Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress f http://www.archive.org/details/essayonnatureimm01beat AN ESSAY ON THE NATURE AND IMMUTABILITY OF TRUTH, IN OPPOSITION TO SOPHISTJRT AND SCEPTICIS3L BY JAMES BR ATTIE, I.L-D. 'ROrESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOFHY AND LOGIC IN THE HA.- IIXS5 t'j^- ,*.. V ^\^^- < <> \^ CONTENTS. Page* Introduction, . . . % ^ 5 PART !• Of the Standard of Truth. * . ' 20 CHAP. I« Of the preception of Truth m general, - ^ 1 CHAP. II. All reasoning terminates in first principles. All evidence ultimately intuitive. Com- mon sense the standard of truth to man. 36 Sect. 1. Of Mathematical Reasoning, • 37 Sect. 2. Of the evidence of External Sense, 41 Sect. 3. Of the evidence of Internal Sense, or Consciousness, « . . • 46 Sect. 4. Of the evidence of Memory, . 61 Sect. 5. Of Reasoning from the effect to the cause, . • • • . . 65 Sect. 6. Of Probable or Experimentarl Rea^ soning, . . . . . . 79 Sect. 7. Of Analogical Reasoning, ♦ 83 Sect. 8. Of Faith in Testimony, • 86 Sect. 9. Conclusion of this Chapter. Further Proof. General remarks on Scepticism, 92 PART II. Illustrations of the preceding Doctrine, with Inferences, . . • . . 102 CHAP. I. Confirmation of this Doctrine from the practice, Sect. 1. Of Mathematicians, . . 104 Sect. 2. Of Natural Philosophers, . 112 Sect. 2. The subject continued. Intuitive Truths distinguishable into classes^ - 13^ ^y CONTENTS. CHAP. II. Page. This Doctrine rejected by Sceptical Philoso- phers, . . . , . . 145 Sect. 1. General Observations. Rise and pro- gress of Modern Scepticism. — Of Des Cartes ^ and Malebranche. — Locke and Berkeley. — General view of Mr. Hume's Theory of the ^ Understanding, .... 146 Sect. 2. Of the non-existence of Matter, 176 Sect. 3. Of Liberty and Necessity, . 199 , CHAP. III. Recapitulation and Inference. Criterion of Truth, . . - , . . .248 PART. III. Objections Answered, . . . 251 CHAP. I. The principles of this Essay consistent with the interests of Science, and the rights of man- kind. Imperfection of liie School-logic, 253 CHAP. II. The subject continued. Estimate of Metaphy- sic and Metaphysical writers. Causes of the present degeneracy of Moral Science, 270 CHAP. III. Consequences of Metaphysical Scepticism, 331 Postscript, . . . , . 333 INTRODUCTION TO those who love learning and mankind, and who are more ambitious to distinguish themselves as men, than as disputants, it is matter of humilia- tion and regret, that names and things have so oft been mistaken for each other ; that so much of the philosopher's time must be employed in ascertain- ing the signification of words ; and that so many doctrines, of high reputation, and of ancient date, when traced to their first principles, have been found to terminate in verbal ambiguity. If I have any knowledge of my own heart, or of the subject I pro- pose to examine, I may venture to assure the read- er, that it is^no part of the design of this book, to encourage verbal disputation. On the contrary, it is my sincere purpose to avoid, and to do every thing in my power to check it; convinced as I am^ that it never can do any good, and that it has been the cause of much evil, both in philosophy and in common life. And I hope I have a fairer chance to escape it, than some who have gone before me in this part of science. I aim at no paradoxes ; my prejudices (if certain instinctive suggestions of the understanding may be so called) are all in favour of truth and virtue; and I have no principles to sup- port, but those which seem to me, to have influenced the judgment of a great majority of mankind in all ages of the world. Some readers may think, that there is but little merit in this declaration ; it being as much for my own credit, as for the interest of mankind, that I guard against a practice, which is acknowledged to be always unprofitable and generally pernicious. A B 6 INTROi:>UCTION. verbal disputant! whatx:laim can he have to the title of philosopher ! what has he to do with the laws of nature, with the observation of facts, with life and manners ! Let him not intrude upon the company of men of science ; but repose with his brethren Aquinas and Suarez, in the corner of some Gothic cloister, dark as his understanding, and cold as his heart. Men are now become too judicious to be amused with words, and too firm-minded to be con- futed with quibbles. — Many of my contemporaries would readily join in this apostrophe, who^et are themselves the dupes of the most egregious dealers in logomachy that ever perverted the faculty of speech. In fact, from some instances that have oc- curred to my own observation, I have reason to be- lieve, that verbal controversy has not always, even in this age, been accounted a contemptible thing ; and the reader, when he comes to be better ac- quainted with my sentiments, will perhaps think the foregoing declaration more disinterested than at first sight it may appear. They who form opinions concerning the manners and principles of the times, may be divided into three classes. Some will tell us, that the present age transcends all that have gone before it, in po- liteness, learning, and good sense ; will thank Pro- vidence (or their stars) that their lot of life has been cast in so glorious a period ; and wonder how men could support existence amidst the ignorance and barbarism of former days. By others we are ac- counted a generation of triflers and profligates ; sciolists in learning, hypocrites in virtue, and for- malists in good breeding ; wise only when we fol- low the ancients, and foolish whenever we deviate from them. Sentiments so violent are generally wrong : and therefore I am disposed to adopt the notions of those who may be considered as forming an intermediate class j who, though not blind to the INTRODUCTION. 7 follies, are yet willing to acknowledge the virtues, both of past ages, and of the present. And surely, in every age, and in every man, there is something to praise, as well as something to blame. When I survey the philosophy of the present age, I find much matter of applause and admiration. Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural History, in all their branches, have risen to a pitch of perfection, that does signal honour to human ca- pacity, and far surpasses what the most sanguine projectors of former times had any reason to laok for : and the paths to further improvement in those sciences are so clearly marked out, that nothing but |ionesty and attention seem requisite to ensure the success of future adventurers. Moral Philoso- phy and Logic have not been so fortunate. Yet, even here, we have happily got rid of much ped- antry and jargon ; our systerns have more the ap- pearance of liberal sentiments, good taste, and cor- rect composition, than those of the schoolmen ; we disclaim (at least in words) all attachment to hypo- thesis and party ; profess to study men and things, as well as boolcs and words ; and assert, with the utmost vehemence of protestation, our love of truth, of candour, and of sound philosophy. But let us not be deceived by appearances. Neither Moral Philosophy, nor the kindred sciences of Logic and Criticism, are at present upon the most desirable footing. The rage of paradox and system has trans- formed them (although of all sciences these ought to be the simplest and the clearest) into a mass of confusion, darkness, and absurdity. One kind of jargon is laid aside ; but another has been adopted, more fashionable indeed, but not less frivolous. Hypothesis, though verbally disclaimed, is really adhered to with as much obstinacy as ever. Words have been defined, but their meaning still remains indefinite. Appeals have been made to experience ; 8 . INTRODUCTIOjNf^ but with such misrepresentation of fact, and in such equivocal language, as plainly shew the authors to have been more concerned for their theory, than for the truth. All sciences, and especially Moral Philosophy, ought to regulate human practice : practice is regulated by principles, and all principles suppose conviction : yet the aim of our most cele- brated moral systems is, to divest the mind of every principle, and of all conviction ; and, consequently, to disqualify man for action, and to render him as useless, and as wretched, as possible. In a word, Scepticism is now the profession of every fashion- able inquirer into human nature ; a scepticism which is not confined to points of mere speculation, but has been extended to practical truths of the highest importance, even to the principles of moral- ity and religion. Proofs of all these assertions will appear in the sequel. I said that my prejudices are all in favour of truth and virtue. To avow any sort of prejudice, m^ay perhaps startle some readers. If it should, I must here intreat all such to pause a moment, and ask of their own hearts these simple questions : Are virtue and truth useful to mankind ? Are they matters of indifference ? Or are they pernicious ? If any one finds himself disposed to think them pernicious, or matters of indifference, I Vvould advise him to lay my book aside ; for it does not contain one senti- ment in which he can be interested ; nor one ex- pression with which he can be pleased. But he who believes that virtue and truth are of the highest im- portance, that in them is laid the foundation of hu- man happiness, and that on them depends the very existence of human society, and of human crea- tures, that person and I are of the same mind ; I have no prejudices that he would wish me not to have : he may proceed ; and I hope he will proceed with pleasure, and encourage, by his approbation. rNTROI^UCTION. 9 this honest attempt to vindicate truth and virtue ; and to overturn that pretended philosophy which supposes, or which may lead us to suppose, every dictate of conscience, every impulse of understand- ing, and every information of sense, questionable and ambiguous. This sceptical philosophy (as it is called) seems to me to be dangerous, not because it is ingenious, but because it is subtle and obscure. Were it rightly understood, no confutation would be neces- sary ; for it does in fact, confute itself, as I hope to demonstrate. But many, to my certain knowledge, have read it, and admitted its tenets, who do not understand the grounds of them ; and many more, swayed by the fashion of the times, have greedily adopted its conclusions, without any knowledge of the premises, or any concern about them. An at- tempt therefore to expose this pretended philosophy to public view, in its proper colours, will not, I hope, be censured as impertinent by any whose opinion I value : if it should, I shall be satisfied with the approbation of my own conscience, which will never reproach me for intending to do good. I am sorry, that in the course of this inquiry, it will not always be in my power to speak of some celebrated names with that deference, to which su« periov talents, and superior virtue, are always enti- tled. Every fri end of civil and religious lilferty , every lover of mankind, every admirer of sincerity and sim- ple manners, every heart that warms at the recollec- tion of distinguished virtue, must consider Locke as one of the most amiable, and most illustrious men that ever our nation produced. Such he is, such he will ever be, in my estimation. The parts of his philosophy to which truth obliges me to object, are but few, and compared with the extent and impor- tance of his other writings, extremely inconsider- able. I object, to them, because I think them 10 INTRODUCTION. erroneous and dangerous; and I am convinced, that their author, if he had lived to see the infer- ences that have been drawn from them, would have been the first to declare them absurd, and would have expunged them from his works with indignation, — Berkeley was equally amiable in his life, and equally a friend to truth and virtue. In elegance of composition he was perhaps superior. I admire his virtues : I can never sufficiently applaud his zeal in the cause of religion : but some of his rea- sonings on the subject of human nature I cannot admit, without renouncing my claim to rationality. 'Inhere is^ a writer now alive, of whose philosophy I have much to say. By his^ philosophy, I mean the sentiments he has published in a book called, A Treatise of Human Nature^ in three volumes, printed in the year 1739; the principal and most dangerous doctrines of w^hich he has since repub- lished again, and again, under the title of. Essays Moral and Political^ i^c. Of his other works I say nothing; nor have I at present any concern with them. Virgil is said to have been a bad prose- writer ; Cicero was certainly a bad poet : and this author, though not much acquainted with human nature, and therefore not well qualified to write a treatise upon it, may yet be an excellent politician, financier, and historian. His merit in these re- spects is indeed generally allowed : and if my suf- frage could add any thing to the lustre of his repu- tation, I should here, with great sincerity and pleasure, join v^ voice to that of the public, and make such an encomium on the author of the His- torij of England as would not offend any of his ra- tional admirers. But whv is this author's character so replete with inconsistency ! why should his prin^ ciples and his talents extort at once our esteem and detestation, our applause and contempt ! That he, whose manners in private life are said to be so agreeable to many of his acquaintance, should yet INTRODUCTION, 11 in the public capacity of an author, have given so much cause of just offence to all the friends of vir- tue and mankind, is to me matter of astonishment and sorrow, as well as of indignation. That he, who succeeds so well in describing the fates of na- tions, should yet have failed so egregiously in ex- plaining the operations of the mind, is one of those incongruities in human genius, for which perhaps philosophy will never be able fully to account. That he, who has^o imj-artially stated the opposite pleas and principles of our political factions, should yet have adopted the most illiberal prejudices against natural and revealed religion : that he, who on some occasions has displayed even a profound erudition,- should at other times when intoxicated with a favourite theory, have suffered affirmations to escape him, which would have fixed the oppro- brious name of Sciolist on a less celebrated author: and finally, that a moral philosopher, who seems to have exerted his utmost ingenuity in searching after paradoxes, should yet happen to light on none, but such as are all, without exception, on the side of licentiousness and scepticism ; — these are incon- sistencies perhaps equally inexplicable ; at least they are such as I do not at present choose to ex- plain. And yet, that this author is chargeable with all these inconsistencies, will not, I think, be denied by any person of sense and candour, who has read his writings with attention. His phi- losophy has done great harm. Its admirers, I know, are very numerous; but I have not as yet met with one person, who both admired and understood it. We are prone to believe what we wish to be true : and most of this author's philosophical tenets are so well adapted to what I fear I may call the fash- ionable notions of the times, that those who are ambitious to conform to the latter, will hardly be disposed to examine scrupulously the evidence of 12 INTRODUCTION. the former. Having made this declaratiori, which I do in the spirit of an honest man, I must take the liberty to treat this author with that plain- ness, which the cause of truth, the interests of so- ciety, and my own conscience, require. The same candour that prompts me to praise, will also oblige me to blame. The inconsistency is not in me, but in him. Had I done but half as much as he, in labouring to subvert principles which ought ever to he held sacred, I know not whether the friends of truth would have granted me any indulgence : I am sure they ought not. Let me be treated with the lenity due to a good citizen, no longer than I act as becomes one. If it shall be acknowledged by the candid and in- telligent reader, that I have in this book contributed something to the establishment of old truths, I shall not be much offended, though others should pre- tend to discover that I have advanced nothing new. Indeed I would not wish to say any thing on these subjects, that has not often occurred to the common sense of mankind. In Logic and Morals, we may have new treatises, and new theories ; but we are not now to expect new discoveries. The princi- ples of moral duty have long been understood in these enlightened parts of the world ; and mankind^ in the time that is past, have had more truth under their consideration, than they will probably have in the time to come. Yet he who makes these sciences the study of his life, may perhaps collect particulars concerning their evidence, which though known to a few, are unknown to many ; may set ^ome principles in a more striking light than that in which they have been formerly viewed; may devise methods of confuting new errors, and expos- ing new paradoxes; and may hit upon a more popular way of displaying what has hitherto been exhibited in too dark and mysterious a form. INTRODUCTION. 1 <^ It is commonly allowed, that the science of hu- man nature is of all human sciences the most curi- ous and important. To Khow ourselves, is a pre- cept which the wise in all ages have recommended, and which is enjoined by the authority of revela- tion itself. Can any thing be of more consequence to man, than to know what is his duty, and how he may arrive at happiness? It is from the exami- nation of his own heart that he receives the first in- timations of the one, and the only sure criterion of the other. — What can be more useful, more de- lightful, and more sublime, than to contemplate the Deity? It is in the works of nature, particu- larly in the constitution of the human soul, that we discern the first and most conspicuous traces of the Almighty ; for without some previous acquain- tance with our own moral nature, we could not have any certain knowledge of His. — Destitute of the hope of immortality, and a future retribution, how contemptible, how miserable is man ! And yet, did not our moral feelings, in concert with what reason discovers of the Deity, evidence the neces- sity of a future state, in vain should we pretend to judge rationally of that revelation by which life and immortality have been brought to light. Hovi then is this science to be learned? In what manner are we to study human nature ? Doubtless by examining our own hearts and feelings, and by attending to the conduct of other men. But are not the writings of philosophers useful towards the attainment of this science ? Most certainly they are : for whatever improves the sagacity of judg- ment, the sensibility of moral perception, or the delicacy of taste ; whatever renders our knowledge of moral and intellectual facts more extensive; whatever impresses our minds with more enlarged and more powerful sentiments of duty, with more 14 INTRODUCTION, aiFectIng views of God and Providence, and with greater energy of belief in the doctrines of natural religion ; — every thing of this sort either makes us more thoroughly acquainted, or prepares us for be- coming more thoroughly acquainted with our own nature, and with that of other beings, and with the relations which they and we bear to one another. But I fear we shall not be able to improve ourselves in any one of these respects, by reading the modern systems of scepticism. What account then are we to make of those systems and their authors ? The following Dissertation is partly designed as an an- swer to this question. But it has a further view : w^hich is, to examine the foundations of this scep- ticism, and see whether these be consistent with what all mankind must acknowledge to be the foundations of truth ; to inquire, whether the cul- tivation of scepticism be salutary or pernicious to science and mankind ; and whether it may not be possible to devise certain criteria, by which the absurdity of its conclusions may be detected, even by those who may not have leisure or subtilty, or metaphysical knowledge, sufficient to qualify them for a logical confutation of all its premises. If it be confessed, that the present age has some tendency to licentiousness, both in principle and practice, and that the works of sceptical writers have some tendency to favour that licentiousness ; it will also be confessed, that this design is neither absurd nor unseasonable. A celebrated writer^* on human nature has ob- served, that " if truth be at all within the reach of human capacity, it is certain it must lie very deep and abstruse:" and a little after he adds, ''that he would esteem it a strong presumption against the philosophy he i$ going to unfold, were it so very * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 3, 4. INTRODUCTION. 15 eiasy and obvious." I am so far from adopting this opinion, that I declare in regard to the few things I have to say on human nature, that I should esteem it a very strong presumption against them, if they were not easy and obvious. Physical and mathematical truths are often abstruse ; but facts and experiments relating to the human mind, when expressed in proper words, ought to be obvious to all. I find that those poets, historians, and novel- ists, who have given the most lively displays ef human nature, and who abound most in sentiments easily comprehended, and readily admitted as true, are the most entertaining, as well as the most use- ful. How then should the philosophy of the hu- man mind be so difficult and obscure ? Indeed, if it be an author's determinate purpose to advance paradoxes, some of which are incredible, and others beyond comprehension ; if he be willing to avail himself all he can of the natural ambiguity of language in supporting those paradoxes ; or if he enter upon inquiries too refined for human under- standing ; he must often be obscure, and often un- intelligible. But my views are very different. I intend only to suggest some hints for guarding the mind against error; and these, I hope, will be found to be deduced from principles which every man of common capacity may examine by his daily experience. It is true, that several subjects of intricate spec- ulation are treated of in this book. But I have en- deavoured, by constant appeals to fact and expe- rience, by illustrations and examples the most familiar I could think of, and by a plainness and perspicuity of expression which sometimes may appear too much affected, to treat of them in a way, that I hope cannot fail to render them intelligible, even to those who are not much conversant in stu- dies of this kind. Truth, like virtue, to be loved, ne^ds only to be seen. My principles require no 16 INTRODUCTION. disguise ; on the contrary, they will, if I mistake not, be most easily admitted by those who best un- derstand them. And I am persuaded, that the sceptical system would never have made such an alarming progress, if it had been well understood* The ambiguity of its language, and the intricacy and length of some of its fundamental investiga- tions, have unhappily been too successful in pro- ducing that confusion of thought, aud indistinctness of apprehension, in the minds both of authors and readers, which are so favourable to error and so- phistry. Few men have ever engaged in controversy, re- ligious, political, or philosophical, without being in some degree chargeable with misconception of the adversary's meaning. That I have never erred in this way, I dare not affirm. But I am conscious of having done every thing in my power to guard against it. The greater part of these papers have lain by me for several years. They have been re- peatedly perused by some of the acutest philoso- phers of the age, whom I have the honour to call my friends, and to whose advice and assistance, on this, as on other occasions, I am deeply indebted. I have availed myself all I could of reading and conversation ; and endeavoured, with all the can- dour I am master of, to profit by every hint of im- provement, and to examine to the bottom every ob- jection, that others have offered, or myself could devise. And may I not be permitted to add, that every one of those who have perused this essay, has advised the author to publish it ; and that many of them have encouraged him by this insinuation, to him the most flattering of all others. That by so do- ing, he would probably be of some service to the cause of truth, virtue, and mankind? In this hope he submits it to the public. And it is this hopa only that could have induced him to attempt po- INTRODUCTION. - If iemical disquisition : a species of writing, which, in^his own judgment, is not the most creditable; which he knows, to his cost, is not the most pleas- ing ; and of which he is well aware that it cannot fail to draw upon him the resentment of a numerous, powerful and fashionable party. But, Welcome for thee, fair virtue ! all the pas ; For thee, fair virtue ! welcome even the last. If these pages, which he hopes none will condemn who have not read, shall throw any light on the first principles of moral science : if they shall sug- gest, to the young and unwary, any cautions against that sophistry, and licentiousness of principle, which too much infect the conversations and com^ positions of the age ; if they shall, in any measure,^^ contribute to the satisfaction of any of the friends of truth and virtue ; his purpose will be complete- ly answered : and he will, to the end of his life, re- joice in the recollection of those painful hours which he passed in the examination of this most important controversy. yaniiary^ 1 770. / AN ESSAY ON THE ^JS'ATURE AND IMMUTABILITY OF TRUTH ^ IN OPPOSITION TO SOPHISTRY AND SCEPTICISM. I PURPOSE to treat this subject in the follow- ing manner. First, I shall endeavour to trace the several kinds of Evidence and Reasoning up to their first princi- ples ; with a view to ascertain the Standard of Truth, and explain its immutability. Secondly, I shall show that my sentiments on this head, however inconsistent with the genius of scep- ticism, and with the practice and principles of scep- tical writers, are yet perfectly consistent with the genius of true philosophy, and with the practice and principles of those who are universally allowed to have been the most successful in the investigation of truth : concluding with some inferences or rules, by which the more important fallacies of the scep- tical philosophy may be detected by every person of common sense, even though he should not pos- sess acuteness or metaphysical knowledge sufficient to qualify him for a logical confutation of them^ Thirdly, I shall answer some objections ; and make some remarks, by way of Estimate of Scep- ticism and sceptical writers^ I divide my discourse in this manner, chiefly with a view to the reader's accommodation. An exact arrangement of parts is necessary to Qonf^ o AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. elegance on a whole ; but I am more studious of utility than of elegance. And though my sentiments might have been exhibited in a more systematic order, I am apt to think, that the order in which they first occurred to me is the most natural, and may be the most effectual for accomplishing my purpose. PART I. OF THE STANDARD OF TRUTH. THE love of truth has ever been accounted a good principle. Where it is known to prevail, we expect to find integrity and steadiness ; a temper of mind favourable to every virtue, and tending in an eminent degree to the advancement of public utility. To have no concern for the truth, to be false and fallacious, is a character which no person who is not utterly abandoned would choose to bear ; it is a character from which we expect nothing but levi- ty and inconsistence. Truth seems to be consi- dered by all mankind as something fixed, un- changeable, and eternal ; it may therefore be thought that to vindicate the permanency of truth is to dis- pute without an adversary. And indeed, if these questions were proposed in general terms, — Is there such a thing as truth? Are truth and falsehood different and opposite ? Is truth permanent and eternal ? — few persons would be hardy enough to answer in the negative. Attempts, however, have been made, sometimes through inadvertence, and sometimes (I fear) from design to undermine the foundations of truth, and to render their stability questionable ; and these attempts have been so vigorously forwarded, and so often renewed, that they now constitute a great part of what is called the philosophy of the human 7mnd* t^AT. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. Si ^ It is difficulty perhaps impossible, to give a logi- cal definition of TPruth. But we shall endeavour to give such a de,scription of it, as may make others understand what we mean by the word. The defi- nitions of former writers are not so clear, nor so ac- curate, ' as could be w^ished. These therefore we shall overlook, without seeking either to explain or to correct them ; and shall satisfy ourselves with taking notice of some of the mental phenomena that attend the perception of truth. This seems to be the safest way of introducing the subject* CHAPTER L Of the PercepfAon of Truth in general* ON hearing these propositions : I exist, — - Things equal to one and the same thing are equal to one another, — The sun rose to-day,— There is a God, — Ingratitude ought to be blamed and punished, — The three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, &c. — I am conscious, that my mind readily admits and acquiesces in them. I say, that I believe them to be true ; that is, I con- ceive them to express something conformable to the nature of things^. Of the contrary propositions I should say, that my mind does not acquiesce in them, but disbelieves them, and conceives them to express something not conformable to the nature of things. My judgment in this case, I conceive to be the same which I should form in regard to these propositions, if I were perfectly acquainted with all nature, in all its parts, and in all its lawsf. — -A'O"^ Exafov us iyit ra eivo^i^ ovrcu yccci ty)S aXvj^si/x strange to observe, with what reluctance some people acknowledge the power of instinct. That man is governed by reason, and the brutes by instinct, is a lavourite topic with certain philoso- phers ; who like other froward children, spurn the D 2 34 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. hand that leads them ; and desh^e, above all things, to be left to their own disposal. Were this boast founded in truth, it might be supposed to mean lit- tle more, than that man is governed by himself, and the brutes by their maker'^S But, luckily for man, it is not founded in truth, but in ignorance, inatten- tion, and self-conceit. Our instincts, as well as our rational powers, are far superior, both in number and dignity, to those which the brutes enjoy : and it w^ere well for us, on manv occasions, if w^e laid our systems aside, and w^ere more attentive in observing these impulses of nature in which reason has no part. Far be it from me to speak with disrespect of any of the gifts of God ; every work of his is ^ood ; but the best things, wdien abused, may be- come pernicious. Reason is a noble faculty, and when kept wathin its proper sphere, and applied to useful purposes, proves a mean of exalting human creatures almost to the rank of superior beings. But this faculty has been much perverted, often to vile, and often to insignificant purposes ; sometimes chained like a slave or malefactor, and sometimes soaring in forbidden and unknow^n regions. No wonder then, if it has been frequently made the in- strument of seducing and bewildering mankind, and of rendering philosophy contemptible. In the science of body, glorious discoveries have been made by a right use of reason. When men are once satisfied to take things as they find them ; w hen ihey believe Nature upon her bare declaration, with- out suspecting her of any design to impose upon them ; w^hen their utmost ambition is to be her ser- vants and humble interpreters ; then, and not till then, will philosophy prosper. But of those who * And Reason raise o'er Instinct as you can, In this 'tis God directs, in that tis man. Pope'^ Essay on Man^ Ep. S. 'oer,99\ CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 25 have applied themselves to the science of Human Nature, it may truly be said, (of many of them at least), that too much reasoning hath made the«n mad. Nature speaks to us by our external, as well as by our internal senses ; it is strange, that we should believe her in the one case, and not in the other ; it is most strange, that supposing her falla- cious, we should think ourselves capable of detect- ing the cheat. Common Sense tells me, that the ground on which I stand is hard, material, and solid^ and has a real, separate independent existence. Berkeley and Hume tell me, that I am imposed vipon in this matter : for that the ground under my feet is really an idea in my mind ; that its very es- sence consists in being perceived ; and that the same instant it ceases to be perceived, it must also cease to exist : in a word, that to be^ and to be perceived j when predicated of the ground, the sun, the starry heavens, or any corporeal object, signify precisely the same thing. Now if my common sense be mis- taken, who shall ascertain and correct the mistake? Our reason, it is said. Are then the inferences of reason in this instance clearer, and more decisive, than the dictates of common sense ? By no means. I still trust to my common sense as before ; and I feel that I must do so. But supposing the inferences of the one faculty as clear and decisive as the dictates of the other, yet who will assure me, that my rea- son is less liable to mistake than my common sense? And if reason be mistaken, what shall we say ? Is this mistake to be rectified by a second reasoning, as liable to mistake as the first? — -In a word, we must deny the distinction between truth and falsehood, adopt universal scepticism, and wander without end from one maze of error and uncertainty to another; a state of mind so miserable, that Milton makes it one of the torments of the damned ; — or else wc must suppose, that one of these faculties is naturally 36 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, PART I. of higher authority than the other ; and that either reason ought to submit to comixion sense, or com- mon sense to reason, whenever a variance happens between them. It has been said, that every inqviiry in philosophy ought to begin with doubt ; — that nothing is to be taken for granted, and nothing belit\ed, without proof. If this be admitted, it must also be^ admitted, that reason is the ultimate judge of truth, to which common sense must continually act in subordina- tion. But this I cannot admit ; because I am able to prove the contrary by the most incontestable evi- dence. I am able to prove, that '^ except we be- lieve many things without proof, we never can be- lieve any thing at all ; for that all sound reasoning must ultimately rest on the principles of common sense ; that is, on principles intuitively certain, or intuitively probable ; and, consequently, that com- mon sense is the ultimate judge of truth, to which reason n;ust continually act in subordination." This I shall prove by a fair induction of particu- lars. CHAP. II. All reasoning terminates in jirst principles* All evidence ultimately intuitive* Common Sense the Standard of Truth to Man* IN this induction, we cannot comprehend all sorts of evidence, and modes of reasoning; but we shall endeavour to investigate the origin of those* * That the induction here given is sufficilsntiy comprehen- sive, will appear from tVie following analysis. All the objects of the human understanding maybe reduced to two classes) viz. Abstract Ideas and Things really existing. CHAF.n. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 37 which are the most important, and of the most ex- -tensive influence in science, and common life ; be- ginning with the simplest and clearest, and advanc- ing gradually to those which are more complicated^ or less perspicuous,. SECTION L Of Mathematical Reasoning. THE evidence that takes place in pure mathe- matics, produces the highest assurance and cer- tainty in the mind of him who attends to, and vmderstands it ; for no principles ara admitted into this science, but such as are either self-evident, or susceptible of demonstration. Should a man refuse to believe a demonstrated conclusion, the world Of Abstract Ideas and their RelatiojiSj all our knowledge is certain^ being founded on Mathematical Evidence, (a)r: which comprehends, 1. Intuitive Evidence, and 2. The Evi~ dence of strict demonstration. We judge of things really existing; either, 1. From our own experience; or 2. From the experie7ice of other men. 1. Judging of Real Existences from our aim experience, we- attain either Certainty or Probability. Our knowledge is certain- when supported by the evidence, 1. Of Sense External (Z>) and Internal (c)t 2. Of Memory (a'); and 3. Of Legiti- mate Inferences of the Cause from the Effect (e). Our knowledge \s probable ^ when from facts already experi- enced, we argue, 1. to facts of the same kind {f) not ex- perienced; and, 2. to facts of a similar kind {g) not expe- rienced. This knowledge, though called probable often rises to moral certainty. ^. Judging oi Real Existences from the experience of other men^ we have the Evidence of their Testimony (h). The mode of understanding produced by that evidence is properly called Faith; and this faith sometimes amounts to probable opz- tiioUy and sometimes rises even to absolute certainty. (a) Sect. 1. (b) Sect. 2. (c) Sect. 3. (d) Sect. 4, ,(e) S€ct. 5. (/) Sect. 6. (g) Sect. r. {k) Sect. B, 38 AN ESSAY ON TKUTH. PART U would impute his obstinacy, either to want of un- derstanding, or to want of honesty : for every per- son of understanding feels, that by mathematical demonstration he must be convinced whether he will or not. There are two kinds of mathematical demonstration. The first is called direct; and takes place, when a conclusion is inferred from pre- mises that render it necessarily true : and this per- haps is a more perfect, or at least a simpler, kind of proofs than than the other ; but both are equally convincing. The other kind is called indirect^ apagogical^ or ducens ad ahsurdum : and takes place when, by supposing a proposition false, we are led into an absurdity, which there is no other way to avoid, than by supposing the proposition true. In this manner it is provecl, that the propo- sition is not, and cannot be, false ; , in other words, that it is a certain truth. Every step in a mathe- matical proof either is self-evident, or must have been formerly demonstrated ; and every demonstra- tion does finallv resolve itself into intuitive or self- evident principles, which it is impossible to prove, and equally impossible to disbelieve. These first principles constitute the foundation of mathematics : if you disprove them, you overturn the whole science ; if you refuse to believe them, you can- not, consistently with such refusal, acquiesce in any mathematical truth v/hatsoever. But you may as well attempt to blow out the sun, as to disprove these principles: and if you say, that you do not believe them^, you will be charged either with ^ Si quelque opiniastre les nie de la voix, on ne Ten scauroit empescher; mais ceia ne luy est pas permis interieurement en son esprit, parce que sa lumiere natarelle y repiigne, qui est ia partie ou se rapporte la demonstration et le syilogisme, et non aux paroles externes. Au moyen de quoy s'il se trouve quelqu*un qui ne les puisse entendre, cettuy-la est incapable de discipline. Diakctique de Boujou, liv. 3. c/6..o. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 39 falsehood or with folly ; you may as well hold youi* hand in the fire, and say that you feel no pain. By the law of our nature, we must feel in the one case^ and believe in the other ; even as, by the same law, we must adhere to the earth, and cannot fall headlong to the clouds. But who will pretend to prove a mathematical axiom. That a whole is greater than a part, or. That things equal to one and the same thing are equal to one another? Every pro6f must be clearer and more evident than the thing to be proved. Can you then assume any more evident principle, from which the truth of these axioms my be con- sequently inferred i" It is impossible ; because they are already as evident as any thing can be^. You * Different opinions have prevailed concerning the nature of these geometrical axioms. Some suppose, that an axiom is not self-evident, except it imply an identical proposition; that therefore this axiom, It is impossible for the same thing, at the same time, to be a7id not to Ae, is the only axiom that can pro- perly be called intuitive ; and that all those other propositions commonly called axioms, ought to be demonstrated by being resolved into this fundamental axiom. But if this could be done, which I fear is not possible, mathematical truth woujd not be one whit more certain than it is- Those other axioms produce absolute certainty, and produce it immediately, with- out any process of thought or reasoning that we can discover. And if the truth of a proposition be clearly and certainly per- ceived by all men without proof, and if no proof whatever could make it more clear or more certain, it seems captious not to allow that proposition the name of Inttciti've Axiom. — Others suppose, that though the demonstration of mathema- tical axioms is not absolutely necessary, yet that these axioms are susceptible of demonstration, and ought to be demonstrated to those who require it. Dr Barrow is of this opinion. So is Apollonius ; who, agreeably to it, has attempted a demonstra- tion of this axiom, That things equal to one and the same thing are equal to one another —But whatever account we make of these opinions, they affect not our doctrine. However far the demon- stration of axioms may be carried, it must at last terminate in &r.£ principle of common sense, if not mmany, which principle we must believe without proof whether we will or no. 40 A^ ESSAY ON TRUTH, PART I. may bring the matter to the test of the senses, by laying a few halfpence and farthings upon the table; but the evidence of sense is not more unquestion- able, than that of abstract intuitive truth; and therefore the former evidence, though to one igno- rant of the meaning of the terms, it might serve to explain and illustrate the latter, can never prove it. But not to rest any thing on the signification we affix to the word proof; and to remove every possibility of doubt as to this matter; let us suppQS.^, that the evidence of external sense is more unquestionable than that of abstract intuitive truth, and that every intuitive principle in mathematics may thus be brought to the test of sense ; and if we cannot call the evidence of sense a proof, let us call it a confir- mation of the abstract principle : yet what do we gain by this method of illustration ? We only dis- cover, that the evidence of abstract intuitive truth is resolvable into, or may be illustrated by, the evi- dence of sense. And it w^ill be seen in the next section, that we believe in the evidence of external sense, not because we can prove it to be true, but because the law of our nature determines us to be- lieve in it without proof. So that in whatever way we view this subject, the point we mean to illus- trate appears certain, namely, ^^ That all mathema- tical truth is founded in certain first principles, which common sense or instinct compels us to be- lieve without proof, whether we will or not." Nor would the foundation of mathematics be in the least degree more stable, if these axioms did admit of proof, or were all resolvable into one pri- mary axiom expressed by an identical proposition. As the case now stands, we are absolutely certain '^^ their truth; and absolute certainty is all that de- monstration can produce. We are convinced by a proof, bec^tuse our constitution is such, that we must be convinced by it : and we believe a self-evi- CHAP. II.- AN ESSAY ON TRI^H. 41 dent axiom, because our constitution is such that we must believe it. You ask, why I believe what is self-evident. I may as well ask, why you be- lieve what is proved. Neither question admits of an answer ; or rather, to both questions the answer is the same, namely, because I must believe it. Whether our belief in these cases be agreeable to the eternal relations and fitnesses of things, and such as we should entertain if we were perfectly acquainted with all the laws of nature, is a ques- tion which no person of a sound mind can have any scruple to answer, with the fullest assurance, in the affirmative. Certain it is, our constitution is so framed, that we must believe to be true, and conformable to universal nature, that which is in- timated to us, as such, by the original suggestions of our own understanding. If these are fallacious, it is the Deity who makes them so ; and therefore we can never rectify, or even detect, the faliacv. But we cannot even suppose them fallacious, with- out violating our nature ; nor, if we acknowledge a God, without the most absurd and most audacious impiety ; for in this supposition it is implied that we suppose the Deity a deceiver. Nor can we, consistently with such a supposition, acknowledge any distinction between truth and falsehood, or believe that one inch is less than ten thousand miles, or even that we ourselves exist. SECT. II. Of the Evidence of External Sense* ANOTHER class of truths producing convic- tion, and absolute certainty, are those wriich de- pend upon the evidence of the external senses ; Hearing, Seeing, Touching, Tasting, and Smelling^ E 42 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. On this evidence is founded all our knowledge of external or material things ; and therefore all con- clusions in Natural Philosophy and all those pru- dential considerations which regard the preserva- tion of our body, as it is liable to be affected by the sensible qualities of matter, must finally be resolv- ed into this principle, That things are as our senses represent them. When I touch a stone, I am conscious of a certain sensation, which I call a sensation of hardness. But this, sensation is not hardness itself, nor any thing like hardness ; it is nothing more than a sensation or feeling in my mind; accompanied, however, with an irresistible belief, that this sensation is excited by the appli- cation of an external and hard substance to some part of my body. This belief as certainly accom- panies the sensation, as the sensation accompanies the application of the stone to my organ of sense. I believe, with as much assurance, and as unavoid- ably, that the external thing exists, and is hard, as I believe that I receive, and am conscious of, the sensation of hardness ; or, to speak more strictly, the sensation which by experience I. know to be the sign of my touching a hard body^. Now, why do I believe that this sensation is a real sensation, and really felt by me ? Because my constitution is such that I must believe so. And why do I believe, in consequence of my wceiving this sensation, that I touch an external object, really existing, material, and hard? The answer is the same: the matter is incapable of proof: I believe, because I must be- lieve. Can I avoid believing, that I really am conscious of receiving this sensation? No. Can I avoid believing, that the external thing exists, and has a certain quality, which fits it, on being * See Dr. Reid'^ Inqiiiry into the human mind, chap. S, «eet. o. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 4c3 applied to my hand, to excite a certain feeling or sensation in my mind? No; I must believe this, whether I will or not. Nor could I divest myself of this belief, though my life and future happiness depended on the consequence. — To believe our senses, therefore, is according to the lav/ of our nature ; and we are prompted to this belief by in- stinct, or common sense. I am as certain, that at present I am in a house, and not in the open air; that I see by the light of the sun, and not by the light of a candle ; that I feel the ground hard under my feet; and that I lean against a real material table, — as I can be of the truth of any geometrical axiom, or of any demonstrated conclusion ; nay, I am as certain of ail this as of my own existence. But I cannot prove by argument, that there is such a thing as matter in the world, or even that I myself exist: and yet I know as assuredly, that I do exist, and that there is a real material sun, and a real ma- terial world, with mountains, trees, houses, and animals, existing separately, and independently ou me and my faculties ; I say, I know all this with as much assurance of conviction, as the most irre- fragable demonstration could produce. Is it unrea- sonable to believe in these cases without proof? Then, I affirm, it is equally unreasonable to believe in any case with proof. Our belief in either case is unavoidable, and according to the law of our na- ture ; and if it be unreasonable to think, according to the law of our nature, it must be equally unrea- sonable to adhere to the earth, to be nourished with food, or to die when the head is separated from the body. It is indeed easy to affirm any thing, provided a man can reconcile himself to hypocrisy and falsehood. A man may affirm, that he sees with the soles of his feet, that he believes there is no material world, that he doubts of his own existence. He may as well say, that he believes one and two to be equal to six, 4^4 AN ESSAY ON TRUXH. '^PART JE. a part to be greater than a whole, a circle to be a triangle ; and that it may be possible for tl^ same thing, at the same time, to be and not to be. But it is said, that our senses do often impose upon us ; and that by means of rt:ason we are eii- abled to detect the imposture, and to judge rightly even where our senses give us wrong information-; that therefore our belief in the evidence of sense is not instinctive or intuitive, but such as may be either confuted or confirmed by reasoning/ We shall acknowledge that our senses do often impose upon us : but a little attention will convince us, that reason, though it may be employed in correcting the present fallacious sensation, by referring it to a former sensation, received by us, or by other men^ is not the ultimate judge in this matter ; for that all such reasoning is resolvable into this principle of" common sense, That things are what our external SL-ns^s represent them. One instance will suffice at present for illustration of this point^. After having looked a moment at the sun, I see a black, or perhaps a luminous, circle swimming in the air, apparently at the distance of two or three feet from my eyes. That I see such a circle, is certain ; that I believe I see it, is certain ; that I believe its appearance to be owing to some cause, is also certain: — thus far there can be no imposture, and there is no supposition of any. 'Suppose me from this appearance to conclude, that a real, solid, tangible or visible round substance, of a black or yellow colour, is actually swimming in the air before me ; in this 1 should be mistaken* How then come I to know that I am mistaken ? I may know" it in several w^ays. 1. I stretch out my hand to the place w^here the circle seems to be floating in the air ; and having felt nothing, I am iiistsintly convinced, that there is no tangible sub- * See p:art 2.. chap. 1. secU 2i CHAP. tU AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, ^^ stance in that place. Is this convictioft an inference of reason? No; it is a conviction arising from our innate propensity to believe, that things are as our sensed represent them. By this innate or instinc- tive propensity I believe that what I touch exists ; by the same propensity I believe, that where I touch nothing, there nothing tangible does exist. If in the present case I were suspicious of the veracity of my senses, I should neither believe nor dis];?^- lieve. 2. I turn my eyes towards the opposite quarter of the heavens ; and having still observed the same circle floating before them, a,nd knowing by experience, that the motion of bodies placed at a distance from me does not follow or depend on the motion of my body, I conclude that the appearance is owing, not to a real, external corporeal object, but to some disorder in my organ of sight. Here reasoning is employed : but where does it termi- nate ? It terminates in experience, which I have acquired by means of my senses. But if I believed them fallacious, if I believed things to be other- wise than my senses represent them, I should feever acquire experience at all. Or, 3. I apply;, first to one man, then to another, and then to a third, who all assure me, that they perceive no such circle floating in the air, and at the same time inform me of the true cause of the appearance. I believe their declaration: either because I have had experience of their veracity, or because I have an innate propensity to credit testimony. To gain experience implies a belief in the evidence of sense, which reasoning cannot account for ; and a propen- sity to credit testimony previous to experience or reasoning, is equally unaccountable^.- — So that, al- though we acknowledged some of our senses, in some instances, deceitful, our detection of the det;eit, ' * See sect. 8. of this chapter. E 2 46 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I- whether by the evidence of our other senses, or by a retrospect to our past experience, or by our trusting to the testimony of other men, does still imply, that we do and must believe our senses previously to all reasoning^. A human creature born with a propensity to dis- believe his senses, would be as useless and helpless as if he wanted them. To his own preservation he could contribute nothing; and, after ages of beings would remain as destitute of knowledge and expe- rience, as when he began to be. Sometimes we seem to distrust the evidence of our senses, when in reality we only doubt whether we have that evidence. I may appeal to any man, if he were thoroughly convinced that he had really, when awake, seen and conversed with a ghost, whether any reasoning would convince him^at it was a delusion. Reasoning might lead him to suspect that he had been dreaming, and therefore to doubt whether or not he had the evidence of sense ; but if he were assured that he had that evi- dence, no arguments whatsoever would shake his belief. SECT. III. Df the Evidence of Internal Sense^ or Conscious- ness. BY attending to what passes in my mind, I know not only that it exists, but also that it exerts certain powers of action and perception; which, on account either of a diversity in their objects, or of a difference in their manner of operating; I con- sider as separate and distinct faculties ; and which J find it expedient to distinguish by different names, S-ce part 2. Chap. 1. sect^ 2- CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 47 that I may be able to speak of them so as to be un- derstood. Thus I am conscious that at one time I exert memory, at another time imagination : some- times I believe, sometimes I xloubt : the perform- ance of certain actions, and the indulgence of certain affections, is attended with an agreeable feeling of a peculiar kind which I call moral approbation ; dif- ferent actions and affections excite the opposite feeling, of moral disapprobation : to relieve dis- tress, I feel to be meritorious and praise-worthy : to pick a pocket, I know to be blam cable, and worthy of punishment: I am conscious that some ac- tions are in my power, and that others are not ; that when I neglect to do what I ought to do, and can do, I deserve to be punished ; and that when I act ne- cessarily, or, upon unavoidable and irresistible com- pulsion, I deserve neither punishment nor blame. Of all these sentiments I am as conscious, and as certain, as of my own existence. I cannot prove that I feel them, neither to myself, nor to others : but that I do really feel them, is as evident to me as demonstration could make it. I cannot prove, in regard to my moral feelings, that they are con- formable to any extrinsic and eternal relation of things ; but I know that my constitution necessa- rily determines me to believe them just and genu- ine, even as it determines me to believe that I my- self exist, and that things are as my external senses represent them. And a sophister could no more prove to my conviction, that these feelings are falk- xious, or that I have no such feelings, than he could prove to my conviction, that two and two may be equal to five, or that my friend is as much present with me when I think of him at a thousand mil^s distance, as when I sit and converse with him in the same chamber. An expert logician might per- haps puzzle me with words, and propose difficul- ties I could not solve : but he might as well at» 48 AN KSSAY O^ TRUTH. PART I. tempt to convince me, that I do not exist, as that I do not feel what I am conscious I do feel. And if he could induce me to suspect that I may possibly be mistaken, what standard of truth could he pro- pose to me, more evident, and of higher authority, than my own feelings ? Shall I believe his testi- mony, and disbelieve my own sensations ? Shall I admit his reasons, because I cannot confute them, although common sense tells me they are false ? Shall I suffer the ambiguities of artificial language to prevail against the clear, the intelligible, the ir- resistible voice of nature ? — Am I to judge of the colouring of a flower by moonshine, or by the light of the sun ? Or, because I cannot, by candle-light, distinguish green from blue, shall I therefore infer, that green and blue are the same ? We cannot disbelieve the evidence of internal sense, without oifering violence to our nature. And if we be led into such disbelief, or distrust, by the sophistry of pretended philosophers, we act just as wisely as a mariner would do, who should suff'er himself to be persuaded that the pole-star is con- tinually changing its place, but that the wind always blows from the same quarter. Common sense, or instinct, which prompts men to trust to their own feelings, hath in all ages continued the same : but the interests, pursuits, and abilities of philosophers are susceptible of endless variety ; and their theo* ries vary accordingly. Let it not be thought, that these objects and fa^ cultiesof internal sensation are things too evanescent to be attended to, or that their evidence is too weak to produce a steady and well-grounded conviction. They are more necessary to our happiness than even the powers and objects of external sense ; yea, they are no less necessary to our existence. What can be of greater consequence to man, than his moral sentiments, his reason, his memory^ his imagination^ CHAP. LI. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 49 What more interesting, than to know, whether his notions of duty and of truth be the dictates of his nature, that is the voice of God, or the positive in- stitutions of men ? What is it to which a wise man will pay more attention, than to his reason and con- science, those divine monitors, by which he is to judge even of religion itself, and which he is not at liberty to disobey, though an angel from heaven should command him? The generality of mankind, however ignorant of the received distinctions and explications of their internal powers, do yet by their conduct declare, that they feel their influence, and acknowledge their authenticity. Every instance of their being governed by a principle of moral obliga^ tion, is a proof of this. They believe an action to be lawful in the sight of God, when they are con- scious of a sentiment of lawfulness attending the performance of it : they believe a certain mode of conduct to be incumbent on them in certain circum- stances, because a notion of duty arises in their mind, when they contemplate that conduct in relation to those circumstances. — '^ I ought to be grateful for a favour received. Why ? Because my conscience tells me so. How do you know that you ought to do that of which your conscience enjoins the perfor^nance ? I can give ng further reason for it ; but IJeel that such is my duty." Here the inves- tigation must stop ; or, if carried a little further it must return to this point : — ^' I know that I ought to do what my conscience enjoins, because God is the author of my constitution ; and I obey His will, v/hen I act according to the principles of my constitution. Why do you obey the will of God ? Because it is my duty. How know you. that ? Because my conscience tells me so." If a man were sceptical in this matter, it v/ould not be in the power of argument to cure him. Such ^man could notbe g^d to have any moral principle 50 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART !• distinct from the hope of reward, the fear of punish- ment, or the force of custom. But that there is in human nature a moral principle distinct from those motives, has been felt and acknowledged by men of all ages and nations ; and indeed was never denied or doubted, except by a few metaphysicians, who, through want either of sense or of honesty, found themselves disposed to deny the existence or ques- tion the authenticity, of our moral feelings. In the celebrated dispute concerning liberty and necessity, the advocates for the latter have either maintained, that we have no sense of moral liberty ; or, grant- ing that we have such a sense, have endeavoured to prove it deceitful. Now, if we be conscious, that we have a sense of moral liberty, it is certain- ly as absurd to argue against the existence of that sense, as against the reality of any other matter of fact. And if the real existence of that sense be ac- knowledged, it cannot be proved to be deceitful by any arguments which may not also be applied to prove every power of our nature deceitful, and consequently, to show that man ought not to be- lieve any thing at all. But more of this after- wards. We have no other direct evidence than this of consciousness, or internal sensation, for the exist- ence and identity of our own soul^. I exist;— I * I say, direct evidence. But there are not wanting other irrefragable, though indirect, evidences of the existence of the human soul. Such is that which results from a comparison pf the known qualities of matter with the phenomena of ani- mal motion and thought. The further we carry our inquiries into matter, the more we are convinced of its incapacity to be- gin motion. And as to thought, and its several modes, if we think that they might be produced by any possible configu- ration and arrangement of the minute particles of matter, we form a supposition as arbitrary, as little warranted by expe- rience or evidence of any kind, and as contrary to the rules that determine us in all our rational conjectures, as if we were CHA'P. II. ^N ESSAY ON TRUTH, 51 am the same being to-day I was yesterday, and twenty years ago ; — this principle, or being, with- in me, that thinks and acts, is one permanent and mdividual principle, distinct from all other princi- to suppose, that diamonds might be produced from the smoke of a candle, or that men might grow like mushrooms out of the earth. There must then, in all animals, and especially in man, be a principle, not only distinct and different from body, but in some respects of a quite contrary nature. To ask, whe- ther the deity, without uniting- bod.^ -with spirit, could create thinking matter, is just such a question, as, whether he could create a being essentially active and essentially inactive, capa- ble of beginning motion, and at the same time incapable of beginning motion: questions, which, if we allow experience to be a rational ground of knowledge, we need not scruple to answer in the negative. .For these questions, according to the best lights that our rational faculties can afford, seem to us to refer to the production of an effect as truly impossible, as the creation of round squareness, hot cold, black white- ness, or true falsehood. Yet I am inclined to think, it is not by this argument that the generality of mankind are led to acknowledge the existence of their own minds. An evidence more direct, much more obvious, and not less convincing, every man dis- covers in the instinctive suggestions of nature. We perceive the existence of our souls by intuition ; and this 1 believe is the only way in which the vulgar perceive it. But their conviction is not on that account the v/eaker; on the contrary, they would account the man mad who should seem to entertain any doubts on this subject. One of the first thoughts that occur to Milton's Adam, when "new waked from soundest sleep," is to inquire after tire caus.e of his existence : "Thou sun jSaid I, fair light! And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay ! Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains. And, ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell. Tell, if ye saw, how came 1 thus, how here : Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power pre-eminent. Tell me, how I may know him, how adore, From whom I have, that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier than know." Paradise Lost^ viii. ^Yo- 52 AN ESSAY 0N TRUTH. PART I^ ples^ beings, or things; — these are dictates of internal sensation natural to man, and universally acknow- ledged : and they are of so great importance, that while we doubt of their truth, we can hardly be in- terested in any thing else whatsoever* If I were to believe with Mr. Hume, and some others, that my mind i& perpetually changing, so as to become every different moment a different thing, the re- membrance of past, or the anticipation of future good or evil, could give me neither pleasure nor pain; yea, though I were to believe, that cruel death would certainlv overtake me within an hour, I should be no more concerned, than if I were told^ that a certain elephant, three thousand years hence, wovild be sacrificed on the top of Mount Atlas. To a man who doubts the individuality or identity of his own mind, virtue, truth, reUgion, good and evil, hope and fear, are absolutely nothing. Metaphysicians have taken some pains to con- found our notions on the subject of identity; and, by establishing the currency of certain ambiguous phrases have succeeded so well, that it is now hardly possible for us to explain these dictates of our aature according to common sense and com- Of the reality of his own life, motion, and existence, it is ob- servable that he makes no question ; and indeed it would have been strange if he had. But Dryden, in his opera, called 7be state iff innocence , would needs attempt an improvement on this passage ; and to make surer work, obliges Adam to prove his existence by argument, before he allows him to enter upon a^ty other inquiry. ** What am I ? or from whence ? — For that I am 1 know, because I think : but whence I came, Or how this frame of mine began to be, What other being can disclose to me ?" Act 2. scene 1. Dryden, it seems, had read Des Cartes ; but Milton had studied nature : Accordingly Dryden speaks like a metaphy- sician, Milton like a po^t and philQsopher. CHAP. 11. AN ESS AT ON TRUTH. 5^o mon experience, in such language as shall be liable to no exception. The misfortune is, that many o( the words we must use, though extremely well understood, are either too simple or too complex in their meaning, to admit a logical definition ; so that the caviller is never at a loss for an ev^asive re- ply to any thing we may advance. But I will take it upon me to affirm, that there are hardly any hu- man notions more clearly, or more universally understood, than those we entertain concerning the identity both of ourselves and of other things, however difficult we mav sometimes find it to ex- press those notions in proper words. And I will also venture to affirm, that the sentiments of the generality of mankind on this head are grounded on such evidence, that he w^ho refuses to be con- vinced by it, acts irrationally, and cannot, consis- tently with such refusal, believe any thing. 1. The existence of our own mind, as something different and distinct from the body, is universally acknowledged. I say universally; having never heard of any nation of men upon earth, who did not, in their conversation and behaviour, show, by the plainest signs, that they made this distinction. Nay, so strongly are mankind impressed with it., that the rudest barbarians, by their incantations^ their funeral solemnities, their traditions concern- ing invisible beings, and their hopes and opinions of a future state seem to declare, that to the exis- tence of the soul the body is not, in their opinion necessary. All philosophers, a few Epicureans and Pyrrhonists excepted, have acknowledged the existence df the soul, as one of the first and most unexceptionable principles of human science. Now whence could a notion so universal arise ? Let us examine our own minds, and we shall find, that it could arise from nothing but consciousness, a cer- tain irresistible persuasion, that we have a soul disv S4 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART T. tinct from the body. The evidence of this notion is intuitive ; it is the evidence of internal sense* Reasoning can neither prove nor disprove it. Des Cartes, and his disciple Malebranche, acknow- ledge, that the existence of the human soul must be believed by all men, even by those who can bring themselves to doubt of every thing else. Mr. Simon Browne^, a learned and pious clergy- tnan of the last age, is perhaps the only person on record of whom there is reason to think, that he seriously disbelieved the existence of his own soul. He imagined, that in consequence of an extraordi- nary interposition of divine power, his rational soul was gradvially annihilated, and that nothing was now left him, but a principle of animal life, which he held in common with the brutes. But wherever the story of this excellent person is known, his unhappy mistake will be imputed to madness, and to a depravation of intellect, as real, and as extra- ordinary, as if he had disbelieved the existence of his body, or the axioms of mathematics. 2. That the thinking principle, which we be- lieve to be within us, continues the same through life, is equally self-evident, and equally agreeable to the universal consent of mankind. If a man Were to speak and act in the evening, as if he be- lieved himself to have become a different person since the morning, the whole world would pro- nounce him in a state of insanity. Were we to at- tempt to disbelieve our own indentity, we should labour in vain ; we could as easily bring ourselves to believe, that it is possible for the same thing to be and not to be. But there is no reason to think, that this attempt was ever made by any man, not even by Mr. Hume himself; though that author, * See* his affecting^ story in the Adventurer, vol. 3. No. 88. CHAP II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 55 in his Treatise of Human Nature, has asserted, yea, and proved too, (according to his notions of proof,) that the human soul is perpetually changing; being nothing but ^^ a bundle of perceptions, that succeed each other with inconceivable rapidity, and are (as he chooses to express it) in a perpetual flux^/' He might as easily, and as decisively, with equal credit to his own understanding, and with equal advantage to the reader, by a method of reasoning no less philosophical, and with the same degree of discretion in the use of vv^ords, have attacked the axioms of mathematics, and produced a formal and serious confutation of them. In explaining the evi- dence on which we believe our own identity, it is Bot necessary that I should here examine his argu- ments against that belief; , first, because the point in question is self-evident ; and therefore all reason- ing on the other side unphilosophical and irrational! and, secondly, because I shall afterwards prove that some of Mr. Hume's first principles are incon- ceivable and impossible ; and that this very notion of his, concerning identity, when fairly stated, is absurd and self-contradictory. It has been asked, how we can pretend to have full evidence of our identity, when of identitv it- self we are so far from having a distinct notion, that we cannot define it. It might with as good reason be asked, how we come to believe that two and two are equal to four, or that a circle is differ- ent from a triangle, if we cannot define either equality or diversity : — why we believe in our own existence, since we cannot define existence : — why, in a w^ord, the vulgar believe any thing at all, since they know nothing about the rules of definition, and hardly ever attempt it. In fact, we have number- less ideas that admit not of definition, and yet con- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 438, he. 56 AN ESSAY ON TRIfTH. i>ART J. ceming which we may argue, and believe, and know, with the utmost clearness and certainty. To define heat or cold, identity or diversity, red, or white, an ox or an ass, would puzzle all the logi- cians on e?a th ; yet nothing can be clearer, or more certain, than many of our judgnnents concerning those objects. The rudest of the vulgar know most perfectly what they mean, when they say, three months ago I was at such a town, and have eveF since been at home : and the conviction they have of the truth of this proposition is founded on the best of evidence, namely, on that of internal sense ;^ in which all men, by the law of their nature, do and must imf>licitly believe. It has been asked, whether this continued con- sciousness of our being always the same, does not constitute our sameness or identity. No m^ore, I should answer, than our perception of truth, light, or cold, is the efficient cause of truth, light, or cold. Our identity is perceived by consciousness ; but consciousness is as different from identity, as the understanding is different from truth, as past events are different from memory, as colours from the power of seeing Consciousness of identity is so far fronf constituting Hentity, that it presupposes it. An animal might continue the same being, and yet not be conscious of its identity; which* is probably the case with many of the brute creation ; nay, which is often the case with man himself. When we sleep w'ithout dreaming, or fall into at fainting fit^, or rave in a fever, and often too in * The following^ case, which M. Crouzaz gave in to the Academy of Sciences, is the most extraordinary instance of interrupted consciousness I have ever heard of. A nobleman of Lausanne, as he was giving orders to a servant, suddenly lost his speech and all his senses. DifFerentremedieswere tried with- out effect for six months ; during all wj^ich time he appeared to be in a deep sleep, or deliquium, with various symptoms at differ- ent periods, which are particularly specified in the narration. CHAP. II, AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 5? our ordinary dreams, we lose all sense of our iden- tity, and yet never conceive that our identity has suffered any interruption or change : the moment we awake or recover, we are conscious that we are the same individual beings we were before. Many doubts and difficulties have been started about our manner of conceiving identity of person under a change of substance. Plutarch tells us, that in the time of Demetrius Phalereus, the Athe- nians still preserved the custom of sending every year to Delos the same galley which, about a thou- sand years before, had brought Theseus and his company from Crete ; and that it then used to be a question in the schools, how this could be the same vessel, when every part of its materials had been changed oftener than once^. It is asked, how the tree can be accounted the same, when, from a plant of an inch long, it has grown to the height of fifty feet ; and how identity can be as- At last, after some chirurgical operations, at the end of six months his speech and senses were suddenly restored. When he recovered, the servant to whom he had been giving orders when he was first seized with the distemper, happening to be in the room, he asked whether he had executed his commis- sion; ](jot being sensible, it seems, that any interval of time, except, perhaps a very short one, had elapsed during his ill- ness. He lived ten years after, and died of another disease. See U Histoire de /' Academie Royale des Sciences, pour V annee, 1719, p. 28. Van Swieten also relates this story in his com- mentaries on Boerhaave's Aphorisms, under the head Apo- plexy. I mention it chiefly with a view to the reader's amuse- ment; he may consider the evidence, and believe or disbelieve as he pleases. But that consciousness may be interrupted by a total deliquium, without any change in our notions of our own identity, I know by my own experience. I am therefore fully persuaded, that the identity of this substance, which 1 call my soul, may continue even when I am unconscious of it; and if for a shorter space, why not for a longer ? * Plutarch, in Theseo. Plato, in Phsedone, F 2 58 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PARTI. cribed to the human body, since its parts are con- tinually changing, so that not one particle of the body I now have, belonged to the body I had twen- ty years ago. It were well, . if metaphysicians would think more and speak less on these subjects : they would then find, that the difficulties so much complained of are rather verbal than real. Was there a single Athenian, who did not know in what respects the gc\lley of Theseus continued the same, and in w hat respects it was changed ? It was the same in res- pect of its name, its destination, its shape perhaps, and size, and some other particulars ; in respect of its substance, it was altogether different. And when one party in the schools maintained, that it was the same, and the other, that it was not the same, all the difference between them was this*^ that the one used the word same in one sense, and the other in another. The identity of vegetables is as easily conceived. No man imagines, that the plant of an inch long is the same in substance with the tree of fifty feet. The latter is by the vulgar supposed to retain all the substance of the former, but with the addition of an immense quantity of adventitious matter. Thus far, and no further, do they suppose the sub- stance of the tree to continue the same. They call it, however the same tree ; and the same it is, in many respects, which to every person of common sense are obvious enough, though not easily express- ed in unexceptionable language. Of the changes made in the human body by attri- tion, the vulgar have no notion. They believe the substance of a full-grown body to continue the same, notwithstanding its being sometimes fatter, and sometimes leaner; even as they suppose the substance of a wall to be the same before and after it is plaistered, or painted. TJrey therefore, do CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 59 not ascribe to it identity of person, and diversity of substance, but a real and proper identity both of substance and person. Of the identity of the body while increasing in stature, they conceive, nearly in the same way, as of the identity of vegetables : they know in what respects it continues the same,, and in what respects it becomes different; there is p-D confusion in their notions ; they never suppose it to be different in those respects in which they^ know it to be the same. V/hen philosophers speak of the identity of the human body, they must mean, not that its substance is the same, for this they say is perpetually chang- ing ; but that it is the same, in respect of its hav- ing been all along animated with the same vital and thinking principle, distinguished by the same name, marked with the same or similar features, placed in the same relations of life, &c. — — It must be obvi- ous to the intelligent reader, that the difficulties at- tending this subject arise not from any ambiguity or intricacy in our notions or judgments, *for these are extremely clear, but from our way of express- ing them : the particulars in which an object con- tinues the ame, are often so blended with those in which it has become different, ik^t we cannot find proper words for marking the distinction, and there- fore must have recourse to tedious and obscure circumlocutions. But whatever judgments we form of the identity of corporeal objects,' we cannot from them draw ^ny inference concerning the identity of our mind. We cannot ascribe extension or solidity to the soul, far less any increase or diminution of solid or ex- tended parts. Here, therefore, there is no ground for distinguishing diversity of substance from identity of person. Our soul is the very same ber jng now it was yesterday, last year, twenty years *ago. This is a dictate of common s^nse, an intui- 60 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART !• tive truth, which all mankind, by the law of their nature do and must believe, and the contrary of which is inconceivable. We have perhaps changed many of our principles : we may have acquired many new ideas and notions, and lost many of those we once had ; but that the substance, essence, or per- sonality, of the soul, has suffered any change, in- crease, or diminution, v/e never have supposed, nor can suppose. New faculties have perhaps ap- peared, with which we were formerly unacquaint- ed ; but these we cannot conceive to have' affected the identity of the soul, >any more than learning to write, or to play on a musical instrument, is con- ceived to affect the identity of the hand ; or than the perception of harmony the first time one hears music, is conceived to affect the identity of the ear"^. But if we perceive our identity by conscious- ness, and if the acts of consciousness by which we perceive it be interrupted, how can we know that our identity is not interrupted? I answer. The law of our nature determines us, whether we will or not, to believe that we continue the same thinking be- * I beg leave to quote a few lines from an excellent poem, written by an author, whose genius and virtue were an honour to his country, and to human nature : ** Am I but what I seem, mere flesh and blood? A branching channel, and a mazy flood ? The purple stream, that through my vessels glides. Dull and unconscious flows like common tides. The pipes, through which the circling jliices stray. Are not that thinking I, no more than they. This frame compacted with transcendent skill, Of moving joints obedient to my will. Nursed from the fruitful glebe like yonder tree. Waxes and wastes: I call it mine not me. New matter still the mouldering mass sustains ; The mansion changed, the tenant still remains, And, from the fleeting stream repair'd by food. Distinct, as is the sw^immer from the flood." AnB V TUN OT, Sqq J^odslefs Collection, vol. 1. p, ISO. GHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 61 ings. The interruption of consciousness, whether more or less frequent, makes no change in this be- lief. My perception of the visible creation is every moment interrupted by the winking of my eyes. Am I therefore to believe, that the visible universe, which I this moment perceive, is not the same with the visibje universe I perceived last moment? Then must I also believe, that the existence of the universe depends on the motion of my eye-lids ; and that the muscles which move them have the power of creating and annihilating worlds. To conclude: That our soul exists, and con- tinues through life the same individual being, is a dictate of common sense j a truth which the law of our nature renders it impossible for us to disbelieve; and in regard to which, we cannot suppose our- selves in an error, without supposing our faculties fallacious, and consequently disclaiming all convic- tion, and all certainty, and disavowing the distinc- tion between truth and falsehood. SECT. IV. Of the Evidence of Memorij* THE evidence of memory commands our belief as effectually as that of sense. I cannot possibly doubt, with regard to any of my transactions of yesterday which I now remember, whether I per- formed them or not. That I dined to-dav, and w^as in bed last night, is as certain to me, as that I at present see the colour of this paper. If we had no memory, knowledge and experience would be impossible ; and if we had any tendency to distrust our memory, knowledge and experience would be of as little use in directing our conduct and senti- ments, ,as our dreams now are. Sometimes we 62 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PARTI* doubt, whether in a particular case we exert memory or imtagination ; and our belief is suspend- ed accordingly : but no sooner do we become con- scious, th^it wt re?nember^ than conviction instantly takes place ; we say, I am certain it was so, for now I remember I was an eye-witness. But who is it that teaches the child to believe, that yesterday he was punished, because he re- members to have been punished yesterday ? Or, by what argument will you convince him, that, notwithstanding his remembrance, he ought not to believe that he was punished yesterday, because memory ic fallacious ? The matter depends not on education or reasoning. We trust to the evidence of memory, because we cannot help trusting to it. The same Providence that endued us with memory, without any care of ours, endued us also with an instinctive propensity to believe in it, previously to all reasoning and experience. Nay, all reasoning supposes the testimony of memory to be authentic : for, without trusting implicitly to this testimony, no train of reasoning could be prosecuted ; we could never be convinced, that'the conclusion is fair, if we did not remember the several steps of the argu- ment, and if we were not certain that this remem- brance is not fallacious. The diversities of memory in different men are very remarkable ; and in the same man the remem- brance of some things is more lasting, and more lively than that of others. Some of the ideas of memory seem to decay gradually by length of time ; so that there may be some things which I distinctly remembered seven years ago, but which at present I remember very imperfectly, and which in seven years more (if I live so long) I shall have utterly forgotten. Hence some have been led to think, that the evidence of memory decays gradually, from absolute certainty, through all the degrees of CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. &5 probability, down to that suspense of judgment which we call doubt. They seem to have imagined, that the vivacity of the idea is in some sort neces- Siiry to the establishment of belief. Nay, one au- thor^ has gone so far as to say, that belief is nothing else but this vivacity of ideas ; as if we never believ- ed what we have no lively conception of, nor doubt- ed of any thing of which we have a lively conception. Bat this doctrine is so absurd, that it hardly deserves ft serious confutation. I have a much more lively idea of Don Quixote than of the present king of Prussia ; and yet I believe that the latter does exist and that the former never did. When I v\^as a school-boy, I read an abridgment of the history of Robinson Crusoe, and believed every word of it ; since I grew up, I have read that ingenious work at large, and consequently have a much livelier con- ception of it than before ; yet now I believe the whole to be a fiction. Some months ago I read the Treatise of Human Nature^ and have at present a pretty clear remembrance of its contents; but I shall probably forget the greater part in a short time. When this happens, I ought not, according to Mr. Hume's theory, to believe that I ever read it. As long, however, as my faculties remain un- impaired, I fear I shall hardly be able to bring my- self to this pitch of scepticism. No, no ; I shall ever have good reason to remember my having read that book, however imperfect my remembrance may be, and however little ground I may have to congratulate myself upon my acquaintance with it. The vivacity of a pergr^ption does not seem neces» sary to our belief of the existence of the thing per- ceived. I see a town afar off; its visible magnitude is not more than an inch square, and therefore my perception of it is neither lively nor distinct ; and * TreMise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. !♦ 64/ AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. yet I as certainly believe that town to exist, as if I were in the centre of it. I see an object in motion on the top of yonder hill ; I cannot discern whether it be a man, or a horse, or both ; I therefore exert no belief in regard to the class or species of objects to which it belongs, but I believe with as much as- surance that it exists, as if I saw it distinctly in all its parts and dimensions. We have never any doubt of the existence of an object so long as we are sure that we perceive it by our senses, whether the perception be strong or weak, distinct or confused; but whenever we begin to doubt, whether the ob- ject be perceived by our senses, or whether we only imagine that we perceive it, then we likewise begin to doubt of its existence. These observations are applicable to memory. I saw a certain object some years ago ; my remem- brance of it is less distinct now than it was the day after I saw it ; but I believe the evidence of my me- mory as much at present as I did then, in regard to all the parts of it which I now am conscious that I rememoer. Let a past event be ever so remote in time, if I am conscious that I remember it, I still believe, with equal assurance, that this event did once take place. For what is memory, but a con- sciousness of our having formerly done or perceived something ? And if it be true, that something is perceived or done at this present moment, it will al- ways be true, that at this moment that thing was perceived or done. The evidence of memory does not decay in proportion as the ideas of memory be-^ come less lively; as long as we are conscious that we remember^ so long w^U thqipvidence attending that remembrance produce absolute certainty; and abso- lute certainty admits not of degrees. Indeed, as was already observed, when remembrance becomes so obscure, that we are at a loss to deterr^ine whether we remember or only imagine an event, — in this cas^ CHAP. ir. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 63 belief will be suspended till we become certain whe- ther we remember or not ; whenever we become certain that we do remember, conviction instantly arises. Some have supposed that the evidence of memory is liable to become uncertain, because we are not well enough acquainted with the difference between me- mory and imagination, to be able at all times to de- termine, whether the one or the other be exerted in regard to the events or facts we may have occasion to contemplate. '* You say, that while you only imagine an event, you neither believe nor disbe- lieve the existence or reality of it : but that as soon as you become conscious that you remember it, you instantly believe it to have been real. You must then know with certainty the difference between memory and imagination, and be able to tell by what marks you distinguish the operations of the former from those of the latter. If you cannot do this, you may mistake the one for the other, and think that you imagine when yo ' real- ly remember^ and that you remember when you only imagine. That belief, therefore, must be very precarious and uncertain, which is built up- on the evidence of memory, since this evidence is so apt to be confounded with the visionary ex- hibitions of imagination, which, by your own ac- knowledgment, can never constitute a foundation for true rational belief." This is an objection, according to the metaphysical mode, which, with- out consulting experience, is satisfied if a few plausible words can be put together in the form of an argument: but this objection will have no credit with those who acknowledge ultimate in- stinctive principles of conviction, and who have more faith in their own^feelings than in the subtle- ties of logic. G 64 AN £SSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. It is certain the vulgar are not able to give a sa- tisfactory account of the difference between memory and imagination ; even philosophers have not al- ways succeeded in their attempts to illustrate this point. Mr. Hume tells us, that ideas of memory are distinguished from those of imagination by the superior vivacity of the former^. This may some- times, but cannot always, be true : for ideas of ima- gination are often mistaken for objects of sense ; ideas of memory never. The former, therefore, must often be more lively than the latter ; for, ac- cording to Mr. Hume's own account, all ideas are weaker than impressions, or informations of sensef . Dreaming persons, lunatics, stage-players, enthusi- asts, and all who are agitated by fear, or other vio- lent passions, are apt to mistake ideas of imagina- tion for real things, and the perception of those ideas for real sensation. And the same thing is often experienced by persons of strong fancy, and ' ,great sensibility of temper, at a time when they are not troubled with any fits of irrationality or violent passions. But whatever difficulty we may find in defining or describing memory, so as to distinguish it from imagination, we are never at any loss aboiit our own meaning, when we -speak of remembering and of imagining. We all know what it is to remember, and what it is to imagine ; a retrospect to former experience always attends the exertions of memory; but those of imagination are not attended with any such retrospect. " I remember to have seen a lion, and I can imagine an elephant or centaur, which I have never seen :"- — Every body who uses these words knows very well what they mean, whether * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 153. , t I^i^' P* 41' CKAP. !!• AN ESSAY ON TRUTtl. 65 he be able to explain his meaning by other words or not. The truth is, that when we remember, we generally know that we remember ; when we ima- gine, we generally know that we imagine :j:: such is our constitution. We therefore do not suppose the* evidence of memory uncertain, notwithstanding that we may be at a loss to explain the difference between that faculty and imagination : this differ- ence is perfectly known to eyery man by experience, though perhaps no man can fully express it in words. There are many things very familiar to us, which we have no words to express. I cannot describe or define, either a red colour, which I know to be a simple object, or a white colour, which I know to be a composition of seven colours : but will any one hence infer, that I am ignorant of their differ- ence, so as not to know, when I look on ermine* whether it be white or red ? Let it not then be said, that because we cannot define memory and imagination, therefore we are ignorant of their difference : every person of a sound mind, knows their difference, and can with certainty determine, when it is he exerts the one, and when it is he ex* erts the other. SECT. V. Of Reasoning from the^ Effect to the Cause ^ I LEFT my chamber an hour ago, and now at my return find a book on the table, the size, and binding, and contents of which are so remarkable, \ In dreams indeed this is not the case ; but the delusions of dreaming, notwitstanding our frequent experience of them, are never supposed to affect in the least degree either the ve= jracity of our faculties, or the certaintjr Qf our knowledge. See below, Part II. Chap. 2. Sect. %, 66 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PARTI. that I am certain it was not here when I went out ; and that I never saw it before. I ask, who brought this book ; and am told, that no body has entered my apartment since I left it. That, say I, is im- possible. I make a more particular inquiry ; and a servant, in whose veracity I can confide, assures me^ that he has had his eye on my chamber-door the whole day, and that no person has entered it but myself only. Then, say I, the person who brought this book must have come in by the window or the chimney ; for it is impossible that this book could have come hither of itself. The servant bids me remember, that my chimney is too narrow to admit any human creature, and that the window is secured on the inside vin such a manner that it cannot be opened from without. I examine the walls; it is evident no breach has been made ; and there is but one door to the apartment. What shall I think ? If the servant's report be true, and if the book have not been brought by any visible agent, it must have come in a miraculous manner, by the interposition of some invisible cause ; for still I must repeat, that without some cause it could not possibly have come hither. Let the reader consider the case, and deliberate with himself whether I think irrationally, on this occasion, or express myself too strongly, when I speak of the impossibility of a book appearing in my chamber without some cause of its appearance, either visible or invisible. I would not willingly refer such a phenomenon to a miracle \ but still a miracle is possible ; whereas it is absolutely im- possible that this could have happened without a cause ; at least it seems to me to be as real an im- possibility, as that a part should be greater than the whole, or that things equal to one and the same thing should be unequal to one another. And I presume the reader will be of my opinion; for^ in alt CHAP. II. AN lESSAY ON TRUTH. 67 my intercourse with others, and after a careful ex- amination of my own mind, I have never found any reason to think, that it is possible for a human, or for a rational creature, to conceive a thing begin- ning to exist, and proceeding from no cause. I pronounce it therefore to be an axiom, clear, certain, and undeniable, That "whatever beginneth to exist, proceedeth from some cause." I cannot bring myself to think, that the reverse of any geo- metrical axiom is more absurd than the reverse of this ; and therefore I am as certain of the truth of this, as I can be of the truth of the other ; and cannot, without contradicting myself, and doing violence to my nature, even attempt to believe otherwise. Whether this maxim be intuitive or demon- strable, may perhaps admit of some dispute ; but the determination of that point will not in the least affect the truth of the maxim. If it be demon- ■' strable^ we can then assign a reason for our belief of it; if it be intuitive, it is on the same footing with other intuitive axioms ; that is, we believe it, because the law of our nature renders it impossible for us to disbelieve it. In proof of this maxim it has been said, that no- thing can produce itself. But this truth is not more evident than the truth to be« proved, and therefore is no proof at all. Nay, this last pro- position seems to be only a different, and less proper, way of expressing the same thing : — No- thing canproduce itself; that is, every thing pro- duced, must be produced by some other thing; that is, every effect must proceed from a cause and that is, (for all effects being posterior to their causes, must necessarily have a beginning *t every thing beginning to exist proceeds from some cause." Other arguments have been offer- ed in proof of this maxim, which I think are G 2 68 AN ESSAY ON TRtFTH. PART !• sufficiently confuted by Mr. Hume, in his treatise of Human Nature^* This maxim therefore ha af&rms and I allow, to be not demonstrably certain. But he further affirms, that it is not intuitively cer- tain; in which I cannot agree with him. '^All certainty," says he, ^' arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the discovery of such relations as are unalterable so long as the ideas continue the same : but the only relations! of this kind are re- semblance, proportion in quantity and nvimber, de- grees of any quality, and contrariety ; none of which is implied in the maxim. Whatever begins to exists proceeds from some cause: — that maxim there- fore is not intuitively certain." — -This argument, if it prove any thing at all, would prove, that the maxim is not even certain; for we are here told, that it has not that character or quality from which all certainty arises. But if I mistake not, both the premises of this syllogism are false. In the first place, I cannot admit, that all certainty arises from a comparison of ideas. I am certain of the existence of myself and of the other things that affect my senses ; I am certain, that "whatever is, is;" and yet I cannot conceive, that any comparison of ideas is necessaxy to produce these convictions in my mind. Perhaps I cannot speak of them without using words expres- sive of relation ; but the simple act or perception of the understanding by which I am conscious of them, implies not any comparison that I can dis- cover. It it did, then the simplest intuitive truth * Book 1. part 3. sect. 3. f There are, according to Mr. Hume, seven different kinds of philosophical relation, to wit, Resemblance, Identity, Re- lations of time and place, Proportion in quantity or number. Degrees in any common quality, Contrariety, and Causa- tion. And by the word Relatioti he here means that particular circumstance in which we may think proper to compare ideas. See TrQatm of Human Nature, w/. 1. />. 32. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 69 requires proof, or illustration at least, before it can be acknowledged as truth by the mind ; which I presume will not be found warranted by experience. Whether others are conscious of making such a comparison, before they yield assent to the sim- plest intuitive truth, I know not ; but this I know, that my mind is often conscious of certainty where no such comparison has been made by me. I ac- knowledge, indeed, that no certain truth can be- come an object of science, till it be expressed in words ; that, if expressed in words, it must assume the form of a proposition ; and that every proposi- tion, being either affirmative or negative, must im- ply a comparison of the thing or subject, with that quality or circumstance w^hich is affirmed or denied, to belong to, or agree with it: and therefore I ac- knowledge, that in science all certainty may be said to arise from a comparison of ideas. But the generality of mankind believe many things as cer- tain, which they never thought of expressing in words. An ordinary man believes, that himself, ;his family, his house, and cattle, exist ; but, in or- der to produce this belief in his mind, is it neces- sary, that he compare those objects with the gen- eral idea of existence or non-existence, so as to discern their agreement with the one, or disagree- ment with the other ? I cannot think it : at least, if he has ever made such a comparison, it must have been without his knowledge; fori am con- vinced, tliat, if we were to ask him thti question, he would not understand us. Secondly, I apprehend, that Mr. Hume has not enumerated all the relations which, when dis- covered, give rise to certainty. I am certain, that I am the same person to-day I was yesterday. Mr. Hume indeed will not allow that this is possible=^. I cannot help it ; I am certain notwithstanding ; f See Part 2. chap. 2. sect. 1. of'this Essa/. '» 70 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PATlT I.^ and I flatter myself, ttiere are not many persons in the world who would think this sentiment of mine a paradox. I say, then, I am certain, that I am the same person to-day I was yesterday. Now, the relation expressed in this proposition is not resemblance, nor proportion in qua^Rtity and number, nor degrees of any common quality, nor contrariety: it is a relation different from all these ; it is identity or sameness.— That London is con- tiguous to the Thames, is a proposition which many of the most sensible people in Europe hold to be certainly true ; and yet the relation express- ed in it, is none of those four which our author supposes to be the sole proprietors of certainty. For it is not in respect of resemblance, of proportion in quantity or number, of contrariety, or of degrees in any common quality, that London and the Thames are here compared, but purely in respect of place or situation. Again, that the foregoing maxim is neither in- tuitively nor demonstrably certain, our author at- tempts to prove from this consideration, that we cannot demonstrate the impossibility of the con- trary. Nay, the contrary, he says, is not incon- ceivable: ^'for we can conceive an object non- existent this moment, and existent the next, without joining it to the idea of a cause, which is an idea altogether distinct and different." But this I presume, is not a fair state of the case. Can we conceive a thing beginning to exist, and yet bring ourselves to think that a cau-se is not neces- sary to the production of such a thing? If we can- not, (I am sure I cannot), then is the contrary of this maxim, when fairly stated, found to be truly and properly inconceivable. But whether the contrary of this maxim be in- conceivable or not, the maxim itself may be intui- tively certain. Of intuitive, as well as of demon- CHAP* H. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 71 strable truths, there are different kinds. It is a character of some, that their contraries are incon- ceivable : such are the axioms of geometry. But of many other intuitive truths, the contraries are conceivable. " I do feel a hard body ;" — " I da not feel a hard body ;" these propositions are equal- ly conceivable : the first is true, for I have a pen between my fingers; but I cannot prove its truth by argument ; therefore its truth is perceived intui- tively. Thus far we have argued for the sake of argu- ment, and opposed metaphysic to metaphysic^, in order to prove, that our author's reasoning on the present subject is not conclusive. It is now time to enter into the merits of the cause, and consider the matter philosophically, that is, according to fact and experience. And in this way we bring it to a very short issue. The point in dispute is^ Whether this maxim, "Whatever begins to exist, proceeds from some cause," be intuitively cer- tain ? That the mind naturally and necessainly assents to it without any doubt, and considers its contrary as impossible, I have already shewn j the maxim, therefore, is certainly true. That it can- not, by any argument, or medium of proof, be rendered more evident than it is when first appre- hended by the mind, is also certain ; for it is of it- self as evident as any proposition that can be urged in proof it. If, therefore, this maxim be true, (as every rational being feels, and acknowledges), it is a principle of common sense : we believe it, not because we can give a reason, but because, by the law of our nature, we must believe it. Our opinion of the necessity of a cause to the production of every thing that has a beginning, is by Mr. Hume, supposed to arise from observation * See Part 3« chap. 2. of this Essav, t2 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, PART !• and experience. It is true, that in our experience we have never found any thing beginning to exist, and proceeding from no cause; but I imagine it will not appear, that our belief of this axiom hath experience for its foundation. For let it be re- marked, that some children, at a time when their experience is very scanty, seem to be as sensible of the truth of this axiom, as many, persons arrived at maturity. I do not mean, that they ever repeat it in the form of a proposition ; or that, if they were to hear it repeated in that form, they would instantly declare their assent to it ; for a proposi- tion can never be rationally assented to, except by those who understand the words that compose it: but I mean, that these children have a natural pro- pensity to inquire after the cause of any effect or event that engages their attention; which they would not do, if the view of an event or effect did not suggest to them, that a cause is necessary to its production. Their curiosity in asking the reasons and causes of every thing they see and hear, is of- ten very remarkable, and rises even to imperti- nence ; at least it is called so when one is not pre- pared to give them an answer. I have known a child to break open his drum, to see if he could discover the cause of its extraordinary sound; and that at the hazard of rendering the play-thing unserviceable, and of being pupished for his indis- cretion. If the ardor of this curiosity were al- ways proportioned to the extent of a child's expe- rience, or to the care his teachers have taken to make him attentive to the dependence of effects on causes, we might then ascribe it to the power of education, or to a habit contracted by experience. But every one who has had an opportunity of con- versing with children, knows that this is not the case; and that their curiosity cannot otherwise be accounted for, than by supposing it instinctive, CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 73 and, like all other instincts, stronger in some minds, and weaker in others, independently on experience and education, and in consequence of the appoint- ment of that Being who hath been pleased to make one man differ from another in his intellectual accomplishments, as well as in his features, com- plexion, and size. Nor let it be imagined, because some children are in this respect more curious than others, that therefore the belief of this maxim is instinctive in some minds only: the maxim may be equally believed by all, notwithstanding this diversity. For do we not find a similar diversity in the genius of different men ? Some men have a philosophical turn of mind, and love to investigate causes, and to have a reason ready on every occa- sion ; others are indifferent as to these matters, be- ing ingrossed by studies of another kind. And yet I presume it will be found, that the truth of this maxim is felt by every man, though perhaps many men never thought of putting it in words in the form of a proposition. We repeat, therefore, that this axiom is one of the principles of common sense, which every rati- onal mind does and must acknowledge to be true ; not because it can be proved, but because the law of nature determines us to believe it without proof, and to look upon its contrary as perfectly absurd,' impossible, and inconceivable. The axiom now before us is the foundation of the most important argument that ever employed human reason ; I mean that which, from the works that are created, evinces the eternal power and god- head of the Creator. That argument, as far as it resolves itself into this axiom, is properly a de- monstration, being a clear deduction from a self- evident principle ; and therefore no man can pre- tend to understand it, without feeling it to be tonclusive. So that what the psalmist says of the 74 An essay on truth. part i. atheist is literally true, He is a fool; as really irra- tional as if he refused to be convinced by a mathe- matical dencionstration. Nay, he is more irrational ; because there is no truth demonstrated in mathe- matics which so many powers of our nature con- spire to ratify, and with which the minds of the whole rational creation are so deeply impressed. The contemplation of the Divine Nature is the most useful and the most ennobling exercise in which our faculties can be engaged, and recommends it- self to every man of sound judgment and good taste, as the most durable and the most perfect en- joyment, that can possibly fall to the share of any created being. Sceptics may wrangle, and mock- ers may blaspheme ; but the pious man knows by evidence too sublime for their comprehension, that his affections are not misplaced, and that his hopes shall not be disappointed ; by evidence which, to every sound mind, is fully satisfactory ; but which to the hu able and tender-hearted, is altogether overwhelming, irresistible, and divine. That many of the objects in nature have had a beginning, is obvious to our own senses and me- mory, or confirmed by unquestionable testimony ; these, therefore, according to the axiom we are here considering, must be believed to have pro- ceeded from a cause adequate at least to the effects produced. That the whole sensible universe hath to us the appearance of an effect, of something which once was not, and which exists not by any necessity of nature, but by the arbitrary appoint- ment of some powerful and intelligent cause differ- ent from and independent on it ; that the universe, I say, has this appearance, cannot be de- nied : and that it is what it appears to be, an effect ; that it had a beginning, and was not from eternity, is proved by every sort of evidence the subject will admit. And if so, we offer violence to our under- CHAP. !!• AN ESSAY OK TRUTH. T5 Standing, when we attempt to believe that the whole universe does not proceed from some cause ; and we argue unphilosophically and irrationally, when we endeavour to disprove this natural and universal suggestion of the human mind. It is true, the universe is, as one may say, a work sui generis^ altogether singular, and such as we cannot properly compare to other works : be- cause, indeed, all works are comprehended in it. But that natural dictate of the mind by which we believe the universe to have proceeded from a cause, arises from our considering it as an effect; a circumstance in which it is perfectly similar to all works whatsoever. The singularity of the effect rather- confirms (if that be possible) than weakens our belief of the necessity of a cause ; at least it makes us more attentive to the cause, and interests us more deeply in it. What is the universe, but a vast system of works or effects, some of them great, and others small; some more and sonie less con- siderable t If each of these works, the least as well as the greatest, require a cause for its production ; is it not in the highest degree absurd and unnatural to say, that the whole is not the effect of a cause ?— Each link of a great chain must be supported by something, but the whole chain may be supported by nothing: — Nothing less than an ounce can be a counterpoise to an ounce, nothing less than a pound to a pound; but the wing of a gnat, or nothing at all, may be a sufficient counterpoise to ten hundred thousand pounds : Are not these assertions too absurd to deserve an answer? The reader, if he has the misfortune to be acquainted with Mr. Hume's Essay on a par- ticular providence and a future state^ will see, that these remarks are intended as an answer to a very strange argument there advanced against the belief of a Deity. *^The universe," we are 76 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. told, "is an object quite singular and unparalleled; no other object that has fallen under our observa- tion bears any similarity to it: neither it nor its cause can be comprehended under any known spe- cies ; and therefore concerning the cause of the universe we can form no rational conclusion at all.'* ' ■ I appeal to any man of sound judgment, whe- ther that suggestion of his understanding, which prompts him to infer a cause from an effect, has any dependence upon a prior operation of his mind, by which the effect in question is referred to its ge- nus or species. When he pronounces concerning any object which he conceives to have had a begin- ning, that it must have proceeded from some cause, does this judgment necessarily imply any comparison of that object with others of a like kind? If the new object were in every respect unlike to other objects, would this have any influence on his judgment? Would he not acknowledge a cause to be as necessary for the production of the most un- common, as of the most familiar object? — If there- fore I believe, that I myself owe my existence to some cause, because there is something in my mind which necessarily determines me to this belief, I must also, for the very same reason, believe, that the whole universe (supposed to have had a begin- ning) proceeds from some cause. The evidence of both is the same. If I believe the first and not the second, I believe and disbelieve the same evi- dence at the same time ; I believe that the very same suggestion of my understanding is both true and false. Though I were to grant, th^, when an object is reducible to no known genus, no rational inference can be made concerning its cause ; yet it will not follow, that our inferences concerning the cause of th^ universe are irrational, supposing it reasonable to believe that the universe had a beginning* If CHAP. !!• AN ESSx\Y ON TRUTH. 77 there be in the universe any thing which is reduci- ble to no known genus, let it be mentioned: if there be any presumption for the existence of such a thing, let the foundation of that presumption be explained. And, if you please, I shall, for argu- ment's sake, admit, that concerning the cause of that particular thing, no rational conclusion can be formed. But it has never been asserted, that the existence of such a thing is either real or probable* Mr. Hume only asserts, that the universe itself, ^ not any particular thing in the universe, is reduci- ble to no known genus. Well then, let me ask^ what is the universe ? A word .^ No ; it is a vast collection of things. — Are all these things reducible to genera? Mr. Hume does not deny it.- — »Each of these things, then, if it had a beginning, must also have had a cause i It must. — What thing in the universe exists uncaused ? Nothing.— Is this a ra- tional conclusion? So it seems.-— It seems, then, that though it be rational to assign a cause to every thing in the universe, yet to assign a cause to the universe is not rational! It is shameful thus to tri- fle with words. — In fact, this argument of Mr. Hume's, so highly admired by its Author, is no argument at all. It is founded on a distinction that is perfectly inconceivable. Twenty shillings laid on a table make a pound : though you take up these twenty shillings, yet have you not taken up the pound ; you have only taken up twenty shillings. If the reader cannot enter into this distinction, he will never be able to conceive in what the force of Mr. Hume's argument consists. If the universe had a beginning, it must have had a cause. This is a self evident axiom, or at least an undeniable consequence of one. We ne- cessarily assent to it ; such is the law of our nature* If we deny it, we cannot, without absurdity, be- lieve any thing eke whatsoever ; because we at the 78 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. same time deny the authenticity of ^ those instinc- tive suggestions which are the foundation of all truth. The Atheist will never be able to elude the force of this argunient, till he can prove, that every thing in nature exists necessarily, indepen- dently, and from eternity. If Mr. Hume's argum*ent be found to turn to so little account, from the simple consideration of the universe, as existing, and as having had a begin- ning, it will appear (if possible) still more irrational, when we take a view of the universe, and its parts as of works curiously adapted to certain ends^ Their existence displays the necessity of a power- ful cause; their frame proves the cause to be intel- ligent, good and wise. The meanest of the works of nature (if any of Nature's works may be called mean), — the arrangem^ent necessary for the produc- tion of the smallest plant, requires in the cause a degree of pov^^er, intelligence, and wisdom, which infinitely transcends the sublimest exertions of human ability. What then shall we say of the cause that produces an animal, a rational soul, a world, a system of worlds, an universe? Shall we say, that infinite power and w^isdom are not neces- sary attributes of that universal cause, though they be necessary attributes of the cause that produces a plant ? Shall we say, that the maker of a plant may be acknowledged to be powerful, intelligent, and wise ; because there are many other things in nature that resemble a plant ; but that we cannot rationally acknowledge the maker of the universe to be wise, powerful, or intelligent, because there, is nothing which the universe resembles, or to which it may be compared ? Can the man who ar- gues in this manner have any meaning to his words ? For an answer to the other cavils thrown out by Mr. Hume, in this flimsy essay against the divine attributes, the reader is referred to the first part of Butler's Analogy of Natural and Revealed Reli- CHAP. II. AN E3^AY ON TRUTH. 79 gion. It needs not be matter of any surprise, that we name, on this occasion, a book which was pub- lished before Mr. Hume's essay was written.— With infidel writers it has long been the fashion, (less frequently indeed with this author than with many others), to deliver as their own, and as en- tirely new, objections against religion, which have been repeatedly and unanswerably confuted. This piece of craft gives no offence to their disciples ; these gentlemen, if they read at all, generally choosing to confine their inquiries to one side of the controversy : to themselves it is a considerably saving in the articles of time and invention. SECT. VI. Of Probable or Experimental Reasoning* I1N all our reasonings from the cause to the effect, we proceed on a supposition, and a belief, that the course of nature will continue to be in time to come, what we experience it to be at pre- sent, and remember it to have been in time past. This presumption of continuance is the foundation of all our judgments concerning future events : and this, in many cases, determines our conviction as effectually as any proof or demonstration whatso- ever : although the conviction arising from it be different in kind from what is produced by strict demonstration, as well as from those kinds of con- viction that attend the evidence of sense, me- mory, and abstract intuition. The highest degree of conviction in reasoning from causes to effects, is called moral certainty ; and the inferior degrees result from that species of evidence which is called probability or verisimilitude* That all men will die i that the sun will rise to-morrow, and the sea H 2 80 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH.* PART U ebb and flow; that sleep will continue to refresh, and food to nourish us ; that the same articulate sounds which to-day communicate the ideas of vir- tue and vice, meat and drink, man and beast, will to-morrow communicate the same ideas to the same persons; — ^no man can doubt, widiout being ac- counted a fool. In these, and in all other instances where our experience of the past has been equally- extensive and uniform, our judgment concerning the future amounts to moral certainty : we believe, %vith full assurance, or at least without doubt, that the same laws of nature which have hitherto opera- ted, will continue to operate as long as we foresee no cause to interrupt or hinder their operation. But no person who attends to his own mind will say, that, in these cases, our belief, or conviction, or assurance, is the effect of a proof, or of any thing like it. If reasoning be at all employed, it is only in order to give us a clear view of our past experience with regard to the point in question. When this view is obtained, reasoning is no longer necessary; the mind, by its own innate force, and in consequence of an irresistible and in- stinctive im.pulse, infers the future from the past immediately, and without the intervention of any argument. The sea has ebbed and flowed twice every day in time past ; therefore, the sea will con- tinue to ebb and flow twice every day in the time to come, — is by no means a logical deduction of a conclusion from premises^. When our experience of the past has not been uniform nor extensive, our opinion with regard to the future falls short of moral certainty; and amounts only to a greater or less degree or smaller proportion of favourable instances : — we say, such * This remark was first made by Mr. Hume. See it illus* trated at great length in his Essays, part 2. sect. 4. See alsO- Dr, Campbeirs Dissertation on Miracles, p. 13, 14. £d.. 2* GHAP. !!• AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 81 an event will probably happpen, such another is wholly improbable. If a medicine has proved salutary in one instance, and failed in five, a phy- sician would not choose to recommend it, except in a desperate case ; and would then consider its suc- cess as a thing rather to be wished than expected. An equal number of favourable and unfavourable instances leave the mind in a state of suspense^ without exciting the smallest degree of assurance on either side, except, perhaps, what may arise from our being more interested on the one side than on the other. A physician influenced by such evidence, would say, ^'My patient may recover, and he may die : I am sorry to say, that the for- mer event is not one whit more probable than the latter." When the favourable instances exceed the unfavourable in number, we begin to think the future event in some degree probable ; and more or less so, according to the surplus of favourable instances. A few favourable instances, without any mixture^ of unfavourable ones, render an event probable in a pretty high degree : but the favour- able experience must be at once extensive and uniform, before it can produce moral certainty. A man brought into being at maturity, and placed in a desert islaiTd, would abandon himself to despair, when he first saw the sun set, and the night come on ; for he could have no expectation that ever the day would be renewed. But he is transported with joy, when he again beholds the glorious orb appearing in the east, and the heavens and the earth illuminated as before. Pie again views the declining sun with apprehension, yet not without hope ; . the second night is less dismal than the first, but is still very vmcom for table on account of the weakness of the probability produced by one favourable instance. As the instances grow more numerous, the probability becomes stronger ^n4 82 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. Stronger : yet it may be questioned, whether a man in these circumstances would ever arrive at so high a degree of moral certainty in this matter, as we experience ; who know, not only that the sun has risen every day since we began to exist, but also that the same phenomenon has happened regularly for more than five thousand years, without failing in a single instance. The judgment of our great epic poet appears no where to more advantage than in his eighth book ; where Adam relates to the an- gel what passed in his mind immediately after his awaking into life. The following passage is at once transcendently beautiful, and philosophically iust: ** While thus I call'd, and stray'd I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld This happy light, when answer none returned, On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, Pensive 1 sat me down j there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seized My droused sense ; untroubled, though I thought I then loas passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve* .** Paradise Lost, b. 8. I 283. Adam at this time had no experience of sleep, and therefore could not, with any probability, expect that he was to recover from it. Its ap- proaches were attended with feelings similar to those he had experienced when awaking from non-exist- ence, and would naturally suggest that idea to his xnind; and as he had no reason to expect that his life was to continue, would intimate the probability that he was again upon the verge of an insensible state. * The beauty of these lines did not escape the elegant and judicious Addison ; but that author does not assign th€ reason of his approbation. Spect No. 345* CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 83 Now it is evident, from what has been already said^ that the degree of probabihty must be intui- tively perceived, or the degree of assurance spon- taneously and instinctively excited in the mind, upon the bare consideration of the instances on either side ; and that without any medium of argu- ment to connect the future event with the past experience. Reasoning may be employed in bring- ing the instances into view ; but when that is done, it is no longer necessary. And if you were to argue with a man, in order to convince him that a certain future event is not so improbable as he seems to think, you would only make him take notice of some favourable instance which he had overlooked, or endeavour to render him suspicious of the reality of some of the unfavourable in- stances ; leaving it to himself to estimate the de- gree of probability. If he continue refractory, notwithstanding that his view of the subject is the same with yours, he can be reasoned with in no other way, than by your appealing to the commou sense of mankind. SECT. VII. Of Analogical Reasoning. REASONING from analogy, when traced up to its source, will be found in like manner to ter- minate in a certain instinctive propensity, implant- ed in us by our Maker, which leads us to expect, that similar causes in similar circumstances, do probably produce, or will probably produce simi- lar effects. The probability which this kind of evidence is fitted to illustrate, does, like the for- mer, admit of a vast variety of degrees, from abso- lute doubting up to moral certainty. When the 84 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I. ancient philosopher who was shipwrecked in a strange country, discovered certain geometrical figures drawn upon the sand by the sea-shore, he was naturally led to believe, with a degree of assur- ance not inferior to moral certainty, that the coun- try was inhabited by men, some of whom were men of study and science, like himself. Had these figures been less regular, and more like the appearance of chance-work, the presumption from analogy, of the country being inhabited, would have been weaker; and had they been of such a nature as left it altogether dubious, whether they were the work of accident or of design, the evidence would have been too ambiguous to serve as a foundation for any opinion. In reasoning from analogy, we argue from a fact or thing experienced to something similar not experienced ; and from our view of the for- mer arises an opinion with regard to the lat- ter ; which opinion will be tound to imply a great- er or less degree of assurance, according as the in- stance yr (9m which we argue is more or less similar to the instance to which we argue. Why the de- gree of our assurance is determined by the degree of likeness, we cannot tell ; but we know by expe- rience, that this is the case: and by experience also we know, that our assurance, such as it is, arises immediately in the mind, whenever we fix eur attention on the circumstances in which the probable event is expected, so as to trace their re- semblance to those circumstances in which we have known a similar event to take place* A child who has been burnt with a red-hot coal, is careful to avoid touching the flame of a candle ; for as the visible qualities of the latter are like to those of the former, he expects, with a very high degree of assurance, that the effects produced by the candle operating on his fingers, will be similar to those CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 85 produced by the burning coal. And it deserves to to be remarked, that the judgment a child forms on these occasions may arise, and often doth arise, previous to education and reasoning, and while experience is very limited. Knowing that a light- ed candle is a dangerous object, he will be shy of touching a glow-worm, or a piece of wet fish shining in the dark, because of their resemblance to the flame of a candle: but as this resemblance is but imperfect, his judgment, with regard to the consequences of touching these objects, will proba- bly be more inclined to doubt, than in the former case, where the instances were more similar. Those who are acquainted with astronomy, think it extremely probable, that the planets are inhabi- ted by living creatures, on account of their being in all other respects so like to our earth. A man who thinks them not much bigger than they appear to the eye, never dreams of such a notion ; for to him they seem in every respect unlike to our earth : and there is no other way of bringing him over to the astronomer's opinion, than by explaining to him those particulars in which the planets and our earth resemble one another. As soon as he comprehends these particulars, and this resemblance, his mind of its own accord admits the probability of the new opinion, without being led to it bj^ any medium of proof, connecting the facts he hath experienced with other similar and probable facts lying beyond the reach of his experience. Such a proof indeed could not be given. If he were not convinced of the probability by the bare view of the facts, you would impute his perseverance in his old opinion, either to obstinacy, or to want of common sense ; two mental disorders for which logic provides no remedy. . 467. '* In all incidents of life we ought still to preserve our scep« ticism. If we believe that fire warms, or water refreshes, 'tis only because it costs us too mucji pains to think otherwise. Nay, if we are philosophers, it ought only to be upon scepti- cal principles." Id. p. 469. ^ *'If I must be a fool, as all those who reason or believe any thing certainly are, my follies shall at least be natural and agreeable." Id, p. 468. The inaccuracy of the expression makes it difficult to guess, whether Mr. Hume m.eans, chat all who believe any thing are certainly fools, or that all are fools who believe any thing to be certain.— Qvit whether we suppose it to have the former meaning, or the latter, /is a thing of small concern. 110 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. deep must we dig ? Is not this a sure foundation ? — I have no reason to think so, as I cannot see what is under it. Then we must dig downward in iiifiiiitum I — And why not ? You think you are arrived at certainty. This very conceit of yours is a proof that you have not gone deep enough : for you must know, that the understanding, when it acts alone, and according to its most general principles, entirely subverts itself, and leaves not the lowest degree of evidence in any proposition, either in philosophy or common lifef. This to the illiterate vulgar may seem as great a contra- diction or paradox, as if we were to talk of a man's jumping down his own throat : but we \vhose brains are heated with metaphysic, are not startled at paradoxes or contradictions, because we are ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can look upon no opinion even as more probable or more likely than anotherij:. You are no true phi- losopher if you either begin or end your inquiries with the belief of any thing. — Well, Sir, you may doubt and dispute as long as you please ; but I believe that I am come to a sure foundation : here therefore will I begin to build, for I am certain there can be no danger in trusting to the stability of that which is immoveable. — -Certain! Poor credulous fool ! Hark ye, sirrah ! you may be what the vulgar call an honest man, and a good workman; but I am certain (I mean I am in doubt whether I may not be certain) that you are t Verbatim from Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 464; 465. \ ** The intense view of these manifold contradictions and imperfections in human reason, has so wrought upon me, and heated my brain, that I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can look upon no opinion even as more pro- bable or likely than another." Treatise of Human Nature^ vol. 1, p. 466, CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTM. Ill no philosopher. Philosopher indei^d ! to take a thing of such consequence for granted, without proof, without examination ! I hold you foar to one, that I shall demonstrate a prioi't^ that this same edifice of yours will be good for nothing. I am inclined to think, that we live in too early a period to dicover any principles that will bear the examination of the latest posterity ; the world, Sir, is not yet arrived at the years of discretion ; it will be time enough, two or three thousand years hence, for men to begin to dogmatize, and affirm, that two and two are four, that a triangle is not a square, that the radii of the same circle are equal, that a whole is greater than one of its p>?rts; that ingratitude and murder are crimes, that bene- volence, justice, and fortitude, are virtues ; that fire burns, that the sun shines, that human crea- tures exist, or that there is such a thing as exist- ence. These are points which our posterity, if they be wise, will very probably reject^. These * "Perhaps we are still in too early an age of the world. to dhcovtr any principles which will bear the examination of the latest posterity." Treatise of Human Nature^ 'vol. 1. p. 473. Some perhaps may blame me for laying any stress on de- tached sentences, and for understanding these strong expres- sions in a strict signification. But it is not my invention to take any unfair advantages. I should willingly impute these absurd sentences and expressions to the author's inadvertency: but th'en I must impute the whole system to the same cause; for they imply nothing ^hat is not again" and again inculcated^ either directly or indirec .ly in Mr. Hume's writings. It is true some of them are self-contradictory, and all of them strongly display the futility of this pretended science. But who is to blame for this ? They who allow themselves to con- tradict matter of fact, ei:her in conversation or wrimig, will find it no easy matter to avoid contradicting vhemselves. — Again, if this science be so useless, and if its ifnuiility be sometimes acknowledged even by Mr. Hume himself, why, it may be said, so much zeal in confuting it ? For this plain reason, Because it is immoral and pernicious, as well as im» I. 112 , AN isSAY ON TRUTH* PART !!• / are points, which if they do not reject, they will Jbe arrant fools. This is my judgment, and I am certain it is right. I maintain, indeed, that man- kind are certain of nothing : hut I maintain, not- withstanding, that my own opinions are true. And if any body is ill-natured enough to call this a con- tradiction, I protest against his judgment, and once i for all declare, that I mean not either to contradict myself, or to acknowledge myself guilty of self- contradiction." I am well aware, that mathematical certainty is not to be expected in any science but mathematics. But I suppose that in every science, some kind of certainty is attainable, or something at least suffici- ent to command belief : and whether this rests on >elf-evident axioms, or on the evidence of sense, Memory or testimony, it is still certain to me, if I feel that I must believe it. And in every science, as well as in geometry, I presume it would be in- consistent both with logic and good sense, to take thatforanulthnateprtiidple^ -which forces ovr be- lief by its own intrinsic evidence^ and which cannot by any reasoning be rendered more evident* SECT. IL IN natural philosophy, the evidence of sense > and mathematical evidence go hand in hand ; and the one produces conviction as effectually as the other. A natural philosopher would make a poor figure, should he take it in his head to disbelieve or distrust the evidence of his senses. The time was, indeed, when matters were on a different footing ; - profitable and absurd ; and because, with all its absurdity, it has been approved and admired by sciolists, fops, and pro- fligates ; and been the occasion of much evil to individuals, and of much detriment as well as danger to society. CRAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 113 when physical truths were made out, not by expe^ riment and observation, but by dint of syllogism, or in the more compendious way of ipse dixit. But natural philosophy was then, what the philosophy of the mind in the hands of our sceptics is now, a system of sophisms, contrived for the vindication of false theories. That natural philosophers never question the evi- dence of sense, nor seek either to disprove or to correct it by reasoning, is a position, which to many may at first sight seem disputable. I foresee seve- ral objections, but shall content myself v/ith ex- amining two of the most important. And these I shall set in such a light, as will, I hope, show them to be inconclusive, and at the same time preclude all other objections. 1. Do we not, (it will be said), both in our phy- sical observations, and in the common affairs of life, reject the evidence of sight in regard to the magni- tude, extension, figure and distance of visible ob- jects, and trust to that of touch, which we know to be less fallacious? I see two buildings on the top of yonder mountain ; they seem to my eyes to be only three or four feet asunder, of a round shape, and not larger than my two thumbs : but I have been at the place, and having ascertained their distance, size and figure, by* touch or mensuration, I know, that they are square towers, forty yards asunder, and fifty feet high. Do I not in this case reject the evidence of my sight as fallacious, and trust to that of touch ? And what is it but reason that in- duces me to do so I How then can it be said, that from the evidence of sense there is no appeal to reason? — It will, however, be easy to show, that in this instance we distrust neither sight nor touch, but believe implicitly in both ; not because we can confirm their evidence by reasoning, but because 114 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. the law of our nature will not permit us to disbe- lieve their evidence. Do you perceive these two objects when you shut your eyes ? No. — It is, then, by your sight only that you perceive them ? It is.— Does your sight perceive any thing in these two objects, but a cer- tain visible magnitude, extension and figure ? No. Do you believe that these towers really appear to your eyes round, three feet asunder, and of the size of your thumbs ? Yes, I believe they have that appearance to my eyes. — And do you not also believe that, to the eyes of all men v/ho see as you do, and look at these objects from the place in which you now stand, they have the very same appearance? I have no reason to think otherwise.— -You be- lieve, then, that the visible magnitude, distance and shape, of these towers, is what it appears to be t or do you think that your eyes see wrong ? Be sure, the visible magnitude, figure and distance, are not different from what I perceive them to be. — But how do you know that what you perceive by sight either exists, or is what it appears to be ? Not by reasoning, but by instinct. Of the visible magnitude, extension, and figure, our eyes give us a true perception. It is a law of nature, That v/hile visible objects retire from the eye, the visible magnitude becomes less as the dis- tance becomes greater : and the proportion between the increasing distance and the decreasing visible magnitude is so well known, that the visible magni- tude of any given object placed at a given distance, may be ascertained with geometrical exactness. The true visible magnitude of objects is therefore a fixed and determinate thing ; that is, the visible magnitude of the same object, at the same distance, is always the same : we believe, thac it is what our eyes perceive it to be; if we did not, the art of perspective would be impossible ; at least we could CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 115 not acknowledge, that there Is any truth m that art. But the object (you repl)/) seems no bigger than your thumb ; and you believe it to be fifty feet high; how is that sensation reconcileable with this belief? You may easily reconcile them, by recollecting, (what is obvious enough,) that the object of your belief is the tangible magnitude ; that of your sen- sation, the visible. The visible magnitude is a per- ception of sense ; and we have seen already, that it is conceived to be a true, and not a fallacious per- ception : the tangible magnitude you do not at pre- sent perceive by sense ; you only remember it ; or perhaps you infer it from the visible, in consequence of your knowledge of the laws of perspective. When we see a lump of salt at a little distance, we may perhaps take it for sugar. Is this a false sen- sation? is it a proof, either that our taste, or that our sight is fallacious ? No : this is only an erro- neous opinion formed upon a true sensation. A false sensation we cannot suppose it to be, without supposing that tastes are perceived by the eyes. And you cannot believe your opinion of the mag- nitude of these towers to be a false sensation, ex- cept you believe that tangible qualities are per- ceived by sight. When we speak of the magnitude of objects, we generally mean the tangible magni- tude, which is no more an object of sight than of hearing. For it is demonstrated in optics, that a person endued with sight, but so fettered from his birth as to have no opportunity of gaining expe- rience by touch, could never form any distinct notion of the distance, extension, magnitude, or figure of any thing. These are perceptions, not ot sight, but of touch. We judge of them indeed from the visible appearance; but it is only in consequence of our having found, that certain changes in the visible appearance do always accompany^ and intimate, cer- L 2 116 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II, tain changes in the tangible distance, magnitude, and figure. Visible magnitude, and tangible mag- nitude are quite different things; the former changes with every change of distance, the latter is always the same ; the one is perceived by one sense, the other by another. So that when you say, I see a tower two miles off, which appears no bigger than my thumb, and yet I believe it to be a thousand times bigger than my whole body ; — your sensa- tion is perfectly consistent with your belief: the contrariety is merely verbal ; for the word bigger^ in the first clause refers to visible, in the second, to tangible magnitude. There is here no more real inconsistency than if you v/ere to say, I see a coni- cal body of a white colour, and I believe it to have a sweet taste. If there be any difficulty in con- ceiving this, it must arise from our being more apt to confound the objects of sight and touch, than those of any other two senses. As the knowledge of tangible qualities is of more consequence to our happiness and preservation, than the knowledge of visible appearances which in themselves can do neither good nor harm ; we fix our principal atten- tion on the tangible magnitude, the visible appear- ance serving only as a sign by which we judge of it : the mind makes an instantaneous transition from the visible appearance, which it overlooks, to the tangible quality, on which it fixeth its attention; and the sign is as little attended to, in comparison of the thing signified, as the shape of written cha- racters, or the sound of articulate voices, in com- parison of the ideas which the writer or speaker means to communicate. But all men (it may be said) do not thus distin- guish between visible and tangible magnitude. Many philosophers have affirmed, and the vulgar still believe, that magnitude is a sensation both of sight and touch : those people, therefore, when sen- CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, 117 sible of the diminished visible appearance of the distant object, must suppose, that the perception they receive by sight of the magnitude of that ob- ject, is really a false perception ; because different from what they should receive by touch, or even by sight, if the object were within three yards of their eyes. At any rate, they must suppose, that what their sight perceives concerning magnitudes, is not always to be depended on ; and thereforther. Suppose a man, on seeing the coloured rays thrown off from the- prism, should think the whole a delusion, and owing to the nature of the medium through which the light is transmitted, not to the nature of the light itself; and should tell me, that 122 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II, he could as easily believe my face to be of a green colour, because it has that appearance when view- led through a pair of green spectacles, as that every ray of light consists of seven distinct colours, be- cause it has that appearance when transmitted through a prism : — would it be possible to get the better of this prejudice, without reasoning.^ I an- swer, it would not: but the reasoning used must all depend upon experiments ; every one of which must be rejected, if the testimony of sense be not admitted as decisive. I could think of several ex- pedients, in the way of appeals to sense, by which it might be possible to reconcile him to the Newr tonian theory of light ; but, in the w^ay of argu- ment, I cannot devise a single one. On an imperfect view of nature, false opinions may be formed: but these may be rectified by a more perfect view ; or, which in many cases will amount to the same thing, by the testimony of those who have obtained a more perfect view. The powers of man operate only within a certain sphere ; and till an object be brought within that sphere, it is impossible for them to perceive it. I see a small object, which I know to be a man at the distance of half a mile ; but cannot discern his complection, whether it be black or fair; nor the colour of his clothes, whether it be brown, or black, or blue ; nor his nose, whether it be long or short : I cannot even discern whether he has any nose at all: and his whole body seems to be of one uniform black colour. Perhaps I am so foolish as to infer, that therefore the man has no nose : that his clothes are black, and his face of the colour of his clothes. On going up to him, I discover that he is a hand- some man, of a fair complexion, dressed in blue. Surely it is not reasoning that sets me right in this instance; but it is a perfect view of an object that rectifies a wrong opinion formed upon an imperfect view. CHAP. I. AN ESSA^ ON TRI^TH. 123 I hear the sound of a musical instrument at a dis- tance ; but hear it so faintly, that I cannot deter- mine whether it be that of a trumpet, a hau.tboy, a German flute, a French horn, or a common flute. I want to know from what instrument the sound ' proceeds ; and I have no opportunity of knowing from the information of others. Shall I stand still w^here I am, and reason about it? no j that would make me no wiser. I go forward to the place from whence the sound seems to come : and by and by I . can perceive, that the sound is different from that of a French horn and of a trumpet: but as yet I cannot determine whether it be the sound of a haut- boy or of a flute. I go on a little further, and no\Ar I plainly distinguish the sound of a flute ; but per- haps I shall not be able to know whether it be a German or common flute, except by means of my other senses, that is, by handling or looking at it. It is needlees to multiply instances for illus- trating the difference between a perfect and an im- perfect view of an object, and for shewing, that the mind trusts to the former, but distrusts the lat- ter. For obtaining a perfect view, (or perfect perception), we sometimes employ the same sense in a nearer situation; sometimes we make use of instruments, as ear-trumpets, spectacles, micros- copes, telescopes ; sometimes we have recourse to the testimony of our other senses, or of the senses of other men: in a word, we rectify or ascertain the evidence of senfee by the evidence of sense : but we never subject the evidence of sense to the cognisance of reason: for in sensations that are imperfect or indistinct, reasoning could neither supply what is deficient, nor ascertain what is in- definite. Our internal, as well as external senses, may be^ and often are, imposed upon, by inaccurate views of their objects. We may in sincerity of heart ap- M 124 -^N ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II# plaud, and afterwards condemn the same person for the same action, according to the different lights in which that action is presented to our moral faculty. Just now I hear a report, that a human body is found dead in the neighbouring fields, with marks of violence upon it. Here a confused sus- picion arises in my mind of murder committed} but my conscience suspends its judgment till the true state of the case be better known : I am not as yet in a condition to perceive those qualities of this event which ascertain the morality of the action ; no more than I can perceive the beauty or deform- ity of a face while it is veiled, or at too great distance. A passenger informs me, that a person has been apprehended who confesses himself the murderer; my moral faculty instantly suggests, that this person has committed a crime worthy of a most severe and exemplary punishment. By and by I learn, from what I think good authority, that my former information is false, for that the man now dead had made an unprovoked assult on the other, who was thus driven to the necessity of kill- ing him in self-defence ; my conscience immedi- ately acquits the man-slayer. I send a messenger to make particular enquiry into this affair; who brings word that the man was accidentally killed by a fowler shooting at a bird, who before he fired, had been at all possible pains to discover whether any human creature was in the way; but that the deceased was in slich a situation that he could not be discovered. I regret the accident; but I blame neither party. Afterwards I learn, that this fowler was a careless fellow, and though he had no bad intention, was not at due pains to observe whether any human creature would be hurt by his firing. I blame his negligence with great sevdVity, but I cannot charge him with guilt so enormous as that of murder. Here my moral faculty passes CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. ^ 125 several different judgments on the same actioii; and each of them is right, and will be in its turn believ- ed to be right, and trusted to accordingly, as long as the information which gave rise to it is believed to be true. I say the same action^ not the same intention; a different intention appears in the man- slayer from each information ; and it is only the in- tention and affections that the moral faculty con- demns or approves. To discover the intention wherewith actions are performed, reasoning is of- ten necessary; but the design of such reasoning, is not to sway or inform the conscience, but only to ascertain those circumstances or qualities of the action, from which the intention of the agent may appear. When this becomes manifest, the consci- ence of mankind immediately and intuitively de- clares it to be virtuous, or vitious, or innocent. — These different judgments of the moral faculty are so far from proving it fallacious, that they prove the contrary : at least this faculty would be ex- tremely fallacious, and absolutely useless, if, in the case now supposed, it did not form different judgments. — While the intention of the agent is wholly unknown, an action is upon the same footing in regard to its morality, as a human face, in re- gard to its beauty, while it is veiled, or at too great distance. By removing the veil, or walking up to the object, we perceive its beauty and features; and by reasoning, or by information concerning the circumstances of the action, we are enabled to discover or infer the intention of the agent. The act of removing the veil, or of walking up to the object, has no effect on the eye ; nor has the reasoning any effect on the conscience. — While we view an object through an impure or unequal medi- um, through a pair of green spectacles, or an uneven pane of glass, we see it discoloured or distorted; just so, when misrepresented, a good action may seem evil, and an evil action good. 126 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. If we be suspicious of the representation, if we be aware of tfie improper medium, we distrust the appearance accordingly; if not, we do, and must believe it genuine. It is by reasoning from our experience of human actions and their causes, or by the testimony of credible witnesses, that we de- tect misrepresentations concerning moral conduct ; and it is also by the experience of our own senses, or by our belief in those who have had such expe- rience, that we become sensible of inequalities or obscurities in the medium through which we con- template visible objects. In either case the evi- dence of sense is admitted as finally decisive. A distempered sense, as well as an impure or unequal medium, may doubtless communicate false sen- sations ; but we are never imposed upon by them in matters of consequence. A person in a fever may think honey bitter, and the smell of a rose of- fensive ; but the delusion is of so short continuance, and of so singular a kind, that it can do no harm, either to him, or to the cause of truth. To a jaun- diced eye, the whole creation may seem tincitured with yellow; but the patient's former experience, and his belief in the testimony of others, who assure him, that they perceive no alteration in the colour of bodies, and tbjit the alteration he per- ceives is a common attendant on his disease, will sufficiently guard him against mistakes. If he were to distrust the evidence of sense, he could believe neither his own experience nor their testimony. He corrects, or at least becomes sensible of the false sensation, by means of sensations formerly received when he v/as in health ; that is, he cor- rects the evidence of an ill-informed sense by that of a well-informed sense, or by the declaration of those whose senses he believes to be better inform- ted than his own. Still it is plain, that from the evidence of sense there can be uq appeal to reason^ CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 127 We conclude, therefore, that in natural philo- sophy our sensations are not supposed fallacious, and that reasoning is not carried beyond the princi- ples of comnaon sense. And yet in this science full scope is given to impartial investigation. If, after the first experimental process, you suspect that the object may be set in a still fairer light, I know no law in logic, or in good sense, that can or ought to hinder you from making a new trial: but if this new trial turn to no account; if the object still appear the same, or if it appear less distinct than before, it were folly not to remain satisfied with the first trial. Newton trans- mitted one of the refracted primitive colours through a second prism, thinking it not impossible that this colour might resolve itself into other still more simple, but finding it remain unaltered, he was satisfied that the primitive colours are not compounded, but simple, and that the experimental process had already been carried far enough. — I take in my hand a perspective glass, whose tube may be lengthened and shortened at pleasure ; and I am to find out by my own industry, that precise length at which the maker designed it should be used in looking at distant objects. I make several trials to no purpose ; the distant object appears not at alL or but very confusedly. I hold one end of the perspective at my eye with one hand, and with the other I gradually shorten the tube, having first drawn it out to its greatest length. At first all is confusion; now I can discern the inequalities of the mountains in the horizon ; now the object I am in quest of begins to appear ; it becomes less and less confused; I see it distinctly. I continue to shorten the tube ; the object loses its distinct ap- pearance, and begins to relapse into its former ob- scurity. After many trials, I find that my per- spective exhibits no distinct appearance except M 2 128 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART 11* when it is of one particular length. Here then I fix; I have adjusted the glasses according to the intention of the maker ; and I believe that the dis- tinct appearance is an accurate representation of the distant object, or at least more accurate than any of the confused appearances ; of which I be- lieve, that they come the nearer to truth, the more they approach to distinctness, and that the most con- fused representations are the most false. It was not by reasoning about the fallacy of the senses, and prosecuting a train of argument be- yond the principles of common sense, that men dis- covered the true svstem of the world. In the ■J earlier ages, when they imagined the sun to be lit- tle bigger than the mountain beyond which he dis- appeared, it was absurd to think of the earth revolving round him. But in process of time, in- genious men, who applied themselves to the obser- ivation of the heavenly bodies?, not with a view to confute popular errors, for they could not as yet even suspect the vulgar opinion to be erroneous, but merely to gratify their own laudable curiosity, began to conceive more exalted notions of the mun- dane system. They soon distinguished the planets from the fixed stars, by observing the former to be more variable in their appearances. After a long succession of years, employed, not in reason- ing, but attentive observation, they came at last to understand the motions of the sun and moon so well, that, to the utter astonishment of the vulgar, they began to calculate eclipses : a degree of know-* ledge they could not attain, without being con- vinced, that the sun and moon are very large bo- dies, placed at very great distances from the earth, the former much larger, and more remote than the latter. Thus far it is impossible to shew, that any reasoning had been employed by those ancient astronomers^ either to prove or to disprove, the evi- GHAP I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 129 dence of the senses. On the contrary, they must all along have taken it for granted, that the senses are not fallacious ; supposing only, (what it is cer- tainly agreeable to common sense to suppose), that the experience of a diligent observer is more to be depended on, than that of the inattentive multitude. As men grew more and more acquainted with the motions and appearances of the heavenly bodies, they became more and more sensible, that the sun, earth, and planets, bear some very peculiar rela- tion to one another : and having learned from the phenomena of eclipses, and some other natural appearances, that the sun is bigger than the earth ^, they might, without absurdity, begin to suspect, that possibly the sun might be the centre round which the earth, and other planets revolve ; espe- cially, considering the magnificence of that glorious luminary, and the wonderful and delightful effects produced by the influence of his beams, while at the same time he seems not to derive any advan- tage from the earth, or other planets. . But if the matter had been carried no further, no reasoning from these circumstances could ever have amount- ed to a proof of the point in question, though it might breed a faint presumption in its favour. For still the evidence of sense seemed ^o contra- dict it; an evidence which nothing can disprove, but the evidence of sense placed in circumstances more favourable to accurate observation. The in- vention of optical glasses did at last furnish the * Heraclitus maintained, that the sun is but a foot broad ; Anaxagoras, that he is much larger than the country of Pelo- ponnesus; and Epicurus, that he is no bigger than he appears to the eye. But the astronomers of antiquity maintained that he is bigger than the earth ; eight times, according to the Egyptians; eighteen times, according to Eratosthenes^; three hundred times, according to Cleomedes; one thousand and fifty times, according to Hipparchus ; and iifty-niiie thousand three hundred and nineteen times, according to Possidonius. 130 AN ESSAY ON TRITTH. PART II, means of making experiments with regard to this matter, and of putting man in circumstances more favourable to accurate observation; and thus the point was brought to the test of common sense. And now, we not only know, that the Copernican theory is true, for every person who understands it is convinced of its truth ; but we also know to what causes the universal belief of the contrary doctrine is to be ascribed. We know that men, considering the remote situation of our earth, and the imperfection of our senses, could not have judged otherwise than they did, till that imperfec- tion was remedied, either by accuracy of observa- tion, or by the invention of optical instruments. We speak not of revelation; which has indeed been vouchsafed to man for the regulation of his moral conduct ; but which it would be presump- tion to expect or desire, merely for the gratifica- tion of curiosity. It is evident, from what has been said, that in natural philosophy, as well as in mathematics, no argumentation is prosecuted beyond self-evident principles ; that as in the latter all reasoning termi- nates in intuition, so in the former all reasoning terminates in the evidence of sense. And as, in mathematics, that is accounted an intuitive axiom, which is of itself so clear and evident, that it can- not be illustrated or inforced by any medium of proof, and which must be believed, and is in fact believed by all on its own authority ; so, in natural philosophy, that is accounted an ultimate principle, undeniable and unquestionable, which is supported by the evidence of a well-informed sense, placed so as to perceive its object. In mathematics, that is accounted false doctrine which is inconsistent with any self-evident principle ; in natural philosophy, that is rejected which contradicts matter of fact, or, in other words, which is repugnant to the CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 131 appearances of things as perceived bj^ external sense. Regulated by this criterion of truth, mathematics and natural philosophy have become of all sciences the most respectable in point of certainty. Hence I am encouraged to hope, that if the same criterion were universally adopted in the philosophy of the mind, the science of human nature, instead of being, as at present, a chaos of uncertainty and contradic- tion, would acquire a considerable degree of cer- tainty, perspicuity, and order. If truth be at all at- tainable in this science, (and if it is not attainable, why should we trouble our heads about it ?) surely it must be attained by the same means as in those other sciences. For of the eternal relations and fit- ' nesses of things, we know nothing : all that we know of truth and falsehood is, that our constitu- tion determines us in some cases to believe, in others to disbelieve ; and that to us is truth which we feel that we must believe ; and that to us is falsehood which we feel that we must disbelieve^. There are innumerable truths with which we are wholly unacquainted ; there are perhaps some truths which we reject as falsehood ; but, surely, we must both know dnd believe a truth before we can ac- knowledge it as such : and belief is nothing but a perception, or, if you please, an action of the mind, the peculiar nature of which we all know by in- ternal feeling or consciousness, and cannot possibly know in any other way. I therefore would propose, " That in the philo- sophy of human nature, as well as in physics and mathematics, principles be examined according to the standard of common sense, and be admitted or rejected as they are found to agree or disagree with it :" more explicitly, " That those doctrines be rejected which contradict matter of fact, that is, * See the next section. 132 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART ll. which are repugnant to the appearances of things, as perceived by external and internal sense ; and that those principles be accounted ultimate, undeniable, and unquestionable, which are warranted by the evidence of a well-informed sense, placed in cir- cumstances favourable to a distinct perception of its object." But what do you mean by a xvell informed sense? How shall I know, that any particular faculty of mine is not defective, depraved, or fallacious ? — Perhaps it is not easy, at least it would furnish mat- ter for too long a digression, to give a full answer to this question. Nor is it at present necessary ; because it will appear in the sequel, that, however difficult it may be in some cases to distinguish a first principle, yet there are certain marks, by which those reasonings that tend to the subversion of a first principle, may be detected, at least in all cases of importance. However, we shall offer a remark or two in answer to the question ; which, though they should not appear perfectly unexceptionable, may yet throw light on the subject, and serve to prepare the mind of the reader for some things that are to follow. First, then, if I wanted to certify myself concern- ing any particular sense or percipient faculty, that it is neither depraved nor defective, I should attend to the feelings or sensations communicated by it ; and observe whether they be clear and definite, and such as I am, of my own accord, disposed to confide in without hesitation, as true, genuine, and natural. If they are such, I should certainly act upon them till I had some positive reason to think them falla- cious. — Secondly, I consider, whether the sensa- tions received by this faculty be uniformly similar in similar circumstances : if they are not, I should suspect, either that it is now depraved, or was for- merly so ; and if I had no other criterion to direct me, should be much at a loss to know whether I CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 133 ought to trust the former or the latter experience ; perhaps I should distrust both. If they are uni- form, if my present and my past experience do ex- actly coincide, I shall then be disposed to think them both right. — Thirdly, I consider, whether, in acting upon the supposition that the faculty in question is well-informed, I have ever been misled to my hurt or inconvenience ; if not, then have I good reason to think, that I was not mistaken when I formed that supposition, and that this faculty is really what I supposed it to be. — Fourthly, If the sensations communicated by this facuky be incom- patible with one another, or irreconcileable to the perceptions of my other faculties, I should suspect a depravation of the former : for the laws of nature, as far as my experience goes, are consistent ; and I have a natural tendency to believe that they are universally so. It is therefore a presumption, that my faculties are well-informed, when the percep- tions of one are quite consistent with those of the rest, and with one another. — In a state of soli- tude I must satisfy myself with these criteria; but in society I have access to another criterion, which in many cases, will be reckoned more decisive than any of these, and which, in concurrence with these, will be sufficient to banish doubt from every ra- tional mind. I compare my sensations and notions with those of other men ; and if I find a perfect coincidence, I shall then be satisfied that my sensa- tions are according to the law of human nature, and therefore right. — To illustrate all this by an ex- ample : I want to know whether my sense of seeing be a well-informed faculty. — First, I have reason to think that it is : because my eyes communicate to me such sensations as I, of my own accord, am dis- posed to confide in. There is something in my perceptions of sight so distinct, and so definite. 134 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. x PART lU that I do not find myself in the least disposed to doubt whether things be what my eyes represent them. Even the obscurer informations of this faculty carry along with them their own evidence, and my belief. I am confident, that the sun arid moon are round, as they appear to be, that the rain- bow is arched, that grass is green, snow white, and the heavens azure ; and this 1 should have believed, though I had passed all my days in solitude, and never known any thing of other animals, or their senses. — Secondly, I find that my notions of the visible qualities of bodies are the same now they have always been. If this were not the case ; if where I saw greenness yesterday I were to see yel- low to-day, I should be apt to suppose, that my sight had suffered some depravation, except I had reason to think, that the object had really changed colour. But indeed we have so strong a tendency to believe our senses, that I doubt not but in such a case I should be more disposed to suspect a change in the object than in niy eye-sight: much would de- pend on the circumstances of the case. We rub our eyes when we want to look at any thing with accu- racy; for we know by experience, that motes, and cloudy specks, which may be removed by rubbing,^ do sometimes float in the eye, and hurt the sights But if the alteration of the visible qualities in the external object be such as we have never experien- ced from a depravation of the organ, we should be inclined to trust our eye-sight, rather than to sup- pose that the external object has remained unalter- ed. — Thirdly, no evil consequence has ever hap- pened to me when acting upon the supposition, that my faculty of seeing is a well informed sense : whereas, if I were to act on the contrary supposi- tion, I should soon have cause to regret my scepti- cism. I see a post in my way ; by turning a little aside, I pass it unhurt : but if I had supposed my CHAP. I.< AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 133i sight fallacious, and gone straight forward, a bloody- nose, or something worse, might have been the cotlsequence. If, when I bend my course obliquely in order to avoid the post that seems to stand di- rectly before me, I were to run my head full against it, I should instantly suspect a depravation in my eye-sight : but as I never experience any misfor- tune of this kind, I believe that my sense of seeing is a well-informed faculty, — Fourthly, the percep- tions received by this sense are perfectly consistent with one another, and with the perceptions received by my other faculties. When I see the appearance of a solid body in my way, my touch always con- firms the testimony of my sight ; if it did not, I should suspect a fallacy in one or other of those senses, perhaps in both. When I look on a line of soldiers, they all seem standing perpendicular, as I myself stand ; but if the men at the extremities of the line, without leaning against any thing, were to appear as if they formed an angle of forty-five de- grees with the earth's surface, I should suspect some unaccountable obliquity in my vision. — Last- ly, after the experience of several years, after all the knowledge I have been able to gather, concern- ing the sensations of other men, from reading, dis- course, and observation, I have no reason to think their sensations of sight different from mine. Every body who uses the English language, calls snow white, and grass green ; and it would be in the* highest degree absurd to suppose, that what they call the sensation of whiteness, is not the same sen- sation which I call by that name. Some few, per- haps, see differently from me. A man in the jaun- dice sees that rose yellow which I see red; a short- sighted man sees that picture confusedly at the distance of three yards, which I see distinctly. But far the greater part of mankind see as I do, and differently from those few individuals ; whose N 136 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART IJ. sense of seeing I therefore consider as less per- fect than mine. Nay, though the generality of mankind were short-sighted, still it would be true, that we, who are not so, have the most perfect sight ; for our sight is more accurate in its percep- tions, qualifies us better for the business of life, and coincides more exactly, or at least more immediate- ly, with the sensations received by the other senses. Yet the short-sighted, as well as they who have the acutest sight, trust to this sense, as soon as they are placed in a situation favourable to accurate observa- tion : all the difference is, that it is more difficult, and often more inconvenient, for short-sighted per- sons to place themselves in such a situation. Still it should be remembered that a perfect sense and a zuell'injhrmed sense are not synonymous terms. We call a sense well-informed^ in opposition to one that IS depraved OY fallacious. Perfection wcidimperfec- tion of sense are relative terms ; implying a com- parison, either between different men, in respect of the acuteness of their senses and faculties ; or be- tween any sense, as it appears in a particular man, and the degree of acuteness which is found to be- long to that sense as it appears in the generality of mankind. There are two telescopes, one of which gives a distinct view of an object at two, and the other at four miles distance ; both are equally well- informed^ (if I may so speak); that is, equally true in their representations ; but the one is much more imperfect than the other. I do not, at present, offer any further illustrations of these criteria oi a well-informed sense. The reader who examines them by the rules of common prudence, will perhaps be satisfied with them : at least I am apt to think, that few will suspect the veracity of their faculties when they stand this test. But let it not be supposed, that I mean to insinu- ate, that a map never trusts his faculties till he first CHAP. I. An essay on truth. 137 examine them after this manner : we believe our senses previously to all reflection or examination ; and we never disbelieve them, but upon the au- thority of our senses placed in circumstances more favourable to accurate observation. '' If the reader is not satisfied widi these criteria^ it is no great matter. The question concerning a well-informed sense it is not perhaps easy to answer. I offer these remarks rather as hints to be attended to by other adventurers in this part of science, than as a complete solution of the difficulty. If it were not that I presume some advantage may be derived from them in this way, I should have omitted them altogether ; for on them does not depend the doc- trine I mean to establish. SECT. III. The subject continued. Intuitive truths distinguish^ able into classes* OF the notions attending the perception of cer- tain truth, we formerly mentioned this as one, " That in regard to such truth, we suppose we should entertain the same sentiments and belief if we were perfectly acquainted with all nature^." Lest it should be thought that we mean to extend this no- tion too far, it seems proper to introduce here the following remarks. 1. The axioms and demonstrated conclusions of geometry are certainly true, and certainly agreeable to the nature of things. Thus we judge of them at present ; and thus we necessarily believe, that we should judge of them, even if we were endued with omniscience and infallibility. It is a natural dictate * See part 1. chap. 1» 138 JIN ErSSAY ON TRUTH. PART 11. of Jiuman understanding, that the contrary of these truths must for ever remain absurd and impossible, and that omnipotence itself cannot change their na- ture ; thbugh it might so deprave our judgment as to make us disbelieve or not perceive them=^. 2. That my body exists, and is endued with a thinking, active, and permanent principle, which I call my soul ; — That the material world hath such an existence as the vulgar ascribe to it, that is, a real separate existence, to which its being perceiv- ed is in no wise necessary: — That the men, beasts, houses, and mountains, we see and feel around us, are not imaginary, but real and material beings, and such, in respect of shape and tangible magni- tude, as they appear to our senses ; I am not only conscious that I believe, but also certain, that such is the nature of these things, and that, thus far at least, in regard to the nature of these things, an omniscient and infallible being cannot think me mis- * Some authors are of opinion, tha;t aU mathematical truth is resolvable into identical propositions. The following re- mark to this purpose is taken from a Dissertation on Evidence, printed at Berlin in the year 1764. *'Omnes mathematicorum propositiones sunt identicse, et reprsesent antur hac formula, a=a. Sunt veritates identicse, sub varia forma expr^ssae, imo ipsum, quod dicitur, contradictionis principium, vario modo enunciatum et involutum ; siquidem omnes hujus generis pro- positiones revera in eo contineantur. Secundum nostrani autem intelligendi facultatem ea est propositionum differentia, quod quaedam longa ratiociniorum serie, alia autem breviori >ia, ad primum omnium principium reducantur, et in illud i*esolvantur. Sic. v. g. propositio 2+2=4, statim hue cedit l-|.l_|.ja-l=l + l+.l^-l, i.e. idem; et, proprie loquendo, hoc modo enunciari debet. — Si contingat, adesse vel existere quatuor entia ; turn existunt quatuor entia ; nam de existentia non agunt geometrse, sed eahyppthetice tantum subintelligitur. Inde summa oritur certitudo ratiocinia perspicienti ; observat nempe idearum identitatem ; et hsec est evidentia, assensum immediate cogens, quam mathematicam aut geometricam Vocamus. Mathesi tamen sua natura priva non est et propria; t)ritur etenim ex identitatis perceptione, quae locum habere potest, etiamsi ideje nou reprsesentent extensum/' CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 139 taken. Of these truths I am so certain, that I scru- ple not to pronounce eV'ery being in an error who is of a contrary sentiment concerning them. For sup- pose an inteUigent creature, an angel for instance, to believe that there are not in the universe any such things as this solar system, this earth, these moun- tains, houses, animals, this being whom I call my- self; could I, by any eifort, bring myself to believe, that his opinion is a true one, and implies a proposition expressive of something agreeable to the nature of things ? It is impossible and incon- ceivable. My understanding intimates, that such an opinion would as certainly be false, as it is false that two and two are equal to ten, or that things equal to one and the same thing are unequal to one another. Yet this is an opinion which omnipotence could render true, by annihilating the v/hole of this solar system ; or make me admit as true, by de- priving me of understanding. But so long as tliis solar system remains unannihilated, and my intel- lect undepraved, there is not a geometrical axiom more true, or more evident to me, than that this solar system, and all the objects above-mentioned, do exist; there is not a geometrical axiom that has any better title to be accounted a principle of human knowledge; there is not a geometrical axiom against which it is more absurd, more unreasonable, more unphilosophical, to argue. 3. That snow is white, fire hoty gold yellow, and sugar sweet, we believe, to be certainly true. These bodies affect our eyes, touch, and palate, in a peculiar manner; and we have no reason to think, that they affect the organs of dif- ferent men in a different manner : on the contrary^ we believe, with full assurance, founded on suffi- cient reason, that they affect the senses of all men m the same manner. The peculiar sensation we receive from them depends on three things ; on the n2 , ■ 140 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II.. nature of the object perceived, on the nature of the organ of perception, and on the nature of the percipient being. Of each of these things the Deity could change the nature ; and make sugar bitter, fire cold, snow black, and gold green. But till this be done ; in other words, while things continue as they are, it is as certainly true, that snow is white, fire hot, &c. as that two and two are equal to four, or a whole greater than a part. If we suppose, that snow, notwithstanding its appearance is black, or not white, we must also suppose, that our senses and intellect are fallacious faculties ; and therefore cannot admit any thing as true which has no better evidence than that of sense and intellect. If a creature of a different nature from man were to say, that snow is black, and hot, I should reply, (supposing him to use these words in the same sense in which I use them). It may possibly have that appearance to your senses, but it has not that appearance to mine : it may therefore, in re- gard to your faculties be true ; and if so, it ought to constitute a part of your philosophy : but of my philosophy it cannot constitute a part, because, in respect of my faculties, it is false, being contrary to fact and experience. If the same being were to affirm, that a part is equal to a whole, I should answer, it is impossible; none can think so but those who are destitute of understanding. If he were to say, the solar system explained by New- ton does not exist, I should answer, you are mis- taken; if your knowledge were not imperfect, you would think otherwise ; I am certain that it does exist. — We see, by thus stating the case, what is the difference between these three sorts of certaintv. But still in respect to man, these three sorts are ail equally evident, equally certain, and equally un- susceptible of confutation : and none of them can -fee disbelieved or doubted by us, except we disa- / . CHAP, I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 141 VOW the distinction between truth and falsehood, by supposing our faculties fallacious. 4. Of moral truth, we connot bring ourselves to think that the Deity's notions (pardon the expres- sion) are contrary to ours. If we believe Him om- niscient and infallible, can we also believe, that, in his sight, cruelty, injustice, and ingratitude, are worthy of reward and praise, and the opposite vir- tues of blame and punishment? It is absolutely im- possible. The one belief destroys the other. — . Common sense declares, that a being possessed of perfect knowledge, can no more entertain such a sentiment, than I with my eyes open can just now avoid seeing the light. If a created being were, in all cases, to think that virtue which we think vice, and that vice which we think virtue, what would be our notions of his intelligence ? Should we not|, without hesitation, pronounce him irrational, and his opinion an absurdity? The absurdity indeed is conceivable, and may be exppressed in words that imply no contradiction : but that any being should think in this manner, and yet not think wrong, is to us as perfectly inconceivable as that the same thing should be both true and false^. We speak here of the great and leading princi- ples of moral duty. Many subordinate duties there * Locke says that Moral Truth is susceptible of demon- stration. If by this he means, that it admits of evidence sufficient to satisfy every rational mind, he is certainly in the right. But if by the word demonstration be meant, what Ge- ometricians mean by it, a proof that may be resolved into one . or more self-evident axioms, whose contraries are inconceiv- able, we confess that neither moral nor historical truth is sus- ceptible of demonstration, nor many other truths of the most unquestionable certainty. However, it is not to be supposed, that Locke intended to use this word in any stricter sense than what is fixed by general practice ; according to which, every p oof that brings indubitable evidence to the reason or gensejs may properly be called a demonstration. 142 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. are, which result from the form of particular governments, and from particular modes of educa- tion ; and there are some, which, though admira- bly adapted to the improvement and perfection of our nature, are yet so sublime, that the natural conscience of mankind, unassisted by revelation, can hardly be supposed capable of discovering them : but in regard to justice, gratitude, and those other virtues, of which no rational beings (so far as we know) are or can be ignorant, it is impos- sible for us to believe that our sentiments are wrong. I say, there are duties of which no rati- onal beings can be ignorant: for if moral sentiments be the result of a bias, or vis insita^ communicated to the rational soul by its Creator, then must they be as universal as rational nature, and as perma- nent as the effects of any other natural law; and it is as absurd to argue against their truth or authenti- city, as against the reality of any other matter of fact. But several authors of note have denied this inference, as well as the principle whence it pro- ceeds ; or at least, by calling the one in question, have endeavoured to make us sceptical in regard to the other. They have endeavoured to prove, that moral sentiment is different in different countries, and under different forms of religion, government, and manners; that therefore, in respect of it, there is no vis insita in the mind ; for that, previous to education, we are in a state of perfect indiffer- ence a!$ to virtue and vice : and that an opposite course of education would have made us think that virtue which now we think vice, and that vice which now we think virtue ; in a word, that moral senti- ments are as much the effect of custom and human artifice, as our taste in dress, furniture, and the modes of conversation. In proof of this doctrine, a multitude of facts have been brought together, to show the prodigious diversity, and even contrariety, CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 14$ that takes place in the moral opinions of different ages, nations, and climates. Of all our modern sceptical notions, this seemed to me one of the most dangerous. For my own satisfaction, and for the sake of those whom it is my duty to instruct, I have been at great pains to examine it; and the exami- nation has turned out to my entire satisfaction. But the materials I have collected on this subject are far too bulky to be inserted here. The sceptical arguments are founded, not only on mistakes con- cerning the nature of virtue, but also on some his- torical facts mis-represented, and on others so equivocal, and bare of circumstances, that they really have no meaning. From the number of his- torical, as well as philosophical disquisitions, which I found it necessary to introduce, the inquiry con- cerning the universality and immutability of moral truth, which I thought to have comprised in a few pages, soon swelled into a treatise. I meant to have finished it some years ago; but have hitherto been prevented by a number of unforeseen acci- dents. 5. Of probable truth, a superior being may think differently from us, and yet be in the right. For every proposition is either true or false ; and every probable past event has either happened, or not happened, as every probable future event will either happen or not happen. From the imperfec- tion of our faculties, and from the narrowness of our experience, we may judge wrong, when we think that a certain event has happened or will hap- ^ pen: and a being of a more extensive experience, and more perfect understanding, may see that we judge wrong ; for that the event in question never did happen, nor ever will. Yet it does not follow, that a man may either prudently or rationally dis- trust his probable notions as fallacious. That which man, by the constitution of his nature, is 144 An essay on truth. part ij. determined to admit as probable, he ought to admit as probable ; for, in regard to man, that is proba- ble truth. Not to admit it probable, when at the same time he must believe it to be so, is mere ob- stinacy : and not to believe that probable, which all other men who have the same view of all the cir- cumstances, believe probable, would be ascribed to caprice, or want of understanding. If one in such a case were refractory, we should naturally ask. How comes it, that you think differently from us in this matter ? have you any reason tp think us in a mistake ? is your knowledge of the circum- stances from which we infer the probability of this event, different from ours ? do you know any thing about it, of which we are ignorant? If he reply in the negative, and yet persist in contradicting our opinion, we should certainly think him an unrea- sonable man. Every thing, therefore, which to human creatures seems intuitively probable, is to be accounted one of the first principles of probable human knov/ledge. A human creature act^ an irrational part when he argues against it; and if he refuse to acknowledge it probable, he cannot, without contradicting himself, acquiesce in any oth&r human probability whatsoever. It appears from what has been said, that there are various kinds of intuitive certainty; and that those who will not allow any truth to be self-evi- dent, except what has all the characteristics of a geometrical axiom, are much mistaken. From the view we have given of this subject, it would be easy to reduce these intuitive certainties into classes ; but this is not necessary on the present occasion. We are here treating of the nature and immutability of truth as perceived by human facul- ties. Whatever intuitive proposition man, by the law of his nature, must believe as certain, or as probable, is, in regard to him, certain or probable ClWiP* II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 145 truth ; and must constitute a part of human know- ledge, and remain unalterably the same, as long as the human constitution remains unaltered. And we must often repeat, that he who attempts to dis- prove such intuitive truth, or to make men seep* tical in regard to it, acts a part as inconsistent with sound reasoning, and as effectually subversive of all human knowledge, as if he attempted to disprove truths which he knew to be agreeable to the eternal and necessary relations of things. Whether the Deity can or cannot change these truths into false- hoods, we need not seek to determine, because it is of no consequence to us to know. It becomes us better to inquire, with humility and reverence, into what he has done, than vainly, and perhaps pre- sumptuously, into what he can do. Whatever he has been pleased to establish in the universe, is as certainly established, as if it were in itself unchange- able and from eternity; and, while he wills it to re- main what he made it, is as permanent as his own nature. CHAP. II. The preceding' theory rejected by sceptical writers* WE have seen, that mathematicians and natural philosophers do, in effect, acknowledge the dis- tinction between common sense and reason, as above explained ; admitting the dictates of the for- mer as ultimate and unquestionable principles, and never attempting either to prove or to disprove them by reasoning. If we enquire a little into the genius of modern scepticism, we shall see, that, there, a very different plan of investigation has been adopted. This will best appear by instances taken from that pretended philosophy. But first let us offer a few general remarks. 146 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. SECT. I. General Observations. Rise and Progress of Mo- dern Scepticisjn. 1. THE Cartesian philosophy is to be consider- ed as the ground- work of modern scepticism. The source of Locke's reasoning against the separate existence of the secondary quaUties of matter, of Berkeley's reasoning against the existence of a material world, and of Hume's reasoning against the existence both of soul and body, may be found in the first part of the Principia of Des Cartes. Yet nothing seems to have been further from the intention of this worthy and most ingenious phi- losopher, than to give countenance to error, irre- ligion, or licentiousness. He begins with doubting; but it is with a view to arrive at conviction : his successors (some of them at least) the further they advance in their systems, become more and more sceptical ; and at length the reader is told, to his infinite pleasure and emolument, that the under- standing, acting alone, does entirely subvert itself, and leaves not the lowest degree of evidence in any proposition whatsoever"^. The first thing a philosopher ought to do, ac- cording to Des Cartes, is to divest himself of all prejudices, and all his former opinions ; to reject the evidence of sense, of intuition, and of mathe- matical demonstration ; to suppose that there is no God, nor heaven, nor earth; and that man has nei- ther hands, nor feet, nor body ; — in a word, he is to doubt of every thing of which it is possible to doubt, and to be persuaded, that every thing is false which can possibly be conceived to be doubt- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. I. p. 464. CjrAP il. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, 14^ fill. Now there Is only one point of which it Is possible not to doubt, namely. That I, the person who doubts, am thinking. This proposition, there- fore, It/link^ and this only, may be taken for grant- ed; and nothing else whatsoever is to be believed without proof. What is to be expected from this strange intro- duction? s^One or other of these two things must necessariljr follow. This author will either believe nothing at all, or if he believe any thing, it must be upon the recommendation of false and sophisti- cal reasoning."^ But Des Cartes is no sceptic in his moral reasonings, therefore, in his moral rea- sonings he must be a sophister. Let us see whether we can make good this charge against him by facts. Taking it for granted, that he thinks, he thence infers, that he exists: Eg-o cogtto^ ergo sum: I think ; therefore, I exist. Now tliere cannot be thought where there is no existence ; before he take it for granted that he thinks, he must also take it for granted that he exists. This argument, there-^ fore, proceeds on a supposition, that the thing to be proved is true j in other words, it is a sophism, a petitio principti. Even supposing it possible to conceive thinking without at the same time con- ceiving existence, still this is no conclusive argu- ment, except it could be shown, that it is more evi- dent to a man that he thinks, than that he exists ; for in every true proof a less evident proposition is inferred from one that is more evident. But / think and / exist^ are equally evident. Therefore this is no true proof. — To set an example of false reasoning in the very foundation of a system, can hardly fail to have bad consequences* * See the first part of this Essa>% o 148 ' AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. . PART 11. Having in this manner established his own exist- ence, our author next proceeds to prove the vera- city of his faculties ; that is, to show by reasoning that what he thinks true, is really true, and that what he thinks false is really false.- He would have done better to have taken this also for granted : the argument by which he attempts to prove it, does more honour to his heart than to his understanding. It is indeed a sophism of the same kind with the former, in which he takes that for granted which he means to prove. It runs thus : We are consci- ous, that we have in our minds the idea of a being infinitely perfect, intelligent and powerful, neces- sarily existent and eternal. This idea differs from all our other ideas in two respects : — It implies th notions of eternal and necessary existence, and infinite perfection ; — it neither is, nor can be, a l .- tion of the imagination ; and therefore exhibits no chimera or imaginary being, but a true and immu-' table nature, which must of necessity exist, because necessary existence is comprehended in the idea of it. Therefore there is a God, necessarily existent, infinitely wise, powerful and true, and possessed of all perfection. This Being is the maker of us and of all our faculties ; he cannot deceive, because he is infinitely perfect; therefore our faculties are true, and not fallacious^. — ^The same argument has been adopted by others, particularly by Dr. Bar- row. '' Cartesius," says that pious and learned author, ''hath well observed, that, to make us ab- solutely certain of our having attained the truth, it is required to be known, whether our faculties of apprehending and judging the truth, be true j— • which can only be known from the power, good- aess and truth of our Creatorf . ^Cartesii Princip. Philos. part 1. sec. 14. 15. 1^ t Lect, Gcomcte. T. CHA?. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 149 I object not to this argument for the divine exist- ence, drawn from the idea of an all-perfect being, of which the human mind. is conscious ; though per- haps this is not the most unexceptionable method of evincing that great truth. I allow, that when a man believes a God, he cannot, without absurdity and impiety, deny or question the veracity of his own faculties ; and that to acknowledge a distinc- tion between truA and falsehood, implies a persua- sion, that certain laws are established in the uni- verse, on which the natures of all created things depend, which (to me at least) is incomprehensible, except on the supposition of a supreme, intelligent, directing cause. But I acquiesce in these princi- '^'^s, because I take the veracity of my faculties V granted ; and this I feel myself necessitated to cit^- because I feel it to be the law of my nature which I cannot possibly counteract. Proceeding then upon this innate and irresistible notion, that my faculties are true, I infer by the justest reason- ing, that God exists : and the evidence for this great truth is so clear and convincing, that I can- not withstand its force, if I believe any thing else •^vhatsoever. " Des Cartes argues in a different manner. Be- cause God exists, says he, and is perfect, there- fore my faculties are true. Right. — But how do you know that God exists? I infer it from the second principle of my philosophy, already esta- blished, Cogito ergo sum. — How do you know that your inference is just? It satisfies my reason. — Your argument proceeds on a supposition, that what satisfies your reason is true? It does. — Do you not then take it for granted, that your reason is not a fallacious, but a true faculty? This must be taken for granted, otherwise the argument is good for nothing. And if so, your argument pro- ceeds on a supposition, that the point to be proved 150 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* PART It. is true. In a word, you pretend to prove the truth of our faculties, by an argument which evidently and necessarily supposes their truth. Your philo- sophy is built on sophisms ; how then can it be ac- cording to common sense ? As this philosopher doubted where he ought to have been confident, so he is often confident where he ought to doubt. He admits not his own exist- ence, till he thinks he has proved it ; yet his system is replete with hypotheses taken for granted, with- out proof, almost without examination. He sets out with the profession of universal scepticism; but many of his theories are founded in the most unphilosophical credulity. Had he taken a little more for granted, he would have proved a great deal more : he takes almost nothing for granted, (I speak of what he professes, not of what he per- forms) ; and therefore he proves nothing. In geometry, however, he is rational and ingenious; there are some curious remarks in his discourse on the passions ; his physics are fanciful and plausible ; his treatise on music perspicuous, though superficiah a lively imagination seems to have been his chief talent ; want of knowledge in the grounds of evi*- dence his principal defect. We are informed by Father Malebranche, that the senses were at first as honest faculties as one could desire to be endued with, till after they were debauched by original sin; an adventure, from which they contracted such an invincible propen- sity to cheating, that they are now continully lying in wait to deceive us. But there is in man, it seems, a certain clear-sighted, stout, old faculty, called reason^ which, without being deceived by appearances, keeps an eye upon the rogues, and often proves too cunning for them. Malebranche therefore adviseth us to doubt with all our might. ^"^ If a man has onlv learned to doubt," says he. CHAP. II. AN E3SAY ON TRUTH. 151 **let him not imagine that he has made an incon- siderable progress^." Progress! in whati* — in science ? Is it not a contradiction, or at least an inconsistency, in terms, to say that a man makes progress in science by doubtingf ? If one were to ask the way to Dublin, and to receive for answer, that he ought first of all to sit down ; for that if he had only learned- to sit still, he might be assured, that he had made no inconsiderable progress in his journey-; I suppose he would hardly trouble his informer with a second question. It is true, this author makes a distinction be- tween the doubts of passion, brutality, and blind- ness, and those of prudence, distrust, and pene- tration: the former, says he, are the doubts of Academics and Atheists ; the latter are the doubts of a true philosopherf. It is true also, that he allows us to give an entire consent to the things that appear entirely evident ||. But he adopts, notwith- standing, the principles of Des Cartes' first philo- sophy. That we ought to begin our inquiries with universal doubt, taking only our own consciousness for granted, and thence inferring our existence, and the existence of God, and proving, from the divine veracity, that our faculties are not fallacious.-^ i Whereever it is possible that a deluding spirit may deceive us, there, says Malebranche, we ought to * Qu'on ne s'imagine pas, que I'on ait peu avance, si on a seulemeut appris a douter. La Recherche de la Verity ^ liv, 1. ch. 20- f Est contrarietas inter verba ^c/'uz, el dubia sunt. Des Cartes, Object, et Respons. septimce. :f Recherche de la Verite, liv. 1. ch. 20. sect. 3. II Qu'on ne doit jamais donner un consentement entier, qu, a des choses qui paroissent entierement evidentes. ■ Recherche de la Verite^ li'c. 1. ch. 20. sect. 3. — This is indeed a rational scepticism, such as Aristotle recommends, and ever/ friend to truth must approve. ^ 02 15^ AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II» doubt^ ; but a deluding spirit may deceive us wherever our memory is employed in reasoning ; therefore, in all such reasonings, there may be error. And if so, there may be error in reasoning of every kind ; for without memory there can be no reasoning: but in the truths discovered by a single glace, (co72noissances de simple vu'e)^ such as this, That two and two make four, it is not possible, for a deluding god, (dieu trompeur)^ however pow- erful, to deceive him. — It is easy to see, that such doctrines must lead either to sophistry or to uni- versal scepticism, or rather to both. For if a de- monstrated conclusion may be false, for any thing I know to the contrary, an axiom may be so too : my belief of the first is not less necessary, than my belief of the last. Intuition is, of all evidence, the clearest, and most immediately convincing; but demonstration produces absolute certainty, and full conviction, in the mind of him who understands it|, — Malebranche, indeed, acknowledges, that we may reason when once we know that God is no de- ceiver: but this, he says, must be known atLpne glance, (that is, I suppose, intuitively), or it can- not be known at all ; for all reasoning on this sub- ject may be fallaciousij:. But I do not pretend to unfold all the false and sceptical principles of this author's philosophy. To confess the truth, I do not well understand it. He is generally mystical : often, if I mistake not, self-contradictory; and his genius is strangly warp- ed by a superstitious veneration for the absurdities ' * Id. liv. 6. ch. 6. •]-See the second chapter of the first book of the latter Ana- lytics of Aristotle. The great philosopher holds, that intui- tion and demonstration are equally productive of knowledge ; though the former be the first, the clearest, and most imme- diate evidence. \ Recherche de la Veri'te, liv« 6. ch. 6, €HAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 153 of Popery. He rejects the evidence of sense, be- cause it seems repugnant to his reason ; he admits transubstantiation, though certainly repugnant both to reason and sense. Of Aristotle, and Seneca, and the other ancient philosophers, he says that their lights are nothing but thick darkness, and their most illustrious virtues, nothing but intoler- able pride^. Fy, M. Malebranche! Popery with all its absurdities, requires not from its adherents so uncandid, and so illiberal a declaration. An Aristotelian, of your own religion and country, and nearly of your own age, delivers a very differ- ent doctrine ; '^Aristotle, supported by philosophy, hath ascended by the steps of motion even to the knowledge of one first mover, who is God. In order to arrive at the knowledge of divine things, we must learn science, otherwise we shall fall into error. Philosophy and theology bear testimony to, and mutually confirm each other, and produce a more perfect knowledge of the truth ; the latter teaches what we ought to believe, and reason makes us believe it more easily, and with greater steadiness. They are two lights, which, by their union, yield a more brilliant lustre than either of them could yield singly, or both if separated, Moses learned the philosophy of the Egyptians, and Daniel in Babylon that of the Chaldeansf." This learned and judicious Peripatetic goes on to show, that Jerome, Augustine, Gregory of Nice, and Clemens Alexandrinus, entertained the same honourable opinion of the ancient Philosophers. — If Deg Cartes, and his disciple Malebranche, had studied the ancients more, and Indulged their own imagination less, they would have made a better * Recherche de la Verite, liv. 6. ch. 6, fBouju. Introduction i la Philosophie, chap, 9, Pans 1614. folio. 154 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. figure in philosophy, and done much more service to mankind. But it was their aim to decry the an- cients as much as possible: and ever since their time, it has been too much the fashion to overlook ^he discoveries of former ages, as altogether unne- cessary to the improvement of the present. Male- branche often inveighs against Aristotle in parti- cular, with the most virulent bitterness ; and affects, on all occasions, to treat him with supreme con- tempt^. Had this great ancient employed his ge- nius in the subversion of virtue, or in establishing tenets incompatible with the principles of natural religion, he would have deserved the severest censure. But Malebranche lays nothing of this kind to his charge ; he only finds him guilty of some speculative errors in natural philosophy. — Aristotle w^as not exempted from that fallibility which is incident to human nature; yet it would not be amiss, if our modern wits would study him a little before they venture to decide so positively on his abilities and character. It is observable, that he is most admired by those who best under- stand him. Now, the contrary is true of our mod- ern sceptics : they are most admired by those who read them least, and who take their characters upon trust, as they find them delivered in coffee-houses, and drawing-rooms, and other places of fashionable conversation, whose doctrines do so much honour to the virtue and good sense of this enlightened age. I have sometimes heard the principles of the So- cratic school virged as a precedent to justify our modern sceptics. Modern scepticism is of tv/o kinds, unlike in their nature, though the one be the foundation of the other. Des Cartes begins with universal doubt, that in the end he may arrive * See Recherche de la Verite, liv. 6^ ch. 5. GHAP. il. AM ESSAY ©N TRUTHT. 155 at conviction ; Hume begins with hypothesis, and ends with universal doubt. Now, does not Aris- totle propose, that all investigation should begin with doubt? And does not Socrates affirm, that he knows nothing certainly except his own igno- rance ? AH this is true. Aristotle proposes, that inves- tigation should begin with doubt^. He compares doubting to a knot, which it is the end of investi- gation to disintangle ; and there can be no solution, where there is no knot or difficulty to be solved* But Aristotle's doubt is quite of a different nature from that of Des Cartes. The former admits as true whatever is self-evident, without seeking to prove it^ nay, he affirms, that those men who attempt to prove self-evident principles, or who think that such principles may be proved, are igno- rant of the nature of proof f . It differs also most essentially from the scepticism of Mr. Hume. The reasonings of this author all terminate in doubt ; whereas Aristotle's constant aim is, to dis- cover truth, and establish conviction. He defines philosophy the Science of Truth; divides it into speculative and practical; and expressly declares that truth is the end of the former, and action of the latter:):. Cicero, in order to compliment a sect, of which, hov/ever, he was not a consistent disciple, ascribes to Socrates a very high degree of scepticism [| ; * Aristot. Metaphys. lib. 3.cap. 1. Avsiv ^' ex, £S"/y xyvovvrx Toy oscTfjiOV^ f Aristot. Metaphys. lib. 4. cap. 4, MQta^hys* lib, 2. cap, 1> JjCic. Academ.lib. 1. cap» 12» 156 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. making his principles nearly the same with those of the New Academy, who professed to believe, that all things are so involved in darkness, that nothing can be known with certainty. The only difference between them, according to Cicero, in t|iis place, is, that Socrates affirmed, that he knew nothing but his own ignorance: whereas Arcesilas and the rest of the New Academy, held, that man could know nothing, not even his own ignorance, with certainty^ and therefore, that affirmation of every kind is absurd and unphilosophical. But we need not take this on the authority of Cicero ; as we have access to the same original authors from whom he received his information. And if we consult them, particularly Xenophon, the most unexceptionable of them all in point of veracity, we shall find, that the reasonings, the sentiments, and the conduct of Socrates, are altogether incom- patible with scepticism. The first science that engaged his attention was natural philosophy; which, as it was taught in those days by Zeno, Anaxagoras, and Xenophanes, had very little to recommend it to a man of sense and candovir. Socrates soon relinquished it, from a persuasion that it was at once unprofitable, and founded in uncertainty ; and employed the rest of his life in the cultivation of moral philosophy, a science which to him seemed more satisfactory in its evi- dence, and more useful in its application^. So far was he from being sceptical in regard to the princi- ples of moral duty, that he inculcated them with earnestness wherever he found opportunity, and thought it incumbent on every man to make him- self acquainted with them. In his reasonings, in- deed, he did not formally lay down any principle, because it was his method to deduce his conclusions * Xenoph. Memorab.lib. 1. cap. 1. et lib. 4 c«ip. 7. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. to'f from what was acknowledged by his antagonist : but is this any proof, that he himself did not believe his own conclusions ? Read the story of his life ; his conduct never belied his principles : observe the manners of our sceptics ; their conduct and princi- ples do mutually and invariably bely one another. Do you seek still more convincing evidence, that Socrates felt, believed, and avowed the truth? Read the defence he made before his judges. See you there any signs of doubt, hesitation, or fear? any suspicion of the possibility of his being in the WTong? any dissimulation, sophistry, or art? See you not, on the contrary, the utmost plainness and simplicity, the calmest and most deliberate forti- tude, and that noble assurance which so well be- comes the cause of truth and virtue ? Few men have shewn so firm an attachment to truth, as to lay down their life for its sake : yet this did Socrates. He made no external profession of any philosophi- cal creed; but in his death, and through the whole of his life, he shewed the steadiest adherence to principle ; and his principles were all consistent* Xenophon has recorded many of these ; and telis us, in regard to some of them, that Socrates scrupled not to call those men fools who differed from his opinion^. — The sophists of his age were not solicitous to discover truth, but only to confute an adversary^, and reason plausibly in behalf of their theories. That they might have the ampler field for this sort of speculation, they confined themselves, like our modem metaphysicians, to general topics, such as the nature of good, of beau- ty, and the like ; on which one may say a great many things with little meaning, and offer a variety of arguments without one word of truth. Socrates did much to discredit this abuse of science. In his *Kenoph. Memorab* lib. 1. cap. 1. passim. ,153 AN ESSAY ON TRUT:^. PART II. conversatibn he did not trouble himself with the niceties of artificial o^vic. His aim was, not to confute an adversary, nor to guard against that verbal confutation which the sophists were perpetu- ally attempting, but to do good to those with whom he conversed, by laying their duty before them in a striking and persuasive manner"^. He was not fond of reasoning on abstract subjects, especially when he had to do with a sophist ; well knowing, that this could answer no other purpose than to fur- nish matter for endless and unprofitable logomachy. When, therefore, Aristippus asked him concern- ing the nature of goodf , with a view to confute, or at least tease him, with quibbling evasions, So- crates declined to answer in general terms ; and de- sired the sophist to limit his question, by confining the word good to -some particular thing. Do you ask me, says he, what is good for a fever, for sore eyes, or for hunger? No, says the sophist. If, replies he, you ask me concerning the nature of a good which is good for no particular purpose, I tell you once for all, that I know of none such, and have no desires after it. In like manner, he an- swers to the general question concerning beauty, by desiring his adversary to confine himself to some particular kind of beauty. What would the great moralist have thought of those modern meta* physical treatises, which seem to have nothing else in view, but to contrive vain and questionable definitions of general ideas ! Simple, certain, and useful truth, was the constant, and the only ob- ject of this philosopher's inquiry. Ba^o^ASvos TBS erf vovrar u. 37, 38, 39. R 1 84 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART 11* selves to be guided by the sensible impression, we shall be alntiost always mistaken^." Our avithor/ then proposes, in- brief, the substance of that ar- gument against the existence of body which Berke- ley afterwards took such pains to illustrate ; and and discovers, upon the whole, that, as a point of philosophy the existence of matter is but a pro- bability, to which we have it in our power either to assent, or not to assent, as we please. In a word, it is by the faith, and not by evidence, that we become certain of this truth. This is not a proper place for analysing the pas- sage above quoted, otherwise it would be easy to show, that the doctrine (such as it is) which the author here delivers, is not reconcileable with other parts of his system. But I only mean to observe, that what is here asserted of our belief in the existence of body being not necessary, but such as we may with-hold. if we please, is contrary to my experience. That my body, and this pen and paper, and the other corporeal objects around me, do really exist, is to me as evident, as that my soul exists ; it is indeed so evident, that no** *Dieun€ parle a Tesprlt, etneroblige a^roire qu'en deux jnanieres: par revidence, et par la foi. Je demeure d'accord, qwe la Joi oblige 3. croire qu*il y a des corps; mais pour Tevi- dence, il est certain, qu'elle n'est point entiere, et que nous ne sommes point invinciblement portez a croire qu'il y ait quelqu' autre chose que Dieu et notre esprit. II est vray, que nous avons un penchant extreme a croire qu'il y a des corps qui nous environnent. Je I'accorde a M- Des Cartes: mais ce penchant, tout naturel qu'il est, ne nous y force point par evidence; il nous y incline seulementpar impression. Or nous ne devons suivre dans nos jugemens fibres que la lumiere et I'evidence ; et si nous nous laissons conduire a I'impression sensible, nous nous tromperons presque toujours. Tom. 3, p, 39. — La foi I translate Tbefoitb, because I suppose the author to mean, the Christian or Catholic foitb. If we take it to denote foith or belief in general, I know not how we shall make any sense of the passage. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 18j^ thing is or can be more so ; and though my life de- pended upon the consequence, I could not, by any effort, bring myself to entertain a doubt of it, even for a single moment. I must therefore affirm, that the existence of matter can no moi*e be disproved by argument, than the existence of myself, or than the truth of a self-evident axiom in geometry. To argue against it, is to set reason in opposition to com- mon sense ; which is indirectly to subvert the foundation of all just reasoning, and to call in question the distinction between truth and false- hood. We are told, however, that a great philo- sopher has actually demonstrated, that matter does not exist* Demonstrated! truly this is a piece of strange information. At this rate, any falsehood may be proved to be true, and any truth to be false. For it is impossible, that any truth should be more evident to me than this, that matifer does exist* Let us see, however, what Berkeley has to say in behalf of this extraordinary doctrine. It' is natural for demonstration, and for all sound rea- soning, to produce conviction, or at least some degree of assent, in the person who attends to it, and understands it. I read The Principles of Hit- man Knowledge^ together with The Dialogues be- tween Hylas and Philonous. The arguments I confess, are subtle, and well adapted to the pur- pose of puzzling and confounding. Perhaps I will not undertake to confute them. Perhaps I am busy, or indolent, or unacquainted with the prin- ciples of this philosophy, or little versed in your metaphysical logic. But am I convinced, from this pretended demonstration, that m.atter has no existence but as an idea in the mind? Not in the least ; my belief now is precisely the same as be- fore. — Is it unphilosophical, not to be convinced by arguments which I am not abje to confute ^ 186 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. Perhaps it may, but I cannot help it : you may, if you please, strike me off the list of philosophers, as a non-conformist ; you may call me unpliant, imreasonable, unfashionable, and a man with whom it is not worth while to argue : but till the frame of my nature be unhinged, and a new set of faculties given me, I cannot believe this strange doctrine, because it is perfectly incredible. But if I were permitted to propose one clownish question, I would fain ask. Where is the harm of my continu- ing in my old opinion, and believing, with the rest of the world, that I am not the only created being in the universe, but that there are many others, whose existence is as independent on me, as mine is on them ? Where is the harm of my believing, that if I were to fall dow^n yonder precipice, and break my neck, I should be no more a man of this world? My neck. Sir, may be an idea to you, but to me it is a reality, and an important one too. Where is the harm of my believing, that if in this severe weather, I were to neglect to throw (what you call) the idea of a coat over the ideas of my shoulders, the idea of cold would produce the idea of such pain and disorder as might possibly termi- nate in my real death? What great offence shall I commit against God or man, church or state, phi- losophy or common sense, if I continue to believe, that material food will nourish me, though the idea of it will not; that the real sun will warm and en- lighten me, though the liveliest idea of him will do neither; and that, if I would obtain true peace of mind and self-approbation, I must not only form ideas of compassion, justice, and generosity, but also really exert those virtues in external performance? What harm is there in all this? — O! no harm at all. Sir; — ^but — the truth, — ^the truth,— will you shut your eyes against the truth? — No honest man ever will : convince me that your doctrine is true, and I will instantly embrace it. — Have I not convinced CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 187 thee, thou obstinate, unaccountable, inexorable ?— Answer my arguments, if thou canst. — Alas, Sir, you have given me arguments in abundance, but you have not given me conviction ! and if your argu- ments produce no conviction, they are worth no- thing to me. They are like counterfeit bank-bills ; some of which are so dexterously forged, that nei- ther your eye nor mine can detect them : yet a thousand of tliem would go for nothing at the bank; and even the paper-maker would allow me more handsomely for old rags. You need not give your- self the trouble to tell me, that I ought to be con- vinced : I ought to be convinced only when I feel conviction ; when I feel no conviction, I ought not to be convinced.- — It has been observed of some doctrines and reasonings, that their extreme absur- dity prevents their admitting a rational confutation* What? am I to believe such doctrine? am I to be convinced by such reasoning? Now, I never heard of any doctrine more scandalously absurd, than this of the non-existence of matter. There is not a fiction In the Persian tales that I could not as easily believe ; the silliest conceit of the most con- temptible superstition that ever disgraced human nature, is not more shocking to common sense, is not more repugnant to every principle of human belief. And must I admit this jargon for truth, be- cause I cannot confute the arguments of a man who is a more subtle disputant than I ? Does phi- losophy require this of me ? Then it must suppose, that truth is as variable as the fancies, the charac- ters, and the intellectual abilities of men, and that there is no such thing in nature as common sense. But all this, I shall perhaps be told, is but child- ish cavil, and unphilosophical declamation. What if, after all, this very doctrine be believed, and the sophistry (as you call it) of Berkeley be admitted as sound reasoning, and legitimate proof ? What. 188 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II,. then becomes of your common sense, and your in- stinctive convictions ? — What then, do you ask ? Then indeed I acknowledge the fact to be very ex- traordinary ; and I cannot help being in some pain about the consequences, which must be important and fatal. If a man, out of vanity, or from a de- sire of being in the fashion, or in order to pass for wonderfully wise, shall say, that Berkeley's doc- trine is true, while at the same time his belief is precisely the same with mine it is well ; I leave him to enjoy the fruits of his hypocrisy, which will no doubt contribute mightily to his improvement in candour, happiness, and wisdom. If a man pro- fessing this doctrine act like other men in the com- mon affairs of life, I will not believe his profession to be sincere. For this doctrine, by removing bo- dy out of the universe, makes a total change in the circumstances of men; and therefore if it is not merely verbal, must produce a total change in their conduct. When a man is only turned out of his house, or stripped of his clothes, or robbed of his money, he must change his behaviour, and act differently from other men, who enjoy these advantages. Persuade a^man that he is a beggar and a vagabond, and you shall instantly see him change his manners. If your arguments against the existence of matter have ever carried convic- tion along with them, they must at the same time have produced a much more extraordinary change of conduct ; but if they have produced no change of conduct, I insist on it, they have never carried conviction along with them, whatever vehemence of protestation men may have used in avowing such conviction. If you say, that though a man's understanding be convinced, there are certain in- stincts in his nature that will not permit him to al- ter his conduct ; or, if he did, the rest of the world would account him a mad-man ; by the first apo- CHAP. II. AN- ESSAY ON TRUTH* 1^9 logy, you allow the belief of the non-existence of body to be inconsistent with the laws of nature ; by the second, to be inconsistent with common sense. But if a man be convinced, that matter has no existence, and believe this strange tenet as steadi- ly, and with as little distrust, as I believe the con- trary ; he will, I am afraid, have but little reason to applaud himself on this new acquisition in science; he will soon find, it had been better for him to have reasoned, and believed, and acted^ like the rest of the world. If he fall down a pre- cipice, or be trampled under foot by horses, it will avail him little, that he once had the honour to be a disciple of Berkeley, and to believe that those dangerous objects are nothing but ideas in the mind. And yet, if such a man be seen to avoid a precipice, or to get out of the way of a coach and six horses at fall speed, he acts as inconsistently • with his belief, as if he ran away from the picture of an angry man, even while he believed it to be a i picture. Supposing his life preserved by the care of friends, or by the strength of natural instinct urging him to act contrary to his belief; yet will this belief cost him dear. For if the plainest evi- dence, and fullest conviction, be certainly fallaci- ous, I beg to be informed, what kind of evidence, and what degree of conviction, may reasonably be depended on. If nature be a juggler by trade, is it for us, poor purblind reptiles, to attempt to pene- trate the mysteries of her art, and take upon us to decide, when it is she presents a true, and when a false appearance ! I will not say, however, that this man runs a greater risk of universal scepti« cism, than of universal credulity. Either the one or the other, or both, must be his portion; and either the one or the other would be sufficient to imbitter my whole life, and to disqualify me for 190 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART IT. every duty of a rational creature. He who can be- lieve against common sense, and against the clear- est evidence, and against the fullest conviction, in any one case, may do the same in any other; con- sequently he may become the dupe of every wrangler who is more acute than he ; and then, if he is not entirely secluded from mankind, his liberty, and happiness, are gone for ever. Indeed a cheer- ful temper, strong habits of virtue, and the compa- ny of the v/ise and good, may still save him from perdition, if he have no temptations nor difficulties to encounter. But it is the end of every useful art, to teach us to surmount difficulties, not to disquali- fy us for attempting them. Men have been known to live many years in a warm chamber, after they were become too delicate to bear the open air; but who will say, that such a habit of body is de- sirable? what physician will recommend to the healthy such a regimen as would produce it ? But, that I may no longer suppose, what I main^ tain to be impossible, that mankind in general, or even one rational being, could, by force of argu- ment, be convinced, that this absurd doctrine is true ; — what if all men were in one instant deprived of their understanding by Almighty power, and made to believe, that matter has no existence but as an idea in the mind, all other earthly things re- maining as they are ? — Doubtless this catastrophe would, according to our metaphysicians, throw a wonderful light on all the parts of knowledge. I pretend not even to guess at the number, extent, or quality, of astonishing discoveries that would then start forth into view. But of this I am cer- tain, that in less than a month after, there could not, without another miracle, be one human crea- ture alive on the face of the earth. Berkeley foresaw, and has done what be could to obviate, some of these objections. There are GHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 191 two points which he has taken great pains to prove* The first is, That his system differs not from the belief of the rest of mankind ; the second, That our conduct cannot be in the least affected by our disbelief of the existence of a material world. 1. As to the first, it is certainly *false. Mn Hume himself seems willing to give it up. I have known many who could not answer Berkeley's ar- guments ; I never knew one who believed his doc- trine. I have mentioned it to some who were un- acquainted with philosophy, and therefore could not be supposed to have any bias in favour of either system ; they all treated it as most contemp- tible jargon, and what no man in his senses ever did or could believe. I have carefully attended to the effects produced by it upon my own mind ; and it appears to me at this moment, as when I first heard it, incredible and incomprehensible. I say incomprehensible: for though, by reading it over and over, I have got a set of phrases and argu« ments by heart, which would' enable me, if I were so disposed, to talk, and argue, and write, " about it and about it ;" yet, when I lay systems and syl- logisms aside, when I enter on any part of the bu- siness of life, or when I refer the matter to the un- biassed decision of my own mind, I plainly see^ that I had no distinct meaning to my words when I said, that the material world has no existence but in the mind that perceives it. In a word, if this author had asserted, that I and all mankind ac- knowledge and believe the Arabian Nighfs Enter- tainment to be a true history, I could not have had any better reason contradicting this, " That Berke- ley's principles in regard to the existence of mat- ter, differ not from the belief of the rest of man- kind." 2. In behalf of the second point he argues, *' That nothing gives us an interest in the material 193 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. FART 11-. world, except the feelings pleasant or painful which accompany our perceptions ; that these perceptions are the same, whether we believe the material world to exist or not to exist ; consequently, that our pleasant or painful feelings are also the same ; and therefore, that our conduct, which depends on our feelings and perceptions, must be the same, whether we believe or disbelieve the existence of matter.'' But if it be certain, that by the law of our nature we are unavoidably determined to believe that mat- ter exists^ and to act upon this belief, (and nothing, I think is more certain), how can it be imagined, that a contrary belief would produce no alteration in our conduct and sentiments? Surely the laws of our nature are not such trifles, as that it would be a matter of perfect indiiference, whether we act and think agreeably to them or not ? I believe that matter exists ; — I must believe that matter exists ; — I must continually act upon this belief; such is the law of my constitution. Suppose my consti- tution changed in this respect, all other things re- maining as they are ; would there then be no change in my sentiments and conduct? If there would not, then is this law of nature, in the first place, useless, because men could do as well without it ; secondly, inconvenient, because its end is to keep us igno- rant of the truth ; and, thirdly, absurd, because in- sufficient for answering its end, the Bishop of Cloyne, and others, having, it seems, discovered the truth in spite of it. Is this according to the usual economy of Nature ? Does this language become her servants and interpreters ? Is it pos- sible to devise any sentiments or maxims more subversive of truth, and more repugnant to the spi- rit of true philosophy ? Further: All external objects have some qualities in common i but between an external object and ai^ CHAP. !!• AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 19 cy idea, or thought of the mind, there is not, there can- not possibly be, any resemblance. A grain of sand, and the globe of the earth ; a burning coal, and a lump of ice ; a drop of ink, and a sheet of white paper, resemble each other, in being extended, solid^ figured, coloured, and divisible ; but a thought or idea has no extension, solidity, figure, colour, nor divisibility : so that no two external objects can be so unlike, as an external object and (what philoso- phers call) the idea of it. Now we are taught by Berkeley, that external objects, (that is, the things we take for external objects) are nothing but ideas in our minds ; in other words, that they are in every respect different from what they appear to be. This candle, it seems, hath not one of those quali- ties it appears to have : it is not white, nor lumi^ nous, nor round, nor divisible, nor extended ; for to an idea of the mind, not one of these qualities can possibly belong. How then shall I know what it really is ? From what it seems to be, I can conclude nothing ; no more than a blind man, by handling a bit of black wax, can judge of the colour of snow^ or the visible appearance of the starry heavens. The candle may be an Egyptian pyramid, the king of Prussia, a mad dog, or nothing at all : it may be the island of Madagascar, Saturn's ring, or one of the Pleiades, for any thing I know, or can ever know to the contrary, except you allow me to judge of its nature from its appearance ; which, however, I cannot reasonably do, if its appearance and nature are in every respect so different and unlike as not to have one single quality in common. I must there- fore believe it to be, what it appears to be, a real, corporeal, external object, and so reject Berke- ley's system ; or I never can, with any shadow of reason, believe any thing whatsoever concerning it. Will it yet be said, that the belief of this system cannot in the least aScct our sentiments and con-- 194 An essay on truth. part ii. duct ? With equal truth may it be said, that New- ton's conduct and sentiments would not have been in the least affected by his being metamorphosed into an idiot, or a pillar of salt. Some readers may perhaps be dissatisfied with this reasoning, on account of the ambiguity of the words external object and idea ; which, however, the assertors of the non-existence of matter have not as yet fully explained. Others may think that I must have misunderstood the author; for that he was too acute a logician to leave his system exposed to objections so decisive, and so obvious. To gra- tify such readers, I will not insist on these objec- tions. That I may have misunderstood the author's doctrine, is not only possible, but highly probable ; nay, I have reason to think, that it was not perfect- ly understood even by himself. For did not Berke- ley write his Principles of Human Knowledge^ with this express view, (which does him gre .1 ho- nour), to banish scepticism both from science and from religion ? Was he not sanguine in his expec- tations of success ? And has not the event proved, that he was egregiously mistaken ? For is it not evident, from the use to which later authors have applied it, that his system leads directly to atheism and universal scepticism ? And if a machine disap- point its inventor so far as to produce effects con- trary to those he wished, intended, and expected ; may we not, without breach of charity, conclude, that he did not perfectly understand his plan ? At any rate, it appears from this fact, that our author did not foresee all the objections to which his theory is liable. He did not foresee that it might be made the foundation of a sceptical system ; if he had, we know he would have renounced it with ab- horrence. This one objection therefore, (in which I think I cannot be mistaken), will fully ansvfer my present KSHAP. II* AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 1^$ purpose : Our author's doctrine is contrary to com- mon belief, and leads to universal scepticism. Sup- pose it, then, universally and seriously adopted ; suppose all men divestfed of all belief, and conse- quently of all principle : would not the dissolution of society, and the destruction of mankind necessa- rily ensue ? Still I shall be told, that Berkeley was a good man, and that his principles did him no hurt. I al- low it ; he was indeed a most excellent person : none can revere his memory more than I. But does it appear, that he ever acted according to his prin- ciples, or that he thoroughly understood them ? Does it appear, that, if he had put them in practice, no hurt would have ensued to himself^, or to soci- ety ? Does it appear, that he was a sceptic, or a friend to scepticism ? Does it appear, that men may^, adopt his principles without danger of be- commg sceptics I The contrary of all this appears with incontrovertible evidence. Surely pride was not made for man. The most Exalted genius may find in himself many affecting memorials of human frailty, and such as often ren- der him an object of compassion to those who in vir- ^ Let it not be pretended, that a man may disbelieve his Senses without danger of inconvenience. Pyrrho (as we read in Diogenes L.aertius) professed to disbelieve his senses, and to be in no apprehension from any of the objects that affected them. The appearance of a precipice or wild beast was no- thing to Pyrrho; at least he said so: he would not avoid them-; he knew they were nothing at all, or at least that they were not what they seemed to be. Suppose him to have been in earnest ; and suppose his keepers to have in earnest adopted the same principles : would not their limbs and lives have been in as great danger, as the limbs and life of a blind, and deaf man wandering by himself in a solitary place, v/ith his hands tied behind his back? I would as soon say, that our senses are useless faculties, as that we might disbelieve theiti •without danger of inconvenience. 196 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. tue and understanding are far inferior. I pity Berke- ley's weakness in patronising an absurd and dan- gerous theory ; I doubt not but it may have over- cast many of his days with a gloom, which neither the approbation of his conscience, nor the natural serenity of his temper, could entirely dissipate. And though I were to believe, that he was intoxi- cated with this theory, and rejoiced in it ; yet still I should pity the intoxication as a weakness : for can*- dour will not permit me to give it a harsher name> as I see in his other writings, and know by the tes- timony of his contemporaries, particularly Pope and Swift, that he was a friend to virtue, and to human nature. We must not suppose a false doctrine harmless, merely because it has not been able to corrupt the heart of a good man.. Nor, because a few sceptics have not authority to render science contemptible, nor pov/er to overturn society, must we suppose, that therefore scepticism is not dangerous to science or mankind. The effects of a general scepticism would be dreadful and fatal. We must therefore, notwithstanding our reverence for the character of Berkeley, be permitted to affirm, what we have sufficiently proved, that his doctrine is subversive of man's most important interests, as a moral, intel- ligent, and percipient being. After all, though I were to grant, that the dis- belief of the existence of matter could not produce any considerable change in our principles of action and reasoning, the reader will find in the sequel^, that the point I have chiefly in view would not be much affected even by that concession. I say not this, as being diffident or sceptical in regard to what I have advanced on the present subject. Doctrines which I do not believe, I will never recommend to * Part 2, chap. 3. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 197 Others. I am absolutely certain, that to me the belief of Berkeley's system would be attended with the most fatal consequences ; and that it would be equally dangerous to the rest of mankind, I cannot doubt, so long as I believe their nature and mine to be the same. Though it be absurd to attempt a proof of what is self-evident, it is manly and meritorious to con- fute the objections that sophistry may urge against it. This, with respect to the subject in question, has been done, in a decisive and masterly manner, by the learned and sagacious Dr. Reid^ ; who proves, that the reasonings of Berkeley, and others, con- cerning primary and secondary qualitiesf, owe all their strength to the ambiguity of words. I have proved, that, though this fundamental error had never been detected, the philosophy of Berkeley is in its own nature absurd, because it supposes the original principles of common sense controvertible and fallacious : a supposition repugnant to the ge- * Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Corti- mon Sense. t Des Cartes, Locke, and Berkeley suppose, that what we call a body is nothing but a collection of qualities ; and these they divide into primary 2ii[\d secondary. Of the former kind are magnitude, extension, solidity, &,c. which Locke and the Cartesians allow to belong to bodies at all times, whether per- ceived or not. Of the latter kind are the heat of fire, the smell and taste of a rose, &c. and these, by the same authors, and by Berkeley, are said to exist not in the bodies themselves, but only in the mind that perceives them : an error they are led into by supposing, that the words heat^ taste ySJTielly &c. sig« nify nothing but a perception; wheY^2is we have formerly shown, that they also signify an external tbitig. Berkeley, following the hints which he found in Des Cartes, Malebranche and Locke, has applied the same mode of reasoning to prove, that primary, as well as secondary qualities, have no external ex istence ; and consequently, that body (which consists of these two classes of qualities, and nothing else) exists only as an idea in the mind that perceives it, and exists no longer than while it is perceived. 198 AN ESSAY eN TRUTH* FART 11* Hius of true philosophy ; and whkh leads to, uni- versal credulity, or universal scepticism ; and, consequently, to the subversion of knowledge and virtue, and the extermination of the human spe- cies. It is proper, before we proceed to the next in^ stance, to make a remark or two on what has been said. 1. Here we have an instance of a doctrine ad- vanced by some philosophers, in direct contradic«» tion to the general belief of all men in all ages. 2. The reasoning by which it is supported, though long accounted unanswerable, did never pro- duce a serious and steady conviction. Common sense still declared the doctrine to be false ; we v/ere sorry to find the powers of human reason so limited, as not to afford a logical confutation of it ; •we were convinced it merited confutation, and flat- tered ourselves, that one time or other it would b^ confuted. 3. The real and general belief of this doctrine would be attended with fatal consequences to sci- ence, and to human nature : for this is a doctrine according to which a man could not act nor reason in the common affairs of life, w^ithout incurring the charge of insanity or folly, and involving himself in distress and perdition. 4. An ingenious man, from a sense of the bad tendency of this doctrine, applies himself t^ exa- mine the principles on which it is founded ; dis- covers them to be erroneous ; and proves, to the full conviction of all competent judges, that from beginning to end it is all a mystery of falsehood, arising from the use of ambiguous expressions, and from the gratuitous admission of principles which never could have been admitted if they had been thoroughly understood, CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 199 SECT. III. Gf Liberty and Necessity* THE second instance to which I purpose to ap- ply the principles of this discourse, by showing the danger of carrying any investigation beyond the dic- tates of common sense, is no other than the cele- brated question concerning liberty and necessity ; a question on which many things have been said, and some things, I presume, to litde purpose. To enter into all the particulars of this controversy, is foreign to my present design -, and I would not wish to add to a dispute already too bulky. My intention is, to treat the doctrine of necessity as I treated that of the non-existence of matter ; by enquiring, whether the one be not, as well as the other, contrary to common sense, and therefore absurd. !• That certain intentions and actions are in themselves, and previous to all consideration of their consequences, good, laudable, and meritori- ous ; and that other actions and intentions are bad, blameable, and worthy of punishment, — has been felt and acknowledged by all reasonable creatures in all ages and nations. We need not wonder at the universal) tv of this sentiment : it is as natural ml to the human constitution, as the faculties of hear- ing, seeing, and memory ; it is as clear, unequivo- cal, and affecting, as any intimation from any sense external or internal. 2. That we cannot do some things, but have it in. our power to do others, is what no man in his senses will hesitate to affirm. I can take up my staff from the ground, but I cannot lift a stone of a thousand weight. On a common, I may walk southward or northward, eastward or westward ; but I cannot as- cend to the clouds^ nor sink downward to the ceii- s 2 - 200 AN E&SAY ON TRIj'TH. PART U^ tre of the earth. Just now I have power to think of an absent friend, of the Peak of TenerifFe, of a passage in Honker, or of the death of Charles I. When a man asks me a question, I have it in my power to answer or be silent, to answer softly or roughly, in terms of respect or in terms of con- tempt. Frequent temptations to vice fall in my way ; I may yield, or I may resist : if I resist, I applaud myself, because I am conscious it was in my power to do otherwise ; if I yield, I am filled with shame and remorse, for having neglected to do what I might have done, and ought to have done. My liberty in these instances I cannot prove by ar- gument ; but there is not a truth in geometry of which I am more certain. Is not this doctrine sufficiently obvious ? Must I quote Epictetus, or any other ancient author, to prove that men were of the same opinion in former times ? No idea occurs more frequently in my read- ing and conversation, than that oi power or agency; and I think I understand my own meaning as well nvhen I speak of it, as when I speak of any thing- else. But this idea has had the misfortune to come under the examination of Mr. Hume, who, accord- ing to custom, has found means so to darken and disfigure it, that, till we have cleared it of his mis- representations, we cannot proceed any further in the present subject. And we are the more inclined to digress on this occasion, that he has made his theory of power the ground of some atheistical in- ferences, which we should not scruple at any time to step out of our way to overturn. — Perhaps these frequent digressions are offensive to the reader : they are equally so to the writer. To remove rub- bish is neither an elegant nor a pleasant work, but it is often necessary. It is peculiarly necessary in the philosophy of human nature. The road to moral , truth has been left in such a plight by some modern CHAP. !!• AN ESSAY ON TRITTH. 201 projectors, that a man of honesty and plain sense must either, with great labour, and loss of time, delve his way through, or be swallowed up in a quagmire. The metaphysician advances more easily. His levity, perhaps, enables him, like Ca- milla in Virgil, to skim along the surface without sinking ; or perhaps, the extreme subtlety of his genius can, like Satan in Paradise Lost, penetrate this chaos, without being much incumbered or re- . tarded in his progress. But men of ordinary talents have not those advantages, and must therefore be allowed to flounce along, though with no very grace- ful motion, the best way they can. All ideas, according to Mr. Hume's fundamental hypothesis, are copied from and represent impres- sions : But we have never any impression that con- tains any power or efficacy: We never, therefore, have any idea of power^. In proof of the minor proposition of this syllogism, he remarks, "That when v/e think we perceive our mind acting on matter, or one piece of matter acting upon another, we do in fact perceive only two objects or events contiguous and successive, the second of which is alv/ays found in experience to follow the first; but that we never perceive, either by external sense, or by consciousness, that power, energy, or efficacy, which connects the one event with the other. By observing that the two events do al- ways accompany each other, the imagination ac- quires a habit of going readily from the first to the second, and from the second to the first ; and hence we are led to conceive a kind of necessary con- nexion between them. But in fact there is neither necessity nor power in the objects we consider, but only in the mind that considers them ; and even in the mind, this power of necessity is nothing but a * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 282. .^. 202 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II* determination of the fancy, acquired by habit, t6 pass from the idea of an object to that of its usual attendant^." So that what we call the efficacy of a cause to produce an effect, is neither in the cause nor in the effect, but only in the imagination, which has contracted a habit of passing from the object called the cause, to the object called the effect, and thus associating them together. Has the fire a power to melt lead I No ; but the fancy is determined by habit to pass from the idea of fire to that of melted lead, on account of our having always perceived them contiguous and successive — and this is the whole matter. Have I a power to move my arm ? No ; the volition that precedes the motion of my arm has no connexion with that motion ; but the motion having been always observ- ed to follow the volition, comes to be associated with it in the fancy; and what we call the power; or necessary connexion, has nothing to do either with the volition or with the motion, but is merely a determination of my fancy, or your fancy, or any body's fancy, to associate the idea or impression of my volition with the impression or idea of the motion of my arm. — I am sorry I cannot ex- press myself more clearly; but I should not do justice to my author, if I did not imitate his obscu- rity on the present occasion: plain words will never do when one has an unintelligible doctrine to support. What shall we say to this collection of strange phrases? or what name shall we give it? Shall we call it a most ingenious discovery, illustrated by a most ingenious argument? This would be compli- menting the author at a very great expense ; for this would imply, not only that Mr. Hume is the wisest of mortal men, but also that he is the only individual of that species of animals who is not a * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 2T2 SOO. tHAP. II* AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 1203 fooL Certain it is, that all men have in all ages talked, and argued, and acted, from a persuasion that they had a very distinct notion of power. If our author can prove, that they had no such notion, he can also prove, that all human discourse is non- ^sense, all human actions absurdity, and all human compositions (his own not excepted) words without meaning. The boldness of this theory, will, how- ever, pass with many, for a proof of its being in- genious. Be it so, Gentlemen, I dispute not about epithets ; if you will have it, that genius con- sis teth in the art of putting words together so as to form absurd propositions, I have nothing more to say. Others will admire this doctrine, because the words by which the author means to illustrate and pro\^e it, if printed on a good paper, and with an elegant type, would of themselves make a pret- ty sizeable volume. It were pity to deprive these people of the pleasui-e of admiring; otherwise I might tell them^ that nothing is more easy than this method of composition ; for that I would un- dertake, at a very short warning, (if it could be done innocently, and without prejudice to my health), to w^rite as many pages, with equal appear- ance of reason and argument, and with equal ad- vantage to philosophy and mankind, in vindication of any given absurdity : provided only, that (like the absurdity in question) it were expressed in words of which one at least is ambiguous. In truth, I am so little disposed to admire this extraordinary paradox, that nothing could make me believe its author to have been in earnest, if I had not found him drawing inferences from it too serious to be jested with by any person who is not absolutely distracted. It is one of Mr. Hume's maxims, That we can never have reason to believe, that any object, or quality of an object, exists^ of 204 An essay on truth. part ii. which we cannot form an idea^. But, according to this astonishing theory of power, and causation, we can form no idea of power, nor of any being endowed with any power, much less of one endow- ed with infinite powerj. The inference is what I do not choose to commit to paper. But our ele- gant author is not so superstitious, H^ often puts his readers in mind, that this inference, or some- thing very Hke it, is deducible from his doctrine:(; : — —for which, no doubt, exery friend to truth, virtue, and human nature, is infinitely obliged to him ! But what do you say in opposition to my theory ? You afl^ect to treat it v/ith a contempt which hardly becomes you, and which my philosophy has not met with from your betters ! pray let us hear your Arguments. — And do you, Sir, really think it in- cumbent on me to prove it by argument, that I, and all other men, have a notion of power ; and that the efficacy of a cause (of fire, for instance, to melt lead) is in the cause, and not in my mind ? Would you think it incumbent on me to confute you with arguments, if you were pleased to affirm, that all men have tails and cloven feet ; and that it was I who produced the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon, the plague that depopulates Constanti- nople, the heat that scorches the wilds of Africa, and the cold that freezes the Hyperborean ocean? Truly, Sir, I have not the face to undertake a di- rect confutation of what I do not understand ; and I am so far from comprehending this part of your system, that I will venture to pronounce it perfect- * Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 302. f Some readers will smile perhaps, at the phraseology of this sentence; but I quote the author's own words. See Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 432. I Treatise of Human Nature, p. 284, 291, 306, 431; CHAP. II. AN ESSAY OlST TRUTH. 20$ ly unintelligible. I know there are some who say they understand it; but I also know, that there are some who speak, and read, and write too, with very little expense of thought. These are all but evasions, you exclaim ; and insist on my coming to the point. Never fear, Sir; I am too deeply interested in some of the consequences of this theory of yours, to put you off with evasions. To come therefore to the point, I shall first state your doctrine in your own words, that there may be no risk of misrepresentation ; and then if I should not be able directly to prove it false, (for the reason already given), I shall de- monstrate, indirectly at least, or by the apagogical method, that it is not, and cannot possibly be true. " As the necessity," says Mr. Hume, " which makes two times two equal to four, or three an- gles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the act of the understanding, by which we con- sider and compare these ideas^, in like manner, the necessity or power which unites causes and effects, lies in the determination of the mind to pass from the one to the other. The efficacy, or energy, of causes is neither placed in the causes themselves, nor in the Deity, nor in the concur- rence of these two principles; but belongs entire- ly to the soul, which considers the union of two or more objects in all past instances. It is here that the real power of causes is placed along with their connexion and necessityf." • What ! is it my understanding" that makes two and two equal to four ! Was it not so before I was born, and would it not be so though ail intelligence were to cease throughout the universe : — But it is idle to spend time in confuting what eve- ry child who has learned the very first elements of science^ knows to be absurd. t Treatise of Human Nature, vol. 1. p. 291,, 306' AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART 11. To find that his principles lead to atheism, would stagger an ordinary philosopher, and make him suspect his fundamental hypothesis, and all his subsequent reasonings. But the author now quoted is not staggered by considerations of this kind. On the contrary, he is so intoxicated with his discovery, that, however sceptical in other points, he seems willing to admit this as one cer- tain conclusion^'. If a man can reconcile himself to atheism, which is the greatest of all absurdities, I fear, I shall hardly put him out of conceit with his doctrine, when I show him that other less enormous absur- dities are implied in it. We may make the trial however. Gentlemen are sometimes pleased to entertain unaccountable prejudices against their Maker ; who yet, in other matters, where neither fashion nor hypothesis interfere, condescend to ac- knowledge, that the good old distinction between truth and falsehood is not altogether without foun- dation. On the supposition that we have no idea of pow- er or energy, and that the preceding theory of ^* Speaking of it in another place, he says, '* A conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the understanding, or sceptical sus- picion, concerning every conclusion which is new or extraor- dinary. No conclusion can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity." Hume^s Essays, vol. 2. />. 87. ediu 176T. I know not what discoveries this conclusion may lead others to make concerning our author's reason and capacity : but I have some ground to think, that in him it has not wrought any extraordinary self-abasement; otherwise he would not have asserted, with so much confidence, what he acknow- ledges to be a most 'violent par adox, and what is indeed contra- ry to the experience and conviction of every person of com- mon sense. See Treatise of Human Nature ^ vol, 1. p» 291, 29,9. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ©N TRUTH. 207 causation is just, our author gives thp following definition of a cause ; which seems to be fairly enough deduced from his theorj^, and which he says is the best that he can give. ^' A cause is an object precedent and contiguous to another, and so united with it, that the idea of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and the im- pression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other'^." There are now in my view two con- tiguous houses, one of which was built last sum- mer, and the other two years ago. By seeing* them constantly together for several months, I find, that the idea of the one determines my mind to form the idea of the other, and the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other. So that, according to our author's definition, the One house is the cause, and the other the effect ! — Again, day and night have always been contigu- ous and successive ; the imagination naturally runs from the idea or impression of the one to the idea of the other : consequently, according to the same profound theory and definition, either day is the cause of night, or night the cause of day, just as we consider the one or the other to have been ori- ginally prior in time: that is, in other words, light is either the cause or the effect of darkness; and its being the one or thz other, depends entirely on my imagination ! Let those admire this discover ry who understand it. Causationf implies more than priority and con« tiguity of the cause to the effect. This relation cannot be conceived at all, without a supposition of * Treatise of Human Nature, vol.1, p. 298. ■f Causation in Mr. Hume's style, denotes the relation qfcau^n^ and effect. In English authors, the word rarely occurs, and never, I think, in this sense. It properly signifies, 2^/t>e act or' fioiver of causing. '208 >AN ESSAY ON TEUTH. VAKT II. power or energy in the causef . Let the reader re- collect two things that stand related as cause and effect ; let him contemplate them with a view to this relation ; then let him conceive the cause di- vested of all powder ; and he must at the same in- stant conceive, that it is a cause no longer : for a cause divested of power, is divested of that by which it is a cause. If a man, after examining his notions of causation in this manner, is conscious that he has an idea of power, then I say he has that idea. If all men, in all ages, have used the v^^ord poxver, or something synonymous to it, and if all men know what they mean when they speak of power, I maintain, that all men- have a notion, conception, or idea of power, in whatever way they came by it : and I also maintain, that no true phi- losopher ever denied the existence or reality of any thing, merely because he could not give an account of its origin, or because the opinion commonly re- ceived concerning its origin did not happen to quadrate with his system. When, therefore, Mr. Hume says, that the effi- cacy or energy of causes is not placed in the causes themselves, he says neither less nor more than this, that what is essential to * a cause is not in a cause ; or, in other w^ords, — that a cause is not a cause. — Are there any persons who, upon the au- thority of this theorist, have rashly adopted atheis- tical principles? I know there are such. Ye blinded followers of a blind guide, ye dupes of un- meaning words and incomprehensible arguments, behold on what a champion ye have placed yovir confidence ! All the comfort I can give you is, that if it be possible for the same thing at tiie same 4 Non sic causa intelligi debet, lit qiiod cuique antecedat id ei causa sit, sed quod cuique effciejiter antecedat. \ Cicero Be Fat o. cap. IS^ €HAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 2^9 time to be and not to be, you may possibly be in the right. It follows from what has been said, that we can- not admit this theory of power and causation, with- out admitting, at the same time, the grossest and most impious absurdities. Is this a sufficient con- futation of it? I think it is. If any person think otherwise, I take a shorter method, and utterly de~ ny all the premises from which this strange con« elusion is supposed to result. I deny the doctrine of impressions and ideas, as the author has explain- ed it ; nay, I have already affirmed, and proved it to be not only false, but unintelligible. And I maintain, that though it could be shown, that all simple ideas are derived from impressions, or in- timations of sense, it is true, notwithstanding, that all men have an idea of power. They get it by experience, that is, by intimations of sense, both ex- ternal and internal. Their mind acting upon their body gives them this notion or idea; their body acting on other bodies, and acted on by other bo- dies, gives them the same idea; which is also sug- gested by all the effects and changes they see pro- duced in the universe. So thoroughly are we ac- quainted with it, that we can in cases innumerable,, determine, with the utmost accuracy and ce^'tain- ty, the degree of power necessary to produce a given effect. ' * I repeat, therefore, notwithstanding all our au- thor has said, or can say, to the contrary, that so me things are in our power, and others are not ; and that we perfectly ^understand our own meaning when we say so.— That the reader may not lose any chain in our reasoning, he will please to look back to the second and third paragraphs of this section. 3. By attending to my own internal feelhigs, and to the evidence given by other men of theirs-, ^10 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART !tt« I am sensible, that I deserve reward or punish- ment for those actions only which are in my own power, I am no more accountable for the evil which I can neither prevent nor remedy, than for the destruction of Troy, or the plagvies of Egypt ; and for the good which happens by my means, but against my will, I no more deserve reward or praise, than if I were a piece of inanimate matter. This is the doctrine of common sense ; and this doctrine has in all ages been supported by some of the most powerful principles of our nature; by principles which, in the common aifairs of life, no man dares suppose to be equivocal or fallacious. A man may as well tell me that I am blind, or deaf, or that I feel no heat when I approach the fire, as that I have not a natural sentiment dispose- ing me to blame intentional injury, and to praise intentional beneficence ; and which makes me feel and be conscious, that the evil I am compelled to do is not criminal, and that the good I perform against my will is not meritorious. That other men are conscious of the same sentiment, I know with as much certainty as I can know any thing of what passes in the mind of other men ; for I have daily and hourly opportunities of making observa- tions in regard to this very point. The greatest part of conversation turns upon the morality of hu- man actions ; and I never yet heard any person se- riously blamed or applauded, by a reasonable crea- ture, for an action in the performance of which he was not considered as a free agent^. The most * Si omnia fato fiunt, omnia fiunt causa antecedente ; et, si appetitus, ilia etiam quse appetiUim sequuntur: ergo, etian\ assensiones. At si causa appetiuis non est sita in nobis, we ipse quidem appetitus est in nostra protestate. Quod si ita est, ne ilia quidem quee appetitu efficiuntur sunt sita in nobis. Non sunt igitur, neque assensiones neque actiones, in nostra potestate ; ex quo effichur, ut nee laudatignes Jtcst(G sint, nee vitih CHAP, II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 2M rigid Predestinarians suppose freedom of will to be in one way or other consistent with eternal and unconditional decrees: if they cannot explain in what way, — they call it a mystery; it surpasses their understanding ; — but it must be so^ for other- wise the morality of actions is altogether incon- ceivablef. Do the interests of science^ or of vir- tue, suffer by this representation of the matter? I think not. But some philosophers, not satisfied with this view of it, are for bringing the sentiment of moral liberty to the test of reason. They want to prove by argument, either that I have, or that I perationes, nee honores^ nee supplicia. Quod cum vitiosura sit^ probabiliter concludi putant, non omnia fato fieri quaecumque flant. Cicero y Ue Fato, cap. 17. f The reader, I hope, does not think me sueh a noviee in reasoning, as to urge the judgment of the council of Trent in behalf of any doctrine, philosophical or religious. Yet every fact in logic and morals is worth our notice, if we would es- tablish those sciences on their only firm foundation, the uni- versal consent and practice of mankind: It deserves, there- fore, to be remarked, that, at the Reformation, this consci- ousness of free will was acknowledged both by the LutheranSj and by the church of Rome, to be a principle of cornmoii sense, which was to be ascertained not by reasoning, but by experimental proof. So says a most judicious and elegant historian, whose words are remarkably apposite to the pre= sent subject, and to the manner in which we treat it. Sjoeak^ ing of some articles said to be maintained by the Lutherans j in opposition to free will, the historian informs us, thatj in the judgment of many of that celebrated council, the opinion im- plied in these articles, " E empia, e biasfema contra Dio.— - Ch' era. una pazzia co/zfrai/ seiiso comwie^ esperhnentando ognl buomo la propria libertd, che non merita contestations, may cotnine Ari-stotele dicey o castigo, a prova esperime?itaie. Che i mede- simi discepoli dri T^uthero s'erano. accorti della pazzia ; e» moderando I'assurdita, dissero poi^ esservi liberta nell'huomo in quello, che tocca ie attioni esterne politiche edeconomiche, e quanto a4 ogniglustitia civile ; le quali e sciocco chi non co^ nosce 'venir dal ^^■onseglioedellettione; restringendosi a negar la iiberta quanta alia sola- giustitia divina." htarladel Concilm, Irid, di P, Sarpi, lib, 2. T 2 . 2l2 AN ESSAY ON TRUl'H. PART II. have not, such a feeling: or, if I shall be found to have it, they want to know whether it be fallacious or not. In other words, they want to prove or to disprove, what I know by instinct to be unques- tionably certain ; or they want to inquire, whether it be reasonable for me to act and think according to a principle, which, by the law of my nature, I cannot contradict, either in thought or action. Would not the same spirit of inquiry lead a geo- metrician to attempt a proof or confutation of his axioms ; a natural philosopher to doubt whether things be what his senses represent them ; an or- dinary man to argue concerning the propriety of perceiving colours by the eyes, and odours by the nostrils ? Would not the same spirit of doubt and disputation, applied to more familiar instances, transform a philosopher into a madman, and a per- son of plain sense into an idiot? But let us not be too rigid. If a philosopher must needs have his rattles and playthings, let him have them : only, for his own sake, and for the sake of the neighbours, I would advise, that edge-tools, and other- dangerous instruments of amusement, be kept out of his reach. If a Carte- sian will not, on any account, believe his own ex- istence, except I grant him his Cogito^ ergo sum^ far be it from me to deprive the poor man of that consolation. The reasoning indeed is bad, but the principle is good ; and a good principle is so good a thing, that rather than oblige a man to renounce it, I would dispense with the strict observance of a logical precept. If a star-gazer cannot see the inhabitants of the moon with one perspective, let hini' tie a score of them together, with all my heart. If a virtuoso is inclined to look at the sun through a microscope, and at a rotten cheese through a telescope, to apply ear-truinpets to his eyesj and equip his two ears with as many pairs of CHAP, II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 213 spectacles, he has my full permission ; and much good may it do him. These amusements are idle, but they are innocent. The Cartesian, if the truth were known, would be found neither the better nor the worse for his enthymeme. The star-gazer has not atchieved a single glimpse of his lunar friends, but sees more confusedly than before : however he may console himself with this reflection, that one may pass through life with the character of a very honest and tolerably happy man, though he should never have it in his power to extend the sphere of his acquaintance beyond this sublunary globe. The virtuoso takes a wrong, and indeed a very preposterous method, for improving his sight and hearing; but if he is careful to confine these frolics to his private apartment, and never boast in public of his auditory, or optical apparatus, he may live comfortably and respectably enough, though he should never see the spots in the sun, nor the bristles on a mite's back. I would however, earnestly exhort my friend the metaphysician, to believe himself a free agent upon the bare authority of his feelings, and not to imagine that Nature is such a bungler in her trade, as first to intend to impose upon him, and then inadvertently give him sagacity to see through the imposture. Indeed, if it were a matter of indif- ference, whether we believe our moral feelings or disbelieve them, I should not object to the use of a little unbelief now and then, by way of experi- ment or cordial, provided it were a thing that a reasonable man could take any pleasure in. But I am convinced, that habitual dram-drinking, is not more pernicious to our animal nature, than habit- ual scepticism to our rational. And when once this scepticism comes to affect our moral senti- ments, or active principles, all is over with us : we 214 AN IlSSAY ON TRUTH. PART IT. are inHlie condition of a man intoxicated; fit only for ravings dozing, and doing misichief. But, alas! the metaphysician is too headstrong to follow my advice. It would be a fine thing, in- deed, says he, if gentlemen were to yield to the dictates of nature. Is thei^e a single dictate of na- ture to which people of fashion now-a-days pay any regard ? No, no ; the world is grown wiser. As to this sentiment of moral liberty, I very much question its title to be ranked with the dictates of nature. It seems to be a piece of vile sophisti- cation, a paltr}^ prejudice, hatched by the nurse, and fostered by the priest. I am determined to take it roundly to task, and examine its pretensions with the eye of a philosopher ^nd freethinker. Very well. Sir, you may take your own way ; it requires no skill in Itiagic to be able to foretell the consequence. A traveller no sooner quits the right road, on supposition of its being wrong, than he gets ii>to one that is really so. If you set out in your inquiry, with suspecting the principles of common sense to be erroneous, you have little chance of falling in with any other principles that are not erroneous. The result of the metaphysical inquiry is as fol- lows : " Every human action must proceed from some motive as its cause. The motive or cause must be sufficient to produce the action or effect; otherwise it is no motive : and, if sufficient to pro- duce it, must necessarily produce it ; for every ef- fect proceeds necessarily from its cause, as heat" necessarily proceeds from fire. Now, the imme-e diate causes of action are volitions, or energies of the will : these arise necessarily from passions or appetites, which proceed necessarily from judg* ments or opinions; which are the necessary effect of external things, or of ideas, operating, accord- ing to the necessary laws of nature, upon our ^JIAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 215 senses, Intellect, or fancy: and these ideas, or things, present themselves to our powers of percep-^ tion, as necessarily as light presents itself when we turn our open eyes to the sun. In a word, every human action is the effect of a series of causes, each of which does necessarily produce its own proper effect ; so that if the first operate, all the rest must follow. It is confessed, that an action may pro- ceed immediately from volition, and may therefore properly be called voluntary : but the primum mo-' hUe or first cause, even of a voluntary action, is something as independent on our will, as the pro- duction of the great-grandfather is independent on the grandson. Between physical and moral neces- sity there is no difference ; the phenomena of the moral world being no less necessary than those of the material. And, to conclude, if we are consci- ous of a feeling or sentiment of moral liberty, it must be a deceitful one ; for no past action of our lives could have been prevented, and no future ac- tion can possibly be contingent. Therefore man is not a free, but a necessary agent." This is just such a conclusion as I should have expected; for thus it always has been, and will be, 3when the dictates of common sense are questioned and disputed. The existence of body, the existence of the soul, the reality of our idea of power, the difference betv/een moral and intellectual virtue, the certainty of the inference from an effect to the cause, and many other such truths, dictates of com- mon sense, have been called in question, and ar- gued upon. And what is the result? Why truly it has been found, that there is no body, that diere is no soul, that we have no idea of power, that moral and intellectual virtue are not different, and that a cause is not necessary to the production of that which hath a beginning. And now the liberty of human actions is questioned and debated, what 216 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. could we expect, but that it would share the same fate! But passing this for the present^, which, however, seems to merit attention, we shall here only inquire, whether this doctrine of necessity be not in some important points extremely similar to that of the non-existence of matter. 1. Of this doctrine we observe, in the first place, that, if any regard is to be had to the meaning of words, and if human actions may reasonably be taken for the signs of human sentiments, all man- kind have, in all ages, been of a different opinion. The number of professed philosophers who have maintained that all things happen through unavoid- able necessity, is but small ; nor are we to imagine that all the ancient Fatalists were of this number. The Stoics were Fatalists by profession ; but they still endeavoured as well as they could, to recon* clle fate with moral freedomf ; and the first sen- tence of the Enchiridon of Epictetus contains ^ declaration, that "opinion, pursuit, desire, and aversion, and, in one word, Avhatever are our ov^n actions, are in our own power." We see in Cice- ro's fragment De Fato^ and in the beginning of the *Some readers may possibly, on this occasion, call to mind a saying of an old Greek author, who, though now obsolete, was in his day, and for several ages after, account- ed a man of considerable penetration. 1 neither menti- on his name, nor translate his words, for fear of oftend- ing (pardon a fond author's vanity) my polite readers. AN0 'CIN THN AFAnHN THS AAHQElAX OTK EAEEANTO— • AIA TOYTO HEMYEI ATTOI2 'O ©EOS ENEPFEIAN HAANHS EI2 TO HIXTETZAI ATTOT2 TH I^ETAEI. f "By Fate the Stoics seem to have understood a series of events appointed by the immutable counsels of God ; or, that law of his providence by w^hich he governs the world. It is evident by their writings, that they meant it in no sense which interferes with the liberty of hum.an actions." See Mrs. Carter's admirable Introduction to her very efeganf translation of the works of Epictetus, sect. ir. CHAP, II, AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. ^17 Sixth book of Aulas Gellius, by what subterfuges and quibbUng distinctions the Stoic Chrysippus reconciled the seemingly opposite principles of fate and free-will, I am not surprised, that what he says on this subject is unsatislactory : for many Christians have puzzled themselves to no purpose in the same argument. But though the manner in which the divine prescience is exerted, be mysteri- ous and inexplicable, it does not follow, that the freedom of our will is equally so. Of this we may be, and we are, competent judges. It is suffici- ently irftimated to every man by his own experi- ence; and every man is satisfied with this intima« tion, and by his conduct declares, that he trusts to it as certain and authentic. Nothing can be a clear- er proof, that the sentiment of moral Liberty is one of the most powerful in human nature, than its having been so long able to maintain its ground, and often in opposition to other popular opinions apparently repug-nant. The notion of fate has pre- vailed much in the world, and yet could never sub- vert this sentiment even in the vulgar. — If it be asked, where the vulgar opinions of ancient times are to be found ? I answer, that in the writings of the most popular poets we have a chance to find them more genuine than in systems of philosophy. To advance paradoxes, and consequently to dis- guise facts, is often the most eifectual recommend- ation of a philosopher : but a poet must conform, himself to the general principles and manners of mankind; otherwise he can never become a general favourite. Now the system of Homer and Virgil concem.- ing fate and free-will, is perfectly explicit. ''Homer assigns three causes," I quote the words of Pope^ " of all the good and evil that happens in this world, which he takes a particular care to distinguish. First^ the will of God, superior to all- Secondly 218 AN ESSAY ON TR0TH. PART *1. Destiny or fate, meaning the laws and order of na- ture^ affecting the constitutions of men, and dispos- ing them to good or v^vil, prosperity or misfortune; which the Supreme Being, if it be his pleasure, may over-rule, (as Jupiter is inclined to do in the case of Sarpedon^); but which he generally suf- fers to take effect. Thirdly, Our own free will, which either by prudence overcomes those natural influences and passions, or by folly suffers us to fall under themf.'^ In regard to some of the decrees of fate. Homer informs us, that they were cond:-^ tional, or such as could not take effect, except cer- tain actions were performed by men. Thus Achilles had it in his power to continue at Troy, or to re- turn home before the end of the war. If he chose to stay, his life would be short and glorious ; if to return, he was to enjoy peace and leisure to a good old age:|:. He prefers the former^ though he well • Iliad, xvi. 433. t Iliad, i. 5. xix. 90. Odyss. i. 7. 39. See Pope's notes on these passages. J MijT>7p y<«p re [xE ^Yjcri Oboc, Gins apyupoTrs^oc^ Iliad, ix. 41Q* My fates long since by Thetis were disclosed And each alternate, life or fame propos'd. Here if I stay before the Trojan town, Short is my date, but deathless my renown ; If I return, I quit immortal praise For years on years, and long extended days.-— Po/>e. On voit (says M. Dacier, in her note on this passage) par- tout dans Homere des marques qu'il avoit connu cette doubfe desiiuee des hommes, si necessaire pour accorder le libre ar^ bitre avec la predestinatiohv En voicy un tesmoignage bien formel et bien expres. II y a deux chemins pour tons les hcrnmes : s'ils prennjent celuy-la, il leur arrivera telle chose; s'ils prennent celui-cy, leur sort sera different. Sophocles, in like manner, represents the decree of Destiny concerning Ajax, as conditional. The anger of Minerva against that hero was to last only one day : if his friends kept CrtAP. li. A'ti ESSAY ON TRUTH. 219 knew what was to follow : and I know not whether there be any other circumstance in the character of this hero, except his love to his friend and to his father, which so powerfully recommends him to our regard. This gloomy resolution invests him with a mournful dignity, the effects of which a reader of sensibility often feels at his heart, in a sentiment made up of admiration, pity, and horror. But this by the bye. -According to Virgil, the completion, even of the absolute decrees of fate, may be retarded by the agency of beings inferior to Jupiter"^: a certain term is fixed to every man, be- yoad which his life cannot last ; but before this period arrives, he may die, by accidental misfor- tune, or deserved punishment f : to virtue and vice necessity reaches not at all:):. him within doors during that space, all would be well ; if they suffered him to go abroad unattended, his death was inevitable, Ajax Mastig. 772. 794. 818. E/ /ixsv sv^oy /^svf/ (says the scholia ^st), a-'Aj^YiO'troct' bi ^e (jlvj^ acTToKKvrxi, oiac rovro ^s to ^i.rlov rs Sophocles, apud H. Steph. 1588./?. 48> * Non dabitur regnis (esto) prohibere Latinis, Atque immota manet fatis Lavinia coiijux ; At trahere, atque moras tantis licet addere rebus. ^neid. vii. 313. t Nam quia nee fato, merita nee morte peribat, Sed misera ante diem, subitoque accensa furore, Nondum iiie fiavum Proserpina vertice crinem Abstulerat. • jEneid, iv. 696, \ Stat sua cuique dies ; breve et irreparabile tempus Omnibus est vitae ; sed famam extendere factis. Hoc virtutis opus. — ' ^neid, x. 467. I agree with Servius (not. in ^neid. x.) that the philoso- phical maxims to be found in poets are not always consistent. The reason is plain: Poets imitate the sentiments of people of different characters, placed in different circumstances, and ac- tuated bv different passions j and nobody expects, that the lan- guage or thoughts, suitable to a certain character, p]g,ced in , 220 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. In all the histories I have read of ancient or mo- dern, savage or civilized nations, I find the conduct of mankind has ever been such as I should expect from creatures possessed of moral freedom, and conscious of it. Several forms of false religion, and some erroneous commentaries on the true, have im- posed tenets inconsistent with this freedom ; but men have still acted, notwithstanding, as if they believed themselves to be free. Creeds, expressed in general terms, may easily be imposed on the ig- norant, and the selfish ; by the former they are mis- vmderstood, by the latter disregarded : but to over- power a natural instinct is a difficult task ; and a doctrine which is easily swallowed when proposed in gcnr^ral terms, may prove wholly disgustful when applied to a particular case. *^ The belief of a destiny ,"^says Mr. Macaulay, in his history of St. Kilda^, " is one of the strong- est articles of this people's creed ; and it will pos- sibly be found upon examination, that the common people in all ages, and in most countries, give into certain circumstances, and actuated by certain passions, sKould be consistent with those of a different character, whose cir- cumstances and passions are different. But I cannot agree with that annotator, in supposing the passage quoted from the fourth book, inconsistent with what is quoted from the 10th ; and that the former is according to the Epicurean, and the latter according to the Stoical philosophy. In the latter passage, it is said, that a certain day or time is appointed by fate for the utmost limit of every man's life: in the former, the very same thing is implied ; only it is said further, that Dido died before her time; and there is nothing in the 10th book that insinuates the impossibility of this. The sentiments contained in these three quotations are conformable to Homer's theology, and to one another; and it deserves our notice, that the first comes from the mouth of Juno, the second from the poet or his muse, and the third from Jupiter himself; whence I infer, that they were agreeable to the poet's creed, or at least to the popular creed of his age. Chap. ii. an essay on truth. 221 the ^ame notion. At St. Kilda, fate and providence are much the same thing. After having explained these terms, I asked some of the people there. Whether it was in their power to do good and evil ? The answer made by those who were unac- quainted with the systematical doctrines of divi- nity was, That the question was a very childish one ; as every man alive must be conscious, that he himself is a free agent." — If it be true, as I be- lieve it is, that the common people in most countries are inclined to acknowledge a destiny or fate ; and if it be also true that they are conscious of their own free agency notwithstanding ; this alone would con- vince me, though I had never consulted my own experience, that the sentiment of moral liberty is one of the strongest of human nature. For how many of their vices might they not excuse, if they could persuade themselves, or others, that thes^ proceed from causes as independent on their will, as those from which storms, earthquakes, and ec- lipses arise, and the temperature of soils and seasons, and the sound and unsound constitutions of the human body ! Such a persuasion, however^ we find not that they have at any time entertained or attempted; from which I think there is good reason to conclude, that it is not in their power. There is no principle in man, religion excepted, that has produced so great revolutions, and makes such a figure in the history of the world, as the love of political liberty : of which indeed all men do not form the same notion : some placing it in the power of doing what they please, others in the power of doing what is lawful ; some in being governed by laws of their own making, and others in being go- verned by equitable laws, and tried by equitable judges ; — but of which it is universally agreed that it leaves in our power many of our most important actions. And yet say Mr. Hume and the Fatalists, -22 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART IT. all things happen through irresistible necessity, and there is not in the hviman mind any idea of any power. Strange! that so many, especially among the best, the bravest, and the wisest of men, should have been so passionately enamoured of an incon- ceivable non-entity, as to abandon for its sake, their ease, their health, their fortunes, and their lives ! At this rate we are wonderfull}^ mistaken, when we speak of Don Quixote as a madman, and of Leonidas, Brutus, Wallace, Hampden, Paoli, as wise, and good, and great ! The case it seems is just the reverse ; these heroes deserve no other iiaiine than that of raving bedlamites ; and the illus- trious knight of La Mancha, to whom the object of his valour was at least a conceivable phantom^ was a person of excellent understanding and most perfect knowledge of the world ! Do not all mankind distinguish between mere harm and injury ? Is there one rational being un- acquainted with this distinction l If a man were to act as if he did not comprehei;id it, would not the world pronounce him a fool ? And yet this distinc- tion is perfectly incomprehensible, except we sup^ pose some beings to act necessarily, and others from free choice. A man gives me a blow, and instantly I feel resentment ; but a bystander informs me, that the man is afflicted WTth the epilepsy, which deprives him of the power of majiaging his limbs ; that the blow was not only without design, but con- trary t^o his intention, and that he could not possi- bly have prevented it. My resentment is gone, though I still feel pain from the blow. Can there be any mistake in this experience ? Can I think that I feel resentment, when in reality I do not feel it ? that I feel no resentment, when I am conscious of the contrary I And if I feel resentment in the one case, and not in the other, it is certain there seems to me to be some dissimilitude betv/een CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 223 them. But it is only in respect of the intention of him who gave the blow that there can be any dissimilitude ; for all that I learn from the informa- tion by which my resentment was extinguished is, that v/hat I supposed to proceed from an evil in- tention, did really proceed from no evil intention, but from the necessary effect of a material cause, in which the will had no concern. What shall we say then ? that the distinction between injury and mere harm, acknowledged by all mankind, dois imply, that \ all mankind suppose the actions of moral be- ings to be free ? or shall we say, that resentment, though it arises uniformly in all men on certain oc- casions, does yet proceed from no cause ; the ac- tions, which do give rise to it, being in every re^r spect the same with those, which do not give rise to it ? Further, all men expect, with full assurance, that flre will burn to-morrow ; but all men do not with full assurance expect, that a thief will steal to-mor- row, or a miser refuse an alms to a beggar, or a de- bauchee commit an act of intemperance, even though opportunities offer. If I had found on blow- ing up my fire this morning, that the flame was cold, and converted water into ice, I should have been much more astonished than if I had detected a man reputed honest in the commision of an act of theft. The former I would call a prodigy, a contradiction to the known laws of nature : of the latter I should say, that I am sorry for it, and could never have expected it; but I should not suppose any prodigy in the case. All general rules, that regard the influ- ence of human characters on human actions, admit of exceptions ; but the general laws of matter admit of none. Ice was cold, and fire hot, ever since the creation ; hot ice, and cold fire, are according to the present constitution of the woi4d, impossible : but that a man should steal to-day, who never stole be- u 2 224 . AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. fore, IS no impossibility at all. The coldness of the flame I should doubtless think owing to some cause, and the dishonesty of the man to some strange re- volution in his sentiments and principles ; but I never could bring myself to think the man as pas- sive, in regard to this revolution, as the fire must be supposed to be in regard to the cause by which its nature is changed. The man has done what he ought not to have done, what he might have pre- vented, and what he deserves punishment for not preventing ; — this is the language of all rational beings ; — but the fire is wholly. unconscious and in- ert. Who will say that there is the same necessity in both cases ! Fatalists are fond of inferring moral necessity from physical, in the way of analogy. But some of their arguments on this topic are most ridiculously absurd. " There is," says Voltaire's Ignorant Philosopher '' nothing without a cause. An effect without a cause are words without meaning. Every time I have a will, this can only be in consequence of my judgment good or bad ; this judgment is necessary; therefore so is my will." — All this hath been said by others : but what follows is, I believe, peculiar to this Ignorant Philosopher, " In effect," continues he, " it would be very singular, that all nature, all the planets, should obey eternal laws, and that there should be a little animal, five feet high, who, in contempt of these laws, could act as he pleased, solely according to his caprice." Sin- gular ! aye singular indeed. So very singular, that yours. Sir, if I mistake not, is the first human brain that ever conceived such a notion. If man be free, nobody ever dreamed that he made himself so in contempt of the laws of nature ; it is in consequence of a law- of nature that he is a free agent. But passing this, let us attend to the reasoning. The planets are not free agents \ therefore it would CHAP. II. AN ES3AY 01*^ TRUTH. 225 be very singular, that man should .be one. Not a whit more singular, than that this same animal of five feet should perceive, and think, and read, and write, and speak ; which no astronomer of my ac- quaintance has ever supposed to belong to the pla- nets, notwithstanding their brilliant appearance, and stupendous magnitude^. We do too much honour to such reasoning, when we reply to it in the bold but sublinie words of a great genius : Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal ? Behold this midnight glory, worlds on worlds ? Amazing pomp ! redouble this amaze ; Ten thousand add ; and twice ten thousand more ; Then weigh the whole ; one soul out-weighs them all. And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation poor. Complaint, Night 7. Mr. Hume, in an essay on this subject, main- tains, that the appearances in the moral and mate- rial world are equally uniform, and equally neces- sary ; nay, and acknowledged to be so, both by philosophers and by the vulgar. In proof of this, he prudently confines himself to general topics, on * Mr, Voltaire has often laboured, with more zeal than suc- cess, to prove, amongst other strange doctrines, that Shakes- peare and Milton were no great poets. What if I should here help him to an argument as decisive on that point as any he has yet invented, and framed exactly according to the rules of his own logic, as exemplified in the passage now be- fore us ? " The English say, that Shakespeare and Milton were great poets. Now it is well known, that neither Plin- limmon in Wales, nor Mealfourvouny^ in Scotland, neither Lebanon in Syria, nor Atlas in Mauritania, ever wrote one good verse in their days ; and yet each of these mountains exceeds in corporeal magnitude ten thousand Miltons and as many Shakespeares. But it would be very singular, that masses of so great distinction should never have been able to put pen to paper with any success, and yet that no fewer than two pieces of English flesh and blood, scarce six feet long, should in contempt of nature and all her laws, have penned poems that are entitled to general admiration T* 226 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH^ PART 11* which he declaims with some plausibility. Had he descended to particular instances, as we have done, the fallacy of his reasoning would have appeared at once. Human nature has been nearly the same in all ages. True. For all men possess nearly the same faculties, which are employed about nearly the same objects, and destined to operate within the same narrow sphere. And if a man have power to choose one of two things, to act or not to act, he has all the liberty we contend for. How is it pos- sible, then, that human nature, taken in the gross, should not be found nearly the same in all ages ! But if we come to particulars, we shall not per- haps find two human minds exactly alike. In two of the most congenial characters on earth the same causes will not produce the same effects ; nay, the &ame causes will not always produce the same ef- fects even in the same character. Some Fatalists deny, that our internal feelings are in favour of moral liberty. " It is true," says ^ worthy and ingenious, though fanciful, author, ^' that a man by internal feeling may prove his own free will, if by free will be meant the power of doing what a man wills or desires ; or of resist- ing the motives of sensuality, ambition, &c. that is free will in the popular and practical sense. Every person may easily recollect instances, where he has done -these several things. But these are intirely foreign to the present question. To prove that a man has free-will in the sense opposite to mechanism, he ought to feel, that he can do differ- ent things while the motives remain precisely the same. And here I apprehend the internal feelings are intirely against free-will, where the motives are of a sufficient magnitude to be evident : where they are not, nothing can be proved*." — -Questions * Hartley's Observations on man, vol. 1. p. 50r. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 227 of this kind would be more easily solved, if au- thor's would explain their doctrine by examples. When this is not done, we cannot always be sure that we understand their meaning, especially in abstract subjects, where language, after all our care, is often equivocal and inadequate. If I right- ly understand this author, and am allowed to exa- mine his principles by my own experience, I must conclude, that he very much mistakes the fact. Let us take an example. A man is tempted to the commission of a crime: his motive to commit, is the love of money, or the gratification of appetite : his motive to abstain, is a regard to duty, or to re- putation. Suppose him to weigh these motives in his mind, for an hour, a day, or a week ; and sup* pose, that during this space, no additional conside- ration occurs to him on either side: which, I think, may be supposed, because I know it is poS«v ,.«ible, and I believe often happens. While his mind is in this state, the motives remain precisely the same : and yet it is to me inconceivable, that he should at any time, during this space, feel himself under a necessity of committing, or under a neces- sity of not committing the crime* He is indeed under a necessity either to do, or not to do : but every man, in such a case, feels that he has it in his power to choose the one or the other. At leastj in all my experience I have never been conscious, nor had anv reason to believe, that other men were conscious, of any such necessity as the author here speaks of. Again: Suppose two men in the circumstances above mentioned, to yield to the temptation, and to be differently affected by a review of their con- duct ; the one repining at fortune, or fate, or Pro- vidence, for having placed him in too tempting a situation, and solicited him by motives too power- f\x} to be resisted ; the other blaming and upbraid 228 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART TI, ing himself for yielding to the bad motive, and re- sisting the good : — I would ask, which of these two kinds of remorse or regret is the most rational ? The first according to the doctrine of the Fatalists ; the last, according to the universal opinion of man- kind. No divine, no moralist, no man of sense, ever supposes true penitence to begin, till the cri- minal become conscious, that he has done, or ne- glected something which he ought not to have done or neglected : a sentiment which would be not only absurd, but impossible, if all criminals and guilty persons believed, from internal feeling, that what is done could not have been prevented. When- ever you can satisfy a man of this, he may continue to bewail himself or repine at fortune; but his re- pentance is at an end. It is always a part, and too often the whole, of the language of remorse: " I wish the deed had never been done ; wretch that I was, not to resist the temptation !" Does this im- ply, that the penitent supposes himself to have been under a necessity of committing the action, and that his conduct could not possibly have been different from what it is ? To me it seems to im- ply just the contrary. And am not I a competent judge of this matter? Have not I been in these circumstances ? Has not this been often the lan- guage of my soul ? And will any man pretend to say, that I do not know my own thoughts, or that he knows them better than I ? — All men, indeed, have but too frequent experience of at least this part of repentance; then why multiply words, when by facts it is so easy to determine the contro- versy ? Other Fatalists acknowledge, that the free agen- cy of man is universally felt and believed : That though man in truth is a necessary agent, having all his actions determined by fixed and immutable laws ; yet, this being concealed from him, he acts CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 229 with the conviction of being a free agent"^. — Con- cealed from himf Who conceals it? Does the author of nature conceal it, — and do these writers discover it? What deference is not due to the judgment of a metaphysician, whose sagacity is so irresistibly (I had almost said omnipotently) pene- trating ! But, gentlemen, as ye are powerful, ye should have been merciful. It was not kind to rob poor mortals of this crumb of comfort which had been provided for them in their ignorance ; nor generous to publish so openly the secrets of Hea- ven, and thus baffie the designs of Providence by a few strokes of your pen ! — In truth, metaphysic is a perplexing affair to the passions, as well as to the judgment. Sometimes it is so absurd, that not to be merry is impossible ; and sometimes so impious, that not to be angry were unpardonable: but often it partakes so much of both qualities, that one knows not with what temper of mind to consider it : <* To laugh, were want of goodness, and of grace ; " And to be grave, exceeds all power of face." But why insist so long on the universal acknow- ledgment of man's free agency? To me it is as evi- dent, that all men believe themselves free, as that all men think. I cainnot see the heart; I judge of the sentiments of others from their outward beha- viour; from the highest to the lowest, as far as history and experience can carry me, I find the conduct of human beings similar in this respect to * In the former edition of this Essay, a particular book was here specified and quoted. But I have lately heard, that ir^ a second edition of that book, which, however, I have not yet seen, the author has made some alterations, by which he gets clear of the absurdity exposed-in this passage. 230 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART If. my own : and of my own free agency I have never yet been able to entertain the least doubt. " Here then we have an mstance of a doctrine advanced by some philosophers, in direct contradiction to the general belief of all men in all ages." This is a repetition of the first remark formerly made on the non-existence of matter. 2. The second was to this purpose : " The i^ea- soning by which this doctrine is supported, though long accounted unanswerable, did never produce a serious and steady conviction ; common sense still declared it to be false ; we were sorry to find the powers of human reason so limited as not to afford a logical confutation of it ; we were convinced it merited confutation, and flattered ourselves that one time or other it would be confuted." I shall here take it for granted, that the scheme of necessity has not as yet been fully confuted ; and on this supposition (which the Fatalists can hardly fail to acknowledge a fair one) I would ask, whe- ther the remark just now quoted be applicable to the reasonings urged in behalf of that scheme? My experience tells me, it is. After giving the advocates for necessity a fair hearing, my belief is exactly the same as before. I am puzzled perhaps, but not convinced, no not in the least degree. In reading some late essays on this subject, I find ma- ny things allowed to pass without scruple, which I cannot admit : and when I have got to the end, and ask myself, whether I am a free or a necessary agent, nature recurs upon me so irresistibly, that the investigation I have just finished, seems (as Shakespeare says) "like the fierce vexation of a dream," which, while it lasted, had some resem* bl^nce of reality, but now, when it is gone, appears to have been altogether a delusion. This is preju- dice, you say ; be it so. Before the confutation of Berkeley's system, would it have been called pre- CHAP^ II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 23l judice not to be convinced by his arguments? I know not but it might ; but I am sure, that of such prejudice no honest man, nor lover of truth, needs be ashamed. I confess, that when I enter upon the controversy in question, I am not wholly indif- ferent ; I am a little biassed in favour of common sense, and I cannot help it : yet if the reasoning were conclusive, I am confident it would breed in my mind some suspicion, that my sentiment of moral liberty is ambiguous. As I experience no» thing of this kind, my conviction remaining the same as before, what must I infer? Surely I must infer, and I sin against my own understanding if I do not infer, that though the reasoning be subtle, the doctrine is absurd. But what if a man be really convinced by that reasoning, that he is a necessary agent ? — Then I expect he will think and act according to his con- viction. If he continue to act and think as he did before, and as I and the rest of the world do now, he must pardon me if I should suspect his convic^ tion to be insincere. For let it be observed, that the Fatalists are not satisfied with calling their doctrine probable; they affirm, that it is certain, and rests on evidence not inferior to demonstration. If, therefore, it convince at all, it must convince thoroughly. Between rejecting it as utterly false, and receiving it as undeniably true, there is no me- dium to a considerate person. And let it be ob- served further, that the changes which the real belief of fatality must produce in the conduct and sentiments of i^en, are not slight and impercep- tible; but, as will appear afterwards, important and striking. If you say, that the instincts of your nature, the customs of the world, and the force of human laws, oblige you to act like free agents, you acknowledge fatality to be contrary to naiure 232 AN ESSxW ON TRUTH. PART U. and common sense ; which is the point I want to prove. Clay is not more obsequious to the potter, than words to the skillful disputant. They may be made to assume almost any form, to enforce almost any doctrine. So true it is, that much may be said on either side of most questions, that we have known dealers in controversy, who were always of the same mind with the author whom they read last. Vv^e have seen theories of morality deduced from pride, from sympathy, from self-love, from benev- olence ; and all so plausible, as would surprise one who is unacquainted with the ambiguities of lan- guage. Of these the advocates for simple truth are less careful to avail themselves, than their paradox- ical antagonists. The arguments of the former, being more obvious, stand less in need of illustra- tion ; those of the latter require all the embellish- ments of eloquence and refinement to recommend them. Robbers seldom go abroad without arms ; they examine every corner and countenance with a penetrating eye, which habitual distrust and cir- cumspection have rendered intensely sagacious: the honest man walks carelessly about his business, intending no Jiarm, and suspecting none. It can- not be denied, that philosophers do often, in . the use of words, impose on themselves as well as on others; an ambiguous word slipping in by accident will often perplex a whole subject, to the equal surprise of both parties; and perhaps, in a long course of years, the cause of this per- plexity shall not be discovered. This was never more remarkably the case, than in the contro- versy about the existence of matter; and this no doubt is one great hinderance to the utter confutation of the doctrine of necessity. Fa- talists indeed, make a stir, and seem much in ear- nest about settling the signification of the words : CHAP. ir. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 23 Q but "words beget words," as Bacon well observ- eth ; and it cannot be expected, that they who are interested in supporting a system will be scrupu- lously impartial in their definitions. With a few of these, a theorist commonly begins his system. This has the appearance of fairness and perspicuity. We hold it for a maxim, that a man may use words in any sense he pleases, pro- vided he explain the sense in which he uses them ; and we think it captious, to find fault with words. We therefore are easily prevailed on to admit his definitions, which are generally plausible, and not apparently repugnant to the analogy of language. But the understanding of the author when he writes, and that of the student, when he reads them, are in very different circumstances. The former knows his system already, and adapts his definitions to it : the latter is ignorant of the sys- tem, and therefore can have no notion of the ten- dency of the definitions. Besides, every system is in some degree obscure to one who is but begin- ning to study it ; and this obscurity serves to dis- guise whatever in the preliminary illustrations is forced or inexplicit. Thus the mind of the most candid and most attentive reader is prepared for the reception of error, long before he has any sus- picion of the author's real design. And then, the more he is accustomed to use words in a certain signification, the more he is disposed to think it natural ; so that the further he advances in the sys- tem, he is still more and more reconciled to it. Need we wonder then at the variety of moral sys- tems? need we wonder to see a man's judgment so easily, and often so egregiously misled, by ab- stract reasoning ? need we wonder at the success of any theorist, who has a tolerable command of language, and a moderate share of cunning, pro- %34 AN JiSSAY ON TRUTir. >ART II. vided his system be well-timed, and adapted to the manners and principles of his age? Neither need we wonder to see the grossest and most detestable absurdities recommended by singular plausibility of argument, and such as may for a time impose even on the intelligent and sagacious ; till at last, when the author's design becomes manifest, com- mon sense begins to operate, and men have re- course to their instinctive and intuitive sentiments, as the most effectual security against the assaults of the logician. Further, previous to all influence from habit and education, the intellectual abilities of different men are very different in respect of reasoning, as well as of common sense. Some men, sagacious enough in perceiving truth, are but ill qualified to reason about it: while others, not superior in common sense, or intuitive sagacity, are much more dex- terous in devising and confuting arguments. If you propose a sophism to the latter, you are at once contradicted and confuted: the former, though they cannot confute you, are perhaps equally sensi- ble of your false doctrine, and unfair reasoning; they know, that what you say is not true, though they cannot tell in what respect it is false. Per- haps all that is wanting to enable them to confute, as well as contradict^ is only a little practice in speaking and wrangling: but surely this affects not the truth or falsehood of propositions. What is false is as ireally so to the person who perceives its falsity, without being able to prove it, as to him %yho both perceives and proves ; and it is equally false, before I learn logic, and after. — -Is it not therefore highly unreasonable to expect conviction from every antagonist who cannot confute you, and to ascribe to prejudice what is owing to the irre* sistible impulse of unerring nature ? CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 235 I have conversed with many people of sense on the subject of this controversy concerning Uberty and necessity. To the greater part, the arguments of Clarke and others, in vindication of liberty, seemed quite satisfying; others owned themselves puzzled with the subtleties of those who took the opposite side of the question; some reposed with full assurance on that consciousness of liberty which every man feels in his own breast : in a word, as far as my experience goes, I have found all the im- partial, the most sagacious, and most virtuous, part of mankind, enemies to fatality in their hearts; willing to consider the arguments for it as rather specious than solid ; and disposed to receive^ with joy and thankfulness, a thorough vindication of human liberty, and a logical confutation of the op- posite doctrine. - 3. It has been said, that philosophers are answer- able, not for the consequences, but only for the truth of their tenets ; and that, if a doctrine be true, its being attended with disagreeable conse- quences will not render it false. We readily ac- quiesce in this remark ; but we imagine it cannot be meant of anv truth but what is certain and incon- trovertible. No genuine truth did ever of itself produce effects inconsistent with real utility^. But many principles pass for truth, which are far from deserving that honourable appellation. Some give it to all doctrines which have been defended with subtlety, and which, whether seriously believed or not, have never been logically confuted. But to affirm, that all such doctrines are certainly true, would argue the most contemptible ignorance of human language, and human ryature. It is there- Marc. Antoam, X 2 236 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. FART II. fore absurd to say, that the bad consequences of admitting such doctrines ought not to be urged as arguments against them. — Now, there are many persons in the world, of most respectable under- standing, who would be extremely averse to ac- knowledge, that the doctrine of necessity has ever been demonstrated beyond all possibility of doubt. I may therefore be permitted to consider it as a controvertible tenet, and to expose the absurdities and dangerous consequences with which the belief of it may, and must be attended. Mr. Hume endeavours to raise a prejudice against this method of refutation. He probably foresaw, that the tendency of his principles would be urged as an argument against them ; and being somewhat apprehensive of the consequences, as well he might, he insinuates, that all such reason- ing is no better than personal invective. ^' There is no method of reasoning," says he, '^ more com- mon, and yet ftone more blameable, than in philo- sophical debates to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a pretence of its dangerous conse- quences to religion and morality. When any opi- nion leads into absurdities, it is certainly false ; but it is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequence. Such topics there- fore ought entirely to be forborne, as serving no- thing to the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an antagonist odious=^." If your philosophy be such, that its consequences cannot ^ be unfolded without rendering your person odious, pray, Mr. Hume, who is to blame? you, who con- trive and publish it; or I, who criticise it? There is a kind of philosophy so salutary in its effects, as to endear the person of the author to every good man: why is not yours of this kind? If it is not, * Essay on Liberty and Necessity, part 2. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. £37 as you yourself seem to apprehend, do you thinks that I ought to applaud your principles, or suffer them to pass unexamined, even though I am cer- tain of tlieir pernicious tendency ? or that, out of respect to your person, I ought not to put others on their guard against them ^ Surely you cannot be so blinded by self- admiration, as to think it the duty of any man to sacrifice the interest of man- kind to your interest, or rather to your reputation as a metaphysical writer. If you do think so, I must take the liberty to differ from your judgment in this, as in many other matters. Nor can I agree to what our author says of this method of reasoning, that it tends nothing to the discovery of truth. Does not every thing tend to the discovery of truth, that disposes men to think for themselves, and to consider opinions with at- tention, before they adopt them? And have not many well meaning persons rashly adopted a plau- sible opinion on the supposition of its being harm- less, who, if they had been aware of its bad tenden- cy, would have proceeded with more caution, and made a better use of their understanding? This is truly a notable expedient for determin- ing controversy in favour of licentious theories. An author publishes a book, in which are many doctrines fatal to human happiness, and subversive of human society. If, from a regard to truth, and to mankind, we endeavour to expose them in their proper colours, and, by displaying their dangerous and absurd consequences, to deter men from rash- ly adopting them without examination ; our adver- sary immediately exclaims, '' This is not fair rea- soning; this is personal invective." Were the sentiments of the public to be regulated by this ex- clamation, licentious writers might do what mis- chief they pleased, and no man durst appear in op- position, without being hooted at for his want of 2M N AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. breeding. — It is happy for us all, that the law is not to be browbeaten by insinuations of this kind; otherwise we should hear some folks exclaim against it every day, as one of the most ungenteel things in the world. And truly they would have reason: for it cannot be denied, that an indictment at the Old Bailey has much the air of a personal invective ; and banishment, or burning in the hand, amounts nearly to a personal assault ^ nay, both have often this express end, to make the person of the criminal odious : and yet in his judgment per- haps, there was no great harm in picking a pocket of a handkerchief, value thirteen pence, provided it was done with a good grace. Let not the ma- jesty of science be offended by this allusion; I mean not to argue from it, for it is not quite simi- lar to the case in hand. That those men act the part of good citizens, who endeavour to overturn the plainest principles of human knowledge, and to subvert the foundations of all religion, I am far from thinking; but I should be extremely sorry to see any other weapons employed against them than those of reason and ridicule, chastised by de- cency and truth. Other weapons this cause re- quires not ; nay, in this cause^ all other weapons would do more harm than good. And let it still be remembered, that the object of our strictures is not men, but books ; and that these incur our cen- sure, not because they bear certain names, but be- cause they contain certain principles. These remarks relate rather to the doctrines of scepticism in general, than to this of necessity in particular; which I am not ignorant that many men, respectable both for their talents and princi- ples, have asserted. I presume, however, they would have been more cautious if thev had attend- ed to the consequences that may be drawn from it. — ^To which I now return. CHAP. 11^ AN ESSAY ON TRI/TH. 239 Some of the Fatalists are willing to reconcile their system with our natural notions of moral good and evil ; but all they have been able to do is, to remove the difficulty a step or two further off. But the most considerable of that party are not solicitous to render these points consistent. If they can only establish necessity, they leave natu- ral religion to shift for itself. Mr. Hume in par- ticular affirms, that on his principles it is impossible for natural reason to vindicate the character of the Deity^. Had this author been possessed of one grain of that modesty which he recommends in the conclusion of his essay ; had he thought it worth his while to sacrifice a little pittance of igno- minious applause to the happiness of human kind ; he would have shuddered at the thought of incul- cating a doctrine which he knew to be irreconcile- able with this great first principle of religion ; and of which, therefore, he must have known, that it tended to overturn the only durable foundation of human society and human happiness. The advocates for liberty, on the other hand, have universally espoused the cause of virtue, and zeal- ously asserted the infinite wisdom and purity of the divine nature. Now, I confess, that this very con- sideration is, according to my notion of things, a strong argument in favour of the last mentioned doctrine. Here are two opinions j the one incon- sistent with the first principles of natural religion, as some of those who maintain it acknowledge, as well as with the experience, the belief, and the practice, of the generality of rational beings ; the other perfectly consistent with religion, conscience, and common sense. If the reader believe, with me, that the Deity is infinitely good and wise, he can- aot balance a moment between them ; nor hesitate * Essay on Liberty and Necessityi sub, fin. 140 An ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. to affirm, that the universal belief of the former would produce much mischief and misery to man- kind. If he be prepossessed in favour of fatality, he ought, however, before he acquiesce in it as true, to be well assured, that the evidences of natural re- ligion, particularly of the divine existence and at- tributes, are weaker than the proofs that have been urged in behalf of necessity. But will any one say, that this doctrine admits of a proof, as unexcep- tionable as that by which we evince the being and attributes of God ? I appeal to his own heart, I ap- peal to the experience and consciousness of man- kind ; are you as thoroughly convinced, that no past action of your life could possibly have been prevented, and that no future action can possibly be contingent, as that God is infinitely wise, pow- erful, and good? Examine the evidence of both propositions, examine with candour the instinctive suggestions of your own mind ; — and then tell me, whether you find atheism or man's moral liberty hardest to be believed. Perhaps I shall be told, that the belief of moral liberty is attended with equal difficulties ; for that, to reconcile the contingency of human actions with the prescience of God, is as impossible, as to recon- cile necessity with his goodness and wisdom. Others have answered this objection at length ; I make therefore only two brief remarks upon it. 1. As it implies not any reflection on the divine power, to gay that it cannot perform impossibilities; so neither, I presume, does it imply any reflection on his know- ledge, to say, that he cannot foresee as certain, what is really not certain, but only contingent. Yet he sees all possible effects of all possible causes ; and our freedom to choose good or evil can no more be conceived to interfere widi the final purposes of his providence, than our power of moving our limbs is inconsistent with pur inability to remove mountaiiis. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 241 2. No man will take it upon him to say, that he distinctly understands the manner in which the De- ity acts, perceives, and knows : but the incompre- hensibleness of his nature will never induce men to doubt his existence and attributes, unless there be men who fancy themselves infallible, and of in- finite capacity. Shall I then conclude, because I cannot fully comprehend the manner in which the divine prescience operates, that therefore the Deity is not infinitely perfect ? or that, therefore, I cannot be certain of the truth of a sentiment which is war- ranted by my constant experience, and by that of all mankind ? Shall I say, that because my know- ledge is not infinite, therefore I have no knowledge ? Because I know not when I shall die, does it follow, that I cannot be certain of my being now alive ? Because God has not told me every thing, shall I refuse to believe what he has told me ? To draw such a conclusion from such premises is in my judgment, as contrary to reason, as to say, that, because I am ignorant of the cause of magnetical attraction, therefore I ought not to believe that the needle points to the north. — That I am a free agent, I know and believe ; that God foresees what- ever can be foreseen, as he can do whatever can be done, I also know and believe : nor have the Fatal- ists ever proved, nor can they ever prove, that the one belief is inconsistent with the other. The asserters of human liberty Tiave always maintained, that to believe all actions and inten- tions necessary, is the same thing as to believe that man is not an accountable being, or, in other words, no moral agent. And indeed this notion is natural to every person who has the courage to trust his own experience, without seeking to puzzle plain matter of fact with verbal distinctions and metaphysical refinement. But, it is said, the sense of moral beauty and turpitude still remains with us, 242 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, ?ART II# even after we are convinced that all actions and in- tentions are necessary ; that this sense maketh us moral agents ; and therefore, that our moral agency is perfectly consistent with our necessary agency. But this is nothing to the purpose ; it is putting us off with mere words. For what is moral agency, and what is implied in it? This at least must be implied in it, that we ought to do some things, and not to do others. But if every intention and action of my life is fixed by eternal laws, which I can nei- ther elude nor alter, it is as absurd to say to me, You ought to be honest to-morrow, as to say, You ought to stop the motion of the planets to-morrow. Unless some events depend upon my determination, oicghty and ought not^ have no meaning when appli- ed to me. Moral agency further implies, that we are accountable for our conduct ; and that if we do what we ought not to do, we deserve blame and punishment. My conscience tells me, that I am ac- countable for those actions only that are in my own power ; and neither blames nor approves, in myself or in others, that conduct which is the effect, not of choice, but of necessity. Convince me, that all my actions are equally necessary, and you silence my conscience for ever, or at least prove it to be a fal- lacious and impertinent monitor : you will then con- vince me, that all circumspection is unnecessary, and all remorse absurd. And is it a matter of little moment, whether I believe my moral feeling^ authentic and true, or equivocal and fallacious ? Can any principle be of more fatal consequence to me, or to society, than to believe, that the dictates of conscience are false, unreasonable, or insignifi- cant t Yet this is one certain effect of my becoming a Fatalist, or even sceptical in regard to moral liberty. I observe, that when a man's understanding be- gins to be so far perverted by debauchery, as to CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. "243 make him imagine his crimes unavoidable, from that moment he begins to think them innocent, and deems it a sufficient apology, that in respect of them he is no longer a free but a necessary agent. The drunkard pleads his constitution, the blasphemer urges the invincible force of habit, and the sen- sualist would have us believe, that his appetites are too strong to be resisted. Suppose all men so far perverted as to argue in the same manner with regard to crimes of every kind ; — then it is certain, that all men would be equally disposed to think all crimes innocent. And what would be the consequence ? Licentiousness, misery, and desolation, irremediable and universal. If God intended that men should be happy, and that the human race should continue for many generations, he certainly intended also that men should be- lieve themselves free, moral, and accountable crea- tures. Supposing it possible for a man to act upon the belief of his being a necessary agent, let us see how he would behave in some of the common affairs of life. He does me an injury. I go to him and re- monstrate. You will excuse me, says he ; I was put upon it by one on whom I am dependent, and who threatened me with beggary and perdition if I re-« fused to comply. I acknowledge this to be a consi- derable alleviation of the poor man's guilt. Next day he repeats the injury ; and, on my renewing my remonstrances. Truly, says he, I was offered six- pence to do it; or T did it to please my humour: but I know you will pardon me, when I tell you, that as all motives are necessary causes of the ac- tions that proceed from them, it follows, that all motives productive of the same action are irresisti- ble, and therefore, in respect of the agent, equally strong: I am therefore as innocent now as I was formerly ; for the event has proved, that the motive y 244 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. arising from the offer of sixpence, or from the im- pulse of whim, was as effectual in producing the action which you call an injury, as the motive arising from the fear of ruin. Notwithstanding this fine speech, I should be afraid, that these prin- ciples, if persisted in, and acted upon, would soon bring the poor Fatalist to Tyburn or Bedlam. Will you promise to assist me to-morrow with your labour, advice, or interest ? No, says the prac- tical Fatalist; I can promise nothing; lor my con- duct to-morrow will certainly be determined by the motive that then happens to predominate. Let your promise, say I, be your motive. How can you be so ignorant, he replies, as to imagine that our mo- tives to action are in our own power ! O sad, O sad! you must study metaphysic, indeed you must. Why, Sir, our motives to action are obtruded upon us by irresistible necessity. Perhaps they arise im- mediately from some passion, judgment, fancy, or, if you please, volition ; but this volition, fancy, jvidgment, or passion — what is it ? an effect without a cause ? No, no ; it is necessarily excited by some idea, object, or notion, which presents itself inde- pendently on me, and in consequence of some ex- trinsic cause, the operation of which I can neither foresee nor prevent. — Where is the man who would choose this Fatalist for his friend, companion, or fellow-citizen ? who will say, that society could at all subsist, if the generality of mankind were to think, and speak, and act upon such principles ? But, says the Fatalist, is it not easy to imagine cases in which the men who believe themselves free, would act the part of fools or knaves ? Nothing in- deed is more easv. But let it be observed, that the folly or knavery of such men, arises, not from their persuasion of their own free agency, for many mil- lions of this persuasion have passed through life with a fair character, but from other causes. I can- CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. ^45 not conceive any greater discouragement from kna- very and folly, than the consideration that man is an accountable being ; and I know not how we can suppose him accountable, unless we suppose him free. The obvious tendency of our principles is therefore to deter men from knavery and folly; whereas it is impossible for a Fatalist to act upon his own principles for one day, without rendering himself ridiculous or detestable. The reader, if disposed to pursue these hints, and attend, in imagination, to the behaviour of the prac- tical Fatalist in the more interesting scenes of pub- lic and private life, may entertain himself with a series of adventures, more ludicrous, or at least snore irrational, than any of those for which the knight of La Mancha is celebrated. I presume I have said enough to satisfy every Impartial mind, " That the real and general belief of necessity would be attended with fatal consequences to sci- ence, and to human nature ;" — which is a repeti- tion of the third remark we formerly made on the doctrine of the non-existence of body^. And now we have proved, that if there was any reason for rejecting Berkeley's doctrine as absurd, and contrary to common sense, before his arguments were shewn to arise from the abuse of words, there is at present the same reason for rejecting the doc- trine of necessity, even on the supposition that it hath not as yet been logically confuted. Both doc- trines are repugnant to the general belief of man- kind : both notwithstanding all the efforts of the subtlest sophistry, are still incredible : both are so contrary to nature, and to the condition of human beings, that they cannot be carried into practice ; and so contrary to true philosophy, that they cannot be admitted into science, without bringing * See the end of the preceding sectioii 246 AN ESSAY ON TRUTU. PART 11* scepticism along with them, and rendering questi- onable the plainest principles of moral truth, and the very distinction between truth and falsehood. In a word, we have proved, that common sense, as it teacheth us to believe and be assured of the existence of matter, doth also teach us to believe and be assured, that man is a free agent. It would lead us too far from our present pur- pose to enter upon a logical examination of the af- l^umcnt for necessity. Our design is only to explain by what marks one may distinguish the principles of common sense, that is, intuitive, or self-evident notions, from those deceitful and inveterate opi- nions that have sometimes assumed the same ap- })earance. If I have satisfied the reader, that the iree agency of men is a self-evident fact, I have also satisfied him, that all reasoning on the side of necessity, though accounted unanswerable, is in its very nature, and previously to all confutation, ab- surd and irrational, and ccmtrary to the practice and principles of all true philosophers. Let not the friends of liberty be discouraged by the perplexing arguments of the Fatalist"*. Argu- ments in opposition to solf-evident truth, must, if plausible, be perplexing. Think what method of argumentation a man must pursue, who sets him- "* There is no subject on which doubts and difficulties may not be started by ingenious and disj)ulatious men : and there- iot^t from the number of their objections, and the length of t,Ue controversy to which they give occasion, we cannot, in. any case, conclude, thai the original evidence is weak, or even that it is not obvious and striking. Were we to presume, that every principle is dubious against whicli specious objections may be contrived, we should be quickly led into universal scepticism. The two ways in which the ingenuity of specu- lative men has been most commonly employed, are dogmatical assertions of doubtful opinions, and subtle cavils against cer- tain iriiihs. Gerard's DissertatioJis, ii. 4. chap.it. an essay on truth. 247 self to confute any axiom in y(!f>mctry, or to argue against the existence of a sentiment, acknowledged and felt by all mankind. Indeed I cannot see how such a person should ever impose upon people of sense, except by availing hlnjself of exj)ressions, which either are in themselves aml)iguous, or he- come no hy his manner of applying them. If the ambiguity be discernible, the argument can have no force ; if there i)e no suspicion of ambiguity, tfie dispute may be continued from generation to genft- ration, without working any change in the '/ riti- ments of either party. When fact is disreg;»rded, when intuition goes for nothing, when no stanrlard of truth is acknowledged, and iivcry unanswered argument is deemed unanswerable, true reasoning 18 at an end; and the (iis[)utant, having long ago lost sight of common sense, is so far irom regaining the path of truth, that, like 'l'hr>mpson'8 peasant bewildered in tlie snow, he crintinues " to wander on still njore and more astray." li any p(-rsf>n will give himself the tn>ui>le tr> examine the whr)l(; con- troversy crjncerrjirig lif)erty and necessity, he will find, that the arguments on l)ot.h sifies come at last to apj)ear unanswerable: — there is no common principle acknowledged by both j)arties, to wliich an appeal can be made, and each party charges the other with begging the rpustlon. Is it not then better to rest satisfied with the simple feeling of the understand in gr I feel that it is in my power to will or not to will: all you can say abf>ut the in- Huence of motives will ru:vi:r convince me of the contrary; or if I should say that I am convinced by your argiunents, my conduct must continually bely my profession. One tiling is undeniable: your words are obscure, my feeling is not ; — this is universiilly attended to, acknowledgr.d and act- ed ui)on ; those tO the majority of maukiud would V 2 .248 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART I|* be unintelligible, nay, perhaps they are in a great measure so even to yourselves. CHAP. III. Recapitulation and Inference. THE substance of the preceding illustrations, when applied to the principal purpose of this dis- course, is as folio weth: Although it be certain, that all just reasoning does ultimately terminate in the principles of com- mon sense ; that is, in principles which must be admitted as certain, or as probable, upon their own authority, without evidence, or at least without proof; even as all mathematical reasoning does ultimately terminate in self-evident axioms : yet philosophers, especially those who have applied themselves to the investigation of the laws of hu- man nature, have not always been careful to con- fine the reasoning faculty within its proper sphere, but have vainly imagined, that even the principles of common sense are subject to the cognisance of reason, and may be either confirmed or confuted by argument. They have accordingly, in many instances, carried their investigations higher than the ultimate and self-supported principles of com- mon sense ; and by so doing have introduced ma- ny errors, and much false reasoning, into the mo- ral sciences. To remedy this, it was proposed, as a matter deserving serious attention, to ascertain the separate provinces of reason and common sense. And because, in many cases, it may be difficult to distinguish a principle of common sense from an acquired prejudice ; and, consequently, to know at what point reasoning ought to stop, and the authority of common sense to be admitted as deci- CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 249 sive ; it was therefore j udged expedient to inquire, "Whether such reasonings as have been prosecut- ed beyond ultimate principles, be not marked with ' some peculiar characters, by which they may be distingivished from legitimate investigation." To illustrate this point, the doctrines of the non-exis- tence of matter^ and the necessity of human actions^ were pitched upon as examples ; in which, at least in the former of which, common sense, in the opi- nion of all competent judges, is confessedly violat- ed ; — the natural effects produced upon the mind by the reasonings that have been urged in favour of these doctrines, were considered ; — and the con- sequences, resulting from the admission of such reasonings, were taken notice of, and explained. And it was found, that the reasonings that \have been urged in favour of these doctrines, are really marked with some peculiar characters, which it is presumed, can belong to no legitimate argumenta- tion whatsoever. Of these reasonings it was ob- served, and proved, " That the doctrines they are intended to establish are contradictory to the ge- neral belief of all men in all ages ; — — That, though enforced and supported with singular subtlety, and though admitted by some professed philosophers, they do not produce that conviction which souncl reasoning never fails to produce in the intelligent mind; — and, lastly. That really to believe, and to act from a real belief of such doctrines and reason- ings, must be attended with fatal consequences to science, to virtue, to human society, and to all the important interests of mankind." I do not suppose, that all the errors which have arisen from not attending to the foundation of truth, and essential rules of reasoning, as here ex- plained, are equally dangerous. Some of them perhaps may be innocent ; to such the last of these characters cannot belong. If wholly innocent, it is 250 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART II. of little consequence, whether we know them to be errors or not. When a new tenet is advanced in moral science, there will be a strong presumption against it, if contrary to universal opinion : for as every man may find the evidence of moral science in his own breast, it is not to be supposed, that the generality of mankind would, for any length of time, persist in an error, which their own daily ex- perience, if attended to without prejudice, could not fail to rectify. Let, therefore, the evidence of the new tenet be carefully examined, and attended to. If it produce a full and clear conviction in the intelligent mind, and at the same time serve to ex- plain the causes of the universality and long conti- nuance of the old erroneous opinion, the new one ought certainly to be received as true. But if the, assent produced by the new doctrine be vague, in- definite and unsatisfying; if nature and common sense reclaim against it ; if it recommend modes of thought that are inconceivable, or modes of ac- tion that are impracticable: it is not, it cannot be true, however plausible its evidences may appear. Some will think, perhaps, that a straighter and shorter course might have brought me sooner, and with equal security, to this conclusion. I acknow- ledge I have taken a pretty wide circuit. This was owing in part to my love of perspicuity, which in these subjects hath not always been studied so much as it ought to have been ; and partly, and chiefly, to my desire of confuting, on this occasion, (as I wish to have done with metaphysical contro- versy for ever), as many of the most pernicious tenets of modern scepticism as could be brought within my present plan. But the reader will per- ceive, that I have endeavoured to conduct all my digressions in such a manner, as that they might serve for illustrations of the principal subject*. CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 25l To teach men to distinguish by intuition a dic- tate of common sense from an acquired prejudice, is a work which nature only can accomplish. We shall ever be more or less sagacious in thi^ respect, according as Heaven has endowed us with great- er or less strength of mind, vivacity of perception^ and solidity of judgment. The method here re- commended is more laborious, and much less ex- peditious. Yet this method, if I am not greatly mistaken, may be of considerable use, to enable us to form a proper estimate of those reasonings, which, by violating common sense, tend to subvert every principle of rational belief, to sap the foun- dations of truth and science, and to leave the mind exposed to all the horrors of scepticism. To be puzzled by such reasonings, is neither a crime nor a dishonour; though in many cases it may be both dishonourable and criminal to suffer ourselves to be deluded by them. For is not this to prefer the equivocal voice of a vain, selfish, and ensnar- ing wrangler, to the clear, the benevolent, the in- fallible dictates of nature ? Is not this to bely our sentiments, to violate our constitution, to sin against our own soul? Is not this '' to forsake the fountains of living water, and to hew out unto ourselves broken cisterns that can hold no water?" Px\RT III. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED, THEY who consider virtue as a subject of mere curiosity, and think that the principles of morals and properties of conic sections ought to be ex- plained with the same degree of apathy and indif- ference, will find abundant matter for censure in the preceding observations. As the author is not 252 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. very ambitious of the good opinion of such theo- rists, he* v/ill not give himself much trouble in raultiplying apologies for what, to them, may have the appearance of keenness or severity in the ani- madversions he has hitherto made, or mav hereaf- ter make, on the principles of certain noted philo- sophers. He considers happiness as the end and aim of our being; and he thinks philosophy valu- able only so far as it may be conducive to this end. Human hjippiness seemeth to him wholly unattain- able, except by the means that virtue and religion provide. He is therefore persuaded, that while employed in pleading the cause of virtue, and of true science, its best auxiliary, he supports, in some measure, the character of a friend to human kind ; and he would think his right to that glori- ous appellation extremely questionable, if the warmth of his zeal did not bear some proportion ta the importance of his cause. However suspicious he may be of his ability to vindicate the rights of his fellow creatures, he is not suspicious of his in- clination. He feels that, on such a subject, he must speak from the heart, or not speak at all. — For the genius and manner of his discourse he has no other apology to offer: and by every person of spirit, candour, and benevolence, he is sure that this apology will be deemed sufficient^: As to the principles and matter of it, he is less confident. These, though neither visionary nor vmimportant, may possibly be misunderstood. He therefore begs leave to urge a few things, for the further vindication and illustration of them. To his own mind they are fully satisfactory; he hopes to render them equally so to every candid reader. Happy ! if he should be as successful in establish- ing conviction, as others have been in subverting it. CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRVTH, 253 CHAP. I. Further remarks on the consistency of these prtnci* pies xvhh the interests of Science^ and the Rights of mankind. IT may possibly be objected to this discourse. That "it tends to discourage freedom of inquiry, and to promote implicit faith." But nothing is more contrary to my design ; as those Mho a -tend, without prejudice, to the full import of what I have advanced on the subject of evidence, will undoubtedly perceive. Let me be permitted to repeat, that the truths in which man is most concerned, do not lie exceedingly deep ; nor are we to estimate either their importance, or their certainty, by the length of the line of our investi* gation. The evidences of the philosophy of human nature are found in our own breast ; we need not roam abroad in quest of them ; the unlearned are judges of them as well as the learned. Ambigui- ties have arisen, when the feelings of the heart and understanding were expressed in words; but the feelings themselves were not ambiguous. Let a man attentively examine himself, with a sincere purpose of discovering the truth, and without any bias in favour of particular theories, and he will seldom be at a loss in regard to those truths, at least, that are most essential to his happiness and duty. If men must needs amuse themselves with metaphysical investigation, let them apply it, where it can do no harm, to the distinctions and logoma- chies of ontology. In the science of human nature it cannot possibly do good, but must of necessity do infinite mischief. What avail the obscure de« ductions of verbal argument, in illustrating what we sufficiently know by experie^nce t or in shewing a54 AN ESSAY ON TRUTIf. PART III* that to be fictitious and false, whose energ}^ we must feel and acknowledge every moment? When there- fore I find a pretended principle of human nature evinced by a dark and intricate investigation, I am tempted to suspect, not without reason, that its evidence is no where to be found but in the argu- ments of the theorist; and these, when disguised by quaint distinctions, and ambiguous language, it is sometimes hard to confute, even when the heart recoils from the doctrine with contempt or detestation. If the doctrine be true, it must also be agreeable to experience : to experience, there- fore, let the appeal be made ; let the circumstances be pointed out, in which the controverted sentiment arises, or is supposed to arise. This is to act the philosopher, not the metaphysician ; the interpreter of nature, not the builder of systems. But let us consider the objection more particularly. What then do you mean by that implicit faith, to which you suppose these principles too favour- able? Do you mean an acquiescence in the dictates- of our own understanding, or in those of others-? If the former, I must tell you, that such implicit faith is the only kind of belief which true philo- sophy recommends. I have already remarked, that, while man continues in his present state, our own intellectual feelings are, and must be, the standard of truth to us. All evidence productive of belief, is resolvable into the evidence of consci- ousness ; and comes at last to this point, I believe because I believe, or because the law of my nature determines me to believe. This belief may be called implicit ; but it is the only rational belief of which we are capable : and to say, that our minds ought not to submit to it, is as absurd as to say, that our bodies ought not to be nourished with food. Revelation itself must be attended with evidence to satisfy consciousness or common sense ; CHAP, I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 2^^' Otherwise it can never be rationally believed. By the evidence of the gospel, the rational Christian is persuaded that it comes from God. He ac^ quiesces in it as truth, not because it is recom- mended by others, but because it satisfies his own understanding. But if, by implicit faith, you mean, what I think is commonly meant by that term, an unwarrant- able or unquestioned acquiescence in the sentiments of other men, I deny that any part of this discourse hath a tendency, to promote it. I never said, that doctrines are to be taken for granted without ex- amination; though I affirmed, that, in regard to moral doctrines, a long and intricate examination is neither necessary nor expedient. With moral truth, it is the business of every man to be acquaint- ed ; and therefore the Deity has made it level to every capacity. Far be it from a lover of truth to discourage free- dom of inquiry! Man is possessed of reasoning powers ; by means of which we may bring that within the sphere of common sense, which was originally beyond it. Of these powders he may, and ought to avail himself ; for many important truths are not self-evident, and our faculties were not de- signed for a state of inactivity. But neither were they designed to be employed in fruitless or dan- gerous investigation. Our knowledge and capacity are limited ; it is fit and necessary they should be so : we need not wander into forbidden paths, or attempt to penetrate inaccessible regions, in quest of employment ; the cultivation of useful and prac- tical science, the improvement of arts, and the in- dispensable duties of life, will furnish ample scope to all the exertions of human genius. Surely that man is my friend, who dissuades me from attempt- ing what I cannot perform, nor even attempt with- 256 An ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. out danger^ And is not he a friend to science and mankind, who endeavours to discourage fallacious and unprofitable speculation, and to propose a cri- terion by which it may be known and avoided ? But if reasoning ought not to be carried beyond a certain boundary, and if it is the authority of common sense that fixeth this boundary, and if it be possible to mistake a prejudice for a principle of common sense, how (it may be said) are preju- dices to be detected ? At this rate, a man has no- thing to do, but to call his prejudice a dictate of common sense, and then it is established in perfect security, beyond the reach of argument. Does not this furnish a pretence for limiting the freedom o£: inquiry? — Having already said a great deal in an- swer to the first part of this question, I need not now say much in answer to the last. I shall only ask, on the other hand, what method of reasoning is the properest for overcoming the prejudices of an obstinate man ? Are we to wrangle with him in hifinitum^ without ever arriving at any fixed principle ? That surely is not the way to illustrate truth, or rectify error. Do we mean to ascertain the importance of our arguments by their number, and to pronounce that the better cause whose cham- pion gives the last word I This, I fear, would not mend the matter. Suppose our antagonist should deny a self-evident truth, or refuse his assent to an intuitive probability ; must we not refer him to the coipmon sense of mankind? If we do not, we must either hold our peace, or have recourse to sophistry: for when a principle comes to be intuitively true or false, all legitimate reasoning is at an end, and all further reasoning impertinent. To the common sense of mankind we must therefore refer him soon- er or later ; and if he continue obstinate, we must leave him. Is it not then of consequence to truth. A. ' and may it not servo to prevent many a sophistical CHAP, l.y AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 25? argument, and unprofitable logomachy, that we have it continually in view, that common sense is the standard of truth? a maxim, which men are not always disposed to admit io its full latitude, and which, in the heat and hurry of dispute, they are apt to overlook altogether. Some men will always be found, who think the most absurd prejudices founded in common sense. Reasonable men never scruple to submit their prejudices or principles to examination: but if that examination turn to no account, or if it turn to a bad account; if it only puzzle where it ought to convince, and darken what it ought to illustrate; if it recommend im- practicable modes of action, or inconceivable modes pf thought; — I must confess I cannot perceive the use of it. This is the only kind of reasoning that I mean to discourage. It is this kind of reasoning that has proved so fatal to the abstract sciences. In it all our sceptical systems are founded ; of it they consist ; and by it they are supported. Till the abstract sciences be cleared of this kind of rea- soning, they deserve not the name of philosophy : they may amuse a weak and turbulent mind, and render it still weaker and more turbulent ; but they cannot convey any real instruction : they may un- dermine the foundations of virtue and science ; but they cannot illustrate a single truth, nor establish one principle of importance, nor improve the mind of man in any respect whatsoever. By some it may be thought an objection to the principles of this essay, '^ That they seem to recom- mend a method of confutation which is not strict- ly according to logic, and do actually contradict some of the established laws of that science." It will readily be acknowledged, that many of the maxims of the school-logic are founded in truth and nature, and have so long obtained universal approbation, that they are now become proverbial 258 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. in philosophy. Many of its rules and distinctions are extremely useful, not so much for strengthen- ing the judgment, as for enabling the disputant quickly to comprehend, and perspicuously to ex- press, in what the force or fallacy of an argument consists. The ground work of this science, the I-.ogic of Aristotle, if we may judge of the whole by the part now extant, is one of the most successful and most extraordinary effects of philosophic geni- us that ever appeared in the world. And yet, if we consider this science, with regard to its design and consequences, we shall perhaps see reason to think, that a strict observance of its lav/s is not al- ways necessary to the discovery of truth. It v/as originally intended as a help to discourse among a talkative and sprightly people. The con- stitution of Athens made public speaking of great importance, and almost a certain road to preferment or distinction. This was also in some measure the case at Rome; but the Romans were more reserved, and did not, tiU about the time of Cicero, think of reducing conversation or public speaking to rule. The vivacity of the Athenians, encouraged by their democratical spirit, made them fond of disputes and declamations, which were often carried on without any view to discover truth, but merely to gratify humour, give employment to the tongue, and amuse a vacant hour. Some of the dialogues of Plato are to be considered in this light, rather as exercises in declamation, than serious disquisi- tions in philosophy. It is true, this is not the only merit even of such of them as seem the least con- siderable. If we are often dissatisfied with his doctrine; if we have little curiosity to learn the characters and manners of that age, whereof he has given so natural a representation; w^e must yet acknowledge, that as models for elegance and sim- plicity of composition, the most inconsiderable of CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 2S9 Plato's dialogues are very useful and ingenious. His speakers often compliment each other on the beauty of their style, even when there is nothing very striking in the sentiment"^. If therefore, we would form a just estimate of Plato, w^e must re- gard him not only as a philosopher, but also as a rhetorician; for it was evident he was ambitious to excel in both characters. But it appears, not to have been his opinion, that the practice of extem- porary speaking and disputing, so frequent in his time, had any direct tendency to promote the inves- tigation of truth, or the acquisition of wisdom.. The Lacedemonians, the most reserved and most silent people in Greece, and who made the least pretensions to a literary character, were, in his judgment, a nation not only of the wisest men, but of the greatest philosophers. Their words were few, their address not without rusticity; but the meanest of them was able, by a single expres- sion, dexterously aimed, and seasonably introduced, to make the stranger with whom he conversed, ap- pear no wiser than a childf. The Athenians, accustomed to reduce every thing to art, and among whom the spirit of science was more prevalent than in any other nation ancient or modern, had contrived a kind of technical logic long before the days of Aristotle. Their sophists taught it in conj unction with rhetoric and philoso- phy. But Aristotle brought it to perfection, and * See the Symposium, Platonis opera, vol. 3. p. 19&. Edit. S err an. jf Et ris i9eXoi AocycB^xi(j(,oviuv tm (pocvXonxrco a-vyysnV) inQocX^ p'n^/.x oc^iov Koyov Toy 7SpO(j^i3t.Kiyo!j^iyQy TTxioos (xyjosv bsAr/o;. Socrates in Fiat. FrotogorUj voL l./>. 342> 2 2 260 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. seems to have been the first who professedly dis- joined it from the other arts and sciences. On his logic was founded that of the school-men. But they, like other commentators, often misunderstood the text, and often perverted it to the purpose of a favourite system. They differed from one another in their notions of Aristotle's doctrine, ranged themselves into sects and parties ; and instead of explaining the principles of their master, made it their sole business to comment upon one another. Now and then men of learning arose, who endea- voured to revive the true Peripatetic philosophy ; but their efforts, instead of proving successful, served only to provoke persecution ; and at length the scholastic system grew so corrupt, and at the same time so enormous in magnitude, that it be- came an insuperable incumbrance to the under- standing, and contributed not a little to perpetuate the ignorance and barbarism of those times. The chief aim of the old logic, even in its purest form, (so far at least as it was a practical science), was to render men expert in arguing readily on either side of any question. But it is one thing to employ our faculties in searching after truth, and a very different thing to employ them equally in defence of truth and of error ; and the same modification of intellect that fits a man for the one, will by no means qualify him for the other. Nay, if I mistake not, the talents that fit us for discovering truth, are Tather hurt than improved by the practice of so- phistry. To argue against one's own conviction, must always have a bad effect on the heart, and render one more indifferent about the truth, and perhaps more incapable of perceiving it^. See the story of Pertinax in the Rambler, No. 95 ; where the eiFects of habitual disputation, in perverting the judgment, and vitiating the heart, are illustrated with the utmost energy and elegance. CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, 261 To dispute readily on either side of any question, is admired by some as a very high accomplishment: but it is what any person of moderate abilities may easily acquire by a little practice. Perhaps mode- rate abilities are the most favourable to the acqui- sition of this talent. Sensibility and penetration, the inseparable attendants, or rather the most essen- tial parts of true genius, qualify a man for dis- covering truth with little labour of investigation ; and at the same time interest him so deeply in it, that he cannot bear to turn his view to the other side of the question. Thus he never employs him- self in devising arguments ; and therefore seldom arrives at any proficiency in that exercise. But the man of slow intellect and dull imagination advances step by step in his inquiries, without any keenness of sentiment, or ardor of fancy, to distract his at- tentioi) ; and without that instantaneous anticipa- tion of consequences, that leads the man of genius to the conclusion, even before he has examined all the intermediate relations. Hence he naturally ac- quires a talent for minute observation, and for a pa- tient examination of circumstances ; at the same time that his insensibility prevents his interesting himself warmly on either side, and leaves him lei- sure to attend equally to his own arguments, and to those of the antagonist. This gives him eminent superiority in a dispute, and fits him, not indeed for discovering truth, but for baffling an adversary and supporting a system. I have been told that Newton, the first time he read Euclid's Elements, perceived instantly, and al- most intuitively, the truth of the several proposi- tions, before he consulted the proof. Such vivacity and strength of judgment are extraordinary: and in- deed, in the case of mathematical and physical truths, we are seldom to expect this instantaneous anticipation of consequences, even from men of '262 . AN ESSAY ON TRlf T^. PART III. more than moderate talents- But in moral subjects, and in most of the matters that are debated in con- versation, there is rarely anjr need of comparing a great number of intermediate relations : every per- son of sound judgment sees the truth at once : or, if he does not, it is owing to his ignorance of some facts or circumstances, which may be soon learned from a plain narrative, but which are disguised and confounded more and more by wrangling and con- tradiction. If there be no means of clearing the disputed facts or difficulties, it would not, I pre- sume, be imprudent to drop the subject, and talk of something else. It is pleasant enough to hear the habitual wrang- ler endeavouring to justify his conduct by a pre- tence of zeal for the truth. It is not the love of truth, but of .victory, that engages him in disputa- tion. I have w itnessed many contests of this kind ; but have seldom seen them lead, or even tend to any useful discovery. Where ostentation, self-con- ceit, or love of paradox, are not concerned, they commonly arise from some verbal ambiguity, or from the misconception of some fact, which both parties taking it for granted that they perfectly un- derstand, are at no pains to ascertain: and, when once begun, are, by the vanity or obstinacy of the speakers,pr perhaps by their mere love of speaking, continued, till accident put an end to them by si- lencing the parties, rather than reconciling their opinions. I once saw a number of persons, neither unlearned nor ill-bred, meet together to pass a so- .cial evening. As ill-luck would have it, a dispute arose about the propriety of a certain manoeuvre at quadrille, in which some of the company had been interested the night before. Two parties of dispu- tants were immediately formed ; and the matter was warmly argued from six o'clock till midnight, when the company broke up. Being no adept in cards, I CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 263 could not enter into the merits of the cause, nor take any part in the controversy ; but I observed, that each of the speakers persisted to the last in the opinion he took up at the beginning, in which he seemed to be rather confirmed than staggered by the arguments that had been urged in opposi- tion. — With such enormous waste of time, with such vile prostitution of reason and speech, with such wanton indifference to the pleasures of friend- ship, all disputes are not attended ; but most of them, if I mistake not, will be found to be equally unprofitable. I grant, that much of our knowledge is gathered from our intercourse with one another ; but I can- not think that we are greatly indebted to the argu- mentative part Tjf conversation; and nobody will say, that the most disputatious companions are ei- ther the most agreeable or the most instructive. For my own part, I have always found those to be the most delightful and most improving conversa- tions, in which there was the least contradiction ; every person entertaining the utmost possible res- pect, both for the judgment, and for the veracity of his associate > and none assuming any of those dictatorial airs, which are so offensive to the lov- ers of liberty, modesty, and friendship. — If a ca- talogue were to be made of all the truths that have been discovered by wrangling in company, or by solemn disputations in the schools, I believe 'it would appear, that the contending parties might have been employed as advantageously to mankind, and much more so to themselves, in whipping a top, or brandishing a rattle. The extravagant fondness of the Stoics for logi- cal quibbles, is one of the most disagreeable pecu- liarities in the writings of that sect. Every body must have been disgusted with it in reading some passages of the conversations of Epictetus, pre- 264 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. served by Arrian; and must be satisfied^ that it tended rather to weaken and bewilder, than to im- prove the understanding. One could hardly be- lieve to what ridiculous excess they carried it. There was a famous problem among them called the Pseudomcnos^ which was to this purpose : *^ When a man says, I /ie, does he lie, or does he not I* If he lies, he speaks truth ; if he speaks truth, he lies." Many were the books that their philo- sophers wrote, in order to solve this wonderful problem. Chrj^ippus favoured the world with no fewer than six ; and Philetas studied himself to death in his attempts to solve it. Epictetus, whose good sense often triumphs over the extravagance of Stoicism, justly ridicules this logical phrenzy*. Socrates made little account of the subtleties of logic; being more solicitous to instruct others than to distinguish himselff. He inferred his doc- trine from the concessions of those with whom he conversed; so that he left no room for dispute, as the adversary could not contradict him, without contradicting himself. And yet to Socrates, phi- losophy is perhaps more indebted than to any other person whatever. We have therefore no reason to think, that truth is discoverable by those means only which the technical logic prescribes. Aristotle knew the the- ory both of sophisms and syllogisms, better than any other man; yet Aristotle himself is sometimes imposed on by sophisms of his own inventionij:. * Arrian, lib. ii. cap. \7, fSupra, part 2. chap. 2. sect. 1. |Thus he is said to have proved the earth to be the centre of the universe, by the following sophism. — ♦' Heavy bodies naturally tend to the centre of the universe f we know by ex- perience, that heavy bodies tend to the centre of the earthy therefore the centre of the earth is the same with that of the universe." Which is what the logicians t all j&ft/f20/>ri?*ci}^«j or begging the question* CHAP. I. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 265 And it is remarkable, that his moral, rhetorical, and political writings, in which his own excellent judgment is little warped by logical subtleties, are far the most useful, and, in point of sound reason- ing, the most unexceptionable part of his philoso- phy. The apparent tendency of the school-logic is, to render men disputatious and sceptical, adepts in the knowledge of words, but inattentive to fact and experience. It makes them fonder of speaking than thinking, and therefore strangers to them- selves ; solicitous chiefly about rules, names, and distinctions, and therefore leaves them neither lei- sure nor inclination for the study of life and man- ners. ^ In a word, it makes them more ambitious to distinguish themselves as the partizans of a dog- matist, than as inquirers after truth. It is easy to see how far a man of this temper is qualified to make discoveries in knowledge. To such a man, indeed, the name of truth is only a pretence : he neither is, nor can be, much interested in the so- lidity or importance of his tenets; it is enough if he can render them plausible ; nay, it is enough if he can silence his adversary by any means. The captious turn of an habitual wrangler, deadens the understanding, sours the temper, and hardens the heart: by rendering the mind suspicious, and at- tentive to trifles, it weakens the sagacity of instinct, and extinguishes the fire of imagination ; it trans- forms conversation into a state of warfare, and res- trains those lively sallies of fancy, so effectual in promoting good humour and good-will, which, though often erroneous, are a thousand times more trainable than the dull correctness of a mood-and- figure disciplinarian. One of the first maxims of the school-logic is, That nothing is to be believed, but what we can give a reason for believing ; a maxim destructive 266 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. of all truth and science, as hath been fully shown in the former part of this discourse. We must not, however, lay this maxim to the charge of the ancient logic. Des Cartes, and the modern scep- tics, got it from the schoolmen, who forged it out of some passages of Aristotle misunderstood. The philosopher said indeed, that all investigation should begin with doubt ; but this doubt is to re- main only till the understanding be convinced; which, in Aristotle's judgment, may be effected by intuitive evidence as well as by argumentative. The doctrine we have been endeavouring to illus- trate, tends not to encourage any prejudices, or any opinions, unfriendly to truth or virtue: its only aim is, to establish the authority of those in- stinctive principles of conviction and assent, vrhich the rational part of mankind have acknowledged in all ages, and which the condition of man, in respect both of action and intelligence, renders it absurd not to acknowledge. — We cannot suppose, that the human mind, unlike to all other natural systems, is made up of incompatible principles; in it, as in all the rest, there must be unity of design ; and there- fore the principles of human belief, and of human action, must have one and the same tendency. But many of our modern philosophers teach a different doctrine ; endeavouring to persuade themselves, and others, that they ought not to believe what they cannot possibly disbelieve ; and that those actions may be absurd, and contrary to truth, the perform- ance of which is necessary to our very existence. If they will have it, that this is philosophy, I shall not dispute about the word ; but I insist on it, that all such philosophy is no better than pedantic non- sense ; and that, if a man were to write a book, to prove, that fire is the element in which we ought to live, he would not act more absurdly, than some metaphysicians of these times would be thought to CHAP. 1. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 267 have acted, if their works were understood, and rated according to their intrinsic merit. That every thing may be made matter of dis- pute, is another favourite maxim of the school-lo- gic ; and it would not be easy to devise one more detrimental to true science. What a strange pro- pensity these doctors have had to disputation! One would think, that, in their judgment, " the chief end of man is, to contradict his neighbour, and wrangle with him for ever." To attempt a proof of what I know to be false, and a confutation of what I know to be true, is an exercise from which I can never expect advantage, so long as I deem rationality a blessing. I never heard it pre- scribed as a recipe for strengthening the sight, to keep constantly blindfolded in the day-time, and put on spectacles when we go to sleep; nor can I imagine how the ear of a musician could be im- proved, by his playing frequently on an ill-tuned fiddle. And vet the school-men seem to have thought, that the more we shut our eyes against the truth, we shall the more distinctly perceive it ; and that tlie oftener we practise falsehood, we shall be the more sagacious in detecting, and the more hearty in abhorring it. To suppose, that we may make every thing matter of dispute, is to suppose^ that we can account for every thing. Alas! in most cases, to feel and believe, is all we have to do, or can do. Destined for action rather than for knovvledge, and governed more by instinct than by reason, we can extend our investigations, especial- ly with regard to ourselves, but a very little way. And, after all, when we acquiesce with implicit confidence in the dictates of our nature, where is the harm or the danger of such a conduct ? Is our life shortened, or health injured by it ? No. Are our judgments perverted, or our hearts corrupted ? A a %6S AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART iil» No. Is our happiness impaired, or the sphere of o-ur gratification contracted? Quite the contrary. Have we less leisure for attending to the duties of life, and for adorning our minds with useful and elegant literature ? We have evidently more time left for those purposes. Why then so itiuch logic ? so many disputes, and so many theories, about the first philosophy? Rather than in disguising false- hood, and labouring to subvert the foundations of truth, why do we not, with humility and candour, employ our faculties in the attainment of plain, practical, and useful knowledge ? The consequences of submitting every sentiment and principle to the test of reasoning, have been considered already. This practice has, in every age, tended much to confound science, to prevent the detection of error, and (may we not add ?) to debase the human understanding. For, have we not seen real genius, under the influence of a dis- putatious spirit, derived from nature, fashion, or education, evaporate in subtlety, sophistry, and vain refinement? Lucretius, Cicero, and Des Cartes, might be mentioned as examples. And it will be matter of lasting regret in the republic of letters, that a greater than the greatest of these, I mean John Milton, had the misfortune to be born in an age when the study of scholastic theology was deemed an essential part of intellectual discipline. It is either affectation or false modestv, that ^ makes men say they know nothing with pertainty. Man's knowledge, indeed, compared with that of superior b)tli}cii ^itxixxpracvujvy (xyu^psXvis^ Plutarch, de Educatione. WOv^zv o(pzXos 10V Ezji T>jv afJLXfnoiv A^tcry(j>ay ocf^xpruDLy ixvocKctQuv 'ZJtipizaoiJLixu Ulys, ^rpxro> ^' A%a? T»?y (ppomav e^tv Btvati^^TupXKrucvjv* Ethic, ad Nicom. vi. 5. CMAP. !!• AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 291 sible for a man to be properly good without pru- dence, nor prudent without moral virtue^." Will it yet be said, that the ancient moralists made no material distinction between moral and intellectual virtues f Is it not evident, that though they con- sidered both as necessary to the formation of a per- fect character, and sometimes discoursed of both in the same treatise or system, yet they deemed the latter valuable only as means to qualify us for the former, and insignificant, or even odious, when they failed to answer this end ? " We may," says Mr. Hume, " by perusing the titles of the chapters in Aristotle's Ethics, be con- vinced, that he ranks courage, temperance, magni- ficence, magnanimity, modesty, prudence, and a manlij freedom among the virtues, as well as jus- tice and friendship!." True ; but if our learned metaphysician had extended his researches a iittle beyond the titles of those chapters, he would have found, that, in Aristotle's judgment, ^' Moral virtue is a voluntary disposition or habit ; and that mo^ ral approbation or disapprobation are excited by those actions and affections only which are in our own power ^ that is, of which the first motion, arises in ourselves, and pi^oceed* from no extrinsic cause:!:." ^ASyvaToy (fpoy/^ov g/y^f iiyi ovroc ctyx^ov,--^Ov^* otov acyac^ii Id. vi. 13. See the elegant paraphrase of Andronicus the Rhodian, upoii these passages. i' Hume's Essays, vol. 2. p. 388. — The term ma?uy freedom does not express the meaning of the Greek «Aft;Sfp A?. Mr. Hume was perhaps misled by the etymolog}^ : but he ought to have known, that by this word the philosopher denotes that Virtue whicb couitists in the moderate use of Huealth. -zj^p yipYiixotra, f/.ccrorios» See Ethic, ad Nicom. lib. 4. cap. 1, 2. :f Ethic, ad Nicom. iii. 1. — ii. 6. Mag. Mor. i. 15. Andro* jiicus Rhodius, p. 89, 90, 188. edit. Caatab. 1679. Stephan'us, in voce TrpouifirtKos^ c e SQ-^ AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART HI. This is true philosophy : it is accurate, perspicu- ous, and just, and very properly determines the de- gree of merit of our intellectual and constitutional virtues. A man makes proficiency in knowledge : if in this he has acted from a desire to improve his nature, and qualify himself for moral virtue, that desire, and the action consequent upon it, are vir- tuous, laudable, and of good desert. Is a man pos- sessed of great genius ^. — this invests him with dig- nity and distinction, and qualifies him for noble un- dertakings : but this of itself is no moral virtue ; because it is not a disposition resulting from a spontaneous effort. Is his constitution naturally disposed to virtue ? he still has it in his power to be vitious, and therefore his virtue is trulv merito- rious ; though not so highly as that of another man, who, in spite of outrageous appetites, and tempting circumstances, hath attained an equal degree of mo- ral improvement. A man constitutionally brave, ge- nerous, or grateful, commands our admiration more than another, who struggles to overcome the natu- ral baseness of his temper. The former is a sublimer object, and may be of greater service to society ; and as his virtue is secured by constitution as well as by inclination, we repose in it without fear of being disappointed. Yet perhaps the latter, if his merit were equally conspicvious, would be found equally worthy of our moral approbation. Indeed, if his virtue be so irresolute as to leave him waver- ing between good and evil, he is not entitled to praise : such irresolution is criminal, because he may, and ought to correct it ; we cannot, and we ought not to trust him, till we see a strong prepos- session established in favour of virtue. — However, let us love virtue wherever we find it : whether the immediate gift of heaven, or the effect of hu- man industry co-operating with divine influence, it always deserves our esteem and veneration. GHAP, II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 2d3 The reader may now form an estimate of that author's attention, who says, that ^^-the ancient mo- ralists made no material distinction among the dif- ferent species of mental endowments and defects.'^ If any one is disposed to think, that I have made out my point rather by inference than by direct proof, I submit to his consideration the follchving passages, which are too plain to need a commen- tarv. Having proposed a general distribution of our mental powers, (which seems to amount to this^ that some of them fit us for knowledge, and others for action) Aristotle proceeds in this manner. " According to this distribution, virtue is also divided into intellectual and moral. Of the former kind are wisdom, intelligence, and prudence; of the latter, temperance and frugal liberality. When v/e speak of morals, we do not say, that a man is wise or intelligent, but that he is gentle or tempe- rate. Yet we praise a wise man in respect of his dispositions [or habits] : for laudable disposition's are what we call virtues^." " The virtues of the soul," says Cicero, ^' and of its principal part the understanding, are various, but may be reduced to two kinds. The first are those which nature has implanted, and which are called not voluntary. The second kind are more properly called virtues^ because they depend on the will ; and these, as objects of approbation, are transcendently superior. Of the former kind are docility, memory, and ail the virtues distinguished Atopi(^ertxi ^s koci vt acpsrio KOiroc rviv ^iac?v, i^Oiycocs* ^^syovres yacp 'Cjspi ra viQovsy a Xsyofxsv on croOosy vi crv)/STOij aAX on '^ptx.osy vi croj lo of this Essay. c c 2 296 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH; PART tU. as may best suit your purpose. A few occasional strictures on religion as an unphilosophical thing, and a sneer at the Whole Duty of Marv^^ or any other good book, will give your Dissertation what many are pleased to call a liberal turn; and will go near to convince the world, that you are a can- did philosopher, a manly free-thinker, and a very fine writer. It is to no purpose that our author calls this a verbal dispute, and sometimes condescends to soi- ten matters by an almost^ or some such evasive word. His doctrine obviously tends to confound all our ideas of virtue and duty, and to make us consider ourselves as mere machines, acted upon by external and irresistible impulse, and not more accountable for moral blemishes, than for ignorance, want of understanding, poverty, deformity, and disease. If the reader think as seriously of the controversy as I do, he will pardon the length of this digression. I hope it now appears, that there is a kind of metaphysic, which, whatever respectable names it may have assumed, deserves contempt or censure- from every lover of truth. If it be detrimental to science, it is equally so to the affairs of life. When- ever one enters on business, the metaphysical spirit must be laid aside, otherwise it will render him ridiculous, perhaps detestable. Sure it will not be said, that any portion of this spirit is neces- sary to form a man for stations of high importance. For these, a turn to metaphysic would be as effec- tual a disqualification as want of understanding. The metaphysician is cold, wavering, distrustful, and perpetually ruminates on words, distinctions, arguments and systems. He attends to the events of life with a view chiefly to the system that hap- * See Hume^s Essays, vol. 2. p. S88. edit. 1767. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY OK TRUTH. 29 yf pens for the time to predominate in his imagination, and to which he is anxious to reconcile every ap- - pearance. His observation is therefore partial and inaccurate, because, he contemplates nature through the medium of his favourite theory, which is al- ways false; so that experience, which enlarges, ascertains, and methodizes, the knowledge of other men, serves only to heighten the natural darkness and confusion of his. His literary studies are con- ducted with the same spirit, and produce the same effects Whereas, to the administration of great affairs, truth and steadiness of principle, constancy of mind, intuitive sagacity, extreme quickness in apprehending the present and anticipating the fu- ture, are indispensably necessary. Whatever tends to weaken and unsettle the mind, to cramp the imagination, to fix the attention on minute and trifling objects, and withdraw it from those enlarg- ed prospects of nature and mankind, in which true genius loves to expatiate ; whatever has this tenden- cy, and surely metaphysic has it, is the bane of % genius, and of every thing that is great in human nature. In the lower walks of life, our theorist will be oftener the object of ridicule than of detestation. Yet even here, the man is to be pitied, who, in matters of moment, happens to be connected with a staunch metaphysician. Doubts, disputes, and conjectures, will be the plague of his life. If his associate form a system of action or inaction, of doubt or confidence, he will stick by it, however absurd, as long as he has one verbal argument un* answered to urge in defence of it. In accounting for the conduct of others, he will reject obvious causes, and set himself to explore such as are more remote and refined. Making no proper allowance for the endless variety of human character, he will suppose all men influenced, like himself, by system 298 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. and verbal argument: certain causes, in his judg- ment, must of necessity produce certain effects ; for he has twenty reasons ready to oflFer, by which it is demonstrable, that they cannot fail : and it is well , if experience, at last convince him, that there was a small verbal ambiguity in his princi- ples, and that his vieWs of mankind were not quite so extensive as they ought to have been* In a word, unless he be very good-natured, and of a passive disposition, his refinements will do more harm than even the stiff stupidity of an idiot. If inclined to fraud, or any sort of vice, he will never be at a loss for an evasion, which, if it should not satisfy his associate, will perplex and plague him most effectually. I need not enlarge ; the reader may conceive the rest. To aid his fancy, he will find some traits of this character, in one of its most amusing and least disagreeable forms, delineated with a masterly pencil in the person of Walter Shandy, Esquire. It is astonishing to consider, how little mankind value the good within their reach, and how ardently they pursue what nature has placed beyond it ; how blindly they over-rate what they have no experi- ence of, and how fondly they admire what they do not understand. This verbal metaphysic has been dignified with the name of science^ and verbal me- taphysicians have been reputed philosophers, and men of genius. Doubtless a man of genius may, by the fashion of the times, be seduced into these stu- dies : but that particular cast of mind which fits a man for them, and recommends them to his choice, is not genius, but a minute and feeble understand- ing ; capable indeed of being made, by long prac- tice expert in the management of words ; but which never did, and never will, qualify any man for the discovery or illustration of sentiment.. Fof CHAP. II- AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. what is genius ? What, but sound judgment, sensi- bility of heart, and a talent for accurate and exten- sive observation? And will sound judgment ^e- pare a man for being imposed on by words ? will sensibility of heart render him insensible to his own feelings and inattentive to those of other men? will a talent for accurate and extensive observation, make him ignorant of the real phenomena of na- ture, and consequently, incapable of detecting what is false or equivocal in the representation of facts ? And yet, when facts are fairly and fully repre- sented ; when human sentiments are strongly felt, and perspicuously described ; and when the mean- ing of words is ascertained, and the same word has always the same idea annexed to it, — —there is^an end of metaphysic. A body is neither vigorous nor beautiful, in which the size of some members is above, and that of others below their due proportion : every part must have its proper size and strength, otherwise the result of the whole will be deformity and weak- ness. Neither is real genius consistent with a dis- proportionate strength of the reasoning powers above those of taste and imagination. Those minds in whom all the faculties are united in their due proportion, are far superior to the puerilities of metaphysical scepticism. They trust to their own feelings, which are strong and decisive, and leave no room for hesitation or doubts about their au- thenticity. They see through moral subjects at one glance ; and what they say, carries both the heart and the understanding along with it. When one has long drudged in the dull and unprofitable pages of metaphysic, how pleasing the transition to a a moral writer of true genius ! Would you know what that genius is, and where it may be found ? Go to Shakespeare, to Bacon, to Johnson, to Mon* 300 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. tesquieu, to Rousseau^; and when you have studied them, return, If ycu can, to Hume, and Hobbes, and Wl t v;branche, and Leibnitz, and Spinoza. If, while you learned wi^^dom from the former, your heart ex- *As several persons, highly respectable both for their talents and principles, have desired to know my reasons for joining Rousseau's name to those of Bacon, Shakespeare, Johnson, and Montesquieu, i beg leave to take this oppor- tunity of explaining my sentiments in regard to that celebrated author. It is because 1 consider Rousseau as a moral nvrlter of true genius, that I mention his name in this place. Sensibility of heart ; a talent for extensive and accurate observation ; live- liness and ardour of fancy ; and a style copious, nervous, and elegant, beyond that of any other French writer, — are his dis- tinguishing characteristics. In argument he is not always equally successful, for he often mistakes declamation for proof, and hypothesis for fact; but his eloquence, when ad- dressed to the heart, over-powers with force irresistible. A greater number of impfcrtant fatts relating to the human mind are recorded in his works, than in all the books of ail the scep- tical philosophers ancient and modern. * And he appears in general to be a friend to virtue, to mankind, to natural reli- gion, and sometimes to Christianity. Yet none even of his best works are free from absurdity. His reasoning, on the effects of the sciences, and on the origin and progress of human society, are diftiise, inaccurate, and often weak ; much perverted by theories of his own, as well as by too implicit an admittance of the vague assertions of travellers, and of the systems and doctrines of some favour- ite French Philosophers: and he seems, in these, and fre- quently too in his other writings, to consider animal pleasure and bodily accomplishments as the happiness and perfection of man. His plan of education, though admirable in many parts, is in some injudicious and dangerous, and impracticable as a whole. The character of Julia's Lover is drawn with a mas- terly hand indeed, and well conducted throughout ; but the- lady has two characters, and those incompatible ;-— the Wife of Wolmar is quite a different person from the mistress of St. Preux. Wolmar himself is an impossible character ; destitute of principle, yet of rigid virtue ; destitute of feeling, yet capa- ble of tenderness and attachment; delicate in his notions of honour, yet not ashamed to marry a woman whom he knew to be, to all intents and purposes, devoted to another. Some of this author's remarks on the spirit of Christianity, and on the character of its Divine Founder, are not only ex- €HAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. .301 vilted within you, and rejoiced to contemplate the sublime and successiui efforts of human intellect ; • perhaps it may now be of use, as a lesson of hu- mility, to have recourse to the latter, and, for awhile cellcnt, but transcendently so, and I believe no Christian ever read them without feeling his heart warmed, and his faith coniirmed. But what he says — of the absurdities which he fancies to be contained in the sacred history, — of the impro- priety of the evidence of miracles,— -of the analogy between those of Jesus Christ and the tricks of jugglers, — of the insig- nificancy and impertinence of prayer, — of the sufficiency of human reason for discovering a complete and comfortable scheme of natural religion. — of the discouraging nature of the terms of salvation oifered in the Gospel, — of the measure of Evidence that ought to accompany divine revelation (which, as he states it, would be incompatible witK man's free agency and moral probation) — what he says of these, and of several other theological points of great importance, betrays a degree of ignorance and prejudice, of which, as a philosopher, as a scholar, and as a" man, he should have been utterly ashamed. He appears to be distressed with his doubts ; and yet, with- out having ever examined whether they be well or ill-founded, scruples not to exert all his eloquence on purpose to infuse them into others; a conduct, which I must ever condemn as illiberal, unjust, and cruel. Had Rousseau studied the scrip- ture, and t^ie writings of rational divines, with as much care as he seems to have employed in reading the books, and listen- ing to the conversation of French infidels, and in attending to the unchristian practices and doctrines warranted by some eccle- siastical establishments; I may venture to assure him, that his mind would have been much more at ease, his works much more valuable, and his n>emory much dearer to all good men. Rousseau is, in my opinion, a great philosophical genius, but wild, irregular, and often self-contradictory; disposed, from the fashion of the times, and from his desire of being reputed a bold speaker and freethinker, to adopt the doctrines of in- fidelity; but of a heart too tender, and an imagination to9 lively, to permit him to become a thorough-paced infidel. Had he lived in an age less addicted to hypothesis, he might have distinguished himself as a moral philosopher of the first rank. What pity, that a proper sense of his superiority to his contemporaries upon the continent could not preserve him from the contagion of their example ! For, though now it is the fashion for every French declaimer to talk of Bacon and Newto-n, I question, whether in any age since the days of 302 AN ESSAY ON TRlTTH. PART 1U» to behold the picture of a soul wandering from thought to thought, without knowing where to fix; and from a total want of feeling, or a total igno- rance of what it feels, mistaking names for things, verbal distinctions and analogies for real difference and similitude, and the obscure insinuations of a bewildered understanding, puzzled with words, and perverted with theory, for the sentiments of nature, and the dictates of reason. A metaphy^ sician, exploring the recesses of the human heart has just such a chance for finding the truth, as a man with microscopic eyes would have for finding the road. The latter might amuse himself with contemplating the various mineral strata that are diffused along the expansion of a needle's point ; but of the face of nature he could make nothing ; he would start back with horror from the caverns yawning between the mountainous grains of sand that lie before him ; but the real gulf or mountain he could not see at all. Is the futility of metaphysical systems exagge^ rated beyond the truth by this allusion ? Tell me, Socrates, the building of fanciful theories was so epidemical as in the present. If the men of learning formerly employed their ingenuity in defending the theories of that philosopher by whose name they were ambitious to be distinguished; they are now no less industrious in devising and vindicating, each, man a theory of his own. To conclude : the writings of this author, with all their imperfections, may be read by the philosopher with advantage, as they often direct to the right observation and interpretation of nature ; and by the Christian without detriment, as the cavils they contain against religion are too slight and too paradoxical to weaken the faith of any one who is tolerably in- structed in the principles and evidence of Christianity. To the man of taste they can never fail to recommend them- selves, by the irresistible charms of the composition. The improprieties in Rousseau's late conduct, appear to me to have arisen rather from bodily infirmity than from moral depravation, and consequently to render him an object of for- bearance and pity, rather than of persecution or ridicule. CHAP* II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 303 then, in which of those systems I shall find such a description of the soul of man as would enable me to know what it is. A great and excellent author observes, that if all human things were to perish except the works of Shakespeare, it might still be known from them what sort of creature man was^: —A sentiment nobly imagined, and as just as it is sublime ! Can the same thing be said with truth of any oue, or of all the metaphysical treatises that have been written on the nature of man? If any inhabitant of another planet were to read The Treatise of Human Nature^ what notions of hu- man nature could he gather from it?— That man must believe one thing by instinct, .and must also believe the contrary by reason : — That the uni- verse is nothing but a heap of perceptions unper- ceived by any substance : That this universe, for any thing man knows to the contrary, might have made itself, that is, existed before it existed ; as we have no reason to believe that it proceeded from any cause, notwithstanding it may have had a beginning: — That though a man could bring himself to believe, yea, and have reason to believe, that every thing in the universe proceeds from some cause, yet it would be unreasonable for him to believe that the universe itself proceeds from a cause : — ^That the soul of man is not the same this moment it was the last ; that we know not what it is ; that it is not one, but many things ; and that it is nothing at all ; — and yet, that in this soul is the agency of all the causes that operate throughout the sensible creation ;< — and yet, that in this soul there is neither power nor agency, nor any idea of either v — That if thieves, cheats, and cut-throats, deserve to be hanged, cripples, idiots, and diseas- ed persons, should not be permitted to live ; be- • Lord Lyttleton'* Dialogues of the Dead D d 304 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. cause the imperfections of the latter, and the faults of the former, are on the very same footing, both being disapproved hy those who contemplate them: — That the perfection of human knowledge is to doubt: — That man ought to believe nothing, and yet that man's belief ought to be influenced and determined by certain principles : — ^That we ought to doubt of every thing, yea of our doubts them- selves; and therefore the utmost that philosophy can do, is to give a doubtful solution of doubtful doubts^ : — That nature continually imposes on us, and continually counteracts herself, by giving us sagacity to detect the imposture: — That we are necessarily and unavoidably determined to act and think in certain cases after a certain manner, but that we ought not to submit to this unavoidable ne- cessity ; and that they are fools who do so : — That man, in all his perceptions, actions, and volitions, is a mere passive machine, and has no separate ex- istence of his own, being entirely made up of other things, of the existence of which, however, he is by no means certain ; and yet, that the nature of ail things depends so much upon man, that two and two could not be equal to four, nor fire produce heat, nor the sun light, without an express act of the human understanding : — That none of our ac- tions are in our power ; that we ought to exercise powder over our actions ; and that there is no such thing as power: — That body and motion may be regarded as the cause of thought ; and that body does not exist : — That the universe exists in the mind; and that the mind does not exist: — That the human understanding, acting alone, does en- * Strange as this expression may seem, it is not without a precedent. The fourth section of Mr. Hume's Essays on the Human Understanding is called, Sceptical doubts cencerning the operations of the understanding ; and the fifth section bears this title, Sceptical solution of these doubts. GHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 305 tirely subvert itself, and prove by argument, that by argument nothing can be proved : — These are a lew of the many sublime mysteries brought to light by this great philosopher. But these, how- ever they may illuminate our terrestrial literati^ would convey no information to the planetary^ stranger, except perhaps that the sage metaphysi- cian knew nothing of this subject. What a strange detail ! does not the reader ex- claim ? Can it be, that any man should ever bring himself to think, or imagine that he could bring others to think so absurdly ! What a taste, what a hearts must he possess, whose delight it is, to re- present nature as a chaos, and man as a monster ; to search for deformity and confusion, where others rejoice in the perception of order and beau- ty ; and to seek to imbitter the happiest moments of human life, namely, those we employ in contem- plating the works of creation, and adoring their Author, by this suggestion, equally false and male- volent, that the moral as well as material world, is nothing but darkness, dissonance, and perplexity ! ** Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds •' Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, ** Abominable, unutterable, and worse ** Than fable yet hath feign'd, or fear conceived !" Were this system a true one, we should be little obliged to him who gives it to the public ; for we could hardly imagine a greater misfortune than such a cast of understanding as would make us be- lieve it. But founded, as it is, in words misunder- stood, and facts misrepresented; — supported, as it is, by sophistry so egregious, and often so pue- rile, that we can hardly conceive how even the au- thor himself should be imposed upon by it ; — surely he who attempts to obtrude it on the weak and un- wary, must have something in his disposition. 306 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. %vhich, to a man of a good heart, or good taste, can never be the object of envy. We are told, that the end of scepticism, as it was taught by Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus, and other an- cients, was to obtain indistiirba?2ce. I knov/ not whether this be the end our modern sceptics have in view ; if it is, the means they employ for attain- ing it are strangely preposterous. If the prospect of nature exhibited in their systems produce tran- quillity or indisturbance, how dreadful must that tranquillity be ! It is like that of a man, turned a- drift amidst a dark anct tempestuous ocean, in a crazy skiff, with neither rudder nor compass, who, exhausted by the agitations of despair and distrac- tion, loses at last all sense of his misery, and be- comes totally stupid. In fact, the only thing, that can enable sceptics to endure existence, is insensi- bility. And how far that is consistent with deli- cacy of mind, let those among them explain v/ho are ambitious of passing for men of taste. It is remarked by a very ingenious and amiable Writer, that ^^many philosophers have been infidels, few men of taste and sentiment^." This, if I mistake not, holds equally true of our sceptics in philosophy, and infidels in religion : and it holds true of both for the same reason. The views and expectations of the infidel and sceptic are so full of horror, that to a man of taste, that is, of sensi- bility and imagination, they are insupportable. On the other hand, what true religion and true phi- losophy dictate of God, and providence, and man, is so charming, so consonant with all the finer and nobler feelings in human nature, that every man of taste who hears of it must wish it to be true : and I never yet heard of one person of candour, who wished to find the evidence of the gospel satisfac- * Dr. Gregory^s Comparative View, p. 201 o fotirth edition. CHAP. lU AN ESSAY ON TRtJTH. S07 tory, and did not find it so. Dull imaginations and hard hearts can bear the thoughts of endless confusion, of virtue depressed and vice triumph- ant, of an universe peopled with fiends and furies, of creation annihilated, and chaos restored to re- main a scene of darkness and solitude forever and for ever: But it is not so with the benevolent and tender-hearted ; their notions are regulated by ano- ther standard ; their hopes and fears, their joys and sorrows, are quite of a different kind. The moral powers and the powers of taste are more congenial than is commonly imagined ; and he Vv^ho is destitute of the latter, will ever be found as incapable to describe or judge of the former, as a man wanting the sense of smell is to decide con- cerning relishes. Nothing is more true, than that " a little learning is a dangerous thing." If we are but a little acquainted with one part of a com- plicated system, how is it possible for us to judge aright, either of the nature of the whole, or the fit- ness of that part ! And a little knowledge of one small part of tiie mental system, is all that any man can be allowed to have, who is defective in imagi- nation, sensibility, and the other powers of taste. Yet, as ignorance is apt to produce temerity, I should not be surprised to find such men most for- ward to attempt reducing the philosophy of human nature to system : and, if they made the attempt, I should not wonder that they fell into the most important mistakes. Like a short-sighted land- scape painter, they might possibly delineate some of the largest and roughest figures with tolerable exactness: but of the minuter objects, some would wholly escape their notice, and others appear blot- ted and distorted, on which nature had bestowed the utmost delicacy of colour, and harmony of proportion. »d2 308 An essay on truth. part iix. The modern sceptical philosophy is as corrupt a body of Bcience as ever appeared in the world. And it deserves our notice, that the most consid- erable of its adherents and promoters were more eminent for subtlety of reason, than for sensibility of taste. We know that this was the case with Malebranche, of whom Mr. D'Alembert says, that he could not read the most sublime verses without weariness and disgust^'. This was also the case with another author, to whom our later sceptics are more obliged than they seem wiUing to acknowledge, I mean Mr. Hobbes; whose translation of Homer bears just such a resemblance to the Iliad and Odyssey, as a putrefying carcase bears to a beautiful and vigorous human body. Of the taste of our later sceptics, I leave the reader to judge from his own observ^ation. The philosophy of the mind, if such as it ought to be, would certainly interest us more than any other science. Are the sceptical treatises on this subject interesting? Do they bring conviction to the judgment, or delight to the fancy? Do they either reach the heart, or seem to proceed from it ? Do they make us better acquainted with ourselves, or better prepared for the business of life ? Do they not rather enfeeble and harass the soul, divert its attention from every thing that can enlarge and improve it, give it a disrelish for itself, and for every thing else, and disqualify it alike for action, and for useful knowledge ? Other causes might be assigned for the present degeneracy of the moral sciences. I shall mention one, which I the rather choose to take notice of, and insist upon, because it has been generally over- looked. Des Cartes and Malebranche introduced the fashion, which continues to this day, of neglect- J. * Essai 5ur le Gout. CHAP- lU AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 509 ing the ancients in all their philosophical inquiries. We seem to think, because we are confessedly superior in some sciences, that we must be so in all. But that this is a rash judgment, may easily be made appear, even on the supposition, that human genius is nearly the same in ail ages. When accidental discovery, long experience, or profound investigation, are the means of advancing a science, it is reasonable to expect, that the im- provements of that science will increase with length of time. Accordingly we find, that in natural philosophy, natural history, and some parts of mathematical learning, the moderns are far supe- rior to the ancients. But the science of human na- ture, being attainable rather by intuition than by deep reasoning or nice experiment, must depend for its cultivation upon other causes. Different ages and nations have different customs. Some- times it is the fashion to be reserved and affected, at other times to be simple and sincere: sometimes, therefore, it will be easy, and at other times diffi- cult to gain a competent knowledge of human na* ture by observation. In the old romances, we seek for human nature in vain ; the manners are all affected ; prudery is the highest, and almost the only ornament of the women: and a fantastical honour of the men : but the writers adapted them- selves to the prevailing taste, and painted the manners as they saw them. In our own country, we have seen various modes of affectation, succes- sively prevail within a few years. To say nothing of present times ; every body knows, how much pedantry, libertinism, and false wit, contributed to disguise human nature in the last century. And I apprehend, that in all monarchies one mode or other of artificial manners must always prevail; to the formation of which, the character of princes^ 310 An ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. the taste of the times, and a variety of other causes will co-operate. Montesquieu's opinion, that the courts of mon- archs must always of necessity be corrupt, I cannot subscribe to. I think, that virtue may be, and sometimes is, the principle of action, even in the highest offices of monarchy : my meaning is, that, under this form of government, human manners must generally deviate, more or less, from the simplicity of nature, and that, consequently, hu- man sentiments must be of more difficult investiga- tion than under some other forms. In Courts, it. seems requisite, for the sake of that order which is essential to dignity, to establish certain punctilios in dress, language, and gesture: there too, the most inviolable secresy is expedient; and there, where men are always under the eye of their superiors, and for the most part engaged in the pursuits of ambition or interest, a smoothness of behaviour will naturally take place, which, among persons of ordinary talents, and ordinary virtue, must on many occasions degenerate into hypocrisj^. The cus- toms of the court are always imitated by the higher ranks; the middle ranks follow the higher; and the people come after as fast as they can. It is however, in the last mentioned class, where nature appears with the least disguise : but, unhappily for moral science, the vulgar are seldom objects of curiosity, either to our philosophers, or historians. The influence of these causes, in distinguishing human sentiments, will, I presume, be greater or less, according as the monarchy partakes more or less of democratical principle s.-^-There is, indeed, one set of sentiments, which monarchy and modern manners are peculiarly fitted for disclosing^ I mean those that relate to gallantry : but whether these tend to make human nature more or less know% might perhaps bear a question. 6t'AP. II* AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 311 Modern history ought, on many accounts, to in- terest us more than the ancient. It describes man- ners that are familiar to us, events whereof we see and feel the consequences, political establishments on which our property and security depend, and places and persons in which experience or tradition has already given us a concern. And yet I believe it will be generally acknowledged, that the ancient histories, particularly of Greece and Rome, are more interesting than those of later times. In fact, the most affecting part, both of history and of po- etry, is that which best displays the characters, manners, and sentiments of men. Histories that are deficient in this respect, may communicate in- struction to the geographer, the warrior, the gene- alogist, and the politician ; but will never please the general taste, because they excite no passion, and awaken no sympathy. Now, I cannot help thinking that the personages described in modern history have, with a very few exceptions, a stiffness and reserve about them, which doth not seem to adhere to the great men of antiquity, particularly of Greece. I will not say, that our historians have less ability or less industry ; but I would say, that democratical governments, like those of ancient Greece, are more favourable to simplicity of man- ners, and consequently to the knowledge of the human mind, than our modern monarchies. At Athens and Sparta, the pu'jlic assemblies, the pub- lic exercises, the regular attendance given to all the public solemnities, whether religious or civil, and other institutions that might be mentioned, gave the citizens many opportunities of being well ac- quainted with one another. There the great men were not cooped up in palaces and coaches ; they were almost constantly in the open air, and on foot. The people saw them every day, conversed with them, and observeti'tby^ir behaviour in the hours 312 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. of relaxation, as well as af business. Themistocles could call every citizen of Athens by his name ; a proof that the great men courted an universal ac- quaintance. No degree of genius will ever make one a profi- cient in the science of man, without accurate obser- vation of human nature in all its varieties. Homer, the greatest master in this science ever known, passed the most of his life in travelling : his pov- erty, and other misfortunes, made him often de- pendent on the meanest, as his talents recommend- ed him to the friendship of the greatest ; so that what he says of Ulysses may justly be applied to himself, that " he visited many states and nations, and knew the characters of many men." Virgil had not the same opportunities : he lived in an age of more refinement, and was perhaps too much conversant in courtly life, as well as too bashful in his deportment, and delicate in his constitution, to study the varieties of human nature, where in a monarchy they are most conspicuous, namely in the middle and lower ranks of mankind. Need we wonder, then, that in the display of character he falls so far short of his great original ? Shakespeare was familiarly acquainted with all ranks and con- ditions of men ; without which, notwithstanding his unbounded imagination, it is not to be sup- posed, that he could have succeeded so w;ell in de- lineating every species of human character, from the constable to the monarch, from the hero to the clown. And it deserves our notice, that, however ignorant he might be of Latin and Greek, he was well acquainted, by translation, with some of the ancients, particularly Plutarch, whom he seems to have studied with much attention, and who indeed excels all historians in exhibiting lively and inte- resting views of human nature. Great vicissitudes of fortune gave Fielding an opportunity of associa- CHAP. II, AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 313 ting with all classes of men, except perhaps the highest, whom he rarely attempts to describe : SwiiVs way of life is well known : and I have been told, that Congreve used to mingle in disguise with the common people, and pass whole days and weeks among them. That the ancient painters and statuaries were in many respects superior to the modern, is univer- sally allowed. The monuments of their genius that still remain, would convince us of it, even though we were to suppose the accounts given by Pliny, Lucian, and other contemporary authors, to be a little exaggerated. The uncommon spirit and elegance of their attitudes and proportions ^re obvious to every eye: and a great master seems to think, that modern artists, though they ought to imitate, can never hope to equal the magnificence of their ideas, or the beauty of their figures^. To account for this, we need not suppose, that human genius decays as the world grows older. It may be ascribed, partly to the superior elegance of the hviman form in those days, and partly to the artists having then better opportunities of observing the human body, free from the incumbrances of dress j in all the varieties of action and motion. The an- cient discipline of the Greeks and Romans, parti- cularly the former, was admirably calculated for improving the human body in health, strength, swiftness, flexibility, and grace. In these res- pects, therefore, they could hardly fail to excel the moderns, whose education and manners tend rather to enervate the body, and cramp all its faculties. And, as the ancients performed their exercises in public, and performed many of them naked, and thought it honourable to excel in them ; as their clothing was much less cumbersome than our Go- thic apparel, and shewed the body to more advan- * Fresnoy, De Arte Graphica, lin. 190. 314 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III, tage; it must be allowed, that their painters and statuaries had far better opportunities of observa- tion than ours enjoy, who see nothing but auk ward and languid figures, disguised by an unwieldly and ungraceful attire. Will it not, then, be acknowledged, that the an- cients may have excelled the moderns in the science of human nature, provided it can be shewn, that they had better opportunities of observing it? That this was the case, appears from what has been already said. And that they really excelled us in this science, will not be doubted by those who ac- knowledge their superiority in rhetoric and criti- cism ; two arts which are founded in the philoso- phy of the human mind. But a more direct proof of the point in question, may be had in the writ- ings of Homer, Plutarch, and the Socratic philoso- phers ; which, for their admirable pictures of hu- man nature in its genuine simplicity, are not equal- led by any compositions of a later date. Of Aris- totle I say nothing. We are assured by those who have read his works, that no author ever under- stood human nature better than he. Fielding him- self^ pays him this compliment ; and his testimo- ny will be allowed to have considerable weight. Let me therefore recommend it to those philo- sophers who may hereafter make human nature the subject of their speculation, to study the ancients more than our modern sceptics seem to have done. If we set out, like the author of The Treatise of Human Nature J with a fixed purpose to advance as many paradoxes as possible; or with this foolish conceit, that men in all former ages were utter strangers to themselves, and to one another; and that we are the first of our species on 'whom Na- ture has bestowed any glimmerings of discernment ; we may depend on it, that in proportion as our va- • Fielding's works, vol. xi. p. SS4f, London, 1766, 12mo. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 315 nity and arrogance are great, our success will be small. It will be, like that of a musician, who should take it in his head, that Corelli had no taste in counterpoint, nor Handel or Jackson any genius for melody; of an epic poet, who should fancy that Homer, Virgil, and Milton, were very bad writers ; or of a painter, who should suppose all his brethren of former times to have been unac- quainted with the colours, lineaments, and propor- tions of visible objects. If Columbus, before he set out on his famous expedition to the western world, had amused him- self with writing a history of the countries he was going to visit ; w^ould the lovers of truth, and in- terpreters of nature, have received any improve- ment or satisfaction from such a specimen of his ingenuity ? And is not the system which, without regard to experience, a philosopher frames in his closet, concerning the nature of man, equally frivo- lous ? If Columbus, in such a history, had describ- ed the Americans with two heads, cloven feet, wings, and a scarlet complexion; and, after visit- ing them, and finding his description false in every particular, had yet published that description to the world, affirming it to be true, and at the same time acknowledging, that it did not correspond with his experience ; I know not whether mankind would have been most disposed to blame his disin- genuity, to laugh at his absurdity, or to pity his want of understanding. And yet we have known a metaphysician to contrive a system of human na- ture, and, though sensible that it did not corres- pond with the real appearances of human nature, deliver it to the v/orld as incontrovertible truth; we have heard this system applauded as a master- piece of genius, and admitted as incontrovertible truth ; and w« have seen the experience of indivi- duals, the universal consent of nations, the ac-cu- EC ''316' AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART "III, Ululated wisdom of ages, and every principle in philosophy, every truth in religion, and every dic- tate of common sense, sacrificed to this Contempti- ble and self-contradictory chimera, I would further recommend it to our moral phi^ losophers, to study themselves with candour and attention, and cultivate an acquaintance with man- kind, especially with those whose manners retain most of the truth and simplicity of nature. Ac- quaintance with the great makes a man of fashion, but will not make a philosopher. They who are ambitious to merit this appellation, think nothing below them which the author of nature has been pleased to create, to preserve, and to adorn.- — Away with this passion for system-building! it is pedantry: away with this lust of parodox! it is presumption. Be equally ashamed of dogmatical prejudice, and sceptical incredulity; for both are as remote from the spirit of true philosophy, as bullying and cowardice from true valour. It will be^ said, perhaps, that a general know- ledge of man is sufficient for the philosopher; and that this particular knowledge which we recom- mend, is necessary only for the novelist and poet. But let it be remembered, that many important errors in moral philosophy have arisen from the want of this particular knowledge ; and that it is by too little, not by too much experience, by scanty, not by copious induction, that philosophy is cor- rupted. Men have rarely framed a system, with- out first consulting experience in regard to some few obvious facts. We are apt to be prejudiced in favour of the notions that prevail within our own narrow circle ; but we must quit that circle if we would divest ourselves of prejudice, as we must go from home if we would get rid of our provincial apcent. ^^ Horace asserts wisdom and good sense to be the somx.e aad principle of good writing ; for CHAP. II* AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 31 *-f the attainment of which he prescribes a careful study of the Socratic, that is, moral wisdom, and a thorough acquaintance with human nature that great exemplar of manners, as he finely calls it ; or^ in other words, a wide extensive view of real practical life. The joint direction of these two," I quote the words of an admirable critic and most ingenuous philosopher, *' as means of acquir- ing moral knowledge, is perfectly necessary. For the former, when alone, is apt to grow abstracted and unaffecting ; the latter uninsti^ucting and super- ficial. The philosopher talks without experience, and the man of the world without principles. United they supply each other's defects ; while the man of the world borrows so much of the phi- losopher, as to be able to adjust the several senti- ments with precision and exactness ; and the philo- sopher so much of the man of the world, as to copy the manners of life (which we can only do by ex- perience) with truth and spirit. Both together furnish a thorough and complete comprehension of human life"^. That I may not be thought a blind admirer of antiquity, I would here crave the reader's indul- gence for one short digression more, in order to put him in mind of an important error in morals, inferred from partial and inaccurate experience, by no less a person than Aristotle himself. He argues, ^^ That men of little genius, and great bodily strength, are by nature destined to serve, and those of better capacity, to command; that the natives of Greece, and of some other countries, being natu- rally superior in genius, have a natural right to empire ; and that the rest of mankind, being natu- * Kurd's Commentj^ry on Horace's Epistle, to the Pisos^ p. ^5, edit. 4r. 318 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III* rally stupid, are destined to labour and slavery'^,"^ This reasoning is now, alas ! of little advantage to Aristotle's countrymen, who have for many ages been doomed to that slavery, which, in his judg- ment, nature had destined them to impose on others; and many nations whom he would have consigned to everlasting stupidity, have shown themselves equal in genius to the most exalted of human kind. It would have been more worthy o-f Aristotle, to have inferred man^ natural and uni- versal right to liberty, from that natural and uni- versal passion with which men desire it, and from the salutary consequences to learning, to virtue, and to every human improvement, of which it never fails to be productive. He wanted, perhaps, to devise some excuse for servitude ; a practice which to their eternal reproach, both Greeks and Romans tolerated even in the days of their glory. Mr. Hume argues nearly in the same manner in regard to the superiority of white men over black. ^^ I am apt to suspect," says he, " the negroes, and in general all the other species of men, (for there are four or five different kinds), to be naturally in- ferior to the whites. There never was a civilized nation of any other complexion than white, nor even any iiidividual eminent either in action of speculation. No ingenious manufactures among them, no arts, no sciences. — There are negro- slaves dispersed all over Europe, of which none ever discovered any symptoms of ingenuity f." These assertions are strong ; but I know not whe- ther they have any thing else to recommend them. For, first, though true, they would not prove the point in question, except it were also proved, that the Africans and Americans, even though arts and ** De Repiibl. lib. 1. cap. 5, 6, f Hume's Essay on National Characters'. CHAP. II. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. Si^ sciences were introduced among them, would still remain unsusceptible of cultivation. The inhabi- tants of Great Britain and France were as savage two thousand years ago, as those of Africa and America are at this day. To civilize a nation is a work which requires long time to accomplish. And one may as well say of an infant, that he can never become a man, as of a nation now barbarous, that it never can be civilized. — Secondly, of the facts here asserted, no man could have sufficient evidence, except from a personal acquaintance with all the negroes that now are, or ever were, on the face of the earth. These people write no histories; and all the reports of all the travellers that ever visited them, will not amount to any thing like a proof of what is here affirmed. — But, thirdly, we know that these assertions are not true. The em- pires of Peru and Mexico could not have been gov- erned, nor the metropolis of the latter built after so singular a manner, in the middle of a lake, without men eminent both for action and specula- tion. Every body has heard of the magnificence, good government, and ingenuity, of the ancient Peruvians. The Africans and Americans are known to have manv ingenious manufactures and arts among them, which even Europeans would find it no easy matter to imitate. Sciences indeed they have none, because they have no letters ; but in oratory, some of them, particularly the Indians of the Five Nations^ are said to be greatly our supe- riors. It will be readily allowed that the condition of a slave is not favourable to genius of any kind ; and yet, the negro-slaves dispersed over Europe^ have often discovered symptoms of ingenuity, not^ withstanding their unhappy circumstances. They become excellent handicraftsmen, and practical musicians, and indeed learn every thing their mas- ters are at pains to teach them, perfidy and de- E e 2 S20 AN ESSAY ON TRUTHS PART HI. bauchery not excepted. That a negi^o-slave, who can neither read nor write, nor speak any Euro- pean language, who is not permitted to do any thing but what his master commands, and who has not a single friend on earth, but is universally, con- sidered and treated as if he were of a species infe- rior to. the human ; — that such a creature should so distinguish himself among Europeans, as to be talked of through the world for a man of genius, is surely no reasonable expectation; To svippose him of an inferior species, because he does not thus distinguish himself, is just as rational, as to suppose any private European of an inferior species, be- cause he has not raised himself to the condition of royalty. Had the Europeans been destitute of the arts of writing and working in iron, they might have re- mained to this day as barbarous as the natives of Africa and America. Nor is the invention of these arts to be ascribed to our superior capacity. The genius of the inventor is not always to be esti- mated according to the importance of the invention. Gun-powder and the mariner's compass have pro- duced wonderful revolutions in human affairs, and yet were accidental discoveries. Such, probably, were the first essays in writing and working in iron. Suppose them the effects of contrivance : they were at least contrived by a few individuals ; and if they required a superiority of understanding, or of species, in the inventors, those inventors, and their descendants, are the only persons who can lay claim to the honour of that superiority. That every practice and sentiment is barbarous which is not according to the usages of modern Europe, seems to be a fundamental maxim with many of our critics and philosophers. Their re- marks often put us in mind of the fable of the man aud the lion. If Negroes or Jndians were clisposed CHAP. Ill* AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 321 to recriminate ; if a Lucian or a Voltaire from the coast of Guinea, or from the five nations, were to pay us a visit, what a picture of European manners might he present to his countrymen at his return ! Nor would caricatura, or exaggeration be necessary to render it hideous^ A plain historical account of some of our most fashionable duelists, ganiblers, and adulterers, (to name no more), would exhibit specimens of brutish barbarity, and sottish infatua- tion, such as niig4u vie with any that ever appear- ed in Kamschatka, California, or the land of the Hottentots. It is easy to see with what views some modern authors throw out these hints to prove the natural inferiority of negroes. But let every friend to hu- manity pray, that thej^ may be disappointed. Bri- tons are famous for generosity ; a virtue in which it is easy for them to excel both the Romans and the Greeks. Let it never be said, that slavery is coun- tenanced by the bravest, and most generous people on earth ; by a people who are animated with that heroic passion, the love of liberty, beyond all na- tions ancient or modern ; and the fame of whose toilsome, but unwearied perseverance, in vindicat- ing, at the expence of life and fortune, the sacred rights of mankind, will strike terror into the hearts of sycophants and tyrants, and excite the admi- ration and gratitude of all good men to the latest posterity. CHAP. III. Consequences of Metaphysical Scepticism^ AFTER all, it will perhaps be objected to this discourse, that I have laid too much stress upon the consequences of metaphysical absurdity, and ire- 322 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, PART Ilf^ presented them as much more dangerous than they are found to be in fact. I shall be told, that many of the controversies in metaphysic are merely ver- bal ; and the errors proceeding from them of so ab- stract a nature, that philosophers run little risk, and the vulgar no risk at all^ of being influenced by them in practice. It will be said, that I never heard: of any man who fell a sacrifice to Berkeley's sys- tem, by breaking his neck over a material preci- pice, w^hich he had taken for an ideal one ; nor of any Fatalist, whose morals were, upon the whole, more exceptionable than those of the assertors of free agency : in a word, that whatever effect such tenets may have upon the understanding, they sel- dom or never produce any sensible effects upon the heart. In considering this objection, I must confine myself to a few topics, for the subject to which it leads is of vast extent. The influence of the metaphysical spirit upon art, science, and man- ners, would furnish matter for a large treatise. It will suffice at present to shew, that metaphysical errors are not harmless, but may produce, and ac- tually have produced some very important and in- teresting consequences. I begin with an observation often made, and in- deed obvious enough, namely. That happiness is the end of our being ; and that knowledge, and even truth itself, are valuable only as they tend to pro- mote it. Every useless study is a pernicious thing, because it wastes our time and misemploys our fa- culties. To prove that metaphysical absurdities do no good, would therefore sufficiently justify the present undertaking. But it requires no deep sa- gacity to be able to prove a great deal more. We acknowledge, however, that all metaphysical errors are not equally dangerous. There is an ob- scurity in the abstract sciences, as they are common- ly taught, which is often no bad preservative against CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUfH, 323 their influence. This obscurity is sometimes una- voidable, on account of the insufficiency of lan- guage ; sometimes it is owing to the spiritless and slovenly style of the writer ; and sometimes it is affected : as when a philosopher, from prudential considerations, thinks fit to disguise any occasional attack on the religion or laws of his country, by some artful equivocation, in the form of allegory, dialogue, or fable ^. The style of The Treatise of Human Nature is so exceedingly obscure and un- interesting, that if the Author had not in his Essays re-published the capital doctrines of that work in a style more elegant and sprightly, a confutation of them would have been altogether unnecessary : their uncouth and gloomy aspect would have de- terred most people from courting their acquaint- ance. And, after all, though this author is one of * Mr. Hume is not unacquainted with this piece of policy. His apology for Atheism he delivers by the mouth of 2^friendy in the way of conference, prefaced with a declaration, that though he cannot by any means approve many of the sen- timents of that friend, yet he thinks they bear some rela- tion to the chain of reasoning carried on in his inquiry con- cerning human nature. He had something, it seems, to say against his Maker, which he modestly acknowledges to be curious, and worthy of attention, and which he thought, no doubt, to be mighty smart and clever. To call it what it really is, An attempt to vindicate Atheism, or what he proba- bly thought it, A vindication of Atheism, seemed dangerous, and might disgust many of his well-meaning readers : He calls it, therefore, A71 Essay on a Particular Providence and a Future State, and puts his capital arguments in the mouth of ano- ther person : thus providing by the same generous, candid, and manly ejcpedient, a snare for the unwary reader, and an evasion for himself. Perhaps it will be asked, what I mean by the word Atheist f I answer, A reasonable creature, who disbelieves the being of God, or thinks it inconsistent with sound reason, to believe that the great First Cause is perfect in holiness, power, wisdom, justice and beneficence, — is a speculative Atheist; and he who endeavours to instill the same uubf lief into others, is a practical Atheist. 324 AN ESSAY ONl^RUTH. PART III, the deadlkst, he is not perhaps one of the most dangerous enemies of religion. Bolingbroke, his inferior in subtlety, but far superior in wit, elo- quence, and knowledge of mankind, is more dan- gerous, because more entertaining. So that though the reader may be disposed to applaud the patriot- ism of the grand jury of Westminster, who present- ed the posthumous works of that noble lord as a public nuisance, he must be sensible that there was no necessity for affixing any such stigma 'to the phi- losophical writings of the Scottish author. And yet it cannot be denied, that even these, notwithstand« ing their obscurity, have done mischief enough to make every sober-minded person earnestly wish that they had never existed. Further, some metaphysical errors are so grossly absurd, that there is hardly a possibility of their perverting our conduct. Such, considered in itself, is the doctrine of the non-existence of matter ; which no man in his senses was ever capable of be- lieving for a single moment. Pyrrho was a vain hypocrite : he took it in his head to say that he be- lieved nothing, because he wanted to be taken no- tice of: he affected, too, to act up to this pretended disbelief; and would not of his own accord step aside to avoid a dog, a chariot, or a precipice : but he always took care to have some friends or ser- vants at hand, whose business it was to keep the philosopher out of harm's way. — That the universe is nothing bvit a heap oi impressions and ideas un- perceived by any substance, is another of those pro- found mysteries, from which we need not appre- hend much danger ; because it is so perfectly ab- surd, that no words but such as imply a contradicr tion, will express it. I know not whether the ab- surdity of a system was ever before urged as an apology for its author. But it is better to be absurd than piischievous : and happy it were; for the worick CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. -325 and mxicli to the credit of some persons now in it, if metaphysicians were chargeable with nothing worse than absurdity. Again, certain errors in our theories of human nature, considered in themselves, are in some mea- sure harmless, when the principles that oppose their influence are strong and active. A gentle dis- position, confirmed habits of virtue, obedience to law, a regard to order, or even the fear of punish- ment, often prove antidotes to metaphysical poison. When Fatality has these principles to combat, it may puzzle the judgment, but will not corrupt the heart. Natural instinct never fails to oppose it 5 all men believe themselves free agents, as long at least as they keep clear of metaphysic ; nay, so pow- erful is the sentimeiit of moral liberty, that I can- not think it was ever entirely subdued in any ra- tional being. But if it were subdued, (and surely no Fatalist will acknowledge it invincible); if the opposite principles should at the same time cease to act ; and if debauchery, bad example, and licen- tious writings, should extinguish or weaken the sense of duty; what might not be apprehended from men who are above law, or can screen them- selves from punishment ? What virtue is to be ex- pected from a being who believes itself a mere ma- chine ? If I were persuaded, that the evil I com- mit is imposed upon me by fatal necessity, I should think repentance as absurd as Xerxes scourging^ the waves of the Hellespont ; and be as little dis- posed to form resolutions of amendment, as to con- trive schemes for preventing the frequent eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter. Every author who pub- lishes an essay in behalf of Fatality, is willing to run the risk of bringing all men over to his opinion. What if this should be the consequence ? If it be possible to make one reasonable creature a Fatal- ist, may it not be possible to make many such? 326 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART Hi, And would this be a matter of little or no mo- ment ? It is demonstrable, that it would not. But we have already explained ourselves on this head. Other metaphysical errors there are, which, though they do not strike more directly at the foun- dations of virtue, are more apt to influence man- kind, because they are not so vigorously counter- acted by any particular propensity. Vv^hat shall we say to the theory of Hobbes, who makes the dis- tinction between vice and virtue to be wholly arti- ficial, without any foundation in the divine will, or human constitution, and depending entirely on the arbitrary laws of human governors ? According to this account, no action that is commanded by a king can be vitious, and none virtuous except warranted by that authority. Were this opinion universal, what could deter men from secret wickedness, or such as is not cognisable by law ? What could re- strain governors from the utmost insolence of ty- ranny ? What but a miracle could save the human race from perdition. In the preface to one of Mr. Hume's late publi- cations, we are presented with an elaborate pane- gyric on the author. " He hath exerted, says the writer of the preface, those great talents he receiv- ed from Nature, and the acquisitions he made by study, in search of truth, and in promoting the good of mankind." A noble encomium indeed! If it be a true one, what are we to think of a Dou- glas, a Campbell, a Gerard, a Reid, and some others, who have attacked several of Mr. Hume's opinions, and proved them to be contrary to truth, and subversive of the good of mankind ? I thought indeed, that the works of those excellent writers had given great satisfaction to the friends of truth and virtue, and done an important service to soci- ety: but, if I believe this prefacer, I must look on them, as well as on this attempt of my own, with: CHAP, III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 32T detestation and horror. Btit before so great a change in my sentiments can take place, it will be necessary, that Mr. Hume prove, to my satisfac- tion, that he is neither the author nor the pubUsher of the Essays that bear his name, nor of the Trea- tise of Human Nature* For I will not take it on his, nor on any man's word, that religion, both revealed and natural, and all conviction in regard to truth, are detrimental to mankind. And it is most certain, that he, if he is indeed the author of those Essays, and of that Treatise, hath exerted his great talents, and employed several years of his life, in endeavouring to persuade the world, that the fundamental doctrines of natural religion are irrational, and the proofs of revealed religion such as ought not to satisfy an impartial mind ; and that there is not in any science an evidence of truth sufficient to produce certainty. Suppose these opinions established in the world, and say, if you can, that the good of mankind would be promoted by them. To me it seems impossible for society to exist under the influence of such opinions. Nor' let it be thought, that we give an unfavourable view of human nature, when we insist on the neces- sity of good principles for the preservation of good order. Such a total subversion of human sentiment is, I believe, impossible : mankind at their very worst, are not such monsters, as to admit it ; rea- son, conscience, taste, habit, interest, fear, must perpetually oppose it: but the philosophy that aims at a total subversion of human sentiment is not on that account the less detestable. And yet it is said of the authors of this philosophy, that they exert their great talents in promoting the good of man- kind. V/hat an insult on human nature and com- mon sense ! If mankind are tame enough to acqui- esce in such an insult, and servile enough to reply, '^It is true, we haveheen much obliged to the cel- Ff 328 4N ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. ebrated sceptics of this most enlightened age,"— they would almost tempt one to express himself in the style of misanthropy, and say, '< Si populus vuit decipi, d^cipiatur." Every doctrine is dangerous that tends to discre- dit the evidence of our senses, external or internal, and to subvert the original instinctive principles of human belief. In this respect the most unnatural and incomprehensible absurdities, such as the doc- trine of the non-existence of matter, and of per- ceptions without a percipient, are far from being harmless ; as they seem to lead, and actually have led, to universal scepticism ; and set an example of a method of reasoning sufficient to overturn all truth, and pervert every human faculty. In this respect also we have proved the doctrine of fatali- ty to be of most pernicious tendency, as it leads men to suppose their moral sentiments fallacious or equivocal ; not to mention its influence on our notions of God, and natural religion. When a sceptic attacks one principle of common sense, he does in effect attack all ; for if we are made dis- trustful of the veracity of instinctive conviction in one instance, we must, or at least we may, become equally distrustful in every other. A little scepti- cism introduced into science will soon assimilate the whole to its own nature ; the fatal fermenta- tion, once begun, spreads wider and wider every moment, till all the mass be transformed into rot- tenness and poison. There is no exaggeration here. The present state of the abstract sciences is a melancholy proof, that what I say is true. This is called the age of reason and philosophy; and this is the age of avowed and dogmatical atheism. Sceptics have at last grow^n weary of doubting ; and have now dis- covered, by the force- of their great talents^ that ©ne thing at least is certain, namely, that God, and CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 329 religion, and immortality are empty sounds. This is the final triumph of our so much boasted philo- sophic spirit ; these are the limits of the dominion of error, beyond which we can hardly conceiv^e it possible for human sophistry to penetrate. Exult, O Metaphysic, at the consummation of thy glo- ries. More thou canst not hope, more thou canst not desire. Fail down, ye mortals, and acknow- ledge the stupendous blessing : adore those men of great talents^ those daring spirits, those patterns of modesty, gentleness, and candour, those prodigies of genius, those heroes in beneficence, who have thus laboured — to strip you of every rational con- solation, and to make your condition ten thousand times worse than that of the beasts that perish. Why can I not express myself with less warmth \ Why can I not devise an apology for these philo- sophers, to screen them from this dreadful impu- tation of being the eneraies and plagues of man- kind! — Perhaps they do not themselves believe their own tenets, but publish them only as the means of getting a name and a fortune. But I hope this is not the case ; God forbid that it should ! for then the enormity of their guilt would surpass all pow er of language ; we could only gaze at it, and tremble. Compared with such wickedness, the crimes of the thief, the robber, the incendiary, would almost disappear. These sacrifice the fortunes or the lives of some of their fellow creatures, to their own necessity or outrage- ous appetite ! but those would run the hazard of sacrificing, to their own avarice or vanity, the hap- piness of all mankind, both here and hereafter. No ; I cannot suppose it ; the heart of man, how- ever depraved, is not capable of such infernal ma- lignity. — Perhaps they do not foresee the conse- quences of their doctrines. Berkeley most cer- 3^0 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. PART III. tainly did not. — But Berkeley did not attack the religion of his country, did not seek to undermine the foundations of virtue, did not preach or recom- mend Atheism. He erred ; and who is free from error ? but his intentions were irreproachable ; and his conduct as a man, and a Christian, did honour- to human nature. — Perhaps our modern sceptics are ignorant, that without the belief of a God, and the hope of immortality, the miseries of human life would often be insupportable. But can I sup- pose them in a state of total and invincible stupi- dity, utter strangers to the human heart, and to hu- man affairs ! Sure they would not thank me for such a supposition. Yet this I must suppose, or I must believe them to be the most cruel, the most perfidious, and the most profligate of men. Caressed by those who call themselves the great, ingrossed by the formalities and fopperies of life, intoxicated with vanity, pampered with adulation, dissipated in the tumult of business, or amidst the vicissitudes of folly, they perhaps have little need, and little relish, for the consolations of religion. But let them know, that, in the solitary scenes of life, there is many an honest and tender heart pining with incurable anguish, pierced with the sharpest sting of disappointment, bereft of friends, chilled with poverty, racked with disease, scourg- ed by the oppressor ; whom nothing but trust in Providence, and the hope of a future retribution, could preserve from the agonies of despair. And do they, with sacrilegious hands, attempt to vio- late this last refuge of the miserable, and to rob them of the only comfort that had survived the ra- vages of misfortune, malice, and tyranny J Did it ever happen, that the influence of their execrable tenets disturbed the tranquillity of virtuous retire- ment, deepened the gloom of human distress, or aggravated the horrors of the grave ? Is it possible. CHAP. III. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 33t that this may have happened in many instances ? Is it probable that this hath happened, or may happen, in one single instance? — Ye traitors to human kind, ye murderers of the human soul, how can ye answer for it to your own hearts! Surely every spark of your generosity is extin- guished for ever, if this consideration do not awaken in you the keenest remorse, and make you wish in bitterness of soul — But I remonstrate in vain. All this must have often occurred to you, and been as often rejected as utterly frivolous. Could I enforce the present topic by an appeal to your vanity, I might possibly make some impres- sion : but to plead with you on the principles of benevolence or generosity, is to address you in language ye do not, or will not understand ; and as to the shame of being convicted of absurdity, ignorance, and want of candour, ye have long ago proved yourselves superior to the sense of it. But let not the lovers of truth be discouraged : Atheism cannot be of long continuance, nor is there much danger of its becoming universal. The in- fluence of some conspicuous characters has brought it too much into fashion ; which, in a thoughtless and profligate age, it is no difficult matter to ac- complish. But when men have retrieved the pow- ers of serious reflection, they will find it a fright- ful phantom ; and the mind will return gladly and eagerly to its old endearments. One thing we cer- tainly know; the fashion of sceptical and metaphy- sical systems soon passeth av/ay. Those unnatu- ral productions, the vile effusion of a hard and stu- pid heart, that mistakes its ov/n restlessness for the activity of genius, and its own captiousness for sagacity of understanding, may, like other mon- sters, please awhile by their singularity ; but the charm is soon over ; and the succeeding age v/ill be astonished to hear, that their forefathers were de» Ff 2 33^ AN ESSAY ©N TRUTH. PART III. luded, or amused, with such fooleries. The mea- sure of scepticism seems indeed to be full ; it is time for truth to vindicate her rights, and we trust they shall yet be completely vindicated. Such are the hopes and the earnest wishes of one, who has seldom made controversy his study, who never took pleasure in argumentation, and who disclaims all ambition of being reputed a subtle disputant ; but who, as a friend to human nature, would ac- count it his honour to be instrumental in promot- ing, though by means unpleasant to himself, the cause of virtue and true science, and in bringing to contempt that sceptical sophistry which is equal- ly subversive of both. *0*ji POSTSCRIPT. Mvembery 1770. TO read and criticise the modern systems of scep» ticism is so disagreeable a task, that nothing but a regard to dutf could ever have determined me to engage in it. I found in them neither instruction nor amusement ; I wrote against them with all the disgust that one feels in wrangling with an unrea- sonable adversary ; and I published what I had writ- ten with the certain prospect of raising many ene- mies, and with such an opinion of my performance, as allowedme not to entertain any sanguine hopes of suc« cess. I thought it however possible, nay, and probable too, that this book might do good. I knew that it contained some matters of importance, which if I was not able to set them in the best light, might how= ever, by my means, be suggested to others more capable to do them justice. Since these papers were first published, I have laid myself out to obtain information of what has been sidd of them, both by their friends, and by their enemies ; hoping to profit by the censures of the latter, as well as by the admonitions of the former. I do not; hear, that any person has accused me of misconceiving or misrepresenting my adver- saries' doctrine. Again and again have I requested it of those whom 1 knew to be masters of the whole controversy, to give me their thoughts freely on this point ; find they have repeatedly told me, that, in their judgment, nothing of this kind can be laid to ,. jpy charge. Most of the objections that have been made I had foreseen, and, as I thought, sufficiently obviated S34 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S* by occasional remarks in the course of the essay. But, in regard to some of them, I find it necessary now to bemore particular. I wish to give the fullest satisfaction to every candid nriind : and I am sure I do not, on these subjects, entertain a single thought which 1 need to be ashamed or afraid to lay before the public. I have been much blamed * for entering so warm- ly into this controversy. In order to prepossess the minds of those who had not read this performance, with an unfavourable opinion of it, and of its author, insinuations have been made, and carefully helped about, that it treats only of some abstruse points of speculative metaphysics ; which, however, I am ac- cused of having discussed, or attempted to discuss, with all the zeal of the most furious bigot, indulging myself in an indecent vehemence of language, and uttering the most rancorous invectives against those who differ from me in opinion. Much, on this oc- casion, has been said in praise of moderation and scepticism ; moderation, the source of candour, good-breeding, and good-nature ; and scepticism, the child of impartiality, and the parent of humility. When men believe with full conviction, nothing, it seems, is to be expected from them but bigotry and bitterness : when they suffer themselves in their in- quiries to be biassed by partiality, or warmed with affection they are philosophers no longer, but revi- lers and enthusiasts I — If this were a just account of the matter and manner of the Mssay on Truths I should not have the face to attempt an apology ; for were any person guilty of the fault here complained * Injustice to the public I must here observe, that the elamour ag^ainst me on account of this book, however loud and alai;ming at first, appears now to have been raised and propagated by a feiv p&f^sons of a particular party in Scotland i and to have owed its rise to prejudice, and its progress to defamation ; to engines of malignity which an honest man would be much more sorry to see employed fot him tha^ against him. p. S. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. ' 335 of, I myself should certainly be one of the first to condemn him. In the whole circle of human sciences, real or pretended, there is not any thing to be found which I think more perfectly contemptible than the specu- lative metaphysics of the moderns. It is indeed a most wretched medley of ill-digested notions, in- distinct perceptions, inaccurate observations, per- verted language, and sophistical argument ; distin- guishing where there is no difference, and confound- ing where there is no similitude ; feigning difficul- ties where it cannot find them, and overlooking them when real. I know no end that the study of such a jargon can answer, except to harden and stupify the heart, bewilder the understanding, sour the temper^ and habituate the mind to irresolution, caption sness, and falsehood. For studies of this sort I have nei- ther time nor inclination, I have neither head nor heart. To enter into them at all, is foolish ; to en- ter into them with warmth, ridiculous ; but to treat those with any bitterness, whose judgments con- cerning them may differ from ours, is in a very high degree odious and criminal. Thus far, then, my ad- versaries and I are agreed. Had the sceptical phi« losophers confined themselves to those inoffensive wranglings 4hat shew only the subtlety and captious- ness of the disputant, but afiect not the principles of human conduct, they never would have found an op- ponent in me. My passion for writing is not strong ; and my love of controversy so weak, that if it could always be avoided with a safe conscience, I would never engage in it at all. But when doctrines are published subversive of morality and religion ; doc- trines, of which I perceive and have it in my power to expose the absurdity, my duty to the public for- bids me to be silent ; especially when I see, that by the influence of fashion, folly, or more criminal causes, those doctrines spread wider and wider eve- ry day^^ diffusing ignorance, misery, and licentious- ness, wherever they prevail. Let us oppose the 336 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S. torrent, though we should not be able to check it. The zeal and example of the weak have often roused to action, and to victory, the slumbering virtue of the strong. I likewise agree with my adversaries in this, that scepticism, where it tends to make men well-bred and good-natured, and to rid them, of pedantry and petulance, without doing individuals or society any harm, is an excellent thing. And some sorts of scepticism there are, that really have this tendency. In philosophy, in history, in politics, yea, and even in theology itself, there are many points of doubtful disputation, in regard to which a man's judgment may lean to either of the sides, or hang wavering between them, without any inconvenience to him- self, or others. Whether pure space exists or how we come to form an idea of it; whether all the objects of human reason may be fairly reduced to Aristotle's ten categories ; whether Hannibal, when he passed the Alps, had any vinegar in his camp ; whether Richard III. was as remarkable for cruelty and a hump-back, as is commonly believed ; whether Mary Queen of Scotland married Bothwell from in* elination, or from the necessity of her affairs ; whe- ther the earth is better peopled now than it was in ancient times ; whether public iprayers should be recited from memory or read : — ^in regard to these and such like questions, a little scepticism may be very safe and very proper, and I v/ill never think the worse of a man for differing from me in opinion. And if ever it should be my chance to engage in controversy on such questions, I here filcdge myself to the public^ (absit invidia verbo 1), that I will con- duct the whole affair with the most exemplary cool- ness of blood, and lenity of language. I have always observed that strong conviction is much miore apt to breed strife in matters of little moment, than in sub- jects of high importance. Not to mention (what I would willingly forget) the scandalous contests that have prevailed in the Christian world about p. S. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. 337 trifling ceremonies and points of doctrine, I need only put the reader in mind of those learned critics and annotators, Salmasius, Valla, and Scaliger, who, in their squabbles about words, gave scope to such rancorous animosity and virulent abuse, as is altogether without example. In every case, where dogmatical belief tends to harden the heart, or to breed prejudices incompatible with candour, human- ity, and the love of truth, all good men will be care- ful to cultivate moderation and diffidence. But there are other points in regard to which a strong conviction produces the best effects, and doubt and hesitation the worst : and these are the points that our sceptics labour to subvert, and I to establish. That the human soul is a real and permanent sub-^ stance, that God is infinitely wise and good, that virtue and vice are essentially different, that there is such a thing as truth, and that man in many cases is capable of discovering it, are some of the principles which this book is intended to vindicate from the objections of scepticism. Attempts have been made to per- suade us, that there is no evidence of truth in any science ; that the human understanding ought not to believe any thing, but rather to remain in perpe- tual suspense between opposite opinions ; that it is unreasonable to believe the Deity to be perfectly wise and good, or even to exist; that the soul of man has nothing permanent in its nature, nor indeed any kind of existence distinct from its present per- ceptions, which are continually changing, and will soon be at an end ; and that moral distinctions are ambiguous and artificial, depending rather on hu- man caprice and fashion, than on the nature of things, or the divine will. This scepticism, the reader will observe, is totally subversive of science, morality, and religion both natural and revealed. And this is the scepticism which I am blamed for having oppo- sed with warmth and earnestness. I desire to know, what good effects this scepticism is likely to produce ? " It humbles," we are told, 338 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S, " our pride of tiiiderstanding." Indeed ! And are they to be considered as patterns of humility, who set the wisdom of all former ages at nought, bid de- fiance to the common sense of mankind, and say to the wisest and best men that ever did honour to our nature. Ye are fools or hypocrites ; we only are can- did, honest and sagacious? Is this humilityl Should I be humble, if I were to speak and act in this man- ner! Everyman of sense would pronounce me lost \o all shame, an apostate from truth and virtue, an ene- my to human kind ; and my own conscience would justify the censure. And so, it seems that pride of understanding is inseparable fi'om the disposition of those who be- lieve that they have a soul, that there is a God, that virtue and vice are essentially different, and that men are in some cases permitted to discern the dif- ference between truth and falsehood ! Yet the gos- pel requires or supposes the belief of all these points : the gospel also commands us to be humble : and the spirit and influence of the gospel have pro- duced the most perfect examples of that virtue that ever appeared among men. A believer may be proud : but it is neither his belief, nor what he be- lieves, that can make him so; for both ought to teach him humility. To call in question, and labour to subvert, those first principles of science, morality and religion, which all the rational part of mankind acknowledge, is indeed an indication of a proud and presumptuous understanding : but does the sceptic lay this to the charge of the believer? I have heard of a thief, when close pursued, turning on his pursuers, and charging them with robbery : but I do not think the example worthy a philosopher's imitation. The prevention of bigotry is said to be another of the blessed effects of this modern scepticism. And indeed, if sceptics would act consistently with their own principles, there would be ground for the re- mark : for a man who believes nothing at all, can- p, s. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* 339 not be said to be blindly attached to any opinion, ex- cept perhaps to this one, that nothing is to be be- lieved; in which, however, if behave any regard to uniformity of character, he will take care not to be dogmatical. But it is well known to all who have had any opportunity of observing his conduct, that the sceptic rejects those opinions only which the rest of mankind admit: for that, in adhering to his own paradoxes, the most devoted anchorite, the most furious inquisitor, is not a greater bigot than he. An ingenious author has therefore, with very 'good reason, made it one of the articles of the Infi- del's creed. That, " he believes in all unbelief*." Though a late writer is a perfect sceptic in regard to the existence of his soul and body, he is certain, that men have no idea of power : though he has many doubts and difficulties about the evidence of mathematical truth, he is quite positive that his soul is not Ihe same thing to-day it was yesterday, and though he affirms that it is by an act of the human understanding, that two and two ha,ve come to be equal to four, yet he cannot allow, that to steal or to abstain from stealing, to act, or to cease from ac- tion, is in the power of any man. In reading seep* tical books, I have^ften found, that the strength of the author's attachment to his paradox," is in pro- portion to its absurdity. If it deviates but a little from common opinion, he gives himself but little trouble about it ; if it be inconsistent with universal belief, he condescends to' argue the matter, and to bring what with him passes for a proof of it ; if it be such as no man ever did or could believe, he is still more conceited of his proof, and calls it a denaon- stration ; but if it is inconceivable, it is a wonder if he does not take it for granted. Thus, that our idea of extension, is extended, is inconceivable, and in the Treatise of Human J\^ature is taken for granted ; that matter exists only in the mind that perceives it, is * Connoisseur, No. 9. G g o 40 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S* what no man ever did or could believe ; and the au- thor of the Treatise concerning the Principles of Hu- man Knowledge^ has favoured the world with what passes among the fashionable metaphysicians for a demonstration of it: that moral, intellectual, and corporeal virtues, are all upon the same footing, is inconsistent with universal belief; and a famous Essayist has argued the matter at large, and would fain persuade us, that he has proved ic ; though I do not recollect, that he triumphs in this proof as so perfectly irresistible, as those by which he con- ceives himself to have annihilated the idea of power, and exploded the existence and permanency of per- cipient substances. I will not say, however, that this gradation holds universally. Sceptics, it must be owned, bear a right zealous attachment to all their absurdities, both greater or less. If they are most warmly interested in behalf of the former, it is, I suppose, because they have had the sagacity to foresee, that those would stand most in need of their countenance and protection. We see how far scepticism may be said to prevent bigotry. It prevents all bigotry, and all strong at- tachment on the side of truth and common sense ; but in behalf of its own paradoxes, it establishes bi- gotry the most implicit and the most obstinate. It is true, that sceptics sometimes tell us, that, how- ever positively they may assert their doctrines, they would not have us think them positive assertors of any doctrine. Sextus Empiricus has done this ; and some too, if I mistake not, of our modern Pyrr- honists. But common readers are not capable of such exquisite refinement, as to believe, their au- thor to be in earnest, and at the same time not in earnest ; as to believe, that when he asserts some points with diffidence, and others with the utmost confidence, he holds himself to be equally diffident ef all. There is but one way in which it is possible for a 'SiEreptic to satisfy us, that he is equally doubtful of p. &. A^ E$SAY ON^TRUTH^ 341 all doctrines. He must assert nothing, lay down no principles, contradict none of the opinions of other people, and advance none of his own : in a word, he must confine his doubts to his own breast, at least the grounds of his doubts ; or propose them mo- destly and privately, not with a view to make us change our mind, but only to shew his ov/n diffi- dence. For, from the moment that he attempts to obtrude them on the public, or on any individual, 4)r even to represent the opinion of others as less probable than his own, he commences a dogmatist ; and is to be accounted more or less presumptuous, according as his doctrine is more or less repugnant to common sense, and himself more or less indus- trious to recommend it. Though he were to content himself with urging objections, without seeking to lay down any princi- ple of his own, which however is a degree of mo- deration that no sceptic ever yet arrived at, we would nt)t on that account pronounce him an inof- fensive man. If his objections have ever weakened the moral or religious belief of any one person, he has injured that person in his dearest and ^ost im- portant concerns. They who know the value of ^ true religion, and have had any opportunity of ob serving its effects on themselves or others, need not be told, how dreadful to a sensible mind it is, to be staggered in its faith by the cavils of the infidel. Every person of common humanity, who knows any thing of the heart of man, would shudder at the thought of infusing scepticism into the pious Chris- tian. Suppose the Christian to retain his faith in spite of all objections ; yet the confutation of these cannot fail to distress him ; and a habit of doubting, once begun, may, to the latest hour of his life, prove fatal to his peace of mind. Let no one mistake or misrepresent me : I am not speaking of those points of doctrine which rational believers allow to be in- different : I speak of those great and most essential articles of faith ; the existence of a Deity, infinitely o42 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. p. S- wise, beneficent, and powerful ; the certainty of a future state of retribution ; and the divine authority of the gospel. These are the articles which some late authors labour with all their might to overturn ; and these are the articles which every person who loves virtue and mankind, would wish to see ardent- ly and zealously defended. Is it bigotry to believe these sublime truths with full assurance of faith ? I glory in such bigotry : I would not part with it for a thousand worlds : I congratulate the man who is possessed of it ; for, amidst all the vicissitudes and calamities of the present state, that man enjoys an inexhaustible fund of consolation, of which it is not in the power of fortune to deprive him. Calamities, did I say I The evils of a very short life will not be accounted such by him who has a near and certain prospect of a happy eternity. — Will it be said, that the hrm belief of these divine truths did ever give rise to ill-nature or persecution ? It will not be said, by any person who is at ail acquainted with history, or the human mind. Of such belief, when sincere, and undebased by criminal passions, meekness, be- nevolence, and forgiveness, are the natural and ne- cessary effects. There is not a book on earth so fa- vourable to all the kind, and all the sublime affec^ tions, or so unfriendly to hatred and persecution, to tyranny, injustice, and every sort of malevolence, as that very gospel against which our sceptics enter- t*|tin such a rancorous antipathy. Of this they can- not be ignorant, if they have ever read it; for it breathes nothing throughout but mercy, benevo- lence, and peace. If they have not read it, they and their prejudices are as far below our contempt as any thing so hateful can be |^ if they have, their pre- tended concern for the rights of mankind is all hy- pocrisy and a lie. Nor need they attempt to frame an answer to this accusation, till they have proved, that the morality of the gospel is faulty or imper- fect ; that virtue is not useful to individuals, nor be- neficial to society ; that the evils of life are most ef- p. S. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. S43 fectually alleviated by the extinction of ail hope ; that annihilation is a much more encouraging pros- pect to virtue, than the certain view of eternal hap- piness ; that nothing is a greater check to vice, than a firm persuasion that no punishment awaits it ; and that it is a consideration full of misery to a good man, when weeping on the grave of a beloved friend, to reflect, that they shall soon meet again in a better state, never to part any more. Till the teachers and abettors of infidelity have proved these points or renounced their pretensions to universal patriotism, their character is polluted with all the infamy that can be implied in the appellation of liar and hyfiocrite, I wonder at those men who charge upon Chris- tianity all the evils that superstition, avarice, sen- suality, and the love of power, have introduced into the Christian world ; and then suppose, that these evils are to be prevented, not by suppressing crimi- nal passions, but by extirpating Christianity, or weakening its influence. In fact, our religion sup- plies the only efleetual means of suppressing these passions^ and so preventing the mischief complained of ; and this it will ever be more or less powerful to accomplish, according as its inflitence over the minds of men is greater or less ; ctnd greater or less will its influence be, according as its doctrines are m.ore or less firmly believed. It was not, because they were Christians, but because they chose to be the avaricious and blood-thirsty slaves of an avari^ cious and blood-thirsty tyrant, that Cortez and Pi- zarro perpetrated those diabolical cruelties in Peru and Mexico, the narrative of which is insupporta- ble to humanity. Had they been Christians in any thing but in name, they would have loved their neighbour as themselves ; and \\o ma,n who loves his neighbour; as himself, will ever cut his throat or roast him alive, in order to get at his money. If zeal be warrantable on any occasion, it must be so in tlie present controversy: for I know of no G g 2 344 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, P. S. doctrines more important in themselves, or more affecting to a sensible mind, than those which the scepticism confuted in this book tends to subvert. But why, it may be said, should zeal be warrantable on any occasion ? The answer is easy : Because on some occasions it is decent and natural. When a man is deeply interested in his subject, it is not na- tural for him to keep up the appearance of as much coolness, as if he were disputing about an indiffer- ent matter : and whatever is not natural is always offensive. Were he to hear his dearest friends branded with the appellation of knaves and ruffians, would it be natural, would it be decent, for him to preserve the same indifference in his look, and softness in his manner, as if he were investigating a truth in conic sections, arguing about the cause of the Aurora Borealis, or settling a point of ancient history ? Ought he not to shew, by the sharpness as well as by the solidity of his reply, that he not only disavows, but detests the accusation ? Is there a man whose indignation would not kindle at such an insult ? Is there a man who would be so much overawedjby any antagonist, as to conceal his indig- nation ? Of such a man I shall only say, that I would not choose Mm for my friend. When our subject lies near our heart our language must be animated, or it will be worse than lifeless ; it will be affected and hypocritical. Now what subject can lie nearer the heart of a Christian, or of a man, than the ex- istence and perfections of God, and the immortality of the human soul ? If he can not, if he ought not to hear with patience the blasphemies belched by unthinking profligates in their common conversa- tion, with what temper of mind will he listen or re- ply to the cool, insidious, and envenomed impieties of the deliberate-Atheist !— Fye on it! that I should need to write so long an apology for being an enemy to Atheism and nonsense ! " But why engage in the coMroversy at all ? Let ** 4he infidel d0 bis worst, and heap sophism on so- p. S. AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. <^ phism, and rail, and blaspheme as long as he '^ pleases ; if your religion be from God, or founded ** in reason, it cannot be overthrown. Why then ^^ give yourself or others any trouble with your at- " tempts to support a cause, against which it is said " that hell itself shall not prevail ?" — This objec- tion has been made, and urged too with confidence. It has just as much weight as the following. Why- enact laws against, or inflict punishment upon mur- derers ? Let them do their worst, and stab, and strangle, and poison, as much as they please, they will never be able to accomplish the final extermi- nation of the human species, nor perhaps to depo- pulate a single province. — Such idle talk deserves no answer, or but a very short one. We do be- lieve, and therefore we rejoice, that our religion shall flourish in spite of all the sophistry of malevo- lent men. But is their sophistry the less wicked on that account ? Does it not deserve to be punished with ridicule and confutation ? Have we reason to hope, that a miracle will be wrought to save any in- dividual from infidelity, or even any believer from those doubts and apprehensions which the writings of infidels are intended to raise ? And is it not worth our while, is it not our duty, ought it not to be our inclination, to endeavour to prevent such a calamity ? Nor let us imagine that this is the businens of the clergy alone. They, no doubt, are best qualified for this service ; but we of the laity who believe the gospel, are under the same obligation to wish well, and according to our ability, to do good to our fel- low-creatures. For my own part, though the writ- ing of this book had been a work of much greater difficulty JMid labour than I found it to be, I would have cheerfully undertaken it, in the hope of being instrumental in reclaiming even a single sceptic from his unhappy prejudices, or in preserving even a single believer from the horrors of scepticism. Tell me not, that those horrors have no existence. I kno^ the contrary. Tell me not, that the good 346 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH* P. Si. ends proposed can never in any jclegree be accom- plished by performances of this kind. Of this too I know the contrary. Suppose a set of men, subjects of the British go- vernment, to publish books setting forth. That li- berty, both civil and religious, is an absurdity ; that •trial by juries, the Habeas Corfius act. Magna Char- ta, and the Protestant religion, are intolerable nui- sances ; and that Popery, despotism, and the inqui- sition, ought immediately to be established through- out the whole British empire ; suppose them to ex- hort their countrymen to overturn, or at least to dis- regard our excellent laws and constitution, and make 'a tender of their souls and consciences to the Pope, and of their lives and fortunes to the Grand Seignior ; — and suppose them to write so cautiously as to es- cape the censure of the law, and yet with plausibi- lity sufficient to seduce many, and give rise to much dissatisfaction^ discord and licentious practice, equal- ly fatal to the happiness of individuals and to the pub- lic j>ea.ce : — With what temper would an English- man of sense and spirit set about confuting their principles ? Would it be decent, or even pardonable, to hciudle such a subject with coolness, or to behave with complaisance towards such adversaries ? Sup- pose them to have specious qualities, and to pass with their own party for men of candour, genius and learning : yet the lover of liberty and mankind would not, I presume, be disposed to pay them any excessive compliments on that account, or on any other. But suppose these political apostates to ap- pear, in the course of the controversy, chargeable with ignorance and sophistical reasoning, with eva- sive and quibbling refinements, with nlisrepresen- tion of com^:non facts, and misapprehension of com- mon language, more attached to hypothesis than to the truth, preferring their own conceits to the com- mon sense of mankind, and seeking tp gratify their own exorbitant vanity and lust of paradox, though at the expence of the happiness of millions ;— -with >. S. AN ESiSAY ON TRUTH. 347 what face could their most abject flatterers, and most implicit admirei's, complain of the severity of that antagonist who should treat, both them and their principles with contempt and indignation ? with what face urge in their defence, that, though per- haps somewhat blameable on the present occasion, they and their works were notwithstanding intitled to universal esteem, and the most respectful usage, on account of their skill in music, architecture, geo- metry, and the Greek and Latin tongues 1 On this account, would they be in any less degree the pests of society, or the enemies of mankind ? would their false reasoning be less sophistical, their presump- tion less arrogant, or their malevolence less atro- cious ? Do not the men who, like Alexander, Ma- chiavcl, and the author of La Pucelle d'Orleans, employ their greattalents in destroying and corrupt- ing mankind, aggravate all their other crimes by the drcwidful addition of ingratitude ahd breach of trust ? And are not their characters, for this very reason, the more obnoxious to universal abhor- rence ? An illiterate blockhead in the Robinhood tavern, blaspheming the Saviour of mankind, or la- bouring to confound the distinctions of vice and vir- tue, is a wicked wretch, no doubt ; but his wicked- ness admits of some shadow of excuse : he m.ight plead his ignorance, his stupidity, and the still more profligate lives and principles of those whom the world, by a preposterous figure of speech, is pleased to call his betters : but the men of parts and learn- ing, who join in the same infernal cry, are crimi- nals of a much higher order ; for in their defence nothing can be pleaded that will not aggravate their guilt. My design in this book wa.s, to give others the very same notions of the sceptical philosophy that I myself entertain ; which I could not possibly have done, if I had not taken the liberty to deliver my thoughts plainly and without reserve. And truly I saw no reason for being more indulgent to the writ- 348 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S. ings of sceptics, than to those of other men. The taste of the public requires not any such extraordi- nary condescension. If ever it should, which is not probable, we may then think it prudent to com- ply ; but, as we scorn, in matters of such moment, to express ourselves by halves, we will then also throw pen and ink aside, never to be resumed until we again find, that we may with safety write, and be honest at the same time. Infidels take it upon them to treat religion and its friends with opprobrious language, misrepresent- ation, undeserved ridicule, and divers other sorts of abuse. Some of them assert, with the most dog- matical assurance, what they know to be contrary to the common sense of mankind. All this passes for wit, and eloquence, and liberal inquiry, and a manly spirit. But whenever the friends of truth espouse, with warmth, that cause which theyAnow to be agreeable to common sense and universal opinion, this is called bigotry : and whenever the Christian ^vindicates, with earnestness, those principles which he believes to be of the highest importance, and which he knows to be essential to the happiness of man, immediately he is charged with want of mo- deration, want of temper, enthusiasm, and the spi- rit of persecution. Far be it from the lover of truth to imitate those authors in misrepresentation, or in endeavouring to expose their adversaries to unme- rited ridicule. ' Bnt if a man were to obtain a patent for vending poison, it would be very hard to deny his neighbour the privilege of selling the antidote. If their zeal in spreading and recommending their doctrines be suffered to pass without censure, our zeal in vindicating ours has at least as good a title to pass uncensured. If this is not allowed, I must suppose,' that the present race of infidels, like the jure divino kings, imagine themselves invested with some peculiar sanctity of character ; that whatever they are pleased to say is to be received as law and the fashion \ and that to contradict their will, or nj ?. S, AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. o4^ even address them without prostration, is indecent and criminal. I know not whence it is that they assume these airs of superiority. Is it from the high rank some of them hold in the world of letters? I would have them to know, that it* is but a short time since that high rank was either yielded to, or claimed by such persons. Spinoza, Hobbes, Col- lins, Woolston, and the rest of that tribe, were within these forty or fifty years accounted a very contemptible brotherhood. The great geniuses of the last age treated them with little ceremony; and would not, I suppose, were they now alive, pay more respect to imitators, copiers, and plagiaries, than they did to the original authors. If the ene- mies of our religion would profit by experience, they might learn, from the fate of some of their most renowned brethren, that infidelity, however fashionable and lucrative, is not the most conveni- ent field for a successful display of genius. Ever since Voltaire, stimulated by avarice, and other do- tages incident to unprincipled old age, formed the scheme of turning a penny by writing three or four volumes yearly against the Christian religion, he has dwindled from a genius of no common magn:- tude into a paltry book-maker ; and now think he does great and terrible things, by retailing the crude and long exploded notions of the free-thinkers of the last age, which, when seasoned with a few mistakes, misrepresentations, and ribaldries of his own, form such a mess of falsehood, impiety, obscenity, and other abominable ingredients, as nothing but the monstrous maw of an illiterate infidel can either di- gest or endure. Several of our famous sceptics have lived to see the greatest part of their profane te- nets confuted. I hope, and earnestly wish, that they may live to make a full recantation. Some of them must have known, and many of them might have known, that their tenets were confuted before they jadopted them: yet did they adopt them notwith- standing, and display them to the world with sts 350 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S* much confidence as if nothing had ever been advan- ced on the other side. So have I seen a testy and stubborn dogmatist, vi^hen all his arguments were answered, and all his invention exhausted, comfort himself at last with simply repeating his former po- sitions at the end of each new remonstrance from the adversary. * They who are conversant in the works of the scep- tical philosophers, know very well, that those gen- tlemen do riot always maintain that moderation of style which might be expected from persons of their profession ; and if I thought my conduct in this respect needed to be or could be, justified by such a precedent, I might plead even their example as piy apology. But I disclaim every plea that such a pre- cedent could afford me : I write not in the spirit of retaliation; and when I find myself inclined to be an imitator, I will look out for other models. In- deed it is hardly to be supposed, that I would take those for my pattern, whose talents I despise, whose writings I detest, and whose principles and projects are so directly opposite to mine. Their writings tend to subvert the foundation of human knowledge, to poison the sources of human happiness, and to overturn that religion which the best and wisest of men have believed to be of divine original, and which every good man, who understands it, must ixverence as the greatest blessing ever conferred upon the human race. I write with a view to coun- teract those tendencies, by vindicating some funda- mental articles of religion and science from the sceptical objections, and by shewing, that no man can attempt to disprove the first principles of know- ledge without contradicting himself. To the com- mon sense of mankind, they scruple not to oppose their own conceits, as if they judged these to be more worthy of credit than any other authority, hu- man or divine. I urge nothing with any degree of confidence or fervour, in which I have not good rea- son to tliink myself warranted by the common sense p. S# AN ESSAY ON TRUTH, o5l ofmaftkind. Does their cause, then, or does mine, deserve the warmest attachment? Have they, or have I, the most need to guard against vehemence of expression* ? As certainly as the happiness of fiiankind is a desirable object, so certainly is my cause good, and theirs evil. To conclude; Liberty of speech and writing is one of those high privileges that distinguish Great- Britain from all other nations. Every good subject wishes, that it may be preserved to the latest pos- terity ; and would be sorry to see the civil power interpose to check the pix)gress of rational inquiry. Nay, when inquiry ceases to be rational, and be- comes both whimsical and pernicious, advancing as far as some late authors have carried it, to contro- vert the first principles of knowledge, morality and religion, and consequently the fundamental laws of the British government, and of all well-regulated society ; even then, it mvist do more hurt than good to oppose it with the arm of flesh. For persecution and punishment for the sake of opinion, seldom fail to strengthen the party they are intended to sup- press ; and when opinions are combated by such weapons only, (which would probably bathe case if the law were to interpose), a suspicion arises in the minds of men, that no other weapons are to be had ; and therefore that the sectary, though destitute of power, is not wanting in argument. Let opinions then be combated by reason, and let ridicule be em- * " There is no satisfying' the demands of false delicacy,'' says an elegant and pious author, " because they are not regulated by any fixed standard. But a man of candour and judgment will allow, that the bashful timidity prac- tised by those who put themselves on a level with the ad- versaries of religion, would ill become one who, declin- ing all disputes, asserts primary truths on the authority " of common sense ; and that whoever pleads the cause of religion in this way, has a right to assume a firmer tone, and to pronounce with a more decisive air, not upon the strength of his own judgment, but on the reverence, due from ail mankind to the tribunal to which he appeals." Ostvald^s Appeal m behalf of religion, p, 14> H h a ft i( 352 AN EBSAY ON TRUTH. F. s» ployed to expose nonsense. And to keep onr licen- tious authors in awe, and to make it their interest to think before they write, to examine facts before they draw inferences, to read books before they cri^ ticise them, and to study both sides of a question before they take it upon them to give judgment, it would not be amiss, if their vices and follies, as au- thors, were sometimes chastised by a satirical seve- rity of expression. This is a proper punishment for their fault; this punishment they certainly de- serve ; and this it is not beneath the dignity of a phi- losopher, or divine, or any man who loves God and his fellow-creatures, to inflict. Milton, Locke, Cudworth, Sidney, Tillotson, and several of the greatest and best writers of the present age, have set the example; and have, I doubt not, done good by their nervous and animated expression, as well as by tlie solidity of their arguments. This punish- ment, if inflicted with discretion, might teach our licentious authors something of modesty, and of de- fcjrence to the judgment of mankind ; and, it is to be hoped, would in time bring down that spirit of presumption, and afl'ected superiority, which hath of late distinguished their writings, and contributed, more perhaps than all their subtlety and sophistry, to the seduction of the ignorant, the unwary, and the fashionable. It is true, the best of causes may be pleaded with an excess of warmth; a& when the advocate is so blinded by his zeal as to lose sight of his argument; or as when, in order to render his adversaries odious, he alludes to such particulars of their character or private history as are not to be gathered from their writings. The former fault, never fails, to injure the cause which the writer means to defend: the latter, which is properly tevmed fle7'sonal abuse^ is in itself so hateful, that every person of common prudence would be inclin- ed to avoid it for his own sake, even though he were not restrained by more weighty motives. If an au- thor's writings be subversive of virtue, and danger- ous to private happiness, and the public good, we p. S. AN ESSAY ON TRUTHi 35 rt ought to hold them in detestation, and, in order ta counteract their baneful tendency, to endeavour to render them detestable in the eyes of others ; thus far we act the part of honest men, and good citi- zens : but with his private history we have no con- cern ; nor with his character, except in so far as he has thought proper to submit it to the public judg- ment, by displaying it in his works. When these are of that peculiar sort, that we cannot expose them in their proper colours, without reflecting on his abilities and moral character, we ought by no means to sacrifice our love of truth and mankind to a com- plaisance which, if we are what we pretend to be, and ought to be, would be hypocritical at best, as well as mockeiy of the public, and treachery to our cause. The good of society is always to be consi- dered as a matter of higher importance than the gra- tification of an author's vanity. If he does not think of this in time, and take care that the latter be con- sistent with the former, he has himself to blame for all the consequences. The severity of Collier's at- tack upon the stage, in the end of the last century, was, even in the judgment of one * who thought it excessive, and who will not be suspected of par- tiality to that author's doctrine, productive of very good effects ; as it obliged the succeeding dramatic poets to curb that propension to indecency, which had carried some of their predecessors so far beyond the bounds of good taste and good manners. If we are not permitted to answer the objections of the in- fidel as plainly, and with as little reserve as he makes them, we engage him on unequal terms. And ma- ny will be disposed to think most favourably of that cause, whose adherents display the greatest ardour; and some, perhaps, may be tempted to impute to timidity, or to a secret diffidence of our principles, what might have been owing to a much more par- donable weakness. Nay, if we pay our sceptical adversaries their full demand of compliment and * CoUey Gibber. See his Apolog-y, vol. 1. p. 201. / 554 AN ESSAY ON TRUTH. P. S. adulation ; and magnify their genius and virtue, while we confute their atheistical and nonsensical sophisms ; and speak with as much respect of their pitiful conceits and flimsy wranglings, as of the sub- limest discoveries in philosophy ; is there not rea- son to fear that our writings will do little or no ser- vice ? For, may not some of our readers question our sincerity ? May not many of them continue the admirers and dupes of the authors whom we seeni,^ so passionately to ctdi-nire, and whose merit will not" appear to them the less conspicuous that it is ac- knowledged by an avowed antagonist ? And lastly, will not the adversaries themselves, more gratified than hurt by such a confutation, because more ambi- tious of applause, than concerned for truth, rejoice in their fancied superiority; and, finding their books become every day more popular and market- able by the consequence we give them, be enc ^ - raged to persist in their malevolent and impious career ? For my own part, though I have always been, and shall always be, happy in applauding excellence wherever I find it ; yet neither the pomp of wealth nor the dignity of office, neither the frown of the great nor the sneer of the fashionable, neither the sciolist's clamour nor the profligate's resen^tT^*^^*^ shall ever sooth or frighten me into an admiratiuii, real or pretended, of impious tenets, sophistical reasoning, or that paltry metaphysic Avith which li- terature has been so disgraced and pestered of late years. I am not so much addicted to controversy, i as ever to enter into any but what I judge to be of very great importance : and into such controversy I cannot, I will not enter with coldness and uncon- cern. If I should, I might please a party, but I must offend the public ; I might escape the censure of those whose praise I would not value ; but I , should justly forfeit the esteem of good men, and i incur the disapprobation of my own conscience. ' THE ENP« m^ 1%^