SECTION I
OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.

  MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature, 
may be treated after two different manners; each 
of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute 
to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of man- 
kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; 
and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; 
pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to 
the value which these objects seem to possess, and accord- 
ing to the light in which they present themselves. As vir- 
tue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this 
species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable 
colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and 
treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and 
such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage 
the affections. They select the most striking observations 
and instances from common life; place opposite characters 
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue 
by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in 
these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious 
examples. They make us feel the difference between vice 
and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and 
so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and 
true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the 
end of all their labours. 

  The other species of philosophers consider man in the 
light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and 
endeavour to form his understanding more than cultivate 
his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of 
speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in 
order to find those principles, which regulate our under- 
standing, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or 
blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They 
think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should 
not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of 
morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk 
of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and de- 
formity, without being able to determine the source of 
these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task, 
they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from 
particular instances to general principles, they still push on 
their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not 
satisfied till they arrive at those original principles, by 
which, in every science, all human curiosity must be 
bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and 
even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the 
approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them- 
selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole 
lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may 
contribute to the instruction of posterity. 

  It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will 
always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference 
above the accurate and abstruse; and by many will be 
recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful 
than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds 
the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles 
which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them 
nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On 
the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a 
turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action, 
vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes 
into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any in- 
fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of 
our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of 
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the 
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian. 

  This also must be confessed, that the most durable, 
as well as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy 
philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to 
have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice 
or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able 
to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It 
is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake 
in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary 
parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences, 
and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by 
its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular 
opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent 
the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more 
engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no 
farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the 
natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path, 
and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The 
fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle 
is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still 
maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche 
is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And 
Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke 
shall be entirely forgotten. 

  The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly 
but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to 
contribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure 
of society; while he lives remote from communication with 
mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally 
remote from their comprehension. On the other hand, 
the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing 
deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and 
nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely 
destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The 
most perfect character is supposed to lie between those 
extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books, 
company, and business; preserving in conversation that 
discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters; 
and in business, that probity and accuracy which are 
the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse 
and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be 
more useful than compositions of the easy style and manner, 
which draw not too much from life, require no deep appli- 
cation or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the 
student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise 
precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By 
means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable, 
science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en- 
tertaining. 

  Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from 
science his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow 
are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfac- 
tion can be hoped for in this particular, either from the 
extent of security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no 
less than a reasonable being: but neither can he always 
enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the 
proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and 
from that disposition, as well as from the various necessities 
of human life, must submit to business and occupation: 
but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always 
support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that 
nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable 
to the human race, and secretly admonished them to allow 
none of these biases to draw too much, so as to incapacitate 
them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge 
your passion for science, says she, but let your science be 
human, and such as may have a direct reference to action 
and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I 
prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy 
which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which 
they involve you, and by the cold reception which your 
pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated. 
Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still 
a man. 

  Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the 
easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without 
throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might 
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general 
opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, 
his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often 
carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all pro- 
found reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics, 
we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be 
pleaded in their behalf. 

  We may begin with observing, that one considerable 
advantage, which results from the accurate and abstract 
philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane; 
which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient 
degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. 
All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life 
in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us with 
different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi- 
cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set 
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in 
this undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick 
apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in- 
ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the 
workings of the passions, and the various species of senti- 
ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful 
soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes, 
in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe 
with success the obvious and outward appearances of life 
and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most 
hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful 
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen. 
While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art, 
and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs; 
he must still carry his attention to the inward structure 
of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric 
of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ. 
Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just 
reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt 
the one by depreciating the other. 

  Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even 
those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of 
accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their 
perfection, and renders them more subservient to the 
interests of society. And though a philosopher may live 
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully 
cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself through- 
out the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on 
every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater 
foresight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing 
of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles 
in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his 
discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations. 
The stability of modern governments above the ancient, 
and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and 
probably will still improve, by similar gradations. 

  Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies, 
beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought 
not even this to be despised; as being one accession to 
those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed 
on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path 
of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and 
whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, 
or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed 
a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches 
may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds 
as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous 
and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure 
from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burden- 
some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the 
mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from 
obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and 
rejoicing. 

  But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos- 
ophy, is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but 
as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here in- 
deed lies the justest and most plausible objection against 
a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not properly 
a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of 
human vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly 
inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of pop- 
ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves 
on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and 
protect their weakness. Chased from the open country, these 
robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon 
every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it 
with religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, 
if he remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many, 
through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies, 
and willingly receive them with reverence and submission, 
as their legal sovereigns. 

