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 the last date stamped under ‘“‘Date Due.” If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
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 PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 
 
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 JOHN LOCKE. 
 
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 PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS 
 
 JOHN LOCKE. 
 
 WITH 
 
 | 
 | 
 A PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE AND NOTES, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. A. S-l.. JOHN, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 “ THE HISTORY OF THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, ARTS, &c. OF ANCIENT GREECE.” 
 
 THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 ESSAY ON THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, 
 
 AN EXAMINATION OF P, MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION OF SEEING ALL THINGS 
 [IN GOD; WITH REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS'S BOOKS.’ 
 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING READING AND STUDY FOR A GENTLEMAN, 
 
 LONDON : i Z 
 GEORGE VIRTUE, IVY LANE. 
 1843. 
 
 heer arene titanyl sata HumiG’ “se nar se Sana DG =a in IT Ea Sav Sa ica NNR mGnGRehUN” Zeman aaa mem aeaaaD 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 | THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 \ ve 
 
LONDON: 
 JOSEPH RICKERBY, PRINTER, 
 .SHERBOURN LANE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preliminary Discourse by the Editor . . : : : 2 . 
 
 ON THE CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING 
 AN ESSAY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING 
 
 Introduction by the Editor 
 Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Unnnoies 
 Epistle to the Reader 4 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHarter 1.—Introduction 
 2.—No Innate Principles in the Mind 
 3.—-No Innate Practical Principles . : 
 4,—Other Considerations concerning Innate Prihaipleg both qeacainive 
 and practical . 
 
 BOOK If. 
 
 CuaptTer 1.—Of Ideas in general and their original 
 2.—Of Sim) « Ideas 
 3.—Of Ideas of one Sense 
 4.—Of Solidity . 
 5.—Of Simple Ideas of divers Se 
 6.—Of Simple Ideas of Reflection 
 7.—Of Simple Ideas of both Sensation and Reflection 
 8.—Some further Considerations concerning our Simple Ideas 
 9.—Of Perception 
 10. --Of Retention 
 11.—Of Discerning, and other Dparens of the Mina 
 12.—Of Complex Ideas 
 13.—Of Simple Modes ; and, first, of the Simple Modes of bao 
 14.—Of Duration and its Simple Modes ; 
 15.—Of Duration and Expansion, considered together 
 {6.—Of '/umber ; : : 
 17.—Of Infinity , : : ° : 
 
 82 
 94 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vi 
 
 CuarTerR 18,—Of other Simple Modes : : : 
 19.—Of the Modes of Thinking : ; ‘ 
 20.—Of Modes of Pleasure and Pain 
 21.—Of Power, 
 
 22,—Of Mixed Modes : 
 23.—Of our Complex Ideas of Raheuices 
 24.—Of collective Ideas of Substances 
 25.—Of Relation 
 26.—Of Cause and Effect, and other Relations 
 27.—Of Identity and Diversity 
 28.-—Of other Relations 
 29.—Of clear and obscure, distinct and ee © Teas 
 30.—Of real and fantastical Ideas : 3 
 31.—Of adequate and inadequate Ideas : i , 
 32.—Of true and false Ideas 
 33.—Of the Association of Ideas 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Cuaprer 1.—Of Words or Language in general 
 
 2.—Of the Signification of Words 
 3.—Of General Terms 
 4.—Of the Names of Simple Tes 
 5.—Ofthe Names of Mixed Modes and Relations 
 6.—Of the Names of Substances 
 7.—Of Particles 2 
 8.—Of abstract and concrete Terms : 
 9.— Of the Imperfection of Words : : 
 10.—Of the Abuse of Words 
 11.—Of the Remedies of the foregoing Tpertecnore and inbtines 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 CuartTER 1.—Of Knowledge in general 2 
 
 2.—Of the Degrees of our Knowledge . 
 
 3.—Of the Extent of Human Knowledge . ‘ 
 4,—Of the Reality of Knowledge 
 
 5,—Of Truth in general . . 
 6.—Of universal Propositions, their Truth and Certainty 
 
  4—Of Maxims 
 
 8.—-Of trifling Propositions : 
 
 9.—Of our Knowledge of Existence . ° : . 
 10.—Of our Knowledge of the Existence of a ‘God 
 
 11.—Of our Knowledge of the Existence of other Things 
 12.—Of the Improvement of our Knowledge 
 13.—Some further Considerations concerning our Rrnsledes 
 14.—Of Judgment 
 
 15.— of Probability 
 16.— Of the Degrees of eee 
 
 % i | 
 
 Page 
 201 
 202 
 204 
 209 
 240 
 244 
 258 
 259 
 262 
 264 
 277 
 286 
 292 
 293 
 299° 
 
 . 305 
 
 311 
 312 
 315 
 322 
 327 
 333 
 351 
 353 
 354 
 363 
 373 
 
 383 
 386 
 391 
 406 
 412 
 416 
 423 
 433 
 438 
 439 
 447 
 452 
 458 
 459 
 460 
 462 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 17,—Of Reason ; 
 18.— Of Faith and Reason, ane their ES, Pr ovinces 
 19,— Of Enthusiasm 
 20.—Of wrong Assent, or a 
 21.—Of the Division,of the Sciences . 
 
 Apprenp1x.—Controversy with the Bishop of Wornestoll om 
 ® 
 
 Introduction by the Editor 
 
 AN EXAMINATION OF P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION OF SERING ALL THINGS 
 IN GOD; WITH REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR, NORRIS’S BOOKS 
 
 Introduction by the Editor. ; : 7 : : - 
 
 HLEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 CuaptTeR 1.—Of Matter and Motion. 
 
 2.—Of the Universe 
 
 3.—Of our Solar System : 
 
 4.—Of the Earth, considered as a Planet 
 
 5.—Of the Air and Atmosphere . 
 
 6.—Of Meteors in general 
 
 7.—Of Springs, Rivers, and the Sea 
 
 8.—Of several Sorts of Earth, Stones, Metals, ees als, oe ier Fossils 
 9.—Of Vegetables, or Plants : ; ; ae 
 10.—Of Animals 
 11.—Of the five Senses 
 12.—Of the Understanding of Man 
 
 SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING READING AND STUDY FOR A GENTLEMAN . 
 
 Introduction by the Editor : : ; e 
 
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PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
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 émiyetvovytac avToy Kwumoeiv. 
 PLAT. PARMENIDES. 
 
 AN edition of the Philosophical Works of Locke has long been wanting. It is in 
 fact matter of surprise, that a body of writings, in which the most popular meta- 
 physical system of modern times is developed, should never before have been 
 presented to the world in a collected form, and detached from all miscellaneous 
 compositions. The object of the present discourse is to describe briefly and with 
 simplicity, the character of these various pieces, in order that the reader who 
 happens not to be already acquainted with them, may proceed with the greater 
 curiosity to their perusal. 
 
 The Essay on the Human Understanding, the principal of these performances, 
 has now been before the world about one hundred and fifty years. It has excited 
 the strongest opposition; it has been assailed by calumny, it has often been mis- 
 ~ understood, and sometimes neglected. Nevertheless, such is its character, such 
 are the principles it contains, such the clearness, fulness, and satisfactory nature 
 of its interpretations of intellectual phenomena, that it may be confidently predicted 
 it will never be wholly laid aside so long as the study of philosophy shall retain 
 any charm for mankind. 
 
 That it is not a popular work must be admitted ; nor can it, perhaps, by any art 
 or contrivance be rendered so. For, in the first place, the public possess but little 
 inclination to penetrate backwards, as it were, to the dim and misty fountains of 
 human knowledge, lying remote from observation, and thickly shaded by the 
 voluminous foliage of doubts and uncertainties; and secondly, to be frank and 
 candid, the guide himself who undertakes to conduct us thither is not altogether 
 free from a certain uncouthness of manner, apt at first sight to chill our ardour and 
 repel familiarity. 
 
 But they whom nature designed for metaphysicians are not to be discouraged by 
 difficulties ; since in philosophy, as in religion, the crown they know is reserved 
 for those who “through faith and patience inherit the promises.” The truths 
 which in this world grow along the wayside are few and of ordinary quality; to 
 reach the noblest and most beautiful we must strike off into little-frequented paths, 
 nor heed the briars and thorns, or the rocky, steep, and slippery places over which 
 with sweat and toil it is necessary to force our way. For this reason the fastidious 
 and luxurious student, who would enjoy the reputation of having made progress 
 in philosophy, selects works of easier access than the masterpiece of Locke. In 
 fact compilers in this, as in other sciences, often possess greater charms for the 
 generality than original speculators and inventors of systems; for, unable to over- 
 
34 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 awe or dazzle mankind by opening up fresh views into the arcana of nature, or by 
 the revelation of new truths, they betake themselves to the ample storehouses of 
 rhetoric, and, by the help of sleights and artifices there found, so metamorphose 
 the ideas which they cull from the works of others that it would be difficult even 
 for those from whose brains they sprung, to recognise and claim kindred with them. 
 
 We accordingly often hear it said that, like Plato and Aristotle, Locke has now 
 grown somewhat out of date, and that I know not what improvements have since 
 his time been made in metaphysics. 
 
 It is far, however, from being clear to me that philosophy, in the proper sense, 
 is a science at all, or that we can go on from generation to generation enlarging 
 and improving it, as we do geography, astronomy, and the mathematics. On the 
 contrary, it appears to partake very much of the nature of an art, which, depend- 
 ing partly on the genius and partly on the practice and experience of an individual, 
 is perfectly intransmissible ; otherwise the immediate disciples of Baconand Locke 
 would necessarily have been as wise if not wiser than they, all the accumulated 
 stores of thought bequeathed by those great men to the world having been within 
 their reach, together with whatever by their own industry they could add to them. 
 In this way each age would outgrow that which preceded it, until at length our 
 wisdom would be that of God’s, and our knowledge all but boundless. 
 
 The history of philosophy lays before us a far different picture. A great man 
 arises and occupies himself with the study of nature; he reads, he imquires, he 
 investigates, he meditates; his ideas and opinions, under the inexplicable influence 
 of that peculiar conformation of mind which we designate character, arrange them- 
 selves harmoniously into a certain order; that is, grow up into a system of whieh 
 the philosopher himself constitutes the centre, his intellectual idiosyncracies per- 
 vading the whole, colouring it, and communicating to every part those peculiar 
 features which prove it to have proceeded from his mind. 
 
 When this process is completed, men, smitten by the thirst of knowledge, 
 ardent, enthusiastic, teachable, approaching within the sphere of the philosopher’s 
 influence, are attracted towards him and become his disciples; and his central light 
 reflected from their minds, like that of the sun from the face of the planets, is what 
 we denominate philosophy in its second stage of progression; after which, if the 
 process be continued, it grows at every remove paler and paler until at length it dies 
 away, and is no longer discernible. This circle being completed, the powers of 
 that philosophy are supposed to be effete, and the necessity of a new system is 
 felt. Then generally another inventive mind springs up into life, and contemplating 
 man and the universe from a new point of view, creates another system more or 
 less true and comprehensive in proportion to the elevation of its author’s intellect. 
 
 The number of minds of this original and systematic character has in modern 
 times been small, consisting of Descartes, Hobbes, Bacon, and Locke; and even 
 Bacon ought perhaps to be considered rather as a great critic in philosophy than 
 as the founder of a new system, since it would be difficult to name the doctrines 
 or opinions he introduced, or say in what he innovated save in the method of 
 philosophizing. Other men indeed there have been, possessed by the ambition of 
 founding a new philosophical sect, who have left behind them works of great inge- 
 nuity, and not without their value, as Leibnitz, Mallebranche, Hume, and Berkeley; 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 3 
 
 but it may be doubted whether they would have favoured the world with their 
 opinions at all had they not received the impulse from other thinkers. Descartes, 
 Bacon, Hobbes, and Locke were themselves the originators and centres of a new 
 motion, which proceeding from them, diffused itself on all sides, until it embraced 
 and agitated every speculative mind throughout the civilized world. The influence 
 however of Descartes and Hobbes was comparatively transient, while that of Locke 
 and Bacon still exists, and appears destined long to continue in operation. Their 
 philosophy, indeed, is seldom received directly from their own writings, but through 
 other and inferior channels, more on a level with the minds that imbibe it. 
 
 But it would unquestionably be an advantage to the world could we multiply the 
 number of those who come in contact with the philosophers themselves, and receive 
 the vital warmth and motion directly from their original source. To facilitate this 
 process is the aim of the present edition of the Essay on the Human Understand- 
 ing, and those minor works which precede and follow it, constituting the most 
 remarkable and by far the most influential body of philosophical writings to which 
 modern times have given birth. 
 
 I am not ignorant, however, that the opinion is widely received, even among 
 persons who affect to rank above the common herd, that Locke is a dry and crabbed 
 writer, abounding perhaps with original thoughts, and acute and ingenious specu- 
 lations, but incapable of affording to the reader that pleasure, which, in an indo- 
 lent and luxurious age, is more sedulously sought after than truth or knowledge. 
 But I am inclined to reckon this among the vulgar errors of our times, particularly 
 as I have never found it to be entertained by any man familiar with the works of 
 Locke. On the contrary, it is generally bandied about among persons who lack 
 the healthful appetite for knowledge which would enable them to digest it when 
 placed before them in his manly and highly vigorous style. 
 
 In many respects indeed Locke may be regarded as an exact representative of 
 the whole English nation, which has never been celebrated for external polish and 
 refinement, though no people in Europe has hitherto approached it for impetuosity 
 of eloquence, for profoundness in philosophy, or the highest flights of imaginative 
 grandeur in poetry. 
 
 So with Locke, whose language, to acknowledge the truth frankly, is at times 
 careless, rough, and even slovenly ; but to make amends our minds are delighted 
 and lifted up by the magnificence and vast dimensions of his thoughts, which, 
 circling about the orbit of human genius, often project themselves beyond the 
 remotest limits of the universe into the unfathomable abyss of space which appears 
 to surround creation on all sides. Departing likewise from those two sources of 
 all we know or can know, sensation and reflection, he conducts our understandings 
 upwards through every gradation of intellectual being extending from man to God, 
 respecting whose existence and ineffable nature he reasons with the precision of a 
 mathematician and the piety of asaint. It would indeed be difficult in this respect 
 to exaggerate his merits. Having with wonderful patience and accuracy sounded 
 the depths and shallows of human knowledge, and discovered how little we com- 
 prehend of that infinitude of intelligible things which encompasses us, he had 
 framed to himself the most exalted notion of the Divinity ; and the deep and un- 
 affected reverence for the Divine nature which pervades his whole philosophy sheds 
 
4 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 a glory and a lustre over it which no length of time, T feel confident, will suffice 
 to destroy. 
 
 Nevertheless, in investigating the origin of our knowledge on this awful subject, 
 he falls into an error, which in the proper place I have pointed out in the notes. 
 It may, however, be well briefly to advert to it in this place. Being intent on 
 overthrowing the doctrine of innate ideas, he argues that even the idea of a God 
 is obtained through the medium of sensation and reflection. In proof of this he 
 refers to the many nations of atheists which, according to certain travellers, are 
 found in various parts of the world.. Now if whole communities of men exist to 
 whom the conception of a deity has never presented itself, it must be self-evident 
 that the doctrine of innate ideas is false; for if God impressed any idea on the 
 mind of man from the first moment of its existence, it would doubtless be that of 
 himself: but we find whole races of men, says Locke, who not only bring no 
 such idea into the world with them, but never acquire it at all; therefore the 
 system of innate ideas is palpably unfounded. It was well, however, for him that 
 the other parts of the foundation of his system were better than this; since it has 
 never been proved, and in fact never can be proved, that there is anywhere to be 
 found a whole nation among whom no idea of a divinity exists. The travellers 
 who have given currency to such a belief are altogether unworthy of credit, either 
 because they had some purpose to serve by setting it on foot, or because, being in 
 reality ignorant of what the people they described thought or believed, they jumped 
 rashly, without inquiry, to the conclusion that they believed nothing. This may 
 often, as in the case of Le Vaillant, be demonstrated from their own works, where 
 affirming one thing in one place and the contrary in another, they not only 
 authorise but compel us to believe that they either wholly misunderstood or wil- 
 fully misrepresented the people among whom they sojourned. Upon such writers 
 it might have been expected that a cautious and able inquirer like Locke would 
 have placed no reliance; but their relations appearing to support his views he had 
 the weakness to receive their testimony, though his worst enemies never for one 
 moment supposed that it interfered in any way with his own belief. 
 
 Of man himself his conception in my opinion was less just. He appears fre- 
 quently to delight in humbling our pride by dwelling upon our weakness and 
 insignificance, by recurring again and again to our want of power to extort from 
 nature her secrets, by delineating in sad and humiliating colours diseases as well of 
 the body as the mind. For something of this propensity he was perhaps indebted 
 to those physiological and pathological studies connected with the profession for 
 which he was designed, it being exceedingly difficult for a physician to emancipate 
 himself from the influence of the hospital and the dissecting-room, however much 
 he may desire it. 
 
 With this part of his notions, which strongly resemble the sarcastic decla- 
 mation of Montaigne, the world has been rendered familiar through the Essay on 
 Man, in which Pope often does nothing more than versify what he found in the 
 works of Locke. 
 
 The defect however here pointed out can scarcely be said to pervade the whole 
 system ; for in laying bare the roots of our ideas, in describing the soil from which 
 they spring, and the several stages of that marvellous growth and multiplication by 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 5) 
 
 which they spread and become, in some respects, coextensive with creation itself, 
 he makes amends for what might seem to be invidious in other parts of his views, 
 and gives birth to a sublime conception of human intellect. 
 
 His object however was not so much to reconcile man with himself, as to explain 
 the means by which we acquire all the knowledge we possess, with the reasons 
 why it is not more extensive and complete. He had necessarily, therefore, to dwell 
 on all the existing hindrances as well as helps to knowledge, whether arising from 
 the make and constitution of our nature, or from that artificial atmosphere of pre- 
 judice by which in all stages of society we envelope ourselves. 
 
 In refuting errors and laying bare absurdities there is always something un- 
 gracious ; but such, up to his time, had been the character of modern philosophy 
 that it was impossible to erect a system sufficiently spacious and magnificent to be 
 the dwelling-place of truth, without overthrowing and removing the numerous 
 dens and asylums of error with which the whole was encumbered. Thus the 
 Essay on the Human Understanding grew to be in part polemical, and the porch 
 of philosophy was filled with the din and strife of controversy, instead of those 
 musical flourishes and harmonious preludes which, in the works of Plato and 
 many other ancient philosophers, meet the student on the threshold. | 
 
 It will be perceived that I here refer more particularly to the doctrine of innate 
 ideas, which Locke found it necessary to refute before he entered upon the develop- 
 ment of his own system. It has been supposed by some modern writers that he 
 was at very unnecessary pains in the matter, seeing he had little more to contend 
 - with than shadows of his own raising. This is Hume’s view of the controversy, 
 the whole nature of which he appears thoroughly to have misunderstood. At all 
 events he misrepresents it grossly, where, in a laconic note, he cavalierly accuses 
 Locke of not comprehending the question he was discussing. “’T is probable,” he 
 says, “that no more was meant by those who denied innate ideas than that all ideas 
 were copies of our impressions.” The probability however is, that their meaning 
 was very different, for if the word ‘impressions’ mean anything at all, it must mean 
 the same thing with sensation, and then I would beg leave to inquire where 
 Locke maintains that all our ideas, or indeed any of them, are copies of our sen- 
 sations. For though he teaches that it is through sensation we obtain certain of 
 our simple ideas, he nowhere asserts that the ideas thus obtained are copies of 
 such sensations. 
 
 The explanation given by Hume of the word ‘innate’ is perfectly humorous: 
 ‘¢ For what,” he asks, ‘is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural, 
 then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate or 
 natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposition to what 
 is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous.” But neither Descartes, nor any other 
 philosopher who held the doctrine of innate ideas, ever employed the term as a 
 synonym with natural. If he had done so no dispute would have arisen about 
 the matter, though people might have objected to his abuse of language. But 
 Hume knew very well that such was not the meaning of the term innate, and there- 
 fore goes on to say: “If by innate he meant contemporary to our birth, the dispute 
 seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth while to inquire at what time thinking 
 begins, whether before, at, or after the birth.” All this may be very true, but 
 
6 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 Locke finding the philosophical world besotted with such frivolities patiently 
 undertook to demonstrate their frivolousness. 
 
 The sense in which ‘innate’ was understood by Locke’s opponents, scarcely glanced 
 at by Hume, requires to be explained : they supposed that certain of our ideas are 
 obtained through sensation, others through reflection, and that a third sort are 
 stamped upon the essence of the soul at the moment of its creation. But because the 
 ideas of this third class are not developed in the first stages of life so as to be taken 
 cognizance of by the understanding, they are said to lie hidden in the depths of our 
 being until called forth and rendered visible by circumstances. This is the system 
 which Locke undertakes to explode. Whether it be frivolous or otherwise the 
 world must determine, for it still exists in spite of his reasonings, which shows that 
 however frivolous it may be, it is at least possessed of considerable vitality. 
 
 Hume however undertakes to clear up the mystery in the followmg manner : 
 “ Admitting,” says he, “these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above 
 explained, and understanding by innate what is original or copied from no precedent 
 perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are innate, and our ideas 
 not innate.” It is very easy to sneer, as Hume elsewhere does, at “that jargon 
 which has so long taken possession of metaphysical reasonings ;” but to speak 
 frankly, I never met in any author jargon more completely unintelligible than this. 
 For after utterly confounding the meaning of natural, innate, impression, and idea, 
 he proceeds to make confusion worse confounded by speaking of innate and inward 
 sensations, that is of sensations which precede the existence of all sensitive power, 
 and sensations existing in the intellect, for by inward sensations he must mean 
 this or nothing." 
 
 From the fatal necessity of entering into this controversy sprung likewise another 
 imperfection, the principal perhaps in the writings of Locke ; I mean his prolixity, 
 which often tires, and would inevitably disgust were it not for the depth, reach, 
 and justness of the observations that everywhere abound by the way, making ample 
 amends for the slow pace atwhich we advance. The philosopher himself was a man 
 of invincible patience, who calmly and continuously could view a subject on all sides, 
 note its lucid points, and tell where its surface retreated and was overshadowed by 
 obscurity. His genius appeared to be marked with serenity and repose, and to 
 search for wisdom without any of that turbulent excitement experienced by inferior 
 men in the very sanctuary of philosophy. He was therefore incapable of com- 
 
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 1 Upon this subject of innate ideas more stir 
 was made during the lifetime of the philosopher 
 than on any other connected with his system. 
 The famous Dr. Sherlock attacked his views in 
 a ‘‘ Digression concerning connate Ideas, or inbred 
 Knowledge, inserted in the third section of the 
 second chapter of his discourse concerning the 
 happiness of good men, and the punishment of 
 the wicked, in the next world,” ete. (Lond. 1704. 
 8vo.) About four months before Locke’s death the 
 book was sent to him by Anthony Collins, to 
 whom in his next letter he expressed himself 
 respecting it as follows: ‘‘ The samples you have 
 sent me I must conclude, from the abilities of the 
 author, to be very excellent. But what shall I 
 be the better for the most exact and best-pro- 
 portioned picture that ever was drawn, if I have 
 
 not eyes to see the correspondence of the parts ?. 
 I confess the lines are too subtle for me, and m 
 dull sight cannot perceive their connections. 
 am not envious, and therefore shall not be troubled 
 if others find themselves instructed with so ex- 
 traordinary and sublime a way of reasoning. I 
 am content with my own mediocrity. And though 
 I call the thinking faculty in me mind, yet I 
 cannot, because of that name, compare or equal 
 it in anything to that infinite and incomprehen- 
 sible being which, for want of right and distinct con- 
 ceptions, is called mind also, or the eternal mind. 
 I endeavour to make the best use I can of every- 
 thing; and therefore, though I am in despair to 
 be the wiser for these learned instructions, yet 
 I hope I shall be the merrier for them when you 
 and I take the air in the calash together.” 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. % 
 
 prehending the weariness which more active but less capacious minds would 
 inevitably feel in making their way through his lengthy investigations. He could 
 not foresee that they would gladly receive the result without being shown the steps 
 which led to it; that they would have been better pleased that he should have 
 dogmatised as a teacher than that he should have inquired as a companion and 
 friend, not reflecting upon the inestimable advantages we enjoy in being permitted 
 to accompany him through all those mazy and dusky paths by which he endea- 
 voured to hound out the retreat of truth. 
 
 It is a modification of this practice which constitutes the principal charm of 
 Plato’s writings ; though in them the investigation, thrown into the form of dialogue, 
 enhanced by brilliant sallies of wit, illustrated by a thousand allusions to objects of 
 beauty in nature and art, is conducted with infinitely superior skill, and sometimes 
 assumes much of the sprightly or impassioned tone of dramatic colloquy. 
 
 Locke unfortunately had formed a false theory of composition. The philoso- . 
 phical style, he thought, could never be too much divested of metaphor and 
 all other figures of speech, which in his opinion distort as well as colour the 
 medium through which we contemplate the pure truths of the understanding. Yet 
 he found himself compelled everywhere to make use of this proscribed form of 
 expression, which in many parts of the Essay on the Human Understanding are 
 as thickly sown as in any philosophical writings whatever, there being scarcely a 
 sentence unadorned by a metaphor. But if the injurious opinions he entertained 
 of those beauties of language did not prevent him from calling in their aid when- 
 - ever he stood in need of it, they at least led to false views with respect to their im- 
 portance, which terminated at length in carelessness and indifference to the colours 
 and harmony of style. 
 
 Towards producing this undesirable effect another quality of his mind con- 
 tributed ; I mean that insensibility to the allurements of verse which deprived him 
 of the highest enjoyment afforded by literature, and betrayed him into expressing 
 a cold preference for Sir Richard Blackmore before the noblest poets of our lan- 
 guage. Had it not been for this he might possibly have united with the depth, 
 penetration, and comprehensiveness of a philosopher, the ease, flexibility, taste, 
 eracefulness, and nameless felicities of language which belong to the consummate 
 writer; and these, far more than his higher merits, would have opened him a way 
 to the heart of the many, and rendered his glorious speculations popular and familiar 
 to the whole nation. 
 
 But admitting him to be in these points deficient, granting at once the rougliness 
 and inartificial structure of his language in many parts, the question is whether 
 it be for the interest of the public that he should remain, what he has long been, a 
 neglected author. 
 
 I am aware that it belongs to the natural course of things that to a certain extent 
 men should grow out of date with the age that produced them ; for in order to 
 promote the tranquillity and happiness of the world, Providence has clearly ordained 
 that through all the inhabitants of a country at any given period there should 
 preexist a certain resemblance, which in common language we denominate the 
 spirit of the age. Such writers as partake largely of this spirit are popular during 
 life, but rarely attain to fame. Having exclusively devoted themselves to the 
 
 PN atc nic PNR ne a aa nn ehh ne a ee 
 
8 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 amusement of their contemporaries they possess nothing for posterity ; and it is 
 not therefore unusual to see their works perish before them. Even in the case of 
 the greatest writers there is commonly after the cessation of their personal influence 
 and authority a gradual diminution in the number of those who peruse them, 
 though in the meanwhile their names spread more widely and become familiar to 
 millions who have never even seen their works. ; 
 
 This is preeminently the case with Locke. Everybody speaks of his philo- 
 sophy; his Essay is among the books of most frequent occurrence upon the stalls ; 
 and yet there is good reason to suspect that the number of those who have the 
 wisdom and courage to read him is very limited. The same thing precisely is 
 true of Lord Bacon; truer still of Hobbes and Hooker, and even of Milton as a 
 prose writer. But must it always remain so? Is it altogether impossible to create 
 among our youth a more masculine taste, a more healthful and vigorous appetite ? 
 Cannot the desire be awakened in them to escapeforamoment from the vulgar litera- 
 ture of the hour, to wanderamid those vast and solemn piles of thought which the 
 greatest minds among our ancestors have reared in honour of philosophy? For 
 myself, I do not yet despair of the commonwealth of letters, but feel persuaded that 
 could I wreak, as Byron phrases it, my thoughts upon expression, could I perform 
 successfully the task I have undertaken, could I describe Locke as he is, and 
 through a short vista open up a prospect into the rich, varied, and boundless field 
 of thought spread before us in the Essay on the Human Understanding, my labours 
 would not be invain. Certain I am that it is the interest of the present'age, above 
 almost all those that have preceded it, to prosecute the study of philosophy, seeing 
 the point at which society has arrived, when the force of traditional principles being 
 spent, there is an imperative necessity for other principles founded upon reason and 
 experience. And in the works of Locke the reader will find a wonderful con- 
 formity with the tendencies of the present times. Hobbes, rash and erring in 
 metaphysics, is in politics and practical philosophy timid and suited only to certain 
 periods in the progress of society; Bacon, discerning the wants of his own age, 
 taught men how to supply them, but did not attempt to perform the task himself; 
 Locke alone has, like Aristotle, invaded nearly the whole field of human knowledge 
 from metaphysics and the science of legislation and government down to the training 
 and feeding of a child in the nursery. He has moreover preserved amidst the 
 austerity of a philosophy almost stoical, a cheerful and ready submission to the 
 elemental impulses of the human heart, uniting the most fervent piety and the 
 highest possible sense of moral rectitude. 3 
 
 I have elsewhere, however, described what he has left us on the subject of 
 religion, and shall probably find other occasions for speaking of his political works, 
 for which reason I here confine my remarks to those among his writings which 
 treat expressly of philosophy. These I have endeavoured to arrange in the manner 
 best calculated to recommend their perusal, placing the Conduct of the Under- 
 standing at the head of all, as it furnishes an outline of his whole system of phi- 
 losophy, happily conceived, and finished with far more care than is usually sup- 
 posed. The object of this short treatise is twofold ; first, to describe the extent and 
 evils of popular ignorance, and secondly, to exhort mankind to the study of phi- 
 losophy. It is a work full of ease and animation, and all that kind of eloquence 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 9 
 
 which springs from a perfect knowledge of the subject ; for composed during the 
 last years of the author’s life, when he had completed his survey of the realms of 
 knowledge and brought to the utmost maturity of which they were susceptible 
 both his opinions and his theories, it has less the character of an inquiry than of 
 an harangue delivered ex cathedrd, without that hesitation and modest diffidence 
 which in the Essay appear sometimes to impede the free current of his thoughts. 
 He has here likewise introduced more abundantly perhaps than in any other 
 part of his writings those fruits of long experience and wisdom, profound maxims, 
 and pregnant sentences, which at once captivate the imagination and enlarge the 
 mind. Itseemed judicious therefore to commence the present publication with this 
 work, which, though entirely of a popular character, leads by an easy ascent to 
 the noblest truths of metaphysics, pinnacled upon the airiest and least accessible 
 heights of speculation. 
 
 The way being thus prepared the Essay follows, furnishing a body of philosophy 
 worthy to be studied, together with instructions for subduing or removing all those 
 difficulties capable of being removed which commonly beset this department of 
 human knowledge. 
 
 Next, in the Letters to the Bishop of Worcester, who had assailed his system on 
 all those points on which it was supposed to be vulnerable, we have an example, 
 and in most cases a satisfactory defence of his method of philosophising, together 
 with the principle upon which he conducted his inquiries. 
 
 To complete the cycle of his philosophical productions I subjoin his examination 
 - of Mallebranche’s system, together with such other smaller pieces as seemed to 
 belong to the same subject. : 
 
 In the Notes my aim has been by no means ambitious: I have merely sought 
 to increase the interest of the inquiries pursued in the text, by introducing 
 at the foot of the page illustrations from the works of other philosophers, 
 whether they agree with Locke or differ from him. But I have by no means 
 confined myself to this class of writers, for my object being to recommend the 
 work as far as possible to general perusal, I have sought among poets, historians, 
 travellers, in short from every kind of author within my reach, passages throwing 
 light upon the matter in hand, confirming sometimes and sometimes controverting 
 the views of Locke, whom I have not the superstition to regard as infallible. 
 
 Wherever I have found him to agree with others whose opinions happen to be 
 known to me, I have been careful to point it out, particularly if he seemed to have 
 borrowed, whether consciously or not, his notions from them. But this, it seems 
 to me, he has seldom done, though it cannot be denied that the germs of one part 
 of his theory are to be found in the dialogues of Plato, those inexhaustible treasures 
 of thought and wisdom. 
 
 About the middle of the last century, when men were in general little bigoted 
 in favour of antiquity, a learned and ingenious writer endeavoured to show 
 that the system of Locke, as well as those of all other modern philosophers, was 
 borrowed entirely from the Greeks. Had the position been maintained in general 
 terms it might at first have seemed to be tenable. But the attempt having been 
 made to support it by quotations, the accuser broke down in his proofs, merely 
 showing that on many points the Peripatetics, Stoics, and Epicureans had obtained 
 
10 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 glimpses of the truth afterwards demonstrated and placed in the clearest light by 
 our illustrious countryman. 
 
 In what relates to the Stoics in particular there is something very ludicrous in 
 the reasonings of the author in question; for, upon the strength of certain passages 
 in Plutarch and Diogenes Laertius, he concludes that, had the writings of Zeno 
 and his followers survived, the world would have stood in no need whatever of 
 the Essay on the Human Understanding. Whether the fact would have been so 
 or not we have no means of judging, for those writings have perished irrecoverably ; 
 and the world not being disposed to reject all aid to knowledge because it did not 
 proceed from the Stoics, gladly received and repaid with admiration the inestimable 
 favours conferred upon it by Locke. At the same time, I grant there has scarcely 
 been in modern times a theory started, good, bad, or indifferent, something 
 resembling which might not be found in the philosophical fragments bequeathed 
 to us by antiquity, though it requires a mind of the first order properly to interpret 
 and wisely to profit by the hints which there lie buried. For example, there 
 occurs in the Theatetos a passage not hitherto, that I am aware of, referred to in 
 this discussion, in which sensation and reflection are clearly conan ait as the 
 sources of all our ideas: 
 
 “ Both in man and the inferior animals there exists from the birth a certain 
 natural power, by which they perceive all those sensations that flow in through the 
 body upon the soul; but the reflections upon these sensations, which discover to us 
 their essence and utility, (in as many as attain to the possession of them at all,) 
 grow up with difficulty in the course of time, through laborious experience and 
 education.’”* 
 
 But it would nevertheless be absurd to infer that Locke had this passage before 
 him when he first conceived the idea of the Essay on the Human Understanding. 
 We are endowed with the same senses, the same understanding as the ancients, 
 and the same inexhaustible sources of knowledge lie scattered around us over the 
 face of nature. Why then, if chance lead us to the same springs, should we be 
 thought to have painfully traced our way thither by the dimly perceptible footsteps 
 which they have sometimes left upon the soil? No man of large mind and inde- 
 pendent character studies the ancients to pilfer their notions or secu a slave to 
 
 1 Dutens, Origine des Descouvertes attribués aux 
 Modernes, p. 13 et seq.; where he says: ‘“ Le 
 philosophe Anglois fait des sensations les ma- 
 tériaux dont la réflexion se sert pour composer 
 les notions de ’ame: les sensations chez lui sont 
 des idées simples, dont la réflexion forme les idées 
 complexes; c’est la le fondement de son livre, 
 dans lequel il est vrai qu’il a répandu un grand 
 jour sur la maniére dont nous acquérons nos idées, 
 et sur leur association; mais il est clair aussi, 
 par tout ce que Sextus Empiricus, Plutarque et 
 Diogéne Laerce nous ont conservé de la doctrine 
 des Stoiciens, qu’ils raisonnoient de la méme ma- 
 ni€re que Locke a fait de nos jours.; et on peut 
 juger, par ce qu’en cit Plutarque, que si tout ce 
 qwils ont écrit sur ce sujet (dans les ouvrages 
 dont il ne nous reste que les titres) étoit parvenu 
 jusqu’d nous, nous n’aurions pas eu besoin del’ ouy- 
 rage de Locke. Le fond dela doctrine de Zénon et 
 de son école sur la logique, étoit, que toutes nos 
 notions nous viennent des sens. L’esprit de 
 Vhomme, asanaissance, est semblable, disoient les 
 
 Stoiciens, au papier blanc disposé a recevoir tout 
 ce que Von veut y écrire ; les premiers impressions 
 qu ilrecoit lui viennent des sens ; les objets sont-ils 
 éloignés, lamémoire sert dretenir ces impressions ; 
 la répétition de ces mémes impressions fait Vexpé- 
 rience. Les notions sont de deux genres, naturel- 
 les et artificielles ; les naturelles sont les vérités qui 
 ont leur source dans les sensations, ousont acquises 
 par les sens ; c’est pourquoi ils les appelloient aussi 
 anticipations: les notions artificielles sont pro- 
 duites par la réflexion de l’esprit dans des étres 
 doués de raison.” (Plut. de Placitis Philosoph. 
 lib. iv. ¢. 11.) 
 
 * Opera, V. iii. p. 268. f. Bekk. Odcovy rd piv 
 evOvC yevopévoec TapEoTe puoe aic0avecOat 
 avOowrote Te kai Onoiotc, doa Ora TOU CwWMaToc 
 wabnpwaraéritiy Puy reivert ra 0& TEpi TOU- 
 Twy avadoyiopatra mpd¢ TE OVoiaY Kal wOe- 
 Astav poyic Kai gy ypdvyw Ova TOAAOY TPEAay- 
 paTwv Kai walsiag Tapayiyverat vic dy Kal 
 Tapaylyvynrat 
 
 ‘ 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 11 
 
 their systems, but to observe the method they pursued in the search after truth, and 
 the inimitable art which many among them exhibited in placing their discoveries 
 before the world. But in neither of these points was Locke much indebted to 
 them, his method of philosophising being completely distinguished from theirs, 
 and his manner of explaining his thoughts, it is to be regretted, still more so. 
 Whatever faults he may have, therefore, it is clear to me that he is neither a 
 plagiarist nor an imitator, but a writer as much sui generis as any that can be 
 named in the whole compass of literature. 
 
 In studying him accordingly we are spared the labour of searching for the 
 fountains of his opinions and ideas beyond the limits of his own works. He had 
 manifestly followed the advice rather than the example of Hobbes, of reading 
 diligently his own conceptions, which the Bishop of Worcester urged against him 
 as a reproach, taunting him with having spun his whole theory out of his own 
 brains. Had there been a possibility of fixing upon him the charge of plagiarism 
 the vast reading of Stillingfleet would have enabled him to do it, and the ill-blood 
 engendered by controversy would not have suffered him to keep back such an 
 accusation, as we may be sure from his having advanced many worse. 
 
 I have already alluded briefly to some of the advantages which would ensue 
 from a revival of the study of Locke, among which not the least would be the 
 helps to be derived from him in the construction of a sound theory of ethics. He 
 maintained, as is well known, the opinion that a system of morals might be erected 
 on a basis of pure demonstration, though when pressed by Molineux to undertake 
 the task himself he declined, not so much perhaps from any distrust of hisown powers 
 as from the experience he had gained of the temper of the age in which he lived, 
 prone not only to cavil, but wilfully to misinterpret and impute unworthy motives. 
 
 To any one, however, who should be disposed to complete the design which he 
 barely contemplated, his writings would supply many useful hints and suggestions, 
 together with indications of the track which an honest investigator ought to 
 pursue. It formed no part of Locke’s own plan to examine the nature of our 
 passions, emotions, sentiments and appetites, or to determine how far and by what 
 means they influence our actions. 
 
 Though in nowise one of those who regard man simply as a reasoning animal, 
 Locke had still too little of the elements of passion in his own nature, to enable him 
 to judge experimentally of the struggle usually maintained through life between 
 the understanding and the affections, the latter spreading a cloud before the judg- 
 ment which the former endeavours to dispel. 
 
 It is accordingly observable that throughout his works our reason is alone ap- 
 pealed to. He never seeks to kindle our passions or enlist our sympathies on his side; 
 but proceeding stedfastly in what appeared to him to be the wake of truth, he leaves 
 it to our own good sense to determine whether we will go along with him or not. 
 
 This doubtless was the proper spirit in which to investigate the sources of 
 knowledge ; but it may be doubted whether it would have led him to a sound 
 theory of morals, which should in part at least be based on departments of human 
 experience in which Locke was deficient, never having been a husband or a father, 
 and consequently lacking many of those views which it is impossible to take from 
 any other positions. 
 
12 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 No man in fact can have failed to observe that our ethical creed changes 
 with our years, with the changes in our relations, even with the mutations of our 
 status in society. It is necessary to have experienced a father’s care, a mother’s 
 tenderness, a wife’s endearing affection, the unutterable love of children, before we 
 can reason correctly of the duties, feelings, influences, and emotions arising out of 
 all those different relations. Of this Locke was incapable for the reasons before 
 stated; and therefore perhaps upon the whole, it may be little to be regretted that 
 he did not devote his time to the composition of a system of ethics, which, however 
 admirably reasoned, would have wanted the greatest charm of that kind of com- 
 position. Had he possessed this, the admiration excited by his works would have 
 partaken more of enthusiasm. He would have been resorted to as a delightful 
 companion as well as a wise instructor; and even as it is, they who habitually 
 converse with him end at last by acquiring a strong attachment for his character 
 as it develops itself in his writings. 
 
 A principal cause of this perhaps is his earnestness and frankness, and his being 
 uniformly found arguing on the side of whatever is virtuous and honourable. 
 Principles taken out of his book and pushed to extreme by others may indeed be 
 found or forced to lead to dangerous consequences ; but in Locke himself we discover 
 nothing which, as contemplated by him, is adverse to the peace and bestinterests of 
 society. He maintains no paradoxes for the purpose of exhibiting his metaphysical 
 acuteness and logical power, but following everywhere the dictates of good sense and 
 a disciplined and vigorous reason, he arrives at precisely those truths which are best 
 calculated to knit man to man, to promote the ends of free government, to elevate | 
 our species to its proper level, to promote our happiness both here and hereafter. 
 
 Advocating above all things the free agency of man, he pitilessly batters down 
 that hackneyed sophism by which certain wild and heterodox speculators have 
 endeavoured to emancipate themselves and others from the empire of conscience. 
 He establishes it as the basis of all law, government, and religion that men are 
 accountable beings, consequently that they have it in their power to choose between 
 vice and innocence; that society has a right to inflict punishment for certain crimes, 
 that beyond the reach of laws there are actions sinful, and consequently requiring 
 chastisement ; that there is therefore a future life in which every man will receive 
 according to the deeds done in the body. The chapter on Power, in which this 
 question is discussed, may for this reason be said to be peculiarly worthy of being 
 studied at the present moment, when so many of our countrymen appear to be 
 infected by opinions of an opposite tendency. 
 
 It might be useful too, as a remedy against that narrow selfishness and vulgar 
 utilitarianism which appears to be fast springing up amongst us, patiently to 
 accompany him through his speculations on infinity, in which, flinging off one 
 by one the ligaments that bind us to earth, he plunges out into the great ocean, 
 where there is no existence but that of God dwelling in eternal silence and repose. 
 Here if anywhere we may discover the nothingness of our pitiful hopes and fears, 
 whose aim extends no further than to a shadow-like passage over this “‘ bank and 
 shoal of time.” His ideas throughout this part of his speculations are full of sub- 
 limity, some portion of which they must inevitably communicate to those who 
 calmly and reverentially dwell upon them. Into error he may and does fall; but 
 
ee ee re We 
 
 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 13 
 
 nn 
 
 those we everywhere forgive him, as it is impossible not to perceive that he is 
 guided by the love of truth, and that for her sake he was prepared to encounter 
 persecution and calumny, and whatever other evil it might occasion him. 
 
 To be conversant therefore with the reasonings of such a man cannot fail at once 
 
 to invigorate and purify the understanding. Itrequires some acuteness and much 
 
 attention to perceive all the links of his ratiocination, to follow them, when by their 
 own weight as it were they sink to the lowest depths of metaphysics, and rising 
 again stretch in one unbroken chain nearly across the whole domain of philosophy. 
 But if we be disposed to lend him the requisite attention, it is always possible to 
 discern the subtlest evolutions of his reasonings, to discover precisely whither they 
 lead, and by what motives they are thitherward directed. 
 
 Nevertheless, thinking thus highly of Locke, there are several things which I 
 miss in his philosophy, of which the principal perhaps is that sense of the beau- 
 tiful necessary to impart the highest charm to metaphysical speculations. In 
 his writings we nowhere meet with glimpses of that ideal loveliness which in- 
 habits the inner recesses of some minds, and constitutes the best proof of their 
 affinity with the divine nature. He knows nothing of that visionary sweetness 
 which descends like dew through the periods of Plato, and literally ravishes the 
 imagination. Virtue he cultivates either because it is the command of God, or 
 because it would{be inconsistent with reason to do otherwise. But there is no 
 unconscious and involuntary apotheosis of the principal, drawing us after it like 
 Milton’s Archangel, by the irresistible beauty of its countenance. We seldom in 
 his company forget ourselves, or the matter in hand, to go loitering up the slope 
 of some delightful speculation, leading us for a moment out of our track perhaps, 
 but enabling us after the digression to return to it with greater zest and vigour. 
 But what is true of him is likewise true of most modern writers on philosophy, 
 among whom I could scarcely name a single exception, save Bacon, in whose 
 writings we discover everywhere traces of that fire of the imagination necessary to 
 ripen, and bring the noblest fruits of the soul to perfection. His thoughts had moved 
 as it were among the clouds, and caught all the warm and golden hues which they 
 present in the first hour of the morning. Impassioned he neither is nor knows how 
 to be; but his fancy, like a bee, had wandered everywhere through the universe, 
 culling the choicest sweets and odours which he has breathed over his pages. Hence 
 the pleasure which the reading of Bacon often imparts, when we neither admire his 
 reasoning nor approve of his opinions. Locke, in comparison with him, holds the 
 same place that logic does with respect to rhetoric. In the one the roots only 
 of thoughts and speculations appear upon the surface, while the plants themselves 
 grow in an inverted order, blossom inwards, and bear fruit in the secret recesses of 
 the mind: in the other, whatever is rough or unsightly is kept seduiously out of 
 view, while all that is rich or fascinating is artfully disposed in the order best cal- 
 culated to charm the eye. 
 
 Again, Locke, like Epicureus, whether from the affectation of extreme originality, 
 or from some peculiar theory of composition, the reason of which is not apparent, not 
 only quotes very little from other philosophers, but seldom even refers to them in 
 their opinions, except when it happens to be necessary to refute them. To him 
 therefore we may apply with truth the censure which Dr. Johnson unjustly 
 
14 PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 
 
 directed against Milton, that “few men ever wrote so much and praised so little.” 
 In this characteristic likewise he differs widely from Lord Bacon, many of whose 
 Essays consist of a cento of quotations, admirably put together indeed, but in which 
 little more than the arrangement and setting belongs to him. In Aristotle too and 
 Plato the page is often studded with illustrious names, which are sometimes merely 
 referred to by the way, sometimes for the purpose of opposing, examining, explain- 
 ing, or illustrating opinions or principles with which they were connected. This 
 may in some sort be regarded as the bibliography of philosophy; and such is the 
 weakness of human nature, such the desire and the necessity for frequent resting- 
 places in abstruse speculations, that allurements and concessions like these, if not 
 absolutely necessary, are at least exceedingly well calculated to keep us in breath 
 as it were, and enable us to support toil with cheerfulness. 
 
 In the Letters to the Bishop of Worcester, long as they are and full of repeti- 
 tions, there is frequently a sort of dialogistic vivacity which keeps up the interest 
 and carries along the reader without weariness to the end. Two characters are 
 insensibly developed before us: that of the Bishop, confident in his extensive 
 learning and high rank in the church, and relying greatly on the fame he had 
 already acquired, advancing opinions and accusations rashly, laying his flanks 
 open to the enemy, and then compelled to retire galled, chafed and humiliated ; 
 and that of the philosopher looking warily around him, calmly and deliberately 
 erecting his batteries, spying out the weak point ofthe enemy, and then pouring in 
 upon him without mercy his incessant and tremendous fire. In these composi- 
 tions we are sometimes reminded of the polished playfulness of Pascal. To enliven 
 the dryness of controversy little imaginary dialogues are got up, in which the 
 Bishop’s arguments are mawled with a freedom and a levity in which Locke 
 would not have indulged in his own proper person when contending openly with 
 his antagonist. 
 
 But the controversy in the course of its development exhibited all the phases 
 which controversies usually present. Beginning at first with a considerable show 
 of good temper and politeness on both sides, it gradually warmed and became 
 embittered, until what seemed to be a mere friendly discussion undertaken for 
 the purpose of settling agreeably a few doubtful points, degenerated into a fierce 
 warfare, in which both parties put forth all their strength, and seemed to hazard 
 their very reputation on the issue. Locke, it is well known, came out of the 
 struggle triumphant; and this is not at all to be wondered at, for whatever learn- 
 ing or ability Dr. Stillingfleet may have possessed, he was certainly endued with 
 little of that vigour of intellect, that calm and temperate spirit of speculation, that 
 acuteness to discern, that patience to explain, and that power to argue and vindi- 
 cate the rights of truth which preeminently belong to Locke. 
 
 The questions discussed were of the most abstruse kind: the essence of sub- 
 stance, of nature, of person, of identity and diversity, of the Resurrection, of the 
 Trinity, and the Incarnation of Christ. Of the learning requisite in a divine, Dr. 
 Stillingfleet appears (for I do not presume to speak positively) to have possessed 
 an ample share. It was not therefore from any deficiency on this point that he 
 lost ground in the controversy, but because he was little accustomed to the calm, 
 cautious, and rigid proceedings of metaphysics, in which nothing can be conceded to 
 
PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE. 15 
 
 authority, nothing to public opinion, but where truth, naked and undisguised, is the 
 sole guide and arbiter of all. Locke, on the other hand, besides being a redoubt- 
 able logician, was a practised controversialist, having all his life accustomed him- 
 self, though he was little fond of acknowledging it, to the eristic art, in which 
 probably he was little inferior to Zeno himself. The reader will examine and 
 judge. Nevertheless, from what has been said it will be perceived, that as the 
 dispute turns upon questions so thorny and difficult, it is no easy matter always 
 to appreciate the value of the arguments or the force of the reasoning. Still it is in 
 many respects fortunate that the controversy took place, since it enabled Locke to 
 clear up many parts of his philosophy which might otherwise have remained doubt- 
 ful, and to defend and clear himself from severa! suspicions which, if made known 
 after his death, it might have been exceedingly difficult to remove. For example, 
 it is clear from the mistake of Dr. Stillingfleet that it is possible for a hasty reader 
 of the Essay on the Human Understanding to imagine Locke a disbeliever in the 
 existence of the external world, but to one who peruses these letters such a suspi- 
 cion can never present itself. On several points of faith too he had here an 
 opportunity of speaking out explicitly, and he has in general done so with a frank- 
 ness and fulness which seem to me altogether satisfactory. Whether I possess 
 too much or too little charity, the reader must decide when he has arrived at the 
 end of this volume. 
 
 J. A. Sr. J. 
 
 December 1844). 
 
ve 
 
 ; 
 
 = 
 me 
 | 
 
 PA pitted 
 
 pete 
 
 STE ROS MN ERM, Cn iay ae P 5 ; : Samia , fee, EE A Cig aie ee : 
 soe ei rae acl ici namic aa i ee ee 
 date ee . P : , ; oon 
 
 Sah Py inieya ; vo ‘ Sah ap ; P : y 
 yi - ; “ a Pals SESS 
 
OF THE 
 
 Ca0uNe De Ge T 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ie) RS.TAN DIN G. 
 
 “ Quid tam temerarium tamque indignum sapientis gravitate atque constantid, quam aut falsum 
 sentire, aut quod non satis exploraté perceptum sit, et cognitum, sine ulla dubitatione 
 defendere ?”’ Cic. de Natura Deorum, lib. i, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Locks has seldom obtained all the credit due to him for the following brief treatise. It may in fact 
 be said to be comparatively little known; for though sometimes printed separately, and at other times 
 added almost by way of Appendix to the Essay on. the Human Understanding, the opinion of the 
 earliest editor of his works that it is little more than a series of ‘‘ sudden views, intended to be after- 
 wards revised and further looked into,’ appears to have been pretty generally adopted. Neverthe: 
 less the work in every respect is deserving of very high praise. The author when he wrote it had 
 completed his meditations on. all the important topics therein glanced at. He had learned, by the 
 reception his own philosophy had met with, how hard it is to give currency to new truths, which are 
 commonly suspected for counterfeits, until long use and familiarity have reconciled mankind to their 
 appearance. Controversialists had assaulted him; his doctrines had been misunderstood, his motives 
 misinterpreted; his indignation against ignorance and error, against prejudice and calumny, against 
 the obstinacy which is blind to the beauties of truth, and the timidity, which though perceiving refuses 
 to acknowledge them, was therefore wound up to a high pitch, and brought some relief for his mind 
 in exposing the contemptible weakness and the perverse selfishness by which philosophy like religion 
 is thwarted in its benevolent endeavours to enlighten and fortify and tranquillise the human mind. This 
 is the object of the Conduct of the Understanding. It is an apology for philosophy, full of the highest 
 wisdom, the most exquisite good sense, and is rendered doubly piquant by a tone of resentment, 
 mingled with and modifying his characteristic yearning to be of service to his fellow-creatures. Though 
 written later in the order of time, it should now be regarded as an introduction to the greater essay, 
 being written in a style more sprightly, popular, and easy, abounding with figures and brilliant sallies 
 of the fancy, and therefore calculated to operate as a recommendation to the more formidable specula- 
 tions that succeed it. How it is likely to be estimated or received by readers of the present day it is 
 difficult to foresee. I never remember to have met with the slightest notice of it by any of my contem- 
 poraries. The work is evidently little read, but no one who is at the trouble to become acquainted 
 with its merits will acknowledge that it deserves to be neglected. Some few repetitions there are, 
 together with certain roughnesses, and slight inaccuracies of style, which may perhaps be owing to its 
 posthumous publication. Perhaps, however, the author would not, had he lived, been very solicitous to 
 remove these trifling blemishes, since he indulged in the affectation, scarcely pardonable in one so 
 great and wise, of looking with indifference on the niceties of language and composition. But if there 
 be found here and there some few small imperfections, they are scarcely visible amid the crowd of 
 beauties which press upon the sight. From first to last the chain of reasoning proceeds in one almost 
 unbroken flow. It more resembles an oration in its ornaments and magnificence than a philosophical 
 treatise. The language is quick, full, vehement. Argument does not here disdain the alliance of wit, 
 or irony, or satire. Every weapon which can pierce ignorance, or beat down the defences of fraud, is 
 seized on and wielded with surprising vigour and adroitness. The reader expecting mere instruction, 
 is surprised at finding the most animate entertainment, so that I much doubt whether any one who 
 can relish speculation at all, or experience an interest in anything but fiction, ever commenced the 
 Conduct of the Understanding for the first time without pressing forward to its conclusion with un- 
 satisfied appetite and unabated delight. To sum up all its merits in one word, it is not unworthy to 
 usher the mind into the great and magnificent building of which it may be regarded as the vestibule. 
 
OF THE 
 
 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 1. Introduction.—TueE last resort a man has recourse to, in the conduct of 
 himself, is his understanding; for though we distinguish the faculties of the mind, 
 and give the supreme command to the will, as to an agent, yet the truth is, the man, 
 who is the agent, determines himself to this or that voluntary action, upon some 
 precedent knowledge, or appearance of knowledge, in the understanding.' No man 
 ever sets himself about anything but upon some view or other, which serves him 
 for a reason for what he does: and whatsoever faculties he employs, the under- 
 standing, with such light as it has, well or ill informed, constantly leads; and by 
 that light, true or false, all his operative powers are directed. The will itself, how 
 absolute and uncontrollable soever it may be thought, never fails in its obedience 
 to the dictates of the understanding. Temples have their sacred images, and we 
 see what influence they have always had over a great part of mankind. But in 
 truth, the ideas and images in men’s minds are the invisible powers that constantly 
 govern them, and to these they all universally pay a ready submission. It is 
 therefore of the highest concernment that great care should be taken of the 
 understanding, to conduct it right in the search of knowledge, and in the judgments 
 it makes. 
 
 The logic now in use has so long possessed the chair, as the only art taught in 
 the schools, for the direction of the mind in the study of the arts and sciences, that 
 it would perhaps be thought an affectation of novelty to suspect that rules that 
 have served the learned world these two or three thousand years, and which, with- 
 out any complaint of defects, the learned have rested in, are not sufficient to guide 
 the understanding. And I should not doubt but this attempt would be censured 
 as vanity or presumption, did not the great Lord Verulam’s authority justify it ; 
 who, not servilely thinking learning could not be advanced beyond what it was, 
 because for many ages it had not been, did not rest in the lazy approbation and 
 applause of what was, because it was, but enlarged his mind to what it might be. 
 In his preface to his Novum Organum, concerning logic, he pronounces thus : 
 “Qui summas dialecticze partes tribuerunt, atque inde fidissima scientiis preesidia 
 comparari putarunt, verissimé et optimé viderunt intellectum humanum, sibi 
 permissum, meritdO suspectum esse debere. Verum infirmior omnind est malo 
 medicina; nec ipsa mali expers. Siquidem dialectica, que recepta est, licet ad 
 civilia et artes, que in sermone et opinione posite sunt, rectissimé adhibeatur ; 
 nature tamen subtilitatem longo intervallo non attingit, et prensando quod non 
 
 ‘ The question barely glanced at in this place 
 is fully discussed in the Essay on the Human 
 Understanding, Book IT. ch. ii. § 29. 
 
 2 Though it had grown fashionable in Locke’s 
 age to attack the ancient systems of logic, it will 
 not, I imagine, be supposed that the philosopher 
 himself intended to undervalue the science 
 
 | though he points out the imperfections and 
 
 abuses of it. However, he appears in some 
 cases to have confounded the clear, systematic 
 reasonings of the ancients with the subtleties 
 prevalent among the schoolmen, and to have 
 valued even the latter at much less than they 
 were worth. 
 
20 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 capit, ad errores potius stabiliendos et quasi figendos, quam ad viam veritati aperi- 
 endam valuit.” 
 
 “They,” says he, “who attributed so.much to logic, perceived very well and 
 truly that it was not safe to trust the understanding to itself without the guard of 
 any rules. But the remedy reached not the evil, but became a part of it, for the 
 logic which took place, though it might do well enough in civil affairs and the 
 arts, which consisted in talk and opinion, yet comes very far short of subtlety in 
 the real performances of nature; and, catching at what it cannot reach, has served 
 to confirm and establish errors, rather than to open a way to truth.” And there- 
 fore a little after he says, ‘“‘ That it is absolutely necessary that a better and per- 
 fecter use and employment of the mind and understanding should be introduced.” 
 “ Necessarid requiritur ut melior et perfectior mentis et intellectis humani usus et 
 adoperatio introducatur.” 
 
 2. Parts.—There is, it is visible, great variety in men’s understandings, and. 
 their natural constitutions put so wide a difference between some men in this 
 respect, that art and industry would never be able to master, and their very natures 
 seem to want a foundation to raise on it that which other men easily attain unto.' 
 Amongst men of equal education there is great inequality of parts. And the 
 woods of America, as well as the schools of Athens, produce men of several abili- 
 ties in the same kind. Though this be so, yet I imagine most men come very 
 short of what they might attain unto, in their several degrees, by a neglect of their 
 understandings. A few rules of logic are thought sufficient in this case for those 
 who pretend to the highest improvement, whereas I think there are a great many 
 natural defects in the understanding capable of amendment, which are overlooked 
 and wholly neglected. And it is easy to perceive that men are guilty of a great 
 many faults in the exercise and improvement of this faculty of the mind, which 
 hinder them in their progress, and keep them in ignorance and error all their lives. 
 Some of them I shall take notice of, and endeavour to point out proper remedies 
 for, in the following discourse. 
 
 3. Reasoning.— Besides the want of determined ideas, and of sagacity and 
 exercise in finding out and laying in order intermediate ideas, there are three 
 miscarriages that men are guilty of, in reference to their reason, whereby this 
 faculty is hindered in them from that service it might do and was designed for. 
 And he that reflects upon the actions and discourses of mankind will find their 
 defects in this kind very frequent and very observable. 
 
 1. The first is of those who seldom reason at all, but do and think according to 
 the example of others, whether parents, neighbours, ministers, or who else they are 
 pleased to make choice of to have an implicit faith in, for the saving of themselves 
 the pains and trouble of thinking and examining for themselves.’ 
 
 1 This view of human nature being that which 
 common-sense and experience suggest, has been 
 that of most philosophers from the days of Homer 
 until now. but Helvetius, who desired rather to 
 advance a new and startling theory than to esta- 
 blish truth, contends for the absolute equality of 
 natural powers among men, and derives all the 
 differences observable in them from the accidents 
 of their education. In support of this hypothesis 
 he exhibits much ingenuity, and brings forward 
 many valuable and little-known facts, serving at 
 least to show that discipline and instruction, 
 though incapable of imparting intellect, create, 
 nevertheless, most of those distinctions existing 
 among mankind. So far, however, he had, as the 
 reader will perceive, been anticipated by Locke, 
 and indeed long before him, by Quinctilian. 
 
 2 A French writer has put this thought in a 
 more epigrammatic form: “Il n’y a personne 
 peut étre qui a fait tout ce qu'il pouvait.” Yet 
 
 Tennemann observes that ‘“‘ Socrates formed the 
 design of carrying human nature in wisdom and 
 virtue as far as it could go, and he carried it.” 
 Butif this was so in one case, the experiment has 
 seldom been repeated. 
 
 3 The poet Hesiod has somewhere divided men 
 into three classes, disting ished from each other 
 by the qualities of the understanding: the first 
 he says consists of those who are able to discover 
 truth for themselves; the second, of such as 
 though they cannot make the discovery by their 
 own strength, are yet willing to receive the truth 
 disclosed to them by others; but the third class, 
 who can neither discover it themselves nor will 
 receive it when discovered by others, he over- 
 whelms with scorn as the dregs of the species. 
 Plato likewise, in his Republic, makes a similar 
 division of mankind, but with a view to politics, 
 conferring on the first the right to rule, on the 
 second the privilege of bearing arms, while to the 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 21 
 
 2. The second is of those who put passion in the place of reason, and being 
 resolved that shall govern their actions and arguments, neither use their own, nor 
 hearken to other people’s reason, any further than it suits their humour, interest, or 
 party ; and these one may observe commonly content themselves with words which 
 have no distinct ideas to them, though in other matters, that they come with an 
 unbiassed indifferency to, they want not abilities to talk and hear reason, where 
 they have no secret inclination that hinders them from being tractable to it. 
 
 3. The third sort is of those who readily and sincerely follow reason, but for want 
 of having that which one may call large, sound, roundabout sense, have not a full 
 view of all that relates to the question, and may be of moment to decide it. We 
 are all shortsighted, and very often see but one side of a matter; our views are 
 not extended to all that has a connexion with it.'. From this defect I think no 
 man is free. We see but in part, and we know but in part, and therefore it is no 
 wonder we conclude not right from our partial views. This might instruct the 
 proudest esteemer of his own parts, how useful it is to talk and consult with others, 
 even such as come short of him in capacity, quickness, and penetration; for since 
 no one sees all, and we generally have different prospects of the same thing 
 according to our different, as I may say, positions to it, it is not incongruous to 
 think, nor beneath any man to try, whether another may not have notions of things 
 which have escaped him, and which his reason would make use of if they came 
 into his mind. The faculty of reasoning seldom or never deceives those who trust 
 to it; its consequences, from what it builds on, are evident and certain; but that 
 which it oftenest, if not only, misleads us in is, that the principles from which we 
 conclude the grounds upon which we bottom our reasoning, are but a part; some- 
 thing is left out, which should go into the reckoning, to make it just and exact. 
 Here we may imagine a vast and almost infinite advantage that angels and sepa- 
 _rate spirits may have over us, who in their several degrees of elevation above us 
 may be endowed with more comprehensive faculties ; and some of them perhaps, 
 having perfect and exact views of all finite beings that come under their conside- 
 ration, can, as it were, in the twinkling of an eye, collect together all their scattered 
 and almost boundless relations. .A mind so furnished, what reason has it to 
 acquiesce in the certainty of its conclusions !* 
 
 In this we may see the reason why some men of study and thought, that reason 
 right and are lovers of truth, do make no great advances in their discoveries of it. 
 
 third he only grants the hard lot of toiling for ; selves the pleasure of introducing the following 
 the former two. Similar notions, more literally | most magnificent fragment of philosophy : 
 “6 
 
 interpreted, led in India to the system of castes. | ‘“..... One Almighty is, from whom 
 1 « For now we see through a glass darkly, but | All things proceed, and up to him return, 
 then face to face.” If not depraved from good, created all 
 
 2 The germs of this opinion, which is purely | Such to perfection, one first matter all, 
 Platonic, may be found developed to a certain | Indued with various forms, various degrees 
 point in several parts of the Paradise Lost. Phi- | Of substance, and in things that live, of life; 
 losophical in the strictest sense of the word it | But more refined, more spirituous, and pure, 
 unquestionably is, for though incapable of proof, | As nearer to him placed or nearer tending 
 it flows almost necessarily from the noblest theory | Each in their several active spheres assigned, 
 of the universe, and view of the works of God. | Till body up to spirit work, in bounds 
 The readers of Milton, who reflect on what they | Proportioned to each kind. So from the root 
 read, cannot but be filled with wonder at his con- | Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the 
 ception of those superior intelligences which, leaves 
 encircling the throne of the Divinity, are more | More airy, last the bright consummate flower 
 deeply impregnated by his power, more brilliantly | Spirits odorous breathes: flowers and their fruit 
 illuminated by the brightness of his wisdom. | Man’s nourishment, by graduated scale sublimed 
 Raphael, discoursing with Adam, lifts up for a | To vital spirits aspire, to animal, 
 moment a part of the curtain which conceals | To intellectual, give both life and sense, 
 from us the angelic nature, and at the same time | Fancy and understanding, whence the soul 
 teaches that the principle of life and the power | Reason receives, and reason is her being, 
 of intellect develop themselves more and more | Discursive, or intuitive; discourse 
 - in an ascending scale, from the humblest orga- | Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours, 
 nized sentient being to the highest spiritual order | Differing but in degree, of kind the same.” 
 of creation. Though there is here no space to The use which Pope made of this notion is well 
 accumulate all the passages in which allusions to | known, and it will therefore be sufficient to allude 
 this hypothesis are found, we cannot refuse our- | to it. 
 
22 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 Error and truth are uncertainly blended in their minds; their decisions are lame 
 and defective, and they are very often mistaken in their judgments: the reason 
 whereof is, they converse but with one sort of men, they read but one sort of 
 books, they will not come in the hearing but of one sort of notions; the truth is, 
 they canton out to themselves a little Goshen in the intellectual world, where light 
 shines, and as they conclude, day blesses them; but the rest of that vast expan- 
 sum they give up to night and darkness, and so avoid coming near it. They have 
 a pretty traffic with known correspondents in some little creek; within that they 
 confine themselves, and are dexterous managers enough of the wares and products 
 of that corner with which they content themselves, but will not venture out into 
 the great ocean of knowledge, to survey the riches that nature hath stored other 
 parts with, no less genuine, no less solid, no less useful than what has fallen to 
 their lot, in the admired plenty and sufficiency of their own little spot, which to 
 them contains whatsoever is good in the universe.!. Those who live thus mewed 
 up within their own contracted territories, and will not look abroad beyond the 
 boundaries that chance, conceit, or laziness has set to their inquiries, but live 
 separate from the notions, discourses, and attainments of the rest of mankind, may 
 not amiss be represented by the inhabitants of the Marian islands, who being 
 separated by a large tract of sea from all communion with the habitable parts of 
 the earth, thought themselves the only people of the world. And though the 
 straitness of the conveniences of life amongst them had never reached so far as to 
 the use of fire, till the Spaniards, not many years since, in their voyages from 
 Acapulco to Manilla, brought it amongst them; yet, in the want and ignorance of 
 almost all things, they looked upon themselves, even after that the Spaniards had 
 brought amongst them the notice of variety of nations, abounding in sciences, arts, 
 and conveniences of life,.of which they knew nothing; they looked upon them- 
 selves, I say, as the happiest and wisest people of the universe. But for all that, 
 
 nobody, I think, will imagine them deep naturalists or solid metaphysicians ; no- 
 body will deem the quickest-sighted amongst them to have very enlarged views in 
 ethics or politics; nor can any one allow the most capable amongst them to be 
 advanced so far in his understanding as to have any other knowledge but of the 
 few little things of his and the neighbouring islands within his commerce ; but far 
 enough from that comprehensive enlargement of mind which adorns a soul devoted 
 to truth, assisted with letters, and a free generation of the several views and senti- 
 
 ments of thinking men of all sides. Let not men, therefore, that would have a 
 
 1 In the above remarks is contained the whole 
 philosophy of sectarianism, whether in religion or 
 the higher parts of learning. Could men divest 
 themselves of the narrowness of mind here de- 
 scribed, a more liberal and generous spirit of 
 philosophizing might be introduced, capable of 
 overcoming not only the prejudices of sect, but 
 also those of nation and race, more difficult still 
 to extirpate. By these latter chiefly, the progress 
 of Locke’s philosophy has been obstructed on the 
 continent, if not within the limits of our own 
 island; for perhaps we may without injustice 
 suspect certain Scotch metaphysicians of being 
 actuated by some such feelings in their treatment 
 of his system. 
 
 2 We have here one example, and many others 
 will hereafter occur, of the advantages which the 
 philosopher derived from his familiarity with books 
 of voyages and travels. He read with method, but 
 confined his reading to no particular department 
 of literature; though among his favourite works 
 were those which paint the manners of nations 
 savage or but slightly civilized. By these means 
 he had penetrated into the causes which impel 
 man from one state of society into another; I 
 mean the proximate causes, for the remote ori- 
 
 ginal cause lies as far beyond the range of human 
 contemplation, as that which impels the indivi- 
 dual from infancy to boyhood, from youth to age. 
 In the above passage Locke alludes to an anecdote 
 often repeated, viz. that the natives of the Marian 
 islands when first they saw fire, supposed it to be 
 some new kind of animal, and approached to stroke 
 it with their hands. When the flames burnt their 
 fingers they started back, and exclaimed that the 
 creature had bitten them. The natives of the 
 Andaman islands, almost within sight of our In- 
 dian possessions in the Bay of Bengal, were until 
 very lately ignorant of the use of fire. See a very 
 curious account of them in the Asiatic Researches, 
 vol.iv. p.401 etseq. The natives of Norway, though 
 from time immemorial familiar with the use of 
 fire, in one instance we are told imagined that it 
 grew on trees. ‘The poor Norwegian,” says 
 Bishop Patrick, ‘‘ whom stories tell of, was afraid 
 to touch roses when he first saw them, for fear 
 they should burn his fingers. He much wondered 
 to see that trees (as he thought) should put forth 
 flames and blossoms of fire; before which he 
 held up his hand to warm himself, not daring 
 to Apwrodae any nearer.” (Advice to a Friend, 
 p. 58.) 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 93 
 
 sight of what every one pretends to be desirous to have a sight of, truth in its full 
 extent, narrow and blind their own prospect. Let not men think there is no truth 
 but in the sciences that they study, or books that they read. To prejudge other 
 men’s notions, before we have looked into them, is not to show their darkness, but 
 to put out our own eyes. “ Try all things, hold fast that which is good,” is a 
 divine rule, coming from the Father of light and truth, and it is hard to know 
 what other way men can come at truth, to lay hold of it, if they do not dig and 
 search for it as for gold and hid treasure; but he that does so must have much 
 earth and rubbish betore he gets the pure metal; sand and pebbles and dross 
 usually lie blended with it, but the gold is nevertheless gold, and will enrich the 
 man that employs his pains to seek and separate it. Neither is there any danger 
 he should be deceived by the mixture. Every man carries about him a touch- 
 stone, if he will make use of it, to distinguish substantial gold from superficial 
 elitterings, truth from appearances. And, indeed, the use and benefit of this 
 touchstone, which is natural reason, is spoiled and lost only by assuming pre- 
 judices, overweening presumption, and narrowing our minds. The want of 
 exercising it in the full extent of things intelligible, is that which weakens and 
 extinguishes this noble faculty in us. ‘Trace it and see whether it be not so. The 
 day-labourer in a country village has commonly but a small pittance of knowledge, 
 because his ideas and notions have been confined to the narrow bounds of a poor 
 conversation and employment: the low mechanic of a country town does somewhat 
 outdo him: porters and cobblers of great cities surpass them. A country gentle- 
 man who, leaving Latin and learning in the university, removes thence to his 
 mansionhouse, and associates with neighbours of the same strain, who relish 
 nothing but hunting and a bottle: with those alone he spends his time, with those 
 alone he converses, and can away with no company whese discourse goes beyond 
 what claret and dissoluteness inspire.'' Such a patriot, formed in this happy way of 
 improvement, cannot fail, as we see, to give notable decisions upon the bench at 
 quarter-sessions, and eminent proofs of his skill in politics, when the strength of 
 his purse and party have advanced him to a more conspicuous station. To such 
 a one, truly, an ordinary coffee-house gleaner of the city is an arrant statesman, 
 and as much superior to as a man conversant about Whitehall and the court is 
 to an ordinary shopkeeper. To carry this a little further: here is one muffled up 
 in the zeal and infallibility of his own sect, and will not touch a book or enter into 
 debate with a person that will question any of those things which to him are sacred. 
 Another surveys our differences in religion with an equitable and fair indifference, 
 and so finds, probably, that none of them are in everything unexceptionable. These 
 divisions and systems were made by men, and carry the mark of fallible on them ; 
 and in those whom he differs from, and till he opened his eyes had a general pre- 
 judice against, he meets with more to be said for a great many things than before 
 he was aware of, or could have imagined. Which of these two now is most likely 
 to judge right in our religious controversies, and to be most stored with truth, the 
 mark all pretend to aim at? All these men that I have instanced in, thus unequally 
 furnished with truth and advanced in knowledge, I suppose, of equal natural parts ; 
 all the odds between them has been the different scope that has been given to their 
 understandings to range in, for the gathering up of information and furnishing their 
 heads with ideas and notions and observations, whereon to employ their mind and 
 form their understandings.’ 
 
 ! Owing partly perhaps to the effect of Locke’s 
 own works, this repulsive picture of country gen- 
 tlemen is no longer correct, at least to the same 
 extent as formerly. Education is now finding its 
 way among all classes of the community, high 
 and low; though the arts and sciences most po- 
 pularly studied, are not precisely those which a 
 philosopher would approve. 
 
 ? It should here be observed that Locke’s con- 
 ception of education differed very materially from 
 that which generally prevails. He understood by 
 it rather the training and disciplining of the mind 
 into good habits, than the mere tradition of 
 knowledge; on which point he agreed entirely 
 with the ancients. 
 
24 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 It will possibly be objected, “ who is sufficient for all this?” I answer, more 
 than can be imagined. Every one knows what his proper business is, and what, 
 according to the character he makes of himself, the world may justly expect of 
 him; and to answer that, he will find he will have time and opportunity enough 
 to furnish himself, if he will not deprive himself by a narrowness of spirit of 
 those helps that are at hand. I do not say, to be a good geographer, that a man 
 should visit every mountain, river, promontory, and creek upon the face of the 
 earth, view the buildings and survey the land everywhere, as if he were going to 
 make a purchase; but yet every one must allow that he shall know a country 
 better that makes often sallies into it and traverses up and down, than he that 
 like a mill-horse goes still round in the same track, or keeps within the narrow 
 bounds of a field or two that delight him. He that will inquire out the best 
 books in every science, and inform himself of the most material authors of the 
 several sects of philosophy and religion, will not find it an infinite work to acquaint 
 himself with the sentiments of mankind concerning the most weighty and com- 
 prehensive subjects.’ Let him exercise the freedom of his reason and understand- 
 ing in such a latitude as this, and his mind will be strengthened, his capacity 
 enlarged, his faculties improved; and the light which the remote and scattered 
 parts of truth will give to one another will so assist his judgment, that he will 
 seldom be widely out, or miss giving proof of a clear head and a comprehensive 
 knowledge. At least, this is the only way I know to give the understanding its 
 due improvement to the full extent of its capacity, and to distinguish the two most 
 different things I know in the world, a logical chicaner from a man of reason. 
 Only, he that would thus give the mind its flight, and send abroad his inquiries 
 into all parts after truth, must be sure to settle in his head determined ideas of all 
 that he employs his thoughts about, and never fail to judge himself, and judge 
 unbiassedly, of all that he receives from others, either in their writings or dis- 
 courses. Reverence or prejudice must not be suffered to give beauty or deformity 
 to any of their opinions. 
 
 4. Of Practice and Habits—We are born with faculties and powers capable 
 almost of anything, such at least as would carry us further than can easily be 
 
 oS? : : oy: 
 imagined: but it is only the exercise of those powers which gives us ability and 
 
 skill in anything, and leads us towards perfection. 
 
 A middle-aged ploughman will scarce ever be brought to the carriage and lan- 
 guage of a gentleman, though his body be as well-proportioned, and his joints as 
 supple, and his natural parts not any way inferior. The legs of a dancing-master 
 and the fingers of a musician fall as it were naturally, without thought or pains, 
 into regular and admirable motions. Bid them change their parts, and they will 
 in vain endeavour to produce like motions in the members not used to them, and 
 it will require length of time and long practice to attain but some degrees of a like 
 ability. What incredible and astonishing actions do we find rope-dancers and 
 tumblers bring their bodies to! Not but that sundry in almost all manual arts 
 
 1 To aid the reader in the accomplishment of 
 what he here recommends, Locke has himself 
 drawn up a list of the works a gentleman should 
 study, which though imperfect even with reference 
 to his own times, and now of necessity much more 
 so, may still be consulted with advantage. Lord 
 Bacon has likewise condescended to direct the stu- 
 dents of philosophy and politics in their reading, 
 and enumerates many ‘‘ Helps to the Intellectual 
 Powers.” The works he recommends are not 
 now likely to be read, for which reason I do not 
 name them; but his description of the man who 
 profits most by study, I shall introduce. ‘ Cer- 
 tain it is, whether it be believed or not, that as 
 the most excellent of metals, gold, is of all others 
 the most pliant and most enduring to be wrought, 
 
 so of all living and breathing substances, the 
 perfectest man is the most susceptible of help, 
 improvement, impression, and alteration; and 
 not only in his body, but in his mind and spirit ; 
 and there again, not only in his appetite and affec- 
 tion, but in his wit and reason.”” (Works, vol. v. 
 p. 829 et seq.) Buton the subject of this section, 
 Milton’s “ Tractate on Education”? may be re- 
 garded as the best guide to which we could 
 refer, the noblest grounds of literary taste and 
 knowledge being there pointed out, and enlarged 
 upon in a manner nowhere else equalled. 
 Another work worthy of praise is the Abbé 
 Fleury’s ‘“‘Choix des Etudes,’’ which Gibbon had 
 the candour to commend, and the wisdom to 
 study. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 25 
 
 are as wonderful; but I name those which the world takes notice of for such, 
 because on that very account they give money to see them. All these admired 
 motions, beyond the reach and almost conception of unpractised spectators, are 
 nothing but the mere effects of use and industry in men whose bodies have nothing 
 peculiar in them from those of the amazed lookers-on.' 
 
 As it is in the body, so it is inthe mind: practice makes it what it is; and most 
 even of those excellencies which are looked on as natural endowments, will be 
 found, when examined into more narrowly, to be the product of exercise, and to 
 be raised to that pitch only by repeated actions.2 Some men are remarked for 
 pleasantness in raillery; others for apologues and apposite diverting stories. This 
 is apt to be taken for the effect of pure nature, and that the rather because it is not 
 got by rules, and those who excel in either of them never purposely set themselves 
 to the study of it as an art to be learnt. But yet it is true, that at first some 
 lucky hit, which took with somebody and gained him commendation, encouraged 
 him to try again, inclined his thoughts and endeavours that way, till at last he 
 insensibly got a facility in it, without perceiving how; and that is attributed 
 wholly to nature which was much more the effect of use and practice. I do not 
 deny that natural disposition may often give the first rise to it, but that never 
 carries a man far without use and exercise, and it is practice alone that brings the 
 powers of the mind, as well as those of the body, to their perfection.* Many a _ 
 
 good poetic vein is buried under a trade, and never produces anything for want 
 of improvement.’ We see the ways of discourse and reasoning are very different, 
 even concerning the same matter, at court and in the university. And he that 
 will go but from Westminster-hall to the Exchange will find a different genius 
 and turn in their ways of talking ; and yet one cannot think that all whose lot fell 
 
 1 And yet they who witness the performances 
 of the Indian jugglers, or believe what others re- 
 late of them, will scarcely suppose their dexterity 
 to be the result of mere exercise. For Ibn Ba- 
 tuta saw at Delhi one of this fraternity bundle his 
 body up into the form of a cube, and ascend like 
 a dark vapour: into the air; a feat not likely to 
 arise out of simple practice. Again, honest Ta- 
 vernier has a story, which he relates with the 
 utmost naiveté, calculated to convey a lofty idea 
 of the natural philosophy of jugglers. ‘* They 
 took a small piece of wood, and haying planted it 
 in the earth, demanded of one of the bystanders 
 what fruit they should cause it to produce. The 
 company replied that they wished to see mangos. 
 One of the jugglers then wrapped himself in a 
 sheet, and crouched down to the earth, several 
 times in succession. Tavernier, whom all this 
 diablerie delighted exceedingly, ascended to the 
 window of an upper chamber for the purpose of 
 beholding more distinctly the whole proceedings 
 of the magician, and through a rent in the sheet 
 saw him cut himself under the arms with a razor, 
 and rub the piece of wood with his blood. Every 
 time he rose from his crouching posture the bit of 
 wood grew visibly, and at the third time branches 
 and buds sprang out. The tree, which had now 
 attained the height of five or six feet, was next 
 covered with leaves, and then with flowers. At 
 this instant an English clergyman arrived, the 
 performance taking place at the house of one of 
 our countrymen, and perceiving in what practices 
 the jugglers were engaged, commanded them in- 
 stantly to desist, threatening the whole of the 
 Europeans present with exclusion from the holy 
 communion if they persisted in encouraging the 
 diabolical arts of sorcerers and magicians.” Our 
 traveller was thus prevented from beholding the 
 crowning miracle. (Lives of Celebrated Tra- 
 vellers, vol. i. p. 183 et seq.) 
 
 2 An illustration of this point, as far as the 
 body is concerned, occurs in the story of Baharam 
 Gour, in the Tales of the Ramadhan, where Shi- 
 reen, commencing with carrying a calf up the 
 steps of a tower, ends by being able to carry up 
 a cow. 
 
 8 Lawyers are usually good raconteurs, (I must 
 borrow this word because our language has no 
 equivalent,) the art of dressing up trifling narra- 
 
 - tives in an amusing way forming part of their 
 
 legal studies. To this Lord Bacon alludes when 
 he mentions “ the exercise of lawyers in memory, 
 narratives,” etc. His Lordship is well known to 
 have made for his own use a collection of choice 
 anecdotes and witty sayings, which have since 
 been published, and are in many cases well worthy 
 of notice. 
 
 4 The greatest ambition of a wit is to pass for 
 an improvisatore; but Swift, lying in bed till 
 noon to invent sprightly sallies for the remainder 
 of the day, was a type of the whole painstaking 
 race of jokers, who fatigue their own intellects 
 to make other people merry, and are generally 
 observed to be themselves thoughtful, if not sad, 
 except at the moment when they are uttering 
 their jests. 
 
 6 This reflection has crept into Grey’s Elegy, 
 and is therefore familiar to most readers : 
 
 ‘* Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have 
 
 swayed, 
 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless 
 
 breast 
 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 
 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s 
 
 blood.” 
 
26 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 in the city were born with different parts from those who were bred at the univer- 
 sity or inns of court. ; 
 
 To what purpose all this but to show that the difference so observable in men’s 
 understandings and parts does not arise so much from their natural faculties as 
 acquired habits. He would be laughed at that should go about to make a fine 
 dancer out of a country hedger at past fifty. And he will not have much better 
 success who shall endeavour at that age to make a man reason well, or speak 
 handsomely, who has never been used to it, though you should lay before him a 
 collection of all the best precepts of logic or oratory. Nobody is made anything 
 by hearing of rules or laying them up in his memory; practice must settle the 
 habit of doing without reflecting on the rule; and you may as well hope to make | 
 a good painter or musician extempore, by a lecture and instruction in the arts of 
 music and painting, as a coherent thinker or a strict reasoner by a set of rules 
 showing him wherein right reasoning consists. 
 
 This being so that defects and weakness in men’s understanding, as well as 
 other faculties, come from want of a right use of their own minds, I am apt to 
 think the fault is generally mislaid upon nature, and there is often a complaint of 
 want of parts when the fault lies in want of a due improvement of them. We see 
 men frequently dexterous and sharp enough in making a bargain who, if you 
 reason with them about matters of religion, appear perfectly stupid. 
 
 5. Ideas.—I will not here, in what relates to the right conduct and improve- 
 ment of the understanding, repeat again the getting clear and determined ideas, 
 ‘and the employing our thoughts rather about them than about sounds put for 
 them, nor of settling the signification of words which we use with ourselves in 
 the search of truth, or with others in discoursing about it. Those hindrances of 
 our understandings in the pursuit of knowledge I have sufficiently enlarged upon 
 in another place, so that nothing more needs here to be said of those matters. 
 
 6. Principles.—There is another fault that stops or misleads men in their know- 
 ledge which I have also spoken something of, but yet is necessary to mention here 
 again, that we may examine it to the bottom and see the root. it springs from, and 
 that is, a custom of taking up with principles that are not self-evident, and very 
 often not so much as true. It is not unusual to see men rest their opinions upon 
 foundations that have no more certainty and solidity than the propositions built on 
 them and embraced for their sake. Such foundations are these and the like, viz. 
 the founders or leaders of my party are good men, and therefore their tenets are 
 true; it is the opinion of a sect that is erroneous, therefore it is false; it hath been 
 long received in the world, therefore it is true; or, it is new, and therefore false. 
 
 These, and many the like, which are by no means the measures of truth and 
 falsehood, the generality of men make the standards by which they accustom their 
 understanding to judge. And thus, they falling into a habit of determining of truth 
 and falsehood by such wrong measures, it is no wonder they should embrace 
 error for certainty, and be very positive in things they have no ground for. 
 
 There is not any who pretends to the least reason, but when any of these his 
 false maxims are brought to the test, must acknowledge them to be fallible, and 
 such as he will not allow in those that differ from him; and yet after he is con- 
 vinced of this you shall see him go on in the use of them, and the very next 
 occasion that offers argue again upon the same grounds." Would one not be ready 
 to think that men are willing to impose upon themselves, and mislead their own 
 understandings, who conduct them by such wrong measures, even after they see 
 they cannot be relied on? But yet they will not appear so blameable as may be 
 thought at first sight; for I think there are a great many that argue thus in 
 
 1 Every person must have observed in argu- | phical remark of Butler, that 
 ment that there are people who though repeatedly “ The Na Ea oe 
 refuted yet return again and again to the charge man convinced against his will 
 
 with the selfsame weapons, verifying the philoso- Is of the same opinion still.” 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 27 
 
 earnest, and do it not to impose on themselves or others. They are persuaded of 
 what they say, and think there is weight in it, though in a like case they have 
 been convinced there is none; but men would be intolerable to themselves and 
 conteinptible to others if they should embrace opinions without any ground, and 
 hold what they could give no manner of reason for. True or false, solid or sandy, 
 the mind must have some foundation to rest itself upon, and, as I have remarked 
 in another place, it no sooner entertains any proposition but it presently hastens to 
 some hypothesis to bottom it on; till then it is unquiet and unsettled. So much 
 do our own very tempers dispose us to a right use of our understandings if we 
 would follow, as we should, the inclinations of our nature. 
 
 In some matters of concernment, especially those of religion, men are not per- 
 mitted to be always wavering and uncertain, they must embrace and profess some 
 tenets or other; and it would be a shame, nay a contradiction too heavy for any 
 one’s mind to lie constantly under, for him to pretend seriously to be persuaded of 
 the truth of any religion, and yet not to be able to give any reason of his belief, or 
 to say anything for his preference of this to any other opinion: and therefore they 
 must make use of some principles or other, and those can be no other than such as 
 they have and can manage; and to say they are not in earnest persuaded by them, 
 and do not rest upon those they make use of, is contrary to experience, and to 
 allege that they are not misled, when we complain they are. : 
 
 If this be so, it will be urged, why then.do they not make use of sure and 
 unquestionable principles, rather than rest on such grounds as may deceive them, 
 and will, as is visible, serve to support error as well as truth ? 
 
 To this I answer, the reason why they do not make use of better and surer 
 principles is because they cannot: but this inability proceeds not from want of 
 natural parts (for those few whose case that is are to be excused) but for want 
 of use and exercise." Few men are from their youth accustomed to strict reason- 
 ing, and to trace the dependence of any truth, in a long train of consequences, to 
 its remote principles, and to observe its connexion; and he that by frequent prac- 
 tice has not been used to this employment of his understanding, it is no more 
 wonder that he should not, when he is grown into years, be able to bring his mind 
 to it, than that he should not be on a sudden able to grave or design, dance on the 
 ropes, or write a good hand, who has never practised either of them. 
 
 Nay, the most of men are so wholly strangers to this that they do not so much 
 as perceive their want of it: they despatch the ordinary business of their callings 
 by rote, as we say, as they have learnt it, and if at any time they miss success they 
 impute it to anything rather than want of thought or skill, that they conclude 
 (because they know no better) they have in perfection: or if there be any subject 
 that interest or fancy has recommended to their thoughts, their reasoning about it 
 is still after their own fashion ; be it better or worse, it serves their turns, and is 
 the best they are acquainted with, and therefore, when they are led by it into 
 mistakes and their business succeeds accordingly, they impute it to any cross 
 accident or default of others, rather than to their own want of understanding ; that 
 is what nobody discovers or complains of in himself.2 Whatsoever made his 
 business to miscarry, it was not want of right thought and judgment in himself: 
 he seesno such defect in himself, but is satisfied that he carries on his designs 
 well enough by his own reasoning, or at least should have done, had it not been 
 for unlucky traverses not in his power. Thus, being content with this short and 
 very imperfect use of his understanding, he never troubles himself to seek out 
 
 ' See a curious discussion on the possibility of | takes part with Hoadly, but argues that truth lies 
 sincerity in error, in Arthur Collier’s letter to Mr. within our reach, if we will from the beginning 
 Mist, reprinted in Benson’s Life of Collier, p. 108 | properly use our faculties in the search after 
 et seq. He relates aconversation he had formerly | it. i 
 had with Bishop Hoadly, who maintained the 2 “Tout le monde se plaint de sa mémoire, et 
 possibility of men being sincere in error, while | personne ne se plaint de son jugement.”—Ko- 
 he himself adopted the opposite opinion. Locke | chefoucault, Ref. 113. 
 
28 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 methods of improving his mind, and lives all his life without any notion of close 
 reasoning in a continued connexion of a long train of consequences from sure 
 foundations, such as is requisite for the making out and clearing most of the 
 speculative truths most men own to believe and are most concerned in. Not to 
 mention here what I shall have occasion to insist on by and by more fully, viz. 
 that in many cases it is not one series of consequences will serve the turn, but 
 many different and opposite deductions must be examined and laid together before 
 a man can come to make a right judgment of the point in question. What then 
 can be expected from men that neither see the want of any such kind of reasoning 
 as this; nor, if they do, know how to set about it, or could perform it? You may 
 as well set a countryman, who scarce knows the figures and never cast up a sum 
 of three particulars, to state a merchant’s long account, and find the true balance 
 of it. 
 
 What then should be done in the case? I answer, we should always remember 
 what I said above, that the faculties of our souls are improved and made useful to 
 us just after the same manner as our bodies are. Would you have a man write or 
 paint, dance or fence well, or perform any other manual operation dexterously and 
 with ease ; let him have ever so much vigour and activity, suppleness and address 
 naturally, yet nobody expects this from him unless he has been used to it, and has 
 ‘employed time and pains in fashioning and forming his hand or outward parts to 
 these motions. Just so it is in the mind; would you have a man reason well, you 
 must use him to it betimes, exercise his mind in observing the connexion of ideas 
 and following them in train. Nothing does this better than mathematics, which 
 therefore I think should be taught all those who have the time and opportunity, 
 not so much to make them mathematicians as to make them reasonable creatures ; 
 for though we all call ourselves so because we are born to it if we please, yet we 
 may truly say, nature gives us but the seeds of it; we are born to be, if we please, 
 rational creatures, but it is use and exercise only that makes us so, and we are 
 indeed so no further than industry and application has carried us.!. And therefore, 
 in ways of reasoning which men have not been used to, he that will observe the 
 conclusions they take up must be satisfied they are not all rational. 
 
 This has been the less taken notice of because every one in his private affairs 
 uses some sort of reasoning or other enough to denominate him reasonable. But 
 the mistake is, that he that is found reasonable in one thing is concluded to be so 
 in all, and to think or to say otherwise is thought so unjust an affront and so 
 senseless a censure that nobody ventures to do it. It looks like the degradation 
 of a man below the dignity of his nature. It is true, that he that reasons well in 
 any one thing, has a mind naturally capable of reasoning well in others, and to the 
 same degree of strength and clearness, and possibly much greater had his under- 
 standing been so employed. But it is as true that he who can reason well to-day 
 about one sort of matters, cannot at all reason to-day about others, though perhaps 
 a year hence he may. But wherever a man’s rational faculty fails him, and will 
 not serve him to reason, there we cannot say he is rational, how capable soever he 
 may be by time and exercise to become so. 
 
 Try in men of low and mean education who have never elevated their thoughts 
 above the spade and the plough, nor looked beyond the ordinary drudgery of a day- 
 labourer. Take the thoughts of such an one used for many years to one track, 
 
 1 The philosopher in this passage seems to at- 
 tribute too much to use and exercise, though 
 upon the whole he acknowledges with Quinctilian, 
 that a man deficient by nature in intellectual 
 powers will in vain hope to supply the deficiency 
 by labour. ‘‘Illud tamen in primis testandum est,”’ 
 says the Roman rhetorician, “ nihil precepta 
 atque artes valere, nisi adjuvante natura. Qua- 
 propter ei cui deerit ingenium, non magis hee 
 
 scripta sunt, quam de agrorum cultu sterilibus 
 terris. Sunt et alia ingenita quedam adjumenta, 
 vox, latus patiens laboris, valetudo, constantia, 
 decor: qué simodica obligerunt, possunt, ratione 
 ampliari: sed nonnunquam ita desunt, ut bona 
 etiam ingenii studiique corrumpant: sicut et hae 
 ipsa sine doctore perito, studio pertinaci, scri- 
 bendi, legendi, dicendi multa et continua exerci- 
 tatione, per se nihil prosunt.” (Inst. Orat. I. Pr.) 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 99 
 
 out of that narrow compass he has been all his life confined to, you will find him 
 no more capable of reasoning than almost a perfect natural. Some one or two 
 rules on which their conclusions immediately depend, you will find in most men 
 have governed all their thoughts; these, true or false, have been the maxims they 
 have been guided by: take these from them and they are perfectly at a loss, their 
 compass and pole-star then are gone, and their understanding is perfectly at a 
 nonplus; and therefore they either immediately return to their old maxims again, 
 as the foundations to all truth to them, notwithstanding all that can be said to 
 show their weakness, or if they give them up to their reasons, they with them give 
 up all truth and further inquiry, and think there is no such thing as certainty.! For 
 if you would enlarge their thoughts and settle them upon more remote and surer 
 principles, they either cannot easily apprehend them, or, if they can, know not 
 what use to make of them, for long deductions from remote principles are what they 
 have not been used to and cannot manage. 
 
 What then can grown men never be improved or enlarged in their understand- 
 ings? I say not so, but this I think I may say, that it will not be done without 
 industry and application, which will require more time and pains than grown men, 
 settled in their course of life, will allow to it, and therefore very seldom is done.* 
 And this very capacity of attaining it by use and exercise only, brings us back to 
 that which I laid down before, that it is only practice that improves our minds as 
 well as bodies, and we must expect nothing from our understandings any further 
 than they are perfected by habits. 
 
 The Americans are not all born with worse understandings than the Europeans, 
 though we see none of them have such reaches in the arts and sciences. And 
 among the children of a poor countryman, the lucky chance of education, and 
 getting into the world, gives one infinitely the superiority in parts over the 
 rest, who continuing at home had continued also just of the same size with his 
 brethren. 
 
 He that has to do with young scholars, especially in mathematics, may perceive 
 how their minds open by degrees, and how it is exercise alone that opens them. 
 Sometimes they will stick a long time at a part of a demonstration, not for want 
 of will and application, but really for want of perceiving the connexion of two 
 ideas that, to one whose understanding is more exercised, is as visible as anything 
 can be. The same would be with a grown man beginning to study mathematics, 
 the understanding for want of use often sticks in every plain way, and he himself 
 that is so puzzled, when he comes to see the connexion wonders what it was he 
 stuck at in a case so plain. 
 
 1 The causes here explained, why in times 
 abounding with sciolists, when a small share of 
 knowledge is possessed by many, and profound 
 philosophy is rare, rash and shallow sceptics 
 spring up in great numbers. 
 
 ‘“‘ Here scanty draughts intoxicate the brain, 
 But drinking largely sobers us again.” 
 
 So my Lord Bacon, in his Essay on Atheism: 
 “ A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to 
 Atheism ; but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s 
 minds about to religion; for while the mind of 
 man looketh upon second causes scattered, it 
 may sometimes rest in them, and go no further ; 
 but when it beholdeth the chain of them confede- 
 rate and linked together, it must needs fly to 
 Providence and Deity.” 
 
 2 Never, according to Bishop Butler. ‘‘ The 
 beginning of our days is adapted to be, and is, a 
 state of education in the theory and practice of 
 mature life. Weare much assisted in it by ex- 
 ample, instruction, and the care of others; but a 
 
 great deal is left to ourselves to do. And of this, 
 as part is done easily and of course, so part re- 
 quires diligence and care, the voluntary foregoing 
 many things which we desire, and setting our- 
 selves to do what we have no inclination to, but 
 for the necessity or expedience of it. For, that 
 labour and industry which the station of so many 
 absolutely requires, they would be greatly un- 
 qualified for, in maturity, as those in other sta- 
 tions would be for any other works of application, 
 if both were not accustomed to them in their 
 youth. And according as persons behave them- 
 selves, in the general education which all go 
 through, and in the particular ones adapted to 
 particular employments, their character is formed, 
 and made appear; they recommend themselves 
 more or less; and are capable of and placed in dif- 
 ferent stations in the society of mankind. The 
 former part of life then is to be considered as an 
 important opportunity, which nature puts into our 
 hands, and which when lost is not to be re- 
 covered.” —Analogy of Religion, part I. chap. v. 
 
 Ene na 
 
30 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 7, Mathematics.—I have mentioned mathematics as a way to settle in the mind 
 a habit of reasoning closely and in train; not that I think it necessary that all 
 men should be deep mathematicians, but that, having got the way of reasoning, 
 which that study necessarily brings the mind to, they might be able to transfer it 
 to other parts of knowledge as they shall have occasion. For in all sorts of reason- 
 ing every single argument should be managed as a mathematical demonstration ; 
 the connexion and dependence of ideas should be followed, till the mind is brought 
 to the source on which it bottoms, and observes the coherence all along, though in 
 proofs of probability one such train is not enough to settle the judgment, as in 
 demonstrative knowledge. 
 
 Where a truth is made out by one demonstration, there needs no further inquiry; 
 but in probabilities, where there wants demonstration to establish the truth beyond 
 doubt, there it is not enough to trace one argument to its source, and observe its 
 strength and weakness, but all the arguments, after having been so examined on 
 both sides, must be laid in balance one against another, and upon the whole the 
 understanding determine its assent. 
 
 This is a way of reasoning the understanding should be accustomed to, which is 
 so different from what the illiterate are used to that even learned men sometimes 
 seem to have very little or no notion of it. Nor is it to be wondered, since the way 
 of disputing in the schools leads them quite away from it, by insisting on one topi- 
 cal argument, by the success of which the truth or falsehood of the question is to 
 be determined, and victory adjudged to the opponent or defendant, which is all one 
 as if one should balance an account by one sum, charged and discharged, when 
 there are a hundred others to be taken into consideration. 
 
 This, therefore, it would be well if men’s minds were accustomed to, and that 
 early, that they might not erect their opinions upon one single view when so many 
 others are requisite to make up the account, and must come into the reckoning 
 
 before a man can form a right judgment. This would enlarge their minds and 
 give a due freedom to their understandings, that they might not be led into error 
 by presumption, laziness, or precipitancy, for I think nobody can approve such a 
 ‘conduct of the understanding as should mislead it from truth, though it be ever so 
 much in fashion to make use of it. 
 
 To this perhaps it will be objected, that to manage the understanding as I pro- 
 pose would require every man to be a scholar, and to be furnished with all the 
 materials of knowledge and exercised in all the ways of reasoning. 'To which I 
 answer, that it is a shame for those that have time and the means to attain know- 
 ledge to want any helps or assistance for the improvement of their understandings 
 that are to be got, and to such I would be thought here chiefly to speak. Those 
 methinks, who, by the industry and parts of their ancestors, have been set free 
 from a constant drudgery to their backs and their bellies, should bestow some of 
 their spare time on their heads, and open their minds by some trials and essays, in 
 all the sorts and matters of reasoning.' I have before mentioned mathematics, 
 wherein algebra gives new helps and views to the understanding. If I propose 
 these, it is not, as I said, to make every man a thorough mathematician or a deep 
 algebraist: but yet I think the study of them is of infinite use, even to grown 
 men; first, by experimentally convincing them that to make any one reason well 
 it is not enough to have parts wherewith he is satisfied and that serve him well 
 enough in his ordinary course. A man in those studies will see, that however good 
 he may think his understanding, yet in many things, and those very visible, it may fail 
 him. This would take off that presumption that most men have of themselves in 
 this part, and they would not be’so apt to think their minds wanted no helps to 
 
 1 Most men will admit the truth of the doctrine | ton’s little tractate, which I am never weary of 
 here maintained by Locke. The difficulty is not | referring to, and Locke’s own larger treatise, con- 
 to prove that men ought to be well educated, but | tain, taken both together, the best theory of disci- 
 to discover in what good education consists. Mil- | pline and instruction with which I am acquainted. 
 
 a 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 31 
 
 enlarge them, that there could be nothing added to the acuteness and penetration 
 of their understandings. 
 
 Secondly, the study of mathematics would show them the necessity there is in 
 reasoning, to separate all the distinct ideas, and see the habitudes that all those 
 concerned in the present inquiry have to one another, and to lay by those which 
 relate not to the proposition in hand, and wholly to leave them out of the reckon- 
 ing. This is that which in other subjects besides quantity, is what is absolutely 
 requisite to just reasoning, though in them it is not so easily observed nor so care- 
 fully practised. In those parts of knowledge where it is thought demonstration 
 has nothing to do, men reason as it were in the lump; and if, upon a summary 
 and confused view, or upon a partial consideration, they can raise the appearance 
 of a probability, they usually rest content, especially if it be in a dispute where 
 every little straw is laid hold on, and everything that can but be drawn in any 
 way to give colour to the argument is advanced with ostentation.!. But that mind 
 is not in a posture to find the truth that does not distinctly take all the parts 
 asunder, and omitting what is not at all to the point, draw a conclusion from the 
 result of all the particulars which any way influence it. There is another no less 
 useful habit to be got by an application to mathematical demonstrations, and that 
 is, of using the mind to a long train of consequences: but having mentioned that 
 already, I shall not again here repeat it. 
 
 As to men whose fortunes and time are narrower, what may suffice them is not 
 of that vast extent as may be imagined, and so comes not within the objection. 
 
 Nobody is under an obligation to know everything. Knowledge and science 
 in general is the business only of those who are at ease and leisure. Those who 
 have particular callings ought to understand them, and it is no unreasonable pro- 
 posal, nor impossible to be compassed, that they should think and reason right 
 about what is their daily employment. This one cannot think them incapable of 
 without levelling them with the brutes, and charging them with a stupidity below 
 the rank of rational creatures.” 
 
 8. Religion.— Besides his particular calling for the support of this life, every 
 one has a concern in a future life, which he is bound to look after. This engages 
 his thoughts in religion, and here it mightily les upon him to understand and 
 reason right. Men, therefore, cannot be excused from understanding the words 
 and framing the general notions relating to religion right. The one day of seven, 
 besides other days of rest, allows in the Christian world time enough for this, (had 
 they had no other idle hours,) if they would but make use of these vacancies from 
 their daily labour, and apply themselves to an improvement of knowledge with as 
 much diligence as they often do to a great many other things that are useless, and 
 had but those that would enter them, according to their several capacities, in a right 
 way to this knowledge. The original make of their minds is like that of other 
 men, and they would be found not to want understanding fit to receive the know- 
 ledge of religion if they were a little encouraged and helped in it as they should 
 be.’ For there are instances of very mean people who have raised their minds to 
 
 1 This character most exactly suits ordinary 
 political reasoning in all countries, wherein men 
 invariably seek not truth, but victory. 
 
 2 These were the views which the Greeks took 
 of study and research; and as among them men 
 commonly applied themselves to their own par- 
 ticular branches of learning with great earnestness 
 and enthusiasm, it was not at all unusual to find 
 much eloquence and ability even among cooks 
 and artisans. Indeed the humbler classes of so- 
 ciety in Greece were so greedy of knowledge, and 
 so ostentatious of what they possessed, that one 
 constant source of ridicule among the comic poets 
 was the pretensions of such persons to erudition ; 
 though this of course forms no argument against 
 the education of the people. 
 
 3 There may perhaps be little necessity of cit- 
 ing examples in proof of this; yet I will not let 
 slip the opportunity of mentioning the name of 
 Bunyan, a tinker, but deeply versed in the Scrip- 
 tures, and in faith and practice as genuine’a 
 Christian as any since the apostolic age. Chubb, 
 the tallow-chandler of Salisbury, though not re- 
 markable for his orthodoxy, yet attained a con- 
 siderable knowledge of religion, and has left 
 behind him tracts of no small ability. Benson, 
 indeed, in his Life of Arthur Collier, notices a 
 suspicion entertained at the time, that ‘‘ The su- 
 premacy of the Father asserted,’’ was corrected by 
 Dr. Hoody, afterwards primate of Ireland, and 
 relates that Collier took the pains to make a large 
 collection of Chubb’s letters, written on business, 
 
32 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 a great sense and understanding of religion; and though these have not been so 
 frequent as could be wished, yet they are enough to clear that condition of life 
 from a necessity of gross ignorance, and to show that more might be brought to be 
 rational creatures and Christians, (for they can hardly be thought really to be so 
 who, wearing the name, know not so much as the very principles of that religion, ) 
 if due care were taken of them. For, if I mistake not, the peasantry lately in 
 France (a rank of people under a much heavier pressure of want and poverty than 
 the day-labourers in England) of the reformed religion understood it much better 
 and could say more for it than those of a higher condition among us.’ 
 
 But if it shall be concluded that the meaner sort of people must give themselves 
 up to brutish stupidity in the things of their nearest concernment, which I see no 
 reason for, this excuses not those of a freer fortune and education, if they neglect 
 their understandings, and take no care to employ them as they ought and set them 
 ‘right in the knowledge of those things for which principally they were given them. 
 At least those whose plentiful fortunes allow them the opportunities and helps of 
 improvement are not so few but that it might be hoped great advancements might 
 be made in knowledge of all kinds, especially in that of the greatest concern and 
 largest views, if men would make a right use of their faculties and study their own 
 understandings. 
 
 9. Ideas.—Outward corporeal objects that constantly importune our senses and 
 captivate our appetites, fail not to fill our heads with lively and lasting ideas of 
 that kind. Here the mind needs not to be set upon getting greater store; they offer 
 themselves fast enough, and are usually entertained in such plenty and lodged so 
 carefully, that the mind wants room or attention for others that it has more use 
 and need of. To fit the understanding, therefore, for such reasoning as I have 
 been above speaking of, care should be taken to fill it with moral and more abstract 
 ideas, for these not offering themselves to the senses, but being to be framed to the 
 understanding, people are generally so neglectful of a faculty they are apt to think 
 wants nothing, that I fear most men’s minds are more unfurnished with such ideas 
 than is imagined. They often use the words, and how can they be suspected to 
 want the ideas? What I have said in the third book of my essay will excuse me 
 from any other answer to this question. But to convince people of what moment 
 it is to their understandings to be furnished with such abstract ideas, steady and 
 settled in them, give me leave to ask how any one shall be able to know whether 
 he be obliged to be just, if he has not established ideas in his mind of obligation 
 and of justice, since knowledge consists in nothing but the perceived agreement or 
 disagreement of those ideas? and so of all others the like which concern our lives 
 and manners.* And if men do find a difficulty to see the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of two angles which lie before their eyes unalterable in a diagram, how 
 utterly impossible will it be to perceive it in ideas that have no other sensible 
 object to represent them to the mind but sounds, with which they have no manner 
 of conformity, and therefore had need to be clearly settled in the mind themselves, 
 if we would make any clear judgment about them!’ This, therefore, is one of the 
 first things the mind should be employed about in the right conduct of the under- 
 
 and these, full of errors, he often exhibited to the 
 curious. (p. 62 et seq.) But this, after all, would 
 only prove that Chubb’s style and grammar needed 
 some little correction, which might be predicated 
 of writers of much higher pretensions. 
 
 1 On this subject the philosopher spoke from 
 his own experience, as during his residence in 
 Languedoc, he took much pains to instruct him- 
 self in whatever concerned the habits and opinions 
 of the Huguenots. See Lord King’s Life of Locke. 
 
 ? The indispensableness of knowledge was ren- 
 dered more apparent in the Socratic philosophy, 
 by the doctrine that science is virtue, which, though 
 
 paradoxical at first sight, may be proved by irre- 
 fragable arguments. In fact, when the science 
 of morals is understood, it will be so evident that 
 virtue leads to happiness that we might as well 
 expect the arithmetician to refuse to be guided in 
 his calculations by the science of numbers, as 
 that he who is versed in the knowledge of good 
 and evil will prefer the evil to the good. Whoever 
 sins, therefore, sins through ignorance, though 
 that ignorance being often voluntary, is itself a 
 crime. On the subject of justice, which Plato 
 maintains to be the greatest good, see the Dial. 
 de Repub. part vi. pp. 75—188 et seq. 
 
 SS SS a 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 575] 
 
 standing, without which it is impossible it should be capable of reasoning right 
 about those matters. But in these, and all other ideas, care must be taken that 
 they harbour no inconsistencies, and that they have a real existence where real 
 existence is supposed, and are not mere chimeras with a supposed existence. 
 
 10. Prejudice.—Every one is forward to complain of the prejudices that mislead 
 other men or parties, as if he were free and had none of his own. This being 
 objected on all sides, it is agreed that it is a fault and a hindrance to knowledge. 
 What now is the cure?’ No other but this, that every man should let alone others’ 
 prejudices and examine his own.! Nobody is convinced of his by the accusation 
 of another ; he recriminates by the same rule, and is clear. The only way to remove 
 this great cause of ignorance and error out of the world is, for every one impar- 
 tially to examine himself. If others will not deal fairly with their own minds, 
 does that make my errors truths? or ought it to make me in love with them and 
 willing to impose on myself? If others love cataracts in their eyes, should that 
 hinder me from couching of mine as soon as I can? Every one declares against 
 blindness, and yet who almost is not fond of that which dims his sight, and 
 keeps the clear light out of his mind, which should lead him into truth and know- 
 ledge? False or doubtful positions, relied upon as unquestionable maxims, keep 
 those in the dark from truth who build on them. Such are usually the prejudices 
 imbibed from education, party, reverence, fashion, interest, &c. This is the mote 
 which every one sees in his brother’s eye, but never regards the beam in his own. 
 For who is there almost that is ever brought fairly to examine his own principles, 
 and see whether they are such as will bear the trial? But yet this should be one 
 of the first things every one should set about, and be scrupulous in, who would 
 rightly conduct his understanding in the search of truth and knowledge. 
 
 To those who are willing to get rid of this great hindrance of knowledge (for 
 
 ‘to such only I write), to those who would shake off this great and dangerous 
 impostor, prejudice, who dresses up falsehood in the likeness of truth, and so 
 dexterously hoodwinks men’s minds as to keep them in the dark with a belief that 
 they are more in the light than any that do not see with their eyes, I shall offer 
 this one mark whereby prejudice may be known. He that is strongly of any 
 opinion must suppose (unless he be self-condemned) that his persuasion is built 
 upon good grounds, and that his assent is no greater than what the evidence of 
 the truth he holds forces him to, and that they are arguments, and not inclination 
 or fancy, that make him so confident and positive in his tenets. Now if, after all 
 his profession, he cannot bear any opposition to his opinion, if he cannot so much » 
 as give a patient hearing, much less examine and weigh the arguments on the 
 other side, does he not plainly confess it is prejudice governs him? and it is not 
 the evidence of truth, but some lazy anticipation, some beloved presumption that 
 he desires to rest undisturbed in. For if what he holds be, as he gives out, well 
 fenced with evidence, and he sees it to be true, what need he fear to put it to the 
 proof? If his opinion be settled upon a firm foundation, if the arguments that 
 support it and have obtained his assent be clear, good, and convincing, why 
 should he be shy to have it tried whether they be proof or not ?* He whose assent 
 goes beyond this evidence, owes this excess of his adherence only to prejudice; and 
 does in effect own it, when he refuses to hear what is offered against it, declaring 
 thereby that it is not evidence he seeks, but the quiet enjoyment of the opinion he 
 is fond of, with a forward condemnation of all that may stand in opposition to it, 
 unheard and unexamined ; which, what is it but prejudice? “ qui equum statue- 
 rit, parte inaudita altera, etiamsi equum statuerit, haud equus fuerit.” He that 
 
 1“ Tout le monde trouve a redire en autruy, ce 
 qu’on trouve 4 redire en luy.”—Lochef. Reflect. 
 Mor. 33. 
 
 2 It may be regarded as one proof of the great 
 rifeness of prejudices in society, that arguers 
 are in ill repute. Voltaire accordingly remarks 
 
 that the man who should hope to make his way in 
 the world by the weapons of logic, would be as 
 mad as Don Quixotte; but in his work on Educa- 
 tion, Locke endeavours to show how arguments 
 may be maintained in conversation without of- 
 fence (p. 222 et seq.). 
 
34 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 would acquit himself in this case as a lover of truth, not giving way to any pre- 
 occupation or bias that may mislead him, must do two things that are not very 
 common nor very easy. 
 
 11. Indifferency.—-First, he must not be in loye with any opinion, or wish it to - 
 be true till he knows it to be so; and then he will not need to wish it; for nothing 
 that is false can deserve our good wishes, nor a desire that it should have the place 
 and force of truth; and yet nothing is more frequent than this. Men are fond of 
 certain tenets upon no other evidence but respect and custom, and think they must 
 maintain them or all is gone, though they have never examined the ground they 
 stand on, nor have ever made them out to themselves or can make them out to 
 others. We should contend earnestly for the truth, but we should first be sure that 
 it is truth, or else we fight against God, who is the God of truth, and do the work 
 of the devil, who is the father and propagator of lies; and our zeal, though ever 
 so warm, will not excuse us, for this is plainly prejudice. 
 
 12. Examine.—Secondly, he must do that which he will find himself very 
 averse to, as judging the thing unnecessary, or himself incapable of doing it. He 
 must try whether his principles be certainly true or not, and how far he may 
 safely rely upon them. This, whether fewer have the heart or the skill to do, 
 I shall not determine, but this I am sure is that which every one ought to do who 
 professes to love truth, and would not impose upon himself, which is a surer way 
 to be made a fool of than by being exposed to the sophistry of others. The 
 disposition to put any cheat upon ourselves works constantly, and we are pleased 
 with it, but are impatient of being bantered or misled by others. The inability 
 I here speak of, is not any natural defect that makes men incapable of examining 
 their own principles. To such, rules of conducting their understandings are use- 
 less, and that is the case of very few. The great number is of those whom the ill 
 habit of never exerting their thoughts has disabled; the powers of their minds are 
 starved by disuse and have lost that reach and strength which nature fitted them 
 to receive from exercise. Those who are in a condition to learn the first rules of 
 plain arithmetic, and could be brought to cast up an ordinary sum, are capable 
 of this, if they had but accustomed their minds to reasoning ; but they that have 
 wholly neglected the exercise of their understandings in this way, will be very far 
 at first from being able to do it, and as unfit for it as one unpractised in figures 
 to cast up a shop-book, and perhaps think it as strange to be set about it. And 
 yet it must nevertheless be confessed to be a wrong use of our understandings to 
 build our tenets (in things where we are concerned to hold the truth) upon prin- 
 ciples that may lead us into error. We take our principles at hap-hazard upon 
 trust, and without ever having examined them, and then believe a whole system 
 upon a presumption that they are true and solid: and what is all this but childish, 
 shameful, senseless credulity ? 
 
 In these two things, viz. an equal indifferency for all truth--I mean the receiving 
 it, the love of it, as truth, but not loving it for any other reason, before we know 
 it to be true—and in the examination of our principles, and not receiving any for 
 such, nor building on them, till we are fully convinced as rational creatures of 
 their solidity, truth, and certainty, consists that freedom of the understanding 
 which is necessary to a rational creature, and without which it is not truly an 
 understanding. It is conceit, fancy, extravagance, anything rather than under- 
 standing, if it must be under the constraint of receiving and holding opinions by 
 the authority of anything but their own, not fancied, but perceived evidence. This 
 was rightly called imposition, and is of all other the worst and most dangerous sort 
 of it. For we impose upon ourselves, which is the strongest imposition of all 
 others, and we impose upon ourselves in that part which ought with the greatest 
 care to be kept free from all imposition. The world is apt to cast great blame on 
 those who have an indifferency for opinions, especially in religion. I fear this is 
 the foundation of great error and worse consequences. To be indifferent which of 
 two opinions is true, is the right temper of the mind that preserves it from being 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. oD 
 
 imposed on, and disposes it to examine with that indifferency till it has done its 
 best to find the truth ; and this is the only direct and safe way to it. But to be 
 indifferent whether we embrace falsehood or truth is the great road to error. Those 
 who are not indifferent which opinion is true are guilty of this; they suppose, 
 without examining, that what they hold is true, and then think they ought to be 
 zealous for it. Those, it is plain by their warmth and eagerness, are not indifferent 
 for their own opinions, but methinks are very indifferent whether they be true or 
 false, since they cannot endure to have any doubts raised or objections made against 
 them, and it is visible they never have made any themselves; and so never having 
 examined them, know not, nor are concerned, as they should be, to know whether 
 they be true or false. 
 
 These are the common and most general miscarriages which I think men should 
 avoid or rectify in a right conduct of their understandings, and should be par- 
 ticularly taken care of in education. The business whereof in respect of knowledge, 
 is not, as I think, to perfect a learner in all or any one of the sciences, but to give 
 his mind that freedom, that disposition, and those habits that may enable him to 
 attain any part of knowledge he shall apply himself to, or stand in need of, in the 
 future course of his life. 
 
 This, and this only, is well principling, and not the instilling a reverence 
 and veneration for certain dogmas under the specious title of principles, which are 
 often so remote from that truth and evidence which belongs to principles that they 
 ought to be rejected as false and erroneous, and often cause men so educated when 
 they come abroad into the world and find they cannot maintain the principles so 
 taken up and rested in, to cast off all principles, and turn perfect sceptics, regardless | 
 of knowledge and virtue. 
 
 There are several weaknesses and defects in the understanding, either from the 
 -natural temper of the mind, or ill habits taken up, which hinder it in its progress 
 to knowledge. Of these there are as many, possibly, to be found, if the mind were 
 thoroughly studied, as there are diseases of the body, each whereof clogs and 
 disables the understanding to some degree, and therefore deserves to be looked 
 after and cured. I shall set down some few to excite men, especially those who 
 make knowledge their business, to look into themselves, and observe whether they 
 do not indulge some weaknesses, allow some miscarriages in the management of 
 their intellectual faculty which is prejudicial to them in the search of truth. 
 
 13. Observations.—Particular matters of fact are the undoubted foundations on 
 which our civil and natural knowledge is built: the benefit the understanding 
 makes of them is to draw from them conclusions which may be as standing rules 
 of knowledge, and consequently of practice. The mind often makes not that 
 benefit it should of the information it receives from the accounts of civil or natural 
 historians, by being too forward or too slow in making observations on the 
 particular facts recorded in them. 
 
 There are those who are very assiduous in reading, and yet do not much advance 
 their knowledge by it. They are delighted with the stories that are told, and 
 perhaps can tell them again, for they make all they read nothing but history to 
 themselves; but not reflecting on it, not making to themselves observations from 
 what they read, they are very little improved by all that crowd of particulars that 
 either pass through or lodge themselves in their understandings. They dream on 
 in a constant course of reading and cramming themselves; but not digesting any- 
 thing, it produces nothing but a heap of crudities. 
 
 a a 
 
 1 On the temper of mind which Locke here 
 denominates indifference, Bishop Patrick quotes 
 from Arrian, and with approbation, a very beauti- 
 ful passage, which I will here subjoin in his versin : 
 “ Let us begin everything without too much de- 
 sire or ayersation. Let us not incline to this or 
 the other way; but behave ourselves like a tra- 
 
 veller, who when he comes to two ways, asks him 
 whom he meets next, which of those he shall take 
 to such a place; having no inclination to the 
 right hand or to the left, but desiring only to 
 know the true and direct way that will carry him 
 to his journey’s end.” (Advice to a Friend, 
 p- 176.) 
 
 p2 
 
36 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 If their memories retain well, one may say, they have the materials of know- 
 ledge, but like those for building they are of no advantage if there be no other use 
 made of them but to let them lie heaped up together. Opposite to these there are 
 others, who lose the improvement they should make of matters of fact by a quite con- 
 trary conduct. They are apt to draw general conclusions and raise axioms from 
 every particular they meet with.’ These make as little true benefit of history as the 
 other; nay, being of forward and active spirits, receive more harm by it, it being 
 of worse consequence to steer one’s thoughts by a wrong rule than to have none 
 at all, error doing to busy men much more harm than ignorance to the slow and 
 slugeish.? Between these, those seem to do best who taking material and useful 
 hints, sometimes from single matters of fact, carry them in their minds to be 
 judged of by what they shall find in history to confirm or reverse their imperfect 
 observations, which may be established into rules fit to be relied on when they are 
 justified by a sufficient and wary induction of particulars. He that makes no such 
 reflections on what he reads, only loads his mind with a rhapsody of tales, fit in 
 winter nights for the entertainment of others; and he that will improve every 
 matter of fact into a maxim, will abound in contrary observations that can be of no 
 other use but to perplex and pudder him if he compares them, or else to misguide 
 him if he gives himself up to the authority of that which for its novelty or for 
 some other fancy best pleases him. 
 
 14. Bias.—Next to these we may place those who suffer their own natural 
 tempers and passions they are possessed with to influence their judgments, espe- 
 cially of men and things that may any way relate to their present circumstances 
 and interest. Truth is all simple, all pure, will bear no mixture of anything else 
 with it. It is rigid and inflexible to any bye-interests, and so shoyld the under- 
 standing be, whose use and excellency lie in conforming itself to it. To think of 
 everything just as it isin itself, is the proper business of the understanding, though 
 it be not that which men always employ it to. This all men at first hearing allow 
 is the right use every one should make of his understanding. Nobody will be at 
 such an open defiance with common sense, as to profess that we should not 
 endeavour to know and think of things as they are in themselves, and yet there is 
 nothing more frequent than to do the contrary ; and men are apt to excuse them- 
 selves, and think they have reason to do so, if they have but a pretence that it is 
 for God, or a good cause; that is, in effect, for themselves, their own persuasion 
 or party: for those in their turns the several sects of men, especially in matters of 
 religion, entitle God and a good cause. But God requires not men to wrong or 
 misuse their faculties for him, nor to lie to others or themselves for his sake,’ which 
 they purposely do who will not suffer their understandings to have right concep- 
 tions of the things proposed to them, and designedly restrain themselves from 
 having just thoughts of everything, as far as they are concerned to inquire. And 
 as for a good cause, that needs not such ill helps; if it be good, truth will support 
 it, and it has no need of fallacy or falsehood. 
 
 15. Arguments.—Very much of kin to this is the hunting after arguments to 
 
 1 Of the two methods here described, the former 
 is that of the Germans, the latter that of the French; 
 and perhaps nearer home one might find examples 
 of both. Descartes supplies in philosophy an in- 
 stance of hasty generalization, which perhaps 
 betrayed him into most of the errors that dis- 
 tinguish his fanciful but ingenious system. 
 
 _ # This seems to be an erroneous opinion, an 
 imperfect rule being in most cases better than 
 no rule at all. Thucydides, a greater master of 
 civil wisdom than Locke himself, delivers by the 
 mouth of Cleon an important truth, where he 
 says that a state possessing inferior laws, but 
 unswervingly executed, is preferable to one with 
 better institutions, which haye not their due in- 
 
 fluence on practice: pndé yrwodmeOa Ore yFipoct 
 VOUCKS AKLYHTOLG xpwHéyn mWOALC KpEioowY 
 écriv, 1) KaAws Eyevowy axvpotc. iii. 87. 
 
 3 The source of this remark is to be found in 
 Job, who, as quoted by Lord Bacon (for the com- 
 mon version runs differently) inquires: ‘ Will 
 you lie for God as one man doth for another to 
 gratify him?” His lordship’s reflections on the 
 same subject are worthy of consideration. ‘ Cer- 
 
 tain it is that God works nothing in nature ac- 
 cording to ordinary course but by second causes ; 
 and if they would have it otherwise believed, it isa 
 mere imposture, under colour of piety to God, and 
 nothing else but to offer unto the Author of truth 
 the unclean sacrifice ofa lie.”’ (Mag. Instaur.i. 1.) 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. o7 
 
 make good one side of a question, and wholly to neglect and refuse those which 
 favour the other side. What is this but wilfully to misguide the understanding? 
 and is so far.from giving truth its due value, that it wholly debases it: espouse 
 opinions that best comport with their power, profit, or credit, and then seek argu- 
 ments to support them? Truth lighted upon this way, is ofno more avail to us than 
 error, for what is so taken up by us may be false as well as true; and he has not 
 done his duty who has thus stumbled upon truth in his way to preferment. 
 
 There is another but more innocent way of collecting arguments very familiar 
 
 among bookish men, which is to furnish themselves with the arguments they meet 
 with pro and con in the questions they study. This helps them not to judge right 
 nor argue strongly, but only to talk copiously on either side without being steady 
 and settled in their own judgments: for such arguments gathered from other men’s 
 thoughts, floating only in the memory, are there ready indeed to supply copious 
 talk with some appearance of reason, but are far from helping us to judge right.’ 
 Such variety of arguments only distract the understanding that relies on them, 
 unless it has gone farther than such a superficial way of examining; this is to quit 
 truth for appearance, only to serve our vanity. The sure and only way to get true 
 knowledge, is to form in our minds clear settled notions of things, with names 
 annexed to those determined ideas. These we are to consider with their several 
 relations and habitudes, and not amuse ourselves with floating names and words 
 of indetermined signification which we can use in several senses to serve a turn. 
 It is in the perception of the habitudes and respects our ideas have one to another 
 that real knowledge consists, and when a man once perceives how far they agree 
 or disagree one with another he will be able to judge of what other people say, and 
 will not need to be led by the arguments of others, which are many of them nothing 
 but plausible sophistry. This will teach him to state the question right, and see 
 -whereon it turns, and thus he will stand upon his own legs, and know by his own 
 understanding. Whereas by collecting and learning arguments by heart, he 
 will be but a retainer to others; and when any one questions the foundations 
 they are built upon, he will be at a nonplus, and be fain to give up his implicit 
 knowledge. 
 
 16. Haste.—Labour for labour-sake is against nature.2 The understanding, as 
 well as all the other faculties, chooses always the shortest way to its end, would 
 presently obtain the knowledge it is about, and then set upon some new inquiry. 
 But this, whether laziness or haste, often misleads it and makes it content itself 
 with improper ways of search, and such as will not serve the turn: sometimes it 
 rests upon testimony when testimony of right has nothing to do, because it is easier 
 to believe than to be scientifically instructed: sometimes it contents itself with one 
 argument, and rests satisfied with that as it were a demonstration, whereas the 
 thing under proof is not capable of demonstration, and therefore must be submitted 
 to the trial of probabilities, and all the material arguments pro and con be examined 
 and brought to a balance. In some cases the mind is determined by probable 
 topics in inquiries where demonstration may be had. All these, and several others, 
 which laziness, impatience, custom, and want of use and attention lead men into, 
 are misapplications of the understanding in the search of truth. In every question, 
 the nature and manner of the proof it is capable of should be considered, to make 
 
 1 The practice here described was in a certain 
 degree that of the ancient sophists, whose dex- 
 terity was rivalled by Hudibras, of whom it is 
 said, that 
 
 ** On either side he could dispute, 
 
 Confute, change hands, and still confute.”’ 
 
 The most lively picture of this kind of trifling, 
 occurs in the Kuthydemos of Plato, where several 
 of the class are introduced disputing de omnibus 
 rebus in a strain of comic extravagance worthy of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 2 This is the maxim of an indolent man, and 
 examined by the strict rules of philosophy will 
 turn out to be a mere fallacy; for in many things 
 we may with the ancient writer repeat ‘‘ Labor ipsa 
 voluptas.” In fact employment for employment’s 
 sake is so far from being against nature, that it is 
 a thing we may every day witness, though I will 
 not deny that.there are seasons in which hap- 
 piness appears to consist in the dolce far 
 neente. 
 
38 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 our inquiry such as it should be. This would save a great deal of frequently mis- 
 employed pains, and lead us sooner to that discovery and possession of truth we 
 are capable of. The multiplying variety of arguments, especially frivolous ones, 
 such as are all that are merely verbal, is not only lost labour, but cumbers the 
 memory to no purpose, and serves only to hinder it from seizing and holding of 
 the truth in all those cases which are capable of demonstration. In such a way 
 of proof, the truth and certainty is seen, and the mind fully possesses itself of it, 
 when in the other way of assent it only hovers about it, is amused with uncer- 
 tainties. In this superficial way, indeed, the mind is capable of more variety of 
 plausible talk, but is not enlarged, as it should be, in its knowledge. It is to this 
 same haste and impatience of the mind also, that a not due tracing of the argu- 
 ments to their true foundation is owing ; men see a little, presume a great deal, and 
 so jump to the conclusion. This is a short way to fancy and conceit, and (if firmly 
 embraced) to opinionatry, but is certainly the farthest way about to knowledge. 
 For he that will know, must by the connexion of the proofs see the truth and the 
 
 ground it stands on; and therefore if he has for haste skipt over what he should 
 have examined, he must begin and go over all again, or else he will never come to 
 knowledge. 
 
 17. Desultory.— Another fault of as ill consequence as this, which proceeds 
 also from laziness, with a mixture of vanity, is the skipping from one sort of know- 
 ledge to another.’ Some men’s tempers are quickly weary of any one thing. 
 Constancy and assiduity is what they cannot bear: the same study long continued 
 in is as intolerable to them, as the appearing long in the same clothes or fashion is 
 to a court-lady. 
 
 18. Smattering.—Others, that they may seem universally knowing, get a little 
 smattering in everything. Both these may fill their heads with superficial notions 
 of things, but are very much out of the way of attaining truth or knowledge. 
 
 19. Universality.—I do not here speak against the taking a taste of every sort 
 of knowledge; it is certainly very useful and necessary to form the mind; but then 
 it must be done in a different way and to a different end. Not for talk and vanity 
 to fill the head with shreds of all kinds, that he who is possessed of such a frippery 
 may be able to match the discourses of all he shall meet with, as if nothing could 
 come amiss to him, and his head was so well stored a magazine that nothing could 
 be proposed which he was not master of, and was readily furnished to entertain 
 any one on.’ This is an excellency indeed, and a great one too, to have a real and 
 true knowledge in all or most of the objects of contemplation. But it is what the 
 mind of one and the same man can hardly attain unto, and the instances are so 
 
 1 On this subject very excellent observations 
 are found scattered here and there through Lord 
 Bacon’s writings. In one of his opuscula, entitled 
 ‘** Helps for the Intellectual Powers,” occurs the 
 raw material, afterwards polished and converted 
 into a brilliant aphorism in the ‘‘ Advancement 
 of Learning.” In the former place he says: 
 ‘¢ Exercises are to be framed to the life ; that is 
 to say, to work ability in that kind whereof a man 
 in the course of action shall have most use. The 
 indirect and oblique exercises, which do per 
 
 partes and per consequentiam, enable their facul- - 
 
 ties, which perhaps direct exercise at first would 
 but distort; and these have chiefly place where 
 the faculty is weak, not per se, but per accidens ; 
 as if want of memory grew through lightness of 
 wit and want of fixed attention: then the mathe- 
 matics or the law helpeth, because they are 
 things, wherein if the mind once roam, it cannot 
 recover.” (Works, vol. v. p. 329 et seq.) In the 
 other passage to which I have referred, his ideas 
 acquire the following shape: ‘ There is no defect 
 
 in the faculties intellectual, but seemeth to have 
 a proper cure contained in the same studies: as 
 for example, if a child be bird-witted, that is, hath 
 not the faculty of attention, the mathematics 
 giveth a remedy thereunto; for in them, if the 
 wit be caught away but a moment, one is to begin 
 anew. And as sciences have a propriety towards 
 faculties for cure and help, so faculties or powers 
 have a sympathy towards sciences for excellency 
 or speedy profiting; and therefore it is an in- 
 quiry of great wisdom, what kinds of wits and 
 natures are most apt and proper for what sci- 
 ences.”” (Advancement of Learning, p. 257.) 
 
 2 Locke, there can be little doubt, here glances 
 at the practice of the sophists, more particularly 
 of Gorgias, who boasts in Plato, that for many 
 years no one had proposed to him a single new 
 question. “AAO, © Xaipsd@y, Kai yao viv 
 On ab’ra ravTa émnyyed\dOuny, Kat héeyw Ore 
 obdEic HE TH NOWTHKE KaLVOY OVOEY TOMAOY TOY. 
 Topy. (Op. 111. 4.) See also Cic. de Orat. iii. 32. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. ~ 39 
 
 few of those who have in any measure approached towards it that I know not 
 whether they are to be proposed as examples in the ordinary conduct of the under- 
 standing. For a man to understand fully the business of his particular calling in 
 the commonwealth, and of religion, which is his calling as he is a man in the 
 world, is usually enough to take up his whole time; and there are few that inform 
 themselves in these, which is every man’s proper and peculiar business, so to the 
 bottom as they shoulddo. But though this be so, and there are very few men that 
 extend their thoughts towards universal knowledge, yet I do not doubt but if the 
 right way were taken, and the methods of inquiry were ordered as they should be, 
 men of little business and great leisure might go a great deal further in it than is 
 usually done. To turn to the business in hand, the end and use of a little insight 
 in those parts of knowledge which are not a man’s proper business, is to accustom 
 our minds to all sort of ideas, and the proper ways of examining their habitudes 
 and relations. This gives the mind a freedom and the exercising the understandin 
 
 in the several ways of inquiry and reasoning which the most skilful have made 
 use of, teaches the mind sagacity and wariness, and a suppleness to apply itself 
 more closely and dexterously to the bents and turns of the matter in all its 
 researches’. Besides, this universal taste of all the sciences with an indifferency 
 before the mind is possessed with any one in particular, and grown into love and 
 admiration of what is made its darling, will prevent another evil very commonly 
 to be observed in those who have from the beginning been seasoned only by 
 one part of knowledge. Let a man be given up to the contemplation of one sort 
 of knowledge, and that will become everything. The mind will take such a 
 tincture from a familiarity with that object, that everything else, how remote soever, 
 wil be brought under the same view. A metaphysician will bring ploughing and 
 gardening immediately to abstract notions, the history of nature shail signify 
 nothing to him.? An alchemist, on the contrary, shall reduce divinity to the 
 maxims of his laboratory: explam morality by sal, sulphur and mercury, and 
 
 1 Some great writers, observing the connection 
 which subsists between all branches of knowledge, 
 have contended that there is but one science, that 
 of nature, and that it behoves the philosopher to 
 be versed in the whole. This opinion was put 
 forward by Condillac, and appears to have been 
 shared by Buffon; but Cicero, though he well 
 understood the relationship of the sciences, and 
 conceived that the perfect orator, ought to com- 
 prehend every one of them, saw no advantage in 
 this paradoxical view of the subject. Several 
 curious remarks bearing immediately on the ques- 
 tion, may be found in that very rare book, ‘ Le 
 Voyage a Montbar,” which, though I may else- 
 where have quoted them, will not be out of place 
 here. ‘“‘ Il me répondit,’”’ observes Hérault de 
 Séchelles “ qu’il ne faillait lire que les ouvrages 
 principaux, mais les lire dans tous les genres et 
 dans toutes les sciences, parcequ’elles sont pa- 
 rentes, comme dit Ciceron, parce que les vues de 
 lune peuvent s’appliquer a l’autre, quoiqu’on ne 
 soit pas destiné a les exercer toutes. Ainsi, méme 
 pour un jurisconsulte, la connaissance de l’art mi- 
 litaire, et de ses principales opérations, ne se- 
 rait pas inutile. C’est ce que j’ai fait, mé disait 
 Vauteur de Vhistoire naturelle; au fond l’ Abbé de 
 Condillac a fort bien dit, ala téte de son quatriéme 
 volume du cours d’éducation, si je ne me trompe, 
 qu’il n’y a qu’une seule science, la science de 
 la nature. M. de Buffon était du méme avis, 
 sans citer Abbé de Condillac, qu’il n’aime pas, 
 ayant eu jadis des discussions polémiques avec lui; 
 mais il pense que toutes nos divisions et classifi- 
 cations sont arbitraire; que les mathématiques 
 elles-mémes ne sont que des arts qui tendent au 
 
 méme but, celui de s’appliquer a la nature, et de 
 la faire connaitre; que cela ne nous effraye point 
 ausurplus. Les livres capitaux dans chaque genre 
 sont rares, et au total ils pourraient peut-étre se 
 réduire 4 une cinquantaine d’ouyrages qu’il suf- 
 firait de bien méditer.”’ (p. 62 et seq.) 
 
 2 In the same spirit the musical philosophers 
 of Greece supposed the human soul to be nothing 
 but harmony; and in modern times the ardent 
 students ofastrology, Cardan among others, have 
 attempted to explain by their pretended science 
 the historical facts of Scripture. (See Buhle, Hist. 
 de la Phil. Mod. ii. 738.) In like manner a wild 
 enthusiast of our own day imagines himself able 
 to explain all the mysteries of nature and revela- 
 tion by means ofa little moveable triangle. He 
 sees nothing in heaven or in earth but triangles. 
 Both politics and religion swarm with figures of 
 this kind, and there is no difficulty in any science 
 which may not be at once removed by means of 
 his wondrous instrument. Another gentleman, 
 Mr. Wirgman, also in love with triangles, but in 
 close association with circles, endeavours to fami- 
 liarise to the minds of children by means of sen- 
 sible figures the loftiest truths of ontology. The 
 better to recommend his theory, he has translated 
 his whole philosophy of sense into a song, and set 
 it to the tune of the ‘‘ Highland Laddie.”’ Again,a 
 printer turning preacher converted the ideas ob- 
 tained by his former experience into illustrations 
 of the truths he proclaimed in his new calling. 
 He represented human life under the allegory of 
 a complete sentence: childhood,in this ingenious 
 view of things, was a comma; youth asemicolon ; 
 manhood a colon; and death a full stop. Even 
 
AO CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 allegorise the scripture itself, and the sacred mysteries thereof, into the philosopher’s 
 stone. And I heard once a man who had a more than ordinary excellency in 
 music seriously accommodate Moses’s seven days of the first week to the notes of 
 music, as if from thence had been taken the measure and method of the creation. 
 It is of no small consequence to keep the mind from such a possession, which 
 I think is best done by giving it a fair and equal view of the whole intellectual 
 world, wherein it may see the order, rank and beauty of the whole, and give a 
 just allowance to the distinct provinces of the several sciences in the due order and 
 usefulness of each of them. 
 
 If this be that which old men will not think necessary, nor be easily brought to, 
 it is fit at least that it should be practised in the breeding of the young. The 
 business of education, as I have already observed, is not as I think to make them 
 perfect in any one of the sciences, but so to open and dispose their minds as may 
 best make them capable of any when they shall apply themselves to it. If men 
 are for a long time accustomed only to one sort or method of thoughts, their minds 
 crow stiff in it, and do not readily turn to another.: It is therefore to give them 
 this freedom that I think they should be made to look into all sorts of knowledge, 
 and exercise their understandings in so wide a variety and stock of knowledge. 
 But I do not propose it as a variety and stock of knowledge, but a variety and 
 
 . freedom of thinking, as an increase of the powers and activity of the mind, not as 
 an enlargement of its possessions. 
 
 20. Meading.—This is that which I think great readers are apt to be mistaken 
 in, ‘Those who have read of everything are thought to understand everything 
 too, but it is not always so. Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of 
 knowledge, it is thinking makes what we read ours. We are of the ruminating 
 kind, and it is not enough to cram ourselves with a great load of collections; unless 
 we chew them over again they will not give us strength and nourishment. There 
 are indeed in some writers visible instances of deep thoughts, close and acute 
 reasoning, and ideas well pursued.” The light these would give would be of great 
 use if their reader would observe and imitate them; all the rest at best are but 
 particulars fit to be turned into knowledge, but that can be done only by our own 
 meditation and examining the reach, force, and coherence of what is said, and then 
 as far as we apprehend and see the connexion of ideas so far it is ours; without 
 that it is but so much loose matter floating in our brain. The memory may be 
 stored, but the judgment is little better, and the stock of knowledge not increased 
 
 eS 
 
 Franklin, the first philosopher of America, was 
 fain on a very solemn occasion, to indulge in this 
 quaint humour. Most readers, I imagine, are 
 already well acquainted with the following epitaph 
 which he wrote for himself: 
 
 Benjamin Franklin, 
 Printer, 
 (Like the cover of an old book, 
 Its contents torn out, 
 And stript of its lettering and gilding,) 
 Lies here food for worms; 
 
 Yet the work itself shall not be lost, 
 For it will (as he believed) appear once more 
 In a new 
 And more beautiful edition, 
 Corrected and amended 
 
 by 
 The Author. 
 
 * The evils of a narrow system of education 
 and study are nowhere perhaps more visible than 
 in the mental habits of artists, and professional 
 men generally. Accustomed to one class of ideas, 
 and with these becoming by use familiar, they 
 
 often remain almost wholly ignorant of other 
 things; and are consequently regarded by philo- 
 sophers and men of enlarged experience as little 
 better, out of their own peculiar walk, thanso many 
 children. Brilliant exceptions there have been, 
 and always will be; but these only serve by con- 
 trast to render the condition of their associates 
 the more remarkable. 
 
 2 The art of reading therefore is no guarantee 
 that civilization shall continue. The intellectual 
 condition of mankind depends upon their taste, 
 which is always fluctuating ; so that we need not 
 wonder at finding the Greeks and Romans sink- 
 ing to barbarism, with Thucydides, Plato, Demos- 
 thenes, Cicero, and Tacitus on their shelves, or in 
 their hands. Among the Burmese, the art of 
 reading is almost universal, but as the books they 
 lounge over are trifling and worthless, no habits 
 of study are engendered, and civilization always 
 remains in its infancy. Nay, it is quite possible 
 for a nation to retrograde towards the savage 
 state with Shakspeare and Milton, and Bacon 
 and Locke constantly before their eyes. The ques- 
 tion always is, do we read in search of wisdom, or 
 simply to be amused? When the latter is the 
 
 case, we are not far from second childhood, 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 41 
 
 by being able to to repeat what others have said or produce the arguments we 
 have found in them. Such a knowledge as this is but knowledge by hearsay, 
 and the ostentation of it is at best but talking by rote, and very often upon weak 
 and wrong principles. For all that is to be found in books is not built upon true 
 foundations, nor always rightly deduced from the principles it is pretended to be 
 built on. Such an examen as is requisite to discover, that every reader’s mind is 
 not forward to make, especially in those who have given themselves up to a party, 
 and only hunt for what they can scrape together that may favour and support the 
 tenets of it. Such men wilfully exclude themselves from truth, and from all true 
 benefit to be received by reading. Others of more indifferency often want attention 
 and industry. The mind is backward in itself to be at the pains to trace every 
 argument to its original, and to see upon what basis it stands and how firmly; but 
 yet it is this that gives so much the advantage to one man more than another in 
 reading. The mind should by severe rules be tied down to this, at first, uneasy 
 task; use and exercise will give it facility. So that those who are accustomed to it 
 readily, as it were with one cast of the eye, take a view of the argument, and pre- 
 sently, in most cases, see where it bottoms. Those who have got this faculty, one 
 may say, have got the true key of books, and the clue to lead them through the 
 mizmaze of variety of opinions and authors to truth and certainty. This young 
 beginners should be entered in, and showed the use of, that they might profit by 
 their reading. Those who are strangers to it will be apt to think it too great a 
 clog in the way of men’s studies, and they will suspect they shall make but small 
 progress if in the books they read they must stand to examine and unravel every 
 argument, and follow it step by step up to its original. | 
 
 I answer, this is a good objection, and ought to weigh with those whose reading 
 is designed for much talk and little knowledge, and I have nothing to say to it.’ 
 _ But I am here inquiring into the conduct of the understanding in its progress 
 towards knowledge; and to those who aim at that I may say, that he who fair and 
 softly goes steadily forward in a course that points right, will sooner be at his 
 journey's end than he that runs after every one he meets, though he gallop all day 
 full speed.’ 
 
 To which let me add, that this way of thinking on and profiting by what we 
 read will be aclog and rub to any one only in the beginning : when custom and exer- 
 cise have made it familiar, it will be despatched on most occasions without resting 
 or interruption in the course of our reading. The motions and views of a mind 
 exercised that way are wonderfully quick, and a man used to such sort of reflec- 
 tions sees as much at one glimpse as would require a long discourse to lay before 
 another, and make out in an entire and gradual deduction. Besides that, when 
 the first difficulties are over, the delight and sensible advantage it brings mightily 
 encourages and enlivens the mind in reading, which without this is very improperly 
 called study. 
 
 21. Intermediate principles.—As a help to this, I think it may be proposed, 
 that for the saving the long progression of the thoughts to remote and first prin- 
 ciples in every case, the mind should provide it several stages; that is to say, 
 intermediate principles which it might have recourse to in the examining those 
 positions that come in its way. These, though they are not self-evident principles, 
 yet if they have been made out from them by a wary and unquestionable deduc- 
 tion, may be depended on as certain and infallible truths, and serve as unquestion- 
 able truths to prove other points depending on them by a nearer and shorter view 
 than remote and general maxims. These may serve as landmarks to show what 
 lies in the direct way of truth, or is quite beside it. And thus mathematicians do, 
 
 1 This cool contempt strikes more forcibly at | the Aisopian school of wisdom, so that the reader 
 the root of the fallacy than a thousand arguments. | will perhaps pardon my simplicity if I here refer 
 2 Town myself partial, like Martin Luther, to | to the fable of the Hare and the Tortoise. 
 
42 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 who do not in every new problem run it back to the first axioms, through all the 
 whole train of intermediate propositions. Certain theorems that they have settled to 
 themselves upon sure demonstration, serve to resolve to them multitudes of pro- 
 positions which depend on them, and are as firmly made out from thence as if the 
 mind went afresh over every link of the whole chain that ties them to first self- 
 evident principles. Only in other sciences great care is to be taken that they 
 establish those intermediate principles with as much caution, exactness, and in- 
 differency as mathematicians use in the settling any of their great theorems. When 
 this is not done, but men take up the principles in this or that science upon credit, 
 inclination, interest, &c. in haste, without due examination and most unquestion- 
 able proof, they lay a trap for themselves, and, as much as in them lies, captivate 
 their understandings to mistake falsehood and error. 
 
 22. Partiality.—As there is a partiality to opinions, which, as we have already 
 observed, is apt to mislead the understanding, so there is often a partiality to 
 studies which is prejudicial also to knowledge and improvement. Those sciences 
 which men are particularly versed in they are apt to value and extol, as if that 
 part of knowledge which every one has acquainted himself with were that alone 
 which was worth the having, and all the rest were idle and empty amusements, 
 comparatively of no use or importance. This is the effect of ignorance and not 
 knowledge, the being vainly puffed up with a flatulency arising from a weak and 
 narrow comprehension. It is not amiss that every one should relish the science 
 that he has made his peculiar study ; a view of its beauties and a sense of its use- 
 fulness carry a man on with the more delight and warmth in the pursuit and 
 improvement of it. But the contempt of all other knowledge, as if it were nothing 
 in comparison of law or physic, of astronomy or chemistry, or perhaps some yet 
 meaner part of knowledge wherein I have got some smattering or am somewhat 
 advanced, is not only the mark of a vain or little mind, but does this prejudice 
 in the conduct of the understanding, that it coops it up within narrow bounds, and 
 hinders it looking abroad into other provinces of the intellectual world, more beau- 
 tiful possibly, and more fruitful than that which it had till then laboured in, 
 wherein it might find, besides new knowledge, ways or hints whereby it might be 
 enabled the better to cultivate its own. 
 
 23. Theology.—There is indeed one science (as they are now distinguished) in- 
 comparably above all the rest, where it is not by corruption narrowed into a trade or 
 faction for mean or ill ends and secular interests; I mean theology, which, con- 
 taining the knowledge of God and his creatures, our duty to him and our fellow- 
 creatures, and a view of our present and future state, is the comprehension of all 
 other knowledge directed to its true end; i. e. the honour and veneration of the 
 Creator and the happiness of mankind.' This is that noble study which is every 
 
 1 Plato, as Locke himself elsewhere observes, 
 
 well-composed songs, nor the fragrant odours of 
 had even in Pagan times discovered that the hap- 
 
 flowers, or unguents or costly spices; not manna; 
 
 piness of man consists in knowing God. Properly 
 speaking indeed his whole philosophy is based on 
 this conviction, and its object is to raise and purify 
 man so as to fit him for the attainment of this 
 knowledge. St. Augustine goes one step further, 
 and conceives the love of God to be the great 
 wellspring of human felicity. ‘ I love thee, O my 
 God!” he exclaims, ‘‘ thou hast smitten my heart 
 with thy word, and I have loved thee. Nay, the 
 heavens and the earth, and all things contained 
 therein, admonish me on every side that I should 
 love thee; and they cease not to say the same to 
 all men also, so that they are inexcusable if they 
 do not love thee. But what do I love, when I 
 love thee? Not the beauty of a body; not the 
 grace and comeliness of time; not the brightness 
 of light (and yet, O how friendly and agreeable is 
 that to these eyes!); not the sweet melodies of 
 
 not honey; not the embraces of the dearest and 
 most lovely person; these are not the things that 
 I love, when I love my God. And yet I love a 
 certain light, and a certain voice, and a certain 
 grateful odour, and a certain food, and a kind of 
 embracement when I love my God; the true 
 light, the melody, the food, the satisfaction and 
 embracement of my inward man. When that 
 shines to my soul which no place can contain; 
 when that sounds which no time can snatch 
 away ; when that scents which no wind can 
 disperse and scatter abroad; when I taste that 
 which eating cannot diminish; when I cleave to 
 that which no fulness, no satiety, can force away, 
 —this is that which I love, when I love my God. 
 And what is this? I asked the earth, and it said, - 
 Iam not. I asked the sea, and the deeps, andall 
 living creatures, and they answered, We are not 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 43 
 
 man’s duty, and every one that can be called a rational creature is capable of. The 
 works of nature and the words of revelation display it to mankind in characters so 
 large and visible, that those who are not quite blind may in them read and see the 
 first principles and most necessary parts of it, and from thence, as they have time 
 and industry, may be enabled to go on to the more abstruse parts of it, and pene- 
 trate into those infinite depths filled with the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. 
 This is that science which would truly enlarge men’s minds were it studied or 
 permitted to be studied everywhere with that freedom, love of truth, and charity 
 which it teaches, and were not made, contrary to its nature, the occasion of strife, 
 faction, malignity, and narrow impositions. I shall say no more here of this, but 
 that it is undoubtedly a wrong use of my understanding to make it the rule and 
 measure of another man’s, a use which it is neither fit for nor capable of." 
 
 24. Partiality.—This partiality, where it is not permitted an authority to render 
 all other studies insignificant or contemptible, is often indulged so far as to be 
 relied upon and made use of in other parts of knowledge to which it does not at 
 all belong, and wherewith it has no manner of affinity. Some men have so used 
 their heads to mathematical figures, that giving a preference to the methods of 
 that science, they introduce lines and diagrams into their study of divinity or politic 
 inquiries, as if nothing could be known without them; and others accustomed to 
 retired speculations run natural philosophy into metaphysical notions and the 
 abstract generalities of logic: and how often may one meet with religion and 
 morality treated of in the terms of the laboratory, and thought to be improved by 
 the methods and notions of chemistry!” But he that will take care of the conduct 
 of his understanding, to direct it right to the knowledge of things, must avoid those 
 undue mixtures, and not by a fondness for what he has found useful and necessary 
 in one, transfer it to another science, where it serves only to perplex and confound 
 the understanding. It is a certain truth that “ res nolunt malé administrari;’’ it 
 is no less certain “ res nolunt male intelligi.” Things themselves are to be con- 
 sidered as they are in themselves, and then they will show us in what way they 
 are to be understood. For to have right conceptions about them we must bring 
 our understandings to the inflexible nature and unalterable relations of things, and 
 not endeavour to bring things to any preconceived notions of our own. 
 
 There is another partiality very commonly observable in men of study no less 
 prejudicial or ridiculous than the former, and that is a fantastical and wild attri- 
 buting all knowledge to the ancients alone, or to the moderns. This raving upon 
 antiquity in matter of poetry, Horace has wittily described and exposed in one 
 of his satires.» The same sort of madness may be found in reference to all the 
 
 thy God; look above us, and inquire after him, 
 for here he is not. I asked the air, and all its 
 inhabitants, yea, the heavens, the sun, moon, 
 and stars, and they confessed, We are not him 
 whom thy soul seeketh. And I spake to all things 
 whatsoever that stand round about the gates of 
 my flesh, saying, Ye tell me that ye are not my 
 God, but tell me something of him. And they 
 all cried out with a loud.voice, ‘ He made us!’” 
 The translation here used is Bishop Patrick’s, in 
 his Advice to a Friend, p. 385 et seq. The original 
 occurs in the Confessions. 
 
 1 The reader will perhaps remark that what is 
 here said of theology is a digression evidently in- 
 serted after the completion of the rest of the 
 book; for ‘‘ this partiality,’’ evidently, in the 
 order of the author’s original thoughts, followed 
 immediately after ‘its own,” the words with 
 which section 22 concludes. 
 
 2 It will be observed, both here and elsewhere, 
 that Locke is exceedingly liable to repeat himself. 
 Of this defect he was very sensible, as appcars 
 from his correspondence with Mr. Molyneux re- 
 
 specting the Essay on the Human Understanding. 
 (Works, fol. i. vol. iii. p. 503.) See ante, § 19. 
 
 3 The witty passage of the Roman satirist, to 
 which Locke here refers, occurs in Epist. I. i. 
 34 et seq. It is somewhat too long to be in- 
 serted entire, but I subjoin a few verses from 
 Creech’s rough but vigorous translation: 
 
 *« Tf length of time will better verse like wine, 
 
 Give it a brisker taste, and make it fine; 
 
 Come tell me then, I would be gladly showed, 
 
 How many years will make a poem good: 
 
 One poet writ an hundred years ago, 
 
 What, is he old, and therefore famed, or no? 
 
 Or is he new, and therefore bold appears ? 
 
 Let’s fix upon a certain term of years. 
 
 He’s good that lived an hundred years ago, 
 
 Another wants but one, is he so too? 
 
 Or is he new, and damned for that alone? 
 
 Well, he’s good too, and old that wants but one, 
 
 And thus I’ll argue on, and bate one more, 
 
 And so by one and one waste all the store: 
 
 And so confute him, who esteems by years, 
 
 A poem’s goodness from the date it bears, 
 
44. CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 other sciences. Some will not admit an opinion not authorised by men of old, who 
 were then all giants in knowledge.'| Nothing is to be put into the treasury of 
 truth or knowledge which has not the stamp of Greece or Rome upon it, and since 
 their days will scarce allow that men have been able to see, think or write. Others, 
 with a like extravagancy, contemn all that the ancients have left us, and bemg 
 taken with the modern inventions and discoveries, lay by all that went before, as if 
 whatever is called old must have the decay of time upon it, and truth too were 
 liable to mould and rottenness. Men I think have been much the same for natural 
 endowments in all times. Fashion, discipline, and education have put eminent 
 differences in the ages of several countries: and made one generation much differ 
 from another in arts and sciences: but truth is always the same; time alters it not, 
 nor is it the better or worse for being of ancient or modern tradition. Many were 
 eminent in former ages of the world for their discovery and delivery of it; but 
 though the knowledge they have left us be worth our study, yet they exhausted 
 not all its treasure; they left a great deal for the industry and sagacity of after-ages, 
 and so shall we. That was once new to them which any one now receives with 
 veneration for its antiquity, nor was it the worse for appearing as a novelty; and 
 that which is now embraced for its newness, will to posterity be old, but not thereby 
 be less true or less genuine.” There is no occasion on this account to oppose the 
 ancients and the moderns to one another, or to be squeamish on either side. He 
 that wisely conducts his mind in the pursuit of knowledge, will gather what lights 
 and get what helps he can from either of them, from whom they are best to be 
 had, without adoring the errors or rejecting the truths which he may find mingled 
 in them. 
 
 Another partiality may be observed in some to vulgar, in others to heterodox 
 tenets; some are apt to conclude that what is the common opinion’ cannot but 
 be true; so many men’s eyes they think cannot but see right; so many men’s 
 understandings of all sorts cannot be deceived, and therefore will not venture 
 to look beyond the received notions of the place and age, nor have so presump- 
 tuous a thought as to be wiser than their neighbours. They are content to go 
 with the crowd, and so go easily, which they think is going right, or at least serves 
 them as well. But however “ vox populi vox Dei” has prevailed as a maxim, 
 yet I do not remember wherever God delivered his oracles by the multitude, or 
 nature truths by the herd. On the other side, some fly. all common opinions as 
 either false or frivolous. The title of many-headed beast is a sufficient reason to 
 them to conclude that no truths of weight or consequence can be lodged there.? 
 Vulgar opinions are suited to vulgar capacities, and adapted to the end of those 
 that govern.*’ He that will know the truth of things must leave the common and 
 
 ‘Who not admires, nor yet approves a line, 
 
 But what is old, and death hath made divine.”’ 
 On this subject Pindar differed very widely from 
 the Romans, for he preferred old wine and new 
 songs. 
 
 1 The error here exposed springs up very na- 
 turally from the faulty schemes of study which 
 have been above described. They who devote 
 themselves exclusively to the reading of ancient 
 authors necessarily consider them the best. The 
 same thing is true of the lovers of modern times. 
 It is only by impartially considering and com- 
 paring both that men can arrive at right conclu- 
 sions. In the present day the admirers of antiquity 
 are few, and there is little danger of their increas- 
 ing; but among them we must reckon M. Scheel, 
 the historian of Ancient Literature, who seems 
 to imagine that while original genius fell to the 
 lot of the Greeks, the moderns have merely re- 
 ceived for their portion the spirit of criticism. 
 (Hist. de la Lit. Grecque, Int. pp. 18 and 22.) He 
 knew nothing, it is to be presumed, of Shakspeare, 
 
 or Milton, or Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 Dryden, or Pope, though he should have been 
 acquainted with the name of Liebnitz. 
 
 2 In another work I have remarked that ‘‘ when 
 Mr.’ Bentham published his Defence of Usury, 
 almost fifty years ago, he was treated as a vision- 
 ary, and his notions were despised. Time went 
 on, and in the course of thirty or forty years some 
 few came up with Mr. Bentham’s position, and 
 found it no longer so absurd as it had appeared 
 through the mists of distance. Meanwhile the 
 philosopher was stretching away before them, in- 
 venting and discovering, and still appearing in 
 his new positions as ludicrous as in the matter of 
 usury. When they overtake him again, they may 
 again find him rational.” (Anat. of Soc.vol.i.p. 62.) 
 
 3 This was the error of Sir Thomas Browne 
 and Coleridge, the latter of whom, as Hazlitt has 
 remarked, had the knack of always preferring the 
 unknown to the known. 
 
 # An observation worthy of Machiavelli. It 
 has always been the policy of rulers to engender 
 
——————————— ee 
 
 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 45 
 
 beaten track, which none but weak and servile minds are satisfied to trudge along 
 continually in.. Such nice palates relish nothing but strange notions quite out of 
 the way: whatever is commonly received has the mark of the beast on it, and they 
 think it a lessening to them to hearken to it or receive it: their mind runs only 
 after paradoxes ; these they seek, these they embrace, these only they vent, and so 
 as they think distinguish themselves from the vulgar. But common or uncommon 
 
 ie) . . . 
 are not the marks to distinguish truth or falsehood, and therefore should not be 
 
 any bias to us in our inquiries. We should not judge of things by men’s opinions, 
 but of opinions by things. The multitude reason but ill, and therefore may be 
 well suspected, and cannot be relied on, nor should be followed as a sure guide; but 
 philosophers who have quitted the orthodoxy of the community and the popular 
 doctrines of their countries have fallen into as extravagant and as absurd opinions 
 as ever common reception countenanced. It would be madness to refuse to breathe 
 the common air or quench one’s thirst with water because the rabble use them to 
 these purposes; and if there are conveniences of life which common use reaches 
 not, it is not reason toreject them because they are not grown into the ordinary 
 fashion of the country, and every villager doth not know them. 
 
 Truth, whether in or out of fashion, is the measure of knowledge and the business 
 of the understanding ; whatsoever is besides that, however authorised by consent or 
 recommended by rarity, is nothing but ignorance or something worse. 
 
 Another sort of partiality there is whereby men impose upon themselves, and by 
 it make their reading little useful to themselves, I mean the making use of the 
 opinions of writers and laying stress upon their authorities wherever they find them 
 to favour their own opinions. 
 
 There is nothing almost has done more harm to men dedicated to letters than 
 giving the name of study to reading, and making a man of great reading to be the 
 
 - same with a man of great knowledge, or at least to be a title of honour. All that 
 can be recorded in writing are only facts or reasonings. Facts are of three sorts: 
 1. Merely of natural agents observable in the ordinary operations of bodies one 
 upon another, whether in the visible course of things left to themselves, or in experi- 
 ments made by them, applying agents and patients to one another after a peculiar 
 and artificial manner. 2. Of voluntary agents, more especially the actions of men 
 in society, which makes civil and moral history. 3. Of opinions. 
 
 In these three consists, as it seems to me, that which commonly has the name of 
 learning ; to which perhaps some may add a distinct head of critical writings, which 
 indeed at bottom is nothing but matter of fact, and resolves itself into this, that 
 such a man or set of men used such a word or phrase in such a sense, 1. e. that 
 they made such sounds the marks of such ideas.” 
 
 Under reasonings I comprehend all the discoveries of general truths made by 
 human reason, whether found by intuition, demonstration, or probable deductions. 
 And this is that which is, if not alone, knowledge, (because the truth or probability 
 of particular propositions may be known too), yet is, as may be supposed, most 
 properly the business of those who pretend to improve their understandings and 
 make themselves knowing by reading. 
 
 Books and reading are looked upon to be the great helps of the understanding 
 and instruments of knowledge, as it must be allowed that they are; and yet I beg 
 
 and perpetuate among their subjects contempt 1 Cicero somewhere observes that there is 
 
 and hatred of neighbouring nations; and these 
 prejudices may sometimes prove useful, as the 
 vulgar notion that one Englishman can at any 
 time beat two Frenchmen, has often, as Chester- 
 field remarks, led to the achievement. The French 
 on the other hand nourish prejudices of the same 
 kind, and a little schoolboy Munthausen once 
 remarked that a French giant of his acquaintance 
 had broken an Englishman in two like araw carrot. 
 
 no opinion so foolish but that it has obtained 
 the approbation of some one among the philo- 
 sophers. 
 
 * This is a very imperfect definition of cri- 
 ticism, applying only to one of the meanest of its 
 branches. By criticism we mean the passing of 
 just and accurate judgments on works of art, each 
 of which creates a new fact and establishes a new 
 opinion. 
 
46 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 leave to question whether these do not prove a hindrance to many, and keep 
 several bookish men from attaining to solid and true knowledge. This I think 
 I may be permitted to say, that there is no part wherein the understanding needs 
 a more careful and wary conduct than in the use of books, without which they 
 will prove rather innocent amusements than profitable employments of our time, 
 and bring but small additions to our knowledge.' 
 
 There is not seldom to be found, even amongst those who aim at knowledge, 
 who with an unwearied industry employ their whole time in books, who scarcely 
 allow themselves time to eat or sleep, but read, and read, and read on, yet make 
 no great advances in real knowledge, though there be no defect in their intellectual 
 faculties to which their little progress can be imputed. The mistake here is, 
 that it is usually supposed that by reading, the author’s knowledge is transfused 
 into the reader’s understanding; and so it is, but not by bare reading, but by 
 reading and understanding what he wrote. Whereby I mean, not barely compre- 
 hending what is affirmed or denied in each proposition (though that great readers 
 do not always think themselves concerned precisely to do), but to see and follow 
 the train of his reasonings, observe the strength and clearness of their connexion, 
 and examine upon what they bottom. Without this a man may read the discourses 
 of a very rational author, written in a language and in propositions that he very well 
 understands, and yet acquire not one jot of his knowledge, which consisting only 
 in the perceived, certain, or probable connexion of the ideas made use of in his 
 reasonings, the reader’s knowledge is no further increased than he perceives that ; 
 so much as he sees of this connexion, so much he knows of the truth or probability 
 of that author’s opinions. 
 
 All that he relies on without this perception he takes upon trust, upon the ~ 
 
 author’s credit, without any knowledge of it at all. This makes me not at all 
 wonder to see some men so abound in citations and build so much upon authori- 
 ties, it being the sole foundation on which they bottom most of their own tenets ; 
 so that in effect they have but a second-hand or implicit knowledge, i. e. are in 
 the right if such an one from whom they borrowed it were in the right in that 
 
 1 It requires much wisdom to discover the true 
 
 of its beauties. His exact manner of observing” 
 
 use of reading ; but precisely the same thing may 
 be said of every other road to knowledge, com- 
 merce with the world being as little profitable to 
 the careless and unreflecting as reading itself. The 
 habit of reading and study sometimes grows in the 
 most philosophical minds into a passion. It was 
 thus with Bayle, who speaking of the effects of 
 study upon health, and how much better it is to 
 be satisfied with moderate application rather than 
 injure one’s constitution, exclaims, however— 
 “‘ Heureux, je le dis encore un coup, celui qui 
 est si robuste quwil peut ¢tudier quatorze ou 
 quinze heures chaque jour, sans étre jamais ma- 
 Jade! 722 \(Dict. Hist: et Crit. art.;Hall, rem, B;) 
 The author of the discourse on the Life of Mr. 
 Ancillon, makes several long and judicious com- 
 ments on his mode of study. He read, it seems, 
 books of all kinds, romances even, old and new; 
 butit was his opinion that he derived benefit from 
 them all; and he often used to repeat the words 
 attributed to Virgil: ‘‘ Aurum ex stercore Ennii 
 colligo.”” In certain careless authors things of a 
 singular nature, he thought, were sometimes to 
 be met with, which could be found nowhere else. 
 But although he read all kinds of books, he be- 
 stowed application on such only as were import- 
 ant; running through the lighter sort, as the 
 Latin proverb has it, ‘ sicut canis ad Nilum 
 bibens et fugiens,” but perusing the others fre- 
 quently and with exactitude and care. He ga- 
 thered from the first reading the general idea of 
 a book, but looked to the second for the discovery 
 
 what he read, rendered ¢ndexes, which many great 
 men have called ‘‘ the souls of books,” of little or 
 
 no use to him; for he had, besides, a very faith- 
 
 ful memory, and especially that local memory so 
 valuable to literary men. He was not always in 
 the habit of reading books from beginning to end ; 
 
 but sometimes chose to search to the bottom the -— 
 
 subjects of which they treated, in which case he 
 had to consult a number of authors. ‘‘ I] voyait 
 souvent la méme chose dans différens ouvrages ; 
 mais cela ne le dégoutait pas; au contraire, il 
 disait que c’était comme autant de nouvelles 
 couches de couleurs qui formaient Vidée quwil 
 avait concue qui la mettaient dans une entitre 
 perfection.”’ He had a large table in the middle 
 of his study, which was usually covered with open 
 books. The celebrated Fra Paolo studied in the 
 same manner; never discontinuing his researches 
 until he had seen whatever related to it; that is, 
 
 until he had made the comparison of authorities, 
 
 of places, times, and opinions ; and this he did 
 to free himself from doubt, and from all occasion 
 of again thinking on the same subject. Ancillon 
 kept a commonplace book, though Goveau, Sal- 
 masius, Ménage, and others stigmatised the prac- 
 tice as mischievous, and .an obstacle to real 
 learning. On this question I am inclined to side 
 with Ancillon and the multitude, though un- 
 doubtedly an author may trust too much to his 
 commonplace book. See Bayle, t.i. art. Ancillon, 
 rem. (C.) yah xy. 
 
 LPT R Me ie ag 
 
= 
 
 . 
 
 A Sie 
 2°: 
 
 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 47 
 
 opinion which they took from him; which indeed is no knowledge at all. Writers 
 of this or former ages may be good witnesses of matters of fact which they deliver, 
 which we may do well to take upon their authority; but their credit can go no 
 further than this; it cannot at all affect the truth and falsehood of opinions which 
 have no other sort of trial but reason and proof, which they themselves made use 
 of to make themselves knowing; and so must others too that will partake in their 
 knowledge. Indeed it is an advantage that they have been at the pains to find 
 out the proofs and lay them in that order that may show the truth or probability 
 of their conclusions, and for this we owe them great acknowledgments for saving 
 us the pains in searching out those proofs which they have collected for us, and 
 which possibly after all our pains we might not have found nor been able to have 
 set them in so good a light as that which they left them us in. Upon this account 
 we are mightily beholden to judicious writers of all ages for those discoveries and 
 discourses they have left behind them for our instruction if we know how to make 
 a right use of them, which is not to run them over in a hasty perusal, and perhaps 
 lodge their opinions or some remarkable passages in our memories, but to enter 
 into their reasonings, examine their proofs, and then judge of the truth or false- 
 hood, probability or improbability of what they advance, not by any opinion we 
 have entertained of the author, but by the evidence he produces and the conviction 
 he affords us drawn from things themselves. Knowing is seeing, and if it be so, 
 it is madness to persuade ourselves that we do so by another man’s eyes, let him 
 use ever so many words to tell us that what he asserts is very visible. Till we 
 ourselves see it with our own eyes and perceive it by our own understandings, we 
 are as much in the dark and as void of knowledge as before, let us believe any 
 learned author as much as we will. 
 
 Euclid and Archimedes are allowed to be knowing and to have demonstrated 
 
 ' what they say, and yet whoever shall read over their writings without perceiving 
 
 the connexion of their proofs, and seeing what they show, though he may under- 
 stand all their words, yet he is not the more knowing: he may believe indeed, but 
 does not know what they say, and so is not advanced one jot in mathematical 
 knowledge by all his reading of those approved mathematicians. 
 
 25. Haste.—The eagerness and strong bent of the mind after knowledge, if not 
 
 - warily regulated, is often a hindrance to it. It still presses into further discoveries 
 - and new objects, and catches at the variety of knowledge, and therefore often stays 
 not long enough on what is before it to look into it as it should, for haste to pursue 
 
 what is yet out of sight. He that rides post through a country may be able from 
 
 _ the transient view to tell how in general the parts lie, and may be able to give 
 ~ some loose description of here a mountain and there a plain, here a morass and 
 there a river, woodland in one part and savannahs in another. Such superficial 
 
 ideas and observations as these he may collect in galloping over it; but the more 
 
 | - useful observations of the soil, plants, animals, and inhabitants, with their several 
 “sorts and properties, must necessarily escape him; and it is seldom men ever dis- 
 
 cover the rich mines without some digging. Nature commonly lodges her treasure 
 
 -and jewels in rocky ground. Ifthe matter be knotty and the sense lies deep, the 
 ‘mind must stop and buckle to it, and stick upon it with labour and thought and 
 close contemplation, and not leave it till it has mastered the difficulty and got 
 » possession of truth. But here care must be taken to avoid the other extreme; a 
 
 man must not stick at every useless nicety, and expect mysteries of science in 
 every trivial question or scruple that he may raise. He that will stand to pick 
 up and examine every pebble that comes in his way, is as unlikely to return 
 enriched and laden with jewels, as the other that travelled full speed. Truths 
 are not the better nor the worse for their obviousness or difficulty, but their value 
 is to be measured by their usefulness and tendency. Insignificant observations 
 should not take up any of our minutes, and those that enlarge our view and give 
 
 light towards further and useful discoveries, should not be neglected, though they 
 
 stop our course and spend some of our time in a fixed attention. 
 
A8 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 There is another haste that does often and will mislead the mind if it be left to 
 itself and its own conduct. The understanding is naturally forward, not only to 
 learn its knowledge by variety (which makes it skip over one to get speedily 
 to another part of knowledge), but also eager to enlarge its views by running too 
 fast into general observations and conclusions without a due examination of par- 
 ticulars enough whereon to found those general axioms.’ This seems to enlarge 
 their stock, but it is of fancies, not realities; such theories, built upon narrow 
 foundations, stand but weakly, and if they fall not of themselves, are at least very 
 hardly to be supported against the assaults of opposition. And thus men being 
 too hasty to erect to themselves general notions and ill-grounded theories, find 
 themselves deceived in their stock of knowledge when they come to examine their 
 hastily assumed maxims themselves or to have them attacked by others. General 
 observations drawn from particulars are the jewels of knowledge, comprehending 
 great store in a little room; but they are therefore to be made with the greater 
 care and caution, lest if we take counterfeit for true our loss and shame be the 
 ereater when our stock comes to a severe scrutiny.” One or two particulars 
 may suggest hints of inquiry, and they do well to take those hints; but if they 
 turn them into conclusions, and make them presently general rules, they are for- 
 ward indeed, but it is only to impose on themselves by propositions assumed for 
 truths without sufficient warrant. To make such observations is, as has been 
 already remarked, to make the head a magazine of materials which can hardly be 
 called knowledge, or at least it is but like a collection of lumber not reduced to 
 use or order; and he that makes everything an observation has the same useless 
 plenty and much more falsehood mixed with it. The extremes on both sides are 
 to be avoided, and he will be able to give the best account of his studies who 
 keeps his understanding in the right mean between them. is 
 
 26. Anticipation.— Whether it be a love of that which brings the first light and 
 information to their minds, and want of vigour and industry to inquire ; or else 
 that men content themselves with any appearance of knowledge, right or wrong, 
 which when they have once got they will hold fast; this is visible, that many 
 men give themselves up to the first anticipations of their minds, and are very 
 tenacious of the opinions that first possess them; they are often as fond of their 
 first conception as of their first-born, and will by no means recede from the judg- 
 ment they have once made, or any conjecture or conceit which they have once 
 entertamed. This is a fault in the conduct of the understanding, since this firm- 
 ness or rather stiffness of the mind is not from an adherence to truth, but a 
 submission to prejudice. It is an unreasonable homage paid to prepossession, 
 whereby we show a reverence not to (what we pretend to seek) truth, but what 
 by haphazard we chance to light on, be it what it will. This is visibly a pre- 
 posterous use of our faculties, and is a downright prostituting of the mind to resign 
 it thus and put it under the power of the first comer. This can never be allowed 
 or ought to be followed as a right way to knowledge, till the understanding 
 (whose business it is to conform itself to what it finds in the objects without) can 
 by its own opinionatry change that, and make the unalterable nature of things 
 comply with its own hasty determinations, which will never be. Whatever we 
 fancy, things keep their course, and the habitudes, correspondences, and relations 
 keep the same to one another. 
 
 27. Resignation.—Contrary to these, but by a like dangerous excess on the 
 other side, are those who always resign their judgment to the last man they 
 
 * See ante, note 1, p. 20. are revered, great men heap their wealth in the 
 * The practice on which this beautiful figure is | form of jewels upon the females of their family, 
 bottomed still prevails in the East, and must | whose persons are generally held sacred in the 
 always prevail in despotic countries, where men | Hast. For this reason Warren Hasting’s plunder 
 are often compelled by necessity to conceal all | of the Begum was regarded with peculiar abhor- 
 their riches about their persons and fly for their | rence in India. 
 lives. Sometimes, where the rights of the harem 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 49 
 
 heard or read.‘ Truth never sinks into these men’s minds nor gives any tinc- 
 ture to them, but cameleon-like, they take the colour of what is laid before them, 
 and as soon lose and resign it to the next that happens to come in their way. 
 The order wherein opinions are proposed or received by us is no rule of their 
 rectitude, nor ought to be a cause of their preference. First or last in this case is 
 the effect of chance, and not the measure of truth or falsehood. This every one 
 must confess, and therefore should in the pursuit of truth keep his mind free from 
 the influence of any such accidents. A man may as reasonably draw cuts for his 
 tenets, regulate his persuasion by the cast of a die, as take it up for its novelty, or 
 retain it because it had his first assent and he was never of another mind. Well- 
 weighed reasons are to determine the judgment; those the mind should be 
 always ready to hearken and submit to, and by their testimony and suffrage 
 entertain or reject any tenet indifferently, whether it be a perfect stranger or an 
 old acquaintance. 
 
 __ 28. Practice.—Though the faculties of the mind are improved by exercise, yet 
 they must not be put to a stress beyond their strength. “ Quid valeant humeri, 
 quid ferre recusent,”’ must be made the measure of every one’s understanding who 
 has a desire not only to perform well but to keep up the vigour of his faculties, and 
 not to balk his understanding by what is too hard for it.2 The mind by being 
 engaged in a task beyond its strength, like the body strained by lifting at a weight 
 too heavy, has often its force broken, and thereby gets an unaptness or an aversion 
 to any vigorous attempt ever after. A sinew cracked seldom recovers its former 
 strength, or at least the tenderness of the sprain remains a good while after, and 
 the memory of it longer, and leaves a lasting caution in the man not to put the 
 part quickly again to any robust employment. So it fares in the mind once jaded 
 by an attempt above its power; it either is disabled for the future, or else checks 
 at any vigorous undertaking ever after, at least is very hardly brought to exert its 
 force again on any subject that requires thought and meditation. The under- 
 standing should be brought to the difficult and knotty parts of knowledge that try 
 the strength of thought and a full bent of the mind by insensible degrees, and. in 
 such a gradual proceeding nothing is too hard for it. Nor let it be objected that 
 such a slow progress will never reach the extent of some sciences. It is not to be 
 imagined how far constancy will carry a man; however, it is better walking slowly 
 in a rugged way than to break a leg and be a cripple. He that begins with the 
 calf may carry the ox, but he that will at first go to take up an ox may so disable 
 himself as not to be able to lift up a calf after that. When the mind by insensible 
 degrees has brought itself to attention and close thinking, it will be able to cope 
 with difficulties and master them without any prejudice to itself, and then it may 
 go on roundly. Every abstruse problem, every intricate question, will not bafile, 
 discourage, or break it. But though putting the mind unprepared upon an unusual 
 stress that may discourage or damp it for the future ought to be avoided, yet this 
 must not run it by an over-great shyness of difficulties into a lazy sauntering about 
 ordinary and obvious things that demand no thought or application. This debases 
 and enervates the understanding, makes it weak and unfit for labour. This is a 
 
 1 Of this failing Pope used to plead guilty, ob- 
 serving, jocularly perhaps, that in theology he 
 always agreed in opinion with the last author 
 he read. 
 
 2 A similar thought occurs somewhere in Plato, 
 who observes that in all discussions we should 
 hold our minds free to be carried whithersoever 
 we may by the stream of our reasoning. Dr. Mid- 
 dleton makes a remark of like import in the 
 preface, if I rightly remember, of his Free 
 Inquiry. 
 
 3 Which Roscommon thus translates (Ars 
 Poet. 394 et seq.): 
 
 ** And often try what weight you can support, 
 And what your shoulders are too weak to bear.” 
 
 * In the same spirit Milton, in his Tractate on 
 Education, condemns the preposterous practice 
 of “forcing the empty wits of children to com- 
 pose themes, verses, and orations, which are the 
 acts of ripest judgment, and the final work of a 
 head filled by long reading and observing, with 
 elegant maxims, and copious invention. These 
 are not matters to be wrung from poor striplings, 
 like blood out of the nose or the plucking of un- 
 timely fruit.” 
 
50 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 sort of hovering about the surface of things without any insight into them or pene- 
 tration; and when the mind has been once habituated to this lazy recumbency and 
 satisfaction on the obvious surface of things, it is in danger to rest satisfied there 
 and go no deeper, since it cannot do it without pains and digging. He that has 
 for some time accustomed himself to take up with what easily offers itself at first 
 view, has reason to fear he shall never reconcile himself to the fatigue of turning 
 and tumbling things in his mind to discover their more retired and more valuable 
 secrets. 
 
 It is not strange that methods of learning which scholars have been accustomed 
 to in their beginning and entrance upon the sciences should influence them all their 
 lives, and be settled in their minds by an overruling reverence; especially if they 
 be such as universal use has established. Learners must at first be believers, and 
 their master’s rules having been once made axioms to them, it is no wonder they 
 should keep that dignity, and by the authority they have once got, mislead those 
 who think it sufficient to excuse them if they go out of their way in a well-beaten 
 track. 
 
 29. Words.—I have copiously enough spoken of the abuse of words in another 
 place,’ and therefore shall upon this reflection, that the sciences are full of them, 
 warn those that would conduct their understandings right not to take any term, 
 howsoever authorized by the language of the schools, to stand for anything till they 
 have an idea of it. A word may be of frequent use and great credit with several 
 authors, and be by them made use of as if it stood for some real being; but yet, 
 if he that reads cannot frame any distinct idea of that being, it is certainly to him 
 a mere empty sound without a meaning, and he learns no more by all that is said 
 of it or attributed to it than if it were affirmed only of that bare empty sound. They 
 who would advance in knowledge, and not deceive and swell themselves with a 
 little articulated air, should lay down this as.a fundamental rule, not to take words 
 for things, nor suppose that names in books signify real entities in nature, till they 
 can frame clear and distinct ideas of those entities. It will not perhaps be allowed, 
 if I should set down “‘ substantial forms” and “ intentional species,” as such that 
 may justly be suspected to be of this kind of insignificant terms. But this I am 
 sure, to one that can form no determined ideas of what they stand for, they signify 
 nothing at all, and all that he thinks he knows about them is to him so much 
 knowledge about nothing, and amounts at most but to be a learned ignorance. It 
 is not without all reason supposed that there are many such empty terms to be 
 found in some learned writers, to which they had recourse to etch out their 
 systems, where their understandings could not furnish them with conceptions 
 from things. But yet I believe the supposing of some realities in nature answer- 
 ing those and the like words, have much perplexed some and quite misled others 
 in the study of nature. That which in any discourse signifies, “ I know not 
 what,” should be considered “ I know not when.” Where men have any concep- 
 tions, they can, if they are never so abstruse or abstracted, explain them and the 
 terms they use for them. For our conceptions being nothing but ideas, which 
 are all made up of simple ones, if they cannot give us the ideas their words 
 stand for it is plain they have none. To what purpose can it be to hunt after his 
 conceptions who has none, or none distinct ? he that knew not what he himself 
 meant by a learned term, cannot make us know anything by his use of it, let us 
 beat our heads about it never so long. Whether we are able to comprehend all 
 the operations of nature and the manners of them, it matters not to inquire, but 
 this is certain, that we can comprehend no more of them than we can distinctly 
 conceive, and therefore to obtrude terms where we Have no distinct conceptions, as 
 if they did contain, or rather conceal something, is but an artifice of learned vanity 
 
 * This is fully treated of in the Essay on the | same subject. Compare also Bishop Berkeley’s 
 Human Understanding, Book iii. chap. 10, 11. | Introduction to the Principles of Human Know- 
 The whole book, however, has reference to the ledge. 
 
 TS 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 51 
 
 to cover a defect in an hypothesis or our understandings. Words are not made to 
 conceal, but to declare and show something; where they are by those who pretend 
 to instruct otherwise used, they conceal indeed something; but that that they con- 
 ceal is nothing but the ignorance, error, or sophistry of the talker, for there is in 
 truth nothing else under them.’ 
 
 30. Wandering.—That there is a constant succession and flux of ideas in our 
 minds I have observed in the former part of this essay, and every one may take 
 notice of it in himself. This, I suppose, may deserve some part of our care in the 
 conduct of our understandings; and I think it may be of great advantage if we 
 can by use get that power over our minds, as to be able to direct that train of ideas, 
 that so, since there will new ones perpetually come into our thoughts by a constant 
 succession, we may be able by choice so to direct them, that none may come in 
 view but such as are pertinent to our present inquiry, and in such order as may be 
 most useful to the discovery we are upon; or at least, if some foreign and unsought 
 ideas will offer themselves, that yet we might be able to reject them and keep 
 them from taking off our minds from its present pursuit, and hinder them from 
 running away with our thoughts quite from the subject in hand. This is not, I 
 suspect, so easy to be done as perhaps may be imagined; and yet, for aught I know, 
 this may be, if not the chief, yet one of the great differences that carry some men 
 in their reasoning so far beyond others, where they seem to be naturally of equal 
 parts. A proper and effectual remedy for this wandering of thoughts I would be 
 glad to find. He that shall propose such an one would do great service to the 
 studious and contemplative part of mankind, and perhaps help unthinking men to 
 become thinking. I must acknowledge that hitherto 1 have discovered no other 
 way to keep our thoughts close to their business, but the endeavouring as much 
 as we can, and by frequent attention and application, getting the habit of attention 
 and application. He that will observe children will find that even when they 
 endeavour their utmost they cannot keep their minds from straggling. The way 
 to cure it, I am satisfied, is not angry chiding or beating, for that presently fills 
 their heads with all the ideas that fear, dread, or confusion can offer to them. To 
 bring back gently their wandering thoughts, by leading them into the path and 
 going before them in the train they should pursue, without any rebuke, or so much 
 as taking notice (where it can be avoided) of their roving, I suppose, would sooner 
 reconcile and inure them to attention than all these rougher methods, which more 
 distract their thought, and hindering the application they would promote, introduce 
 a contrary habit.? | 
 
 31. Distinction.—Distinction and division are (if I mistake not the import of 
 the words) very different things; the one being the perception of a difference that 
 nature has placed in things; the other, our making a division where there is yet 
 none; at least if it may be permitted to consider them in this sense, I think I may 
 say of them, that one of them is the most necessary and conducive to true knowledge 
 that can be; the other, when too much made use of, serves only to puzzle and 
 confound the understanding. To observe every the least difference that is in things 
 argues a quick and clear sight, and this keeps the understanding steady and right 
 
 1 Upon this philosophical observation was 
 erected the witty contradiction of Goldsmith, 
 commonly attributed to Talleyrand, that language 
 was given to man to conceal his thoughts. 
 
 2 Upon this subject he has spoken at con- 
 siderable length in his Thoughts on Education, 
 where see, in my notes, the opinions of Mon- 
 taigne. Bishop Patrick has likewise, in his Ad- 
 vice to a Friend, a pleasant passage to the same 
 purpose. Speaking of our attempts unseason- 
 ably to compel ourselves to religious meditation, 
 he says: ‘‘ As a child, you may have observed, 
 when he cannot think of his lesson, the more his 
 
 teacher chides and calls upon him, the more 
 blockishly he stands, and the further it is beat 
 out of his memory: so it is very frequently with 
 the natural spirits of every one of us. They are 
 so oppressed and stupid at certain seasons that 
 if we labour to set them in motion, it doth but 
 dispose them the more to stand stock still. But 
 if we let them alone, and for that time leave 
 them, they will be like the same child, who in a 
 short time comes to himself, and is able to say 
 his lesson perfectly. They would go whither we 
 would have them, and perhaps run before us.” 
 (83 et seq.) 
 
 aw 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 in its way to knowledge. But though it be useful to discern every variety that is 
 to be found in nature, yet it is not convenient to consider every difference that is 
 in things, and divide them into distinct classes under every such difference. This 
 will run us, if followed, into particulars, (for every individual has something that 
 differences it from another), and “we shall be able to establish no general truths, or 
 else at least shall be apt to perplex the mind about them. The collection of several 
 things into several classes gives the mind more general and larger views, but we 
 must take care to unite them only in that, and so far as they do agree, for so far 
 they may be united under the consideration; for entity itself, that comprehends 
 _ all things, as general as it is, may afford us clear and rational conceptions. Ifwe 
 would weigh and keep in our minds what it is we are considering, that would best 
 instruct us when we should or should not branch into further distinctions, which 
 are not to be taken only from a due contemplation of things, to which there is 
 nothing more opposite than the art of verbal distinctions made at pleasure in 
 learned and arbitrarily invented terms, to be applied at a venture, without com- 
 prehending or conveying any distinct notions, and so altogether fitted to artificial 
 talk or empty noise in dispute, without any clearing of difficulties or advance in 
 knowledge. Whatsoever subject we examine and would get knowledge in, we 
 should, I think, make as general and as large as it will bear; nor can there be 
 any danger of this, if the idea of it be settled and determined: for if that be so, we 
 shall easily distinguish it from any other idea, though comprehended under the 
 same name. For it is to fence against the entanglements of equivocal words, and 
 the great art of sophistry which lies in them, that distinctions have been multi- 
 plied and their use thought so necessary. But had every distinct abstract idea a 
 distinct known name, there would be little need of these multiplied scholastic dis- 
 tinctions, though there would be nevertheless as much need still, of the mind’s 
 observing the differences that are in things, and discriminating them thereby one 
 from another. It is not therefore the right way to knowledge to hunt after and — 
 fill the head with abundance of artificial and scholastic distinctions, wherewith 
 learned men’s writings are often filled: we sometimes find what they treat of so 
 divided and subdivided that the mind of the most attentive reader loses the sight of 
 it, as it is more than probable the writer himself did; for in things crumbled into 
 dust it is in vain to affect or pretend order, or expect clearness. To avoid con- 
 fusion by too few or too many divisions, is a great skill in thinking as well as 
 writing, which is but the copying our thoughts; but what are the boundaries of 
 the mean between the two vicious excesses on both hands, I think is hard to set 
 down in words: clear and distinct ideas are all that I yet know able to regulate it. 
 But as to verbal distinctions received and applied to common terms, i. e. equivocal 
 words, they are more properly, I think, the business of criticisms and dictionaries 
 than of real knowledge and philosophy, since they for the most part explain the 
 meaning of words, and give us their several significations. The dexterous man- 
 agement of terms, and being able to fend and prove with them,’ I know has and 
 does pass in the world for a great part of learning; but it is learning distinct from 
 knowledge, for knowledge consists only in perceiving the habitudes and relations 
 of ideas one to another, which is done without words; the intervention of a sound 
 helps nothing to it. And hence we see that there is least use of distinctions where 
 there is most knowledge, I mean in mathematics, where men have determined 
 ideas without known names to them, and so there being no room for equivocations, 
 there is no need of distinctions. In arguing, the opponent uses as comprehensive 
 and equivocal terms as he can, to involve his adversary in the doubtfulness of his 
 expressions: this is expected, and therefore the answerer on his side makes it his 
 play to distinguish as much as he can, and thinks he can never do it too much; 
 nor can he indeed in that way wherein victory may be had without truth and 
 without knowledge. This seems to me to be the art of disputing. Use your 
 
 * To fend and prove, i.e. to wrangle. (Vitilitigo. Adam Littleton.) 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 53 
 
 words as captiously as you can in your arguing on one side, and apply distinctions 
 as much as you can on the other side to every term, to nonplus your opponent, so 
 that in this sort of scholarship, there being no bounds set to distinguishing, some 
 men have thought all acuteness to have lain in it, and therefore in all they have 
 read or thought on, their great business has been to amuse themselves with dis- 
 tinctions, and multiply to themselves divisions; at least, more than the nature of 
 the thing required. There seems to me, as I said, to be no other rule for this but 
 a due and right consideration of things as they are in themselves. He that has 
 settled in his mind determined ideas, with names affixed to them, will be able both 
 to discern their differences one from another, which is really distinguishing ; and 
 
 where the penury of words affords not terms answering every distinct idea, will | 
 
 be able to apply proper distinguishing terms to the comprehensive and equivocal 
 names he is forced to make use of. This is all the need I know of distinguishing 
 terms, and in such verbal distinctions each term of the distinction, joined to that 
 whole signification it distinguishes, is but a distinct name for a distinct idea. 
 Where they are so, and men have clear and distinct conceptions that answer their 
 verbal distinctions, they are right, and are pertinent as far as they serve to clear 
 anything in the subject under consideration. And this is that which seems to me 
 the proper and only measure of distinctions and divisions, which he that will 
 conduct his understanding right must not look for in the acuteness of invention 
 nor the authority of writers, but will find only in the consideration of things 
 themselves, whether he is led into it by his own meditations or the information 
 of books. 
 
 An aptness to jumble things together wherein can be found any likeness, is a 
 fault in the understanding on the other side which will not fail to mislead it, and 
 by thus lumping of things, hinder the mind from distinct and accurate conceptions 
 of them. 
 
 _ 32. Similes.—To which let me here add another near of kin to this, at least in 
 name, and that is letting the mind, upon the suggestion of any new notion, run 
 immediately after similes to make it the clearer to itself, which, though it may 
 be a good way and useful in the explaining our thoughts to others, yet it is by 
 no means a right method to settle true notions of anything in ourselves, because 
 similes always fail in some part, and come short of that exactness which our 
 conceptions should have to things if we would think aright. This indeed makes 
 men plausible talkers, for those are always most acceptable in discourse who have 
 the way to let their thoughts into other men’s minds with the greatest ease and 
 facility ; whether those thoughts are well formed and correspond with things 
 matters not; few men care to be instructed but at an easy rate. They who in 
 their discourse strike the fancy, and take the hearers’ conceptions along with them 
 as fast as their words flow, are the applauded talkers, and go for the only men of 
 clear thoughts. Nothing contributes so much to this as similes, whereby men 
 think they themselves understand better, because they are the better understood. 
 But it is one thing to think right and another thing to know the right way to lay 
 our thoughts before others with advantage and clearness, be they right or wrong. 
 Well-chosen similes, metaphors, and allegories, with method and order, do this 
 the best of anything, because being taken from objects already known and familiar 
 to the understanding, they are conceived as fast as spoken, and the correspondence 
 being concluded, the thing they are brought to explain and elucidate is thought to 
 be understood too. Thus fancy passes for knowledge, and what is prettily said is 
 mistaken for solid. I say not this to decry metaphor, or with design to take away 
 that ornament of speech; my business here is not with rhetoricians and orators, 
 but with philosophers and lovers of truth, to whom I would beg leave to give this 
 one rule whereby to try whether in the application of their thoughts to anything 
 for the improvement of their knowledge, they do in truth comprehend the matter 
 before them really such as it is in itself. The way to discover this is to observe 
 whether, in the laying it before themselves or others, they make use only of bor- 
 
 ee 
 
54 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 rowed representations and ideas foreign to the things which are applied to it by 
 way of accommodation, as bearing some proportion or imagined likeness to the 
 subject under consideration. Figured and metaphorical expressions do well to 
 illustrate more abstruse and unfamiliar ideas which the mind is not yet thoroughly 
 accustomed to, but then they must be made use of to illustrate ideas that we 
 already have, not to paint to us those which we yet have not. Such borrowed and 
 allusive ideas may follow real and solid truth, to set it off when found, but must 
 by no means be set in its place and taken for it. If all our search has yet reached 
 no further than simile and metaphor, we may assure ourselves we rather fancy 
 than know, and have not yet penetrated into the inside and reality of the thing, 
 be it what it will, but content ourselves with what our imaginations, not things 
 themselves, furnish us with. 
 
 33. Assent——In the whole conduct of the understanding, there is nothing of 
 more moment than to know when and where, and how far to give assent, and 
 possibly there is nothing harder. It is very easily said, and nobody questions it, 
 that giving and withholding our assent and the degrees of it should be regulated 
 by the evidence which things carry with them; and yet we see men are not the 
 better for this rule; some firmly embrace doctrines upon slight grounds, some upon 
 no grounds, and some contrary to appearance: some admit of certainty, and are 
 not to be moved in what they hold; others waver in everything, and there want 
 not those that reject all as uncertain.’ What then shall a novice, an inquirer, a 
 stranger do in the case? I answer, use his eyes. There is a correspondence in 
 things, and agreement and disagreement in ideas, discernible in very different 
 degrees, and there are eyes in men to see them if they please; only their eyes may 
 be dimmed or dazzled, and the discerning sight in them impaired or lost. Interest 
 and passion dazzle; the custom of arguing on any side, even against our persua- 
 sions, dims the understanding, and makes it by degrees lose the faculty of 
 discerning clearly between truth and falsehood, and so of adhering to the right 
 side. It is not safe to play with error and dress it up to ourselves or others in the 
 shape of truth. The mind by degrees loses its natural relish of real solid truth, is 
 reconciled insensibly to anything that can be dressed up into any feint appearance 
 of it; and if the fancy be allowed the place of judgment at first in sport, it after- 
 wards comes by use to usurp it, and what is recommended by this flatterer (that 
 studies but to please) is received for good. There are so many ways of fallacy, 
 such arts of giving colours, appearances, and resemblances by this court-dresser, 
 the fancy, that he who is not wary to admit nothing but truth itself, very careful 
 not to make his mind subservient to anything else, cannot but be caught. He that 
 has a mind to believe, has half assented already ; and he that by often arguing 
 against his own sense imposes falsehood on others, is not far from believing him- 
 self. This takes away the great distance there is betwixt truth and falsehood; it 
 brings them almost together, and makes it no great odds in things that approach 
 so near which you take; and when things are brought to that pass, passion, or 
 wae &e. easily, and without being perceived, determine which shall be the 
 right. 
 
 34. Indifferency.—I have said above that we should keep a perfect indifferency 
 for all opinions, not wish any of them true, or try to make them appear so, but 
 being indifferent, receive and embrace them according as evidence, and that alone, - 
 gives the attestation of truth. They that do thus, i.e. keep their minds indifferent 
 to opinions, to be determined only by evidence, will always find the understanding 
 has perception enough to distinguish between evidence and no evidence, betwixt 
 plain and doubtful; and if they neither give nor refuse their assent but by that 
 measure, they will be safe in the opinions they have. Which being perhaps but 
 few, this caution will have also this good in it, that it will put them upon con- 
 
 * Talleyrand erred on this point, for he is said | gancies of the ancient sceptics on the necessity 
 never to have believed anything. The extrava- | for doubting all things are well known. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 915) 
 
 sidering, and teach them the necessity of examining more than they do; without 
 which the mind is but a receptacle of inconsistencies, not the storehouse of truths. 
 They that do not keep up this indifferency in themselves for all but truth, not 
 supposed, but evidenced in themselves, put coloured spectacles before their eyes, 
 and look on things through false glasses, and then think themselves excused in 
 following the false appearances which they themselves put upon them. I do not 
 expect that by this way the assent should in every one be proportioned to the 
 grounds and clearness wherewith every truth is capable to be made out, or that 
 men should be perfectly kept from error; that is more than human nature can by 
 any means be advanced to; I aim at no such unattainable privilege: I am only 
 speaking of what they should do, who would deal fairly with their own minds, and 
 make a right use of their faculties in the pursuit of truth; we fail them a great 
 deal more than they fail us. It is mismanagement more than want of abilities 
 that men have reason to complain of, and which they actually do complain of in 
 those that differ from them. He that by indifferency for all but truth, suffers not 
 his assent to go faster than his evidence, nor beyond it, will learn to examine, and 
 examine fairly instead of presuming, and nobody will be at a loss or in danger for 
 want of embracing those truths which are necessary in his station and circum- 
 stances. In any other way but this all the world are born to orthodoxy; they 
 imbibe at first the allowed opinions of their country and party, and so never 
 questioning their truth, not one of a hundred ever examines.' They are applauded 
 for presuming they are in the right. He that considers, is a foe to orthodoxy, 
 because possibly he may deviate from some of the received doctrines there. And 
 thus men, without any industry or acquisition of their own, inherit local truths (for 
 it is not the same everywhere) and are inured to assent without evidence. This 
 influences further than is thought, for what one of a hundred of the zealous bigots 
 in all parties ever examined the tenets he is so stiff in, or ever thought it his 
 . business or duty so to do? It is suspected of lukewarmness to suppose it neces- 
 sary, and a tendency to apostacy to go about it. And if a man can bring his mind 
 once to be positive and fierce for positions whose evidence he has never once 
 examined, and that in matters of greatest concernment to him, what shall keep 
 him from this short and easy way of being in the right in cases of less moment ? 
 Thus we are taught to clothe our minds as we do our bodies, after the fashion in 
 vogue, and it is accounted fantasticalness, or something worse, not to do so.? This 
 custom (which who dares oppose ?) makes the short-sighted bigots and the warier 
 sceptics, as far as it prevails: and those that break from it are in danger of heresy : 
 for taking the whole world, how much of it doth truth and orthodoxy possess 
 together? Though it is by the last alone (which has the good luck to be every- 
 where) that error and heresy are judged of: for argument and evidence signify 
 nothing in the case, and excuse nowhere, but are sure to be borne down in all 
 societies by the infallible orthodoxy of the place. Whether this be the way to 
 truth and right assent, let the opinions that take place and prescribe in the several 
 habitable parts of the earth declare. I never saw any reason yet why truth might 
 
 1 The reader will here be reminded of the well- 
 known bon-mot of Warburton, who being asked, 
 What is orthodoxy? replied, It is my doxy, while 
 heterodoxy is every other man’s doxy. 
 
 2 In fact, men think in packs as jackals hunt. 
 On this subject I formerly published some obser- 
 vations, one or two of which, with the reader’s 
 permission, I will here repeat. Having noticed 
 the rapid changes in faith and practice which 
 during the last century have taken place in 
 France, I add, ‘‘ When public opinion is thus 
 fluctuating, individuals have some difficulty in 
 preserving themselves from the charge of sin- 
 gularity, to which all such persons are obnoxious 
 as maintain during these sudden changes a sober 
 
 _andsteady mind. There are, however, but very few 
 
 in any country entertaining thoughts and opinions 
 that ought really to be termed singular. For, 
 although there be nothing too absurd for men to 
 believe conjointly with others, they dread to em- 
 brace it alone, in silence and solitude. Men have 
 always thought and believed in masses, under the 
 standard of intellectual despots, in the same man- 
 ner as they fight in masses beneath the banners 
 of political despots. Throughout the whole earih, 
 you may observe opinions and ideas, like swarms 
 of bees, clustering together upon particular spots, 
 or as if, like certain trees and plants, they were 
 indigenous to the soil.” (Anat. of Soc. i. 64 
 et seq.) 
 
56 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 not be trusted on its own evidence: I am sure if that be not able to support it 
 there is no fence against error, and then truth and falsehood are but names that 
 stand for the same things. Evidence therefore is that by which alone every man 
 is (and should be) taught to regulate his assent, who is then, and then only, in the 
 right way when he follows it. 
 
 Men deficient in knowledge are usually in one of these three states; either 
 wholly ignorant, or as doubting of some proposition they have either embraced 
 formerly, or are at present inclined to; or lastly, they do with assurance hold and 
 profess without ever having examined and being convinced by well-grounded 
 arguments. 
 
 The first of these are in the best state of the three, by having their minds yet 
 in their perfect freedom and indifferency, the likelier to pursue truth the better, 
 having no bias yet clapped on to mislead them. 
 
 35. For ignorance, with an indifferency for truth, is nearer to it than opmion 
 with ungrounded inclination, which is the great source of error; and they are 
 more in danger to go out of the way who are marching under the conduct of a 
 guide that it is a hundred to one will mislead them, than he that has not yet 
 ‘taken a step, and is likelier to be prevailed on to inquire after the right way. The 
 last of the three sorts are in the worst condition of all; for if a man can be per- 
 suaded and fully assured of anything for a truth, without having examined, what 
 is there that he may not embrace for truth? and if he has given himself up to 
 believe a lie, what means is there left to recover one who can be assured without 
 examining? To the other two, this I crave leave to say, that as he that is 
 ignorant is in the best state of the two, so he should pursue truth in a method 
 suitable to that state; i.e. by inquiring directly into the nature of the thing itself, 
 without minding the opinions of others, or troubling himself with their questions 
 or disputes about it; but to see what he himself can, sincerely searching after 
 truth, find out. He that proceeds upon other principles in his inquiry into any 
 sciences, though he be resolved to examine them and judge of them freely, does 
 yet at least put himself on that side, and post himself in a party which he will 
 not quit till he be beaten out; by which the mind is insensibly engaged to make 
 what defence it can, and so is unawares biassed. I do not say but a man should 
 embrace some opinion when he has examined, else he examines to no purpose ; 
 but the surest and safest way is to have no opinion at all till he has examined, and 
 that without any the least regard to the opinions or systems of other men about it. 
 For example, were it my business to understand physic, would not the safe and 
 readier way be to consult nature herself, and inform myself in the history of 
 diseases and their cures, than espousing the principles of the dogmatists, metho- 
 dists, or chemists, to engage in all the disputes concerning either of those systems, 
 and suppose it to be true, till I have tried what they can say to beat me out 
 of it? Or, supposing that Hippocrates, or any other book, infallibly con- 
 tains the whole art of physic; would not the direct way be to study, read, and 
 consider that book, weigh and compare the parts of it to find the truth, rather than 
 espouse the doctrines of any party? who, though they acknowledge his authority, 
 have already interpreted and wire-drawn all his text to their own sense; the tinc- 
 ture whereof when I have imbibed, I am more in danger to misunderstand his 
 true meaning, than if I had come to him with a mind unprepossessed by doctors 
 and commentators of my sect, whose reasonings, interpretation, and language 
 which I have been used to, will of course make all chime that way, and make 
 another, and perhaps the genuine, meaning of the author seem harsh, strained, and 
 uncouth to me. For words having naturally none of their own, carry that signifi- 
 
 1 Locke so seldom alludes to medicine or phy- | vented by the weakness of his constitution from 
 Sicians, that few not acquainted with the history | entering on the practice of it. See his Life pre- 
 of his life would suppose him to have studied | fixed to the Reasonableness of Christianity, p. 
 physic professionally, and to have been only pre- | viii—xi. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 57 
 
 cation to the hearer that he is used to put upon them, whatever be the sense of 
 him that uses them. This, I think, is visibly so; and if it be, he that begins to 
 have any doubt of any of his tenets, which he received without examination, ought 
 as much as he can, to put himself wholly into this state of ignorance in reference 
 to that question; and throwing wholly by all his former notions, and the opinions 
 of others, examine, with a pertect indifferency, the question in its source, without 
 any inclination to either side or any regard to his or others’ unexamined opinions. 
 This I own is no easy thing to do; but I am not inquiring the easy way to 
 opinion, but the right way to truth, which they must follow who will deal fairly 
 with their own understandings and their own souls.’ 
 
 36. Question.—The indifferency that I here propose will also enable them to 
 state the question right which they are in doubt about, without which they can 
 never come to a fair and clear decision of it. 
 
 37. Perseverance.—Another fruit from this indifferency, and the considering 
 things in themselves abstract from our own opinions and other men’s notions and 
 discourses on them, will be, that each man will pursue his thoughts in that method 
 which will be most agreeable to the nature of the thing, and to his apprehension 
 of what it suggests to him, in which he ought to proceed with regularity and 
 constancy, until he come to a well-grounded resolution wherein he may acquiesce. 
 If it be objected that this will require every man to be a scholar, and quit all his 
 other business and betake himself wholly to study, I answer, I propose no more 
 to any one than he has time for. Some men’s state and condition require no 
 great extent of knowledge; the necessary provision for life swallows the greatest 
 part of their time. But one man’s want of leisure is no excuse for the oscitancy 
 and ignorance of those who have time to spare; and every one has enough to get 
 as much knowledge as is required and expected of him, and he that does not that 
 is in love with ignorance, and is accountable for it. 
 
 38. Presumption.—The variety of distempers in men’s minds is as great as of 
 those in their bodies; some are epidemic, few escape them; and every one too, 
 if he would look into himself, would find some defect of his particular genius. 
 There is scarce any one without some idiosyncrasy that he suffers by. This 
 man presumes upon his parts, that they will not fail him at time of need; and so 
 thinks it superfluous labour to make any provision beforehand. His under- 
 standing is to him like Fortunatus’s purse, which is always to furnish him, without 
 ever putting anything into it beforehand; and so he sits still satisfied, without 
 endeavouring to store his understanding with knowledge. It is the spontaneous 
 product of the country, and what need of labour in tillage? Such men may 
 spread their native riches before the ignorant; but they were best not come to 
 stress and trial with the skilful. We are born ignorant of everything. The 
 superficies of things that surround them make impressions on the negligent, but 
 nobody penetrates into the inside without labour, attention, andindustry.* Stones 
 and timber grow of themselves, but yet there is no uniform pile with symmetry 
 and convenience to lodge in without toil and pains. God has made the in- 
 tellectual world harmonious and beautiful without us; but it will never come 
 into our heads all at once; we must bring it home piecemeal, and there set it 
 up by our own industry, or else we shall have nothing but darkness and a chaos 
 within, whatever order and light there be in things without us. 
 
 39. Despondency.—On the other side, there are others that depress their own 
 
 1 Tn this passage we have much of the earnest 
 eloquence of Plato, who, in his matchless intro- 
 duction to the Protagoras, describes in few words 
 the imminent danger of admitting error into the 
 mind. Socrates, there as elsewhere in his dis- 
 ciple’s writings the principalinterlocutor, observes 
 to Hippocrates, desirous of becoming a hearer 
 of Protagoras, pédXee THY PuXHY THY GavTOU 
 
 rapacyxeiy Oeparrevoa avopl, we oyc, codLoTy’ 
 6 rt O& ToTEe O GogtoTryHeC EoTt, OauvpadZow’ ay et 
 oloOa. Kal Tot Ei TOUT’ ayvoEic, OVOE KTW Ta- 
 padiows Tiv Wuyxijy oioOa, ovr’ ei ayaby ovr’ 
 eikak@ modypart. (T.i. p. 165. Bekk.) 
 
 2 It is Xenophon, I believe, who says that the 
 gods sell all good things to man for sweat and toil. 
 
58 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 minds, despond at the first difficulty, and conclude that the getting an insight in 
 any of the sciences, or making any progress in knowledge further than serves 
 their ordinary business, is above their capacities. These sit still, because they 
 think they have not legs to go; as the others I last mentioned do, because they 
 think they have wings to fly, and can soar on high when they please. To these 
 latter one may for answer apply the proverb, “ Use legs and have legs.” Nobody 
 knows what strength of parts he has till he has tried them. And of the under- 
 standing one may most truly say, that its force is greater generally than it thinks, 
 till itis put to it. “‘ Viresque acquirit eundo.” 
 
 And therefore the proper remedy here is but to set the mind to work, and 
 apply the thoughts vigorously to the business; for it holds in the struggles of | 
 the mind as in those of war, ‘“‘dum putant se vincere vicére.” A persuasion that 
 we shall overcome any difficulties that we meet with in the sciences seldom fails 
 to carry us through them. Nobody knows the strength of his mind, and the 
 force of steady and regular application, till he has tried. This is certain, he 
 that sets out upon weak legs, will not only go further, but grow stronger too than 
 one who, with a vigorous constitution and firm limbs, only sits still. 
 
 Something of kin to this men may observe in themselves, when the mind 
 frights itself (as it often does) with anything reflected on in gross, and transiently 
 viewed confusedly and at a distance. Things thus offered to the mind carry 
 the show of nothing but difficulty in them, and are thought to be wrapt up im 
 impenetrable obscurity. But the truth is, these are nothing but spectres that the 
 understanding raises to itself to flatter its own laziness. It sees nothing distinctly in 
 things remote and ina huddle; and therefore concludes too faintly, that there 
 is nothing more clear to be discovered in them. It is but to approach nearer, 
 
 {| and that mist of our own raising that enveloped them will remove; and those that 
 
 in that mist appeared hideous giants not to be grappled with, will be found to be 
 of the ordinary and natural size and shape.* Things that in a remote and con- 
 fused view seem very obscure, must be approached by gentle and regular steps ; 
 and what is most visible, easy, and obvious in them first considered. Reduce 
 them into their distinct parts; and then in their due order bring all that should 
 be known concerning every one of those parts into plain and simple questions ; 
 and then what was thought obscure, perplexed, and too hard for our weak parts, 
 will lay itself open to the understanding in a fair view, and let the mind into that 
 which before it was awed with, and kept at a distance from, as wholly mysterious. 
 I appeal to my reader’s experience, whether this has never happened to him, 
 especially when, busy on one thing, he has occasionally reflected on another. I 
 ask him whether he has never thus been scared with a sudden opinion of mighty 
 difficulties, which yet have vanished, when he has seriously and methodically 
 applied himself to the consideration of this seeming terrible subject ; and there has 
 been no other matter of astonishment left, but that he amused himself with so 
 discouraging a prospect of his own raising, about a matter which in the handling 
 was found to have nothing in it more strange nor intricate than several other 
 things which he had long since, and with ease, mastered. This experience 
 would teach us how to deal with such bugbears another time, which should rather 
 serve to excite our vigour than enervate our industry. The surest way for a 
 learner in this, as in all other cases, is not to advance by jumps and large strides ; 
 let that which he sets himself to learn next be indeed the next, i. e. as nearly 
 conjoined with what he knows already as is possible; let it be distinct, but not 
 remote from it; let it be new, and what he did not know before, that the under- 
 standing may advance; but let it be as little at once as may be, that its advances 
 may be clear and sure. All the ground that it gets this way it will hold. This 
 
 * Omne ignotum pro magnifico. 
 
 "Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And clothes the mountain with its azure hue. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. : 59 
 
 distinct gradual growth in knowledge is firm and sure; it carries its own light 
 with it in every step of its progression in an easy and orderly train; than which 
 there is nothing of more use to the understanding. And though this perhaps may 
 seem a very slow and lingering way to knowledge, yet I dare confidently affirm, 
 that whoever will try it in himself, or any one he will teach, shall find the ad- 
 vances greater in this method, than they would in the same space of time have 
 been in any other he could have taken. The greatest part of true knowledge lies 
 in a distinct perception of things in themselves distinct. And some men give 
 more clear light and knowledge by the bare distinct stating of a question, than 
 others by talking of it in gross, whole hours together. In this, they who so state 
 a question, do no more but separate and disentangle the parts of it one from 
 another, and lay them, when so disentangled, in their due order. This often, 
 without any more ado, resolves the doubt, and shows the mind where the truth 
 lies. The agreement or disagreement of the ideas in question, when they are once 
 separated and distinctly considered, is, in many cases, presently perceived, and 
 thereby clear and lasting knowledge gained; whereas things in gross taken up 
 together, and so lying together in confusion, can proditee in the mind but a con- 
 fused, which in effect is no, knowledge ; or at least, when it comes to be examined 
 and made use of, will prove little better than none. I therefore take the liberty 
 to repeat here again what I have said elsewhere, that in learning anything, as little 
 should be proposed to the mind at once as is possible; and, that being understood 
 and fully mastered, to proceed to the next adjoining part, yet unknown, simple, 
 unperplexed proposition, belonging to the matter in hand, and tending to the 
 clearing what is principally designed. 
 
 40. Analogy.—Analogy is of great use to the mind in many cases, especially 
 in natural philosophy ; and that part of it chiefly which consists in happy and 
 successful experiments. But here we must take care that we keep ourselves 
 ‘within that wherein the analogy consists. For example: the acid oil of vitriol is 
 found to be good in such a case, therefore the spirit of nitre or vinegar may be 
 used in the like case. If the good effect of it be owing wholly to the acidity of 
 it, the trial may be justified; but if there be something else besides the acidity in 
 the oil of vitriol, which produces the good we desire in the case, we mistake that 
 for analogy which is not, and suffer our understanding to be misguided by a 
 wrong supposition of analogy where there is none. 
 
 41. Association.—Though I have, in the second book of my Essay concerning 
 Human Understanding, treated of the association of ideas; yet having done it 
 there historically, as giving a view of the understanding in this as well as its 
 several other ways of operating, rather than designing there to inquire into the 
 remedies that ought to be applied to it; it will, under this latter consideration, 
 afford other matter of thought to those who have a mind to instruct themselves 
 thoroughly in the right way of conducting their understandings: and that the 
 rather, because this, if I mistake not, is as frequent a cause of mistake and error 
 in us as perhaps anything else that can be named; and is a disease of the mind 
 as hard to be cured as any, it being a very hard thing to convince any one that 
 things are not so, and naturally so, as they constantly appear to him. 
 
 By this one easy and unheeded miscarriage of the understanding, sandy and 
 loose foundations become infallible principles, and will not suffer themselves to be 
 touched or questioned; such unnatural connexions become by custom as natural 
 to the mind as sun and light, fire and warmth go together, and so seem to carry with 
 them as natural an evidence as self-evident truths themselves. And where then 
 shall one with hopes of success begin the cure?' Many men firmly embrace 
 
 1 Compare with the above the following passage | in favour, but a natural though corrupt love of 
 from Lord Bacon: ‘It is not only the difficulty | the lie itself. : 
 and labour which men take in finding out of ‘One of the later schools of the Grecians ex- 
 truth; nor again, that, when it is found, itim- | amineth the matter, and is at a stand to think 
 poseth upon men’s thoughts, that doth bring lies | what should be in it, that men should love lies, 
 
perennation LLL, CONICET 
 
 60 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 falsehood for truth; not only because they never thought otherwise, but also 
 because, thus blinded as they have been from the beginning, they never could 
 think otherwise; at least without a vigour of mind able to contest the empire of 
 habit, and look into its own principles ; a freedom which few men have the notion 
 of in themselves, and fewer are allowed the practice of by others; it being the 
 great art and business of the teachers and guides in most sects to suppress, as 
 much as they can, this fundamental duty which every man owes himself, and is 
 the first steady step towards right and truth in the whole train of his actions and 
 opinions. This would give one reason to suspect, that such teachers are con- 
 scious to themselves of the falsehood or weakness of the tenets they profess, since 
 they will not suffer the grounds whereon they are built to be examined; whereas 
 those who seek truth only, and desire to own and propagate nothing else, freely 
 expose their principles to the test; are pleased to have them examined; give 
 men leave to reject them if they can ; and if there be anything weak and unsound 
 in them, are willing to have it detected, that they themselves, as well as others, 
 may not lay any stress upon any received proposition beyond what the evidence of 
 its truths will warrant and allow.’ 
 
 There is, I know, a great fault among all sorts of people of principling their 
 children and scholars; which at last, when looked into, amounts to no more but 
 making them imbibe their teacher’s notions and tenets by an implicit faith, and _ 
 firmly to adhere to them whether true or false. What colours may be given to 
 this, or of what use it may be when practised upon the vulgar, destined to labour, 
 and given up to the service of their bellies, I will not here mquire. But as to the 
 ingenuous part of mankind, whose condition allows them leisure, and letters, and 
 inquiry after truth, I can see no other right way of principling them, but to take 
 heed, as much as may be, that in their tender years, ideas that have no natural 
 cohesion come not to be united in their heads; and that this rule be often incul- 
 cated to them to be their guide in the whole course of their lives and studies, viz. 
 that they never suffer any ideas to be joined in their understandings in any other 
 or stronger combination than what their own nature and correspondence give 
 them ; and that they often examine those that they find linked together in their 
 minds, whether this association of ideas be from the visible agreement that is in 
 the ideas themselves, or from the habitual and prevailing custom of the mind 
 joining them thus together in thinking. 
 
 This is for caution against this evil, before it be thoroughly riveted by custom 
 in the understanding; but he that would cure it when habit has established it, 
 
 where neither they make for pleasure, as with 
 poets, nor for advantage, as with the merchant ; 
 but for the lie’s sake. But I cannot tell: this 
 same truth is a naked and open daylight, that 
 doth not show the masques, and mummeries, and 
 triumphs of the world, half so stately and daintily 
 as candlelight. Truth may perhaps come to the 
 price of a pearl, that showeth best by day; but it 
 will not rise to the price of a diamond or car- 
 buncle, that showeth best in varied light. A mix- 
 ture of a lie doth ever add pleasure.”’ Butif there 
 be a pleasure in lying, or in believing a lie, 
 there is also, very fortunately, no small delight in 
 the discovery and reception of truth. Mon- 
 taigne’s remarks on this subject are worthy of 
 consideration. ‘“‘Que signifie ce refrain? En 
 un lieu glissant et coulant suspendons notre 
 creance: car comme dit Euripides, 
 Les ceuvres de Dieu en diverses 
 Facons nous donnent des traverses ; 
 
 semblable a celuy qu’Empedocles semoit souvent 
 en ses livres, comme agité d’une divine fureur et 
 forcé de la vérité. Non non, nous ne sentons 
 rien, nous ne voyons rien, toutes choses nous sont 
 occultes, a wen est aucune de la laquelle nous 
 puissons establir quelle elle est. Revenant a ce 
 
 mot divin, cogitationes mortakum ‘timide et 
 incerte ad inventiones nostre et providentie. 
 Il ne faut pas trouver estrange, si gents de- 
 sesperez de la prinse n’ont pas laissé d’avoir 
 plaisir 4 la chasse, Vestude estant de soi une 
 occupation plaisante: et si plaisante, que parmy 
 les voluptez, les Stoiciens defendent aussi celle 
 qui vient de l’exercitation de l’esprit, y veulent 
 de la bride, et trouvent de intemperance a trop 
 scavoir.”” (Vol. v. p. 44 et seq.) 
 
 1 Plato, in his Gorgias, has put sentiments 
 strongly resembling the above into the mouth of 
 Socrates, who having graphically described the 
 noisy and wrangling tone of ordinary disputants, . 
 exclaims, ‘‘ But what manner ofmanam I? Why 
 I am one of those who, when in error, love to 
 be refuted, and who have equal delight in refuting 
 the errors of others; nor is it more pleasant to 
 me to refute than to be refuted. On the con- 
 trary, I account it a greater satisfaction, in- 
 asmuch as the advantage is greater to be de- 
 livered from the extreme of evil, than to deliver 
 others; and truly I consider no evil incident to 
 human nature so grievous as to entertain false 
 opinions concerning the subject we have here 
 under discussion.” (Plat. t. iii. p. 26.) 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 61 
 
 must nicely observe the very quick and almost imperceptible motions of the mind 
 in its habitual actions. What I have said in another place about the change of 
 the ideas of sense into those of judgment may be proof of this. Let any one, not 
 skilled in painting, be told when he sees bottles and tobacco-pipes, and other 
 things so painted, as they are in some places shown, that he does not see protu- 
 berances, and you will not convince him but by the touch; he will not believe 
 that by an instantaneous legerdemain of his own thoughts, one idea is substituted 
 for another. How frequent instances may one meet with of this in the arguings 
 of the learned, who not seldom, in two ideas that they have been accustomed to 
 join in their minds, substitute one for the other; and I am apt to think, often 
 without perceiving it themselves! This, whilst they are under the deceit of it, 
 makes them incapable of conviction, and they applaud themselves as zealous 
 champions for truth, when indeed they are contending for error. And the con- 
 fusion of two different ideas, which a customary connexion of them in their minds 
 hath made to them almost one, fills their head with false views, and their reason- 
 ings with false consequences. 
 
 42. Fallacies.—Right understanding consists in the discovery and adherence to 
 truth, and that in the perception of the visible or probable agreement or disagreement 
 of ideas, as they are affirmed and denied one of another. From whence it is evident, 
 that the right use and conduct of the understanding, whose business is purely truth 
 and nothing else, is, that the mind should be kept in a perfect indifferency, not in- 
 clining to either side, any further than evidence settles it by knowledge, or the over- 
 balance of probability gives it the turn of assent and belief; but yet it is very hard to 
 meet with any discourse wherein one may not perceive the author not only maintain 
 (for that is reasonable and fit) but inclined and biassed to one side of the question, 
 with marks of a desire that that should be true. If it be asked me, how authors who 
 have such a bias and lean to it may be discovered; I answer, by observing how in 
 . their writings or arguings they are often led by their inclinations to change the ideas 
 of the question, either by changing the terms, or by adding and joining others to 
 them, whereby the ideas under consideration are so varied as to be more ser- 
 viceable to their purpose, and to be thereby brought to an easier and nearer agree- 
 ment, or more visible and remoter disagreement one with another. This is plain 
 and direct sophistry; but I am far from thinking that wherever it is found it is 
 made use of with design to deceive and mislead the readers. It is visible that 
 men’s prejudices and inclinations by this way impose often upon themselves; and 
 their affection for truth, under their prepossession in favour of one side, is the very 
 thing that leads them from it. Inclination suggests and slides into their discourse 
 favourable terms, which introduce favourable ideas ; till at last by this means that is 
 concluded clear and evident, thus dressed up, which, taken in its native state, by 
 making use of none but the precise determined ideas, would find no admittance at all. 
 The putting these glosses on what they affirm, these, as they thought, handsome, 
 easy, and graceful explications of what they are discoursing on, is so much the 
 character of what is called and esteemed writing well, that it is very hard to think 
 that authors will ever be persuaded to leave what serves so well to propagate their 
 opinions, and procure themselves credit in the world, for a more jejune and dry 
 way of writing, by keeping to the same terms precisely annexed to the same 
 ideas; a sour and blunt stiffness tolerable in mathematicians only, who force their 
 way, and make truth prevail by irresistible demonstration.’ 
 
 1 Authors desire to be read, which they would not 
 be if they adopted the cast-iron style of the mathe- 
 maticians. The blame therefore, if blame there be, 
 rests with human nature itself; for authors have 
 only the choice of not being read at all, and con- 
 sequently of imparting no truth, or of so clothing 
 the truths they deliver that they may sometimes, 
 by unwary observers, be confounded with error. 
 I am not indeed convinced that a barren style, 
 
 uninformed by fancy, stripped entirely of figures, 
 a mere skeleton of language, would, even if tole- 
 rated, be favourable to the delivery of truth. An 
 outline of the human form, drawn in brilliant 
 colours, would not be less true to nature than 
 one drawn in black. And in reasoning, as the 
 philosopher a few sections back appears to allow, 
 metaphors and similes afford a powerful aid in 
 the elucidation of truth. 
 
62 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 But yet if authors cannot be prevailed with to quit the looser, though more 
 insinuating ways of writing; if they will not think fit to keep close to truth and 
 instruction by unvaried terms and plain unsophisticated arguments; yet it con- 
 cerns readers not to be imposed on by fallacies and the prevailing ways of in- 
 sinuation. ‘To do this, the surest and most effectual remedy is to fix in the mind 
 the clear and distinct ideas of the question stripped of words; and so likewise in 
 - the train of argumentation, to take up the author’s ideas, neglecting his words, 
 observing how they connect or separate those in question. He that does this 
 will be able to cast off all that is superfluous ; he will see what is pertinent, what 
 coherent, what is direct to, what slides by, the question. This will readily show 
 him all the foreign ideas in the discourse, and where they were brought in; and 
 though they perhaps dazzled the writer, yet he will perceive that they give no 
 light nor strength to his reasonings. 
 
 This, though it be the shortest and easiest way of reading books with profit, 
 and keeping one’s self from being misled by great names or plausible discourses ; 
 yet it being hard and tedious to those who have not accustomed themselves to it, 
 it is not to be expected that every one (amongst those few who really pursue 
 truth) should this way guard his understanding from beimg imposed on by the 
 wilful, or at least undesigned sophistry, which creeps into most of the books of 
 argument. They that write against their conviction, or that, next to them, are 
 resolved to maintain the tenets of a party they were engaged in, cannot be sup- 
 posed to reject any arms that may help to defend their cause, and therefore such 
 should be read with the greatest caution. And they who write for opinions they 
 are sincerely persuaded of and believe to be true, think they may so far allow 
 themselves to indulge their laudable affection to truth, as to permit their esteem 
 of it to give it the best colours, and set it off with the best expressions and dress 
 they can, thereby to gain it the easiest entrance into the minds of their readers, 
 and fix it deepest there. 
 
 One of those being the state of mind we may justly suppose most writers to be 
 in, it is fit their readers, who apply to them for instruction, should not lay by 
 that caution which becomes a sincere pursuit of truth, and should make them 
 always watchful against whatever might conceal or misrepresent it. If they have 
 not the skill of representing to themselves the author’s sense by pure ideas sepa- 
 rated from sounds, and thereby divested of the false lights and deceitful orna- 
 ments of speech; this yet they should do, they should keep the precise question 
 steadily in their minds, carry it along with them through the whole discourse, 
 and suffer not the least alteration in the terms, either by addition, subtraction, or 
 substituting any other. This every one can do who has a mind to it; and he 
 that has not a mind to it, it is plain, makes his understanding only the warehouse 
 of other men’s lumber; I mean false and unconcluding reasonings, rather than a 
 repository of truth for his own use, which will prove substantial, and stand him 
 in stead, when he has occasion for it. And whether such an one deals fairly by 
 his own mind, and conducts his own understanding right, I leave to his own un- 
 derstanding to judge.' | 
 
 43. Fundamental verities.—The mind of man being very narrow, and so slow 
 in making acquaintance with things, and taking in new truths, that no one man 
 is capable, in a much longer life than ours, to know all truths it becomes our 
 prudence, in our search after knowledge, to employ our thoughts about funda- 
 mental and material questions, carefully avoiding those that are trifling, and not 
 suffering ourselves to be diverted from our main even purpose, by those that are 
 merely incidental. How much of many young men’s time is thrown away in 
 purely logical inquiries I need not mention. This is no better than if a man, 
 who was to be a painter, should spend all his time in examining the threads of 
 the several cloths he is to paint upon, and counting the hairs of each pencil and 
 
 1 See on this subject Bacon’s two Essays, on “‘Cunning,”’ and ‘* Wisdom for a Man’s self.” 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 63 
 
 brush he intends to use in the laying on of his colours. Nay, it is much worse 
 than for a young painter to spend his apprenticeship in such useless niceties ; 
 for he, at the end of all his pains to no purpose, finds that it is not painting, nor 
 any help to it, and so is really to no purpose ; whereas men designed for scholars 
 have often their heads so filled and warmed with disputes on logical questions, 
 that they take those airy useless notions for real and substantial knowledge, and 
 think their understandings so well furnished with science, that they need not look 
 any further into the nature of things, or descend to the mechanical drudgery of 
 experiment and inquiry. This is so obvious a mismanagement of the under- 
 standing, and that in the professed way to knowledge, that it could not be passed 
 by; to which might be joined abundance of questions, and the way of handling 
 of them in the schools. What faults in particular of this kind every man is or 
 may be guilty of would be infinite to enumerate; it suffices to have shown that 
 superficial and slight discoveries, and observations that contain nothing of moment 
 in themselves, nor serve as clues to lead us into further knowledge, should not be 
 thought worth our searching after. 
 
 There are fundamental truths that lie at the bottom, the basis upon which a 
 great many others rest, and in which they have their consistency. These are 
 teeming truths, rich in store, with which they furnish the mind, and, like the 
 lights of heaven, are not only beautiful and entertaining in themselves, but give 
 light and evidence to other things, that without them could not be seen or known. 
 Such is that admirable discovery of Mr. Newton, that all bodies gravitate to one 
 another, which may be counted as the basis of natural philosophy; which, of 
 what use it is to the understanding of the great frame of our solar system, he has 
 to the astonishment of the learned world shown; and how much further it would 
 guide us in other things, if rightly pursued, is not yet known. Our Saviour’s 
 great rule, that “we should love our neighbour as ourselves,” is such a funda- 
 
 ‘mental truth for the regulating human society, that I think by that alone one 
 might without ditiiculty determine all the cases and doubts in social morality. 
 These and such as these are the truths we should endeavour to find out, and store 
 our minds with. Which leads me to another thing in the conduct of the under- 
 standing that is no less necessary, viz. 
 44. Bottoming.—To accustom ourselves, in any question proposed, to examine 
 and find out upon what it bottoms. Most of the difficulties that come in our way, 
 when well considered and traced, lead us to some proposition, which, known to 
 be true, clears the doubt, and gives an easy solution of the question ; whilst topical 
 and superficial arguments, of which there is store to be found on both sides, filling 
 the head with variety of thoughts, and the mouth with copious discourse, serve only 
 to amuse the understanding, and entertain company, without coming to the bottom 
 of the question, the only place of rest and stability for an inquisitive mind, whose 
 tendency: is only to truth and knowledge. 
 
 For example, if it be demanded whether the grand seignior can lawfully take 
 what he will from any of his people; this question cannot be resolved without 
 coming to a certainty whether all men are naturally equal, for upon that it 
 turns ; and that truth well settled in the understanding, and carried in the mind 
 through the various debates concerning the various rights of men in society, will 
 go a great way in putting an end to them, and showing on which side the truth is. 
 
 45. Transferring of thoughts.—There is scarcely anything more for the im- 
 provement of knowledge, for the ease of life, and the despatch of business, than 
 for a man to be able to dispose of his own thoughts; and there is scarcely anything 
 harder in the whole conduct of the understanding than to get a full mastery over 
 it. The mind, in a waking man, has always some object that it applies itself to ; 
 which, when we are lazy or unconcerned, we can easily change, and at pleasure 
 transfer our thoughts to another, and from thence to a third, which has no relation 
 to either of the former. Hence men forwardly conclude, and frequently say, 
 nothing is so free as thought, and it were well it were so; but the contrary will 
 
64. CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 be found true in several instances; and there are many cases wherein there is 
 nothing more resty and ungovernable than our thoughts; they will not be 
 directed what objects to pursue, nor be taken off from those they have once fixed 
 on, but run away with a man in pursuit of those ideas they have in view, let 
 him do what he can. 
 
 I will not here mention again what I have above taken notice of, how hard it 
 is to get the mind, narrowed by a custom of thirty or forty years’ standing to a 
 scanty collection of obvious and common ideas, to enlarge itself to a more copious 
 stock, and grow into an acquaintance with those that would afford more abundant 
 matter of useful contemplation; it is not of this I am here speaking. The in- 
 conveniency I would here represent, and find a remedy for, is the difficulty there 
 is sometimes to transfer our minds from one subject to another, in cases where the 
 ideas are equally familiar to us. 
 
 Matters that are recommended to our thoughts by any of our passions, take 
 possession of our minds with a kind of authority, and will not be kept out or 
 dislodged; but, as if the passion that rules were for the time the sheriff of the 
 place, and came with all the posse, the understanding is seized and taken with 
 the object it introduces, as if it had a legal right to be alone considered there.’ 
 There is scarcely anybody I think of so calm a temper who hath not some time 
 found this tyranny on his understanding, and suffered under the inconvenience 
 of it. Who is there almost whose mind, at some time or other, love or anger, 
 fear or grief, has not so fastened to some clog that it could not turn itself to any 
 other object? I call it a clog, for it hangs upon the mind so as to hinder its 
 vigour and activity in the pursuit of other contemplations ; and advances itself 
 little or not at all in the knowledge of the thing which it so closely hugs and 
 constantly pores on. Men thus possessed are sometimes as if they were so in 
 the worse sense, and lay under the power of an enchantment. They gee not what 
 passes before their eyes, hear not the audible discourse of the company, and 
 when by any strong application to them they are roused a little, they are like 
 men brought to themselves from some remote region; whereas in truth they come 
 no further than their secret cabinet within, where they have been wholly taken up 
 with the puppet, which is for that time appointed for their entertainment. The 
 shame that such dumps cause to well-bred people, when it carries them away 
 from the company, where they should bear a part in the conversation, is a suffi- 
 cient argument that it is a fault in the conduct of our understanding not to have 
 that power over it as to make use of it to those purposes and on those occasions 
 wherein we have need of its assistance. The mind should be always free and 
 ready to turn itself to the variety of objects that occur, and allow them as much 
 consideration as shall for that time be thought fit. To be engrossed so by one 
 object as not to be prevailed on to leave it for another that we judge fitter for our 
 contemplation, is to make it of no use to us. Did this state of mind remain always 
 so, every one would, without scruple, give it the name of perfect madness; and 
 whilst it does last, at whatever intervals it returns, such a rotation of thoughts 
 about the same object no more carries us forward towards the attainment of 
 knowledge, than getting upon a mill-horse whilst he jogs on in his circular track 
 would carry a man a journey. 
 
 I grant something must be allowed to legitimate passions and to natural incli- 
 nations. Every man, besides occasional affections, has beloved studies, and 
 those the mind will more closely stick to; but yet it is best that it should be 
 always at liberty, and under the free disposal of the man, and to act how and 
 upon what he directs. This we should endeavour to obtain unless we would be 
 content with such a flaw in our understanding, that sometimes we should be, as it 
 
 EOS one master passion in the breast, 
 Like Aaron’s serpent, swallows up the rest.” 
 Essay on Man, ep. ii. 
 
CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 65 
 
 were, without it; for it is very little better than so in cases where we cannot make 
 use of it to those purposes we would, and which stand in present need of it. 
 
 But before fit remedies can be thought on for this disease we must know the 
 
 several causes of it, and thereby regulate the cure, if we will hope to labour 
 with success. 
 _ One we have already instanced in, whereof all men that reflect have so general 
 a knowledge, and so often an experience in themselves, that nobody doubts of it. 
 A prevailing passion so pins down our thoughts to the object and concern of it, 
 that a man passionately in love cannot bring himself to think of his ordinary 
 affairs, or a kind mother drooping under the loss of a child, is not able to bear a 
 part as she was wont in the discourse of the company or conversation of her 
 friends. 
 
 But though passion be the most obvious and general, yet it is not the only 
 cause that binds up the understanding, and confines it for the time to one object, 
 from which it will not be taken off. 
 
 Besides this, we may often find that the understanding, when it has a while 
 employed itself upon a subject which either chance or some slight accident 
 offered to it, without the interest or recommendation of any passion, works itself 
 into a warmth, and by degrees gets into a career, wherein, like a bowl down a hill, 
 it increases its motion by going, and will not be stopped or diverted; though, 
 when the heat is over, it sees all this earnest application was about a trifle not 
 worth a thought, and all the pains employed about it lost labour. 
 
 There is a third sort, if I mistake not, yet lower than this; it is a sort of 
 childishness, if I may so say, of the understanding, wherein, during the fit, it 
 plays with and dandles some insignificant puppet to no end, nor with any design 
 at all, and yet cannot easily be got off from it. Thus some trivial sentence, or a 
 ‘serap of poetry, will sometimes get into men’s heads, and make such a chiming there, 
 that there is no stilling of it; no peace to be obtained, nor attention to anything 
 else, but this impertinent guest will take up the mind and possess the thoughts in 
 spite of all endeavours to get rid of it. Whether every one hath experimented in 
 themselves this troublesome intrusion of some frisking ideas which thus importune 
 the understanding, and hinder it from being better employed, I know not. But 
 persons of very good parts, and those more than one, I have heard speak and 
 complain of it themselves. ‘The reason I have to make this doubt, is from what 
 I have known in a case something of kin to this, though much odder, and that is, 
 of a sort of visions that some people have lying quict, but perfectly awake, in the 
 dark, or with their eyes shut. It is a great variety of faces, most commonly very 
 odd ones, that appear to them in a train one after another; so that having had 
 just the sight of the one, it immediately passes away to give place to another, that 
 the same instant succeeds, and has as quick an exit as its leader; and so they 
 march on in a constant succession ; nor can any one of them by any endeavour be 
 stopped or restrained beyond the instant of its appearance, but is thrust out by its 
 follower, which will have its turn. Concerning this fantastical phenomenon I 
 have talked with several people, whereof some have been perfectly acquainted 
 with it, and others have been so wholly strangers to it that they could hardly be 
 brought to conceive or believe it. I knew a lady of excellent parts, who had got 
 past thirty without having ever had the least notice of any such thing; she was 
 so great a stranger to it, that when she heard me and another talking of it, could 
 scarcely forbear thinking we bantered her; but some time after, drinking a large 
 dose of dilute tea (as she was ordered by a physician) going to bed, she told us 
 at next meeting, that she had now experimented what our discourse had much 
 ado to persuade her of. She had seen a great variety of faces in a long train, 
 succeeding one another, as we had described; they were all strangers and 
 intruders, such as she had no acquaintance with before, nor sought after then ; 
 and as they came of themselves they went too; none of them stayed a moment, 
 nor could be detained by all the endeavours she could use, but went on in their 
 
66 CONDUCT OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 solemn procession, just appeared and then vanished. This odd phenomenon seems 
 to have a mechanical cause, and to depend upon the matter and motion of the 
 blood or animal spirits. 
 
 When the fancy is bound by passion, I know no way to set the mind free and 
 at liberty to prosecute what thoughts the man would make choice of, but to allay 
 the present passion, or counterbalance it with another; which is an art to be got 
 by study, and acquaintance with the passions. 
 
 Those who find themselves apt to be carried away with the spontaneous current 
 of their own thoughts, not excited by any passion or interest, must be very wary 
 and careful in all the instances of it to stop it, and never humour their minds in 
 being thus triflingly busy.'. Men know the value of their corporeal liberty, and 
 therefore suffer not willingly fetters and chains to be put upon them. ‘To have 
 the mind captivated is, for the time, certainly the greater evil of the two, and 
 deserves our utmost care and endeavours to preserve the freedom of our better 
 part. In this case our pains will not be lost; striving and struggling will prevail, 
 if we constantly on all such occasions make use of it. We must never indulge 
 these trivial attentions of thought; as soon as we find the mind makes itself a 
 business of nothing, we should immediately disturb and check it, introduce new 
 and more serious considerations, and not leave till we have beaten it off from the 
 pursuit it was upon. This, at first, if we have let the contrary practice grow to 
 a habit, will perhaps be difficult; but constant endeavours will by degrees pre- 
 vail, and at last make it easy. And when a man is pretty well advanced, and 
 can command his mind off at pleasure from incidental and undesigned pursuits, it 
 may not be amiss for him to go on further, and make attempts upon meditations 
 of greater moment, that at the last he may have a full power over his own mind, 
 and be so fully master of his own thoughts as to be able to transfer them from 
 one subject to another, with the same ease that he can lay by anything he has in 
 his hand, and take something else that he has a mind to in the room of it. This 
 liberty of mind is of great use both in business and study, and he that has got it 
 will have no small advantage of ease and despatch in all that is the chosen and 
 useful employment of his understanding. 
 
 The third and last way which I mentioned the mind to be sometimes taken up 
 with, I mean the chiming of some particular words or sentence in the memory, 
 and, as it were, making a noise in the head, and the like, seldom happens but 
 when the mind is lazy, or very loosely and negligently employed. It were better 
 indeed to be without such impertinent and useless repetitions: any obvious idea, 
 when it is roving carelessly at a venture, being of more use, and apter to suggest 
 something worth consideration, than the insignificant buzz of purely empty 
 sounds. But since the rousing of the mind, and setting the understanding on 
 work with some degree of vigour, does for the most part presently set it free 
 from these idle companions, it may not be amiss whenever we find ourselves 
 ee with them, to make use of so profitable a remedy that is always at 
 hand. 
 
 1 In my story of Lucifer, I have endeavoured | a distaste for all ordinary and healthy pleasures ; 
 to describe the state of mind arising out of the next, deranges the health, and then the intel- 
 neglect of this caution. One train of ideas con- | lect, and terminates by causing a premature and 
 stantly operating on the fancy, produces first | violent death. 
 
PIN Takia Ae ae 
 
 HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 ee 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THe Essay on the Human Understanding is the most important offspring of modern philosophy. 
 No other work has exercised so extensive an influence over the thoughts and opinions of mankind, 
 which have received from it an impress never to be effaced; and this effect has been partly owing to 
 the truth of the doctrines here promulgated, partly to the sincerity and earnestness of the author’s 
 manner, which in all cases render it certain that, whether right or wrong, he is unquestionably most con- 
 scientious in whatever he advances. Besides, though there may be errors and imperfections in the work, 
 it still offers the largest and most complete view of the understanding ever presented to the public in 
 one composition; indeed, we know of no body of writings, however voluminous, in which so minute 
 and exact a chart is traced of all the powers, affections, and operations of the mind, as in this single 
 treatise. Nay, it is scarcely to be expected that any man will hereafter arise endued with greater 
 genius, greater patience, or a purer love of truth than Locke; and therefore the probability is, 
 that the Essay on the Human Understanding will very long, if not for ever, occupy the place which 
 it has vindicated to itself from the very moment of its appearance, that is to say, the first rank among 
 philosophical treatises. In the general Preliminary Discourse, I have frankly pointed out most of the 
 weak points, as they appear to me, to be found in this incomparable treatise; but they are commonly 
 only such blemishes as appear, upon a minute scrutiny, like the roughnesses observable on the surface of 
 some Colossus, which disappear as we recede a little to take in the grandeur and majestic proportions 
 of the whole. They are, in fact, faults of execution, of detail, or at most belong only to particular 
 parts, while the design and character of the whole inquiry are so vast, so novel, and so sublime, 
 that they may well be excused who warm into enthusiasm while contemplating them, We have here, in 
 truth, the noblest fruit of a mind confessedly of the first order, devoted through a long series of years to 
 meditation on subjects of the deepest importance to mankind. His object was to diffuse tranquillity 
 and contentment through the realms of philosophy, and even over common life, by ascertaining, once for 
 all, in what department of knowledge our understanding is capable of arriving at certainty, and where 
 we must'be content to remain for ever in doubt. He seeks, at the same time, to create the salutary 
 persuasion that, with respect to things beyond our reach, it is our duty to rest satisfied with a modest 
 scepticism, since, however resolutely we may dogmatise, we can only be right by accident, and even 
 then, never be sure that we are so. No doubt the spirit in which a man philosophises is traceable, in 
 great part, to nature. We are born fiery, or phlegmatic, or adust. Whatever is external to our own 
 being, takes some colour from the knot of idiosyncrasies through which its image penetrates to the 
 speculum of our minds, so that we are not absolute masters of the light in which things shall appear 
 tous. But, nevertheless, philosophy being an art, if we pursue the study of it faithfully, according 
 to the true principles of all art, we must generally arrive at correct conclusions, and invent, mean- 
 while, for ourselves a system of discipline suitable to our own character, and calculated to quicken 
 and develop all the powers of our understanding. In the chief work of Locke we have an example of 
 how this may most effectually be done. He did not enter upon his researches with a ready-made theory 
 in his hand, determined to compel all nature to conform toit; but commencing his studies with a mind 
 unoccupied, he allowed his theory to grow up gradually out of his observations. It therefore took the 
 form which the sum of his knowledge and the characteristics of his mental constitution were adapted 
 to impart to it. ‘That it did not comprehend all truths, is owing simply to this, that the mind of Locke 
 was not commensurate with the greatness of nature; but it undoubtedly comprehended as much of 
 truth as lay within the reach of a most searching, patient, and vigorous intellect, and was compatible 
 with its sympathies, partialities, and antipathies. We can consequently conceive no study more beneficial 
 than that of the work now under consideration. Its literary blemishes are nothing to us, if we desire to 
 enlarge our minds and elevate our conceptions. Or rather, if there be any crabbedness, so much, in 
 this view, the better, since, if we can conquer our repugnance to it, nay, render it by reverential 
 familiarity sweet and pleasant, we may be sure that our hearts are set upon the possession of truth, 
 and that we are not allured forward through the solemn walks of philosophy by the brilliant lights of 
 rhetoric. If, however, the reader have perused the Conduct of the Understanding, he will advance 
 to the study of the Essay with a mind thoroughly prepared to relish its peculiarities, so that it may 
 suffice to have thrown out these few hints by the way. We will now, therefore, no longer detain him 
 from the glorious vision which is about to unfold itself before his sight. 
 
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THOMAS, EARL OF PEMBROKE AND MONTGOMERY, 
 
 BARON HERBERT OF CARDIFF, 
 LORD ROSS, OF KENDAL, PAR, FITZHUGH, MARMION, ST. QUINTIN, AND SHURLAND; 
 LORD PRESIDENT OF HIS MAJESTY’S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL, 
 AND LORD LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTY OF WILTS, AND OF SOUTH WALES. 
 
 My Lorp, 
 
 Tus Treatise, which is grown up under your lordship’s eye, and has ventured into 
 
 the world by your order, does now, by a natural kind of right, come to your lordship 
 for that protection which you several years since promised it. It is not that I think 
 _ any name, how great soever, set at the beginning of a book, will be able to cover the 
 faults that are to be found init. Things in print must stand and fall by their own 
 worth, or the reader’s fancy. But there being nothing more to be desired for truth 
 than a fair unprejudiced hearing, nobody is more likely to procure me that than your 
 lordship, who are allowed to have got so intimate an acquaintance with her, in her 
 more retired recesses. Your lordship is known to have so far advanced your specula- 
 tions in the most abstract and general knowledge of things, beyond the ordinary reach 
 or common methods, that your allowance and approbation of the design of this treatise 
 will at least preserve it from being condemned without reading, and will prevail to 
 have those parts a little weighed, which might otherwise perhaps be thought to deserve 
 no consideration, for being somewhat out of the common road. The imputation of 
 novelty is a terrible charge amongst those who judge of men’s heads, as they do of 
 their perukes, by the fashion, and can allow none to be right but the received 
 doctrines. Truth scarce ever yet carried it by vote anywhere at its first appearance: 
 new opinions are always suspected and usually opposed, without any other reason but 
 because they are not already common. But truth, like gold, is not the less so for being 
 newly brought out of the mine. It is trial and examination must give it price, and 
 not any antique fashion; and though it be not yet current by the public stamp, yet it 
 may, for all that, be as old as nature, and is certainly not the less genuine. Your 
 lordship can give great and convincing instances of this, whenever you please to oblige 
 the public with some of those large and comprehensive discoveries you have made of 
 truths hitherto unknown, unless to some few, from whom your lordship has been 
 pleased not wholly to conceal them. This alone were a sufficient reason, were there 
 no other, why I should dedicate this Essay to your lordship; and its having some little 
 
70 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 
 
 correspondence with some parts of that nobler and vast system of the sciences your 
 lordship has made so new, exact, and instructive a draught of, I think it glory enough, 
 if your lordship permit me to boast, that here and there I have fallen into some 
 thoughts not wholly different from yours. If your lordship think fit that, by your 
 encouragement, this should appear in the world, I hope it may be a reason, some time 
 or other, to lead your lordship further; and you will allow me to say, that you here 
 give the world an earnest of something that, if they can bear with this, will be truly 
 worth their expectation. This, my lord, shows what a present I here make to your 
 lordship ; just such as the poor man does to his rich and great neighbour, by whom the 
 basket of flowers or fruit is not ill taken, though he has more plenty of his own growth, 
 and in much greater perfection. Worthless things receive a value when they are 
 made the offerings of respect, esteem, and gratitude: these you have given me so 
 mighty and peculiar reasons to have, in the highest degree, for your lordship, that if 
 they can add a price to what they go along with, proportionable to their own great- 
 ness, I can with confidence brag, I here make your lordship the richest present you 
 ever received. This I am sure, I am under the greatest obligations to seek all occa- 
 sions to acknowledge a long train of favours I have received from your lordship; 
 favours, though great and important in themselves, yet made much more so by the 
 forwardness, concern, and kindness, and other obliging circumstances, that never failed 
 to accompany them. To all this you are pleased to add that which gives yet more 
 weight and relish to all the rest: you vouchsafe to continue me in some degrees of 
 your esteem, and allow me a place in your good thoughts; I had almost said friend- 
 ship. This, my lord, your words and actions so constantly show on all occasions, even 
 to others when I am absent, that it is not vanity in me to mention what everybody 
 knows: but it would be want of good manners not to acknowledge what so many are 
 witnesses of, and every day tell me I am indebted to your lordship for. I wish they 
 could as easily assist my gratitude, as they convince me of the great and growing 
 engagements it has to your lordship. This I am sure, I should write of the under- 
 standing without having any, if I were not extremely sensible of them, and did not 
 lay hold on this opportunity to testify to the world how much I am obliged to be, and 
 how much I am, 
 
 My Lorp, 
 
 Your Lordship’s most humble and most obedient servant, 
 
 JOHN LOCKE. 
 
 DorsET Court, 
 24th of May, 1689. 
 
THE 
 
 feb Ss LOE TO TA E 
 
 READER, 
 
 READER. 
 
 I HERE put into thy hands what has been the diversion of some of my idle and 
 heavy hours: if it has the good luck to prove so of any of thine, and thou hast 
 but half so much pleasure in reading as I had in writing it,' thou wilt as little 
 think thy money, as I do my pains, ill bestowed. Mistake not this for a com- 
 mendation of my work; nor conclude, because I was pleased with the doing of 
 it, that therefore I am fondly taken with it now it is done. He that hawks at 
 larks and sparrows has no less sport, though a much less considerable quarry, 
 than he that flies at nobler game: and he is little acquainted with the subject of 
 this treatise, the UNDERSTANDING, who does not know that as it is the most 
 ' elevated faculty of the soul, so it is employed with a greater and more constant 
 delight than any of the other. Its searches after truth are a sort of hawking and 
 hunting, wherein the very pursuit makes a great part of the pleasure. Every 
 step the mind takes in its progress towards knowledge, makes some discovery, 
 which is not only new, but the best too, for the time at least.’ 
 
 For the understanding, like the eye, judging of objects only by its own sight, 
 cannot but be pleased with what it discovers, having less regret for what has 
 escaped it, because it is unknown. Thus he who has raised himself above the 
 alms-basket, and not content to live lazily on scraps of begged opinions, sets his 
 own thoughts on work, to find and follow truth, will (whatever he lights on) not 
 miss the hunter’s satisfaction; every moment of his pursuit will reward his pains 
 
 * In the language of Shakspeare, who had ob- 
 served almost the whole of nature with a philo- 
 sophic eye, 
 
 “<The labour we delight in, physics pain ;”’ 
 though comparatively few can ever be brought 
 to delight in the labour of study. Here, however, 
 we find Locke professing to have derived from 
 the composition of his essay a degree of pleasure 
 sufficient to compensate for the labour it imposed; 
 but much of this pleasure arose, it is quite evident, 
 from anticipations of fame,which after all consti- 
 tute one of the chief solaces of the noblest and 
 brightest minds. Among the vulgar of old, as 
 now, whom no ray of glory warms or cheers, philo- 
 sophy was regarded merely as the parent of head- 
 ache and ennui. (Plato de Repub. vi. 146, Bekk.) 
 The “‘ Essay on the Human Understanding,” how- 
 ever, as even the facts recorded in this preface will 
 show, immediately on its publication “fit audi- 
 ence” found, not few, but the whole enlightened 
 and civilized world, which perceived that its ap- 
 pearance constituted a new era in the annals 
 of philosophy. Indeed, by the intellectually 
 
 ambitious, it was quickly found to be a work 
 teeming with interest and pleasure, the re.ding 
 of which, dull perhaps to the grovelling and in- 
 dolent, had more charms for them than those 
 popular fictions, supposed commonly to en‘oy a 
 monopoly of whatever is preeminently amusing. 
 
 2 This thought, expanded and modified to meet 
 the apprehension of ordinary readers, has been 
 adopted by Lord Brougham in his popular essay 
 on the ‘“‘ Advantages and Pleasures of Science.” 
 “Tt may be easily demonstrated,” says his lord- 
 ship, ‘‘that there is an advantage in learning, 
 both for the usefulness and the pleasure of it. 
 There is something positively agreeable to all 
 men, to all at least whose nature is not most 
 erovelling and base, in gaining knowledge for its 
 own sake. When you see anything for the first 
 time, you at once derive some gratification from 
 the sight being new; your attention is awakened, 
 and you desire to know more about it,”’ &e. (p. 2 
 et seq.) A poet places the matter on higher 
 grounds, exclaiming, 
 
 ‘For ’tis a Godlike attribute to know.”’ 
 
72 THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 
 
 with some delight, and he will have reason to think his time not ill-spent, even 
 when he cannot much boast of any great acquisition.’ 
 
 This, Reader, is the entertainment of those who let loose their own thoughts, 
 and follow them in writing ; which thou oughtest not to envy them, since they 
 afford thee an opportunity of the like diversion, if thou wilt make use of thy own 
 thoughts in reading. It is to them, if they are thy own, that I refer myself: but 
 if they are taken upon trust from others, it is no great matter what they are; they 
 are not following truth, but some meaner consideration; and it is not worth while 
 to be concerned what he says or thinks, who says or thinks only as he is directed 
 by another. If thou judgest for thyself I know thou wilt judge candidly, and 
 then I shall not be harmed or offended, whatever be thy censure. For though it 
 be certain that there is nothing in this treatise of the truth whereof I am not 
 fully persuaded, yet I consider myself as liable to mistakes as I can think thee, 
 and know that this book must stand or fall with thee, not by any opinion I have 
 of it, but thy own. If thou findest little in it new or instructive to thee, thou art 
 not to blame me for it. It was not meant for those that had already mastered 
 this subject, and made a thorough acquaintance with their own understandings ; 
 but for my own information, and the satisfaction of a few friends, who acknow- 
 ledged themselves not to have sufficiently considered it. 
 
 Were it fit to trouble thee with the history of this essay, I should tell thee, 
 that five or six friends meeting at my chamber,’ and discoursing on a subject very 
 remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that rose 
 on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any 
 nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts 
 that we took a wrong course, and that before we set ourselves upon inquiries of 
 that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what, objects 
 our understandings were, or were not, fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the 
 company, who all readily assented; and thereupon it was agreed that this should 
 be our first inquiry. Some hasty and undigested thoughts on a subject I had 
 never before considered, which I set down against our next meeting, gave the 
 first entrance into this discourse; which having been thus begun by chance, was 
 continued by intreaty ; written by incoherent parcels; and after long intervals of 
 neglect, resumed again, as my humour or occasions permitted; and at last, ina 
 retirement, where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought 
 into that order thou now seest it. 
 
 This discontinued way of writing may have occasioned, besides others, two 
 contrary faults, viz. that too little and too much may be said in it. If thou 
 findest anything wanting, I shall be glad that what I have written gives thee any 
 desire that I should have gone further: if it seems too much to thee, thou must 
 blame the subject ; for when I put pen to paper, I thought all I should have to 
 say on this matter would have been contained in one sheet of paper; but the 
 further I went the larger prospect I had; new discoveries led me still on, and so 
 it grew insensibly to the bulk it now appears in. I will not deny, but possibly it 
 might be reduced to a narrower compass than it is, and that some parts of it 
 might be contracted, the way it has been written in, by catches and many long 
 intervals of interruption, being apt to cause some repetitions. But to confess the 
 truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy, to make it shorter. 
 
 I am not ignorant how little I herein consult my own reputation, when I know- 
 
 1 Plato, who loved to impart the allurements 
 
 would seem to have delighted in forming clubs of 
 
 and colours of poetry to his philosophical disqui- 
 sitions, has frequent comparisons of the search 
 after knowledge to the chase; and it is in truth 
 a chase, furnishing both mental exercise and 
 mental health, in addition to the noble game 
 which the courageous and persevering obtain. 
 
 2 From the history of the philosopher’s life, he 
 
 this kind. Thus, when at Amsterdam, in 1617, 
 he collected together a little knot of friends, 
 among others, Limborch and Le Clerc; and on 
 his return to England, after the Revolution, he 
 again constructed a club, the rules of which have 
 been preserved. 
 
THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. Te 
 
 ingly let it go with a fault, so apt to disgust the most judicious, who are always 
 the nicest readers. But they who know sloth is apt to content itself with any 
 excuse, will pardon me if mine has prevailed on me, where I think I have a very 
 good one. I willnot therefore allege in my defence, that the same notion, having 
 different respects, may be convenient or necessary to prove or illustrate several 
 parts of the same discourse, and that so it has happened in many parts of this: 
 but waving that, I shall frankly avow that I have sometimes dwelt long upon the 
 same argument, and expressed it different ways, with a quite different design. I 
 pretend not to publish this essay for the information of men of large thoughts 
 and quick apprehensions; to such masters of knowledge I profess myself a 
 scholar, and therefore warn them beforehand not to expect anything here, but 
 what, being spun out of my own coarse thoughts, is fitted to men of my own size ; 
 to whom, perhaps, it will not be unacceptable that I have taken some pains to 
 make plain and familiar to their thoughts some truths which established preju- 
 dice or the abstractedness of the ideas themselves might render difficult. Some 
 objects had need be turned on every side; and when the notion is new, as I con- 
 fess some of these are to me, or out of the ordinary road, as I suspect they will 
 appear to others, it is not one simple view of it that will gain it admittance into 
 every understanding, or fix it there with a clear and lasting impression. 
 
 There are few, I believe, who have not observed in themselves or others, that 
 what in one way of proposing was very obscure, another way of expressing it has 
 made very clear and intelligible; though afterwards the mind found little dif- 
 ference in the phrases, and wondered why one failed to be understood more than 
 the other. But everything does not hit alike upon every man’s imagination. 
 We have our understandings no less different than our palates; and he that 
 thinks the same truth shall be equally relished by every one in the same dress, 
 - may as well hope to feast every one with the same sort of cookery: the meat may 
 be the same, and the nourishment good, yet every one not be able to receive it 
 with that seasoning; and it must be dressed another way, if you will have it go 
 down with some, even of strong constitutions. The truth is, those who advised 
 me to publish it, advised me, for this reason, to publish it as it is: and since I have 
 been brought to let it go abroad, I desire it should be understood by whoever gives 
 himself the pains to read it. I have so little affection to be in print, that if I were 
 not flattered this essay might be of some use to others, as I think it has been to 
 me, I should have confined it to the view of some friends, who gave the first 
 occasion to it. My appearing therefore in print being on purpose to be as useful 
 as I may, I think it necessary to make what I have to say as easy and intelligible 
 to all sorts of readers as I can. And I had much rather the speculative and 
 quick-sighted should complain of my being in some parts tedious, than that any 
 one, not accustomed to abstract speculations, or prepossessed with different notions, 
 should mistake or not comprehend my meaning. 
 
 It will possibly be censured as a great piece of vanity or insolence in me, to pretend 
 to instruct this our knowing age; it amounting to little less, when I own, that I 
 publish this essay with hopes it may be useful to others. Butif it may be per- 
 mitted to speak freely of those who with a feigned modesty condemn as useless 
 what they themselves write, methinks it savours much more of vanity or insolence 
 to publish a book for any other end; and he fails very much of that respect he 
 owes the public, who prints, and consequently expects men should read, that 
 wherein he intends not they should meet with anything of use to themselves or 
 others: and should nothing else be found allowable in this treatise, yet my de- 
 sign will not cease to be so; and the goodness of my intention ought to be some 
 excuse for the worthlessness of my present. It is that chiefly which secures me 
 from the fear of censure, which I expect not to escape more than better writers. 
 Men’s principles, notions, and relishes are so different, that it is hard to find a 
 book which pleases or displeases all men. I acknowledge the age we live in is 
 not the least knowing, and therefore not the most easy to be satishied. If I have 
 
74. THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 
 
 not the good luck to please, yet nobody ought to be offended with me. I plainly 
 tell all my readers, except half a dozen, this treatise was not at first intended for 
 them; and therefore they need not be at the trouble to be of that number. But 
 yet if any one thinks fit to be angry and rail at it, he may do it securely, for I 
 shall find some better way of spending my time than in such kind of conversation.' 
 I shall always have the satisfaction to have aimed sincerely at truth and useful- 
 ness, though in one of the meanest ways. The commonwealth of learning is not 
 at this time without master-builders, whose mighty designs, in advancing the 
 sciences, will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of posterity; but every 
 one must not hope to be a Boyle or a Sydenham: and in an age that produces 
 such masters as the great Huygenius and the incomparable Mr. Newton, with 
 some others of that strain, it is ambition enough to be employed as an under- 
 labourer in clearing the ground a little, and removing some of the rubbish that 
 lies in the way to knowledge; which certainly had been very much more 
 advanced in the world, if the endeavours of ingenious and industrious men had 
 not been much cumbered with the learned but frivolous use of uncouth, affected, 
 or unintelligible terms, introduced into the sciences, and there made an art of, to 
 that degree that philosophy, which is nothing but the true knowledge of things,? 
 was thought unfit or incapable to be brought into well-bred company and polite con- 
 versation. Vague and insignificant forms of speech and abuse of language have 
 so long passed for mysteries of science, and hard and misapplied words, with little 
 or no meaning, have, by prescription, such a right to be mistaken for deep learn- 
 ing and height of speculation, that it will not be easy to persuade either those 
 who speak or those who hear them that they are but the covers of ignorance, and 
 hindrance of true knowledge. To break in upon the sanctuary of vanity and 
 ignorance will be, I suppose, some service to human understanding; though so 
 few are apt to think they deceive or are deceived in the use of words, or that the 
 language of the sect they are of has any faults in it which ought to be examined 
 or corrected, that I hope I shall be pardoned if [ have in the third. book dwelt 
 long on this subject, and endeavoured to make it so plain that neither the invete- 
 rateness of the mischief nor the prevalence of the fashion shall be any excuse for 
 those who will not take care about the meaning of their own words, and will not” 
 suffer the significancy of their expressions to be inquired into. 
 
 co) . e 
 I have been told that a short epitome of this treatise, which was printed in 
 
 1 When Locke made the above resolution, and 
 profession of stoicism, he was no doubt sincere, 
 but when Stillingfleet attacked the Essay, and 
 professed to discover in it the germs of most 
 dangerous tenets, the philosopher found it im- 
 possible to mail his breast with apathy, entered 
 warmly into a controversy with him, and. de- 
 fended both himself and his work with a viva- 
 city, a logical subtilty, and with a strain some- 
 times of keen and biting irony, which the reader 
 cannot fail to admire when he comes to peruse 
 the letters to the Bishop of Worcester in the 
 present collection. It may generally indeed be 
 remarked, that in proportion to the strength of a 
 man’s convictions will be his ardour in defending 
 them, unless his resolution be overborne by other 
 considerations. 
 
 ? Abraham Tucker, with a view substantially 
 the same, but narrower, observes that ‘ philoso- 
 phy may be styled the art of marshalling the 
 ideas in the understanding.” Thisisa definition 
 of logic, an important branch of philosophy, 
 which excludes, however, that other art, whose 
 business it is to introduce ideas into the under- 
 standing. The ideas once there, the object of 
 
 philosophy is what Tucker states it to be; his de- 
 finition, therefore, though imperfect, is not false. 
 
 ° Hobbes had already, in his controversy with 
 Bishop Bramhall, exposed the folly and absurdity 
 of this learned jargon. The passages, however, in 
 which this is done are too many to be here quoted ; 
 but for the reader’s amusement I subjoin a single 
 specimen, remarking by the way that some of the 
 terms to which he objects have since been allowed 
 to become part of our language. ‘‘ Let the na- 
 tural philosopher no more mention his ¢ntentional 
 species, his understanding agent and patient, his 
 receptive and eductive power of the matter, his 
 qualities infuse or influxe, symbole or dissym- 
 bole, his temperament ad pondusandad justitiam. 
 He may keep his parts homogeneous and hetero- 
 geneous; but his sympathies and antipathies, his 
 antiperistasis, and the like, names of excuses rather 
 than of causes, I would have him fling away. And 
 for the astrologer (unless he means astronomer), 
 I would have him throw away his whole trade; 
 but if he mean astronomer, then the terms of 
 apogeum and perigeum, arctic, antarctic, equa- 
 tor, zodiac, zenith, meridian, horizon, zones, are 
 no more terms of art in astronomy than a saw 
 or a hatchet in the art of a carpenter.” (Treatise 
 on Liberty and Necessity. Lond. 1812. Supple- 
 ment, p. 196 et seq.; see too p. 117.) 
 
THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. v3) 
 
 1688, was by some condemned without reading, because innate ideas were denied 
 in it; they too hastily concluding, that if innate ideas were not supposed, there 
 would be little left either of the notion or proof of spirits. If any one take the 
 like offence at the entrance of this treatise, I shall desire him to read it through ; 
 and then I hope he will be convinced that the taking away false foundations is not 
 to the prejudice but advantage of truth, which is never injured or endangered so 
 much as when mixed with or built on falsehood. In the second edition I added 
 as followeth: 
 
 The bookseller will not forgive me if I say nothing of this second edition, which 
 he has promised, by the correctness of it, shall make amends for the many faults 
 committed in the former.! He desires too that it should be known that it has 
 one whole new chapter concerning identity, and many additions and amendments 
 in other places. These I must inform my reader are not all new matter, but 
 most of them either further confirmations of what I had said, or explications, to 
 prevent others being mistaken in the sense of what was formerly printed, and not 
 any variation in me from it; I must only except the alterations I have made in 
 Book ii. chap. 21. 
 
 What I had there written concerning liberty and the will, I thought deserved as 
 accurate a view as I was capable of; those subjects having in all ages exercised 
 the learned part of the world with questions and difficulties that have not a little 
 perplexed morality and divinity, those parts of knowledge that men are most 
 concerned to be clear in. Upon a closer inspection into the working of men’s 
 minds, and a stricter examination of those motives and views they are turned by, 
 I have found reason somewhat to alter the thoughts I formerly had concerning 
 that which gives the last determination to the will in all voluntary actions. This 
 
 I cannot forbear to acknowledge to the world with as much freedom and readi- 
 “ness as I at first published what then seemed to me to be right; thinking myself 
 
 more concerned to quit and renounce any opinion of my own, than oppose that of 
 another, when truth appears against it. For it is truth alone I seek, and that 
 will always be welcome to me, when or from whencesoever it comes.” 
 
 But what forwardness soever I have to resign any opinion I have, or to recede 
 from anything I haye written, upon the first evidence of any error in it; yet this I 
 must own, that I have not had the good luck to receive any light from those 
 exceptions I have met with in print against any part of my book, nor have, from 
 anything that has been urged against it, found reason to alter my sense in any of the 
 points that have been questioned. Whether the subject I have in hand requires often 
 more thought and attention than cursory readers, at least such as are prepossessed, 
 are willing to allow; or whether any obscurity in my expressions casts a cloud 
 over it, and these notions are made difficult to others’ apprehensions in my way of 
 treating them; so it is, that my meaning, I find, is often mistaken, and I have 
 not the good luck to be everywhere rightly understood. There are so many 
 instances of this, that I think it justice to my reader and myself to conclude, that 
 either my book is plainly enough written to be rightly understood by those who 
 peruse it with that attention and indifferency,? which every one who will give him- 
 self the pains to read ought to employ in reading; or else that I have written mine 
 
 1 On the incorrect printing of the first edition 
 
 errarent, confessus est.’’ (B. iii. c. vi.) Stobaus 
 see Locke’s correspondence with Molineux, 
 
 has preserved a fine distich of Philippides, ex- 
 pressing the advantage to be derived from being 
 
 2 In this most honourable course of pleading | Convicted of error: 
 
 guilty to error, and exhibiting a readiness to be 
 corrected, Locke was preceded by two very great 
 men, Quintilian and Hippocrates, the former of 
 whom, in confessing some mistakes into which he 
 had been once betrayed, adduces as his exam- 
 ple the physician of Cos: ‘‘ Nam et Hippocra- 
 tes clarus arte medicine, videtur honestissime 
 fecisse, qui quosdam errores suos, ne posteri 
 
 “Or dy dpaprarye Tt, Xalop’ aTTwMpEvoc, 
 pdduora yao abrw overat To cuppépor. 
 i. 13. Gazsf. 
 This Grotius has elegantly rendered as follows : 
 ‘¢ Ne turpe vinci, si quid erraris, puta: 
 Hee namque vera est ad bonam frugem via.” 
 3 By this he means simply a freedom from 
 prejudice or prepossession. He who comes to 
 
76 THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 
 
 so obscurely that it is in vain to go about to mend it. Whichever of these be 
 the truth, it is myself only am affected thereby; and therefore I shall be far from 
 troubling my reader with what I think might be said in answer to those several 
 objections I have met with, to passages here and there of my book; since I 
 persuade myself that he who thinks them of moment enough to be concerned 
 whether they are true or false, will be able to see that what is said is either not 
 well founded, or else not contrary to my doctrine, when I and my opposer come 
 both to be well understood. 
 
 If any, careful that none of their good thoughts should be lost, have published 
 their censures of my Essay, with this honour done to it, that they will not suffer it 
 to be an essay, I leave it to the public to value the obligation they have to their 
 critical pens, and shall not waste my reader’s time in so idle or ill-natured an 
 employment of mine, as to lessen the satisfaction any one has in himself, or gives 
 to others, in so hasty a confutation of what I have written. . 
 
 The booksellers preparing for the fourth edition of my Essay, gave me notice 
 of it, that I might, if I had leisure, make any additions or alterations I should 
 think fit. Whereupon I thought it convenient to advertise the reader, that besides 
 several corrections I had made here and there, there was one alteration which it 
 was necessary to mention, because it ran through the whole book, and is of 
 consequence to be rightly understood. What I thereupon said was this: 
 
 Clear and distinct ideas are terms which, though familiar and frequent in men’s 
 mouths, I have reason to think every one who uses does not perfectly understand. 
 And possibly it is but here and there one who gives himself the trouble to consider 
 them so far as to know what he himself or others precisely mean by them: I 
 have therefore in most places chosen to put determinate or determined, instead of 
 clear and distinct, as more likely to direct men’s thoughts to my meaning in this 
 matter. By those denominations I mean some object in the mind, and conse- 
 quently determined, i.e. such as it is there seen and perceived to be. This, I 
 think, may fitly be called a determinate or determined idea, when such as it is at 
 any time objectively in the mind, and so determined there, it is annexed, and with- 
 out variation determined to a name or articulate sound, which is to be steadily the 
 sign of that very same object of the mind, or determinate idea. 
 
 To explain this a little more particularly. By determinate, when applied to a 
 simple idea, I mean that simple appearance which the mind has in its view, or 
 perceives in itself when that idea is said to be in it: by determinate, when applied 
 to a complex idea, I mean such an one as consists of a determinate number of 
 certain simple or less complex ideas, joined in such a proportion and situation as 
 the mind has before its view, and sees in itself, when that idea is present in it, or 
 should be present in it, when a man gives a name to it: I say should be, because 
 it is not every one, not perhaps any one, who is so careful of his language as to 
 use no word till he views in his mind the precise determined idea which he 
 resolves to make it the sign of. The want of this is the cause of no small 
 obscurity and confusion in men’s thoughts and discourses. 
 
 I know there are not words enough in any language to answer all the variety 
 of ideas that enter into men’s discourses and reasonings.’ But this hinders not 
 but that when any one uses any term, he may have in his mind a determined idea, 
 which he makes it the sign of, and to which he should keep it steadily annexed 
 during that present discourse. Where he does not, or cannot do this, he in vain 
 pretends to clear or distinct ideas: it is plain his are not so; and therefore there 
 
 the consideration of a subject without having | ofthe coarseness and poverty of our philosophical 
 
 adopted any theory on the question under con- | vocabulary. Perhaps, however, if proper pains 
 
 sideration, may be said to be enrdifferent; thatis, | were taken, this defect in language might be 
 
 to have no leaning to either side. remedied. In this, as in other things, itis ina 
 ’ Compare on this subject the remarks of Sir | great measure our indolence that is the cause of 
 
 James Mackintosh, (Ethical Philosophy, Intro- | our poverty. 
 
 duction, p. 49 et seq.) where he justly complains 
 
THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. DE 
 
 can be expected nothing but obscurity and confusion, where such terms are made 
 use of as have not such a precise determination. 
 
 Upon this ground [ have thought determined ideas a way of speaking less liable 
 to mistakes, than clear and distinct: and where men have got such determined 
 ideas of all that they reason, inquire, or argue about, they will find a great part 
 of their doubts and disputes at an end. The greatest part of the questions and 
 controversies that perplex mankind depending on the doubtful and uncertain use 
 of words, or (which is the same) indetermined ideas, which they are made to 
 stand for, I have made choice of these terms to signify: 1. Some immediate 
 object of the mind, which it perceives and has before it, distinct from the sound it 
 uses as a sign of it. 2. That this idea, thus determined, 1. e. which the mind has 
 in itself, and knows, and sees there, be determined without any change to that 
 name, and that name determined to that precise idea. If men had such deter- 
 mined ideas in their inquiries and discourses, they would both discern how far 
 their own inquiries and discourses went, and avoid the greatest part of the disputes 
 and wranglings they have with others. 
 
 Besides this, the bookseller will think it necessary I should advertise the reader 
 that there is an addition of two chapters wholly new; the one of the association 
 of ideas, the other of enthusiasm. These, with some other larger additions never 
 before printed, he has engaged to print by themselves after the same manner, and 
 for the same purpose, as was done when this Essay had the second impression. 
 
 In the sixth edition there is very little added or altered; the greatest part of 
 what is new is contained in the twenty-first chapter of the second book, which 
 any one, if he thinks it worth while, may, with a very little labour, transcribe into 
 the margin of the former edition. 
 
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OF 
 
 HAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 | CoH AcR boi Te: 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1. An Inquiry into the Understanding, pleasant and useful.—SIncE it is the 
 understanding that sets man above the rest of sensible beings, and gives him all 
 the advantage and dominion which he has over them, it is certainly a subject, 
 even for its nobleness, worth our labour to inquire into. The understanding, like 
 the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other things, takes no notice of 
 itself; and it requires art and pains to set it at a distance, and make it its own 
 object.1_ But whatever be the difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry ; 
 whatever it be that keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves; sure I am that 
 all the light we can let in upon our own minds, all the acquaintance we can make 
 with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great 
 advantage in directing our thoughts in the search of other things. 
 
 2. Design.—This therefore being my purpose, to inquire into the original, 
 certainty, and extent of human knowledge, together with the grounds and 
 degrees of belief, opinion, and assent, I shall not at present meddle with the 
 physical consideration of the mind, or trouble myself to examine wherein its 
 essence consists, or by what motions of our spirits or alterations of our bodies? 
 we come to have any sensation by our organs, or any ideas in our understandings ; 
 and whether those ideas do in their formation, any or all of them, depend on 
 matter or not. These are speculations which, however curious and entertaining, 
 I shall decline, as lying out of my way im the design I am now upon.’ It shall 
 suffice to my present purpose to consider the discerning faculties of a man, as 
 they are employed about the objects which they have to do with. And I shall 
 imagine I have not wholly misemployed myself in the thoughts I shall have on 
 this occasion, if, in this historical, plain method, I can give any account of the 
 
 1 Compare with this the opinion of Arrian, who, | pher in his treatise on Human Nature, where he 
 in his Commentary on the Enchiridion of Epic- | says, ‘‘ Image or colour is but an apparition unto 
 tetus, remarks, that the reasoning power in man | us of the motion, agitation, or alteration which 
 (1) Ovvapee 1) NoyeKy) is the only faculty which | the object worketh in the brain, or spirits, or 
 takes cognizance of itself, and comprehends its | some internal substance of the head.” (Ch. ii. 4.) 
 
 own nature, office, and worth, as well as those of 8 Dugald Stewart, whose philosophical reading 
 all the other faculties. (Com. in Epict. Ench. | was very extensive, observes upon this passage, 
 Db: i.-p. 2.5% ‘“‘Tt is much to be wished that Mr. Locke had 
 
 2 Locke, though he does not herename Hobbes, | adhered invariably to this wise resolution.” 
 nevertheless refers to his speculations, almost | (Phil. Essays, Prel. Dissert. p. 5.) 
 making use of the very language of that philoso- 
 
80 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 ways, whereby our understandings come to attain those notions of things we 
 have, and can set down any measures of the certainty of our knowledge, or the 
 crounds of those persuasions which are to be found amongst men, so various, 
 different, and wholly contradictory; and yet asserted. somewhere or other with 
 such assurance and confidence, that he that shall take a view of the opinions of 
 mankind, observe their opposition, and at the same time consider the fondness 
 and devotion wherewith they are embraced, the resolution and eagerness where- 
 with they are maintained, may perhaps have reason to suspect that either there 
 is no such thing as truth at all, or that mankind hath no sufficient means to 
 attain a certain knowledge of it.1 
 
 3. Method.—It is therefore worth while to search out the bounds between 
 opinion and knowledge, and examine by what measures in things, whereof we 
 have no certain knowledge, we ought to regulate our assent and moderate our 
 persuasions. In order whereunto I shall pursue this following method. 
 
 First, I shall inquire into the original of those ideas, notions, or whatever else 
 you please to call them, which a man observes, and is conscious to himself he has 
 in his mind; and the ways whereby the understanding comes to be furnished with 
 them. 
 
 Secondly, I shall endeavour to show what knowledge the understanding hath 
 by those ideas, and the certainty, evidence, and extent of it. 
 
 Thirdly, I shall make some inquiry into the nature and grounds of faith, or 
 opinion; whereby I mean that assent which we give to any proposition as true, 
 of whose truth yet we have no certain knowledge; and here we shall have occa- 
 sion to examine the reasons and degrees of assent. 
 
 4. Useful to know the Extent of our Comprehension.—-If by this inquiry into 
 the nature of the understanding I can discover the powers thereof, how far they 
 reach, to what things they are in any degree proportionate, and where they fail 
 us, I suppose it may be of use to prevail with the busy mind of man to be more 
 cautious in meddling with things exceeding its comprehension; to stop when it 
 is at the utmost extent of its tether; and to sit down in a quiet ignorance of those 
 things which, upon examination, are found to be beyond the reach of our capa- 
 cities.2. We should not then perhaps be so forward, out of an affectation of an 
 universal knowledge, to raise questions, and perplex ourselves and others with 
 disputes about things to which our understandings are not suited, and of which 
 we cannot frame in our minds any clear or distinct perceptions, or whereof (as it 
 has perhaps too often happened) we have not any notions at all. If we can find 
 out how far the understanding can extend its view, how far it has faculties to 
 attain certainty, and in what cases it can only judge and guess, we may learn to 
 content ourselves with what is attamable by us in this state. 
 
 i This was the opinion of those sophists who 
 maintained that men may dispute equally well on 
 both sides of a question; for if truth can be dis- 
 covered, and we be able to know with certainty 
 when we possess it, the moment this discovery is 
 made must be the term of all honest disputation ; 
 but if probability be all we can attain to on any 
 subject, there is room for everlasting contention. 
 (Vid. Geel. Hist. Soph. cap. vi. p. 25.) Montaigne 
 has in his Essays a very fine passage on the search 
 after truth, and the question whether it be pos- 
 sible or not to discover it. ‘‘Si me faut-il voir 
 enfin, s’il est en la puissance de homme de trouver 
 ce qu il cherche: et si cette quéte, qu'il y a employé 
 depuis tant de siécles, Pa enrichy de quelque 
 nouvelle force, et de quelque vérité solide ; je crois 
 quw’il me confessera, s’il parle en conscience, que 
 tout ’acquét qwil a retiré d’une si longue pour- 
 suite, c’est d’avoir appris 4 recognoitre sa foi- 
 blesse. L’ignorance qui estoit naturellement en 
 nous, nous l’avons par longue étude confirmée et 
 
 averée. Il est advenu aux gens véritablement 
 scavans, ce que advient aux épis de bled: ils vont 
 s’élevant et se haussant la téte droite et fiére, tant 
 quwils sont vuides; mais quand ils sont pleins et 
 grossis de grain en leur maturité, ils commence- 
 roit a s’humilier et baisser les cornes. Pareil- 
 lement, les hommes, ayant tout essayé, tout 
 sondé, et n’ayant trouvé en cet amas de science 
 et provision de tant de choses diverses, rien de 
 massif et de ferme, et rien que vanité, ils ont 
 renoncé a leur présomption et reconnu leur con- 
 dition naturelle.” (t. v. p. 10 et seq.) 
 
 2 That, with the history of philosophy before 
 him, Locke should have hoped so much, is scarcely 
 
 .to be credited. Indeed, to sit down in quiet igno- 
 
 rance of anything is contrary to our nature; 
 though, as in my notes to the ‘‘ Religio Medici’’ 
 T have already observed, it is quite possible waste- 
 fully to expend in mere curious investigation a 
 world of industry and ingenuity. 
 
CHAP. I. | INTRODUCTION. 81 
 
 5. Our Capacity suited to our State and Concerns.—For though the compre- 
 hension of our understandings comes exceeding short of the vast extent of things, 
 yet we shall have cause enough to magnify the bountiful Author of our being, for 
 that proportion and degree of knowledge he has bestowed on us, so far above all 
 the rest of the inhabitants of this our mansion. Men have reason to be well satis- 
 fied with what God hath thought fit for them, since he hath given them (as St. 
 Peter! says) ravra mode wiv kai evoéEccav, whatsoever is necessary for the con- 
 veniences of life and information of virtue; and has put within the reach of their 
 discovery the comfortable provision for this life, and the way that leads to a 
 better. How short soever their knowledge may come of an universal or perfect 
 comprehension of whatsoever is, it yet secures their great concernments, that they 
 have light enough to lead them to the knowledge of their Maker and the sight 
 of their own duties. Men may find matter sufficient to busy their heads, and em- 
 ploy their hands with variety, delight, and satisfaction, if they will not boldly 
 quarrel with their own constitution, and throw away the blessings their hands are 
 
 filled with because they are not big enough to grasp everything. We shall not 
 have much reason to complain of the narrowness of our minds, if we will but 
 employ them about what may be of use to us; for of that they are very capable: 
 and it will be an unpardonable, as well as childish peevishness, if we undervalue 
 the advantages of our knowledge, and neglect to improve it to the ends for which 
 it was given us, because there are some things that are set out of the reach of it. 
 It will be no excuse to an idle and untoward servant, who would not attend his 
 business by candlelight, to plead that he had not broad sunshine. The candle 
 that is set up in us shines bright enough for all our purposes.” The discoveries 
 we can make with this ought to satisfy us; and we shall then use our under- 
 standings right, when we entertain all objects in that way and proportion that 
 they are suited to our faculties, and upon those grounds they are capable of being 
 proposed to us; and not peremptorily or intemperately require demonstration, 
 and demand certainty, where probability only is to be had, and which is sufficient 
 to govern all our concernments. If we will disbelieve everything because we 
 cannot certainly know all things, we shall do muchwhat as wisely as he who 
 would not use his legs, but sit still and perish, because he had no wings to fly. 
 
 6. Knowledge of our Capacity a Cure of Scepticism and Idleness.—When we 
 know our own strength, we shall the better know what to undertake with hopes 
 of success ;> and when we have well surveyed the powers of our own minds, and 
 made some estimate what we may expect from them, we shall not be inclined 
 either to sit still, and not set our thoughts on work at all, in despair of knowing 
 anything; or, on the other side, question everything, and disclaim all knowledge, 
 because some things are not to be understood. It is of great use to the sailor to 
 know the length of his line, though he cannot with it fathom all the depths of the 
 ocean. It is well he knows that it is long enough to reach the bottom, at such 
 
 places as are necessary to direct his voyage, and caution him against running 
 
 1 Epist. ii. 8, where consult the excellent note 
 of the Rev. Mr. Trollope, in his Greek Testa- 
 ment, p. 500. 
 
 2 The reader who considers the sound sense 
 and unaffected piety of this passage, will, J am 
 sure, acknowledge it to be a sufficient answer to 
 all those invectives against human nature which 
 satirists have in every age put forward; for if 
 man’s faculties be suited to ‘his condition, and 
 supply every rational want of his nature, they are 
 far too dignified to be made the subject of raillery, 
 which, with whatever art it may be disguised, is 
 not directed against man, but against the Maker 
 of man. On the sufficiency, in a religious point 
 of view, of reason and conscience, Bishop Butler 
 has a fine passage, which the reader will not be 
 
 sorry to find inserted here. ‘‘ Nothing,”’ observes 
 his lordship, ‘‘ can be more evident than that, 
 exclusive of revelation, man cannot be considered 
 as a creature left by his Maker to act at random, 
 and live at large up to the extent of his natural 
 powers, as passion, humour, wilfulness happen 
 to carry him; which is the condition brute 
 creatures are in; but that, from his make, consti- 
 tution, or nature, he is, in the strictest and most 
 proper sense, a lawto himself. He hath the rule 
 of right within; what is wanting is only that he 
 honestly attend to it.” (8rd Sermon on Human 
 Nature, p. 69.) 
 
 3Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, equam 
 
 Viribus, et versate diu quid ferre recusent, 
 
 Quid valeant humeri.’”’—Hor. Avs Poet. 388—40. 
 
 G 
 
 cr 
 
82 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 upon shoals that may ruin him. Our business here is not to know all things, but 
 those which concern our conduct. If we can find out those measures, whereby a 
 rational creature, put in that state in which man is in this world, may and ought 
 to govern his opinions and actions depending thereon, we need not to be troubled 
 that some other things escape our knowledge. 
 
 7. Occasion of this Essay.—This was that which gave the first rise to this 
 essay concerning the understanding. For I thought that the first step towards 
 satisfying several inquiries the mind of man was very apt to run into, was to 
 take a view of our own understandings, examine our own powers, and see to 
 what things they were adapted. ‘Till that was done I suspected we began at the 
 wrong end, and in vain sought for satisfaction in a quiet and sure possession of 
 truths that most concerned us, whilst we let loose our thoughts into the vast 
 ocean of being; as if all that boundless extent were the natural and undoubted 
 possession of our understandings, wherein there was nothing exempt from its de- 
 cisions, or that escaped its comprehension. Thus men extending their inquiries 
 beyond their capacities, and letting their thoughts wander into those depths 
 where they can find no sure footing, it is no wonder that they raise questions 
 and multiply disputes, which, never coming to any clear resolution, are proper 
 only to continue and increase their doubts, and to confirm them at last in perfect 
 scepticism. Whereas, were the capacities of our understandings well considered, 
 the extent of our knowledge once discovered, and the horizon found which sets 
 the bounds between the enlightened and dark parts of things, between what is and 
 what is not comprehensible by us, men would perhaps, with less scruple, acqui- 
 esce in the avowed ignorance of the one, and employ their thoughts and discourse 
 with more advantage and satisfaction in the other. 
 
 8. What Idea stands for.—Thus much I thought necessary to say concerning 
 the occasion of this inquiry into human understanding. But, before I proceed on 
 to what I have thought on this subject, I must here in the entrance beg pardon 
 of my reader for the frequent use of the word ‘idea,’ ' which he will find in the 
 following treatise. It being that term, which, I think, serves best to stand for 
 whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks, I have used it 
 to express whatever is meant by phantasm, notion, species, or whatever it is 
 which the mind can be employed about in thinking; and I could not avoid fre- 
 quently using it. 
 
 I presume it will be easily granted me, that there are such ideas in men’s 
 minds; every one is conscious of them in himself, and men’s words and actions 
 will satisfy him that they are in others. 
 
 Our first inquiry then shall be, how they come into the mind. 
 
 CHAPTER IL. 
 
 NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 
 
 1. The way shown how we come by any Knowledge, sufficient to prove it not 
 innate.—IT is an established opinion amongst some men,’ that there are in the 
 
 1 Locke was not, however, the first writer who 
 employed the term ‘ idea’”’ with such a signifi- 
 cation in our language. Hobbes had used it, 
 (Human Nature, c.i.§ 7.) and so had Sir Thomas 
 Browne (Religio Medici, p. 24.); but as in them 
 it occurred but casually, and was visibly connected 
 
 with no system, the world allowed it to pass un- 
 questioned. The reader will find Locke’s own de- 
 fence of the word in his Letters to the Bishop of 
 Worcester. In Miltonit is synonymous with form. 
 (Apology for his Early Life and Writings, p. 72.) 
 
 ? By “some men” Locke here appears to al- 
 
 | 
 
CHAP. IL.] NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 83 
 
 understanding certain innate principles; some primary notions, kocvat evvoudt, 
 characters, as it were, stamped upon the mind of man, which the soul receives in 
 its very first being, and brings into the world with it. It would be sufficient to 
 convince unprejudiced readers of the falseness of this supposition, if I should only 
 show (as I hope I shall in the following parts of this discourse) how men, barely 
 by the use of their natural faculties, may attain to all the knowledge they have, 
 without the help of any innate impressions, and may arrive at certainty, without 
 any such original notions or principles. For I imagine any one will easily grant 
 that it would be impertinent to suppose the ideas of colours innate in a creature 
 
 to whom God hath given sight, and a power to receive them by the eyes from 
 external objects: and no less unreasonable would it be to attribute several truths 
 to the impressions of nature and innate characters, when we may observe in our- 
 
 selves faculties fit to attain as easy and certain knowledge of them, as if they were 
 originally imprinted on the mind. 
 
 But because a man is not permitted without censure to follow his own thoughts 
 in the search of truth, when they lead him ever so little out of the common road, 
 I shall set down the reasons that made me doubt of the truth of that opinion, as 
 an excuse for my mistake, if I be in one; which I leave to be considered by those 
 who, with me, dispose themselves to embrace truth wherever they find it. 
 
 2. General Assent the great Argument.—There is nothing more commonly 
 taken for granted than that there are certain principles, both speculative and 
 practical, ( for they speak of both,) universally agreed upon by all mankind, which 
 therefore, they argue, must needs be constant impressions, which the souls of men 
 receive in their first beings, and which they bring into the world with them, as 
 necessarily and really as they do any of their inherent faculties. 
 
 3. Universal Consent proves nothing innate.—This argument, drawn from 
 universal consent, has this misfortune in it, that if it were true in matter of fact, 
 that there were certain truths wherein all mankind agreed, it would not prove 
 them innate, if there can be any other way shown how men may come to 
 that universal agreement in the things they do consent in, which I presume 
 may be done. 
 
 4. “ What is, is,” and “it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be,” 
 not universally assented to.— But, which is worse, this argument of universal con- 
 sent, which is made use of to prove innate principles, seems to me a demonstration 
 that there are none such; because there are none to which all mankind give an 
 universal assent. I shall begin with the speculative, and instance in those mag- 
 nified principles of demonstration, “‘ whatsoever is, is,” and “ it is impossible 
 for the same thing to be and not to be 3” which, of all others,’ I think have the 
 most allowed title to innate. These have so settled a reputation of maxims uni- 
 versally received, that it will no doubt be thought strange if any one should seem 
 to question it. But yet I take liberty to say, that these propositions are so far 
 from having an universal assent, that there are a great part of mankind to whom 
 they are not so much as known. 
 
 5. Not on the Mind naturally imprinted, because not known to Children, 
 
 lude more particularly to Descartes and his | son’s able translation; ‘“‘ Buhle, Histoire de la 
 
 followers, De la Forge, Claude de Clerselier, Ro- 
 hault, Regis, &c. Descartes, it is well known, 
 
 divided our ideas into three classes ; those ac- 
 quired through the medium of the senses, those 
 which the mind by reflection creates, and those 
 which are born with us or are innate. Of these, 
 Locke, it will be seen, rejects the last, proving 
 sensation and reflection to be the only fountains 
 of all we know. They who desire to enter his- 
 torically or otherwise into a thorough investiga- 
 tion of this subject may consult, in the first 
 place, Tennemann’s ‘‘ Manual of the History of 
 Philosophy,” § 336 et seq. of the Rev. Mr. John- 
 
 Philosophie Moderne,” t. iv. p. 201—3880, but 
 more particularly p. 204 et seq.; Hume’s Es- 
 says, 4to, p. 269—272, particularly the note (a), 
 which the reader will find in page 89, and com- 
 pare with them Berkeley’s ‘“ Three Dialogues, 
 between Hylas and Philonous,” Works, vol. i. p. 
 109 et seq. with Buhle’s admirable Analysis of 
 his Philosophy, t. v. p. 76—176, and Tenne- 
 mann’s Manual, § 340. 
 
 1 A solecism found in most persons’ mouths, 
 not unlike that of Milton: 
 
 ‘¢ Adam, the noblest man of men since born, 
 
 His sons, the fairest of her daughters, Eve.” 
 
 a2 
 
84 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 Idiots, &c.—For, first, it is evident that all children and idiots have not the least 
 apprehension or thought of them; and the want of that is enough to destroy that 
 universal assent which must needs be the necessary concomitant of all innate 
 truths: it seeming to me near a contradiction to say that there are truths imprinted 
 on the soul which it perceives or understands not; imprinting, if it signify any- 
 thing, being nothing else but the making certain truths to be perceived. For to 
 imprint anything on the mind without the mind's perceiving it, seems to me 
 hardly intelligible. If therefore children and idiots have souls, have minds, with 
 those impressions upon them, they must unavoidably perceive them, and neces- 
 sarily know and assent to these truths; which since they do not, it is evident that 
 there are no such impressions. For if they are not notions naturally imprinted, 
 how can they be innate? and if they are notions imprinted, how can they be 
 unknown? ‘To say a notion is imprinted on the mind, and yet at the same time 
 to say that the mind is ignorant of it, and never yet took notice of it, is to make 
 this impression nothing. No proposition can be said to be in the mind which it 
 never yet knew, which it was never yet conscious of. For if any one may, then, by 
 the same reason, all propositions that are true, and the mind is capable of ever 
 assenting to, may be said to be in the mind, and to be imprinted: since, if any one 
 can be said to be in the mind, which it never yet knew, it must be only because 
 it is capable of knowing it, and so the mind is of all truths it ever shall know. 
 Nay, thus truths may be imprinted on the mind which it never did nor ever shall 
 know ; for a man may live long, and die at last in ignorance of many truths which 
 his mind was capable of knowing, and that with certainty. So that if the capacity 
 of knowing be the natural impression contended for, all the truths a man ever 
 comes to know will, by this account, be every one of them innate; and this great 
 point will amount to no more, but only to a very improper way of speaking ; 
 which, whilst it pretends to assert the contrary, says nothing different from those 
 who deny innate principles. For nobody, I think, ever denied that the mind was 
 capable of knowing several truths. The capacity, they say, is innate, the know- 
 ledge acquired. But then to what end such contest for certain innate maxims? 
 If truths can be imprinted on the understanding without being perceived, I can 
 see no difference there can be between any truths the mind is capable of knowing 
 in respect of their original: they must all be innate or all adventitious: im vain 
 shall a man go about to distinguish them. He therefore that talks of innate 
 notions in the understanding, cannot (if he intend thereby any distinct sort of 
 truths) mean such truths to be in the understanding as it never perceived, and is 
 yet wholly ignorant of. For if these words (to be in the understanding) have any 
 propriety, they signify to be understood; so that to be in the understanding and 
 not to be understood, to be in the mind and never to be perceived, is all one as 
 to say anything is and is not in the mind or understanding. If therefore these 
 two propositions, “‘ whatsoever is, is,” and “it is impossible for the same thing to 
 be and not to be,” are by nature imprinted, children cannot be ignorant of them ; 
 infants, and all that have souls, must necessarily have them in their understandings, 
 know the truth of them, and assent to it. 
 
 6. That Men know them when they come to the Use of Reason, answered.— 
 To avoid this, it is usually answered, that all men know and assent to them, 
 when they come to the use of reason, and this is enough to prove them innate. 
 I answer: 
 
 7. Doubtful expressions, that have scarce any signification, go for clear reasons 
 to those who, being prepossessed, take not the pains to examine even what they 
 themselves say. For, to apply this answer with any tolerable sense to our present 
 purpose, it must signify one of these two things; either that as soon as men 
 come to the use of reason these supposed native inscriptions come to be known 
 and observed by them, or else that the use and exercise of men’s reason assists 
 
 them in the discovery of these principles, and certainly makes them known 
 to them. 
 
CHAP. II. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 85 
 
 8. If Reason discovered them, that would not prove them innate.—If they 
 mean, that by the use of reason men may discover these principles, and that this 
 is sufficient to prove them innate, their way of arguing will stand thus, viz. 
 that whatever truths reason can certainly discover to us, and make us firmly 
 assent to, those are all naturally imprinted on the mind; since that universal 
 assent, which is made the mark of them, amounts to no more but this, that by 
 the use of reason we are capable to come to a certain knowledge of and assent to 
 them ; and, by this means, there will be no difference between the maxims of the 
 mathematicians, and theorems they deduce from them; all must be equally 
 allowed innate, they being all discoveries made by the use of reason, and truths 
 that a rational creature may certainly come to know, if he apply his thoughts 
 rightly that way. | 
 
 9. It is false that Reason discovers them.—But how can these men think the 
 use of reason necessary to discover principles that are supposed innate, when 
 reason (if we may believe them) is nothing else but the faculty of deducing 
 unknown truths from principles or propositions that are already known? That 
 certainly can never be thought innate which we have need of reason to discover ; 
 unless, as I have said, we will have all the certain truths that reason ever teaches 
 us, to be innate. We may as well think the use of reason necessary to make our 
 eyes discover visible objects, as that there should be need of reason, or the exer- 
 cise thereof, to make the understanding see what is originally engraven on it, and 
 cannot be in the understanding before it be perceived by it. So that to make 
 reason discover those truths thus imprinted, is to say that the use of reason dis- 
 covers to a man what he knew before: and if men have those innate impressed 
 truths originally, and before the use of reason, and yet are always ignorant of 
 them till they come to the use of reason, it is in effect to say, that men know 
 - and know them not at the same time. 
 
 10. It will here perhaps be said that mathematical demonstrations, and other 
 truths that are not innate, are not assented to as soon as proposed, wherein they 
 are distinguished from these maxims and other innate truths. I shall have occa- 
 sion to speak of assent, upon the first proposing, more particularly by and by. 
 I shall here only, and that very readily, allow, that these maxims and mathema- 
 tical demonstrations are in this different, that the one have need of reason, using 
 of proofs, to make them out and to gain our assent; but the other, as soon as 
 understood, are, without any the least reasoning, embraced and assented to. But 
 I withal beg leave to observe, that it lays open the weakness of this subterfuge, 
 which requires the use of reason for the discovery of these general truths; since 
 it must be confessed that in their discovery there is no use made of reasoning at 
 all.t And I think those who give this answer will not be forward to affirm that 
 the knowledge of this maxim, “that it is impossible for the same thing to be and 
 not to be,” is a deduction of our reason. For this would be to destroy that bounty 
 of nature they seem so fond of, whilst they make the knowledge of those principles 
 to depend on the labour of our thoughts. For all reasoning is search, and casting 
 about, and requires pains and application. And how can it with any tolerable 
 sense be supposed, that what was imprinted by nature, as the foundation and 
 guide of our reason, should need the use of reason to discover it? 
 
 11. Those who will take the pains to reflect with a little attention on the opera- 
 tions of the understanding, will find that this ready assent of the mind to some 
 truths, depends not either on native inscription or the use of reason, but on a 
 faculty of the mind quite distinct from both of them, as we shall see hereafter. 
 Reason, therefore, having nothing to do in procuring our assent to these maxims, 
 if by saying, that men know and assent to them, when they come to the use of 
 
 1 This is, I think, a mistake: the reason is | persons irrational as to those endued with reason, 
 consulted, but the matter being easy, it decides | which they are not. 
 rapidly. Otherwise they would be as evident to 
 
86 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 reason, be meant, that the use of reason assists us in the knowledge of these maxims, 
 it is utterly false; and were it true, would prove them not to be innate. 
 
 12. The coming to the Use of Reason not the Time we come to know these 
 Maxims.—If by knowing and assenting to them when we come to the use of 
 reason, be meant, that this is the time when they come to be taken notice of by 
 the mind; and that as soon as children come to the use of reason, they come also 
 to know and assent to these maxims; this also is false and frivolous. First, it is 
 false, because it is evident these maxims are not in the mind so early as the use 
 of reason ; and therefore the coming to the use of reason is falsely assigned as the 
 time of their discovery. How many instances of the use of reason may we 
 observe in children, a long time before they have any knowledge of this maxim, 
 ‘“‘ that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be”! And a great 
 part of illiterate people and savages pass many years, even of their rational age, 
 without ever thinking on this and the like general propositions.’ I grant, men 
 come not to the knowledge of these general and more abstract truths, which are, 
 thought innate, till they come to the use of reason; and I add, nor then neither. 
 Which is so because, till after they come to the use of reason, those general 
 abstract ideas are not framed in the mind, about which those general maxims are, 
 which are mistaken for innate principles; but are indeed discoveries made and 
 verities introduced and brought into the mind by the same way, and discovered 
 by the same steps, as several other propositions which nobody was ever so extra- 
 vagant as to suppose innate. This I hope to make plain in the sequel of this 
 discourse. I allow therefore a necessity that men should come to the use of 
 reason before they get the knowledge of those general truths, but deny that men’s 
 coming to the use of reason is the time of their discovery. 4 
 
 13. By this they are not distinguished from other knowable Truths.—In the 
 mean time it is observable, that this saying, that men know and assent to these 
 maxims when they come to the use of reason, amounts in reality of fact to no 
 more but this, that they are never known nor taken notice of before the use of 
 reason, but may possibly be assented to some time after, during a man’s life; but 
 when is uncertain: and so may all other knowable truths, as well as these, which 
 therefore have no advantage nor distinction from others by this note of being 
 known when we come to the use of reason, nor are thereby proved to be innate, 
 but quite the contrary. 
 
 14. If coming to the Use of Reason were the Time of their Discovery, it would 
 not prove them innate.— But, secondly, were it true, that the precise time of their 
 being known and assented to were when men come to the use of reason, neither 
 would that prove them innate. This way of arguing is as frivolous as the 
 supposition itself is false. For by what kind of logic will it appear that any 
 notion is originally by nature imprinted in the mind in its first constitution, because 
 it comes first to be observed and assented to when a faculty of the mind, which 
 has quite a distinct province, begins to exert itself? And therefore the coming 
 to the use of speech, if it were supposed the time that these maxims are first 
 assented to, (which it may be with as much truth as the time when men come to 
 the use of reason,) would be as good a proof that they were innate, as to say they 
 
 1 Wolf, countenanced by Leibnitz, maintained 
 in Germany, long after the death of Locke, the 
 doctrine of innate ideas, and invented a very 
 ingenious system in support of it. In his Logic, 
 however, he states the question hypothetically, 
 observing, ‘‘ Whether our notions of external 
 things are conveyed into the soul, as into an 
 empty receptacle, or whether rather they lie not 
 buried, as it were, in the essence of the soul, and 
 are brought forth barely by his own powers, on 
 occasion of the changes produced in our bodies 
 by external objects, is a question at present 
 
 foreign to this place. In my ‘Thoughts on God 
 and the Human Soul,’ chap. v., I shall there only 
 be able to show, that the last opinion is the more 
 agreeable to truth.” (Logic, c. i. § 6.) Wolf 
 would probably, consistently with the above pas- 
 sage, have explained the ignorance of the savages 
 in the text, by supposing that the ideas originally 
 imprinted on their minds can only be brought to 
 light by circumstances, as secret characters or 
 writing sometimes become not visible until they 
 ra been breathed upon or exposed to the 
 re: 
 
CHAP. II.] NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 87 
 
 are innate because men assent to them when they come to the use of reason. I 
 agree then with these men of innate principles, that there is no knowledge of these 
 general and self-evident maxims in the mind till it comes to the exercise of 
 reason ; but I deny that the coming to the use of reason is the precise time when 
 they are first taken notice of; and if that were the precise time, I deny that it would 
 prove them innate. All that can with any truth be meant by this proposition, 
 that men assent to them when they come to the use of reason, is no more but this, 
 that the making of general abstract ideas and the understanding of general names 
 being concomitant of the rational faculty, and growing up with it, children com- 
 monly get not those general ideas, nor learn the names that stand for them, till, 
 having for a good while exercised their reason about familiar and more particular 
 ideas, they are, by their ordinary discourse and actions with others, acknowledged 
 to be capable of rational conversation. If assenting to these maxims when men 
 come to the use of reason can be true im any other sense, I desire it may be 
 shown; or at least, how in this, or any other sense, it proves them innate. 
 
 15. The Steps by which the Mind attains several Truths.—The senses at first 
 let in particular ideas, and furnish the yet empty cabinet ;' and the mind by 
 degrees growing familiar with some of them, they are lodged in the memory, and 
 names got to them. Afterwards, the mind proceeding further, abstracts them, and 
 by degrees learns the use of general names. In this manner the mind comes to 
 be furnished with ideas and language, the materials about which to exercise its 
 discursive faculty; and the use of reason becomes daily more visible, as these 
 materials that give it employment increase. But though the having of general 
 ideas and the use of general words and reason usually grow together, yet I see 
 not how this any way proves them innate. The knowledge of some truths, I 
 _ confess, is very early in the mind; but in a way that shows them not to be innate. 
 For if we will observe, we shall find it still to be about ideas not innate but 
 acquired; it being about those first which are imprinted by external things, with 
 which infants have earliest to do, which make the most frequent impressions on 
 their senses. In ideas thus got the mind discovers that some agree and others 
 differ, probably as soon as it has any use of memory, as soon as it 1s able to retain 
 and perceive distinct ideas. But whether it be then or no, this is certain, it does 
 so long before it has the use of words, or comes to that which we commonly call 
 “the use of reason.” For a child knows as certainly before it can speak the 
 difference between the ideas of sweet and bitter (i. e. that sweet is not bitter), as it 
 knows afterwards (when it comes to speak) that wormwood and sugarplums are 
 
 not the same thing. 
 
 doctrine of association) are contained and involved 
 
 1 The Rev. Mr. Whewell having remarked that 
 in Aristotle’s celebrated comparison of the mind 
 
 the comparison of the mind to a sheet of white 
 
 paper (elsewhere employed by Locke) is not just, 
 quotes from Professor Sedgwick a metaphor 
 which he considers ‘‘ much more apt and beau- 
 tiful.” “‘Man’s soul at first is one unvaried blank, 
 till it has received the impressions of external 
 experience. Yet has this blank been already 
 touched by a celestial hand, and when plunged in 
 the colours which surround it, it takes not its 
 tinge from accident, but design, and comes out 
 covered with a glorious pattern.” (Discourse on 
 the Studies of the University, p. 54. Preface to 
 Sir J. Mackintosh’s Dissertation on the Progress 
 of Ethical Philosophy, p. 36.) Iconfess I do not 
 perceive the superiority of the new figure over 
 the old, nor, in fact, in what circumstances they 
 differ. Locke, in the text, suggests another 
 image—that of an “‘ empty cabinet.’”’ But neither 
 this nor any other that I have seen, helps us at 
 all to comprehend the true nature of the mind. 
 Mackintosh says, ‘‘ How many ultimate facts of 
 that nature (i. e. which are presupposed by the 
 
 in its first state to a sheet of unwritten paper !” 
 (Dissert. § 6. p. 249.) He then quotes from 
 Aristotle the passage in which the comparison is 
 made: Ae 0’ duTwe, WoTED EY yOappaTELp Ww 
 penoeyv vrapxel evTEAEYELA yEyOappmEvor’ OTED 
 oupbaivel ETL TOV VOU. e Anima, iii. iv. 14. 
 l. vii. p. 71. Tauchnitz.) Sir James modernizes 
 the language of Aristotle, however, for ypappa- 
 reioy does not mean “‘ a sheet of unwritten 
 paper,” but a waxed tablet, which had sometimes 
 two or more leaves. (Poll. Onomast. iv. 18.) 
 But what is more curious, it also signified “a 
 cabinet,’ and may have suggested to Locke the 
 comparison in the text. ypauparetoy O& mapa 
 Toic ’ArrTucoic, Kal ty wm apytpioyv aéKetro. 
 (Poll. Onomast. iv. 19. On which consult the 
 notes of Kiihn and Jungermann, t. iv. p. 661. 
 and conf, Harpocrat. in v. dvyupo0yKn, Pp. 33. 
 Bekk.) 
 
I A 
 
 83 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. © [Book I. 
 
 16. A child knows not that three and four are equal to seven, till he comes to 
 be able to count seven, and has got the name and idea of equality ; and then, 
 upon explaining those words, he presently assents to, or rather perceives the truth 
 of that proposition. But neither does he then readily assent because it 1s an 
 innate truth, nor was his assent wanting till then because he wanted the use of 
 reason; but the truth of it appears to him as soon as he has settled in his mind 
 the clear and distinct ideas that these names stand for; and then he knows the 
 truth of that proposition upon the same grounds and by the same means that he 
 knew before that a rod and a cherry are not the same thing; and upon the same 
 erounds also that he may come to know afterwards “ that it is impossible for the 
 saine thing to be and not to be,” as shall be more fully shown hereatter. So that 
 the later it is before any one comes to have those general ideas about which those 
 maxims are, or to know the signification of those general terms that stand for 
 them, or to put together in his mind the ideas they stand for, the later also will it 
 be before he comes to assent to those maxims, whose terms, with the ideas they 
 stand for, being no more innate than those of a cat or a weasel, he must stay till 
 time and observation have acquainted him with them; and then he will be in a 
 capacity to know the truth of these maxims, upon the first occasion that shall 
 make him put together those ideas in his mind, and observe whether they agree 
 or disagree, according as is expressed in those propositions. And therefore it is 
 that a man knows that eighteen and nineteen are equal to thirty-seven, by the 
 same self-evidence that he knows one and two to be equal to three: yet a child 
 knows this not so soon as the other; not for want of the use of reason, but 
 because the ideas the words eighteen, nineteen, and thirty-seven stand for, are not 
 so soon got as those which are signified by one, two, and three. 
 
 17. Assenting as soon as proposed and understood, proves them not innate.— 
 This evasion therefore of general assent, when men come to the use of reason, 
 failing as it does, and leaving no difference between those supposed innate and 
 other truths that are afterwards acquired and learnt, men have endeavoured to 3 . 
 secure an universal assent to those they call maxims, by saying they are generally 
 assented to as soon as proposed, and the terms they are proposed im understood : | 
 
 seeing all men, even children, as soon as they hear and understand the terms 
 assent to these propositions, they think it is sufficient to prove them innate. For 
 since men never fail, after they have once understocd the words, to acknowledge 
 them for undoubted truths, they would infer that certainly these propositions were 
 first lodged in the understanding, which, without any teaching, the mind, at the 
 very first proposal, immediately closes with and assents to, and after that never 
 doubts again. 
 
 18. [f such an Assent be a Mark of Innate, then“ that one and two are equal 
 to three, that Sweetness 1s not Bitterness,’ and a thousand the like, must be 
 innate.—In answer to this, I demand ‘“ whether ready assent given to a propo- 
 sition, upon first hearimg and understanding the terms, be a certain mark of an 
 innate principle?” If it be not, such a general assent is in vain urged as a proof 
 of them: if it be said that it is a mark of innate, they must then allow all such 
 propositions to be innate which are generally assented to as soon as heard, whereby 
 they will find themselves plentifully stored with innate principles. For upon the 
 same ground, viz. of assent at first hearing and understanding the terms, that men 
 would have those maxims pass for innate, they must also admit several proposi- 
 tions about numbers to be innate; and thus, that one and two are equal to three, 
 that two and two are equal to four, and a multitude of other the like propositions 
 in numbers, that everybody assents to at first hearing and understanding the 
 terms, must have a place amongst these innate axioms. Nor is this the preroga- 
 tive of numbers alone, and propositions made about several of them; but even 
 natural philosophy, and all the other sciences, afford propositions which are sure 
 to meet with assent as soon as they are understood. That two bodies cannot be 
 in the same place, is a truth that nobody any more sticks at than at these 
 
 = — 
 
 en 
 
CHAP. II. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 89 
 
 maxims, “ that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be, that white 
 is not black, that a square is not a circle, that bitterness is not sweetness :”’ 
 these and a million of such other propositions, as many at least as we have distinct 
 ideas of, every man in his wits, at first hearmmg and knowing what the names 
 stand for, must necessarily assent to. If these men will be true to their own rule, 
 and have assent at first hearing and understanding the terms to be a mark of 
 innate, they must allow not only as many innate propositions as men have distinct 
 ideas, but as many as men can make propositions wherein different ideas are 
 denied one of another. Since every proposition, wherein one different idea is 
 denied of another, will as certainly find assent at first hearing and understanding 
 the terms as this general one, “it is impossible for the same thing to be and not 
 to be,” or that which is the foundation of it, and is the easier understood of the 
 two, “ the same is not different ;” by which account they will have legions of 
 innate propositions of this one sort, without mentioning any other. But since no 
 proposition can be innate unless the ideas about which it is be innate, this will 
 be to suppose all our ideas of colours, sounds, tastes, figure, &c. innate, than 
 which there cannot be anything more opposite to reason and experience.' Uni- 
 versal and ready assent upon hearing and understanding the terms is, I grant, a 
 mark of self-evidence ; but self-evidence, depending not on innate impressions, but 
 on something else, (as we shall show hereafter,) belongs to several propositions 
 which nobody was yet so extravagant as to pretend to be innate. 
 
 19. Such less general Propositions known before these universal Maxims.—Nor 
 let it be said, that those more particular self-evident propositions, which are 
 assented to at first hearing, as that one and two are equal to three, that green is 
 not red, &c., are received as the consequences of those more universal propositions 
 which are looked on as innate principles; since any one, who will but take the 
 pains to observe what passes in the understanding, will certainly find that these, 
 and the like less general propositions, are certainly known and firmly assented to 
 by those who are utterly ignorant of those more general maxims; and so, being 
 earlier in the mind than those (as they are called) first principles, cannot owe to 
 them the assent wherewith they are received at first hearing. 
 
 1 Hume, in a note to his section on the origin 
 of ideas, already referred to, speaks of the ques- 
 tion which is the subject of this first book, ina 
 somewhat light and trifling manner. His suppo- 
 sition that ‘‘ innate’? may be synonymous with 
 
 “natural,” in any sense in which the latter term _ 
 
 can be employed, appears to me highly unphilo- 
 sophical. What Descartes and Locke understood 
 by the word “‘ innate” it does not seem difficult 
 to determine: it signifies in their works ‘ im- 
 pressed on the original substance of the mind, 
 from the first moment of its existence, by the 
 Creator,” consequently born with us, wholly in- 
 dependent of our senses, and referrible to no 
 material source. This is true of our primary 
 passions and affections, which in their elementary 
 state are congenital or coeval with the mind; 
 but passions and affections are not ideas, but 
 sources of action, laid deep among the simplest 
 principles of our nature. I admit that through- 
 out this first book Locke’s language is not suffi- 
 ciently exact; but whether it be so loose and 
 ambiguous as Hume pretends, I leave the reader 
 to decide. ‘‘ Tis probable,”’ observes this writer, 
 - “that no more was meant by those who denied 
 innate ideas, than that all ideas were copies of 
 our impressions ; though it must be confessed 
 that the terms which they employed were not 
 chosen with such caution, nor so exactly defined, 
 as to prevent all mistakes about their doctrine. 
 For what is meant by innate? If innate be equi- 
 valent to natural, then all the perceptions and 
 
 ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate, 
 or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter 
 word, whether in opposition to what is uncom- 
 mon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be 
 meant contemporary to our birth, the dispute 
 seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth while to 
 inquire at what time thinking begins, whether 
 before, at, or after our birth Again, the word 
 idea seems to be commonly taken in a very loose 
 sense, even by Mr. Locke himself, as standing 
 for any of our perceptions, our sensations and 
 passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this sense 
 I should desire to know what can be meant by 
 asserting that self-love, or resentment of in- 
 juries, or the passion betwixt the sexes is not 
 innate ? 
 
 ‘‘ But admitting these terms, impressions and 
 ideas, in the sense above explained, and under- 
 standing by ennate what is original or copied 
 from no precedent perception, then may we assert 
 that all our impressions are innate, and our ideas 
 not innate. 
 
 ‘To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my 
 opinion that Mr. Locke was betrayed into this 
 question by the schoolmen, who making use of 
 undefined terms, draw out their disputes to a 
 tedious length, without ever touching the point 
 in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocu- 
 tion seem to run through all that great philo- 
 sopher’s reasonings on this subject.” (Inquiry 
 concerning Human Understanding, Sect. 11. 
 note @.) 
 
90 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 20. One and One equal to Two, §c., not general nor useful, answered.—If it be 
 said that “ these propositions, viz. two and two are equal to four, red is not blue, 
 &e. are not general maxims, nor of any great use,” I answer, that makes nothing 
 to the argument of universal assent upon hearing and understanding. For if 
 that be the certain mark of innate, whatever proposition can be found that receives 
 general assent as soon as heard and understood, that must be admitted for an 
 innate proposition, as well as this maxim, “ that it is impossible for the same thing 
 to be and not to be,” they being upon this ground equal. And as to the differ- 
 ence of being more general, that makes this maxim more remote from being 
 innate; those general and abstract ideas being more strangers to our first appre- 
 hensions than those of more particular self-evident propositions, and therefore it 
 is longer before they are admitted and assented to by the growing understanding. 
 And as to the usefulness of these magnified maxims, that perhaps will not be 
 found so great as is generally conceived, when it comes in its due place to be 
 more fully considered. 
 
 21. These Maxims not being known sometimes till proposed, proves them not 
 innute.—But we have not yet done with assenting to propositions at first hearing 
 and understanding their terms ; it is fit we first take notice that this, instead of 
 being a mark that they are innate, is a proof of the contrary; since it supposes 
 that several, who understand and know other things, are ignorant of these prin- 
 ciples till they are proposed to them, and that one may be unacquainted with 
 these truths till he hears them from others. For if they were innate, what need 
 they be proposed in order to gaining assent, when, by being in the understanding 
 by a natural and original impression, (if there were any such,) they could not but 
 be known before? Or doth the proposing them print them clearer in the mind 
 than nature did? If so, then the consequence will be that a man knows them 
 better after he has been thus taught them than he did before. _Whence it will 
 follow that these principles may be made more evident to us by others’ teaching 
 than nature has made them by impression; which will ill agree with the opinion 
 of innate principles, and give but little authority to them; but, on the contrary, 
 makes them unfit to be the foundations of all our other knowledge, as they are 
 pretended to be. This cannot be denied, that men grow first acquainted with 
 many of these self-evident truths upon their being proposed; but it is clear that 
 whosoever does so, finds in himself that he then begins to know a proposition 
 which he knew not before, and which from thenceforth he never questions; not 
 because it was innate, but because the consideration of the nature of the things 
 contained in those words would not suffer him to think otherwise, how or when- 
 soever he is brought to reflect on them. And if whatever is assented to at first 
 hearing and understanding the terms must pass for an innate principle, every 
 well-grounded observation, drawn from particulars into a general rule, must be 
 innate; when yet it is certain that not all, but only sagacious heads light at 
 first on these observations, and reduce them into general propositions, not mnate, 
 but collected from a preceding acquaintance and reflection on particular instances. 
 These, when observing men have made them, uncbserving men, when they are 
 proposed to them, cannot refuse their assent to. 
 
 22. Implicitly known before proposing, signifies that the Mind is capable of 
 understanding them, or else signifies nothing.—If it be said, ‘‘ the understanding 
 hath an implicit knowledge of these principles, but not an explicit, before this first 
 hearing,” (as they must who will say “ that they are in the understanding before 
 they are known,’’) it will be hard to conceive what is meant by a principle 
 imprinted on the understanding implicitly; unless it be this, that the mind is 
 capable of understanding and assenting firmly to such propositions. And thus all 
 mathematical demonstrations, as well as first principles, must be received as native 
 impressions on the mind; which I fear they will scarce allow them to be, who 
 find it harder to demonstrate a proposition than assent to it when demonstrated. 
 And few mathematicians will be forward to believe that all the diagrams they 
 
CHAP. II. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 91 
 
 have drawn, were but copies of those innate characters which nature had engraven 
 upon their minds. 
 
 23. The Argument of assenting on first hearing, is upon a false Supposition 
 of no precedent teaching.—There is, I fear, this further weakness in the fore- 
 going argument, which would persuade us that therefore those maxims are to be 
 thought innate, which men admit at first hearing, because they assent to propo- 
 sitions which they are not taught, nor do receive from the force of any argument 
 or demonstration, but a bare explication or understanding of the terms. Under 
 which there seems to me to he this fallacy, that men are supposed not to be 
 taught nor to learn anything de novo ; when, in truth, they are taught, and do 
 learn something they were ignorant of before. For, first, it is evident that they 
 have learned the terms, and their signification ; neither of which was born with 
 them. But this is not all the acquired knowledge in the case: the ideas theim- 
 selves, about which the proposition is, are not born with them, no more than their 
 names, but got afterwards. So that in all propositions that are assented to at first 
 hearing, the terms of the proposition, their standing for such ideas, and the ideas 
 themselves that they stand for, being neither of them innate, I would fain know 
 what there is remaining in such propositions that is innate. For I would gladly 
 have any one name that proposition whose terms or ideas were either of them 
 innate. We by degrees get ideas and names, and learn their appropriated con- 
 nexion one with another; and then to propositions made in such terms, whose 
 signification we have learnt, and wherein the agreement or disagreement we can 
 perceive in our ideas when put together is expressed, we at first hearing assent ; 
 though to other propositions, in themselves as certain and evident, but which are 
 concerning ideas not so scon or so easily got, we are at the same time no way 
 capable of assenting. Vor though a child quickly assents to this proposition, 
 -“that an apple is not fire,” when by familiar acquaintance he has got the ideas 
 of those two different things distinctly imprinted on his mind, and has learnt that 
 the names apple and fire stand for them ; yet it will be some years after, perhaps, 
 before the same child will assent to this proposition, ‘‘ that it 1s impossible for the 
 same thing to be and not to be;” because that, though perhaps the words are as 
 easy to be learnt, yet the signification of them being more large, comprehensive, 
 and abstract than of the names annexed to those sensible things the child hath to 
 do with, it is longer before he learns their precise meaning, and it requires more 
 time plainly to form in his mind those general ideas they stand for. Tull that be 
 done, you will in vain endeavour to make any child assent to a proposition made 
 up of such general terms; but as soon as ever he has got those ideas, and learned 
 their names, he forwardly closes with the one as well as the other of the foremen- 
 tioned propositions, and with both for the same reason; viz. because he finds the 
 ideas he has in his mind to agree or disagree, according as the words standing for 
 them are affirmed or denied one of another in the proposition. But if proposi- 
 tions be brought to him in words which stand for ideas he has not yet in his 
 mind, to such propositions, however evidently true or false in themselves, he 
 affords neither assent nor dissent, but is ignorant. For words being but empty 
 sounds, any further than they are signs of our ideas, we cannot but assent to them 
 as they correspond to those ideas we have, but no further than that. But the 
 showing by what steps and ways knowledge comes into our minds, and the 
 erounds of several degrees of assent, being the business of the following discourse, 
 it may suffice to have only touched on it here, as one reason that made me doubt 
 of those innate principles. 
 
 24. Not innate, because not universally assented to.—To conclude this argu- 
 ment of universal consent, I agree with these defenders of innate principles, that 
 if they are innate they must needs have universal assent. For that a truth should 
 be innate and yet not assented to, is to me as unintelligible as for a man to know 
 a truth and be ignorant of it at the same time. But then, by these men’s own 
 confession, they cannot be innate, since they are not assented to by those who 
 
92 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 understand not the terms, nor by a great part of those who do understand them, 
 but have yet never heard nor thought of those propositions ; which, I think, is at 
 least one half of mankind. But were the number far less, it would be enough to 
 destroy universal assent, and thereby show these propositions not to be innate, if 
 children alone were ignorant of them. 
 
 25. These Maxims not the first known.—But that I may not be accused to 
 argue from the thoughts of infants, which are unknown to us, and to conclude 
 from what passes in their understandings before they express it, I say next, that 
 these two general propositions are not the truths that first possess the minds of 
 children, nor are antecedent to all acquired and adventitious notions ; which, if 
 they were innate, they must needs be. Whether we can determine it or no, it 
 matters not, there is certainly a time when children begin to think, and their 
 words and actions do assure us that they do so. When therefore they are 
 capable of thought, of knowledge, of assent, can it rationally be supposed they 
 can be ignorant of those notions that nature has imprinted, were there any such? 
 Can it be imagined with any appearance of reason, that they perceive the impres- 
 sions from things without, and be at the same time ignorant of those characters 
 which nature itself has taken care to stamp within? Can they receive and assent 
 to adventitious notions, and be ignorant of those which are supposed woven into 
 the very principles of their beg, and imprinted there in indelible characters, to 
 be the foundation and guide of all their acquired knowledge and future reason- 
 ings? This would be to make nature take pains to no purpose; or, at least, to 
 write very ill, since its characters could not be read by those eyes which saw 
 other things very well; and those are very ill supposed the clearest parts of truth, 
 and the foundations of all our knowledge, which are not first known, and without 
 which the undoubted knowledge of several other things may be had. . The child 
 certainly knows that the nurse that feeds it is neither the cat it plays with, nor 
 the blackmoor it is afraid of; that the wormseed or mustard it refuses, is not the 
 apple or sugar it cries for; this it 1s certainly and undoubtedly assured of: but 
 will any one say, it is by virtue of this principle, ‘that itis impossible for the same 
 thing to be and not to be,” that it so firmly assents to these and other parts of its 
 knowledge? Or that the child has any notion or apprehension of that propo- 
 sition at an age, wherein yet, it is plam, it knows a great many other truths? 
 He that will say, children join in these general abstract speculations with their 
 sucking-bottles and their rattles, may perhaps, with justice, be thought to have 
 more passion and zeal for his opinion, but less sincerity and truth, than one of 
 that age. 
 
 26. And so not innate.—Though therefore there be several general propo- 
 sitions that meet with constant and ready assent, as soon as proposed to men 
 grown up, who have attained the use of more general and abstract ideas, and 
 names standing for them; yet they not being to be found in those of tender years, 
 who nevertheless know other things, they cannot pretend to universal assent of 
 intelligent persons, and so by no means can be supposed innate; it being impos- 
 sible that any truth which is innate (if there were any such) should be unknown, 
 at least to any one who knows anything else; since, if they are innate truths, they 
 must be innate thoughts; there bemg nothing a truth in the mind that it has 
 never thought on. Whereby it is evident, if there be any innate truths in the 
 mind, they must necessarily be the first of any thought on; the first that appear 
 there. 
 
 27. Not innate, because they appear least, where what is innate shows itself 
 clearest.—That the general maxims we are discoursing of are not known to 
 children, idiots, and a great part of mankind, we have already sufiiciently proved ; 
 whereby it is evident they have not an universal assent, nor are general impres- 
 sions. But there is this further argument in it against their being innate, that 
 these characters, if they were native and original impressions, should appear 
 fairest and clearest in those persons in whom yet we find no footsteps of them ; 
 
GHAPIAIE. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES IN THE MIND. 93 
 
 and it is, in my opinion, a strong presumption that they are not innate, since 
 they are least known to those, in whom, if they were innate, they must needs 
 exert themselves with most force and vigour. For children, idiots, savages, and 
 illiterate people, being of all others the least corrupted by custom or borrowed 
 opinions, learning and education having not cast their native thoughts into new 
 moulds, nor, by superinducing foreign and studied doctrines, confounded those 
 fair characters nature had written there, one might reasonably imagine that in 
 their minds these innate notions should lie open fairly to every one’s view, as it is 
 certain the thoughts of children do. It might very well be expected that these 
 principles should be perfectly known to naturals, which being stamped imme- 
 diately on the soul, (as these men suppose,) can have no dependence on the con- 
 stitutions or organs of the body, the only confessed difference between them and 
 others. One would think, according to these men’s principles, that all these 
 native beams of light (were there any such) should, in those who have no reserves, 
 no arts of concealment, shine out in their full lustre, and leave us in no more 
 doubt of their being there, than we are of their love of pleasure and abhorrence of 
 pain. But alas, amongst children, idiots, savages, and the grossly illiterate, what 
 general maxims are to be found? what universal principles of knowledge? Their 
 notions are few and narrow, borrowed only from those objects they have had 
 most to do with, and which have made upon their senses the frequentest and 
 strongest impressions. A child knows his nurse and his cradle, and by degrees 
 the playthings of a little more advanced age; and a young savage has, perhaps, 
 his head filled with love and hunting, according to the fashion of his tribe. But 
 he that from a child untaught, or a wild inhabitant of the woods, will expect 
 these abstract maxims and reputed principles of science, will, I fear, find himself 
 mistaken. Such kind of general propositions are seldom mentioned in the huts of 
 Indians, much less are they to be found in the thoughts of children, or any 
 impressions of them on the minds of naturals. They are the language and busi- 
 ness of the schools and academies of learned nations, accustomed to that sort of 
 conversation or learning, where disputes are frequent ; these maxims being suited 
 to artificial argumentation and useful for conviction, but not much conducing to 
 the discovery of truth or advancement of knowledge. But of their smail use for 
 the improvement of knowledge I shall have occasion to speak more at large, 
 1 4, ¢.7. 
 
 28. Recapitulation.--I know not how absurd this may seém to the masters of 
 demonstration ; and probably it will hardly go down with anybody at first hearing. 
 I must therefore beg a little truce with prejudice, and the forbearance of censure, 
 till I have been heard out in the sequel of this discourse, being very willing to 
 submit to better judgments. And since I impartially search after truth, I shall 
 not be sorry to be convinced that I have been too fond of my own notions; which 
 I confess we are all apt to be when application and study have warmed our 
 heads with them. 
 
 Upon the whole matter, I cannot see any ground to think these two speculative 
 maxims innate, since they are not universally assented to; and the assent they so 
 generally find is no other than what several propositions, not allowed to be in- 
 nate, equally partake in with them; and since the assent that is given them is 
 produced another way, and comes not from natural inscription, as I doubt not 
 but to make appear in the following discourse. And if these first principles of 
 knowledge and science are found not to be innate, no other speculative maxims 
 can, I suppose, with better right pretend to be so. 
 
94 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER IU. 
 
 NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 
 
 1. No moral Principles so clear and so generally received as the foremen- 
 tioned speculative Maxims.—IF those speculative maxims, whereof we discoursed 
 in the foregoing chapter, have not an actual universal assent from all mankind, 
 as we there proved, it is much more visible concerning practical principles, that 
 they come short of an universal reception; and I think it will be hard to stance 
 any one moral rule which can pretend to so general and ready an assent as, 
 “what is, is;” or to be so manifest a truth as this, “that it is impossible for the 
 same thing to be and not to be.” Whereby it is evident that they are further 
 removed from a title to be innate; and the doubt of their being native impressions 
 on the mind is stronger against those moral principles than the other. Not that 
 it brings their truth at all in question; they are equally true, though not equally 
 evident. Those speculative maxims carry their own evidence with them; but 
 moral principles require reasoning and discourse, and some exercise of the mind, 
 to discover the certainty of their truth. They lie not open as natural characters 
 engraven on the mind; which, if any such were, they must needs be visible by 
 themselves, and by their own light be certain and known to everybody. But 
 this is no derogation to their truth and certainty, no more than it is to the truth or 
 certainty of the three angles of a triangle being equal to two right ones; because 
 it is not so evident as “the whole is bigger than a part,” nor so apt to be 
 assented to at first hearing. It may suffice that these moral rules'are capable of 
 demonstration ;1 and therefore it is our own fault if we come not to a certain 
 
 1 Those philosophers who maintain the prin- 
 ciples of morals to be innate, do in reality con- 
 vert them into instincts, in the teeth, as Locke 
 proceeds to show, of all reasoning and experience. 
 The hints which he here and elsewhere throws 
 out respecting the demonstrable nature of the 
 principles of morality, induced his able corre- 
 spondent Mr. Molyneux to urge upon him the 
 task of following up the idea, and composing a 
 complete system of ethics. Writing to him on the 
 subject of the Essay in general, his correspondent 
 observes: ‘‘One thing I must needs insist on to 
 you, which is, that you would think of obliging 
 the world with a treatise of morals, drawn up 
 according to the hints you frequently give in 
 your Hssay, of their being demonstrable according 
 to the mathematical method. This is most cer- 
 tainly true; but then the task must be under- 
 taken only by so clear and distinct a thinker as 
 you are. This were an attempt worthy your 
 consideration. And there is nothing I should 
 more ardently wish for than to see it. And 
 therefore, good sir, let me beg of you to turn 
 your thoughts this way; andif so young a friend- 
 ship as mine have any force, let me prevail upon 
 you.”’ (Works, iii. 502.) To which Locke replies, 
 “Though by the view I had of moral ideas, while 
 I was considering that subject, I thought I saw 
 that morality might be demonstratively made 
 out; yet whether I am able so to make it out is 
 another question. Every one could not have 
 demonstrated what Mr. Newton’s book hath 
 shown to be demonstrable: but to show my 
 readiness to obey your commands, I shall not 
 decline the first leisure I can get, to employ some 
 thoughts that way; unless I find what I have 
 said in my Essay shall have stirred up some abler 
 
 man to prevent me, and effectually do that ser- 
 vice to the world.” (p. 504.) With this half-pro- 
 mise Mr. Molyneux was not content, but in a 
 letter written shortly after again urges the phi- 
 losopher to set about asystem of ethics. ‘‘ There 
 remains only,”’ he says, “that I again put you 
 in mind of the second member of your division of 
 sciences, that is, Practica, or ethics: you cannot 
 imagine what an earnest desire and expectation 
 I have raised in those that are acquainted with 
 your writings, by the hopes I have given them, 
 from your promise of endeavouring something 
 on that subject. Good sir, let me renew my re- 
 quests to you therein; for believe me, sir, ’t will 
 be one of the most useful and glorious under- 
 takings that can employ you. The touches you 
 give in many places of your book on this subject 
 are wonderfully curious, and do largely testify 
 your great abilities that way, and I am sure the 
 pravity of men’s morals does mightily require the 
 most powerful means to reform them. Be as 
 large as ’t is possible on this subject, and by all 
 means let it be in English. He that reads the 
 45th section in your 129th page, will be inflamed 
 to read more of the same kind from the same 
 incomparable pen. Look therefore on yourself 
 as obliged by God Almighty to undertake this 
 task (pardon me, sir, that I am so free with you, 
 as to insist to yourself on your duty, who, doubt- 
 less, understand it better than I can tell you): 
 suffer not therefore your thoughts to rest till you 
 have finishedit.”’ (p. 506.) Locke, however, after 
 further solicitation from his friend, finally in the 
 following terms excused himself for not entering 
 upon the undertaking: “As to a treatise on 
 morals, I must own to you, that you and Mr. 
 Burridge are not the only persons who have been 
 
CHAP. III. NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES, 95 
 
 knowledge of them. But the ignorance wherein many men are of them, and the 
 slowness of assent wherewith others receive them, are manifest proofs that they 
 are not innate, and such as offer themselves to their view without searching. 
 
 2. Faith and Justice not owned as Principles by all Men.—Whether there be 
 any such moral principles wherein all men do agree, I appeal to any who have 
 been but moderately conversant in the history of mankind, and looked abroad 
 beyond the smoke of their own chimneys. Where is that practical truth that is 
 universally received without doubt or question, as it must be if innate? Justice, 
 and keeping of contracts, is that which most men seem to agree in. This is a 
 principle which is thought to extend itself to the dens of thieves, and the con- 
 federacies of the greatest villams; and they who have gone furthest towards the 
 putting off of humanity itself, keep faith and rules of justice one with another. I 
 grant that outlaws themselves do this one amongst another; but it is without 
 receiving these as the innate laws of nature. They practise them as rules of con- 
 venience within their own communities: but it is impossible to conceive that he 
 embraces justice as a practical principle, who acts fairly with his fellow-highway- 
 man, and at the same time plunders or kills the next honest man he meets with. 
 Justice and truth are the common ties of society; and therefore even outlaws 
 and robbers, who break with all the world besides, must keep faith and rules of 
 equity amongst themselves, or else they cannot hold together. But will any one 
 say, that those that live by fraud or rapine have innate principles of truth and 
 justice which they allow and assent to ? 
 
 3. Objection. Though Men deny them in their Practice, yet they admit them 
 in their Thoughts, answered.—Perhaps it will be urged, that the tacit assent of 
 their minds agrees to what their practice contradicts. I answer, first, I have 
 always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts. But 
 since it is certain that most men’s practices, and some men’s open professions, 
 have either questioned or denied these principles, it is impossible to establish an 
 universal consent, (though we should look for it only amongst grown men,) 
 without which it is impossible to conclude them innate. Secondly, it is very 
 strange and unreasonable to suppose innate practical principles, that terminate 
 only in contemplation. Practical principles derived from nature are there for 
 operation, and must produce conformity of action, not barely speculative assent to 
 their truth, or else they are in vain distinguished from speculative maxims, 
 Nature, I confess, has put into man a desire of happiness and an aversion to misery: 
 these indeed are innate practical principles which (as practical ought) do continue 
 constantly to operate and influence all our actions without ceasing; these may be 
 observed in all persons and all ages, steady and universal; but these are inclina- 
 tions of the appetite to good, not impressions of truth on the understanding. I 
 
 for putting me upon it; neither have I wholly 
 laid by the thoughts of it. Nay Iso far incline 
 to comply with your desires, that I every now 
 and then lay by some materials for it, as they 
 occasionally occur in the rovings of my mind. 
 But when I consider that a book of offices, as 
 you call it, ought not to be slightly done, espe- 
 cially by me, after what I have said of that 
 science in my Essay, and that nonum prematus 
 in annum is a rule more necessary to be observed 
 in a subject of that consequence than inanything 
 Horace speaks of, I am in doubt whether it 
 would be prudent, in one of my age and health, 
 not to mention other disabilities in me, to set 
 about it. Did the world want a rule, I confess 
 there could be no work so necessary, nor so com- 
 mendable. But the Gospel contains so perfect a 
 body of ethics, that reason may be excused from 
 that inquiry, since she may find man’s duty 
 clearer and easier in revelation than in herself. 
 
 Think not this the excuse of a lazy man, though 
 it be, perhaps, of one, who having a sufficient 
 rule for his actions, is content therewith, and 
 thinks he may, perhaps, with more profit to him- 
 self, employ the little time and strength he has 
 in other researches, wherein he finds himself 
 more in the dark.”’ (p. 546.) 
 
 1 Plato thus, in his eloquent manner, expresses 
 the same idea, which has of course presented 
 itself toevery mind. ‘‘ Pleasure and pain are two 
 fountains set flowing by nature, and accord- 
 ing to the degree of prudence and moderation 
 with which men draw from them they are happy 
 or otherwise. Their channels run parallel, but 
 not on the same level; so that if the sluices of the 
 former be too lavishly opened, they overflow and 
 mingle with the bitter waters of the neighbouring 
 stream, which never assimilate with this finer 
 fluid.”” (De Legibus, t. viii. p. 203 et seq.) 
 
96 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 ~*~ 
 
 [BOOK I. 
 
 deny not that there are natural tendencies imprinted on the minds of men; and 
 that from the very first instances of sense and perception, there are some things 
 that are grateful and others unwelcome to them; some things that they incline 
 to and others that they fly; but this makes nothing for innate characters on the 
 mind, which are to be the principles of knowledge regulating our practice. Such 
 natural impressions on the understanding are so far from being confirmed hereby, 
 that this is an argument against them; since, if there were certain characters im- 
 printed by nature on the understanding, as the principles of knowledge, we could 
 not but perceive them constantly operate in us and influence our knowledge, as we 
 do those others on the will and appetite; which never cease to be the constant 
 springs and motives of all our actions, to which we perpetually feel them strongly 
 impelling us. 
 
 4, Moral Rules need a Proof, ergo not innate.— Another reason that makes me 
 doubt of any innate practical principles is, that I think there cannot any one moral 
 rule be proposed whereof a man may not justly demand a reason; which would be 
 perfectly ridiculous and absurd if they were innate, or so much as self-evident; 
 which every innate principle must needs be, and not need any proof to ascertain its 
 truth, nor want any reason to gain it approbation. He would be thought void of 
 common sense who asked on the one side, or on the other side went to give a reason, 
 why it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be. It carries its own 
 light and evidence with it, and needs no other proof: he that understands the 
 terms assents to it for its own sake, or else nothing will ever be able to prevail 
 with him to do it. But should that most unshaken rule of morality and founda- 
 tion of all social virtue, “that one should do as he would be dene unto,” be 
 proposed to one who never heard of it before, but yet is of capacity to understand 
 its meaning, might he not without any absurdity ask a reason why.? And were not 
 he that proposed it bound to make out the truth and reasonableness of it to him ? 
 Which plainly shows it not to be innate; for if it were it could neither want nor 
 receive any proof; but must needs (at least as soon as heard and understood) be 
 received and assented to as an unquestionable truth, which a man can by no 
 means doubt of. So that the truth of all these moral rules plainly depends upon 
 some other antecedent to them, and from which they must be deduced; which 
 could not be if either they were innate or so much as self-evident. 
 
 5. Instance in keeping Compacts.——That men should keep their compacts is 
 certainly a great and undeniable rule in morality, But yet, if a Christian, who 
 has the view of happiness and misery in another life, be asked why a man must 
 keep his word, he will give this as a reason: Because God, who has the power of 
 eternal life and death, requires it of us.1. But if a Hobbist be asked why, he will 
 answer, Because the public requires it, and the Leviathan will punish you if you 
 
 ’ Paley was possibly misled by some vague | propriety said to act for the sake of his chief 
 
 recollection of this passage, when he drew up 
 his definition of virtue, (Moral and Political 
 Philosophy, i. 7,) on which Mackintosh has re- 
 marked with so much severity. ‘‘ Virtue,” he 
 says, ‘‘is the doing good to mankind, in obedience 
 to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting 
 happiness.’”’ Mackintosh insists that these words, 
 which he will not allow to be a definition at all, 
 ‘‘ contain a false account of virtue.” ‘* Accord- 
 ing to this doctrine, every action not done for 
 the sake of the agent to happiness is vicious. 
 Now it is plain that an act cannot be said to be 
 done for the sake of anything which is not pre- 
 sent to the mind of the agent at the moment of 
 action. It is a contradiction in terms to affirm 
 that a man acts for the sake of any object, of 
 which, however it may be the necessary conse- 
 quence of his act, he is not at the time fully 
 aware. The unfelt consequences of his act can 
 no more influence his will than its wrknown con- 
 sequences. Nay, further, a man is only with any 
 
 from these motives it becomes a vice. 
 
 object; nor can he with entire correctness be 
 said to act for the sake of anything but his sole 
 object. So that it is a necessary consequence of 
 Paley’s proposition, that every act which flows 
 from generosity or benevolence is a vice. So 
 also of every act of obedience to the will of God, 
 if it arises from any motive but a desire of the 
 reward which he will bestow. Any act of obedi- 
 ence influenced by gratitude and affection and 
 veneration towards supreme benevolence and per- 
 fection, is so far imperfect; and if it arises solely 
 It must 
 be owned that this excellent and most en- 
 lightened man has laid the foundations of religion 
 and virtue in a more intense and exclusive sel- 
 fishness than was avowed by the Catholic enemies 
 of Fenelon, when they persecuted him for his 
 doctrine of a pure and disinterested love of 
 God.” (Ethic. Phil. p. 278 et seq. See Whewell, 
 preface, p. 20 et seq.) 
 
CHAP. III. | NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. O7 
 
 do not.’ And if one of the old philosophers had been asked, he would have 
 answered, because it was dishonest, below the dignity of a man, and opposite to 
 virtue, the highest perfection of human nature, to do otherwise. 
 
 6. Virtue generally approved, not because innate, but because profitable.— 
 Hence naturally flows the great variety of opinions concerning moral rules which 
 are to be found among men, according to the different sorts of happiness they 
 have a prospect of, or propose to themselves; which could not be if practical 
 principles were innate, and imprinted in our minds immediately by the hand of 
 God. I grant the existence of God is so many ways manifest, and the obedience 
 we owe him so congruous to the light of reason, that a great part of mankind give 
 testimony to the law of nature; but yet I think it must be allowed that several 
 moral rules may receive from mankind a very general approbation, without either 
 knowing or admitting the true ground of morality; which can only be the will 
 and law of a God, who sees men in the dark, has in his hand rewards and punish- 
 ments, and power enough to call to account the proudest offender. For God 
 having, by an inseparable connexion, joimed virtue and public happiness together, 
 and made the practice thereof necessary to the preservation of society, and visibly 
 beneficial to all with whom the virtuous man has to do, it is no wonder that 
 every one should not only allow, but recommend and magnify those rules to others, 
 from whose observance of them he is sure to reap advantage to himself. He may 
 out of interest, as well as conviction, cry up that for sacred, which if once trampled 
 on and profaned, he himself cannot be safe nor secure. This, though it takes 
 nothing from the moral and eternal obligation which these rules evidently have, 
 yet it shows that the outward acknowledgment men pay to them in their words, 
 proves not that they are innate principles; nay, it proves not so much as that 
 men assent to them inwardly in their own minds, as the inviolable rules of their 
 own practice; since we find that self-interest, and the conveniences of this life, 
 make many men own an outward profession and approbation of them, whose 
 actions sufficiently prove that they very little consider the Lawgiver that pre- 
 scribed these rules, nor the hell that he has ordained for the punishment of those 
 that transgress them. | | 2 
 
 7. Men's Actions convince us, that the Rule of Virtue is not their internal Prin- 
 ciple.—For if we will not in civility allow too much sincerity to the professions of 
 most men, but think their actions to be the interpreters of their thoughts, we shall 
 find that they have no such internal veneration for these rules, nor so full a per- 
 suasion of their certainty and obligation. The great principle of morality, “to do 
 as one would be done to,” is more commended than practised. But the breach of 
 this rule cannot be a greater vice, than to teach others that it is no moral rule, 
 nor obligatory, would be thought madness, and contrary to that interest men 
 sacrifice to, when they break it themselves. Perhaps conscience will be urged as 
 checking us for such breaches, and so the internal obligation and establishment of 
 the rule be preserved. 
 
 8. Consciénce no Proof of any innate Moral Rule.—To which I answer, that I 
 doubt not but, without being written on their hearts, many men may, by the same 
 way that they come to the knowledge of other things, come to assent to several 
 moral rules, and be convinced of their obligation. Others also may come to be 
 of the same mind, from their education, company, and customs of their country ; 
 which persuasion, however got, will serve to set conscience on work, which is 
 nothing else but our own opinion or judgment of the moral rectitude or pravity 
 of our own actions.” And if conscience be a proof of innate principles, contraries 
 
 1 There is something like humour in this sar- | is based, see Grotius de Jure Belli et Pacis, 
 castic allusion to Hobbism. The great sophist | ii. 12. 7. et seq., and in other parts of that great 
 explains in many places his theory of compacts, | work. j “hy 
 but nowhere perhaps more concisely or clearly 2 Compare, on the notion at present prevailing 
 
 than in his treatise De Cive, i. 2.9. et seq. For | of the nature and elements of conscience, the 
 the true theory, with the principles on which it | remarks of Mackintosh, Dissertations, &c. p.372, 
 
 ee 
 par 
 
[BOOK I. 
 
 98 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 may be innate principles, since some men with the same bent of conscience 
 prosecute what others avoid. 
 
 9. Instances of Enormities practised without Remorse.—But I cannot see how 
 any men should ever transgress those moral rules, with confidence and serenity, 
 were they innate, and stamped upon their minds. View but an army at the 
 sacking of a town, and see what observation or sense of moral principles, or what 
 touch of conscience for all the outrages they do. Robberies, murders, rapes, are 
 the sports of men set at liberty from punishment and censure. Have there not 
 been whole nations, and those of the most civilized people, amongst whom the 
 exposing their children, and leaving them in the fields to perish by want or wild 
 beasts, has been the practice, as little condemned or scrupled as the begetting 
 them?! Do they not still, in some countries, put them into the same graves with 
 their mothers, if they die in childbirth; or dispatch them, if a pretended astro- 
 loger declares them to have unhappy stars? And are there not places where, at 
 a certain age, they kill or expose their parents without any remorse at all?? In 
 a part of Asia, the sick, when their case comes to be thought desperate, are carried 
 out and laid on the earth before they are dead; and left there, exposed to wind 
 and weather, to perish without assistance or pity.> It is familiar among the Min- 
 
 grelians, a people professing Christianity, to bury their children alive without 
 
 scruple.* 
 
 with the brief but lucid and interesting exposi- 
 tion of Whewell in the preface, p. 39 et seq. 
 Butler in his Dissertation on Virtue, p. 340, has 
 touched briefly upon this subject, and again in 
 his Sermons ii. and iii. Hobbes takes a very 
 peculiar view of conscience. ‘‘ It is,’’ he says, 
 ‘‘ either science or opinion which we commonly 
 mean by the word conscience; for men say that 
 such and such a thing is true in or upon their 
 conscience ; which they never do when they 
 think it doubtful, and therefore they know, or 
 think they know it to be true. But men, when 
 they say things upon their conscience, are not 
 therefore presumed certainly to know the truth 
 of what they say: it remaineth then that that 
 word is used by them that have an opinion, not 
 only of the truth of the thing, but also of their 
 knowledge of it, to which the truth of the propo- 
 sition is consequent, Conscience I therefore 
 define to be opinion of evidence.” (Hum. Nat. 
 ce. vi. $8. 
 
 : Os he subject of infanticide, as practised in 
 antiquity, I have collected and arranged, in my 
 work on the Character and Manners of the Greeks, 
 nearly, or perhaps all the authorities of any value 
 existing in ancient literature, even to indicate 
 which would exceed the limits of a note. The 
 same heinous crime is common, as is well known, 
 in Hindustan and China. The practice in the 
 former country I have described in my work en- 
 titled ‘‘ The Hindoos,” vol. i. p. 245 et seq. The 
 theory prevalent on the subject among the 
 Chinese, may be understood from the following 
 passage of Sir George Staunton: ‘‘ Habit seems 
 to have familiarised them with the notion that 
 life only becomes truly precious, and inattention 
 to it criminal, after it has continued long enough 
 to be endowed with mind and sentiment; but 
 that mere dawning existence may be suffered to 
 be lost without scruple, though it cannot with- 
 aM reluctance.”’ (Embassy to China, vol. ii. p. 
 
 58.) 
 
 2 Or eat them, as described in the Pearl Mer- 
 chant, among the ‘ Tales of the Rhamadhan.” 
 This is still the practice of the Bhattas in the 
 island of Sumatra, (see Marsden’s history of 
 that island,) and anciently prevailed among the 
 
 There are places where they eat their own children.* The Caribbees 
 
 natives of Hindtistan. Herodotus, in his naive 
 style, describes the manners of those ungodly 
 savages, and relates in illustration a highly 
 characteristic anecdote: ‘To the east are In- 
 dians, called Padzi, who lead a pastoral life, live 
 on raw flesh, and are said to observe these cus- 
 toms: if any man among them be diseased, his 
 nearest connexions put him to death, alleging in 
 excuse that sickness would waste and injure his 
 flesh. They pay no regard to his assertions that 
 he is not really ill, but without the smallest com- 
 punction deprive him of life. Ifa woman be ill, 
 her female connexions treat her in the same 
 manner. The more aged among them are regu- 
 larly killed and eaten; but there are very few 
 who arrive at old age, for in case of sickness they 
 put every one to death.” (iii.99.) Inillustration 
 of the force of custom, he observes, ‘‘ Whoever 
 had the opportunity of choosing for their own 
 observance, from all the nations of the world, 
 such laws and customs as to them seemed the 
 best, would, I am of opinion, after the most care- 
 ful examination, adhere to their own. Each 
 nation believes that their own laws are by far the 
 most excellent; no one therefore but a madman 
 would treat such prejudices with contempt. That 
 all men are really thus tenacious of their own 
 customs, appears from this amongst other in- 
 stances. Darius once sent for sueh of the Greeks 
 as were dependent on his power, and asked them 
 what reward would induce them to eat the bodies 
 of their deceased parents; they replied that no 
 sum could prevail on them to commit such a 
 deed. In the presence of the same Greeks, who 
 by an interpreter were informed of what had 
 passed, he sent also for the Callatia, a people of 
 India, known to eat the bodies of their parents. 
 He asked them for what sum they would consent 
 to burn the bodies of their parents. The Indians 
 were disgusted at the question, and intreated him 
 to forbear such language. Such is the force of 
 custom; and Pindar seems to me to have spoken 
 with peculiar propriety, when he observed that 
 custom was the universal sovereign.” (iii. 38.) 
 
 3 Gruber apud Thevenot, part iv. p. 18. 
 
 * Lambert apud Thevenot, p. 38. 
 
 5 Vossius de Nili Origine, c. 18, 19. 
 
CHAP. III. | NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 99 
 
 were wont to geld their children, on purpose to fat and eat them.!. And Garcilasso 
 de la Vega tells us of a people in Peru, which were wont to fat and eat the 
 children they got on their female captives, whom they kept as concubines for 
 that purpose, and when they were past breeding, the mothers themselves were 
 killed too and eaten.? The virtues whereby the Tououpinambos believed they 
 merited paradise, were revenge, and eating abundance of their enemies. They 
 have not so much as a name for God,’ and have no religion, no worship. The 
 saints who are canonized amongst the Turks, lead lives which one cannot with 
 modesty relate. A remarkable passage to this purpose, out of the voyage of 
 Baumgarten, which is a book not every day to be met with, I shall set down at 
 large in the language it is publishedin. Ibi(sc. prope Belbesin Mgypto) vidimus 
 sanctum unum Saracenicum inter arenarum cumulos, ita ut ex utero matris pro- 
 dit, nudum sedentem. Mos est, ut didicimus, Mahometistis, ut eos, gui amentes 
 et sine ratione sunt, pro sanctis colant et venerentur, Insuper et eos, qui cum diu 
 vitam egerint inquinatissimam, voluntariam demum penitentiam et paupertatem, 
 sanctitate venerandos deputant. Ejusmodi verd genus hominum libertatem quan- 
 dam effrenem habent, domos quas volunt intrandi, edendi, bibendi, et quod majus 
 est, concumbendi ; ex quo concubitu si proles secuta fuerit, sancta similiter habe- 
 tur. His ergo hominibus dum vivunt, magnos exhibent honores ; mortuis vero 
 vel templa vel monumenta extruunt amplissima, eosque contingere ac sepelire 
 maxime fortune ducunt loco. Audivimus hee dicta et dicenda per interpretem 
 a@ Mucrelo nostro. Insuper sanctum illum, quem eo loco vidimus, publicitus apprime 
 commendari, eum esse hominem sanctum, divinum ac integritate precipuum ; eo 
 quod, nec feeminarum unquam esset, nec puerorum, sed tantummodo asellarum con- 
 cubitor atque mularum. (Peregr. Baumgarten, |. ii. c. 1. p.73.) More of the same 
 kind concerning these precious saints amongst the Turks may be seen in Pietro della 
 Valle, in his letter of the 25th of January 1616. Where then are those innate 
 principles of justice, piety, gratitude, equity, chastity ?° Or where is that univer- 
 sal consent that assures us there are such inbred rules? Murders in duels, when 
 fashion has made them honourable, are committed without remorse of conscience ;° 
 
 nay, im many places innocence in this case is the greatest ignominy. 
 
 And if we 
 
 look abroad to take a view of men as they are, we shall find that they have 
 
 1 P. Mart. Dec. 1. 
 
 2 Hist. des Incas, 1]. i. c. 12. 
 
 2 Lery, c. 16, 216, 231. ° 
 
 * What then is the meaning of what is said 
 about their meriting paradise? Locke is here 
 somewhat too credulous, for, that a people who 
 are represented to be believers in a future state, 
 and to have formed notions, however gross and 
 absurd, respecting what actions admit or exclude 
 from paradise, should have no name for the God 
 in whom they believe, is wholly incredible. Per- 
 haps, like the Pelasgi, and all civilized races, 
 they may distinguish the Deity by no proper 
 name, though they must have a substantive in 
 their language signifying God. No idiom what- 
 ever, of which a complete vocabulary has been 
 published, is found to want such a noun; nor do 
 I believe that any thus imperfect exists in the 
 world. I am happy to observe that upon this 
 point Dr. Whateley’s opinions nearly resemble 
 my own: ‘‘ Nations of Atheists, ¢f there are any 
 such, are confessedly among the rudest and most 
 ignorant savages. hose who represent their god 
 or gods as malevolent, capricious, or subject to 
 human passions and vices, are invariably to be 
 found (in the present day at least) among those 
 who are brutal and uncivilized; and among the 
 most civilized nations of the ancients, who pro- 
 fessed a similar creed, the more enlightened 
 members of society seem either to have rejected 
 altogether, or to have explained away the popu- 
 
 lar belief. The Mahometan nations, again, of 
 the present day, who are certainly more advanced 
 in civilization than their Pagan neighbours,main- 
 tain the unity and the moral excellence of the 
 Deity; butthe nations of Christendom, whose no- 
 tions of the Divine goodness are more exalted, 
 are undeniably the most civilized part of the 
 world, and possess, generally speaking, the most 
 cultivated and improved intellectual powers.” 
 (Rhet. part i. c. 11. § 5.) 
 
 5 I miss in this whole passage the acuteness 
 and subtilty of discrimination which usually dis- 
 tinguish the speculations of Locke. All that can 
 be inferred from such examples is, that super- 
 stition operates more powerfully among the na- 
 tions in question than the principles of justice, 
 &e., which though not built upon innate ideas, 
 spring naturally out of the constitution of the 
 human mind. In proof of this I may remark, 
 that if any other man should in Turkey be guilty 
 of the turpitudes perpetrated by their pretended 
 saints, he would run the risk of being impaled 
 alive. Their notions of piety, justice, chastity, 
 are confused and imperfect, but nevertheless 
 exist, and in many cases influence their conduct. 
 (Conf. Leo. African.) : 
 
 6 Experience does not, I think, bear him out 
 in this. Few duellists with blood upon their 
 hands lead a tranquil or respectable life. They 
 are unhappy in themselves, and secretly despised 
 by their neighbours, 
 
 H 2 
 
100 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 remorse in one place for doing or omitting that which others in another place 
 think they merit by. 
 
 10. Men have contrary practical Principles.—He that will carefully peruse the 
 history of mankind, and look abroad into the several tribes of men, and with indif- 
 ferency survey their actions, will be able to satisfy himself that there is scarce that 
 principle of morality to be named, or rule of virtue to be thought on, (those only 
 excepted that are absolutely necessary to hold society together,’ which commonly 
 too are neglected betwixt distinct societies,) which is not somewhere or other 
 slighted and condemned by the general fashion of whole societies of men governed 
 by practical opinions and rules of living quite opposite to others. 
 
 1l. Whole Nations reject several Moral Rules.—Here perhaps it will be 
 objected that it is no argument that the rule is not known, because it is broken. 
 I grant the objection good where men, though they transgress, yet disown not the 
 law ; where fear of shame, censure, or punishment carries the mark of some awe it 
 has upon them. But it is impossible to conceive that a whole nation of men 
 should all publicly reject and renounce what every one of them certainly and in- 
 fallibly knew. to be a law, for so they must who have it naturally imprinted on 
 their minds. It is possible men may sometimes own rules of morality which in 
 their private thoughts they do not believe to be true, only to keep themselves in 
 reputation and esteem amongst those who are persuaded of their obligation. But 
 it is not to be imagined that a whole society of men should publicly and pro- 
 fessedly disown and cast off a rule which they could not in their own minds but 
 be infallibly certain was a law; nor be ignorant that all men they should have to 
 do with knew it to be such; and therefore must every one of them apprehend from 
 others all the contempt and abhorrence due to one who professes himself void of 
 humanity; and one who, confounding the known and natural measures of right and 
 wrong, cannot but be looked on as the professed enemy of their peace and happiness. 
 Whatever practical principle is innate, cannot but be known to every one to be justand 
 good. Itis therefore little less than a contradiction to suppose that whole nations of 
 men should, both in their professions and practice, unanimously and universally give 
 the lie to what, by the most invincible evidence, every one of them knew to be true, 
 right, and good. This is enough to satisfy us that no practical rule which is anywhere 
 universally, and with public approbation or allowance, transgressed, can be supposed. 
 innate. But I have something further to add in answer to this objection. 
 
 12. The breaking of a rule, say you, is no argument that it is unknown. I 
 grant it: but the generally allowed breach of it anywhere, I say, is a proof that it 
 is not innate. For example: let us take any of these rules, which being the most 
 obvious deductions of human reason, and conformable to the natural inclination of 
 the greatest part of men, fewest people have had the impudence to deny or incon- 
 sideration to doubt of. If any can be thought to be naturally imprinted, none, I 
 think, can have a fairer pretence to be innate than this, “ Parents, preserve and 
 cherish your children.” When therefore you say that this is an innate rule, what 
 do you mean? Either that it is an innate principle which upon all occasions 
 excites and directs the actions of all men; or else, that it is a truth which all men 
 have imprinted on their minds, and which therefore they know and assent to. But 
 in neither of these senses is it innate. First, that it is not a principle which 
 influences all men’s actions, is what I have proved by the examples before cited ; 
 nor need we seek so far as Mingrelia or Peru to find instances of such as neglect, 
 abuse, nay and destroy their children, or look on it only as the more than bruta- 
 lity of some savage and barbarous nations, when we remember that it was a 
 familiar and uncondemned practice amongst the Greeks and Romans to expose, 
 without pity or remorse, their innocent infants. Secondly, that it is an innate 
 truth, known to all men, is also false. For, “ Parents, preserve your children,” is 
 so far from an innate truth, that it is no truth at all, it being a command, and not 
 
 * But in excepting these, we except all the fundamental principles of morality. 
 
CHAP. III. | NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 101 
 
 a proposition, and so not capable of truth.or falsehood. To make it capable of 
 being assented to as true, it must be reduced to some such proposition as this: 
 ‘‘ It is: the duty of parents to preserve their children.” But what duty is, cannot 
 be understood without a law, nor a law be known or supposed without a law- 
 maker, or without reward and punishment; so that it is impossible that this or 
 any other practical principle should be innate, i. e. be imprinted on the mind as a 
 duty, without supposing the ideas of God, of law, of obligation, of punishment, 
 of a life after this, innate: for that punishment follows not in this life the breach 
 of this rule, and consequently that it has not the force of a law in countries where 
 the generally allowed practice runs counter to it, is in itself evident. But these 
 ideas (which must be all of them innate, if anything as a duty be so) are so far 
 from being innate, that it is not every studious or thinking man, much less every 
 one that is born, in whom they are to be found clear and distinct; and that one of 
 them, which of all others seems most likely to be innate, is not so, (I mean the idea 
 of God,) I think, in the next chapter, will appear very evident to any considering 
 man. 
 
 13. From what has been said, I think we may safely conclude that whatever 
 practical rule is in any place generally and with allowance broken, cannot be 
 supposed innate, it being impossible that men should, without shame or fear, 
 confidently and serenely break a rule which they could not but evidently know 
 that God had set up, and would certainly punish the breach of (which they must, 
 if it were innate,) to a degree to make it a very ill bargain to the transgressor. 
 Without such a knowledge as this, a man can never be certain that anything is his 
 duty. Ignorance or doubt of the law, hopes to escape the knowledge or power of 
 the law-maker, or the like, may make men give way to a present appetite; but 
 let any one see the fault, and the rod by it, and with the transgression, a fire ready 
 to punish it; a pleasure tempting, and the hand of the Almighty visibly held up 
 and prepared to take vengeance, (for this must be the case where any duty is im- 
 printed on the mind,) and then tell me whether it be possible for people with such 
 ‘a prospect, such a certain knowledge as this, wantonly, and without scruple, to 
 offend against a law which they carry about them in indelible characters, and that 
 stares them in the face whilst they are breaking it? whether men, at the same time 
 that they feel in themselves the imprinted edicts of an Omnipotent Law-maker, 
 can with assurance and gaiety slight and trample underfoot his most sacred in- 
 junctions? and lastly, whether it be possible that whilst a man thus openly 
 bids defiance to this innate law and supreme Lawgiver, all the bystanders, yea, 
 even the governors and rulers of the people, full of the same sense both of the law 
 and Law-maker, should silently connive, without testifying their dislike or laying 
 the least blame on it? Principles of actions indeed there are lodged in men’s 
 appetites, but these are so far from being innate moral principles, that if they were 
 left to their full swing they would carry men to the overturning of all morality. 
 Moral laws are set as a curb and restraint to these exorbitant desires, which they 
 cannot be but by rewards and punishments that will overbalance the satisfaction 
 any one shall propose to himself in the breach of the law. If, therefore, anything 
 be imprinted on the minds of all men as a law, all men must have a certain and 
 unavoidable knowledge, that certain and unavoidable punishment will attend the 
 breach of it. For if men can be ignorant or doubtful of what is innate, innate 
 principles are insisted on, and urged to no purpose; truth and certainty (the things 
 pretended) are not at all secured by them; but men are in the same uncertain 
 floating estate with as without them. An evident indubitable knowledge of un- 
 avoidable punishment, great enough to make the transgression very uneligible, 
 must accompany an innate law, unless with an innate law they can suppose an 
 innate Gospel too. I would not here be mistaken, as if, because I deny an innate 
 law, I thought there were none but positive laws. There is a great deal of differ- 
 ence between an innate law, and a law of nature; between something imprinted on 
 our minds in their very original, and something that we being ignorant of, may 
 
102 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 attain to the knowledge of by the use and due application of our natural fa- 
 culties! And I think they equally forsake the truth who, running into con- 
 trary extremes, either affirm an innate law, or deny that there is a law knowable 
 by the light of nature, i. e. without the help of positive revelation. 
 
 14. Those who maintain innate practical Principles, tell us not what they 
 are.—The difference there is amongst men in their practical principles is so 
 evident that I think I need say no more to evince that it will be impossible to find 
 any innate moral rules by this mark of general assent; and it is enough to make 
 one suspect that the supposition of such innate principles is but an opinion taken 
 up at pleasure, since those who talk so confidently of them are so sparing to tell 
 us which they are. This might with justice be expected from those men who lay 
 stress upon this opinion; and it gives occasion to distrust either their knowledge 
 or charity, who, declaring that God has imprinted on the minds of men the foun- 
 dations of knowledge and the rules of living, are yet so little favourable to the in- 
 formation of their neighbours or the quiet of mankind, as not to point out to them 
 which they are, in the variety men are distracted with. But, in truth, were there 
 any such innate principles there would be no need to teach them. Did men find 
 such innate propositions stamped on their minds, they would easily be able to dis- 
 tinguish them from other truths that they afterwards learned and deduced from 
 them, and there would be nothing more easy than to know what and how many 
 they were. There could be no more doubt about their number, than there is about 
 the number of our fingers; and it is like then every system would be ready to give 
 them us by tale. But since nobody, that I know, has ventured yet to give a cata- 
 logue of them, they cannot blame those who doubt of these innate principles, since 
 even they who require men to believe that there are such innate propositions, do 
 not tell us what they are. It is easy to foresee, that if different men of different 
 sects should go about to give us a list of those innate practical principles, they 
 would set down only such as suited their distinct hypotheses, and were fit to sup- 
 port the doctrines of their particular schools or churches; a plain evidence that 
 there are no such innate truths. Nay, a great part of men are so far from finding 
 any such innate moral principles in themselves, that by denying freedom to man- 
 kind, and thereby making men no other than bare machines, they take away not 
 only innate, but all moral rules whatsoever, and leave not a possibility to believe 
 any such to those who cannot conceive how anything can be capable of a law 
 that is not a free agent; and upon that ground they must necessarily reject all 
 principles of virtue who cannot put morality and mechanism together, which are 
 not very easy to be reconciled or made consistent.? : 
 
 15. Lord Herbert's innate Principles examined.—When I had written this, 
 being informed that my Lord Herbert had, in his book De Veritate, assigned 
 these innate principles, I presently consulted him, hoping to find in a man of so 
 great parts, something that might satisfy me in this point, and put an end to my 
 inquiry. In his chapter De Instinctu Naturali, p. 72, edit. 1656, I met with 
 these six marks of his Notitie Communes: 1. Prioritas. 2. Independentia. 
 3. Universalitas. 4. Certitudo. 5. Necessitas, i.e. as he explains it, faciunt ad 
 hominis conservationem. 6. Modus conformationis, i.e. Assensus nulld interpositd 
 
 ? This is a refutation of the opinions mentioned | that which bindeth creatures reasonable in this 
 
 by Hume, that ‘innate’ is synonymous with ‘na- 
 tural.’ See ante, note 1, p. 89. 
 
 2 Compare with this idea the following passage 
 of avery distinguished writer: “That law which, 
 as it is laid up in the bosom of God, they call 
 eternal, receiveth, according unto the different 
 kinds of things which are subject unto it, sundry 
 and different kinds of names. That part of- it 
 
 which ordereth natural agents, we call usually 
 nature’s law; that which angels do clearly be- 
 hold, and without any swerving observe, is a 
 law celestial and heavenly ; the law of reason, 
 
 world, and with which by reason they most 
 plainly perceive themselves bound; that which 
 bindeth them, and is not known but by special 
 revelation from God, divine law. Human law, 
 that which out of the law, either of reason or of 
 God, men probably gathering to be expedient, they 
 make it a law. All things therefore, which are as 
 they ought to be, are conformed unto this second 
 law eternal; and even those things which to this 
 eternal law are not conformable, are notwith- 
 standing in some sort ordered by the first eternal 
 law.”’ (Hooker, Eccles. Polit. book i. § 3.) 
 
CHAP. II. | NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 103 
 
 mord. And atthe latter end of his little treatise De Religioni Laici, he says this 
 of these innate principles: Adeo ut non uniuscujusvis religionis confinio arctentur 
 que ubique vigent veritates. Sunt enim in ipsd mente celitus descripte, nullisque 
 traditionibus, sive scriptis, sive non scriptis, obnoxia, p. 3. And Veritates nostre 
 catholice que tanquam indubia Dei effata in foro interiori descripte. Thus 
 having given the marks of the innate principles or common notions, and asserted 
 their being imprinted on the minds of men by the hand of God, he proceeds to 
 set them down, and they are these: 1. Esse aliquod supremum numen. 2. Numen 
 illud coli debere. 3. Virtutem cum pietate conjunctam optimam esse rationem 
 cults divini. 4. Resipiscendum esse @ peccatis. 5. Dari premium vel penam 
 post hance vitam transactam. Though I allow these to be clear truths, and such 
 as, if rightly explained, a rational creature can hardly avoid giving his assent to, 
 yet I think he is far from proving them innate impressions in foro interiori 
 descripte. For I must take leave to observe, 
 
 16. First, that these five propositions are either not all, or more than all, those 
 common notions written on our minds by the finger of God, if it were reasonable 
 to believe any at all to be so written, since there are other propositions which, even 
 by his own rules, have as just a pretence to such an original, and may be as well 
 admitted for innate principles, as at least some of these five he enumerates, viz. 
 ** Do as thou wouldst be done unto,” and perhaps some hundreds of others, when 
 well considered. 
 
 17. Secondly, that all his marks are not to be found in each of his five pro- 
 positions, viz. his first, second, and third marks agree perfectly to neither of them; 
 and the first, second, third, fourth, and sixth marks agree but ill to his third, 
 fourth, and fifth propositions. For besides that we are assured from history, of 
 many men, nay, whole nations, who doubt or disbelieve some or all of them, I 
 cannot see how the third, viz. “ That virtue joined with piety is the best worship 
 of God,” can be an innate principle, when the name or sound, virtue, is so hard to 
 be understood, liable to so much uncertainty in its signification, and the thing it 
 stands for so much contended about and difficult to be known. And therefore 
 this cannot be but a very uncertain rule of human practice, and serve but very 
 little to the conduct of our lives, and is therefore very unfit to be assigned as an 
 innate practical principle. 
 
 18. For let us consider this proposition as to its meaning (for it is the sense, 
 and not sound, that is and must be the principle or common notion), viz. “‘ Virtue 
 is the best worship of God,” i. e. is most acceptable to him; which, if virtue be 
 taken, as most commonly it is, for those actions which, according to the different 
 opinions of several countries, are accounted laudable, will be a proposition so far 
 from being certain, that it will not be true. If virtue be taken for actions con- 
 formable to God’s will, or to the rule prescribed by God, which is the true and 
 only measure of virtue when virtue is used to signify what is in its own nature 
 right and good; then this proposition, “‘ That virtue is the best worship of God,” 
 will be most true and certain, but of very little use in human life, since it will 
 amount to no more but this, viz. “ That God is pleased with the doing of what he 
 commands ;” which a man may certainly know to be true, without knowing what 
 it is that God doth command, and so be as far from any rule or principle of his 
 actions as he was before. And I think very few will take a proposition which 
 amounts to no more than this, viz. “That God is pleased with the dog of what he 
 himself commands,” for an innate moral principle written on the minds of all men, 
 (however true and certain it may be,) since it teaches so little. Whosoever does 
 so will have reason to think hundreds of propositions innate principles, since there 
 are many which have as good a title as this to be received for such, which nobody 
 yet ever put into that rank of innate principles. 
 
 19. Nor is the fourth proposition (viz. “ Men must repent of their sins”) much 
 “more instructive, till what those actions are that are meant by sins be set down. 
 For the word peccata, or sins, being put, as it usually is, to signify in general ill 
 
104 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 actions that will draw punishment upon the doers, what great principle of morality 
 can that be to tell us we should be sorry, and cease to do that which will bring 
 mischief upon us, without knowing what those particular actions are that will do 
 so? Indeed, this is a very true proposition, and fit to be inculcated on and 
 received by those who are supposed to have been taught what actions in all kinds 
 are sins; but neither this nor the former can be imagined to be innate principles, 
 nor to be of any use if they were innate, unless the particular measures and bounds 
 of all virtues and vices were engraven in men’s minds, and were innate principles 
 also, which I think is very much to be doubted. And therefore, I imagine, it will 
 scarcely seem possible that God should engrave principles in men’s minds in words 
 of uncertain signification, such as virtues and sins, which amongst different men 
 stand for different things; nay, it cannot be supposed to be in words at all, which 
 being in most of these principles very general names, cannot be understood but by 
 knowing the particulars comprehended under them. And in the practical in- 
 stances the measures must be taken from the knowledge of the actions themselves, 
 and the rules of them, abstracted from words, and antecedent to the knowledge of 
 names, which rules a man must know what language soever he chance to learn, 
 whether English or Japan, or if he should learn no language at all, or never should 
 understand the use of words, as happens in the case of dumb and deaf men. When 
 it shall be made out that men ignorant of words, or untaught by the laws and 
 customs of their country, know that it is part of the worship of God not to kill 
 another man; not to know more women than one; not to procure abortion ; not 
 to expose their children; not to take from another what is his, though we want it 
 ourselves, but on the contrary, relieve and supply his wants; and whenever we 
 have done the contrary we ought to repent, be sorry, and resolve to do so no 
 more; when, I say, all men shall be proved actually to know and allow all these 
 and a thousand other such rules, all which come under these two general words 
 made use of above, viz. “ virtutes et peccata,”’ virtues and sins, there will be 
 more reason for admitting these and the like, for common notions and practical 
 principles. Yet after all, universal consent (were there any in moral principles) 
 to truths, the knowledge whereof may be attained otherwise, would scarce prove 
 them to be innate, which is all I contend for. 
 
 20. Objection, Innate Principles may be corrupted, answered.—Nor will it be 
 of much moment here to offer that very ready, but not very material answer, viz. 
 that the innate principles of morality may, by education and custom, and the general 
 opinion of those amongst whom we converse, be darkened, and at last quite worn out 
 of the minds of men. Which assertion of theirs, if true, quite takes away the argu- 
 ment of universal consent, by which this opinion of innate principles is endeavoured 
 to be proved; unless those men will think it reasonable that their private persua- 
 sions, or that of their party, should pass for universal consent; a thing not 
 unfrequently done, when men, presuming themselves to be the only masters of 
 right reason, cast by the votes and opinions of the rest of mankind as not worthy 
 the reckoning. And then their argument stands thus: “ The principles which all 
 mankind allow for true, are innate ; those that men of right reason admit, are the 
 principles allowed by all mankind; we, and those of our mind, are men of reason ; 
 therefore, we agreeing, our principles are innate ;” which is a very pretty way of 
 arguing, and a short cut to infallibility. For otherwise it will be very hard to 
 understand how there be some principles which all men do acknowledge and agree 
 in; and yet there are none of those principles which are not, by depraved custom 
 and ill education, blotted out of the minds of many men; which is to say, that all 
 men admit, but yet many men do deny and dissent from them. And indeed the 
 supposition of such first principles will serve us to very little purpose, and we 
 shall be as much at a loss with as without them, if they may, by any human 
 power, such as is the will of our teachers, or opinions of our companions, be altered 
 or lost in us; and notwithstanding all this boast of first principles and innate light, 
 we shall be as much in the dark and uncertainty, as if there were no such thing 
 
CHAP. III. | NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES. 105 
 
 at all; it being all one to have no rule, and one that will warp any way; or 
 amongst various and contrary rules, not to know which is the right. But con- 
 cerning innate principles, I desire these men to say, whether they can or cannot, 
 by education and custom, be blurred and blotted out; if they cannot, we must find 
 them in all mankind alike, and they must be clear in everybody; and if they may 
 suffer variation from adventitious notions, we must then find them clearest and most 
 perspicuous nearest the fountain, in children and illiterate people, who have received 
 least impression from foreign opinions. Let them take which side they please, they 
 will certainly find it inconsistent with visible matter of fact and daily observation. 
 
 21. Contrary Principles in the World.—I easily grant that there are great 
 numbers of opinions which, by men of different countries, educations, and tempers, 
 are received and embraced as first and unquestionable principles, many whereof, 
 both for their absurdity as well as oppositions to one another, it is impossible 
 should be true. But yet all those propositions, how remote soever from reason, 
 are so sacred somewhere or other, that men even of good understanding in other 
 matters, will sooner part with their lives, and whatever is dearest to them, than 
 suffer themselves to doubt, or others to question, the truth of them. 
 
 22. How Men commonly come by their Principles.—This, however strange it 
 may seem, is that which every day’s experience confirms, and will not, perhaps, 
 appear so wonderful, if we consider the ways and steps by which it is brought 
 about; and how really it may come to pass that doctrines that have been derived 
 from no better an original than the superstition of a nurse, or the authority of an 
 old woman, may, by length of time and consent of neighbours, grow up to the 
 dignity of principles in religion or morality. For such who are careful (as they 
 eall it) to principle children well, (and few there be who have not a set of those 
 principles for them, which they believe in,) instil into the unwary, and as yet un- 
 prejudiced understanding, (for white paper receives any characters, ) those doctrines 
 they would have them retain and profess. These being taught them as soon as 
 they have any apprehension, and still as they grow up confirmed to them, either 
 . by the open profession or tacit consent of all they have to do with, or at least by 
 those of whose wisdom, knowledge, and piety they have an opinion, who never 
 suffer these propositions to be otherwise mentioned but as the basis and foundation 
 on which they build their religion and manners, come by these means to have the 
 reputation of unquestionable, self-evident, and innate truths. 
 
 23. To which we may add, that when men so instructed are grown up, and 
 reflect on their own minds, they cannot find anything more ancient there than 
 those opinions which were taught them before their memory began to keep a 
 register of their actions, or date the time when any new thing appeared to them ; 
 and therefore make no scruple to conclude that those propositions of whose know- 
 ledge they can find in themselves no original, were certainly the impress of God 
 and nature upon their minds, and not taught them by any one else. These they 
 entertain and submit to, as many do to their parents, with veneration; not because 
 it is natural, nor do children do it where they are not so taught, but because, 
 having been always so educated, and having no remembrance of the beginning of 
 this respect, they think it is natural. 
 
 24. This will appear very likely, and almost unavoidable to come to pass, if we 
 consider the nature of mankind and the constitution of human affairs, wherein 
 most men cannot live without employing their time in the daily labours of their 
 callings, nor be at quiet in their minds without some foundation or principle to 
 rest their thoughtson. There is scarcely any one so floating and superficial in his 
 understanding, who hath not some reverenced propositions, which are to him the 
 principles on which he bottoms his reasonings, and by which he judgeth of truth 
 and falsehood, right and wrong; which some, wanting skill and leisure, and others 
 the inclination, and some being taught that they ought not to examine, there are 
 few to be found who are not exposed by their ignorance, laziness, education, or 
 precipitancy, to take them upon trust. 
 
[BOOK I. 
 
 106 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 25. This is evidently the case of all children and young folk; and custom, a 
 greater power than nature, seldom failing to make them worship for divme what 
 she hath inured them to bow their minds and submit their understandings to, it is 
 no wonder that grown men, either perplexed in the necessary affairs of life or hot 
 in the pursuit of pleasures, should not seriously sit down to examine their own 
 tenets, especially when one of their principles is, that principles ought not to be 
 questioned. And had men leisure, parts, and will, who is there almost that dare 
 shake the foundations of all his past thoughts and actions, and endure to bring 
 upon himself the shame of having been a long time wholly in mistake and error? 
 Who is there hardy enough to contend with the reproach which is everywhere 
 prepared for those who dare venture to dissent from the received opinions of their 
 country or party? And where is the man to be found that can patiently prepare 
 himself to bear the name of whimsical, sceptical, or atheist, which he is sure to 
 meet with, who does in the least scruple any of the common opinions? And he 
 will be much more afraid to question those principles when he shall think them, 
 as most men do, the standards set up by God in his mind, to be the rule and 
 touchstone of all other opinions. And what can hinder him from thinking 
 them sacred, when he finds them the earliest of all his own thoughts, and the most 
 reverenced by others ?* 
 
 26. It is easy to imagine how by these means it comes to pass that men wor- 
 ship the idols that have been set up in their minds, grow fond of the notions they 
 have been long acquainted with there, and stamp the characters of divinity upon 
 absurdities and errors; become zealous votaries to bulls and monkeys, and contend — 
 too, fight, and die in defence of their opinions :* “ Dum solos credit habendos esse 
 deos, quos ipse colit.” For since the reasoning faculties of the soul, which are 
 almost constantly, though not always warily nor wisely employed, would not know 
 how to move for want of a foundation and footing in most men, who through 
 laziness or avocation do not, or for want of time or true helps, or for other 
 causes, cannot penetrate into the principles of knowledge, and trace truth to 
 
 ' This accounts for the perseverance of nations 
 in false religions. But when men have early 
 been accustomed to sift their own thoughts, and 
 examine boldly the grounds of their belief, as in 
 Protestant countries men do, the probability is 
 that they will reject error, and maintain the truth. 
 ‘“* Prove all things,” says the Apostle, ‘‘ hold fast 
 that which is good;” a maxim grand and broad 
 enough to serve as the foundation of all philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 * Butler, in his version of this part of philo- 
 sophy, very sagely and jocosely observes, that 
 ‘‘ Grave men stand vouchers for the truth, 
 
 Of the elephant and monkey’s tooth ; 
 
 While some have worshipped rats, and some 
 
 For that church suffered martyrdom.” 
 
 Sir Thomas Browne too, in his “‘ Religio Medici,” 
 dwells at length, and somewhat satirically, on 
 this unhappy weakness of human nature. But 
 nowhere is it held up so unmercifully to con- 
 tempt and scorn as in the matchless picture of 
 Isaiah: ‘“‘ They that make a graven image are all 
 of them vanity; and their delectable things shall 
 not profit; and they are their own witnesses; 
 they see not, nor know; that they may be 
 ashamed. Who hath formed a god, or molten a 
 graven image that is profitable for nothing? Be- 
 hold, all his fellows shall be ashamed: and the 
 workmen, they are of men: let them all be ga- 
 thered together, let them stand up; yet they 
 shall fear, and they shall be ashamed together. 
 The smith with the tongs both worketh in the 
 coals, and fashioneth it with hammers, and work- 
 eth it with the strength of his arms: yea, he is 
 hungry, and his strength faileth; he drinketh no 
 
 water, and is faint. The carpenter stretcheth out 
 his rule; he marketh it with a line; he fitteth it 
 with planes, and he marketh it out with the com- 
 pass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, ac- 
 cording to the beauty of a man; that it may re- 
 main in the house. He heweth him down cedars, 
 and taketh the cypress and the oak, which he 
 strengthened for himself among the trees of the 
 forest: he planteth an ash, and the rain doth 
 nourish it. Then shall it be for a man to burn: 
 for he will take thereof and warm himself; yea, 
 he kindleth it, and baketh bread; yea, he maketh 
 a god, and worshippeth it: he maketh it a graven 
 image, and falleth down thereto. He burneth 
 part thereof in the fire; with part thereof he 
 eateth flesh; he roasteth meat, and is satisfied: 
 yea, he warmeth himself, and saith, Aha, I am 
 warm, I have seen the fire: And the residue 
 thereof he maketh a god, even his graven image: 
 he falleth down unto it, and worshippeth it, and 
 prayeth unto it, and saith, Deliver me; for thou 
 art my god. They have not known nor under- 
 stood: for he hath shut their eyes, that they 
 cannot see; and their hearts, that they cannot 
 understand. And none considereth in his heart, 
 neither is there knowledge nor understanding to 
 say, I have burnt part of it in the fire; yea, also 
 I have baked bread upon the coals thereof; I 
 have roasted flesh, and eaten it; and shall I make 
 the residue thereof an abomination? shall I fall 
 down to the stock of a tree? He feedeth on 
 ashes: a deceived heart hath turned him aside, 
 that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is 
 
 ‘there not a lie in my right hand?”’ (Chap. xliy. 
 
 ver. 9—20.) 
 
CHAP. IV. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 107 
 
 its fountain and original, it is natural for them, and almost unavoidable, to take 
 up with some borrowed principles; which being reputed and presumed to be the 
 evident proofs of other things, are thought not to need any other proofs them- 
 selves. Whoever shall receive any of these into his mind, and entertain them 
 there, with the reverence usually paid to principles, never venturing to examine 
 them, but accustoming himself to believe them, because they are to be believed, 
 may take up from his education and the fashions of his country, any absurdity for 
 innate principles; and by long poring on the same objects, so dim his sight as to 
 take monsters lodged in his own brain for the images of the Deity, and the work- 
 manship of his hands. 
 
 27. Principles must be examined.— By this progress, how many there are who 
 arrive at principles which they believe innate, may be easily observed in the 
 variety of opposite principles held and contended for by all sorts and degrees of 
 men. And he that shall deny this to be the method wherein most men proceed to 
 the assurance they have of the truth and evidence of their principles, will perhaps 
 find it a hard matter any other way to account for the contrary tenets, which are 
 firmly believed, confidently asserted, and which great numbers are ready at any 
 time to seal with their blood. And, indeed, if it be the privilege of innate prin- 
 ciples to be received upon their own authority, without examination, I know not 
 what may not be believed, or how any one’s principles can be questioned. If they 
 may and ought to be examined and tried, I desire to know how first and innate 
 principles can be tried; or at least it is reasonable to demand the marks and 
 characters whereby the genuine innate principles may be distinguished from 
 others ; that so, amidst the great variety of pretenders, I may be kept from mis- 
 takes in so material a point as this. When this is done, I shall be ready to 
 embrace such welcome and useful propositions ; and till then I may with modesty 
 doubt, since I fear universal consent, which is the only one produced, will scarcely 
 prove a sufficient mark to direct my choice, and assure me of any innate principles. 
 From what has been said, I think it past doubt, that there are no practical princi- 
 ples wherein all men agree, and therefore none innate. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING INNATE PRINCIPLES, BOTH 
 SPECULATIVE AND PRACTICAL. 
 
 1. Principles not innate, unless their Ideas be innate-—Hap those who would 
 persuade us that there are innate principles, not taken them together in gross, but 
 considered separately the parts out of which those propositions are made, they 
 would not, perhaps, have been so forward to believe they were innate ; since, if 
 the ideas which made up those truths were not, it was impossible that the propo- 
 sitions made up of them should be innate, or the knowledge of them be born 
 with us. For if the ideas be not innate, there was a time when the mind was 
 without those principles ; and then they will not be innate, but be derived from 
 some other original. For where the ideas themselves are not, there can be no 
 knowledge, no assent, no mental or verbal propositions about them. 
 
 2. Ideas, especially those belonging to Principles, not born with Children.—If 
 we will attentively consider new-born children, we shall have little reason to 
 think that they brmg many ideas into the world with them. For bating perhaps 
 some faint ideas of hunger, and thirst, and warmth, and some pains which they 
 
108 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book I. 
 
 may have felt in the womb, there is not the least appearance of any settled ideas 
 at all in them; especially of ideas answering the terms which make up those 
 universal propositions that are esteemed innate principles. One may perceive 
 how, by degrees, afterwards, ideas come into their minds; and that they get no 
 other than what experience, and the observation of things that come in their way, 
 furnish them with, which might be enough to satisfy us that they are not original 
 characters stamped on the mind. 
 
 3. “It is impossible for the same thing to be, and not to be,” is certainly (if 
 there be any such) an innate principle. But can any one think, or will any one 
 say, that impossibility and identity are two innate ideas? Are they such as all 
 mankind have and bring into the world with them? And are they those which 
 are the first in children, and antecedent to all acquired ones? If they are innate, 
 they must needs be so. Hath a child an idea of impossibility and identity before 
 it has of white or black, sweet or bitter? And is it from the knowledge of this 
 principle that it concludes, that wormwood rubbed on the nipple hath not the 
 same taste that it used to receive from thence? Isit the actual knowledge of 
 ‘‘ impossibile est idem esse, et non esse,” that makes a child distinguish between 
 its mother and a stranger? or that makes it fond of the one and flee the other? 
 Or does the mind regulate itself and its assent by ideas that it never yet had? 
 Or the understanding draw conclusions from principles which it never yet knew 
 or understood? The names impossibility and identity stand for two ideas, so 
 far from being innate, or born with us, that I think it requires great care and 
 attention to form them right in our understandings. They are so far from being 
 brought into the world with us, so remote from the thoughts of infancy and child- 
 hood, that I believe upon examination it will be found that many grown men 
 want them. 
 
 4, Identity, an Idea not innate.—If identity (to instance that alone) be a native 
 impression, and consequently so clear and obvious to us, that we must needs know 
 it even from our cradles, I would gladly be resolved by any one of seven, or seventy 
 years old, whether a man, being a creature consisting of soul and body, be the 
 same man when his body is changed? Whether Euphorbus and Pythagoras, having 
 had the same soul, were the same men, though they lived several ages asunder ?' 
 
 1 Of the Pythagorean doctrine of the trans- 
 migration of souls, here hinted at, most persons 
 have heard, though few probably have been at 
 the pains to trace it through the various channels 
 by which it flowed westward from the great foun- 
 tain-head in Hindustan. Tennemann, perhaps 
 rightly, supposes Pythagoras to have borrowed 
 it from the Egyptians (Herod. ii. 123); but to 
 Egypt it probably came, at an early age, along 
 with many other dogmas, from the great Asiatic 
 storehouse of superstition. In the Samian’s mind 
 it assumed some new features, along with the co- 
 lours of poetry and philosophical grandeur charac- 
 teristic of his speculations. ‘‘ ‘The soul, he taught, 
 is anumber, and an emanation from the central 
 fire, resembling the constellations, to which it is 
 allied by its immortality and its constant activity, 
 capable of combining with any body, and com- 
 pelled by destiny to pass successively through 
 several.’ (Tenn. Man. Hist. Philos. § 93.) Ari- 
 stotle speaks of this ‘‘ Pythagorean mythos” in his 
 treatise on the soul (De Anim. i, 3. 18); and 
 Ovid in his Metamorphoses very naturally turns 
 it to account. This philosophical passage Dry- 
 den has translated in his usual masterly manner, 
 and the reader will not, I think, be displeased, 
 if I subjoin some few of his noble verses : 
 
 ‘What feels the body, when the soul expires, 
 
 By time corrupted, or consumed by fires ? 
 
 Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats 
 
 In other forms, and only changes seats. 
 
 Even I, who these mysterious truths declare, 
 Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war; 
 My name and lineage I remember well, 
 And how in fight by Sparta’s king I fell. 
 In Argive Juno’s fane I late beheld 
 My buckler hung on high, and owned my former 
 shield. 
 Then Death, so called, is but old matter dressed 
 In some new figure and a varied vest: 
 Thus all things are but altered, nothing dies, 
 And here and there the unbody’d spirit flies, 
 By time, or force, or sickness dispossessed, 
 And lodges where it lights, in man or beast; 
 Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, 
 And actuates those according to their kind; 
 From tenement to tenement is tossed, 
 The soul is still the same, the figure only lost: 
 And as the softened wax new seals receives, 
 This face assumes, and the impression leaves ; 
 Now called by one, now by another name, 
 The form is only changed, the wax is still the 
 same ; 
 So death, so called, can but the form deface, 
 Th’ immortal soul flies out in empty space, 
 To seek her fortune in some other place.” 
 B. xv. v. 227— 253. 
 In what the philosopher jocularly says of the 
 cock, he alludes to Lucian’s well-known piece of 
 that name, wherein the sarcastic satirist makes 
 exceedingly free with Pythagoras, whose soul, he 
 informs us, after many transmigrations, animated 
 
CHAP. Iv.] NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 
 
 109 
 
 Nay, whether the cock too, which had the same soul, were not the same with 
 both of them? Whereby, perhaps, it will appear that our idea of sameness is not 
 so settled and clear as to deserve to be thought innate in us. For if those innate 
 ideas are not clear and distinct so as to be universally known, and naturally agreed 
 on, they cannot be subjects of universal and undoubted truths, but will be the 
 unavoidable occasion of perpetual uncertainty. For I suppose every one’s idea 
 of identity will not be the same that Pythagoras and others of his followers have. 
 And which then shall be true? Which innate? Or are there two different ideas 
 of identity, both innate? 
 
 5. Nor let any one think that the questions I have here proposed about the 
 identity of man, are bare empty speculations; which if they were, would be 
 enough to show, that there was in the understandings of men no innate idea of 
 identity. He that shall with a little attention reflect on the resurrection, and 
 consider that divine justice will bring to judgment, at the last day, the very same 
 persons to be happy or miserable in the other, who did well or ill in this life, 
 will find it perhaps not easy to resolve with himself, what makes the same man, 
 or wherein identity ! consists ; and will not be forward to think he, and every one, 
 even children themselves, have naturally a clear idea of it. 
 
 6. Whole and Part not innate Ideas.— Let us examine that principle of mathe- 
 matics, viz. “that the whole is bigger than a part.” This, I take it, is reckoned 
 amongst innate principles. I am sure it has as good a title as any to be thought 
 so; which yet nobody can think it to be, when he considers the ideas it compre- 
 hends in it, “whole and part,” are perfectly relative; but the positive ideas to 
 which they properly and immediately belong, are extension and number, of which 
 alone whole and part are relations. So that if whole and part are innate ideas, 
 extension and number must be so too; it being impossible to have an idea of a 
 relation, without having any at all of the thing to which it belongs and in which 
 it is founded. Now whether the minds of men have naturally imprinted on them 
 the ideas of extension and number, I leave to be considered by those who are the 
 patrons of innate principles. 
 
 7. Idea of Worship not innate.—“ That God is to be worshipped,” is, without 
 doubt, as great a truth as any that can enter into the mind of man, and deserves 
 the first place amongst all practical principles. But yet it can by no means be 
 thought innate, unless the ideas of God and worship are innate. That the idea 
 the term worship stands for, is not in the understanding of children, and a 
 character stamped on the mind in its first original, I think will be easily granted 
 by any one that considers how few there be amongst grown men who have a 
 clear and distinct notion of it. And, I suppose, there cannot be anything more 
 ridiculous, than to say that children have this practical principle innate, ‘ That 
 God is to be worshipped,” and yet that they know not what that worship of God 
 is, which is their duty. But to pass by this : 
 
 8. Idea of God not innate.—If any idea can be imagined innate, the idea of 
 
 the body of a cobbler’s chanticleer. This honest 
 bird having on one occasion by his unseasonable 
 crowing waked his master soon after midnight, 
 and thus violently provoked his anger, tells, in 
 order to pacify him, the long story of his adven- 
 tures, which the reader will do well to peruse. 
 According to this veracious chronicler, his soul 
 on quitting its philosophical mansion animated 
 the form of Aspasia. He then became Crates 
 the cynic, next a king, then a beggar, then 
 again a Persian satrap; afterwards a horse, a 
 jay, a frog, and a thousand other things. In 
 giving his master Micyllus some insight into his 
 own history, which the blockhead had wholly 
 forgotten, he tortures his miserly soul, by assur- 
 ing him that he had formerly been an ‘ Indian 
 
 emmet of a particular species, whose business it 
 is to dig up gold out of the earth.”” Upon which 
 the cobbler exclaims, ‘“‘ What an improvident 
 blockhead must I have been, for not bringing 
 away with me a few grains into this life, where 1 
 should have found so many uses for them ! 
 But since you so much abound in knowledge, 
 what will become of me in the next life? If any- 
 thing good, I will get up directly and hang myself 
 on the very beam which you are now perched 
 on.” 
 1 See on this subject, Bishop Butler’s disser- 
 tations on Personal Identity, appended to the 
 Analogy of Religion, (p. 331. et seq.) on which I 
 shall have occasion to speak at some length here- 
 after. 
 
110 OF HUMAN 
 
 UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK I. 
 
 God may, of all others,’ for many reasons be thought so; since it is hard to con- 
 ceive how there should be innate moral principles, without an innate idea of a 
 Deity: without a notion of a law-maker, it is impossible to have a notion of a 
 
 law, and an obligation to observe it. 
 
 Besides the atheists taken notice of amongst 
 
 ‘the ancients, and left branded upon the records of history, hath not navigation 
 discovered in these later ages, whole nations at the bay of Soldania,* in Brazil,’ 
 in Boranday,‘* and in the Caribbee islands, &c., amongst whom there was to be 
 found no notion of a God, no religion?’ Nicholaus del Techo, in Literis ex Para- 
 
 1 Into the use of this incorrect phrase, Locke 
 is often betrayed. It has already occurred twice, 
 in chap. ii. § 4. and again in this place. But, as 
 Addison long ago remarked, a much greater 
 writer than Locke has indulged in precisely the 
 same solecism. 
 
 payload Ayre God and his Son except, 
 
 Created thing nought valued he nor shunned.” 
 Where, from the construction of the language, 
 it would seem as if the poet considered God to be 
 a created being. But a little reflection will serve 
 to show that, intending to enumerate the things 
 dreaded by Satan, and having named the Al- 
 mighty and the second person in the Godhead, 
 he perceives there are no others, and breaks 
 away into the general assertion, that he dreaded 
 no created thing. See the remarks of Addison, 
 Spectator, No. 285. Locke should have written, 
 ‘“The idea of God may, of all our ideas, for many 
 reasons,” &c. 
 
 2 Roe apud Thevenot, p. 2. 
 
 3 Jo. de Lery, c. 16. 
 
 4 emerer ss 201 17 23 s - 
 Martiniére 35. Terry gag and 545: Oving 
 ton 60 
 
 5 No doubt it follows, from the principles clearly 
 explained in the early part of this book, that we 
 have no innate ideas; but it is not the less true 
 that man’s mind is naturally fitted for the acqui- 
 sition of certain ideas and principles, amongst 
 which those constituting the foundation of reli- 
 gion, particularly the idea of God and of a future 
 state, are the clearest and most evident. So 
 much indeed is often acknowledged by Locke, 
 who yet, both here and elsewhere, maintains the 
 existence of whole nations to which the most 
 obvious of all truths is unknown. This may 
 serve to show how difficult itis even for the ablest 
 minds, when supporting a favourite hypothesis, 
 to guard against very palpable errors. To me, I 
 own, the thought which always first suggested 
 itself on reading these extraordinary relations 
 was, that the travellers were too ignorant of the 
 language, and consequently too little acquainted 
 with the opinions of the barbarous nations about 
 which they wrote, to decide as to what they did or 
 did not believe. No traveller of modern times 
 appears to have corroborated the relations of 
 those credulous and hasty writers, who seem 
 often to have libelled uncivilized nations that 
 they and their countrymen might have some ex- 
 cuse for plundering them. The testimony of Sir 
 Thomas Roe, on which Locke relies, for the 
 opinions of the natives of Saldanha Bay, is as 
 follows: ‘‘The land is fruitful, but divided by 
 high inaccessible rocky mountains covered with 
 snow, the River Dulce falling into the bay on the 
 east side. The people are the most barbarous in 
 the world, eating carrion, wearing the guts of 
 sheep about their necks for health, and rubbing 
 their heads, which are curled like the blacks, 
 with the dung of beasts and birds ; and having no 
 clothes but skins wrapped about their shoulders, 
 
 the flesh side next tne body in summer, and the 
 hair in winter. Their houses are but a mat 
 rounded at the top like an oven, which they turn 
 as the wind changes, having no door to keep it 
 out. They have left off their custom of stealing, 
 but know no God or religion. 'The air and water 
 are very wholesome,” &c. (Church. Coll. vol. i. 
 626.) To this heedless assertion of Sir Thomas 
 Roe, we may oppose the testimony of Baldaus, 
 whose opinion on the general question exactly 
 coincides with my own: ‘‘ The existence of a 
 God, or Supreme Being, is so firmly rooted in the 
 heart of mankind, that there is no nation in the 
 world but what has acknowledged the same. 
 What is alleged to the contrary by some, of the 
 Chileses, Tapujars, Brasilians, Madagascarians, 
 as also of the inhabitants of Florida, the Caribbee 
 Islands, and especially at the Cape of Good Hope, 
 must rather be attributed to the want of know- 
 ledge of those authors than real truth. Of this 
 I was sufficiently convinced in 1666, when I tar- 
 ried three months at the Cape of Good Hope, 
 where I found these barbarians to perform their 
 religious service in the night-time, which I had 
 no opportunity to observe in 1665, when I came 
 that way before.” (Churchil’s Col! vol. iii. p. 733.) 
 With respect to the religious opinions entertained 
 by the aborigines of Brazil, no stress can be laid 
 on the account of Lery, on which Locke depends. 
 As a specimen of the confused and contradictory 
 notions of travellers on subjects of this kind, [ 
 subjoin a passage from Nieuhoff: ‘‘ The most 
 
 barbarous of the Brazilians inhabiting the inland 
 
 countries, scarce know anything of a religion, or 
 an Almighty Being. They have some knowledge 
 remaining of a general deluge, it being their 
 opinion that the whole race of mankind were 
 extirpated by a general deluge, except one man 
 and his own sister, who being with child before, 
 they by degrees repeopled the world. They 
 know not what God is, nay, they have no word 
 expressing the same, unless it be Tuba, which 
 signifies as much as something most excellent 
 above the rest; thus they call the thunder Tuba- 
 kununga, 7.¢. a noise made by the supreme excel- 
 lency, for Akununga implies as much as a noise. 
 They are unacquainted with heaven or hell, 
 though they have a tradition among them, that 
 the souls don’t die with the bodies, but that they 
 are either transplanted into devils or spirits, or 
 else enjoy a great deal of pleasure, with dancing 
 and singing in some pleasant fields, which they 
 say are beyond the mountains. These fields are 
 enjoyed by all the brave men and women who 
 have killed and eaten many of their enemies; 
 but such as have been idle, and never did any- 
 thing of moment, are tortured by the devil, unto 
 whom they give many names. They have, how- 
 ever, some sort of priests among them, whose 
 business is to sacrifice and to foretell things to 
 come.” (Church. Coll. ii. 182.) Compare with 
 this the account of a Portuguese and a French 
 traveller in Harris, vol.i. p. 730. Montaigne, who 
 
NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 
 
 CHAP. Iv. ] 
 
 quaria de Caaiguarum Conversione, has these words:' “‘ Reperi eam gentem nul- 
 lum nomen habere, quod Deum et hominis animam significet, nulla sacra habet, 
 nulla idola.”’ These are instances of nations where uncultivated nature has been 
 left to itself, without the help of letters and discipline, and the improvements of 
 arts and sciences. But there are others to be found, who have enjoyed these in 
 a very great measure, who yet, for want of a due application of their thoughts 
 this way, want the idea and knowledge of God. It will, I doubt not, be a sur- 
 prise to others, as it was to me, to find the Siamites of thisnumber. But for this, 
 let them consult the King of France’s late envoy thither,* who gives no better 
 account of the Chinese themselves. And if we will not believe La Loubére, the 
 missionaries of China, even the Jesuits themselves, the great encomiasts of the 
 Chinese, do all to a man agree, and will convince us, that the sect of the literati, 
 or learned, keeping to the old religion of China, and the ruling party there, are all 
 of them atheists. Vid. Navarette, in the collection of voyages, vol. i., and Historia 
 Cultus Sinensium. And perhaps, if we should with attention mind the lives and 
 discourses of people not so far off, we should have too much reason to fear, that 
 many in more civilized countries have no very strong and clear impressions of a 
 Deity upon their minds; and that the complaints of atheism made from the pulpit 
 are not without reason. And though only some profligate wretches own it too 
 barefacedly now, yet perhaps we should hear more than we do of it from 
 
 was a curious and diligent inquirer, and cannot 
 well be charged with over credulity, obtained from 
 a traveller who had resided ten or twelve years 
 in Brazil, a most satisfactory account of the re- 
 ligion of its inhabitants. This man observes, 
 that ‘‘Ils croyent les 4mes éternelles: et celles 
 qui ont bien mérité des dieux, estre logées a 
 Vendroit du Ciel ot le soleil se léve ; les maudites, 
 du costé de l’Occident.”’ (HEssais, ii. p. 280.) 
 La Loubére’s account of the religion of the Sia- 
 mese is little better than what Nieuhoff writes 
 of the Brazilians. 
 
 After speaking of their priests and monks, he 
 describes them going “with their superiors to 
 the temple to prayers for two hours, which they 
 sing or repeat out of the Baby books. In these 
 their morning prayers, which the people never 
 miss, they call to mind three things: God, and 
 the law he hath left them to observe; their 
 parents, and the benefits received from them : 
 their priests, and the reverence they owe them.” 
 Again, of their commandments, the sixth is, 
 “¢ Adore God, and,those that imitate his virtues.” 
 Yet after all this, La Loubére does not scruple 
 to assure us, ‘‘ that they do not acknowledge a 
 heaven and hell, nor any God a creator ; yet they 
 own a supreme felicity, as a recompense of good 
 works, and the utmost degree of misery, as the 
 punishment of the guilty.” (Harris’s Coll. ii. 
 p. 482 et seq.) 
 
 On the religion of the Chinese, it was scarcely 
 possible in Locke’sage to obtain any very clear or 
 distinct notion; and therefore, though it were to 
 be wished that he had exhibited more scepticism 
 on a point of this importance, it is not surprising 
 that, believing what he read, his opinions should 
 have been erroneous. Duhalde observes, that 
 there are three principal sects in China, of which 
 the first is that of the learned, who profess the 
 primitive religion of the country, as taught by 
 Confucius; the second is that of Lao-tzu, whose 
 doctrines he denominates extravagant and im- 
 pious; and the third that of Fo, or Buddha, in- 
 troduced into the country about sixty-five years 
 after the Christian era. This laborious but un- 
 philosophical writer supposes the Chinese em- 
 
 pire to have been founded, about two hundred 
 years after the deluge, by the descendants of Noah, 
 who preserved by tradition just notions of the 
 power and grandeur of the Deity. These doc- 
 trines, together with a pure system of ethics, are 
 supposed to have been taught by Confucius, 
 whose opinions are those of the learned. Con- 
 sult Duhalde, t. iii. pp. 13—20. Bohlen, treating 
 of the religion of Buddha, observes very justly 
 on this question, ‘“‘ Non dubitamus cum Runio 
 contendere, nullum omnino religionis systema 
 magis esse oppositum atheismi quam illud Tau- 
 tame, et dementiam fere esse, universum ali- 
 quem populam atheismi accusare, quum vix ac 
 ne vix quidem singulus homo existat qui omnem 
 prorsus Deiexistentiam negare velit.’’ (De Budd- 
 hismi Origine et Attate Definiendis Tentamen, 
 etc. p. 18 et seq.) I have in my work on the 
 Hindoos (vol. i. p. 175 et seq.) given some ac- 
 count of the origin and progress of Buddhism in 
 India, with the authorities to be consulted for a 
 more complete investigation. Francesco Car- 
 letti, a Florentine traveller of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, gives a singular account of the three great 
 sects of China; the first of which, he says, de- 
 rived its origin from Pythagoras; the second, or 
 Sect of the Literati, worship, he says, the King of 
 Heaven: ‘‘la seconda setta é di quelle che ado- 
 rano il Re del Cielo e della Terra; e di questa 
 fanno professione, quasi tutte gli uomini letterati, 
 e filosofi.”” Of this sect he relates a curious cir- 
 cumstance, viz. that they erect on the tops of 
 their houses, chapels without roofs, in order that 
 they may behold the sky, which they worship as 
 the image of God. The third sect he describes, 
 is that of Buddha. (Ragionamenti di Fr. Car- 
 letti, ii. p. 156 et seq. See also Le Compte, 
 Nouvelle Mém. sur la Chine, etc. ii. 101 et seq. ; 
 and a Memoir of Mr. Davis, Transact. Roy. 
 Asiat. Society, i. 5 et seq.) 
 
 1 Relatio triplex de rebus Indicis Caaiguarum 
 43 
 
 70. 
 
 2 La Loubére du-Royaume de Siam, t. i. c. 9, 
 sect. 15; and c. 20, sect. 22; and c. 22, sect. 6. 
 
 3 Ib. t. i. c. 20, sect. 4, and c. 23. 
 
112 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 others, did not the fear of the magistrate’s sword, or their neighbour's censure, tie 
 up people’s tongues ; which, were the apprehensions of punishment or shame 
 taken away, would as openly proclaim their atheism as their lives do.? 
 
 9. But had all mankind everywhere a notion of a God (whereof yet history 
 tells us the contrary), it would not from thence follow, that the idea of him was 
 innate. For though no nation were to be found without a name, and some few 
 dark notions of him, yet that would not prove them to be natural impressions 
 on the mind, any more than the names of fire, or the sun, heat, or number, do 
 prove the ideasthey stand for to be innate, because the names of those things, 
 and the ideas of them, are so universally received and known amongst mankind. 
 Nor, on the contrary, is the want of such a name, or the absence of such a notion 
 out of men’s minds, any argument against the being of a God, any more than it 
 would be a proof that there was no loadstone in the world, because a great part 
 of mankind had neither a notion of any such thing, nor a name for it; or be any 
 show of argument to prove that there are no distinct and various species of angels, 
 or intelligent beings above us, because we have no ideas of such distinct species, 
 or names for them; for men being furnished with words by the common language 
 of their own countries, can scarce avoid having some kind of ideas of those things, 
 whose names those they converse with have occasion frequently to mention to 
 them. And if they carry with it the notion of excellency, greatness, or something 
 extraordinary ; if apprehension and concernment accompany it; if the fear of abso- 
 lute and irresistible power set it on upon the mind, the idea is likely to sink the 
 deeper, and spread the further ; especially if it be such an idea as is agreeable to 
 the common light of reason, and naturally deducible from every part of our 
 knowledge, as that of a God is. For the visible marks of extraordinary wisdom 
 and power appear so plainly in all the works of the creation, that a rational 
 creature who will but seriously reflect on them, cannot miss the discovery of a 
 Deity. And the influence that the discovery of such a being must necessarily 
 have on the minds of all that have but once heard of it is so great, and carries 
 such a weight of thought and communication with it, that it seems stranger to me 
 that a whole nation of men should be anywhere found so brutish as to want the 
 notion of a God, than that they should be without any notion of number or 
 fire. 
 
 10. The name of God being once mentioned in any part of the world, to express 
 a superior, powerful, wise, invisible being, the suitableness of such a notion to the 
 principles of common reason, and the interest men will always have to mention 
 it often, must necessarily spread it far and wide, and continue it down to all 
 generations ; though yet the general reception of this name, and some imperfect 
 and unsteady notions conveyed thereby to the unthinking part of mankind, prove 
 not the idea to be innate, but only that they who made the discovery had made 
 aright use of their reason, thought maturely of the causes of things, and traced 
 them to their original; from whom other less considering people having once 
 received so important a notion, it could not easily be lost again. 
 
 11. This is all could be inferred from the notion of a God, were it to be found 
 universally in all the tribes of mankind, and generally acknowledged by men 
 grown to maturity in all countries. For the generality of the acknowledging of a 
 God, as I imagine, is extended no further than that; which if it be sufficient to 
 prove the idea of God innate, will as well prove the idea of fire innate; since I 
 think it may be truly said, that there is not a person in the world who has a 
 notion of a God, who has not also the idea of fire. I doubt not but if a colony 
 of young children should be placed in an island where no fire was, they would 
 certainly neither have any notion of such a thing, nor name for it, how generally 
 soever it were received and known in all the world besides ;* and perhaps too 
 
 1 See Locke’s third letter to the Bishop of ? See a former note on the nations ignorant of 
 Worcester. the use of fire, note 2, p. 22. 
 
NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. tS 
 
 CHAP. IV. | 
 
 their apprehensions would be as far removed from any name, or notion of a God, 
 till some one amongst them had employed his thoughts to inquire into the consti- 
 tution and causes of things, which would easily lead him to the notion of a God; 
 which having once taught to others, reason, and the natural propensity of their 
 own thoughts, would afterwards propagate, and continue amongst them. 
 
 12. Suetable to God's Goodness, that all Men should have an Idea of Him, 
 therefore naturally imprinted by Him, answered.—Indeed it is urged, that it is 
 suitable to the goodness of God to imprint upon the minds of men, characters and 
 notions of himself, and not to leave them in the dark and doubt in so grand a 
 concernment ; and also by that means to secure to himself the homage and vene- 
 ration due from so intelligent a creature as man; and therefore he has done it. 
 
 This argument, if it be of any force, will prove much more than those who use 
 it in this case expect from it. For if we may conclude that God hath done for 
 men all that men shall judge is best for them, because it is suitable to his good- 
 ness so to do, it will prove, not only that God has imprinted on the minds of men 
 an idea of himself, but that he hath plainly stamped there, in fair characters, all 
 that men ought to know or believe of him, all that they ought to do in obedience 
 to his will; and that he hath given them a will and affections conformable to it. 
 This, no doubt, every one will think better for men, than that they should, in the 
 dark, grope after knowledge, as St. Paul tells us all nations did after God, 
 (Acts xvii. 27,) than that their wills should clash with their understandings, and 
 their appetites cross their duty. The Romanists say it is best for men, and so 
 suitable to the goodness of God, that there should be an infallible judge of con- 
 
 troversies on earth, and therefore there is one. 
 it is better for men that every man himself should be infallible. 
 
 And I, by the same reason, say 
 I leave them to 
 
 consider, whether by the force of this argument they shall think that every man 
 
 1 That men widely separated from each other 
 may arrive, by independent researches, at con- 
 clusions nearly the same, appears from many 
 examples. Thus, in theology, we find Plato, 
 the Hindoos, and the Africans of Fida, concur- 
 ring in the belief that the Supreme God is too 
 far removed from human knowledge to be to the 
 people an object of worship. Among the Greeks 
 accordingly, neglecting the primary divinity, the 
 multitude addicted themselves to the adoration 
 of secondary and inferior powers. In Hindustan, 
 Brimha, or the supreme intelligence, has, I be- 
 lieve, but one temple in all the land, while the 
 other gods, his servants and ministers, possess 
 shrines and altars without number. Something 
 very closely resembling this takes place among 
 the people of Fida, who, “‘ for the most part, 
 have an imperfect notion of a Supreme Being, 
 Almighty and Omnipresent, to whom they attri- 
 bute the formation of the universe, and give 
 him an infinite preference above their endless 
 number of idol gods, to whom, because he is so 
 highly exalted, they neither pray nor offer any 
 sacrifices, alleging that they think his incom- 
 parable grandeur does not permit him to think 
 of the human race, or be at the trouble of go- 
 verning the world, which he has therefore com- 
 mitted to their idols, to rule as his vicegerents 
 in all things; and therefore they direct all 
 their religious worship to those inferior deities ; 
 amongst whom they reckon as the principal, 
 first, a sort of reddish brown snake; next to it 
 the high, lofty trees, of a beautiful form; and 
 next to them, again, the sea.’ (Barbot’s De- 
 scription of the Coasts of South Guinea, ec. 111.) 
 Brimha, or Brahm, the one incomprehensible 
 god, must by no means be confounded with 
 Brahma, one of the persons of the T'rimurti. It 
 
 is generally supposed, as is positively asserted 
 by Ward, that no temple has ever been erected 
 in India to the true God. Colonel Tod, how- 
 ever, informs us that there still exists entire, at 
 Cheetore, an enormous and costly fabric dedi- 
 cated to ‘‘ Brimha,”’ the creator, not ‘‘ Brahma.” 
 Being to ‘‘ the One,”’ and consequently contain- 
 ing no idol, it may thus have escaped the ruth- 
 less fury of the invaders. (Annals of Rajast’han, 
 vol. i. p. 275.) The same author also supposes 
 that pure theism was once found in India. 
 (p. 535.) He afterwards appears to lose sight of 
 the above temple, when, speaking of the numer- 
 ous shrines round lake Pohkur, he says, “‘ By 
 far the most conspicuous edifice is the shrine of 
 the creator Brimha, ..... This is the sole taber- 
 nacle dedicated to the One God, which I ever 
 saw or have heard of in India.” (p. 774.) Not 
 unlike were the doctrines of the ancient Egyp- 
 tians, who taught that the soul was a particle of 
 the divine ether, which, without consciousness, 
 animated successively myriads of sentient be- 
 ings. They worshipped brute matter, and the 
 elements; and, according to Herodotus, (lib. 11, 
 cap. 123,) their eight greater divinities were 
 the four elements, the sun, the moon, day, and 
 night—mere pantheism. Diogenes Laertius 
 likewise accuses them of pantheism. But Ja- 
 blonski maintains that the more ancient Egyp- 
 tian philosophers believed in one God. ‘This 
 infinite spirit, which, like the Brimha of the 
 Hindoos, included both sexes, is supposed to 
 have been a subtile fire, and was called Phtha. 
 Yet the worship of this god, like that of Brimha 
 in India, died away. He had, in fact, in all 
 Egypt, but one single temple, which was at 
 Memphis. (Jablonski, Panth. Aigypt. t. i. pp. 
 31—82.) 
 
114 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book I. 
 
 is so. I think it a very good argument to say, the infinitely wise God hath made 
 it so, and therefore it is best. But it seems to me a little too much confidence of 
 our own wisdom to say, “ I think it best, and therefore God hath made it so;” 
 
 and in the matter in hand, it will be in vain to argue from such a topic that God 
 
 hath done so, when certain experience shows us that he hath not. But the good- 
 
 ness of God hath not been wanting to men without such original impressions of 
 knowledge or ideas stamped on the mind, since he hath furnished man with those 
 
 ‘ faculties which will serve for the sufficient discovery of all things requisite to 
 
 the end of such a being; and I doubt not but to show, that a man, by the right 
 
 use of his natural abilities, may, without any innate principles, attain a know- 
 
 ledge of a God, and other things that concern him. God having endued man 
 
 with those faculties of knowledge which he hath, was no more obliged by his 
 
 goodness to plant those innate notions in his mind, than that, having given him 
 
 reason, hands, and materials, he should build him bridges or houses, which some 
 
 people in the world, however, of good parts, do either totally want, or are but ill 
 
 provided of, as well as others are wholly without ideas of God and principles of 
 morality, or at least have but very ill ones; the reason in both cases being, that 
 
 they never employed their parts, faculties, and powers industriously that way, but 
 
 contented themselves with the opinions, fashions, and things of their country, as 
 
 they found them, without looking any further. Had you or I been born at the 
 
 Bay of Soldania, possibly our thoughts and notions had not exceeded those 
 
 brutish ones of the Hottentots that inhabit there; and had the Virginia king 
 
 Apochancana been educated in England, he had been perhaps as knowing a 
 
 divine and as good a mathematician as any in it: the difference between him and 
 
 a more improved Englishman lying barely in this, that the exercise of his faculties 
 
 was bounded within the ways, modes, and notions of his own country, and never 
 
 directed to any other, or further inquiries; and if he had not any idea of a God, it 
 
 was only because he pursued not those thoughts that would have led him to it. 
 
 13. Ideas of God various in different Men.—I grant, that if there were any idea 
 to be found imprinted on the minds of men, we have reason to expect it should 
 be the notion of his Maker, as a mark God set on his own workmanship, to 
 mind man of his dependence and duty, and that herein should appear the first 
 instances of human knowledge. But how late is it before any such notion is dis- 
 coverable in children! And when we find it there, how much more does it 
 resemble the opinion and notion of the teacher, than represent the true God! 
 He that shall observe in children the progress whereby their minds attain the 
 knowledge they have, will think that the objects they do first and most familiarly 
 converse with, are those that make the first impressions on their understandings ; 
 nor will he find the least footsteps of any other. It is easy to take notice how 
 their thoughts enlarge themselves, only as they come to be acquainted with a 
 greater variety of sensible objects, to retain the ideas of them in their memories, 
 and to get the skill to compound and enlarge them, and several ways put them 
 together. How by these means they come to frame in their minds an idea men 
 have of a Deity, I shall hereafter show. 
 
 14. Can it be thought that the ideas men have of God, are the characters and 
 marks of himself, engraven on their minds by his own finger, when we see that, 
 in the same country, under one and the same name, men have far different, nay, 
 often contrary and inconsistent ideas and conceptions of him?! Their agreeing 
 In a name, or a sound, will scarce prove an innate notion of him. 
 
 15. What true or tolerable notion of a Deity could they have, who acknow- 
 
 ) An excellent illustration of this truth is fur- with their peculiar theories. Speaking of “la 
 nished by Pascal, in his Letters on the “ Pouvoir grace suffisante’ and “la grace efficace,”’ he 
 prochain,” and ‘La Grace suffisante,”” where | has the following sprightly colloquy between a 
 he shows that the Jesuits and Dominicans, Jansenist and a Dominican: ‘‘ Mais enfin, mon 
 though employing the same terms, gave them pére, cette grace donnée a tous les hommes est 
 each a different interpretation, in accordance suffisante? Oui, dit-il—Et néanmoins elle n’a 
 
CHAP. Iv.] NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 115 
 
 ledged and worshipped hundreds? very deity that they owned above one, was 
 an infallible evidence of their ignorance of him, and a proof that they had no true 
 notion of God, where unity, infinity, and eternity were excluded. To which, if 
 we add their gross conceptions of corporeity, expressed in their images and repre- 
 sentations of their deities, the amours, marriages, copulations, lusts, quarrels, and 
 other mean qualities attributed by them to their gods, we shall have little reason 
 to think that the heathen world, i. e. the greatest part of mankind, had such ideas 
 of God in their minds, as he himself, out of care that they should not be mistaken 
 about him, was author of.’ And this universality of consent, so much argued, 
 if it prove any native impressions, it will be only this, that God imprinted on the 
 minds of all men speaking the same language, a name for himself, but not any 
 idea; since those people who agreed in the name, had, at the same time, far dif- 
 ferent apprehensions about the thing signified. If they say that the variety of 
 deities worshipped by the heathen world, were but figurative ways of expressing 
 the several attributes of that incomprehensible Being, or several parts of his pro- 
 vidence, I answer, what they might be in the. original I will not here inquire, 
 but that they were so in the thoughts of the vulgar I think nobody will affirm. 
 And he that will consult the voyage of the Bishop of Beryte, c. 13, (not to mention 
 other testimonies, ) will find that the theology of the Siamites professedly owns a plu- 
 
 rality of gods; or, as the Abbé de Choisy more judiciously remarks in his Journal 
 
 107 
 
 du Voyage de Siam, , it consists properly in acknowledging no God at all.’ 
 
 nul effet sans grace efficace? Cela est vrai, dit- 
 il.—Et tous n’ont pas lefficace? Il est vrai, 
 dit-il.—C’ est-a-dire, lui dis-je, que tous ont assez 
 de grace, et que tout n’en ont pas assez; c’est- 
 a-dire, que cette grace suffit, quoiqu’elle ne suf- 
 fice pas; c’est-d-dire, qu’elle est suffisante de 
 nom, et insuffisante en effet. En bonne foi, mon 
 pére, cette doctrine est bien subtile. Avez-vous 
 oublié, en quittant le monde, ce que le mot de 
 suffisant y signifie? ne vous souvient-il pas 
 qu'il enferme tout ce qui est nécessaire pour 
 agir? Mais vous n’en avez pas perdu la mé- 
 moire; car, pour me servir d’une comparaison 
 qui vous sera plus sensible, si Pon ne vous 
 servoit a table que deux onces de pain et un 
 verre d’eau par jour, seriez-vous content de 
 votre prieur qui vous diroit que cela seroit suf- 
 fisant pour vous nourrir, sous prétexte qu’avec 
 autre chose qu’il ne vous donneroit pas, vous 
 auriez tout ce qui vous seroit nécessaire pour 
 vous nourrir?”’ (Lettres Provinciales, i. 23 et 
 seq.) 
 
 ? Plato had already, in his day, begun severely 
 to animadvert on the unworthy notions which 
 the pagans entertained of God. In his great 
 work on the Republic, teeming with the noblest 
 philosophical speculations, we find an extraordi- 
 nary picture of the arts whereby the begging 
 priests contrived to turn the follies of paganism 
 to account. Like the mendicant friars, and 
 other religious impostors of Christian Europe, 
 they travelled about the country, besieging espe- 
 cially the houses of the rich, whose personal 
 crimes, together with those of their ancestors, 
 they professed themselves able to expiate by 
 charms and incantations. According to their 
 account of the matter, they had the gods com- 
 pletely under their thumb, and could compel 
 them, not only to grant absolution for past of- 
 fences, but indulgence for sins to come. See, 
 however, the whole passage, with the notes of 
 Staulbaum, vol. i. p. 111 et seq. 
 
 2 Though I have already shown, even from 
 La Loubére himself, that the Siamese believe, 
 like all other nations, in the existence of a God, 
 and it might, perhaps, have been sufficient to 
 
 say that they are Buddhists, I will yet add two 
 or three testimonies to show with how great in- 
 justice they are, by the Abbé de Choisy, accused 
 of impiety. Sir Thomas Herbert observes, in 
 his account of this people, that they ‘‘ have groves 
 and altars, on which they offer flesh, fruits, and 
 flowers; and many times, when their Tallapoi 
 tells them their Deumo is melancholy, they 
 make harmonious music to them to make them ’ 
 cheerful. Others, by break of day, run to their 
 pagods with a basket of rice, hoping that day 
 will be happier. The Tallapoi preach usually 
 every Monday (their sabbath) in the market, 
 and call the people together by the sound of a 
 copper basin. They seem mendicants by pro- 
 fession; yet what by their policy, and what by 
 their incantations, (for they foretell future 
 events, and have great knowledge in things 
 past, present, and to come, by magic, and moral 
 observations, resolving, dissuading, applauding, 
 and directing them,) they are had in very great 
 estimation: these are their priests.” (In Harris’s 
 Coll., where the text is somewhat modernized. 
 See orig. p. 358.) 
 
 Tavernier having remarked on the great num- 
 ber of priests and pagodas, adds, that the Siamese 
 “say that the God of the Christians and theirs 
 are brothers, but theirs was the eldest.”’ (In 
 Harris’s Coll. vol. ii. p. 388.) But the most posi- 
 tive testimony is that of Mandelslo, according to 
 whom, ‘“‘ they believe one Creator of the uni- 
 verse, who governs the world by divers inferior 
 gods. They say that the soul is immortal, and 
 after it is purified, by passing through several 
 bodies, is either condemned to eternal torments, 
 or enjoys beatitude. They tell you that this has 
 been transmitted to them by tradition, time out 
 of mind; for the rest, they hold that good deeds, 
 and especially charity, are the chief means to 
 attain salvation; which is the reason they ex- 
 tend their charity even to beasts, such as birds 
 and fish, which they buy to set them at liberty, 
 as believing the transmigration of the soul. This 
 is the reason, also, why they never condemn any 
 other religion, or dispute with them.” (In Har- 
 ris’s Coll. ii. 128.) 
 
 bie 
 
116 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 If it be said, that wise men of all nations came to have true conceptions of the 
 unity and infinity of the Deity, I grant it. But then this, 
 
 First, Excludes universality of consent in anything but the name; for those 
 wise men being very few, perhaps one of a thousand, this universality is very 
 narrow. 
 
 Secondly, It seems to me plainly to prove, that the truest and best notions men 
 had of God were not imprinted, but acquired by thought and meditation, and 
 a right use of their faculties: since the wise and considerate men of the world, by 
 a right and careful employment of their thoughts and reason, attained true notions 
 in this as well as other things; whilst the lazy and inconsiderate part of men, 
 making far the greater number, took up their notions by chance, from common 
 tradition and vulgar conceptions, without much beating their heads about them. 
 And if it be a reason to think the notion of God innate, because all wise men had 
 it, virtue too must be thought innate, for that also wise men have always had. 
 
 16. This was evidently the case of all Gentilism; nor hath even amongst Jews, 
 Christians, and Mahometans, who acknowledge but one God, this doctrine, and 
 the care taken in those nations to teach men to have true notions of a God, pre- 
 vailed so far as to make men to have the same and the true ideas of him. How 
 many even amongst us will be found upon inquiry to fancy him in the shape of a 
 man sitting in heaven, and to have many other absurd and unfit conceptions of 
 him! Christians as well as Turks have had whole sects owning and contending 
 earnestly for it, and that the Deity was corporeal, and of human shape : and though 
 we find few among us who profess themselves Anthropomorphites, (though some 
 I have met with that own it,) yet I believe he that will make it his busmess may 
 find amongst the ignorant and uninstructed Christians many of that opinion. Talk 
 but with country people, almost of any age, or young people of almost any condi- 
 tion, and you shall find, that though the name of God be frequently in their mouths, 
 yet the notions they apply this name to are so odd, low, and pitiful, that nobody 
 can imagine they were taught by a rational man, much less that they were cha- 
 racters written by the finger of God himself. Nor do I see how it derogates more 
 from the goodness of God, that he has given us minds unfurnished with these ideas 
 of himself, than that he hath sent us into the world with bodies unclothed, and that 
 there is no art or skill born with us; for, being fitted with faculties to attain these, 
 it is want of industry and consideration in us, and not of bounty in him, if we have 
 them not. It is as certain that there is a God, as that the opposite angles made 
 by the intersection of two straight lines are equal. There was never any rational 
 creature that set himself sincerely to examine the truth of these propositions that 
 could fail to assent to them, though yet it be past doubt that there are many men 
 who, having not applied their thoughts that way, are ignorant both of the one and 
 the other. If any one think fit to call this (which is the utmost of its extent) uni- 
 versal consent, such an one I easily allow; but such an universal consent as this, 
 proves not the idea of God, any more than it does the idea of such angles, innate. 
 
 17. If the Idea of God be not innate, no other can be supposed innate.—Since 
 then, though the knowledge of a God be the most natural discovery of human 
 reason, yet the idea of him is not innate, as I think is evident from what has been 
 said ; I imagine there will scarcely be any other idea found that can pretend to it : 
 since if God hath sent any impression, any character on the understanding of men, 
 it is most reasonable to expect it should have been some clear and uniform idea of 
 himself, as far as our weak capacities were capable to receive so incomprehensible 
 and infinite an object. But our minds being at first void of that idea, which we 
 
 are most concerned to have, it is a strong presumption against all other innate 
 
 characters. I must own, as far as I can observe, I can find none, and would be 
 glad to be informed by any other. 
 
 18. Idea of Substance not innate.—I confess there is another idea which would 
 be of general use for mankind to have, as it is of general talk, as if they had it; 
 and that is the idea of substance, which we neither have nor can have by sensation 
 
CHAP. IV. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 117 
 
 or reflection. If nature took care to provide us any ideas, we might well expect 
 they should be such as by our own faculties we cannot procure to ourselves; but 
 we see, on the contrary, that since by those ways whereby our ideas are brought 
 into our minds this is not, we have no such clear idea at all, and therefore signify 
 nothing by the word substance, but only an uncertain supposition of we know not 
 ’ what, i.e. of something whereof we have no particular distinct positive idea, which 
 we take to be the substratum or support of those ideas we know. 
 
 19. No Propositions can be innate, since no Ideas are innate.— Whatever then 
 we talk of innate, either speculative or practical, principles, it may with as much 
 probability be said that a man hath £100 sterling in his pocket, and yet denied 
 that he hath either penny, shilling, crown, or other coin out of which the sum is 
 to be made up, as to think that certain propositions are innate when the ideas about 
 which they are can by no means be supposed to be so. The general reception 
 and assent that is given, doth not at all prove that the ideas expressed in them are 
 innate ; for in many cases, however the ideas came there, the assent to words ex- 
 pressing the agreement or disagreement of such ideas, will necessarily follow. Every 
 one that hath a true idea of God and worship, will assent to this proposition, “ that 
 God is to be worshipped,’’ when expressed in a language he understands; and 
 every rational man that hath not thought on it to-day, may be ready to assent to this 
 proposition to-morrow ; and yet millions of men may be well supposed to want one 
 or both those ideas to-day. For if we will allow savages and most country people 
 to have ideas of God and worship, (which conversation with them will not make 
 one forward to believe,) yet I think few children can be supposed to have those 
 ideas, which therefore they must begin to have some time or other; and then they 
 will also begin to assent to that proposition, and make very little question of it ever 
 after. But such an assent upon hearing, no more proves the ideas to be innate, 
 than it does that one born blind (with cataracts which will be couched to-morrow) 
 had the innate ideas of the sun, or light, or saffron, or yellow, because when his 
 sight is cleared he will certainly assent to this proposition, ‘‘ that the sun is lucid, 
 or that saffron is yellow;” and therefore if such an assent upon hearing cannot 
 prove the ideas innate, it can much less the propositions made up of those ideas. 
 If they have any innate ideas, I would be glad to be told what and how many they 
 are. 
 
 20. No innate Ideas in the Memory.—To which let me add, if there be any in- 
 nate ideas, any ideas in the mind, which the mind does not actually think on, they 
 must be lodged in the memory, and from thence must be brought into view by re- 
 membrance ; i.e. must be known when they are remembered to have been per- 
 ceptions in the mind before, unless remembrance can be without remembrance. 
 For to remember is to perceive anything with memory, or with a consciousness 
 that it was known or perceived before: without this, whatever idea comes into the 
 mind is new, and not remembered ; this consciousness of its having been in the mind 
 before, being that which distinguishes remembering from all other ways of thinking. 
 Whatever idea was never perceived by the mind, was never in the mind. What- 
 ever idea is in the mind, is either an actual perception, or else having been an actual 
 perception, is so in the mind, that by the memory it can be made an actual per- 
 ception again. Whenever there is the actual perception of an idea without memory, 
 the idea appears perfectly new and unknown before to the understanding. Whenever 
 the memory brings any idea into actual view, it is with a consciousness that it had 
 been there before, and was not wholly a stranger to the mind. Whether this be 
 not so, I appeal to every one’s observation: and then I desire an instance of an 
 
 ! This point has been discussed with much per- | agiroient inutilement sur les sens, et l’Ame n’en 
 severance by the Abbé de Condillac, who in some | prendroit jamais connoissance sielle n’en ayoit pas 
 things a mere reflection of Locke, affectsin others | perception.-Ainsi le premier et le moindre dégré 
 to differ from him, for the purpose, perhaps, of | de connoissance, c’est d’appercevoir.”’ (Essai sur 
 keeping up a show of originality. He observes | Vorigine des connoissances humaines, Part 1. 
 on the question here treated of, “ Les objets | § 2. ch. 1.1.1. p. 24.) 
 
T18 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK I. 
 
 idea pretended to be innate, which (before any impression of it by ways hereafter 
 to be mentioned) any one could revive and remember as an idea he had formerly 
 known; without which consciousness of a former perception there is no remem- 
 brance ; and whatever idea comes into the mind without that consciousness is not 
 remembered, or comes not out of the memory, nor can be said to be in the mind 
 before that appearance; for what is not either actually in view or in the memory, ~ 
 is in the mind no way at all, and is all one as if it had never beenthere. Suppose 
 a child had the use of his eyes till he knows and distinguishes colours; but then 
 cataracts shut the windows, and he is forty or fifty years perfectly in the dark, 
 and in that time perfectly loses all memory of the ideas of colours he once had. 
 This was the case of a blind man I once talked with, who lost his sight by the 
 smallpox when he was a child, and had no more notion of colours than one born 
 blind. I ask whether any one can say this man had then any ideas of colours 
 in his mind, any more than one born blind? And I think nobody will say that 
 either of them had in his mind any idea of colours at all. His cataracts are 
 couched, and then he has the ideas (which he remembers not) of colours, de novo, 
 by his restored sight conveyed to his mind, and that without any consciousness of 
 a former acquaintance: and these now he can revive and call to mind in the dark. 
 In this case all these ideas of colours which, when out of view, can be revived with 
 a consciousness of a former acquaintance, being thus in the memory, are said to be 
 in the mind. The use I make of this is, that whatever idea, being not actually in 
 view, is in the mind, is there only by being in the memory; and if it be not in 
 the memory, it is not in the mind; and if it be in the memory, it cannot by the 
 memory be brought into actual view without a perception that it comes out of the 
 memory; which is this, that it had been known before, and is now remembered. 
 If therefore there be any innate ideas, they must be in the memory, or else nowhere 
 in the mind; and if they be in the memory, they can be revived without any im- 
 pression from without ; and whenever they are brought into the mind they are 
 remembered, i.e. they bring with them a perception of their not being wholly new 
 to it. This bemg a constant and distinguishing difference between what is and 
 what is not inthe memory or in the mind ; that what is not in the memory, when- 
 ever it appears there, appears perfectly new and unknown before; and what is 
 in the memory or in the mind, whenever it is suggested by the memory, appears not 
 to be new, but the mind finds it in itself, and knows it was there before. By this 
 it may be tried whether there be any innate ideas in the mind, before impression 
 from sensation or reflection. I would fain meet with the man who, when he came 
 to the use of reason, or at any other time, remembered any one of them; and to 
 whom, after he was born, they were never new. If any one will say there are 
 ideas in the mind that are not in the memory, I desire him to explain himself, 
 and make what he says intelligible. 
 
 21. Principles not innate, because of little use or little certainty.—Besides 
 what I have already said, there is another reason why I doubt that neither these 
 nor any other principles are innate. I that am fully persuaded that the infinitely 
 wise God made all things in perfect wisdom, cannot satisfy myself why he should 
 be supposed to print upon the minds of men some universal principles; whereof 
 those that are pretended innate and concern speculation are of no great use; and 
 those that concern practice, not self-evident; and neither of them distinguishable 
 from some other truths not allowed to be innate. For to what purpose should 
 characters be graven onthe mind by the finger of God, which are not clearer there 
 than those which are afterwards introduced, or cannot be distinguished from them ? 
 If any one thinks there are such innate ideas and propositions which by their clear- 
 ness and usefulness are distinguishable from all that is adventitious in the mind 
 and acquired, it will not be a hard matter for him to tell us which they are, and 
 then every one will be a fit judge whether they be so or not ; since if there be such 
 innate ideas and impressions, plainly different from all other perceptions and know- 
 ledge, every one will find it true in himself. Of the evidence of these supposed 
 
——— 
 
 CHAP. IV. | NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 119 
 
 innate maxims I have spoken already ; of their usefulness I shall have occasion 
 to speak more hereafter. 
 
 22. Difference of Men’s Discoveries depends upon the different Application of 
 their Faculties.—To conclude: some ideas forwardly offer themselves to all men’s 
 understandings ; some sorts of truth result from any ideas as soon as the mind puts 
 them into propositions; other truths require a train of ideas placed in order, a due 
 comparing of them, and deductions made with attention, before they can be dis- 
 covered and assented to. Some of the first sort, because of their general and easy 
 reception, have been mistaken for innate; but the truth is, ideas and notions are 
 no more born with us than arts and sciences, though some of them indeed offer them- 
 selves to our faculties more readily than others, and therefore are more generally 
 received; though that too be according as the organs of our bodies and powers of 
 our minds happen to be employed; God having fitted men with faculties and means 
 to discover, receive, and retain truths, according as they are employed. The great 
 difference that is to be found in the notions of mankind, is from the different use 
 they put their faculties to: whilst some (and those the most), taking things upon 
 trust, misemploy their power of assent by lazily enslaving their minds to the dic- 
 tates and dominion of others in doctrines which it is their duty carefully to examine, 
 and not blindly, with an implicit faith, to swallow; others, employing their thoughts 
 only about some few things, grow acquainted sufficiently with them, attain great 
 degrees of knowledge in them, and are ignorant of all other, having never let their 
 thoughts loose in the search of other inquiries. Thus, that the three angles of a 
 triangle are quite equal to two right ones, is a truth as certain as anything can be, 
 and I think more evident than many of those propositions that go for principles ; 
 and yet there are millions, however expert in other things, who know not this at 
 all, because they never set their thoughts on work about such angles: and he that 
 certainly knows this proposition, may yet be utterly ignorant of the truth of other 
 propositions, in mathematics itself, which are as clear and evident as this ; because, 
 in his search of those mathematical truths, he stopped his thoughts short and went 
 not so far. The same may happen concerning the notions we have of the being 
 of a Deity; for though there be no truth which a man may more evidently make 
 out to himself than the existence of a God, yet he that shall content himself with 
 things as he finds them in this world, as they minister to his pleasures and passions, 
 and not make inquiry a little further into their causes, ends, and admirable con- 
 trivances, and pursue the thoughts thereof with diligence and attention, may live 
 long without any notion of such a Being. And if any person hath by talk put 
 such a notion into his head, he may perhaps believe it; but if he hath never ex- 
 amined it, his knowledge of it will be no perfecter than his, who having been told 
 that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right ones, takes it upon trust, 
 without examining the demonstration, and may yield his assent as a probable opi- 
 nion, but hath no knowledge of the truth of it ; which yet his faculties, if carefully 
 employed, were able to make clear and evident to him. But this only, by the by, 
 to show how much our knowledge depends upon the right use of those powers 
 nature hath bestowed upon us, and how little upon such innate principles as are in 
 vain supposed to be in all mankind for their direction; which all men could not 
 but know if they were there, or else they would be there to no purpose; and which 
 since all men do not know, nor can distinguish from other adventitious truths, we 
 may well conclude there are no such. 
 
 23. Men must think and know for themselves.—What censure, doubting thus 
 of innate principles, may deserve from men, who willbe apt to call it pulling up the 
 old foundations of knowledge and certainty, I cannot tell; I persuade myself at 
 least that the way I have pursued, being conformable to truth, lays those founda- 
 tions surer. This I am certain, I have not made it my business either to quit or 
 follow any authority in the ensuing discourse: truth has been my only aim, and 
 wherever that has appeared to lead, my thoughts have impartially followed, with- 
 out minding whether the footsteps of any other lay that way or not. Not that I 
 
120 [ROOK f. 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 want a due respect to other men’s opinions; but, after all, the greatest reverence is 
 due to truth: and I hope it will not be thought arrogance to say, that perhaps we 
 should make greater progress in the discovery of rational and contemplative know- 
 ledge, if we sought it in the fountain, in the consideration of things themselves, and 
 made use rather of our own thoughts than other men’s to find it; for I think we 
 may as rationally hope to see with other men’s eyes, as to know by other men’s 
 understandings. So much as we ourselves consider and comprehend of truth and 
 reason, so much we possess of real and true knowledge. The floating of other 
 men’s opinions in our brains, makes us not one jot the more knowing, though they 
 happen to be true. What in them was science, is in us but opiniatrety ; whilst we 
 give up our assent only to reverend names, and do not, as they did, employ our 
 own reason to understand those truths which gave them reputation. Aristotle 
 was certainly a knowing man, but nobody ever thought him so because he blindly 
 embraced or confidently vented the opinions of another. And if the taking up 
 another’s principles, without examining them, made not him a philosopher, I sup- 
 pose it will hardly make anybody else so. In the sciences every one has so much 
 as he really knows and comprehends. What he believes only, and takes upon trust, 
 are but shreds; which, however well in the whole piece, make no considerable 
 addition to his stock who gathers them. Such borrowed wealth, like fairy-money, 
 though it were gold in the hand from which he received it, will be but leaves and 
 dust when it comes to use.’ 
 
 24. Whence the Opinion of Innate Principles.—When men have found some 
 general propositions that could not be doubted of as soon as understood, it was, I 
 know, a short and easy way tu conclude them innate. This being once received, 
 it eased the lazy from the pains of search, and stopped the inquiry of the doubtful 
 concerning all that was once styled innate. And it was of no small advantage to 
 those who affected to be masters and teachers, to make this the principle of prin- 
 ciples, “that principles must not be questioned :” for having once established this 
 tenet, that there are innate principles, it put their followers upon a necessity of receiv- 
 ing some doctrines as such; which was to take them off from the use of their own 
 reason and judgment, and put them on believing and taking them upon trust with- 
 out further examination: in which posture of blind credulity they might be more 
 easily governed by and made useful to some sort of men who had the skill and 
 office to principle and guide them. Noris it a small power it gives one man over 
 another to have the authority to be the dictator of principles and teacher of un- 
 questionable truths; and to make a man swallow that for an innate principle, 
 which may serve to his purpose who teacheth them: whereas had they examined 
 the ways whereby men came to the knowledge of many universal truths, they 
 would have found them to result in the minds of men from the being of things 
 themselves when duly considered ; and that they were discovered by the applica- 
 tion of those faculties that were fitted by nature to receive and judge of them when 
 duly employed about them. 
 
 25. Conclusion.—To show how the understanding proceeds herein is the design 
 of the following discourse, which I shall proceed to when I have first premised, 
 that hitherto, to clear my way to those foundations which I conceive are the only 
 true ones whereon to establish those notions we can have of our own knowledge, it 
 hath been necessary for me to give an account of the reasons I had to doubt of 
 
 _1 Locke had possibly read in Galland’s transla- 
 tion of the Arabian Nights the story of the bar- 
 ber’s fourth brother, El-kooz-el-Aswanee, the 
 butcher of Bagdad, of whom it is related, that 
 ‘“‘being in his shop one day, there accosted him 
 an old man with a long beard, who handed to him 
 some money, saying, Give me some meat for it. 
 So he took the money, and gave him the meat. 
 And when the old man had gone away, my brother 
 looked at the money which he had paid him, and 
 
 seeing that it was of a brilliant whiteness, put it 
 aside byitself. This old man continued to repair 
 to him during a period of five months, and my 
 brother always threw his money into a chest by 
 itself; after which period he desired to take it out 
 for the purpose of buying some sheep; but on 
 opening the chest, he found all the contents con- 
 verted into white paper, clipped round.” (Lane’s 
 Translation, vol. i. p. 396.) 
 
CHAP. Iv. |] NO INNATE PRINCIPLES. 121 
 
 innate principles. And since the arguments which are against them do some of 
 them rise from common received opinions, I have been forced to take several things 
 for granted, which is hardly avoidable to any one, whose task is to show the false- 
 hood or improbability of any tenet ; it happening in controversial discourses as it 
 does in assaulting of towns, where, if the ground be but firm whereon the batteries 
 are erected, there is no further inquiry of whom it is borrowed, nor whom it be- 
 longs to, so it affords but a fit rise for the present purpose. But in the future 
 part of this Discourse, designing to raise an- edifice uniform and consistent with 
 itself, as far as my own experience and observation will assist me, I hope to erect 
 it on such a basis that I shall not need to shore it up with props and buttresses, 
 leaning on borrowed or begged foundations ; or at least, if mine prove a castle in 
 the air, I will endeavour it shall be all of a piece and hang together. Wherein I 
 warn the reader not to expect undeniable cogent demonstrations, unless I may be 
 allowed the privilege, not seldom assumed by others, to take my principles for 
 granted, and then, I doubt not, but I can.demonstrate too. All that I shall say 
 for the principles I proceed on is, that I can only appeal to men’s own unpreju- 
 diced experience and observation whether they be true or not; and this is enough 
 for a man who professes no more than to lay down candidly and freely his own 
 conjectures, concerning a subject lying somewhat in the dark, without any other 
 design than an unbiassed inquiry after truth. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF IDEAS IN GENERAL, AND THEIR ORIGINAL. 
 
 1. Idea is the Object of Thinking.—Every man being conscious to himself that 
 he thinks, and that which his mind is applied about whilst thinking, being the ideas 
 that are there, it is past doubt that men have in their minds several ideas, such as are 
 those expressed by the words whiteness, hardness, sweetness, thinking, motion, man, 
 elephant, army, drunkenness, and others. It is in the first place then to be inquired 
 how he comes by them. I know it is a received doctrine that men have native 
 ideas and original characters stamped upon their minds in their very first being. 
 This opinion I have at large examined already ; and I suppose what I have said 
 in the foregoing book will be much more easily admitted when I have shown 
 whence the understanding may get all the ideas it has, and by what ways and 
 degrees they may come into the mind; for which I shall appeal to every one’s own 
 observation and experience. 
 
 2. All Ideas come from Sensation or Reflection.—Let us then suppose the 
 mind to be, as we say, white paper,’ void of all characters, without any ideas; how 
 comes it to be furnished? Whence comes it by that vast store which the busy 
 and boundless fancy of man has painted on it with an almost endless variety ? 
 Whence has it all the materials of reason and knowledge? ‘To this I answer in 
 one word, from experience; in that all our knowledge is founded, and from that it 
 ultimately derives itself.2 Our observation employed either about external sensi- 
 ble objects, or about the internal operations of our minds, perceived and reflected 
 on by ourselves, is that which supplies our understandings with all the materials 
 of thinking. These two are the fountains of knowledge from whence all the ideas 
 we have or can naturally have do spring. 
 
 3. The Objects of Sensation one Source of Ideas.—First, our senses, conversant 
 about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct 
 perceptions of things, according to those various ways wherein those objects 
 do affect them: and thus we come by those ideas we have, of yellow, white, heat, 
 cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities ; 
 which when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean, they from external 
 objects convey into the mind what produces there those perceptions. This great 
 
 1 Upon this comparison [havealreadyremarked ; a fundamental principle of Locke’s philosophy, 
 
 in a former note. 
 
 2 It would at first sight, and to an unpreju- 
 diced person, appear that Locke in this passage 
 had expressed himself with sufficient clearness, 
 but Mr. Dugald Stewart found it to be either ob- 
 scure in itself, or directly at variance with the com- 
 ments which the philosopher has elsewhere made 
 on the doctrine it contains. Hisremarks are too 
 long to be introduced into a note, but the result 
 to which he supposes them to lead is modestly 
 stated in the following sentences: ‘‘If the fore- 
 going remarks be well-founded, they are fatal to 
 
 which has been assumed by most of his successors 
 as a demonstrated truth, and which, under a form 
 somewhat disguised, has served to Hume as the 
 basis of all his sceptical theories. It appears to me, 
 that the doctrines of both these eminent authors, 
 with respect to the origin of our ideas, resolve into 
 the supposition, that consciousness is exclusively 
 the source of all our knowledge. Their language, 
 indeed, particularly that of Locke, seems to im- 
 ply the contrary; but that this was really their 
 opinion, may, with certainty, be inferred from 
 their own comments.” (Phil. Essay, p. 82 et seq.) 
 
123 
 
 CHAP. I.] THE ORIGINAL OF OUR IDEAS. 
 
 source of most of the ideas we have, depending wholly upon our senses, and 
 derived by them to the understanding, I call sensarion.' 
 
 4. The Operations of our Minds, the other Source of them.—Secondly, the other 
 fountain, from which experience furnisheth the understanding with ideas, is the 
 perception of the operations of our own mind within us, as it is employed about 
 the ideas it has got ; which operations, when the soul comes to reflect on and con- 
 sider, do furnish the understanding with another set of ideas, which could not be 
 had from things without ; and such are perception, thinking, doubting, believing, 
 reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different actings of our own minds ; which 
 we being conscious of, and observing in ourselves, do from these receive into our 
 understandings as distinct ideas, as we do from bodies affecting our senses. This 
 source of ideas every man has wholly in himself; and though it be not sense, as 
 having nothing to do with external objects, yet it is very like it, and might pro- 
 perly enough be called internal sense.? But as I call the other Sensation, so I call 
 this RerLection, the ideas it affords being such only as the mind gets by reflect- 
 ing on its own operations within itself. By reflection then, in the following part 
 of this discourse, I would be understood to mean that notice which the mind 
 takes of its own operations, and the manner of them; by reason whereof there 
 come to be ideas of these operations in the understanding. These two, I say, viz. 
 external material things, as the objects of sensation; and the operations of our 
 own minds within, as the objects of reflection ; are to me the only originals from 
 whence all our ideas take their beginnings. The term operations here I use in a 
 large sense, as comprehending not barely the actions of the mind about its ideas, 
 but some sort of passions arising sometimes from them, such as is the satisfaction 
 or uneasiness arising from any thought. 
 
 5. Allour Ideas are of the one or the other of these.—The understanding seems 
 to me not to have the least glimmering of any ideas which it doth not receive 
 from one of these two. External objects furnish the mind with the ideas of 
 sensible qualities, which are all those different perceptions they produce in us; and 
 the mind furnishes the understanding with ideas of its own operations. 
 
 These, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their several modes, 
 combinations, and relations, we shall find to contain all our whole stock of ideas ; 
 and that we have nothing in our minds, which did not come in one of these two 
 ways. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and thoroughly search into his 
 understanding ; and then let him tell me, whether all the original ideas he has 
 there, are any other than of the objects of his senses, or of the operations of his 
 mind, considered as objects of his reflection: and how great a mass of knowledge 
 soever he imagines to be lodged there, he will, upon taking a strict view, see that 
 he has not any idea in his mind, but what one of these two have imprinted ;? 
 though, perhaps, with infinite variety compounded and enlarged by the under- 
 standing, as we shall see hereafter. 
 
 question appears to have entertained the same 
 
 1 On this subject see Wolf’s Logic, p. 11. Lo- 
 opinions with Locke. (See De Anima, ii. 5, 6, 12.) 
 
 gique de Du Marsais, p.20 et seq. This latter writer 
 
 takes of the whole question the views of a mere 
 materialist. ‘‘ Elle (lame) sent immédiatement 
 par les sens extérieurs, et elle sent médiatement 
 par les organes du sens intérieur du cerveau.”’ 
 Descartes undertakes to explain the very manner 
 in which ideas are obtained by sensation: ‘ Les 
 choses extérieures,”’ says he, ‘‘ mettantles esprits 
 vitaux en mouvement par les impressions qu’elles 
 produisent, ces esprits remontent au cerveau, 
 et y forment un canal ou type, qui correspond 
 aux impressions et a leur matiére determinée. 
 Ce type n’est pas l’idée de l’objet lui-méme, mais 
 lame en prend connaissance, et alors voit en elle- 
 méme l’idée, qui différe donc totalement du type 
 et de l’objet qui causel’impression.”’ (Buhle, Hist. 
 de la Phil. Mod. vol. iii. p. 20.) Aristotle on this 
 
 Though, as Dr. Gillies has already observed, the 
 celebrated axiom, ‘‘ Nihil est in intellectu quod 
 non fuit prius in sensu,” appears not to be at pre- 
 sent found in the works ofthe Stagirite. (Ethics 
 and Politics, Anal. I. 46.) This doctrine, before 
 the time of Locke, had already been adopted by 
 Hobbes. “Il n’yadans l’ame aucune idée qui 
 n’ait été précédemment produite, en toute ou en 
 partie, par un des sens.” (Buhle, Hist. Phil. 
 Mod. vol. iii. 203.) 
 
 2 See on this subject the ideas of Stewart, 
 Hutcheson, &c. 
 
 3 Mr. Dugald Stewart supposes himself to be 
 controverting this doctrine in the following pas- 
 sage; but if such be really the case, I confess he 
 does not carry my understanding along with him: 
 
124 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 6. Observable in Children.—He that attentively considers the state of a child, 
 at his first coming into the world, will have little reason to think him stored with 
 plenty of ideas, that are to be the matter of his future knowledge: it is by degrees 
 he comes to be furnished with them. And though the ideas of obvious and 
 familiar qualities imprint themselves before the memory begins to keep a register 
 of time or order, yet it is often so late before some unusual qualities come in the 
 way, that there are few men that cannot recollect the beginning of their acquaint- 
 ance with them; and if it were worth while, no doubt a child might be so ordered 
 as to have but a very few, even of the ordinary ideas, till he were grown up to a 
 man. But all that are born into the world being surrounded with bodies that 
 perpetually and diversely affect them, variety of ideas, whether care be taken of it 
 or not, are imprinted on the minds of children. Light and colours are busy at 
 hand everywhere, when the eye is but open; sounds and some tangible qualities 
 fail not to solicit their proper senses, and force an entrance to the mind: but yet, 
 I think, it will be granted easily, that if a child were kept in a place where he 
 never saw any other but black and white till he were a man,’ he would have no 
 more ideas of scarlet or green, than he that from his childhood never tasted an 
 oyster or a pine-apple has of those particular relishes. 
 
 7. Men are differently furnished with these, according to the different Objects 
 they converse with.—Men then come to be furnished with fewer or more simple 
 ideas from without, according as the objects they converse with afiord greater or 
 less variety; and from the operations of their minds within, according as they 
 more or less reflect on them. For though he that contemplates the operations of 
 his mind, cannot but have plain and clear ideas of them; yet, unless he turns his © 
 thoughts that way, and considers them attentively, he will no more have clear and 
 distinct ideas of all the operations of his mind, and all that may be observed 
 therein, than he will have all the particular ideas of any landscape, or of the parts 
 and motions of a clock, who will not turn his eyes to it, and with attention heed 
 all the parts of it. The picture or clock may be so placed, that they may come in 
 
 ‘Tt issurely an intuitive truth, that the sensa- 
 tions of which I am now conscious, and all those 
 of which I retain any remembrance, belong to one 
 and the same being, which I call myself. Here 
 is an intuitive judgment, involving the simple 
 idea of personal identity. In like manner, the 
 changes of which I am conscious in the state of 
 my own mind, and those which I perceive in the 
 external universe, impress me with a conviction 
 that some cause must have operated to produce 
 them. Here is an intuitive judgment, involving 
 the simple idea of causation. To these, and 
 other instances of the same kind, may be added 
 our ideas of tzme; of number; of truth; of cer- 
 tainty; of probability ;—all of which, while they 
 are manifestly peculiar to a rational mind, neces- 
 sarily arise in the human understanding, when 
 employed in the exercise of its different faculties. 
 To say, therefore, with Cudworth, and some of 
 the Greek philosophers, that Reason, or the Un- 
 derstanding, is a source of new ideas, is not so 
 exceptionable a mode of speaking as it may appear 
 to be at first sight, to those whose reading has 
 not extended beyond Locke’s Essay. According 
 to the system there taught, Sense furnishes our 
 ideas, and Reason perceives their agreements or 
 disagreements. But the fact is, that what Locke 
 calls agreements and disagreements are, in many 
 instances, simple ideas, of which no analysis can 
 be given, and of which the origin must therefore 
 be referred to reason, according to Locke’s own 
 doctrine.”’ (Phil. Ess. p. 98 et seq.) Now in my 
 judgment, these observations, designed to subvert 
 Locke’s doctrine, only tend more completely to 
 
 establish it, for his term ‘reflection’ includes all 
 those operations of the mind alluded to rather 
 than described by Mr. Stewart. 
 
 1 Plato, in his usual magnificent way, has 
 drawn a picture of men thus mewed up in a cavern 
 and haunted by the shadows of external objects, 
 imagining also what would be their feelings when 
 first they should stumble forth into the light of 
 the sun. (De Repub. 1. vii. t. vi. p.326. Bekk.) A 
 picture extremely similar has likewise been drawn 
 by his great disciple, as we find him interpreted 
 by Cicero (De Nat. Deor. ii. 37.) ‘Si essent qui 
 sub terra semper habitavissent, bonis et illustri- 
 bus domiciliis, que essent ornata signis atque 
 picturis, instructaque rebus iis omnibus, quibus 
 abundant ii qui beati putantur, nec tamen exissent 
 unquam supra terram: accepissent autem fama 
 et auditione esse quoddam numen, et vim deo- 
 rum: deinde aliquo tempore, patefactis terre 
 faucibus, ex illis abditis sedibus evadere in hac 
 loca que nos incolimus, atque exire potuissent: 
 cum repente terram, et maria, ccelumque vidis- 
 sent: nubium magnitudinem, ventorumque yim 
 cognovissent, aspexissentque solem, ejusque lucis 
 magnitudinem, pulchritudinemque, tum etiam 
 efficientiam cognovissent, quod is diem efficeret, 
 toto ccelo luce diffusi: cum autem terras nox 
 opacasset, tum celum totum cernerent astris 
 distinctum et ornatum, tumque luminum varieta- 
 tem tum crescentis, tum senescentis, eorumque 
 omnium ortus et occasus, atque in omni eterni- 
 tate solos immutabilesque cursus: hec cum 
 viderent, profecto et esse deos, et hec tanta 
 opera deorum esse arbitrarentur.”’ 
 
CHAP. 1.] THE ORIGINAL OF OUR IDEAS. 125 
 
 his way every day; but yet he will have but a confused idea of all the parts they 
 are made up of, till he applies himself with attention to consider them each in 
 particular. 
 
 8. Ideas of Reflection later, because they need Aitention.—And hence we see 
 the reason why it is pretty late before most children get ideas of the operations 
 of their own minds; and some have not any very clear or perfect ideas of the 
 greatest part of them all their lives; because, though they pass there continually, 
 yet, like floating visions, they make not deep impressions enough to leave in 
 their mind clear, distinct, lasting ideas, till the understanding turns inward upon 
 itself, reflects on its own operations, and makes them the objects of its own con- 
 templation. Children when they come first into it, are surrounded with a world 
 of new things, which, by a constant solicitation of their senses, draw the mind 
 constantly to them, forward to take notice of new, and apt to be delighted with 
 the variety of changing objects. Thus the first years are usually employed and 
 diverted in looking abroad. Men’s business in them is to acquaint themselves 
 with what is to be found without; and so growing up in a constant attention to 
 outward sensations, seldom make any considerable reflection on what passes 
 within them till they come to be of riper years, and some scarce ever at all. 
 
 9, The Soul begins to have Ideas when it. begins to perceive.—To ask at what 
 time a man has first any ideas, is to ask when he begins to perceive; having 
 ideas, and perception, being the same thing. I know it is an opinion, that the 
 soul always thinks,’ and that it has the actual perception of ideas in itself con- 
 stantly, as long as it exists, and that actual thinking is as inseparable from the 
 soul as actual extension is from the body; which if true, to inquire after the 
 beginning of a man’s ideas, is the same as to inquire after the beginning of his 
 soul: for by this account, soul and its ideas, as body and its extension, will begin 
 to exist both at the same time. 
 
 10. The Soul thinks not always ; but this wants Proofs.— But whether the soul 
 be supposed to exist antecedent to, or coeval with, or some time after the first 
 rudiments of organization, or the beginnings of life in the body, I leave to be 
 disputed by those who have better thought of that matter. I confess myself to 
 have one of those dull souls, that doth not perceive itself always to contemplate 
 ideas; nor can conceive it any more necessary for the soul always to think, 
 than for the body always to move; the perception of ideas being (as I conceive) 
 to the soul, what motion is to the body, not its essence, but one of its operations ; 
 and therefore, though thinking be supposed ever so much the proper action of the 
 soul, yet it is not necessary to suppose that it should be always thinking, always 
 in action. That, perhaps, is the privilege of the Infinite Author and Preserver 
 of things, who never slumbers nor sleeps; but it is not competent to any finite 
 being, at least not to the soul of man. We know certainly, by experience, that 
 we sometimes think, and thence draw this infallible consequence, that there is 
 something in us that has a power to thnk; but whether that substance per- 
 petually thinks or no, we can be no further assured than experience informs us; 
 for to say that actual thinking is essential to the soul, and inseparable from it, is 
 to beg what is in question, and not to prove it by reason, which is necessary to be 
 done, if it be not a self-evident proposition. But whether this, “ that the soul 
 always thinks,” be a self-evident proposition, that everybody assents to at first 
 hearing, I appeal to mankind. It is doubted whether I thought at all last night 
 
 1 It has been seen above, that this was main- 
 tained by Pythagoras; and among the moderns, 
 by Leibnitz and Descartes. Aristotle himself 
 controverts the opinion of those who taught 
 that the soul is a self-moving principle (De 
 Anim. i. 8), and Locke here follows up the doc- 
 trine of that philosopher. On the opinion of 
 Descartes, the reader who does not choose to 
 
 toil through his crabbed and voluminous works, 
 may consult Buhle, (Hist. de la Philosophie Mo- 
 derne, l. iii. p. 10 et seq.) and Tennemann’s Ma- 
 nual, (§ 820 et seq.) This historian’s bird’s-eye 
 view of Leibnitz’s philosophy (§ 346 et seq.) may 
 also be compared with Buhle’s much longer ac- 
 count. (1. iv. p, LIl et seq.) 
 
OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 126 [Book Il. 
 
 or not; the question being about a matter of fact, it is begging it to bring, as a 
 proof for it, an hypothesis, which is the very thing in dispute; by which way one 
 may prove anything: and it is but supposing that all watches, whilst the balance 
 beats, think, and it is sufficiently proved, and past doubt, that my watch thought 
 all last night. But he that would not deceive himself, ought to build his hypo- 
 thesis on ‘matter of fact, and make it out by sensible experience, and not presume 
 on matter of fact, because of his hypothesis; that is, because he supposes it to 
 be so; which way of proving amounts to this, that I must necessarily think all 
 last night, because another supposes I always think, though I myself cannot 
 perceive that I always do so. 
 
 But men in love with their opinions may not only suppose what is in question, 
 but allege wrong matter of fact; how else could any one make it an inference of 
 mine, that a thing is not, because we are not sensible of it in our sleep? I do 
 not say there is no soul in a man, because he is not sensible of it in his sleep; 
 but I do say, he cannot think at. any time, waking or sleeping, without being 
 sensible of it. Our being sensible of it is not necessary to anything but to our 
 thoughts, and to them it is, and to them it always will be necessary, till we can 
 think without being conscious of it. 
 
 ll. Jt is not always conscious of it.—I grant that the soul, in a waking man, 
 is never without thought, because it is the condition of being awake: but whether 
 sleeping without dreaming be not an affection of the whole man, mind as well as 
 body, may be worth a waking man’s consideration, it being hard to conceive that 
 anything should think and not be conscious of it. If the soul doth think in a sleeping 
 man without being conscious of it, I ask whether, during such thinking, it has 
 any pleasure or pain, or be capable of happiness or misery? I am sure the man 
 is not, any more than the bed or earth he lies on; for to be happy or miserable 
 without being conscious of it, seems to me utterly inconsistent and impossible. 
 Or if it be possible that the soul can, whilst the body is sleeping, have its think- 
 ing, enjoyments, and concerns, its pleasures or pain, apart, which the man is not 
 conscious of nor partakes in, it is certain that Socrates asleep and Socrates awake 
 is not the same person: but his soul when he sleeps, and Socrates the man, con- 
 sisting of body and soul when he is waking, are two persons; since waking 
 Socrates has no knowledge of or concernment for that happiness or misery of his 
 soul, which it enjoys alone by itself whilst he sleeps, without perceiving anything 
 of it, any more than he has for the happiness or misery of a man in the Indies, 
 whom he knows not; for if we take wholly away all consciousness of our actions 
 and sensations, especially of pleasure and pain, and the concernment that accom- 
 panies it, it will be hard to know wherein to place personal identity.’ 
 
 ‘ However awkwardly Locke may in this pas- 
 sage express himself, it seems very clear to me 
 that he never meant to affirm, as Bishop Butler 
 and Mr. Stewart suppose, that consciousness 
 constitutes personal identity. Indeed, he teaches 
 the direct contrary, contending that the sleep- 
 ing man and the waking man are identical, 
 though the waking man be conscious of nothing 
 he may have performed in his sleep. Never- 
 theless, as the reader may desire to compare 
 the remarks of his opponents with the pas- 
 sage in the text, I subjoin from each of these 
 writers an extract containing the pith of his 
 objections. ‘“‘ But though consciousness of 
 what is past does thus ascertain our personal 
 identity, to ourselves, yet, to say that it makes 
 personal identity, or is necessary to our being 
 the same persons, is to say that a person has not 
 existed a single moment, nor done one action 
 but what he can remember; indeed, none but 
 what he reflects upon. And one should really 
 think it self-evident, that consciousness of per- 
 sonal identity presupposes, and therefore cannot 
 
 constitute, personal identity, any more than 
 knowledge, in any other case, can constitute 
 truth which it presupposes.”’ (Butler, Ess. on 
 Pers. Iden. p. 352.) ‘* As the belief of our pre- 
 sent existence necessarily accompanies every act 
 of consciousness, so, from a comparison of the 
 sensations and thoughts of which we are now 
 conscious, with those of which we recollect to 
 have been conscious formerly, we are impressed 
 with an irresistible conviction of our personal 
 identity. Notwithstanding the strange difficulties 
 that have been raised upon the subject, I cannot 
 conceive any conviction more complete than this, 
 nor any truth more intelligible to all whose un- 
 derstandings have not been perplexed by meta- 
 physical speculation. The objections founded 
 
 on the change of substance in certain material 
 objects to which we continue to apply the same 
 name, are plainly not applicable to the question 
 concerning the identity of the same person, or 
 the same thinking being, inasmuch as the words 
 sameness and identity are here used in different 
 senses. Of the meaning of those words, when 
 
CHAP. I.] MEN THINK NOT ALWAYS. 127 
 
 12. Ifa sleeping Man thinks without knowing it, the sleeping and waking Man 
 are two Persons.—‘ The soul, during sound sleep, thinks,” say these men. 
 Whilst it thinks and perceives, it is capable certainly of those of delight or 
 trouble, as well as any other perceptions; and it must necessarily be conscious of 
 its own perceptions. But it has all this apart; the sleeping man, it is plain, is. 
 conscious of nothing of all this. Let us suppose, then, the soul of Castor, while 
 he is sleeping, retired from his body; which is no impossible supposition for 
 the men I have here to do with, who so liberally allow life, without a thinking 
 soul, to all other animals ;'—these men cannot, then, judge it impossible, or a con- 
 tradiction, that the body should live without the soul, nor that the soul should 
 subsist, and think, or have perception, even perception of happiness or misery, 
 without the body;—let us then, I say, suppose the soul of Castor separated, 
 during his sleep, from his body, to think apart; let us suppose, too, that it 
 chooses for its scene of thinking the body of another man, v. g. Pollux, who is 
 sleeping without a soul (for if Castor’s soul can think whilst Castor is asleep, 
 what Castor is never conscious of, it is no matter what place it chooses to think 
 in) ;*—we have here, then, the bodies of two men with only one soul between 
 them, which we will suppose to sleep and wake by turns; and the soul still 
 thinking in the waking man, whereof the sleeping man is never conscious, has 
 never the least perception. I ask, then, whether Castor and Pollux, thus with 
 only one soul between them, which thinks and perceives in one what the other is 
 never conscious of nor is concerned for, are not two as distinct persons as Castor 
 and Hercules, or as Socrates and Plato were? and whether one of them might 
 not be very happy, and the other very miserable? Just by the same reason they 
 make the soul and the man two persons, who make the soul think apart what the 
 man is not conscious of; for I suppose nobody will make identity of persons to 
 consist in the soul’s being united to the very same numerical particles of matter ; 
 for if that be necessary to identity, it will be impossible, in that constant flux of 
 the particles of our bodies, that any man should be the same person two days or 
 two moments together. 
 
 13. Impossible to convince those that sleep without dreaming, that they think. 
 —Thus, methinks, every drowsy nod shakes their doctrine, who teach that the 
 
 applied to persons, I confess I am not able to 
 give a logical definition ; but neither can I define 
 sensation, memory, volition, nor even existence ; 
 and if any one should bring himself, by this and 
 other scholastic subtilties, to conclude that he 
 has no interest in making provision for to-mor- 
 row, because personality is not a permanent, but 
 a transient thing, 1 can think of no argument to 
 convince him of his error.’’ (Phil. Ess. p. 77.) 
 Thucydides, in his account of the plague of 
 Athens, speaks of persons who, when they re- 
 covered from the disorder, found that it had ex- 
 punged from their memory all record of past 
 transactions, and even of their own former ex- 
 istence, so that it was as if they had been born 
 anew: ‘Tove dé cai iOn hapbarve rag’ abTrixa 
 avacTavTac THY TAYTWY Opoiwc, Kal HyVénoay 
 opac Te abTtove Kai Tobe éwiTNHOEloVE.” (ii. 49.) 
 That these were the same individuals who fell 
 sick and endured the pestilence, no one can 
 doubt; but for themselves, they had, upon their 
 restoration to health, no consciousness of any- 
 thing an hour old. 
 
 1 He proceeds with his attacks on Cartesian- 
 ism, which taught that animals were mere living 
 machines. This doctrine appears likely to be 
 revived in our own day, to judge from a paper 
 in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine, in which insects are 
 taught to be little else than machines. One of 
 the most remarkable experiments undertaken to 
 prove that insects are insensible to pain, is that 
 
 described by Le Vaillant, who says: “ Je pris 
 une grande sauterelle a ailes rouges de Cap; je 
 lui ouvris le ventre, lui enlevai les intestins, en 
 les remplacant par du coton, et, dans cet état, je 
 Vattachai dans une boite avec une épingle qui lui 
 traversait le corselet. Elle y resta cing mois, et 
 au bout de ce temps elle remuait encore et ses 
 pates et ses antennes.” (Voy. t. iv. p. 182, ed. 
 Par. 1830.) It was once the fashion to consider 
 man himself in this light, when La Mettrie pushed 
 the thing so far as to contend that we are but so 
 many plants endued with locomotive powers! 
 Having proceeded thus far, philosophy, finding 
 it impossible to descend any lower, began to look 
 upwards, and man accordingly has ceased to be 
 confounded with hops and potatoes. 
 
 2 Upon this notion, that souls can detach 
 themselves from the bodies to which they be- 
 long, and travel about independently, I con- 
 structed my story of the ‘ Prophet of Claza- 
 nene,’’ which relates to the adventures of a 
 disembodied spirit. The belief was common 
 among the ancient Greeks, and still prevails in 
 Hindustan, where the Sanyases and other reli- 
 gious devotees pretend to possess the power of 
 detaching themselves from their bodies when 
 they please. The Rev. Mr. Caunter has con- 
 verted this superstition into the materials of a 
 highly interesting story published in the Oriental 
 Annual. 
 
 ~ 
 
128 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 soul is always thinking. Those, at least, who do at any time sleep without 
 dreaming, can never be convinced that their thoughts are sometimes for four 
 hours busy without their knowing of it; and if they are taken in the very act, 
 waked in the middle of that sleeping contemplation, can give no manner of 
 account of it. 
 
 14. That Men dream without remembering it, in vain urged.—It will perhaps 
 be said, “ that the soul thinks even in the soundest sleep, but the memory retains 
 it not.” That the soul in a sleeping man should be this moment busy a thinking, 
 and the next moment ina waking man not remember nor be able to recollect one 
 jot of all those thoughts, is very hard to be conceived, and would need some 
 better proof than bare assertion to make it be believed; for who can without 
 any more ado, but being barely told so, imagine that the greatest part of men do, 
 during all their lives, for several hours every day, think of something, which if 
 they were asked, even in the middle of these thoughts, they could remember 
 nothing at all of? Most men, I think, pass a great part of their sleep without 
 dreaming. I once knew a man that was bred a scholar, and had no bad memory, 
 who told me he had never dreamed in his life till he had that fever he was then 
 newly recovered of, which was about the five or six and twentieth year of his age. 
 I suppose the world affords more such instances; at least every one’s acquaint- 
 ance will furnish him with examples enough of such as pass most of their nights 
 without dreaming.’ 
 
 15. Upon this Hypothesis the Thoughts of a sleeping Man ought to be most 
 rational.—To think often, and never to retain it so much as one moment, is a 
 very useless sort of thinking; and the soul, in such a state of thinking, does very 
 little, if at all, excel that of a looking-glass, which constantly receives variety of 
 images, or ideas, but retains none; they disappear and vanish, and there remain 
 no footsteps of them; the looking-glass is never the better for such ideas, nor the 
 soul for such thoughts. Perhaps it will be said, “ that in a waking man the 
 materials of the body are employed and made use of in thinking, and that the 
 memory of thoughts is retained by the impressions that are made on the brain, 
 and the traces there left after such thinking; but that in the thinking, of the soul, 
 which is not perceived in a sleeping man, there the soul thinks apart, and making 
 no use of the organs of the body, leaves no impressions on it, and consequently no 
 memory of such thoughts.” Not to mention again the absurdity of two distinct 
 persons, which follows from this supposition, I answer, further, that whatever 
 ideas the mind can receive and contemplate without the help of the body, it is 
 reasonable to conclude it can retain without the help of the body too; or else the 
 soul, or any separate spirit, will have but little advantage by thinking. If it has 
 no memory of its own thoughts; if it cannot lay them up for its own use, and be 
 able to recall them upon occasion; if it cannot reflect upon what is past, and 
 make use of its former experiences, reasonings, and contemplations, to what pur- 
 pose does it think? They who make the soul a thinking thing, at this rate, will 
 not make it a much more noble being than those do whom they condemn, for 
 allowing it to be nothing but the subtilist parts of matter. Characters drawn on 
 dust, that the first breath of wind effaces, or impressions made on a heap of 
 atoms, or animal spirits, are altogether as useful, and render the subject as noble, 
 as the thoughts of a soul that perish in thinking, that, once out of sight, are gone 
 for ever, and leave no memory of themselves behind them. Nature never makes 
 excellent things for mean or no uses: and it is hardly to be conceived that our 
 infinitely wise Creator should make so admirable a faculty as the power of think- 
 ing, that faculty which comes nearest the exvellency of his own incomprehensible 
 being, to be so idly and uselessly employed, at least a fourth part of its time here, 
 as to think constantly, without remembering any of those thoughts, without doing 
 
 1 T have myself known an instance of a person who, up to sixteen, scarcely ever dreamt at all. 
 
CHAP. 1.] MEN THINK NOT ALWAYS. 129 
 
 any good to itself or others, or being any way useful to any other part of the 
 creation. If we will examine it, we shall not find, I suppose, the motion of dull 
 and senseless matter, anywhere in the universe, made so little use of and so wholly 
 thrown away. 
 
 16. On this Hypothesis, the Soul must have Ideas not derived from Sensation or 
 Reflection, of which there is no Appearance.—It is true, we have sometimes 
 instances of perception whilst we are asleep, and retain the memory of those 
 thoughts; but how extravagant and incoherent for the most part they are, how 
 little conformable to the perfection and order of a rational being, those acquainted 
 with dreams need not be told.*. This | would willingly be satisfied in, whether the 
 soul, when it thinks thus apart, and as it were separate from the body, acts less 
 rationally than when conjointly with it, or not. If its separate thoughts be less 
 rational, then these men must say that the soul owes the perfection of rational 
 thinking to the body; if it does not, it is a wonder that our dreams should be, for 
 the most part, so frivolous and irrational, and that the soul should retain none of 
 its more rational soliloquies and meditations. 
 
 17. If I think when I know it not, nobody else can know it.—Those who so 
 confidently tell us that “ the soul always actually thinks,’ I would they would 
 also tell us what those ideas are that are in the soul of a child, before, or just at 
 the union with the body, before it has received any by sensation.2 The dreams 
 of sleeping men are, as I take it, all made up of the waking man’s ideas, though 
 for the most part oddly put together. It is strange, if the soul has ideas of its 
 own that it derived not from sensation or reflection, (as it must have, if it 
 thought before it received any impressions from the body,) that it should never, 
 in its private thinking, (so private, that the man himself perceives it not,) retain 
 any of them, the very moment it wakes out of them, and then make the man glad 
 with new discoveries. Who can find it reasonable that the soul should, in its 
 retirement, during sleep, have so many hours’ thoughts, and yet never light on 
 any of those ideas it borrowed not from sensation or reflection; or, at least, pre- 
 serve the memory of none but such, which, being occasioned from the body, must 
 needs be less natural to a spirit? It is strange the soul should never once in a 
 man’s whole life recall over any of its pure native thoughts, and those ideas it had 
 before it borrowed anything from the body; never bring into the waking man’s 
 view any other ideas but what have a tang of the cask, and manifestly derive 
 their original from that union. If it always thinks, and so had ideas before it was 
 united, or before it received any from the body, it is not to be supposed but that 
 during sleep it recollects its native ideas; and during that retirement from com- 
 municating with the body, whilst it thinks by itself, the ideas it is busied 
 
 1 On the nature and causes of dreams Hobbes 
 has constructed a peculiarly ingenious theory, 
 in which he attempts to explain, upon physiolo- 
 gical principles, the reasons of their existence 
 and variety. ‘‘ When present sense is not,” 
 observes he, ‘‘ as in sleep, there the images re- 
 maining after sense, (when there be many,) as 
 in dreams, are not obscure, but strong and clear, 
 as in sense itself. ‘The reason is, that which ob- 
 scured and made the conceptions weak, namely, 
 sense, and present operation of the object, is 
 remoyed; for sleep is the privation of the act of 
 sense, (the power remaining,) and dreams are 
 the imagination of them that sleep.” (Human 
 Nature, c. iii. § 2.) See the following sections 
 for the remainder of this theory. 
 
 2 Upon the doctrine alluded to in this passage, 
 Mr. Stewart and the Earl of Shaftesbury make 
 the following observations; ‘* Mr. Locke’s quib- 
 bles (!) founded on the word innate, were early 
 remarked by Lord Shaftesbury. ‘ Innate is a 
 word he poorly plays upon; the right word, 
 though less used, is connatural; for what has 
 
 birth, or the progress of the foetus out of the 
 womb, to do in this case? The question is not 
 about the teme the ideas entered, or the moment 
 that one body came out of the other; but whe- 
 ther the constitution of man be such, that being 
 adult or grown up, at such or such a time, sooner 
 or later, (no matter when,) certain edeas will not 
 infallibly, inevitably, necessarily spring up in 
 him,’” (Letters to a Student at the University, 
 lett. 8.) ‘Ihave,’ says Mr. Stewart, ‘ substi- 
 tuted, in this quotation, the phrase certain rdeas, 
 instead of Shaftesbury’s example,—the ideas of 
 order, administration, and a God,—with the view 
 of separating his general observation from the 
 particular application which he wished to make 
 of it, in the tract from which this quotation is 
 borrowed.” (Phil. Ess. p. 104 et seq.) This dan- 
 gerous practice of tampering with the text of the 
 authors he quotes, would have enabled Mr. 
 Stewart to make them say whatever he pleased. 
 Upon the opinions which he and his noble co- 
 adjutor put forward in this passage it is unne- 
 cessary to comment. 
 
 i 
 
130 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 about should be, sometimes at least, those more natural and congenial ones which 
 it had in itself, underived from the body, or its own operations about them: 
 which, since the waking man never remembers, we must from this hypothesis 
 conclude, either that the soul remembers something that the man does not, or else 
 that memory belongs only to such ideas as are derived from the body, or the 
 mind’s operations about them. 
 
 18. How knows any one that the Soul always thinks? Yor if it be not a self- 
 evident Proposition, it needs Proof.—-1 would be glad also to learn from these men, 
 who so confidently pronounce that the human soul, or, which is all one, that a 
 man always thinks, how they come to know it; nay, how they come to know 
 that they themselves think, when they themselves do not perceive it. This, I am 
 afraid, is to be sure without proofs, and to know without perceiving; it is, I 
 suspect, a confused notion taken up to serve an hypothesis, and none of those 
 clear truths that either their own evidence forces us to admit, or common expe- 
 rience makes it impudence to deny. For the most that can be said of it is, that it 
 is possible the soul may always think, but not always retain it in memory: and 
 I say, it is as possible that the soul may not always think, and much more pro- 
 bable that it should sometimes not think, than that it should often think, and that 
 a long while together, and not be conscious to itself the next moment after, that it 
 had thought. 
 
 19. That a Man should be busy in Thinking, and yet not retain it the next 
 moment, very improbable.—To suppose the soul to think, and the man not to per- 
 ceive it, is, as has been said, to make two persons in one man: and if one con- 
 siders well these men’s way of speaking, one should be led into a suspicion that 
 they do so; for they who tell us that the soul always thinks, do never, that I 
 remember, say that a man always thinks. Can the soul think, and not theman? or 
 a man think, and not be conscious of it? This, perhaps, would be suspected of 
 jargon in others. If they say the man thinks always, but is not always conscious 
 of it, they may as well say his body is extended without having parts; for it 
 is altogether as intelligible to say that a body is extended* without parts, as that 
 anything thinks without being conscious of it, or perceiving that it does so. 
 They who talk thus may, with as much reason, if it be necessary to their hypo- 
 thesis, say that a man is always hungry, but that he does not always feel it; 
 whereas hunger consists in that very sensation, as thinking consists in being con- 
 scious that one thinks. If they say that a man is always conscious to himself of 
 thinking, I ask how they know it. Consciousness is the perception of what 
 passes in a man’s own mind. Can another man perceive that I am conscious of 
 anything, when I perceive it not myself? No man’s knowledge here can go 
 beyond his experience. Wake a man out of a sound sleep, and ask him what he 
 was that moment thinking of. If he himself be conscious of nothing he then 
 thought on, he must be a notable diviner of thoughts that can assure him that he 
 was thinking: may he not, with more reason, assure him he was not asleep? 
 This is something beyond philosophy; and it cannot be less than revelation, that 
 discovers to another thoughts in my mind, when I can find none there myself; 
 and they must needs have a penetrating sight who can certainly see that I think, 
 when I cannot perceive it myself, and when I declare that I do not; and yet can 
 see that dogs or elephants do not think, when they give all the demonstration of 
 it imaginable, except only telling us that they do so. This some may suspect to 
 be a step beyond the Rosicrucians;' it seeming easier to make one’s self invisible 
 to others, than to make another’s thoughts visible to me, which are not visible to 
 himself. But it is but defining the soul to be “ a substance that always thinks,” 
 and the business is done. If such definition be of any authority, [ know not 
 what it can serve for, but to make many men suspect that they have no souls at 
 
 * On the system of these mystics, see | and the Memoirs of the Comte de Gubalis, 
 Pope’s Preface to the Rape of ‘the Lock, | passim. 
 
 Pepe ert rome ree aan SS AE eh A oe Pie Ue oe ee Paige a SI Ee ie Se eg ee 
 
CHAP. I.] 
 
 MEN THINK NOT ALWAYS. 131 
 
 all, since they find a good part of their lives pass away without thinking ; for no 
 definitions that I know, no suppositions of any sect, are of force enough to 
 destroy constant experience ; and perhaps it is the affectation of knowing beyond 
 what we perceive, that makes so much useless dispute and noise in the world. 
 
 20. No Ideas but from Sensation and Reflection, evident, 1f we observe Children. 
 —TI see no reason, therefore, to believe that the soul thinks before the senses have 
 furnished it with ideas to think on; and as those are increased and retained, so it 
 comes, by exercise, to improve its faculty of thinking in the several parts of it, as 
 well as, afterwards, by compounding those ideas and reflecting on its own opera- 
 tions; it increases its stock, as well as facility, in remembering, imagining, rea- 
 soning, and other modes of thinking. 
 
 21. He that will suffer himself to be informed by observation and experience, 
 and not make his own hypothesis the rule of nature, will find few signs of a soul 
 accustomed to much thinking in a new-born child, and much fewer of any reason- 
 ing at all; and yet it is hard to imagine that the rational soul should think 
 so much, and not reason at all. And he that will consider that infants newly 
 come into the world spend the greatest part of their time in sleep, and are seldom 
 awake but when either hunger calls for the teat, or some pain (the most impor- 
 tunate of all sensations) or some other violent impression on the body forces the 
 mind to perceive and attend to it; he, I say, who considers this, will perhaps 
 find reason to imagine that a foetus in the mother’s womb differs not much from 
 the state of a vegetable, but passes the greatest part of its time without perception 
 or thought, doing very little in a place where it needs not seek for food, and is 
 surrounded with liquor, always equally soft, and near of the same temper; where 
 the eyes have no light, and the ears so shut up, are not very susceptible of 
 sounds; and where there is little or no variety, or change of objects to move the 
 senses. 
 
 22. Follow a child from its birth, and observe the alterations that time makes, 
 and you shall find, as the mind by the senses comes more and more to be fur- 
 nished with ideas, it comes to be more and more awake; thinks more, the more 
 it has matter to think on. After some time it begins to know the objects which, 
 being most familiar with it, have made lasting impressions: thus it comes by 
 degrees to know the persons it daily converses with, and distinguishes them from 
 strangers, which are instances and effects of its coming to retain and distinguish 
 the ideas the senses convey to it. And so we may observe how the mind, by 
 degrees, improves in these, and advances to the exercise of those other faculties 
 of enlarging, compounding, and abstracting its ideas, and of reasoning about 
 them, and reflecting upon all these; of which I shall have occasion to speak 
 more hereafter. 
 
 23. If it shall be demanded, then, when a man begins to have any ideas, 
 I think the true answer is, when he first has any sensation; for, since there 
 appear not to be any ideas in the mind before the senses have conveyed any in, I 
 
 1 Berkeley, Hume, Tooke, and many others 
 deny the power of abstraction altogether. (See 
 Berk., Works, i. 5—16.) ‘‘It seems to me,” ob- 
 serves Hume, ‘ not impossible to avoid these 
 absurdities and contradictions, (see his Essay 
 on Sceptical Philosophy,) if it be admitted that 
 there is no such thing as abstract in general 
 ideas, properly speaking; but that all general 
 ideas are, in reality, particular ones, attached to 
 a general term, which recalls, upon occasion, 
 other particular ones, that resemble, in certain 
 circumstances, the idea present to the mind. 
 Thus when the term ‘ horse’ is pronounced, we 
 immediately figure to ourselves the idea of a 
 black or a white animal, of a particular size or 
 figure; but as that term is also used to be applied 
 to animals of other colours, figures, and sizes, 
 these ideas, though not actually present to the 
 
 imagination, are easily recalled, and our reason- 
 ing and conclusion proceed in the same way as if 
 they were actually present. If this be admitted, 
 (as seems reasonable,) it follows that all the 
 ideas of quantity, upon which mathematicians 
 reason, are nothing but particular, and such as 
 are suggested by the senses and imagination, 
 and consequently cannot be infinitely divisible. 
 Tis sufficient to have dropped this hint at pre- 
 sent, without prosecuting it any further. It cer- 
 tainly concerns all lovers of science not to ex- 
 pose themselves to the ridicule and contempt 
 of the ignorant by their conclusions; and this 
 seems the readiest solution of these difficulties.” 
 (Hume’s Essays, p. 371, n. c., ed. 1758.) But 
 why should philosophers seek to avoid the ridi- 
 cule of the ignorant? It is the only compliment 
 they can pay them. 
 
 Kone 
 
132 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 conceive that ideas in the understanding are coeval with sensation, which is such 
 an impression or motion made in some part of the body, as produces some per- 
 ception in the understanding. It is about these impressions made on our senses 
 by outward objects, that the mind seems first to employ itself in such operations 
 as we call perception, remembering, consideration, reasoning, &c. 
 
 24. The Original of all our Knowledge.—In time the mind comes to reflect on 
 its own operations about the ideas got by sensation, and thereby stores itself with 
 a new set of ideas, which I call ideas of reflection. These are the impressions 
 that are made on our senses by outward objects that are extrinsical to the mind, 
 and its own operations, proceeding from powers intrinsical and proper to 
 itself; which, when reflected on by itself, becoming also objects of its contempla- 
 tion, are, as I have said, the original of all knowledge. Thus the first capacity 
 of human intellect is, that the mind is fitted to receive the impressions made on 
 it, either through the senses by outward objects, or by its own operations when it 
 reflects on them. This is the first step a man makes towards the discovery 
 of anything, and the groundwork whereon to build all those notions which ever 
 he shall have naturally in this world. All those sublime thoughts which tower 
 above the clouds, and reach as high as heaven itself, take their rise and footing 
 here: in all that good extent wherein-the mind wanders, in those remote specu- 
 lations it may seem to be elevated with, it stirs not one jot beyond those ideas 
 which sense or reflection has offered for its contemplation.’ 
 
 25. In the Reception of simple Ideas, the Understanding is for the most part 
 passive.—In this part the understanding is merely passive; and whether or not 
 it will have these beginnings, and, as it were, materials of knowledge, is not in its 
 own power: for the objects of our senses do, many of them, obtrude their par- 
 ticular ideas upon our minds whether we will or not; and the operations of our 
 minds will not let us be without, at least, some obscure notions of them. No 
 man can be wholly ignorant of what he does when he thinks. These simple 
 ideas, when offered to the mind, the understanding can no more refuse to have, 
 nor alter, when they are imprinted, nor blot them out, and make new ones itself, 
 than a mirror can refuse, alter, or obliterate the images or ideas which the objects 
 set before it do therein produce. As the bodies that surround us do diversely 
 aifect our organs, the mind is forced to receive the impressions, and cannot avoid 
 the perception of those ideas that are annexed to them. 
 
 CHAPTER ILI. 
 
 OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 
 
 1. Uncompounded Appearances.—THE better to understand the nature, manner, 
 and extent of our knowledge, one thing is carefully to be observed concerning the 
 ideas we have; and that is, that some of them are simple and some complex. 
 
 ’ Hume has imitated and paraphrased this 
 passage, but has fallen short of its vigour and 
 sublimity. ‘‘ Nothing,” says he, ‘ at first view, 
 may seem more unbounded than the thought of 
 man, which not only escapes all human power and 
 authority, but is not even restrained within the 
 limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, 
 and join incongruous shapes and appearances, 
 cost no more trouble than to conceive the most 
 natural and familiar objects. And while the 
 
 body is confined within one planet, along which 
 
 it creeps with pain and difficulty, the thought 
 can in an instant transport us into the most dis- 
 tant regions of the universe, or even beyond the 
 universe, into the unbounded chaos, where na- 
 ture is supposed to be in total confusion. What 
 never was seen nor heard of, may yet be con- 
 ceived; nor is anything beyond the power of 
 thought, except what implies an absolute con- 
 tradiction.”’ (Essays, p. 290.) The same idea has 
 been employed by the authors of the Systéme 
 de la Nature to taunt and humiliate man. 
 
133 
 
 CHAP. II. | OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 
 
 Though the qualities that affect our senses are, in the things themselves, so 
 united and blended, that there is no separation, no distance between them; yet it 
 is plain, the ideas they produce in the mind enter by the senses simple and un- 
 mixed. For though the sight and touch often take in from the same object, at 
 the same time, different ideas; asa man sees at once motion and colour; the hand 
 feels softness and warmth in the same piece of wax; yet the simple ideas thus 
 united in the same subject, are as perfectly distinct as those that come in by dif- 
 ferent senses: the coldness and hardness which a man feels in a piece of ice being 
 as distinct ideas in the mind, as the smell and whiteness of a lily, or as the taste of 
 sugar, and smell of arose. And there is nothing can be plainer to a man, than the 
 clear and distinct perception he has of those simple ideas ; which being each in 
 itself uncompounded, contains in it nothing but one uniform appearance or con- 
 ception in the mind, and is not distinguishable into different ideas. 
 
 2. The Mind can neither make nor destroy them.—These simple ideas, the 
 materials of all our knowledge, are suggested and furnished to the mind only by 
 those two ways above mentioned, viz. sensation and reflection... When the un- 
 derstanding is once stored with these simple ideas, it has the power to repeat, 
 compare, and unite them, even to an almost infinite variety, and so can make at 
 pleasure new complex ideas. But it is not in the power of the most exalted wit, 
 or enlarged understanding, by any quickness or variety of thought, to invent or 
 frame one new simple idea in the mind, not taken in by the ways before mentioned : 
 nor can any force of the understanding destroy those that are there. The domi- 
 nion of man, in this little world of his own understanding, being much-what the 
 same as it is in the great world of visible things; wherein his power, however 
 managed by art and skill, reaches no farther than to compound and divide the 
 materials that are made to his hand; but can do nothing towards the making the 
 least particle of new matter, or destroying one atom of what is already in being. 
 The same inability will every one find in himself, who shall go about to fashion in 
 his understanding one simple idea, not received in by his senses from external ob- 
 jects, or by reflection from the operations of his own mind about them. I would 
 have any one try to fancy any taste which had never affected his palate, or 
 frame the idea of a scent he had never smelt; and when he can do this, I will 
 also conclude that a blind man hath ideas of colours, and a deaf man true distinct 
 notions of sounds. 
 
 3. This is the reason why, though we cannot believe it impossible to God to 
 make a creature with other organs, and more ways to convey into the understand- 
 ing the notice of corporeal things than those five, as they are usually counted, 
 which he has given to man; yet I think it is not possible for any one to imagine 
 any other qualities in bodies, howsoever constituted, whereby they can be taken 
 notice of, besides sounds, tastes, smells, visible and tangible qualities. And had 
 mankind been made but with four senses, the qualities then which are the object 
 of the fifth sense, had been as far from our notice, imagination, and conception, as 
 now any belonging to a sixth, seventh, or eighth sense can possibly be; which, 
 whether yet some other creatures, in some other parts of this vast and stupendous 
 universe, may not have, will be a great presumption to deny. He that will not 
 set himself proudly at the top of all things,’ but will consider the immensity of 
 
 1 See Locke’s first letter to the Bishop of 
 Worcester. 
 
 2 Upon this theme, as in my notes on Sir 
 Thomas Browne I have already observed, Mon- 
 taigne declaims with much force and eloquence 
 in his ‘* Apologie pour Raymond de Sebonde,”’ 
 wherein I am persuaded Pope found the first 
 materials for his ‘‘ Hssay on Man.” Probably 
 there may in other parts of the universe exist 
 creatures superior in intellectual powers to us. 
 The sun, for example, may ripen poets more in- 
 
 stinct with fire, more brilliant with imagery, more 
 alive with passion, and energy, and sublimity 
 than Homer, and Shakspeare, and Milton. In 
 my inmost thoughts I would not call in question 
 the efficacy of God’s will.. Yet since the ideas of 
 man have overflowed this visible universe, and 
 risen like a flood to the very throne of God, it is 
 not impossible that they may have reached the 
 limit set to the apprehensions of created beings, 
 and that between us and the Divinity there is no 
 higher link, I mean in intellect. In Milton and 
 
134 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book It. 
 
 this fabric, and the great variety that is to be found in this little and inconsiderable 
 part of it which he has to do with, may be apt to think, that in other mansions of 
 it there may be other and different intelligent beings, of whose faculties he has as 
 little knowledge or apprehension, as a worm shut up in one drawer of a cabinet 
 hath of the senses or understanding of a man: such variety and excellency being 
 suitable to the wisdom and power of the Maker. I have here followed the com- 
 mon opinion of man’s having but five senses, though, perhaps, there may be justly 
 counted more; but either supposition serves equally to my present purpose.' 
 
 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF IDEAS OF ONE SENSE. 
 
 1. Division of simple Ideas.—Tux better to conceive the ideas we receive from 
 sensation, it may not be amiss for us to consider them in reference to the different 
 ways whereby they make their approaches to our minds, and make themselves 
 perceivable by us. 
 
 First, then, There are some which come into our minds by one sense only. 
 
 Secondly, There are others that convey themselves into the mind by more 
 senses than one. 
 
 Thirdly, Others that are had from reflection only. 
 
 Fourthly, There are some that make themselves way, and are suggested to the 
 mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection. 
 
 We shall consider them apart under their several heads. 
 
 Ideas of one Sense, as Colours, of Seeing ; Sound, of Hearing, &c.—There 
 are some ideas which have admittance only through one sense, which is peculiarly 
 adapted to receive them. Thus light and colours, as white, red, yellow, blue, 
 with their several degrees or shades and mixtures, as green, scarlet, purple, sea- 
 green, and the rest, come in only by the eyes; all kinds of noises, sounds, and 
 tones, only by the ears; the several tastes and smells, by the nose and palate. 
 And if these organs, or the nerves, which are the conduits to convey them from 
 without to their audience in the brain,—the mind’s presence-room, as I may so 
 call it, —are any of them so disordered as not to perform their functions,? they have 
 no postern to be admitted by, no other way to bring themselves into view, and be 
 perceived by the understanding. 
 
 The most considerable of those belonging to the touch, are heat and cold, and 
 solidity: all the rest, consisting almost wholly in the sensible configuration, 
 as smooth and rough; or else more or less firm adhesion of the parts, as hard and 
 soft, tough and brittle, are obvious enough. | 
 
 2. Few simple Ideas have Names.—I1 think it will be needless to enumerate all 
 the particular simple ideas belonging to each sense. Nor indeed is it possible if 
 we would, there being a great many more of them belonging to most of the 
 senses than we have names for. The variety of smells, which are as many almost, 
 if not more, than species of bodies in the world, do most of them want names. 
 Sweet and stinking commonly serve our turn for these ideas, which in effect is 
 
 Plato and Shakspeare and Homer we have 
 seraphs enshrined in human clay. Pope’s views 
 are rather those of a satirist than of a philo- 
 sopher: 
 ‘What would this man!—now upward would he 
 soar, 
 And, little less than angel, would be more. 
 
 Now, looking downward, just as grieved ap- 
 pears, 
 To want the strength of bulls the fur of bears.” 
 * Does he allude here to the internal sense 
 afterwards maintained by Hutcheson? 
 2 Belzoni, who had no sense of smelling, fur- 
 nishes an example of what is here said. 
 
 —————— 
 
CHAP. IV.] IDEA OF SOLIDITY. 135 
 
 little more than to call them pleasing or displeasing ; though the smell of a rose 
 and violet, both sweet, are certainly very distinct ideas.'. Nor are the different 
 tastes, that by our palates we receive ideas of, much better provided with names. 
 Sweet, bitter, sour, harsh, and salt are almost all the epithets we have to denomi- 
 nate that numberless variety of relishes, which are to be found distinct, not only 
 in almost every sort of creatures, but in the different parts of the same plant, fruit, 
 or animal. The same may be said of colours and sounds. I shall, therefore, in the 
 account of simple ideas I am here giving, content myself to set down only such 
 as are most material to our present purpose, or are in themselves less apt to be 
 taken notice of, though they are very frequently the ingredients of our complex 
 ideas, amongst -which, I think, I may well account solidity, which therefore I 
 shall treat of in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF SOLIDITY. 
 
 1. We receive this Idea from Touch.—THE idea of solidity we receive by our 
 touch; and it arises from the resistance which we find in body, to the entrance of 
 any other body into the place it possesses, till it has left it. There is no idea 
 which we receive more constantly from sensation than solidity. Whether we 
 move or rest, in what posture soever we are, we always feel something under us 
 that supports us, and hinders our further sinking downwards; and the bodies 
 which we daily handle make us perceive, that whilst they remain between them, 
 they do, by an insurmountable force, hinder the approach of the parts of our hands 
 that press them. That which thus hinders the approach of two bodies, when 
 - they are moved one towards another, I call solidity. I will not dispute whether 
 this acceptation of the word solid be nearer to its original signification than that 
 which mathematicians use it in; it suffices that I think the common notion of 
 
 ? On the nature of the sense of smelling, see 
 Blumenbach’s Physiology, § 15. 235 et seq. Con- 
 sult likewise the Onomasticon of Julius Pollux, 
 i. 72 et seq. 
 
 “ On solidity, and the other primary qualities 
 of matter, the most extraordinary opinions have 
 been put forward by philosophers, from the days 
 of Protagoras, whose notions are examined in 
 the Theetetos of Plato, down to our own time. 
 Not the least curious among the theories which 
 have been started is that of Father Boscovich, 
 of which Mr. Dugald Stewart has given a slight 
 outline. ‘The ultimate elements (we are taught) 
 of which matter is composed, are unextended 
 atoms, or in other words mathematical points, en- 
 dued with certain powers of attraction and repul- 
 sion; and it is from these powers that all the 
 physical appearances of the universe arise. The 
 effects, for example, which are vulgarly ascribed 
 to actual contact, are all produced by repulsive 
 forces, occupying those parts of space where 
 bodies are perceived by our senses; and therefore 
 the correct idea that we ought to annex to mat- 
 ter, considered as an object of perception, is 
 merely that of a power of resistance sufficient to 
 counteract the compressing power which our 
 physical strength enables us to exert.’’ (Phil. 
 ssays, 123.) Quite in harmony with this view of 
 the subject are the opinions of Doctor Hutton, 
 who observes, that “‘in thus distinguishing things, 
 it will appear that incompressibility and hard- 
 
 ness, powers resisting the change of volume and 
 figure, are the properties of an external body ; 
 and that these are the essential qualities of that 
 extended figured thing, so far as it is only in 
 these resisting powers that the conceived thing 
 termed body is judged to subsist.”” And again 
 further on: ‘* But if the resistance which is op- 
 posed by a natural body to the exertion of our 
 will, endeavouring to destroy the volume, should 
 be as perfectly overcome as is that of hardness in 
 fluidity, then the common opinion of mankind, 
 which supposes the extension of the body to be 
 permanent, would necessarily be changed; for at 
 present we think that this resisting power, which 
 preserves volume in bodies, is absolutely in its 
 nature insurmountable, as it certainly is in its re- 
 lation to our moving power. Instead, then, of 
 saying that matter, of which natural bodies are 
 composed, is perfectly hard and impenetrable, 
 which is the received opinion of philosophers, we 
 would affirm that there is no permanent property 
 of this kind in a material thing; but that there 
 are certain resisting powers in bodies by which 
 their volumes and figures are presented to us in 
 
 | the actual conformation, which powers however 
 
 might be overcome. In that case, the extension 
 of the most solid body would be considered only 
 as a conditional thing, like the hardness of a 
 body of ice, which hardness is in the aqueous 
 state of that body perfectly destroyed.” (Diss. on 
 Natural Philosophy, 219 et seq.) 
 
136 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 solidity will allow, if not justify, this use of it; but if any one think it better to 
 call it impenetrability, he has my consent. Only I have thought the term solidity 
 the more proper to express this idea, not only because of its vulgar use in that 
 ‘ sense, but also because it carries something more of positive in it than impenetra- 
 bility, which is negative, and is perhaps more a consequence of solidity, than solidity 
 itself. This, of all others, seems the idea most intimately connected with and 
 essential to body, so as nowhere else to be found or imagined, but only in matter. 
 And though our senses take no notice of it, but in masses of matter, of a bulk 
 sufficient to cause a sensation in us; yet the mind, having once got this idea from 
 such grosser sensible bodies, traces it further, and considers it, as well as figure, 
 in the minutest particle of matter that can exist; and finds it inseparably inherent 
 in body, wherever or however modified. 7 
 
 2. Solidity fills Space.—This is the idea which belongs to body, whereby we 
 conceive it to fill space. The idea of which filling of space is, that where we 
 imagine any space taken up by a solid substance, we conceive it so to possess it, 
 that it excludes all other solid substances ; and will for ever hinder any other two 
 bodies, that move towards one another in a straight line, from coming to touch one 
 another, unless it removes from between them in a line not parallel to that which 
 they move in. This idea of it, the bodies which we ordinarily handle sufficiently 
 furnish us with. 7 . 
 
 3. Distinct from Space.—This resistance, whereby it keeps other bodies out of 
 the space which it possesses, is so great, that no force, how great soever, can 
 surmount it. All the bodies in the world, pressing a drop of water on all sides, 
 will never be able to overcome the resistance which it will make, soft as it is, to 
 their approaching one another, till it be removed out of their way: whereby our 
 idea of solidity is distinguished both from pure space, which is capable neither of 
 resistance nor motion; and from the ordinary idea of hardness. For a man may 
 conceive two bodies at a distance, so as they may approach one another, without 
 touching or displacing any solid thing, till their superficies come’ to meet ; 
 whereby, I think, we have the clear idea of space without solidity. For (not.to 
 go so far as annihilation of any particular body) I ask, whether a man cannot have 
 the idea of the motion of one single body alone, without any other succeeding im- 
 mediately into its place? I think it is evident he can; the idea of motion in one 
 body no more including the idea of motion in another, than the idea of a square 
 figure in one body includes the idea of a square figure in another. I do not ask, 
 whether bodies do so exist, that the motion of one body cannot really be without 
 the motion of another. To determine this either way, is to beg the question for 
 or against a vacuum. But my question is, whether one cannot have the idea 
 of one body moved, whilst others are at rest? And I think this no one will deny. 
 If so, then the place it deserted gives us the idea of pure space without solidity, 
 whereinto any other body may enter, without either resistance or protrusion of any- 
 thing.' When the sucker in a pump is drawn, the space it filled in the tube is 
 certainly the same whether any other body follows the motion of the sucker or 
 not: nor does it imply a contradiction that, upon the motion of one body, another 
 that is only contiguous to it should not follow it. The necessity of such a motion 
 is built only on the supposition that the world is full; but not on the distinct ideas 
 of space and solidity, which are as different as resistance and not resistance, pro- 
 trusion and not protrusion. And that men have ideas of space without a 
 body, their very disputes about a vacuum plainly demonstrate, as is shown in 
 another place. 
 
 * It being impossible to compress into a single | Hartley, Conjecture quedam de Sensu, Motu, &c. 
 note all the opinions of the most distinguished | Prob. 19: this last work is found in that curious 
 philosophers on motion, I shall content myself | collection, Metaphysical Tracts by English Phi- 
 with referring in the first place to Plato, Thest. | losophers of the eighteenth Century, published by 
 t. ili, p. 257, Bekk. Arist. Phys. Auscult. | Dr. Parr. 
 
 l, iii. c. 12. Berkeley de Motu, Works, ii. 375. 
 
CHAP. Iv. | IDEA OF SOLIDITY. 137 
 
 4. From Hardness.—Solidity is hereby also differenced from hardness, in that 
 solidity consists in repletion, and so an utter exclusion of other bodies out of the 
 space it possesses ; but hardness, in a firm cohesion of the parts of matter, making 
 up masses of a sensible bulk, so that the whole does not easily change its figure. 
 And indeed, hard and soft are names that we give to things only in relation to the 
 constitutions of our own bodies; that being generally called hard by us, which 
 will put us to pain sooner than change figure by the pressure of any part of 
 our bodies; and that on the contrary soft, which changes the situation of its parts 
 upon an easy and unpainful touch.’ 
 
 But this difficulty of changing the situation of the sensible parts amongst them- 
 selves, or of the figure of the whole, gives no more solidity to the hardest body in 
 the world than to the softest; nor is an adamant one jot more solid than water. 
 For though the two flat sides of two pieces of marble will more easily approach 
 each other, between which there is nothing but water or air, than if there be 
 a diamond between them; yet it is not that the parts of the diamond are more 
 solid than those of water, or resist more, but because the parts of water being 
 more easily separable from each other, they will, by a side motion, be more easily 
 removed, and give way to the approach of the two pieces of marble. But if they 
 could be kept from making place by that side motion, they would eternally hinder 
 the approach of these two pieces of marble as much as the diamond; and it would 
 be as impossible by any force to surmount their resistance, as to surmount the 
 resistance of the parts of a diamond. The softest body in the world will as 
 invincibly resist the coming together of any other two bodies, if it be not put out 
 of the way, but remain between them, as the hardest that can be found or 
 imagined. He that shall fill a yielding soft body well with air or water, will 
 quickly find its resistance; and he that thinks that nothing but bodies that are 
 hard can keep his hands from approaching one another, may be pleased to make 
 a trial with the air inclosed in a foot-ball. The experiment, I have been told, was 
 made at Florence, with a hollow globe of gold filled with water and exactly 
 closed, which further shows the solidity of so soft a body as water. For the 
 golden globe thus filled being put into a press which was driven by the extreme 
 force of screws, the water made itself way through the pores of that very close 
 metal; and finding no room for a nearer approach of its particles within, got to 
 the outside, where it rose like a dew, and so fell in drops, before the sides of 
 the globe could be made to yield to the violent compression of the engine that 
 squeezed it. 
 
 ®. On Solidity depend Impulse, Resistance, and Protrusion.—By this idea of 
 solidity, is the extension of body distinguished from the extension of space: the 
 extension of body being nothing but the cohesion or continuity of solid, separable, 
 moveable parts ; and the extension of space, the continuity of unsolid, inseparable, 
 and immoveable parts. Upon the solidity of bodies also depend their: mutual 
 impulse, resistance, and protrusion. Of pure space then, and solidity, there are 
 several (amongst which I confess myself one) who persuade themselves they have 
 clear and distinct ideas; and that they can think on space, without anything in 
 it that resists or is protruded by body. This is the idea of pure space, which they 
 think they have as clear as any idea they can have of the extension of body; the 
 idea of the distance between the opposite parts of a concave superficies being 
 equally as clear without, as with the idea of any solid parts between; and on the 
 other side, they persuade themselves that they have, distinct from that of pure 
 space, the idea of something that fills space, that can be protruded by the impulse 
 of other bodies, or resist their motion. If there be others that have not these two 
 ideas distinct, but confound them, and make but one of them, I know not how 
 men, who have the same idea under different names, or different ideas under the 
 
 1 On the subject of hardness, see Stuart, p. 161. 
 
138 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK It. 
 
 same name, can in that case talk with one another; any more than a man who, 
 not being blind or deaf, has distinct ideas of the colour of scarlet and the sound 
 of a trumpet, could discourse concerning scarlet colour with the blind man I 
 mentioned in another place, who fancied that the idea of scarlet was like the sound 
 of a trumpet. 
 
 6. What it is.—If any one asks me what this solidity is, I send him to his 
 senses to inform him: let him put a flint or a foot-ball between his hands, and 
 then endeavour to join them, and he will know. If he thinks this not a sufficient 
 explication of solidity, what it is, and wherein it consists; I promise to tell him 
 what it is, and wherein it consists, when he tells me what thinking is, or wherein 
 it consists; or explains to me what extension or motion is, which perhaps seems 
 much easier.’ The simple ideas we have, are such as experience teaches them us; 
 but if, beyond that, we endeavour by words to make them clearer in the mind, 
 we shall succeed no better than if we went about to clear up the darkness of 
 a blind man’s mind by talking, and to discourse into him the ideas of light and 
 colours. The reason of this I shall show in another place. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF DIVERS SENSES. 
 
 Tun ideas we get by more than one sense are, of space or extension, 
 figure, rest, and motion; for these make perceivable impressions, both on the 
 eyes and touch; and we can receive and convey into our minds the ideas of 
 the extension, figure, motion, and rest of bodies, both by seeing and feeling. But 
 having occasion to speak more at large of these in another place, I here only 
 enumerate them. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION. 
 
 1. Simple Ideas are the Operations of the Mind about its other Ideas.—-THE 
 mind receiving the ideas, mentioned in the foregoing chapters, from without, 
 when. it turns its view inward upon itself, and observes its own actions about those 
 ideas it has, takes from thence other ideas, which are as capable to be the objects 
 of its contemplation as any of those it received from foreign things. 
 
 2. The Idea of Perception, and Idea of Willing, we have from Reflection.—The 
 two great and principal actions of the mind, which are most frequently considered, 
 and which are so frequent that every one that pleases may take notice of them in 
 himself, are these two: perception, or thinking ;? and volition, or willing. The 
 power of thinking is called the understanding, and the power of volition is called 
 the will; and these two powers or abilities in the mind are denominated faculties. 
 Of some of the modes of these simple ideas of reflection, such as are remembrance, 
 discerning, reasoning, judging, knowledge, faith, &c., I shall have occasion to 
 speak hereafter. 
 
 1 The scepticism of Berkeley and Collier on the | ance of the proximity or existence of anything, 
 existence of the external world is in this passage | while thinking comprehends all those various 
 attacked by prolepsis. mental operations to which we have applied the 
 
 2 The philosopher here confounds two things | terms contemplation, reasoning, meditation, re- 
 which are widely different, perception being that | flection, &c. Conf. Condillac, Kssai sur l’Orig. 
 simple act of the mind by which it takes cogniz- | des Connais. Humaines, p. 24. 
 
CHAP. VII. | 
 
 IDEAS OF SENSATION AND REFLECTION. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSATION AND REFLECTION. 
 
 1. Pleasure and Pain.—TuEReE be other simple ideas which convey themselves 
 into the mind by all the ways of sensation and reflection, viz. pleasure or 
 delight; and its opposite, pain or uneasiness ; power; existence; unity. 
 
 2. Delight or uneasiness, one or other of them, join themselves to almost all 
 our ideas, both of sensation and reflection; and there is scarce any affection of 
 our senses from without, any retired thought of our mind within, which is not 
 able to produce in us pleasure or pain. By pleasure and pain, I would be under- 
 stood to signify whatsoever delights or molests us most, whether it arises from 
 the thoughts of our minds, or anything operating on our bodies; for whether we 
 call it satisfaction, delight, pleasure, happiness, &c. on the one side, or uneasi- 
 ness, trouble, pain, torment, anguish, misery, &c. on the other, they are still but 
 different degrees of the same thing, and belong to the ideas of pleasure and pain, 
 delight or uneasiness, which are the namesI shall most commonly use for those 
 two sorts of ideas. ' 
 
 3. The infinitely wise Author of our being, having given us the power over 
 several parts of our bodies, to move or keep them at rest as we think fit, and 
 also, by the motion of them, to move ourselves and other contiguous bodies, in’ 
 which consist all the actions of our body; having also given a power to our 
 minds, in several instances, to choose, amongst its ideas, which it will think on, 
 and to pursue the inquiry of this or that subject with consideration and attention, 
 to excite us to these actions of thinking and motion that we are capable of, has 
 been pleased to join to several thoughts and several sensations a perception of 
 delight. If this were wholly separated from all our outward sensations and 
 inward thoughts, we should have no reason to prefer one thought or action 
 to another, negligence to attention, or motion to rest; and so we should neither 
 _ stir our bodies nor employ our minds, but let our thoughts (if 1 may so call it) 
 run adrift, without any direction or design, and suffer the ideas of our minds, 
 like unregarded shadows, to make their appearances there, as it happened, 
 without attending to them; in which state man, however furnished with the 
 faculties of understanding and will, would be a very idle, inactive creature, and 
 pass his time only in a lazy, lethargic dream. It has therefore pleased our wise 
 Creator to annex to several objects, and the ideas which we receive from them, as 
 also to several of our thoughts, a concomitant pleasure, and that in several 
 objects, to several degrees, that those faculties which he had endowed us with 
 might not remain wholly idle and unemployed by us.’ 
 
 1 Plato, whom few questions connected with 
 human nature had entirely escaped, has in- 
 vestigated the whole subject of pleasure in the 
 Philebos, tom. vy. p. 102 etseq. Bekk. Again, in 
 his great work on Laws, he observes that plea- 
 sure and pain are two fountains set flowing by 
 nature, and that, according to the degree of 
 prudence and moderation with which men draw 
 from them, they are happy or otherwise. Their 
 channels run parallel, but not on the same level, 
 so that if the sluices of the former be too la- 
 vishly opened, they overflow and mingle with 
 the bitter waters of the neighbouring stream, 
 which never assimilates with this finer fluid. 
 (t. vii. 203.) On this subject, in fact, many of the 
 old philosophers have treated ably; and Mon- 
 taigne, who read these ancients habitually, and 
 loved to parade their opinions, mixed up with his 
 own, gossips philosophically a-propos of this topic 
 
 in many parts of his extraordinary essays. He, 
 however, confounds pleasure with virtue, in the 
 Epicurean spirit, for the purpose of shedding 
 over the former an air of greater dignity. ‘‘ Quoi 
 qu’ils disent, en la vertu méme, le dernier but de 
 notre visée, c’est la volupté. Ime plait de battre 
 leurs oreilles de ce mot qui leur est si fort contre- 
 cour: et s'il signifie quelque supréme plaisir, 
 et excessif contentement, il est mieux du a l’as- 
 sistance de la nature qu’a mille autre assistance. 
 Cette volupté, pour étre plus gaillarde, nerveuse, 
 robuste, virile, n’est que plus sérieusement vo- 
 luptueuse.” (Hssais, I. xix. t. 1. p. 186.) On the 
 philosophy of pain, and death, which occupies 
 the extremity of the avenue, he disserts like a 
 frank and generous spirit, in chap. xi. of the 
 same book, which the reader will do well to 
 study. 
 
 2 We have here one of the innumerable pas- 
 
140 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 4. Pain has the same efficacy and use to set us on work that pleasure has, we 
 being as ready to employ our faculties to avoid that, as to pursue this: only this 
 is worth our consideration, that pain is often produced by the same objects and 
 ideas that produce pleasure in us. This their near conjunction, which makes us 
 often feel pain in the sensations where we expected pleasure, gives us new 
 occasion of admiring the wisdom and goodness of our Maker, who, designing the 
 preservation of our being, has annexed pain to the application of many things to 
 our bodies, to warn us of the harm that they will do, and as advices to withdraw 
 from them. But he not designing our preservation barely, but the preservation 
 of every part and organ in its perfection, hath im many cases annexed pain to 
 those very ideas which delight us. Thus heat, that is very agreeable to us in 
 one degree, by a little greater increase of it proves no ordinary torment; and the 
 most pleasant of all sensible objects, light itself, if there be too much of it, if 
 increased beyond a due proportion to our eyes, causes a very painful sensation:' 
 which is wisely and favourably so ordered by nature, that when any object does, 
 by the vehemency of its operation, disorder the instruments of sensation, whose 
 structures cannot but be very nice and delicate, we might by the pain be warned 
 
 sages in this Essay, which show the pious spirit 
 in which Locke philosophised. He united, in- 
 deed, in his noble character, the wisdom of the 
 sage with the religion of the anchorite, devoting 
 his mind to the service of God, and his heart to 
 the service of mankind. 
 
 1 Nay, in addition to being exceedingly painful, 
 excess of light is destructive to our organs of 
 vision; thus, by looking long and stedfastly at 
 the sun, many Hindu penitents greatly impair 
 their sight, or become totally blind. In my 
 work on the Manners of the Hindts, I have 
 given an account of the experiment of a novice 
 in this hazardous branch of devotion, part of 
 which I here extract: “‘ Amongst useful exer- 
 cises, he was ordered, he says, to look steadily 
 at the sun, with his head elevated, and without 
 winking. This experiment he was directed to 
 repeat several times every day, until the organs 
 of sight were inflamed to an extraordinary de- 
 gree, accompanied by violent headaches. Some- 
 times he fancied he saw sparks, and sometimes 
 globes of fire in the air. The Sannyasi, whose 
 disciple he was, appeared highly delighted with 
 his proficiency: he himself was blind with one 
 eye, and the pupil, upon inquiry, found with dis- 
 may that he had lost it by the very experiment 
 which he had imposed upon him. Fearing that 
 his penance might end in total loss of sight, he 
 left the one-eyed sage to enjoy his contempla- 
 tions alone.” (ii. 53.) Sir Isaac Newton, in a 
 letter to Locke, published some years ago by 
 Lord King, gives an extremely interesting ac- 
 count of certain experiments on light, made by 
 himself, which nearly cost him his eyes. The 
 reader, I am sure, who takes any interest in phi- 
 losophy, will excuse the length of the extract :— 
 ‘The observation you mention with Boyle’s 
 book of colours, I once made upon myself, with 
 the hazard of my eyes. The manner was this: 
 I looked a very little while upon the sun in the 
 looking-glass with my right eye, and then turned 
 my eyes into a dark corner of my chamber, and 
 winked, to observe the impression made, and the 
 circles of colours which encompassed it, and how 
 they decayed by degrees, and at last vanished. 
 This I repeated a second and a third time. At 
 the third time, when the phantasm of light and 
 colours about it was almost vanished, intending 
 my fancy upon them to see their last appear- 
 ance, I found to my amazement that they began 
 
 to return, and by little and little to become as 
 lively and vivid as when I had newly looked upon 
 the sun. But when I ceased to intend my fancy 
 upon them, they vanished again. After this I 
 found, that as often as I went into the dark and 
 intended my mind upon them, as when a man 
 looks earnestly to see anything which is difficult 
 to be seen, I could make the phantasm return 
 without looking any more upon the sun; and the 
 oftener I made it return, the more easily I could 
 make it return again. And at length, by only 
 repeating this, without looking any more upon 
 the sun, I made such an impréSsion on my eyes, 
 that if I looked upon the clouds, or a book, or 
 any bright object, I saw upon it a round bright 
 shape like the sun: and, which is still stranger, 
 though I looked on the sun with my right eye 
 only, and not with my left, yet my fancy began 
 to make the impression upon my left eye as well 
 as upon my right; for if I shut my right eye, 
 and looked upon a book or the clouds with my 
 left eye, I could see the spectrum of the sun 
 almost as plain as with my right eye, if I did but 
 intend my fancy a little while upon it: for at 
 first, if I shut my right eye, and looked with my 
 left, the spectrum of the sun did not appear till 
 I intended my fancy upon it; but by repeating, 
 this appeared every time more easily: and now, 
 in a few hours’ time, I had brought my eyes to 
 such a pass, that I could look upon no bright 
 object with either eye but I saw the sun before 
 me, so that I durst neither write nor read; but 
 to recover the use of my eyes, shut myself up in 
 my chamber, made dark, for three days together, 
 and used all means to divert my imagination 
 from the sun; for if I thought upon him, I pre- 
 sently saw his picture, though I was in the dark. 
 But by keeping in the dark, and employing my 
 mind about other things, I began in three or 
 four days to have some use of my eyes again, 
 and by forbearing a few days longer to look 
 upon bright objects, recovered them pretty well; 
 though not so well but that, for some months 
 after, the spectrum of the sun began to return as 
 often as I began to meditate upon the pheno- 
 menon, even though I lay in bed in midnight, 
 with my curtains drawn. But now I have been 
 very well for many years, though I am apt to 
 think, that if I durst venture my eyes, I could 
 still make the phantasm return by the power of 
 my fancy.” (Life of Locke.) 
 
CHAP. VII. | IDEAS OF SENSATION AND REFLECTION. 141 
 
 to withdraw before the organ be quite put out of order, and so be unfitted for its 
 proper function for the future. The consideration of those objects that produce it 
 may well persuade us that this is the end or use of pain; for though great light be 
 insufferable to our eyes, yet the highest degree of darkness does not at all disease 
 them, because that, causing no disorderly motion in it, leaves that curious organ 
 unarmed in its natural state. But yet excess of cold as well as heat pains us, 
 because it is equally destructive to that temper which is necessary to the pre- 
 servation of life, and the exercise of the several functions of the body, and which 
 consists in a moderate degree of warmth, or, if you please, a motion of the 
 insensible parts of our bodies, confined within certain bounds. 
 
 9. Beyond all this, we may find another reason why God hath scattered up 
 and down several degrees of pleasure and pain in all the things that environ and 
 affect us, and blended them together in almost all that our thoughts and senses 
 have to do with; that we, finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and want of com- 
 plete happiness, in all the enjoyments which the creatures can afford-us, might be 
 led to seek it in the enjoyment of Him, with whom there is fullness of joy, and at 
 whose right hand are pleasures for evermore. 
 
 6. Pleasure and Pain.—Though what I have here said may not, perhaps, 
 make the ideas of pleasure and pain clearer to us than our own experience does, 
 which is the only way that we are capable of having them, yet the consideration 
 of the reason why they are annexed to so many other ideas, serving to give us 
 due sentiments of the wisdom and goodness of the Sovereign Disposer of all 
 things, may not be unsuitable to the main end of these inquiries, the knowledge 
 and veneration of him being the chief end of all our thoughts, and the proper 
 business of all understandings. 
 
 7. Existence and Unity.—Existence and unity are two other ideas that are 
 suggested to the understanding by every object without, and every idea within. 
 When ideas are in our minds, we consider them as being actually there, as well 
 as we consider things to be actually without us; which is, that they exist, or have 
 existence: and whatever we can consider as one thing, whether a real being or 
 idea, suggests to the understanding the idea of unity. 
 
 8. Power.—Power also is another of those simple ideas which we receive 
 from sensation and reflection: for, observing in ourselves that we can at pleasure 
 move several parts of our bodies which were at rest; the effects, also, that natural 
 bodies are able to produce in one another, occurring every moment to our senses, 
 we both these ways get the idea of power. 
 
 9. Succession.— Besides these there is another idea, which, though suggested 
 by our senses, yet is more constantly offered to us by what passes in our minds; 
 and that is the idea of succession. For if we look immediately into ourselves, 
 and reflect on what is observable there, we shall find our ideas always, whilst we 
 are awake or have any thought, passing in train, one going and another coming, 
 without intermission. 
 
 10. Simple Ideas the Materials of all our Knowledge.—These, if they are not 
 all, are at least (as I think) the most considerable of those simple ideas which the 
 mind has, and out of which is made all its other knowledge; all which it receives 
 only by the two forementioned ways of sensation and reflection. 
 
 Nor let any one think these too narrow bounds for the capacious mind of man 
 to expatiate in, which takes its flight further than the stars, and cannot be confined 
 by the limits of the world; that extends its thoughts often even beyond the 
 utmost expansion of matter, and makes excursions into that incomprehensible 
 inane.’ I grant all this, but desire any one to assign any simple idea which is 
 
 1 « Beyond the visible diurnal sphere Into the heaven of heavens I have presumed, 
 ot an whose voice divine An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, 
 Following above the Olympian hill, I soar Thy lending.””—MiILTown. 
 
 Above the flight of Pegasean wing.” “ Extra Flamantia Moenia Mundi.” 
 6é 
 
 Sere paree Upled by thee, LUCRETIUS. 
 
142 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 not received from one of those inlets before mentioned, or any complex idea not 
 made out of those simple ones. Nor will it be so strange to think these few 
 simple ideas sufficient to employ the quickest thought or largest capacity, and to 
 furnish the materials of all that various knowledge, and more various fancies and 
 opinions of all mankind, if we consider how many words may be made out of the 
 various composition of twenty-four letters; or if, going one step further, we will 
 but reflect on the variety of combinations that may be made with barely one of 
 the above-mentioned ideas, viz. number, whose stock is inexhaustible and truly 
 infinite: and what a large and immense field doth extension alone afford the 
 mathematicians ! 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL. 
 
 SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE IDEAS. 
 
 1. Positive Ideas from privative Causes.—CoNCERNING the simple ideas of 
 sensation, it is to be considered, that whatsoever is so constituted in nature as to be 
 able, by affecting our senses, to cause any perception in the mind, doth thereby 
 produce in the understanding a simple idea, which, whatever be the external 
 cause of it, when it comes to be taken notice of by our discerning faculty, it is by 
 the mind looked on and considered there to be a real positive idea in the under- 
 standing as much as any other whatsoever, though, perhaps, the cause of it be 
 but a privation of the subject. 
 
 2. Thus the ideas of heat and cold, light and darkness, white and black, motion 
 and rest, are equally clear and positive ideas in the mind; though, perhaps, some 
 of the causes which produce them are barely privations in subjects from whence 
 our senses derive those ideas. These the understanding, in its view of them, con- 
 siders all as distinct positive ideas, without taking notice of the causes that pro- 
 duce them, which is an inquiry not belonging to the idea, as it is in the under- 
 standing, but to the nature of the things existing without us. These are two very 
 different things, and carefully to be distinguished, it being one thing to perceive 
 and know the idea of white or black, and quite another to examine what kind of 
 particles they must be, and how ranged in the superficies, to make any object 
 appear white or black. : 
 
 3. A painter or dyer who never inquired into their causes, hath the ideas of 
 white and black, and other colours, as clearly, perfectly, and distinctly in his 
 understanding, and perhaps more distinctly, than the philosopher, who hath 
 busied himself in considering their natures, and thinks he knows how far either 
 of them is in its cause positive or privative; and the idea of black is no less posi- 
 tive in his mind than that of white, however the canse of that colour in the 
 external object may be only a privation. 
 
 4. If it were the design of my present undertaking to inquire into the natural 
 causes and manner of perception, I should offer this as a reason why a privative 
 cause might, in some cases at least, produce a positive idea; viz. that all sensation 
 being produced in us only by different degrees and modes of motion in our animal 
 spirits, variously agitated by external objects, the abatement of any former motion 
 must as necessarily produce a new sensation as the variation or increase of it, 
 and so introduce a new idea, which depends only on a different motion of the 
 animal spirits in that organ.} 
 
 1 See Buhle’s Histoire de la Philosophie Mo- | istence of a subtle fluid in the neervs, propagated 
 derne. The hypothesis which assumes the ex- | by their means from the brain to the different parts 
 
CHAP. VIII. | SIMPLE IDEAS. 143 
 
 5. But whether this be so or not I will not here determine, but appeal to every 
 one’s own experience whether the shadow of a man, though it consists of nothing 
 but the absence of light, (and the more the absence of light is, the more dis- 
 cernible is the shadow,) does not, when a man looks on it, cause as clear 
 and positive idea in his mind, as a man himself, though covered over with clear 
 sunshine? and the picture of a shadow is a positive thing. Indeed, we have 
 negative names, which stand not directly for positive ideas, but for their absence, 
 such as insipid, silence, nihil, &c., which words denote positive ideas, v. g. taste, 
 sound, being, with a signification of their absence. 
 
 6. Positive Ideas from privative Causes.—And thus one may truly be said to 
 see darkness. For, supposing a hole perfectly dark, from whence no light is 
 reflected, it is certain one may see the figure of it, or it may be painted; or 
 whether the ink I write with makes any other idea, is a question. The privative 
 causes I have here assigned of positive ideas are according to the common 
 opinion; but, in truth, it will be hard to determine whether there be really any 
 ideas from a privative cause, till it be determined whether rest be any more 
 a privation than motion. 
 
 7. Ideas in the Mind, Qualities in Bodies.—To discover the nature of our ideas 
 the better, and to discourse of them intelligibly, it will be convenient to distin- 
 euish them as they are ideas or perceptions-in our minds, and as they are modifi- 
 cations of matter in the bodies that cause such perceptions in us, that so we may 
 not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they are exactly the images and 
 resemblances of something inherent in the subject; most of those of sensation 
 being in the mind no more the likeness of something existing without us, than the 
 names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas, which yet upon hearing 
 they are apt to excite in us.? 
 
 8. Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate object of percep- 
 tion, thought, or understanding, that I call idea; and the power to produce any 
 idea in our mind, I call quality of the subject wherein that power is. Thus 
 a snowball having the power to produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and round, 
 the power to produce those ideas in us, as they are in the snowball, I call 
 qualities; and as they are sensations or perceptions in our understandings, I call 
 them ideas; which ideas, if I speak of sometimes as in the things themselves, I 
 would be understood to mean those qualities in the objects which produce them 
 in us. 
 
 9. Primary Qualities.—Qualities thus considered in bodies are, first, such as 
 are utterly inseparable from the body, in what state soever it be; such as in all 
 the alterations and changes it suffers, all the force can be used upon it, it con- 
 stantly keeps; and such as sense constantly finds in every particle of matter 
 
 Served only to discover sights of woe, 
 
 of the body, is of great antiquity, and is certainly 
 less repugnant to the general analogy of our 
 frame than that by which it has been supplanted. 
 How very generally it once prevailed, may be 
 inferred from the adoption into common speech 
 of the phrase ‘animal spirits,’ to denote that 
 unknown cause which, according to Johnson’s 
 definition, gives vigour or cheerfulness to the 
 mind, a phrase for which our language does not 
 at this day afford a convenient substitute. The 
 late Alexander Monro, one of the most cautious 
 and judicious of medical inquirers, speaks of it as 
 a fact which appeared to him almost indisputa- 
 ble. The existence of a liquid in the cavities of 
 the nerves is supported by little short of demon- 
 strative evidence. See some observations of his, 
 published by Cheselden in his Anatomy, Stewart, 
 9 
 
 Peay: : 
 
 1 No doubt; and this was the view which Mil- 
 ton, himself a philosopher, took, when he said, 
 * No light, but rather darkness visible, 
 
 Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 
 And rest can never dwell, Hope never comes 
 That comes to all, but torture without end 
 Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 
 With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.”’ 
 (Paradise Lost, i. 63 et seq.) 
 2 Pursuing the same train of speculation, 
 Berkeley says, ‘“‘ That neither our thoughts nor 
 passions, formed by the imagination, exist with- 
 out the mind, is what everybody will allow; and 
 it seems no less evident that the various sensa- 
 tions or ideas imprinted on the sense, however 
 blended or combined together, (that is, whatever 
 objects they compose,) cannot exist otherwise 
 than in a mind perceiving them. I think an 
 intuitive knowledge may be obtained of this 
 by any one that shall attend to what is meant 
 by the term exist, when applied to insensible 
 things.” (Berk. Principles of Human Know- 
 ledge, § 111.) 
 
ie al 
 
 144 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 which has bulk enough to be perceived, and the mind finds inseparable from 
 every particle of matter, though less than to make itself singly be perceived by 
 our senses, v. g. take a grain of wheat, divide it into two parts, each part has 
 still solidity, extension, figure, and mobility; divide it again, and it retains still 
 the same qualities; and so divide it on till the parts become insensible, they must 
 retain still each of them all those qualities. For division (which is all that a mill, 
 or pestle, or any other body, does upon another, in reducing it to insensible parts) 
 can never take away either solidity, extension, figure, or mobility from any body, 
 but only makes two or more distinct separate masses of matter, of that which was 
 but one before; all which distinct masses, reckoned as so many distinct bodies, 
 after division, make a certain number.’ These I call original or primary qualities 
 of body, which I think we may observe to produce simple ideas in us, viz. 
 solidity, extension, figure, motion or rest, and number. 
 
 10. Secondary Qualities.2—Secondly, such qualities which in truth are nothing 
 in the objects themselves, but powers to produce various sensations in us by their 
 primary qualities, i. e. by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of their insensible 
 parts, as colours, sounds, tastes, &c., these I call secondary qualities. To these 
 might be added a third sort, which are allowed to be barely powers, though they 
 are as much real qualities in the subject, as those which I, to comply with the 
 common way of speaking, call qualities, but for distinction, secondary qualities. 
 For the power in fire to produce a new colour or consistency in wax or clay, by 
 its primary qualities, is as much a quality in fire as the power it has to produce 
 in me a new idea or sensation of warmth or burning, which I felt not before, by 
 the same primary qualities, viz. the bulk, texture, and motion of its insensible 
 
 arts. 
 ‘ ll. How primary Qualities produce their Ideas.—The next thing to be consi- 
 dered is, how bodies produce ideas in us; and that is manifestly by impulse, the 
 only way which we can conceive bodies to operate in. nM 
 
 12. If then external objects be not united to our minds when they produce 
 ideas therein, and yet we perceive these original qualities in such of them as 
 singly fall under our senses, it is evident that some motion must be thence con- 
 tinued by our nerves or animal spirits, by some parts of our bodies, to the brain, 
 or the seat of sensation, there to produce in our minds the particular ideas we 
 have of them. And since the extension, figure, number, and motion of bodies of 
 an observable bigness, may be perceived at a distance by the sight, it is evident 
 some singly imperceptible bodies must come from them to the eyes, and thereby 
 convey to the brain some motion, which produces these ideas which we have of 
 them in us. 
 
 1 Aristotle, in whose time the doctrine of 
 atoms had been already exploded, contends that 
 there exists neither line nor particle which can- 
 not be divided, and the parts thus divided, being 
 still capable of separation, the process may go on 
 ad infinitum. (t. xvi. 85 et seq. Consult likewise 
 the paraphrase of George Pachymer, p. 46 et 
 seq.) Berkeley attempted to revive a modifica- 
 tion of the old atomic theory, accommodated to 
 his own peculiar views. ‘‘ The infinite divisi- 
 bility of finite extension,” says he, “though it 
 is not expressly laid down either as an axiom 
 or theorem in the elements of that science, 
 yet itis throughout the same everywhere sup- 
 posed and thought to have so inseparable and 
 essential a connection with principles and de- 
 monstrations in geometry, that mathematicians 
 never admit it into doubt or make the least 
 question of it.”” Having stated the matter thus, 
 he proceeds to his demonstration, which is rather 
 clever and ingenious. ‘‘ Every particular finite 
 extension which may possibly be the object of 
 
 our thought, is an idea existing only in the 
 mind, and consequently each part thereof must 
 be perceived. If, therefore, 1 cannot perceive 
 innumerable parts in any finite extension that I 
 consider, it is certain they are not contained in it; 
 but it is evident that I cannot distinguish innu- 
 merable parts in any particular line, surface, or 
 solid, which I either perceive by sense or figure 
 to myself in my mind, wherefore I conclude they 
 are not contained in it.” (Principles of Human 
 Knowledge, § 1238 et seq.) 
 
 ? On this subject, see the remarks of Reid, 
 Inquiry, &c., chap. v. sect.5; Stewart’s Phil. Es- 
 says, 200 ; Berkeley’s Principles of Human Know- 
 ledge, § 9; Payne Knight’s Analytical Inquiry 
 into the Principles of Taste, Part I. chap. iv. ; 
 Hobbes’ Human Nature, chap. ii. Compare 
 
 with these the remarks of Plato, in his examina- 
 font the theory of Protagoras, Opera, t. iii 
 paly9: 
 
 3 See on this point the authors above cited, 
 more particularly Hobbes. 
 
 ee ee ee ee 
 
CHAP. VIII.] WHAT IDEAS RESEMBLANCES. 145 
 
 13. How secondary.—After the same manner that the ideas of these original 
 qualities are produced in us, we may conceive that the ideas of secondary qualities 
 are also produced, viz., by the operations of insensible particles on our senses. 
 For it beg manifest that there are bodies and good store of bodies, each 
 whereof are so small, that we cannot by any of our senses discover either their 
 bulk, figure, or motion, as is evident in the particles of the air and water, and 
 others extremely smaller than those, perhaps as much smaller than the particles 
 of air and water, as the particles of air and water are smaller than peas or hail- 
 stones ; let us suppose at present, that the different motions and figures, bulk and 
 number, of such particles, affecting the several organs of our senses, produce in us 
 those different sensations which we have from the colours and smells of bodies; 
 v. g., that a violet, by the impulse of such insensible particles of matter of peculiar 
 figures and bulks, and in different degrees and modifications of their motions, 
 causes the ideas of the blue colour and sweet scent of that flower to be produced 
 in our minds; it being no more impossible to conceive that God should annex 
 such ideas to such motions, with which they have no similitude, than that he 
 should annex the idea of pain to the motion of a piece of steel dividing our flesh, 
 with which that idea hath no resemblance. 
 
 14. What I have said concerning colours and smells may be understood also 
 of tastes and sounds, and other the like sensible qualities ; which, whatever reality 
 we by mistake attribute to them, are in truth nothing in the objects themselves, 
 but powers to produce various sensations in us, and depend on those primary 
 qualities, viz., bulk, figure, texture, and motion of parts, as I have said. 
 
 15. Ideas of primary Qualities are Resemblances; of secondary, not.—From 
 whence I think it easy to draw this observation, that the ideas of primary qualities 
 of bodies are resemblances of them, and their patterns do really exist in the 
 bodies themselves; but the ideas produced in us by these secondary qualities 
 have no resemblance of them at all. There is nothing like our ideas existing in 
 the bodies themselves. They are in the bodies we denominate from them, only a 
 power to produce those sensations in us; and what is sweet, blue, or warm in 
 idea, is but the certain bulk, figure, and motion of the insensible parts in the 
 bodies themselves, which we call so. 
 
 16. Flame is denominated hot and light; snow, white and cold; and manna, 
 white and sweet, from the ideas they produce in us; which qualities are com- 
 monly thought to be the same in those bodies that those ideas are in us, the one the 
 perfect resemblance of the other, as they are in a mirror; and it would by most 
 men be judged very extravagant if one should say otherwise. And yet he that 
 will consider that the same fire that at one distance produces in us the sensation 
 of warmth, does at a nearer approach produce in us the far different sensation of 
 pain,' ought to bethink himself what reason he has to say that his idea of warmth, 
 which was produced in him by the fire, is actually in the fire; and his idea of 
 pain, which the same fire produced in him the same way, is not in the fire. Why 
 are whiteness and coldness in snow, and pain not, when it produces the one and 
 the other idea in us; and can do neither, but by the bulk, figure, number, and 
 motion of its solid parts? 
 
 17. The particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the parts of fire or 
 snow are really in them, whether any one’s senses perceive them or not, and there- 
 fore they may be called real qualities, because they really exist in those bodies ; 
 but light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in them than sickness 
 
 reader, however, this comical speculation in his 
 own language: ‘ The fire which I see is not the 
 cause of the painI suffer after my approaching it, 
 but the mark that forewarns me of it.’ (Prin. 
 Hum. Knowledge, § 66.) 
 
 ’ See Hume’s Essays, 4to. p. 289. Berkeley 
 denies the fire to be the cause of the pain we 
 suffer from a too near approach to it. He con- 
 siders it merely as a sign that a cause of pain 
 exists there, a spiritual cause, which excites the 
 idea of burning in us. We will lay before the 
 
 a ee 
 
146 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Il. 
 
 or pain is in manna. Take away the sensation of them; let not the eyes see 
 light or colours, nor the ears hear sounds; let the palate not taste, nor the nose 
 smell; and all colours, tastes, odours, and sounds, as they are such particular 
 ideas, vanish and cease, and are reduced to their causes, i. e., bulk, figure, and 
 motion of parts.’ 
 
 18. A piece of manna of a sensible bulk is able to produce in us the idea of a 
 round or square figure; and by being removed from one place to another, the idea 
 of motion. This idea of motion represents it as it really is in the manna moving: 
 a circle or square are the same, whether in idea or existence, in the mind or in the 
 manna; and this both motion and figure are really in the manna, whether we 
 take notice of them or no: this everybody is ready to agree to. Besides, manna, 
 by the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of its parts, has a power to produce the 
 sensations of sickness, and sometimes of acute pains or gripings in us. That these 
 ideas of sickness and pain are not in the manna, but effects of its operations on 
 us, and are nowhere when we feel them not, this also every one readily agrees to. 
 And yet men are hardly to be brought to think that sweetness and whiteness are 
 not really in manna, which are but the effects of the operations of manna, by the 
 motion, size, and figure of its particles on the eyes and palate; as the pain and 
 sickness caused by manna are confessedly nothing but the effects of its operations 
 on the stomach and guts, by the size, motion, and figure of its imsensible parts, 
 (for by nothing else can a body operate, as has been proved); as if it could not 
 operate on the eyes and palate, and thereby produce in the mind particular dis- 
 tinct ideas, which in itself it has not, as well as we allow it can operate on the 
 guts and stomach, and thereby produce distinct ideas, which in itself it has not. 
 These ideas being all effects of the operations of manna on several parts of our 
 bodies, by the size, figure, number, and motion of its parts; why those produced 
 by the eyes and palate should rather be thought to be really in the manna, than 
 those produced by the stomach and guts; or why the pain and sickness, ideas 
 that are the effect of manna, should be thought to be nowhere when they are not 
 felt; and yet the sweetness and whiteness, effects of the same manna on other parts 
 of the body, by ways equally as unknown, should be thought to exist in the manna, 
 when they are not seen or tasted, would need some reason to explain. 
 
 19. Ideas of primary Qualities are Resemblances ; of secondary, not.—Let us 
 consider the red and white colours in porphyry: hinder light from striking on it, 
 and its colours vanish, it no longer produces any such ideas in us; upon the 
 return of light it produces these appearances on us again.? Can any one think 
 any real alterations are made in the porphyry by the presence or absence of light, 
 and that those ideas of whiteness and redness are really in porphyry in the light, 
 when it is plain it has no colour in the dark? It has, indeed, such a configuration 
 of particles, both night and day, as are apt, by the rays of light rebounding from 
 some parts of that hard stone, to produce in us the idea of redness, and from 
 others the idea of whiteness; but whiteness or redness are not in it at any time, 
 but such a texture that hath the power to produce such a sensation in us. 
 
 1 By pushing a little further the idea of Locke, 
 Berkeley came to deny altogether the existence 
 of the visible world, which for us undoubtedly 
 exists only so far as it is perceived. This sub- 
 ject is discussed in his first dialogue of Hylas 
 and Philonous, at the conclusion of which the 
 materialist is compelled to acknowledge that 
 properly and immediately nothing can be per- 
 ceived but ideas. All material things, there- 
 fore, are in themselves insensible, and to be per- 
 ceived only in our ideas. Upon this the idealist 
 
 inquires, ‘‘ Ideas, then, are sensible, and their 
 archetypes, or originals, are insensible?”? To 
 which the advocate of matter replies in the af- 
 firmative. 
 
 But (continues his triumphant ad- 
 
 versary) ‘‘ how can that which is sensible be like 
 that which is insensible? Can a real thing, in 
 itself invisible, be like a colour, or a thing which 
 is not audible be like a sound? In a word, can 
 anything be like a sensation or idea, but a sensa- 
 tion or idea?”’ To which Hylas answers, ‘‘ I must 
 own I think not, and the whole visible universe 
 melts away at the force of the magical word.” 
 (See his work, vol. i. p. 159, 8vo.) 
 
 ? But this reasoning proves nothing, for dark- 
 ness is a mere curtain, which conceals the object 
 altogether. By the same method we might dis- 
 prove the existence of extension and figure, 
 since in the dark they can no more be perceived 
 than colour, at least by sight. 
 
CHAP. VIII. ] SECONDARY QUALITIES. 147 
 
 20. Pound an almond, and the clear white colour will be altered into a dirty 
 one, and the sweet taste into an oily one. What real alteration can the beating of 
 the pestle make in any body, but an alteration of the texture of it ? 
 
 21. Ideas being thus distinguished and understood, we may be able to give an 
 account how the same water, at the same time, may produce the idea of cold by 
 one hand and of heat by the other ;* whereas it is impossible that the same water, 
 if those ideas were really in it, should at the same time be both hot and cold; for 
 if we imagine warmth, as it is in our hands, to be nothing but a certain sort and 
 degree of motion in the minute particles of our nerves or animal spirits, we may 
 understand how it is possible that the same water may, at the same time, produce 
 the sensations of heat in one hand and cold in the other; which yet figure never 
 does, that never producing the idea of a square by one hand which has produced 
 the idea of a globe by another. But if the sensation of heat and cold be nothing 
 but the increase or diminution of the motion of the minute parts of our bodies, 
 caused by the corpuscles of any other body, it is easy to be understood, that if that 
 motion be greater in one hand than in the other, if a body be applied to the two 
 hands, which has in its minute particles a greater motion than in those of one of 
 the hands, and a less than in those of the other, it will increase the motion of the 
 one hand and lessen it in the other, and so cause the different sensations of heat 
 and cold that depend thereon. 
 
 22. I have in what just goes before been engaged in physical inquiries a little 
 further than perhaps I intended; but it being necessary to make the nature of 
 sensation a little understood, and to make the difference between the qualities in 
 bodies, and the ideas produced by them in the mind, to be distinctly conceived, 
 without which it were impossible to discourse intelligibly of them, I hope I shall 
 be pardoned this little excursion into natural philosophy, it being necessary in our 
 present inquiry to distinguish the primary and real qualities of bodies which are 
 always in them, (viz., solidity, extension, figure, number, and motion, or rest, and 
 are sometimes perceived by us, viz., when the bodies they are in are big enough 
 singly to be discerned,) from those secondary and imputed qualities which are but 
 the powers of several combinations of those primary ones, when they operate 
 without being distinctly discerned; whereby we may also come to know what 
 ideas are, and what are not, resemblances of something really existing in the 
 bodies we denominate from them. 
 
 23. Three Sorts of Qualities in Bodies.—The qualities, then, that are in 
 bodies, rightly considered, are of three sorts. : 
 
 First, the bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion or rest of their solid 
 parts; those are in them, whether we perceive them or not; and when they are 
 of that size that we can discover them, we have by these an idea of the thing as it 
 is in itself, as is plain in artificial things. These I call primary qualities. _ 
 
 Secondly, the power that is in any body, by reason of its insensible primary 
 qualities, to operate after a peculiar manner on any of our senses, and thereby 
 produce in us the different ideas of several colours, sounds, smells, tastes, &c. 
 These are usually called sensible qualities. Hine 
 
 Thirdly, the power that is in any body, by reason of the particular constitution 
 of its primary qualities, to make such a change in the bulk, figure, texture, and 
 motion of another body, as to make it operate on our senses differently from what 
 it did before. Thus the sun has a power to make wax white, and fire to make lead 
 fluid. These are usually called powers. 
 
 The first of these, as has been said, I think may be properly called real, 
 
 ! Philosophical illustrations, like theatrical of your hands hot and the other cold, and that 
 wit, appear to be hereditary. Berkeley, a very they both at once be put into a vessel in an in- 
 great borrower of ideas, makes use of this ex- termediate state, will not the water seem cold 
 ample, which may possibly have passed down to one hand and warm to the other ?”’ (Dialogue 
 through a hundred works: ‘‘ Suppose, now, one the First, p. 119.) 2 
 
 L 
 
 a le SE I Ln eS Se Dee ee re am ace rma Taare me a a a 
 
148 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BooK 11. 
 
 original, or primary qualities, because they are in the things themselves, whether 
 they are perceived or not; and upon their different modifications it is that the 
 secondary qualities depend. 
 
 The other two are only powers to act differently upon other things, which 
 powers result from the different modifications of those primary qualities. 
 
 24. The first are Resemblances ; the second thought Resemblances, but are 
 not; the third neither are, nor are thought so.—But though the two latter sorts 
 of qualities are powers barely, and nothing but powers, relating to several other 
 bodies, and resulting from the different modifications of the original qualities, yet 
 they are generally otherwise thought of; for the second sort, viz., the powers to 
 produce several ideas in us by our senses, are looked upon as real qualities in the 
 things thus affecting us; but the third sort are called and esteemed barely powers; 
 v. g., the idea of heat or light, which we receive by our eyes or touch from the 
 sun, are commonly thought real qualities existing in the sun, and something more 
 than mere powers in it. But when we consider the sun in reference to wax, 
 which it melts or blanches, we look on the whiteness and softness produced in 
 the wax, not as qualities in the sun, but effects produced by powers in it; whereas, 
 if rightly considered, these qualities of light and warmth, which are perceptions in 
 me when I am warmed or enlightened by the sun, are no otherwise in the sun, 
 than the changes made in the wax, when it is blanched or melted, are in the sun. 
 They are all of them equally powers in the sun, depending on its primary 
 qualities ; whereby it is able, in the one case, so to alter the bulk, figure, texture, 
 or motion of some of the insensible parts of my eyes or hands, as thereby to pro- 
 duce in me the idea of light or heat; and in the other, it is able so to alter the 
 bulk, figure, texture, or motion of the insensible parts of the wax, as to make 
 them fit to produce in me the distinct ideas of white and fluid. 
 
 25. The reason why the one are ordinarily taken for real qualities, and the 
 other only for bare powers, seems to be, because the ideas we have of distinct 
 colours, sounds, &c., containing nothing at all in them of bulk, figure, or motion, 
 we are not apt to think them the effects of these primary qualities, which appear 
 not, to our senses, to operate in their production, and with which they have not 
 any apparent congruity or conceivable connexion. Hence it is that we are so 
 forward to imagine that those ideas are the resemblances of something really 
 existing in the objects themselves; since sensation discovers nothing of bulk, 
 figure, or motion of parts in their production; nor can reason show how bodies, 
 by their bulk, figure, and motion, should produce in the mind the ideas of blue or 
 yellow, &c. But in the other case, in the operations of bodies, changing the 
 qualities one of another, we plainly discover that the quality produced hath com- 
 monly no resemblance with anything in the thing producing it; wherefore we 
 look on it as a bare effect of power. For though receiving the idea of heat or 
 light from the sun, we are apt to think it is a perception and resemblance of such 
 a quality in the sun; yet when we see wax, or a fair face, receive change of 
 colour from the sun, we cannot imagine that to be the reception or resemblance of 
 anything in the sun, because we find not those different colours in the sun itself. 
 For our senses being able to observe a likeness or unlikeness of sensible qualities 
 in two different external objects, we forwardly enough conclude the production 
 of any sensible quality in any subject to be an effect of bare power, and not the 
 communication of any quality, which was really in the efficient, when we find no 
 such sensible quality in the thing that produced it; but our senses not being able 
 to discover any unlikeness between the idea produced in us, and the quality of 
 the object producing it, we are apt to imagine that our ideas are resemblances of 
 something in the objects, and not the effects of certain powers placed in the modi- 
 fication of their primary qualities, with which primary qualities the ideas pro- 
 duced in us have no resemblance. 
 
 26. Secondary Qualities twofold; first, immediately perceivable ; secondly, 
 mediately perceivable.—To conclude, beside those before-mentioned primary 
 
CHAP. IX.] PERCEPTION. 149 
 
 qualities in bodies, viz., bulk, figure, extension, number, and motion of their solid 
 parts, all the rest whereby we take notice of bodies, and distinguish them one 
 from another, are nothing else but several powers in them depending on those 
 primary qualities, whereby they are fitted, either by immediately operating on our 
 bodies, to produce several different ideas in us, or else, by operating on other 
 bodies, so to change their primary qualities as to render them capable of pro- 
 ducing ideas in us different from what before they did. The former of these, I 
 think, may be called secondary qualities, immediately perceivable ; the latter, 
 secondary qualities, mediately perceivable. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 1. Perception the first simple Idea of Reflection.— PERCEPTION, as it is the 
 first faculty of the mind exercised about her ideas, so it is the first and simplest 
 idea we have from reflection, and is by some called thinking in general: 
 though thinking, in the propriety of the English tongue, signifies that sort of 
 operation in the mind about its ideas, wherein the mind is active; where it, with 
 some degree of voluntary attention, considers anything. For in bare naked per- 
 ception, the mind is, for the most part, only passive; and what it perceives, it 
 cannot avoid perceiving. 
 
 2. Is only when the Mind receives the Impression.—What perception is, every 
 one will know better by reflecting on what he does himself, what he sees, hears, 
 feels, &c., or thinks, than by any discourse of mine. Whoever reflects on what 
 passes in his own mind cannot miss it; and if he does not reflect, all the words 
 in the world cannot make him have any notion of it. 
 
 3. This is certain, that whatever alterations are made in the body, if they reach 
 not the mind, whatever impressions are made on the outward parts, if they are 
 not taken notice of within, there is no perception. Fire may burn our bodies 
 with no other effect than it does a billet, unless the motion be continued to the 
 brain, and there the sense of heat, or idea of pain, be produced in the mind, 
 wherein consists actual perception. 
 
 4. How often may a man observe in himself, that whilst his mind is intently 
 employed in the contemplation of some objects, and curiously surveying some 
 ideas that are there, it takes no notice of impressions of sounding bodies made 
 upon the organ of hearing, with the same alteration that uses to be for the pro- 
 ducing the idea of sound!’ A sufficient impulse there may be on the organ; 
 but if not reaching the observation of the mind, there follows no perception: and 
 though the motion that uses to produce the idea of sound be made in the ear, yet 
 no sound is heard. Want of sensation, in this case, is not through any defect in 
 
 the organ, or that the man’s ears are less affected than at other times when he does 
 
 hear; but that which uses to produce the idea, though conveyed in by the usual 
 organ, not being taken notice of in the understanding, and so imprinting no idea 
 
 1 So passion, as Shakspeare has shown in Lear, 
 
 : Again, in profound meditation, amid the still- 
 deprives us of the power of perceiving outward 
 
 ness of a summer’s night, we may observe all 
 
 objects. things, 
 “<The tempest in my mind | ‘< Sea, and hill, and wood, 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, With all the numberless goings on of life, 
 Save what beats there.” | Inaudible as dreams.”’ COLERIDGE. 
 
150 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 in the mind, there follows no sensation. So that wherever there is sense, or per- 
 ception, there some idea is actually produced, and present, in the understanding. 
 
 5. Children, though they have Ideas in the Womb, have none innate.—There- 
 fore I doubt not but children, by the exercise of their senses about objects that 
 affect them in the womb, receive some few ideas before they are born, as the 
 unavoidable effects either of the bodies that environ them, or else of those wants 
 or diseases they suffer; amongst which (if one may conjecture concerning things 
 not very capable of examination) I think the ideas of hunger and warmth are 
 two, which probably are some of the first that children have, and which they 
 scarce ever part with again. 
 
 6. But though it be reasonable to imagine that children receive some ideas 
 before they come into the world, yet those simple ideas are far from those innate 
 principles which some contend for, and we, above, have rejected. These, here 
 mentioned, being the effects of sensation, are only from some affections of the 
 body, which happen to them there, and so depend on something exterior to the 
 mind; no otherwise differing in their manner of production from other ideas 
 derived from sense, but only in the precedency of time; whereas those innate 
 principles are supposed to be quite of another nature, not coming into the mind 
 by any accidental alterations in, or operations on the body; but, as it were, 
 original characters impressed upon it, in the very first moment of its being and 
 constitution. 
 
 7. Which Ideas first, is not evident.—As there are some ideas which we may 
 reasonably suppose may be introduced into the minds of children in the womb, 
 subservient to the necessities of their life and being there, so, after they are born, 
 those ideas are the earliest imprinted which happen to be the sensible qualities 
 which first occur to them, amongst which light is not the least considerable, nor 
 of the weakest efficacy. And how covetous the mind is to be furnished with all 
 such ideas as have no pain accompanying them, may be a little guessed by what 
 is observable in children new-born, who always turn their eyes to that part 
 from whence the light comes, lay them how you please. But the ideas that are 
 most familiar at first being various, according to the divers circumstances of 
 children’s first entertainment in the world, the order wherein the several ideas 
 come at first into the mind is very various and uncertain also, neither is it much 
 material to know it. | 
 
 8. Ideas of Sensation often changed by the Judgment.—We are further to 
 consider concerning perception, that the ideas we receive by sensation are often in 
 grown people altered by the judgment, without our taking notice of it. When 
 we set before our eyes a round globe of any uniform colour, v. g. gold, alabaster, 
 or jet, it is certain that the idea thereby imprinted on our mind is of a flat circle 
 variously shadowed, with several degrees of light and brightness coming to our 
 eyes.' But we having by use been accustomed to perceive what kind of appear- 
 ance convex bodies are wont to make in us, what alterations are made in the 
 reflections of light by the difference of the sensible figures of bodies, the judgment 
 presently, by an habitual custom, alters the appearances into their causes, so that 
 from that which is truly variety of shadow or colour, collecting the figure, it 
 makes it pass for a mark of figure, and frames to itself the perception of a convex 
 _ figure and an uniform colour, when the idea we receive from thence is only a 
 plane variously coloured, as is evident in painting. To which purpose I shall 
 
 * See in Condillac’s Essays, “Sur l’Origine de 
 
 la Connaissance Humaine,” the same idea fur- 
 ther developed. 
 
 p72 This is a description of that part of expe- 
 rience which artists denominate the education of 
 
 very different from those which arise in the 
 minds of ordinary men. He discovers grandeur 
 and beauty in things of no significance to others, 
 and derives delight from what is to them a 
 blank, his education having opened for him, in 
 
 the eye. The man who has gone through such 
 an education, looks on nature, and the whole 
 assemblage of objects around him, with feelings 
 
 the face of nature, fountains of running water, 
 where the ignorant discover nothing but a bar- 
 ren waste. 
 
151 
 
 CHAP. IX. ] PERCEPTION. 
 
 here insert a problem of that very ingenious and studious promoter of real know- 
 ledge, the learned and worthy Mr. Molineaux, which he was pleased to send me 
 in a letter some months since; and it is this:—‘ Suppose a man born blind, and 
 now adult, and taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a sphere 
 of the same metal, and nighly of the same bigness, so as to tell, when he felt one 
 and the other, which is the cube, which the sphere. Suppose, then, the cube and 
 sphere placed on a table, and the blind man be made to see: quere, whether by 
 his sight, before he touched them, he could now distinguish and tell which is the 
 globe, which the cube?” To which the acute and judicious proposer answers, 
 “Not. For though he has obtained the experience of how a globe, how a cube 
 affects his touch, yet he has not yet obtained the experience, that what affects his 
 touch so or so, must affect his sight so or so; or that a protuberant angle in the 
 cube, that pressed his hand unequally, shall appear to his eye as it does in the 
 cube.’—I agree with this thinking gentleman,’ whom I am proud to call my 
 friend, in his answer to this his problem; and am of opinion that the blind 
 man, at first sight, would not be able with certainty to say which was the globe, 
 which the cube, whilst he only saw them; though he could unerringly name 
 them by his touch, and certainly distinguish them by the difference of their 
 figures felt. This I have set down, and leave with my reader, as an occasion for 
 him to consider how much he may be beholden to experience, improvement, and 
 acquired notions, where he thinks he had not the least use of, or help from them ; 
 and the rather, because this observing gentleman further adds, that having, upon 
 the occasion of my book, proposed-this to divers very ingenious men, he hardly 
 ever met with one that at first gave the answer to it which he thinks true, till by 
 hearing his reasons they were convinced. 
 
 9. But this is not, [ think, usual in any of our ideas, but those received by 
 sight: because sight, the most comprehensive of all our senses, conveying to our 
 minds the ideas of light and colours, which are peculiar only to that sense ; and 
 also the far different ideas of space, figure, and motion, the several varieties 
 whereof change the appearances of its proper object, viz. light and colours; we 
 bring ourselves by use to judge of the one by the other. This, in many cases, by 
 a settled habit, in things whereof we have frequent experience, is performed 
 so constantly and so quick, that we take that for the perception of our sensation, 
 which is an idea formed by our judgment; so that one, viz. that of sensation, 
 serves only to excite the other, and is scarce taken notice of itself; as a man 
 who reads or hears with attention and understanding, takes little notice 
 of the characters or sounds, but of the ideas that are excited in him by 
 them. 
 
 1 The letter of Molineaux, in which the above 
 occurs, is found complete in Locke’s works, vol. 
 ili. p. 512. ‘* I will conclude my tedious lines,”’ 
 says he, ‘‘ with a grave problem, that, upon dis- 
 course with several concerning your book and 
 notions, I have proposed to divers very inge- 
 nious men, and could hardly ever meet with one 
 that at first dash would give me the answer to 
 it which I think true, till by hearing my reasons 
 they were convinced.’’ Having stated his jocose 
 problem in the words given by Locke, he adds: 
 “‘ Perhaps you may find some place in your 
 essay wherein you may not think it amiss to say 
 something of this problem.” His friend accord- 
 ingly found a place for it, and thus secured im- 
 mortality to the name of its proposer. After all, 
 
 however, and admitting the extreme fallibility of 
 the senses, I still think the result. would be the 
 direct contrary of what both Locke and Moli- 
 neaux suppose, for the idea of the globe having 
 once obtained a footing in the mind, through the 
 instrumentality of one sense, could not fail to be 
 recognized when subjected to the examination of 
 
 another. And this I find to be the conclusion 
 at which Berkeley also arrived, after a mature 
 consideration of the question. ‘‘ Now if asquare 
 surface, perceived by touch, be of the same sort 
 with a square surface by sight, it is certain the 
 blind man here mentioned might know a square 
 surface as soon as he saw it; it is no more but 
 introducing into his mind by a new inlet, an 
 idea he has been already well acquainted with. 
 Since, therefore, he is supposed to have known 
 by his touch that a cube is a body terminated 
 by square surfaces, and a sphere is not termi- 
 nated by square surfaces, upon the supposi- 
 tion that a visible and tangible square differs 
 only in manner, it follows that he might know 
 by the arrangement of the square surfaces which 
 was the cube and which not, while he only saw 
 them. We must therefore allow, either that 
 visible extension and figures are specially dis- 
 tinct from tangible extension and figures, or 
 else that the solution of this problem given by 
 those two thoughtful and ingenious men is 
 wrong.” (New Theory of Vision, § 183.) 
 
152 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 10. Nor need we wonder that this is done with so little notice, if we consider 
 how very quick the actions of the mind are performed ; for as itself is thought to 
 take up no space, to have no extension, so its actions seem to require no time, but 
 many of them seem to be crowded into an instant. I speak this in comparison 
 to the actions of the body. Any one may easily observe this in his own thoughts, 
 who will take the pains to reflect on them. How, as it were in an instant, do our 
 minds with one glance see all the parts of a demonstration, which may very well 
 be called a long one, if we consider the time it will require to put it into words, 
 and step by step show it another? Secondly, we shall not be so much surprised 
 that this is done in us with so little notice, if we consider how the facility which 
 we get of doing things by a custom of doing, makes them often pass in us without 
 our notice. Habits, especially such as are begun very early, come at last to pro- 
 duce actions in us, which often escape our observation. How frequently do we, 
 in a day, cover our eyes with our eyelids, without perceiving that we are at all in 
 the dark!" Men that by custom have got the use of a by-word, do almost in 
 every sentence pronounce sounds which, though taken notice of by others, they 
 themselves neither hear nor observe. And therefore it is not so strange that 
 our mind should often change the idea of its sensation into that of its judg- 
 ment, and make one serve only to excite the other, without our taking notice 
 of it. 
 
 ll. Perception puts the Difference between Animals and inferior Beings.— 
 This faculty of perception seems to me to be that which puts the distinction be- 
 twixt the animal kingdom and the inferior parts of nature. For however vegetables 
 have, many of them, some degrees of motion, and upon the different application 
 of other bodies to them, do very briskly alter their figures and motions, and so 
 have obtained the name of sensitive plants,* from a motion which has some resem- 
 blance to that which in animals follows upon sensation: yet I suppose it is all 
 bare mechanism, and no otherwise produced than the turning of a wild oat-beard 
 by the insinuation of the particles of moisture, or the shortening of a rope by the 
 affusion of water; all which is done without any sensation in the subject, or the 
 having or receiving any ideas. 
 
 12. Perception, I believe, is in some degree in all sorts of animals, though in 
 some possibly the avenues provided by nature for the reception of sensations are 
 so few, and the perception they are received with so obscure and dull, that it 
 comes extremely short of the quickness and variety of sensation which are in other 
 animals; but yet it is sufficient for, and wisely adapted to, the state and condition 
 of that sort of animals which are thus made. So that the wisdom and goodness of 
 the Maker plainly appear in all the parts of this stupendous fabric, and all the 
 several degrees and ranks of creatures in it. 
 
 13. We may, I think, from the make of an oyster or cockle, reasonably con- 
 
 1 On this fact Condillac hasenlarged, where he , ginative reader the rich wild poem of Shelley, 
 speaks of the rapid flight of time when un- | which he has named after it, beginning thus: 
 perceived. To illustrate this point, he says: 
 
 “Tous les exemples n’y sont pas également | ‘A sensitive plant in a garden grew, 
 
 propres. C’est ce qui me trompa, quand jem’ima- And the young winds fed it with silver dew; 
 ginai que je baissois involontairement la paupiére And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, 
 sans prendre connaissance que je fusse dans And closed them beneath the kisses of night. 
 les tenébres. Mais il n’est rien de plus raisonnable : : ; : : , : : 
 que d’expliquer un exemple par un autre. Mon But the sensitive plant, which could give smali 
 erreur provenait de ce que la perception des fruit 
 tenébres étoit si prompte et subite, et la consci- Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the 
 ence si faible qu’il ne rien restait aucun souvenir. root, 
 En effet que je donne mon attention au mouye- Receiy’d more than all, it lov’d more than ever, 
 ment des mes yeux, cette méme_ perception Where none wanted but it, could belong to the 
 déviendra si vive que je ne douterai plus de giver. 
 Vavoir eue.” (Essai sur les Connaissances For the sensitive plant has no bright flower, 
 Humaines, tom. i. p. 34.) Radiance and odour are not its dower. 
 
 ? The name and properties of this plant It loves, even like love its deep heart is full; 
 
 will probably call to the remembrance of the ima- It desires what it has not—the Beautiful.”’ 
 
CHAP. IX. | PERCEPTION. 153 
 
 clude that it has not so many, nor so quick senses! as a man, or several other 
 animals; nor if it had, would it, in that state and incapacity of transferring 
 itself from one place to another, be bettered by them. What good would sight 
 and hearing do to a creature that cannot move itself to or from the objects 
 wherein at a distance it perceives good or evil? And would not quickness of 
 sensation be an inconvenience to an animal that must lie still where chance has 
 once placed it, and there receive the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul 
 water, as it happens to come to it? 
 
 14. But yet I cannot but think there is some small dull perception whereby 
 they are distinguished from perfect insensibility. And that this may be so, we 
 have plain instances even in mankind itself. Take one in whom decrepit old age 
 has blotted out the memory of his past knowledge, and clearly wiped out the ideas 
 his mind was formerly stored with, and has, by destroying his sight, hearing, 
 and smell quite, and his taste to a great degree, stopped up almost all the 
 passages for new ones to enter; or if there be some of the inlets yet half open, 
 the impressions made are scarcely perceived, or not at all retained. How far such 
 an one (notwithstanding all that is boasted of innate principles) is in his know- 
 ledge and intellectual faculties above the condition of a cockle or an oyster, 
 I leave to be considered. And if a man had passed sixty years in such a state, 
 as it is possible he might, as well as three days, I wonder what difference there 
 would have been, in any intellectual perfections, between him and the lowest 
 
 degree of animals. 
 
 1 Without pretending to write a physiological 
 commentary, which would be foreign to the course 
 ef my studies, I may sometimes introduce a re- 
 mark or two on this part of the subject. Blumen- 
 bach, in his chapter on the Organs of the Senses 
 in general, observes: ‘It has been supposed 
 that those animals which possess a tongue, must 
 have it for the purpose of tasting; and that the 
 sense of smell must be wanting, where we are 
 unable to ascertain the existence of a nose. Ob- 
 servation and reflection will soon convince us, 
 that the tongue in many cases (in the anteaters 
 among the mammalia, and almost universally in 
 -birds,) cannot from its substance and mechanism 
 be considered as an organ of taste, but must be 
 subservient to the ingestion and deglutition of 
 the food. Again, in several animals, particularly 
 among insects, an acute sense of smell seems 
 to exist, although no part can be pointed out in 
 the head which analogy would justify us in 
 describing as anose.’”” (Comparative Anatomy, 
 § 221.) But it may justly be asked of this great 
 physiologist, whether, since animals can smell 
 without a nose, it is not unphilosophical to infer, 
 that some of those which actually have a tongue 
 are incapable of tasting? There is evidently 
 in the “‘mechanism”’ of animal substances much 
 that escapes, and must for ever escape, investi- 
 gation, so that it is impossible to decide whether 
 those anteaters or birds taste or not. In the 
 observations of the acute and able translator on 
 the organs of the senses in bats, there also 
 appears to be an error, which my own observa- 
 tions enable me to correct. Bats, he observes, 
 ‘‘have been supposed to possess a peculiar power 
 of perceiving external objects, without coming 
 actually into contact with them. In their rapid 
 and irregular flight amidst various surrounding 
 bodies, they never fly against them; yet it does 
 not seem that the senses of hearing, seeing, 
 or smelling serve them on these occasions, for 
 they avoid any obstacles with equal certainty 
 when the ear, eye, and nose are closed. Hence 
 naturalists have ascribed a sixth sense to these 
 
 animals. It is probably analogous to that of 
 touch. The nerves of the wing are large and nu- 
 merous, and distributed in a minute plexus 
 between the integuments. The impulse of the air 
 against this part may possibly be so modified by 
 the objects near which the animal passes, as to 
 indicate their situation and nature.” (Compara- 
 tive Anatomy, &c. p. 260.) The facts, whatever 
 may become of the szxth sense, are not exactly as 
 above stated. Bats are by no means able, in their 
 flight, to avoid surrounding objects, but often 
 plunge into the flame of candles or torches, 
 strike against one’s face, or against the rocks of 
 caverns, and that too when in full possession of 
 all the senses which nature has bestowed on 
 them. This I learned in Nubia to my cost, when, 
 descending by night into a cavern tomb in the 
 desert, they extinguished our tapers in the intri- 
 cate passages of that real labyrinth, and exposed 
 us to the danger of perishing in the deep mummy 
 pits. So likewise in the subterranean sepulchre 
 of the sacred crocodiles of Maabdé, which I re- 
 quest the reader’s permission partly to describe 
 in the words of my ‘‘ Travels in the Valley of the 
 Nile :”—‘*‘ Continuing to push forward, we entered 
 a portion of the cavern resembling the mouth of 
 hell; enormous rocks huddled together forming 
 the floor, where chasms of unknown depth 
 yawned between the dark masses, while pro- 
 digious black stalactites, with shining spars of 
 crystal glittering between them, hung like snakes 
 from the roof, and composed a kind of fretwork 
 round the sides. Everything wore the fuliginous 
 appearance of a place which had been the seat of 
 some durable conflagration; black as night, 
 covered with soot, oily, slippery, and exhaling a 
 stink unutterably disgusting. Bats without num- 
 ber hung from the roof, or flew against our faces 
 from the countless holes and narrow diverging 
 passages of the cavern; some striking against 
 the rocks and falling senseless to the ground, 
 where we trod or pressed upon them with our 
 hands.” &c. (Egypt and Mohammed Ali, ii. 
 167 et seq.) 
 
154 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BooK II. 
 
 15. Perception the Inlet of Knowledge.—Perception then being the first step 
 and degree towards knowledge, and the inlet of all the materials of it, the fewer 
 senses any man, as well as any other creature, hath, and the fewer and duller the 
 impressions are that are made by them, and the duller the faculties are that are 
 employed about them, the more remote are they from that knowledge which 
 is to be found in some men.' But this being in great variety of degrees 
 (as may be perceived amongst men) cannot certainly be discovered in the several 
 species of animals, much less in their particular individuals. It suffices me only 
 to have remarked here, that perception is the first operation of all our intellectual 
 faculties, and the inlet of all knowledge in our minds. And I am apt too to 
 imagine, that it is perception in the lowest degree of it, which puts the boundaries 
 between animals and the inferior ranks of creatures. But this I mention only as 
 my conjecture, by the by, it being indifferent to the matter in hand which way 
 the learned shall determine of it. 
 
 CHA Psigin hi aot 
 
 OF RETENTION. 
 
 1. Contemplation.—Tue next faculty of the mind, whereby it makes a further 
 progress towards knowledge, is that which I call retention, or the keeping 
 of those simple ideas which from sensation or reflection it hath received. This 
 is done two ways; first, by keeping the idea which is brought into it, for some 
 time actually in view, which is called contemplation. 
 
 2. Memory.—The other way of retention is the power to revive again in our 
 minds those ideas, which after imprinting have disappeared, or have been as it 
 were laid aside out of sight;* and thus we do, when we conceive heat or light, 
 yellow or sweet, the object being removed. This is memory, which is as it were 
 the storehouse of our ideas. For the narrow mind of man not being capable of 
 having many ideas under view and consideration at once, it was necessary to have 
 a repository to lay up those ideas which, at another time, it might have use of. 
 
 ' Upon the hints furnished by this passage, 
 Helvetius seems chiefly to have constructed his 
 extravagant theory, that ‘la sensibilité physique 
 est la cause unique de nos actions, de nos 
 pensées, de nos passions, et de notre sociabilité.”’ 
 (De Homme, Sect. IT. chap. vii.) 
 
 ? Plato compares the memory of man to those 
 tablets made use of in writing by the ancients, 
 which were covered with a coating of wax, thin or 
 thick, according, apparently, as the articles were 
 cheap or dear. In some persons this wax, is deep, 
 fine, and exceedingly retentive of impressions ; in 
 others it is scanty, coarse, and yields.up the cha- 
 racters inscribed on it to the slightest touch. 
 (Thetet. Opp. tom. iii.) The reader who desires 
 to compare in philosophy the notions of the 
 greatest teachers, will possibly be pleased to find 
 here, on the subject of memory, a passage from 
 Hobbes’s masterly treatise on human nature, a 
 work in which may be discovered, wrapped up in 
 the integuments of sundry brief and aphorismal 
 phrases, the germs of many a theory, afterwards 
 
 rendered celebrated, but without due honour 
 being paid to our illustrious countryman. ‘‘ By 
 the senses which are numbered according to the 
 organs to be five, we take notice (as has been 
 said already) of the objects without us, and that 
 notice is our conception thereof: but we take 
 notice also, some way or other, of our conception, 
 for when the conception of the same thing cometh 
 again, we take notice that it is again, that is to 
 say, that we have had the same conception be- 
 fore, which is as much as to imagine a thing past, 
 which is impossible to the sense, which is only of 
 things present ; this therefore may be accounted 
 a sixth sense, but internal; not external as the 
 rest, andis commonly called remembrance.” (Hu- 
 man Nature, chap. iii. § 6.) Aristotle likewise, in 
 his hurried glance over the whole field of human 
 knowledge, has treated separately of memory, 
 and possibly created the basis upon which the 
 whole philosophy of the subject has been built. 
 (Oper. t. vil. p. 118 & 126. Iauchnitz.) 
 
CHAP. X.| 
 
 RETENTION. 
 
 155 
 
 But our ideas being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be 
 anything when there is no perception of them, this laying up of our ideas in the 
 repository of the memory signifies no more but this, that the mind has a power 
 in many cases to revive perceptions which it has once had, with this additional 
 perception annexed to them, that it has had them before. And in this sense it is 
 that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when indeed they are actually no- 
 where, but only there is an ability in the mind when it will to revive them again, 
 and as it were paint them anew on itself, though some with more, some 
 with less difficulty; some more lively, and others more obscurely. And thus 
 it is, by the assistance of this faculty, that we are said to have all those ideas 
 in our understandings which, though we do not actually contemplate, yet 
 we can bring in sight, and make appear again, and be the objects of our 
 thoughts, without the help of those sensible qualities which first imprinted them 
 there. 
 
 3. Attention, Repetition, Pleasure and Pain, fix Ideas.—Attention and repeti- 
 tion help much to the fixing any ideas in the memory; but those which naturally 
 at first make the deepest and most lasting impressions, are those which are 
 accompanied with pleasure or pain. The great business of the senses being to 
 make us take notice of what hurts or advantages the body, it is wisely ordered by 
 nature, as has been shown, that pain should accompany the reception of several 
 ideas ; which supplying the place of consideration and reasoning in children, and 
 acting quicker than consideration in grown men, makes both the old and young 
 avoid painful objects, with that haste which is necessary for their preservation ; 
 and in both settles in the memory a caution for the future. } 
 
 4. Ideas fade in the Memory.—Concerning the several degrees of lasting, 
 wherewith ideas are imprinted on the memory, we may observe, that some of them 
 have been produced in the understanding by an object affecting the senses once 
 only, and no more than once; others, that have more than once offered themselves 
 to the senses, have yet been little taken notice of: the mind, either heedless, as in 
 children, or otherwise employed, as in men, intent only on one thing, not setting 
 the stamp deep into itself. And in some, where they are set on with care and 
 repeated impressions, either through the temper of the body or some other fault, 
 the memory is very weak. In all these cases, ideas in the mind quickly fade, 
 and often vanish quite out of the understanding, leaving no more footsteps or 
 remaining characters of themselves than shadows do flying over fields of corn, 
 and the mind is as void of them as if they had never been there. 
 
 5. Thus many of those ideas which were produced in the minds of children in 
 the beginning of their sensation, (some of which perhaps, as of some pleasures and 
 pains, were before they were born, and others in their infancy,) if in the future 
 course of their lives they are not repeated again, are quite lost, without the least 
 glimpse remaining of them. This may be observed in those who by some 
 mischance have lost their sight when they were very young, in whom the ideas 
 of colours having been but slightly taken notice of, and ceasing to be repeated, do 
 quite wear out; so that some years after there is no more notion nor memory of 
 colours left in their minds, than in those of people born blind. The memory of 
 some, it is true, is very tenacious, even to a miracle:' but yet there seems to be a 
 
 1 Very extraordinary stories are certainly re- 
 lated of the strength of this faculty in some per- 
 sons. Of Themistocles, of Xerxes, I have else- 
 where made mention. Many modern books of 
 easy access tell the story of Signore Magliabecchi’s 
 mnemonic powers, and in our own day some in- 
 stances of arithmetical memories have occurred ; 
 but I have nowhere, that I remember, met with 
 anything half so curious as the account given by 
 Marco Antonio Mureti, of a young Corsican, who 
 was his auditor at Rome. ‘The relation, which is 
 
 found inhis ‘‘ Varie Lectiones,” (iii. 1. p. 46 et 
 seq. in the edition of 1573,) exceeds the limits of a 
 note, but the substance of it I may give. Mureti, 
 hearing accidentally of the young man’s powers, 
 invited him to give proof of them before a large 
 company assembled in the professor’s chambers. 
 ‘‘Here,’’says that elegant scholar, ‘‘Iat once began 
 to dictate a great number of words, Greek, Latin, 
 or barbarous, some significant, others without 
 meaning, So numerous, so varied, and so uncon- 
 nected, that both I and my secretary, who took 
 
OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 156 
 
 constant decay of all our ideas, even of those which are struck deepest, and in 
 minds the most retentive ; so that if they be not sometimes renewed by repeated 
 exercise of the senses, or reflection on those kinds of objects which at first occa- 
 sioned them, the print wears out, and at last there remains nothing to be seen. 
 Thus the ideas, as well as children, of our youth, often die before us; and our 
 minds represent to us those tombs to which we are approaching, where though 
 the brass and marble remain, yet the inscriptions are effaced by time, and the 
 imagery moulders away. The pictures drawn in our minds are laid in fading 
 colours, and if not sometimes refreshed, vanish and disappear. How much the 
 constitution of our bodies and the make of our animal spirits are concerned in this, 
 and whether the temper of the brain makes this difference, that in some it retains 
 the characters drawn on it like marble, in others like freestone, and in others little 
 better than sand, I shall not here inquire; though it may seem probable that the 
 constitution of the body does sometimes influence the memory, since we often- 
 times find a disease quite strip the mind of all its ideas, and the flames of a fever 
 in a few days calcine all those images to dust and confusion which seemed to be 
 as lasting as if graved in marble.' 
 
 6. Constantly repeated Ideas can scarce be lost.—But concerning the ideas 
 themselves it is easy to remark, that those that are oftenest refreshed (amongst 
 which are those that are conveyed into the mind by more ways than one) by a 
 frequent return of the objects or actions that produce them, fix themselves best in 
 the memory, and remain clearest and longest there: and therefore those which are 
 of the original qualities of bodies, viz. solidity, extension, figure, motion, and 
 rest; and those that almost constantly affect our bodies, as heat and cold; and 
 those which are the affections of all kinds of beings, as existence, duration, and 
 number, which almost every object that affects our senses, every thought which 
 employs our minds, bring along with them; these, I say, and the like ideas, are 
 seldom quite lost, whilst the mind retains any ideas at all. ' 
 
 7. In Remembering, the Mind is often active-—In this secondary perception, 
 as I may so call it, or viewing again the ideas that are lodged in the memory, the 
 mind is oftentimes more than barely passive; the appearance of those dormant 
 pictures depending sometimes on the will. The mind very often sets itself on 
 work in search of some hidden idea, and turns as it were the eye of the soul upon 
 
 down what I uttered, together with every other 
 person present, save my Corsican, were heartily 
 fatigued. But he, fresh and unwearied, bade me 
 still proceed. However, as it was necessary to 
 pause somewhere, I at length ceased, at the same 
 
 time assuring him I shouldbe perfectly satisfied | 
 
 if I found him able to remember one half of what 
 I had dictated. He then fixed his eyes upon the 
 floor, while we all regarded him with anxious 
 expectation; and having continued for some 
 moments silent, began, and to our prodigious 
 astonishment, repeated in order every word as it 
 had been delivered, without pause or hesitation. 
 Then, beginning with the last, he repeated them 
 backwards with equal accuracy; and afterwards, 
 starting from the second, the third, the fourth, 
 the fifth, he unerringly pursued the chain of 
 words to its conclusion. 
 the company, he would vary the order in any way 
 they pleased, and still not miss a single word. 
 Indeed, he afterwards assured Mureti that he 
 could in that manner repeat 36,000 nouns. How- 
 ever, the most extraordinary part of the whole 
 was, that he performed all this by art, having 
 
 naturally possessed no more memory than ordi- 
 
 nary men; of which he furnished undeniable proof 
 by imparting the knowledge of it to others.” Lord 
 Bacon, who had very carefully considered this 
 question, was persuaded, not only that there is an 
 
 Nay, at the request of | 
 
 art of memory, but that it may be strongly 
 affected by physical operations. He saw clearly 
 that it depends on the association of ideas, which 
 he terms the “binding of thoughts;” and had 
 formed to himself certain rules to be observed in 
 the practice of it. However, the most curious 
 part of his mnemonic theory is that which relates 
 to food. ‘The brains,” he observes, “of some 
 creatures, (when their heads are roasted), taken 
 in wine, are said tostrengthen the memory, as the 
 brains of hares, brains of hens, brains of deer, &c. 
 And it seemeth to be incident to the brains of 
 those creatures that are fearful.” (Natural His- 
 tory, Century X. Nos. 956 and 974.) It appears 
 to be certain that whatever food lies light upon 
 the stomach and braces the system, will improve 
 the memory, which is weakened by everything 
 relaxing or oppressive. 
 
 1 A remarkable peculiarity in the memory of 
 some persons is that they are unable to recall 
 circumstances when they desire it, whereas they 
 rush involuntarily upon their minds at other 
 times, generally out of season. Thus an anecdote 
 is related of a man having been present when a 
 good joke was uttered, saw nothing of the wit at 
 the time, but half a year afterwards being at 
 church, the true point of the jest appeared to him 
 in allits brilliance, upon which he burst into a 
 loud laugh in the midst of the sermon. 
 
CHAP. x RETENTION. 
 
 157 
 
 it; though sometimes too they start up in our minds of their own accord, and 
 offer themselves to the understanding ; and very often are roused and tumbled out 
 of their dark cells into open daylight by turbulent and tempestuous passions ; our 
 affections bringing ideas to our memory, which had otherwise lain quiet and un- 
 regarded. ‘This further is to be observed, concerning ideas lodged in the memory, 
 and upon occasion revived by the mind, that they are not only (as the word 
 revive imports) none of them new ones, but also that the mind takes notice of 
 them as of a former impression, and renews its acquaintance with them as with 
 ideas it had know before. So that though ideas formerly imprinted are not all 
 constantly in view, yet in remembrance they are constantly known to be such as 
 have been formerly imprinted; i. e., in view, and taken notice of before by the 
 understanding. 
 
 8. Two Defects in the Memory, Oblivion and Slowness.—Memory, in an in- 
 tellectual creature, is necessary in the next degree to perception. It is of so great 
 moment, that, where it is wanting, all the rest of our faculties are in a great 
 measure useless; and we in our thoughts, reasonings, and knowledge, could not 
 proceed beyond present objects, were it not for the assistance of our memories, 
 wherein there may be two defects. 
 
 First, That it loses the idea quite, and so far it produces perfect ignorance. For 
 since we can know nothing further than we have the idea of it, when that is gone, 
 we are in perfect ignorance. 
 
 Secondly, That it moves slowly, and retrieves not the ideas that it has, and are 
 laid up in store, quick enough to serve the mind upon occasion. This, if it be to 
 a great degree, is stupidity; and he who, through this default m his memory, 
 has not the ideas that are really preserved there, ready at hand when need and 
 occasion calls for them, were almost as good be without them quite, since they 
 serve him to little purpose. The dull man, who loses the opportunity whilst he 
 is seeking in his mind for those ideas that should serve his turn, is not much more 
 happy in his knowledge than one that is perfectly ignorant. It is the business 
 therefore of the memory to furnish to the mind those dormant ideas which it has 
 present occasion for; in the having them ready at hand on all occasions, consists 
 that which we call invention, fancy, and quickness of parts. 
 
 9. These are defects, we may observe, in the memory of one man compared 
 with another. There is another defect which we may conceive to be in the 
 memory of man in general, compared with some superior created intellectual 
 beings, which in this faculty may so far excel man, that they may have constantly 
 in view the whole scene of all their former actions, wherein no one of the thoughts 
 they have ever had may slip out of their sight. The omniscience of God, who 
 knows all things, past, present, and to come, and to whom the thoughts of men’s 
 hearts always lie open, may satisfy us of the possibility of this. For who can 
 doubt but God may communicate to those glorious spirits, his immediate attend- 
 ants, any of his perfections, in what proportions he pleases, as far as created finite 
 beings can be capable? It is reported of that prodigy of parts, Monsieur Pascal, 
 that till the decay of his health had impaired his memory, he forgot nothing of 
 what he had done, read, or thought in any part of his rational age. This is a 
 privilege so little known to most men, that it seems almost incredible to those 
 
 } Without measuring others by myself after 
 the ordinary way, I may perhaps be permitted to 
 doubt the fact here recorded with somewhat too 
 much of credulity by Locke. Very extraordinary 
 things are related of M. Pascal, who was a great 
 man and a most accomplished and exquisite 
 writer. But that he should remember everything 
 he had done, read, or thought, is a thing so 
 wholly inconsistent with our experience of human 
 nature, that to doubt it is no reprehensible 
 stretch of scepticism. Besides, it seems to me, in 
 
 attentively studying the ‘Lettres Provinciales,” 
 that I can detect marks of forgetfulness, not in 
 contradictory propositions, which a moderate 
 memory would guard against, but in the omission 
 of thoughts and illustrations, which had no doubt 
 been once within the circle of his acquisitions, 
 but happened to be out of the way at the moment 
 of writing. Besides, he was sometimes indebted 
 to the memory of his friend Nicole, upon whose 
 suggestions several of the letters were com- 
 posed. 
 
158 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 who, after the ordinary way, measure all others by themselves; but yet, when 
 considered, may help us to enlarge our thoughts towards greater perfection of it 
 in superior ranks of spirits. For this of M. Pascal was still with the narrowness 
 that human minds are confined to here, of having great variety of ideas only by 
 succession, not all at once; whereas the several degrees of angels may probably 
 have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain 
 together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past know- 
 ledge at once. This, we may conceive, would be no small advantage to the 
 knowledge of a thinking man, if all his past thoughts and reasonings could 
 be always present to him. And therefore we may suppose it one of those 
 ways, wherein the knowledge of separate spirits may exceedingly surpass 
 ours. 
 
 10. Brutes have Memory.—This faculty of laying up and retaining the ideas 
 that are brought into the mind, several other animals seem to have to a great 
 degree as wellas man. For to pass by other instances, birds learning of tunes, 
 and the endeavours one may observe in them to hit the notes right, put it past 
 doubt with me, that they have perception, and retain ideas in their memories, and 
 use them for patterns. For it seems to me impossible that they should endeavour 
 to conform their voices to notes (as it is plain they do) of which they had no ideas. 
 For though I should grant sound may mechanically cause a certain motion of the 
 animal spirits in the brains of those birds, whilst the tune is actually playing ; 
 and that motion may be continued on to the muscles of the wings, and so the bird 
 mechanically be driven away by certain noises, because this may tend to the bird’s 
 preservation; yet that can never be supposed a reason why it should cause 
 mechanically, either whilst the tune is playing, much less after it has ceased, such 
 a motion of the organs in the bird’s voice as should conform it to the notes of a 
 foreign sound, which imitation can be of no use to the bird’s preservation. But, 
 which is more, it cannot with any appearance of reason be supposed (much 
 less proved) that birds, without sense and memory, can approach their notes 
 nearer and nearer by degrees to a tune played yesterday ; which if they have no 
 idea of in their memory, is nowhere, nor can be a pattern for them to imitate, or 
 which any repeated essays can bring them nearer to. Since there is no reason 
 why the sound of a pipe should leave traces in their brains, which not at first, but 
 by their after-endeavours, should produce the like sounds; and why the sounds 
 they make themselves, should not make traces which they should follow, as well 
 as those of the pipe, is impossible to conceive.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF DISCERNING, AND OTHER OPERATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 1. No Knowledge without Discernment.—ANoTHER faculty we may take 
 notice of in our minds, is that of discerning and distinguishing between the several 
 ideas it has. -It is not enough to have a confused perception of something in 
 general: unless the mind had a distinct perception of different objects and their 
 qualities, it would be capable of very little knowledge; though the bodies that 
 affect us were as busy about us as they are now, and the mind were continually 
 
 1 In a collection of anecdotes made by my son, haps controvert. Of these brief relations none 
 connected with the natural history of birds, we probably is more remarkable than the account 
 have many curious facts illustrating this position from Plutarch of a parrot at Rome. 
 
 of Locke, which in the present day few will per- 
 
 i 
 
CHAP. XI.] DISCERNING. 159 
 
 employed in thinking. On this faculty of distinguishing one thing from another 
 depends the evidence and certainty of several, even very general propositions, 
 which have passed for innate truths; because men, overlooking the true cause why 
 those propositions find universal assent, impute it wholly to native uniform im- 
 pressions ; whereas it in truth depends upon this clear discerning faculty of the 
 mind, whereby it perceives two ideas to be the same, or different. But of this 
 more hereafter. 
 
 2. The Difference of Wit and Judgment.—How much the imperfection of 
 accurately discriminating ideas one from another lies either in the dulness or 
 faults of the organs of sense; or want of acuteness, exercise, or attention in the 
 understanding ; or hastiness and precipitancy, natural to some tempers, I will 
 not here examine: it suffices to take notice, that this is one of the operations that 
 the mind may reflect on and observe in itself. It is of that consequence to its 
 other knowledge, that so far as this faculty is in itself dull, or not rightly made 
 use of for the distinguishing one thing from another, so far our notions are con- 
 fused, and our reason and judgment disturbed or misled. If in having our ideas 
 in the memory ready at hand consists quickness of parts ; in this, of having them 
 unconfused, and being able nicely to distinguish one thing from another, where 
 there is but the least difference, consists, in a great measure, the exactness of 
 judgment, and clearness of reason, which is to be observed in one man above 
 another. And hence perhaps may be given some reason of that common observa- 
 tion, that men who have agreat deal of wit, and prompt memories, have not 
 always the clearest judgment or deepest reason; for wit lymg most in the assem- 
 blage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can 
 be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and 
 agreeable visions in the fancy ;' judgment, on the contrary, lies quite on the other 
 side, in separating carefully, one from another, ideas wherein can be found the 
 least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude and by affinity to 
 take one thing for another. This is a way of proceeding quite contrary to 
 metaphor and allusion, wherein for the most part lies that entertainment and 
 pleasantry of wit, which strikes so lively on the fancy, and therefore is so 
 
 1 If we compare with this the masterly exposi- 
 tion given by Hobbes of the causes of wit and 
 dulness, we shall observe considerable similarity 
 in the ideas of the two philosophers, and, in the 
 treatment of the subject, the greater breadth and 
 originality in him of Malmesbury. His lofty scorn 
 of sensuality, (the cause of dulness,) and the 
 contemptuous language in which he describes its 
 several gratifications, would, if properly weighed, 
 conduce more to the shaming of men into nobler 
 pursuits, than a world of tempestuous declama- 
 tion. ‘‘ The difference of wits,”’ he says, ‘‘ hath 
 its original from the different passions, and from 
 the ends to which the appetite leadeth them. And 
 first, those men whose ends are sensual delight, 
 and generally are addicted to ease, food, and ex- 
 onerations of the body, must needs be the less 
 thereby delighted with those imaginations that 
 conduce not to those ends, such as are imagina- 
 tions of honour and glory, which have respect to 
 the future. For sensuality consisteth in the 
 pleasure of the senses, which please only for the 
 present, and take away the inclination to ob- 
 serve such things as conduce to honour; and con- 
 sequently maketh men less curious and less 
 ambitious, whereby they less consider the way 
 either to knowledge or other power; in which, 
 too, consisteth all the excellency of power cogni- 
 tive. And this is it which men call dazlness, and 
 proceedeth from the appetite of sensual or bodily 
 delight.” The vigour and distinctness where- 
 
 with he contrasts this slowness and bluntness 
 of apprehension with genius, will excuse me for 
 lengthening out the present note, since the book 
 itself is not (as it should be) in everybody’s 
 hands. ‘‘ The contrary hereunto is that quick 
 ranging of mind which is joined with curiosity 
 of comparing the things that come into the 
 mind, one with another; in which comparison a 
 man delighteth himself either with finding un- 
 expected similitude of things, otherwise much un- 
 like, (in which men place the excellency of fancy, 
 and from whence proceed those graceful similes, 
 metaphors, and other tropes, by which both 
 poets and orators have it in their power to make 
 things please and displease, and show well or ill 
 to others, as they like themselves,) or else in 
 discerning suddenly dissimilitude in things that 
 otherwise appear the same. And this virtue of 
 the mind is that by which men attain to exact 
 and perfect knowledge; and the pleasure thereof 
 consisteth in continual instruction, and in dis- 
 tinction of places, persons, and seasons, and is 
 commonly termed by the name of yudgment; for 
 to judge is nothing else but to distinguish or 
 discern, and both fancy and judgment are com- 
 monly comprehended under the name of wit, 
 which seemeth to be a tenuity and agility of 
 spirits, contrary to that restiness of the spirits 
 supposed in those that are dull.” (Treatise on 
 Human Nature, c. x. § 2, 3.) 
 
160 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK It. 
 
 acceptable to all people; because its beauty appears at first sight, and there is 
 required no labour of thought to examine what truth or reason there is in it. 
 The mind, without looking any further, rests satisfied with the agreeableness of 
 the picture and the gaiety of the fancy ; and it is a kind of affront to go about to 
 examine it by the severe rules of truth and good reason, whereby it appears that 
 it consists in something that is not perfectly conformable to them. 
 
 3. Clearness alone hinders Confusion.—To the well distinguishing our ideas, 
 it chiefly contributes that they be clear and determinate ; and where they are so, 
 it will not breed any confusion or mistake about them, though the senses should 
 (as sometimes they do) convey them from the same object differently on different 
 occasions, and so seem to err. For though a man in a fever should from sugar 
 have a bitter taste,’ which at another time would produce a sweet one, yet the 
 idea of bitter in that man’s mind would be as clear and distinct from the idea of 
 sweet as if he had tasted only gall. Nor does it make any more confusion 
 between the two ideas of sweet and bitter, that the same sort of body produces at 
 one time one, and at another time another idea by the taste, than it makes ‘a con- 
 fusion in two ideas of white and sweet, or white and round, that the same piece 
 of sugar produces them both in the mind at the same time; and the ideas of 
 orange-colour and azure, that are produced in the mind by the same parcel of the 
 infusion of lignum nephriticum, are no less distinct ideas than those of the same 
 colours taken from two very different bodies. 
 
 4. Comparing.—The comparing of them one with another, in respect of extent, 
 degrees, time, place, or any other circumstances, is another operation of the mind 
 about its ideas, and is that upon which depends all that large tribe of ideas com- 
 prehended under relations, which, of how vast an extent it is, I shall have occa- 
 sion to consider hereafter. ; 
 
 5. Brutes compare but imperfectly.—How far brutes partake in this faculty is 
 not easy to determine; I imagine they have it not in any great degree, for 
 though they probably have several ideas distinct enough, yet it seems to me to be 
 the prerogative of human understanding, when it has sufficiently distinguished 
 any ideas, so as to perceive them to be perfectly different, and so consequently 
 two, to cast about and consider in what circumstances they are capable to be 
 compared; and therefore, I think, beasts compare not their ideas further than 
 some sensible circumstances annexed to the objects themselves. The other power 
 of comparing, which may be observed in men, belonging to general ideas, and 
 useful only to abstract reasonings, we may probably conjecture beasts have not. 
 
 6. Compounding.—The next operation we may observe in the mind about its 
 ideas is composition, whereby it puts together several of those simple ones it 
 has received from sensation and reflection, and combines them into complex ones. 
 Under this of composition may be reckoned also that of enlarging; wherein, 
 though the composition does not so much appear as in more complex ones, yet it 
 is nevertheless a putting several ideas together, though of the same kind. Thus 
 by adding several units together, we make the idea of a dozen; and putting 
 together the repeated ideas of several perches, we frame that of a furlong. 
 
 7. Brutes compound but little.—In this also, I suppose, brutes come far short 
 of men; for though they take in, and retain together several combinations of 
 simple ideas,—as possibly the shape, smell, and voice of his master, make up the 
 complex idea a dog has of him, or rather are so many distinct marks whereby 
 he knows him, yet I do not think they do of themselves ever compound them, 
 and make complex ideas. And perhaps even where we think they have complex 
 ideas, it is only one simple one that directs them in the knowledge of several 
 
 1 Or rather, should seem to have; for the upon his senses. The bitterness he perceives is 
 fluids of his body, being in an agitated and de- in the quality of his own humours, which ob- 
 pressed state, prevent the qualities of the sugar structs the action of the sugar’s sweetness. 
 from operating in their accustomed manner 
 
CHAP. XI. ] DISCERNING. 161 
 
 things, which possibly they distinguish less by their sight than we imagine; for 
 I have been credibly informed that a bitch will nurse, play with, and be fond of 
 young foxes, as much as, and in place of her puppies, if you can but get them 
 once to suck her so long that her milk may go through them.' And those 
 animals which have a numerous brood of young ones at once, appear not to have 
 any knowledge of their number; for though they are mightily concerned for any 
 of their young that are taken from them whilst they are in sight or hearing, yet if 
 one or two of them be stolen from them in their absence, or without noise, they 
 appear not to miss them, or to have any sense that their number is lessened. 
 
 8. Naming.—When children have, by: repeated sensations, got ideas fixed in 
 their memories, they begin by degrees to learn the use of signs; and when they 
 have got the skill to apply the organs of speech to the framing of articulate 
 sounds, they begin to make use of words to signify their ideas to others. These 
 verbal signs they sometimes borrow from others, and sometimes make themselves, 
 as one may observe among the new and unusual names children often give to 
 things in the first use of language. 
 
 9. Abstraction.—The use of words, then, being to stand as outward marks of 
 our internal ideas, and those ideas being taken from particular things, if every 
 particular idea that we take in should have a distinct name, names must be end- 
 less. To prevent this, the mind makes the particular ideas received from par- 
 ticular objects to become general; which is done by considering them as they are 
 in the mind, such appearances, separate from all other existences, and the cir- 
 cumstances of real existence, as time, place, or any other concomitant ideas. 
 This is called abstraction, whereby ideas taken from particular beings become 
 general representatives of all of the same kind, and their names general names, 
 applicable to whatever exists conformable to such abstract ideas. Such precise, 
 naked appearances in the mind, without considering how, whence, or with what 
 others they came there, the understanding lays up (with names commonly 
 annexed to them) as the standard to rank real existences into sorts, as they agree 
 with these patterns, and to denominate them accordingly. Thus the same colour 
 being observed to-day in chalk or snow, which the mind yesterday received from 
 milk, it considers that appearance alone makes it a representative of all of that 
 kind; and having given it the name whiteness, it by that sound signifies the same 
 quality, wheresoever to be imagined or met with, and thus universals, whether 
 ideas or terms, are made.’ 
 
 10. Brutes abstract not.—If it may be doubted whether beasts compound and 
 enlarge their ideas that way to any degree; this, I think, I may be positive in, 
 that the power of abstracting is not at all in them; and that the having of 
 general ideas is that which puts a perfect distinction betwixt man and brutes, and 
 is an excellency which the faculties of brutes do by no means attain to; for it is 
 evident we observe no footsteps in them of making use of general signs for 
 universal ideas; from which we have reason to imagine that they have not the 
 faculty of abstracting, or making general ideas, since they have no use of words, 
 or any other general signs. 
 
 11. Nor can it be imputed to their want of fit organs to frame articulate 
 sounds, that they have no use or knowledge of general words, since many of 
 
 1 All creatures appear to be conciliated by the Human Knowledge,” pp. 3—22. This philo- 
 
 scent of their own species, a discovery which 
 must have been made by the ancient Psydlz, who 
 probably, like the moderns, fed on serpents when 
 about to exhibit their power over them. On this 
 account the bitch loves the young foxes that have 
 sucked her; they are assimilated to her by the 
 milk they draw, resembling in smell her own 
 cubs. 
 
 2 On the subject of abstract ideas, see Bishop 
 Berkeley’s Introduction to his ‘‘ Principles of 
 
 sopher, who erected his celebrated system on 
 certain passages in the present essay, rejected 
 the doctrine of abstract ideas, the belief in 
 which he treated with ridicule. But if a man 
 can form an idea of two, without connecting 
 with it the idea of women, men, horses, ele- 
 phants, &c., the power to abstract exists, and 
 Locke is right. I leave the reader to determine 
 the point for himself. 
 
 M 
 
162 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 them, we find, can fashion such sounds, and pronounce words distinctly enough, 
 but never with any such application. And, on the other side, men who, through 
 some defect in the organs, want words, yet fail not to express their universal ideas 
 by signs, which serve them instead of general words, a faculty which we see 
 beasts come short in; and, therefore, I think, we may suppose, that it is im this 
 that the species of brutes are discriminated from man; and it is that proper dif- 
 ference wherein they are wholly separated, and which’ at last widens to so vast a 
 distance; for if they have any ideas at all, and are not bare machines, (as some 
 would have them,) we cannot deny them to have some reason. It seems as 
 evident to me, that they do some of them in certain instances reason, as that they 
 have sense; but it is only in particular ideas, just as they received them from 
 their senses. They are the best of them tied up within those narrow bounds, 
 and have not (as I think) the faculty to enlarge them by any kind of 
 abstraction. 
 
 12. Idiots and Madmen.—How far idiots are concerned in the want or weak- 
 ness of any, or all of the foregoing faculties, an exact observation of their several 
 ways of faultermg would no doubt discover; for those who either perceive but 
 dully, or retain the ideas that come into their minds but ill, who cannot readily 
 excite or compound them, will have little matter to think on. Those who cannot 
 distinguish, compare, and abstract, would hardly be able to understand and make 
 use of language, or judge or reason to any tolerable degree; but only a little and 
 imperfectly about things present, and very familiar to their senses. And indeed 
 any of the forementioned faculties, if wanting, or out of order, produce suitable 
 effects in men’s understandings and knowledge. 
 
 13. In fine, the defect in naturals seems to proceed from want of quickness, 
 activity, and motion in the intellectual faculties, whereby they are deprived of 
 reason; whereas madmen, on the other side, seem to suffer by the other extreme, 
 for they do not appear to me to have lost the faculty of reasoning, but having 
 joined together some ideas very wrongly, they mistake them for truths, and 
 they err as men do that argue right from wrong principles; for by the violence 
 of their imaginations, having taken their fancies for realities, they make right 
 deductions from them. Thus you shall find a distracted man fancying himself a 
 king, with a right inference require suitable attendance, respect, and obedience; 
 others, who have thought themselves made of glass, have used the caution neces- 
 sary to preserve such brittle bodies. Hence it comes to pass that a man who is 
 very sober, and of a right understanding in all other things, may in one par- 
 ticular be as frantic as any in Bedlam; if either by any sudden very strong 
 impression, or long fixing his fancy upon one sort of thoughts, incoherent ideas 
 have been cemented together so powerfully, as to remain united. But there are 
 degrees of madness, as of folly; the disorderly jumbling ideas together is in 
 some more, some less. In short, herein seems to lie the difference between idiots 
 and madmen, that madmen put wrong ideas together, and so make wrong pro- 
 positions, but argue and reason right from them; but idiots make very few or no 
 propositions, and reason scarce at all. | 
 
 14. Method.—These, I think, are the first faculties and operations of the mind, 
 which it makes use of in understanding; and though they are exercised about all 
 its ideas in general, yet the instances I have hitherto given have been chiefly in 
 
 simple ideas; and I have subjoined the explication of these faculties of the mind - 
 
 to that of simple ideas, before I come to what I have to say concerning complex 
 ones, for these following reasons : 
 
 First, Because several of these faculties being exercised at first principally 
 about simple ideas, we inight, by following nature in its ordinary method, trace 
 and discover them in their rise, progress, and gradual improvements. 
 
 Secondly, Because, observing the faculties of the mind, how they operate about 
 simple ideas, which are usually, in most men’s minds, much more clear, precise, 
 and distinct than complex ones, we may the better examine and learn how the 
 
CHAP. XII.] OF COMPLEX IDEAS. 163 
 
 mind extracts, denominates, compares, and exercises in its other operations about 
 those which are complex, wherein we are much more liable to mistake. 
 
 Thirdly, Because these very operations of the mind about ideas, received from 
 sensations, are themselves, when reflected on, another set of ideas, derived from 
 that other source of our knowledge, which I call reflection, and therefore fit to be 
 considered in this place after the simple ideas of sensation. Of compounding, 
 comparing, abstracting, &c., I have but just spoken, having occasion to treat 
 of them more at large in other places. 
 
 15. These are the Beginnings of human Knowledge.—And thus I have given 
 a short, and, I think, true history of the first beginnings of human knowledge,} 
 whence the mind has its first objects; and by what steps it makes its progress 
 to the laying in and storing up those ideas, out of which is to be framed all the 
 knowledge it is capable of, wherein I must appeal to experience and observation 
 whether I am in the right; the best way to come to truth being to examine 
 things as really they are, and not to conclude they are, as we fancy of ourselves, 
 or have been taught by others to imagine. 
 
 16. Appeal to Experience.—To deal truly, this is the only way that I can dis- 
 cover, whereby the ideas of things are brought into the understanding: if other 
 men have either innate ideas or infused principles, they have reason to enjoy 
 them; and if they are sure of it, it is impossible for others to deny them the 
 privilege that they have above their neighbours. I can speak but of what I find 
 in myself, and is agreeable to those notions, which, if we will examine the whole 
 course of men in their several ages, countries, and educations, seem to depend 
 on those foundations which I have laid, and to correspond with this method in 
 all the parts and degrees thereof. 
 
 17. Dark Room.—I pretend not to teach, but to inquire, and therefore cannot 
 but confess here again, that external and internal sensation are the only passages 
 that I can find of knowledge to the understanding. These alone, as far as I 
 can discover, are the windows by which light is let into this dark room ; for 
 methinks the understanding is not much unlike a closet wholly shut from light, 
 with only some little opening left, to let in external visible resemblances, or ideas 
 of things without: would the pictures coming into such a dark room but stay 
 there, and lie so orderly as to be found upon occasion, it would very much 
 resemble the understanding of a man, in reference to all objects of sight, and the 
 ideas of them. 
 
 These are my guesses concerning the means whereby the understanding comes 
 to have and retain simple ideas, and the modes of them, with some other opera- 
 tions about them. I proceed now to examine some of these simple ideas and 
 their modes a little more particularly. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OF COMPLEX IDEAS. 
 
 1. Made by the Mind out of simple Ones.—Ws have hitherto considered those 
 ideas, in the reception whereof the mind is only passive, which are those simple 
 
 ’ For a time this doctrine was received in the 
 philosophical world, and deemed satisfactory ; 
 but authors afterwards appeared who brought 
 forward another theory, with inferior genius, 
 and therefore with inferior authority; but pos- 
 sessing the recommendation of novelty, it found 
 
 many admirers, and still retains them; that is, 
 if any modification of philosophy can any longer 
 be said to command admiration or excite inte- 
 rest in this country. (See Dugald Stewart’s 
 Philosophical Essays, Ess. I. chap. 2, 3, p. 71 
 et seq.) 
 
 mM 2 
 
164 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 ones received from sensation and reflection before mentioned, whereof the mind 
 cannot make one to itself, nor have any idea which does not wholly consist of 
 them. But as the mind is wholly passive in the reception of all its simple ideas, 
 so it exerts several acts of its own, whereby out of its simple ideas, as the mate- 
 rials and foundations of the rest, the others are framed. The acts of the mind, 
 wherein it exerts its power over its simple ideas, are chiefly these three: 1. Com- 
 bining several simple ideas into one compound one, ‘and thus all complex ideas 
 are made. 2. The second is bringing two ideas, whether simple or complex, 
 together, and setting them by one another, so as to take a view of them at once, 
 without uniting them into one, by which way it gets all its ideas of relations. 
 3. The third is separating them from all other ideas that accompany them in 
 their real existence: this is called abstraction, and thus all its general ideas 
 are made. This shows man’s power, and its ways of operation, to be much 
 the same in the material and intellectual world. For the materials in both being 
 such as he has no power over, either to make or destroy, all that man can do is 
 either to unite them together, or to set them by one another, or wholly separate 
 them. I shall here begin with the first of these in the consideration of complex 
 ideas, and come to the other two in their due places. As simple ideas are 
 observed to exist in several combinations united together, so the mind has a power 
 to consider several of them united together as one idea; and that not only as they 
 are united in external objects, but as itself has joined them together. Ideas thus 
 made up of several simple ones put together, I call complex; such as are beauty, 
 gratitude, a man, an army, the universe, which, though complicated of various 
 simple ideas, or complex ideas made up of simple ones, yet are, when the mind 
 pleases, considered each by itself as one entire thing, and signified by one name. 
 
 2. Made voluntarily.—In this faculty of repeating and joming together its 
 ideas, the mind has great power in varying and multiplying the objects of its 
 thoughts, infinitely beyond what sensation or reflection furnished it with; but all 
 this still confined to those simple ideas which it received from those two sources, 
 and which are the ultimate materials of all its compositions: for simple ideas.are 
 all from things themselves, and of these the mind can have no more, nor other 
 than what are suggested to it. It can have no other ideas of sensible qualities 
 than what come from without by the senses, nor any ideas of other kind of opera- 
 tions of a thinking substance, than what it finds in itself; but when it has once 
 got these simple ideas, it is not confined barely to observation, and what offers 
 itself from without; it can, by its own power, put together those ideas it has, and 
 make new complex ones, which it never received so united. 
 
 3. Are either Modes, Substances, or Relations.—Complex ideas, however com- 
 pounded and decompounded, though their number be infinite, and the variety 
 endless, wherewith they fill and entertain the thoughts of men; yet I think 
 they may be all reduced under these three heads—1. Modes. 2. Substances. 
 3. Relations. 
 
 4. Modes.—First, Modes I call such complex ideas, which, however com- 
 pounded, contain not in them the supposition of subsisting by themselves, but are 
 considered as dependencies on, or affections of substances; such as are ideas signi- 
 fied by the words triangle, gratitude, murder, &c. And if in this I use the word 
 mode in somewhat a different sense from its ordinary signification, I beg pardon ; 
 it being unavoidable in discourses, differing from the ordinary received notions, 
 either to make new words, or to use old words in somewhat a new signification ; 
 the latter whereof, in our present case, is perhaps the more tolerable of the two.! 
 
 1 The reader will perhaps agree with me in word by multiplying its significations, and ap- 
 
 regarding this as an unphilosophical decision. plying it to uses for which it is unsuited. Locke 
 It were far better to learn a new term, witha | would have avoided many of the objections that 
 separate and definite meaning attached to it, have been urged against him, had he ventured 
 
 than to confuse our apprehension of a known upon the invention of anew nomenclature; for 
 
CHAP. XI1.] 
 
 OF COMPLEX IDEAS. 165 
 
 5. Simple and mixed Modes.—Of these modes, there are two sorts which 
 deserve distinct consideration. First, there are some which are only variations, 
 or different combinations of the same simple idea, without the mixture of any 
 other; as a dozen, or score; which are nothing but the ideas of so many distinct 
 units added together, and these I call simple modes, as being contained within 
 the bounds of one simple idea. 
 
 Secondly, there are others compounded of simple ideas of several kinds, put 
 together to make one complex one; v. g. beauty, consisting of a certain composi- 
 tion of colour and figure, causing delight in the beholder;' theft, which being 
 the concealed change of the possession of anything, without the consent of the 
 proprietor, contains, as is visible, a combination of several ideas of several kinds: 
 and these I call mixed modes. 
 
 6. Substances, single or collective.—Secondly, the ideas of substances are such 
 combinations of simple ideas as are taken to represent distinct particular things 
 subsisting by themselves, in which the supposed or confused idea of substance, 
 such as it is, is always the first and chief. Thus, if to substance be joined the 
 simple idea of a certain dull whitish colour, with certain degrees of weight, hard- 
 ness, ductility, and fusibility, we have the idea of lead, and a combination of the 
 ideas of a certain sort of figure, with the powers of motion. Thought and reason- 
 ing, joined to substance, make the ordinary idea of aman. Now, of substances 
 also, there are two sorts of ideas; one of single substances, as they exist separately, 
 as of a man or a sheep; the other of several of those put together, as an army of 
 men, or flock of sheep: which collective ideas of several substances thus put 
 together, are as much each of them one single idea, as that of a man or an unit. 
 
 7. Relation.—Thirdly, the last sort of complex ideas, is that we call relation, 
 which consists in the consideration and comparing one idea with another. Of 
 these several kinds we shall treat in their order. 
 
 8. The abstrusest Ideas from the two Sources.—If we trace the progress of 
 our minds, and with attention observe how it repeats, adds together, and unites 
 its simple ideas received from sensation or reflection, it will lead us farther than 
 at first perhaps we should have imagined. And, I believe, we shall find, if we 
 warily observe the originals of our notions, that even the most abstruse ideas, 
 how remote soever they may seem from sense, or from any operations of our own 
 minds, are yet only such as the understanding frames to itself, by repeating and 
 joiming together ideas, that it had either from objects of sense, or from its own 
 operations about them; so that those even large and abstract ideas are derived 
 from sensation or reflection, being no other than what the mind, by the ordinary 
 use of its own faculties, employed about ideas received from objects of sense, or 
 from the operations it observes in itself about them, may, and does, attain unto. 
 This I shall endeavour to show in the ideas we have of space, time, and infinity, 
 and some few others that seem the most remote from those originals. 
 
 it seems clear to me, that the objections of his 
 
 adversaries are often directed, not so much at 
 his notions, as at their own misapprehensions of 
 those notions; for which, however, as he fur- 
 nished them with the handle, he may be himself 
 to blame. 
 
 1 Nicolas Caussin, the Jesuit, in his work, 
 “De Eloquentia Sacra et Humana,” X. 593, 
 gives a similar definition (if anything so brief 
 
 deserve the name) of beauty: ‘ Est porro pul- 
 chritudo apta membrorum proportio, cum que- 
 dam coloris suavitate. In viris dignitas, in 
 foeminis venustas appellatur.”” (See Payne 
 Knight’s Analytical Essays on the Principles of 
 Taste, Part I. ch. v. §§ 26 et seq.; and compare 
 Dugald Stewart’s notions, Philosophical Essays, 
 p. 256 et seq.) 
 
[Boox 11. 
 
 166 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 OF SIMPLE MODES; AND FIRST, OF THE SIMPLE MODES OF SPACE. 
 
 1. Simple Modes.—Tuovuau in the foregoing part I have often mentioned simple 
 ideas, which are truly the materials of all our knowledge; yet having treated of 
 them there, rather in the way that they come into the mind, than as distinguished 
 from others more compounded, it will not be perhaps amiss to take a view of 
 some of them again under this consideration, and examine those different modifi- 
 cations of the same idea; which the mind either finds in things existing, or is 
 able to make within itself, without the help of any extrinsical object, or any 
 foreign suggestion. 
 
 Those modifications of any one simple idea (which, as has been said, I call 
 simple modes). are as perfectly different and distinct ideas in the mind as those of 
 the greatest distance or contrariety ; for the idea of two is as distinct from that of 
 one, as blueness from heat, or either of them from any number: and yet it is 
 made up only of that simple idea of an unit repeated; and repetitions of this kind 
 joined together make those distinct simple modes, of a dozen, a gross, a million. 
 
 2. Idea of Space.—I shall begin with the simple idea of space.’ I have 
 showed above, chap. 4, that we get the idea of space, both by our sight and 
 touch ; which, I think, is so evident, that it would be as needless to go to prove 
 that men perceive, by their sight, a distance between bodies of different colours, 
 or between the parts of the same body, as that they see colours themselves; nor 
 
 is it less obvious, that they can do so in the dark by feeling and touch. 
 
 1 Since space is, in fact, merely the absence 
 and contrary of substance, we can form no idea 
 of it but that of nonentity. Where nothing is, 
 Omnipotence may introduce existence; or the 
 laws which regulate the universe may cause the 
 passage of existence ‘‘ through the void and 
 formless infinite.’”’ But, in itself, the term, as 
 I have said, merely signifies that, where nothing 
 is, no resistance can be offered to the movements 
 of body. On this subject the reader of Dugald 
 Stewart will probably remember a curious frag- 
 ment of the Kantean system, (Philos. Essays, 
 p. 155 et seq.) in which an attempt is made, but 
 with very little success, to clear up this obscure 
 point of philosophy. To speak plainly, Kant 
 appears rather to darken what was dark before, 
 than to open up any new vista, by which it might 
 be more distinctly beheld. When, for example, 
 he tells us that ‘‘ the notion, or intuition, of 
 space and time, is not empirical; that is, it has 
 not its origin in experience,” and yet is “ not 
 innate,’ I confess that my admiration for phi- 
 losophy is for the moment diminished. But 
 let us quote the whole passage. ‘‘ The notion 
 or intuition of space,’’ he tells us, ‘‘ as well as 
 that of time, is not empirical; that is, has not 
 its origin in experience: on the contrary, both 
 these notions are supposed or implied as condi- 
 tions in all our empirical perceptions, inasmuch 
 as we cannot perceive nor conceive an external 
 object, without representing it to our thoughts 
 as in space; nor can we conceive anything, either 
 without us or within us, without representing it 
 to ourselves as in time. Space and time, there- 
 fore, are called by Kant the two forms of our 
 sensibility. The first is the general form of our 
 external senses, the second the general form of 
 
 all our senses, external and internal. These 
 notions of space and time, however, although 
 they exist @ priort, are not, according to Kant, 
 innate ideas. If they are anterior to the per- 
 ceptions of our senses, it is only in the order of 
 reason, and not in the order of time. They 
 have, indeed, their origin in ourselves; but they 
 present themselves to the understanding only in 
 consequence of occasions, furnished by our sensa- 
 tions; or, in Kant’s language, by our sensible 
 modvications. Separated from these modifica- 
 tions, they could not exist, and without them 
 they would have remained for ever latent and 
 sterile.’”” The force and cogency of this reason- 
 ing may be illustrated by the following familiar 
 example:—Thomas was a man before he was a 
 boy, not in the order of time, but in the order of 
 reason; because it was in order that he might 
 become a man, that he was made a boy. With 
 respect to space, no writer, perhaps, has written 
 more clearly on it than Hobbes, who, in his 
 Philosophia Prima, Pars II. cap. 7, § 2, ob- 
 serves: ‘‘Jam si meminerimus, seu phantasma 
 habuerimus alicujus rei, que extiterat ante sup- 
 positam rerum externarum sublationem, nec con- 
 siderare velimus, qualis ea res erat, sed simpli- 
 citer quod erat extra animum, habemus id, quod 
 appellamus spatium, imaginarium quidem, quia 
 merum phantasma, sed tamen illud ipsum, quod 
 ab omnibus sic appellatur ..... Spatii defini- 
 tionem hance esse dico spatium est phantasma 
 ret existentis, quatenus existentis, id est, nullo 
 alio ejus rei accidente considerato praeterquam 
 quod apparet extra imaginantem.” (T.i. p. 82 
 et seq. ed. Molesworth. See also Berkeley’s 
 Works, vol. i. p. 39.) 
 
CHAP. XIII. ] SIMPLE MODES OF SPACE. 167 
 
 3. Space and Extension.—This space, considered barely in length between any 
 two beings, without considering anything else between them, is called distance ; 
 if considered in length, breadth, and thickness, I think it may be called capacity. 
 The term extension is usually applied to it in what manner soever considered. 
 
 4. Immensity.—Hach different distance is a different modification of space ; 
 and each idea of any different distance, or space, is a simple mode of this idea. 
 Men for the use, and by the custom of measuring, settle in their minds the ideas 
 of certain stated lengths, such as are an inch, foot, yard, fathom, mile, diameter of 
 the earth &c., which are so many distinct ideas made up only of space. When 
 any such stated lengths or measures of space are made familiar to men’s 
 thoughts, they can in their minds repeat them as often as they will, without 
 mixing or joining to them the idea of body or anything else; and frame to them- 
 selves the ideas of long, square, or cubic feet, yards, or fathoms, here amongst 
 the bodies of the universe, or else beyond the utmost bounds of all bodies ; 
 and by adding these still one to another, enlarge their ideas of space as much as 
 they please. The power of repeating or doubling any idea we have of any dis- 
 tance, and adding it to the former as often as we will, without being ever able to 
 come to any stop or stint, let us enlarge it as much as we will, is that which gives 
 us the idea of immensity. 
 
 5. Figure.—There is another modification of this idea, which is nothing but 
 the relation which the parts of the termination of extension, or circumscribed 
 space, have amongst themselves. This the touch discovers in sensible bodies, 
 whose extremities come within our reach; and the eye takes both from bodies 
 and colours, whose boundaries are within its view; where, observing how the 
 extremities terminate, either in straight lines which meet at discernible angles, or 
 in crooked lines wherein no angles can be perceived; by considering these as 
 they relate to one another, in all parts of the extremities of any body or space, it 
 has that idea we call figure, which affords to the mind infinite variety; for 
 besides the vast number of different figures that do really exist in the coherent 
 masses of matter, the stock that the mind has in its power, by varying the idea 
 of space, and thereby making still new compositions, by repeating its own ideas, 
 and joining them as it pleases, is perfectly inexhaustible ; and so it can multiply 
 figures in infinitum. 
 
 6. Figure.—For the mind having a power to repeat the idea of any length 
 directly stretched out, and join it to another in the same direction, which is to 
 double the length of that straight line, or else join another with what inclination 
 it thinks fit, and so make what sort of angle it pleases; and being able also to 
 shorten any line it imagines, by taking from it one half, one fourth, or what part 
 it pleases, without being able to come to an end of any such divisions, it can 
 make an angle of any bigness. So also the lines that are its sides, of what length 
 it pleases, which joining again to other lines of different lengths, and at different 
 angles, till it has wholly enclosed any space it is evident that it can multiply 
 figures, both in their shape and capacity, in infinitum ; all which are but so many 
 different simple modes of space. 
 
 The same that it can do with straight lines, it can also do with crooked, or 
 crooked and straight together; and the same it can do in lines, it can also in 
 superfices; by which we may be led into farther thoughts of the endless variety 
 of figures that the mind has a power to make, and thereby to multiply the 
 simple modes of space.’ 
 
 7. Place.—Another idea coming under this head, and belonging to this tribe, 
 
 1 What is here said of figure is equally true of | our eyes; and if we be wanting in originality, it 
 
 moral creations: by new combinations of the is because we choose to work after copies, rather 
 passions, affections, &c. men may, for the pur- than have recourse to the exhaustless store- 
 poses of fiction, invent new characters for ever. houses of nature. 
 
 In nature, the thing is done every day before 
 
168 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 7 [Book Il. 
 
 is that we call place. As in simple space, we consider the relation of distance 
 between any two bodies or points, so in our idea of place, we consider the relation 
 of distance betwixt anything, and any two or more points, which are considered 
 as keeping the same distance one with another, and so considered as at rest; for 
 when we find anything at the same distance now which it was yesterday, from 
 any two or more points, which have not since changed their distance one with 
 another, and with which we then compared it, we say it hath kept the same 
 place; but if it hath sensibly altered its distance with either of those points, we 
 say it hath changed its place: though, vulgarly speaking, in the common 
 notion of place, we do not always exactly observe the distance from these 
 precise points; but from larger portions of sensible objects, to which we con- 
 sider the thing placed to bear relation, and its distance from which we have some 
 reason to observe. 
 
 8. Thus, a company of chess-men standing on the same squares of the chess- 
 board, where we left them, we say they are all in the same place, or unmoved, 
 though perhaps the chess-board hath been in the mean time carried out of one 
 room into another ; because we compared them only to the parts of the chess- 
 board, which keep the same distance one with another. The chess-board, we also 
 say, is in the same place it was, if it remain in the same part of the cabin, though 
 perhaps the ship which it is in sails all the while; and the ship is said to be in 
 the same place, supposing it kept the same distance with the parts of the neigh- 
 bouring land, though perhaps the earth hath turned round, and so both chess-men, 
 and board, and ship, have every one changed place, in respect of remoter bodies, 
 which have kept the same distance one with another. But yet the distance from 
 certain parts of the board being that which determines the place of the chess- 
 men, and the distance from the fixed parts of the cabin (with which we made the 
 comparison) being that which determined the place of the chess-board; and the 
 fixed parts of the earth that by which we determined the place of the ship, these 
 things may be said to be in the same place in those respects, though their dis- 
 tance from some other things, which in this matter we did not consider, being 
 varied, they have undoubtedly changed place in that respect, and we ourselves 
 shall think so, when we have occasion to compare them with those other. 
 
 9. But this modification of distance we call place, being made by men for 
 their common use, that by it they might be able to design the particular position 
 of things, where they had occasion for such designation; men consider and deter- 
 mine of this place by reference to those adjacent things which best served to their 
 present purpose, without considering other things which, to answer another pur- 
 pose, would better determine the place of the same thing. Thus in the chess- 
 board, the use of the designation of the place of each chess-man being determined 
 only within that chequered piece of wood, it would cross that purpose to measure 
 it by anything else; but when these very chess-men are put up in a bag, if any 
 one should ask where the black king is, it would be proper to determine the place 
 by the parts of the room it was in, and not by the chess-board; there being 
 another use of designing the place it is now in, than when in play it was on 
 the chess-board, and so must be determined by other bodies. So if any one 
 should ask, in what place are the verses which report the story of Nisus and 
 Euryalus, it would be very improper to determine this place, by saying, they 
 were in such a part of the earth, or in Bodley’s library; but the right 
 designation of the place would be by the parts of Virgil’s works; and the 
 proper answer would be, that these verses were about the middle of the ninth 
 book of his Adneid,' and that they have been always constantly in the same place 
 
 1 This fine story, the noblest episode, perhaps, and concludes with verse 502. (See Virg. Mas- 
 in the Auneid, commences with verse 176:— Vicii, p. 958 et seq.) 
 ‘‘Nisus crat porte custos, acerrimus armis,” &c. 
 
CHAP. XIII. | 
 
 SIMPLE MODES OF SPACE. 169 
 
 ever since Virgil was printed; which 1s true, though the book itself hath moved 
 a thousand times, the use of the idea of place here being to know in what part of 
 the book that story is, that so, upon occasion, we may know where to find it, and 
 have recourse to it for use. 
 
 10. Place.—That our idea of place is nothing else but such a relative position 
 of anything as I have before mentioned, I think is plain, and will be easily 
 admitted, when we consider that we can have no idea of the place of the universe, 
 though we can of all the parts of it; because beyond that we have not the idea of 
 any fixed, distinct, particular bemgs, in reference to which we can imagine it to 
 have any relation of distance; but all beyond it is one uniform space or expan- 
 sion, wherein the mind finds no variety, no marks; for to say that the world is 
 somewhere, means no more than that it does exist: this, though a phrase bor- 
 rowed from place, signifying only its existence, not location; and when one can 
 find out, and frame in his mind, clearly and distinctly, the place of the universe, 
 he will be able to tell us whether it moves or stands still in the undistinguishable 
 inane of infinite space: though it be true that the word place has sometimes a 
 more confused sense, and stands for that space which anybody takes up; and so 
 the universe is in a place. The idea, therefore, of place, we have by the same 
 means that we get the idea of space, (whereof this is but a particular limited con- 
 sideration,) viz. by our sight and touch; by either of which we receive into our 
 minds the ideas of extension or distance. 
 
 11. Extension and Body not the same.—There are some that would persuade 
 us, that body and extension are the same thing,' who either change the significa- 
 tion of words, which I would not suspect them of, they having so severely con- 
 demned the philosophy of others, because it hath been too much placed in the 
 uncertain meaning or deceitful obscurity of doubtful or insignificant terms. If, 
 therefore, they mean by body and extension the same that other people do, viz. 
 by body something that is solid and extended, whose parts are separable and movable 
 different ways; and by extension, only the space that lies between the extremities 
 of those solid coherent parts, and which is possessed by them, they confound very 
 different ideas one with another; for I appeal to every man’s own thoughts, 
 whether the idea of space be not as distinct from that of solidity, as it is from the 
 idea of scarlet colour? It is true, solidity cannot exist without extension, 
 neither can scarlet colour exist without extension; but this hinders not, but that 
 they are distinct ideas. Many ideas require others as necessary to their existence 
 or conception, which yet are very distinct ideas. Motion can neither be, nor 
 be conceived, without space; and yet motion is not space, nor space motion; 
 space can exist without it, and they are very distinct ideas; and so, I think, are 
 those of space and solidity. Solidity is so inseparable an idea from body, that 
 upon that depends its filling of space, its contact, impulse, and communication 
 of motion upon impulse. And if it be a reason to prove that spirit is different 
 from body, because thinking includes not the idea of extension in it, the same 
 
 ! Locke here alludes to the definition of Des- 
 cartes: ‘‘ Sola igitur extensio corporis naturam 
 constituit quum illa omni sole semperque con- 
 veniat, adeo ut nihil in corpore priws percipere 
 possimus.” (Antonii le Grand Institutio Philo- 
 sophie secundum principia D. Renati Descartes, 
 Pars iv. p. 152.) The notions of Hobbes on the 
 same subject are contained in the following pas- 
 sage: “ Intellecto jam quid sit spatium imagin- 
 arium, in quo nihil esse externum, supposuimus, 
 sed meram eorum, que olim existentia imagines 
 suas in animo reliquerant, privationem ; suppo- 
 namus deinceps aliquid eorum rursus reponi, sine 
 creari denuo; necesse ergo est ut creatum illud 
 sive repositum, non modo occupet aliquam dicti 
 
 spatii partem, sive cum ea coincidat et coextend- 
 atur, sed etiam esse aliquid, quod ab imagina- 
 tione nostra non dependet. Hoc autem ipsum est 
 quod appellari solet, propter extensionem quidem 
 corpus, propter independentiam; autem a nostra 
 cogitatione swbsistens per se; et propterea quod 
 extra nos subsistit existens; denique quia sub 
 spatio imaginario substerni et supponi videtur, ut 
 non sensibus sed ratione tantum aliquid ibi esse 
 intelligatur, suppositum et subjectum. Itaque 
 definitio corporis hujusmodi est, corpus est quic- 
 quid non dependens a nostra cogitatione cum 
 spat parte aliqua coincidit vel coextenditur.” 
 (Philosophia Prima, pars II. cap. viii. § 1.) 
 
170 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, [Book II. 
 
 reason will be as valid, I suppose, to prove that space is not body, because it 
 includes not the idea of solidity in it; space and solidity being as distinct ideas 
 as thinking and extension, and as wholly separable in the mind one from an- 
 other. Body then, and extension, it is evident, are two distinct ideas. For, 
 
 12. First, Extension includes no solidity, nor resistance to the motion of body, 
 as body does. 
 
 13. Secondly, The parts of pure space are inseparable one from the other; so 
 that the continuity cannot be separated, neither really nor mentally ; for I demand 
 of any one to remove any part of it from another, with which it is continued, 
 even so much as in thought. To divide and separate actually is, as I think, by 
 removing the parts one from another, to make two superfices, where before there 
 was a continuity; and to divide mentally is to make in the mind two superfices, 
 where before there was a continuity, and consider them as removed one from the 
 other; which can only be done in things considered by the mind as capable of 
 being separated; and by separation, of acquiring new distinct superfices, which 
 they then have not, but are capable of; but neither of these ways of separation, 
 whether real or mental, is, as I think, compatible to pure space. 
 
 It is true, a man may consider so much of such a space as is answerable or 
 commensurate to a foot, without considering the rest, which is, indeed, a partial 
 consideration, but not so much as mental separation or division; since a man 
 can no more mentally divide, without considering two superfices separate one 
 from the other, than he can actually divide, without making two superfices dis- 
 joimed one from the other: but a partial consideration is not separating. A man 
 may consider light in the sun without its heat, or mobility in body without its 
 extension, without thinking of their separation; one is only a partial consider- 
 ation, terminating in one alone, and the other is a consideration of both, as existing 
 separately. 
 
 14. Thirdly, The parts of pure space are immovable, which follows from their 
 inseparability ; motion being nothing but change of distance between any two 
 things; but this cannot be between parts that are inseparable, which, therefore, 
 must needs be at perpetual rest one amongst another. 
 
 Thus the determined idea of simple space distinguishes it plainly and suf- 
 ficiently from body, since its parts are inseparable, immovable, and without 
 resistance to the motion of body. : 
 
 15. The Definition of Extension explains it not.—If any one ask me what this 
 space I speak of is, I will tell him when he tells me what his extension is. For to 
 say, as is usually done, that extension is to have partes extra partes, is to say 
 only, that extension is extension: for what am I the better informed in the nature 
 of extension, when I am told that extension is to have parts that are extended, 
 exterior to parts that are extended, i. e. extension consists of extended parts? As 
 if one, asking what a fibre was; I should answer him, that it was a thing made up 
 of several fibres; would he thereby be enabled to understand what a fibre was 
 better than he did before? Or rather, would he not have reason to think that 
 my design was to make sport with him, rather than seriously to instruct him? 
 
 16. Division of Beings into Bodies and Spirits proves not Space and Body the 
 same.—Those who contend that space and body are the same, bring this dilemma : 
 either this space is something or nothing. If nothing be between two bodies, 
 they must necessarily touch; if it be allowed to be something, they ask, whether 
 it be body or spirit? To which I answer by another question, Who told them 
 that there was, or could be, nothing but solid beings, which could not think, and 
 thinking beings that were not extended?—which is all they mean by the terms 
 body and spirit. 
 
 17. Substance, which we know not, no Proof against Space without Body.— 
 If it be demanded (as usually it is) whether this space, void of body, be substance 
 or accident, I shall readily answer I know not, nor shall be ashamed to own my 
 ignorance, till they that ask show me a clear distinct idea of substance. 
 
CHAP. XIII. ] SIMPLE MODES OF SPACE. 171 
 
 18. I endeavour as much as I can to deliver myself from those fallacies which 
 we are apt to put upon ourselves, by taking words for things. It helps not our 
 ignorance to feign a knowledge where we have none, by making a noise with 
 sounds, without clear and distinct significations. Names made at pleasure neither 
 alter the nature of things nor make us understand them, but as they are signs of 
 and stand for determined ideas. And I desire those who lay so much stress on 
 the sound of these two syllables, substance, to consider whether applying it, as 
 they do, to the infinite, incomprehensible God, to finite spirit, and to body, it be 
 in the same sense, and whether it stands for the same idea, when each of those 
 three so different beings are called substances... If so, whether it will thence 
 follow that God, spirits, and body, agreeing in the same common nature of sub- 
 stance, differ not any otherwise than in a bare different modification of that sub- 
 stance; as a tree and a pebble, being in the same sense body, and agreeing in the 
 common nature of body, differ only in a bare modification of that common matter, 
 which will be a very harsh doctrine. If they say, that they apply it to God, finite 
 spirit, and matter, in three different significations, and that it stands for one idea 
 when God is said to be a substanee, for another when the soul is called substance, 
 and fora third when body is called so; if the name substance stands for three 
 several distinct ideas, they would do well to make known those distinct ideas, or 
 at least to give three distinct names to them, to prevent in so important a notion 
 the confusion and errors that will naturally follow from the promiscuous use of so 
 doubtful a term; which is so far from being suspected to have three distinct, that 
 in ordinary use it has scarce one clear, distinct signification; and if they can thus 
 make three distinct ideas of substance, what hinders why another may not make 
 a fourth ? 
 
 19. Substance and Accidents of little Use in Philosophy.—They who first ran 
 into the notion of accidents, as a sort of real beings that needed something to 
 inhere in, were forced to find out the word substance to support them. Had the 
 poor Indian philosopher (who imagined that the earth also wanted something to 
 bear it up) but thought of this word substance, he needed not to have been at the 
 trouble to find an elephant to support it, and a tortoise to support his elephant ; 
 the word substance would have done it effectually. And he that inquired might 
 
 1 The difficulties attending the notion of sud- 
 stance seem to have been among the chief causes 
 which precipitated Berkeley into his extravagant 
 idealism. Because he could not comprehend 
 the mystery of material existence, or perfectly 
 reconcile it with his ideas of the Divine nature, 
 he jumped to the conclusion, that no such thing 
 exists. ‘“‘ From what has been said,’”’ he re- 
 marks, “ it follows there is not any other swb- 
 stance than spirit, or that which perceives.” 
 (Principles of Human Knowledge, § 7.) The 
 manner in which he attempts the proof of this, 
 furnishes perhaps the completest example of 
 sophistry anywhere to be met with in philo- 
 sophy: ‘‘ Let it be considered,” he says, ‘‘ the 
 sensible qualities are colour, figure, motion, smell, 
 taste, and such like; that is, the zdeas perceived 
 by sense.’ Here, it will be observed, he con- 
 founds the “‘ sensible qualities’’ with the ‘‘ideas”’ 
 which the mind forms of them; and then pro- 
 ceeds, as follows, to demonstrate the absurdity 
 of an hypothesis which no man ever entertained. 
 “Now, for an ¢dea to exist in an unperceiving 
 thing, is a manifest contradiction: that, there- 
 fore, wherein colour, figure, and the like qua- 
 lities exist, must perceive them; hence it is 
 clear there can be no unthinking substance or 
 substratum of those ideas.’”? But zdeas, in the 
 
 unsophisticated language of philosophy, signify 
 representatives. Now, they must represent some- 
 
 thing or nothing—they cannot represent what 
 has no existence—they must, therefore, repre- 
 sent realities, and those realities must have an 
 existence external to the mind, and independent 
 of it. He himself observes, that spirit is the 
 substance that percewves ; which irresistibly im- 
 plies the existence of something to be perceived; 
 otherwise we have an agent without a patient; 
 existence taking cognizance of non-existence— 
 which seems to be very few removes from non- 
 sense. 
 
 2 But the Hindus, among whom persons en- 
 tertaining this serious article of faith may doubt- 
 less be found, have been careful to exclude 
 fables of this description from their philosophy. 
 Their super-subtle sages it was who invented 
 the system of idealism which Berkeley adopted ; 
 and the ingenuity they displayed in its exposi- 
 tion and defence was not inferior to that of the 
 Bishop of Cloyne himself. Like him, too, they 
 infused into their system a spirit of piety which 
 still renders it sweet and fragrant. Let the 
 reader, for example, consider the hymns and 
 prayers of the Yajur-Veda, especially where its 
 author breaks forth in the praise of God: ‘“‘ The 
 wise man views that mysterious Being in whom 
 the universe perpetually exists, resting on that 
 sole support. In him this world is absorbed; 
 from him it issues; in creatures he is twined, 
 and wove with various forms of existence,” &c. 
 
172 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 have taken it for as good an answer from an Indian philosopher, that substance, 
 without knowing what it is, is that which supports the earth, as we take it for a 
 sufficient answer and good doctrine from our European philosophers, that sub- 
 stance, without knowing what it is, is that which supports accidents. So that of 
 substance, we have no idea of what it is, but only a confused, obscure one of what 
 it does. 
 
 20. Whatever a learned man may do here, an intelligent American, who 
 inquired into the nature of things, would scarce take it for a satisfactory account, 
 if, desiring to learn our architecture, he should be told that a pillar is a thing 
 supported by a basis, and a basis something that supported a pillar. Would he 
 not think himself mocked, instead of taught, with such an account as this? And 
 a stranger to them would be very liberally instructed in the nature of books, and 
 the things they contained, if he should be told that all learned books consisted of 
 
 aper and letters, and that letters were things inhering in paper, and paper a 
 thing that held forth letters: a notable way of having clear ideas of letters and 
 papers! But were the Latin words, inherentia and substantia, put into the plain 
 English ones that answer them, and were called sticking on and under-propping, 
 they would better discover to us the very great clearness there is in the doctrine 
 of substance and accidents, and show of what use they are in deciding of ques- 
 tions in philosophy. 
 
 21. A Vacuum beyond the utmost Bounds of Body.— But to return to our idea 
 of space. If body be not supposed infinite, (which I think no one will affirm,) I 
 would ask, whether, if God placed a man at the extremity of corporeal beings, 
 he could not stretch his hand beyond his body? If he could, then he would put 
 his arm where there was before space without body; and if there he spread his 
 fingers, there would still be space between them without body. If he could not 
 stretch out his hand, it must be because of some external hindrance; for we sup- 
 pose him alive, with such a power of moving the parts of his body that he hath 
 now, which is not in itself impossible, if God so pleased to have it, (or at least it 
 is not impossible for God so to move him,) and then I ask, whether that which 
 hinders his hand from moving outwards be substance or accident, something or 
 nothing? And when they have resolved that, they will be able to resolve them- 
 selves what that is, which is or may be between two bodies at a distance, that is 
 not body, and has no solidity. In the mean time, the argument is at least as 
 good, that, where nothing hinders, (as beyond the utmost bounds of all bodies,) a 
 body put in motion may move on, as where there is nothing between, there two 
 bodies must necessarily touch: for pure space between is sufficient to take away 
 the necessity of mutual contact; but bare space in the way is not sufficient to stop 
 motion. The truth is, these men must either own that they think body infinite, 
 though they are loth to speak it out, or else affirm that space is not body; for I 
 would fain meet with that thinking man that can in his thoughts set any bounds 
 to space, more than he can to duration, or by thinking hope to arrive at the end 
 of either; and therefore, if his idea of eternity be infinite, so is his idea of 
 immensity ; they are both finite or infinite alike. 
 
 22. The Power of Annihilation proves a Vacuum.—Farther, those who assert 
 the impossibility of space existing without matter, must not only make body 
 infinite, but must also deny a power in God to annihilate any part of matter. No 
 one I suppose, will deny that God can put an end to all motion that is in matter, 
 and fix all the bodies of the universe in a perfect quiet and rest, and continue 
 them so long as he pleases. Whoever then will allow that God can, during such 
 a general rest, annihilate either this book or the body of him that reads it, must 
 necessarily admit the possibility of a vacuum; for it is evident that the space that 
 was filled by the parts of the annihilated body will still remain, and be a space 
 without body ; for the circumambient bodies being in perfect rest, are a wall of 
 adamant, and in that state make it a perfect impossibility for any other body to 
 get into that space. And indeed the necessary motion of one particle of matter 
 
CHAP. XIII. ] SIMPLE MODES OF SPACE. 173 
 
 into the place from whence another particle of matter is removed, is but a conse- 
 quence from the supposition of plenitude, which will therefore need some better 
 proof than a supposed matter of fact, which experiment can never make out; our 
 own clear and distinct ideas plainly satisfying us, that there is no necessary con- 
 nexion between space and solidity, since we can conceive the one without the 
 other. And those who dispute for or against a vacuum, do thereby confess they 
 have distinct ideas of vacuum and plenum, i.e. that they have an idea of 
 extension void of solidity, though they deny its existence, or else they dispute 
 about nothing at all. For they who so much alter the signification of words, as to 
 call extension body, and consequently make the whole essence of body to be 
 nothing but pure extension without solidity, must talk absurdly whenever they 
 speak of vacuum, since it is impossible for extension to be without extension: for 
 vacuum, whether we aflirm or deny its existence, signifies space without body, 
 whose very existence no one can deny to be possible, who will not make matter 
 infinite, and take from God a power to annihilate any particle of it. 
 
 23. Motion proves.a Vacuum.—But not to go so far as beyond the utmost 
 bounds of body in the universe, nor appeal to God’s omnipotency to find a 
 vacuum, the motion of bodies that are in our view and neighbourhood seems to 
 me plainly to evince it: for I desire any one so to divide a solid body, of any 
 dimension he pleases, as to make it possible for the solid parts to move up and 
 down freely every way within the bounds of that superfices, if there be not left in 
 it a void space as big as the least part into which he has divided the said solid 
 body. And if, where the least particle of the body divided is as big as a mustard- 
 seed, a void space equal to the bulk of a mustard-seed be requisite to make room 
 for the free motion of the parts of the divided body within the bounds of its 
 superfices, where the particles of matter are 100,000,000 less than a mustard- 
 seed, there must also be a space void of solid matter as big as 100,000,000 part 
 of a mustard-seed; for if it hold in the one it will hold in the other, and so on in 
 infinitum. And let this void space be as little as it will, it destroys the hypothesis 
 of plenitude; for if there can be a space void of body equal to the smallest 
 separate particle of matter now existing in nature, it is still space without body, 
 and makes as great a difference between space and body as if it were péya yaopa, 
 a distance as wide as any in nature: and therefore, if we suppose not the void 
 space necessary to motion equal to the least parcel of the divided solid matter, 
 but to + or of it, the same consequence will always follow of space without 
 matter. 
 
 24. The Ideas of Space and Body distinct.—But the question being here, 
 ‘¢ Whether the idea of space or extension be the same with the idea of body ?”’ it 
 is not necessary to prove the real existence of a vacuum, but the idea of it; which 
 it is plain men have when they inquire and dispute whether there be a vacuum 
 or no; for if they had not the idea of space without body, they could not make 
 a question about its existence; and if their idea of body did not include in it 
 something more than the bare idea of space, they could have no doubt about the 
 plenitude of the world: and it would be as absurd to demand whether there were 
 space without body, as whether there were space without space, or body without 
 body, since these were but different names of the same idea. 
 
 25. Extension being inseparable from Body, proves it not the same.—It is 
 true, the idea of extension joins itself so inseparably with all visible, and most 
 tangible qualities, that it suffers us to see no one, or feel very few external objects, 
 without taking in impressions of extension too. This readiness of extension to 
 make itself be taken notice of so constantly with other ideas, has been the occa- 
 sion, I guess, that some have made the whole essence of body to consist in 
 extension; which is not much to be wondered at, since some have had their 
 minds, by their eyes and touch, (the busiest of all our senses,) so filled with the 
 idea of extension, and, as it were, wholly possessed with it, that they allowed no 
 existence to anything that had not extension. I shall not now argue with those 
 
174 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 men who take the measure and possibility of all being only from their narrow and 
 gross imaginations;' but having here to do only with those who conclude the 
 essence of body to be extension, because they say they cannot imagine any sen- 
 sible quality of any body without extension, I shall desire them to consider, that, 
 had they reflected on their ideas of tastes and smells as much as on those of 
 sight and touch, nay, had they examined their ideas of hunger and thirst, and 
 several other pains, they would have found that they included in them no idea of 
 extension at all, which is but an affection of body, as well as the rest, discoverable 
 by our senses, which are scarce acute enough to look into the pure essences of 
 things. 
 
 26. If those ideas which are constantly joined to all others, must therefore be 
 concluded to be the essence of those things which have constantly those ideas 
 joined to them, and are inseparable from them; then unity is without doubt the 
 essence of everything. For there is not any object of sensation or reflection which 
 does not carry with it the idea of one; but the weakness of this kind of argu- 
 ment we have already shown sufficiently. : 
 
 27. Ideas of Space and Solidity distinct.—To conclude: whatever men shall 
 think concerning the existence of a vacuum, this is plain to me, that we have as 
 clear an idea of space distinct from solidity, as we have of solidity distinct from 
 motion, or motion from space. We have not any two more distinct ideas, and 
 we can as easily conceive space without solidity, as we can conceive body or space 
 without motion, though it be ever so certain that neither body nor motion can 
 exist without space. But whether any one will take space to be only a relation 
 resulting from the existence of other beings at a distance, or whether they will 
 think the words of the most knowing King Solomon, “The heaven, and the 
 heaven of heavens, cannot contain thee,” or those more emphatical ones of the 
 inspired philosopher St. Paul, “In him we live, move, and have our being,” are 
 to be understood in a literal sense, I leave every one to consider : only our idea 
 of space is, I think, such as I have mentioned, and distinct from that of body. 
 For whether we consider in matter itself the distance of its coherent solid parts, 
 and call it, in respect of those solid parts, extension ; or whether, considering it as 
 lying between the extremities of any body in its several dimensions, we call it 
 length, breadth, and thickness; or else, considering it as lying between any two 
 bodies or positive beings, without any consideration whether there be any matter 
 or not between, we call it distance ; however named or considered, it is always 
 the same uniform simple idea of space, taken from objects about which our senses 
 have been conversant; whereof, having settled ideas in our minds, we can revive, 
 repeat, and add them one to another as often as we will, and consider the space 
 or distance so imagined, either as filled with solid parts, so that another body 
 cannot come there without displacing and thrusting out the body that was there 
 before; or else as void of solidity, so that a body of equal dimensions to that 
 empty or pure space may be placed in it, without the removing or expulsion of 
 anything that was there. But, to avoid confusion in discourses concerning this 
 matter, it were possibly to be wished that the name extension were applied only 
 to matter, or the distance of the extremities of particular bodies, and the term 
 expansion to space in general, with or without solid matter possessing it, so as to 
 say space is expanded and body extended. But in this every one has liberty; I 
 propose it only for the more clear and distinct way of speaking. 
 
 28. Men differ little in clear, simple Ideas.—The knowing precisely what our 
 words stand for, would, I imagine, in this as well as a great many other cases, 
 
 1 Protagoras, the greatest sophist of antiquity, TavTwy xonpaTrwy péroov avOowzov eivat, 
 maintained a doctrine which, if we compre- qui quidem liber in omnium tum erat manibus, 
 hend it rightly, would have subjected him to multumque legebatur.”” (Geel, Hist. Sophista 
 this reproach. ‘ Videntur hac uberrime in eo rum, ¢c. ii. § 3. Conf. Plat. Thelet, p. 118, d.) 
 
 Protagore libro fuisse tractata, ubi ponebat, 
 
CHAP. XIv.] OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. airs: 
 
 quickly end the dispute; for I am apt to think that men, when they come to 
 examine them, find their simple ideas all generally to agree, though in discourse 
 with one another they perhaps confound one another with different names. I 
 imagine that men who abstract their thoughts, and do well examine the ideas of 
 their own minds, cannot much differ in thinking, however they may perplex them- 
 selves with words, according to the way of speaking of the several schools or sects 
 they have been bred up in; though amongst unthinking men, who examine not 
 scrupulously and carefully their own ideas, and strip them not from the marks men 
 use for them, but confound them with words, there must be endless dispute,’ 
 wrangling, and jargon, especially if they be learned, bookish men, devoted to 
 some sect, and accustomed to the language of it, and have learned to talk after 
 others. But if it should happen that any two thinking men should really have 
 different ideas, I do not see how they could discourse or argue one with another. 
 Here I must not be mistaken, to think that every floating imagination in men’s 
 brains is presently of that sort of ideas I speak of. It is not easy for the mind to 
 put off those confused notions and prejudices it has imbibed from custom, inad- 
 vertency, and common conversation; it requires pains and assiduity to examine 
 its ideas, till it resolves them into those clear and distinct simple ones, out of 
 which they are compounded, and to see which, amongst its simple ones, have or 
 have not a necessary connexion and dependence one upon another. Till a man 
 doth this in the primary and original notion of things, he builds upon floating and 
 uncertain principles, and will often find himself at a loss. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. 
 
 1. Duration is fleeting Extension THERE is another sort of distance, or 
 length, the idea whereof we get not from the permanent parts of space, but from 
 the fleeting and perpetually perishing parts of succession: this we call duration, 
 the simple modes whereof are any different lengths of it, whereof we have distinct 
 ideas, as hours, days, years, &c., time and eternity. 
 
 2. Its Idea from Reflection on the Train of our Ideas.—The answer of a 
 great man, to one who asked what time was: “ Si non rogas intelligo,” (which 
 amounts to this: “ The more I set myself to think of it, the less I understand 
 it,”) might perhaps persuade one that time, which reveals all things, is itself not to 
 
 1 Though by no means one of those who con- 
 ceive all wisdom to be contained in books, I 
 still think there is a degree of vulgarity in the 
 - satire implied in this expression, which I could 
 have wished not to find in Locke. Hobbes 
 sought to bring into fashion the pedantry of 
 despising books, or rather, of affecting to de- 
 spise them; and here we find traces of it in his 
 great successor and most diligent student. The 
 phantasy passed the channel, and was fostered 
 by Buffon, who connected it with a degree of 
 self-conceit and vanity, of which Locke, at least, 
 was incapable. “ The thing,” says Hérault de 
 Sechelles, ‘‘ which Buffon, above all things re- 
 commended to me, was the assiduous study of 
 writers of great genius, few of whom, in his 
 opinion, exist. ‘ There are scarcely more,’ he 
 observed, ‘ than five: Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, 
 
 Montesquieu, and myself.” (Voyage 4 Montbar, 
 p. 54.) He had a right to rank himself among 
 great writers, but not to determine respecting the 
 claims of others: for, to judge of an author’s me- 
 rits, it is necessary to read him—and his reading 
 was circumscribed. The advice, however, which on 
 another occasion he gave to the ambitious young 
 man who narrates those anecdotes, was full of 
 wisdom: ‘‘ Je demandai ensuite 4 M. de Buffon, 
 quelle serait la meilleure maniére de se former ? 
 Il me repondit, qu’il ne fallait lire que les ou- 
 yrages principaux; mais les lire dans tous les 
 genres et dans toutes les sciences, parcequ’elles 
 sont parentes, comme dit Ciceron, parceque les 
 yues de lune peuvent s’appliquer a l’autre, 
 quoiqu’on ne soit pas destiné a les exercer 
 toutes.”’ (Voyage a Montbar, p. 52.) 
 
176 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [Boox II. 
 
 be discovered.'! Duration, time, and eternity, are, not without reason, thought to 
 have something very abstruse in their nature. But however remote these may 
 seem from our comprehension, yet if we trace them right to their originals, 
 I doubt not but one of those sources of all our knowledge, viz. sensation and 
 reflection, will be able to furnish us with these ideas, as clear and distinct as 
 many others which are thought much less obscure; and we shall find that the idea 
 of eternity itself is derived from the same common original with the rest of our ideas. 
 
 3. To understand time and eternity aright, we ought with attention to consider 
 what idea it is we have of duration, and how we came by it. It is evident to 
 any one, who will but observe what passes in his own mind, that there is a train 
 of ideas which constantly succeed one another in his understanding, as long as 
 he is awake. Reflection on these appearances of several ideas, one after another, 
 in our minds, is that which furnishes us with the idea of succession; and the dis- 
 tance between any parts of that suceession, or between the appearance of any two 
 ideas in our minds, is that we call duration ; for whilst we are thinking, or whilst 
 we receive successively several ideas in our minds, we know that we do exist, 
 and so we call the existence, or the continuation of the existence of ourselves, or 
 anything else, commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the 
 duration of ourselves, or any such other thing co-existent with our thinking. 
 
 4. That we have onr notion of succession and duration from this original, viz., 
 from reflection on the train of ideas which we find to appear one after another in - 
 our own minds, seems plain to me, in that we have no perception of duration, but 
 by considering the train of ideas that take their turns in our understandings. 
 When that succession of ideas ceases, our perception of duration ceases with it ; 
 which every one clearly experiments in himself, whilst he sleeps soundly, whether 
 an hour or a day, a month or a year; of which duration of things, while he 
 sleeps or thinks not, he has no perception at all, but it is quite lost to him; and 
 the moment wherein he leaves off to think, till the moment he begins to think 
 again, seems to him to have no distance. And so I doubt not it would be to a 
 waking man, if it were possible for him to keep only one idea in his mind, without 
 variation and the succession of others: and we see, that one who fixes his 
 thoughts very intently on one thing, so as to take but little notice of the suc- 
 cession of ideas that pass in his mind, whilst he is taken up with that earnest con- 
 templation, lets slip out of his account a good part of that duration, and thinks that 
 time shorter than it is. But if sleep commonly unites the distant parts of duration, 
 it is because during that time we have no succession of ideas in our minds; for if 
 a man, during his sleep, dreams, and variety of ideas make themselves _per- 
 ceptible in his mimd one after another, he hath then, during such dreaming, a 
 sense of duration, and of the length of it; by which it is to me very clear, that 
 men derive their ideas of duration from their reflections on the train of the ideas 
 they observe to succeed one another in their own understandings, without 
 which observation they can have no notion of duration, whatever may happen 
 in the world.’ 
 
 2 See a former note, and compare it with the occupied by incident. It is the same to eter- 
 
 following passage from Hobbes: ‘‘ Tota ergo de- 
 finitio temporis talis est, tempus est phantasma 
 motus, quatenus in motu .tmaginamur prius et 
 posterius, sive successtonem ; que convenit cum 
 definitione Aristotelica; tempus est numerus 
 motus secundum prius et postertus. Est enim 
 ea numeratio actus animi, ideoque idem est 
 dicere, tempus est numerus motus secundum 
 prius et postcrius, et tempus est phantasma motus 
 numerati, illud autem tempus est mensura motus 
 non ita recté dicitur, nam tempus per motum, 
 non autem motum per tempus, mensuramus.” 
 (lem. Phil. part IT. ¢. vii. § 3.) 
 
 2 Mr. James remarks on this subject: ‘‘’There 
 is no such a thing as time. It is but space 
 
 nity as matter is to infinite space—a _por- 
 tion of the immense occupied by something 
 within the sphere of mortal sense. We ought 
 not to calculate our age by the passing years, 
 but by the passing of feelings and events. It is 
 what we have done and what we have suffered 
 makes us old.”” Except the confusion of space 
 with duration, which, of course, was not an over- 
 sight, the whole of this passage is exceedingly 
 fine and striking, and for the ideas, is not un- 
 worthy to be compared with the following, which, 
 however, may have suggested it: 
 
 ‘‘ Think’st thou existence doth depend on time? 
 It doth; but actions are our epochs. Mine 
 
CHAP. XIV. |] OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. 177 
 
 5. The Idea of Duration applicable to Things whilst we sleep.—Indeed, a 
 man having, from reflecting on the succession and number of his own thoughts, 
 got the notion or idea of duration, he can apply that notion to things which exist 
 while he does not think; as he that has got the idea of extension from bodies by 
 his sight or touch, can apply it to distances, where no body is seen or felt; and 
 therefore, though a man has no perception of the length of duration which passed 
 whilst he slept or thought not, yet having observed the revolution of days and 
 nights, and found the length of their duration to be in appearance regular and 
 constant, he can, upon the supposition that that revolution has proceeded after the 
 same manner whilst he was asleep, or thought not, as it used to do at other times ; 
 he can, I say, imagine and make allowance for the length of duration whilst he 
 slept. But if Adam and Eve, (when they were alone in the world,) instead of 
 their ordinary night’s sleep, had passed the whole twenty-four hours in one con- 
 tinued sleep, the duration of that twenty-four hours had been irrecoverably lost to 
 them, and been for ever left out of their account of time.! 
 
 6. The Idea of Succession not from Motion.—Thus by reflecting on the appearing 
 of various ideas one after another in our understandings, we get the notion of suc- 
 cession; which, if any one would think we did rather get from our observation of 
 motion by our senses, he will perhaps be of my mind, when he considers that 
 even motion produces in his mind an idea of succession, no otherwise than as it 
 produces there a continued train of distinguishable ideas; for a man looking upon 
 a body really moving, perceives yet no motion at all, unless that motion produces 
 a constant train of successive ideas: v. g. a man becalmed at sea, out of sight of 
 land in a fair day, may look on the sun, or sea, or ship, a whole hour together, 
 and perceive no motion at all in either, though it be certain that two, and perhaps 
 all of them, have moved during that time a great way. But as soon as he per- 
 ceives either of them to have changed distance with some other body, as soon as 
 this motion produces any new idea in him, then he perceives that there has been 
 motion. But wherever a man is, with all things at rest about him, without per- 
 ceiving any motion at all; if during this hour of quiet he has been thinking, he 
 will perceive the various ideas of his own thoughts in his own mind, appearing 
 one after another, and thereby observe and find succession where he could observe 
 no motion. 
 
 7. And this, I think, is the reason why motions very slow, though they are 
 constant, are not perceived by us, because in their remove from one sensible part 
 towards another, their change of distance is so slow, that it causes no new ideas in 
 us, but a good while one after another; and so not causing a constant trai of new 
 ideas to follow one another immediately in our minds, we have no perception of 
 motion, which, consisting in a constant succession, we cannot perceive that suc- 
 cession without a constant succession of varying ideas arising from it. 
 
 Have made my days and nights imperishable, 
 
 Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, 
 
 Innumerable atoms; and the desert, 
 
 Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break. 
 
 But nothing rests, save carcases and wrecks, 
 
 Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.” 
 MANFRED. 
 
 ' Upon this idea, joined with Milton’s descrip- 
 tion, Buffon has based his account of the feelings 
 of Adam, when about to be invaded by his first 
 steep :—‘‘ Une langueur agréable s’emparant peu 
 a peu de tous mes sens, appésentit mes membres 
 et suspendit Vactivité de mon ame; je jugeai de 
 son inaction par la mollesse de mes pensées, mes 
 sensations arrondissoient tous les objets et ne 
 me presentoient que des images foibles et mal 
 terminées; dans cet instant mes yeux devenus 
 inutiles se fermérent, et ma téte n’étant plus sou- 
 tenue par la force des muscles, pencha, pour trou- 
 
 ver un appuisur le gazon. Tout fut effacé, tout 
 disparut; la trace de mes pensées fut inter- 
 rompue; je perdis le sentiment de mon existence: 
 ce sommeil fut profond, mais je ne sais s’il fut 
 de longue durée, n’ayant point encore Vidée du 
 temps, et ne pouvant le mesurer; mon reveil ne 
 fut qu’une seconde naissance et je sentis seule- 
 ment que j’avois cessé d’étre. Cet anéantissement 
 que je venois d’éprouver, me donna quelque idée 
 de crainte, et me fit sentir que je ne devois pas 
 exister toujours.” Milton’s ideas are more 
 briefly and majestically expressed : 
 
 ‘‘ On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, 
 Pensive I sate me down; there gentle sleep 
 First found me, and with soft oppression seized 
 My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought 
 I then was passing to my former state, 
 Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve.” 
 
 PARADISE Lost, viii. 256. 
 
178 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, [Book I. 
 
 8. On the contrary, things that move so swift, as not to affect the senses dis- 
 tinctly with several distinguishable distances of their motion, and so cause not 
 any train of ideas in the mind, are not also perceived to move; for anything that 
 moves round about in a circle, in less time than our ideas are wont to succeed one 
 another in our minds, is not perceived to move; but seems to be a perfect entire 
 circle of that matter or colour, and not a part of a circle in motion. 
 
 9. The Train of Ideas has a certain Degree of Quickness.— Hence I leave it 
 to others to judge, whether it be not probable that our ideas do, whilst we are awake, 
 succeed one another in our minds at certain distances, not much unlike the images 
 in the inside of a lantern, turned round by the heat of a candle.’ This appear- 
 ance of theirs in train, though perhaps it may be sometimes faster and sometimes 
 slower, yet, I guess,’ varies not very much in a waking man: there seem to be 
 certain bounds to the quickness and slowness of the succession of those ideas one 
 to another, in our minds, beyond which they can neither delay nor hasten. 
 
 10. The reason I have for this odd conjecture, is from observing, that in the 
 impressions made upon any of our senses, we can but to a certain degree perceive 
 any succession; which, if exceeding quick, the sense of succession is lost, even in 
 cases where it is evident that there is a real succession. Let a cannon-bullet pass 
 through a room, and in its way take with it any limb, or fleshy parts of a man, it 
 is as clear as any demonstration can be, that it must strike successively the two 
 sides of the room. It is also evident, that it must touch one part of the flesh first, 
 and another after, and so in succession: and yet, I believe, nobody who ever felt 
 the pain of such a shot, or heard the blow against the two distant walls, could 
 perceive any succession either in the pain or sound of so swift a stroke. Such a 
 part of duration as this, wherein we perceive no succession, is that which we call 
 an instant, and is that which takes up the time of only one idea in our minds, 
 without the succession of another, wherein, therefore, we perceive no succession 
 at all. 
 
 11. This also happens where the motion is so slow as not to supply a constant 
 train of fresh ideas to the senses, as fast as the mind is capable of receiving new 
 ones into it; and so other ideas of our own thoughts, having room to come into 
 our minds, between those offered to our senses ~by the moving body, there the 
 sense of motion is lost; and the body, though it really moves, yet not changing 
 perceivable distance with some other bodies, as fast as the ideas of our own minds 
 do naturally follow one another in train, the thing seems to stand still, as is 
 evident in the hands of clocks and shadows of sun-dials, and other constant but 
 slow motions, where, though after certain intervals, we perceive by the change of 
 distance that it hath moved, yet the motion itself we perceive not. 
 
 12. This Train, the Measure of other Successions.—So that to me it seems, 
 that the constant and regular succession of ideas in a waking man, is, as it were, the 
 measure and standard of all other successions :* whereof, if any one either exceeds 
 the pace of our ideas, as where two sounds or pains, &e. take up in their suc- 
 
 1 Locke, who was a great reader of voyages | 
 
 and travels, alludes, no doubt, to the following 
 passage of Navarrette, which occurs in a collection 
 edited by himself:—‘‘ Their lanterns are no- 
 thing like ours in Europe; they are very large, 
 of a thousand several shapes and curious figures. 
 Some are made of the glass they have there, with 
 delicate, fine workmanship about them. There 
 are some of two, three, and four hundred ducats 
 apiece. Many are made of thin silk, painted 
 with a variety of colours, and figures of men, 
 women, birds, flowers, and other things; besides 
 men a-horse-back continually riding round 
 within them. In others there are cocks fighting, 
 with all their motions very natural; in others, 
 fishermen and gardeners; and in others, soldiers 
 giving battle; all so lively, that it is surprising. 
 
 Many are made of paper of several colours, and 
 curiously cut; some in the shape of roses and 
 other flowers; some of fishes, continually gaping 
 and beating with their fins and tails; some with 
 many puppets: in short, there is a wonderful 
 multiplicity and variety.” (Churchill’s Collec- 
 tion, Vol. I. p. 45.) 
 
 2 This Americanism, as it is now commonly 
 thought, has already occurred in chapter xiii. 
 §25. Like most of the phrases reckoned as trans- 
 atlantic neologisms, it is a good old English 
 phrase, as proper for the use of a philosopher as 
 ‘I conjecture, 1 imagine, I presume,” which 
 now, in polished language, usually replace it. 
 
 3 That is, man is the measure and standard of 
 everything to himself. Did Protagoras think 
 anything else ? 
 
CHAP. XIv.] OF DURATION, AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. 179 
 
 cession the duration of but one idea, or else where any motion or succession is so 
 slow, as that it keeps not pace with the ideas in our minds, or the quickness in 
 which they take their turns; as when any one or more ideas in their ordinary 
 course come into our mind, between those which are offered to the sight by the 
 different perceptible distances of a body in motion, or between sounds or smells 
 following one another, there also the sense of a constant continued succession is 
 lost, and we perceive it not, but with certain gaps of rest between. 
 
 13. The Wind cannot fix long on one invariable Idea.—If it be so, that the 
 ideas of our minds, whilst we have any there, do constantly change and shift in a 
 continual succession, it would be impossible, may any one say, for a man to think 
 long of any one thing. By which, if it be meant that a man may have one self- 
 same single idea a long time alone in his mind, without any variation at all, I 
 think, in matter of fact, it is not possible; for which (not knowing how the ideas 
 of our minds are framed, of what materials they are made, whence they have 
 their light, and how they come to make their appearances) I can give no other 
 reason but experience: and I would have any one try whether he can keep one 
 unvaried single idea in his mind, without any other, for any considerable time 
 together. 
 
 14. For trial, let him take any figure, any degree of light or whiteness, 
 or what other he pleases, and he will, I suppose, find it difficult to keep all other 
 ideas out of his mind; but that some, either of another kind, or various consi- 
 derations of that idea, (each of which considerations is a new idea,) will constantly 
 succeed one another in his thoughts, let him be as wary as he can. 
 
 15. All that is in a man’s power in this case, I think, is only to mind and 
 observe what the ideas are that take their turns in his understanding; or else to 
 direct the sort,' and call in such as he hath a desire or use of; but hinder the 
 constant succession of fresh ones, I think he cannot, though he may commonly 
 choose whether he will heedfully observe and consider them. 
 
 16. Ideas, however made, include no Sense of Motion.—Whether these several 
 ideas in a man’s mind be made by certain motions, I will not here dispute; but 
 this I am sure, that they include no idea of motion in their appearance; and if a 
 man had not the idea of motion otherwise, I think he would have none at all; 
 which is enough to my present purpose, and sufficiently shows, that the notice we 
 take of the ideas of our own minds, appearing there one after another, is that 
 which gives us the idea of succession and duration, without which we should 
 have no such ideas at all. It is not, then, motion, but the constant train of ideas 
 in our minds whilst we are waking, that furnishes us with the idea of duration ; 
 whereof motion no otherwise gives us any perception, than as it causes In our 
 minds a constant succession of ideas, as I have before showed: and we have as 
 clear an idea of succession and duration, by the train of other ideas succeeding 
 one another in our minds, without the idea of any motion, as by the train of 
 ideas caused by the uninterrupted sensible change of distance between two bodies, 
 which we have from motion; and therefore we should as well have the idea of: 
 duration, were there no sense of motion at all. 
 
 17. Time is Duration set out by Measures.—Having thus got the idea of 
 duration, the next thing natural for the mind to do, is to get some measure of this 
 common duration, whereby it might judge of its different lengths, and consider 
 the distinct order wherein several things exist, without which a great part of our 
 knowledge would be confused, and a great part of history be rendered very 
 useless. This consideration of duration, as set out by certain periods, and marked 
 by certain measures or epochs, is that, I think, which most properly we call time. 
 
 18. A good Measure of Time must divide its whole Duration into equal 
 Periods.—In the measuring of extension, there is nothing more required but the 
 
 1 So in study, one method may store the mind | ference in the value of those ideas may be in- 
 with as many ideas as another, though the dif- | finite. 
 
180 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK 1. 
 
 application of the standard or measure we make use of to the thing of whose 
 extension we would be informed. But in the measuring of duration this cannot 
 be done, because no two different parts of succession can be put together to mea- 
 sure one another;.and nothing being a measure of duration but duration, as 
 nothing is of extension but extension, we cannot keep by us any standing, 
 unvarying measure of duration, which consists in a constant fleeting succession, 
 as we can of certain lengths of extension, as inches, feet, yards, &c. marked out 
 in permanent parcels of matter. Nothing, then, could serve well for a convenient 
 measure of time, but what has divided the whole length of its duration into appa- 
 rently equal portions, by constantly repeated periods. What portions of duration 
 are not distinguished, or considered as distinguished and measured by such 
 periods, come not so properly under the notion of time, as appears by such 
 phrases as these, viz. Before all time, and When time shall be no more.* 
 
 19. The Revolutions of the Sun and Moon, the properest Measures of Time.— 
 The diurnal or annual revolutions of the sun, as having been, from the begin- 
 ning of nature, constant, regular, and universally observable by all mankind, and 
 supposed equal to one another, have been with reason made use of for the mea- 
 sure of duration. But the distinction of days and years having depended on the 
 motion of the sun, it has brought this mistake with it, that it has been thought 
 that motion and duration were the measure one of another; for men, in the 
 measuring of the length of time, having been accustomed to the ideas of minutes, 
 hours, days, months, years, &c., which they found themselves upon any mention 
 of time or duration presently to think on, all which portions of time were mea- 
 sured out by the motion of those heavenly bodies: they were apt to confound 
 time and motion, or at least to think that they had a necessary connexion one 
 with another; whereas any constant periodical appearance, or alteration of ideas 
 in seemingly equidistant spaces of duration, if constant and universally observable, 
 would have as well distinguished the intervals of time, as those that have been 
 made use of. For, supposing the sun, which some have taken to bea fire, had 
 been lighted up at the same distance of time that it now every day comes about 
 to the same meridian, and then gone out again about twelve hours after, and that 
 in the space of an annual revolution it had sensibly increased in brightness and 
 heat, and so decreased again: would not such regular appearances serve to mea- 
 sure out the distances of duration to all that could observe it, as well without as 
 with motion? For if the appearances were constant, universally observable, and 
 in equidistant periods, they would serve mankind for measure of time as well 
 were the motion away. 
 
 20. But not by their Motion, but periodical Appearances.—For the freezing 
 of water, or the blowing of a plant, returning at equidistant periods in all 
 parts of the earth, would as well serve men to reckon their years by, as the 
 motions of the sun; and in effect we see, that some people in America counted 
 their years by the coming of certain birds amongst them at their certain seasons, 
 and leaving them at others.* For a fit of an ague, the sense of hunger or 
 
 1 This distinction is clearly made by Velleius, 
 one of the interlocutors in Cicero’s work on the 
 Nature of the Gods. ‘‘ Non enim,” he says, “ si 
 mundus nullus erat, secula non erant. Secula 
 nunc dico non ea que dierum noctiumque numero 
 et annuis cursibus conficiuntur: nam fateor ea 
 sine mundi conversione effici non potuisse. Sed 
 fuit quadem ab infinito tempore eternitas, quam 
 nulla temporum circumscriptio metiebatur: spa- 
 tio tamen, qualis ea fuerit, intelligi non potest; 
 quod ne in cogitationem quidem cadit, ut fuerit 
 tempus aliquod, nullum quum tempus esset.”’ 
 (De Natura Deorum. I. c. 9.) 
 
 2 To what particular author’s account of the 
 Indians Locke here alludes is uncertain; but in 
 
 the following passage, this trait of Indian man- 
 ners is noticed:—‘‘ The further account these 
 women gave of the Indians, was, that they 
 pointed to the south-east with their hands, which 
 they knew not how to interpret; but did ima- 
 gine, by their several gestures, they would be 
 with them again to-morrow. Their pointing to 
 the south-east was like to be the time they 
 would come, meaning nine to be their hour, 
 where the sun will be at that time. Had 
 the women understood their language, they 
 would not. have learned the time of the day by 
 any other computation than pointing at the sun. 
 It is all the clock they have for their day, as the 
 coming and going of the Cahunks (the geese) is 
 
CHAP. XIV.] OF DURATION, AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. 181 
 
 thirst, a smell or a taste, or any other idea returning constantly at equidis- 
 tant periods, and making itself universally be taken notice of, would not fail 
 to measure out the course of succession, and distinguish the distances of time. 
 Thus we see that men born blind count time well enough by years, whose 
 revolutions yet they cannot distinguish by motions that they perceive not: 
 and I ask whether a blind man, who distinguished his years either by the 
 heat of summer or cold of winter, by the smell of any flower of the spring, 
 or taste of any fruit of the autumn, would not have a better measure of time 
 than the Romans had before the reformation of their calendar by Julius 
 Cesar, or many other people, whose years, notwithstanding the motion of the 
 sun, which they pretended to make use of, are very irregular? And it adds 
 no small difficulty to chronology, that the exact lengths of the years that 
 several nations counted by, are hard to be known, they differing very much 
 one from another, and I think I may say all of them from the precise motion 
 of the sun. And if the sun moved from the creation to the flood constantly 
 in the equator, and so equally dispersed its light and heat to all the habitable 
 parts of the earth, in days all of the same length, without its annual varia- 
 tions to the tropics, as a late ingenious author supposes,' I do not think it 
 very easy to imagine, that (notwithstanding the motion of the sun) men should 
 in the antediluvian world from the beginning count by years, or measure their 
 time by periods that had no sensible marks very obvious to distinguish them 
 by.’ 
 21. No two Parts of Duration can be certainly known to be equal.—But 
 perhaps it will be said, without a regular motion, such as of the sun, or some 
 other, how could it ever be known that such periods were equal? To which 
 I answer, the equality of any other returning appearances might be known by 
 the same way that that of days was known, or presumed to be so at first; 
 which was only by judging of them by the train of ideas which had passed 
 in men’s minds in the intervals: by which train of ideas discovering inequality 
 in the natural days, but none in the artificial days, the artificial days, or 
 vuxOipeoa were guessed to be equal, which was sufficient to make them serve 
 for a measure; though exacter search has since discovered inequality in the 
 diurnal revolutions of the sun, and we know not whether the annual also be 
 not unequal. These yet, by their presumed and apparent equality, serve as 
 well to reckon time by (though not to measure the parts of duration exactly) 
 as if they could be proved to be exactly equal. We must, therefore, care- 
 fully distinguish betwixt duration itself, and the measures we make use of to 
 judge of its length. Duration, in itself, is to be considered as going on in 
 one constant, equal, uniform course; but none of the measures of it which 
 we make use of can be known to do so; nor can we be assured that their 
 assigned parts or periods are equal in duration one to another; for two suc- 
 cessive lengths of duration, however measured, can never be demonstrated to 
 be equal. The motion of the sun, which the world used so long and so 
 confidently for an exact measure of duration, has, as I said, been found in its 
 several parts unequal: and though men have, of late, made use of a pen- 
 dulum, as a more steady and regular motion than that of the sun, or, (to 
 speak more truly,) of the earth; yet ifany one should be asked how he certainly 
 
 their almanack or prognostic for the winter and 
 summer seasons.”’ (Norwood’s Voyage to Vir- 
 ginia.) 
 
 1 Dr. Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth. 
 
 2 On the various measures of time, principally 
 among the ancients, see the very curious treatise 
 of Lilius Gyraldus, ‘‘ De Annis et Mensibus,” 
 Oper. II. 741 et seq. On the Egyptian year, see 
 Marsham’s Canon. Chronicus, p. 244 et seq.; on 
 
 the Attic year, p. 657 et seq.; Hebrew year, p. 
 189 et seq.; Common Greek year, p. 658 et seq. ; 
 Roman, p. 8. On the Mexican and Peruvian 
 year, see Gemelli Carreri’s Voyage round the 
 World, Book IV. chap. v. On the Chinese 
 year, see Viagi Del Carletti, p. 260. On the 
 Lunar and Solar years, see Sir William Mon- 
 son’s Naval Tracts, Book IIT. 
 
182 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 knows that the two successive swings of a pendulum are equal, it would be very 
 hard to satisfy him that they are infallibly so; since we cannot be sure that the 
 cause of that motion, which is unknown to us, shall always operate equally ; and 
 we are sure that the medium in which the pendulum moves is not constantly the 
 same: either of which varying, may alter the equality of such periods, and 
 thereby destroy the certainty and exactness of the measure by motion, as well as 
 any other periods of other appearances; the notion of duration still remaining 
 clear, though our measures of it cannot any of them be demonstrated to be exact. 
 Since, then, no two portions of succession can be brought together, it is impossible 
 ever certainly to know their equality. All that we can do for a measure of time, 
 is to take such as have continual successive appearances at seemingly equidistant 
 periods ; of which seeming equality we have no other measure, but such as the 
 train of our own ideas have lodged in our memories, with the concurrence of 
 other probable reasons, to persuade us of their equality. 
 
 22. Time not the Measure of Motion.—-One thing seems strange to me, that 
 whilst all men manifestly measured time by the motion of the great and visible 
 bodies of the world, time yet should be defined to be the “ measure of motion ;” 
 whereas it is obvious to every one who reflects ever so little on it, that to measure 
 motion, space is as necessary to be considered as time: and those who look a 
 little farther, will find also the bulk of the thing moved necessary to be taken 
 into the computation, by any one who will estimate or measure motion, so as to 
 judge right of it. Nor indeed does motion any otherwise conduce to the mea- 
 suring of duration, than as it constantly brings about the return of certain sensible 
 ideas, In seeming equidistant periods. For if the motion of the sun were as 
 unequal as of a ship driven by unsteady winds, sometimes very slow, and at 
 others irregularly very swift;' or if, being constantly equally swift, it yet was 
 not circular, and produced not the same appearances, it would not at all help us 
 to measure time, any more than the seeming unequal motion of a comet does. 
 
 23. Minutes, Hours, Days, and Years, not necessary Measures of Duration. 
 — Minutes, hours, days, and years are, then, no more necessary to time or dura- 
 tion, than inches, feet, yards, and miles, marked out in any matter, are to exten- 
 sion. For though we in this part of the universe, by the constant use of them, 
 as of periods set out by the revolutions of the sun, or as known parts of such 
 periods, have fixed the ideas of such lengths of duration in our minds, which we 
 apply to all parts of time whose lengths we would consider; yet there may be 
 other parts of the universe, where they no more use these measures of ours, than 
 in Japan they do our inches, feet, or miles; but yet something analogous to them 
 there must be; for without some regular periodical returns, we could not measure 
 ourselves, or signify to others the length of any duration, though at the same 
 time the world were as full of motion as it is now, but no part of it disposed into 
 regular and apparently equidistant revolutions. But the different measures that 
 may be made use of for the account of time, do not at all alter the notion of dura- 
 tion, which is the thing to be measured, no more than the different standards of a 
 foot and a cubit alter the notion of extension to those who make use of those dif- 
 ferent measures. 
 
 24, Our Measure of Time applicable to Duration before Time.—The mind 
 having once got such a measure of time as the annual revolution of the sun, can 
 apply that measure to duration, wherein that measure itself did not exist, and 
 with which, in the reality of its being, it had nothing to do; for, should one say, 
 that Abraham was born in the two thousand seven hundred and twelfth year of 
 
 1 And so it appeared to the Father of History, overflows in the summer season, because, in the 
 who brought the wind to bear upon the sun, and | winter, the sun, driven by the storms from his 
 blew him into the upper regions of the air like a | usual course, ascends into the higher regions of 
 balloon, in order to account for the overflowing | the air above Lybia.” IT. § 24. 
 of the Nile “It is my opinion that the Nile 
 
CHAP. XIV. | OF DURATION, AND ITS SIMPLE MODES. 183 
 
 the Julian period, it is altogether as intelligible as reckoning from the beginning 
 of the world, though there were so far back no motion of the sun, nor any motion 
 at all. For though the Julian period be supposed to begin several hundred years 
 before there were really either days, nights, or years, marked out by any revolu- 
 tions of the sun; yet we reckon as right, and thereby measure durations as well, 
 as if really at that time the sun had existed, and kept the same ordinary motion 
 it doth now. The idea of duration equal to an annual revolution of the sun, 
 is as easily applicable in our thoughts to duration, where no sun or motion 
 was, as the idea of a foot or yard, taken from bodies here, can be applied 
 in our thoughts to distances beyond the confines of the world, where are no 
 bodies at all. 
 
 25. For supposing it were five thousand six hundred and thirty-nine miles, or 
 millions of miles, from this place to the remotest body of the universe, (for, being 
 finite, it must be at a certain distance,) as we suppose it to be five thousand six 
 hundred and thirty-nine years from this time to the first existence of any body in 
 the beginning of the world; we can, in our thoughts, apply this measure of a year 
 to duration before the creation, or beyond the duration of bodies or motion, as 
 we can this measure of a mile to space beyond the utmost bodies; and by the one 
 measure duration, where there was no motion, as well as by the other measure 
 space in our thoughts, where there is no body. 
 
 26. If it be objected to me here, that, in this way of explaining of time, I have 
 begged what I should not, viz. that the world is neither eternal nor infinite, I 
 answer, that to my present purpose it is not needful, in this place, to make use of 
 arguments to evince the world to be finite both in duration and extension; but it 
 being at least as conceivable as the contrary, I have certainly the liberty to sup- 
 pose it, as well as any one hath to suppose the contrary: and I doubt not, but 
 that every one that will go about it may easily conceive in his mind the begin- 
 ning of motion, though not of all duration, and so may come to a stop and non 
 ultra in his consideration of motion. So also, in his thoughts, he may set limits 
 to body, and the extension belonging to it, but not to space, where no body is; 
 the utmost bounds of space and duration being beyond the reach of thought, as 
 well as the utmost bounds of number are beyond the largest comprehension of the 
 mind; and all for the same reason, as we shall see in another place. 
 
 27. Eternity.— By the same means, therefore, and from the same original that 
 we come to have the idea of time, we have also that idea which we call eternity ; 
 viz. having got the idea of succession and duration, by reflecting on the train of 
 our own ideas, caused in us either by the natural appearances of those ideas 
 coming constantly of themselves into our waking thoughts, or else caused by 
 external objects successively affecting our senses; and having from the revolu- 
 tions of the sun got the ideas of certain lengths of duration, we can in our 
 thoughts add such lengths of duration to one another as often as we please, and 
 apply them, so added, to durations past or to come: and this we can continue 
 to do on, without bounds or limits, and proceed in infinitum, and apply thus the 
 length of the annual motion of the sun to duration, supposed before the sun’s or 
 any other motion had its being; which is no more difficult or absurd, than to 
 apply the notion I have of the moving of a shadow one hour to-day upon 
 the sun-dial to the duration of something last night, v.g. the burning of 
 a candle, which is now absolutely separate from all actual motion: and it is 
 as impossible for the duration of that flame for an hour last night to co-ex- 
 ist with any motion that now is, or for ever shall be, as for any part of dura- 
 tion, that was before the beginning of the world, to co-exist with the motion of the 
 sun now. But yet this hinders not, but that having the idea of the length of the 
 motion of the shadow on a dial between the marks of two hours, I can as dis- 
 tinctly measure in my thoughts the duration of that candle-light last night, as I 
 can the duration of anything that does now exist: and it is no more than to think, 
 that, had the sun shone then on the dial, and moved after the same rate it doth 
 
184 . OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BocK Il. 
 
 now, the shadow on the dial would have passed from one hour-line to another 
 whilst that flame of the candle lasted. 
 
 28. The notion of an hour, day, or year, being only the idea I have of the 
 length of certain periodical regular motions, neither of which motions do ever all 
 at once exist, but only in the ideas I have of them in my memory derived from 
 my senses or reflection; I can with the same ease, and for the same reason, 
 apply it in my thoughts to duration antecedent to all manner of motion, as well 
 as to anything that is but a minute or a day antecedent to the motion, that at this 
 very moment the sun is in. All things past are equally and perfectly at rest; 
 and to this way of consideration of them are all one, whether they were before the 
 beginning of the world, or but yesterday:' the measuring of any duration by 
 some motion depending not at all on the real co-existence of that thing to that 
 motion, or any other periods of revolution, but the having a clear idea of the 
 length of some periodical known motion, or other intervals of duration in my 
 mind, and applying that to the duration of the thing I would measure. 
 
 29. Hence we see, that some men imagine the duration of the world, from its 
 first existence to this present year 1689, to have been five thousand six hundred 
 and thirty-nine years, or equal to five thousand six hundred and thirty-nine 
 annual revolutions of the sun, and others a great deal more; as the Egyp- 
 tians of old, who m the time of Alexander counted twenty-three thousand 
 years from the reign of the sun; and the Chinese now, who account the 
 world three millions two hundred and sixty-nine thousand years old, or more; 
 which longer duration of the world, according to their computation, though I 
 should not believe to be true, yet I can equally imagine it with them, and as 
 truly understand, and say one is longer than the other, as I understand, that 
 Methusalem’s life was longer than Enoch’s. And if the common reckoning of 
 five thousand six hundred and thirty-nine should be true, (as it may be as well as 
 any other assigned,) it hinders not at all my imagining what others mean when 
 they make the world one thousand years older, since every one may with the 
 same facility imagine (I do not say believe) the world to be fifty thousand years 
 old, as five thousand six hundred and thirty-nine; and may as well conceive the 
 duration of fifty thousand years as five thousand six hundred and thirty-nine. 
 Whereby it appears, that, to the measuring the duration of anything by time, it is 
 not requisite that that thing should be co-existent to the motion we measure by, 
 or any other periodical revolution ; but it suffices to this purpose, that we have 
 the idea of the length of any regular periodical appearances, which we can in our 
 minds apply to duration, with which the motion or appearance never co-existed. 
 
 30. For, as in the history of the creation delivered by Moses, I can imagine 
 that light existed three days before the sun was, or had any motion, barely by 
 thinking that the duration of light before the sun was created was so long as (if 
 the sun had moved then as it doth now) would have been equal to three of his 
 diurnal revolutions; so by the same way I can have an idea of the chaos or angels 
 being created. before there was either light or any continued motion, a minute, an 
 hour, a day, a year, or one thousand years. For if I can but consider duration 
 equal to one minute before either the being or motion of any body, I can add one 
 minute more till I come to sixty; and by the same way of adding minutes, hours, 
 or years (i. e. such or such parts of the sun’s revolutions, or any other period 
 whereof I have the idea) proceed in infinitum, and suppose a duration exceeding 
 as many such periods as I can reckon, let me add whilst I will; which I think is 
 the notion we have of eternity, of whose infinity we have no other notion than we 
 have of the infinity of number, to which we can add for ever without end. 
 
 1 Young, in his Night Thoughts, has expressed | I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
 a similar idea;— It is the knell of my departed hours. 
 “‘ The bell strikes one. We take no note of time Where are they?—Wiuth the years beyond the 
 But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue Jlood.”” 
 Is wise inman As if an angel spoke, 
 
CHAP. XV.] DURATION AND EXPANSION CONSIDERED. 185 
 
 31. And thus I think it is plain, that from those two fountains of all knowledge 
 before mentioned, viz. reflection and sensation, we get ideas of duration, and the 
 measures of it. 
 
 For, First, by observing what passes in our minds, how our ideas there in train 
 constantly some vanish and others begin to appear, we come by the idea of suc- 
 cession. 
 
 Secondly, by observing a distance in the parts of this succession, we get the 
 idéa of duration. 
 
 Thirdly, by sensation observing certain appearances at certain regular and seeming 
 equidistant periods, we get the ideas of certain lengths or measures of duration, as 
 minutes, hours, days, years, &c. 
 
 Fourthly, by being able to repeat those measures of time or ideas of stated 
 length of duration in our minds as often as we will, we can come to imagine dura- 
 tion where nothing does really endure or exist; and thus we imagine to-morrow, 
 next year, or seven years hence. | 
 
 Fifthly, by being able to repeat ideas of any length of time, as of a minute, a 
 year or an age, as often as we will in our own thoughts, and adding them one to 
 another, without ever coming to the end of such addition any nearer than we can 
 to the end of number, to which we can always add; we come by the idea of eter- 
 nity as the future eternal duration of our souls, as well as the eternity of that infi- 
 nite Being, which must necessarily have always existed. 
 
 Sixthly, by considering any part of infinite duration, as set out by periodical 
 measures, we come by the idea of what we call time in general. 
 
 C.F AgP TEAR. XV. 
 
 OF DURATION AND EXPANSION, CONSIDERED TOGETHER. 
 
 1. Both capable of greater and less—Tuovuau we have in the precedent chap- 
 ters dwelt pretty long on the considerations of space and duration, yet, they being 
 ideas of general concernment that have something very abstruse and peculiar in 
 their nature, the comparing them one with another may perhaps be of use for their 
 illustration ; and we may have the more clear and distinct conception of them by 
 taking a view of them together. Distance or space, in its simple abstract concep- 
 tion, to avoid confusion, I call expansion, to distinguish it from extension, which 
 by some is used to express this distance only as it is in the solid parts of matter, 
 and so includes, or at least intimates the idea of body; whereas the idea of pure 
 distance includes no such thing. I prefer also the word expansion to space, be- 
 cause space is often applied to distance of fleeting successive parts which never 
 exist together, as well as to those which are permanent. In both these (viz. ex- 
 pansion and duration).the mind has this common idea of continued lengths, capa- 
 ble of greater or less quantities: for a man has as clear an idea of the difference 
 of the length of an hour and a day, as of an inch and a foot. 
 
 2. Expansion not bounded by Matter.—The mind having got the idea of the 
 length of any part of expansion, let it be a span, or a pace, or what length you 
 will, can, as has been said, repeat that idea; and so, adding it to the former, 
 enlarge its idea of length, and make it equal to two spans, or two paces, and so as 
 often as it will, till it equals the distance of any parts of the earth one from an- 
 other, and increase thus till it amounts to the distance of the sun or remotest star. 
 By such a progression as this, setting out from the place where it is, or any other 
 
186 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 place, it can proceed and pass beyond all those lengths, and find nothing to stop 
 its going on, either in or without body. It is true, we can easily in our thoughts 
 come to the end of solid extension; the extremity and bounds of all body we have 
 no difficulty to arrive at: but when the mind is there it finds nothing to hinder its 
 progress into this endless expansion; of that it can neither find nor conceive any 
 end. Nor let any one say, that, beyond the bounds of body, there is nothing at 
 all, unless he will confine God within the limits of matter. Solomon, whose un- 
 derstanding was filled and enlarged with wisdom, seems to have other thoughts 
 when he says, “‘ Heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain thee :” and he, 
 I think, very much magnifies to himself the capacity of his own understanding 
 who persuades himself that he can extend his thoughts further than God exists, 
 or imagine any expansion where he is not. 
 
 3. Nor Duration by Motion.—J ust so is it in duration. The mind having got 
 the idea of any length of duration, can double, multiply, and enlarge it, not only 
 beyond its own, but beyond the existence of all corporeal beings, and all the mea- 
 sures of time, taken from the great bodies of the world and their motions. But 
 yet every one easily admits, that, though we make duration boundless, as certainly 
 it is, we cannot yet extend it beyond all being. God, every one easily allows, 
 fills eternity ; and it is hard to find a reason why any one should doubt that he 
 likewise fills immensity. His infinite being is certainly as boundless one way as 
 another ; and methinks it ascribes a little too much to matter to say, where there 
 is no body there is nothing. 
 
 4. Why Men more easily admit infinite Duration than infinite Expansion.— 
 Hence I think we may learn the reason why every one familiarly and without the 
 least hesitation speaks of and supposes eternity, and sticks not to ascribe infinity 
 to duration; but it is with more doubting and reserve that many admit or sup- 
 pose the infinity of space. The reason whereof seems to me to be this, that dura- 
 tion and extension being used as names of affections belonging to other beings, we 
 easily conceive in God infinite duration, and we cannot avoid doing so: but not 
 attributing to him extension, but only to matter, which is finite, we are apter to 
 doubt of the existence of expansion without matter; of which alone we commonly 
 suppose it an attribute. And therefore, when men pursue their thoughts of space 
 they are apt to stop at the confines of body ; as if space were there at an end too, 
 and reached no further. Or if their ideas, upon consideration, carry them further, 
 yet they term what is beyond the limits of the universe imaginary space; as if it 
 were nothing, because there is no body existing in it. Whereas duration, antece- 
 dent to all body and to the motions which it is measured by, they never term ima- 
 ginary ; because it is never supposed void of some other real existence. And if the 
 names of things may at all direct our thoughts towards the original of men’s ideas, 
 (as I am apt to think they may very much,) one may have occasion to think by 
 the name duration, that the continuation of existence, with a kind of resistance to 
 any destructive force, and the continuation of solidity (which is apt to be con- 
 founded with, and, if we will look into the minute anatomical parts of matter, is 
 little different from, hardness) were thought to have some analogy, and gave occa- 
 sion to words so near of kin as durare and durum esse. And that durare is applied to 
 the idea of hardness as well as that of existence we see in Horace, Epod. xvi. 
 ‘“‘ Ferro duravit secula.” But be that as it will, this is certain, that whoever pur- 
 sues his own thoughts, will find them sometimes launch out beyond the extent of 
 body into the infinity of space or expansion; the idea whereof is distinct and se- 
 parate from body and all other things, which may, (to those who please,) be a sub- 
 ject of further meditation. 
 
 5. Time to Duration is as Place to Expansion.—-Time in general is to duration 
 as place to expansion. They are so much of those boundless oceans of eternity 
 and immensity as is set out and distinguished from the rest, as it were by land- 
 marks ; and so are made use of to denote the position of finite real beings, in re- 
 spect one to another, in those uniform infinite oceans of duration and space. These 
 
CHAP. XV.]| DURATION AND EXPANSION CONSIDERED. 187 
 
 rightly considered, are only ideas of determinate distances from certain known 
 points, fixed in distinguishable sensible things, and supposed to keep the same dis- 
 tance one from another. From such points fixed in sensible beings we reckon, 
 and from them we measure our portions of those infinite quantities; which, so 
 considered, are that which we call time and place. For duration and space being 
 in themselves uniform and boundless, the order and position of things, without 
 such known settled points, would be lost in them; and all things would lie jum- 
 bled in an incurable confusion. 
 
 6. Time and Place are taken for so much of either as are set out by the Ex- 
 astence and Motion of Bodies.—Time and place, taken thus for determinate dis- 
 tinguishable portions of those infinite abysses of space and duration, set out or sup- 
 posed to be distinguished from the rest by marks and known boundaries, have 
 each of them a twofold acceptation. 
 
 First, time in general is commonly taken for so much of infinite duration as is 
 measured by and co-existent with the existence and motions of the great bodies of 
 the universe, as far as we know anything of them: and in this sense time begins 
 and ends with the frame of this sensible world, as in these phrases before men- 
 tioned, Before all time, or, When time shall be no more. Place likewise is taken 
 sometimes for that portion of infinite space which is possessed by and compre- 
 hended within the material world; and is thereby distinguished from the rest of 
 expansion, though this may be more properly called extension than place. Within 
 these two are confined, and by the observable parts of them are measured and de- 
 termined, the particular time or duration and the particular extension and place of 
 all corporeal beings. 
 
 7. Sometimes for so much of either as we design by Measures taken from the 
 Bulk or Motion of Bodies.—Secondly, sometimes the word time is used ina larger 
 sense, and is applied to parts of that infinite duration, not that were really distin- 
 guished and measured out by this real. existence, and periodical motions of bodies, 
 that were appointed from the beginning to be for signs and for seasons and for days 
 and years, and are accordingly our measures of time ; but such other portions too 
 of that infinite uniform duration which we, upon any occasion, do suppose equal 
 to certain lengths of measured time, and so consider them as bounded and de- 
 termined. For if we should suppose the creation, or fall of the angels was at the 
 beginning of the Julian period, we should speak properly enough, and should be 
 understood if we said it is a longer time since the creation of angels than the cre- 
 ation of the world, by seven thousand six hundred and forty years: whereby we 
 would mark out so much of that undistinguished duration as we suppose equal to, 
 and would have admitted seven thousand six hundred and forty annual revolu- 
 tions of the sun, moving at the rate it now does. And thus likewise we some- 
 times speak of place, distance, or bulk, in the great inane beyond the confines of 
 the world, when we consider so much of that space as is equal to, or capable to 
 receive, a body of any assigned dimensions, as a cubic foot; or do suppose a point 
 in it at such a certain distance from any part of the universe. 
 
 8. They belong to all Beings.—-Where and when are questions belonging to all 
 finite existences, and are by us always reckoned from some known parts of this 
 sensible world, and from some certain epochs marked out to us by the motions ob- 
 servable in it. Without some such fixed parts or periods, the order of things 
 would be lost to our finite understandings in the boundless invariable oceans of 
 duration and expansion; which comprehend in them all finite beings, and in their 
 full extent belong only to the Deity. And therefore we are not to wonder that we 
 comprehend them not, and do so often find our thoughts at a loss, when we would 
 consider them either abstractly in themselves, or as any way attributed to the first 
 incomprehensible Being. But when applied to any particular finite beings, the 
 extension of any body is so much of that infinite space as the bulk of the body 
 takes up. And place is the position of any body, when considered at a certain 
 distance from some other. As the idea of the particular duration of anything is 
 
188 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 an idea of that portion of infinite duration which passes during the existence of 
 that thing ; so the time when the thing existed is the idea of that space of duration 
 which passed between some known and fixed period of duration, and the being of 
 that thing. One shows the distance of the extremities of the bulk or existence of 
 the same thing, as that it is a foot square, or lasted two years; the other shows 
 the distance of it in place or existence from other fixed points of space or dura- 
 tion, as that it was in the middle of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, or the first degree of 
 Taurus, and in the year of our Lord 1671, or the 1000th year of the Julian period: 
 all which distances we measure by preconceived ideas of certain lengths of space 
 and duration, as inches, feet, miles, and degrees; and in the other, minutes, days, 
 and years, &c. 
 
 9. All the Parts of Extension are Extension, and all the Parts of Duration 
 are Duration.—There is one thing more wherein space and duration have a great 
 conformity; and that is, though they are justly reckoned amongst our simple ideas, 
 yet none of the distinct ideas we have of either is without all manner of com- 
 position; it is the very nature of both of them to consist of parts; but their parts 
 being all of the same kind, and without the mixture of any other idea, hinder 
 them not from having a place amongst simple ideas. Could the mind, as in num- 
 ber, come to so small a part of extension or duration as excluded divisibility, that 
 would be, as it were, the indivisible unit or idea, by repetition of which it would 
 make its more enlarged ideas of extension and duration. But since the mind is 
 not able to frame an idea of any space without parts, instead thereof it makes use 
 of the common measures which, by familiar use in each country, have imprinted 
 themselves on the memory; (as inches and feet, or cubits and parasangs ;’ and so 
 seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years in duration ;) the mind makes use, I 
 say, of such ideas as these as simple ones; and these are the component parts of 
 larger ideas, which the mind upon occasion makes by the addition of such known 
 lengths which it is acquainted with. On the other side, the ordmary smallest 
 measure we have of either is looked on as an unit in number, when the mind by 
 division would reduce them into less fractions. Though on both sides, both in 
 addition and division, either of space or duration, when the idea under considera- 
 tion becomes very big or very small, its precise bulk becomes very obscure and 
 confused ; and it is the number of its repeated additions or divisions that alone 
 remains clear and distinct, as will easily appear to any one who will let his thoughts 
 loose in the vast expansion of space, or divisibility of matter. Every part of du- 
 ration is duration too, and every part of extension is extension, both of them ca- 
 pable of addition or division in infinitum. But the least portions of either of them, 
 whereof we have clear and distinct ideas, may perhaps be fittest to be considered 
 by us as the simple ideas of that kind out of which our complex modes of space, 
 extension, and duration are made up, and into which they can again be distinctly 
 resolved. Such a small part in duration may be called a moment, and is the time 
 of one idea in our minds, in the train of their ordinary succession there. The 
 other, wanting a proper name, I know not whether I may be allowed to call a 
 sensible point, meaning thereby the least particle of matter or space we can dis- 
 cern, which is ordinarily about a minute, and to the sharpest eyes seldom less 
 than thirty seconds of a circle, whereof the eye is the centre. 
 
 10. Their Parts inseparable.—Expansion and duration have this further agree- 
 ment, that, though they are both considered by us as having parts, yet their parts 
 are not separable one from another, no not even in thought: though the parts of 
 bodies from whence we take our measure of the one, and the parts of motion, or 
 rather the succession of ideas in our minds, from whence we take the measure of 
 
 1 This, as the reader of the Anabasis will re- 
 member, is a Persian word, signifying ‘‘a league.” 
 (Anab. II. p. 161. Hutchin.) Herodotus, (II. 6, 
 and V. 53,) and Strabo, (XI. t. ii. p. 788,) make 
 use of the word as a road measure, of thirty 
 
 stadia. It is still, Reland observes, in use 
 among the Persians, whose parasang consists of 
 three miles, each 3000 cubits in length, each 
 cubit of thirty inches, each inch six barleycorns. 
 
CHAP. XV. | DURATION AND EXPANSION CONSIDERED. 189 
 
 the other, may be interrupted and separated; as the one is often by rest, and 
 the other is by sleep, which we call rest too. 
 
 11. Duration is as a Line, Expansion as a Solid—But there is this manifest 
 difference between them, that the ideas of length which we have of expansion are 
 turned every way, and so make figure, and breadth, and thickness ; but duration is 
 but as it were the length of one straight line, extended in infinitum, not capable 
 of multiplicity, variation, or figure; but is one common measure of all existence 
 whatsoever, wherein all things, whilst they exist, equally partake. For this pre- 
 sent moment is common to all things that are now in being, and equally compre- 
 hends that part of their existence, as much as if they were all but one single 
 being, and we may truly say, they all exist in the same moment of time. Whe- 
 ther angels and spirits have any analogy to this, in respect to expansion, is beyond 
 my comprehension :' and perhaps for us, who have understandings and compre- 
 hensions suited to our own preservation, and the ends of our own being, but not 
 to the reality and extent of all other beings, it is near as hard to conceive any ex- 
 istence, or to have an idea of any real being, with a perfect negation of all manner 
 of expansion, as it is to have the idea of any real existence with a perfect negation 
 of all manner of duration ; and therefore, what spirits have to do with space, or 
 how they communicate in it, we know not. All that we know is, that bodies do 
 each singly possess its proper portion of it, according to the extent of solid parts, 
 and thereby exclude all other bodies from having any share in that particular por- 
 tion of space whilst it remains there. 
 
 12. Duration has never two Parts together, Expansion altogether.— Duration 
 and time, which is a part of it, is the idea we have of perishing distance, of which 
 no two parts exist together, but follow each other in succession, as expansion is 
 the idea of lasting distance, all whose parts exist together, and are not capable 
 of succession. And therefore, though we cannot conceive any duration without 
 succession, nor can put it together in our thoughts that any being does now exist 
 to-morrow, or possess at once more than the present moment of duration, yet we 
 can conceive the eternal duration of the Almighty far different from that of man, 
 or any other finite being. Because man comprehends not in his knowledge or 
 power all past and future things; his thoughts are but of yesterday, and he knows 
 not what to-morrow will bring forth. What is once past he can never recal ; 
 and what is yet to come he cannot make present. What I say of man, I say of 
 all finite beings; who, though they may far exceed man in knowledge and power, 
 yet are no more than the meanest creature, in comparison with God himself, 
 Finite of any magnitude holds not any proportion to infinite. God’s infinite dura- 
 tion being accompanied with infinite knowledge and infinite power ; he sees all 
 things, past and to come ;? and they are no more distant from his knowledge, no 
 further removed from his sight than the present: they all lie under the same view; 
 and there is nothing which he cannot make exist each moment he pleases. For the 
 existence of all things depending upon his good pleasure, all things exist every 
 moment that he thinks fit to have them exist. To conclude: expansion and dura- 
 tion do mutually embrace and comprehend each other; every part of space being 
 in every part of duration, and every part of duration in every part of expansion. 
 
 r The reader who has any curiosity on this | were said to grasp the three divisions of time 
 
 subject, may consult Antoine Le Grand’s Prin- 
 ciples of the Cartesian Philosophy, in which the 
 whole nature and attributes of angels are made 
 (to borrow the expressive language of Swift) ‘“‘as 
 clear as mud.” (Part III. 110 et seq.) It is la- 
 mentable, however, to behold the understanding 
 which was bestowed on man for better purposes, 
 wasting itself on useless speculations upon what 
 it can never comprehend. 
 
 2 As the augurs of antiquity were supposed to 
 know by the power of the Divinity, their minds 
 
 —the past, the present, and the future—as 
 God does. Thus Homer speaks of Calchas, 
 olwvordAwy Ox’ detoroc, she says, 
 
 ‘¢ Whose comprehensive view, 
 The past, the present, and the future knew.” 
 
 as Pope renders the epic line,— 
 
 7 ” 4 > 27 
 | "Og yon Ta 7’ ébvTa Ta 7’ éoodpeva, 70d 
 
 CH 
 
 T é0vTa.”’ 
 
190 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book IL. 
 
 Such a combination of two distinct ideas is, I suppose, scarce to be found in all 
 that great variety we do or can conceive, and may afford matter to further specu- 
 lation. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 OF NUMBER. 
 
 1. Number the simplest and most universal Idea.—AMoneast all the ideas we 
 have, as there is none suggested to the mind by more ways, so there is none more 
 simple, than that of unity, or one. It has no shadow of variety or composition 
 in it;* every object our senses are employed about, every idea in our understand- 
 ings, every thought of our minds, brings this idea along with it: and therefore it 
 is the most intimate to our thoughts, as well as it is, in its agreement to all other 
 things, the most universal idea we have. For number applies itself to men, 
 angels, actions, thoughts, everything that either doth exist, or can be imagined. 
 
 3. Its Modes made by Addition—By repeating this idea in our minds, and 
 adding the repetitions together, we come by the complex ideas of the modes of it. 
 Thus by adding one to one, we have the complex idea of a couple; by putting 
 twelve units together, we have the complex idea of a dozen; and so of a score, 
 or a million, or any other number. 
 
 3. Each Mode distinct.—The simple modes of numbers are of all other the 
 most distinct; every the least variation, which is an unit, making each combina- 
 tion as clearly different from that which approacheth nearest to it, as’ the most 
 remote; two being as distinct from one, as two hundred; and the idea of two as 
 distinct from the idea of three, as the magnitude of the whole earth is from that 
 of a mite. This is not so in other simple modes, in which it is not so easy, nor 
 perhaps possible for us to distinguish betwixt two approaching ideas, which yet 
 are really different. For who will undertake to find a difference between the 
 white of this paper and that of the next degree to it, or can form distinct ideas of 
 every the least excess in extension ? 
 
 4. Therefore Demonstrations in Numbers the most precise.—The clearness 
 and distinctness of each mode of number from all others, even those that approach 
 
 nearest, makes me apt to think that demonstrations in numbers, if they are not’ 
 
 more evident and exact than in extension, yet they are more general in their use, 
 and more determinate in their application, because the ideas of numbers are 
 more precise and distinguishable than in extension, where every equality and 
 excess are not so easy to be observed or measured; because our thoughts cannot 
 in space arrive at any determined smallness, beyond which it cannot go, as an 
 unit; and therefore the quantity or proportion of any the least excess cannot be dis- 
 covered: which is clear otherwise in number, where, as has been said, ninety-one is 
 as distinguishable from ninety as from nine thousand, though ninety-one be the next 
 immediate excess to ninety. But it is not so in extension, where, whatsoever is 
 more than just a foot or an inch, is not distinguishable from the standard of a 
 foot or an inch ; and in lines which appear of an equal length, one may be longer 
 than the other by innumerable parts; nor can any one assign an angle, which 
 shall be the next biggest to a right one. 
 
 > 
 
 ‘ The idea of unity enters into our conception | nor shadow of turning;” a glorious expression, 
 of God, ‘‘ in whom there is neither variableness {| which possibly suggested the one in the text. 
 
 : 
 rt 
 7 
 : 
 % 
 4 
 q 
 : 
 r 
 
CHAP. XVI. | OF NUMBER. 191 
 
 5. Names necessary to Numbers.—By the repeating, as has been said, the idea 
 of an unit, and joining it to another unit, we make thereof one collective idea, 
 marked by the name two: and whosoever can do this, and proceed on, still 
 adding one more to the last collective idea which he had of any number, and gave 
 a name to it, may count, or have ideas for several collections of units, distin- 
 guished one from another, as far as he hath a series of names for following 
 numbers, and a memory to retain that series, with their several names; all nume- 
 ration being but still the adding of one unit more, and giving to the whole 
 together, as comprehended in one idea, a new or distinct name or sign, whereby 
 to know it from those before and after, and distinguish it from every smaller or 
 greater multitude of units. So that he that can add one to one, and so to two, 
 and so go on with his tale, taking still with him the distinct names belonging to 
 every progression; and so again, by subtracting an unit from each collection, 
 retreat and lessen them; is capable of all the ideas of numbers within the com- 
 pass of his language, or for which he hath names, though not perhaps of more. 
 For the several simple modes of numbers, being in our minds but so many com- 
 binations of units, which have no variety, nor are capable of any other difference 
 but more or less, names or marks for each distinct combination seem more neces- 
 sary than in any other sort of ideas.. For without such names or marks we can 
 hardly well make use of numbers in reckoning, especially where the combination 
 is made up of any great multitude of units; which, put together without a name 
 or mark to distinguish that precise collection, will hardly be kept from being a 
 heap in confusion. 
 
 6. This I think to be the reason why some Americans I have spoken with, 
 (who were otherwise of quick and rational parts enough,) could not, as we do, by 
 any means count to one thousand, nor had any distinct idea of that number, 
 though they could reckon very well to twenty ; because their language being 
 scanty, and accommodated only to the few necessaries of a needy, simple life, 
 unacquainted either with trade or mathematics, had no words in it to stand for 
 one thousand ; so that when they were discoursed with of those greater numbers, 
 they would show the hairs of their head, to express a great multitude which they 
 could not number: which inability, 1 suppose, proceeded from their want of 
 names. The Tououpinambos had no names for numbers above five; any number 
 beyond that they made out by showing their fingers, and the fingers of others who 
 were present." And I doubt not but we ourselves might distinctly number in 
 words a great deal further than we usually do, would we find out but some fit 
 denomination to signify them by; whereas, in the way we take now to name 
 them, by millions of millions of millions, &c., it is hard to go beyond eighteen, or 
 at most, four and twenty decimal progressions, without confusion. But to show 
 how much distinct names conduce to our well reckoning, or having useful ideas 
 of numbers, let us see all these following figures in one continued line, as the 
 marks of one number, v. g. 
 
 Septillions. 
 040896 
 
 Nonillions. Octillions. Sextillions. Quintrillions. Quartrillions. Trillions. Billions. Millions. Units. 
 
 857324 162486 437918 423147 248106 235421 261734 3868149 623137 
 
 The ordinary way of naming this number in English, will be the often repeat- 
 ing of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of millions, of 
 
 1 Histoire d’un Voyage, fait en le Terre du 
 sees par Jean de Lery, chap. xx. pp. 307— 
 2 
 
 Nearly all systems of arithmetic are founded 
 on the decimal progression, obtained at first by 
 counting the fingers, and proceeding after the 
 manner of the Tououpinambos. The value of the 
 several systems of arithmetic has been discussed 
 by the Marquis de la Place, in a discourse deli- 
 vered to the Normal School:—‘‘ Vous con- 
 cevez, par les principes métaphysiques sur les- 
 
 quels est fondé notre systéme de numération, 
 que rien n’obligeoit de s’en tenir a dix carac- 
 téres; on pouvait en employes plus ou moins. 
 Il parait trés-probable que le nombre des doigts 
 est ce qui a determiné l’arithmétique décimale. 
 Les hommes primitivement ont compté par leurs 
 doigts jusqu’a dix: mais de ce que cette arith- 
 métique était bonne dans l’enfance des societés, 
 est-elle maintenant la meilleure? C’est ce que 
 
 nous allons examiner.” (Arithmétique d’Emile, 
 p. 460. Lausanne, 1823.) 
 
192 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 millions, of millions, (which is the denomination of the second six figures). In 
 which way, it will be very hard to have any distinguishing notions of this 
 number; but whether, by giving every six figures a new and orderly denomina- 
 tion, these, and perhaps a great many more figures in progression, might not 
 easily be counted distinctly, and ideas of them both got more easily to ourselves, 
 and more plainly signified to others, I leave it to be considered. This I mention 
 only to show how necessary distinct names are to numbering, without pretending 
 to introduce new ones of my invention. 
 
 7. Why Children number not earlier.—Thus children, either for want of names 
 to mark the several progressions of numbers, or not having yet the faculty to col- 
 lect scattered ideas into complex ones, and range them in a regular order, and so 
 retam them in their memories, as is necessary to reckoning; do not begin to 
 number very early, nor proceed in it very far or steadily, till a good while after 
 they are well furnished with good store of other ideas: and one may often 
 observe them discourse and reason pretty well, and have very clear conceptions 
 of several other things, before they can tell twenty. And some, through the 
 default of their memories, who cannot retain the several combinations of numbers, 
 with their names annexed in their distinct orders, and the dependence of so long a 
 train of numeral progressions, and their relation one to another, are not able all 
 their lifetime to reckon, or regularly go over any moderate series of numbers. 
 For he that will count twenty, or have any idea of that number, must know that 
 nineteen went before, with the distinct name or sign of every one of them, as they 
 stand marked in their order; for wherever this fails, a gap is made, the chain 
 breaks, and the progress in numbering can go no further. So that to reckon 
 right, it is required, 1. That the mind distinguish carefully two ideas, which are 
 different one from another only by the addition or subtraction of one unit. 
 2. That it retain in memory the names or marks of the several combinations, 
 from an unit to that number; and that not confusedly, and at random, but in that 
 exact order that the numbers follow one another: in either of which, if it trips, 
 the whole business of numbering will be disturbed, and there will remain only the 
 confused idea of multitude, but the ideas necessary to distinct numeration will not 
 be attained to. 
 
 8. Number measures all Measurables.—This further is observable in numbers, 
 that it is that which the mind makes use of in measuring all things that by us are 
 measurable, which principally are expansion and duration; and our idea of 
 infinity, even when applied to those, seems to be nothing but the infinity of 
 number. For what else are our ideas of eternity and immensity, but the repeated 
 additions of certain ideas of imagined parts of duration and expansion, with the 
 infinity of number, in which we can come to no end of addition; for such an 
 inexhaustible stock, number (of all other our ideas) most clearly furnishes us 
 with, as is obvious to every one: for let a man collect into one sum as great 
 a number as he pleases, this multitude, how great soever, lessens not one jot the 
 power of adding to it, or brings him any nearer the end of the inexhaustible stock 
 of number, where still there remains as much to be added, as if none were taken 
 out. And this endless addition or addibility (if any one like the word better) of 
 numbers, so apparent to the mind, is that, I think, which gives us the clearest and 
 most distinct idea of infinity : of which more in the following chapter. 
 
CHAP. XVII. ] OF INFINITY. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OF INFINITY. 
 
 1. Infinity, in its original Intention, attributed to Space, Duration, and 
 Number.—Hk& that would know what kind of idea it is to which we give the 
 name of infinity, cannot do it better than by considering to what infinity is, by 
 the mind, more immediately attributed, and then how the mind comes to frame it. 
 
 Finite and infinite seem to me to be looked upon by the mind as the modes of 
 quantity, and to be attributed primarily, in their first designation, only to those 
 things which have parts, and are capable of increase or diminution by the addition 
 or subtraction of any the least part: and such are the ideas of space, duration, and 
 number, which we have considered in the foregoing chapters. It is true, that we 
 cannot but be assured that the great God, of whom and from whom are all things, 
 is incomprehensibly infinite: but yet, when we apply to that first and supreme 
 Being our idea of infinite, in our weak and narrow thoughts, we do it primarily 
 in respect to his duration and ubiquity; and, I think, more figuratively to his 
 power, wisdom, and goodness, and other attributes, which are properly inex- 
 haustible and incomprehensible, &c. For, when we call them infinite, we have 
 no other idea of this infinity, but what carries with it some reflection on, and 
 imitation of, that number or extent of the acts or objects of God’s power, wisdom, 
 and goodness, which can never be supposed so great or so many, which these 
 attributes will not always surmount and exceed, let us multiply them in our 
 thoughts as far as we can, with all the infinity of endless number. I do not 
 pretend to say how these attributes are in God, who is infinitely beyond the 
 reach of our narrow capacities. They do, without doubt, contain in them all 
 possible perfection: but this, I say, is our way of conceiving them, and these our 
 ideas of their infinity. 
 
 2. The Idea of finite easily got.—Finite, then, and infinite, being by the mind 
 looked on as modifications of expansion and duration, the next thing to be consi- 
 dered, is, how the mind comes by them. As for the idea of finite, there is no 
 great difficulty. The obvious portions of extension that affect our senses, carry 
 with them into the mind the idea of finite; and the ordinary periods of succession, 
 whereby we measure time and duration, as hours, days, and years, are bounded 
 lengths. The difficulty is, how we come by those boundless ideas of eternity and 
 immensity, since the objects we converse with come so much short of any 
 approach or proportion to that largeness. 
 
 3. How we come by the Idea of Infinity.x—Every one that has any idea of 
 any stated lengths of space, as a foot, finds that he can repeat that idea; and 
 joining it to the former, make the idea of two feet; and by the addition of a third, 
 three feet; and so on, without ever coming to an end of his addition, whether of 
 the same idea of a foot, or, if he pleases, of doubling it, or any other idea he has 
 of any length, as a mile, or diameter of the earth, or of the orbis magnus: for 
 whichsoever of these he takes, and how often soever he doubles, or any otherwise 
 multiplies it, he finds, that after he has continued his doubling in his thoughts, 
 and enlarged his idea as much as he pleases, he has no more reason to stop, nor 
 is one jot nearer the end of such addition, than he was at first setting out. The 
 power of enlarging his idea of space by further additions remaining still the 
 same, he hence takes the idea of infinite space. 
 
 4. Our Idea of Space boundless.—This, I think, is the way whereby the mind 
 gets the idea of infinite space. It is a quite different consideration, to examine 
 whether the mind has the idea of such a boundless space actually existing, since 
 our ideas are not always proofs of the existence of things; but yet, since this 
 
194 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 comes here in our way, I suppose I may say, that we are apt to think that space 
 in itself is actually boundless; to which imagination the idea of space or expan- 
 sion of itself naturally leads us.'' For it being considered by us, either as the 
 extension of body, or as existing by itself, without any solid matter taking it up, 
 (for of such a void space we have not only the idea, but I have proved, as I 
 think, from the motion of body, its necessary existence,) it is impossible the mind 
 should be ever able to find or suppose any end of it, or be stopped anywhere in 
 its progress in this space, how far soever it extends its thoughts. Any bounds 
 made with body, even adamantine walls, are so far from putting a stop to the 
 mind in its further progress in space and extension, that it rather facilitates and 
 enlarges it; for so far as that body reaches, so far no one can doubt of extension ; 
 and when we are come to the utmost extremity of body, what is there that can 
 there put a stop, and satisfy the mind that it is at the end of space, when it per- 
 ceives that it is not; nay, when it is satisfied that body itself can move into it? 
 For if it be necessary for the motion of body, that there should be an empty space, 
 though ever so little, here amongst bodies, and if it be possible for body to move 
 in or through that empty space; nay, it is impossible for any particle of matter to 
 move but into an empty space; the same possibility of a body’s moving into a 
 void space, beyond the utmost bounds of body, as well as into a void space inter- 
 spersed amongst bodies, will always remain clear and evident: the idea of empty 
 pure space, whether within or beyond the confines of all bodies, being exactly the 
 same, differing not in nature, though in bulk; and there being nothing to hinder 
 body from moving into it. So that wherever the mind places itself by any 
 thought, either amongst or remote from all bodies, it can in this uniform idea of 
 space nowhere find any bounds, any end; and so must necessarily conclude it, by 
 the very nature and idea of each part of it, to be actually infinite. 
 
 5. And so of Duration.—As by the power we find in ourselves of repeat- 
 ing, as often as we will, any idea of space, we get the idea of immensity; so, by 
 being able to repeat the idea of any length of duration we have in our minds, 
 with all the endless addition of number, we come by the idea of eternity. For 
 we find in ourselves, we can no more come to an end of such repeated ideas, than 
 we can come to the end of number, which every one perceives he cannot. But 
 here again it is another question, quite different from our having an idea of 
 eternity, to know whether there were any real being, whose duration has been 
 eternal. And as to this, I say, he that considers something now existing, must 
 necessarily come to something eternal. But having spoke of this in another 
 place, I shall say here no more of it, but proceed on to some other considerations 
 of our idea of infinity. 
 
 6. Why other Ideas are not capable of Infinity.—If it be so, that our idea of 
 infinity be got from the power we observe in ourselves of repeating, without end, 
 our own ideas, it may be demanded, ‘‘ why we do not attribute infinite to other 
 ideas, as well as those of space and duration ;” since they may be as easily, and 
 as often repeated in our minds as the other; and yet nobody ever thinks of infi- 
 nite sweetness, or infinite whiteness, though he can repeat the idea of sweet or 
 white, as frequently as those of a yard or aday? To which I answer, all the 
 ideas that are considered as having parts, and are capable of increase by the addi- 
 tion of any equal or less parts, attord us by their repetition the idea of infinity ; 
 because with this endless repetition there is continued an enlargement, of which 
 
 1 Space being (as in a former note we have 
 shown) absolutely nothing but the capacity to 
 contain body, no bounds can, of necessity, be set 
 to it. But on this point the reader would do 
 well to compare with what is said in the text 
 the notions of Hobbes, in his Philosophia Prima, 
 c.7,$12. His recapitulation is curious and cha- 
 racteristic:—“ De spatio et tempore intermina- 
 
 bili, dici non potest quod sit totwm aut unum; 
 non totum, quia ex nullis partibus componi 
 potest; partes enim; quot cunque, cum singule 
 Sint finite, etiam simul sumpte facient totum 
 finitum. Non wnwm, quia wnwm non dicitur nisi 
 ut comparatum ad alitd; duo autem infinita spa- 
 tia, vel duo tempora infinita esse, intelligi non 
 potest.” 
 
cna led a alle aaa IEEE 5 aE SAS RIA AR RTS ECE 9 sO a Gla na WR 
 CHAP. XVII. ] OF INFINITY. 195 
 
 there can be no end. But in other ideas it is not so; for to the largest idea of 
 extension or duration that I at present have, the addition of any the least part 
 makes an increase; but to the perfectest idea I have of the whitest whiteness, if I 
 add another of a less or equal whiteness, (and of a whiter than I have, I cannot 
 add the idea,) it makes no increase, and enlarges not my idea at all; and there- 
 fore the different ideas of whiteness, &c. are called degrees. For those ideas that 
 consist of parts are capable of being augmented by every addition of the least 
 part; but if you take the idea of white, which one parcel of snow yielded yester- 
 day to our sight, and another idea of white from another parcel of snow you see 
 to-day, and put them together in your mind, they embody, as it were, and run 
 into one, and the idea of whiteness is not at all increased; and if we add a less 
 degree of whiteness to a greater, we are so far from increasing, that we diminish 
 it. Those ideas that consist not of parts cannot be augmented to what proportion 
 men please, or be stretched beyond what they have received by their senses; but 
 space, duration, and number, being capable of increase by repetition, leave in the 
 mind an idea of endless room for more: nor can we conceive anywhere a stop to 
 a further addition or progression, and so those ideas alone lead our minds towards 
 the thought of infinity. 
 
 7. Difference between infinity of Space, and Space infinite.—Though our idea 
 of infinity arise from the contemplation of quantity, and the endless increase the 
 mind is able to make in quantity, by the repeated additions of what portions 
 thereof it pleases; yet I guess we cause great confusion in our thoughts, when 
 we join infinity to any supposed idea of quantity the mind can be thought to have, 
 and so discourse or reason about an infinite quantity, viz., an infinite space, or an 
 infinite duration. For our idea of infinity being, as I think, an endless growing 
 idea, by the idea of any quantity the mind has, being at that time terminated in 
 that idea, (for be it as great as it will, it can be no greater than it is,) to join 
 infinity to it, is to adjust a standing measure to a growing bulk; and therefore I 
 think it is not an insignificant subtilty, if I say that we are carefully to distinguish 
 between the idea of the infinity of space, and the idea of a space infinite: the first 
 is nothing but a supposed endless progression of the mind, over what repeated 
 ideas of space it pleases; but to have actually in the mind the idea of a space 
 infinite, is to suppose the mind already passed over, and actually to have a view 
 of all those repeated ideas of space which an endless repetition can never totally 
 represent to it; which carries in it a plain contradiction. 
 
 8. We have no Idea of infinite Space.—This, perhaps, will be a little plainer, 
 if we consider it in numbers. The infinity of numbers, to the end of whose addi- 
 tion every one perceives there is no approach, easily appears to any one that 
 reflects on it: but how clear soever this idea of the infinity of number be, there 
 is nothing yet more evident, than the absurdity of the actual idea of an infinite 
 number. Whatsoever positive ideas we have in our minds of any space, duration, 
 or number, let them be ever so great, they are still finite ; but when we suppose 
 an inexhaustible remainder, from which we remove all bounds, and wherein we 
 
 allow the mind an endless progression of thought, without ever completing the 
 idea, there we have our idea of infinity: which, though it seems to be pretty 
 clear when we consider nothing else in it but the negation of an end, yet, when 
 we would frame in our minds the idea of an infinite space or duration, that idea 
 is very obscure and confused, because it is made up of two parts, very different, 
 if not inconsistent. For let a man frame in his mind an idea of any space or 
 number, as great as he will: it is plain the mind rests and terminates in that idea, 
 which is contrary to the idea of infinity, which consists in a supposed endless pro- 
 gression: and therefore I think it is that we are so easily confounded, when we 
 come to argue and reason about infinite space or duration, &c. ; because the parts 
 of such an idea not being perceived to be, as they are, inconsistent, the one side 
 or other always perplexes, whatever consequences we draw from the other; as an 
 idea of motion not passing on would perplex any one who should argue from 
 
196 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. _. [BOOK 11. 
 
 such an idea, which is not better than an idea of motion at rest: and such another 
 seems to me to be the idea of a space, or (which is the same thing) a number 
 infinite, i. e. of a space or number which the mind actually has, and so views 
 and terminates in; and of a space or number, which, in a constant and endless 
 enlarging and progression, it can in thought never attain to. For how large 
 soever an idea of space I have in my mind, it is no larger than it is that instant 
 that I have it, though I be capable the next instant to double it, and so on in 
 infinitum; for that alone is infinite which has no bounds, and that the idea of 
 infinity in which our thoughts can find none. 
 
 9, Number affords us the clearest Idea of Infinity.—But of all other ideas, it 
 is number, as I have said, which I think furnishes us with the clearest and most 
 distinct idea of infinity we are capable of. For even in space and duration, when 
 the mind pursues the idea of infinity, it there makes use of the ideas and repeti- 
 tions of numbers, as of millions and millions of miles, or years, which are so 
 many distinct ideas, kept best by number from running into a confused heap, 
 wherein the mind loses itself; and when it has added together as many millions, 
 &e. as it pleases, of known lengths of space or duration, the clearest idea it can 
 get of infinity, is the confused, incomprehensible remainder of endless addible 
 numbers, which affords no prospect of stop or boundary. 
 
 10. Our different Conceptions of the Infinity of Number, Duration, and 
 Expansion.—It will, perhaps, give us a little further light into the idea we have 
 of infinity, and discover to us, that it is nothing but the infinity of number applied 
 to determinate parts, of which we have in our minds the distinct ideas, if we con- 
 sider that number is not generally thought by us infinite, whereas duration and 
 extension are apt to be so; which arises from hence, that in number we are at 
 one end, as it were; for there being in number nothing less than an unit, we 
 there stop, and are at an end; but in addition, or increase of number, we can set 
 no bounds. And so it is like a line, whereof one end terminating with us, the 
 other is extended still forwards beyond all that we can conceive; but in space 
 and duration it is otherwise. For in duration we consider it, as if this line of 
 number were extended both ways to an unconceivable, undeterminate, and infinite 
 leneth ; which is evident to any one that will but reflect on what consideration 
 he hath of eternity; which, I suppose, he will find to be nothing else but the 
 turning this infinity of number both ways, a parte ante, and a parte post,as they 
 speak. For when we would consider eternity, a parte ante, what do we but, 
 beginning from ourselves and the present time we are in, repeat in our minds the 
 ideas of years, or ages, or any other assignable portion of duration past, with a 
 prospect of proceeding in such addition, with all the infinity of number? and 
 when we would consider eternity, a parte post, we just after the same rate begin 
 from ourselves, and reckon by multiplied periods yet to come, still extending that 
 line of number, as before. And these two being put together, are that infinite 
 duration we call eternity: which, as we turn our view either way, forwards or 
 backwards, appears infinite, because we still turn that way the infinite end of 
 number, i. e. the power still of adding more. 
 
 11. The same happens also in space, wherein conceiving ourselves to be, as it 
 were, in the centre, we do on all sides pursue those indeterminable lines of 
 number ; and reckoning any way from ourselves, a yard, mile, diameter of the 
 earth, or orbis magnus, by the infinity of number, we add others to them as often 
 as we will; and having no more reason to set bounds to those repeated ideas than 
 we have to set bounds to number, we have that indeterminable idea of immensity. 
 
 12. Infinite Divisibility.—And since, in any bulk of matter, our thoughts can 
 never arrive at the utmost divisibility, therefore there is an apparent infinity to us 
 also in that, which has the infinity also of number; but with this difference, that, 
 in the former considerations of the infinity of space and duration, we only use 
 addition of numbers; whereas this is like the division of an unit into its fractions, 
 wherein the mind also can proceed in infinitum, as well as in the former addi- 
 
CHAP. XVII. ] OF INFINITY. 197 
 
 tions ;’ it being indeed, but the addition still of new numbers: though in the 
 addition of the one, we can have no more the positive idea of a space infinitely 
 great, than, in the division of the other, we can have the idea of a body infinitely 
 little; our idea of infinity being, as I may say, a growing or fugitive idea, still in 
 a boundless progression, that can stop nowhere. 
 
 13. No positive Idea of Infinity.—Though it be hard, I think, to find any one 
 so absurd as to say he has the positive idea of an actual infinite number; the 
 infinity whereof lies only in a power still of adding any combination of units to 
 any former number, and that as lone and as much as one will; the like also 
 being in the infinity of space and duration, which power leaves always to the 
 mind room for endless additions; yet there be those who imagine they have 
 positive ideas of infinite duration and space. It would, I think, be enough to 
 destroy any such positive idea of infinite, to ask him that has it, whether he 
 could add to it or not; which would easily show the mistake of such a positive 
 idea. We can, I think, have no positive idea of any space or duration which is not 
 made up, and commensurate to repeated numbers of feet or yards, or days and 
 years, which are the common measures, whereof we have the ideas in our minds, 
 and whereby we judge of the greatness of this sort of quantities. And therefore, 
 since an infinite idea of space or duration must needs be made up of infinite parts, 
 it can have no other infinity than that of number, capable still of further addition; 
 but not an actual positive idea of a number infinite. For, I think, it is evident 
 that the addition of finite things together (as are all lengths whereof we have the 
 positive ideas) can never otherwise produce the idea of infinite, than as number 
 does ; which, consisting of additions of finite units one to another, suggests the 
 idea of infinite, only by a power we find we have of still increasing the sum, and 
 adding more of the same kind, without coming one jot nearer the end of such 
 progression. 
 
 14. They who would prove their idea of infinite to be positive, seem to me to 
 do it by a pleasant argument, taken from the negation of an end; which being 
 negative, the negation of it is positive. He that considers that the end is, in 
 body, but the extremity or superfices of that body, will not perhaps be forward to 
 grant that the end is a bare negative: and he that perceives the end of his pen is 
 black or white, will be apt to think that the end is something more than a pure 
 negation. Nor is it, when applied to duration, the bare negation of existence, but 
 more properly the last moment of it. But if they will have the end to be nothing 
 but the bare negation of existence, I am sure they cannot deny but the beginning 
 is the first instant of being, and is not by any body conceived to be a bare nega- 
 tion; and therefore, by their own argument, the idea of eternal, & parte ante, or of 
 a duration without a beginning, is but a negative idea. 
 
 15. What is positive, what negative, in our Idea of infinite.—The idea of in- 
 finite has, I confess, something of positive in all those things we apply to it. 
 When we would think of infinite space or duration, we at first step usually make 
 some very large idea, as perhaps of millions of ages, or miles, which possibly we 
 double and multiply several times. All that we thus amass together in our 
 thoughts is positive, and the assemblage of a great number of positive ideas 
 of space or duration. But what still remains beyond this, we have no more a 
 positive distinct notion of, than a mariner has of the depth of the sea; where, 
 having let down a large portion of his sounding-line, he reaches no bottom: 
 whereby he knows the depth to be so many fathoms, and more; but how much 
 the more is, he hath no distinct notion at all: and could he always supply new 
 line, and find the plummet always sink, without ever stopping, he would be some- 
 thing in the posture of the mind reaching after a complete and positive idea of 
 
 * See Hobbes, Phil. Prim. ec. vii. § 18, where Descartes Meditat. VI. p. 43; Ant. Le Grand, 
 the same doctrine is maintained; and compare Inst. Phil. Part IV. art. vi. p. 153 et seq. 
 
 ee a 
 
198 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 infinity.'. In which case, let this line be ten, or one thousand fathoms long, it 
 equally discovers what is beyond it, and gives only this confused and compara- 
 tive idea, that this is not all, but one may yet go farther. So much as the mind 
 comprehends of any space, it has a positive idea of; but in endeavouring to make 
 it infinite, it being always enlarging, always advancing, the idea is still imperfect 
 and incomplete. So much space as the mind takes a view of in its contemplation 
 of greatness, is a clear picture, and positive in the understanding: but infinite is 
 still greater. 1. Then the idea of so much is positive and clear. 2. The idea of 
 greater is also clear, but it is but a comparative idea, viz. the idea of so much 
 greater as cannot he comprehended; and this is plainly negative, not positive. 
 For he has no positive clear idea of the largeness of any extension, (which is that 
 sought for in the idea of infinite,) that has not a comprehensive idea of the dimen- 
 sions of it; and such, nobody, I think, pretends to in what is infinite. For to 
 say a man has a positive clear idea of any quantity, without knowing how great 
 it is, is as reasonable as to say, he has the positive clear idea of the number of the 
 sands on the sea-shore, who knows not how many there be, but only that they are 
 more than twenty. For just such a perfect and positive idea has he of an infinite 
 space or duration, who says it is larger than the extent or duration of ten, one 
 hundred, one thousand, or any other number of miles, or years, whereof he 
 has or can have a positive idea; which is all the idea, I think, we have of 
 infinite. So that what lies beyond our positive idea towards infinity, lies in ob- 
 scurity, and has the indeterminate confusion of a negative idea, wherein I know 
 I neither do nor can comprehend all I would, it being too large for a finite and 
 narrow capacity; and that cannot but be very far from a positive complete idea, 
 wherein the greatest part of what I would comprehend is left out, under the unde- 
 terminate intimation of being still greater ; for to say, that, having in any quan- 
 tity measured so much, or gone so far, you are not yet at the end, is only to say 
 that that quantity is greater. So that the negation of an end in any quantity is, 
 in other words, only to say that it is bigger ; and a total negation of an end is but 
 carrying this bigger still with you, in all the progressions your thoughts shall 
 make in quantity; and adding this idea of still greater to all the ideas you have, 
 or can be supposed to have, of quantity. Now whether such an idea as that be 
 positive, I leave any one to consider. 
 
 16. We have no positive Idea of an infinite Duration—I ask those who say 
 they have a positive idea of eternity, whether their idea of duration includes in it 
 succession, or not? If it does not, they ought to show the difference of their 
 notion of duration, when applied to an eternal Being, and to a finite; since, 
 perhaps, there may be others as well as I, who will own to them their weakness 
 of understanding in this point, and acknowledge that the notion they have of 
 duration forces them to conceive, that whatever has duration, is of a longer con- 
 tinuance to-day than it was yesterday. If, to avoid succession in external exist- 
 ence, they return to the punctum stans of the schools, I suppose they will thereby 
 very little mend the matter, or help us to a more clear and positive idea of infinite 
 duration, there being nothing more inconceivable to me than duration without 
 succession. Besides, that punctum stans, if it signify anything, being not 
 quantum, finite or infinite cannot belong to it. But if our weak apprehensions 
 cannot separate succession from any duration whatsoever, our idea of eternity can 
 be nothing but of infinite succession of moments of duration, wherein anything 
 does exist; and whether any one has, or can have, a positive idea of an actual 
 infinite number, I leave him to consider, till his infinite number be so great 
 that he himself can add no more to it; and as long as he can increase it, 
 
 1 The expression here employed by Locke is | though mixed up with the subject of numbers, 
 highly sublime, and paints admirably the effort | partakes of the same character, and deserves to 
 of the mind in the great act he speaks of. | be regarded with the most profound attention. 
 Indeed, the whole of his speculations on infinity, 
 
 OE 
 
CHAP. XVII. ] OF INFINITY. 199 
 
 I doubt he himself will think the idea he hath of it a little too scanty for 
 positive infinity. : 
 
 17. I think it unavoidable for every considering, rational creature, that will but 
 examine his own or any other existence, to have the notion of an eternal, wise 
 Being, who had no beginning: and such an idea of infinite duration I am sure I 
 have. But this negation of a beginning, being but the negation of a positive 
 thing, scarce gives me a positive idea of infinity; which, whenever I endeavour 
 to extend my thoughts to, I confess myself at a loss, and I find I cannot attain 
 any clear comprehension of it. 
 
 18. No positive Idea of infinite Space.—He that thinks he has a positive idea 
 of infinite space, will, when he considers it, find that he can no more have a posi- 
 tive idea of the greatest, than he has of the least space. For in this latter, which 
 seems the easier of the two, and more within our comprehension, we are capable 
 only of a comparative idea of smallness, which will always be less than any one 
 whereof we have the positive idea. All our positive ideas of any quantity, 
 whether great or little, have always bounds; though our comparative idea, 
 whereby we can always add to the one, and take from the other, hath no bounds: 
 for that which remains either great or little, not being comprehended in that 
 positive idea which we have, lies in obscurity ; and we have no other idea of it, 
 but of the power of enlarging the one and diminishing the other, without ceasing. 
 A pestle and mortar will as soon bring any particle of matter to indivisibility, as 
 the acutest thought of a mathematician; and a surveyor may as soon with his 
 chain measure out infinite space, as a philosopher by the quickest flight of mind 
 reach it, or by thinking comprehend it, which is to have a positive idea of it. He 
 that thinks on a cube of an inch diameter, has a clear and positive idea of it in 
 his mind, and so can frame one of $, 4, 3, and so on, till he has the idea 
 in his thoughts of something very little; but yet reaches not the idea of that 
 incomprehensible littleness which division can produce. What remains of small- 
 ness, is as far from his thoughts as when he first began; and therefore he never 
 comes at all to have a clear and positive idea of that smallness which is conse- 
 quent to infinite divisibility. 
 
 19. What is positive, what negative, in our Idea of infinite.—LEvery one that 
 looks towards infinity does, as I have said, at first glance make some very large 
 idea of that which he applies it to, let it be space or duration; and possibly he 
 wearies his thoughts, by multiplying in his mind that first large idea; but yet by 
 that he comes no nearer to the having a positive clear idea of what remains to 
 make up a positive infinite, than the country-fellow had of the water, which was 
 yet to come and pass the channel of the river where he stood : 
 
 “ Rusticus expectat dum transeat amnis, at ille 
 
 Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis zevum.”’ 1 / 
 
 20. Some think they have a positive Idea of Eternity, and not of infinite Space. 
 —There are some I have met with that put so much difference between infinite 
 duration and infinite space, that they persuade themselves that they have a positive 
 idea of eternity, but that they have not nor can have any idea of infinite space. 
 The reason of which mistake I suppose to be this: that, finding by a due contem- 
 plation of causes and effects, that it is necessary to admit some eternal Being, and 
 so to consider the real existence of that Being, as taken up and commensurate to 
 their idea of eternity ; but, on the other side, not finding it necessary, but, on the 
 contrary, apparently absurd, that no body should be infinite, they forwardly conclude 
 that they have no idea of infinite space, because they can have no idea of infinite 
 matter. Which consequence, I conceive, is very ill collected ; because the ex- 
 
 1 Horat. Epist. I. ii. 42 et seq.: ‘‘ Rusticus donec tota defluerit aqua.” (Bentley.) 
 ille de quo fabula; qui noluit transire flumen, 
 
200 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 istence of matter is no ways necessary to the existence of space, no more than the 
 existence of motion, or the sun, is necessary to duration, though duration uses to 
 be measured by it: and I doubt not but that a man may have the idea of ten 
 thousand miles square, without any body so big, as well as the idea of ten thousand 
 years, without any body so old. It seems as easy to me to have the idea of space 
 empty of body, as to think of the capacity of a bushel without corn, or the hollow 
 of a nut-shell without a kernel in it: it being no more necessary that there should 
 be existing a solid body, infinitely extended, because we have an idea of the infi- 
 nity of space, than it is necessary that the world should be eternal, because we 
 have an idea of infinite duration. And why should we think our idea of infinite 
 space requires the real existence of matter to support it, when we find that we have 
 as clear an idea of an infinite duration to come, as we have of infinite duration 
 past? Though I suppose nobody thinks it conceivable that anything does or has 
 existed in that future duration. Nor is it possible to join our idea of future dura- 
 tion with present or past existence, any more than it is possible to make the ideas 
 of yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow to be the same; or bring ages past and future 
 together, and make them contemporary. But if these men are of the mind, that 
 they have clearer ideas of infinite duration than of infinite space, because it is past 
 doubt that God has existed from all eternity, but there is no real matter co-ex- 
 tended with infinite space: yet those philosophers who are of opinion that infinite 
 space is possessed by God’s infinite omnipresence, as well as infinite duration by 
 his eternal existence, must be allowed to have as clear an idea of infinite space as 
 of infinite duration; though neither of them, I think, has any positive idea of in- 
 finity in either case. For whatsoever positive idea a man has in his mind of any 
 quantity, he can repeat it, and add it to the former as easy as he can add together 
 the ideas of two days, or two paces, which are positive ideas of lengths he has in 
 his mind, and so on as long as he pleases: whereby if a man had a positive idea 
 of infinite, either duration or space, he could add two infinites together; nay, 
 cue one infinite infinitely bigger than another—absurdities too gross to be con- 
 uted. 
 21. Supposed positive Ideas of Infinity, cause of Mistakes.—But yet, after all 
 this, there being men who persuade themselves that they have clear positive com- 
 prehensive ideas of infinity, it is fit they enjoy their privilege: and I should be 
 
 very glad (with some others that I know, who acknowledge they have none such) ~ 
 
 to be better informed by their communication. For I have been hitherto apt to 
 think that the great and inextricable difficulties which perpetually involve all dis- 
 courses concerning infinity, whether of space, duration, or divisibility, have been 
 the certain marks of a defect in our ideas of infinity, and the disproportion the na- 
 ture thereof has to the comprehension of our narrow capacities. For whilst men 
 talk and dispute of infinite space or duration, as if they had as complete and posi- 
 tive ideas of them as they have of the names they use for them, or as they have of 
 a yard, or an hour, or any other determinate quantity ; it is no wonder if the 
 incomprehensible nature of the thing they discourse of or reason about, leads 
 them into perplexities and contradictions; and their minds be overlaid by an 
 object too large and mighty to be surveyed and managed by them. 
 
 22. All these Ideas from Sensation and Reflection.—If I have dwelt pretty 
 long on the consideration of duration, space, and number, and what arises from 
 the contemplation of them, infinity; it is possibly no more than the matter requires, 
 there being few simple ideas whose modes give more exercise to the thoughts of 
 men than these do. I pretend not to treat of them in their full latitude; it suffices 
 to my design to show how the mind receives them, such as they are, from sensa- 
 tion and reflection ; and how even the idea we have of infinity, how remote soever 
 it may seem to be from any object of sense or operation of our mind, has, never- 
 theless, as all our other ideas, its original there. Some mathematicians perhaps of 
 advanced speculations, may have other ways to introduce into their minds ideas of 
 infinity ; but this hinders not but that they themselves, as well as all other men, 
 
 — 
 
i 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. ] OF OTHER SIMPLE MODES. 201 
 
 got the first ideas which they had of infinity from sensation and reflection, in the 
 method we have here set down. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 OF OTHER SIMPLE MODES. 
 
 1. Modes of Motion.—Tuovau I have in the foregoing chapters shown, how 
 from simple ideas, taken in by sensation, the mind comes to extend itself even to 
 infinity ; which, however, it may, of all others, seem most remote from any sensi- 
 ble perception, yet at last hath nothing in it, but what is made out of simple ideas, 
 received into the mind by the senses, and afterwards there put together by the fa- 
 culty the mind has to repeat its own ideas; though, I say, these might be instances 
 enough of simple modes of the simple ideas of sensation, and suffice to show how 
 the mind comes by them, yet I shall, for method’s sake, though briefly, give an 
 account of some few more, and then proceed to more complex ideas. ‘ 
 
 2. To slide, roll, tumble, walk, creep, run, dance, leap, skip, and abundance of 
 others that might be named, are words which are no sooner heard, but every one 
 who understands English has presently in his mind distinct ideas, which are all but 
 the different modifications of motion. Modes of motion answer those of extension ; 
 swift and slow are two different ideas of motion, the measures whereof are made 
 of the distances of time and space put together ; so they are complex ideas, com- 
 prehending time and space with motion. 
 
 3. Modes of Sounds.—The like variety have we in sounds. Every articulate 
 word is a different modification of sound; by which we see, that from the sense of 
 hearing, by such modifications, the mind may be furnished with distinct ideas to 
 almost an infinite number. Sounds, also, besides the distinct cries of birds and 
 beasts, are modified by diversity of notes of different length put together, which 
 make that complex idea called a tune, which a musician may have in his mind 
 when he hears or makes no sound at all, by reflecting on the ideas of those sounds, 
 so put together silently in his own fancy. 
 
 4. Modes of Colours.—Those of colours are also very various: some we take 
 notice of as the different degrees, or, as they are termed, shades of the same colour. 
 But since we very seldom make assemblages of colours, either for use or delight, 
 but figure is taken in also, and has its part in it, as in painting, weaving, needle- 
 works, &c., those which are taken notice of do most commonly belong to mixed 
 modes, as being made up of ideas of divers kinds, viz. figure and colour, such as 
 beauty, rainbow, &c. 
 
 5. Modes of Taste.—All compounded tastes and smells are also modes made 
 up of the simple ideas of those senses. But they being such as generally we have 
 no names for, are less taken notice of, and cannot be set down in writing ; and 
 therefore must be left without enumeration to the thoughts and experience of 
 my reader. 
 
 6. Some simple Modes have no Names.—In general it may be observed, that 
 those simple modes which are considered but as different degrees of the same sim- 
 ple idea, though they are in themselves many of them very distinct ideas, yet have 
 ordinarily no distinct names, nor are much taken notice of as distinct ideas, where 
 the difference is but very small between them. Whether men have neglected 
 these modes, and given no names to them, as wanting measures nicely to distin- 
 guish them; or because, when they were so distinguished, that knowledge would 
 not be of general or necessary use, I leave it to the thoughts of others: it is suffi- 
 cient to my purpose to show, that all our simple ideas come to our minds only by 
 
202 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 sensation and reflection; and that when the mind has them, it can variously repeat 
 and compound them, and so make new complex ideas. But though white, red, 
 or sweet, &c. have not been modified or made into complex ideas, by several com- 
 binations, so as to be named, and thereby ranked into species, yet some others of 
 the simple ideas, viz. those of unity, duration, and motion, &c. above instanced 
 in, as also power and thinking, have been thus modified to a great variety of com- 
 plex ideas, with names belonging to them. 
 
 7. Why some Modes have, and others have not, Names.—The reason whereof, 
 I suppose, has been this, that the great concernment of men being with men one 
 amongst another, the knowledge of men and their actions, and the signifying of 
 them to one another, was most necessary; and therefore they made ideas of 
 actions very nicely modified, and gave those complex ideas names, that they 
 might the more easily record and discourse of those things they were daily con- 
 versant in, without long ambages and circumlocutions ; and that the things they 
 were continually to give and receive information about, might be the easier and 
 quicker understood. That this is so, and that men in framing different complex 
 ideas, and giving them names, have been much governed by the end of speech 
 in general, (which is a very short and expedite way of conveying their thoughts 
 one to another,) is evident in the names which in several arts have been found 
 out, and applied to several complex ideas of modified actions belonging to their 
 several trades, for dispatch sake, in their direction or discourses about them. 
 Which ideas are not generally framed in the minds of men not conversant about 
 these operations. And thence the words that stand for them, by the greatest 
 part of men of the same language are not understood: v. g. colshire, drilling, 
 filtration, cohobation, are words standing for certain complex ideas, which being 
 seldom in the minds of any but those few whose particular employments do at 
 every turn suggest them to their thoughts, those names of them are not gene- 
 rally understood but by smiths and chymists; who having framed the complex 
 ideas which these words stand for, and having given names to them, or received 
 them from others, upon hearing of these names in communication, readily con- 
 ceive those ideas in their minds; as by cohobation, all the simple ideas of dis- 
 tilling, and the pouring the liquor distilled from anything back upon the remaining 
 matter, and distilling it again. Thus we see that there are great varieties of simple 
 ideas, as of tastes and smells, which have no names; and of modes many more; 
 which either not having been generally enough observed, or else not being of any 
 great use to be taken notice of in the affairs and converse of men, they have not 
 had names given to them, and so pass not for species. This we shall have occa- 
 sion hereafter to consider more at large, when we come to speak of words. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OF THE MODES OF THINKING. 
 
 1. Sensation, Remembrance, Contemplation, &c.—WHEN the mind turns its 
 view inwards upon itself, and contemplates its own actions, thinking is the first 
 that occurs. In it the mind observes a great variety of modifications, and from 
 thence receives distinct ideas. Thus the perception which actually accompanies, 
 and is annexed to any impression on the body, made by an external object, being 
 distinct from all other modifications of thinking, furnishes the mind with a dis- 
 tinct idea, which we call sensation ; which is, as it were, the actual entrance of 
 
OF THE MODES OF THINKING. 
 
 CHAP. XIX.] 203 
 
 any idea into the understanding by the senses."| The same idea, when it again 
 recurs without the operation of the like object on the external sensory, is remem- 
 brance; if it be sought after by the mind, and with pain and endeavour found, 
 and brought again in view, it is recollection; if it be held there long under atten- 
 tive consideration, it is contemplation. When ideas float in our mind, without any 
 reflection or regard of the understanding, it is that which the French call reverie :* 
 our language has scarce a name for it. When the ideas that offer themselves 
 (for, as I have observed in another place, whilst we are awake, there will always 
 be a train of ideas succeeding one another in our minds) are taken notice of, and, 
 as it were, registered in the memory, it is attention. When the mind with great 
 earnestness, and of choice, fixes its view on any idea, considers it on all sides, and 
 will not be called off by the ordinary solicitation of other ideas, it is that we call 
 intention or study. Sleep, without dreaming, is rest from all these; and dream- 
 ing itself is the having of ideas (whilst the outward senses are stopped, so that 
 they receive not outward objects with their usual quickness) in the mind, not 
 suggested by any external objects or known occasions, nor under any choice or 
 conduct of the understanding at all. And whether that which we call ecstasy be 
 not dreaming with the eyes open, I leave to be examined. 
 
 2. These are some few instances of those various modes of thinking which the 
 mind may observe in itself, and so have as distinct ideas of, as it hath of white 
 and red, a square or a circle. I do not pretend to enumerate them all, nor to 
 treat at large of this set of ideas, which are got from reflection: that would be to 
 make a volume. It suffices to my present purpose to have shown here, by some 
 few examples, of what sort these ideas are, and how the mind comes by them; 
 especially since I shall have occasion hereafter to treat more at large of reasoning, 
 judging, volition, and knowledge, which are some of the most considerable opera- 
 tions of the mind, and modes of thinking. 
 
 3. The various Attention of the Mind in thinking.—But perhaps it may not 
 be an unpardonable digression, nor wholly impertinent to our present design, if 
 we reflect here upon the different state of the mind in thinking, which those in- 
 stances of attention, reverie, and dreaming, &c. before mentioned, naturally enough 
 suggest. That there are ideas, some or other, always present in the mind of a 
 waking man, every one’s experience convinces him, though the mind employs it- 
 self about them with several degrees of attention. Sometimes the mind fixes itself 
 with so much earnestness on the contemplation of some objects, that it turns their 
 ideas on all sides, marks their relations and circumstances, and views every part 
 so nicely and with such intention, that it shuts out all other thoughts, and takes 
 no notice of the ordinary impressions made then on the senses, which at another 
 season would produce very sensible perceptions: at other times it barely observes 
 the train of ideas that succeed in the understanding, without directing and pursu- 
 ing any of them: and at other times it lets them pass almost quite unregarded, as 
 faint shadows that make no impression. 
 
 4. Hence it is prohable that Thinking is the Action, not the Essence of the Soul. 
 —This difference of intention and remission of the mind in thinking, with a great 
 variety of degrees between earnest study and very near minding nothing at all, 
 every one, I think, has experimented in himself. Trace it a little further, and 
 you find the mind in sleep retired as it were from the senses, and out of the reach 
 of those motions made on the organs of sense, which at other times produce very 
 vivid and sensible ideas. I need not, for this, instance in those who sleep out whole 
 
 1 Compare Hobbes on Human Nature, chap.ii. | ports, says—‘‘ Livrés 4 cette douce contempla- 
 
 § 2 et seq., and chap. iii. § 16. 
 
 2 Lavaux well describes this states of mind :— 
 “Situation de ’dme qui s’abandonne douce- 
 ment, et se livre enfin tout entiére a ses pensées, 
 a ses imaginations, a ses reflexions.’’ Rousseau, 
 who thoroughly understood what the term im- 
 
 tion, nous nous laissions entrainer a nos réve- 
 ries.”” And Madame de Sevigne, the Lady Mon- 
 tague of France, observes in one of her letters— 
 “‘J’ai quelquefois des réveries dans ces bois, 
 d’une telle noirceur, que j’en reviens plus changée 
 que d’un acces de fiévre.” 
 
204 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 stormy nights, without hearing the thunder, or seeing the lightning, or feeling 
 the shaking of the house, which are sensible enough to those who are waking: 
 but in this retirement of the mind from the senses, it often retains a yet more loose 
 and incoherent manner of thinking which we call dreaming:' and, last of all, 
 sound sleep closes the scene quite, and puts an end to all appearances. This, I 
 think almost every one has experience of in himself, and his own observation 
 without difficulty leads him thus far. That which I would further conclude from 
 hence is, that, since the mind can sensibly put on, at several times, several de- 
 erees of thinking, and be sometimes, even in a waking man, so remiss, as to have 
 thoughts dim and obscure to that degree, that they are very little removed from 
 none at all; and at last, in the dark retirements of sound sleep, loses the sight 
 perfectly of all ideas whatsoever: since, I say, this is evidently so in matter of 
 fact and constant experience, I ask whether it be not probable, that thinking is the 
 action and not the essence of the soul? since the operations of agents will easily 
 admit of intention and remission; but the essences of things are not conceived 
 capable of any such variation. But this by the by. 
 
 OFS IP. ad A ee. ©. © 
 
 OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. 
 
 1. Pleasure and Pain, simple Ideas —Amonast the simple ideas which we 
 receive both from sensation and reflection, pain and pleasure are two very consi- 
 derable ones. For, as in the body there is sensation barely in itself, or accom- 
 panied with pain or pleasure ; so the thought or perception of the mind is simply 
 
 1 On this subject Blumenbach, in his Physio- 
 logy, has some observations which the reader 
 may not be displeased to find here, more espe- 
 cially as they appear to have been partly sug- 
 gested by the words of Locke:—Dreams are a 
 sporting, as it were, of the imagination, in which 
 it recals the ideas of objects formerly perceived, 
 especially of objects of sight, and appears to 
 employ and interest itself with them. It has 
 been disputed whether dreams are natural during 
 health. Some believe that sleep never occurs 
 without them, although they may escape our me- 
 mory. Others conceive them the consequence only 
 of derangement in some of the abdominal viscera. 
 Very healthy adults have asserted that they 
 never dreamed. Dreams are generally confused 
 and irregular, but occasionally discover extraor- 
 dinary marks of reason. ‘The power of corporeal 
 stimulants is very great in producing dreams; 
 vy. c. of the semen in producing lascivious trains 
 of ideas, of excessive repletion in causing frightful 
 appearances. There is an instance on record of 
 a man, in whom any kind of dreams could be 
 induced, if his friends, by gently addressing him, 
 afforded the subject-matter. This, however, ap- 
 pears to be a preternatural state, between sleep- 
 ing and waking; as does also the truly diseased 
 case of sleepwalkers, and the very different, 
 though morbid affection of somnambulists, seized 
 with what is termed magnetic ecstasis. Locke 
 and others have regarded all dreams as a species 
 of this mixed state.” §326. The causes of 
 sleepwalking have been attempted to be given by 
 
 Alexander Ross, celebrated in Hudibras, where 
 we find mention of 
 
 “¢ An ancient sage philosopher, 
 That had read Alexander Ross over;”’ 
 
 which is more, we dare say, than can be predi- 
 cated of many sage philosophers of the present 
 age. However this may be, our renowned rea- 
 soner writes as follows :—‘* Horatius and others 
 record divers examples of sleepwalkers, who do 
 strange things in their sleep; but this is also the 
 work of nature; for I find that they are most 
 subject to this infirmity, whose animal spirits are 
 most active, subtil, and fiery, and whose imagin- 
 ation is strong; so that, by the strength of their 
 fantasie, and agility of their spirits, the muscles 
 are moved, though the will doth not then concur 
 to this motion, nor reason make any opposition, 
 which it would do if it were naked, and not suffer 
 them to undergo such danger.” (Hid. Secrets 
 of Man’s Body discovered, Book III. chap. ii. 
 p. 76.) Lord Bacon has a short, but curious 
 passage, on the immediate causes of dreams, 
 pleasant or prophetic :—‘‘ There be some per- 
 fumes prescribed by the writers of natural magic, 
 which procure pleasant dreams; and some others, 
 as they say, that procure prophetical dreams, as 
 the seeds of flax, flea-wort, &c.” (Nat. Hist. 
 Cent. X. § 933.) Compare with the above the 
 notions of Aristotle, as they are found in his 
 three brief treatises on Sleep, Dreams, and Pro- 
 phetic Visions, Op. t. vii. pp. 129—158. 
 
CHAP. XX. | 
 
 OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. 205 
 
 so, or else accompanied also with pleasure or pain, delight or trouble, call it how 
 you please. These, like other simple ideas, cannot be described, nor their names 
 defined ; the way of knowing them is, as of the simple ideas of the senses, only 
 by experience. For, to define them by the presence of good or evil, is no other- 
 wise to make them known to us, than by making us reflect on what we feel in 
 ourselves, upon the several and various operations of good and evil upon our 
 minds, as they are differently applied to or considered by us. 
 
 2. Good and Evil, what.—Things, then, are good or evil, only in reference to 
 pleasure or pain. That we call good, which is apt to cause or increase pleasure, 
 or diminish pain in us; or else to procure or preserve us the possession of any 
 other good or absence of any evil. And, on the contrary, we name that evil 
 which is apt to produce or increase any pain, or diminish any pleasure in us; 
 or else to procure us any evil, or deprive us of any good.’ By pleasure and pain, 
 I must be understood to mean of body or mind, as they are commonly dis- 
 tinguished ; though in truth they be only different constitutions of the mind, 
 sometimes occasioned by disorder in the body, sometimes by thoughts of the 
 mind. 
 
 3. Our Passions moved by Good and Evil.—Pleasure and pain and that which 
 causes them, good and evil, are the hinges on which our passions turn: and if 
 we reflect on ourselves, and observe how these, under various considerations, 
 operate in us; what modifications or tempers of mind, what internal sensations 
 (if I may so call them) they produce in us, we may thence form to ourselves the 
 ideas of our passions.? 
 
 4. Love.—Thus any one reflecting upon the thought he has of the delight 
 which any present or absent thing is apt to produce in him, has the idea we call 
 love.* For when a man declares in autumn when he is eating them, or in spring 
 when there are none, that he loves grapes, it is no more but that the taste of grapes 
 delights him: let an alteration of health or constitution destroy the delight of 
 their taste, and he then can be said to love grapes no longer. 
 
 5. Hatred.—On the contrary, the thought of the pain which anything present 
 or absent is apt to produce in us, is what we call hatred. Were it my business 
 here to inquire any further than into the bare ideas of our passions, as they de- 
 pend on different modifications of pleasure and pain, I should remark, that our 
 love and hatred of inanimate insensible beings, is commonly founded on that plea- 
 sure and pain which we receive from their use and application any way to our 
 senses, though with their destruction: but hatred or love, to beings capable of 
 
 ’ Locke, in this passage, barely paraphrases the 
 briefer and more sententious Hobbes, who says, 
 *¢ Every man, for his own part, calleth that which 
 pleaseth and is delightful to himself, good; and 
 that evil, which displeaseth him: insomuch that 
 while every man differeth from other in constitu- 
 tion, they differ also from one another concern- 
 ing the common distinction of good and evil.” 
 (Human Nature, ch. vii. § 3.) 
 
 2 Compare with the enumeration and definitions 
 of the passions, here given too cursorily, the mas- 
 terly sketch of the same subject in Aristotle’s 
 Rhetoric, 1. ii. c. 4—11; and Hobbes’s Treatise 
 on Human Nature, c. vii. 
 
 3 This is a very mean and imperfect idea of love. 
 He confounds it with that weak feeling which 
 we term king; but every man who says he 
 “loves grapes,’’ must be sensible that he em- 
 ploys much too strong an expression. Hobbes ob- 
 serves that, ‘‘ delight, contentment, or pleasure, 
 is nothing really but motion about the heart, as 
 conception is nothing but motion in the head; 
 and the objects that cause it are called pleasant 
 or delightful, or by some name equivalent. ‘The 
 
 Latins have yucundum, a juvando,—from help- 
 ing; and the same delight, with reference to the 
 object, is called Jove.” (Human Nature, ch. vii. 
 § 1.) Aristotle observes justly, that love depends 
 more for its origin and continuance on sight 
 than on the other senses; and that, to those who 
 love, nothing is so productive of delight as the 
 beholding of the beloved object. (Ethic. Nico- 
 mach, ix. 12.) Upon this passage Victor has, 
 in his usual manner, written a delightful com- 
 mentary, which he thus concludes: ‘* Nullo alio 
 sensu tantopere affici, inflammarique amantes, 
 quantopere aspectu formosarum illarum persona- 
 rum, quas amare incceperint, sive attingant illas, 
 sive loquentes audiant ; quippe cum ex oculis ip- 
 sarum in eos cadat quiddam, sive lux illud est, 
 sive liquor, qui macerat, ac liquefacit ipsos, in- 
 fusa eo voluptate mixta cum dolore, quam, ut 
 narrat (Plutarchus) ipsi vocant yAukimucpor, no- 
 mine juncto e dulcedine, atque amarore, contra- 
 riis inter se rebus; quod expressit Catullus, qui 
 de Venere ita locutus est. ‘Qu dulcem curis 
 miscet amaritiem.’’’ (p. 590.) 
 
206 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 happiness or misery, is often the uneasiness or delight which we find in ourselves 
 arising from a consideration of their very being or happiness. Thus the being 
 and welfare of a man’s children or friends, producing constant delight in him, he 
 is said constantly to love them. But it suffices to note, that our ideas of love and 
 hatred are but the dispositions of the mind, in respect of pleasure and pain in 
 general, however caused in us. 
 
 6. Desire.—The uneasiness a man finds in himself upon the absence of any- 
 thing whose present enjoyment carries the idea of delight with it, is that we call 
 desire; which is greater or less, as that uneasiness is more or less vehement. 
 Where, by the by, it may perhaps be of some use to remark, that the chief, if not 
 only spur to human industry and action, is uneasiness. For whatsoever good is 
 proposed, if its absence carries no displeasure or pain with it, if a man be easy 
 and content without it, there is no desire of it, nor endeavour after it; there is no 
 more but a bare velleity,’ the term used to signify the lowest degree of desire, and 
 that which is next to none at all, when there is so little uneasiness in the absence 
 of anything, that it carries a man no further than some faint wishes for it, with- 
 out any more effectual or vigorous use of the means to attain it. Desire also is 
 stopped or abated by the opinion of the impossibility or unattainableness of the 
 good proposed, as far as the uneasiness is cured or allayed by that consideration. 
 This might carry our thoughts further, were it seasonable in this place. 
 
 7. Joy.—Joy is a delight of the mind,? from the consideration of the present or 
 assured approaching possession of a good: and we are then possessed of any 
 good when we have it so in our power, that we can use it when we please. Thus 
 aman almost starved has joy at the arrival of relief, even before he has the plea- 
 sure of using it: and a father, in whom the very well-being of his children causes 
 delight, is always, as long as his children are in such a state, in the possession of 
 that good; for he needs but to reflect on it, to have that pleasure. 
 
 8. Sorrow.— Sorrow is uneasiness in the mind, upon the thought of a good lost, 
 
 which might have been enjoyed longer; or the sense of a present evil.’ 
 
 1 Hobbes understood this term in a very dif- 
 ferent manner. ‘‘ The expression of vain-glory 
 is that with which some of the schools, mistaking 
 it for some appetite distinct from all the rest, have 
 called velleity ; making a new word, as they made 
 anew pry which was not before. (Hum. Nat. 
 Colxe OL ds hs 
 
 2« The other sort of delight is not particular to 
 any part of the body, and is called the delight of 
 the mind, and is that which we call joy.”’ (Hobbes’s 
 Hum. Nat, c. vii. § 8.) ‘‘Quatenus concipitur ab 
 aliquo bonum sibi adveniens, sine compensatione 
 ullius mali consequentis, que boni fruitio est, 
 affectus vocatur gaudium.” (De Hom.c. xii. § 2.) 
 “‘ Letitia dici potest, aliorum omnium animi nos- 
 tri motuum terminus, qui uti ab admiratione or- 
 iuntur, ita in gaudio tanquam suo scopo finiun- 
 tur, et desinunt.’”’ (Ant. Le Grand, Part IX. 
 Art. xii. p. 504.) 
 
 3“ Of pains, some affect the body, and are there- 
 fore called the pains of the body; and some not, 
 and those are called grief.’ (Hobbes’s Hum. 
 Nat. c. vii. § 8.) ‘‘Flentium passio contra est, 
 quando quis ab aliqua vehementi spe subito se 
 dejectum concipit. Itaque spe dilatati spiritus 
 animalis, subito fallente spe contracti, impetum 
 in organa lacrimandi facientes, humorem, qui 
 in illis est, in oculos cogit redundare. Plurimum 
 et seepius flent, quispem in se minimum, in amicis 
 plurimum habent, ut feemine et infantes.”’ (De 
 Homine, c. xii. § 7.) ‘* Passionum agmen Dolor 
 claudit, communissimus inter mortales affectus, 
 gaudii comes et hostes.”” (Ant. Le Grand, Part 
 IX. Art. xiii. p. 606.) “ Metrodorus disoit qu’en 
 
 la tristesse, il y a quelque alliage de plaisir: (Senec. 
 Epist. 99 :) je ne scay s’il vouloit dire autre chose, 
 mais moy j imagine bien qu’il y a du dessein, du 
 consentement, et de la complaisance a se nourrir 
 en la mélancholie. Je dis outre ambition, qui 
 s’y peut encore mesler: il y a quelque ombre de 
 friandise et délicatesse, qui nous rit et qui nous 
 flatte au giron méme de la mélancholie.”’ (Essais 
 de Montaigne, 1. II. c. xx. p. 149.) Sir Thomas 
 Brown, though by nature much inclined to me- 
 lancholy, having had, as he himself tells us, 
 (Relig. Med. Part II.) something of the leaden 
 planet in him, was yet a foe to sorrow in others ; 
 and therefore condemned Heraclitus for his habit 
 of weeping. For this reason he is with much 
 ingenuity attacked by Alexander Ross, who un- 
 dertakes to demonstrate that sorrow is a better 
 and a wiser thing than mirth; in which idea he 
 might have strengthened himself by the senti- 
 ment of the Greek proverb: 
 
 (44 ‘ by ~ ~ \ AY hed ” ” 
 Ovov Tic aXyél, KELOE KAL TOY VYOUY EX Els 
 Where there is sorrowing there is wisdom. 
 
 (Stob. Gaisf. Tit. 99, 25.) 
 
 ‘¢ Whereas he (Sir Thomas Brown) condemneth 
 Heraclitus, who, by his weeping, made a hell on 
 earth he is deceived; for often times there is 
 hell in laughing, and a heaven in weeping; in 
 tears there is often delight, and in laughing pain, 
 and, as Solomon saith, madness. Aristotle saith, 
 (1 Rhet.) that there is in sorrow and tears a cer- 
 tain sense of pleasure; and Prudentius saith: 
 ‘‘ Gaudia concipiunt lachryma, dant gaudia in 
 fletum.”’ 
 
CHAP. XX.] 
 
 OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN. 
 
 25 SLA aa ET TS ee Ee 
 
 207 
 
 9. Hope.—Hope is that pleasure in the mind, which every one finds in himself, 
 upon the thought of a profitable future enjoyment of a thing, which is apt to de- 
 
 light him.’ 
 
 10. Fear,—Fear is an uneasiness of the mind, upon the thought of future evil 
 
 likely to befal us.2 
 
 11. Despair.—Despair is the thought of the unattainableness of any good, 
 which works differently in men’s minds, sometimes producing uneasiness or pain, 
 
 sometimes rest and indolency.® 
 
 12. Anger.—Anger is uneasiness or discomposure of the mind, upon the receipt 
 of any injury, with a present purpose of revenge.‘ 
 
 13. Envy.—Envy is an uneasiness of the mind, caused by the consideration of 
 a good we desire, obtained by one we think should not have had it before us. 
 
 This is daxpvyeva. Tears, saith St. Ambrose, 
 feed the mind and ease the heart, which David 
 found when he said, My tears have been my 
 meat day and night. Good men therefore 
 found not all the uncomfortable attendments of 
 hell in weeping, but rather the comfortable en- 
 joyments of heaven.” (Arcani Microcosmi, c. xv. 
 p. 176.) This proposition he quaintly but beau- 
 tifully corroberates by referring to the example 
 of Christ; who, in the opinion of many learned 
 men, though he wept often, never indulged in 
 laughter. ‘No less than four Evangelists write 
 the story of Christ so fully, that they mention all 
 his passions and affections, as his anger, joy, sor- 
 row, pity, hunger, thirst, fear, wearisomeness, &c. 
 They speak that he mourned three several times. 
 So when the prophets describe him, they set him 
 out as aman of sorrow, acquainted with grief, 
 smitten of God, and afflicted, wounded for our 
 transgressions, bruised for our iniquities, and 
 stricken for our sins. It is strange, then, that 
 neither prophet, historian, apostle, nor evangelist 
 should speak a word of his laughing, and yet so 
 punctually mention to us his grief, sorrow, and 
 weeping. Therefore, not without cause did Chry- 
 sostom, Austin, Basil, Bernard, and others, con- 
 clude negatively, that Christ never laughed, and 
 yet he did not for that cease to bea man.”’ The 
 comic poet Antiphanes agreed with Sir Thomas 
 Brown, denouncing sorrow, as the great disease of 
 human nature, under many names: 
 
 * Arav 70 duTOvy tory dvOpuTYW Vvdo0G, 
 
 dvépara 0 éyovea oda.” 
 
 (Stob. Gaisf. Tit. 99, 31.) 
 
 See on Hope, Hume’s Dissertation on the 
 Passions, $i. p. 376, 40. The definition in the 
 text may be regarded asa paraphrase of Hobbes, 
 who says: ‘‘ Hope is expectation of good to come, 
 as fear is the expectation of evil.”” (Hum. Nat. 
 c. ix. § 8.) The text of Hobbes, Locke, and 
 Hume appears tobe the following :—Ta 6é éy éX- 
 Til, boa TapdvTa H Ehpaivey, % woEdEiY 
 paiverat peyada, 9 dvev dTNC Wgereiv. ‘Ow 
 0& boa mapovTa sbppaiver Kai édaiZoyvTac Kai 
 PEpynpévouc, we ériro woXdv.” (Arist, Rhet.i.11.) 
 
 2“éorw On poboc, AUTH TiC H TapAaXN, EK 
 pavraciac pédAovTog KaKov, 7 dOaoriKod 
 % Aumnoov. Let fear be—a certain anguish 
 or trouble from the contemplation of evil to 
 come, whether fatal, as fraught with affliction. 
 (Arist. Rhet. ii. 5.) Hobbes, whom Hume in his 
 Dissertation has but paraphrased, writes thus on 
 hope and fear: “‘ Quando vero concipimus unacum 
 malo mutationem ejus per modum aliquem, quo 
 ipsum malum evitetur, affectus ille oritur quam 
 vocamus spem. Similiter, si incumbente bono 
 
 concipimus modum aliquem quo amittatur, vel 
 in malum aliquod illi connexum trahi imagina- 
 mus, metus dicitur. Itaque manifestum est spem 
 et metum ita alternari inter se, ut nullum fere 
 tempus tam breve sit, ut non possit eorum vicis- 
 situdinem continere. Itaque spes et metus per- 
 turbationes dicenda tunc sunt, quando ambe 
 brevissimo tempore continentur nominaturque 
 secundum affectum prevalentem, simplicitur spes 
 vel metus.’ (De Homine, c. xii. § 3; Conf. Le 
 Grand, Part IX. Art. xi. § 5, p. 503.) 
 
 3 « Absolute privation of hope is despair; a 
 degree whereof is diffidence.”’ (Hobbes, Hum. 
 Nat..¢; 1x..9; 82) 
 
 4 “On ne fait point de distinction dans les 
 espéces de coléres, bien qu’il y en ait une légére 
 et quasi innocent, qui vient de l’ardeur de la 
 complexion; et une autre trés criminelle, qui est, 
 a proprement parler, la fureur de Vorgueil.”’ 
 (Rochefoucault, Reflex. 184.) Montaigne has 
 borrowed from Seneca (De Nat. c. xvi.) a story 
 illustrative of the worst form of anger—that 
 which revenges its own feelings upon others,— 
 “« J’ay retenu a ce propos un merveilleux exem- 
 ple de l’antiquité. Piso, personage par tout 
 ailleurs de notable vertu, s’estant esmeu contre 
 un sien soldat, de quoi revenant seul du fourrage, 
 il ne luy scavoit rendre compte, ou il avoit laissé 
 un sien compaignon, tinst pour avere qu’il l’avoit 
 tué, et le condamna soudain a la mort. Ainsi 
 qu’il estoit au gibet, voicy arriver ce compaignon 
 esgaré: toute l’armée en fit grand feste, et aprés 
 force caresses et accolades des deux compaignons, 
 le bourreau meine |’un et l’autre en la presence 
 de Piso, s’attendant bien toute l’assistance, que 
 ce luy seroit 4 luy mesmes un grand plaisir: mais 
 ce fut au rebours, car par honte et despit, son ar- 
 deur qui estoit encore en son effort, se redoubla: 
 et dune subtilité que sa passion luy fournit sou- 
 dain, il en fit trois coulpables, parce qu’il en 
 avoit trouvé un innocent: et les fit dispescher 
 tous trois: le premier soldat parce qwil y avoit 
 arrest contre luy; le second, qui s’estoit esgaré, 
 parce qu’il estoit cause de la mort de son com- 
 paignon; et le bourreau pour n’avoir obéy au 
 commandment qu’on lui avoit faist.”’ (Essais, 1. IT. 
 c. xxxi. p. 263; Conf. Arist. Rhet. l.ii. c. 2; and 
 Hobbes, De Homine, c. xvii. § 1.) 
 
 5 See Arist. Rhet. 1. ii.c.10. “ Dolor ob prela- 
 tum sibi alium, conjunctus cum conatu proprio, 
 est emulatio: sed conjunctus cum voluntate 
 prelatum sibi retrahendi, invidia est.” (Hobbes, 
 De Homine, c. xii. § 11.) ‘ L’orgueil qui nous 
 inspire tant d’envie nous sert souvent ainsi a la 
 modeérer.”’ (Rochefoucault, Reflex. 348.) Socrates 
 defined envy to be a wound of the soul. ‘ E)- 
 KOC ELVQL THC Wuxice (Stob. Gaisf. Tit. xxxviii. 
 
208 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 14. What Passions all Men have.—These two last, envy and anger, not being 
 caused by pain and pleasure, simply in themselves, but having in them some 
 mixed considerations of ourselves and others, are not therefore to be found in all 
 men,’ because those other parts of valuing their merits, or intending revenge, is 
 wanting in them: but all the rest, terminating purely in pain and pleasure, are, I 
 think, to be found in all men. For we love, desire, rejoice, and hope, only in re- 
 spect of pleasure ; we hate, fear, and grieve, only in respect of pain ultimately: in 
 fine, all these passions are moved by things, only as they appear to be the causes 
 of pleasure and pain, or to have pleasure or pain some way or other annexed to them. 
 Thus we extend our hatred usually to the subject (at least, if a sensible or volun- 
 tary agent) which has produced pain in us, because the fear it leaves is a constant 
 pain: but we do not so constantly love what has done us good ; because pleasure 
 operates not so strongly on us as pain, and because we are not so ready to have 
 hope it will do so again. But this by the by. 
 
 15. Pleasure and Pain, what.— By pleasure and pain, delight and uneasiness, 
 I must all along be understood (as I have above intimated) to mean not only bo- 
 dily pain and pleasure, but whatsoever delight or uneasinesss is felt by us, whether 
 arising from any grateful or unacceptable sensation or reflection. 
 
 16. Itis further to be considered, that, in reference to the passions, the removal 
 or lessening of a pain is considered, and operates as a pleasure: and the loss or 
 diminishing of a pleasure as a pain. 
 
 17. Shame.—The passions, too, have most of them in most persons operations 
 on the body, and cause various changes in it; which not being always sensible, 
 do not make a necessary part of the idea of each passion. For shame, which is an 
 uneasiness of the mind upon the thought of having done something which is inde- 
 cent, or will lessen the valued esteem which others have for us, has not always 
 blushing accompanying it. 3 
 
 18. These Instances to show how our Ideas of the Passions are, got from Sen- 
 sation and Reflection.—I would not be mistaken here, as if I meant this as a dis- 
 course of the passions: they are many more than those I have here named ; and 
 those I have taken notice of would each of them require a much larger and more 
 accurate discourse. I have only mentioned these here as so many instances of 
 modes of pleasure and pain resulting in our minds from various considerations of 
 good and evil. I might perhaps have instanced in other modes of pleasure and 
 pain more simple than these, as the pain of hunger and thirst, and the pleasure of 
 eating and drinking to remove them ; the pain of tender eyes, and the pleasure of 
 
 § 48.) Amnaximenes said, that they who are de- 
 termined by envy in their judgments, awarded 
 the palm rather to the worst than to the best men: 
 “Ot yap péta POdvov KpivorTec, TO TowTEiov 
 ATOVEMOVOL TOLG YELPLOTOLC OV TOIC BEA Tis ToLC.” 
 (Idem. 44.) And Thucydides describes envy as 
 the antagonist of the living, but the honourer of 
 the dead. ** b@dvog roic Zéat rpdb¢ 7b dytiTadov 
 TO O€ py EuTOOwWY avavTaywYLoTH EVvVOiG TE- 
 riunra (II. 45.) 
 
 1 This is erroneous: the elements of all human 
 passions are in all men; but in some are deve- 
 loped more, in others less. That is the whole 
 difference. 
 
 2 This larger and more accurate discourse, as 
 I have before said, will be found in Aristotle, 
 Rhet. 1. ii. &c.: but for a brief and pithy descrip- 
 tion of most of the passions, I know of no writer 
 to be compared with Hobbes. ‘‘ The comparison,” 
 he says, “‘of the life of man to a race, though it 
 hold not in every part, yet it holdeth so well for 
 this our purpose, that we may thereby both see 
 and remember almost all the passions before 
 mentioned. But this race we must suppose to 
 
 have no other goal nor other garland but being 
 foremost: and in it, to endeavour, is appetite— 
 to be remiss is sensuality—to consider them be- 
 hind, is glory—to consider them before, is humi- 
 lity—to lose ground with looking back, is vain- 
 glory—to be holden is hatred—to turn back, re- 
 pentance—to be in breath, hope—to be weary, 
 despair—to endeavour to overtake the next, emu- 
 lation—to supplant or overthrow, envy—to re- 
 solve to break through a stop foreseen, courage 
 —to break through a sudden stop, anger—to 
 break through with ease, magnanimity—to lose 
 ground by little hinderances, . pusillanimity—to 
 full on the sudden, is disposition to weep—to see 
 another fall, is disposition to laugh—to see one 
 out-gone when we would not, is pity—to see one 
 out-go whom we would not, is indignation—to 
 hold fast by another, is to love—to carry him on 
 who so holdeth, is charity—to hurt one’s self for 
 haste, is shame—continually to be out-gone, is 
 misery—continually to out-go the next before, 
 is felicity—and to forsake the course, is to die.” 
 (Human Nature, c. ix. § 21.) 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 209 
 
 music; pain from captious uninstructive wrangling, and the pleasure of rational 
 conversation with a friend, or of well-directed study in the search and discovery of 
 truth. But the passions being of much more concernment to us, I rather made 
 choice to instance in them, and show how the ideas we have of them are derived 
 from sensation and reflection. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 OF POWER. 
 
 1. This Idea how got.—TueE mind being every day informed by the senses of 
 the alteration of those simple ideas it observes in things without, and taking notice 
 how one comes to an end, and ceases to be, and another begins to exist which was 
 not before ; reflecting also on what passes within itself, and observing a constant 
 change of its ideas, sometimes by the impression of outward objects on the senses, 
 and sometimes by the determination of its own choice; and concluding from what 
 it has so constantly observed to have been, that the like changes will for the fu- 
 ture be made in the same things, by like agents, and by the like ways; considers 
 in one thing the possibility of having any of its simple ideas changed, and in an- 
 other the possibility of making that change: and so comes by that idea which we 
 call power.’ Thus we say, fire has a power to melt gold, i. e. to destroy the con- 
 sistency of its insensible parts, and consequently its hardness, and make it fluid ; 
 and gold has a power to be melted: that the sun has a power to blanch wax, and 
 wax a power to be blanched by the sun, whereby the yellowness is destroyed, and 
 whiteness made to exist in its room. In which, and the like cases, the power we 
 consider is in reference to the change of perceivable ideas: for we cannot observe 
 any alteration to be made in, or operation upon, anything, but by the observable 
 change of its sensible ideas; nor conceive any alteration to be made, but by con- 
 ceiving a change of some of its ideas.? 
 
 2. Power, active and passive-—Power, thus considered, is two-fold; viz. as 
 able to make, or able to receive, any change: the one may be called active, 
 and the other passive, power. Whether matter be not wholly destitute of active 
 power, as its author, God, is truly above all passive power; and whether the in- 
 termediate state of created spirits be not that alone which is capable of both active 
 and passive power, may be worth consideration.? I shall not now enter into that 
 
 1 This subject has been treated of at large by | est essentialiter vita, et in desinentes activa vel 
 
 Aristotle, Metaphysic, 1. viii. c. 1, et seq. 
 
 2 Here the word ¢dea is used for form, which is 
 a cause of confusion. Upon this hint Berkeley 
 seems to have based his whole theory. (I. p. 41.) 
 
 8 On the nature of angels, see Le Grand, Part 
 ii. p. 110, et seq. On the nature and powers of 
 the human soul, there is a splendid passage in 
 Dr. Thomas Burnet, of the Charter House’s ex- 
 traordinary work, De Statu Mortuorum et Resur- 
 gentium: ‘‘In anima, preter cogitationes, aut 
 vim cogitandi, nihil omnino experimus aut 
 deprehendimus. Quicquid agit anima, sive in 
 seipsa, sive exterius, non tactu aut impulsu agit, 
 sed vi alicujus cogitationis: intellectts, volunta- 
 tis, appetitis, aut alterius nominis. Et cim pa- 
 titur, sive a seipsd, sive exterils, ea etiam est 
 species aliqua cogitationis. Ut nihil prorsus in 
 mente nostra reperiamus, preter varios modos aut 
 vim cogitandi. Qudd si integra natura anime, 
 
 et essentia, ut dicunt, in cogitatione consistat, © 
 
 sui conscia: nec perire potest aliter quam anni- 
 hilatione.”’ (c. iii. p. 16.) Berkeley, according 
 to whose theory nothing exists, save spirits and 
 the ideas excited in them, entertained several 
 very extraordinary notions respecting the nature 
 of these entities. In the first place, he maintains, 
 that spirit is a proper object of knowledge: ‘‘ideas, 
 spirits, and relations, are all, in their respective 
 kinds, the objects of human knowledge.” (Prin- 
 ciples of Human Knowledge, § 89.) He next 
 acknowledges the existence of numerous orders 
 of spirits superior to man; his easiness of belief 
 in this respect, equalling the vigor of his incre- 
 dulity in respect to matter :—‘‘ That there area 
 great variety of spirits of different orders and ca- 
 pacities, whose faculties, both in number and 
 extent, are far exceeding those the Author of my 
 being has bestowed on me, I see no reason to 
 deny.” vel) But however firmly he may be- 
 lieve in the existence of spirit, he confesses that 
 
210 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK II. 
 
 inquiry, my present business being not to search into the original of power, but how 
 we come by the idea of it. But since active powers make so great a part of our 
 complex ideas of natural substances, (as we shall see hereafter, ) and I mention them 
 as such according to common apprehension ; yet, they being not perhaps so truly 
 active powers as our hasty thoughts are apt to represent them, I judge it not 
 amiss, by this intimation, to direct our minds to the consideration of God and 
 spirits, for the clearest idea of active powers. 
 
 3. Power includes Relation.—I confess power includes in it some kind of re- 
 lation, (a relation to action or change,) as indeed, which of our ideas, of what kind 
 soever, when attentively considered, does not? For our ideas of extension, dura- 
 tion, and number, do they not all contain in them a secret relation of the parts? 
 Figure and motion have something relative in them much more visibly : and sen- 
 sible qualities, as colours and smells &c., what are they but the powers of different 
 bodies, in relation to our perception &c.? And, if considered in the things them- 
 selves, do they not depend on the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of the parts ? 
 All which include some kind of relation in them. Our idea therefore of power, I 
 think, may well have a place amongst other simple ideas, and be considered as one 
 of them; being one of those that make a principal ingredient in our complex ideas 
 of substances, as we shall hereafter have occasion to observe.? 
 
 4. The clearest Idea of active Power had from Spirit.—We are abundantly 
 furnished with the idea of passive power by almost-all sorts of sensible things. 
 In most of them we cannot avoid observing their sensible qualities, nay, their 
 
 we know it only in the same way as we know of the 
 existence of matter, that is to say, by its effects: 
 “such is the nature of spirit, or that which acts, 
 that it cannot be of itself perceived but only by the 
 effects which it produceth.” (§27.) Again: ‘We 
 cannot know the existence of other spirits, other- 
 wise than by their operations, or the ideas by 
 them excited in us.”’ ($ 145.) Which is true: but 
 in § 16 et seq. he ridicules our concluding the 
 existence of matter in the same way, because its 
 essence isinconceivable. Occasionally he appears 
 inclined to think that we are further advanced in 
 the science of spirit than philosophers usually 
 give us credit for: ‘‘ With regard to spirits, per- 
 haps human knowledge is not so deficient as is 
 vulgarly imagined.” (§ 135.) But how it would 
 be possible to be more ignorant of a thing than 
 to have no idea whatever of it, it were difficult to 
 say; and yet such in Berkeley’s opinion is one 
 condition with respect to spirit. ‘‘ The great 
 reason that is assigned for our being thought ig- 
 norant of the nature of spirit, is our not having 
 an idea of it. But surely it ought not to be 
 looked on as a defect in a human understanding, 
 that it does not perceive the idea of spirit, if it is 
 manifestly impossible that there should be any 
 such idea.” (§135.) But however impossible itmay 
 be, it afterwards turns out that we have actually 
 some notion of the thing, though we have no 
 idea. ‘‘ We may be said to have some knowledge 
 or notion of our own minds, of spirits and active 
 beings, whereof, in a strict sense, we have not 
 ideas.” (§ 89.) Again: “It must be owned that 
 we have some notion of soul, spirit, and the oper- 
 ations of the mind, such as willing, loving, 
 hating; inasmuch as we know or understand the 
 meaning of those words.” ( 27.) Elsewhere the 
 impossibility is more completely got over, for we 
 find ourselves in possession even of an idea of 
 spirit. ‘In a large sense, indeed, we may be 
 said to have an idea (or rather, he adds, anotion) 
 of spirit.”” (§ 140.) But how, in any sense, large 
 or small, we can be said to have an idea of that 
 of which it is impossible we should have an idea, 
 
 I undertake not to determine. Pushed to its 
 fullest extent, Berkeley’s theory considerably 
 narrows the domain of philosophy: there is no 
 matter, he says, of which to form an idea; strictly 
 speaking, we can form no idea of spirit: of what 
 is it then that we can form an idea? His argu- 
 ments go directly to prove that animals are spirits: 
 for everything, he affirms, which thinks and per- 
 ceives is a spirit: now animals think and per- 
 ceive, therefore the elephant and rhinoceros are 
 spiritual existences. 
 
 1 Aristotle recognises two classes of powers— 
 the powers of matter unaccompanied by intelli- 
 gence, and the powers of mind or intelligence 
 itself. “roy dvvdpewy, ai pev Ecovrar Goyot, 
 at O& wera Néyou.” (Metaph. 1. viii. c. 11.) The 
 philosophers of the Megaric sect taught that power 
 exists only in activity: for example, that he has 
 the power to build a house who is building one; 
 and that the power only continues while he is 
 building ; for the act ceasing, therewith ceases the 
 power. “‘eiou O& Tivec ot dao éivat, oloy Me- 
 yapekol, bray tvepyy, povoy dvyvvac0av bray 
 Of wn éveoyy, wh OvvacOav oloy, Toy jn otKo- 
 Oopotyra, pn SvvacOar oikodopeivy, adda 
 Toy Lt) OiKodopmovyTa Bray oikodopH Spoiwe 
 6& kaiémi Téy GdXwv.” (c. iii.) Perhaps, how- 
 ever, it ought to be remarked, that there existed 
 a strong degree of enmity between Aristotle and 
 HKubulides, next after Euclid, the principal philo- 
 sopher of this school; so that the Stagirite may by 
 some be suspected of having given a ludicrous 
 turn to his exposition of their tenets. (Diog. Laert. 
 ii. 108, et seq. See on this school, Tenneman, 
 Man. of the Hist. of Phil. § 125.) Hobbes observes, 
 that cause and effect, power and act signify the 
 same things; but that cause and effect have re- 
 ference to the past, power and act to the future. 
 His whole chapter on the subject, which it would 
 be difficult to render intelligible by an outline, is 
 well worthy of being compared with the specula- 
 tion of Locke in the text. (Phil. Prim. c.x.; Opera, 
 t. I. p. 118, et seq.— Edit. of Sir W. Molesworth.) 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 211 
 
 very substances, to be in a continual flux: and therefore with reason we look on 
 them as liable still to the same change. Nor have we of active power (which is 
 the more proper signification of the word power) fewer instances; since whatever 
 change is observed, the mind must collect a power somewhere able to make that 
 change, as well as a possibility in the thing itself to receive it. But yet, if we will 
 consider it attentively, bodies, by our senses, do not afford us so clear and distinct 
 an idea of active power, as we have from reflection on the operations of our 
 minds. For all power relating to action, and there being but two sorts of action 
 whereof we have any idea, viz. thinking and motion; let us consider whence we 
 have the clearest ideas of the powers which produce these actions. 1. Of think- 
 ing, body affords us no idea at all; it is only from reflection that we have that. 
 2. Neither have we from body any idea of the beginning of motion. A body at rest 
 affords us no idea of any active power to move; and when it is set in motion 
 itself, that motion is rather a passion than an action in it. For when the ball obeys 
 the motion of a billiard-stick, it is not any action of the ball, but bare passion : 
 also, when by impulse it sets another ball in motion that lay in its way, it only 
 communicates the motion it had received from another, and loses in itself so much 
 as the other received; which gives us but a very obscure idea of an active power 
 of moving in body, whilst we observe it only to transfer, but not produce any mo- 
 tion. For it is but a very obscure idea of power which reaches not the production 
 of the action, but the continuation of the passion. For so is motion in a body 
 impelled by another; the continuation of the alteration made in it from rest to 
 motion being little more an action than the continuation of the alteration of its 
 figure by the same blow is an action. The idea of the beginning of motion we 
 have only from reflection on what passes in ourselves, where we find by expe- 
 rience, that, barely by willing it, barely by a thought of the mind, we can move 
 the parts of our bodies, which were before at rest. So that it seems to me, we 
 have, from the observation of the operation of bodies by our senses, but a very 
 imperfect obscure idea of active power, since they afford us not any idea in them- 
 selves of the power to begin any action, either motion or thought. But if, from 
 the impulse bodies are observed to make one upon another, any one thinks he has 
 a clear idea of power, it serves as well to my purpose, sensation being one of those 
 ways whereby the mind comes by its ideas: only I thought it worth while to con- 
 sider here, by the way, whether the mind doth not receive its idea of active power 
 clearer from reflection on its own operations, than it doth from any external sen- 
 sation. 
 
 ). Will and Understanding two Powers.—This, at least, I think evident, that 
 we find in ourselves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end several actions 
 of our minds, and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or preference of the 
 mind ordering, or, as it were, commanding the doing or not doing such or such a 
 particular action. This power which the mind has thus to order the consideration 
 of any idea, or the forbearing to consider it; or to prefer the motion of any part of 
 the body to its rest, and vice versa, in any particular instance, is that which we 
 call the will. The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, 
 or its forbearance, is that which we call volition or willmg. The forbearance of 
 that action, consequent to such order or command of the mind, is called voluntary. 
 And whatsoever action is performed without such a thought of the mind, is called 
 involuntary. The power of perception is that which we call the understanding. 
 Perception, which we make the act of the understanding, is of three sorts: 1. The 
 perception of ideas in our minds. 2. The perception of the signification of signs. 
 3. The perception of the connexion or repugnancy, agreement or disagreement, 
 that there is between any of our ideas. All these are attributed to the under- 
 standing, or perceptive power, though it be the two latter only that use allows us 
 to say we understand. | 
 
 6. Faculties.—These powers of the mind, viz. of perceiving, and of preferring, 
 are usually called by another name: and the ordinary way of speaking, is, that 
 
212 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 the understanding and will are two faculties of the mind; a word proper enough, 
 if it be used, as all words should be, so as not to breed any confusion in men’s 
 thoughts, by being supposed (as I suspect it has been) to stand for some real 
 beings in the soul that performed those actions of understanding and volition. 
 For when we say the will is the commanding and superior faculty of the soul ; that 
 it is or is not free; that it determines the inferior facuities; that it follows the dic- 
 tates of the understanding &c.; though these and the like expressions, by those 
 that carefully attend to their own ideas, and conduct their thoughts more by the 
 evidence of things than the sound of words, may be understood in a clear and 
 distinct sense; yet I suspect, I say, that this way of speaking of faculties has 
 misled many into a confused notion of so many distinct agents in us, which had 
 their several provinces and authorities, and did command, obey, and perform 
 several actions, as so many distinct beings; which has been no small occasion of 
 wrangling, obscurity, and uncertainty, in questions relating to them. 
 
 7. Whence the Ideas of Liberty and Necessity.—Every one, I think, finds in 
 himself a power to begin or forbear, continue or put an end to several actions in 
 himself. From the consideration of the extent of this power of the mind over the 
 actions of the man, which every one finds in himself, arise the ideas of liberty 
 and necessity.? 
 
 8. Liberty, what.—All the actions that we have any idea of, reducing them- 
 selves, as has been said, to these two, viz. thinking and motion; so far as a man 
 has power to think or not to think, to move or not to move, according to the 
 preference or direction of his own mind; so far is a man free. Wherever any 
 performance or forbearance are not equally in a man’s power; wherever doing or 
 not doing will not equally follow upon the preference of his mind directing it; 
 there he is not free, though perhaps the action may be voluntary. So that the 
 idea of liberty is the idea of a power in any agent to do or forbear any particular 
 action, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby either of 
 them is preferred to the other ; where either of them is not in the power of the 
 agent to be produced by him according to his volition, there he is not at liberty ; 
 that agent is under necessity. So that liberty cannot be where there is no thought, 
 no volition, no will; but there may be thought, there may be will, there may be 
 volition, where there is no liberty. <A. little consideration of an obvious instance 
 or two may make this clear. 
 
 9. Supposes the Understunding and Will.—A. tennis-ball, whether in motion 
 by the stroke of a racket, or lying still at rest, is not by any one taken to be a 
 free agent. If we inquire into the reason, we shall find it is because we conceive 
 
 1 Hobbes has written on this question a most 
 crabbed and puzzle-headed treatise, his anger 
 against Bramhall having disturbed his judgment. 
 For example, in that part where he is writing upon 
 the Bishop’s “ division of his forces,’ and under- 
 takes to dispose of his texts from Scripture, he 
 regards the powers of election and choice as every 
 way compatible with necessity; and says, “in 
 this following of one’s hopes and fears consisteth 
 the nature of election. So that a man may both 
 choose this, and cannot but choose this ; and, conse- 
 quently, choosing and necessity are joined to- 
 gether.”’ Which is as muchas to say, ‘I have two 
 legs because I choose to have two legs; and I choose 
 to have two legs because I have two legs.’’ But 
 this is like a tom cat running after his own tail: 
 there is a great deal of bustle, but no progress ; 
 for, if one should inquire, ‘‘ But suppose you 
 should choose to have three legs? What then?’ 
 Why then comes the necessitarian’s universal 
 reply, ‘“You can’t choose that:’’ which, in plain 
 English, is, ‘‘ You are a mere machine, and have 
 no liberty of choice at all.” But, as often hap- 
 
 pens, the most irrational portion of the work is 
 that in which the arguments from reason are 
 considered. He says, that “ the necessity of an 
 action doth not make the laws that prohibit it 
 unjust.” Which I take to be as arrant a piece 
 of absurdity as can be found in print: for if it be 
 as necessary that aman should thieve as that he 
 should breathe, (and there can be no degree in 
 necessity,) it were as just to prohibit breathing 
 as thieving. Again, he puts the case himself: 
 “¢ Suppose the law, on pain of death, prohibited 
 stealing; and that there be a man who by the’ 
 strength of temptation is necessitated to steal, 
 and is thereupon put to death; does not this 
 punishment deter others from theft?” What, 
 deter men from doing what they are necessitated 
 todo? Would the hanging of men for touching 
 the ground in walking deliver other men from 
 the necessity of touching the ground? Andif 
 all actions are necessary, they must be equally 
 necessary—the punishment as much as the act 
 punished—but then there can be neither crime 
 nor justice. 
 
CHAP. XX1. | OF POWER. 213 
 
 not a tennis-ball to think, and consequently not to have any volition, or pre- 
 ference of motion to rest, or vice versa; and therefore has not liberty, is not a 
 free agent; but all its both motion and rest come under our idea of necessary, and 
 are so called. Likewise a man falling into the water, (a bridge breaking under 
 him,) has not herein liberty, is not a free agent. For though he has volition, 
 though he prefers his not falling to falling; yet the forbearance of that motion 
 not being in his power, the stop or cessation of that motion follows not upon his 
 volition, and therefore therein he is not free. So a man striking himself, 
 or his friend, by a convulsive motion of his arm, which it is not in his 
 power, by volition or the direction of his mind, to stop or forbear, nobody 
 thinks he has in this liberty; every one pities him, as acting by necessity and 
 constraint. 
 
 10. Belongs not to Volition.—Again, suppose a man be carried, whilst fast 
 asleep, into a room, where is a person he longs to see and speak with; and be 
 there locked fast in, beyond his power to get out; he awakes, and is glad to 
 find himself in so desirable company, which he stays willingly in, i. e. prefers his 
 stay to going away; I ask, is not this stay voluntary? I think nobody will 
 doubt it; and yet being locked fast in, it is evident he is not at liberty not to stay, 
 he has not freedom to be gone. So that liberty is not an idea belonging to volition, 
 or preferring ; but to the person having the power of doing, or forbearing to do, 
 according as the mind shall choose or direct. Our idea of liberty reaches as far as 
 that power, and no farther. For wherever restraint comes to check that power, 
 or compulsion takes away that indifferency of ability on either side to act, or to 
 forbear acting, there liberty and our notion of it presently ceases. 
 
 11. Voluntary opposed to involuntary, not to necessary.—We have instances 
 enough, and often more than enough, in our own bodies. A man’s heart beats, 
 and the blood circulates, which it is not in his power by any thought or volition 
 to stop; and therefore in respect of these motions, where rest depends not on his 
 choice, nor would follow the determination of his mind, if it should prefer it, he is 
 not a free agent. Convulsive motions agitate his legs, so that though he wills it 
 ever so much, he cannot by any power of his mind stop their motion, (as in that 
 odd disease called chorea sancti viti,*) but he is perpetually dancing; he is not 
 at liberty in this action, but under as much necessity of moving, as a stone that 
 falls, or a tennis-ball struck with a racket. On the other side, a palsy or the 
 stocks hinder his legs from obeying the determination of his mind, if it would 
 thereby transfer his body to another place. In all these there is want of freedom; . 
 though the sitting still, even of a paralytic, whilst he prefers it to a removal, is 
 truly voluntary. Voluntary, then, is not opposed to necessary, but to involun- 
 tary. For a man may prefer what he can do, to what he cannot do; the 
 state he is in, to its absence or change; though necessity has made it in itself 
 unalterable. 
 
 12. Liberty, what.—As it is in the motions of the body, so it is in the thoughts 
 of our minds: where any one is such, that we have power to take it up, or lay it 
 by, according to the preference of the mind, there we are at liberty. A waking 
 man being under the necessity of having some ideas constantly in his mind, is not 
 at liberty to think or not to think; no more than he is at liberty, whether his 
 body shall touch any other or no: but whether he will remove his contempla- 
 tion from one idea to another, is many times in his choice; and then he is, in 
 respect of his ideas, as much at liberty, as he is in respect of bodies he rests on: 
 he can at pleasure remove himself from one to another. But yet some ideas to 
 the mind, like some motions to the body, are such as in certain circumstances it 
 cannot avoid, nor obtain their absence by the utmost effort it can use. A man on 
 the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain, and divert himself with other 
 
 1 Similar were the movements of the countenance caused by the Sardonic laugh. 
 
214 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 contemplations:' and sometimes a boisterous passion hurries our thoughts as a 
 hurricane does our bodies, without leaving us the liberty of thinking on other 
 things, which we would rather choose. But as soon as the mind regains the 
 power to stop or continue, begin or forbear, any of these motions of the body 
 without, or thoughts within, according as it thinks fit to prefer either to the other, 
 we then consider the man as a free agent again. 
 
 13. Necessity, what.—-Wherever thought is wholly wanting, or the power to 
 act or forbear according to the direction of thought, there necessity takes place. 
 This in an agent capable of volition, when the beginning or continuation of any 
 action is contrary to that preference of his mind, is called compulsion; when 
 the hindering or stopping any action is contrary to his volition, it is called 
 restraint. Agents that have no thought, no volition at all, are in everything 
 necessary agents. 
 
 14. Liberty belongs not to the Will.—If this be so, (as I imagine it is,) I leave 
 it to be considered, whether it may not help to put an end to that long agitated, 
 and, I think, unreasonable, because unintelligible question, viz. Whether man’s 
 will be free or no? For if I mistake not, it follows from what I have said, that 
 the question itself is altogether improper ; and it is as insignificant to ask whether 
 man’s will be free, as to ask whether. his sleep be swift, or his virtue square ; 
 liberty being as little applicable to the will, as swiftness of motion is to sleep, or 
 squareness to virtue. Every one would laugh at the absurdity of such a ques- 
 tion as either of these, because it is obvious that the modifications of motion 
 belong not to sleep, nor the difference of figure to virtue; and when any one well 
 considers it, I think he will as plainly perceive that liberty, which is but a power, 
 belongs only to agents, and cannot be an attribute or modification of the will, 
 which is also but a power. 
 
 15. Volition—Such is the difficulty of explaming and giving clear notions of 
 internal actions by sounds, that I must here warn my reader, that ordering, direct- 
 ing, choosing, preferrmg, &c. which I have made use of, will not distinctly 
 enough express volition, unless he will reflect on what he himself does when he 
 wills. For example, preferring, which seems perhaps best to express the act of 
 volition, does it not precisely. For though a man would prefer fying to walking, 
 yet who can say he ever wills it? Volition, it is plain, is an act of the mind know- 
 ingly exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by 
 employing it in, or withholding it from any particular action. And what is the 
 . will, but the faculty to do this? And is that faculty anything more in effect than 
 a power; the power of the mind to determine its thought, to the producing, con- 
 tinuing, or stopping any action, as far as it depends on us? For can it be denied, 
 that, whatever agent has a power to think on its own actions, and to prefer their 
 doing or omission either to other, has that faculty called will? Will, then, is 
 nothing but such a power. Liberty, on the other side, is the power a man has to 
 do or forbear doing any particular action, according as its doing or forbearance 
 has the actual preference in the mind; which is the same thing as to say, accord- 
 ing as he himself wills it. 
 
 16. Powers belonging to Agents.—It is plain, then, that the will is nothing but 
 one power or ability, and freedom another power or ability; so that, to ask whether 
 the will has freedom, is to ask whether one power has another power, one ability 
 another ability ; a question at first sight too grossly absurd to make a dispute, or 
 need an answer. For who is it that sees not that powers belong only to agents, 
 and are attributes only of substances, and not of powers themselves? So that 
 this way of putting the question, viz. Whether the will be free? is in effect to ask, 
 whether the will be a substance, an agent? or at least to suppose it; since free- 
 
 Or wallow naked in December’s snow 
 By only thinking of the summer’s heat? 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 1 For who can take a fire in his hand 
 By thinking of the frozen Caucasus, 
 
 a 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 215 
 
 dom can properly be attributed to nothing else. If freedom can with any pro- 
 _ priety of speech be applied to power, or may be attributed to the power that is 
 in a man to produce or forbear producing motion in parts of his body, by choice 
 or preference; which is that which denominates him free, and is freedom itself. 
 But if any one should ask whether freedom were free, he would be suspected 
 not to understand well what he said; and he would be thought to deserve Midas’s 
 ears, who, knowing that rich was a denomination for the possession of riches, 
 should demand whether riches themselves were rich. 
 
 17. However, the name faculty, which men have given to this power called 
 the will, and whereby they have been led into a way of talking of the will as 
 acting, may, by an appropriation that discuises its true sense, serve a little to pal- 
 liate the absurdity ; yet the will, in truth, signifies nothing but a power or ability 
 to prefer or choose: and when the will, under the name of a faculty, is considered 
 as it is, barely as an ability to do something, the absurdity in saying it is free, or 
 not free, will easily discover itself. For if it be reasonable to suppose and talk of 
 faculties as distinct beings, that can act, (as we do, when we say the will orders, 
 and the will is free,) it is fit that we should make a speaking faculty, and a 
 walking faculty, and a dancing faculty, by which these actions are produced, 
 which are but several modes of motion; as well as we make the will and under- 
 standing to be faculties, by which the actions of choosing and perceiving are 
 produced, which are but several modes of thinking: and we may as properly say 
 that it is the singing faculty sings, and the dancing faculty dances, as that the 
 will chooses, or that the understanding conceives; or, as is usual, that the will 
 directs the understanding, or the understanding obeys or obeys not the will; it 
 being altogether as proper and intelligible to say that the power of speaking 
 directs the power of singing, or the power of singing obeys or disobeys the power 
 of speaking. 
 
 18. This way of talking, nevertheless, has prevailed, and, as I guess, produced 
 great confusion. For these being all different powers in the mind, or in the man, 
 to do several actions, he exerts them as he thinks fit; but the power to do one 
 action is not operated on by the power of doing another action. For the power 
 of thinking operates not on the power of choosing; nor the power of choosing on 
 the power of thinking ; no more than the power of dancing operates on the power 
 of singing; or the power of singing on the power of dancing, as any one who reflects 
 on it will easily perceive: and yet this is it which we say when we thus speak, 
 that the will operates on the understanding, or the understanding on the will. 
 
 19. I grant, that this or that actual thought may be the occasion of volition,’ 
 or exercising the power a man has to choose; or the actual choice of the mind, 
 the cause of actual thinking on this or that thing: as the actual singing of such a 
 tune may be the cause of dancing such a dance, and the actual dancing of such a 
 dance the occasion of singing such a tune. But in all these it is not one power 
 that operates on another; but it is the mind that operates, and exerts these 
 powers; it is the man that does the action, it is the agent that has power, or is 
 able to do. For powers are relations, not agents: and that which has the power 
 or not the power to operate, is that alone which is or is not free, and not the 
 power itself. For freedom, or not freedom, can belong to nothing but what has 
 or has not a power to act. 
 
 20. Liberty belongs not to the Will.—The attributing to faculties that which 
 belonged not to them, has given occasion to this way of talking; but the intro- 
 ducing into discourses concerning the mind, with the name of faculties, a notion 
 of their operating, has, I suppose, as little advanced our knowledge in that part of 
 ourselves, as the great use and mention of the like invention of faculties in the 
 operations of the body, has helped us in the knowledge of physic. Not that I 
 deny there are faculties, both in the body and mind: they both of them have their 
 
 1 See Pascal on the Pouvoir Prochain, Lettres Provinciales. 
 
216 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 powers of operating, else neither the one nor the other could operate. For 
 nothing can operate that is not able to operate; and that is not able to operate 
 that has no power to operate. Nor do I deny that those words, and the like, are 
 to have their place in the common use of languages that have made them current. 
 It looks like too much affectation wholly to lay them by: and philosophy itself, 
 though it likes not a gaudy dress, yet, when it appears in public, must have so 
 much complacency as to be clothed in the ordinary fashion and language of the 
 country, so far as it can consist with truth and perspicuity. But the fault has 
 been, that faculties have been spoken of and represented as so many distinct 
 agents. For it being asked, what it was that digested the meat in our stomachs? 
 it was a ready and very satisfactory answer to say, that it was the digestive 
 faculty. What was it that made anything come out of the body? the expulsive 
 faculty. What moved? the motive faculty. And so in the mind, the intellectual 
 faculty, or the understanding, understood; and the elective faculty, or the will, 
 willed or commanded. This is, in short, to say, that the ability to digest, 
 digested ; and the ability to move, moved; and the ability to understand, under- 
 stood. For faculty, ability, and power, I think, are but different names of the 
 same things ; which ways of speaking, when put into more intelligible words, will, 
 I think, amount to thus much: that digestion is performed by something that is 
 able to digest, motion by something able to move, and understanding by something 
 able to understand. And, in truth, it would be very strange if it should be other- 
 wise;' as strange as it would be for a man to be free without being able to be free. 
 
 21. But to the Agent, or Man.—To return, then, to the inquiry about liberty, 
 I think the question is not proper, whether the will be free, but whether a man 
 be free. Thus, I think: 
 
 First, That so far as any one can, by the direction or choice of his mind, prefer- 
 ring the existence of any action to the non-existence of that action, and vice versa, 
 make it to exist or not exist, so far he is free. For if I can, by a thought directing 
 the motion of my finger, make it move when it was at rest, or vice versa, it is evident, 
 that in respect of that I am free: and if I can, by a like thought of my mind, 
 preferring one to the other, produce either words or silence, I am at liberty to 
 speak or hold my peace; and as far as this power reaches, of acting or not acting, 
 by the determination of his own thought preferring either, so far is a man free. 
 For how can we think any one freer, than to have the power to do what he will? 
 And so far as any one can, by preferring any action to its not being, or rest to 
 any action, produce that action or rest, so far can he do what he will. For 
 such a preferring of action to its absence, is the willing of it; and we can scarce 
 tell how to imagine any being freer, than to be able to do what he wills. So that 
 in respect of actions within the reach of such a power in him, a man seems as 
 free as it is possible for freedom to make him. 
 
 22. In respect of willing, a Man is not free.—But the inquisitive mind of man, 
 willing to shift off from himself, as far as he can, all thoughts of guilt, though it 
 be by putting himself into a worse state than that of fatal necessity, is not content 
 with this: freedom, unless it reaches further than this, will not serve the turn; 
 and it passes for a good plea, that a man is not free at all, if he be not as free to 
 will as he is to act what he wills. Concerning a man’s liberty, there yet, there- 
 fore, is raised this further question, Whether a man be free to will? which I 
 think is what is meant, when it is disputed whether the will be free. And as to 
 that I imagine, 
 
 23. Secondly, That willing, or volition, being an action, and freedom consisting 
 in a power of acting or not acting, a man in respect of willing or the act of volition, 
 when any action in his power is once proposed to his thoughts, as presently to be 
 done, cannot be free. The reason whereof is very manifest; for it being 
 unavoidable that the action depending on his will should exist or not exist: and 
 
 ’ As effective a piece of quiet humour as any perhaps in the language. 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 217 
 
 its existence or not existence following perfectly the determination and preference 
 of his will, he cannot avoid willing the existence or not existence of that action; 
 it is absolutely necessary that he will the one or the other; i. e. prefer the one to 
 the other: since one of them must necessarily follow; and that which does 
 follow, follows by the choice and determination of his mind; that is, by his willing 
 it: for if he did not will it, it would not be. So that, in respect of the act of 
 willing, a man in such a case is not free: liberty consisting in a power to act or 
 not to act; which, in regard of volition, a man, upon such a proposal, has not. 
 For it is unavoidably necessary to prefer the doing or forbearance of an action in 
 a man’s power, which is once so proposed to his thoughts; a man must necessarily 
 will the one or the other of them, upon which preference or volition the action or 
 its forbearance certainly follows, and is truly voluntary. But the act of volition, 
 or preferring one of the two, being that which he cannot avoid, a man in respect 
 of that act of willing is under a necessity, and so cannot be free; unless necessity 
 and freedom can consist together, and a man can be free and bound at once. 
 
 24. This, then, is evident, that, in all proposals of present action, a man is not 
 at liberty to will or not to will, because he cannot forbear willing: liberty con- 
 sisting in a power to act or to forbear acting, and in that only. For a man that 
 sits still is said yet to be at liberty, because he can walk if he wills it. But if a 
 man sitting still has not a power to remove himself, he is not at liberty; so like- 
 wise a man falling down a precipice, though in motion, is not at liberty, because 
 he cannot stop that motion if he would. This being so, it is plain that a man 
 that is walking, to whom it is proposed to give off walking, is not at liberty 
 whether he will determine himself to walk, or give off walking or not: he must 
 necessarily prefer one or the other of them, walking or not walking; and so it is 
 in regard of all other actions in our power so proposed, which are the far greater 
 number. For considering the vast number of voluntary actions that succeed one 
 another every moment that we are awake in the course of our lives, there are but 
 few of them that are thought on or proposed to the will, till the time they are to 
 be done; and in all such actions, as I have shown, the mind in respect of willing 
 has not a power to act or not to act, wherein consists liberty. The mind, in that 
 case, has not a power to forbear willing; it cannot avoid some determination 
 concerning them, let the consideration be as short, the thought as quick as it will; 
 it either leaves the man in the state he was before thinking, or changes it; con- 
 tinues the action, or puts an end to it. Whereby it is manifest, that it orders and 
 directs one, in preference to or with neglect of the other, and thereby either the 
 continuation or change becomes unavoidably voluntary. 
 
 25. The Will determined by something without it.—Since, then, it is plain 
 that, in most cases a man is not at liberty, whether he will or no, the next thing 
 demanded is, whether a man be at liberty to will which of the two he pleases, 
 motion or rest? This question carries the absurdity of it so manifestly in itself, 
 that one might thereby sufficiently be convinced that liberty concerns not the 
 will. For to ask whether aman be at liberty to will either motion or rest, 
 speaking or silence, which he pleases, is to ask whether a man can will what he 
 wills, or be pleased with what he is pleased with? A question which, I think, 
 needs no answer; and they who can make a question of it, must suppose one 
 will to determine the acts of another, and another to determine that, and so on 
 in infinitum. 
 
 26. To avoid these and the like absurdities, nothing can be of greater use than 
 to establish in our minds determined ideas of the things under consideration. If 
 the ideas of liberty and volition were well fixed in the understandings, and carried 
 along with us in our minds, as they ought, through all the questions that are 
 raised about them, I suppose a great part of the difficulties that perplex men’s 
 thoughts and entangle their understandings would be much easier resolved, and 
 we should peeceive where the confused signification of terms, or where the nature 
 of the thing caused the obscurity. 
 
218 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 27. Freedom.—First, then, it is carefully to be remembered, that freedom 
 consists in the dependence of the existence or not existence of any action, upon 
 our volition of it; and not in the dependence of any action, or its contrary, on our 
 preference. A man standing on a cliff, is at liberty to leap twenty yards down- 
 wards into the sea, not because he has a power to do the contrary action, which 
 is to leap twenty yards upwards, for that he cannot do; but he is therefore free, 
 because he has a power to leap or not to leap. But if a greater force than his 
 either holds him fast or tumbles him down, he is no longer free in that case; 
 because the doing or forbearance of that particular action is no longer in his 
 power. He that is a close prisoner in a room twenty feet square, being at the 
 north side of his chamber, is at liberty to walk twenty feet southward, because he 
 can walk or not walk it; but is not, at the same time, at liberty to do the con- 
 trary, i. e. to walk twenty feet northward. 
 
 In this, then, consists freedom, viz. in our being able to act or not to act, 
 according as we shall choose or will. 
 
 28. Volition, what.—Secondly, we must remember, that volition or willing is 
 an act of the mind directing its thought to the production of any action, and 
 thereby exerting its power to produce it. To avoid multiplying of words, I would 
 crave leave here, under the word action, to comprehend the forbearance too of 
 any action proposed: sitting still, or holding one’s peace, when walking or 
 speaking are proposed, though mere forbearances, requiring as much the deter- 
 mination of the will, and being as often weighty in their consequences as the con- 
 trary actions, may, on that consideration, well enough pass for actions too: but 
 this I say, that I may not be mistaken, if for brevity’s sake I speak thus. 
 
 29. What determines the Will.—Thirdly, the will being nothing but a power 
 in the mind to direct the operative faculties of a man to motion or rest, as far as 
 they depend on such direction, to the question, what is it determines the will? the 
 true and proper answer is, the mind. For that which determines the general power 
 of directing to this or that particular direction, is nothing but the agent itself 
 exercising the power it has that particular way. If this answer satisfies not, it is 
 plain the meaning of the question, what determines the will? is this, What 
 moves the mind, in every particular instance, to determine its general power of 
 directing to this or that particular motion or rest? And to this I answer, the 
 motive for continuing in the same state or action, is only the present satisfaction in 
 it; the motive to change is always some uneasiness; nothing setting us upon the 
 change of state, or upon any new action, but some uneasiness. This is the great 
 motive that works on the mind to put it upon action, which for shortness’ sake we 
 will call determining of the will, which I shall more at large explain. 
 
 30. Will and Desire must not be confounded.-—But, in the way to it, it will be 
 necessary to premise, that, though I have above endeavoured to express the act of 
 volition by choosing, preferring, and the like terms, that signify desire as well as 
 volition, for want of other words to mark that act of the mind, whose proper 
 name is willing or volition; yet it being a very simple act, whosoever desires to 
 understand what it is, will better find it by reflecting on his own mind, and 
 observing what it does when it wills, than by any variety of articulate sounds 
 whatsoever. This caution of being careful not to be misled by expressions that 
 do not enough keep up the difference between the will and several acts of the 
 mind that are quite distinct from it, I think the more necessary ; because I find 
 the will often confounded with several of the affections, especially desire, and one 
 put for the other; and that by men who would not willingly be thought not to 
 have had very distinct notions of things, and not to have writ very clearly about 
 them. This, I imagine, has been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in 
 this matter, and therefore is, as much as may be, to be avoided. For he that 
 shall turn his thoughts inwards upon what passes in his mind when he wills, shall 
 see that the will or power of volition is conversant about nothing, but that par- 
 ticular determination of the mind, whereby barely by a thought the mind endea- 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 219 
 
 vours to give rise, continuation, or stop, to any action which it takes to be in its 
 power. ‘This, well considered, plainly shows that the will is perfectly distin- 
 guished from desire; which in the very same action may have a quite contrary 
 tendency from that which our will sets us upon. A man whom I cannot deny, 
 may oblige me to use persuasions to another, which, at the same time I am 
 speaking, I may wish may not prevail on him. In this case, it is plain the will 
 and desire run counter. I will the action that tends one way, whilst my desire 
 tends another, and that the direct contrary way. A man who by a violent fit of 
 the gout in his limbs finds a doziness in his head, or a want of appetite in his 
 stomach removed, desires to be eased too of the pain of his feet or hands, (for 
 wherever there is pain, there is a desire to be rid of it,) though yet, whilst he 
 apprehends that the removal of the pain may translate the noxious humour to a 
 more vital part, his will is never determined to any one action that may serve to 
 remove this pain. Whence it is evident that desirmg and willing are two distinct 
 acts of the mind, and consequently, that the will, which is but the power of voli- 
 tion, is much more distinct from desire. 
 
 31. Uneasiness determines the Will.—To return, then, to the inquiry, what is 
 it that determines the will in regard to our actions? And that, upon second 
 thoughts, I am apt to imagine is not, as is generally supposed, the greater good 
 in view, but some (and for the most part the most pressing) uneasiness a man is 
 at present under. This is that which successively determines the will, and sets 
 us upon those actions we perform. This uneasiness we may call, as it is, desire; 
 which is an uneasiness of the mind for want of some absent good. All pain of 
 the body, of what sort soever, and disquiet of the mind, is uneasiness ; and with 
 this is always joined desire, equal to the pain or uneasiness felt, and is scarce dis- 
 tinguishable from it. For desire being nothing but an uneasiness in the want of 
 an absent good, in reference to any pain felt, ease is that absent good; and till 
 that ease be attained, we may call it desire, nobody feeling pain that he wishes 
 not to be eased of, with a desire equal to that pain, and inseparable from it. 
 Besides this desire of ease from pain, there is another of absent positive good ; 
 and here also the desire and uneasiness are equal. As much as we desire any 
 absent good, so much are we in pain for it. But here all absent good does not, 
 according to the greatness it has, or is acknowledged to have, cause pain equal to 
 that greatness ; as all pain causes desire equal to itself: because the absence of good 
 is not always a pain, as the presence of pain is. And therefore absent good may 
 be looked on, and considered without desire. But so much as there is anywhere 
 of desire, so much there is of uneasiness. 
 
 32. Desire is Uneasiness.—That desire is a state of uneasiness, every one who 
 reflects on himself will quickly find. Who is there that has not felt in desire 
 what the wise man says of hope, (which is not much different from it,) “ that 
 it being deferred makes the heart sick?” and that still proportionable to the 
 greatness of the desire ; which sometimes raises the uneasiness to that pitch, that it 
 makes people cry out, “‘ Give me children, give me the thing desired, or I die?”’! 
 Life itself, and all its enjoyments, is a burden cannot be borne under the lasting 
 and unremoved pressure of such an uneasiness. 
 
 33. The Uneasiness of Desire determines the Will.—Good and evil, present 
 and absent, it is true, work upon the mind: but that which immediately deter- 
 mines the will, from time to time, to every voluntary action, is the uneasiness 
 of desire, fixed on some absent good: either negative, as indolence to one in pain; 
 or positive, as enjoyment of pleasure. That it is this uneasiness that determines 
 the will to the successive voluntary actions whereof the greatest. part of our lives 
 is made up, and by which we are conducted through different courses to different 
 ends, I shall endeavour to show, both from experience and the reason of the 
 
 thing. 
 
 1 Genesis, xxx. 1. 
 
220 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 34, This is the Spring of Action.—-When a man is perfectly content with the 
 state he is in, which is when he is perfectly without any uneasiness, what 
 industry, what action, what will is there left, but to continue in it? Of this 
 every man’s observation will satisfy him. And thus we see our all-wise Maker, 
 suitably to our constitution and frame, and knowing what it is that determines the 
 will, has put into man the uneasiness of hunger and thirst, and other natural 
 desires, that return at their seasons, to move and determine their wills, for the 
 preservation of themselves, and the continuation of their species. For I think we 
 may conclude, that, if the bare contemplation of these good ends to which we are 
 carried by these several uneasinesses, had been sufficient to determine the will, 
 and set us on work, we should have had none of these natural pains, and perhaps 
 in this world little or no pain at all. “It is better to marry than to burn,” says 
 St. Paul; where we may see what it is that chiefly drives men into the enjoy- 
 ments of a conjugal life. A little burning felt pushes us more powerfully, than 
 greater pleasures in prospect draw or allure. 
 
 35. The greatest positive Good determines not the Will, but Uneasiness.—It 
 seems so established and settled a maxim by the general consent of all mankind, 
 that good, the greater good, determines the will,! that I do not at all wonder that, 
 when I first published my thoughts on this subject, I took it for granted; and I 
 imagine that, by a great many I shall be thought more excusable for having then 
 done so, than that now I have ventured to recede from so received an opinion. 
 But yet, upon a stricter inquiry, I am forced to conclude that good, the greater 
 good, though apprehended and acknowledged to be so, does not determine the will. 
 until our desire, raised proportionably to it, makes us uneasy in the want of it. 
 Convince a man ever so much that plenty has its advantages over poverty ; make 
 him see and own that the handsome conveniences of life are better than nasty pe- 
 nury ; yet, as long as he is content with the latter, and finds no uneasiness in it, he 
 moves not; his will never is determined to any action that shall bring him out of 
 it. Let a man be ever so well persuaded of the advantages of virtue, that it is as 
 necessary to a man who has any great aims in this world, or hopes in the next, as 
 food to life; yet, till he hungers or thirsts after righteousness, till he feels an un- 
 easiness in the want of it, his will will not be determined to any action in pursuit of 
 this confessed greater good; but any other uneasiness he feels in himself shall take 
 place, and carry his will to other actions. On the other side, let a drunkard see 
 that his health decays, his estate wastes, discredit and diseases, and the want of all 
 things, even of his beloved drink, attends him in the course he follows ; yet the 
 returns of uneasiness to miss his companions, the habitual thirst after his cups at 
 the usual time, drives him to the tavern, though he has in his view the loss of health 
 and plenty, and perhaps of the joys of another life: the least of which is no incon- 
 siderable good, but such as he confesses is far greater than the tickling of his pa- 
 late with a glass of wine, or the idle chat of a soaking club. It is not want of 
 viewing the greater good; for he sees and acknowledges it, and, in the intervals 
 of his drinking hours, will take resolutions to pursue the greater good ; but when 
 the uneasiness to miss his accustomed delight returns, the greater acknowledged 
 good loses its hold, and the present uneasiness determines the will to the accus- 
 tomed action; which thereby gets stronger footing to prevail against the next 
 occasion, though he at the same time makes secret promises to himself that he 
 will do so no more; this is the last time he will act against the attainment of those 
 greater goods. And thus he is from time to time in the state of that unhappy 
 complainer, video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor :? which sentence, allowed 
 for true, and made good by constant experience, may this, and possibly no other 
 way, be easily made intelligible. 
 
 * On the Supreme Good, see Aristotle’s Ethicks, 2So St. Paul: “When I choose the good, 
 1. 1, ch. 1, et seq. evil is present with me.” 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 221 
 
 36. Because the Removal of Uneasiness is the first Step to Happiness.—If we 
 inquire into the reason of what experience makes so evident in fact, and examine, 
 why it is uneasiness alone operates on the will, and determines it in its choice, we 
 shall find that, we being capable but of one determination of the will to one action 
 at once, the present uneasiness that we are under does naturally determine the 
 will,' in order to that happiness which we all aim at in all our actions; forasmuch 
 as whilst we are under any uneasiness, we cannot apprehend ourselves happy, or 
 in the way to it; pain and uneasiness being by every one concluded and felt to 
 be inconsistent with happiness, spoiling the relish even of those good things which 
 we have; a little pain serving to mar all the pleasure we rejoiced in. And there- 
 fore that which of course determines the choice of our will to the next action, will 
 always be the removing of pain, as long as we have any left, as the first and ne- 
 cessary step towards happiness. 
 
 37. Because Uneasiness alone is present.—-Another reason why it is uneasi- 
 ness alone determines the will, is this: because that alone is present, and it is 
 against the nature of things, that what is absent should operate where it is not. 
 It may be said, that absent good may by contemplation be brought home to the 
 mind, and made present. The idea of it indeed may be in the mind, and 
 viewed as present there; but nothing will be in the mind as a present good, 
 able to counterbalance the removal of any uneasiness which we are under, till 
 it raises our desire; and the uneasiness of that has the prevalency in determining 
 the will. ‘Till then, the idea in the mind of whatever is good, is there only, 
 like other ideas, the object of bare unactive speculation, but operates not on the 
 will, nor sets us on work; the reason whereof I shall show by and by. How 
 many are to be found, that have had lively representations set before their 
 minds of the unspeakable joys of heaven, which they acknowledge both possible 
 and probable too, who yet would be content to take up with their happiness here? 
 And so the prevailing uneasinesses of their desires, let loose after the enjoyments 
 of this life, take their turns in the determining their wills ; and all that while they 
 take not one step, are not one jot moved towards the good things of another life, 
 considered as ever so great. 
 
 — 38. Because all who allow the Joys of Heaven possible, pursue them not.— 
 Were the will determined by the views of good, as it appears in contemplation 
 greater or less to the understanding, which is the state of all absent good, and that 
 which in the received opinion the will is supposed to move to, and to be moved 
 by, I do not see how it could ever get loose from the infinite eternal joys of hea- 
 ven, once proposed and considered as possible. For all absent good, by which 
 alone, barely proposed, and coming in view, the will is thought to be determined, 
 and so to set us on action, being only possible, but not infallibly certain; it is un- 
 avoidable that the infinitely greater possible good should regularly and constantly 
 determine the will in all the successive actions it directs: and then we should kee 
 constantly and steadily in our course towards heaven, without ever standing still, 
 or directing our actions to any other end. The eternal condition of a future state 
 infinitely outweighing the expectation of riches, or honour, or any other worldly 
 pleasure which we can propose to ourselves, though we should grant these the 
 more probable to be obtained: for nothing future is yet in possession, and so the 
 expectation even of these may deceive us. If it were so, that the greater good in 
 view determines the will, so great a good, once proposed, could not but seize the 
 will, and hold it fast to the pursuit of this infinitely greatest good, without ever 
 letting it go again: for the will having a power over, and directing the thoughts 
 as well as other actions, would, if it were so, hold the contemplation of the mind 
 fixed to that good. 
 
 But any great Uneasiness is never neglected —This would be the state of the 
 
 1 Example: Hsau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage. 
 
phe ay OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK Il. 
 
 mind, and regular tendency of the will in all its determinations, were it determined 
 by that which is considered, and in view, the greater good; but that it is not so, 
 is visible in experience: the infinitely greatest confessed good being often ne- 
 glected, to satisfy the successive uneasiness of our desires pursuing trifles.'. But 
 though the greatest allowed, even everlasting unspeakable good which has some- 
 times moved and affected the mind, does not stedfastly hold the will, yet we see 
 any very great and prevailing uneasiness, having once laid hold on the will, lets it 
 not go; by which we may be convinced what it is that determines the will. Thus 
 any vehement pain of the body, the ungovernable passion of a man violently in 
 love, or the impatient desire of revenge, keeps the will steady and intent ;* and 
 the will, thus determined, never lets the understanding lay by the object, but all 
 the thoughts of the mind and powers of the body are uninterruptedly employed that 
 way, by the determination of the will, influenced by that topping uneasiness as 
 long as it lasts; whereby it seems to me evident, that the will or power of setting 
 us upon one action in preference to all others, is determined in us by uneasiness. 
 And whether this be not so, I desire every one to observe in himself. 
 
 39. Desire accompanies all Uneasiness.—I have hitherto chiefly instanced in 
 the uneasiness of desire, as that which determines the will; because that is the 
 chief and most sensible, and the will seldom orders any action, nor is there any 
 voluntary action performed without some desire accompanying it; which I think 
 is the reason why the will and desire are so often confounded. But yet we are 
 not to look upon the uneasiness which makes up, or at least accompanies most of 
 the other passions, as wholly excluded in the case. Aversion, fear, anger, envy, 
 shame, &c. have each their uneasiness too, and thereby influence the will. These 
 passions are scarce any of them in life and practice simple and alone, and wholly 
 unmixed with others: though usually, in discourse and contemplation, that carries 
 the name which operates strongest, and appears most in the present state of the 
 mind : nay, there is, I think, scarce any of the passions to be found without desire 
 joined with it. I am sure wherever there is uneasiness, there is desire: for we 
 constantly desire happiness ; and whatever we feel of uneasiness, so much it is 
 certain we want of happiness, even in our own opinion; let our state and condition 
 otherwise be what it will. Besides, the present moment not being our eternity, 
 whatever our enjoyment be, we look beyond the present, and desire goes with our 
 foresight, and that still carries the will with it. So that even in joy itself, that which 
 keeps up the action whereon the enjoyment depends, is the desire to continue it, 
 and fear to loose it: and whenever a greater uneasiness than that takes place in 
 the mind, the will presently is by that determined to some new action, and the 
 present delight neglected. 
 
 40. The most pressing Uneasiness naturally determines the Will— But we 
 being in this world beset with sundry uneasinesses, distracted with different de- 
 sires, the next inquiry naturally will be, which of them has the precedency in de- 
 termining the will to the next action? and to that the answer is, that ordinarily, 
 which is the most pressing of those that are judged capable of being then removed. 
 For the will being the power of directing our operative faculties, to some action, 
 
 1 Thus we find Lady Montague preferring the 
 condition of arich Effendi, with all his ignorance, 
 to that of Sir Isaac Newton, with all his know- 
 ledge. 
 
 2 A striking illustration of this is furnished by 
 an anecdote of the Italian painter, Caravaggio ; 
 who, having received a blow from a Milanese 
 nobleman, and called out the offender, was re- 
 fused satisfaction, upon the ground that, being of 
 mean rank, he had no claim to be treated asa 
 gentleman. Stung to the quick by this second 
 and worse insult, Caravaggio left Italy in disgust, 
 and travelled. into the Kast, where he at length 
 entered into the service of the Knights of St. 
 
 John of Jerusalem. Here, by the exercise of his 
 art, and repeated proofs of indomitable courage, 
 he at length, after seventeen years, obtained ad- 
 mission into the brotherhood. Being now a 
 Knight of St. John, and consequently noble, he 
 returned to Italy, sought and discovered the 
 Milanese who had formerly insulted him; and 
 there existing no longer any pretext for refusing 
 Caravaggio the satisfaction he demanded, the 
 haughty noble met him in the field, where he 
 washed out with his blood the insult he had so 
 many years before offered the revengeful painter ; 
 who after thus satiating his feelings of vengeance, 
 returned to his professional pursuits. 
 
OF POWER. 
 
 CHAP. XXI.] 223 
 
 for some end, cannot at any time be moved towards what is judged at that time 
 unattainable : that would be to suppose an intelligent being designedly to act for 
 an end, only to lose its labour; for so it is to act for what is judged not attainable ; 
 and therefore very great uneasinesses move not the will when they are judged not 
 capable of a cure: they in that case put us not upon endeavours. But, these set 
 apart, the most important and urgent uneasiness we at that time feel, is that which 
 ordinarily determines the will successively, in that train of voluntary actions which 
 makes up our lives. The greatest present uneasiness is the spur to action, that is 
 constantly felt, and for the most part determines the will in its choice of the next 
 action. For this we must carry along with us, that the proper and only object of 
 the will is some action of ours, and nothing else: for we producing nothing by 
 our willing it, but some action in our power, it is there the will terminates, and 
 reaches no further.’ 
 
 41. All desire Happiness.—If it be further asked, what it is moves desire? I 
 answer, Happiness, and that alone. Happiness and misery are the names of two 
 extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not; it is what ‘“ eye hath not seen, 
 ear hath not heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.” But 
 of some degrees of both we have very lively impressions, made by several instances 
 of delight and joy on the one side, and torment and sorrow on the other; which, for 
 shortness’ sake, I shall comprehend under the names of pleasure and pain, there 
 being pleasure and pain of the mind as well as the body: ‘ with him is fulness of 
 joy, and pleasure for evermore.” Or, to speak truly, they are all of the mind ; 
 though some have their rise in the mind from thought, others in the body from cer- 
 tain modifications of motion. 
 
 42. Happiness, what.—Happiness, then, in its full extent, is the utmost plea- 
 sure we are capable of, and misery the utmost pain ;* and the lowest degree of 
 what can be called happiness is so much ease from all pain, and so much present 
 pleasure, as without which any one cannot be content. Now, because pleasure and 
 pain are produced in us by the operation of certain objects, either on our minds or 
 our bodies, and in different degrees; therefore what has an aptness to produce 
 pleasure in us is that we call good, and what is apt to produce pain in us we call 
 evil, for no other reason but for its aptness to produce pleasure and pain in us, 
 wherein consists our happiness and misery. Further, though what is apt to pro- 
 duce any degree of pleasure be in itself good, and what is apt to produce any de- 
 gree of pain be evil, yet it often happens that we do not call it so when it comes in 
 competition with a greater of its sort ; because when they come in competition, the 
 degrees also of pleasure and pain have justly a preference. So that if we will 
 rightly estimate what we call good and evil, we shall find it lies much in compari- 
 son: for the cause of every less degree of pain, as well as every greater degree 
 of pleasure, has the nature of good, and vice versa. 
 
 43. What Good is desired, what not.—Though this be that which is called 
 good and evil, and all good be the proper object of desire in general, yet all good, 
 even seen, and confessed to be so, does not necessarily move every particular man’s 
 desire; but only that part, or so much of it as is considered and taken to make a 
 necessary part of his happiness. All other good, however great in reality or ap- 
 pearance, excites not a man’s desires, who looks not on it to make a part of that 
 
 1 T find I can excite ideas in my mind at 
 pleasure, and vary and shift the scene as oft as I 
 think fit. Itisno more than willing, and straight- 
 way this or that idea arises in my fancy: and by 
 the same power it is obliterated, and makes way 
 for another. This making and unmaking of 
 ideas doth very properly denominate the mind 
 active. Thus much is certain, and grounded on 
 experience: but when we talk of unthinking 
 agents, and of exciting ideas exclusive of voli- 
 tion, we only amuse ourselves with words.” 
 
 (Berkeley, Principles of Human Knowledge, § 28.) 
 
 2 Lipsius, in his Introduction to the Stoic Phi- 
 losophy, fully explains the nature of the supreme 
 good, as it was contemplated by that superb and 
 haughty sect. (Manuduct. ad Stoic. Philos. t. IT. 
 dis. xii. p. 712.) And Seneca thus briefly and 
 
 beautifully describes it: ‘‘ Proponamus oportet 
 finem summi boni, ad quem nitamus, ad quem 
 omne factum nostrum dictumque respiciat, veluti 
 navigantibus ad sidus aliquod dirigendus est 
 cursus.’’ (Epist. 95.) 
 
224. OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 happiness wherewith he, in his present thoughts, can satisfy himself. Happiness, 
 under this view, every one constantly pursues, and desires what makes any part of 
 it: other things acknowledged to be good, he can look upon without desire, pass 
 by, and be content without. There is nobody, I think, so senseless as to deny 
 that there is pleasure in knowledge: and for the pleasures of sense, they have too 
 many followers to let it be questioned whether men are taken with them or no. 
 Now let one man place his satisfaction in sensual pleasures, another in the delight 
 of knowledge: though each of them cannot but confess, there is great pleasure in 
 what the other pursues ; yet, neither of them making the other’s delight a part of 
 his happiness, their desires are not moved ; but each is satisfied without what the 
 other enjoys, and so his will is not determined to the pursuit of it. But yet as 
 soon as the studious man’s hunger and thirst make him uneasy, he, whose will 
 was never determined to any pursuit of good cheer, poignant sauces, delicious 
 wine, by the pleasant taste he has found in them, is, by the uneasiness of hunger 
 and thirst, presently determined to eating and drinking, though possibly with 
 great indifferency, what wholesome food comes in his way.' And, on the other 
 side, the epicure buckles to study, when shame or the desire to recommend himself 
 to his mistress shall make him uneasy in the want of any sort of knowledge. 
 Thus, how much soever men are in earnest, and constant in pursuit of happiness, 
 yet they may have a clear view of good, great and confessed good, without being 
 concerned. for it, or moved by it, if they think they can make up their happiness 
 without it. Though as to pain, that they are always concerned for; they can feel 
 no uneasiness without being moved. And therefore, being uneasy in the want of 
 whatever is judged necessary to their happiness, as soon as any good appears to 
 make a part of their portion of happiness, they begin to desire it. 
 
 44. Why the greatest Good is not always desired.—This, I think, any one may 
 observe in himself and others, that the greater visible good does not always raise 
 
 men’s desires in proportion to the greatness it appears, and is acknowledged to 
 have; though every little trouble moves us, and sets us on work to get rid of it. 
 The reason whereof is evident from the nature of our happiness and misery itself. 
 All present pain, whatever it be, makes a part of our present misery: but all ab- 
 sent good does not at any time make a necessary part of our present happiness, 
 
 nor the absence of it make a part of our misery. If it did, we should be con- 
 stantly and infinitely miserable ; there being infinite degrees of happiness which 
 are not in our possession. All uneasiness therefore being removed, a moderate 
 portion of good serves at present to content men; and some few degrees of plea- 
 sure in a succession of ordinary enjoyments make up a happiness, wherein they 
 can be satisfied. If this were not so, there could be no room for those indifferent 
 and visibly trifling actions to which our wills are so often determined, and 
 wherein we voluntarily waste so much of our lives; which remissness could by no 
 
 1 Extraordinary stories are related of the passion 
 of several individuals for study; but there enters, 
 perhaps, a little of the marvellous into these ac- 
 counts, as a kind of seasoning to make them pala- 
 table. I have sometimes suspected that, although 
 Aristotle might on particular occasions go to rest 
 with a brazen basin by his bedside, and an iron ball 
 in his hand stretched out over it, which might drop 
 into the basin in case of deep sleep, yet, upon 
 the whole, he slept without this apparatus. What 
 they tell us of Pierre Castellan, grand almoner 
 of France, seems likewise to require to be under- 
 stood with some abatement; for we are informed 
 that he hardly passed thiee hours in sleep, 
 which he snatched stretched out upon the bare 
 ground, with no other pillow than his robe, 
 which he wrapped round his head ; and that he 
 was no sooner awake than he rushed to his books 
 with the appetite of a wolf. He was reader to 
 
 Francis I.; and when he received this appointment 
 he resumed his amazing application, which he 
 appears for a while to have remitted. Time, in 
 his eyes, was so precious that he would not spare 
 himself sufficient time to eat his dinner, being sa- 
 tisfied with taking a morsel of bread in the morn- 
 ing, and eating supper at: jive o’clock. Fashion- 
 able people keep Castellan’s hours now, only 
 that they call supper dinner, and eat it an hour 
 or two later. Galland, who wrote this book- 
 worm ’s life, had reason and wit on his side when 
 he said that he was chained to his books night 
 and day, as Prometheus was to Caucasus. (See 
 Bayle, art. Castellan, rem (G).) He used to be 
 present at the king’s dinners and suppers; when 
 the king delighted in hearing him display his 
 wit and learning; which helped His Majesty to 
 digest his meals, I suppose. Thus princes ho- 
 nour learning. 
 
CHAP. XXxI.] OF POWER. 220 
 
 means consist with a constant determination of will or desire to the greatest 
 apparent good. That this is so, I think few people need go far from home to be 
 convinced. And indeed in this life there are not many whose happiness reaches 
 so far as to afford them a constant train of moderate mean pleasures, without any 
 mixture of uneasiness; and yet they could be content to stay here for ever: 
 though they cannot deny, but that it is possible there may be a state of eternal 
 durable joys after this life, far surpassing all the good that is to be found here. 
 Nay, they cannot but see that it is more possible than the attainment and continu- 
 ation of that pittance of honour, riches, or pleasure which they pursue, and for 
 which they neglect that eternal state; but yet, in full view of this difference, satis- 
 fied of the possibility of a perfect, secure, and lasting happiness in a future state, 
 and under a clear conviction that it is not to be had here, whilst they bound their 
 happiness within some little enjoyment or aim of this life, and exclude the joys of 
 heaven from making any necessary part of it; their desires are not moved by this 
 greater apparent good, nor their wills determined to any action, or endeavour for 
 its attainment. ie 
 
 45. Why not being desired, it moves not the Will.—The ordinary necessities of 
 our lives fill a great part of them with the uneasiness of hunger, thirst, heat, cold, 
 weariness with labour, and sleepiness, in their constant returns, &e.' To which, 
 if, besides accidental harms, we add the fantastical uneasiness (as itch after 
 honour, power, or riches, &c.) which acquired habits by fashion, example, and 
 education have settled in us, and a thousand other irregular desires, which custom 
 has made natural to us, we shall find that a very little part of our life is so vacant 
 from these uneasinesses, as to leave us free to the attraction of remoter absent 
 good.* We are seldom at ease, and free enough from the solicitation of our na- 
 tural or adopted desires, but a constant succession of uneasinesses out of that 
 stock which natural wants or acquired habits have heaped up, take the will in 
 their turns: and no sooner is one action dispatched, which by such a determination 
 of the will we are set upon, but another uneasiness is ready to set us on work, For 
 the removing of the pains we feel, and are at present pressed with, being the get- 
 ting out of misery, and consequently the first thing to be done in order to happi- 
 ness, absent good, though thought on, confessed, and appearing to be good, not 
 
 * Sir Thomas Moore has a lively and somewhat 
 sportive description of the way in which, when 
 in high office, a man’s days are usually spent: 
 “While in pleading, and hearing, and in judging 
 or comparing of causes, in waiting on some men 
 upon business, and others out of respect, the great- 
 est part of the day is spent on other men’s affairs, 
 the remainder of it must be given to my family 
 at home: so that I can reserve no part of it to 
 myself, that is, to my study: I must talk with 
 my wife, and chat with my children, and I have 
 somewhat to say to my servants.” (Utopia, p. 8.) 
 
 2 In fact, the most powerful and fortunate of hu- 
 man beings have been so little susceptible of the at- 
 traction ofany good whatever, that, having enjoyed 
 all that lifein their station has to bestow,they have 
 complained that it is all vanity and vexation of 
 spirit. On this point, the reader will doubtless re- 
 member the well-known confession of the Spanish 
 Caliph, Abder-rhaman: “Ihave nowreigned above 
 fifty years in victory or peace; beloved by my 
 subjects, dreaded by my enemies, and respected 
 by my allies. Riches and honours, power and 
 pleasures have waited on my call; nor does any 
 earthly blessing appear to have been wanting to 
 my felicity. In this situation, I have diligently 
 numbered the days of pure and genuine happi- 
 ness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to 
 FOURTEEN. Oman! place not thy confidence in 
 
 this present world!’’ (Cardonne, Histoire de 
 VAfrique et de l’Espagne, i. p. 829, et seq.) 
 Upon which Gibbon has the following note: 
 “ This confession ; the complaints of Solomon of 
 the vanity of this world, (read Prior’s verbose but 
 eloquent poem,) and the happy ten days of the 
 Emperor Seghed, (Rambler, No. 204, 205,) will 
 be triumphantly quoted by the detractors of hu- 
 man life, Their expectations are commonly im- 
 moderate; their estimates are seldom impartial. 
 If I may speak of myself, (the only person of 
 whom I can speak with certainty,) my happy 
 hours have far exceeded, and far exceed the 
 scanty numbers of the Caliph of Spain; and I 
 shall not scruple to add, that many of them are 
 due to the pleasing labour of the present compo- 
 sition.” (t. x. p. 89, et seq.) Martial had long 
 ago drawn a similar picture of the miseries of 
 human life, 
 
 At nostri lune computentur anni; etc. 
 
 “ Let our years be fairly computed: that which 
 
 is consumed in melancholy fevers, in heavy lan- 
 
 guor, in painful evils, must be separated from the 
 
 valuable part of life—we are children, though we 
 
 seem to be old. He who should consider the life of 
 Priam, or of Nestor, as of long duration, would - 
 be much deceived, and in the wrong. Life is 
 
 not ¢o live, but to be happy.” (Hpip. lxx. 1. 6.) 
 
226 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 making any part of this unhappiness in its absence, is justled out, to make way for 
 the removal of those uneasinesses we feel; till due and repeated contemplation 
 has brought it nearer to our mind, given some relish of it, and raised in us some 
 desire: which then beginning to make a part of our present uneasiness, stands 
 upon fair terms with the rest to be satisfied; and so, according to its greatness 
 and pressure, comes in its turn to determine the will. 
 
 46. Due consideration raises Desire.—And thus, by a due consideration, and 
 examining any good proposed, it is in our power to raise our desires in a due 
 proportion to the value of that good, whereby in its turn and place it may come 
 to work upon the will, and be pursued. For good, though appearing, and 
 allowed ever so great, yet till it has raised desires in our minds, and thereby 
 made us uneasy in its want, it reaches not our wills; we are not within the 
 sphere of its activity, our wills being under the determination only of those uneasi- 
 nesses which are present to us, which (whilst we have any) are always soliciting, 
 and ready at hand to give the will its next determination: the balancing, when 
 there is any in the mind, being only which desire shall be next satisfied, which 
 uneasiness first removed. Whereby comes to pass, that as long as any uneasi- 
 ness, any desire remains in our mind, there is no room for good, barely as such, 
 to come at the will, or at all to determine it. Because, as has been said, the first 
 step in our endeavours after happiness being to get wholly out of the contines of 
 misery, and to feel no part of it, the will can be at leisure for nothing else, till 
 every uneasiness we feel be perfectly removed; which, in the multitude of wants 
 and desires we are beset with in this imperfect state, we are not like to be ever 
 freed from in this world. 
 
 47. The Power to suspend the Prosecution of any Desire makes way for Con- 
 sideration.—There being in us a great many uneasinesses always soliciting, and 
 ready to determine the will, it is natural, as I have said, that the greatest and most 
 pressing should determine the will to the next action; and so it does for the most 
 part, but not always. For the mind having in most cases, as is evident in experience, 
 a power to suspend the execution and satisfaction of any of its desires, and so all, 
 one after another, is at liberty to consider the objects of them, examine them on 
 all sides, and weigh them with others. In this lies the liberty man has; and 
 from the not using of it right comes all that variety of mistakes, errors, and faults 
 which we run into in the conduct of our lives, and our endeavours after happi- 
 ness ;* whilst we precipitate the determination of our wills, and engage too soon 
 before due examination. To prevent this, we have a power to suspend the prose- 
 cution of this or that desire, as every one daily may experiment in himself. This 
 seems to me the source of all liberty; in this seems to consist that which is (as I 
 think improperly) called free-will. For during this suspension of any desire, 
 before the will be determined to action, and the action (which follows that deter- 
 mination) done, we have opportunity to examine, view, and judge of the good or 
 evil of what we are going to do; and when, upon due examination, we have 
 judged, we have done our duty; all that we can or ought to do in pursuit of 
 our happiness ; and it is not a fault, but a perfection of our nature, to desire, will, 
 and act according to the last result of a fair examination. 
 
 48. To be determined by our own Judgment, is no Restraint to Liberty.—This 
 is so far from being a restraint or diminution of freedom, that it is the very 
 improvement and benefit of it; it is not an abridgment, it is the end and use of 
 eur liberty; and the further we are removed from such a determination, the 
 nearer we are to misery and slavery. A perfect indifference in the mind, not 
 determinable by its last judgment of the good or evil that is thought to attend its 
 choice, would be so far from being an advantage and excellency of any intellectual 
 nature, that it would be as great an imperfection, as the want of indifferency to 
 
 1 Hence the wisdom of the old Greek proverb, Swevdyn Bpadéwe. 
 
CHAP. XX1.] OF POWER. 227 
 
 act or not to act till determined by the will would be an imperfection on the other 
 side. A man is at liberty to lift up his hand to his head, or let it rest quiet; he is 
 perfectly indifferent in either ; and it would be an imperfection in him, if he wanted 
 that power, if he were deprived of that indifferency. But it would be as great an 
 imperfection if he had the same indifferency, whether he would prefer the lifting 
 up his hand, or its remaining in rest, when it would save his head or eyes from a 
 blow he sees coming: it is as much a perfection, that desire, or the power of 
 preferring, should be determined by good, as that the power of acting should be 
 determined by the will; and the certainer such determination is, the greater is the 
 perfection. Nay, were we determined by anything but the last result of our own 
 minds, judging of the good or evil of any action, we were not free; the very end 
 of our freedom being, that we may attain the good we choose. And therefore 
 every man is put under a necessity by his constitution, as an intelligent being, to 
 be determined in willing by his own thought and judgment what is best for him 
 to do; else he would be under the determination of some other than himself, 
 which is want of liberty. And to deny that a man’s will, in every determination, 
 follows his own judgment, is to say, that a man wills and acts for an end that he 
 would not have, at the time that he wills and acts for it. For if he prefers it in 
 his present thoughts before any other, it is plain he then thinks better of it, and 
 would have it before any other; unless he can have and not have it, will and not 
 will it, at the same time; a contradiction too manifest to be admitted ! 
 
 49, The freest Agents are so determined.—If-we look upon those superior 
 beings above us, who enjoy perfect happiness, we shall have reason to judge that 
 they are more steadily determined in their choice of good than we; and yet we 
 have no reason to think they are less happy, or less free than we are. And if it 
 were fit for such poor finite creatures as we are to pronounce what infinite wis- 
 dom and goodness could do, I think we might say, that God himself cannot 
 choose what is not good; the freedom of the Almighty hinders not his being 
 determined by what is best. 
 
 50. A constant Determination to a Pursuit of Happiness no Abridgment of 
 Liberty.— But to give a right view of this mistaken part of liberty, let me ask, 
 ‘Would any one be a changeling, because he is less determined by wise consi- 
 derations than a wise man? Is it worth the name of freedom to be at liberty to 
 play the fool, and draw shame and misery upon a man’s self?” If to break loose 
 from the conduct of reason, and to want that restraint of examination and judg- 
 ment which keeps us from choosing or doing the worse, be liberty, true liberty, 
 madmen and fools are the only freemen; but yet, I think, nobody would choose 
 to be mad for the sake of such liberty, but he that is mad already. The constant 
 desire of happiness, and the constraint it puts upon us to act for it, nobody, I 
 think, accounts an abridgment of liberty, or at least an abridgment of liberty to 
 be complained of. God Almighty himself is under the necessity of being happy ; 
 and the more any intelligent being is so, the nearer is its approach to infinite per- 
 fection and happiness. ‘That in this state of ignorance we short-sighted creatures 
 might not mistake true felicity, we are endowed with a power to suspend any par- 
 ticular desire, and keep it from determining the will, and engaging us in action. 
 This is standing still where we are not sufficiently assured of the way : examination 
 is consulting a guide. The determination of the will upon inquiry, is following 
 the direction of that guide: and he that has a power to act or not to act, accord- 
 ing as such determination directs, is a free agent; such determination abridges 
 not that power wherein liberty consists. He that has his chains knocked off, and the 
 prison-doors set open to him, is perfectly at liberty, because he may either go or 
 stay, as he best likes; though his preference be determined to stay, by the dark- 
 ness of the night, or illness of the weather, or want of other lodging. He ceases 
 not to be free, though the desire of some convenience to be had there absolutely 
 determines his preference, and makes him stay in his prison. 
 
 51. The Necessity of pursuing true Happiness the Foundation of Liberty.— 
 
 Ore 
 
228 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK 11. 
 
 As, therefore, the highest perfection of intellectual nature lies in a careful and 
 constant pursuit of true and solid happiness, so the care of ourselves, that we 
 mistake not imaginary for real happiness, is the necessary foundation of our 
 liberty. The stronger ties we have to an unalterable pursuit of happiness m 
 general, which is our greatest good, and which, as such, our desires always fol- 
 low, the more are we free from any necessary determination of our will to any 
 particular action, and from a necessary compliance with our desire, set upon any 
 particular, and then appearing preferable good, till we have duly examined 
 whether it has a tendency to, or be inconsistent with, our real happiness: and 
 therefore, till we are as much informed upon this inquiry as the weight of the 
 matter and the nature of the case demands, we are, by the necessity of preferrmg 
 and pursuing true happiness as our greatest good, obliged to suspend the satis- 
 faction of our desires in particular cases. 
 
 52. The Reason of it.—This is the hinge on which turns the liberty of intel- 
 lectual beings, in their constant endeavours after and a steady prosecution of true 
 felicity, that they can suspendi this prosecution in particular cases, till they had 
 looked before them, and informed themselves whether that particular thing, which 
 is then proposed or desired, lie in the way to their main end, and make a real 
 part of that which is their greatest good: for the inclination and tendency of their 
 nature to happiness is an obligation and motive to them, to take care not to mis- 
 take or miss it; and so necessarily puts them upon caution, deliberation, and 
 wariness, in the direction of their particular actions, which are the means to obtain 
 it. Whatever necessity determines to the pursuit of real bliss, the same necessity 
 vith the same force establishes suspense, deliberation, and scrutiny of each 
 successive desire, whether the satisfaction of it does not interfere with our true 
 happiness, and mislead us from it. This, as seems to me, is the great privilege of 
 finite intellectual beings; and I desire it may be well considered, whether the 
 great inlet and exercise of all the liberty men have, are capable of, or can be 
 useful to them, and that whereon depends the turn of their actions, does not 
 lie in this, that they can suspend their desires, and stop them from determining 
 their wills to any action, till they have duly and fairly examined the good and 
 evil of it, as far forth as the weight of the thing requires. This we are able to do; 
 and when we have done it, we have done our duty, and all that is in our power, 
 and indeed all that needs. For since the will supposes knowledge to guide its 
 choice, and all that we can do is to hold our wills undetermined, till we have 
 examined the good and evil of what we desire. What follows after that, follows 
 in a chain of consequences linked one to another, all depending on the last 
 determination of the judgment; which, whether it shall be upon a hasty and 
 precipitate view, or upon a due and mature examination, is In our power; expe- 
 rience showing us, that in most cases we are able to suspend the present satisfac- 
 tion of any desire. 
 
 53. Government of our Passions the right Improvement of Liberty.—But if 
 any extreme disturbance (as sometimes it happens) possesses our whole mind, as 
 when the pain of the rack, an impetuous uneasiness, as of love, anger, or any other 
 violent passion, running away with us, allows us not the liberty of thought, and 
 we are not masters enough of our own minds to consider thoroughly and examine 
 fairly ; God, who knows our frailty, pities our weakness, and requires of us no 
 more than we are able to do, and sees what was and what was not in our power, 
 will judge as a kind and merciful Father. But the forbearance of a too hasty 
 compliance. with our desires, the moderation and restraint of our passions, so that 
 our understandings may be free to examine, and reason unbiassed give its judg- 
 ment, being that whereon a right direction of our conduct to true happiness 
 depends, it is in this we should employ our chief care and endeavours. In 
 this we should take pains to suit the relish of our minds to the true intrinsic good 
 or ill that is in things, and not permit an allowed or supposed possible great 
 and weighty good to slip out of our thoughts, without leaving any relish, any 
 
 ee ep a 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 229 
 
 desire of itself there, till, by a due consideration of its true worth, we have formed 
 appetites in our minds suitable to it, and made ourselves uneasy in the want of it, 
 or in the fear of losing it. And how much this is in every one’s power, by 
 making resolutions to himself, such as he may keep, is easy for every one to try. 
 Nor let any one say he cannot govern his passions, nor hinder them from break- 
 ing out, and carrying him into action; for what he can do before a prince or a 
 great man, he can do alone, or in the presence of God, if he will. 
 
 54, How Men come to pursue different Courses.— From what has been said, it 
 is easy to give an account how it comes to pass, that, though all men desire hap- 
 piness, yet their wills carry them so contrarily, and consequently, some of them to 
 what is evil. And to this I say, that the various and contrary choices that men 
 make in the world do not argue that they do not all pursue good, but that the 
 same thing is not good to every man alike. This variety of pursuits shows, that 
 every one does not place his happimess in the same thing, or choose the same way 
 to it. Were all the concerns of man terminated in this life, why one followed 
 study and knowledge, and another hawking and hunting: why one chose luxury 
 and debauchery, and another sobriety and riches, would not be because every cne 
 of these did not aim at his own happiness, but because their happiness was placed 
 in different things. And therefore it was a right answer of the physician to his 
 patient that had sore eyes: ‘‘ If you have more pleasure in the taste of wine than 
 in the use of your sight, wine is good for you; but if the pleasure of seeing be 
 greater to you than that of drinking, wine is naught.” 
 
 55. The mind has a different relish, as well as the palate, and you will as 
 fruitlessly endeavour to delight all men with riches or glory (which yet some men 
 place their happiness in) as you would to satisfy all men’s hunger with cheese or 
 lobsters, which, though very agreeable and delicious fare to some, are to others 
 extremely nauseous and offensive; and many people would with reason prefer the 
 griping of an hungry belly to those dishes which are a feast to others. Hence it 
 was, I think, that the philosophers of old did in vain inquire, whether summum 
 bonum consisted in riches, or bodily delights, or virtue, or contemplation. And 
 they might have as reasonably disputed, whether the best relish were to be found 
 in apples, plums, or nuts, and have divided themselves into sets upon it. For, as 
 pleasant tastes depend not on the things themselves, but their agreeableness to 
 this or that particular palate, wherein there is great variety, so the greatest happi- 
 ness consists in the having those things which produce the greatest pleasure, and 
 in the absence of those which cause any disturbance, any pain. Now these, to 
 different men, are very different things. If, therefore, men in this life only have 
 hope, if in this life they can only enjoy, it is not strange nor unreasonabie, that 
 they should seek their happiness by avoiding all things that disease them here, 
 and by pursuing all that delight them; wherein it will be no wonder to find 
 variety and difference. For if there be no prospect beyond the grave, the infer- 
 ence is certainly right, “‘ Let us eat and drink;” let us enjoy what we delight in, 
 “‘ for to-morrow we shall die.” This, I think, may serve to show us the reason, 
 why, though all men’s desires tend to happiness, yet they are not moved by the 
 same object. Men may choose different things, and yet all choose aright ; sup- 
 posing them onlv like a company of poor insects, whereof some are bees, delighted 
 with flowers and their sweetness; others beetles, delighted with other kinds of 
 viands, which having enjoyed for a season, they would cease to be, and exist no 
 more for ever. 
 
 56. How Men come to choose ill.—These things, duly weighed, will give us, as 
 I think a clear view into the state of human liberty. Liberty, it is plain, consists 
 in a power to do, or not to do; to do, or forbear doing, as we will. This cannot 
 be denied. But this seeming to comprehend only the actions of a man consecu- 
 tive to volition, it is further inquired, “ whether he be at liberty to will or no?” 
 And to this it has been answered, that, in most cases, a man is not at liberty to 
 forbear the act of volition; he must exert an act of his will, whereby the action 
 
230 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 proposed is made to exist or not to exist. But yet there is a case wherein a man 
 is at liberty in respect of willing, and that is the choosing of a remote good as an 
 end to be pursued. Here a man may suspend the act of his choice from being 
 deterinined for or against the thing proposed, till he has examined whether it be 
 really of a nature in itself and consequences to make him happy or not. For 
 when he has once chosen it, and thereby it is become a part of his happiness, it 
 raises desire, and that proportionably gives him uneasiness, which determines his 
 will, and sets him at wok in pursuit of his choice on all occasions that offer. 
 And here we may see how it comes to pass that a man may justly incur punish- 
 ment, though it be certain that, in all the particular actions that he wills, he does, 
 and necessarily does, will that which he then judges to be good.’ For, though his 
 will be always determined by that which is judged good by his understanding, yet 
 it excuses him not; because, by a too hasty choice of his own making, he has 
 imposed on himself wrong measures of good and evil; which, however false and 
 fallacious, have the same influence on all his future conduct, as if they were true 
 and right. He has vitiated his own palate, and must be answerable to himself for 
 the sickness and death that follows from it. The eternal law and nature of things 
 must not be altered to comply with his ill-ordered choice. If the neglect or 
 abuse of the liberty he had to examine what would really and truly make for his 
 happiness, misleads him, the miscarriages that follow on it must be imputed to his 
 own election. He had a power to suspend his determination ; it was given him, 
 that he might examine, and take care of his own happiness, and look that he were 
 not deceived. And he could never judge, that it was better to be deceived than 
 not, in a matter of so great and near concernment. 
 
 What has been said may also discover to us the reason why men in this world 
 prefer different things, and pursue happimess by contrary courses. But yet, since 
 men are always constant and in earnest in matters of /happiness and misery, the 
 question still remains, How men come often to prefer the worse to the better; 
 and to choose that, which, by their own confession, has made them miserable? - 
 
 07. To account for the various and contrary ways men take, though all aim at 
 being happy, we must consider whence the various uneasinesses that determine the 
 will in the preference of each voluntary action, have their rise. _ 
 
 l. From bodily Pains.—Some of them come from causes not in our power ; 
 such as are often the pains of the body from want, disease, or outward injuries, 
 as the rack, &c. which, when present and violent, operate for the most part forcibly 
 on the will, and turn the courses of men’s lives from virtue, piety, and religion, and 
 what before they judged to lead to happiness; every one not endeavouring, or through 
 disuse, not being able, by the contemplation of remote and future good, to raise in 
 himself desires of them strong enough to counterbalance the uneasiness he feels in 
 those bodily torments, and to keep his will steady in the choice of those actions 
 which lead to future happiness. A neighbouring country’ has been of late a tragical 
 theatre from which we might fetch instances, if there needed any, and the world 
 did not in all countries and ages furnish examples enough to confirm that received 
 observation,—“ necessitas cogit ad turpia ;” and therefore there is great reason for 
 us to pray, “ Lead us not into temptation.” 
 
 of the French laws is remarked by that quaint 
 
 1 Only upon the theory of Plato, that punish- 
 ment is to be contemplated simply as a corrective, 
 and for the good of the punished. This great 
 philosopher was not always consistent on this 
 subject; for, after contending that every man is 
 benefited by being punished for the injustice he 
 commits, and that, consequently, whoever loves 
 him, should desire his punishment, he shows the 
 great impiety of a son who brought or designed 
 to bring an action against his father for murder. 
 
 2 France; where persecution for conscience’ 
 sake had produced dreadful scenes. The cruelty 
 
 but able writer, the Lord Chancellor Fortescue, 
 who says, ‘“The law of France, in offences criminal, 
 whereupon death dependeth, is not content to 
 convict the party accused by witnesses, lest by 
 the testimony of false persons innocent blood 
 should be condemned. But that law chooseth 
 rather to torment such offenders with racking, 
 until they themselves confess their own fault, 
 rather than by deposition of witnesses, which 
 many times, through wicked affections and some- 
 times by the subornation of evil men, are moved 
 
 SS 
 
231 
 
 CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 
 
 2. From wrong Desires arising from wrong Judgments.—Other uneasinesses 
 arise from our desires of absent good ; which desires always bear proportion to, 
 and depend on, the judgment we make and the relish we have of any absent good; 
 in both which we are apt to be variously misled, and that by our own fault. 
 
 58. Our Judgment of present Good or Evil always right.—In the first place, 
 I shall consider the wrong judgments men make of future good and evil, whereby 
 their desires are misled. For, as to present happiness and misery, when that 
 alone comes into consideration, and the consequences are quite removed, a man 
 never chooses amiss ; he knows what best pleases him, and that he actually pre- 
 fers. Things in their present enjoyment are what they seem; the apparent and 
 real good are, in this case, always the same. For, the pain or pleasure being just 
 so great and no greater than it is felt, the present good or evil is really so much as 
 it appears. And, therefore, were every action of ours concluded within itself, and 
 drew no consequences after it, we should undoubtedly never err in our choice of 
 good ; we should always infallibly prefer the best. Were the pains of honest in- 
 dustry, and of starving with hunger and cold set together before us, nobody would 
 be in doubt which to choose: were the satisfaction of a lust and the joys of heaven 
 offered at once to any one’s present possession, he would not balance, or err in the 
 determination of his choice. 
 
 59. But since our voluntary actions carry not all the happiness and misery that 
 depend on them along with them, in their present performance, but are the prece- 
 dent causes of good and evil, which they draw after them and bring upon us, 
 when they themselves are past and cease to be; our desires look beyond our pre- 
 sent enjoyments, and carry the mind out to absent good, according to the necessity 
 which we think there is of it, to the making or increase of our happiness. It is 
 our opinion of such a necessity that gives it its attraction; without that, we are 
 not moved by absent good. For, in this narrow scantling of capacity which we 
 are accustomed to, and sensible of here, wherein we enjoy but one pleasure at once, 
 which, when all uneasiness is away, is, whilst it lasts, sufficient to make us think 
 ourselves happy ; it is not all remote, and even apparent good that affects us. 
 Because the indolency and enjoyment we have, sufficing for our present happiness, 
 we desire not to venture the change, since we judge that we are happy already, 
 being content, and that is enough. For whois content is happy. But as soon as 
 any new uneasiness comes in, this happiness is disturbed, and we are set afresh on 
 work in the pursuit of happiness. 
 
 60. From a wrong Judgment of what makes a necessary Part of their Happi- 
 ness.—Their aptness therefore to conclude that they can be happy without it, is 
 one great occasion that men often are not raised to the desire of the greatest absent 
 good. For whilst such thoughts possess them, the joys of a future state move 
 them not; they have little concern or uneasiness about them; and the will, free 
 from the determination of such desires, is left to the pursuit of nearer satisfactions, 
 and to the removal of those uneasinesses which it then feels, in its want of and 
 longings after them. Change but a man’s view of these things; let him see that 
 virtue and religion are necessary to his happiness; let him look into the future 
 state of bliss or misery, and see there God, the righteous Judge, ready to “render 
 to every man according to his deeds ; to them who by patient continuance in well- 
 doing seek for glory, and honour, and immortality, eternal life; but unto every 
 soul that doth evil, indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish:” to him, I 
 
 to perjury. Upon this, with such like cautels and re- 
 spects, offenders and suspected persons are in that 
 realm with so many kinds of rackings tormented, 
 that my pen abhorreth to put them in writing. 
 For some are stretched out upon a horse, in such 
 wise that their sinews break, and their veins 
 gush out with streams of blood. Again, other 
 some have great weights hanged at their feet, 
 
 whereby their limbs and joints are dissolved and 
 unloosed. Some also have their mouths so long 
 gagged open, till such abundance of water be 
 poured in, that their belly swelleth like a hill or 
 ton, to the intent that, then the belly being 
 pierced with some boring instrument, the water 
 may issue and spout out thereat.’? (Commenda- 
 tion of the Laws of England, c. xxii. p. 46.) 
 
232 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 say, who hath a prospect of the different state of perfect happiness or misery that 
 attends all men after this life, depending on their behaviour here, the measures of 
 good and evil that govern his choice are mightily changed. For, since nothing of 
 pleasure and pain in this life can bear any proportion to the endless happiness or 
 exquisite misery of an immortal soul hereafter, actions in his power will have their 
 preference, not according to the transient pleasure or pain that accompenies or 
 follows them here, but as they serve to secure that perfect durable happiness here- 
 after. 
 
 61. A more particular Account of wrong Judgments.— But, to account more 
 particularly for the misery that men often bring on themselves, notwithstanding 
 that they do all in earnest pursue happiness, we must consider how things come to 
 be represented to our desires under deceitful appearances : and that is by the judg- 
 ment pronouncing wrongly concerning them. ‘To see how far this reaches, and 
 what are the causes of wrong judgment, we must remember that things are judged 
 good or bad in a double sense. 
 
 First, That which is properly good or bad, is nothing but barely pleasure or 
 pain. 
 
 Secondly, But because not only present pleasure and pain, but that also which 
 is apt by its efficacy or consequences to bring it upon us at a distance, is a proper 
 object of our desires, and apt to move a creature that has foresight; therefore 
 things also that draw after them pleasure and pain, are considered as good and 
 evil. 
 
 62. The wrong judgment. that misleads us, and makes the will often fasten on 
 the worse side, lies in misreporting upon the various comparisons of these. The 
 wrong judgment I am here speaking of, is not what one man may think of the 
 determination of another, but what every man himself must confess to be wrong. 
 For, since I lay it for a certain ground, that every intelligent being really seeks 
 happiness, which consists in the enjoyment of pleasure, without any considerable 
 mixture of uneasiness ; it is impossible any one should willingly put into his own 
 draught any bitter ingredient, or leave out anything in his power that would tend 
 to his satisfaction, and the completing of his happiness, but only by wrong judg- 
 ment. I shall not here speak of that mistake which is the consequence of invin- 
 cible error, which scarce deserves the name of wrong judgment; but of that 
 wrong judgment which every man himself must confess to be so. 
 
 63. In comparing Present and Future.—lIf, therefore, as to present pleasure 
 and pain, the mind, as has been said, never mistakes that which is really good or 
 evil; that which is the greater pleasure, or the greater pain, is really just as it ap- 
 pears. But, though present pleasure and pain show their difference and degrees 
 so plainly as not to leave room to mistake ; yet, when we compare present plea- 
 sure or pain with future, (which is usually the case in most important determina- 
 tions of the will,) we often make wrong judgments of them, taking our measures 
 of them in different positions of distance.’ Objects near our view are apt to be 
 thought greater than those of a larger size that are more remote: and so it is with 
 pleasures and pains: the present is apt to carry it; and those at a distance have 
 the disadvantage in the comparison. Thus most men, like spendthrift heirs, are 
 
 1 Tn illustration of this truth, Buffon has drawn 
 a very ludicrous picture. In explaining the sen- 
 sations of the first man :—“ J’avois jeté les yeux 
 sur mon corps. Je le jugeois d’un volume énorme, 
 et si grand que tous les objets qui avoit frappé 
 mes yeux ne me paraissoient étre en comparaison 
 que des points lumineux. Je m’examinai long- 
 temps; je me regardois avec plaisir; je suivois 
 ma main de l’ceil et j’observois ses mouvements ; 
 eus surtout cela les idées les plus étranges, je 
 croyois que le mouvement de ma main n’etoit 
 qu’une espéce d’existence fugitive, une succes- 
 sion de choses semblables; je l’approche de mes 
 
 yeux: elle me parut encore plus grande que tout 
 mon corps; et elle fit disparoitre 4 ma vue un nom- 
 bre infini d’objets. Je commencai a soupconner 
 qwil y avoit de Pillusion dans cette sensation qui 
 me venoit par les yeux. J’avoit vu distinctement 
 que ma main n’etoit qu’une petite partie de mon 
 corps; et je ne pouvais comprendre qu’elle fut 
 augmenté au point de me paraitre d’une grandeur 
 dé mesurée, je resolus done de ne me fier qu’au 
 toucher qui ne m/’avait pas encore trompé et 
 d’étre en garde sur toutes les autres fagons de sen- 
 tir et d’étre.”’ 
 
CHAP. XXI. | OF POWER. 233 
 
 apt to judge a little in hand better than a great deal to come ; and so, for small 
 matters in possession, part with greater ones in reversion. But that this is a 
 wrong judgment, every one must allow, let his pleasure consist in whatever it will: 
 since that which is future will certainly come to be present; and then, having the 
 same advantage of nearness, will show itself in its full dimensions, and discover 
 his wilful mistake, who judged of it by unequal measures. Were the pleasure of 
 drinking accompanied the very moment a man takes off his glass with that sick 
 stomach and aching head which, in some men, are sure to follow not many hours 
 after; I think nobody, whatever pleasure he had in his cups, would on these con- 
 ditions ever let wine touch his lips; which yet he daily swallows, and the evil 
 side comes to be chosen only by the fallacy of a little difference in time. But if 
 pleasure or pain can be so lessened only by a few hours’ removal, how much more 
 will it be so by a further distance, to a man that will not, by a right judgment, do 
 what time will, 1. e. bring it home upon himself, and consider it as present, and 
 there take its true dimensions? This is the way we usually impose on ourselves, 
 in respect of bare pleasure and pain, or the true degrees of happiness or misery ; 
 the future loses its just proportion, and what is present obtains the preference as 
 the greater. I mention not here the wrong judgment, whereby the absent are 
 not only lessened, but reduced to perfect nothing; when men enjoy what they can 
 in present, and make sure of that, concluding amiss that no evil will thence follow. 
 For that lies not in comparing the greatness of future good and evil, which is that 
 we are here speaking of; but in another sort of wrong judgment, which is con- 
 cerning good or evil, as it is considered to be the cause “and procurement of plea- 
 sure or pain that will follow from it. 
 
 64. Causes of this.—The cause of our judging amiss, when we compare our 
 present pleasure or pain with future, seems to me to be the weak and narrow 
 constitution of our minds. We cannot well enjoy two pleasures at once, much 
 less any pleasure almost, whilst pain possesses us. The present pleasure, if it be 
 not very languid, and almost none at all, fills our narrow souls, and so takes up 
 the whole mind, that it scarce leaves any thought of things absent: or if among 
 our pleasures there are some which are not strong enough to exclude the considera- 
 tion of things at a distance, yet we have so ereat an abhorrence of pain, that a 
 little of it extinguishes all our pleasures: a little bitter mingled in our cup, leaves 
 no relish of the sweet. Hence it comes that, at any rate, we desire to be rid of 
 the present evil, which we are apt to think nothing absent can equal; because, 
 under the present pain, we find not ourselves capable of any the least degree of 
 happiness. Men’s daily complaints are a loud proof of this: the pain that any 
 one actually feels is still of all other the worst; and it is with anguish they ery 
 out, “ Any rather than this: nothing can be so itdlesable as what I now suffer.” 
 atid therefore our whole endeavours and thoughts are intent to get rid of the pre- 
 sent evil, before all things, as the first necessary condition to our happiness, let 
 what will follow. Nothing, as we passionately think, can exceed, or almost equal, 
 the uneasiness that sits so heavy upon us. And because the abstinence from a 
 present pleasure that offers itself’ is a pain, nay, oftentimes a very great one, the 
 desire being inflamed by a near and tempting object, it is no wonder that that 
 operates after the same manner pain does, and lessens in our thoughts what is 
 future ; and so forces us, as it were, blindfold into its embraces, 
 
 65. Add to this, that absent good, or, which is the same thing, future pleasure, 
 especially if of a sort we are unacquainted with, seldom is able to counterbalance 
 any uneasiness, either of pain or desire, which is present. For its greatness being 
 no more than what shall be really tasted when enjoyed, men are apt enough to 
 lessen that, to make it give place to any present desire ; and conclude with them- 
 selves, that when it comes to trial, it may possibly not answer the report or 
 opinion that generally passes of it; they having often found that, not only what 
 others have magnified, but even what they themselves have enjoyed with great 
 pleasure and delight at one time, has proved insipid or nauseous at another; and 
 
234 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 therefore they see nothing in it for which they should forego a present enjoyment. 
 But that this is a false way of judging, when applied to the happiness of another 
 life, they must confess ; unless they will say, ‘‘ God cannot make those happy he 
 designs to be so.” For that being intended for a state of happiness, it must cer- 
 tainly be agreeable to every one’s wish and desire: could we suppose their relishes 
 as different there as they are here, yet the manna in heaven will suit every one’s 
 palate." Thus much of the wrong judgment we make of present and future 
 pleasure and pain, when they are compared together, and so the absent considered 
 as future. 
 
 66. In considering Consequences of Actions.—As to things good or bad in their 
 consequences, and by the aptness that is in them to procure us good or evil in the 
 future, we judge amiss several ways. 
 
 1. When we judge that so much evil does not really depend on them, as in 
 truth there does. 
 
 2. When we judge, that, though the consequence be of that moment, yet it is 
 not of that certainty, but that it may otherwise fall out, or else by some means be 
 avoided ; as by industry, address, change, repentance &c. That these are wrong 
 ways of judging, were easy to show in every particular, if I would examine them 
 at large singly; but I shall only mention this in general, viz. that it is a very 
 wrong and irrational way of proceeding, to venture a greater good for a less, upon 
 uncertain guesses, and before a due examination be made, proportionable to the 
 weightiness of the matter, and the concernment it is to us not to mistake. This, I 
 think every one must confess, especially if he considers the usual causes of this 
 wrong judgment, whereof these following are some. 
 
 67. Causes of this.—I. Ignorance. He that judges without informing him- 
 self to the utmost that he is capable, cannot acquit himself of judging amiss. 
 
 II. Inadvertency. When aman overlooks even that which he’ does know. 
 This is an affected and present ignorance, which misleads our judgments as much 
 as the other. Judging is, as it were, balancing an account, and determining on 
 which side the odds le. If therefore either side be huddled up in haste, and 
 several of the sums that should have gone into the reckoning be overlooked and 
 left out, this precipitancy causes as wrong a judgment as if it were a perfect igno- 
 rance. That which most commonly causes this, is the prevalency of some present — 
 pleasure or pain, heightened by our feeble passionate nature, most strongly 
 wrought on by what is present. To check this precipitancy, our understanding 
 and reason were given us, if we will make a right use of them, to search and see, 
 and then judge thereupon. Without liberty, the understanding would be to no 
 purpose: and without understanding, liberty (if it could be) would signify nothing. 
 If a man sees what would do him good or harm, what would make him happy or 
 miserable, without being able to move himself one step towards or from it, what 
 is he the better for seeing? And he that is at liberty to ramble in perfect darkness, 
 what is his liberty better than if he were driven up and down as a bubble by the 
 force of the wind? The being acted by a blind impulse from without, or from 
 within, is little odds. The first, therefore, and great use of liberty is to hinder 
 blind precipitancy ; the principal exercise of freedom is to stand still, open the 
 eyes, look about, and take a view of the consequence of what we are going to do, 
 as much as the weight of the matter requires. How much sloth and negligence, 
 heat and passion, the prevalency of fashion or acquired indispositions do severally 
 contribute, on occasion, to these wrong judgments, I shall not here further inquire. 
 I shall only add one other false judgment, which I think necessary to mention, 
 because perhaps it is little taken notice of, though of great influence. 
 
 68. Wrong Judgment of what is necessary to our Happiness.— All men desire 
 
 1 This is a thought of singular beauty, which | derness; where he who gathered much had none 
 it principally, perhaps, owes to the implicit re- | to spare, and he who gathered little lacked no- 
 ference to the dispensation of manna in the wil- | thing. 
 
eterna 
 
 CHAP XXI. | OF POWER. 235 
 
 happiness, thatis past doubt; but, as has been already observed, when they are rid 
 of pain, they are apt to take up with any pleasure at hand, or that custom has 
 endeared to them, to rest satisfied in that; and so being happy, till some new 
 desire, by making them uneasy, disturbs that happiness, and shows them that they 
 are not so, they look no further; nor is the will determined to any action in pur- 
 suit of any other known or apparent good. For since we find that we cannot en- 
 joy all sorts of good, but one excludes another; we do not fix our desires on every 
 apparent greater good, unless it be judged to be necessary to our happiness ; 
 if we think we can be happy without it, it moves us not. This is another occasion 
 to men of judging wrong, when they take not that to be necessary to their happi- 
 ness, which really is so. This mistake misleads us both in the choice of the 
 good we aim at, and very often in the means to it, when it is a remote good. But 
 which way ever it be, either by placing it where really it is not, or by neglecting 
 the means as not necessary to it; when a man misses his great end, happiness, he 
 will acknowledge he judged not right. That which contributes to this mistake, is 
 the real or supposed unpleasantness of the actions, which are the way to this 
 end; it seeming so preposterous a thing to men, to make themselves unhappy in 
 order to happiness, that they do not easily bring themselves to it. 
 
 69. We can change the Agreeableness or Disagreeableness in Things.—The 
 last inquiry, therefore, concerning this matter is, “‘ whether it be in a man’s power 
 to change the pleasantness and unpleasantness that accompanies any sort of ac- 
 tion?” And as to that, it is plain, in many cases he can. Men may and should 
 correct their palates, and give relish to what either has, or they suppose has none. 
 The relish of the mind is as various as that of the body, and like that too may be 
 altered; and it is a mistake to think that men cannot change the displeasingness or 
 indifferency that is in actions into pleasure and desire, if they will do but what is 
 in their power. A due consideration will do it in some cases; and practice, appli- 
 cation, and custom in most. Bread or tobacco may be neglected, where they are 
 shown to be useful to health, because of an indifferency or disrelish to them ; rea- 
 son and consideration at first recommend, and begin their trial, and use finds, or 
 custom makes them pleasant. That this is so in virtue too, is very certain.' 
 Actions are pleasing or displeasing, either in themselves, or considered as a means 
 to a greater and more desirable end. The eating of a well-seasoned dish, suited to 
 a man’s palate, may move the mind by the delight itself that accompanies the eat- 
 ing, without reference to any other end; to which the consideration of the pleasure 
 there is in health and strength (to which that meat is subservient) may add a new 
 gusto, able to make us swallow an ill-relished potion. In the latter of these, any 
 action is rendered more or less pleasing, only by the contemplation of the end, 
 and the being more or less persuaded of its tendency to it, or necessary connexion 
 with it: but the pleasure of the action itself is best acquired or increased by use 
 and practice. Trials often reconcile us to that, which at a distance we looked on 
 with aversion; and by repetitions wear us into a liking of what possibly, in the 
 first essay, displeased us. Habits have powerful charms, and put so strong at- 
 tractions of easiness and pleasure into what we accustom ourselves to, that we can- 
 not forbear to do, or at least be easy in the omission of actions, which habitual 
 practice has suited, and thereby recommends to us. Though this be very visible, 
 and every one’s experience shows him he can do so; yet it is a part in the conduct 
 of men towards their happiness, neglected to a degree, that it will be possibly en- 
 tertained as a paradox, if it be said, that men can make things or actions more or less 
 pleasing to themselves; and thereby remedy that, to which one may justly impute 
 a great deal of their wandering. Fashion and the common opinion having settled 
 wrong notions, and education and custom ill habits, the just values of things are 
 
 1 Indeed, according to Aristotle’s theory, there | Ethic. Nicom. l. ii. p. 74, with the Commentary 
 can be no virtue but in customary actions, since | of Victor.) 
 virtue is merely the habit of doing good. (See 
 
236 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 misplaced, and the palates of men corrupted. Pains should be taken to rectify 
 these ; and contrary habits change our pleasures, and give a relish to that which 
 is necessary or conducive to our happiness. This every one must confess he can 
 do; and when happiness is lost, and misery overtakes him, he will confess he did 
 amiss in neglecting it, and condemn himself for it: and I ask every one, whether 
 he has not often done so? 
 
 70. Preference of Vice to Virtue a manifest wrong Judgment.—I shall not 
 now enlarge any further on the wrong judgments and neglect of what is in their 
 power, whereby men mislead themselves. This would make a volume, and is 
 not my business. But whatever false notions, or shameiul neglect of what is in 
 their power, may put men out of their way to happiness, and distract them, as we 
 see, into so different courses of life, this yet is certain, that morality, established 
 upon its true foundations, cannot but determine the choice in any one that will 
 but consider: and he that will not be so far a rational creature as to reflect 
 
 seriously upon infinite happiness and misery, must needs condemn himself as not 
 
 making that use of his understanding he should.? 
 
 The rewards and punishments 
 
 of another life, which the Almighty has established as the enforcements of his 
 laws, are of weight enough to determine the choice, against whatever pleasure or 
 pain this life can show, when the eternal state is considered but in its bare possi- 
 bility, which nobody can make any doubt of. He that will allow exquisite and 
 endless happiness to be but the possible consequence of a good life here, and the 
 
 5 
 
 contrary state the possible reward of a bad one, must own himself to judge very 
 much amiss if he does not conclude that a virtuous life, with the certain expecta- 
 tion of everlasting bliss, which may come, is to be preferred to a vicious one, with 
 
 1 On the subject of future punishment, here 
 barely glanced at by Locke, whole volumes have 
 been composed by theological writers; of which, 
 however, the most extraordinary that has as yet 
 fallen in my way, is the work of the Jesuit Drex- 
 elius, entitled ‘‘ De Damnatorum Carcere et 
 Rogo.” As, to borrow a phrase of Locke’s, the 
 book is not every day to be met with, it may not, 
 perhaps, be amiss to introduce here some account 
 of its character and contents. The design is un- 
 questionably meritorious; being no other than to 
 deter men from vice and iniquity, by laying be- 
 fore them aterrible picture of the results to which 
 they must inevitably lead. There is, however, 
 something quaint and singular in the manner in 
 which the work is executed. He makes a nine- 
 fold division of the torments of hell; of which the 
 first is darkness: ‘‘ Primum eternitatis Tartarze 
 tormentum, tenebre.” (p. 17.) To this species 
 of torture succeeds that of weeping and lamenta- 
 tion: ‘Alterum eternitatis Tartarze lamentum, 
 tormentum, fletus.” (p. 37.) From the nature of 
 the third kind of punishment, it may be inferred 
 that the good Jesuit conceived part of the joys of 
 Paradise to consist in eating and drinking; (he was 
 a Dutchman ;) for, losing sight of the probable 
 condition of disembodied spirits, he conceives 
 a ninth part of the torments of hell to consist in 
 eternal thirst and hunger: ‘* Tertium eternitatis 
 Tartare tormentum, fames et sitis.” (p. 53.) To 
 the next division there is usually attached some- 
 thing like a ludicrous idea; for it consists of 
 stink, and is illustrated by an engraving repre- 
 senting a multitude of human beings mingled 
 confusedly with devils, in the form of goats, and 
 all holding their noses. A flying devil, with 
 bat’s wings, goat’s legs, a lion’s tail, and a most 
 hideous aspect, is emptying a stinkpot over their 
 heads, floating beneath whichis a label, with this 
 device: ‘‘ Heec Arabia hoc thus gignit.’? Onthe 
 
 back of the engraving is a head of the Virgin, | 
 
 full of sweetness and gentleness’ In illustration 
 of the torture inflicted by foetid odours, the au- 
 thor gives an account of the imprisonment of 
 Carlo Spinola, in a fearful prison in Japan, 
 which is too horrible to be repeated. The head- 
 ing of the chapter is as follows:—‘‘ Quartum 
 eternitatis Tartare tormentum, fcetor.” (p. 71.) 
 Next to this succeeds the punishment of fire: 
 “Tenis.” (p. 89.) Sixth, is the worm of con- 
 science: ‘* Vermis conscientiz.” (p. 109.) Se- 
 venth, the place and company: ‘* Locus et so- 
 cietas.”” (p. 127.) This part is illustrated by a 
 print, singularly grotesque, representing a com- 
 pany of fat and sleek devils dancing with a num- 
 ber of the damned, over a pavement of flames. 
 They are evidently newly arrived, being just 
 within the gates, which, however, are strongly 
 barred and bolted. ‘Two infernal musicians, one 
 with a dragon’s tail, the others with the claws of 
 an eagle, are flying over their heads, the one 
 blowing a trumpet, and the other scraping a 
 fiddle. Scattered among the roots of the flames 
 are letters, which being put together form the 
 following sentences: ‘‘ Like dancers, like pipers ;”’ 
 —‘* Quales choree tales et Chorante.’? On the 
 back of this horrid representation is the head of 
 our Saviour. The eighth punishment consists 
 in despair: ‘‘ Desperatio.”’ (p. 143.) And the 
 ninth, in the never-ending duration of the whole: 
 “¢ Atternitas.” (p. 155.) The work ends witha 
 peroration, containing a brief recapitulation and 
 exposition of the whole subject. Dr. Thomas 
 Burnett, in his treatise De Statu mortuorum et 
 Resurgentium, has a disquisition of considerable 
 length on the locality and pains of hell. (p. 283.) 
 Further on (p. 291) he discusses the question, 
 first, I believe, proposed by Origen, whether the 
 punishments of a future life are to be eternal, or 
 merely indefinite? and his reasonings are worthy 
 the consideration of all Christians. 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 237 
 
 the fear of that dreadful state of misery which it is very possible may overtake the 
 guilty; or, at best, the terrible uncertain hope of annihilation.’ This is evidently 
 so, though the virtuous life here had nothing but pain, and the vicious continual 
 pleasure; which yet is, for the most part, quite otherwise, and wicked men have 
 not much the odds to brag of, even in their present possession; nay, all things 
 rightly considered, have, I think, even the worst part here.?- But when infinite 
 happiness is put into one scale, against infinite misery in the other, if the worst 
 that comes to the pious man, if he mistakes, be the best that the wicked can attain 
 to if he be in the right, who can without madness run the venture? Who in his 
 wits would choose to come within a possibility of infinite misery, which if he 
 miss, there is yet nothing to be got by that hazard? Whereas on the other side, 
 the sober man ventures nothing against infinite happiness to be got, if his 
 expectation comes not to pass. If the good man be in the right, he is eternally 
 happy ; if he mistakes, he is not miserable, he feels nothing. On the other side, 
 if the wicked man be in the right, he is not happy; if he mistakes, he is infinitely 
 miserable. Must it not be a most manifest wrong judgment that does not pre- 
 sently see to which side, in this case, the preference is to be given? I have 
 forborn to mention anything of the certainty or probability of a future state, 
 designing here to show the wrong judgment that any one must allow he makes 
 upon his own principles, laid how he pleases, who prefers the short pleasures of a 
 vicious life upon any consideration, whilst he knows, .and cannot but be certain, 
 that a future life is at least possible. 
 
 71. Recapitulation.—To conclude this inquiry into human liberty, which, as it 
 stood before, I myself from the beginning fearing, and a very judicious friend of 
 mine, since the publication, suspecting to have some mistake in it, though he 
 could not particularly show it me, I was put upon a stricter review of this 
 chapter. Wherein lighting upon a very easy and scarce observable slip I had 
 made, in putting one seemingly indifferent word for another, that discovery 
 opened to me this present view,’ which here, in this second edition, I submit to 
 the learned world, and which, in short, is this: ‘‘ Liberty is a power to act or 
 not to act, according as the mind directs.” A power to direct the operative 
 faculties to motion or rest in particular instances is that which we call the will. 
 That which in the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change 
 of operation, is some present uneasiness; which is, or at least is always accom- 
 panied with that of desire. Desire is always moved by evil, to fly it; because a 
 total freedom from pain always makes a necessary part of our happiness: but 
 every good, nay, every greater good, does not constantly move desire, because it 
 may not make, or may not be taken to make, any necessary part of our happi- 
 ness. For all that we desire, is only to be happy. But though this general 
 
 ? This was also the opinion of Plato, who, in 
 the first and second books of the Republic, and 
 in the Gorgias, has proved to demonstration, 
 
 1 Addison has treated at greater length of this 
 topic in the “‘ Spectator,” a work which the pre- 
 
 sent generation appears disposed to neglect, not- 
 withstanding its rare merit. Milton, too, in that 
 poem which contains the exposition of ail the 
 hopes and fears of humanity, has glanced at this 
 thought. He puts even into the mouth of devils 
 a rejection of the hope which bad men entertain 
 ef annihilation, in verses which I have often 
 quoted :— 
 
 ‘¢ Thus repulsed, our final hope 
 Is flat despair: we must exasperate 
 The Almighty victor, to spend all his rage, 
 And that must end us—¢iat must be our cure, 
 To be no more: sad cure! for who would lose, 
 Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
 Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 
 To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
 In the wide womb of uncreated night, 
 Devoid of sense and motion ?” 
 
 (ParADIsE Lost, II. 142 et seq.) 
 
 that to be vicious is to be miserable. 
 
 3 It is remarked’ by Quintillian, where he is 
 confessing certain erroneous opinions he had 
 formerly held, that even Hippocrates somewhere 
 makes, after this fashion, the acknowledgment 
 that he had formerly maintained certain false 
 positions, distinguished as he was in the science 
 of medicine. Cicero too, in his riper years, 
 acted upon the same principles, rejecting and 
 abandoning opinions which he had once advo- 
 cated as sound and true. (Quint. Institut. Orat. 
 Liv. III. cap. vi. p. 163.) We have here a proof 
 of the same greatness in Locke, who does not, 
 like Sangrado, affect unerring consistency, which 
 belongs not to man, but changing his opinion 
 upon further consideration, frankly avows it, and 
 carefully registers the fact for the encourage- 
 ment of future philosophers. 
 
238 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 desire of happiness operates constantly and invariably, yet the satisfaction of any 
 particular desire can be suspended from determining the will to any subservient 
 action, till we have maturely examined whether the particular apparent good 
 which we then desire, makes a part of our real happiness, or be consistent or 
 inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment upon that examination is what 
 ultimately determines the man, who could not be free if his will were determined 
 by anything but his own desire, guided by his own judgment. I know that 
 liberty, by some, is placed in an indifferency of the man, antecedent to the deter- 
 mination of his will. I wish they who lay so much stress on such an antecedent 
 indifferency, as they call it, had told us plainly whether this supposed indifferency 
 be antecedent to the thought and judgment of the understanding, as well as to the 
 decree of the will. For it is pretty hard to state it between them ; i. e. imme- 
 diately after the judgment of the understanding, and before the determination 
 of the will, because the determination of the will immediately follows the judg- 
 ment of the understanding: and to place liberty in an indifferency, ante- 
 cedent to the thought and judgment of the understanding, seems to me to 
 place liberty in a state of darkness, wherein we can neither see nor say any- 
 thing of it; at least it places it in a subject incapable of it, no agent being 
 allowed capable of liberty, but in consequence of thought and judgment. I am 
 not nice about phrases, and therefore consent to say with those that love to speak 
 so, that liberty is placed in indifferency; but it is an indifferency which remains 
 after the judgment of the understanding, yea, even after the determination of the 
 will: and that is an indifferency not of the man, (for after he has once judged 
 which is best, viz. to do or forbear, he is no longer indifferent,) but an indif- 
 ferency of the operative powers of the man, which remaining equally able to 
 operate or to forbear operating after, as before, the decree of the will, are in a state, 
 which, if one pleases, may be called indifferency; and as far ‘as this indif- 
 ferency reaches, a man is free, and no farther; v. g. I have the ability to move 
 my hand, or to let it rest; that operative power is indifferent to move or not -to 
 move my hand: I am then, in that respect, perfectly free. My will determines that 
 operative power to rest; I am yet free, because the indifferency of that my opera- 
 tive power to act, or not to act, still remains; the power of moving my hand is 
 not at all impaired by the determination of my will, which at present orders rest ; 
 the indifferency of that power to act or not to act, is just as it was before, as will 
 appear, if the will puts it to the trial, by ordering the contrary. But if during the 
 rest of my hand, it be seized with a sudden palsy, the indifferency of that opera- 
 rative power is gone, and with it my liberty; I have no longer freedom in that 
 respect, but am under a necessity of letting my hand rest. On the other side, if 
 my hand be put into motion by a convulsion, the indifferency of that operative 
 faculty is taken away by that motion, and my liberty in that case is lost, for I am 
 under a necessity of having my hand move. I have added this, to show in what 
 sort of indifferency liberty seems to me to consist, and not in any other, real or 
 imaginary. 
 
 72. True notions concerning the nature and extent of liberty are of so great 
 importance, that I hope I shall be pardoned this digression, which my attempt to 
 explain it has led me into. The ideas of will, volition, liberty, and necessity, in 
 this chapter of power, came naturally in my way. In a former edition of this 
 treatise I gave an account of my thoughts concerning them, according to the light 
 I then had; and now, as a lover of truth, and not a worshipper of my own doc- 
 trines, | own some change of my opinion, which I think I have discovered 
 ground for. In what I first writ, I with an unbiassed indifferency followed 
 truth whither I thought she led me. But neither being so vain as to fancy infal- 
 libility, nor so disingenuous as to dissemble my mistakes for fear of blemishing 
 my reputation, I have, with the same sincere design for truth only, not been 
 ashamed to publish what a severer inquiry has suggested. It is not impossible 
 but that some may think my former notions right, and some (as I have 
 
CHAP. XXI.] OF POWER. 239 
 
 already found) these latter, and some neither. I shall not at all wonder at 
 this variety im men’s opinions: impartial deductions of reason in controverted 
 points being so rare, and exact ones in abstract notions not so very easy, espe- 
 cially if of any length. And therefore I should think myself not a little beholden 
 to any one, who would, upon these or any other grounds, fairly clear this subject 
 of liberty from any difficulties that may yet remain.’ 
 
 Before I close this chapter, it may perhaps be to our purpose, and help to give 
 us clearer conceptions about power, if we make our thoughts take a little more 
 exact survey of action. I have said above, that we have ideas but of two sorts 
 of action, viz. motion and thinking. These, in truth, though called and counted 
 actions, yet, if nearly considered, will not be found to be always perfectly so. 
 For, if I mistake not, there are instances of both kinds, which, upon due consi- 
 deration, will be found rather passions than actions, and consequently so far 
 the effects barely of passive powers in those subjects, which yet on their accounts 
 are thought agents. For in these instances, the substance that hath motion or 
 thought receives the impression, whereby it is put into that action purely from 
 without, and so acts merely by the capacity it has to receive such an impression 
 from some external agent; and such a power is not properly an active power, but 
 a mere passive capacity in the subject. Sometimes the substance or agent 
 puts itself into action by its own power, and this is properly active power. 
 Whatsoever modification a substance has, whereby it produces any effect, that is 
 called action; v. g. a solid substance, by motion, operates on or alters the sensible 
 ideas of another substance, and therefore this modification of motion we call 
 action. But yet this motion in that solid substance is, when rightly considered, 
 but a passion, if it received it only from some external agent. So that the active 
 power of motion is in no substance which cannot begin motion in itself or in 
 another substance when at rest. So likewise in thinking, a power to receive ideas 
 or thoughts from the operation of any external substance, is called a power of 
 thinking: but this is but a passive power, or capacity. But to be able to bring 
 into view ideas out of sight at one’s own choice, and to compare which of them 
 one thinks fit, this is an active power. This reflection may be of some use to 
 preserve us from mistakes about powers and actions, which grammar and the 
 common frame of languages may be apt to lead us into; since what is signified 
 by verbs that grammarians call active, does not always signify action: v. g. this 
 proposition: I see the moon, or a star, or I feel the heat of the sun, though 
 expressed by a verb active, does not signify any action in me, whereby I operate 
 on those substances; but the reception of the ideas of light, roundness, and heat, 
 wherein I am not active, but barely passive, and cannot in that position of my 
 eyes, or body, avoid receiving them. But when I turn my eyes another way, or 
 remove my body out of the sunbeams, I am properly active; because of my own 
 choice, by a power within myself, I put myself into that motion. Such an 
 action is the product of active power. 
 
 73. And thus I have, in a short draught, given a view of our original ideas, 
 from whence all the rest are derived, and of which they are made up; which, if 
 I would consider as a philosopher, and examine on what causes they depend, and 
 of what they are made, I believe they all might be reduced to these very few 
 primary and original ones, viz. extension, solidity, mobility, or the power of 
 being moved; which by our senses we receive from body; perceptivity, or the 
 
 ! It would require a treatise, not a note, to | the question has, in fact, become a mere com- 
 detail the attempts which have since been made {| mon-place for every metaphysician of more in- 
 to settle this question. Dr. Priestly, in Eng- | genuity than wisdom, who may be content to 
 land, however, and the authors, whoever they waste his strength upon inquiries that have been 
 were, of the ‘“‘ Systéme de la Nature, in France, {| shown to lead to nothing; since, whatever may 
 were the writers, who, in their day, chiefly dis- | be written, man feels that he is free, and believes 
 tinguished themselves, though oblivion is now | that he is accountable for the use he may make 
 fast overtaking them. Like the origin of evil, | of his freedom. 
 
a 
 
 240 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 power of perception, or thinking; motivity, or the power of moving: which by 
 reflection we receive from our minds. I crave leave to make use of these two 
 new words, to avoid the danger of being mistaken in the use of those which are 
 equivocal. To which if we add existence, duration, number, which belong both 
 to the one and the other, we have, perhaps, all the original ideas on which ‘the 
 rest depend. For by these, I imagine, might be explained the nature of colours, 
 sounds, tastes, smells, and all other ideas we have, if we had but faculties acute 
 enough to perceive the severally modified extensions and motions of these minute 
 bodies, which produce those several sensations in us. But my present purpose 
 being only to inquire into the knowledge the mind has of things, by those ideas 
 and appearances which God has fitted it to receive from them, and how the mind 
 comes by that knowledge, rather than mto their causes or manner of production, 
 I shall not, contrary to the design of this essay, set myself to imquire philo- 
 sophically into the peculiar constitution of bodies, and the configuration of parts, 
 whereby they have the power to produce in us the ideas of their sensible qualities: 
 I shall not enter any further into that disquisition ; it sufficmg to my purpose to 
 observe, that gold or saffron has a power to produce in us the idea of yellow, and 
 snow or milk the idea of white, which we can only have by our sight, without 
 examining the texture of the parts of those bodies, or the particular figures or 
 motion of the particles which rebound from them, to cause in us that particular 
 sensation: though, when we go beyond the bare ideas in our minds, and would 
 inquire into their causes, we cannot conceive anything else to be in any sensible 
 object, whereby it produces different ideas in us, but the different bulk, figure, 
 number, texture, and motion of its insensible parts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 OF MIXED MODES. 
 
 1. Mixed Modes, what.—Havine treated of simple modes in the foregoing 
 chapters, and given several instances of some of the most considerable of them, 
 to show what they are, and how we come by them; we are now in the next 
 
 lace to consider those we call mixed modes: such are the complex ideas we 
 
 mark by the names obligation, drunkenness, a lie &c., which consisting of 
 several combinations of simple ideas of different kinds, I have called mixed modes, 
 to distinguish them from the more simple modes, which consist only of simple 
 ideas of the same kind. These mixed modes being also such combinations of 
 simple ideas, as are not looked upon to be characteristical marks of any real 
 beings that have a steady existence, but scattered and independent ideas put to- 
 gether by the mind, are thereby distinguished from the complex ideas of sub- 
 stances. 
 
 2. Made by the Mind.—That the mind, in respect of its simple ideas, is wholly 
 passive, and receives them all from the existence and operations of things, such as 
 sensation or reflection offers them, without being able to make any one idea, expe- 
 rience shows us: but if we attentively consider the ideas I call mixed modes, we 
 are now speaking of, we shall find their original quite different. The mind often 
 exercises an active power in making these several combinations: for it being once 
 furnished with simple ideas, it can put them together in several compositions, and 
 so make variety of complex ideas, without examining whether they exist so toge- 
 ther in nature. And hence I think it is that these ideas are called notions, as if 
 they had their original and constant existence more in the thoughts of men, than 
 
CHAP. XXII. | OF MIXED MODES. 241 
 
 in the reality of things; and to form such ideas, it sufficed that the mind puts the 
 parts of them together, and that they were consistent in the understanding, with- 
 out considering whether they had any real being; though I do not deny but several 
 of them might be taken from observation, and the existence of several simple ideas 
 so combined, as they are put together in the understanding. For the man who 
 first framed the idea of hypocrisy, might have either taken it at first from the ob- 
 servation of one who made show of good qualities which he had not, or else have 
 framed that idea in his mind without having any such pattern to fashion it by: for 
 it is evident that, in the beginning of languages and societies of men several of 
 those complex ideas, which were consequent to the constitutions established amongst 
 them, must needs have been in the minds of men before they existed anywhere 
 else : and that many names that stood for such complex ideas were in use, and so 
 those ideas framed, before the combinations they stood for ever existed. 
 
 3. Sometimes got by the Explication of their Names.— Indeed, now that lan- 
 guages are made, and abound with words standing for such combinations, an usual 
 way of getting these complex ideas is, by the explication of those terms that stand 
 for them. For, consisting of a company of simple ideas combined, they may, by 
 words standing for those simple ideas, be represented to the mind of one who un- 
 derstands those words, though that complex combination of simple ideas were 
 never offered to his mind by the real existence of things. Thus a man may come 
 to have the idea of sacrilege or murder, by enumerating to him the simple ideas 
 which these words stand for, without ever seeing either of them committed. 
 
 4. The Name ties the Parts of mixed Modes into one Idea.—Every mixed 
 mode consisting of many distinct simple ideas, it seems reasonable to inquire, 
 “whence it has its unity, and how such a precise multitude comes to make but 
 one idea, since that combination does not always exist together in nature?” To 
 which I answer, it is plain it has its unity from an act of the mind, combining those 
 several simple ideas together, and considering them as one complex one, consisting 
 of those parts; and the mark of this union, or that which is looked on generally 
 to complete it, is one name given to that combination. For it is by their names 
 that men commonly regulate their account of their distinct species of mixed modes, 
 seldom allowing or considering any number of simple ideas to make one complex 
 one, but such collections as there be names for. Thus, though the killing of an 
 old man be as fit in nature to be united into one complex idea, as the killing a 
 man’s father ; yet, there being no name standing precisely for the one, as there is 
 the name of parricide to mark the other, it is not taken for a particular complex 
 idea, nor a distinct species of actions from that of killing a young man, or any 
 other man. 
 
 do. The Cause of making mixed Modes.—If we should inquire a little further, 
 to see what it is that occasions men to make several combinations of simple ideas 
 into distinct and, as it were, settled modes, and neglect others which, in the nature 
 of things themselves, have as much an aptness to be combined and make distinct 
 ideas, we shall find the reason of it to be the end of language; which being to 
 mark or communicate men’s thoughts to one another with all the dispatch that may 
 be, they usually make such collections of ideas into complex modes, and aflix 
 names to them, as they have frequent use of in their way of living and conversa- 
 tion, leaving others, which they have but seldom an occasion to mention, loose 
 and without names to tie them together; they rather choosing to enumerate (when 
 they have need) such ideas as make them up, by the particular names that stand 
 for them, than to trouble their memories by multiplying of complex ideas with 
 names to them, which they seldom or never have any occasion to make use of. 
 
 6. Why Words in our Language have none answering in another.—-This shows 
 us how it comes to pass that there are in every language many particular words 
 which cannot be rendered by any one single word of another. For the several 
 fashions, customs, and manners of one nation, making several combinations of 
 ideas familiar and necessary in one, which another people have had never any 
 
[BOOK Il. 
 
 249 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 occasion to make, or perhaps so much as taken notice of; names come of course 
 to be annexed to them, to avoid long periphrases in things of daily conversation, 
 and so they become so many distinct complex ideas in their minds. Thus 
 dorpaxcopoc' amongst the Greeks, and proscriptio amongst the Romans, were words 
 which other languages had no names that exactly answered, because they stood for 
 complex ideas, which were not in the minds of the men of other nations. Where 
 there was no such custom, there was no notion of any such actions; no use of such 
 combinations of ideas as were united, and, as it were, tied together, by those terms; 
 and therefore in other countries there were no names for them. 
 
 7. And Languages change.— Hence also we may see the reason why languages 
 constantly change, take up new and lay by old terms; because change of customs 
 and opinions bringing with it new combinations of ideas, which it is necessary fre- 
 quently to think on and talk about; new names, to avoid long descriptions, are 
 annexed to them, and so they become new. species of complex modes. Whata 
 number of different ideas are by this means wrapped up in one short sound, and 
 how much of our time and breath is thereby saved, any one will see, who will but 
 take the pains to enumerate all the ideas that either reprieve or appeal stand for ; 
 and, instead of either of those names, use a periphrasis, to make any one under- 
 stand their meaning. 
 
 8. Mixed Modes where they exist.—Though I shall have occasion to consider 
 this more at large when I come to treat of words and their use, yet I could not 
 avoid to take thus much notice here of the names of mixed modes; which being 
 fleeting and transient combinations of simple ideas, which have but a short exist- 
 ence anywhere but in the minds of men, and there too have no longer any existence 
 than whilst they are thought on, have not so much anywhere the appearance of a 
 constant and lasting existence as in their names: which are therefore, in this sort 
 of ideas, very apt to be taken for the ideas themselves. For if we’should inquire 
 where the idea of a triumph or apotheosis exists, it is evident they could neither 
 of them exist altogether anywhere in the things themselves, being actions that re- 
 quired time to their performance, and so could never all exist together: and as to 
 the minds of men, where the ideas of these actions are supposed to be lodged, they 
 have there too a very uncertain existence; and therefore we are apt to annex them 
 to the names that excite them in us. 
 
 9. How we get the Ideas of mixed Modes.—There are therefore three ways 
 whereby we get the complex.ideas of mixed modes. 1. By experience and obser- 
 vation of things themselves. Thus, by seeing two men wrestle or fence, we get 
 the idea of wrestling or fencing. 2. By invention, or voluntary putting together 
 of several simple ideas in our own minds: so he that first invented printing or 
 etching, had an idea of it in his mind before it ever existed. 3. Which is the 
 most usual way, by explaining the names of actions we never saw, or notions we 
 cannot see; and by enumerating, and thereby, as it were, setting before our ima- 
 ginations all those ideas which go to the making them up, and are the constituent 
 parts of them. For, having by sensation and reflection stored our minds with 
 simple ideas, and by use got the names that stand for them, we can by these means— 
 represent to another any complex idea we would haye him conceive; so that it 
 has in it no simple ideas but what he knows, and has with us the same name for. 
 For all our complex ideas are ultimately resolvable into simple ideas, of which 
 they are compounded and originally made up, though perhaps their immediate in- 
 
 of the question where he observes: ‘‘ Vere 
 Plutarchus dixit, exilium illud, quod subibant 
 li, adversus quos suffragia lata erant, non malefi- 
 
 1 Of the Grecian ostracism the ideas prevailing 
 among the vulgar are almost wholly false. They 
 appear to imagine that it was the punishment of 
 
 superior virtue, without which no free state can 
 exist ; whereas it was simply a preservative 
 against the evil projects of men without principle 
 or honour. That it might occasionally be per- 
 verted, is not to be denied: but what institution 
 may not? But Schémann takes the right view 
 
 ciorum poenam, sed, opum mniarum potentieque 
 supra civilem modum aucte: castigationem fuisse.” 
 (De Comit. Athen. II. vi. 2438, et seq.; Conf. Jul. 
 Poll. viii 19; Comment. v. p. 608.) With re- 
 gard to the Roman proscription, people are better 
 informed. 
 
 : : Bee inte. 
 
CHAP. XXII. ] OF MIXED MODES. 243 
 
 eredients, as I may so say, are also complex ideas. Thus, the mixed mode which 
 the word lie stands for is made of these simple ideas: 1. Articulate sounds. 
 2. Certain ideas in the mind of the speaker. 3. Those words the signs of those 
 ideas. 4. Those signs put together by affirmation or negation, otherwise than the 
 ideas they stand for, are in the mind of the speaker. I think I need not go any 
 further in the analysis of that complex idea we call a lie; what I have said is 
 enough to show that it is made up of simple ideas: and it could not be but an 
 offensive tediousness to my reader, to trouble him with a more minute enumeration 
 of every particular simple idea that goes to this complex one; which, from what 
 has been said, he cannot but be able to make out to himself. The same may be 
 done in all our complex ideas whatsoever; which, however compounded and de- 
 compounded, may at last be resolved into simple ideas, which are all the materials 
 of knowledge or thought we have, or can have. Nor shall we have reason to fear 
 that the mind is hereby stinted to too scanty a number of ideas, if we consider 
 what an inexhaustible stock of simple modes number and figure alone afford us. 
 How far then mixed modes which admit of the various combinations of different 
 simple ideas and their infinite modes are from being few and scanty, we may easily 
 imagine. So that, before we have done, we shall see that nobody need be afraid 
 he shall not have scope and compass enough for his thoughts to range in, though 
 they be, as I pretend, confined only to simple ideas, received from sensation or re- 
 flection, and their several combinations. 
 
 10. Motion, Thinking, and Power have been most modified.—It is worth our 
 observing, which of all our simple ideas have been most modified, and had most 
 mixed ideas made out of them, with names given to them; and those have been 
 these three: thinking, and motion, (which are the two ideas which comprehend in 
 them all action,) and power, from whence these actions are conceived to flow. 
 The simple ideas, I say, of thinking, motion, and power, have been those which 
 have been most modified, and out of whose modifications have been made most 
 complex modes, with names tothem. For action being the great business of man- 
 kind, and the whole matter about which all laws are conversant, it is no wonder 
 that the several modes of thinking and motion should be taken notice of, the ideas 
 of them observed, and laid up in the memory, and have names assigned to them ; 
 without which laws could be but ill made, or vice and disorder repressed. Nor 
 could any communication be well had amongst men, without such complex ideas, 
 with names to them: and therefore men have settled names, and supposed settled 
 ideas in their minds of modes of action distinguished by their causes, means, ob- 
 . jects, ends, instruments, time, place, and other circumstances, and also of their 
 powers fitted for those actions: v. g. boldness is the power to speak or do what 
 we intend, before others, without fear or disorder; and the Greeks call the confi- 
 dence of speaking by a peculiar name, rafpyoia:' which power or ability in man 
 of doing anything, when it has been acquired by frequent doing the same thing, 
 is that idea we name habit; when it is forward, and ready upon every occasion to 
 break into action, we call it disposition. Thus, testiness is a disposition or aptness 
 to be angry. 
 
 To conclude: Let us examine any modes of action, v. g. consideration and 
 assent, which are actions of the mind; running and speaking, which are actions of 
 the body ; revenge and murder, which are actions of both together; and we shall 
 find them but so many collections of simple ideas, which, together, make up the 
 complex ones signified by those names. 
 
 11. Several Words seeming to signify Action, signify but the Effect.— Power 
 being the source from whence all action proceeds, the substances wherein these 
 
 1 The word mappycia was employed inava- | (tit. xiii. t. i. p. 820, et seq. Gatsford) has col- 
 riety of senses by the Greeks, but properly sig- | lectedinnumerable passages in illustration of this 
 nifies that frank confidence which enables a man quality, which the reader will do well to consult. 
 to utter what he conceives to be the truth. Stobeeus 
 
244 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 powers are, when they exert this power into act, are called causes; and the sub- 
 stances which thereupon are produced, or the simple ideas which are introduced 
 into any subject by the exerting of that power, are called effects. The efficacy 
 whereby the new substance or idea is produced, is called, in the subject exerting 
 that power, action; but in the subject wherein any simple idea is changed or 
 produced, it is called passion: which efficacy, however various, and the effects 
 almost infinite, yet we can, I think, conceive it, in intellectual agents, to be nothing 
 else but modes of thinking and willing; in corporeal agents, nothing else but mo- 
 difications of motion.’ I say I think we cannot conceive it to be any other but 
 these two: for whatever sort of action besides these produces any effects, I confess 
 myself to have no notion or idea of; and so it is quite remote from my thoughts, 
 apprehensions, and knowledge; and as much in the dark to me as five other 
 senses, or as the ideas of colours to a blind man: and therefore many words 
 which seem to express some action, signify nothing of the action or modus operandi 
 at all, but barely the effect, with some circumstances of the subject wrought on, or 
 cause operating ; v. g. creation, anihilation, contain in them no idea of the action 
 or manner whereby they are produced, but barely of the cause, and the thing 
 done. And when a countryman says the cold freezes water, though the word 
 freezing seems to import some action, yet truly it signifies nothing but the effect, 
 viz. that water that was before fluid is become hard and consistent, without con- 
 taining any idea of the action whereby it is done. 
 
 12. Mixed Modes made also of other Ideas.—I think I shall not need to re- 
 mark here that, though power and action make the greatest part of mixed modes, 
 marked by names, and familiar in the minds and mouths of men; yet other sim- 
 ple ideas and their several combinations are not excluded: much less, I think, 
 will it be necessary for me to enumerate all the mixed modes which have been 
 settled with names to them. That would be to make a dictionary of the greatest 
 part of the words made use of in divinity, ethics, law, and politics, and several 
 other sciences. All that is requisite to my present design, is to show what sort-of 
 ideas those are which I call mixed modes, how the mind comes by them, and that 
 they are compositions made up of simple ideas got from sensation and reflection : 
 which, I suppose, I have done. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 OF OUR COMPLEX IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 
 
 1. Ideas of Substances, how made.—TuE mind being, as I have declared, fur- 
 nished with a great number of the simple ideas conveyed in by the senses, as they 
 are found in exterior things, or by reflection on its own operations, takes notice 
 also that a certain number of these simple ideas go constantly together ; which 
 being presumed to belong to one thing, and words being suited to common appre- 
 hensions, and made use of for quick dispatch, are called, so united in one subject, 
 by one name; which, by inadvertency, we are apt afterward to talk of and con- 
 sider as one simple idea, which indeed is a complication of many ideas together : 
 because, as I have said, not imagining how these simple ideas can subsist by 
 
 1 Compare with the remarks in the text the | Motu, et Idearum Generatione;’ particularly in 
 speculations of David Hartley, in his curious little | Propositions, xii. xiii. p. 22, et seq. 
 treatise, entitled ‘Conjecture queedam de Sensu, 
 
 a ee | 
 
OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 
 
 CHAP. XXIII. ] 
 
 themselves, we accustom ourselves to suppose some substratum wherein they do 
 subsist, and from which they do result ; which therefore we call substance.! 
 
 2. Our Idea of Substance in general.—So that if any one will examine himself 
 concerning his notion of pure substance in general, he will find he has no other 
 idea of it at all, but only a supposition of he knows not what support of such qua- 
 lities which are capable of producing simple ideas in us; which qualities are com- 
 monly called accidents.’ If any one should be asked, what is the subject wherein 
 colour or weight inheres, he would have nothing to say, but the solid extended 
 parts: and if he were demanded what is it that solidity and extension adhere in, he 
 would not be in a much better case than the Indian before mentioned, who, saying 
 that the world was supported by a great elephant, was asked what the elephant 
 rested on; to which his answer was—a great tortoise. But being again pressed to 
 know what gave support to the broad-backed tortoise, replied—something, he knew 
 not what. And thus here, as in all other cases where we use words without having 
 clear and distinct ideas, we talk like children ; who being questioned what such a 
 thing is, which they know not, readily give this satisfactory answer, that it is some- 
 thing: which in truth signifies no more, when so used either by children or men, 
 but that they know not what; and that the thing they pretend to know and talk 
 of, is what they have no distinct idea of at all, and so are perfectly ignorant of it, 
 and in the dark. The idea then we have, to which we give the general name sub- 
 stance, being nothing but the supposed but unknown support of those qualities 
 we find existing, which we imagine cannot subsist, “‘ sine re substante,” without 
 something to support them, we call that support substantia ; which, according to 
 the true import of the word, is, in plain English, standing under or upholding. 
 
 3. Of the Sorts of Substances.—An obscure and relative idea of substance in 
 general being thus made, we come to have the ideas of particular sorts of sub- 
 stances, by collecting such combinations of simple ideas as are, by experience and 
 observation of men’s senses, taken notice of to exist together, and are therefore sup- 
 posed to flow from the particular internal constitution, or unknown essence of that 
 substance. Thus we come to have the ideas of a man, horse, gold, water, &e. 
 of which substances, whether any one has any other clear idea, further than of 
 certain simple ideas co-existent together, I appeal to every one’s own experience. 
 It is the ordinary qualities observable in iron, or a diamond, put together, that 
 make the true complex idea of those substances, which a smith or a jeweller com- 
 monly knows better than a philosopher; who, whatever substantial forms he may 
 talk of, has no other idea of those substances, than what is framed by a collection 
 
 ' netrable material, as of penetrable immaterial 
 
 1 On this subject much nonsense has been ere 
 now written, of which Dr. Priestly has furnished 
 his share. ‘‘ This scheme of the ¢mmateriality of 
 matter, as it may be called, or, rather, the mutual 
 penetration of matter, first occurred to my friend, 
 Mr. Mitchell, on reading Baxter, ‘‘On the Imma- 
 teriality of the Soul.” He found that this au- 
 thor’s idea of matter was, that it consisted, as it 
 were, of bricks, cemented together by an imma- 
 terial mortar. These bricks, if he would be con- 
 sistent to his own reasoning, are again composed 
 of less bricks, cemented likewise by an immate- 
 ‘rial mortar, and so on, ad infinitum. (Discoveries 
 relating to Vision, Light, and Colours, p. 392, et 
 seq.; Stewart’s Philosophical Essays, p. 187. 
 Compare Baxter’s Dying Thoughts, p. 27, et seq.) 
 Further on, Priestly says, ‘‘ Finding it still ne- 
 cessary, in order to solve the appearances of na- 
 ture, to admit of extended and penetrable imma- 
 terial substance, if he maintained the impenetra- 
 bility of matter; and observing further, that all 
 we perceive by contact &c. is this penetrable im- 
 material substance, and not the impenetrable one, 
 he began to think he might as well admit of pe- 
 
 substance, especially as we know nothing more 
 of the nature of swbstance than that it is some- 
 thing which supports properties,” &c. 
 
 2 The expressions in the text furnished 
 Berkeley with the whole ground-work of that in- 
 genious raillery in which he indulges, on the 
 word substance. (See Dialogues on Matter and 
 Spirit, i. p. 142.) The way in which Collier dis- 
 poses of everything external to the mind, is more 
 summary, and no less peremptory. ‘‘ To suppose 
 the being of a thing granted to be unknown with 
 him who affirms that it is nothing at all, is to beg 
 the question; whereas to suppose it to be nothing 
 at all, upon the same concessions, is not to beg 
 the question—I mean any fair or legal one ;— 
 because, on one hand, no one has any right to 
 make that a question which he professes he 
 knows nothing of; and, on the other hand, every 
 one has aright, not only to question the exist- 
 ence, but also to suppose the non-existence of 
 
 | what is granted to be unknown.” (Clavis univer- 
 
 salis, Part II. cap. i. p. 43.) 
 
246 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. | | [BooK Ul. 
 
 of those simple ideas which are to be found in them; only we must take notice, 
 that our complex ideas of substances, besides all those simple ideas they are made 
 up of, have always the confused idea of something to which they belong, and in 
 which they subsist. And therefore when we speak of any sort of substance, we 
 say it is a thing having such or such qualities; as body is a thing that is extended, 
 figured, and capable of motion ; spirit, a thing capable of thinking ; and so hard- 
 ness, friability, and power to draw iron, we say, are qualities to be found in a load- 
 stone. These, and the like fashions of speaking, intimate that the substance is 
 supposed always something besides the extension, figure, solidity, motion, think- 
 ing, or other observable ideas, though we know not what it is. 
 
 4. No clear Idea of Substance in general.—Hence, when we talk or think of 
 any particular sort of corporeal substances, as horse, stone &c. though the idea we 
 have of either of them be but the complication or collection of those several simple 
 ideas of sensible qualities, which we used to find united in the thing called horse 
 or stone; yet, because we cannot conceive how they should subsist alone, nor one 
 in another, we suppose them existing in and supported by some common subject ; 
 which support we denote by the name substance, though it be certain we have no 
 clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support. 
 
 0. As clear an Idea of Spirit as Body.—The same thing happens concerning 
 the operations of the mind, viz. thinking, reasoning, fearing, &c. which we con- 
 cluding not to subsist of themselves, nor apprehending how they can belong to body, 
 or be produced by it, we are apt to think these the actions of some other substance, 
 which we call spirit ; whereby yet it is evident that, having no other idea or no- 
 tion of matter, but something wherein those many sensible qualities which affect 
 our senses do subsist; by supposing a substance wherein thinking, knowing, 
 doubting, and a power of moving, &c. do subsist, we have as clear a notion of the 
 substance of spirit, as we have of body: the one being supposed to be (without 
 knowing what it is) the substratum to those simple ideas we have from without ; 
 and the other supposed (with a like ignorance of what it is) to be the substratum 
 to those operations we experiment in ourselves within. It is plain then, that the 
 idea of corporeal substance in matter is as remote from our conceptions and appre- 
 hensions, as that of spiritual substance or spirit: and therefore, from our not 
 having any notion of the substance of spirit, we can no more conclude its non-ex- 
 istence, than we can, for the same reason, deny the existence of body; it being as 
 rational to affirm there is no body, because we have no clear and distinct idea of 
 the substance of matter, as to say there is no spirit, because we have no clear and 
 distinct idea of the substance of a spirit. 
 
 6. Of the Sorts of Substances.—Whatever therefore be the secret abstract na- 
 ture of substance in general, all the ideas we have of particular distinct sorts of 
 substances are nothing but several combinations of simple ideas, co-existing in 
 such, though unknown, cause of their union, as make the whole subsist of itself. 
 It is by such combinations of simple ideas, and nothing else, that we represent 
 particular sorts of substances to ourselves; such are the ideas we have of their 
 several species in our minds; and such only do we, by their specific names, 
 signify to others, v. g. man, horse, sun, water, iron: upon hearing which words, 
 every one who understands the language, frames in his mind a combination of 
 those several simple ideas which he has usually observed, or fancied to exist to- 
 gether under that denomination; all which he supposes to rest in and be, as it 
 were, adherent to that unknown common subject, which inheres not in anything 
 else. Though, in the meantime, it be manifest, and every one, upon inquiry into 
 his own thoughts, will find, that he has no other idea of any substance, v. g. let it 
 be gold, horse, iron, man, vitriol, bread, but what he has barely of those sensible 
 qualities, which he supposes to inhere, with a supposition of such a substratum, as 
 gives, as it were, a support to those qualities or simple ideas, which he has observed 
 to exist united together. Thus, the idea of the sun,—what is it but an aggregate 
 
 ° . . . . e ] 
 of those several simple ideas, bright, hot, roundish, having a constant regular mo- 
 
CHAP. XXIII. | OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 247 
 
 tion, at a certain distance from us, and perhaps some other? As he who thinks 
 and discourses of the sun has been more or less accurate in observing those sen- 
 sible qualities, ideas, or properties, which are in that thing which he calls the 
 sun. 
 
 7. Power a great Part of our complex Ideas of Substances.— For he has the per- 
 fectest idea of any of the particular sorts of substances, who has gathered and put to- 
 gether most of those simple ideas which do exist in it, among which are to be reckoned 
 its active powers, and passive capacities; which, though not simple ideas, yet in this 
 respect, for brevity’s sake, may conveniently enough be reckoned amongst them. 
 Thus, the power of drawing iron is one of the ideas of the complex one of that sub- 
 stance we call a loadstone; and a power to be so drawn is a part of the complex 
 one we call iron: which powers pass for inherent qualities in those subjects. Be- 
 cause every substance, being as apt, by the powers we observe in it, to change some 
 sensible qualities in other subjects, as it is to produce in us those simple ideas 
 which we receive immediately from it, does, by those new sensible qualities intro- 
 duced into other subjects, discover to us those powers which do thereby mediately 
 affect our senses as regularly as its sensible qualities do it immediately, v. g. 
 we immediately by our senses perceive in fire its heat and colour; which are, if 
 rightly considered, nothing but powers in it to produce those ideas in us: we also 
 by our senses perceive the colour and brittleness of charcoal, whereby we come by 
 the knowledge of another power in fire, which it has to change the colour and 
 consistency of wood. By the former, fire immediately; by the latter, it mediately 
 discovers to us these several qualities, which therefore we look upon to be a part 
 of the qualities of fire, and so make them a part of the complex idea of it. For 
 all those powers that we take cognizance of, terminating only in the alteration of 
 some sensible qualities in those subjects on which they operate, and so making 
 them exhibit to us new sensible ideas; therefore it is that I have reckoned 
 these powers amongst the simple ideas, which make the complex ones of the 
 sorts of substances ; though these powers considered in themselves, are truly com- 
 plex ideas. And in this looser sense I crave leave to be understood, when I name 
 any of these potentialities among the simple ideas, which we recollect in our 
 minds when we think of particular substances. For the powers that are severally 
 in them are necessary to be considered, if we will have true distinct notions of the 
 several sorts of substances. 
 
 8. And why.—Nor are we to wonder that powers make a great part of our 
 complex ideas of substances; since their secondary qualities are those which in 
 most of them serve principally to distinguish substances one from another, and 
 commonly make a considerable part of the complex idea of the several sorts of 
 them. For our senses failing us in the discovery of the bulk, texture, and figure 
 of the minute parts of bodies, on which their real constitutions and differences 
 depend, we are fain to make use of their secondary qualities as the characteristical 
 notes and marks whereby to frame ideas of them in our minds, and distinguish 
 them one from another. All which secondary qualities, as has been shown, are 
 nothing but bare powers. For the colour and taste of opium are, as well as its 
 soporific or anodyne virtues, mere powers depending on its primary qualities, 
 whereby it is fitted to produce different operations on different parts of our bodies. 
 
 9. Three Sorts of Ideas make our complex ones of Substances —The ideas that 
 make our complex ones of corporeal substances, are of these three sorts. First, 
 the ideas of the primary qualities of things which are discovered by our senses, and. 
 are in them even when we perceive them not; such are the bulk, figure, number, 
 situation, and motion of the parts of bodies, which are really in them, whether we 
 take notice of them or no.1 Secondly, the sensible secondary qualities, which de- 
 
 1 This the theory of Berkeley denies. ‘As to | ceived, that seems perfectly unintelligible. Their 
 what is said of the absolute existence of unthink- | esse is percip?, nor is it possible they should have 
 ing things, without any relation to their being per- | any existence out of the minds or thinking things 
 
248 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 pending on these, are nothing but the powers those substances have to produce 
 several ideas in us by our senses; which ideas are not in the things themselves, 
 otherwise than as anything is in its cause. Thirdly, the aptness we consider in 
 any substance to give or receive such alterations of primary qualities, as that the 
 substance so altered should produce in us different ideas from what it did before ; 
 these are called active and passive powers: all which powers, as far as we have 
 any notice or notion of them, terminate only in sensible simple ideas. For what- 
 ever alteration a loadstone has the power to make in the minute particles of iron, 
 we should have no notion of any power it had at all to operate on iron, did not its 
 sensible motion discover it: and I doubt not, but there are a thousand changes, 
 that bodies we daily handle have a power to cause in one another, which we never 
 suspect, because they never appear in sensible effects. 
 
 10. Powers make a great Part of our complex Ideas of Substances.—Powers 
 therefore justly make a great part of our complex ideas of substances. He that 
 will examine his complex idea of gold, will find several of its ideas that make it 
 up to be only powers: as the power of being melted, but of not spending itself in 
 the fire; of being dissolved in aqua regia; are ideas as necessary to make up our 
 complex idea of gold, as its colour and weight ; which, if duly considered, are also 
 nothing but different powers. For, to speak truly, yellowness is not actually in 
 gold; but is a power in gold to produce that idea in us by our eyes, when placed 
 in a due light: and the heat, which we cannot leave out of our ideas of the sun, is 
 no more really in the sun, than the white colour it introduces into wax. These 
 are both equally powers in the sun, operating, by the motion and figure of its sen-— 
 sible parts, so on a man, as to make him have the idea of heat ; and so on wax, as 
 to make it capable to produce in a man the idea of white. 
 
 ll. The now secondary Qualities of Bodies would disappear, 1f we could dis- 
 cover the primary ones of their minute Parts —Had we senses aciite enough to 
 discern the minute particles of bodies, and the real constitution on which their 
 sensible qualities depend, I doubt not but they would produce quite different ideas 
 in us: and that which is now the yellow colour of gold, would then disappear, and 
 instead of it we should see an admirable texture of parts, of a certain size and 
 figure. This microscopes plainly discover to us; for what to our naked eyes 
 produces a certain colour, is, by thus augmenting the acuteness of our senses, 
 discovered to be quite a different thing ; and the thus altering, as it were, the propor- 
 tion of the bulk of the minute parts of a coloured object to our usual sight, produces 
 different ideas from what it did before. Thus, sand or pounded glass, which is opaque, 
 and white to the naked eye, is pellucid in a microscope; and a hair seen in this way, 
 loses its former colour, and is, in a great measure, pellucid, with a mixture of 
 some bright sparkling colours, such as appear from the refraction of diamonds, 
 and other pellucid bodies. Blood, to the naked eye, appears all red; but by a 
 good microscope, wherein its lesser parts appear, shows only some few globules of 
 red, swimming in a pellucid liquor, and how these red globules would appear, if 
 glasses could be found that could yet magnify them a thousand or ten thousand 
 times more, is uncertain. 
 
 12. Our Faculties of Discovery suited to our State.—The infinitely wise Con- 
 triver of us, and all things about us, hath fitted our senses, faculties, and organs, 
 to the conveniences of life, and the business we have to do here. We are able, 
 by our senses, to know and distinguish things; and to examine them so far, as to 
 apply them to our uses, and several ways to accommodate the exigencies of this 
 
 which perceive them. It is, indeed, an opinion 
 strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, 
 mountains, rivers, and, in a word, all sensible 
 objects have an existence, natural or real, distinct 
 from their being perceived by the understand- 
 ing.’ (Principles of Human Knowledge, § 3, 
 
 et seq.) The language here employed sounds so 
 much like banter, that one might almost suspect 
 that, when Berkeley first started this hypothesis, 
 he was about as earnest as Erasmus, when he 
 wrote his encomium on folly. 
 
 ee 
 
CHAP. XXIII. | OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 249 - 
 
 life. We have insight enough into their admirable contrivances and wonderful 
 effects, to admire and magnify the wisdom, power, and goodness of their Author. 
 Such a knowledge as this, which is suited to our present condition, we want not 
 faculties to attain. But it appears not that God intended we should have a per- 
 fect, clear, and adequate knowledge of them: that perhaps is not in the compre- 
 hension of any finite beg. We are furnished with faculties (dull and weak as 
 they are) to discover enough in the creatures to lead us to the knowledge of the 
 Creator, and the knowledge of our duty; and we are fitted well enough with 
 abilities to provide for the conveniences of living: these are our business in this 
 world. But were our senses altered, and made much quicker and acuter, the 
 appearance and outward scheme of things would have quite another face to us; 
 and, I am apt to thmk, would be inconsistent with our being, or at least well- 
 being, in this part of the universe which we inhabit. He that considers how little 
 our constitution is able to bear a remove into parts of this air, not much higher 
 than that we commonly breathe in, will have reason to be satisfied, that in this 
 globe of earth allotted for our mansion, the all-wise Architect has suited our 
 organs, and the bodies that are to affect them, one to another. If our sense of 
 hearing were but one thousand times quicker than it is, how would a perpetual 
 noise distract us? And we should in the quietest retirement be less able to sleep 
 or meditate than in the middle of a sea-fight.' Nay, if that most instructive of 
 our senses, seeing, were in any man a thousand or a hundred thousand times 
 more acute than it is by the best microscope, things several millions of times less 
 than the smallest object of his sight now, would then be visible to his naked eyes, 
 and so he would come nearer to the discovery of the texture and motion of the 
 minute parts of corporeal things; and in many of them, probably get ideas of 
 their internal constitutions. But then he would be in a quite different world 
 from other people: nothing would appear the same to him and others; the visible 
 ideas of everything would be different. So that I doubt, whether he and the rest 
 of men could discourse concerning the objects of sight, or have any communica- 
 tion about colours, their appearances being so wholly different. And perhaps 
 such a quickness and tenderness of sight could not endure bright sunshine, or so 
 much as open daylight; nor take in but a very small part of any object at once, 
 and that too only at a very near distance. And if by the help of such micro- 
 scopical eyes? (if I may so call them) a man could penetrate further than ordi- 
 nary into the secret composition and radical texture of bodies, he would not make 
 any great advantage by the change, if such an acute sight would not serve to 
 conduct him to the market and exchange; if he could not see things he was to 
 avoid, at a convenient distance; nor distinguish things he had to do with by 
 those sensible qualities others do. He that was sharp-sighted enough to see the 
 configuration of the minute particles of the spring of a clock, and observe upon 
 what peculiar structure and impulse its elastic motion depends, would no doubt 
 discover something very admirable: but if eyes so framed could not view at once 
 the hand, and the characters of the hour-plate, and thereby at a distance see what 
 o'clock it was, their owner could not be much benefited by that acuteness ; 
 which, whilst it discovered the secret contrivance of the parts of the machine, 
 made him lose its use. 
 
 13. Conjecture about Spirits.—And here give me leave to propose an extra- 
 
 1 In this section we find the origin, even to the ? Here we have the very words of Pope :— 
 peculiar expressions, of a very admirable portion | « w : abd ey Shia 
 of the “ Essay on Man,” Epist. I. § 6. he re- Dyin Ol maare ai nienyecopie eyes 
 
 : P For this plain reason—man is not a fly. 
 Roy an Sviag in the text, is thus worked Say, what the use, were finer optics given, 
 u e — 
 
 To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven ? 
 ‘« If nature thundered in his opening ears, Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o’er, 
 
 And stunned him with the music of the spheres, | To smart and agonise at every pore? 
 
 How would he wish that heaven had left him still | Or quick effluvia darting through the brain, 
 The whispering zephyr, and the purling rill!” Die of a rose in aromatic pain ? 
 
[BOOK II. 
 
 250 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 vagant conjecture of mine, viz. that since we have some reason (if there be any 
 credit to be given to the report of things, that our philosophy cannot account for) 
 to imagine, that spirits can assume to themselves bodies of different bulk, figure, 
 and conformation of parts;' whether one great advantage some of them have over 
 us may not lie in this: that they can so frame and shape to themselves organs of 
 sensation or perception, as to suit them to their present design, and the circum- 
 stances of the object they would consider. For how much would that man exceed 
 all others in knowledge, who had but the faculty so to alter the structure of his 
 eyes, that one sense, as to make it capable of all the several degrees of vision, 
 which the assistance of glasses (casually at first lighted on) has taught us to con- 
 ceive? What wonders would he discover, who could so fit his eyes to all sorts 
 of objects, as to see, when he pleased, the figure and motion of the minute par- 
 ticles in the blood, and other juices of animals, as distinctly as he does, at other 
 times, the shape and motion of the animals themselves? But to us, in our pre- 
 sent state, unalterable organs so contrived, as to discover the figure and motion 
 of the minute parts of bodies, whereon depend those sensible qualities we now 
 observe in them, would perhaps be of no advantage. God has, no doubt, made 
 them so, as is best for us in our present condition. He hath fitted us for the 
 neighbourhood of the bodies that surround us, and we have to do with: and 
 though we cannot, by the faculties we have, attain to a perfect knowledge of things, 
 yet they will serve us well enough for those ends above-mentioned, which are our 
 great concernment. I beg my reader’s pardon for laying before him so wild a 
 fancy concerning the ways of perception of beings above us; but how extrava- 
 gant soever it be, I doubt whether we can imagine anything about the knowledge 
 of angels, but after this manner, some way or other in proportion to what we 
 find and observe in ourselves. And though we cannot but allow that the infinite 
 power and wisdom of God may frame creatures with a thousand other faculties 
 and ways of perceiving things without them, than what we have, yet our thoughts 
 can go no further than our own: so impossible it is for us to enlarge our very 
 guesses beyond the ideas received from our own sensation and reflection. The sup- 
 position, at least, that angels do sometimes assume bodies, needs not startle us; 
 since some of the most ancient and most learned fathers of the church seemed 
 to believe that they had bodies:* and this is certain, that their state and way 
 of existence is unknown to us. 
 
 14. Complex Ideas of Substances.— But to return to the matter in hand, the 
 ideas we have of substances, and the ways we come by them; I say, our spe- 
 cific ideas of substances are nothing else but a collection of a certain number of 
 simple ideas, considered as united in one thing. These ideas of substances, 
 though they are commonly simple apprehensions, and the names of them simple 
 terms, yet in effect are complex and compounded. Thus the idea which an 
 Englishman signifies by the name Swan, is white colour,’ long neck, red beak, 
 
 1 Here again is a fancy which Pope has appro- 
 priated to himself, in his “‘ Rape of the Lock :”— 
 
 “‘ For spirits, freed from moral laws, with ease, 
 Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.”’ 
 
 Though possibly both the philosopher, and the 
 more modern poet, borrowed the hint from Mil- 
 ton, whose language they have run into in de- 
 veloping the notion :— 
 
 ‘“‘ For spirits when they please 
 Can either sex assume, or both; so soft 
 And uncompounded is their essence pure; 
 Not tied or manacled with joint or limb, 
 Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones, 
 Like cumbrous flesh; but in what shape they 
 
 choose, 
 
 Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure, 
 
 Can execute their airy purposes, 
 And works of love or enmity fulfil.” . 
 PaRADISE Lost, I. 4238 et seq. 
 
 2 This will surprise no one who is at all ac- 
 quainted with the history of the fathers, of whom 
 some believed the stars to be living beings, en- 
 dued with souls; as Origen, (Phot. Biblioth. p.4, 
 1. Bekk.) while others supposed the angels to be 
 set over the different parts of the universe, like 
 the inferior gods of paganism, as Chrysostom, 
 (Phot. Bibl. p. 517, 35 et seq. Bekk.) 
 
 3 Such, too, was the idea which Juvenal had 
 formed of this bird, when he described a virtuous 
 woman as 
 
 “ Rara avis in terris, nigroque similima cygno.” 
 But natural history having enlarged our notions, 
 
CHAP. XXIII. | OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 
 
 251 
 
 black legs, and whole feet, and all these of a certain size, with a power of swim- 
 ming in the water, and making a certain kind of noise; and perhaps, to a man 
 who has long observed this kind of birds, some other properties which all termi- 
 nate in sensible simple ideas, all united in one common subject. 
 
 15. Ideas of spiritual Substances, us clear as of bodily Substances.— Besides 
 the complex ideas we have of material sensible substances, of which I have last 
 spoken, by the simple ideas we have taken from those operations of our own 
 minds, which we experiment daily in ourselves, as thinking, understanding, will- 
 ing, knowing, and power of beginning motion, &c. co-existing in some substance, 
 we are able to frame the complex idea of an immaterial spirit. And thus, by 
 putting together the ideas of thinking, perceiving, liberty, and power of moving 
 themselves and other things, we have as clear a perception and notion of immate- 
 rial substances as we have of material. For putting together the ideas of thinking 
 and willing, or the power of moving or quieting corporeal motion, joined to sub- 
 stance, of which we have no distinct idea, we have the idea of an immaterial 
 spirit; and by putting together the ideas of coherent solid parts, and a power of 
 being moved, joined with substance, of which likewise we have no positive idea, 
 we have the idea of matter. The one is as clear and distinct an idea as the other : 
 the idea of thinking, and moving a body, being as clear and distinct ideas, as the 
 ideas of extension, solidity, and being moved. For our idea of substance is 
 equally obscure, or none at all in both: it is but a supposed I know not what, to 
 support those ideas we call accidents. It is for want of reflection that we are 
 apt to think that our senses show us nothing but material things.’ Every act of 
 sensation, when duly considered, gives us an equal view of both parts of nature, 
 the corporeal and spiritual. For whilst I know, by seeing or hearing, &c. that 
 there is some corporeal being without me, the object of that sensation, | do more 
 certainly know, that there is some spiritual being within me that sees and hears.” 
 This, I must be convinced, cannot be the action of bare insensible matter; nor 
 ever could be, without an immaterial thinking being. 
 
 16. No Idea of abstract Substance.— By the complex idea of extended, 
 figured, coloured, and all other sensible qualities, which is all that we know of it, 
 we are as far from the idea of the substance of body, as if we knew nothing at 
 all: nor after all the acquaintance and familiarity which we imagine we have 
 with matter, and the many qualities men assure themselves they perceive and 
 know in bodies, will it perhaps upon examination be found, that they have any 
 more or clearer primary ideas belonging to body, than they have belonging to im- 
 material spirit. 
 
 17. The cohesion of solid Parts and Impulse the primary Ideas of Body.— 
 The primary ideas we have peculiar to body, as contradistinguished to spirit, are 
 the cohesion of solid, and consequently separable, parts, and a power of com- 
 municating motion by impulse. These, I think, are the original ideas proper and 
 peculiar to body ; for figure is but the consequence of finite extension. 
 
 18. Thinking and Motivity the primary Ideas of Spirit.—The ideas we have 
 
 our idea of a swan is no longer the same; since 
 we now know that black species of swans are 
 found in the southern hemisphere. 
 
 1 There are, however, in the world, men who 
 profess to believe in the existence of nothing 
 but that which they can touch, see, and compre- 
 hend. It was in answer to one of these that Dr. 
 Parr made one of the smartest and wittiest re- 
 partees on record:—‘‘ I will believe nothing,” 
 said the materialist, ‘‘ but what I can under- 
 stand.”’ “Then,” replied the doctor, ‘‘ you will 
 have the shortest creed of any man I know.” 
 Plato, in the Theatetus, has likewise made use 
 of very sarcastic expressions when speaking on 
 the same head. ‘ Look carefully about you,” 
 
 cries Socrates, ‘“‘and see that none of the profane 
 are present. By these I mean such individuals 
 as have faith in the existence of nothing but 
 what they can grasp with both their hands, and 
 deny the operations of spirit, and the generations 
 of things, and whatever else is invisible.’”’ (Opera, 
 III. p. 204, Bekk.) 
 
 2 The consideration of passages like this, no 
 doubt, gave rise to the theory of Berkeley, who, 
 perceiving it already argued that the existence 
 of spirit is better proved than that of matter, 
 next contended that the latter cannot be proved 
 at all; and not only so, but that the contrary 
 may. 
 
252 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 belonging and peculiar to spirit, are thinking and will, or a power of putting 
 body into motion by thought, and, which is consequent to it, liberty. For as 
 body cannot but communicate its motion by impulse to another body, which it 
 meets with at rest, so the mind can put bodies into motion, or forbear to do so, as 
 it pleases. The ideas of existence, duration, and mobility, are common to them 
 both. 
 
 19. Spirits capable of Motion.—There is no reason why it should be thought 
 strange, that I make mobility belong to spirit; for having no other idea of mo- 
 tion, but change of distance with other beings that are considered as at rest, 
 and finding that spirits, as well as bodies, cannot operate but where they are, and 
 that spirits do operate at several times in several places, 1 cannot but attribute 
 change of place to all finite spirits; (for of the infinite spirit I speak not here); 
 for my soul, being a real being as well as my body, is certainly as capable of 
 changing distance with any other body, or being, as body itself, and so is capable 
 of motion. And if a mathematician can consider a certain distance, or a change 
 of that distance between two points, one may certainly conceive a distance, and a 
 change of distance, between two spirits, and so conceive their motion, their 
 approach or removal, one from another. 
 
 20. Every one finds in himself that his soul can think, will, and operate on his 
 body in the place where that is, but cannot operate on a body, or in a place an hun- 
 dred miles distant from it. Nobody can imagine that his soul can think or move 
 a body at Oxford, whilst he is at London; and cannot but know, that, being united 
 to his body, it constantly changes place all the whole journey between Oxford and 
 London, as the coach or horse does that carries him, and I think may be said to 
 be truly all that while in motion; or if that will not be allowed to afford us 
 a clear idea enough of its motion, its being separated from the body in death, I 
 think, will; for to consider it as going out of the body, or leaving it, and yet to 
 have no idea of its motion, seems to me impossible. 
 
 21. If it be said by any one that it cannot change place, because it hath none, 
 
 for the spirits are not in loco, but ubi; I suppose that way of talking will not now 
 be of much weight to many, in an age that is not much disposed to admire, or 
 suffer themselves to be deceived by such unintelligible ways of speaking. But if 
 any one thinks there is any sense in that distinction, and that it is applicable to 
 our present purpose, I desire him to put it into intelligible English; and then 
 from thence draw a reason to show that immaterial spirits are not capable of mo- 
 tion. Indeed motion cannot be attributed to God; not because he is an immate- 
 rial, but because he is an infinite spirit. 
 __ 22. Idea of Soul and Body compared.—Let us compare, then, our complex 
 idea of an immaterial spirit with our complex idea of body, and see whether 
 there be any more obscurity in one than in the other, and in which most. Our 
 idea of body, as I think, is an extended solid substance, capable of communicating 
 motion by impulse: and our idea of soul, as an immaterial spirit, is of a sub- 
 stance that thinks, and has a power of exciting motion in body, by willing, or 
 thought. These, I think, are our complex ideas of soul and body, as contra- 
 distinguished ; and now let us examine which has most obscurity in it, and diffi- 
 culty to be apprehended. I know that people whose thoughts are immersed in 
 matter, and have so subjected their minds to their senses, that they seldom reflect 
 on anything beyond them, are apt to say they cannot comprehend a thinking 
 thing ; which perhaps is true; but I affirm, when they consider it well, they can 
 no more comprehend an extended thing. 
 
 23. Cohesion of solid Parts in Body as hard to be conceived as thinking in a 
 Soul.—If any one say he knows not what it is thinks in him, he means he knows 
 not what the substance is of that thinking thing: no more, say I, knows he what 
 the substance is of that solid thing. Further, if he says he knows not how he 
 thinks, I answer, neither knows he how he is extended, how the solid parts of 
 body are united or cohere together to make extension. For though the pressure 
 
CHAP. XXIII. ] OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 253 
 
 of the particles of air may account for the cohesion of several parts of matter that 
 are grosser than the particles of air, and have pores less than the corpuscles of 
 air, yet the weight or pressure of the air will not explain, nor can be a cause of 
 the coherence of the particles of air themselves. And if the pressure of the ether, 
 or any subtiler matter than the air, may unite, and hold fast together the parts of 
 a particle of air, as well as other bodies, yet it cannot make bonds for itself, and 
 hold together the parts that make up every the least corpuscle of that materia 
 subtilis. So that that hypothesis, how ingeniously soever explained, by showing 
 that the parts of sensible bodies are held together by the pressure of other external 
 insensible bodies, reaches not the parts of the ether itself; and by how much the 
 more evident it proves, that the parts of other bodies are held together by the 
 external pressure of the ether, and can have no other conceivable cause of their 
 cohesion and union, by so much the more it leaves us in the dark concerning the 
 cohesion of the parts of the corpuscles of the ether itself; which we can neither 
 conceive without parts, they being bodies, and divisible, nor yet how their parts 
 cohere, they wanting that cause of cohesion which is given of the cohesion of the 
 parts of all other bodies. 
 
 24. But, in truth, the pressure of any ambient fluid, how great soever, can be 
 no intelligible cause of the cohesion of the solid parts of matter. For though such 
 a pressure may hinder the avulsion of two polished superfices, one from another, 
 ina line perpendicular to them; as in the experiment of two polished marbles; yet 
 it can never in the least hinder the separation by a motion, in a line parallel to 
 those surfaces: because the ambient fluid, having a full liberty to succeed in 
 each point of space, deserted by a lateral motion, resists such a motion of bodies, 
 so joined, no more than it would resist the motion of that body were it on all sides 
 environed by that fluid, and touched no other body; and therefore, if there 
 were no other cause of cohesion, all parts of bodies must be easily separable 
 by such a lateral sliding motion. For if the pressure of the ether be the 
 adequate cause of cohesion, wherever that cause operates not, there can be no 
 cohesion. And since it cannot operate against a lateral separation, (as has been 
 shown,) therefore in every imaginary plane, intersecting any mass of matter, there 
 could be no more cohesion than of two polished surfaces, which will always, not- 
 withstanding any imaginable pressure of a fluid, easily slide one from another. 
 So that, perhaps, how clear an idea soever we think we have of the extension of 
 body, which is nothing but the cohesion of solid parts, he that shall well consider 
 it in his mind, may have reason to conclude, that it is as easy for him to have a 
 clear idea how the soul thinks as how body is extended. For since body is 
 no further, nor otherwise extended, than by the union and cohesion of its solid 
 parts, we shall very ill comprehend the extension of body, without understanding 
 wherein consists the union and cohesion of its parts; which seems to me as in- 
 comprehensible as the manner of thinking, and how it is performed. 
 
 25. I allow it is usual for most people to wonder how any one should find a 
 difficulty in what they think they every day observe. Do we not see (will they be 
 ready to say) the parts of bodies stick firmly together? Is there anything more 
 common? And what doubt can there be made of it? And the like, I say, con- 
 cerning thinking and voluntary motion. Do we not every moment experiment it 
 in ourselves, and therefore can it be doubted? The matter of fact is clear, I con- 
 fess; but when we would a little nearer look into it, and consider how it is done, 
 there I think we are at a loss, both in the one and the other; and can as little 
 understand how the parts of body cohere, as how we ourselves perceive or move. 
 I would have any one intelligibly explain to me, how the parts of gold, or brass, 
 (that but now in fusion were as loose from one another as the particles of water, 
 or the sands of an hour-glass,) come in a few moments to be so united, and 
 adhere so strongly one to another, that the utmost force of men’s arms cannot 
 separate them? A considering man will, I suppose, be here at a loss to satisfy 
 his own or.another man’s understanding. 
 
254 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 26. The little bodies that compose that fluid we call water, are so extremely 
 small, that I have never heard of any one, who, by a microscope, (and yet I have 
 heard of some that have magnified to ten thousand ; nay, to much above a hun- 
 dred thousand times,) pretended to perceive their distinct bulk, figure, or motion ; 
 and the particles of water are also so perfectly loose one from another, that the 
 least force sensibly separates them. Nay, if we consider their perpetual motion, 
 we must allow them to have no cohesion one with another; and yet let but a 
 sharp cold come, they unite, they consolidate; these little atoms cohere, and are 
 not, without great force, separable. He that could find the bonds that tie these 
 heaps of loose little bodies together so firmly, he that could make known the 
 cement that makes them stick so fast one to another, would discover a great and 
 yet unknown secret; and yet when that was done, would he be far enough from 
 making the extension of body (which is the cohesion of its solid parts) intelligible, 
 till he could show wherein consisted the union or consolidation of the parts of 
 those bonds, or of that cement, or of the least particle of matter that exists. 
 Whereby it appears that this primary and supposed obvious quality of body will 
 be found, when examined, to be as incomprehensible as anything belonging to our 
 minds, and a solid extended substance as hard to be conceived as a thinking 
 immaterial one, whatever difficulties some would raise against it. 
 
 27. For to extend our thoughts a little further, that pressure, which is brought 
 to explain the cohesion of bodies, is as unintelligible as the cohesion itself. 
 For if matter be considered, as no doubt it is, finite, let any one send his con- 
 templation to the extremities of the universe, and there see what conceivable 
 hoops, what bond he can imagine to hold this mass of matter in so close a pres- 
 sure together; from whence steel has its firmness, and the parts of a diamond their 
 hardness and indissolubility. If matter be finite, it must have its extremes, and 
 there must be something to hinder it from scattering asunder. If, to avoid this 
 difficulty, any one will throw himself into the supposition and abyss of infinite 
 matter, let him consider what light he thereby brings to the cohesion of body, and 
 whether he be ever the nearer making it intelligible, by resolving it into a sup- 
 position the most absurd and most incomprehensible of all other. So far is our 
 extension of body (which is nothing but the cohesion of solid parts) from being 
 clearer, or more distinct, when we would inquire into the nature, cause, or manner 
 of it, than the idea of thinking. 
 
 28. Communication of Motion by Impulse, or by Thought, equally intelligible. 
 —Another idea we have of body is, the power of communication of motion 
 by impulse ; and of our souls, the power of exciting motion by thought. These 
 ideas, the one of body, the other of our minds, every day’s experience clearly 
 furnishes us with: but if here again we inquire how this is done, we are equally 
 in the dark. For to the communication of motion by impulse, wherein as much 
 motion is lost to one body as is got to the other, which is the ordinariest case, 
 we can have no other conception, but of the passing of motion out of one body 
 into another; which, I think, is as obscure and inconceivable as how our minds 
 move or stop our bodies by thought, which we every moment find they do. 
 The increase of motion by impulse, which is observed or believed sometimes to 
 happen, is yet harder to be understood. We have by daily experience clear evi- 
 dence of motion produced both by impulse and by thought; but the manner 
 how, hardly comes within our comprehension, we are equally at a loss in both. 
 
 1 From not comprehending the nature of what | plain the one than the other. Hume, with some 
 
 seems to exist, men passed almost naturally to 
 the questioning of all existence, save that of 
 thinking beings; and thus the well-founded 
 doubts of Locke led to scepticism. But if our 
 incapacity to explain or to comprehend how any- 
 thing exists be any reason for doubting its ex- 
 istence, we may as well doubt our own existence 
 as that of any being, since we can no more ex- 
 
 justice, doubtless, accuses BERKELEY of pro- 
 moting, though very much against his intention, 
 the cause of scepticism; ‘‘that all his arguments, 
 he says, though otherwise intended, are, in 
 reality, merely sceptical, appears from this, that 
 they admit of no answer, and produce no convic- 
 tion.” (Hssays, &c. p. 369, note, 4to.) 
 
CHAP. XXIII. ] OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 259 
 
 So that, however we consider motion, and its communication, either from body or 
 spirit, the idea which belongs to spirit is at least as clear as that which belongs to 
 body. And if we consider the active power of moving, or, as I may call it, 
 motivity, it is much clearer in spirit than body; since two bodies, placed by 
 one another at rest, will never afford us the idea of a power in the one to 
 move the other, but by a borrowed motion: whereas the mind every day affords 
 us ideas of an active power of moving of bodies; and therefore it is worth our con- 
 sideration, whether active power be not the proper attribute of spirits, and passive 
 power of matter. Hence may be conjectured, that created spirits are not totally 
 separate from matter, because they are both active and passive. Pure spirit, 
 viz. God, is only active; pure matter is only passive; those beings that are both 
 active and passive, we may judge to partake of both. But be that as it will, I 
 think, we have as many and as clear ideas belonging to spirit, as we have belong- 
 ing to body, the substance of each being equally unknown to us; and the idea 
 of thinking in spirit as clear as of extension in body; and the communication of 
 motion by thought, which we attribute to spirit, as is evident as that by impulse, 
 which we ascribe to body. Constant experience makes us sensible of both these, 
 though our narrow understandings can comprehend neither. For when the mind 
 would look beyond those original ideas we have from sensation or reflection, and 
 penetrate into their causes, and manner of production, we find still it discovers 
 nothing but its own short-sightedness. 
 
 29. To conclude. Sensation convinces us that there are solid extended sub- 
 stances; and reflection, that there are thinking ones: experience assures us of the 
 existence of such beings, and that the one hath a power to move body by impulse, 
 the other by thought; this we cannot doubt of. Experience, I say, every moment 
 furnishes us with the clear ideas both of the one and the other. But beyond 
 these ideas, as received from their proper sources, our faculties will not reach. 
 If we would inquire further into their nature, causes, and manner, we _ per- 
 ceive not the nature of extension clearer than we do of thinking. If we 
 would explain them any further, one is as easy as the other; and there is no 
 more difficulty to conceive how a substance we know not should, by thought, 
 set body into motion, than how a substance we know not should, by impulse, set 
 body into motion. So that we are no more able to discover wherein the ideas 
 belonging to body consist, than those belonging to spirit. From whence it 
 seems probable to me, that the simple ideas we receive from sensation and reflec- 
 tion are the boundaries of our thoughts; beyond which the mind, whatever efforts 
 it would make, is not able to advance one jot; nor can it make any discoveries, 
 when it would pry into the nature and hidden causes of those ideas. 
 
 30. Idea of Body and Spirit compared.—So that, in short, the idea we have of 
 spirit, compared with the idea we have of body, stands thus: the substance of 
 spirit is unknown to us; and so is the substance of body equally unknown to us. 
 Two primary qualities or properties of body, viz. solid coherent parts and im- 
 pulse, we have distinct clear ideas of: so likewise we know, and have distinct 
 clear ideas, of two primary qualities or properties of spirit, viz. thinking, and a 
 power of action; 1. e. a power of beginning or stopping several thoughts or mo- 
 tions. We have also the ideas of several qualities inherent in bodies, and have 
 the clear distinct ideas of them ; which qualities are but the various modifications 
 of the extension of cohering solid parts, and their motion. We have likewise the 
 ideas of the several modes of thinking, viz. believing, doubting, intending, fearing, 
 hoping; all which are but the several modes of thinking. We have also the 
 ideas of willing, and moving the body consequent to it, and with the body itself 
 too; for, as has been shown, spirit is capable of motion. 
 
 31. The Notion of Spirit involves no more Difficulty in it than that of Body. 
 —Lastly, if this notion of immaterial spirit may have, perhaps, some difficulties 
 in it not easily to be explained, we have therefore no more reason to deny or 
 doubt the existence of such spirits, than we have to deny or doubt the existence of 
 
256 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. . TY BOOK. 
 
 body; because the notion of body is cumbered with some difficulties very hard, 
 and perhaps impossible to be explained or understood by us. For I would fain 
 have instanced anything in our notion of spirit more perplexed, or nearer a con- 
 tradiction, than the very notion of body includes in it: the divisibility in infinitum 
 of any finite extension involving us, whether we grant or deny it, in consequences 
 impossible to be explicated or made in our apprehensions consistent; conse- 
 quences that carry greater difficulty, and more apparent absurdity, than anything 
 can follow from the notion of an immaterial knowing substance. 
 
 32. We know Nothing beyond our simple Ideas——Which we are not at all to 
 wonder at, since we having but some few superficial ideas of things, discovered to us 
 only by the senses from without, or by the mind, reflecting on what it experiments 
 in itself within, have no knowledge beyond that, much less of the internal constitu- 
 tion, and true nature of things, being destitute of faculties to attain it. And there- 
 fore experimenting and discovering in ourselves knowledge, and the power of 
 voluntary motion, as certainly as we experiment, or discover in things without 
 us, the cohesion and separation of solid parts, which is the extension and motion 
 of bodies; we have as much reason to be satisfied with our notion of immaterial 
 spirit, as with our notion of body, and the existence of the one as well as the 
 other. For it being no more a contradiction that thinking should exist, separate 
 and independent from solidity, than it is a contradiction that solidity should exist 
 separate and independent from thinking, they being both but simple ideas, inde- 
 pendent one from another: and having as clear and distinct ideas in us of think- 
 ing, as of solidity, I know not why we may not as well allow a thinking thing 
 without solidity, i. e. immaterial, to exist, as a solid thing without thinking, 1. e. 
 matter, to exist; especially since it is not harder to conceive how thinking should 
 exist without matter, than how matter should think. For whensoever we would 
 proceed beyond these simple ideas we have from sensation and reflection, and 
 dive further into the nature of things, we fall presently into darkness and 
 obscurity, perplexedness and difficulties, and can discover nothing further but our 
 own blindness and ignorance. But whichever of these complex ideas be clearest, 
 that of body or immaterial spirit, this is evident, that the simple ideas that make 
 them up are no other than what we have received from sensation or reflection : 
 and so is it of all our other ideas of substances, even of God himself. 
 
 33. Idea of God.—For if we examine the idea we have of the incomprehensible 
 Supreme Being, we shall find that we come by it the same way; and that the 
 complex ideas we have both of God and separate spirits are made up of the 
 simple ideas we receive from reflection: v. g. having, from what we experiment 
 in ourselves, got the ideas of existence and duration; of knowledge and power ; 
 of pleasure and happiness; and of several other qualities and powers, which it is 
 better to have than to be without: when we would frame an idea the most 
 suitable we can to the Supreme Being, we enlarge every one of these with our 
 idea of infinity ; and so putting them together, make our complex idea of God. 
 For that the mind has such a power of enlarging some of its ideas, received from 
 sensation and reflection, has been already shown. 
 
 34. If I find that I know some few things, and some of them, or all, perhaps 
 imperfectly, I can frame an idea of knowing twice as many; which I can double 
 again, as often as I can add to number; and thus enlarge my idea of knowledge, 
 by extending its comprehension to all things existing, or possible. The same bs 
 I can do of knowing them more perfectly ; 1. e. all their qualities, powers, causes, 
 consequences, and relations &c. till all be perfectly known that is in them, or can 
 any way relate to them; and thus frame the idea of infinite or boundless know- 
 ledge. The same may also be done of power, till we come to that we call infinite ; 
 aud also of the duration of existence, without beginning or end, and so frame the 
 idea of an eternal being. The degrees or extent wherein we ascribe existence, 
 power, wisdom, and all other perfections (which we can have any idea of) to 
 that sovereign Being which we call God, being all boundless and infinite, we 
 
CHAP. XXIII. ] OUR IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 257 
 
 + 
 
 frame the best idea of him our minds are capable of: all which is done, I say, by 
 enlarging those simple ideas we have taken from the operations of our own minds, 
 by reflection; or by our senses, from exterior things; to that vastness to which 
 infinity can extend them.’ 
 
 35. Idea of God.—For it is infinity, which, jomed to our ideas of existence, 
 power, knowledge, &c. makes that complex idea, whereby we represent to our- 
 selves the best we can, the Supreme Being. For though in his own essence 
 (which certainly we do not know, not knowing the real essence of a pebble, or a 
 fly, or of our own selves) God be simple and uncompounded, yet I think I may 
 say we have no other idea of him, but a complex one of existence, knowledge, 
 power, happiness &c. infinite and eternal, which are all distinct ideas, and some 
 of them, being relative, are again compounded of others: all which being, as has 
 been shown, originally got from sensation and reflection, go to make up the idea 
 or notion we have of God. 
 
 36. No Ideas in our complex one of Spirits, but those got from Sensation or 
 Reflection.—This further is to be observed, that there is no idea we attribute to 
 God, bating infinity, which is not also a part of our complex idea of other spirits ; 
 because, being capable of no other simple ideas belonging to anything but 
 body, but those which by reflection we receive from the operation of our own 
 minds, we can attribute to spirits no other but what we receive from thence: and 
 all the difference we can put between them, in our contemplation of spirits, is only 
 in the several extents and degrees of their knowledge, power, duration, happiness, 
 &e. For that in our ideas, as well of spirits as of other things, we are restrained 
 to those we receive from sensation and reflection is evident from hence, that, in 
 our ideas of spirits, how much soever advanced in perfection beyond those of 
 bodies, even to that of infinite, we cannot yet have any idea of the manner 
 wherein they discover their thoughts one to another; though we must neces- 
 sarily conclude that separate spirits, which are beings that have perfecter know- 
 ledge and greater happiness than we, must needs have also a perfecter way of 
 communicating their thoughts than we have, who are fain to make use of cor- 
 poreal signs and particular sounds; which are therefore of most general use, as 
 being the best and quickest we are capable of. But of immediate communication, 
 having no experiment in ourselves, and consequently no notion of it at all, we have 
 no idea how spirits, which use not words, can with quickness, or much less how 
 spirits, that have no bodies, can be masters of their own thoughts, and communi- 
 cate or conceal them at pleasure, though we cannot but necessarily suppose they 
 have such a power. 
 
 37. Recapitulation.—And thus we have seen what kind of ideas we have of 
 snbstances of all kinds, wherein they consist, and how we came by them. From 
 whence, I think, it is very evident, 
 
 First, That all our ideas of the several sorts of substances are nothing but col- 
 lections of simple ideas, with a supposition of something to which they belong, 
 and in which they subsist; though of this supposed something we have no clear 
 distinct idea at all. 
 
 Secondly, That all the simple ideas that thus united in one common substratum 
 make up our complex ideas of several sorts of substances, are no other but such 
 
 1 Compare Descartes’ account of the manner in 
 which the idea of God is produced in our minds, 
 (Meditation III. p. 18 et seq.) where he observes 
 that the idea of God has more objective reality 
 than that of any finite substance:—“ Illa per 
 quam summum aliquem Deum eternum, infini- 
 tum, omniscium, omnipotentem, rerumque om- 
 nium, que preter ipsum sunt creatorem intel- 
 ligo, plus profecto realitatis objectivee in se habet 
 quam ille per quas finitie substantie exhiben- 
 tur.”” Which the observations of Berkeley very 
 
 closely resemble:—‘‘ We may even assert that 
 the existence of God is far more evidently per- 
 ceived than the existence of men; because the 
 effects of nature are infinitely more numerous 
 than those ascribed to human agents. There is 
 not any one mark that denotes a man, or effect 
 produced by him, which doth not more strongly 
 evince the being of that Spirit who is the author 
 of nature.” (Prin. of Human Knowledge, § 147.) 
 
 n the knowledge of God, see St. Augustin. Con- 
 fess. L. si Gyolsals xeres' G. 
 
ert eS 
 
 258 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 as we have received from sensation or reflection. So that even in those which 
 we think we are most intimately acquainted with, and that come nearest the com- 
 prehension of our most enlarged conceptions, we cannot go beyond those simple 
 ideas. And even in those which seem most remote from all we have to do with, 
 and do infinitely surpass anything we can perceive in, ourselves by reflection, or 
 discover by sensation in other things, we can attain to nothing but those simple 
 ideas, which we originally received from sensation or reflection ; as is evident in 
 the complex ideas we have of angels, and particularly of God himself. 
 
 Thirdly, That most of the simple ideas that make up our complex ideas of 
 substances, when truly considered, are only powers, however we are apt to take 
 them for positive qualities; v. g. the greatest part of the ideas that make our 
 complex idea of gold are yellowness, great weight, ductility, fusibility, and solu- 
 bility in aqua regia, &c. all united together in an unknown substratum: all which 
 ideas are nothing else but so many relations to other substances, and are not really 
 in the gold, considered barely in itself, though they depend on those real and 
 primary qualities of its internal constitution, whereby it has a fitness differently to 
 operate and be operated on by several other substances. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OF COLLECTIVE IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES. 
 
 1. One Idea.—BrstpxEs these complex ideas of several single substances, as of 
 man, horse, gold, violet, apple &c., the mind hath also complex collective ideas of 
 substances ; which I so call, because such ideas are made up of many particular 
 substances considered together, as united into one idea, and which so joined are 
 looked on as one; v. g. the idea of such a collection of men as make an army, 
 though consisting of a great number of distinct substances, is as much one idea as 
 the idea of a man: and the great collective idea of all bodies whatsoever, signified 
 by the name world, is as much one idea as the idea of any the least particle of 
 matter in it; it sufficing to the unity of any idea, that it be considered as one 
 representation or picture, though made up of ever so many particulars. 
 
 2. Made by the Power of composing in the Mind.—-These collective ideas of 
 substances the mind makes by its power of composition, and uniting severally 
 either simple or complex ideas into one, as it does by the same faculty make the 
 complex ideas of particular substances, consisting of an aggregate of divers simple 
 ideas, united in one substance: and as the mind, by putting together the repeated 
 ideas of unity, makes the collective mode, or complex idea of any number, as a 
 score, or a gross &c., so, by putting together several particular substances, it makes 
 collective ideas of substances, as a troop, an army, a swarm, a city, a fleet; each 
 of which every one finds that he represents to his own mind by one idea, in one 
 view ; and so under that notion considers those several things as perfectly one, as 
 one ship, or one atom. Nor is it harder to conceive how an army of ten thousand 
 men should make one idea, than how a man should make one idea; it being as 
 easy to the mind to unite into one the idea of a great number of men, and con- 
 sider it as one, as it is to unite into one particular all the distinct ideas that make 
 up the composition of a man, and consider them all together as one. 
 
 3. All artificial Things are collective Ideas.—Amongst such kind of collective 
 ideas, are to be counted most part of artificial things, at least such of them as are 
 made up of distinct substances: and, in truth, if we consider all these collective 
 ideas aright, as army, constellation, universe, as they are united into so many 
 single ideas, they are but the artificial draughts of the mind; bringing things 
 
rr en re a a a ee AN ees eee hs te ar ae ee ee ae 
 
 CHAP. XXv. | OF RELATION. 259 
 
 very remote, and independent on one another, into one view, the better to con- 
 template and discourse of them, united into one conception, and signified by one 
 name; for there are no things so remote, nor so contrary, which the mind 
 cannot, by this art of composition, bring into one idea; as is visible in that signi- 
 fied by the universe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXvV. 
 
 OF RELATION. 
 
 1. Relation, what.—Bestpxs the ideas, whether simple or complex, that the 
 mind has of things, as they are in themselves, there are others it gets from their 
 comparison one with another. The understanding, in the consideration of any- 
 thing, is not confined to that precise object: it can carry any idea as it were 
 beyond itself, or at least look beyond it, to see how it stands in conformity to any 
 other. When the mind so considers one thing, that it does as it were bring it to 
 and set it by another, and carries its view from one to the other: this is, as the 
 words import, relation and respect; and the denominations given to positive 
 things, intimating that respect, and serving as marks to lead the thoughts beyond 
 the subject itself denominated, to something distinct from it, are what we call 
 relatives; and the things so brought together, related. Thus, when the mind 
 considers Caius as such a positive being, it takes nothing into that idea but what 
 really exists in Caius; v. g. when I consider him as @ man, I have nothing in 
 my mind but the complex idea of the species, man. So likewise, when I say 
 Caius is a white man, I have nothing but the bare consideration of a man who 
 hath that white colour. But when I give Caius the name husband, I intimate 
 some other person; and when I give him the name whiter, I intimate some other 
 thing: in both cases my thought is led to something beyond Caius, and there are 
 two things brought into consideration. And since any idea, whether simple or 
 complex, may be the occasion why the mind thus brings two things together, and 
 as it were takes a view of them at once, though still considered as distinct; there- 
 fore any of our ideas may be the foundation of relation. As in the above-men- 
 goned instance, the contract and ceremony of marriage with Sempronia is the 
 occasion of the denomination or relation of husband; and the colour white the 
 occasion why he is said to be whiter than free-stone. 
 
 2. Relations without correlative Terms not easily perceived.—These, and the 
 like relations expressed by relative terms, that have others answering them, with 
 a reciprocal intimation, as father and son, bigger and less, cause and effect, are 
 very obvious to every one, and everybody at first sight perceives the relation. 
 For father and son, husband and wife, and such other correlative terms, seem so 
 nearly to belong one to another, and through custom do so readily chime and 
 answer one another in people’s memories, that, upon the naming of either of 
 them, the thoughts are presently carried beyond the thing so named; and nobody 
 overlooks or doubts of a relation, where it is so plainly intimated. But where 
 languages have failed to give correlative names, there the relation is not always 
 so easily taken notice of. Concubine is, no doubt, a relative name, as well as 
 wife: but in languages where this and the like words have not a correlative 
 term, there people are not so apt to take them to be so, as wanting that evident 
 mark of relation which is between correlatives, which seem to explain one another, 
 and not to be able to exist, but together. Hence it is, that many of those names, 
 which, duly considered, do include evident relations, have been called external 
 denominations. But all names that are more than empty sounds must signify 
 some idea, which is either in the thing to which the name is applied, and then 
 it is positive, and is looked on as united to and existing in the thing to which the 
 
 § 2 
 
260 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II 
 
 denomination is given; or else it arises from the respect the mind finds in it to 
 something distinct from it, with which it considers it,and then it concludes a relation. 
 
 3. Some seemingly absolute Terms contain Relations.— Another sort of rela- 
 tive terms there is, which are not looked on to be either relative, or so much as 
 external denominations; which yet, under the form and appearance of signifying 
 something absolute in the subject, do conceal a tacit, though less observable, rela- 
 tion. Such are the seemingly positive terms of old, great, imperfect &c., whereof 
 I shall have occasion to speak more at large in the following chapters. 
 
 4, Relation different from the Things related.—This further may be observed, 
 that the ideas of relation may be the same in men who have far different ideas of 
 the things that are related, or that are thus compared; v. g. those who have far 
 different ideas of a man, may yet agree in the notion of a father; which is a 
 notion superinduced to the substance, or man, and refers only to an act of that 
 thing called man, whereby he contributed to the generation of one of his own 
 kind; let man be what it will. 
 
 5. Change of Relation may be without any Change in the Subject.—The na- 
 ture, therefore, of relation, consists in the referring or comparing two things one 
 to another; from which comparison one or both comes to be denominated. And 
 if either of those things be removed or cease to be, the relation ceases, and the 
 denomination consequent to it, though the other receive in itself no alteration at all ; 
 v. g. Caius, whom I consider to-day as a father, ceases to be so to-morrow only 
 by the death of his son, without any alteration made in himself. Nay, barely by 
 the mind’s changing the object to which it compares anything, the same thing is 
 capable of having contrary denominations at the same time; v. g. Caius, com- 
 pared to several persons, may truly be said to be older and younger, stronger and 
 weaker Ke. 
 
 6. Relation only betwixt two Things.—Whatsoever doth or can exist, or be 
 considered as one thing is positive; and so not only simple ideas and substances, 
 but modes also, are positive beings: though the parts of which they consist are 
 very often relative one to another; but the whole together considered as one thing, 
 and producing in us the complex idea of one thing, which idea is in our minds, as 
 one picture, though an aggregate of divers parts, and under one name, it is a 
 positive or absolute thing, or idea. Thus a triangle, though the parts thereof 
 compared one to another be relative, yet the idea of the whole is a positive abso- 
 lute idea. The same may be said of a family, a tune &c., for there can be no 
 relation but betwixt two things considered as two things. There must always be 
 in relation two ideas or things, either in themselves really separate, or considered 
 as distinct, and then a ground or occasion for their comparison. 
 
 7. All Things capable of Relation.—Concerning relation in general, these 
 things may be considered : 
 
 First, That there is no one thing, whether simple idea, substance, mode, or rela- 
 tion, or name of either of them, which is not capable of almost an infinite number 
 of considerations, in reference to other things, and therefore this makes no smull 
 part of men’s thoughts and words; v. g. one single man may at once be concerned 
 in, and sustain all these following relations, and many more, viz. father, brother, 
 son, grandfather, grandson, father-in-law, son-in-law, husband, friend, enemy, 
 subject, general, judge, patron, client, professor, European, Englishman, islander, 
 servant, master, possessor, captain, superior, inferior, bigger, less, older, younger, 
 contemporary, like, unlike, &c. to an almost infinite number; he being capable 
 of as many relations as there can be occasions of comparing him to other things, 
 in any manner of agreement, disagreement, or respect whatsoever. For, as I 
 said, relation is a way of comparing or considering two things together, and 
 giving one or both of them some appellation from that comparison; and some- 
 times giving even the relation itself a name. 
 
 8. The Ideas of Relations clearer often than of the Subjects related.— 
 Secondly, This further may be considered concerning relation, that though it be 
 
 SL RR rect 
 
CHAP. XXV.] OF RELATION. 261 
 
 not contained in the real existence of things, but something extraneous and super- 
 induced, yet the ideas which relative words stand for are often clearer and more 
 distinct than of those substances to which they do belong. The notion we have of 
 a father or brother is a great deal clearer and more distinct than that we have of a 
 man; or, if you will, paternity is a thing whereof it is easier to have a clear idea, than 
 of humanity ; and I can much easier conceive what a friend is, than what God; 
 because the knowledge of one action, or one simple idea, is oftentimes sufficient 
 to give me the notion of a relation; but to the knowing of any substantial being, 
 an accurate collection of sundry ideas is necessary. A man, if he compares two 
 things together, can hardly be supposed not to know what it is wherein he com- 
 pares them; so that when he compares any things together, he cannot but have a 
 very clear idea of that relation. The ideas, then, of relations, are capable at least 
 of being more perfect and distinct in our minds than those of substances; because 
 it is commonly hard to know all the simple ideas which are really in any sub- 
 stance, but for the most part easy enough to know the simple ideas that make up 
 any relation I think on, or have a name for; v. g. comparing two men in refer- 
 ence to one common parent, it is very easy to frame the ideas of brothers, without 
 having yet the perfect idea of aman. For significant relative words, as well as 
 others standing only for ideas, and those being all either simple or made up of 
 simple ones, it sufices for the knowing the precise idea the relative term stands 
 for, to have a clear conception of that which is the foundation of the relation ; 
 which may be done without having a perfect and clear idea of the thing it is 
 attributed to. Thus, having the notion that one laid the egg out of which the 
 other was hatched, I have a clear idea of the relation of dam and chick between 
 the two cassiowaries in St. James’s Park; though perhaps I have but a very 
 obscure and imperfect idea of those birds themselves. 
 
 9. Relations all terminate in simple Ideas.--Thirdly, Though there be a great 
 number of considerations wherein things may be compared one with another and 
 so a multitude of relations, yet they all terminate in and are concerned about 
 those simple ideas, either of sensation or reflection, which I think to be the whole 
 materials of all our knowledge. To clear this, I shall show it in the most consi- 
 derable relations that we have any notion of, and in some that seem to be the 
 most remote from sense or reflection; which yet will appear to have their ideas 
 from thence, and leave it past doubt that the notions we have of them are but cer- 
 tain simple ideas, and so originally derived from sense or reflection. 
 
 10. Terms leading the Mind beyond the Subject denominated, are relative.— 
 Fourthly, That relation being the considering of one thing with another which is 
 extrinsical to it, it is evident that all words that necessarily lead the mind to any 
 other ideas than are supposed really to exist in that thing to which the words are 
 applied, are relative words; v. g. a man black, merry, thoughtful, thirsty, angry, 
 extended; these and the like are all absolute, because they neither signify nor in- 
 timate anything but what does or is supposed really to exist in the man thus 
 denominated ; but father, brother, king, husband, blacker, merrier &c., are words 
 which, together with the thing they denominate, imply also something else sepa- 
 rate and exterior to the existence of that thing. . 
 
 11. Conclusion.—Having laid down these premises concerning relation in 
 general, I shall now proceed to show, in some instances, how all the ideas we 
 have of relation are made up, as the others are, only of simple ideas; and that 
 
 they all, how refined or remote from sense soever they seem, terminate at last in 
 
 simple ideas. I shall begin with the most comprehensive relation, wherein all 
 things that do or can exist are concerned; and that is the relation of cause and 
 effect. The idea whereof, how derived from the two fountains of all our know- 
 ledge, sensation and reflection, I shall in the next place consider. 
 
 a aa rt ae rn A AN eR, 
 
262 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. . [BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 OF CAUSE AND EFFECT, AND OTHER RELATIONS. ' 
 
 1. Whence their Ideas got.—In the notice that our senses take of the constant 
 vicissitude of things, we cannot but observe that several particular, both qualities 
 and substances, begin to exist; and that they receive this their existence from the 
 due application and operation of some other being. From this observation we 
 get our ideas of cause and effect. That which produces any simple or complex 
 idea we denote by the general name, cause; and that which is produced, effect. 
 Thus, finding that in that substance which we call wax, fluidity, which is a simple 
 idea that was not in it before, is constantly produced by the application of a 
 certain degree of heat; we call the simple idea of heat, in relation to fluidity in 
 wax, the cause of it, and fluidity the effect. So also, finding that the substance of 
 wood, which is a certain collection of simple ideas so called, by the application of 
 fire, is turned into another substance, called ashes; i. e. another complex idea, 
 consisting of a collection of simple ideas, quite different from that complex 
 idea which we call wood; we consider fire in relation to ashes as cause, and the 
 ashes as effect. So that whatever is considered by us to conduce or operate to 
 the producing any particular simple idea, or collection of simple ideas, whether 
 substance or mode, which did not before exist, hath thereby in our minds the rela- 
 tion of a cause, and so is denominated by us. 
 
 2. Creation, Generation, making Alteration.—Having thus, from what our 
 senses are able to discover in the operations of bodies on one another, got the 
 notion of cause and effect, viz. that a cause is that which makes any other thing, 
 either simple idea, substance, or mode, begin to be; and an effect is that which 
 had its beginning from some other thing, the mind finds no great difficulty to 
 distinguish the several originals of things into two sorts. 
 
 First, When the thing is wholly made new, so that no part thereof did ever 
 exist before; as when anew particle of matter doth begin to exist, in rerum 
 natura, which had before no being, and this we call creation.? 
 
 Secondly, When a thing is made up of particles, which did all of them before 
 exist, but that very thing so constituted of pre-existing particles, which, consi- 
 dered all together, make up such a collection of simple ideas as had not any 
 existence before; as this man, this egg, rose, or cherry &c. And this, when 
 referred to a substance, produced in the ordinary course of nature by internal 
 principle, but set on work, and received from some external agent or cause, and 
 working by insensible ways, which we perceive not, we call generation ; when 
 the cause is extrinsical, and the effect produced by a sensible separation, or juxta- 
 position of discernible parts, we call it making ; and such are all artificial things. 
 When any simple idea is produced, which was not in that subject before, we call 
 it alteration. Thus a man is generated, a picture made, and either of them 
 altered, when any new sensible quality of simple idea is produced in either of 
 them, which was not there before; and the things thus made to exist, which were 
 not there before, are effects; and those things which operated to the existence, 
 causes. In which, and all other causes, we may observe that the notion of cause 
 and effect has its rise from ideas received by sensation or reflection; and that 
 this relation, how comprehensive soever, terminates at last in them. For to have 
 
 ' Compare with what is here said, Hume’s | Metaph. iv. 1, 2, et seq. Hobbes’ Princ. Phil. 
 “ Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding,” | c¢. 10. 
 
 §§ 8—7; more particularly the last, on Neces- 2 See Confess. Div. August. 1. xii. c. 4, s. 8; 
 sary Connexion, p. 317 et seq. 4to. edition. Arist. | 1. xi. c. 5. 
 
CHAP. XXVI. | OF RELATION. 263 
 
 the idea of cause and effect, it suffices to consider any simple idea or substance, 
 as beginning to exist by the operation of some other, without knowing the manner 
 of that operation. 
 
 3. Relations of Time.—Time and place are also the foundations of very large 
 relations, and all finite beings at least are concerned in them. But having already 
 shown in another place how we get those ideas, it may suffice here to intimate, 
 that most of the denominations of things received from time are only relations. 
 Thus, when any one says that Queen Elizabeth lived sixty-nine, and reigned 
 forty-five years, these words import only the relation of that duration to some 
 other, and mean no more than this, that the duration of her existence was equal 
 to sixty-nine, and the duration of her government to forty-five annual revolutions 
 of the sun; and so are all words, answering, How long? Again, William the 
 Conqueror invaded England about the year 1066; which means this, that, taking 
 the duration from our Saviour’s time till now for one entire great length of time, 
 it shows at what distance this invasion was from the two extremes; and so do all 
 words of time answering to the question, When? which show only the distance of 
 any point of time from the period of a longer duration, from which we measure, 
 and to which we thereby consider it as related. 
 
 4. There are yet, besides those, other words of time, that ordinarily are 
 thought to stand for positive ideas, which yet will, when considered, be found to 
 be relative; such as are, young, old &c., which include and intimate the relation 
 anything has to a certain length of duration, whereof we have the idea in our 
 minds. Thus, having settled in our thoughts the idea of the ordinary duration of 
 a man to be seventy years, when we say a man is young, we mean that his age 
 is yet but a small part of that which usually men attain to; and when we deno- 
 minate him old, we mean that his duration is run out almost to the end of that 
 which men do not usually exceed. And so it is but comparing the particular age 
 or duration of this or that man, to the idea of that duration which we have in our 
 minds, as ordinarily belonging to that sort of animals; which is plain, in the 
 application of these names to other things; for a man is called young at twenty 
 years, and very young at seven years old: but yet a horse we call old at twenty, 
 and a dog at seven years, because in each of these we compare their age to dif- 
 ferent ideas of duration, which are settled in our minds as belonging to these 
 several sorts of animals in the ordinary course of nature. But the sun and stars, 
 though they have outlasted several generations of men, we call not old, because 
 we do not know what period God hath set to that sort of beings.' This term 
 belonging properly to those things which we can observe in the ordinary course 
 of things, by a natural decay, to come to an end in a certain period of time; and 
 so have in our minds, as it were, a standard to which we can compare the several 
 parts of their duration; and, by the relation they bear thereunto, call them young 
 or old; which we cannot, therefore, do to a ruby or diamond, things whose usual 
 periods we know not. 
 
 5. Relations of Place and Extension.—The relation also that things have to 
 one another in their places and distances is very obvious to observe; as above, 
 below, a mile distant from Charing-cross, in England, and in London. But as 
 in duration, so in extension and bulk, there are some ideas that are relative, 
 which we signify by names that are thought positive; as great and little are 
 truly relations. For here also, having, by observation, settled in our minds the 
 ideas of the bigness of several species of things from those we have been most 
 accustomed to, we make them as it were the standards, whereby to denominate 
 the bulk of others. Thus we call a great apple, such a one as is bigger than the 
 
 1 . : y * ” 
 1 Yet in the language of passion, we some- | And in common language, ‘as old as the hills, 
 times personify the heavens, and speak of their | is a current phrase; although we know not what 
 age, as where Lear exclaims: period may be set to the duration of the earth. 
 
 ‘The heavens themselves are old.”’ 
 
264 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 ordinary sort of those we have been used to; and a little horse, such a one as 
 comes not up to the size of that idea which we have in our minds to belong ordi- 
 narily to horses; and that will be a great horse to a Welshman, which is but a 
 little one to a Fleming; they two having, from the different breed of their coun- 
 tries, taken several sized ideas to which they compare, and in relation to which 
 they denominate, their great and their little. 
 
 6. Absolute Terms often stand for Relations.—So likewise weak and strong 
 are but relative denominations of power, compared to some ideas we have at that 
 time of greater or less power. Thus, when we say a weak man, we mean one 
 that has not so much strength or power to move as usually men have, or usually 
 those of his size have; which is a comparing his strength to the idea we have of 
 the usual strength of men, or men of such a size. The like, when we say the 
 creatures are all weak things; weak, there, is but a relative term, signifying the 
 disproportion there is in the power of God and the creatures. And so abundance 
 of words, in ordinary speech, stand only for relations (and perhaps the greatest 
 part) which at first sight seem to have no such signification ; v. g. the ship has 
 necessary stores. Necessary and stores are both relative words; one having a 
 relation to the accomplishing the voyage intended, and the other to future use. 
 All which relations, how they are confined to and terminate in ideas derived from 
 sensation or reflection, is too obvious to need any explication. 
 
 CHAP TER AAVIL 
 
 OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY." 
 
 1. Wherein Identity consists —ANOTHER occasion the mind often takes of 
 comparing, is the very being of things ; when considering anything as existing at 
 any determined time and place, we compare it with itself existing at another time, 
 and thereon form the ideas of identity and diversity. When we see anything to ~ 
 be in any place in any instant of time, we are sure (be it what it will) that it is that 
 very thing, aud not another, which at that same time exists in another place, how 
 like and undistinguishable soever it may be in all other respects: and in this con- 
 sists identity, when the ideas it is attributed to vary not at all from what they 
 were that moment wherein we consider their former existence, and to which we 
 compare the present. For we never finding, nor conceiving it possible, that two 
 things of the same kind should exist in the same place at the same time, we 
 rightly conclude, that, whatever exists anywhere at any time, excludes all of the 
 same kind, and is there itself alone. When therefore we demand whether any- 
 thing be the same or no, it refers always to something that existed such a time in 
 such a place, which it was certain at that instant was the same with itself, and no 
 other. From whence it follows, that one thing cannot have two beginnings of ex- 
 istence, nor two things one beginning ; it being impossible for two things of the 
 same kind to be or exist in the same instant, in the very same place, or one and 
 the same thing in different places. That, therefore, that had one beginning, is the 
 same thing; and that which had a different beginning in time and place from that, 
 is not the same, but diverse.? That which has made the difficulty about this rela- 
 
 * Most readers, possibly, are acquainted with | remarkable for perspicuity and philosophical acu- 
 Bishop Butler’s Dissertation on the subject of | men as for piety. 
 Personal Identity: (Sacred Classics, vol. viii. p. 2 Exactly similar are the arguments of Hobbes, 
 331, et seq.:) and it is certainly worth while to | ‘‘Dictum hactenus est de corpore simpliciter, et 
 compare the speculations of these two distin- | accidentibus communibus, magnitudine, motu, 
 guished writers; particularly as Dr. Butler is as | gwicte, actione, passione, potentia, possibili, etc. 
 
CHAP. XXVII.] OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 265 
 
 tion has been the little care and attention used in having precise notions of the 
 things to which it is attributed. 
 
 2. Identity of Substances.—We have the ideas but of three sorts of substances: 
 1. God. 2. Finite intelligences. 3. Bodies. First, God is without beginning, 
 eternal, unalterable, and everywhere ; and therefore concerning his identity there 
 can be no doubt. Secondly, Finite spirits having had each its determinate time 
 and place of beginning to exist, the relation to that time and place will always de- 
 termine to each of them its identity, as long as it exists. Thirdly, The same will 
 hold of every particle of matter, to which no addition or subtraction of matter 
 being made, it is the same. For, though these three sorts of substances, as we 
 term them, do not exclude one another out of the same place, yet we cannot con- 
 ceive but that they must necessarily each of them exclude any of the same kind 
 out of the same place; or else the notions and names of identity and diversity 
 would be in vain, and there could be no such distinctions of substances, or any- 
 thing else one from another. For example: could two bodies be in the same place 
 at the same time, then those two parcels of matter must be one and the same, take 
 them great or little ; nay, all bodies must be one and the same. For, by the same 
 reason that two particles of matter may be in one place, all bodies may be in one 
 place ; which, when it can be supposed, takes away the distinction of identity 
 and diversity of one and more, and renders it ridiculous. But it being a contra- 
 diction that two or more should be one, identity and diversity are relations and 
 ways of comparing well founded, and of use to the understanding. 
 
 Identity of Modes.—All other things being but modes or relations ultimately 
 terminated in substances, the identity and diversity of each particular existence of 
 them too will be by the same way determined: only as to things whose ex- 
 istence is in succession, such as are the actions of finite beings, v. g. motion and 
 thought, both which consist in a continued train of succession: concerning their 
 diversity there can be no question; because each perishing the moment it begins, 
 they cannot exist in different times, or in different places, as permanent beings can 
 at different times exist in distant places; and therefore no motion or thought, con- 
 sidered as at different times, can be the same, each part thereof having a different 
 beginning of existence. 3 
 
 3. Principium Individuationis—From what has heen said, it is easy to discover 
 what is so much inquired after, the principinm individuationis ; and that, it is 
 plain, is existence itself, which determines a being of any sort to a particular time 
 and place, incommunicable to two beings of the same kind. This, though it seems 
 easier to conceive in simple substances or modes, yet, when reflected on, is not 
 more difficult in compound ones, if care be taken to what it is applied: v. g. let 
 us suppose an atom, i. e. a continued body under one immutable superfices, exist- 
 ing in a determined time and place ; it is evident, that, considered in any instant of 
 its existence, it is in that instant the same with itself. For, being at that instant 
 what it is, and nothing else, it is the same, and so must continue as long as its ex- 
 istence is continued ; for so long it will be the same, and no other. In like man- 
 ner, if two or more atoms be joined together into the same mass, every one of 
 those atoms will be the same, by the foregoing rule: and whilst they exist united 
 together, the mass, consisting of the same atoms, must be the same mass, or the 
 same body, let the parts be ever so differently jumbled. But if one of these atoms 
 
 Descendendum jam esset ad accidentia illa, qui- | primis autem, duo corpora idem non esse mani- 
 
 bus unum corpus ab alio distinguitur, nisi prius 
 declarandum esset, quid sit ipsum distingui et 
 non distingut, nimirum quod sit idem et diver- 
 sum; nam etiam hoc omnibus corporibus com- 
 mune est ut unum ab alio distingui, sive diversum 
 esse possit. Deferre autem inter se duo corpora 
 dicuntur, cum de uno eorum dicitur aliquid quod 
 de altero dici non potest eodem tempore. Im- 
 
 festum est; siquidem enim duo sint in duobus 
 locis sunt eodem tempore, quod autem idem est, 
 eodem tempore in eodem loco est. Omnia ergo 
 corpora differunt inter se numero, nimirum ut 
 unum et alterum; ita ut idem, et numero diffe- 
 rentia, sunt nomina contradictorie opposita” etc. 
 (Phil. Prim. c. xi. § 1, 2, et seq.) 
 
266 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 be taken away, or one new one added, it is no longer the same mass or the same 
 body. In the state of living creatures, their identity depends not on a mass of the 
 same particles, but on something else. For in them the variation of great parcels 
 of matter alters not the identity: an oak growing from a plant to a great tree, 
 and then lopped, is still the same oak; and a colt grown up to a horse, sometimes 
 fat, sometimes lean, is all the while the same horse: though, in both these cases, 
 there may be a manifest change of the parts; so that truly they are not either of 
 them the same masses of matter, though they be truly one of them the same oak, 
 and the other the same horse. The reason whereof is, that, in these two cases, 
 a mass of matter, and a living body, identity is not applied to the same thing. 
 
 4, Identity of Vegetables.--We must therefore consider wherein an oak differs 
 from a mass of matter, and that seems to me to be in this, that the one is only the 
 cohesion of particles of matter any how united, the other such a disposition of 
 them as constitutes the parts of an oak; and such an organization of those parts as 
 is fit to receive and distribute nourishment, so as to continue and frame the wood, 
 bark, and leaves &c. of an oak, in which consists the vegetable life. That being then 
 one plant which has such an organization of parts in one coherent body, par- 
 taking of one common life, it continues to be the same plant as long as it partakes 
 of the same life, though that life be communicated to new particles of matter 
 vitally united to the living plant, in a like continued organization conformable to 
 that sort of plants. For this organization being at any one instant im any one 
 collection of matter, is in that particular concrete distinguished from all other, 
 and is that individual life which existing constantly from that moment both for- 
 wards and backwards, in the same continuity of insensibly succeeding parts united 
 to the living body of the plant, it has that identity which makes the same plant, 
 and all the parts of it, parts of the same plant, during all the time that they exist 
 united in that continued organization, which is fit to convey that common life to 
 all the parts so. united. . 
 
 5. Identity of Animals.—The case is not so much different in brutes, but that 
 any one may hence see what makes an animal and continues it the same. Some- 
 thing we have like this in machines, and may serve to illustrate it. For example, 
 what is a watch? It is plain it is nothing but a fit organization or construction of 
 parts to a certain end, which, when a suflicient force is added to it, it is capable 
 to attain. If we would suppose this machine one continued body, all whose 
 organized parts were repaired, increased, or diminished by a constant addition 
 or separation of insensible parts, with one common life, we should have some- 
 thing very much like the body of an animal ;* with this difference, that, in an 
 animal the fitness of the organization, and the motion wherein life consists, be- 
 gin together, the motion coming from within; but in machines, the force coming 
 sensibly from without, is often away when the organ is in order, and well fitted to 
 receive it. 
 
 6. The Identity of Man.—This also shows wherein the identity of the same 
 
 1On this, Butler observes, that, ‘“‘in a loose 
 and popular sense, the life, and the organization, 
 and the plant, are justly said to be the same, not- 
 withstanding the perpetual change of the parts. 
 But, in a strict and philosophical manner of 
 speech, no man, no being, no mode of being, no 
 anything, can be the same with that with which 
 it hath indeed nothing the same.” (Dissertation 
 on Personal Identity, &c. p. 334.) 
 
 2 Descartes, pushing this idea a little further, 
 affirmed boldly that animals are but living ma- 
 chines. ‘Descartes distinguait le principe de la 
 vie du principe de l’ame. Le premier est dans 
 la nature, la cause de tous les mouvemens vege- 
 taux et animaux; l’autre est celle de la pensée 
 et de la connaissance; le dernier n’appartient 
 
 qu’a ’Vhomme, et ne se rencontre pas chez les 
 animaux. Delala célébre assertion de Descartes, 
 que les animaux sont seulement des machines 
 vivantes, qui n’ont ni le sentiment, ni la concep- 
 tion, ni encore moins la volonté.” (Buhle, Hist. 
 de la Phil. Mod. 1. iii. p. 15.) Perreira, on the 
 other hand, sought to raise animals to the level 
 of man, by affirming them to be possessed of im- 
 mortal souls. (Bayle, Dict. Hist. et Crit., art. 
 Perreira.) This opinion seems to have prevailed 
 among mankind from the earliest ages ; since we 
 find Homer representing Orion chasing the souls 
 of stags and other animals, over the plains of 
 hell. The North American Indian, too, thinks, 
 ‘¢ Admitted to that equal sky, 
 His faithful dog shall bear him company.” 
 
CHAP. XXVII. | OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 267 
 
 man consists; viz. in nothing but a participation of the same continued life, by 
 constantly fleeting particles of matter, in succession vitally’ united to the same 
 organized body. He that shall place the identity of man in anything else, but 
 like that of other animals, in one fitly organized body, taken in any one instant, 
 and from thence continued, under one organization of life, in several successively 
 fleeting particles of matter united to it, will find it hard to make an embryo, 
 one of years, mad and sober, the same man, by any supposition, that will not 
 make it possible for Seth, Ismael, Socrates, Pilate, St. Austin, and Cesar Borgia, 
 to be the same man. For, if the identity of soul alone makes the same man, and 
 there be nothing in the nature of matter why the same individual spirit may not 
 be united to different bodies, it will be possible that those men living in distant 
 ages, and of different tempers, may have been the same man: which way of speak- 
 ing must be, from a very strange use of the word man, applied to an idea, out of 
 which body and shape are excluded. And that way of speaking would agree yet. 
 worse with the notions of those philosophers who allow of transmigration, and are 
 of opinion that the souls of men may, for their miscarriages, be detruded into the 
 bodies of beasts, as fit habitations, with organs suited to the satisfaction of their 
 brutal inclinations. But yet I think nobody, could he be sure that the soul of 
 Heliogabalus were in one of his hogs, would yet say that hog were a man or 
 Heliogabalus.! 
 
 7. Identity suited to the Idea.—It is not therefore unity of substance that 
 comprehends all sorts of identity, or will determine it in every case: but to con- 
 ceive and judge of it aright, we must consider what idea the word it is applied to 
 stands for; it being one thing to be the same substance, another the same man, 
 and a third the same person, if person, man, and substance, are three names stand- 
 ing for three different ideas ; for such as is the idea belonging to that name, such 
 must be the identity ; which, if it had been a little more carefully attended to, 
 would possibly have prevented a great deal of that confusion which often occurs 
 about this matter, with no small seeming difficulties, especially concerning personal 
 identity, which therefore we shall in the next place a little consider. 
 
 8. Same Man.—An animal is a living organized body ; and consequently the 
 same animal, as we have observed, is the same continued life communicated to 
 different particles of matter, as they happen successively to be united to that 
 organized living body. And whatever is talked of other definitions, ingenious 
 observation puts it past doubt, that the idea in our minds, of which the sound 
 man in our mouths is the sign, is nothing else but of an animal of such a certain 
 form: since I think I may be confident, that, whoever should see a creature of 
 his own shape or make, though it had no more reason all its life than a cat ora 
 parrot, would call him still a man; or whoever should hear a cat or a parrot dis- 
 course, reason, and philosophize, would call or think it nothing but a cat or a par- 
 rot; and say, the one was a dull irrational man, and the other a very intelligent 
 rational parrot. A relation we have in an author of great note, is sufficient to coun- 
 tenance the supposition of a rational parrot. His words are :? 
 
 “ T had a mind to know, from Prince Maurice’s own mouth, the account of a 
 common, but much credited story, that I heard so often from many others, of 
 an old parrot he had in Brazil, during his government there, that spoke, and 
 asked, and answered common questions, like a reasonable creature: so that those 
 of his train there generally concluded it to be witchery or possession ; and one of 
 his chaplains, who lived long afterwards in Holland, would never from that time 
 endure a parrot, but said they all had a devil in them. I had heard many parti- 
 culars of this story, and assevered by people hard to be discredited, which made 
 me ask Prince Maurice what there was of it. He said, with his usual plainness and 
 
 1 Of the history and hoggish propensities of 2Memoirs of what passed in Christendom 
 this master of the world, see Gibbon. from 1672 to 1679, p. 57, 3892. 
 
268 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 dryness in talk, there was something true, but a great deal false of what had been 
 reported. I desired to know of him what there was of the first. He told me 
 short and coldly, that he had heard of such an old parrot when he had been at 
 Brazil; and though he believed nothing of it, and it was a good way off, yet he 
 had so much curiosity as to send for it: that it was a very great and a very old 
 one; and when it came first into the room where the prince was, with a great 
 many Dutchmen about him, it said presently, What a company of white men are 
 here! They asked what it thought that man was, pointing to the prince. It 
 answered, Some General or other: when they brought it close to him, he asked 
 it, D’ot venez-vous? It answered, De Marinnan. The Prince, A qui estes-vous? 
 The parrot, A un Portugais. The Prince, Que fais-tu la? Je garde les poulles. 
 The Prince laughed, and said, Vous gardez les poulles? The parrot answered, 
 Oui, moi, et je scai bien faire; and made the chuck four or five times that people 
 use to make to chickens when they call them. I set down the words of this 
 worthy dialogue in French, just as Prince Maurice said them to me. I asked 
 him in what language the parrot spoke, and he said in Brazilian. I asked whe- 
 ther he understood Brazilian; he said no: but he had taken care to have two 
 interpreters by him, the one a Dutchman that spoke Brazilian, and the other a 
 Brazilian that spoke Dutch; that he asked them separately and privately, and 
 both of them agreed in telling him just the same thing that the parrot had 
 said. I could not but tell this odd story, because it is so much out of the way, 
 and from the first hand, and what may pass for a good one; for I dare say this 
 prince at least believed himself in all he told me, having ever passed for a very 
 honest and pious man: I leave it to naturalists to reason, and to other men 
 to believe as they please upon it; however, it is not, perhaps, amiss to relieve 
 or enliven a busy scene sometimes with such digressions, whether to the purpose 
 or no.”? 
 
 Same Man.—I have taken care that the reader should have the story at large 
 in the author’s own words, because he seems to me not to have thought it incre- 
 dible ; for it cannot be imagined that so able a man as he, who had sufficiency 
 enough to warrant all the testimonies he gives of himself, should take so much 
 pains, in a place where it had nothing to do, to pin so close not only on a man 
 whom he mentions as his friend, but on a prince in whom he acknowledges ver 
 great honesty and piety, a story which, if he himself thought incredible, he could 
 not but also think ridiculous. The prince, it is plain, who vouches this story, 
 and our author, who relates it from him, both of them call this talker a parrot: 
 and I ask any one else who thinks such a story fit to be told, whether,—if this 
 parrot, and all of its kind, had always talked, as we have a prince’s word for it 
 this one did,—whether, I say, they would not have passed for a race of rational 
 animals ; but yet, whether, for all that, they would have been allowed to be men, 
 and not parrots? For I presume it is not the idea of a thinking or rational being 
 alone that makes the idea of a man in most people’s sense, but of a body, so and 
 so shaped, joined to it; and if that be the idea of a man, the same successive body 
 
 * Whence come ye? It answered, From Ma- | sightly, for they spread a tuft of feathers that 
 
 rinnan. The Prince, To whom do you belong? 
 The parrot, To a Portuguese. Prince, What do 
 you there? Parrot, I look after the chickens. 
 The Prince laughed and said, You look after the 
 chickens? The parrot answered, Yes, I, and I 
 know well enough how to do it. 
 
 2 This is, to a certain extent, corroborated, or 
 at least shown to be possible, by what Navarrette 
 relates of the parrots and cockatoos of the Indian 
 Ocean. ‘At Macassar there are a great many 
 of asort of bird they call cacatua: they are all 
 white, some bigger than hens, their beak like a 
 parrot; they are easily made tame, and talk. 
 When they stand upon their guard, they are very 
 
 is on their heads, and look most lively. The 
 Portuguese carry them to China, and those peo- 
 ple give good rates forthem. In the islands there 
 are innumerable parrots and paroquites; but 
 those of Terranese carry the day from the rest. 
 I saw one at Manilla that cost two hundred 
 pieces-of-eight, and would certainly have fetched 
 two thousand at Madrid. It sang so distinctly 
 that it deceived me twice, and others oftener.”’ 
 (Account of China, l. i. c. 18.) The narrative in 
 the text, together with many other anecdotes of 
 parrots, has been given in my son’s little work, 
 ey “The Young Naturalist’s Book of 
 irds.” 
 
 (ac WRGE=>-camteeatas a tastemeronrcarstemeciacaresy secesce ep a a ee aE TE EE EEE ENCE e DEN,  ek N S 
 
COHAP. XXVII-. | OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 269 
 
 not shifted all at once, must, as well as the same immaterial spirit, go to the making 
 of the same man. 
 
 9. Personal Identity.—This bemg premised, to find wherein personal identity 
 consists, we must consider what person stands for; which, I think, is a thinking 
 intelligent being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider itself as itself, 
 the same thinking thing, in different times and places; which it does only by that 
 consciousness which is inseparable from thinking, and, as it seems to me, essential 
 to it: it beg impossible for any one to perceive without perceiving that he does 
 perceive. When we see, hear, smell, taste, feel, meditate, or will anything, we 
 know that we do so. Thus it is always as to our present sensations and perceptions : 
 and by this every one is to himself that which he calls self; it not being con- 
 sidered, in this case, whether the same self be continued in the same or divers sub- 
 stances. or, since consciousness always accompanies thinking, and it is that 
 which makes every one to be what he calls self, and thereby distinguishes himself 
 from all other thinking things: in this alone consists personal identity, i.e. the 
 sameness of a rational being; and as far as this consciousness can be extended 
 backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that 
 person; it is the same self now it was then; and it is by the same self with this 
 present one that now reflects on it, that that action was done.! 
 
 10. Consciousness makes personal Identity.— But it is further inquired, whether 
 it be the same identical substance? This, few would think they had reason to 
 doubt of, if these perceptions, with their consciousness, always remained present 
 in the mind, whereby the same thinking thing would be always consciously pre- 
 sent, and, as would be thought, evidently the same to itself. But that which 
 seems to make the difficulty is this, that this consciousness being interrupted 
 always by forgetfulness, there being no moment of our lives wherein we have 
 the whole train of all our past actions before our eyes in one view, but even the 
 best memories losing the sight of one part whilst they are viewing another; and 
 we sometimes, and that the greatest part of our lives, not reflecting on our past 
 selves, being intent on our present thoughts, and in sound sleep having no thoughts 
 at all, orat least none with that consciousness which remarks our waking thoughts; 
 I say, in all these cases, our consciousness being interrupted, and we losing the 
 sight of our past selves, doubts are raised whether we are the same thinking thing, 
 i, e. the same substance or no. Which, however reasonable or unreasonable, 
 concerns not personal identity at all: the question being, what makes the same 
 person, and not whether it be the same identical substance, which always thinks 
 in the same person; which, in this case, matters not at all: different substances, 
 by the same consciousness (where they do partake in it) being united into one per- 
 son, as well as different bodies by the same life are united into one animal, whose 
 identity is preserved in that change of substances by the unity of one continued 
 life. For it being the same consciousness that makes a man be himself to himself, 
 personal identity depends on that only, whether it be annexed solely to one indi- 
 vidual substance, or can be continued in a succession of several substances. For 
 as far as any intelligent being can repeat the idea of any past action with the same 
 consciousness it had of it at first, and with the same consciousness it has of any 
 present action ; so far it is the same personal self. For it is by the consciousness 
 it has of its present thoughts and actions, that it is self to itself now, and so will 
 be the same self, as far as the same consciousness can extend to actions past or to 
 come; and would be by distance of time, or change of substance, no more two 
 
 1 ‘* Remembering or forgetting,’ observes Dr. | living being which it was some time ago, of re- 
 Butler, ‘can make no alteration in the truth of | membering some of its actions, sufferings, and 
 past matter of fact. And suppose this being en- | enjoyments, and forgetting others, than in con- 
 dowed with limited powers of knowledge and me- | ceiving it to know, or remember, or forget any- 
 
 mory, there is no more difficulty in conceiving it | thing else.’’ (Diss. on Pers. Ident. p. 338.) 
 to have a power of knowing itself to be the same 
 
270 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 persons, than a man be two men by wearing other clothes to-day than he did yes- 
 terday, with a long or a short sleep between: the same consciousness uniting those 
 distant actions into the same person, whatever circumstances contributed to their 
 production. sith 
 
 11. Personal Identity in Change of Substances.—That this is $0, We have some 
 kind of evidence in our very bodies, all whose particles, whilst vitally united to 
 this same thinking conscious self, so that we feel when they are touched, and 
 are affected by them, and are conscious of good or harm that happens to them, are 
 a part of ourselves; i. e. of our thinking conscious self. Thus, the limbs of his 
 body are to every one a part of himself; he sympathizes and is concerned for 
 them. Cut off a hand, and thereby separate it from that consciousness he had of 
 its heat, cold, and other affections, and it is then no longer a part of that which is 
 himself, any more than the remotest part of matter. Thus, we see, the substance 
 whereof personal self consisted at one time may be varied at another, without 
 the change of personal identity ; there being no question about the same person, 
 though the limbs which but now were a part of it, be cut off. 
 
 12. But the question is, “ Whether, if the same substance which thinks be 
 changed, it can be the same person ; or, remaining the same, it can be different 
 persons ?” 
 
 Whether in the Change of thinking Substances.—And to this I answer: First, 
 This can be no question at all to those who place thought in a purely material 
 animal constitution, void of an immaterial substance. For, whether their supposi- 
 tion be true or no, it is plain they conceive personal identity preserved in some- 
 thing else than identity of substance; as animal identity is preserved in identity of 
 life, and not of substance. And therefore those who place thinking in an 
 immaterial substance only, before they can come to deal with these men, must 
 show why personal identity cannot be preserved in the change of immaterial sub- 
 stances, or variety of particular immaterial substances, as well as animal identity 
 is preserved in the change of material substances, or variety of particular bodies: 
 unless they will say, it is one immaterial spirit that makes the same life in brutes, 
 as it is one immaterial spirit that makes the same person in men; which the 
 Cartesians at least will not admit, for fear of making brutes thinking things too. 
 
 13. But next, as to the first part of the question, ‘‘ Whether, if the same think- 
 ing substance (supposing immaterial substances only to think) be changed, it 
 can be the same person?” I answer, that cannot be resolved, but by those who 
 know what kind of substances they are that do think, and whether the conscious- 
 ness of past actions can be transferred from one thinking substance to another. 
 I grant, were the same consciousness the same individual action, it could not: 
 but it being a present representation of a past action, why it may not be possible 
 that that may be represented to the mind to have been, which really never was, 
 will remain to be shown. And therefore how far the consciousness of past actions 
 is annexed to any individual agent, so that another cannot possibly have it, will be 
 hard for us to determine, till we know what kind of action it is that cannot be done 
 without a reflex act of perception accompanying it, and how performed by think- 
 ing substances, who cannot think without being conscious of it. But that which 
 we call the same consciousness, not being the same individual act, why one 
 intellectual substance may not have represented to it, as done by itself, what it 
 never did, and was perhaps done by some other agent; why, I say, such a repre- 
 sentation may not possibly be without reality of matter of fact, as well as several 
 representations in dreams are, which yet whilst dreaming we take for true, will be 
 difficult to conclude from the nature of things. And that it never is so, will by 
 us, till we have clearer views of the nature of thinking substances, be best re- 
 solved into the goodness of God, who, as far as the happiness or misery of any 
 of his sensible creatures is concerned in it, will not, by a fatal error of theirs, 
 transfer from one to another that consciousness which draws reward or punish- 
 ment with it. How far this may be an argument against those who would place 
 
241 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. | OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 
 
 thinking in a system of fleeting animal spirits, I leave to be considered. But 
 yet, to return to the question before us, it must be allowed, that, if the same con- 
 sciousness (which, as has been shown, is quite a different thing from the same 
 numerical figure or motion in body) can be transferred from one thinking substance 
 to another, it will be possible that two thinking substances may make but one 
 person. Jor the same consciousness being preserved, whether in the same or dif- 
 ferent substances, the personal identity is preserved. 
 
 14. As to the second part of the question, “Whether the same immaterial sub- 
 stance remaining, there may be two distinct persons?” which question seems to 
 me to be built on this, whether the same immaterial being, being conscious of the 
 action of its past duration, may be wholly stripped of all the consciousness of its 
 past existence, and lose it beyond the power of ever retrieving it again; and so as 
 it were a beginning a new account from a new period, have a consciousness that 
 cannot reach beyond this new state. All those who hold pre-existence are evi- 
 dently of this mind, since they allow the soul to have no remaining consciousness 
 of what it did in that pre-existent state, either wholly separate from body, or in- 
 forming any other body; and if they should not, it is plain experience would be 
 against them. So that personal identity reaching no further than consciousness 
 reaches, a pre-existent spirit not having continued so many ages in a state of 
 silence, must needs make different persons. Suppose a Christian Platonist or 
 a Pythagorean should, upon God’s having ended all his works of creation the 
 seventh day, think his soul hath existed ever since;! and would imagine it has 
 revolved in several human bodies, as I once met with one, who was persuaded his 
 had been the soul of Socrates; (how reasonably I will not dispute; this I know, 
 that, in the post he filled, which was no inconsiderable one, he passed for a very 
 rational man, and the press has shown that he wanted not parts or learning ;) 
 would any one say, that he, being not conscious of any of Socrates’ actions or 
 thoughts, could be the same person with Socrates? Let any one reflect upon him- 
 self, and conclude that he has in himself an immaterial spirit, which is that which 
 thinks in him, and, in the constant change of his body keeps him the same: and 
 is that which he calls himself: let him also suppose it to be the same soul that 
 was in Nestor or Thersites, at the seige of Troy, (for souls being, as far as we 
 know anything of them, in their nature indifferent to any parcel of matter, the sup- 
 sition has no apparent absurdity in it,) which it may have been, as well as it is 
 now the soul of any other man; but he now having no consciousness of any of the 
 actions either of Nestor or Thersites, does or can he conceive himself the same 
 person with either of them? Can he be concerned in either of their actions? attri- 
 bute them to himself, or think them his own, more than the actions of any other 
 men that ever existed? So that this consciousness not reaching to any of the 
 actions of either of those men, he is no more one self with either of them, than if 
 the soul or immaterial spirit that now informs him had been created, and began 
 to exist, when it began to inform his present body ; though it were ever so true, 
 that the same spirit that informed Nestor’s or Thersites’ body were numerically 
 the same that now informs his. For this would no more make him the same 
 person with Nestor, than if some of the particles of matter that were once a part 
 of Nestor, were now a part of this man; the same immaterial substance, without 
 the same consciousness, no more making the same person by being united to any 
 body, than the same particle of matter, without consciousness united to any body, 
 
 ‘Many ancient sects of philosophers—the 
 Stoics among others—conceived that, at least, 
 the soul was not transmissible, but descended to 
 animate the body from a spiritual dwelling on 
 high. ‘Sunt qui presumant, non, 77 utero con- 
 cipt animam, nec cum carnis figulatione com- 
 pingi atque produci, sed et effuso jam partu non- 
 
 - dum viro infanti extrinsecus imprimi.”’ (Tertul 
 
 de Anim. c. 25.) Lucretius objects to the Stoics, 
 who contend for the pre-existence of souls, that 
 there remains to us no memory of our former ex- 
 istence : 
 
 “‘Preterea si immortalis natura animai 
 
 Constat, et in corpus nascentibus insinuatur ; 
 
 Cur super vetustam etatimmeminisse nequimus ?” 
 (De Rerum Natura, I. iii.) 
 
272 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 makes the same person. But let him once find himself conscious of any of the 
 actions of Nestor, he then finds himself the same person with Nestor. 
 
 15. And thus may we be able, without any difficulty, to conceive the same person 
 at the resurrection, though in a body not exactly in make or parts the same which 
 he had here, the same consciousness going along with the soul that inhabits it.’ 
 But yet the soul alone, in the change of bodies, would scarce to any one but to 
 him that makes the soul the man, be enough to make the same man. For should 
 the soul of a prince, carrying with it the consciousness of the primce’s past life, 
 enter and inform the body of a cobbler, as soon as deserted by his own soul, every 
 one sees he would be the same person with the prince, accountable only for the 
 prince’s actions: but who would say it was the same man? The body too goes 
 to the making the man, and would, I guess, to everybody determine the man in 
 this case; wherein the soul, with all its princely thoughts about it, would not 
 make another man: but he would be the same cobbler to every one besides him- 
 self. I know that, in the ordinary way of speaking, the same person, and the same 
 man, stand for one and the same thing. And indeed every one will always have 
 a liberty to speak as he pleases, and to apply what articulate sounds to what ideas 
 he thinks fit, and. change them as often as he pleases. But yet, when we will in- 
 quire what makes the same spirit, man, or person, we must fix the ideas of spirit, 
 man, or person in our minds; and having resolved with ourselves what we mean 
 by them, it will not be hard to determine in either of them, or the like, when it is 
 the same, and when not. 
 
 16. Consciousness makes the same Person.—But though the same immaterial 
 substance or soul does not alone, wherever it be, and in whatsoever state, make 
 the same man; yet it is plain, consciousness, as far as ever it can be extended, 
 should it be to ages past, unites existences and actions, very remote in time into 
 the same person, as well as it does the existences and actions of the immediately 
 preceding moment: so that whatever has the consciousness of present and past 
 actions, is the same person to whom they both belong.* Had I the same con- 
 
 1 Sir Kenelm Digby, whose thoughts are some- | menta, sed etiam inseruntur in corpora ani- 
 times highly philosophical, remarks on this sub- | malium, arborum, fontium, rerumque aliarum, 
 ject,—‘‘ Methinks it is but a gross conception, to | unde facilé eximi aut extricari nequeunt. Deni- 
 think that every atom of the present individual | que, in his migrationibus ex aliis corporibus in 
 matter of a body, every grain of ashes of a buried | alia, novas induunt formas et figuras, neque 
 cadaver, scattered by the wind throughout the | eandem retinent naturam et qualitatem. His 
 world, and, after numerous variations, changed, | positis et concessis, queritur 4 quibus causis fiat, 
 peradventure into the body of another man, | et qua ratione hec re-collectio partium et parti- 
 should, at the sounding of the last trumpet, be | cularum unius cujusque corporis, quantumcun- 
 raked together again from all the corners of the | que dissitarum utrumque latentium.” (Ib. p. 202.) 
 earth, and be made up anew into the same body | And again: ‘Si cujusque cineres ab exordio 
 it was before of the first man.’’ (Religio Medici | mundi asseverati fuissent in suis urnis et ca- 
 Observations &c. p. 170, et seq.) Speculations | psulis seorsim: vel potius si singula cadavera in 
 exceedingly similar are found in the singularly | mumiam conversa, manerent magna ex parte in- 
 eloquent work of Dr. Burnet, ‘“‘On the State of | tegra: aliqua esset spes recuperandi partes bene 
 
 the Dead, and the Children of the Resurrection.” | multas ejusdem corporis, absque alterarum mis- 
 First he observes, that, like the woman whose ex- | tura. Quandoquidem verd cadayera, ut pluri- 
 ample is mentioned by the Sadducees in Scrip- | mum dissolvuntur et dissipantur, partesque 
 ture, the soul, during a long life, is sometimes | eorum magno se corpore miscent: exhalantur in 
 married to six or seven different bodies. ‘‘Cor- | aérem, reciduntque in rore et pluvid: imbibuntur 
 pus nostrum in hodierna vita est multiplex: | A radicibus plantarum, et facerunt in gramina, 
 
 dissipatur et resarcitur indies, et post aliquot | frumenta, et fructus, unde redeunt in orbem ut 
 annos fit ex integro novum. Proinde in curri- | corpora humana.” (Ib. p. 203.) 
 
 culo totius vite, sex aut septem habemus diversa 21 agree with Butler that Locke is here con- 
 corpora; et adhuc quidem plura, si vivaces et | fused and obscure, or totally wrong. In his run- 
 longevi simus.” (c. ix. p. 198.)- He next pur- | ning contents, or synopsis, he says, ‘‘ Conscious- 
 sues, In Imagination, the various transformations | ness makes the same person.” But ‘one should 
 which the material particles composing our bodies | really think it self-evident,” as Butler observes, 
 undergo after death. ts Cineres et particule ca- | ‘ that consciousness of personal identity presup- 
 daverum multifariam disperguntur, per mare, per | poses, and therefore cannot constitute personal 
 terras; neque tantlm per terrarum orbem, sed | identity, any more than knowledge in any other 
 etiam in regiones aeris: a colore solis evecti, in | case can constitute truth, which it presupposes.” 
 mille plagas dissipati. Preterea, non tantum | (Analogy &c. p. 332.) Consciousness depends 
 disseminantur sparsim et soluté per omnia ele- | on memory; but ifa man should lose wholly the 
 
 Sa a en a rN EEE 
 
CHAP. XXVII.] OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 273 
 
 sciousness that I saw the ark and Noah’s flood, as that I saw an overflowing of 
 the Thames last winter, or as that I write now; I could no more doubt that I who 
 write this now, that saw the Thames overflowed last winter, and that viewed the 
 flood at the general deluge, was the same self, place that self in what substance 
 you please, than that I who write this am the same myself now whilst I write 
 (whether I consist of all the same substance, material or immaterial, or no) that I 
 was yesterday ; for as to this point of being the same self, it matters not whether 
 this present self be made up of the same or other substances; I being as much 
 concerned, and as justly accountable for any action that was done a thousand years 
 since, appropriated to me now by this self-consciousness, as I am for what [ did 
 the last moment. 
 
 17. Self depends on Consciousness.—Self is that conscious thinking thing, what- 
 ever substance made up of, (whether spiritual or material, simple or compounded, 
 it matters not,) which is sensible or conscious of pleasure and pain, capable of hap- 
 piness or misery, and so is concerned for itself, as far as that consciousness ex- 
 tends. Thus every one finds, that, whilst comprehended under that consciousness, 
 the little finger is as much a part of himself as what is most so. Upon separation 
 of this little finger, should this consciousness go along with the little finger, and 
 leave the rest of the body, it is evident the little finger would be the person, the 
 same person, and self then would have nothing to do with the rest of the body. 
 As in this case it is the consciousness that goes along with the substance, when 
 one part is separate from another, which makes the same person, and constitutes 
 this inseparable self; so it is in reference to substances remote in time. That 
 with which the consciousness of this present thinking thing can join itself, makes 
 the same person, and is one self with it, and with nothing else; and so attributes 
 to itself, and owns all the actions of that thing as its own, as far as that conscious- 
 ness reaches, and no further; as every one who reflects will perceive. 
 
 18. Objects of Reward and Punishment.—In this personal identity is founded 
 all the right and justice of reward and punishment; happiness and misery being 
 that for which every one is concerned for himself, and not mattering what becomes 
 of any substance not joined to, or affected with that consciousness. For as it is 
 evident in the instance I gave but now, if the consciousness went along with the 
 little finger when it was cut off, that would be the same self which was concerned 
 for the whole body yesterday, as making part of itself, whose actions then it can- 
 not but admit as its own now. Though, if the same body should still live, and 
 immediately from the separation of the little finger have its own peculiar con- 
 sciousness, whereof the little finger knew nothing; it would not at all be concerned 
 for it, as a part of itself, or could own any of its actions, or have any of them 
 imputed to him. 
 
 19. This may show us wherein personal identity consists ; not in the identity 
 of substance, but, as I have said, in the identity of consciousness ;* wherein if 
 Socrates and the present mayor of Queenborough agree, they are the same person: 
 if the same Socrates waking and sleeping do not partake of the same conscious- 
 ness, Socrates waking and sleeping is not the same person. And to punish Socrates 
 waking for what sleeping Socrates thought, and waking Socrates was never con- 
 scious of, would be no more of right, than to punish one twin for what his brother- 
 twin did, whereof he knew nothing, because their outsides were so like, that they 
 could not be distinguished ; for such twins have been seen. 
 
 20. But yet possibly it will still be objected, suppose I wholly lose the memory 
 of some parts of my life, beyond a possibility of retrieving them, so that perhaps 
 I shall never be conscious of them again; yet am I not the same person that did 
 
 power of reminiscence, so that he could recal no 1 Compare the ‘* Observations on the Religio 
 one action of his past life, I should not consider | Medici,’ by Sir Kenelm Digby. (Masterpieces, 
 that his personal identity would be thus annihi- | vol. vi. p. 171, et seq.) 
 
 lated, or that he had become a different individual. 
 
tt se Jog pt te Na De ee nl eine ph a Se os Se ae 
 
 274 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Ii. 
 
 those actions, had those thoughts that I once was conscious of, though I have 
 now forgot them? To which I answer, that we must here take notice what the 
 word I is applied to; which, in this case, 1s the man only. And the same man 
 being presumed to be the same person, I is easily here supposed to stand also for 
 the same person. But if it be possible for the same man to have distinct incom- 
 municable consciousness at different times, it is past doubt the same man would 
 at different times make different persons ; which, we see, is the sense of mankind 
 in the solemnest declaration of their opinions; human laws not punishing the mad 
 man for the sober man’s actions, nor the sober man for what the mad man did, 
 thereby making them two persons: which is somewhat explained by our way of 
 speaking in English, when we say such an one is not himself, or is beside him- 
 self; in which phrases it is insinuated, as if those who now, or at least first used 
 them, thought that self was changed, the selfsame person was no longer in that 
 man. 
 
 21. Difference between Identity of Man and Person.—But yet it is hard to 
 conceive that Socrates, the same individual man, should be two persons. To help 
 us a little in this, we must consider what is meant by Socrates, or the same indi- 
 vidual man. 
 
 First, it must be either the same individual, immaterial, thinking substance ; in 
 short, the same numerical soul, and nothing else. : 
 
 Secondly, or the same animal, without any regard to an immaterial soul. 
 
 Thirdly, or the same immaterial spirit united to the same animal. 
 
 Now, take which of these suppositions you please, it is impossible to make per- 
 sonal identity to consist in anything but consciousness, or reach any further than 
 that does. , 
 
 For, by the first of them, it must be allowed possible that a man born of different 
 women, and in distant times, may be the same man. A way of speaking, which 
 whoever admits, must allow it possible for the same man to be two distinct per- 
 sons, as any two that have lived in different ages, without the knowledge of one 
 another’s thoughts. 
 
 By the second and third, Socrates, in this life and after it, cannot be the same 
 man any way, but by the same consciousness ; and so making human identity to 
 consist in the same thing wherein we place personal identity, there will be no 
 difficulty to allow the same man to be the same person. But then they who place 
 human identity in consciousness only, and not in something else, must consider 
 how they will make the infant Socrates the same man with Socrates after the re- 
 surrection. But whatsoever to some men makes a man, and consequently the 
 same individual man, wherein perhaps few are agreed, personal identity can by us 
 be placed in nothing but consciousness, (which is that alone which makes what 
 we call self,) without involving us in great absurdities. 3 
 
 22. But why is not a man drunk and sober the same person? why else is he pu- 
 nished for the fact he commits when drunk, though he be never afterwards con- 
 scious of it? Just as much the same person as a man that walks, and does other 
 things in his sleep, is the same person, and is answerable for any mischief he shall 
 do in it.'| Human laws punish both, with a justice suitable to their way of know- 
 ledge ; because, in these cases, they cannot distinguish certainly what is real, what 
 counterfeit : and so the ignorance in drunkenness or sleep is not admitted as a plea. 
 For, though punishment be annexed to personality, and personality to conscious- 
 ness, and the drunkard perhaps be not conscious of what he did, yet human judi- 
 catures justly punish him, because the fact is proved against him, but want of 
 consciousness cannot be proved for him. But in the great day, wherein the se- 
 crets of all hearts shall be laid open, it may be reasonable to think, no one shall 
 
 * I doubt here both the law and the justice. A | might be; and most certainly ought not to be, 
 somnambulist, if satisfactorily proved to be such, |~ any more than a madman. 
 would not be punished for his acts, whatever they 
 
CHAP. XXVII. | 270 
 
 OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY. 
 
 be made to answer for what he knows nothing of; but shall receive his doom, his 
 conscience accusing or excusing’ him.' 
 
 23. Consciousness alone makes Self.—Nothing but consciousness can unite re- 
 mote existences into the same person: the identity of substance will not do it; 
 for whatever substance there is, however framed, without consciousness there is 
 no person: and a carcase may be a person, as well as any sort of substance be so 
 without consciousness. ? 
 
 Could we suppose two distinct incommunicable consciousnesses acting the same 
 body, the one constantly by day, the other by night; and, on the other side, the 
 same consciousness, acting by intervals, two distinct bodies; I ask, in the first case, 
 whether the day and the night man would not be two as distinct persons as 
 Socrates and Plato? And whether, in the second case, there would not be one 
 person in two distinct clothings? Nor is it at all material to say, that this same, 
 and this distinct consciousness, in the cases above mentioned, is owing to the 
 same and distinct immaterial substances, bringing it with them to those bodies ; 
 which, whether true or no, alters not the case; since it is evident the personal 
 identity would equally be determined by the consciousness, whether that conscious- 
 ness were annexed to some individual immaterial substance or no. For, granting 
 that the thinking substance in man must be necessarily supposed immaterial, it is 
 evident that immaterial thinking thing may sometimes part with its past conscious- 
 ness, and be restored to it again, as appears in the forgetfulness men often have of 
 their past actions: and the mind many times recovers the memory of a past con- 
 sciousness, which it had lost for twenty years together. Make these intervals of 
 memory and forgetfulness to take their turns regularly by day and night, and you 
 have two persons with the same immaterial spirit, as much as in the former in- 
 stance two persons with the same body. So that self is not determined by identity 
 or diversity of substance, which it cannot be sure of, but only by identity of con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 24. Indeed it may conceive the substance whereof it is now made up to have 
 existed formerly, united in the same conscious being; but, consciousness removed, 
 that substance is no more itself, or makes no more a part of it, than any other 
 substance; as is evident in the instance we have already given of a limb cut off, 
 of whose heat, or cold, or other affections, having no longer any consciousness, it 
 is no more of a man’s self, than any other matter of the universe. In like manner 
 it will be in reference to any immaterial substance, which is void of that conscious- 
 ness whereby I am myself to myself: if there be any part of its existence which I 
 cannot upon recollection join with that present consciousness, whereby I am now 
 myself, it is in that part of its existence no more myself, than any other immaterial 
 being. For whatsoever any substance has thought or done, which I cannot recol- 
 lect, and by my consciousness make my own thought and action, it will no more 
 belong to me, whether a part of me thought or did it, than if it had been thought 
 or done by any other immaterial being anywhere existing. 
 
 25. I agree, the more probable opinion is, that this consciousness is annexed to, 
 and the affection of, one individual immaterial substance. 
 
 But let men, according to their diverse hypotheses, resolve of that as they please; 
 this very intelligent being, sensible of happiness or misery, must grant that there 
 is something that is himself that he is concerned for, and would have happy ; 
 that this self has existed in a continued duration more than one instant, and there- 
 
 1] have somewhere read of a traveller in Ame- 
 rica, who, having been nearly drowned in passing 
 a great river, afterwards related, that, a few mo- 
 ments before, all consciousness was extinguished, 
 the memory of every action he had performed 
 during his life was renewed within him, with the 
 utmost distinctness and vividness—that, in fact, 
 his whole career, painted, as it were, in outlines 
 
 of fire, passed in rapid panoramic procession be- 
 fore his imagination. Something like this he 
 supposed to take place in every man, at the mo- 
 ment of death, and again at the day of judgment ; 
 so that we shall be able to act as witnesses 
 against ourselves, in all that we have done, 
 spoken, or imagined: and this appears to be a 
 rational and philosophical idea. 
 
 T 2 
 
a Er a a a a Ti ST TROT 150 | 
 
 276 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Il. 
 
 fore it is possible may exist, as it has done, months and years to come, without 
 any certain bounds to be set to its duration; and may be the same self by the 
 same consciousness continued on for the future. And thus, by this consciousness, 
 he finds himself to be the same self which did such or such an action some years 
 since, by which he comes to be happy or miserable now. In all which account of 
 self, the same numerical substance is not considered as making the same self; 
 but the same continued consciousness, in which several substances may have 
 been united, and again separated from it; which, whilst they contimued in 
 a vital union with that wherein this consciousness then resided, made a part 
 of that same self. Thus any part of our bodies vitally united to that which 
 is conscious in us, makes a part of ourselves: but upon separation from the 
 vital union by which that consciousness is communicated, that which a mo- 
 ment since was part of ourselves, is now no more so than a part of another man’s 
 self is part of me: and it is not impossible but in a little time may become a 
 real part of another person. And so we have the same numerical substance be- 
 come a part of two different persons; and the same person preserved under the 
 change of various substances. Could we suppose any spirit wholly stripped 
 of all its memory or consciousness of past actions, as we find our minds always 
 are of a great part of ours, and sometimes of them all; the union or separation 
 of such a spiritual substance would make no variation of personal identity, any 
 more than that of any particle of matter does. Any substance vitally united to 
 the present thinking being, is a part of that very same self which now is: anything 
 united to it by a consciousness of former actions, makes also a part of the same 
 self, which is the same both then and now. 
 
 26. Person a forensic Term.—Person, as I take it, is the name for this self. 
 Wherever a man finds what he calls himself, there, I think, another may say is 
 the same person.’ It is a forensic term, appropriating actions and their merit ; 
 and so belongs only to intelligent agents capable of a law, and happiness, and 
 misery. This personality extends itself beyond present existence to what is 
 past, only by consciousness, whereby it becomes concerned and accountable, 
 owns and imputes to itself past actions, just upon the same ground and for the 
 same reason that it does the present. AJl which is founded in a concern for hap- 
 piness, the unavoidable concomitant of consciousness ; that which is conscious of 
 pleasure and pain, desiring that that self that is conscious should be happy. And 
 therefore whatever past actions it cannot reconcile or appropriate to that present 
 self by consciousness, it can be no more concerned in, than if they had never 
 been done; and to receive pleasure or pain, i.e. reward or punishment, on the 
 account of any such action, is all one as to be made happy or miserable in its first 
 being, without any demerit at all: for supposing a man punished now for what 
 he had done in another life, whereof he could be made to have no consciousness 
 at all, what difference is there between that punishment, and being created miser- 
 able? And therefore, conformable to this, the apostle tells us, that, at the great 
 day, when every one shall ‘receive according to his doings, the secrets of all 
 hearts shall be laid open.” The sentence shall be justified by the consciousness 
 all persons shall have, that they themselves, in what bodies soever they appear, or 
 what substances soever that consciousness adheres to, are the same that com- 
 mitted those actions, and deserve that punishment for them. 
 
 27. Iam apt enough to think I have, in treating of this subject, made some 
 suppositions that will look strange to some readers, and possibly they are so in 
 themselves. But yet, I think they are such as are pardonable, in this ignorance 
 we are in of the nature of that thinking thing that is in us, and which we look 
 
 ‘ On the various significations of this word, see | de hominibus, sed cum respectu ad eorum condi- 
 Faber’s Lexicon, and Ernesti Clavis Ciceroniana, | tionem, officium, mores,” &c. (Cfr. Cicer. pro A. 
 p. 356. The latter writer observes: ‘Nos mone- | Cluentio, 29, pro Archia, Poeta 2.) | 
 bimus—personam per periphrasin quandam dici 
 
CHAP. XXVIII. ] OF OTHER RELATIONS. 207 
 
 on as ourselves. Did we know what it was, or how it was tied to a certain 
 system of fleeting animal spirits; or whether it could or could not perform its 
 operations of thinking and memory out of a body organized as ours is: and whe- 
 ther it has pleased God, that no one such spirit shall ever be united to any one 
 but such body, upon the right constitution of whose organs its memory should 
 depend; we might see the absurdity of some of those suppositions I have made. 
 But, taking as we ordinarily now do, (in the dark concerning these matters,) the 
 soul of a man for an immaterial substance, independent from matter, and indif- 
 ferent alike to it all, there can, from the nature of things, be no absurdity at all 
 to suppose that the same soul may at different times be united to different 
 bodies, and with them make up for that time one man, as well as we suppose 
 a part of a sheep’s body yesterday should be a part of a man’s body to-morrow, 
 and in that union make a vital part of Melibceus himself, as well as it did of 
 his ram. 
 
 28. The Difficulty from ill Use of Names.—To conclude: Whatever substance 
 begins to exist, it must, during its existence, necessarily be the same: whatever 
 compositions of substances begin to exist, during the union of those substances 
 the concrete must be the same; whatsoever mode begins to exist, during its 
 existence it is the same; and so if the composition be of distinct substances and 
 different modes, the same rule holds: whereby it will appear, that the difficulty 
 or obscurity that has been about this matter, rather rises from the names ill used, 
 than from any obscurity in things themselves. For whatever makes the specific 
 idea to which the name is applied, if that idea be steadily kept to, the distinction 
 of anything into the same, and divers, will easily be conceived, and there can arise 
 no doubt about it. 
 
 29. Continued Existence makes Identity.—For, supposing a rational spirit be 
 the idea of a man, it is easy to know what is the same man, viz. the same spirit, 
 whether separate or in a body, will be the same man. Supposing a rational spirit 
 vitally united to a body of a certain conformation of parts to make a man, whilst 
 that rational spirit, with that vital conformation of parts, though continued in a 
 fleeting successive body, remains, it will be the same man. But if to any one the 
 idea of a man be but the vital union of parts in a certain shape, as long as that 
 vital union and shape remain in a concrete no otherwise the same, but by a con- 
 tinued succession of fleeting particles, it will be the same. For, whatever be the 
 composition whereof the complex idea is made, whenever existence makes it one 
 particular thing under any denomination, the same existence continued, preserves 
 it the same individual under the same denomination. ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 OF OTHER RELATIONS. 
 
 1. Proportional.—Bestpes the before-mentioned occasions of time, place, and 
 casualty of comparing or referring things one to another, there are, as I have said, 
 infinite others, some whereof I shall mention. 
 
 First, The first I shall name is some one simple idea, which, being capable of 
 parts or degrees, affords an occasion of comparing the subjects wherein it 1s to one 
 another, in respect of that simple idea, v. g. whiter, sweeter, equal, more, &c. 
 
 | 
 
 he says: The reason of believing the resurrection 
 tained in this chapter, the Bishop of Worcester | of the same body, upon Mr. Locke’s grounds, is 
 pretends to be inconsistent with the doctrines of | from the idea of identity. ‘To which our author, 
 the Christian faith, concerning the resurrection | in his Third Letter to the Bishop of Worcester, 
 of the dead. His way of arguing from it is this: | answers, as will be seen, 
 
 1 The doctrine of identity and diversity con- 
 
278 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 These relations, depending on the equality and excess of the same simple idea, in 
 several subjects, may be called, if one will, proportional ; and that these are only 
 conversant about those simple ideas received from sensation or reflection, 1s so 
 evident, that nothing need be said to evince it. 
 
 2. Natural.—Secondly, Another occasion of comparing things together, or 
 considering one thing, so as to include in that consideration some other thing, 
 is the circumstances of their origin or beginning; which being not afterwards 
 to be altered, make the relations depending thereon as lasting as the subjects 
 to which they belong, v. g. father and son, brothers, cousin-germans, &c. 
 which have their relations by one community of blood, wherein they partake in 
 several degrees: countrymen, i. e. those who were born in the same country or tract 
 of ground, and these I call natural relations: wherein we may observe, that 
 mankind have fitted their notions and words to the use of common life, and not to 
 the truth and extent of things. For it is certain, that, in reality, the relation is 
 the same betwixt the begetter and the begotten in the several races of other ani- 
 mals as well as men; but yet it is seldom said, this bull is the grandfather of such 
 a calf, or that two pigeons are cousin-germans. It is very convenient, that, by 
 distinct names these relations should be observed and marked out in mankind ; 
 there being occasion, both in laws and other communications one with another, to 
 mention and take notice of men under these relations; from whence also arise 
 the obligations of several duties amongst men. Whereas, in brutes, men having 
 very little or no cause to mind these relations, they have not thought fit to give 
 them distinct and peculiar names. This, by the way, may give us some light into 
 the different state and growth of languages ; which being suited only to the con- 
 venience of communication, are proportioned to the notions men have, and the 
 commerce of thoughts familiar amongst them; and not to the reality or extent 
 of things, nor to the various respects might be found among them, nor the dif- 
 ferent abstract considerations might be framed about them. Where they had no 
 philosophical notions, there they had no terms to express them: and it is no 
 wonder men should have framed no names for those things they found no occa- 
 sion to discourse of. From whence it is easy to imagine why, as in some coun- 
 tries, they may have not so much as the name for a horse; and in others, where 
 they are more careful of the pedigrees of their horses, than of their own,’ that there 
 they may have not only names for particular horses, but also of their several rela- 
 tions of kindred one to another. 
 
 3. Instituted.—Thirdly, Sometimes the foundation of considering things, with 
 reference to one another, is some act whereby any one comes by a moral right, 
 power, or obligation to do something. Thus, a general is one that hath power to 
 command an army; and an army under a general is a collection of armed men, 
 obliged to obey one man. A citizen, or a burgher, is one who has a right to cer- 
 tain privileges in this or that place. All this sort depending upon men’s wills, or 
 agreement in society, I call instituted, or voluntary ; and may be distinguished 
 from the natural, in that they are most, if not all of them, some way or other alter- 
 able, and separable from the persons to whom they have sometimes belonged, 
 though neither of the substances, so related, be destroyed. Now, though these are 
 all reciprocal, as well as the rest, and contain in them a reference of two things 
 one to the other; yet, because one of the two things often wants a relative name, 
 importing that reference, men usually take no notice of it, and the relation is com- 
 monly overlooked : v. g. a patron and client are easily allowed to be relations,? but 
 
 1 As in Arabia, where, however, they have not, 
 as 18 commonly supposed, written genealogies, 
 though they preserve with the utmost care the 
 pedigree of their horses. I have seen abarb of 
 
 _ the famous Hassan breed, the history of which is 
 probably as well known in the desert as that of 
 the tribe to which it belongs. 
 
 _? The nature, however, of the relationship sub- 
 sisting among the old Romans between patron 
 and client is not very generally understood; nor, 
 in fact, is it of easy explanation. Niebuhr, per- 
 haps, has done most of any modern writer to- 
 wards elucidating the subject; and his ideas are 
 these:—‘ The Patronus and Matrona are the 
 
OF MORAL RELATIONS. 
 
 279 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. ] 
 
 a constable or dictator are not so readily at first hearing considered as such; be- 
 cause there is no peculiar name for those who are under the command of a dictator 
 or constable, expressing a relation to either of them; though it be certain that 
 either of them hath a certain power over some others, and so is so far related to 
 them, as well as a patron is to his client, or general to his army. 
 
 4, Moral.—Fourthly, There is another sort of relation, which is the conformity 
 or disagreement men’s voluntary actions have to a rule to which they are referred, 
 and by which they are judged of; which, I think, may be called moral relation, 
 as being that which denominates our moral actions, and deserves well to be ex- 
 amined ; there being no part of knowledge wherein we should be more careful to 
 get determined ideas, and avoid, as much as may be, obscurity and confusion. 
 Human actions, when with their various ends, objects, manners, and circumstances, 
 they are framed into distinct complex ideas, are, as has been shown, so many mixed 
 modes, a great part whereof have names annexed tothem. Thus, supposing grati- 
 tude to be a readiness to acknowledge and return kindness received ; polygamy to 
 be the having more wives than one at once; when we frame these notions thus in 
 our minds, we have there so many determined ideas of mixed modes. But this is 
 not all that concerns our actions; it is not enough to have determined ideas of 
 them, and to know what names belong to such and such combinations of ideas. 
 We have a further and greater concernment; and that is, to know whether such 
 actions, so made up, are morally good or bad. 
 
 5. Moral Good and Evil.—Good and evil, as hath been shown, (B. II. chap. 
 xx. § 2, and chap. xxi. § 42,) are nothing but pleasure or pain, or that which 
 occasions or procures pleasure or pain to us. Moral good and evil, then, is only 
 the conformity or disagreement of our voluntary actions to some law, whereby 
 good or evil is drawn on us by the will and power of the law-maker; which 
 good and evil, pleasure or pain, attending our observance or breach of the law 
 by the decree of the law-maker, is that we call reward and punishment. 
 
 6. Moral Rules.—Of these moral rules or laws, to which men generally refer, 
 and by which they judge of the rectitude or pravity of their actions, there seem to 
 me to be three sorts, with their three different enforcements, or rewards and pu- 
 nishments; for, since it would be utterly in vain to suppose a rule set to the free 
 actions of men, without annexing to it some enforcement of good and evil to deter- 
 mine his will, we must, wherever we suppose a law, suppose also some reward or 
 punishment annexed to that law. It would be in vain for one intelligent being to 
 set a rule to the actions of another, if he had it not in his power to reward the com- 
 pliance with, and punish deviation from his rule, by some good and evil that is 
 not the natural product and consequence of the action itself. For that being a 
 natural convenience or inconvenience, would operate of itself, without a law.' 
 This, if I mistake not, is the true nature of all law, properly so called. 
 
 father and mother of the family, in relation to fraying the charges of public offices, to contri- 
 
 their children and domestics, and to their de- 
 pendants, the clients....... The clients who 
 neither gained their livelihood by trade nor had 
 already acquired property, received grants from 
 their patrons of building-ground on their estates, 
 together with two acres of arable land; not as 
 property, but as a precarious tenement, which the 
 owner could resume, if he felt himself injured. 
 But all, however different in rank and conse- 
 quence, were entitled to paternal protection from 
 the patron: he was bound to relieve their dis- 
 tress, to appear for them in court, to expound 
 the law to them, civil and pontifical. On the 
 other hand, the clients were obliged to be heartily 
 dutiful and obedient to their patron, to promote 
 his honour, to pay his mulcts and fines, to aid 
 him jointly with the members of his house in 
 bearing burdens for the commonwealth, and de- 
 
 bute to the portioning of his daughters, and to 
 ransom him or whoever of his family might fall 
 into an enemy’s hands.’’ (Hist. of Rome, vol. i. p. 
 279.) This account of the German historian 
 agrees, in most particulars, with that which had 
 already been given in 1560, by Sigonius in his 
 learned but little known work, De Antiquo Jure 
 Civium Romanorum, l. ii. p. 35,a.b. Yet it is 
 remarkable that Niebuhr never once refers to 
 him, so far as I have been able to discover, 
 
 1 However, we consider it to be ‘“‘a law of na- 
 ture’? that certain actions necessarily produce 
 certain results to the actor; which, as they are 
 pleasurable or otherwise, may be regarded as a 
 reward or punishment. It is understood, of 
 course, that these consequences have been at- 
 tached by the Creator to the acts from which 
 they spring, with design to punish or reward. 
 
280 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Rook 0. 
 
 7. Laws.—The laws that men generally refer their actions to, to judge of their 
 rectitude or obliquity, seem to me to be these three: 1. The divine law. 2. The civil 
 law. 3. The law of opinion or reputation, if I may so callit. By the relation 
 they bear to the first of these, men judge whether their actions are sins or duties ; 
 by the second, whether they be criminal or innocent ; and by the third, whether 
 they be virtues or vices. 
 
 8. Divine Law the Measure of Sin and Duty.—First, the divine law, whereby 
 I mean that law which God has set to the actions of men, whether promulgated to 
 them by the light of nature,' or the voice of revelation. That God has given a 
 rule whereby men should govern themselves, I think there is nobody so brutish 
 as to deny. He has a right to do it; we are his creatures: he has goodness and 
 wisdom to direct our actions to that which is best, and he has power to enforce 
 it by rewards and punishments of infinite weight and duration in another life; for 
 nobody can take us out of his hands. This is the only true touchstone of moral 
 rectitude ; and, by comparing them to this law, it is that men judge of the most 
 considerable moral good or evil of their actions: that is, whether as duties or sins, 
 they are like to procure them happiness or misery from the hands of the Almighty.” 
 
 9. Civil Law the Measure of Crimes and Innocence.—Secondly, the civil law— 
 the rule set by the commonwealth to the actions of those who belong to it—is another 
 rule to which men refer their actions, to judge whether they be criminal or no. 
 This law nobody overlooks, the rewards and punishments that enforce it being 
 ready at hand, and suitable to the power that makes it ;* which is the force of the 
 commonwealth, engaged to protect the lives, liberties, and possessions of those 
 who live according to its law; and has power to take away life, liberty, or goods, 
 from him who disobeys: which is the punishment of offences committed against 
 this law. i 
 
 10. Philosophical Law the. Measure of Virtue and Vice.—Thirdly, the law of 
 opinion or reputation. Virtue and vice are names pretended and supposed every- 
 where to stand for actions in their own nature right and wrong; and as far as they 
 really are so applied, they so far are coincident with the divine law above men- 
 tioned. But yet whatever is pretended, this is visible, that these names, virtue and 
 vice, in the particular instances of their application, through the several nations 
 and societies of men in the world, are constantly attributed only to such actions 
 
 *On the natural way of finding out laws by | mind. Andso in morals. We get into the ha- 
 
 reason to guide the will unto that which is good, 
 see Hooker, Eccles. Polity, 1. i. § 8. 
 
 2 Sir James Mackintosh, whose metaphysical 
 studies had conferred considerable acuteness on 
 his mind, indulges in oversubtilty in the remarks 
 whereby he attacks Paley’s very imperfect defini- 
 tion of virtue; which would appear to have been 
 founded on the doctrinein the text. “Virtue,” says 
 Paley, ‘is the doing good tomankind, in obedience 
 to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting 
 happiness.” (Moral Philosophy, i. 7.) “ According 
 to this doctrine,” observes Mackintosh, ‘ every 
 action not done for the sake of the agent’s hap- 
 piness is vicious.” (Ethical Philosophy, p. 278, 
 et seq.) And so it is, in truth: for, when the 
 mind discovers that virtue is intellectual health, 
 and vice intellectual disease, it naturally prefers 
 the actions which promote that health; and, for 
 the sake of promoting it, before suchas have a ten- 
 dency to destroy it. “Now, it is plain,” adds he, 
 “that an act cannot be said to be done for the sake 
 of anything which is not present to the mind of the 
 agent at the moment of action.” But this is not 
 plain. A man who habituates himself to walk- 
 ing in the open air, for the sake of his health, 
 often continues his walk when no idea of the ob- 
 ject for which he is walking is present to his 
 
 bit of acting in a certain manner, for the sake of 
 obeying God, and obtaining his approbation, 
 which is happiness; but this motive may not be 
 always present to the mind while engaged in 
 acts of virtue. 
 
 3 As most political societies are ill organized, 
 it often happens, that both the laws of God and 
 public opinion are in opposition to the civil laws 
 in force; in which case, every good man will be 
 a bad citizen, since he must necessarily desire 
 the dissolution of that government under which 
 he happens to live. This fact has been well put 
 by Muretus, in his Commentary on Aristotle’s 
 Nicomachean Ethies: ‘‘ De hac privata cujusque 
 disciplina ait Aristoteles fore ut posterius dispu- 
 tetur, nunquid ea ad civilem facultatem an ad 
 aliam quandam pertinent. Nam in perfecta qui- 
 dem, ut optime temperata republica ejusdem 
 facultatis est bonos civis efficere, et bonos viros, 
 Illic enim is demum bonus civis est, qui vir bonus. 
 At in vitioso et depravato reipublice statu aliud 
 est bonum virum esse, aliud civem bonum. Nam 
 bonus civis est qui preesentem reipublice statum 
 maxime amat, eumque modis omnibus conser- 
 vare conatur. At ea que vitiosa sunt, viro bono 
 placere non possunt.” (In. 1. v. p. 400, et seq.) 
 On the various contradictory notions and habits 
 
CHAP. XXVIII. | OF MORAL RELATIONS. 281 
 
 as in each country and society are in reputation or discredit. Nor is it to be 
 thought strange, that men everywhere should give the name of virtue to those 
 actions, which amongst them are judged praiseworthy ; and call that vice, which 
 they account blameable : since otherwise they would condemn themselves, if they 
 should think anything right, to which they allowed not commendation: anything 
 wrong, which they let pass without blame. Thus the measure of what is every- 
 where called and esteemed virtue and vice is the approbation or dislike, praise or 
 blame, which, by a secret and tacit consent, establishes itself in the several so- 
 cieties, tribes, and clubs of men in the world; whereby several actions come to 
 find credit or disgrace amongst them, according to the judgment, maxims, or 
 fashion of that place. For though men uniting into politic societies have resigned 
 up to the public the disposing of all their force, so that they cannot employ it 
 against any fellow-citizens any further than the law of the country directs; yet 
 they retain still the power of thinking well or ill, approving or disapproving of 
 the actions of those whom they live amongst, and converse with: and by this 
 approbation and dislike they establish amongst themselves what they will call vir- 
 tue and vice. 
 
 11]. That this is the common measure of virtue and vice, will appear to any 
 one who considers, that, though that passes for vice in one country which is 
 counted a virtue—or at least not vice—in another, yet everywhere virtue and 
 praise, vice and blame, go together. Virtue is everywhere that which is thought 
 praiseworthy ; and nothing else but that which has the allowance of public esteem 
 is called virtue.’ Virtue and praise are so united, that they are called often by 
 
 which prevail among men in different parts of | one of the rules made use of in the world for a 
 the world, see Montaigne, Hssais, 1.1, ¢.22; and | ground or measure of a moral relation, is that 
 Ailian. Var. Hist. 1. iv. c. 1. esteem and reputation which several sorts of ac- 
 
 1 Our author, in his preface to the fourth edi- | tions find variously in the several societies of 
 tion, taking notice how apt men have been to | men, according to which they are there called vir- 
 mistake him, added what here follows: Of this | tuesorvices: and whatever authority the learned 
 the ingenious author of the discourse concerning | Mr. Lowde places in his old English dictionary, I 
 the nature of man has given me a late instance, | dare say it nowhere tells him, (if I should appeal 
 to mention no other. For the civility of his ex- | to it,) that the same action is not in credit, called 
 pressions, and the candour that belongs to his | and counted avirtue in one place, which being in 
 order, forbid me to think that he would have | disrepute, passes for and under the name of vice 
 closed his preface with an insinuation, as if in | in another. The taking notice that men bestow 
 what I had said, book ii. chap. 28, concern- the names of virtue and vice according to this 
 ing the third rule which men refer their ac- | rule of reputation, is all I have done, or can be 
 tions to, I went about to make virtue vice, and | laid to my charge to have done, towards the 
 vice virtue, unless he had mistaken my meaning; | making vice virtue, and virtue vice. But the 
 which he could not have done, if he had but given | good man does well, and as becomes his calling, 
 himself the trouble to consider what the argu- | to be watchful in such points, and to take the 
 ment was I was then upon, and what was the | alarm, even at expressions, which, standing alone 
 chief design of that chapter, plainly enough set | by themselves, might sound ill, and be suspected. 
 down in the fourth section, and those following. It is to this zeal, allowable in his function, that 
 For I was there not laying down moral rules, | I forgive his citing, as he does, these words of 
 but showing the original and nature of moral | mine, in § 11 of this chapter: ‘“‘ The exhortations 
 ideas, and enumerating the rules men make use | of inspired teachers have not feared to appeal to 
 of in moral relations, whether those rules were | common repute: ‘ Whatsoever things are lovely, 
 true or false: and, pursuant thereunto, I tell | whatsoever things are of good report, if there be 
 what has everywhere that denomination, which | any yirtue; if there be any praise,’ &c. Phil. iv. 
 in the language of that place answers to virtue, | 8,’ without taking notice of those immediately 
 and vice in ours; which alters not the nature of | preceding, which introduce them, and run thus: 
 things, though men do generally judge of, and | ‘‘ Whereby, in the corruption of manners, the 
 denominate their actions according tothe esteem | true boundaries of the law of nature, which ought 
 and fashion of the place or sect they are of. to be the rule of virtue and vice, were pretty well 
 
 If he had been at the pains to reflect on whatI | preserved; so that even the exhortations of in- 
 had said, b. I. c. iii. § 18, and in this present | spired teachers,’ &c. by which words, and the 
 chapter, § 18, 14, 15, and 20, he would have | rest of that section, it is plain that I brought that 
 known what I think of the eternal and unaltera- | passage of St. Paul, not to prove that the general 
 ble nature of right and wrong, and what I call | measure of what men call virtue and vice, through- 
 virtue and vice: and if he had observed that, in | out the world, was the reputation and fashion of 
 the place he quotes, I only report as matter of | each particular society within itself; but to show 
 fact what others call virtue and vice, he would | that, though it were so, yet, for reasons I there 
 not have found it liable to any great exception. | give, men, in that way of denominating their ac- 
 For I think Iam not much out in saying, that | tions, did not, for the most part, much vary from 
 
ak PEN AOS UTNE seo Data Nee esac ne eatin iene se ae NO SENN ES eee ot REE 
 
 232 [BOOK Il. 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 the same name. “Sunt sua premia laudi,’' says Virgil; and so Cicero, f Nihil 
 habet natura prestantius, quam honestatem, quam laudem, quam dignitatem, 
 quam decus ;”? which he tells you are all names for the same thing. This is the 
 language of the heathen philosophers, who well understood wherein their notions 
 of virtue and vice consisted ; and though perhaps by the different temper, educa- 
 tion, fashion, maxims, or interests of different sorts of men, it fell out that what 
 was thought praiseworthy in one place, escaped not censure in another ; and so in 
 different societies, virtues and vices were changed ; yet, as to the main, they for the 
 most part kept the same everywhere: for, since nothing can be more natural than to 
 encourage with esteem and reputation that wherein every one finds his advantage, 
 and to blame and discountenance the contrary, it is no wonder that esteem and dis- 
 credit, virtue and vice, should, in a great measure, everywhere correspond with the 
 unchangeable rule of right and wrong, which the law of God hath established : 
 there being nothing that so directly and visibly secures and advances the general 
 good of mankind in this world, as obedience to the laws he has set them; and no- 
 thing that breeds such mischiefs and confusion, as the neglect of them. And there- 
 fore men, without renouncing all sense and reason, and their own interest, which 
 they are so constantly true to,’ could not generally mistake in placing their com- 
 mendation and blame on that side that really deserved it not. Nay, even those 
 men whose practice was otherwise, failed not to give their approbation right ; 
 few being depraved to that degree as not to condemn, at least in others, the faults 
 they themselves were guilty of: whereby, even in the corruption of manners, 
 the true boundaries of the law of nature, which ought to be the rule of virtue and 
 
 the law of nature: which is that standing and 
 unalterable rule, by which they ought to judge 
 of the moral rectitude and pravity of their actions, 
 and accordingly denominate them virtues or 
 vices. Had Mr. Lowde considered this, he 
 would have found it little to his purpose to have 
 quoted that passage in a sense I used it not; and 
 would, I imagine, have spared the explication he 
 subjoins to it, as not very necessary. But I hope 
 this second edition will give him satisfaction on 
 the point, and that this matter 1s now so ex- 
 pressed, as to show him there was no cause of 
 scruple. 
 
 Though I am forced to differ from him in those 
 apprehensions he has expressed in the latter end 
 of his preface, concerning what I had said about 
 virtue and vice; yet we are better agreed than he 
 thinks, in what he says in his third chapter, p. 78, 
 concerning natural inscription and innate notions. 
 I shall not deny him the privilege he claims 
 (p. 52) to state the question as he pleases, espe- 
 cially when he states it so as to leave nothing in 
 it contrary to what I have said: for, according to 
 him, innate notions being conditional things, 
 depending upon the concurrence of several other 
 circumstances, in order to the soul’s exerting 
 them; all that he says for innate, imprinted im- 
 pressed notions (for of innate ideas he says no- 
 thing at all) amounts at last only to this: that 
 there are certain propositions, which, though the 
 soul from the beginning, or when a man is born, 
 does not know, yet, by assistance from the out- 
 ward senses, and the help of some previous cul- 
 tivation, it may afterwards come certainly to 
 know the truth of; which is no more than what 
 I have affirmed in my first book. For I suppose 
 by the soul’s exerting them, he means its begin- 
 ning to know them, or else the soul’s exerting of 
 notions will be to me a very unintelligible ex- 
 pression; and I think, at best, is a very unfit one 
 in this case, it misleading men’s thoughts by an 
 insinuation, as if these notions were in the mind 
 
 before the soul exerts them, i.'e. before they are 
 known: whereas, truly before they are known, 
 there is nothing of them in the mind, but a capa- 
 city to know them, when the concurrence of those 
 circumstances, which this ingenious author thinks 
 necessary in order to the soul’s exerting them, 
 brings them into our knowledge. 
 
 Page 52, I find him express it thus: ‘‘ These 
 natural notions are not so imprinted upon the 
 soul, as that they naturally and necessarily exert 
 themselves, even in children and idiots, without 
 any assistance from the outward senses or with- 
 out the help of some previous cultivation.’’ Here, 
 he says, they exert themselves, as p. 78, that the 
 soul exerts them. When he has explained to 
 himself or others what he means by the soul’s 
 exerting innate notions, or their exerting them- 
 selves, and what that previous cultivation and cir- 
 cumstances, in order to their being exerted, are; 
 he will, I suppose, find there is so little of contro- 
 versy between him and me in the point, bating 
 that he calls that exerting of notions, which I, in 
 a more vulgar style, call knowing, that I have 
 reason to think he brought in my name upon this 
 occasion only out of the pleasure he has to speak 
 civilly of me; which I must gratefully acknow- 
 ledge he has done wherever he mentions me, 
 not without conferring on me, as some others 
 have done, a title I have no right to. 
 
 1 The complete passage is: 
 
 Sunt hic etiam sua premia laudi: 
 Sunt lachrime rerum: et mentem mortalia tan- 
 gunt. (Asn. 1. i. v. 461, et seq.) 
 The remark of Servius agrees with that in the 
 text: Laupi: virtute, ut: puram merui qui 
 laude coronam, ad loc. 
 
 2 The whole passage in Cicero is at once philo- 
 sophical and eloquent. Locke has quoted but a 
 small part of it. (Tusculan. ii. 20.) 
 
 * This is a grievous error. There is nothing 
 which men so constantly overlook or misunder- 
 stand as their own interest. 
 
CHAP. XXVIII. | OF MORAL RELATIONS. 283 
 
 vice, were pretty well preferred. So that, even the exhortations of inspired 
 teachers have not feared to appeal to common repute: “ Whatsoever is lovely, 
 whatsoever is of good report, if there be any virtue, if there be any praise,” &c. 
 (Phil. iv. 8.) 
 
 12. Its Enforcement, Commendation, and Discredit.—If any one shall imagine 
 that I have forgot my own notion of a law, when I make the law, whereby men 
 judge of virtue and vice, to be nothing else but the consent of private men, who 
 have not authority enough to make a law; especially wanting that which is so 
 necessary and essential to a law, a power to enforce it; I think I may say, that, 
 he who imagines commendation and disgrace not to be strong motives to men, to 
 accommodate themselves to the opinions and rules of those with whom they con- 
 verse, seems little skilled in the nature or history of mankind: the greatest part 
 whereof we shall find to govern themselves chiefly, if not solely, by this law of 
 fashion; and, so they do that which keeps them in reputation with their company, 
 little regard the laws of God, or the magistrate. The penalties that attend the 
 breach of God’s laws, some, nay, perhaps most men, seldom seriously reflect on; 
 and amongst those that do, many, whilst they break the law, entertain thoughts of 
 future reconciliation, and making their peace for such breaches. And as to the 
 punishments due from the laws of the commonwealth, they frequently flatter 
 themselves with the hopes of impunity. But no man escapes the punishment of 
 their censure and dislike, who offends against the fashion and opinion of the com- 
 pany he keeps and would recommend himself to. Nor is there one of ten thou- 
 sand, who is stiff and insensible enough to bear up under the constant dislike and 
 condemnation of his own club. He must be of a strange and unusual constitu- 
 tion, who can content himself to live in constant disgrace and disrepute with his 
 own particular society. Solitude many men have sought, and been reconciled 
 to; but nobody, that has the least thought or sense of a man about him, can live 
 in society under the constant dislike and ill opinion of his familiars, and those he 
 converses with. This is a burden too heavy for human sufferance; and he must 
 be made up of irreconcileable contradictions, who can take pleasure in com- 
 
 pany, and yet be insensible of contempt and disgrace from his companions. 
 ~- 13. These three Laws the Rules of moral Good and Evil.—These three then 
 first, the law of God; secondly, the law of politic societies; thirdly, the law of 
 fashion, or private censure; are those to which men variously compare their 
 actions: and it is by their conformity to one of these laws that they take their 
 measures, when they would judge of their moral rectitude, and denominate their 
 actions good or bad. 
 
 14. Morality is\the Relation of Actions to these Rules.—Whether the rule, to 
 which, as to a touchstone, we bring our voluntary actions, to examine them by, 
 and try their goodness, and accordingly to name them, which is, as it were, the 
 mark of the value we set upon them; whether, I say, we take that rule from the 
 fashion of the country, or the will of a law-maker, the mind is easily able to 
 observe the relation any action hath to it, and to judge whether the action agrees 
 or disagrees with the rule; and so hath a notion of moral goodness or evil, which 
 is either conformity or not conformity of any action to that rile: and therefore is 
 often called moral rectitude. This rule being nothing but a collection of several 
 simple ideas, the conformity thereto is but so ordering the action, that the simple 
 ideas belonging to it may correspond to those which the law requires. And thus 
 we see how moral beings and notions are founded on, and terminated in these 
 simple ideas we have received from sensation or reflection. For example : let us 
 consider the complex idea we signify by the word murder; and when we have 
 taken it asunder, and examined all the particulars, we shall find them to amount 
 to a collection of simple ideas derived trom reflection or sensation, viz. First, from 
 reflection on the operations of our own minds we have the ideas of willing, con- 
 sidering, purposing beforehand, malice, or wishing ill to another; and also of life, 
 or perception, and self-motion. Secondly, from sensation we have the collection 
 
284 [BOOK Il. 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 of those simple sensible ideas which are to be found in a man, and of some action, 
 whereby we put an end to perception and motion in the man; all which simple 
 ideas are comprehended in the word murder. This collection of simple ideas 
 being found by me to agree or disagree with the esteem of the country I have 
 been bred in, and to be held by most men there worthy praise or blame, I call the 
 action virtuous or vicious: if I have the will of a supreme invisible lawgiver for 
 my rule, then, as I supposed the action commanded or forbidden by God, I call 
 it good or evil, sin or duty: and if I compare it to the civil law, the rule made 
 by the legislative power of the country, I call it lawful or unlawful, a crime or no 
 crime. So that whence soever we take the rule of moral actions or by what 
 standard soever we frame in our minds the ideas of virtues or vices, they consist 
 only and are made up of collections of simple ideas, which we originally received 
 from sense or reflection, and their rectitude or obliquity consists in the agreement 
 or disagreement with those patterns prescribed by some law. 
 
 15. To conceive rightly of moral actions, we must take notice of them under 
 this two-fold consideration. First, as they are in themselves each made up of 
 such a collection of simple ideas. Thus drunkenness, or lying, signify such or 
 such a collection of simple ideas, which I call mixed modes; and in this sense 
 they are as much positive absolute ideas, as the drinking of a horse, or speaking 
 of a parrot. Secondly, our actions are considered as good, bad, or indifferent ; 
 and in this respect they are relative, it being their conformity to, or disagreement 
 with some rule that makes them to be regular or irregular, good or bad ; and so, 
 as far as they are compared with a rule, and thereupon denominated, they come 
 under relation. Thus the challenging and fighting with a man, as it is a certain 
 positive mode, or particular sort of action, by particular ideas, distinguished from 
 all others, is called duelling ; which, when considered in relation to the law of 
 God, will deserve the name of sin; to the law of fashion, in some countries,’ 
 valour and virtue; and to the municipal laws of some governments, a capital 
 crime. In this case, when the positive mode has one name, and another name as 
 it stands in relation to the law, the distinction may as easily be observed as it is 
 in substances, where one name, v. g. man, is used to signify the thing ; another, 
 v. g. father, to signify the relation. 
 
 16. The Denominations of Actions often mislead us.— But because very 
 frequently the positive idea of the actlon, and its moral relation, are compre- 
 hended together under one name, and the same word made use of to express both 
 the mode or action, and its moral rectitude or obliquity; therefore the relation 
 itself is less taken notice of, and there is often no distinction made between the 
 positive idea of the action, and the reference it has toa rule. By which con- 
 fusion of these two distinct considerations under one term, those who yield too 
 
 1 Duelling is the shield which liars and other 
 persons of base mind hold before them, to pro- 
 tect their ears from the truth, and from learnin 
 the contempt in which they are held by their 
 superiors in virtue and in wisdom. (See the opi- 
 nions of Jean Jaques, in the Nouvelle Heloise, 
 part. i. lett. 57.) Among the Polish nobles of 
 former days, petty wars were substituted for 
 duels; that is, for a bad practice, one much 
 worse. ‘Jn private quarrels, they are not 
 obliged to seek satisfaction of the wrong done 
 them, man to man. When they think them- 
 selves injured, they gather all their friends, and 
 the most resolute of all their vassals, and march 
 out with the greatest strength they can make, to 
 attack and worst their enemies wheresoever they 
 can meet them, and do not lay down their arms 
 till they have fought, or else some friends have 
 mterposed and reconciled them, and, instead of 
 a scimitar put in their hands, a great glass full 
 of the liquor they call toguay, to drink one ano- 
 
 ther’s health.” (Descrip. of Ukraine, by the 
 Sieur de Beauplan.) ‘That curious, but little 
 known traveller, Skippon, relates, that, when at 
 Padua, he heard the celebrated Ferrarius lecture 
 to the students against duelling, on which occa- 
 sion an extraordinary story ‘‘ of a duel, or mo- 
 nomachia, (duelling, he said, is the same with 
 bellum) between two fellows who were thus 
 pitted to fight. The hair of their heads was cut 
 off, that there might be no spell in their hair; 
 their nails were cut, and their habit was of 
 leather; then a tub of grease was brought, 
 with which they anointed their clothes. Each 
 had a club in his hand, of the same length and 
 weight. Before they fell to blows, they were 
 both sworn upon a Bible, concerning the matter 
 of their strife; one swore the thing was true, and 
 the other denied it upon oath. Sugar was set by 
 them to refresh themselves when they were at 
 any time weary.”’ (Ap. Churchill, v. vi. p. 542.) 
 
 a aaa a ea a a TN a EE EI HE IE SPE Ee oo eee || 
 
CHAP. XXVIII. | OF MORAL RELATIONS. ¢ 285 
 
 easily to the impressions of sounds, and are forward to take names for things, are 
 often misled in their judgment of actions. Thus, the taking from another what is 
 his, without his knowledge or allowance, is properly called stealing; but that name 
 being commonly understood to signify also the moral pravity of the action, and to 
 denote its contrariety to the law, men are apt to condemn whatever they hear called 
 stealing as an ill action, disagreeing with the rule of right. And yet the private 
 taking away his sword from a madman, to prevent his doing mischief, though it 
 be properly denominated stealing, as the name of such a mixed mode; yet when 
 compared to the law of God, and considered in its relation to that supreme rule, 
 it is no sin or transgression, though the name stealing ordinarily carries such an 
 intimation with it.' 
 
 17. Relations innumerable.—And thus much for the relation of human actions 
 to a law, which, therefore, I call moral relation. 
 
 It would make a volume to go over all sorts of relations; it is not, therefore, to 
 be expected that I should here mention them all. It suffices to our present pur- 
 pose to show by these what the ideas are we have of this comprehensive consi- 
 deration, called relation, which is so various, and the occasions of it so many, (as 
 many as there can be of comparing things one to another,) that it is not very easy 
 to reduce it to rules, or under just heads. Those I have mentioned, I think, are 
 some of the most considerable, and such as may serve to let us see from whence 
 we get our ideas of relations, and wherein they are founded. But before I quit 
 this argument, from what has been said, give me leave to observe: 
 
 18. All Relations terminate in simple [deas.—First, That it is evident, that all 
 relation terminates in, and is ultimately founded on those simple ideas we have 
 got from sensation or reflection: so that all we have in our thoughts ourselves, (if 
 we think of anything, or have any meaning,) or would signify to others, when we 
 use words standing for relations, is nothing but some simple ideas, or collections 
 of simple ideas, compared one with another. This is so manifest in that sort 
 called proportional, that nothing can be more; for when a man says honey is 
 sweeter than wax, it is plain that his thoughts in this relation terminate in this 
 simple idea, sweetness, which is equally true of all the rest; though, where they 
 are compounded, or decompounded, the simple ideas they are made up of, are, 
 perhaps, seldom taken notice of: v. g. when the word father is mentioned: First, 
 there is meant that particular species, or collective idea, signified by the word 
 man. Secondly, those sensible simple ideas, signified by the word generation ; 
 and, thirdly, the effects of it, and all the simple ideas signified by the word child. 
 So the word friend, being taken for a man who loves and is ready to do good to 
 another, has all these following ideas to the making of it up: First, all the simple 
 ideas, comprehended in the word man, or intelligent being. Secondly, the idea of 
 love. Thirdly, the idea of readiness or disposition. Fourthly, the idea of action, 
 which is any kind of thought or motion. Fifthly, the idea of good, which signi- 
 fies anything that may advance his happiness, and terminates at last, if examined, 
 in particular simple ideas; of which the word good in general signifies any one, 
 but if removed from all simple ideas quite, it signifies nothing at all. And thus 
 also all moral words terminate at last, though perhaps more remotely, in a col- 
 lection of simple ideas: the immediate signification of relative words, being very 
 often other supposed known relations ; which, if traced one to another, still end in 
 simple ideas. 
 
 19. We have ordinarily as clear (or clearer) a Notion of the Relation, as of 
 its Foundation.— Secondly, That in relations, we have for the most past, if not 
 always, as clear a notion of the relation as we have of those simple ideas wherein 
 it is founded. Agreement or disagreement, whereon relation depends, being 
 
 1 Plato employs this illustration, where he is | No definition that I have met with will hold but 
 showing that it is not always just to restore toa | the one in the Gospel—* Do unto all men as ye 
 man that which belongs to him. (De Repub. | would they should do unto you.” 
 
286 | OB HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 things whereof we have commonly as clear ideas as of any other whatsoever; it 
 being but the distinguishing simple ideas, or their degrees one from another, 
 without which we could have no distinct knowledge at all. For if I have a clear 
 idea of sweetness, light, or extension, I have, too, of equal, or more or less of each 
 of these: if I know what it is for one man to be born of'a woman, viz. Sempronia, 
 I know what it is for another man to be born of the same woman Sempronia ; 
 and so have as clear a notion of brothers as of births, and perhaps clearer. For 
 if I believed that Sempronia dug Titus out of the parsley-bed, (as they used to 
 tell children,) and thereby became his mother; and that afterwards, in the same 
 manner, she dug Caius out of the parsley-bed; I had as clear a notion of the 
 relation of brothers between them, as if I had all the skill of a midwife: the 
 notion that the same woman contributed, as mother, equally to their births, 
 (though I were ignorant or mistaken in the manner of it,) being that on which I 
 grounded the relation, and that they agreed in that circumstance of birth, let it be 
 what it will. The comparing them then in their descent from the same person, 
 without knowing the particular circumstances of that descent, is enough to found 
 my notion of their having or not having the relation of brothers. But though the 
 ideas of particular relations are capable of being as clear and distinct in the minds 
 of those who will duly consider them, as those of mixed modes, and more deter- 
 minate than those of substances; yet the names belonging to relation are often of 
 as doubtful and uncertain signification, as those of substances or mixed modes, 
 and much more than those of simple ideas; because relative words being the 
 marks of this comparison, which is made only by men’s thoughis, and is an idea 
 only in men’s minds, men frequently apply them to different comparisons of 
 things, according to their own imaginations, which do not always correspond with 
 those of others using the same name. “ 
 
 20. The Notion of the Relation is the same, whether the Rule any Action is 
 compared to, be true or false.—Thirdly, That im these I call moral relations, I 
 have a true notion of relation by comparing the action with the rule, whether the — 
 rule be true or false. For if I measure anything by a yard, I know whether the 
 thing I measure be longer or shorter than that supposed yard, though perhaps the 
 yard I measure by be not exactly the standard; which indeed is another inquiry. 
 For though the rule be erroneous, and I mistaken in it, yet the agreement or dis- 
 agreement observable in that which I compare with, makes me perceive the rela- 
 tion. Though measuring by a wrong rule, I shall thereby be brought to judge 
 amiss of its moral rectitude, because I have tried it by that which is not the true 
 rule; yet [ am not mistaken in the relation which that action bears to that rule I 
 compare it to, which is agreement or disagreement. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 OF CLEAR AND OBSCURE, DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS. 
 
 1. Ideas, some clear and distinct, others obscure and confused.—HAvING 
 shown the original of our ideas, and taken a view of their several sorts; consi- 
 dered the difference between the simple and the complex, and observed how the 
 complex ones are divided into those of modes, substances, and relations, all which, 
 I think, is necessary to be done by any one who would acquaint himself tho- 
 roughly with the progress of the mind in its apprehension and knowledge of 
 things, it will, perhaps, be thought I have dwelt long enough upon the examina- 
 tion of ideas. I must, nevertheless, crave leave to offer some few other consi- 
 
CHAP. XXIX. |] OF DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS. 287 
 
 derations concerning them. The first is, that some are clear and others obscure, 
 some distinct and others confused. 
 
 2. Clear and obscure explained by Sight.—The perception of the mind being 
 most aptly explained by words relating to the sight, we shall best understand 
 what is meant by clear and obscure in our ideas, by reflecting on what we call 
 clear and obscure in the objects of sight. Light being that which discovers to us 
 visible objects, we give the name of obscure to that which is not placed in a light. 
 sufficient to discover minutely to us the figure and colours which are observable 
 in it, and which, in a better light, would be discernible. In like manner, our 
 simple ideas are clear when they are such as the objects themselves from whence 
 they were taken did or might in a well-ordered sensation or perception present 
 them. Whilst the memory retains them thus, and can produce them to the mind 
 whenever it has occasion to consider them, they are clear ideas. So far as they 
 either want anything of the original exactness, or have lost any of their first 
 freshness, and are, as it were, faded or tarnished by time, so far are they obscure. 
 Complex ideas, as they are made up of simple ones, so they are clear when the 
 ideas that go to their composition are clear; and the number and order of those 
 simple ideas that are the ingredients of any complex one, is determinate and 
 certain. 
 
 3. Causes of Obscurity.—The causes of obscurity in simple ideas seem to be 
 either dull organs, or very slight and transient impressions made by the objects, 
 or else a weakness in the memory not able to retain them as received. For to 
 return again to visible objects, to help us to apprehend this matter; if the organs 
 or faculties of perception, like wax over-hardened with cold, will not receive the 
 impression of the seal, from the usual impulse wont to imprint it; or, like wax of 
 a temper too soft, will not hold it well when well imprinted; or else supposing 
 the wax of a temper fit, but the seal not applied with a sufficient force to make a 
 clear impression; in any of these cases, the print left by the seal will be obscure. 
 This, I suppose, needs no application to make it plainer.* 
 
 4, Distinct and confused, what.—As a clear idea is that whereof the mind has 
 such a full and evident perception, as it does receive from an outward object 
 operating duly on a well-disposed organ; so a distinct idea is that wherein the 
 mind perceives a difference from all other; and a confused idea, is such an one 
 as is not sufficiently distinguishable from another, from which it ought to be 
 different. 
 
 5. Objection.—If no idea be confused, but such as is not sufficiently distin- 
 guishable from another, from which it should be different, it will be hard, may 
 any one say, to find anywhere a confused idea. For let any idea be as it will, it 
 ean be no other but such as the mind perceives it to be; and that very percep- 
 tion sufficiently distinguishes it from all other ideas, which cannot be other, i. e. 
 different, without being perceived to be so. No idea, therefore, can be undis- 
 tinguishable from another, from which it ought to be different, unless you would 
 have it different from itself; for from all other it is evidently different. 
 
 6. Confusion of Ideas is in Reference to their Names.—To remove this diffi- 
 culty, and to help us to conceive aright what it is that makes the confusion ideas 
 are at any time chargeable with, we must consider, that, things ranked under dis- 
 tinct names are supposed different enough to be distinguished, and so each sort 
 by its peculiar name may be marked, and discoursed of apart upon any occasion ; 
 and there is nothing more evident, than that the greatest part of different names 
 are supposed to stand for different things. Now every idea man has being visibly 
 what it is, and distinct from all other ideas but itself, that which makes it con- 
 fused, is, when it is such, that it may as well be called by another name, as that 
 which it is expressed by; the difference which keeps the things (to be ranked 
 
 1 Plato has made use of precisely the same illustration in the Theatetus, v. iii. p. 287. Bek. 
 
288 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 under those two different names) distinct, and makes some of them belong rather 
 to the one, and some of them to the other of those names, being left out; and so 
 the distinction, which was intended to be kept up by those different names, is 
 quite lost. 
 
 7. Defaults which make Confusion.—The defaults which usually occasion 
 this confusion, I think, are chiefly these following : 
 
 First, complex Ideas made up of too few simple Ones.— First, when any 
 complex idea (for it is complex ideas that are most liable to confusion) is made up 
 of too small a number of simple ideas, and such only as are common to other 
 things, whereby the differences that make it deserve a different name are left out. 
 Thus, he that has an idea made up of barely the simple ones of a beast with spots, 
 has but a confused idea of a leopard; it not being thereby sufficiently distin- 
 guished from a lynx, and several other sorts of beasts that are spotted. So that 
 such an idea, though it hath the peculiar name leopard, is not distinguishable 
 from those designed by the names lynx or panther, and may as well come under 
 the name lynx as leopard. How much the custom of defining of words by 
 general terms contributes to make the ideas we would express by them confused 
 and undetermined, I leave others to consider. This is evident, that confused 
 ideas are such as render the use of words uncertain, and take away the benefit of 
 distinct names. When the ideas, for which we use different terms, have not a 
 difference answerable to their distinct names, and so cannot be distinguished by 
 them, there it is that they are truly confused. 
 
 8. Secondly, or its simple Ones jumbled disorderly together.—Secondly, Ano- 
 ther fault which makes our ideas confused is, when, though the particulars that 
 make up any idea are in number enough, yet they are so jumbled together, that it 
 is not easily discernible whether it more belongs to the name that is given it 
 than to any other. There is nothing properer to make us conceive this confusion, 
 than a sort of pictures usually shown as surprising pieces of art, wherein the 
 colours, as they are laid by the pencil on the table itself, mark out very odd and 
 unusual figures, and have no discernible order in their position. This draught, 
 thus made up of parts wherein no symmetry nor order appears, is in itself no 
 more a confused thing, than the picture of a cloudy sky; wherein, though there 
 be as little order of colours or figures to be found, yet nobody thinks it a confused 
 picture. What is it, then, that makes it to be thought confused, since the want 
 of symmetry does not? as it is plain it does not; for another draught made barely 
 in imitation of this could not be called confused. I answer, that which makes it 
 be thought confused, is, the applying it to some name to which it does no more 
 discernibly belong than to some other; v. g. when it is said to be the picture of 
 a man, or Cesar, then any one with reason counts it confused; because it is not 
 discernible in that state, to belong more to the name man, or Cesar, than to the 
 name baboon, or Pompey; which are supposed to stand for different ideas from 
 those signified by man, or Cesar. But when a cylindrical mirror, placed right, 
 hath reduced those irregular lines on the table into their due order and propor- 
 tion, then the confusion ceases, and the eye presently sees that it is a man, or 
 Cesar, i.e. that it belongs to those names; and that it is sufficiently distin- 
 guishable from a baboon, or Pompey, i. e. from the ideas signified by those 
 names. Just thus it is with our ideas, which are as it were the pictures of things. 
 No one of these mental draughts, however the parts are put together, can be 
 called confused (for they are plainly discernible as they are) till it be ranked 
 under some ordinary name, to which it cannot be discerned to belong, any more 
 than it does to some other name of an allowed different signification. 
 
 9. Thirdly, or are mutable and undetermined.—Thirdly, A third defect that 
 frequently gives the name of confused to our ideas, is, when any one of them is 
 uncertain and undetermined. Thus we may observe men, who not forbearing to 
 use the ordinary words of their language, till they have learned their precise sig- 
 nification, change the idea they make this or that term stand for, almost as often 
 
CHAP. XXIX. | OF DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS. 289 
 
 as they use it. He that does this out of uncertainty of what he should leave out, 
 or put into his idea of church or idolatry, every time he thinks of either, and 
 holds not steady to any one precise combination of ideas that makes it up, is said 
 to have a confused idea of idolatry or the church; though this be still for the 
 same reason as the former, viz. because a mutable idea (if we will allow it to be 
 one idea) cannot belong to one name rather than another, and so loses the dis- 
 tinction that distinct names are designed for. 
 
 10. Confusion without Reference to Names, hardly conceivable-—By what 
 has been said, we may observe how much names, as supposed steady signs of 
 things, and by their difference to stand for and keep things distinct that in them- 
 selves are different, are the occasion of denominating ideas distinct or confused, 
 by a secret and unobserved reference the mind makes of its ideas to such names. 
 This perhaps will be fuller understood, after what I say of words in the third 
 book has been read and considered. But without taking notice of such a refer- 
 ence of ideas to distinct names as the signs of distinct things, it will be hard to 
 say what a confused idea is. And therefore when a man designs by any name a 
 sort of things, or any one particular thing, distinct from all others, the complex 
 idea he annexes to that name is the more distinct, the more particular the ideas 
 are, and the greater and more determinate the number and order of them is, 
 whereof it is made up. For the more it has of these, the more it has still of the 
 perceivable differences, whereby it is kept separate and distinct from all ideas 
 belonging to other names, even those that approach nearest to it, and thereby all 
 confusion with them is avoided. 
 
 ll. Confusion concerns always two Ideas.—Confusion making it a difficulty 
 to separate two things that should be separated, concerns always two ideas; and 
 those most which most approach one another. Whenever, therefore, we suspect 
 any idea to be confused, we must examine what other it is in danger to be con- 
 founded with, or which it cannot easily be separated from; and that will always 
 be found an idea belonging to another name, and so should be a different thing, 
 from which yet it is not sufficiently distinct, being either the same with it or 
 making a part of it, or at least as properly called by that name, as the other it is 
 ranked under; and so keeps not that difference from that other idea which the 
 different names import. | 
 
 12. Causes of “Confusion.—This, I think, is the confusion proper to ideas, 
 which still carries with it a secret reference to names. At least, if there be any 
 other confusion of ideas, this is that which most of all disorders men’s thoughts and 
 discourses; ideas, as ranked under names, being those that for the most part men 
 reason of within themselves, and always those which they commune about with 
 others. And, therefore, where there are supposed two different ideas marked by 
 two different names, which are not as distinguishable as the sounds that stand for 
 them, there never fails to be confusion ; and where any ideas are distinct as the 
 ideas of those two sounds they are marked by, there can be between them no con- 
 fusion. The way to prevent it is to collect and unite to one complex idea, as 
 precisely as is possible, all those ingredients whereby it is differenced from others ; 
 and to them, so united in a determinate number and order, apply steadily the 
 same name. But this neither accommodating men’s ease or vanity, or serving 
 any design but that of naked truth, which is not always the thing aimed at, such 
 exactness is rather to be wished than hoped for. And since the loose application 
 of names to undetermined, variable, and almost no ideas, serves both to cover our 
 own ignorance, as well as to perplex and confound others, which goes for learning 
 and superiority in knowledge, it is no wonder that most men should use it them- 
 selves, whilst they complain of it in others.!| Though, I think, no small part of 
 the confusion to be found in the notions of men might, by care and ingenuity, be 
 
 * This truth was strikingly exemplified by the | Euthydemos, where two old fellows undertake to 
 sophists, whose arts are nowhere so well exposed | prove Socrates to have been cousin german to 
 as in Pilato’s Dialogues, more particularly the | Heracles. 
 
Z 
 
 290 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 
 avoided, yet I am far from concluding it everywhere wilful. Some ideas are so 
 complex, and made up of so many parts, that the memory does not easily retain 
 the very same precise combination of simple ideas under one name; much less are 
 we able constantly to divine for what precise complex idea such a name stands in 
 another man’s use of it. From the first of these, follows confusion in a man’s own 
 reasonings and opinions within himself; from the latter, frequent confusion in 
 discoursing and arguing with others. But having more at large treated of 
 words, their defects, and abuses, in the following book, I shall here say no more 
 of it. ' 
 
 18. Complex Ideas may be distinct in one Part, and confused in another.— 
 Our complex ideas being made up of collections, and so variety of simple ones, 
 may accordingly be very clear and distinct in one part, and very obscure and con- 
 fused in another. In ainan who speaks of a chiliaedron, or a body of a thousand 
 sides, the ideas of the figure may be very confused, though that of the number be 
 very distinct; so that he being able to discourse and demonstrate concerning that 
 part of his complex idea which depends upon the number of a thousand, he is 
 apt to think he has a distinct idea of a chiliaedron; though it be plain he has no 
 precise idea of its figure, so as to distinguish it by that, from one that has but 
 999 sides; the not observing whereof causes no small error in men’s thoughts, 
 and confusion in their discourses. 
 
 14. This, if not heeded, causes Confusion in our Arguings.—He that thinks 
 he has a distinct idea of the figure of a chiliaedron, let him for trial sake take 
 another parcel of the same uniform matter, viz. gold, or wax, of an equal bulk, 
 and make it into a figure of 999 sides: he will, I doubt not, be able to distinguish 
 these two ideas one from another, by the number of sides, and reason and argue 
 distinctly about them, whilst he keeps his thoughts and reasoning’ to that part 
 only of these ideas which is contained in their numbers; as that the sides of the 
 one could be divided into two equal numbers, and of the others not, &c. But 
 when he goes about to distinguish them by their figure, he will there be presently 
 at a loss, and not be able, I think, to frame in his mind two ideas, one of them 
 distinct from the other, by the bare figure of these two pieces of gold; as he could, 
 if the same parcels of gold were made into a cube, the other a figure of five sides. 
 In which incomplete ideas, we are very apt to impose on ourselves, and wrangle 
 with others, especially where they have particular and familiar names. For being 
 satisfied in that part of the idea which we have clear, and the name which is 
 familiar to us being applied to the whole, containing that part also which is im- 
 perfect and obscure, we are apt to use it for that confused part, and draw deduc- 
 tions from it, in the obscure part of its signification, as confidently as we do from 
 the other. 
 
 15. Instance in Eternity.— Having frequently in our mouths the name Eternity, 
 we are apt to think we have a positive comprehensive idea of it, which is as much 
 as to say, that there is no part of that duration which is not clearly contained in 
 our idea. It is true that he that thinks so may have a clear idea of duration; he 
 may also have a very clear idea of a very great length of duration; he may also 
 have a clear idea of the comparison of that great one with still a greater; but it 
 not being possible for him to include in his idea of any duration, let it be as great 
 as it will, the whole extent together of a duration where he supposes no end, that 
 part of his idea, which is still beyond the bounds of that large duration, he repre- 
 sents to his own thoughts, is very obscure and undetermined. And hence it is 
 that, in disputes and reasonings concerning eternity, or any other infinite, we 
 are apt to blunder, and involve ourselves in manifest absurdities. 
 
 16. Divisibility of Matter.—In matter we have no clear ideas of the smallness 
 of parts much beyond the smallest that occur to any of our senses; and therefore, 
 when we talk of the divisibility of matter in infinitum, though we have clear ideas 
 of division and divisibility, and have also clear ideas of parts made out of a whole 
 by division; yet we have but very obscure and confused ideas of corpuscles, or 
 
 Se eT L iletisw oe ue ee 
 
A A LCR LOR NE OL ACO OL OTOL ALLEY tc Ae CIN ION I COR apse aoe teneenenerecaseicnasapeieatocmniestne! 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. | OF DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS. 291 
 
 minute bodies so to be divided, when by former divisions they are reduced to a 
 smallness much exceeding the perception of any of our senses; and so all that we 
 have clear and distinct ideas of, is of what division in general or abstractedly is, 
 and the relation of totum and parts; but of the bulk of the body, to be thus infi- 
 nitely divided after certain progressions, I think, we have no clear nor distinct 
 idea at all. For I ask any one, whether, taking the smallest atom of dust he 
 ever saw, he has any distinct idea (bating still the number, which concerns not 
 extension) betwixt the 100,000th and the 1,000,000,000th part of it; or if he 
 thinks he can refine his ideas to that degree, without losing sight of them, let him 
 add ten cyphers to each of those numbers. Such a degree of smallness is not 
 unreasonable to be supposed, since a division carried on so far brings it no nearer 
 the end of infinite division, than the first division into two halves does. I must 
 confess, for my part, I have no clear distinct ideas of the different bulk or exten- 
 sion of those bodies, having but a very obscure one of either of them. So that I 
 think, when we talk of division of bodies in infinitum, our idea of their distinct 
 bulks, which is the subject and foundation of division, comes, after a little pro- 
 gression, to be confounded, and almost lost in obscurity. For that idea which is 
 to represent only bigness must be very obscure and confused, which we cannot 
 distinguish from one ten times as big, but only by number; so that we have clear 
 distinct ideas, we may say, of ten and one, but no distinct ideas of two such exten- 
 sions. Jt is plain from hence, that, when we talk of infinite divisibility of body 
 or extension, our distinct and clear ideas are only of numbers; but the clear dis- 
 tinct ideas of extension, after some progress of division, are quite lost; and of 
 such minute parts we have no distinct ideas at all: but it returns, as all our ideas 
 of infinite do, at last to that of number always to be added; but thereby never 
 amounts to any distinct idea of actual infinite parts. We have, it is true, a clear 
 idea of division, as often as we think of it; but thereby we have no more a clear 
 idea of infinite parts in matter, than we have a clear idea of an infinite number, 
 by being able still to add new numbers to any assigned numbers we have; endless 
 divisibility giving us no more a clear and distinct idea of actually infinite parts, 
 than endless addibility (Gf I may so speak) gives us a clear and distinct idea of an 
 actually infinite number; they both being only in a power still of increasing the 
 number, be it already as great as it will: so that of what remains to be added 
 (wherein consists the infinity) we have but an obscure, imperfect, and confused 
 idea, from or about which we can argue or reason with no certainty or clearness, 
 no more than we can in arithmetic, about a number of which we have no such 
 distinct idea as we have of 4 or 100; but only this relative obscure one, that 
 compared to any other, it is still bigger: and we have no more a clear positive 
 idea of it when we say or conceive it is bigger, or more than 400,000,000, than if 
 we should say it is bigger than 40, or 4 ;. 400,000,000 having no nearer a propor- 
 tion to the end of addition, or number, than 4. For he that adds only 4 to 4, and 
 so proceeds, shall as soon come to the end of all addition, as he that adds 
 400,000,000 to 400,000,000. And so likewise in eternity, he that has an idea of 
 but four years, has as much a positive complete idea of eternity, as he that has 
 one of 400,000,000 of years; for what remains of eternity beyond either of these 
 two numbers of years is as clear to the one as the other; 1. e. neither of them has 
 any clear positive idea of it at all. for he that adds only four years to 4, and so 
 on, shall as soon reach eternity as he that adds 400,000,000 of years, and so on; 
 or, if he please, doubles the increase as often as he will, the remaining abyss being 
 still as far beyond the end of all these progressions as it is from the length of a 
 day or an hour; for nothing finite bears any proportion to infinite, and therefore 
 our ideas, which are all finite, cannot bear any. Thus it is also in our idea of 
 extension, when we increase it by addition, as well as when we diminish it by 
 division, and would enlarge our thoughts to infinite space. After a few doublings 
 of those ideas of extension, which are the largest we are accustomed to have, we 
 lose the clear distinct idea of that space; it becomes a confusedly great one, with 
 
 we 
 
oe ee i ny ai SSS aN laa ag A cel SS eee gl 
 292 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book II. 
 a surplus of still greater; about which, when we would argue or reason, we shall 
 
 always find ourselves at a loss; confused ideas in our arguings and deductions 
 from that part of them which is confused always leading us into confusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 OF REAL AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS. 
 
 1. Real Ideas are conformable to their Archetypes.—BursipxES what we have 
 already mentioned concerning ideas, other considerations belong to them, in 
 reference to things from whence they are taken, or which they may be sup- 
 posed to represent: and thus, I think, they may come under a threefold distine- 
 tion ; and are, 
 
 First, either real or fantastical. 
 
 Secondly, adequate or inadequate. 
 
 Thirdly, true or false. 
 
 First, by real ideas, I mean such as have a foundation in nature; such as have 
 a conformity with the real being and existence of things, or with their archetypes. 
 Fantastical or chimerical I call such as have no foundation in nature, nor have any 
 conformity with that reality of being to which they are tacitly referred as to their 
 archetypes. If we examine the several sorts of ideas before mentioned, we shall 
 find that, 
 
 2. Simple Ideas all real.—First, Our simple ideas are all real, all agree to the 
 reality of things: not that they are all of them the images or representations 
 of what does exist; the contrary whereof, in all but the primary qualities of 
 bodies, hath been already shown. But, though whiteness and coldness are no 
 more in snow than pain is; yet those ideas of whiteness and coldness, pain, &e. 
 being in us the effects of powers in things without us, ordained by our Maker to 
 produce in us such sensations; they are real ideas in us, whereby we distinguish 
 the qualities that are really in things themselves. For these several appearances 
 being designed to be the mark whereby we are to know and distinguish things 
 which we have to do with, our ideas do as well serve us to that purpose, and are 
 as real distinguishing characters, whether they be only constant effects, or else 
 exact resemblances of something in the things themselves; the reality lying in 
 that steady correspondence they have with the distinct constitutions of real beings. 
 But whether they answer to those constitutions, as to causes or patterns, it matters 
 not; it suffices that they are constantly produced by them. And thus our sim- 
 ple ideas are all real and true, because they answer and agree to those powers 
 of things which produce them in our minds; that being all that is requisite to 
 make them real, and not fictions at pleasure. For in simple ideas (as has been 
 shown) the mind is wholly confined to the operation of things upon it, and can 
 make to itself no simple idea, more than what it has received. 
 
 3. Complex Ideas are voluntary Combinations.—Though the mind be wholly 
 passive in respect of its simple ideas; yet, I think we may say it is not so in 
 respect of its complex ideas: for those being combinations of simple ideas put 
 together, and united under one general name; it is plain that the mind of man 
 uses some kind of liberty in forming those complex ideas: how else comes it to 
 pass that one man’s idea of gold, or Justice, is different from another’s, but because 
 he has put in, or left out of his, some simple idea which the other has not? The 
 question then is, Which of these are real, and which barely imaginary combina- 
 tions? What collections agree to the reality of things, and what not? And to 
 this I say, that, 
 
CHAP. XXXI. | OF REAL AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS. 293 
 
 4. Mixed Modes made of consistent Ideas are real.—Secondly, Mixed modes 
 and relations having no other reality but what they have in the minds of men, 
 there is nothing more required to this kind of ideas to make them real, but that 
 they be so framed, that there be a possibility of existing conformable to them. 
 These ideas themselves, being archetypes, cannot differ from their archetypes, and 
 so cannot be chimerical, unless any one will jumble together in them inconsistent 
 ideas. Indeed, as any of them have the names of a known language assigned to 
 them, by which he that has them in his mind would signify them to others, so 
 bare possibility of existing is not enough; they must have a conformity to the 
 ordinary signification of the name that is given them, that they may not be 
 thought fantastical: as if a man would give the name of justice to that idea which 
 common use Calls liberality. But this fantasticalness relates more to propriety of 
 speech, than reality of ideas: for a man to be undisturbed in danger, sedately to 
 consider what is fittest to be done, and to execute it steadily, is a mixed mode, or 
 a complex idea of an action which may exist. But to be undisturbed in danger, 
 without using one’s reason or industry, is what is also possible to be; and so is as 
 real an idea as the other. Though the first of these, having the name courage given 
 to it, may, in respect of that name, be a right or wrong idea: but the other, whilst 
 it has not a common received name of any known language assigned to it, is not 
 capable of any deformity, being made with no reference to anything but itself. 
 
 8. Ideas of Substances are real when they agree with the Existence of Things. 
 —Thirdly, Our complex ideas of substances being made all of them in reference 
 to things existing without us, and intended to be representations of substances, as 
 they really are, are no further real, than as they are such combinations of simple 
 ideas as are really united, and co-exist in things without us. On the contrary, those 
 are fantastical which are made up of such collections of simple ideas as were 
 really never united, never were found together in any substance; v. g. a rational 
 creature, consisting of a horse’s head, joined to a body of human shape, or such 
 as the centaurs are described ; or, a body yellow, very malleable, fusible, and fixed ; 
 but lighter than common water: or an uniform, unorganized body, consisting, as 
 to sense, all of similar parts, with perception and voluntary motion joined to it. 
 Whether such substances as these can possibly exist or no, it is probable we do 
 not know: but be that as it will, these ideas of substances being made conform- 
 able to no pattern existing that we know, and consisting of such collections of ideas 
 as no substance ever showed us united together, they ought to pass with us for 
 barely imaginary ; but much more are those complex ideas so, which contain in 
 them any inconsistency or contradiction of their parts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS, 
 
 1. Adequate Ideas are such as perfectly represent their Archetypes.—OF 
 our real ideas, some are adequate, and some are inadequate. Those I call ade- 
 quate, which perfectly represent those archetypes which the mind supposes them 
 taken from; which it intends them to stand for, and to which it refers them. 
 Inadequate ideas are such as are but a partial and incomplete representation of 
 those archetypes to which they are referred. Upon which’ account it is plain, 
 
 1 Locke’s style is often careless, and sometimes word which is seven times repeated, very unne- 
 tedious, as in the present paragraph, where the | cessarily. The passage would read better as 
 
AI AS EERE cB inet Sy se ese er an te En Bee Se 
 
 204. OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book IL. 
 
 2. Simple Ideas all adequate.—First, that all our simple ideas are adequate. 
 Because being nothing but the effects of certain powers In things, fitted and 
 ordained by God to produce such sensations m us, they cannot but be correspond- 
 ent and adequate to those powers: and we are sure they agree to the reality of 
 things. For, if sugar produce in us the ideas which we call whiteness and sweet- 
 ness, we are sure there is a power in sugar to produce those ideas in our minds, 
 or else they could not have been produced by it. And so each sensation answer- 
 ing the power that operates on any of our senses, the idea so produced is a real 
 idea, (and not a fiction of the mind, which has no power to produce any simple 
 idea,) and cannot but be adequate, since it ought only to answer that power: and 
 so all simple ideas are adequate. It is true, the things producing in us these sim- 
 ple ideas are but few of them denominated by us, as if they were only the causes 
 of them; but as if those ideas were real beings in them. For though fire be 
 called painful to the touch, whereby is signified the power of producing in us the 
 idea of pain, yet itis denominated also light and hot; as if light and heat were 
 really something in the fire more than a power to excite these ideas in us; and 
 therefore are called qualities in or of the fire. But these being nothing, in truth, 
 but powers to excite such ideas in us, I must in that sense be understood, when I 
 speak of secondary qualities, as being in things; or of their ideas, as bemg the ob- 
 jects that excite them in us. Such ways of speaking, though accommodated to 
 the vulgar notions, without which one cannot be well understood, yet truly signify 
 nothing but those powers which are in things to excite certain sensations or ideas 
 in us: since were there no fit organs to receive the impressions fire makes on the 
 sight and touch, nor a mind joined to those organs to receive the ideas of light and 
 heat by those impressions from the fire or sun, there would yet be no more light 
 or heat in the world, than there would be pain, if there were no sensible creature 
 to feel it, though the sun should continue just as it is now, and Mount Adtna flame 
 higher than ever it did.’ Solidity and extension, and the termination of it, figure, 
 with motion and rest, whereof we have the ideas, would be really in the world as 
 they are, whether there were any sensible being to perceive them or no; and there- 
 fore we have reason to look on those as the real modifications of matter, and such 
 are the exciting causes of all our various sensations from bodies. But this being 
 an inquiry not belonging to this place, I shall enter no further into it, but proceed 
 to show what complex ideas are adequate, and what not. 
 
 3. Modes are all adequate.—Secondly, our complex ideas of modes being vo- 
 luntary collections of simple ideas, which the mind puts together without reference 
 to any real archetypes or standing patterns existing anywhere, are and cannot but 
 be adequate ideas. Because they, not being intended for copies of things really 
 existing, but for archetypes made by the mind to rank and denominate things by, 
 cannot want anything: they having each of them that combination of ideas, and 
 thereby that perfection which the mind intended they should; so that the mind 
 acquiesces in them, and can find nothing wanting. Thus, by having the idea of a 
 figure with three sides meeting at three angles, I have a complete idea, wherein 
 
 | I require nothing else to make it perfect. That the mind is satisfied with the per- 
 fection of this its idea, is plain, in that it does not conceive that any understand- 
 ing hath or can have a more complete or perfect idea of that thing it signifies by 
 the word triangle, supposing it to exist, than itself has im that complex idea of 
 
 follows :—‘ Those I call adequate that perfectly re- 
 present the archetypes the mind supposes them to 
 be taken from; whee it intends them to stand for, 
 and to which it refers them. Inadequate ideas 
 are such as are but a partial or incomplete repre- 
 sentation of those archetypes. On this account 
 it is plain,’ &c. Thus, the reader will perceive, 
 
 Jive out of the seven whiches are got rid of, with- 
 out any great injury to the sense. 
 
 ? Berkeley, it will be seen, had after this but 
 one step tomake. If the thing, however, which 
 we call light, cause an alteration in the condition 
 of the air, and fire an alteration in the condition 
 of bodies, those effects would still be produced, 
 whether perceived or not; and so there would be 
 light and heat, though no being existed to ob- 
 serve them. 
 
CHAP. XXXI.] OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS. 295 
 
 three sides and three angles; in which is contained all that is or can be essential to 
 it, or necessary to complete it, wherever or however it exists. But in our ideas of 
 substances it is otherwise; for there, desirmg to copy things as they really do 
 exist, and to represent to ourselves that constitution on which all their properties 
 depend, we perceive our ideas attain not that perfection we intend; we find they 
 still want something we should be glad were in them, and so are all inadequate : 
 but mixed modes and relations being archetypes without patterns, and so having 
 nothing to represent but themselves, cannot but be adequate, everything being so 
 to itself. He that at first put together the idea of danger perceived, absence of 
 disorder from fear, sedate consideration of what was justly to be done, and exe- 
 euting that without disturbance, or being deterred by the danger of it, had cer- 
 tainly in his mind that complex idea made up of that combination ; and intending 
 it to be nothing else but what is, nor to have in it any other simple ideas but 
 what it hath, it could not also but be an adequate idea: and laying this up in 
 his memory, with the name courage annexed to it, to signify to others, and deno- 
 minate from thence any action he should observe to agree with it, had thereby a 
 standard to measure and denominate actions by, as they agreed to it. This idea, 
 thus made and laid up for a pattern, must necessarily be adequate, being referred 
 to nothing else but itself, nor made by any other original but the good liking and 
 will of him that first made this combination. 
 
 A, Modes,in reference to settled Names, may be inadequate.—Indeed another 
 coming after, and in conversation learning from him the word courage, may make 
 an idea, to which he gives the name courage, different from what the first author 
 applied it to, and has in his mind when he uses it. And in this case, if he designs 
 that his idea in thinking should be conformable to the other’s idea, as the name he 
 uses in speaking is conformable in sound to his from whom he learned it, his idea 
 may be very wrong and inadequate: because in this case, making the other 
 man’s idea the pattern of his idea in thinking, as the other man’s word or sound 
 is the pattern of his in speaking, his idea is so far defective and inadequate, as 
 it is distant from the archetype and pattern he refers it to, and intends to express 
 and signify by the name he uses for it; which name he would have to be a sign of 
 the other man’s idea, (to which, in its proper use, it is primarily annexed,) and of 
 his own, as agreeing to it; to which if his own does not exactly correspond, it is 
 faulty and inadequate. 
 
 5. Therefore these complex ideas of modes, when they are referred by the mind, 
 and intended to correspond to the ideas in the mind of some other intelligent 
 being, expressed by the names we apply to them, they may be very deficient, 
 wrong, and inadequate; because they agree not to that which the mind designs 
 to be their archetype and pattern: in which respect only any idea of modes 
 can be wrong, imperfect, or inadequate. And on this account our ideas of mixed 
 modes are the most liable to be faulty of any other; but this refers more to proper 
 speaking than knowing right. 
 
 6. Ideas of Substances, as referred to real Essences, not adequate.— Thirdly, 
 what ideas we have of substances, I have above shown. Now, those ideas have 
 in the mind a double reference: 1. Sometimes they are referred to a supposed 
 real essence of each species of things. 2. Sometimes they are only designed to 
 be pictures and representations in the mind of things that do exist by ideas of those 
 qualities that are discoverable in them. In both which ways, these copies of 
 those originals and archetypes are imperfect and inadequate. 
 
 First, it is usual for men to make the names of substances stand for things, 
 as supposed to have certain real essences, whereby they are of this or that spe- 
 cies; and names standing for nothing but the ideas that are in men’s minds, 
 they must constantly refer their ideas to such real essences, as to their archetypes. 
 That men (especially such as have been bred up in the learning taught in this 
 part of the world) do suppose certain specific essences of substances, which each 
 individual in its several kinds is made conformable to, and partakes of; is so 
 
296 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK If. 
 
 far from needing proof, that it will be thought strange if any one should do other- 
 wise. And thus they ordinarily apply the specific names they rank particular 
 substances under to things, as distinguished by such specific real essences. Who 
 is there almost, who would not take it amiss if it should be doubted whether he 
 called himself a man, with any other meaning than as having the real essence of a 
 man? And yet, if you demand what those real essences are, it is plain men are 
 ignorant, and know them not. From whence it follows, that, the ideas they have 
 in their minds being referred to real essences, as to archetypes which are unknown, 
 must be so far from being adequate, that they cannot be supposed to be any re- 
 presentation of them at all. The complex ideas we have of substances are, as it 
 has been shown, certain collections of simple ideas that have been observed or sup- 
 posed constantly to exist together. But such a complex idea cannot be the real 
 essence of any substance; for then the properties we discover in that body would 
 depend on that complex idea, and be deducible from it, and their necessary con- 
 nection with it be known; as all properties of a triangle depend on, and, as far as 
 they are discoverable, are deducible from the complex idea of three lines, including 
 aspace. But it is plain, that, in our complex ideas of substances, are not con- 
 tained such ideas, on which all the other qualities that are to be found in them 
 do depend. The common idea men have of iron, is a body of a certain colour, 
 weight, and hardness; and a property that they look on as belonging to it, is 
 malleableness. But yet this property has no necessary connexion with that com- 
 plex idea, or any part of it; and there is no more reason to think that malleableness 
 depends on that colour, weight, and hardness, than that colour or weight depends 
 on its malleableness. And yet, though we know nothing of these real essences, 
 there is nothing more ordinary, than that men should attribute the sorts of things 
 to such essences. The particular parcel of matter which makes the ring I have 
 on my finger is forwardly by most men supposed to have a real essence, 
 whereby it is gold, and from whence those qualities flow which I find in it, viz. 
 its peculiar colour, weight, hardness, fusibility, fixedness, and change of colour 
 upon a slight touch of mercury, &c. This essence, from which all these proper- 
 ties flow, when I inquire into it and search after it, I plainly perceive I cannot 
 discover ; the furthest I can go is, only to presume that, it bemg nothing but 
 body, its real essence or internal constitution, on which these qualities depend, can 
 be nothing but the figure, size, and connexion of its solid parts; of neither of which 
 having any distinct perception at all, can I have any idea of its essence, which 
 is the cause that it has that particular shining yellowness, a greater weight than 
 anything I know of the same bulk, and a fitness to have its colour changed by 
 the touch of quicksilver. If any one will say, that the real essence and internal 
 constitution on which these properties depend, is not the figure, size, and arrange- 
 ment or connexion of its solid parts, but something else, called its particular form, 
 I am further from having any idea of its real essence than I was before; for I 
 have an idea of figure, size, and situation of solid parts in general, though I have 
 none of the particular figure, size, or putting together of parts, whereby the 
 qualities above mentioned are produced ; which qualities I find in that particular 
 parcel of matter that is on my finger, and not in another parcel of matter, with 
 which I cut the pen I write with. But, when I am told that something besides 
 the figure, size, and posture of the solid parts of that. body is its essence, some- 
 thing called substantial form, of that I confess I have no idea at all, but only of 
 the sound form, which is far enough from an idea of its real essence or constitu- 
 tion. The like ignorance as I have of the real essence of this particular substance, 
 I have also of the real essence of all other natural ones ; of which essences I con- 
 fess I have no distinct ideas at all; and, I am apt to suppose, others, when they 
 examine their own knowledge, will find in themselves, in this one point, the same 
 sort of ignorance. 
 
 7. Now, then, when men apply to this particular parcel of matter on my finger 
 a general name already in use, and denominate it gold, do they not ordinarily, 
 
CHAP. XXXI.| OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS. ead: 
 
 or are they not understood to give it that name as belonging to a particular spe- 
 cies of bodies, having a real internal essence; by havine of which essence this 
 particular substance comes to be of that species, and to be called by that name ? 
 If it be so, as it is plain it is, the name by which things are marked as having 
 that essence must be referred primarily to that essence ; and consequently the idea 
 to which that name is given must be referred also to that essence, and be intended 
 to represent it. Which essence, since they who so use the names know not, their 
 ideas of substances must be all inadequate in that respect, as not containing in 
 them that real essence which the mind intends they should. 
 
 8. Ideas of Substances, as Collections of their Qualities, are all inadequate.— 
 Secondly, those who, neglecting that useless supposition! of unknown real essences 
 whereby they are distinguished, endeavour to copy the substances that exist in the 
 world, by putting together the ideas of those sensible qualities which are found 
 co-existing in them, though they come much nearer a likeness of them than those 
 who imagine they know not what real specific essences; yet they arrive not at 
 perfectly adequate ideas of those substances they would thus copy into their 
 minds; nor do those copies exactly and fully contain all that is to be found in 
 their archetypes. Because those qualities and powers of substances whereof we 
 make their complex ideas are so many and various, that no man’s complex idea 
 contains them all. That our abstract ideas of substances do not contain in them 
 all the simple ideas that are united in the things themselves, it is evident, in that 
 men do rarely put into their complex idea of any substance all the simple ideas 
 they do know to exist in it. Because endeavouring to make the signification of 
 _ their names as clear and as little cumbersome as they can, they make their specitic 
 ideas of the sorts of substance, for the most part, of a few of those simple 
 ideas which are to be found in them; but these having no original precedency 
 or right to be put in, and make the specific idea, more than others that are 
 left out, it is plain that both these ways our ideas of substances are deficient 
 and inadequate. The simple ideas whereof we make our complex ones of sub- 
 stances are all of them (bating only the figure and bulk of some sorts) powers, 
 which being relations to other substances, we can never be sure that we know 
 all the powers that are in any one body, till we have tried what changes it is 
 fitted to give to or receive from other substances, in their several ways of ap- 
 plication ; which being impossible to be tried upon any one body, much less upon 
 all, it is impossible we should have adequate ideas of any substance made up of a 
 collection of all its properties. 
 
 9. Whosoever first lighted on a parcel of that sort of substance we denote by 
 the word gold, could not rationally take the bulk and figure he observed in that 
 lump to depend on its real essence or internal constitution. Therefore those never 
 went into his idea of that species of body; but its peculiar colour, perhaps, and 
 weight, were the first he abstracted from it, to make the complex idea of that spe- 
 cies. Which both are but powers; the one to affect our eyes after such a manner, 
 and to produce in us that idea we call yellow; and the other to force upwards 
 any other body of equal bulk, they being put into a pair of equal scales, one 
 against another. Another perhaps added to these the ideas of fusibility and fix- 
 edness, two other passive powers, in relation to the operation of fire upon it; an- 
 other, its ductility and solubility in aq. regia, two other powers relating to the 
 operation of other bodies in changing its outward figure, or separation of it into 
 insensible parts. These or part of these put together, usually make the complex 
 idea in men’s minds of that sort of body we call gold. 
 
 1 However useless the supposition may be, we 
 must yet make it. For there is something in 
 bodies which characterizes their particular form of 
 existence, and constitutes the difference between 
 them and all other bodies; and this we may as 
 well denominate a ‘ real essence,” as anything 
 
 else. It is impossible to determine what it is 
 that constitutes the essence of man’s being; but 
 this does not stifle in us the conviction that our 
 nature reposes on a basis peculiar to itself, and 
 so also of everything else that exists. 
 
 ——. 
 
298 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 10. But no one who hath considered the properties of bodies in general, or this 
 sort in particular, can doubt that this called gold has infinite other properties 
 not contained in that complex idea. Some who have examined this species more 
 accurately, could I believe, enumerate ten times as many properties in gold, all of 
 them as inseparable from its internal constitution, as its colour or weight ; and it is 
 probable, if any one knew all the properties that are by divers men known of this 
 metal, there would be an hundred times as many ideas go to the complex idea of 
 gold, as any one man yet has in his; and yet perhaps that not be the thousandth 
 part of what is to be discovered in it. The changes which that one body is apt to 
 receive and make in other bodies, upon a due application, exceeding far not only 
 what we know, but what we are apt to imagine. Which will not appear so much 
 a paradox to any one who will but consider how far men are yet from knowing all 
 the properties of that one, no very compound figure, a triangle ; though it be no 
 small number that are already by mathematicians discovered of it. 
 
 ll. Ideas of Substances, as Collections of their Qualities, are all inadequate. 
 —So that all our complex ideas of substances are imperfect and inadequate ; 
 which would be so also in mathematical figures, if we were to have our complex 
 ideas of them, only by collecting their properties in reference to other figures. 
 How uncertain and imperfect would our ideas be of an ellipsis, if we had no other 
 idea of it, but some few of its properties! Whereas, having in our plain idea 
 the whole essence of that figure, we from thence discover those properties, and de- 
 monstratively see how they flow, and are inseparable from it. 
 
 12. Simple Ideas, éxrvra, and adequate.—Thus the mind has three sorts of 
 abstract ideas or nominal essences : 
 
 First, simple ideas, which are Zxrura, or copies, but yet certainly adequate ; 
 because, being intended to express nothing but the power in things to produce in 
 the mind such a sensation, that sensation, when it is produced, cannot but be the 
 effect of that power. So the paper I write on, having the power in the light (I 
 speak according to the common notion of light) to produce in men the sensation 
 which I call white, it cannot but be the effect of such a power in something 
 without the mind; since the mind has not the power to produce any such idea in 
 itself, and being meant for nothing else but the effect of such a power that 
 simple idea is real and adequate; the sensation of white, in my mind, being the 
 effect of that power which is in the paper to produce it, is perfectly adequate to 
 that power, or else that power would produce a different idea. 
 
 13. Ideas of Substances are éxrura, inadequate.—Secondly, the complex ideas 
 of substances are ectypes, copies too, but not perfect ones, not adequate: which is 
 very evident to the mind, in that it plainly perceives, that, whatever collection of 
 simple ideas it makes of any substance that exists, it cannot be sure that it exactly 
 answers all that are in that substance; since, not having tried all the operations 
 of all other substances upon it, and found all the alterations it would receive 
 from, or cause in, other substances, it cannot have an exact adequate collection of 
 all its active and passive capacities; and so not have an adequate complex idea of 
 the powers of any substance existing, and its relations, which is that sort of com- 
 Leas idea of substances we have. And after all, if we would have, and actually 
 had, in our complex idea, an exact collection of all the secondary qualities or 
 powers of any substance, we should not yet thereby have an idea of the essence of 
 that thing. For, since the powers or qualities that are observable by us, are not 
 the real essence of that substance, but depend on it, and flow from it, any collec- 
 tion whatsoever of these qualities cannot be the real essence of that thing. 
 Whereby it is plain, that our ideas of substances are not adequate, are not what the 
 mind intends them to be. Besides, a man has no idea of substance in general, 
 nor knows what substance is, in itself. 
 
 14. Ideas of Modes and Relations are Archetypes, and cannot but be ade- 
 quate.—Thirdly, complex ideas of modes and relations are originals, and arche- 
 types; are not copies, nor made after the pattern of any real existence, to which 
 
CHAP. XXXII. | OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS. 299 
 
 the mind intends them to be conformable, and exactly to answer. These being 
 such collections of simple ideas, that the mind itself puts together, and such col- 
 lections, that each of them contains in it precisely all that the mind intends that it 
 should, they are archetypes and essences of modes that may exist; and so are 
 designed only for, and belong only to, such modes as, when they do exist, have 
 an exact conformity with those complex ideas. The ideas, therefore, of modes 
 and relations cannot but be adequate. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS. 
 
 1. Truth and Falsehood properly belong to Propositions —Tuouau truth and 
 falsehood belong, in propriety of speech, only to propositions; yet ideas are often- 
 times termed true or false (as what words are there that are not used with great 
 latitude, and with some deviation from their strict and proper significations ?) 
 Though I think, that, when ideas themselves are termed true or false, there is 
 still some secret or tacit proposition, which is the foundation of that denomina- 
 tion; as we shall see if we examine the particular occasions wherein they come 
 to be called true or false; in all which we shall find some kind of affirmation or 
 negation, which is the reason of that denomination. For our ideas, being nothing 
 but bare appearances or perceptions In our minds, cannot properly and simply in 
 themselves be said to be true or false, no more than a single name of anything 
 can be said to be true or false. 
 
 2. Metaphysical Truth contains a tacit Proposition.—Indeed both ideas and 
 words may be said to be true in a metaphysical sense of the word truth, as all 
 other things that any way exist are said to be true; i.e. really to be such as 
 they exist. Though in things called true, even in that sense, there is perhaps a 
 secret reference to our ideas, looked upon as the standards of that truth, which 
 amounts to a mental proposition, though it be usually not taken notice of: 
 
 3. No Idea, as an Appearance in the Mind, true or false.—But it is not in 
 that metaphysical sense of truth that we inquire here, when we examine whether 
 our ideas are capable of being true or false, but in the more ordinary acceptation 
 of those words; and so I say that the ideas in our minds, being only so many 
 perceptions or appearances there, none of them are false; the idea of a centaur 
 having no more falsehood in it when it appears in our minds, than the name 
 centaur has falsehood in it when it is pronounced by our mouths or written on 
 paper. For truth or falsehood lying always in some affirmation or negation, 
 mental or verbal, our ideas are not capable, any of them, of being false, till the 
 mind passes some judgment on them; that is, affirms or denies something of 
 them. 
 
 4, Ideas referred to anything may be true or false.—Whenever the mind 
 refers any of its ideas to anything extraneous to them, they are then capable to be 
 called true or false; because the mind, in such a reference makes a tacit sup- 
 position of their conformity to that thing; which supposition, as it happens to be 
 true or false, so the ideas themselves come to be denominated. The most usual 
 cases wherein this happens, are these following: 
 
 3. Other Men’s Ideas, real Existence, and supposed real Essences, are what 
 Men usually refer their Ideas to.—First, when the mind supposes any idea it 
 has conformable to that in other men’s minds, called by the same common name; 
 v. g. when the mind intends or judges its ideas of justice, temperance, religion, to 
 be the same with what other men give those names to. 
 
 Secondly, when the mind supposes any idea it has in itself to be conformable to 
 
300 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 some real existence. Thus the two ideas of a man and a centaur, supposed to be 
 the ideas of real substances, are the one true and the other false; the one having 
 a conformity to what has really existed, the other not. dey 
 
 Thirdly, when the mind refers any of its ideas to, that real constitution and 
 essence of anything, whereon all its properties depend; and thus the greatest part, 
 if not all our ideas of substances, are false. 
 
 6. The Cause of such References.—These suppositions the mind is very apt 
 tacitly to make concerning its own ideas. But yet, if we will examine it, we shall 
 find it is chiefly, if not only, concerning its abstract complex ideas. For the natural 
 tendency of the mind being towards knowledge; and finding that, if it should pro- 
 ceed by and dwell upon only particular things, its progress would be very slow, 
 and its work endless; therefore to shorten its way to knowledge, and make each 
 perception more comprehensive; the first thing it does, as the foundation of the 
 easier enlarging its knowledge, either by contemplation of the things themselves 
 that it would know, or conference with others about them, is to bind them into 
 bundles, and rank them so into sorts, that what knowledge it gets of any of them 
 it may thereby with assurance extend to all of that sort, and so advance by larger 
 steps in that which is its great business, knowledge. This, as I have elsewhere 
 shown, is the reason why we collect things under comprehensive ideas, with 
 names annexed to them, into genera and species, i. e. into kinds and sorts. 
 
 7. If, therefore, we will warily attend to the motions of the mind, and observe 
 what course it usually takes in its way to knowledge; we shall, I think, find that 
 the mind having got an idea which it thinks it may have use of either in con- 
 templation or discourse, the first thing it docs is to abstract it, and then get a 
 name to it, and so lay it up in its stdrehouse, the memory, as containing the 
 essence of a sort of things, of which that name is always to be the mark. Hence 
 it is that we may often observe, that, when any one sees a new thing of a kind that 
 he knows not, he presently asks what it is, meaning by that inquiry nothing but the 
 name. As if the name carried with it the knowledge of the species, or the essence 
 of it; whereof it is indeed used as the mark, and is generally supposed annexed 
 to it. 
 
 8. Cause of such References.—But this abstract idea being something in the 
 mind between the thing that exists, and the name that is given to it; it is im our 
 ideas that both the rightness of our knowledge, or the propriety or intelligibleness 
 of our speaking, consists. And hence it is that men are so forward to suppose 
 that the abstract ideas they have in their minds are such as agree to the things 
 existing without them, to which they are referred; and are the same also to 
 which the names they give them do by the use and propriety of that language be- 
 long. For without this double conformity of their ideas, they find they should 
 both think amiss of things im themselves, and talk of them unintelligibly to others. 
 
 9. Simple Ideas may be false in Reference to others of the same Name, but are 
 least liable to be so.—First, then, I say, that when the truth of our ideas is judged 
 of by the conformity they have to the ideas which other men have, and com- 
 monly signify by the same name, they may be any of them false. But yet simple 
 ideas are least of all liable to be so mistaken; because a man by his senses, and 
 every day’s observation, may easily satisfy himself what the simple ideas are, 
 which their several names that are in common use stand for; they being but few 
 in number, and such as, if he doubts or mistakes in, he may easily rectify by the 
 objects they are to be found in. Therefore it is seldom that any one mistakes in 
 his names of simple ideas, or applies the name red to the idea green, or the name 
 sweet to the idea bitter; much less are men apt to confound the names of ideas 
 belonging to different senses, and call a colour by the name of a taste &c., 
 whereby it is evident that the simple ideas they call by any name are commonly 
 the same that others have and mean when they use the same names. 
 
 __ 10. Ideas of mixed Modes most liable to be false in this Sense.-—Complex 
 ideas are much more liable to be false in this respect; and the complex ideas of 
 
CHAP. XXXII. | OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS. 301 
 
 mixed modes, much more than those of substances; because in substances (espe- 
 cially those which the common and unborrowed names of any language are 
 applied to) some remarkable sensible qualities, serving ordinarily to distinguish 
 one sort from another, easily preserve those who take any care in the use of their 
 words, from applying them to sorts of substances to which they do not at all 
 belong. But in mixed modes we are much more uncertain, it being not so easy 
 to determine of several actions, whether they are to be called justice or cruelty, 
 liberality or prodigality. And so in referring our ideas to those of other men, 
 called by the same names, ours may be false; and the idea in our minds, which 
 we express by the word justice, may perhaps be that which ought to have another 
 name. 
 
 ll. Or at least to be thought false-—But whether or no our ideas of mixed 
 modes are more liable than any sort to be different from those of other men, which 
 are marked by the same names, this at least is certain, that this sort of falsehood 
 is much more familiarly attributed to our ideas of mixed modes than to any other. 
 When a man is thought to have a false idea of justice, or gratitude, or glory, it is 
 for no other reason, but that his agrees not with the ideas which each of those 
 names are the signs of in other men. 
 
 12. And why.—The reason whereof seems to me to be this: that the abstract 
 ideas of mixed modes being men’s voluntary combinations of such a precise col- 
 lection of simple ideas, and so the essence of each species being made by men 
 alone, whereof we have no other sensible standard existing anywhere but the 
 name itself, or the definition of that name; we having nothing else to refer these 
 our ideas of mixed modes to as a standard to which we would conform them, but 
 the ideas of those who are thought to use those names in their most proper signi- 
 fications; and, so as our ideas conform or differ from them, they pass for true or 
 false.’ And thus much concerning the truth and falsehood of our ideas, in refer- 
 ence to their names. 
 
 13. As referred to real Existences, none of our Ideas can be false, but those 
 of Substances.— Secondly, as to the truth and falsehood of our ideas, in reference 
 to the real existence of things; when that is made the standard of their truth, 
 none of them can be termed false, but only our complex ideas of substances. 
 
 14. First, simple Ideas in this Sense not false, and why.—First, our simple 
 ideas being barely such perceptions as God has fitted us to receive, and given 
 power to external objects to produce in us by established laws and ways, suitable 
 to his wisdom and goodness, though incomprehensible to us, their truth consists 
 in nothing else but in such appearances as are produced in us, and must be 
 suitable to those powers he has placed in external objects, or else they could not 
 be produced in us; and thus answering those powers, they are what they should 
 be, true ideas. Nor do they become liable to any imputation of falsehood, if the 
 mind (as in most men I believe it does) judges these ideas to be in the things 
 themselves. For God in his wisdom having set them as marks of distinction in 
 things, whereby we may able to discern one thing from another, and so choose 
 any of them for our uses as we have occasion; it alters not the nature of our 
 simple idea, whether we think that the idea of blue be in the violet itself, or in 
 our mind only ; and only the power of producing it by the texture of its parts, 
 reflecting the particles of light after a certain manner, to be in the violet itself. 
 For that texture in the object, by a regular and constant operation producing the 
 same idea of blue in us, it serves us to distinguish by our eyes that from any 
 other thing, whether that distinguishing mark, as it is really in the violet, be only 
 
 1 And thus may we account for most of the | semble theirs, and no further. Nevertheless, 
 disputes and controversies that perplex mankind. | this evil is irremediable, arising out of the con- 
 Where there is no natural standard, each indi- stitution of human nature, and not even to be 
 vidual tacitly sets up a standard for himself, | modified, except by creating in the mind an arti- 
 which agrees with that of other men exactly in | ficial standard by education. 
 
 proportion as his organization and habits re- 
 
302 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 a ue texture of parts, or else that very colour, the idea whereof (which is in 
 s 
 
 us) is the exact resemblance. And it is equally from that appearance to be deno- 
 minated blue, whether it be that real colour, or only a peculiar texture in it, that 
 causes in us that idea; since the name, blue, notes properly nothing but that mark 
 of distinction that is in a violet, discernible only by our eyes, whatever it consists 
 in, that being beyond our capacities distinctly to know, and perhaps would be of 
 less use to us, if we had faculties to discern. 
 
 15. Though one Man’s Idea of Blue should be different from Another’s. — 
 Neither would it carry any imputation of falsehood to our simple ideas, if by the 
 
 different structure of our organs it were so ordered, that the same object should — 
 
 produce in several men’s minds different ideas at the same time; v. g. if the idea 
 that a violet produced in one man’s mind by his eyes were the same that a mary- 
 gold produced in another man’s, and vice versa. For, since this could never be 
 known, because one man’s mind could not pass into another man’s body, to per- 
 ceive what appearances were produced by those organs, neither the ideas hereby 
 nor the names, would be at all confounded, or any falsehood be in either; for all 
 things that had the texture of a violet, producing constantly the idea that he called 
 blue, and those which had the texture of a marygold producing constantly the 
 idea which he as constantly called yellow; whatever those appearances were in 
 his mind, he would be able as regularly to distinguish things for his use by those 
 appearances, and understand and signify those distinctions marked by the names 
 blue and yellow, as if the appearances or ideas in his mind received from those 
 two flowers were exactly the same with the ideas in other men’s minds. I am 
 nevertheless very apt to think that the sensible ideas produced by any object in 
 different men’s minds, are most commonly very near and undiscernibly alike. 
 For which opinion, I think, there might be many reasons offered; but that being 
 besides my present business, I shall not trouble my reader with them, but only 
 mind him,' that the contrary supposition, if it could be proved, is of little use, 
 either for the improvement of our knowledge, or conveniency of life, and so we 
 need not trouble ourselves to examine it. 
 
 16. First, simple Ideas in this Sense not false, and why.—From what has 
 been said concerning our simple ideas, I think it evident that our simple ideas can 
 none of them be false in respect of things existing without us. For the truth of 
 these appearances or perceptions in our minds consisting, as has been said, only 
 in their being answerable to the powers in external objects to produce by our 
 senses such appearances in us, and each of them being in the mind such as it is, 
 suitable to the power that produced it, and which alone it represents, it cannot 
 upon that account, or as referred to such a pattern, be false. Blue and yellow, 
 bitter or sweet, can never be false ideas: these perceptions in the mind are just 
 such as they are there, answering the powers appointed by God to produce them ; 
 and so are truly what they are, and are intended to be. Indeed the names may 
 be misapplied ; but that in this respect makes no falsehood in the ideas; as if a 
 man ignorant in the English tongue should call purple scarlet. 
 
 17. Secondly, Modes not false.—Secondly, neither can our complex ideas of 
 modes, in reference to the essence of anything really existing, be false; because 
 whatever complex idea I have of any mode, it hath no reference to any pattern 
 existing, and made by nature; it is not supposed to contain in it any other ideas 
 than what it hath; nor to represent anything but such a complication of ideas as 
 it does. Thus, when I have the idea of such an action of a man who forbears to 
 afford himself such meat, drink, and clothing, and other conveniences of life, as 
 his riches and estate will be sufficient to supply and his station requires, I have 
 no false idea; but such an one as represents an action, either as I find or imagine 
 it, and so is capable of neither truth nor falsehood. But when I give the name 
 
 1 That is, desire him to observe. 
 
 ie 
 
CHAP. XXXII. | OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS. 303 
 
 frugality or virtue to this action, then it may be called a false idea, if thereby it 
 be supposed to agree with that idea to which, in propriety of speech, the name of 
 frugality doth belong, or to be conformable to that law which is the standard of 
 virtue and vice. 
 
 18. Thirdly, Ideas of Substances when false.—Thirdly, our complex ideas of 
 substances, being all referred to patterns in things themselves, may be false. 
 That they are all false, when looked upon as the representations of the unknown 
 essences of things, is so evident, that there needs nothing to be said of it. I shall 
 therefore pass over that chimerical supposition, and consider them as collections 
 of simple ideas in the mind taken from combinations of simple ideas existing 
 together constantly in things, of which patterns they are the supposed copies: 
 and in this reference of them to the existence of things, they are false ideas. 
 1. When they put together simple ideas, which in the real existence of things 
 have no union; as when to the shape and size that exist together in a horse, is 
 joined in the same complex idea the power of barking like a dog: which three 
 ideas, however put together into one in the mind, were never united in nature; 
 and this, therefore, may be called a false idea of a horse. 2. Ideas of substances 
 are, in this respect, also false, when from any collection of simple ideas that do 
 always exist together, there is separated, by a direct negation, any other simple 
 idea which is constantly joined with them. Thus, if to extension, solidity, fusi- 
 bility, the peculiar weightiness, and yellow colour of gold, any one join in his 
 thoughts the negation of a greater degree of fixedness than is in lead or copper, he 
 may be said to have a false complex idea, as well as when he joins to those other 
 simple ones the idea of a perfect absolute fixedness. For either way, the com- 
 plex idea of gold being made up of such simple ones as have no union in nature, 
 may be termed false. But if we leave out of this his complex idea, that of fixed- 
 ness quite, without either actually joming to, or separating of it from the rest 
 in his mind, it is, I think, to be looked on as an inadequate and imperfect 
 idea, rather than a false one; since, though it contains not all the simple ideas 
 that are united in nature, yet it puts none together but what do really exist 
 together. 
 
 19. Truth or Falsehood always supposes Affirmation or Negation.—Though, 
 in compliance with the ordinary way of speaking, I have shown in what sense 
 and upon what ground our ideas may be sometimes called true or false; yet if we 
 will look a little nearer into the matter, in all cases where any idea is called true 
 or false, it is from some judgment that the mind makes, or is supposed to make, 
 that is true or false. For truth or falsehood, being never without some aflirma- 
 tion or negation, express or tacit, it is not to be found but where signs are joined 
 and separated, according to the agreement or disagreement of the things they 
 stand for. The signs we chiefly use are either ideas or words, wherewith 
 we make either mental or verbal propositions. Truth lies in so joining or 
 separating these representatives, as the thing they stand for do in themselves 
 agree or disagree; and falsehood in the contrary, as shall be more fully shown 
 hereafter. 
 
 20. Ideas in themselves neither true nor false.—Any idea, then, which we 
 have in our minds, whether conformable or not to the existence of things, or to 
 any idea in the minds of other men, cannot properly for this alone be called false. 
 For these representations, if they have nothing in them but what is really existing 
 in things without, cannot be thought false, being exact representations of some- 
 thing: nor yet if they have anything in them differing from the reality of things, 
 can they properly be said to be false representations, or ideas of things they do 
 not represent. But the mistake and falsehood is: 
 
 21. But are false—l. When judged agreeable to another Man's Idea, without 
 being so.— First, when the mind having any idea, it judges and concludes it the 
 same that is in other men’s minds, signified by the same name; or that it is con- 
 formable to the ordinary received signification or definition of that word, when 
 
 ore 
 
304 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 indeed it is not; which is the most usual mistake in mixed modes, though other 
 ideas also are liable to it. 
 
 22, Secondly, When judged to agree to real Existence, when they do not.— 
 2. When it having a complex idea made up of such a collection of simple ones as 
 nature never puts together, it judges it to agree to a species of creatures really 
 existing: as when it joins the fixedness of gold. ENR 
 
 23. Thirdly, When judged adequate, without being so.—3. When in its com- 
 plex idea it has united a certain number of simple ideas that do really exist toge- 
 ther in some sort of creatures, but has also left out others as much inseparable, it 
 judges this to be a perfect complete idea of a sort of things which really it is not; 
 y. g. having joined the ideas of substance, yellow, malleable, most heavy, and 
 fusible, it takes that complex idea to be the complete idea of gold, when yet its 
 peculiar fixedness and solubility in aqua regia are as inseparable from those 
 other ideas or qualities of that body as they are from one another. 
 
 24. Fourthly, When judged to represent the real Essence.—4. The mistake is 
 yet greater, when I judge that this complex idea contains in it the real essence of 
 any body existing, when at least it contains but some few of those properties 
 which flow from its real essence and constitution. I say only some few of those 
 properties; for those properties consisting mostly in the active and passive 
 powers it has in reference to other things, all that are vulgarly known of any one 
 body, of which the complex idea of that kind of things is usually made, are but a 
 very few, in comparison of what a man that has several ways tried and examined 
 it knows of that one sort of things; and all that the most expert man knows are 
 but a few, in comparison of what are really in that body, and depend on its internal 
 or essential constitution. The essence of a triangle lies in a very little compass, 
 consists in a very few ideas: three lines including a space make up that essence ; 
 but the properties that flow from this essence are more than can be easily known 
 or enumerated. So I imagine it is in substances their real essences lie in a little 
 compass, though the properties flowing from that internal constitution are endless. 
 
 25. Ideas, when false.--To conclude, a man having no notion of anything 
 without him, but by the idea he has of it in his mind, (which idea he has a power 
 to call by what name he pleases,) he may indeed make an idea neither answering 
 the reason of things, nor agreeing to the idea commonly signified by other people’s 
 words; but cannot make a wrong or false idea of a thing which is no otherwise 
 known to him but by the idea he has of it; v. g. when I frame an idea of the 
 legs, arms, and body of a man, and join to this a horse’s head and neck, I do not 
 make a false idea of anything, because it represents nothing without me; but 
 when I call it a man or Tartar, and imagine it to represent some real being 
 without me, or to be the same idea that others call by the same name, in either 
 of these cases I may err. And upon this account it is that it comes to be termed 
 a false idea; though indeed the falsehood lies not in the idea, but in that tacit 
 mental proposition wherein a conformity and resemblance is attributed to it which 
 it has not. But yet, if having framed such an idea in my mind, without thinking 
 either that existence, or the name man or Tartar belongs to it, I will call it man 
 or Tartar, I may be justly thought fantastical in the naming, but not erroneous in 
 my judgment, nor the idea any way false. 
 
 26. More properly to be called right or wrong.—Upon the whole matter, I 
 think that our ideas, as they are considered by the mind, either in reference to 
 the proper signification of their names, or in reference to the reality of things, 
 may very fitly be called right or wrong ideas, according as they agree or disagree 
 to those patterns to which they are referred. But if any one had rather call 
 them true or false, it is fit he use a liberty, which every one has, to call things by 
 those names he thinks best; though, in propriety of speech, truth or falsehood 
 will, I think, scarce agree to them, but as they some way or other virtually con- 
 tain in them some mental proposition. The ideas that are in a man’s mind, 
 simply considered, cannot be wrong, unless complex ones, wherein inconsistent 
 
CHAP. XXXIII. | 
 
 parts are jumbled together. 
 
 OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 305 
 
 All other ideas are in themselves right, and the 
 
 knowledge about them right and true knowledge; but when we come to refer them 
 to anything, as to their patterns and archetypes, then they are capable of being 
 wrong, as far as they disagree with such archetypes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 
 
 1. Something unreasonable in most Men.\—TuEnk is scarce any one that does 
 not observe something that seems odd to him, and is in itself really extravagant 
 
 in the opinions, reasonings, and actions of other men. 
 
 The least flaw of this kind, 
 
 * Mr. Dugald Stewart, a writer by no means 
 disposed to speak in complimentary terms of any 
 part of Locke’s philosophy, yet finds, in this spe- 
 culation on the association of ideas, something 
 to praise. He considers the short chapter which 
 we have here before us one of the most valuable 
 in the whole Essay; and observes that, “ if his 
 language on this head had been more closely 
 imitated by his successors, many of the errors 
 and false refinements into which they have fallen 
 would have been avoided.”’ (Phil. Ess. Prelim. 
 Diss. p. 18.) Previous to the time of Locke, the 
 doctrine of association, though to a certain ex- 
 tent understood by philosophers, made but little 
 figure in their systems. Hobbes alludes to it in 
 his usual brief and dogmatic way, but appears 
 not to have suspected the use which might be 
 made of it in explaining many operations of the 
 mind:—‘‘ The cause of the coherence or conse- 
 quence of one conception to another, is their first 
 coherence or consequence at that time, when they 
 are produced by sense: as, for example, from 
 St. Andrew the mind runneth to St. Peter, be- 
 cause their names are read together; from St. 
 Peter to a stone, from the same cause; from 
 stone to foundation, because we see them to- 
 gether; and from the same cause, from founda- 
 tion to church, and from church to people, and 
 from people to tumult: and, according to this 
 example, the mind may run almost from any- 
 thing to anything. But as in the sense the con- 
 ception of cause and effect may succeed one 
 another, so may they after sense, in the imagina- 
 tion: and for the most part they doso; the cause 
 whereof is the appetite of them, who, having a 
 conception of the end, have next unto it a con- 
 ception of the next means to that end; as when 
 a man, from a thought of honour to which he 
 hath an appetite, cometh to the thought of wis- 
 dom, which is the next means thereunto; and 
 from thence to the thought of study, which is 
 the next means to wisdom.”’ (Hum. Nat. ch. iv. 
 § 2.) Very similar to this, and evidently based 
 upon it, is the explanation of Condillac, who 
 says :—‘‘ Tous nos besoins tiennent les unes aux 
 autres, et ’on en pourroit considérer les percep- 
 tions comme une suite d’idées fondamentales, 
 auxquelles on rapporteroit tout ce qui fait partie 
 de nos connoissances. Audessus de chacune, 
 s’éleveroient d’autres suites Vidées qui forme- 
 
 roient des espéces de chaines, dont la force 
 seroit entiérement dans Danalogie des signes, 
 dans l’ordre des perceptions, et dans la liaison 
 que les circonstances qui réuniserent quelquefois 
 les idées les plus disparates auraient formée. A 
 un besoin est liée ’idée de la chose qui est propre 
 a le soulager ; 4 cette idée est liée celle du lieu od 
 cette chose se rencontre; a celle-ci, celle des 
 personnes qu’on y a vues; a cette derniére, les 
 idées des plaisirs ou des chagrins qu’on en a 
 recus, et plusieurs autres. On peut méme re- 
 marquer qu’a mesure que la chaine s’étend, elle 
 se soudevise en differens chainons; en sorte que, 
 plus on s’éloigne du premier anneau, plus les 
 chainons s’y multiplient. Une premiére idée 
 fondamentale est liée 4 deux ou trois autres; 
 chacune de celles-ci 4 un égal nombre; ou méme 
 a un plus grand, et ainsi de suite. (Essai sur 
 Origine des Connaissance Humaines, Sect. I. 
 ch. ii.) (Compare with this what Hartley has 
 advanced in his ‘‘Conjecturze queedam de Sensu, 
 Motu &c.,”’ Propos. XII. et seq. p. 22.) An anony- 
 mous writer, whose work has been reprinted by 
 Dr. Parr among the ‘‘ Metaphysical Tracts of the 
 Eighteenth Century,” endeavours to explain, ac- 
 cording to Hartley’s principles, the phenomena of 
 Association: ‘‘ By association, I mean that power 
 or faculty by which the joint appearance of two 
 or more ideas frequently in the mind, ts for the 
 most part changed into a lasting, and sometimes 
 into an inseparable union. It is probable asso- 
 ciation may be the result of, and owing to that 
 relation, which the soul and body have to each 
 other, in their joint incorporated capacity. And 
 since by ideas are understood certain motions 
 of the nerves, as felt and perceived by the soul; 
 then, probably, the reason of ideas, when once 
 united, keeping ever after in company together, 
 is owing to a succession of motions in the body, 
 or rather to those motions of the nerves always 
 producing one another. For this is fact; a child 
 has the ideas of the sound nurse often presented 
 to the ear, at the same time with the visible ap- 
 pearance of the nurse herself in the eye, and by 
 this frequent conjunction it comes to pass, that 
 the visible appearance of the nurse shall itself ex- 
 cite a faint image of the sound, nurse; and the 
 sound nurse, in like manner, shall excite a faint 
 image of the visible appearance of the nurse in 
 the eye. And all this seems to be effected by 
 
306 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 if at all different from his own, every one is quick-sighted enough to espy in 
 another, and will by the authority of reason forwardly condemn, though he be 
 guilty of much greater unreasonableness in his own tenets and conduct, which he 
 never perceives, and will very hardly, if at all, be convinced of. 
 
 2. Not wholly from Self-love.—This proceeds not wholly from self-love, though 
 that has often a great hand in it. Men of fair minds, and not given up to the over- 
 weaning of self-flattery, are frequently guilty of it; and in many cases one with 
 amazement hears the arguings, and is astonished at the obstinacy of a worthy man, 
 who yields not to the evidence of reason, though laid before him as clear as daylight. 
 
 3. Not from Education.—This sort of unreasonableness is usually imputed to 
 education and prejudice, and for the most part truly enough, though that reaches 
 not the bottom of the disease, nor shows distinctly enough whence it rises, or 
 wherein it lies. Education is often rightly assigned for the cause, and prejudice 
 is a good general name for the thing itself; but yet, I think, he ought to look a 
 little further, who would trace this sort of madness to the root it springs from, 
 and so explain it, as to show whence this flaw has its original in very sober and 
 rational minds, and wherein it consists. 
 
 4, A Degree of Madness.—I shall be pardoned for calling it by so harsh a 
 name as madness, when it is considered that opposition to reason deserves that 
 name, and is really madness; and there is scarce a man so free from it, but that 
 if he should always, on all occasions, argue or do as in some cases he constantly 
 does, would not be thought fitter for Bedlam than civil conversation. I do not 
 here mean when he is under the power of an unruly passion, but in the steady 
 calm course of his life. That which will yet more apologize for this harsh name, 
 and ungrateful imputation on the greatest part of mankind, is, that, inquiring a 
 little by the bye into the nature of madness, (b. ii. ch. xi. § 138,) I found it to spring 
 from the very same root, and to depend on the very same cause we are here 
 speaking of. This consideration of the thing itself, at a time when I thought not 
 the least on the subject which I am now treating of, suggested it to me. And if 
 this be a weakness to which all men are so liable, if this be a taint which so 
 universally infects mankind, the greater care should be taken to lay it open under 
 its due name, thereby to excite the greater care in its prevention and cure. 
 
 5. From a wrong Connexion of Ideas——Some of our ideas have a natural cor- 
 respondence and connexion one with another; it is the office and excellency of 
 our reason to trace these, and hold them together in that union and correspondence 
 
 which is founded in their peculiar beings. 
 
 the mutual influence which the motions in the 
 optic and auditory nerves, constituting seeing 
 and hearing, have upon one another, according 
 to the laws of matter and motion. And though 
 the heat residing in the medullar particles of the 
 brain, and the continual pulsation of the arteries 
 will not, as we just now observed, suffer the 
 motions excited there wholly to die away, yet 
 other motions being ever and anon impressed by 
 external objects on the nerves, and from thence 
 conveyed to the brain, those latter motions 
 striking the sentient principle more forcibly, will 
 obliterate the others for a while, or during the 
 time this last impression continues; but as this 
 wears off, which by degrees it will do, the former 
 motions revive, and first those, and then others, 
 will come to be taken notice of, as they pass in 
 review before the mind.” (Inquiry into the Ori- 
 gin of the Human Appetites and Affections, 
 showing how each arises from Association, § 11, 
 ‘J 18, p. 68.) Not to swell this note into a 
 treatise, I shall conclude with Lord Byron’s 
 poetical exposition of the system, unsurpassed 
 for brevity, beauty, and truth :— 
 
 Besides this, there is another con- 
 
 ‘¢ But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
 There comes a token, like a scorpion’s sting, 
 Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; 
 And slight withal may be the things which bring 
 Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
 Aside for ever: it may be a sound— 
 A tone of music,—summer’s eve—or spring, 
 A flower—the wind—the ocean—which shall 
 wound, 
 Striking the electric chain wherewith we are 
 darkly bound ; 
 
 And how and why, we know not, nor can trace 
 Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
 But feel the shock renewed, nor can efface 
 The blight and blackening which it leaves 
 behind ; 
 
 Which out of things familiar, undesigned, 
 When least we dream of such, calls up to view 
 The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, 
 The cold—the changed—perchance the dead, 
 
 anew, 
 The mourned, the loved, the lost—too many !— 
 yet how few!” 
 
 CuHILDE Haroxp, C. iv. stanz. 23, 24. 
 
 ence eres ai ee eet ee aes cane en 
 
SE A perpen regen nna ernest 
 
 CHAP. XXxtIl. | OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 307 
 
 eee 
 
 nexion of ideas wholly owing to chance or custom; ideas, that, in themselves, are 
 not all of kin, come to be so united in some men’s minds, that it is very hard to 
 separate them; they always keep in company, and the one no sooner at, any time 
 comes into the understanding, but its associate appears with it; and if they are 
 more than two which are thus united, the whole gang, always inseparable, show 
 thmeselves together. 
 
 6. This Connexion, how made.—This strong combination of ideas, not allied by 
 nature, the mind makes in itself either voluntarily or by chance; and hence it 
 comes in different men to be very different, according to their different inclina- 
 tions, education, interests &c. Custom settles habits of thinking in the under- 
 standing, as well as of determining in the will, and of motions in the body; all 
 which seems to be but trains of motions in the animal spirits, which, once set 
 a going, continue in the same steps they have been used to; which, by often 
 treading, are worn into a smooth path, and the motion in it becomes easy, and as 
 it were natural. As far as we can comprehend thinking, thus ideas seem to be 
 produced in our minds; or if they are not, this may serve to explain their follow- 
 ing one another in an habitual train, when once they are put into their track, as 
 well as it does to explain such motions of the body. A musician used to any 
 tune will find, that, let it but once begin in his head, the ideas of the several 
 notes in it will follow one another orderly in his understanding, without any care 
 or attention, as regularly as his fingers move orderly over the keys of the organ 
 to play out the tune he has begun, though his unattentive thoughts be elsewhere 
 a wandering. Whether the natural cause of these ideas, as well as of that regular 
 dancing of his fingers be the motion of his animal spirits, I will not determine, 
 how probable soever, by this instance, it appears to be so; but this may help us a 
 little to conceive of intellectual habits, and of the tying together of ideas. 
 
 7. Some Antipathies an Effect of it.—That there are such associations of them 
 made by custom in the minds of most men, I think nobody will question, who has 
 well considered himself or others; and to this, perhaps, might be justly attributed 
 most of the sympathies and antipathies observable in men, which work as strongly, 
 and produce as regular effects as if they were natural; and are therefore called 
 so, though they at first had no other original but the accidental connexion of two 
 ideas, which either the strength of the first impression, or future indulgence so 
 united, that they always afterwards kept company together in that man’s mind, as 
 if they were but one idea. I say most of the antipathies, I do not say all, for 
 some of them are truly natural, depend upon our original constitution, and are 
 born with us; but a great part of those which are counted natural, would have 
 been known to be from unheeded, though perhaps early, impressions, or wanton 
 fancies at first, which would have been acknowledged the original of them, if they 
 had been warily observed. A grown person surfeiting with honey no sooner 
 hears the name of it, but his fancy immediately carries sickness and qualms to his 
 stomach, and he cannot bear the very idea of it; other ideas of dislike, and sick- 
 ness, and vomiting, presently accompany it, and he is disturbed, but he knows from 
 whence to date this weakness, and can tell how he got this indisposition. Had 
 this happened to him by an over-dose of honey, when a child, all the same effects 
 would have followed, but the cause would have been mistaken, and the antipathy 
 counted natural. 
 
 8. I mention this, not out of any great necessity there is in this present argu- 
 ment to distinguish nicely between natural and acquired antipathies; but I take 
 notice of it for another purpose, viz., that those who have children, or the charge 
 of their education, would think it worth their while diligently to watch, and care- 
 fully to prevent the undue connexion of ideas in the minds of young people. This 
 is the time most susceptible of lasting impressions; and though those relating to 
 the health of the body are by discreet people minded and fenced against, yet I am 
 apt to doubt, that those which relate more peculiarly to the mind, and terminate 
 in the understanding or passions, have been much less heeded than the thing 
 
 re 
 
308 - OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book III. 
 
 deserves: nay, those relating purely to the understanding, have, as I suspect, 
 been by most men wholly overlooked.’ 
 
 9. A great Cause of Errors.—This wrong connexion in our minds of ideas, in 
 themselves loose and independent of one another, has such an influence, and is of 
 so great force to set us awry in our actions, as well moral as natural, passions, 
 reasonings, and notions themselves, that perhaps there is not any one thing that 
 deserves more to be looked after. 
 
 10. Instances.—The ideas of goblins and sprites have really no more to do 
 with darkness and light; yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on the 
 mind of a child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall never be able to 
 separate them again so long as he lives; but darkness shall ever afterwards bring 
 with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more bear 
 the one than the other. 
 
 11. A man receives a sensible injury from another, thinks on the man and that 
 action over and over; and by ruminating on them strongly, or much in his mind, 
 so cements those two ideas together, that he makes them almost one; never 
 thinks on the man, but the pain and displeasure he suffered comes into his mind 
 with it, so that he scarce distinguishes them, but has as much an aversion for the 
 one as the other. Thus hatreds are often begotten from slight and innocent occa- 
 sions, and quarrels propagated and continued in the world. 
 
 12. A man has suffered pain or sickness in any place; he saw his friend die 
 in such a room; though these have in nature nothing to do with one another, yet 
 when the idea of the place occurs to his mind, it brings (the impression being once 
 made) that of the pain and displeasure with it; he confounds them in his mind, 
 and can as little bear the one as the other. i 
 
 13. Why Time cures some Disorders in the Mind, which Reason cannot.— 
 When this combination is settled, and while it lasts, it is not in the power of 
 reason to help us, and relieve us from the effects of it. Ideas in our minds, 
 when they are there, will operate according to their natures and circumstances ; 
 and here we see the cause why time cures certain affections, which reason, though 
 in the right, and allowed to be so, has not power over, nor is able against them 
 to prevail with those who are apt to hearken to it in other cases. The death of a 
 child that was the daily delight of its mother’s eyes, and joy of her soul, rends 
 from her heart the whole comfort of her life, and gives her all the torment ima- 
 ginable: use the consolations of reason in this case, and you were as good preach 
 ease to one on the rack, and hope to allay, by rational discourses, the pain of his 
 joints tearing asunder. ‘Till time has by disuse separated the sense of that 
 enjoyment and its loss, from the idea of the child returning to her memory, all 
 representations, though ever so reasonable, are in vain; and, therefore, some in 
 whom the union between these ideas is never dissolved, spend their lives in 
 mourning, and carry an incurable sorrow to their graves.? 
 
 14. Further Instances of the Effect of the Association of Ideas.—A friend of 
 mine knew one perfectly cured of madness by a very harsh and offensive opera- 
 tion. The gentleman who was thus recovered, with great sense of gratitude and 
 acknowledgment owned the cure all his life after, as the greatest obligation he 
 could have received; but, whatever gratitude and reason suggested to him, he 
 could never bear the sight of the operator: that image brought back with it the 
 idea of that agony which he suffered from his hands, which was too mighty and 
 intolerable for him to endure. 
 
 15. Many children, imputing the pain they endured at school to their books 
 
 1 And up to this day have not been acted on; | Homer, as Lord Byron to Horace. Had sound 
 for teachers generally continue to give risein the | judgment presided over their education, those 
 minds of their pupils to disagreeable ideas, in | names would have been linked in their minds 
 connexion with the most beautiful departments of | with every sublime and pleasurable image. 
 learning. Thus, from school associations, some 2 Never was there a juster observation, or one 
 men have an aversion to Euripides, others to | more elegantly expressed. 
 
 SmI UpeR rere AE SrA SAPO LEE IEE PRONE HORN LI TE ROO TD 
 
CHAP. XXXIJI.] OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 309 
 
 they were corrected for, so join those ideas together, that a book becomes their 
 aversion, and they are never reconciled to the study and use of them all their 
 lives after; and thus reading becomes a torment to them, which otherwise pos- 
 sibly they might have made the great pleasure of their lives. There are rooms 
 convenient enough, that some men cannot study in, and fashions of vessels, which, 
 though ever so clean and commodious, they cannot drink out of, and that by 
 reason of some accidental ideas which are annexed to them, and make them 
 offensive: and who is there that hath not observed some man to flag at the 
 appearance, or in the company of some certain person not otherwise superior to 
 him, but because, having once on some occasion got the ascendant, the idea of 
 authority and distance goes along with that of the person, and he that has been 
 thus subjected, is not able to separate them ? 
 
 16. Instances of this kind are so plentiful everywhere, that if I add one more, 
 it is only for the pleasant oddness of it. It is of a young gentleman, who, having 
 learnt to dance, and that to great perfection, there happened to stand an old trunk 
 in the room where he learnt. The idea of this remarkable piece of household 
 stuff had so mixed itself with the turns and steps of all his dances, that though 
 in that chamber he could dance excellently well, yet it was only whilst that trunk 
 was there; nor could he perform well in any other place, unless that or some 
 such other trunk had its due position in the room. If this story shall be suspected 
 to be dressed up with some comical circumstances, a little beyond precise nature, 
 I answer for myself that I had it some years since from a very sober and worthy 
 man, upon his own knowledge, as I report it; and I dare say there are very few 
 inquisitive persons who read this, who have not met with accounts, if not exam- 
 ples, of this nature, that may parallel, or at least justify this." 
 
 17. Its influence on intellectual Habits.—Intellectual habits and defects this 
 way contracted, are not less frequent and powerful, though less observed. Let 
 the ideas of being and matter be strongly joined, either by education or much 
 thought, whilst these are still combined in the mind, what notions, what reason- 
 ings, will there be about separate spirits? Let custom from the very childhood 
 have joined figure and shape to the idea of God, and what absurdities will that 
 mind be liable to about the Deity? 
 
 Let the idea of infallibility be inseparably joined to any person, and these two 
 constantly together possess the mind ; and then one body, in two places at once, 
 shall unexamined be swallowed for a certain truth, by an implicit faith, whenever 
 that imagined infallible person dictates and demands assent without inquiry. 
 
 18. Observable in different Sects.—Some such wrong and unnatural combina- 
 tions of ideas will be found to establish the irreconcilable opposition between dif- 
 ferent sects of philosophy and religion; for we cannot imagine every one of their 
 followers to impose wilfully on himself, and knowingly refuse truth offered by 
 plain reason. Interest, though it does a great deal in the case, yet cannot be 
 thought to work whole societies of men to so universal a perverseness, as that 
 every one of them to a man should knowingly maintain falsehood: some at least 
 must be allowed to do what all pretend todo; i.e., to pursue truth sincerely ; and 
 therefore there must be something that blinds their understandings, and makes 
 them not see the falsehood of what they embrace for real truth. That which thus 
 captivates their reasons and leads men of sincerity blindfold from common sense, 
 will, when examined, be found to be what we are speaking of: some independent 
 ideas, of no alliance to one another, are by education, custom, and the con- 
 stant din of their party, so coupled in their minds, that they always appear there 
 together; and they can no more separate them in their thoughts than if they 
 
 1 From the examples above given, which the | youth. Most fixed habits in things indifferent 
 experience of most men will corroborate, it may | are contemptible, either as ridiculous, or as lead- 
 be seen how carefully associations of this kind | ing to enslave the mind. 
 should be guarded against in the education of 
 
310 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 were but one idea, and they operate as if they were so. This gives sense to 
 jargon, demonstration to absurdities, and consistency to nonsense, and is the 
 foundation of the greatest, I had almost said of all, the errors in the world; or if 
 it does not reach so far, it is at least the most dangerous one, since, so far as it 
 obtains, it hinders men from seeing and examining. When two things in them- 
 selves disjoined, appear to the sight constantly united; if the eye sees these things 
 riveted, which are loose, where will you begin to rectify the mistakes that follow 
 in two ideas, that they have been accustomed so to join in their minds, as to sub- 
 stitute one for the other, and, as I am apt to think, often without perceiving it 
 themselves? This, whilst they are under the deceit of it, makes them incapable 
 of conviction, and they applaud themselves as zealous champions for truth, 
 when indeed they are contending for error, and the confusion of two different 
 ideas, which a customary connexion of them in their minds hath to them made in 
 effect but one, fills their heads with false views, and their reasonings with false 
 consequences. 
 
 19. Conclusion.—Having thus given an acconnt of the original, sorts, and 
 extent of our ideas, with several other considerations about these (1 know not 
 whether I may say instruments) or materials of our knowledge, the method I at 
 first proposed to myself would now require that I should immediately proceed to 
 show what use the understanding makes of them, and what knowledge we have 
 by them. This was that which, in the first general view I had of this subject, 
 was all that I thought I should have to do; but, upon a nearer approach, I find 
 that there is so close a connexion betwéen ideas and words, and our abstract 
 ideas and general words have so constant a relation one to another, that it is im- 
 possible to speak clearly and distinctly of our knowledge, which all consists in 
 propositions, without considering, first, the nature, use, and signification of lan- 
 guage; which, therefore, must be the business of the next book. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF WORDS, OR LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 
 
 1. Man fitted to form articulate Sounds.—Gop having designed man for a 
 sociable creature, made him not only with an inclination, and under a necessity to 
 have fellowship with those of his own kind, but furnished him also with language, 
 which was to be the great instrument and common tie of society. Man, there- 
 fore, had by nature his organs so fashioned, as to be fit to frame articulate sounds, 
 which we call words. But this was not enough to produce language; for parrots, 
 and several other birds, will be taught to make articulate sounds distinct enough, 
 which yet by no means are capable of language. 
 
 2. To make them Signs of Ideas.—Besides articulate sounds, therefore, it was 
 further necessary that he should be able to use these sounds as signs of internal 
 conceptions, and to make them stand as marks for the ideas within his own mind, 
 whereby they might be made known to others, and the thoughts of men’s minds be 
 conveyed from one to another. 
 
 3. To make general Signs.—But neither was this sufficient to make words so 
 useful as they ought to be. It is not enough for the perfection of language, that 
 sounds can be made signs of ideas, unless those signs can be so made use of as to 
 comprehend several particular things; for the multiplication of words would 
 have perplexed their use, had every particular thing need of a distinct name to 
 be signified by. To remedy this inconvenience, language had yet a further im- 
 provement in the use of general terms, whereby one word was made to mark a 
 multitude of particular existences; which advantageous use of sounds was ob- 
 tained only by the difference of the ideas they were made signs of: those names 
 becoming general which are made to stand for general ideas, and those remain- 
 ing particular where the ideas they are used for are particular. 
 
 4, Besides these names which stand for ideas, there be other words which men 
 make use of, not to signify any idea, but the want or absence of some ideas, 
 simple or complex, or all ideas together; such as are nihil in Latin, and in 
 English, ignorance and barrenness: all which negative or privative words cannot 
 be said properly to belong to, or signify no ideas; for then they would be per- 
 fectly insignificant sounds; but they relate to positive ideas, and signify their 
 absence. 
 
 5. Words ultimately derived from such as signify sensible Ideas.—It may 
 also lead us a little towards the original of all our notions and knowledge, if we 
 remark how great a dependence our words have on common sensible ideas; and 
 how those which are made use of to stand for actions and notions quite removed 
 from sense, have their rise from thence, and from obvious sensible ideas are trans- 
 ferred to more abstruse significations, and made to stand for ideas that come not 
 under the cognizance of our senses; v. g. to imagine, apprehend, comprehend, 
 adhere, conceive, instil, disgust, disturbance, tranquillity &c., are all words taken 
 from the operations of sensible things, and applied to certain modes of thinking. 
 Spirit, in its primary signification, is breath; angel, a messenger; and I doubt not, 
 
312 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOCK III. 
 
 but if we could trace them to their sources, we should find in all languages the 
 names which stand for things that fall not under our senses, to have had their first 
 rise from sensible ideas. By which we may give some kind of guess what kind 
 of notions they were, and whence derived, which filled their minds who were the 
 first beginners of languages; and how nature, even in the naming of things, 
 unawares suggested to men the originals and principles of all their knowledge ; 
 whilst, to give names that might make known to others any operations they felt 
 in themselves, or any other ideas that came not under their senses, they were fain 
 to borrow words from ordinary known ideas of sensation; by that means to make 
 others the more easily to conceive those operations they experimented in them- 
 selves, which made no outward sensible appearances; and then, when they had 
 got known and agreed names, to signify those internal operations of their own 
 minds, they were sufficiently furnished to make known by words all their other 
 ideas; since they could consist of nothing but either of outward sensible percep- 
 tions, or of the inward operations of their minds about them, we having, as has 
 been proved, no ideas at all, but what originally come either from sensible objects 
 without, or what we feel within ourselves, from the inward workings of our own 
 spirits, of which we are conscious to ourselves within. 
 
 6. Distribution.—But to understand better the use and force of language, as 
 subservient to instruction and knowledge, it will be convenient to consider : 
 
 First, To what it is that names, in the use of language, are immediately applied. 
 
 Secondly, Since all (except proper) names are general, and so stand not parti- 
 cularly for this or that single thing, but for sorts and ranks of things, it will be 
 necessary to consider, in the next place, what the sorts and kinds, or, if you rather 
 like the Latin names, what the species and genera of things are,,wherein they 
 consist, and how they come to be made. These being (as they ought) well 
 looked into, we shall the better come to find the right use of words, the natural 
 advantages and defects of language, and the remedies that ought to be used, to 
 avoid the inconveniences of obscurity or uncertainty in the signification of words, 
 without which it is impossible to discourse with any clearness or order concerning 
 knowledge; which, being conversant about propositions, and those most com- 
 monly universal ones, has greater connexion with words than perhaps is suspected. 
 
 These considerations, therefore, shall be the matter of the following chapters.) 
 
 CHAPTER ILI. 
 
 OF THE SIGNIFICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 1. Words are sensible Signs necessary for Communication.—MAn, though he 
 has great variety of thoughts, and such, from which others as well as himself 
 
 1 See, in Condillac, (Origine des Connoissances 
 
 Humaines, Part II. § 1.) an attempt at recon- 
 ciling the common method of philosophising on 
 the origin of language, with the account deli- 
 vered in Scripture. He believes that language 
 was originally revealed to man in Paradise; but 
 in order to gratify the appetite for speculation, 
 indulges in the very improbable supposition, that 
 two children may have wandered away into the 
 desert before they could speak, and there founded 
 an empire with a new language; after which he 
 sets himself about discovering the method which 
 in such a case they would be likely to pursue. 
 
 i. 
 
 And this is what a hundred years ago was called 
 philosophy in France! Most persons are ac- 
 quainted with the story told by Herodotus, con- 
 cerning the children who were nursed by the she- 
 goats, beyond the reach of human language, for 
 the purpose of discoveringwhat was the original 
 dialect of mankind, and how their first word was 
 Beékos, simply the béce of the goats, with the 
 Greek termination. (IT.) Quintillian, alluding 
 to the same story, supposes the children to have 
 been brought up by dumb nurses, and to have 
 been, therefore, themselves dumb. (L. x. c. 1.) 
 
CHAP. I1.] THE SIGNIFICATION OF WORDS. 313 
 
 might receive profit and delight, yet they are all within his own breast, invisible 
 and hidden from others, nor can of themselves be made appear. The comfort 
 and advantage of society not being to be had without communication of 
 thoughts, it was necessary that man should find out some external sensible signs, 
 whereof those invisible ideas, which his thoughts are made up for, might be made 
 known to others. For this purpose nothing was so fit, either for plenty or quick- 
 ness, as those articulate sounds, which with so much ease and variety he found 
 himself able to make. Thus we may conceive how words, which were by nature 
 so well adapted to that purpose, come to be made use of by men as the signs of 
 their ideas ;' not by any natural connexion that there is between particular articulate 
 sounds and certain ideas, for then there would be but one language amongst all 
 men; but by a voluntary imposition, whereby such a word is made arbitrarily the 
 mark of such an idea. The use, then, of words, is to be sensible marks of ideas ; 
 and the ideas they stand for are their proper and immediate signification. 
 
 2. Words are the sensible Signs of his Ideas who uses them.—The use men 
 have of these marks being either to record their own thoughts for the assistance 
 of their own memory, or, as it were, to bring out their ideas, and lay them before 
 the view of others; words, in their primary or immediate signification, stand for 
 nothing but the ideas in the mind of him that uses them, how imperfectly soever 
 or carelessly those ideas are collected from the things which they are supposed to 
 represent. When a man speaks to another, it is that he may be understood; and 
 the end of speech is, that those sounds, as marks, may make known his ideas to 
 the hearer. That, then, which words are the marks of, are the ideas of the 
 speaker; nor can any one apply them, as marks, immediately to anything else 
 but the ideas that he himself hath; for this would be to make them signs of his 
 own conceptions, and yet apply them to other ideas; which would be to make 
 them signs and not signs of his ideas at the same time, and so in effect to have no 
 signification at all. Words being voluntary signs, they cannot be voluntary signs 
 imposed by him on things he knows not. That would be to make them signs of 
 nothing, sounds without signification. A man cannot make his words the signs 
 either of qualities in things, or of conceptions in the mind of another, whereof he 
 has none in his own. Till he has some ideas of his own, he cannot suppose them 
 to correspond with the conceptions of another man; nor can he use any signs for 
 them, for thus they would be the signs of he knows not what, which is in truth 
 to be the signs of nothmg. But when he represents to himself other men’s ideas 
 by some of his own, if he consent to give them the same names that other men do, 
 it is still to his own ideas; to ideas that he has, and not to ideas that he has not. 
 
 3. This is so necessary in the use of language, that in this respect the knowing 
 and the ignorant, the learned and the unlearned, use the words they speak (with 
 any meaning) all alike. They, in every man’s mouth, stand for the ideas he has, 
 and which he would express by them. A child having taken notice of nothing in 
 the metal he hears called gold, but the bright shining yellow colour, he applies the 
 word gold only to his own idea of that colour, and nothing else; and therefore 
 calls the same colour in a peacock’s tail gold. Another that hath better observed, 
 
 1 Though much has been written on the origin 
 and progress of language, we have hitherto ar- 
 rived at nothing like the philosophy of the sub- 
 ject, chiefly perhaps from our neglecting to 
 observe the mode by which savages enlarge their 
 vocabulary. There are, indeed, no tribes of men 
 without language, but many among whom it is 
 exceedingly scanty. A philosopher who should 
 study the efforts of such tribes to multiply their 
 words, by expressing influxes of new ideas, 
 might throw some light on a subject still very 
 little understood. 
 
 2 “ All,” says the proverb, “is not gold that 
 glitters ;”’ but, like children, travellers some- 
 
 times contrive to forget the wisdom contained 
 in this saying. <A propos of this common 
 error, Navarrette remarks :—‘‘ They report the 
 apartments and rooms are very stately and noble, 
 especially the emperor’s bedchamber; but I 
 never heard there were seventy-nine, as Bishop 
 Marolus writes, wherein he follows Mendoza, in 
 his second chapter, quoted above; nor are there 
 any rooms of gold, silver, or precious stones, as 
 the same author says, and J. Lazenna affirms. 
 How could these things be hid from us, who 
 lived so many years in that country, and some 
 time at the court, inquiring diligently, and ex- 
 amining into the most remarkable things there? 
 
314 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Ill. 
 
 adds to shining yellow great weight: and then the sound gold, when he uses it, 
 stands for a complex idea of a shining yellow and very weighty substance; an- 
 other adds to those qualities fusibility, and then the word gold signifies to 
 him a body, bright, yellow, fusible, and very heavy; another adds malleability. 
 Each of these uses equally the word gold, when they have occasion to express the 
 idea which they have applied it to; but it is evident that each can apply it only to 
 his own idea, nor can he make it stand as a sign of such a complex idea as he has not. 
 
 4. Words often secretly referred, first to the Ideas in other Men's Minds.— 
 But though words, as they are used by men, can properly and immediately sig- 
 nify nothing but the ideas that are in the mind of the speaker; yet they in their 
 thoughts give them a secret reference to two other things. 
 
 First, They suppose their words to be marks of the ideas in the minds also of 
 other men, with whom they communicate; for else they should talk in vain, and 
 could not be understood, if the sounds they applied to one idea were such as by 
 the hearer were applied to another, which is to speak two languages. But in 
 this, men stand not usually to examine whether the idea they and those they dis- 
 course with have in their minds be the same, but think it enough that they use 
 the word, as they imagine, in the common acceptation of that language ; in which 
 they suppose that the idea they make it a sign of is precisely the same, to which 
 the understanding men of that country apply that name. 
 
 5. Secondly, to the Reality of Things.—Secondly, Because men would not 
 be thought to talk barely of their own imaginations, but of things as really they 
 are; therefore they often suppose the words to stand also for the reality of things. 
 But this relating more particularly to substances, and their names, as perhaps the 
 former does to simple ideas and modes, we shall speak of these two different ways 
 of applying words more at large, when we come to treat of the names of fixed 
 modes and substances in particular; though, give me leave here to say, that it. is 
 a perverting the use of words, and brings unavoidable obscurity and confusion 
 into their signification, whenever we make them stand for anything but those ideas 
 we have in our own minds. 
 
 6. Words by Use readily excite Ideas.—-Concerning words, also, it is further to 
 be considered: First, That they being immediately the signs of men’s ideas, and by 
 that means the instruments whereby men communicate their conceptions, and ex- 
 press to one another those thoughts and imaginations they have within their own 
 breasts; there comes, by constant use, to be such a connexion between certain 
 sounds and the ideas they stand for, that the names heard, almost as readily 
 excite certain ideas as if the objects themselves, which are apt to produce them, 
 did actually affect the senses. Which is manifestly so in all obvious sensible 
 qualities, and in all substances that frequently and familiarly occur to us. 
 
 7. Words often used without Signification.—Secondly, That, though the proper 
 and immediate signification of words are ideas in the mind of the speaker, yet, 
 because by familiar use from our cradles we come to learn certain articulate 
 sounds very perfectly, and have them readily on our tongues, and always at hand 
 in our memories, but yet are not always careful to examine or settle their significa- 
 tions perfectly; it often happens that men, even when they would apply themselves 
 to an attentive consideration, do set their thoughts more on words than things. 
 
 The Chinese history tells us, the arched roof of 
 an ancient emperor’s state-rooms was of gold, 
 which I do not find any difficulty to give credit 
 
 are other tiles, blue glazed, which I have seen 
 on some temples, and look very graceful. I 
 have sometimes seen the tiles with which the 
 
 to; and I am satisfied he that now reigns might 
 have the same if he pleased. Nor are there tiles 
 of gold, as others have reported, but they are 
 glazed yellow, which is the emperor’s colour; 
 when the sun shines on them, they look like 
 gold, or polished brass. The petty kings of the 
 blood-royal use exactly the same; and they are 
 on the temples of deceased emperors. There 
 
 floors of the palace are laid; they are square, 
 and as large as the stones of the floor of St. 
 Peter’s church at Rome; some were glazed 
 yellow, and others green, as smooth and glossy 
 as a looking-glass, and must doubtless be a great 
 ornament to a room.” (Account of China, I. 
 vi. § 9.) 
 
 LT LS a SO a 
 
CHAP. III. ] OF GENERAL TERMS. een 
 
 Nay, because words are many of them learned before the ideas are known for 
 which they stand; therefore some, not only children but men, speak several words 
 no otherwise than parrots do, only because they have learned them, and have been 
 accustomed to those sounds. But, so far as words are of use and signification, so 
 far is there a constant connexion between the sound and the idea, and a designa- 
 tion that the one stands for the other; without which application of them, they are 
 nothing but so much insignificant noise. 
 
 8. Their Signification perfectly arbitrary.—Words, by long and familiar use, 
 as has been said, come to excite in men certain ideas so constantly and readily, 
 that they are apt to suppose a natural connexion between them. But that they 
 signify only men’s peculiar ideas, and that by a perfect arbitrary imposition, is 
 evident, in that they often fail to excite in others (even that use the same lan- 
 guage) the same ideas we take them to be the signs of: and every man has so in- 
 violable a liberty to make words stand for what ideas he pleases, that no one hath 
 the power to make others have the same ideas in their minds that he has, when 
 they use the same words that he does. And therefore the great Augustus himself, 
 in the possession of that power which ruled the world, acknowledged he could not 
 make a new Latin word; which was as much as to say, that he could not arbi- 
 trarily appoint what idea any sound should be a sign of in the mouths and com- 
 mon language of his subjects. It is true common use, by a tacit consent, appro- 
 priates certain sounds to certain ideas in all languages, which so far limits the sig- 
 nification of that sound, that, unless a man applies it to the same idea, he does 
 not speak properly: and let me add, that, unless a man’s words excite the same 
 ideas in the hearer which he makes them stand for in speaking, he does not 
 speak intelligibly. But whatever be the consequence of any man’s using of 
 words differently, either from their general meaning, or the particular sense of the 
 person to whom he addresses them; this is certain, their signification, in his use of 
 them, is limited to his ideas, and they can be signs of nothing else. 
 
 CHAP TER, ITT. 
 
 OF GENERAL TERMS. 
 
 1. The greatest Part of Words general.—A.t things that exist being particu- 
 lars, it may perhaps be thought reasonable that words, which ought to be con- 
 formed to things, should be so too,—I mean in their signification: but yet we find 
 the quite contrary. The far greatest part of words that make all languages are 
 general terms ; which has not been the effect of neglect or chance, but of reason 
 and necessity. 
 
 2. For every particular Thing to have a Name is impossible.—First, It is im- 
 possible that every particular thing should have a distinct peculiar name. For 
 the signification and use of ,words depending on that connexion which the mind 
 makes between its ideas and the sounds it uses as signs of them, it is necessary, 
 in the application of names to things, that the mind should have distinct ideas of 
 the things, and retain also the particular name that belongs to every one, with its 
 peculiar appropriation to that idea. But it is beyond the power of human capacity 
 to frame and retain distinct ideas of all the particular things we meet with: 
 every bird and beast men saw, every tree and plant that affected the senses, could 
 not find a place in the most capacious understanding. If it be looked on as an 
 instance of a prodigious memory, that some generals have been able to call every 
 soldier in their army by his proper name, we may easily find a reason why men have 
 never attempted to give names to each sheep in their flock, or crow that flies over 
 
316 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book III. 
 
 their heads ; much less to call every leaf of plants, or grain of sand that came in 
 their way, by a peculiar name. 
 
 3. And useless.—Secondly, If it were possible, it would yet be useless; be- 
 cause it would not serve to the chief end of language. » Men would in vain heap up 
 names of particular things that would not serve them to communicate their thoughts. 
 Men learn names, and use them in talk with others, only that they may be under- 
 stood: which is then only done when by use or consent the sound I make by the 
 organs of speech, excites in another man’s mind who hears it the idea I apply it 
 to in mine, when I speak it. This cannot be done by names applied to particular 
 things, whereof I alone having the ideas in my mind, the names of them could 
 not be significant or intelligible to another, who was not acquainted with all those 
 very particular things which had fallen under my notice. 
 
 4. Thirdly, But yet, granting this also feasible, (which I think is not,) yet a dis- 
 tinct name for every particular thing would not be of any great use for the im- 
 provement of knowledge: which, though founded in particular things, enlarges 
 itself by general views; to which things reduced into sorts under general names, 
 are properly subservient. These, with the names belonging to them, come within 
 some compass, and do not multiply every moment, beyond what either the mind 
 can contain, or use requires: and therefore, in these, men have for the most part 
 stopped; but yet not so as to hinder themselves from distinguishing particular 
 things by appropriated names, where convenience demands it. And therefore in 
 their own species, which they have most to do with, and wherein they have often 
 occasion to mention particular persons, they make use of proper names; and there 
 distinct individuals have distinct denominations. 
 
 5. What things have proper Names.—Besides persons, countries also, cities, 
 rivers, mountains, and other the like distinctions of place, have usually found pe- 
 culiar names, and that for the same reason; they being such as men have often 
 an occasion to mark particularly, and, as it were, set before others in their dis- 
 courses with them. And I doubt not, but if we had reason to mention particular 
 horses as often as we have to mention particular men, we should have proper 
 names for the one, as familiar as for the other; and Bucephalus would be a word 
 as much in use as Alexander. And therefore we see that, amongst jockeys, 
 horses have their proper names to be known and distinguished by, as commonly 
 as their servants; because, amongst them, there is often occasion to mention this 
 or that particular horse when he is out of sight. 
 
 6. How general Words are made.—-The next thing’to be considered is, how 
 general words come to be made. For, since all things that exist are only particu- 
 lars, how come we by general terms, or where find we those general natures they 
 are supposed to stand for? Words become general by being made the signs of 
 general ideas; and ideas become general by separating from them the circum- 
 stances of time and place, and any other ideas that may determine them to this or 
 that particular existence. By this way of abstraction they are made capable of 
 representing more individuals than one; each of which having in it a conformity 
 to that abstract idea, is (as we call it) of that sort. 
 
 7. But, to deduce this a little more distinctly, it will not perhaps be amiss to 
 trace our notions and names from their beginning, and observe by what degrees 
 we proceed, and by what steps we enlarge our ideas from our first infancy. There 
 is nothing more evident, than that the ideas of the persons children converse with 
 (to instance in them alone) are, like the persons themselves, only particular. The 
 ideas of the nurse and the mother are well framed in their minds; and, like pic- 
 tures of them there, represent only those individuals. The names they first gave 
 to them are confined to these individuals; and the names of nurse and mamma the 
 child uses, determine themselves to those persons. Afterwards, when time and a 
 larger acquaintance have made them observe that there are a great many other 
 things in the world that, in some common agreements of shape, and several other 
 qualities, resemble their father and mother, and those persons they have been used 
 
CHAP. III. | OF GENERAL TERMS. 317 
 
 to, they frame an idea, which they find those many particulars do partake in; and 
 to that they give, with others, the name man, for example. And thus they come 
 to have a general name, and a general idea; wherein they make nothing new, 
 but only leave out of the complex idea they had of Peter and James, Mary and 
 Jane, that which is peculiar to each, and retain only what is common to them all. 
 
 8. By the same way that they come by the general name and idea of man, they 
 easily advance to more general names and notions. For, observing that several 
 things that differ from their idea of man, and cannot therefore be comprehended 
 under that name, have yet certain qualities wherein they agree with man, by re- 
 taining only those qualities, and uniting them into one idea, they have again an- 
 other and more general idea ; to which having given a name, they make a term of 
 a more comprehensive extension: which new idea is made, not by any new addi- 
 tion, but only, as before, by leaving out the shape, and some other properties sig- 
 nified by the name man, and retaining only a body, with life, sense, and spon- 
 taneous motion, comprehended under the name animal.' 
 
 9. General Natures are nothing but abstract Ideas.—That this is the way 
 whereby men first formed general ideas, and general names to them, I think is so 
 evident, that there needs no other proof of it but the considering of a man’s self, 
 or others, and the ordinary proceedings of their minds in knowledge: and he that 
 thinks general natures or notions are anything else but such abstract and partial 
 ideas of more complex ones, taken at first from particular existences, will, I fear, 
 be at a loss where to find them. For let any one reflect, and.then tell me, 
 wherein does his idea of man differ from that of Peter and Paul, or his idea of 
 horse from that of Bucephalus, but in the leaving out something that is peculiar 
 to each individual, and retaining so much of those particular complex ideas of 
 several particular existences as they are found to agree in? Of the complex 
 ideas signified by the names man and horse, leaving out but those particulars 
 wherein they differ, and retaining only those wherein they agree, and of those 
 making a new distinct complex idea, and giving the name animal to it; one has a 
 more general term, that comprehends with man several other creatures. Leave 
 out of the idea of animal, sense and spontaneous motion, and the remaining com- 
 plex idea, made up of the remaining simple ones of body, life and nourishment, 
 becomes a more general one, under the more comprehensive term, vivens. And, 
 not to dwell longer upon this particular, so evident in itself, by the same way the 
 mind proceeds to body, substance, and at last to being, thing, and such universal 
 terms, which stand for any of our ideas whatsoever. To conclude: this whole 
 mystery of genera and species, which make such a noise in the schools, and are 
 with justice so little regarded out of them, is nothing else but abstract ideas, more 
 or less comprehensive, with names annexed to them. In all which this is constant 
 and unvariable, that every more general term stands for such an idea, and is but a 
 part of any of those contained under it. 
 
 -10. Why the Genus is ordinarily made Use of in Definitions.—This may show 
 us the reason why, in the defining of words—which is nothing but declaring their 
 significations—we make use of the genus, or next general word that comprehends 
 it. Which is not out of necessity, but only to save the labour of enumerating the 
 several simple ideas which the next general word or genus stands for; or, perhaps, 
 
 ‘It formed part of Berkeley's system to deny 
 the existence of general ideas, which accordingly 
 he ridicules with great pertinacity in his Intro- 
 duction to the Principles of Human Knowledge. 
 (§ 7, et seq.) His reasoning, however, is that of 
 a sophist, and the sneering tone of his language 
 wholly unsuited to philosophical discussion. 
 Making use—as far as he judged favourable to 
 his purpose—of the language in the text, he says: 
 —‘‘ The constituent parts of the abstract idea of 
 animal are body, life, sense, and spontaneous 
 
 motion. By body is meant body without any 
 particular shape or figure—there being no one 
 shape or figure common to all animals, without 
 covering, either of hair, or feathers, or scales, &e. 
 nor yet naked: hair, feathers, scales, and naked- 
 ness being the distinguishing properties of parti- 
 cular animals, and, for that reason, left out of the 
 abstract idea. Upon the same account, the sponta- 
 neous motion must be neither walking, nor flying, 
 nor creeping: it is, nevertheless, a motion; but 
 what that motion is, it is not easy to conceive. ($9.) 
 
318 [BOOK III. 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 sometimes the shame of not being able to do it. But though defining by genus 
 and differentia—I crave leave to use these terms of art, though originally Latin, 
 since they most properly suit those notions they are applied to—I say, though de- 
 fining by the genus be the shortest way, yet I think it may be doubted whether it 
 be the best. This I am sure, it is not the only; and so not absolutely necessary. 
 For, definition being nothing but making another understand by words what idea 
 the term defined stands for, a definition is best made by enumerating those simple 
 ideas that are combined in the signification of the term defined : and if, instead of 
 such an enumeration, men have accustomed themselves to use the next general 
 term, it has not been out of necessity, or for greater clearness, but for quickness 
 and dispatch sake. For I think, that, to one who desired to know what idea the 
 word man stood for; if it should be said, that man was a solid extended substance, 
 having life, sense, spontaneous motion, and the faculty of reasoning; I doubt not 
 but the meaning of the term man would be as well understood, and the idea it stands 
 for be at least as clearly made known as when it is defined to be a rational animal : 
 which, by the several definitions of animal, vivens and corpus, resolves itself into 
 those enumerated ideas. I have, in explaining the term man, followed here the 
 ordinary definition of the schools ; which, though perhaps not the most exact, yet 
 serves well enough to my present purpose. And one may, in this instance, see 
 what gave occasion to the rule, that a definition must consist of genus and diffe- 
 rentia; and it suffices to show us the little necessity there is of such a rule, or ad- 
 vantage in the strict observing of it. For, definitions, as has been said, being only 
 the explaining of one word by several others, so that the meaning or idea it stands 
 for may be certainly known; languages are not always so made according to the 
 rules of logic, that every term can have its signification exactly and clearly ex- 
 pressed by two others. Experience sufficiently satisfies us to the contrary; or 
 else those who have made this rule have done ill, that they have given us so few 
 definitions conformable to it. But of definitions more in the next chapter. 
 
 11. General and Universal are Creatures of the Understanding.—To return to 
 general words, it is plain, by what has been said, that general and universal belong 
 not to the real existence of things; but are the inventions and creatures of the 
 understanding, made by it for its own use, and concern only signs, whether words 
 or ideas. Words are general, as has been said, when used for signs of general 
 ideas, and so are applicable indifferently to many particular things: and ideas are 
 general when they are set up as the representatives of many particular things ; 
 but universality belongs not to things themselves, which are all of them particular 
 in their existence, even those words and ideas which in their signification are ge- 
 neral. When therefore we quit particulars, the generals that rest are only crea- 
 tures of our own making; their general nature being nothing but the capacity 
 they are put into by the understanding, of signifying or representing many parti- 
 culars ; for the signification they have is nothing but a relation, that, by the mind 
 of man, is added to them.’ 
 
 12. Abstract Ideas are the Essences of the Genera and Species.—The next 
 thing therefore to be considered is, what kind of signification it is, that general 
 words have. For, as it is evident that they do not signify barely one particular 
 
 thing—for then they would not be general terms, but proper names—so, on the other 
 
 1 Against this, the Bishop of Worcester objects: 
 —‘ The abstracted ideas are the work of the 
 mind, yet they are not mere creatures of the 
 mind; as appears by an instance produced of the 
 essence of the sun being in one single individual: 
 in which case it is granted that the idea may be 
 so abstracted that more suns might agree in it, 
 and it is as much a sort, as if there were as many 
 suns as there are stars. So that here we have a 
 real essence subsisting in one individual, but ca- 
 pable of being multiplied into more, and the same 
 
 essence remaining. But in this one sun there is 
 a real essence, and not a mere nominal or ab- 
 stracted essence. But suppose there were more 
 suns, would not each of them have the real es- 
 sence of the sun? For what is it makes the 
 second sun, but having the same real essence 
 with the first? If it were but a nominal essence, 
 then the second would have nothing but the 
 name.”’—(For Locke’s reply, see Letters to the 
 Bishop of Worcester.) 
 
CHAP. III.] ‘OF GENERAL TERMS. 319 
 
 side, it is as evident they do not signify a plurality ; for man and men would then 
 signify the same, and the distinction of numbers (as the grammarians call them) 
 would be superfluous and useless. That, then, which general words signify is a 
 sort of things; and each of them does that, by being a sign of an abstract idea in 
 the mind, to which idea as things existing are found to agree, so they come to be 
 ranked under that name; or, which is all one, be of that sort. Whereby it is evi- 
 dent that the essences of the sorts, or, if the Latin word pleases better, species of 
 things are nothing else but these abstract ideas. For the having the essence of 
 any species, being that which makes anything to be of that species, and the con- 
 formity to the idea to which the name is annexed being that which gives a right 
 to that name; the having the essence, and the having that conformity, must needs 
 be the same thing ; since to be of any species, and to have a right to the name of 
 that species, is all one. As, for example, to be a man, or of the species man, and 
 to have right to the name man, is the same thing. Again, to be a man, or of the 
 species man, and have the essence of a man, is the same thing. Now, since no- 
 thing can be a man, or have a right to the name man, but what has a conformity 
 to the abstract idea the name man stands for; nor anything be a man, or have a 
 right to the species man, but what has the essence of that species ; it follows, that 
 the abstract idea for which the name stands, and the essence of the species, is one 
 and the same. From whence it is easy to observe, that the essences of the sorts of 
 things, and, consequently, the sorting of this, is the workmanship of the under- 
 standing, that abstracts and makes those general ideas. 
 
 13. They are the Workmanship of the Understanding, but have their Founda- 
 tion in the Similitude of Things.—I would not here be thought to forget, much 
 _ less to deny, that Nature, in the production of things, makes several of them alike: 
 there is nothing more obvious, especially in the races of animals, and all things 
 propagated by seed. But yet, I think, we may say the sorting of them under 
 names is the workmanship of the understanding, taking occasion, from the simili- 
 tude it observes amongst them, to make abstract general ideas, and set them up 
 in the mind, with names annexed to them, as patterns or forms, (for, in that sense, 
 the word form has a very proper signification,) to which as particular things ex- 
 isting are found to agree, so they come to be of that species, have that denomina- 
 tion, or are put into that classis. For when we say this is a man, that a horse ; 
 this justice, that cruelty; this a watch, that a jack; what do we else but rank 
 things under different specific names, as agreeing to those abstract ideas, of which 
 we have made those names the signs? And what are the essences of those spe- 
 cies set out and marked by names, but those abstract ideas in the mind; which 
 are, as it were, the bonds between particular things that exist, and the names they 
 are to be ranked under? And when general names have any connexion with par- 
 ticular beings, these abstract ideas are the medium that unites them: so that the 
 essences of species, as distinguished and denominated by us, neither are nor can 
 be anything but those precise abstract ideas we have in our minds. And there- 
 fore the supposed real essences of substances, if different from our abstract ideas, 
 cannot be the essences of the species we rank things into. For two species may 
 be one, as rationally as two different essences be the essence of one species: and I 
 demand what are the alterations may or may not be in a horse or lead, without 
 making either of them to be of another species? In determining the species of 
 things by our abstract ideas, this is easy to resolve: but if any one will regulate 
 himself herein by supposed real essences, he will, I suppose, be at a loss; and 
 he will never be able to know when anything precisely ceases to be of the species 
 of a horse or lead. 
 
 14. Each distinct abstract Idea is a distinct Essence——Nor will any one 
 wonder that I say these essences, or abstract ideas (which are the measures of 
 name, and the boundaries of species) are the workmanship of the understanding, 
 who considers that, at least, the complex ones are often, in several men, different 
 collections of simple ideas ; and therefore that is covetousness to one man, which 
 
S 
 
 ren een eran SR 
 
 320 [BOOK Ill. 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 is not so to another. Nay, even in substances where their abstract ideas seem to 
 be taken from the things themselves, they are not constantly the same; no, not 
 in that species which is most familiar to us, and with which we have the most 
 intimate acquaintance: it having been more than once'doubted, whether the foetus 
 born of a woman were a man;! even so far as that it hath been debated, whether 
 it were or were not to be nourished and baptized ; which could not be, if the ab- 
 stract idea or essence to which the name man belonged were of nature’s making, 
 and were not the uncertain and various collection of simple ideas, which the under- 
 standing put together, and then, abstracting it, affixed a name to it. So that, in 
 truth, every distinct abstract idea is a distinct essence; and the names that stand 
 for such distinct ideas are the names of things essentially different. Thus a circle 
 is as essentially different from an oval as a sheep from a goat; and rain is as 
 essentially different from snow as water from earth: that abstract idea which is 
 the essence of one being impossible to be communicated to the other. And thus 
 any two abstract ideas, that in any part vary one from another, with two distinct 
 names annexed to them, constitute two distinct sorts, or, if you please, species, as 
 essentially different as any two of the most remote or opposite in the world. 
 
 15. Real and nominal Essence.—But since the essences of things are thought 
 by some (and not without reason) to be wholly unknown, it may not be amiss to 
 consider the several significations of the word essence. 
 
 First, Essence may be taken for the being of anything, whereby it is what it is. 
 And thus the real internal, but generally (in substances) unknown constitution of 
 things, whereon their discoverable qualities depend, may be called their essence. 
 This is the proper original signification of the word, as is evident from the forma- 
 tion of it; essentia, in its primary notation, signifying properly, being. And in 
 this sense it is still used, when we speak of the essence of particular things, without 
 giving them any name. 
 
 Secondly, The learning and disputes of the schools having been much busied 
 about genus and species, the word essence has almost lost its primary signification : 
 and, instead of the real constitution of things, has been almost wholly applied to 
 the artificial constitution of genus and species. It is true, there is ordinarily sup- 
 posed a real constitution of the sorts of things; and it is past doubt there must be 
 some real constitution, on which any collection of simple ideas co-existing must” 
 depend. But it being evident that things are ranked under names into sorts or 
 species, only as they agree to certain abstract ideas to which we have annexed 
 those names ; the essence of each genus or sort comes to be nothing but that ab- 
 stract idea which the general, or sortal* (if I may have leave so to call it from sort, 
 as I do general from genus) name stands for. And this we shall find to be that 
 which the word essence imports in its most familiar use. These two sorts of 
 essences, I suppose, may not unfitly be termed, the one the real, the other nominal 
 essence. 
 
 16. Constant Connexion between the Name and nominal Essence.—Between 
 the nominal essence and the name there is so near a connexion, that the name of 
 any sort of things cannot be attributed to any particular being but what has this 
 essence, whereby it answers that abstract idea whereof that name is the sign. 
 
 17. Supposition, that Species are distinguished by their real Essences, useless.— 
 Concerning the real essences of corporeal substances—to mention these only— 
 
 1 That is, in the case of monstrous births. ; ings of the disputants themselves: (Venus Phi- 
 
 This subject once gave rise to a long controversy 
 between Mr. Limony and Mr. Winslow; not, in- 
 deed, with a view to determine what is the real es- 
 sence of man, and consequently whether anything 
 born of woman be of the human species or not; but 
 simply as to their origin. The remarks of Mau- 
 pertuis, however, though exceedingly brief, throw 
 more light upon the controversy than the reason- 
 
 sique, c. 14:) and M. Sauvage, in our own day, 
 has made monsters the subject of long investiga- 
 tions, and considers himself to have explained 
 the whole mystery. 
 
 I do not find that this word, though not worse 
 than many in constant use, took root in the lan- 
 guage. It might, however, be useful where spe- 
 ceal could not so well be employed. 
 
CHAP. Ith] " OF GENERAL TERMS. 2] 
 
 there are, if I mistake not, two opinions. The one is of those, who, using the word 
 essence for they know not what, suppose a certain number of those essences, accord- 
 ing to which all natural things are made, and wherein they do exactly every one 
 of them partake, and so become of this or that species. The other, and more ra- 
 tional opinion is of those who look on all natural things to have a real, but unknown 
 constitution of their insensible parts; from which flow those sensible qualities 
 which serve us to distinguish them one from another, according as we have occa- 
 sion to rank them into sorts under common denominations. The former of these 
 opinions, which supposes these essences as a certain number of forms or moulds, 
 wherein all natural things that exist are cast, and do equally partake, has, I 
 imagine, very much perplexed the knowledge of natural things. The frequent 
 productions of monsters, in all the species of animals, and of changelings, and 
 other strange issues of human birth, carry with them difficulties, not possible to 
 consist with this hypothesis; since it is as impossible that two things partaking 
 exactly of the same real essence should have different properties, as that two 
 figures partaking of the same real essence of a circle should have different pro- 
 perties. But were there no other reason against it, yet the supposition of essences 
 that cannot be known, and the making of them, nevertheless, to be that which dis- 
 tinguishes the species of things, is so wholly useless and unserviceable to any part 
 of our knowledge, that that alone were sufficient to make us lay it by, and content 
 ourselves with such essences of the sorts or species of things as come within the 
 reach of our knowledge; which, when seriously considered, will be found, as I 
 have said, to be nothing else but those abstract complex ideas, to which we have 
 annexed distinct general names. 
 
 18. Realand nominal Essence the same in simple Ideas and Modes, different in 
 Substances.—Hssences being thus distinguished into nominal and real, we may 
 further observe, that, in the species of simple ideas and modes, they are always 
 the same; but in substances always quite different. Thus, a figure including a 
 space between three lines, is the real as well as nominal essence of a triangle; it 
 being not only the abstract idea to which the general name is annexed, but the 
 very essentia or being of the thing itself—that foundation from which all its pro- 
 perties flow, and to which they are all inseparably annexed. But it is far other- 
 wise concerning that parcel of matter which makes the ring on my finger, wherein 
 these two essences are apparently different. For it is the real constitution of its 
 insensible parts, on which depend all those properties of colour, weight, fusibility, 
 fixedness, &c. which are to be found in it; which constitution we know not, and 
 so, having no particular idea of, have no name that is the sign of it. But yet, 
 it is its colour, weight, fusibility, fixedness, &c. which makes it to be gold, or 
 ~ gives it a right to that name, which is therefore its nominal essence: since nothing 
 can be called gold but what has a conformity of qualities to that abstract complex 
 idea to which that name is annexed. But this distinction of essences belonging 
 particularly to substances, we shall, when we come to consider their names, have 
 an occasion to treat of more fully. 
 
 19. Essences ingenerable and incorruptible.—That such abstract ideas with 
 names to them, as we have been speaking of, are essences, may further appear by 
 what we are told concerning essences, viz. that they are all ingenerable and incor- 
 ruptible. Which cannot be true of the real constitutions of things which begin and 
 perish withthem. All things that exist, besides their author, are all liable to change; 
 especially those things we are acquainted with, and have ranked into bands under 
 distinct names or ensigns. Thus, that which was grass to-day is to-morrow the 
 flesh of a sheep; and, within a few days after, becomes part of a man: in all which 
 and the like changes it is evident their real essence---i. e. that constitution whereon 
 the properties of these several things depended-—is destroyed, and perishes with 
 them. But essences being taken for ideas established in the mind, with names 
 annexed to them, they are supposed to remain steadily the same, whatever muta- 
 tions the particular substances are liable to. For, whatever becomes of Alexander 
 
322 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Boox III. 
 
 and Bucephalus, the ideas to which man and horse are annexed, are supposed 
 nevertheless to remain the same; and so the essences of those species are preserved 
 whole and undestroyed, whatever changes happen to any or all of the individuals of 
 those species. By this means the essence of a species rests safe and entire, without 
 the existence of so much as one individual of that kind. For, were there now no 
 circle existing anywhere in the world, (as perhaps that figure exists not anywhere 
 exactly marked out,) yet the idea annexed to that name would not cease to be what 
 it is; nor cease to be as a pattern to determine which of the particular figures we 
 meet with have or have not a right to the name circle, and so to show which of 
 them, by having that essence, was of that species. And though there neither were 
 nor had been in nature such a beast as an unicorn, or such a fish as a mermaid ; 
 yet, supposing those names to stand for complex abstract ideas that contained no 
 inconsistency in them, the essence of a mermaid is as intelligible as that of a man; 
 and the idea of an unicorn as certain, steady, and permanent as that of a horse. 
 From what has been said, it is evident that the doctrine of the immutability of 
 essences proves them to be only abstract ideas; and is founded on the relation 
 established between them and certain sounds as signs of them, and will always be 
 true as long as the same name can have the same signification. 
 
 20. Recapitulation.—To-conclude: this is that which in short I would say, 
 viz. that all the great business of genera and species, and their essences, amounts 
 to no more but this: —That men making abstract ideas, and settling them in their 
 minds with names annexed to them, do thereby enable themselves to consider 
 things, and discourse of them as it were in bundles, for the easier and readier im- 
 provement and communication of their knowledge; which would advance but 
 slowly, were their words and thoughts confined only to particulars. | 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 
 
 1. Names of simple Ideas, Modes, and Substances, have each something pe- 
 cular.—THouaH all words, as I have shown, signify nothing immediately but 
 the ideas in the mind of the speaker; yet, upon a nearer survey, we shall find that 
 the names of simple ideas, mixed modes, (under which I comprise relations too,) 
 and natural substances, have each of them something peculiar and different from 
 the other. For example: 
 
 2. First, Names of simple Ideas and Substances intimate real Existence.—First, 
 The names of simple ideas and substances, with the abstract ideas in the mind, 
 which they immediately signify, intimate also some real existence, from which 
 was derived their original pattern. But the names of mixed modes terminate in 
 the idea that is in the mind, and lead not the thoughts any further, as we shall see 
 more at large in the following chapter. 
 
 3. Secondly, Names of simple Ideas and Modes signify always both real and 
 nomnal Essence.—Secondly, The names of simple ideas and modes signify always 
 the real as well as nominal essence of their species. But the names of natural 
 substances signify rarely, if ever, anything but barely the nominal essences of those 
 Species, as we shall show in the chapter that treats of the names of substances in 
 particular. 
 
 __ 4. Thirdly, Names of simple Ideas undefinable.—Thirdly, The names of simple 
 ideas are not capable of any definition; the names of all complex ideas are. It has 
 not, that I know, been yet observed by anybody what words are, and what are not 
 capable of being defined ; the want whereof is, as I am apt to think, not seldom 
 
CHAP. Iv.] NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 32s 
 
 the occasion of great wrangling and obscurity in men’s discourses, whilst some 
 demand definitions of terms that cannot be defined ; and others think they ought 
 not to rest satisfied in an explication made by a more general word, and its restric- 
 tion, (or to speak in terms of art, by a genus and difference) when, even after such 
 definition made according to rule, those who hear it have often no more a clear 
 conception of the meaning of the word than they had before. This at least I think, 
 that the showing what words are, and what are not capable of definitions, and 
 wherein consists a good definition, is not wholly besides our present purpose; and 
 perhaps will afford so much light to the nature of these signs and our ideas, as to 
 deserve a more particular consideration. 
 
 5. If all were definable, it would be a Process in infinitum.—I will not here 
 trouble myself to prove that all terms are not definable from that progress in infini- 
 tum, which it will visibly lead us into, if we should allow that all names could be 
 defined. For, if the terms of one definition were still to be defined by another, 
 where at last should we stop? But I shall, from the nature of our ideas, and the 
 signification of our words, show why some names can and others cannot be de- 
 fined, and which they are. 
 
 6. What a Definition is.—I think it is agreed, that a definition is nothing else 
 but the showing the meaning of one word by several other not synonymous terms. 
 The meaning of words being only the ideas they are made to stand for by him that 
 uses them, the meaning of any term is then showed, or the word is defined, when 
 by other words the idea it is made the sign of, and annexed to in the mind of the 
 speaker, is as it were represented or set before the view of another; and thus its 
 signification ascertained. This is the only use and end of definitions; and there- 
 fore the only measure of what is or is not a good definition. 
 
 7. Simple Ideas, why undefinable.—This being premised, I say that the names 
 of simple ideas, and those only, are incapable of being defined. The reason whereof 
 is this, that the several terms of a definition, signifving several ideas, they can all 
 together by no means represent an idea, which has no composition at all: and 
 therefore, definition, which is properly nothing but the showing the meaning of 
 one word by several others not signifying each the same thing, can in the names 
 of simple ideas have no place. 
 
 8. Instances: Motion.—The not observing this difference in our ideas, and 
 their names, has produced that eminent trifling in the schools, which is so easy to 
 be observed in the definitions they give us of some few of these simple ideas. For, 
 as to the greatest part of them, even those masters of definitions were fain to leave 
 them untouched, merely by the impossibility they found in it. What more exqui- 
 site jargon could the wit of man invent, than this definition: —“ The act of a being 
 in power, as far forth as in power?” which would puzzle any rational man, 
 to whom it was not already known by its famous absurdity, to guess what word it 
 could ever be supposed to be the explication of. If Tully, asking a Dutchman what 
 ““beweeginge” was, should have received this explication in his own language, that 
 it was “actus entis in potentia quatenus in potentia ;” I ask whether any one can 
 imagine he could thereby have understood what the word “ beweeginge”’ signified ; 
 _ or have guessed what idea a Dutchman ordinarily had in his mind, and would 
 signify to another, when he used that sound ? 
 
 9. Nor have the modern philosophers, who have endeavoured to throw off the 
 jargon of the schools, and speak intelligibly, much better succeeded in defining 
 simple ideas, whether by explaining their causes, or any otherwise. The atomists, 
 who define motion to be a passage from one place to another, what do they more 
 than put one synonymous word for another? for what is passage other than mo- 
 tion? And if they were asked what passage was, how would they better define it 
 than by motion? For is it not at least as proper and significant to say, passage is 
 a motion from one place to another, as to say, motion is a passage? &c. This 1S 
 to translate, and not to define, when we change two words of the same significa- 
 tion one for another; which, when one is better understood than the other, may 
 
OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 f Book III. 
 
 serve to discover what idea the unknown stands for; but is very far from a defi- 
 nition, unless we will say every English word in the dictionary is the definition of 
 the Latin word it answers, and that motion is a definition of motus. Nor will the 
 successive application of the parts of the superfices of one body to those of another, 
 which the Cartesians give us, prove a much better definition of motion, when well 
 examined. 
 
 10. Light.—“ The act of perspicuous, as far forth as perspicuous,” is another pe- 
 ripatetic definition of a simple idea; which, though not more absurd than the former 
 of motion, yet betrays its uselessness and insignificancy more plainly, because ex- 
 perience will easily convince any one that it cannot make the meaning of the word 
 light (which it pretends to define) at all understood by a blind man; but the 
 definition of motion appears not at first sight so useless, because it escapes this 
 way of trial. For this simple idea entering by the touch as well as sight, it is im- 
 possible to show an example of any one, who has no other way to get the idea of 
 motion, but barely by the definition of that name. Those who tell us that light 
 is a great number of little globules, striking briskly on the bottom of the eye, 
 speak more intelligibly than the schools; but yet these words ever so well under- 
 stood would make the idea the word light stands for no more known to a man that 
 understands it not before, than if one should tell him that light was nothing but a 
 company of little tennis-balls, which fairies all day long struck with rackets against 
 some men’s foreheads, whilst they passed by others. For granting this explica- 
 tion of the thing to be true, yet the idea of the cause of light, if we had it ever so 
 exact, would no more give us the idea of light itself, as it is such a particular per- 
 ception in us, than the idea of the figure and motion of a sharp piece of steel 
 would give us the idea of that pain which it is able to cause in us. For the cause 
 of any sensation, and the sensation itself, in all the simple ideas of one sense, are 
 two ideas ; and two ideas so different and distant one from another, that no two 
 can be more so. And therefore, should Des Cartes’s globules strike ever so long 
 on the retina of a man, who was blind by a gutta serena, he would thereby never 
 have any idea of light, or anything approaching it, though he understood ever 
 so well what little globules were, and what striking on another body was. And 
 therefore the Cartesians very well distinguish between that light which is the 
 cause of that sensation in us, and the idea which is produced in us by it, and is 
 that which is properly light.1 
 
 ll. Simple Ideas, why undefinable, further explained.—Simple ideas, as has 
 been shown, are only to be got by those impressions objects themselves make on 
 our minds, by the proper inlets appointed to each sort. If they are not received 
 this way, all the words in the world made use of to explain or define any of their 
 names, will never be able to produce in us the idea it stands for. For words, 
 being sounds, can produce in us no other simple ideas than of those very sounds ; 
 nor excite any in us, but by that voluntary connexion which is known to be be- 
 tween them and those simple ideas which common use has made them the signs of. 
 He that thinks otherwise, let him try if any words can give him the taste of a 
 pineapple, and make him have the true idea of the relish of that celebrated deli- 
 cious fruit. So far as he is told it has a resemblance with any tastes, whereof 
 he has the ideas already in his memory, imprinted there by sensible objects not 
 strangers to his palate, so far may he approach that resemblance in his mind. 
 
 1 To abridge the labour of the reader, I subjoin 
 Hobbes’ theory of light-—“‘ His suppositis acce- 
 damus, ad causarum dictiones, et inquiramus 
 primis loco causam lucis solara. Quoniam ergo 
 corpus solare motu simplice circulari circum- 
 stantem etheream substantiam modo ad unam, 
 modo ad aliam partem, a se rejicit ita ut quee 
 partes proxime soli sunt mote ab ipso sole prox- 
 ime remotiores rursus urgeant necesse est ut in 
 quacunque distantia positi oculi prematur tan- 
 
 dem pars anterior et ea parte pressa propagetur 
 motus ad intimam organi visorii partem cor A 
 motu autem cordis oreagentis oritur per eandem 
 retro viam conatus desinens in conatu versus ex- 
 teriora tunica que vocatur retina. Sed conatus 
 iste ea exteriora illud ipsum est quod vocatur 
 lumen, sive phantasma lucidi; nam propter hoc 
 phantasma est quod objectum, vocatur lucidum.” 
 (Phisica, ch. 27, § 2.) 
 
CHAP. IV.] NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 320 
 
 But this is not giving us that idea by a definition, but exciting in us other simple 
 ideas by their known names; which will be still very different from the true taste 
 of that fruit itself. In light and colours, and all other simple ideas, it is the same 
 thing: for the signification of sounds is not natural, but only imposed and. arbi- 
 trary. And no definition of light or redness is more fitted or able to produce 
 either of those ideas in us, than the sound light or red by itself. For, to hope to 
 produce an idea of light or colour by a sound, however formed, is to expect that 
 sounds should be visible or colours audible, and to make the ears do the office of 
 all the other senses. Which is all one as to say, that we might taste, smell, and 
 see by the ears'—a sort of philosophy worthy only of Sancho Panea, who had the 
 faculty to see Dulcinea by hearsay. And therefore he that has not before received 
 into his mind by the proper inlet the simple idea which any word stands for, can 
 never come to know the signification of that word by any other words or sounds: 
 whatsoever, put together according to any rules of definition. The only way is by 
 applying to his senses the proper object, and so producing that idea in him, for 
 which he has learned the name already. A studious blind man, who had mightily 
 beat his head about visible objects, and made use of the explication of his books 
 and friends, to understand those names of light and colours which often came in 
 his way, bragged one day that he now understood what scarlet signified. Upon 
 which, his friend demanding what scarlet was, the blind man answered, It was 
 like the sound of a trumpet. Just such an understanding of the name of any 
 other simple idea will he have, who hopes to get it only from a definition, or other 
 words made use of to explain it. 
 
 12. The contrary shown in complex Ideas, by Instances of a Statue and Rain- 
 bow.—The case is quite otherwise in complex ideas; which, consisting of several 
 simple ones, it is in the power of words standing for the several ideas that make 
 that composition, to imprint complex ideas in the mind, which were never there 
 before, and so make their names be understood. In such collections of ideas 
 passing under one name, definition, or the teaching the signification of one word 
 by several others, has place, and may make us understand the names of things 
 which never came within the reach of our senses; and frame ideas suitable to 
 those in other men’s minds when they use those names: provided that none of the 
 terms of the definition stand for any such simple ideas, which he to whom the ex- 
 plication is made has never yet had in his thought. Thus the word statue may 
 be explained to a blind man by other words, when picture cannot; his senses 
 having given him the idea of figure,’ but not of colours, which therefore words 
 cannot excite in him. This gained the prize to the painter against the statuary : 
 each of which contending for the excellency of his art, and the statuary bragging 
 that his was to be preferred, because it reached further, and even those who had 
 lost their eyes, could yet perceive the excellency of it, the painter agreed to refer 
 himself to the judgment of a blind man; who being brought where there was a 
 statue made by the one, and a picture drawn by the other, he was first led to the 
 statue, in which he traced with his hands all the lineaments of the face and body, 
 and with great admiration applauded the skill of the workman. But being led to 
 the picture, and having his hands laid upon it, was told, that now he touched the 
 head, and then the forehead, eyes, nose, &c. as his hands moved over the parts of 
 
 i But marvellous has been the progress of phi- 
 losophy since the time of Locke. Men can now 
 feel that which is not brought into contact with 
 them, and see-as clearly by means of their sto- 
 mach as through the eyes. The vulgar impossi- 
 bility of seeing through a double deal board 
 has been surpassed. Men can no longer have 
 any use for eyes—a blind man being as well able 
 to read &c. as any other person. And all this is 
 accomplished by ‘ animal magnetism,’ which 
 threatens to swallow up phrenology and every 
 
 other ‘‘ system of philosophy” in its spreading 
 vortex. 
 
 2 In this view of the power of feeling to create 
 true ideas of figure I perfectly concur; but it 1s 
 wholly at variance with the crotchet advocated in 
 a former part of the work, (book 2. ch. ix. § 8, 
 where see note 45,) that a man who obtains from 
 the touch only an idea of a cube and the idea of 
 a globe, would not be able by sight to distinguish 
 the one from the other. 
 
326 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 the picture on the cloth, without finding any the least distinction: whereupon he 
 cried out, that certainly that must needs be a very admirable and divine piece of 
 _ workmanship, which could represent to them all those parts, where he could 
 neither feel nor perceive anything. 
 
 13. He that should use the word rainbow to one who knew all those colours, 
 but yet had never seen that phenomenon, would, by enumerating the figure, large- 
 ness, position, and order of the colours, so well define that word, that it might be 
 perfectly understood. But yet that definition, how exact and perfect soever, would 
 never make a blind man understand it; because several of the simple ideas that 
 make that complex one being such as he never received by sensation and expe- 
 rience, no words are able to excite them in his mind. 
 
 14. The same of complex Ideas when to be made intelligible by Words.— 
 Simple ideas, as has been shown, can only be got by experience from those ob- 
 jects which are proper to produce in us those perceptions. When by this means 
 we have our minds stored with them, and know the names for them, then we are 
 in a condition to define, and by definition to understand the names of complex 
 ideas that are made up of them. But when any term stands for a simple idea 
 that a man has never yet had in his mind, it is impossible by any words to make 
 known its meaning to him. When any term stands for an idea a man is acquainted 
 with, but is ignorant that that term is the sign of it, there another name of the 
 same idea which he has been accustomed to, may make him understand its mean- 
 ing. But in no case whatsoever is any name of any simple idea capable of a defi- 
 nition. 
 
 15, Fourthly, Names of simple Ideas least doubtful.—Fourthly, But though the 
 names of simple ideas have not the help of definition to determine théir signification, 
 yet that hinders not but that they are generally less doubtful and uncertain than 
 those of mixed modes and substances: because they standing only for one simple 
 perception, men for the most part easily and perfectly agree in their signification ; 
 and there is little room for mistake and wrangling about their meaning. He that 
 knows once that whiteness is the name of that colour he has observed in snow or 
 milk, will not be apt to misapply that word as long as he retains that idea; which 
 when he has quite lost, he is not apt to mistake the meaning of it, but perceives he 
 understands it not. There is neither a multiplicity of simple ideas to be put to- 
 gether, which makes the doubtfulness in the names of mixed modes; nor a sup- 
 posed, but an unknown real essence, with properties depending thereon, the precise 
 number whereof is also unknown, which makes the difficulty in the names of 
 substances. But, on the contrary, in simple ideas the whole signification of the 
 name is known at once, and consists not of parts whereof more or less being 
 ae in, the idea may be varied, and so the signification of name be obscure or un- 
 certain. 
 
 16. Simple Ideas have few Ascents in lined predicamentali.—Fifthly, This 
 further may be observed concerning simple ideas and their names, that they have 
 but few ascents in linea preedicamentali, (as they call it,) from the lowest species to 
 the summum genus. The reason whereof is, that the lowest species being but 
 one simple idea, nothing can be left out of it; that so the difference being taken 
 away, it may agree with some other thing in one idea common to them both ; 
 which, having one name, is the genus of the other two: v.g. there is nothing 
 that can be left out of the idea of white and red to make them agree in one com- 
 mon appearance, and so have one general name; as rationality being left out of 
 the complex idea of man, makes it agree with brute in the more general idea 
 and name of animal: and therefore when, to avoid unpleasant enumerations men 
 would comprehend both white and red, and several other such simple ideas, un- 
 der one general name, they have been fain to do it by a word which denotes only 
 the way they get into the mind. For when white, red, and yellow are all com- 
 prehended under the genus or name colour, it signifies no more but such ideas as 
 are produced in the mind only by the sight, and have entrance only through the 
 
CHAP. V. | NAMES OF MIXED MODES. 327 
 
 eyes. And when they would frame yet a more general term to comprehend both 
 colours and sounds, and the like simple ideas, they do it by a word that signifies 
 all such as come into the mind only by one sense: and so the general term quality, 
 in its ordinary acceptation, comprehends colours, sounds, tastes, smells, and tan- 
 gible qualities, with distinction from extension, number, motion, pleasure, and 
 pain, which make impressions on the mind, and introduce their ideas by more 
 senses than one. 
 
 17. Sixthly, Names of simple Ideas not at all arbitrary.—Sixthly, The names of 
 simple ideas, substances, and mixed modes have also this difference ;—that those 
 of mixed modes stand for ideas perfectly arbitrary; those of substances are not 
 perfectly so, but refer to a pattern, though with some latitude; and those of sim- 
 ple ideas are perfectly taken from the existence of things, and are not arbitrary at 
 all. Which, what difference it makes in the significations of their names, we 
 shall see in the following chapters. 
 
 The names of simple modes differ little from those of simple ideas. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF THE NAMES OF MIXED MODES AND RELATIONS. 
 
 1. They stand for abstract Ideas, as other general Names.—THE names of 
 mixed modes being general, they stand, as has been shown, for sorts or species of 
 things, each of which has its peculiar essence. The essences of these species also, 
 as has been shown, are nothing but the abstract ideas in the mind, to which the 
 name is annexed. Thus far the names and essences of mixed modes have nothing 
 but what is common to them with other ideas: but if we take a little nearer sur- 
 vey of them, we shall find that they have something peculiar, which perhaps may 
 deserve our attention. 
 
 2. First, The Ideas they stand for are made by the Understanding.—The first 
 particularity I shall observe in them, is, that the abstract ideas, or, if you please, 
 the essences of the several species of mixed modes, are made by the understanding, 
 wherein they differ from those of simple ideas: in which sort the mind has no 
 power to make any one, but only receives such as are presented to it, by the real 
 existence of things operating upon it. 
 
 3. Secondly, Made arbitrarily and without Patterns.—In the next place, these 
 essences of the species of mixed modes are not only made by the mind, but made 
 very arbitrarily, made without patterns, or reference to any real existence. Wherein 
 they differ from those of substances, which carry with them the supposition of 
 some real being, from which they are taken, and to which they are conformable. 
 But, in its complex ideas of mixed modes, the mind takes a liberty not to follow 
 the existence of things exactly. It unites and retains certain collections, as so 
 many distinct specific ideas, whilst others, that as often occur in nature, and are 
 as plainly suggested by outward things, pass neglected, without particular names 
 or specifications. Nor does the mind, in these of mixed modes, as in the complex 
 idea of substances, examine them by the real existence of things ; or verify them 
 by patterns containing such peculiar compositions in nature. To know whether 
 his idea of adultery or incest be right, will a man seek it anywhere amongst things 
 existing? Or is it true because any one has been witness to such an action? No: 
 but it suffices here, that men have put together such a collection into one complex 
 idea, that makes the archetype and specific idea, whether ever any such action 
 were committed in rerum natura or not. 
 
 4, How this is done.—To understand this right, we must consider wherein this 
 
328 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book III. 
 
 making of these complex ideas consists; and that is not in the making any new 
 idea, but putting together those which the mind had before. Wherein the mind 
 does these three things: first, it chooses a certain number; secondly, it gives 
 them connexion, and makes them into one idea; thirdly, it ties them together by 
 aname. If we examine how the mind proceeds in these, and what liberty it takes 
 in them, we shall easily observe how these essences of the species of mixed modes 
 are the workmanship of the mind; and, consequently, that the species themselves 
 are of men’s making. 
 
 5. Evidently arbitrary, in that the Idea is often before the Existence.—No- 
 body can doubt but that these ideas of mixed modes are made by a voluntary 
 collection of ideas, put together in the mind, independent from any original 
 patterns in nature, who will but reflect that this sort of complex ideas may be 
 made, abstracted, and have names given them, and so a species be constituted, 
 before any one individual of that species ever existed. Who can doubt but the 
 ideas of sacrilege or adultery might be framed in the minds of men, and have 
 names given them, and so these species of mixed modes be constituted before 
 either of them was ever committed; and might be as well discoursed of and 
 reasoned about, and as certain truths discovered of them whilst yet they had no 
 being but in the understanding, as well as now, that they have but too frequently a 
 real existence? Whereby it is plain how much the sorts of mixed modes are the 
 creatures of the understanding, where they have a being as subservient to all the ends 
 of real truth and knowledge, as when they really exist. And we cannot doubt but 
 lawmakers have often made laws about species of actions which were only the 
 creatures of their own understandings—beings that had no other existence but in 
 their own minds. And I think nobody can deny but that the resurrection was a 
 species of mixed modes in the mind, before it really existed. 
 
 6. Instances :—Murder, Incest, Stabbing.—To see how arbitrarily these essences 
 of mixed modes are made by the mind, we need but take a view of almost any of 
 them. <A little looking into them will satisfy us that it is the mind that combines 
 several scattered independent ideas into one complex one, and, by the common 
 name it gives them, makes them the essence of a certain species, without regu- 
 lating itself by any connexion they have in nature. For what greater connexion 
 in nature has the idea of a man, than the idea of a sheep, with killing, that this is 
 made a particular species of action, signified by the word murder, and the other 
 not? Or what union is there in nature between the idea of the relation of a father 
 with killing, than that of a son or neighbour, that those are combined into one 
 complex idea, and thereby made the essence of the distinct species parricide, whilst 
 the other makes no distinct species at all? But, though they have made killing a 
 man’s father or mother a distinct species from killing his son or daughter, yet, in 
 some other cases, son and daughter are taken in too, as well as father and mother: 
 and they are all equally comprehended in the same species, as in that of incest. Thus 
 the mind in mixed modes arbitrarily unites into complex ideas such as it finds 
 convenient ; whilst others that have altogether as much union in nature, are left 
 loose, and never combined into one idea, because they have no need of one name. 
 It is evident then that the mind by its free choice gives a connexion to a certain 
 number of ideas, which in nature have no more union with one another than others 
 that it leaves out: why else is the part of the weapon the beginning of the wound 
 is made with taken notice of to make the distinct species called stabbing, and the 
 figure and matter of the weapon left out? I do not say this is done without rea- 
 son, as we shall sce more by and by; but this I say, that it is done by the free 
 choice of the mind, pursuing its own ends; and that, therefore, these species of 
 mixed modes are the workmanship of the understanding: and there is nothing 
 more evident than that, for the most part, in the framing these ideas, the mind 
 searches not its patterns in nature, nor refers the ideas it makes to the real exist- 
 ence of things, but puts such together as may best serve its own purposes, without 
 tying itsclf to a precise imitation of anything that really exists. 
 
 SRT Se ER MPSS er ede ati ae kA eed cart eek isc as een hele tne 
 
CHAP. V.] NAMES OF MIXED MODES. 329 
 
 7. But still subservient to the End of Language.—But, though these complex 
 ideas or essences of mixed modes depend on the mind, and are made by it with 
 great liberty, yet they are not made at random, and jumbled together without any 
 reason at all. Though these complex ideas be not always copied from nature, 
 yet they are always suited to the end for which abstract ideas are made: and 
 though they be combinations made of ideas that are loose enough, and have as 
 little union in themselves as several other to which the mind never gives a con- 
 nexion that combines them into one idea, yet they are always made for the con- 
 venience of communication, which is the chief end of language. The use of lan- 
 guage is, by short sounds to signify with ease and dispatch general conceptions ; 
 wherein not only abundance of particulars may be contained, but also a great 
 variety of independent ideas collected into one complex one. In the making 
 therefore of the species of mixed modes, men have had regard only to such com- 
 binations as they had occasion to mention one to another: those they have com- 
 bined into distinct complex ideas, and given names to; whilst others, that in 
 nature have as near a union, are left loose and unregarded. For, to go no further 
 than human actions themselves, if they would make distinct abstract ideas of all 
 the varieties which might be observed in them, the number must be infinite, and 
 the memory confounded with the plenty, as well as overcharged to little purpose. 
 It suffices, that men make and name so many complex ideas of these mixed modes 
 as they find they have occasion to have names for, in the ordinary occurrence of 
 their affairs. If they join to the idea of killing the idea of father or mother, and 
 so make a distinct species from killing a man’s son or neighbour, it is because of 
 the different hemousness of the crime, and the distinct punishment is due to the 
 murdering a man’s father and mother, different from what ought to be inflicted 
 on the murder of a son or neighbour ; and therefore they find it necessary to men- 
 tion it by a distinct name, which is the end of making that distinct combination. 
 But though the ideas of mother and daughter are so differently treated, in reference 
 to the idea of killing, that the one is joined with it to make a distinct abstract idea 
 with a name, and so a distinct species, and the other not; yet, in respect of carnal 
 knowledge, they are both taken in under incest: and that still for the same con- 
 venience of expressing under one name, and reckoning of one species such unclean 
 mixtures as have a peculiar turpitude beyond others ; and this to avoid circumlo- 
 cutions and tedious descriptions. 
 
 8. Whereof the intranslatable Words of divers Languages are a Proof.— 
 A moderate skill in different languages will easily satisfy one of the truth of this ; 
 it being so obvious to observe great store of words in one language which have not 
 any that answer them in another. Which plainly shows that those of one country, 
 by their customs and manners of life, have found occasion to make several complex 
 ideas, and given names to them, which others never collected into specific ideas. 
 This could not have happened if these species were the steady workmanship of 
 nature, and not collections made and abstracted by the mind, in order to naming, 
 and for the convenience of communication. The terms of our law, which are not 
 empty sounds, will hardly find words that answer them in the Spanish or Italian, 
 no scanty languages ; much less, I think, could any one translate them into the 
 Caribbee or Westoe tongues: and the Versura* of the Romans, or the Corban? of 
 
 1 This Roman law-term is thus explained by | ofthisterm. ‘From Mark xv. 11, it appears that 
 
 Festus :—‘‘ Versuram facere, mutuam pecuniam 
 sumere ex eo dictum est, quod initio, qui mutua- 
 bantur ab aliis, non ut domum ferrent, sed ut 
 aliis solverent, velut verterent creditorem.”’ (p. 
 1004, ed. Lond.) A man was said ‘“ versuram 
 facere,’? when he borrowed from one person to 
 pay another. (Dacier, in locum.) 
 
 2 Mr. Trollope, in his note on Matthew xv. 4, 
 furnishes a very brief and satisfactory explanation 
 
 O@ooy here interprets the Hebrew word Koopbav. 
 The notion of Corban was this: that if a man 
 wished to avoid supporting his parents, or any 
 other duty, he devoted the means of doing so to 
 God; not indeed with the intention of applying 
 the thing so devoted to sacred purposes, but that 
 the mere saying Let tt be Corban, might make it 
 impossible to assign it to the use against which 
 the vow was made.” 
 
300 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 the Jews, have no words in other languages to answer them ; the reason whereof 
 is plain, from what has been said. Nay, if we look a little more nearly into this 
 matter, and exactly compare different languages, we shall find, that, though they 
 have words which in translations and dictionaries are Supposed to answer one an- 
 other, yet there is scarce one of ten amongst the names of complex ideas, especially 
 of mixed modes, that stands for the same precise idea, which the word does that in 
 dictionaries it is rendered by. There are no ideas more common and less com- 
 pounded than the measures of time, extension, and weight; and the Latin names, 
 hora, pes, libra, are without difficulty rendered by the English names, hour, foot, 
 and pound: but yet there is nothing more evident than that the ideas a Roman 
 annexed to these Latin names, were very far different from those which an English- 
 man expresses by those English ones. And if either of these should make use of 
 the measures that those of the other language designed hy their names, he would 
 be quite out in his account. These are too sensible proofs to be doubted ; and we 
 shall find this much more so in the names of more abstract and compounded ideas, 
 such as are the greatest part of those which make up moral discourses ; whose 
 names, when men come curiously to compare with those they are translated into, 
 in other languages, they will find very few of them exactly to correspond in the 
 whole extent of their significations. 
 
 9. This shows Species to be made for Communication.—The reason why I take 
 so particular notice of this, is, that we may not be mistaken about genera and spe- 
 cies, und their essences, as if they were things regularly and constantly made by 
 nature, and had a real existence in things; when they appear, upon a more wary 
 survey, to be nothing else but an artifice of the understanding, for the easier sig- 
 nifying such collections of ideas as it should often have occasion to ‘communicate 
 by one general term; under which divers particulars, as far forth as they agreed 
 to that abstract idea, might be comprehended. And if the doubtful signification 
 of the word species may make it sound harsh to some, that I say the species of 
 mixed modes are made by the understanding; yet, I think, it can by nobody be 
 denied that it is the mind makes those abstract complex ideas, to which specific 
 names are given. And if it be true, as it is, that the mind makes the patterns for 
 sorting and naming of things, I leave it to be considered who makes the boundaries 
 of the sort or species; since with me species and sort have no other difference 
 than that of a Latin and English idiom. 
 
 10. In mixed Modes it is the Name that ties the Combination together, and 
 makes it a Spectes.—The near relation that there is between species, essences, and 
 their general name—at least in mixed modes—will further appear when we con- 
 sider that it is the name that seems to preserve those essences, and give them their 
 lasting duration. For the connexion between the loose parts of those complex 
 ideas being made by the mind, this union, which has no particular foundation in 
 nature, would cease again, were there not something that did, as it were, hold it 
 together, and keep the parts from scattering. Though therefore it be the mind 
 that makes the collection, it is the name which is as it were the knot that ties them 
 fast together. What a vast variety of different ideas does the word triumphus 
 hold together, and deliver to us as one species! Had this name been never made, 
 or quite lost, we might, no doubt, have had descriptions of what passed in that 
 solemnity : but yet, I think, that which holds those different parts together, in the 
 unity of one complex idea, is that very word annexed to it; without which the 
 several parts of that would no more be thought to make one thing, than any other 
 show, which having never been made but once, had never been united into one 
 complex idea, under one denomination. How much, therefore, in mixed modes, 
 the unity necessary to any essence depends on the mind, and how much the con- 
 tinuation and fixing of that unity depends on the name in common use annexed to 
 it, I leave to be considered by those who look upon essences and species as real 
 established things in nature. 
 
 11. Suitable to this, we find that men speaking of mixed modes, seldom 
 
CHAP. V.] NAMES OF MIXED MODES. 331 
 
 imagine or take any other for species of them, but such as are set out by name; 
 because they being of man’s making only, in order to naming, no such species are 
 taken notice of, or supposed to be, unless a name be joined to it, as the sign of 
 man’s having combined into one idea several loose ones; and by that name 
 giving a lasting union to the parts, which would otherwise cease to have any, as 
 soon as the mind laid by that abstract idea, and ceased actually to think on it. 
 But when a name is once annexed to it, wherein the parts of that complex idea 
 have a settled and permanent union, then is the essence, as it were, established, 
 and the species looked on as complete. For to what purpose should the memory 
 charge itself with such compositions, unless it were by abstraction to make them 
 general? And to what purpose make them general, unless it were that they 
 might have general names for the convenience of discourse and communication ? 
 Thus we see, that, killing a man with a sword or a hatchet, are looked on as no 
 distinct species of action; but if the point of the sword first enter the body, it 
 passes for a distinct species, where it has a distinct name; as in England, in 
 whose language it is called stabbing; but in another country, where it has not 
 happened to be specified under a peculiar name, it passes not for a distinct 
 species. But in the species of corporeal substances, though it be the mind that 
 makes the nominal essence; yet since those ideas which are combined in it are 
 supposed to have an union in nature, whether the mind joins them or not, there- 
 fore those are looked on as distinct names, without any operation of the mind, 
 either abstracting or giving a name to that complex idea. 
 
 12. For the Originals of mixed Modes, we look no further than the Mind, 
 which also shows them to be the Workmanship of the Understanding.—Con- 
 formable also to what has been said concerning the essences of the species of 
 mixed modes, that they are the creatures of the understanding rather than the 
 works of nature; conformable, I say, to this, we find that their names lead our 
 thoughts to the mind, and no further. When we speak of justice, or gratitude, 
 we frame to ourselves no imagination of anything existing, which we would 
 conceive; but our thoughts terminate in the abstract ideas of those virtues, and 
 look not further, as they do when we speak of a horse, or iron, whose specific 
 ideas we consider not as barely in the mind, but as in things themselves, which 
 afford the original patterns of those ideas. But in mixed modes, at least the most 
 considerable parts of them, which are moral beings, we consider the original 
 patterns as being in the mind, and to those we refer for the distinguishing of par- 
 ticular beings under names. And hence I think it is, that these essences of the 
 species of mixed modes are by a more particular name called notions, as, by a 
 peculiar right, appertaining to the understanding. 
 
 13. Their being made by the Understanding without Patterns, shows the Rea- 
 son why they are so compounded.—Hence, likewise, we may learn why the com- 
 plex ideas of mixed modes are commonly more compounded and decompounded, 
 than those of natural substances; because they being the workmanship of the 
 understanding, pursuing only its own ends, and the conveniency of expressing in 
 short those ideas it would make known to another, it does with great liberty unite 
 often into one abstract idea things, that, in their nature, have no coherence; and so 
 under one term bundle together a great variety of compounded and decom- 
 pounded ideas. Thus the name of procession, what a great mixture of inde- 
 pendent ideas of persons, habits, tapers, orders, motions, sounds, does it contain 
 in that complex one, which the mind of man has arbitrarily put together, to 
 express by that one name! whereas the complex ideas of the sorts of substances 
 are usually made up of only a small number of simple ones; and in the species 
 of animals, these two, viz. shape and voice, commonly make the whole nominal 
 essence. 
 
 14. Names of mixed Modes stand always for their real Essences.—Another 
 thing we may observe from what has been said, is, that the names of mixed 
 modes always signify (when they have any determined signification) the real 
 
352 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BooK III. 
 
 essences of their species. For these abstract ideas being the workmanship of the 
 mind, and not referred to the real existence of things, there is no supposition 
 of anything more signified by that name, but barely that complex idea the 
 mind itself has formed, which is all it would have expressed by it, and is that 
 on which all the properties of the species depend, and from which alone they 
 all flow; and so in these the real and nominal essence is the same, which, of 
 what concernment it is to the certain knowledge of general truth, we shall see 
 hereafter. 
 
 15. Why their Names are usually got before their Ideas.—This also may 
 show us the reason why for the most part the names of mixed modes are got 
 before the ideas they stand for are perfectly known; because, there being no 
 species of these ordinarily taken notice of but what have names, and those 
 species, or rather their essences, being abstract complex ideas made arbitrarily by 
 the mind, it is convenient, if not necessary, to know the names, before one 
 endeavour to frame these complex ideas; unless a man will fill his head with a 
 company of abstract complex ideas, which, others having no names for, he has 
 nothing to do with, but to lay by and forget again. I confess, that in the 
 beginning of languages it was necessary to have the idea before one gave it the 
 name, and so it is still, where, making a new complex idea, one also, by giving 
 ita new name, makes a new word. But this concerns not languages made, 
 which have generally pretty well provided for ideas which men have frequent 
 occasion to have and communicate; and in such, I ask whether it be not the 
 ordinary method, that children learn the names of mixed modes before they have 
 their ideas? What one of a thousand ever frames the abstract ideas of glory and 
 ambition, before he has heard the names of them? In simple ideas and sub- 
 stances I grant it is otherwise; which, being such ideas as have a real existence 
 and union in nature, the ideas and names are got one before the other, as ‘it 
 happens. 
 
 16. Reason of my being so large on this Subject.—What has been said here of 
 mixed modes is, with very little difference, applicable also to relations; which, 
 since every man himself may observe, I may spare myself the pains to enlarge 
 on: especially, since what I have here said concerning words in this third book, 
 will possibly be thought by some to be much more than what so slight a subject 
 required. I allow it might be brought into a narrower compass; but I was 
 willing to stay my reader on an argument that appears to me new, and a little out 
 of the way, (I am sure it is one [ thought not of when I began to write,) that, 
 by searching it to the bottom, and turning it on every side, some part or other 
 might meet with every one’s thoughts, and give occasion to the most averse or 
 negligent to reflect on a general miscarriage, which, though of great consequence, 
 is little taken notice of. When it is considered what a pudder is made about 
 essences, and how much all sorts of knowledge, discourse, and conversation, are 
 pestered and disordered by the careless and confused use and application of 
 words, it will perhaps be thought worth while thoroughly to lay it open; and I 
 shall be pardoned if I have dwelt long on an argument which I think, therefore, 
 needs to be inculcated, because the faults men are usually guilty of in this kind, 
 are not only the greatest hindrances of true knowledge, but are so well thought of 
 as to pass for it. Men would often see what a small pittance of reason and truth, 
 or possibly none at all, is mixed with those huffing opinions they are swelled with, 
 if they would but look beyond fashionable sounds, and observe what ideas are or 
 are not comprehended under those words with which they are so armed at all 
 points, and with which they so confidently lay about them. I shall imagine I 
 have done some service to truth, peace, and learning, if, by any enlargement on 
 this subject, I can make men reflect on their own use of language, and give them 
 reason to suspect, that, since it is frequent for others, it may also be possible for 
 them to have sometimes very good and approved words in their mouths and 
 writings, with very uncertain, little, or no signification. And therefore it is not 
 
CHAP. VI. |] NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 333 
 
 unreasonable for them to be wary herein themselves, and not to be unwilling to 
 have them examined by others. With this design, therefore, I shall go on with 
 what I have further to say concerning this matter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF THE NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 
 
 1. The common Names of Substances stand for Sorts.—TuHrE common names 
 of substances, as well as other general terms, stand for sorts; which is nothing 
 else but the being made signs of such complex ideas, wherein several particular 
 substances do or might agree, by virtue of which they are capable of being com- 
 prehended in one common conception, and signified by one name. I say do or 
 might agree, for though there be but one sun existing in the world, yet the idea 
 of it bemg abstracted, so that more substances (if there were several) might each 
 agree in it, it is as much a sort as if there were as many suns as there are stars.} 
 They want not their reasons who think there are, and that each fixed star would 
 answer the idea the name sun stands for, to one who was placed in a due distance; 
 which, by the way, may show us how much the sorts, or, if you please, genera 
 and species of things (for those Latin terms signify to me no more than the 
 English word sort) depend on such collections of ideas as men have made, and not 
 on the real nature of things; since it is not impossible but that, in propriety of 
 speech, that might be a sun to one which is a star to another. 
 
 2. The Essence of each Sort is the abstract Idea.—The measure and boun- 
 dary of each sort or species whereby it is constituted that particular sort, and 
 distinguished from others, is that we call its essence, which is nothing but that 
 abstract idea to which the name is annexed ; so that everything contained in that 
 idea is essential to that sort. This, though it be all the essence of natural sub- 
 stances that we know, or by which we distinguish them into sorts, yet I call it by 
 a peculiar name, the nominal essence, to distinguish it from the real constitution 
 of substances, upon which depends this nominal essence, and all the properties of 
 that sort; which, therefore, as has been said, may be called the real essence ; 
 v. g. the nominal essence of gold is that complex idea the word gold stands for, 
 let it be, for instance, a body yellow, of a certain weight, malleable, fusible, and 
 fixed. But the real essence is the constitution of the insensible parts of that body, 
 on which those qualities and all the other properties of gold depend. How far 
 these two are different, though they are both called essence, is obvious at first 
 sight to discover. 
 
 3. The nominal and real Essence different.—For though perhaps voluntary 
 motion, with sense and reason, joined to a body of a certain shape, be the complex 
 idea to which I and others annex the name man, and so be the nominal essence of 
 the species so called, yet nobody will say that complex idea is the real essence 
 and source of all those operations which are to be found in any individual of that 
 sort. The foundation of all those qualities which are the ingredients of our com- 
 plex idea, is something quite different; and had we such a knowledge of that 
 constitution of man, from which his faculties of moving, sensation, and reasoning, 
 and other powers flow, and on which his so regular shape depends, as it is pos- 
 sible angels have, and it is certain his Maker has, we should have a quite other 
 idea of his essence than what now is contained in our definition of that species, be 
 
 1 Modern astronomy has ascertained, I be- suns; that is, the centres of systems like our 
 lieve, that many of the stars are in reality | own. 
 
Jot OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 it what it will; and our idea of any individual man would be as far different from 
 what it is now, as is his who knows all the springs and wheels and other con- 
 trivances within of the famous clock at Strasburgh, from that which a gazing 
 countryman has for it, who barely sees the motion of the hand, and hears the 
 clock strike, and observes only some of the outward appearances.’ | 
 
 4. Nothing essential to Individuals.—That essence, in the ordinary use of the 
 word, relates to sorts, and that it is considered in particular beings no further 
 than as they are ranked into sorts, appears from hence: that, take but away the 
 abstract ideas by which we sort individuals, and rank them under common names, 
 and then the thought of anything essential to any of them instantly vanishes; we 
 have no notion of the one without the other, which plainly shows their relation. 
 It is necessary for me to be as I am; God and nature has made me so; but there 
 is nothing I have is essential to me. An accident or disease may very much 
 alter my colour or shape; a fever or fall may take away my reason or memory, 
 or both, and an apoplexy leave neither sense nor understanding, no, nor life. 
 Other creatures of my shape may be made with more and better, or fewer and 
 worse faculties than I have; and others may have reason and sense in a shape 
 and body very different from mine. None of these are essential to the one or the 
 other, or to any individual whatever, till the mind refers it to some sort or species 
 of things; and then presently, according to the abstract idea of that sort, some- 
 thing is found essential. Let any one examine his own thoughts, and he will find 
 that as soon as he supposes or speaks of essential, the consideration of some 
 species, or the complex idea signified by some general name comes into his 
 mind; and it is in reference to that that this or that quality is said to be essential. 
 So that if it be asked, whether it be essential to me or any other particular corpo- 
 real being to have reason? I say, no; no more than it is essential to this white 
 thing I write on to have words in it. But if that particular being be to be 
 counted of the sort man, and to have the name man given it, then reason is 
 essential to it, supposing reason to be a part of the complex idea the name man 
 stands for; as it 1s essential to this thing I write on to contain words, if I will 
 give it the name treatise, and rank it under that species. So that essential and 
 not essential relate only to our abstract ideas, and the names annexed to them ; 
 which amounts to no more than this, that whatever particular thing has not in it 
 those qualities which are contained in the abstract idea which any general term 
 stands for, cannot be ranked under that species nor be called by that name, since 
 that abstract idea is the very essence of that species. 
 
 5. Thus, if the idea of body with some people be bare extension or space, then 
 solidity is not essential to body; if others make the idea to which they give the 
 name body to be solidity and extension, then solidity is essential to body. That, 
 therefore, and that alone is considered as essential, which makes a part of the 
 complex idea the name of a sort stands for, without which no particular thing can 
 be reckoned of that sort, nor be entitled to that name. Should there be found a 
 parcel of matter that had all the other qualities that are in iron, but wanted 
 obedience to the loadstone, and would neither be drawn by it nor receive direction 
 from it, would any one question whether it wanted anything essential? It would 
 be absurd to ask whether a thing really existing wanted anything essential to it; 
 
 1 Several of our older travellers have spoken 
 of the great clock at Strasburgh, but Skippon’s 
 brief description will suffice to give the reader 
 who happens not to have the others at hand, a 
 sufficient idea of this curious piece of mechanism: 
 ‘“‘ We saw here the'famous clock described by Tom. 
 Coryat. Towards the bottom is a great circle, 
 with the calendar, (a figure pointing to the day 
 of the month,) and within that are fifteen other 
 circles, each being divided into one hundred parts, 
 the calendar lasting from 1578 to 1672. In the 
 
 middle is a map of Germany, and on it is written, 
 ‘ Conradus Dasypodius et David Wolkenstein 
 Vratist designabant Thobias Stunner, pingebat, 
 A.D. MDLXxI1l.’ The clock-work was made by 
 one Isaac Habrechtus, of Strasburgh. When 
 the clock strikes, a little figure keeps time at 
 every stroke, with a sceptre, and another figure 
 turns an hour-glass, and twelve apostles follow 
 one another, and a cock crows.” (Ap. Churchill, 
 Vol. VI. 457.) 
 
CHAP. VI. | NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 335 
 
 or could it be demanded, whether this made an esseniial or specific difference or 
 not, since we have no other measure of essential or specific but our abstract 
 ideas? And to talk of specific differences in nature, without reference to general 
 ideas in names, is to talk unintelligibly. For I would ask any one, what is suf- 
 ficient to make an essential difference in nature between any two particular beings, 
 without any regard had to some abstract idea, which is looked upon as the essence 
 and standard of a species? All such patterns and standards being quite laid 
 aside, particular beings, considered barely in themselves, will be found to have 
 all their qualities equally essential; and everything in each individual will be 
 essential to it, or, which is more, nothing at all. For though it may be rea- 
 sonable to ask, whether obeying the magnet be essential to iron? yet I think it 
 is very improper and insignificant to ask, whether it be essential to the particular 
 parcel of matter I cut my pen with, without considering it under the name iron, 
 or as being of a certain species? And if, as has been said, our abstract ideas 
 which have names annexed to them are the boundaries of species, nothing can 
 be essential but what is contained in those ideas. 
 
 6. It is true, I have often mentioned a real essence, distinct in substances from 
 those abstract ideas of them, which I call their nominal essence. By this real 
 essence I mean the real constitution of anything, which is the foundation of all 
 those properties that are combined in, and are constantly found to co-exist with 
 the nominal essence; that particular constitution which everything has within 
 itself, without any relation to anything without it. But essence, even in this 
 sense, relates to a sort, and supposes a species; for being that real constitution on 
 which the properties depend, it necessarily supposes a sort of things, properties 
 belonging only to species, and not to individuals; v. g. supposing the nominal 
 essence of gold to be a body of such a peculiar colour and weight, with mal- 
 leability and fusibility, the real essence is that constitution of the parts of matter 
 on which these qualities and their union depend ; and is also the foundation of its 
 solubility in aqua regia and other properties accompanying that complex idea. 
 Here are essences and properties, but all upon supposition of a sort or general 
 abstract idea, which is considered as immutable; but there is no individual parcel 
 of matter to which any of these qualities are so annexed as to be essential to it or 
 inseparable from it. That which is essential belongs to it as a condition, whereby 
 it is of this or that sort; but take away the consideration of its bemg ranked 
 under the name of some abstract idea, and then there is nothing necessary to it, 
 nothing inseparable from it. Indeed, as to the real essences of substances, we 
 only suppose their being, without precisely knowing what they are; but that 
 which annexes them still to the species is the nominal essence, of which they are 
 the supposed foundation and cause. 
 
 7. The nominal Essence bounds the Species.—The next thing to be considered 
 is, by which of those essences it is that substances are determined into sorts or 
 species ; and that, it is evident, is by the nominal essence; for it is that alone 
 that the name, which is the mark of the sort, signifies. It is impossible, there- 
 fore, that anything should determine the sorts of things, which we rank under 
 general names, but that idea which that name is designed as a mark for; which 
 is that, as has been shown, which we call nominal essence. Why do we say, 
 this is a horse, and that a mule; this is an animal, that an herb? How comes 
 any particular thing to be of this or that sort, but because it has that nominal 
 essence, or, which is all one, agrees to that abstract idea that name is annexed to ¢ 
 And I desire any one but to reflect on his own thoughts, when he hears or speaks 
 any of those or other names of substances, to know what sort of essences they 
 stand for. 
 
 8. And that the species of things to us are nothing but the ranking them under 
 distinct names, according to the complex ideas in us, and not according to precise, 
 distinct, real essences in them, is plain from hence: that we find many of the indi- 
 viduals that are ranked into one sort, called by one common name, and so 
 
336 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 received as being of one species, have yet qualities depending on their real consti- 
 tutions, as far different one from another, as from others from which they are 
 accounted to differ specifically. This, as it is easy to be observed by all who 
 have to do with natural bodies, so chemists especially are often, by sad experience, 
 convinced of it, when they sometimes in vain seek for the same qualities in one 
 parcel of sulphur, antimony, or vitriol, which they have found im others. For, 
 though they are bodies of the same species, having the same nominal essence, 
 under the same name, yet do they often, upon severe ways of examination, betray 
 qualities so different one from another, as to frustrate the expectation and labour 
 of very wary chemists. But if things were distinguished into species, according 
 to their real essences, it would be as impossible to find different properties in any 
 two individual substances of the same species, as it is to find different properties 
 in two circles, or two equilateral triangles. That is properly the essence to us, 
 which determines every particular to this or that classis; or, which is the same 
 thing, to this or that general name: and what can that be else, but that abstract 
 idea to which that name is annexed; and so has, in truth, a reference, not so 
 much to the being of particular things, as to their general denommations? 
 
 9, Not the real Essence, which we know not.—Nor indeed can we rank and 
 sort things, and consequently (which is the end of sorting) denominate them by 
 their real essences ; because we know them not. Our faculties carry us no further 
 towards the knowledge and distinction of substances, than a collection of those 
 sensible ideas which we observe in them; which, however made with the greatest 
 diligence and exactness we are capable of, yet is more remote from the. true 
 internal constitution from which those qualities flow, than, as I said, a country- 
 man’s idea is from the inward contrivance of that famous clock at Strasburgh, 
 whereof he only sees the outward figure and motions. There is not so con- 
 temptible a plant or animal, that does not confound the most enlarged understanding. 
 Though the familiar use of things about us take off our wonder, yet it cures not 
 our ignorance. When we come to examine the stones we tread on, or the iron 
 we daily handle, we presently find we know not their make, and can give no 
 reason of the different qualities we find in them. It is evident the internal consti- 
 tution, whereon their properties depend, is unknown to us; for to go no further 
 than the grossest and most obvious we can imagine amongst them, what is that 
 texture of parts, that real essence, that makes lead and antimony fusible, wood 
 and stones not? What makes lead and iron malleable, antimony and stones not? 
 And yet how infinitely these come short of the fine contrivances and inconceivable 
 real essences of plants or animals, every one knows. The workmanship of the all- 
 wise and powerful God in the great fabric of the universe, and every part thereof, fur- 
 ther exceeds the capacity and comprehension of the most inquisitive and intelligent 
 man, than the best contrivance of the most ingenious man doth the conceptions of 
 the most ignorant of rational creatures. Therefore we in vain pretend to range 
 things into sorts, and dispose them into certain classes under names, by their 
 real essences, that are so far from our discovery or comprehension. A blind man 
 may as soon sort things by their colours, and he that has lost his smell as well 
 distinguish a lily and a rose by their odours, as by those internal constitutions 
 which he knows not. He that thinks he can distinguish sheep and goats by their 
 real essences, that are unknown to him, may be pleased to try his skill in those 
 species called cassiowary and querechinchio, and by their internal real essences 
 determine the boundaries of those species, without knowing the complex idea of 
 sensible qualities that each of those names stand for, in the countries where those 
 animals are to be found. 
 
 10. Not substantial Forms, which we know less.—Those, therefore, who have 
 been taught that the several species of substances had their distinct internal sub- 
 stantial forms; and that it was those forms which made the distinction of sub- 
 stances into their true species and genera, were led yet further out of the way by 
 having their minds set upon fruitless inquiries after substantial forms, wholly 
 
NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. oor 
 
 CHAP. V1.] 
 
 unintelligible, and whereof we have scarce so much as any obscure or confused 
 conception in general, 
 
 11. That the nominal Essence is that whereby we distinguish Species, further 
 evident from Spirtts.—That our ranking and distinguishing natural substances 
 into species consists in the nominal essences the mind makes, and not in the real 
 essences to be found in the things themselves, is further evident from our ideas of 
 spirits; for the mind getting only by reflecting on its own operations those simple 
 ideas which it attributes to spirits, it hath or can have no other notion of spirit but 
 by attributing all those operations it finds in itself to a sort of beings, without con- 
 sideration of matter. And even the most advanced notion we have of God is but 
 attributing the same simple ideas which we have got from reflection on what we 
 find in ourselves, and which we conceive to have more perfection in them than 
 would be in their absence ; attributing, I say, those simple ideas to him in an un- 
 limited degree. Thus, having got from reflecting on ourselves the idea of exist- 
 ence, knowledge, power, and pleasure—each of which we find it. better to have 
 than to want; and the more we have of each the better—joining all these to- 
 gether, with infinity to each of them, we have the complex idea of an eternal, 
 omniscient, omnipotent, infinitely wise and happy being. And though we are 
 told that there are different species of angels ; yet we know not how to frame dis- 
 tinet specific ideas of them: not out of any conceit that the existence of more spe- 
 cies than one of spirits is impossible, but because having no more simple ideas (nor 
 being able to frame more) applicable to such beings, but only those few taken from 
 ourselves, and from the actions of our own minds in thinking, and being delighted, 
 and moving several parts of our bodies, we can no otherwise distinguish in our 
 conceptions the several species of spirits one from another, but by attributing 
 those operations and powers we find in ourselves to them in a higher or lower 
 degree ; and so have no very distinct specific ideas of spirits, except only of God, 
 to whom we attribute both duration and all those other ideas with infinity ; to the 
 other spirits, with limitation. Nor, as I humbly conceive, do we, between God 
 and them in our ideas, put any difference by any number of simple ideas which we 
 have of one and not of the other, but only that of infinity.’ All the particular ideas 
 of existence, knowledge, will, power, and motion, &c. being ideas derived from the 
 operations of our minds, we attribute all of them to all sorts of spirits, with the 
 difference only of degrees, to the utmost we can imagine, even infinity, when 
 we would frame as well as we can an idea of the first being; who yet, it is cer- 
 tain, is infinitely more remote, in the real excellency of his nature, from the high- 
 est and perfectest of all created beings, than the greatest man, nay, purest seraph, 
 is from the most contemptible part of matter; and consequently must infinitely 
 exceed what our narrow understandings can conceive of him. 
 
 12. Whereof there are probably numberless Species.—It is not impossible to con- 
 ceive nor repugnant to reason, that there may be many species of spirits, as much se- 
 parated and diversified one from another by distinct properties whereof we have no 
 ideas, as the species of sensible things are distinguished one from another by qualities 
 which we knowand observe in them. That there should be more species of intelligent 
 creatures above us than there are of sensible and material below us, is probable to 
 me from hence, that, in all the visible corporeal world, we see no chasms or gaps.” 
 
 1 Hence the employment of angels as agents in 
 poetry always proves a cold and lifeless contri- 
 vance, compared, at least, with the introduction of 
 human actors. We can scarcely be made to sym- 
 pathize with natures entirely unknown to us; and 
 it is only by regarding God as the author of our 
 existence, as our great parent, that we can be 
 said actually to love him. He is to us what a fa- 
 ther is to the child who has never seen him. Our 
 own existence proves his—our intelligence his 
 wisdom—our happiness his goodness—our afflic- 
 
 tions the existence of sin, and the necessity of 
 chastisement. We can therefore love God with 
 an affectionate love, with a love which constitutes 
 the purest bliss of all who feel it. But of angels 
 we know nothing, save that they exist ; and whe- 
 ther there be grades and differences among them 
 or not, is matter of no concern to us. 
 
 2 Pope has adopted this opinion, and clothed it 
 with exquisite versification ; and, in itself, itis not, 
 though but a mere conjecture, inconsistent with 
 philosophy. It will, however, occur to every man, 
 
338 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 All quite down from us the descent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, 
 that in each remove differ very little one from the other. There are fishes that 
 have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region; and there are some birds 
 that are inhabitants of the water whose blood is cold as fishes, and their flesh so 
 like in taste, that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish-days. There are ani- 
 mals so near of kin both to birds and beasts that they are in the middle between 
 both: amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together; seals live at land 
 and sea, and porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog, not to mention 
 what is confidently reported of mermaids, or sea-men. There are some brutes that 
 seem to have as much knowledge and reason as some that are called men; and 
 the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so nearly joined, that, if you will take the 
 lowest of one and the highest of the other, there will scarce be perceived any great 
 difference between them ; and so on, till we come to the lowest and the most inor- 
 ganical parts of matter, we shall find everywhere that the several species are 
 linked together, and differ but in almost insensible degrees. And when we con- 
 sider the infinite power and wisdom of the Maker, we have reason to think that it 
 is suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe, and the great design and 
 infinite goodness of the Architect, that the species of creatures should also, by 
 gentle degrees, ascend upward from us toward his infinite perfection, as we see 
 they gradually descend from us downwards: which if it be probable, we have 
 reason then to be persuaded that there are far more species of creatures above us 
 than there are beneath: we being, in degrees of perfection, much more remote 
 from the infinite being of God than we are from the lowest state of being, and that 
 which approaches nearest to nothing. And yet, of all those distinct species, for 
 the reasons abovesaid, we have no clear distinct ideas. 
 
 13. The nominal Essence that of the Species, proved from Water and Ice.— 
 But to return to the species of corporeal substances. If I should ask any one 
 whether ice and water were two distinct species of things, I doubt not but I should 
 be answered in the affirmative: and it cannot be denied but he that says they are 
 two distinct species is in the right. But if an Englishman bred in Jamaica, who 
 perhaps had never seen nor heard of ice, coming into England in the winter, find 
 the water he put in his basin at night in a great part frozen in the morning, and, 
 not knowing any peculiar name it had, should call it hardened water; I ask 
 whether this would be a new species to him different from water? And I think 
 it would be answered here, it would not be to him a new species, no more than 
 congealed jelly, when it is cold, is a distinct species from the same jelly fluid and 
 warm; or than liquid gold in the furnace is a distinct species from hard gold in 
 the hands of a workman. And if this be so, it is plain that our distinct species 
 are nothing but distinct complex ideas, with distinct names annexed to them. It 
 is true every substance that exists has its peculiar constitution, whereon depend 
 those sensible qualities and powers we observe in it; but the ranking of things 
 into species (which is nothing but sorting them under several titles) is done by us 
 according to the ideas that we have of them: which, though sufficient to distin- 
 guish them by names, so that we may be able to discourse of them when we have 
 them not present before us ; yet if we suppose it to be done by their real internal 
 constitutions, and that things existing are distinguished by nature into species by 
 real essences, according as we distinguish them into species by names, we shall be 
 liable to great mistakes. 
 
 that, between the highest of created beings and Above, how high progressive life may go! 
 his Creator, there must always be an infinite gap. Around, how wide! how deep extend below! 
 The very terms Creator and created suggest thus Vast chain of being! which from God began, 
 much. However, Pope escapes all difficulties by Nature’s ethereal, human, angel, man, 
 
 the brevity of his exposition, which will admit of Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, 
 more than one interpretation. No glass can reach from infinite to thee, 
 ‘‘See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, From thee to nothing.” 
 
 All matter quick, and bursting into birth. ¥ Essay on Man, I. § 8. 
 
OHAP. VI.] NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 309 
 
 14. Difficulties against a certain Number of real Essences.—To distinguish 
 substantial beings into species, according to the usual supposition, that there are 
 certain precise essences or forms of things, whereby all the individuals existing 
 are by nature distinguished into species, these things are necessary :— 
 
 15. First, To be assured that nature in the production of things always de- 
 signs them to partake of certain regulated established essences, which are to be 
 the models of all things to be produced. This, in that crude sense it is usually 
 proposed, would need some better explication before it can fully be assented to. 
 
 16. Secondly, It would be necessary to know whether nature always attains 
 that essence it designs in the production of things. The irregular and monstrous 
 births, that in divers sorts of animals have been observed, will always give us rea- 
 son to doubt of one or both of these. 
 
 17. Thirdly, It ought to be determined whether those we call monsters be 
 really a distinct species, according to the scholastic notion of the word species ; 
 since it is certain that everything that exists has its particular constitution : and 
 yet we find that some of these monstrous productions have few or none of those 
 qualities which are supposed to result from, and accompany the essence of that 
 species from whence they derive their originals, and to which, by their descent, 
 they seem to belong. 
 
 18. Our nominal Essences of Substances not perfect Collections of Properties. 
 —Fourthly, The real essences of those things which we distinguish into species, 
 and as so distinguished we name, ought to be known; i. e. we ought to have 
 ideas of them. But, since we are ignorant in these four points, the supposed 
 real essences of things stand us not in stead for the distinguishing substances into 
 species. 
 
 19. Fifthly, The only imaginable help in this case would be, that, having 
 framed perfect complex ideas of the properties of things flowing from their dif- 
 ferent real essences, we should thereby distinguish them into species. But nei- 
 ther can this be done: for being ignorant of the real essence itself, it is impossible 
 to know all those properties that flow from it, and are so annexed to it, that any 
 one of them being away, we may certainly conclude that that essence is not there, 
 and so the thing is not of that species. We can never know what is the precise 
 number of properties depending on the real essence of goid, any one of which fail- 
 ing, the real essence of gold—and consequently gold—would not be there, unless 
 we knew the real essence of gold itself, and by that determined that species. By 
 the word gold here, I must be understood to design a particular piece of matter ; 
 v. g. the last guinea that was coined. For if it should stand here in its ordinary 
 signification for that complex idea, which I or any one else calls gold; i. e. for 
 the nominal essence of gold, it would be jargon: so hard is it to show the various 
 meaning and imperfection of words, when we have nothing else but words to do 
 it by. 
 
 20. By all which it is clear, that our distinguishing substances into species 
 by names, is not at all founded on their real essences; nor can we pretend to 
 range and determine them exactly into species, according to internal essential 
 differences. 
 
 21. But such a Collection as our Name stands for.—But since, as has been 
 remarked, we have need of general words, though we know not the real essences 
 of things; all we can do is to collect such a number of simple ideas as by exami- 
 nation we find to be united together in things existing, and thereof to make one 
 complex idea. Which, though it be not the real essence of any substance that 
 exists, is yet the specific essence to which our name belongs, and is convertible 
 with it; by which we may at least try the truth of these nominal essences. For 
 example: there be that say that the essence of body is extension: if it be so, we 
 can never mistake in putting the essence of anything for the thing itself. Let 
 us then in discourse put extension for body, and when we would say that body 
 moves, let us say that extension moves, and see how ill it will look. He that 
 
 j Aes 
 
340 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, [BOOK Il. 
 
 should say that one extension by impulse moves another extension, would, by the 
 bare expression, sufficiently show the absurdity of such a notion. The essence of 
 anything in respect of us, is the whole complex idea:comprehended and marked 
 by that name; and in substances, besides the several distinct simple ideas that 
 make them up, the confused one of substance, or of an unknown support and 
 cause of their union, is always a part: and therefore the essence of body is not 
 bare extension, but an extended solid thing: and so to say an extended solid thing 
 moves or impels another, is all one and as intelligible as to say, body moves or 
 impels. Likewise to say that a rational animal is capable of conversation, is all 
 one as to say a man; but no one will say that rationality is capable of con- 
 versation, because it makes not the whole essence to which we give the name man. 
 
 22. Our abstract Ideas are to us the Measures of Species: Instance in that of 
 Man.—There are creatures in the world that have shapes like ours, but are hairy, 
 and want language and reason. There are naturals amongst us that have per- 
 fectly our shape, but want reason, and some of them language too.' There are 
 creatures, as it is said, (“sit fides penes authorem,” but there appears no contra- 
 diction that there should be such,) that, with language and reason and a shape in 
 other things agreeing with ours, have hairy tails; others where the males have no 
 beards, and others where the females have. If it be asked whether these be all 
 men or no,—all of human species? it is plain, the question refers only to the 
 nominal essence: for those of them to whom the definition of the word man, or 
 the complex idea signified by that name, agrees, are men, and the other not. 
 But if the inquiry be made concerning the supposed real essence, and whether 
 the internal constitution and frame of these several creatures be specifically dif- 
 ferent, it is wholly impossible for us to answer, no part of that gomg into our 
 specific idea; only we have reason to think, that, where the faculties or outward 
 frame so much differs, the internal constitution is not exactly the same. But 
 what difference in the real internal constitution makes a specific difference it is in 
 vain to inquire; whilst our measures of species be, as they are, only our abstract 
 ideas, which we know; and not that internal constitution which makes no part 
 of them. Shall the difference of hair only on the skin be a mark of a different 
 internal specific constitution between a changeling and a drill, when they agree in 
 shape, and want of reason and speech? And shall not the want of reason and 
 speech be a sign to us of different real constitutions and species between a change- 
 ling and a reasonable man? And so of the rest, if we pretend that distinction of 
 species or sorts is fixedly established by the real frame and secret constitutions of 
 things. 
 
 25. Species not distinguished by Generation.—Nor let any one say, that the 
 power of propagation in animals by the mixture of male and female, and in plants 
 by seeds, keeps the supposed real species distinct and entire. For, granting this 
 to be true, it would help us in the distinction of the species of things no further 
 than the tribes of animals and vegetables. What must we do for the rest? But 
 
 1 Several French naturalists—as M. Bory de | writer may feel in himself some relationship to 
 St.Vincent, and M. Lesson—finding it difficult to | the orang, and rejoice in it, but it is hardly 
 mark the points by which man is distinguished | fair in him to speak thus confidently in behalf of 
 from the inferior animals, appear somewhat de- | us all. In the same spirit which, among certain 
 sirous altogether to lose sight of them. They | classes, obtains the name of philosophy, M. de St. 
 seem to be animated by a passion to resemble the | Vincent seeks to humble human pride. ‘ Par une 
 
 brutes, and consequently to catch with extraor- | singularité digne de remarque,” he says, ‘ pour 
 dinary delight at whatsoever seems, in their view, | rejeter les orangs parmi les singes et ceux-ci parmi 
 to establish the relationship of man to the orang- | les bétes brutes, en conservant 4 Vhomme toute 
 outang. ‘‘ Homme, enorgueilli de ton enveloppe | la dignité qu’il s’arroge, on argué d’un avantage 
 extérieure !’’ exclaims Lesson, with ludicrous em- | incontestable que possederaient les singes et les 
 
 phasis, ‘‘ des traits que dans ta vanité tu as osé | orangs. En effet, quatre mains ne vaudraient- 
 comparer a ceux de la Divinité! étre fragile, | elles pas mieux que deux, commes élémens de per- 
 egoiste, dont la vie s’écarte dans des acts vicieux, | fectibilité?’’ (L’Homme, i. 44.) But, if so, M. 
 déguises avec plus ou moins d’art, meconnois si | de S. Vincent should explain to us how it has 
 tu le peux, ta parenté avec les orangs!”’ (Histoire | happened that the two hands have proved too 
 des Mammiféres, t. iii. p. 260, et seq.) Sucha | many for the four. 
 
CHAP. VI.] NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 34] 
 
 in those too it is not sufficient: for if history lie not, women have conceived by 
 drills; and what real species by that measure such a production will be in nature, 
 will be a new question: and we have reason to think this is not impossible, since 
 mules and jumarts—the one from the mixture of an ass and a mare, the other 
 from the mixture of a bull and a mare—are so frequent in the world. I once saw 
 a creature that was the issue of a cat and a rat, and had the plain marks of both 
 about it; wherein nature appeared to have followed the pattern of neither sort 
 alone, but to have jumbled them together. To which he that shall add the mon- 
 strous productions that are so frequently to be met with in nature, will find it hard, 
 even in the race of animals, to determine by the pedigree of what species every 
 animal’s issue is; and be at a loss about the real essence, which he thinks cer- 
 tainly conveyed by generation, and has alone a right to the specific name. But 
 further, if the species of animals and plants are to be distinguished only by propa- 
 gation, must I go to the Indies to see the sire and dam of the one, and the plant. 
 from which the seed was gathered that produced the other, to know whether this 
 be a tiger or that tea? 
 
 24. Not by substantial Forms.—Upon the whole matter, it is evident that it is 
 their own collections of sensible qualities that men make the essences of their se- 
 veral sorts of substances; and that their real internal structures are not con- 
 sidered by the greatest part of men in the sorting them. Much less were any 
 substantial forms ever thought on by any but those who have in this one part of 
 the world learned the language of the schools: and yet those ignorant men who 
 pretend not any insight into the real essences, nor trouble themselves about sub- 
 stantial forms, but are content with knowing things one from another by their 
 sensible qualities, are often better acquainted with their differences, can more 
 nicely distinguish them from their uses, and better know what they expect from 
 each, than those learned quick-sighted men who look so deep into them, and talk 
 so confidently of something more hidden and essential. 
 
 25. The Specific Essences made by the Mind.—But supposing that the real 
 essences of substances were discoverable by those that would severely apply them- 
 selves to that inquiry, yet we could not reasonably think that the ranking of 
 things under general names was regulated by those internal real constitutions, or 
 anything else but their obvious appearances; since languages, in all countries, 
 have been established long before sciences. So that they have not been philoso- 
 phers or logicians, or such who have troubled themselves about forms and essences 
 that have made the general names that are in use amongst the several nations of 
 men: but those more or less comprehensive terms have for the most part, in all 
 languages, received their birth and signification from ignorant and illiterate peo- 
 ple, who sorted and denominated things by those sensible qualities they found in 
 them ; thereby to signify them, when absent, to others, whether they had an occa- 
 sion to mention a sort or a particular thing. 
 
 26. Therefore very various and uncertain.—Since then it is evident that we sort 
 and name substances by their nominal and not by their real essences, the next thing 
 to be considered is, how and by whom these essences come to be made. As to the 
 latter, it is evident they are made by the mind, and not by nature: for were they 
 Nature’s workmanship, they could not be so various and different in several men 
 as experience tells us they are. For if we will examine it, we shall not find the 
 nominal essence of any one species of substances in all men the same: no, not of 
 that which of all others we are the most intimately acquainted with. It could not 
 possibly be, that the abstract idea to which the name man is given should be 
 different in several men, if it were of Nature’s making ; and that to one it should 
 be “animal rationale,” and to another, “ animal implume bipes latis unguibus.” 
 He that annexes the name man to a complex idea made up of sense and sponte- 
 neous motion, joined to a body of such a shape, has thereby one essence of the 
 species man; and he that, upon further examination, adds rationality, has another 
 essence of the species he calls man: by which means the same individual will be a 
 
342 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Ill. 
 
 true man to the one, which is not so to the other. I think there is scarce any 
 one will allow this upright figure, so well known, to be the essential difference of 
 the species man; and yet how far men determine of the sorts of animals rather by 
 their shape than descent, is very visible: since it has been more than once debated, 
 whether several human foetuses should be preserved or received to baptism or 
 no, only because of the difference of their outward configuration from the ordinary 
 make of children, without knowing whether they were not as capable of reason as 
 infants cast in another mould: some whereof, though of an approved shape, are 
 never capable of as much appearance of reason all their lives as is to be found in 
 an ape, or an elephant, and never give any signs of being acted by a rational soul. 
 Whereby it is evident, that the outward figure, which only was found wanting, 
 and not the faculty of reason, which nobody could know would be wanting in its 
 due season, was made essential to the human species. The learned divine and 
 lawyer must, on such occasions, renounce his sacred definition of “‘ animal ration- 
 ale,” and substitute some other essence of the human species. Monsieur Menage 
 furnishes us with an example worth the taking notice of on this occasion: “‘ When 
 the abbot of St. Martin,” says he, “‘ was born, he had so little of the figure of a 
 man, that it bespake him rather a monster. It was for some time under delibera- 
 tion, whether he should be baptized or no. However, he was baptized, and 
 declared a man provisionally ;--till time should show what he would prove. 
 Nature had moulded him so untowardly, that he was called all his life the Abbot 
 Malotru; i.e. ill-shaped. He was of Caen.” (Menagiana, 278, 430.) This 
 child, we see, was very near being excluded out of the species of man, barely by his 
 shape. He escaped very narrowly as he was; and it is certain, a, figure a little 
 more oddly turned had cast him, and he had been executed,' as a thing not to be 
 allowed to pass fora man. And yet there can be no reason given why, if the 
 lineaments of his face had been a little altered, a rational soul could not have been 
 lodged in him; why a visage somewhat longer, or a nose flatter, or a wider mouth, 
 could not have consisted, as well as the rest of his ill figure, with such a soul, such 
 parts, as made him—disfigured as he was—capable to be a dignitary in the church. 
 
 27. Wherein, then, would I gladly know, consist the precise and unmovable 
 boundaries of that species? It is plain, if we examine, there is no such thing 
 made by Nature, and established by her amongst men. The real essence of that 
 or any other sort of substances, it is evident, we know not; and therefore are so 
 undetermined in our nominal essences, which we make ourselves, that, if several 
 men were to be asked concerning some oddly-shaped fcetus, as soon as born, whe- 
 ther it were a man or no, it is past doubt one should meet with different answers. 
 Which could not happen, if the nominal essences whereby we limit and distinguish 
 the species of substances were not made by man with some liberty ; but were 
 exactly copied from precise boundaries set by nature, whereby it distinguished all 
 substances into certain species. Who would undertake to resolve what species 
 that monster was of, which is mentioned by Licetus, (lib. i. c. 3,) with a man’s 
 head and hog’s body? Or those other, which to the bodies of men had the heads 
 of beasts, as dogs, horses, &c. If any of these creatures had lived, and could have 
 spoke, it would have increased the difficulty. Had the upper part to the middle 
 been of human shape, and all below swine, had it been murder to destroy it ? 
 Or must the bishop have been consulted, whether it were man enough to be ad- 
 mitted to the font or no? as I have been told it happened in France some years 
 since, in somewhat a like case. So uncertain are the boundaries of species of ani- 
 
 Fn natipereeia ese Da A as eg 
 
 1 What is the rule now observed by those who 
 decide on the execution of monsters? Does the 
 law determine? This should be inquired into: 
 for acts are constantly perpetrated in society, of 
 which public opinion can take no hold, on ac- 
 count of the obscurity that surrounds them. 
 
 2 However this question may be decided, the 
 
 opinions of learned writerson the formation of 
 monsters are exceedingly curious; but Bartholin, 
 I think, stands alone in attributing the whole to 
 the agency of comets, in his ‘‘ Consilium Medi- 
 cum, cum Monstrorem in Dania Natorum His- 
 toria.’ 
 
CHAP. VI. | NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 343 
 
 mals to us, who have no other measures than the complex ideas of our own col- 
 lecting : and so far are we from certainly knowing what a man is; though perhaps 
 it will be judged great ignorance to make any doubt about it. And yet, I think I 
 may say that the certain boundaries of that species are so far from being deter- 
 mined, and the precise number of simple ideas which make the nominal essence, 
 so far from being settled and perfectly known, that very material doubts may still 
 arise about it. And I imagine none of the definitions of the word man which 
 we yet have, nor descriptions of that sort of animal, are so perfect and exact as to 
 satisfy a considerate inquisitive person; much less to obtain a general consent, 
 and to be that which men would everywhere stick by in the decision of cases, and 
 determining of life and death, baptism or no baptism, in productions that might 
 happen. 
 
 28. But not so arbitrary as mixed Modes.—- But though these nominal essences 
 of substances are made by the mind, they are not yet made so arbitrarily as those 
 of mixed modes. To the making of any nominal essence, it is necessary, First, that 
 the ideas whereof it consists have such a union as to make but one idea, how com- 
 pounded soever. Secondly, that the particular idea so united be exactly the same, 
 neither more nor less. For if two abstract complex ideas differ either in number 
 or sorts of their component parts, they make two different, and not one and the 
 same essence. In the first of these, the mind, in making its complex ideas of sub- 
 stances, only follows nature; and puts none together which are not supposed to 
 have a union in nature. Nobody joins the voice of a sheep with the shape of a 
 horse, nor the colour of lead with the weight and fixedness of gold, to be the 
 complex ideas of any real substances; unless he has a mind to fill his head with 
 chimeras, and his discourse with unintelligible words. Men observing certain qua- 
 lities always joined and existing together, therein copied nature ; and of ideas so 
 united made their complex ones of substances. For, though men may make 
 what complex ideas they please, and give what names to them they will; yet, if 
 they will be understood when they speak of things really existing, they must in 
 some degree conform their ideas to the things they would speak of; or else men’s 
 language will be like that of Babel; and every man’s words, being intelligible only 
 to himself, would no longer serve to conversation and the ordinary affairs of life, 
 if the ideas they stand for be not some way answering the common appearances 
 and agreement of substances as they really exist. 
 
 29. Though very imperfect.—Secondly, Though the mind of man, in making 
 its complex ideas of substances, never puts any together that do not really or 
 are not supposed to co-exist; and so it truly borrows that union from nature: 
 yet the number it combines depends upon the various care, industry, or fancy of 
 him that makes it. Men generally content themselves with some few sensible ob- 
 vious qualities; and often, if not always, leave out others as material and as firmly 
 united as those that they take. Of sensible substances there are two sorts ; one of 
 organized bodies, which are propagated by seed; and in these the shape is that 
 which to us is the leading quality and most characteristical part that determines 
 the species. And therefore, in vegetables and animals, an extended solid substance 
 of such a certain figure usually serves the turn. For however some men seem to 
 prize their definition of “ animal rationale,” yet should there a creature be found 
 that had language and reason, but partook not of the usual shape of a man, I 
 believe it would hardly pass for a man, how much soever it were “‘ animal ra- 
 tionale.” And if Balaam’s ass had all his life discoursed as rationally as he did 
 once with his master, I doubt yet whether any one would have thought him 
 worthy the name man, or allowed him to be of the same species with himself. 
 As in vegetables and animals it is the shape, so in most other bodies not pro- 
 pagated by seed, it is the colour we most fix on, and are most led by. Thus, 
 where we find the colour of gold, we are apt to imagine all the other qualities com- 
 prehended in our complex idea to be there also: and we commonly take these 
 two obvious qualities, viz. shape and colour, for so presumptive ideas of several 
 
344 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 species, that, in a good picture, we readily say this is a lion, and that a rose; this 
 is a gold, and that a silver goblet, only by the different figures and colours repre- 
 sented to the eye by the pencil. : 
 
 30. Which yet serve for common Converse.— But though this serves well enough 
 for gross and confused conceptions, and inaccurate ways of talking and thinking ; 
 yet men are far enough from having agreed on the precise number of simple ideas 
 or qualities belonging to any sort of things, signified by its name. Nor is it a 
 wonder; since it requires much time, pains, and skill, strict inquiry, and long ex- 
 amination to find out what and how many those simple ideas are, which are con- 
 stantly and inseparably united in nature, and are always to be found together in 
 the same subject. Most men wanting either time, inclination, or industry enough 
 for this, even to some tolerable degree, content themselves with some few obvious 
 and outward appearances of things, thereby readily to distinguish and sort them for 
 the common affairs of life: and so, without further examination give them names, 
 or take up the names already in use. Which, though in common conversation they 
 pass well enough for the signs of some few obvious qualities co-existing, are yet 
 far enough from comprehending in a settled signification a precise number of 
 simple ideas, much less all those which are united in nature. He that shall con- 
 sider, after so much stir about genus and species, and such a deal of talk of specifie 
 differences, how few words we have yet settled definitions of, may with reason 
 imagine that those forms which there hath been so much noise made about are only 
 chimeras, which give us no light into the specific natures of things. And he that 
 shall consider how far the names of substances are from having significations 
 wherein all who use them do agree, will have reason to conclude that, though the 
 nominal essences of substances are all supposed to be copied from nature, yet 
 they are all or most of them very imperfect. Since the composition of those 
 complex ideas are, in several men, very different: and therefore that these boun- 
 daries of species are as men, and not as Nature, makes them, if at least there are 
 in nature any such prefixed bounds. It is true that many particular substances 
 are so made by Nature, that they have agreement and likeness one with another, 
 and so afford a foundation of being ranked into sorts. But the sorting of things 
 by us, or the making of determinate species being in order to naming and com- 
 prehending them under general terms, I cannot see how it can be properly said, 
 that Nature sets the boundaries of the species of things: or, if it be so, our boun- 
 daries of species are not exactly conformable to those in nature. For we having 
 need of general names for present use, stay not for a perfect discovery of all 
 those qualities which would best show us their most material differences and agree- 
 ments ; but we ourselves divide them by certain obvious appearances into spe- 
 cies, that we may the easier under general names communicate our thoughts about 
 them. For having no other knowledge of any substance but of the simple ideas 
 that are united in it; and observing several particular things to agree with others 
 in several of those simple ideas, we make that collection our specific idea, and 
 give it a general name; that, in recording our thoughts, and in our discourse with 
 others, we may in one short word designate all the individuals that agree in that 
 complex idea, without enumerating the simple ideas that make it up; and so 
 not waste our time and breath in tedious descriptions; which we see they are 
 fain to do who would discourse of any new sort of things they have not yet a 
 name for. 
 
 31. Essences of Species under the same Name very different.— But however these 
 species of substances pass well enough in ordinary conversation, it is plain that 
 this complex idea, wherein they observe several individuals to agree, is by dif- 
 ferent men made very differently ; by some more, and others less accurately. In 
 some, this complex idea contains a greater, and in others a smaller number of 
 qualities, and so is apparently such as the mind makes it. The yellow shining 
 colour makes gold to children; others add weight, malleableness, and fusibility ; 
 and others yet other qualities, which they find joined with that yellow colour, as 
 
ce nan et A Lt A re ee 
 
 CHAP. VI.] NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 345 
 
 constantly as its weight and fusibility: for in all these and the like qualities one 
 has as good a right to be put into the complex idea of that substance wherein they 
 are all joined, as another. And therefore different men leaving out or putting in 
 several simple ideas which others do not, according to their various examination, 
 skill, or observation of that subject, have different essences of gold, which must, 
 therefore, be of their own and not of nature’s making. 
 
 32. The more general our Ideas are, the more incomplete and partial they are. 
 —If the number of simple ideas that make the nominal essence of the lowest 
 species, or first sorting of individuals, depends on the mind of man variously col- 
 lecting them, it is much more evident that they do so in the more comprehen- 
 sive classes, which, by the masters of logic, are called genera. These are complex 
 ideas designedly imperfect; and it is visible at first sight, that several of those 
 qualities that are to be found in the things themselves, are purposely left out of 
 generical ideas. For as the mind, to make general ideas comprehending several 
 particulars, leaves out those of time and place, and such other that make them 
 incommunicable to more than one individual; so to make other yet more general 
 ideas that may comprehend different sorts, it leaves out those qualities that dis- 
 tinguish them, and puts into its new collection only such ideas as are common to 
 several sorts. The same convenience that made men express several parcels of 
 yellow matter coming from Guinea and Peru under one name, sets them also 
 upon making of one name that may comprehend both gold and silver, and some 
 other bodies of different sorts. This is done by leaving out those qualities, which 
 are peculiar to each sort, and retaining a complex idea made up of those that 
 are common to them all; to which the name metal being annexed, there is a 
 genus constituted, the essence whereof being that abstract idea, containing only 
 melleableness and fusibility, with certain degrees of weight and fixedness, wherein 
 some bodies of several kinds agree, leaves out the colour and other qualities 
 peculiar to gold and silver, and the other sorts comprehended under the name 
 metal. Whereby it is plain, that men follow not exactly the patterns set them by 
 nature when they make their general ideas of substances, since there is no body to 
 be found which has barely malleableness and fusibility in it, without other 
 qualities as inseparable as those. But men, in making their general ideas, seeking 
 more the convenience of language and quick dispatch by short and comprehen- 
 sive signs, than the true and precise nature of things as they exist, have, in the 
 framing their abstract ideas, chiefly pursued that end, which was to be furnished 
 with store of general and variously comprehensive names. So that in this whole 
 business of genera and species, the genus, or more comprehensive, is but a partial 
 conception of what is in the species, and the species but a partial idea of what is 
 to be found in each individual. If, therefore, any one will think that a man, and 
 a horse, and an animal, and a plant &c., are distinguished by real essences made 
 by nature, he must think nature to be very liberal of these real essences, making 
 one for body, another for an animal, and another for a horse, and all these essences 
 liberally bestowed upon Bucephalus. But if we would rightly consider what is 
 done in all these genera and species, or sorts, we should find that there is no 
 new thing made, but only more or less comprehensive signs, whereby we may be 
 enabled to express in a few syllables great numbers of particular things, as they 
 agree in more or less general conceptions, which we have framed to that purpose. 
 In all which we may observe, that the more general term is always the name of a 
 less complex idea, and that each genus is but a partial conception of the species 
 comprehended under it. So that if these abstract general ideas be thought to be 
 complete, it can only be in respect of a certain established relation between them 
 and certain names which are made use of to signify them, and not in respect of 
 anything existing, as made by nature. 
 
 33. This all accommodated to the end of Speech.—This is adjusted to the true 
 end of speech, which is to be the easiest and shortest way of communicating our 
 notions. For, thus, he that would discourse of things as they agreed in the com- 
 
346 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Il. 
 
 plex ideas of extension and solidity, needed but use the word body to denote all 
 such. He that to these would join others, signified by the words life, sense, and 
 spontaneous motion, needed but use the word animal to signify all which partook 
 of those ideas; and he that had made a complex idea of a body, with life, sense, 
 and motion, with the faculty of reasoning, and a certain shape joined to it, needed 
 but use the short monosyllable, man, to express all particulars that correspond to 
 that complex idea. This is the proper business of genus and species; and this 
 men do without any consideration of real essences, or substantial forms, which 
 come not within the reach of our knowledge when we think of those things, nor 
 within the signification of our words when we discourse with others. 
 
 34. Instance in Cassowaries.—Were I to talk with any one ofa sort of birds 
 I lately saw in St. James’s Park, about three or four feet high, with a covering 
 of something between feathers and hair, of a dark brown colour, without wings, 
 but in the place thereof two or three little branches coming down like sprigs of 
 Spanish broom, long great legs, with feet only of three claws, and without a tail, 
 I must make this description of it, and so may make others understand me; _ but 
 when I am told that the name of it is cassuaris, I may then use that word to 
 stand in discourse for all my complex idea mentioned in that description; though 
 by that word, which is now become a specific name, I know no more of the real 
 essence or constitution of that sort of animals than I did before; and knew pro- 
 bably as much of the nature of that species of birds before I learned the name, as 
 many Englishmen do of swans or herons, which are specific names, very well 
 known, of sorts of birds common in England. 
 
 35. Men determine the Sorts—From what has been said, it is-evident that 
 men make sorts of things; for it being different essences alone that make different 
 species, it is plain that they who make those abstract ideas which are the nominal 
 essences, do thereby make the species, or sort. Should there be a body found, 
 having all the other qualities of gold, except malleableness, it would no doubt be 
 made a question whether it were gold or not, i. e. whether it were of that species. 
 This could be determined only by that abstract idea to which every one annexed 
 the name gold; so that it would be true gold to him, and belong to that species, 
 who included not malleableness in his nominal essence, signified by the sound 
 gold; and on the other side it would not be true gold, or of that species to him 
 who included malleableness in his specific idea. And who, I pray, is it that 
 makes these diverse species even under one and the same name, but men that 
 make two different abstract ideas consisting not exactly of the same collection of 
 qualities? Nor is it a mere supposition to imagine that a body may exist, 
 wherein the other obvious qualities of gold may be without malleableness; since 
 it is certain that gold itself will be sometimes so eager, (as artists call it,) that it 
 will as little endure the hammer as glass itself. What we have said of the put- 
 ting in or leaving malleableness out of the complex idea the name gold is by 
 any one annexed to, may be said of its peculiar weight, fixedness, and several 
 other the like qualities; for whatsoever is left out or put in, it is still the complex 
 idea to which that name is annexed that makes the species; and as any particular 
 parcel of matter answers that idea, so the name of the sort belongs truly to it, and 
 it is of that species. And thus anything is true gold, perfect metal. All which 
 determination of the species, it is plain, depends on the understanding of man, 
 making this or that complex idea. 
 
 36. Nature makes the Similitude.—This, then, in short, is the case. Nature 
 makes many particular things which do agree one with another in many sensible 
 qualities, and probably too in their internal frame and constitution: but it is not 
 this real essence that distinguishes them into species; it is men, who, taking 
 occasion from the qualities they find united in them, and wherein they observe 
 often several individuals to agree, range them into sorts, in order to their naming, 
 for the convenience of comprehensive signs; under which individuals, according 
 to their conformity to this or that abstract idea, come to be ranked as under 
 
 A ER EN 
 
CHAP. VI. | NAMES OF SUBSTANCES. 347 
 
 ensigns; so that this is of the blue, that the red regiment; this is a man, that a 
 drill: and in this, I think, consists the whole business of genus and species. 
 
 37. I do not deny but nature, in the constant production of particular beings, 
 makes them not always new and various, but very much alike and of kin one to 
 another; but I think it nevertheless true, that the boundaries of the species, 
 whereby men sort them, are made by men; since the essences of the species, dis- 
 tinguished by different names, are, as has been proved, of man’s making, and 
 seldom adequate to the internal nature of the things they are taken from. So that 
 we may truly say, such a manner of sorting of things is the workmanship of 
 men. 
 
 38. Each abstract Idea is an Essence—One thing I doubt not but will seem very 
 strange in this doctrine, which is, that from what has been said it will follow, that 
 each abstract idea with a name to it, makes a distinct species. But who can help 
 it, if truth will have it so? For so it must remain till somebody can show us the 
 species of things limited and distinguished by something else; and let us see that 
 general terms signify not our abstract ideas, but something different from them. 
 I would fain know why a shock and a hound are not as distinct species as a 
 spaniel and an elephant. We have no other idea of the different essence of an 
 elephant and a spaniel, than we have of the different essence of a shock and a 
 hound; all the essential difference whereby we know and distinguish them one 
 from another, consisting only in the different collection of simple ideas, to which 
 we have given those different names. 
 
 39. Genera and Species are in order to naming.—How much the making of 
 species and genera’ is in order to general names, and how much general names 
 are necessary, if not to the being yet at least to the completing of a species, 
 and making it pass for such, will appear, besides what has been said above con- 
 cerning ice and water, in a very familiar example. A silent and a striking watch 
 are but one species to those who have but one name for them; but he that has the 
 name watch for one, and clock for the other, and distinct complex ideas to which 
 those names belong, to him they are different species. It will be said perhaps 
 that the inward contrivance and constitution is different between these two, which 
 the watchmaker has a clear idea of. And yet it is plain they are but one species 
 to him, when he has but one name for them; for what is sufficient in the inward 
 contrivance to make a new species? There are some watches that are made with 
 four wheels, others with five; is this a specific difference to the workman? Some 
 have strings and physies, and others none; some have the balance loose, and 
 others regulated by a spiral spring, and others by hogs’ bristles: are any or all of 
 these enough to make a specific difference to the workman, that knows each of 
 these and several other different contrivances in the internal constitutions of 
 watches? It is certain each of these hath a real difference from the rest; but 
 whether it be an essential, a specific difference or not, relates only to the complex 
 idea to which the name watch is given: as long as they all agree in the idea 
 which that name stands for, and that name does not as a generical name compre- 
 hend different species under it, they are not essentially nor specifically different. 
 But if any one will make minuter divisions from differences that he knows in the 
 internal frame of watches, and to such precise complex ideas give names that 
 shall prevail; they will then be new species to them who have those ideas with 
 names to them, and can by those differences distinguish watches into these several 
 sorts, and then watch will be a generical name. But yet they would be no dis- 
 tinct species to men ignorant of clock-work and the inward contrivances of 
 watches, who had no other idea but the outward shape and bulk, with the marking 
 of the hours by the hand. For to them all those other names would be but 
 
 1 On the signification of these terms which | Prichard, in his Researches into the Physical 
 occur so frequently in Locke, and in all writers | History of Mankind.” Vol. I. p. 105 et seq. 
 on natural history, see the explanation of Dr. | 
 
348 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 synonymous terms for the same idea, and signify no more, nor no other thin 
 but a watch. Just thus I think it is in natural things. Nobody will doubt that 
 the wheels or springs (if I may so say) within, are different in a rational man and 
 a changeling ; no more than that there is a difference in the frame between a drill 
 and a changeling. But whether one, or both the differences be essential or spe- 
 cifical, is only to be known to us by their agreement or disagreement with the 
 complex idea that the name man stands for: for by that alone can it be deter- 
 mined whether one or both, or neither of those be a man. 
 
 40. Species of artificial Things less confused than natural.—From what has 
 been before said, we may see the reason why, in the species of artificial things, 
 there is generally less confusion and uncertainty than in natural. Because an arti- 
 ficial thing being a production of man which the artificer designed, and therefore 
 well knows the idea of, the name of it is supposed to stand for no other idea, nor 
 to import any other essence than what is certainly to be known, and easy enough 
 to be apprehended. For the idea or essence of the several sorts of artificial things 
 consisting, for the most part, in nothing but the determinate figure of sensible 
 parts ; and sometimes motion depending thereon, which the artificer fashions in 
 matter, such as he finds for his turn; it is not beyond the reach of our faculties 
 to attain a certain idea thereof, and to settle the signification of the names whereby 
 the species of artificial things are distinguished with less doubt, obscurity, and 
 equivocation, than we can in things natural, whose differences and operations 
 depend upon contrivances beyond the reach of our discoveries. 
 
 41. Artificial things of distinct Species.—I must be excused here if I think 
 artificial things are of distinct species as well as natural: since I find they are as 
 plainly and orderly ranked into sorts, by different abstract ideas, with general 
 names annexed to them, as distinct one from another as those of natural sub- 
 stances. For why should we not think a watch and pistol as distinct species one 
 from another, as a horse and a dog; they being expressed in our minds by distinct 
 ideas, and to others by distinct appellations ? 
 
 42. Substances alone have proper Names.—This is further to be observed con- 
 cerning substances, that they alone of all our several sorts of ideas have particular 
 or proper names, whereby one only particular thing is signified. Because in 
 simple ideas, modes, and relations, it seldom happens that men have occasion to 
 mention often this or that particular when it is absent. Besides, the greatest part 
 of mixed modes, being actions which perish in their birth, are not capable of a 
 lasting duration as substances, which are the actors; and wherein the simple ideas 
 that make up the complex ideas designed by the name have a lasting union. 
 
 43. Difficulty to treat of Words.—I must beg pardon of my reader for having 
 dwelt so long upon this subject, and perhaps with some obscurity. But I desire 
 it may be considered how difficult it is to lead another by words into the thoughts 
 of things, stripped of those specifical differences we give them: which things, if 
 I name not, I say nothing; and if I do name them, I thereby rank them into 
 some sort or other, and suggest to the mind the usual abstract idea of that 
 species, and so cross my purpose. For to talk of a man, and to lay by, at the 
 same time, the ordinary signification of the name man, which is our complex idea 
 usually annexed to it, and bid the reader consider man as he is in himself, and as 
 he is really distinguished from others in his internal constitution, or real essence, 
 that is, by something he knows not what, looks like trifling; and, yet, thus one 
 must do who would speak of the supposed real essences and species of things, as 
 thought to be made by nature, if it be but only to make it understood that there is 
 no such thing signified by the general names which substances are called by. But 
 because it is difficult by known familiar names to do this, give me leave to endea- 
 vour by an example to make the different consideration the mind has of specific 
 names and ideas a little more clear ; and to show how the complex ideas of modes 
 are referred sometimes to archetypes in the minds of other intelligent beings; or, 
 which is the same, to the signification annexed by others to their received names ; 
 
CHAP. VI. | NAMES OF SUBSTANOES. 349 
 
 and sometimes to no archetypes at all. Give me leave also to show how the mind 
 always refers its ideas of substances, either to the substances themselves or.to the 
 signification of their names as to the archetypes; and also to make plain the 
 nature of species or sorting of things, as apprehended and made use of by us; 
 and of the essences belonging to those species, which is perhaps of more moment 
 to discover the extent and certainty of our knowledge than we at first imagine. 
 
 44, Instances of mixed Modes in hinneah and niouph.—Let us suppose Adam 
 in the state of a grown man, with a good understanding, but in a strange country, 
 with all things new and unknown about him, and no other faculties to attain the 
 knowledge of them but what one of this age has now. He observes Lamech 
 more melancholy than usual, and imagines it to be from a suspicion he has of his 
 wife Adah, (whom he most ardently loved,) that she had too much kindness for 
 another man. Adam discourses these his thoughts to Eve, and desires her to take 
 care that Adah commit not folly; and in these discourses with Eve he makes use 
 of these two new words, kinneah and niouph. In time, Adam’s mistake appears, 
 for he finds Lamech’s troubles proceeded from having killed a man: but yet the 
 two names, kinneah and niouph, (the one standing for suspicion in a husband of 
 his wife’s disloyalty to him, and the other for the act of committing disloyalty, ) 
 lost not their distinct significations. It is plain, then, that here were two distinct 
 complex ideas of mixed modes with names to them, two distinct species of actions 
 essentially different; I ask wherein consisted the essences of these two distinct 
 species of actions? And it is plain it consisted in a precise combination of simple 
 ideas, different in one from the other. I ask, whether the complex idea in Adam’s 
 mind, which he called kinneah, were adequate or not? And it is plain it was; 
 for it being a combination of simple ideas, which he, without any regard to any 
 archetype, without respect to anything as a pattern, voluntarily put together, 
 abstracted, and gave the name kinneah to, to express in short to others, by that 
 one sound, all the simple ideas contained and united in that complex one; it 
 must necessarily follow that it was an adequate idea. His own choice having 
 made that combination, it had all in it he intended it should, and so could not but 
 be perfect, could not but be adequate, it being referred to no other archetype 
 which it was supposed to represent. 
 
 45. These words, kinneah and niouph, by degrees grew into common use, and then 
 the case was somewhat altered. Adam’s children had the same faculties, and thereby 
 the same power that he had, to make what complex ideas of mixed modes they 
 pleased in their own minds; to abstract them, and make what sounds they pleased 
 the signs of them ; but the use of names being to make our ideas within us known 
 to others, that cannot be done but when the same sign stands for the same idea in 
 two who would communicate their thoughts and discourse together. Those, there- 
 fore, of Adam’s children, that found these two words, kinneah and niouph, in familiar 
 use, could not take them for insignificant sounds, but must needs conclude they 
 stood for something ; for certain ideas, abstract ideas; they being general names, 
 which abstract ideas were the essences of the species distinguished by those 
 names. If, therefore, they would use these words as names of species already 
 established and agreed on, they were obliged to conform the ideas in their minds, 
 signified by these names, to the ideas that they stood for in other men’s minds, as 
 to their patterns and archetypes; and then indeed their ideas of these complex 
 modes were liable to be inadequate, as being very apt (especially those that con- 
 sisted of combinations of many simple ideas not to be exactly conformable to the 
 ideas in other men’s minds, using the same names; though for this there be usually 
 a remedy at hand, which is to ask the meaning of any word we understand not of 
 him that uses it; it being as impossible to know certainly what the words jealousy 
 and adultery (which I think answer map and 4183) stand for in another man’s 
 mind, with whom I would discourse about them; as it was impossible, in the 
 beginning of language, to know what kinneah and niouph stood for in another 
 man’s mind, without explication, they being voluntary signs in every one. 
 
300 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Ill. 
 
 46. Instances of Substances in Zahab.— Let us now also consider, after the same 
 manner, the names of substances in their first application. One of Adam’s 
 children, roving in the mountains, lights on a glittering substance which pleases 
 his eye; home he carries it to Adam, who, upon consideration of it, finds it to be 
 hard, to have a bright yellow colour, and an exceeding great weight. These 
 perhaps, at first, are all the qualities he takes notice of in it; and abstracting this 
 complex idea, consisting of a substance having that peculiar bright yellowness, 
 and a weight very great in proportion to its bulk, he gives it the name zahab, to 
 denominate and mark all substances that have these sensible qualities in them. It 
 is evident now, that, in this case, Adam acts quite differently from what he did 
 before in forming those ideas of mixed modes, to which he gave the names kinneah 
 and niouph: for there he puts ideas together only by his own imagination, not 
 taken from the existence of anything: and to them he gave names to denominate 
 all things that should happen to agree to those his abstract ideas, without consi- 
 dering whether any such thing did exist or not; the standard there was of his own 
 making. But in the forming his idea of this new substance, he takes the quite 
 contrary course; here he has a standard made by nature; and therefore, being 
 to represent that to himself, by the idea he has of it, even when it is absent, he 
 puts in no simple idea into his complex one, but what he has the perception of 
 from the thing itself. He takes care that his idea be conformable to this arche- 
 type, and intends the name should stand for an idea so conformable. 
 
 47. This piece of matter, thus denominated zahab by Adam, being quite dif- 
 ferent from any he had seen before, nobody, I think, will deny to be a distinct 
 species, and to have its peculiar essence, and that the name zahab is the mark of 
 the species, and a name belonging to all things partaking in that essence. But 
 here it is plain the essence Adam made the word zahab stand for was nothing 
 but a body hard, shining, yellow, and very heavy. But the inquisitive mind of 
 man, not content with the knowledge of these, as I may say, superficial qualities, 
 puts Adam on further examination of this matter. He therefore knocks and beats 
 it with flints, to see what was discoverable in the inside: he finds it yield to 
 blows, but not easily separate into pieces; he finds it will bend without breaking. 
 Is not now ductility to be added to his former idea, and made part of the essence 
 of the species that name zahab stands for? Further trials discover fusibility 
 and fixedness. Are not they also, by the same reason that any of the others 
 were, to be put into the complex idea signified by the name zahab? If not, what 
 reason will there be shown more for the one than the other? If these must, then 
 all the other properties, which any further trials shall discover in this matter, 
 ought by the same reason to make a part of the ingredients of the complex idea 
 which the name zahab stands for, and so be the essence of the species marked by 
 that name: which properties, because they are endless, it is plain that the idea 
 made after this fashion by this archetype will be always inadequate. 
 
 48. Their Ideas imperfect, and therefore various.— But this is not all; it 
 would also follow that the names of substances would not only have (as in truth 
 they have) but would also be supposed to have different significations, as used by 
 different men, which would very much cumber the use of language. For if every 
 distinct quality that were discovered in any matter by any one were supposed to 
 make a necessary part of the complex idea signified by the common name given 
 to it, it must follow, that men must suppose the same word to signify different 
 things in different men; since they cannot doubt but different men may have dis- 
 covered several qualities in substances of the same denomimation, which others 
 know nothing of. 
 
 49. Therefore, to fix their Species, a real Essence is supposed.—To avoid this, 
 therefore, they have supposed a real essence belonging to every species, from 
 which these properties all flow, and would have their name of the species stand 
 for that. But they not having any idea of that real essence in substances, and 
 their words signifying nothing but the ideas they have, that which is done by this 
 
CHAP. VII. ] OF PARTICLES. 351 
 
 attempt, is only to put the name or sound in the place and stead of the thing 
 having that real essence, without knowing what the real essence is; and this is 
 that which men do when they speak of species of things, as supposing them made 
 by nature, and distinguished by real essences. 
 
 50. Which Supposition is of no Use.—For let us consider, when we affirm 
 that all gold is fixed, either it means that fixedness is a part of the definition—part 
 of the nominal essence the word gold stands for ; and so this affirmation, all gold is 
 fixed, contains nothing but the signification of the term gold. Or else it means, 
 that fixedness, not being a part of the definition of the gold, is a property of that 
 substance itself: in which case it is plain that the word gold stands in the place of 
 a substance, having the real essence of a species of things made by nature. In 
 which way of substitution it has so confused and uncertain a signification, that, 
 though this proposition—gold is fixed, be in that sense an affirmation of something 
 real, yet it is a truth will always fail us in its particular application, and so is of 
 no real use or certainty. For let it be ever so true, that all gold—i. e. all that has 
 the real essence of gold—is fixed, what serves this for, whilst we know not in this 
 sense what is or is not gold? For if we know not the real essence of gold, it is 
 impossible we should know what parcel of matter has that essence, and so whether 
 it be true gold or no. 
 
 51. Conclusion.—To conclude: what liberty Adam had at first to make any 
 complex ideas of mixed modes, by no other patterns but his own thoughts, the 
 same have all men ever since had. And the same necessity of conforming his 
 ideas of substances to things without him, as to archetypes made by nature, that 
 Adam was under, if he would not wilfully impose upon himself; the same are all 
 men ever since under too. The same liberty also that Adam had of affixing any 
 new name to any idea, the same has any one still; (especially the beginners of 
 languages, if we can imagine any such;) but only with this difference, that, in 
 places where men in society have already established a language amongst them, 
 the significations of words are very warily and sparingly to be altered : because 
 men being furnished already with names for their ideas, and common use having 
 appropriated known names to certain ideas, an affected misapplication of them 
 cannot but be very ridiculous. He that hath new notions will perhaps venture 
 sometimes on the coining of new terms to express them ; but men think it a bold- 
 ness, and it is uncertain whether common use will ever make them pass for cur- 
 rent. But in communication with others, it 1s necessary that we conform the 
 ideas we make the vulgar words of any language stand for to their known proper 
 significations, (which I have explained at large already,) or else to make known 
 that new signification we apply them to. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL. 
 
 OF PARTICLES. 
 
 1. Particles connect Parts or whole Sentences together.— BEsIDES words, 
 which are names of ideas in the mind, there are a great many others that are 
 made use of to signify the connexion that the mind gives to ideas or propo- - 
 sitions one with another. The mind, in communicating its thoughts to others, 
 does not only need signs of the ideas it has then before it, but others also, to 
 show or intimate some particular action of its own, at that time, relating to 
 those ideas. This it does several ways; as is, and is not, are the general marks, 
 of the mind, affirming or denying. But besides affirmation or negation without 
 which there is in words no truth or falsehood, the mind does, in declaring its 
 sentiments to others, connect not only the parts of propositions, but whole sen- 
 
302 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 tences one to another, with their several relations and dependencies, to make a 
 coherent discourse. 
 
 2. In them consists the Art of Well-speaking.—The words whereby it signifies 
 what connexion it gives to the several affirmations and negations that it unites in 
 one continued reasoning or narration, are generally called particles ; and it is in 
 the right use of these that more particularly consist the clearness and beauty of a 
 good style. To think well, it is not enough that a man has ideas clear and distinct 
 in his thoughts, nor that he observes the agreement or disagreement of some of 
 them; but he must think in train, and observe the dependence of his thoughts 
 and reasonings upon one another. And to express well such methodical and ra- 
 tional thoughts, he must have words to show what connexion, restriction, distinc- 
 tion, opposition, emphasis, &c. he gives to each respective part of his discourse. 
 To mistake in any of these, is to puzzle instead of informing his hearer ; and there- 
 fore it is that those words which are not truly by themselves the names of any 
 ideas, are of such constant and indispensable use in language, and do much contri- 
 bute to men’s well expressing themselves. 
 
 3. They show what Relation the Mind gives to its own Thoughts. —This part 
 of grammar has been perhaps as much neglected as some others over-diligently 
 cultivated. It is easy for men to write, one after another, of cases and gen- 
 ders, moods and tenses, gerunds and supines: in these and the like there has 
 been great diligence used: and particles themselves, in some languages, have 
 been, with great show of exactness, ranked into their several orders. But though 
 prepositions and conjunctions, &c. are names well known in grammar, and the 
 particles contained under them carefully ranked into their distinct: ‘subdivisions ; 
 yet he who would show the right use of particles, and what significancy and force 
 they have, must take a little more pains, enter into his own thoughts, and observe 
 nicely the several postures of his mind in discoursing. 
 
 4. Neither is it enough for the explaining of these words, to render them, as is 
 usual in dictionaries, by words of another tongue which come nearest to their 
 signification: for what is meant by them is commonly as hard to be understood 
 in one as another language. They are all marks of some action or intimation of 
 the mind ; and therefore to understand them rightly, the several views, postures, 
 stands, turns, limitations, and exceptions, and several other thoughts of the mind, 
 for which we have either none or very deficient names, are diligently to be studied. 
 Of these there is a great variety, much exceeding the number of particles that 
 most languages have to express them by; and therefore it is not to be wondered 
 that most of these particles have divers and sometimes almost opposite significa- 
 tions. In the Hebrew tongue there is a particle consisting of but one single letter, 
 of which there are reckoned up, as I remember, seventy, I am sure above fifty, 
 several significations. 
 
 5. Instance in But.—But is a particle, none more familiar in our language ; 
 and he that says it is a discretive coujunction, and that it answers to sed Latin, or 
 mais in French, thinks he has sufficiently explained it. But it seems to me to in- 
 timate several relations the mind gives to the several propositions or parts of them, 
 which it joins by this monosyllable. 
 
 First, ‘‘ But to say no more:” here it intimates a stop of the mind in the course 
 it was going, before it came quite to the end of it. 
 
 Secondly, “ I saw but two plants :” here it shows that the mind limits the sense 
 to what is expressed, with a negation of all other. 
 
 Thirdly, “ You pray; but it is not that God would bring you to the true re- 
 ligion.” 
 
 Sr ounlily, “ But that he would confirm you in your own.” The first of these 
 buts intimates a supposition in the mind of something otherwise than it should be; 
 the latter shows that the mind makes a direct opposition between that and what 
 goes before it. 
 
 Fifthly, “ All animals have sense, but a dog is an animal :” here it signifies little 
 
CHAP. VIII. | ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE TERMS. 303 
 
 more but that the latter proposition is joined to the former, as the minor of a syllo- 
 ism. 
 
 : 6. This Matter but lightly touched here.—To these, I doubt not, might be 
 added a great many other significations of this particle, if it were my busi- 
 ness to examine it in its full latitude, and consider it im all the places it is to be 
 found; which if one should do, I doubt whether in all those manners it is made 
 use of, it would deserve the title of discretive, which grammarians give to it. 
 But I intend not here a full explication of this sort of signs. The instances I have 
 given in this one may give occasion to reflect on their use and force in language, 
 and lead us into the contemplation of several actions of our minds in discoursing, 
 which it has found a way to intimate to others by these particles ; some whereof 
 constantly, and others in certain constructions, have the sense of a whole sentence 
 contained in them. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE TERMS. 
 
 1. Abstract Terms not predicable one of another, and why.—Tue ordinary 
 words of language and our common use of them would have given us light into 
 the nature of our ideas, if they had been but considered with attention. The mind, 
 as has been shown, has a power to abstract its ideas, and so they become essences, 
 general essences, whereby the sorts of things are distinguished. Now each ab- 
 stract idea being distinct, so that of any two the one can never be the other, the 
 mind will by its intuitive knowledge perceive their difference, and therefore in 
 propositions no two whole ideas can ever be affirmed one of another. This we see in 
 the common use of language, which permits not any two abstract words or names 
 of abstract ideas to be affirmed one of another. For how near of kin soever they 
 may seem to be, and how certain soever it is that man is an animal, or rational, or 
 white, yet every one at first hearing perceives the falsehood of these propositions : 
 humanity is animality, or rationality, or whiteness: and this is as evident as any 
 of the most allowed maxims. All our affirmations then are only in concrete, which 
 is the affirming, not one abstract idea to be another, but one abstract idea to be 
 joined to another, which abstract ideas, in substances, may be of any sort; in all 
 the rest are little else but of relations ; andin substances the most frequent are of 
 powers: v. g. “a man is white,” signifies that the thing that has the essence of a 
 man has also in it the essence of whiteness, which is nothing but a power to produce 
 the idea of whiteness in one whose eyes can discover ordinary objects: or, “aman 
 is rational,” signifies that the same thing that hath the essence of a man hath also 
 in it the essence of rationality, i. e. a power of reasoning. 
 
 2. They show the Difference of our Ideas.—This distinction of names shows 
 us also the difference of our ideas: for if we observe them we shall find that our 
 simple ideas have all abstract as well as concrete names ; the one whereof is, (to 
 speak the language of grammarians,) a substantive, the other an adjective; as 
 whiteness, white, sweetness, sweet. The like also holds in our ideas of modes and 
 relations ; as, justice, just, equality, equal; only with this difference, that some of 
 the concrete names of relations amongst men chiefly are substantives: as, pater- 
 nitas, pater; whereof it were easy to render a reason; but as to our ideas of sub- 
 stances, we have very few or no abstract names at all. For though the schools 
 have introduced animalitas, humanitas, corporietas,and some others; yet they hold 
 no proportion with that infinite number of names of substances, to which they never 
 
oo4 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 were ridiculous enough to attempt the coining of abstract ones: and those few that 
 the schools forged and put into the mouths of their scholars could never yet get 
 admittance into common use, or obtain the license of public approbation. Which 
 seems to me at least to intimate the confession of all mankind, that they have no 
 ideas of the real essences of substances, since they have not names for such ideas : 
 which no doubt they would have had, had not their consciousness to themselves 
 of their ignorance of them kept them from so idle an attempt. And therefore 
 though they had ideas enough to distinguish gold from a stone, and metal from 
 wood ; yet they but timorously ventured on-such terms, as aurietas and saxietas, 
 metallietas and lignietas, or the like names, which should pretend to signify the 
 real essences of those substances whereof they knew they had no ideas. And 
 indeed it was only the doctrine of substantial forms, and the confidence of mis- 
 taken pretenders to a knowledge that they had not, which first coined and then 
 introduced animalitas and humanitas, and the like; which yet went very little 
 further than their own schools, and could never get to be current amongst under- 
 standing men. Indeed, humanitas was a word in familiar use amongst the 
 Romans, but in a far different sense, and stood not for the abstract essence of 
 any substance; but was the abstracted name of a mode, and its concrete hu- 
 manus, not homo. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE IMPERFECTION OF WORDS. 
 
 1. Words are used for recording and communicating our Thoughts.—FRom 
 what has been said in the foregoing chapters, it is easy to perceive what imper- 
 fection there is in language, and how the very nature of words makes it almost 
 unavoidable for many of them to be doubtful and uncertain in their significations. 
 To examine the perfection or imperfection of words, it is necessary first to consider 
 their use and end; for as they are more or less fitted to attain that, so they are 
 more or less perfect. We have, in the former part of this discourse often, upon 
 occasion, mentioned a double use of words. 
 
 First, One for the recording of our own thoughts. 
 
 Secondly, The other for the communicating of our thoughts to others. 
 
 2. Any Words will serve for recording.—As to the first of these, for the record- 
 ing our own thoughts for the help of our own memories, whereby, as it were, 
 we talk to ourselves, any words will serve the turn. For since sounds are 
 voluntary and indifferent signs of any ideas, a man may use what words he 
 pleases to signify his own ideas to himself: and there will be no imperfection in 
 them, if he constantly use the same sign for the same idea; for then he cannot 
 fail of having his meaning understood, wherein consists the right use and per- 
 fection of language. 
 
 3. Communication by Words civil or philosophical.—Secondly, As to commu- 
 nication of words, that too has a double use. 
 
 I. Civil. 
 
 II. Philosophical. 
 
 First, By their civil use, I mean such a communication of thoughts and ideas 
 by words, as may serve for the upholding common conversation and commerce 
 about the ordinary affairs and conveniences of civil life, in the societies of men one 
 amongst another. 
 
 Secondly, By the philosophical use of words, I mean such a use of them as may 
 serve to convey the precise notions of things, and to express in general proposi- 
 
CHAP. IX. | IMPERFECTION OF WORDS. 355 
 
 tions certain and undoubted truths, which the mind may rest upon and be satis- 
 fied with in its search after true knowledge. These two uses are very distinct: 
 and a great deal less exactness will serve in the one than in the other, as we shall 
 see in what follows. 
 
 A. The Imperfection of Words is the Doubtfulness of their Signification.— 
 The chief end of language in communication being to be understood, words serve 
 not well for that end, neither i civil nor philosophical discourse, when any word 
 does not excite in the hearer the same idea which it stands for in the mind of the 
 speaker. - Now, since sounds have no natural connexion with our ideas, but have 
 all their signification from the arbitrary imposition of men, the doubtfulness and 
 uncertainty of their signification, which is the imperfection we here are speaking 
 of, has its cause more in the ideas they stand for than in any incapacity there is in 
 one sound more than in another to signify any idea: for in that regard they are all 
 equally perfect. 
 
 That then which makes doubtfulness and uncertainty in the signification of some 
 more than other words, is the difference of ideas they stand for. 
 
 5. Causes of their Imperfection.— Words having naturally no signification, the 
 idea which each stands for must be learned and retained by those who would 
 exchange thoughts and hold intelligible discourse with others in any language. . 
 But this is hardest to be done where, 
 
 First, The ideas they stand for are very complex, and made up of a great num- 
 ber of ideas put together. 
 
 Secondly, Where the ideas they stand for have no certain connexion in nature, 
 and so no settled standard anywhere in nature existing, to rectify and adjust 
 them by. 
 
 Thirdly, When the signification of the word is referred to a standard, which 
 standard is not easy to be known. 
 
 Fourthly, Where the signification of the word and the real essence of the thing 
 are not exactly the same. 
 
 These are difficulties that attend the signification of several words that are in- 
 telligible. Those which are not intelligible at all, such as names standing for 
 any simple ideas which another has not organs or faculties to attain; as the 
 names of colours to a blind man, or sounds to a deaf man; need not here be men- 
 tioned. 
 
 In all these cases we shall find an imperfection in words, which I shall more at 
 large explain in their particular application to our several sorts of ideas: for if we 
 examine them, we shall find that the names of mixed modes are most liable to doubt- 
 fulness and imperfection, for the two first of these reasons; and the names of 
 substances chiefly for the two latter. 
 
 6. The Names of mixed Modes doubtful. ~ First, Because the Ideas they stand 
 for are so complex.—First, The names of mixed modes are many of them liable 
 to great uncertainty and obscurity in their signification. 
 
 I. Because of that great composition these complex ideas are often made up of. 
 To make words serviceable to the end of communication it is necessary, as has 
 been said, that they excite in the hearer exactly the same idea they stand for in 
 the mind of the speaker. Without this, men fill one another’s heads with noise 
 and sounds, but convey not thereby their thoughts, and lay not before one another 
 their ideas, which is the end of discourse and language. But when a word stands 
 for a very complex idea that is compounded and decompounded, it is not easy for 
 men to form and retain that idea so exactly, as to make the name in common use 
 stand for the same precise idea, without any the least variation. Hence it comes to 
 pass that men’s names of very compound ideas, such as for the most part are 
 moral words, have seldom in two different men the same precise signification ; 
 since one man’s complex idea seldom agrees with another’s, and often differs 
 from his own—from that which he had yesterday, or will have to-morrow. 
 
 7. Secondly, because they have no Standards.—Because the names of mixed 
 
 AAS 
 
356 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Il. 
 
 modes for the most part want standards in nature whereby men may rectify 
 and adjust their significations; therefore they are very various and doubtful. 
 They are assemblages of ideas put together at the pleasure of the mind, pursuing 
 its own ends of discourse, and suited to its own notions, whereby it designs not to 
 copy anything really existing, but to denominate and rank things as they come to 
 agree with those archetypes or forms it has made.’ He that first brought the 
 word sham, or wheedle, or banter, in use, put together as he thought fit those ideas 
 he made it stand for; and as it is with any new names of modes that are now 
 brought into any language, so it was with the old ones when they were first made 
 use of. Names, therefore, that stand for collections of ideas which the mind makes 
 at pleasure must needs be of doubtful signification, when such collections are no- 
 where to be found constantly united in nature, nor any patterns to be shown 
 whereby men may adjust them. What the word murder, or sacrilege, &c. signi- 
 fies can never be known from things themselves: there be many of the parts of 
 those complex ideas which are not visible in the action itself; the intention of the 
 mind or the relation of holy things, which make a part of murder or sacrilege, have 
 no necessary connexion with the outward and visible action of him that commits 
 either: and the pulling the trigger of the gun with which the murder is committed, 
 and is all the action that perhaps is visible, has no natural connexion with those 
 other ideas that make up the complex one named murder. They have their union and 
 combination only from the understanding, which unites them under one name: 
 but uniting them without any rule or pattern, it cannot be but that the signification 
 of the name that stands for such voluntary collections should be often various in 
 the minds of different men, who have scarce any standing rule to regulate them- 
 selves and their notions by, in such arbitrary ideas. 
 
 8. Propriety not a sufficient Remedy. It is true, common use (that is, the rule 
 of propriety) may be supposed here to afford some aid, to settle the signification 
 of language; and it cannot be denied but that m some measure it does. Com- 
 mon use regulates the meaning of words pretty well for common conversation ; 
 but nobody having an authority to establish the precise signification of words, nor 
 determined to what ideas any one shall annex them, common use is not sufficient 
 to adjust them to philosophical discourses ; there being scaree any name of any 
 very complex idea (to say nothing of others) which in common use has nota great 
 latitude, and which, keeping within the bounds of propriety, may not be made the 
 sion of far different ideas. Besides, the rule and measure of propriety itself being 
 nowhere established, it is often matter of dispute, whether this or that way of using 
 a word be propriety of speech or no. From all which it is evident, that the names 
 of such kind of very complex ideas are naturally liable to this imperfection, to be 
 of doubtful and uncertain signification ; and even in men that have a mind to un- 
 derstand one another, do not always stand for the same idea in speaker and hearer. 
 Though the names glory and gratitude be the same in every man’s mouth through 
 a whole country, yet the complex collective idea which every one thinks on or 
 intends by that name, is apparently very different in men using the same lan- 
 ouage. 
 
 9. The Way of learning these Names contributes also to their Doubtfulness.— 
 The way also wherein the names of mixed modes are ordinarily learned, does not 
 a little contribute to the doubtfulness of their signification. For if we will observe 
 how children learn languages, we shall find that, to make them understand what 
 
 1« The words genius and taste are, like the 
 words beauty and virtue, mere terms of general 
 approbation, which men apply to whatever they 
 approve, without annexing any specific ideas to 
 them. They are therefore as often employed to 
 signify extravagant novelty as genuine merit; 
 and it is only time that arrests the abuse. Purity, 
 simplicity, grace, and elegance, are, as well as 
 
 beauty, qualities that are always equally admired, 
 because the words by which they are expressed 
 are terms of approbation. But, nevertheless, 
 these terms are entirely under the influence of 
 fashion; and are applied to every novelty of style 
 or manner, to which accident or caprice gives a 
 momentary currency.” (Paine Knight, Analytical 
 Inq. into the Prin. of Taste, p. 111, ce. iii. § 5.) 
 
CHAP. IX.] IMPERFECTION OF WORDS. 307 
 
 the names of simple ideas or substances stand for, people ordinarily show them 
 the thing whereof they would have them have the idea; and then repeat to them 
 the name that stands for it; as, white, sweet, milk, sugar, cat, dog. But as 
 for mixed modes—especially the most material of them, moral words — the 
 sounds are usually learned first; and then, to know what complex ideas they 
 stand for, they are either beholden to the explication of others, or (which happens 
 for the most part) are left to their own observation and industry; which being 
 little laid out in the search of the true and precise meaning of names, these moral 
 words are in most men’s mouths little more than bare sounds ; or when they have 
 any, it is for the most part but a very loose and undetermined and, consequently, 
 obscure and confused signification. And even those themselves who have with 
 more attention settled their notions, do yet hardly avoid the inconvenience to have 
 them stand for complex ideas different from those which other, even intelligent 
 and studious men, make them the signs of. Where shall one find any, either con- 
 troversial debate or familiar discourse, concerning honour, faith, grace, religion, 
 church, &c. wherein it is not easy to observe the different notions men have of 
 them ? which is nothing but this, that they are not agreed in the signification of 
 those words, nor have in their minds the same complex ideas which they make 
 them stand for, and so all the contests that follow thereupon are only about the 
 meaning of a sound : and hence we see, that, in the interpretation of laws, whether 
 divine or human, there is no end; comments beget comments, and explications 
 make new matter for explications; and of limiting, distinguishing, varying the 
 signification of these moral words there is no end. These ideas of men’s making 
 are, by men still having the same power, multiplied in infinitum. Many a man 
 who was pretty well satisfied of the meaning of a text of Scripture, or clause in the 
 code, at first reading, has, by consulting commentators, quite lost the sense of it, 
 and by these elucidations given rise or increase to his doubts, and drawn obscurity 
 upon the place. I say not this that I think commentaries needless ; but to show 
 how uncertain the names of mixed modes naturally are, even in the mouths of those 
 who had both the intention and the faculty of speaking as clearly as language was 
 capable to express their thoughts. 
 
 10. Hence unavoidable Obscurity in ancient Authors.— What obscurity this has 
 unavoidably brought upon the writings of men who have lived in remote ages and 
 different countries it will be needless to take notice ; since the numerous volumes 
 of learned men employing their thoughts that way are proofs more than enough to 
 show what attention, study, sagacity, and reasoning are required to find out the 
 true meaning of ancient authors. But there being no writings we have any great 
 concernment to be very solicitous about the meaning of, but those that contain 
 either truths we are required to believe, or laws we are to obey, and draw incon- 
 veniences on us when we mistake or transgress, we may be less anxious about the 
 sense of other authors; who, writing but their own opinions, we are under no 
 greater necessity to know them than they to know ours. Our good or evil depend- 
 ing not on their decrees, we may safely be ignorant of their notions: and therefore 
 in the reading of them, if they do not use their words with a due clearness and 
 perspicuity, we may lay them aside, and without any injury done them, resolve 
 thus with ourselves, 
 
 “« Si non vis intelligi, debes negligi.”’ 
 
 11. Names of Substances of doubtful Signification.—If the signification of the 
 names of mixed modes be uncertain, because there be no real standards existing 
 in nature to which those ideas are referred, and by which they may be adjusted, 
 the names of substances are of a doubtful signification for a contrary reason, viz. 
 because the ideas they stand for are supposed conformable to the reality of things, 
 and are referred to as standards made by Nature. In our ideas of substances we 
 have not the liberty, as in mixed modes, to frame what combinations we think fit, 
 
308 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 to be the characteristical notes to rank and denominate things by. In these we 
 must follow Nature, suit our complex ideas to real existences, and regulate the sig- 
 nification of their names by the things themselves, if we will have our names to 
 be signs of them, and stand for them. Here, it is true, we have patterns to follow; 
 but patterns that will make the signification of their names very uncertain: for 
 names must be of a very unsteady and various meaning, if the ideas they stand for 
 be referred to standards without us, that either cannot be known at all, or can be 
 known but imperfectly and uncertainly. 
 
 12. Names of Substances referred, 1. To real Essences that cannot be known. 
 The names of substances have, as has been shown, a double reference in their or- 
 dinary use. 
 
 First, Sometimes they are made to stand for, and so their signification is sup- 
 posed to agree to, the real constitution of things, from which all their properties 
 flow, and in which they all centre. But this real constitution or (as it is apt to be 
 called) essence being utterly unknown to us, any sound that is put to stand for it 
 must be very uncertain in its application ; and it will be impossible to know what 
 things are or ought to be called a horse, or antimony, when those words are put for 
 real essences that we have no ideas of at all. And therefore in this supposition, the 
 names of substances being referred to standards that cannot be known, their signi- 
 fications can never be adjusted and established by those standards. 
 
 13. Secondly, To co-existing Qualities, which are known but imperfectly.— 
 Secondly, The simple ideas that are found to co-exist in substances being that 
 which their names immediately signify, these, as united in the several sorts of things, 
 are the proper standards to which their names are referred, and by which their sig- 
 nifications may be best rectified: but neither will these archetypes so well serve 
 to this purpose as to leave these names without very various and uncertain signifi- 
 cations ; because these simple ideas that co-exist and are united in the same subject 
 being very numerous, and having all an equal right to go into the complex specific 
 idea which the specific name is to stand for, men, though they propose to them- 
 selves the very same subject to consider, yet frame very different ideas about it; and 
 so the name they use for it unavoidably comes to have, in several men, very different 
 significations. ‘The simple qualities which make up the complex ideas being most 
 of them powers in relation to changes which they are apt to make in or receive 
 from other bodies, are almost infinite. He that shall but observe what a great 
 variety of alterations any one of the baser metals is apt to receive from the diffe- 
 rent application only of fire, and how much a greater number of changes any of 
 them will receive in the hands of a chymist, by the application of other bodies, 
 will not think it strange that I count the properties of any sort of bodies not easy 
 to be collected and completely known by the ways of inquiry which our faculties are 
 capable of. They being therefore at least so many, that no man can know the precise 
 and definite number, they are differently discovered by different men, according to 
 their various skill, attention, and ways of handling; who therefore cannot choose 
 but have different ideas of the same substance, and therefore make the signification 
 of its common name very various and uncertain. For the complex ideas of sub- 
 stances being made up of such simple ones as are supposed to co-exist in nature, 
 every one has a right to put into his complex idea those qualities he has found to 
 be united together. or though in the substance of gold one satisfies himself with 
 colour and weight, yet another thinks solubility in aq. regia as necessary to be 
 joined with that colour in his idea of gold, as any one does its fusibility ; solubility 
 in aq. regia being a quality as constantly joined with its colour and weight as 
 fusibility or any other; others put into it ductility or fixedness &c. as they have 
 been taught by tradition or experience. Who of all these has established the 
 right signification of the word, gold? or who shall be the judge to determine ? 
 ' Each has his standard in nature, which he appeals to, and with reason thinks he 
 has the same right to put into his complex idea signified by the word gold, those 
 qualities, which, upon trial, he has found united ; as another who has not so well 
 
I a ene eR ea rrr testes geting ginal oan aa te-aciacieesnsig dat camsaneapantle titres «nrsisiaina-ceentsicnincm qananeiaramaentgeanuanatsasbait 
 
 CHAP. IX.] IMPERFECTION OF WORDS. 309 
 
 examined has to leave them out; ora third, who has made other trials, has to 
 put in others. For the union in nature of these qualities being the true ground of 
 their union in one complex idea, who can say one of them has more reason to be 
 put in or left out than another? From hence it will always unavoidably follow, 
 that the complex ideas of substances in men using the same names for them, will 
 be very various, and so the significations of those names very uncertain. 
 
 14. Thirdly, To co-existing Qualities which are known but imperfectly.— 
 Besides, there is scarce any particular thing existing, which, in some of its simple 
 ideas, does not communicate with a greater, and in others a less number of par- 
 ticular beings: who shall determine in this case which are those that are to make 
 up the precise collection that is to be signified by the specific name? or can with 
 any just authority prescribe which obvious or common qualities are to be left out; 
 or which more secret or more particular are to be put into the signification of the 
 name of any substance? All which together seldom or never fail to produce that 
 various and doubtful signification in the names of substances which causes such 
 uncertainty, disputes, or mistakes, when we come to a philosophical use of them. 
 
 15. With this Imperfection—they may serve for civil, but not well for philoso- 
 phical Use.—It is true, as to civil and common conversation, the general names of 
 substances, regulated in their ordinary signification by some obvious qualities, (as 
 by the shape and figure in things of known seminal propagation, and in other sub- 
 stances, for the most part by colour, joined with some other sensible qualities,) do 
 well enough to design the things men would be understood to speak of: and so 
 they usually conceive well enough the substances meant by the word gold or 
 apple, to distinguish the one from the other. But in philosophical inquiries and 
 debates, where general truths are to be established, and consequences drawn from 
 positions laid down, there the precise signification of the names of substances will 
 be found not only not to be well established, but also very hard to be so. For 
 example: he that shall make malleableness or a certain degree of fixedness a part 
 of his complex idea of gold, may make propositions concerning gold, and draw 
 consequences from them that will truly and clearly follow from gold, taken in such 
 a signification : but yet such as another man can never be forced to admit, nor be 
 convinced of their truth, who makes not malleableness or the same degree of fix- 
 edness part of that complex idea that the name gold, in his use of it, stands for. 
 
 16. Instance, Liquor.—This is a natural and almost unavoidable imperfection 
 in almost all the names of substances in all languages whatsoever, which men will 
 easily find when, once passing from confused or loose notions, they come to more 
 strict and close inquiries. For then they will be convinced how doubtful and ob- 
 scure those words are in their signification which in ordinary use appeared very 
 clear and determined. I was once in a meeting of very learned and ingenious 
 physicians, where by chance there arose a question, whether any liquor passed 
 through the filaments of the nerves. The debate having been managed a good 
 while by variety of arguments on both sides, I (who had been used to suspect that 
 the greatest part of disputes were more about the signification of words than a 
 real difference in the conception of things) desired, that, before they went any fur- 
 ther on in this dispute, they would first examine and establish amongst them, what 
 the word liquor signified. They at first were a little surprised at the proposal, 
 and had they been persons less ingenious, they might perhaps have taken it for a 
 very frivolous or extravagant one: since there was no one there that thought not 
 himself to understand very perfectly what the word liquor stood for, which I 
 think, too, none of the most perplexed names of substances. However, they were 
 pleased to comply with my motion; and upon examination found that the signifi- 
 cation of that word was not so settled and certain as they had all imagined ; but 
 that each of them made it a sion of a different complex idea. This made them 
 perceive that the main of their dispute was about the signification of that term ; 
 and that they differed very little in their opinions concerning some fluid and subtle 
 matter, passing through the conduits of the nerves; though it was not so easy to 
 
wo Awan os te ive Sal Saget toe ele vipat ee SU a ee ene 
 
 360 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IH. 
 
 agree whether it was to be called liquor or no—a thing, which, when considered, 
 they thought it not worth the contending about.’ 
 
 17. Instance, Gold.—How much this is the case in the greatest part of disputes 
 that men are engaged so hotly in, I shall perhaps have an occasion in another 
 place to take notice. Let us only here consider a little more exactly the fore- 
 mentioned instance of the word gold, and we shall see how hard it is precisely 
 to determine its signification. I think all agree to make it stand for a body 
 of a certain yellow shining colour; which being the idea to which children have 
 annexed that name, the shining yellow part of a peacock’s tail is properly to them 
 gold. Others finding fusibility joined with that yellow colour in certain parcels 
 of matter, make of that combination a complex idea, to which they give the name 
 gold, to denote a sort of substances; and so exclude from being gold all such 
 yellow shining bodies as by fire will be reduced to ashes; and admit to be of that 
 species, or to be comprehended under that name gold, only such substances as, 
 having that shining yellow colour, will by fire be reduced to fusion and not to 
 ashes. Another, by the same reason, adds the weight, which, being a quality as 
 straightly joined with that colour as its fusibility, he thinks has the same reason to 
 be joined in its idea, and to be signified by its name; and therefore the other 
 made up of body, of such a colour and fusibility, to be imperfect; and so on of all 
 the rest : wherein no one can show a reason why some of the inseparable qualities 
 that are always united in nature should be put into the nominal essence, and others 
 left out: or why the word gold signitving that sort of body the ring on his finger 
 is made of, should determine that sort rather by its colour, weight, and fusibility, 
 than by its colour, weight, and solubility in aq. regia: since the dissolving it by 
 that liquor is as inseparable from it as the fusion by fire; and they are both of 
 them nothing but the relation which that substance has to two other ‘bodies, which 
 have a power to operate differently upon it. For by what right is it that fusibility 
 comes to be a part of the essence signified by the word gold, and solubility but a 
 property of it? or why is its colour part of the essence, and its malleableness but a 
 property? That which I mean is this, that these being all but properties, depend- 
 ing on its real constitution, and nothing but powers, either active or passive, in 
 reference to other bodies, no one has authority to determine the signification of 
 the word gold (as referred to such a body existing in nature) more to one collection 
 of ideas to be found in that body than to another; whereby the signification of 
 that name must unavoidably be very uncertain; since, as has been said, several 
 people observe several properties in the same substance, and I think I may say 
 nobody at all. Andtherefore we have but very imperfect descriptions of things, 
 and words have very uncertain significations. 
 
 18. The Names of simple Ideas the least doubtful—From what has been said, 
 it is easy to observe what has been before remarked, viz. that the names of 
 simple ideas are, of all others, the least liable to mistakes, and that for these 
 
 The controversy here alluded to still remains 
 unsettled: the hypotheses of physiologists on the 
 subject being in fact as numerous as ever. Blu- 
 menbach represents the present state of opinion 
 among scientific men; and from his account the 
 reader will probably infer that the dispute is likely 
 to be co-lasting with physiology itself. Speaking of 
 the nature of the nerves, he observes : — ‘‘ Most 
 opinions on this subject may be divided into two 
 classes : the one regards the actions of the nervous 
 system as consisting in an oscillatory motion ; the 
 other ascribes it to the motion of a certain fluid, 
 whose nature is a matter of dispute, by some called 
 animal spirits, and supposed to run in vessels; by 
 others conceived to be a matter analogous to fire, 
 to light, to a peculiar ether, to oxygen, to electri- 
 city, or to magnetism, &e. Although I would by 
 
 no means assent to either of these opinions, I 
 may be allowed to observe, that most arguments 
 brought by one party against the hypothesis of 
 the other, must necessarily be made in proportion 
 to the subtlety either of the oscillations (if any 
 such exist) of the nerves, or to that of the neryous 
 fluid. These two hypotheses may perhaps be 
 united, by supposing a nervous fluid, thrown into 
 oscillatory vibrations by the action of stimulants. 
 The analogy between the structure of the brain 
 and some secreting organs favours the belief of 
 the existence of a nervous fluid. But tubes and 
 canals are evidently no more requisite for its con- 
 veyance, than they are requisite in bibulous paper, 
 or any other material employed for filtering.” 
 (Physiology, § 222, et. seq.) 
 
CHAP. IX. ] IMPERFECTION OF WORDS. 361 
 
 reasons: First, Because the ideas they stand for being each but one single percep- 
 tion are much easier got, and more clearly retained than the more complex ones, 
 and therefore are not liable to the uncertainty which usually attends those com- 
 pounded ones of substances and mixed modes, in which the precise number of 
 simple ideas that make them up are not easily agreed, and so readily kept in the 
 mind; and Secondly, Because they are never referred to any other essence, but 
 barely that perception they immediately signify: which reference is that which 
 renders the signification of the names of substances naturally so perplexed, and 
 gives occasion to so many disputes. Men that do not perversely use their 
 words, or on purpose set themselves to cavil, seldom mistake in any language 
 which they are acquainted with, the use and signification of the names of 
 simple ideas. White and sweet, yellow and bitter, carry a very obvious meaning 
 with them, which every one precisely comprehends, or easily perceives he is igno- 
 rant of, and seeks to be informed; but what precise collection of simple ideas 
 modesty or frugality stand for in another’s use is not so certainly known, and 
 however we are apt to think we well enough know what is meant by gold or iron; 
 yet the precise complex idea others make them the signs of, is not so certain, and 
 I believe it is very seldom that in speaker and hearer they stand for exactly the 
 same collection; which must needs produce mistakes and disputes when they are 
 made use of in discourses, wherein men have to do with universal propositions, and 
 would settle in their minds universal truths, and consider the consequences that 
 follow from them. 
 
 19. And next to them, simple Modes.—By the same rule, the names of simple 
 modes are, next to those of simple idéas, least liable to doubt and uncertainty, 
 especially those of figure and number, of which men have so clear and distinct 
 ideas. Who ever that had a mind to understand them mistook the ordinary 
 meaning of seven, or a triangle? and in general the least compounded ideas 
 in every kind have the least dubious names. 
 
 20. The most doubtful are the Names of very compounded mixed Modes and 
 Substances.— Mixed modes, therefore, that are made up of a few and obvious sim- 
 ple ideas, have usually names of no very uncertain signification. But the names 
 of mixed modes, which comprehend a great number of simple ideas, are commonly 
 of a very doubtful and undetermined meaning, as has been shown. The names of 
 substances being annexed to ideas that are neither the real essences nor exact 
 representations of the patterns they are referred to, are liable to yet greater imper- 
 fection and uncertainty, especially when we come to a philosophical use of them. 
 
 21. Why this Imperfection charged upon Words.—The great disorder that hap- 
 pens in our names of substances proceeding, for the most part, from our want of 
 knowledge and inability to penetrate into their real constitutions, it may probably 
 be wondered why I charge this as an imperfection rather upon our words than un- 
 derstandings. This exception has so much appearance of justice, that I think my- 
 self obliged to give a reason why I have followed this method. I must confess, 
 then, that, when I first began this discourse of the understanding, and a good 
 while after, I had not the least thought that any consideration of words was at all 
 necessary to it; but when, having passed over the original and composition of 
 our ideas, I began to examine the extent and certainty of our knowledge, I found 
 it had so near a connexion with words, that, unless their force and manner of 
 signification were first well observed, there could be very little said clearly and 
 pertinently concerning knowledge, which being conversant about truth, had con- 
 stantly to do with propositions; and though it terminated in things, yet it was 
 for the most part so much by the intervention of words, that they seemed scarce 
 separable from our general knowledge; at least they interpose themselves so 
 
 ,uch between our understandings and the truth which it would contemplate and 
 apprehend, that, like the medium through which visible objects pass, their obscu- 
 rity.and disorder do not seldom cast a mist before our eyes, and impose upon our 
 understandings. If we consider, in the fallacies men put upon themselves as well 
 
362 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 others, and the mistakes in men’s disputes and notions, how great a part is owing 
 to words, and their uncertain or mistaken significations, we shall have reason to 
 think this no small obstacle in the way to knowledge; which I conclude we are 
 the more carefully to be warned of, because it has been so far from being taken 
 notice of as an inconvenience, that the arts of improving it have been made the 
 business of men’s study, and obtained the reputation of learning and subtilty, as 
 we shall see in the following chapter. But I am apt to imagine, that, were the 
 imperfections of language, as the instrument of knowledge, more thoroughly 
 weighed, a great many of the controversies that make such a noise in the world, 
 would of themselves cease ; and the way to knowledge, and perhaps peace too, lie 
 a great deal opener than it does. 
 
 22. This should teach us Moderation in imposing our own Sense of old Au- 
 thors.—Sure I am that the signification of words in all languages depending very 
 much on the thoughts, notions, and ideas of him that uses them, must unavoid- 
 ably be of great uncertainty to men of the same language and country. This is so 
 evident in the Greek authors, that he that shall peruse their writings will find 
 in almost every one of them a distinct language, though the same words. But 
 when to this natural difficulty in every country there shall be added different 
 countries and remote ages, wherein the speakers and writers had very different 
 notions, tempers, customs, ornaments and figures of speech, &c. every one of which 
 influenced the signification of their words then, though to us now they are lost 
 and unknown; it would become us to be charitable one to another in our inter- 
 pretations or misunderstanding of those ancient writings; which, though of great 
 concernment to be understood, are liable to the unavoidable difficulties of speech, 
 which (if we except the names of simple ideas, and some very obvious things) is 
 not capable, without a constant defining the terms, of conveying .the sense and 
 intention of the speaker, without any manner of doubt and uncertainty to the 
 hearer. And in discourses of religion, law, and morality, as they are matters of 
 the highest concernment, so there will be the greatest difficulty. 
 
 23. The volumes of interpreters and commentators on the Old and New Testa- 
 ment are but too manifest proofs of this. Though everything said in the text be 
 infallibly true, yet the reader may be—nay, cannot choose but be very fallible in 
 the understanding of it. Nor is it to be wondered, that the will of God, when 
 clothed in words, should be liable to that doubt and uncertainty which unavoid- 
 ably attends that sort of conveyance ; when even his Son, whilst clothed in flesh, 
 was subject to all the frailties and inconveniences of human nature, sin excepted. 
 And we ought to magnify his goodness that he hath spread before all the world 
 such legible characters of his works and providence, and given all mankind so suffi- 
 cient a light of reason, that they to whom this written word never came, could not 
 (whenever they set themselves to search) either doubt of the being of a God, or of 
 the obedience due to him. Since, then, the precepts of natural religion are plain, 
 and very intelligible to all mankind, and seldom come to be controverted ; and 
 other revealed truths which are conveyed to us by books and languages are liable 
 to the common and natural obscurities and difficulties incident to words; methinks 
 it would become us to be more careful and diligent in observing the former, and 
 less magisterial, positive, and imperious, in imposing our own sense and interpre- 
 tations of the latter. 
 
CHAP. X.| ABUSE OF WORDS. 363 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. 
 
 1. Abuse of Words.—Busipxs the imperfection that is naturally in language, 
 and the obscurity and confusion that is so hard to be avoided in the use of words, 
 there are several wilful faults and neglects which men are guilty of in this way of 
 communication, whereby they render these signs less clear and distinct in their 
 signification than naturally they need to be. 
 
 2. First, Words without any, or without clear Ideas.—First, In this kind the 
 first and most palpable abuse, is,‘the using of words without clear and distinct 
 ideas ; or, which is worse, signs without anything signified. Of these there are 
 two sorts. 
 
 I. One may observe in all languages certain words, that, if they be examined, 
 will be found in their first original and their appropriated use not to stand for any 
 clear and distinct ideas. These for the most part the several sects of philosophy 
 and religion have introduced; for their authors or promoters either affecting 
 something singular and out of the way of common apprehension, or to support 
 some strange opinions, or cover some weakness of their hypothesis, seldom fail to 
 coin new words, and such as, when they come to be examined, may justly be 
 called insignificant terms. For having either had no determinate collection of 
 ideas annexed to them when they were first invented; or at least such as, if well 
 examined, will be found inconsistent ; it is no wonder, if, afterwards in the vulgar 
 use of the same party they remain empty sounds with little or no signification 
 amongst those who think it enough to have them often in their mouths, as the 
 distinguishing characters of their church or school, without much troubling their 
 heads to examine what are the precise ideas they stand for. I shall not need here 
 to heap up instances—every man’s reading and conversation will sufficiently fur- 
 nish him, or if he wants to be better stored, the great mint-masters of this kind 
 of terms, I mean the schoolmen and metaphysicians (under which I think the dis- 
 puting natural and moral philosophers of these latter ages may be comprehended) 
 have wherewithal abundantly to content him. 
 
 3. II. Others there be who extend this abuse yet further, who take so little 
 care to lay by words, which, in their primary notation have scarce any clear and 
 distinct ideas which they are annexed to, that by an unpardonable negligence they 
 familiarly use words which the propriety of language has affixed to very im- 
 portant ideas, without any distinct meaning at all. Wisdom, glory, grace, &c. 
 are words frequent enough in every man’s mouth; but if a great many of those 
 who use them should be asked what they mean by them, they would be ata 
 stand, and not know what to answer: a plain proof, that, though they have learned 
 those sounds, and have them ready at their tongues’ end, yet there are no deter- 
 mined ideas laid up in their minds, which are to be expressed to others by them. 
 
 4. Occasioned by learning Names before the Ideas they belong to.—Men 
 having been accustomed from their cradles to learn words which are easily got 
 and retained, before they knew or had framed the complex ideas to which they 
 were annexed, or which were to be found in the things they were thought to stand 
 for, they usually continue to do so all their lives; and without taking the pains 
 necessary to settle in their minds determined ideas, they use their words for such 
 unsteady and confused notions as they have; contenting themselves with the same 
 words other people use: as if their very sound necessarily carried with it con- 
 stantly the same meaning. This, though men make a shift with in the ordmary 
 occurrences of life, where they find it necessary to be understood, and therefore 
 they raake signs till they are so; yet this insignificancy in their words, when they 
 
364 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 come to reason concerning either their tenets or interest, manifestly fills their dis- 
 course with abundance of empty unintelligible noise and jargon, especially in moral 
 matters, where the words for the most part standing for arbitrary and numerous 
 collections of ideas, not regularly and permanently united in nature, their bare 
 sounds are often only thought on, or at least very obscure and uncertain notions 
 annexed to them. Men take the words they find in use amongst their neigh- 
 bours; and that they may not seem ignorant what they stand for, use them con- 
 fidently, without much troubling their heads about a certain fixed meaning: 
 whereby, besides the ease of it, they obtain this advantage, that, as in such dis- 
 courses they seldom are in the right, so they are as seldom to be convinced that 
 they are in the wrong; it being all one to go about to draw those men out of their 
 mistakes who have no settled notions, as to dispossess a vagrant of his habitation 
 who has no settled abode. This I guess to be so, and every one may observe in 
 himself and others whether it be so or not. ~ 
 
 5. I1. Unsteady Application of them.—Secondly, Another great abuse of words 
 is inconstancy in the use of them. It is hard to find a discourse written on any 
 subject, especially of controversy, wherein one shall not observe, if he read with 
 attention, the same words (and those commonly the most material in the discourse, 
 and upon which the argument turns) used sometimes for one collection of simple 
 ideas, and sometimes for another; which is a perfect abuse of language: words 
 being intended for signs of my ideas to make them known to others, not by any 
 natural signification, but by a voluntary imposition, it is plain cheat and abuse, 
 when I make them stand sometimes for one thing and sometimes for another; the 
 wilful doing whereof can be imputed to nothing but great folly, or greater dis- 
 honesty. And a man in his accounts with another may, with as much fairness 
 make the character of numbers stand sometimes for one and sometimes for another 
 collection of units (v. g. this character, 3, stands sometimes for three, sometimes 
 for four, and sometimes for eight) as in his discourse or reasoning make the same 
 words stand for different collections of simple ideas. If men should do so in their 
 reckonings, I wonder who would have to do with them? One who would speak 
 thus in the affairs and business of the world, and call 8 sometimes seven, and 
 sometimes nine, as best served his advantage, would presently have clapped upon 
 him one of the two names men are commonly disgusted with. And yet in 
 arguings and learned contests, the same sort of proceedings passes commonly for 
 wit and learning; but to me it appears a greater dishonesty than the misplacing 
 of counters in the casting up a debt; and the cheat the greater, by how much 
 truth is of greater concernment and value than money. 
 
 6. III. Affected Obscurity by wrong Application.—Thirdly, Another abuse of 
 language is an affected obscurity, by either applying old words to new and 
 unusual significations, or introducing new and ambiguous terms, without defining 
 either; or else putting them so together, as may confound their ordinary mean- 
 ing. Though the Peripatetic philosophy has been most eminent in this way, 
 yet other sects have not been wholly clear of it. There are scarce any of them 
 that are not cumbered. with some difficulties (such is the imperfection of human 
 knowledge) which they have been fain to cover with obscurity of terms, and 
 to confound the signification of words, which, like a mist before people’s eyes, 
 might hinder their weak parts from being discovered. That body and extension 
 in common use stand for two distinct ideas, is plain to any one that will but 
 reflect a little. For were their signification precisely the same, it would be proper, 
 and as intelligible to say, the body of an extension, as the extension of a body ; 
 and yet there are those who find it necessary to confound their signification. To 
 this abuse, and the mischiefs of confounding the signification of words, logic 
 and the liberal sciences, as they have been handled in the schools, have given 
 reputation; and the admired art of disputing hath added much to the natural 
 imperfection of languages, whilst it has been made use of and fitted to perplex the 
 signification of words, more than to discover the knowledge and truth of things; 
 
_ CHAP. X.] ; ABUSE OF WORDS. 365 
 
 and he that will look into that sort of learned writings, will find the words there 
 much more obscure, uncertain, and undetermined in their meaning, than they are 
 in ordinary conversation. 
 
 7. Logic and Dispute have much contributed to this.—This is unavoidably to 
 be so, where men’s parts and learning are estimated by their skill in disputing. 
 And if reputation and reward shall attend these conquests, which depend mostly on 
 the fineness and niceties of words, it is no wonder if the wit of man so employed, 
 should perplex, involve, and subtilize the signification of sounds, so as never to 
 want something to say in opposing or defending any question ; the victory being 
 adjudged not to him who had truth on his side, but the last word in the dispute. - 
 
 8. Calling it Subtilty.—This, though a very useless skill, and that which I 
 think the direct opposite to the ways of knowledge, hath yet passed hitherto 
 under the laudable and esteemed names of subtilty and acuteness, and has had the 
 applause of the schools, and encouragement of one part of the learned men of the 
 world.'. And no wonder, since the philosophers of old (the disputing and 
 wrangling philosophers, I mean such as Lucian wittily and with reason taxes,) 
 and the schoolmen since, aiming at glory and esteem for their great and universal 
 knowledge, easier a great deal to be pretended to than really acquired, found this 
 a good expedient to cover their ignorance with a curious and inexplicable web of 
 perplexed words, and procure to themselves the admiration of others by unintel- 
 ligible terms, the apter to produce wonder because they could not be understood ; 
 whilst it appears in all history, that these profound doctors were no wiser nor 
 more useful than their neighbours, and brought but small advantage to human 
 life or the societies wherein they lived; unless the coining of new words where 
 they produced no new things to apply them to, or the perplexing or obscuring the 
 signification of old ones, and so bringing all things into question and dispute, were 
 a thing profitable to the life of man, or worthy commendation and reward. 
 
 9. This Learning very little benefits Society.x—For notwithstanding these 
 learned disputants, these all-knowing doctors, it was to the unscholastic statesman 
 that the governments of the world owed their peace, defence, and liberties ; 
 and from the illiterate and contemned mechanic (a name of disgrace) that they 
 received the improvements of useful arts. Nevertheless, this artificial ignorance 
 and learned gibberish prevailed mightily in these last ages, by the interest and 
 artifice of those who found no easier way to that pitch of authority and dominion 
 they have attained, than by amusing the men of business and ignorant with hard 
 words, or employing the ingenious and idle in intricate disputes about unintel- 
 ligible terms, and holding them perpetually entangled in that endless labyrinth. 
 Besides, there is no such way to gain admittance or give defence to strange and 
 absurd doctrines, as to guard them round about with legions of obscure, doubtful, 
 and undefined words, which yet make these retreats more like the dens of robbers, 
 or holes of foxes, than the fortresses of fair warriors, which, if it be hard to get 
 them out of, it is not for the strength that is in them, but the briars and thorns, 
 and the obscurity of the thickets they are beset with. For untruth being unac- 
 ceptable to the mind of man, there is no other defence left for absurdity, but 
 obscurity. 
 
 10. But destroys the Instruments of Knowledge and Communication.—Thus 
 learned ignorance, and this art of keeping even inquisitive men from true know- 
 ledge hath been propagated in the world, and hath much perplexed whilst it pre- 
 tended to inform the understanding. For we see that other well-meaning and 
 wise men, whose education and parts had not acquired that acuteness, could intel- 
 ligibly express themselves to one another, and in its plain use make a benefit of 
 language. But though unlearned men well enough understood the words white 
 and black &c., and had constant notions of the ideas signified by those words, yet 
 
 © 
 
 1 For example, in his Hermotimus, Anglez, and Sale of the Philosophers. 
 
366 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 there were philosophers found who had learning and subtilty enough to prove 
 that snow was black; i. e. to prove that white was black. Whereby they had 
 the advantage to destroy the instruments and means of discourse, conversation, 
 instruction and society, whilst with great art and subtilty they did no more but 
 perplex and confound the signification of words, and thereby render language less 
 useful than the real defects of it had made it; a gift which the illiterate had not 
 attained. to. 
 
 11. As useful as to confound the Sound of the Letters.—These learned men 
 did equally instruct men’s understandings and profit their lives, as he who should 
 alter the signification of known characters, and by a subtle device of learning, 
 far surpassing the capacity of the illiterate, dull, and vulgar, should in his writing 
 show that he could put A for B, and D for E, &c., to the no small admiration 
 and benefit of his reader; it being as senseless to put black, which is a word 
 agreed on to stand for one sensible idea, to put it, I say, for another, or the con- 
 trary idea; i. e. to call snow black, as to put this mark A, which is a character 
 agreed on to stand for one modification of sound made by a certain motion of the 
 organs of speech, for B, which is agreed on to stand for another modification of 
 sound made by another certain mode of the organs of speech. 
 
 12. This Art has perplexed Religion and Justice.—Nor hath this mischief 
 stopped in logical niceties, or curious empty speculations; it hath invaded the 
 great concernments of human life and society—obscured and perplexed the mate- 
 rial truths of law and divinity—brought confusion, disorder, and uncertainty into 
 the affairs of mankind, and if not destroyed, yet in a great measure rendered use- 
 less these two great rules, religion and justice. What have the greatest part of 
 the comments and disputes upon the laws of God and man served for, but to 
 make the meaning more doubtful, and perplex the sense? What.have been the 
 effect of those multiplied curious distinctions and acute niceties but obscurity and 
 uncertainty, leaving the words more unintelligible, and the reader more at a loss ? 
 How else comes it to pass that princes speaking or writing to their servants, in 
 their ordinary commands are easily understood: speaking to their people in 
 their laws, are not so? And, as I remarked before, doth it not often happen that 
 a man of an ordinary capacity very well understands a text or a law that he reads, 
 till he consults an expositor or goes to counsel, who by that time he hath done 
 explaining them, makes the words signify either nothing at all, or what he pleases. 
 
 13. And ought not to pass for Learning.—Whether any by-interests of these 
 professions have occasioned this, I will not here examine; but I leave it to be 
 considered whether it would not be well for mankind, whose concernment it is to 
 know things as they are, and to do what they ought, and not to spend their lives 
 in talking about them, or tossing words to and fro; whether it would not be well, I 
 say, that the use of words were made plain and direct, and that language which 
 was given us for the improvement of knowledge and bond of society, should not 
 be employed to darken truth and unsettle people’s rights, to raise mists and 
 render unintelligible both morality and religion? or that at least, if this will 
 happen, it should not be thought learning or knowledge to do so? 
 
 14. IV. Taking them for Things.— Fourthly, Another great abuse of words, is, 
 the taking them for things. This, though it in some degree concerns all names 
 in general yet more particularly affects those of substances. To this abuse those 
 men are most subject who most confine their thoughts to any one system, and 
 give themselves up into a firm belief of the perfection of any received hypothesis ; 
 whereby they come to be persuaded that the terms of that sect are so suited to the 
 nature of things, that they perfectly correspond with their real existence. Who is 
 there that has been bred up in the Peripatetic philosophy, who does not think 
 the ten names, under which are ranked the ten predicaments, to be exactly 
 conformable to the nature of things? Who is there of that school that is not per- 
 suaded that substantial forms, vegetative souls, abhorrence of a vacuum, inten- 
 tional species &c., are something real? These words men have learned from their 
 
CHAP. x. | ABUSE OF WORDS. 367 
 
 very entrance upon knowledge, and have found their masters and systems lay 
 creat stress upon them; and therefore they cannot quit the opinion, that they are 
 conformable to nature, and are the representations of something that really exists. 
 The Platonists have their soul of the world,’ and the Epicureans their endeavour 
 towards motion in their atoms, when at rest. There is scarce any sect in phi- 
 losophy has not a distinct set of terms that others understand not; but yet this 
 gibberish, which, in the weakness of human understanding serves so well to pal- 
 liate men’s ignorance and cover their errors, comes, by familiar use amongst those 
 of the same tribe, to seem the most important part of language, and of all other, 
 the terms the most significant; and should aerial and etherial vehicles come 
 once, by the prevalency of that doctrine, to be generally received anywhere, no 
 doubt those terms would make impressions on men’s minds, so as to establish 
 them in the persuasion of the reality of such things, as much as Peripatetic forms 
 and intentional species have heretofore done. 
 
 15. Instance, in Matter.—How much names taken for things are apt to mis- 
 lead the understanding, the attentive reading of philosophical writers would 
 abundantly discover; and that, perhaps, in words little suspected of any such 
 misuse. I shall instance in one only, and that a very familiar one: how many 
 intricate disputes have there been about matter, as if there were some such thing 
 really in nature, distinct from body, as it is evident the word matter stands for 
 an idea distinct from the idea of body? For if the ideas these two terms stood 
 for were precisely the same, they might indifferently, in all places, be put for one 
 another. But we see, that, though it be proper to say there is one matter of all 
 bodies, one cannot say there is one body of all matters: we familiarly say one 
 body is bigger than another; but it sounds harsh (and I think is never used) to 
 say one matter is bigger than another. Whence comes this, then? viz. from 
 hence: that, though matter and body be not really distinct, but wherever there 
 is the one there is the other; yet matter and body stand for two different concep- 
 tions, whereof the one is incomplete, and but a part of the other. For body 
 stands for a solid extended figured substance, whereof matter is but a partial and 
 more confused conception; it seeming to me to be used for the substance and 
 solidity of body, without taking in its extension and figure; and therefore it is, 
 that, speaking of matter, we speak of it always as one, because in truth it expressly 
 contains nothing but the idea of a solid substance, which is everywhere the same, 
 everywhere uniform. This being our idea of matter, we no more conceive or 
 speak of different matters in the world than we do of different solidities; though 
 we both conceive and speak of different bodies, because extension and figure are 
 capable of variation. But since solidity cannot exist without extension and 
 figure, the taking matter to be the name of something really existing under that 
 precision, has no doubt produced those obscure and unintelligible discourses and 
 disputes, which have filled the heads and books of philosophers concerning materia 
 prima ;* which imperfection or abuse, how far it may concern a great many other 
 general terms I leave to be considered. This, I think, I may at least say, that 
 we should have a great many fewer disputes in the world if words were taken for 
 what they are, the signs of our ideas only, and not for things themselves. For 
 when we argue about matter or any the like term, we truly argue only about the 
 idea we express by that sound, whether that precise idea agree to anything really 
 existing in nature or no. And if men would tell what ideas they make their 
 words stand for, there could not be half that obscurity or wrangling in the search 
 or support of truth that there is. 
 
 1 See Tenemann’s History of Philosophy, § 135; “ As he professed, 
 
 and Lipsius Physiologia Stoicorum, 1. 7, diss.7, 8. He had first matter seen undressed ; 
 2 Among the number of these great philoso- He took her naked, all alone, 
 
 phers was Hudibras, if we may rely upon that | Before one rag of form was on. 
 
 sage chronicler who celebrates his deeds :— 
 
368 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book III. 
 
 16. This makes Errors lasting.—But whatever inconvenience follows from this 
 mistake of words, this I am sure, that, by constant and familiar use they charm 
 men into notions far remote from the truth of things. It would be a hard matter 
 to persuade any one that the words which his father, or schoolmaster, the parson 
 of the parish, or such a reverend doctor used, signified nothing that really existed 
 in nature; which perhaps is none of the least causes that men are so hardly 
 drawn to quit their mistakes, even in opinions purely philosophical, and where 
 they have no other interest but truth. For the words they have a long time been 
 used to, remaining firm in their minds, it is no wonder that the wrong notions 
 annexed to them should not be removed. 
 
 17. V. Setting them for what they cannot signify.—Fifthly, Another abuse of 
 words, is the setting them in the place of things which they do or can by no 
 means signify. We may observe, that, in the general names of substances 
 whereof the nominal essences are only known to us, when we put them into pro- 
 positions, and affirm or deny anything about them, we do most commonly tacitly 
 suppose or intend they should stand for the real essence of a certain sort of sub- 
 stances. For when a man says gold is malleable, he means and would insinuate 
 something more than this, that what I call gold is malleable, (though truly it 
 amounts to no more,) but would have this understood, viz. that gold, i. e. what 
 has the real essence of gold, is malleable; which amounts to thus much, that 
 malleableness depends on, and is inseparable from the real essence of gold. But 
 aman not knowing wherein that real essence consists, the connexion in his mind 
 of malleableness is not truly with an essence he knows not, but only with the 
 sound gold he puts for it. Thus, when we say that “ animal rationale” is, and 
 ‘“‘ animal implume bipes latis unguibus” is not a good definition of a man; it is 
 plain we suppose the name man in this case to stand for the real essence of a 
 species, and would signify that a rational animal better described that real essence 
 than a two-legged animal with broad nails, and without feathers. For else, why 
 might not Plato as properly make the word dyOpw7oc, or a man,stand for his complex 
 idea, made up of the idea of a body, distinguished from others by a certain shape 
 and other outward appearances, as Aristotle make the complex idea to which he 
 gave the name dy@pwroc, or man, of body and the faculty of reasoning joined 
 together; unless the name dy@pwroc, or man, were supposed to stand for some- 
 thing else than what it signifies, and to be put in the place of some other thing 
 than the idea a man professes he would express by it? 
 
 18. v. g. Putting them for the real Essences of Substances.—It is true the 
 names of substances would be much more useful, and propositions made in them 
 much more certain, were the real essences of substances the ideas in our minds 
 which those words signified. And it is for want of those real essences that 
 our words convey so little knowledge or certainty in disour courses about them ; 
 and therefore the mind, to remove that imperfection as much as it can, makes 
 them, by a secret supposition, to stand for a thing having that real essence, as if 
 thereby it made some nearer approaches to it. For though the word man or 
 gold signify nothing truly but a complex idea of properties united together in one 
 sort of substances; yet there is scarce anybody, in the use of these words, but 
 often supposes each of those names to stand for a thing having the real essence 
 on which these properties depend. Which is so far from diminishing the imper- 
 fection of our words, that by a plain abuse it adds to it, when we would make 
 them stand for something, which, not being in our complex idea, the name we use 
 can no ways be the sign of. 
 
 19. Hence we think every Change of our Idea in Substances not to change the 
 Species.—This shows us the reason why in mixed modes any of the ideas that 
 make the composition of the complex one, being left out or changed, it is allowed 
 to be another thing, i. e. to be of another species, it is plain in chance-medley, 
 manslaughter, murder, parricide &c. The reason whereof is, because the complex 
 idea signified by that name is the real as well as nominal essence ; and there is 
 
CHAP. X. | ABUSE OF WORDS. 369 
 
 no secret reference of that name to any other essence but that. But in substances, 
 it is not so; for though in that called gold, one puts into his complex idea what 
 another leaves out, and vice versa; yet men do not usually think that therefore the 
 species is changed; because they secretly in their minds refer that name, and 
 suppose it annexed to a real immutable essence of a thing existing, on which those 
 properties depend. He that adds to his complex idea of gold that of fixedness 
 and solubility in aq. regia, which he put not in it before, is not thought to have 
 changed the species, but only to have a more perfect idea, by adding another 
 simple idea, which is always in fact joined with those other, of which his former 
 complex idea consisted. But this reference of the name to a thing whereof we 
 had not the idea is so far from helping at all, that it only serves the more to 
 involve us in difficulties; for by this tacit reference to the real essence of that 
 species of bodies, the word gold (which, by standing for a more or less perfect 
 collection of simple ideas, serves to design that sort of body well enough in civil 
 discourses) comes to have no signification at all, being put for somewhat whereof 
 we have no idea at all, and so can signify nothing at all, when the body itself is 
 away. For however it may be thought all one, yet, if well considered, it will be 
 found a quite different thing to argue about gold in name, and about a parcel in 
 the body itself, v. g. a piece of leaf-gold laid before us, though in discourse we are 
 fain to substitute the name for the thing. 
 
 20. The Cause of the Abuse, a Supposition of Nature’s working always regu- 
 larly.—That which I think very much disposes men to substitute their names for 
 the real essences of species, is the supposition before mentioned, that nature works 
 regularly in the production of things, and sets the boundaries to each of those 
 species, by giving exactly the same real internal constitution to each individual 
 which we rank under one general name. Whereas any one who observes their 
 different qualities can hardly doubt, that many of the individuals called by the 
 same name are, in their internal constitution, as different one from another as 
 several of those which are ranked under different specific names. This supposi- 
 tion, however, that the same precise and internal constitution goes always with 
 the same specific name, makes men forward to take those names for the repre- 
 sentatives of those real essences, though indeed they signify nothing but the com- 
 plex ideas they have in their minds when they use them. So that, if I may so say, 
 signifying one thing, and being supposed for, or put in the place of another, they 
 cannot but, in such a kind of use, cause a great deal of uncertainty in men’s dis- 
 courses; especially in those who have thoroughly imbibed the doctrine of sub- 
 stantial forms, whereby they firmly imagine the several species of things to be 
 determined and distinguished. 
 ~ 21. This Abuse contains two false Suppositions.—But however preposterous 
 and absurd it is to make our names stand for ideas we have not, or (which is all 
 one) essences that we know not, it being in effect to make our words the signs of 
 nothing ; yet it is evident to any one who ever so little reflects on the use men 
 make of their words, that there is nothing more familiar, When a man asks 
 whether this or that thing he sees, let it be a drill, or a monstrous foetus, be a 
 man or no; it is evident the question is not whether that particular thing agree to 
 his complex idea expressed by the name man; but whether it has in it the real 
 essence of a species of things which he supposes his name man to stand for. In 
 which way of using the names of substances, there are these false suppositions 
 contained :— 
 
 First, that there are certain precise essences according to which nature makes 
 all particular things, and by which they are distinguished into species. That 
 everything has a real constitution, whereby it is what it is, and on which its sen- 
 sible qualities depend, is past doubt; but I think it has been proved that this makes 
 not the distinction of species as we rank them, nor the boundaries of their names. 
 
 Secondly, this tacitly also insinuates, as if we had ideas of these proposed 
 essences. For to what purpose else is it to inquire whether this or that thing 
 
370 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK II. 
 
 have the real essence of the species man, if we did not suppose that there were 
 such a specific essence known! which yet is utterly false; and therefore, such 
 application of names as would make them stand for ideas which we have not, 
 must needs cause great disorder in discourses and reasonings about them, and be 
 a great inconvenience in our communication by words. 
 
 22. VI. A Supposition that Words have a certain and evident Signification.— 
 Sixthly, there remains yet another more general, though .perhaps less observed 
 abuse of words; and that is, that men having by a long and familiar use annexed 
 to them certain ideas, they are apt to imagine so near and necessary a connexion 
 between the names and the signification they use them in, that they forwardly 
 suppose one cannot but understand what their meaning is; and therefore one 
 ought to acquiesce in the words delivered, as if it were past doubt that, in the use 
 of those common received sounds, the speaker and hearer had necessarily the 
 same precise ideas. Whence presuming, that when they have in discourse used 
 any term, they have thereby, as it were, set before others the very thing they 
 talked of; and so likewise taking the words of others, as naturally standing for 
 just what they themselves have been accustomed to apply them to, they never 
 trouble themselves to explain their own, or understand clearly others’ meaning. 
 From whence commonly proceed noise and wrangling, without improvement or 
 information; whilst men take words to be the constant regular marks of agreed 
 notions, which in truth are no more but the voluntary and unsteady signs of their 
 own ideas. And yet men think it strange, if in discourse or (where it is often 
 absolutely necessary) in dispute, one sometimes asks the meaning of their terms ; 
 though the arguings one may every day observe in conversation make it evident 
 that there are few names of complex ideas which any two men use for the same 
 just precise collection. It is hard to name a word which will ‘hot be a clear 
 instance of this. Life is a term, none more familiar; any one almost would 
 take it for an affront to be asked what he meant by it. And yet if it 
 comes in question, whether a plant that lies ready formed in the seed have 
 life; whether the embryo in an egg before incubation, or a man in a swoon 
 without sense or motion, be alive or no; it is easy to perceive that a clear, 
 distinct, settled idea does not always accompany the use of so known a word 
 as that of life is. Some gross and confused conceptions men indeed ordi- 
 narily have, to which they apply the common words of their language; and 
 such a loose use of their words serves them well enough in their ordinary dis- 
 courses or affairs. But this is not sufficient for philosophical inquiries ; know- 
 ledge and reasoning require precise determinate ideas. And though men will not 
 be so importunately dull, as not to understand what others say without demanding 
 an explication of their terms, nor so troublesomely critical as to correct others in 
 the use of the words they receive from them; yet, where truth and knowledge are 
 concerned in the case, I know not what fault it can be to desire the explication of 
 words whose sense seems dubious; or why a man should be ashamed to own his 
 ignorance in what sense another man uses his words, since he has no other way of 
 certainly knowing it but by being informed. This abuse of taking words upon 
 trust has nowhere spread so far, nor with so ill effects, as amongst men of letters. 
 The multiplication and obstinacy of disputes which have so laid waste the intel- 
 lectual world, is owing to nothing more than to this ill use of words. For though 
 it be generally believed that there is great diversity of opinions in the volumes 
 and variety of controversies the world is distracted with, yet the most I can find 
 that the contending learned men of different parties do, in their arguings one with 
 another, is, that they speak different languages. For I am apt to imagine that 
 when any of them, quitting terms, think upon things, and know what they think, 
 they think all the same, though perhaps what they would have be different. 
 
 23. The Ends of Language: First, To convey our Ideas.—To conclude this 
 consideration of the imperfection and abuse of language; the ends of language in 
 our discourse with others being chiefly these three: first, to make known one 
 
* 
 
 | CHAP. X.] ABUSE OF WORDS, 371 
 
 man’s thoughts or ideas to one another; secondly, to do it with as much ease and 
 quickness as possible; and, thirdly, thereby to convey the knowledge of things: 
 language is either abused or deficient, when it fails of any of these three. 
 
 First, Words fail in the first of these ends, and lay not open one man’s ideas to 
 another’s view: 1. When men have names in their mouths without any deter- 
 minate ideas in their minds, whereof they are the signs; or, 2. When they apply 
 the common received names of any language to ideas, to which the common use 
 of that language does not apply them: or, 3. When they apply them very 
 unsteadily, making them stand, now for one, and by and by for another idea. 
 
 24. Secondly, To do it with Quickness.—Secondly, Men fail of conveying their 
 thoughts with all the quickness and ease that may be, when they have complex 
 ideas without having any distinct names for them. This is sometimes the fault of 
 the language itself, which has not in it a sound yet applied to such a signification ; 
 and sometimes the fault of the man, who has not yet learned the name for that 
 idea he would show another. 
 
 25. Thirdly, Therewith to convey the Knowledge of Things.—Thirdly, There is 
 no knowledge of things conveyed by men’s words, when their ideas agree not to the 
 reality of things. Though it be a defect that has its original in our ideas, which 
 are not so conformable to the nature of things as attention, study, and applica- 
 tion might make them, yet it fails not to extend itself to our words: too, when we 
 use them as signs of real beings, which yet never had any reality or existence. 
 
 26. How Men's Words fail in all these.—First, He that hath words of any 
 language, without distinct ideas in his mind to which he applies them, does, so far 
 as he uses them in discourse, only make a noise without any sense or significa- 
 tion; and how learned soever he may seem by the use of hard words or learned 
 terms, is not much more advanced thereby in knowledge, than he would be in 
 learning, who had nothing in his study but the bare titles of books, without pos- 
 sessing the contents of them. For all such words, however put into discourse, 
 according to the right construction of grammatical rules, or the harmony of well- 
 turned periods, do yet amount to nothing but bare sounds, and nothing else. 
 
 27. Secondly, He that has complex ideas, without particular names for them, 
 would be in no better case than a bookseller, who had in his warehouse volumes 
 that lay there unbound, and without titles, which he could therefore make known 
 to others only by showing the loose sheets, and communicate them only by tale. 
 This man is hindered in his discourse for want of words to communicate his 
 complex ideas, which he is therefore forced to make known by an enumeration of 
 the simple ones that compose them; and so is fain often to use twenty words to 
 express what another man signifies in one. 
 
 28. Thirdly, He that puts not constantly the same sign for the same idea, but uses 
 the same words sometimes in one and sometimes in another signification, ought to 
 pass in the schools and conversation for as fair a man, as he does in the market 
 and exchange, who sells several things under the same name. 
 
 29. Fourthly, he that applies the words of any language to ideas different from 
 those to which the common use of that country applies them, however his own 
 understanding may be filled with truth and light, will not by such words be able 
 to convey much of it to others without defining his terms. For however the 
 sounds are such as are familiarly known, and easily enter the ears of those 
 who are accustomed to them; yet standing for other ideas than those they usually 
 are annexed to, and are wont to excite in the mind of the hearers, they cannot 
 make known the thoughts of him who thus uses them. 
 
 30. Fifthly, He that imagined to himself substances such as never have been, 
 and filled his head with ideas which have not any correspondence with the real 
 nature of things, to which yet he gives settled and defined names, may fill his 
 discourse, and perhaps another man’s head, with the fantastical imaginations of 
 his own brain, but will be very far from advancing thereby one jot in real and 
 true knowledge. 
 
 BB2 
 
37/2 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK It. 
 
 31. He that hath names without ideas, wants meaning in his words, and speaks 
 only empty sounds. He that hath complex ideas without names for them, wants 
 liberty and dispatch in his expressions, and is necessitated to use periphrases. 
 He that uses his words loosely and unsteadily will either be not minded or not 
 understood. He that applies his names to ideas different from their common use, 
 wants propriety in his language, and speaks gibberish. And he that hath the ideas 
 of substances disagreeing with the real existence of things, so far wants the mate- 
 rials of true knowledge in his understanding, and hath instead thereof chimeras. 
 
 32. How in Substances.—In our notions concerning substances, we are liable 
 to all the former inconveniences; v. g. he that uses the word tarantula, without 
 having any imagination or idea of what it stands for, pronounces a good word ; 
 but so long means nothing at all by it. 2. He that in a new-discovered country 
 shall see several sorts of animals and vegetables unknown to him before, may 
 have as true ideas of them, as of a horse or a stag; but can speak of them only 
 by a description, till he shall either take the names the natives call them by, or 
 give them names himself. 3. He that uses the word body sometimes for pure 
 extension, and sometimes for extension and solidity together, will talk very falla- 
 ciously. 4. He that gives the name horse to that idea which common usage calls 
 mule, talks improperly, and will not be understood. 5. He that thinks the name cen- 
 taur stands for some real being, imposes on himself, and mistakes words for things. 
 
 33. How in Modes and Substances.—In modes and relations generally, we 
 are liable only to the four first of these inconveniences; viz: 1. I may have 
 m my memory the names of modes, as gratitude or charity, and yet not 
 have any precise ideas annexed in my thoughts to those names. 2, I may 
 have ideas, and not know the names that belong to them; v..¢. I may have 
 the idea of a man’s drinking till his colour and humour be altered, till his 
 tongue trips, and his eyes look red, and his feet fail him; and yet not know 
 that it is to be called drunkenness. 3. I may have the ideas of virtues or 
 vices, and names also, but apply them amiss; v. g. when I apply the name 
 frugality to that idea which others call and signify by this sound, covetousness. 
 4. I may use any of those names with inconstancy. 5. But, in modes and relations, 
 I cannot have ideas disagreeing to the existence of things; for modes being 
 complex ideas, made by the mind at pleasure, and relation being but by way of . 
 considering or comparing two things together, and so also an idea of my own 
 making, these ideas can scarce be found to disagree with anything existing, since 
 they are not in the mind as the copies of things regularly made by nature, nor 
 as properties inseparably flowing from the internal constitution or essence of 
 any substance; but as it were patterns lodged in my memory, with names 
 annexed to them, to denominate actions and relations by, as they come to exist. 
 But the mistake is commonly in my giving a wrong name to my conceptions ; 
 and so using words in a different sense from other people; I am not understood, 
 but am thought to have wrong ideas of them, when I give wrong names to them. 
 Only if I put in my ideas of mixed modes or relations any inconsistent ideas 
 together, I fill my head also with chimeras; since such ideas, if well examined, 
 cannot so much as exist in the mind, much less any real being ever be denominated 
 from them. 
 
 34. Figurative Speech also an Abuse of Language.—Since wit and fancy find 
 easier entertainment in the world than dry truth and real knowledge, figurative 
 speeches and allusion in language will hardly be admitted as an imperfection or 
 abuse of it. I confess, in discourses where we seek rather pleasure and delight 
 than information and improvement, such ornaments as are borrowed from them 
 can scarce pass for faults. But yet if we would speak of things as they are, we 
 must allow that all the art of rhetoric, besides order and clearness, all the artificial 
 and figurative application of words eloquence hath invented, are for nothing else 
 but to insinuate wrong ideas, move the passions, and thereby mislead the judg- 
 ment, and so indeed are perfect cheats; and therefore, however laudable or allow- 
 
CHAP. XI.] REMEDIES OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. 373 
 
 able oratory may render them in harangues and popular addresses, they are 
 certainly, in all discourses that pretend to inform or instruct, wholly to be avoided ; 
 and where truth and knowledge are concerned, cannot but be thought a great 
 fault, either of the language or person that makes use of them. What and how 
 various they are, will be superfluous here to take notice: the books of rhetoric 
 which abound in the world will instruct those who want to be informed; only I 
 cannot but observe how little the preservation and improvement of truth and 
 knowledge is the care and concern of mankind; since the arts of fallacy are 
 endowed and preferred. It is evident how much men love to deceive and be 
 deceived, since rhetoric, that powerful instrument of error and deceit, has its esta- 
 blished professors, is publicly taught, and has always been had in great reputation : 
 and I doubt not but it will be thought great boldness, if not brutality in me, to 
 have said thus much against it. Eloquence, like the fair sex, has too prevailing 
 beauties in it to suffer itself ever to be spoken against; and it is in vain to find 
 fault with those arts of deceiving, wherein men find pleasure to be deceived. ' 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF THE REMEDIES OF THE FOREGOING IMPERFECTIONS AND ABUSES. 
 1. They are worth seeking.—TuE natural and improved imperfections of lan- 
 
 guages we have seen above at large; and speech being the great bond that holds 
 
 society together, and the common conduit whereby the improvements of know- 
 
 1 The notions which Locke here puts forward 
 on the subject of rhetoric and an ornate and 
 figurative style, are as inconsistent with his own 
 practice as they are with true philosophy. He 
 himself constantly, both throughout this and 
 every other of his works, makes use of a profu- 
 sion of tropes and figures; nor, as will be evi- 
 dent to the reader, is his meaning thereby at all 
 darkened, but placed in a broader, clearer, and 
 more perfect light. It is, in fact, nearly impos- 
 sible to convey truth from one mind to another 
 without the abundant employment of metaphors ; 
 and the art of rhetoric, though it may sometimes 
 be used to adorn and recommend falsehood, is no 
 more to be rejected by truth on that account, 
 than dress is to be laid aside by modest women 
 because it is also worn by courtezans. Plato, as 
 is well known, has put forward on this subject 
 crotchets similar to Locke’s; and it is not at all 
 improbable that the English philosopher may 
 have been seduced into this diatribe against rhe- 
 toric by the eloquent and rhetorical master of the 
 academy, who attempted to storm the citadel of 
 eloquence with instruments supplied out of its 
 own armoury. But if authority might be allowed 
 any weight in this matter, I would venture to 
 
 oppose to that of Plato and Locke the deliberate 
 
 conviction of Peter Melancthon, who, besides 
 studying profoundly for his own use the art of 
 rhetoric, composed for the service of others a 
 brief but admirable introduction to the larger 
 works of Aristotle, Quintillian, and Cicero; and 
 in the Epistola Nuncupatoria, addressed to the 
 brothers Reifenstein, says :—‘* Quanquam autem 
 ipsa precepta rhetorices levia et perquam pue- 
 rilia videntur, tamen hoe sibi persuadeant ado- 
 lescentes, et ad judicandum, et ad maximas 
 
 caussas explicandas prorsus ea necessaria esse. 
 Quare etiam adhortandi sunt ne his nostris libel- 
 lis immorentur: sed cognitis his elementis, Ci- 
 ceronem et Quintilianum legat nec degustent 
 obiter, sed diu multumque legant auctores illos, 
 non solum ad eloquentiam, sed etiam ad sapien- 
 tiam profuturos, et discant ex eis eloquentiam 
 metiri magnitudine sua. Videmus enim vulgo 
 quosdam sciolos esse, qui somniat se in arce 
 eloquentiz sedere, postquam didicerunt epis- 
 tolium scribere octo aut decem versuum, in quo 
 duo aut tria insint hemistrichia aut proverbia, 
 quasi emblemata. Hec opinio juvenibus exi- 
 menda est, et ostendendum quibus in rebus elo- 
 quentia dominetur quod videlicet necessaria sit 
 ad maximas ac difficillimas caussas omnes, in 
 hac tota civili consuetudine vite explicandas, ad 
 retinendas religiones, ad interpretandas ac defen- 
 dendas leges, ad exercenda judicia, et consilium 
 dandum reipublice in maximis periculis dili- 
 genter et hoc monendi sunt studiosi, rem unam 
 esse omnium humanorum operum longe difficil- 
 lima, bene dicere. Etenim qui magnitudinem 
 eloquentiz et rei difficultatem considerabit in- 
 telliget expetenti hanc laudem, acerrimum stu- 
 dium omnium maximarum artium adhibendum 
 esse, et statuet ad magnarum et difficilium causa- 
 rum tractationem in Ecclesia, et in Republica, 
 non tantum hos rhetoricos libellos, sed perfec- 
 tam doctrinam et magnam facultatem, longam 
 exercitationem domesticam, et acerrimum judi- 
 cium afferendum esse.” (Kdit. Antwerpiz, 1573.) 
 An example of Locke’s own practice occurs in 
 § 5 of the next chapter, where he speaks of “‘lan- 
 guage being the great conduit whereby men con- 
 vey their discoveries,” etc. 
 
o/4 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 ledge are conveyed from one man and one generation to another, it would well 
 deserve our most serious thoughts to consider what remedies are to be found for 
 the inconveniences above mentioned. 
 
 2. Are not easy.—I am not so vain as to think that any one can pretend to 
 attempt the perfect reforming the languages of the world, no, not so much as of 
 his own country, without rendering himself ridiculous. To require that men 
 should use their words constantly in the same sense, and for none but determined 
 and uniform ideas, would be to think that all men should have the same notions, 
 and should talk of nothing but what they have clear and distinct ideas of; which 
 is not to be expected by any one who hath not vanity enough to imagine he can 
 prevail with men to be very knowing or very silent. And he must be very little 
 skilled in the world, who thinks that a voluble tongue shall accompany only a 
 good understanding; or that men’s talking much or little should hold proportion 
 only to their knowledge. 
 
 3. But yet necessary to Philosophy.—But though the market and exchange 
 must be left to their own ways of talking, and gossipings not be robbed of their 
 ancient privilege; though the schools and men of argument would perhaps take 
 it amiss to have anything offered to abate the length or lessen the number of their 
 disputes ; yet methinks those who pretend seriously to search after or maintain 
 truth, should think themselves obliged to study how they might deliver them- 
 selves without obscurity, doubtfulness, or equivocation, to which men’s words are 
 naturally liable, if care be not taken. 
 
 4. Misuse of Words the great Cause of Error.—For he that shall well consider 
 the errors and obscurity, the mistakes and confusion, that are spread in the world 
 by an ill use of words, will find some reason to doubt whether language, as it has 
 been employed, has contributed more to the improvement or hindrance of know- 
 ledge amongst mankind. How many are there, that, when they would think on 
 things, fix their thoughts only on words, especially when they would apply their 
 minds to moral matters; and who can then wonder, if the result of such con- 
 templations and reasonings, about little more than sounds, whilst the ideas they 
 annex to them are very confused and very unsteady, or perhaps none at all; 
 who can wonder, I say, that such thoughts and reasonings end in nothing but 
 obscurity and mistake, without any clear judgment and knowledge ? 
 
 5. Obstinacy.—This inconvenience in an ill use of words men suffer in their 
 
 own private meditations; but much more manifest are the disorders which follow 
 from it in conversation, discourse, and arguings with others. For language being 
 the great conduit whereby men convey their discoveries, reasonings, and know- 
 ledge, from one to another; he that makes an ill use of it, though he does not 
 corrupt the fountains of knowledge, which are in things themselves; yet he does, 
 as much as in him lies, break or stop the pipes whereby it is distributed to the 
 public use and advantage of mankind. He that uses words without any clear and 
 steady meaning, what does he but lead himself and others into errors? And he 
 that designedly does it, ought to be looked on as an enemy to truth and know- 
 ledge. And yet who can wonder that all the sciences and parts of knowledge 
 have been so overcharged with obscure and equivocal terms, and insignificant and 
 doubtful expressions, capable to make the most attentive or quick-sighted very 
 little or not at all the more knowing or orthodox? since subtilty, in those who 
 make profession to teach or defend truth, hath passed so much for a virtue; a 
 virtue, indeed, which, consisting for the most part in nothing but the fallacious 
 and illusory use of obscure or deceitful terms, is only fit to make men more con- 
 ceited in their ignorance and more obstinate in their errors. 
 
 6. And Wrangling.—Let us look into the books of controversy of any kind, 
 there we shall see that the effect of obscure, unsteady, or equivocal terms, is 
 nothing bit noise and wrangling about sounds, without convincing or bettering a 
 man’s understanding. For if the idea be not agreed on betwixt the speaker and 
 hearer, for which the words stand, the argument is not about things, but names. 
 
CHAP. XI.] ' REMEDIES OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. 375 
 
 As often as such a word, whose signification is not ascertained betwixt them, 
 comes in use, their understandings have no other object wherein they agree, but 
 barely the sound; the things that they think on at that time, as expressed by that 
 word, being quite different. 
 
 7. Instance, Bat and Bird.—Whether a bat be a bird or no, is not a question ; 
 whether a bat be another thing than indeed it is, or have other qualities than 
 indeed it has, for that would be extremely absurd to doubt of: but the question 
 is, 1. Either between those that acknowledged themselves to have but imperfect 
 ideas of one or both of this sort of things, for which these names are supposed to 
 stand; and then it is a real inquiry concerning the name of a bird or a bat, to make 
 their yet imperfect ideas of it more complete, by examining whether all the simple 
 ideas to which, combined together, they both give the name bird, be all to be 
 found in a bat; but this is a question only of inquirers (not disputers) who neither 
 affirm nor deny, but examine. Or, 2. It is a question between disputants, whereof 
 the one affirms and the other denies that a bat is a bird; and then the question 
 is barely about the signification of one or both these words; in that they not 
 having both the same complex ideas to which they give these two names, one holds 
 and the other denies that these two names may be affirmed one of another. Were 
 they agreed in the signification of these two names, it were impossible they should 
 dispute about them; for they would presently and clearly see (were that adjusted 
 between them) whether all the simple ideas of the more general name bird were 
 found in the complex idea of a bat or no; and so there could be no doubt whether 
 a bat were a bird or no. And here I desire it may be considered, and carefully 
 examined, whether the greatest part of the disputes in the world are not merely 
 verbal, and about the signification of words; and whether, if the terms they are 
 made in were defined, and reduced in their signification (as they must be where 
 they signify anything) to determined collections of the simple ideas they do or 
 should stand for, those disputes would not end of themselves, and immediately 
 vanish. I leave it, then, to be considered what the learning of disputation is, and 
 how well they are employed for the advantage of themselves or others, whose 
 business is only the vain ostentation of sounds; i.e. those who spend their lives 
 in disputes and controversies. When I shall see any of those combatants strip 
 all his terms of ambiguity and obscurity, (which every one may do in the words 
 he uses himself,) I shall think him a champion for knowledge, truth, and peace, 
 and not the slave of vain-glory, ambition, or a party. 
 
 8. To remedy the defects of speech before mentioned to some degree, and to 
 prevent the inconveniences that follow from them, I imagine the observation of 
 these following rules may be of use, till somebody better able shall judge it worth 
 his while to think more maturely on this matter, and oblige the world with his 
 thoughts on it. 
 
 First, Remedy ; to use no Word without an Idea.—First, a man shall take care 
 to use no word without a signification, no name without an idea for which he 
 makes it stand. This rule will not seem altogether needless to any one who 
 shall take the pains to recollect how often he has met with such words as instinct, 
 sympathy, and antipathy, &c., in the discourse of others, so made use of, as he 
 might easily conclude that those that used them had no ideas in their minds to 
 which they applied them, but spoke them only as sounds, which usually served 
 instead of reasons on the like occasions. Not but that these words and the like 
 have very proper significations in which they may be used; but there being no 
 natural connexion between any words and any ideas, these and any other may be 
 learned by rote, and pronounced or writ by men who have no ideas in their minds 
 to which they have annexed them, and for which they make them stand; which 
 is necessary they should, if men would speak intelligibly even to themselves alone. 
 
 9. Secondly, To have distinct Ideas annexed to them in Modes.—Secondly, It 
 is not enough a man uses his words as signs of some ideas: those he annexes 
 them to, if they be simple, must be clear and distinct; if complex, must be deter- 
 
3/6 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Til. 
 
 minate, i. e. tue precise collection of simple ideas settled in the mind, with that 
 sound anzexed to it, as the sign of that precise determined collection, and no 
 other. This is very necessary in names of modes, and especially moral words ; 
 which, having no settled objects in nature, from whence their ideas are taken, as 
 from their original, are apt to be very confused. Justice is a word in every man’s 
 mouth, but most commonly with a very undetermined, loose signification; which 
 will always be so, unless a man has in his mind a distinct comprehension of the 
 component parts that complex idea consists of: and if it be decompounded, must 
 be able to resolve it still on, till he at last comes to the simple ideas that make it 
 up: and unless this be done, a man makes an ill use of the word, let it be justice, 
 for example, or any other. I do not say, a man need stand to recollect and make 
 this analysis at large every time the word justice comes in his way; but this at 
 least is necessary, that he have so examined the signification of that name, and 
 settled the idea of all its parts in his mind, that he can do it when he pleases. 
 If one who makes his complex idea of justice to be such a treatment of the 
 person or goods of another as is according to law, hath not a clear and distinct 
 idea what law is, which makes a part of his complex idea of justice, it is plain his 
 idea of justice itself will be confused and imperfect. This exactness will perhaps 
 be judged very troublesome, and therefore most men will think they may be 
 excused from settling the complex ideas of mixed modes so precisely in their 
 minds. But yet I must say, till this be done, it must not be wondered that they 
 have a great deal of obscurity and confusion in their own minds, and a great deal 
 of wrangling in their discourse with others. 
 
 10. And distinct and conformable in Substances.—In the names of substances, 
 for a right use of them, something more is required than barely determined ideas. 
 In these the names must also be conformable to things as they exist: but of this 
 I shall have occasion to speak more at large by and by. This exactness is abso- 
 lutely necessary in inquiries after philosophical knowledge, and in controversies 
 about truth. And though it would be well, too, if it extended itself to common 
 conversation and the ordinary affairs of life; yet I think that is scarce to be 
 expected. Vulgar notions suit vulgar discourses; and both, though confused 
 enough, yet serve pretty well the market and the wake. Merchants and lovers, 
 cooks and tailors, have words wherewithal to dispatch their ordinary affairs ; and 
 so, I think, might philosophers and disputants too, if they had a mind to under- 
 stand, and to be clearly understood. 
 
 ll. Thirdly, Propriety.—Thirdly, It is not enough that men have ideas, deter- 
 mined ideas, for which they make these signs stand; but they must also take 
 care to apply their words as near as may be to such ideas as common use has 
 annexed them to. For words, especially of languages already framed, being no 
 man’s private possession, but the common measure of commerce and communica- 
 tion, it is not for any one at pleasure to change the stamp they are current in, nor 
 alter the ideas they are affixed to; or at least, when there is a necessity to do so, he 
 is bound to give notice of it. Men’s intentions in speaking are, or at least should 
 be, to be understood; which cannot be without frequent explanations, demands, 
 and other the like incommedious interruptions, where men do not follow common 
 use. Propriety of speech is that which gives our thoughts entrance into other 
 men’s minds with the greatest ease and advantage ; and therefore deserves some 
 part of our care and study, especially in the names of moral words. The proper 
 signification and use of terms is best to be learned from those who in their writings 
 and discourses appear to have had the clearest notions, and applied to them 
 their terms with the exactest choice and fitness. This way of using a man’s 
 words, according to the propriety of the language, though it have not always the 
 good fortune to be understood ; yet most commonly leaves the blame of it on him 
 who is so unskilful in the language he speaks, as not to understand it when made 
 use of as it ought to be. 
 
 12. Fourthly, To make known their Meaning.—Fourthly, But because common 
 
 Se 
 
CHAP. XI. | REMEDIES OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. 377 
 
 use has not so visibly annexed any signification to words, as to make men know 
 always certainly what they precisely stand for; and because men, in the improve- 
 ment of their knowledge, come to have ideas different from the vulgar and ordi- 
 nary received ones, for which they must either make new words, (which men 
 seldom venture to do, for fear of being thought guilty of affectation or novelty,) or 
 else must use old ones in a new signification: therefore after the observation of 
 the foregoing rules, it is sometimes necessary, for the ascertaining the signification 
 of words, to declare their meaning; where either common use has left it uncertain 
 and loose, (as it has in most names of very complex ideas,) or where the term, 
 being very material in the discourse, and that upon which it chiefly turns, is liable 
 to any doubtfulness or mistake. 
 
 13. And that three Ways.—As the ideas men’s words stand for are of different 
 sorts, so the way of making known the ideas they stand for, when there is occa- 
 sion, is also different. For though defining be thought the proper way to make 
 known the proper signification of words, yet there are some words that will not 
 be defined, as there are others whose precise meaning cannot be made known, but 
 by definition; and perhaps a third, which partake somewhat of both the other, as 
 we shall see in the names of simple ideas, modes, and substances. 
 
 14. I. In simple Ideas, by synonymous Terms, or showing.—First, when a 
 man makes use of the name of any simple idea which he perceives is not under- 
 stood, or is in danger to be mistaken, he is obliged by the laws of ingenuity and 
 the end of speech to declare his meaning, and make known what idea he makes it 
 stand for. This, as has been shown, cannot be done by definition; and therefore, 
 when a.synonymous word fails to do it, there is but one of these ways left: First, 
 sometimes the naming the subject wherein that simple idea is to be found, will 
 make its name to be understood by those who are acquainted with that subject, 
 and know it by that name. So to make a countryman understand what “ feuille- 
 morte” colour signifies, it may suffice to tell him it is the colour of withered 
 leaves falling in autumn. Secondly, but the only sure way of making known the 
 signification of the name of any simple idea is by presenting to his senses that 
 subject which may produce it in his mind, and make him actually have the idea 
 that word stands for. | 
 
 15. II. In mixed Modes, by Definition.—Secondly, Mixed modes, espe- 
 cially those belonging to morality, being most of them such combinations of ideas 
 as the mind puts together of its own choice, and whereof there are not always 
 standing patterns to be found existing, the signification of their names cannot be 
 made known as those of simple ideas by any showing ; but, in recompense thereof, 
 may be perfectly and exactly defined. For they being combinations of several 
 ideas that the mind of man has arbitrarily put together, without reference to any 
 archetypes, men may, if they please, exactly know the ideas that go to each com- 
 position, and so both use these words in a certain and undoubted signification, 
 and perfectly declare, when there is occasion, what they stand for. This, if well 
 considered, would lay great blame on those who make not their discourses about 
 moral things very clear and distinct. For since the precise signification of the 
 names of mixed modes, or, which is all one, the real essence of each species is to 
 be known, they being not of nature’s, but man’s making, it is a great negligence 
 and perverseness to discourse of moral things with uncertainty and obscurity ; 
 which is more pardonable in treating of natural substances, where doubtful terms 
 are hardly to be avoided, for a quite contrary reason, as we shall see by and by. 
 
 16. Morality capable of Demonstration.—Upon this ground it is that I am 
 bold to think that morality is capable of demonstration, as well as mathematics ; 
 since the precise real essence of the things moral words stand for may be per- 
 fectly known, and so the congruity and incongruity of the things themselves be 
 certainly discovered, in which consists perfect knowledge. Nor let any one 
 object, that the names of substances are often to be made use of in morality as 
 well as those of modes, from which will arise obscurity. For as to substances, 
 
348 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 when concerned in moral discourses, their divers natures are not so much inquired 
 into as supposed; v. g. when we say that man is subject to law, we mean nothing 
 by man but a corporeal rational creature; what the real essence or other 
 qualities of that creature are in this case is no way considered. And, therefore, 
 whether a child or changeling be a man in a physical sense, may amongst the 
 naturalists be as disputable as it will, it concerns not at all the moral man, as I 
 may call him, which is this immovable, unchangeable idea, a corporeal rational 
 being. For were there a monkey or any other creature to be found that has the 
 _ use of reason to such a degree, as to be able to understand general signs, and to 
 deduce consequences about general ideas, he would no doubt be subject to law, 
 and in that sense be a man, how much soever he differed in shape from others of 
 that name. The names of substances, if they be used in them as they should, can 
 no more disturb moral than they do mathematical discourses; where, if the 
 mathematician speaks of a cube or globe of gold, or of any other body, he has his 
 clear, settled idea, which varies not, though it may by mistake be applied to a 
 particular body to which it belongs not. 
 
 17. Definitions can make moral Discourses clear—This I have here men- 
 tioned, by the by, to show of what consequence it is for men, in their names of 
 mixed modes, and consequently in all their moral discourses, to define their words 
 when there is occasion; since thereby moral knowledge may be brought to so 
 great clearness and certainty. And it must be great want of ingenuousness (to 
 say no worse of it) to refuse to do it; since a definition is the only way whereby 
 the precise meaning of moral words can be known; and yet a way whereby their 
 meaning may be known certainly, and without leaving any room for any contest 
 about it. And therefore the negligence or perverseness of mankind cannot be ex- 
 cused, if their discourses in morality be not much more clear than those in natural 
 philosophy ; since they are about ideas in the mind, which are none of them false or 
 disproportionate, they having no external beings for the archetypes which they 
 are referred to and must correspond with. It is far easier for men to frame in 
 their minds an idea which shall be the standard to which they will give the name 
 justice, with which pattern so made, all actions that agree shall pass under that 
 denomination, than, having seen Aristides, to frame an idea that shall in all 
 things be exactly like him; who is as he is, let men make what idea they please 
 of him. For the one, they need but know the combination of ideas that are put 
 together in their own minds; for the other, they must inquire into the whole 
 nature, and abstruse hidden constitution, and. various qualities of a thing existing 
 without them. 
 
 18. And is the only Way.—Another reason that makes the defining of mixed 
 modes so necessary, especially of moral words, is what I mentioned a little before, 
 viz. that it is the only way whereby the signification of the most of them can 
 be known with certainty. For the ideas they stand for being for the most 
 part such whose component parts nowhere exist together, but scattered and 
 mingled with others, it is the mind alone that collects them, and gives them the 
 union of one idea; and it is only by words enumerating the several simple ideas 
 which the mind has united, that we can make known to others what their names 
 stand for; the assistance of the senses in this case not helping us by the pro- 
 posal of sensible objects, to show the ideas which our names of this kind stand 
 for, as it does often in the names of sensible simple ideas, and also to some degree 
 in those of substances. 
 
 19. III. In Substances, by showing and defining.—Thirdly, for the explaining 
 the signification of the names of substances, as they stand for the ideas we have 
 of their distinct species, both the forementioned ways, viz. of showing and defining, 
 are requisite in many cases to be made use of. For there being ordinarily in each 
 sort some leading qualities, to which we suppose the other ideas which make up 
 our complex idea of that species annexed, we forwardly give the specific name to 
 that thing wherein that characteristical mark is found, which we take to be the 
 
CHAP. XI.] REMEDIES OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. 879 
 
 most distinguishing idea of that species. These leading or characteristical (as I 
 may call them) ideas in the sorts of animals and vegetables are (as has been before 
 remarked, ch. vi. § 29, and ch. ix. § 15) mostly figure; and in inanimate bodies, 
 colour; and in some, both together. Now, 
 
 20. Ideas of the leading Qualities of Substances are best got by showing.— 
 These leading sensible qualities are those which make the chief ingredients of our 
 specific ideas, and consequently the most observable and invariable part in the 
 definitions of our specific names, as attributed to sorts of substances coming under 
 our knowledge. For though the sound man, in its own nature, be as apt to 
 signify a complex idea made up of animality and rationality, united in the same 
 subject, as to signify, any other combination; yet used as a mark to stand for 
 a sort of creatures we count of our own kind, perhaps, the outward shape is as 
 necessary to be taken into our complex idea, signified by the word man, as any 
 other we find in it: and therefore, why Plato’s “ animal implume bipes latis 
 unguibus” should not be a good definition of the name man, standing for that 
 sort of creatures will not be easy to show; for it is the shape, as the leading 
 quality, that seems more to determine that species, than a faculty of reasoning, 
 which appears not at first, and in some never. And if this be not allowed to be 
 so, I do not know how they can be excused from murder who kill monstrous 
 births, (as we call them,) because of an unordinary shape, without knowing whether 
 they have a rational soul or no; which can be no more discerned in a well-formed 
 than ill-shaped infant, as soon as born. And who is it has informed us that a 
 rational soul can inhabit no tenement, unless it has just such a sort of frontispiece ; 
 or can join itself to, and inform no sort of body but one that is just of such an 
 outward structure ? 
 
 21. Now these leading qualities are best made known by showing, and can 
 hardly be made known otherwise. For the shape of a horse or cassowary will be 
 but rudely and imperfectly imprinted on the mind by words; the sight of the 
 animals doth it a thousand times better; and the idea of the particular colour of 
 gold is not to be got by any description of it, but only by the frequent exercise of 
 the eyes about it, as is evident in those who are used to this metal, who will fre- 
 quently distinguish true from counterfeit, pure from adulterate, by the sight; 
 where others (who have as good eyes, but yet by use have not got the pre- 
 cise nice idea of that peculiar yellow) shall not perceive any difference. The 
 like may be said of those other simple ideas, peculiar in their kind to any sub- 
 stance; for which precise ideas there are no peculiar names. ‘The particular 
 ringing sound there is in gold, distinct from the sound of other bodies, has no 
 particular name annexed to it, no more than the particular yellow that belongs to 
 that metal. : 
 
 22. The Ideas of their Powers best known by Definition. But because many of 
 the simple ideas that make up our specific. ideas of substances are powers which lie 
 not obvious to our senses in the things as they ordinarily appear ; therefore, in 
 the signification of our names of substances, some part of the signification will be 
 better made known by enumerating those simple ideas, than by showing the sub- 
 stance itself. For he that to the yellow shining colour of gold, got by sight, shall, 
 from my enumerating them, have the ideas of great ductility, fusibility, fixedness, 
 and solubility, in aq. regia, will have a perfecter idea of gold than he can have by 
 seeing a piece of gold, and thereby imprinting in his mind only its obvious 
 qualities. But if the formal constitution of this shining, heavy, ductile thing, 
 (from whence all these its properties flow,) lay open to our senses, as the formal 
 constitution or essence of a triangle does, the signification of the word gold might 
 as easily be ascertained as that of triangle. 
 
 23. A Reflection on the Knowledge of Spirits.— Hence we may take notice how 
 much the foundation of all our knowledge of corporeal things lies in our senses. 
 For how spirits, separate from bodies, (whose knowledge and ideas of these things 
 are certainly much more perfect than ours,) know them, we have no notion, no 
 
380 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 idea at all. The whole extent of our knowledge or imagination reaches not 
 beyond our own ideas limited to our ways of perception. Though yet it be not 
 to be doubted that spirits of a higher rank than those immersed in flesh may 
 have as clear ideas of the radical constitution of substances as we have of a 
 triangle, and so perceive how all their properties and operations flow from thence, 
 but the manner how they come by that knowledge exceeds our conceptions. 
 
 24. IV. Ideas also of Substances must be conformable to Things.—Fourthly, But 
 though definitions will serve to explain the names of substances as they stand for our 
 ideas, yet they leave them not without great imperfection as they stand for things. 
 For our names of substances being not put barely for our ideas, but being made 
 use of ultimately to represent things, and so are put in their placce, their significa- 
 tion must agree with the truth of things as well as with men’s ideas. And there- 
 fore, in substances, we are not always to rest in the ordinary complex idea com- 
 monly received as the signification of that word, but must go a little further, and 
 inquire into the nature and properties of the things themselves, and thereby per- 
 fect, as much as we can, our ideas of their distinct species; or else learn them 
 from such as are used to that sort of things, and are experienced in them. For 
 since it is intended their names should stand for such collections of simple ideas 
 as do really exist in things themselves, as well as for the complex idea in other 
 men’s minds, which in their ordinary acceptation they stand for, therefore, to 
 define their names right, natural history is to be inquired into, and their properties 
 are, with care and examination, to be found out. For it is not enough, for the 
 avoiding inconveniencies in discourse and arguings about natural bodies and sub- 
 stantial things, to have learned, from the propriety of the language, the common, 
 but confused, or very imperfect idea to which each word is applied, and to keep 
 them to that idea in our use of them; but we must, by acquainting ourselves 
 with the history of that sort of things, rectify and settle our complex idea belong- 
 ing to each specific name; and in discourse with others, (if we find them mistake 
 us,) we ought to tell what the complex idea is that we make such a name stand 
 for. This is the more necessary to be done by all those who search after know- 
 ledge and philosophical verity, in that, children, being taught words, whilst they 
 have but imperfect notions of things, apply them at random and without much 
 thinking, and seldom frame determined ideas to be signified by them. Which 
 custom (it being easy, and serving well enough for the ordinary affairs of life and 
 conversation) they are apt to continue when they are men; and so begin at the 
 wrong end, learning words first and perfectly, but make the notions to which they 
 apply those words afterwards very overtly. By this means it comes to pass, that, 
 men speaking the proper language of their country, 1. e. according to grammar 
 rules of that language, do yet speak very improperly of things themselves; and, 
 by their arguing one with another, make but small progress in the discoveries of 
 useful truths and the knowledge of things, as they are to be found in themselves, 
 and not in our imaginations ; and it matters not much for the improvement of our 
 knowledge how they are called. 
 
 25. Not easy to be made so.—It were therefore to be wished that men versed 
 in physical inquiries, and acquainted with the several sorts of natural bodies 
 would set down those simple ideas wherein they observe the individuals of each 
 sort constantly to agree. This would remedy a great deal of that confusion which 
 comes from several persons applying the same name to a collection of a smaller or 
 greater number of sensible qualities, proportionably as they have been more or 
 less acquainted with, or accurate in examining the qualities of any sort of things 
 which come under one denomination. But a dictionary of this sort, containing, 
 as it were, a natural history, requires too many hands as well as too much time, 
 cost, pains, and sagacity ever to be hoped for; and till that be done, we must con- 
 tent ourselves with such definitions of the names of substances as explain the sense 
 men use them in. And it would be well, where there is occasion, if they would 
 afford usso much. This yet is not usually done; but men talk to one another, and 
 
 a © Sea pe ee 
 
 Sie ee a 
 
REMEDIES OF THE ABUSE OF WORDS. Doel 
 
 CHAP. XI. | 
 
 dispute in words whose meaning is not agreed between them, out of a mistake 
 that the significations of common words are certainly established, and the precise 
 ideas they stand for perfectly known; and that it is a shame to be ignorant of 
 them. Both which suppositions are false: no names of complex ideas having 
 so settled determined significations, that they are constantly used for the same 
 precise ideas. Nor is it a shame for a man not to have a certain knowledge of 
 anything, but by the necessary ways of attaining it; and so it is no discredit not 
 to know what precise idea any sound stands for in another man’s mind, without he 
 declare it to me by some other way than barely using that sound ; there being no 
 other way, without such a declaration, certainly to know it. Indeed the necessity 
 of communication by language brings men to an agreement in the signification of 
 common words, within some tolerable latitude, that may serve for ordinary con- 
 versation : and so a man cannot be supposed wholly ignorant of the ideas which 
 are annexed to words by common use, in a language familiar to him. But com- 
 mon use being but a very uncertain rule, which reduces itself at last in the ideas of 
 particular men, proves often but a very variable standard. But though such a 
 dictionary as I have above mentioned will require too much time, cost, and pains 
 to be hoped for in this age; yet methinks it is not unreasonable to propose, that 
 words standing for things which are known and distinguished by their outward 
 shapes should be expressed by little draughts and prints made of them. <A voca- 
 bulary made after this fashion would perhaps with more ease and in less time 
 teach the true signification of many terms, especially in languages of remote coun- 
 tries or ages, and settle truer ideas in men’s minds of several things whereof we 
 read the names in ancient authors, than all the large and laborious comments of 
 learned critics. Naturalists, that treat of plants and animals, have found the 
 benefit of this way: and he that has had occasion to consult them will have reason 
 to confess that he has a clearer idea of apium or ibex, from a little print of that herb 
 or beast, than he could have from a long definition of the names of either of them. 
 And sono doubt he would have of strigil or sistrum, if, instead of currycomb 
 and cymbal, (which are the English names dictionaries render them by,) he could 
 see stamped in the margin small pictures of these instruments, as they were in use 
 amongst the ancients. ‘Toga, tunica, pallium,” are words easily translated by 
 gown, coat, and cloak; but we have thereby no more true ideas of the fashion of 
 those habits amongst the Romans, than we have of the faces of the tailors who 
 made them. Such things as these, which the eye distinguishes by their shapes, 
 would be best let into the mind by draughts made of them, and more determine 
 the signification of such words than any other words set for them, or made use of 
 to define them. But this is only by the by.’ 
 
 26. V. By Constancy in their Signification—Fifthly, If men will not be at the 
 pains to declare the meaning of their words, and definitions of their terms are not 
 to be had, yet this is the least that can be expected, that, in all discourses wherein 
 one man pretends to instruct or convince another, he should use the same word 
 constantly inthe same sense: if this were done, (which nobody can refuse without 
 great disingenuity,) many of the books extant might be spared; many of the con- 
 troversies in dispute would be at an end; several of those great volumes, swollen 
 with ambiguous words, now used in one sense, and by and by in another, would 
 shrink into a very narrow compass; and many of the philosophers’ (to mention no 
 other) as well as poets’ works, might be contained in a nutshell. 
 
 skin. It was shaped like the crooked knife with 
 
 1 These suggestions of Locke have since been 
 acted on in our encyclopeedias and dictionaries of 
 natural science; in which the representation by 
 engraving of objects spoken of in the text, as- 
 sists the descriptions in conveying clear ideas to 
 the mind. The word strigil usually signifies an 
 instrumeut used in the baths of the ancients 
 for scraping off perspiration and dust from the 
 
 which shoemakers hollow out the wood of ladies’ 
 high-heeled shoes. The sistrum had no resem- 
 blance to a pair of cymbals, but was in shape 
 something like the jews’harp, with two or three 
 cross-bars. ‘The reader will find an exact en- 
 grayed representation of it in Montfaucon and 
 several other antiquarians. 
 
382 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK III. 
 
 27. When the Variation is to be explained.—But after all, the provision of 
 words is so scanty in respect to that infinite variety of thoughts, that men, wanting 
 terms to suit their precise notions, will, notwithstanding their utmost caution, be 
 forced often to use the same word in somewhat different senses. And though in 
 the continuation of a discourse or the pursuit of an argument, there can be hardly 
 room to digress into a particular definition as often as a man varies the significa- 
 tion of any term; yet the import of the discourse will, for the most part, if there 
 be no designed fallacy, sufficiently lead candid and intelligent readers into the true 
 meaning of it: but where there is not sufficient to guide the reader, there it con- 
 cerns the writer to explain his meaning, and show in what sense he there uses 
 that term. 
 
 ee ee 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 OF KNOWLEDGE IN GENERAL. 
 
 1. Our Knowledge conversant about our Ideas.—SinceE the mind, in all its 
 thoughts and reasonings, hath no other immediate object but its own ideas which 
 it alone does or can contemplate, it is evident that our knowledge is only conver- 
 sant about them. 
 
 2. Knowledge is the Perception of the Agreement or Disagreement of two 
 Ideas.— Knowledge, then, seems to me to be nothing but the perception of the 
 connexion and agreement, or disagreement and repugnancy of any of our ideas. 
 In this alone it consists. Where this perception is, there is knowledge; and 
 where it is not, there, though we may fancy, guess, or believe, yet we always 
 come short of knowledge. For when we know that white is not black, what do 
 we else but perceive that these two ideas do not agree? When we possess our- 
 selves with the utmost security of the demonstration, that the three angles of a 
 triangle are equal to two right ones, what do we more but perceive, that equality 
 to two right ones does necessarily agree to, and is inseparable from the three angles 
 of a triangle? 
 
 3. This Agreement fourfold.— But to understand a little more distinctly wherein 
 this agreement or disagreement consists, I think we may reduce it all to these four 
 sorts : 
 
 I. Identity, or diversity. 
 
 II. Relation. 
 III. Co-existence, or necessary connexion. 
 IV. Real existence. 
 
 4. First, Of Identity, or Diversity.—First, As to the first sort of agreement or 
 disagreement, viz. identity or diversity. It is the first act of the mind, when it 
 has any sentiments or ideas at all, to perceive its ideas ; and so far as it perceives 
 them, to know each what it is, and thereby also to perceive their difference, and 
 that one is not another. This is so absolutely necessary, that, without it, there 
 could be no knowledge, no reasoning, no imagination, no distinct thoughts at all. 
 By this the mind clearly and infallibly perceives each idea to agree with itself, and 
 to be what it is; and all distinct ideas to disagree, i. e. the one not to be the 
 other: and this it does without pains, labour, or deduction ; but at first view, by 
 its natural power of perception and distinction. And though men of art have 
 reduced this into those general rules, “ what is, is,” and “it is impossible for the 
 same thing to be and not to be,” for ready application in all cases, wherein there 
 may be occasion to reflect on it: yet it is certain, that the first exercise of this faculty 
 is about particular ideas. A man infallibly knows, as soon as ever he has them 
 in his mind, that the ideas he calls white and round are the very ideas they are, 
 and that they are not other ideas which he calls red or square. Nor can any 
 maxim or proposition in the world make him know it clearer or surer than he did 
 before, and without any such general rule. This, then, is the first agreement or 
 disagreement which the mind perceives in its ideas, which it always perceives at 
 
334 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 first sight: and if there ever happen any doubt about it, it will always be found 
 to be about the names, and not the ideas themselves, whose identity and diversity 
 will always be perceived as soon and clearly as the ideas themselves are; nor can 
 it possibly be otherwise. 
 
 5. Secondly, Relative.—Secondly, The next sort of agreement or disagreement the 
 mind perceives in any of its ideas may, I think, be called relative, and is nothing but 
 the perception of the relation between any two ideas, of what kind soever, whether 
 substances, modes, or any other. For, since all distinct ideas must eternally be 
 known not to be the same, and so be universally and constantly denied one of an- 
 other, there could be no room for any positive knowledge at all, if we could not 
 perceive any relation between our ideas, and find out the agreement or disagree- 
 ment they have one with another, in several ways the mind takes of comparing them. 
 
 6. Thirdly, Of Co-existence.—Thirdly, The third sort of agreement or disagree- 
 ment to be found in our ideas, which the perception of the mind is employed 
 about, is co-existence or non-co-existence in the same subject; and this belongs 
 particularly to substances. Thus, when we pronounce concerning gold, that it is 
 fixed, our knowledge of this truth amounts to no more but this, that fixedness, or 
 a power to remain in the fire unconsumed, is an idea that always accompanies 
 and is joined with that particular sort of yellowness, weight, fusibility, malleable- 
 ness, and solubility in aq. regia, which make our complex idea, signified by the 
 word gold. 
 
 7. Fourthly, Of real Existence-—Fourthly, The fourth and last sort is that of 
 actual and real existence agreeing to any idea. Within these four sorts of agree- 
 ment or disagreement is, I suppose, contained all the knowledge we have, or are 
 capable of: for all the inquiries we can make concerning any of our ideas, all that 
 we know or can affirm concerning any of them, is, that it is, or is not the same 
 with some other; that it does or does not always co-exist with some other idea in 
 the same subject; that it has this or that relation with some other idea; or that it 
 has a real existence without the mind. Thus, blue is not yellow, is of identity: 
 two triangles upon equal bases between two parallels are equal, is of relation: iron - 
 is susceptible of magnetical impressions, is of co-existence: God is, is of real ex- 
 istence. Though identity aud co-existence are truly nothing but relations, yet 
 they are such peculiar ways of agreement or disagreement of our ideas, that they 
 deserve well to be considered as distinet heads, and not under relation in general ; 
 since they are so different grounds of affirmation and negation, as will easily ap- 
 pear to any one, who will but reflect on what is said in several places of this 
 essay. I should not proceed to examine the several degrees of our knowledge, 
 but that it is necessary first to consider the different acceptations of the word, 
 knowledge. } 3 
 
 8. Knowledge actual or habitual.-—There are several ways wherein the mind is 
 possessed of truth, each of which is called knowledge. 
 
 I. There is actual knowledge, which is the present view the mind has of the 
 agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, or of the relation they have one 
 to another. 
 
 II. A man is said to know any proposition, which, having been once laid before 
 his thoughts, he evidently perceived the agreement or disagreement of the ideas 
 whereof it consists ; and so lodged it in his memory, that, whenever that proposi- 
 tion comesagain to be reflected on, he without doubt or hesitation embraces the 
 right side, assents to, and is certain of the truth of it. This, I think, one may call 
 habitual knowledge: and thus a man may be said to know all those truths which 
 are lodged in his memory, by a foregoing clear and full perception, whereof the 
 mind is assured past doubt as often as it has occasion to reflect on them: for our 
 finite understandings being able to think clearly and distinctly but on one thing at 
 once, if men had no knowledge of any more than what they actually thought on, 
 they would all be very ignorant; and he that knew most, would know but one 
 truth—that being all he was able to think on at one time. 
 
CHAP. I.| KNOWLEDGE. 385 
 
 9. Habitual Knowledge, twofold.—Of habitual knowledge there are, also, vul- 
 garly speaking, two degrees: 
 
 First, The one is of such truths laid up in the memory as, whenever they occur 
 to the mind, it actually perceives the relation is between those ideas. And this is 
 in all those truths whereof we have an intuitive knowledge; where the ideas 
 themselves, by an immediate view, discover their agreement or disagreement one 
 with another. 
 
 Secondly, The other is of such truths whereof the mind having been convinced, 
 it retains the memory of the conviction, without the proofs. Thus, a man that re- 
 members certainly that he once perceived the demonstration, that the three angles 
 of a triangle are equal to two right ones, is certain that he knows it, because he 
 cannot doubt the truth of it. In his adherence to a truth where the demonstration 
 by which it was at first known, is forgot, though a man may be thought rather to 
 believe his memory than really to know; and this way of entertaining a truth 
 seemed formerly to me like something between opinion and knowledge ; a sort of 
 assurance which exceeds bare belief—for that relies on the testimony of another: 
 yet upon a due examination I find it comes not short of perfect certainty, and is 
 in effect true knowledge. That which is apt to mislead our first thoughts into a 
 mistake in this matter, is, that the agreement or disagreement of the ideas in this 
 case is not perceived, as it was at first, by an actual view of all the intermediate 
 ideas whereby the agreement or disagreement of those in the proposition was at 
 first perceived; but by other intermediate ideas, that show the agreement or dis- 
 agreement of the ideas contained in the proposition whose certainty we remember. 
 For example: in this proposition, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to 
 two right ones, one who has seen and clearly perceived the demonstration of this 
 truth knows it to be true, when that demonstration is gone out of his mind; so 
 that at present it is not actually in view, and possibly cannot be recollected: but 
 he knows it in a different way from what he did before. The agreement of the 
 two ideas joined in that proposition is perceived, but it is by the intervention of 
 other ideas than those which at first produced that perception. He remembers, 
 i.e. he knows (for remembrance is but the receiving of some past knowledge) 
 that he was once certain of the truth of this proposition, that the three angles of a 
 triangle are equal to two right ones. The immutability of the same relations be- 
 tween the same immutable things is now the idea that shows him, that, if the 
 three angles of a triangle were once equal to two right ones, they will always be 
 equal to two right ones. And hence he comes to be certain, that what was once 
 true in the case, is always true; what ideas once agreed will always agree; and 
 consequently what he once knew to be true, he will always know to be true, as 
 long as he can remember that he once knew it. Upon this ground it is, that par- 
 ticular demonstrations in mathematics afford general knowledge. If then the per- 
 
 ception that the same ideas will eternally have the same habitudes and relations 
 be not a sufficient ground of knowledge, there could be no knowledge of general 
 propositions in mathematics; for no mathematical demonstration would be any 
 other than particular: and when a man had demonstrated any proposition con- 
 cerning one triangle or circle, his knowledge would not reach beyond that particu- 
 lar diagram. If he would extend it further, he must renew his demonstration in 
 another instance, before he could know it to be true in another like triangle, and 
 so on: by which means one could never come to the knowledge of any general 
 propositions. Nobody, I think, can deny, that Mr. Newton certainly knows any 
 proposition that he now at any time reads in his book to be true; though he has 
 not in actual view that admirable chain of intermediate ideas whereby he at first 
 discovered it to be true. Sucha memory as that, able to retain such a train of parti- 
 culars, may be well thought beyond the reach of human faculties ; when the very 
 discovery, perception, and laying together that wonderful connexion of ideas, 1s 
 found to surpass most readers’ comprehension. But yet it is evident the author 
 himself knows the proposition to be true, remembering he once saw the connexion 
 
| 
 
 386 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 of those ideas, as certainly as he knows such a man wounded another, remembering 
 that he saw him run him through. But because the memory is not always so 
 clear as actual perception, and does in all men more or less decay in length of 
 time, this amongst other differences is one, which shows that demonstrative know- 
 ledge is much more imperfect than intuitive, as we shall see in the following 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE DEGREES OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. Intuitive—ALL our knowledge consisting, as I have said, in the view the 
 mind has of its own ideas, which is the utmost light and greatest certainty we, 
 with our faculties, and in our way of knowledge, are capable of; it may not be 
 amiss to consider a little the degrees of its evidence. The different clearness of 
 our knowledge seems to me to lie in the different way of perception the mind has 
 of the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas. For if we will reflect on our 
 own ways of thinking, we shall find, that sometimes the mind perceives the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of two ideas immediately by themselves, without the inter- 
 vention of any other: and this I think we may call intuitive knowledge. For in 
 this the mind is at no pains of proving or examining, but perceives the truth as the 
 eye doth light, only by being directed towards it. Thus the mind perceives that 
 white is not black, that a circle is not a triangle, that three are more than two, and 
 equal to one and two. Such kinds of truths the mind perceives at the first sight 
 of the ideas together, by bare intuition, without the intervention of any other idea; _ 
 and this kind of knowledge is the clearest and most certain that human frailty is 
 capable of. This part of knowledge is irresistible, and, like bright sunshine, forces 
 itself immediately to be perceived, as soon as ever the mind turns its view that way, 
 and leaves no room for hesitation, doubt, or examination, but the mind is presently 
 filled with the clear light of it. It is on this intuition that depends all the cer- 
 taity and evidence of all our knowledge; which certainty every one finds to be 
 so great, that he cannot imagine, and therefore not require a greater: for a man 
 cannot conceive himself capable of a greater certainty than to know that any idea 
 in his mind is such as he perceives it to be; and that two ideas wherein he per- 
 ceives a difference, are different and not precisely the same. He that demands a 
 greater certainty than this, demands he knows not what, and shows only that he 
 has a mind to be a sceptic, without being able to be so. Certainty depends so 
 wholly on this intuition, that, in the next degree of knowledge which I call demon- 
 strative, this intuition is necessary in all the connexions of the intermediate ideas, 
 without which we cannot attain knowledge and certainty. 
 
 2. Demonstrative.—The next degree of knowledge is, where the mind perceives 
 the agreement or disagreement of any ideas, but not immediately. Though wherever 
 the mind perceives the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, there be 
 certain knowledge ; yet it does not always happen, that the mind sees that agree- 
 ment or disagreement which there is between them, even where it is discoverable : 
 and in that case remains in ignorance, and at most gets no further than a probable 
 conjecture. The reason why the mind cannot always perceive presently the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of two ideas, is, because those ideas, concerning whose agree- 
 ment or disagreement the inquiry is made, cannot by the mind be so put together 
 as to show it. In this case, then, when the mind cannot so bring its ideas together 
 as by their immediate comparison, and as it were juxta-position or application 
 one to another, to perceive their agreement or disagreement, itis fain, by the inter- 
 
CHAP. IT.] DEGREES OF KNOWLEDGE. 307 
 
 vention of other ideas (one or more, as it happens) to discover the agreement or 
 disagreement which it searches; and this is that which we call reasoning. Thus 
 the mind being willing to know the agreement or disagreement in bigness between 
 the three angles of a triangle and two right ones, cannot by an immediate view 
 and comparing them do it: because the three angles of a triangle cannot be brought 
 at once and be compared with any one or two angles; and so of this the mind 
 has no immediate, no intuitive knowledge. In this case the mind is fain to find 
 out some other angles, to which the three angles of a triangle have an equality ; 
 and, finding those equal to two right ones, comes to know their equality to two 
 right ones. 
 
 3. Depends on Proofs.—Those intervening ideas which serve to show the agree- 
 ment of any two others, are called proofs; and where the agreement and disagree- 
 ment is by this means plainly and clearly perceived, it is called demonstration ; it 
 being shown to the understanding, and the mind made to see that it is so. A 
 quickness in the mind to find out these intermediate ideas (that shall discover the 
 agreement or disagreement of any other) and to apply them right, is, I suppose, 
 that which is called sagacity.} 
 
 4, But not so easy.—This knowledge by intervening proofs, though it be certain, 
 yet the evidence of it is not altogether so clear and bright, nor the assent so ready 
 as in intuitive knowledge. For though in demonstration the mind does at last 
 perceive the agreement or disagreement of the ideas it considers, yet it is not with- 
 out pains and attention: there must be more than one transient view to find it. 
 A steady application and pursuit are required to this discovery: and there must 
 be a progression by steps and degrees before the mind can in this way arrive at 
 certainty, and come to perceive the agreement or repugnancy between two ideas 
 that need proofs and the use of reason to show it. 
 
 9). Not without precedent Doubt.—Another difference between intuitive and 
 demonstrative knowledge is, that, though in the latter all doubt be removed when, 
 by the intervention of the intermediate ideas, the agreement or disagreement is 
 perceived ; yet before the demonstration there was a doubt, which in intuitive 
 knowledge cannot happen to the mind that has its faculty of perception left to a 
 degree capable of distinct ideas, no more than it can be a doubt to the eye (that 
 ean distinctly see white and black) whether this ink and this paper be all of a 
 colour. If there be sight in the eyes, it will, at first glimpse, without hesitation, 
 perceive the words printed on this paper different from the colour of the paper: 
 and so if the mind have the faculty of distinct perceptions it will perceive the 
 agreement or disagreement of those ideas that produce intuitive knowledge. If 
 the eyes have lost the faculty of seeing, or the mind of perceiving, we in vain 
 inquire after the quickness of sight in one, or clearness of perception in_ the 
 other. 
 
 6. Not so clear.—It is true, the perception produced by demonstration is also 
 very clear; yet it is often with a great abatement of that evident lustre and full 
 assurance that always accompany that which I call intuitive ; like a face reflected 
 by several mirrors one to another, where, as long as it retains the similitude and 
 agreement with the object, it produces a knowledge; but it is still in every succes- 
 sive reflection with a lessening of that perfect clearness and distinctness which is 
 in the first, till at last, after many removes, it has a great mixture of dimness, and 
 is not at first sight so knowable, especially to weak eyes. Thus itis with know- 
 ledge made out by a long train of proof. 
 
 “‘ Another sort of discussion is, when the appetite | or tracing; as dogs trace beasts by the smell, 
 giveth aman his beginning; asin the example | and men hunt them by their footsteps; or as 
 before, where honour, to which a man hath appe- | men hunt after riches, place, or knowledge. 
 tite, maketh him think upon the next means of | (Hum. Nat. c. iv. § 4.) 
 
 ' Hobbes’ account of this quality is as follows :— | this the Latins call sagacitas, and we call hunting 
 attaining it, and that again to thenext, &c. And | 
 
 crus 
 
388 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 7. Each Step must have intuitive Evidence.—Now, in every step reason makes 
 in demonstrative knowledge, there is an intuitive knowledge of that agreement or 
 disagreement it seeks with the next intermediate idea, which it uses as a proof: for 
 if it were not so, that yet would need a proof; since without the perception of such 
 agreement or disagreement there is no knowledge produced. If it be perceived 
 by itself, it is intuitive knowledge : if it cannot be perceived by itself, there is need 
 of some intervening idea, as a common measure, to show their agreement or dis- 
 agreement. By which it is plain, that every step in reasoning that produces 
 knowledge, has intuitive certainty; which when the mind perceives, there is no 
 more required, but to remember it to make the agreement or disagreement of the 
 ideas concerning which we inquire visible and certain. So that to make any- 
 thing a demonstration, it is necessary to perceive the immediate agreement of 
 the intervening ideas, whereby the agreement or disagreement of the two ideas 
 under examination (whereof the one is always the first, and the other the last in 
 the account) is found. This intuitive perception of the agreement or disagreement 
 of the intermediate ideas, in each step and progression of the demonstration, must 
 also be carried exactly in the mind, and a man must be sure that no part is left 
 out: which, because in long deductions, and the use of many proofs, the memory 
 does not always so readily and exactly retain; therefore it comes to pass, that this 
 is more imperfect than intuitive knowledge, and men embrace often falsehood for 
 demonstrations. 
 
 8. Hence the Mistake, ‘‘ ex preecognitis, et preconcessis.”—The necessity of 
 this intuitive knowledge in each step of scientifical or demonstrative reasoning 
 gave occasion, I imagine, to that mistaken axiom, that all reasoning was. “ ex 
 pracognitis et preeconcessis ;” which, how far it is mistaken, I shall have occasion 
 to show more at large when I come to consider propositions, and particularly 
 those propositions which are called maxims; and to show that it is by a mis- 
 take that they are supposed to be the foundations of all our knowledge and rea- 
 soning’. . 
 
 9. Demonstration not limited to Quantity.—-It has been generally taken for 
 granted, that mathematics alone are capable of demonstrative certainty: but to 
 have such an agreement or disagreement as may intuitively be perceived, being, as 
 I imagine, not the privilege of the ideas of number, extension, and figure alone, it 
 may possibly be the want of due method and application in us, and not of sufli- 
 cient evidence in things, that demonstration has been thought to have so little to 
 do in other parts of knowledge, and been scarce so much as aimed at by any but 
 mathematicians. For whatever ideas we have wherein the mind can perceive the 
 immediate agreement or disagreement that is between them, there the mind is ca- 
 pable of intuitive knowledge; and where it can perceive the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of any two ideas, by an intuitive perception of the agreement or disagree- 
 ment they have with any intermediate ideas, there the mind is capable of demon- 
 stration; which is not limited to ideas of extension, figure, number, and their 
 modes. 
 
 10. Why it has been so thought.—The reason why it has been generally sought 
 for, and supposed to be only in those, I imagine has been not only the general 
 usefulness of those sciences ; but because in comparing their equality or excess, 
 the modes of numbers have every the least difference very clear and perceivable ; 
 and though in extension every the least excess is not so perceptible, yet the mind 
 has found out ways to examine and discover demonstratively the just equality of 
 two angles, or extensions, or figures: and both these, i. e. numbers and figures, 
 can be set down by visible and lasting marks, wherein the ideas under consideration 
 are perfectly determined ; which for the most part they are not, where they are 
 marked only by names and words. 
 
 11. But in other simple ideas whose modes and differences are made and 
 counted by degrees, and not quantity, we have not so nice and accurate a distine- 
 tion of their differences as to perceive and find ways to measure their just equality, 
 
CHAP. II. | DEGREES OF KNOWLEDGE. 389 
 
 or the least differences. For those other simple ideas being appearances of sensa- 
 tions produced in us by the size, figure, number, and motion of minute corpuscles 
 singly insensible ; their different degrees also depend upon the variation of some 
 or of all those causes: which, since it cannot be observed by us in particles of 
 matter, whereof each is too subtile to be perceived, it is impossible for us to have 
 any exact measures of the different degrees of these simple ideas. For supposing 
 the sensation or idea we name whiteness be produced in us by a certain number of 
 globules, which, having a verticity about their own centres, strike upon the retina of 
 the eye with a certain degree of rotation, as well as progressive swiftness ; it will 
 hence easily follow, that the more the superficial parts of any body are so ordered 
 as to reflect the greater number of globules of light, and to give them the proper 
 rotation, which is fit to produce this sensation of white in us, the more white will 
 that body appear that, from an equal space sends to the retina the greater num- 
 ber of such corpuscles, with that peculiar sort of motion. I do not say that the 
 nature of light consists in very small round globules, nor of whiteness in such a 
 texture of parts as gives a certain rotation to these globules when it reflects them ; 
 for I am not now treating physically of light or colours. But this [ think I may 
 say, that I cannot (and I would be glad any one would make intelligible that he 
 did) conceive how bodies without us can any ways affect our senses, but by the 
 immediate contact of the sensible bodies themselves, as in tasting and feeling, or 
 the impulse of some insensible particles coming from them, as in seeing, hearing, 
 and smelling; by the different impulse of which parts, caused by their different 
 size, figure, and motion, the variety of sensations is produced in us.' 
 
 12. Whether then they be globules or no, or whether they have a verticity 
 about their own centres that produces the idea of whiteness in us; this is certain, 
 that the more particles of light are reflected from a body fitted to give’them that 
 peculiar motion which produces the sensation of whiteness in us; and possibly too, 
 the quicker that peculiar motion is, the whiter does the body appear from which 
 the greater number are reflected, as is evident in the same piece of paper put in 
 the sunbeams, in the shade, and in a dark hole; in each of which it will produce 
 in us the idea of whiteness in far different degrees. 
 
 13. Not knowing, therefore, what number of particles, nor what motion of 
 them is fit to produce any precise degree of whiteness, we cannot demonstrate the 
 certain equality of any two degrees of whiteness, because we have no certain stand- 
 ard to measure them by, nor means to distinguish every the least real difference— 
 the only help we have being from our senses, which in this point fail us. But 
 where the difference is so great as to produce in the mind clearly distinct ideas, 
 whose differences can be perfectly retained, there these ideas or colours, as we see 
 in different\ kinds, as blue and red, are as capable of demonstration as ideas of 
 number and extension. What I have here said of whiteness and colours, I think 
 holds true in all secondary qualities and their modes. 
 
 14, Sensitive Knowledye of particular Existence.—These two, viz. intuition 
 and demonstration, are the degrees of our knowledge; whatever comes short of 
 one of these, with what assurance soever embraced, is but faith or opinion, but not 
 knowledge, at least in all general truths. There is, indeed, another perception of 
 the mind employed about the particular existence of finite beings without us, 
 which, going beyond bare probability, and yet not reaching perfectly to either of 
 the foregoing degrees of certainty, passes under the name of knowledge. There 
 can be nothing more certain than that the idea we receive from an external object 
 is in our minds: this is intuitive knowledge. But whether there be anything 
 more than barely that idea in our minds, whether we can thence certainly infer 
 
 1This whole theory is exceedingly unphiloso- | comprehend nothing at all of the matter. What 
 phical; for thus a thing would wear out by being | philosophy may hereafter discover, it is not for 
 seen. Rather than countenance such wild no- us to determine, but at present we seem to be 
 tions it were better to admit at once that we | wholly in the dark. 
 
390 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 the existence of anything without us which corresponds to that idea, is that whereof 
 some men think there may be a question made; because men may have such ideas 
 in their minds when no such thing exists, no such object affects their senses. But 
 yet here I think we are provided with an evidence that puts us past doubting: for 
 I ask any one, whether he be not invincibly conscious to himself of a different 
 perception when he looks on the sun by day, and thinks on it by night; when he 
 actually tastes wormwood, or smells a rose, or only thinks on that flavour or odour? 
 We as plainly find the difference there is between an idea revived in our minds by 
 our own memory, and actually coming into our minds by our senses, as we do be- 
 tween any two distinct ideas. If any one say, a dream may do the same thing, 
 and all these ideas may be produced in us without any external objects; he may 
 please to dream that I make him this answer:—1. That it is no great matter, 
 whether I remove this scruple or no: where all is but dream, reasoning and argu- 
 ments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing. 2. That I believe he will allow 
 a very manifest difference between dreaming of being in the fire and being actually in 
 it. But yet if he be resolved to appear so sceptical as to maintain that what I call 
 being actually in the fire is nothing but a dream; and we cannot thereby certainly 
 know that any such thing as fire actually exists without us: I answer, that we 
 certainly finding that pleasure or pain follows upon the application of certain ob- 
 jects to us, whose existence we perceive, or dream that we perceive, by our senses; 
 this certainty is as great as our happiness or misery, beyond which we have no 
 concernment to know or to be. So that I think we may add to:the two former 
 sorts of knowledge this also of the existence of particular external objects, by that 
 perception and consciousness we have of the actual entrance of ideas from them, 
 and allow these three degrees of knowledge, viz. intuitive, demonstrative, and 
 sensitive: in each of which there are different degrees and ways of evidence and 
 certainty. 
 
 15. Knowledge noi always clear, where the Ideas are so.—But since our know- 
 ledge is founded on and employed about our ideas only, will it not follow from 
 thence that it is conformable to our ideas; and that where our ideas are clear and 
 distinct, or obscure and confused, our knowledge will be so too? 'To which I 
 answer, No: for our knowledge consisting in the perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of any two ideas, its clearness or obscurity consists in the clearness 
 or obscurity of that perception, and not in the clearness or obscurity of the ideas 
 themselves; v. g. a man that has as clear ideas of the angles of a triangle, and of 
 equality to two right ones, as any mathematician in the world, may yet have but 
 avery obscure perception of their agreement, and so have but a very obscure 
 knowledge of it. But ideas, which, by reason of their obscurity or otherwise, are 
 confused, cannot produce any clear or distinct knowledge; because, as far as any 
 ideas are confused, so far the mind cannot perceive clearly whether they agree or 
 disagree: or, to express the same thing in a way less apt to be misunderstood, he 
 that hath not determined ideas to the words he uses, cannot make propositions of 
 them, of whose truth he can be certain. 
 
CHAP. I1I.] EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 391 
 
 CHAPTER IIL. 
 
 OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. KNowLEpGE, as has been said, lying in the perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of any of our ideas, it follows from hence, that, 
 
 I. No further than we have Ideas.—First, We can have knowledge no further 
 than we have ideas. 
 
 2. II. No further than we can perceive their Agreement or Disagreement.— 
 Secondly, That we have no knowledge further than we can have perception of 
 their agreement or disagreement. Which perception being: 1. Hither by intui- 
 tion, or the immediate comparing any two ideas; or, 2. By reason, examining the 
 agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the intervention of some others; or, 3. 
 By sensation, perceiving the existence of particular things ; hence it also follows: 
 
 3. IIL. Intuitive Knowledge extends itself not to all the Relations of all our 
 Ideas.—Thirdly, That we cannot have an intuitive knowledge that shall extend 
 itself to all our ideas, and all that we would know about them; because we cannot 
 examine and perceive all the relations they have one to another by juxta-position, 
 or an immediate comparison one with another. Thus, having the ideas of an 
 obtuse and an acute angled triangle, both drawn from equal bases, and between 
 parallels, I can, by intuitive knowledge, perceive the one not to be the other, but 
 cannot that way know whether they be equal or no; because their agreement or 
 disagreement in equality can never be perceived by an immediate comparing 
 them: the difference of figure makes their parts incapable of an exact immediate 
 application, and therefore there is need of some intervening qualities to measure 
 them by, which is demonstration, or rational knowledge. 
 
 4, IV. Nor demonstrative Knowledge.—Fourthly, It follows, also, from what 
 is above observed, that our rational knowledge cannot reach to the whole extent 
 of our ideas; because between two different ideas we would examine, we cannot 
 always find such mediums as we can connect one to another with an intuitive 
 knowledge in all the parts of the deduction; and wherever that fails, we come 
 short of knowledge and demonstration. 
 
 5. V. Sensitive Knowledge narrower than either.—Fifthly, Sensitive know- 
 ledge reaching no further than the existence of things actually present to our 
 senses, 1s yet much narrower than either of the former. 
 
 6. VI. Our Knowledge, therefore, narrower than our Ideas. —From all which 
 it is evident, that the extent of our knowledge comes not only short of the reality 
 of things, but even of the extent of our own ideas. Though our knowledge be 
 limited to our ideas, and cannot exceed them either in extent or perfection; and 
 though these be very narrow bounds, in respect of the extent of all being, and far 
 short of what we may justly imagine to be in some even created understandings, 
 not tied down to the dull and narrow information which is to be received from 
 some few, and not very acute ways of perception, such as are our senses; yet 
 it would be well with us if our knowledge were but as large as our ideas, and 
 there were not many doubts and inquiries concerning the ideas we have, whereof 
 we are not, nor I believe ever shall be in this world resolved. Nevertheless I 
 do not question but that human knowledge, under the present circumstances of 
 our beings and constitutions, may be carried much further than it has hitherto 
 been, if men would sincerely, and with freedom of mind, employ all that industry 
 and labour of thought in improving the means of discovering truth, which they do 
 for the colouring or support of falsehood, to maintain a system, interest, or party 
 they are once engaged in. But yet, after all, I think 1 may, without injury to 
 human perfection, be confident, that our knowledge would never reach to all we 
 
392 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 might desire to know concerning those ideas we have; nor be able to surmount 
 all the difficulties, and resolve all the questions that might arise concerning any of 
 them. We have the ideas of a square, a circle, and equality; and yet, perhaps, 
 shall never be able to find a circle equal to a square, and certainly know that it is 
 so. We have the ideas of matter and thinking, but possibly shall never be able 
 to know whether any mere material being thinks or no; it being impossible for 
 us, by the contemplation of our own ideas, without revelation, to discover whether 
 Omnipotency has not given to some systems of matter fitly disposed, a power to 
 perceive and think, or else joined and fixed to matter so disposed a thinking 
 immaterial substance ; it being, in respect of our notions, not much more remote 
 from our comprehension to conceive that God can, if he pleases, superadd to 
 matter a faculty of thinking, than that he should superadd to it another substance 
 with a faculty of thinking; since we know not wherein thinking consists, nor to 
 what sort of substances the Almighty has been pleased to give that power, which 
 cannot be in any created being, but merely by the good pleasure and bounty of 
 the Creator. For I see no contradiction in it, that the first eternal thinking Being 
 should, if he pleased, give to certain systems of created senseless matter, put 
 together as he thinks fit, some degrees of sense, perception, and thought; though, 
 as I think I have proved, lib. iv. ch. 10, § 14, &c., it is no less than a contradic- 
 tion to suppose matter (which is evidently in its own nature void of sense and 
 thought) should be that eternal first-thinking being. What certainty of know- 
 ledge can any one have, that some perceptions, such as, v. g. pleasure and pain, 
 should not be in some bodies themselves, after a certain manner modified and 
 moved, as well-as that they should be in an immaterial substance, upon the 
 motion of the parts of body? Body, as far as we can conceive, being able only 
 to strike and affect body; and motion, according to the utmost reach of our ideas, 
 being able to produce nothing but motion ; so that when we allow it to produce 
 pleasure or pain, or the idea of a colour or sound, we are fain to quit our reason, 
 go beyond our ideas, and attribute it wholly to the good pleasure of our Maker. 
 For since we must allow he has annexed effects to motion, which we can no way 
 conceive motion able to produce, what reason have we to conclude that he could 
 not order them as well to be produced in a subject we cannot conceive capable of 
 them, as well as in a subject we cannot conceive the motion of matter can any way 
 operate upon? I say not this, that I would any way lessen the belief of the soul’s 
 immateriality: I am not here speaking of probability, but knowledge; and I 
 think not only that it becomes the modesty of philosophy not to pronounce magis- 
 terially, where we want that evidence that can produce knowledge; but also, that 
 it is of use to us to discern how far our knowledge does reach; for the state we 
 are at present in, not being that of vision, we must in many things content our- 
 selves with faith and probability; and in the present question, about the immate- 
 riality of the soul, if our faculties cannot arrive at demonstrative certainty, we 
 need not think it strange. All the great ends of morality and religion are well 
 enough secured, without philosophical proofs of the soul’s immateriality; since it 
 is evident, that he who made us at the beginning to subsist here, sensible, intelli- 
 gent beings, and for several years continued us in such a state, can and will 
 restore us to the like state of sensibility in another world, and make us capable 
 there to receive the retribution he has designed to men, according to their doings 
 in this life. And therefore it is not of such mighty necessity to determine one 
 way or the other, as some, over-zealous for or against the immateriality of the 
 soul, have been forward to make the world believe. Who, either on the one side 
 indulging too much their thoughts immersed altogether in matter, can allow no 
 existence to what is not material; or who, on the other side, finding not cogita- 
 tion within the natural powers of matter, examined over and over again by the 
 utmost intention of mind, have the confidence to conclude, that Omnipotency itself 
 cannot give perception and thought to a substance which has the modification of 
 solidity. He that considers how hardly sensation is, in our thoughts, recon- 
 
CHAP. III. | 
 
 EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 393 
 
 cilable to extended matter; or existence to anything that has no existence at 
 all, will confess that he is very far from certainly knowing what his soul is. It is 
 a point which seems to me to be put out of the reach of our knowledge; and he 
 who will give himself leave to consider freely, and look into the dark and intri- 
 eate part of each hypothesis, will scarce find his reason able to determine him 
 fixedly for or against the soul’s materiality: since, on which side soever he views 
 it, either as an unextended substance, or as a thinking extended matter, the difh- 
 culty to conceive either will, whilst either alone is in his thoughts, still drive him 
 to the contrary side. An unfair way which some men take with themselves ; 
 who, because of the inconceiveableness of something they find in one, throw 
 themselves violently into the contrary hypothesis, though altogether as unintel- 
 ligible to an unbiassed understanding. This serves not only to show the weak- 
 ness and the scantiness of our knowledge, but the insignificant triumph of such 
 sort of arguments, which, drawn from our own views, may satisfy us that we can 
 find no certainty on one side of the question; but do not at all thereby help us to 
 truth by running into the opposite opinion, which, on examination, will be found 
 clogged with equal difficulties. For what safety, what advantage to any one is 
 it, for the avoiding the seeming absurdities, and to him unsurmountable rubs he 
 meets with in one opinion, to take refuge in the contrary, which is built on some- 
 thing altogether as inexplicable, and as far remote from his comprehension? It is 
 past controversy, that we have in us something that thinks; our very doubts 
 about what it is, confirm the certainty of its being, though we must content our- 
 selves in the ignorance of what kind of being it is: and it is in vain to go about to 
 be sceptical in this, as it is unreasonable in most otlier cases to be positive against 
 the being of anything, because we cannot comprehend its nature. For I would 
 fam know what substance exists, that has not something in it which manifestly 
 baffles our understandings. Other spirits, who see and know the nature and 
 inward constitution of things, how much must they exceed us in knowledge? To 
 which, if we add larger comprehension, which enables them at one glance to see 
 the connexion and agreement of very many ideas, and readily supplies to them the 
 intermediate proofs, which we by single and slow steps, and long poring in the 
 dark, hardly at last find out, and are often ready to forget one before we have 
 hunted out another; we may guess at some part of the happiness of superior 
 ranks of spirits, who have a quicker and more penetrating sight, as well as a 
 larger field of knowledge. But to return to the argument in hand: our know- 
 
 1 Baxter, than whom few men of purer mind 
 or more undoubted piety have ever existed, ap- 
 pears to have contemplated this question in 
 much the same light as Locke. He seems to 
 have despaired of arriving at certainty on such 
 matters in this world, and being passionately 
 in love with knowledge, conceived that much of 
 the happiness of a future life would consist in 
 unravelling those mysteries, the bare skirts of 
 which we can here discern through a glass darkly. 
 “Tt will,” he says, “‘ be some addition to my 
 future happiness that I shall then be much 
 better acquainted with myself, both with my 
 nature, and with my sin and grace. I shall then 
 better know the nature of a soul, and its formal 
 faculties, three in one. I shall know the nature 
 and way of its operations, and how far its acts 
 are simple, or compound, or organical. I shall 
 know how far memory, phantasy, and sense in- 
 ternal and external belong to the rational soul, 
 and whether the sensitive and rational are two 
 or one, and what senses will perish, and what 
 not. I shall know how the soul doth act upon 
 itself, and what acts it hath that are not felt, in 
 sleep, in apoplexies, and in the womb. I shall 
 know whether the vegetative nature be anything 
 
 else than fire, and whether it be of the same 
 essence with the soul, sensitive or rational; and 
 whether fire eminenter be acommon fundamental 
 substance of all spirits, diversely specified by 
 the forms, mental, sensitive, and vegetative; or 
 whether it be as a body, or vehicle to spirits, 
 or rather a nature made for the copulation of 
 spirits and bodies, and the operation of the 
 former on the latter, as between both; and whe- 
 ther fire,and what sort, be the active forma tel- 
 luris, and of other globes. I shall know how 
 far souls are one and yet many, and how they are 
 individuate ; and whether their guantitas discreta, 
 in being numerically many, do prove that they 
 have any guantitatem continuam, and whether 
 they are a purer sort of bodies, as the Greek 
 fathers, Tertullian and others, thought, and 
 what immateriality signifieth ; and what substan- 
 tiality of spirit; and how substantia and materia 
 differ ; and how far they are penetrable and in- 
 divisible; and whether a soul be properly pars: 
 and whether individual souls are parts of any 
 common soul; and how far the individuation 
 doth continue. And whether separated from 
 the body, they operate in and by any other ve- 
 hicle, or without, and how; and whether they 
 
394 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Iv. 
 
 ledge, I say, is not only limited to the paucity and imperfections of the ideas we 
 have, and which we employ it about, but even comes short of that too. But how 
 far it reaches, let us now inquire. 
 
 7. How far our Knowledge reaches.—The affirmations or negations we make 
 concerning the ideas we have, may, as I have before intimated in general, be 
 reduced to these four sorts, viz. identity, co-existence, relation, and real existence. 
 I shall examine how far our knowledge extends in each of these. 
 
 ‘8. I. Our Knowledge of Identity and Diversity, as far as our Ideas.— First, 
 as to identity and diversity in this way of agreement or disagreement of our ideas, 
 our intuitive knowledge is as far extended as our ideas themselves; and there can 
 be no idea in the mind, which it does not presently, by an intuitive knowledge, 
 perceive to be what it is, and to be different from any other. 
 
 9. Il. Of Co-existence, a very little Way.—Secondly, as to the second sort, 
 which is the agreement or disagreement of our ideas in co-existence, in this our 
 knowledge is very short, though in this consists the greatest and most material 
 part of our knowledge concerning substances. or our ideas of the species of 
 substances being, as I have showed, nothing but certain collections of simple ideas 
 united in one subject, and so co-existing together; v. g. our idea of flame is a body 
 hot, luminous, and moving upward; of gold, a body heavy to a certain degree, 
 
 yellow, malleable, and fusible; these, or some such complex ideas as these, in’ 
 
 men’s minds, do these two names of the different substances, flame and gold, 
 stand for. When we would know anything further concerning these, or any other 
 sort of substances, what do we inquire, but what other qualities or power these 
 substances have or have not? Which is nothing else but to know what other 
 simple ideas do or do not co-exist with those that make up that complex idea. 
 
 10. Because the Connexion between most simple Ideas is unknown.—This, 
 how weighty and considerable a part soever of human science, is yet very narrow, 
 and scarce any at all. The reason whereof is, that the simple ideas whereof our 
 complex ideas of substances are made up are, for the most part, such as carry 
 with them, in their own nature, no visible necessary connexion or inconsistency 
 with any other simple ideas, whose co-existence with them we would inform our- 
 selves about. | 
 
 ll. Especially of secondary Qualities.—The ideas that our complex ones of 
 substances are made up of, and about which our knowledge concerning substances 
 is most employed, are those of their secondary qualities; which depending all (as 
 has been shown) upon the primary qualities of their minute and insensible parts ; 
 or, if not upon them, upon something yet more remote from our comprehension ; 
 it is impossible we should know which have a necessary union or inconsistency 
 one with another: for not knowing the root they spring from, not knowing what 
 size, figure, and texture of parts they are, on which depend and from which result 
 those qualities which make our complex idea of gold, it is impossible we should 
 know what other qualities result from or are incompatible with the same constitu- 
 tion of the insensible parts of gold, and so consequently must always co-exist with 
 that complex idea we have of it, or else are inconsistent with it. 
 
 12. Because all Connexion between any secondary and primary Qualities is 
 undiscoverable.— Besides this ignorance of the primary qualities of the insensible 
 parts of bodies, on which depend all their secondary qualities, there is yet another 
 and more incurable part of ignorance, which sets us more remote from a certain 
 knowledge of the co-existence or inco-existence (if I may so say) of different ideas 
 in the same subject; and that is, that there is no discoverable connexion between 
 any secondary quality and those primary qualities which it depends on. 
 
 take with them any of their fiery nature as a | what causality the parents’ soul hath to the pro- 
 
 vehicle or as a constitutive part. I shall know | duction of the child. Whether by communica- 
 how God produceth souls; and how his produc- | tion of substance, or only by disposing the re- 
 tion by emanation or creation, doth consist in | cipient matter.” (Dying Thoughts, p. 183 et seq.) 
 generation; and how forms are multiplied; and | 
 
 BIG 
 
CHAP. IIt.] NAMES OF SIMPLE IDEAS. 395 
 
 13. That the size, figure, and motion of one body should cause a change in the 
 size, figure, and motion of another body, is not beyond our conception; the sepa- 
 ration of the parts of one body upon the intrusion of another; and the change 
 from rest to motion upon impulse: these and the like seem to have some con- 
 nexion one with another. And if we knew these primary qualities of bodies, we 
 might have reason to hope we might be able to know a great deal more of these 
 operations of them one with another; but our minds not being able to discover 
 any connexion betwixt these primary qualities of bodies and the sensations that are 
 produced in us by them, we can never be able to establish certain and undoubted 
 rules of the consequences or co-existence of any secondary qualities, though we 
 could discover the size, figure, or motion of those invisible parts which imme- 
 diately produce them. We are so far from knowing what figure, size, or motion 
 of parts produce a yellow colour, a sweet taste, or a sharp sound, that we can by 
 no means conceive how any size, figure, or motion of any particles, can possibly 
 produce in us the idea of any colour, taste, or sound whatsoever; there is no con- 
 ceivable connexion betwixt the one and the other. | 
 
 14. In vain, therefore, shall we endeavour to discover by our ideas (the only 
 true way of certain and universal knowledge) what other ideas are to be found 
 constantly joined with that of our complex idea of any substance: since we neither 
 know the real constitution of the minute parts on which their qualities do depend; 
 nor, did we know them, could we discover any necessary connexion between them 
 and any of the secondary qualities ; which is necessary to be done before we can 
 certainly know their necessary co-existence. So, that, let our complex idea of any 
 Species of substances be what it will, we can hardly, from the simple ideas con- 
 tained in it, certainly determine the necessary co-existence of any other quality 
 whatsoever. Our knowledge in all these inquiries reaches very little further than 
 our experience. Indeed some few of the primary qualities have a necessary de- 
 pendence and visible connexion one with another, as figure necessarily supposes 
 extension ; receiving or communicating motion by impulse, supposes solidity. But 
 though these and perhaps some other of our ideas have, yet there are so few of 
 them that have a visible connexion one with another, that we can by intuition or 
 
 demonstration discover the co-existence of very few of the qualities that are to be found 
 
 united in substances; and we are left only to the assistance of our senses to make 
 known to us what qualities they contain. For of all the qualities that are co-exist- 
 ent in any subject, without this dependence and evident connexion of their ideas 
 one with another, we cannot know certainly any two to co-exist any further than 
 experience, by our senses, informs us. Thus, though we see the yellow colour 
 and, upon trial, find the weight, malleableness, fusibility, and fixedness that are 
 nnited in a piece of gold; yet because no one of these ideas has any evident de- 
 pendence or necessary connexion with the other, we cannot certainly know that 
 where any four of these are, the fifth will be there also, how highly probable soever 
 it may be; because the highest probability amounts not to certainty, without 
 which there can be no true knowledge. For this co-existence can be no further 
 known than it is perceived; and it cannot be perceived but either in particular 
 subjects, by the observation of our senses, or, in general, by the necessary con- 
 nexion of the ideas themselves. 
 
 15. Of Repugnancy to co-exist, larger.—As to the incompatibility or repug- 
 naney to co-existence, we may know, that any subject may have of each sort of 
 primary qualities but one particular at once: v. g. each particular extension, figure, 
 number of parts, motion, excludes all other of each kind. The like also is certain 
 of all sensible ideas peculiar to each sense ; for whatever of each kind is present 
 in any subject, excludes all other of that sort: v. g. no one subject can have two 
 smells or two colours at the same time. To this, perhaps, will be said, Has not 
 an opal, or the infusion of lignum nephriticum, two colours at the same time? 
 To which I answer, that these bodies, to eyes differently placed, may at the 
 same time afford different colours: but I take liberty also to say, that, to eyes 
 
396 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK Iv. 
 
 differently placed, it is different parts of the object that reflect the particles of light : 
 and therefore it is not the same part of the object, and so not the very same sub- 
 ject, which at the same time appears both yellow and azure. For it is as impos- 
 sible that the very same particle of any body should at the same time differently 
 modify or reflect the rays of light, as that it should have two different figures and 
 textures at the same time.’ 
 
 16. Of the Co-existence of Powers a very little Way.— But as to the powers 
 of substances to change the sensible qualities of other bodies, which make a great 
 part of our inquiries about them, and is no inconsiderable branch of our know- 
 ledge; I doubt as to these, whether our knowledge reaches much further than 
 our experience ; or whether we can come to the discovery of most of these powers, 
 and be certain that they are in any subject, by the connexion with any of those 
 ideas which to us make its essence. Because the active and passive powers of 
 bodies, and their ways of operating consisting in a texture and motion of parts, 
 which we cannot by any means come to discover; it is but in very few cases we 
 ca be able to perceive their dependence on, or repugnance to, any of those ideas 
 which make our complex one of that sort of things. I have here instanced in the 
 corpuscularian hypothesis, as that which is thought to go furthest in an intelligible 
 explication of those qualities of bodies ; and I fear the weakness of human under- 
 standing is scarce able to substitute another, which will afford us a fuller and 
 clearer discovery of the necessary connexion and co-existence of the powers which 
 are to be observed united in several sorts of them. This at least is certain, that 
 whichever hypothesis be clearest and truest, (for of that it is not my business to 
 determine,) our knowledge concerning corporeal substances will be very little ad- 
 vanced by any of them, till we are made to see what qualities and powers of bodies 
 have a necessary connexion or repugnancy one with another; which in the present 
 state of philosophy 1 think we know but to a very small degree: and I doubt 
 whether, with those faculties we have, we shall ever be able to carry our general 
 knowledge (I say not particular experience) in this part much further. Experience 
 is that which in this part we must depend on. And it were to be wished that it: 
 were more improved. We find the advantages some men’s generous pains have 
 this way brought to the stock of natural knowledge. And if others, especially the 
 philosophers by fire, who pretend to it, had been so wary in their observations, and 
 sincere in their reports as those who call themselves philosophers ought to have 
 been, our acquaintance with the bodies here about us, and our insight into their 
 powers and operations had been yet much greater.’ 
 
 stone. 
 
 1 Of this most rare and beautiful of precious 
 stones Anselm Boetius de Boot, of Bruges, physi- 
 cian to the Emperor Rudolph IL., gives the follow- 
 ing description :—‘‘ Opalus gemma est omnium 
 pulcherrima, meoque judicio omnibus aliis prefe- 
 renda non solum propter summam ipsius e legan- 
 tiam, dum omnis generis colores, lucis reflectione, 
 in eadem parte ostentat (inest enim illi carbunculi 
 tenuior ignis, Amethysti fulgens purpura, ‘Sma- 
 ragdi virens mare, et cuncta pariter incredibili 
 mistura lucentia) verum etiam, quia ut aliz 
 gemme adulterari nulla ratione potest. Si sub- 
 jeceris enim chrystallo varios colores illi in eo- 
 dem loco herebunt, neque diversos pro radiorum 
 reflectione edent. Apparet in opalo, ceruleus, 
 purpureus, viridis, flavus, et ruber, interdum niger, 
 et albus, id est, lacteus. Non videntur hi colores 
 omnes inesse gemme: quia si frangatur opalus 
 pereunt, ita ut tantum ex reflectione unius, aut du- 
 orum colorum colorum oriri, (ut in iride apparet, 
 et in triangulo chrystallino, in quo ex sola lucis 
 reflectione in angulos varii colores sese efferunt) 
 putandum sit.”” (Gemmarum et Lapidum His- 
 toria, 1. ii. c.46.) No less elegant is the descrip- 
 tion which Mr. Mawe has given of this precious 
 
 ‘The colour of the opal is white or 
 pearl grey; and when held between the eyes and 
 the light is pale red or wine yellow, with a milky 
 translucency. By reflected light it exhibits, as 
 its position is varied, elegant and most irridescent 
 colours, particularly emerald green, golden yel- 
 low, flame and fire red, violet purple, and celes- 
 tial blue, so beautifully blended and so fascinating 
 as to captivate the admirer. When the colour is 
 arranged in small spangles it takes the name of 
 harlequin opal. Sometimes it exhibits only one 
 of the above colours; and of them the most es- 
 teemed are the civic emerald green, and the 
 orange yellow. When the stone possesses the 
 latter of these colours it is called the Golden 
 opal.” (Treatise on Diamonds, p. 123.) Hazel- 
 quist mentions an ancient opal, found in the ruins 
 of Alexandria, which ‘“‘was of the size of a hazel- 
 nut, in the form of a half-globe, and set inaring; 
 if it was held horizontally it had a very fine olive 
 colour, but if it was held perpendicularly between 
 the eye and the light it had the colour of the finest 
 ruby.” (Travels, &c. p. 273.) 
 
 *See Lord Bacon’s New Alantis, p. 253, et 
 seq. 
 
CHAP. III. ] EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 397 
 
 17. Of Spirits yet narrower.—If we are at a loss in respect of the powers and 
 operations of bodies, I think it is easy to conclude we are much more in the dark 
 in reference to the spirits; whereof we naturally have no ideas but what we draw 
 from that of our own, by reflecting on the operations of our own souls within us, 
 as far as they can come within our observation. But how inconsiderable a rank 
 the spirits that inhabit our bodies hold amongst those various and possible innu- 
 merable kinds of nobler beings ; and how far short they come of the endowments 
 and perfections of cherubim and seraphim, and infinite sorts of spirits above us, is 
 what by a transient hint in another place I have offered to my readers’ conside- 
 ration, 
 
 18. LI. Of other Relations it is not easy to say how far.--Thirdly, As to the third 
 sort of our knowledge, viz. the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas in any 
 other relation: this, as it is the largest field of our knowledge, so it is hard to deter- 
 mine how far it may extend ; because the advances that are made in this part of know- 
 ledge depending an our sagacity in finding intermediate ideas, that may show the 
 relations and habitudes of ideas whose co-existence is not considered, it is a hard 
 matter to tell when we are at an end of such discoveries ; and when reason has all 
 the helps it is capable of, for the finding of proofs, or examining the agreement or 
 disagreement of remote ideas. They that are ignorant of algebra cannot imagine 
 the wonders in this kind are to be done by it: and what further improvements and 
 helps advantageous to other parts of knowledge the sagacious mind of man may 
 yet find out, it is not easy to determine. This at least I believe, that the ideas of 
 quantity are not those alone that are capable of demonstration and knowledge ; 
 and that other, and perhaps more useful parts of contemplation would afford us 
 certainty, if vices, passions, and domineering interest did not oppose or menace 
 such endeavours. 
 
 Morality capable of Demonstration.—The idea of a supreme Being, infinite in 
 power, goodness, and wisdom, whose workmanship we are, and on whom we de- 
 pend; and the idea of ourselves, as understanding rational beings ; being such as 
 are clear in us, would, I suppose, if duly considered and pursued, afford such 
 foundations of our duty and rules of action as might place morality amongst the 
 sciences capable of demonstration: wherein I doubt not but from self-evident 
 propositions by necessary consequences, as incontestable as those in mathematics, 
 the measures of right and wrong might be made out to any one that will apply 
 himself with the same indifferency and attention to the one as he does to the other 
 of these sciences. The relation of other modes may certainly be perceived, as 
 well as those of number and extension: and I cannot see why they should not also 
 be capable of demonstration if due methods were thought on to examine or pursue 
 their agreement or disagreement. Where there is no property there is no injustice, 
 is a proposition as certain as any demonstration in Euclid: for the idea of pro- 
 perty being a right to anything, and the idea to which the name injustice is given 
 being the invasion or violation of that right,’ it is evident, that these ideas being 
 
 ouvedGoy Kat doxiacay étypade Soalov & TE 
 Oi zrovety Kai & oy.” (Xen. Memor. 1. I. c. 2, 
 
 1 This is an exceedingly narrow and imperfect 
 view of justice, the most complete theory of 
 
 which is developed in the Republic of Plato. 
 There prevailed, however, extremely false notions 
 of this virtue among many ancient philosophers, 
 one of whom defined it to be, obedience to rulers. 
 ““ Aikauby tore TavTa qoviv, 6 ot apxNovTEc 
 moocérazay. But if so, then certainly those 
 philosophers were deluded dreamers, who sought 
 for eternal foundations for right and wrong. 
 The government, according to this maxim, is 
 the creator of justice, and can never possibly do 
 wrong; since, whatever it pleases to order or do, 
 is just. The idea of Pericles, however, respect- 
 ing law, differed very little from the above. 
 “ravrec ciTor voor eiciv, ovg TomANHOo¢ 
 
 § 42.) Upon this view Horace had framed his 
 idea of a virtuous man. 
 “¢ Vir bonus est quis? 
 Qui consulta patrum, qui leges juraque ser- 
 
 Wat,” de. 
 
 (Hpist. b. i. 16, 40.) 
 The opinions of Democritus were somewhat 
 loftier, though not perhaps expressed with suffi- 
 cient clearness:—Atky péy gory, Epdéiy TA yp? 
 ééyras adexin O& pn Epday Ta yp éedvTa, 
 adr\a waoa roérooGat.” (Stob. Gaisf. XL. iv. 
 15.) 
 
398 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 thus established, and these names annexed to them, I can as certainly know this 
 proposition to be true as that a triangle has three angles equal to two right ones. 
 Again: No government allows absolute liberty; The idea of government being 
 the establishment of society upon certain rules or laws which require conformity to 
 them, and the idea of absolute liberty being for any one to do whatever he pleases, 
 I am as capable of being certain of the truth of this proposition as of any in the 
 mathematics. 
 
 19. Two things have made moral Ideas to be thought incapable of Demonstration: 
 their Complexedness and Want of sensible Representations.—That which in this 
 respect has given the advantage to the ideas of quantity, and made them thought 
 more capable of certainty and demonstration, is, | 
 
 First, That they can be set down and represented by sensible marks, which have 
 a greater and nearer correspondence with them than any words or sounds whatso- 
 ever. Diagrams drawn on paper are copies of the ideas in the mind, and not 
 liable to the uncertainty that words carry in their signification. An angle, circle, 
 or square, drawn in lines lies open to the view, and cannot be mistaken: it re- 
 mains unchangeable, and may at leisure be considered and examined, and the de- 
 monstration be revised, and all the parts of it may be gone over more than once 
 without any danger of tlie least change in the ideas. This cannot be thus done in | 
 moral ideas: we have no sensible marks that resemble them, whereby we can set 
 them down; we have nothing but words to express them by ; which, though when 
 written they remain the same, yet the ideas they stand for may change in the same 
 man, and it is very seldom that they are not different in different persons. 
 
 Secondly, Another thing that makes the greater difficulty in ethics is, that 
 moral ideas are commonly more complex than those of the figures ordinarily con- 
 sidered in mathematics. From whence these two inconveniences follow :— First, 
 that their names are of more uncertain signification ; the precise collection of sim- 
 ple ideas they stand for not being so easily agreed on, and so the sign that is used 
 for them in communication always, and in thinking often, does not steadily carry 
 with it the same idea. Upon which the same disorder, confusion, and error follow, 
 as would if a man, going to demonstrate something of an heptagon, should, in the 
 diagram he took to do it leave out one of the angles, or by oversight make the 
 figure with one angle more than the name ordinarily imported, or he intended it 
 should when at first he thought of his demonstration. This often happens, and is 
 hardly avoidable in very complex moral ideas, where the:same name being re- 
 tained, one angle, i.e. one simple idea is left out or put in the complex one (still 
 called by the same name) more at one time than another. Secondly, From the 
 complexedness of these moral ideas there follows another inconvenience, viz. that 
 the mind cannot easily retain those precise combinations so exactly and perfectly 
 as is necessary in the examination of the habitudes and correspondences, agree- 
 ments or disagreements of several of them one with another; especially where it is 
 to be judged of by long deductions, and the intervention of several other complex 
 ideas to show the agreement or disagreement of two remote ones. 
 
 The great help against this which mathematicians find in diagrams and figures, 
 which remain unalterable in their draughts, is very apparent, and the memory 
 would often have great difficulty otherwise to retain them so exactly, whilst the 
 mind went over the parts of them step by step to examine their several correspond- 
 ences. And though in casting up a long sum either in addition, multiplication, 
 or division, every part be only a progression of the mind taking a view of its own 
 ideas, and considering their agreement or disagreement, and the resolution of the 
 question be nothing but the result of the whole, made up of such particulars, 
 whereof the mind has a clear perception ; yet, without setting down the several 
 parts by marks, whose precise significations are known, and by marks that last and 
 remain in view when the memory had let them go, it would be almost impossible to 
 carry so many different ideas in the mind without confounding or letting slip some 
 parts of the reckoning, and thereby making all our reasonings about it useless. In 
 
CHAP. III. | EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 399 
 
 which case the cyphers or marks help not the mind at all to perceive the agrec- 
 ment of any two or more numbers, their equalities or proportions ; that the mind 
 has only by intuition of its own ideas of the numbers themselves. But the nume- 
 rical characters are helps to the memory, to record and retain the several ideas 
 about which the demonstration is made, whereby a man may know how far his in- 
 tuitive knowledge in surveying several of the particulars has proceeded ; that so he 
 may without confusion go on to what is yet unknown, and at last have in one view 
 before him the result of all his perceptions and reasonings. 
 
 20. Remedies of those Difficulties.—One part of these disadvantages in moral 
 ideas which has made them be thought not capable of demonstration, may in a 
 good measure be remedied by definitions, setting down that collection of simple 
 ideas,’ which every term shall stand for, and then using the terms steadily and 
 constantly for that precise collection. And what methods algebra or something of 
 that kind may hereafter suggest, to remove the other difficulties, it is not easy to 
 foretel. Confident I am, that, if men would in the same method and with the 
 same indifferency search after moral as they do mathematical truths, they would 
 find them have a stronger connexion one with another, and a more necessary con- 
 sequence from our clear and distinct ideas, and to come nearer perfect demonstra- 
 tion than is commonly imagined. But much of this is not to be expected whilst 
 the desire of esteem, riches, or power makes men espouse the well-endowed opinions 
 in fashion, and then seek arguments either to make good their beauty, or varnish 
 over and cover their deformity: nothing being so beautiful to the eye as truth is 
 to the mind, nothing so deformed and irreconcilable to the understanding as a 
 lie. For though many a man can with satisfaction enough own a no very hand- 
 some wife in his bosom; yet who is bold enough openly to avow, that he has es- 
 poused a falsehood, and received into his breast so ugly a thing as a lie? Whilst 
 the parties of men cram their tenets down all men’s throats whom they can get 
 into their power, without permitting them to examine their truth or falsehood, and 
 will not let truth have fair play in the world, nor men the liberty to search after it ; 
 what improvements can be expected of this kind? What greater light can be 
 hoped for in the moral sciences? The subject part of mankind in most places 
 might instead thereof with Egyptian bondage expect Egyptian darkness, were not 
 the candle of the Lord set up by himself in men’s minds, which it is impossible for 
 the breath or power of man wholly to extinguish. | 
 
 21. Fourthly, Of real Existence: we have an intuitive Knowledge of our 
 own—demonstrative of God’s—sensitive of some few other things.—As to the 
 fourth sort of our knowledge, viz. of the real actual existence of things, we have 
 an intuitive knowledge of our own existence, and a demonstrative knowledge of 
 the existence of a God; of the existence of anything else, we have no other but a 
 
 ‘sensitive knowledge, which extends not beyond the objects present to our senses. 
 
 22. Our Ignorance great.—Our knowledge being so narrow, as I have shown, 
 it will perhaps give us some light into the present state of our minds if we look a 
 little into the dark side, and take a view of our ignorance; which, being infinitely 
 larger than our knowledge, may serve much to the quieting of disputes and im- 
 provement of useful knowledge ; if discovering how far we have clear and distinct 
 ideas, we confine our thoughts within the contemplation of those things that are 
 within the reach of our understandings, and launch not out into that abyss of 
 darkness, (where we have not eyes to see, nor faculties to perceive anything,) out 
 of a presumption that nothing is beyond our comprehension. But to be satisfied 
 of the folly of such a conceit, we need not go far. He that knows anything, knows 
 this, in the first place, that he need not seek long for instances of his ignorance. 
 The meanest and most obvious terms that come in our way have dark sides, that 
 
 1 Cicero’s notion of a definition, agreeing sub- | ejus rei propric, quam definire volumus, brevis 
 stantially with that of Locke, is very clear and | et circumscriptaquedam explicatio.”. (De Orat. 
 precise. ‘‘ Est definitio, earum rerum, que sunt | 1. I. ¢. xlii. p. 77.) 
 
a 
 
 400 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Lv. 
 
 the quickest sight cannot penetrate into. The clearest and most enlarged under- 
 standings of thinking men find themselves puzzled and at a loss in every particle 
 of matter. We shall the less wonder to find it so, when we consider the causes of 
 our ignorance ; which, from what has been said, I suppose will be found to be 
 these three :— 
 
 First, Want of ideas. 
 
 Secondly, Want of a discoverable connexion between the ideas we have. 
 
 Thirdly, Want of tracing and examining our ideas. 
 
 23. First, One Cause of it, Want of Ideas, either such as we have no Concep- 
 tion of, or such as particularly we have not.--- First, There are some things, and 
 those not a few, that we are ignorant of, for want of ideas. 
 
 First, All the simple ideas we have, are confined (as I have shown) to those we 
 receive from corporeal objects by sensation, and from the operations of our own 
 minds as the objects of reflection. But how much these few and narrow inlets are 
 disproportionate to the vast whole extent of all beings, will not be hard to persuade 
 those who are not so foolish as to think their span the measure of all things. What 
 other simple ideas it is possible the creatures in other parts of the universe may 
 have, by the assistance of senses and faculties more or perfecter than we have, or 
 different from ours, it is not for us to determine. But to say or think there are no 
 such, because we conceive nothing of them, is no better an argument than if a 
 blind man should be positive in it, that there was no such thing as sight and 
 colours, because he had no manner of idea of any such thing, nor could by any ~ 
 means frame to himself any notions about seeing. The ignorance and darkness 
 that is in us no more hinders nor confines the knowledge that is in others, than the 
 blindness of a mole’ is an argument against the quicksightedness of an eagle. 
 He that will consider the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator of 
 all things will find reason to think it was not all laid out upon so inconsiderable, 
 mean, and impotent a creature as he will find man to be, who in all probability is 
 one of the lowest of all intellectual beings. What faculties, therefore, other spe- 
 cies of creatures have to penetrate into the nature and inmost constitutions of 
 things, what ideas they may receive of them far different from ours, we know not. 
 This we know and certainly find, that we want several other views of them besides 
 those we have, to make discoveries of them more perfect. And we may be con- 
 vinced that the ideas we can attain to by our faculties are very disproportionate to 
 things themselves, when a clear, positive, distinct one of substance itself, which is 
 the foundation of all the rest, is concealed from us. But want of ideas of this 
 kind being a part as well as cause of our ignorance, cannot be described. Only 
 this I think I may confidently say of it, that the intellectual and sensible world are 
 in this perfectly alike; that that part which we see of either of them holds no pro- 
 portion with what we see not; and whatsoever we can reach with our eyes or our 
 thoughts of either of them is but a point, almost nothing in comparison of the 
 rest. 
 
 24, Because of their Remoteness ; or,—Secondly, Another great cause of 
 ignorance is the want of ideas we are capable of. As the want of ideas, which 
 our faculties are not able to give us, shuts us wholly from those views of things 
 which it is reasonable to think other beings, perfecter than we, have, of which we 
 know nothing: so the want of ideas I now speak of keeps us in ignorance of things 
 we conceive capable of being known to us. Bulk, figure, and motion we have 
 ideas of. But though we are not without ideas of these primary qualities of 
 bodies in general, yet not knowing what is the particular bulk, figure, and motion, 
 
 1 This is a received error; but in point of fact, 
 the common mole is not blind, though its eyes 
 be small and dim, apparently suited to the exigen- 
 cies of his peculiar state of existence. Aristotle 
 describes the mole as blind, for which he was 
 
 long ridiculed by witty and unphilosophical natu- 
 ralists, until it was at length discovered that the 
 peculiar species of mole found in Greece is actu- 
 ally in the condition described by Aristotle and 
 in the text. 
 
CHAP. III. ] EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 401 
 
 of the greatest part of the bodies of the universe, we are ignorant of the several 
 powers, eflicacies, and ways of operation, whereby the effects which we daily see 
 are produced. These are hid from us in some things by being too remote, and in 
 others by being too minute. When we consider the vast distance of the known 
 and visible parts of the world, and the reasons we have to think that what lies 
 within our ken is but a small part of the universe, we shall then discover a huge 
 abyss of ignorance. What are the particular fabrics of the great masses of matter 
 which make up the whole stupendous frame of corporeal beings, how far they are 
 extended, what is their motion, and how continued or communicated, and what 
 influence they have one upon another, are contemplations that at first glimpse our 
 thoughts lose themselves in. If we narrow our contemplations and confine our 
 thoughts to this little canton—I mean this system of our sun, and the grosser 
 masses of matter that visibly move about it—what several sorts of vegetables, ani- 
 mals, and intellectual corporeal beings, infinitely different from those of our little 
 spot of earth, may there probably be in the other planets, to the knowledge of 
 which—even of their outward figures and parts—we can no way attain whilst we 
 are confined to this earth; there being no natural means, either by sensation or 
 reflection, to convey their certain ideas into our minds! They are out of the reach 
 of those inlets of all our knowledge: and what sorts of furniture and inhabitants 
 those mansions contain in them we cannot so much as guess, much less have clear 
 and distinct ideas of them. 
 
 25. Because of their Minuteness.—If a great, nay, far the greatest part of the 
 several ranks of bodies in the universe escape our notice by their remoteness, 
 there are others that are no less concealed from us by their minuteness. These 
 insensible corpuscules being the active parts of matter and the great instruments 
 of nature, on which depend not only all their secondary qualities, but also most of 
 their natural operations, our want of precise distinct ideas of their primary qua- 
 lities keeps us in an incurable ignorance of what we desire to know about them. 
 I doubt not but if we could discover the figure, size, texture, and motion of the 
 minute constituent parts of any two bodies, we should know without trial several 
 of their operations one upon another, as we do now the properties of a square or a 
 triangle. Did we know the mechanical affections of the particles of rhubarb, 
 hemlock, opium, and a man, as a watchmaker does those of a watch, whereby 
 it performs its operations, and of a file, which by rubbing on them will alter the 
 figure of any of the wheels, we should be able to tell beforehand that rhubarb will 
 purge, hemlock kill, and opium make a man sleep; as well as a watchmaker can 
 that a little piece of paper laid on the balance will keep the watch from going, till 
 it be removed ; or that, some small part of it being rubbed by a file, the machine 
 would quite lose its motion, and the watch go no more. The dissolving of silver in 
 aqua fortis, and gold in aqua regia, and not vice versa, would be then perhaps no 
 more difficult to know than it is to a smith to understand why the turning of one 
 key will open a lock, and not the turning of another. But whilst we are destitute 
 of senses acute enough to discover the minute particles of bodies, and to give us 
 ideas of their mechanical affections, we must be content to be ignorant of their pro- 
 perties and ways of operation ; nor can we be assured about them any further than 
 some few trials we make are able to reach. But whether they will succeed again 
 another time, we cannot be certain.!. This hinders our certain knowledge of uni- 
 versal truths concerning natural bodies: and our reason carries us herein very 
 little beyond particular matter of fact. 
 
 26. Hence no Science of Bodies.—And therefore I am apt to doubt that, how 
 far soever human industry may advance useful and experimental philosophy in 
 physical things, scientifical will still be out of our reach; because we want perfect 
 and adequate ideas of those very bodies which are nearest to us, and most under 
 
 1 See Hume’s Essay on Necessary Connexion. 
 
 IDG 
 
A402 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV 
 
 our command. Those which we have ranked into classes under names, and we 
 think ourselves best acquainted with, we have but very imperfect and incomplete 
 ideas of. Distinct ideas of the several sorts of bodies that fall under the examina- 
 tion of our senses perhaps we may have: but adequate ideas, I suspect, we have 
 not of any one amongst them. And though the former of these will serve us for 
 common use and discourse, yet whilst we want the latter, we are not capable of 
 scientifical knowledge ; nor shall ever be able to discover general, instructive, un- 
 questionable truths concerning them. Certainty and demonstration are things we 
 must not, in these matters, pretend to. By the colour, figure, taste, and smell, 
 and other sensible qualities, we have as clear and distinct ideas of sage and hem- 
 lock, as we have of a circle and a triangle: but having no ideas of the particular 
 primary qualities of the minute parts of either of these plants, nor of other bodies 
 which we would apply them to, we cannot tell what effects they will produce ; 
 nor when we see those effects can we so much as guess, much less know, their 
 manner of production. Thus, having no ideas of the particular mechanical affec- 
 tions of the minute parts of bodies that are within our view and reach, we are ig- 
 norant of their constitutions, powers, and operations: and of bodies more remote 
 we are yet more ignorant, not knowing so much as their very outward shapes, or 
 the sensible and grosser parts of their constitutions. 
 
 27. Much less of Spirits.—This at first will show us how disproportionate our 
 knowledge is to the whole extent even of material beings ; to which if we add the 
 consideration of that infinite number of spirits that may be, and probably are, which 
 are yet more remote from our knowledge, whereof we have no cognizance, nor can 
 frame to ourselves any distinct ideas of their several ranks and sorts, we shall find 
 this cause of ignorance conceal from us, in an impenetrable obscurity, almost the 
 whole intellectual world ; a greater, certainly, and more beautiful world than the 
 material. For, bating some very few, and those, if I may so call them, superficial 
 ideas of spirit, which by reflection we get of our own, and from thence the best we 
 can collect of the Father of all spirits, the eternal independent Author of them, 
 and us, and all things, we have no certain information, so much as of the existence 
 of other spirits, but by revelation. Angels of all sorts are naturally beyond our 
 discovery ; and all those intelligences, whereof it is likely there are more orders 
 than of corporeal substances, are things whereof our natural faculties give us no 
 certain account at all. That there are minds and thinking beings in other men as 
 well as himself, every man has a reason, from their words and actions, to be satis- 
 fied: and the knowledge of his own mind cannot suffer a man that considers, to 
 be ignorant that there is a God. But that there are degrees of spiritual beings 
 between us and the great God, who is there, that, by his own search and ability, 
 can come to know? Much less have we distinct ideas of their different natures, 
 conditions, states, powers, and several constitutions wherein they agree or differ 
 from one another and from us. And, therefore, in what concerns their different 
 species and properties we are in absolute ignorance.! 
 
 28. Secondly, Want of a discoverable Connexion between Ideas we have.— 
 
 1 This is evidently directed against that part of 
 the Cartesian system, which pretends to discuss 
 the nature of angels. It even appears to have 
 been imagined by those bold speculators that 
 some approximation can be made towards ascer- 
 taining the numbers of the heavenly hosts, of 
 which philosophical calculation take the follow- 
 ing example from Antoine Le Grand:—“ Tal- 
 mudiste Angelos ad certum quedam numerum 
 redigunt, eos per turmas distribuendo, et cuique 
 earum suos veluti milites assignando. Quippe 
 secundum R. P. Georgium Venetum ex ordine 
 S. Francisci, distinguunt Talmudiste Angelorum 
 exercitus in Mazaloth, El, Ligion, Rihaton, 
 Chirton, Gistera, Mazaloth autem dicunt esse 
 
 duodecim, juxta duodecim signa Zodiaci. El vero 
 dicunt esse cohortes triginta, pro quolibet illorum 
 duodecim. Unde sunt in numero trecentz sex- 
 ginta Angelorum cohortes Legion autem multi- 
 plicat illum numerum trecentorum sexaginta per 
 triginta. Unde resultat numerus decem millium 
 et octingentorum. Et hune numerum ipsi Tal- 
 mudistze multiplicant pariter per triginta: et sic 
 fit Rihaton constans ex noningentis millium mil- 
 libus et septuaginta duobus millibus. Et hune 
 numerum pari modo per triginta multiplicant, 
 unde resultat Gistera, constans ex ducentis 
 nonaginta et uno millium millibus, et sexcentis 
 millibus. Quorum omnium summa, est trecenta 
 et unum millium millia, sexcenta et quinquaginta 
 
CHAP. III. ] EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 403 
 
 Secondly, What a small part of the substantial beings that are in the universe the 
 want of ideas leaves open to our knowledge, we have seen. In the next place, an- 
 other cause of ignorance, of no less moment, is a want of a discoverable connexion 
 between those ideas we have. For wherever we want that, we are utterly inca- 
 pable of universal and certain knowledge; and are, in the former case, left only to 
 observation and experiment: which, how narrow and confined it is, how far from 
 general knowledge, we need not be told. I shall give some few instances of this 
 cause of our ignorance, and so leave it. It is evident that the bulk, figure, and 
 motion of several bodies about us produce in us several sensations, as of colours, 
 sounds, tastes, smells, pleasure, and pain, &c. These mechanical affections of 
 bodies having no affinity at all with those ideas they produce in us, (there being 
 no conceivable connexion between any impulse of any sort of body and any percep- 
 tion of a colour or smell which we find in our minds,) we can have no distinct 
 knowledge of such operations beyond our experience; and can reason no otherwise 
 about them, than as effects produced by the appointment of an infinitely wise 
 
 agent, which perfectly surpass our comprehensions. 
 
 As the ideas of sensible 
 
 secondary qualities which we have in our minds, can by us be no way deduced 
 
 quinque millia, centum et septuaginta duo; ut 
 
 ex subjecta Tabella patet. 
 
 12 Mazaloth. 
 360 El. 
 10,800 Ligion. 
 
 324,000 Rihaton. 
 
 9,720,000 Chirton. 
 
 291,600,000 Gistera. 
 
 301,655,172 Angelorum Cohortes simul. 
 
 (Institut. Phil. Part IIT. art. vi. § 4.) 
 This is a part of philosophy which has been 
 cultivated with singular perseverance by the 
 Orientals, whose acquaintance with angels and 
 devils has consequently been much more intimate 
 than that of any nation in the West. Thus we 
 find that, ‘Some of the Sabeans worshipped 
 devils, believing they had the shapes of goats, 
 and therefore called them Seirim. On the con- 
 trary, the Levitical law prohibited to offer sacri- 
 fices to Seirim and to goats, that is to say, devils, 
 appearing in the form of goats. (Levit. xvii. 7.) 
 Though they did abominate blood, asa thing ex- 
 ceedingly detestable, yet they did eat it, believing 
 it to be the food of demons, and that he that did 
 eat of it should become a brother, or intimate 
 acquaintance of the demons, insomuch that they 
 would come to him, and tell him future events, 
 prohibited.”’ (Lev. xvii. 10—23; Stanley’s Hist. 
 of Philosophy, c. ii.) Among the ancient magi 
 of Persia, the orders, powers, and distributions of 
 the inhabitants of the spiritual world constituted 
 a favourite object of study; and even from the 
 fragments of their system which have been trans- 
 mitted to us, we perceive how great was their fa- 
 miliarity with the subjects of Ormuzd and Ahri- 
 man. ‘On y remarque trois ordres d’esprits, 
 @abord les sept Amschaspands, esprits doués 
 @Vimmortalité, puis les vingt-huit Izeds, et en 
 dernier lieu les innombrables Fervers. Ormuzd, 
 maitre du monde, est le créateur et le premier 
 des Amschaspands; Bahman, chef des autres, 
 est le second, et le roi de lumiére; le troisiéme 
 est Ardibehescht, ’esprit du feu, qui donne le 
 feu et la vie; le quatriéme, Schahriver, roi des 
 métaux ; puis vient Sapandomad, fille d’Ormuzd, 
 et mére des premiers étres humains Meschia et 
 Meschiane; ensuite Khordad, roi des saisons, 
 des mois, des années, et des jours, qui donne au 
 pur l’eau de pureté; et le dernier de tous, Amer- 
 dad, créateur et protecteur des arbres, des mois- 
 
 sons, des troupeaux. Les Izeds, génies inférieures, 
 ont été crées par Ormuzd pour verser les bénédic- 
 tions sur lemonde, et pour veiller sur le peuple des 
 purs. Les mois, les jours, les divisions méme 
 du jour, et les elemens sont placés sous la protec- 
 tion et sous la garde des Amschaspands et des 
 Izeds. Chacun des Amschaspands a son cortége 
 d’Izeds, qui le servent comme les Amschaspands 
 eux-mémes servent Ormuzd. Les Izeds sont les 
 uns males et les autres femelles. Parmi eux 
 figurent Mithra, ou Meher, qui donne 4a la terre 
 le bienfait du jour, et indépendamment de lui, 
 Khorschid, le soleil. Les Fervers sont les idées, 
 les prototypes, les modéles de tous les étres, 
 formées de essence d’Ormuzd, et les plus pures 
 emanations de cette essence. Ils existent par la 
 parole vivante du créateur, aussi sont-ils immor- 
 tels, et par eux tout vit dans la nature. Ls sont 
 placées au ciel comme des sentinelles vigilantes 
 contre Ahriman, et portent 4 Ormuzd les priéres 
 des hommes pieux, quils protégent et punissent 
 de tout mal. Sur la terre, unis a des corps, ils 
 combattent sans cesse les mauvais esprits. IIs 
 sont aussi nombreux et aussi diversifiés dans leurs 
 espéce que les étres eux-mémes.”” Of the angels 
 of darkness, who formed an exact counterpart to 
 the above, we have the following account: ‘ La 
 royaume d’Ahriman corresponde en tout a celui 
 d@’Ormuzd. La aussi se trouvent sept Devs supé- 
 rieurs, Ahriman y compris, et a leur suite un 
 nombre infini de Devs inférieurs. Ils ont été 
 produits par Ahriman, aprés sa chute, et faits a 
 son image pour la destruction du royaume d’Or- 
 muzd. Celui-ci ayant créé le monde de lumiére, 
 Ahriman vint du sud, se méla, aux planétes, pé- 
 nétra dans les étoiles fixes, et créa le prince des 
 devs, Eschem, le démon de l’envie, armé de sept 
 tétes, et l’adversaire de Serosch, c’est-a-dire, 
 d’Ormuzd, prince de la terre. Maintenant s’ou- 
 vre la lutte, et de méme que, sur la terre, l’ani- 
 mal combat Vanimal, de méme, dans le monde 
 des esprits, ’esprit combat Vesprit. Chacun des 
 sept grands devs a son rival dans l’un des sept 
 Amschaspands; chacun d’eux est Pauteur d’un 
 mal ou d’un vice particulier.” (Creuzes. Relig. 
 de l’Antiquité, 1. ii. c, 2. Compare with the 
 above the notes of Guigniaut, Part ii. p. 701, et 
 seq.; and the account of Father Rhode, p. 178, 
 
 et seq.) 
 
 pep. 
 
FR a 
 
 AO4 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, [BOOK Iv. 
 
 from bodily causes, nor any correspondence or connexion be found between them 
 and those primary qualities which (experience shows us) produce them in us; so, 
 on the other side, the operation of our minds upon our bodies is as inconceivable. 
 How any thought should produce a motion in body is as remote from the nature 
 of our ideas, as how any body should produce any thought im the mind. That 
 it is so, if experience did not convince us, the consideration of the things them- 
 selves would never be able in the least to discover to us. These and the like, 
 though they have a constant and regular connexion in the ordinary course of things ; 
 yet that connexion being not discoverable in the ideas themselves, which appearing 
 to have no necessary dependence one on another, we can attribute their connexion 
 to nothing else but the arbitrary determination of that all-wise Agent who has 
 made them to be, and to operate as they do, in a way wholly above our weak un- 
 derstandings to conceive. 
 
 29. Instances.—In some of our ideas there are certain relations, habitudes, and 
 connexions, so visibly included in the nature of the ideas themselves, that we 
 cannot conceive them separable from them by any power whatsoever; and in 
 these only we are capable of certain and universal knowledge. ‘Thus the idea. of 
 a right-lined triangle necessarily carries with it an equality of its angles to two 
 right ones. Nor can we conceive this relation, this connexion of these two ideas, 
 to be possibly mutable, or to depend on any arbitrary power, which of choice 
 made it thus, or could make it otherwise. But the coherence and continuity of 
 the parts of matter; the production of sensation in us of colours and sounds, &c., » 
 by impulse and motion; nay, the original rules and communication of motion 
 being such, wherein we can discover no natural connexion with any ideas we 
 have, we cannot but ascribe them to the arbitrary will and good pleasure of the 
 wise Architect. I need not, I think, here mention the resurrection of the dead, 
 the future state of this globe of earth, and such other things, which are by every 
 one acknowledged to depend wholly on the determination of a free agent. The 
 things that, as far as our observation reaches, we constantly find to proceed regu- 
 larly, we may conclude do act by a law set them; but yet by a law that we know not: 
 whereby, though causes work steadily, and effects constantly flow from them, yet 
 their connexions and dependencies being not discoverable in our ideas, we can 
 have but an experimental knowledge of them.’ From all which it is easy to per- 
 ceive what a darkness we are involved in, how little it is of being, and the things 
 that are, that we are capable to know. And therefore we shall do no injury to 
 our knowledge, when we modestly think with ourselves, that we are so far from 
 being able to comprehend the whole nature of the universe, and all the things 
 contained in it, that we are not capable of a philosophical knowledge of the bodies 
 that are about us, and make a part of us: concerning their secondary qualities, 
 powers, and operations, we can have no universal certainty. Several effects come 
 every day within the notice of our senses, of which we have so far sensitive know- 
 ledge; but the causes, manner, and certainty of their production, for the two 
 foregoing reasons, we must be content to be very ignorant of. In these we can 
 go no further than particular experience informs us of matter of fact, and by 
 analogy to guess what effects the like bodies are, upon other trials, like to produce. 
 But as to a perfect science of natural bodies (not to mention spiritual beings,) we 
 are, I think, so far from being capable of any such thing, that I conclude it lost 
 labour to seek after it. 
 
 30. Ill. Want of Tracing our Ideas.—Thirdly, Where we have adequate 
 ideas, and where there is a certain and discoverable connexion between them, yet 
 we are often ignorant, for want of tracing those ideas which we have or may 
 have; and for want of finding out those intermediate ideas, which may show us 
 what habitude of agreement or disagreement they have one with another: and 
 
 1 See Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity, 1. 1, § 3. 
 
CHAP. III. | EXTENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 405 
 
 thus many are ignorant of mathematical truths, not out of any imperfection of 
 their faculties, or uncertainty in the things themselves, but for want of applica- 
 tion in acquiring, examining, and by due ways comparing those ideas. That 
 which has most contributed to hinder the due tracing of our ideas, and find- 
 ing out their relations, and agreements or disagreements one with another, has 
 been, I suppose, the ill use of words. It is impossible that men should ever truly 
 seek or certainly discover the agreement or disagreement of ideas themselves, 
 whilst their thoughts fiutter about, or stick only in sounds of doubtful and uncer- 
 tain significations. Mathematicians abstracting their thoughts from names, and 
 accustoming themselves to set before their minds the ideas themselves that they 
 would consider, and not sounds instead of them, have avoided thereby a great 
 part of that perplexity, puddering, and confusion, which has so much hindered 
 men’s progress in other parts of knowledge. For whilst they stick in words of 
 undetermined and uncertain signification, they are unable to distinguish true from 
 false, certain from probable, consistent from inconsistent, in their own opinions. 
 This having been the fate or misfortune of a great part of men of letters, the 
 increase brought into the stock of real knowledge has been very little, in propor- 
 tion to the schools, disputes, and writings the world has been filled with ; whilst 
 students, being lost in the great wood of words, knew not whereabouts they were, 
 how far their discoveries were advanced, or what was wanting in their own or the 
 general stock of knowledge. Had men, in the discoveries of the material, done 
 as they have in those of the intellectual world, involved all in the obscurity of 
 uncertain and doubtful ways of talking, volumes writ of navigation and voyages, 
 theories and stories of zones and tides, multiplied and disputed; nay, ships built, 
 and fleets sent out, would never have taught us the way beyond the line; and the 
 Antipodes would be still as much unknown, as when it was declared heresy to 
 hold there were any.'' But having spoken sufficiently of words, and the ill or 
 careless use that is commonly made of them, I shall not say anything more of 
 it here. 
 
 31. Extent in respect to Universality.—Hitherto we have examined the extent 
 of our knowledge, in respect of the several sorts of beings that are. There is an- 
 other extent of it, in respect of universality, which will also deserve to be con- 
 sidered; and in this regard, our knowledge follows the nature of our ideas. If 
 the ideas are abstract, whose agreement or disagreement we perceive, our know- 
 ledge is universal. For what is known of such general ideas, will be true of every 
 particular thing in whom that essence, i. e. that abstract idea, is to be found; and 
 what is once known of such ideas, will be perpetually and for ever true. So that 
 as to all general knowledge, we must search and find it only in our minds, and it 
 is only the examining of our own ideas that furnisheth us with that. Truths 
 belonging to essences of things (that is, to abstract ideas) are eternal, and are to 
 be found out by the contemplation only of those essences, as the existences of 
 things are to be known only from experience. But having more to say of this in 
 the chapters where I shall speak of general and real knowledge, this may here 
 suffice as to the universality of our knowledge in general. 
 
 1 “ Autrefois on se moquoit de quelques phi- | (1. 3, ch. 23,) pour croire qu'il ya des hommes 
 losophes qui dissent qu’il y avoit des Antipodes; | dont les pieds sont plus elevés que la téte?”’ (Du 
 quel est homme assez insensé, disoit Lactance, | Marsais Logique, Art. XIII. Soph. VI. p. 88.) 
 
406 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. Objection. Knowledge placed in Ideas may be all bare Vision.—I DouBT 
 not but my reader, by this time, may be apt to think that I have been all this 
 while only building a castle in the air; and be ready to say to me, “ To what 
 purpose ali this stir? Knowledge, say you, is only the perception of the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of our own ideas: but who knows what those ideas may 
 be? Is there anything so extravagant as the imaginations of men’s brains? 
 Where is the head that has no chimeras in it? Or if there be a sober and a 
 wise man, what difference will there be, by your rules, between his knowledge 
 and that of the most extravagant fancy inthe world? They both have their ideas, 
 and perceive their agreement and disagreement one with another. If there be any 
 difference between them, the advantage will be on the warm-headed man’s side, 
 as having the more ideas, and the more lively; and so, by your rules, he will be 
 the more knowing. If it be true, that all knowledge lies only in the perception 
 of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas, the visions of an enthusiast 
 and the reasonings of a sober man will be equally certain. It is no matter how 
 things are, so a man observe but the agreement of his own imaginations, and talk 
 conformably, it is all truth, all certainty. Such castles in the air will be as strong- 
 holds of truth, as the demonstrations of Euclid. That an harpy is not a centaur 
 is by this way as certain knowledge, and as much a truth, as that a square is not 
 a circle. 
 
 “ But of what use is all this fine knowledge of men’s own imaginations, to a 
 man that inquires after the reality of things? It matters not what men’s fancies 
 are, it is the knowledge of things that is only to be prized; it is this alone gives a 
 value to our reasonings, and preference to one man’s knowledge over another’s, 
 that it is of things as they really are, and not of dreams and fancies.” 
 
 2. Answer. Not so, where Ideas agree with Things.—To which I answer, 
 that if our knowledge of our ideas terminate in them, and reach no further, where 
 there is something further intended, our most serious thoughts will be of little 
 more use than the reveries of a crazy brain; and the truths built thereon of no 
 more weight than the discourses of a man, who sees things clearly in a dream, 
 and with great assurance utters them. But I hope, before I have done, to 
 make it evident that this way of certainty, by the knowledge of our own ideas, 
 goes a little further than bare imagination; and I believe it will appear, that all 
 the certainty of general truths a man has lies in nothing else. 
 
 3. It is evident the mind knows not things immediately, but only by the inter- 
 vention of the ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, is real only so far 
 as there is a conformity between our ideas and the reality of things. But what 
 shall be here the criterion? How shall the mind, when it perceives nothing but 
 its own ideas, know that they agree with things themselves? This, though it 
 seems not to want difficulty, yet, I think, there be two sorts of ideas, that we may 
 be assured agree with things. - 
 
 4. As, I. All simple Ideas do.—First, The first are simple ideas, which since 
 the mind, as has been showed, can by no means make to itself, must necessarily 
 be the product of things operating on the mind in a natural way, and producing 
 therein those perceptions which by the wisdom and will of our Maker they are 
 ordained and adapted to. From whence it follows, that simple ideas are not 
 fictions of our fancies, but the natural and regular productions of things without 
 us, really operating upon us, and so carry with them all the conformity which is 
 intended, or which our state requires; for they represent to us things under those 
 
nr 
 
 CHAP. IV.] REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 407 
 
 appearances which they are fitted to produce in us, whereby we are enabled to 
 distinguish the sorts of particular substances, to discern the states they are in, and 
 so to take them for our necessities, and to apply them to our uses. Thus the idea 
 of whiteness or bitterness, as it is in the mind, exactly answering that power 
 which is in any body to produce it there, has all the real conformity it can or ought 
 to have, with things without us. And this conformity between our simple ideas 
 and the existence of things, is sufficient for real knowledge. 
 
 5. II. All complex Ideas, except of Substances.—Secondly, All our complex 
 ideas, except those of substances, being archetypes of the mind’s own making, not 
 intended to be the copies of anything, nor referred to the existence of anything, as 
 to their originals, cannot want any conformity necessary to real knowledge. For 
 that which is not designed to represent anything but itself, can never be ca- 
 pable of a wrong representation, nor mislead us from the true apprehension of 
 anything by its dislikeness to it; and such, excepting those of substances, are all 
 our complex ideas, which, as I have showed in another place, are combinations 
 of ideas, which the mind, by its free choice, puts together, without considering 
 any connexion they have in nature. And hence it is, that in all these sorts the 
 ideas themselves are considered as the archetypes, and things no otherwise 
 regarded, but as they are conformable to them. So that we cannot but be infal- 
 libly certain, that all the knowledge we attain concerning these ideas is real, and 
 reaches things themselves; because in all our thoughts, reasonings, and discourses 
 of this kind, we intend things no further than as they are conformable to our 
 ideas. So that in these we cannot miss of a certain and undoubted reality. 
 
 6. Hence the Reality of Mathematical Knowledge.—\ doubt not but it will 
 be easily granted, that the knowledge we have of mathematical truths is not only 
 certain, but real knowledge; and not the bare empty vision of vain, insignificant 
 chimeras of the brain; and yet, if we will consider, we shall find that it is only 
 of our own ideas. The mathematician considers the truth and properties belong- 
 ing to a rectangle or circle only as they are in idea in his own mind. For it is 
 possible he never found either of them existing mathematically, i. e. precisely true, 
 in his life. But yet the knowledge he has of any truths or properties belonging 
 to a circle, or any other mathematical figure, are nevertheless true and certain, 
 even of real things existing; because real things are no further concerned, nor 
 intended to be meant by any such propositions, than as things really agree to 
 those archetypes in his mind. Is it true of the idea of a triangle, that its three 
 angles are equal to two right ones? It is true also of a triangle, wherever it 
 really exists. Whatever other figure exists, that is not exactly answerable to the 
 idea of a triangle in his mind, is not at all concerned in that proposition; and 
 therefore he is certain all his knowledge concerning such ideas is real knowledge ; 
 because, intending things no further than they agree with those his ideas, he is 
 sure what he knows concerning those figures, when they have barely an ideal ex- 
 istence in his mind, will hold true of them also when they have real existence in 
 matter; his consideration being barely of those figures which are the same, 
 wherever or however they exist. 
 
 7. And of Moral.—And hence it follows that moral knowledge is as capable 
 of real certainty as mathematics; for certainty being but the perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas, and demonstration nothing but the per- 
 ception of such agreement, by the intervention of other ideas or mediums; our 
 moral ideas, as well as mathematical, being archetypes themselves, and so ade- 
 quate and complete ideas, all the agreement or disagreement which we shall find 
 in them will produce real knowledge, as well as in mathematical figures. 
 
 8. Existence not required to make it real.—For the attaining of knowledge 
 and certainty, it is requisite that we have determined ideas; and, to make our 
 knowledge real, it is requisite that the ideas answer their archetypes. Nor let it 
 be wondered, that I place the certainty of our knowledge in the consideration of 
 our ideas, with so little care and regard (as it may seem) to the real existence of 
 
498 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 things; since most of those discourses which take up the thoughts and engage 
 the disputes of those who pretend to make it their business to inquire after truth 
 and certainty, will, I presume, upon examination, be found to be general proposi- 
 tions, and notions in which existence is not at all concerned. All the discourses 
 of the mathematicians about the squaring of a circle, conic sections, or any other 
 part of mathematics, concern not the existence of any of those figures; but their 
 demonstrations, which depend on their ideas, are the same, whether there be any 
 square or circle existing in the world or no. In the same manner, the truth and 
 certainty of moral discourses abstracts from the lives of men, and the existence of 
 those virtues in the world whereof they treat. Nor are Tully’s Offices less true, 
 because there is nobody in the world that exactly practises his rules, and lives up 
 to that pattern of a virtuous man which he has given us, and which existed 
 nowhere when he writ, but in idea. If it be true in speculation, i. e. in idea, that 
 murder deserves death, it will also be true in reality of any action that exists con- 
 formable to that idea of murder. As for other actions, the truth of that proposi- 
 tion concerns them not. And thus it is of all other species of things, which have 
 no other essences but those ideas which are in the minds of men. 
 
 9. Nor will it be less true or certain, because moral Ideas are of our own 
 making and naming.— But it will here be said, that if moral knowledge be placed 
 in the contemplation of our own moral ideas, and those, as other modes, be of our 
 own making, what strange notions will there be of justice and temperance! 
 What confusion of virtues and vices, if every one may make what ideas of them 
 he pleases! No confusion or disorder in the things themselves, nor the reason- 
 ings about them; no more than (in mathematics) there would be a disturbance 
 in the demonstration, or a change in the properties of figures, and their relations 
 one to another, if a man should make a triangle with four corners, or a trapezium 
 with four right angles; that is, in plain English, change the names of the figures, 
 and call that by one name, which mathematicians call ordinarily by another. For 
 let a man make to himself the idea of a figure with three angles, whereof one is a 
 right one, and call it, if he please, equilaterum or trapezium, or anything else, 
 the properties of and demonstrations about that idea will be the same, as if he 
 called it a rectangular triangle. I confess the change of the name, by the impro- 
 priety of speech, will at first disturb him who knows not what idea it stands for; 
 but as soon as the figure is drawn, the consequences and demonstration are plain 
 and clear. Just the same is it in moral knowledge: let a man have the idea of 
 taking from others, without their consent, what their honest industry has pos- 
 sessed them of, and call this justice if he please. He that takes the name here 
 without the idea put to it, will be mistaken by joining another idea of his own to 
 that name: but strip the idea of that name, or take it such as it is in the speaker’s 
 mind, and the same things will agree to it, as if you called it injustice. Indeed, 
 wrong names in moral discourses breed usually more disorder, because they are 
 not so easily rectified as in mathematics, where the figure, once drawn and seen, 
 makes the name useless and of no force. For what need ofa sign, when the 
 thing signified is present and in view? But in moral names that cannot be so 
 easily and shortly done, because of the many decompositions that go to the 
 making up the complex ideas of those modes. But yet for all this miscalling of 
 any of those ideas, contrary to the usual signification of the words of that lan- 
 guage, hinders not but that we may have certain and demonstrative knowledge of 
 their several agreements and disagreements, if we will carefully, as in mathematics, 
 keep to the same precise ideas, and trace them in their several relations one to 
 another, without being led away by their names. If we but separate the idea 
 under consideration from the sign that stands for it, our knowledge goes equally 
 on in the discovery of real truth and certainty, whatever sounds we make use of. 
 
 10. Misnaming disturbs not the Certainty of the Knowledge.— One thing more 
 we are to take notice of, that where God or any other law-maker hath defined any 
 moral names, there they have made the essence of that species to which that name 
 
GHAPAIIV. | REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE. 409 
 
 belongs; and there it is not safe to apply or use them otherwise: but in other 
 cases it is bare impropriety of speech to apply them contrary to the common usage 
 _ of the country. But yet even this too disturbs not the certainty of that know- 
 ledge which is still to be had bya due contemplation and comparing of those 
 even nick-named ideas. 
 
 11. Ideas of Substances have their Archetypes without us.—Thirdly, There is 
 another sort of complex ideas, which, being referred to archetypes without us, may 
 differ from them, and so our knowledge about them may come short of being 
 real. Such are our ideas of substances, which, consisting of a collection of simple 
 ideas, supposed taken from the works of nature, may yet vary from them, by 
 having more or different ideas united in them, than are to be found united in the 
 things themselves. From whence it comes to pass, that they may, and ‘often do 
 fail of being exactly conformable to things themselves. 
 
 12. So far as they agree with those, so far our Knowledge concerning them is 
 real.—I say, then, that to have ideas of substances, which, by being conformable 
 to things, may afford us real knowledge, it is not enough, as in modes, to put toge- 
 ther such ideas as have no inconsistence, though they did never before so exist ; 
 v. g. the ideas of sacrilege or perjury &c. were as real and true ideas before, as 
 after the existence of any such fact. But our ideas of substances being supposed 
 copies, and referred to archetypes without us, must still be taken from something 
 that does or has existed ; they must not consist of ideas put together at the plea- 
 sure of our thoughts, without any real pattern they were taken from, though we 
 can perceive no inconsistence in such a combination. The reason whereof is, 
 because we, knowing not what real constitution it is of substances whereon our 
 simple ideas depend, and which really is the cause of the strict union of some of 
 them one with another, and the exclusion of others; there are very few of them 
 that we can be sure are or are not inconsistent in nature, any further than expe- 
 rience and sensible observation reach. Herein, therefore, is founded the reality 
 of our knowledge concerning substances, that all our complex ideas of them must 
 be such, and such only, as are made up of such simple ones as have been disco- 
 vered to co-exist in nature. And our ideas being thus true, though not, perhaps, 
 very exact copies, are yet the subjects of real (as far as we have any) knowledge 
 of them; which (as has been already shown) will not be found to reach very far; 
 but so far as it does, it will still be real knowledge. Whatever ideas we have, the 
 agreement we find they have with others will still be knowledge. If those ideas 
 be abstract, it will be general knowledge. But to make it real concerning sub- 
 stances, the ideas must be taken from the real existence of things. Whatever 
 simple ideas have been found to co-exist in any substance, these we may with con- 
 fidence join together again, and so make abstract ideas of substances. For what- 
 ever have once had an union in nature, may be united again. 
 
 13. In our Inquiries about Substances, we must consider Ideas, and not con- 
 Jine our Thoughts to Names, or Species supposed set out by Names.—This, if we 
 rightly consider, and confine not our thoughts and abstract ideas to names, as if 
 there were, or could be no other sorts of things than what known names had 
 already determined, and, as it were, set out, we should think of things with 
 greater freedom and less confusion than perhaps we do. It would possibly be 
 thought a bold paradox, if not a very dangerous falsehood, if I should say that 
 some changelings,' who have lived forty years together without any appearance 
 
 1 What changelings were by our superstitious 
 ancestors supposed to be, may be learned from 
 the following story :—‘‘ There lived once near 
 Tir’s lake two lonely people, who were sadly 
 plagued with a changeling, given them by the 
 underground people instead of their own child, 
 which had not been baptised in time. This 
 changeling behaved in a very strange and un- 
 
 common manner, for when there was no one in 
 the place he was in great spirits, ran up the 
 walls like a cat, sat under the roof, and shouted 
 and bawled away lustily; but sat dozing at the 
 end of the table when any one was in the room 
 with him. He was able to eat as much as any 
 four, and never cared what it was that was set 
 before him; but, though he regarded not the 
 
410 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK ly. 
 
 of reason, are something between a man and a beast; which prejudice is founded 
 upon nothing else but a false supposition, that these two names, man and beast, 
 stand for distinct species so set out by real essences, that there can come no other | 
 species between them: whereas, if we will abstract from those names, and the 
 supposition of such specific essences made by nature, wherein all things of the 
 same denominations did exactly and equally partake; if we would not fancy that 
 there were a certain number of these essences, wherein all things, as in moulds, 
 were cast and formed ; we should find that the idea of the shape, motion, and life 
 of a man without reason, is as much a distinct idea, and makes as much a distinct 
 sort of things from man and beast, as the idea of the shape of an ass with reason 
 would be different from either that of man or beast, and be a species of an animal 
 between or distinct from both. 
 
 14. Objection against a Changeling being something between a Man and 
 Beast, answered.— Here every body will be ready to ask, If changelings may be 
 supposed something between man and beast, pray what are they? I answer, 
 Changelings; which is as good a word to signify something different from the sig- 
 nification of man or beast, as the names man and beast are to have significations 
 different one from the other. This, well considered, would resolve this matter, 
 and show my meaning without any more ado. But I am not so unacquainted 
 with the zeal of some men, which enables them to spin consequences, and to see 
 religion threatened whenever any one ventures to quit their forms of speaking, as 
 not to foresee what names such a proposition as this is like to be charged with: 
 and without doubt it will be asked, If changelings are something between man 
 and beast, what will become of them in the other world? To which I answer, 
 1. It concerns me not to know or inquire. To their own master they stand or 
 fall. It will make their state neither better nor worse, whether we determine 
 anything of it orno. They are in the hands of a faithful Creator and a bountiful 
 Father, who disposes not of his creatures according to our narrow thoughts or 
 Opinions, nor distinguishes them according to names and species of our con- 
 trivance. And we that know so little of this present world we are in, may, I 
 think, content ourselves without being peremptory in defining the different states 
 which creatures shall come into when they go off this stage. It may suffice - 
 us, that he hath made known to all those who are capable of instruction, dis- 
 coursing, and reasoning, that they shall come to an account, and receive according 
 to what they have done in this body. 
 
 15. But, Secondly, I answer, The force of these men’s question (viz. Will you 
 deprive changelings of a future state?) is founded on one of these two supposi- 
 tions, which are both false. The first is, that all things that have the outward 
 shape and appearance of a man must necessarily be designed to an immortal 
 future being after this life: or, secondly, that whatever is of human birth must be 
 so. Take away these imaginations, and such questions will be groundless and 
 ridiculous. I desire, then, those who think there is no more but an accidental 
 difference between themselves and changelings, the essence in both being exactly 
 the same, to consider, whether they can imagine immortality annexed to any out- 
 ward shape of the body? the very proposing it is, I suppose, enough to make 
 
 quality of his food, in quantity he was never 
 satisfied, and gave excessive annoyance to every 
 one in the house. When they had tried for a 
 long time in vain how they could best get rid of 
 him, since there was no living in the house with 
 him, a smart girl pledged herself that she would 
 banish him from the house; who accordingly, 
 while he was out in the fields, took a pig and 
 killed it, and put it, hide, hair, and all, into a 
 black pudding, and set it before him when he 
 came home. He began, as was his custom, to 
 
 gobble it up; but when he had eaten for some 
 
 time, he began to relax a little in his efforts, and 
 at last he stood still, with his knife in his hand, 
 looking at the pudding. At length, after sitting 
 for some time in this manner, he began:—‘ A 
 pudding with hide!—a pudding with hair!—a 
 pudding with eyes!—and a pudding with legs in 
 it! Well, three times have I seen a young wood 
 by Tir’s lake, but never yet did I see such a 
 pudding! The devil himself may stay here now 
 for me!’ So saying, he ran off with himself, 
 and never more came back again.” (Keightley’s 
 Fairy Mythology, Vol. I. p. 199 et seq.) 
 
CHAP. IV. | REALITY OF KNOWLEDGE. All 
 
 them disown it. No one yet, that ever I heard of, how much soever immersed 
 in matter, allowed that excellency to any figure of the gross sensible outward 
 parts, as to affirm eternal life due to it, or a necessary consequence of it;' or that 
 any mass of matter should, after its dissolution here, be again restored hereafter 
 to an everlasting state of sense, perception, and knowledge, only because it was 
 moulded into this or that figure, and had such a particular frame of its visible 
 parts. Such an opinion as this, placing immortality in a certain superficial 
 figure, turns out of doors all consideration of soul or spirit, upon whose account 
 alone some corporeal beings have hitherto been concluded immortal, and others 
 not. This is to attribute more to the outside than inside of things; and to place 
 the excellency of a man more in the external shape of his body, than internal per- 
 ' fections of his soul; which is but little better than to annex the great and ines- 
 timable advantage of immortality and life everlasting, which he has above other 
 material beings, to annex it, I say, to the cut of his beard, or the fashion of his 
 coat. For this or that outward mark of our bodies no more carries with it the 
 hope of an eternal duration, than the fashion of a man’s suit gives him reasonable 
 grounds to imagine it will never wear out, or that it will make him immortal. It 
 will perhaps be said, that nobody thinks that the shape makes anything immortal, 
 but it is the shape is the sign of a rational soul within, which is immortal. I 
 wonder who made it the sign of any such thing; for barely saying it will not 
 make it so; it would require some proofs to persuade one of it. No figure that 
 I know speaks any such language. For it may as rationally be concluded, that 
 the dead body of a man, wherein there is to be found no more appearance or 
 action of life than there is in a statue, has yet nevertheless a living soul in it 
 because of its shape; as that there is a rational soul in a changeling, because he 
 has the outside of a rational creature, when his actions carry far less marks of 
 reason with them, in the whole course of his life, than what are to be found in 
 many a beast. ) 
 
 16. Monsters.—But it is the issue of rational parents, and must therefore be 
 concluded to have a rational soul. I know not by what logic you must so con- 
 clude. I am sure this is a conclusion that men nowhere allow of. For if they 
 did, they would not make bold, as everywhere they do, to destroy ill-formed and 
 mis-shaped productions. Ay, but these are monsters. Let them be so: what 
 will your drivelling, unintelligent, intractable changeling be? Shall a defect in 
 the body make a monster; a defect in the mind (the far more noble, and, in the 
 common phrase, the far more essential part) not? Shall the want of a nose, or a 
 neck, make a monster, and put such issue out of the rank of men; the want of 
 reason and understanding, not? This is to bring all back again to what was 
 exploded just now : this is to place all in the shape, and to take the measure of a man 
 only by his outside. To show that, according to the ordinary way of reasoning in 
 this matter, people do lay the whole stress on the figure, and resolve the whole essence 
 of the species of man (as they make it) into the outward shape, how unreasonable 
 soever it be, and how much soever they disown it; we need but trace their thoughts 
 and practice a little further, and then it will plainly appear. The well-shaped 
 changeling is a man, has a rational soul, though it appear not: this is past doubt, 
 say you. Make the ears alittle longer, and more pointed, aud the nose a little flatter 
 than ordinary, and then you begin to boggle: make the face yet narrower, flatter, 
 and longer, and then you are at a stand: add still more and more of the likeness 
 of a brute to it, and let the head be perfectly that of some other animal, then pre- 
 sently it is a monster; and it is demonstration with you that it hath no rational 
 soul, and must be destroyed. Where now (I ask) shall be the just measure of 
 
 1 And yet who, by his feelings, is not led to | of a godlike nature, and worthy of divine ho- 
 think that beauty deserves immortality? The | nours, which accordingly were in some places 
 ancients, reasoning according to the princi- | paid to it. 
 ples of Paganism, imagined this quality to be 
 
412 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 the utmost bounds of that shape, that carries with it a rational soul? For since 
 there have been human foetuses produced, half beast and half man; and others 
 three parts one, and one part the other; and so it is possible they may be in all 
 the variety of approaches to the one or the other shape, and may have several 
 degrees of mixtures of the likeness of a man or a brute; I would gladly know 
 what are those precise lineaments, which, according to this hypothesis, are or are 
 not capable of a rational soul to be joined to them. What sort of outside is the 
 certain sign that there is or is not such an inhabitant within? For till that be 
 done, we talk at random of man; and shall always, I fear, do so, as long as we 
 give ourselves up to certain sounds, and the imaginations of settled and fixed 
 species in nature, we know not what. But, after all, I desire it may be consi- 
 dered, that those who think they have answered the difficulty by telling us, that a 
 mis-shaped foetus is a monster, run into the same fault they are arguing against, 
 by constituting a species between man and beast. For what else, I pray, is their 
 monster in the case, (if the word monster signifies anything at all,) but something 
 neither man nor beast, but partaking somewhat of either? And just so is the 
 changeling before mentioned. So necessary is it to quit the common notion of 
 species and essences, if we will truly look into the nature of things, and examine 
 them by what our faculties can discover in them as they exist, and not by 
 groundless fancies that have been taken up about them. 
 
 17. Words and Species.—I have mentioned this here, because I think we 
 cannot be too cautious that words and species, in the ordinary notions which we — 
 have been used to of them, impose not on us. For I am apt to think therein lies 
 one great obstacle to our clear and distinct knowledge, especially, in reference to 
 substances ; and from thence has rose a great part of the difficulties about truth 
 and certainty. Would we accustom ourselves to separate our contemplations and 
 reasonings from words, we might in a great measure remedy this inconvenience 
 within our own thoughts; but yet it would still disturb us in our discourse with 
 others, as long as we retained the opinion, that species and their essences were 
 anything else but our abstract ideas (such as they are) with names annexed to 
 them, to be the signs of them. 
 
 18. Recapitulation.—Wherever we perceive the agreement or disagreement of 
 any of our ideas, there is certain knowledge; and wherever we are sure those 
 ideas agree with the reality of things, there is certain real knowledge. Of which 
 agreement of our ideas with the reality of things, having here given the marks, I 
 think I have shown wherein it is that certainty, real certainty, consists; which, 
 whatever it was to others, was, I confess, to me heretofore, one of those deside- 
 rata which I found great want of. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF TRUTH IN GENERAL. 
 
 1. What Truth is.—Wuart is truth? was an inquiry many ages since;' and it 
 being that which all mankind either do, or pretend to search after, it cannot but 
 be worth our while carefully to examine wherein it consists, and so acquaint our- 
 selves with the nature of it, as to observe how the mind distinguishes it from 
 
 falsehood. 
 
 1“ What is truth? said jesting Pilate, and | on Truth, p.1.) The reader, it is probable, will 
 would not stay for an answer.” (Bacon’s Essays | in this place call to mind a passage of singular 
 
 \ 
 
CHAP. V.| TRUTH IN GENERAL. 
 
 413 
 
 2. A right joining or separating of Signs, i. e. Ideas or Words.—Truth, then, 
 seems to me, in the proper import of the word, to signify nothing but the joining 
 or separating of signs, as the things signified by them do agree or disagree one 
 with another. The joining or separating of signs here meant, is what by another 
 name we call, proposition. So that truth properly belongs only to propositions : 
 whereof there are two sorts, viz. mental and verbal; as there are two sorts of 
 signs commonly made use of, viz. ideas and words. 
 
 3. Which make mental or verbal Propositions.—To form a clear notion of 
 truth, it is very necessary to consider truth of thought, and truth of words, dis- 
 tinctly one from another; but yet it is very difficult to treat of them asunder. 
 Because it is unavoidable, in treating of mental propositions, to make use of 
 words; and then the instances given of mental propositions cease immediately to 
 be barely mental, and become verbal. For a mental proposition being nothing 
 but a bare consideration of the ideas, as they are in our minds, stripped of names, 
 ee lose the nature of purely mental propositions as soon as they are put into 
 words. 
 
 4. Mental Propositions are very hard to be treated of.—And that which 
 makes it yet harder to treat of mental and verbal propositions separately is, that 
 most men, if not all, in their thinking and reasonings within themselves, make 
 use of words instead of ideas: at least when the subject of their meditation con- 
 tains in it complex ideas. Which is a great evidence of the imperfection and 
 uncertainty of our ideas of that kind, and may if attentively made use of, serve for 
 a mark to show us what are those things we have clear and perfect established 
 ideas of, and what not. For if we will curiously observe the way our mind takes 
 in thinking and reasoning, we shall find, I suppose, that when we make any 
 propositions within our own thoughts about white or black, sweet or bitter, a 
 
 beauty and delicacy which occurs in Aristotle’s 
 Ethics, where, in a very few words, he draws a 
 striking parallel between the claims of friendship 
 and truth. Speaking of the supreme good, he 
 sayS:—To dé kaOddov, Béidtioy lowe éimtoKé- 
 Pacbai, cai diatophjoa mie EyeTat, KaiTEO 
 TpocadvTove Tig Towa’TNS yLvopévne Cyrin- 
 gewe, Oud TO pitovc ayvdpac éEicayaysiv Ta 
 elon. Adéere 0 Av towe Bédruov evvar, Kai Oety 
 émt owrnpia ye THC adnOEiac Kai Ta oiKEeia 
 avawsriv, a\Awe. TE Kai giocdgove dSvrac. 
 "Apooty yap évrow, pirolty Oovoy mpoTmav 
 THY adyGeay.”  (Kthic. ad Nichom. L. I. ce. 
 vi. § 1.) ‘‘It were perhaps best to consider 
 good universal, and examine how it is named; 
 although this question be painful to me, because 
 the doctrine of ideas was introduced by persons 
 whom I sincerely love. Nevertheless, for truth’s 
 sake, it will perhaps be judged the best course 
 for a philosopher to sacrifice even his own proper 
 opinions. For though friendship and truth be 
 both objects of love, I regard it as a sacred duty 
 to prefer the latter.’”’ Hence the old saying :— 
 “Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, sed majus amica 
 veritas. Victor’s remark upon this passage is wor- 
 thy of being preserved :—‘‘ Purgat antem se pri- 
 mum, quod necessitate se cogente, adversaturus 
 sit sententiz sui doctoris: unde vocat hanc ques- 
 tionem arduam, quia amici ipsius homines, auc- 
 tores fuerunt idearum: induxeruntque ipsas in 
 disputationem de summo bono: dignun vero se 
 ostendit esse, cui ignoscatur; ac fortasse etiam, 
 qui laudetur cum officio fungatur: a philoso- 
 pho enim veritas in primis amplexanda est, cete- 
 ris que rebus omnibus anteponenda, quare opor- 
 tet etiam suas proprias opiniones confutare, cum 
 cognitz postea sunt alicui vitio, aut errori affines ; 
 id quod memorie proditum est, fecisse Hippo- 
 
 cratem, qui non veritur est fateri, se in futura 
 humani capitis aliquando deceptum fuisse.’’ The 
 search after truth, in the opinion of Montaigne, 
 was so agreeable as to amount even to a luxury, 
 which the Stoics abandoned as blameable. “ TI] 
 ne faut pas trouver estrange, si gents desesperez 
 de la prinse n’ont pas laissé d’avoir plaisir a la 
 chasse, l’étude estant de soi une occupation plai- 
 sante, et si plaisante que parmi les voluptes, les 
 Stoiciens defendent aussi celle qui vient de l’exer- 
 citation del’esprit, y veulent de la bride, et trouvent 
 de intemperance a trop scavoir.”” (Essais, 1. XI. 
 c. xii. t. v. p. 46.) Lord Bacon observes, that some 
 persons love the lie for the lie’s sake; and Mon- 
 taigne confesses that something very similar had 
 always been reproached to his countrymen. “ Le 
 premier traiet de la corruption des meeurs, c’est 
 le bannissement de la Vérité: car comme disoit 
 Pindare, l’estre veritable, est le commencement 
 d’une grande vertu, et le premier article que 
 Platon demande au Gouverneurs de sa Respub- 
 lique. Nostre vérité de maintenant, ce n’est pas ce 
 qui est, mais ce quise persuade 4 autruy; comme 
 nous appellons monnoye non celle qui est loyalle 
 seulement, mais la fausse aussi, quia mise. Nostre 
 nation est de long temps reprochée de ce vice: 
 car Salvianus Massiliensis, (De Gubernat. Dei, 
 L. 1. ¢. xiv. p. 87. Edit. 3, Baluz.) qui estoit du 
 temps de l Kmpereur Valentinian, dit, qu’awx 
 Francoys le mentir et se parjurer n'est pas vice 
 mais une facon de parler. Qui voudroit encheris 
 
 sur ce tesmoignage, il pourroit dire qui ce leur 
 est a present vertu. On s’y forme, ons’y faconne, 
 comme a un exercise d’honneur: car la dissimu- 
 lation est des plus notables qualités de ce siecle.”’ 
 (L. II. c. xviii. t. vi. p. 128 et seq. On Contem- 
 plative Truth, see Hierocles. In Carm. Pythag. 
 pp. 219—276.) 
 
414 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 triangle or a circle, we can and often do frame in our minds the ideas themselves, 
 without reflecting on the names. But when we would consider, or make pro- 
 positions about the more complex ideas, as of a man, vitriol, fortitude, glory, we 
 usually put the name for the idea; because the ideas these names stand for, being 
 for the most part imperfect, confused, and undetermined, we reflect on the names 
 themselves, because they are more clear, certain, and distinct, and readier occur to 
 our thoughts than the pure ideas: and so we make use of these words instead of 
 the ideas themselves, even when we would meditate and reason within ourselves, 
 and make tacit mental propositions. In substances, as has been already noticed, 
 this is occasioned by the imperfection of our ideas; we making the name stand for 
 the real essence, of which we have no idea at all. In modes, it is occasioned by 
 the great number of simple ideas that go to the making them up. For many of 
 them being compounded, the name occurs much easier than the complex idea 
 itself, which requires time and attention to be recollected, and exactly represented 
 to the mind, even in those men who have formerly been at the pains to do it; and 
 is utterly impossible to be done by those who, though they have ready in their 
 memory the greatest part of the common words of that language, yet perhaps 
 never troubled themselves in all their lives to consider what precise ideas the most 
 of them stood for. Some confused or obscure notions have served their turns, 
 and many who talk very much of religion and conscience, of church and faith, of 
 power and right, of obstructions and humours, melancholy and choler, would 
 perhaps have little left in their thoughts and meditations, if one should desire 
 them to think only of the things themselves, and lay by those words with which 
 they so often confound others, and not seldom themselves also. _., 
 
 5. Being nothing but the joining or separating Ideas without Words.—But to 
 return to the consideration of truth: we must, I say, observe two sorts of proposi- 
 tions that we are capable of making. 
 
 First, mental, wherein the ideas in our understandings are without the use of 
 words put together, or separated by the mind, perceiving or judging of their 
 agreement or disagreement. 
 
 Secondly, Verbal propositions, which are words, the signs of our ideas, put toge- 
 ther or separated in affirmative or negative sentences. By which way of affirming 
 or denying, these signs, made by sounds, are, as it were, put together or separated 
 one from another. So that proposition consists in joming or separating signs, and 
 truth consists in the putting together or separating those signs, according as the 
 things which they stand for agree or disagree. 
 
 6. When mental Propositions contain real Truth, and when verbal.—Every 
 one’s experience will satisfy him, that the mind, either by perceiving or supposing 
 the agreement or disagreement of any of its ideas, does tacitly within itself put 
 them into a kind of proposition affirmative or negative, which I have endeavoured 
 to express by the terms putting together and separating. But this action of the 
 mind, which is so familiar to every thinking and reasoning man, is easier to be 
 conceived by reflecting on what passes in us when we affirm or deny, than to be 
 explained by words. When a man has in his head the idea of two lines, viz. the 
 side and diagonal of a square, whereof the diagonal is an inch long, he may have 
 the idea also of the division of that line into a certain number of equal parts; v. ¢. 
 into five, ten, a hundred, a thousand, or any other number, and may have the idea 
 of that inch line being divisible, or not divisible, into such equal parts, as a certain 
 number of them will be equal to the side-line. Now, whenever he perceives, 
 believes, or supposes such a kind of divisibility to agree or disagree to his idea of 
 that line, he, as it were, joins or separates those two ideas, viz. the idea of that 
 line, and the idea of that kind of divisibility; and so makes a mental pro- 
 position, which is true or false, according as such a kind of divisibility, a 
 divisibility into such aliquot parts, does really agree to that line or no. When 
 ideas are so put together, or separated in the mind, as they or the things they 
 stand for do agree or not, that is, as I may call it, mental truth. But truth of 
 
CHAP. V.| OF TRUTH IN GENERAL. A415 
 
 words is something more; and that is the affirming or denying of words one of 
 another, as the ideas they stand for agree or disagree: and this again is two-fold ; 
 either purely verbal and trifling, which I shall speak of, (chap. viii.) or real and 
 instructive, which is the object of that real knowledge which we have spoken of 
 already. 
 
 7. Objections against verbal Truth, that thus it may all be chimerical-—But 
 here again will be apt to occur the same doubt about truth, that did about know- 
 ledge: and it will be objected, that if truth be nothing but the joining and sepa- 
 rating of words in propositions, as the ideas they stand for agree or disagree in 
 men’s minds, the knowledge of truth is not so valuable a thing as it is taken to be, 
 nor worth the pains and time men employ in the search of it; since by this 
 account it amounts to no more than the conformity of words to the chimeras of 
 men’s brains. Who knows not what odd notions many men’s heads are filled 
 with, and what strange ideas all men’s brains are capable of? But if we rest 
 here, we know the truth of nothing by this rule, but of the visionary words in our 
 own imaginations; nor have other truth, but what as much concerns harpies and 
 centaurs, as men and horses. For those, and the like, may be ideas in our heads, 
 and have their agreement or disagreement there, as well as the ideas of real 
 beings, and so have as true propositions made about them. And it will be alto- 
 gether as true a proposition to say all centaurs are animals, as that all men are 
 animals ; and the certainty of one as great as the other. For in both the proposi- 
 tions, the words are put together according to the agreement of the ideas in our 
 minds: and the agreement of the idea of animal with that of centaur is as clear 
 and visible to the mind, as the agreement of the idea of animal with that of man; 
 and so these two propositions are equally true, equally certain. But of what use 
 is all such truth to us? 
 
 8. Answered, Real Truth is about Ideas agreeing to Things.—Though what 
 has been said in the foregoing chapter to distinguish real from imaginary know- 
 ledge, might suffice here, in answer to this doubt, to distinguish real truth from 
 chimerical, or (if you please) barely nominal, they depending both on the same 
 foundation; yet it may not be amiss here again to consider, that though our 
 words signify nothing but our ideas, yet being designed by them to signify things, 
 the truth they contain when put into propositions will be only verbal, when they 
 stand for ideas in the mind that have not an agreement with the reality of things. 
 And therefore truth as well as knowledge may well come under the distinction 
 of verbal and real; that being only verbal truth, wherein terms are joined accord- 
 ing to the agreement or disagreement of the ideas they stand for, without regarding 
 whether our ideas are such as really have, or are capable of having, an existence 
 in nature. But then it is they contain real truth, when these signs are joined, as 
 our ideas agree; and when our ideas are such as we know are capable of having 
 an existence in nature; which in substances we cannot know, but by knowing that 
 such have existed. 
 
 9. Falsehood is the joining of Names otherwise than their Ideas agree.— 
 Truth is the marking down in words the agreement or disagreement of ideas as 
 itis. Falsehood is the marking down in words the agreement or disagreement of 
 ideas otherwise than it is. And so far as these ideas, thus marked by sounds, 
 agree to their archetypes, so far only is the truth real. The knowledge of this 
 truth consists in knowing what ideas the words stand for, and the perception of 
 the agreement or disagreement of those ideas, according as it is marked by those 
 words. 
 
 10. General Propositions to be treated of more at large.—But because words 
 are looked on as the great conduits of truth and knowledge, and that in convey- 
 ing and receiving of truth, and commonly in reasoning about it, we make use of 
 words and propositions; I shall more at large inquire wherein the certainty of 
 real truths contained in propositions consists, and where it is to be had; and 
 endeavour to show in what sort of universal propositions we are capable of being, 
 certain of their real truth or falsehood. 
 
416 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 I shall begin with general propositions, as those which most employ our 
 thoughts, and exercise our contemplation. General truths are most looked after 
 by the mind as those that most enlarge our knowledge; and by their compre- 
 hensiveness satisfying us at once of many particulars, enlarge our view, and 
 shorten our way to knowledge. 
 
 11. Moral and Metaphysical Truth.—Besides truth taken in the strict sense 
 before mentioned, there are other sorts of truth; as, 1. Moral truth, which is 
 speaking of things according to the persuasion of our own minds, though the pro- 
 position we speak agree not to the reality of things. 2. Metaphysical truth, which 
 is nothing but the real existence of things, conformable to the ideas to which we 
 have annexed their names. ‘This, though it seems to consist in the very beings of 
 things, yet, when considered a little nearly, will appear to include a tacit proposi- 
 tion, whereby the mind joins that particular thing to the idea it had before settled 
 with a name to it. But these considerations of truth, either having been before 
 taken notice of, or not being much to our present purpose, it may suffice here only 
 to have mentioned them. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS, THEIR TRUTH AND CERTAINTY. 
 
 1. Treating of Words necessary to Knowledge.—Tuouau the examining. and 
 judging of ideas by themselves, their names being quite laid aside, be the best 
 and surest way to clear and distinct knowledge; yet, through the prevailing 
 custom of using sounds for ideas, I think it is very seldom practised. Every one 
 may observe how common it is for names to be made use of, instead of the ideas 
 themselves, even when men think and reason within their own breasts ; especially 
 if the ideas be very complex, and made up of a great collection of simple ones. 
 This makes the consideration of words and propositions so necessary a part of the 
 treatise of knowledge, that it is very hard to speak intelligibly of the one, without 
 explaining the other. 
 
 2. General Truths hardly to be understood, but in verbal Propositions.—All 
 the knowledge we have, being only of particular or general truths, itis evident that 
 whatever may be done in the former of these, the latter, which is that which with 
 reason is most sought after, can never be well made known, and is very seldom 
 apprehended, but as conceived and expressed in words. It is not, therefore, out 
 of our way in the examination of our knowledge, to inquire into the truth and 
 certainty of universal propositions. 
 
 3. Certainty twofold—of Truth and of Knowledge.—But that we may not 
 be misled in this case by that which is the danger everywhere, I mean by the 
 doubtfulness of terms, it is fit to observe that certainty is twofold: certainty of truth 
 and certainty of knowledge. Certainty of truth is, when words are so put together 
 in propositions as exactly to express the agreement or disagreement of the ideas 
 they stand for, as really it is. Certainty of knowledge is to perceive the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of ideas, as expressed in any proposition. This we usually 
 call knowing or being certain of the truth of any proposition. 
 
 4. No Proposition can be known to be true, where the Essence of each Species 
 mentioned is not known.—Now, because we cannot be certain of the truth of any 
 general proposition, unless we know the precise bounds and extent of the species 
 its terms stand for, it is necessary we should know the essence of each species, 
 which is that which constitutes and bounds it. This, in all simple ideas and 
 modes, is not hard to do. For in these the real and nominal essence being the 
 
CHAP. VI. | UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS. A417 
 
 same, or, which is all one, the abstract idea which the general term stands for 
 being the sole essence and boundary that is or can be supposed of the species, 
 there can be no doubt how far the species extends, or what things are compre- 
 hended under each term; which, it is evident, are all that have an exact confor- 
 mity with the idea it stands for, and no other. But in substances wherein a real 
 essence distinct from the nominal is supposed to constitute, determine, and bound 
 the species, the extent of the general word is very uncertain ; because, not know- 
 ing this real essence, we cannot know what is or what is not of that species; and, 
 consequently, what may or may not with certainty be affirmed of it. And thus, 
 speaking of a man, or gold, or any other species of natural substances, as supposed 
 constituted by a precise and real essence which nature regularly imparts to every 
 individual of that kind, whereby it is made to be of that species, we cannot be cer- 
 tain of the truth of any affirmation or negation made of it. For man or gold, 
 taken in this sense, and used for species of things constituted by real essences, 
 different from the complex idea in the mind of the speaker, stand for we know not 
 what; and the extent of these species, with such boundaries, are so unknown and 
 undetermined, that it is impossible with any certainty to affirm, that all men are 
 rational, or that all gold is yellow. But where the nominal essence is kept to, as 
 the boundary of each species, and men extend the application of any general term 
 no further than to the particular things in which the complex idea it stands for is 
 to be found, there they are in no danger to mistake the bounds of each species, 
 nor can be in doubt, on this account, whether any proposition be true or not. I 
 have chosen to explain this uncertainty of propositions in this scholastic way, and 
 have made use of the terms of essences and species, on purpose to show the absur- 
 dity and inconvenience there is to think of them as of any other sort of realities, 
 than barely abstract ideas with names to them. To suppose that the species of 
 things are anything but the sorting of them under general names, according as 
 they agree to several abstract ideas, of which we make those names the signs, is to 
 confound truth, and introduce uncertainty into all general propositions that can be 
 made about them. Though therefore these things might, to people not possessed 
 with scholastic learning, be treated of in a better and clearer way; yet those wrong 
 notions of essences or species having got root in most people's minds who have 
 received any tincture from the learning which has prevailed in this part of the 
 world, are to be discovered and removed, to make way for that use of words which 
 should convey certainty with it. | 
 
 5. This more particularly concerns Substances. —The names of substances, 
 then, whenever made to stand for species which are supposed to be constituted by 
 real essences which we know not, are not capable to convey certainty to the un- 
 derstanding: of the truth of general propositions made up of such terms we can- 
 not be sure. The reason whereof is plain: for how can we be sure that this or 
 that quality is in gold, when we know not what is or is not gold? Since in this 
 way of speaking, nothing is gold but what partakes of an essence, which we not 
 knowing, cannot know where it is or is not, and so cannot be sure that any parcel 
 of matter in the world is or is not in this sense gold; being incurably ignorant 
 whether it has or has not that which makes anything to be called gold; i. e. that 
 real essence of gold whereof we have no idea at all: this being as impossible for 
 us to know as it is for a blind man to tell in what flower the colour of a pansy 
 is or is not to be found, whilst he has no idea of the colour of a pansy at all. Or 
 if we could (which is impossible) certainly know where a real essence, which we 
 know not, is; v.g. in what parcels of matter the real essence of gold is; yet 
 could we not be sure that this or that quality could with truth be affirmed of gold: 
 since it is impossible for us to know that this or that quality or idea has a neces- 
 sary connexion with a real essence of which we have no idea at all, whatever spe- 
 cies that supposed real essence may be imagined to constitute. 
 
 6. The Truth of few universal Propositions concerning Substances is to be 
 known,—On the other side, the names of substances, when made use of és 
 
418 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Iv. 
 
 they should be, for the ideas men have in their minds, though they carry a clear 
 and determinate signification with them, will not yet serve us to make many uni- 
 versal propositions, of whose truth we can be certain. Not because in this use of 
 them we are uncertain what things are signified by them, but because the com- 
 plex ideas they stand for are such combinations of simple ones as carry not with 
 them any discoverable connexion or repugnancy, but with a very few other ideas. 
 
 7. Because Co-existence of Ideas in few Cases is to be known.—The complex 
 ideas that our names of the species of substances properly stand for, are collections 
 of such qualities as have been observed to co-exist in an unknown substratum, 
 which we call substance: but what other qualities necessarily co-exist with such 
 combinations, we cannot certainly know, unless we can discover their natural de- 
 pendence; which, in their primary qualities, we can go but a very little way in ; 
 and in all their secondary qualities we can discover no connexion at all, for the 
 reasons mentioned, chap. iii. viz. 1. Because we know not the real constitutions of 
 substances, on which each secondary quality particularly depends. 2. Did we know 
 that it would serve us only for experimental (not universal) knowledge; and reach 
 with certainty no further than that bare instance: because our understandings can 
 discover no conceivable connexion between any secondary quality and any modifi- 
 cation whatsoever of any of the primary ones. And therefore there are very 
 few general propositions to be made concerning substances, which can carry with 
 them undoubted certainty. 
 
 8. Instance in Gold.—All gold is fixed, is a proposition whose truth we cannot. 
 be certain of, how universally soever it be believed. For if, according to the useless 
 imagination of the schools, any one supposes the term gold to stand for a species of 
 things set out by nature, by a real essence belonging to it, it is evident he knows 
 not what particular substances are of that species; and so cannot with cer- 
 tainty affirm anything universally of gold. But if he makes gold stand for a 
 species determined by its nominal essence, let the nominal essence, for example, 
 be the complex idea of a body of a certain yellow colour, malleable, fusible, and 
 heavier than any other known; in this proper use of the word gold there is no 
 difficulty to know what is or is not gold. But yet no other quality can with cer- 
 tainty be universally affirmed or denied of gold, but what hath a discoverable con- — 
 nexion or inconsistency with that nominal essence. Fixedness, for example, having 
 no necessary connexion, that we can discover, with the colour, weight, or any other 
 simple idea of our complex one, or with the whole combination together ; it is 
 pre ey that we should certainly know the truth of this proposition, that all gold 
 is fixed. 
 
 9. As there is no discoverable connexion between fixedness and the colour, 
 weight, and other simple ideas of that nominal essence of gold; so if we make our 
 complex idea of gold a body yellow, fusible, ductile, weighty, and fixed, we shall 
 be at the same uncertainty concerning solubility in aq. regia, and for the same rea- 
 son: since we can never, from consideration of the ideas themselves, with certainty 
 affirm or deny of a body whose complex idea is made up of yellow, very weighty, 
 ductile, fusible, and fixed, that it is soluble in aq. regia; and so on of the rest of 
 its qualities. I would gladly meet with one general affirmation concerning any 
 quality of gold, that any one can certainly know is true. It will, no doubt, be 
 presently objected, Is not this an universal proposition, “all gold is not malleable?” 
 To which I answer, it is a very certain proposition, if malleableness be a part of 
 the complex idea the word gold stands for. But then here is nothing affirmed of 
 gold, but that that sound stands for an idea in which malleableness is contained : and 
 such a sort of truth and certainty as this, it is to say a centaur is four-footed. But 
 if malleableness make not a part of the specific essence the name of gold stands 
 for, it is plain, “all gold is malleable,” is not a certain proposition. Because, let 
 the complex idea of gold be made up of whichsoever of its other qualities you 
 please, malleableness will not appear to depend on that complex idea, nor follow 
 from any simple one contained in it: the connexion that malleableness has Gf it 
 
CHAP. VI.] UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS. 419 
 
 has any) with those other qualities being only by the intervention of the real con- 
 stitution of its insensible parts; which, since we know not, it is impossible we 
 should perceive that connexion, unless we could discover that which ties them to- 
 gether. ~ | 
 
 10. As far as any such Co-existence can be known, so far universal Proposi- 
 tions may be certain.—But this will go but a little Way, because—The more, in- 
 deed, of these co-existing qualities we unite into one complex idea under one name, 
 the more precise and determinate we make the signification of that word; but 
 never yet make it thereby more capable of universal certainty, in respect of other 
 qualities not contained in our complex idea ; since we perceive not their connexion 
 or dependence on one another, being ignorant both of that real constitution in which 
 they are all founded, and also how they flow from it. For the chief part of our 
 knowledge concerning substances is not, as in other things, barely of the relation of 
 two ideas that may exist separately ; but is of the necessary connexion and co- 
 existence of several distinct ideas in the same subject, or of their repugnancy so 
 to co-exist. Could we begin at the other end, and discover what it was wherein 
 that colour consisted, what made a body lighter or heavier, what texture of parts 
 made it malleable, fusible, and fixed, and fit to be dissolved in this sort of liquor, 
 and not in another—if, I say, we had such an idea as this of bodies, and could 
 perceive wherein all sensible qualities originally consist, and how they are produced; 
 we might frame such ideas of them as would furnish us with matter of more gene- 
 ral knowledge, and enable us to make universal propositions that should carry 
 general truth and certainty with them. But whilst our complex ideas of the sorts 
 of substances are so remote from that internal real constitution on which their sen- 
 sible qualities depend, and are made up of nothing but an imperfect collection of 
 those apparent qualities our senses can discover, there can be few general proposi- 
 tions concerning substances of whose real truth we can be certainly assured: since 
 there are but few simple ideas of whose connexion and necessary co-existence we 
 can have certain and undoubted knowledge. I imagine, amongst all the secondary 
 qualities of substances, and the powers relating to them, there cannot any two be 
 named whose necessary co-existence or repugnance to co-exist can certainly be 
 known, unless in those of the same sense, which necessarily exclude one another, 
 as I have elsewhere showed. No one, I think, by the colour that is in any body, 
 can certainly know what smell, taste, sound, or tangible qualities it has, nor what 
 alterations it is capable to make or receive on or from other bodies. The same 
 may be said of the sound or taste, &c. Our specific names of substances standing 
 for any collections of such ideas, it is not to be wondered that we can with them 
 make very few general propositions of undoubted real certainty. But yet so far 
 as any complex idea of any sort of substances contains in it any simple idea, whose 
 necessary co-existence with any other may be discovered, so far universal proposi- 
 tions may with certainty be made concerning it: v. g. could any one discover a 
 necessary connexion between malleableness and the colour or weight of gold, or 
 any other part of the complex idea signified by that name, he might make a cer- 
 tain universal proposition concerning gold in this respect; and the real truth of 
 _ this proposition, “ that all gold is malleable,” would be as certain as of this, “ the 
 three angles of all right-lined triangles are all equal to two right ones.” 
 
 ll. The Qualities which make our complex Ideas of Substances depend mostly 
 on external, remote, and unperceived Causes.—Had we such ideas of sub- 
 stances as to lenow what real constitutions produce those sensible qualities we find 
 in them, and how those qualities flowed from thence, we could, by the specific 
 ideas of their real essences in our own minds, more certainly find out their pro- 
 perties, and discover what qualities they had or had not, than we can now by our 
 senses: and to know the properties of gold, it would be no more necessary that 
 gold should exist, and that we should make experiments upon it, than it is 
 necessary for the knowing the properties of a triangle, that a triangle should 
 exist in any matter, the idea in our minds would serve for the one as well 
 
 EE2 
 
420 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 as the other. But we are so far from being admitted into the secrets of nature, 
 that we scarce so much as ever approach the first entrance towards them. For 
 we are wont to consider the substances we meet with, each of them as an entire 
 thing by itself, having all its qualities in itself, and independent of other things ; 
 overlooking, for the most part, the operations of those invisible fluids they are 
 encompassed with, and upon whose motions and operations depend the greatest 
 part of those qualities which are taken notice of in them, and are made by us the 
 inherent marks of distinction whereby we know and denominate them. Put a 
 piece of gold anywhere by itself, separate from the reach and influence of all 
 other bodies, it will immediately lose all its colour and weight, and perhaps malle- 
 ableness too; which, for aught I know, would be changed into a perfect friability. 
 Water, in which to us fluidity is an essential quality, left to itself, would cease to 
 be fluid. But if animate bodies owe so much of their present state to other bo- 
 dies without them, that they would not be what they appear to us, were those bodies 
 that environ them removed ; it is yet more so in vegetables which are nourished, 
 grow, and produce leaves, flowers, and seeds, in a constant succession. And if we 
 look a little nearer into the state of animals, we shall find that their dependence, as 
 to life, motion, and the most considerable qualities to be observed in them, is so 
 wholly on extrinsical causes and qualities of other bodies that make no part of them, 
 that they cannot subsist a moment without them: though yet those bodies on which 
 they depend are little taken notice of, and make no part of the complex ideas we 
 frame of those animals. Take the air but for a minute from the greatest part of 
 living creatures, and they presently lose sense, life, and motion. This the necessity 
 of breathing has forced into our knowledge. But how many other extrinsical and 
 possibly very remote bodies do the springs of these admirable machines depend 
 on, which are not vulgarly observed, or so much as thought on; and how many 
 are there which the severest inquiry can never discover? The inhabitants of this 
 spot of the universe, though removed so many millions of miles from the sun, yet 
 depend so much on the duly tempered motion of particles coming from or agitated 
 by it, that were this earth removed but a small part of the distance out of its pre- 
 sent situation, and placed a little further or nearer that source of heat, it 1s more 
 than probable that the greatest part of the animals in it would immediately perish: » 
 since we find them so often destroyed by an excess or defect of the sun’s warmth, 
 which an accidental position in some parts of this our little globe exposes them to. 
 The qualities observed in a loadstone must needs have their source far beyond the 
 confines of that body; and the ravage made often on several sorts of animals by 
 invisible causes, the certain death (as we are told) of some of them, by barely 
 passing the line, or, as it is certain of other, by being removed into a neighbouring 
 country ;' evidently show that the concurrence and operations of several bodies, 
 
 1Other animals, though not destroyed, lose 
 many of their distinguishing properties. Thus, 
 the scorpion, whose poison is fatal under the line, 
 becomes less and less noxious as the race is pro- 
 pagated northward, until in Provence it is no 
 longer greatly to be dreaded. Again: the shawl- 
 goats of Thibet, transported to Northern India 
 or Persia, lose their fine silky hair, and become 
 covered with a rough shaggy coat, nearly re- 
 sembling that of other animals of the same spe- 
 cies. In Spain, too, the finest wool is produced 
 by the sheep of the Mesta, which wander over 
 nearly half the kingdom, from the plains of Es- 
 tremadura to the mountains of Castile and Leon. 
 Confined to any particular district, saving one 
 small tract in the environs of Segovia, they dege- 
 nerate, and produce a wool of coarser texture. 
 Trees and plants also are visibly modified by 
 climate: thus, such as are evergreens in Up- 
 
 ee ee ee OREN Le ee ee Oo DSS RE ee Btn SA tee 
 
 per Egypt, transplanted to the north, become 
 dessiduous; and trees and shrubs which in our 
 northern hemisphere flower in June, being con- 
 veyed south of the line, for the next few years 
 make an attempt to flower at the same season, 
 which happening to be midwinter in those re- 
 gions, they gradually desist from their old habits, 
 and learn to submit to the laws of the place. 
 This fact was observed by Monsieur Barthelemy 
 St. Hilaire, in his travels in Brazil, where, if I 
 recollect rightly, it is regarded as a fact of recent 
 discovery, though in truth it had been long ago 
 noticed by Lord Bacon, who says: ‘ Plants 
 brovght out of hot countries will endeavour to 
 put forth at the same time that they usually do 
 in their own climate; and therefore, to preserve 
 them, there is no more required, than to keep 
 them from the injury of putting back by cold.” 
 (Sylva Sylvarum, art. vi. no. 574.) Andrew 
 
CHAP. VI.] UNIVERSAL PROPOSITIONS. 42] 
 
 with which they are seldom thought to have anything to do, is absolutely necessary 
 to make them be what they appear to us, and to preserve those qualities by which 
 we know and distinguish them. We are then quite out of the way, when we think 
 that things contain within themselves the qualities that appear to us in them; and 
 we in vain search for that constitution within the body of a fly or an elephant, 
 upon which depend those qualities and powers we observe in them. For which 
 perhaps, to understand them aright, we ought to look not only beyond this our 
 earth and atmosphere, but even beyond the sun or remotest stars our eyes have 
 yet discovered. For how much the being and operation of particular substances 
 in this our globe depends on causes utterly beyond our view, is impossible for us 
 to determine. We see and perceive some of the motions and grosser operations of 
 things here about us; but whence the streams come that keep all these curious 
 machines in motion and repair, how conveyed and modified, is beyond our notice 
 and apprehension: and the great parts and wheels, as I may so say, of this stu- 
 pendous structure of the universe, may, for aught we know, have such a connexion 
 and dependence in their influences and operations one upon another, that perhaps 
 things in this our mansion would put on quite another face, and cease to be what 
 they are, if some one of the stars or great bodies incompreheasibly remote from us, 
 should cease to be or move as it does. This is certain: things, however absolute 
 and entire they seem in themselves, are but retainers to other parts of nature, for 
 that which they are most taken notice of by us. Their observable qualities, actions, 
 and powers are owing to something without them; and there is not so complete 
 and perfect a part that we know of nature, which does not owe the being it has, 
 and the excellences of it, to its neighbours; and we must not confine our thoughts 
 within the surface of any body, but look a great deal further, to comprehend per- 
 fectly those qualities that are in it. 
 
 12. If this be so, it is not to be wondered that we have very imperfect ideas of 
 substances, and that the real essences, on which depend their properties and oper- 
 ations, are unknown to us. We cannot discover so much as that size, figure, 
 and texture of their minute and active parts, which is really in them; much less 
 the different motions and impulses made in and upon them by bodies from without, 
 upon which depends, and by which is formed the greatest and most remarkable 
 part of those qualities we observe in them, and of which our complex ideas of 
 them are made up. This consideration alone is enough to put an end to all our 
 hopes of ever having the ideas of their real essences; which whilst we want, the 
 nominal essences we make use of instead of them, will be able to furnish us but 
 
 Baccius, in his very curious and learned work, De 
 Thermis, makes, on occult qualities, a remark 
 very much in the spirit of Locke. ‘‘ Dubium non 
 est, quod quorumcunque effectuum, etiam singu- 
 larium, preter communes, et medias caussas, 
 sunt sue vere, et proprie cause: he verd quo- 
 niam plerumque nobis note non sunt, utpote 
 remot# a sensibus (ubi enim nos deficit sensus, 
 deficit et judicium) hine est quod singulares ac 
 mirabiles appelluntur effectus, eventusque na- 
 ture: nimirulm quia ignoramus caussam quam 
 nos percipimus sensu.” (1. VI. c. xxiii. p. 341.) 
 He then proceeds to give examples of strange 
 and seemingly miraculous qualities in the water 
 of various fountains, springs, and lakes; such as 
 he fountain-tree, in the Fortunate Islands ; 
 (See also Voy. de la Compagnie des Indes;) 
 the lake in the mountains of Portugal which 
 ebbs and flows simultaneously with the sea; a 
 fountain in the same country, which absorbs 
 whatever is thrown into it, even living creatures ; 
 a lake on the confines of Austria and Hungary, 
 which, hiding itself in certain caverns during 
 
 summer, leaves its bed a beautiful green valley, 
 but, rushing forth in the autumn, fills up the 
 hollows, and abounds with fish—he likewise cele- 
 brates fountains tinctured with milk and wine; but 
 the most remarkable, perhaps, is that lake de- 
 scribed by Cassiodorus, (Hpist. 1. viii.) in Calabria. 
 “Cum in corone speciem frequenti circum ha- 
 rundineto cingatur, ac placidus maneat, ut ne 
 moveri quidem, videatur ; alioqui miranda res, ut 
 adventante homine, quasi amore hominis perci- 
 tus antique illius Arethuse instar, vel sibilo, 
 vel voce edita, et quasi jussus excitatis sponte a 
 quis fervere incipiat, ac subcense olle instar fra- 
 gorem mittat. Unde stupescas cum silenti ho- 
 mini sileat, ad sonitum verd vocis a somno exci- 
 tatus, et quasi respondens vocanti, ad sermonem 
 hominis immurmeret: hee scribit. In caussis 
 quero, an eundem hic fons referat sonitum cx- 
 teris animantibus, ut latratum canis, hinnitum 
 equi? nam sic esset in aquis illis eadem que in 
 echo caussa, an potius credam hinc veterem Mide 
 representari fabulam ?”’ (Baccius, 1. VI. ¢. xxiii. 
 p. 344.) 
 
422 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 ad 
 
 very sparingly with any general knowledge or universal propositions capable of 
 real certainty. 
 
 13. Judgment may reach further, but that is not Knowledge.—We are not 
 therefore to wonder, if certainty be found in very few general propositions made 
 concerning substances: our knowledge of their qualities and properties goes very 
 seldom further than our senses reach and inform us. Possibly inquisitive and 
 observing men may, by strength of judgment, penetrate further, and, on probabili- 
 ties taken from wary observation, and hints well laid together, often guess right 
 at what experience has not yet discovered to them. But this is but guessing still; 
 it amounts only to opinion, and has not that certainty which is requisite to know- 
 ledge. For all general knowledge lies only in our own thoughts, and consists 
 barely in the contemplation of our own abstract ideas. Wherever we perceive any 
 agreement or disagreement amongst them, there we have general knowledge; and 
 by putting the names of those ideas together accordingly in propositions, can with 
 certainty pronounce general truths. But because the abstract ideas of substances, 
 for which their specific names stand, whenever they have any distinct and deter- 
 minate signification, have a discoverable connexion or inconsistency with but a 
 very few other ideas, the certainty of universal propositions concerning substances 
 is very narrow and scanty in that part, which is our principal inquiry concerning 
 them ; and there are scarce any of the names of substances, let the idea it is applied 
 to be what it will, of which we can generally and with certainty pronounce that it 
 has or has not this or that other quality belonging to it, and constantly co-existing 
 or inconsistent with that idea, wherever it is to be found. | 
 
 14. What is requisite for our Knowledge of Substances.—Before we can have 
 any tolerable knowledge of this kind, we must first know what changes the pri- 
 mary qualities of one body do regularly produce in the primary qualities of an- 
 other, and how. Secondly, We must know what primary qualities of any body 
 produce certain sensations or ideas in us. This is in truth no less than to know 
 all the effects of matter, under its divers modifications of bulk, figure, cohesion of 
 parts, motion and rest ; which I think every body will allow, is utterly impossible 
 to be known by us without revelation. Nor if it were revealed to us what sort of 
 figure, bulk, and motion of corpuscles would produce in us the sensation of a yellow 
 colour, and what sort of figure, bulk, and texture of parts in the superfices of any 
 body were fit to give such corpuscles their due motion to produce that colour ; 
 would that be enough to make universal propositions with certainty, concerning 
 the several sorts of them, unless we had faculties acute enough to perceive the 
 precise bulk, figure, texture, and motion of bodies in those minute parts, by which 
 they operate on our senses, so that we might by those frame our abstract ideas of 
 them. I have mentioned here only corporeal substances, whose operations seem 
 to lie more level to our understandings: for as to the operations of spirits, both 
 their thinking and moving of bodies, we at first sight find ourselves at a loss ; 
 though perhaps, when we have applied our thoughts a little nearer to the consider- 
 ation of bodies and their operations, and examined how far our notions, even in 
 these, reach with any clearness beyond sensible matter of fact, we shall be bound 
 to confess that, even in these too, our discoveries amount to very little beyond per- 
 fect ignorance and incapacity. 
 
 15. Whilst our Ideas of Substances contain not their real Constitutions, we 
 can make but few general certain Propositions concerning them.—This is evident, 
 the abstract complex ideas of substances, for which their general names stand, not 
 comprehending their real constitutions, can afford us very little universal certainty. 
 Because our ideas of them are not made up of that on which those qualities we ob- 
 serve in them, and would inform ourselves about, do depend, or with which they 
 have any certain connexion: v.g. let the ideas to which we give the name man 
 be, as it commonly is, a body of the ordinary shape, with sense, voluntary motion, 
 and reason joined to it. This being the abstract idea, and consequently the es- 
 sence of our species, man, we can make but very few general certain propositions 
 
CHAP. VII. ] OF MAXIMS. 423 
 
 concerning man, standing for such an idea. Because not knowing the real con- 
 stitution on which sensation, power of motion} and reasoning, with that peculiar 
 shape depend, and whereby they are united together in the same subject, there are 
 very few other qualities with which we can perceive them to have a necessary 
 connexion: and therefore we cannot with certainty affirm that all men sleep by 
 intervals, that no man can be nourished by wood or stones, that all men will be 
 poisoned by hemlock, because these ideas have no connexion nor repugnancy with 
 this our nominal essence of man, with this abstract idea that name stands for ; 
 we must, in these and the like, appeal to trial in particular subjects, which can 
 reach but a little way. We must content ourselves with probability in the rest ; 
 but can have no general certainty, whilst our specific idea of man contains not that 
 real constitution which is the root wherein all his inseparable qualities are united, 
 and from whence they flow. Whilst our idea the word man stands for is only an 
 impertect collection of some sensible qualities and powers in him, there is no dis- 
 cernible connexion or repugnance between our specific idea, and the operation of 
 either the parts of hemlock or stones upon his constitution. There are animals 
 that safely eat hemlock, and others that are nourished by wood and stones: but as 
 long as we want ideas of those real constitutions of different sorts of animals 
 wherein these and the like qualities and powers depend, we must not hope to reach 
 certainty in universal propositions concerning them. Those few ideas only which 
 have a discernible connexion with our nominal essence, or any part of it, can 
 afford us such propositions. But these are so few, and of so little moment, that 
 we cit justly look on our certain general knowledge of substances as almost none 
 at all. 
 
 16. Wherein lies the general Certainty of Propositions.—To conclude: general 
 propositions, of what kind soever, are then only capable of certainty, when the 
 terms used in them stand for such ideas, whose agreement or disagreement, as there 
 expressed is capable to be discovered by us. And we are then certain of their truth 
 or falsehood, when we perceive the ideas the terms stand for to agree or not agree, 
 according as they are affirmed or denied one of another. Whence we may take 
 notice, that general certainty is never to be found but in our ideas. Whenever 
 we go to seek it elsewhere, in experiment or observations without us, our know- 
 ledge goes not beyond particulars. It is the contemplation of our own abstract 
 ideas that alone is able to afford us general knowledge. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF MAXIMS. 
 
 1. They are self-evident.—TuERE are a sort of propositions, which, under the 
 name of maxims and axioms, have passed for principles of science; and because 
 they are self-evident, have been supposed innate, although nobody (that I know) 
 ever went about to show the reason and foundation of their clearness or cogency. 
 It may, however, be worth while to inquire into the reason of their evidence, and 
 see whether it be peculiar to them alone, and also examine how far they influence 
 and govern our other knowledge. 
 
 2. Wherein that Self-evidence consists.—Knowledge, as _has been shown, con- 
 sists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas ; now, where that 
 agreement or disagreement is perceived immediately by itself, without the inter- 
 vention or help of any other, there our knowledge is self-evident. This will 
 
424 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 appear to be so to any one who will but consider any of those propositions, 
 which, without any proof, he assents to at first sight; for in all of them he will find 
 that the reason of his assent is from that agreement or disagreement which 
 the mind, by an immediate comparing them, finds in those ideas answering the 
 affirmation or negation in the proposition. 
 
 3. Self-evidence not peculiar to received Axioms.—This being so, in the next 
 place, let us consider whether this self-evidence be peculiar only to those proposi- 
 tions which commonly pass under the name of maxims, and have the dignity of 
 axioms allowed them. And here it is plain, that several other truths not allowed 
 to be axioms, partake equally with them in this self-evidence. This we shall see, 
 if we go over these several sorts of agreement or disagreement of ideas which I 
 have above mentioned, viz. identity, relation, co-existence, and real existence; 
 which will discover to us, that not only those few propositions which have had 
 the credit of maxims are self-evident, but a great many, even almost an infinite 
 number of other propositions are such. 
 
 4, I. As to Identity and Diversity, all Propositions are equally self-evident. 
 —For, First, The immediate perception of the agreement or disagreement of 
 identity being founded in the mind’s having distinct ideas, this affords us as 
 many self-evident propositions as we have distinct ideas. Every one that has 
 any knowledge at all, has, as the foundation of it, various and distinct ideas: and 
 it is the first act of the mind (without which it can never be capable of any know- 
 ledge) to know every one of its ideas by itself, and distinguish it from others. 
 Every one finds in himself, that he knows the ideas he has; that he knows also, © 
 when any one is in his understanding, and what it is; and that when more than 
 one are there, he knows them distinctly and unconfusedly one.from another : 
 which always being so, (it being impossible but that he should perceive what he 
 perceives, ) he can never be in doubt when any idea is in his mind, that it is there, 
 and is that idea it is; and that two distinct ideas, when they are in his mind, are 
 there, and are not one and the same idea. So that all such affirmations and nega- 
 tions are made without any possibility of doubt, uncertainty, or hesitation, and 
 must necessarily be assented to as soon as understood; that is, as soon as we have 
 in our minds determined ideas, which the terms in the proposition stand for. 
 And, therefore, whenever the mind with attention considers any proposition, so as to 
 perceive the two ideas signified by the terms, and affirmed or denied one of 
 another to be the same or different; it is presently and infallibly certain of the 
 truth of such a proposition, and this equally whether these propositions be in 
 terms standing for more general ideas, or such as are less so; v. g. whether the 
 general idea of being be afirmed of itself, as in this proposition, whatsoever is, is ; 
 or a more particular idea be affirmed of itself, as a man is a man; or, whatsoever is 
 white is white; or whether the idea of being in general be denied of not being, 
 which is the only (if 1 may so call it) idea different from it, as in this other pro- 
 position, it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be; or any idea of 
 any particular bemg be denied of another different from it, as a man is not a 
 horse; red is not blue. The difference of the ideas, as soon as the terms are 
 — understood, makes the truth of the proposition presently visible, and that with an 
 equal certainty and easiness in the less as well as the more general propositions, 
 and all for the same reason, viz. because the mind perceives, in any ideas that it 
 has, the same idea to be the same with itself; and two different ideas to be dif- 
 ferent, and not the same; and this it is equally certain of, whether these ideas be 
 more or less general, abstract, and comprehensive. It is not, therefore, alone to 
 these two general propositions, whatsoever is, is; and it is impossible for the 
 same thing to be and not to be; that this sort of self-evidence belongs by any 
 peculiar right. The perception of being or not being belongs no more to these 
 vague ideas, signified by the terms whatsoever and thing, than it does to any 
 other ideas. These two general maxims, amounting to no more, in short, but 
 this, that the same is the same, and same is not different, are truths known in 
 
CHAP. VII.] OF MAXIMS. 425 
 
 more particular instances, as well as in those general maxims, and known also in 
 particular instances, before these general maxims are ever thought on, and draw 
 all their force from the discernment of the mind employed about particular ideas. 
 There is nothing more visible than that the mind, without the help of any proof, 
 or reflection on either of these general propositions, perceives so clearly, and 
 knows so certainly, that the idea of white is the idea of white, and not the idea of 
 blue; and that the idea of white, when it is in the mind, is there, and is not 
 absent; that the consideration of these axioms can add nothing to the evidence 
 or certainty of its knowledge. Just so it is (as every one may experiment in 
 himself) in all the ideas a man has in his mind: he knows each to be itself, and 
 not to be another; and to be in his mind, and not away when it is there, with a 
 certainty that cannot be greater; and, therefore, the truth of no general proposi- 
 tion can be known with a greater certainty, nor add anything to this. So that, in 
 respect of identity, our intuitive knowledge reaches as far as our ideas; and we 
 are capable of making as many self-evident propositions, as we have names for 
 distinct ideas. And I appeal to every one’s own mind, whether this proposition, 
 a circle is a circle, be not as self-evident a proposition as that consisting of more 
 general terms, whatsoever is, is; and again, whether this proposition, blue is not 
 red, be not a proposition that the mind can no more doubt of, as soon as it under- 
 stands the words, than it does of that axiom, It is impossible for the same thing 
 to be and not to be; and so of all the like. 
 
 d. II. In Co-existence we have few self-evident Propositions. —Secondly, as to 
 co-existence, or such necessary connexion between two ideas, that, in the subject 
 where one of them is supposed, there the other must necessarily be also: of such 
 agreement or disagreement as this, the mind has an immediate perception but in 
 very few of them. And, therefore, in this sort we have but very little intuitive 
 knowledge; nor are there to be found very many propositions that are self- 
 evident, though some there are; v. g. the idea of filling a place equal to the con- 
 tents of its superfices, being annexed to our idea of body, I think it is a self- 
 evident proposition, that two bodies cannot be in the same place. 
 
 6. III. In other Relations we may have.—Thirdly, As to the relations of 
 modes, mathematicians have framed many axioms concerning that one relation of 
 equality. As, equals taken from equals, the remainder will be equal; which, 
 with the rest of that kind, however they are received for maxims by the mathe- 
 maticians, and are unquestionable truths; yet, I think, that any one who con- 
 siders them will not find that they have a clearer self-evidence than these, that 
 one and one are equal to two; that if you take from the five fingers of one hand 
 two, and from the five fingers of the other hand two, the remaining numbers will 
 be equal. These and a thousand other such propositions may be found in 
 numbers, which, at the very first hearing, force the assent, and carry with them 
 an equal, if not greater clearness, than those mathematical axioms. 
 
 . LV. Concerning real Existence, we have none.—Fourthly, as to real exist- 
 ence, since that has no connexion with any other of our ideas, but that of our- 
 selves, and of a first being, we have in that, concerning the real existence of all 
 other beings, not so much as demonstrative, much less a self-evident knowledge ; 
 and, therefore, concerning those there are no maxims. 
 
 8. These Axioms do not much Influence our other Knowledge.—In the next 
 place, let us consider what influence these received maxims have upon the other 
 parts of our knowledge. The rules established in the schools, that all reasonings 
 are ‘ Ex pracognitis et preeconcessis,” seem to lay the foundation of all other 
 knowledge in these maxims, and to suppose them to be precognita ; whereby, I 
 think, are meant these two things: first, that these axioms are those truths that 
 are first known to the mind. And, secondly, that upon them the other parts of 
 our knowledge depend. | 
 
 9. Because they are not the Truths we first knew.—First, That they are not 
 the truths first known to the mind is evident to experience, as we have shown in 
 
OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 426 [BOOK Iv. 
 
 another place (Book I. chap. ii.). Who perceives not that a child certainly 
 knows that a stranger is not its mother; that its sucking-bottle is not the rod, 
 long before he knows that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be? 
 And how many truths are there about numbers, which it is obvious to observe, 
 that the mind is perfectly acquainted with, and fully convinced of, before it ever 
 thought on these general maxims, to which mathematicians, in their arguings, do 
 sometimes refer them? Whereof the reason is very plain: for that which makes 
 the mind assent to such propositions, being nothing else but the perception it has 
 of the agreement or disagreement of its ideas, according as it finds them affirmed or 
 denied one of another, in words it understands; and every idea being known to be what 
 it is, and every two distinct ideas being known not to be the same; it must necessarily 
 follow, that such self-evident truths must be first known which consist of ideas 
 that are first in the mind: and the ideas first in the mind, it is evident, are those 
 of particular things, from whence, by slow degrees, the understanding proceeds to 
 some few general ones; wnich being taken from the ordinary and familiar objects 
 of sense, are settled in the mind, with general names to them. Thus particular 
 ideas are first received and distinguished, and so knowledge got about them; and 
 next to them, the less general or specific, which are next to particular: for 
 abstract ideas are not so obvious or easy to children, or the yet unexercised mind, 
 as particular ones. If they seem so to grown men, it is only because by constant 
 and familiar use they are made so. For when we nicely reflect upon them, we shall 
 find that general ideas are fictions and contrivances of the mind, that carry difi- 
 culty with them, and do not so easily offer themselves as we are apt to imagine. 
 For example, does it not require some pains and skill to form the general idea of 
 a triangle, (which is yet none of the most abstract, comprehensive, and diflicult,) 
 for it must be neither oblique nor rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor 
 scalenon; but all and none of these at once. In effect, it is something imperfect, 
 that cannot exist; an idea wherein some parts of several different and inconsistent 
 ideas are put together. It is true, the mind, in this imperfect state, has need of 
 such ideas, and makes all the haste to them it can, for the conveniency of com- 
 munication and enlargement of knowledge, to both which it is naturally very 
 much inclined. But yet one has reason to suspect such ideas are marks of our 
 imperfection ; at least, this is enough to show that the most abstract and general 
 ideas are not those that the mind is first and most easily acquainted with, not 
 such as its earliest knowledge is conversant about. 
 
 10. Because on them the other Parts of our Knowledge do not depend.—Se- 
 condly, from what has been said it plainly follows, that these magnified maxims 
 are not the principles and foundations of all our other knowledge. For if there 
 be a great many other truths, which have as much self-evidence as they, and a 
 great many that we know before them, it is impossible they should be the prin- 
 ciples from which we deduce all other truths. Is it impossible to know that one 
 and two are equal to three, but by virtue of this, or some such axiom, viz., the 
 whole is equal to all its parts taken together? Many a one knows that one and 
 two are equal to three, without having heard or thought on that or any other 
 axiom by which it might be proved; and knows it as certainly as any other man 
 knows, that the whole is equal to all its parts, or any other maxim, and all from 
 the same reason of self-evidence; the equality of those ideas being as visible and 
 
 1 With this idea Bishop Berkeley makes him- 
 self particularly merry. ‘‘If any man,” says he, 
 has the faculty of framing in his mind such an 
 idea of a triangle as is here described, it is in 
 vain to pretend to dispute him out of it, nor 
 would I go about it. All I desire is, that the 
 reader would fully and certainly inform himself, 
 whether he has such an idea or not. And this, 
 methinks, can be no hard task for any one to 
 
 perform. What more easy than for any one to 
 look a little into his own thoughts, and there try 
 whether he has, or can attain to have, an idea 
 that shall correspond with the description that is 
 here given of the general idea of a triangle, 
 which is, neither oblique, nor rectangle, equilate- 
 ral, egucrural, nor scalenon, but all and none of 
 reek at once?” (Intr. to Prin. of Hum. Know 
 13.) 
 
CHAP. VII-| OF MAXIMS. 427 
 
 certain to him without that or any other axiom as with it, it needing no proof to 
 make it perceived. Nor after the knowledge, that the whole is equal to all its 
 parts, does he know that one and two are equal to three, better or more certainly 
 than he did before. or if there be any odds in those ideas, the whole and parts 
 are more obscure, or at least more difficult to be settled in the mind than those of 
 one, two, and three. And indeed, I think, I may ask these men, who will needs 
 have all knowledge, besides those general principles themselves, to depend on 
 general, innate, and self-evident principles; what principle is requisite to prove 
 that one and one are two, that two and two are four, that three times two are six? 
 Which being known without any proof, do evince, that either all knowledge does 
 not depend on certain preecognita or general maxims, called principles, or else that 
 these are principles; and if these are to be counted principles, a great part of 
 numeration will be so. To which, if we add all the self-evident propositions 
 which may be made about all our distinct ideas, principles will be almost infinite, 
 at least innumerable, which men arrive to the knowledge of, at different ages; and 
 a great many of these nate principles they never. come to know all their lives, 
 But whether they come in view of the mind earlier or later, this is true of them, 
 that they are all known by their native evidence, are wholly independent, receive 
 no light, nor are capable of any proof one from another; much less the more par- 
 ticular from the more general, or the more simple from the more compounded ; 
 the more simple and less abstract being the most familiar, and the easier and 
 earlier apprehended. But whichever be the clearest ideas, the evidence and cer- 
 tainty of all such propositions is in this, that a man sees the same idea to be the 
 same idea, and infallibly perceives two different ideas to be different ideas. For 
 when a man has in his understanding the ideas of one and of two, the idea of 
 yellow, and the idea of blue, he cannot but certainly know that the idea of one 
 is the idea of one, and not the idea of two; and that the idea of yellow is the idea 
 of yellow, and not the idea of blue. For a man cannot confound the ideas in his 
 mind, which he has distinct: that would be to have them confused and distinct at 
 the same time, which is a contradiction; and to have none distinct, is to have 
 no use of our faculties, to have no knowledge at all. And, therefore, what idea 
 soever is affirmed of itself, or whatsoever two entire distinct ideas are denied one 
 of another, the mind cannot but assent to such a proposition as infallibly true, as 
 soon as it understands the terms, without hesitation or need of proof, or regarding 
 those made in more general terms, and called maxims. 
 
 1l. What use these general Maxims have.—What shall we then say? Are 
 these general maxims of no use? By no means; though perhaps their use is not 
 that which it is commonly taken to be. But since doubting in the least of what 
 hath been by some men ascribed to these maxims may be apt to be cried out against, 
 as overturning the foundations of all the sciences; it may be worth while to con- 
 sider them with respect to other parts of our knowledge, and examine more par- 
 ticularly to what purposes they serve, and to what not. 
 
 1. It is evident from. what has been already said, that they are of no use 
 to prove or confirm less general self-evident propositions. 
 
 2. It is as plain that they are not, nor have been the foundations whereon any 
 science hath been built. There is, I know, a great deal of talk propagated from 
 scholastic men, of sciences and the maxims on which they are built; but it has 
 been my ill-luck never to meet with any such sciences, much less any one built 
 upon these two maxims, what is, is; and it is impossible for the same thing to be 
 and not to be. And I would be glad to be shown where any such science, erected 
 upon these or any other general axioms is to be found, and should be obliged to 
 any one who would lay before me the frame and system of any science so built 
 on these or any such like maxims, that could not be shown to stand as firm 
 without any consideration of them. I ask, whether these general maxims have 
 not the same use in the study of divinity, and in theological questions, that they 
 have in other sciences? They serve here, too, to silence wranglers, and put an end 
 
428 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 todispute. But I think that nobody will therefore say, that the Christian religion 
 is built upon these maxims, or that the knowledge we have of it is derived from 
 these principles. It is from revelation we have received it, and without revelation 
 these maxims had never been able to help us to it. When we find out an idea by 
 whose intervention we discover the connexion of two others, this is a revelation 
 from God to us, by the voice of reason; for we then come to know a truth that 
 we did not know before. When God declares any truth to us, this is a revelation 
 to us by the voice of his Spirit, and we are advanced in our knowledge. 
 But in neither of these do we receive our light or knowledge from maxims. 
 But in the one, the things themselves afford it, and we see the truth in them 
 by perceiving their agreement or disagreement: in the other, God himself 
 affords it immediately to us, and we see the truth of what he says in his unerring 
 veracity. 
 
 3. They are not of use to help men forward in the advancement of sciences, or 
 new discoveries of yet unknown truths. Mr. Newton, in his never enough to 
 be admired book, has demonstrated several propositions, which are so many new 
 truths, before unknown to the world, and are further advances in mathematical 
 knowledge: but, for the discovery of these, it was not the general maxims, what 
 is, is; or, the whole is bigger than a part, or the like, that helped him. These 
 were not the clues that led him into the discovery of the truth and certainty 
 of those propositions.. Nor was it by them that he got the knowledge of those de- 
 monstrations; but by finding out intermediate ideas that showed the agreement or — 
 disagreement of the ideas, as expressed in the propositions he demonstrated. This 
 is the greatest exercise and improvement of human understanding in the enlarging 
 of knowledge, and advancing the sciences; wherein they are far enough from 
 receiving any help from the contemplation of these or the like magnified maxims. 
 Would those who have this traditional admiration of these propositions, that they 
 think no step can be made in knowledge without the support of an axiom, no stone 
 laid in the building of the sciences without a general maxim, but distinguish be- 
 tween the method of acquiring knowledge, and of communicating—between the 
 method of raising any science and that of teaching it to others, as far as it is ad- 
 vanced—-they would see that those general maxims were not the foundations on 
 which the first discoverers raised their admirable structures, nor the keys that un- 
 locked and opened those secrets of knowledge. Though afterwards, when schools 
 were erected, and sciences had their professors to teach what others had found out, 
 they often made use of maxims, i. e. laid down certain propositions which were 
 self-evident, or to be received for true; which being settled in the minds of their 
 scholars as unquestionable verities, they on occasion made use of, to convince 
 them of truths in particular instances that were not so familiar to their minds as 
 those general axioms which had before been inculcated to them, and carefully 
 settled in their minds. Though these particular instances, when well reflected 
 on, are no less self-evident to the understanding than the general maxims brought 
 to confirm them: and it was in those particular instances that the first discoverer 
 found the truth, without the help of the general maxims ; and so may any one else 
 do, who with attention considers them. 
 
 To come, therefore, to the use that is made of maxims. 
 
 1. They are of use, as has been observed, in the ordinary methods of teaching 
 sciences as far as they are advanced; but of little or none in advancing them 
 further. 
 
 2. They are of use in disputes, for the silencing of obstinate wranglers, and 
 bringing those contests to some conclusion. Whether a need of them to that end 
 came not in in the manner following, I crave leave to inquire. The schools 
 having made disputation the touchstone of men’s abilities, and the criterion of 
 knowledge, adjudged victory to him that kept the field: and he that had the last 
 word was concluded to have the better of the argument, if not of the cause. But 
 because by this means there was like to be no decision between skilful combatants, 
 
CHAP. VII.] OF MAXIMS. 429 
 
 whilst one never failed of a medius terminus to prove any proposition; and the 
 other could as constantly, without o with a distinction, deny the major or minor; 
 to prevent, as much as could be, running out of disputes into an endless train of 
 syllogisms, certain general propositions—most of them, indeed, self-evident—were 
 introduced into the schools ; which being such as all men allowed and agreed in, 
 were looked on as general measures of truth, and served instead of principles 
 (where the disputants had not lain down any other between them) beyond which 
 there was no going, and which must not be receded from by either side. And 
 thus these maxims getting the name of principles, beyond which men in dispute 
 could not retreat, were by mistake taken to be originals and sources, from whence 
 all knowledge began, and the foundations whereon the sciences were built. Be- 
 cause when in their disputes they came to any of these, they stopped there, and 
 went no further, the matter was determined. But how much this is a mistake, 
 hath been already shown. 
 
 This method of the schools, which have been thought the fountains of know- 
 ledge, introduced, as I suppose, the like use of these maxims into a great part of 
 conversation out of the schools, to stop the mouths of cavillers, whom any one is 
 excused from arguing any longer with, when they deny these general self-evident 
 principles received by all reasonable men who have once thought of them: but 
 yet their use herein is but to put an end to wrangling. They in truth, when urged 
 in such cases, teach nothing: that is already done by the intermediate ideas made 
 use of in the debate, whose connexion may be seen without the help of those max- 
 ims, and so the truth known before the maxim is produced, and the argument 
 brought to a first principle. Men would give off a wrong argument before it 
 came to that, if in their disputes they proposed to themselves the finding and em- 
 bracing of truth, and not a contest for victory. And thus maxims have their use 
 to put a stop to their perverseness, whose ingenuity should have yielded sooner. 
 But the method of the schools having allowed and encouraged men to oppose and 
 resist evident truth till they are bafiled, i.e. till they are reduced to contradict 
 themselves or some established principle; it is no wonder that they should not 
 in civil conversation be ashamed of that which in the schools is counted a virtue 
 and a glory, obstinately to maintain that side of the question they have chosen, 
 whether true or false, to the last extremity, even after conviction. A strange way 
 to attain truth and knowledge, and that which I think the rational part of man- 
 kind, not corrupted by education, could scarce believe should ever be admitted 
 amongst the lovers of truth, and students of religion or nature, or introduced into 
 the seminaries of those who are to propagate the truths of religion or philosophy 
 amongst the ignorant and unconvinced. How much such a way of learning is 
 like to turn young men’s minds from the sincere search and love of truth ;—nay, 
 and to make them doubt whether there is any such thing—or, at least, worth the 
 adhering to—I shall not now inquire. This I think, that, bating those places which 
 brought the peripatetic philosophy into their schools, where it continued many 
 ages, without teaching the world anything but the art of wrangling, these maxims 
 were nowhere thought the foundations on which the sciences were built, nor the 
 great helps to the advancement of knowledge. 
 
 As to these general maxims, therefore, they are, as I have said, of great use in 
 disputes, to stop the mouths of wranglers; but not of much use to the discovery 
 of unknown truths, or to help the mind forwards in its search after knowledge. 
 For who ever began to build his knowledge on this general proposition, what is, 
 is; or, it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be: and from either of 
 these, as from a principle of science, deduced a system of useful knowledge? Wrong 
 opinions often involving contradictions, one of these maxims, as a touchstone, may 
 serve well to show whither they lead. But yet, however fit to lay open the ab- 
 surdity or mistake of a man’s reasoning or opinion, they are of very little use for 
 enlightening the understanding : and it will not be found that the mind receives 
 much help from them in its progress in knowledge, which would be neither less, 
 
430 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 nor less certain, were these two general propositions never thought on. It is true, 
 as I have said, they sometimes serve in argumentation to stop a wrangler’s mouth, 
 by showing the absurdity of what he saith, and by exposing him to the shame of 
 contradicting what all the world knows, and he himself cannot but own to be true. 
 But it is one thing to show a man that he is in an error, and another to put him in 
 possession of truth; and I would fain know what truths these two propositions are 
 able to teach, and by their influence make us know, which we did not know be- 
 fore, or could not know without them. Let us reason from them as well as we 
 can, they are only about identical predications, and influence, if any at all, none 
 but such. Each particular proposition concerning identity or diversity is as clearly 
 and certainly known in itself, if attended to, as either of these general ones ; only 
 these general ones, as serving in all cases, are therefore more inculcated and in- 
 sisted on As to other less general maxims, many of them are no more than bare 
 verbal propositions, and teach us nothing but the respect and import of names 
 one to another. ‘‘ The whole is equal to all its parts ’—what real truth, I be- 
 seech you, does it teach us? What more is contained in that maxim, than what 
 the signification of the word totum, or the whole, does of itself import? And he 
 that knows that the word whole stands for what is made up of all its parts, knows 
 very little less than that the whole is equal to all its parts. And, upon the same 
 ground, I think that this proposition, “ A hill is higher than a valley,” and several 
 the like, may also pass for maxims. But yet masters of mathematics, when 
 they would, as teachers of what they know, initiate others in that science, do not 
 without reason place this and some other such maxims at the entrance of their 
 systems; that their scholars, having in the beginning perfectly acquainted their 
 thoughts with these propositions made in such general terms, may be used to make 
 such reflections, and have these more general propositions, as formed rules and 
 sayines, ready to apply to all particular cases. Not that if they be equally 
 weighed, they are more clear and evident than the particular instances they are 
 brought to confirm; but that, being more familiar to the mind, the very naming 
 them is enough to satisfy the understanding. But this, I say, is more from our 
 custom of using them, and the establishment they have got in our minds by our 
 often thinking of them, than from the different evidence of the things. But before 
 custom has settled methods of thinking and reasoning in our minds, I am apt to 
 imagine that it is quite otherwise ; and that the child, when a part of his apple is 
 taken away, knows it better in that particular instance, than by this general pro- 
 position, ‘‘ The whole is equal to all its parts ;” and that, if one of these have need 
 to be confirmed to him by the other, the general has more need to be let into his 
 mind by the particular, than the particular by the general. For, in particulars, 
 our knowledge begins, and so spreads itself, by degrees, to generals. Though 
 afterwards the mind takes the quite contrary course, and having drawn its know- 
 ledge into as general propositions as it can, makes those familiar to its thoughts, 
 and accustoms itself to have recourse to them, as to the standards of truth and 
 falsehood. By which familiar use of them—as rules to measure the truth of other 
 propositions—it comes in time to be thought, that more particular propositions have 
 their truth and evidence from their conformity to these more general ones, which 
 in discourse and argumentation are so frequently urged, and constantly admitted. 
 And this I think to be the reason why amongst so many self-evident propositions, 
 the most general only have had the title of maxims. 
 
 12. Maxims, if Care be not taken in the Use of Words, may prove Contradic- 
 tions.—One thing further, I think, it may not be amiss to observe concerning these 
 general maxims, that they are so far from improving or establishing our minds 
 in true knowledge, that if our notions be wrong, loose, or unsteady, and we resign 
 up our thoughts to the sound of words, rather than fix them on settled, determined 
 ideas of things; I say, these general maxims will serve to confirm us in mistakes; 
 and in such a way of use of words, which is most common, will serve to prove 
 contradictions: v.g. he that with Descartes shall frame in his mind an idea 
 
CHAP. Vit. ] OF MAXIMS. 431 
 
 of what he calls body to be nothing but extension,' may easily demonstrate that 
 there is no vacuum, i. e. no space void of body, by this maxim, “‘ What is, is.” 
 For the idea to which he annexes the name body, being bare extension, his know- 
 ledge that space cannot be without body, is certain. For he knows his own idea 
 of extension clearly and distinctly, and knows that it is what it is, and not another 
 idea, though it be called by these three names: extension, body, space. Which 
 three words, standing for one and the same idea, may, no doubt, with the same 
 evidence and certainty be affirmed one of another, as each of itself: and it is as 
 certain, that, whilst I use them all to stand for one and the same idea, this 
 predication is as true and identical in its signification, that space is body, as this 
 peetion is true and identical, that body is body, both in signification and 
 sound. 
 
 13. Instance in Vacuum.—But if another should come and make to himself 
 another idea, different from Descartes’s, of the thing, which yet with Descartes 
 he calls by the same name body, and make his idea, which he expresses by the 
 word body, to be of a thing that hath both extension and solidity together; he will 
 as easily demonstrate, that there may be a vacuum or space without a body, as 
 Descartes demonstrated the contrary; because the idea to which he gives the 
 name space being barely the simple one of extension, and the idea to which he 
 gives the name body being the complex idea of extension and resistibility or 
 solidity, together in the same subject, these two ideas are not exactly one and the 
 same, but in the understanding as distinct as the ideas of one and two, white and 
 black, or as of corporeity and humanity, if I may use those barbarous terms ; and 
 therefore the predication of them in our minds, or in words standing for them, is 
 not identical, but the negation of them one of another; viz. this proposition: 
 Extension or space is not body, is as true and evidently certain as this maxim, It 
 is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be, can make any proposition. 
 
 14. They prove not the Existence of Things without us.—But yet, though both 
 these propositions (as you see) may be equally demonstrated, viz. that there may be 
 a vacuum, and that there cannot be a vacuum, by these two certain principles, viz. 
 what is, is; and the same thing cannot be and not be: yet neither of these principles 
 will serve to prove to us, that any or what bodies do exist; for that we are left to 
 our senses to discover to us as far as they can. Those universal and self-evident 
 principles being only our constant, clear, and distinct knowledge of our own ideas, 
 more general or comprehensive, can assure us of nothing that passes without the 
 mind: their certainty is founded only upon the knowledge we have of each idea 
 by itself, and of its distinction from others; about which we cannot be mistaken 
 whilst they are in our minds, though we may be and often are mistaken when we 
 retain the names without the ideas; or use them confusedly, sometimes for one 
 and sometimes for another idea. In which cases the force of these axioms, 
 reaching only to the sound, and not the signification of the words, serves only to 
 lead us into confusion, mistake, and error. It is to show men that these maxims, 
 however cried up for the great guards of truth, will not secure them from error in 
 a careless, loose use of their words, that I have made this remark. In all that is 
 here suggested concerning their little use for the improvement of knowledge, or 
 dangerous use in undetermined ideas, I have been far enough from saying or 
 intending they should be laid aside, as some have been too forward to charge me. 
 I affirm them to be truths, self-evident truths, and so cannot be laid aside. As 
 far as their influence will reach, it is in vain to endeavour, nor will I attempt to 
 abridge it. But yet, without any injury to truth or knowledge, I may have 
 reason to think their use is not answerable to the great stress which seems to be 
 laid on them; and I may warn men not to make an ill use of them, for the con- 
 firming themselves in errors. 
 
 15. Their Application dangerous about complex Ideas.—But let them be of 
 
 1 See note, Book II. ch, xiii. p. 169. 
 
432 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 what use they will in verbal propositions, they cannot discover or prove to us the 
 least knowledge of the nature of substances, as they are found and exist without 
 us, any further than erounded on experience. And though the consequence of 
 these two propositions, called principles, be very clear, and their use not dangerous 
 or hurtful, in the probation of such things, wherein there is no need at all of them 
 for proof, but such as are clear by themselves without them, viz. where our ideas 
 are determined, and known by the names that stand for them: yet when these 
 principles, viz. what is, is, and it is impossible for the same thing to be and not 
 to be, are made use of in the probation of propositions, wherein are words 
 standing for complex ideas; v. g. man, horse, gold, virtue; there they are of 
 infinite danger, and most commonly make men receive and retain falsehood for 
 manifest truth, and uncertainty for demonstration; upon which follow error, 
 obstinacy, and all the mischiets that can happen from wrong reasoning. The 
 reason whereof is not that these principles are less true, or of less force in proving 
 propositions made of terms standing for complex ideas, than where the proposi- 
 tions are about simple ideas. But because men mistake generally, thinking that 
 where the same terms are preserved, the propositions are about the same things, 
 though the ideas they stand for are in truth different ; therefore these maxims are 
 made use of to support those which in sound and appearance are contradictory 
 propositions; as is clear in the demonstrations above-mentioned about a vacuum : 
 so that whilst men take words for things, as usually they do, these maxims may 
 and do commonly serve to prove contradictory propositions; as shall yet be further 
 made manifest. ) 
 
 16. Instance in Man.—For instance, let man be that concerning which you 
 would by these first principles demonstrate anything, and we shall see, that so far 
 as demonstration is by these principles, it is only verbal, and gives us no certain, 
 universal, true proposition or knowledge of any being existing without us. First, 
 a child having framed the idea of a man, it is probable that his idea is just like 
 that picture which the painter makes of the visible appearances joined together ; 
 and such a complication of ideas together in his understanding, makes up the 
 single complex idea which he calls man, whereof white or flesh-colour in England 
 being one, the child can demonstrate to you that a negro is not a man, because 
 white colour was one of the constant simple ideas of the complex idea he calls — 
 man; and therefore he can demonstrate by the principle, it is impossible for the 
 same thing to be and not to be, that a negro is not a man; the foundation of his 
 certainty being not that universal proposition, which perhaps he never heard nor 
 thought of, but the clear, distinct perception he hath of his own simple ideas of 
 black and white, which he cannot be persuaded to take, nor can ever mistake one 
 for another, whether he knows that maxim or no: and to this child, or any one 
 who hath such an idea, which he calls man, can you never demonstrate that a 
 man hath a soul, because his idea of man includes no such notion or idea in it; 
 and therefore, to him, the principle of what is, is, proves not this matter, but 
 it depends upon collection and observation, by which he is to make his complex 
 idea called man. 
 
 17. Secondly, Another that hath gone further in framing and collecting the 
 idea he calls man, and to the outward shape adds laughter and rational discourse, 
 may demonstrate that infants and changelings are no men: by this maxim, it is 
 impossible for the same thing to be and not to be; and I have discoursed with 
 very rational men, who have actually denied that they are men. 
 
 18. Thirdly, Perhaps another makes up the complex idea which he calls man, 
 only out of the ideas of bodies in general, and the powers of language and reason, 
 and leaves out the shape wholly; this man is able to demonstrate that a man 
 may have no hands, but be quadrupes, neither of those being included in his 
 idea of man: and in whatever body or shape he found speech and reason joined, 
 that was a man; because, having a clear knowledge of such a complex idea, it is 
 certain that what is, 1s. 
 
CHAP. VIII. ] OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS. Add 
 
 19. Little Use of these Maxims in Proofs where we have clear and distinct 
 Ideas.—So that, if rightly considered, I think we may say, that where our ideas 
 are determined in our minds, and have annexed to them by us known and steady 
 names under those settled determinations, there is little need, or no use at all of 
 these maxims, to prove the agreement or disagreement of any of them. He that 
 cannot discern the truth or falsehood of such propositions without the help of 
 these and the like maxims will not be helped by these maxims to do it; since he 
 cannot be supposed to know the truth of these maxims themselves without proof, 
 if he cannot know the truth of others without proof, which are as self-evident as 
 these. Upon this ground it is, that intuitive knowledge neither requires nor 
 admits any proof, one part of it more than another. He that will suppose it does, 
 takes away the foundation of all knowledge and certainty ; and he that needs any 
 proof to make him certain, and give his assent to this proposition, that two are 
 equal to two, will also have need of a proof to make him admit, that what is, is. 
 He that needs a probation to convince him that two are not three, that white is 
 not black, that a triangle is not a circle, &c. or any other two determined, distinct 
 ideas are not one and the same, will need also a demonstration to convince him 
 that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be. 
 
 20. Their Use dangerous, where our Ideas are confused.—And as these 
 maxims are of little use where we have determined ideas, so they are, as I have 
 showed, of dangerous use where our ideas are not determined; and where we use 
 words that are not annexed to determined ideas, but such as are of a loose and 
 wandering signification, sometimes standing for one, and sometimes for another 
 idea; from which follow mistake and error, which these maxims (brought as 
 proofs to establish propositions, wherein the terms stand for undetermined ideas) 
 do by their authority confirm and rivet. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS. 
 
 1. Some Propositions bring no Increase to our Knowledge.—WHETHER the 
 maxims treated of in the foregoing chapter be of that use to real knowledge as is 
 generally supposed, I leave to be considered. This, I think, may confidently be 
 affirmed, that there are universal propositions, which, though they be certainly 
 true, yet they add no light to our understandings, bring no increase to our know- 
 ledge. Such are— 
 
 2. As, First, identical Propositions.—First, All purely identical propositions. 
 These obviously and at first blush appear to contain no instruction in them; for 
 when we affirm the said term of itself, whether it be barely verbal, or whether it 
 contains any clear and real idea, it shows us nothing but what we must certainly 
 know before, whether such a proposition be either made by or proposed to us. 
 Indeed, that most general one, what is, is, may serve sometimes to show a man 
 the absurdity he is guilty of, when, by circumlocution or equivocal terms, he 
 would in particular instances deny the same thing of itself; because nobody 
 will so openly bid defiance to common sense, as to affirm visible and 
 direct contradictions in plain words; or, if he does, a man is excused if he 
 breaks off any further discourse with him. But yet I think I may say, that 
 neither that received maxim, nor any other identical proposition, teaches us any- 
 thing; and though in such kind of propositions this great and magnified maxim, 
 boasted to be the foundation of demonstration, may be and often is made use of 
 to confirm them, yet all it proves amounts to no more than this, that the same 
 
434 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BooK Iv. 
 
 word may with great certainty be affirmed of itself, without any doubt of the truth 
 of any such proposition; and let me add, also, without any real knowledge. 
 
 3. For at this rate, any very ignorant person, who can but make a proposition, 
 and knows what he means when he says ay or no, may make a million of pro- 
 positions of whose truth he may be infallibly certain, and yet not know one thing 
 in the world thereby; v. g. what is a soul, is a soul; or, a soul is a soul; a spirit 
 is a spirit; a fetiche is a fetiche, &c.* These all being equivalent to this proposi- 
 tion, viz. what is, is; i.e. what hath existence, hath existence, or, who hath a 
 soul, hath a soul. What is this more than triflmg with words? It is but like a 
 monkey shifting his oyster from one hand to the other; and had he but words, 
 might no doubt have said, “‘ Oyster in right hand is subject, and oyster in left hand 
 is predicate :” and so might have made a self-evident proposition of oyster, i. e. 
 oyster is oyster; and yet, with all this, not have been one whit the wiser or more 
 knowing: and that way of handling the matter would much at once have satisfied 
 the monkey’s hunger, or a man’s understanding, and they would have improved 
 in knowledge and bulk together. 
 
 I know there are some who, because identical propositions are self-evident, 
 show a great concern for them, and think they do great service to philosophy by 
 crying them up, as if in them was contained all knowledge, and the understand- 
 ing were led into all truth by them only ; I grant as forwardly as any one, that 
 they are all true and self-evident. I grant further, that the foundation of allour 
 knowledge lies in the faculty we have of perceiving the same idea to be the same, © 
 and of discerning it from those that are different, as I have shown in the fore- 
 going chapter. But how that vindicates the making use of identical propositions, 
 for the improvement of knowledge, from the imputation of trifling, I do not see. 
 Let any one repeat, as often as he pleases, that the will is the will, or lay what 
 stress on it he thinks fit; of what use is this, and an infinite the like propositions, 
 for the enlarging our knowledge? Let a man abound, as much as the plenty of 
 words which he has will permit, in such propositions as these: a law is a law, 
 and obligation is obligation; right is right, and wrong is wrong: will these and 
 the like ever help him to an acquaintance with ethics, or instruct him or others in 
 the knowledge of morality? Those who know not, nor perhaps ever will know, 
 what is right and what is wrong, nor the measures of them, can with as much 
 assurance make, and infallibly know the truth of these and all such propositions, 
 as he that is best instructed in morality can do. But what advance do such 
 propositions give in the knowledge of anything necessary or useful for their 
 conduct? 
 
 He would be thought to do little less than trifle, who, for the enlightening the un- 
 derstanding in any part of knowledge, should be busy with identical propositions, 
 and insist on such maxims as these: substance is substance, and body is body; a 
 vacuum is a vacuum, and a vortex is a vortex; a centaur is a centaur, and a 
 chimera is a chimera. For these and all such are equally true, equally certain, and 
 equally self-evident. But yet they cannot but be counted trifling, when made use of 
 as principles of instruction, and stress laid on them as helps to knowledge ; 
 since they teach nothing but what every one who is capable of discourse knows 
 without being told, viz. that the same term is the same term, and the same idea 
 the same idea. And upon this account it was that I formerly did and do still 
 think the offering and inculcating such propositions, in order to give the under- 
 
 1 The objects of worship among the people of 
 Guinea, and the interior of Africa generally, ex- 
 cept where the Mohammedan religion prevails, 
 are denominated fetishes, and consist of the first 
 objects which, on issuing forth from their huts, 
 they behold in the morning. Sometimes a per- 
 manent worship appears to be paid to particular 
 animals, as the ox, the goat, with several kinds 
 
 of birds. Rocks, too, lakes, trees, and foun- 
 tains, share the indiscriminate adoration of those 
 superstitious races. See Barbot’s Travels in 
 Nigritia, book i. c. 8; b. xi. ec. 2—6. Cressyos 
 conjectures with much probability that the ani- 
 mal worship of the Egyptians was of African 
 origin, and derived from Fetischism. (Rel. de l’an- 
 tiquité, 1. i. p. 500.) 
 
CHAP. VIII. | OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS. 43~) 
 
 standing any new light or inlet into the knowledge of things, no better than 
 trifling. 
 
 Lyaeaction lies in something very different; and he that would enlarge his 
 own or another’s mind to truths he does not yet know, must find out interme- 
 diate ideas, and then lay them in such order one by another, that the understand- 
 ing may see the agreement or disagreement of those in question. Propositions 
 that do this are instructive; but they are far from such as affirm the same term of 
 itself; which is no way to advance one’s self or others in any sort of knowledge. 
 It no more helps to that, than it would help any one in his learning to read, to 
 have such propositions as these inculcated to him. An A isan A, and a Bisa 
 B; which a man may know as well as any schoolmaster, and yet never be able 
 to read a word as long as he lives. Nor do these or any such identical proposi- 
 tions help him one jot forwards in the skill of reading, let him make what use of 
 them he can. 
 
 If those who blame my calling them trifling propositions had but read and 
 been at the pains to understand what I have above writ in very plain English, 
 they could not but have seen that by identical propositions I mean only such, 
 wherein the same term, importing the same idea, is affirmed of itself; which I 
 take to be the proper signification of identical propositions: and concerning all 
 such, I think I may continue safely to say, that to propose them as instructive is 
 no better than trifling. For no one who has the use of reason can miss them, 
 where it is necessary they should be taken notice of; nor doubt of their truth 
 when he does take notice of them. 
 
 But if men will call propositions identical, wherein the same term is not 
 affirmed of itself, whether they speak more properly than I, others must judge: 
 this is certain, all that they say of propositions that are not identical in my sense, 
 concerns not me nor what I have said; all that I have said relating to those pro- 
 positions wherein the same term is affirmed of itself: and I would fain see an 
 instance wherein any such can be made use of, to the advantage and improve- 
 ment of any one’s knowledge. Instances of other kinds, whatever use may be 
 made of them, concern not me, as not being such as I call identical. 
 
 4, Secondly, When a Part of any complex Idea is predicated of the 
 Whole.—II. Another sort of trifling propositions is, when a part of the com- 
 plex idea is predicated of the name of the whole; a part of the definition of the 
 word defined. Such are all propositions wherein the genus is predicated of the 
 species, or more comprehensive of less comprehensive terms; for what informa- 
 tion, what knowledge carries this proposition in it, viz. Lead is a metal to a man 
 who knows the complex idea the name lead stands for? all the simple ideas that 
 go to the complex one signified by the term metal, being nothing but what he 
 before comprehended and signified by the name lead. Indeed, to a man that 
 knows the signification of the word metal, and not of the word lead, it is a shorter 
 way to explain the signification of the word lead, by saying it is a metal, which at 
 once expresses several of its simple ideas, than to enumerate them one by one, 
 telling him it is a body very heavy, fusible, and malleable. 
 
 5. As Part of the Definition of the Term defined.—Alike trifling it is to pre- 
 dicate any other part of the definition of the term defined, or to affirm any one of 
 the simple ideas of a complex one of the name of the whole complex idea; as, All 
 gold is fusible. For fusibility being one of the simple ideas that goes to the 
 making up the complex one the sound gold stands for, what can it be but playing 
 with sounds, to affirm that of the name gold, which is comprehended in its 
 received signification? It would be thought little better than ridiculous to 
 affirm gravely, as a truth of moment, that gold is yellow; and I see not how it is 
 any jot more material to say it is fusible, unless that quality be left out of the 
 complex idea, of which the sound gold is the mark in ordinary speech. What 
 instruction can it carry with it, to tell one that which he hath been told already, 
 or he is supposed to know before? For I am supposed to know the significa- 
 
 FF2 
 
436 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 tion of the word another uses to me, or else he is to tell me. And if I know 
 that the name gold stands for this complex idea of body, yellow, heavy, fusible, 
 malleable, it will not much instruct me to put it solemnly afterwards in a proposi- 
 tion, and gravely say, all gold is fusible. Such propositions can only serve to 
 show the disingenuity of one who will go from the definition of his own terms, by 
 reminding him sometimes of it; but carry no knowledge with them, but of the 
 signification of words, however certain they be. 
 
 6. Instance, Man and Palfrey.—Every man is an animal, or living body, is as 
 certain a proposition as can be; but no more conducing to the knowledge of 
 things, than to say, a palfry is an ambling horse, or a neighing, ambling animal, 
 both being only about the signification of words, and make me know but this: 
 that body, sense, and motion, or power of sensation and moving, are three of those 
 ideas that I always comprehend and signify by the word man; and where they are 
 not to be found together, the name man belongs not to that thing: and so of the 
 other, that body, sense, and a certain way of going, with a certain kind of voice, 
 are some of those ideas which I always comprehend, and signify by the word 
 palfrey ; and when they are not to be found together, the name palfrey belongs not 
 to that thing. It is just the same, and to the same purpose, when any term 
 standing for any one or more of the simple ideas, that altogether make up that 
 complex idea which is called man, is affirmed of the term man: v. g. suppose a 
 Roman signified by the word homo all these distinct ideas united in one subject, 
 “ corporietas, sensibilitas, potentia se movendi, rationalitas, risibilitas ;” he might, | 
 no doubt, with great certainty, universally affirm one, more, or all of these toge- 
 ther of the word homo, but did no more than say that the word homo, in 
 his country, comprehended in its signification all these ideas. Much like a 
 romance knight, who by the word palfrey signified these ideas: body of a certain 
 figure, four-legged, with sense, motion, ambling, neighing, white, used to have a 
 woman on his back, might with the same certainty universally affirm also any or 
 all of these of the word palfrey; but did thereby teach no more, but that the word 
 palfrey, in his or romance language, stood for all these, and was not to be applied 
 to anything where any of these was wanting. But he that shall tell me, that in 
 whatever thing sense, motion, reason, and laughter, were united, that thing had — 
 actually a notion of God, or would be cast into a sleep by opium, made indeed an 
 instructive proposition ; because neither having the notion of God, nor being cast 
 into sleep by opium, being contained in the idea signified by the word man, we 
 are by such propositions taught something more than barely what the word man 
 stands for, and therefore the knowledge contained in it is more than verbal. 
 
 7. For this teaches but the Signification of Words.—Before a man makes any 
 proposition, he is supposed to understand the terms he uses in it, or else he talks 
 like a parrot, only making a noise by imitation, and framing certain sounds, which 
 he has learnt of others; but not as a rational creature, using them for signs of 
 ideas which he has in his mind. The hearer also is supposed to understand the 
 terms as the speaker uses them, or else he talks jargon, and makes an unintelligible 
 noise. And therefore he trifles with words, who makes such a proposition, 
 which, when it is made, contains no more than one of the terms does, and which 
 a man was supposed to know before; v. g. a triangle hath three sides, or saffron 
 is yellow. And this is no further tolerable, than where a man goes to explain his 
 terms to one who is supposed or declares himself not to understand him; and 
 then it teaches only the signification of that word, and the use of that sign. : 
 
 8. But no real Knowledge.—We can know then the truth of two sorts of pro- 
 positions with perfect certainty: the one is, of those trifling propositions which 
 have a certainty in them, but itis only a verbal certainty, but not instructive. And, 
 secondly, we can know the truth, and so may be certain in propositions, which 
 affirm something of another, which is a necessary consequence of its precise com- 
 plex idea, but not contained in it: as that the external angle of all triangles is 
 bigger than either of the opposite internal angles; which relation of the outward 
 
CHAP, VIII. | OF TRIFLING PROPOSITIONS. 437 
 
 angle to either of the opposite internal angles, making no part of the complex idea 
 signified by the name triangle, this is a real truth, and conveys with it instructive 
 real knowledge. 
 
 9. General Propositions concerning Substances are often trifling.—We having 
 little or no knowledge of what combinations there be of simple ideas existing 
 together in substances, but by our senses, we cannot make any universal certain 
 propositions concerning them, any further than our nominal essences lead us; 
 which being to a very few and inconsiderable truths, in respect of those which 
 depend on their real constitutions, the general propositions that are made about 
 substances, if they are certain, are for the most part but trifling; and if they are 
 instructive, are uncertain, and such as we can have no knowledge of their real 
 truth, how much soever constant observation and analogy may assist our judgment 
 in guessing. Hence it comes to pass, that one may often meet with very clear and 
 coherent discourses, that amount yet to nothing. For it is plain, that names of 
 substantial beings, as well as others, as far as they have relative significations 
 affixed to them, may, with great truth, be joined negatively and affirmatively in 
 propositions, as their relative definitions make them fit to be so joined; and pro- 
 positions consisting of such terms, may, with the same clearness, be deduced 
 one from another, as those that convey the most real truths; and all this without 
 any knowledge of the nature or reality of things existing without us. By this 
 method one may make demonstrations and undoubted propositions in words, and 
 yet thereby advance not one jot in the knowledge of the truth of things; v. g. he 
 that having learnt these following words, with their ordinary mutually relative 
 acceptations annexed to them; v. g. substance, man, animal, form, soul, vegeta- 
 tive, sensitive, rational, may make several undoubted propositions about the soul, 
 without knowing at all what the soul really is: and of this sort, a man may find 
 an infinite number of propositions, reasonings, and conclusions, in books of meta- 
 physics, school-divinity, and some sort of natural philosophy; and, after all, 
 know as little of God, spirits, or bodies, as he did before he set out. 
 
 10. And why.—He that hath liberty to define, i. e. to determine the significa- 
 tion of his names of substances, (as certainly every one does in effect, who makes 
 them stand for his own ideas,) and makes their significations at a venture, taking 
 them from his own or other men’s fancies, and not from an examination or inquiry 
 into the nature of things themselves; may with little trouble demonstrate them 
 one of another, according to those several respects and mutual relations he has 
 given them one to another; wherein, however, things agree or disagree in their 
 own nature, he needs mind nothing but his own notions, with the names he hath 
 bestowed upon them; but thereby no more increases his own knowledge than he 
 does his riches, who, taking a bag of counters, calls one in a certain place a 
 pound, another in another place a shilling, and a third in a third place a penny ; 
 and so proceeding, may undoubtedly reckon right, and cast up a great sum, 
 according to his counters so placed, and standing for more or less as he pleases, 
 without being one jot the richer, or without even knowing how much a pound, 
 shilling, or penny is, bat only that one is contained in the other twenty times, and 
 contains the other twelve: which a man may also do in the signification of 
 words, by making them, in respect of one another, more or less, or equally 
 comprehensive. 
 
 11. Thirdly, Using Words variously is trifling with them.—Though yet con- 
 cerning most words used in discourses, equally argumentative and controversial, 
 there is this more to be complained of, which is the worst sort of trifling, and 
 which sets us yet further from the certainty of knowledge we hope to attain by 
 them, or find in them; viz. that most writers are so far from instructing us in the 
 nature and knowledge of things, that they use their words loosely and uncertainly, 
 and do not, by using them constantly and steadily in the same significations, make 
 plain and clear deductions of words one from another, and make their discourses 
 coherent and clear, (how little soever they were instructive,) which were not dithi- 
 
438 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 cult to do, did they not find it convenient to shelter their ignorance or obstinacy 
 under the obscurity and perplexedness of their terms: to which, perhaps, inad- 
 vertency and ill custom do in many men much contribute. es 
 
 12. Marks of verbal Propositions.—To conclude: Barely verbal propositions 
 may be known by these following marks: : 
 
 Predication in Abstract.—I. Ali propositions, wherein two abstract terms are 
 affirmed one of another, are barely about the signification of sounds. For since 
 no abstract idea can be the same with any other but itself, when its abstract name 
 is affirmed of any other term, it can signify no more but this: that it may or 
 ought to be called by that name, or that these two names signify the same idea. 
 Thus, should any one say that parsimony is frugality, that gratitude is Justice, 
 that this or that action is or is not temperate; however specious these and the like 
 propositions may at first sight seem, yet when we come to press them, and 
 examine nicely what they contain, we shall find that it all amounts to nothing but 
 the signification of those terms. 
 
 13. Secondly, A Part of the Definition predicated of any Term.—Il. All 
 propositions wherein a part of the complex idea which any term stands for is 
 predicated of that term, are only verbal; v. g. to say that gold is a metal, or 
 heavy. And thus all propositions wherein more comprehensive words, called 
 genera, are aflirmed of subordinate or less comprehensive, called species, or indi- 
 viduals, are barely verbal. 
 
 When by these two rules we have examined the propositions that make up the | 
 discourses we ordinarily meet with both in and out of books, we shall perhaps 
 find that a greater part of them than is usually suspected are purely about the 
 signification of words, and contain nothing in them but the use and application of 
 these signs. 
 
 This I think I may lay down for an infallible rule, that, wherever the distinct 
 idea any word stands for is not known and considered, and something not con- 
 tained in the idea is not affirmed or denied of it; there our thoughts stick wholly 
 in sounds, and are able to attain no real truth or falsehood. This, perhaps, if 
 well heeded, might save us a great deal of useless amusement and dispute, and 
 very much shorten our trouble and wandering in the search of real and true 
 
 ‘knowledge. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF EXISTENCE. 
 
 1. General certain Propositions concern not Existence.—HitHERtTO we have 
 only considered the essences of things, which being only abstract ideas, and 
 thereby removed in our thoughts from particular existence, (that being the proper 
 operation of the mind, in abstraction, to consider an idea under no other existence 
 but what it has in the understanding,) gives us no knowledge of real existence at 
 all. Where, by the way, we may take notice that universal propositions, of whose 
 truth or falsehood we can have certain knowledge, concern not existence; and 
 further, that all particular affirmations or negations that would not be certain if 
 they were made general, are only concerning existence; they declaring only the 
 accidental union or separation of ideas in things existing, which, in their abstract 
 natures, have no known necessary union or repugnancy. 
 
 2. A threefold Knowledge of Existence.—But, leaving the nature of proposi- 
 tions and different ways of predication to be considered more at large in another 
 place, let us proceed now to inquire concerning our knowledge of the existence of 
 things, and how we come by it. I say, then, that we have the knowledge of our 
 
 ——$$— 
 
CHAP. x.] KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 439 
 
 own existence by intuition; of the existence of God by demonstration; and of 
 other things by sensation. 
 
 3. Our Knowledge of our own Existence is Intuitive.—As for our own exist- 
 ence, we perceive it so plainly and so certainly, that it neither needs nor is capable 
 of any proof. For nothing can be more evident to us than our own existence: I 
 think, I reason, I feel pleasure and pain: can any of these be more evident to 
 me than my own existence? If I doubt of all other things, that very doubt 
 makes me perceive my own existence, and will not suffer me to doubt of that. 
 For if I know I feel pain, it is evident I have as certain perception of my own 
 existence, as of the existence of the pain I feel: or if I know I doubt, I have as 
 certain perception of the existence of the thing doubting, as of that thought which 
 I call doubt. Experience then convinces us that we have an intuitive knowledge 
 of our own existence, and an internal infallible perception that we are. In every 
 act of sensation, reasoning, or thinking, we are conscious to ourselves of our own 
 
 being ; and, in this matter, come not short of the highest degree of certainty. 
 
 CHAR ERX. 
 
 OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 
 
 1. We are capable of knowing certainly that there is a God.—THouauH God has 
 given us no innate ideas of himself; though he has stamped no original characters 
 on our minds, wherein we may read his being; yet having furnished us with those 
 faculties our minds are endowed with, he hath not left himself without witness: 
 since we have sense, perception, and reason, and cannot want a clear proof of 
 him, as long as we carry ourselves about us. Nor can we justly complain of our 
 ignorance in this great point, since he has so plentifully provided us with the 
 means to discover and know him, so far as is necessary to the end of our being, 
 and the great concernment of our happiness. But though this be the most 
 obvious truth that reason discovers, and though its evidence be (if I mistake not) 
 equal to mathematical certainty; yet it requires thought and attention, and the 
 mind must apply itself to a regular deduction of it from some part of our intuitive 
 knowledge, or else we shall be as uncertain and ignorant of this as of other proposi- 
 tions, which are in themselves capable of clear demonstration. To show, therefore, 
 that we are capable of knowing, i. e. being certain that there is a God, and how we 
 may come by this certainty, I think we need go no further than ourselves, and 
 that undoubted knowledge we have of our own existence. 
 
 2. Man knows that he himself is.—I think it is beyond question, that man 
 has a clear idea of his own being; he knows certainly he exists, and that he 
 is something. He that can doubt whether he be anything or no, I speak not 
 to; no more than I would argue with pure nothing, or endeavour to convince 
 nonentity that it were something. If any one pretends to be so sceptical as to 
 deny his own existence (for really to doubt of it is manifestly impossible, ) let him 
 for me enjoy his beloved happiness of being nothing, until hunger or some other 
 pain convince him of the contrary. This, then, [ think I may take for a truth, 
 which every one’s certain knowledge assures him of, beyond the liberty of 
 doubting, viz. that he is something that actually exists. 
 
 3. He knows also that Nothing cannot produce a Being, therefore Something 
 eternal.—In the next place, man knows by an intuitive certainty, that bare 
 nothing can no more produce any real being, than it can be equal to two right 
 angles. Ifa man knows not that nonentity, or the absence of all being, cannot 
 be equal to two right angles, it is impossible he should know any demonstration 
 
440 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv- 
 
 in Euclid. If, therefore, we know there is some real being, and that nonentity - 
 
 cannot produce any real being, it is an evident demonstration, that from eternity 
 there has been something; since what was not from eternity had a beginning ; 
 and what had a beginning must be produced by something else. 
 
 4, That eternal Being must be most powerful.—Next, it is evident, that what 
 had its being and beginning from another, must also have all that which is in and 
 belongs to its being from another too. All the powers it has must be owing to 
 and received from the same source. This eternal source, then, of all being, must 
 also be the source and original of all power; and so this eternal being must be 
 also the most powerful. 
 
 5. And most knowing.—Again, a man finds in himself perception and know- 
 ledge. We have then got one step further; and we are certain now that 
 there is not only some being, but some knowing, intelligent being in the world. 
 There was a time, then, when there was no knowing being, and when know- 
 ledge began to be; or else there has been also a knowing being from eternity. 
 If it be said, there was a time when no being had any knowledge, when that 
 eternal being was void of all understanding ; I reply, that, then it was impossible 
 there should ever have been any knowledge; it being as impossible that things 
 wholly void of knowledge, and operating blindly, and without any perception, 
 should produce a knowing being, as it is impossible that a triangle should make 
 itself three angles bigger than two right ones. For it is as repugnant to the idea 
 of senseless matter, that it should put into itself sense, perception, and knowledge, 
 as it is repugnant to the idea of a triangle, that it should put into itself greater 
 angles than two right ones. : i; 
 
 6. And therefore God.—Thus, from the consideration of ourselves, and what 
 we infallibly find in cur own constitutions, our reason leads us to the knowledge 
 of this certain and evident truth, that there is an eternal, most powerful, and most 
 knowing being, which whether any one will please to call God, it niatters not ; 
 the thing is evident, and from this idea duly considered, will easily be deduced 
 all those other attributes, which we ought to ascribe to this eternal being. If, 
 nevertheless, any one should be found so senselessly arrogant, as to suppose man 
 alone knowing and wise, but yet the product of mere ignorance and chance; and 
 that all the rest of the universe acted only by that blind haphazard; I shall leave 
 with him that very rational and emphatical rebuke of Tully, (1. ii. De Leg.) to be 
 considered at his leisure: ‘‘ What can be more silily arrogant and misbecoming, 
 than for a man to think that he has a mind and understanding in him, but yet in 
 all the universe beside there is no such thing? Or that those things, which with 
 the utmost stretch of his reason he can scarce comprehend, should be moved and 
 managed without any reason at ail?” “ Quid est enim verius, quam neminem 
 esse oportere tam stulte arrogantem, ut in se mentem et rationem putet inesse, in 
 ccelo mundoque non putet? Aut ea que vix summa ingenii ratione compre- 
 hendat, nulla ratione moveri putet ?” 
 
 From what has been said, it is plain to me we have a more certain knowledge of 
 the existence of a God, than of anything our senses have not immediately disco- 
 vered tous. Nay, I presume I may say, that we more certainly know that there 
 is a God, than that there is anything else without us. When I say we know, 
 I mean there is such a knowledge within our reach which we cannot miss, if we 
 will but apply our minds to that, as we do to several other inquiries.! | 
 
 7. Our Idea of a most perfect Being, not the sole Proof of a God.— How far 
 the idea of a most perfect being, which a man may frame in his mind, does or 
 does not prove the existence of a God, I will not here examine. For in the dif 
 
 1 Nor is there need of very great application, 
 since there appears in reality to be no nation 
 upon the surface of the earth which has not ren- 
 dered itself master of this knowledge. Tra- 
 vellers, I know, have sometimes formed a dif- 
 
 ferent opinion; but their rash, hasty, and almost 
 random conclusions, are, in matters of this kind, 
 worthy of little credit. Thus we find Le Vail- 
 lant, a writer of great talent and curious observa- 
 tion, contradicting himself flatly upon this point; 
 
 hes. 
 
CHAP. X.]| 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 44] 
 
 ferent make of men’s tempers and application of their thoughts, some arguments 
 prevail more on one, and some on another, for the confirmation of the same truth. 
 But yet, I think, this I may say, that it is an ill way of establishing this truth, 
 and silencing atheists, to lay the whole stress of so important a point as this upon 
 that sole foundation; and take some men’s having that idea of God in their 
 minds, (for it is evident some men have none, and some worse than none, 
 and the most very different,) for the only proof of a Deity: and out of an over- 
 fondness of that darling invention, cashier or at least endeavour to invalidate 
 all other arguments, and forbid us to hearken to those proofs, as being weak 
 or fallacious, which our own existence and the sensible parts of the universe 
 offer so clearly and cogently to our thoughts, that I deem it impossible for 
 a considering man to withstand them. For I judge it as certain and clear a 
 truth as can anywhere be delivered, that the invisible things of God are clearly 
 seen from the creation of the world, being understood by the things that are made, 
 even his eternal power and Godhead. ‘Though our own being furnishes us, as I 
 have shown, with an evident and incontestible proof of a Deity; and I believe 
 nobody can avoid the cogency of it, who will but as carefully attend to it, as to 
 any other demonstration of so many parts: yet this being so fundamental a truth, 
 and of that consequence, that all religion and genuine morality depend thereon, I 
 doubt not but I shall be forgiven by my reader if I go over some parts of this 
 argument again, and enlarge a little more upon them. 
 
 8. Something from Eternity.-There is no truth more evident than that some- 
 thing must be from eternity. I never yet heard of any one so unreasonable, or 
 that could suppose so manifest a contradiction, as a time wherein there was per- 
 fectly nothing; this being of all absurdities the greatest, to imagine that pure 
 nothing, the perfect negation and absence cf all beings, should ever produce any 
 
 real existence.! 
 
 first afirming that the Kabobiquois are the only 
 African nation known to him, who believed in 
 the existence of a God; whereas he, in another 
 place, relates that the Caffres not only believed 
 in God, but in the immortality of the soul. ‘De 
 toutes les nations Africaines, celle-ci (des Ka- 
 bobiquois) est la seule chez laquelle j’aie trouvé 
 quelque ideé confuse d’un Dieu. J’ignore si 
 c’est a ses seules réflexions ou 4 ces communica- 
 tions avec d’autres peuples qu’elle doit cette 
 connaissance sublime, qui seule la rapproche- 
 rait des nations policées, mais elle croit (au- 
 tant que j’ai pu m’en assurer par mes gens) 
 qu’au dessous des astres il existe un étre puissant 
 lequel a fait et gouverne toutes choses. Au 
 reste, je dois a la vérité d’ajouter ici que ce 
 n’est la pour elle qu’une idée vague, stérile et 
 sans suite; qu’elle ne soupconne ni |’existence 
 de l’ame ni par, consequent les peines et les ré- 
 compenses d’une autre vie.”’ (1. viii. p. 95 et seq.) 
 When writing this, however, he had clearly for- 
 gotten what he elsewhere says of the Caffres :— 
 *“ Ces peuples ont une trés-haute idée de Pauteur 
 des étres et de sa puissance; ils croient 4 une 
 auire vie, a la punition des méchans, a la récom- 
 pense des bons, mais ils n’ont point d’idée de la 
 création; ils pensent que le monde a toujours ex- 
 isté, qu’il sera toujours ce qwil est.”’ (L. iv. p. 40.) 
 
 The nature of the arguments by which 
 Hobbes conceived the existence of a Deity to be 
 proved, though briefly delivered, and perhaps 
 somewhat imperfectly stated, are yet upon the 
 whole similar to those now put forward by Locke. 
 “Forasmuch,”’ he says, ‘‘as God Almighty is in- 
 comprehensible, it followeth, that we can have no 
 conception or image of the Deity; and conse- 
 quently, all his attributes signify our inability and 
 defect of power to conceive anything concerning 
 
 excepting only this, that there is a God. For the 
 effects we acknowledge naturally, do exclude a 
 power of their producing, before they were pro- 
 duced; and that power presupposeth something 
 existent that hath such a power: and the thing 
 so existing with power to produce, if it were not . 
 eternal, must needs have been produced by some- 
 what before it, and that again by something else 
 before that, till we come to an eternal (that is to 
 say the first) Power of all powers, and first Cause 
 of all causes: and this is it which all men con- 
 ceive by the name of God, implying eternity, in- 
 comprehensibility, and omnipotency. And thus 
 all that will consider may know that God is, 
 though not what he is: even a man born blind, 
 though it be not possible for him to have any 
 imagination what kind of thing fire is, yet he 
 cannot but know that something there is that 
 men call fire, because it warmeth him.” (Hum. 
 Nat. c. xi.§ 2.) The ancient Egyptians sought 
 to express their opinion of the unsearchable na- 
 ture of God by an extraordinary hieroglyphic :— 
 ‘A lion wiping out with his tail the impressions 
 his feet had made on the sand, was the emblem 
 of the Demiourgos, or supreme architect, cover- 
 ing over the marks of his divinity by the works 
 of nature, and hiding his immediate power by the 
 visible agony of inferior beings.’ (Galtruchio.) 
 It has nevertheless been doubted whether the 
 Egyptians believed in one supreme God; and 
 many distinguished scholars are found ranged on 
 both sides of the question. The writers of great- 
 est authority, however, are of opinion that ori- 
 sinally the Kgyptians, like the Hindoos, believed 
 in the existence of one supreme divinity, from 
 which pure faith they lapsed by degrees into Po- 
 lytheism and idolatry. Their Phtha is some- 
 times supposed to be the Hephaistos of the 
 
 his nature, and not any conception of the same, ; Greeks; that is, the subtile fire which pervades 
 
442 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 [BOOK Iv. 
 
 It being, then, unavoidable for all rational creatures to conclude, that some- 
 - thing has existed from eternity; let us next see what kind of thing that must be. 
 
 9. Two Sorts of Beings, cogitative and incogitative-—There are but two sorts 
 of beings in the world that man knows or conceives. 
 
 First, such as are purely material, without sense, perception, or thought, as the 
 clippings of our beards, and parings of our nails. 
 
 Secondly, sensible, thinking, perceiving beings, such as we find ourselves to 
 be, which, if you please, we will hereafter call cogitative and incogitative beings ; 
 which to our present purpose, if for nothing else, are perhaps better terms than 
 
 material and immaterial. 
 
 the universe. (Jablonski. Panth. Egypt. t. i. 
 pp. 80—49.) Like the Chinese, (La Croye. 
 Thes. Epist. 1. iii. p. 194,) the ancient Egyp- 
 tians have by certain writers been suspected of 
 Atheism, a charge opposed by the pious and 
 learned Cudworth, who conceives, that, under 
 the name of Nox, they worshipped the invisi- 
 ble God. Jablonski, though he cannot see any 
 foundation for this opinion, contends that the 
 Egyptians—that is, the philosophical part of the 
 nation, were not polytheists, (L. I. c. i. p. 2.) 
 With a pardonable partiality he regards Egypt 
 as the inventress of theology, and all the other 
 sciences. (ib. et. Proleg. p. 4.) They had, ac- 
 cording to his views, elevated their minds to a 
 clear idea of God; but proceeding to the poly- 
 theistic period, he places Athor, or Aphrodite, at 
 the head of all their divinities, as the Brahmins 
 do Bhavani. (2.) The grammarian Orion, cited 
 by the author of the Etymologicum Magnum, 
 observes, that Athys was, among the Egyptians, 
 the name of a month, and that they denominated 
 Venus, Athor. (In voce, *A@vp.) Hezychius 
 corroborates the testimony of Orion, adding, that 
 the name Athor was likewise applied to the cow; 
 but this is not to be understood of the animal, 
 but of the symbolical cow, by which Athor was 
 represented. (Jab. i. 4.) It may be noticed, en 
 passant, that the word is always written Athor in 
 the books of the Copts. (Hezych. in vy. Orion in 
 Etym. Magn. ut sup.) But Jablonski maintains 
 that this goddess and the Grecian Aphrodite 
 were greatly dissimilar, and that in many re- 
 spects she rather resembled Hera, or Venus 
 Urania. (6.) Herodotus, however, observes that 
 Hera was unknown to the Egyptians. (L. xi. ¢. 
 50.) Some of the ancients confounded the god- 
 dess with the moon. (Seld. de Diss. Syris. Synt. 
 II. ¢. ii. iv. et Voss. de Idolol. 1. xi. c. 21, 22.) 
 Others, again, suppose her to have been the 
 planet Venus, so highly venerated by the Arabs. 
 (Jabl. i. 7.) But in reality, the Orientals meant 
 nothing by the name, but the plastic power of 
 nature, (Plut. vit. Crassi. Jab. 8.)—the mother 
 of gods and men. (Apul. Met. 1. ix.; Ovid. Fast. 
 IV. 99 et seq.) Jablonski himself thlnks the 
 word Athor is synonymous with Nox, Night, 
 (1. 10,) which was also one of the deities of the 
 Pheenicians. (EKuseb. Prep. Evan. 1. I. c. 10.) 
 There were in Greece, also, temples to Night, by 
 Hesiod called the Mother of the Gods. (Theog. v. 
 123, conf. Paus. on Abb. et Phen.) Night, in 
 fact, as suspected by Cudworth, was among the 
 Egyptians accounted the first principle of all 
 things. (Jab. 18,19, conf. to 27.) According to 
 Herodotus, (1. xi. c. 46 and 145,) the eight great 
 gods of the Egyptians were the four elements, 
 the sun, the moon, day, and night. They, how- 
 ever, degenerated by degrees into mere Pan- 
 theism. (Diog. Laert. Pr. vii. 10:) and Jablonski 
 
 inquires whether one would not suppose that ! 
 
 Spinoza had borrowed his system from the Egyp- 
 tians ?”’ (1. 36.) The learned mythologist is of 
 opinion, however, that the more ancient philo- 
 sophers of Egypt believed in one God, (p. 38,) 
 who was called Phtha, (44,) and included both the 
 sexes. This is identical, or perfectly agrees with 
 the doctrine of the Brahmins, (p. 47,) yet the 
 
 worship of this god, like that of Brahma in India, 
 
 gradually died away, and he honoured but one 
 temple, which was in Memphis. (52.) The soli- 
 tary fane in honour of the supreme God exists 
 likewise in Hindustan. (Todd. Annal. of Bojart, 
 I. p. 774.) The primitive conception which the 
 Hindus had framed of the divinity, we may col- 
 lect from a sublime hymn in the Lajus-Veda, ‘in 
 which a yearning to inculcate the unity of God is 
 clearly distinguishable, in the midst of ideas of a 
 pantheistical tendency.” (Hindoos. I. p. 146.) 
 ‘« Fire is that original cause; the sun is that; so 
 is air; so is the moon; such, too, is that pure 
 Brahmin, and those waters, and that lord of 
 creatures. Moments, and other measures of 
 time, proceeded from the effulgent person, whom 
 none can apprehend as an object of perception, 
 above, around, or in the midst. Of him whose 
 glory is so great there is no image; he it is 
 who is celebrated in various holy strains. Even 
 he is the God, who pervades all regions; he is 
 the first-born; it is he who is in the womb; he 
 who is born; and he who will be produced: he 
 severally and universally remains with all per- 
 sons. He, prior to whom nothing was born, and 
 who became all things; himself the lord of crea- 
 tures, with a body composed of sixteen members, 
 being delighted by creation, produced the three 
 luminaries, the sun, the moon, and fire. To 
 what God should we offer oblations, but to him 
 who made the fluid sky and solid earth; who 
 fixed the solar orb and celestial abode: and who 
 formed drops of rain in the atmosphere? To 
 what God should we offer oblation, but to him 
 whom heaven and earth mentally contemplate, 
 while they are strengthened and embellished by 
 offerings, and illuminated by the sun rising above 
 them? The wise man views that mysterious 
 Being in whom the universe perpetually exists, 
 resting on that sole support. In him this world 
 is absorbed; from him it comes; in creatures he 
 is twined and wove with various forms of exist- 
 ence. Let the wise man who is conversant with 
 the import of revelation, promptly celebrate that 
 immortal Being, the mysteriously existing and 
 various abode: he who knows its three states, 
 (its creation, continuance, and destruction,) 
 which are inyolved in mystery, is father of the 
 father. That Brahma in whom the gods attain 
 immortality, while they abide in the third or 
 celestial region, is our venerable parent, and the 
 Providence which governs all worlds.”’ (Asiatic 
 Researches, VIII. pp. 431—433.) 
 
CHAP. x. ] KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 443 
 
 10. Incogitative Beings cannot produce a cogitative.—If, then, there must be 
 something eternal, let us see what sort of being it must be. And to that it is 
 very obvious to reason, that it must necessarily be a cogitative bemg. For it is as 
 impossible to conceive that ever bare incogitative matter should produce a thinking 
 intelligent being, as that nothing should of itself produce matter. Let us suppose 
 any parcel of matter eternal—great or small—we shall find it, in itself, able to pro- 
 duce nothing. For example: let us suppose the matter of the next pebble we meet 
 with eternal, closely united, and the parts firmly at rest-together; if there were no 
 other being in the world, must it not eternally remain so—a dead inactive lump ? 
 Is it possible to conceive it can add motion to itself—being purely matter—or pro- 
 duce anything? Matter, then, by its own strength, cannot produce in itself so 
 much as motion: the motion it has must also be from eternity, or else be produced, 
 and added to matter by some other being more powerful than matter; matter, as is 
 evident, having not power to produce motion in itself. But let us suppose motion 
 eternal too: yet matter—incogitative matter and motion—whatever changes it 
 might produce of figure and bulk, could never produce thought: knowledge will 
 still be as far beyond the power of motion and matter to produce, as matter is be- 
 yond the power of nothing or nonentity to produce. And I appeal to every one’s 
 own thoughts, whether he cannot as easily conceive matter produced by nothing, as 
 thought to be produced by pure matter, when, before, there was no such thing as 
 thought or an intelligent being existing? Divide matter into as many parts as you 
 will, (which we are apt to imagine a sort of spiritualizing, or making a thinking 
 thing of it,) vary the figure and motion of it as much as you please—a globe, cube, 
 cone, prism, cylinder, &c., whose diameters are but 100,000th part of a gry,' will 
 operate no otherwise upon other bodies of proportionable bulk, than those of an 
 inch or foot diameter ; and you may as rationally expect to produce sense, thought, 
 and knowledge, by putting together, in a certain figure and motion, gross particles 
 of matter, as by those that are the very minutest that do anywhere exist. They 
 knock, impel, and resist one another, just as the greater do, and that is all they can 
 do. So that, if we will suppose nothing first or eternal, matter can never begin 
 to be: if we suppose bare matter without motion, eternal; motion can never be- 
 gin to be: if we suppose only matter and motion first, or eternal, thought can never 
 begin to be. For it is impossible to conceive that matter, either with or without 
 motion, could have originally in and from itself sense, perception, and knowledge; 
 as is evident from hence, that then sense, perception, and knowledge must be a 
 property eternally inseparable from matter and every particle of it. Not to add, 
 that, though our general or specific conception of matter makes us speak of it as 
 one thing, yet really all matter is not one individual thing, neither is there any 
 such thing existing as one material being, or one single body that we know or can 
 conceive. And therefore, if matter were the eternal first cogitative being, there 
 would not be one eternal, infinite, cogitative being, but an infinite number of eter- 
 nal, finite, cogitative beings, independent one of another, of limited force, and dis- 
 tinct thoughts, which could never produce that order, harmony, and beauty which 
 are to be found in nature. Since, therefore, whatsoever is the first eternal being 
 must necessarily be cogitative; and whatsoever is first of all things must necessa- 
 rily contain in it, and actually have, at least, all the perfections that can ever after 
 exist; nor can it ever give to another any perfection that it hath not either actually 
 in itself or, at least, ina higher degree; it necessarily follows, that the first eternal 
 being cannot be matter. 
 
 1 A gry is one-tenth of a line, a line one-tenth | made use of this measure here, and the parts of 
 of an inch, an inch one-tenth of a philosophical | it, under a decimal division, with names to them; 
 foot, a philosophical foot one-third of apendulum, | because I think it would be of general conve- 
 whose diadroms, in the latitude of forty-five de- | nience that this should be the common measure, 
 grees, are each equal to one second of time, | in the commonwealth of letters. 
 
 or one-sixtieth of a minute. I have affectedly 
 
 i i a mea a a EN SE | 
 
444 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 ll. Therefore, there has been an eternal Wisdom.—If, therefore, it be evident 
 that something necessarily must exist from eternity, it is also as evident that that 
 something must necessarily be a cogitative being: for it is as impossible that m- 
 cogitative matter should produce a cogitative being, as that nothing, or the nega- 
 tion of all being should produce a positive being or matter. 
 
 12. Though this discovery of the necessary existence of an eternal mind does 
 sufficiently lead us into the knowledge of God; since it will hence follow, that all 
 other knowing beings that have a beginning must depend on him, and have no 
 other ways of knowledge or extent of power than what he gives them; and there- 
 fore, if he made those, he made also the less excellent pieces of this universe, all in- 
 animate beings, whereby his omniscience, power, and providence will be established, 
 and all his other attributes necessarily follow: yet, to clear up this a little further, 
 we will see what doubts can be raised against it. 
 
 13. Whether material or no.—First, Perhaps it will be said, that, though it be 
 as clear as demonstration can make it, that there must be an eternal being, and that 
 being must also be knowing; yet it does not follow, but that thinking being may 
 also be material. Let it be so: it eyually still follows that there is a God. For 
 if there be an eternal, omniscient, omnipotent being, it is certain that there is a 
 God, whether you imagine that being to be materialorno. But herein, 1 suppose, 
 lies the danger and deceit of that supposition: there being no way to avoid the 
 demonstration, that there is an eternal knowing being, men devoted to matter 
 would willingly have it granted that this knowing being is material; and then, 
 letting slide out of their minds or the discourse the demonstration whereby an 
 eternal knowing being was proved necessarily to exist, would argue all to be mat- 
 ter, and so deny a God—that is, an eternal cogitative being; whereby they are so 
 far from establishing, that they destroy their own hypothesis. For if there can be, 
 in their opinion, eternal matter, without any eternal cogitative being, they mani- 
 festly separate matter and thinking, and suppose no necessary connexion of the one 
 with the other, and so establish the necessity of an eternal spirit, but not of matter; 
 since it has been proved already, that an eternal cogitative being is unavoidably to 
 be granted. Now, if thinking and matter may be separated, the eternal existence 
 of matter will not follow from the eternal existence of a cogitative being, and they 
 suppose it to no purpose. 
 
 14. Not material, I. Because every Particle of Matter is not cogitative.—But 
 now let us suppose they can satisfy themselves or others, that this eternal thinking 
 being is material. 
 
 First, I would ask them, whether they imagine that all matter—every particle 
 of matter—thinks? This, I suppose, they will scarce say; since then there 
 would be as many eternal thinking beings as there are particles of matter, and so 
 an infinity of gods. And yet, if they will not allow matter as matter—that is, 
 every particle of matter to be as well cogitative as extended, they will have as hard 
 a task to make out to their own reasons a cogitative being out of incogitative par- 
 ticles, as an extended being out of unextended parts, if | may so speak. 
 
 15. II. One Particle alone of Matter cannot be cogitative.—-Secondly, If all 
 matter does not think, I next ask, Whether it be only one atom that does so? 
 This has as many absurdities as the other; for then this atom of matter must be 
 alone eternal or not. If this alone be eternal, then this alone, by its powerful 
 thought or will, made all the rest of matter. And so we have the creation of matter 
 by a powerful thought, which is that the materialists stick at; for if they sup- 
 pose one single thinking atom to have produced all the rest of matter, they cannot 
 ascribe that pre-eminency to it upon any other account than that of its thinking, 
 the only supposed difference. But allow it to be by some other way, which is 
 above our conception, it must still be creation, and these men must give up their 
 great maxim, “ Ex nihilo nil fit.” If it be said, that all the rest of matter is equally 
 eternal as that thinking atom, it will be to say anything at pleasure, though ever 
 so absurd : for to suppose all matter eternal, and yet one small particle in know- 
 
CHAP. X.] KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 445 
 
 ledge and power infinitely above all the rest, is without any the least appearance 
 of reason to frame an hypothesis. Every particle of matter, as matter, is capable 
 of all the same figures and motions of any other; and I challenge any one, in his 
 thoughts, to add anything else to one above another. 
 
 16. III. A System of incogitative Matter cannot be cogitative.—If, then, 
 neither one peculiar atom alone can be this eternal thinking being; nor all matter, 
 as matter, i. e. every particle of matter can be it; it only remains, that it is some 
 certain system of matter duly put together, that is this thinking eternal being. This 
 is that which, I imagine, is that notion which men are aptest to have of God; who 
 would have him a material being, as most readily suggested to them by the ordi- 
 nary conceit they have of themselves, and other men, which they take to be mate- 
 rial thinking beings. But this imagination, however more natural, is no less ab- 
 surd than the other: for to suppose the eternal thinking being to be nothing else 
 but a composition of particles of matter, each whereof is cogitative, is to ascribe 
 all the wisdom and knowledge of that eternal being only to the juxta-position of 
 parts; than which nothing can be more absurd. For unthinking particles of 
 matter, howeyer put together, can have nothing thereby added to them, but a new 
 sel of position, which it is impossible should give thought and knowledge to 
 them. 
 
 17. Whether in Motion or at Rest.—But further: this corporeal system either 
 has all its parts at rest, or it is a certain motion of the parts wherein its thinking 
 consists. If it be perfectly at rest, it is but one lump, and so can have no privi- 
 leges above one atom. 
 
 If it be the motion of its parts, on which its thinking depends, all the thoughts 
 there must be unavoidably accidental and limited; since all the particles that by 
 motion cause thought, being each of them in itself without any thought, cannot © 
 regulate its own motions, much less be regulated by the thought of the whole: 
 since that thought is not the cause of motion, (for then it must be antecedent to it, 
 and so without it,) but the consequence of it, whereby freedom, power, choice, and 
 ail rational and wise thinking or acting, will be quite taken away: so that such a 
 thinking being will be no better nor wiser than pure blind matter; since to resolve 
 all into the accidental unguided motions of blind matter, or into thought depending 
 on unguided motions of blind matter, is the same thing; not to mention the narrow- 
 ness of such thoughts and knowledge that must depend on the motion of such parts. 
 But there needs no enumeration of any more absurdities and impossibilities in this 
 hypothesis (however full of them it be) than that before mentioned ; since, let this 
 thinking system be all or a part of the matter of the universe, it is impossible that 
 any one particle should either know its own or the motion of any other particle, 
 or the whole know the motion of every particle; and so regulate its own thoughts 
 or motions, or indeed have any thought resulting from such motion. 
 
 18. Matter not co-eternal with an eternal Mind.—Others would have matter | 
 to be eternal, notwithstanding that they allow an eternal, cogitative, immaterial 
 being. This, though it take not away the being of a God, yet, since it denies one 
 and the first great piece of his workmanship, the creation, let us consider it a 
 little. Matter must be allowed eternal: why? because you cannot conceive how 
 it can be made out of nothing: why do you not also think yourself eternal? You 
 will answer, perhaps, because, about twenty or forty years since, you began to be 
 be. But if 1 ask you what that you is which began then to be, you can scarce tell 
 me. The matter whereof you are made began not then to be; for if it did, then it 
 is not eternal: but it began to be put together in sucha fashion and frame as makes 
 up your body; but yet that frame of particles is not you, it makes not that think- 
 ing thing you are; (for I have now to do with one who allows an eternal, imma- 
 terial, thinking being, but would have unthinking matter eternal too;) therefore, 
 when did that thinking thing begin to be? If it did never begin to be, then have 
 you always been a thinking thing from eternity ; the absurdity whereof I need not 
 confute, till 1 meet with one whois so void of understanding as to own it. If, there- 
 
[BOOK IV. 
 
 446 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 fore, you can allow a thinking thing to be made out of nothing, (as all things 
 that are not eternal must be,) why also can you not allow it possible for a material 
 being to be made out of nothing by an equal power, but that you have the expe- 
 rience of the one in view, and not of the other? though when well considered, 
 creation of a spirit will be found to require no less power than the creation of mat- 
 ter. Nay, possibly, if we would emancipate ourselves from vulgar notions, and 
 raise our thoughts, as far as they would reach, to a closer contemplation of things, 
 we might be able to aim at some dim and seeming conception how matter might 
 at first be made, and begin to exist by the power of that eternal first being: but 
 to give beginning and being to a spirit, would be found a more inconceivable effect 
 of omnipotent power. But this being what would perhaps lead us too far from 
 the notions on which the philosophy now in the world is built, it would not be 
 pardonable to deviate so far from them; or to inquire, so far as grammar itself 
 would authorize, if the common settled opinion opposes it: especially in this place, 
 where the received doctrine serves well enough to our present purpose, and leaves 
 this past doubt, that the creation or beginning of any one substance out of nothing 
 being once admitted, the creation of all other but the Creator himself, may, with 
 the same ease, be supposed. 
 
 19. But you will say, Is it not impossible to admit of the making anything out 
 of nothing, since we cannot possibly conceive it? I answer, No: 1. Because it is not 
 reasonable to deny the power of an infinite being, because we cannot comprehend 
 its operations. We do not deny other effects upon this ground, because we can- 
 not possibly conceive the manner of their production. We cannot conceive how 
 anything but impulse of body can move body; and yet that is not a reason sufli- 
 cient to make us deny it possible,! against the constant experience we have of it in 
 ourselves, in all our voluntary motions, which are produced in us only by the free 
 action or thought of our own minds; and are not, nor can be, the effects of the 
 impulse or determination of the motion of blind matter in or upon our own bodies ; 
 for then it could not be in our power or choice to alter it. For example: my 
 right hand writes, whilst my left hand is still: what causes rest in one, and motion in 
 the other? Nothing but my will—a thought of my mind; my thought only 
 changing, the right hand rests, and the left hand moves. This is matter of fact, 
 which cannot be denied: explain this and make it intelligible, and then the next 
 step will be to understand creation. For the giving a new determination to the 
 motion of the animal spirits (which some make use of to explain voluntary motion) 
 clears not the difficulty one jot: to alter the determination of motion, being in this 
 case no easier nor less, than to give motion itself; since the new determination 
 given to the animal spirits must be either immediately by thought, or by some 
 other body put in their way by thought, which was not in their way before, and 
 so must owe its motion to thought; either of which leaves voluntary motion as un- 
 intelligible as it was before. In the meantime, it is an overvaluing ourselves to 
 reduce all to the narrow measure of our capacities; and to conclude all things im- 
 possible to be done, whose manner of doing exceeds our comprehension. This is 
 to make our comprehension infinite, or God finite, when what he can do is limited 
 to what we can conceive of it. If you do not understand the operations of your 
 own finite mind—that thinking thing within you, do not deem it strange that you 
 cannot comprehend the operations of that eternal infinite mind, who made and go- 
 verns all things, and whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain.” 
 
 1 So in the fol. 1714. But in the modern edi- 
 tions it is usually printed ‘deny it impossible.” 
 (See following page.) 
 
 2 In the philosophical system of the Hindoos, 
 God is regarded as pure spirit, divested of all at- 
 tributes. Matter, which comprehends everything 
 that is not God, is inert. Here are two princi- 
 ples clearly taught. This Being is individuated 
 
 in every form of life, vegetable as well as animal; 
 but may also be contemplated as dwelling in his 
 own eternal solitude. From the union of spirit 
 with matter arise vice and misery: to dissolve 
 this union, and return the divine particle to its 
 pure source, which is to be effected only by com- 
 plete abstraction, and perpetual meditation on 
 the Divine Nature, is the great business of life. 
 
CHAP. XI.} KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS. 447 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS. 
 
 1. It is to be had only by Sensation.—TuE knowledge of our own being we 
 have by intuition. The existence of a God, reason clearly makes known to us, as 
 has been shown. 
 
 The knowledge of the existence of any other thing we can have only by sensa- 
 tion: for there being no necessary connexion of real existence with any idea a man 
 hath in his memory, nor of any other existence but that of God, with the existence 
 of any particular man; no particular man can know the existence of any other 
 being, but only when, by actual operating upon him, it makes itself perceived by 
 him. For the having the idea of anything in our mind, no more proves the ex- 
 istence of that thing, than the picture of a man evidences his being in the world, or 
 the visions of a dream make thereby a true history. 
 
 2. Instance: Whiteness of this Paper.—It is therefore the actual receiving of 
 ideas from without that gives us notice of the existence of other things, and 
 makes us know that something doth exist at that time without us, which causes 
 that idea in us, though perhaps we neither know nor consider how it does it: for 
 it takes not from the certainty of our senses, and the ideas we receive by them, 
 that we know not the manner wherein they are produced: v. g. whilst I write this, 
 I have, by the paper affecting my eyes, that idea produced in my mind, which, 
 whatever object causes, I call white; by which I know that that quality or acci- 
 dent (i. e. whose appearance before my eyes always causes that idea) doth really 
 exist, and hath a being without me. And of this the greatest assurance I can 
 possibly have, and to which my faculties can attain, is the testimony of my eyes, 
 which are the proper and sole judges of this thing, whose testimony I have reason 
 to rely on as so certain, that I can no more doubt, whilst I write this, that I see 
 white and black, and that something really exists that causes that sensation in 
 me, than that I write or move my hand: which is a certainty as great as human 
 nature is capable of, concerning the existence of anything but a man’s self alone, 
 and of God. 
 
 3. This, though not so certain as Demonstration, yet may be called Knowledge, 
 and proves the Existence of Things without us.—The notice we have by our senses 
 of the existing of things without us, though it be not altogether so certain as our 
 intuitive knowledge, or the deductions of our reason, employed about the clear ab- 
 stract ideas of our own minds; yet it is an assurance that deserves the name of 
 knowledge. If we persuade ourselves that our faculties act and inform us right 
 concerning the existence of those objects that affect them, it cannot pass for an ill- 
 grounded confidence: for I think nobody can, in earnest, be so sceptical as to be 
 uncertain of the existence of those things which he sees and feels. At least, he 
 that can doubt so far (whatever he may have with his own thoughts) will never 
 have any controversy with me; since he can never be sure I say anything con- 
 trary to his own opmion. As to myself, I think God has given me assurance 
 enough of the existence of things without me; since, by their different application 
 I can produce in myself both pleasure and pain, which is one great concernment 
 of my present state. This is certain, the confidence that our faculties do not herein 
 
 The Hindoo philosophers, therefore, endeavour, | they expect to be plunged after death, and lost 
 by performing the most fearful austerities, and, | in ineffable beatitude, as the air contained ina 
 by anihilating as far as possible all wants, affec- | vessel mingles, when this vessel is broken, with 
 tions and desires, to elevate themselves to that the great body of atmospheric air, or as a drop is 
 spiritual life, or absorption, in the Deity, in which | lost in the ocean. (Ward. pref. p. 20—21.) 
 
448 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV, 
 
 deceive us, is the greatest assurance we are capable of concerning the existence of 
 material beings. For we cannot act anything but by our faculties; nor talk of 
 knowledge itself, but by the helps of those faculties which are fitted to apprehend 
 even what knowledge is. But besides the assurance we have from our senses them- 
 selves, that they do not err in the information they give us of the existence of things 
 without us, when they are affected by them, we are further confirmed in this assur- 
 ance by other concurrent reasons. 
 
 4, I. Because we cannot have them but by the Inlet of the Senses.--- First, It is 
 plain those perceptions are produced in us by exterior causes affecting our senses ; 
 because those that want the organs of any sense, never can have the ideas belong- 
 ing to that sense produced in their minds. This is too evident to be doubted: 
 and therefore we cannot but be assured that they come in by the organs of that 
 sense, and no other way. The organs themselves, it is plain, do not produce them; 
 for then the eyes of a man in the dark would produce colours, and his nose smell 
 roses in the winter: but we see nobody gets the relish of a pineapple, till he goes 
 to the Indies, where it is, and tastes it.! ~~. 
 
 5. II. Because an Idea from actual Sensation, and another from Memory, are 
 very distinct Perceptions.—Secondly, Because sometimes I find, that I cannot 
 avoid the having those ideas produced in my mind. For though, when my eyes 
 are shut, or windows fast, I can at pleasure recal to my mind the ideas of hight, or 
 the sun, which former sensations had lodged in my memory; so I can at pleasure 
 lay by that idea, and take into my view that of the smell of a rose, or taste of 
 sugar. But, if I turn my eyes at noon towards the sun, I cannot avoid the ideas 
 which the light or sun then produces in me. So that there is a manifest difference 
 between the ideas laid up in my memory, (over which if they were there only, I 
 should have constantly the same power to dispose of them, and lay them by at 
 pleasure,) and those which force themselves upon me, and I cannot avoid having. 
 And therefore it must needs be some exterior cause, and the brisk acting of some 
 objects without me, whose efficacy I cannot resist, that produces those ideas in my 
 mind, whether I will or no. Besides, there is nobody who doth not perceive the 
 difference in himself between contemplating the.sun, as he hath the idea of it in 
 his memory, and actually looking upon it: of which two, his perception is so dis- 
 tinct, that few of his ideas are more distinguishable one from another. And there- 
 fore he hath certain knowledge, that they are not both memory, or the actions 
 of his mind, and fancies only within him; but that actual seeing hath a cause 
 without. 
 
 6. III. Pleasure or Pain which accompanies actual Sensation, accompanies 
 not the returning of those Ideas without the external Objects.—Thirdly, Add 
 to this, that many of those ideas are produced in us with pain, which afterwards 
 we remember without the least offence. Thus, the pain of heat or cold, when the 
 idea of it is revived in our minds, gives us no disturbance; which, when felt, was 
 very troublesome, and is again, when actually repeated; which is occasioned by 
 the disorder the external object causes in our bodies when applied to it. And we 
 remember the pains of hunger, thirst, or the headache, without any pain at all; 
 which would either never disturb us, or else constantly do it, as often as we thought 
 of it, were there nothing more but ideas floating in our minds, and appearances 
 entertaining our fancies, without the real existence of things affecting us from 
 abroad. ‘The same may be said of pleasure, accompanying several actual sensa- 
 tions: and though mathematical demonstrations depend not upon sense, yet the 
 examining them by diagrams gives great credit to the evidence of our sight, and 
 seems to give it a certainty approaching to that of demonstration itself. For it 
 would be very strange, that a man should allow it for an undeniable truth, that 
 two angles of a figure, which he measures by lines and angles of a diagram, should 
 
 1 Tt would seem from this, that the pineapple had not been then introduced into Europe. 
 
CHAP. XI.] KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS. 449 
 
 be bigger one than the other, and yet doubt of the existence of those lines and 
 angles, which by looking on he makes use of to measure that by. 
 
 7. IV. Our Senses assist one another's Testimony of the Existence of outward 
 Things.—Fourthly, Our senses in many cases bear witness to the truth of each 
 other’s report, concerning the existence of sensible things without us. He that 
 sees a fire, may, if he doubt whether it be anything more than a bare fancy, feel it 
 too; and be convinced, by putting his hand in it; which certainly could never 
 be put into such exquisite pain by a bare idea or phantom, unless that the pain be 
 a fancy too, which yet he cannot, when the burn is well, by raising the idea of it, 
 bring upon himself again. 
 
 Thus I see, whilst I write this, I can change the appearance of the paper, and 
 by designing the letters tell beforehand what new idea it shall exhibit the very next 
 moment, by barely drawing my pen over it: which will neither appear (let me 
 fancy as much as I will) if my hands stand still; or though I move my pen, if 
 my eyes be shut: nor when those characters are once made on the paper, can I 
 choose afterwards but see them as they are; that is, have the ideas of such letters 
 as I have made. Whence it is manifest, that they are not barely the sport and 
 play of my own imagination, when I find that the characters that were made at 
 the pleasure of my own thought, do not obey them; nor yet cease to be, whenever 
 I shall fancy it; but continue to affect the senses constantly and regularly, accord- 
 ing to the figures I made them. To which if we will add, that the sight of those 
 shall, from another man, draw such sounds as I beforehand design they shall stand 
 for, there will be little reason left to doubt, that those words I write do really exist 
 without me, when they cause a long series of regular sounds to affect my ears, 
 which could not be the effect of my imagination, nor could my memory retain 
 them in that order. 
 
 8. This Certainty is as great as our Condition needs.—But yet, if after ail this, 
 any one will be so sceptical as to distrust his senses, and to affirm that all we sce 
 and hear, feel and taste, think and do, during our whole being, is but the series 
 and deluding appearances of a long dream, whereof there is no reality ; and there- 
 fore will question the existence of all things, or our knowledge of anything; I 
 must desire him to consider, that, if all be a dream, that he doth but dream that 
 he makes the question, and so it is not much matter that a waking man should 
 answer him. But yet, if he pleases, he may dream that I make him this answer, 
 that the certainty of things existing in rerum natura, when we have the testimony 
 of our senses for it, is not only as great as our frame can attain to, but as our con- 
 dition needs. For our faculties being suited not to the full extent of being nor to 
 a perfect, clear, comprehensive knowledge of things free from all doubt and scru- 
 ple; but to the preservation of us, in whom they are, and accommodated to the 
 use of life, they serve to our purpose well enough, if they will but give us certain 
 notice of those things, which are convenient or inconvenient to us. For he that 
 sees a candle burning, and hath experimented the force of its flame by putting his 
 finger in it, will little doubt that this is something existing without him, which 
 does him harm, and puts him to great pain; which is assurance enough, when no 
 man requires greater certainty to govern his actions by, than what is as certain 
 as his actions themselves. And if our dreamer pleases to try whether the glowing 
 heat of a glass furnace be barely a wandering imagination in a drowsy man’s 
 fancy, by putting his hand into it he may perhaps be wakened into a certainty 
 greater than he could wish, that it is something more than bare imagination: 
 so that this evidence is as great as we can desire, being as certain to us as our 
 pleasure or pain, i. e. happiness or misery; beyond which we have no concern- 
 ment, either of knowing or being. Such an assurance of the existence of things 
 without us is sufficient to direct us in the attaining the good and avoiding the 
 evil which is caused by them, which is the import and concernment we have of 
 being made acquainted with them. 
 
 9. But reaches no further than actual Sensation.—In fine, then, when our 
 
 GG 
 
450 . OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 senses do actually convey into our understandings any idea, we cannot but be sa- 
 tisfied that there doth something at that time really exist without us, which doth 
 affect our senses, and by them give notice of itself to our apprehensive faculties, 
 and actually produce that idea which we then perceive: and we cannot so far dis- 
 trust their testimony, as to doubt that such collections of simple ideas as we have 
 observed by our senses to be united together, do really exist together. But this know- 
 ledge extends as far as the present testimony of our senses, employed about particu- 
 lar objects that do then affect them, and no further. For if I saw sucha collection 
 of simple ideas, as is wont to be called man, existing together one minute since, 
 and am now alone, I cannot be certain that the same man exists now, since there 
 is no necessary connexion of his existence a minute since with his existence now: 
 by a thousand ways he may cease to be, since I had the testimony of my senses for 
 his existence. And if I cannot be certain that the man I saw last to-day is now 
 in being, I can less be certain that he is so who hath been longer removed from 
 my senses, and I have not seen since yesterday, or since the last year; and much 
 less can I be certain of the existence of men that I never saw. And, therefore, 
 though it be highly probable that millions of men do now exist, yet, whilst I am 
 alone writing this, I have not that certainty of it which we strictly call knowledge; 
 though the great likelihood of it puts me past doubt, and it be reasonable for me 
 to do several things upon the confidence that there are men (and men also of my 
 acquaintance, with whom I have to do) now in the world: but this is but proba- 
 bility, not knowledge. 
 
 10. Folly to expect Demonstration in everything.—Whereby yet we may ob- 
 serve how foolish and vain a thing it is for a man of a narrow knowledge, who 
 having reason given him to judge of the different evidence and probability of 
 things, and to be swayed accordingly ; how vain, I say, it is to expect demonstra- 
 tion and certainty in things not capable of it; and refuse assent to very rational 
 propositions, and act contrary to very plain and clear truths, because they cannot 
 be made out so evident, as to surmount every the least (I will not say reason, but) 
 pretence of doubting. He that, in the ordinary affairs of life, would admit of nothing 
 but direct plain demonstration, would be sure of nothing in this world, but of perish- 
 ing quickly. The wholesomeness of his meat or drink would not give him reason 
 to venture on it: and I would fain know what it is he could do upon such grounds, 
 as are capable of no doubt, no objection. 
 
 Il. Past Existence is known by Memory.—As when our senses are actually 
 employed about any object, we do know that it does exist; so by our memory we 
 may be assured, that heretofore*things that affected our senses have existed. 
 And thus we have knowledge of the past existence of several things, whereof our 
 senses having informed us, our memories still retain the ideas; and of this we are 
 past all doubt, so long as we remember well. But this knowledge also reaches 
 no further than our senses have formerly assured us. Thus, seeing water at this 
 instant, it is an unquestionable truth to me that water doth exist; and remember- 
 ing that I saw it yesterday, it will also be always true, and as long as my memory 
 retains it, always an undoubted proposition to me, that water did exist the 10th of 
 July, 1688, as it will also be equally true that a certain number of very fine colours 
 did exist, which at the same time I saw upon a bubble of that water; but, being 
 now quite out of the sight both of the water and bubbles too, it is no more certainly 
 known to me that the water doth now exist, than that the bubbles or colours 
 therein do so: it being no more necessary that water should exist to-day, because 
 it existed yesterday, than that the colours or bubbles exist to-day, because they 
 existed yesterday; though it be exceedingly much more probable, because water 
 hath been observed to continue long in existence, but bubbles and the colours on 
 them quickly cease to be. 
 
 12. The Existence of Spirits not knowable.—What ideas we have of spirits, 
 and how we come by them, I have already shown. But though we have those 
 ideas in our minds, and know we have them there, the having the ideas of spirits 
 
 a EERIE 
 
CHAP. XI.] KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER THINGS. 451 
 
 does not make us know that any such things do exist without us, or that there 
 are any finite spirits, or any other spiritual beings but the eternal God. We have 
 ground from revelation, and several other reasons, to believe with assurance that 
 there are such creatures: but our senses not being able to discover them, we want 
 the means of knowing their particular existences. For we can no more know that 
 there are finite spirits really existing by the idea we have of such beings in our 
 minds, than by the ideas any one has of fairies or centaurs, he can come to know 
 that things answering those ideas do really exist. 
 
 And therefore concerning the existence of finite spirits, as well as several other 
 things, we must content ourselves with the evidence of faith; but universal, certain 
 propositions concerning this matter are beyond our reach. For however true it 
 may be—v.g. that all the intelligent spirits that God ever created, do still exist : 
 yet itcan never make a part of our certain knowledge. These and the like propo- 
 sitions we may assent to, as highly probable, but are not, I fear, in this state ca- 
 pable of knowing. We are not, then, to put others upon demonstrating, nor our- 
 selves upon search of universal certainty in all those matters, wherein we are not ca- 
 pable of any other knowledge, but what our senses give us in this or that particular. 
 
 13. Particular Propositions concerning Existence are knowable.-—By which 
 it appears that there are two sorts of propositions. 1. There is one sort of propo- 
 sitions concerning the existence of anything answerable to such an idea: as 
 having the idea of an elephant, phoenix, motion or an angel, in my mind, the 
 first and natural inquiry is, whether such a thing does anywhere exist? And this 
 knowledge is only of particulars. No existence of anything without us, but only 
 of God, can certainly be known further than our senses inform us. 2. There is 
 another sort of propositions, wherein is expressed the agreement or disagreement 
 of our abstract ideas, and their dependence on one another. Such propositions 
 may be universal or certain. So, having the idea of God and myself, of fear and 
 obedience, I cannot but be sure that God is to be feared and obeyed by me: and 
 this proposition will be certain, concerning man in general, if I have made an ab- 
 stract idea of such a species, whereof I am one particular. But yet this proposi- 
 tion, how certain soever, that men ought to fear and obey God, proves not to me 
 the existence of men in the world, but will be true of all such creatures, whenever 
 they do exist: which certainty of such general propositions depends on the agree- 
 ment or disagreement to be discovered in those abstract ideas. 
 
 14. And general Propositions concerning abstract Ideas.—In the former case, 
 our knowledge is the consequence of the existence of things producing ideas in our 
 minds by our senses: in the latter, knowledge is the consequence of the ideas (be 
 they what they will) that are in our minds producing there general certain propo- 
 sitions. Many of these are called eterne veritates, and all of them indeed are so; 
 not from being written all or any of them in the minds of all men, or that they 
 were any of them propositions in one’s mind, till he, having got the abstract ideas, 
 joined or separated them by affirmation or negation. But wheresoever we can sup- 
 pose such a creature as man is, endowed with such faculties, and thereby furnished 
 with such ideas as we have, we must conclude, he must needs, when he applies his 
 thoughts to the consideration of his ideas, know the truth of certain propositions, 
 that will arise from the agreement or disagreement which he will perceive in his 
 own ideas. Such propositions are therefore called eternal truths, not because they 
 are eternal propositions actually formed, and antecedent to the understanding, 
 that at any time makes them; nor because they are imprinted on the mind from 
 any patterns that are anywhere out of the mind, and existed before; but because 
 being once made about abstract ideas, so as to be true, they will, whenever they 
 can be supposed to be made again at any time past or to come, by a mind having 
 those ideas, always actually be true. For names being supposed to stand perpe- 
 tually for the same ideas, and the same ideas having immutably the same habi- 
 tudes one to another; propositions concerning any abstract ideas that are once 
 true must needs be eternal verities. | 
 
 Ce ee 
 
452 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Iv. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. Knowledge is not from Maxims.—Ir having been the common received 
 opinion amongst men of letters, that maxims were the foundation of all knowledge; 
 and that the sciences were each of them built upon certain preecognita, from 
 whence the understanding was to take its rise, and by which it was to conduct 
 itself in its inquiries into the matters belonging to that science, the beaten road of 
 the schools has been to lay down in the beginning one or more general propositions 
 as foundations whereon to build the knowledge that was to be had of that subject. 
 These doctrines, thus laid down for foundations of any science, were called princi- 
 ples, as the beginnings from which we must set out, and look no further backwards 
 in our inquiries, as we have already observed. 
 
 2. (The Occasion of that Opinion. )—One thing which might probably give an 
 occasion to this way of proceeding in other sciences, was (as I suppose) the good 
 success if seemed to have in mathematics, wherein men being observed to attain 
 a great certainty of knowledge, these sciences came by pre-eminence to be called 
 Ma0fhpara, and MaOnore, learning, or things learned, thoroughly learned, as having 
 of all others the greatest certainty, clearness, and evidence in them. 
 
 3. But from the comparing clear and distinct Ideas.—But if any one will con- 
 sider, he will (I guess) find that the great advancement and certainty of real know- 
 ledge which men arrived to in these sciences, was not owing to the influence 
 of these principles, nor derived from any peculiar advantage they received from 
 two or three general maxims, laid down in the beginning; but from the clear, 
 distinct, complete ideas their thoughts were employed about, and the relation of 
 equality and excess so clear between some of them, that they had an intuitive 
 knowledge, and by that a way to discover it in others, and this without the help of 
 those maxims. For I ask, is it not possible for a young lad to know that his whole 
 body is bigger than his little finger, but by virtue of this axiom, that the whole is 
 bigger than a part; nor be assured of it, till he has learned that maxim? Or 
 cannot a country wench know that, having received a shilling from one that owes 
 her three, and a shilling also from another that owes her three, the remain- 
 ing debts in each of their hands are equal? Cannot she know this, I say, unless 
 she fetch the certainty of it from this maxim, that if you take equals from equals, 
 the remainder will be equals, a maxim which possibly she never heard or thought 
 of? I desire any one to consider, from what has been elsewhere said, which 
 is known first and clearest by most people, the particular instance, or the 
 general rule; and which it is that gives life and birth to the other. These 
 general rules are but the comparing our more general and abstract ideas, 
 which are the workmanship of the mind, made and names given to them for the 
 easier dispatch in its reasonings, and drawing into comprehensive terms and short 
 rules its various and multiplied observations. But knowledge began in the mind, 
 and was founded on particulars; though afterwards, perhaps, no notice was taken 
 thereof: it being natural for the mind (forward still to enlarge its knowledge) 
 most attentively to lay up those general notions, and make the proper use of them, 
 which is to disburden the memory of the cumbersome load of particulars. For I 
 desire it may be considered, what more certainty there is to a child, or any one, 
 that his body, little finger, and all, is bigger than his little finger alone, after you 
 have given to his body the name whole, and to his little finger the name part, than 
 he could have had before; or what new knowledge concerning his body can these 
 two relative terms give him, which he could not have without them? Could he 
 not know that his body was bigger than his little finger, if his language were yet 
 
 LCE CE Ee 
 
een a Sk A a aie arse cr gt ere ne ph me A a eee 
 
 CHAP. XII] IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. 453 
 
 so imperfect, that he had no such relative terms as whole and part? I ask, fur- 
 ther, when he has got these names, how is he more certain that his body is a 
 whole, and his little finger a part, than he was or might be certain before he learnt 
 those terms, that his body was bigger than his little finger? Any one may as 
 reasonably doubt or deny that his little finger is a part of his body, as that it is 
 less than his body. And he that can doubt whether it be less, will as certainly 
 doubt whether it be a part. So that the maxim, the whole is bigger than a part, 
 can never be made use of to prove the little finger less than the body, but when it 
 is useless, by being brought to convince one of a truth which he knows already. 
 For he that does not certainly know that any parcel of matter, with another parcel 
 of matter joined to it, is bigger than either of them alone, will never be able to 
 know it by the help of these two relative terms, whole and part, make of them 
 what maxim you please. 
 
 4. Dangerous to build upon precarious Principles.—But be it in the mathe- 
 matics as it will, whether it be clearer, that, taking an inch from a black line 
 of two inches, and an inch from a red line of two inches, the remaining parts 
 of the two lines will be equal, or that if you take equals from equals, the re- 
 mainder will be equals; which, I say, of these two is the clearer and first known, 
 if leave it to any one to determine, it not being material to my present occa- 
 sion. That which I have here to do, is to inquire, whether if it be the readiest 
 way to knowledge to begin with general maxims, and build upon them, it be yet 
 a safe way to take the principles, which are laid down in any other science as 
 unquestionable truths; and so receive them without examination, and adhere to 
 them without suffering them to be doubted of, because mathematicians have been 
 so happy, or so fair, to use none but self-evident and undeniable. If this be so, I 
 know not what may not pass for truth in morality, what may not be introduced 
 and proved in natural philosophy. 
 
 Let that principle of some of the philosophers, that all is matter, and that there 
 is nothing else, be received for certain and indubitable, and it will be easy to be 
 seen by the writings of some that have revived it again in our days, what conse- 
 quences it will lead us into.! Let any one, with Polemo, take the world; or 
 with the Stoics, the ether, or the sun; or with the Anaximenes, the air, to be 
 God; and what a divinity, religion, and worship must we needs have! Nothing 
 can be so dangerous as principles thus taken up without questioning or examina- 
 tion; especially if they be such as concern morality, which influence men’s lives, 
 and give a bias to all their actions. Who might not justly expect another kind of 
 life in Aristippus, who placed happiness in bodily pleasure; and in Antisthenes, 
 who made virtue sufficient to felicity? And he who, with Plato, shall place 
 beatitude in the knowledge of God, will have his thoughts raised to other con- 
 templations than those who look not beyond this spot of earth, and those perish- 
 ing things which are to be had in it. He that, with Archelaus,’ shall lay it down 
 as a principle, that right and wrong, honest and dishonest, are defined only by 
 laws, and not by nature, will have other measures of moral rectitude and pravity, 
 than those who take it for granted that we are under obligations antecedent to all 
 human constitutions. 
 
 1 See Lipsius Physiolog. Stoic. 1. 1. Diss. 
 VII. Op. t. iv. p. 846. On the Divinity of the 
 sun, see l. ii. Diss. 13. "Hrwog Oed¢ péytoroc 
 
 observations, though partial and limited, on the 
 origin of things, and the nature of the soul, led 
 him to regard the air (ano,) as the primitive 
 Cicero, how- 
 
 TOY Kar’ dvoavoy Osi, w TavTEC EKovOLY 
 Ou ovpar.ot Geol, woavel Bacrrsi Kai duvvdory.” 
 (Trismegistus ap. Lips. ub. sup.) 
 
 # Anaximenes maintained, according to Dio- 
 genes Laertius, that the air and the infinite 
 were the first principles of all things :—“ Odroc 
 apxnv aoa ize, cai Td areioov.” (L. II. 
 ¢. 11, §J. Tennemann, therefore, is wrong, where 
 he says, that, ‘‘ instead of the indeterminate 
 ameipov of the latter, (Anaximandros ), certain 
 
 element.” (Hist. of Phil. § 87.) ¢ 
 ever, (De Nat. Deor. I. 10,) and Aristotle, (Met. 
 I. 3,) omit to mention the To d7eipoy. On the 
 general opinions of Anaximenes, Menage refers 
 to the notes of Casaubon, Euseb. Prep. Evan. 
 lL. x.c. ult.; Nemesius, c.v.; and the Adver- 
 saries of Desederius Heraldus, 1. ii. c. 12. ; 
 
 8 On the opinions of Archelaus, see Diog. 
 Laert. II. 16. Tennemann. Hist. of Phil. 9. 107. 
 
454 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 5. This is no certain Way to Truth.—If, therefore, those that pass for prin- 
 ciples are not certain, (which we must have some way to know, that we may be 
 able to distinguish them from those that are doubtful,) but are only made so to 
 us by our blind assent, we are liable to be misled by them; and instead of bemg 
 guided into truth, we shall, by principles, be only confirmed in mistake and error. 
 
 6. But to compare clear, complete Ideas, under steady Names.— But since the 
 knowledge of the certainty of principles, as well as of all other truths, depends 
 only upon the perception we have of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, 
 the way to improve our knowledge is not, I am sure, blindly, and with an im- 
 plicit faith, to receive and swallow principles; but is, I think, to get and fix in 
 our minds clear, distinct, and complete ideas, as far as they are to be had, and 
 annex to them proper and constant names. And thus, perhaps, without any 
 other principles, but barely considering those ideas, and by comparing them one 
 with another, finding their agreement and disagreement, and their several rela- 
 tions and habitudes; we shall get more true and clear knowledge by the conduct 
 of this one rule, than by taking up principles, and thereby putting our minds into 
 the disposal of others. 
 
 7. The true Method of advancing Knowledge is by considering our abstract 
 Ideas.—We must therefore, if we will proceed as reason advises, adapt our 
 methods of inquiry to the nature of the ideas we examine, and the truth we search 
 after. General and certain truths are only founded in the habitudes and relations 
 of abstract ideas. A sagacious and methodical application of our thoughts, for — 
 the finding out these relations, is the only way to discover all that can be put 
 with truth and certainty concerning them into general propositions. By what 
 steps we are to proceed in these, is to be learned in the schools of the mathema- 
 ticlans, who from very plain and easy beginnings, by gentle degrees, and a con- 
 tinued chain of reasonings, proceed to the discovery and demonstration of truths, 
 that appear at first sight beyond human capacity. The art of finding proofs, and 
 the admirable methods they have invented for the singling out and laying in 
 order those intermediate ideas that demonstratively show the equality or ine- 
 quality of unapplicable quantities, is that which has carried them so far, and pro- 
 duced such wonderful and unexpected discoveries ; but whether something like 
 this, in respect of other ideas, as well as those of magnitude, may not in time be 
 found out, I will not determine. This, I think, I may say, that if other ideas 
 that are the real as well as nominal essences of their species, were pursued in the 
 way familiar to mathematicians, they would carry our thoughts further, and with 
 greater evidence and clearness than possibly we are apt to imagine. 
 
