produces an idea of them. But as in this latter caſe, both the objects of the mind are ideas; notwithſtanding there is an eaſy tranſition be⯑tween [85] 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 in⯑fluence as the other two relations of reſemblance and contiguity. Superſtitious people are fond of the re⯑licts of ſaints and holy men, for the ſame reaſon, that they ſeek after types or images, in order to en⯑liven their devotion, and give them a more intimate and ſtrong conception of thoſe exemplary lives, which they deſire to imitate. Now 'tis evident, that one of the beſt relicts, which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a ſaint; and if his cloaths [86] and furniture are ever to be conſidered in this light, 'tis becauſe they were once at his diſpoſal, and were moved and affected by him; in which reſpect they are to be conſidered as imperfect effects, and as con⯑nected with him by a ſhorter chain of conſequences than any of thoſe, by which we learn the reality of his exiſtence.

SUPPOSE, that the ſon of a friend, who had been long dead or abſent, were preſented to us; 'tis evi⯑dent, that this object would inſtantly revive its corre⯑lative idea, and recal to our thoughts all paſt intima⯑cies and familiarities in more lively colors than they would otherwiſe have appeared to us. This is ano⯑ther phaenomenon, which ſeems to prove the principle above-mentioned.

WE may obſerve, that in theſe phaenomena the belief of the correlative object is always pre-ſup⯑poſed; without which the relation could have no ef⯑fect in enlivening the idea. The influence of the picture ſuppoſes, that we believe our friend to have once exiſted. Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of home, unleſs we believe that it really ex⯑iſts. Now I aſſert, that this belief, where it reaches beyond the memory or ſenſes, is of a ſimilar nature, and ariſes from ſimilar cauſes, with the tranſition of thought and vivacity of conception here explained. When I throw a piece of dry wood into a fire, my [87] mind is immediately carried to conceive, that it aug⯑ments, not extinguiſhes the flame. This tranſition of thought from the cauſe to the effect proceeds not from reaſon. It derives its origin altogether from cuſtom and experience. And as it firſt begins from an ob⯑ject, preſent to the ſenſes, it renders the idea or con⯑ception of flame more ſtrong and lively than any looſe, floating reverie of the imagination. That idea ariſes immediately. The thought moves inſtantly to⯑wards it, and conveys to it all that force of concep⯑tion, which is derived from the impreſſion preſent to the ſenſes. When a ſword is levelled at my breaſt, does not the idea of wound and pain ſtrike me more ſtrongly, than when a glaſs of wine is preſented to me, even tho' by accident this idea ſhould occur after the appearance of the latter object? But what is there in this whole matter to cauſe ſuch a ſtrong concep⯑tion, except only a preſent object and cuſtomary tran⯑ſition to the idea of another object, which we have been accuſtomed to conjoin with the former? This is the whole operation of the mind in all our concluſions concerning matter of fact and exiſtence; and 'tis a ſatisfaction to find ſome analogies, by which it may be explained. The tranſition from a preſent object does in all caſes give ſtrength and ſolidity to the related idea.

HERE is a kind of pre-eſtabliſhed harmony be⯑tween the courſe of nature and the ſucceſſion of our [88] ideas; and tho' the powers and forces, by which the former is governed, be wholly unknown to us; yet our thoughts and conceptions have ſtill, we find, gone on in the ſame train with the other works of nature. Cuſtom is that admirable principle, by which this correſpondence has been effected; ſo neceſſary to the ſubſiſtence of our ſpecies, and the regulation of our conduct, in every circumſtance and occurrence of hu⯑man life. Had not the preſence of an object inſtant⯑ly excited the idea of thoſe objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our knowledge muſt have been limited to the narrow ſphere of our memory and ſen⯑ſes; and we ſhould never have been able to adjuſt means to ends, nor employ our natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding of evil. Thoſe, who delight in the diſcovery and contemplation of fi⯑nal cauſes, have here ample ſubject to employ their wonder and admiration.

I SHALL add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing theory, that as this operation of the mind, by which we infer like effects from like cauſes, and vice verſa, is ſo eſſential to the ſubſiſtence of all hu⯑man creatures, it is not probable that it could be truſted to the fallacious deductions of our reaſon, which is ſlow in its operations; appears not, in any degree, during the firſt years of infancy; and at beſt is, in every age and period of human life, extremely liable to error and miſtake. 'Tis more conformable [89] to the ordinary wiſdom of nature of ſecure ſo neceſſa⯑ry an act of the mind, by ſome inſtinct or mechanical tendency, which may be infallible in its operations, may diſcover itſelf at the firſt appearance of life and thought, and may be independent of all the labored deductions of the underſtanding. As nature has taught us the uſe of our limbs, without giving us the knowledge of the muſcles and nerves, by which they are actuated; ſo has ſhe implanted in us an inſtinct, which carries forward the thought in a correſpondent courſe to that which ſhe has eſtabliſhed among exter⯑nal objects; tho' we are ignorant of thoſe powers and forces, on which this regular courſe and ſucceſ⯑ſion of objects totally depends.

PART I.

THE great advantage of the mathematical ſci⯑ences above the moral conſiſts in this, that the ideas of the former, being ſenſible, are always clear and determinate, the ſmalleſt diſtinction between them is immediately perceptible, and the ſame terms are ſtill expreſſive of the ſame ideas, without ambi⯑guity or variation. An oval is never miſtaken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipſis. The iſoſceles and ſcalenum are diſtinguiſhed by boundaries more exact than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be deſined in geometry, the mind readily, of it⯑ſelf ſubſtitutes, on all occaſions, the definition for the term defined; Or even when no definition is employ⯑ed, the object itſelf may be preſented to the ſenſes, and by that means be ſteadily and clearly apprehend⯑ed. But the finer ſentiments of the mind, the opera⯑tions of the underſtanding, the various agitations of [98] the paſſions, tho' really in themſelves diſtinct, eaſily eſcape us, when ſurveyed by reflection; nor is it in our power to recall the original object, as often as we have occaſion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is gradually introduced into our reaſonings: Similar objects are readily taken to be the ſame: And the concluſion becomes at laſt very wide of the premi⯑ſes.

ONE may ſafely, however, affirm, that, if we con⯑ſider theſe ſciences in a proper light, their advantages and diſadvantages very nearly compenſate each other, and reduce both of them to a ſtate of equality. If the mind with greater facility retains the ideas of ge⯑ometry clear and determinate, it muſt carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reaſoning, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach the abſtruſer truths of that ſcience. And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obſcurity and confuſion, the inferences are always much ſhorter in theſe diſquiſitions, and the interme⯑diate ſteps, which lead to the concluſion, much fewer than in the ſciences which treat of quantity and num⯑ber. In reality, there is ſcarce a propoſition in EU⯑CLID ſo ſimple, as not to conſiſt of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reaſoning which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the human mind thro' a few ſteps, we may be very well ſatisfied with our progreſs; conſi⯑dering [99] how ſoon nature throws a bar to all our in⯑quiries concerning cauſes, and reduces us to an ac⯑knowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obſta⯑cle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or metaphyſical ſciences is the obſcurity of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and com⯑paſs of thought, requiſite to the forming any conclu⯑ſion. And perhaps, our progreſs in natural philo⯑ſophy is chiefly retarded by the want of proper expe⯑riments and phaenomena, which often are diſcovered by chance, and cannot always be found, when requi⯑ſite, even by the moſt diligent and prudent inquiry. As moral philoſophy ſeems hitherto to have received leſs improvements than either geometry or phyſics, we may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this reſpect among theſe ſciences, the difficulties, which obſtruct the progreſs of the former, require ſu⯑perior care and capacity to be ſurmounted.

THERE are no ideas, which occur in metaphyſics, more obſcure and uncertain, than thoſe of power▪ force, energy, or neceſſary connexion, of which it is every moment neceſſary for us to treat in all our diſquiſitions. We ſhall, therefore, endeavour, in this ſection, to fix, if poſſible, the preciſe meaning of theſe terms, and thereby remove ſome part of that obſcurity, which is ſo much complained of in this ſpecies of philoſophy.

[100] IT ſeems a propoſition, which will not admit of much diſpute, that all our ideas are nothing but co⯑pies of our impreſſions, or, in other words, that 'tis impoſſible for us to think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal ſenſes. I have endeavoured^* to explain and prove this propoſition, and have expreſſed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearneſs and preciſion in philoſophical reaſonings, than what they have hitherto been ever able to at⯑tain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of thoſe parts or ſimple ideas, that compoſe them. But when we have puſhed up definitions to the moſt ſim⯑ple ideas, and find ſtill ſome ambiguity and obſcurity; what reſource are we then poſſeſſed of? By what in⯑vention can we throw light upon theſe ideas, and ren⯑der them altogether preciſe and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the impreſſions or original ſentiments, from which the ideas are copied. Theſe impreſſions are all ſtrong and ſenſible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light themſelves, but may throw light on their correſpondent ideas, which lie in obſcurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microſcope or ſpecies of optics, by which, in the moral ſciences, the moſt minute, and moſt ſimple ideas may be ſo en⯑larged [101] as to fall readily under our apprehenſion, and be equally known with the groſſeſt and moſt ſenſible ideas, which can be the object of our inquiry.

To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or neceſſary connexion, let us examine its im⯑preſſion; and in order to find the impreſſion with greater certainty, let us ſearch for it in all the ſources, from which it may poſſibly be derived.

WHEN we look about us towards external objects, and conſider the operation of cauſes, we are never able, in a ſingle inſtance, to diſcover any power or ne⯑ceſſary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cauſe, and renders the one an infallible conſe⯑quence of the other. We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulſe of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the ſe⯑cond. This is the whole that appears to the outward ſenſes. The mind feels no ſentiment or inward im⯑preſſion from this ſucceſſion of objects: Conſequently, there is not, in any ſingle, particular inſtance of cauſe and effect, any thing which can ſuggeſt the idea of power or neceſſary connexion.

FROM the firſt appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will reſult from it. But were the power or energy of any cauſe diſcoverable by the mind, we could foreſee the effect, even without [102] experience, and might, at firſt, pronounce with cer⯑tainty concerning it, by the mere dint of thought and reaſoning.

IN reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its ſenſible qualities, diſcover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extenſion, motion; theſe qualities are all complete in themſelves, and never point out any other event which may reſult from them. The ſcenes of the univerſe are continual⯑ly ſhifting, and one object follows another in an unin⯑terrupted ſucceſſion; but the power or force, which actuates the whole machine, is intirely concealed from us, and never diſcovers itſelf in any of the ſenſible qua⯑lities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is a con⯑ſtant attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we have no room ſo much as to con⯑jecture or imagine. 'Tis impoſſible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contem⯑plation of bodies, in ſingle inſtances of their operation; becauſe no bodies ever diſcover any power, which can be the original of this idea^*.

[103] SINCE, therefore, external objects, as they appear to the ſenſes, give us no idea of power or neceſſary connexion, by their operations in particular inſtances, let us ſee, whether this idea be derived from re⯑flection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal impreſſion. It may be ſaid, that we are every moment conſcious of power in our own minds; while we feel, that, by the ſimple com⯑mand of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our minds, in their operation. An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, or raiſes a new idea in our imagination. This influence of the will we know by conſciouſneſs. Hence we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we ourſelves and all other intelligent beings are poſſeſſed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, ſince it ariſes from reflecting on the operations of our own minds, and on the command which is exerciſed by will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the mind.

WE ſhall proceed to examine this pretenſion; and firſt with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we may obſerve, [104] is a fact, which, like all other natural operations, can be known only by experience, and can never be foreſeen from any apparent energy or power in the cauſe, which connects it with the effect, and ren⯑ders the one an inſallible conſequence of the other. The motion of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment con⯑ſcious: But the means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the will performs ſo extraordinary an operation; of this we are ſo far from being imme⯑diately conſcious, that it muſt for ever eſcape our moſt diligent inquiry.

FOR firſt; is there any principle in all nature more myſterious than the union of ſoul with body; by which a ſuppoſed ſpiritual ſubſtance acquires ſuch an influence over a material one, that the moſt refined thought is able to actuate the groſſeſt matter? Were we empowered, by a ſecret wiſh, to remove moun⯑tains, or control the planets in their orbit; this exten⯑ſive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehenſion. But if by conſci⯑ouſneſs we perceived any power or energy in the will, we muſt know this power; we muſt know its con⯑nexion with the effect; we muſt know the ſecret union of ſoul and body, and the nature of both theſe ſubſtances: by which the one is able to operate, in ſo many inſtances, upon the other.

[105] Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a like authority; tho' we cannot aſ⯑ſign any other reaſon, beſides experience, for ſo re⯑markable a difference betwixt one and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, and not over the heart or liver? This queſ⯑tion would never embarraſs us, were we conſcious of a power in the former caſe, and not in the latter. We ſhould then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumſcribed within ſuch particular limits. Being in that caſe fully acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we ſhould alſo know, why its in⯑fluence reaches preciſely to ſuch boundaries, and no farther.

A MAN, ſtruck ſuddenly with a palſy in the leg or arm, or who had newly loſt thoſe members, frequently endeavours, at firſt to move them, and employ them in their uſual offices. Here he is as much conſcious of power to command ſuch limbs, as a man in perfect health is conſcious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural ſtate and condition. But conſciouſneſs never deceives. Conſequently, neither in the one caſe nor in the other, are we ever conſcious of any power. We learn the influence of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches us, how one event conſtantly follows another, without [106] inſtructing us in the ſecret connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inſeparable.

Thirdly, WE learn from anatomy, that the imme⯑diate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itſelf which is moved, but certain muſcles, and nerves, and animal ſpirits, and perhaps, ſome⯑thing ſtill more minute and more unknown, thro' which the motion is ſucceſſively propagated, ere it reach the member itſelf whoſe motion is the imme⯑diate object of volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation is performed, ſo far from being directly and fully known by an inward ſentiment or conſciouſneſs, is, to the laſt degree, myſterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event: Immediately, another event, unknown to ourſelves, and totally different from that intended, is produced: This event produces another, equally unknown: Till at laſt, thro' a long ſucceſſion, the deſired event is produced. But if the original power were felt, it muſt be known: Were it known, its effect muſt alſo be known; ſince all power is relative to its effect. And vice verſa, if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known or felt. How indeed can we be conſcious of a power to move our limbs, when we have no ſuch power; but only that to move certain animal ſpirits, which, tho' they produce at laſt the motion of our limbs, yet operate in ſuch a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehenſion?

[107] WE may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any temerity, tho' with aſſurance; that our idea of power is not copied from any ſentiment or conſciouſneſs of power within ourſelves, when we give riſe to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their proper uſe and office. That their motion follows the command of the will is a matter of common expe⯑rience, like other natural events: But the power or energy, by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable^*.

SHALL We then aſſert, that we are conſcious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act [108] or command of our will, we raiſe up a new idea, fix the mind to a contemplation of it, turn it on all ſides, and at laſt diſmiſs it for ſome other idea, when we think, that we have ſurveyed it with ſufficient accu⯑racy? I believe the ſame arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy.

Firſt, IT muſt be allowed, that when we know a power, we know that very circumſtance in the cauſe, by which it is enabled to produce the effect: For theſe are ſuppoſed to be ſynonimous. We muſt, therefore, know both the cauſe and effect, and the re⯑lation between them. But do we pretend to be ac⯑quainted with the nature of the human ſoul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to pro⯑duce the other? This is a real creation; a production of ſomething out of nothing: Which implies a power ſo great, that it may ſeem, at firſt ſight, beyond the reach of any being, leſs than infinite. At leaſt it muſt be owned, that ſuch a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event, viz. The exiſtence of an idea, confequent to a command of the will: But the manner, in which this operation is performed; the power, by which it is pro⯑duced; is intirely beyond our comprehenſion.