  But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should 
desist from such researches, and leave superstition still 
in possession of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an 
opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying 
the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In 
vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, 
will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the 
proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many 
persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling 
such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair 
can never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, how- 
ever unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there 
is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or 
improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach 
discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous 
genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself 
stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his 
predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving 
so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only 
method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse 
questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human 
understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its 
powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for 
such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to 
this fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must 
cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to 
destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some 
persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philos- 
ophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and de- 
spair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place after- 
wards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and 
just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all 
persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert 
that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which 
being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in 
a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it 
the air of science and wisdom. 

  Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en- 
quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, 
there are many positive advantages, which result from an 
accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human 
nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the 
mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, 
whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem 
involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those 
lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish 
them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same 
aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an in- 
stant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and 
improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore, 
no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different 
operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to 
class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that 
seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made 
the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering 
and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed 
with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses, 
rises in its value, when directed towards the operations 
of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour, 
which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no 
farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the 
distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satis- 
faction to go so far; and the more obvious this science 
may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con- 
temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all 
pretenders to learning and philosophy. 

  Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science 
is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should entertain 
such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation, 
and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind 
is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these 
powers are distinct from each other, that what is really 
distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished 
by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and 
falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth 
and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human 
understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of 
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding, 
the imagination and passions, which fall within the com- 
prehension of every human creature; and the finer and 
more philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain, 
though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances, 
especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give 
us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch 
of learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of 
a philosopher to give us a true system of the planets, and 
adjust the position and order of those remote bodies; 
while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much 
success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so 
intimately concerned? 

  But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with 
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may 
carry its researches still farther, and discover, at least in 
some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which the 
human mind is actuated in its operations? Astronomers 
had long contented themselves with proving, from the 
phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of 
the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last, arose, 
who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter- 
mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the 
planets are governed and directed. The like has been 
performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there 
is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries 
concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted 
with equal capacity and caution. It is probable, that one 
operation and principle of the mind depends on another; 
which, again, may be resolved into one more general and 
universal: and how far these researches may possibly 
be carried, it will be difficult for us, before, or even after, 
a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that 
attempts of this kind are every day made even by those 
who philosophize the most negligently: and nothing can 
be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with 
thorough care and attention; that, if it lie within the 
compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily 
achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with some 
confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not 
desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how 
much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this 
species of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists 
have hitherto been accustomed, when they considered the 
vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite 
our approbation or dislike, to search for some common 
principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend. 
And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far, 
by their passion for some one general principle; it must, 
however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting 
to find some general principles, into which all the vices 
and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been 
the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians: 
nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though 
perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent 
application may bring these sciences still nearer their per- 
fection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind 
may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical, 
than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that 
has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin- 
ciples on mankind. 

  What though these reasonings concerning human nature 
seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords 
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it 
seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many 
wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and 
easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we 
may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point 
of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make 
any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of 
such unspeakable importance. 

  But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations 
is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them, 
and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care 
and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have, 
in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light 
upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred 
the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can 
unite the boundaries of the different species of philosophy, 
by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth 
with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this 
easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an 
abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served 
only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity 
and error! 


SECTION II
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS

  EVERY one will readily allow, that there is a consider- 
able difference between the perceptions of the mind, 
when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the 
pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re- 
calls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his 
imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the percep- 
tions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the 
force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we 
say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is, 
that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we 
could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be 
disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive 
at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions 
altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, 
however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such 
a manner as to make the description be taken for a real 
landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the 
dullest sensation. 

  We may observe a like distinction to run through all the 
other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is 
actuated in a very different manner from one who only 
thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person 
is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from 
a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake 
that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the 
passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and 
affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its 
objects truly; but the colours which it employs are faint 
and dull, in comparison of those in which our original per- 
ceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or 
metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them. 

  Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the 
mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished 
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less 
forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or 
Ideas. The other species want a name in our language, 
and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite 
for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under 
a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little 
freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word 
in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term 
impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, 
when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, 
or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, 
which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are 
conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or 
movements above mentioned. 

  Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than 
the thought of man, which not only escapes all human 
power and authority, but is not even restrained within the 
limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join 
incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination 
no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and 
familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one 
planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the 
thought can in an instant transport us into the most dis- 
tant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe, 
into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to 
lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard 
of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond 
the power of thought, except what implies an absolute 
contradiction. 

  But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded 
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is 
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this 
creative power of the mind amounts to no more than 
the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or 
diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and 
experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we 
only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with 
which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we 
can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can 
conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and 
shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In 
short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from 
our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com- 
position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, 
to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or 
more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or 
more lively ones. 

  To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, 
be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, 
however compounded or sublime, we always find that they 
resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied 
from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas, 
which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are 
found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The 
idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and 
good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our 
own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities 
of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry 
to what length we please; where we shall always find, that 
every idea which we examine is copied from a similar 
impression. Those who would assert that this position is 
not universally true nor without exception, have only one, 
and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that 
idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. 
It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our 
doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception, 
which corresponds to it. 

  Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, 
that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, 
we always find that he is as little susceptible of the cor- 
respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of 
colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them 
that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new 
inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas; 
and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The 
case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any 
sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Lap- 
lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine. 
And though there are few or no instances of a like 
deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or 
is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs 
to his species; yet we find the same observation to take 
place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form 
no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish 
heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and gener- 
osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess 
many senses of which we can have no conception; because 
the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the 
only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind, 
to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation. 

  There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which 
may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas 
to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions. 
I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct 
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, 
which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from 
each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now 
if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of 
the different shades of the same colour; and each shade 
produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if 
this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual grada- 
tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most 
remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means 
to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the 
extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person 
to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have 
become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds 
except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it 
never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the 
different shades of that colour, except that single one, be 
placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest 
to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank, 
where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there 
is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous 
colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be 
possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this 
deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular 
shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his 
senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion 
that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple 
ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the 
correspondent impressions; though this instance is so 
singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does 
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general 
maxim. 

  Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, 
in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were 
made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible, 
and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken 
possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace 
upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally 
faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them: 
they are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas; 
and when we have often employed any term, though with- 
out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter- 
minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, 
that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong 
and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly deter- 
mined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with 
regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion 
that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning 
or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from 
what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it 
be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our 
suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may 
reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, 
concerning their nature and reality.[1] 

[1] It is probable that no more was meant by these, who denied innate
ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must
be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with
such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their
doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural,
then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate
or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposi-
tion to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant,
contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it
worth while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at,
or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in
a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing for any of our per-
ceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this
sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting, that self-
love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?

But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above
explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied from
no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are
innate, and our ideas not innate.

To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was
betrayed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-
fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without ever touch-
ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution seem to run
through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well as most other subjects.


SECTION III
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS

  IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be- 
tween the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and 
that in their appearance to the memory or imagination, 
they introduce each other with a certain degree of method 
and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse 
this is so observable that any particular thought, which 
breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is 
immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our 
wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very 
dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination 
ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still 
a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which suc- 
ceeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversa- 
tion to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed 
something which connected it in all its transitions. Or 
where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of 
discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly 
revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had 
gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among 
different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least 
connexion or communication, it is found, that the words, 
expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly 
correspond to each other: a certain proof that the simple 
ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound 
together by some universal principle, which had an equal 
influence on all mankind. 

  Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that 
different ideas are connected together; I do not find that 
any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all 
the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems 
worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three 
principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, 
Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect. 

  That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I 
believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our 
thoughts to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment 
in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse 
concerning the others:[2] and if we think of a wound, we 
can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it.[3] 
But that this enumeration is complete, and that there are 
no other principles of association except these, may be 
difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even 
to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases, 
is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the 
principle which binds the different thoughts to each other, 
never stopping till we render the principle as general as 
possible.[4] The more instances we examine, and the more 
care we employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that 
the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is com- 
plete and entire. 

[1] Resemblance.

[2] Contiguity.

[3] Cause and effect.

[4] For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas:
but it may perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem-
blance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that
is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation of an
object, implies the idea of its former existence.


SECTION IV
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF 
THE UNDERSTANDING

PART I 

  ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may 
naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela- 
tions of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first 
kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic; 
and in short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or 
demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse 
is equal to the square 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 anywhere existent in the universe. 
Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the 
truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their 
certainty and evidence. 

  Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human 
reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our 
evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with 
the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still 
possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and 
is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis- 
tinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the 
sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo- 
sition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirma- 
tion, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt 
to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, 
it would imply a contradiction, and could never be dis- 
tinctly conceived by the mind. 

  It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of 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 records of our 
memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been 
little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and 
therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so 
important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while 
we march through 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 
discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if any such 
there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, 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 on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of 
that relation alone we can 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 country, 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 knowledge of his 
former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch 
or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude 
that there had once been men in that island. All our rea- 
sonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here 
it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion between 
the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were 
there nothing to bind them together, the inference would 
be entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice 
and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the pres- 
ence 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 on the 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, concerning the 
nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact, 
we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause 
and effect. 

  I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which 
admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation 
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but 
arises entirely from experience, when we find that any 
particular objects are constantly conjoined 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, though 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 suffo- 
cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it would 
consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities 
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro- 
duced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can 
our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any in- 
ference concerning real existence and matter of fact. 

  This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable, 
not by reason but by experience, will readily be admitted 
with regard to such objects, as we remember to have once 
been 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 resistance 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 load- 
stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In 
like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an 
intricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no 
difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience. 
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 tiger? 

  But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have 
the same evidence with regard to events, which have become 
familiar to us from our first appearance 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 imagine that we could discover these effects by the mere 
operation 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 Billiard-ball would 
communicate motion to another upon impulse; and that we 
needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pro- 
nounce 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 reflections may, perhaps, suf- 
fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we 
required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will 
result from it, without consulting past observation; after 
what manner, I beseech 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 it is plain that 
this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can 
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 consequently can never 
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a 
quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there 
anything 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 a priori, is there anything 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 particular 
effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con- 
sult not experience; so must we also esteem the supposed 
tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which binds 
them together, and renders it impossible that any other 
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When 
I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight 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 dif- 
ferent events might as well follow from that cause? May 
not both these balls remain at absolute rest? May not the 
first ball return in a straight line, or leap off from the second 
in any line or direction? All these suppositions are con- 
sistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the 
preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable 
than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be 
able to show 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, a priori, must be 
entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con- 
junction 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 observa- 
tion and experience. 

  Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher, 
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 produces any 
single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the 
utmost effort of human reason is to reduce the principles, 
productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity, 
and to resolve the many particular effects into a few gen- 
eral causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experi- 
ence, and observation. But as to the causes of these general 
causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall 
we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular ex- 
plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles 
are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas- 
ticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion 
by impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and prin- 
ciples 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 phenomena 
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 metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger 
portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness 
and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at 
every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it. 

  Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural 
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into 
the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of 
reasoning for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part 
of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition that 
certain laws are established by nature in her operations; 
and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist ex- 
perience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine 
their influence in particular instances, where it depends 
upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it 
is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo- 
ment 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 force may remove the greatest 
obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance 
or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that force, 
so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry 
assists us in the application of this law, by giving us the 
just dimensions 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 knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider 
merely any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde- 
pendent of all observation, it never could suggest to us the 
notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much less, 
show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between 
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 operation 
of these qualities. 

PART II 

  BUT we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac- 
tion with regard to the question first proposed. Each 
solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as 
the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. 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 relation of cause and effect. 
When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our 
reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may 
be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on 
our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all 
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 per- 
sons of inquisitive dispositions, 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. 

  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 experience are not founded on reason- 
ing, 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 afforded 
us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob- 
jects; while she conceals from us those powers and prin- 
ciples on which the influence of those objects entirely de- 
pends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and 
consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever 
inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourish- 
ment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling con- 
veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that 
wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving 
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 not- 
withstanding this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi- 
ples, we always presume, when we see like sensible quali- 
ties, that they have like secret powers, and expect 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 pre- 
sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experi- 
ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and 
support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought, 
of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is 
allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion 
between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and 
consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con- 
clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction, 
by anything which it knows of their nature. As to past 
Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain 
information of those precise objects only, and that precise 
period of time, which fell under its cognizance: 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 nowise neces- 
sary. At least, it must be acknowledged 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, in appearance, similar, will be 
attended with similar 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 reasoning, 
I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion 
between these propositions is not intuitive. There is re- 
quired a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such 
an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu- 
ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my 
comprehension; and it is 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 penetrating 
and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way 
and no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo- 
sition or intermediate step, which supports the understand- 
ing in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new, 
every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration, 
as to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry, 
that therefore 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 knowledge, en- 
deavour to show that none of them can afford such an 
argument. 