 8. By which Morality also may be made clearer.—This gave me the confi- 
 dence to advance that conjecture, which I suggest, (chap. iii.) viz. that morality 
 is capable of demonstration as well as mathematics. For the ideas that ethics are 
 conversant about, being all real essences, and such as I imagine have a disco- 
 verable connexion and agreement one with another; so far as we can find 
 their habitudes and. relations, so far we shall be possessed of certain, real, and 
 general truths; and I doubt not, but if a right method were taken, a great part 
 of morality might be made out with that clearness, that could leave, to a consi- 
 dering man, no more reason to doubt, than he could have to doubt of the truth of © 
 propositions in mathematics, which have been demonstrated to him. ' 
 
 9. But Knowledge of Bodies is to be improved only by Experience.—In our 
 search after the knowledge of substances, our want of ideas that are suitable to 
 such a way of proceeding obliges us to a quite different method. We advance 
 not here, as in the other, (where our abstract ideas are real as well as nominal 
 essences,) by contemplating our ideas, and considering their relations and cor- 
 respondences ; that helps us very little, for the reasons, that in another place we 
 have at large set down. By which I think it is evident, that substances afford 
 matter of very little general knowledge; and the bare contemplation of their 
 abstract ideas will carry us but a very little way in the search of truth and cer- — 
 
CHAP. XII. ] IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. 4995 
 
 tainty. What, then, are we to do for the improvement of our knowledge in 
 substantial beings? Here we are to take a quite contrary course; the want of 
 ideas of their real essences sends us from our own thoughts to the things them- 
 selves, as they exist. Experience here must teach me what reason cannot; and 
 it is by trying alone, that 1 can certainly know, what other qualities co-exist with 
 those of my complex idea, v. g. whether that yellow, heavy, fusible body I call 
 gold, be malleable, or not ; which experience (which way ever it prove in that par- 
 ticular body I examine) makes me not certain, that it is so in all, or any other 
 yellow, heavy, fusible bodies, but that which I have tried. Because it is no con- 
 sequence one way or the other from my complex idea; the necessity or incon- 
 sistence of malleability hath no visible connexion with the combination of that 
 colour, weight, and fusibility in any body. What I have said here of the 
 nominal essence of gold, supposed to consist of a body of such a determinate 
 colour, weight, and fusibility, will hold true, if malleableness, fixedness, and so- 
 lubility in aqua regia be added to it. Our reasonings from these ideas will 
 carry us but a little way in the certain discovery of the other properties in those 
 masses of matter wherein all these are to be found. Because the other properties 
 of such bodies, depending not on these, but on that unknown real essence on 
 which these also depend, we cannot by them discover the rest; we can go no 
 further than the simple ideas of our nominal essence will carry us, which is very 
 little beyond themselves; and so afford us but very sparingly any certain, 
 universal, and useful truths. For upon trial having found that particular piece 
 (and all others of that colour, weight, and fusibility, that I ever tried) malleable, 
 that also makes now, perhaps, a part of my complex idea, part of my nominal 
 essence of gold: whereby, though I make my complex idea to which I affix the 
 name gold, to consist of more simple ideas than before; yet still, it not contain- 
 ing the real essence of any species of bodies, it helps me not certainly to know (I 
 say to know, perhaps it may be to conjecture) the other remaining properties of that 
 body, further than they have a visible connexion with some or all of the simple 
 ideas that make up my nominal essence. For example, I cannot be certain from 
 this complex idea, whether gold be fixed or no; because, as before, there is no 
 necessary connexion or inconsistence to be discovered betwixt a complex idea of a 
 body yellow, heavy, fusible, malleable; betwixt these, I say, and fixedness; so 
 that I may certainly know, that in whatsoever body these are found, there fixed- 
 ness is sure to be. Here, again, for assurance,I must apply myself to experience ; 
 as far as that reaches I may have certain knowledge, but no further. 
 
 10. This may procure us Convenience, not Science.—I deny not but a man, 
 accustomed to rational and regular experiments, shall be able to see further into 
 the nature of bodies, and guess righter at their yet unknown properties, than one 
 that is a stranger to them: but yet, as I have said, this is but judgment and 
 opinion, not knowledge and certainty. This way of getting and improving our 
 knowledge in substances only by experience and history, which is all that the 
 weakness of our faculties in this state of mediocrity which we are in in this world 
 can attain to, makes me suspect that natural philosophy is not capable of being 
 made a science. We are able, I imagine, to reach very little general knowledge 
 
 concerning the species of bodies, and their several properties. Experiments and 
 
 historical observations we may have, from which we may draw advantages of 
 ease and health, and thereby increase our stock of conveniences for this life ; 
 but beyond this I fear our talents reach not, nor are our faculties, as I guess, 
 able to advance. 
 
 11. We are fitted for moral Knowledge and natural Improvements.—From 
 whence it is obvious to conclude, that, since our faculties are not fitted to penetrate 
 into the eternal fabric and real essences of bodies; but yet plainly discover to us the 
 being of a God, and the knowledge of ourselves, enough to lead us into a full and 
 clear discovery of our duty and great concernment; it will become us, as rational 
 creatures, to employ those faculties we have about what they are most adapted to, and 
 
456 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 follow the direction of nature, where it seems to point us out the way. For 
 it is rational to conclude, that our proper employment lies in those inquiries, and 
 in that sort of knowledge which is most suited to our natural capacities, and 
 carries in it our greatest interest, i. e. the condition of our eternal estate. Hence 
 I think I may conclude, that morality is the proper science and business of man- 
 kind in general, (who are both concerned and fitted to search out their summum 
 bonum,) as several arts, conversant about several parts of nature, are the lot and 
 private talent of particular men, for the common use of human life, and their own 
 particular subsistence in this world. Of what consequence the discovery of one 
 natural body and its properties may be to human life, the whole great continent 
 of America is a convincing instance: whose ignorance in useful arts, and want of 
 the greatest part of the conveniences of life, in a country that abounded with all 
 sorts of natural plenty, I think may be attributed to their ignorance of what was 
 to be found in a very ordinary, despicable stone; I mean the mineral of iron. 
 And whatever we think of our parts or improvements in this part of the world, 
 where knowledge and plenty seem to vie with each other; yet to any one that 
 will seriously reflect on it, I suppose it will appear past doubt, that, were the use 
 of iron lost among us, we should in a few ages be unavoidably reduced to the 
 wants and ignorance of the ancient savage Americans, whose natural endowments 
 and provisions come no way short of those of the most flourishing and polite 
 nations. So that he who first made known the use of that contemptible mineral, 
 may be truly styled the father of arts, and author of plenty. 
 
 12. But must beware of Hypotheses and wrong Principles.—I1 would not, there- 
 fore, be thought to disesteem or dissuade the study of nature. I readily agree the 
 contemplation of his works gives us occasion to admire, revere, and glorify their 
 Author; and, if rightly directed, may be of greater benefit to mankind than the 
 monuments of exemplary charity, that have at so great charge been raised by the 
 founders of hospitals and almshouses. He that first invented printing, discovered 
 the use of the compass, or made public the virtue and right use of kin kina, did 
 more for the propagation of knowledge, for the supply and increase of useful com- 
 modities, and saved more from the grave, than those who built colleges, work- 
 houses, and hospitals. All that I would say is, that we should not be too for- 
 wardly possessed with the opinion or expectation of knowledge, where it is not to 
 be had, or by ways that will not attain to it; that we should not take doubtful 
 systems for complete sciences, nor unintelligible notions for scientifical demon- 
 strations. In the knowledge of bodies, we must be content to glean what we can 
 from particular experiments; since we cannot, from a discovery of their real 
 essences, grasp at a time whole sheaves, and in bundles comprehend the nature 
 and properties of whole species together. Where our inquiry is concerning 
 co-existence, or repugnancy to co-exist, which by contemplation of our ideas we 
 cannot discover; there experience, observation, and natural history must give us, 
 by our senses and by retail, an insight into corporeal substances. The knowledge 
 of bodies we must get by our senses, warily employed in taking notice of their 
 qualities and operations on one another; and what we hope to know of separate 
 spirits in this world, we must, I think, expect only from revelation. He that 
 shall consider how little general maxims, precarious principles, and hypotheses 
 laid down at pleasure, have promoted true knowledge, or helped to satisfy the 
 inquiries of rational men after real improvements: how little, I say, the setting 
 out at that end has, for many ages together, advanced men’s progress towards the 
 knowledge of natural philosophy, will think we have reason to thank those who 
 in this latter age have taken another course, and have trod out to us, though not 
 an easier way to learned ignorance, yet a surer way to profitable knowledge. 
 
 13. The true Use of Hypotheses.—Not that we may not, to explain any phe- 
 nomena of nature, make use of any probable hypothesis whatsoever ; hypotheses, 
 if they are well made, are at least great helps to the memory, and often direct us 
 to new discoveries. But my meaning is, that we should not take up any one too 
 
CHAP. XII. | IMPROVEMENT OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. 457 
 
 hastily (which the mind, that would always penetrate to the causes of things, 
 and have principles to rest on, is very apt to do,) till we have very well examined 
 particulars, and made several experiments, in that thing which we would explain 
 by our hypothesis, and see whether it will agree to them all; whether our prin- 
 ciples will carry us quite through, and not be as inconsistent with one phenomenon 
 of nature, as they seem to accommodate and explain another. And at least that 
 we take care that the name of principles deceive us not, nor impose on us, by 
 making us receive that for an unquestionable truth, which is really at best but a 
 very doubtful conjecture, such as are most (I had almost said all) of the hypotheses 
 in natural philosophy. 
 
 14, Clear and distinct Ideas with settled Names, and the finding of those which 
 show their Agreement or Disagreement, are the Ways to enlarge our Knowledge — 
 But whether natural philosophy be capable of certainty or no, the ways to en- 
 large our knowledge, as far as we are capable, seem to me, in short, to be these 
 two: 
 
 First, The first is to get and settle in our minds determined ideas of those things 
 whereof we have general or specific names; at least, so many of them as we 
 would consider and improve our knowledge in, or reason about. And if they be 
 specific ideas of substances, we should endeavour also to make them as complete 
 as we can, whereby I mean, that we should put together as many simple ideas as, 
 being constantly observed to co-exist, may perfectly determine the species; and 
 each of those simple ideas which are the ingredients of our complex ones, should 
 be clear and distinct in our minds. For it being evident that our knowledge can- 
 not exceed our ideas; as far as they are either imperfect, confused, or obscure, we 
 cannot expect to have certain, perfect, or clear knowledge. 
 
 Secondly, The other is the art of finding out those intermediate ideas, which 
 may show us the agreement or repugnancy of other ideas, which cannot be imme- 
 diately compared. 
 
 15. Mathematics an Instance of it.—That these two (and not the relying on 
 maxims, and drawing consequences from some general propositions) are the right 
 methods of improving our knowledge in the ideas of other modes besides those of 
 quantity, the consideration of mathematical knowledge will easily inform us. Where 
 first we shall find that he that has not a perfect and clear idea of those angles or 
 figures of which he desires to know anything, is utterly thereby incapable of any 
 knowledge about them. Suppose but a man not to have a perfect exact idea of a 
 right angle, a scalenum, or trapezium, and there is nothing more certain than that 
 he will in vain seek any demonstration about them. Further, it is evident, that it 
 was not the influence of those maxims which are taken for principles in mathema- 
 tics, that hath led the masters of that science into those wonderful discoveries they 
 have made. Let a man of good parts know all the maxims generally made use of 
 in mathematics ever so perfectly, and contemplate their extent and consequences 
 as much as he pleases, he will, by their assistance, I suppose, scarce ever come to 
 know that the square of the hypothenuse in a right-angled triangle is equal to the 
 squares of the two other sides. The knowledge that the whole is equal to all its 
 parts, and if you take equals from equals, the remainder will be equal, &c. helped 
 him not, I presume, to this demonstration: and a man may, I think, pore long 
 enough on those axioms, without ever seeing one jot the more of mathematical 
 truths. They have been discovered by the thoughts otherwise applied: the mind 
 had other objects, other views before it, far different from those maxims, when it 
 first got the knowledge of such truths in mathematics, which men well enough 
 acquainted with those received axioms, but ignorant of their method who first 
 made these demonstrations, can never sufliciently admire. And who knows what 
 methods to enlarge our knowledge in other parts of science may. hereafter be in- 
 vented, answering that of algebra in mathematics, which so readily finds out the 
 ideas of quantities to measure others by; whose equality or proportion we could 
 otherwise very hardly, or, perhaps, never come to know ? 
 
458 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 1. Our Knowledge partly necessary, partly voluntary.—OvuR knowledge, as in 
 other things, so in this, has so great a conformity with our sight, that it is neither 
 wholly necessary, nor wholly voluntary. Ifour knowledge were altogether necessary, 
 all men’s knowledge would not only be alike, but every man would know all that is 
 knowable; and if it were wholly voluntary, some men so little regard or value it, 
 that they would have extreme little, or none at all. Men that have senses cannot 
 choose but receive some ideas by them; and if they have memory, they cannot but 
 retain some of them; and if they have any distinguishing faculty, cannot but per- 
 ceive the agreement or disagreement of some of them one with another: as he that 
 has eyes, if he will open them by day, cannot but see some objects, and perceive a 
 difference in them. But though a man with his eyes open in the light, cannot 
 but see, yet there be certain objects which he may choose whether he will turn 
 his eyes to; there may be in his reach a book containing pictures and discourses, 
 capable to delight or instruct him, which yet he may never have the will to open, 
 never take the pains to look into. | 
 
 2. The Application voluntary ; but we know as things are, not as we please.— 
 There is also another thing in a man’s power, and that is, though he turns his 
 eyes sometimes towards an object, yet he may choose whether he will curiously 
 survey it, and with an intent application endeavour to observe accurately all that 
 is visible in it; but yet, what he does see, he cannot see otherwise than he does. 
 It depends not on his will to see that black which appears yellow; nor to persuade 
 himself, that what actually scalds him, feels cold. The earth will not appear 
 painted with flowers, nor the fields covered with verdure, whenever he has a mind 
 to it: m the cold winter, he cannot help seeing it white and hoary, if he will look 
 abroad. Just thus is it with our understanding: all that is voluntary in our know- 
 ledge is the employing or withholding any of our faculties, from this or that sort 
 of objects, and a more or less accurate survey of them: but, they being employed, 
 our will hath no power to determine the knowledge of the mind one way or another; 
 that is done only by the objects themselves, as far as they are clearly discovered. 
 And therefore, as far as men’s senses are conversant about external objects, the 
 mind cannot but receive those ideas which are presented by them, and be informed 
 of the existence of things without; and so far as men’s thoughts converse with 
 their own determined ideas, they cannot but in some measure observe the agree- 
 ment or disagreement that is to be found amongst some of them, which is so far 
 knowledge: and if they have names for those ideas which they have thus con- 
 sidered, they must needs be assured of the truth of those propositions which ex- 
 press that agreement or disagreement they perceive in them, and be undoubtedly 
 convinced of those truths. For what a man sees, he cannot but see; and what he 
 perceives he cannot but know that he perceives. 
 
 3. Instance in Numbers.—Thus, he that has got the ideas of numbers, and hath 
 taken the pains to compare one, two, and three, to six, cannot choose but know that 
 they are equal: hethat hath got the idea ofa triangle, and found the ways to mea- 
 sure its angles and their magnitudes, is certain that its three angles are equal to two 
 right ones; and can as little doubt of that, as of this truth, that, It is impossible 
 for the same thing to be, and not to be. 
 
 4. In Natural Religion.— He also that hath the idea of an intelligent, but frail. 
 and weak being, made by and depending on another, who is eternal, omnipotent, 
 perfectly wise and good, will as certainly know that man is to honour, fear, and 
 obey God, as that the sun shines when he sees it. For if he hath but the ideas of 
 
CHAP. XIV. |] OF JUDGMENT. 459 
 
 two such beings in his mind, and will turn his thoughts that way, and consider 
 them, he will as certainly find that the inferior, finite, and dependent, is under an 
 obligation to obey the supreme and infinite, as he is certain to find that three, 
 four, and seven are less than fifteen, if he will consider and compute those num- 
 bers ; nor can he be surer in a clear morning that the sun is risen, if he will but 
 open his eyes, and turnthem that way. But yet these truths, being ever so cer- 
 tain, ever so clear, he may be ignorant of either, or all of them, who will never 
 take the pains to employ his faculties, as he should, to inform himself about them. 
 
 Cte rinks LY. 
 
 OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 1. Our Knowledye being short, we want something else.—TuE understanding 
 faculties being given to man, not barely for speculation, but also for the conduct 
 of his life, man would be at a great loss if he had nothing to direct him but what 
 has the certainty of true knowledge. For that being very short and scanty, as we 
 have seen, he would be often utterly in the dark, and in most of the actions of his 
 life, perfectly at a stand, had he nothing to guide him in the absence of clear and 
 certain knowledge. He that will not eat till he has demonstration that it will 
 nourish him; he that will not stir ;till he infallibly knows the business he goes 
 about will succeed, will have little else to do but to sit still and perish. 
 
 2. Whatuse to be made of this twilight State-——Therefore, as God has set some 
 things in broad daylight; as he has given us some certain knowledge, though 
 limited to a few things in comparison, probably as a taste of what intellectual 
 creatures are capable of to excite in us a desire and endeavour after a better state: 
 so, in the greatest part of our concernments, he has afforded us only the twilight, 
 as I may so say, of probability; suitable, I presume, to that state of mediocrity 
 and probationership he has been pleased to place us in here; wherein, to check 
 our over-confidence and presumption, we might, by every day’s experience, be 
 made sensible of our short-sightedness and liableness to error ;' the sense whereof 
 might be a constant admonition to us, to spend the days of this our pilgrimage 
 with industry and care, in the search and following of that way which might lead 
 us to a state of greater perfection: it being highly rational to think, even were reve- 
 lation silent in the case, that, as men employ those talents God has given them 
 here, they shall accordingly receive their rewards at the close of the day, when 
 their sun shall set, and night shall put an end to their labours. 
 
 3. Judgment supplies the Want of Knowledge.—The faculty which God has 
 given man to supply the want of clear and certain knowledge, in cases where that 
 cannot be had, is judgment: whereby the mind takes its ideas to agree or dis- 
 agree; or, which is the same, any proposition to be true or false, without perceiv- 
 ing a demonstrative evidence in the proofs. The mind sometimes exercises this 
 judgment out of necessity, where demonstrative proofs and certain knowledge are 
 not to be had; and sometimes out of laziness, unskilfulness or haste, even where 
 demonstrative and certain proofs are to be had. Men often stay not warily to ex- 
 amine the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, which they are desirous or con- 
 cerned to know; but, either incapable of such attention as is requisite in a long 
 train of gradations, or impatient of delay, lightly cast their eyes on, or wholly pass 
 
 ' See, for a picture of the quick-judging man | the expedient from the inexpedient, Cardan’s 
 of the world, who seizes on the fittest occasions | curious and valuable treatise, De Prudentia Civile, 
 for action, and is able at a glance to distinguish | c. xxii. p. 67. 
 
 LL epee 
 
460 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 by the proofs; and so, without making out the demonstration, determine of the 
 agreement or disagreement of two ideas, as it were by a view of them as they are 
 at.a distance, and take it to be the one or the other, as seems most likely to them 
 upon such a loose survey. This faculty of the mind, when it is exercised imme- 
 diately about things, is called judgment; when about truths delivered in words, is 
 most commonly called assent or dissent: which being the most usual way, wherein 
 the mind has occasion to employ this faculty, I shall, under these terms, treat of 
 it, as least liable in our language to equivocation. 
 
 4, Judgment is the presuming Things to be so, without perceiving it.—Thus the 
 mind has two faculties conversant about truth and falsehood. 
 
 First, Knowledge, whereby it certainly perceives, and is undoubtedly satisfied 
 of the agreement or disagreement of any ideas. 
 
 Secondly, Judgment, which is the putting ideas together, or separating them 
 from one another in the mind, when their certain agreement or disagreement is not 
 perceived, but presumed to be so; which is, as the word imports, taken to be so 
 before it certainly appears. And if it so unites or separates them, as in reality 
 things are, it is right judgment. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OF PROBABILITY. 
 
 1. Probability is the Appearance of Agreement upon fallible Proofs.—As de- 
 monstration is the showing the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, by the in- 
 tervention of one or more proofs, which have a constant, immutable, and visible 
 connexion one with another; so probability is nothing but the appearance of such 
 an agreement or disagreement, by the intervention of proofs, whose connexion is 
 not constant and immutable, or at least is not perceived to be so, but is, or appears 
 for the most part to be so, and is enough to induce the mind to judge the proposi- 
 tion to be true or false, rather than the contrary. For example: in the demonstra- 
 tion of it a man perceives the certain, immutable connexion there is of equality 
 between the three angles of a triangle, and those intermediate ones which are made 
 use of to show their equality to two right ones; and so, by an intuitive knowledge 
 of the agreement or disagreement of the intermediate ideas in each step of the pro- 
 gress, the whole series is continued with an evidence, which clearly shows the 
 agreement or disagreement of those three angles in equality to two right ones: and 
 thus he has certain knowledge that it is so. But another man, who never took the 
 pains to observe the demonstration, hearing a mathematician, a man of credit, 
 affirm the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right ones, assents to it, i. e. 
 receives it for true; in which case the foundation of his assent is the probability 
 of the thing; the proof being such as for the most part carries truth with it: the 
 man on whose testimony he receives it, not being wont to affirm anything contrary 
 to or besides his knowledge, especially in matters of this kind: so that that which 
 causes his assent to this proposition, that the three angles of a triangle are equal 
 to two right ones, that which makes him take these ideas to agree, without know- 
 ing them to do so, is the wonted veracity of the speaker in other cases, or his sup- 
 posed veracity in this. 
 
 2. It is to supply the Want of Knowledye.—Our knowledge, as has been 
 shown, being very narrow, and we not happy enough to find certain truth in every- 
 thing which we have occasion to consider; most of the propositions we think, 
 reason, discourse—nay, act upon, are such as we cannot have undoubted know- 
 ledge of their truth: yet some of them border so near upon certainty, that we make 
 
CHAP. xv.] OF PROBABILITY. 46] 
 
 no doubt at all about them; but assent to them as firmly, and act, according to 
 that assent, as resolutely as if they were infallibly demonstrated, and that our 
 knowledge of them was perfect and certain. But there being degrees herein, from 
 the very neighbourhood of certainty and demonstration, quite down to improbabi- 
 lity and unlikeness, even to the confines of impossibility; and also degrees of 
 assent from full assurance and confidence, quite down to conjecture, doubt, and 
 distrust: I shall come now, (having, as I think, found out the bounds of human 
 knowledge and certainty,) in the next place, to consider the several degrees and 
 grounds of probability, and assent or faith. 
 
 3. Being that which makes us presume Things to be true before we know them 
 to be so.—Probability is likeliness to be true, the very notation of the word signi- 
 fying such a proposition, for which there be arguments or proofs to make it pass 
 or be received for true. The entertainment the mind gives this sort of proposi- 
 tions, is called belief, assent, or opinion, which is the admitting or receiving any 
 proposition for true, upon arguments or proofs that are found to persuade us to 
 receive it as true, without certain knowledge that it is so. And herein lies the 
 difference between probability and certainty, faith and knowledge, that in all the 
 parts of knowledge there is intuition; each immediate idea, each step has its visible 
 and certain connexion: in belief, not so. That which makes me believe, is something 
 extraneous to the thing I believe; something not evidently joined on both sides to, 
 and so not manifestly showing the agreement or disagreement of those ideas that 
 are under consideration. 
 
 4. The Grounds of Probability are two: Conformity with our own Expe- 
 rience, or the Testimony of others’ Experience.— Probability, then, being to sup- 
 ply the defect of our knowledge, and to guide us where that fails, is always con- 
 versant about propositions, whereof we have no certainty, but only some in- 
 ducements to receive them for true. The grounds of it are, in short, these two 
 following : 
 
 First, The conformity of anything with our own knowledge, observation, and 
 experience. 
 
 Secondly, The testimony of others, vouching their observation and experience. 
 In the testimony of others, is to be considered, 1. The number. 2. The integrity. 
 3. The skill of the witnesses. 4. The design of the author, where it is a testi- 
 mony out of a book cited. 5. The consistency of the parts, and circumstances of 
 the relation. 6. Contrary testimonies. 
 
 5. In this, all the Arguments pro and con ought to be examined before we come 
 to a Judgment.—Probability wanting that intuitive evidence which infallibly de- 
 termines the understanding, and produces certain knowledge, the mind, if it would 
 proceed rationally, ought to examine all the grounds of probability, and see how 
 they make more or less for or against any proposition, before it assents to or dis- 
 sents from it; and, upon a due balancing the whole, reject or receive it, with a 
 more or less firm assent, proportionally to the preponderancy of the greater grounds 
 of probability on one side or the other. For example: 
 
 If I myself see a man walk on the ice, it is past probability, it is knowledge: 
 but if another tells me he saw a man in England, in the midst of a sharp winter, 
 walk upon water hardened with cold, this has so great conformity with what is 
 usually observed to happen, that I am disposed by the nature of the thing itself to 
 assent to it, unless some manifest suspicion attend the relation of that matter of 
 fact. But if the same thing be told to one born between the tropics, who never 
 saw nor heard of any such thing before, there the whole probability relies on testi- 
 mony: and as the relators are more in number, and of more credit, and have no 
 interest to speak contrary to the truth, so that matter of fact is like to find more or 
 ess belief. Though to a man whose experience has always been quite contrary, 
 and who has never heard of anything like it, the most unattainted credit of a wit- 
 ness will scarce be able to find belief. Asit happened to a Dutch ambassador, 
 who entertaining the king of Siam with the particularities of Holland, which he 
 
462 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 was inquisitive after, amongst other things told him, that the water in his country 
 would sometimes, in cold weather, be so hard, that men walked upon it, and that 
 it would bear an elephant, if he were there. To which the king replied, ‘‘ Hitherto 
 I have believed the strange things you have told me, because I look upon you as 
 a sober fair man, but now I am sure you lie.” 
 
 6. They being capable of great Varietyx—Upon these grounds depends the 
 probability of any proposition: and as the conformity of our knowledge, as the 
 certainty of observations, as the frequency and constancy of experience, and the 
 number and credibility of testimonies do more or less agree or disagree with it, so 
 is any proposition in itself more or less probable. There is another, I confess, 
 which, though by itself it be no true ground of probability, yet is often made use 
 of for one, by which men most commonly regulate their assent, and upon which 
 they pin their faith more than anything else, and that is, the opinion of others: 
 though there cannot be a more dangerous thing to rely on, nor more likely to mis- 
 lead one; since there is much more falsehood and error among men, than truth 
 and knowledge. And if the opinions and persuasions of others, whom we know 
 and think well of, be a ground of assent, men have reason to be Heathens in Japan, 
 Mahometans in Turkey, Papists in Spain, Protestants in England, and Lutherans 
 in Sweden. But of this wrong ground of assent I shall have occasion to speak 
 more at large in another place. 
 
 CTA Fen A va 
 
 OF THE DEGREES OF ASSENT. 
 
 1. Our Assent ought to be regulated by the Grounds of Probability.—TuE 
 grounds of probability we have laid down in the foregoing chapter ; as they are the 
 foundations on which our assent is built, so are they also the measure whereby its 
 several degrees are or ought to be regulated: only we are to take notice, that, what- 
 ever grounds of probability there may be, they yet operate no further on the mind 
 which searches after truth, and endeavours to judge right, than they appear; at 
 least, in the first judgment or search that the mind makes. I confess, in the 
 opinions men have, and firmly stick to in the world, their assent is not always 
 from an actual view of the reasons that at first prevailed with them: it being 
 in many cases almost impossible, and in most very hard, even for those who have 
 very admirable memories, to retain all the proofs which, upon a due examination, 
 made them embrace that side of the question. It suffices that they have once with 
 care and fairness sifted the matter as far as they could ; and that they have searched 
 into all the particulars, that they could imagine to give any light to the question; 
 and, with the best of their skill, cast up the account upon the whole evidence: 
 and thus, having once found on which side the probability appeared to them, after 
 as full and exact an inquiry as they can make, they lay up the conclusion in their 
 memories, as a truth they have discovered; and for the future they remain satis- 
 fied with the testimony of their memories, that this is the opinion that, by the 
 proofs they have once seen of it, deserves such a degree of their assent as they 
 afford it. 
 
 2. These cannot always be actually in View, and then we must content our- 
 selves with the Remembrance that we once saw Ground for such a Degree of 
 Assent.—This is all that the greatest part of men are capable of doing, in regu- 
 lating their opinions and judgments; unless a man will exact of them, either to re- 
 tain distinctly in their memories all the proofs concerning any probable truth, and 
 
' CHAP. XVI. | DEGREES OF ASSENT. 463 
 
 that too in the same order, and regular deduction of consequences in which they 
 have formerly placed or seen them; which sometimes is enough to fill a large vo- 
 lume on one single question: or else they must require a man, for every opinion 
 that he embraces, every day to examine the proofs: both which are impossible. 
 It is unavoidable, therefore, that the memory be relied on in the case, and that 
 men be persuaded of several opinions, whereof the proofs are actually in their 
 thoughts; nay, which perhaps they are not able actually to recal. Without this, 
 the greatest part of men must be either very sceptics, or change every moment, 
 and yield themselves to whoever, having lately studied the question, offers them 
 arguments ; which, for want of memory, they are not able presently to answer. 
 
 3. The ill Consequence of this, if our former Judgments were not rightly made. 
 —I cannot but own, that men’s sticking to their past judgment, and adhering 
 firmly to conclusions formerly made, is often the cause of great obstinacy in error 
 and mistake. But the fault is not that they rely on their memories for what they 
 have before well judged, but because they judged before they had well examined. 
 May we not find a great number (not to say the greatest part) of men that think 
 they have formed right judgments of several matters ; and that for no other rea- 
 son, but because they never thought otherwise ? who imagine themselves to have 
 judged right, only because they never questioned, never examined their own 
 opinions? Which is indeed to think they judged right, because they never judged 
 at all: and yet these, of all men, hold their opinions with the greatest stiffness ; 
 those being generally the most fierce and firm in their tenets, who have least ex- 
 amined them. What we once know, we are certain is so: and we may be secure, 
 that there are no latent proofs undiscovered, which may overturn our knowledge, 
 or bring it in doubt. But, in matters of probability, it is not in every case we can 
 be sure that we have all the particulars before us, that any way concern the ques- 
 tion; and that there is no evidence behind, and vet unseen, which may cast the 
 probability on the other side, and outweigh all that at present seems to prepon- 
 derate with us. Who almost is there that hath the leisure, patience, and means 
 to collect together all the proofs concerning most of the opinions he has, so as safely 
 to conclude that he hath a clear and full view; and that there is no more to be 
 alleged for his better information? And yet we are forced to determine ourselves 
 on the one side or other. The conduct of our lives, and the management of our 
 great concerns, will not bear delay: for those depend, for the most part, on the 
 determination of our judgment in points wherein we are not capable of certain and 
 demonstrative knowledge, and wherein it is necessary for us to embrace the one 
 side or the other. 
 
 4. The right Use of it, is mutual Charity and Forbearance.—Since, therefore, 
 it is unavoidable to the greatest part of men, if not all, to have several opinions, 
 without certain and indubitable proofs of their truth; and it carries too great an 
 imputation of ignorance, lightness, or folly for men to quit and renounce their for- 
 mer tenets presently upon the offer of an argument which they cannot immediately 
 answer, and show the insufficiency of: it would, methinks, become all men to 
 maintain peace, and the common offices of humanity and friendship, in the diver- 
 sity of opinions ; since we cannot reasonably expect that any one should readily 
 ‘and obsequiously quit his own opinion, and embrace ours with a blind resignation 
 to an authority which the understanding of man acknowledges not.’ For however 
 it may often mistake, it can own no other guide but reason, nor blindly submit to 
 
 ~ 
 
 1TIn exactly the same spirit, Jeremy Taylor 
 writes as follows, speaking of the heresies and 
 schisms which formerly rose in the Christian 
 world, and the attempts which were made to in- 
 troduce uniformity of opinion :—‘‘ Few men in 
 the mean time considered, that, so long as men 
 had such variety of principles, such several con- 
 stitutions, educations, tempers, and distempers, 
 
 hopes, interests, and weaknesses, degrees of 
 light, and degrees of understanding, it was im- 
 possible all should be of onemind. And what is 
 impossible to be done is not necessary it should be 
 done; and therefore, although variety of opinions 
 was impossible to be cured, (and they who at- 
 tempted it, did like him who claps his shoulder to 
 the ground to stop an earthquake, ) yet the inconve- 
 
 ee 
 
464 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book IV. 
 
 the will and dictates of another. If he you would bring over to your sentiments 
 be one that examines before he assents, you must give him leave at his leisure to 
 go over the account again, and, recalling what is out of his mind, examine all the 
 particulars, to see on which side the advantage lies: and if he will not think our 
 arguments of weight enough to engage him anew in so much pains, it is but what 
 we often do ourselves in the like case; and we should take it amiss if others should 
 prescribe to us what points we should study. And if he be one who takes his 
 opinions upon trust, how can we imagine that he should renounce those tenets 
 which time and custom have so settled in his mind, that he thinks them self-evi- 
 dent, and of an unquestionable certainty ; or which he takes to be impressions he 
 has received from God himself, or from men sent by him? How can we expect, 
 I say, that opinions thus settled should be given up to the arguments or autho- 
 rity of a stranger or adversary, especially if there be any suspicion of interest or 
 design, as there never fails to be, where men find themselves ill treated? We 
 should do well to commiserate our mutual ignorance, and endeavour to remove it 
 in all the gentle and fair ways of information; and not instantly treat others ill, as 
 obstinate and perverse, because they will not renounce their own, and receive our 
 opinions, or at least those we would force upon them, when it is more than pro- 
 bable that we are no less obstinate in not embracing some of theirs. For where is 
 the man that has incontestible evidence of the truth of all that he holds, or of the 
 falsehood of all he condemns; or can say that he has examined to the bottom all 
 
 his own, or other men’s opinions? The necessity of believing without knowledge, © 
 
 nay often upon very light grounds, in this fleeting state of action and blindness 
 we are in, should make us more busy and careful to inform ourselves than con- 
 strain others. At least, those who have not thoroughly examined to the bottom 
 all their own tenets, must confess they are unfit to prescribe to others; and are 
 unreasonable in imposing that as truth on other men’s belief, which they them- 
 selves have not searched into, nor weighed the arguments of probability, on which 
 they should receive or reject it. Those who have fairly and truly examined, and 
 are thereby got past doubt in all the doctrines they possess and govern themselves 
 by, would have a juster pretence to require others to follow them: but these are 
 so few in number, and find so little reason to be magisterial in their opinions, that 
 nothing insolent and imperious is to be expected from them: and there is reason 
 to think, that, if men were better instructed themselves, they would be less im- 
 posing on others. 
 
 5. Probability is either of Matter of Fact or Speculation.—But to return to 
 the grounds of assent, and the several degrees of it, we are to take notice, that the 
 propositions we receive upon inducements of probability are of two sorts; either 
 concerning some particular existence, or, as it is usually termed, matter of fact, 
 which, falling under observation, is capable of human testimony ; or else concern- 
 ing things, which, being beyond the discovery of our senses, are not capable of 
 any such testimony. 
 
 6. The concurrent Experience of all other Men with ours, produces Assurance 
 approaching to Knowledge.—Concerning the first of these, viz. particular matter 
 of fact. 
 
 First, Where any particular thing, consonant to the constant observation of our- 
 selves and others in the like case, comes attested by the concurrent reports of all 
 that mention it, we receive it as easily, and build as firmly upon it, as if it 
 were certain knowledge ; and we reason and act thereupon with as little doubt as 
 if it were perfect demonstration. Thus, if all Englishmen who have occasion to 
 mention it, should affirm that it froze in England the last winter, or that there 
 were swallows seen there in the summer, I think a man could almost as little 
 
 niences arising from it might possibly be cured, [{ mischiefs, and accidental inconveniences of their 
 not by uniting their beliefs—that was to be des- disagreeings.”’ (Int. to Lib. of Proph. p. 2.) 
 paired of—but by curing that which caused these 
 
 a oe 
 
————————— CSS 
 
 CHAP. XV1.] DEGREES OF ASSENT. 405 
 
 doubt of it as that seven.and four are eleven. The first, therefore, and highest 
 degree of probability, is, when the general consent of all men, in all ages, as far 
 as 1t can be known, concurs with a man’s constant and never-failing experience in 
 like cases, to confirm the truth of any particular matter of fact attested by fair 
 witnesses; such are all the stated constitutions and properties of bodies, and the 
 regular proceedings of causes and effects in the ordinary course of nature. This 
 we call an argument from the nature of things themselves. For what our own 
 and other men’s constant observation has found always to be after the same 
 manner, that we with reason conclude to be the effect of steady and regular 
 causes, though they come not within the reach of our knowledge. Thus, the fire 
 warmed a man, made lead fluid, and changed the colour or consistency in wood 
 or charcoal; that iron sunk in water, and swam in quicksilver; these and the 
 like propositions about particular facts, being agreeable to our constant experience, 
 as often as we have to do with these matters; and being generally spoke of (when 
 mentioned by others) as things found constantly to be so, and therefore not so 
 much as controverted by anybody, we are put past doubt, that a relation affirming 
 any such thing to have been, or any predication that it will happen again in the 
 same manner, is very true. These probabilities rise so near to certainty, that they 
 govern our thoughts as absolutely, and influence all our actions as fully, as the 
 most evident demonstration; and in what concerns us we make litile or no dif- 
 ference between them and certain knowledge. Our belief, thus grounded, rises 
 to assurance. 
 
 7. Unquestionable Testimony and Experience for the most part produce Confi- 
 dence.—Secondly, The next degree of probability is, when I find by my own 
 experience, and the agreement of all others that mention it, a thing to be for the 
 most part so, and that the particular instance of it is attested by many and un- 
 doubted witnesses, v. g. history giving us such an account of men in all ages, 
 and my own experience, as far as I had an opportunity to observe, confirming 
 it, that most men prefer their private advantage to the public: if all historians 
 that write of Tiberius, say that Tiberius did so, it is extremely probable. And in 
 this case, our assent has a sufficient foundation to raise itself to a degree which we 
 may call confidence. 
 
 8. Fair Testimony, and the Nature of the Thing indifferent, produce also 
 confident Belief.—Thirdly, In things that happen indifferently, as that a bird 
 should fly this or that way; that it should thunder on a man’s right or left hand, 
 &c. when any particular matter of fact is vouched by the concurrent testimony of 
 unsuspected witnesses, there our assent is also unavoidable. Thus, that there is such 
 a city in Italy as Rome; that about one thousand seven hundred years ago, there 
 lived in it a man, called Julius Cesar; that he was a general, and that he won a 
 battle against another, called Pompey: this, though in the nature of the thing 
 there be nothing for nor against it, yet being related by historians of credit, and 
 contradicted by no one writer, a man cannot avoid believing it, and can as little 
 doubt of it as he does of the being and actions of his own acquaintance, whereof 
 he himself is a witness. 
 
 9. Experiences and Testimonies clashing, infinitely vary the Degrees of Pro- 
 bability.—Thus far the matter goes easy enough. Probability upon such grounds 
 carries so much evidence with it, that it naturally determines the judgment, and 
 leaves us as little liberty to believe or disbelieve, as a demonstration does, whether 
 we will know or be ignorant. The difficulty is, when testimonies contradict common 
 experience, and the reports of history and witnesses clash with the ordinary course 
 of nature or with one another, there it is, where diligence, attention, and exact- 
 ness are required, to form a right judgment, and to proportion the assent to the 
 different evidence and probability of the thing; which rises and falls, according 
 as those two foundations of credibility, viz. common observation in like cases, and 
 particular testimonies in that particular instance, favour or contradict it. These 
 are liable to so great variety of contrary observations, circumstances, reports, dif- 
 
 ert 
 
466 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 ferent qualifications, tempers, designs, oversights, &c. of the reporters, that it is 
 impossible to reduce to precise rules the various degrees wherein men give their 
 assent. This only may be said in general, that as the arguments and proofs pro 
 and con, upon due examination nicely weighing every particular circumstance, 
 shall to any one appear, upon the whole matter in a greater or less degree to 
 preponderate on either side; so they are fitted to produce in the mind such dif- 
 ferent entertainment, as we call belief, conjecture, guess, doubt, wavering, distrust, 
 disbelief, &c. 
 
 10. Traditional Testimonies, the further removed the less their Proof.—This 
 is what concerns assent in matters wherein testimony is made use of ; concerning 
 which, I think, it may not be amiss to take notice of a rule observed in the law of 
 England; which is, that though the attested copy of a record be good proof, yet 
 the copy of a copy ever so well attested, and by ever so credible witnesses, will 
 not be admitted as a proof in judicature. This is so generally approved as rea- 
 sonable, and suited to the wisdom and caution to be used in our inquiry after 
 material truths, that I never yet heard of any one that blamed it. This practice, 
 if it be allowable in the decisions of right and wrong, carries this observation 
 along with it, viz. that any testimony, the further off it 1s from the original truth, 
 the less force and proof it has. The being and existence of the thing itself, is 
 what I call the original truth. A credible man vouching his knowledge of it is a 
 good proof; but if another equally credible do witness it from his report, the 
 testimony is weaker ; and a third that attests the hearsay of an hearsay is yet 
 less considerable. So that in traditional truths, each remove weakens the force of 
 the proof; and the more hands the tradition has successively passed through, the 
 less strength and evidence does it receive from them. This I thought necessary 
 to be taken notice of, because I find amongst some men the quite contrary com- 
 monly practised, who look on opinions to gain force by growing older; and what 
 a thousand years since would not to a rational man contemporary with the first 
 voucher have appeared at all probable, is now urged as certain beyond all ques- 
 tion, only because several have since from him said it one after another. Upon 
 this ground propositions, evidently false or doubtful enough in their first begin- 
 ning, come, by an inverted rule of probability, to pass for authentic truths; and 
 those which found or deserved little credit from the mouths of their first authors, 
 are thought to grow venerable by age, and are urged as undeniable. 
 
 ll. Yet History is of great Use.—I would not be thought here to lessen the 
 credit and use of history; it is all the light we have in many cases, and we 
 receive from it a great part of the useful truths we have, with a convincing 
 evidence. -I think nothing more valuable than the records of antiquity: I wish 
 we had more of them, and more uncorrupted. But this truth itself forces me to 
 say, that no probability can rise higher than its first original. What has no 
 other evidence than the single testimony of one only witness, must stand or fall 
 by his only testimony, whether good, bad, or indifferent; and though cited after- 
 wards by hundreds of others, one after another, is so far from receiving any 
 strength thereby, that it is only the weaker. Passion, interest, inadvertency, 
 mistake of his meaning, and a thousand odd reasons, or capricios, men’s minds 
 are acted by, (impossible to be discovered,) may make one man quote another 
 man’s words or meaning wrong. He that has but ever so little examined the 
 citations of writers, cannot doubt how little credit the quotations deserve, where 
 the originals are wanting; and consequently how much less quotations of quota- 
 tions can be relied on. This is certain, that what in one age was affirmed upon 
 slight grounds, can never after come to be more valid in future ages by being 
 often repeated. But the further still it is from the original, the less valid it is, 
 and has always less force in the mouth or writing of him that last made use of it, 
 than in his from whom he received it. 
 
 12. In Things which Sense cannot discover, Analogy is the great Rule of Pro- 
 bability.—The probabilities we have hitherto mentioned are only such as concern 
 
CHAP. XVI. |] DEGREES OF ASSENT. 497 
 
 matter of fact, and such things as are capable of observation and testimony. There 
 remains that other sort, concerning which men entertain opinions with variety of as- 
 sent, though the things be such, that falling not under the reach of our senses, they 
 are not capable of testimony. Such are, 1. The existence, nature, and operations of 
 finite immaterial beings without us; as, spirits, angels, devils, &c. or the existence 
 of material beings; which, either for their smallness in themselves, or remoteness 
 from us, our senses cannot take notice of; as, whether there be any plants, ani- 
 mals, and intelligent inhabitants in the planets and other mansions of the vast uni- 
 verse. 2. Concerning the manner of operation in most parts of the works of na- 
 ture: wherein though we see the sensible effects, yet their causes are unknown, 
 and we perceive not the ways and manner how they are produced. We see ani- 
 mals are generated, nourished, and move; the loadstone draws iron; and the parts 
 of a candle, successively melting, turn into flame, and give us both light and heat. 
 These and the like effects we see and know: but the causes that operate, and 
 the manner they are produced in, we can only guess and probably conjecture. For 
 these and the like, coming not within the scrutiny of human senses, cannot be ex- 
 amined by them, or be attested by anybody; and therefore can appear more or 
 less probable, only as they more or less agree to truths that are established in our 
 minds, and as they hold proportion to other parts of our knowledge and observa- 
 tion. Analogy in these matters is the only help we have, and it is from that alone 
 we draw all our grounds of probability. Thus, observing that the bare rubbing of 
 two bodies violently one upon another, produces heat, and very often fire itself, we 
 have reason to think, that what we call heat and fire consists in a violent agitation 
 of the imperceptible minute parts of the burning matter: observing likewise that 
 the different refractions of pellucid bodies produce in our eyes the different appear- 
 ances of several colours; and also, that the different ranging and laying the super- 
 ficial parts of several bodies, as of velvet, watered silk, &c. does the like, we think 
 it probable that the colour and shining of bodies is in them nothing but the different 
 arrangement and refraction of their minute insensible parts. Thus, finding in all 
 parts of the creation that fall under human observation, that there is a gradual con- 
 nexion of one with another, without any great or discernible gaps between, in all 
 that great variety of things we see in the world, which are so closely linked toge- 
 ther, that, in the several ranks of beings, it is not easy to discover the bounds be- 
 twixt them; we have reason to be persuaded that, by such gentle steps, things 
 ascend upwards in degrees of perfection. It is a hard matter to say where sensi- 
 ble and rational begin, and where insensible and irrational end: and who is there 
 quick-sighted enough to determine precisely which is the lowest species of living 
 things, and which the first of those which have no life? Things, as far as we can 
 observe, lessen and augment, as the quantity does in a regular cone; where, 
 though there bea manifest odds betwixt the bigness of the diameter at a remote 
 distance, yet the difference between the upper and under, where they touch one 
 another, is hardly discernible. The difference is exceeding great between some 
 men and some animals; but if we will compare the understanding and abilities of 
 some men and some brutes, we shall find so little difference, that it will be hard to 
 say, that that of the man is either clearer or larger. Observing, I say, such gra- 
 dual and gentle descents downwards in those parts of the creation that are beneath 
 man, the rule of analogy may make it probable, that it is so also in things above 
 us and our observation; and that there are several ranks of intelligent beings, ex- 
 celling us in several degrees of perfection, ascending upwards towards the infinite 
 perfection of the Creator, by gentle steps and differences, that are every one at no 
 great distance from the next to it. This sort of probability, which is the best con- 
 duct of rational experiments, and the rise of hypothesis, has also its use and influ- 
 ence; and a wary reasoning from analogy leads us often into the discovery of 
 truths and useful productions, which would otherwise lie concealed. 
 
 13. One Case where contrary Experience lessens not the Testimony.—Though 
 the common experience and the ordinary course of things have justly a mighty in- 
 
468 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 fluence on the minds of men, to make them give or refuse credit to anything pro- 
 posed to their belief; yet there is one case, wherein the strangeness of the fact 
 lessens not the assent to a fair testimony given of it. For where such supernatural 
 events are suitable to ends aimed at by him who has the power to change the 
 course of nature, there, under such cireumstances, they may be the fitter to pro- 
 cure belief, by how much the more they are beyond or contrary to ordinary ob- 
 servation. This is the proper case of miracles, which well attested, do not only 
 find credit themselves, but give it also to other truths, which need such confirma- 
 tion.’ 
 
 14. The bare Testimony of Revelation is the highest Certainty.— Besides those 
 we have hitherto mentioned, there is one sort of propositions that challenge the 
 highest degree of our assent upon bare testimony, whether the thing proposed 
 agree or disagree with common experience, and the ordinary course of things, 
 orno. The reason whereof is, because the testimony is of such a one as cannot 
 deceive nor be deceived, and that is of God himself. This carries with it an as- 
 surance beyond doubt, evidence beyond exception. This is called by a peculiar 
 name, revelation; and our assent to it, faith: which as absolutely determines our 
 minds, and as perfectly excludes all wavering, as our knowledge itself; and we 
 may as well doubt of our own being, as we can whether any revelation from God 
 be true. So that faith is a settled and sure principle of assent and assurance, and 
 leaves no manner of room for doubt or hesitation. Only we must be sure that it be 
 a divine revelation, and that we understand it right: else we shall expose ourselves | 
 to all the extravagancy of enthusiasm, and all the error of wrong principles, if we 
 have faith and assurance in what is not divine revelation. And therefore in those 
 cases, our assent can be rationally no higher than the evidence of its being a reve- 
 lation, and that this is the meaning of the expressions it is delivered in. If the 
 evidence of its being a revelation, or that this is its true sense, be only on probable 
 proofs; our assent can reach no higher than an assurance or diffidence, arising 
 from the more or less apparent probability of the proofs. But of faith, and the 
 precedency it ought to have before other arguments of persuasion, I shall speak 
 more hereafter; where I treat of it as it is ordinarily placed, in contradistinction 
 to reason; though in truth it be nothing else but an assent founded on the highest 
 reason. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OF REASON. 
 
 1. Various Significations of the Word Reason.—Tue word reason in the 
 English language has different significations: sometimes it is taken for true and 
 clear principles; sometimes for clear and fair deductions from those principles ; 
 and sometimes for the cause, and particularly the final cause. But the considera- 
 tion I shall have of it here is in a signification different from all these; and that 
 is, as it stands for a faculty in man, that faculty whereby man is supposed to be 
 distinguished from beasts, and wherein it is evident he much surpasses them. 
 
 2. Wherein Reasoning consists.—If general knowledge, as has been shown, con- 
 sists in a perception of the agreement or disagreement of our own ideas, and the know- 
 
 1 In his discourse on the subject, Locke de- | spectator, and, in his opinion, contrary to the 
 fines a miracle to be, “‘ A sensible operation, established course of nature, is taken by him to 
 which, being above the comprehension of the | be divine.” (p. 275.) 
 
CHAP. XVII. ] REASON. 469 
 
 ledge of the existence of all things without us (except only of a God, whose existence 
 every man may certainly know and demonstrate to himself from his own existence) 
 be had only by our senses, what room is there for the exercise of any other faculty, 
 but outward sense and inward perception? What need is there of reason? Very 
 much: both for the enlargement of our knowledge, and regulating our assent: for 
 it hath to do both in knowledge and opinion, and is necessary and assisting to all 
 our other intellectual faculties, and indeed contains two of them, viz. sagacity 
 and illation. By the one, it finds out; and by the other, it so orders the inter- 
 mediate ideas, as to discover what connexion there is in each link of the chain, 
 whereby the extremes are held together; and thereby, as it were, to draw into 
 view the truth sought for, which is that which we call illation or inference, and 
 consists in nothing but the perception of the connexion there is between the ideas, 
 in each step of the deduction, whereby the mind comes to see either the certain 
 agreement or disagreement of any two ideas, as in demonstration, in which it arrives 
 at knowledge; or their probable connexion, on which it gives or withholds its 
 assent, as in opinion. Sense and intuition reach but a very little way. The 
 greatest part of our knowledge depends upon deductions and intermediate ideas : 
 and in those cases where we are fain to substitute assent instead of knowledge, and 
 take propositions for true, without being certain they are so, we have need to 
 find out, examine, and compare the grounds of their probability. In both these 
 cases, the faculty which finds out the means, and rightly applies them to discover 
 certainty in the one, and probability in the other, is that which we call reason. 
 For as reason perceives the necessary and indubitable connexion of all the ideas 
 or proofs one to another, in each step of any demonstration that produces know- 
 ledge; so it likewise perceives the probable connexion of all the ideas or proofs 
 one to another, in every step of a discourse, to which it will think assent due. 
 This is the lowest degree of that which can be truly called reason. For where 
 the mind does not perceive this probable connexion, where it does not discern 
 whether there be any such connexion or no; there men’s opinions are not the 
 product of judgment, or the consequence of reason, but the effects of chance and 
 hazard, of a mind floating at all adventures, without choice and without direc- 
 tion. 
 
 3. Its four Paris.—So that we may in reason consider these four degrees: the 
 first and highest is the discovering and finding out of truths; the second, the 
 regular and methodical disposition of them, and laying them in a clear and fit 
 order, to make their connexion and force be plainly and easily perceived; the 
 third is the perceiving their connexion; and the fourth, a making a right con- 
 clusion. These several degrees may be observed in any mathematical demonstra- 
 tion; it being one thing to perceive the connexion of each part, as the demonstra- 
 tion is made by another; another to perceive the dependence of the conclusion on all 
 the parts; a third, to make out a demonstration clearly and neatly one’s self; and 
 something different from all these, to have first found out these intermediate ideas 
 or proofs by which it is made. 
 
 4. Syllogism not the great Instrument of Reason.—There is one thing more 
 which I shall desire to be considered concerning reason; and that is, whether 
 syllogism, as is generally thought, be the proper instrument of it, and the useful- 
 lest way of exercising this faculty. The causes I have to doubt are these :— 
 
 First, Because syllogism serves our reason but in one only of the forementioned 
 parts of it; and that is, to show the connexion of the proofs in any one instance, 
 and no more; but in this it is of no great use, since the mind can conceive such 
 connexion where it really is, as easily—nay, perhaps better—without it. 
 
 If we will observe the actings of our own minds, we shall find that we reason 
 best and clearest, when we only observe the connexion of the proof, without re- 
 ducing our thoughts to any rule of syllogism. And therefore we may take notice, 
 that there are many men that reason exceeding clear and rightly, who know not 
 how to make a syllogism. He that will look into many parts of Asia and Ame- 
 
 poset — oe eee 
 
470 OF HUMAN. UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 rica will find men reason there perhaps as acutely as himself, who yet never heard of 
 a syllogism, nor can reduce any one argument to those forms: and I believe scarce 
 any one makes syllogisms in reasoning within himself, Indeed syllogism is made 
 use of on occasion to discover a fallacy hid in a rhetorical flourish, or cunningly 
 wrapt up in a smooth period; and, stripping an absurdity of the cover of wit and 
 good language, show it in its naked deformity. But the weakness or fallacy of 
 such a loose discourse it shows, by the artificial form it is put into, only to those 
 who have thoroughly studied mode and figure, and have so examined the many 
 ways that three propositions may be put together, as to know which of them does 
 certainly conclude right, and which not, and upon what grounds it is that they do 
 so. All who have so far considered syllogism, as to see the reason why in three 
 propositions laid together in one form, the conclusion will be certainly right, but 
 in another not certainly so, I grant are certain of the conclusion they draw from 
 the premises in the allowed modes and figures. But they who have not so far 
 looked into those forms, are not sure by virtue of syllogism, that the conclusion 
 certainly follows from the premises; they only take it to be so by an implicit faith 
 in their teachers and a confidence in those forms of argumentation; but this is 
 still but believing, not being certain. Now, if, of all mankind those who can 
 make syllogisms are extremely few in comparison of those who cannot; and if, of 
 those few who have been taught logic there is but a very small number who do 
 any more than believe that syllogisms, in the allowed modes and figures do con- 
 clude right, without knowing certainly that they do so, if syllogisms must be — 
 taken for the only proper instrument of reason and means of knowledge, it will 
 follow, that, before Aristotle, there was not one man that did or could know any- 
 thing by reason; and that, since the invention of syllogisms, there is not one of 
 ten thousand that doth. 
 But God has not been so sparing to men to make them barely two-legged crea- 
 tures, and left it to Aristotle to make them rational, i. e. those few of them that he 
 could get so to examine the grounds of syllogisms, as to see that, in above three- 
 score ways, that three propositions may be laid together, there are but about four- 
 teen wherein one may be sure that the conclusion is right; and upon what grounds 
 it is, that, in these few, the conclusion is certain, and in the other not. God has 
 been more bountiful to mankind than so. He has given them a mind that can 
 reason, without being instructed in methods of syllogizing: the understanding is 
 not taught to reason by these rules; it has a native faculty to perceive the coherence 
 or incoherence of its ideas, and can range them right, without any such perplexing 
 repetitions. I say not this any way to lessen Aristotle, whom I look on as one of the 
 greatest men amongst the ancients; whose large views, acuteness, and penetration 
 of thought and strength of judgment, few have equalled; and who, in this very in- 
 vention of forms of argumentation, wherein the conclusion may be shown to be 
 rightly inferred, did great service against those who were not ashamed to deny 
 anything. And I readily own, that all right reasoning may be reduced to his 
 forms of syllogism. But yet I think, without any diminution to him, I may 
 truly say, that they are not the only, nor the best way of reasoning, for the leading 
 of those into truth who are willing to find it, and desire to make the best use they 
 may of their reason, for the attainment of knowledge. And he himself, it is plain, 
 found out some forms to be conclusive, and others not, not by the forms themselves, 
 but by the original way of knowledge, i. e. by the visible agreement of ideas. Tell 
 a country gentlewoman that the wind is south-west, and the weather lowering, and 
 like to rain, and she will casily understand it is not safe for her to go abroad thin clad 
 in such a day, after a fever; she clearly sees the probable connexion of all these, viz. 
 southwest wind, and clouds, rain, wetting, taking cold, relapse, and danger of death, 
 without tying them together in those artificial and cumbersome fetters of several 
 syllogisms, that clog and hinder the mind, which proceeds from one part to an- 
 other quicker and clearer without them; and the probability which she easily 
 perceives in things thus in their native state would be quite lost, if this argu- 
 
 ae ee eee ey 
 
CHAP. XVII. | REASON. 471 
 
 ment were managed learnedly and proposed in mode and figure. For it very often 
 confounds the connexion; and, I think, every one will perceive in mathematical 
 demonstrations, that the knowledge gained thereby comes shortest and clearest 
 without syllogisms. 
 
 Inference is looked on as the great act of the rational faculty, and so it is when 
 it is rightly made; but the mind, either very desirous to enlarge its knowledge, or 
 very apt to favour the sentiments it has once imbibed, is very forward to make 
 inferences, and therefore often makes too much haste, before it perceives the con- 
 nexion of the ideas that must hold the extremes together. 
 
 To infer, is nothing but by virtue of one proposition laid down as true, to draw 
 in another as true, i.e. to see or suppose such a connexion of the two ideas of the 
 inferred proposition: v.g. let this be the proposition laid down, “ Men shall be 
 punished in another world,” and from thence be inferred this other, “ Then men 
 can determine themselves.” ‘The question now is to know whether the mind has 
 made this inference right or no; if it has made it by finding out the interme- 
 diate ideas, and taking a view of the connexion of them, placed in a due order, it 
 has proceeded rationally, and made a right inference. If it has done it without 
 such a view, it has not so much made an inference that will hold, or an in- 
 ference of right reason, as shown a willingness to have it be, or be taken. for 
 such. But in neither case is it syllogism that discovered those ideas, or showed 
 the connexion of them, for they must be both found out, and the connexion 
 everywhere perceived, before they can rationally be made use of in syllo- 
 gism; unless it can be said, that any idea, without considering what connexion it 
 hath with the two other, whose agreement should be shown by it, will do well 
 enough in a syllogism, and may be taken at a venture for the medius terminus, to 
 prove any conclusion. But this nobody will say, because it is by virtue of the 
 perceived agreement of the intermediate idea with the extremes, that the extremes 
 are concluded to agree; and therefore each intermediate idea must be such as in 
 the whole chain hath a visible connexion with those two it has been placed between, 
 or else thereby the conclusion cannot be inferred or drawn in: for wherever any 
 link of the chain is loose and without connexion, there the whole strength of it is 
 lost, and it hath no force to infer or draw in anything. In the instance above 
 mentioned, what is it shows the force of the inference, and consequently the reason- 
 ableness of it, but a view of the connexion of all the intermediate ideas that draw 
 in the conclusion or proposition inferred? v. g. “ Men shall be punished ;” “ God 
 the punisher;” “Just punishment;” “The punished guilty ;” ‘‘ Could have done 
 otherwise ;” ‘‘ Freedom;” “ Self-determination ;” by which chain of ideas thus 
 visibly linked together in train, i. e. each intermediate idea agreeing on each side 
 with those two it is immediately placed between, the ideas of men and self-deter- 
 mination appear to be connected, i. e. this proposition men can determine them- 
 selves is drawn in or inferred from this, that they shall be punished in the other 
 world. For here the mind seeing the connexion there is between the idea of men’s 
 punishment in the other world and the idea of God punishing; between God 
 punishing and the justice of the punishment; between justice of the punishment 
 and guilt; between guilt and a power to do otherwise; between a power to do 
 otherwise and freedom; and between freedom and self-determination, sees the 
 connexion between men and self-determination. 
 
 Now I ask, whether the connexion of the extremes be not more clearly seen in 
 this simple and natural disposition, than in the perplexed repetitions, and jumble of 
 five or six syllogisms.!. I must beg pardon for calling it jumble, till somebody 
 
 1 In my appendix to the Reasonableness of | his lifetime, Locke changed his opinion on more 
 Christianity, I have on this subject made the than one point, and, like an honest and inde- 
 following remark :—‘‘ Between the publication pendent thinker, he was always careful to ac- 
 of the several editions of the ‘‘ Essay on the knowledge this change. This, among other 
 Human Understanding,”’ which appeared during things, was the case with the use of syllogisms, 
 
472 
 
 [BOOK IV, 
 
 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 shall put these ideas into so many syllogisms, and then say that they are less 
 jumbled, and their connexion more visible, when they are transposed and repeated, 
 and spun out to a greater length in artificial forms, than in that short and natural 
 plain order they are laid down in here, wherein every one may see It, and wherein 
 they must be seen before they can be put into a train of syllogisms. For the 
 natural order of the connecting ideas must direct the order of the syllogisms, and 
 a man must see the connexion of each intermediate idea with those that it con- 
 nects, befere he can with reason make use of it in a syllogism. And when all 
 those syllogisms are made, neither those that are nor those that are not logicians 
 will see the force of the argumentation, i. e. the connexion of the extremes, one 
 jot the better. [For those that are not men of art, not knowing the true forms of 
 syllogism, nor the reasons of them, cannot know whether they are made in right 
 and conclusive modes and figures or no, and so are not at all helped by the forms 
 they are put into; though by them the natural order, wherein the mind could judge 
 of their respective connexion, being disturbed, renders the illation much more 
 uncertain than without them.] And as for the logicians themselves, they see the 
 connexion of each intermediate idea with those it stands between, (on which the 
 force of the inference depends,) as well before as after the syllogism is made, or 
 else they do not see it at all. For a syllogism neither shows nor strengthens the 
 connexion of any two ideas immediately put together, but only by the connexion 
 seen in them shows what connexion the extremes have one with another. But 
 what connexion the intermediate has with either of the extremes in that syllogism, 
 that no syllogism does or can show. That the mind only doth or can perceive as 
 they stand there in that juxta-position only by its own view, to which the syllo- 
 gistical form it happens to be in gives no help or light at all; it only shows that 
 if the intermediate idea agrees with those it is on both sides immediately applied 
 to; then those two remote ones, or, as they are called, extremes, do certainly agree, 
 and therefore the immediate connexion of each idea to that which it is applied to 
 on each side, on which the force of the reasoning depends, is as well seen before 
 as after the syllogism is made, or else he that makes the syllogism could never 
 see it at all. This, as has been already observed, is seen only by the eye, or the 
 perceptive faculty of the mind, taking a view of them laid together, in a juxta- 
 position; which view of any two it has equally, whenever they are laid together 
 in any proposition, whether that proposition be placed as a major or a minor, in a 
 syllogism or no. 
 
 Of what use, then, are syllogisms? I answer, their chief and main use is in 
 the schools, where men are allowed without shame to deny the agreement of ideas 
 that do manifestly agree; or out of the schools, to those who from thence have 
 learned without shame to deny the connexion of ideas, which even to themselves 
 is visible. But to an ingenuous searcher after truth, who has no other aim but 
 to find it, there is no need of any such form to force the allowing of the inference: 
 the truth and reasonableness of it is better seen in ranging of the ideas in a simple 
 and plain order; and hence it is that men, in their own inquiries after truth, never 
 use syllogisms to convince themselves [or in teaching others to instruct willing 
 learners.] Because, before they can put them into a syllogism, they must see the 
 connexion that is between the intermediate idea and the two other ideas it is set 
 
 ’ 
 
 For in Book IV. ch. 17, “I grant,” says he, 
 ‘*that mood and figure is commonly made use 
 of in such cases, (in the discovery of fallacies, ) as 
 if the detection of the incoherence of such loose 
 discourses were wholly owing to the syllogistical 
 form; and so I myself formerly thought, till 
 upon a stricter examination I now find, that 
 laying the intermediate ideas naked, in their due 
 order, shows the incoherence of the argumenta- 
 tion better than syllogism.”’ His opinions, how- 
 ever, on this point were fluctuating; for in his 
 
 “ Second Vindication,” speaking of the fallacies 
 and incoherence of his antagonist, he has these 
 words :—‘‘ Nay, if he or anybody, in the 112 
 pages of his ‘ Socinianism Unmasked,’ can find 
 but ten arguments that will bear the test of sy/- 
 logism, the true touchstone of right arguing, I 
 will grant that that treatise deserves all those 
 commendations he has bestowed upon it; though 
 it be made up more of his own panegyric than a 
 confutation of me.” (p. 289.) 
 
CHAP. XVII.] REASON, 473 
 
 between and applied to, to show their agreement; and when they see that, they 
 see whether the inference be good or no, and so syllogism comes too late to settle 
 it. For to make use again of the former instance, I ask whether the mind, con- 
 sidering the idea of justice, placed as an intermediate idea between the punishment 
 of men and the guilt of the punished, (and till it does so consider it, the mind 
 cannot make use of it as a medius terminus,) does not as plainly see the force and 
 strength of the inference as when it is formed into a syllogism. To show it in a 
 very plain and easy example; let animal be the intermediate idea, or medius 
 terminus that the mind makes use of to show the connexion of homo and vivens ; 
 I ask whether the mind does not more readily and plainly see that connexion in 
 the simple and proper position of the connecting idea in the middle? thus: 
 
 Homo Animal Vivens, 
 than in this perplexed one,— 
 Animal Vivens Homo Animal: 
 
 which is the position these ideas have in a syllogism, to show the connexion 
 between homo and vivens by the intervention of animal. 
 
 Indeed syllogism is thought to be of necessary use, even to the lovers of truth, 
 to show them the fallacies that are often concealed in florid, witty, or involved 
 discourses. But that this is a mistake will appear, if we consider, that the reason 
 why sometimes men who sincerely aim at truth are imposed upon by such loose, 
 and, as they are called, rhetorical discourses, is, that their fancies being struck with 
 some lively metaphorical representations, they neglect to observe, or do not easily 
 perceive what are the true ideas upon which the inference depends. Now, to 
 show such men the weakness of such an argumentation, there needs no more but 
 to strip it of the superfluous ideas, which, blended and confounded with those on 
 which the inference depends, seem to show a connexion where there is none; or 
 at least to hinder the discovery of the want of it; and then to lay the naked ideas 
 on which the force of the argumentation depends in their due order, in which 
 position the mind, taking a view of them, sees what connexion they have, and so 
 is able to judge of the inference without any need of a syllogism at all. 
 
 I grant that mode and figure is commonly made use of in such cases, as if the 
 detection of the incoherence of such loose discourses were wholly owing to the 
 syllogistical form; and so I myself formerly thought, till upon a stricter examina- 
 tion I now find, that, laying the intermediate ideas naked in their due order, 
 shows the incoherence of the argumentation better than syllogism; not only as 
 subjecting each link of the chain to the immediate view of the mind in its proper 
 place, whereby its connexion is best observed; but also because syllogism shows 
 the incoherence only to those (who are not one of ten thousand) who perfectly 
 understand mode and figure, and the reason upon which those forms are esta- 
 blished ; whereas a due and orderly placing of the ideas upon which the inference 
 is made, makes every one, whether logician or not logician, who understands 
 the terms, and hath the faculty to perceive the agreement or disagreement of 
 such ideas, (without which, in or out of syllogism, he cannot perceive the strength 
 or weakness, coherence or incoherence of the discourse) see the want of connexion 
 in the argumentation, and the absurdity of the inference. 
 
 And thus I have known a man unskilful in syllogism, who at first hearing 
 could perceive the weakness and inconclusiveness of a long artificial and plausible 
 discourse, wherewith others better skilled in syllogism have been misled: and I 
 believe there are few of my readers who do not know such. And indeed, if it 
 were not so, the debates of most princes’ councils, and the business of assemblies, 
 would be in danger to be mismanaged, since those who are relied upon, and 
 have usually a great stroke in them, are not always such who have the good luck 
 to be perfectly knowing in the forms of syllogism, or expert in mode and figure. 
 
474 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK IV. 
 
 And if syllogism were the only, or so much as the surest way to detect the fal- 
 lacies of artificial discourses; I do not think that all mankind, even princes in 
 matters that concern their crowns and dignities, are so much in love with false- 
 hood and mistake, that they would everywhere have neglected to bring syllogism 
 _ into the debates of moment; or thought it ridiculous so much as to offer them in 
 affairs of consequence ; a plain evidence to me, that men of parts and penetration, 
 who were not idly to dispute at their ease, but were to act according to the result 
 of their debates, and often pay for their mistakes with their heads or fortunes, 
 
 found those scholastic forms were of little use to discover truth or fallacy, whilst — 
 
 both the one and the other might be shown, and better shown without them, to 
 those who would not refuse to see what was visibly shown them. 
 
 Secondly, Another reason that makes me doubt whether syllogism be the only 
 proper instrument of reason in the discovery of truth, is, that of whatever use, mode, 
 and figure, is pretended to be in the laying open of fallacy, (which has been above 
 considered,) those scholastic forms of discourse are not less liable to fallacies than 
 the plainer ways of argumentation; and for this I appeal to common observation, 
 which has always found these artificial methods of reasoning more adapted to catch 
 and entangle the mind, than to instruct and inform the understanding. And 
 
 hence it is that men, even when they are baffled and silenced in this scholastic. 
 
 way, are seldom or never convinced, and so brought over to the conquering side : 
 they perhaps acknowledge their adversary to be the more skilful disputant, but 
 
 rest nevertheless persuaded of the truth on their side, and go away, worsted as _ 
 
 they are, with the same opinion they brought with them, which they could not do 
 if this way of argumentation carried light and conviction with it, and made men 
 see where the truth lay; and therefore syllogism has been thought more proper 
 for the attaining victory in dispute, than for the discovery or confirmation of 
 truth in fair inquiries. And if it be certain, that fallacies can be couched in syl- 
 logism, as it cannot be denied ; it must be something else, and not syllogism, that 
 must discover them. 
 
 I have had experience how ready some men are, when all the use which they 
 have been wont to ascribe to anything is not allowed, to cry out, that I am for 
 laying it wholly aside. But to prevent such unjust and groundless imputations, I 
 tell them, that I am not for taking away any helps to the understanding in the 
 attainment of knowledge. And if men skilled in and used to syllogisms, find 
 them assisting to their reason in the discovery of truth, I think they ought to 
 make use of them. All that I aim at, is, that they should not ascribe more to 
 these forms than belongs to them, and think that men have no use, or not so full 
 an use of their reasoning faculties without them. Some eyes want spectacles to 
 see things clearly and distinctly; but let not those that use them therefore say 
 nobody can see clearly without them: those who do so will be thought in favour 
 of art, (which, perhaps, they are beholden to,) a little too much to depress and dis- 
 credit nature. Reason, by its own penetration, where it is strong and exercised, 
 usually sees quicker and clearer without syllogism. If use of those spectacles 
 has so dimmed its sight, that it cannot without them see consequences or inconse- 
 quences in argumentation, I am not so unreasonable as to be against the using 
 them. Every one knows what best fits his own sight; but let him not thence 
 conclude all in the dark, who use not just the same helps that he finds a need of. 1 
 
 ). Helps little in Demonstration, less in Probability.—But however it be in 
 knowledge, I think I may truly say it is of far less, or no use at all in probabilities. 
 For the assent there being to be determined by the preponderancy, after due 
 weighing of all the proofs, with all circumstances on both sides, nothing is so 
 unfit to assist the mind in that as syllogism; which, running away with one 
 assumed probability, or one topical argument, pursues that till it has led the mind 
 
 1 On the subject of syllogism, see the smaller | itis perhaps treated of more satisfactorily than 
 “‘ Logic” of Christian Wolf, c. vi. p. 74, where | by any other modern writer. 
 
CHAP. XVII- | REASON. 475 
 
 quite out of sight of the thing under consideration; and, forcing it upon some 
 remote difficulty, holds it fast there, entangled, perhaps, and, as it were, manacled, 
 in the chain of syllogisms, without allowing it the liberty, much less affording it 
 the helps, requisite to show on which side, all things considered, is the greater 
 probability. 
 
 6. Serves not to increase our Knowledge, but fence with it.—But let it help 
 us (as perhaps may be said) in convincing men of their errors and mistakes, (and 
 yet I would fain see the man that was forced out of his opinion by dint of syl- 
 logism,) yet still it fails our reason in that part, which, if not its highest perfection, 
 is yet certainly its hardest task, and that which we most need its help in: and 
 that is the finding out of proofs, and making new discoveries. The rules of syl- 
 logism serve not to furnish the mind with those intermediate ideas that may show 
 the connexion of remote ones. This way of reasoning discovers no new proofs, 
 but is the art of marshalling and ranging the old ones we have already. The 
 forty-seventh proposition of the first book of Euclid is very true; but the dis- 
 covery of it, I think, not owing to any rules of common logic. A man knows 
 first, and then he is able to prove syllogistically ; so that syllogism comes after 
 knowledge, and then a man has little or no need of it. But it is chiefly by the 
 finding out those ideas that show the connexion of distant ones, that our stock of 
 knowledge is increased, and that useful arts and sciences are advanced. Syllo- 
 gism, at best, is but the art of fencing with the little knowledge we have, without 
 making any addition to it; and if a man should employ his reason all this way, 
 he will not do much otherwise than he who, having got some iron out of the 
 bowels of the earth, should have it beaten up all into swords, and put it into his 
 servants’ hands to fence with and bang one another. Had the King of Spain 
 employed the hands of his people, and his Spanish iron so, he had brought to 
 light but little of that treasure that lay so long hid in the entrails of America. 
 And I am apt to think, that he who shall employ all the force of his reason only 
 in brandishing of syllogisms, will discover very little of that mass of knowledge 
 which lies yet concealed in the secret recesses of nature, and which, I am apt 
 to think, native rustic reason (as it formerly has done) is likelier to open a way 
 to, and add to the common stock of mankind, rather than any scholastic proceed- 
 ing by the strict rule of mode and figure. 7 
 
 7. Other Helps should be sought.—I doubt not nevertheless, but there are 
 ways to be found out to assist our reason in this most useful part; and this the 
 judicious Hooker encourages me to say, who in his Eccl. Pol. 1. i. § 6, speaks 
 thus: “ If there might be added the right helps of true art and learning, (which 
 helps, I must plainly confess, this age of the world, carrying the name of a learned 
 age, doth neither much know nor generally regard,) there would undoubtedly be 
 almost as much difference in maturity of judgment between men therewith inured, 
 and that which men now are, as between men that are now, and innocents.”! I 
 do not pretend to have found or discovered here any of those right helps of art, 
 this great man of deep thought mentions; but this is plain, that syllogism, and 
 the logic now in use, which were as well known in his days, can be none of those 
 he means. It is sufficient for me, if by a discourse, perhaps something out of the 
 way, I am sure, as to me, wholly new and unborrowed, I shall have given occa- 
 sion to others to cast about for new discoveries, and to seek in their own thoughts 
 for those right helps of art, which will scarce be found, I fear, by those who ser- 
 vilely confine themselves to the rules and dictates of others. For beaten tracks 
 lead this sort of cattle, (as an observing Roman calls them,) whose thoughts reach 
 only to imitation, ‘‘ non quo eundum est, sed quo itur.” But I can be bold to 
 
 1 Plato has a similar idea in speaking of Iso- malowy OuevéyKo. THY TeToTE apapévwr, 
 7 »” > ~ b, 
 crates:—‘ dare ovdéy Ay yévowtro Savpaoroyv | Adywy, ere rE Ei abr py aroxohoa Tadra, 
 - ~ € A , 4 \ t © 
 Tpoiovons THE WAtKiag eb Tept adrovg TE emt petlw Of Tic abtoy you dppy Osvorépa.” 
 
 rove Adyoug, olg viv éemtxepst, whEov 7 | (Phewdrus, t. I. p. 105 seq. Bekk.) 
 
476 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 say, that this age is adorned with some men of that strength of judgment and 
 largeness of comprehension, that if they would employ their thoughts on 
 this subject, could open new and undiscovered ways to the advancement of 
 knowledge. 
 
 8. We reason about Particulars.—Having here had an occasion to speak of 
 syllogism in general, and the use of it in reasoning, and the improvement of our 
 knowledge, it is fit, before I leave this subject, to take notice of one manifest mis- 
 take in the rules of syllogism, viz. that no syllogistical reasoning can be right and 
 conclusive, but what has at least one general proposition in it. As if we could 
 not reason and have knowledge about particulars ; whereas, in truth, the matter 
 rightly considered, the immediate object of all our reasoning and knowledge is 
 nothing but particulars. Every man’s reasoning and knowledge is only about the 
 ideas existing in his own mind, which are truly, every one of them, particular 
 existences ; and our knowledge and reason about other things, is only as they cor- 
 respond with those of our particular ideas. So that the perception of the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of our particular ideas, is the whole and utmost of all our 
 knowledge. Universality is but accidental to it, and consists only in this, that the 
 particular ideas about which it is, are such as more than one particular thing can 
 correspond with and be represented by. But the perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of any two ideas, consequently our own knowledge, is equally clear 
 and certain, whether either, or both, or neither of those ideas, be capable of repre- 
 senting more real beings than one or no. One thing more I crave leave to offer 
 about syllogism, before I leave it, viz. may one not upon just ground inquire 
 whether the form syllogism now has, is that which in reason it ought to have ? 
 For the medius terminus being to join the extremes, i. e. the intermediate idea by 
 its intervention, to show the agreement or disagreement of the two in question, 
 would not the position of the medius terminus be more natural, and show the 
 agreement or disagreement of the extremes clearer and better, if it were placed in 
 the middle between them? Which might be easily done by transposing the pro- 
 positions, and making the medius terminus the predicate of the first, and the sub- 
 ject of the second. As thus: 
 
 “Omnis homo est animal. Omne animal est vivens. Ergo omnis homo est 
 vivens. 
 
 “‘Omne corpus est entensum et solidum. Nullum extensum et solidum est 
 pura extensio. Ergo corpus non est pura extensio.” 
 
 I need not trouble my reader with instances in syllogisms whose conclusions are 
 particular. The same reason holds for the same form in them, as well as in the 
 general, 
 
 9. First, Reason fails us for want of Ideas.—Reason, though it penetrates 
 into the depths of the sea and earth, elevates our thoughts as high as the stars, 
 and leads us through the vast space and large rooms of this mighty fabric, yet it 
 comes far short of the real extent of even corporeal being; and there are many 
 instances wherein it fails us: as, 
 
 First, It perfectly fails us, where our ideas fail.—It neither does nor can extend 
 itself further than they do; and therefore, wherever we have no ideas, our reason- 
 ing stops, and we are at an end of our reckoning; and if at any time we reason 
 about words which do not stand for any ideas, it is only about those sounds, and 
 nothing else. 
 
 10. Secondly, Because of obscure and imperfect Ideas.—II. Our reason is often 
 puzzled and at a loss, because of the obscurity, confusion, or imperfection of the 
 ideas it is employed about ; and there we are involved in difficulties and contra- 
 dictions. Thus, not having any perfect idea of the least extension of maiter, nor 
 ’ of infinity, we are at a loss about the divisibility of matter; but having per- 
 fect, clear, and distinct ideas of number, our reason meets with none of those 
 
CHAP. XVII.] REASON. 477 
 
 inextricable difficulties in numbers, nor finds itself involved in any contradictions 
 about them. Thus, we having but imperfect ideas of the operations of our minds, 
 and of the beginning of motion, or thought, how the mind produces either of 
 them in us, and much imperfecter yet of the operation of God, run into great 
 difficulties about free created agents, which reason cannot well extricate itself 
 out of. 
 
 ll. Thirdly, For Want of Intermediate Ideas —III. Our reason is often at a 
 stand, because it perceives not those ideas, which could serve to show the certain 
 or probable agreement or disagreement of any other two ideas; and in this some 
 men’s faculties far outgo others. Tull algebra, that great instrument and instance 
 of human sagacity, was discovered, men with amazement looked on several of 
 the demonstrations of ancient mathematicians, and could scarce forbear to think 
 the finding of several those proofs to be something more than human. 
 
 12. Fourthly, Because of wrong Principles.—IV. The mind, by proceeding 
 upon false principles, is often engaged in absurdities and difficulties, brought 
 into straits and contradictions, without knowing how to free itself; and in that 
 case it is in vain to implore the help of reason, unless it be to discover the 
 falsehood and reject the influence of those wrong principles. Reason is so far 
 from clearing the difficulties which the building upon false foundations brings a 
 man into, that if he will pursue it, it entangles him the more, and engages him 
 deeper in perplexities. 
 
 13. Fifthly, Because of doubtful Terms.—V. As obscure and imperfect ideas 
 often involve our reason, so, upon the same ground, do dubious words and un- 
 certain signs often in discourses and arguings, when not warily attended to, 
 puzzle men’s reason, and bring them to a nonplus. But these two latter are our 
 fault, and not the fault of reason. But yet the consequences of them are never- 
 theless obvious; and the perplexities or errors they fill men’s minds with are 
 everywhere observable. | 
 
 14. Our highest Degree of Knowledge is intuitive, without Reasoning.—Some 
 of the ideas that are in the mind, are so there, that they can be by themselves 
 immediately compared one with another ; and in these the mind is able to per- 
 ceive that they agree or disagree as clearly as that it has them. Thus the mind 
 perceives, that an arch of a circle is less than the whole circle, as clearly as 
 it does the idea of a circle; and this, therefore, as has been said, I call intuitive 
 knowledge ; which is certain, beyond all doubt, and needs no probation, nor can 
 have any, this being the highest of all human certainty. In this consists the 
 evidence of all those maxims which nobody has any doubt about, but every man 
 (does not, as is said, only assent to, but) knows to be true, as soon as ever they 
 are proposed to his understanding. In the discovery of and assent to these 
 truths, there is no use of the discursive faculty, no need of reasoning, but they are 
 known by a superior and higher degree of evidence. And such, if I may guess 
 at things unknown, I am apt to think that angels have now, and the spirits of 
 just men made perfect shall have in a future state, of thousands of things which 
 now either wholly escape our apprehensions, or which our short-sighted reason 
 having got some faint glimpse of, we, in the dark, grope after. 
 
 15. The next is Demonstration by Reasoning.— But though we have, here and 
 there, a little of this clear light, some sparks of bright knowledge, yet the greatest 
 part of our ideas are such, that we cannot discern their agreement or dis- 
 agreement by an immediate comparing them. And in all these we have need 
 of reasoning, and must, by discourse and inference, make our discoveries. 
 Now of these there are two sorts, which I shall take the liberty to mention here 
 again. 
 
 ” First, Those whose agreement or disagreement, though it cannot be seen by an 
 immediate putting them together, yet may be examined by the intervention of 
 other ideas which can be compared with them. In this case, when the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of the intermediate idea, on both sides with those which we 
 
478 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [Book Iv. 
 
 would compare, is plainly discerned, there it amounts to a demonstration, whereby 
 knowledge is produced; which, though it be certain, yet it 1s not so easy, nor 
 altogether so clear as intuitive knowledge. Because in that there is barely one 
 simple intuition, wherein there is no room for any the least mistake or doubt; the 
 truth is seen all perfectly at once. In demonstration, it is true, there is intuition 
 too, but not altogether at once; for there must be a remembrance of the intuition 
 of the agreement of the medium, or intermediate idea, with that we compared it 
 with before, when we compare it with the other; and where there be many 
 mediums, there the danger of the mistake is the greater. For each agreement or 
 disagreement of the ideas must be observed and seen in each step of the whole 
 train, and retained in the memory, just as it is; and the mind must be sure that 
 no part of what is necessary to make up the demonstration is omitted or over- 
 looked. This makes some demonstrations long and perplexed, and too hard for 
 those who have not strength of parts distinctly to perceive, and exactly carry so 
 many particulars orderly in their heads. And even those who are able to master 
 such intricate speculations, are fain sometimes to go over them again, and there 
 is need of more than one review before they can arrive at certainty. But yet 
 where the mind clearly retains the intuition it had of the agreement of any idea 
 with another, and that with a third, and that with a fourth, &c. there the agree- 
 ment of the first and the fourth is a demonstration, and produces certain know- 
 ledge, which may be called rational knowledge, as the other is intuitive. 
 
 16. To supply the Narrowness of this, we have Nothing but Judgment upon 
 probable Reasoning.—Secondly, There are other ideas, whose agreement or dis- 
 agreement can no otherwise be judged of, but by the intervention of others which 
 have not a certain agreement with the extremes, but an usual or likely one: and 
 in these it is that the judgment is properly exercised, which is the acquiescing of 
 the mind, that any ideas do agree, by comparing them with such probable 
 mediums. This, though it never amounts to knowledge, no, not to that which is 
 the lowest degree of it; yet sometimes the intermediate ideas tie the extremes so 
 firmly together, and the probability is so clear and strong, that assent as neces- 
 sarily follows it, as knowledge does demonstration. The great excellency and use 
 of the judgment is to observe right, and take a true estimate of the force and 
 weight of each probability ; and then, casting them up all right together, choose 
 that side which has the overbalance. 
 
 17. Intuition, Demonstration, Judgment.—Intuitive knowledge is the per- 
 ception of the certain agreement or disagreement of two ideas immediately com- 
 pared together. 
 
 Rational knowledge is the perception of the certain agreement or disagreement 
 of any two ideas, by the intervention of one or more other ideas. 
 
 _ Judgment is the thinking or taking two ideas to agree or disagree, by the inter- 
 vention of one or more ideas, whose certain agreement or disagreement with them 
 it does not perceive, but hath observed to be frequent and usual. 
 
 18. Consequences of Words, and Consequences of Ideas.—Though the de- 
 ducing one proposition from another, or making inferences in words, be a great 
 part of reason, and that which it is usually employed about; yet the prin- 
 cipal act of ratiocination is the finding the agreement or disagreement of two ideas 
 one with another, by the intervention ofa third. As aman, by a yard, finds two 
 houses to be of the same length, which could not be brought together to measure 
 their equality by juxta-position. Words have their consequences, as the signs of 
 such ideas ; and things agree or disagree, as really they are; but we observe it 
 only by our ideas. 
 
 19. Four Sorts of Arguments.—Before we quit this subject, it may be worth 
 our while a little to reflect on four sorts of arguments, that men, in their reason- 
 ings with others, do ordinarily make use of to prevail on their assent; or at least 
 so to awe them as to silence their opposition. 
 
 {. Ad verecundiam.—First, The first is to allege the opinions of men, whose 
 
CHAP. XVII. ] | REASON. A479 
 
 parts, learning, eminency, power, or some other cause has gained a name, and 
 settled their reputation in the common esteem with some kind of authority. 
 When men are established in any kind of dignity, it is thought a breach of 
 modesty for others to derogate any way from it, and question the authority of men 
 who are in possession of it. This is apt to be censured, as carrying with it too 
 much of pride, when a man does not readily yield to the determination of ap- 
 proved authors, which is wont to be received with respect and submission by 
 others; and it is looked upon as insolence for a man to set up and adhere to his 
 own opinion against the current stream of antiquity ; or to put it in the balance 
 against that of some learned doctor, or otherwise approved writer. Whoever 
 backs his tenets with such authorities, thinks he ought thereby to carry the cause, 
 and is ready to style it impudence in any one who shall stand out against them. 
 This I think may be called argumentum ad verecundiam. 
 
 20. II. Ad Iqnorantiam.—Secondly, Another way that men ordinarily use to 
 drive others, and force them to submit their judgments, and receive the opinion 
 in debate, is to require the adversary to admit what they allege as a proof, or to 
 assign a better. And this I call argumentum ad ignorantiam. 
 
 21. Ill. Ad hominem.—Thirdly, A third way is to press a man with conse- 
 quences drawn from his own principles or concessions. This is already known 
 under the name of argumentum ad hominem. 
 
 22. LV. Fourthly, Ad judicium.—The fourth is the using of proofs drawn from 
 any of the foundations of knowledge or probability. This I call argumentum ad 
 judicium. This alone, of all the four, brings true instruction with it, and advances 
 us in our way to knowledge. For, 1. It argues not another man’s opinion to be 
 right, because I, out of respect, or any other consideration but that of conviction, 
 will not contradict him. 2. It proves not another man to be in the right way, nor 
 that I ought to take the same with him, because I know not a better. 3. Nor 
 does it follow that another man is in the right way, because he has shown me that 
 I am in the wrong. I may be modest, and therefore not oppose another man’s 
 persuasion: I may be ignorant, and not be able to produce a better; I may be 
 In an error, and another may show me that I am so. This may dispose me, 
 perhaps, for the reception of truth, but helps me not to it; that must come from 
 proofs and arguments, and light arising from the nature of things themselves, and 
 not from my shame-facedness, ignorance, or error. 
 
 23. Above, contrary, and according to Reason.—By what has been before said 
 of reason, we may be able to make some guess at the distinction of things, into 
 those that are according to, above, and contrary to reason. 1. According to 
 reason are such propositions whose truth we can discover by examining and 
 tracing those ideas we have from sensation and reflection; and by natural de- 
 duction find to be true or probable. 2. Above reason are such propositions whose 
 truth or probability we cannot by reason derive from those principles. 3. Con- 
 trary to reason are such propositions as are inconsistent with or irreconcileable to 
 our clear and distinct ideas. Thus the existence of one God is according to 
 reason; the existence of more than one God; the resurrection of the dead, 
 above reason, contrary to reason. Further, as above, reason may be taken in a 
 double sense, viz. either as signifying above probability, or above certainty ; so in 
 that large sense also, contrary to reason, is, I suppose, sometimes taken. 
 
 24. Reason and Faith not opposite.—There is another use of the word reason, 
 wherein it is opposed to faith ; which, though it be in itself a very improper way 
 of speaking, yet common use has so authorized it, that it would be folly either to 
 oppose or hope to remedy it; only I think it may not be amiss to take notice, 
 that, however faith be opposed to reason, faith is nothing but a firm assent of the 
 mind; which, if it be regulated, as is our duty, cannot be afforded to anything 
 but upon good reason, and so cannot be opposite to it. He that believes without 
 having any reason for believing, may be in love with his own fancies, but neither 
 seeks truth as he ought, nor pays the obedience due to his Maker, who would 
 
480 ! OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 have him use those discerning faculties he has given him, to keep him out of mis- 
 take and error. He that does not this to the best of his power, however he some- 
 times lights on truth, is in the right but by chance; and I know not whether the 
 luckiness of the accident will excuse the irregularity of his proceeding. ‘This at 
 least is certain, that he must be accountable for whatever mistakes he runs into; 
 whereas he that makes use of the light and faculties God has given him, and 
 seeks sincerely to discover truth by those helps and abilities he has, may have 
 this satisfaction in doing his duty as a rational creature, that, though he should 
 miss truth, he will not miss the reward of it; for he governs his assent right, and 
 places it as he should, who, in any case or matter whatsoever, believes or disbe- 
 lieves according as reason directs him. He that doth otherwise, transgresses 
 against his own light, and misuses those faculties which were given him to no 
 other end, but to search and follow the clearer evidence and greater probability. 
 But since reason and faith are by some men opposed, we will so consider them in 
 the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL._ 
 
 OF FAITH AND REASON, AND THEIR DISTINCT PROVINCES. 
 
 1. Necessary to know their Boundaries.—It has been above shown, 1. That 
 we are of necessity ignorant, and want knowledge of all sorts, where we want 
 ideas. 2. That we are ignorant, and want rational knowledge, where we want 
 proofs. 3. That we want certain knowledge and certainty, as far as we want 
 clear and determined specific ideas. 4. That we want probability to direct our 
 assent in matters where we have neither knowledge of our own nor testimony of 
 other men to bottom our reason upon. 
 
 From these things thus premised, I think we may come to lay down the mea- 
 sures and boundaries between faith and reason; the want whereof may possibly 
 have been the cause, if not of great disorders, yet at least of great disputes, and 
 perhaps mistakes in the world. For till it be resolved how far we are to be 
 guided by reason, and how far by faith, we shall in vain dispute, and endeavour 
 to convince one another in matters of religion. 
 
 2. Faith and Reason, what, as contradistinguished.—I find every sect, as far 
 as reason will help them, make use of it gladly; and where it fails them, they 
 cry out, It is matter of faith, and above reason. And I do not see how they 
 can argue with any one, or ever convince a gainsayer who makes use of the 
 same plea, without setting down strict boundaries between faith and reason, which 
 ought to be the first point established in all questions, where faith has anything 
 to do. 
 
 ‘Reason, therefore, here, as contradistinguished to faith, I take to be the disco- 
 very of the certainty or probability of such propositions or truths, which the mind 
 arrives at by deduction made from such ideas, which it has got by the use of its 
 natural faculties; viz. by sensation or reflection. 
 
 Faith, on the other side, is the assent to any proposition not thus made out by 
 the deductions of reason, but upon the credit of the proposer,as coming from 
 God, in some extraordinary way of communication. This way of discovering 
 truths to men, we call revelation. 
 
 3. No new simple Idea can be conveyed by traditional Revelation.—First, then, 
 I say, that no man inspired by God can by any revelation communicate to others 
 
CHAP. XVIII. | FAITH AND REASON. 48] 
 
 any new simple ideas, which they had not before from sensation or reflection. 
 For whatsoever impressions he himself may have from the immediate hand of 
 God, this revelation, if it be of new simple ideas, cannot be conveyed to another, 
 either by words or any other signs; because words, by their immediate operation 
 on us, cause no other ideas but of their natural sounds; and it is by the custom 
 of using them for signs, that they excite and revive in our minds latent ideas; but 
 yet only such ideas as were there before. For words seen or heard, recal to our 
 thoughts those ideas only, which to us they have been wont to-be signs of, but 
 cannot introduce any perfectly new, and formerly unknown simple ideas. The 
 same holds in all other signs, which cannot signify to us things of which we have 
 before never had any idea at all. . 
 
 Thus, whatever things were discovered to St. Paul, when he was wrapt up into 
 the third heaven, whatever new ideas his mind there received, all the description 
 he can make to others of that place, is only this, that there are such things, “as 
 eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to con- 
 ceive.” And supposing God should discover to any one, supernaturally, a species 
 of creatures inhabiting, for example, Jupiter or Saturn, (for that it is possible 
 there may be such, nobody can deny,) which had six senses, and imprint on his 
 mind the ideas conveyed to theirs by that sixth sense; he could no nfore, by 
 words, produce in the minds of other men those ideas imprinted by that sixth 
 sense, than one of us could convey the idea of any colour by the sounds of words 
 into a man, who, having the other four senses perfect, had always totally wanted 
 the fifth, of seeing. For our simple ideas, then, which are the foundation and 
 sole matter of all our notions and knowledge, we must depend wholly on our 
 reason, I mean our natural faculties; and can by no means receive them, or any 
 of them, from traditional revelation; I say, traditional revelation, in distinction 
 to original revelation. By the one, I mean that first impression which is made 
 immediately by God on the mind of any man, to which we cannot set any bounds; 
 and by the other, those impressions delivered over to others in words, and the 
 ordinary ways of conveying our conceptions one to another. 
 
 4. Traditional Revelation may make us know Propositions knowable also by 
 Reason, but not with the same Certainty that Reason doth.—Secondly, I say that 
 the same truths may be discovered and conveyed down from revelation, which are 
 discoverable to us by reason, and by those ideas we naturally may have. So God 
 might by revelation discover the truth of any proposition in Euclid; as well as 
 men, by the natural use of their faculties, come to make the discovery themselves. 
 In all things of this kind there is little need or use of revelation, God having fur- 
 nished us with natural and surer means to arrive at the knowledge of them. For 
 whatsoever truth we come to the clear discovery of, from the knowledge and con- 
 templation of our own ideas, will always be certainer to us than those which are con- 
 veyed to us by traditional revelation. For the knowledge we have that this reve- 
 lation came at first from God, can never be so sure as the knowledge we have 
 from the clear and distinct perception of the agreement or disagreement of our 
 own ideas; v. g. if it were revealed some ages since, that the three angles of a 
 triangle were equal to two right ones, I might assent to the truth of that proposi- 
 tion, upon the credit of the tradition, that it was revealed; but that would 
 never amount to so great a certainty as the knowledge of it upon the comparing 
 and measuring my own ideas of two right angles, and the three angles of a triangle. 
 The like holds in matter of fact knowable by our senses; v. g. the history of the 
 deluge is conveyed to us by writings which had their original from revelation: 
 and yet nobody, I think, will say he has as certain and clear a knowledge of 
 the flood as Noah, that saw it; or that he himself would have had, had he then 
 been alive and seen it. For he has no greater assurance than that of his senses, 
 that it is writ in the book supposed writ by Moses inspired; but he has not so 
 great an assurance that Moses wrote that book as if he had seen Moses write it. 
 So that the assurance of its being a revelation is Jess still than the assurance of 
 his senses. 
 
 Afeat 
 
482 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iy. 
 
 5. Revelation cannot be admitted against the clear Evidence of Reason.—In 
 propositions, then, whose certainty is built upon the clear perception of the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of our ideas, attained either by immediate intuition, as in 
 self-evident propositions or by evident deductions of reason in demonstrations, we 
 need not the assistance of revelation, as necessary to gain our assent, and intro- 
 duce them into our minds. Because the natural ways of knowledge could settle 
 them there, or had done it already, which is the greatest assurance we can possi- 
 bly have of anything, unless where God immediately reveals it to us; and there 
 too our assurance can be no greater than our knowledge is, that it is a revelation 
 from God. But yet nothing, I think, can, under that title, shake or overrule plain 
 knowledge, or rationally prevail with any man to admit it for true, in a direct con- 
 tradiction to the clear evidence of his own understanding. For since no evidence 
 of our faculties by which we receive such revelations can exceed, if equal, the cer- 
 tainty of our intuitive knowledge, we can never receive for a truth anything that 
 is directly contrary to our clear and distinct knowledge: v.g. the ideas of one 
 body and one place do so clearly agree, and the mind has so evident a perception 
 of their agreement, that we can never assent to a proposition that affirms the same 
 body to be in two distant places at once, however it should pretend to the authority 
 of a divine revelation: since the evidence, first, that we deceive not ourselves in 
 ascribing it to God; secondly, that we understand it right; can never be so great 
 as the evidence of our own intuitive knowledge, whereby we discern it impossible 
 for the same body to be in two places at once. And therefore no proposition can 
 be received for divine revelation, or obtain the assent due to all such, if it be con- 
 tradictory to our clear intuitive knowledge. Because this would be to subvert the 
 principles and foundations of all knowledge, evidence, and assent whatsoever: and 
 there would be left no difference between truth and falsehood, no measures of cre- 
 dible and incredible in the world, if doubtful propositions shall take place before 
 self-evident, and what we certainly know give way to what we may possibly be 
 mistaken in. In propositions, therefore, contrary to the clear perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas, it will be in vain to urge them as 
 matters of faith: they cannot move our assent under that or any other title 
 whatsoever; for faith can never convince us of anything that contradicts our 
 knowledge. Because, though faith be founded on the testimony of God (who © 
 cannot lie) revealing any proposition to us; yet we cannot have an assurance of 
 the truth of its being a divine revelation greater than our own knowledge: since 
 the whole strength of the certainty depends upon our knowledge that God revealed 
 it, which, in this case, where the proposition proposed revealed contradicts our 
 knowledge or reason, will always have this objection hanging to it, viz. that we 
 cannot tell how to conceive that to come from God, the bountiful Author of our 
 being, which, if received for true, must overturn all the principles and foundations 
 of knowledge he has given us; render all our faculties useless; wholly destroy the — 
 most excellent part of his workmanship, our understandings, and put a man in a 
 condition wherein he will have less light, less conduct than the beast that perisheth. 
 For if the mind of man can never have a clearer (and perhaps not so clear) evidence 
 of anything to be a divine revelation, as it has of the principles of its own reason, 
 it can never have a ground to quit the clear evidence of its reason, to give a place 
 i a proposition, whose revelation has not a greater evidence than those principles 
 1ave. 
 
 6. Traditional Revelation much less.-—Thus far a man has use of reason, and 
 ought to hearken to it, even in immediate and original revelation, where it is 
 supposed to be made to himself: but to all those who pretend not to immediate 
 revelation, but are required to pay obedience, and to receive the truths revealed to 
 others, which, by the tradition of writings or word of mouth are conveyed down to 
 them, reason has a great deal more to do, and is that only which can induce us 
 to receive them. For matter of faith being only divine revelation, and nothing 
 else, faith, as we use the word, (called commonly divine faith,) has to do with no 
 
CHAP. XVIII. | FAITH AND REASON. 483 
 
 propositions but those which are supposed to be divinely revealed. So that I do 
 not see how those who make revelation alone the sole object of faith can say, that 
 it is a matter of faith and not of reason to believe that such or such a proposition, 
 to be found in such or such a book, is of divine inspiration, unless it be revealed 
 that that proposition, or all in that book was communicated by divine inspiration. 
 Without such a revelation the believing or not believing that proposition or book 
 to be of divine authority, can never be matter of faith, but matter of reason; and 
 such as I must come to an assent to only by the use of my reason, which can 
 never require or enable me to believe that which is contrary to itself: it being im- 
 possible for reason ever to procure any assent to that which to itself appears un- 
 reasonable. 
 
 In all things, therefore, where we have clear evidence from our ideas, and those 
 principles of knowledge I have above mentioned, reason is the proper judge; and 
 revelation, though it may, in consenting with it, confirm its dictates, yet cannot in 
 such cases invalidate its decrees: nor can we be obliged, where we have the clear 
 and evident sentence of reason to quit it for the contrary opinion, under a pretence 
 that it is matter of faith, which can have no authority against the plain and clear 
 dictates of reason. 
 
 7. Things above Reason.—But, Thirdly, There being many things wherein we 
 have very imperfect notions, or none at all; and other things, of whose past, present, 
 or future existence, by the natural use of our faculties, we can have no knowledge at 
 all; these, as being beyond the discovery of our natural faculties, and above rea- 
 son, are, when revealed, the proper matter of faith. Thus, that part of the angels 
 rebelled against God, and thereby lost their first happy state; and that the dead 
 shall rise, and live again; these and the like, being beyond the discovery of rea- 
 son, are purely matters of faith, with which reason has directly nothing to do. 
 
 8. Or not contrary to Reason,if revealed, are Matter of Faith.—But since 
 God, in giving us the light of reason has not thereby tied up his own hands from 
 affording us, when he thinks fit, the light of revelation in any of those matters 
 wherein our natural faculties are able to give a probable determination; revelation, 
 where God has been pleased to give it, must carry it against the probable conjec- 
 tures of reason. Because the mind not being certain of the truth of that it does 
 not evidently know, but only yielding to the probability that appears in it, is 
 bound to give up its assent to such a testimony; which, it is satisfied, comes from 
 one who cannot err, and will not deceive. But yet it still belongs to reason to judge 
 of the truth of its being a revelation, and of the signification of the words wherein 
 it is delivered. Indeed, if anything shall be thought revelation which is contrary 
 to the plain principles of reason, and the evident knowledge the mind has of its 
 own clear and distinct ideas; there reason must be hearkened to as to a matter 
 within its province: since a man can never have so certain a knowledge, that a pro- 
 position which contradicts the clear principles and evidence of his own knowledge 
 was divinely revealed, or that he understands the words rightly wherein it is de- 
 livered, as he has that the contrary is true: and so is bound to consider and judge 
 of it as a matter of reason, and not swallow it, without examination, as a matter 
 of faith. 
 
 9. Revelation in Matters where Reason cannot judge, or but probably, ought 
 to be hearkened to.—First, Whatever proposition is revealed, of whose truth our 
 mind, by its natural faculties and notions, cannot judge; that is purely matter of 
 faith, and above reason. 
 
 Secondly, All propositions whereof the mind, by the use of its natural faculties, 
 can come to determine and judge, from naturally acquired ideas, are matter of 
 reason, with this difference still, that, in those concerning which it has but an 
 uncertain evidence, and so is persuaded of their truth only upon probable grounds, 
 which still admit a possibility of the contrary to be true, without doing violence to 
 the certain evidence of its own knowledge, and overturning the principles of its 
 own reason; in such probable propositions, I say, an evident revelation ought to 
 
 Wisc 
 
484 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 determine our assent, even against probability. For where the principles of rea- 
 son have not evidenced a proposition to be certainly true or false, there clear reve- 
 lation, as another principle of truth and ground of assent, may determine; and so 
 it may be matter of faith, and be also above reason. Because reason, in that par- 
 ticular matter, being able to reach no higher than probability, faith gave the deter- 
 mination where reason came short; and revelation discovered on which side the 
 truth lay. : 
 
 10. In Matters where Reason can afford certain Knowledge, that is to be 
 hearkened to.—Thus far the dominion of faith reaches, and that without any vio- 
 lence or hindrance to reason, which is not injured or disturbed, but assisted and 
 improved by new discoveries of truth, coming from the eternal fountain of all 
 knowledge. Whatever God hath revealed is certainly true: no doubt can be made 
 of it. This is the proper object of faith; but whether it be a divine revelation or 
 no, reason must judge, which can never permit the mind to reject a greater evi- 
 dence to embrace what is less evident, nor allow it to entertain probability in op- 
 position to knowledge and certainty. There can be no evidence that any traditional 
 revelation is of divine original, in the words we receive it, and in the sense we un- 
 derstand it, so clear and so certain as that of the principles of reason: and there- 
 fore nothing that is contrary to and inconsistent with the clear and self-evident 
 dictates of reason, has a right to be urged or assented to as a matter of faith, 
 wherein reason hath nothing to do. Whatsoever is divine revelation, ought to 
 overrule all our opinions, prejudices, and interest, and hath a right to be received 
 with full assent. Sucha submission as this, of our reason to faith, takes not away 
 the landmarks of knowledge: this shakes not the foundations of reason, but leaves 
 us that use of our faculties for which they were given us. 3 | 
 
 ll. Lf the: Boundaries be not set between Faith and Reason, no Enthusiasm or 
 Extravagancy in Religion can be contradicted.—-If the provinces of faith and 
 reason are not kept distinct by these boundaries, there will, in matters of religion, 
 be no room for reason at all; and those extravagant opinions and ceremonies that 
 are to be found in the several religions of the world will not deserve to be blamed. 
 For to this crying up of faith in opposition to reason we may, I think, in good 
 measure ascribe those absurdities that fill almost all the religions which possess 
 and divide mankind. For men having been principled with an opinion, that they 
 must not consult reason in the things of religion, however apparently contradictory 
 to common sense and the very principles of all their knowledge, have let loose their 
 fancies and natural superstition; and have been by them led into so strange 
 opinions and extravagant practices in religion, that a considerate man cannot but 
 stand amazed at their follies, and judge them so far from being acceptable to the 
 great and wise God, that he cannot avoid thinking them ridiculous and offensive 
 to a sober good man. So that, in effect, religion, which should most distinguish 
 us from beasts, and ought most peculiarly to elevate us, as rational creatures, above 
 brutes, is that wherein men often appear most irrational and more senseless than 
 beasts themselves. ‘Credo, quia impossibile est;” I believe, because it is im- 
 possible, might in a good man pass for a sally of zeal; but would prove a very ill 
 rule for men to choose their opinions or religion by. | 
 
 eet 
 
CHAP. XIx.] ENTHUSIASM. 485 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OF ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 1. Love of Truth necessary.—HE that would seriously set upon the search of 
 truth,’ ought in the first place to prepare his mind with a love of it. For he that 
 loves it not, will not take much pains to get it, nor be much concerned when he 
 misses it. There is nobody in the commonwealth of learning who does not pro- 
 fess himself a lover of truth; and there is not a rational creature that would not 
 take it amiss to be thought otherwise of. And yet, for all this, one may truly 
 say, that there are very few lovers of truth, for truth’s sake, even amongst those 
 who persuade themselves that they areso. How a man may know whether he be 
 so in earnest, is worth inquiry: and I think thereis one unerring mark of it, viz. 
 the not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance than the proofs it is 
 built upon will warrant. Whoever goes beyond this measure of assent, it is plain 
 receives not the truth in the love of it; loves not truth for truth’s sake, but for 
 some other bye end.* For the evidence that any proposition is true (except such 
 as are self-evident) lying only in the proofs a man has of it, whatsoever degrees of 
 assent he affords it beyond the degrees of that evidence, it is plain that all the sur- 
 plusage of assurance is owing to some other affection, and not to the love of truth: 
 it being as impossible that the love of truth should carry my assent above the evi- 
 - dence there is to me that it is true, as that the love of truth should make me assent 
 to any proposition for the sake of that evidence which it has not that itis true; which 
 is in effect to love it as a truth, because it is possible or probable that it may not 
 be true. In any truth that gets not possession of our minds by the irresistible 
 light of self-evidence or by the force of demonstration, the arguments that gain it 
 assent are the vouchers and gage of its probability to us; and we can receive it for 
 no other than such as they deliver it to our understandings. Whatsoever credit 
 or authority we give to any proposition more than it receives from the principles 
 and proofs it supports itself upon, is owing to our inclinations that way, and is so — 
 far a derogation from the love of truth as such: which, as it can receive no evi- 
 dence from our passions or interests, so it should receive no tincture from them. 
 
 2. A Forwardness to dictate, from whence.—The assuming an authority of dic- 
 tating to others, and a forwardness to prescribe to their opinions, is a constant con- 
 comitant of this bias and corruption of our judgments. For how almost can it 
 be otherwise, but that he should be ready to impose on another’s belief, who has 
 already imposed on his own? Who can reasonably expect arguments and con- 
 
 1In Milton’s Areopagitica there occurs a pas- 
 sage on the love and beauty of truth so fervid, 
 nervous, and worthy of admiration, that I am 
 
 limb still as they could find them. We have not 
 yet found them all—lords and commons—nor 
 ever shall do, till her Master’s second coming ; 
 
 tempted to introduce it as a note upon this 
 passage, which yet, I confess, stands in little 
 need of illustration. ‘* Truth indeed came once 
 into the world with her Divine Master, and was 
 a perfect shape most glorious to look on: but 
 when he ascended, and his apostles after him 
 were laid asleep, then straight arose a wicked 
 race of deceivers, who, as that story goes of the 
 Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators, how 
 they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin, 
 Truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand 
 pieces, and scattered them to the four winds. 
 From that time ever since, the sad friends of 
 Truth, such as durst appear, imitating the careful 
 search that Isis made for the mangled body of 
 Osiris, went up and down, gathering up limb by 
 
 he shall bring together every joint and member, 
 and shall mould them into an immortal feature 
 of loveliness and perfection. Suffer not these 
 licensing prohibitions to stand at every place of 
 opportunity, forbidding and disturbing them that 
 continue seeking—that continue to do our ob- 
 sequies to the torn body of our martyred saint.” 
 61. 
 . e 1 the same spirit Milton remarks, that, ‘‘ A 
 man may be a heretic in the truth; and if he be- 
 lieve things only because his pastor says so, or the 
 assembly so determines, without knowing other 
 reason, though his belief be true, yet the very 
 truth he holds becomes his heresy.”” (Areopag. 
 § 54.) 
 
[BOOK Iv. 
 
 486 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 viction from him in dealing with others, whose understanding is not accustomed 
 to them in his dealing with himself? Who does violence to his own faculties, tyran- 
 nizes over his own mind, and usurps the prerogative that belongs to truth alone, 
 which is to command assent by only its own authority, i. e. by and in proportion 
 to that evidence which it carries with it. 
 
 3. Force of Enthusiasm.—Upon this occasion I shall take the liberty to con- 
 sider a third ground of assent, which with some men has the same authority, and 
 is as confidently relied on as either faith or reason; I mean enthusiasm: which, 
 laying by reason, would set up revelation without it. Whereby in effect it takes 
 away both reason and revelation, and substitutes in the room of it the ungrounded 
 fancies of a man’s own brain, and assumes them for a foundation both of opinion 
 and conduct. 
 
 4, Reason and Revelation.—Reason is natural revelation, whereby the eternal 
 Father of light and fountain of all knowledge, communicates to mankind that por- 
 tion of truth which he has laid within the reach of their natural faculties: reve- 
 lation is natural reason enlarged by a new set of discoveries communicated by God 
 immediately, which reason vouches the truth of, by the testimony and proofs it 
 gives that they come from God. So that he that takes away reason to make way 
 for revelation, puts out the light of both; and does muchwhat the same as if he 
 would persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to receive the remote light 
 of an invisible star by a telescope. 
 
 5. Rise of Enthusiasm.—Immediate revelation being a much easier way for 
 men to establish their opinions and regulate their conduct, than the tedious and 
 not always successful labour of strict reasoning, it is no wonder that some have 
 been very apt to pretend to revelation, and to persuade themselves that they are 
 under the peculiar guidance of heaven in their actions and opinions, especially in 
 those of them which they cannot account for by the ordinary methods of know- 
 ledge and principles of reason. Hence we see, that, in all ages, men in whom 
 melancholy has mixed with devotion, or whose conceit of themselves has raised 
 them into an opinion of a greater familiarity with God, and a nearer admittance to 
 his favour than is afforded to others, have often flattered themselves with a per- 
 suasion of an immediate intercourse with the Deity, and frequent communications 
 from the Divine Spirit. God, I own, cannot be denied to be able to enlighten the 
 understanding by a ray darted into the mind immediately from the fountain of 
 light; this they understand he has promised to do, and who then has so good a 
 title to expect it as those who are his peculiar people, chosen by him, and depend- 
 ing on him? 
 
 6. Enthusiasm.—Their minds being thus prepared, whatever groundless opinion 
 comes to settle itself strongly upon their fancies, is an illumination from the Spirit 
 of God, and presently of divine authority: and whatsoever odd action they find in 
 themselves a strong inclination to do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or 
 direction from heaven, and must be obeyed ; it is a commission from above, and 
 they cannot err in executing it. 
 
 7. This I take to be properly enthusiasm,' which, though founded neither on 
 reason nor divine revelation, but rising from the conceits of a warmed or over- 
 
 mode of thinking, or operation of the mind diffe- 
 
 1 This chapter did not appear in the first edition, 
 but was planned afterwards, and the idea com- 
 municated by letter to the author’s friend, Mr. 
 Molyneux; who at first thought it unnecessary, 
 yet, upon reconsideration, recommended it to be 
 introduced, but in a very different shape. ‘I 
 must freely confess,’”’ he writes, ‘‘ that if my no- 
 tion of enthusiasm agrees with yours, there is no 
 necessity of adding anything concerning it, more 
 than by the by, and in a single section in chap. 
 18, lib. iv. I conceive it to be no other than a reli- 
 gious sort of madness, and comprises notin it any 
 
 rent from what you have treated of in your essay. 
 *Tis true, indeed, the absurdities men embrace 
 on account of religion are most astonishing ; and 
 if, in a chapter of Enthusiasm, you endeavour 
 to give an account of them, it would be very 
 acceptable. So that, (on second thought,) 
 
 do very well approve of what you propose 
 therein, being very desirous of having your 
 sentiments on any subject.” (Works, III. 
 533.) 'To which Locke replies, ‘‘ What I shall 
 add concerning enthusiasm, I guess, will very 
 
CHAP. XIX. ] ENTHUSIASM. 487 
 
 weening brain, works yet, where it once gets footing, more powerfully on the per- 
 suasions and actions of men than either of those two, or both together: men being 
 most forwardly obedient to the impulses they receive from themselves; and the 
 whole man is sure to act more vigorously where the whole man is carried by a 
 natural motion. For strong conceit, like a new principle, carries all easily with it, 
 when got above common sense and freed from all restraint of reason and check of 
 reflection, it is heightened into a divine authority, in concurrence with our own 
 temper and inclination. 
 
 8. Enthusiasm mistaken for Seeing and Feeling.—Though the odd opinions 
 and extravagant actions enthusiasm has run men into were enough to warn them 
 against this wrong principle, so apt to misguide them both in their belief and con- 
 duct, yet the love of something extraordinary, the ease and glory it is to be in- 
 spired and be above the common and natural ways of knowledge, so flatters many 
 men’s laziness, ignorance, and vanity, that, when once they are got into this way 
 of immediate revelation, of illumination without search, and of certainty without 
 proof and without examination, it is a hard matter to get them out of it. Rea- 
 son is lost upon them, they are above it; they see the light infused into their un- 
 derstandings, and cannot be mistaken; it is clear and visible there, like the light 
 of bright sunshine, shows itself, and needs no other proof but its own evidence: 
 they feel the hand of God moving them within, and the impulses of the Spirit, and 
 cannot be mistaken in what they feel. Thus they support themselves, and are sure 
 reason hath nothing to do with what they see and feel in themselves: what they 
 have a sensible experience of admits no doubt, needs no probation. Would he not 
 be ridiculous, who should require to have it proved to him that the light shines, 
 and that he sees it? It is its own proof, and can have no other. When the Spirit 
 brings light into our minds, it dispels darkness. We see it as we do that of the 
 sun at noon, and need not the twilight of reason to show it us. This light from 
 heaven is strong, clear, and pure; carries its own demonstration with it: and we 
 may as naturally take a glow-worm to assist us to discover the sun, as to examine 
 the celestial ray by our dim candle, reason. 
 
 9. Enthusiasm how to be discovered.—-This is the way of talking of these men: 
 they are sure, because they are sure: and their persuasions are right, because they 
 are strong in them. For, when what they say is stripped of the metaphor of 
 seeing and feeling, this is all it amounts to: and yet these similes so impose on 
 es that they serve them for certainty in themselves, and demonstration to 
 others. 
 
 10. But to examine a little soberly this internal light, and this feeling on which 
 they build so much. These men have, they say, clear light, and they see; they 
 have awakened sense, and they feel; this cannot, they are sure, be disputed them. 
 For when a man says he sees or feels, nobody can deny it him that he does so. 
 But here let me ask:—-this seeing, is it the perception of the truth of the propo- 
 sition, or of this, that it is a revelation from God? this feeling, is it a perception 
 of an inclination or fancy to do something, or of the Spirit of God moving that 
 inclination? these are two very different perceptions, and must be carefully dis- 
 tinguished, if we would not impose upon ourselves. I may perceive the truth of 
 a proposition, and yet not perceive that it is an immediate revelation from God. 
 I may perceive the truth of a proposition in Euclid, without its being or my per- 
 ceiving it to be a revelation: nay, I may perceive I came not by this knowledge in 
 a natural way, and so may conclude it revealed, without perceiving that it is a reve- 
 lation from God; because there be spirits which, without being divinely commis- 
 sioned, may excite those ideas in me, and lay them in such order before my mind, 
 
 much agree with your thoughts, since yours | madeuse of. But, to give an historical account 
 jump so right with mine. About the place where | of the various ravings men have embraced for 
 it is to come in, I have designed it for chap. 18, { religion, would, I fear, be beside my purpose, 
 lib. iv. as a false principle of reasoning often | and be enough to make a huge volume. (p. 630.) 
 
pa 
 
 488 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 that I may perceive their connexion. So that the knowledge of any proposition 
 coming into my mind, I know not how, is not a perception that it is from God. 
 Much less is a strong persuasion that it is true, a perception that it is from God, 
 or so much as true. But however it be called light and seeing, I suppose it is at 
 most but belief and assurance: and the proposition taken for a revelation, is not 
 such as they know to be true, but take to be true. For where a proposition is 
 known to be true, revelation is needless: and it is hard to conceive how there can 
 be a revelation to any one of what he knows already. If therefore it be a propo- 
 sition which they are persuaded, but do not know, to be true, whatever they may 
 call it, it is not seeing, but believing. For these are two ways whereby truth comes 
 into the mind, wholly distinct, so that one is not the other. What I see, I know 
 to be so, by the evidence of the thing itself: what I believe, I take to be so upon 
 the testimony of another: but this testimony I must know to be given, or else what 
 ground have I of believing? I must see that it is God that reveals this to me, 
 or else I see nothing. The question then here is, how do I know that God is the 
 revealer of this to me; that this impression is made upon my mind by his Holy 
 Spirit, and that therefore I ought to obey it? If I know not this, how great so- 
 ever the assurance is that I am possessed with it, it is groundless; whatever light 
 I pretend to, it is but enthusiasm. For whether the proposition supposed to be 
 revealed, be in itself evidently true, or visibly probable, or by the natural ways of 
 knowledge uncertain, the proposition that must be well grounded and manifested 
 to be true, is this, that God is the revealer of it, and that what I take to be a reve- 
 lation is certainly put into my mind by him, and is not an illusion dropped in by 
 some other spirit or raised by my own fancy. For, if I mistake not, these men 
 receive it for true, because they presume God revealed it. Does it not, then, 
 stand them upon to examine on what grounds they presume it to be a revelation 
 from God? or else all their confidence is mere presumption: and this light they 
 are so dazzled with is nothing but an ignis fatuus, that leads them constantly 
 round in this circle ;'—it is a revelation, because they firmly believe it, and they 
 believe it, because it is a revelation. 
 
 ll. Enthusiasm fails of Evidence, that the Proposition is from God.—In all 
 that is of divine revelation, there is need of no other proof but that it is an 
 inspiration from God; for he can neither deceive nor be deceived. But how 
 shall it be known that any proposition in our minds is a truth infused by God; 
 a truth that is revealed to us by him, which he declares to us, and therefore we 
 ought to believe? Here it is that enthusiasm fails of the evidence it pretends to. 
 For men thus possessed, boast of a light whereby they say they are enlightened, 
 and brought into the knowledge of this or that truth. But if they know it to be 
 a truth, they must know it to be so, either by its own self-evidence to natural 
 reason, or by the rational proofs that make it out to be so. If they see and know 
 it to be a truth, either of these two ways, they in vain suppose it to be a revela- 
 tion. For they know it to be true by the same way that any other man naturally 
 may know that it is so, without the help of revelation. For thus, all the truths, of 
 what kind soever, that men uninspired are enlightened with, came into their 
 minds, and are established there. If they say they know it be true, because it is. 
 a revelation from God, the reason is good; but then it will be demanded how 
 they know it to be a revelation from God. If they say, by the light it brings 
 with it, which shines bright in their minds, and they cannot resist: I beseech 
 them to consider whether this be any more than what we have taken notice of 
 already, viz. that it is a revelation, because they strongly believe it to be true. For 
 all the light they speak of is but a strong, though ungrounded persuasion of their 
 own minds, that it isa truth. For rational grounds from proofs that it is a truth, 
 
 1 An ignis fatuus that bewitches, 
 And leads them into pools and ditches. —Hupbisras. 
 
CHAP. XIX. ] ENTHUSIASM. 489 
 
 they must acknowledge to have none; for then it is not received as a revelation, 
 but upon the ordinary grounds that other truths are received: and if they believe 
 it to be true because it is a revelation, and have no other reason for its being a 
 revelation, but because they are fully persuaded without any other reason that it 
 is true; they believe it to be a revelation only because they strongly believe it 
 to be a revelation; which is a very unsafe ground to proceed on, either in our 
 tenets or actions. And what readier way can there be to run ourselves into the 
 most extravagant errors and miscarriages, than thus to set up fancy for our 
 supreme and sole guide, and to believe any proposition to be true, any action to 
 be right, only because we believe it to be so? The strength of our persuasions is 
 no evidence at all of their own rectitude: crooked things may be as stiff and 
 inflexible as straight: and men may be as positive and peremptory in error as in 
 truth. How come else the untractable zealots in different and opposite parties ? 
 For if the light, which every one thinks he has in his mind, which in this case is 
 nothing but the strength of his own persuasion, be an evidence that it is from 
 God, contrary opinions have the same title to inspirations ; and God will be not 
 only the Father of lights, but of opposite and contradictory lights, leading men 
 to contrary ways; and contradictory propositions will be divine truths, if an 
 ungrounded strength of assurance be an evidence that any proposition is a divine 
 revelation. 
 
 12. Firmness of Persuasion no Proof that any Proposition is from God.— 
 This cannot be otherwise, whilst firmness of persuasion is made the cause of 
 believing, and confidence of being in the right is made an argument of truth. 
 St. Paul himself believed he did well, and that he had a call to it when he perse- 
 cuted the Christians, whom he confidently thought in the wrong; but yet it was 
 he, and not they, who were mistaken. Good men are men still, liable to mis- 
 takes; and are sometimes warmly engaged in errors, which they take for divine 
 truths, shining in their minds with the clearest light. , 
 
 13. Light in the Mind, what.—Light, true light, in the mind, is or can be 
 nothing else but the evidence of the truth of any proposition; and if it be not a 
 self-evident proposition, all the light it has or can have is from the clearness and 
 validity of those proofs upon which it is received. To talk of any other light in 
 the understanding, is to put ourselves in the dark, or in the power of the Prince 
 of darkness, and by our own consent to give ourselves up to delusion to believe a 
 lie. For if strength of persuasion be the light which must guide us; I ask how 
 shall any one distinguish between the delusions of Satan, and the inspirations of the 
 Holy Ghost? He can transform himself into an angel of light. And they who are 
 led by this son of the morning, are as fully satisfied of the illumination, i. e. are 
 as strongly persuaded that they are enlightened by the Spirit of God as any one 
 who is so: they acquiesce and rejoice in it, are actuated by it, and nobody can 
 be more sure, nor more in the right (if their own strong belief may be judge) 
 than they. 
 
 14. Bivelation must be judged of by Reason.—He, therefore, that will not give 
 himself up to all the extravagances of delusion and error, must bring this guide 
 of his light within to the trial. God, when he makes the prophet does not 
 unmake the man. He leaves all his faculties in the natural state, to enable him 
 to judge of his inspirations, whether they be of divine original or no. When he 
 illuminates the mind with supernatural light, he does not extinguish that which is 
 natural. If he would have us assent to the truth of any proposition, he either 
 evidences that truth by the usual methods of natural reason, or else makes it 
 known to bea truth which he would have us assent to by his authority, and con- 
 _ vinces us that it is from him, by some marks which reason cannot be mistaken in. 
 - Reason must be our last judge and guide in everything. I do not mean that we 
 must consult reason, and examine whether a proposition revealed from God can 
 be made out by natural principles, and if it cannot, that then we may reject it; 
 but consult it we must, and by it examine whether it be a revelation from God or 
 
490 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv, 
 
 no. And if reason finds it to be revealed from God, reason then declares for it 
 as much as for any other truth, and makes it one of her dictates. Every conceit 
 that thoroughly warms our fancies must pass for an inspiration, if there be nothing 
 but the strength of our persuasions, whereby to judge of our persuasions: if 
 reason must not examine their truth by something extrinsical to the persuasions 
 themselves, inspirations and delusions, truth and falsehood, will have the same 
 measure, and will not be possible to be distinguished. 
 
 15. Belief no Proof of Revelation.—If this internal light, or any proposition 
 which under that title we take for inspired, be conformable to the principles of 
 reason, or to the word of God, which is attested revelation, reason warrants it, 
 and we may safely receive it for true, and be guided by it in our belief and 
 actions: if it receive no testimony nor evidence from either of these rules, we 
 cannot take it for a revelation, or so much as for true, till we have some other 
 mark that is a revelation, besides our believing that it is so. Thus we see the 
 holy men of old, who had revelations from God, had something else besides that 
 internal light of assurance in their own minds, to testify to them that it was from 
 God. They were not left to their own persuasions alone, that those persuasions 
 were from God, but had outward signs to convince them of the author of those 
 revelations. And when they were to convince others, they had a power given them to 
 justify the truth of their commission from heaven, and by visible signs to assert the 
 divine authority of a message they were sent with. Moses saw the bush burn 
 without being consumed, and heard a voice out of it. This was something besides 
 finding an impulse upon his mind to go to Pharoah, that he might bring his 
 brethren out of Egypt: and yet he thought not this enough to authorize him to 
 go with that message, till God, by another miracle of his rod turned into a ser- 
 pent, had assured him of a power to testify his mission, by the same miracle 
 repeated before them, whom he was sent to. Gideon was sent by an angel to 
 deliver Israel from the Midianites, and yet he desired a sign to convince him that 
 this commission was from God. These, and several the like instances to be 
 found among the prophets of old, are enough to show that they thought not an 
 inward seeing or persuasion of their own minds, without any other proof, a suf- 
 ficient evidence that it was from God; though the Scripture does not everywhere 
 mention their demanding or having such proofs. 
 
 16. In what I have said I am far from denying that God can or doth some- 
 times enlighten men’s minds in the apprehending of certain truths, or excite them 
 to good actions by the immediate influence and assistance of the Holy Spirit, 
 without any extraordinary signs accompanying it. But in such cases too we lave 
 reason and Scripture, unerring rules to know whether it be from God or no. 
 Where the truth embraced is consonant to the revelation in the written word of 
 God, or the action conformable to the dictates of right reason or holy writ, we 
 may be assured that we run no risk in entertaining it as such; because, though 
 perhaps it be not an immediate revelation from God, extraordinarily operating on 
 our minds, yet we are sure it is warranted by that revelation which he has given 
 us of truth. But it is not the strength of our private persuasion within ourselves, 
 that can warrant it to be a light or motion from heaven; nothing can do that but 
 the written word of God without us, or that standard of reason which is common 
 to us with all men. Where reason or Scripture is express for any opinion or 
 action, we may receive it as of divine authority ; but it is not the strength of our 
 own persuasions which can by itself give it that stamp. The bent of our own 
 minds may favour it as much as we please; that may show it to be a fondling 
 of our own, but will by no means prove it to be an offspring of heaven, and of 
 divine original. 
 
CHAP. XX. | WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR. : 49] 
 
 CHAPTER XxX. 
 
 OF WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR. 
 
 1. Causes of Error.— KNOWLEDGE being to be had only of visible and certain 
 truth, error is not a fault of our knowledge, but a mistake of our judgment, giving 
 assent to that which is not true. . 
 
 But if assent be grounded on likelihood, if the proper object and motive of our 
 assent be probability, and that probability consists in what is laid down in the 
 foregoing chapters, it will be demanded how men come to give their assents con- 
 trary to probability. For there is nothing more common than contrariety of 
 opinions; nothing more obvious than that one man wholly disbelieves what 
 another only doubts of, and a third stedfastly believes and firmly adheres to. 
 The reasons whereof, though they may be very various, yet, I suppose may all 
 be reduced to these four : 
 
 I. Want of proofs. 
 II. Want of ability to use them. 
 III. Want of will to use them. 
 IV. Wrong measures of probability. 
 
 2. 1. Want of Proofs—First, By want of proofs, I do not mean only the want 
 of those proofs which are nowhere extant, and so are nowhere to be had; but the 
 want even of those proofs which are in being, or might be procured. And thus 
 men want proofs, who have not the convenience or opportunity to make experi- 
 ments and observations themselves tending to the proof of any proposition; nor 
 likewise the convenience to inquire into and collect the testimonies of others: and 
 in this state are the greatest part of mankind, who are given up to labour, and 
 enslaved to the necessity of their mean condition, whose lives are worn out only 
 in the provisions for living. These men’s opportunities of knowledge and inquiry 
 are commonly as narrow as their fortunes; and their understandings are but little 
 instructed, when all their whole time and pains is laid out to still the croaking of 
 their own bellies, or the cries of their children. It is not to be expected that a 
 man who drudges on all his life in a laborious trade, should be more knowing in 
 the variety of things done in the world, than a packhorse, who is driven con- 
 stantly forwards and backwards in a narrow lane and dirty road, only to market, 
 should be skilled in the geography of the country. Nor is it at all more possible, 
 that he who wants leisure, books, and languages, and the opportunity of con- 
 versing with variety of men, should be in a condition to collect those testimonies 
 and observations which are in being, and are necessary to make out many, nay, 
 most of the propositions that, in the societies of men, are judged of the greatest 
 moment; or to find out grounds of assurance so great as the belief of the points 
 he would build on them is thought necessary. So that a great part of mankind 
 are, by the natural and unalterable state of things in this world, and the constitu- 
 tion of human affairs, unavoidably given over to invincible ignorance of those 
 proofs on which others build, and which are necessary to establish those opinions ; 
 the greatest part of men having much to do to get the means of living, are 
 not in a condition to look after those of learned and laborious inquiries. 
 
 3d. Obj. What shall become of those who want them, answered.—What shall 
 we say, then? Are the greatest part of mankind, by the necessity of their condi- 
 tion, subjected to unavoidable ignorance in those things which are of greatest 
 importance to them? (for of these it is obvious to inquire.) Have the bulk of 
 mankind no otker guide but accident and blind chance to conduct them to their 
 happiness or misery? Are the current opinions and licensed guides of every 
 
492 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 country, sufficient evidence and security to every man to venture his great con- 
 cernments on; nay, his everlasting happiness or misery? Or can those be the 
 certain and infallible oracles and standards of truth, which teach one thing in 
 Christendom and another in Turkey? Or shall a poor countryman be eternally 
 happy for having the chance to be born in Italy ; or a day-labourer be unavoidably 
 lost because he had the ill-luck to be born in England?! How ready some men 
 may be to say some of these things, I will not here examine; but this I am sure, 
 that men must allow one or other of these to be true, (let them choose which 
 they please,) or else grant that God has furnished men with faculties sufficient to 
 direct them in the way they should take, if they will but seriously employ them 
 that way, when their ordinary vocations allow them the leisure. No man is so 
 wholly taken up with the attendance on the means of living, as to have no spare 
 time at all to think of his soul, and inform himself in matters of religion. Were 
 men as intent upon this, as they are on things of lower concernment, there are 
 none so enslaved to the necessities of life, who might not find many vacancies that 
 might be husbanded to this advantage of their knowledge. 
 
 4, People hindered from Inquiry.—Besides those whose improvements and 
 informations are straitened by the narrowness of their fortunes, there are others 
 whose largeness of fortune would plentifully enough supply books and other 
 requisites for clearing of doubts and discovering of truth; but they are cooped in | 
 close, by the laws of their countries, and the strict guards of those whose interest it — 
 is to keep them ignorant, lest, knowing more, they should believe the less in them. _ 
 These are as far, nay further, from the liberty and opportunities of a fair inquiry, 
 than these poor and wretched labourers we before spoke of; and however they 
 may seem high and great, are confined to narrowness of thought, and enslaved in 
 that which should be the freest part of man: their understandings. This is gene- 
 rally the case of all those who live in places where care is taken to propagate 
 truth without knowledge ; where men are forced, at a venture, to be of the reli- 
 gion of the country ; and must therefore swallow down opinions, as silly people 
 do empiric pills, without knowing what they are made of, or how they will work, 
 and having nothing to do but believe that they will do the cure; but in this are 
 much more miserable than they, in that they are not at liberty to refuse swallow- 
 ing what perhaps they had rather let alone; or to choose the physician, to whose 
 conduct they would trust themselves. 7 
 
 5. Il. Want of Skill to use them.—Secondly, Those who want skill to use those 
 evidences they have of probabilities; who cannot carry a train of consequences in 
 their heads; nor weigh exactly the preponderancy of contrary proofs and testimo- 
 nies, making every circumstance its due allowance, may be easily misled to assent 
 to positions that are not probable. There are some men of one, some but of two 
 syllogisms, and no more; and others that can but advance one step further. These 
 cannot always discern that side on which the strongest proofs lie, cannot con- 
 stantly follow that which in itself is the more probable opinion. Now that there 
 
 1 Thus that charitable Dominican, Navarrette, 
 by wholesale damns the Chinese for not being 
 born in Spain. ‘* They dress him (the dead 
 man) in his best clothes, which they keep care- 
 fully while they are living, against they are dead; 
 the devil takes them very richly and warmly 
 clad.” (1. IL. c. viii. § 7.) But the good father 
 is perfectly impartial; for not the Chinese only, 
 but all Mohammedans, Lutherans, and Calvinists 
 go the same broad way to destruction. ‘‘ Here 
 we might discuss a point of great moment, which 
 is, whether those sectaries we have mentioned 
 were saved, or whether we may doubt of their 
 salvation? In the second tome, which is the 
 proper place, what was said to this point in 
 China, shall be declared, I never made any dif- 
 
 ficulty to maintain they were damned, as I affirm 
 of Mahomet, Calvin, Luther, and others of the 
 same leayen. I know those of the contrary 
 opinion all hang by one another, and say the 
 same of those we have mentioned as they do of 
 Fae and others. But I follow the opinion of 
 S. Peter Marimenus Martyr, mentioned in the 
 Martyrology, on the twenty-first of February. 
 He lying sick at Damascus, some Mahometans 
 came in to visit him. The saint told them that 
 those who did not profess the law of God went 
 to hellas Mahomet haddone. The infidels killed 
 him for these words, and he was a glorious martyr. 
 Why might not he be so, who should say the same 
 of Foe and others?” (L. II. c. xii. § 8.) 
 
CHAP. Xx.] WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR. 493 
 
 is such a difference between men, in respect of their understandings, I think no- 
 body, who has had any conversation with his neighbours, will question: though 
 he never was at Westminster Hall or the Exchange on the one hand, or at 
 Alms-houses or Bedlam on the other. Which great difference in men’s intellec- 
 tuals, whether it rises from any defect in the organs of the body, particularly 
 adapted to thinking; or in the dulness or untractableness of those faculties for 
 want of use; or, as some think, in the natural differences of men’s souls them- 
 selves; or some, or of all these together; it matters not here to examine: only this 
 is evident, that there is a difference of degrees in men’s understandings, appre- 
 hensions, and reasonings, to so great a-latitude that one may, without doing in- 
 jury to mankind, affirm, that there is a greater distance between some men and 
 others in this respect, than between some men and some beasts. But how this 
 comes about is a speculation, though of great consequence, yet not necessary to 
 our present purpose. ; 
 
 6. III. Want of Will-to use them.—Thirdly, There are another sort of people 
 that want proofs, not because they are out of their reach, but because they will not 
 use them; who, though they have riches and leisure enough, and want neither 
 parts nor other helps, are yet never the better for them. Their hot pursuit of 
 pleasure, or constant drudgery in business, engages some men’s thoughts else- 
 where: laziness and oscitancy in general, or a particular aversion for books, study, 
 and meditation, keep others from any serious thoughts at all; and some out of 
 fear that an impartial inquiry would not favour those opinions which best suit their 
 prejudices, lives, and designs, content themselves, without examination, to take 
 upon trust what they find convenient and in fashion. Thus, most men, even of 
 those that might do otherwise, pass their lives without an acquaintance with, 
 much less a rational assent to probabilities they are concerned to know, though 
 they lie so much within their view, that, to be convinced of them, they need but 
 turn their eyes that way. We know some men will not read a letter which is sup- 
 posed to bring ill news; and many men forbear to cast up their accounts, or so 
 much as think upon their estates, who have reason to fear their affairs are in no 
 very good posture. How men, whose plentiful fortunes allow them leisure to im- 
 prove their understandings, can satisfy themselves with a lazy ignorance, I cannot 
 tell: but methinks they have a low opinion of their souls, who lay out all their in- 
 comes in provisions for the body, and employ none of it to procure the means and 
 helps of knowledge; who take great care to appear always in a neat and splendid 
 outside, and would think themselves miserable in coarse clothes, or a patched coat, 
 and yet contentedly suffer their minds to appear abroad in a piebald livery of 
 coarse patches and borrowed shreds, such as it has pleased chance or their coun- 
 try tailor (I mean the common opinion of those they have conversed with) to 
 clothe them in. I will not here mention how unreasonable this is for men that 
 ever think of a future state and their concernment in it, which no rational man 
 can avoid to do sometimes: nor shall I take notice what a shame and confusion it 
 is to the greatest contemners of knowledge, to be found ignorant in things they are 
 concerned to know. But this at least is worth the consideration of those who call 
 themselves gentlemen, that, however they may think credit, respect, power, and 
 authority the concomitants of their birth and fortune, yet they will find all these 
 still carried away from them by men of lower condition, who surpass them’ in 
 knowledge. They who are blind will always be led by those that see, or else fall 
 into the ditch: and he is certainly the most subjected, the most enslaved, who is so 
 in his understanding. In the foregoing instances some of the causes have been 
 shown of wrong assent, and how it comes to pass, that probable doctrines are not 
 always received with an assent proportionable to the reasons which are to be had 
 for their probability: but hitherto we have considered only such probabilities 
 whose proofs do exist, but do not appear to him who embraces the error. 
 
 7. 1V. Wrong Measures of Probability ; whereof :—-Fourthly, There remains 
 yet the last sort, who, even where the real probabilities appear, and are plainly laid 
 
494. OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK ly. 
 
 before them, do not admit of the conviction, nor yield unto manifest reasons, but do 
 either éréyerv, suspend their assent, or give it to the less probable opinion. And 
 to this danger are those exposed who have taken up wrong measures of proba- 
 bility ; which are, 
 
 I, Propositions that are not in themselves certain and evident, but doubtful and 
 false, taken up for principles. 
 
 II. Received hypothesis. 
 III. Predominant passions or inclinations. 
 IV. Authority. 
 
 8. I. Doubtful Propositions taken for Principles.—First, The first and firmest 
 ground of probability is the conformity anything has to our own knowledge, espe- 
 cially that part of our knowledge which we have embraced, and continue to look 
 on as principles. These have so great an influence upon our opinions, that it is 
 usually by them we judge of truth, and measure probability to that degree, that 
 what is inconsistent with our principles, is so far from passing for probable with 
 us, that it will not be allowed possible. ‘The reverence borne to these principles 
 is so great, and their authority so paramount to all other, that the testimony, not 
 only of other men, but the evidence of our own senses are often rejected, when 
 they offer to vouch anything contrary to these established rules. How much the 
 doctrine of innate principles, and that principles are not to be proved or ques- 
 tioned, has contributed to this, I will not here examine. This I readily grant, 
 that one truth cannot contradict another: but withal I take leave also to say, that 
 every one ought very carefully to beware what he admits for a principle, to examine 
 it strictly, and see whether he certainly knows it to be true of itself by its own evi- 
 dence, or whether he does only with assurance believe it to be so upon the authority 
 of others. For he hath a strong bias put into his understanding, which will unavoid- 
 ably misguide his assent, who hath imbibed wrong principles, and has blindly given 
 himself up to the authority of any opinion in itself not evidently true. 
 
 9. There is nothing more ordinary than children’s receiving into their minds 
 propositions (especially about matters of religion) from their parents, nurses, or 
 those about them; which being insinuated into their unwary as well as unbiassed 
 understandings, and fastened by degrees, are at last (equally whether true or false) 
 rivetted there by long custom and education, beyond all possibility of being pulled 
 out again. For men, when they are grown up, reflecting upon their opinions, and 
 finding those of this sort to be as ancient in their minds as their very memories, 
 not having observed their early insinuation, nor by what means they got them, 
 they are apt to reverence them as sacred things, and not suffer them to be pro- 
 faned, touched, or questioned: they look on them as the Urim and Thummim 
 set up in their minds immediately by God himself, to be the great and unerring 
 deciders of truth and falsehood, and the judges to which they are to appeal in all 
 manner of controversies. 
 
 10. This opinion of his principles (let them be what they will) being once esta- 
 blished in any one’s mind, it is easy to be imagined what reception any proposition 
 shall find—how clearly soever proved—that shall invalidate their authority, or at 
 all thwart with these internal oracles; whereas the grossest absurdities and impro- 
 babilities, being but agreeable to such principles, go down glibly, and are easily 
 digested. The great obstinacy that is to be found in men firmly believing quite 
 contrary opinions, though many times equally absurd, in the various religions of 
 mankind, are as evident a proof as they are an unavoidable consequence of this 
 way of reasoning from received traditional principles. So that men will disbelieve 
 their own eyes, renounce the evidence of their senses, and give their own expe- 
 rience the lie, rather than admit of anything disagreeing with these sacred tenets. 
 Take an intelligent Romanist that, from the first dawning of any notions in his 
 understanding, hath had this principle constantly inculcated, viz. that he must be- 
 lieve as the church (i. e. those of his communion) believes, or that the pope is in- 
 fallible; and this he never so much as heard questioned, till at forty or fifty years 
 
CHAP. XX.] 
 
 WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR. 495 
 
 old he met with one of other principles: how is he prepared easily to swal- 
 low, not only against all probability, but even the clear evidence of his senses, the 
 doctrine of transubstantiation? This principle has such an influence on his mind, 
 that he will believe that to be flesh which he sees to be bread. And what way 
 will you take to convince a man of any improbable opinion he holds, who, with 
 some philosophers, hath laid down this as a fonndation of reasoning, that he must 
 believe his reason (for so men improperly call arguments drawn from their prin- 
 ciples) against his senses? Let an enthusiast be principled that he or his teacher 
 is inspired, and acted’ by an immediate communication of the Divine Spirit, and 
 you in vain bring the evidence of clear reasons against his doctrine. Whoever, 
 therefore, have imbibed wrong principles, are not, in things inconsistent with these 
 principles, to be moved by the most apparent and convincing probabilities, till 
 they are so candid and ingenuous to themselves, as to be persuaded to examine 
 even those very principles, which many never suffer themselves to do. 
 
 ll. IL. Received Hypothesis.—Secondly, Next to these are men whose under- 
 standings are cast into a mould, and fashioned just to the size of a received hypo- 
 thesis. The difference between these and the former, is, that they will admit of 
 matter of fact, and agree with dissenters in that; but differ only in assigning of 
 reasons and explaining the manner of operation. These are not at that open defi- 
 ance with their senses, with the former: they can endure to hearken to their in- 
 formation a little more patiently ; but will by no means admit of their reports in 
 the explanation of things; nor be prevailed on by probabilities, which would con- 
 vince them that things are not brought about just after the same manner that they 
 have decreed within themselves that they are. Would it not be an insufferable thing 
 for a learned professor, and that which his scarlet would blush at, to have his au- 
 thority of forty years standing, wrought out of hard rock, Greek and Latin, with 
 no small expense of time and candle, and confirmed by general tradition and a re- 
 verend beard, in an instant overturned by an upstart novelist? Can any one ex- 
 pect that he should be made to confess, that all what he taught his scholars thirty 
 years ago was all error and mistake; and that he sold them hard words and igno- 
 rance at a very dear rate.* What probabilities, I say, are sufficient to prevail in 
 such a case? And whoever, by the most cogent arguments, will be prevailed 
 with to disrobe himself at once of all his old opinions, and pretensions to know- 
 ledge and learning, which with hard study he hath all his time been labouring 
 for; and turn himself out stark naked, in quest afresh of new notions? All the 
 
 1 That is, actuated. under my care.’ ‘If you will take my advice, 
 
 2 The reader who is acquainted with that very 
 philosophical work, the Adventures of Gil Blas, 
 of Santillane, will doubtless recollect a practical 
 illustration of the reluctance which men usually 
 feel to give up any opinions which they have once 
 acknowledged to be their own, even though their 
 adhering to them should cost the lives and hap- 
 piness of half their neighbours. But in case any 
 one should have forgotten it, and not have the 
 volume at hand, he may not be displeased to find 
 ithere. ‘‘ ‘Sir, (said I, one evening to Dr. San- 
 grado,) I take heaven to witness that I follow 
 your method with the utmost exactness; yet, 
 every one of my patients leave me in the lurch. 
 It looks as if they took a pleasure in dying, 
 merely to bring our practice into discredit. This 
 very day I met two of them going to their long 
 home.’ ‘ Why, truly, child,’ answered he, ‘I 
 have reason to make pretty much the same ob- 
 servation: I have not often the satisfaction of 
 curing those who fall into my hands; and if I 
 was not so sure as I am of the principles on 
 which I proceed, I should think my principles 
 were pernicious in almost all the cases that come 
 
 sir,’ said I, ‘we will change our method, and give 
 chemical preparations to our patients, through 
 curiosity: the worst that can happen will only 
 be, that they produce the same effect that follows 
 our bleedings and warm water.’ ‘I would 
 willingly make the experiment,’ he replied, 
 ‘provided it could have no bad consequence; 
 but I have published a book, in which I have ex- 
 tolled the use of frequent bleeding and aqueous 
 draughts: and wouldst thou have me go and 
 deny my own work?’ ‘Oh! you are certainly 
 in the right,’ said I, ‘ you must not give your 
 enemies such a triumph over you; they would 
 say you are at last disabused; and therefore ruin 
 your reputation; perish rather the nobility, clergy, 
 and people! and let us continue in our old path. 
 After all, our brother doctors, notwithstanding 
 their aversion for bleeding, perform as few mira- 
 cles as we do; and I believe their drugs are 
 no better than our specifics.’ We went to work, 
 therefore, afresh, and proceeded in such a man- 
 ner, that, in less than six weeks, we made more 
 widows and orphans than the seige of Troy.” 
 (Cait; ex.) 
 
496 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 arguments that can be used will be as little able to prevail, as the wind did with 
 the traveller to part with his cloak, which he held only the faster.'. To this of 
 wrong hypothesis may be reduced the errors that may be occasioned by a true 
 hypothesis, or right principles, but not rightly understood. There is nothing more 
 familiar than this. The instances of men contending for different opinions, which 
 they all derive from the infallible truth of the Scripture, are an undeniable proof 
 of it. All that call themselves Christians, allow the text that says, peravoeire, to 
 carry in it the obligation to a very weighty duty. But yet how very erroneous 
 will one of their practices be, who, understanding nothing but the French, take 
 this rule with one translation to be, “ Repentez-vous,” repent; or with the other, 
 “‘ Faitiez penitence,’ do pennance ! 
 
 12. III. Predominant Passions.—Thirdly, Probabilities which cross men’s ap- 
 petites and prevailing passions, run the same fate. Let ever so much probability 
 hang on one side of a covetous man’s reasoning, and money on the other; it is easy © 
 to foresee which will outweigh. Earthly minds, like mud walls, resist the strongest 
 batteries: and though perhaps sometimes the force of a clear argument may make 
 some impression, yet they nevertheless stand firm, and keep out the enemy, truth, 
 that would captivate or disturb them. Tell a man passionately in love, that he is 
 jilted; bring a score of witnesses of the falsehood of his mistress, it is ten to one 
 but three kind words of hers shall invalidate all their testimonies. ‘‘ Quod vo- 
 lumus, facile credimus ;” what suits our wishes, is forwardly believed ; is, I sup- 
 pose, what every one hath more than once experimented: and though men cannot 
 always openly gainsay or resist the force of manifest probabilities that make © 
 against them, yet yield they not to the argument. Not but that it is the nature of 
 the understanding constantly to close with the more probable side; but yet a man 
 hath a power to suspend and restrain his inquiries, and not permit a full and satis- 
 factory examination, as far as the matter in question is capable, and will bear it to 
 be made. Until that be done, there will be always these two ways left of evading 
 the most apparent probabilities. 
 
 13. The Means of evading Probabilities: I. Supposed Fallacy.— First, That, 
 the arguments being (as for the most part they are) brought in words, there may 
 be a fallacy latent in them: and the consequences being, perhaps, many in train, 
 they may be some of them incoherent. There are very few discourses so short, 
 clear, and consistent, to which most men may not, with satisfaction enough to 
 themselves raise this doubt; and from whose conviction they may not, without 
 reproach of disingenuity or unreasonableness, set themselves free with the old 
 reply, ‘“‘ Non persuadebis, etiamsi persuaseris ;” though I cannot answer, I will 
 not yield. 
 
 14. II. Supposed Arguments for the contrary.—Secondly, Manifest probabi- 
 lities may be evaded, and the assent withheld upon this suggestion, that I know 
 not yet all that may be said on the contrary side. And therefore, though I be 
 beaten, it is not necessary I should yield, not knowing what forces there are in 
 reserve behind. This is a refuge against conviction so open and so wide, that it is 
 hard to determine when a man is quite out of the verge of it. 
 
 1 This will doubtless bring to the reader’s mind | Le cavalier eut soin d’empécher que l’orage, 
 
 that exquisite fable of La Fontaine’s, in which Ne se pit engouffler dedans. 
 while relating ‘‘ une conte d’une vielle femme,” | Celale preserva. Le vent perdit son temps; 
 he presents us with two charming pictures of ex- | Plus il se tourmentois, plus il tenois ferme, 
 ternal nature, full of as true poetry as is to be | Il eut beau faire agir le collet et les plis. 
 found in any language. Sitot qu’il fut au bout du terme 
 Qu’a la gageure on avoit mis, 
 *« Notre souffleur a gage Le soleil dissipe la nue, 
 
 Se gorge de vapeurs, s’enfle comme un balon, » Recrée et puis penetre enfin le cavalier, 
 
 Fait un vacarme de démon Sous son balandras fait qu’il sue 
 Siffle, souffle, tempéte, et brise en son passage Le contraint de s’en dépouiller : 
 Maint toit qui n’en peut mais, peur fait maint Encore n’usa-t-il pas de toute sa puissance, 
 
 bateau Plus fait douceur que violence.” 
 
 Le tout au sujet d’un manteau. (L. vi. fab. 3.) 
 
497 
 
 CHAP. Xx.] WRONG ASSENT, OR ERROR. 
 
 15. What Probabilities determine the Assent.—But yet there is some end of it; 
 and a man having carefully inquired into all the grounds of probability and un- 
 likeliness, done his utmost to inform himself in all particulars fairly, and cast up 
 the sum total on both sides; may, in most cases, come to acknowledge, upon the 
 whole matter, on which side the probability rests: wherein some proofs in matter 
 of reason, being suppositions upon universal experience, are so cogent and clear, 
 and some testimonies in matter of fact so universal, that he cannot refuse his assent. 
 So that I think we may conclude, that, in propositions, where though the proofs 
 in view are of most moment, yet there are sufficient grounds to suspect that there 
 is either fallacy in words, or certain proofs as considerable to be produced on the 
 contrary side; there assent, suspense, or dissent, are often voluntary actions: but 
 where the proofs are such as make it highly probable, and there is not sufficient 
 ground to suspect that there is either fallacy of words (which sober and serious con- 
 sideration may discover) nor equally valid proofs yet undiscovered, latent on the 
 other side; (which also the nature of the thing may, in some cases, make plain to 
 a considerate man;) there, 1 think, a man who has weighed them can scarce refuse 
 his assent to the side on which the greater probability appears. Whether it be 
 probable that a promiscuous jumble of printing letters should often fall into a me- 
 thod and order, which should stamp on paper a coherent discourse ;' or that a 
 blind fortuitous concourse of atoms, not guided by an understanding agent, should 
 frequently constitute the bodies of any species of animals; in these and the like 
 cases, I think, nobody that considers them can be one jot at a stand which side to 
 take, nor at all waver in his assent. Lastly, when there can be no supposition 
 (the thing in its own nature indifferent, and wholly depending upon the testimony 
 of witnesses) that there is as fair testimony against, as for the matter of fact at- 
 tested; which by inquiry is to be learned, v. g. whether there was one thousand 
 seven hundred years ago such a man at Rome as Julius Cesar: in all such cases, 
 I say, I think it is not in any rational man’s power to refuse his assent; but that 
 it necessarily follows, and closes with such probabilities. In other less clear cases, 
 I think it is in man’s power to suspend his assent; and perhaps content himself 
 with the proofs he has, if they favour the opinion that suits with his inclination or 
 interest, and so stop from further search. But that a man should afford his assent 
 to that side on which the less probability appears to him, seems to me utterly im- 
 practicable, and as impossible as it is to believe the same thing probable and im- 
 probable at the same time. 
 
 16. Where it is in our Power to suspend it.—As knowledge is no more arbi- 
 trary than perception ; so, ] think, assent is no more in our power than know- 
 ledge. When the agreement of any two ideas appears to our minds, whether 
 immediately or by the assistance of reason, I can no more refuse to perceive, no 
 more avoid knowing it, than I can avoid seeing those objects which I turn my 
 eyes to, and look on in daylight; and what upon full examination I find the most 
 probable, I cannot deny my assent to. But though we cannot hinder our know- 
 ledge where the agreement is once perceived, nor our assent where the proba- 
 
 ''When Locke wrote the above sentence he | fortuna. Isti autem quemadmodum asseverant 
 
 had probably in his mind a very eloquent and 
 curious passage in Cicero, where he makes use 
 of much the same illustration in treating of the 
 same subjeet. ‘‘ Hic ego non mirer esse quem- 
 quam, qui sibi persuadeat, corpora quedam solida, 
 atque individua, viet gravitate ferri, mundumque 
 effici ornatissimum et pulcherrimum ex eorum 
 corporum concursione fortuita? Hoc qui existi- 
 mat fieri potuisse, non intelligo, cur non idem 
 putet, si innumerabiles unius et viginti forme 
 litterarum vel auree, vel quales libet, aliqud conji- 
 ciantur, posse ex his in terram excussis annales 
 Ennii, ut deinceps legi possint, effici: quod nescio 
 an ne in uno quidem yersu possit tantum valere 
 
 ex corpusculis non colore, non qualitate aliqua 
 quam zotérnra Greci vocant, non sensu preeditis 
 sed concurrentibus temeré atque casu, mundum 
 esse perfectum? vel innumerabiles potius in omni 
 puncto temporis alios nasci, alios interire? Quid 
 si mundum efficere potest concursus atomorum, 
 cur porticum, cur templum, cur domum, cur urbem 
 non potest? que sunt minus operosa et multo qui- 
 dem faciliora.”” (De Nat. Deo. ii. 37.) It has 
 been thought, as the Abbé d’Olivet observes on 
 this passage, that it must have led to the dis- 
 covery of the art of printing; and certainly if 
 they were altogether ignorant of the invention, 
 they had at least approached the very brink of it. 
 
 K K 
 
498 OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 bility manifestly appears upon due consideration of all the measures of it; yet we 
 can hinder both knowledge and assent, by stopping our inquiry, and not employ- 
 ing our faculties in the search of any truth. If it were not so, ignorance, error, 
 or infidelity, could not in any case be a fault. Thus, in some cases we can pre- 
 vent or suspend our assent; but can a man versed in modern or ancient history 
 doubt whether there is such a place as Rome, or whether there was such a man 
 as Julius Cesar? Indeed, there are millions of truths that a man is not, or may 
 not think himself concerned to know; as whether our king Richard the Third 
 was crooked or no; or whether Roger Bacon was a mathematician or a magician. 
 In these and such like cases, where the assent one way or other is of no import- 
 ance to the interest of any one; no action, no concernment of his following or 
 depending thereon; there it is not strange that the mind should give itself up to 
 the common opinion, or render itself to the first comer. These and the like 
 opinions are of so little weight and moment, that, like motes in the sun, their 
 tendencies are very rarely taken notice of. They are there, as it were, by chance, 
 and the mind lets them float at liberty. But where the mind judges that the 
 proposition has concernment in it: where the assent or not assenting is thought 
 to draw consequences of moment after it, and good and evil to depend on choosing | 
 or refusing the right side; and the mind sets itself seriously to inquire and 
 examine the probability ; there I think it is not in our choice to take which side 
 we please, if manifest odds appear on either. The greater probability, I think, in 
 that case will determine the assent; and a man can no more avoid assenting, or 
 taking it to be true, where he perceives the greater probability, than he can avoid 
 knowing it to be true, where he perceives the agreement or disagreement of any 
 two ideas. 
 
 If this be so, the foundation of error will lie in wrong measures of probability ; 
 as the foundation of vice in wrong measures of good. . 
 
 17. LV. Authority.x—Fourthly, The fourth and last wrong measure of proba- 
 bility I shall take notice of, and which keeps in ignorance or error more people 
 than all the other together, is that which I mentioned in the foregoing chapter ; 
 I mean the giving up our assent to the common received opinions, either of our 
 friends or party, neighbourhood or country. How many men have no other 
 ground for their tenets, than the supposed honesty, or learning, or number of — 
 those of the same profession? As if honest or bookish men could not err, or 
 truth were to be established by the vote of the multitude; yet this with most men 
 serves the turn. The tenet has had the attestation of reverend antiquity ; it comes 
 to me with the passport of former ages, and therefore I am secure in the recep- 
 tion I give it; other men have been and are of the same opinion, (for that is all 
 is said,) and therefore it is reasonable for me to embrace it. A man may more 
 justifiably throw up cross and pile for his opinions, than take them up by such 
 measures. All men are liable to error, and most men are in many points, by 
 passion or interest, under temptation to it. If we could but see the secret motives 
 that influenced the men of name and learning in the world, and the leaders of 
 parties, we should not always find that it was the embracing of truth for its own 
 sake, that made them espouse the doctrines they owned and maintained. This 
 at least is certain, there is not an opinion so absurd, which a man may not receive 
 upon this ground; there is no error to be named, which has not had its pro- 
 fessors: and a man shall never want crooked paths to walk in, if he thinks that 
 he is in the right way, wherever he has the footsteps of others to follow. 
 
 18. Men not in so many Errors as imagined.— But, notwithstanding the great 
 noise is made in the world about errors and opinions, I must do mankind that 
 right, as to say there ‘are not so many men in errors and wrong opinions as is 
 commonly supposed. Not that I think they embrace the truth; but indeed, 
 because concerning those doctrines they keep such a stir about, they have no 
 thought, no opinion at all. For if any one should a little catechise the greatest 
 part of the partizans of most of the sects in the world, he would not find, con- 
 
Crap, <it.| DIVISION OF THE SCIENCES. 499 
 
 cerning those matters they are so zealous for, that they have any opinions of their 
 own; much less would he have reason to think that they took them upon the 
 examination of arguments and appearance of probability. They are resolved to 
 stick to a party that education or interest has engaged them in; and there, like 
 the common soldiers of an ariny, show their courage and warmth as their leaders 
 direct, without ever examining or so much as knowing the cause they contend for. 
 If a man’s life shows that he has no serious regard for religion; for what reason 
 should we think that he beats his head about the opinions of his church, and 
 troubles himself to examine the grounds of this or that doctrine? It is enough 
 for him to obey his leaders, to have his hand and his tongue ready for the support 
 of the common cause, and thereby approve himself to those who can give him 
 credit, preferment, or protection in that society.'. Thus men become professors 
 of and combatants for those opinions they were never convinced of nor proselytes 
 to; no, nor ever had so much as floating. in their heads; and though one cannot 
 say there are fewer improbable or erroneous opinions in the world than there are, 
 yet it is certain there are fewer that actually assent to them and mistake them 
 for truth than is imagined. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 OF THE DIVISION OF THE SCIENCES. 
 
 1. Three Sorts.—A.t that can fall within the compass of human understand- 
 ing, being either, First, the nature of things, as they are in themselves, their rela- 
 tions, and their manner of operation; or, Secondly, that which man himself ought 
 to do, as a rational and voluntary agent, for the attainment of any end, especially 
 happiness; or, Thirdly, the ways and means whereby the knowledge of both the 
 one and the other of these is attained and communicated: I think science may be 
 divided properly into these three sorts. 
 
 2. I. Physica.—First, The knowledge of things, as they are in their own 
 proper beings, their constitution, properties, and operations; whereby I mean 
 not only matter and body, but spirits also, which have their proper natures, con- 
 stitutions, and operations, as well as bodies. This, in a little more enlarged sense 
 of the word, I call ®voixy, or natural philosophy. The end of this is bare specu- 
 lative truth; and whatsoever can afford the mind of man any such, falls under 
 this branch, whether it be God himself, angels, spirits, bodies, or any of their 
 affections, as number and figure, &c. 
 
 3. II. Practica.—Secondly, Wpaxrin), the skill of right applying our own powers 
 
 1 Milton has drawn a lively and admirable pic- 
 ture of a character of this kind, in which he is, 
 if possible, still more sarcastic than Locke. ‘“ A 
 wealthy man,” he says, ‘‘ addicted to his pleasure 
 and to his profits, finds religion to be a traffic, so 
 entangled, and of so many piddling accounts, that 
 of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock 
 going upon that trade. What should he do? 
 Fain he would have the name to be religious, 
 fain he would bear up with his neighbour in that. 
 What does he, therefore, but resolves to give 
 over toiling, and to find himself out some factor, 
 to whose care and credit he may commit the 
 whole managing of his religious affairs; some 
 divine of note and estimation that must be. To 
 him he adheres, resigns the whole warehouse of 
 his religion, with all the locks and keys into his 
 custody; and indeed makes the very person of 
 
 that man his religion; esteems his associating 
 with him a sufficient evidence and commendatory 
 of his own piety. So that a man may say his 
 religion-is now no more within himself, but is 
 become a dividual movable, and goes and comes 
 near him, according as that good man frequents 
 the house. He entertains him, gives him gifts, 
 feasts him, lodges him; his religion comes home 
 at night, prays, is liberally supped, and sumptu- 
 ously laid to sleep; rises, is saluted, and after 
 the malmsey, or some well-spiced beverage, and 
 better breakfasted than he whose morning appe- 
 tite would have gladly fed on green figs be- 
 tween Bethany and Jerusalem; his religion walks 
 abroad at eight, and leaves his kind entertainer 
 in the shop, trading all day without his reli- 
 gion.”’ (Areopag. § 55.) 
 
500 | OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. [BOOK Iv. 
 
 and actions, for the attainment of things good and useful. The most considerable 
 under this head is ethics, which is the seeking out those rules and measures of 
 human actions, which lead to happiness, and the means to practise them. The 
 end of this is not bare speculation and the knowledge of truth, but right, and a 
 conduct suitable to it. 
 
 A, TIL. Sypecwre).—Thirdly, The third branch may be called =ypsiwrie}, or the 
 doctrine of signs; the most usual whereof being words, it is aptly enough termed 
 also Aoyexn, logic ; the business whereof is to consider the nature of signs, the 
 mind makes use of for the understanding of things, or conveying its knowledge to 
 others. For since the things the mind contemplates are none of them, besides 
 itself, present to the understanding, it is necessary that something else, as a sign 
 er representation of the thing it considers, should be present to it; and these are 
 ideas. And because the scene of ideas that makes one man’s thoughts cannot be 
 laid open to the immediate view of another, nor laid up anywhere but in the 
 memory, a no very sure repository; therefore to communicate our thoughts to 
 one another, as well as record them for our own use, signs of our ideas are 
 also necessary. Those which men have found most convenient, and therefore 
 generally make use of, are articulate sounds. The consideration, then, of ideas 
 and words, as the great instruments of knowledge, makes no despicable part of 
 their contemplation who would take a view of human knowledge in the whole 
 extent of it. And perhaps if they were distinctly weighed, and duly considered, 
 they would afford us another sort of logic and critic,' than what we have been 
 hitherto acquainted with. 
 
 5. This is the first Division of the Objects of Knowledge.—This seems to me 
 the first and most general, as well as natural division of the objects of our under- 
 standing. For aman can employ his thoughts about nothing, but either the con- 
 templation of things themselves for the discovery of truth; or about the things in 
 his own power, which are his own actions, for the attainment of his own ends ; or the 
 signs the mind makes use of both in the one and the other, and the right ordering 
 of them for its clearer information. All which three, viz. things as they are in 
 themselves knowable; actions as they depend on us, in order to happiness; and 
 the right use of signs in order to knowledge, being toto ccelo different, they 
 seemed to me to be the three great provinces of the intellectual world, wholly 
 separate and distinct one from another. 
 
 1 Criticism. 
 
Weber ND EX: 
 
 CONTROVERSY WITH THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER. 
 
 It was originally my intention to reprint the whole of those Letters of Locke which were addressed 
 to the Bishop of Worcester, on the subject of the Essay on the Human Understanding. But upon a 
 more diligent examination of those compositions, I found there was much in them which could ° 
 scarcely be denominated philosophical, containing matter merely of temporary interest, or turning 
 upon points appertaining solely to the disputants themselves. There are nevertheless several 
 passages in those letters, which, because they throw some light on topics discussed in the Essay on 
 the Human Understanding, have usually been subjoined as notes to that work. It has been judged 
 more advisable in the present edition, to introduce them by way of Appendix; first, that they might 
 not interfere with the New Notes; and secondly, because they will probably be read with more advan- 
 tage where they now stand. 
 
 I would not, by what has been said above, be understood to detract from the merit of the Letters to 
 the Bishop of Worcester, which may in themselves be regarded as models of controversial writing ; 
 but the very nature of the dispute often led Locke over the ground which he had previously trodden in 
 his Essay, and compelled him to repeat diffusely and hurriedly, what he had there stated in a briefer 
 and more masterly manner. In itself, moreover, his style of correspondence is too voluminous; not, 
 perhaps, through any aversion of his for brevity, but because of his earnest anxiety not to betray the 
 cause of truth from the apprehension of growing tedious. But the taste of the present age is intole- 
 rant, at least in what relates to truth and philosophy. We read no page ofa book with so much 
 pleasure as the last, because too frequently we read to boast of it as an achievement, rather than to 
 profit by it as an exercise. For this reason, most persons will probably be content with those por- 
 tions of Locke’s correspondence with the Bishop of Worcester which are here given. They will 
 perceive with how great dexterity he defends himself from the assaults of his adversary, and how 
 triumphantly he establishes the important truths laid down with modest dogmatism in his great 
 system of philosophy. Should any one, from these specimens, desire to read more, he may congratu- 
 late himself upon his own taste and judgment, which will at least incite him to a careful perusal of 
 the minor treatises bequeathed us by the great philosopher.—J.A. St. J. 
 
 Kopi ¥ 
 
 Page 82, Par. 8.—This modest apology of our author could not procure him the free 
 use of the word idea: but great offence has been taken at it, and it has been censured 
 as of dangerous consequence: to which you may see what he answers. ‘‘ The world,’! 
 saith the Bishop of Worcester, “‘ hath been strangely amused with ideas of late; and 
 we have been told that strange things might be done by the help of ideas, and yet 
 these ideas, at last, come to be only common notions of things, which we must make 
 use of in our reasoning. You (i. e. the author of the Essay concerning Human Under- 
 standing) say in that chapter about the existence of God, you thought it most proper 
 to express yourself in the most usual and familiar way, by common words and expres- 
 sions. I would you had done so quite through your book ; for then you had never 
 given that occasion to the enemies of our faith, to take up your new way of ideas, as 
 an effectual battery (as they imagined) against the mysteries of the Christian faith. 
 But you might have enjoyed the satisfaction of your ideas long enough before I had 
 taken notice of them, unless I had found them employed about doing mischief.”’ 
 
 To which our author replies: * “It is plain that that which your lordship appre- 
 hends my book may be of dangerous consequence to the article which your lordship 
 
 1 Answer to Mr. Locke’s First Letter. 2 In his Second Letter to the Bishop of Wor- 
 cester. 
 
502 APPENDIX. 
 
 has endeavoured to defend, is my introducing new terms: and that which your lord- 
 ship instances in, is that of ideas. And the reason that your lordship gives in every of 
 these places why your lordship has such an apprehension of ideas, that they may be of 
 dangerous consequence to that article of faith which your lordship has endeavoured to 
 defend, is, because they have been applied to such purposes. And I might (your lord- 
 ship says) have enjoyed the satisfaction of my ideas long enough, before you had taken 
 notice of them, unless your lordship had found them employed in doing mischief. 
 Which, at last, as | humbly conceive, amounts to thus much, and no more, viz. that 
 your lordship fears ideas, i. e. the term ideas, may some time or other prove of very 
 dangerous consequence to what your lordship has endeavoured to defend, because they 
 have been made use of in arguing against it. For Iam sure your lordship does not mean, 
 that you apprehend the things signified by ideas, may be of dangerous consequence to 
 the article of faith your lordship endeavours to defend, because they have been made 
 use of against it: for (besides that your lordship mentions terms) that would be to 
 expect that those who oppose that article should oppose it without any thoughts ; for 
 the things signified by ideas, are nothing but the immediate objects of our minds in 
 thinking: so that unless any one can oppose the article your lordship defends, without 
 thinking on something, he must use the thing signified by édeas; for he that thinks, 
 must have some immediate object of-his mind in thinking: 7. e. must have ¢deas. 
 
 ‘¢ But whether it be the name or the thing ; ideas in sound, or ideas in signification ; 
 that your lordship apprehends may be of dangerous consequence to that article of faith 
 which your lordship endeavours to defend ; it seems to me, I will not say a new way of 
 reasoning, (for that belongs to me,) but were it not your lordship’s, I should think it a 
 very extraordinary way of reasoning to write against a book wherein your lordship 
 acknowledges they are not used to bad purposes nor employed to do mischief ; only 
 because you find that ideas are, by those who oppose your lordship, employed to do | 
 mischief; and to apprehend they may be of dangerous consequence to the article your 
 lordship has engaged in the defence of. For whether ¢deas as terms, or ideas as the 
 immediate objects of the mind, signified by those terms, may be, in your lordship’s 
 aprehension, of dangerous consequence to that article; Ido not see how your lordship’s 
 writing against the notions of ideas, as stated in my book, will at all hinder your 
 opposers from employing them in doing mischief, as before. 
 
 ‘“* However, be that as it will, so it is, that your lordship apprehends these new terms, 
 these ideas, with which the world hath of late been so strangely amused, (though at 
 last they come to be only common notions of things, as your lordship owns,) may be 
 of dangerous consequence to that article. 
 
 “‘ My lord, if any, in answer to your lordship’s sermons, and in other pamphlets, 
 wherein your lordship complains they have talked so much of ideas, have been trouble- 
 some to your lordship with that term; it is not strange that your lordship should be 
 tired with that sound ; but how natural soever it be to our weak constitutions, to be 
 offended with any sound wherewith an importunate din hath been made about our 
 ears; yet, my lord, I know your lordship has a better opinion of the articles of our 
 faith, than to think any of them can be overturned, or so much as shaken, with a breath 
 formed into any sound or term whatsoever. 
 
 ‘‘ Names are the arbitrary marks of conception; and so they be sufficiently appro- 
 priated to them in their use, I know no other difference any of them have in particular 
 but as they are of easy or difficult pronunciation, and of a more or less pleasant sound ; 
 and what particular antipathies there may be in men, to some of them upon that 
 account, it is not easy to be foreseen. This I am sure, no term whatsoever, in itself, 
 bears, one more than another, any opposition to the truth of any kind; they are only 
 propositions that do or can oppose the truth of any article or doctrine: and thus no 
 term is privileged from being set in opposition to truth. 
 
 “There is no word to be found, which may not be brought into a proposition, wherein 
 the most sacred and most evident truths may be opposed: but that is not a fault in 
 the term, but him that uses it. And therefore I cannot easily persuade myself (what- 
 ever your lordship hath said in the heat of your concern) that you have bestowed so 
 much pains upon my book because the word idea is so much used there. For though 
 upon my saying, in my chapter about the existence of God, ‘that I scarce use the word 
 idea in that chapter,’ your lordship wishes that I had done so quite through my book. 
 Yet I must rather look upon that as a compliment to me, wherein your lordship wished 
 that my book had been all through suited to vulgar readers, not used to that and the 
 like terms, than that your lordship has such an apprehension of the word idea ; or that 
 there is any such harm in the use of it, instead of the word notion, (with which your 
 lordship seems to take it to agree in signification,) that your lordship would think it 
 
 $$ 
 
APPENDIX. 503 
 
 worth your while to spend any part of your valuable time and thoughts about my book, 
 for having the word idea so often in it, for this would be to make your lordship to write 
 only against an impropriety of speech. I own to your lordship, it is a great conde- 
 scension in your lordship to have done it, if that word have such a share in what your 
 lordship has writ against my book, as some expressions would persuade one; and I 
 would, for the satisfaction of your lordship, change the term of idea for a better, if your 
 lordship, or any one, could help me to it. For, that notion will not so well stand for 
 every immediate object of the mind in thinking, as édea does, I have (as I guess) some- 
 where given a reason in my book, by showing that the term notion is more peculiarly 
 appropriated to a certain sort of those objects, which I call mixed modes; and IJ think 
 it would not sound altogether so well to say, the notion of red, and the notion of horse ; 
 as the idea of red, and the idea of a horse. But if any one thinks it will, I contend 
 not: for I have no fondness for, no antipathy to any particular articulate sounds; nor 
 do I think there is any spell or fascination in any of them. 
 
 “* But be the word tdea proper or improper, I do not see how it is the better or the 
 worse, because all men have made use of it, or because it has been made use of to bad 
 purposes; for if that be a reason to condemn or lay it by, we must lay by the terms 
 scripture, reason, perception, distinct, clear, §c. Nay, the name of God himself will 
 not escape; for I do not think any of these, or any other term, can be produced, which 
 hath not been made use of by such men, and to such purposes. And therefore, if the 
 Unitarians, in their late pamphlets, have talked very much of, and strangely amused 
 the world with ideas; I cannot believe your lordship will think that word one jot the 
 worse, or the more dangerous, because they use it; any more than, for the use of them, 
 you will think reason or scripture terms ill or dangerous. And therefore, what your 
 lordship says in the bottom of this 93rd page, that I might have enjoyed the satisfac- 
 tion of my ¢deas long enough before your lordship had taken notice of them, unless you 
 had found them employed in doing mischief, will, I presume, when your lordship has 
 considered again of this matter, prevail with your lordship to let me enjoy still the 
 satisfaction I take in my ideas, i.e. as much satisfaction as I can take in so small a 
 matter, as is the using of a proper term, notwithstanding it should be employed by 
 others in doing mischief. 
 
 ‘“¢ For, my lord, if I should leave it wholly out of my book, and substitute the word 
 notion everywhere in the room of it; and everybody else should do so too (though your 
 lordship does not, I suppose, suspect that I have the vanity to think they would follow 
 my example) my book would, it seems, be the more to your lordship’s liking; but I 
 do not see how this would one jot abate the mischief your lordship complains of. For 
 _ the Unitarians might as much employ notions, as they do now @deas, to do mischief; 
 unless they are such fools to think they can conjure with this notable word idea; and 
 that the force of what they say, lies in the sound, and not in the signification of their 
 terms. 
 
 ‘“‘ This I am sure of, that the truths of the Christian religion can be no more battered 
 by one word than another; nor can they be beaten down or endangered by any sound 
 whatsoever. And I am apt to flatter myself, that your lordship is satisfied that there 
 is no harm in the word ideas, because you say you should not have taken notice of my 
 ideas, if the enemies of our faith had not taken up my new way of ideas, as an effectual 
 battery against the mysteries of the Christian faith. In which place, by new way of 
 ideas, nothing I think can be construed to be meant, but my expressing myself by that 
 of ideas, and not by other more common words, and of ancienter standing in the Eng- 
 lish language.”’ | 
 
 As to the objection of the author’s way by ideas being a new way, he thus answers: 
 “ My new way by ideas, or my way by ideas, which often occurs in your lordship’s letter, 
 is, I confess, a very large and doubtful expression ; and may, in the full latitude, com- 
 prehend my whole Essay; because, treating in it of the understanding, which is 
 nothing but the faculty of thinking, I could not well treat of that faculty of the mind 
 which consists in thinking, without considering the immediate objects of the mind in 
 thinking, which I call ideas ; and therefore, in treating of the understanding, I guess 
 it will not be thought strange, that the greatest part of my book has been taken up in 
 considering what these objects of the mind in thinking are; whence they come ; what 
 use the mind makes of them, in its several ways of thinking; and what are the outward 
 marks whereby it signifies them to others, or records them for its own use. And this, 
 in short, is my way by ideas, that which your lordship calls my new way by ideas ; 
 which, my lord, if it be new, it is but a new history of an old thing. For I think it 
 will not be doubted that men always performed the actions of thinking, reasoning, 
 believing, and knowing, just after the same manner that they do now; though whether 
 
co 
 
 504 APPENDIX. 
 
 the same account has heretofore been given of the way how they performed these actions, 
 or wherein they consisted, I do not know. Were I as well read as your lordship, I 
 should have been safe from that gentle reprimand of your lordship’s, for thinking my 
 way of ideas new, for want of looking into other men’s thoughts, which appear in their 
 books. 
 
 “‘ Your lordship’s words, as an acknowledgment of your instructions in the case, and 
 as a warning to others, who will be so bold adventurers as to spin anything barely out 
 of their own thoughts, I shall set down at large; and they run thus: ‘ Whether you 
 took this way of ideas from the modern philosopher, mentioned by you, is not at all 
 material; but I intended no reflection upon you in it (for that you mean by my com- 
 mending you asa scholar of so great a master). I never meant to take from you the 
 honour of your own inventions; and I do believe you, when you say that you wrote 
 from your own thoughts, and the ideas you had there. But many things may seem 
 new to one that converses only with his own thoughts, which really are not so; as he 
 may find, when he looks into the thoughts of other men, which appear in their books. 
 And therefore, although I have a just esteem for the invention of such, who can spin 
 volumes barely out of their own thoughts; yet I am apt to think they would oblige the 
 world more, if, after they have thought so much themselves, they would examine what 
 thoughts others have had before them concerning the same things; that so those may 
 not be thought their own inventions, which are common to themselves and others. If 
 a man should try all the magnetical experiments himself, and publish them as his owa 
 thoughts, he might take himself to be the inventor of them. But he that examines and 
 compares them with what Gilbert and others have done before him, will not diminish 
 the praise of his diligence, but may wish he had compared his thoughts with other 
 men’s; by which the world would receive greater advantage, though he lost the honour 
 of being an original.’ 
 
 ‘“* To alleviate my fault herein, I agree with your lordship, that many things may 
 seem new to one that converses only with his own thoughts, which really are not so: 
 but I must crave leave to suggest to your lordship, that if, in the spinning of them out 
 of his own thoughts, they seem new to him, he is certainly the inventor of them; and 
 they may as justly be thought his own invention as any one’s; and he is as certainly 
 the inventor of them, as any one who thought on them before him: the distinction of 
 invention, or not invention, lying not in thinking first, or not first, but in the bor- 
 rowing, or not borrowing, our thoughts from another; and he to whom, spinning 
 them out of his own thoughts, they seem new, could not certainly borrow them from 
 another. So he truly invented printing in Europe, who, without any communication 
 with the Chinese, spun it out of his own thoughts ; though it was never so true, that 
 the Chinese had the use of printing, nay, of printing in the very same way, among 
 them, many ages before him. So that he that spins anything out of his own thoughts, 
 that seems new to him, cannot cease to think it is his own invention, should he examine 
 ever so far, what thoughts others have had before him concerning the same thing, and 
 should find, by examining, that they had the same thoughts too. 
 
 ‘* But what great obligation this would be to the world, or weighty cause of turning 
 over and looking into books, I confess I do not see. The great end to me, in conversing 
 with my own or other men’s thoughts, in matters of speculation, is to find truth, 
 without being much concerned whether my own spinning of it out of mine, or their 
 spinning it out of their own thoughts, helps me to it. And how little I affect the 
 honour of an original, inay be seen at that place of my book, where, if anywhere, that 
 itch of vain glory was likeliest to have shown itself, had I been so overrun with it as to 
 needa cure. It is where I speak of certainty, in these following words, taken notice 
 of by your lordship in another place: ‘I think I have shown wherein it is that cer- 
 tainty, real certainty, consists, which, whatever it was to others, was, I confess, to me, 
 heretofore, one of those desiderata which I found great want of.’ 
 
 ‘‘ Here, my lord, however new this seemed to me, and the more so because pos- 
 sibly I had in vain hunted for it in the books of others; yet I spoke of it as new only 
 to myself; leaving others in the undisturbed possession of what, either by invention 
 or reading, was theirs before; without assuming to myself any other honour but that 
 of my own ignorance, until that time, if others before had shown wherein certainty 
 lay. And yet, my lord, if I had upon this oecasion been forward to assume to myself 
 the honour.of an original, I had been pretty safe in it; since I should have had your 
 lordship for my guarantee and vindicator on that point, who are pleased to call it new, 
 and, as such, to write against it. 
 
 ‘* And truly, my lord, in this respect my book has had very unlucky stars, since it 
 hath had the misfortune to displease your lordship, with many things in it, for their 
 
APPENDIX. . 505 
 
 novelty ; as new way of reasoning ; new hypothesis about reason ; new sort of certainty ; 
 new terms; new way of ideas; new method of certainty, &c. And yet, in other places, 
 your lordship seems to think it worthy in me of your lordship’s reflection, for saying, 
 but what others have said before; as where I say, ‘ In the different make of men’s 
 tempers, and application of their thoughts, some arguments prevail more on one and 
 some on another, for the confirmation of the same truth ;’ your lordship asks, ‘ What 
 is this different from what all men of understanding have said?’ Again, I take it, 
 your lordship meant not these words for a commendation of my book, where you say, 
 But if no more be meant by ‘ The simple ideas that come in by sensation or reflection, 
 and their being the foundation of our knowledge,’ but that our notions of things 
 come in either from our senses or the exercise of our minds: as there is nothing extra- 
 ordinary in the discovery, so your lordship is far enough from opposing that wherein 
 you think all mankind are agreed. 
 
 “¢ And again: ‘ But what need all this great noise about ¢deas and certainty, true 
 and real certainty by ideas ; if, after all, it comes only to this, that our ideas only repre- 
 sent to us such things, from whence we bring arguments to prove the truth of things. 
 
 “< ¢ But the world has been strangely amused with ideas of late: and we have been 
 told, that strange things might be done by the help of ideas, and yet these ideas, at 
 last, come to be only common notions of things, which we must make use of in our 
 reasoning.’ And to the like purpose in other places. 
 
 ““ Whether, therefore, at last, your lordship will resolve that it is new or not; or 
 more faulty by its being new, must be left to your lordship. This I find by it, that 
 my book cannot avoid being condemned on the one side or the other; nor do I see a 
 possibility to help it. If there be readers that like only new thoughts; or, on the 
 other side, others that can bear nothing but what can be justified by received authorities 
 in print, I must desire them to make themselves amends in that part which they like, 
 for the displeasure they receive in the other; but if any should be so exact as to find 
 fault with both, truly I know not what to say to them. The case is a plain case: the 
 book is all over naught; and there is not a sentence in it that is not, either from its 
 antiquity or novelty, to be condemned; and so there is a short end of it. From your 
 lordship, indeed, in particular, I can hope for something better; for your lordship 
 thinks the general design of it so good, that this, I flatter myself, would prevail on 
 your lordship to preserve it from the fire. 
 
 <¢ But as to the way your lordship thinks I should have taken to prevent the having 
 it thought my invention, when it was common to me with others, it unluckily so fell 
 out, in the subject of my Essay of Human Understanding, that I could not look into 
 the thoughts of other men to inform myself. For my design being, as well as I could, 
 to copy nature, and to give an account of the operations of the mind in thinking, I 
 could look into nobody’s understanding but my own to see how it wrought; nor have 
 a prospect into other men’s minds, to view their thoughts there, and observe what 
 steps and motions they took, and by what gradations they proceeded in their acquainting 
 themselves with truth, and their advance in knowledge; what we find of their thoughts 
 in books, is but the result of this, and not the progress and working of their minds, in 
 coming to the opinions and conclusions they set down and published. 
 
 “¢ All, therefore, that I can say of my book is, that it is a copy of my own mind, in 
 its several ways of operation. And all that I can say for the publishing of it is, that I 
 think the intellectual faculties are made, and operate alike in most men; and that some 
 that I showed it to before I published it, liked it so well, that I was confirmed in that 
 opinion. And, therefore, if it should happen that it should not be so, but that some 
 men should have ways of thinking, reasoning, or arriving at certainty, different from 
 others, and above those that I find my mind to use and acquiesce in, I do not see of 
 what use my book can be to them. I can only make it my humble request, in my own 
 name, and in the name of those that are of my size, who find their minds work, reason, 
 and know in the same low way that mine does, that those men of a more happy genius 
 would show us the way of their nobler flights; and particularly would discover to us 
 their shorter or surer way to certainty, than by ideas, and the observing their agree- 
 ment or disagreement. 
 
 ‘¢ Your lordship adds: ‘ But now, it seems, nothing is intelligible but what suits with 
 the new way of ideas.’ My lord, the new way of ideas, and the old way of speaking 
 intelligibly,! was always, and ever will be the same; and, if I may take the liberty 
 to declare my sense of it, herein it consists: 1. That a man use no words but such as 
 
 1 Mr. Locke’s Third Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. 2 Tbid. 
 
606 ; APPENDIX. 
 
 he makes the sign of certain determined objects of his mind in thinking, which he can 
 make known to another. 2. Next, That he use the same word steadily for the sign of 
 the same immediate object of his mind in thinking. 8. That he join those words toge- 
 ther in propositions, according to the grammatical rules of that language he speaks in. 
 4, That he unite those sentences into a coherent discourse. Thus, and thus only, I 
 humbly conceive any one may preserve himself from the confines and suspicion of 
 jargon, whether he pleases to call those immediate objects of his mind, which his words 
 do or should stand for, ideas or no. 
 
 No bl, 
 
 Page 109, Par. 8.—On this reasoning of the author against innate ideas, great blame 
 hath been laid, because it seems to invalidate an argument commonly used to prove 
 the being of a God, viz. universal consent. To which our author answers:? ‘ I think 
 that the universal consent of mankind as to the being of a God, amounts to thus much, 
 that the vastly greater majority of mankind have, in all ages of the world, actually 
 believed in a God; that the majority of the remaining part have not actually disbelieved 
 it; and, consequently, those who have actually opposed the belief of a God, have truly 
 been very few. So that comparing those that have actually disbelieved, with those 
 who have actually believed in a God, their number is so inconsiderable, that in respect 
 of this incomparably greater majority of those who have owned the belief of a God, it 
 may be said to be the universal consent of mankind. 
 
 ‘¢ This is all the universal consent which truth or matter of fact will allow, and, 
 therefore, all that can be made use of to prove a God. But if any one would extend it 
 further, and speak deceitfully for God; if this universality should be urged in a strict | 
 sense, not for much the majority, but for a general consent of every one, even to a 
 man, in all ages and countries, this would make it either no argument, or a perfectly 
 useless and unnecessary one. For if any one deny a God, such an universality of con- 
 sent is destroyed: and if nobody does deny a God, what need of arguments to convince 
 Atheists ? : . 
 
 ‘“ T would crave leave to ask your lordship, were there ever in the world any Atheists 
 or not? If there were not, what need is there of raising a question about the being of 
 a God, when nobody questions it? What need of provisional arguments against a fault 
 from which mankind are so wholly free; and which, by an universal consent, they may be 
 presumed to be secure from? If you say (as I doubt not but you will) that there have 
 been Atheists in the world, then your lordship’s universal consent reduces itself to only 
 a great majority ; and then make that majority as great as you wil], what I have said 
 in the place quoted by your lordship leaves it in its full force: and I have not said one 
 word that does in the least invalidate this argument fora God. The argument I was 
 upon there was to show, that the idea of God was not innate; and to my purpose it 
 was sufficient, if there were but a less number found in the world who had no idea of 
 God, than your lordship will allow there have been of professed Atheists ; for whatso- 
 ever is innate must be universal in the strictest sense. One exception is a sufficient 
 proof against it. So that all that I said, and which was quite to another purpose, 
 did not at all tend, nor can be made use of, to invalidate the argument for a Deity, 
 grounded on such an universal consent, as your lordship, and all that build on it, must 
 own; which is only a very disproportioned majority: such an universal consent, my 
 argument there neither affirms nor requires to be less than you will be pleased to allow 
 it. Your lordship, therefore, might without any prejudice to those declarations of good- 
 will and favour you have for the author of the Essay of Human Understanding, have 
 spared the mentioning his quoting authors that are in print, for matters of fact to quite 
 another purpose, ‘as going about to invalidate the argument for a Deity from the 
 universal consent of mankind,’ since he leaves that universal consent as entire and as 
 large as you yourself do, or can own or suppose it. But here I have no reason to be 
 sorry that your lordship has given me this occasion for the vindication of this passage 
 of my book; if there should be any one besides your lordship, who should so far mis- 
 take it as to think it in the least invalidates the argument for a God, from the universal 
 consent of mankind. 
 
 ‘* But because you question the credibility of those authors I have quoted, which you 
 say were very ill chosen, I will crave leave to say, that he whom I relied on for his 
 
 1 Mr. Locke’s Third Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. 
 
APPENDIX. | 507 
 
 testimony concerning the Hottentots of Soldania, was no less a man than an ambas- 
 sador from the King of England to the great Mogul, of whose relation M. Thevenot, 
 no ill judge in the case, had so great an esteem, that he was at the pains to translate it 
 into French, and publish it in his (which is counted no injudicious) Collection of Tra- 
 vels. But to intercede with your lordship for a little more favourable allowance of 
 eredit to Sir Thomas Roe’s relation, Coore: an inhabitant of the country, who could 
 speak English, assured Mr. Terry,’ that they of Soldania had no God. But if he, too, 
 have the ill luck to find no credit with you, I hope you will be a little more favourable 
 to a divine of the Church of England now living, and admit of his testimony in con- 
 firmation of Sir Thomas Roe’s. This worthy gentleman, in the relation of his voyage 
 to Surat, printed but two years since, speaking of the same people, has these words : 2 
 ‘ They are sunk even below idolatry, are destitute of both priest and temple; and, 
 saving a little show of rejoicing which is made at the full and new moon, have lost all 
 kind of religious devotion. Nature has so richly provided for their convenience in this 
 life, that they have drowned all sense of the God of it, and are grown quite careless of 
 the next.’ 
 
 “* But to provide against the clearest evidence of Atheism in these people, you say, 
 ‘That the account given of them makes them not fit to be a standard for the sense of 
 mankind.’ ‘This, I think, may pass for nothing, till somebody be found that makes 
 them to be a standard for the sense of mankind. All the use I made of them was to 
 show that there were men in the world that had no innate idea of God. But to keep some- 
 thing like an argument going, (for what will not that do?) you go near to deny those 
 Caffres to be men. What else do these words signify? ‘ A people so strangely bereft 
 of common sense, that they can hardly be reckoned among mankind, as appears by the 
 best accounts of the Caffres of Soldania,’ &c. I hope if any of them were called Peter, 
 James, or John, it would be past scruple that they were men: however, Courwee, 
 Wewena, and Cowsheda, and those others who had names, that had no places in your 
 nomenclature, would hardly pass muster with your lordship. 
 
 *« My lord, I should not mention this, but that what you yourself say here, may be a 
 motive to you to consider, that what you have laid such stress on concerning the 
 general nature of man, as a real being, and the subject of properties, amounts to 
 nothing for the distinguishing of species; since you yourself own, that there may be 
 individuals, wherein there is a common nature with a particular subsistence proper to 
 each of them; whereby you are so little able to know of which of the ranks or sorts 
 they are, into which you say God has ordered beings, and which he hath distinguished 
 by essential properties, that you are in doubt whether they ought to be reckoned 
 among mankind or not.” 
 
 No. III. 
 
 Page 133, Par. 2.—Against this, that the materials of all our knowledge are sug- 
 gested and furnished to the mind only by sensation and reflection, the Bishop of 
 Worcester makes use of the idea of substance in these words: ‘ If the idea of substance 
 be grounded upon plain and evident reason, then we must allow an idea of substance, 
 which comes not in by sensation or reflection ; and so we may be certain of something 
 which we have not by these ideas.” 
 
 To which our author answers:* ‘‘ These words of your lordship contain nothing, as 
 I see, in them, against me; for I never said that the general idea of substance comes 
 in by sensation and reflection; or that it is a simple idea of sensation or reflection, 
 though it be ultimately founded in them; for it is a complex idea, made up of the 
 general idea of something, or being, with the relation of a support to accidents. For 
 general ideas come not into the mind by sensation or reflection ; but are the creatures or 
 inventions of the understanding, as I think I have shown ;* and also how the mind 
 makes them from ideas which it has got by sensation and reflection; and as to the 
 ideas of relation, how the mind forms thein, and how they are derived from, and 
 ultimately terminate in, ideas of sensation and reflection, I have likewise shown. 
 
 ‘But that I may not be mistaken in what I mean, when I speak of ideas of sen- 
 sation and reflection, as the materials of all our knowledge; give me leave, my lord, 
 to set down here a place or two, out of my book, to explain myself; as I thus speak of 
 ideas of sensation and reflection : 
 
 : Terry’s Voyage, p. 17, 23. 3 In his First Letter to the Bishop of Worces- 
 
 Mr. Ovington, p. 489. ter. 
 4 B.3.c.3. B. 2. par. 25, and c. 28. par. 18. 
 
508 APPENDIX. 
 
 ‘<< That these, when we have taken a full survey of them, and their several modes, 
 and the compositions made out of them, we shall find to contain our whole stock of 
 
 ideas, and we have nothing in our minds which did not come in one of these two} 
 
 ways.’! This thought, in another place, I express thus: 
 
 «¢<é These are the most considerable of these simple ideas which the mind has, and out 
 of which is made all its other knowledge ; all which it receives by the two tore-men- 
 tioned ways of sensation and reflection.’* And, 
 
 ‘‘¢Thus I have in a short draught given a view of our original ideas, from whence 
 all the rest are derived, and of which they are made up.’3 
 
 ‘‘This, and the like, said in other places, is what I have thought concerning ideas 
 of sensation and reflection, as the foundation and materials of all our ideas, and conse- 
 quently of all our knowledge: I have set down these particulars out of my book, that 
 the reader, having a full view of my opinion herein, may the better see what in it is 
 liable to your lordship’s reprehension. For that your lordship is not very well satisfied 
 with it, appears not only by the words under consideration, but by these also: ‘ But 
 we are still told, that our understanding can have no other ideas, but either from 
 sensation or reflection.’ 
 
 ‘¢ Your lordship’s argument in the passage we are upon, stands thus: ‘If the general 
 idea of substance be grounded upon plain and evident reason, then we must allow an 
 idea of substance, which comes not in by sensation or reflection.’ This is a conse- 
 quence which, with submission, I think will not hold, because it is founded upon a 
 supposition which I think will not hold, viz. ‘That reason and ideas are inconsis- 
 tent:’ for if that supposition be not true, then the general idea of substance may be 
 grounded on plain and evident reason ; and yet it will not follow from thence, that it 
 is not ultimately grounded on and derived from ideas which come in by sensation or 
 reflection, and so cannot be said to come in by sensation or reflection. 
 
 “To explain myself, and clear my meaning in this matter: all the ideas of all the 
 sensible qualities of a cherry come into my mind by sensation: the ideas of perceiv- 
 ing, thinking, reasoning, knowing, &c., come into my mind by reflection. The ideas 
 of these qualities and actions, or powers, are perceived by the mind, to be by themselves 
 inconsistent with existence; or, as your lordship well expresses it, ‘ we find that we 
 can have no true conception of any modes or accidents, but we must conceive a sub- 
 stratum, or subject, wherein they are, 7. e, that they cannot exist or subsist of them- 
 selves.’ Hence the mind perceives their necessary connexion with inherence, or being 
 supported, which being a relative idea, superadded to the red colour in a cherry, or to 
 thinking in a man, the mind frames the correlative idea of a support. For I never 
 denied, that the mind could frame to itself ideas of relation, but have shown the quite 
 contrary in my chapters about relation. But because a relation cannot be founded in 
 nothing, or be the relation of nothing, and the thing here related as the supporter, or 
 a support, is not represented to the mind by any clear and distinct idea ; therefore, the 
 obscure and indistinct vague idea of thing, or something, is all that is left to be the 
 positive idea, which has the relation of a support, or substratum, to modes or acci- 
 dents; and that general indetermined idea of something is, by the abstraction of the 
 mind, derived also from the simple ideas of sensation and reflection ; and thus the mind, 
 from the positive simple ideas got by sensation and reflection; comes to the general 
 relative idea of substance, which, without these positive simple ideas it would never 
 have. 
 
 ‘This your lordship-(without giving by detail all the particular steps of the mind in 
 this business) has well expressed in this more familiar way: ‘ We find we can have no 
 true conception of any modes or accidents, but we must conceive a substratum, or 
 subject, wherein they are; since it is a repugnancy to our conception of things, that 
 modes or accidents should subsist by themselves.’ 
 
 ‘‘ Hence your lordship calls it the rational idea of substance. And say, ‘I grant, 
 that by sensation and reflection we come to know the powers and properties of things ; 
 but our reason is satisfied that there must be something beyond these, because it is 
 impossible that they should subsist by themselves ;’ so that if this be what your lord- 
 ship means by rational ideas of substances, I see nothing there is in it against what I 
 have said, that it is founded on simple ideas of sensation or reflection, and that it is a 
 very obscure idea. 
 
 “Your lordship’s conclusion from your foregoing words, is, ‘And so we may be 
 certain of some things which we have not by those ideas ;’ which is a proposition, 
 
 1B. 25671: par, B: 2"B, 2.-e, 7) par. 10. 3B. 2. c 21, par. 73. 
 
APPENDIX. 309 
 
 whose precise meaning your lordship will forgive me, if I profess, as it stands there, I 
 do not understand. For it is uncertain to me, whether vour-lordship means, we may 
 certainly know the existence of something which we have not by those ideas ; or cer- 
 tainly know the distinct properties of something which we have not by those ideas ; or 
 certainly know the truth of some propositions, which we have not by those ideas ; 
 for to be certain of something, may signify either of these: but in which soever of these 
 it be meant, I do not see how I am concerned in it.” 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 Page 244, Par. 1.—This section, which was intended only to show how the indi- 
 viduals of distinct species of substances came to be looked upon as simple ideas, and so 
 to have simple names, viz. from the supposed substratum or substance, which was 
 looked upon as the thing itself in which inhered, and from which resulted that compli- 
 cation of ideas, by which it was represented to us, hath been mistaken for an account 
 of the idea of substance in general; and as such, hath been represented in these words : 
 But how comes the general idea of substance to be framed in our minds? Is this by 
 abstracting and enlarging simple ideas? No: ‘ But it is by a complication of many 
 simple ideas together: because, not imagining how these simple ideas can subsist by 
 themselves, we accustom ourselves to suppose some substratum, wherein they do subsist, 
 and from whence they do result; which, therefore, we call substance.’ ‘§ And is this 
 all, indeed, that is to be said for the being of substance, that we accustom ourselves 
 to suppose a substratum? Is that custom grounded upon true reason, or not? If not, 
 then accidents or modes must subsist of themselves; and these simple ideas need no 
 tortoise to support them; for figures and colours, &c., would do well enough of them- 
 selves, but for some fancies men have accustomed themselves to.’ 
 
 To which objection of the Bishop of Worcester, our author answers thus: ! ‘‘ Herein 
 your lordship seems to charge me with two faults: one, that I make the general idea 
 of substance to be framed, not by abstracting and enlarging simple ideas, but by a 
 complication of many simple ideas together; the other, as if I had said, the being of 
 substance had no other foundation but the fancies of men. 
 
 “As to the first of these, I beg leave to remind your lordship, that I say in more 
 places than one, and particularly Book 3, Chap. 3, par.6, and Book 1, Chap. 11, par. 9, 
 where, ex professo, I treat of abstraction and general ideas, that they are all made by 
 abstracting, and, therefore, could not be understood to mean, that that of substance 
 was made any other way; however my pen might have slipped, or the negligence of 
 expression, where I might have something else than the general idea of substance in 
 view, might make me seem to say so. 
 
 ‘That I was not speaking of the general idea of substance, in the passage your lord- 
 ship quotes, is manifest from the title of that chapter, which is, ‘ Of the complex ideas 
 of substances ;’ and the first paragraph of it, which your lordship cites for those words 
 you have set down. 
 
 *¢ In which words I do not observe any that deny the general idea of substance to be 
 made by abstraction, nor any that say it is made by a complication of many simple 
 ideas together. But speaking in that place of the ideas of distinct substances, such as 
 man, horse, gold, &c., I say they are made up of certain combinations of simple ideas, 
 which combinations are looked upon, each of them, as one simple idea, though they are 
 many ; and we call it by one name of substance, though made up of modes, from the 
 custom of supposing a substratum, wherein that combination does subsist. So that in 
 this paragraph I only give an account of the idea of distinct substances, such as oak, 
 elephant, iron, &c., how, though they are made up of distinct complications of modes, 
 yet they are looked on as one idea, called by one name, as making distinct sorts of 
 substances. 
 
 ‘But that my notion of substance in general is quite different from these, and has no 
 such combination of simple ideas in it, is evident from the immediate following words, 
 where I say,* ‘The idea of pure substance in general, is only a supposition of we 
 know not what support of such qualities as are capable of producing simple ideas in 
 us.’ And these too I plainly distinguish all along, particularly where I say, ‘ whatever, 
 therefore, be the secret and abstract nature of substance in general, all the ideas we 
 have of particular distinct substances are nothing but several combinations of simple 
 
 1 Tn his First Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. # Boz Curan para: 
 
cece eens ree elaese guerre se SSS Sr SL SLs 
 
 210 APPENDIX. 
 
 ideas, co-existing in such, though unknown cause of their union, as makes the whole 
 subsist of itself.’ , 
 
 “The other thing laid to my charge is, as if I took the being of substance to be 
 doubtful, or rendered it so by the imperfect and ill-grounded idea I have given of it. 
 To which I beg leave to say, that I ground not the being, but the idea of substance, 
 on our accustoming ourselves to suppose some substratum: for it is of the idea alone I 
 speak there, and not of the being of substance. And having every where afirmed, and 
 built upon it, that a man is a substance, I cannot be supposed to question or doubt of 
 the being of substance, till I can question or doubt of my own being. Further, I 
 say,’ ‘ Sensation convinces us that there are solid, extended substances ; and reflection, 
 that there are thinking ones.’ So that, I think, the being of substance is not shaken 
 by what I have said ; and if the idea of it should be, yet (the being of things depend- 
 ing not on our ideas) the being of substance would not be at all shaken by my saying, 
 we had but an obscure imperfect idea of it, and that that idea came from our accus- 
 toming ourselves to suppose some substratum; or indeed, if I should say, we had no 
 idea of substance at all. For a great many things may be, and are granted to have a 
 being, and be in nature, of which we have no ideas. For example: it cannot be 
 doubted but there are distinct species of separate spirits, of which, yet we have no 
 distinct ideas at all; it cannot be questioned but spirits have ways of communicating 
 their thoughts, and yet we have no idea of it at all. 
 
 “The being then of substance being safe and secure, notwithstanding anything I have 
 said, let us see whether the idea of it be not so too. Your lordship asks, with concern, 
 ‘ And is this all, indeed, that is to be said, for the being (if your lordship please, let it 
 be the idea) of substance, that we accustom ourselves to suppose a substratum? Is that 
 custom grounded upon true reason or not?’ | havesaid that it is grounded upon this,” 
 ‘That we cannot conceive how simple ideas of sensible qualities should subsist alone, 
 and, therefore, we suppose them to exist in, and to be supported by some common 
 subject; which support we denote by the same substance.’ Which, I think, is a true 
 reason, because it is the same your lordship grounds the supposition of a substratum on, 
 in this very page: even on the repugnancy to our conceptions, that modes and acci- 
 dents should subsist by themselves. So that I have the good luck to agree here with 
 your lordship: and consequently conclude I have your approbation in this, that 
 the substratum to modes or accidents, which is our idea of substance in general, is 
 founded in this, ‘that we cannot conceive how modes or accidents can subsist by 
 themselves.’ ”’ 
 
 No. Vi 
 
 Page 245, Par. 2.—From this paragraph, there hath been raised an objection by the 
 Bishop of Worcester, as if our author’s doctrine here, concerning ideas, had almost 
 discarded substance out of the world: his words in this second paragraph being 
 brought to prove, that he is one of the gentlemen of this new way of reasoning, that 
 have almost discarded substance out of the reasonable part of the world. To which our 
 author replies :* ‘This, my lord, is an accusation which your lordship will pardon me, 
 if I do not readily know what to plead to, because I do not understand what it is 
 almost to discard substance out of the reasonable part of the world. If your lordship 
 means by it, that I deny, or doubt, that there is in the world any such thing as sub- 
 stance, that your lordship will acquit me of, when your lordship looks again in the 
 
 . 28rd chapter of the second book, which you have cited more than once; where you 
 will find these words, par. 4: ‘When we talk or think of any particular sort of cor- 
 poreal substances, as horse, stone, &c., though the idea we have of either of them be 
 but the complication or collection of those several simple ideas of sensible qualities 
 which we used to find united in the thing called horse, or stone; yet, because we 
 cannot conceive how they should subsist alone, nor one in another, we suppose them 
 existing in and supported by some common subject, which support we denote by the 
 name substance ; though it be certain, we have no clear or distinct idea of that thing 
 we suppose a support.” And again, par. 5: ‘The same happens concerning the opera- 
 tions of the mind, viz. thinking, reasoning, fearing, &c., which we considering not to 
 subsist of themselves, nor apprehending how they can belong to body, or be produced 
 by it, we are apt to think these the actions of some other substance, which we call 
 
 1 B. 2, ¢. 23, par. 29. 2 Ibid. par. 4. 3 In his First Letter to that Bishop. 
 
 a EL eS ES Tae Dee ee Ay ee ee ee et 
 
APPENDIX oll 
 
 spirit; whereby yet it is evident, that having no other idea or notion of matter, but 
 something wherein those many sensible qualities which affect our senses do subsist, 
 ‘by supposing a substance, wherein thinking, knowing, doubting, and a power of 
 moving, &c., do subsist, we have as clear a notion of tiie nature or substance of spirit, 
 as we have of body; the one being supposed to be (without knowing what it is) the 
 substratum to those simple ideas we have from without: and the others supposed (with 
 a like ignorance of what it is) to be the substratum to those operations, which we ex- 
 periment in ourselves within.’ And again, par. 6: ‘ Whatever, therefore, be the 
 secret nature of substance in general, all the ideas we have of particular distinct sub- 
 stances, are nothing but several combinations of simple ideas co-existing in such, 
 thongh unknown, cause of their union, as make the whole subsist of itself.’ And I 
 further say, in the same paragraph, ‘that we suppose these combinations to rest in, and 
 to be adherent to that unknown common subject, which inheres not in anything else.’ 
 And, par. 3: ‘That our complex ideas of substances, besides all those simple ideas they 
 are made up of, have always the confused idea of something to which they belong, and in 
 which they subsist; and, therefore, when we speak of any sort of substance, we say it 
 is a thing having such and such qualities ; as body is a thing that is extended, figured, 
 and capable of motion; spirit, a thing capable of thinking, &c. ‘These and the like 
 fashions of speaking, intimate that the substance is supposed always something besides 
 the extension, figure, solidity, motion, thinking, or other observable idea, though we 
 know not what it is.’ 
 
 ““¢ Our idea of body,’ I say,! ‘is an extended solid substance; and our idea of 
 soul, is of a substance that thinks.’ So that as long as there is any such thing as body 
 or spirit in the world, I have done nothing towards the discarding substance out of the 
 reasonable part of the world. Nay, as long as there is any simple idea or sensible 
 quality left, according to my way of arguing, substance cannot be discarded; because 
 all simple ideas, all sensible qualities, carry with them a supposition of a substratum 
 to exist in, and of a substance wherein they inhere: and of this, that whole chapter is 
 so full, that I challenge any one who reads it, to think I have almost, or one jot, dis- 
 carded substance out of the reasonable part of the world. And of this man, horse, 
 sun, water, iron, diamond, &c., which I have mentioned of distinct sorts of substances, 
 will be my witnesses, as long as any such thing remain in being; of which I say,? 
 ‘That the idea of substances are such combinations of simple ideas, as are taken to 
 represent distinct particular things subsisting by themselves, in which the supposed 
 or confused idea of substance is always first and chief.’ 
 
 ‘¢ If, by almost discarding substance out of the reasonable part of the world, your 
 lordship means, that I have destroyed and almost discarded the true idea we have of 
 it, by calling it a substratum,’ a supposition of we know not what support of such 
 qualities as are capable of producing simple ideas in us, an obscure and relative 
 idea.t ‘That without knowing what it is, it is that which supports accidents: so that 
 of substance we have no idea of what it is, but only a confused obscure one of what it 
 does: I must confess, this and the like I have said of our idea of substance; and 
 should be very glad to be convinced by your lordship, or anybody else, that I. have 
 spoken too meanly of it. He that would show mea more clear and distinct idea of 
 substance, would do me a kindness I should thank him for. But this is the best I can 
 hitherto find, either in my own thoughts, or in the books of logicians: for their account 
 or idea of it is, that it is ens, or res per se subsistens, et substans accidentibus ; which in 
 effect, is no more but that substance is a being or thing ; or, in short, something, they 
 know not what, or of which they have no clearer idea, than that it is something which 
 supports accidents, or other simple ideas or modes, and is not supported itself, as a 
 mode, or an accident. So that I do not see but Burgersdicius, Sanderson, and the 
 whole tribe of logicians, must be reckoned with ‘the gentlemen of this new way 
 of reasoning, who have almost discarded substance out of the reasonable part of the 
 world.’ 
 
 ‘‘ But supposing, my lord, that I, or these gentlemen, logicians of note in the 
 schools, should own that we have a very imperfect, obscure, inadequate idea of sub- 
 stance, would it not bea little too hard to charge us with discarding substance out of 
 the world? For what almost discarding, and reasonable part of the world, signifies, I 
 must confess I do not clearly comprehend; but let, almost, and, reasonable part, signify 
 here what they will, for I dare say your lordship meant something by them; would 
 not your lordship think you were a little hardly dealt with, if, for acknowledging your- 
 
 1 1s MONE IR ach 7 See eal 8 Bey c. 12, par. 6. ~ * B. 2,'c. 23, pars 1, 2,3.  4°5B32,e5 13; par. 19. 
 
Sy ys APPENDIX. 
 
 self to have a very imperfect and inadequate idea of God, or of several other things, 
 which in this very treatise you confess our understandings come short in, and cannot 
 comprehend, you should be accused to be one of these gentlemen that have almost dis-s 
 carded God, or those other mysterious things, whereof you contend we have very im- 
 perfect and inadequate ideas out of the reasonable world? For I suppose your lordship 
 means by almost discarding out of the reasonable world, something that is blameable, 
 for it seems not to be inserted for a commendation; and yet I think he deserves no 
 blame, who owns the having ‘imperfect, inadequate, obscure ideas, where he has no 
 better: however, if it be inferred from thence, that either he almost excludes those 
 things out of being, or out of rational discourse, if that be meant by the reasonable 
 world ; for the first of these will not hold, because the being of things in the world 
 depends not on our ideas: the latter, indeed, is true in some degree, but is no fault ; 
 for it is certain, that where we have imperfect inadequate, confused, obscure ideas, we 
 cannot discourse and reason about those things so well, fully, and clearly, as if we had 
 perfect, adequate, clear, and distinct ideas. 
 
 Other objections are made against the following parts of this paragraph, by that re- 
 verend prelate, viz. ‘‘ The repetition of the story of the Indian philosopher, and the 
 talking like children about substance :’”’ to which our author replies : 
 
 ‘Your lordship, I must own, with great reason, takes notice, that I paralleled, more 
 than once, our idea of substance with the Indian philosopher’s He-knew-not-what, 
 which supported the tortoise, &e. 
 
 “This repetition, is, I confess a fault in exact writing ; but-I have acknowledged 
 and excused it in these words, in my preface: ‘I am not ignorant how little I herein 
 consult my own reputation, when I knowingly let my Essay go with a fault so apt to 
 disgust the most judicious who are always the nicest readers.’ And there further add, © 
 ‘That I did not publish my Essay for such great masters of knowledgeas your lordship: 
 but fitted it to men of my own size, to whom repetitions might be sometimes useful.’ 
 It would not, therefore, have been beside your lordship’s generosity, (who were not 
 intended to be provoked by this repetition) to have passed by such a fault as this, in 
 one who pretends not beyond the lower rank of writers. But I see your lordship would 
 have me exact, and without any faults : and I wish I could be so, the better to deserve 
 your lordship’s approbation. 
 
 ‘“ My saying, ‘ That when we talk of substance, we talk like children; who, 
 being asked a question about something which they know not, readily give this 
 satisfactory answer, That it is something ;’ your lordship seems mightily to lay it to 
 heart in these words that follow: ‘ If this be the truth of the case, we must still talk 
 like children, and I know not how it can be remedied. For if we cannot come at a 
 rational idea of substance, we can have no principle of certainty to go upon in this 
 debate.’ 
 
 ‘¢ Tf your lordship has any better and distincter idea of substance than mine is, which 
 I have given an account of, your lordship is not at all concerned in what I have there 
 said. But those whose idea of substance, whether a rational or not rational idea, is 
 like mine, something, they know not what, must in that, with me, talk like children, 
 when they speak of something, they know not what. For a philosopher that says 
 that which supports accidents is something he knows not what, and a countryman that 
 says the foundation of thegreat church at Haarlem is supported by something, he knows 
 not what; and a child that stands in the dark, upon his mother’s muff, and says he 
 stands upon something, he knows not what, in this respect talk allthree alike. But if 
 the countryman knows that the foundation of the church of Haarlem is supported by a 
 rock, as the houses about Bristol are ; or by gravel, as the houses about London are ; 
 or by wooden piles, as the houses in Amsterdam are; it is plain, that, then having a 
 clear and distinct idea of the thing that supports the church, he does not talk of this 
 matter as a child; nor will he of the support of accidents, when he has a clearer and 
 more distinct idea of it, than that it is barely something. But as long as we think 
 like children, in cases where our ideas are no clearer nor distincter than theirs, I agree 
 with your lordship, that I know not how it can be remedied, but that we must talk 
 like them.” 
 
 Further, the bishop asks, ‘‘ Whether there be no difference between the bare being of 
 a thing, and its subsistence by itself?”? To which our author answers: “‘ Yes.t But 
 what will that do to prove, that, upon my principles, we can come to no certainty of 
 reason, that there is any such thing as substance? You seem by this question to con- 
 clude, that the idea of a thing that subsists by itself, is a clear and distinct idea of sub- 
 
 1 Mr. Locke’s Third Letter. 
 
APPENDIX. 013 
 
 stance ; but I beg leave to ask, Is the idea of the manner of subsistence of a thing, the 
 idea of the thing itself? if it be not, we may haveaclear and distinct idea of the manner, . 
 and yet have none but a very obscure and confused one of the thing. For example: 
 I tell your lordship, that I know a thing that cannot subsist without a support, and I 
 know another thing that does subsist without a support, and say no more of them; can 
 you, by having the clear and distinct ideas of having a support, and not having a 
 support, say, that you have a clear and distinct idea of the thing, that I know which 
 has, and of the thing that I know which has not a support? If your lordship can, I 
 beseech you to give me the clear and distinct ideas of these, which I only call by 
 the general name, things, that have or have not supports! for such there are, and such 
 I shall give your lordship clear and distinct ideas of, when you shall please to call upon 
 me for them ; though I think your lordship will scarcely find them by the general and 
 confused idea of things, nor in the clearer and more distinct idea of having or not hav- 
 ing a support. 
 
 ‘*¢'To show a blind man that he has no clear and distinct idea of scarlet, I tell him, that 
 his notion of it, that it is a thing or being, does not prove that he has any clear or 
 distinct idea of it; but barely that he takes it to be something, he knows not what. 
 He replies, That he knows more than that, v.g. he knows that it subsists, or inheres in 
 another thing; and is there no difference, says he, in your lordship’s words, between the 
 bare being of a thing, and its subsistence in another? Yes, say I to him, a great deal, they 
 are very different ideas. But forall that, you have no clearand distinct idea of scarlet, 
 nor such a one as I have, who see and know it, and have another kind of idea of it, 
 besides that of inherence. 
 
 *‘ Your lordship has the idea of subsisting by itself, and, therefore, you conclude, 
 you have a clear and distinct idea of the thing that subsists by itself; which, methinks, 
 is all one, as if your countryman should say, he hath an idea of a cedar of Lebanon, 
 that it is a tree of a nature to need no prop to lean on for its support; therefore, he hath 
 a clear and distinct idea of a cedar of Lebanon; which clear and distinct idea, when 
 he comes to examine, is nothing but a general one of a tree, with which his indeter- 
 mined idea of a cedar is confounded. Just sois the idea of substance; which, however, 
 called clear and distinct, is confounded with the general indetermined idea of something. 
 But suppose that the manner of subsisting by itself, gives us a clear and distinct idea of 
 substance, how does that prove, that upon my principles, we can come to no certainty of 
 reason, that thereis anysuch thing as substancein the world? Which is the proposition 
 to be proved. 
 
 No. VI. 
 
 Page 277, Par. 29.—“‘ Give me leave, my lord,” says Mr. Locke, in his answer to 
 the Bishop of Worcester, ‘‘to say, that the reason of believing any article of the Chris- 
 tian faith (such as your lordship is here speaking of) to me, and upon my grounds, is its 
 being a part of divine revelation: upon this ground I believed it, before I either wrote 
 that chapter on identity and diversity, and before I ever thought of those propositions 
 which your lordship quotes out of that chapter; and upon the same ground I believe 
 it still; and not from my idea of identity. This saying of your lordship’s therefore, 
 being a proposition neither self-evident, nor allowed by me to be true, remains to be 
 proved. So that your foundation failing, all your large superstructure built thereon 
 comes to nothing. 
 
 ‘‘ But, my lord, before we go any further, I crave leave humbly to represent to your 
 lordship, that I thought you undertook to make out, that my notion of ideas was incon- 
 sistent with the articles of the Christian faith. But that which your lordship instances 
 in here, is not, that I yet know, an article of the Christian faith. The resurrection of 
 the dead, I acknowledge to be an article of the Christian faith; but that the resurrec- 
 tion of the same body, in your lordship’s sense of the same body, is an article of the 
 Christian faith, is what, I confess, I do not yet know. 
 
 “In the New Testament (wherein I think are contained all the articles of the 
 Christian faith) I find our Saviour and the apostles, to preach the resurrection of the 
 dead, and the resurrection from the dead, in many places; but I do not remember any 
 place where the resurrection of the same body is so much as mentioned. Nay, whichis 
 very remarkable in the case, I do not remember in any place of the New Testament 
 (where the general resurrection of the last day is spoken of) any such expression as the 
 resurrection of the body, much less of the same body. 
 
 “‘ Tsay the general resurrection at the last day; because where the resurrection of 
 
 Li 
 
514 APPENDIX. 
 
 some particular persons, presently upon our Saviour’s resurrection, is mentioned, the 
 words are, ! ‘ The graves were opened, and many bodies of saints, which slept, arose, 
 and came out of the graves, after his resurrection, and went into the Holy City, and 
 appeared to many :’ of which peculiar way of speaking of this resurrection, the passage | 
 itself gives a reason in these words, appeared to many, ¢. e. those who slept appeared, so 
 as to be known to berisen. Butthis could not be known, unless they brought with them 
 the evidence that they were those who had been dead ; whereof there were these two 
 proofs, their graves were opened, and their bodies not only gone out of them, but ap- 
 peared to be the same to those who had known them formerly alive, and knew them to 
 be dead and buried. Forifthey had been those who had been dead so long, that all who 
 knew them once alive, were now gone, those to whom they appeared might have known 
 them to be men; but could not have known they were risen from the dead, because 
 they never knew they had beendead. All that by their appearing they could have known 
 was, that they were so many living strangers, of whose resurrection they knew nothing. 
 It was necessary, therefore, that they should come in such bodies as might, in make and 
 size, &c. appear to be the same they had before, that they might be known to those of 
 their acquaintance whom they appeared to. And it is probable they were such as were 
 newly dead, whose bodies were not yet dissolved and dissipated; and, therefore, it is 
 particularly said here (differently from what is said of the general resurrection) that 
 their bodies arose; because they were the same that were then lying in their graves, 
 the moment before they arose. 
 
 ‘¢ But your lordship endeavoursto prove it must be the same body; and let us grant 
 that your lordship, nay, and others too, think you have proved it must be the same body ; 
 will you therefore say, that he holds what is inconsistent with an article of faith who, 
 having never seen this your lordship’s interpretation of the Scripture, nor your reasons 
 for the same body, in your sense of same body; or, if he has seen them, yet not under- 
 standing them, or not perceiving the force of them, believes what the Scripture pro- 
 poses to him, viz. ‘That at the last day, the dead shall be raised,’ without determining 
 whether it shall be with the very same bodies or not? 
 
 ‘‘ I know your lordship pretends not to erect your particular interpretations of 
 Scripture into articles of faith. And if you do not, he that believes the dead shall be 
 raised, believes that article of faith that the Scripture proposes; and cannot be ac- 
 cused of holding anything inconsistent with it, if it should happen, that what he holds 
 is inconsistent with another proposition, viz. ‘That the dead shall be raised with the 
 same bodies,’ in your lordship’s sense, which I do not find proposed in Holy Writ as an 
 article of faith. 
 
 ‘ But your lordship argues, It must be the same body; which, as you explain 
 same body,” is not the same individual particles of matter which were united at — 
 the point of death; nor the same particles of matter that the sinner had at the time 
 of the commission of his sins: but that it must be the same material substance which 
 was vitally united to the soul here; z. e. as I understand it, the same individual 
 particles of matter which were some time or other, during his life here, vitally united 
 to his soul. 
 
 ‘“¢ Your first argument to prove that it must be the same body, in this sense of the 
 same body, is taken from these words of our Saviour,> ‘ All that are in the graves 
 shall hear his voice, and shall come forth:’* from whence your lordship argues, 
 that these words, ‘ All that are in their graves,’ relate to no other substance than 
 what was united to the soul in life; because, ‘ a different substance cannot be said to 
 be in the graves and to come out of them.’ Which words of your lordship’s, if they 
 prove anything, prove that the soul too is lodged in the grave, and raised out of it at 
 the last day. For your lordship says, ‘ Can a different substance be said to be in the 
 graves, and come out of them?’ so that, according to this interpretation of these words 
 of our Saviour, ‘no other substance being raised but what hears his voice; and no 
 other substance hearing his voice but what, being called, comes out of the grave; and 
 no other substance coming out of the grave, but what was in the grave ;’ any one must 
 conclude, that the soul, unless it be in the grave, will make no part of the person that 
 ig raised, unless as your lordship argues against me,> you can make it out, that a 
 substance which never was in the grave, may come out of it, or that the soul is no 
 substance. 
 
 1 Matt. xxvii. 52, 53. 2 Second Answer. $ John, v. 28, 29. 
 # Second Answer. § Thid. 
 
APPENDIX. 515 
 
 “¢ But, setting aside the substance of the soul, another thing that will make any one 
 doubt whether this your interpretation of our Saviour’s words be necessary to be 
 received as their true sense, is, that it will not be very easily reconciled to your saying,’ 
 you do not mean by the same body, the same individual particles which were united 
 at the point of death. And yet by this interpretation of our Saviour’s words, you can 
 mean no other particles but such as were united at the point of death; because you 
 mean no other substance but what comes out of the grave; and no substance, no par- 
 ticles come out, you say, but what were in the grave; and I think your lordship will 
 not say that the particles that were separate from the body by perspiration before the 
 point of death, were laid up in the grave. 
 
 “But your lordship, I find, has an answer to this: viz.?, That, by comparing this with 
 other places, you find that the words(of our Saviour above quoted) are to be understood of 
 the substance of the body to which the soul was united, and not to(I suppose your lordship 
 wrote, of) those individual particles, z. e. those individual particles that are in the grave at 
 the resurrection. Forso they must be read, to make your lordship’s sense entire and to the 
 purpose of your answer here; and then, methinks, this last sense of our Saviour’s words, 
 given by your lordship, wholly overturns the sense which we have given of them above, 
 where, from those words, you press the belief of the resurrection of the same body, by this 
 strong argument, that a substance could not, upon hearing the voice of Christ, come out of 
 the grave, which was never in the grave. There (as faras I can understand your words) 
 your lordship argues, that our Saviour’s words are to be understood of the particles in 
 the grave, unless, as your lordship says, one can make it out, that asubstance which never 
 was in the grave may come out of it. And here, your lordship expressly says, ‘That our 
 Saviour’s words are to be understood of the substance of that body, to which the soul was 
 (at any time) united, and not to those individual particles that are in the grave.’ Which, 
 put together, seems to me to say, That our Saviour’s words are to be understood of those 
 particles only which are in the grave, and not of those particles only which are in the 
 grave, but of others also, which have at any time been vitally united to the soul, but 
 never were in the grave. 
 
 “The next text your lordship brings to make the resurrection of the same body in 
 your sense, an article of faith, are these words of St. Paul:*® ‘ For we must all appear 
 before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his 
 body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.’ To which your 
 lordship subjoins this question:* ‘Can these words be understood of any other 
 material substance, but that body in which these things were done?’ Answer: A man 
 may suspend his determining the meaning of the apostle to be, that a sinner shall 
 suffer for his sins, in the very same body wherein he committed them; because St. 
 Paul does not say he shall have the very same body when he suffers, that he had when 
 he sinned. The apostle says, indeed, done in his body. The body he had, and did 
 things in at five or fifteen, was, no doubt, his body, as much as that which he did things 
 in at fifty was his body, though his body were not the very same body at those differ- 
 ent ages ; and so will the body which he shall have after the resurrection be his body, 
 though it be not the very same with that which he had at five, or fifteen, or fifty. He 
 that at threescore is broken on the wheel for a murder he committed at twenty, is 
 punished for what he did in his body though the body he has, 7. e. his body at threescore, 
 be not the same, 7. e. made up of the same individual particles of matter that that body 
 was which he had forty years before. When your lordship has resolved with yourself, 
 what that same immutable he is which, at the last judgment, shall receive the things 
 done in his body, your lordship will easily see, that the body he had when an embryo 
 in the womb, when a child playing in petticoats, when a man marrying a wife, and 
 when bed-rid dying of a consumption, and at last, which he shall have after his re- 
 surrection, are each of them his body, though neither of them be the same body the 
 one with the other. 
 
 ‘But further, to your lordship’s question, ‘Can these words be understood of any 
 other material substance, but that body in which these things were done?’ I answer, 
 These words of St. Paul may be understood of another material substance than that 
 body in which these things were done, because your lordship teaches me, and gives me 
 a strong reason so to understand them. Your lordship says,” ‘That you do not say 
 the same particles of matter which the sinner had at the very time of the commission 
 of his sins, shall be raised at the last day.’ And your lordship gives this reason for 
 
 1 Second Answer. *Thid. 3 2 Cor. v. 10. * Second Answer. 5 Tpid. 
 
 Tei? 
 
516 APPENDIX. 
 
 td 
 
 it;! ‘For then a long sinner must have a vast body, considering the continued 
 spending of particles by perspiration.’ Now, my lord, if the apostle’s words, as your 
 lordship would argue, cannot be understood of any other material substance but that 
 body in which these things were done: and no body, upon the removal or change of 
 some of the particles that at any time make it up, is the same material substance, or 
 the same body, it will, I think, thence follow that either the sinner must have all the 
 same individual particles vitally united to his soul when he is raised, that he had vitally 
 united to his soul when he sinned; orelse St. Paul’s words here cannot be understood 
 to mean the same body in which the things were done. For if there were other par- 
 ticles of matter in the body, wherein the things were done, than in that which is 
 raised, that which is raised cannot be the same body in which they were done; unless 
 that alone, which has just all the same individual particles, when any action is done, 
 being the same body wherein it was done, that also, which has not the same indi- 
 vidual particles wherein that action was done, can be the same body wherein it was 
 done ; which is, in effect, to make the same body sometimes to be the same, and some- 
 times not the same. 
 
 ‘¢ Your lordship thinks it suffices to make the same body to have not all, but no other 
 particles of matter, butsuch as were some time or other vitally united to the soul before; 
 but such a body made up of part of the particles some time or other vitally united to 
 the soul, is no more the same body, wherein the actions were done in the distant 
 parts of the long sinner’s life, than that is the same body in which a quarter, or half, or 
 three quarters of the same particles, that made it up, are wanting. For example, 
 A sinner has acted here in his body a hundred years; he is raised at the last day, 
 but with what body? The same, says your lordship, that he acted in? because St. 
 Paul says, he must receive the things done in his body. What, therefore, must 
 his body at the resurrection consist of? Must it consist of all the particles of 
 matter that have ever been vitally united to his soul? | For they, in succession, 
 have all of them made up his body, wherein he did these things: ‘ No,’ says your 
 lordship,? ‘that would make his body too vast ; it suffices to make the same body: in 
 which the things were done, that it consists of some of the particles and no other, but 
 such as were, some time during his life, vitally united to his soul.’ But, according to 
 this account, his body at the resurrection being, as your lordship seems to limit it, near 
 
 the same size it was in some part of his life; it will be no more the same body in | 
 
 which the things were done in the distant parts of his life, than that is the same body 
 in which half, or three quarters, or more, of the individual matter that then made it 
 up, isnow wanting. For example, let his body at fifty years old, consist of a million 
 of parts; five hundred thousand at least of those parts will be different from those 
 
 which made up his body at ten years, and at a hundred. So that to take the nume-— 
 
 rical particles that made up his body at fifty, or any other season of his life, or to gather 
 them promiscuously out of those which at different times have successively been vitally 
 united to his soul, they will no more make the same body, which was his, wherein 
 some of his actions were done, than that is the same body, which has but half the 
 same particles: and yet all your lordship’s argument here for the same body is, be- 
 cause St. Paul says, 1t must be his body in which these things were done; which it 
 could not be if any other substance were joined to it, 7. e. if any other particles of 
 matter made up the body, which were not vitally united to the soul when the action 
 was done. 
 
 ** Again, your lordship says:° ‘That you do not say the same individual particles 
 et make up the body at the resurrection] which were united at the point of death, 
 or there must be a great alteration in them in a lingering disease, as if a fat man falls 
 into ‘a consumption.’ Because, it is likely, your lordship thinks, these particles of a 
 decrepit, wasted, withered body, would be too few, or unfit to make such a plump, 
 strong, vigorous, well-sized body, as it has pleased your lordship to proportion out in 
 your thoughts to men, at the resurrection ; and therefore, some small portion of the 
 particles formerly united vitally to that man’s soul, shall be reassumed to make up his 
 body tothe bulk your lordship judges convenient ; but the greatest part of them shall be 
 left out, to avoid the making his body more vast than your lordship thinks will be fit, as 
 appears by these, your lordship’s words immediately following, viz.:* ‘That you do 
 not say the same particles the sinner had at the very time of the commission of his sins; 
 for then a long sinner must have a vast body.’ 
 
 1 Second Answer. 2 Thid. ® Thid. 4 Ibid. 
 
a ee 
 
 APPENDIX. 517 
 
 ** But then, pray, my lord, what must an embryo do, who, dying within a few hours 
 after his body was vitally united to hissoul, has no particles of matter which were form- 
 erly vitally united to it, to make up his body of that size and proportion, which your 
 lordship seems to require in bodies at the resurrection? Or, must we believe he shall 
 remain content with that small pittance of matter, and that yet imperfect body to eter- 
 nity, because it is. an article of faith to believe the resurrection of the very same body, 
 z.e. made up of only such particles as have been vitally united tothe soul? For if it be 
 so, as your lordship says,' ‘ That life is the result of the union of soul and body,’ it will 
 follow, that the body of an embryo, dying in the womb, may be very little, not the 
 thousandth part of any ordinary man. For since, from the first conception and beginning 
 of formation it has life, and ‘ life is the result of the union of the soul with the body ;? 
 an embryo that shall die either by the untimely death of the mother, or by any other 
 accident, presently after it has life, must, according to your lordship’s doctrine, remain 
 a man, not an inch long, to eternity ; because there are not particles of matter form- 
 erly united to his soul, to make him larger, and no other can be made use of to that 
 purpose: though what greater congruity the soul hath with any particles of matter 
 which were once vitally united to it, but are now so no longer, than it hath with parti- 
 cles of matter which it was never united to, would be hard to determine, if that should 
 be demanded. 
 
 “¢ By these, and not a few other the like consequences, one may see what service they 
 do to religion and the Christian doctrine, who raise questions, and make articles of faith, 
 about the resurrection of the same body, where the Scripture says nothing of the same 
 body ; or, if it does, it is with nosmall reprimand? to those who make such an inquiry, 
 ‘But some man will say, How are the dead raised up? and with what body do they come? 
 Thou fool, that which thou sowest, is not quickened, except it die. And that which thou 
 sowest, thou sowest not that body thatshall be, but bare grain ; it may chance of wheat, 
 or some other grain. But God giveth it a body, as it hath pleased him.’ Words, I 
 should think, sufficient to deter us from determining anything for or against the same 
 body’s being raised at the last day. It suffices, that all the dead shall be raised, and 
 every one appear and answer for the things done in this life, and receive according 
 to the things he hath done in his body, whether good or bad. He that believes this, 
 and has said nothing inconsistent herewith, I presume may, and must be acquitted 
 from being guilty of anything inconsistent with the article of the resurrection of the 
 dead. 
 
 ** But your lordship to prove the resurrection of the same body to be an article of 
 faith, further asks,* ‘ How could it be said, if any other substance be joined to the soul 
 at the resurrection, as its body, that they were the things done in or by the body?’ 
 Answer. Just as it may be said of a man at a hundred years old, that hath then an- 
 other substancejoined to hissou), than he had at twenty ; that the murder or drunkenness 
 he was guilty of at twenty, were things done in the body: how ‘ by the body,’ comesin 
 here I do not see. : 
 
 ‘* Your lordship adds, ‘ and St. Paul’s dispute about the manner of raising the body, 
 might soon have ended, ifthere were no necessity of the same body.’ Answer. When 
 I understand what argument there is in these words to prove the resurrection of the 
 same body, without the mixture of one new atom of matter, I shall know what to say 
 to it. In the meantime, this I understand, that St. Paul would have put as short an 
 end to all disputes about this matter, if he had said, that there was a necessity of the 
 same body, or that it should be the same body.. 
 
 “The next text of Scripture you bring for the same body is,* ‘ If there be no 
 resurrection of the dead, then is not Christ raised.’ From which your lordship argues,° 
 ‘It seems, then, other bodies are to be raised as bis was.’ I grant other dead, as cer- 
 tainly raised as Christ was; for else his resurrection would be of no use to mankind. 
 But I do not see how it follows, that they shall be raised with the same body, as Christ 
 was raised with the same body, as your lordship infers, in these words annexed : ‘ And 
 can there be any doubt, whether his body was the same material substance which was 
 united to his soul before? I answer, None at all; nor that it had just the same dis- 
 tinguishing lineaments and marks, yea, and the same wounds, that it had at the time 
 of his death. If, therefore, your lordship will argue from other bodies being raised 
 as his was, That they must keep proportion with his in sameness; then we must be- 
 
 1 Second Answer 71 Cor. xv, 85, &c. 3 Second Answer. *2 Cor. xv. 16. 5 Second Answer: 
 
518 APPENDIX. 
 
 lieve that every man shall be raised with the same lineaments and other notes of 
 distinction he had at the time of his death, even with his wounds yet open, if he had 
 any, because our Saviour was so raised, which seems to me scarcely reconcilable with 
 what your lordship says,’ of a fat man falling into a consumption, and dying. 
 
 ‘¢ But whether it will consist or not with your lordship’s meaning in that place, this 
 to me seems a consequence that will need to be better proved, viz. That our bodies 
 must be raised the same, just as our Saviour’s was: because St. Paul says, ‘if there be 
 no resurrection of the dead, then is not Christ risen.’ For it may be a good conse- 
 quence, Christ is risen, and therefore there shall be a resurrection of the dead: and 
 yet this may not be a good consequence, Christ was raised with the same body he had 
 at his death, therefore, all men shall be raised with the same bodies they had at their 
 death, contrary to what your lordship says concerning a fat man dying of a consump- 
 tion. But the case I think far different betwixt our Saviour and those to be raised at 
 the last day. 
 
 ‘¢ 1, His body saw not corruption, and, therefore, to give him another body, new 
 moulded, mixed with other particles, which were not contained in it, as it lay in the 
 grave, whole and entire as it was laid there, had been to destroy his body to frame him 
 anew one, without any need. But why, with the remaining particles of a man’s body, 
 long since dissolved and moulded into dust, and atoms, (whereof, possibly, a great 
 part may have undergone variety of changes, and entered into other concretions; 
 even in the bodies of other men,) other new particles of matter mixed with them, may 
 not serve to make his body again, as well as the mixture of new and different particles 
 of matter with the old, did in the compass of his life make his body, I think no reason 
 can be given. 
 
 ‘‘ This may serve to show, why, though the materials of our Saviour’s body were not 
 changed at his resurrection ; yet it does not follow, but that the body of a man dead 
 and rotten in his grave, or burnt, may, at the last day have several new particles in it, 
 and that without any inconvenience: since whatever matter is vitally united to his soul, 
 is his body, as much as is that which was united with it when he was born, or in any 
 other part of his life. 
 
 “2. In the next place, the size, shape, figure, and lineaments of our Saviour’s ‘body, 
 even to his wounds, into which doubting Thomas put his fingers, and his hand, were to 
 be kept in the raised body of our Saviour, the same they were at his death, to be a con- © 
 viction to his disciples, to whom he showed himself, and who were to be witnesses of his 
 resurrection, that their Master, the very same man, was crucified, dead, and buried, and 
 raised again; and, therefore he was handled by them, and eat before them, after he was 
 risen, to give them in all points full satisfaction that it was really he, the same and not 
 another, not a spectre, or apparition of him; though I do not think your lordship will 
 thence argue, that, because others are to be raised as he was, therefore, it is necessary to 
 believe, that because he eat after his resurrection, others, at the last day, shall eat and 
 drink after they are raised from the dead ; which seems to me as good an argument, as, 
 because his undissolved body was raised out of the grave, just as it there lay entire, with- 
 out the mixture of any new particles; therefore, the corrupted and consumed bodies of 
 the dead at the resurrection, shall be new framed only out of those scattered particles 
 which were once vitally united to their souls, without the least mixture of any one single 
 atom of new matter. But at the last day when all men are raised, there will be no need 
 to be assured of any one particular man’s resurrection. It is enough that every one 
 shall appear before the judgment-seat-of Christ, to receive according to what he had 
 done in his former life; but in what sort of body he shall appear, or of what particles 
 made up, the Scripture having said nothing, but that it shall be a spiritual body raised in 
 incorruption, it is not for me to determine. 3 
 
 ‘Your lordship asks,? ‘ Were they (who saw our Saviour after his resurrection) 
 witnesses only of some material substance then united to hissoul?’ In answer, I beg your 
 lordship to consider, whether you suppose our Saviour was to be known to be thesame 
 man (to the witnesses that were to see him, and testify his resurrection) by his soul, that 
 could neither be seen or known to be the same: or by his body, that could be seen and 
 by the discernible structure and marks of it, be known to be the same? When your 
 lordship has resolved that, all that yousay in that page will answer itself. But because 
 one man cannot know another to be the same, but by the outward visible lineaments 
 and sensible marks he has been wont to be known and distinguished by, will your ied 
 
 1 Second Answer. 2 Ibid. 
 
 WS NR lear Rinses ieee nT Eee Se Ec e 
 
APPENDIX. 519 
 
 ship, therefore, argue that the Great Judge, at the last day, who gives to each man whom 
 he raises his new body, shall not be able to know who is who, unless he gives to every 
 one of them a body, just of the same figure, size, and features, and made up of the very 
 same individual particles he had in his former life? Whether such a way of arguing 
 for the resurrection of the same body, to be an article of faith, contributes much to the 
 strengthening the credibility of the article of the resurrection of the dead, I shall leave 
 to the judgment of others. 
 
 ‘‘ Further, for the proving the resurrection of the same body, to be an article of faith, 
 your lordship says,’ ‘ But the apostle insists upon the resurrection of Christ, not 
 merely as an argument of the possibility of ours, but of the certainty of it,? because he 
 rose as the first-fruits; Christ the first-fruits, afterwards they that are Christ’s at his 
 coming.’ Answer. No doubt the resurrection of Christ is a proof of the certainty of 
 our resurrection. But is it therefore a proof of the resurrection of the same body con- 
 sisting of the same individual particles, which concurred to the making up of our body 
 here, without the mixture of any other particle of matter? I confess 1 see no such con- 
 sequence. 
 
 ‘ But your lordship goes on:* ‘St, Paul was aware of the objections in men’s minds 
 about the resurrection of the same body; and it is of great consequence as to this ar- 
 ticle, to show upon what grounds he proceeds: ‘ But some men will say, how. are the 
 dead raised up, and with what body do they come?’ First, he shows, that the seminal 
 parts of plants are wonderfully improved by the ordinary providence of God, in the 
 mauner of their vegetation.’ Answer. I do not perfectly understand, what it is 
 ‘for the seminal parts of plants to be wonderfully improved by the ordinary provi- 
 dence of God, in the manner of their vegetation ; or else, perhaps, I should better see 
 how this here tends to the proof of the resurrection of the same body in your lordship’s 
 sense. 
 
 <¢ It continues,* ‘They sow bare grain of wheat, or of some other grain, but God giveth 
 it a body, as it hath pleased him, and to every seed his own body. Here,’ says your 
 lordship, ‘is an identity of the material substance supposed.’ It may beso. But to 
 me a diversity of the material substance, ¢. e. of the component particles, is here sup- 
 posed, or in direct words said. For the words of St. Paul taken altogether run thus :° 
 ‘That which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain:’ and 
 so on, as your lordship has set down in the remainder of them. From which words of 
 St. Paul, the natural argument seems to me to stand thus: If the body that is put in 
 the earth in sowing, is not that body which shall be, then the body that is put in the 
 grave is not that, 2. e. the same body that shall be. 
 
 ‘‘ But your lordship proves it to be the same body, by these three Greek words of the 
 text 76 idvwov copa, which your lordship interprets thus:° ‘that proper body which 
 belongs to it.’ Answer. Indeed by those Greek words, ré idvoy oopa, whether our 
 translators have rightly rendered them ‘his own body,’ or your lordship more rightly, that 
 proper body which belongs to it,’ I formerly understood no more but this, that in the pro- 
 duction of wheat and other grain from seed, God continued every species distinct: so that 
 from grains of wheat sown, root, stalk, blade, ear, grains of wheat were produced, and not 
 those of barley, and so of the rest which I took to be the meaning of to every seed his 
 own body. ‘ No,’ says your lordship, ‘ these words prove, that to every plant of wheat, 
 and to every grain of wheat produced in it, is given the proper body that belongs to it, 
 which is the same body with the grain that was sown.’ Answer. This I confess, I 
 do not understand ;, because I do not understand how one individual grain can be the 
 same with twenty, fifty, or a hundred individual grains; for such sometimes is the 
 increase. 
 
 ‘s But your lordship proves it.‘ For,’ says your lordship,’ ‘ every seed having that 
 body in little, which is afterwards so much enlarged; and in grain, the seed is corrupted 
 before its germination; but it hath its proper organical parts, which make it the same 
 body with that which it grows up to. For, although grain be not divided into lobes, as 
 other seeds are, yet it hath been found, by the most accurate observations, that upon 
 separating the membranes, these seminal parts are discerned in them ; which afterwards 
 grow up to that body which we call corn.’ In which words I beg leave to observe, that 
 your lordship supposes that a body may be enlarged by the addition of a hundred ora 
 thousand times as much in bulk as its own matter, and yet continue the same body ; 
 which I confess I cannot understand. 
 
 1 Second Answer. 3°71 Cor. xy. 20, 23. enV: ous § Second Answer. 7 Tbid. 
 3 Second Answer. 4 Tbid. 
 
 a 
 
a20 APPENDIX. 
 
 “ But, in the next place, if that could be so, and that the plant in its full growth at 
 harvest, increased by a thousand or million of times as much new matter added to it, 
 as it had when it lay a little concealed in the grain that was sown, was the very same 
 body ; yet I do not think that your lordship will say that every minute, insensible, and 
 inconceivably small grain of the hundred grains, contained in that little organized semi- 
 nal plant, is every one of them the very same with that grain which contains that whole 
 little seminal plant, and all those invisible grains in it. Jor, then, it will follow, that 
 one grain is the same with a hundred, and a hundred distinct grains the same with one ; 
 which I shall be able to assent to, when I can conceive, that all the wheat in the world 
 is but one grain. 
 
 ‘‘ For I beseech you, my lord, consider what it is St. Paul here speaks of: it is plain 
 he speaks of that which is sown and dies, ze. the grain that the husbandman takes out 
 of his barn to sow in his field, and of this grain St. Paul says, ‘ that it is not that body 
 that shall be.’ These two, viz. ‘that which issown, and that body that shall be,’ are all 
 the bodies that St. Paul here speaks of, to represent the agreement or difference of men’s 
 bodies after the resurrection, with those they had before they died. Now, I craveleave 
 to ask your lordship, which of these two is that little invisible seminal plant which your 
 lordship here speaks of? Does your lordship mean by it the grain that is sown? But 
 that is not what St. Paul speaks of; he could not mean this embryonated little plant, for 
 he could not denote it by these words, ‘ that which thou sowest,’ for that, he says, must 
 die: but this little embryonated plant, contained in the seed that is sown, dies not: or 
 does your lordship mean by it, ‘the body that shall be?’ But neither by these words, 
 ‘the body that shall be,’ can St. Paul be supposed to denote this insensible little embry- 
 onated plant; for that is already in being, contained in the seed that is sown, and there- 
 fore, could not be spoken of under the name ‘ the body that shall be.’ And, therefore, 
 I confess I cannot see of what use it is to your lordship to introduce here this third 
 body, which St. Paul mentions not, and to make that the same, or not the same, with 
 any other, when those which St. Paul speaks of are, as I humbly conceive, these two 
 visible, sensible bodies the grain sown, and the corn grown up to ear: with neither of 
 which this insensible embryonated plant can be the same body, unless an insensible body 
 can be the same body with a sensible body, and a little body can be the same body with 
 one ten thousand, or a hundred thousand times as large as itself. So that yet, I confess, 
 I see not the resurrection of the same body proved trom these words of St. Paul to be 
 an article of faith. 
 
 ‘Your lordship goes on:! ‘St. Paul indeed saith, ‘That we sow not that body that 
 shall be;’ but he speaks not of the identity, but the perfection of it.’ Here my under- 
 standing fails me again: for I cannot understand St. Paul to say, That the same 
 identical sensible grain of wheat, which was sown at seed-time, is the same with every 
 grain of wheat in the ear at harvest, that sprang from it: yet, so I must understand it, 
 to make it prove that the same sensible body that is laid in the grave, shall be the 
 very same with that which shall be raised at the resurrection. For J] do not know of 
 any seminal body in little, contained in the dead carcass of any man or woman, which, 
 as your lordship says, in seeds, having its proper organical parts, shall afterwards be 
 enlarged, and at the resurrection grow up into the same man. For I never thought of 
 any seed or seminal parts, either of plant or animal, ‘so wonderfully improved by the 
 providence of God,’ whereby the same plant or animal should beget itself; nor ever 
 heard that it was by Divine providence designed to produce the same individual, but 
 for the producing of future and distinct individuals, for the continuation of the same 
 species. 
 
 fy Your lordship’s next. words are,” ‘And although there be such a difference from 
 the grain itself, when it comes to be perfect corn, with root, stalk, blade, and ear, that 
 it may be said to outward appearance not to be the same body; yet with regard to the 
 seminal and organical parts, it is as much the same, asa man grown up is the same with 
 the embryo in the womb.’ Answer. It does not appear, by anything I can findin the 
 text, that St. Paul here compared the body produced, with the seminal and organical 
 parts contained in the grain it sprang from, but with the whole sensible grain that was 
 sown. Microscopes had not then discovered the little embryo plant in the seed: and 
 supposing it should have been revealed to St. Paul, (though in the Scripture we find 
 little revelation of natural philosophy,) yet an argument taken from a thing perfectly 
 unknown to the Corinthians, whom he wrote to, could be of no manner of use to them : 
 nor serve at all either to instruct or convince them. But granting that those St. Paul 
 
 1 Second Answer. ? Thid. 
 
LC A ST SN SEN TT 
 
 APPENDIX. 521 
 
 wrote to, knew it as well as Mr. Lewenhoek ; yet your lordship thereby proves not the 
 raising of the same body: your lordship says: ‘ It is as much the same’ (I crave leave 
 to add body) ‘as a man grown up is the same’ (same what, I beseech your lordship ?) 
 ‘with the embryo in the womb.’ For that the body of the embryo in the womb, and 
 body of the man grown up, is the same body, I think no one will say ; unless he can 
 persuade himself that a body that is not the hundredth part of another, is the same with 
 that other; which I think no one will do till, having renounced this dangerous way 
 by ideas of thinking and reasoning, he has learned to say, that a part and the whole 
 are the same. 
 
 “Your lordship goes on:! ‘And although many arguments may be used to prove 
 that a man is not the same, because life, which depends upon the course of the biood 
 and the manner of respiration and nutrition, is so different in both states; yet that 
 man would be thought ridiculous that should seriously affirm, that it was not the same 
 man,’ And your lordship says, ‘I grant, that the variation of great particles of matter 
 in plants, alters not the identity : and that the organization of the parts in one coherent 
 body, partaking of one common life, makes the identity of a plant.? Answer. My 
 lord, I think the question is not about the same man, but the same body. For, though 
 I do say,” (somewhat differently from what your lordship sets down as my words here, ) 
 ‘That that which has such an organization, as is fit to receive and distribute nourish- 
 ment, so as to continue and frame the wood, bark, and leaves, &c., of a plant in which 
 consists the vegetable life, continues to be the same plant, as long as it partakes of the 
 same life, though that life be communicated to new particles of matter, vitally united 
 to the living plant:’ yet, I do not remember that I anywhere say, ‘That a plant, 
 which was once no larger than an oaten straw, and afterwards grows to be above a 
 fathom about, is the same body, though it be still the same plant.’ 
 
 ‘¢The well-known tree in Epping Forest, called the King’s Oak, which, from not 
 weighing an ounce at first, grew to have many tons of timber in it, was all along the 
 same oak, the very same plant; but nobody, I think, will say that it was the same 
 body, when it weighed a ton, as it was when it weighed but an ounce; unless he has a 
 mind to signalize himself by saying, That that is the same body which has a thousand 
 particles of different matter in it, for one particle that is the same; which is no better 
 than to say, That a thousand different particles are but one and the same particle, and 
 one and the same particle is a thousand different particles; a thousand times a greater 
 absurdity, than to say half is the whole, or the whole is the same with the half; which 
 will be improved ten thousand times. yet further, if a man shall say, (as your lordship 
 seems to me to argue here,) that that great oak is the very same body with the acorn 
 it sprang from, because there was in that acorn an oak in little, which was afterwards 
 (as your lordship expresses it) so much enlarged as to make that mighty tree. For this 
 embryo, if I may so call it, or oak in little, being not the hundredth, or perhaps, the 
 thousandth part of the acorn, and the acorn being not the thousandth part of the grown 
 oak, it will be very extraordinary to prove the acorn and the grown oak to be the same 
 body, by a way wherein it cannot be pretended, that above one particle of a hundred 
 thousand, or a million, is the same in the one body that it was in the other. From 
 which way of reasoning it will follow, that a nurse and her sucking child have the 
 saine body; and be past doubt, that a mother and her infant have the same body. 
 But thisis a way of certainty, found out to establish the articles of faith, and to overturn 
 the new method of certainty that your lordship says I have started, which is apt to leave 
 men’s minds more doubtful than before. 
 
 «« And now I desire your lordship to consider of what use it is to you, in the present 
 case, to quote out of my Essay these words: ‘That partaking of one common life, 
 makes the identity of a plant;’ since the question is not about the identity of a plant, 
 but about the identity of a body. It being a very different thing to be the same 
 plant, and to be the same body. For that which makes the same plant does not 
 make the same body ; the one being the partaking in the same continued vegetable 
 life ; the other, the consisting of the same numerical particles of matter. And, thiere- 
 fore, your lordship’s inference from my words above quoted, in these which you 
 subjoin,® seems to me a very strange one, viz. ‘So that in things capable of any sort 
 of life; the identity is consistent with a continued succession of parts: and so the 
 wheat grown up is the same body with the grain that was sown.’ For I believe, if 
 my words, from which you infer, ‘and so the wheat grown up is the same body with 
 the grain that was sown,’ were put into a syllogism, this would hardly be brought to be 
 the conclusion. 
 
 1 Second Answer. 2 Hissay, B. 2, c. 27, par. 4. 3 Second Answer. 
 
022 APPENDIX. 
 
 ** But your lordship goes on with consequence upon consequence, though I have not 
 eyes acute enough everywhere to see the connexion, till you bring it to the resurrec- 
 tion of the same body. The connexion of your lordship’s words? is as followeth: ‘ And 
 thus the alteration of the parts of the body at the resurrection, is consistent with its 
 identity, if its organization and life be the same; and this is a real identity of the body, 
 which depends not upon consciousness. From whence it follows, that to make the 
 same body, no more is required, but restoring life to the organized parts of it.’ If the 
 question were about raising the same plant, 1 do not say but there might be some 
 appearance for making such an inference from my words as this, ‘ Whence it follows, 
 that to make the same plant, no more is required but to restore life to the organized 
 parts of it.’ But this deduction, wherein from those words of mine, that speak only 
 of the identity of a plant, your lordship infers, there is no more required to make the 
 same body, than to make the same plant, being too subtle for me, I leave to my reader 
 to find out. 
 
 ‘Your lordship goes on and says,” ‘ That I grant likewise, that the identity of 
 the same man consists in a participation of the same continued life, by constantly fleet- 
 ing particles of matter in succession, vitally united to the same organized body.’ 
 Answer. I speak in these words of the identity of the same man, and your lordship 
 thence roundly concludes; ‘so that there is no difficulty of the sameness of the body.’ 
 But your lordship knows, that I do not take these two sounds, man and body, to stand 
 for the same thing ; nor the identity of the man to be the same with the identity of 
 the body. 
 
 ed But let us read out your lordship’s words.®> ‘So that there is no difficulty as 
 to the sameness of the body, if life were continued: and if, by Divine Power, life be 
 restored to that material substance, which was before united by a reunion of the soul 
 to it, there is no reason to deny the identity of the body, not from the consciousness of 
 the soul, but from that life which is the result of the union of the soul and body.’ 
 
 ‘¢ Tf I understand your lordship right, you, in these words, from the passages above 
 quoted out of my book, argue, that from those words of mine it will follow, ‘ That it is 
 or may be the same body that is raised at the resurrection.’ If so, my lord, your lord- 
 ship has then proved, That my book is not inconsistent with, but conformable to, 
 this article of the resurrection of the same body, which your lordship contends for, and 
 will have to be an article of faith: for though I do by no means deny that the same 
 bodies shall be raised at the last day, yet I see nothing your lordship has said to prove 
 it to be an article of faith. 
 
 ‘¢ But your lordship goes on with your proofs, and says,* ‘ But St. Paul still sup- 
 poses, that it must be that materia] substance to which the soul was before united. 
 ‘ For,’ saith he, ‘ it is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in 
 dishonour, it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is 
 sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.’ Can such a material substance, 
 which was never united to the body, be said to be sown in corruption, and weakness, 
 and dishonour? either, therefore, he must speak of the same body, or his meaning 
 cannot be comprehended.’ I answer, ‘Can such a material substance, which was never 
 laid in the grave, be said to be sown?’ &c. For your lordship says,* ‘ You do not say 
 the same individual particles, which were united at the point of death, shall be raised 
 at the last day ;? and no other particles are laid in the grave, but such as are united at 
 the point of death; either, therefore, your lordship must speak of another body, dif- 
 ferent from that which was sown, which shall be raised, or else your meaning, I think, 
 cannot be comprehended. 
 
 “ But whatever be your meaning, your lordship proves it to be St. Paul’s meaning, 
 the same body shall be raised, which was sown, in these following words:® ¢ For what 
 does all this relate to a conscious principle?’ Answer. The Scripture being express, 
 That the same person should he raised and appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, 
 that every one may receive according to what he had done in his body; it was very 
 well suited to common apprehensions, (which refined not about ‘ particles that had 
 been vitally united to the soul,’) to speak of the body, which each one was to have 
 after the resurrection, as he would be apt to speak of it himself. For it being his body 
 both before and after the resurrection, every one ordinarily speaks of his body as the 
 same, though in a strict and philosophical sense, as your lordship speaks, it be not the 
 very same. Thus it is no impropriety of speech to say, This body of mine, which was 
 formerly strong and plump, is now weak and wasted, though, in such a sense as you 
 are speaking here, it be not the same body. Revelation declares nothing anywhere 
 
 1 Second Answer. = Abid. 3 Tpid. * Tbid. 5 Thid. ® Thbid. 
 
APPENDIX. 523 
 
 concerning the same body, in your lordship’s sense of the same body, which appears 
 not to have been thought of. The apostle directly proposes nothing for or against the 
 same body, as necessary to be believed; that which he is plain and direct in, is, his 
 opposing and condemning such curious questions about the body, which could serve 
 only to perplex, not to confirm, what was material and necessary for them to believe, 
 viz. a day of judgment and retribution to men in a future state; and, therefore, it is 
 no wonder that, mentioning their bodies, he should use a way of speaking, suited to 
 vulgar notions, from which it would be hard positively to conclude anything for the 
 determining of this question (especially against expressions in the same discourse that 
 plainly incline to the other side) in a matter which, as it appears, the apostle thought 
 not necessary to determine; and the Spirit of God thought not fit to gratify any one’s 
 curiosity in. 
 
 ** But your lordship says,’ ‘ The apostle speaks plainly of that body which was once 
 quickened, and afterwards falls to corruption, and is to be restored with more noble 
 qualities.” I wish your lordship had quoted the words of St. Paul, wherein he speaks 
 plainly of that numerical body that was once quickened, they would presently decide 
 this question. But your lordship proves it by these following words of St. Paul: 
 ‘ For this corruption must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immor- 
 tality ; to which your lordship adds, that ‘ you do not see how he could more ex- 
 pressly affirm the identity of this corruptible body, with that after the resurrection.’ 
 How expressly it is affirmed by the apostle, shall be considered by and by. In the 
 meantime, it is past doubt that your lordship best knows what you do or do not see. 
 But this I would be bold to say, that if St. Paul had anywhere in this chapter (where 
 there are so many occasions for it, if it had been necessary to have been believed,) but 
 said in express words, that the same bodies should be raised, every one else, who thinks 
 of it, will see he had more expressly affirmed the identity of the bodies which men now 
 have, with those they shall have after the resurrection. 
 
 “The remainder of your lordship’s period? is: ‘ And that without any respect to 
 the principle of self-consciousness.? Answer. These words, I doubt not, have some 
 meaning, but I must own I know not what; either towards the proof of the resurrec- 
 tion of the same body, or to show that anything I have said concerning self-conscious- 
 ness is inconsistent ; for [do not remember that I have anywhere said that the identity 
 of body consisted in self-consciousness. 
 
 “From your preceding words, your lordship concludes thus: ‘ And so if the 
 Scripture be the sole foundation of our faith, this is an article of it.’ My lord, to make 
 the conclusion unquestionable, I humbly conceive the words must run thus: And so if 
 the Scripture, and your lordship’s interpretation of it, be the sole foundation of our 
 faith, the resurrection of the same body is an article of it. For, with submission, your 
 lordship has neither produced express words of Scripture for it, nor so proved that to 
 be the meaning of any of those words of Scripture which you have produced for it, that 
 a man who reads and sincerely endeavours to understand the Scripture, cannot but 
 find himself obliged to believe as expressly, that the same bodies of the dead, in your 
 lordship’s sense, shall be raised, as that the dead shall be raised. And I crave leavé to 
 give your lordship this one reason for it. He who reads with attention this discourse 
 of St. Paul,* where he discourses of the resurrection, will see that he plainly distin- 
 guishes between the dead that shall be raised, and the bodies of the dead. For it is 
 vekpot, Tayrec, ot, are the nominative case to® éysipovrat, CworomOjoovra, tyepOioovrat, 
 all along, and not copara, bodies ; which one may with reason think would somewhere 
 or other have been expressed, if all this had been said to propose it as an article of 
 faith, that the very same bodies should be raised. The same manner of speaking the 
 Spirit of God observes all through the New Testament, where it is said,® raise 
 the dead, quicken or make alive the dead, the resurrection of the dead. Nay, these 
 very words of our Saviour,’ urged by your lordship, for the resurrection of the same 
 body, run thus: Iavrec ot éy roig pynpsiorc aKOVOOVTaL THC Pwrijc auTov. Kai xropEboorTan, 
 ot Ta dya0d Toujoayrec sic dvaoraow Cwijc, ot dé Ta patra TodEarTEc sic dvdoTacw KpicEWC. 
 Would not a well-meaning searcher of the Scriptures be apt to think, that if the thing 
 here intended by our Saviour, were to teach and propose it as an article of faith, neces- 
 sary to be believed by every one, that the very same bodies of the dead should be 
 raised ; would not, I say, any one be apt to think, that if our Saviour meant so, the 
 words should rather have been, ravra rd owpara & év Toic pynpetotc, i. e. all the bodies 
 
 1 Second Answer. *"Tbid. 3 Tbid. Acts xxvi. 7. Rom. iv. 17. 2 Cor.i.9. 1 Thess. 
 4 1 Cor. xv. SV. 1b. 22523, 29-7327 35, 52. IV. 140-10: 
 6 Matt. xxii. 31. Mark xii. 26. John vy. 21. 7 John vy. 28, 29. 
 
524 APPENDIX. 
 
 that are in the graves, rather than all who are in the graves; which must denote per- 
 sons, and not precisely bodies? 
 
 <¢ Another evidence that St. Paul makes a distinction between the dead, and the 
 bodies of the dead, so that the dead cannot be taken in this, 1 Cor. xv., to stand pre- 
 cisely for the bodies of the dead, are these words of the apostle :' ‘ But some man will 
 say, how are the dead raised? and with what body do they come?’ Which words, dead 
 and they, if supposed to stand precisely for the bodies of the dead the question will run 
 thus: How are the dead bodies raised? and with what bodies do the dead bodies come? 
 which seems to have no very agreeable sense. 
 
 ‘This, therefore, being so that the Spirit of God keeps so expressly to this phrase 
 or form of speaking, in the New Testament, ‘ of raising, quickening, rising, resurrection, 
 &c. of the dead,’ where the resurrection of the last day is spoken of; and that the body is 
 not mentioned, but in answer to this question, ‘ With what bodies shall those dead, who 
 are raised, come?’ so that by the dead cannot precisely be meant the dead bodies; I 
 do not see but a good Christian, who reads the Scripture with an intention to believe 
 all that is there revealed to him, concerning the resurrection, may acquit himself of his 
 duty therein, without entering into the inquiry, whether the dead shall have the very 
 same bodies or not? which sort of inquiry, the apostle, by the appellation he bestows 
 here on him that makes it, seems not much to encourage. Nor, if he shall think him- 
 self bound to determine concerning the identity of the bodies of the dead, raised at the 
 last day ; will he, by the remainder of St. Paul’s answer, find the determination of the 
 apostle to be much in favour of the very same body, unless the being told, that the body 
 sown is not that body that shall be; that the body raised is as different from that which 
 was laid down, as the flesh of man is from the flesh of beasts, fishes, and birds; or as 
 the sun, moon, aud stars, are different one from another; or as different as a corrupti- 
 ble, weak, natural, mortal body, is from an incorruptible, powerful, spiritual, immortal 
 body; and, lastly, as different as a body that is flesh and blood, is from a body that is 
 not flesh and blood.’ ‘ For flesh and blood cannot,’ says St. Paul, in this very place,* 
 ‘inherit the kingdom of God:’ unless, I say, all this, which is containéd in St. Paul’s 
 words, can be supposed to be the way to deliver this as an article of faith, which is 
 required to be believed by every one, viz. That the dead should be raised with the very 
 same bodies that they had before in this life; which article proposed in these or the 
 like plain and express words, could have left-no room for doubt in the meanest 
 capacities, nor for contest in the most perverse minds. 
 
 ‘** Your lordship adds in the next words,? ‘ And_so it hath been always understood by 
 the Christian church,’ viz. That the resurrection of the same body, in your lordship’s 
 sense of the same body, is an article of faith, Answer. What the Christian church 
 has always understood, is beyond my knowledge. But for those who, coming short of 
 your lordship’s great learning, cannot gather their articles of faith from the understand- 
 ing of all the whole Christian church, ever since the preaching of the Gospel, (who 
 make the far greater part of Christians, I think I may say nine hundred and ninety 
 and nine of a thousand,) but are forced to have recourse to the Scripture, to find them 
 there, I do not see that they will easily find there this proposed as an article of faith, 
 that there shall be a resurrection of the same body ; but that there shall be a resurrec- 
 tion of the dead, without explicitly determining, That they shall be raised with bodies 
 made up wholly of the same particles which were once vitally united to their souls, in 
 their former life, without the mixture of any one other particle of matter; which is 
 that which your lordship means by the same body. 
 
 “But supposing your lordship to have demonstrated this to be an article of faith, 
 though I crave leave to own that I do not see that all that your lordship has said here, 
 makes it so much as probable: What is all this to me? ‘ Yes,’ says your lordship in the 
 following words,* ‘my idea of personal identity is inconsistent with it, for it makes 
 the same body which was here united to the soul, not to be necessary to the doctrine of 
 the resurrection. But any material substance united to the same principle of consci- 
 ousness, makes the same body. 
 
 ‘This is an argument of your lordship’s, which I am obliged to answer to. But is 
 it not fit I should first understand it, before I answer it? Now, here, I do not well 
 know, what it is to make a thing not to be necessary to the doctrine of the resurrec- 
 tion. But to help myself out the best I can, with a guess, I will conjecture (which in 
 disputing with learned men, is not very safe) your lordship’s meaning is, That ‘my 
 idea of personal identity makes it not necessary, that for the raising the same person, 
 the body should be the same.’ 
 
 SuVEBS! 2V. 50. 3 Second Answer. #-Thid: 
 
 pr a ae esi ih srr nits ait i el lies yy ated RE es ae eg 
 
-APPENDIX. 525 
 
 “Your lordship’s next word is ‘ but ;’ to which I am ready to reply, but what? what 
 does my idea of personal identity do? for something of that kind, the adversative 
 particle ‘but’ should, in the ordinary construction of our language, introduce to make 
 the proposition clear and intelligible: but here is no such thing. ‘ But,’ is one of your 
 lordship’s privileged particles, which I must not meddle with; for fear your lordship 
 complain of me again, ‘as so severe a critic, that for the least ambiguity in any par- 
 ticle, fill up pages in my answer, to make my book look considerable for the bulk of 
 it.’ But since this proposition here, ‘my idea of personal identity, makes the same 
 body which was here united to the soul, not necessary to the doctrine of the resurrec- 
 tion ; but any material substance being united to the same principle of consciousness, 
 makes the same body,’ is brought to prove my idea of personal identity inconsistent 
 with the article of the resurrection; I must make it out in some direct sense or other, 
 that I may see whether it be both true and conclusive. I, therefore, venture to read it 
 thus: ‘my idea of personal identity makes the same body which was here united to the 
 soul, not to be necessary at the resurrection, butallows,that any material substance being > 
 united to the same principle of consciousness, makes the same body. Ergo, my idea of 
 personal identity is inconsistent with the article of the resurrection of the same body.’ 
 
 “Tf this be your lordship’s sense in this passage, as I here have guessed it to be, or 
 else I know not what it is, I answer, 
 
 ‘¢], That my idea of personal identity does not allow, that any material substance, 
 being united to the same principle of consciousness, makes the same body. I say no 
 such thing in my book, nor anything from whence it may be inferred ; and your lord- 
 ship would have done me a favour to have set down the words where I say so, or those 
 from which you infer so, and showed how it follows from anything I have said. 
 
 2. Granting, that it were a consequence from my idea of personal identity, that 
 ‘any material substance being united to the same principle of consciousness, makes 
 the same body ;’ this would not prove that my idea of personal identity was incon- 
 sistent with this proposition, ‘that the same body shall be raised ;’ but, on the con- 
 trary, affirms it: since, if I affirm, as I do, that the same persons shall be raised, and 
 it being a consequence of my idea of personal identity, that ‘any material substance 
 being united to the same principle of consciousness, makes the same body ;’ it follows, 
 that if the same person be raised, the same body must be raised: and so I have herein 
 not only said nothing inconsistent with the resurrection of the same body, but have. 
 said more for it than your lordship. For therecan be nothing plainer, than that in the 
 Scripture it is revealed, that the same person shall be raised, and appear before the 
 judgment-seat of Christ, to answer for what they have done in their bodies. If, there- 
 fore, whatever matter be joined to the same principle of consciousness makes the same 
 body, itis demonstration, that if the same persons are raised, they have the same bodies. 
 
 ‘How then your lordship makes this an inconsistency with the resurrection is 
 beyond my conception. ‘Yes,’ says your lordship,' ‘it is inconsistent with it, for it 
 makes the same body, which was here united to the soul, not to be necessary.’ 
 
 ‘3. I answer, therefore, Thirdly, That this is the first time I ever learned, that 
 ‘not necessary,’ was the same with ‘inconsistent.’ I say that a body made up of the 
 same numerical parts of matter, is not necessary to the making of the same person ; 
 from whence it will indeed follow, that to the resurrection of the same person, the 
 same numerical particles of matter are not required. What does your lordship infer 
 from hence? to wit, this: therefore, he who thinks that the same particles of matter 
 are not necessary to the making of the same person, cannot believe that the same 
 persons shall be raised with bodies made of the very same particles of matter if God should 
 reveal that it shall be so, viz. that the same persons shall be raised with the same bodies 
 they had before... Which is all one as to say, that he who thought the blowing of rams’ 
 horns was not necessary in itself to the falling down of the walls of Jericho, could 
 not believe that they should fall upon the blowing of rams’ horns, when God had 
 declared it should be so. 
 
 ‘‘ Your lordship says, ‘my idea of personal identity is inconsistent with the article of 
 the resurrection ;’ the reason you ground it on is this, because it makes not the same 
 body necessary to the making the same person. Let us grant your lordship’s conse- 
 quence to be good, what will follow from it? No less than this, that your lordship’s 
 notion (for I dare not say your lordship has any so dangerous things as ideas) of per- 
 sonal identity, is inconsistent with the article of the resurrection. The demonstration 
 of it is thus; your lordship says,? ‘It is not necessary that the body to be raised at 
 the last day, sliould consist of the same particles of matter which were united at the 
 
 1 Second Answer. 2 Ibid. 
 
526 APPENDIX. 
 
 point of death; for there must be a great alteration in them in a lingering disease; as 
 if a fat man falls into a consumption: you do not say the same particles which the 
 sinner had at the very time of commission of his sins: for then a long sinner must 
 have a vast body, considering the continual spending of particles by perspiration.’ 
 And again, here your lordship says,' ‘ you allow the notion of personal identity to 
 belong to the same man under several changes of matter.’ From which words it is 
 evident, that your lordship supposes a person in this world may be continued and 
 preserved the same in a body not consisting of the same individual particles of matter ; 
 and hence it demonstratively follows, that let your lordship’s notion of personal 
 identity be what it will, it makes the same body not to be necessary to the same 
 person ; and, therefore, it is by your lordship’s rule, inconsistent with the article of the 
 resurrection. When your lordship shall think fit to clear your own notion of personal 
 identity from this inconsistency with the article of the resurrection, I do not doubt but 
 my idea of personal identity will be thereby cleared too. ‘Till then, all inconsistency 
 with that article, which your lordship has here charged on mine, will unavoidably fall 
 upon your lordship’s too. . 
 
 “‘ But for the clearing of both, give me leave to say, my lord, that whatsoever is not 
 necessary, does not, thereby, become inconsistent. It is not necessary to the same per- 
 son, that his body should always consist of the same numerical particles; this is 
 demonstration, because the particles of the bodies of the same persons, in this life, 
 change every moment, and your lordship cannot deny it; and yet this makes it not 
 inconsistent with God’s preserving, if he thinks fit, to the same persons, bodies con- 
 sisting of the same numerical particles always, from the resurrection to eternity. And 
 so, likewise, though I say anything that supposes it not necessary that the same 
 numerical particles, which were vitally united to the soul in this life, should be 
 reunited to it at the resurrection, and constitute the body it shall then have; yet it is 
 not inconsistent with this, that God may, if he pleases, give to everyone a body 
 consisting only of such particles as were before vitally united to his soul. And thus, 
 I think, I have cleared my book from all that inconsistency which your lordship 
 charges on it, and would persuade the world it has, with the article of the resurrection 
 of the dead. 
 
 ‘Only before I leave it, I will set down the remainder of what your lordship says 
 upon this head, that though I see not the coherence nor tendency of it, nor the force of 
 any argument init against me; yet that nothing may be omitted that your lordship 
 has thought fit to entertain your reader with, on this new point, nor any one have 
 reason to suspect, that I have passed by any word of your lordship’s (on this now first 
 introduced subject) wherein he might find your lordship had proved what you had 
 promised in your title-page. Your remaining words are these :* ‘ The dispute is not 
 how far personal identity in itself may consist in the very same material substance; 
 for we allow the notion of personal identity to belong to the same man under several 
 changes of matter; but whether it doth not depend upon a vital union between the 
 soul and body, and the life, which is consequent upon it; and therefore, in the resur- 
 rection, the same material substance must be reunited, or else it cannot be called a 
 resurrection, but a renovation, 7. e. it may be a new life, but not a raising the body 
 from the dead.’ I confess I do not see how what is here ushered in by the words, 
 ‘and therefore,’ is a consequence from the preceding words; but as to the propriety 
 of the name, I think it will not be much questioned, that if the same man rise who was 
 dead, it may very properly be called the resurrection of the dead; which is the lan- 
 guage of the Scripture. 
 
 ‘I must not part with this article of the resurrection, without returning my thanks 
 to your lordship for making me® take notice of a fault in my Essay. When I wrote 
 that book, I took it for granted, as I doubt not but many others have done, that the 
 Scripture had mentioned, in express terms, ‘ the resurrection of the body.’ But upon 
 the occasion your lordship has given me in your last letter, to look a little more 
 narrowly into what revelation has declared concerning the resurrection, and finding 
 no such express words in the Scripture, as that ‘the body shall rise, or be raised, or 
 the resurrection of the body ;’ I shall, in the next edition of it, change these words 
 of my book,‘ ‘ The dead bodies of men shall rise,’ into these of the Scripture, ‘ the 
 dead shall rise.” Not that I question that the dead shall be raised with bodies ; 
 but in matters of revelation I think it not only safest, but our duty, as far 
 as any one delivers it for revelation, to keep close to the words of the Scripture, 
 
 1 Second Answer. ? Tbid. 3 Thid. * Essay, B. 4, c. 18, par. 7. 
 
APPENDIX. 527 
 
 unless he will assume to himself the authority of one inspired, or make himself wiser 
 
 than the Holy Spirit himself. If I had spoken of the resurrection in precisely Scrip- 
 
 ture terms, I had avoided giving your lordship the occasion of making! here such 
 
 : yeepel reflection on my words; ‘What! not if there be an idea of identity as to the 
 fe} y ? 999 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 Page 318, Par. 11.—“‘ This, as I understand,” replies Mr. Locke to the Bishop of 
 Worcester’s objections, ‘‘is to prove that the abstract general essence of any sort of 
 things, or things of the same denomination, v. g. of man or marigold, hath a real being 
 out of the understanding ; which, I confess, I am not able toconceive. Your lordship’s 
 proof here brought out of my Essay, concerning the sun, I humbly conceive will not 
 reach it; because what is said there, does not at all concern the real, but nominal 
 essence, as is eyident from hence, that the idea I speak of there is a complex idea; but 
 we have no complex idea of the internal constitution, or real essence of the sun. 
 Besides, I say expressly, That our distinguishing substances into species by names, is 
 not at all founded on their real essences. So that the sun being one of these sub- 
 stances, I cannot, in the place quoted by your lordship, be supposed to mean by 
 essence of the sun, the real essence of the sun, unless I had so expressed it. But all 
 this argument will be at an end, when your lordship shall have explained what you 
 mean by these words, ‘true sun.’ In my sense of them, anything will be a true sun, 
 to which the name sun may be truly and properly applied; and to that substance or 
 thing the name sun may be truly and properly applied, which has united in it that 
 combination of sensible qualities, by which anything else that is called sun, is distin- 
 guished from other substances, 7. e. by the nominal essence; and thus our sun is deno- 
 minated and distinguished from a fixed star, not by a real essence that we do not 
 know, (for if we did, it is possible we should find the real essence or constitution of one 
 of the fixed stars to be the same with that of our sun,) but by a complex idea of sen- 
 sible qualities coexisting, which, wherever they are found, make a true sun. And 
 thus I crave leave to answer your lordship’s question: ‘ For what is it makes the 
 second sun to be a true sun, but having the same real essence with the first? If it 
 were but a nominal essence, then the second would have nothing but the name.’ 
 
 “‘T humbly conceive, if it had the nominal essence, it would have something besides 
 the name, viz., That nominal essence which is sufficient to denominate it truly a sun, 
 or to make it to be a true sun, though we know nothing of that real essence whereon 
 that nominal one depends. Your lordship will then argue, that that real essence is in 
 the second sun, and makes the second sun. I grant it when the second sun comes to 
 exist, so as to be perceived by us to have all the ideas contained in our complex idea, 
 z. e. in our nominal essence of a sun. For should it be true, (as is now believed by 
 astronomers, ) that the real essence of the sun were in any of the fixed stars, yet such a 
 star could not for that be by us called a sun, whilst it answers not our complex idea, 
 or nominal essence ofa sun, But how far that will prove, that the essences of things, 
 as they are knowable by us, have a reality in them distinct from that of abstract ideas 
 in the mind, which are merely creatures of the mind, I do not see; and we shall 
 further inquire, in considering your lordship’s following words: ‘Therefore,’ say you, 
 ‘there must be a real essence in every individual of the same kind.’ Yes, and I beg 
 leave of your lordship to say, of a different kind too. For that alone is it which makes 
 it to be what it is. 
 
 “‘That every individual substance has a real, internal, individual constitution, 7. e. a 
 real essence, that it makes it to be what it is, I readily grant. Upon this, your lord- 
 ship says, ‘Peter, James, and John, are all true and real men.’ Answer. Without 
 doubt, supposing them to be men, they are true and real men, ¢@. e. supposing the name 
 of that species belongs to them. And so three bobaques are all true and real bobaques, 
 supposing the name of that species of animals belongs to them. 
 
 ‘‘For I beseech your lordship to consider, whether in your way of arguing, by 
 naming them Peter, James, and John, names familiar to us as appropriated to indi- 
 viduals of the species man, your lordship does not first suppose them men, and then 
 very safely ask, whether they be not all true and real men. But if I should ask 
 your lordship, whether Weweene, Chuckery, and Cousheda, were true and real men 
 
 1 Second Answer. 
 
528 APPENDIX. 
 
 or not? your lordship would not be able to tell me, till I have pointed out to your 
 lordship the individuals called by those names, your lordship, by examining whether 
 they had in them those sensible qualities which your lordship has combined into that 
 complex idea to which you give the specific name man, determined them all, or some 
 of them, to be the species which you call man, and so to be true and real man; which, 
 when your lordship has determined, it is plain you did it by that which is only the 
 nominal essence, as not knowing the real one. But your lordship further asks, 
 ‘What is it makes Peter, James, and John, real men? Is it the attributing the 
 general name to them? No, certainly ; but that the true and real essence of a man is 
 in every one of them.’ 
 
 “Tf when your lordship asks, ‘What makes them men?’ your lordship used the 
 word making in the proper sense for the efficient cause, and in that sense it were true, 
 that the essence of a man, i. e. the specific essence of that species made a man; it 
 would undoubtedly follow, that this specific essence had a reality beyond that of being 
 only a general abstract idea in the mind. But when it is said, it is the true and real 
 essence of a man in every one of them, that makes Peter, James, and John, true and 
 real men, the true and real meaning of these words is no more, but that the essence of 
 that species, 7. e. the properties answering the complex abstract idea to which the 
 specific name is given, being found in them, that makes them be properly and truly 
 called men, or is the reason why they are called men. Your lordship adds, ‘And we 
 must be as certain of this, as we are that they are men.’ 
 
 ‘‘ How, I beseech your lordship, are we certain that they are men, but only by our 
 senses finding those properties in them which answer the abstract complex idea which 
 ‘is in our minds, of the specific idea to which we have annexed the specific name man? 
 This I take to be the true meaning of what your lordship says in the next words, viz., 
 ‘They take their denomination of being men from that common nature or essence — 
 which is in them ;’ and I am apt to think these words will not hold true in any other 
 sense. 
 
 ‘‘ Your lordship’s fourth inference begins thus: ‘ That the general idea is not made 
 from the simple ideas by the mere act of the mind abstracting from circumstances, but 
 from reason and consideration of the nature of things.’ 
 
 ‘‘T thought, my lord, that reason and consideration had been acts of the mind, mere 
 acts of the mind, when anything was done by them. Your lordship gives a reason for 
 it, viz. ‘For when we see several individuals that have the same powers and proper- 
 ties, we thence infer, that there must be something common to all, which makes them 
 of one kind.’ 
 
 ‘“‘T grant the inference to be true; but must beg leave to deny that this proves that 
 the general idea the name is annexed to, is not made by the mind. I have said, and it 
 agrees with what your lordship here says,' That ‘the mind in making its complex 
 ideas of substances, only follows nature, and puts no ideas together, which are not sup- 
 posed to have a union in nature. Nobody joins the voice of a sheep with the shape of 
 a horse; or the colour of lead with the weight and fixedness of gold, to be the complex 
 ideas of any real substances; unless he has a mind to fill his head with chimeras, and 
 his discourses with unintelligible words. Men observing certain qualities, always 
 joined and existing together, therein copied nature, and of ideas so united, made their 
 complex ones of substance, &e.’ Which is very little different from what your lordship 
 here says, ‘that it is from our observation of individuals, that we come to infer, ‘that 
 there is something common to them all.’ But I do not see how it will thence follow 
 that the general or specific idea is not made by the mere act of the mind. ‘ No,’ says 
 your lordship, ‘there is something common to them all, which makes them of one 
 kind; and if the difference of kinds be real, that which makes them all of one kind, 
 must not be a nominal, but real essence.’ 
 