Secondly, THE command of the mind over itſelf is limited, as well as its command over the body; and [109] theſe limits are not known by reaſon, or any acquaint⯑ance with the nature of the cauſe and effect; but on⯑ly by experience and obſervation, as in all other na⯑tural events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority over our ſentiments and paſſions is much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumſcribed within very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to aſſign the ulti⯑mate reaſon of theſe boundaries, or ſhow why the power is deficient in one caſe and not in another?

Thirdly, THIS ſelf-command is very different at different times. A man in health poſſeſſes more of it, than one languiſhing with ſickneſs. We are more maſter of our thoughts in the morning than in the evening: Faſting, than after a full meal. Can we give any reaſon for theſe variations, except experience? Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be conſcious? Is there not here, either in a ſpiritual or material ſubſtance, or both, ſome ſecret mechaniſm or ſtructure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and which being intirely unknown to us, renders the pow⯑er or energy of the will equally unknown and incom⯑prehenſible?

VOLITION is ſurely an act of the mind, with which we are ſufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Con⯑ſider it on all ſides. Do you find any thing in it like this creative power, by which it raiſes from nothing a [110] new idea, and with a kind of FIAT, imitates the omni⯑potence of its Maker, if I may be allowed ſo to ſpeak, who called forth into exiſtence all the various ſcenes of nature? So far from being conſcious of this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience, as that of which we are poſſeſſed, to convince us, that ſuch ex⯑traordinary effects do ever reſult from a ſimple act of volition.

THE generality of mankind never find any diffi⯑culty in accounting for the more common and familiar operations of nature; ſuch as the deſcent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of ani⯑mals, or the nouriſhment of bodies by food: But ſup⯑poſe, that, in all theſe caſes, they perceive the very force or energy of the cauſe, by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its opera⯑tion. They acquire, by long habit, ſuch a turn of mind, that, upon the appearance of the cauſe, they immediately expect with aſſurance its uſual attendant, and hardly conceive it poſſible, that any other event could reſult from it. 'Tis only on the diſcovery of extraordinary phaenomena, ſuch as earthquakes, peſ⯑tilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themſelves at a loſs to aſſign a proper cauſe, and to ex⯑plain the manner in which the effect is produced by it. 'Tis uſual for men, in ſuch difficulties, to have recourſe to ſome inviſible, intelligent principle^*, as [111] the immediate cauſe of that event, which ſurpriſes them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the common powers of nature. But philo⯑ſophers, who carry their ſcrutiny a little farther, im⯑mediately perceive, that, even in the moſt familiar events, the energy of the cauſe is as unintelligible as in the moſt unuſual, and that we only learn by expe⯑rience the frequent CONJUNCTION of objects, with⯑out being ever able to comprehend any thing like CONNEXION between them. Here then, many philo⯑ſophers think themſelves obliged by reaſon to have recourſe, on all occaſions, to the ſame principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in caſes, that appear miraculous and ſupernatural. They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and original cauſe of all things, but the immediate and ſole cauſe of every event, which appears in na⯑ture. They pretend, that thoſe objects, which are commonly denominated cauſes, are in reality nothing but occaſions; and that the true and direct principle of every effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills, that ſuch particular objects ſhould, for ever, be conjoined with each other. Inſtead of ſaying, that one billiard-ball moves another, by a force which it has derived from the author of nature; 'tis the Deity himſelf, they ſay, who, by a particular volition, moves the ſecond ball, being determined to this operation by the impulſe of the firſt ball; in conſequence of thoſe general laws, [112] which he has laid down to himſelf in the government of the univerſe. But philoſophers, advancing ſtill in their inquiries, diſcover, that, as we are totally igno⯑rant of the power on which depends the mutual ope⯑ration of bodies, we are no leſs ignorant of that power, on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind; nor are we able, either from our ſenſes or conſciouſneſs, to aſſign the ultimate principle in one caſe, more than in the other. The ſame ig⯑norance, therefore, reduces them to the ſame conclu⯑ſion. They aſſert, that the Deity is the immediate cauſe of the union between ſoul and body, and that they are not the organs of ſenſe, which, being agita⯑ted by external objects, produce ſenſations in the mind; but that 'tis a particular volition of our omni⯑potent Maker, which excites ſuch a ſenſation, in con⯑ſequence of ſuch a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will, that produ⯑ces local motion in our members: 'Tis God himſelf, who is pleaſed to ſecond our will, in itſelf impotent, and to command that motion, which we erroneouſly attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do philoſophers ſtop at this concluſion. They ſome⯑times extend the ſame inference to the mind itſelf, in its internal operations. Our mental viſion or concep⯑tion of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raiſe up its image in the fancy; it is not the will which creates that idea; [113] 'Tis the univerſal Creator of all things, who diſcovers it to the mind, and renders it preſent to us.

THUS, according to theſe philoſophers, every thing is full of God. Not contented with the principle, that nothing exiſts but by his will, that nothing poſ⯑ſeſſes any power but by his conceſſion: They rob na⯑ture, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their dependance on the Deity ſtill more ſenſible and immediate. They conſider not, that by this theory they diminiſh, inſtead of magnifying, the grandeur of thoſe attributes, which they affect ſo much to celebrate. It argues ſurely more power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to in⯑ferior creatures, than to operate every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues more wiſdom to contrive at firſt the fabric of the world with ſuch per⯑fect foreſight, that, of itſelf, and by its proper opera⯑tion, it may ſerve all the purpoſes of providence, than if the great Creator were obliged every moment to ad⯑juſt its parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that ſtupendous machine.

BUT if we would have a more a philoſophical confu⯑tation of this theory, perhaps the two following re⯑flections may ſuffice.

Firſt, IT ſeems to me, that this theory of the uni⯑verſal energy and operation of the Supreme Being, is [114] too bold ever to carry conviction with it to a man who is ſufficiently apprized of the weakneſs of human reaſon, and the narrow limits, to which it is confined in all its operations. Tho' the chain of arguments, which conduct to it, were ever ſo logical, there muſt ariſe a ſtrong ſuſpicion, if not an abſolute aſſurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to concluſions ſo extraordinary, and ſo remote from common life and experience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the laſt ſteps of our theory; and there we have no reaſon to truſt our common methods of argument, or think that our uſual analogies and probabilities have any autho⯑rity. Our line is too ſhort to fathom ſuch immenſe abyſſes. And however we may flatter ourſelves, that we are guided, in every ſtep which we take, by a kind of veriſimilitude and experience; we may be aſſured, that this fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply it to ſubjects that lie intirely out of the ſphere of experience. But on this we ſhall have oc⯑caſion to touch afterwards^*.

Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the argu⯑ments on which this theory is founded. We are ig⯑norant, tis true, of the manner in which bodies ope⯑rate on each other: Their force or energy is intirely incomprehenſible. But are we not equally ignorant of the manner or force, by which a mind, even the [115] ſupreme mind, operates either on itſelf or on body? Whence, I beſeech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have no ſentiment or conſciouſneſs of this power in ourſelves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own facul⯑ties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reaſon for rejecting any thing, we ſhould be led into that principle of denying all energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the groſſeſt matter. We ſurely com prehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive, that motion may ariſe from impulſe, than that it may ariſe from voli⯑tion? All we know is our profound ignorance in both caſes^*.

[116] BUT to haſten to a concluſion of this argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length: We have ſought in vain for an idea of power or neceſ⯑ſary connexion, in all the ſources from which we could ſuppoſe it to be derived. It appears, that, in ſingle inſtances of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmoſt ſcrutiny, diſcover any thing but one event following another; without being able to comprehend any force or power, by which the cauſe operates, or any connexion between it and its ſuppoſed effect. The ſame difficulty occurs in contemplating the ope⯑rations of mind on body; where we obſerve the mo⯑tion of the latter to follow upon the volition of the former; but are not able to obſerve nor conceive the [117] tye, which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehenſible: So that, upon the whole, there appears not, thro' all nature, any one inſtance of connexion, which is conceivable by us. All events ſeem intirely looſe and ſeparate. One event follows another; but we never can obſerve any tye between them. They ſeem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing, which never appeared to our outward ſenſe or inward ſentiment, the neceſſary concluſion ſeems to be, that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and that theſe words are abſolutely without any mean⯑ing, when employed either in philoſophical reaſon⯑ings, or common life.

BUT there ſtill remains one method of avoiding this concluſion, and one ſource which we have not yet ex⯑amined. When any natural object or event is pre⯑ſented, 'tis impoſſible for us, by any ſagacity or pe⯑netration, to diſcover, or even conjecture, without ex⯑perience, what event will reſult from it, or to carry our foreſight beyond that object, which is immediate⯑ly preſent to the memory and ſenſes. Even after one inſtance or experiment, where we have obſerved a particular event to follow upon another, we are not intitled to form a general rule, or foretel what will happen in like caſes; it being juſtly eſteemed an un⯑pardonable [118] temerity to judge of the whole courſe of nature from one ſingle experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular ſpecies of event has always, in all inſtances, been conjoined with ano⯑ther, we make no longer any ſcruple to foretel the one upon the appearance of the other, and to employ that reaſoning, which can alone aſſure us of any mat⯑ter of fact or exiſtence. We then call the one object, Cauſe; and the other, Effect. We ſuppoſe, that there is ſome connexion between them; ſome power in the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and o⯑perates with the greateſt certainty and ſtrongeſt ne⯑ceſſity.

IT appears, then, that this idea of a neceſſary con⯑nexion from events ariſes from a number of ſimilar inſtances, which occur, of the conſtant conjunction of theſe events; nor can that idea ever be ſuggeſted by any one of theſe inſtances, ſurveyed in all poſſible lights and poſitions. But there is nothing in a num⯑ber of inſtances, different from every ſingle inſtance, which is ſuppoſed to be exactly ſimilar; except only, that after a repetition of ſimilar inſtances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its uſual attendant, and to believe, that it will exiſt. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, or cuſtomary tranſition of the imagination from one object to its uſual attendant, is the ſenti⯑ment or impreſſion, from which we form the idea of [119] power or neceſſary connexion. Nothing farther is in the caſe. Contemplate the ſubject on all ſides, you will never find any other origin of this idea. This is the ſole difference between one inſtance, from which we never can receive the idea of connexion, and a number of ſimilar inſtances, by which it is ſuggeſted. The firſt time a man ſaw the communication of mo⯑tion by impulſe, as by the ſhock of two billiard balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was con⯑nected; but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has obſerved ſeveral inſtances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What al⯑teration has happened to give riſe to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he now feels theſe events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily foretel the exiſtence of one from the appearance of the other. When we ſay, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only, that they have acquired a connexion in our thoughts, and give riſe to this inference, by which they become proofs of each other's exiſtence: A concluſion; which is ſomewhat extraordinary; but which ſeems founded on ſufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakned by any general diffidence of the under⯑ſtanding, or ſceptical ſuſpicion concerning every con⯑cluſion, which is new and extraordinary. No con⯑cluſions can be more agreeable to ſcepticiſm than ſuch as make diſcoveries concerning the weakneſs and nar⯑row limits of human reaſon and capacity.

[120] AND what ſtronger inſtance can be produced of the ſurpriſing ignorance and weakneſs of the underſtand⯑ing, than the preſent? For ſurely, if there be any re⯑lation among objects, which it imports us to know perfectly, 'tis that of cauſe and effect. On this are founded all our reaſonings concerning matter of fact or exiſtence. By means of it alone we attain any aſ⯑ſurance concerning objects which are removed from the preſent teſtimony of our memory and ſenſes. The only immediate utility of all ſciences, is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their cauſes. Our thoughts and inquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed about this relation. And yet ſo imperfect are the ideas which we form concern⯑ing it, that 'tis impoſſible to give any juſt definition of cauſe, except what is drawn from ſomething extra⯑neous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined with ſimilar. Of this we have experience. Suitable to this experience, therefore, we may define a cauſe to be an object, followed by another, and where all the objects, ſimilar to the firſt, are followed by ob⯑jects ſimilar to the ſecond. Or in other words, where, if the firſt object had not been, the ſecond never had ex⯑iſted. The appearance of a cauſe always conveys the mind, by a cuſtomary tranſition, to the idea of the ef⯑fect. Of this alſo we have experience. We may, therefore, ſuitable to this experience, form another de⯑finition of cauſe, and call it, an object followed by an⯑other, and whoſe appearance always conveys the thought [121] to that other. But tho' both theſe definitions be drawn from circumſtances foreign to the cauſe, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumſtance in the cauſe, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have no idea of this connexion; nor even any diſtinct notion what it is we deſire to know, when we endeavour at a conception of it. We ſay, for inſtance, that the vibration of this ſtring is the cauſe of this particular ſound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We either mean, that this vibra⯑tion is followed by this ſound, and that all ſimilar vibra⯑tions have been followed by ſimilar ſounds: Or, that this vibration is followed by this ſound, and that upon the appearance of one, the mind anticipates the ſenſes, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may conſider the relation of cauſe and effect in either of theſe two lights; but beyond theſe, we have no idea of it^*.

[122] To recapitulate, therefore, the reaſonings of this ſection: Every idea is copied from ſome preceding impreſſion or ſentiment; and where we cannot find any impreſſion, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all ſingle inſtances of the operation of bodies [123] or minds, there is nothing that produces any impreſ⯑ſion, nor conſequently can ſuggeſt any idea of power or neceſſary connexion. But when many uniform in⯑ſtances appear, and the ſame object is always follow⯑ed by the ſame event; we then begin to entertain the notion of cauſe and connexion. We then feel a new ſentiment or impreſſion, viz. a cuſtomary connexion in the thought or imagination between one object and its uſual attendant; and this ſentiment is the original of that idea which we ſeek for. For as this idea ariſes from a number of ſimilar inſtances, and not from any ſingle inſtance; it muſt ariſe from that circumſtance, in which the number of inſtances differ from every in⯑dividual inſtance. But this cuſtomary connexion or tranſition of the imagination is the only circumſtance, in which they differ. In every other particular they are alike. The firſt inſtance which we ſaw of motion, communicated by the ſhock of two billiard-balls (to re⯑turn to this obvious inſtance) is exactly ſimilar to any inſtance that may, at preſent, occur to us; except on⯑ly, that we could not, at firſt, infer one event from the other; which we are enabled to do at preſent, after ſo long a courſe of uniform experience. I know not, if the reader will readily apprehend this reaſoning. I am afraid, that, ſhould I multiply words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only become more obſcure and intricate. In all abſtract reaſonings, there is one point of view, which, if we [124] can happily hit, we ſhall go farther towards illuſtrating the ſubject, than by all the eloquence and copious expreſſion in the world. This we ſhould endeavour to attain, and reſerve the flowers of rhetoric for ſub⯑jects, which are more adapted to them.

PART I.

IT might reaſonably be expected, in queſtions, which have been canvaſſed and diſputed with great eagerneſs ſince the firſt origin of ſcience and philoſo⯑phy, that the meaning of all the terms, at leaſt, ſhould have been agreed upon among the diſputants; and our enquiries, in the courſe of two thouſand years, been able to paſs from words to the true and real ſub⯑ject of the controverſy. For how eaſy may it ſeem to give exact definitions of the terms employed in reaſon⯑ing, and make theſe definitions, not the mere ſound of words, the object of future ſcrutiny and examination? But if we conſider the matter more narrowly, we ſhall be apt to draw a quite oppoſite concluſion. From that circumſtance alone, that a controverſy has been long kept on foot, and remains ſtill undecided, we may preſume, that there is ſome ambiguity in the ex⯑preſſion, and that the diſputants affix different ideas [126] to the terms employed in the controverſy. For as the faculties of the ſoul are ſuppoſed to be naturally alike in every individual; otherwiſe nothing could be more fruitleſs than to reaſon or diſpute together; it were impoſſible, if men affix the ſame ideas to their terms, that they could ſo long form different opinions of the ſame ſubject; eſpecially when they communicate their views, and each party turn themſelves on all ſides, in ſearch of arguments, which may give them the vic⯑tory over their antagoniſts. 'Tis ture; if men at⯑tempt the diſcuſſion of queſtions, which lie entirely beyond the reach of human capacity, ſuch as thoſe concerning the origin of worlds, or the oeconomy of the intellectual ſyſtem or region of ſpirits, they may long beat the air in their fruitleſs conteſts, and never arrive at any determinate concluſion. But if the queſtion regard any ſubject of common life and expe⯑rience; nothing, one would think, could preſerve the diſpute ſo long undecided, but ſome ambiguous expreſſions, which keep the antagoniſts ſtill at a diſ⯑tance, and hinder them from grappling with each other.

THIS has been the caſe in the long diſputed queſ⯑tion concerning liberty and neceſſity; and to ſo re⯑markable a degree, that, if I be not much miſtaken, we ſhall find all mankind, both learned and ignorant, to have been always of the ſame opinion with regard to that ſubject, and that a few intelligible definitions [127] would immediately have put an end to the whole controverſy. I own, that this diſpute has been ſo much canvaſſed, on all hands, and has led philoſo⯑phers into ſuch a labyrinth of obſcure ſophiſtry, that 'tis no wonder if a ſenſible and polite reader indulge his eaſe ſo far as to turn a deaf ear to the propoſal of ſuch a queſtion, from which he can expect neither inſtruction nor entertainment. But the ſtate of the argument here propoſed may, perhaps, ſerve to re⯑new his attention; as it has more novelty, promiſes at leaſt ſome deciſion of the controverſy, and will not much diſturb his eaſe, by any intricate or obſcure reaſoning.

I HOPE, therefore, to make it appear, that all men have ever agreed in the doctrines both of neceſſity and of liberty, according to any reaſonable ſenſe, which can be put on theſe terms; and that the whole con⯑troverſy has hitherto turned merely upon words. We ſhall begin with examining the doctrine of neceſſity.

'TIS univerſally allowed, that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a neceſſary force, and that every natural effect is ſo preciſely determined by the energy of its cauſe, that no other effect, in ſuch particular circumſtances, could poſſibly have reſulted from the operation of that cauſe. The degree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, preſcribed with ſuch exactneſs, that a living creature [128] may as ſoon ariſe from the ſhock of two bodies, as motion in any other degree or direction, than what is actually produced by it Would we, therefore, form a juſt and preciſe idea of neceſſity, we muſt conſider, whence that idea ariſes, when we apply it to the ope⯑ration of bodies.

IT ſeems evident, that, if all the ſcenes of nature were ſhifted continually in ſuch a manner, that no two events bore any reſemblance to each other, but every object was entirely new, without any ſimilitude to whatever had been ſeen before, we ſhould never, in that caſe, have attained the leaſt idea of neceſſity, or of a connexion among theſe objects. We might ſay, upon ſuch a ſuppoſition, that one object or event has followed another; not that one was produced by the other. The relation of cauſe and effect muſt be utterly unknown to mankind. Inference and reaſon⯑ing concerning the operations of nature would, from that moment, be at an end; and the memory and ſenſes remain the only canals, by which the know⯑lege of any real exiſtence could poſſibly have acceſs to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of neceſſity and cau⯑ſation ariſes entirely from that uniformity, obſervable in the operations of nature; where ſimilar objects are conſtantly conjoined together, and the mind is deter⯑mined by cuſtom to infer the one from the appear⯑ance of the other. Theſe two circumſtances form the whole of that neceſſity, which we aſcribe to mat⯑ter. [129] Beyond the conſtant conjunction of ſimilar ob⯑jects, and the conſequent inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any neceſſity, or con⯑nexion.

IF it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed, without any doubt or heſitation, that theſe two circumſtances take place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the operations of the mind; it muſt follow, that all mankind have ever agreed in the doc⯑trine of neceſſity, and that they have hitherto diſ⯑puted, merely for not underſtanding each other.

As to the firſt circumſtance, the conſtant and regular conjunction of ſimilar events; we may poſſibly ſatisfy ourſelves by the following conſiderations. It is uni⯑verſally acknowledged, that there is a great uniformity among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and that human nature remains ſtill the ſame, in its principles and operations. The ſame motives produce always the ſame actions: The ſame events follow from the ſame cauſes. Ambition, avarice, ſelf love, vanity, friendſhip, generoſity, public ſpirit; theſe paſſions, mixed in various degrees, and diſtributed thro' ſociety, have been, from the beginning of the world, and ſtill are, the ſources of all the actions and enterprizes, which have ever been obſerved among mankind. Would you know the ſentiments, incli⯑nations, and courſe of life of the GREEKS and RO⯑MANS? [130] Study well the temper and actions of the FRENCH and ENGLISH. You cannot be much miſ⯑taken in transferring to the former moſt of the obſer⯑vations, which you have made with regard to the latter. Mankind are ſo much the ſame, in all times and places, that hiſtory informs us of nothing new or ſtrange in this particular. Its chief uſe if only to diſ⯑cover the conſtant and univerſal principles of human nature, by ſhewing men in all varieties of circum⯑ſtances and ſituations, and furniſhing us with mate⯑rials, from which we may form our obſervations, and become acquainted with the regular ſprings of human action and behaviour. Theſe records of wars, in⯑trigues, factions, and revolutions, are ſo many col⯑lections of experiments, by which the politician or moral philoſopher fixes the principles of his ſcience; in the ſame manner as the phyſician or natural philo⯑ſopher becomes acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and other external objects, by the experi⯑ments, which he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by ARISTOTLE, and HIPPOCRATES, more like to thoſe, which at preſent lie under our obſervation, than the men, deſcribed by POLYBIUS and TACITUS, are to thoſe who now govern the world.

SHOULD a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us an account of men, entirely different from any, with whom we were ever acquainted; men, who [131] were entirely diveſted of avarice, ambition, or re⯑venge; who knew no pleaſure but friendſhip, gene⯑roſity, and publick ſpirit; we ſhould immediately, from theſe circumſtances, detect the falſhood, and prove him a liar, with the ſame certainty as if he had ſtuffed his narration with ſtories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in hiſtory, we cannot make uſe of a more convincing argument; than to prove, that the actions, aſcribed to any perſon, are directly con⯑trary to the courſe of nature, and that no human mo⯑tives, in ſuch circumſtances, could ever induce him to ſuch a conduct. The veracity of QUINTUS CUR⯑TIUS is as ſuſpicious, when he deſcribes the ſuperna⯑tural courage of ALEXANDER, by which he was hur⯑ried on ſingly to attack multitudes, as when he de⯑ſcribes his ſupernatural force and activity, by which he was able to reſiſt them. So readily and univer⯑ſally do we acknowlege an uniformity in human mo⯑tives and actions as well as in the operations of body.

HENCE likewiſe the benefit of that experience, ac⯑quired by long life and a variety of buſineſs and com⯑pany, in order to inſtruct us in the principles of hu⯑man nature, and regulate our future conduct, as well as ſpeculation. By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowlege of mens inclinations and motives, from their actions, expreſſions, and even geſtures; [132] and again, deſcend to the interpretation of their ac⯑tions from our knowlege of their motives and inclina⯑tions. The general obſervations, treaſured up by a courſe of experience, give us the clue of human na⯑ture, and teaches us to unravel all its intricacies. Pre⯑texts and appearances no longer deceive us. Public declarations paſs for the ſpecious colouring of a cauſe. And tho' virtue and honour be allowed their proper weight and authority, that perfect diſintereſtedneſs, ſo often pretended, is never expected in multitudes and parties; ſeldom in their leaders; and ſcarcely even in individuals of any rank or ſtation. But were there no uniformity in human actions, and were every experi⯑ment which we could form of this kind irregular and anomolous, it were impoſſible to collect any general obſervations concerning mankind; and no experience, however accurately digeſted by reflection, would ever ſerve to any purpoſe. Why is the antient huſband⯑man more ſkilful in his calling than the young be⯑ginner, but becauſe there is a certain uniformity in the operation of the ſun, rain, and earth, towards the production of vegetables; and experience teaches the old practitioner the rules, by which this operation is governed and directed?

WE muſt not, however, expect, that this unifor⯑mity of human actions ſhould be carried to ſuch a length, as that all men in the ſame circumſtances, ſhould always act preciſely in the ſame manner, with⯑out [133] any allowance for the diverſity of characters, pre⯑judices, and opinions. Such a uniformity, in every particular is found in no part of nature. On the con⯑trary, from obſerving the variety of conduct in diffe⯑rent men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of maxims, which ſtill ſuppoſe a degree of uniformity and regularity.

ARE the manners of men different in different ages and countries? We learn thence the great force of cuſtom and education, which mould the human mind from its infancy, and form it into a fixed and eſta⯑bliſhed character. Is the behaviour and conduct of the one ſex very unlike that of the other? 'Tis from thence we become acquainted with the different cha⯑racters, which nature has impreſſed upon the ſexes, and which ſhe preſerves with conſtancy and regula⯑rity. Are the actions of the ſame perſon much di⯑verſified in the different periods of his life, from in⯑fancy to old age? This affords room for many gene⯑ral obſervations concerning the gradual change of our ſentiments and inclinations, and the different maxims, which prevail in the different ages of human crea⯑tures. Even the characters which are peculiar to each individual, have an uniformity in their influence, other⯑wiſe our acquaintance with the perſons, and our ob⯑ſervation of their conduct could never teach us their diſpoſitions, nor ſerve to direct our behaviour with regard to them.

[134] I GRANT it poſſible to find ſome actions, which ſeem to have no regular connexion with any known motives, and are exceptions to all the meaſures of conduct, which have ever been eſtabliſhed for the go⯑vernment of men. But if we would willingly know, what judgment ſhould be formed of ſuch irregular and extraordinary actions; we may conſider the ſen⯑timents that are commonly entertained with regard to thoſe irregular events, which appear in the courſe of nature, and the operations of external objects. All cauſes are not conjoined to their uſual effects, with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be diſappointed of his aim as well as the politician, who directs the conduct of ſenſible and intelligent agents.

THE vulgar, who take things according to their firſt appearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to ſuch an uncertainty in the cauſes as makes the latter often fail of their uſual influence; tho' they meet with no impediment in their operation. But philoſo⯑phers, obſerving, that almoſt in every part of nature there is contained a vaſt variety of ſprings and prin⯑ciples, which are hid, by reaſon of their minuteneſs or remoteneſs, find, that 'tis at leaſt poſſible the con⯑trariety 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 cer⯑tainty by farther obſervation, when they remark, [135] that, upon an exact ſcrutiny, a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of cauſes, and proceeds from their mutual oppoſition. A peaſant can give no better reaſon for the ſtopping of any clock or watch than to ſay that it commonly does not not go right: But an artizan eaſily perceives, that the ſame force in the ſpring or pendulum has always the ſame influence on the wheels; but fails of its uſual effect, perhaps by reaſon of a grain of duſt, which puts a ſtop to the whole movement. From the obſervation of ſeveral parallel inſtances, philoſophers form a maxim, that the connexion between all cauſes and effects is equally neceſſary, and that its ſeeming un⯑certainty in ſome inſtances proceeds from the ſecret oppoſition of contrary cauſes.

THUS for inſtance, in the human body, when the uſual ſymptoms of health or ſickneſs diſappoint our expectation; when medicines operate not with their wonted powers; when irregular events follow from any particular cauſes; the philoſopher and phyſician are not ſurprized at the matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the neceſſity and uniformity of thoſe principles, by which the animal oeconomy is conducted. They know, that a human body is a mighty complicated machine: That many ſecret pow⯑ers lurk in it, which are altogether beyond our com⯑prehenſion: That to us it muſt often appear very un⯑certain in its operations: And that therefore the irre⯑gular [136] events, which outwardly diſcover themſelves, can be no proof, that the laws of nature are not ob⯑ſerved with the greateſt regularity in its internal ope⯑rations and government.

THE philoſopher, if he be conſiſtent, muſt apply the ſame reaſonings to the actions and volitions of intelligent agents. The moſt irregular and unex⯑pected reſolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by thoſe who know every particular circumſtance of their character and ſituation. A perſon of an obliging diſpoſition gives a peeviſh anſwer: But he has the tooth-ake, or has not dined. A ſtupid fel⯑low diſcovers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he has met with a ſudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as ſometimes happens, can⯑not be particularly accounted for, either by the per⯑ſon himſelf or by others; we know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a certain degree, incon⯑ſtant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the conſtant character of human nature; tho' it be applicable, in a more particular manner, to ſome perſons, who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a con⯑tinued courſ of caprice and inconſtancy. The in⯑ternal principles and motives may operate in an uni⯑form manner, notwithſtanding theſe ſeeming irregu⯑larities; in the ſame manner as the winds, rain, clouds, and other variations of the weather are ſup⯑poſed [137] to be governed by ſteady principles; tho' not eaſily diſcoverable by human ſagacity and enquiry.

THUS it appears, not only that the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform, as that between the cauſe and effect in any part of nature; but alſo that this regular conjunc⯑tion has been univerſally acknowleged among man⯑kind, and has never been the ſubject of diſpute, ei⯑ther in philoſophy or common life. Now as it is from paſt experience, that we draw all inferences con⯑cerning the future, and as we conclude, that objects will always be conjoined together, which we find al⯑ways to have been conjoined; it may ſeem ſuperflu⯑ous to prove, that this experienced uniformity in human actions is the ſource of all the inferences, which we form concerning them. But in order to throw the argument into a greater variety of lights, we ſhall alſo inſiſt, tho' briefly, on this latter topic.

THE mutual dependance of men is ſo great, in all ſocieties, that ſcarce any human action is entirely compleat in itſelf, or is performed without ſome re⯑ference to the actions of others, which are requiſite to make it anſwer fully the intention of the agent. The pooreſt artificer, who labours alone, expects at leaſt the protection of the magiſtrate, to enſure the enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. He alſo ex⯑pects, that, when he carries his goods to market, and [138] offers them at a reaſonable price, he ſhall find buyers; and ſhall be able, by the money he acquires, to en⯑gage others to ſupply him with thoſe commodities, which are requiſite for his ſubſiſtence. In propor⯑tion as men extend their dealings, and render their intercourſe with others more complicated, they always comprehend, in their ſchemes of life, a greater va⯑riety of voluntary actions, which they expect, from their proper motives, to co-operate with their own. In all theſe concluſions, they take their meaſures from paſt experience, in the ſame manner as in their rea⯑ſonings concerning external objects: and firmly be⯑lieve, that men, as well as all the elements, are to continue, in their operations, the ſame, which they have ever found them. A manufacturer reckons up⯑on the labour of his ſervants, for the execution of any work, as much as upon the tools, which he em⯑ploys, and would be equally ſurprized, were his ex⯑pectations diſappointed. In ſhort, this experimental inference and reaſoning concerning the actions of others enters ſo much into human life, that no man, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reaſon, therefore, to affirm, that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine of ne⯑ceſſity, according to the foregoing definition and ex⯑plication of it?

NOR have philoſophers ever entertained a different opinion from the people in this particular. For not [139] to mention, that almoſt every action of their life ſup⯑poſes that opinion; there are even few of the ſpecu⯑lative parts of learning, to which it is not eſſential. What would become of hiſtory, had we not a depen⯑dence on the veracity of the hiſtorian, according to the experience, which we have had of mankind? How could politics be a ſcience, if laws and forms of go⯑vernment had not an uniform influence upon ſociety? Where would be the foundation of morals, if particu⯑lar characters had no certain nor determinate power to produce particular ſentiments, and if theſe ſenti⯑ments had no conſtant operations on actions? And with what pretext could we employ our criticiſm upon any poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the conduct and ſentiments of his actors, either natu⯑ral or unnatural, to ſuch characters, and in ſuch cir⯑cumſtances? It ſeems almoſt impoſſible, therefore, to engage, either in ſcience or action of any kind, without acknowleging the doctrine of neceſſity, and this inference from motives to voluntary actions; from characters to conduct.

AND indeed, when we conſider how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only one chain of argument, we ſhall make no ſcruple to al⯑low, that they are of the ſame nature, and derived from the ſame principles. A priſoner, who has nei⯑ther money nor intereſt, diſcovers the impoſſibility of his eſcape, as well from the obſtinacy of the gaoler, [140] as from the walls and bars, with which he is ſur⯑rounded; 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 diffe⯑rence between them, in paſſing from one link to another: Nor is leſs certain of the future event than if it were connected with the objects preſent to the memory or ſenſes, by a train of cauſes, cemented to⯑gether by what we are pleaſed to call a phyſical neceſ⯑ſity. The ſame experienced union has the ſame effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives, volitions, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the names of things; but their nature and their operation on the underſtanding never change.

I HAVE frequently conſidered, what could poſſibly be the reaſon, why all mankind, tho' they have ever without heſitation, acknowleged the doctrine of ne⯑ceſſity, in their whole practice and reaſoning, have [141] yet diſcovered ſuch a reluctance to acknowlege it in words, and have rather ſhewn a propenſity, in all ages, to profeſs the contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be accounted for, after the following manner. If we examine the operations of bodies and the production of effects from their cauſes, we ſhall find, that all our faculties can never carry us farther in our knowlege of this relation, than barely to ob⯑ſerve, that particular objects are conſtantly conjoined to⯑gether, and that the mind is carried, by a cuſtomary tranſition, from the appearance of one to the belief of the other. But tho' this concluſion concerning human ignorance be the reſult of the ſtricteſt ſcrutiny of this ſubject, men ſtill entertain a ſtrong propenſity to believe, that they penetrate farther into the powers of nature, and perceive ſomething like a neceſſary con⯑nexion between the cauſe and the effect. When again they turn their reflections towards the operations of their own minds, and feel no ſuch connexion of the motive and the action; they are apt, from thence, to ſuppoſe, that there is a difference between the effects, reſulting from material force, and thoſe which ariſe from thought and intelligence. But being once con⯑vinced, that we know nothing farther of cauſation of any kind, than merely the conſtant conjunction of ob⯑jects, and the conſequent inference of the mind from one to another, and finding, that theſe two circum⯑ſtances are univerſally acknowleged to have place in voluntary actions; we may thence be more eaſily led [142] to own the ſame neceſſity common to all cauſes. And tho' this reaſoning may contradict the ſyſtems of many philoſophers, in aſcribing neceſſity to the determinati⯑ons of the will, we ſhall find, upon reflection, that they diſſent from it in words only, not in their real ſenti⯑ments. Neceſſity, according to the ſenſe, in which it is here taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philoſopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended, that the mind can per⯑ceive, in the operations of matter, ſome farther con⯑nexion between the cauſe and effect; and a connexion which has not place in the voluntary actions of in⯑telligent beings. Now whether it be ſo or not, can only appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on theſe philoſophers to make good their aſſertion, by defining or deſcribing that neceſſity, and pointing it out to us, in the operations of material cauſes.

IT would ſeem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this queſtion concerning liberty and ne⯑ceſſity, when they enter upon it by examining the faculties of the ſoul, the influence of the underſtand⯑ing, and the operations of the will. Let them firſt diſcuſs a more ſimple queſtion, viz. the operations of body and of brute unintelligent matter; and try whe⯑ther they can there form any idea of cauſation and neceſſity, except that of a conſtant conjunction of ob⯑jects, and ſubſequent inference of the mind from one to another. If theſe circumſtances form, in reality, [143] the whole of that neceſſity, which we can conceive in matter, and if theſe circumſtances be alſo univer⯑ſally acknowleged to take place in the operations of the mind, the diſpute is at an end; or, at leaſt, muſt be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long as we will raſhly ſuppoſe, that we have ſome far⯑ther idea of neceſſity and cauſation in the operations of external objects; at the ſame time, that we can find nothing farther, in the voluntary actions of the mind; there is no poſſibility of bringing the diſpute to any determinate iſſue, while we proceed upon ſo erroneous a ſuppoſition. The only method of unde⯑ceiving us, is, to mount up higher; to examine the narrow extent of ſcience, when applied to mateiral cauſes; and to convince ourſelves, that all we know of them, is, the conſtant conjunction and inference above-mentioned. We may, perhaps, find, that 'tis with difficulty we are induced to fix ſuch narrow li⯑mits to human underſtanding: But we can afterwards find no difficulty, when we come to apply this doc⯑trine to the actions of the will. For as 'tis evident, that theſe have a regular conjunction with motives and circumſtances and characters, and as we always draw inferences from the one to the other, we muſt be obliged to acknowlege, in words, that ne⯑ceſſity, which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in every ſtep of our conduct and behaviour^*.

[144] BUT to proceed in this reconciling project with re⯑gard to the queſtion of liberty and neceſſity; the [145] moſt contentious queſtion, of metaphyſics, the moſt contentious ſcience; it will not require many words to prove, that all mankind have ever agreed in the doc⯑trine of liberty as well as in that of neceſſity, and that the whole diſpute, in this reſpect alſo, has been hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liber⯑ty, when applied to voluntary actions? We cannot ſurely mean, that actions have ſo little connexion with motives, inclinations, and circumſtances, that the one does not follow with a certain degree of uni⯑formity from the other, and that the one affords no inference, from which we can conclude the exiſtence of the other. For theſe are plain and acknowleged matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to the deter⯑minations of the will; that is, if we chuſe to remain at reſt, we may; if we chuſe to move, we alſo may. Now this hypothetical liberty is univerſally allowed to belong to every body, who is not a priſoner and in chains. Here then is no ſubject of diſpute.

[146] WHATEVER definition we may give of liberty, we ſhould be careful to obſerve two requiſite circum⯑ſtances; firſt, that it be conſiſtent with plain matter of fact; ſecondly, that it be conſiſtent with itſelf. If we obſerve theſe circumſtances, and render our defi⯑nition intelligible, I am perſuaded that all mankind will be found of one opinion with regard to it.

'TIS univerſally allowed, that nothing exiſts with⯑out a cauſe of its exiſtence, and that chance, when ſtrictly examined, is a mere negative word, and means not any real power, which has, any where, a being in nature. But 'tis pretended that ſome cauſes are ne⯑ceſſary, and ſome are not neceſſary. Here then is the admirable advantage of definitions. Let any one define a cauſe, without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a neceſſary connexion with its effect; and let him ſhew diſtinctly the origin of the idea, ex⯑preſſed by the definition; and I ſhall frankly give up the whole controverſy. But if the foregoing explica⯑tion of the matter be received, this muſt be abſolutely impracticable. Had not objects a regular conjunction with each other, we ſhould never have entertained any notion of cauſe and effect; and this regular conjunc⯑tion produces that inference of the underſtanding, which is the only connexion, that we can have any comprehenſion of. Whoever attempts a definition of cauſe, excluſive of theſe circumſtances, will be obliged, either to employ unintelligible terms, or ſuch as are [147] ſynonimous to the term, which he endeavours to de⯑fine^*. And if the definition above-mentioned be ad⯑mitted; liberty, when oppoſed to neceſſity, not to conſtraint, is the ſame thing with chance; which is univerſally allowed to have no exiſtence.

PART II.

THERE is no method of reaſoning more common, and yet none more blameable, than in philoſophical debates, to endeavour the refutation of any hypotheſis, by a pretext of its dangerous conſequences to religion and morality. When any opinion leads into abſurdi⯑ties, 'tis certainly falſe; but 'tis not certain that an opi⯑nion is falſe, becauſe 'tis of dangerous conſequence. Such topics, therefore, ought entirely to be forborne; as ſerving nothing to the diſcovery of truth, but only to make the perſon of an antagoniſt odious. This I ob⯑ſerve [148] in general, without pretending to draw any ad⯑vantage from it. I ſubmit frankly to an examination of this kind, and ſhall venture to affirm, that the doctrines, both of neceſſity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only conſiſtent with morality and religion, but are abſolutely eſſential to the ſupport of them.

NECESSITY may be defined two ways, conformable to the two definitions of cauſe, of which it makes an eſſential part. It conſiſts either in the conſtant con⯑junction of like objects, or in the inference of the underſtanding from one object to another. Now ne⯑ceſſity, in both theſe ſenſes, (which, indeed, are, at bottom, the ſame) has univerſally, tho' tacitly, in the ſchools, in the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to belong to the will of man; and no man has ever pretended to deny, that we can draw infe⯑rences concerning human actions, and that thoſe in⯑ferences are founded in the experienced union of like actions, with like motives, inclinations, and circum⯑ſtances. The only particular, in which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will refuſe to give the name of neceſſity to this property of human ac⯑tions: But as long as the meaning is underſtood, I hope the word can do no harm: Or that he will maintain it poſſible to diſcover ſomething farther in the operations of matter. But this, it muſt be ac⯑knowleged, [149] can be of no conſequence to morality or religion, whatever it may be to natural philoſophy or metaphyſics. We may here be miſtaken in aſſerting, that there is no idea of any other neceſſity or connexion in the actions of body: But ſurely we aſcribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what every one does, and muſt readily allow of. We change no circum⯑ſtance in the received orthodox ſyſtem with regard to the will, but only in that with regard to material ob⯑jects and cauſes. Nothing therefore can be more innocent, at leaſt, than this doctrine.

ALL laws being founded on rewards and puniſh⯑ments, 'tis ſuppoſed as a fundamental principle, that theſe motives have a regular and uniform influence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions. We may give to this influence, what name we pleaſe; but as 'tis uſually conjoined with the action, it muſt be eſteemed a cauſe, and be looked upon as an inſtance of that neceſſity, which we would here eſtabliſh.

THE only proper object of hatred or vengeance, is a perſon or creature, endowed with thought and conſciouſneſs; and when any criminal or injurious actions excite that paſſion, 'tis only by their relation to the perſon, or connexion with him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and periſhing; and where they proceed not from ſome cauſe in the cha⯑racters and diſpoſition of the perſon who performed [150] them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good, nor infamy, if evil. The actions themſelves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion: But the perſon is not anſwer⯑able for them; and as they proceeded from nothing in him, that is durable and conſtant, and leave no⯑thing of that nature behind them, 'tis impoſſible he can, upon their account, become the object of puniſh⯑ment or vengeance. According to the principle, therefore, which denies neceſſity, and conſequently cauſes, a man is as pure and untainted, after having committed the moſt horrid crime, as at the firſt mo⯑ment of his birth, nor is his charracter any way con⯑cerned in his actions; ſince they are not derived from it, and the wickedneſs of the one can never be uſed as a proof of the depravity of the other.

MEN are not blamed for ſuch actions, as they per⯑form ignorantly and caſually, whatever may be the conſequences. Why? but becauſe the principles of theſe actions are only momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are leſs blamed for ſuch actions as they perform haſtily and unpremeditately, than for ſuch as proceed from deliberation. For what reaſon? but becauſe a haſty temper, tho' a conſtant cauſe or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals, and infects not the whole character. Again, repentance wipes off every crime, if attended with a reformation of life and manners. How is this to be accounted [151] for? but by aſſerting, that actions render a perſon criminal, merely as they are proofs of criminal prin⯑ciples in the mind; and when, by any alteration of theſe principles, they ceaſe to be juſt proofs, they like⯑wiſe ceaſe to be criminal. But except upon the doc⯑trine of neceſſity, they never were juſt proofs, and conſequently never were criminal.

IT will be equally eaſy to prove, and from the ſame arguments, that liberty, according to that definition above mentioned, in which all men agree, is alſo eſ⯑ſential to morality, and that no human actions, where it is wanting, are ſuſceptible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or diſlike. For as actions are objects of our moral ſentiments, ſo far only as they are indications of the internal cha⯑racter, paſſions, and affections; 'tis impoſſible that they can give riſe either to praiſe or blame, where they proceed not from theſe principles, but are de⯑rived altogether from external violence.

I PRETEND not to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with regard to neceſſity and liberty. I can foreſee other objections, derived from topics, which have not here been treated of. It may be ſaid, for inſtance, that if voluntary actions be ſub⯑jected to the ſame laws of neceſſity with the opera⯑tions of matter, there is a continued chain of neceſſary cauſes, pre-ordained and pre-determined, reaching [152] from the original cauſe of all, to every ſingle volition of every human creature. No contingency any where in the univerſe; no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the ſame time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of all our volitions is the Creator of the world, who firſt beſtowed motion on this immenſe machine, and placed all beings in that particular po⯑ſition, whence every ſubſequent event, by an inevi⯑table neceſſity, muſt reſult. Human actions, there⯑fore, either can have no moral turpitude at all, as proceeding from ſo good a cauſe; or if they have any turpitude, they muſt involve our Creator in the ſame guilt, while he is acknowleged to be their ultimate cauſe and author. For as a man, who fired a mine, is anſwerable for all the conſequences, whether the train he employed be long or ſhort: ſo wherever a continued chain of neceſſary cauſes are fixed, that Be⯑ing, either finite or infinite, who produces the firſt, is likewiſe the author of all the reſt, and muſt both bear the blame and acquire the praiſe, which belong to them. Our cleareſt and moſt unalterable ideas of morality eſtabliſh this rule, upon unqueſtionable rea⯑ſons, when we examine the conſequences of any hu⯑man action; and theſe reaſons muſt ſtill have greater force, when applied to the volitions and intentions of a Being, infinitely wiſe and powerful. Ignorance or impotence may be pleaded for ſo limited a creature as man; but thoſe imperfections have no place in our Creator. He foreſaw, he ordained, he intended all [153] thoſe actions of men, which we ſo raſhly pronounce criminal. And we muſt conclude, therefore, either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either of theſe poſitions is abſurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine from which they are deduced, cannot poſ⯑ſibly be true, as being liable to all the ſame objections. An abſurd conſequence, if neceſſary, proves the ori⯑ginal doctrine to be abſurd; in the ſame manner that criminal actions render criminal the original cauſe, if the connexion between them be neceſſary and ine⯑vitable.

THIS objection conſiſts of two parts, which we ſhall examine ſeparately; Firſt, that if human actions can be traced up, by a neceſſary chain, to the Deity, they can never be criminal; on account of the infinite per⯑fection of that Being, from whom they are derived, and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable. Or Secondly, if they be criminal, we muſt retract the attribute of perfection, which we aſcribe to the Deity, and muſt acknowlege him to be the ultimate author of guilt and moral trupitude in all his creatures.

THE anſwer to the firſt objection ſeems obvious and convincing. There are many philoſophers, who, af⯑ter an exact ſcrutiny of all the phaenomena of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE, conſidered as one ſyſtem, [154] is, in every period of its exiſtence, ordered with per⯑fect benevolence; and that the utmoſt poſſible hap⯑pineſs will, in the end, reſult to every created being, without any mixture of poſitive or abſolute ill and miſery. Every phyſical ill, ſay they, makes an eſ⯑ſential part of this benevolent ſyſtem, and could not poſſibly be removed, even by the Deity himſelf, con⯑ſidered as a wiſe agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or excluding greater good, which will re⯑ſult from it. From this theory, ſome philoſophers, and the antient Stoics among the reſt, derived a topic of conſolation, under all afflictions, while they taught their pupils, that thoſe ills, under which they laboured, were, in reality, goods to the univerſe; and that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the whole ſyſtem of nature, every event became an object of joy and exultation. But tho' this topic be ſpecious and ſublime, it was ſoon found in practice weak and in⯑effectual. You would ſurely more irritate, than ap⯑peaſe a man, lying under the racking pains of the gout, by preaching up to him the rectitude of thoſe general laws, which produced the malignant humours in his body, and led them, thro' the proper canals, to the nerves and ſinews, where they now excite ſuch acute torments. Theſe enlarged views may, for a moment, pleaſe the imagination of a ſpeculative man, who is placed in eaſe and ſecurity; but neither can they dwell with conſtancy on his mind, even tho' un⯑diſturbed by the emotions of pain or paſſion; much [155] leſs can they maintain their ground, when attacked by ſuch powerful antagoniſts. The affections take a narrower and more natural ſurvey of their objects, and by an oeconomy, more ſuitable to the infirmity of hu⯑man minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by ſuch events as appear good or ill to the private ſyſtem. The caſe is the ſame with moral as with phyſical ill. It cannot reaſonably be ſuppoſed, that thoſe remote conſiderations, which are found of ſo little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful influence with regard to the other. The mind of man is ſo formed by nature, that, upon the appearance of certain characters, diſpoſitions, and actions, it immediately feels the ſentiment of appro⯑bation or blame; nor are there any emotions more eſſential to its frame and conſtitution.

THE characters, which engage its approbation, are chiefly ſuch as contribute to the peace and ſecurity of human ſociety; as the characters, which excite blame, are chiefly ſuch as tend to public detriment and diſ⯑turbance: Whence we may reaſonably preſume, that the moral ſentiments ariſe, either mediately or im⯑mediately, from a reflection on theſe oppoſite intereſts. What tho' philoſophical meditations eſtabliſh a diffe⯑rent opinion or conjecture; that every thing is right with regard to the WHOLE, and that the qualities, which diſturb ſociety, are, in the main, as beneficial, and are as ſuitable to the primary intention of na⯑ture, [156] as thoſe which more directly promote its hap⯑pineſs and welfare? Are ſuch remote and uncertain ſpeculations able to counter-balance the ſentiments, which ariſe from the natural and immediate view of the objects? A man, who is robbed of a conſide⯑rable ſum; does he find his vexation for the loſs any way diminiſhed by theſe ſublime reflections? Why then ſhould his moral reſentment againſt the crime be ſuppoſed incompatible with them? Or why ſhould not the acknowlegement of a real diſtinction between vice and virtue be reconcileable to all ſpeculative ſyſtems of philoſophy, as well as that of a real diſ⯑tinction between perſonal beauty and deformity? Both theſe diſtinctions are founded in the natural ſentiments of the human mind: And theſe ſentiments are not to be controled nor altered by any philoſo⯑phical theory or ſpeculation whatſoever.

THE ſecond objection admits not of ſo eaſy and ſa⯑tisfactory an anſwer; nor is it poſſible to explain diſ⯑tinctly, how the Deity can be the mediate cauſe of all the actions of men, without being the author of ſin and moral turpitude. Theſe are myſteries, which mere natural and unaſſiſted reaſon is very unfit to handle; and whatever ſyſtem it embraces, it muſt find itſelf involved in inextricable difficulties, and even contradictions, at every ſtep which it takes with re⯑gard to ſuch ſubjects. To reconcile the indifference and contingency of human actions with preſcience; [157] or to defend abſolute decrees, and yet free the Deity from being the author of ſin, has been found hitherto to exceed all the ſkill of philoſophy. Happy, if ſhe be thence ſenſible of her temerity, when ſhe pries into theſe ſublime myſteries; and leaving a ſcene ſo full of obſcurities and perplexities, return, with ſuit⯑able modeſty, to her true and proper province, the ex⯑amination of common life; where ſhe will find diffi⯑culties enow to employ her enquiries, without launch⯑ing into ſo boundleſs an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction!

PART I.

THERE is in Dr. TILLOTSON's writings an argument againſt the real preſence, which is as conciſe, and elegant, and ſtrong as any argument can poſſibly be ſuppoſed againſt a doctrine, that is ſo little worthy of a ſerious refutation. 'Tis acknowleged on all hands, ſays that learned prelate, that the autho⯑rity, either of the ſcripture or of tradition, is founded merely in the teſtimony of the apoſtles, who were eye⯑witneſſes to thoſe miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine miſſion. Our evidence, then, for the truth of the Chriſtian religion is leſs than the evidence for the truth of our ſenſes; becauſe, even in the firſt authors of our religion, it was no greater; and 'tis evident it muſt diminiſh in paſſing from them to their diſciples; nor can any one be ſo certain of [168] the truth of their teſtimony, as of the immediate ob⯑ject of his ſenſes. But a weaker evidence can never deſtroy a ſtronger; and therefore, were the doctrine of the real preſence ever ſo clearly revealed in ſcrip⯑ture, it were directly contrary to the rules of juſt rea⯑ſoning to give our aſſent to it. It contradicts ſenſe, tho' both the ſcripture and tradition, on which it is ſuppoſed to be built, carry not ſuch evidence with them as ſenſe; when they are conſidered merely as external evidences, and are not brought home to every one's breaſt, by the immediate operation of the Holy Spirit.

NOTHING is ſo convenient as a deciſive argument of this kind, which muſt at leaſt ſilence the moſt ar⯑rogant bigotry and ſuperſtition, and free us from their impertinent ſollicitations. I flatter myſelf, that I have diſcovered an argument of a like nature, which, if juſt, will, with the wiſe and learned, be an everlaſt⯑ing check to all kinds of ſuperſtitious deluſion, and conſequently, will be uſeful as long as the world en⯑dures. For ſo long, I preſume, will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be found in all hiſtory, ſacred and profane.

THO' experience be our only guide in reaſoning concerning matters of fact; it muſt be acknow⯑leged, that this guide is not altogether infallible, but in ſome caſes is apt to lead us into errors and [169] miſtakes. One, who, in our climate, ſhould expect better weather in any week of JUNE than in one of DECEMBER, would reaſon juſtly and conformable to experience; but 'tis certain, that he may happen, in the event, to find himſelf miſtaken. However, we may obſerve, that, in ſuch a caſe, he would have no cauſe to complain of experience; becauſe it com⯑monly informs us beforehand of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may learn from a diligent obſervation. All effects follow not with like certainty from their ſuppoſed cauſes. Some events are found, in all countries and all ages, to have been conſtantly conjoined together: Others are found to have been more variable, and ſometimes to diſap⯑point our expectations; ſo that in our reaſonings con⯑cerning matter of fact, there are all imaginable de⯑grees of aſſurance, from the higheſt certainty to the loweſt ſpecies of moral evidence.

A WISE man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. In ſuch concluſions as are founded on an infallible experience, he expects the event with the laſt degree of aſſurance, and regards his paſt ex⯑perience as a full proof of the future exiſtence of that event. In other caſes, he proceeds with more cau⯑tion: He weighs the oppoſite experiments: He con⯑ſiders which ſide is ſupported by the greateſt number of experiments: To that ſide he inclines, with doubt and heſitation; and when at laſt he fixes his judgment▪ [170] the evidence exceeds not what we properly call pro⯑bability. All probability, then, ſuppoſes an oppoſi⯑tion of experiments and obſervations; where the one ſide is found to over-balance the other, and to pro⯑duce a degree of evidence, proportioned to the ſu⯑periority. An hundred inſtances or experiments on one ſide, and fifty on another, afford a very doubtful expectation of any event; tho' a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is contradictory, rea⯑ſonably beget a pretty ſtrong degree of aſſurance. In all caſes, we muſt balance the oppoſite experi⯑ments, where they are oppoſite, and deduct the ſmaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the ſuperior evidence.

TO apply theſe principles to a particular inſtance; we may obſerve, that there is no ſpecies of reaſoning more common, more uſeful, and even neceſſary to human life, than that derived from the teſtimony of men, and the reports of eye-witneſſes and ſpectators. This ſpecies of reaſoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cauſe and effect. I ſhall not diſpute about a word. It will be ſufficient to obſerve, that our aſſurance in any argument of this kind is derived from no other principle than our obſervation of the veracity of human teſtimony, and of the uſual conformity of facts to the reports of wit⯑neſſes. It being a general maxim, that no objects have any diſcoverable connexion together, and that [171] all the inferences, which we can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our experience of their conſtant and regular conjunction; 'tis evident, that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour of human teſtimony, whoſe con⯑nexion with any events ſeems, in itſelf, as little ne⯑ceſſary as any other. Were not the memory tena⯑cious to a certain degree; had not men commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity; were they not ſenſible to ſhame, when detected in a falſe⯑hood: Were not theſe, I ſay, diſcovered by experi⯑ence to be qualities, inherent in human nature, we ſhould never repoſe the leaſt confidence in human teſtimony. A man delirious, or noted for falſhood and villainy, has no manner of authority with us.

AND as the evidence, derived from witneſſes and human teſtimony, is founded on paſt experience, ſo it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability, according as the conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of objects, has been found to be con⯑ſtant or variable. There are a number of circum⯑ſtances to be taken into conſideration in all judg⯑ments of this kind; and the ultimate ſtandard, by which we determine all diſputes, that may ariſe con⯑cerning them, is always derived from experience and obſervation. Where this experience is not entirely uniform on any ſide, 'tis attended with an unavoid⯑able contrariety in our judgments, and with the ſame [172] oppoſition and mutual deſtruction of arguments as in every other kind of evidence. We frequently heſitate concerning the reports of others. We balance the oppoſite circumſtances, which cauſe any doubt or un⯑certainty; and when we diſcover a ſuperiority on any ſide, we incline to it; but ſtill with a diminution of aſſurance, in proportion to the forec of its anta⯑goniſt.

THIS contrariety of evidence, in the preſent caſe, may be derived from ſeveral different cauſes; from the oppoſition of contrary teſtimony; from the cha⯑racter or number of the witneſſes; from the manner of their delivering their teſtimony; or from the union of all theſe circumſtances. We entertain a ſuſpicion concerning any matter of fact, when the witneſſes contradict each other; when they are but few, or of a ſuſpicious character; when they have an intereſt in what they affirm; when they deliver their teſtimony with doubt and heſitation, or on the contrary, with too violent aſſeverations. There are many other par⯑ticulars of the ſame kind, which may diminiſh or de⯑ſtroy the force of any argument, derived from human teſtimony.

SUPPOSE, for inſtance, that the fact, which teſ⯑timony endeavours to eſtabliſh, partakes of the ex⯑traordinary and the marvellous; in that caſe, the evi⯑dence, reſulting from the teſtimony, admits a dimi⯑nution, [173] greater or leſs, in proportion as the fact is more or leſs unuſual. The reaſon, why we place any credit in witneſſes and hiſtorians is not from any con⯑nex on, which we perceive à priori between teſtimony and reality, but becauſe we are accuſtomed to find a conformity between them. But when the fact atteſted is ſuch a one as has ſeldom fallen under our obſer⯑vation, here is a conteſt of two oppoſite experiences; of which the one deſtroys the other as far as its force goes, and the ſuperior can only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very ſame prin⯑ciple of experience, which gives us a certain degree of aſſurance in the teſtimony of witneſſes, gives us alſo, in this caſe, another degree of aſſurance againſt the fact, which they endeavour to eſtabliſh; from which contradiction there neceſſarily ariſe a counter⯑poize, and mutual deſtruction of belief and autho⯑rity.

I ſhould not believe ſuch a ſtory were it told me by CATO; was a proverbial ſaying in ROME, even du⯑ring the life-time of that philoſophical patriot^*. The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate ſo great an authority.

THE INDIAN prince, who refuſed to believe the firſt relations concerning the effects of froſt, reaſoned [174] juſtly; and it naturally required very ſtrong teſtimony to engage his aſſent to facts, which aroſe from a ſtate of nature, with which he was unacquainted, and bore ſo little analogy to thoſe events, of which he had had conſtant and uniform experience. Tho' they were not contrary to his experience, they were not con⯑formable to it^*.

[175] BUT in order to increaſe the probability againſt the teſtimony of witneſſes, let us ſuppoſe that the fact, which they affirm, inſtead of being only marvellous, is really miraculous; and ſuppoſe alſo, that the teſti⯑mony, conſidered apart, and in itſelf, amounts to an entire proof; in that caſe there is proof againſt proof, of which the ſtrongeſt muſt prevail, but ſtill with a diminution of its force, in proportion to that of its antagoniſt.

A MIRACLE is a violation of the laws of nature: and as a firm and unalterable experience has eſta⯑bliſhed theſe laws, the proof againſt a miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argu⯑ment from experience can poſſibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men muſt die; that lead cannot, of itſelf, remain ſuſpended in the air; that fire conſumes wood, and is extinguiſhed by wa⯑ter; unleſs it be, that theſe events are found agree⯑able to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of theſe laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is eſteemed a miracle if it ever happen in the common courſe of nature. 'Tis no miracle that a man in ſeeming good health ſhould die on a ſudden; becauſe ſuch a kind of death, tho' more unuſual than any other, has yet been frequently obſerved to happen. But 'tis a miracle, that a dead man ſhould come to life; becauſe that has never been [176] obſerved, in any age or country. There muſt, there⯑fore, be an uniform experience againſt every miracu⯑lous event, otherwiſe the event would not merit that appellation. And as an uniform experience amounts to a proof there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature of the fact, againſt the exiſtence of any miracle; nor can ſuch a proof be deſtroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an oppoſite proof, which is ſuperior^*.

[177] THE plain conſequence is (and 'tis a general max⯑im worthy of our attention) ‘"That no teſtimony is ſufficient to eſtabliſh a miracle, unleſs the teſti⯑mony be of ſuch a kind, that its falſhood would be more miraculous, than the fact, which it en⯑deavours to eſtabliſh: And even in that caſe, there is a mutual deſtruction of arguments, and the ſu⯑perior only gives us an aſſurance ſuitable to that degree of force, which remains, after deducting the inferior."’ When any one tells me, that he ſaw a dead man reſtored to life, I immediately con⯑ſider with myſelf, whether it be more probable, that this perſon ſhould either deceive or be deceived, or that the fact which he relates, ſhould really have happened. I weigh the one miracle againſt the other, and according to the ſuperiority, which I diſcover, I pronounce my deciſion, and always reject the greater miracle. If the falſhood of his teſtimony would be more miraculous, than the event which he relates; then, and not till then, can he pretend to command my belief or opinion.

[178] IN the foregoing reaſoning we have ſuppoſed, that the teſtimony, upon which a miracle is founded, may poſſibly amount to an intire proof, and that the falſ⯑hood of that teſtimony would be a kind of prodigy. But 'tis eaſy to ſhew, that we have been a great deal too liberal in our conceſſions, and that there never was a miraculous event eſtabliſhed on ſo full an evi⯑dence.

FOR firſt, there is not to be found, in all hiſtory, any miracle atteſted by a ſufficient number of men, of ſuch unqueſtioned good-ſenſe, education, and learn⯑ing, as to ſecure us againſt all deluſion in themſelves; of ſuch undoubted integrity, as to place them beyond all ſuſpicion of any deſign to deceive others; of ſuch credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to loſe in caſe of being detected in any falſhood; and at the ſame time atteſting facts, performed in ſuch a public manner, and in ſo celebra⯑ted a part of the world, as to render the detection un⯑avoidable: All which circumſtances are requiſite to give us a full aſſurance in the teſtimony of men.

SECONDLY. We may obſerve in human nature a principle, which, if ſtrictly examined, will be found to diminiſh extremely the aſſurance which we might have, from human teſtimony, in any kind of prodigy. [179] The maxim, by which we commonly conduct our⯑ſelves in our reaſonings, is, that the objects, of which we have no experience, reſemble thoſe, of which we have: that what we have ſound to be moſt uſual is always moſt probable; and that where there is an op⯑poſition of arguments, we ought to give the prefe⯑rence to ſuch of them as are founded on the greateſt number of paſt obſervations. But tho' in proceeding by this rule, we readily reject any fact which is unu⯑ſual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet in ad⯑vancing farther, the mind obſerves not always the ſame rule; but when any thing is affirmed utterly ab⯑ſurd and miraculous, it rather the more readily admits ſuch a fact, upon account of that very circumſtance which ought to deſtroy all its authority. The paſſion of ſurprize and wonder, ariſing from miracles, being an agreeable emotion, gives a ſenſible tendency to⯑wards the belief of thoſe events from which it is de⯑rived. And this goes ſo far, that even thoſe who cannot enjoy this pleaſure immediately, nor can be⯑lieve thoſe miraculous events, of which they are in⯑formed, yet love to partake of the ſatisfaction at ſe⯑cond hand or by rebound, and place a pride and de⯑light in exciting the admiration of others.

WITH what greedineſs are the miraculous accounts of travellers received, their deſcriptions of ſea and land monſters, their relations of wonderful adven⯑tures, ſtrange men, and uncouth manners? But if [180] the ſpirit of religion join itſelf to the love of wonder, there is an end of common ſenſe; and human teſti⯑mony, in theſe circumſtances, loſes all pretenſions to authority. A religioniſt may be an enthuſiaſt, and imagine he ſees what has no reality: He may know his narration to be falſe, and yet perſevere in it, with the beſt intentions in the world, for the ſake of pro⯑moting ſo holy a cauſe: Or even where this deluſion has no place, vanity, excited by ſo ſtrong a tempta⯑tion, operates on him more powerfully than on the reſt of mankind in any other circumſtances; and ſelf-intereſt with equal force. His auditors may not have, and commonly have not ſufficient judgment to canvaſs his evidence: What judgment they have, they re⯑nounce by principle, in theſe ſublime and myſterious ſubjects: Or if they were ever ſo willing to employ it, paſſion and a heated imagination diſturb the regu⯑larity of its operations. Their credulity increaſes his impudence: And his impudence over-powers their credulity.

ELOQUENCE, when in its higheſt pitch, leaves little room for reaſon or reflection; but addreſſing it⯑ſelf intirely to the fancy or the affections, captivates the willing hearers, and ſubdues their underſtanding. Happily, this pitch it ſeldom attains. But what a CICERO or a DEMOSTHENES could ſcarcely operate over a ROMAN or ATHENIAN audience, every Capu⯑chin, every itinerant or ſtationary teacher can perform [181] over the generality of mankind, and in a higher de⯑gree, by touching ſuch groſs and vulgar paſſions^*.

THIRDLY. It forms a very ſtrong preſumption againſt all ſupernatural and miraculous relations, that they are obſerved chiefly to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a civilized people has ever given admiſſion to any of them, that people will be found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous anceſtors, who tranſmitted them with that inviolable ſanction and authority, which always attend [182] received opinions. When we peruſe the firſt hiſtories of all nations, we are apt to imagine ourſelves tranſ⯑ported into ſome new world, where the whole frame of nature is disjointed, and every element performs its operations in a different manner, from what it does at preſent. Battles, revolutions, peſtilences, famines, and death, are never the effects of thoſe natural cau⯑ſes, which we experience. Prodigies, omens, ora⯑cles, judgments, quite obſcure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we advance nearer the enlightened ages of ſcience and knowlege, we ſoon learn, that there is nothing myſterious or ſu⯑pernatural in the caſe, but that all proceeds from the uſual propenſity of mankind towards the marvellous, and that tho' this inclination may at intervals receive a check from ſenſe and learning, it can never tho⯑roughly be extirpated from human nature.

'Tis ſtrange, a judicious reader is apt to ſay, upon the peruſal of theſe wonderful hiſtorians, that ſuch prodigious events never happen in our days. But 'tis no⯑thing ſtrange, I hope, that men ſhould lie in all ages. You muſt ſurely have ſeen inſtances enow of that frailty. You have yourſelf heard many ſuch marvellous relations ſtarted, which being treated with ſcorn by all the wiſe and judicious, have at laſt been abandoned even by the vulgar. Be aſſured, that thoſe renowned lies, which have ſpread and flouriſhed to ſuch [183] a monſtrous height, aroſe from like beginnings; but being ſown in a more proper ſoil, ſhot up at laſt into prodigies almoſt equal to thoſe which they relate.

'TWAS a wiſe policy in that cunning impoſtor, ALEXANDER, who, tho' now forgotten, was once ſo famous, to lay the firſt ſcene of his impoſtures in PA⯑PHLAGONIA, where, as LUCIAN tells us, the people were extremely ignorant and ſtupid, and ready to ſwallow even the groſſeſt deluſion. People at a diſ⯑tance, who are weak enough to think the matter at all worth inquiry, have no opportunity of receiving better information. The ſtories come magnified to them by a hundred circumſtances. Fools are induſ⯑trious to propagate the deluſion; while the wiſe and learned are contented, in general, to deride its ab⯑ſurdity, without informing themſelves of the particu⯑lar facts by which it may be diſtinctly refuted. And thus the impoſtor above-mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant PAPHLAGONIANS, to the inliſting of votaries, even among the GRECIAN phi⯑loſophers, and men of the moſt eminent rank and diſtinction in ROME: Nay, could engage the atten⯑tion of that ſage emperor MARCUS AURELIUS; ſo far as to make him truſt the ſucceſs of a military ex⯑pedition to his deluſive prophecies.

THE advantages are ſo great of ſtarting an impoſ⯑ture among an ignorant people, that even tho' the de⯑luſion [184] ſhould be too groſs to impoſe on the generality of them (which, tho' ſeldom, is ſometimes the caſe) it has a much better chance of ſucceeding in remote countries, than if the firſt ſcene had been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowlege. The moſt ig⯑norant and barbarous of theſe barbarians carry the re⯑port abroad. None of their countrymen have large enough correſpondence of ſufficient credit and autho⯑rity to contradict and beat down the deluſion. Mens inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to diſplay itſelf. And thus a ſtory, which is univer⯑ſally exploded in the place where it was firſt ſtarted, ſhall paſs for certain at a thouſand miles diſtance. But had ALEXANDER fixed his reſidence at ATHENS, the philoſophers of that renowned mart of learning had immediately ſpread, thro' the whole ROMAN empire, their ſenſe of the matter, which, being ſup⯑ported by ſo great authority, and diſplayed by all the force of reaſon and eloquence, had intirely opened the eyes of mankind. 'Tis true; LUCIAN paſſing by chance thro' PAPHLAGONIA had an opportunity of performing this good office. But, tho' much to be wiſhed, it does not always happen, that every ALE⯑XANDER meets with a LUCIAN, ready to expoſe and detect his impoſtures^†.

[185] I MAY add as a fourth reaſon, which diminiſhes the authority of prodigies, that there is no teſtimony for any, even thoſe which have not been expreſsly de⯑tected, that is not oppoſed by an infinite number of witneſſes; ſo that not only the miracle deſtroys the credit of the teſtimony, but even the teſtimony de⯑ſtroys itſelf. To make this the better underſtood, let us conſider that, in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary, and that 'tis impoſſible the reli⯑gions of antient ROME, of TURKEY, of SIAM, and of CHINA ſhould, all of them, be eſtabliſhed on any ſolid foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretend⯑ed to have been wrought in any of theſe religions (and all of them abound in miracles) as its direct ſcope is to eſtabliſh the particular ſyſtem to which it is attributed; ſo has it the ſame force, tho' more indi⯑rectly, to overthrow every other ſyſtem. In deſtroy⯑ing a rival ſyſtem, it likewiſe deſtroys the credit of thoſe miracles, on which that ſyſtem was eſtabliſhed; ſo that all the prodigies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary facts, and the evidences of [186] theſe prodigies, whether weak or ſtrong, as oppoſite to each other. According to this method of reaſon⯑ing, when we believe any miracle of MAHOMET or any of his ſucceſſors, we have for our warrant the teſ⯑timony of a few barbarous ARABIANS: And on the other hand, we are to regard the authority of TITUS LIVIUS, PLUTARCH, TACITUS, and, in ſhort, of all the authors and witneſſes, GRECIAN, CHINESE, and ROMAN CATHOLIC, who have related any miracles in their particular religion; I ſay, we are to regard their teſtimony in the ſame light as if they had men⯑tioned that MAHOMETAN miracle, and had in expreſs terms contradicted it, with the ſame certainty as they have for the miracles they relate. This argument may appear over ſubtile and refined; but is not in re⯑ality different from the reaſoning of a judge, who ſup⯑poſes, that the credit of two witneſſes, maintaining a crime againſt any one, is deſtroyed by the teſtimony of two others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues diſtant, at the ſame inſtant when the crime is ſaid to have been committed.

ONE of the beſt atteſted miracles in all prophane hiſtory, is that which TACITUS reports of VESPA⯑SIAN, who cured a blind man in ALEXANDRIA, by means of his ſpittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his foot; in obedience to a viſion of the god SERAPIS, who had enjoined them to have recourſe to the Emperor, for theſe miraculous and extraordinary [187] cures. The ſtory may be ſeen in that fine hiſtorian^*; where every circumſtance ſeems to add weight to the teſtimony, and might be diſplayed at large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one were now concerned to enforce the evidence of that explo⯑ded and idolatrous ſuperſtition. The gravity, ſolidity, age, and probity of ſo great an emperor, who, thro' the whole courſe of his life, converſed in a familiar way with his friends and courtiers, and never affected thoſe extraordinary airs of divinity aſſumed by ALE⯑XANDER and DEMETRIUS. The hiſtorian, a cotem⯑porary writer, noted for candour and veracity, and withal, the greateſt and moſt penetrating genius, per⯑haps of all antiquity; and ſo free from any tendency to ſuperſtition and credulity, that he even lies under the contrary imputation, of atheiſm and prophane⯑neſs: The perſons, from whoſe teſtimony he related the miracle, of eſtabliſhed character for judgment and veracity, as we may well preſume; eye-witneſſes of the fact, and confirming their verdict, after the FLA⯑VIAN family were deſpoiled of the empire, and could no longer give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, poſt⯑quam nullum mendacio pretium. To which if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will ap⯑pear, [188] that no evidence can well be ſuppoſed ſtronger for ſo groſs and ſo palpable a falſhood.

THERE is alſo a very memorable ſtory related by Cardinal DE RETZ, and which may well deſerve our conſideration. When that intriguing politician fled into SPAIN, to avoid the perſecution of his enemies, he paſſed thro' SARAGOSSA, the capital of ARRA⯑GON, where he was ſhewn, in the cathedral, a man, who had ſerved twenty years as a door-keeper, and was well known to every body in town, that had ever paid their devotions at that church. He had been ſeen, for ſo long a time, wanting a leg; but recover⯑ed that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the ſtump; and the cardinal aſſures us that he ſaw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched by all the canons of the church; and the whole company in town were appealed to for a confirmation of the fact; whom the cardinal found, by their zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of the miracle. Here the re⯑later was alſo cotemporary to the ſuppoſed prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine character, as well as of great genius, the miracle of ſo ſingular a nature as could ſcarce admit of a counterfeit, and the witneſſes very numerous, and all of them, in a manner, ſpecta⯑tors of the fact to which they gave their teſtimony. And what adds mightily to the force of the evidence, and may double our ſurprize on this occaſion, is, that the cardinal himſelf, who relates the ſtory, ſeems not [189] to give any credit to it, and conſequently cannot be ſuſpected of any concurrence in the holy fraud. He conſidered juſtly, that it was not requiſite, in order to reject a fact of this nature, to be able accurately to diſprove the teſtimony, and to trace its falſhood, thro' all the circumſtances of knavery and credulity which produced it. He knew, that as this was com⯑monly altogether impoſſible at any ſmall diſtance of time and place; ſo was it extremely difficult, even where one was immediately preſent, by reaſon of the bigotry, ignorance, cunning and roguery of a great part of mankind. He therefore concluded, like a juſt reaſoner, that ſuch an evidence carried falſhood upon the very face of it, and that a miracle ſupported by any human teſtimony, was more properly a ſubject of deriſion than of argument.

THERE ſurely never was ſo great a number of mi⯑racles aſcribed to one perſon, as thoſe, which were lately ſaid to have been wrought in FRANCE upon the tomb of Abbé PARIS, the famous JANSENIST, with whoſe ſanctity the people were ſo long deluded. The curing of the ſick, giving hearing to the deaf, and ſight to the blind, were every where talked of as the uſual effects of that holy ſepulchre. But what is more extraordinary; many of the miracles were im⯑mediately proved, upon the ſpot, before judges of unqueſtioned integrity, atteſted by witneſſes of credit and diſtinction, in a learned age, and on the moſt [190] eminent theatre that is now in the world. Nor is this all: A relation of them was publiſhed and diſ⯑perſed every where; nor were the Jeſuits, tho' a learned body, ſupported by the civil magiſtrate, and determined enemies to thoſe opinions, in whoſe fa⯑vour the miracles were ſaid to have been wrought, ever able diſtinctly to refute or detect them^*. Where [191] ſhall we find ſuch a number of circumſtances, agreeing to the corroboration of one fact? And what have we [192] to oppoſe to ſuch a cloud of witneſſes, but the abſo⯑lute impoſſibility or miraculous nature of the events, [193] which they relate? And this ſurely, in the eyes of all reaſonable people, will alone be regarded as a ſuffi⯑cient refutation.

[194] IS the conſequence juſt, becauſe ſome human teſ⯑timony has the utmoſt force and authority in ſome caſes, when it relates the battles of PHILIPPI or PHARSALIA, for inſtance; that therefore all kinds of teſtimony muſt, in all caſes, have equal force and authority? Suppoſe that the CAESAREAN and POM⯑PEIAN factions had, each of them, claimed the vic⯑tory in theſe battles, and that the hiſtorians of each party had uniformly aſcribed the advantage to their own ſide; how could mankind, at this diſtance, have been able to determine between them? The contra⯑riety is equally ſtrong between the miracles related [195] by HERODOTUS or PLUTARCH, and thoſe delivered by MARIANA, BEDE, or any monkiſh hiſtorian.

THE wiſe lend a very academic faith to every re⯑port which favours the paſſion of the reporter; whe⯑ther it magnifies his country, his family, or himſelf, or in any other way ſtrikes in with his natural incli⯑nations and propenſities. But what greater tempta⯑tion than to appear a miſſionary, a prophet, an am⯑baſſador from heaven? Who would not encounter many dangers and difficulties, in order to attain ſo ſublime a character? Or if, by the help of vanity and a heated imagination, a man has firſt made a convert of himſelf and entered ſeriouſly into the deluſion; who ever ſcruples to make uſe of pious frauds, in ſup⯑port of ſo holy and meritorious a cauſe?

THE ſmalleſt ſpark may here kindle into the great⯑eſt flame; becauſe the materials are always prepared for it. The avidum genus auricularum ^†, the gazing populace receive greedily, without examination, what⯑ever ſooths ſuperſtition, and promotes wonder.

HOW many ſtories of this nature have, in all ages, been detected and exploded in their infancy? How many more have been celebrated for a time, and have afterwards ſunk into neglect and oblivion? Where ſuch reports, therefore, fly about, the ſolution of the phaenomenon is obvious; and we judge in confor⯑mity [196] to regular experience and obſervation, when we account for it by the known and natural principles of credulity and deluſion. And ſhall we, rather than have a recourſe to ſo natural a ſolution, allow of a mi⯑raculous violation of the moſt eſtabliſhed laws of nature?

I NEED not mention the difficulty of detecting a falſhood in any private or even public hiſtory, at the time and place, where it is ſaid to happen; much more where the ſcene is removed to ever ſo ſmall a diſtance. Even a court of judicature, with all the authority, accuracy, and judgment, which they can employ, find themſelves often at a loſs to diſtinguiſh between truth and falſhood in the moſt recent actions. But the matter never comes to any iſſue, if truſted to the common method of altercation and debate and flying rumours; eſpecially when mens paſſions have taken party on either ſide.

IN the infancy of new religions, the wiſe and learned commonly eſteem the matter too inconſider⯑able to deſerve their attention or regard. And when afterwards they would willingly detect the cheat, in order to undeceive the deluded multitude, the ſeaſon is now gone, and the records and witneſſes, which might clear up the matter, have periſhed beyond recovery.

[197] NO means of detection remain, but thoſe which muſt be drawn from the very teſtimony itſelf of the reporters: And theſe, tho' always ſufficient with the judicious and knowing, are commonly too fine to fall under the comprehenſion of the vulgar.

UPON the whole, then, it appears, that no teſti⯑mony for any kind of miracle has ever amounted to a probability, much leſs to a proof; and that, even ſuppoſing it amounted to a proof, it would be op⯑poſed by another proof derived from the very nature of the fact, which it would endeavour to eſtabliſh. 'Tis experience only, which gives authority to hu⯑man teſtimony; and 'tis the ſame experience, which aſſures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, theſe two kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but ſubſtract the one from the other, and embrace an opinion, either on one ſide or the other, with that aſſurance which ariſes from the re⯑mainder. But according to the principle here ex⯑plained, this ſubſtraction, with regard to all popular religions, amounts to an intire annihilation; and therefore we may eſtabliſh it as a maxim, that no human teſtimony can have ſuch force as to prove a miracle, and make it a juſt foundation for any ſuch ſyſtem of religion^*.

[198] I AM the better pleaſed with this method of rea⯑ſoning, as I think it may ſerve to confound thoſe [199] dangerous friends or diſguiſed enemies to the Chriſt⯑ian Religion, who have undertaken to defend it by [200] the principles of human reaſon. Our moſt holy reli⯑gion is founded on Faith, not on reaſon; and 'tis a ſure method of expoſing it to put it to ſuch a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to endure. To make this more evident, let us examine thoſe miracles, related in ſcripture; and not to loſe ourſelves in too wide a field, let us confine ourſelves to ſuch as we find in the Pentateuch, which we ſhall examine, according to the principles of theſe pretended Chriſtians, not as the word or teſtimony of God himſelf, but as the pro⯑duction of a mere human writer and hiſtorian. Here then we are firſt to conſider a book, preſented to us [201] by a barbarous and ignorant people, wrote in an age when they were ſtill more barbarous, and in all pro⯑bability long after the facts which it relates; corro⯑borated by no concurring teſtimony, and reſembling thoſe fabulous accounts, which every nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it full of prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a ſtate of the world and of human nature intirely dif⯑ferent from the preſent: Of our fall from that ſtate: Of the age of man, extended to near a thouſand years: Of the deſtruction of the world by a deluge: Of the arbitrary choice of one people, a the favour⯑ites of heaven; and that people, the countrymen of the author: Of their deliverance from bondage by prodigies the moſt aſtoniſhing imaginable: I deſire any one to lay his hand upon his heart, and after ſe⯑rious conſideration declare, whether he thinks, that the falſhood of ſuch a book, ſupported by ſuch a teſ⯑timony, would be more extraordinary and miraculous than all the miracles it relates; which is, however, neceſſary to make it be received, according to the meaſures of probability above eſtabliſhed.

WHAT we have ſaid of miracles may be applied, without any variation, to prophecies; and indeed, all prophecies are real miracles, and as ſuch only, can be admitted as proofs of any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity of human nature to foretel future events, it would be abſurd to employ any prophecy [202] as an argument for a divine miſſion or authority from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude, that the Chriſtian Religion not only was at firſt attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any reaſonable perſon without one. Mere reaſon is inſufficient to convince us of its veracity: And whoever is moved by Faith to aſſent to it is conſcious of a continued miracle in his own perſon, which ſub⯑verts all the principles of his underſtanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is moſt contrary to cuſtom and experience.

PART I.

THERE is not a greater number of philoſophical reaſonings, diſplayed upon any ſubject, than thoſe, which prove the exiſtence of a Deity, and re⯑fute the fallacies of Atheiſts; and yet the moſt reli⯑gious philoſophers ſtill diſpute whether any man can be ſo blinded as to be a ſpeculative atheiſt. How ſhall we reconcile theſe contradictions? The knight⯑errants, who wandered about to clear the world of dragons and giants, never entertained the leaſt doubt with regard to the exiſtence of theſe monſters.

THE Sceptic is another enemy of religion, who na⯑turally provokes the indignation of all divines and graver philoſophers; tho' 'tis certain, that no man ever met with any ſuch abſurd creature, or converſed with a man, who had no opinion or principle con⯑cerning [228] any ſubject, either of action or ſpeculation. This begets a very natural queſtion; What is meant by a ſceptic? And how far it is poſſible to puſh theſe philoſophical principles of doubt and uncertainty?

THERE is a ſpecies of ſcepticiſm, antecedent to all ſtudy and philoſophy, which is much inculcated by DES CARTES and others, as a ſovereign preſerva⯑tive againſt error and precipitate judgment. It recom⯑mends an univerſal doubt, not only of all our former opinions and principles, but alſo of our very faculties; of whoſe veracity, ſay they, we muſt aſſure ourſelves, by a chain of reaſoning, deduced from ſome original principle, which cannot poſſibly be fallacious or de⯑ceitful. But neither is there any ſuch original prin⯑ciple, which has a prerogative above others, that are ſelf-evident and convincing: Or if there were, could we advance a ſtep beyond it, but by the uſe of theſe very faculties, of which we are ſuppoſed to be already diffident. The CARTESIAN doubt, therefore, were it ever poſſible to be attained by any human creature (as it plainly is not) would be entirely incurable; and no reaſoning could ever bring us to a ſtate of aſſurance and conviction upon any ſubject.

IT muſt, however, be confeſſed, that this ſpecies of ſcepticiſm, when more moderate, may be underſtood in a very reaſonable ſenſe, and is a neceſſary prepara⯑tive to the ſtudy of philoſophy, by preſerving a pro⯑per [229] impartiality in our judgments, and weaning our mind from all thoſe prejudices, which we may have imbibed from education or raſh opinion. To begin with clear and ſelf-evident principles, to advance by timorous and ſure ſteps, to review frequently our con⯑cluſions, and examine accurately all their conſequences; tho' by this means we ſhall make both a ſlow and a ſhort progreſs in our ſyſtems; are the only methods, by which we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a proper ſtability and certainty in our determina⯑tions.

THERE is another ſpecies of ſcepticiſm, conſequent to ſcience and enquiry, where men are ſuppoſed to have diſcovered, either the abſolute fallaciouſneſs of their mental faculties, or their unfitneſs to reach any fixed determination in all thoſe curious ſubjects of ſpeculation, about which they are commonly em⯑ployed. Even our very ſenſes are brought into diſ⯑pute, by a certain ſpecies of philoſophers; and the maxims of common life are ſubjected to the ſame doubt as the moſt profound principles or concluſions of metaphyſics and theology. As theſe paradoxical tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in ſome philoſophers, and the refutation of them in ſeveral, they naturally excite our curioſity, and make us enquire into the arguments, on which they may be founded.

[230] I NEED not inſiſt upon the more trite topics, em⯑ployed by the ſceptics in all ages, againſt the evidence of ſenſe; ſuch as thoſe derived from the imperfection and fallaciouſneſs of our organs, on numberleſs occa⯑ſions; the crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various aſpects of objects, according to their dif⯑ferent diſtances; the double images which ariſe from the preſſing one eye; with many other appearances of a like nature. Theſe ſceptical topics, indeed, are only ſufficient to prove, that the ſenſes alone are not implicitely to be depended on; but that we muſt correct their evidence by reaſon, and by conſiderations, derived from the nature of the medium, the diſtance of the object, and the diſpoſition of the organ, in order to render them, within their ſphere, the proper criteria of truth and falſhood. There are other more profound arguments againſt the ſenſes, which admit not of ſo eaſy a ſolution.

IT ſeems evident, that men are carried, by a natu⯑ral inſtinct or prepoſſeſſion, to repoſe faith in their ſenſes; and that, without any reaſoning, or even al⯑moſt before the uſe of reaſon, we always ſuppoſe an external univerſe, which depends not on our percep⯑tion, but would exiſt, tho' we and every ſenſible crea⯑ture were abſent or annihilated. Even the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and preſerve this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts, deſigns, and actions.

[231] IT ſeems alſo evident, that when men follow this blind and powerful inſtinct of nature, they always ſuppoſe the very images, preſented by the ſenſes, to be the external objects, and never entertain any ſuſ⯑picion, that the one are nothing but repreſentations of the other. This very table, which we ſee white, and which we feel hard, is believed to exiſt, indepen⯑dent of our perception, and to be ſomething external to our mind, which perceives it. Our preſence be⯑ſtows not being on it: Our abſence annihilates it not. It preſerves its exiſtence uniform and entire, indepen⯑dent of the ſituation of intelligent beings, who per⯑ceive or contemplate it.

BUT this univerſal and primary opinion of all men is ſoon deſtroyed by the ſlighteſt philoſophy, which teaches us, that nothing can ever be preſent to the mind but an image or perception, and that the ſenſes are only the inlets, thro' which theſe images are re⯑ceived, without being ever able to produce any im⯑mediate intercourſe between the mind and the object. The table, which we ſee, ſeems to diminiſh, as we remove farther from it: But the real table which ex⯑iſts independent of us, ſuffers no alteration: It was, therefore, nothing but its image, which was preſent to the mind. Theſe are the obvious dictates of rea⯑ſon; and no man, who reflects, ever doubted, that the exiſtences, which we conſider, when we ſay, this houſe and that tree are nothing but perceptions in the [232] mind, and fleeting copies or repreſentations of other exiſtences, which remain uniform and independent.

So far, then, are we neceſſitated by reaſoning to contradict or depart from the primary inſtincts of na⯑ture, and to embrace a new ſyſtem with regard to the evidences of our ſenſes. But here philoſophy finds itſelf extremely embarraſſed, when it would juſtify this new ſyſtem, and obviate the cavils and objections of the ſceptics. It can no longer plead the infallible and irreſiſtible inſtinct of nature: For that led us to a quite different ſyſtem, which is acknowledged fal⯑lible and even erroneous. And to juſtify this pre⯑tended philoſophical ſyſtem, by a chain of clear and convincing argument, or even any appearance of ar⯑gument, exceeds the power of all human capacity.

BY what argument can it be proved, that the per⯑ceptions of the mind muſt be cauſed by external ob⯑jects, entirely different from them, tho' reſembling them (if that be poſſible) and could not ariſe either from the energy of the mind itſelf, or from the ſug⯑geſtion of ſome inviſible and unknown ſpirit, or from ſome other cauſe ſtill more unknown to us? 'Tis ac⯑knowledged, that, in fact, many of theſe perceptions ariſe not from any thing external, as in dreams, madneſs, and other diſeaſes. And nothing can be more inexplicable than the manner, in which body ſhould ſo operate upon mind as ever to convey an [233] image of itſelf to a ſubſtance ſuppoſed of ſo different, and even contrary a nature.

'TIS a queſtion of fact, whether the perceptions of the ſenſes be produced by external objects, reſem⯑bling them: How ſhall this queſtion be determined? By experience ſurely; as all other queſtions of a like nature. But here experience is, and muſt be entirely ſilent. The mind has never any thing preſent to it but the perceptions, and cannot poſſibly reach any experience of their connexion with objects. The ſup⯑poſition of ſuch a connexion is, therefore, without any foundation in reaſoning.

To have recourſe to the veracity of the ſupreme Being, in order to prove the veracity of our ſenſes, is ſurely making a very unexpected circuit. If his veracity were at all concerned in this matter, our ſenſes would be entirely infallible; becauſe it is not poſſible that he can ever deceive. Not to mention, that if the external world be once called in doubt, we ſhall be at a loſs to find arguments, by which we may prove the exiſtence of that Being or any of his attributes.

THIS is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and more philoſophical ſceptics will always triumph, when they endeavour to introduce an univerſal doubt into all ſubjects of human knowlege and enquiry.

[234] Do you follow the inſtincts and propenſities of nature, may they ſay, in aſſenting to the veracity of ſenſe? But theſe lead you to believe, that the very perception or ſenſible image is the external object. Do you diſ⯑claim this principle, in order to embrace a more ra⯑tional opinion, that the perceptions are only repreſen⯑tations of ſomething external? You here depart from your natural propenſities and more obvious ſentiments; and yet are not able to ſatisfy your reaſon, which can never find any convincing argument from experience to prove, that the perceptions are connected with any external objects.

THERE is another ſceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the moſt profound philoſophy; which might merit our attention, were it requiſite to dive ſo deep, in order to diſcover arguments and reaſonings, which can ſerve ſo little any ſerious purpoſe. 'Tis univerſally allowed by modern enquiers, that all the ſenſible qualities of objects, ſuch as hard, ſoft, hot, cold, white, black, &c. are merely ſecondary, and exiſt not in the objects themſelves, but are perceptions of the mind, without any external archetype or model, which they repreſent. If this be allowed, with regard to ſecondary qualities, it muſt alſo follow with regard to the ſuppoſed primary qualities of extenſion and ſolidity; nor can the latter be any more entitled to that deno⯑mination than the former. The idea of extenſion is entirely acquired from the ſenſes of ſight and feeling; [235] and if all the qualities, perceived by the ſenſes, be in the mind, not in the object, the ſame concluſion muſt reach the idea of extenſion, which is wholly de⯑pendent on the ſenſible ideas or the ideas of ſecon⯑dary qualities. Nothing can ſave us from this con⯑cluſion, but the aſſerting, that the ideas of thoſe pri⯑mary qualities are attained by Abſtraction; which, if we examine accurately, we ſhall find to be unintel⯑ligible, and even abſurd. An extenſion, that is nei⯑ther tangible nor viſible, cannot poſſibly be conceived: And a tangible or viſible extenſion, which is neither hard nor ſoft, black nor white, is equally beyond the reach of human conception. Let any man try to conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Iſoceles, nor Scalenum, nor has any particular length nor pro⯑portion of ſides; and he will ſoon perceive the ab⯑ſurdity of all the ſcholaſtic notions with regard to ab⯑ſtraction and general ideas^*.

[236] THUS the firſt philoſophical objection to the evi⯑dence of ſenſe or to the opinion of external exiſtence conſiſts in this, that ſuch an opinion, if reſted on na⯑tural inſtinct, is contrary to reaſon, and if referred to reaſon, is contrary to natural inſtinct, and at the ſame time carries no rational evidence with it, to convince an impartial enquirer. The ſecond objection goes farther, and repreſents this opinion as contrary to rea⯑ſon; at leaſt, if it be a principle of reaſon, that all ſenſible qualities are in the mind, not in the object.

PART II.

IT may ſeem a very extravagant attempt of the ſceptics to deſtroy reaſon by argument and ratiocina⯑tion; yet is this the grand ſcope of all their enquiries and diſputes. They endeavour to find objections, both to our abſtract reaſonings, and to thoſe which regard matter of fact and exiſtence.

THE chief objection againſt all abſtract reaſonings is derived from the ideas of ſpace and time; ideas, which, in common life and to a careleſs view, are very clear and intelligible, but when they paſs thro' the ſcrutiny of the profound ſciences (and they are the chief object of theſe ſciences) afford principles which ſeem full of abſurdity and contradiction. No prieſtly dogmas, invented on purpoſe to tame and [237] ſubdue the rebellious reaſon of mankind, ever ſhocked common ſenſe more than the doctrine of the infinite diviſibility of extenſion, with its conſequences; as they are pompouſly diſplayed by all geometricians and metaphyſicians, with a kind of triumph and ex⯑ultation. A real quantity, infinitely leſs than any finite quantity, containing quantities, infinitely leſs than itſelf, and ſo on, in infinitum; this is an edifice ſo bold and prodigious, that it is too weighty for any pretended demonſtration to ſupport, becauſe it ſhocks the cleareſt and moſt natural principles of human rea⯑ſon^*. But what renders the matter more extraordi⯑nary, is, that theſe ſeemingly abſurd opinions are ſupported by a chain of reaſoning, the cleareſt and moſt natural; nor is it poſſible for us to allow the premiſes without admitting the conſequences. No⯑thing [238] can be more convincing and ſatisfactory than all the concluſions concerning the properties of circles and triangles; and yet, when theſe are once received, how can we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and its tangent is infinitely leſs than any rec⯑tilineal angle, that as you may encreaſe the diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of contact be⯑comes ſtill leſs, even in infinitum, and that the angle of contact between other curves and their tangents may be infinitely leſs than thoſe between any circle and its tangent, and ſo on, in infinitum? The de⯑monſtration of theſe principles ſeems as unexception⯑able as that which proves the three angles of a tri⯑angle to be equal to two right ones; tho' the latter opinion be natural and eaſy, and the former big with contradiction and abſurdity. Reaſon here ſeems to be thrown into a kind of amazement and ſuſpence, which, without the ſuggeſtions of any ſceptic, gives her a diffidence of herſelf, and of the ground on which he treads. She ſees a full light, which illu⯑minates certain places; but that light borders upon the moſt profound darkneſs. And between theſe ſhe is ſo dazzled and confounded, that ſhe ſcarce can pro⯑nounce with certainty and aſſurance concerning any one object.

THE abſurdity of theſe bold determinations of the abſtract ſciences ſeems to become, if poſſible, ſtill more palpable with regard to time than extenſion. [239] An infinite number of real parts of time, paſſing in ſucceſſion, and exhauſted one after another, appears ſo evident a contradiction, that no man, one ſhould think, whoſe judgment is not corrupted, inſtead of being improved, by the ſciences, would ever be able to admit of it.

YET ſtill reaſon muſt remain reſtleſs and unquiet, even with regard to that ſcepticiſm, to which ſhe is led by theſe ſeeming abſurdities and contradictions. How any clear, diſtinct idea can contain circumſtances, contradictory to itſelf, or to any other clear, diſtinct idea, is abſolutely incomprehenſible; and is, perhaps, as abſurd as any propoſition, which can be formed. So that nothing can be more ſceptical, or more full of doubt and heſitation, than this ſcepticiſm itſelf, which ariſes from ſome of the paradoxical concluſions of geometry or the ſcience of quantity^*.

[240] THE ſceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the reaſonings concerning matter of fact are either popular or philoſophical. The popular objections are derived from the natural weakneſs of human under⯑ſtanding; the contradictory opinions, which have been entertained in different ages and nations; the variations of our judgment in ſickneſs and health, youth and old age, proſperity and adverſity; the perpetual con⯑tradiction of each particular man's opinions and ſen⯑timents; with many other topics of that kind. 'Tis needleſs to inſiſt farther on this head. Theſe objec⯑tions are but weak. For as, in common life, we rea⯑ſon every moment concerning fact and exiſtence, and cannot poſſibly ſubſiſt, without continually employing this ſpecies of argument, any popular objections, de⯑rived [241] from thence, muſt be inſufficient to deſtroy that evidence. The great ſubverter of Pyrrhoniſm or the exceſſive principles of ſcepticiſm, is action, and em⯑ployment, and the occupations of common life. Theſe principles may flouriſh and triumph in the ſchools; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not impoſſible, to re⯑fute them. But as ſoon as they leave the ſhade, and by the preſence of the real objects, which actuate our paſſions and ſentiments, are put in oppoſition to the more powerful principles of our nature, they vaniſh like ſmoak, and leave the moſt determined ſceptic in the ſame condition as other mortals.

THE ſceptic, therefore, had better keep in his pro⯑per ſphere, and diſplay thoſe philoſophical objections, which ariſe from more profound reſearches. Here he ſeems to have ample matter of triumph; while he juſtly inſiſts, that all our evidence for any matter of fact, which lies beyond the teſtimony of ſenſe or memory, is derived entirely from the relation of cauſe and effect; that we have no other idea of this relation than that of two objects, which have been frequently cojoined together; that we have no arguments to convince us, that object, which have, in our expe⯑rience, been frequently conjoined, will likewiſe, in other inſtances, be conjoined in the ſame manner; and that nothing leads us to this inſerence but cuſtom or a certain inſtinct of our nature; which it is indeed difficult to reſiſt, but which, like other inſtincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While the ſceptic inſiſts [242] upon theſe topics, he ſhews his force, or rather, in⯑deed, his own and our weakneſs; and ſeems, for the time at leaſt, to deſtroy all aſſurance and conviction. Theſe arguments might be diſplayed at greater length, if any durable good or benefit to ſociety could ever be expected to reſult from them.

FOR here is the chief and moſt confounding objec⯑tion to exceſſive ſcepticiſm, that no durable good can ever reſult from it; while it remains in its full force and vigour. We need only aſk ſuch a ſceptic, What his meaning is? And what he propoſes by all theſe curious reſearches? He is immediately at a loſs, and knows not what to anſwer. A COPERNICAN or PTOLEMAIC, who ſupports each his different ſyſtem of aſtronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will remain, conſtant and durable, with his audience. A STOIC or EPICUREAN diſplays prin⯑ciples, which may not only be durable, but which have a mighty effect on conduct and behaviour. But a PYRRHONIAN cannot propoſe that his philoſophy will have any conſtant influence on the mind: Or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial to ſoci⯑ety. On the contrary, he muſt acknowlege, if he will acknowlege any thing, that all human life muſt periſh, were his principles univerſally and ſteadily to prevail. All diſcourſe, all action would immediate⯑ly ceaſe; and men remain in a total lethargy, till the neceſſities of nature, unſatisfied, put an end to [243] their miſerable exiſtence. 'Tis true; ſo fatal an event is very little to be dreaded. Nature is always too ſtrong for principle. And tho' a PYRRHONIAN may throw himſelf or others into a momentary amazement and confuſion by his profound reaſonings; the firſt and moſt trivial event in life will put to flight all his doubts and ſcruples, and leave him the ſame, in every point of action and ſpeculation, with the philoſophers of every other ſect, or with thoſe who never con⯑cerned themſelves in any philoſophical reſearches. When he awakes from his dream, he will be the firſt to join in the laugh againſt himſelf, and to confeſs, that all his objections are mere amuſements, and can have no other tendency than to ſhow the whimſical condition of mankind, who muſt act and reaſon and believe; tho' they are not able, by their moſt diligent enquiry, to ſatisfy themſelves concerning the founda⯑tion of theſe operations, or to remove the objections, which may be raiſed againſt them.

PART III.

THERE is, indeed, a more mitigated ſcepticiſm or academical philoſophy, which may be both durable and uſeful, and which may, in part, be the reſult of this PYRRHONISM, or exceſſive ſcepticiſm, when its undiſtinguiſhed doubts are, in ſome meaſure, corrected by common ſenſe and reflexion. The greateſt part of [244] mankind are naturally apt to be affirmative and dog⯑matical in their opinions; and while they ſee objects only on one ſide, and have no idea of any counter⯑poiſing arguments, they throw themſelves precipi⯑tately into the principles, to which they are inclin⯑ed; nor have they any indulgence for thoſe who en⯑tertain oppoſite ſentiments. To heſitate or balance perplexes their underſtandings, checks their paſſion, and ſuſpends their actions. They are, therefore, im⯑patient till they eſcape from a ſtate, which to them is ſo uneaſy; and they think, that they can never re⯑move themſelves far enough from it, by the violence of their affirmations and obſtinacy of their belief. But could ſuch dogmatical reaſoners become ſenſible of the ſtrange infirmities of human underſtanding, even in its moſt perfect ſtate, and when moſt accurate and cautious in its determinations; ſuch a reflection would naturally inſpire them with more modeſty and reſerve, and diminiſh their fond opinion of them⯑ſelves, and their prejudice againſt antagoniſts. The illiterate may reflect on the diſpoſition of the learned, who, amidſt all the advantages of ſtudy and reflec⯑tion, are commonly ſtill diffident in their determina⯑tions: And if any of the learned are inclined, from their natural temper, to haughtineſs and obſtinacy, a ſmall tincture of PYRRHONISM may abate their pride, by ſhowing them, that the few advantages, which they may have attained over their fellows, are but incon⯑ſiderable, [245] if compared with the univerſal perplexity and confuſion, which is inherent in human nature. In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modeſty, which, in all kinds of ſcrutiny and de⯑ciſion, ought for ever to accompany a juſt reaſoner.

ANOTHER ſpecies of mitigated ſcepticiſm, which may be of advantage to mankind, and which may be the natural reſult of the PYRRHONIAN doubts and ſcruples, is the limitation of our enquiries to ſuch ſubjects as are beſt adapted to the narrow capacity of human underſtanding. The imagination of man is naturally ſublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary, and running, without controul, into the moſt diſtant parts of ſpace and time, in or⯑der to avoid the objects, which cuſtom has rendered too familiar to it. A correct judgment obſerves a con⯑trary method; and avoiding all diſtant and high en⯑quiries, confines itſelf to common life, and to ſuch ſubjects as fall under daily practice and experience; leaving the more ſublime topics to the embelliſhment of poets and orators, or to the arts of prieſts and po⯑liticians. To bring us to ſo ſalutary a determination, nothing can be more ſerviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force of the PYRRHONIAN doubt, and of the impoſſibility that any thing but the ſtrong power of natural inſtinct, could free us from it. Thoſe who have a propenſity to philoſophy, will ſtill continue their reſearches; becauſe they reflect, [246] that beſides the immediate pleaſure, attending ſuch an occupation, philoſophical deciſions are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and cor⯑rected. But they will never be tempted to go be⯑yond common life, ſo long as they conſider the im⯑perfection of thoſe faculties which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations. While we cannot give a ſatisfactory reaſon, why we believe after a thouſand experiments, that a ſtone will fall, or fire burn; can we ever ſatisfy ourſelves concerning any determinations which we may form with regard to the origin of worlds, and the ſituation of nature, from, and to enternity?

THIS narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every reſpect, ſo reaſonable, that it ſuffices to make the ſlighteſt examination into the natural powers of the human mind, and to compare them to their objects, in order to recommend it to us. We ſhall then find what are the proper ſubjects of ſcience and enquiry.

IT ſeems to me, that the only objects of the ab⯑ſtract ſciences or of demonſtration are quantity and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect ſpecies of knowlege beyond theſe bounds are mere ſophiſtry and illuſion. As the component parts of quantity and number are entirely ſimilar, their re⯑lations become intricate and involved; and nothing [247] can be more curious, as well as uſeful, than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality or inequality, thro' their different appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly diſtinct and different from each other, we can never advance farther, by all our ſcrutiny, than to obſerve this diverſity, and, by an obvious reflection, pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty in theſe deciſions, it proceeds entirely from the undeterminate meaning of words, which is corrected by juſter definitions. That the ſquare of the hypothenuſe is equal to the ſquares of the other two ſides, cannot be known, let the terms be ever ſo exactly defined, without a train of reaſoning and enquiry. But to convince us of this propoſition, that where there is no property, there can be no injuſtice, 'tis only neceſ⯑ſary to define the terms, and explain injuſtice to be a violation of property. This propoſition is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect deſinition. 'Tis the ſame caſe with all thoſe pretended ſyllogiſtical reaſon⯑ings, which may be found in every other branch of learning, except the ſciences of quantity and number; and theſe may ſafely, I think, be pronounced the only proper objects of knowlege and demonſtration.

ALL other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and exiſtence; and theſe are evidently incapable of demonſtration. Whatever is may not be. No ne⯑gation of a fact can involve a contradiction. The non-exiſtence of any being, without exception, is as [248] clear and diſtinct an idea as its exiſtence. The pro⯑poſition, which affirms it not to be, however falſe, is no leſs conceivable and intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The caſe is different with the ſci⯑ences, properly ſo called. Every propoſition, which is not true, is there confuſed and unintelligible. That the cube root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a falſe propoſition, and can never be diſtinctly conceiv⯑ed. But that CAESAR, or the angel GABRIEL, or any being never exiſted, may be a falſe propoſition, but ſtill is perfectly conceivable, and implies no con⯑tradiction.

THE exiſtence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments from its cauſe or its effect; and theſe arguments are founded entirely on experi⯑ence. If we reaſon à priori, any thing may appear able to produce any thing. The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguiſh the ſun; or the wiſh of a man controul the planets in their orbits. 'Tis only experience, which teaches us the nature and bounds of cauſe and effect, and enables us to inſer the exiſtence of one object from that of another^*. [249] Such is the foundation of moral reaſoning, which forms the greateſt part of human knowlege, and is the ſource of all human action and behaviour.

MORAL reaſonings are either concerning particular or general facts. All deliberations in life regard the former; as alſo all diſquiſitions in hiſtory, chronology, geography, and aſtronomy.

THE ſciences, which treat of general facts, are po⯑lities, natural philoſophy, phyſic, chymiſtry, &c. where the qualities, cauſes, and effects of a whole ſpecies of objects are enquired into.

DIVINITY or Theology, as it proves the exiſtence of a Deity, and the immortality of ſouls, is compoſed partly of reaſonings concerning particular, partly con⯑cerning general facts. It has a foundation in rea⯑ſon, ſo far as it is ſupported by experience. But its beſt and moſt ſolid foundation is faith and divine revelation.

MORALS and criticiſm are not ſo properly objects of the underſtanding as of taſte and ſentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is felt, more properly than perceived. Or if we reaſon concerning it, and endea⯑vour to fix its ſtandard, we regard a new fact, viz. the general taſte of mankind, or ſome ſuch fact, which may be the object of reaſoning and enquiry.

[250] WHEN we run over libraries, perſuaded of theſe principles, what havoc muſt we make? If we take in our hand any volume; of divinity or ſchool metaphy⯑ſics, for inſtance; let us aſk, Does it contain any ab⯑ſtract reaſonings concerning quantity of number? No. Does it contain any experimental reaſonings concerning matters of fact or exiſtence? No. Commit it then to the flames: For it can contain nothing but ſophiſtry and illuſion.