  All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, 
demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of 
ideas, and moral reasoning, or that concerning matter of 
fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative argu- 
ments in the case seems evident; since it implies no con- 
tradiction that the course of nature may change, and that 
an object, seemingly like those which we have experi- 
enced, may be attended 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 December and 
January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever 
is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no 
contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon- 
strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori. 

  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 probable only, or such 
as regard matter of fact and real existence according to the 
division above mentioned. But that there is no argument 
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 
knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experi- 
ence; 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 expect effects similar to 
those which we have found to follow from such objects. 
And though 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 philoso- 
pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the 
principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority 
to experience, and makes us draw advantage from that 
similarity which nature has placed among different objects. 
From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects. 
This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now 
it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by 
reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one in- 
stance, 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 appearing similarity, expects the 
same taste and relish in all of them. It is 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 reasoning which, 
from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from 
that which it infers from a hundred instances that are 
nowise different from that single one? This question I 
propose as much for the sake of information, as with an 
intention of raising 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 uniform experi- 
ments, we infer a connexion between the sensible qualities 
and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the 
same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question 
still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is 
founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, 
which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is 
confessed 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 sup- 
port. For otherwise we could infer these secret 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 shows us a number of uniform 
effects, resulting 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 produced, we 
expect similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect. 
From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we 
expect like nourishment and support. But this surely 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 con- 
joined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tau- 
tology, nor are these propositions in any respect the same. 
You say that the one proposition is an inference from the 
other. But you must confess that the inference is not 
intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it, 
then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question. 
For all inferences from experience suppose, as their founda- 
tion, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar 
powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities. 
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 in- 
ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any 
arguments from experience 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 learned the nature of bodies from your 
past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently 
all their effects and influence, may change, without any 
change in their sensible qualities. This happens some- 
times, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not 
happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, 
what process or argument secures you against this supposi- 
tion? 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 importance. Can I do 
better than propose the difficulty to the public, even though, 
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 knowledge. 

  I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable 
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es- 
caped his own investigation, that therefore it does not really 
exist. I must also confess that, though all the learned, for 
several ages, should have employed themselves in fruit- 
less search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash 
to conclude positively that the subject must, therefore, 
pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine 
all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them un- 
fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion, 
that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination 
not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there 
are some considerations which seem to remove all this 
accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake. 

  It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants-- 
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 ratiocination, 
I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor 
have you any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. 
You cannot say that the argument 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, 
therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any 
intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, 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 appear- 
ance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to 
enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not 
to have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong, 
I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward 
scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which, 
it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was 
out of my cradle. 

[1] The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more
accurate explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument.
See Sect. 7.


SECTION V
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS

PART I 

  THE passion for philosophy, like that for religion, 
seems liable to this inconvenience, that, though it 
aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation 
of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management, 
to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind, 
with more determined resolution, towards that side which 
already draws too much, by the bias and propensity of the 
natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the 
magnanimous firmness of the philosophic sage, and en- 
deavour 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 towards 
the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we 
are, perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence, 
which, hating the bustle of the world, and drudgery of 
business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself a full 
and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one 
species of philosophy which seems little liable to this in- 
convenience, and that because it strikes in with no dis- 
orderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle it- 
self with any natural affection or propensity; and that is 
the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The academics al- 
ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment, of danger 
in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow bounds 
the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all 
speculations which lie not within the limits of common life 
and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary 
than such a philosophy to the supine indolence of the 
mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its super- 
stitious credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except 
the love of truth; and that passion never is, nor can be, 
carried to too high a degree. It is surprising, therefore, 
that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must 
be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so 
much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, 
the very circumstance which renders it so innocent 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 follies, it raises to itself 
abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, pro- 
fane, 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. Though 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 rea- 
sonings, on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever 
be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not en- 
gaged 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 remains the same. What that principle is may well 
be worth the pains of enquiry. 

  Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest 
faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden 
into this world; he would, indeed, immediately observe 
a continual succession of objects, and one event following 
another; but he would not be able to discover anything 
farther. He would 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, the other the effect. 
Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There 
may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the 
appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person, 
without more experience, could never employ his conjecture 
or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured 
of anything beyond what was immediately present to his 
memory and senses. 

  Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, 
and has lived so long in the world as to have observed 
familiar objects or events to be constantly conjoined to- 
gether; what is the consequence of this experience? He 
immediately infers the existence of one object from the 
appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his ex- 
perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret 
power by which the one object produces the other; nor 
is it by any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw 
this inference. But still he finds himself determined to 
draw it: and though he should be convinced that his 
understanding has no part in the operation, he would 
nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There 
is some other principle which determines him to form such 
a conclusion. 

  This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the 
repetition of any particular act or operation produces a 
propensity to renew the same act or operation, without 
being impelled by any reasoning or process of the under- 
standing, we always say, that this propensity is the effect 
of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to 
have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We 
only point out a principle of human nature, which is 
universally acknowledged, 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. It is suf- 
ficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without repining 
at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry 
us no farther. And it is certain we here advance a very 
intelligible proposition at least, if not a true one, when 
we assert that, after the constant conjunction of two ob- 
jects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity-- 
we are determined 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 inference which we are not 
able to draw from one instance, that is, in no respect, 
different from them. Reason is incapable of any such 
variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider- 
ing 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.[1]

  Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is 
that principle alone which renders our experience useful 
to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train 
of events with those which have appeared in the past. 
Without the influence of custom, 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 though our 
conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory 
and senses, and assure us of matters of fact which hap- 
pened 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 proceed in drawing these 
conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert country 
the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that 
the country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civil- 
ized inhabitants; 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 contained, 
and thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to 
another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of 
these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon 
some fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings 
would be merely hypothetical; and however the particular 
links might be connected with each other, the whole chain 
of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could 
we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge 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 proceed after this manner, in infinitum, 
you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present to 
your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is 
entirely without foundation. 

  What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A 
simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote 
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 between that and some 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 pre- 
sented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom 
to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality 
does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach. 
This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in 
such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when 
we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of 
love, when we receive 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 
understanding 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 questions 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 na- 
ture of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence 
it is derived. By this means we may meet with some ex- 
plications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at least 
to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be enter- 
tained 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 following en- 
quiries may well be understood, though it be neglected. 

PART II 

  NOTHING is more free than the imagination of man; and 
though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas fur- 
nished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited 
power of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing 
these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It 
can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of 
reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive 
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 
believe 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 commanded at pleasure. It 
must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and 
must arise from the particular situation, in which the mind 
is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object 
is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the 
force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that 
object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception 
is attended with a feeling or sentiment, 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 as- 
sented to and that which is rejected, were it not for some 
sentiment which distinguishes the one from the other. If 
I see a billiard-ball moving toward 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 any 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 
represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to 
attempt a description of this sentiment; in hopes we 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 con- 
ception of an object, than what the imagination alone is 
ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may 
seem so unphilosophical, 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, it is 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 fictitious objects with all 
the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in 
a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as 
they might have existed. But as it is impossible that this 
faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is 
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 it is impossible 
perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception. 
We may make use of words which express something near 
it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before, is 
belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under- 
stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no 
farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind, 
which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the 
fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight and 
influence; makes them appear of greater importance; en- 
forces them in the mind; and renders them the governing 
principle of 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 immediately conveys my thought to the person, to- 
gether 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 possessed. These 
ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an en- 
chanted 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 sorrow. 

  Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, 
and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a 
conception 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 supposi- 
tions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it, 
and to trace up these phenomena to principles still more 
general. 

  We have already observed that nature has established 
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner 
one idea occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor- 
relative, and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle 
and insensible movement. These principles of connexion 
or association we have reduced to three, namely, Resem- 
blance, 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 
degree, 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 otherwise 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 associations, this may be established as 
a general law, which takes place in all the operations of 
the mind. 

  We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment 
to our present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the 
picture of an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently 
enlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which 
that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires 
new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there 
concur both a relation and a present impression. Where 
the picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not 
intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought 
to him: and where it is absent, as well as the person, 
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 it is set before us; 
but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him 
directly than by reflection in an image, which is equally 
distant and obscure. 

  The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may 
be considered as instances of the same nature. The dev- 
otees of that superstition usually plead in excuse for the 
mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they 
feel the good effect of those external motions, and pos- 
tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and quick- 
ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if 
directed entirely 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 it is pos- 
sible for us to do merely by an intellectual view and 
contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater in- 
fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence 
they readily convey to those ideas to which they are 
related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer from 
these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resem- 
blance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in 
every case a resemblance and a present impression must 
concur, we are abundantly 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 contiguity as 
well as of resemblance. It is certain that distance dimin- 
ishes the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach 
to any object; though 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 it is 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; though even 
at that distance the reflecting on any thing in the neigh- 
bourhood of my friends or family 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 between them; that transition alone is not able to 
give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of 
some immediate impression.[2]

  No one can doubt but causation has the same influence 
as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity. 
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and 
holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types 
or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them 
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary 
lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that 
one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure, 
would be the handywork of a saint; and if his cloaths and 
furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is be- 
cause 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 connected 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; it is evident, that 
this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and 
recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities, 
in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap- 
peared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems 
to prove the principle above mentioned. 