 ‘This may be some objection to the name of nominal essence; but is, as I humbly 
 conceive, none to the thing designed by it. There is an internal constitution of things, 
 on which their properties depend. This your lordship and I are agreed of, and this we 
 call the real essence. There are also certain complex ideas, or combinations of these 
 properties in men’s minds to which they commonly annex specific names, or names of 
 sorts or kinds of things. ‘This, I believe, your lordship does not deny. These complex 
 ideas, for want of a better name, I have called nominal essences; how properly, I will 
 not dispute. But if any one will help me to a better name for them, I am ready to 
 receive it: till then, I must, to express myself, use this. Now, my lord, body, life, and 
 
 Bia; ce 0, par: 20, 20. 
 
APPENDIX. 529 
 
 the power of reasoning, being not the real essence of a man, as I believe your lordship 
 will agree, will your lordship say, that they are not enough to make the thing wherein 
 they are found, of the kind called man, and not of the kind called baboon, because the 
 difference of these kinds is real? If this be not real enough to make the thing of one 
 kind, and not of another, I do not see how animal rationale can be enough really to 
 distinguish a man from a horse: for that is but the nominal, not real essence of that 
 kind, designed by the name man. And yet I suppose every one thinks it real enough 
 to make a real difference between that and other kinds. And if nothing will serve the 
 turn, to make things of one kind, and not of another, (which as I have shown, signifies 
 no more but ranking of them under different specific names,) but their real unknown 
 constitutions, which are the real essences we are speaking of, I fear it would be a 
 long while before we should have really different kinds of substances, or distinct 
 names for them, unless we could distinguish them by these differences, of which we 
 have no distinct conceptions. For I think it would not be readily answered me, if 
 I should demand, wherein lies the real difference in the internal constitution of a stag 
 from that of a buck, which are each of them very well known to be of one kind, and 
 not of the other; and nobody questions but that the kinds whereof each of them is, are 
 really different. 
 
 ‘¢ Your lordship further says, ‘ And this difference doth not depend upon the com- 
 plex ideas of substances, whereby men arbitrarily join modes together in their minds. 
 I confess, my lord, I know not what to say to this, because I do not know what 
 these complex ideas of substances are, whereby men arbitrarily join modes together in 
 their minds. But I am apt to think there is a mistake in the matter, by the words 
 that follow, which are these: ‘ For let them mistake in their complication of ideas, 
 either in leaving out or putting in what doth not belong to them; and let their ideas 
 be what they please, the real essence of a man, and a horse, and a tree, are just what 
 they were.’ 
 
 *“The mistake I spoke of, I humbly suppose is this, that things are here taken to be 
 distinguished by their real essences; when, by the very way of speaking of them, it is 
 clear that they are already distinguished by their nominal essences, and are so taken to 
 be. For what, I beseech your lordship, does your lordship mean, when you say, 
 ‘The real essence of a man, and a horse, and a tree,’ but that there are such kinds 
 already set out by the signification of these names, ‘man, horse, tree?’ And what, 
 I beseech your lordship, is the signification of each of these specific names, but the 
 complex idea it stands for? And that complex idea is the nominal essence and nothing 
 else. Sothat taking man, as your lordship does here, to stand fora kind or sort of indi- 
 viduals, all whichagree in that common complex idea, which that specific name stands for, 
 itis certain that the real essence of all theindividuals comprehended under thespecific name 
 man, in your use of it, would be just the same; let others leave out or put into their 
 complex idea of man what they please ; because the seal essence on which that unaltered 
 complex idea, i. e. those properties depend, must necessarily be concluded to be the same. 
 
 “For I take it for granted, that in using the name man, in this place, your lordship 
 uses it forthat complex idea which is in your lordship’s mind of that species. So that 
 your lordship, by putting it for, or substituting it in the place of that complex idea 
 where you say the real essence of it is just as it was, or the very same it was, does 
 suppose the idea it stands for to be steadily the same. For if I change the signification 
 of the word man, whereby it may not comprehend just the same individuals which in 
 your lordship’s sense it does, but shut out some of those that to your lordship are men 
 in your signification of the word man, or take in others, to which your lordship does 
 not allow the name man; I do think you will say, that the real essence of man in both 
 these senses is the same. And yet your lordship seems to say so, when you say, ‘ Let 
 men mistake in the complication of their ideas, either in leaving out or putting in what 
 doth not belong to them ;’ and let their ideas be what they please, the real essence of 
 the individuals comprehended under the names annexed to these ideas will be the 
 same; for so, I humbly conceive, it must be put to make out what your lordship aims 
 at. For as your lordship puts it by the name of man, or any other specific name, your 
 lordship seems to me to suppose that that name stands for, and not for, the same idea, 
 at the same time. 
 
 ‘¢ For example, my lord, let your lordship’s idea to which you annex the sign man, be 
 a rational animal: let another man’s idea be a rational animal of such a shape; let a 
 third man’s idea be of an animal of such a size and shape, leaving out rationality ; let 
 a fourth’s be an animal of such a size and shape, and an immaterial substance, with 
 a power of reasoning ; let a fifth leave out of his idea, an immaterial substance : it is 
 plain every one of these will call his a man, as well as your lordship; and yet it is as 
 
530 APPENDIX. 
 
 plain that man, as standing for all these distinct complex ideas, cannot be supposed to 
 have the same internal constitution, é. e. the same real essence. The truth is, every 
 distinct abstract idea with a name to it, makes a real distinct kind, whatever the real 
 essence (which we know not any of them) be. 
 
 “‘ And therefore I grant it true what your lordship says in the next words: ‘ And let 
 the nominal essences differ ever so much, the real common essence or nature of the 
 several kinds are not at all altered by them ;’ %. e. that our thoughts or ideas cannot 
 alter the real constitutions that are in things that exist, there is nothing more certain. 
 But yet it is true, that the change of ideas to which we annex them, can and does alter 
 the signification of their names, and thereby alter the kinds, which by these names we 
 rank and sort them into. Your lordship further adds, ‘ And these real essences are 
 unchangeable ;’ 7. e. the internal constitutions are unchangeable. Of what, I beseech 
 your lordship, are the internal constitutions unchangeable? Not of anything that 
 exists, but of God alone; for they may be changed all as easily by that hand that 
 made them, as the internal frame of a watch. What then is it that is unchangeable? 
 the internal constitution or real essence of a species: which, in plain English, is no 
 more but this, whilst the same specific name, v. g. of man, horse, or tree, is annexed to, 
 or made the sign of the same abstract complex idea under which I rank several indi- 
 viduals ; it is impossible but the real constitution on which that unaltered complex 
 idea or nominal essence depends, must be the same; 2. e. in other words, where we 
 find all the same properties, we have reason to conclude there is the-same real internal 
 constitution from which those properties flow. 
 
 ‘¢ But your lordship proves the real essences to be unchangeable, because God makes 
 them, in these following words: ‘ For, however there may happen some variety in 
 individuals by particular accidents, yet the essences of men, and horses, and trees, 
 remain always the same; because they do not depend on the ideas of men, but on the 
 will of the Creator, who hath made several sorts of beings.’ 
 
 ‘It is true, the real constitutions or essences of particular things existing do not 
 depend on the ideas of men, but on the will of the Creator; but théir being ranked 
 ni sorts, under such and such names, does depend, and wholly depend, on the ideas 
 of men. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 Page 383, Par, 2.—The placing of certainty, as Mr. Locke does, in the perception 
 of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas, the Bishop of Worcester suspects 
 may be of dangerous consequence to that article of faith which he has endeavoured 
 to defend: to which Mr. Locke answers :! ‘Since your lordship hath not, as I remem- ~ 
 ber, shown, or gone about to show, how this proposition, viz. that certainty consists 
 in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas, is opposite or incon- 
 sistent with that article of faith which your lordship has endeavoured to defend: it 
 is plain, it is but your lordship’s fear that it may be of dangerous consequence to 
 it, ie as I humbly conceive, is no proof that it is any way inconsistent with that 
 article. 
 
 ‘* Nobody, I think, can blame your lordship, or any one else, for being concerned for 
 any article of the Christian faith ; but if that concern (as it may, and as we knowit has 
 done) makes any one apprehend danger, where no danger is, are we, therefore, to give 
 up and condemn any proposition, because any one, though of the first rank and magni- 
 tude, fears it may be of dangerous consequence to any truth of religion, without showing 
 that it isso? If such fears be the measures whereby to judge of truth and falsehood, 
 the affirming that there are antipodes would be still a heresy; and the doctrine of the 
 motion of the earth must be rejected, as overthrowing the truth of the Scripture, for of 
 that dangerous consequence it has been apprehended to be, by many learned and pious 
 divines, out of their great concern for religion. And yet, notwithstanding those great 
 apprehensions of what dangerous consequence it might be, it is now universally received 
 by learned men as an undoubted truth ; and written for by some, whose belief of the 
 Scripture is not at all questioned; and particularly, very lately, by a divine of the 
 Church of England, with great strength of reason, in his wonderfully ingenious New 
 Theory of the Earth. 
 
 ‘The reason your lordship gives of your fears, that it may be of such dangerous con- 
 sequence to that article of faith, which your lordship endeavours to defend, though it 
 
 * In his Second Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. 
 
APPENDIX. 531 
 
 occur in more places than one, is only this: viz. that it is made use of by ill men to 
 do mischief, 7. e. to oppose that article of faith, which your lordship hath endeavoured 
 to defend. But, my lord, if it be a reason to lay by anything as bad, because it is, or 
 may be used to an ill purpose, I know not what will be innocent enough to be kept. 
 Arms, which were made for our defence, are sometimes made use of to do mischief; and 
 yet they are not thought of dangerous consequence for all that. Nobody lays by his 
 sword and pistols, or thinks them of such dangerous consequence as to be neglected, or 
 thrown away, because robbers, and the worst of men, sometimes make use of them to 
 take away honest men’s lives or goods. And the reason is, because they were designed, 
 and will serve to preserve them. And who knows but this may be the present case? If 
 your lordship thinks that placing of certainty in the perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of ideas, be to be rejected as false, because you apprehend it may be of 
 dangerous consequence to that article of faith: on the other side, perhaps others, with 
 me, may think it a defence against error, and so (as being of good use) to be received 
 and adhered to. 
 
 “*I would not, my lord, be hereby thought to set up my own, or any one’s judgment 
 against your lordship’s. But I have said this only to show, whilst the argument lies 
 for or against the truth of any proposition, barely in an imagination that it may be of 
 consequence to the supporting or overthrowing of any remote truth; it will be impos- 
 sible, that way, to determine of the truth or falsehood of that proposition. For 
 imagination will be set up against imagination, and the stronger probably will be 
 against your lordship ; the strongest imaginations being usually in the weakest heads. 
 The only way, in this case, to put it past doubt, is to show the inconsistency of the two 
 Se and then it will be seen that one overthrows the other, the true the 
 
 alse one. 
 
 ‘* Your lordship says, indeed, this isa new method of certainty. I will not say so 
 myself, for fear of deserving a second reproof from your lordship, for being too forward 
 to assunie to myself the honour of being an original. But this, I think, gives me occa- 
 sion, and will excuse me from being thought impertinent, if I ask your lordship whether 
 there be any other, or older method of certainty? and what it is? For if there be no 
 other, nor older than this, either this was always the method of certainty, and so mine . 
 is no new one; or else the world is obliged to me for this new one, after having been so 
 long in the want of so necessary a thing as a method of certainty. If there be an older, 
 I am sure your lordship cannot but know it: your condemning mine as new, as well as 
 your thorough insight into antiquity, cannot but satisfy everybody that you do. And 
 therefore, to set the world right in a thing of that great concernment, and to overthrow 
 mine, and thereby prevent the dangerous consequence there is in my having unreason- 
 ably started it, will not, I humbly conceive, misbecome your lordship’s care of that 
 article you have endeavoured to defend, nor the goodwill you bear to truth in general. 
 For I will be answerable for myself that I shall; and I think I may be for all others, 
 that they all will give off the placing of certainty in the perception of the agreement or 
 aaderesmen of ideas, if your lordship will be pleased to show that it lies in any- 
 thing else. 
 
 “ But truly, not to ascribe to myself an invention of what has been as old as know- 
 ledge is in the world, I must own I am not guilty of what your lordship is pleased to 
 call starting new methods of certainty. Knowledge, ever since there has been any in 
 the world, has consisted in one particular action of the mind ; and so, I conceive, will 
 continue to do to the end of it. And tostart new methods of knowledge or certainty, 
 (for they are to me the same thing,) i.e. to find out and propose new methods of 
 attaining knowledge, either with more ease and quickness, or in things yet unknown, 
 is what I think nobody could blame; but this is not that which your lordship here 
 means by new methods of certainty. Your lordship, I think, means by it, the placing 
 of certainty in something, wherein either it does not consist, or else wherein it was not 
 placed before now; if this be to be called a new method of certainty. As to the latter 
 of these, I shall know whether I am guilty or not, when your lordship will do me the 
 favour to tell me wherein it was placed before; which your lordship knows I pro- 
 fessed myself ignorant of when I wrote my book; and so I am still. But if starting 
 new methods of certainty be the placing of certainty in something wherein it does not 
 consist, whether I have done that or not I must appeal to the experience of mankind. 
 
 “‘ There are several actions of men’s minds, that they are conscious to themselves of 
 performing, as willing, believing, knowing, &c., which they have so particular a sense 
 of, that they can distinguish them one from another ; or else they could not say when 
 they willed, when they believed, and when they knew anything. But though these 
 actions were different enough from one another, not to be confounded by those who 
 
 MM 2 
 
oo2 APPENDIX. 
 
 spoke of them, yet nobody that I have met with had in their writings particularly set 
 down wherein the act of knowing precisely consisted. 
 
 “‘ To this reflection upon the actions of my own mind, the subject of my Essay con- 
 cerning Human Understanding naturally led me; wherein if I have done anything 
 new, it has been to describe to others, more particularly than had been done before, 
 what it is their minds do when they perform that action which they call knowing ; and 
 if, upon examination, they observe I have given a true account of that action of their 
 minds in all the parts of it, I suppose it will be in vain to dispute against what they 
 find and feel in themselves; and if I have not told them right, and exactly what they 
 find and feel in themselves, when their minds perform the act of knowing, what I have 
 said will be all in vain, men will not be persuaded against their senses. Knowledge is 
 an internal perception of their minds; and if, when they reflect on it, they find that it 1s 
 not what I have said it is, my groundless conceit will not be hearkened to, but be 
 exploded by everybody, and die of itself, and nobody need to be at any pains to drive it 
 out of the world. So impossible is it to find out or start new methods of certainty, or 
 to have them received, if any one places it in anything but in that wherein it really 
 consists ; much less can any one be in danger to be misled into error by any such new, and 
 to every one, visibly senseless project. Can it be supposed that any one could start a 
 new method of seeing, and persuade men thereby that they do not see what they do 
 see? Is it to be feared that any one can cast such a mist over their eyes, that they 
 should not know when they see, and so be led out of their way by it? 
 
 ‘“‘ Knowledge, I find in myself, and I conceive in others, consists in the perception 
 of the agreement or disagreement of the immediate objects of the mind in thinking, 
 which I call ideas; but whether it does so in others or not, must be determined by 
 their own experience, reflecting upon the action of their mind in knowing; for that I 
 cannot alter, nor, I think, they themselves. But whether they will call those immediate 
 objects of their minds in thinking, ideas or not, is perfectly in their own choice. If 
 they dislike that name, they may call them notions or conceptions, or-how they please; 
 it matters not, if they use them so as to avoid obscurity and confusion. If they are 
 constantly used in the same and a known sense, every one has the liberty to please 
 himself in his terms; there lies neither truth, nor error, nor science in that; though 
 those that take them for things, and not for what they are, bare, arbitrary signs of our 
 ideas, make a great deal ado often about them; as if some great matter lay in the use 
 of this or that sound. All that I know or can imagine of difference about them is, 
 that those words are always best whose significations are best known in the sense they 
 are used, and so are least apt to breed confusion. 
 
 *¢ My lord, your lordship hath been pleased to find fault with my use of the new . 
 
 term ideas, without telling me a better name for the immediate objects of the mind in 
 thinking. Your lordship also has been pleased to find fault with my definition of 
 knowledge, without doing me the favour to give me a better. For it is only about my 
 definition of knowledge, that all this stir concerning certainty is made: for, with me, 
 to know and to be certain is the same thing: what I know, that I am certain of, and 
 what I am certain of, that I know. What reaches to knowledge, I think may be called 
 certainty; and what comes short of certainty, I think cannot be called knowledge, 
 as your lordship could not but observe in the 18th par. of chap. iv. of my fourth Book, 
 which you have quoted. 
 
 ‘“ My definition of knowledge stands thus: ‘ Knowledge seems to me to be nothing 
 but the perception of the connexion and agreement,jor disagreement and repugnancy 
 of any of our ideas.” This definition your lordship dislikes, and apprehends it may 
 be of dangerous consequence as to that article of Christian faith which your lordship 
 hath endeavoured to defend. For this there is a very easy remedy; it is but for your 
 lordship to set aside this definition of knowledge by giving us a better, and this danger 
 is over. But your lordship chooses rather to have a controversy with my book for 
 having it in it, and to put me upon the defence of it; for which I must acknowledge 
 myself obliged to your lordship for affording me so much of your time, and for allow- 
 ing me the honour of conversing so much with one so far above me in all respects. 
 
 ‘¢ Your lordship says, it may be of dangerous consequence to that article of Christian 
 faith which you have endeavoured to defend. Though the laws of disputing allow bare 
 denial as a sufficient answer to sayings, without any offer of a proof; yet, my lord, to 
 show how willing I am to give your lordship all satisfaction, in what you apprehend 
 may be of dangerous consequence in my book, as to that article, I shall not stand still 
 sullenly, and put your lordship upon the difficulty of showing wherein that danger 
 lies; but shall, on the other side, endeavour to show your lordship that that definition 
 of mine, whether true or false, right or wrong, can be of no dangerous consequence 
 
 2 
 
APPENDIX. D308 
 
 to that article of faith. The reason which I shall offer for it is this, because it can be 
 of no consequence to it at all. 
 
 ‘¢ That which your lordship is afraid it may be dangerous to, is an article of faith: 
 that which your lordship labours and is concerned for, is the certainty of faith. Now, 
 my lord, I humbly conceive the certainty of faith, if your lordship thinks fit to call it 
 so, has nothing to do with the certainty of knowledge. And to talk of the certainty of 
 faith, seems all one to me as to talk of the knowledge of believing, a way of speaking 
 not easy to me to understand. 
 
 ‘¢ Place knowledge in what you will; start what new methods of certainty you 
 please, that are apt to leave men’s minds more doubtful than before; place certainty 
 on such grounds as will leave little or no knowledge in the world, (for these are the 
 arguments your lordship uses against my definition of knowledge,) this shakes not at 
 all, nor in the least concerns the assurance of faith; that is quite distinct from it, 
 neither stands nor falls with knowledge. 
 
 “¢ Faith stands by itself, and upon grounds of its own; nor can be removed from 
 them, and placed on those of knowledge. Their grounds are so far from being the 
 same, or having anything common, that when it is brought to certainty, faith is de- 
 stroyed; itis knowledge then, and faith no longer. 
 
 ‘¢ With what assurance soever of believing I assent to any article of faith, so that I 
 stedfastly venture my all upon it, it is still but believing. Bring it to a certainty, and 
 it ceases to be faith. ‘I believe that Jesus Christ was crucified, dead, and buried, rose 
 again the third day from the dead, and ascended into heaven:’ let now such methods 
 of knowledge or certainty be started, as leave men’s minds more doubtful than before ; 
 let the grounds of knowledge be resolved into what any one pleases, it touches not my 
 faith ; the foundation of that stands as sure as before, and cannot be at all shaken by 
 it; and one may as well say, that anything that weakens the sight, or casts a mist 
 before the eyes, endangers the hearing; as that anything which alters the nature 
 of knowledge (if that could be done) should be of dangerous consequence to an article 
 of faith. 
 
 ‘¢ Whether, then, I am or am not mistaken, in the placing certainty in the percep- 
 tion of the agreement or disagreement of ideas; whether this account of knowledge be 
 true or false, enlarges or straitens the bounds of it more than it should, faith still stands 
 upon its own basis, which is not at all altered by it; and every article of that has just 
 the same unmoved foundation, and the very same credibility that it had before. So 
 that, my lord, whatever I have said about certainty, and how much soever I may be 
 out in it, if I am mistaken, your lordship has no reason to apprehend any danger to 
 any article of faith from thence ; every one of them stands upon the same bottom it did 
 before, out of the reach of what belongs to knowledge and certainty. And thus much 
 of my way of certainty by ideas; which I hope will satisfy your lordship how far it is 
 from being dangerous to any article of the Christian faith whatsoever.”’ 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 Page 391, Par. 6.—Against that assertion of Mr. Locke, that ‘‘ possibly we shall never 
 be able to know whether any mere material being thinks or not,’’ &c., the Bishop of Wor- 
 cester argues thus: ‘ If this be true, then, for all that wecan know by our ideas of matter 
 and thinking, matter may have a power of thinking; and if this hold, then it is impos- 
 sible to prove a spiritual substance in us from the idea of thinking ; for how can we be 
 assured by our ideas, that God hath not given such a power of thinking to matter so 
 disposed as our bodies are? Especially since it is said,' ‘ That, in respect of our no- 
 tions, it is not much more remote from our comprehension to conceive that God can, if 
 he pleases, superadd to our idea of matter a faculty of thinking, than that he should 
 superadd to it another substance, with a faculty of thinking.” Whoever asserts this, 
 can never prove a spiritual substance in us from a faculty of thinking, because he 
 cannot know, from the idea of matter and thinking, that matter so disposed cannot 
 think ; and he cannot be certain, that God hath not framed the matter of our bodies so 
 as to be capable of it.” 4 
 
 To which Mr. Locke answers thus:? ‘* Here your lordship argues, that upon my 
 
 1 Essay on Human Understanding, B, 4, * In his First Letter to the Bishop of Worcester. 
 c. 3, par. 6. 
 
534 APPENDIX. 
 
 principles, it cannot be proved that there is a spiritual substance in us. ‘To which, give 
 me leave, with submission, to say, that I think it may be proved from my principles, 
 and I think I have done it; and the proof in my book stands thus: First, We experi- 
 ment in ourselves thinking. The idea of this action, or mode of thinking, is incon- 
 sistent with the idea of self-subsistence, and therefore has a necessary connexion with 
 a support or subject of inhesion: the idea of that support is what we call substance ; 
 and so from thinking experimented in us, we have a proof of a thinking substance in 
 us, which in my sense is aspirit. Against this your lordship will argue, that, by what 
 I have said of the possibility that God may, if he pleases, superadd to matter a faculty 
 of thinking, it can never be proved that there is a spiritual substance in us, because, 
 upon that supposition, it is possible it may be a material substance that thinks in us. 
 I grant it; but add, that the general idea of substance being the same everywhere, the 
 modification of thinking, or the power of thinking, joined to it, makes it a spirit, 
 without considering what other modifications it has, as whether it has the modification 
 of solidity or not. As, on the other side, substance that has the modification of 
 solidity, is matter, whether it has the modification of thinking or not. And therefore, 
 if your lordship means by a spiritual, an immaterial substance, I grant I have not 
 proved, nor upon my principles can it be proved, (your lordship meaning, as I think 
 you do, demonstratively proved,) that there is an immaterial substance in us that thinks. 
 Though I presume, from what I have said about this supposition of a system of matter, 
 thinking! (which there demonstrates that God is immaterial, ) will prove it in the 
 highest degree probable, that the thinking substance in us is immaterial. But your 
 lordship thinks not probability enough, and by charging the want of demonstration 
 upon my principles, that the thinking thing in us is immaterial, your lordship seems to 
 conclude it demonstrable from principles of philosophy. That demonstration I should 
 with joy receive from your lordship or any one. For though all the great ends of 
 morality and religion are well enough secured without it, as I have shown,* yet it 
 would be a great advance of our knowledge in nature and philosophy. 
 
 ‘To what I have said in my book, to show that all the great ends,of religion and 
 morality are secured barely by the immortality of the soul, without a necessary sup- 
 position that the soul is immaterial, I crave leave to add, that immortality may, and 
 shall be, annexed to that which in its own nature is neither immaterial nor immortal, 
 as the apostle expressly declares in these words:* ‘ For this corruptible must put on™ 
 incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.’ 
 
 ** Perhaps my using the word spirit for a thinking substance, without excluding 
 materiality out of it, will be thought too great a liberty, and such as deserves censure, 
 because I leave immateriality out of the idea I make it a sign of. I readily own, that 
 words should be sparingly ventured on in a sense wholly new, and nothing but abso- 
 lute necessity can excuse the boldness of using any term in a sense whereof we can pro- 
 duce no example. But in the present case I think I have great authorities to justify me. 
 The soul is agreed, on all hands, to be that in us which thinks. And he that will look into 
 the first book of Cicero’s Tusculan Questions, and into the sixth book of Virgil’s Aineid, 
 will find that these two great men, who, of all the Romans, best understood philosophy, 
 thought, or at least did not deny, the soul to be a subtile matter, which might come 
 under the name of aura, or ignis, or ether, and this soul they both of them called spi- 
 ritus: in the notion of which, it is plain, they included only thought and active motion, 
 without the total exclusion of matter. Whether they thought right in this I do not 
 say—that is not the question; but whether they spoke properly, when they called an 
 active, thinking, subtile substance, out of which they excluded only gross and palpable 
 matter, spiritus, spirit? I think that nobody will deny, that if any among the Romans 
 can be allowed to speak properly, Tully and Virgil are the two who may most securely 
 be depended on for it; and one of them, speaking of the soul, says, Dum spiritus hos 
 reget artus: and the other, Vita contineter corpore et spiritu. Where it is plain by 
 corpus he means (as generally everywhere) only gross matter that may be felt and 
 handled, as appears by these words: Si cor, aut sanguis, aut cerebrum est animus: certe, 
 guoniam est corpus, interibit cum reliquo corpore: si anima est forte dissipabitur : si ignis, 
 extinguetur. 'Tusc. Quest. 1.1, ¢. 11. Here Cicero opposes corpus to ignis and anima, 
 i, e. aura, or breath. And the foundation of that his distinction of the soul, from that 
 which he calls corpus, or body, he gives a little lower in these words: Tanta ejus 
 tenuitas ut fugiat aciem. Ibid. c. 22. Nor was it the heathen world alone that had this 
 
 1 B. 4, ce. 10, par. 16. 2 Ibid. ¢. 3, par. 6. 2 1 Cor. xv. 53. 
 
APPENDIX. 539 
 
 notion of spirit; the most enlightened of all the ancient people of God, Solomon him- 
 self, speaks after the same manner:! ‘ That which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth 
 beasts: even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they 
 have all one spirit.’ So I translate the Hebrew word my here, for so I find it trans- 
 lated the very next verse but one:” ‘ Who knoweth the spirit of a man that goeth 
 upward, and the spirit of a beast that goeth downwards to the earth?’ In which 
 places it is plain that Solomon applies the word py, and our translators of him the 
 word spirit, to a substance out of which immateriality was not wholly excluded, unless 
 the spirit of a beast that goeth downwards to the earth be immaterial. Nor did the way 
 of speaking in our Saviour’s time vary from this; St. Luke tells us,> ‘ That when our 
 Saviour, after his resurrection, stood in the midst of them, they were affrighted, and 
 supposed that they had seen veda,’ the Greek word which always answers spirit in 
 English: and so the translators of the Bible render it here; they supposed that they 
 had seen a spirit. But our Saviour says to them, ‘ Behold my hands and my feet, 
 that it is I myself; handle me, and see, for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as you 
 see me have.’ Which words of our Saviour put the same distinction between body 
 and spirit, that Cicero did in the place above cited, viz. That the one was a gross com- 
 pages that could be felt and handled ; and the other such as Virgil describes the ghost 
 or soul of Anchises: 
 
 ‘ Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum: 
 Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago, 
 Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno.’ 4 
 
 *“T would not be thought hereby to say, that spirit never does signify a purely 
 immaterial substance. In that sense the Scripture, I take it, speaks, when it says 
 God is a spirit ; and in that sense I have used it; and in that sense I have proved from 
 my principles that there is a spiritual substance, and am certain that there is a spi- 
 ritual immaterial substance; which is, I humbly conceive, a direct answer to your 
 lordship’s question in the beginning of this argument: viz. ‘ How we come to be 
 certain that there are spiritual substances, supposing this principle to be true, that the 
 simple ideas by sensation and reflection are the sole matter and foundation of all our 
 ‘reasoning?’ But this hinders not, but that if God, that infinite, omnipotent, and per- 
 fectly immaterial Spirit, should please to give to a system of yery subtile matter, sense 
 and motion, it might with propriety of speech be called spirit, though materiality were 
 not excluded out of its complex idea. Your lordship proceeds: ‘ It is said, indeed, 
 elsewhere,® that it is repugnant to the idea of senseless matter, that it should put into 
 itself sense, perception, and knowledge. But this doth not reach the present case, 
 which is not what matter can do of itself, but what matter prepared by an omnipotent 
 hand can do. And what certainty can we have that he hath not done it? We can 
 have none from the ideas, for those are given up in this case, and consequently we can 
 have no certainty, upon these principles, whether we have any spiritual substance 
 within us or not.’ 
 
 “¢ Your lordship in that paragraph proves, that from what I say, we can have no cer- 
 tainty whether we have any spiritual substance in us or not. If by spiritual substance, 
 your lordship means an immaterial substance in us, as you speak, I grant what your 
 lordship says is true, that it cannot upon these principles be demonstrated. But I 
 must crave leave to say, at the same time, that upon these principles it can be 
 proved, to the highest degree of probability. If by spiritual substance, your lordship 
 means a thinking substance, I must dissent from your lordship, and say, that we can 
 have a certainty, upon my principles, that there is a spiritual substance in us. In 
 short, my lord, upon my principles, 2. e. from the idea of thinking, we can have a cer- 
 tainty that there is a thinking substance in us; from hence we have a certainty that 
 there is an eternal thinking substance. This thinking substance, which has been from 
 eternity, I have proved to be immaterial. This eternal, immaterial, thinking sub- 
 stance, has put into us a thinking substance, which, whether it be a material or 1mma- 
 terial substance, cannot be infallibly demonstrated from our ideas; though from them 
 it may be proved that it is to the highest degree probable that it is immaterial.” - 
 
 Again, the Bishop of Worcester undertakes to prove, from Mr. Locke’s principles, 
 that we may be certain, ‘“‘ That the first eternal thinking Being, or omnipotent Spirit, 
 
 1 Eccl. iii. 19. 2 Thid. 21. 3 Chap. xxiv. 37. 
 @ /Mneid. lib. ii. 5 Essay, B. 4, c. 10, par. 6. 
 
536 APPENDIX. 
 
 cannot, if he would, give to certain systems of created sensible matter, put together as 
 he sees fit, some degrees of sense, perception, and thought.” 
 
 To which Mr. Locke has made the following answer in his Third Letter : 
 
 ‘Your first argument I take to be this: that according to me, the knowledge we 
 have being by our ideas, and our idea of matter in general being a solid substance, and 
 our idea of body a solid extended figured substance; if I admit matter to be capable of 
 thinking, I confound the idea of matter with the idea of a spirit: to which I answer, 
 No; no more than I confound the idea of matter with the idea of a horse, when I say 
 that matter in general is a solid extended substance, and that a horse is a material 
 animal, or an extended solid substance, with sense and spontaneous motion. 
 
 “The idea of matter is an extended solid substance; wherever there is such a sub- 
 stance, there is matter; and the essence of matter whatever other qualities, not con- 
 tained in that essence, it shall please God to superadd to it. For example: God 
 creates an extended solid substance, without the superadding anything else to it, and 
 so we may consider it at rest: to some parts of it he superadds motion, but it has still 
 the essence of matter; other parts of it he frames into plants, with all the excellences 
 of vegetation, life, and beauty, which is to be found in a rose or peach tree, &c., above 
 the essence of matter in general, but it is still but matter: to other parts he adds sense 
 and spontaneous motion, and those other properties that are to be found in an elephant. 
 Hitherto it is not doubted but the power of God may go, and that the properties of a 
 rose, a peach, or an elephant, superadded to matter, change not the properties of 
 matter; but matter is in these things matter still. Butif one venture to go one step 
 further, and say, God may give to matter thought, reason, and volition, as well as 
 sense and spontaneous motion, there are men ready presently to limit the power of the 
 omnipotent Creator, and tell us he cannot do it, because it destroys the essence, or 
 changes the essential properties of matter. To make good which assertion, they have . 
 no more to say, but that thought and reason are not included in the essence of matter. 
 I grant it; but whatever excellency, not contained in its essence, be superadded to 
 matter, it does not destroy the essence of matter, if it leaves it an extended solid sub- 
 tance: wherever that is, there is the essence of matter; and if everything of greater 
 perfection, superadded to such a substance, destroys the essence of matter, what, will 
 become of the essence of matter in a plant or an animal, whose properties far exceed . 
 those of a mere extended solid substance. 
 
 ‘¢ But it is further urged, that we cannot conceive how matter can think. I grant 
 it: but to argue from thence, that God, therefore, cannot give to matter a faculty of 
 thinking, Js to say God’s omnipotency is limited to a narrow compass, because man’s 
 understanding is so, and brings down God’s infinite power to the size of our capacities. 
 If God can give no power to any parts of matter, but what men can account for from 
 the essence of matter in general; if all such qualities and properties must destroy the 
 essence, or change the essential properties of matter, which are to our conceptions 
 above it, and we cannot conceive to be the natural consequence of that essence ; it is 
 plain that the essence of matter is destroyed, and its essential properties changed, in 
 most of the sensible parts of this our system. For it is visible, that all the planets have 
 revolutions about certain remote centres, which I would have any one explain, or make 
 conceivable by the bare essence, or natural powers depending on the essence of matter 
 in general, without something added to that essence, which we cannot conceive; for 
 the moving of matter in a crooked line, or the attraction of matter by matter, is all 
 that can be said in the case; either of which it is above our reach to derive from the 
 essence of matter or body in general; though one of these two must unavoidably be 
 allowed to be superadded in this instance to the essence of matter in general. The 
 omnipotent Creator advised not with us in the making of the world, and his ways are 
 not the less excellent because they are past our finding out. 
 
 ‘¢ In the next place, the vegetable part of the creation is not doubted to be wholly 
 material; and yet he that will look into it will observe excellences and operations in 
 this part of matter, which he will not find contained in the essence of matter in general, 
 nor be able to conceive how they can be produced by it. And will he therefore say, 
 that the essence of matter is destroyed in them, because they have properties and ope- 
 rations not contained in the essential properties of matter as matter, nor explicable by 
 the essence of matter in general ? 
 
 ““ Let us advance one step further, and we shall in the animal world meet with yet 
 greater perfections and properties, no ways explicable by the essence of matter in 
 general. If the omnipotent Creator had not superadded to the earth, which produced 
 the irrational animals, qualities far surpassing those of the dull dead earth out of which 
 they were made, life, sense, and spontaneous motion, nobler qualities than were before 
 
RT A el 
 
 APPENDIX. 537 
 
 in it, it had still remained rude, senseless matter; and if to the individuals of each 
 species he had not superadded a power of propagation, the species had perished with 
 those individuals ; but by these essences or properties of each species, superadded to 
 the matter which they were made of, the essence or properties of matter in general 
 were not destroyed or changed any more than anything that was in the individuals 
 before, was destroyed or changed by the power of generation, superadded to them by 
 the first benediction of the Almighty. 
 
 ‘¢ In all such cases, the superinducement of greater perfections and nobler qualities 
 destroys nothing of the essence or perfections that were there before; unless there can 
 be showed a manifest repugnancy between them: but all the proof offered for that, is 
 only that we cannot conceive how matter, without such superadded perfections, can 
 produce such effects; which is, in truth, no more than to say, matter in general, or 
 every part of matter, as matter, has them not; but it is no reason to prove that God, 
 if he pleases, cannot superadd them to some parts of matter, unless it can be proved to 
 be a contradiction, that God should give to some parts of matter qualities and perfec- 
 tions which matter in general has not; though we cannot conceive how matter is 
 invested with them, or how it operates by virtue of those new endowments; nor is it 
 to be wondered that we cannot, whilst we limit all its operations to those qualities it 
 had before, and would explain them by the known properties of matter in general, 
 without any such superinduced perfections. For if this be a right rule of reasoning, 
 to deny a thing to be, because we cannot conceive the manner how it comes to be; I 
 shall desire them who use it, to stick to this rule, and see what work it will make 
 both in divinity as well as philosophy; and whether they can advance anything more 
 in favour of scepticism. 
 
 ‘“‘ For to keep within the present subject of the power of thinking and self-motion, 
 bestowed by omnipotent Power in some parts of matter: the objection to this is, I 
 cannot conceive how matter should think. What is the consequence? ergo, God 
 cannot give it a power to think. Let this stand for a good reason, and then proceed 
 in other cases by the same. You cannot conceive how matter can attract matter at 
 any distance, much less at the distance of 1,000,000 of miles; ergo, God cannot give it 
 such a power; you cannot conceive how matter should feel, or move itself, or affect an 
 immaterial being, or be moved by it; ergo, God cannot give it such powers ; 
 which is, in effect, to deny gravity, and the revolution of the planets about the sun; 
 to make brutes mere machines, without sense or spontaneous motion; and to allow 
 man neither sense nor voluntary motion, 
 
 ‘* Let us apply this rule one degree further. You cannot conceive how an extended 
 solid substance should think; therefore God cannot make it think: can you conceive 
 how your own soul, or any substance, thinks? You find indeed that you do think, and 
 so do I; but I want to be told how the action of thinking is performed; this, I con- 
 fess, is beyond my conception, and I would be glad any one who conceives it would 
 explain it to me. God, I find, has given me this faculty ; and since I cannot but be 
 convinced of his power in this instance, which though I every moment experiment in 
 myself, yet I cannot conceive the manner of; what would it be less than an insolent 
 absurdity, to deny his power in other like cases, only for this reason, because I cannot 
 conceive the manner how ? 
 
 ‘To explain this matter a little further: God has created a substance; let it be, for 
 example, a solid extended substance. Is God bound to give it, besides being, a power 
 of action? that, I think, nobody will say: he therefore may leave it in a state of inac- 
 tivity, and it will be nevertheless a substance; for action is not necessary to the being 
 of any substance that God does create. God has likewise created and made to exist, 
 de novo, an immaterial substance, which will not lose its being of a substance, though 
 God should bestow on it nothing more but this bare being, without giving it any 
 activity at all. Here are now two distinct substances, the one material, the other 
 immaterial, both in a state of perfect inactivity. Now I ask what power God can give 
 to one of these substances (supposing them to retain the same distinct natures that they 
 had as substances in their state of inactivity) which he cannot give to the other? In 
 that state it is plain neither of them thinks; for thinking being an action, it cannot be 
 denied that God can put an end to any action of any created substance, without anni- 
 hilating of the substance whereof it is an action; and if it be so, he can also create or 
 give existence to such a substance, without giving that substance any action at all. 
 By the same reason it is plain that neither of them can move itself: now I would ask 
 why Omnipotency cannot give to either of these substances, which are equally in a 
 state of perfect inactivity, the same power that it can give to the other? Let it be, for 
 example, that of spontaneous or self-motion, which is a power that it is supposed 
 
538 APPENDIX. 
 
 God can give to an unsolid substance, but denied that he can give to a solid 
 substance. 
 
 ‘Tf it be asked why they limit the omnipotency of God in reference to the one 
 rather than the other of these substances? all that can be said to it is, that they cannot 
 conceive how the solid substance should ever be able to move itself. And as little, say 
 I, are they able to conceive how a created unsolid substance should move itself. But 
 there may be something in an immaterial substance that you do not know. I grant it; 
 and in a material one too: for example, gravitation of matter towards matter, and in 
 the several proportions observable, inevitably shows that there is something in matter 
 that we do not understand, unless we can conceive self-motion in matter; or an inex- 
 plicable and inconceivable attraction in matter, at immense, almost incomprehensible 
 distances; it must, therefore, be confessed that there is something in solid as well as 
 unsolid substances that we do not understand. But this we know, that they may each 
 of them have their distinct beings, without any activity superadded to them, unless 
 you will deny that God can take from any being its power of acting, which it is pro- 
 bable will be thought too presumptuous for any one to do; and I say it is as hard to 
 conceive self-motion in a created immaterial, as in a material being, consider it how 
 you will: and therefore this is no reason to deny Omnipotency to be able to give a 
 power of self-motion to a material substance, if he pleases, as well as to an immaterial, 
 since neither of them can have it from themselves, nor can we conceive how it can be 
 in either of them. 
 
 The same is visible in the other operation of thinking: both these substances may be 
 made and exist without thought; neither of them has or can have the power of think- 
 ing from itself; God may give it to either of them, according to the good pleasure of 
 his omnipotency ; and in whichever of them it is, it is equally beyond our capacity to 
 conceive how either of these substances thinks. But for that reason to deny that God, 
 who had power enough to give them both a being out of nothing, can by the same 
 omnipotency give them what other powers and perfections he pleases, has no better 
 foundation than to deny his power of creation because we cannot conceive how it is 
 performed: and there, at last, this way of reasoning must terminate. 
 
 ‘¢ That Omnipotency cannot make a substance to be solid and not solid at the same 
 time, I think, with due reverence, we may say; but that a solid substance may not 
 have qualities, perfections, and powers, which have no natural or visibly necessary 
 connexion with solidity and extension, is too much for us (who are but of yesterday, 
 and know nothing) to be positive in. If God cannot join things together by con- 
 nexions inconceivable to us, we must deny even the consistency and being of matter 
 itself; since every particle of it having some bulk, has its parts connected by ways 
 inconceivable to us. So that all the difficulties that are raised against the thinking of 
 matter, from our ignorance, or narrow conceptions, stand not at all in the way of the 
 power of God, if he pleases to ordain it so; nor prove anything against his having 
 actually endued some parcels of matter, so disposed as he thinks fit, with a faculty of 
 thinking, till it can be shown that it contains a contradiction to suppose it. 
 
 “ Though to me sensation be comprehended under thinking in general, yet in the 
 foregoing discourse I have spoken of sense in brutes as distinct from thinking, because 
 your lordship, as I remember, speaks of sense in brutes. But here I take liberty to 
 observe, that if your lordship allows brutes to have sensation, it will follow either that 
 God can and doth give to some parcels of matter a power of perception and thinking, 
 or that all animals have immaterial, and consequently, according to your lordship, im- 
 mortal souls, as well as men, and to say that fleas and mites, &c. have immortal souls 
 as well as men, will possibly be looked on as going a great way to serve an hypothesis. 
 
 *‘T have been pretty large in making this matter plain, that they who are so forward 
 to bestow hard censures or names on the opinions of those who differ from them, may 
 consider whether sometimes they are not more due to their own; and that they may 
 be persuaded a little to temper that heat, which, supposing the truth in their current 
 Opinions, gives them (as they think) a right to lay what imputations they please 
 on those who would fairly examine the grounds they stand upon. For talking with a 
 supposition and insinuations, that truth and knowledge, nay, and religion too, stand 
 and fall with their systems, is at best but an imperious way of begging the question, 
 and assuming to themselves, under the pretence of zeal for the cause of God, a title to 
 infallibility. It is very becoming that men’s zeal for truth should go as far as their 
 proofs, but not go for proofs themselves. He that attacks received opinions with any- 
 thing but fair arguments, may, I own, be justly suspected notjto mean well, nor to be led 
 by the love of truth; but the same may be said of him too, who so defends them. An 
 error is not the better for being common, nor truth the worse for having lain neglected ; 
 
APPENDIX. 539 
 
 and if it were put to the vote anywhere in the world, I doubt, as things are managed, 
 whether truth would have the majority, at least whilst the authority of men, and not 
 the examination of things, must be its measure. The imputation of scepticism, and 
 those broad insinuations to render what I have written suspected, so frequent, as if 
 that were the great business of all this pains you have been at about me, has made me 
 say thus much, my lord, rather as my sense of the way to establish truth in its full 
 force and beauty, than that I think the world will need to have anything said to it, to 
 make it distinguish between your lordship’s and my design in writing, which, there- 
 bab I securely leave to the judgment of the reader, and return to the argument in 
 and. 
 
 ‘¢ What I have above said, I take to be a full answer to all that your lordship would 
 infer from my idea of matter, of liberty, of identity, and from the power of abstract- 
 ing. You ask,’ ‘ How can my idea of liberty agree with the idea that bodies can 
 operate only by motion and impulse?’ Ans. By the omnipotency of God, who can make 
 all things agree, that involve not a contradiction. It is true, I say,? That bodies ope- 
 rate by impulse, and nothing else. And so I thought when I wrote it, and can yet 
 conceive no other way of their operation. But I am since convinced by the judicious 
 Mr. Newton’s incomparable book, that it is too bold a presumption to limit God’s 
 power in this point by my narrow conceptions. The gravitation of matter towards 
 matter, by ways inconceivable to me, is not only a demonstration that God can, if he 
 pleases, put into bodies powers and ways of operation, above what can be derived from 
 our idea of body, or can be explained by what we know of matter; but also an un- 
 questionable, and everywhere visible instance that he has done so. And, therefore, 
 in the next edition of my book I will take care to have that passage rectified. 
 
 ‘* As to self-consciousness, your lordship asks,* ‘ What is there like self-conscious- 
 ness in matter?’ Nothing at all in matter, as matter. But that God cannot bestow 
 on some parcels of matter a power of thinking, and with it self-consciousness, will 
 never be proved by asking,* How is it possible to apprehend that mere body should 
 perceive that it doth perceive? The weakness of our apprehension, I grant in the 
 case: I confess as much as you please, that we cannot conceive how a solid, no, nor 
 how an unsolid, created substance thinks; but this weakness of our apprehension 
 reaches not the power of God, whose weakness is stronger than anything in men. 
 
 “‘ Your argument from abstraction, we have in this question:° ‘ If it may be in the 
 power of matter to think, how comes it to be so impossible for such organized bodies 
 as the brutes have, to enlarge their ideas by abstraction!’ Ans. This seems to suppose 
 that I place thinking within the natural power of matter. If that be your meaning, 
 my lord, I never say nor suppose that all matter has naturally in it a faculty of think- 
 ing, but the direct contrary. But if you mean that certain parcels of matter, ordered 
 by the Divine Power, as seems fit to him, may be made capable of receiving from his 
 omnipotency the faculty of thinking; that, indeed, I say: and that being granted, the 
 answer to your question is easy ; since, if Omnipotency can give thought to any solid 
 substance, it is not hard to conceive that God may give that faculty in a higher or 
 lower degree, as it pleases him, who knows what disposition of the subject is suited to 
 such a particular way or degree of thinking. 
 
 “* Another argument to prove that God cannot endue any parcel of matter with the 
 faculty of thinking, is taken from those words of mine,° where I show by what connexion 
 of ideas we may come to know that God is an immaterial substance. They are these: ‘The 
 idea of an eternal actual knowing being, with the idea of immateriality, by the inter- 
 vention of the idea of matter, and of its actual division, divisibility, and want of per- 
 ception, &c. From whence your lordship thus argues:’ ‘ Here the want of percep- 
 tion is owned to be so essential to matter, that God is therefore concluded to be imma- 
 terial.’ Ans. Perception and knowledge in that one Eternal Being, where it has its 
 source, it is visible must be essentially separable from it; therefore the actual want of 
 perception is so-great a part of the particular parcels of matter, is a demonstration, that 
 the first Being, from whom perception and knowledge are inseparable, is not matter: 
 . how far this makes the want of perception an essential property of matter, I will not 
 dispute; it suffices that it shows that perception is not an essential property of matter, 
 and therefore matter cannot be that eternal original being to which perception and 
 knowledge are essential. Matter, I say, naturally is without perception: Ergo, says 
 your lordship, ‘ want of perception is an essential property of matter, and God does not 
 
 1 First Answer. ¢ Essay, B. 2, c. 8, par. 11. 3 First Answer. 
 * Ibid. 6 Ibid, First Letter. 7 Ibid. 
 
540 APPENDIX. 
 
 change the essential properties of things, their nature remaining.’ From whence you 
 infer, that God cannot bestow on any parcel of matter (the nature of matter remain- 
 ing) a faculty of thinking. If the rules of logic, since my days, be not changed, I may 
 safely deny this consequence. For an argument that runs thus, God does not, ergo, he 
 cannot, I was taught, when I first came to the university, would not hold. For I 
 never said God did; but,! ‘That I see no contradiction in it, that he should, if he 
 pleased, give to some systems of senseless matter a faculty of thinking ;’ and I know 
 nobody before Descartes that ever pretended to show that there was any contradiction 
 init. So that at worst, my not being able to see in matter any such incapacity as 
 makes it impossible for Omnipotency to bestow on it a faculty of thinking, makes me 
 opposite only to the Cartesians. For as far as I have seen or heard, the Fathers of the 
 Christian church never pretended to demonstrate that matter was incapable to receive 
 a power of sensation, perception, and thinking, from the hand of the omnipotent 
 Creator. Let us, therefore, if you please, suppose the form of your argumentation 
 right, and that your lordship means, ‘ God cannot:’ and then if your argument be 
 good, it proves, ‘ That God could not give to Balaam’s ass a power to speak to his 
 master, as he did, for the want of rational discourse being natural to that species ;’ it 
 is but for your lordship to call it an essential property, and then God cannot change 
 the essential properties of things, their nature remaining: whereby it is proved, ‘ That 
 God cannot, with all his omnipotency, give to an ass a power to speak, as Ba- 
 laam’s did.’ 
 
 ‘« You say,” my lord, you ‘ do not set bounds to God’s omnipotency. For he may, 
 if he please, change a body into an immaterial substance,’ i. e. take away from a 
 substance the solidity which it had before, and which made it matter, and then give 
 it a faculty of thinking which it had not before, and which makes it a spirit, the same 
 substance remaining. For if the same substance remains not, body is not changed 
 into an immaterial substance. But the solid substance, and all belonging to it, is anni- 
 hilated, and an immaterial substance created, which is not a change of one thing into 
 another, but the destroying of one and making another de nove. In this change, there- 
 fore, of a body or material substance, into an immaterial, let us observe these distinct 
 considerations. 
 
 ‘“ First, you say, ‘ God may, if he please, take away from a solid substance, solidity, 
 which is that which makes a material substance, or body ; and may make it an imma- 
 terial substance, 7. e. a substance without solidity. But this privation of one quality 
 gives it not another; the bare taking away a lower or less noble quality, does not give 
 it a higher or nobler; that must be the gift of God. For the bare privation of one, 
 and a meaner quality, cannot be the position of a higher and better: unless any one 
 will say that cogitation, or the power of thinking, results from the nature of substance 
 itself ; which if it do, then, wherever there is substance, there must be cogitation, or a 
 power of thinking. Here, then, upon your lordship’s own principles, is an immaterial 
 substance without the faculty of thinking. 
 
 ‘“< Tn the next place, you will not deny but God may give to this substance, thus 
 deprived of solidity, a faculty of thinking; for you suppose it made capable of that by 
 being made immaterial ; whereby you allow that the same numerical substance may be 
 sometimes wholly incogitative, or without a power of thinking, and at other times per- 
 fectly cogitative, or endued with a power of thinking. 
 
 ‘“‘ Further, you will not deny but God can give it solidity, and make it material 
 again. For I conclude it will not be denied that God can make it again what it was 
 before. Now I crave leave to ask your lordship, why God, having given to this sub- 
 stance the faculty of thinking, after solidity was taken from it, cannot restore to it 
 solidity again, without taking away the faculty of thinking? When you have resolved 
 this, my lord, you will have proved it impossible for God’s omnipotence to give to a 
 solid substance a faculty of thinking ; but till then, not having proved it impossible, 
 and yet denying that God can do it, is to deny that he can do what is in itself 
 pessible; which, as I humbly conceive, is visibly to set bounds to God’s omnipotency, 
 though you say here, ‘ you do not set bounds to God’s omnipotency.’ 
 
 “ If I should imitate your lordship’s way of writing, I should not omit to bring in 
 Epicurus here, and take notice that this was his way, Deum verbis ponere, re tollere . 
 and then add, that I am certain you do not think he promoted the great ends of reli- 
 gion and morality. For it is with such candid and kind insinuations as these that you 
 bring in both Hobbes* and Spinosa® into your discourse here about God’s being able, 
 
 1 B. 4, .c. 8, par. 6. 2 First Answer. 3 Thid. * Thid. 6 Ibid. 
 
—— 
 
 APPENDIX. 541 
 
 if he please, to give to some parcels of matter, ordered as he thinks fit, a faculty of 
 thinking ; neither of those authors having, as appears by any passages you bring out 
 of them, said anything to this question; nor having, as it seems, any other business 
 here, but by their names, skilfully to give that character to my book with which you 
 would recommend it to the world. 
 
 *“T pretend not to inquire what measure of zeal, nor for what, guides your lordship’s 
 pen in such a way of writing, as yours has all along been with me; only I cannot 
 but consider, what reputation it would give to the writings of the fathers of the church, 
 if they should think truth required, or religion allowed them to imitate, such pat- 
 
 terns. But God be thanked, there be those amongst them who do not admire such 
 ways of managing the cause of truth or religion; they being sensible, that if every one 
 who believes, or can pretend he hath truth on his side, is thereby authorized, without 
 proof, to insinuate whatever may serve to prejudice men’s minds against the other 
 side, there will be a great ravage made on charity and practice, without any gain to 
 truth or knowledge; and that the liberties frequently taken by disputants to do so, 
 may have been the cause that the world in all ages has received so much harm, and so 
 little advantage, froin controversies in religion. 
 
 ‘¢ These are the arguments which your lordship has brought to confute one saying in 
 my book, by other passages in it; which, therefore, being all but argumenta ad homi- 
 nem, if they did prove what they do not, are of no other use than to gain a victory over 
 me; a thing, methinks, so much beneath your lordship, that it does not deserve one of 
 your pages. The question is, whether God can, if he please, bestow on any parcel of 
 matter, ordered as he thinks fit, a faculty of perception and thinking. You say,! you 
 “look upon a mistake herein to be of dangerous consequence as to the great ends of 
 religion and morality.’ If this be so, my lord, I think one may well wonder why 
 your lordship has brought no arguments to establish the truth itself, which you look 
 on to be of such dangerous consequence to be mistaken in; but have spent so many 
 pages only in a personal matter, in endeavouring to show that I had inconsistencies in 
 my book; which if any such thing had been shown, the question would be still as far 
 from being decided, and the danger of mistaking about it as little prevented, as if 
 nothing of all this had been said. If, therefore, your lordship’s care of the great ends 
 of religion and morality have made you think it necessary to clear this question, the 
 world has reason to conclude there is little to be said against that proposition which is 
 to be found in my book, concerning the possibility that some parcels of matter might 
 be so ordered by Omnipotence, as to be endued with a faculty of thinking, if God so 
 pleased ; since your lordship’s concern for the promoting the great ends of religion and 
 morality has not enabled you to produce one argument agaiust a proposition that you 
 think of so dangerous consequence to them. 
 
 «« And here I crave leave to observe, that though in your title page you promise to 
 prove that my notion of ideas is inconsistent with itself, (which if it were, it could 
 hardly be proved to be inconsistent with anything else,) and with the articles of the 
 Christian faith ; yet your attempts all along have been to prove me, in some passages 
 of my book, inconsistent with myself, without having shown any proposition in my 
 book inconsistent with any article of the Christian faith. 
 
 “¢ T think your lordship has, indeed, made use of one argument of your own: but it 
 is such an one, that I confess I do not see how it is apt much to promote religion, espe- 
 cially the Christian religion, founded on revelation. I shall set down your lordship’s 
 words that they may be considered: you say” ‘that you are of opinion that the great ends 
 of religion and morality are best secured by the proofs of the immortality of the soul, 
 from its nature, and properties; and which you think prove it immaterial.’ Your 
 lordship does not question whether God can give immortality to a material substance: 
 but you say it ‘takes off very much from the evidence of immortality, if it depend 
 wholly upon God’s giving that which of its own nature it is not capable of, &c. So 
 likewise you say,® ‘If a man cannot be certain but that matter may think, (as I 
 affirm,) then what becomes of the soul’s immateriality (and consequently immortality) 
 from its operations?’ But for all this, say I, his assurance of faith remains on its own 
 basis. Now, you appeal to any man of sense, whether the finding the uncertainty of 
 his own principles which he went upon, in point of reason, doth not weaken the credi- 
 bility of these fundamental articles, when they are considered purely as matters of 
 faith? For before, there was a natural credibility in them on the account of reason ; 
 but by going on wrong grounds of certainty, all that is lost; and instead of being cer- 
 
 1 First Answer. =*Thid: 8 Second Answer. 
 
542 APPENDIX. 
 
 tain, he is more doubtful than ever. And if the evidence of faith fall so much short of 
 that of reason, it must needs have less effect upon men’s minds when the subserviencyof 
 reason is taken away; as it must be, when the grounds of certainty by reason are 
 vanished. Is it at all probable, that he who finds his {reason deceive him in such 
 fundamental points, should have his faith stand firm and immovable on the account of 
 revelation? For in matters of revelation, there must be some antecedent principles 
 supposed, before we can believe anything on the account of it.’ 
 
 ‘© More to the same purpose we have some pages further, where, from some of my 
 words, your lordship says,! ‘ You cannot but observe, that we have no certainty upon 
 my grounds, that self-consciousness depends upon an individual immaterial substance, 
 and, consequently, that a material substance may, according to my principles, have ~ 
 self-consciousness in it; at least, that I am not certain of the contrary.” Whereupon 
 your lordship bids me consider, whether this does not a little affect the whole article of 
 the resurrection? What does all this tend to, but to make the world believe that I 
 have lessened the credibility of the immortality of the soul, and the resurrection, by 
 saying, that though it be most highly probable that the soul is immaterial, yet upon 
 my principles it cannot be demonstrated; because it is not impossible to God’s om- 
 nipotency, if he pleases to bestow upon some parcels of matter, disposed as he sees fit, 
 a faculty of thinking ? 
 
 ‘‘ This, your accusation of my lessening the credibility of these articles of faith, is 
 founded on this: that the article of the immortality of the soul abates of its credibility, 
 if it be allowed, that its immateriality (which is the supposed proof from reason and 
 philosophy of its immortality) cannot be demonstrated from natural reason: which 
 argument of your lordship’s bottoms, as I humbly conceive, on this: that divine reve- 
 lation abates of its credibility in all those articles it proposes, proportionably as human 
 reason fails to support the testimony of God. And all that your lordship in those 
 passages has said, when examined, will, I suppose, be found to import thus much: viz, 
 Does God propose anything to mankind to be believed? It is very fit and credible to 
 be believed, if reason can demonstrate it to be true. But if human reason comes short 
 in the case, and cannot make it out, its credibility is thereby lessened ; which is, in 
 effect, to say, that the veracity of God is not a firm and sure foundation of faith to 
 rely upon, without the concurrent testimony of reason, 7. e. with reverence be it 
 spoken, God is not to be believed on his own word, unless what he reveals be in itself 
 credible, and might be believed without him. 
 
 “If this be a way to promote religion, the Christian religion, in all its articles, I 
 am not sorry that it is not a way to be found in any of my writings; for I imagine 
 anything like this would (and I should think deserve to) have other titles than bare 
 scepticism bestowed upon it, and would have raised no small outcry against any one who 
 is not to be supposed to be in the right in all that he says, and so may securely say 
 what he pleases. Such as I, the prophanum vulgus, who take too much upon us, if we 
 would examine, have nothing to do but to hearken and believe, though what he said 
 should subvert the very foundations of the Christian faith. 
 
 ‘¢ What I have above observed, is so visibly contained in your lordship’s argument, 
 that when I met with it in your answer to my first letter, it seemed so strange for a 
 man of your lordship’s character, and in a dispute in defence of the doctrine of the 
 Trinity, that I could hardly persuade myself but it was a slip of your pen; but when 
 I found it in your second letter? made use of again, and seriously enlarged as an 
 argument of weight to be insisted upon, I was convinced that it was a principle that 
 you heartily embraced, how little favourable soever it was to the articles of the Chris- 
 tian religion, and particularly those which you undertook to defend. 
 
 ‘* IT desire my reader to peruse the passages as they stand in your letters themselves, 
 and see whether what you say in them does not amount to this, that a revelation from 
 God is more or less credible, according as it has a stronger or weaker confirmation from 
 human reason. For, : 
 
 ** 1. Your lordship says® ‘ You do not question whether God can give immortality 
 to a material substance; but you say it takes off very much from the evidence of im- 
 mortality, if it depends wholly upon God’s giving that which of its own natureit is not 
 capable of.’ 
 
 ‘‘To which I reply, any one not being able to demonstrate the soul to be immaterial, 
 takes off not very much, nor at all, from the evidence of its immortality, if God has 
 revealed that it shall be immortal; because the veracity of God is a demonstration of 
 
 1 Second Answer. 2 Tbid. 3 First Answer. 
 
APPENDIX. 043 
 
 the truth of what he has revealed; and. the want of another demonstration of a proposi- 
 tion, that is demonstratively true, takes not off from the evidence of it. For where 
 there is a clear demonstration, there is as much evidence as any truth can have, that 
 is not self-evident. God has revealed that the souls of men shall live forever. < But,’ 
 says your lordship, ‘from this evidence it takes off very much, if it depends wholly 
 upon God’s giving that which of its own nature it is not capable of,’ 7.e. the revela- 
 tion and testimony of God loses much of its evidence, if this depends wholly upon the 
 good pleasure of God, and cannot be demonstratively made out by natural reason, that 
 the soul is immaterial, and consequently, inits own nature, immortal. For that is all 
 that here is or can be meant by these words, ‘ which of its own nature it is not capable 
 of,’ to make them to the purpose. For the whole of your lordship’s discourse here 
 is to prove, that the soul cannot be material, because, then, the evidence of its being 
 immortal would be very much lessened. Which is to say, that it is not as ‘credible 
 upon divine revelation, that a material substance should be immortal, as an immate- 
 rial; or, which is all one, that God is not equally to be believed when he declares, that 
 a material substance shall be immortal as when he declares, that an immaterial shall 
 be so, because the immortality of a material substance cannot be demonstrated from 
 natural reason. 
 
 “* Let us try this rule of your lordship’s a little further: God hath revealed that the 
 bodies men shall have after the resurrection, as well as their souls, shall live to eternity. 
 Does your lordship believe the eternal life of the one of these more than of the other, 
 because you think you can prove it of one of them by natural reason, and of the other 
 not? or can any one who admits of divine revelation in the case, doubt of one of them 
 more than the other? or think this proposition less credible, that the bodies of men after 
 _the resurrection shall live for ever; than this, that the souls of men, shall, after the re- 
 surrection, live for ever? For that he must do, if he thinks either of them is less credi- 
 ble than the other. If this be so, reason is to be consulted how far God is to be 
 believed, and the credit of divine testimony must receive its force from the evidence 
 of reason ; which is evidently to take away the credibility of divine revelation in all 
 supernatural truths wherein the evidence of reason fails. And how much such a prin- 
 ciple as this tends to the support of the doctrine of the Trinity, or the promoting the 
 Christian religion, I shall leave it to your lordship to consider. 
 
 ‘<I am not so well read in Hobbes or Spinosa, as to be able to say what were their 
 Opinions in this matter. But, possibly, there be those who will think your lordship’s 
 authority of more use to them in the case than those justly decried names; and be glad 
 to find your lordship a patron of the oracles of reason, so little to the advantage of the 
 oracles of divine revelation. This, at least, I think, may be subjoined to the words at the 
 bottom of the next page,’ That those who have gone about to lessen the credibility of 
 the articles of faith, which evidently they do who say they are less credible, because they 
 cannot be made out demonstratively by natural reason, have not been thought to secure 
 several of the articles of the Christian faith, especially those of the Trinity, incarnation, 
 and resurrection of the body, which are those upon the account of which I am brought 
 by your lordship into this dispute. 
 
 ‘¢T shall not trouble the reader with your lordship’s endeavours in the following words, 
 to prove, ‘ That if the soul be not an immaterial substance it can be nothing but life ;’ 
 your very first words visibly confuting all that you allege to that purpose. They are,? 
 ‘ If the soul be a material substance, it is really nothing but life ;’? which is to say, that 
 if the soul be really a substance, it is not really a substance, but really nothing else 
 but an affection of a substance; for the life, whether of a material or immaterial sub- 
 stance, is not the substance itself, but an affection of it. 
 
 “2, You say,®? ‘ Although we think the separate state of the soul after death, is 
 sufficiently revealed in the Scripture; yet it creates a great ditficulty in understanding it, 
 if the soul be nothing but life, or a material substance, which must be dissolved when 
 life is ended. For if the soul be a material substance, it must be made up, as others 
 are, of the cohesion of solid and separate parts, how minute and invisible soever they be. 
 And what is it which should keep them together, when life is gone? So that it is no 
 easy matter to give un account, how the soul should be capable of immortality, unless 
 it be an immaterial substance; and then we know the solution and texture of bodies 
 cannot reach the soul, being of a different nature.’ 
 
 ‘¢ Let it be as hard a matter as it will to give an account what it is that should keep 
 
 1 First Answer. ? Tbid. 3 Tbid. 
 
544A APPENDIX. 
 
 the parts of a material soul together, after it is separated from the body , yet it will be 
 always as easy to give an account of it, as to give an account what it is that shall keep 
 together a material and immaterial] substance. And yet the difficulty that there is to 
 give an account of that, I hope does not, with your lordship, weaken the credibility of 
 the inseparable union of soul and body to eternity : and I persuade myself that the men 
 of sense, to whom your lordship appeals in the case, do not find their belief of this 
 fundamental point much weakened by that difficulty. I thought heretofore, (and by your 
 lordship’s permission, would think so still,) that the union of the parts of matter, one 
 with another, is as much in the hands of God, as the union ofa material and immate- 
 rial substance; and that it does not take off very much, or at all, from the evidence of 
 immortality, which depends on that union, that it is no easy matter to give an account 
 what it is that should keep them together: though its depending wholly upon the gift 
 and good pleasure of God, where the manner creates great difficulty in the understand- 
 ing, and our reason cannot discover in the nature of things how it is, be that which your 
 lordship so positively says, lessens the credibility of the fundamental articles of the re- 
 surrection and immortality. 
 
 ‘¢ But, my lord, to remove this objection a little, and to show of how small force it is 
 even with yourself; give me leave to presume, that your lordship as firmly believes the 
 immortality of the body after the resurrection, as any other article of faith: if so, then it 
 being no easy matter to give an account, what it is that shall keep together the parts of 
 a material soul, to one that believes it is material, can no more weaken the credibi- 
 lity of itsimmortality, than the like difficulty weakens the credibility of the immortality 
 of the body. For when your lordship shall find it an easy matter to give an account 
 what it is, besides the good pleasure of God, which shall keep together the parts of our 
 material bodies to eternity, or even soul and body ; I doubt not but any one, who shall 
 think the soul material, will also find it as easy to give an account what it is that shall 
 keep those parts of matter also together to eternity. 
 
 *¢Were it not that the warmth of controversy is apt to make men so far forget, as to 
 take up those principles themselves (when they will serve their turn) which they have 
 highly condemned in others, I should wonder to find your lordship to argue, that be- 
 cause it is a difficulty to understand what shall keep together the minute parts of a 
 material soul, when life is gone; and because it is not an easy matter to give an account 
 how the soul shall be capable of immortality, unless it be an immaterial substance : 
 therefore it is not so credible as if it were easy to give an account by natural reason, 
 how it could be. For to this it is, that all this your discourse tends, as is evident by 
 what is already set down; and will be more fully made out by what your lordship says 
 in other places, though there needs no such proof, since it would all be nothing against 
 me in any other sense. 
 
 ‘J thought your lordship had in other places asserted, and insisted on this truth, that 
 no part of divine revelation was the less to be believed because the thing itself created 
 great difficulty in the understanding, and the manner of it was hard to be explained ; 
 and it was no.easy matter to give an account how it was. This, as I take it, your lord- 
 ship condemned in others, asa very unreasonable principle, and such as would subvert 
 all the articles of the Christian religion, that were mere matters of faith, as I think it 
 will: and is it possible, that you should make use of it here yourself, against the article 
 of life and immortality, that Christ hath brought to light through the gospel, and neither 
 was nor could be made out by natural reason without revelation? But you will say, 
 you speak only of the soul; and your words are, ‘ That it is no easy matter to give an 
 account how the soul should be capable o° immortality, unless it be an immaterial sub- 
 stance.’ I grant it; but crave leave to say, that there is not any one of those difficul- 
 ties, that are or can be raised about the manner how a material soul can be immortal, 
 which do not as well reach the immortality of the body. 
 
 ‘¢ But if it were not so, I am sure this principle of your lordship’s would reach other 
 articles of faith, wherein our natural reason finds it not so easy to give an account how 
 those mysteries are: and which, therefore, according to your principles, must be less 
 credible than other articles, that create less difficulties to the understanding. For your 
 lordship says,' ‘ That you appeal to any man of sense, whether to a man who thought 
 by his principles, he could from natural grounds demonstrate the immortality of the soul, 
 the finding the uncertainty of those principles he went upon in point of reason,’ z. e. the 
 finding he could not certainly prove it by natural reason, doth not weaken the credi- 
 
 1 Second Answer. 
 
See go SoS SET Rp gem EC a OE OS Nae AE WY OR a EO a Ie ET eT eT Ce 
 
 APPENDIX, 545 
 
 bility of that fundamental article, when it is considered purely as a matter of faith. 
 Whichin effect, I humbly conceive, amounts to this, that a proposition divinely revealed 
 that cannot be proved by natural reason, is less credible than one that can: which 
 seems to me to come very little short of this, with due reverence be itspoken, that God 
 is less to be believed when he affirms a proposition that cannot be proved by natural 
 reason, than when he proposes what can be proved by it. Thedirect contrary to which 
 is My opinion, though you endeavour to make it good by these following words.’ ‘ If 
 the evidence of faith fall so much short of that of reason, it must needs have less effect 
 upon men’s minds, when the subserviency of reason is taken away ; as it must be, when 
 the grounds of certainty by reason are vanished. Is it at all probable, that he who finds 
 his reason deceive him in such fundamental points, should have his faith stand firm and 
 immovable on the account of revelation?? Than which I think there are hardly plainer 
 words to be found out to declare that the credibility of God’s testimony depends on 
 the natural evidence of probability of the things we receive from revelation; and rises 
 and falls with it; and that the truths of God, or the articles of mere faith, lose so much 
 of their credibility as they want proof from reason; which, if true, revelation may 
 come to have no credibility at all. For if, in this present case, the credibility of this 
 proposition, ‘ the souls of men shall live for ever,’ revealed in the Scripture, be lessened 
 by confessing it cannot be demonstratively proved from reason, though it be asserted 
 to be most highly probable ; must not, by the same rule, its credibility dwindle away 
 to nothing, if natural reason should not be able to make it out to be so much as proba- 
 ble, or should place the probability from natural principles on the other side? For if 
 mere want of demonstration lessens the credibility of any proposition divinely revealed, 
 must not want of probability, or contrary probability from natural reason, quite take 
 
 away its credibility? Here at last it must end, if in any one case the veracity of God, 
 and the credibility of the truths we receive from him by revelation, be subjected to the 
 verdicts of human reason, and be allowed to receive any accession or diminution from 
 other proofs, or want of other proofs of its certainty or probability. 
 
 “If this be your lordship’s way to promote religion, or defend its articles, I know 
 not what argument the greatest enemies of it could use more effectually for the subver- 
 sion of those you have undertaken to defend ; this being to resolve all revelation per- 
 fectly and purely into natural reason, to bound its credibility by that, and leave no 
 room for faith in other things, than what can be accounted for by natural reason without 
 revelation. 
 
 *¢ Your lordship? insists much upon it, as if I had contradicted what I have said in 
 my Essay,’ by saying, ‘ that upon my principles it cannot be demonstratively proved 
 that it is an immaterial substance in us that thinks, however probable it be.” He that 
 will be at the pains to read that chapter of mine, and consider it, will find that my busi- 
 ness there was to show, that it was no harder to conceive an immaterial than a material 
 substance ; and thatfrom the ideas of thought, and a power of moving of matter, which 
 we experienced in ourselves, (ideas originally not belonging to matter as matter, ) there 
 was no more difficulty to conclude there was an immaterial substance in us, than that 
 we had material parts. ‘These ideas of thinking and power of moving of matter, I, 
 in another place, showed, did demonstrativeiy lead us to the certain knowledge of the 
 existence of an immaterial thinking being, in whom we have the idea of spirit in the 
 strictest sense; in which sense I also applied it to the soul, in the 23rd chapter of my 
 Essay ; the easily conceivable possibility, nay, great probability, that the thinking 
 substance in us is immaterial, giving me sufficient ground for it. In which sense I 
 shall think I may safely attribute it to the thinking substance in us, till your lordship 
 shall have better proved from my words that it is impossible it should be immaterial. 
 For I only say, that it is possible, 7. e. involves no contradiction, that God, the omni- 
 potent, immaterial Spirit, should, if he please, give to some parcels of matter, disposed 
 as he thinks fit, a power of thinking and moving; which parcels of matter so endued 
 with a power of thinking and motion, might properly be called spirits, in contradis- 
 tinction to unthinking matter, in all which, I presume, there is no manner of con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 ‘‘ T justified my use of the word spirit, in that sense, from the authorities of Cicero 
 and Virgil, applying the Latin word spiritus, from whence spirit is derived, to the soul, 
 as a thinking thing, without excluding materiality out of it. To which your lordship 
 
 . 3 
 1 Second Answer. 2 First Answer. Bierce 23: 
 
546 APPENDIX. 
 
 replies,! ‘ that Cicero, in his Tusculan Questions, supposes the soul not to be a finer 
 sort of body, but of a different nature from the body—that he calls the body, the 
 prison of the soul—and says, that a wise man’s business is to draw off his soul from 
 his body.’ And then your lordship concludes, as is usual, with a question : ‘ Is it pos- 
 sible now to think so great a man looked on the soul but as a modification of the 
 body, which must be at an end with life?’ Answer, No; it is impossible that a man 
 of so good sense as Tully, when he uses the word corpus, or body, for the gross and vis- 
 ible parts of a man, which he acknowledges to be mortal, should look on the soul to be 
 a modification of that body, in a discourse wherein he was endeavouring to persuade 
 another that it was immortal. It is to be acknowledged, that truly great men, such 
 as he was, are not wont so manifestly to contradict themselves. He had therefore no 
 thought concerning the modification of the body of a man in the case. He was not 
 such a trifler as to examine whether the modification of the body of a man was im- 
 mortal when that body itself was mortal. And therefore that which he reports as 
 Diceearchus’s opinion, he dismisses in the beginning without any more ado, c. 11. But 
 Cicero’s was adirect, plain, and sensible inquiry, viz., What thesoul was; to seewhether 
 from thence he could discover its immortality. But in all that discourse in his first 
 book of Tusculan Questions, where he lays out so much of his reading and reason, there 
 is not one syllable showing the least thought that the soul was an immaterial sub- 
 stance ; but many things directly to the contrary. 
 
 ‘«« Indeed, (1.) he shuts out the body, taken in the sense he uses* corpus all along, 
 for the sensible organical parts of a man; and is positive that it is not the soul: and 
 body in this sense, taken for the human body, he calls the prison of the soul; and says, 
 a wise man, instancing in Socrates and Cato, is glad of a fair opportunity to get out 
 of it. But he nowhere says any such thing of matter: he calls not matter in general 
 the prison of the soul, nor talks a word of being separate from it. 
 
 ‘©2. He concludes that the soul is not, like other things here below, made up of a 
 composition of the elements, c. 27. 
 
 ‘©3, He excludes the two gross elements, earth and water, from being the soul, c. 26. 
 
 “So far he is clear and positive; but beyond this he is uncertain, beyond this he 
 could not get. For in some places he speaks doubtfully, whether the soul be not air 
 or fire, Anima sit animus, ignisve, nescio, c. 25, And therefore he agrees with Paneetius, 
 that if it be at all elementary, it is, as he calls it, inflammata anima, inflamed air; and 
 for this he gives several reasons, c. 18, 19. And though he thinks it to be of a peculiar 
 nature of its own, yet he is so far from thinking it immaterial, that he says, c. 19, that 
 the admitting it to be of an aerial or igneous nature would not be inconsistent with any- 
 thing he had said. 
 
 “That which he seems most to incline to, is, that the soul was not at all elementary, 
 but was of the same substance with the heavens; which Aristotle, to distinguish from 
 the four elements, and the changeable bodies here below, which he supposed made up 
 of them, called guinta essentia. That this was Tully’s opinion, is plain, from these 
 words: Ergo animus (qui, ut ego dico, divinus) est, ut Euripides audet dicere Deus; et 
 guidem si Deus aut anima aut ignis est, idem est animus hominis. Nam ut illa na- 
 tura celestis et terra vacat et humore; sic utriusque harum rerum humanus animus 
 est expers. Sin autem est quinta quedam natura ab Aristotele inducta; primum hec 
 et deorum, est et animorum. Hanc nos sententiam secuti, his ipsis verbis in consola- 
 tione hec expressimus, c. 26. And then he goes on, c. 27, to repeat those his own 
 words, which your lordship has quoted out of him, wherein he had affirmed, in his 
 treatise De Consolatione, the soul not to have its original from the earth, or to be 
 mixed or made of anything earthly ; but had said, Singularis est igitur quedam natura 
 et vis animi, sejuncia ab his usitatis notisque naturis ; whereby, he tells us, he meant 
 nothing but Aristotle’s guinta essentia ; which being unmixed, being that of which the 
 gods and souls consisted, he calls it divinum celeste, and concludes it eternal ; it being 
 as he speaks, seyuncta ab omni mortali concretione. From which it is clear, that in all 
 his inquiry about the substance of the soul, his thoughts went not beyond the four 
 elements, or Aristotle’s guinta essentia, to look for it. In all which, there is nothing 
 of immateriality, but quite the contrary. 
 
 ““ He was willing to believe (as good and wise men have always been) that the soul 
 was immortal; but for that it is plain he never thought of its immateriality, but as the 
 eastern people do, who believe the sonl to be immortal, but have nevertheless no 
 thought, no conception of its immateriality. It is remarkable what a very consider- 
 
 1 First Answer. 2C, 19, 22, 30, 31, &c. 
 
APPENDIX. 547 
 
 able and judicious author says in this case.t. ‘ No opinion,’ says he, ‘ has been so uni- 
 versally received as that of the immortality of the soul; but its immateriality is a 
 truth, thé knowledge whereof has not spread so far. And indeed it is extremely dif- 
 fieult to let into the mind of a Siamite the idea of a pure spirit. This the missionaries, 
 who have been longest amongst them, are positive in. All the Pagans of the East do 
 truly believe that there remains something of a man after his death, which subsists 
 independently and separately from his body. But they give extension and figure to 
 that which remains, and attribute to it all the same members, all the same substances, 
 both solid and liquid, which our bodies are composed of. They only suppose that the 
 souls are of a matter subtile enough to escape being seen or handled. Such were the 
 shades and the manes of the Greeks and the Romans. And it is by these figures of the 
 souls, answerable to those of the bodies, that Virgil supposed Aineas knew Palinurus, 
 Dido, and Anchises in the other world.’ 
 
 “¢ This gentleman was not a man that travelled into those parts for his pleasure, and 
 to have the opportunity to tell strange stories collected by chance, when he returned ; 
 but one chosen for the purpose (and he seems well chosen for the purpose) to inquire 
 into the singularities of Siam. And he has so well acquitted himself of the commis- 
 sion which his Epistle Dedicatory tells us he had, to inform himself exactly of what 
 was most remarkable there, that had we but such an account of other countries of the 
 East as he has given us of this kingdom, which he was an envoy to, we should be 
 much better acquainted than we are with the manners, notions, and religions of that 
 part of the world inhabited by civilized nations, who want neither good sense nor 
 acuteness of reason, though not cast into the mould of the logic and philosophy of 
 our schools. 
 
 “ But to return to Cicero: it is plain that, in his inquiries about the soul, his 
 thoughts went not at all beyond matter. This the expressions that drop from him 
 in several places of this book evidently show. For example, ‘ That the souls of excel- 
 lent men and women ascended into heaven; of others, that they remained here on 
 earth.’ ¢.12. ‘ That the soul is hot, and warms the body; that on its leaving the body, 
 it penetrates and divides, aud breaks through our thick, cloudy, moist air; that it stops 
 in the region of fire, and ascends no further, the equality of warmth and weight making 
 that its proper place, where it is nourished and sustained with the same things wherewith 
 the stars are nourished and sustained, and that by the convenience of its neighbourhood 
 it shall there have a clearer view and fuller knowledge of the heavenly bodies,’ c. 19. 
 ‘ That the soul also, from this height, shall have a pleasant and fairer prospect of the 
 globe of the earth, the disposition of whose parts will then lie before it in one view,’ c. 20. 
 ‘That it is hard to determine what conformation, size, and place the soul has in the 
 body: that it is too subtile to be seen; that it is in the human body, as in a house ora 
 vessel, or a receptacle,’ c. 22. All which are expressions tliat sufficiently evidence that 
 he who used them had not in his mind separated materiality from the idea of the soul. 
 
 “Tt may perhaps be replied, that a great part of this which we find in c. 19, is said 
 upon the principles of those who would have the soul to be anima inflammata, inflamed 
 air. Igrantit. But it is also to be observed, that in this 19th and the two following 
 chapters, he does not only not deny, but even admits, that so material a thing as in- 
 flamed air may think. 
 
 ‘The truth of the case, in short, is this: Cicero was willing to believe the soul im- 
 mortal; but when he sought in the nature of the soul itself something to establish this 
 his belief into\a certainty of it, he found himself at a loss. He confessed he knew not 
 what the soul was; but the not knowing what it was, he argues, c. 22, was no reason to 
 conclude it was not. And thereupon he proceeds to the repetition of what he had said 
 in his 6th book, de Repub. concerning the soul. The argument which, borrowed from 
 Plato, he there makes use of, if it have any force in it, not only proves the soul to be 
 immortal, but more than, I think, your lordship will allow to be true; for it proves it 
 to be eternal, and without beginning, as well as without end: MNeque nata certe est, et 
 eterna est, says he. 
 
 ‘<¢ Indeed, from the faculties of the soul, he concludes right, ‘ that it is of divine 
 original.’ But as to the substance of the soul, he at the end of this discourse concern- 
 ing its faculties, c. 25, as well as at the beginning of it, c. 22, is not ashamed to own 
 his ignorance of what it is: Anima sit animus, ignisve, nescio; nec me pudet ut istos, 
 fateri nescire quod nesciam. Tllud, si ulla alia de re obscura affirmare possem, sive 
 anima, sive ignis sit animus, cum jurarem esse divinum. c. 25. So that all the cer- 
 
 1 Loubére, du Royaume de Siam, t. i. c. 19, § 4. 
 
 NN 2 
 
548 APPENDIX. 
 
 tainty he could attain to about the soul was, that he was confident there was something 
 divine in it, 7, e. there were faculties in the soul that could not result from the nature 
 of matter, but must have their original from a divine power; but yet those qualities, 
 divine as they were, he acknowledged might be placed in breath or fire, which I think 
 your lordship will not deny to be material substances. So that all those divine qualities, 
 which he so much and so justly extols in the soul, led him not, as appears, so much as to 
 any the least thought of immateriality. This is demonstration that he built them not 
 upon an exclusion of materiality out of the soul; for he avowedly professes he does not 
 know but breath or fire might be this thinking thing in us: and in all his consi- 
 derations about the substance of the soul itself, he stuck in air or fire, or Aristotle’s 
 guinta essentia ; for beyond those it is evident he went not. 7 
 
 ‘“‘ But with all his proofs out of Plato, to whose authority he defers so much, with all 
 the arguments his vast reading and great parts could furnish him with for the immor- 
 tality of the soul, he was so little satisfied, so far from being certain, so far from any 
 thought that he had or could prove it, that he over and over again professes his igno- 
 rance and doubt of it. In the beginning, he enumerates the several opinions of the 
 philosophers, which he had well studied, about it. And then, full of uncertainty, says, 
 Harum sententiarum que vera sit, Deus aliquis viderit ; que verisimillima magna questio, 
 ce. 11. And towards the latter end, having gone them all over again, and one after 
 another examined them, he professes himself still at a loss, not knowing on which to 
 piteh, nor what to determine. JVentis acies, says he, seipsam intuens, nonnunquam 
 hebescit, ob eamque causam contemplandi diligentiam omittimus. Itaque dubitans, cir- 
 cumspectans, hesitans, multa adversa revertens, tanquam in rate in mari immenso, 
 nostra vehitur oratio, c. 30. And to conclude this argument, when the person he in- 
 troduces as discoursing with him tells him he is resolved to keep firm to the belief of — 
 immortality, Tully answers, ¢c. 82, Laudo id quidem, et si nihil animis oportet confi- 
 dere: movemur enim sepe aliquo acute concluso; labamus, mutamusque sententiam 
 clarioribus etiam in rebus; in his est enim aliqua obscuritas. 
 
 ‘“‘ So immovable is that truth delivered by the Spirit of Truth, that though the light 
 of nature gave some obscure glimmering, some uncertain hopes of a future state; yet 
 human reason could attain to no clearness, no certainty about it, but that it was 
 JESUS CHRIST alone who had brought life and immortality to light, through the 
 gospel.’ Though we are now told, that to own the inability of natural reason to bring 
 immortality to light, or, which passes for the same, to own principles upon which the 
 immateriality of the soul (and as it is urged consequently, its immortality) cannot be 
 demonstratively proved, does lessen the belief of this article of revelation, which 
 JESUS CHRIST alone has brought to light, and which consequently the scripture 
 assures us is established and made certain only by revelation, This would not perhaps 
 have seemed strange from those who are justly complained of, for slighting the revela- 
 tion of the gospel, and therefore would not be much regarded, if they should contradict 
 so plain a text of scripture, in favour of their all-sufficient reason. But what use the 
 promoters of scepticism and infidelity, in an age so much suspected by your lordship, 
 may make of what comes from one of your great authority and learning, may deserve 
 your consideration. 
 
 ‘** And thus, my lord, I hope I have satisfied you concerning Cicero’s opinion about 
 the soul, in his first book of Tusculan Questions; which, though I easily believe, as 
 your lordship says, you are no stranger to, yet I humbly conceive you have not shown 
 (and upon a careful perusal of that treatise again, I think I may boldly say you cannot 
 show) one word in it that expresses anything like a notion in Tully of the soul’s im- 
 mortality, or its being an immaterial substance. 
 
 “ From what you bring out of Virgil, your lordship coneludes,? ‘ that he no more 
 than Cicero, does me any kindness in this matter, being both asserters of the soul’s 
 immortality.’ My lord; were not the question of the soul’s immateriality, according to 
 custom, changed here into that of its immortality, which I am no less an asserter of 
 than either of them, Cicero and Virgil do me all the kindness I desired of them in this 
 matter; and that was to show that they attributed the word spivitus to the soul of 
 man, without any thought of its immateriality; and this the verses you yourself bring 
 out of Virgil, 
 
 ‘Et cum frigida mors anime seduxerit artus, 
 Omnibus umbra locis adero ; dabis, improbe, peenas,’ 
 
 ——— 
 
 1 ye ° : 
 2 Timesi. 20; 2 First Answer. 
 
APPENDIX. 549 
 
 confirm, as well as those I quoted out of his sixth Book; and for this M. de Loubére 
 shall be my witness, in the words above set down out of him; where he shows that 
 there be those amongst the heathens of our days, as well as Virgil and others amongst 
 the ancient Greeks and Romans, who thought the souls or ghosts of men departed did 
 not die with the body, without thinking them to be perfectly immaterial; the latter 
 being much more incomprehensible to them than the former. And what Virgil’s notion 
 of the soul is, and that corpus, when put into contradistinction to the soul, signifies 
 nothing but the gross tenement of flesh and bones, is evident from this verse of his 
 fineid, 6, where he calls the souls which yet were visible, 
 
 ‘ Tenues sine corpore vite.’ 
 
 ‘¢Your lordship’s answer! concerning what is said, Eccles. xili., turns wholly upon So- 
 lomon’s taking the soul to be immortal, which was not what I question ; all that I quoted 
 that place for, was to show that spirit in English might properly be applied to the 
 
 soul, without any notion of its immateriality, as mm was by Solomon, which, whether 
 he thought the souls of men to be immaterial, does little appear in that passage where 
 he speaks of the souls of men and beasts together, as he does. But further, what I 
 contended for is evident from that place, in that the word spirit is there applied by our 
 translators to the souls of beasts, which your lordship, I think, does not rank amongst 
 the immaterial, and consequently immortal spirits, though they have sense and spon- 
 taneous motion. 
 
 “¢ But you say,” ‘ if the soul be not of itself a free, thinking substance you do not see 
 what foundation there is in nature for aday of judgment.’ Answer. Though the 
 heathen world did not of old, nor do to this day, see a foundation in nature for a day 
 of judgment; yet in revelation, if that will satisfy your lordship, every one may see a 
 foundation for a day of judgment, because God has positively declared it; though 
 God has not by that revelation taught us what the substance of soul is; nor has any- 
 where said, that the soul of itself is a free agent. Whatsoever any created substance 
 is, it is not of itself, but is by the good pleasure of its Creator: whatever degrees of 
 perfection it has, it has from the bountiful hand of its Maker. For itis true in a 
 natural, as well as a spiritual sense, what St. Paul says,’ ‘ Not that we are sufficient 
 of ourselves to think anything as of ourselves, but our sufficiency is of God.’ 
 
 ‘¢ But your lordship, as I guess by your following words, would argue, that a material 
 substance cannot be a free agent ; whereby I suppose you only mean, that you cannot 
 see or conceive how a solid substance should begin, stop, or change its own motion. To 
 which give me leave to answer, that when you can make it conceivable how any cre- 
 ated, finite, dependent substance can move itself, or alter or stop its own motion, which 
 it must to be a free agent, I suppose you will find it no harder for God to bestow this 
 power on asolid than an unsolid created substance. ‘Tully, in the place above quoted * 
 could not conceive this power to be in anything but what was from eternity: Cum 
 pateat igitur eternum id esse quod seipsum moveat quis est qui hanc naturam animis esse 
 tributam neget? But though you cannot see how any created substance, solid or not 
 solid, can be a free agent, (pardon me, my lord, if I put in both, till your lordship 
 please to explain it of either, and show the manner how either of them can of itself 
 move itself or anything else,) yet I do not think you will so deny men to be free agents, 
 from the difficulty there is to see how they are free agents, as to doubt whether there 
 be foundation enough for a day of judgment. 
 
 “It is not for me to judge how far your lordship’s speculations reach; but finding 
 in myself nothing to be truer than what the wise Solomon tells me,’ ‘ As thou knowest 
 not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her 
 that is with child; even so thou knowest not the works of God, who maketh all things ;’ 
 I gratefully receive and rejoice in the light of revelation, which sets me at rest in many 
 things, the manner whereof my poor reason can by no means make out to me. 
 Omnipotency, I know, can do anything that contains in it no contradiction ; so that I 
 readily believe whatever God has declared, though my reason find difficulties in it, 
 which it cannot master. As in the present case, God having revealed that there shall 
 be a day of judgment, I think that foundation enough to conclude men are free 
 enough to be made answerable for their actions, and to receive according to what 
 they have done; though how man is a free agent, surpasses my explication or com- 
 prehension. 
 
 1 First Answer. 2 Ibid. 3 9 Cor. iii. 5. 4 Tus. Quest. 1. i. c. 23. 5 Kecles. xi. 5. 
 
 I re oe a er ince Sane feng OO 
 
Gunga inetncae 
 
 EE aT SBF TS SR OT SS 
 
 oo0 APPENDIX. 
 
 ‘Tn answer to the place I brought out of St. Luke,! your lordship asks,* ‘ Whether 
 from these words of our Saviour it follows that a spirit is only an appearance? I an- 
 swer, No; nor do I know who drew such an inference from them: but it follows, that 
 in apparitions there is something that appears, and that that which appears is not wholly 
 immaterial; and yet this was properly called rvejpa and was often looked upon by 
 those who called it rvetua in Greek, and now eall it spirit in English, to be the ghost 
 or soul of one departed ; which, I humbly conceive, justifies my use of the word spirit, 
 for a thinking, voluntary agent, whether material or immaterial. . 
 
 ‘Your lordship says,° ‘ that I grant, that it eannot upon these principles be demon- 
 strated, that the spiritual substance in us is immaterial :’ from whence you conclude, 
 ‘that then my grounds of certainty from ideas are plainly given up.’ This being a 
 way of arguing that you often make use of, I have often had occasion to consider it, 
 and cannot after all see the force of thisargument. I acknowledge that this or that 
 proposition cannot upon my principles be demonstrated ; erye, I grant this proposition 
 to be false, that certainty consists in the perception of the agreement or disagreement 
 of ideas. For that is my ground of certainty, and till that be given up, my grounds 
 of certainty are not given up. 
 
 1 Luke xxiv. 39. 2 First Answer. — 8 Ebid. 
 
 ae 
 
AN EXAMINATION 
 
 OF 
 
 P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION 
 
 OF 
 
 SEEING ALL THINGS IN GOD: 
 
 WITH 
 
 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Ir wouldhere be altogether out of place to attempt an outline of Malebranche’s whole philosophy, since 
 only a very small portion of it is attacked in the following treatise by Locke.. Besides, the merit of 
 Malebranche lies not, I think, in the invention of a system, but in the criticism of such other systems 
 as still preserved some credit in his time. Tenneman (Manual of the History of Philosophy, §. 332,) 
 gives a brief, and, in my opinion, a very unsatisfactory account of the doctrines of this writer. Buhle 
 (Histoire de la Philosophie Moderne, t. iii. p. 867—425) supplies a tolerably correct and intelligible 
 abridgment of his general views. But, stated in any other language than his own, it is to be feared 
 that his method of reasoning must appear exceedingly absurd and insipid, since the whole vitality of 
 the Recherche de la Vérité is, in my humble opinion, to be found in the rich, polished, and flexible 
 style in which it is written. Here it is not to be denied he possesses considerable superiority over 
 Locke; but however ably he may write, and however subtly he may reason, it soon becomes evident, 
 upon a diligent perusal, that his mind was too much clouded by mysticism to permit of his seeing 
 his way clearly through the labyrinth of metaphysics. He falls perpetually into contradictions; often 
 appears to confound the soul with its material organ, the brain; now verges towards the loftiest 
 idealism; now adopts the tone and language of a Pantheist; and in the favourité, and perhaps the 
 only new part of his system, viz., that which teaches that we behold all things in God, grows so mys- 
 tical, so confused, so irreconcileable with common sense and experience, that we at length dismiss the 
 whole speculation as amere dream. In this light it is quite clear Locke considered it. He was no 
 doubt restrained by the recent and widely extended reputation of Malebranche, as well as by his own 
 natural politeness, from speaking of it so plainly as we ought now to speak; but yet he manages to 
 show, in the course of his arguments, that the worthy father of the Oratory is very frequently at 
 variance with common sense. Undeterred by this exposure of his principles by anticipation, Bishop 
 Berkeley very shortly afterwards spun his famous system on Malebranche’s distaff; for it is almost 
 capable of demonstration that the Bishop of Cloyne’s idealism was hatched in the cloisters of the 
 Oratory. I am far from desiring to undervalue the contributions which any philosopher has made 
 towards the more complete understanding of the origin and nature of our ideas, of the powers of our 
 mind, our relations to the First Cause of all ideas, ofall sensations, and ofall knowledge; but it must be 
 owned that the frank and earnest student of philosophy frequently finds himself called upon to exer- 
 cise all his patience and forbearance, in making his way through the writings of father Malebranche. 
 Even the refutation of his errors by. Locke may be said to furnish a proof of this fact, since the utter 
 groundlessness of his suppositions now appears so self-evident, as to stand in need of no refutation 
 whatsoever. But the case was very different in Locke’s time, and perhaps would be so still, had not 
 the public mind been long ago weaned from pursuits purely speculative, in order to apply itself 
 with undivided earnestness to the sciences which are the immediate cause of happiness or misery to 
 mankind. 
 
AN EXAMINATION 
 
 OF 
 
 Pp, MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION 
 
 OF 
 
 SEEING ALL THINGS IN GOD. 
 
 1. Tux acute and ingenious author of the Recherche de la Vérité,’ among a great 
 many very fine thoughts, judicious reasonings, and uncommon reflections, has in 
 that treatise started the notion of Seeing all Things in God, as the best way to 
 explain the nature and manner of the ideas in our understanding. The desire I 
 had to have my unaffected ignorance removed, has made it necessary for me to 
 see whether this hypothesis, when examined, and the parts of it put together, can 
 be thought to cure our ignorance, or is intelligible and satisfactory to one who 
 would not deceive himself, take words for things, and think he knows what he 
 knows not. 
 
 2. This I observe at the entrance, that P. Malebranche having enumerated, 
 and in the following chapters showed the difficulties of the other ways, whereby 
 he thinks human understanding may be attempted to be explained, and how insuf- 
 ficient they are to give a satisfactory account of the ideas we have, erects this of 
 Seeing all Things in God upon their ruin, as the true, because it is impossible to 
 find a better; which argument, so far from being only argumentum ad ignorantiam, 
 loses all its force as soon as we consider the weakness of our minds and the nar- 
 rowness of our capacities, and have but humility enough to allow, that there may 
 be many things which we cannot fully comprehend, and that God is not bound in 
 all he does to subject his ways of operation to the scrutiny of our thoughts, and 
 confine himself to do nothing but what we must comprehend. And it will very 
 little help to cure my ignorance, that this is the best of four or five hypotheses 
 proposed, which are all defective ; if this too has in it what is inconsistent with 
 itself, or unintelligible to me. 
 
 3. The P. Malebranche’s Recherche de la Vérité, 1. 3, p.2, c. 1, tells us, that, 
 whatever the mind perceives, “ must be actually present and intimately united to 
 it.’* That the things that the mind perceives are its own sensations, Imaginations, 
 or notions; which being in the soul, the modifications of it need no ideas to repre- 
 sent them. But all things exterior to the soul we cannot perceive but by the 
 
 1 The edition of the Recherche de la Vérité . 
 
 which Locke used, was that in quarto, printed at 
 Paris, in 1678; and when he had occasion to 
 compare it with any other, he seems always to 
 have made use of the small octavo, printed at the 
 same place, andin the same year. By chance it 
 happens that this second edition is the one we 
 
 have now befoze us, and to which we shall refer 
 in the notes. 
 
 2 The words of Malebranche are— Il faut 
 bien remarquer qu’afin que Vesprit appercoive 
 quelque chose, il est absolument necessaire que 
 Vidée de cette chose lui soit actuellement pré- 
 sente.”” (Recherche de la Vérité, 1. III. p. ii. c. 1.) 
 
554 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 intervention of ideas, supposing that the things themselves cannot be intimately 
 united to the soul. But because spiritual things may possibly be united to the 
 soul, therefore he thinks it probable that they can discover themselves immediately 
 without ideas ;' though of this he doubts, because he believes not there is any sub- 
 stance purely intelligible, but that of God; and that though spirits can possibly 
 unite themselves to our minds; yet at present we cannot entirely know them. 
 But he speaks here principally of material things, which he says certainly cannot 
 unite themselves to our souls in such a manner as is necessary that it should per- 
 ceive them; because, being extended, the soul not being so, there is no proportion 
 between them. 
 
 4, This is the sum of his doctrine contained in the first chapter of the second 
 part of the third book, as far as I can comprehend it. Wherein, I confess, there 
 are many expressions which, carrying with them, to my mind, no clear ideas, are 
 like to remove but little of my ignorance by their sounds: v. g. “ What it is to 
 be intimately united to the soul.’ What it is for two souls or spirits to be inti- 
 mately united; for intimate union being an idea taken from bodies when the parts 
 of one get within the surface of the other, and touch their inward parts; what is 
 the idea of intimate union I must have between two beings that have neither of 
 them any extension or surface? And if it be not so explained as to give me a clear 
 idea of that union, it will make me understand very little more of the nature of the 
 ideas in my mind, when it is said I see them in God, who being intimately 
 united to the soul, exhibits them to it; than when it is only said they are, by the 
 appointment of God, produced in the mind by certain motions of our bodies, to 
 which our minds are united: which, however imperfect a way of explaining this 
 matter, will still be as good as any other that does not by clear ideas remove my 
 ignorance of the manner of my perception. 
 
 5. But he says that “ certainly material things cannot unite themselves to our 
 souls.” Our bodies are united to our souls, yes; but, says he, “ not after a 
 manner which is necessary that the soul may perceive them.”* Explain this 
 manner of union, and show wherein the difference consists between the union 
 necessary and not necessary to perception, and then I shall confess this difficulty 
 removed. 
 
 The reason that he gives why material things cannot be united to our souls after 
 a manner that is necessary to the soul’s perceiving them, is this, viz. “ That mate- 
 rial things being extended, and the soul not, there is no proportion between them.” 
 This, if it shows anything, shows only that a soul and a body cannot be united, 
 because one has surface to be united by, and the other none. But it shows not 
 why a soul united to a body, as ours is, cannot, by that body, have the idea of a 
 triangle excited in it, as well as by being united to God (between whom and the soul 
 there is as little proportion, as between any creature immaterial or material and 
 the soul) see in God the idea of a triangle that is in him, since we cannot con- 
 ceive a triangle, whether seen in matter or in God, to be without extension. 
 
 1 On this part of his system Malebranche en- 
 
 other answer perhaps could properly be made, 
 tertained no very clear or distinct ideas. ‘De i 
 
 but that which is here given by Locke. Having 
 
 sorte,” says he, ‘‘ qu’il ne semble pas absolument 
 necessaire d’admettre des idées pour representer 
 a ame des choses spirituelles parce qu’il-se peut 
 faire qu’on les voye par elles mémes, quoique d’une 
 maniére fort imparfaite.” (t. p.346.) In the notes 
 on the Essay on the Human Understanding, the 
 reader will have observed that Bishop Berkeley, 
 who may be regarded as the Malebranche of 
 Great Britain, entertained as nearly as possible 
 the same opinion, with respect to the know- 
 ledge we can have of spirits. (See Book IT. c. xxi. 
 . 210. 
 Py TS reasoning like that of Malebranche, no 
 
 promised to explain, in a future chapter, the 
 manner in which we obtain a knowledge of spi- 
 rits, Malebranche goes on to remark of material 
 substances, that they cannot be united to our 
 souls in the way necessary to enable us to per- 
 ceive them; and he subjoins his reason, such as 
 it is, for this opinion. ‘‘ Je parle,” says he, 
 ‘‘ principallement ici des choses materielles les- 
 quelles certainement ne peuvent s’unir a ndtre 
 ame de la maniére qu’il-est necessaire afin qu’elle 
 les appercoive, parce qu’ etant étendue et l’ame 
 ne l’etant pas il n’y a point de proportion entre- 
 elles. (t. i. p. 346.’’) 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 595 
 
 6. He says, “ There is no substance purely intelligible but that of God.” Here 
 again I must confess myself in the dark, having no notion at all of the substance 
 of God ; nor being able to conceive how his is more intelligible than any other 
 substance. 
 
 7. One thing more there is, which, I confess, stumbles me in the very founda- 
 tion of this hypothesis, which stands thus: “ We cannot perceive anything but what 
 is intimately united to the soul. The reason why some things, (viz. material, ) 
 cannot be intimately united to the soul, is, because there is no proportion between 
 the soul and them.” If this be a good reason, it follows that the greater the pro- 
 portion there is between the soul and any other being, the better and more inti- 
 mately they can be united. Now, then, I ask, whether there be a greater propor- 
 tion between God, an infinite Being, and the soul, or between finite created spirit 
 and the soul? And yet the author says, that ‘‘ he believes that there is no substance 
 purely intelligible, but that of God,” and that “ we cannot entirely know created 
 spirits at present.” Make this out upon your principles of intimate union and 
 proportion, and then they will be of some use to the clearing of your hypothesis, 
 otherwise intimate union and proportion are only sounds serving to amuse, not 
 instruct us. 
 
 8. In the close of this chapter he enumerates the several ways whereby he 
 thinks we come by ideas, and compares them severally with his own way ; which, 
 how ‘much more intelligible it is than either of those, the following chapters will 
 show; to which I shall proceed, when I have observed that it seems a bold 
 determination, when he says, that it must be one of these ways, and we can see 
 objects no other.?, Which assertion must be built on this good opinion of our 
 capacities that God cannot make the creatures operate but in ways conceivable 
 tous. ‘That we cannot discourse and reason about them further than we con- 
 ceive, is a great truth; and it would be well if we would not, but would inge- 
 nuously own the shortness of our sight where we do not see. To say there can be 
 no other, because we conceive no other, does not, I confess, much instruct. And 
 if I should say, that it is possible God has made our souls so, and so united them 
 to our bodies that, upon certain motions made in our bodies by external objects, 
 the soul should have such or such perceptions or ideas, though in a way incon- 
 ceivable to us; this perhaps would appear as true and as instructive a proposition 
 as what is so positively laid down. 
 
 9. Though the Peripatetic Doctrine of the Species*® does not at all satisfy me, yet 
 
 1 The passage in which Malebranche states 
 this opinion is the following :—‘‘ Il n’y a que 
 Dieu que l’on connoisse par lui méme; car 
 encore qu'il y ait, dautres étres Spirituels 
 que lui, et qui semblent étre intelligible par 
 leur nature, il n’y a présentement que lui seul, 
 qui penetre Vesprit et se decouvre a lui. 
 Nous ne yoyons que Dieu d’une vue immediate 
 et directe. Peut étre méme qu’il n’y a que lui, 
 qui puisse eclairer Vesprit par se propre sub- 
 stance. Enfin dans cette vie ce n’est que par 
 Punion que nous avons avec lui, que nous som- 
 mes capable de connoitre ce que nous connoissons.” 
 (t.i. p.374.) The error of this philosopher appears 
 to have originated in the pious desire to exalt the 
 greatness of God, by dwelling on the weakness 
 and insignificance of man; but, like many other 
 writers equally well-meaning, he fell into what, 
 written with other intentions, would have been 
 mere impiety. For since it is God who created 
 the human understanding, who has bestowed on us 
 all our faculties, who, in short, hasmade us what 
 we are, it cannot be consistent with true piety to 
 depreciate our own intellects, or to seek to degrade 
 and villify the powers with which we have been 
 gifted by Omnipotence. 
 
 2 It was, no doubt, very far from being the in- 
 tention of Malebranche to set up his own under- 
 standing as the measure of the infinite; but yet, 
 without appearing to have any such design, he 
 contrives to make it felt that God can furnish 
 us with ideas by no other means, and in no other 
 Ways, than such as he ventures to enumerate. 
 ‘* Nous assurons done qu’il est absolument ne- 
 cessaire, que les idées que nous avons des corps, 
 et de tous les autres objets que nous n’apper- 
 cevons point par eux-mémes, viennent de ces 
 mémes corps, ou de ces objets; ou bien que nétre 
 ame, ait la puissance de produire ces idées: ou 
 que Dieu les ait produites avec elle en la creant, 
 ou qu’il les produise toutes les fois qu’on pense 
 a quelque objet: ou que l’ame ait en elle méme 
 toutes les perfections qu’elle voit dans ces corps: 
 ou enfin qu’elle soit unie avec un étre tout par- 
 fait, et qui renferme généralement toutes les per- 
 fections des étres éréez.” (L. III. Pt. IL. c. i. 
 f. i. p. 346.) 
 
 ° The passage in which Pére Malebranche 
 ridicules the doctrine of species visible, main- 
 tained by the Peripatetics is witty enough; but 
 when the reader shall have considered it care- 
 fully, [very much question whether he will allow 
 
556 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 I think it were not hard to show, that it is as easy to account for the difficulties 
 he charges on it, as for those his own hypothesis is laden with. But it being not 
 my business to defend what I do not understand, nor to prefer the learned gib- 
 berish of the schools to what is yet unintelligible to me in P. M., I shall only 
 take notice of so much of his objections, as concerns what I guess to be the truth. 
 Though I do not think any material species, carrying the resemblance of things 
 by a continual flux from the body we perceive, bring the perception of them to 
 our senses ; yet I think the perception we have of bodies at a distance from ours 
 may be accounted for, as far as we are capable of understanding it, by the motion 
 of particles of matter coming from them and striking on our organs.' In feeling 
 and tasting there is immediate contact. Sound is not unintelligibly explained by 
 a vibrating motion communicated to the medium, and the effluviums of odorous 
 bodies will, without any great difficulties, account for smells. And therefore 
 P. M. makes his objections only against visible species, as the most difficult 
 to be explained by material causes, as indeed they are. But he that shall allow 
 extreme smallness in the particles of light, and exceeding swiftness in their 
 motion; and the great porosity that must be granted in bodies, if we compare 
 gold, which wants them not, with air, the medium wherein the rays of light come 
 to our eyes, and that of a million of rays that rebound from any visible area of 
 any body, perhaps the thousandth or ten thousandth part coming to the eye, 
 are enough to move the retina sufficiently to cause a sensation in the mind, will not 
 find any great difficulty in the objections which are brought from the impenetra- 
 bility of matter; and these rays ruffling and breaking one another in the medium 
 which is full of them. As to what is said, that from one point we can see a great 
 number of objects, that is no objection against the species, or visible appearances 
 of bodies, being brought into the eye by the rays of light; for the bottom of the 
 eye or retina, which, in regard of these rays, is the place of vision, is far from 
 
 it to be a correct representation of the ancient 
 system, or in any way conclusive against it. ‘‘On 
 assure donc qu’iln’y aaucune vrai-semblance, que 
 les objets envoyent des images, ou des espéces qui 
 leur resemblent; de quoi voici quelques raisons. 
 La premiere se tire de l’impenétrabilité des corps. 
 Tous les objets, comme le soliel, les etoiles, et 
 tous ceux qui sont proche de nos yeux, ne peu- 
 vent pas envoyer des espéces qui soient d’autre 
 nature qu’eux: c’est pourquoi les philosophes 
 disent ordinairement, que ces espéces sont gros- 
 sieres et materielles, a la difference des espéces 
 expresses qui sont spiritualisées. Ces espéces 
 impresses des objets sont donc de petits corps: 
 elles ne peuvent donc pas se penetrer ni tous les 
 espaces qui sont depuis la terre jusqu’au ciel, 
 lesquels en doivent étre tous remplis. D’ou il 
 est facile de conclure qu’elles devroient se frois- 
 ser, et se briser, les unes allant d’un cété et les 
 autres de l’autre, si l’on voyoit les objets par 
 leur moyen.” (L. III. Pt. II. c. 2, b. i. p. 348.) 
 Hobbes, also, (Human Nature, chap. i. § 4,) 
 makes himself merry with the Peripatetic visible 
 species; but when he comes in his turn to ex- 
 plain the act of sight, he proposes an hypothesis 
 very little more intelligible. ‘‘ I have shown,” 
 says he, ‘“‘ that no motion is generated but by 
 a body contiguous and moved: from whence it 
 is manifest, that the immediate cause of sense or 
 perception consists in this—that the first organ 
 of sense is touched and pressed. For when the 
 uttermost part of the organ is pressed, it no 
 sooner yields, but the part next within it is 
 pressed also; and in this manner the pressure 
 or motion is propagated through all the parts of 
 the organ, to the innermost. And thus also the 
 pressure of the uttermost part proceeds from the 
 
 pressure of some more remote body, and so con- 
 tinually, till we come to that from which, as from 
 its fountain, we derive the phantasm or idea that 
 is made in us byour sense. And this, whatsoever 
 it be, is that we commonly call the object. Sense, 
 therefore, is some internal motion in the sen- 
 tient, generated by some internal motion of the 
 parts of the object, and propagated through all 
 the medium to the innermost part of the organ. 
 By which words I have almost defined what sense 
 is.” (Elements of Philosophy, Pt. IV. c. xxv. 
 § 2.) Descartes, with great good sense, regarded 
 the manner by which images are conveyed to the 
 mind as wholly inexplicable. While on this sub- 
 ject, however, Antoine Le Grand, the best ex- 
 positor of his philosophy, has a passage which 
 may be worth introducing here. ‘Nulla est 
 necessitas tales zmagines ad visiones, aut alius 
 sensus explicandos admittendi, cum videamus 
 multa posse in animis nostris affectiones, et com- 
 motiones producere, que cum objectis, que sig- 
 nificant, similitudines non habent: ut cum verba 
 ore pronuntiata, aut papyro mandata strages ho- 
 minum, urbrum eversiones, maris procellas re- 
 presentant; aut amoris odiive effectis excitant; 
 que tamen representationes, seu cogitationes nul- 
 lam prorsus similitudinem habent, cum illis re- 
 bus, quas significant. Deinde explicari nos potest, 
 quomodo tales imagines ab objectis effluere pos- 
 suit.” (Instit. Philosoph. Pt. VIII. art. x. p.431.) 
 
 1 This notion appears to me as completcly un- 
 founded, to say the least of it, as that of the 
 Peripatetics; for if particles of matter may thus 
 travel from the dog-star to us, why may not the 
 image or visible species of the star? Iam apt to 
 
 think that the hostility waged against visible 
 species was founded on a misunderstanding. 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. D074 
 
 being a point. Nor is it true, that, though the eye be in any one place, yet that 
 the sight is performed in one point; i.e. that the rays that bring those visible 
 species do all meet in a point; for they cause their distinct sensations, by striking 
 on distinct parts of the retina, as is plain in optics; and the figure they paint 
 there must be of some considerable bigness, since it takes up on the retina an area 
 whose diameter is at least thirty seconds of a circle, whereof the circumference is 
 in the retina, and the centre somewhere in the crystalline, as a little skill in optics 
 will manifest to any one that considers, that few eves can perceive an object less 
 than thirty minutes of a circle, whereof the eye is the centre. And he that will 
 but reflect on that seeming odd experiment, of seeing only the two outward ones 
 of three bits of paper stuck up against a wall, at about half a foot, or a foot one 
 from another, without seeing the middle one at all, whilst his eye remains fixed 
 in the same posture, must confess that vision is not made in a point, when it is 
 plain, that looking with one eye, there is always one part between the extremes of 
 the area that we see, which is not seen at the same time that we perceive the 
 extremes of it; though the looking with two eyes, or the quick turning of the axis 
 of the eye to the part we would distinctly view, when we look but with one, does 
 not let us take notice of it. : 
 
 10. What I have here said, I think sufficient to make intelligible how by 
 material rays of light, visible species may be brought into the eye, notwithstand- 
 ing any of P. M.’s objections against so much of material causes as my hypothesis 
 is concerned in. But when by this means an image is made on the retina, how 
 we see it, I conceive no more than when I am told we see it in God. How we 
 see it is, | confess, what I understand not in the one or in the other; only it 
 appears to me more difficult to conceive a distinct visible image in the uniform, 
 unvariable essence of God, than in variously modifiable matter; but the manner 
 how I see either, still escapes my comprehension. Impressions made on the 
 retina by rays of light, I think I understand; and motions from thence continued 
 to the brain may be conceived, and that these produce ideas in our minds, I am 
 persuaded, but in a manner to me incomprehensible. This I can resolve only 
 into the good pleasure of God, whose ways are past finding out. And, I think, 
 I know it as well when I am told these are ideas that the motion of the animal 
 spirits, by a law established by God, produces in me, as when [ am told they are 
 ideas I see in God. The ideas it is certain I have, and God both ways is the 
 original cause of my having them; but the manner how I come by them, how it 
 is that I perceive, I confess I understand not;' though it be plain motion has to 
 do in the producing of them: and motion, so modified, is appointed to be the 
 cause of our having of them; as appears by the curious and artificial structure of 
 the eye, accommodated to all the rules of refraction and dioptrics, that so visible 
 objects might be exactly and regularly painted on the bottom of the eye. 
 
 11. The change of bigness in the ideas of visible objects, by distance and 
 optic-glasses, which is the next argument he uses against visible species, is a good 
 argument against them, as supposed by the Peripatetics, but when considered, 
 would persuade one that we see the figures and magnitudes of things rather in the 
 bottom of our eyes than in God; the idea we have of them and their grandeur 
 gers still proportioned to the bigness of the area, on the bottom of our eyes, that 
 is affected by the rays which paint the image there, and we may be said to see 
 the picture in the retina, as, when it is pricked, we are truly said to feel the pain 
 in our finger. 
 
 12. In the next place, where he says, that when we look on a cube “ we see all 
 its sides equal.” This, I think, is a mistake; and I have in another place shown 
 how the idea we have from a regular solid, is not the true idea of that solid, but 
 
 1 The same caution, forbearance, and good | here, where, in the particular instance before 
 sense, which constitute the characteristics of the | him, Locke accurately marks the limits between 
 Essay on the Human Understanding are visible | the knowable and the unknowable. 
 
558 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 such an one as by custom (as the name of it does) serves to excite our judgment 
 to form such an one. 
 
 13. What he says of seeing an object several millions of leagues, the very same 
 instant that it is uncovered, I think may be shown to be a mistake in matter of 
 fact. For by observations made on the satellites of Jupiter, it is discovered that 
 light is successively propagated, and is about ten minutes coming from the sun to us.! 
 
 14. By what I have said, I think it may be understood how we may conceive, 
 that from remote objects material causes may reach our senses, and therein pro- 
 duce several motions that may be the causes of ideas in us; notwithstanding what 
 P. M. has said in this second chapter against material species. I confess his 
 arguments are good against those species as usually understood by the Peripa- 
 tetics. But, since my principles have been said to be conformable to the Aristo- 
 telian philosophy, I have endeavoured to remove the difficulties it is charged 
 with, as far as my opinion is concerned in them. 
 
 15. His third chapter is to confute the “ opinion of those who think our minds 
 have a power to produce the ideas of things on which they would think, and that 
 they are excited to produce them by the impressions which objects make on the 
 body.” One who thinks ideas are nothing but perceptions of the mind annexed to 
 certain motions of the body by the will of God, who hath ordered such percep- 
 tions always to accompany such motions, though we know not how they are 
 produced, does in effect conceive those ideas or perceptions to be only passions of 
 the mind, when produced in it, whether we will or no, by external objects. But 
 he conceives them to be a mixture of action and passion when the mind attends to 
 them or revives them in the memory. Whether the soul has such a power as 
 this we shall perhaps have occasion to consider hereafter; and this power our 
 author does not deny, since in this very chapter he says, ‘‘ When we conceive a 
 square by pure understanding, we can yet imagine it; 1. e. perceive it in our- 
 selves by tracing an image of it on the brain.” Here, then, he allows the soul 
 power to trace images on the brain, and perceive them. This, to me, is matter 
 of new perplexity in this hypothesis; for if the soul be so united to the brain as 
 to trace images on it, and perceive them, I do not see how this consists with what 
 he says a little before in the first chapter, viz. “ That certainly material things 
 cannot be united to our souls after a manner necessary to its perceiving them.” 
 
 16. That which is said about objects exciting ideas in us by motion; and our 
 reviving the ideas we have once got in our memories, does not, I confess, fully 
 explain the manner how it is done. In this I frankly avow my ignorance, and 
 should be glad to find in him anything that would clear it to me; but in his expli- 
 cations I find these difficulties which I cannot get over. 
 
 17. The mind cannot produce ideas, says he, because they are ‘real spiritual 
 beings,”? i. e. substances; for so is the conclusion of that paragraph, where he 
 mentions it as an absurdity to think they are “annihilated when they are not present 
 to the mind.” And the whole force of this argument would persuade one to under- 
 stand him so; though I do not remember that he anywhere speaks it out, or in 
 direct terms calls them substances. 
 
 18. I shall here only take notice how inconceivable it is to me, that a spiritual, 
 i. e. an unextended, substance should represent to the mind an extended figure, 
 vy. g. a triangle of unequal sides, or two triangles of different magnitudes. Next, 
 supposing I could conceive an unextended substance to represent a figure, or be 
 the idea of a figure, the difficulty still remains to conceive how it is my soul sees 
 it. Let this substantial being be ever so sure, and the picture never so clear; yet 
 how we see it is to me inconceivable. Intimate union, were it as intelligible of 
 
 1 Recent experiments, I believe, have ren- | menides, and Diogenes Laertius, iii. 1. 12; x. 
 dered it extremely probable that light makes its | 1. 20. Aristotle appears to have thought that 
 passage from the sun to the earth in seven mi- | the whole doctrine of ideas arose from the mis~ 
 nutes and a half. employment of poetical metaphors. (Metaphys. 
 
 2 On the nature of ideas, see Plato, on the Par- | xii. 5.) 
 
 eed 
 
559 
 
 P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 
 
 two unextended substances, as of two bodies, would not yet reach perception, 
 which is something beyond union. But yet a little lower he agrees, that an idea 
 “is not a substance,” but yet affirms it is ‘‘a spiritual thing.” This spiritual 
 thing, therefore, must either be a spiritual substance, or a mode of a spiritual 
 substance, or a relation; for besides these I have no conception of anything. And 
 if any shall tell me it is a mode, it must be a mode of the substance of God; 
 which, besides that it will be strange to mention any modes in the simple essence 
 of God; whosoever shall propose any such modes as a way to explain the nature 
 of our ideas, proposes to me something inconceivable, as a means to conceive 
 what I do not yet know; and so, bating a new phrase, teaches me nothing, but 
 leaves me as much in the dark as one can be where he conceives nothing. So 
 that supposing ideas real spiritual things never so much, if they are neither sub- 
 stances nor modes, let them be what they will, I am no more instructed in their 
 nature than when I am told they are perceptions, such as I find them. And I 
 appeal to my reader, whether that hypothesis be to be preferred for its easiness 
 to be understood, which is explained by real beings, that are neither substances 
 nor modes. 
 
 19. In the fourth chapter he proves, that we do not see objects by ideas that 
 are created with us; because the ideas we have even of one very simple figure, 
 v. g. a triangle, are not infinite, though there may be infinite triangles. What 
 this proves I will not here examine; but the reason he gives being built on his 
 hypotheses, I cannot get over, and that is, that ‘it is not for want of ideas, or 
 that infinite is not present to us, but it is only for want of capacity and extension 
 of our souls, because the extension of our spirits is very narrow and limited.” To 
 have a limited extension, is to have some extension, which agrees but ill with what 
 is before said of our souls, that they “ have no extension.” By what he says 
 here and in other places, one would think he were to be understood as if the soul, 
 being but a small extension, could not at once receive all the ideas conceivable in 
 infinite space, because but a little part of that infinite space can be applied to the 
 soul at once. ‘To conceive thus of the soul’s intimate union with an infinite 
 being, and by that union receiving of ideas, leads one as naturally into as gross 
 thoughts, as a country maid would have of an infinite butter-print, in which was 
 engraven figures of all sorts and sizes, the several parts whereof being, as there 
 was occasion, applied to her lump of butter, left on it the figure or idea there 
 was present need of. But whether any one would thus explain our ideas I will 
 not say, only I know not well how to understand what he says here, with what he 
 says before of union in a better sense. 
 
 20. He further says, that had we a magazine of all ideas that are necessary for 
 seeing things, they would be of no use, since the mind could not know which to 
 choose, and set before itself to see the sun. What he here means by the sun is 
 hard to conceive; and, according to his hypothesis of Seeing all things in God, 
 how can he know that there is any such real being in the world as the Sun? Did 
 he ever see the sun? No; but on occasion of the presence of the sun to his eyes, 
 he has seen the idea of the sun in God, which God has exhibited to him; but the 
 sun, because it cannot be united to his soul, he cannot see. How then does he 
 know that there is a sun which he never saw? And since God does all things by 
 the most compendious ways, what need is there that God should make a sun that 
 we might see its idea in him when he pleased to exhibit it, when this might as 
 well be done without any real sun at all.' 
 
 1 This doctrine Berkeley maintained in good 
 earnest; and so also did honest Arthur Collier, 
 who, whether he had met with the works of 
 Berkeley or not, had completely imbibed his 
 spirit of philosophising. The following is the 
 manner in which he blots the sun and moon out 
 of the external universe, and reduces them to 
 creatures of the imagination. ‘* Let a man,” 
 
 says he, “ whilst he looks upon any object, as 
 suppose the moon, press or distort one of his 
 eyes with his finger. This done, he will perceive 
 or see two moons, at some distance from each 
 other; one, as it were, proceeding or sliding off 
 from the other. Now both these moons are 
 equally external, or seen by us as external; and 
 yet one at least of these is not external, there 
 
560 
 
 AN EXAMINATION OF “ 
 
 21. He further says, that God does not actually produce in us as many new 
 ideas as we every moment perceive different things. Whether he has proved this 
 or no, I will not examine. 
 
 22. But he says, that “ we have at all times actually in ourselves the ideas of 
 all things.” Then we have always actually in ourselves the ideas of all triangles, 
 which was but now denied, “ but we have them confusedly.” If we see them 
 in God, and they are not in him confusedly, I do not understand how we can 
 see them in God confusedly. 
 
 23. In the fifth chapter he tells us, “ all things are in God, even the most cor- 
 poreal and earthly, but after a manner altogether spiritual, and which we cannot 
 comprehend.” Here, therefore, he and I are alike ignorant of these good words ; 
 ‘‘ material things are in God after a spiritual manner,” signify nothing to either 
 of us; and “ spiritual manner” signifies no more but this, that material things 
 are in God immaterially. This and the like are ways of speaking which our 
 vanity has found out to cover, not remove, our ignorance. But “ material things 
 are in God,” because “ their ideas are in God, and those ideas which God had of 
 them before the world was created, are not at all different from himself.” This 
 seems to me to come very near saying, not only that there is variety in God, since 
 we see variety in what “is not different from himself,’ but that material things 
 are God, or a part of him;? which, though I do not think to be what our author 
 designs; yet thus I fear he must be forced to talk, who thinks he knows God’s 
 understanding so much better than his own, that he will make use of the divine 
 intellect to explain the human. ’ 
 
 24. In the sixth chapter he comes more particularly to explain his own doc- 
 trine, where first he says, “‘ the ideas of all beings are in God.” | Let it be so, 
 God has the idea of a triangle, of a horse, of a river, just as we have; for hitherto 
 this signifies no more, for we see them as they are in him; and so the ideas that 
 are in him, are the ideas we perceive. Thus far I then understand God hath the 
 same ideas we have. This tells us indeed that there are ideas, which was agreed 
 before, and I think nobody denies, but tells me not yet what they are. 
 
 25. Having said that they are in God, the next thing he tells us is, that we 
 “can see them in God.” His proof, that “ our souls can see them in God,” is, 
 ‘“‘ because God is most straitly united to our souls by his presence, insomuch that 
 one may say, God is the place of spirits, as spaces are the places of bodies ;” in 
 which there is not, I confess, one word that I can understand.’ For, first, in 
 what sense can he say that “ spaces are the places of bodies,” when he makes 
 
 being but one moon supposed to be in the hea- 
 vens, or without us. Therefore an object is seen 
 by us as external, which is not indeed external, 
 which is again the thing to be shown.” (Clavus 
 Universalis, p. 17.) 
 
 1 Locke’s charity here induces him to put an 
 interpretation on Pére Malebranche’s theory, 
 which upon examination may perhaps be found 
 to be somewhat too lenient. Whatever he may 
 have intended, he taught Pantheism: piously, 
 no doubt, but not the less certainly. 
 
 ? This talking about the place of spirits is 
 nothing but a fragment of the ancient jargon of 
 the schools; and probably means nothing more 
 than that all existence being upheld by God, 
 must necessarily be surrounded by the power of 
 God, or be comprehended within his sphere. 
 But then it will inevitably follow that God is as 
 much the place of bodies as of spirits, since both 
 equally derive their existence from him. The 
 original passages, which the reader may desire 
 to compare with Locke’s translation, are as fol- 
 lows :—‘‘ I] faut scavoir que Dieu est tres-etroite- 
 ment mie a nos ames par sa presence, ensorte 
 
 qu’on peut dire qwil est le lieu des esprits, de . 
 
 méme que les espaces sont le lieu des corps.”’ 
 (L. III, Pt. 2, chap. vii. t. i. p. 363.) In the next 
 place where this doctrine is asserted, Male- 
 branche adds, that God és the intelligible world : 
 ‘“‘Demeurons donc dans ce sentiment, que Dieu 
 est le monde intelligible, ou le lieu des esprits, 
 de méme que le monde matériel est le lieu des 
 corps.”’ (p. 872.) Here, as the reader will per- 
 ceive, there is a prodigious confusion of ideas. 
 First, God is the intelligible world; which means, 
 if it mean anything, that God is alone intel- 
 ligible, or that everything which is intelligible 
 forms a part of God; which, when thoroughly 
 sifted, is the real doctrine of Malebranche, and 
 can by no degree of ingenuity be distinguished 
 from Pantheism. Again, the material world 
 is the place of bodies: but it is these bodies 
 that constitute the material world; and if we 
 must make use of the scholastic jargon at all, 
 we ought to say that space is the place of the 
 material world, otherwise we affirm that a thing ~ 
 is its own place, which it requires all the polite- 
 ness of Locke to denominate anything but non- 
 sense. 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 561 
 
 body and space, or extension, to be the same thing? So that I do no more under- 
 stand what he means, when he says “ spaces are the places of bodies,” than if he 
 had said, bodies are the places of bodies. But when this simile is applied to God 
 and spir ite, it makes this saying, that “ God is the place of spirits,” either to be 
 merely metaphorical, and so signifies literally nothing; or else, being literal, 
 makes us conceive that spirits move up and down, and. have their distances and 
 intervals in God, as bodies have in space. When I am told in which of these 
 senses he is to be understood, I shall be able to see how far it helps us to under- 
 stand the nature of ideas. But is not God as straitly united to bodies as to 
 spirits? For he is also present, even where they are, but yet they see not these 
 ideas in him. He therefore adds, “ that the soul can see in God the works of 
 God, supposing God would discover to it what there is in him to represent them,” 
 viz. the ideas that are in him. Union, therefore, is not the cause of this seeing ; 
 for the soul may be united to God, and yet not see the ideas are in him, till he 
 discover them to it; so that after all I'am but where I was. I have ideas, that 
 I know; but I would know what they are, and to that I am yet only told, that £ 
 see them in God. 1 ask how I see them in God? And it is answered, by my 
 intimate union with God, for he is everywhere present. I answer, if that ‘were 
 enough, bodies are also intimately united with God, for he is everywhere present ; 
 besides, if that were enough, I should see all the ideas that are in’ God. No, but 
 only those that he pleases to discover. Tell me wherein this discovery lies, besides 
 barely making me see them, and you explain the manner of my having ideas: 
 otherwise, all that has been said amounts to no more but this, that I have those 
 ideas that it pleases God I should have, but by ways that I know not; and of this 
 mind I was before, and am not got one jot further. 
 
 26. In the next paragraph he calls them “ beings, representative beings.” But 
 whether these beings are substances, modes, or relations, | am not told; and so 
 by being told they are spiritual bemgs, I know no more but that they are some- 
 thing, I know not what, and that I knew before. 
 
 27. To explain this matter a little further, he adds: “ It must be observed, 
 that it cannot be concluded that souls see the essence of God in that they see all 
 things in God; because what they see is very imperfect, and God is very per- 
 fect. They see matter divisible, figured, &c., and in God there is nothing divisible 
 and figured: for God is all being, because he is infinite and comprehends all 
 things; but he is not any being in particular. Whereas what we see is but some 
 one or more beings in particular; and we do not at all comprehend that perfect 
 simplicity of God which contains all beings. Moreover, one may say, that we 
 do not so much see the ideas of things as the things themselves, which the ideas 
 represent. For when, for example, one sees a square, one says not that one sees 
 the idea of a square ‘which is united to the soul, but only the square that is 
 without.” I do not pretend not to be short-sighted ; but if I am not duller than 
 ordinary, this paragr aph shows that P. M. himself is at a stand in this matter, and 
 comprehends not what it is we seein God, or how. In the fourth chapter he says, 
 
 in express words, that “ it is necessary that at all times we should have actually in 
 ourselves the ideas of all things.”' And in this very chapter, a little lower, he 
 
 1 This strange hypothesis is thus stated by 
 Malebranche :—“ IT] est necessaire qu’en tout 
 tems nous ayons actuellement dans nous mémes 
 les idées de toutes choses, puisqu’en tout tems 
 nous pouvons penser a toutes choses: ce que 
 nous ne pourrions pas, si nous ne les apperce- 
 vions déja confusément, c’est a-dire si un nombre 
 infini d’idées n’étoit ‘present a notre esprit.” 
 (L, IIT. pt. 2, chap. iv. t. i. p. 357.) To this no- 
 tion he again alludes in chap. vi. p. 366, where he 
 says: ‘‘ I] est constant, et tout le monde le scait 
 par expérience, que lors que nous voulons penser 
 a quelque chose en particulier, nous envisageons 
 
 d’abourd tous les étre, et nous nous appliquons 
 ensuite 4 la consideration de l’objet que nous 
 souhaitons de voir.” It would not be easy to 
 exceed the cool hardihood of this assertion, 
 though the object of Malebranche in making it is 
 perfectly intelligible ; for since he maintains that 
 the substance of God is intimately united with 
 our souls; and since the ideas, or archetypes of 
 all things, past, present, and to come, are un- 
 questionably in God, it follows as a necessary 
 consequence of his theory, that, as the mind of 
 God is open to our contemplation, like an infinite 
 mirror, we must be able to perceive, however 
 
 | 
 
562 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 says, that “all bemgs are present to our minds,” and that we have “ gencral ideas 
 antecedent to particular.” And in the eighth chapter, that we are never without 
 the “general idea of being ;” and yet here he says, ‘‘ that which we see is but one 
 or more beings in particular.” And after having taken a great deal of pains to 
 prove, that “ we cannot possibly see things themselves, but only ideas,” here he 
 tells us “ we do not so much see the ideas of things as the things themselves.” 
 In this uncertainty of the author what it is we see, I am to be excused if my eyes 
 see not more clearly in his hypothesis than he himself does. 
 
 28. He further tells us in this sixth chapter, that “ we see all beings, because 
 God wills that that which is in him that represents them should be discovered to 
 us.” This tells us only, that there are ideas of things in God, and that we see 
 them when he pleases to discover them; but what does this show us more of the 
 nature of those ideas, or of the discovery of them, wherein that consists, than he 
 that says, without pretending to know what they are, or how they are made, that 
 ideas are in our minds when God pleases to produce them there, by such motions 
 as he has appointed to do it? The next argument for our “ Seeing all things in 
 God,” is in these words: “ But the strongest of all the reasons is the manner in 
 which the mind perceives all things. It is evident, and all the world knows it 
 by experience, that when we would think of anything in particular, we at first cast 
 our view upon all beings, and afterwards we apply ourselves to the consideration 
 of the object which we desire to think on.” This argument has no other effect on 
 me, but to make me doubt the more of the truth of this doctrine. First, Because 
 this, which he calls the strongest reason of ail, is built upon matter of fact, which 
 I cannot find to be so in myself. I do not observe, that when I would think of a 
 triangle I first think of all beings ; whether these words all beings be to be taken 
 here in their proper sense, or very improperly for being in general. Nor do I 
 think my country neighbours do so, when they first wake in the morning, who, I 
 imagine, do not find it impossible to think of a lame horse they have, or their 
 blighted corn, till they have run over in their minds ail beings that are, and then 
 pitch on Dapple; or else begin to think of being in general, which is being 
 abstracted from all its inferior species, before they come to think of the fly in their 
 sheep, or the tares in their corn. For I am apt to think that the greatest part of man- 
 kind very seldom, if ever at all, think of being in general, i. e. abstracted from all 
 its inferior species and individuals. But taking it to be so, that a carrier when he 
 would think of a remedy for his galled horse, or a foot-boy for an excuse for some 
 fault he has committed, begins with casting his eye upon all things ;1 how does 
 this make out the conclusion? Therefore “we can desire to see all objects, 
 whence it follows, that all beings are present to our minds.” Which presence 
 signifies that we see them, or else it signifies nothing at all. They are all actually 
 always seen by us; which, how true, let every one judge. 
 
 29. The words wherein he pursues this argument stand thus: “ Now it is 
 indubitable that we cannot desire to see any particular object without seeing it 
 already, although confusedly, and in general. So that being able to desire to see 
 all beings, sometimes one, sometimes another, it is certain that all beings are pre- 
 sent to our spirits; and it seems all beings could not be present to our spirits but 
 because God is present to them, i. e. he that contains all things in the simplicity 
 of his being.” I must leave it to others to judge how far it is blameable in me, 
 but so it is, that I cannot make to myself the links of this chain to hang together; 
 and methinks if a man would have studied obscurity, he could not have writ more 
 
 unintelligible than this. ‘“ We can desire to see all beings, sometimes one, some- — 
 
 times another; therefore we do already see all things, because we cannot desire to 
 see any particular object, but what we see already confusedly and in general.” 
 
 dimly and obscurely, whatever images, so to | sophy of Malebranche, though it may not be 
 speak, are painted there. thought a sufficient refutation, helps nevertheless 
 1 This humorous way of illustrating the philo- | to show its absurdity. 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 563 
 
 The discourse here is about ideas, which he says are real things, and we see in 
 God. In taking this along with me, to make it prove anything to his purpose, 
 the argument must, as it seems to me, stand thus: We can desire to have all 
 ideas, sometimes one, sometimes another; therefore we have already all ideas, 
 because we cannot desire to have any particular idea, but what we have already 
 confusedly and in general. What can be meant here by having any particular 
 idea confusedly and in general, I confess I cannot conceive, unless it be a 
 capacity in us to have them; and in that sense the whole argument amounts to 
 no more but this: We have all ideas, because we are capable of having all ideas, 
 and so proves not at all that we actually have them, by being united to God, who 
 ' contains them all in the simplicity of his being. That anything else is, or can be 
 meant by it, I do not see; for that which we desire to see, being nothing but 
 what we see already, (for if it can be anything else, the argument falls, and proves 
 nothing,) and that which we desire to see being, as we are told here, something 
 particular, sometimes one thing, sometimes another ; that which we do see must 
 be particular too; but how to see a particular thing in general, is past my com- 
 prehension. I cannot conceive how a blind man has the particular idea of scarlet 
 confusedly or in general, when he has it not at all; and yet that he might desire 
 to have it I cannot doubt, no more than I doubt that I can desire to perceive, or 
 to have the ideas of those things that God has prepared for those that love him, 
 though they be such as eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, nor hath it 
 entered into the heart of man to conceive, such as I have yet no idea of. He who 
 desires to know what creatures are in Jupiter, or what God hath prepared for 
 them that love him, hath, it is true, a supposition that there is something in 
 Jupiter, or in the place of the blessed; but if that be to have the particular ideas 
 of things there, enough to say that we see them already, nobody can be ignorant 
 of anything. He that hath seen one thing hath seen all things; for he has got 
 the general idea of something. But this is not, I confess, sufficient to convince 
 me, that hereby we see all things in the simplicity of God’s being, which compre- 
 hends all things. For if the ideas I see are all, as our author tells us, real beings 
 in him, it is plain they must be so many real distinct beings in him; and if we 
 see them in him, we must see them as they are, distinct particular things, and so 
 shall not see them confusedly and in general. And what is it to see any idea (to 
 which I do not give a name) confusedly, is what I do not well understand. What 
 I see, I see, and the idea I see is distinct from all others that are not the same 
 with it: besides, I see them as they are in God, and as he shows them me. Are 
 they in God confusedly—or does he show them me confusedly ? 
 
 30. Secondly, This seeing of all things, because we can desire to see all things, 
 he makes a proof that they are present to our minds; and if they be present, they 
 can no ways be present but by the presence of God, who contains them in all the 
 simplicity of his being. This reasoning seems to be founded on this, that the 
 reason of seeing all things is their being present to our minds; because God, in 
 whom they are, is present. This, though the foundation he seems to build on, is 
 liable to a very natural objection, which is, that then we should actually always 
 see all things, because in God, who is present, they are all actually present to the 
 mind. ‘This he has endeavoured to obviate, by saying we see all the ideas in 
 God which he is pleased ¢o discover to us; which indeed is an answer to this 
 objection; but such an one as overturns his whole hypothesis, and renders it use- 
 less and as unintelligible as any of those he has for that reason laid aside. He pre 
 tends to explain to us how we come to perceive anything, and that is, by having 
 the ideas of them present in our minds; for the soul cannot perceive things at a 
 distance, or remote from it; and those ideas are present to the mind only because 
 God, in whom they are, is present to the mind. This so far hangs together, and 
 is of a piece; but when after this I am told, that their presence is not enough to 
 make them be seen, but God must do something further to discover them to me, 
 I am as much in the dark as I was at first; and all this talk of their presence in 
 
 NN2 
 
a a et te: 
 
 564 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 my mind explains nothing of the way wherein I perceive them, nor ever will, till 
 he also makes me understand what God does more than make them present to my 
 
 mind, when he discovers them to me. For I think nobody denies, I am sure I . 
 
 affirm, that the ideas we have, are in our minds by the will and power of God, 
 though in a way that we conceive not, nor are able to comprehend. God, says 
 our author, is strictly united to the soul, and so the ideas of things too. But yet 
 that presence or union of theirs is not enough to make them seen, but God must 
 show or exhibit them; and what does God do more than make them present to 
 the mind when he shows them? Of that there is nothing said to help me over 
 this difficulty, but that when God shows them, we see them; which, in short, 
 
 seems to me to say only thus much, that when we have these ideas we have them, ~ 
 
 and we owe the having of them to our Maker, which is to say no more than I do 
 with my ignorance. We have the ideas of figures and colours by the operation 
 of exterior objects on our senses, when the sun shows them us; but how the sun 
 shows them us, or how the light of the sun produces them in us; what, and how 
 the alteration is made in our souls, I know not, nor does it appear, by anything 
 our author says, that he knows any more what God does when he shows them us, 
 or what it is that is done upon our minds, since the presence of them to our 
 minds, he confesses, does it not. 
 
 31. Thirdly, One thing more is incomprehensible to me in this matter, and that 
 is how the simplicity of God’s being should contain in it a variety of real beings, so 
 
 that the soul can discern them in him distinctly one from another; it being said _ 
 
 in the fifth chapter, that the ideas in God are not different from God himself. 
 This seems to me to express a simplicity made up of variety, a thing I cannot 
 understand. God I believe to be a simple being, that by his wisdom knows all 
 things, and by his power can do all things; but how he does it I think myself 
 less able to comprehend, than to contain the ocean in my hand, or grasp the 
 universe with my span. Ideas are real beings, you say ; if so, it is evident they 
 must be distinct real beings ; for there is nothing more certain than that there are 
 distinct ideas; and they are in God, in whom we see them. There they are, 
 then, actually distinct, or else we could not see them distinct in him. Now these 
 distinct real beings that are in God, are they either parts or modifications of the 
 Deity, or comprehended in him as things in a place? For besides these three, I 
 think we can scarce think of another way wherein we can conceive them to be in 
 him, so that we can see them. For to say they are in him eminenter, is to say 
 
 they are not in him actually and really to be seen; but only if they are in him | 
 
 eminenter, and we see them only in him, we can be said to see them only 
 eminentér too. So that though it cannot be denied that God sees and knows all 
 things, yet when we say we see all things in him, it is but a metaphorical expres- 
 sion to cover our ignorance, in a way that pretends to explain our knowledge; 
 seeing things in God signifying no more than that we perceive them we know 
 not how. 
 
 32. He further adds, that he ‘ does not believe that one ean well give an 
 account of the manner wherein the mind knows many abstract and general truths, 
 but by the presence of him who can enlighten the mind after a thousand different 
 fashions.” It is not to be denied that God can enlighten our minds after a 
 thousand different fashions; and it cannot also be denied that those thousand dif 
 ferent fashions may be such as we comprehend not one of them. The question 
 is, whether this talk of seeing all things in God does make us clearly, or at all, 
 comprehend one of them; if it did so to me I should gratefully acknowledge that 
 then I was ignorant of nine hundred and ninety-nine of the thousand, whereas I 
 must yet confess myself ignorant of them all. | | 
 
 33. The next paragraph, if it prove anything, seems to me to prove that the 
 idea we have of God is God himself, it bemg something, as he says, uncreated. 
 The ideas that men have of God are so very different that it would be very hard 
 to say it was God himself. Nor does it avail to say they would all have the 
 
 EEA i NE PR Nee Bol hy aE ee ee | eT RL § NEL Se ee RS 
 
re 
 
 ryt cn an hice tnt ga i cas nee 
 
 P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 560 
 
 same, if they would apply their minds to the contemplation of him; for this being 
 brought here to prove that God is present in all men’s minds, and that therefore 
 they see him, it must also, in my apprehension, prove tnat he being immutably 
 the same, and they seeing him must needs see him all alike. 
 
 34. In the next section we are told that we have ‘ not only the idea of infinite, 
 but before that of finite.” This being a thing of experience every one must 
 examine himself; and it being my misfortune to find it otherwise in myself, this 
 argument, of course, is like to have the less effect on me, who therefore cannot so 
 easily admit the inference, viz. “ Thus the mind pereeives not one thing, but in 
 the idea it has of infinite.’ And I cannot but believe many a child can tell 
 twenty, have the idea of a square trencher, or a round plate, and have the distinct 
 clear ideas of two and three, long before he has any idea of infinite at all. 
 
 39. The last argument which he tells us is a demonstration that we see all 
 things in God, is this: “ God has made all things for himself; but if God made 
 a spirit or mind, and gave it the sun for its idea, or the immediate object of its 
 knowledge, God would have made that spirit or mind for the sun, and not for 
 lumself.” The natural inference from this argument seems to me to be this: 
 therefore God has given himself for the idea, or immediate object of the know- 
 ledge of all human minds. But experience too manifestly contradicting this, 
 our author hath made another conclusion, and says thus: “ It is necessary, then, 
 that the light which he gives the mind, should make us know something that is 
 in him;” v. g. because “ all things that come from God cannot be but for God.” 
 Therefore a covetous man sees in God the money, and a Persian the sun that he 
 worships ; and thus God is the immediate object of the mind both of the one and 
 the other. I confess this demonstration is lost on me, and I cannot see the force 
 of it. All things, it is true, are made for God, i. e. for his glory ; and he will be 
 glorified even by those rational beings who would not apply their faculties to 
 the knowledge of him. 
 
 36. But the next paragraph explains this: “‘ God could not then make a soul 
 for to know his works, were it not that that soul sees God after a fashion in seeing his 
 works ;” just after such a fashion thatif he never saw more of him he would never 
 know anything of a God, nor believe there was any such being. A child, as soon 
 as he is born, sees a candle, or before he can speak, the ball he plays with; these 
 he sees in God, whom he has yet no notion of. Whether this be enough to make 
 us say that the mind is made for God, and this be the proof of it, other people 
 must judge for themselves. I must own, that if this were the knowledge of God, 
 which intelligent begs were made for, I do not see but they might be made for 
 the knowledge of God without knowing anything of him; and those that deny 
 him were made for the knowledge of him. Therefore I am not convinced of the 
 truth of what follows, that ‘“‘ we do not see any one thing but by the natural 
 knowledge which we have of God.” Which seems to me a quite contrary way 
 of arguing to what the apostle uses, where he says, that “ the invisible things of 
 God are seen by the visible things that he has made.” | For it seems to me a 
 quite contrary way of arguing, to say, we see the Creator in or by the creatures, 
 and we see the creatures in the Creator. The apostle begins our knowledge in 
 the creatures, which leads us to the knowledge of God, if we will make use of our 
 reason: ‘our author begins our knowledge in God, and by that leads us to the 
 creatures. 
 
 37. But to confirm his argument he says: “ All the particular ideas we have 
 of the creatures are but limitations of the idea of the Creator.” As for example, 
 I have the idea of the solidity of matter, and of the motion of body, what is the 
 idea of God that either of these limits? And when I think of the number ten, I 
 do not see how that any way concerns or limits the idea of God. 
 
 38. The distinction he makes a little lower between sentiment and idea, does 
 not at all clear to me, but cloud his doctrine. His words are: “ It must be 
 observed that I do not say that we have the sentiment of material things in God, 
 
 RR I A CR le A ne Te rn TNO tes 
 
566 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 but that it is from God that acts in us; for God knows sensible things, but feels 
 them not. When we perceive any sensible thing there is in our perception 
 sentiment and pure idea.” If by sentiment, which is the word he uses in French, 
 he means the act of sensation, or the operation of the soul in perceiving ; and by 
 pure idea, the immediate object of that perception, which is the definition of ideas 
 he gives us here in the first chapter, there is some foundation for it, taking ideas 
 for real beings or substances. But taken thus, I cannot see how it can be 
 avoided, but that we must be said to smell a rose in God, as well as to see a rose 
 in God; and the scent of the rose that we smell, as well as the colour and figure 
 of the rose that we see, must be in God; which seems not to be his sense here, 
 and does not well agree with what he says concerning the ideas we see in God, 
 which I shall consider in its due place. If by sentiment here he means some- 
 thing that is neither the act of perception nor the idea perceived, I confess I know 
 not what it is, nor have any conception at all of it. When we see and smell a 
 violet, we perceive the figure, colour, and scent of that flower. Here I cannot 
 but ask whether all these three are pure ideas, or all sentiments? If they are all 
 ideas, then, according to his doctrine, they are all in God; and then it will follow 
 that, as I see the figure of the violet in God, so also I see the colour of it, and 
 smell the scent of it in God, which way of speaking he does not allow, nor can I 
 blame him. For it shows a little too plainly the absurdity of that doctrine, if he 
 should say we smell a violet, taste wormwood, or feel cold in God; and yet I can 
 find no reason why the action of one of our senses is applied only to God, when 
 we use them all as well as our eyes in receiving ideas. If the figure, colour, and 
 smell are all of them sentiments, then they are none of them in God, and so this 
 whole business of seeing in God is out of doors. If (as, by what he says in his 
 Eclaircissements, it appears to me to be his meaning) the figure of the violet be to 
 be taken for an idea, but its colour and smell for sentiments, I confess it puzzles 
 me to know by what rule it is that in a violet the purple colour, whereof whilst 
 I write this I seem to have as clear an idea in my mind as of its figure, is not as 
 much an idea as the figure of it; especially, since he tells me in the first chapter 
 here, which is concerning the nature of ideas, that by this word idea he under- 
 stands here nothing else but what is the immediate or nearest object of the mind 
 when it perceives anything. 
 
 39. The “ sentiment,” says he, in the next words, “ is a modification of our 
 soul.” This word modification here, that comes in for explication, seems to me 
 to signify nothing more than the word to be explained by it; v. g. I see the 
 purple colour of a violet; this, says he, is a sentiment: I desire to know what sen- 
 timentis; that, says he, is a modification of the soul. I take the word, and desire 
 to see what I can conceive by it concerning my soul; and here, I confess, I can 
 
 conceive nothing more, but that I have the idea of purple in my mind, which I 
 
 had not before, without being able to apprehend anything the mind does or suffers 
 in this, besides barely having the idea of purple; and so the good word modifica- 
 tion signifies nothing to me more than I knew before; v. g. that I have now the 
 
 idea of purple in it, which I had not some minutes since. So that though they | 
 
 say sensations are modifications of the mind; yet, having no manner of idea what 
 that modification of the mind is, distinct from that very sensation, v. ¢. the sensa- 
 tion of a red colour or a bitter taste, it is plain this explication amounts to no 
 more than that a sensation is a sensation, and the sensation of red or bitter is the 
 sensation of red or bitter ; for if I have no other idea when I say it is a modifi- 
 cation of the mind than when I say it is the sensation of red or bitter, it is plain 
 sensation and modification stand both for the same idea, and so are but two 
 names of one and the same thing. But to examine their doctrine of modi- 
 fication a little further. Different sentiments are different modifications of the 
 mind. The mind or soul that perceives is one immaterial indivisible substance. 
 Now I see the white and black on this paper, I hear one singing in the next 
 room, I feel the warmth of the fire I sit by, and I taste an apple I am eating, and 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION: 567 
 
 all this at the same time. Now I ask, take modification for what you please, can 
 the same unextended indivisible substance have different, nay, inconsistent and 
 opposite (as these of white and black must be) modifications at the same time? 
 Or must we suppose distinct parts in an indivisible substance, one for black, 
 another for white, and another for red ideas, and so of the rest of those infinite 
 sensations which we have in sorts and degrees; all which we can distinctly per- 
 ceive, and so are distinct ideas, some whereof are opposite, as heat and cold, which 
 yet a man may feel at the same time? I was ignorant before how sensation was 
 performed in us, this they call an explanation of it. Must I say now I under- 
 stand it better? If this be to cure one’s ignorance, it is a very slight disease, and 
 the charm of two or three insignificant words will at any time remove it, probatum 
 est. But let it signify what it will, when I recollect the figure of one of the leaves 
 of a violet, is not that a new modification of my soul, as well as when I think of 
 its purple colour? Does my mind do or suffer nothing anew when I see that 
 figure in God? 
 
 40. The idea of that figure, you say, isin God. Let it be so; but it may be 
 there and I not see it; that is allowed; when I come to see it, which I did not 
 before, is there no new modification, as you call it, of my mind? If there be, 
 then, seeing of figure in God, as well as having the idea of purple, is @ modifica- 
 tion of the mind, and this distinction signifies nothing. If seeing that figure in 
 God now, which a minute or two since I did not see at all, be no new modifica- 
 tion or alteration in my mind, no different action or passion from what was before, 
 there is no difference made, in my apprehension, between seeing and not seeing. 
 The ideas of figures, our author says, are in God, and are real beings in God; 
 and God being united to the mind, these are also united to it. This all seems to 
 me t@»have something very obscure and unconceivable in it, when I come to 
 examine particulars; but let it be granted to be as clear as any one would suppose 
 it, yet it reaches not the main difficulty, which is in seeing. How, after all, do L 
 see? The ideas are in God, they are real things, they are intimately united to 
 my mind, because God is so, but yet I do not see them. How at last, after all 
 this preparation, which hitherto is ineffectual, do I come to see them? And to 
 that I am told, “ when God is pleased to discover them to me.” This in good 
 earnest seems to me to be nothing but going a great way about to come to the same 
 place; and this learned circuit, thus set out, brings me at last no further than 
 this: that I see, or perceive, or have ideas, when it pleases God I should, but in 
 a way I cannot comprehend; and this I thought without all this ado. 
 
 Al. This sentiment, he tells us in the next words, “ it is God causes in us, and 
 he can cause it in us although he has it not, because he sees in the idea that he 
 has of our soul that it is capable of them.” This I take to be said to show the 
 difference between sentiments and ideas in us: v. g. figures and numbers are 
 ideas, and they are in God. Colours and smells, &c., are sentiments in us, and not 
 ideas in God. First, As to ourselves, I ask, why, when I recollect in my memory 
 a violet, the purple colour as well as figure is not an idea in me? The making, 
 then, the picture of any visible thing in my mind, as of a landscape I have 
 seen, composed of figure and colour, the colour is not an idea, but the figure is an 
 idea, and the colour a sentiment. Every one, I allow, may use his words as he 
 pleases; but if it be to instruct others, he must, when he uses two words where 
 others use but one, show some ground of the distinction. And I do not find but 
 the colour of the marigold I now think of is as much the immediate object of my 
 mind as its figure; and so, according to his definition, is an idea. Next, as to 
 God, I ask whether before the creation of the world the idea of the whole mari- 
 gold, colour as well as figure, was not in God? “ God,” says he, “ can cause 
 those sentiments in us, because he sees, in the idea that he has of our soul, that it is 
 capable of them.” God, before he created any soul, knew all that he would make 
 it capable of. He resolved to make it capable of having the perception of the 
 colour as well as figure of a marigold ; he had then the idea of that colour that he 
 
568 AN EXAMINATION OF. 
 
 resolved to make it capable of, or else he made it capable (with reverence let it be 
 spoken) of he knew not what: and if he knew what it should be capable of, he 
 had the idea of what he knew; for before the creation there was nothing but God, 
 and the ideas he had. It is true the colour of that flower is not actually in God, 
 no more is its figure actually in God; but we that can consider no other understand- 
 ing, but in analogy to our own, cannot conceive otherwise but as the ideas of the 
 figure, colour, and situation of the leaves of a marigold is in our minds, when we 
 think of that flower in the night when we see it not; so it was in the thoughts of 
 God before he made that flower. And thus we conceive him to have the idea of 
 the smell of a violet, of the taste of sugar, the sound of a lute or trumpet, and of 
 the pain and pleasure that accompanies any of these or other sensations which he 
 designed we should feel, though he never felt any of them, as we have the ideas of 
 the taste of'a cherry in winter, or of the pain of a burn when it is over. This is 
 what I think we conceive of the ideas in God, which we must allow to have dis- 
 tinctly represented to him all that was to be in time, and consequently the colours, 
 odours, and other ideas they were to produce in us. I cannot be so bold as to 
 pretend to say what those ideas are in God, or to determine that they are real 
 beings; but this I think I may say, that the idea of the colour of a marigold or 
 the motion of a stone are as much real beings in God as the idea of the figure or 
 number of its leaves. 
 
 42, The reader must not blame me for making use here all along of the word 
 sentiment, which is our author’s own, and I understood it so little that I knew 
 not how to translate it into any other. He concludes, “ that he believes there is 
 no appearance of truth in any other ways of explaining these things, and that this 
 of seeing all things in God is more than probable.” I have considered, with as 
 much indifferency and attention as possible, and I must own it appears tome as 
 little or less intelligible than any of the rest; and the summary of his doctrine, | 
 which he here subjoins, is to me wholly incomprehensible. His words are: 
 “Thus our souls depend on God all manner of ways: for as it is he which makes 
 them feel pleasure and pain, and all other sensations, by the natural union which 
 he has made between them and our bodies, which is nothing else but his decree 
 and general will; so it is he, who, by the natural union which he has made betwixt 
 the will of man and the representation of ideas, which the immensity of the 
 Divine Being contains, makes them know all that they know; and this natural 
 union is also nothing but his general will.” This phrase, of the union of our 
 wills to the ideas contained in God’s immensity, seems to me a very strange one, 
 and what light it gives to his doctrine I truly cannot find. It seemed so unintel- 
 ligible to me, that I guessed it an error in the print of the edition I used, which 
 was the quarto printed at Paris, 78, and therefore consulted the octavo, printed 
 also at Paris, and found it wild in both of them. Here again the immensity of 
 the Divine Being being mentioned as that which contains in it the zdeas to which 
 our wills are united; which ideas being only those of quantity, as I shall show 
 hereafter, seems to me to carry with it a very gross notion of this matter, as we 
 have above remarked. But that which I take notice of principally here, is, that 
 this union of our wills to the ideas contained in God’s immensity does not at all 
 explain our seeing of them. This union of our wills to the ideas, or, as in other 
 places, of our souls to God, is, says he, nothing but the will of God. And after 
 this union, our seeing them is only when God discovers them; 1. e. our having 
 them in our minds is nothing but the will of God; all which is brought about in 
 a way we comprehend not. And what, then, does this explain more than when 
 one says our souls are united to our bodies by the will of God, and by the motion 
 of some parts of our bodies ?—v. g. the nerves or animal spirits have ideas or per- 
 ceptions produced in them, and this is the will of God. Why is not this as intel- 
 ligibleand as clear as the other? Here is the will of God giving union and perception 
 in both cases; but how that perception is made, in both ways seems to me equally 
 incomprehensible. In one, God discovers ideas in himself to the soul united to 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 569 
 
 him when he pleases; and in the other he discovers ideas to the soul, or produces 
 perception in the soul united to the body by motion, according to laws established 
 by the good pleasure of his will; but how it is done in the one or the other I con- 
 fess my incapacity to comprehend. So that I agree perfectly with him in his con- 
 clusion, that “ there is nothing but God that can enlighten us;” but a clear 
 comprehension of the manner how he does it I doubt I shall not have, until I 
 know a great deal more of him and myself than in this state of darkness and 
 ignorance our souls are capable of. 
 
 43. In the next chapter (VIT.) he tells us, “ there are four ways of knowing ;' 
 the first is to know things by themselves;” and thus, he says, ‘“ we know God 
 alone ;” and the reason he gives of it is this, because “ at present he alone pene- 
 trates the mind, and discovers himself to it.” 
 
 First, I would know what it is to penetrate a thing that is unextended? These 
 are ways of speaking, which taken from body, when they are applied to spirit, 
 signify nothing, nor show us anything but our ignorance. To God’s penetrating 
 our spirits, he joins his discovering himself ; as if one were the cause of the other, 
 and explained it: but I not conceiving anything of the penetration of an unex- 
 tended thing, it is lost upon me. But next God penetrates our souls, and there- 
 fore we see him by a direct and immediate view, as he says in the following 
 words. The ideas of all things which are in God, he elsewhere tells us, are not 
 at all different from God himself; and if God’s penetrating our minds be the 
 cause of our direct and immediate seeing God, we have a direct and immediate 
 view of all that we see; for we see nothing but God and ideas; and it is impossible 
 for us to know that there is anything else in the universe; for since we see, and 
 can see nothing but God and ideas, how can we know there is anything else which 
 we neither do nor can see? But if there be anything to be understood by this 
 penetration of our souls, and we have a direct view of God by this penetration, 
 why have we not also a direct and immediate view of other separate spirits besides 
 God? To this he says, that there is none but God alone who at present pene- 
 trates our spirits. This he says, but I do not see for what reason, but because it 
 suits with his hypothesis: but he proves it not, nor goes about to do it, unless the 
 direct and immediate view, he says, we have of God, be to be taken as a proof of 
 it. But what is that direct and immediate view we have of God that we have 
 not of a cherubim?? The ideas of being, power, knowledge, goodness, duration, 
 make up the complex idea we have of one and of the other; but only that in the 
 one we join the idea of infinite to each simple idea, that makes our complex one, 
 but to the other, that of finite. But how have we a more direct or immediate 
 view of the idea of power, knowledge, or duration, when we consider them in 
 God than when we consider them in an angel? The view of these ideas seems to 
 be the same. Indeed we have a clearer proof of the existence of God than of a 
 cherubim; but the idea of either, when we have it in our minds, seems to me to 
 be there by an equally direct and immediate view. And it is about the ideas 
 which are in our minds that I think our author’s inquiry here is, and not about 
 the real existence of those things whereof we have ideas, which are two very 
 remote things. | 
 
 44, “ Perhaps it is God alone,” says our author, “ who can enlighten our 
 minds by his substance.” When I know what the substance of God is, and what 
 it is to be enlightened by that substance, I shall know what I also shall think of 
 
 1 On this subject Malebranche states his 
 views briefly and distinctly. ‘‘ Afin d’abreger 
 et déclaircir le sentiment que je viens d’établir 
 touchant la maniére, dont esprit appercoit tous 
 les différens objets de sa connoissance, il est 
 nécessaire que je distingue en lui quatre maniéres 
 de connoitre. La premiére est de connoitre les 
 choses par elles-mémes. La seconde de les con- 
 
 noitre par leurs idées, c’est-d-dire, comme je 
 Ventens ici, par quelque chose qui soit différent. 
 d’elles. La troisiéme de les connoitre par cons- 
 cence, on par sentiment intérieur. La quatriéme 
 de les connoitre par conjecture.” (T. i. p. 373. ) 
 
 2 It should have been cherud; cherubdim in the 
 plural. 
 
570 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 it; but at present I confess myself in the dark as to this matter; nor do these 
 good words of substance and enlightening, in the way they are here used, help me 
 one jot out of it. 
 
 45. He goes on—“‘ One cannot conceive,” says he, ‘‘ that anything created can 
 represent what is infinite.” And I cannot conceive that there is any positive 
 comprehensive idea in any finite mind that does represent it fully and clearly 
 as it is. Ido not find that the mind of man has infinity, positively and fully 
 represented to it, or comprehended by it; which must be, if his argument were 
 true, that therefore God enlightens our minds by his proper substance; because 
 no created thing is big enough to represent what is infinite; and therefore what 
 makes us conceive his infinity, is the presence of his own infinite substance in our 
 minds; which to me manifestly supposes that we comprehend in our minds God’s 
 infinite substance, which is present to our minds; for if this be not the force of 
 his argument, where he says, “ Nothing created can represent what is infinite ; 
 the Being that is without bounds, the Being immense, the Being universal, cannot 
 be perceived by an idea, i. e. by a particular being, by a being different from the 
 universal infinite Being itself.” It seems to me that this argument is founded on 
 a supposition of our comprehending the infinite substance of God in our minds, or 
 else I see not any force in it, as I have already said. I shall take notice of one or 
 two things in it that confound me, and that is, that he calls God here the unwersal 
 Being ; which must either signify that Being which contains, and is made up as 
 one comprehensive aggregate of all the rest, in which sense the universe may be 
 called the universal Being ; or else it must mean being in general, which is 
 nothing but the idea of Being abstracted from all inferior divisions of that general 
 notion, and from all particular existence. But in neither of these’senses can I 
 conceive God to be the universal Being, smce I cannot think the creatures either 
 to be a part or a species of him. Next he calls the ideas that are in God, par- 
 ticular beings. 1 grant whatever exists is particular; it cannot be otherwise; but 
 that which is particular in existence may be universal in representation, which I 
 take to be all the universal beings we know, or can conceive to be. But let 
 universal and particular beings be what they will, I do not see how our author 
 can say that God is an universal Being, and the ideas we see in him particular 
 beings; since he in another place tells us, that the ideas we see in God are not at 
 all different from God. “ But,” says he, “ as:to particular beings, it is not hard 
 to conceive that they can be represented by the infinite Being which contains 
 them, and contains them after a very spiritual manner, and consequently very 
 intelligible.” It seems as impossible to me, that an infinite simple Being, n whom 
 there 1s no variety, nor shadow of variety, should represent a finite thing, as that 
 a finite thing should represent an infinite; nor do I see how its ‘ containing all 
 things in it after a very spiritual manner makes it so very intelligible ;” since ] 
 understand not what it is to contain a material thing spiritually, nor the manner 
 how God contains anything in himself, but either as an aggregate contains all 
 things which it is made up of; and so indeed that part of him may be seen which 
 comes within the reach of our view. But this way of containing all things can by 
 no means belong to God; and to make things thus visible in him is to make 
 the material world a part of him, or else as having a power to produce all things ; 
 and in this way, it is true, God contains all things in himself, but in a way not 
 proper to make the Being of God a representative of those things to us; for then 
 his Being, being the representative of the effects of that power, it must represent 
 to us all that he is capable of producing, which I do not find in myself that 
 it does. 
 
 46. Secondly. “ The second way of knowing things,” he tells us, “is by ideas, 
 
 that is, by something that is different from them;” and thus we “ know things — 
 
 when they are not intelligible by themselves, either because they are corporeal, or 
 
 because they cannot penetrate the mind, or discover themselves to it;” and this is — 
 
 ? 
 the way ‘ we know corporeal things.” This reasoning I do not understand: 
 
 fete ths 
 
 De Re fae a ee ae ee ia 
 
 Pe al a 
 
 ee ne oy ee 
 
 ‘] 
 
 wi 
 
 ¥ 
 e 
 er: 
 ry 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. o71 
 
 First, Because I do not understand why a line or a triangle is not as intelligible 
 as anything that can be named; for we must still carry along with us that the 
 discourse here is about our perception, or what we have any idea or conception of 
 in our own minds. Secondly, Because I do not understand what is meant by the. 
 penetrating a spirit; and till 1 can comprehend these, upon which this reasoning 
 is built, this reasoning cannot work on me. But from these reasons he concludes, 
 “ thus it is in God, and by their ideas that we see bodies and their properties; 
 and it is for this reason that the knowledge we have of them is most perfect.” 
 Whether others will think that what we see of bodies is seen in God, by seeing 
 the ideas of them that are in God, must be left to them. Why I cannot think so 
 I have shown; but the inference he makes here from it I think few will assent 
 to, that we know bodies and their properties most perfectly.’ For who is there 
 that can say he knows the properties either of body in general or of any one par- 
 ticular body perfectly? One property of body in general is to have parts 
 cohering and united together, for wherever there is body there is cohesion of 
 parts; but who is there that perfectly understands that cohesion? And as for 
 particular bodies, who can say that he perfectly understands gold or a loadstone, 
 and all its properties? But to explain himself, he says, that “ the idea we have 
 of extension suffices to make us know all the properties whereof extension is 
 capable, and that we cannot desire to have an idea more distinct, and more fruitful 
 of extension, of figures, and of motions, than that which God has given us of 
 them.” This seems to me a strange proof that we see bodies and their properties 
 in God, and know them perfectly, because God has given us distinct and fruitful 
 ideas of extension, figure, and motion; for this had been the same whether God 
 had given these ideas by showing them in himself or by any other way; and his 
 saying, that God has given us as distinct and fruitful ideas of them as we can 
 desire, seems as if our author himself had some other thoughts of them. If he 
 thought we see them in God, he must think we see them as they are in them- 
 selves, and there would be no room for saying, God had given them us as distinct as 
 we could desire: the calling them fruitful shows this yet more; for one that 
 thinks he sees the ideas of figures in God, and can see no idea of a figure but in 
 God, with what thought can he call any one of them feconde, which is said only 
 of such things as produce others? which expression of his seems to proceed only 
 from this thought in him, that when I have once got the idea of extension, I can 
 frame the ideas of what figures, and of what bigness I please. And in this I 
 agree with him, as appears in what I have said, |. ii. c. 13. But then this can 
 by no means proceed trom a supposition that I see these figures only in God; 
 for there they do not produce one another, but are there, as it were, in their first 
 pattern to be seen, just such and so many as God is pleased to show them to us. 
 But it will be said, our desire to see them is the occasional cause of God’s showing 
 them us, and so we see whatever figure we desire. Let it be so, this does not 
 make any idea feconde, for here is no production of one out of another; but as 
 
 1 On the imperfection of our knowledge of 
 bodies it is wholly unnecessary to dwell, the fresh 
 discoveries which are continually made by natu- 
 ral philosophers being, in some sort, a demonstra- 
 tion of it. Malebranche’s notions, however, were 
 not built upon experience, but fashioned to suit 
 the rest of his theory. He maintains, however, 
 that it is our ideas of bodies, and not bodies 
 themselves, that are the proper objects of this 
 branch of our knowledge: ‘‘ On connoit les choses 
 par leurs idées, lorsqu’elles ne sont point intel- 
 ligibles par elles-mémes, soit parce qu’elles sont 
 corporelles, soit parce qu’elles ne peuvent péné- 
 trer Vesprit or se découvrir a lui.” (t. i. p. 373.) 
 Nevertheless, though we come to the knowledge 
 of bodies not immediately, but through the me- 
 
 dium of ideas, and owe the knowledge of our own 
 minds to consciousness and the direct study 
 of its operations, he supposes us to understand 
 the nature of bodies much better than that of our 
 own minds. ‘‘ On peut conclure,”’ says he, ‘qu’ 
 encore que nous connoissons plus distinctement 
 l’existence de ndédtre ame que l’existence de ndtre 
 corps, et de ceux qui nous environnent: cepen- 
 dant nous n’avons pas une connoissance si par- 
 faite de la nature de ’ame que de la nature des 
 corps; et cela peut servir a accorder les diffé- 
 rens sentimens de ceux qui disent qu’il n’y a rien 
 qu’on connoisse mieux que lame, et de ceux qui 
 assurent qu’il n’y a rien quwils connoissent 
 moins.” (p. 376.) 
 
 i ig ne 
 
O72 _. AN EXAMINATION OF | 
 
 to the occasional cause, can any one say that isso? I, or our author, desire to 
 see an angle next in greatness to a right angle; did, upon this, God ever show 
 him or me such an angle? That God knows, or has in himself the idea of such 
 an angle, I think will not be denied ; but that he ever showed it to any man, how 
 much soever he desired it, I think may be doubted. But after all, how comes it 
 by this means that we have a perfect knowledge of bodies and their properties, 
 when several men in the world have not the same idea of body, and this very author 
 and I differ in it? He thinks bare extension to be body, and I think extension 
 alone makes not body, but extension and solidity ;? thus either he or I, one of us, has 
 a wrong and imperfect knowledge of bodies and their properties. For if bodies 
 be extension alone, and nothing else, I cannot conceive how they can move and 
 hit one against another, or what can make distinct surfaces in an uniform simple 
 extension. A solid extended thing I can conceive movable; but then, if I 
 have a clear view of bodies and their properties in God, I must see the idea of 
 solidity in God, which yet I think, by what our author has said in his Eclair- 
 cissements, he does not allow that we do. He says further: “ That, whereas the 
 ideas of things that are in God contain all their properties, he that sees their ideas 
 may see successively all their properties.” This seems to me not to concern our 
 ideas more, whether we see them in God or have them otherwise. Any idea that 
 we have, whencesoever we have it, contains in it all the properties it has, which 
 are nothing but the relations it has to other ideas, which are always the same. 
 What he says concerning the properties, that we may successively know them, is 
 equally true, whether we see them in God or have them by any other means. 
 They that apply them as they ought to the consideration of their ideas, may suc- 
 cessively come to the knowledge of some of their properties; but that they may 
 know all their properties is more than I think the reason proves, which he sub- 
 joins in these words: “ For when one sees the things as they are in God, one sees 
 them always in a most perfect manner.” We see, for example, in God, the idea 
 of a triangle or a circle ; does it hence follow that we can know all the properties 
 of either of them? THe adds, that the manner of seeing them “ would be infi- 
 nitely perfect, if the mind which sees them in God was infinite.’ I confess 
 myself here not well to comprehend his distinction between seeing after a manner 
 [tres-parfait|] most perfect and infinitely perfect. He adds: “ That which is 
 wanting to the knowledge that we have of extension, figures, and motion is not a 
 defect of the idea which represents it, but of our mind which considers it.” If by 
 ideas be meant here the real objects of our knowledge, I easily agree that the 
 want of knowledge in us is a defect in our minds, and not in the things to be 
 known. But if by zdeas be here meant the perception or representation of things 
 in the mind, that I cannot but observe in myself to be very imperfect and 
 defective, as when I desire to perceive what is the substance of body or spirit the 
 idea thereof fails me. ‘To conclude, I see not what there is in this paragraph 
 that makes anything for the doctrine of “ seeing all things in God.” , 
 47. “The third way of knowing is by consciousness,’ or interior sentiments ; 
 and thus,” he says, “ we know our souls, and it is for this reason that the know- 
 ledge we have of them is imperfect; we know nothing of our souls but what we 
 feel within ourselves.” This confession of our author brings me back, do what I 
 can, to that original of all our ideas which my thoughts led me to when I writ 
 my book, viz. sensation and reflection; and therefore I am forced to ask any one 
 who is of our author’s principles, whether God had not the idea of mine, or of 
 a human soul, before he created it? Next, whether that idea of a human soul 
 be not as much a real being in God as the idea of a triangle? If so, why does 
 not my soul, being intimately united to God, as well see the idea of my soul 
 
 1 See Antoine Le Grand, Instit. Philosoph. IV. 2 According to Condillac, all knowledge is 
 iii. p. 150; Hobbes, Elements of Philosophy, | based on consciousness. (Essai sur Origine du 
 Pt. IL. chap. viii. Connoissances humaines, } 2, chap. i. p. 26.) 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 573 
 
 which is in him, as the idea of a triangle which is in him? And what reason can 
 there be given why God shows the idea of a triangle to us, and not the idea of our 
 souls, but this, that God has given us external sensation to perceive the one and 
 none to perceive the other, but only internal sensation to perceive the operation 
 of the latter? He that pleases may read what our author says in the remainder 
 of this and the two or three next paragraphs, and see whether it carries him 
 beyond where my ignorance stopped, I must own that me it does not. 
 
 48. “ This,” [i. e. the ignorance we are in of our own souls,] says he, “ may 
 serve to prove that the ideas that represent anything to us that is without us, are 
 not modifications of our souls; for if the soul saw all things by considering its 
 own proper modifications, it should know more clearly its own essence, or its own 
 nature, than that of bodies, and all the sensations or modifications whereof it is 
 capable, than the figures or modifications of which bodies are capable. In the 
 meantime it knows not that it is capable of any such sensation by sight as it has 
 of itself, but only by experience; instead that it knows that extension is capable of 
 an infinite number of figures by the idea that it has of extension. . There are, 
 moreoyer, certain sensations, as colours and sounds, which the greatest part of 
 men cannot discover whether they are modifications of the soul; and there are 
 figures which all men do not discover by the idea of extension to be modifications 
 of bodies.” This paragraph is, as he tells us, to prove, “ that the ideas that 
 represent to us something without us are not modifications of the soul;” but 
 instead of that, it seems to prove that figure is the modification of space, and not 
 of our souls. For if this argument had tended to prove “ that the ideas that 
 represent anything without us were not modifications of the soul,” he should not 
 have put the mind’s not knowing what modifications itself was capable of, and 
 knowing what figures space was capable of, in opposition one to another; but the 
 antithesis must have lain in this, that the mind knew it was capable of the per- 
 ception of figure or motion without any modification of itself, but was not capable 
 of the perception of sound or colour without a modification of itself. For the 
 question here is not whether space be capable of figure, and the soul not; but 
 whether the soul be capable of perceiving, or having the idea of figure, without 
 a modification of itself, and not capable of having the idea of colour without a 
 modification of itself. I think now of the figure, colour, and hardness of a 
 diamond that I saw some time since: in this case, I desire to be informed how 
 my mind knows that the thinking on, or the idea of the figure, is not a modifica- 
 tion of the mind; but the thinking on, or having an idea of the colour or hardness 
 is a modification of the mind. It is certain there is some alteration in my mind 
 when I think of a figure which I did not think of before, as well as when I 
 think of a colour that I did not think of before. But one I am told is seeing it 
 in God, and the other a modification of my mind. But supposing one is seeing 
 in God, is there no alteration in my mind between seeing and not seeing? And 
 is that to be called a modification or no? For when he says seeing a colour, and 
 hearing a sound, is a modification of the mind, what does it signify but an altera- 
 tion of the mind from not perceiving to perceiving that sound or colour? And 
 so when the mind sees a triangle, which it did not see before, what is this but an 
 alteration of the mind from not seeing to seeing, whether that figure be seen in 
 God or no? And why is not this alteration of the mind to be called a modifica- 
 tion, as well as the other? Or, indeed, what service does that word do us in the 
 one case or the other, when it is only a new sound brought in without any new 
 conception at all? For my mind, when it sees a colour or figure, is altered, I 
 know, from the not having such or such a perception to the having it; but when, 
 to explain this, I am told that either of these perceptions is a modification of the 
 mind, what do I conceive more, than that from not having such a perception my 
 mind is come to have such a perception? which is what I as well knew before 
 the word modification was made use of, which by its use has made me conceive 
 nothing more than what I conceived before. 
 
574. AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 49. One thing I cannot but take notice of here by the by, that he says, that 
 ‘“‘ the soul knows that extension is capable of an infinite number of figures by the 
 idea it has of extension,’ which is true. And afterwards he says, that “ there are 
 no figures which all men do not discover, by the idea they have of extension, to be 
 modifications of body.” One would wonder why he did not say modifications of 
 extension, rather than, as he does, the modifications of body, they being discovered 
 by the idea of extension; but the truth would not bear such an expression. For 
 it is certain that in pure space or extension, which is not terminated, there is truly 
 no distinction of figures, but in distinct bodies that are terminated there are distinct 
 figures, because simple space or extension, being in itself uniform, inseparable, 
 immovable, has in it no such modification or distinction of figures. But it is 
 capable, as he says, but of what? Of bodies of all sorts of figures and magni- 
 tudes, without which there is no distinction of figures in space. Bodies that are 
 solid, separable, terminated, and movable, have all sorts of figures and they are 
 bodies alone that have them: and so figures are properly modifications of bodies, 
 for pure space is not anywhere terminated, nor can be, whether there be or be not 
 body in it, it is uniformly continued on. This that he plainly said here, to me 
 plainly shows that body and extension are two things, though much of our 
 author’s doctrine be built upon their being one and the same. 
 
 50. The next paragraph is to show us the difference between ideas and senti- 
 ments in this: that ‘ sentiments are not tied to words; so that he that never had 
 seen a colour or felt heat could never be made to have those sensations by all the 
 definitions one could give him of them.” This is true of what he calls sentiments, 
 and as true also of what he calls ideas. Show me one who has not got by expe- 
 rience, i. e. by seeing or feeling the idea of space or motion, and I will as soon 
 by words make one who never felt what heat is have a conception of heat, as 
 he that has not by his senses perceived what space or motion is can by words 
 be made to conceive either of them. The reason why we are apt to think these 
 ideas belonging to extension got another way than other ideas, is because our 
 bodies being extended, we cannot avoid the distinction of parts in ourselves; and 
 all that is for the support of our lives being by motion applied to us, it is 
 impossible to find any one who has not by experience got those ideas; and so by 
 the use of language learned what words stand for them, which by custom came 
 to excite them in his mind, as the names of heat and pleasure do excite, in the 
 mind of those who have by experience got them, the ideas they are by use 
 annexed to. Not that words or definitions can teach or bring into the mind one 
 more than another of those I call simple ideas; but can by use excite them in 
 those, who having got them by experience, know certain sounds to be by use 
 annexed to them as the signs of them. 
 
 51. Fourthly.‘ The fourth way of knowing,” he tells us, “ is by conjecture, 
 and thus only we know the souls of other men and pure intelligences:” 1. e. we 
 know them not at all; but we probably think there are such beings really existing 
 in rerum naturd.' But this looks to me beside our author’s business here, which 
 seems to be to examine what ideas we have, and how we came by them. So 
 that the thing here considered should, in my opinion, be, not whether there were 
 any souls of men or pure intelligences anywhere existing, but what ideas we have 
 of them, and how we came by them. For when he says, we know not angels, 
 
 1“ De tous les objets ne nétre connoissance, | hommes sont comme la nétre. Ce que nous sen- 
 il ne nous reste plus que les ames des autres | tons en nous-mémes, nous prétendons qu’ils le 
 hommes, et que les pures intelligences; et ilest | sentent, et méme lorsque ces sentimens n’ont 
 manifeste que nous ne les connoissons que par | point de rapport au corps, nous sommes assurez 
 conjecture nous ne les connoissons presentement | que nous ne nous trompons point: parce que 
 ni en elles-mémes ni par leurs idées, et comme | nous voyons en Dieu certaines idées et certaines 
 elles sont différentes de nous, il n’est pas pos- | loix immuable, selon lesquelles nous sgavons avec 
 sible que nous les connoissions par conscience. | certitude, que Dieu agit également dans tous les 
 Nous conjecturons que les ames des autres | esprits.’”’ (p. 378 seq.) 
 
 pcb aie eR APSR So 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. o75D 
 
 either in themselves, or by their ideas, or by consciousness, what in that place does 
 angel signify? What idea in him does it stand for? Or is it the sign of no idea 
 at all, and so a bare sound without signification? He that reads this seventh 
 chapter of his with attention, will find that we have simple ideas as far as our 
 experience reaches, and no further. And beyond that we know nothing at all, 
 no, not even what those ideas are that are in us, but only that they are perceptions 
 in the mind, but how made we cannot comprehend. 
 
 52. In his Eclaircissements on the Nature of Ideas, p. 535, of the 4to. edition, 
 he says, that “ he is certain that the ideas of things are unchangeable.” This I 
 cannot comprehend, for how can I know that the picture of anything is like that 
 thing, when I never see that which it represents? For if these words do not 
 mean that ideas are true unchangeable representations of things, I know not to 
 what purpose they are. And if that be not their meaning, then they can only 
 signify, that the idea I have once had will be unchangeably the same as long as 
 it recurs the same in my memory; but when another different from that comes 
 into my mind, it will not be that. Thus the idea of a horse, and the idea of a 
 centaur, will, as often as they recur in my mind, be unchangeably the same; 
 which is no more than this, the same idea will be always the same idea; but 
 whether the one or the other be the true representation of anything that exists, 
 that, upon his principles, neither our author nor anybody else can know. 
 
 53. What he says here of universal reason, which enlightens every one, 
 whereof all men partake, seems to me nothing else but the power men have to 
 consider the ideas they have one with another, and by thus comparing them, find 
 out the relations that are between them; and therefore if an intelligent being at 
 one end of the world, and another at the other end of the world, will consider 
 twice two and four together, he cannot but find them to be equal, i. e. to be the 
 same number. These relations, it is true, are infinite, and God, who knows all 
 things, and their relations as they are, knows them all, and so his knowledge is 
 infinite. But men are able to discover more or less of these relations, only as 
 they apply their minds to consider any sort of ideas, and to find out intermediate 
 ones, which can show the relation of those ideas, which cannot be immediately 
 compared by juxta-position. But then what he means by that infinite reason 
 which men consult, I confess myself not well to understand. For if he means 
 that they consider a part of those relations of things which are infinite, that is true ; 
 but then, this is a very improper way of speaking, and I cannot think that a man 
 of his parts would use it to mean nothing else by it. If he means, as he says, 
 p- 536, that this infinite and universal reason, whereof men partake, and which 
 they consult, is the reason of God himself, I can by no means assent toit. First, 
 Because I think we cannot say God reasons at all; for he has at once a view of 
 all things. But reason is very far from such an intuition; it is a laborious and 
 gradual progress in the knowledge of things, by comparing one idea with a 
 second, and\a second with a third, and that with a fourth, &c., to find the relation 
 between the first and the last of these in this train, and in search for such inter- 
 mediate ideas as may show us the relation we desire to know, which sometimes 
 we find, and sometimes not. This way, therefore, of finding truth, so painful, 
 uncertain, and limited, is proper only to men or finite understandings, but can by 
 no means be supposed in God; it is, therefore, in God, understanding or know- 
 ledge. But then, to say that we partake in the knowledge of God, or consult his 
 understanding, is what I cannot receive for true. God has given me an under- 
 standing of my own; and I should think it presumption in me to suppose I 
 apprehended anything by God’s understanding, saw with his eyes, or shared of 
 his knowledge. I think it more possible for me to see with other men’s 
 eyes, and understand with another man’s understanding, than with God’s; 
 there being some proportion between mine and another man’s understanding, 
 but none between mine and God’s. But if this “ infinite reason which we 
 consult,” be at last nothing but those mfinite unchangeable relations which are in 
 
576 AN EXAMINATION OF 
 
 things, some of which we make a shift to discover, this indeed is true, but seems 
 to me to make little to our author’s purpose, of seeing all things in God; and 
 that “if we see not all things by the natural union of our minds with the universal 
 and infinite reason, we should not have the liberty to think on all things,” as he 
 expresses it, p. 538. To explain himself further concerning this universal reason, 
 or as he there calls it by another name, order, p. 539, he says, that “‘ God con- 
 tains in himself the perfections of all the creatures that he has created, or can 
 create, after an intelligible manner.” Intelligible to himself, that is true, but intel- 
 ligible to men, at least to me, that I do not find, unless “ by containing in himself 
 the perfections of all the creatures,” be meant, that there is no perfection in any 
 creature but there is a greater in God, or that there is in God greater perfection 
 than all the perfection in the creatures taken together. And therefore, though it 
 be true what follows in the next words, “ that it is by these intelligible perfec- 
 tions that God knows the essence of everything,” yet it will not follow from 
 hence, or from anything else that he has said, that those perfections in God 
 which contain in them the perfections of all the creatures, are the immediate 
 objects of the mind of man, or that they are so the objects of the mind of man 
 that he can in them see the essences of the creatures. For I ask in which of the 
 perfections of God does a man see the essence of a horse or an ass, of a serpent or 
 a dove, of hemlock or parsley? I, for my part, I confess, see not the essence of 
 any of these things in any of the perfections of God which I have any notion of. 
 For indeed I see not the distinct essence either of these things at all, or know 
 wherein it consists. And therefore I cannot comprehend the force of the infer- 
 ence, which follows in these words: ‘ Then the intelligible ideas or perfections 
 that are in God, which represent to us what is out of God, are absolutely neces- 
 sary and unchangeable.” That the perfections that are in God are necessary and 
 unchangeable, I readily grant; but that the ideas that are intelligible to God, or 
 are in the understanding of God, (for so we must speak of him whilst we conceive 
 of him after the manner of men,) can be seen by us; or that the perfections that 
 are in God represent to us the essences of things that are out of God, that I 
 cannot conceive. The essence of matter, as much as I can see of it, is extension, 
 solidity, divisibility, and mobility; but in which of the perfections of God do I 
 see this essence? ‘To another man, as to our author, perhaps, the essence of body 
 is quite another thing; and when he has told us what to him is the essence of 
 body, it will be then to be considered in which of the perfections of God he sees 
 it. For example, let it be pure extension alone, the idea then that God had in 
 himself of the essence of body before body was created, was the idea of pure 
 extension; when God then created body he created extension, and then space, 
 which existed not before, began to exist. This, I confess, I cannot conceive; but 
 we see in the perfections of God the necessary and unchangeable essences of 
 things. He sees one essence of body in God, and I another; which is that neces- 
 sary and unchangeable essence of body which is contained in the perfections of 
 God, his or mine? Or, indeed, how do or can we know there is any such thing 
 existing as body at all? For we see nothing but the ideas that are in God; but 
 body itself we neither do nor can possibly see at all; and how then can we know 
 that there is any such thing existing as body, since we can by no means see or 
 perceive it by our senses, which is all the way we can have of knowing any cor- 
 poreal thing to exist? But it is said, God shows us the ideas in himself, on occa- 
 sion of the presence of those bodies to our senses. This is gratis dictum, and begs 
 the thing in question; and therefore I desire to have it proved to me that they 
 are present. I see the sun, or a horse; no, says our author, that is impossible; 
 they cannot be seen, because being bodies they cannot be united to my mind, and 
 be present to it. But the sun being risen, and the horse brought within conve- 
 nient distance, and so being present to my eyes, God shows me their ideas in 
 himself: and I say God shows me these ideas when he pleases, without the pre- 
 sence of any such bodies to my eyes. For when I think I see a star at such a 
 
P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION. 577 
 
 distance from me, which truly I do not see, but the idea of it which God shows 
 me, I would have it proved to me that there is such a star existing a million of 
 million of miles from me when I think I see it, more than when I dream of such 
 a star. For until it be proved that there is a candle in the room by which I write 
 this, the supposition of my seeing in God the pyramidical idea of its flame upon 
 occasion of the candle’s being there, is begging;what is in question. And to prove 
 to me that God exhibits to me that idea upon occasion of the presence of the 
 candle, it must first be proved to me that there is a candle there, which upon 
 these principles can never be done. 
 
 Further, We see the necessary and unchangeable essences of things in the per- 
 fections of God. Water, a rose, and a lion have their distinct essences one from 
 another, and all other things; what I desire to know are these distinct essences. 
 I confess I neither see them in nor out of God, and in which of the perfections of 
 God do we see each of them? 
 
 Page 504, I find these words: ‘ It is evident that the perfections that are in 
 God, which represent created or possible beings, are not at all equal: that those, 
 for example, that represent bodies, are not so noble as those, for example, that 
 represent spirits; and amongst those themselves, which represent nothing but 
 body, or nothing but spirits, there are more perfect one than another to infinity. 
 This is conceivable clearly, and without pain, though one finds some difii- 
 culty to reconcile the simplicity of the Divine Being with this variety of intel- 
 ligible ideas which he contains in his wisdom.” ‘This difficulty is to me insur- 
 mountable, and I conclude it always shall be so till I can find’a way to make 
 simplicity and variety the same. And this difficulty must always cumber this 
 doctrine, which supposes that the perfections of God are the representatives to us 
 of whatever we perceive of the creatures; for then those perfections must be 
 many, and diverse, and distinct one from another, as those ideas are that represent 
 the different creatures to us. And this seems to me to make God formally to 
 contain in him all the distinct ideas of all the creatures, and that so that they 
 might be seen one after another: which seems to me, after all the talk of abstrac- 
 tion, to be but a little less gross conception than of the sketches of all the pictures 
 that ever a painter draws, kept by him in his closet, which are there all to be seen 
 one after another, as he pleases to show them. But whilst these abstract thoughts 
 produce nothing better than this, I the easier content myself with my ignorance 
 which roundly thinks thus: God isa simple Being, omniscient, that knows all 
 things possible; and omnipotent, that can do or make all things possible. But how 
 he knows, or how he makes, I do not,conceive: his ways of knowing, as well as his 
 ways of creating, are to me incomprehensible; and if they were not so I should 
 not think him to be God, or to be perfecter in knowledge than I am. To which 
 
 our author’s thoughts seem, in the close of what is above cited, somewhat to 
 
 incline, when he says, “‘ The variety of intelligible ideas which God contains in his 
 wisdom ;” whereby he seems to place this variety of ideas in the mind or thoughts 
 of God, as we may so say, whereby it is hard to conceive how we can see them, 
 and not in the being of God, where they are to be seen as so many distinct 
 things in it. 
 
 ih ip nH een 
 
REMARKS 
 
 UPON 
 
 SOME OF MR. NORRISS BOOKS, 
 
 WHEREIN HE ASSERTS 
 
 P. MALEBRANCHE’S OPINION, 
 
 OF OUR 
 
 SEEING ALL THINGS IN GOD. 
 
 [As this little treatise is merely a continuation of the preceding, it is unnecessary to give a separate 
 account ofit. Of Norris it may be observed, that about the year 1704 he published a second attack on 
 Locke’s philosophy, which I have never met with. The fact, however, is mentioned by Tennemann, 
 (Manual of the History of Philosophy, § 337,) though the work is now probably of rare occurrence.] 
 
 THERE are some who think they have given an account of the nature of ideas, 
 by telling us ‘ we see them in God,”' as if we understood what ideas in the 
 understanding of God are, better than when they are in our own understandings ; 
 or their nature were better known when it is said that ‘“ the immediate object of 
 our understandings” are “ the divine ideas, the omniform essence of God, par- 
 tially represented or exhibited.”* So that this now has made the matter clear, 
 there can be no difficulty left, when we are told that our ideas are the divine 
 ideas, and the divine ideas the omniform essence of God. For what the divine 
 ideas are we know as plainly as we know what one, two, and three is: and it is 
 a satisfactory explication of what our ideas are to tell us, they are no other than 
 the divine ideas ; and the divine essence is more familiar and level to our know- 
 ledge than anything we think of. Besides, there can be no difficulty in under- 
 standing how the divine zdeas are God’s essence. 
 
 2. I am complained of for not having “ given an account of,” or “ defined the 
 nature of our ideas.”° By “ giving an account of the nature of ideas” is not 
 meant that I should make known to men their ideas; for I think nobody can 
 imagine that any articulate sounds of mine, or anybody else, can make known to 
 another what his ideas, that is, what his perceptions, are, better than what he 
 himself knows and perceives them to be; which is ‘enough for affirmations or 
 
 1 See Cursory Reflection ped a Book called | at the end of his Christian Blessedness, or Dis- 
 ‘¢ An Essay concerning Human Understanding,” | courses upon the Beatitudes of our Lord and 
 written by John Norris, M. A., rector of Newton | Saviour Jesus Christ, page 30. London, 1690, 
 St. Loe, in Somersetshire, and late Fellow of All- | 8vo. 
 
 Souls College, in a Letter to a Friend: printed | 2 Ibid. p. 31. * Thidi-pss. 
 
aie a retin leah Dice lianie sirens tins sinaniln Shei nines both 
 
 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’'S BOOKS. 579 
 
 negations about them. By the “ nature of ideas,” therefore, is meant here their 
 causes and manner of production in the mind, i. e. in what alteration of the mind 
 this perception consists: and as to that, I answer, no man can tell; for which I 
 not only appeal to experience, which were enough, but shall add this reason, viz. 
 because no man can give any account of any alteration made in any simple sub- 
 stance whatsoever: all the alteration we can conceive being only of the alteration 
 of compounded substances, and that only by a transposition of parts. Our ideas, 
 say these men, are the divine ideas, or the omniform essence of God,' which the 
 mind sometimes sees and sometimes not. Now I ask these men, what alteration 
 is made in the mind upon seeing ? for there lies the difficulty which occasions the 
 inquiry. 
 
 For what difference a man finds in himself when he sees a marigold and sees 
 not a marigold has no difficulty, and needs not be inquired after; he has the 
 idea now, which he had not before. The difficulty is, what alteration is made in 
 his mind ; what changes that has in itself, when it sees what it did not see before, 
 either the “ divine idea” in the understanding of God, or, as the ignorant think, the 
 marigold in the garden. Either supposition, as to this matter, is all one; for 
 they are both things extrinsical to the mind, till it has that perception; and when 
 it has it, I desire them to explain to me what the alteration in the mind is, besides 
 saying, as we vulgar do, it is having a perception which it had not the moment 
 before; which is only the difference between perceiving and not perceiving; a dif- 
 ference in matter of fact agreed on all hands; which wherein it consists is, for 
 aught I see, unknown to one side as well as the other: only the one have the 
 ingenuity to confess their ignorance, and the other pretend to be knowing. 
 
 3. P. Malebranche says, ‘“‘ God does all things by the simplest and shortest 
 ways,’ i.e. as it is interpreted in Mr. Norris’s Reason and Religion, “‘ God 
 never does anything in vain.”* This will easily be granted them; but how will 
 they reconcile to this principle of theirs, on which their whole system is built, the 
 curious structure of the eye and ear, not to mention the other parts of the body. 
 For if the perception of colours and sounds depended on nothing but the presence 
 of the object affording an occasional cause to God Almighty to exhibit to the 
 mind the ideas of figures, colours, and sounds, all that nice and curious structure 
 of those organs is wholly in vain; since the sun by day, and the stars by night, 
 and the visible objects that surround us, and the beating of a drum, the talk of 
 people, and the change made in the air by thunder, are as much present to a 
 blind and deaf man, as to those who have their eyes and ears in the greatest per- 
 fection. He that understands optics ever so little, must needs admire the won- 
 derful make of the eye, not only for the variety and neatness of the parts, but as 
 suited to the nature of refraction, so as to paint the image of the object in the 
 retina; which these men must confess to be all lost labour, if it contributes 
 nothing at all, in the ordinary way of causes and effects, to the producing that 
 idea in the mind. But that only the presence of the object gave occasion to God 
 to show to the mind that idea in himself, which certainly is as present to one that 
 has a gutta serena, as to the quickest-sighted man living. But we do not know 
 how by any natural operation this can produce an idea in the mind: and there- 
 fore (a good conclusion!) God, the author of nature, cannot this way produce it. 
 As if it were impossible for the Almighty to produce anything but by ways we 
 must conceive, and are able to comprehend; when he that is best satisfied of his 
 omniscient understanding, and knows so well how God perceives and man thinks, 
 cannot explain the cohesion of parts in the lowest degree of created beings, unor- 
 
 ganized bodies. 
 2 glen ks pecker wits sabi SARA AE Cao 
 
 1 See ‘‘ Man in Search of Himself,” by Cuth- | Contemplations. With Exercises of Devotion ap- 
 bert, Comment, p. 190, 183. plied to every Contemplation. By John Norris, 
 
 2 Reason and Religion; or the Grounds and | M.A.,and Fellowof All-Souls College, in Oxforde 
 Measures of Devotion, considered from the Na- | Part II. Contemplation II. §17, p.195. London, 
 
 ture of God and the Nature of Man. Inseveral | 1689, 8vo. 
 
 . rey Lage 
 
580 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’ BOOKS. 
 
 4, The “ perception of universals,” also proves that all beings are present to 
 our minds; and that can only be by the presence of God, because all created 
 things are individuals. Are not all things that exist individuals?2 If so, then 
 say not all created, but all existing things are individuals; and if so, then the 
 having any general idea proves not that we have all objects present to our minds; 
 but this is for want of considering wherein universality consists ; which is only 
 in representation abstracting from particulars. An idea of a circle of an inch 
 diameter will represent, where or whensoever existing, all the circles of an inch 
 diameter ; and that by abstracting from time and place. And it will also repre- 
 sent all circles of any bigness, by abstracting also from that particular bigness, 
 and by retaining only the relation of equi-distance of the circumference from the 
 centre, in all the parts of it. 
 
 5. We have a “ distinct idea of God,”*® whereby we clearly enough distinguish 
 him from the creatures; but I fear it would be presumption for us to say we have 
 a clear idea of him, as he is in himself. 
 
 6. The argument, that “ we have the idea of infinite, before the idea of finite,” 
 because ‘‘ we conceive infinite being barely by conceiving being, without consi- 
 dering whether it be finite or infinite,’* I shall leave to be considered, whether 
 it is not a mistake of priority of nature for priority of conception. 
 
 7. “ God made all things for himself;”* therefore we “ see all things in him.” 
 This is called demonstration. As if all things were not as well made for God, 
 and mankind had not as much reason to magnify him, if their perception of 
 things were any other way than such an one of seeing them in him; as shows not — 
 God more than the other, and wherein not one of a million takes more notice of 
 him than those who think they perceive things where they are, by their senses. 
 
 8. “ If God should create a mind, and give it the sun, suppose, for its idea, or 
 immediate object of knowledge, God would then make that mind for the sun, and 
 not for himself.”° This supposes, that those that see things in God, see at the 
 same time God also, and thereby show that their minds are made for God, 
 having him for the “‘ immediate object of their knowledge.” But for this I must 
 appeal to common experience, whether every one, as often as he sees anything else, 
 sees and perceives God in the case; or whether it be not true of men, who see 
 other things every moment, that God is not in all their thoughts? “ Yet,” says 
 he, “‘ when the mind sees his works, it sees him in some manner.’’? This some 
 manner, is no manner at all to the purpose of being made only for God, for his 
 idea, or for his immediate object of knowledge. A man bred up in the obscurity 
 of a dungeon,® where by a dim and almost no light he perceives the objects about 
 him, it is true he owes this idea to the light of the sun; but having never heard 
 nor thought of the sun, can one say that the idea of the sun is “ his immediate 
 object of knowledge,’ or that therefore “ his mind was made for the sun?” This 
 is the case of a great part of mankind; and how many can we imagine of those 
 who have got some notion of a God, either from tradition or reason, have an idea 
 of him present in their minds as often as they think of anything else? 
 
 9. But if our being “ made for God,” necessarily demonstrates that we should 
 “see all things in him,” this at last will demonstrate that we are not half made 
 for him; since it is confessed by our author that we see no other ideas in God 
 but those of number, extension, and essences, which are not half the ideas that 
 take up men’s minds. | 
 
 10. “ The simple essences of things are nothing else but the divine essence 
 
 1 Reason and Religion, &c. Part II. Contemp. | De la Logique d’Aristotle, t. i. pp. 288, 292. 302. 
 
 TL$'19;-p. 191: 3 Reason and Religion, Part II. Contemp, II. 
 _2 See, on the subject of Universals, Hobbes’ | § 20, p. 198. * Thid. § 21, p. 198. 
 
 Human Nature, chap. v. § 6; where he does but 5 Th.§ 22,p.199. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. § 23, p. 200. 
 reproduce, in reality, the notions of the Peripa- 8 Plato has a similar thought in the beginning 
 
 tetics, since Aristotle maintains precisely the | of the seventh book of his Republic, Opera, t. vi. 
 same doctrines. See Barthélemy, Saint-Hilaire, | p. 327. 
 
 tr tetra nt er A en el A en tN 
 
REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS. 581 
 
 itself considered with his connotation, as variously representative or exhibitive of 
 things, and as variously imitable or participable by them ;' and this he tells us 
 are ideas.” The meaning, I take it, of all this put into plain intelligible words, is 
 this: God has always a power to produce anything that involves not a contradic- 
 tion. He also knows what we can do. But what is all this to ideas in him, as 
 real beings visible by us? God knew from eternity he could produce a pebble, a 
 mushroom, anda man. Were these, which are distinct ideas, part of his simple 
 essence? It seems then, we know very well the essence of God, and use the 
 word simple, which comprehends all sorts of variety in a very proper way. But 
 God knew he could produce such creatures; therefore where shall we place those 
 ideas he saw of them, but in his own essence? There these ideas existed 
 eminenté?; and so they are the essence of God. There the things themselves 
 existed too, eminentér, and therefore all the creatures as they really exist are the 
 essence of God. For if finite real beings of one kind, as ideas are said to be, are 
 the essence of the infinite God; other finite beings, as the creatures, may be also 
 the essence of God. But after this rate we must talk when we will allow our- 
 selves to be ignorant of nothing, but will know even the knowledge of God and 
 the way of his understanding ! 
 
 11. The “ essences of things, or ideas existing in God.”* There are many of 
 them that exist in God: and so the simple essence of God has actually existing 
 in it as great a variety of ideas as there are of creatures; all of them real beings, 
 and distinct one from another. If it be said, this means God can and knows he 
 can produce them, what doth this say more than every one says? If it doth 
 say more, and shows us not this infinite number of real distinct beings in God, so 
 as to be his very essence, what is this better than what those say who make God 
 to be nothing but the universe ;* though it be covered under unintelligible expres- 
 sions of simplicity and variety at the same time, in the essence of God? But 
 those who would not be thought ignorant of anything, to attain it, make God 
 like themselves; or else they could not talk as they do, of “ the mind of God,” 
 and “the ideas in the mind of God, exhibitive of all the whole possibility of being.” * 
 
 12. “ It is in the divine nature that these universal natures, which are the 
 proper object of science, are to be found; and consequently it is in God that we 
 know all the truth which we know.”° Doth any universal nature, therefore, exist? 
 Or can anything that exists anywhere, or anyhow, be any other than singular ? 
 { think it cannot be denied that God having a power to produce ideas in us, can 
 give that power to another; or, to express it otherwise, make any idea the effect 
 of any operation on our bodies. This has no contradiction in it, and therefore is 
 possible. But you will say, you conceive not the way how this is done. Ifyou 
 stand to that rule, that it cannot be done because you conceive not the manner 
 how it is brought to pass, you must deny that God can do this, because you can- 
 not conceive the manner how he produces any idea in us. If visible objects are 
 seen only by God’s exhibiting their ideas to our minds, on occasion of the presence 
 
 tout; mais il n’est aucun étre en particulicr. 
 Cependant ce que nous voyons n’est qu’un ou 
 plusieurs étres en particulier, et nous ne compre- 
 nons point cette simplicité parfaite de Dieu qui 
 of Malebranche, which Norris appears to have | renferme tous les étres.’’ (t. i. p. 365. The sys- 
 tem of Pantheism has always been in great favour 
 with a certain class of philosophers, from the 
 | earliest dawn of speculation. Thus we find the 
 ancient Egyptians had anticipated the funda- 
 mental doctrine of Spinoza, so that, after care- 
 fully reviewing their theology, Jablonski ex- 
 | claims :—“ Would you not imagine that Spinoza 
 | had borrowed his system from the Egyptians °” 
 (Pantheon Agyptiorum, t. i. p. 36. 
 tiére divisible, figurée, &c., et il _n’y a rien en 5 Reason and Religion, Part I. Contemp. V. 
 Dieu qui soit divisible, ou figuré: car Dieu est | § 30, p. 92, 93. 
 tout étre, parce qu’il est infini et qu’il comprend 6 Tbid. Part II. Contemp. IT. § 380, p. 206. 
 
 ee ee ew eri bn pene nee tistch hapa nena Te nineteen tare Gelert a aC A 
 
582 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRISS BOOKS. 
 
 of those objects, what hinders the Almighty from exhibiting their ideas to a blind 
 man, to whom, being set before his face, and as near his eyes, and in as good a 
 light as to one not blind, they are, according to this supposition, as much the occa- 
 sional cause to one as tothe other? But yet under this equality of occasional causes, 
 one has the idea, and the other not, and this constantly; which would give one 
 reason to suspect something more than a presential occasional cause in the object. 
 
 13. Further, if light striking upon the eyes be but the occasional cause of 
 seeing, God, in making the eyes of so curious a structure, operates not by the 
 simplest ways; for God could have produced visible ideas upon the occasion of 
 light striking upon the eyelids or forehead. 
 
 14. Outward objects are not, when present, always occasional causes. He that 
 has long continued in a room perfumed with sweet odours, ceases to smell, though 
 the room be filled with those flowers; though as often as after a little absence he 
 returns again, he smells them afresh. He that comes out of bright sunshine into 
 a room where the curtains are drawn, at first sees nothing in the room; though 
 those who have been there some time see him and everything plainly. It is hard 
 to account for either of these phenomena, by God’s producing these ideas upon 
 the account of occasional causes. But by the production of ideas in the mind, 
 by the operation of the object on the organs of sense, this difference is easy to be 
 explained. , 
 
 15. Whether the ideas of light and colours come in by the eyes or no, it is all 
 one as if they did; for those who have no eyes never have them. And whether 
 or no God has appointed that a certain modified motion of the fibres, or spirits in 
 the optic nerve, should excite, or produce, or cause them in us, call it what you 
 please, it is all one as if it did; since where there is no such motion there is no such 
 perception or idea. For I hope they will not deny God the privilege to give such 
 a power to motion if he pleases. Yes, say they, they be the occasional, but not 
 the efficient cause; for that they cannot be, because that is in effect to say, he 
 has given this motion in the optic nerve a power to operate on himself, but cannot 
 give it a power to operate on the mind of man: it may by this appointment 
 operate on himself, the impassible infinite Spirit, and put him in mind when he is 
 to operate on the mind of man, and exhibit to it the idea which is in himself of 
 any colour. The infinite eternal God is certainly the cause of all things, the 
 fountain of all being and power. But because all being was from him, can there 
 be nothing but God himself? or because all power was originally in him, can 
 there be nothing of it communicated to his creatures? This is to set very narrow 
 
 ’ bounds to the power of God, and, by pretending to extend it, takes it away. For 
 which (I beseech you, as we can comprehend) is the perfectest power, to make 
 a machine—a watch, for example—that, when the watchmaker has withdrawn his 
 hands, shall go and strike by the fit contrivance of the parts; or else requires that 
 whenever the hand, by pointing to the hour, minds him of it, he should strike twelve 
 upon the bell? No machine of God’s making can go of itself. Why? because 
 the creatures have no power; can neither move themselves, nor anything else. 
 How then comes about all that we see? Do they do nothing? Yes, they are 
 the occasional causes to God, why he should produce certain thoughts and 
 motions in them. The creatures cannot produce any idea, any thought in man. 
 How then comes he to perceive or think? God, upon the occasion of some 
 motion in the optic nerve, exhibits the colour of a marigold or a rose to his mind. 
 How came that motion in his optic nerve? On occasion of the motion of some 
 particles of light striking on the retina, God producing it, and so on. And so, 
 whatever a man thinks, God produces the thought; let it be infidelity, murmur- 
 ing, or blasphemy. The mind doth nothing; his mind is only the mirror that re- 
 ceives the ideas that God exhibits to it, and just as God exhibits them: the man is 
 altogether passive in the whole business of thinking.’ 
 
 a A CE ET A CE td ener enn en poe 
 re — 
 
 1 This doctrine, scarcely at all modified, has | Socialism. Malebranche’s exposition of it is 
 been preached in our own day under the name of | most clear and explicit, and highly eloquent and 
 
 a 
 
583 
 
 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS. 
 
 16. A man cannot move his arm or his tongue; he has no power; only upon 
 occasion, the man willing it, God moves it. Then man wills, he doth something ; 
 or else God, upon the occasion of something which he himself did before, pro- 
 duced this will and this action in him. This is the hypothesis that clears doubts, 
 and brings us at last to the religion of Hobbes and Spinoza; by resolving all, 
 even the thoughts and will of men, into an irresistible fatal necessity. For 
 whether the original of it be from the continued motion of eternal all-doing 
 matter, or from an omnipotent immaterial Being, which having begun matter and 
 motion, continues it by the direction of occasions, which he himself has also 
 made: as to religion and morality, it is just the same thing. But we must know 
 how everything is brought to pass, and thus we have it resolved without leaving 
 any difficulty to perplex us. But perhaps it would better become us to acknow- 
 ledge our ignorance, than to talk such things boldly of the Holy One of Israel, 
 and condemn others for not daring to be as unmannerly as ourselves. 
 
 17. Ideas may be real beings, though not substances; as motion is a real 
 being, though not a substance: and it seems probable that, in us, ideas depend 
 on, and are some way or other the effect of motion; since they are so fleeting, it 
 
 persuasive. ‘“ Je scai bien que l’ame est capable | disobey, you will be punished here and hereafter ; 
 
 de penser; mais je scai aussi que l’étendue est 
 capable de figures; l’ame est capable de volonté, 
 comme la matiére de mouvement. Mais de 
 méme qu’il est faux que la matiére, quoique ca- 
 pable de figure et de mouvement, ait en elle- 
 méme une force, une faculté, une nature, par 
 laquelle elle se puisse mouvoir, ou se donner tan- 
 tét une figure ronde, et tantédt une quarrée: 
 quoique l’ame soit naturellement et essentielle- 
 ment capable de connoissance et de volonté, il 
 est faux qu’elle ait des facultés par lesquelles 
 elle puisse produire en elle ses idées, on son 
 mouvement vers le bien. Il y a bien de la dif. 
 férence entre étre mobile et se mouvoir: la 
 matiére de sa nature est mobile et capable de 
 figures: elle ne peut méme subsister sans figure. 
 Mais elle ne se meut pas; elle ne se figure pas; 
 elle n’a point de faculté pour cela. L’esprit de 
 sa nature est capable de mouvement et d’idées ; 
 jen conviens. Mais il”ne se meut pas; il ne 
 séclaire pas: c’est Dieu qui fait tout dans les 
 esprits aussi-bien que dans les corps. Peut- 
 on dire que Dieu fait les changemens qui ar- 
 rivent dans la matiére, et qu’il ne fait pas 
 ceux qui arrivent dans l’esprit? Est-ce rendre 
 a Dieu ce qui lui appartient, que d’abandonner 
 4a sa disposition les derniers des étres? N’est-il 
 pas également le maitre do toutes choses ? N’est- 
 il pas le créateur, le conservateur, le seul vérita- 
 ble moteur des' esprits aussi bien que des corps? 
 Certainement il fait tout, substances, accidens, 
 étres, maniéres. Car enfin il connoit tout; mais 
 il ne connoit que ce qu’il fait. On lui dte donc sa 
 connaissance, si on borne son action.” (Kclair- 
 cissement sur le troisieme livre, t. iii. p. 124.) 
 This doctrine Mr. Robert Owen, in his Book of 
 the New Moral World, also teaches, with the 
 characteristic omission of certain terms. ‘‘ The 
 feelings and convictions experienced by man, are 
 not produced or regulated by his will, but are the 
 necessary effects of the action of circumstances 
 upon his physical and mental nature. Hitherto 
 the world has been governed under the supposi- 
 tion that the feelings and convictions have been 
 produced by the chovce of the individual, and that 
 they are under the control of what is called free- 
 will, The languages of all nations are filled with 
 the terms, that you must love or hate, believe or 
 disbelieve certain qualities and creeds, or if you 
 
 and for so loving, hating, believing, or disbe- 
 lieving, men are now praised and rewarded, as 
 though there were great merit in so doing. Yet, 
 from an investigation of the facts connected with 
 this subject, it appears that the feelings and con- 
 victions are instincts of human nature,—instincts 
 which every one is compelled to possess or re- 
 ceive,—and for which no man can have merit 
 or demerit, or deserve reward or punishment.” 
 (chap. iii. p. 7.) The doctrine of Hobbes, from 
 whom the philosophers of Mr. Owen’s school ap- 
 pear to have borrowed so much, does not quite 
 square with the modern hypothesis on the sub- 
 ject of human laws. Hobbes maintains, indeed, 
 that man acts under the impulse of dire neces- 
 sity; but argues, pleasantly enough, that he may 
 notwithstanding be very justly punished for what 
 he does: first, because all laws are just; and 
 second, because his example may deter others, 
 though they also be of course obnoxious to the 
 force of necessity. Let us, however, hear his own 
 exposition, which places the absurdity of his rea- 
 soning in a more striking light than almost any 
 other language could do. ‘‘ The necessity,” he 
 says, ‘‘of an action, doth not make the laws which 
 prohibit it unjust. To let pass, that not the 
 necessity, but the will, to break the law, maketh the 
 action unjust; because the law regardeth the will, 
 and no other precedent causes of action. And to 
 let pass, that no law can possibly be unjust; in- 
 asmuch as every man maketh (by his consent) 
 the law he is bound to keep; and which conse- 
 quently must be just, unless a man can be unjust 
 to himself. I say, what necessary cause soever 
 precede an action, yet if the action be forbidden, 
 he that doth it willingly may be justly punished. 
 For instance, suppose the law, on pain of death, 
 prohibit stealing; and that there be a man who 
 by the strength of temptation is necessitated to 
 steal, and is thereupon put to death; does not 
 this punishment deter others from theft? Is it 
 not a cause that others steal not? Doth it not 
 frame and make their wills to justice? To make 
 the law is, therefore, to make a cause of justice, 
 and to necessitate justice: and consequently, ’tis 
 no injustice to make sucha law.” (Of Liberty 
 and Necessity, English Works, vol. iv. p. 252. 
 Edition of Sir William Molesworth.) 
 
ce nt rh OT 
 
 584 REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’ BOOKS. 
 
 being, as I have elsewhere observed, so hard and almost impossible to keep in our 
 minds the same unvaried idea long together, unless when the object that produces 
 it is present to the senses; from which the same motion that first produced it, 
 being continued, the idea itself may continue. 
 
 18. To excuse, therefore, the ignorance I have owned of what our ideas are, 
 any further than as they are perceptions we experiment in ourselves; and the 
 dull, unphilosophical way I have taken of examining their production, only so far 
 as experience and observation lead me, wherein my dim sight went not beyond 
 sensation and reflection. 
 
 19. Truth* lies only in propositions. The foundation of this truth is the rela- 
 tion that is between our ideas. The knowledge of truth is that perception of the 
 relation between our ideas to be as it is expressed. 
 
 20. The immutability of essences lies in the same sounds, supposed to stand 
 for the same ideas. These things considered, would have saved this learned 
 discourse. 
 
 21. Whatever exists, whether in God or out of God, is singular.? 
 
 22. If no propositions should be made, there would be no truth nor falsehood ; 
 though the same relations still between the same ideas, is a foundation of the 
 immutability of truth® in the same propositions, whenever made. 
 
 23. What wonder is it that the same idea‘ should always be the same idea? 
 
 For if the word triangle be supposed to have the same signification always, that- 
 
 is all this amounts to. 
 
 24. I “ desire to know”* what things they are that God has prepared for them 
 that love him?” Therefore I have some knowledge of them already, though 
 they be such as “ eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the 
 heart of man to conceive.” 
 
 25. If I “ have all things actually present to my mind,” why do I not know 
 all things distinctly ? 
 
 26. He that considers® the force of such ways of speaking as these: “I desire 
 it—pray give it me—She was afraid of the snake, and ran away trembling’”—will 
 easily conceive how the meaning of the words desire and fear, and so all 
 those which stand for intellectual notions, may be taught by words of sensible 
 significations. 
 
 27. This, however otherwise in experience, should be so on this hypothesis. 
 v. g. the uniformity of the ideas that different men have when they use such 
 words as these, glory, worship, religion, are clear proofs that “ God exhibited to 
 ’ their minds that part of the ideal world as is signified by that sign.” 
 
 28. Strange! that truth, being in any question but one, the more we discover 
 of it the more uniform our judgments should be about it !7 
 
 29. This argues that the ground of it is the always immutable relations of the 
 same ideas. Several ideas that we have once got acquainted with, we can revive, 
 and so they are present to us when we please; but the knowledge of their rela- 
 tions, so as to know what we may affirm or deny of them, is not always present 
 to our minds; but we often miss truth, even after study. But in many, and pos- 
 sibly not the fewest, we have neither the ideas nor the truth constantly, or so 
 much as at all present to our minds. 
 
 And I think I may, without any disparagement to the author, doubt whether 
 he ever had, or with all his application ever would have, the ideas or truths pre- 
 sent to the mind, that Mr. Newton had in writing his book. 
 
 30. This section® supposes we are better acquainted with God’s understanding 
 than our own. But this pretty argument would perhaps look as smilingly thus: 
 
 1 See Reason and Religion, &c. Part II. Con- 5 Thid. § 34, p. 210. 
 temp. IT. § 29, p. 204. © Ibid. § 35, p. Py SOR EY 
 
 2 Ibid. § 30, p. 206. 3 Ibid. § 82, p. 207. 7 Tbid. } 86. p. 214. 
 
 | § 37,0. 216. 
 
 * Ibid. § 33, p. 208, 209. 8 Ibid. 
 
 SN NES ns ene. a ae Rape te a 
 
 B 
 
 a a ee 
 
 . Ce ae» 2 <I. Ve cee 
 
REMARKS UPON SOME OF MR. NORRIS’S BOOKS. O85 
 
 We are like God in our understandings; he sees what he sees by ideas in 
 
 his own mind: therefore we see what we see by ideas that are in our own minds. 
 31. These texts' do not prove that we shall “ hereafter see all things in God.” 
 
 There will be objects in a future state, and we shall have bodies and senses. 
 
 32. Is he, whilst we see through the veil of our mortal flesh here, intimately 
 present to our minds? 
 
 33. To think of anything,’ is to contemplate that precise idea. The idea of being 
 in general, is the idea of being abstracted from whatever may limit or determine 
 it to any inferior species; so that he that thinks always of being in general, 
 thinks never of any particular species of being ; unless he can think of it with 
 and without precision at the same time. But if he means that he thinks of being 
 in general, whenever he thinks of this or that’particular being, or sort of being ; 
 then it is certain he may always think of being in general, till he can find out a 
 way of thinking on nothing. 
 
 34. Being in general, is being’ abstracted from wisdom, goodness, power, and 
 any particular sort of duration; and I have as true an idea of being, when these 
 are excluded out of it, as when extension, place, solidity, and mobility are 
 excluded out of my idea. And therefore, if being in general, and God, be the 
 same, I have a true idea of God when I exclude out of it power, goodness, 
 wisdom, and eternity. 
 
 35. As if there was no difference* between “ man’s being his own light,” and 
 “ not seeing things in God.” Man may be enlightened by God, though it be not 
 by “ seeing all things in God.” 
 
 The finishing of these hasty thoughts must be deferred to another season. 
 
 Oates, 1693. JOHN LOCKE. 
 1 Thid. § 38, p. 216, 217. 3 Ibid. § 40, p. 219. 
 * Ibid. § 39, p. 217, 218. 4 Ibid. § 48, p. 223. 
 
ELEMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 Peer URAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
Notive 
 
 twp 
 
 . wer St 
 Si eseelath hy 
 
 Wes 
 
 bia Whee ween 
 
 ae at hh Paden Tey 
 
 sc ayaa 
 
 pet 
 
 aie 
 ; 
 
a eS See ene a actA sl enti ccna ns ko aa sr teat aN al aaa ta hed erie ba elise arene be aeeneAaLdaress nanan 
 
 ELEMENTS OF 
 NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [I am not acquainted with a better compendium of natural philosophy than this; and much public 
 benefit would arise from circulating it widely in a cheap and popular form. The science, no doubt, 
 has received very great improvements since the time of Locke, but his exposition of it is still suffi- 
 ciently exact for all practical purposes. The explanations of terms are extremely brief, correct, and 
 intelligible; andthe accounts of the grander phenomena of the universe, though designed only to act 
 as incentives to inquiry, are such as to open up very magnificent prospects before the mind. As it 
 would be exceedingly preposterous to render that long by annotation which the author expressly made 
 short and simple, that it might be the more easily comprehended and the substance of it lodged firmly 
 in the memory, I shall trouble the reader with very few notes, though I may here and there subjoin a 
 reference or a remark. } 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF MATTER AND MOTION. 
 
 MarTrTer is an extended solid substance; which being comprehended under dis- 
 tinct surfaces, makes so many particular distinct bodies. 
 
 Motion is so well known by the sight and touch, that to use words to give a 
 clearer idea of it would be in vain. 
 
 Matter, or body, is indifferent to motion or rest. 
 
 There is as much force required to put a body, which is in motion, at rest; as 
 there is to set a body, which is at rest, into motion. 
 
 No parcel of matter can give itself either motion or rest, and therefore a body 
 at rest will remain so eternally, except some external cause puts it in motion; 
 and a body in motion will move eternally, unless some external cause stops it. 
 
 A. body in motion will always move on im a straight line, unless it be turned 
 out of it hy some external cause, because a body can no more alter the determina- 
 tion of its motion than it can begin it, alter or stop its motion itself. 
 
 The swiftness of motion is measured by distance of place and length of time 
 wherein it is performed. For instance, if A and B, bodies of equal or different 
 bigness, move each of them an inch in the same time, their motions are equally 
 swift; but if A moves two inches in the time whilst B is moving one inch, the 
 motion of A is twice as swift as that of B. 
 
 The quantity of motion is measured by the swiftness of the motion,’ and the 
 
 1 Whether this be consistent with the received | in a pound ball which traverses the same distance 
 theory of motion is more than I can say, but it | in the same time, though the motive power which 
 appears to me to be a fallacy; for motion having | set the matter in motion must be evidently greater 
 reference to the space traversed, and the.time in | than that which imparted motion to the former. 
 which the transit is performed, there is as much | Locke, therefore, appears here to confound mo- 
 motion in an ounce ball which traverses five | tion with the motive power; that is if I appre- 
 hundred yards in a given number of seconds as | hend his meaning exactly. 
 
5990 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 quantity of the matter moved, taken together. For instance, if A, a body equal 
 to B, moves as swift as B, then it hath an equal quantity of motion. If A hath 
 twice as much matter as B, and moves equally as swift, it hath double the quan- 
 tity of motion, and so in proportion. 
 
 It appears, as far as human observation reaches, to be a settled law of nature, 
 that all bodies have a tendency, attraction, or gravitation towards one another. 
 
 The same force, applied to two different bodies, produces always the same 
 quantity of motion in each of them. For instance, let a boat which with its lading 
 is one ton, be tied at a distance to another vessel, which with its lading is twenty- 
 six tons; if the rope that ties them together be pulled, either in the less or bigger 
 of these vessels, the less of the two, in their approach one to another, will move 
 twenty-six feet, while the other moves but one foot. 
 
 Wherefore the quantity of matter in the earth being twenty-six times more than 
 in the moon, the motion in the moon towards the earth, by the common force of 
 attraction, by which they are impelled towards one another, will be twenty-six 
 times as fast as in the earth; that is, the moon will move twenty-six miles towards 
 the earth, for every mile the earth moves towards the moon. 
 
 Hence it is, that, in this natural tendency of bodies towards one another, that 
 in the lesser is considered as gravitation, and that in the bigger as attraction,’ 
 because the motion of the lesser body (by reason of its much greater swiftness) is 
 alone taken notice of. 
 
 This attraction is the strongest the nearer the attracting bodies are to each 
 other ; and, in different distances of the same bodies, is reciprocally in the dupli- 
 cate proportion of those distances. For instance, if two bodies, at a given 
 distance, attract each other with a certain force, at half the distance they will 
 attract each other with four times that force; at one third of the distance, with 
 nine times that force; and so on. . 
 
 Two bodies at a distance will put one another into motion by the force of 
 attraction ; which is inexplicable by us, though made evident to us by experience, 
 and so to be taken as a principle in natural philosophy. 
 
 Supposing then the earth the sole body in the universe, and at rest; if God 
 should create the moon, at the same distance that it is now from the earth, the 
 earth and the moon would presently begin to move one towards another in a 
 straight line by this motion of attraction or gravitation. 
 
 If a body, that by the attraction of another would move in a straight line 
 towards it, receives a new motion any ways oblique to the first, it will no longer 
 move in a straight line, according to either of those directions, but in a curve that 
 will partake of both. And this curve will differ, according to the nature and 
 quantity of the forces that concurred to produce it; as, for instance, in many 
 cases it will be such a curve as ends where it began, or recurs into itself: that is, 
 makes up a circle, or an ellipsis* or oval very little differing from a circle. 
 
 1 Besides the works of Sir Isaac Newton and 
 the more modern philosophers, to which the 
 reader will be apt to refer on this subject, it may 
 be worth while to examine the previous specula- 
 tion of Hobbes, in which the same theory is de- 
 veloped, though with less method and complete- 
 ness. (Elements of Philosophy, Part IV. c. xxx. 
 § 2. See also Lord Bacon, Sylva Sylvarum, 703-4.) 
 
 2 Kepler seems to have been the first who ob- 
 
 served that the planets may move in an ellipse; 
 but it was reserved for Sir Isaac Newton to de- 
 monstrate the truth of this observation. The 
 reader will find the demonstration of Sir Isaac 
 in Lord King’s Life of Locke, vol. i. p. 389, et 
 seq., ‘where,’ in the opinion of his Lordship, 
 “‘the lemmas which are prefixed are expressed in 
 a more explanatory form than those of the Prin- 
 cipia usually are.” 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 591 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 To any one who looks about him in the world, there are obvious several 
 distinct masses of matter, separate from one another; some whereof have discerni- 
 ble motions. These are the sun, the fixed stars, the comets and the planets, 
 amongst which this earth, which we inhabit, is one. All these are visible to our 
 naked eyes. 
 
 Besides these, telescopes have discovered several fixed stars, invisible to the 
 naked eye; and several other bodies moving about some of the planets; all 
 which were invisible and unknown before the use of perspective glasses were 
 found. 
 
 The vast distances between these great bodies are called intermundane spaces ; 
 in which though there may be some fluid matter, yet it is so thin and subtile, and 
 there is so little of that in respect of the great masses that move in those spaces, 
 that it is as much as nothing. 
 
 These masses of matter are either luminous, or opaque or dark. 
 
 Luminous bodies are such as give light of themselves; and such are the sun 
 and the fixed stars. 
 
 Dark or opaque bodies are such as emit no light of themselves, though they are 
 capable of reflecting of it, when it is cast upon them from other bodies; and such 
 are the planets. 
 
 There are some opaque bodies, as for instance the comets, which, besides the 
 light that they may have from the sun, seem to shine with a light that is nothing 
 else but an accension which they receive from the sun, in their near approaches 
 to it, in their respective revolutions. 
 
 The fixed stars are called fixed because they always keep the same distance 
 one from another. 
 
 The sun, at the same distance from us that the fixed stars are, would have the 
 appearance of one of the fixed stars. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM. 
 
 Our solar system consists of the sun, and the planets and comets moving about it. 
 
 The planets are bodies, which appear to us like stars; not that they are lumin- 
 ous bodies, that is, have light in themselves; but they shine by reflecting the 
 light of the sun. 
 
 They are called planets from a Greek word, which signifies wandering ; 
 because they change their places, and do not always keep the same distance with 
 one another, nor with the fixed stars, as the fixed stars do. 
 
 The planets are either primary or secondary. 
 
 There are six primary planets,' viz. Mercury, Venus, the Earth, Mars, Jupiter, 
 and Saturn. 
 
 All these move round the sun, which is, as it were, the centre of their motions. 
 
 1 The number now discovered amounts to | ble by the aid of the glasses at present in 
 eleven, and there may yet be others not visi- | use. 
 
a 
 
 592 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The secondary planets move round about other planets. Besides the moon, 
 which moves about the earth, four moons move about Jupiter, and five about 
 Saturn,' which are called their satellites. 
 
 The middle distances of the primary planets from the sun are as follows :— 
 
 Mercur 32,000,000 < 
 Uae ae dane cee 59,000,000 SER os 
 The Earth ( from the 81,000,000 C Froid, ond 
 Mars sun’s cen- 123,000,000 4943 rch 
 J upiter tre, about 424,000,000 \ 04 
 
 Saturn 777,000,000 : 
 
 The orbits of the planets, and their respective distances from the sun and from 
 one another, together with the orbit of a comet, may be seen in the figure of the 
 solar system hereunto annexed.’ 
 
 The periodical times of each planet's revolution about the sun are as follows :— 
 
 ns ona B Feseaam © Ree)" & 
 Mercury Oe SRO 
 Venus Revolves Dor 2o a) 
 The Earth{ about the 0 3865 5 49 
 Mars Sun, in b Meshes Vi? Beeg td 6 Slesrit § 
 Jupiter \ the space L819... Or 0 
 Saturn of 29 oe ine 
 
 The planets move round about the sun from west to east in the zodiac, or, to 
 speak plainer, are always found amongst some of the stars of those constellations, 
 which make the twelve signs of the zodiac. 
 
 The motion of the planets about the sun is not perfectly circular, but rather 
 elliptical. | 
 
 The reason of their motions in curve lines is the attraction of the sun, or their 
 gravitations towards the sun, (call it which you please,) and an oblique or side- 
 long impulse or motion. 
 
 These two motions or tendencies, the one always endeavouring to carry them in 
 a straight line from the circle they move in, and the other endeavouring to draw 
 them in a straight line to the sun, makes that curve line they revolve in. 
 
 The motion of the comets about the sun is in a very long slender oval; whereof 
 one of the focuses is the centre of the sun, and the other very much beyond the 
 sphere of Saturn. 
 
 The moon moves about the earth, as the earth doth about the sun; so that it 
 hath the centre of its motion in the earth; as the earth hath the centre of its revo- 
 lution in the sun, about which it moves. 
 
 The moon makes its synodical motion about the earth, in twenty-nine days, 
 twelve hours, and about forty-four minutes. 
 
 It is full moon, when, the earth being between the sun and the moon, we see all | 
 the enlightened part of the moon; new moon, when, the moon being between us 
 and the sun, its enlightened part is turned from us; and half moon, when the 
 moon being in the quadratures, as the astronomers call it, we see but half the 
 enlightened ‘part. 
 
 An eclipse of the moon. is, when the earth, being between the sun and the 
 moon, hinders the light of the sun from falling upon, and being reflected_by the 
 
 1 Saturn has been found by modern astrono- | 7? The engraving alluded to, being now com- 
 mers to possess seven moons, besides his lumin- | monly found in all elementary treatises on the 
 ous belt; and the planet Herschel has six moons. | subject, has been omitted. 
 
 ae 
 ee 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 593 
 
 moon. If the light of the sun is kept off from the whole body of the moon, it is 
 a total eclipse ; if from a part only, it is a partial one. 
 
 An eclipse of the sun is, when the moon, being between the sun and the earth, 
 hinders the light of the sun from coming to us. If the moon hides from us the 
 whole body of the sun, it is a total eclipse; if not a partial one. 
 
 Our solar system is distant from the fixed stars 20,000,000,000 semi-diameters 
 of the earth; or, as Mr. Huygens expresses this distance, in his Cosmotheoros :! 
 the fixed stars are so remote from the earth, that, if a cannon-bullet should come 
 from one of the fixed stars with as swift a motion as it hath when it is shot out of 
 the mouth of a cannon, it would be 700,000 years in coming to the earth. 
 
 This vast distance so much abates the attraction of those remote bodies, that 
 its operation upon those of our system is not at all sensible, nor would draw away 
 or hinder the return of any of our solar comets; though some of them should 
 go so far from the sun, as not to make the revolution about it in less than 1000 
 years. 
 
 It is more suitable to the wisdom, power, and greatness of God, to think that 
 the fixed stars are all of them suns, with systems of inhabitable planets moving 
 about them, to whose inhabitants he displays the marks of his goodness, as well 
 as to us; rather than to imagine that those very remote bodies, so little useful to us, 
 were made only for our sake. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE EARTH, CONSIDERED AS A PLANET. 
 
 Tue earth, by its revolution about the sun in three hundred and sixty-five days, 
 five hours, forty-nine minutes, makes that space of time we call a year. 
 
 The line, which the centre of the earth describes in its annual revolution about 
 the sun, is called ecliptic. 
 
 The annual motion of the earth about the sun, is in the order of the signs of 
 the zodiac; that is, speaking vulgarly, from west to east. 
 
 Besides this annual revolution of the earth about the sun in the ecliptic, the 
 earth turns round upon its own axis in twenty-four hours. 
 
 The turning of the earth upon its own axis every twenty-four hours, whilst it 
 moves round the sun in a year, we may conceive by the running of a bowl on a 
 bowling-green; in which not only the centre of the bowl hath a progressive 
 motion on the green; but the bowl, in its going forward from one part of the 
 green to another, turns round about its own axis. 
 
 The turning of the earth upon its own axis, makes the difference of day and 
 night; it being day in those parts of the earth which are turned towards the sun, 
 and night in those parts which are in the shade, or turned from the sun. 
 
 The annual revolution of the earth in the ecliptic is the cause of the different 
 seasons, and of the several lengths of days and nights, in every part of the world, 
 in the course of the year. 
 
 The reason of it is the earth’s going round its own axis in the ecliptic, but at 
 the same time keeping everywhere its axis equally inclined to the plane of the 
 ecliptic, and parallel to itself. For the plane of the ecliptic inclining to the 
 plane of the equator twenty-three degrees and a half, makes that the earth, 
 
 6 * Christiani Hugenii KOZMOOEQPOS, sive de Terris Celestibus earumque ornatu, conjecture, 
 c. p. m. 187, 
 
594. ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 moving round in the ecliptic, hath sometimes one of its poles, and sometimes the 
 other, nearer the sun. 
 
 If the diameter of the sun be to the diameter of the earth as forty-eight to one, 
 as by some it is accounted, then the disk of the sun, speaking numero rotundo, 
 is above 2000 times bigger than the disk of the earth; and the globe of the sun 
 above 100,000 times bigger than the globe of the earth. : 
 
 The distance of the earth’s orbit from the sun is above 20,000 semi-diameters 
 of the earth. | 
 
 If a cannon-bullet should come from the sun with the same velocity it hath 
 when it is shot out of the mouth of a cannon, it would be twenty-five years in 
 coming to the earth. 
 
 CHAPTER 'V. 
 
 OF THE AIR AND ATMOSPHERE. 
 
 We have already considered the earth as a planet, or one of the great masses 
 of matter moving about the sun; we shall now consider it as it is made up of its 
 several parts, abstractedly from its diurnal and annual motions. 
 
 The exterior part of this our habitable world is the air or atmosphere; a 
 light, thin fluid, or springy body, that encompasses the solid earth on,all sides. 
 
 The height of the atmosphere, above the surface of the solid earth, is not cer- 
 tainly known; but that it doth reach but to a very small part of the distance 
 betwixt the earth and the moon, may be concluded from the refraction of the 
 rays coming from the sun, moon, and other luminous bodies. 
 
 Though considering that the air we are in, being near 1000 times lighter than 
 water, and that the higher it is, the less it is compressed by the superior incumbent 
 air, and so consequently being a springy body the thinner it is; and considering 
 also that a pillar of air of any diameter is equal in weight to a pillar of quicksilver 
 of the same diameter of between twenty-nine and thirty inches height; we may 
 infer that the top of the atmosphere is not very near the surface of the solid earth. 
 
 It may be concluded, that the utmost extent of the atmosphere reaches upwards 
 from the surface of the solid earth that we walk on, to a good distance above us ; first 
 if we consider that a column of air of any given diameter is equiponderant to a 
 column of quicksilver of between twenty-nine and thirty inches height. Now, 
 quicksilver being near fourteen times heavier than water, if air was as heavy as 
 water, the atmosphere would be about fourteen times higher than the column of 
 quicksilver, i. e. about thirty-five feet. 
 
 Secondly, if we consider that air is 1000 times lighter than water, then a pillar 
 of air equal in weight to a pillar of quicksilver of thirty inches high will be 
 35,000 feet; whereby we come to know that the air or atmosphere is 35,000 feet, 
 i. e. near seven miles high. 
 
 Thirdly, if we consider that the air is a springy body, and that that which is 
 nearest the earth is compressed by the weight of all the atmosphere that is above 
 it, and rests perpendicularly upon it, we shall find that the air here, near the 
 surface of the earth, is much denser and thicker than it is in the upper parts. 
 For example, if upon a fleece of wool you lay another; the under one will be a 
 litile compressed by the weight of that which les upon it; and so both of them 
 by a third, and so on; so that if 10,000 were piled one upon another, the under 
 one would, by the weight of all the rest, be very much compressed, and all the 
 parts of it be brought abundantly closer together than when there was no other 
 upon it, and the next to that a litle less compressed, the third a little less than 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 595 
 
 the second, and so on till it came to the uppermost, which would be in its full 
 expansion, and not compressed at all. Just so it is in the air, the higher you go 
 in it, the less it is compressed, and consequently the less dense it is; and so the 
 upper part being exceedingly thinner than the lower part, which we breathe in, 
 (which is that that is 1000 times lighter than water,) the top of the atmosphere is 
 probably much higher than the distance above assigned. 
 
 That the air near the surface of the earth will mightily expand itself, when the 
 pressure of the incumbent atmosphere is taken off, may be abundantly seen in the 
 experiments made by Mr. Boyle in his pneumatic engine. In his “ Physico- 
 mechanical Experiments,” concerning the air, he declares! it probable that the 
 atmosphere may be several hundred miles high; which is easy to be admitted, 
 when we consider what he proves in another part of the same treatise, viz. that 
 the air here about the surface of the earth, when the pressure is taken from it, 
 will dilate itself about one hundred and fifty-two times. 
 
 The atmosphere is the scene of the meteors ; and therein is collected the matter 
 of rain, hail, snow, thunder, and lightning; and a great many other things ob- 
 servable in the. air. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF METEORS IN GENERAL. 
 
 Busipss the springy particles of pure air, the atmosphere is made up of several 
 steams or minute particles of several sorts, rising from the earth and the waters, 
 and floating in the air, which is a fluid body, and though much finer and thinner, 
 may be considered in respect of its fluidity to be like water, and so capable, like 
 other liquors, of having heterogeneous particles floating in it. 
 
 The most remarkable of them are: first, the particles of water raised into the 
 atmosphere, chiefly by the heat of the sun, out of the sea and other waters, and 
 ‘the surface of the earth, from whence it falls in dew,’ rain, hail, and snow. 
 
 Out of the vapours rising from moisture, the clouds are principally made. 
 
 Clouds do not consist wholly of watery parts; for, besides the aqueous vapours 
 that are raised into the air, there are also sulphureous and saline particles that are 
 raised up, and in the clouds mixed with the aqueous particles, the effects whereof 
 are sometimes very sensible; as particularly in lightning and thunder, when the 
 sulphureous and nitrous particles firing, break out with that violence of light and 
 noise, which is observable in thunder, and very much resembles gunpowder. 
 
 That there are nitrous particles* raised into the air is evident from the nourish- 
 ment which rain gives to vegetables more than any other water; and also by the 
 collection of nitre or saltpetre in heaps of earth, out of which it has been extracted, 
 if they be exposed to the air, so as to be kept from rain, not to mention other 
 efforts, wherein the nitrous spirit in the air shows itself. 
 
 Clouds are the greatest and most considerable of all the meteors, as fur- 
 nishing matter and plenty to the earth. They consist of very small drops of 
 water, and are elevated a, good distance above the surface of the earth; fora 
 
 1 New Experiments Physico-mechanical, touch- * The presence of nitre in the atmosphere is 
 ing the Spring of the Air, and its effects; (made | nowhere perhaps so palpable as in Egypt, where 
 for the most part in anew Pneumatical Engine;) | it occasions the sudden chilliness of the nights, 
 written by the Honourable Robert Boyle. Ex- { and may be the cause of that corrosiveness of the 
 periment xxxvi. p. 155, Oxford, 1662, 4to. air which had already been remarked in the time 
 
 2 See Dr. Well’s Treatise on the Production | of Herodotus. (Book ii. § 12.) 
 and Nature of Dew. 
 
596 _ ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 cloud is nothing but a mist flying high in the air, as a mist is nothing but a cloud 
 here below. 
 
 How vapours are raised into the air in invisible steams by the heat of the sun 
 out of the sea and moist parts of the earth, is easily understood, and there is a 
 visible instance of it in ordinary distillations. But how these steams are collected 
 into drops, which bring back the water again, is not so easy to determine. } 
 
 To those that will carefully observe, perhaps it will appear probable that it is 
 by that which the chemists call precipitation, to which it answers in all its 
 
 arts. 
 b The air may be looked on as a clear and pellucid menstruum, in which the 
 insensible particles of dissolved matter float up and down, without being dis- 
 cerned or troubling the pellucidity of the air; when on a sudden, as if it were by 
 a precipitation, they gather into the very small but visible misty drops that make 
 clouds. 
 
 This may be observed sometimes in a very clear sky, when, there not ap- 
 pearing any cloud or anything opaque in the whole horizon, one may see on a 
 sudden clouds gather, and all the hemisphere overcast; which cannot be from 
 the rising of new aqueous vapours at that time, but from the precipitation of 
 the moisture, that in invisible particles floated in the air, into very small, but very 
 visible drops, which by a like cause being united into greater drops, they become 
 too heavy to be’sustained in the air, and so fall down in rain. 
 
 Hail' seems to be the drops of rain frozen in their falling. 
 
 Snow is the small particles of water frozen before they unite into drops. 
 
 The regular figures, which branch out in flakes of snow, seem to show that 
 there are some particles of salt mixed with the water, which makes them unite in 
 certain angles. Sa 
 
 The rainbow is reckoned one of the most remarkable meteors, though really it 
 be no meteor at all, but the reflection of the sunbeams from the smallest drops 
 of a cloud or mist, which are placed in a certain angle made by the concurrence 
 of two lines, one drawn from the sun, and the other from the eye, to these little 
 drops in the cloud, which reflect the sunbeams; so that two people, looking 
 upon a rainbow at the same time, do not see exactly the same rainbow. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL. 
 
 OF SPRINGS, RIVERS, AND THE SEA. 
 
 Part of the water that falls down from the clouds runs away upon the surface 
 of the earth into channels, which convey it to the sea; and part of it is imbibed 
 in the spongy shell of the earth, from whence, sinking lower by degrees, it falls 
 down into subterranean channels, and so underground passes into the sea; or 
 else, meeting with beds of rock or clay, it is hindered from sinking lower, and so 
 breaks out in springs,*? which are most commonly in the sides or at the bottom of 
 hilly ground. . 
 
 * On the physical causes of congelation see | great philosopher of Malmesbury. See in Spal- 
 Hobbe’s Elements of Natural Philsophy, PartIV. | lanzani’s Travels in the Kingdom of the Two 
 c. xxvili. § 9. Sicilies, vol. iv. p. 186.; and in M. M. Dolomieu’s 
 
 * On the origin of springs and rivers see Hobbe’s | Voyage aux Isles de Lipari, p. 120, the account 
 Elements of Philosophy, Part IV. c. xxviii. § 18 | ofa perennial spring in the Eolian Islands, the 
 Connected with this subject, however, there | existence of which can scarcely be explained 
 are several difficulties which had not appa- | according to the principles laid down by Hobbes 
 rently presented themselves to the mind of the | and Locke. 
 
 ee 
 
a 
 
 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 597 
 
 Springs make little rivulets; those united make brooks; and those coming 
 together make rivers, which empty themselves into the sea. 
 
 The sea is a great collection of waters in the deep valleys of the earth. If the 
 earth were all plain, and had not those deep hollows, the earth would be all 
 covered with water; because the water, being lighter than the earth, would be 
 above the earth, as the air is above the water. 
 
 The most remarkable thing in the sea is that motion of the water called tides.' 
 It is a rising and falling of the water of the sea. The cause of this is the attrac- 
 tion of the moon, whereby the part of the water in the great ocean which is 
 nearest the moon, being most strongly attracted, is raised higher than the rest; 
 and the part opposite to it on the contrary side, being least attracted, is also 
 higher than the rest. And these two opposite rises of the surface of the water in 
 the great ocean, following the motion of the moon from east to west, and striking 
 against the large coasts of the continents that lie in its way, from thence rebounds 
 back again, and so makes floods and ebbs in narrow seas, and rivers remote from 
 the great ocean. Herein we also see the reason of the times of the tides, and 
 why they so constantly follow the course of the moon. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF SEVERAL SORTS OF: EARTH, STONES, METALS, MINERALS, AND OTHER 
 FOSSILS. 
 
 Tuts solid globe we live upon is called the earth, though it contains in it a 
 great variety of bodies, several whereof are not properly earth; which word, 
 taken in a more limited sense, signifies such parts of this globe as are capable, 
 being exposed to the air, to give rooting and nourishment to plants, so that they 
 may stand and grow init. With such earth as this, the greatest part of the sur- 
 face of this globe is covered; and it is, as.it were, the storehouse from whence all 
 the living creatures of our world have originally their provisions; for from thence 
 all the plants have their sustenance, and some few animals, and from these all the 
 other animals. 
 
 Of earth, taken in this sense, there are several sorts, v. g. common mould, or 
 garden earth, clay of several kinds, sandy soils. | 
 
 Besides these, there is medicinal earth; as that which is called terra lemnia, 
 bolus armena, and divers others. 
 
 After the several earths, we may consider the parts of the surface of this globe, 
 which are barren; and such, for the most part, are sand, gravel, chalk, and rocks, 
 which produce nothing, where they have no earth mixed among them. Barren 
 sands are of divers kinds, and consist of several little irregular stones without any 
 earth; and of such there are great deserts to be seen in several parts of the world. 
 
 Besides these, which are most remarkable on the surface of the earth, there are 
 found, deeper in this globe, many other bodies, which, because we discover by 
 digging into the bowels of the earth, are called by one common name, fossils ; 
 under which are comprehended metals, minerals, or half metals, stones of divers 
 kinds, and sundry bodies that have the texture between earth and stone. 
 
 To begin with those fossils which come nearest the earth: under this head we 
 may reckon the several sorts of ochre, chalk, that which they call black-lead, and 
 
 1 On the subject of tides see the somewhat rare { pare with his theory the notions of Hobbes. 
 treatise of Isaac Vossius concerning the motion | (Elements of Philosophy, Part IV. c. xxvi. } 10.) 
 of the Seas and Winds, ¢. vili. p. 96; and com- 
 
= ex anne cl en a Le en naar ak ign ciel ficient ahr teenies nce erties taa aa pi PAT ir ar S AR AA a AP T TT 
 
 598 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 other bodies of this kind, which are harder than earth, but have not the con- 
 sistency and hardness of perfect stone. 
 
 Next to these may be considered stones of all sorts, whereof there is almost an 
 infinite variety. Some of the most remarkable, either for beauty or use, are these: 
 marble of all kinds, porphyry, granite, freestone, &c., flints, agates, cornelians, 
 pebbles, under which kind come the precious stones, which are but pebbles of an : 
 excessive hardness, and when they are cut and polished they have an extraordi- 
 nary lustre. The most noted and esteemed are diamonds, rubies, amethysts, 
 emeralds, topazes, opals. : 
 
 Besides these, we must not omit those which, though of not so much beauty, 
 yet are of greater use, viz. loadstones, whetstones of all kinds, limestones, cala- 
 mine, or lapis calaminaris, and abundance of others. 
 
 Besides these, there are found in the earth several sorts of salts, as eating or 
 common salt, vitriol, sal gemma, and others. 
 
 The minerals, or semi-metals that are dug out of the bowels of the earth, are 
 antimony, cinnabar, zink, &c., to which may be added brimstone. 
 
 But the bodies of most use that are sought for out of the depths of the earth 
 are the metals; which are distinguished from other bodies by their weight, fusi- 
 bility, and malleableness; of which there are several sorts: gold, silver, copper, 
 tin, lead, and, the most valuable of them all, iron; to which one may join that 
 anomalous body quicksilver, or mercury. 
 
 He that desires to be more particularly informed concerning the qualities and 
 properties of these subterraneous bodies, may consult natural historians and 
 chemists. 
 
 What lies deeper towards the centre of the earth we know not, but’a very little 
 beneath the surface of this globe; and whatever we fetch from underground is 
 only what is lodged in the shell of the earth. é 
 
 All stones, metals, and minerals, are real vegetables ; that is, grow organically 
 from proper seeds, as well as plants. 
 
 ee eh 
 
 CHAP THR x 
 OF VEGETABLES, OR PLANTS. 
 
 Next to the earth itself, we may consider those that are maintained on its sur- a 
 face; which, though they are fastened to it, yet are very distinct from it; and | 
 those are the whole tribe of vegetables, or plants. These may be divided into 
 three sorts: herbs, shrubs, and trees. 
 
 Herbs are those plants whose stalks are soft, and have nothing woody in them: 
 as grass, sowthistle, and hemlock. Shrubs and trees have all wood in them; but 
 with this difference, that shrubs grow not to the height of trees, and usually spread 
 into branches near the surface of the earth; whereas trees generally shoot up in 
 one great stem or body, and then, at a good distance from the earth, spread into 
 branches; thus gooseberries and currants are shrubs, oaks and cherries are trees. 
 
 In plants, the most considerable parts are these: the root, the stalk, the leaves, 
 the flower, and the seed. There are very few of them that have not all these 
 parts; though some few there are that have no stalk, others that have no leaves, 
 and others that have no flowers; but without seed or root I think there are none. 
 
 In vegetables, there are two things chiefly to be considered: their nourishment 
 and propagation. 
 
 Their nourishment is thus: the small and tender fibres of the roots, being spread 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 599 
 
 under ground, imbibe, from the moist earth, juice fit for their nourishment; this 
 is conveyed by the stalk up into the branches and leaves, through little, and, in 
 some plants, imperceptible tubes, and from thence, by the bark, returns again to 
 the root; so that there is in vegetables, as well as in animals, a circulation of the 
 vital liquor. By what impulse it is moved is somewhat hard to discover. It 
 seems to be from the difference of day and night, and other changes in the 
 heat of the air; for the heat dilating and the cold contracting those little tubes, 
 supposing there be valves in them, it is easy to be conceived how the circu- 
 lation is performed in plants, where it is not required to be so rapid and quick as 
 in animals, 
 
 Nature has provided for the propagation of the species of plants several ways. 
 The first and general is by seed. Besides this, some plants are raised from any 
 part of the root set in the ground; others by new roots that are propagated from 
 the old ones, as in tulips; others by offsets; and in others, the branches set in the 
 ground will take root and grow; and last of all, grafting and inoculation, in cer- 
 tain sorts, are known ways of propagation. All these ways of increasing plants 
 make one good part of the skill of gardening; and from the books of gardeners 
 may be best learned. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF ANIMALS. 
 
 THERE is another sort of creatures belonging to this our earth, rather as inha- 
 bitants than parts of it. They differ in this from plants, that they are not fixed 
 to any one place, but have a freedom of motion up and down; and. besides, have 
 sense to guide them in their motions. 
 
 Man and brute divide all the animals of this our globe. 
 
 Brutes may be considered as either aérial, terrestrial, aquatic, or amphi- 
 bious. I call those aérial which have wings, wherewith they can support 
 themselves in the air. ‘Terrestrial are those whose only place of rest is upon 
 the earth. Aquatic, are those whose constant abode is upon the water. Those 
 are called amphibious, which live freely in the air upon the earth, and yet are 
 observed to live long in the water, as if they were natural inhabitants of that 
 element ; though it be worth the examination to know, whether any of those crea- 
 tures that live at their ease, and by choice, a good while or at any time upon the 
 earth, can live a long time together perfectly under water. 
 
 Aerial animals may be subdivided into birds and flies. 
 
 Fishes, which are the chief part of aquatic animals, may be divided into shell- 
 fishes, scaly fishes, and those that have neither apparent scales nor shells. 
 
 And the terrestrial animals may be divided into quadrupeds or beasts, reptiles, 
 which have many feet, and serpents, which have no feet at all. 
 
 Insects, which in their several changes belong to several of the before-men- 
 
 tioned divisions, may be considered together as one great tribe of animals. They 
 
 are called insects from a separation in the middle of their bodies, whereby they 
 are, as it were, cut into two parts, which are joined together by a small ligature ; 
 as we see In wasps, common flies, and the like. 
 
 Besides all these there are some animals that are not perfectly of these kinds, 
 but placed, as it were, in the middle betwixt two of them, by something of both; 
 as bats, which have something of beasts and birds im them. 
 
 Some reptiles of the earth, and some of aquatics, want one or more of the 
 senses, which are in perfecter animals; as worms, oysters, cockles, &c. 
 
 ren ee 
 
600 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Animals are nourished by food, taken in at the mouth, digested in the stomach, 
 and thence by fit vessels distributed over the ds body, as is described in books 
 of anatomy. 
 
 The greatest part of animals have five senses: viz. seeing, hearing, smelling, 
 tasting, ‘and feeling. These, and the way of nourishment of animals, we shall 
 more particularly consider, because they are common to man with beasts. 
 
 The way of nourishment of animals, particularly of man, is by food taken in at 
 the mouth, which being chewed there, is broken and mixed with the saliva, and 
 thereby prepared for an easier and better digestion in the stomach. 
 
 When the stomach has performed its office upon the food, it protrudes it into 
 the guts, by whose peristaltic motion it is gently conveyed along through the 
 guts, and, as it passes, the chyle, which is the nutritive part, is separated from the 
 excrementitious by the lacteal veins; and from thence conveyed into the blood, 
 with which it circulates till itself be concocted into blood. The blood, being by 
 the vena cava brought into the right ventricle of the heart,' by the contraction of 
 that muscle, is driven through the arteria pulmonaris into the lungs; where the 
 constantly inspired air mixing with it enlivens it; and from thence being con- 
 veyed by the vena pulmonaris. into the left ventricle of the heart, the contraction 
 of the heart forces it out, and, by the arteries, distributes it into all parts of the 
 body; from whence it returns by the veins into the right ventricle of the heart, to 
 take the same course again. This is called the circulation of the blood, by which 
 life and heat are communicated to every part of the body. 
 
 In the circulation of the blood, a good part of it goes up into the head; and by 
 the brains are separated from it, or made out of it, the animal Ley which, by 
 the nerves, impart sense and motion to all parts of the body. 
 
 The instruments of motion are the muscles; the fibres whereof, contracting 
 themselves, move the several parts of the body. 
 
 This contraction of the muscles is, in some of them, by the direction of the 
 mind, and in some of them without it; which is the difference between voluntary 
 and involuntary motions in the body. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF THE FIVE SENSES. 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 Tux organ of seeing is the eye; consisting of variety of parts wonderfully con- 
 trived for the admitting and refracting the rays of light, so that those that come 
 from the same point of the object, and fall upon different parts of the pupil, are 
 brought to meet again at the bottom of the eye, whereby the whole object is 
 painted on the retina that is spread there. 
 
 That which immediately affects the sight, and produces in us that sensation 
 which we call secing, is light. 
 
 Light® may be Fe EO either, first, as it radiates from luminous bodies 
 directly to our eyes; and thus we see luminous bodies themselves, as the sun, or 
 
 1 Vid. Blumenbach. Comparative Anatomy, c. | * Blumenbach’s Physiology, § 17, p. 246. 
 
 xii. On the Heart and Blood-vessels in Mam- Comparative Anatomy, ¢c. xxi. p. 2 
 
 malia, Birds, &e. Physiology, § 7, p. 81. 8 Hobbes’ Elements of Natural Philosophy, 
 Part IV. c. xxvii. § 2, sqq. 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 601 
 
 _ a flame, &c.; or secondly, as it is reflected from other bodies; and thus we see a 
 man or a picture by the rays ot light reflected from them to our eyes. 
 
 Bodies, in respect of light, may be divided into three sorts: first, those that 
 emit rays of light, as the sun and fixed stars; secondly, those that transmit the 
 rays of light, as the air; thirdly, those that reflect the rays of light, as iron, earth, 
 &e. The first are called luminous, the second pellucid, and the third opaque. 
 
 The rays of light themselves are not seen; but by them the bodies from which 
 they originally come, as the sun or a fixed star; or the bodies from which they 
 are reflected, as a horse or a tulip. When the moon shines, we do not see the 
 rays which come from the sun to the moon, but by them we see the moon, from 
 whence they are reflected. 
 
 If the eye be placed in the medium through which the rays pass to it, the 
 medium is not seen at all; for instance, we do not see the air through which the 
 rays come to our eyes. But if a pellucid body, through which the light comes, 
 be at a distance from our eye, we see that body, as well as the bodies from whence 
 the rays come that pass through them to come to our eyes. For instance, we do 
 not only see bodies through a pair of spectacles, but we see the glass itself. - The 
 reason whereof is, that pellucid bodies being bodies, the surfaces of which reflect 
 some rays of light from their solid parts, these surfaces, placed at a convenient 
 distance from the eye, may be seen by those reflected rays; as, at the same time, 
 other bodies beyond those pellucid ones may be seen by the transmitted rays. 
 
 Opaque bodies are of two sorts, specular or not specular. Specular bodies, or 
 mirrors, are such opaque bodies whose surfaces are polished; whereby they, 
 reflecting the rays in the same order as they come from other bodies, show us 
 their images. 
 
 The rays that are reflected from opaque bodies always bring with them to the 
 eye the idea of colour; and this colour is nothing else, in the bodies, but a dis- 
 position to reflect to the eye more copiously one sort of rays than another. For 
 particular rays are originally endowed with particular colours: some are red, 
 others blue, others yellow, and others green, &c. 
 
 Every ray of light, as it comes from the sun, seems a bundle of all these several 
 sorts of rays; and as some of them are more refrangible than others, that is, are 
 more turned out of their course in passing from one medium to another, it 
 follows that after such refraction they will be separated, and their distinct colour 
 observed. Of these the most refrangible are violet, and the least, red; and the 
 intermediate ones, in order, are indigo, blue, green, yellow, and orange. This 
 separation is very entertaining, and will be observed with pleasure in holding a 
 prism in the beams of the sun. 
 
 As all these rays differ in refrangibility, so they do in reflexibility ; that is, 
 in the property of being more easily reflected from certain bodies than from 
 others; and hence arise, as hath been said, all the colours of bodies; which are, 
 in a manner, infinite, as an infinite number of compositions and proportions of 
 the original colours may be imagined. 
 
 The whiteness of the sun’s light is compounded of all the original colours, 
 mixed in due proportion. 
 
 Whiteness in bodies is but a disposition to reflect all colours of light nearly in 
 the proportion they are mixed in the original rays; as, on the contrary, blackness 
 is only a disposition to absorb or stifle, without reflection, most of the rays of 
 every sort that fall on the bodies. 
 
 Light is successively propagated with an almost inconceivable swiftness; for it 
 comes from the sun to this our earth in about seven or eight minutes of time, 
 which distance is about 80,000,000 English miles. 
 
 Besides colour, we are supposed to see figure: but, in truth, that which we 
 perceive when we see figure, as perceivable by sight, is nothing but the termina- 
 tion of colour. 
 
602 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 OF HEARING. 
 
 Next to seeing, hearing’ is the most extensive of our senses. The ear is the 
 organ of hearing, whose curious structure is to be learned from anatomy. 
 
 That which is conveyed into the brain by the ear is called sound; though, in 
 truth, till it come to reach and affect the perceptive part, it be nothing but motion. 
 
 The motion which produces in us the perception of sound is a vibration of 
 the air, caused by an exceeding short but quick tremulous motion of the body 
 from which it is propagated; and therefore we consider and denominate them as 
 bodies sounding. 
 
 That sound is the effect of such a short, brisk, vibrating motion of bodies from 
 which it is propagated, may be known from what is observed and felt in the 
 strings of instruments, and the trembling of bells, as long as we perceive any 
 sound come from them; for as soon as that vibration is stopped, or ceases in 
 them, the perception ceases also. 
 
 The propagation of sound is very quick, but not approaching that of light. 
 Sounds move about 1140 English feet in a second of time; and in seven or eight 
 minutes of time, they move about one hundred English miles. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 SMELLING is another sense that seems to be wrought on by bodies at a dis- 
 tance; though that which immediately affects the organ, and produces in us the 
 sensation of any smell, are effluvia, or invisible particles, that, coming from bodies 
 at a distance, immediately affect the olfactory nerves. 
 
 Smelling bodies seem perpetually to send forth effluvia, or steams, without 
 sensibly wasting at all. Thus a grain of musk will send forth odoriferous 
 particles for scores of years together without its being spent; whereby one would 
 conclude that these particles are very small; and yet it is plain that they are 
 much grosser than the rays of light, which have a free passage through glass ; 
 and grosser also than the magnetic effluvia, which pass freely through all bodies, 
 when those that produce smell will not pass through the thin membranes of a 
 bladder, and many of them scarce ordinary white paper. 
 
 There is a great variety of smells, though we have but a few names for them ; 
 sweet, stinking, sour, rank, and musty are almost all the denominations we have 
 for odours; though the smell of a violet and of musk, both called sweet, are as 
 distinct as any two smells whatsoever. 
 
 OF TASTE. 
 
 TASTE is the next sense to be considered. The organ of taste is the tongue and 
 alate. 
 b Bodies that emit light, sounds, and smells are seen, heard, and smelt at a dis- 
 tance; but bodies are not tasted but by immediate application to the organ; for 
 till our meat touch our tongues or palates we taste it not, how near soever it be. 
 It may be observed of tastes, that though there be a great variety of them, yet, 
 as in smells, they have only some few general names; as sweet, bitter, sour, 
 harsh, rank, and some few others. 
 
 1 On the organ of hearing see Blumenbach’s | to the same works the reader is here requested to 
 Comparative Anatomy, c. xx. p. 278. Physio- | consult them on the organs and operations of the 
 logy, § 16, p. 240. ‘To avoid constant reference | senses generally. 
 
ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 603 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 Tue fifth and last of our senses is touch; a sense spread over the whole body, 
 though it be most eminently placed in the ends of the fingers. 
 
 By this sense the tangible qualities of bodies are discerned; as hard, soft, 
 smooth, rough, dry, wet, clammy, and the like. 
 
 But the most considerable of the qualities that are perceived by this sense are 
 heat and cold. 
 
 The due temperament of those two opposite qualities is the great instrument of 
 nature, that she makes use of in most, if not all, her productions. 
 
 Heat is a very brisk agitation of the insensible parts of the object, which pro- 
 duces in us that sensation from whence we denominate the object hot; so what in 
 our sensation is heat, in the object is nothing but motion. This appears by the 
 way whereby heat is produced; for we see that the rubbing of a brass nail upon a 
 board will make it very hot; and the axle-trees of carts and coaches are often 
 hot, and sometimes to a degree that it sets them on fire, by the rubbing of the 
 nave of the wheel upon it. 
 
 On the other side, the utmost degree of cold is the cessation of that motion of 
 the insensible particles, which to our touch is heat. 
 
 Bodies are denominated hot and cold in proportion to the present temperament 
 of that part of our body to which they are applied; so that feels hot to one which 
 seems cold to another; nay, the same body, felt by the two hands of the same 
 man, may at the same time appear hot to the one and cold to the other, because 
 the motion of the insensible particles of it may be more brisk than that of the par- 
 ticles of the other. 
 
 Besides the objects before mentioned, which are peculiar to each of our senses, 
 as light and colour of the sight, sound of hearing, odours of smelling, savours 
 of tasting, and tangible qualities of the touch, there are two others that are 
 common to all the senses; and those are pleasure and pain, which they may 
 receive by and with their peculiar objects. Thus, too much light offends the eye ; 
 some sounds delight and others grate the ear; heat in a certain degree is very 
 pleasant, which may be augmented to the greatest torment; and so the rest. 
 
 These five senses are common to beasts with men; nay, in some of them, some 
 brutes exceed mankind. But men are endowed with other faculties, which far 
 excel anything that is to be found in the other animals in this our globe. 
 
 Memory, also, brutes may be supposed to have, as well as men. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OF THE UNDERSTANDING OF MAN. 
 
 THE understanding of man does so surpass that of brutes, that some are of 
 opinion brutes are mere machines, without any manner of perception at all. But 
 letting this opinion alone, as ill-grounded, we will proceed to the consideration 
 of human understanding, and the distinct operations thereof. 
 
 The lowest degree of it consists in perception, which we have before in part 
 taken notice of, in our discourse of the senses ; concerning which it may be con- 
 venient further to observe, that, to conceive a right notion of perception, we must 
 consider the distinct objects of it, which are simple ideas; v. g. such as are those 
 signified by these words, scarlet, blue, sweet, bitter, heat, cold, &c. from the other 
 objects of our senses; to which we may add the internal operations of our own 
 minds as the objects of our own reflection, such as are thinking, willing, &c. 
 
604 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Out of these simple ideas are made, by putting them together, several com- 
 pounded or complex ideas; as those signified by the words pebble, marigold, 
 horse. 
 
 The next thing the understanding doth in its progress to knowledge, is to 
 abstract its ideas, by which abstraction they are made general. 
 
 A general idea is an idea in the mind, considered there as separated from time 
 and place; and so capable to represent any particular being that is conformable 
 to it. Knowledge, which is the highest degree of the speculative faculties, con- 
 sists in the perception of the truth of affirmative or negative propositions. 
 
 This perception is either immediate or mediate. Immediate perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of two ideas is when, by comparing them together in 
 our minds, we see, or, as it were, behold, their agreement or disagreement. ‘This, 
 therefore, is called intuitive knowledge. Thus we see that red is not green; that 
 the whole is bigger than a part; that two and two are equal to four. 
 
 The truth of these and the like propositions we know by a bare simple intuition 
 of the ideas themselves, without any more ado; and such propositions are called 
 self-evident. 
 
 The mediate perception of the agreement or disagreement of two ideas is when, 
 by the intervention of one or more other ideas, their agreement or disagreement is 
 shown. This is called demonstration, or rational knowledge. For instance, the 
 inequality of the breadth of two windows, or two rivers, or any two bodies that 
 cannot be put together, may be known by the intervention of the same measure 
 applied to them both; and so it is in our general ideas, whose agreement or dis- 
 agreement may be often shown by the intervention of some other ideas, so as to 
 produce demonstrative knowledge; where the ideas in question cannot! be brought 
 together and immediately compared, so as to produce intuitive knowledge. 
 
 The understanding doth not know only certain truth, but also judges of proba- 
 bility, which consists in the likely agreement or disagreement of ideas. 
 
 The assenting to any proposition as probable is called opinion, or belief. 
 
 We have hitherto considered the great and visible parts of the universe, and 
 those great masses of matter, the stars, planets, and particularly this our earth, 
 together with the inanimate parts and animate inhabitants of it; it may be now 
 fit to consider what these sensible bodies are made of, and that is of inconceivably 
 small bodies or atoms,' out of whose various combinations bigger molecule are 
 made; and so, by a greater and greater composition, bigger bodies; and out of 
 these the whole material world is constituted. 
 
 By the figure, bulk, texture, and motion of these small and insensible cor- 
 puscles, all the phenomena of bodies may be explained. 
 
 1 On the subject of atoms, &c., the reader may | by English Philosophers of the Eighteenth Cen- 
 be amused by a little treatise, entitled, Manin | tury, collected and edited by Dr. Parr. 
 Quest of Himself, p. 185, in Metaphysical Tracts, 
 
SOME THOUGHTS 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 READING AND STUDY, 
 
 FOR A GENTLEMAN. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ATHOoUGH this brief tract cannot, strictly speaking, be denominated philosophical, it contains several 
 useful and excellent observations, which render it worthy to be preserved. In the opening remarks 
 Locke touches slightly upon a topic which the reader will find more fully discussed in the Treatise 
 concerning the Conduct of the Understanding ; but it is useful, and at all events entertaining, to com- 
 pare the different expressions made use of by the philosopher in delivering at different times the same 
 thoughts. The course of reading recommended may at first sight appear somewhat too limited, though 
 very few men of the world, perhaps, would care to go through it completely. Some few of the books 
 enumerated are now no longer in use, their place being supplied by more modern conipilations; but 
 the works on which Locke himself set any particular value are as deserving of study now as they were 
 then; I mean those which treat of eloquence, ethics, and politics. Even the books of Voyages and 
 Travels which he considered of sufficient value to be mentioned, continue for the most part to be 
 popular, as far as popularity can be said to belong to any such productions. The political treatises 
 which Locke desired to behold in the hands of gentlemen are every one of them such as still to merit 
 the same distinction, more particularly Sir Ralph Sadlier’s Rights of the Kingdom, which with 
 Algernon Sydney’s Discourses, Harrington’s political works, and Milton’s Tenure of Kings, and Defence 
 of the People of England may be said to contain an almost complete developement ofthescience. The 
 few foreign works which ought perhaps to be added, are Aristotle’s Politics, Macchiayelli’s Prince and 
 Discourses on Livy, and Montesquieu’s Esprit des Loix. 
 
SOME THOUGHTS 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 READING AND STUDY, 
 
 FOR A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 ReavineG is for the improvement of the understanding. The improvement of 
 the understanding is for two ends: first, for our own increase of knowledge; 
 secondly, to enable us to deliver and make out that knowledge to others. 
 
 The latter of these, if it be not the chief end of study in a gentleman, yet it is 
 at least equal to the other, since the greatest part of his business and usefulness in 
 the world is by the influence of what he says or writes to others. 
 
 The extent of our knowledge cannot exceed the extent of our ideas; therefore, 
 he who would be universally knowing, must acquaint himself with the objects of 
 all sciences. But this is not necessary to a gentleman, whose proper calling is 
 the service of his country, and so is most properly concerned in moral and 
 political knowledge; and thus the studies which more immediately belong to his 
 calling are those which treat of virtues and vices, of civil society, and the arts of 
 government, and will take in also law and history. 
 
 It is enough for a gentleman to be furnished with the ideas belonging to his 
 calling, which he will find in the books that treat of the matters above mentioned. 
 
 But the next step towards the improvement of his understanding, must be, to 
 observe the connexion of these ideas in the propositions which those books hold 
 forth and pretend to teach as truths; which, till a man can judge whether they be 
 truths or no, his understanding is but little improved; and he doth but think and 
 talk after the books that he hath read, without having any knowledge thereby. 
 And thus men of much reading are greatly learned but may be little knowing. 
 
 The third and last step, therefore, in improving the understanding, is to find 
 out upon what foundation any proposition advanced bottoms; and to observe the 
 - connexion of the intermediate ideas by which it is joined to that foundation upon 
 which it is erected, or that principle from which it is derived. This, in short, is 
 right reasoning ; and by this way alone true knowledge is to be got by reading 
 and studying. 
 
 When a man, by use, hath got this faculty of observing and judging of the rea- 
 soning and coherence of what he reads, and how it proves what it pretends to 
 teach ; he is then, and not till then, in the right way of improving his understand- 
 ing and enlarging his knowledge by reading. 
 
 But that, as I have said, being not all that a gentleman should aim at in read- 
 
 te ce nr rete nee a 
 
608 SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING 
 
 ing, he should further take care to improve himself in the art also of speaking, 
 that so he may be able to make the best use of what he knows. 
 
 The art of speaking well consists chiefly in two things, viz. perspicuity and 
 right reasoning. 
 
 Perspicuity consists in the using of proper terms for the ideas or thoughts 
 which he would have to pass from his own mind into that of another man. It is 
 this that gives them an easy entrance; and it is with delight that men hearken to 
 those whom they easily understand ; whereas what is obscurely said, dying as it 
 is spoken, is usually not only lost, but creates a prejudice in the hearer, as if he 
 that spoke knew not what he said, or was afraid to have it understood. 
 
 The way to obtain this is to read such books as are allowed to be writ with the 
 greatest clearness and propriety, in the language that a man uses. An author 
 excellent in this faculty, as well as several others, is Dr. Tillotson, late Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, in all that is published of his. I have chosen rather to propose 
 this pattern for the attainment of the art of speaking clearly, than those who give 
 rules about it, since we are more apt to learn by example than by direction. But 
 if any one hath a mind to consult the masters in the art of speaking and writing, 
 he may find in Tully “ De Oratore,” and another treatise of his, called Orator, 
 and in Quintilian’s Institutions, and Boilieu’s “Traité du Sublime,”' instructions 
 concerning this and the other parts of speaking well. 3 
 
 Besides perspicuity, there must be also right reasoning; without which per- 
 spicuity serves but to expose the speaker. And for the attaining of this I should 
 propose the constant reading of Chillingworth, who by his example will teach 
 both perspicuity and the way of right reasoning, better than any book that I 
 know; and therefore will deserve to be read on that account over and-over again ; 
 not to say anything of his argument. 
 
 Besides these books in English, Tully, Terence, Virgil, Livy, and Cesar’s 
 Commentaries may be read to form one’s mind to a relish of a right way of 
 speaking and writing. 
 
 The books I have hitherto mentioned have been in order only to writing and 
 speaking well; not but that they will deserve to be read on other accounts. 
 
 The study of morality I have above mentioned as that that becomes a gentle- 
 man; not barely as a man, but in order to his business as a gentleman. Of this 
 there are books enough writ both by ancient and modern philosophers; but the 
 morality of the gospel doth so exceed them all, that, to give a man a full know- 
 ledge of true morality, I shall send him to no other book but the New Testament. 
 But if he hath a mind to see how far the heathen world carried that science, and 
 whereon they bottomed their ethics, he will be delightfully and profitably enter- 
 tained in Tully’s Treatises “‘ De Officiis.” 
 
 Politics contains two parts, very different the one from the other; the one 
 containing the original of societies, and the rise and extent of political power, the 
 other the art of governing men in society. 
 
 The first of these hath been so bandied amongst us, for these sixty years back- 
 ward, that one can hardly miss books of this kind. Those which I think are 
 most talked of in English are the first book of Mr. Hooker’s “ Ecclesiastical 
 Polity,’ and Mr. Algernon Sydney’s ‘‘ Discourses concerning Government.” 
 The latter of these I never read. Let me here add, “ Two Treatises of Govern- 
 ment,” printed in 1690;* and a treatise of “ Civil Polity,” printed this year.° 
 To these one may add, Puffendorf “ De Officio Hominis et Civis,” and “ De 
 Jure Naturali et Gentium ;” which last is the best book of that kind. 
 
 As to’ the other part of politics, which concerns the art of government, that, I 
 think, is best to be learned by experience and history, especially that of a man’s 
 
 1 This treatise is a translation from Longinus. 3 « Civil Polity. A Treatise concerning the 
 2 These two treatises are written by Mr. Locke | Nature of Government,” &c. London, 1703, in 
 himself. 8vo. Written by Peter Paxton, M.D. 
 
READING AND STUDY. 609 
 
 own country. And therefore I think an English gentleman should be well versed 
 in the history of England, taking his rise as far back as there are any records 
 of it; joining with it the laws that were made in the several ages, as he goes 
 along in his history; that he may observe from thence the several turns of state, 
 and how they have been produced. In Mr. Tyrrel’s History of England, he 
 will find all along those several authors which have treated of our affairs, and 
 which he may have recourse to, concerning any point which either his curiosity 
 or judgment shall lead him to inquire into. 
 
 With the history, he may also do well to read the ancient lawyers, such as 
 Bracton, ‘“ Fleta,’ Henningham, “ Mirror of Justice,’ my Lord Coke’s “ Se- 
 cond Institutes,” and the “ Modus tenendi Parliamentum;” and others of that 
 kind which he may find quoted in the late controversies between Mr. Petit, Mr. 
 Tyrrel, Mr. Atwood, &c., with Dr. Brady; as also, I suppose, in Sadleir’s Trea- 
 tise of “ Rights of the Kingdom, and Customs of our Ancestors,” whereof the 
 first edition is the best; wherein he will find the ancient constitution of the 
 government of England. 
 
 There are two volumes of “ State Tracts,” printed since the revolution, in which 
 there are many things relating to the government of England. 
 
 As for general history, Sir Walter Raleigh and Dr. Howell are books to be 
 had. He who hath a mind to launch further into that ocean, may consult 
 Whear’s “ Methodus legendi Historias,” of the last edition; which will direct 
 him to the authors he is to read and the method wherein he is to read them. 
 
 To the reading of history, chronology and geography are absolutely necessary. 
 
 In geography, we have two general ones in English, Heylin and Moll; which 
 is the best of them I know not, having not been much conversant in either of 
 them. But the last I should think to be of most use, because of the new dis- 
 coveries that are made every day tending to the perfection of that science; 
 though I believe that the countries which Heylin mentions are better treated of 
 by him, bating what new discoveries since his time have added. 
 
 These two books contain geography in general; but whether an English gen- 
 tleman would think it worth his time to bestow much pains upon that; though 
 without it he cannot well understand a Gazette; it is certain he cannot well be 
 without Camden’s “ Britannia,” which is much enlarged in the last English edi- 
 tion. A good collection of maps is also necessary. 
 
 To geography, books of travels may be added. In that kind, the collections 
 made by our countrymen Hackluyt and Purchas are very good. There is also a 
 very good collection made by Thevenot, in folio, in French; and by Ramuzio, 
 in Italian; whether translated into English or no I know not. There are also 
 several good books of travels of Englishmen published, as Sandys, Rowe, Brown, 
 Gage, and Dampier. 
 
 There are also several voyages in French, which are very good, as Pyrard,} 
 Bergeron,’ Sagard,? Bernier,‘ &c., whether all of them are translated into English, 
 I know not. 
 
 There is at present a very good “ Collection of Voyages and Travels,” never 
 before in English, and such as are out of priut, now printing by Mr. Churchill.’ 
 
 There are besides these a vast number of other travels; a sort of books that 
 have a very good mixture of delight and usefulness. ‘To set them all down, 
 would take up too much time and room. Those I have mentioned are enough to 
 begin with. 
 
 VAmerique, &c. Par F. Gab. Sagard Theodat.”’ 
 
 1 “ Voyage de Francois Pyrard de Laval. 
 Paris, 1632, 8vo. 
 
 Contenant sa Navigation aux Indes Orientales, 
 
 Maldives, Moluques, Bresil.”’ Paris, 1619, 8vo., 4 “Memoires de Empire du Grand Mogol, 
 
 third edition. - &e., par Francois Bernier.’’ Paris, 1670 and 
 2 “Relation des Voyages en Tartarie, &c. Le | 1671, 3 vols. 12mo. 
 
 tout recueilli par Pierre Bergeron.” Paris, 1634, 5 A collection of voyages and travels published 
 
 8vo. in 1704, in 6 vols. folio. 
 
 3 “Te grand Voyage des Hurons, situés en 
 
 ~ 
 
610 SOME THOUGHTS CONCERNING READING AND STUDY. 
 
 As to chronology, I think Helvicus the best for common use ; which is not a 
 book to be read, but to lie by, and be consulted upon occasion. He that hath 
 a mind to look further into chronology, may get Tallent’s “ Tables,’ and Strau- 
 chius’s “ Breviarium Temporum,” and may to those add Scaliger’s “ De Emen- 
 datione Temporum,” and Petavius, if he hath a mind to engage deeper in that 
 study. 
 
 Those who are accounted to have writ best particular parts of our English 
 history, are Bacon, of Henry VII.; and Herbert, of Henry VIII. Daniel also 
 is commended; and Burnet’s “ History of the Reformation.” 
 
 Mariana’s “ History of Spain,” and Thuanus’s “ History of his own Time,” 
 and Philip de Comines are of great and deserved reputation. 
 
 There are also several French and English memoirs and collections, such as 
 la Rochefoucault, Melvil, Rushworth, &c., which give a great light to those who 
 have a mind to look into what hath past in Europe this last age. 
 
 To fit a gentleman for the conduct of himself, whether as a private man or as 
 interested in the government of his country, nothing can be more necessary than 
 the knowledge of men; which, though it be to be had chiefly from experience, 
 and, next to that, from a judicious reading of history ; yet there are books that of 
 purpose treat of human nature, which help to give an insight into it. Such are 
 those treating of the passions, and how they are moved; whereof Aristotle, in 
 his second book of Rhetoric, hath admirably discoursed, and that in a little com- 
 pass. I think this rhetoric is translated into English; if not, it may be had in 
 Greek and Latin together. 
 
 La Bruyere’s “ Characters” are also an admirable piece of painting; I think it 
 is also translated out of French into English. e 
 
 Satirical writings, also, such as Juvenal and Persius, and, above all, Horace, 
 though they paint the deformities of men, yet they thereby teach us to know 
 them. 
 
 There is another use of reading, which is for diversion and delight. Such are 
 poetical writings, especially dramatic, if they be free from profaneness, obscenity, 
 and what corrupts good manners; for such pitch should not be handled. 
 
 Of all the books of fiction, I know none that equals “‘ Cervantes’ History of 
 Don Quixote” in usefulness, pleasantry, and a constant decorum. And, indeed, 
 no writings can be pleasant which have not nature at the bottom, and are not 
 drawn after her copy. 
 
 There is another sort of books, which I had almost forgot, with which a gen- 
 tleman’s study ought to be well furnished, viz. dictionaries of all kinds. For the 
 Latin tongue, Littleton, Cooper, Calepin, and Robert Stephens’s “ Thesaurus 
 Lingue Latine,’ and “ Vossii Etymologicum Lingue Latine.” Skinner’s 
 “ Lexicon Etymologicum,” is an excellent one of that kind, for the English tongue. 
 Cowel’s “ Interpreter” is useful for the law terms. Spelman’s “ Glossary” is 
 a very useful and learned book. And Selden’s “ Titles of Honour” a gentle- 
 man should not be without. Baudrand hath a very good “ Geographical 
 Dictionary.” And there are several historical ones which are of use; as Lloyd’s, 
 Hoffman’s, Moreri’s; and Bayle’s incomparable dictionary is something of the 
 same kind. He that hath occasion to look into books written in Latin since the 
 decay of the Roman empire and the purity of the Latin tongue, cannot be well 
 without Du Cange’s “ Glossarium Mediz et Infime Latinitatis.” 
 
 Among the books above set down I mentioned Vossius’s “ Etymologicum 
 Lingue Latine;” all his works are lately printed in Holland, in six tomes. 
 They are fit books for a gentleman’s library, containing very learned discourses 
 concerning all the sciences. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Joseph Rickerby, Printer, Sherbourn Lane. 
 
fi... oe 
 Sok