  We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the belief 
of the correlative object is always presupposed; without 
which the relation could have no effect. 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 exists. 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 mind is immediately carried to con- 
ceive, that it augments, 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 
object, 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 im- 
mediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and 
conveys to it all that force of conception, 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 though 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 
conception, except only a present object and a customary 
transition of 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 con- 
cerning matter of fact and existence; and it is 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, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between 
the course of nature and the succession of our ideas; and 
though the powers and forces, by which the former is gov- 
erned, 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 principle, 
by which this correspondence has been effected; so neces- 
sary 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, instantly 
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 senses; and we should never 
have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ our 
natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding 
of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contem- 
plation of final 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 human creatures, it is 
not probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious de- 
ductions 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, ex- 
tremely liable to error and mistake. It is more conformable 
to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so necessary 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 laboured deductions of the under- 
standing. 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 corre- 
spondent course to that which she has established among 
external objects; though we are ignorant of those powers 
and forces, on which this regular course and succession 
of objects totally depends. 

[1] Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or
physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and experience, and to sup-
pose, that these species of argumentation are entirely different from each
other. The former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual facul-
ties, which, by considering a priori the nature of things, and examining the
effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular prin-
ciples of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived
entirely from sense and observation, by which we learn what has actually
resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to
infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may
be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great frailty and
corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted
with unlimited authority; or from experience and history, which inform us
of the enormous abuses, that ambition, in every age and country, has been
found to make so imprudent a confidence.

  The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all
our deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced states-
man, general, physician, or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unprac-
tised novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures with
regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct in such particular
circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experi-
ence, which is alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims,
derived from study and reflection.

  But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received,
both in the active and speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pro-
nounce, that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.

  If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above
mentioned, are supposed to be mere effects of reasoning and reflection,
they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or, con-
clusion, for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience.
The only difference between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly
esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former cannot be estab-
lished without some process of thought, and some reflection on what we
have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances, and trace its con-
sequences: Whereas in the latter, the experienced event is exactly and fully
familiar to that which we infer as the result of any particular situation.
The history of a TIBERIUS or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were
our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observa-
tion of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a
little thought, to give us the same apprehension; while it serves as an
instance of the general corruption of human nature, and shows us the
danger which we must incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind.
In both cases, it is experience which is ultimately the foundation of our
inference and conclusion.

  There is no man so young and inexperienced, as not to have formed,
from observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs
and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when a man comes
to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable to error, till time and
farther experience both enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper
use and application. In every situation or incident, there are many par-
ticular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest
talent is, at first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his con-
clusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend.
Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general observations and
maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor can be immediately
applied with due calmness and distinction. The truth is, an unexperienced
reasoner could be no reasoner at all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and
when we assign that character to any one, we mean it only in a compara-
tive sense, and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more
imperfect degree.

[2] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea
loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multim esse
versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus
aut scriptum aliquod legamus? Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi
Plato in mentem, quem accepimus primum hic disputare solitum; cuius
etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum mihi afferunt, sed ipsum
videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic
eius auditor Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem
etiam curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem,
Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis
est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memopriae deducta sit disciplina.'--
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v.


SECTION VI
OF PROBABILITY[1]

  THOUGH there be no such thing as Chance in the 
world; our ignorance of the real cause of any event 
has the same influence on the understanding, and be- 
gets a like species of belief or opinion. 

  There is certainly a probability, which arises from a 
superiority of chances on any side; and according as this 
superiority increases, and surpasses the opposite chances, 
the probability receives a proportionable increase, and be- 
gets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side, 
in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were marked 
with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with 
another figure or number of spots on the two remaining 
sides, it would be more probable, that the former would 
turn up than the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides 
marked in the same manner, and only one side different, 
the probability would be much higher, and our belief or 
expectation of the event more steady and secure. This pro- 
cess of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and 
obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly, it 
may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation.