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 ABKAlLOr TrriCEliESQ'> 
 
 // (j'a^^l/c^/ 
 
 Eti^raicd by )\rSay.JufitifidffJ.
 
 THE 
 
 LIGHT OF NATURE 
 
 PURSUED^ 
 
 BY 
 
 ABRAHAM TUCKER, Esq. 
 
 ^jconn €Dition, 
 
 REVISED AND CORRECTED. 
 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BY 
 
 Sir H. p. St. JOHN IMILDMAY, Bart. M. P. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR R. FAULDER, NEW BOND-STREET ; AND 
 T. PAYNE, MEWS-GATE, CHARING-CROSS. 
 
 firettcU, Printer, Marshall Street, Golden Square, 
 
 1805.
 
 6"D 
 SOME ACCOUNT i^oT 
 
 OP 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 or 
 
 ABRAHAM TUCKER, Esq. 
 
 1 HAVE often heard it lamented by admirers 
 of Mr. Tucker's writings, that no account has 
 been hitherto given to the world of his pri- 
 vate life: and it has been suggested to me 
 that in offering a new editition of the " Light 
 of Nature" to the public, some biographical 
 sketch would be expected at my hands. 
 
 I regret my inability to comply with these 
 suggestions so fully as my inclination, and 
 the unfeigned respect, veneration, and grati- 
 
 a 2 tude 
 
 100528G
 
 IV SOME ACCOUNT OF Till; 
 
 tude which I feel towards the memory of 
 Mr. Tucker would dispose me to do. 
 
 The life of a man devoted to study and re- 
 tirement, to the investigation of metaphysical 
 truth, and the practice of religious duties, 
 can indeed hardly be expected to afford much 
 in the detail to amuse or interest the pubhc : 
 And the uniform regularity of the life of the 
 author of the " Light of Nature'' was cer- 
 tainly interiupted by few extraordinary oc- 
 currences. But instruction might possibly 
 be afforded and example held out to future 
 excellence, by tracing the several incidents 
 which may be supposed to have influenced 
 the mind and genius of such an author, to 
 have given the original bent to his course of 
 study, and turned his thoughts into that 
 channel in which they continued to flow. I 
 am, however, enabled to add nothing upon 
 these points to the short history which Mr. 
 Tucker has given of the disposition and pro- 
 gress of his own mind, in the following 
 passage : 
 
 " My
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTIIOK. V 
 
 " My thoughts," he says, " have taken a 
 " turn from my earhest youth towards search- 
 " ino; into the foundations and measures of 
 " right and wrong ; my love for retirement has 
 " furnished me with continual leisure, and the 
 " exercise of my reason has been my daily 
 " employment/' 
 
 The account which I am about to give of 
 the most important events of liis life, (if any 
 events can be said to be important of a life 
 so retired and undiversified,) is necessarily 
 rendered more imperfect by the loss of a near 
 relation " Mrs. Judith Tucker," by whom 
 alone I could have been furnished with nm- 
 terials for a fuller statement. 
 
 All that I now offer to the public is col- 
 lected from wiiat I can remember to have 
 heard from her, when alive, from some bio- 
 graphical notes which she left behind her, 
 and from some scattered hints and notices 
 which Mr. Tucker's own paperis supply. 
 And however otherwise unimportant or un- 
 interesting
 
 Vi SOME ACCOU!CT OF THE 
 
 interesting the narrative may be, I have pre- 
 ferred to leave it so, rather than to embel- 
 lish it with any thing for which I had not 
 the most indisputable authority, and am con- 
 tented that it should pretend to no other 
 merit than that which would have been 
 esteemed its greatest recommendation by him 
 whose life it is intended to commemorate, a 
 strict and faithful adherence to the truth. 
 
 The family of Mr. Tucker is of Somerset- 
 shire extraction, but he was himself born in 
 London on the second of September, 1705. 
 His father, who appears to have been a mer- 
 chant of some eminence in the city, married 
 Judith, daughter of Abraham Tillard, Esq. 
 and died in his son's infancy, leaving him 
 to the guardianship of his uncle, Sir Isaac 
 Tillard, a man remarkable for the purity of 
 his morals and the austere integrity of hi> 
 character. — Of the memory of this relation 
 Mr. Tucker, to the latest hour of his life, 
 never failed to speak with extreme affection 
 and gratitude, frequently observing that he 
 
 was
 
 IIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Vll 
 
 was indebted for every principle of honor, 
 benevolence, and liberality which he pos- 
 sessed, to the indefatigable pains and bright 
 example of his uncle.—It appears, however, 
 that although Mr. Tucker might be greatly 
 obhged to Sir Isaac Tillard for the early 
 seeds of those moral principles with which 
 his conduct aiid writings were afterwards so 
 eminently tinctured ; he did not probably re- 
 ceive much assistance from him in the usual 
 accomplishments of modern education: I 
 have frequently heard him say, tiiat when 
 called on, as a boy, to pay a periodical com- 
 pliment to some distant relations, he was in 
 variably rcferred by his guardiaii to St. Paul « 
 Epistles, as the most compleat model of 
 epistolary correspondence, 
 
 Mr. Tucker v/as educated in a school at 
 Bishops Stortford, which he quitted in 1721, 
 and was entc red a gentlema^i commoner at 
 Merton College, where it appears that he de* 
 voted the principal part cif his time to me- 
 taphysical and mathematical pursuits. Dur* 
 
 ing
 
 Vlll SOME ACCOUXT OF THE 
 
 ing his residence in the University he found 
 means in the intervals of leisure from more 
 serious application, to-make himself complete 
 master of the French and Italian languages, 
 and to acquire a considerable proficiency in 
 music, for which he possessed great natural 
 talents. 
 
 About the year 1 724 he went into chambers 
 in the Inner Temple, where, for some time, 
 he applied very closely to the law, in which 
 he acquired such a degree of knowledge as 
 enabled him to conduct with advantage the 
 management of his own affairs, and frequently 
 to render very essential senuce to his friends 
 and neighbours : but his fortune not requir- 
 ing the aid of a profession, to the pursuit of 
 which neither his constitution nor his incli- 
 nation were adapted, he was never called to 
 the bar. While he continued at the Temple, 
 he commonly passed the vacation in tours 
 through different parts of England or Scot- 
 land, and once made a summer excursion 
 into France and Flanders. 
 
 la
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR* IX 
 
 In 1727 he purchased Betchworth Castle, 
 near Dorking, an ancient seat of the Browns, 
 and formerly part of the extensive possessions 
 of the Earl of Arundell. As this purchase 
 was considerable, and included a large tract 
 of landed property, Mr. Tucker immediately 
 set about acquiring every sort of informa- 
 tion that is generally thought necessary to 
 the advantageous management of land. With 
 his usual industry he committed to paper a 
 great variety of remarks which he either had 
 made himself, collected from his neighbours 
 and tenants, or selected from different au- 
 thors, both ancient and modern, who have 
 treated on rural economy. 
 
 In 1736 Mr. Tucker married Dorothy, 
 daughter of Edward Barker, of East Betch- 
 worth, Cursitor Baron of the Exchequer and 
 Receiver of the Tenths. By this lady, who 
 died in 1754, he had two daughters: Judith, 
 who survived him, inherited his estates, and 
 died unmarried in 1795, and Dorothea Maria, 
 who in 1763 married Sir Henry Paulet St, 
 
 John,
 
 X SOME ACCOUXT OF THE 
 
 John, Baronet, of Dogmersfield Park, in 
 Hampshire, and died in 1768, leaving no 
 issue but the writer of these remarks. 
 
 As my grandfather had always lived with 
 his wife on terms of the tcnderest harmony 
 and affection, he was severely afflicted by 
 her death. As soon as the first excess of his 
 grief was somewhat mitigated, he occupied 
 himself in collecting]: too-other all the letters 
 that had passed between them at periods 
 when they were accidentally separated from 
 each otlier, whica he iranscribed twice over, 
 under the title of '* The Picture of Artless 
 Love/' One copy he gave to Mr. Barker, 
 his father-in law% and the other he kept, and 
 frequently read over to his daughters. 
 
 His active mind, aftei* this event, became 
 eno-aocd in the education of his children, to 
 whom he himself taught French and Italian: 
 He k!s() iiistructed them in many other 
 brancl-es of scicnice which he thought might, 
 in future, cuulribute to their advantage or 
 
 amusenic nt :
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XI 
 
 amusement: but he was, above all, careful 
 to instil into their minds the purest princi- 
 ples of morality, benevolence, and religion. 
 
 In the year 1755, at the request of a 
 friend, he worked up some materials that 
 were sent him, into the form of a pamphlet, 
 under the title of "Tlie Country Gentleman's 
 Advice to his Son on the Subject of Partj 
 Clubs/" This little tract I have seen, though 
 it has long since been out of print. It seems 
 to have been dictated by no party feelings, 
 even in the person by whom the materials 
 were compiled, but generally cautions young 
 men against engaging in political societies in 
 which their passions are liable to be inflamed, 
 and, from the zeal and enthusiasm of the 
 moment, their honour often pledged to sup- 
 port measures which their cooler reason and 
 reflection disapprove- 
 
 Mr. Tucker had no turn for politics : he 
 was very strongly solicited, on several occa- 
 sions, to offer himself as a representative for 
 
 the
 
 XU SOME ACCOtJNT OF Till: 
 
 the county in uhich he resided, to which 
 situation both his landed property and his 
 private character, gave him the best preten- 
 sions. This he uniformly refused. He was 
 once only prevailed on to attend a county 
 meeting at Epsom, where party ran very 
 high, and though he took no active part in 
 the proceedings there, he was introduced into 
 a ludicrous ballad, where he is described, 
 with several other gentlemen of respectability 
 and talents, as confounded by the superior 
 powers and eloquence of the Whigs of that 
 day, SirJosephMawbey and Humphry Cotes. 
 This circumstance afforded to Mr. Tucker 
 abundant matter for humorous animadver- 
 sion, and whenever politics were the subject 
 of conversation he seldom failed to advert to 
 the ill success of his only essay m public 
 life; and was so much amused with the 
 figure he made in verse, that he set the bal- 
 lad to mubic. 
 
 From the papers which Mr. Tucker left 
 behind aim, it does not appear that previous 
 
 to
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xiu 
 
 to the year 1755, he had any thoughts of the 
 work which he afterwards compleated, nor 
 has the former editor, nor have I, been able 
 to ascertain from what circumstance he was 
 first induced to undertake it. About the 
 year 1756, how^ever, he began " The Light 
 of Nature pursued/' 
 
 He made several sketches of the plan of 
 his w^ork, (one of which he afterwards printed 
 in the shape of a dialogue,) before he finally 
 decided on the method he should pursue; 
 and after he had ultimately arranged and 
 digested his materials, he twice transcribed 
 the whole copy in his own hand. Conscious 
 of the defects in his style, he had it in con- 
 templation, as he says himself, to have re* 
 vised and corrected in some degree, the 
 most inharmonious and inelegant passages 
 in the work, before he sent it to the press, 
 though for various reasons assigned in his 
 Introduction, he never accomplished his de- 
 
 sign. 
 
 To
 
 XIV SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 To qualify himself, however, for appearing 
 before the public as an Author, he had em- 
 ployed a considerable portion of his time, 
 previous to his great undertaking, in study- 
 ing, with the utmost accuracy, the most ele- 
 gant Greek and Latin classics, in order, (as 
 far as it is possible in the more advanced pe- 
 riods of life,) to supply the defects of early 
 education ; and he actually took the pains 
 of translating the most admired pieces of 
 Cicero, Demosthenes, Pliny, &c. several times 
 over. 
 
 Of these studies many have been thrown 
 aside and destroyed, but I am still in pos- 
 session of such a collection as is sufficient to 
 shew that Mr. Tucker's industry and perse- 
 verance have been very rarely surpassed. 
 
 He published the first specimen of his 
 work in 1763, under the title of " Freewill,'* 
 which seems to have been a selection from 
 four octavo volumes, which he afterwards 
 
 printed
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XV 
 
 printed in 1765, under the fictitious name of 
 " Edward Search/' AVliy he assumed a 
 feigned name> I am ignorant, but I am dis- 
 posed to ascribe it altogether to his disincHna* 
 lion to attract pubhc notice. The remainder 
 of the work was edited by his daughter, from 
 a manuscript, and pubhshed withthe real name 
 of the Author, some time after his decease. 
 
 At a late period of life he printed, but 
 did not publish, a little tract on vocal sounds, 
 "wherein he attempts, very ingeniously, with 
 the aid of a few additional letters, to fix the 
 pronunciation of the whole alphabet in such 
 a manner that the sound of any word may 
 be conveyed on paper as easily as by the 
 voice. This little treatise was composed ia 
 support of certain positions which he had 
 advanced at a literary meeting of sqme of his 
 friends, and on which a difference of opinion 
 had arisen. Having occasion in the courso 
 of this work to speak of the Hexameter 
 metre, he expresses his conviction, " that the 
 English is as capable of that mode of versifi^ 
 
 cation
 
 XVI SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 cation as the Greek or Latin languages. To 
 exemplify this opinion, he subjoins a hasty 
 attempt of his own, from which it may not 
 be thought foreign to my present purpose to 
 insert a very short extract. The Classical 
 Reader will immediately perceive that it is 
 a literal translation of part of Virgil's ac- 
 count of the Pythagorean doctrine. 
 
 A spirit eternal penetrates through earth, sky, and ocean, 
 Mounts to the moon's lucid orb, and stars in countless abundance; 
 One soul all matter invigorates, gives life to the system, 
 O'er each particular member diffuses alertness ; 
 Thence men and all animals sprung forth, beasts and feathered fowl, 
 And whatever monsters swarm through the watery kingdom. 
 6uC. Sec. kc. 
 
 ]\Ir. Tucker also published, probably at an 
 earlier period, a Pamphlet entitled, " Man 
 in quest of himself, by Cuthbert Comment," 
 in reply to some strictures that appeared in 
 a note on Search's Freewill, in the Monthl}^ 
 Review of July 1763. In the latter end of 
 it he explains his view in the publication, 
 namely, " in reply to a Doctrine advanced, 
 " that the mind and material elements fluc- 
 *' tuate and change into one another; which 
 
 " seems
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XVU 
 
 ^' seems a revival of the old atheistical no- 
 '' tion, that a perceptive and active being 
 " may be formed of senseless and inert prin- 
 " ciples." 
 
 Mr. Tucker, though by no means of an 
 athletic form, or a robust constitution, pos- 
 sessed great bodily activity. He always rose 
 early in the morning to pursue his literary 
 .labours. During the winter months, he com- 
 monly burnt a lamp in his chamber for the 
 purpose of lighting his own fire. After break- 
 fast he returned again to his studies, for two 
 or three hours, and passed the remainder of 
 the morning in walking, or in some rural 
 exercise. As he was remarkably abstemious, 
 he lost but little time at the table, but usually 
 spent the early part of the evening in summer 
 in walking over his estate, collecting infor- 
 mation on all agricultural subjects from his 
 tenants, and committing the result of their 
 practical experience to paper. In winter he 
 compleated the regular measure of his exer- 
 cise, l)y traversing his own apartment, and 
 
 VOL. I. b after
 
 XVIU SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 after accomplishing the distance he had al- 
 lotted to himself, he employed the remainder 
 of the afternoon in reading to his daughters. 
 In London, where he resided some months 
 every year, his time was apportioned, nearly 
 in the same manner, between study and re- 
 laxation : and he commonly devoted much 
 of his evenings to the society of his friends, 
 relations, and fellow collegians, among whom 
 he was particularly distinguished for his dex- 
 terity in the Socratic method of disputation. 
 His walks were chiefly directed to the trans- 
 action of any incidental business, always 
 choosing rather to execute his own commis- 
 sions, even of the most trivial nature, than to 
 entrust them to a third person. This singu- 
 larity arose from the construction of his 
 mind, which was rarely satisfied without some 
 object in view; and when no inducement 
 presented itself, he would sometimes walk 
 i'roin Great James Street, where he resided, 
 to St. Paurs or to the Bank, to see, as he 
 would good-humoured ly observe, what it was 
 
 o'clock 
 
 The
 
 LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. XIX 
 
 The enumeration of these little peculiari- 
 ties may, I am aware, have the effect of cast- 
 ing something like ridicule on Mr. Tucker's 
 biographer: but I must entreat the indul- 
 gent reader to carry in his mind, through the 
 whole of this humble sketch, the notice with 
 which I introduced it to the public, that 
 few important incidents were to be expected 
 in tracing the life of Mr. Tucker : and I trust, 
 that men who admire the orio;inal oenius dis- 
 played in the annexed work, will not find 
 their time wholly misemployed in perusing 
 those little indications of character, which, 
 in the failure of more weighty incidents may 
 serve to give some idea of the nature and 
 formation of the Author's mind. 
 
 Mr. Tucker lived in habits of considerable 
 intimacy, when in town, with a near relation 
 who had a house in the same street. This 
 was Mr. James Tillard, a gentleman highly 
 distinguished by his classical attainments and 
 general knowledge; and. who was one of the 
 
 b 2 numerou!^
 
 XX SOME ACCOUNT OF TflE 
 
 numerous authors of that time who opposed 
 by their writings the opinions af TBishop 
 Warburton. 
 
 It does not appear that his intimacy with 
 Mr. Tillard, during the progress of this con- 
 troversy, led Mr. Tucker to take any part in 
 the dispute, though I am disposed to beheve 
 that he thought lightly of some opinions of 
 the learned Prelate, from an admirable spe- 
 cimen of sarcastic humour which I meet with 
 in one of his private letters, in evident re- 
 ference to a passage in the Bishop's work on 
 the Divine Legation of Moses. 
 
 Besides Mr. Tucker's attainments in litera- 
 ture, and the sciences, he was perfectly skilled 
 in merchants' accounts, and kept the books 
 relating to his private affairs, and to some 
 charitable institutions of which he was a mem- 
 ber, with all the regularity of an accompting 
 house. He acted as a IMagistrate with great 
 assiduity in the <Uvision of the populous 
 
 countv
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Xxi 
 
 county in which he resided, though from a 
 dislike to public meetings, he rarely attended 
 the quarter sessions. 
 
 His incessant application gradually weak- 
 ened his eyes, and, at length, brought on 
 cataracts, which encreased so much in con- 
 sequence of a fever in 1771 5 that he could 
 no longer amuse himself by reading, and 
 soon afterwards became totally blind. 
 
 This affliction, the greatest that could 
 befal a man of his pursuits, he not only 
 bore with composure and resignation, but 
 with the utmost chearfulness, being fre- 
 quently much diverted with the mis- 
 takes into which his infirmity betrayed 
 him. 
 
 His favorite object, however, was not aban- 
 doned in consequence of this calamity, his 
 mechanical ingenuity enabling him to direct 
 the construction of a machine which guided 
 
 his
 
 XXU SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 his hand, and helped him to write so legibly 
 that his productions were easily transcribed 
 by an amanuensis. 
 
 It was at this period that the amiable cha- 
 racter of his daughter had occasion to dis- 
 play itself. It would be as impossible to do 
 justice to the filial affection, to the nice and 
 unwearied attentions, by which she contrived 
 to mitigate the weight of her father's misfor- 
 tune, as any attempt would be hopeless, to 
 express the obligations for v/hich the editor 
 of this work has in succeeding years, been in- 
 debted to her tendernessand a ttention, to her 
 precept and to her example. She transcribed' 
 the whole of his voluminous work for the 
 press ; and so entirely did she devote her time, 
 like Milton's daughter, to those pursuits which 
 vvould make her most useful to her father, that 
 she applied herself to the stud}^ of the Greek 
 language, in which she madesuch a proficiency 
 as to be enabled to preserve to her father, 
 during the remainder of his life, an inter- 
 course
 
 LIFE OF THE AT TIIOll. XXUl 
 
 course with his favorite authors, of which his 
 misfortune must otherwise have deprived 
 him. 
 
 During Mr. Tucker's blindness he com- 
 pleated the latter volumes of the " Light of 
 Nature/' but before the necessary arrange- 
 ments of their publication were concluded, 
 he was seized in 1774' with an illness which 
 proved fatal; and he died, as he had lived, 
 with perfect calmness and resignation. 
 
 Having thus stated the few particulars I 
 have been enabled to select from the manu- 
 scripts in my possession, relative to the Life 
 of the Author of the " Lio;ht of Nature," I 
 shall venture to offer a ver}^ few observa- 
 tions on the edition which I have thouoht it 
 my duty to publish. 
 
 To attempt any connnentarj^ on the work 
 itself, would be presumptuous on my part : 
 the most ample testimony has already been 
 given to the original genius, the moral ex- 
 cellence
 
 XXIV SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 cellence, the benevolence, and the perspicuity 
 of the Author, by many of the most enhght- 
 ened men of the present age. Some of them, 
 with that spirit of liberahty which accompa- 
 nies pre-eminent talents, have openly acknow* 
 ledged the assistance which they have derived 
 from Mr. Tucker's researches,* 
 
 I have tliought it incumbent on me, as 
 his sole surviving representative, to reprint 
 
 " There is one work to which I owe so muchj that it 
 *"* would be ungrateful not to confess the obligation ; I mean 
 *' the writings of the late Abraham Tucker, Esq. part of 
 '' which were published by himself, and the remainder 
 *' since his death, under the title of the " Lis^ht of Nature 
 *' pursued by Edward Search, Esq." I have found in this 
 " writer more original thinking and observation upon the 
 *' several subjects that he has taken in hand, than in any 
 " other, not to say in all others put together. His talent 
 '* also for illustration is unrivalled. But his thoughts are 
 *' diffused through a long, various, and irregular work. I 
 *' shall account it no mean praise, if I have been sometimes 
 '^ able to dispose into method, to collect it into heads and 
 " articles, or to exhibit in more compact and tangible 
 ■•*' masses, what, in that otherwise excellent performance, 
 '^' is spread over too much surface." 
 
 Paley's Preface to Moral and Political Philosophy, page 25. 
 Sec also Dr. Pan— and Sir James M'liitosh's Lectures, &c. 
 
 his
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XXV 
 
 his work, in consequence of the various 
 apphcations which have been made to me 
 on account of the increased demand for it, 
 and the scarcity of the remaining co- 
 pies. 
 
 It has indeed been suggested to me, that 
 an abridgment of the whole of these volumes 
 might have been more acceptable to the world 
 at large, or that the bulk might liave been con- 
 veniently reduced by the omission of the most 
 abstruse and metaphysical parts, without in- 
 jury to the general argument and essential 
 object of the work. 
 
 Feeling, however, the great difficulty that 
 must attend such an abridgment or selec- 
 tion, and conscious of my own insufficiency 
 for the undertaking, and entertaining more- 
 over some scruples, as to the right of an 
 editor to compress or curtail the work of his 
 Author according to his own notions of con- 
 venience or improvement. I have judo-ed it 
 
 most
 
 XXVI SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 most expedient, on mature consideration, to 
 republish it as it came from the pen of 
 Mr. Tucker. 
 
 I am aware that the immediate connection 
 between the various subjects treated on in 
 the work, may not appear obvious to many 
 of Mr. Tucker's readers, and that something 
 in the nature of an analysis of the general 
 scheme of the Author, Avould have been ex- 
 tremely desirable. I was indeed in hopes to 
 have offered some observations on this head 
 to the public, from the pen of Sir James 
 M'Intosh, had not the pressure of profes- 
 sional engagements interfered, and the high 
 situation to which he has been called in a 
 distant country finally defeated the plan he 
 had in contemplation. 
 
 It will be observed, that I have ventured 
 to restore a Chapter* which treats on a point, 
 
 * Chap, xxii.* ^' Word, or Logos" . Vol. vii. 
 
 that
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XXVll 
 
 that has been thought, by the most able 
 Commentators on the New Testament, to be 
 involved in much doubt and obscurity. I 
 am aware, that in this instance, I expose 
 myself to the censure of many of Mr. Tucker's 
 warmest admirers, by whom I may be ac- 
 cused of something more than indiscretion, 
 in submitting opinions to the public eye, 
 which the prudence and good sense of his im- 
 mediate successor, had thought it wise to 
 suppress, in the former edition. I must, 
 however, observe, with the most sincere ve- 
 neration for the memory of the person to 
 w^hom I have had frequent occasion to allude, 
 that the circumstances under which the work 
 is now sent to the press, are widely different 
 from those under which it made its first ap* 
 pearance. 
 
 Whether the Author, when he published 
 the fragment on Freewill, had it in contempla- 
 tion to extend his materials to the present 
 length of the work, or whether he found 
 
 himself
 
 XXVlll -SOME ACCOUXT OF TUK 
 
 himself gradually led on as he pursued his 
 subject, must remain a doubt. His earliest 
 production is unquestionably the most ab- 
 struse of all his works, nor did the four vo- 
 lumes he published before his death meet 
 with that encouragement from the public 
 which thev have since been thouo-ht to de- 
 serve. Their title was unfortunate, and con- 
 tributed to raise prejudices against them.* 
 At the time of the publication many fanciful 
 theories were afloat on subjects of religious 
 controversy : these had disgusted the public, 
 and a work professing in its title page to 
 pursue the Light of Nature might be re- 
 sonably suspected as unfavourable to the doc* 
 
 * Soon after ^^r. Tucker's death various attempts were 
 made by different sectaries to enlist him under their ban- 
 ners, particularly INIr. Lindsay, who endeavoured to shew, 
 by several partial extracts from his works, that he was 
 inclined to the opinions of the Unitarians. A very full 
 refutation of these misrepresentations was soon afterwards 
 pubhshcd by Thomas Kyjiaston, Esq, under the signa- 
 ture of ''A Layman,'' by which ]\Jr. Tucker's religious 
 character w-as completely vindicated. 
 
 trines
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XXIX 
 
 trines of Revelation. On this ground there-^ 
 fore it was thought advisable by the respec- 
 table authorities with whom the late Editor 
 consulted when she printed the posthumous 
 works of her father, to suppress a part of 
 them which did not appear essential to the 
 general scheme of the Author, and might 
 tend to confirm the prejudice raised by the 
 title. But the motive which operated most 
 strongly on the mind of the late Mrs. Tucker, 
 on this occasion, was her conviction that her 
 father Avas strictly and conscientiously at- 
 tached to the doctrines of the Church of 
 England, and she was cautious of hazarding 
 any thing which might expose his principles 
 to an opposite construction, and which, she 
 was aware, would be eagerly caught at by 
 those who differed from the established per- 
 suasion. 
 
 Such were the motives which influenced 
 the conduct of the former Editor, in sup- 
 pressing a Chapter which treats on the con- 
 si ruction
 
 XXX SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 struction of the four first verses in the Gos- 
 pel according to St. John. Her objections 
 to its publication, however judicious at that 
 moment, have now lost much of their weight. 
 The prejudices excited by the title have va- 
 nished on the world becoming acquainted 
 with the contents. The religious and moral 
 principles of the Author have stood the test 
 of public investigation, and no longer remain 
 open to misapprehension. The sentiments, 
 the doctrines, the arguments, and the illus- 
 trations in every part of the work are equally 
 those of ]Mr. Tucker, and the particular Chap- 
 ter of which I am speaking was prepared in 
 his own hand writing for the press. 'J'he great 
 and benevolent object of the Author was the 
 estabhshment, and promulgation of truth : 
 his conjectures (for they are no more,) on 
 this abstruse point, should they prove satisfac- 
 tory, may lead to that desirable end, by their 
 [)ublicati()n : should they be thought other- 
 wise it can reflect no discredit on his me- 
 mory, to ]\\\vc hazarded an unsuccesful opi- 
 nion
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. XXXI 
 
 nion on a subject which the most learned 
 and enhghtened men have acknowledged 
 themselves unequal to explain. 
 
 H. P. ST. JOHN MILDMAY, M. P. 
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 IJfTROBUCTIOJV. 
 
 Religion and Morality, being of univer- 
 sal concern to persons of all conditions and 
 denominations, a-s well with regard to their 
 present happiness as their future expecta- 
 tions, have always engaged the thoughts of 
 such as were disposed to think seriously upon 
 any thing: and the minds of men being va- 
 riously turned, that natural fondness which 
 attaches every one to the decisions of his own 
 judgment, especially in matters nearly affect- 
 ing his interest, has given birth to innumerable 
 disputes among the learned in all ages; from 
 whence great disorders and mischiefs have fre- 
 quentlyarisenamongthe rest of mankind. But 
 though contention has never ceased, nor is ever 
 likely to cease, yet theparticular subjects ex- 
 voL. I. c citing
 
 XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 citing it from time to time have often changed : 
 one set having divided the ancient philoso- 
 phers, another the doctors in the reign of 
 school divinity, and another the several sects 
 of Christians at and after the reformation. 
 
 All these old topics of litigation are now 
 happily laid aside, or lie dormant in the 
 closets of the studious, where they are treated 
 of as matters of speculation, giving no dis- 
 turbance to the world in general. The prin- 
 cipal, or perhaps only question agitated with 
 any degree of warmth and earnestness in these 
 times and countries, seems to be, Whether 
 Reason alone be sufficient to direct us in 
 all parts of our conduct, or Whether Re- 
 velation and supernatural aids be necessary. 
 For upon this hinge the merits of our pre- 
 sent religious disputes chiefly turn, rather 
 than upon external evidence, which one may 
 oiiserve alwa3^s carries more or less weight 
 with men, according as they are prepossessed 
 either in favour or prejudice of the doctrines 
 enforced thereby; nor indeed would deserve 
 regard at all without prospect of some ad- 
 vantage to accrue from the result. For were 
 a Revelation proposed which should offer no- 
 thing
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 thing more than we could discover by our 
 own sagacity or attain by common industry, 
 nobody would think it worth while to be at 
 any trouble either in recommending or enter- 
 ing upon an examination of its authenticity. 
 
 Upon this question, concerning the suffi- 
 ciency of Reason, many treatises are written 
 and much thrown out in the pulpits and in 
 private conversation : nor w^ould means be 
 neglected of interesting the populace in the 
 dispute, which from a dispute would then be- 
 come a quarrel and occasion of civil com- 
 motions, did not our laws wisely provide for 
 the maintenance of peace and good order by 
 restraining the fiery zeal of some and wanton 
 licentiousness of others. While the contest 
 stands thus confined within the limits of ar- 
 gumentation, no very mischievous conse- 
 quences can ensue. We need not fear truth 
 should lie long overwhelmed under the so- 
 phisms of falsehood: it will always rise at 
 last triumphant over the strongest opposition ; 
 or rather like gold, which comes brighter and 
 purer out of the furnace, will get clear of 
 that rust and dross that gathers upon the 
 soundest doctrine by too long quiet. When 
 c a men
 
 XXXvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 men are all of a mind they grow careless^ 
 seldom giving themselves the trouble to enter 
 into the grounds of what passes current by 
 universal consent : or else graft their own airy 
 imaginations upon the solid substance. But 
 the vigilance of an adversary suffers no fo- 
 reign mixtures that will not stand the strictest 
 scruthiy : and his misrepresentations give oc- 
 casion for what remains, to be fully ex^ 
 ])lained and more clearly understood. 
 
 But how great advantages soever may ac- 
 crue from controversy, it is attended by no 
 less inconvenience. It draws off men's at- 
 tention from the main end of Religion, which 
 is to make them better, by leading them in- 
 sensibly into a persuasion that orthodoxy on 
 one hand, and freedom from bigotry on the 
 other, is to stand in lieu of all the practical 
 duties of life: it destroys that mutual good- 
 will and esteem from whence the benefits of 
 society chiefly result: and it cuts off half 
 the means of improvement by shutting our 
 eves a2:ainst the clearest truths and most 
 shining examples presented by those of whom 
 we have received an ill impression. For it 
 is no uncommon thing to combat an opinion 
 
 or
 
 INTRODUCTIOK", XXXVll 
 
 or vilify an action of the person we dislike, 
 merely because they are his, without once 
 considering the merits of either. 
 
 Wherefore the w^orst kind of disputing is 
 that which proceeds solely in the spirit of 
 opposition, tending to overthrow but not 
 to estabhsh : for there is scarce any system 
 so bad as not to be better than none at all. 
 He that pulls down his neighbour's house 
 does him a diskindness, how inconvenient 
 a dwelling soever it were, unless he furnishes 
 him with a plan and materials for building 
 one more commodious. Let every man by 
 my consent offer whatever he thinks benefi-». 
 cial to the public; we stand obliged to him 
 for his good intentions however ineffectual 
 they may prove, or how much soever we may 
 perceive him mistaken ; provided he does not 
 meddle with the opinions of others until he 
 finds them standing directly athwart his way; 
 then indeed disputation becomes necessary, 
 but it is never desirable, nor perhaps ever 
 excusable, unless w^hen absolutely necessary. 
 
 In order to avoid this disagreeable neces- 
 sity as long as possible, it seems advisable 
 to begin with building upon ground that no- 
 body
 
 XXXVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 body claims or that we all possess in com- 
 mon ; I mean, by working upon principles 
 universally agreed to, and gathering all the 
 conclusions they will afford that may be ser- 
 viceable to the world, and wherein every 
 body ma}'- acquiesce • without prejudice to 
 his favourite tenets. For there are many in- 
 ducements to prudence, to honesty, to bene- 
 volence, to industry, acknowledged by per- 
 sons of all persuasions ; and if these were 
 improved to the utmost, much good might 
 be done to mankind, both towards advanc- 
 ing their knowledge and regulating their be-^ 
 haviour, before we need touch upon any 
 controversial matters. 
 
 This method appears likely to render the 
 benefit of our endeavours more extensive, 
 because being looked upon as a common 
 friend, we shall be heard favourably by all : 
 nor is it impossible that our interposition may 
 bring the contending parties into better hu- 
 mour with one another, rendering them more 
 candid, more open to conviction, by shew- 
 ing they agree already in many respects 
 themselves were not aware of If we can 
 trace out a resemblance of each other's fea- 
 tures
 
 IXTRODUCTION. XXXIX 
 
 tures in their own, they may consider them 
 as marks of a relationship, and abate of that 
 shyness which makes every one averse to 
 whatever comes from a stranger or an ahen. 
 Perhaps, too, it may tend considerably to- 
 wards shortening disputes ; for as no differ- 
 ence can be voided unless by premises whereto 
 both sides will assent, the more of these can 
 be collected, the firmer they are establiished, 
 and the readier they lie at hand, there will 
 remain the less to do afterwards towards de- 
 termining matters in debate. 
 
 Now there is one tract of ground claimed 
 by none as his peculiar property, namely, 
 so much as lies within the province of rea- 
 son. Both believer and unbeliever will ad- 
 mit that there are certain truths and certain 
 duties discoverable by our own care and sa- 
 gacity, that our reason is of some use to us, 
 and that we ought to make the best use of 
 it in our power. This therefore is what I 
 purpose to attempt, to try what may be 
 done by the exercise of our reason, either 
 for the advancement of knowledge or guid- 
 ance of our conduct, without pretending to 
 determine beforehand whether we may fur- 
 nish
 
 Xi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 nish ourselves this way with every thing for 
 which we have occasion, without embracing 
 or rejecting what other helps may be afforded 
 us from elsewhere. Since it is allowed on all 
 hands that reason may do something for us, 
 let us avail ourselves of that something she 
 is capable of, be it little or be it much; 
 this surely will not indispose us against re^ 
 ceiving further benefits from supernatural 
 assistance, if any such are to be had. Such 
 an attempt cannot justly offend either party : 
 for if reason be 3ufficient, what can we do 
 better than listen attentively to her voice ? 
 and if she be not sufficient, how can thif* 
 be better evidenced than by putting her upon 
 the trial, in order to see what she contains ? 
 If we shall find her any where at a nonplus, 
 or her stores exhausted and our wants still 
 remaining unsupplied, we shall the more 
 readily recur to supplies afforded from an- 
 other treasury. 
 
 But who is able to ransack all the stores 
 of reason, or compute the exact amount of 
 the riches she possesses ? For my part, I arn 
 far from fancying myself equal to the task ; 
 nor do I imagine it can be performed by any 
 
 single
 
 INTRODUCTION. xU 
 
 single person, but must be compleated, if 
 ever, hy the successive endeavours of many : 
 and on this very plea I found my justifica- 
 tion. For although what can be managed 
 by a few, we choose to entrust only with 
 consummate masters in the business, yet in 
 works requiring numbers to execute them, 
 an indifferent workman may be admitted to 
 give a helping hand. It is the duty of every 
 one to serve the public in such way for which 
 he is best fitted, how slender soever his abi- 
 lity may be; and this is the only way wherein 
 I have any chance of making myself useful. 
 I have neither constitution nor talents for 
 active life, neither strength nor fund of spirits 
 for hard study, nor been bred to any pro- 
 fession : but my thoughts have taken a turn 
 from my earliest youth towards searching 
 into the foundations and measures of right 
 and wrong ; whatever nature gave me has 
 been cultivated by a careful education, and 
 improved further by as much application as 
 I could bear the fatigue of; my love of re- 
 tirement has furnished me with continual lei- 
 sure, and the exercise of my reason has been 
 my daily employment : the service therefore 
 
 I am
 
 Xlii IXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 I am to do must flow from this exercise or 
 not at all. And it must arise from the ex- 
 ercise not the strength of my reason : I pre- 
 tend to no sagacity capable of striking out 
 uncommon discoveries, my dependence must 
 rest solely upon my care and vigilance, which 
 keep me constantly upon the watch for 
 such sparks of light as occur from time to 
 time spontaneously : the coldness of my na- 
 tural temperament inclines me to caution 
 and suspicion, so I do not hastily embrace 
 the most striking ideas until having turned 
 them again and again in my thoughts in 
 order to discern the genuine rays of truth 
 from the flashy meteors of delusion : what- 
 ever of the former I can gather, I preserve 
 diligently, laying them by in store against 
 any further use that may be made of them. 
 For I an) a kind of miser in knowledge, at- 
 tentive to every little opportunity of gain. 
 Though my income be small, I lose nothing 
 of what comes to hand ; all I can scrape, I 
 place out at interest, still accumulating the 
 interest upon the principal, as well knowing 
 that this is the only way for one of moderate 
 talents to raise a fortune. 
 
 Let
 
 INTRODUCTION. xllli 
 
 Let not any man expect extraordinary 
 strokes of penetration from me : I shall pre- 
 sent him with nothing but what he may 
 have had within his view before ; I pretend 
 only to remind him of things that may have 
 slipped his memory or point out to him ob- 
 jects that may have escaped his notice: if 
 I shall offer him any thing new, it will be 
 not more than he would have found natu- 
 rally resulting from things he knows already, 
 had he held them as steadily under contem- 
 plation, or placed them together in the same 
 situation as I do. Therefore I do not pre- 
 sume to dictate or impose my notions upon 
 others, nor desire any more regard or atten- 
 tion than one would readily give to any com- 
 mon person, upon matters wherein he haf 
 been constantly conversant from his child- 
 hood ; nor even here do I wish my word 
 might be taken any farther than shall appear 
 reasonable in the judgment of the hearer. 
 
 Many efforts have been made, as well by 
 ancients as moderns, for investigating the prin- 
 ciples of reason and establishing a solid struc- 
 ture of morality ; and though they have all 
 fallen short of the end proposed, yet have 
 
 they
 
 Xliv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 they not entirely failed of success. The 
 foundations indeed have not yet been dis- 
 covered or laid open to the view and satis- 
 faction of all men: but much of the cover- 
 ing that obscured them has been from time 
 to time removed, and the hollowness of many 
 spots whereon great labour used to be jvasted 
 has been made. appear. Mr. Locke in par- 
 ticular has contributed not a little to facili- 
 tate the encrease of knowledge, by pointing 
 out the sources and channels from whence it 
 must be derived, and clearing away that in- 
 cumbrance of innate ideas, real essences, 
 and such like rubbish, that obstructed the 
 searches of the studious formerly ; so that the 
 reasonings of men are become more accu- 
 rate, more solid, and if one may so say, more 
 reasonable than they were before. I can- 
 not expect to run such lengths as he has 
 done : but if I may advance one little step 
 further in the way that he leads, or suggest 
 a single hint that may be improved by some 
 abler hand for the real benefit of mankind, 
 I shall not think that I have laboured in vain 
 nor lived in vain. Whatever I may be able to 
 do,'I stand indebted to Mr. Locke for, having 
 
 learned
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlv 
 
 learned from him which way to direct my ob- 
 servation and how to make use of what I ob- 
 serve. I should be proud of being thought to 
 resemble him, not as a copy but an imitation, 
 endeavouring to catch the spirit of my ori- 
 ginal, and then letting that spirit operate in 
 its own manner. Every one has something 
 in his air and gait peculiar to himself, and if 
 he goes to tread scrupulously in the steps or 
 assume the gestures of another, he will move 
 aukwardly and make very little progress. 
 
 But how high a veneration soever I may 
 have for Mr. Locke, it does not rise to an 
 implicit faith, leaving me at liberty to dis- 
 sent from him in some few instances ; and as 
 this happens very seldom, I am not sorry it 
 does happen at all, because it assures me 
 that in other particulars 1 am not drawn by 
 the influence of a great name but by the 
 force of conviction. In matters of science 
 another may prepare the evidences and place 
 them in their proper light and order, bijt 
 the decision ought always to be a man's own. 
 But I am never better pleased than when a 
 difference, seemingly wide at first, lessens 
 by degrees, and at length vanishes upon a 
 
 nearer
 
 xlvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 nearer inspection and entering more tho- 
 roughly into his ideas, because then I find 
 my judgment tallied with his, even before I 
 knew of it myself. 
 
 And I receive the like proportionable sa- 
 tisfaction upon the like occasion with re- 
 spect to the opinions of others : for I have so 
 little the spirit of contradiction that I do 
 not willingly disagree with any body even 
 in points of speculation, but endeavour at 
 all possible means of reconcilement. I have 
 too great a deference for the understandings 
 of others, to believe they ever embrace naked 
 error uncovered with truth : therefore pre- 
 sume the worst set of tenets must contain a 
 mixture of something that is right, or else 
 they would not have gained credit. The bu- 
 siness then is to separate the sterling from 
 the dross, or rather restore it to its orginal 
 purity. For however chimerical the trans- 
 mutation of metals may have proved, there 
 is a transmutation of truth into falsehood : 
 many propositions by expositions, qualifi- 
 cations, or restrictions, may be made either 
 true or false: perhaps most of the imposi- 
 tions upon mankind have been introduced 
 
 into
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlvu 
 
 into the world by the perverse use of this 
 art. If then I can transmute a mischievous 
 opinion back again into its primitive inno- 
 cence, and I have sometimes succeeded be- 
 yond expectation, I may lawfully use it as 
 current coin, and reckon it as a part of my 
 stock in knowledge. My door stands open 
 to receive whatever valuable comes in from 
 all quarters, and as different wares are deemed 
 contraband by different powers, I am forced 
 in defence of ray property to fight by turns 
 on opposite sides of the same question, not 
 as a Drawcansir, hewing down both friend 
 and foe, but as a mediator labouring to re- 
 concile jarring interests. By this practice of 
 joining in alliance with various parties, I take 
 a tincture of those among whom I converse ; 
 so that it will be no wonder if I shall be 
 found hereafter adopting the sentiments or 
 talking in the strain of an enthusiast, a bigot, 
 a visionary, a sensualist, a freethinker, a scep- 
 tic ; yet I hope, without inconsistency or 
 wavering of opinion. 
 
 Nor can any body justly take scandal 
 hereat. Those who place all in a freedom 
 of thought, will not surely blame me for 
 
 givuig
 
 xlviii rjfTuoorcTrojr. 
 
 giving a, latitude to my thoughts and follow- 
 ing whithersoever mj judgment shall lead 
 me : I will not trouble them w ith any thing 
 I shall judge trifling, or of no use, or that 
 has not stood the test of my own exannina- 
 tion. If I shall sometimes seem to shake the 
 main pillars of morality as well as religion, 
 it will be only when I conceive them slid off 
 their proper basis upon the loose earth, iii 
 order to restore them : in this case it is ne- 
 cessary to undermine the ground whereon 
 they stand, to make room for the levers^ 
 whereby they may be raised to a bottom 
 where they may remain for ever firm and 
 immoveable; nor shall I attempt to remove 
 any until I have tbund a place fitter for their 
 reception and support. Those who maintain 
 an established form of doctrine can receive 
 no injury from me. For whenever I consort 
 with them, as they may expect from my 
 conformable temper v/ill frequently happen, 
 they will have in me a competent witness 
 to the reasonableness of their doctrines, 
 against whom no exception can be taken for 
 prejudice or partiality. And if I shall run 
 into extravagances, they may draw an argu- 
 ment
 
 INTRODUCTION. xlix 
 
 nient froni thence to show the danger of 
 trusting to our natural strength alone : for 
 if one who has constantly paid his court to 
 reason from his childhood, has had a liberal 
 education and continual leisure, and examined 
 every thing with coolness, care, and impar- 
 tiality, yet misses of his aim and bewilders 
 himself in mazes, or lies entangled in absur- 
 dities, how can it be expected, that the com- 
 mon herd of .mankind, without preparation, 
 without thirst of knowledge, without com- 
 mand of their time, immersed in business, 
 pleasures, or passions, and driven forcibly 
 along by the torrent of example, should ever 
 strike out a compleat rule of conduct or sys- 
 tem of opinion, without some better guid- 
 ance than that of their own sagacity ? 
 
 Since then my attempt can draw no ill 
 consequences, and should it do no good will 
 do no hurt, I may proceed without fear or 
 scruple to such exercise of my reason as I 
 am capable of making. But reason cannot 
 work without materials, which must be fetched 
 from nature : and not all nature neither, for 
 the greatest part of her stores lie beyond our 
 reach. Of what stand within our ken, some 
 
 VOL. I. d we
 
 1 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 we discern by immediate intuition, others we 
 gather by' inference and long deductions of 
 rcasoning. It seems expedient then to begin 
 with the things lying nearest to us, these 
 being the premises which must help us to 
 investigate others more remote. Now what 
 is nearer to a man than himself, his sensa- 
 tions, thoughts, and actions ? These, therefore, 
 I purpose to examine in the first place, ra- 
 ther than hunt after abstract notions or es- 
 sences of good or evil ; which can only be 
 discovered, if ever, from a careful observa- 
 tion of the former. In natural philosophy, 
 the experimental method is now universally 
 preferred before the hypothetic, as the surer 
 and more effectual : the like method may be 
 practised in morality, with this only differ- 
 ence, that here is no occasion to make ex- 
 j)eriments on purpose ; for every thing we 
 see, or hear, or feel, or do in our ordinary 
 converse and common occurrences of life, 
 are so many experiments whereon to build 
 our conclusions. Prom hence we may best 
 discover our own nature, as we can best dis- 
 cover the nature of bodies from their opera- 
 lion ; and by diligently observing what we 
 
 do
 
 INTRODUCTION. li 
 
 do, how we come to act in such or such man- 
 ner, together with the consequences and ef- 
 fects of our actions, we shall be likely to lay 
 the surest measures for our conduct and at- 
 tain the clearest knowledge of what we ought 
 to do. 
 
 Some have supposed with Plato that moral 
 and other qualities have an existence of their 
 own, distinct from that of the substances 
 whereto they belong ; that they may be 
 clearly apprehended independently of the 
 subject possessing them ; that they are eter- 
 nal and immutable, whereas all other tb.ings 
 fluctuate and vary, changing their forms per- 
 petually : therefore that science must stand 
 firmest which is built upon such an immove- 
 able foundation. I shall not stay now to exa- 
 mine the truth of this assertion : it is enough to 
 observe, that whatever independent existence 
 may belong to qualities, we can only come to 
 the knowledge of them by the substances 
 wherein they inhere: nature exhibits nothing 
 abstracted to our view, the abstract must be 
 learned from the concrete. AVe should never 
 have known what whiteness was had we not 
 seen something white, nor hardness had we not 
 
 d 2 felt
 
 lii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 felt somethinor hard. So neither could we 
 have known what justice or goodness were, 
 had w^e not seen the actions of men and ob- 
 served how their sentiments influence their 
 behaviour. Besides, how solid a science so- 
 ever may be erected on ideal qualities, it 
 rests in speculation only, and contributes 
 nothing to our better accommodation, unless 
 relating to such qualities wherein mankind 
 has some concern ; and what are of this kind 
 can only be ascertained by experience and 
 observation. 
 
 ^? Fiom these sources therefore we must fetch 
 xyur materials, and w^ben we have gotten com- 
 petent store of them, I am so far from being 
 T!li>n<*n7y to abstract reasonings, that I shall 
 pursi^t? tliem as far as can be desired, keep- 
 ing an eye all along upon use, and correct- 
 ing my tlieory from time to time by a re- 
 ference to facts. 1 am rather apprehensive 
 of incurring censure by pursuing them too 
 far, or seeming to have forgotten or lost sight 
 of the main subject proposed : for I may 
 probably spend a great deal of time in me- 
 taphj^sical disquisitions before I mention a 
 Avord either of morality or religion. But the 
 
 knowledge
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 •liii 
 
 knowledge of religion and morality arises 
 from the knowledge of ourselves : at least in 
 my own private meditations I have always 
 found, that whenever I have endeavoured 
 to trace them to their first principles, they 
 have led me to consider the nature of the 
 mind. This then we may look upon as the 
 groundwork and foundation ; and he that 
 would have a firm superstructure, must allow 
 suflScient time for laying the foundation well. 
 AVhile this is doing w^e work underground : 
 you see we are very busy, but to what pur- 
 pose is not so readily visible : nothing ap- 
 pears useful, nothing convenient, nothing ser- 
 viceable for the purposes of life. Have but 
 patience until we come above ground, and 
 then perhaps you will see a plan arising that 
 promises something habitable and commo- 
 dious, and which could not have stood se- 
 cure without the pains we have been taking 
 underneath. Let it be observed further, that 
 my architecture partakes of the military as 
 well as the civil kind : lam not only to build 
 houses, churches, and markets, for the ac- 
 commodation of life, but fortifications too 
 for repelling the attacks of an invader: and 
 
 this
 
 liv INTEODUCTIOX. 
 
 this must be done substantially and beo-au 
 earl3% for it will be too late to think of mak- 
 ing our outworks after the assailants have 
 opened their trenches. 
 
 Perhaps I may enter deeper into jnetaph\^- 
 sical niceties than I should have deemed re- 
 quisite or allowable had not others done the 
 like before me; not that the authority of ex- 
 ample justifies whatever we can find a pre- 
 cedent for, but the practice of others renders 
 somethings indispensable which w^ere needless 
 in themselves. The profession of arms is an 
 honourable, useful, and necessar}^ profession ; 
 yet if all the world would agree to live with- 
 out soldiers, there would be no occasion for 
 soldiei's in the world at all : but since neigh- 
 bouring nations will keep their standing ar- 
 mies, we must do the like or shall lie liable 
 to perpetual insults and invasions. So like- 
 wise the common notices of our understand- 
 ing might sufficiently answer all the purposes 
 we could expect from them, would all men 
 agree to follow them attentively : but since 
 we shall meet with persons every now and 
 then who will be drawing us aside from the 
 plain road of common sense into the wilds of 
 
 abstraction,
 
 INTRODUCTION. Iv 
 
 abstraction, it is expedient for us to get ac- 
 quainted with the country beforehand, to ex- 
 amine the turnings and windings of the hi- 
 bjrintli, or else they will mislead and perplex 
 us strangely. We have but one of these two 
 ways to secure ourselves against their artifi- 
 ces : either by resolving never to meddle with 
 any subtilties at all, or by goiiTg through with 
 them. The same rule holds good here as we 
 find given in poetry, Drink deep or taste not 
 the Castalian spring; for a large draught w'ill 
 often allay the intoxication brought on by a 
 small one. AVherefore your dabblers in me- 
 taphysics are the most dangerous creatures 
 breathing: they have just abstraction enough 
 to raise doubts that never would have en- 
 tered into another's head, but not enough to 
 resolve them. ^ 
 
 The science of abstruse learning, when 
 compleatly attained, is like Achilles' spear 
 that healed the wounds it had made before ; 
 so this knowledge serves to repair the da- 
 mage itself had occasioned : and this per- 
 haps is all it is good for, it casts no additional 
 light upon the paths of hfe, but disperses 
 the clouds with which it had overspread them 
 
 before :
 
 Ivi INTRODUCTIo^^ 
 
 before : it advances not the traveller one step 
 on his journey, but conducts him back again 
 to the spot from whence he had wandered. 
 Thus the land of philosophy contains partly 
 an open champaign country, passable by every 
 common understanding, and partly a range 
 of woods, traversable only by the specula- 
 tive, and where they too frequently delight 
 to amuse themselves. Since then we shall be 
 obliged to make incursions into this latter 
 tract, and shall probably find it a region of 
 obscurity, danger, and difficulty, it behoves 
 us to use our utmost endeavours for enlight- 
 enino; and smoothing: the wav before us. 
 
 There seems to be no likelier method of 
 answering this purpose than that of Plato, if 
 one could be so happy as to copy him : I 
 mean in his ar-t of illustrating and exempli- 
 fying abstruse notions by the most familiar 
 instances taken from common life, though 
 sometimes of the lowest and basest kind. 
 We find him indeed rebuked, particularly 
 in the Hippias or dialogue upon beauty, for 
 introducing earthen crocks and pitchers into 
 discourses upon philosophy : and iftheplainess 
 of ancient times could not endure such vul- 
 
 2;ar
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ivil 
 
 gar images, what quarter can we expect for 
 them in this nice and refined age ? But wherk 
 one cannot do as one would, one must be 
 content with what one can : I shall pay so 
 much respect to my cotemporaries as never 
 to offend their delicacy willingly : therefore 
 shall choose such illustrations as may appear 
 fashionable and courtly as vvell as clear and 
 luminous, wherever I have the option ; but 
 where I' want skill to compass both, shall 
 hope for indulgence, if I prefer clearness and 
 aptness before neatness and politeness, and 
 fetch comparisons from the stable or the scul- 
 lery when none occur suitable to my purpose 
 in the parlour or the drawing room. 
 
 With respect to ornament of style, I would 
 neither neglect nor principally pursue it, es- 
 teeming solidity of much higher import than 
 elegance, and the latter valuable only as it 
 renders the other more apparent, I pretend to 
 but one quality of the good orator, that of be- 
 ing more anxious for the success of his cause 
 than of his own reputation : but having ob- 
 served that the same matter meets a different 
 reception according to the manner wherein 
 
 it
 
 Iviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it is conveyed, and that ornaments properly 
 disposed, and not overloaded, make the sub- 
 stance more intelligible and inviting, I ara 
 desirous of putting my arguments into the 
 handsomest dress 1 can furnish, nor for the 
 sake of show, but in order to gain them a 
 more ready and more favourable admittance; 
 with tbe same view as a surgeon desires to 
 have the finest polish upon his lancets, not 
 for the beauty of the instruments, but that 
 they may enter the easier and pierce the 
 surer. 
 
 As for the laying down of my plan, and 
 choice of the methods to be taken in pursuit 
 of it, those of course will be left to my own 
 management, who may be supposed better 
 acquainted with the nature and particulars 
 of my design than a stranger. Therefore my 
 reader, if I have any, will please to suspend 
 bis judgment upon the several }>art& until he 
 has taken a view of the whole : and even then 
 I hope will not hastily pronounce every thing 
 superfluous, or tedious, or too refined, which 
 he finds needless to himself; for I am to the 
 best of my skill to accommodate every taste, 
 
 and
 
 IXTRODUCTIOX* lix 
 
 and provide, not only for the quick, the rea- 
 sonable, and the easy, but for the dull, the 
 captious, and the profound. 
 
 There is the better encouragement to try 
 the strength of reason upon the subject of 
 morality, because many judicious persons, 
 Mr. Locke for one, have pronounced it ca- 
 pable of demonstration equally with mathe- 
 matics : but how much soever morality may 
 be demonstrable in its own nature, the de- 
 monstration has hitherto been found imprac- 
 ticable, being prevented, 1 conceive, by one 
 main obstacle Mr. Locke has pointed out, 
 that is, because the ideas and terms belonging 
 to it are more indistinct, unsettled, and va- 
 riable, than those of number or measure. The 
 difference between ninety nine and a hundred 
 is discernible to every body, and as well 
 known as that between a hundred and a thou- 
 sand ; no man calls that an inch which an- 
 other calls an ell ; nor does the same man 
 sometimes conceive a yard to contain three 
 feet and sometimes four. But the case is far 
 otherwise in the language of ethics : if one 
 receives contraiy commands from two per- 
 sons to each of whom he owes an obligation, 
 
 who
 
 Ix INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^ho can determine the preference where the 
 obhgations bear so near a proportion as ninety 
 nine to a hundred ? What this man esteems 
 an honour, the next accounts a disgrace : 
 and if the same person were asked his idea 
 of virtue, freewill, obhgation, justice, or fa- 
 vour, it is odds but he will vary in his no- 
 tions at different times, nor ever be able to 
 fix upon a definition himself will always abide 
 by. Since then we see what it is that hin- 
 ders our moral and metaphysical reasonings 
 from proceeding with the same justness as 
 our mathematical, let us endeavour to remove 
 the impediment by fixing a steady and de- 
 terminate sense to our terms ; for so far as 
 we can compass this, so near shall we ap- 
 proach towards the certainty of demonstra- 
 tion : and I am persuaded that in cases of 
 the highest importance we may often arrive, 
 if not at mathematical demonstration, yet at 
 a degree of evidence that shall command as 
 full and merit as unreserved an assent. 
 
 Tiiis persuasion will lead me now and then 
 to bestow more time than I could wish upon 
 the signification of w^ords : such disquisitions, 
 I fear, may appear tedious and irksome to 
 
 many,
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ixi 
 
 many, notwithstanding that no pains in my 
 power shall be spared to make them easy, 
 smooth, and palatable ; but I hope to find 
 excuse in the absolute necessity of the thing. 
 For without accuracy of language it is im- 
 possible to convey a chain of close reason- 
 ing to others, or even to be sure of carrying 
 it on unbroken ourselves ; because ^ve must 
 always deliver our conceptions by words, and 
 for the most part we think in words, that is, 
 when ,we would recal an idea to our minds, 
 the word expressive of it generally occurs first 
 to usher it in ; but if the word should have 
 shifted its meaning without our perceiving it, 
 as too frequently happens, we shall run a 
 hazard of drawling conclusions without a con- 
 sequence. 
 
 There is not the same danger in mathema- 
 tics, because the terms there employed are 
 either peculiar to that science, or such as con- 
 stantly carry the same precise idea upon all 
 common occasions, as relating to objects 
 under cognizance of our senses. But ethics 
 being chiefly, and metaphysics entirely, con- 
 versant in ideas of reflection, of w^iich we 
 have greater multitudes than words to express 
 
 them,
 
 Ixii INTRODUCTIOK. 
 
 them, we are necessitated to use the same 
 mark for various significations : as in scoring 
 at cards, where the counters stand sometimes 
 for units, sometimes for threes, fives, tens, 
 or fifties, according to their position, or ac- 
 cording to the game, be it whist, cribbage, or 
 piquet. And yet the ideas in our reflection 
 being fleeting and transitory, passing to and 
 fro, present before us this moment, and gone 
 the next, we have no other method of fixing 
 them than by annexing them to particular 
 words. It is true the studious often affect to 
 employ technical terms, hoping thereby to 
 escape the confusion mcidentto the language 
 of the vulgar: but these being all, either 
 common words restrained to a particular sense, 
 or else derived from words of general cur- 
 rency, partake in some measure of the slip- 
 pery and changeable quality of their primi- 
 tives : nor can even the thoughtful always 
 agree with one another, or maintain a con- 
 sistency with themselves, in the application 
 of their terms. 
 
 Wherefore in these sciences philology must 
 go along witle philosophy, not as a partnei' 
 or companion, but as an attendant or hand- 
 maid.
 
 INTRODUCTIOlSr. Jxill 
 
 maid. For tlie knowledge of things is our 
 principal aim, and criticism no further than 
 shall be found expedient to secure our medi- 
 tations against gonfusion, and our discourses 
 against misapprehension. I may think my- 
 self entitled to the liberty others have taken 
 of coining new words, or extending, restrain- 
 ing, or a little altering the signification of old 
 ones ; but shall never use this liberty so long 
 as I can do w^ithout it. 1 would rather make 
 it my business to distinguish the various senses 
 belonging to words already current, as they 
 stand in different expressions, or are em- 
 ployed upon different occasions : if this could 
 be sufficiently remarked and borne in mind, it 
 would prevent mistakes as effectually as if 
 every idea had a particular name appro- 
 priated to itself alone. 
 
 I shall need great indulgence w^ith respect 
 to the manner of my performance, wherein 
 I fear will be found a deo;ree of wildncss and 
 deviation from the ordinary rules of compo- 
 sition : I w^as the less scrupulous in adher- 
 ing to them during the course of my work, 
 as depending upon a subsequent rcvisal for 
 setting matters to rights, but upon trial I 
 
 perceive
 
 Ixiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 perceive that correction is not my talent : I 
 have made some few additions in the second 
 volume, as of two entire chapters, the first 
 and the twenty-fonrth, the beginning sections 
 in that of the vehicles, the visit to Stahl in the 
 vision, and the six concluding sections of the 
 last chapter ; but for the rest, am forced to 
 give out the first running off with very little 
 alteration. This disappointment falls the 
 lighter, because what amendments I had 
 hoped to make, would have tended only to 
 the better look and appearance of the work, 
 for which I am much less solicitous than 
 for the substance. I do not pretend in- 
 sensibility to reputation, but my first and 
 principal wish is to be of some little service 
 to my fellow-creatures by suggesting some 
 observations which they may improve to their 
 advantage ; and my greatest concern to avoid 
 doing hurt by misleading into notions of dan- 
 gerous tendency. Under this caution I must 
 warn the reader against judging too hastily 
 upon the last chapter of this volume, for I 
 should be veiy sorry to have him take his 
 idea of virtue from the very exceptionable 
 figure wherein she is represented there. But 
 
 he
 
 Introduction. Ixv 
 
 he will please to observe that I proceed solely 
 upon the view of human nature without any 
 consideration of Religion or another world, 
 and will expect no compleater edifice than 
 can be erected upon such scanty bottom : 
 and that he may not sit down with a notion 
 of my believing the plan of morality ought 
 to lie upon no other ground, I entreat his at- 
 tention to the two concluding sections of that 
 chapter ; from whence he may augurate that 
 I have a larger scheme in reserve, whereon 
 my building will make a very different ap- 
 pearance from what he sees it here ; and pos- 
 sibly it may be shown in good time that I 
 had my reasons for drawing this imperfect 
 sketch before I proceeded to designs more 
 extensive. 
 
 I shall now begin to work upon my foun- 
 dation, which was proposed to be laid in hu* 
 man nature ; and havino; taken the line and 
 plummet in hand, shall look for directions in 
 the contemplation of the mind, the manner 
 and causes of action, the objects affecting us 
 and their several ways of operation* 
 
 VOL. I. e 
 
 CONTENTS.
 
 COJVTEJVTS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PACtB 
 
 Chap. I. Faculties of the Mind - - 1 
 
 II. Action - 33 
 
 III. Causes of Action 47 
 
 IV. Ideal Causes 6S 
 
 . V. Motives 77 
 
 VI. Satisfaction 97 
 
 VII. Sensation 193 
 
 VIIL Reflection - - 210 
 
 IX. Combination of Ideas 220 
 
 X. Trains 244- 
 
 « XI. Judgment 271
 
 THE 
 
 LIGHT OF NATURE 
 
 PURSUED. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND. 
 
 Wi 
 
 HOEVER considers the frame and con- 
 stitution of Man, must observe that he con- 
 sists of two parts, Mind and Bodj^ And this 
 division holds equally good whatever opinion 
 we may entertain concerning the nature of the 
 mind; for be it an immaterial substance, be it 
 a harmony, or be it a certain configuration of* 
 corporeal particles, at all events it does not ex- 
 tend to the whole of the hurnan composition 
 There are several things within us which can- 
 not belong to the mind under any notion we 
 may conceive of it ; such as the bones, the 
 Inuscles, the shrew's, the blood, the humours, 
 and even the limbs and organs of sensation, 
 because by losing some of these, we lose no- 
 thing of our mind : when an arm is cut off or 
 an eye beat out, though the man become less 
 VOL. I. B perfect
 
 5 Faculties of the Mind, [CHAP. i. 
 
 perfect, the mind remains entire as before ; 
 the harmony is not dissolved, the mental com- 
 pound disunited, or the spiritual substance 
 destroyed. 
 
 How variously soever we may think of the 
 mind, every one will readily acknowledge the 
 body to be a very complicated machine, con- 
 taining muscles, tendons, nerves, organs of 
 motion, organs of sensation, and a multitude 
 of other inferior parts. But with these we 
 have no immediate concern ; our purpose be- 
 ing principally to consider the mind, but the 
 bod}' with its members no farther than as they 
 concur with the mind or serv^e as instruments 
 in the performance of its operations. 
 
 2. Now in pursuit of this enquiry we shall 
 iind it requisite to distinguish betweenthe fa- 
 culties of the mind and the faculties of the 
 man, of whom the mind is only a part. For 
 in all compounds there are some properties 
 belonging to the parts separately, and others 
 resulting from the composition or joint action 
 of the united parts. Thus he that should de- 
 scribe the first mover in one of those curious 
 ,pieces of workmanship made to exhibit vari- 
 ous a ppearances by clock-work, would speak 
 imtrul}^ in saying it had the properties of 
 showing the time of the day or year, rising 
 and setting of the luminaries, courses of the 
 planets, concert of the Muses, or dance of the 
 
 beasts
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 3 
 
 beasts after Orpheus, for these are all proper- 
 ties of the machine : the part under considera- 
 tion has no other property than to gravitate, 
 if it be a weight, or to expand, if it be a 
 spring ; and this single quality of gravitation 
 or elasticity produces the various movements 
 above mentioned, according to the several 
 works whereto at different times it is ap-, 
 plied. 
 
 In like manner we hear of many faculties 
 ascribed to man, such as walking, handling 
 or speaking, hearing, seeing or feehng, which 
 manifestly do not belong to the mind, since 
 it can exercise none of them without aid 
 of the body : we can neither walk without 
 legs, handle without arms, nor speak with- 
 out a tongue ; neither hear without ears, see 
 without eyes, nor touch without fingers. But 
 though the mind has some share in the per- 
 formance of all these actions, yet the facul- 
 ties it exerts are not so various as the opera- 
 tions it produces: for it is by one and the 
 same faculty of the mind that we walk, han- 
 dle or speak, and by one and the same faculty 
 that we hear, see or touch ; which faculty 
 produces different effects according to the dif- 
 ferent bodily organs whereto it is applied. 
 
 Nevertheless there is this difference ob- 
 servable with respect to the mind itself, that 
 upon some occasions, as iu walking, hand- 
 
 B 2 ling.
 
 4 Faculties of the Mind. [CHAP. 1. 
 
 ling, speaking, it affects and acts upon the 
 body ; on others, as hearing, seeing, feeling, 
 it is itself aflected and acted upon by the 
 body. Hence we reasonably gather that the 
 mind possesses two faculties ; one by which 
 we perform whatever we do, and another 
 by Avhich we discern whatever presents itself 
 to our apprehension. The former has usually 
 been styled the Will, and the latter the Un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 3. Faculty is the same as Power, or rather 
 a particular sort of power ; being generally 
 appropriated to those powers only which be- 
 long to animals. We get our idea of power, 
 says Mr. Locke, from the ch^g-jiges w^e see 
 made in things by one anotfe/ ; upon seeing 
 gold melted by the fire, we consider a quality in 
 the fire of changing the gold from a solid into 
 a fluid state ; and upon seeing wax blanched 
 by the sun^ we conceive the su>n must have a 
 quality to alter the colour o?Haq wax. But 
 the same quality working upon different sub- 
 jects does not always produce the like effect, 
 therefore that it ever does, appears owing to 
 some quality in the subject whereon it ope- 
 rates : thus if gold melts in the fire, not only 
 the fire must have a quality of melting, but the 
 gold likewise a quality of being melted ; if 
 wax blanches in the sun, it is not enough that 
 the sim possesses a quality of blanching, but 
 
 there
 
 CHAP. 1.1 FaciiUies of the Mind, 5 
 
 there must be a quality of being blanched in 
 the wax. The qualities of fire remain the 
 same whether j^ou tlu'ow gold or clay into it, 
 yet upon casting in the latter no liquefaction 
 will ensue, solely for want of the quality of 
 being liquified in this latter. These quali- 
 ties are called Powers in the Avritings of the 
 studious, and distinguished into two kinds by 
 the epithets of active and passive powers; 
 both of which must concur in producing every 
 alteration that happens, to wit, an active 
 power in the agent to work the change and a 
 passive in the recipient to undergo it. 
 
 According to this distinction it will appear 
 that of the two faculties of the mind before 
 spoken of, one is active and the other passive : 
 for on every exertion of our Will, the mind 
 causes some motion, change of situation, or 
 alteration of the subject it acts upon ; and in 
 every exercise of our understanding, the mind 
 passes either from a state of insensibility to a 
 state of discernment, or from one kind of dis- 
 cernment to another, as fi'om sights to sounds, 
 or tastes or reflections, according to the va- 
 riety of objects that act upon it. 
 
 4. We readily enough conceive ourselves 
 active in the exertions of our Will, but by the 
 common turn of our lanoua2;e we seem to 
 claim an activity in the exercises of our un- 
 derstanding too ; for we generally express 
 
 them
 
 6 Faculties of the Mind. [chap. i. 
 
 them by active verbs, such as to discern, to 
 see, to observe, and apply the passives of 
 those very verbs to the objects when we say 
 they are discerned, seen, observed ; all which 
 carry an import of something done by our- 
 selves and something sufiered by the objects 
 from us. Yet a very little consideration may 
 show us, that in all sensations at least, the ob- 
 jects are agents and ourselves the patients. 
 For w hat is sight but an impression of things 
 visible upon our eyes and by them conveyed to 
 the mind ? what is sound but the percussion 
 of air upon our ears and thence transmitted 
 through the like conveyance ? In all these cases 
 the sensations are caused by bodies without 
 us, and are such as the respective bodies are 
 fitted to produce : the mind can neither ex- 
 cite nor avoid nor change them in any man- 
 ner; it can neither see blue in a rose nor 
 hear the sound of a trumpet from a drum, 
 but remains purely passive to take whatever 
 happens to it from external objects. Nor is 
 the case diiSferent in hunger and thirst, the 
 pleasant feel of health or uneasiness of distem- 
 pers, though proceeding from internal causes : 
 for nobody can doubt of these sensations 
 being raised by the humours or some paits 
 of our body, which though within the man yet 
 lie without the mind, and therefore with re- 
 spect to that are truly external agents. 
 
 5. Thus
 
 CHAP. 1.} Facilities of the Mind. 7 
 
 5, Thus it appears evidently that we are 
 passive in sensation of every kind : but the 
 matter is not quite so plain in the business of 
 reflexion, which the mind seems to carrv on 
 entirely upon its own fund without aid of the 
 body, without intervention of the senses or 
 impression of any thing external, acting solely 
 and immediately in and upon itself. 
 
 Yet supposing the mind acts in this man- 
 lier, it does not prove the understanding to be 
 active herein, it proves only that the mind is 
 both agent and patient at once. As a man 
 Avho after holding his right hand to the fire 
 claps it upon his left, although active in the 
 motion of one hand, is nevertlieless passive 
 in feeling warmth with the other : for what- 
 ever power he may have to move his hands, 
 it would signify nothing if he had no feeling. 
 So admitting that the mind furnishes its own 
 thoughts in and from itself, although it acts in 
 producing the thoughts, nevertheless is it pas* 
 sive in discerning them when produced : for 
 whatever power it may have to generate 
 reflections, all will avail nothino; without a 
 power of discernment. 
 
 But we may justly question whether the 
 supposition above made be true in fact, whe- 
 ther the same thing ever does act wholly 
 and solely upon itsell*, or whether thp notion 
 of action does not require two substances, 
 
 one
 
 8 Faculties of the Mind. ECHap.'i. 
 
 one to act and the other to be acted upon. I 
 know we are often said to perform actions 
 upon ourselves, as when Cato slew himself at 
 Utica ; but he did it with a sword, therefore 
 his action was exerted upon that, and he was 
 passive in receiving the Avound made by the 
 sword. And if a mother upon the loss of her 
 child, beats her breast in despair, neither is 
 this an acting of one thing upon itself although 
 she uses no instrument ; for every compound 
 is one in imagination onl}'', in nature and re- 
 ality it is as many things as the component 
 parts it contains: because the hand which 
 strikes and the breast which suffers are parts 
 of the same woman, therefore we may say 
 she beats herself, but consider them sepa- 
 rately and the hand will appear as indi- 
 vidually and numerically distinct from the 
 breast as if they had belcn2;ed to different 
 persons. And if we transfer our expression 
 from the whole to the parts, we shall find 
 ourselves obliged to change the form of it 2 
 for though we may say the woman beats her- 
 self, we cannot say the same either of the 
 hand or the breast. In short it seems to nie 
 difficult to frame a conception of any one in- 
 dividual thing acting immediately and directly 
 upon itself, or w^ithout some instrument or 
 medium intervening between the power ex- 
 erted and effect produced thereby. 
 
 6. But
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind, g 
 
 6, But this abstruse reasoning from the na- 
 ture and essence of action may not satisfy every 
 body, as it may not be understood by some 
 and not agreed to by others ; the conceptions 
 of men, in their abstract notions especially, 
 being widely different. Let us therefore con- 
 sider what passes in our minds in the work of 
 reflection, in order to try whether we can ga- 
 ther any light towards determining the ques- 
 tion from experience. And this will furnish 
 us with numberless instances wherein reflec- 
 tions intrude upon the mind whether we v/ill 
 or no : a recent loss, a cruel dissappointijient, 
 a sore vexation, an approaching enjoyment, a 
 stronginclination, an unexpected success, often 
 force themselves upon our thoughts against 
 our utmost endeavours to keep them out. Up- 
 on all these occasions the mind shows evident 
 marks of passiveness, the Will wherein its ac- 
 tivity lies being strongly set a contrary way: 
 it suffers violence and that violence must be 
 offered by something else, for it cannot be 
 suspected here of acting upon itself, the action 
 produced being directly opposite to that it 
 would have, and the state wher^into it is 
 thrown the very reverse of what it wishes : 
 when it wishes content, it is overwhelmed 
 with anxiety and disquiet like a torrent, and 
 when it would rest in calmness, passion, ex- 
 pectation and impatience, rush upon it like 
 an armed giant. 7. The
 
 10 Faculties of the Mind, [chap. i. 
 
 7. The same experience testifies of other 
 reflections coming upon us without though not 
 against our AVill. How many fancies, con- 
 ceits, transactions, observations, and I may 
 say, arguments, criticisms and measures of 
 conduct, shoot into our thoughts without our 
 seeking? If we go abroad on one errand, 
 another suddenly occurs ; visiting such a 
 friend, buying such a ti ifle, seeing such a 
 sight that lies opportunely in our way. 
 When a man coming oiF from a journey 
 throws himself carelessly into an easy chair 
 and being desirous of nothing but rest falls 
 into a reverie, what a variety of objects pass 
 muster in his imagination ! The prospects 
 upon the road, occurrences happening to 
 him, his acquaintance at home, their faces, 
 characters, conversations, histories, what he 
 has seen, w^hat he has done, what he has 
 thought on during his journey or at other 
 times. His mind remainincr all the while half 
 asleep, for though the understanding wakes, 
 the Will in a manner doses, without pre- 
 ference of one thing before another, without 
 attention to any particular part of the scene, 
 but sufiering all to come and go as it hap- 
 pens. Can the mind in this indolent posture 
 be said to act upon itself when it does not 
 act at all ? Yet ideas innumerable are pio- 
 duced, which must necessarily proceed from 
 
 the
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 11 
 
 the act of some other agent extrinsic to the 
 mind and individually distinct from it. 
 
 8. Let us now consider voluntary reflec- 
 tion, such as recollecting, studying, medi- 
 tating, reasoning, deliberating, and the like, 
 wherein the mind from time to time calls up 
 the thoughts it Avants, and is if ever both 
 agent and patient in the same act. Yet even 
 here, if we examine the matter closely, we 
 shall find that the mind does not call up 
 all our thoughts directly by its own imme- 
 diate command, but seizes on some clue 
 whereby it draws in all the rest. In medi- 
 tation, though we chose our subject we do not 
 choose the reflections from time to time oc- 
 curring thereupon. In reasoning we seek af- 
 ter some conclusion which we cannot obtain 
 without help of the premises : or hit upon 
 some discovery, a stranger to our thoughts 
 before, and therefore not under our obe- 
 dience. Deliberation and investigation are like 
 the hunting of a hound, he moves and sniffs 
 about by his own activity, but the scent he 
 finds is not laid nor the trail he follows 
 drawn by himself. The mind only begins a 
 train of thinking or keeps it in one particular 
 track, but the thoughts introduce one ano- 
 ther successively. I believe few persons, how 
 well acquainted soever with Virgil, can re- 
 peat the second line of his ^Eneid without 
 
 begin-
 
 12 Faculties of the Mind, [CHAP. i. 
 
 beginning with the first: we see here the 
 second hne brought to our remembrance, | 
 not by the mind, but by the first line, which 
 therefore must be deemed a distinct agent or 
 instrument employed by the mind in bring- 
 ing the second to our memor3\ Whoever 
 will carefully observe what he does when he 
 sets himself down to study, may perceive that 
 he produces none of the thoughts passing in 
 his mind, not even that Avhich he uses as the 
 clue to bring in all the others ; he first with- 
 draws his attention from sensible objects, nor 
 does he then instantly enter upon his work ; 
 some little time must be given for reflection 
 to begin its play, which presently suggests 
 the purpose of his enquiries to his remem- 
 brance and some methods of attaining it ; 
 that which appears most likely to succeed he 
 fixes his contemplation upon and follows whi- 
 thersoever that shall lead, or checks his 
 thoughts from time to time when he perceives 
 them going astray, or stops their course if he 
 finds it ineffectual, and w^atches for its fall- 
 ing into some new train : for imagination 
 will be always at work, and if restrained 
 from roving in all that variety of sallies it 
 would make of its own accord, it will strike 
 into any passages remaining open. There- 
 fore we ma}^ compare our student to a man 
 who has a river running through his grounds 
 
 which
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. IS 
 
 which divides into a multitude of channels : 
 if he dams up all the rest, the stream will 
 flow in the one he leaves open; if he finds it 
 breaking out into side branches, he can keep 
 it within bounds by stopping up the outlets ; 
 if he perceives the course it takes ineflfectual 
 for his purpose, he can thro^^a mound across . 
 and let it overflow at any gap he judges con- 
 venient. The water runs by its own strength 
 without any impulse from the man, and 
 whatever he does to it, will find a vent some 
 where or other : he may turn, alter or direct 
 its motion, but neither gave nor can take it 
 away. So it is with our thoughts, which are 
 perpetually working so long as we wake, and 
 sometimes longer, beyond our pov. er to re- 
 strain : we may controul them, divert them 
 into different courses, conduct them this way 
 or that as we deem requisite, but can- never 
 totally prevent them from moving. Which 
 shows they have a motion of their own inde- 
 pendent of the mind, and which they do not 
 derive from its action nor wilt lay aside upon 
 its command. 
 
 9. We may remark further that the mind 
 cannot always call up those thoughts which 
 for the most part lie ready to appear at our 
 summons. How often do we endeavour in 
 vain to recollect a name, a transaction, a cir- 
 cumstance, we know extremely well ? How 
 
 often
 
 14 Faculties of the Mind [chap, h 
 
 often do we tiy to study without effect, to 
 deliberate with various success, and perplex. 
 ourselves with difficulties we have heretofore 
 made nothing of? Sometimes we find our- 
 selves totally incapable of application to any 
 thing; sometimes unapt for one kind of ex- 
 ercise but ready at another: mathematics, 
 ethics, history, poetry, business, amusements, 
 have their several seasons wherein the thoughts 
 run more easily into each of them than any 
 other way. AV^hich affords a strong pre- 
 sum])tion that the mind employs some instru- 
 ment, which when not at hand or unfit for 
 semce, it cannot work at all or not pursue 
 the train of thought it attempts. 
 
 Tlie more narrowly we examine our proce- 
 dure in all exercises of the understanding, 
 the more firmly we shall be persuaded that 
 the mind uses a medium by whose ministry 
 it obtains what it wants. Both in sensation 
 and reflection of our own procuring, the mind 
 acts upon the medium and that again acts up- 
 on the mind : for as in reading w^e only open 
 the book, but the page presents the words 
 contained in it to our sight : so in thinking 
 we set our imagination to work which ex- 
 hibits appearances to our discernment. 
 
 10. If we o'O about to examine what those 
 mediums are we find so necessary to the mind, 
 it will presently occur that the ideas floating 
 
 in
 
 CHAP. 1.1 Faculties of the Mind, 15 
 
 in our imagination are to be ranked among 
 the mediums : and it may be worth while to 
 bestow a little consideration upon these ideas. 
 
 We use idea sometimes for the very dis- 
 cernment the mind has of some object or 
 thought passing in review before it, and some- 
 times more properly for the thing or appear- 
 ance so discerned. It is obvious that when I 
 speak of ideas as mediums I must understand 
 them in the latter sense; not as effects pro- 
 duced in the understanding, but as causes 
 immediately producing them. 
 
 Idea is the same as image, and the term 
 imagination implies a receptacle of imao-es: 
 but image being appropriated by common use 
 to visible objects could not well be extended 
 to other things Avithout confusion ; wherefore 
 learned men have imported the Greek word 
 idea signifying image or appearance, to 
 which, being their own peculiar property, 
 they might affix as large a signification as 
 they pleased. For the image of a sound or 
 of goodness would have offended our deli- 
 cacy, but the idea of either goes down glibly : 
 therefore idea is the same with respect to 
 things in general as image with respect to ob- 
 jects of vision. 
 
 In order to render the notion of idea^ 
 clearer let us begin with images. When a 
 peacock spreads his tail in our sight we have 
 
 a full
 
 l6 Faculties of the Mind, fCHAP. L 
 
 a full view of the creature with all his gaudy 
 plumage before us: the bird remains at some 
 distance, but the light reflected from him paints 
 an image upon our eyes, and the optic nerves 
 transmit it to the sensory. This image, when 
 arrived at the ends of the nerves, becomes an 
 idea and gives us our discernment of the ani- 
 mal ; and after the bird is gone out of view, 
 we can recal the idea of him to perform the 
 same office as before, though in a duller and 
 fainter manner. So Avhen the nightingale war- 
 bles, the sound reaches our ears, and passing 
 through the auditor}^ nerves, exhibits an idea 
 affecting us with the discernment of her mu- 
 sic : and after she has given over singing, the 
 same idea may recur to our remembrance or 
 be raised again bv us at j^leasure. In like 
 manner our other senses convey ideas of their 
 respective kinds, which recur again to our 
 view long after the objects first exciting them 
 have been removed. 
 
 These ideas having entered the mind, in- 
 tenningle, unite, separate, throw themselves 
 into various combinations and postures, and 
 thereby generate new ideas of reflection strict- 
 ly so called, such as those of comparing, 
 dividing, distinguishing, of abstraction, re- 
 lation, with many others: all which remain 
 with us as a stock for our further use upon 
 future occasions. 
 
 11. Here
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 17 
 
 11. Here perhaps I shall be put in mind 
 that I have before supposed tAvo substances 
 necessarily concurring in every action, one to 
 act, and the other to be acted upon; and 
 thereupon asked whether I conceive ideas to 
 be substances. To which I answer, No : 
 but as such answer will seem to imply a con- 
 tradiction, the only agents in the business of 
 reflection beins; ideas which nevertheless are 
 not substances, I shall be called upon to re- 
 concile it. 
 
 For which purpose I shall have recourse 
 again to the image employed before. When 
 we look upon a peacock, what is that image 
 conveyed to us considered in the several stages 
 through which it passes ? Not any thing brought 
 away by the light from the bird, and thrown in 
 upon us through our organs, but a certain dis- 
 position of the rays striking upon our eyes, a 
 certain configuration of parts arising in our 
 retina, or a certain motion excited thereby in 
 our optic nerves: which disposition, configu- 
 ration, and motion, are not substances, but 
 accidents in ancient dialect, or modifications 
 according to modern philosophers. But acci- 
 dent or modification cannot exist by itself, it 
 must have some substance to inhere in or 
 belong to, which substance is indeed the agent 
 upon all occasions. Nevertheless we com- 
 monly ascribe the action to the modification, 
 
 VOL. 1. c because
 
 18 Faculties of the Mind. [chap, i. 
 
 because what kind it shall be of depends entirely 
 upon tliat: for the same rays, the same retina, 
 the same nerves, difierently modified by the 
 impulse of external objects, might have served 
 to convey the image of an owl or a bear, or any 
 other animal to our discernment. Therefore 
 that last substance, whatever it be, which im- 
 mediately gives us the sensation, is the agent 
 acting upon our mind in all cases of vision : 
 a©d in like manner that something so or so 
 modified which presents to our discernment, 
 is the agent in all cases of mental retiection, 
 which modification we call our idea : but be- 
 cause we know nothing more of the substance 
 than the operation it performs, therefore if 
 we would speak to be understood we can say 
 no otherwise than that the idea is the thing 
 we discern. 
 
 What those substances are whereof our 
 ideas are the modification, whether parts of 
 the mind as the members are of our bodv, 
 or contaiuQd in it like wafers in a box, or 
 enveloped by it like fish in water, as many 
 expressions cuiTcnt in use might lead us to 
 imagine, whether of a spiritual, corporeal, or 
 middle nature between both, I need not now 
 ascertain ; nor indeed can I until the sequel 
 of our enquiries in the progress of this work 
 bhall by degrees have brought us better ac- 
 quainted with some particulars relating to 
 
 them.
 
 CHAP, 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 19 
 
 them. All I mean at present to lay down is 
 this. That in every exercise of the under- 
 standing, that which discerns is numerically 
 and substantially distinct from that which is 
 discerned : and that an act of understanding 
 is not so much our own proper act as the act 
 of something else operating upon us. 
 
 12. After all that has been said I think we 
 may look upon the passivity of the understand- 
 ing as fully established. But active power 
 alone, says Mr. Locke, is properly power : 
 and how ever men of thought and reading may 
 suppose two powers necessary to effect every 
 alteration, an active in the agent to w^ork the 
 change, and a passive in the recipient to un- 
 dergo it ; men of common apprehensions can- 
 not find this power in the latter. If they see 
 one man beat another, they readily enough dis- 
 cern a power in him that beats, but they can- 
 not so easily conceive the others defeat owing 
 to his power of being beaten, which they rather 
 look upon as weakness and defect of power. 
 So when they see gold melt in the fire, they 
 ascribe the melting to an inability in the gold 
 to resist the force of fire, as stone or clay, or 
 other fixed bodies might do, which have a 
 stronger power to hold their parts together. 
 
 If Faculty be derived from Facility, it im- 
 plies active power, and that in the highest de- 
 gree ; for if I with much ado can heave up a 
 
 c 2 huge
 
 20 Facilities of the Mind [chap, u 
 
 huge folio upon an upper shelf, my servant 
 who can toss it up with facility must have a 
 much greater degree of strength; and pro- 
 bably this term was pitched upon to denote 
 the surprizing agility and readiness shewn by 
 the mind upon most occasions, as well of 
 acting as discerning. The term Faculty I be- 
 lieve has been generally applied by most men 
 to the understanding, nor do I wonder it 
 should, because Ave do not minutely consider 
 the progress of action nor the stages through 
 which it passes : therefore when we observe 
 the same action beginning and ending in the 
 same thing, and do not take notice of any 
 medium or instrument employed to carry it 
 on, we naturally conceive the same thing act- 
 ing upon itself But there is a distinction 
 between an immediate and a remote effect : 
 I never denied that the mind acts upon itself 
 remotely, I know it does so very frequently 
 Doth in producing sensation and reflection. 
 FoT what is reading, hearkening, singing, tast- 
 ing a sweetmeat, warming our hands at the 
 fire, but sensations excited in the mind from 
 something done by itself? When we read, 
 the opening the book, turning to the proper 
 page, running our eyes along the lines, and 
 fixing our attention thereupon, are our own 
 acts ; and the sight of the words and sense of 
 the author conveyed thereby are of our own 
 
 discernment.
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. £1 
 
 discernment. When we study it is we our- 
 selves who put our imagination into a posture 
 for thinking, and the reflections, determina- 
 tion, or discovery resuhing therefrom, are 
 effects produced in ourselves. 
 
 Besides that the measure of our understand- 
 ings gives scope to the range of our wills ; 
 men of duller apprehension cannot perform 
 many things which those of quicker appre- 
 hensions can: perhaps the difference really 
 lies in the instruments we have to use, but is 
 commonly supposed in the mind itself. There- 
 fore the extent of our active powers depend- 
 ing upon the sensibility of our vmderstanding, 
 this is deemed a part of them, and denomi- 
 nated by the same appellation; for being 
 found to have a share in the performance of 
 our actions, because they could not be per- 
 formed without it, it lays claim to the title 
 of an active power. 
 
 Thus we see the mind invested accordmcr 
 to common conception with two powers; but 
 in philosophical strictness, and in propriety of 
 speech, if we may take Mr. Lock's judg- 
 ment of that propriety, it has only one power, 
 namely the Will, and one capacity, namely 
 the understanding. Yet as I find them both 
 sometimes termed powers, as well by Mr. 
 Locke as by other writers upon this subject, 
 I shall comply with the prevailing custom, 
 
 and
 
 22 Faculties of the Mind. [chap. i. 
 
 and make no scruple to speak of our passive 
 power and acts of the understanding, as I see 
 no inconvenience therein ; having already de- 
 clared my opinion that they are truly passions 
 of the mind, and acts of something else. 
 
 13. But I cannot be quite so complaisant 
 with respect to the names given the faculties, 
 as I apprehend great mischiefs arising there- 
 from; for being terms of common cuiTcncy 
 we shall find it very difficult, perhaps impos- 
 sible, at all times to disjoin them from the 
 sense generally affixed to them by custom : 
 which frequently ascribes acts that do not 
 belong to them, or acts of one to the other, 
 or complicated acts wherein both concur 
 jointly to either singly. By which means we 
 shall run a great hazard of perplexing our- j 
 selves, and talking unintelligibly to others, 
 or what is worse, of making syllogisms with 
 four terms, and thereby leading both into 
 mistakes. 
 
 Observe how men express themselves as 
 well in their serious discourses as in their 
 ordinary conversation, and you will see them 
 appropriating the term understanding to that 
 knowledge, skill, or judgment, resulting from 
 experience in particular things : as when they 
 talk of understanding such a language, of a 
 divine understanding the Scriptures, a lawyer 
 the statutes, a painter colours, or a meal- 
 man
 
 CHAP. 1 .] Faculties of the Mind. S3 
 
 man the different goodness of com in a mar- 
 ket. If any one asks, Sir, do you understand 
 this paragraph in a book, he does not mean 
 Can 3' ou read it, but Do you know the sense 
 of it ? if he ask whether you understand the 
 bell, he does not inquire whether you hear it, 
 but whether it rings to breakfast or chapel. 
 Whereas seeing the letters of a paragraph and 
 hearing the sound of a bell are acts of the fa- 
 culty as much as understanding the drift o( 
 them : and the same objects convey their sen 
 sations to the novice, if his senses be perfect, 
 as fully though not so usefully as to the man 
 of skill. When we improve or enlarge our 
 understanding by learning, we do nothing to 
 our faculty, for that we must take as nature 
 gave it us ; nor can any application increase 
 or diminish our natural talents, we can only 
 lay in a larger stock of materials for them to 
 work upon. Like a man who cuts down a 
 wood to extend his prospect, he does nothing 
 to his eyes nor encreases their power of vision, 
 but only opens a larger field for them to ex- 
 patiate in. 
 
 So what we call exercises of our under- 
 standing are in reality exercises of our reason, 
 not the single act of either, but the joint work 
 of both faculties ; such as reading, composing, 
 deliberating, contriving, and the like, wherein 
 the mind employs both her powers and certain 
 
 instruments
 
 24 Faculties of the Mind. [chap. i. 
 
 instruments besides in a series of actions tend- 
 ing to some end proposed. AVhereas every 
 notice of our senses, every wild imagination, 
 every start of fanc}^ ever}^ transient object or 
 thought exercises our faculty. What need 
 divines and philosophers exhort us perpetually 
 to use our understandings ? Their admoni- 
 tions were superfluous if they meant the fa- 
 culty, for this we use without ceasing while 
 awake, nor can we choose but do so. The lit- 
 tle master playing at pushpin uses his faculty, 
 for that discovers to him the situation of 
 the pins and thereby directs his fingers how 
 to shove one across another. When Miss 
 Gawky lolls out at window for hours together 
 to see what passes in the street, she uses her 
 faculty all the while ; for by that she discerns 
 the coaches going by, a woman wheeling po- 
 tatoes in a barrow, or a butcher's apprentice 
 with a dog carrying his empty tray before 
 him. How oddly would it sound to say this 
 prett}^ trifler makes as much use of her under- 
 standing as the laborious patriot, who spends 
 his time and himself in contrivinsr schemes 
 for the public good .^ Yet we cannot deny 
 her this honour if we speak of the faculty, for 
 both equally furnish that with constant em- 
 ployment. How shall we take these expres- 
 sions, A man of no understanding, or That 
 hc^s lost his understandino? for the veriest 
 
 ideot
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 25 
 
 ideot or madman, if he can see and hear and 
 remember and fancy, possesses the faculty of 
 discerning objects in such manner as his senses 
 convey them or his imagination represents 
 them. 
 
 14. So hkewise the term Will in common 
 acceptation stands for someting very different 
 from our active power, as appears evidently 
 by our frequently talking of doing things un- 
 willingly or against our Wills : for the mind 
 has one only active power whereby it brings 
 to pass whatever it performs, nor is it possible 
 to do any one thing without exerting that; 
 therefore it would be highly absurd to talk of 
 actingwithout or against our Will in this sense. 
 But by acting against our Will we mean 
 against the liking, against the grain, against 
 the inchnation, which being observed to set 
 us commonly at work, for we do most of 
 our actions because we like them, hence the 
 cause is mistaken for the effect, and the liking 
 gets the name of the power operating to attain 
 it : and if we find inclination drawing one 
 way and obligation or some cogent necessity 
 driving another, our compliance with the lat- 
 ter we call acting against our Will. 
 
 If we view this compliance separately in its 
 own light, this also appears to us an act of 
 our Will. Suppose a girl living with some re- 
 lation from whom she has large expectations, 
 
 invited
 
 2d acuities of the Mind. [CHAP. \. 
 
 invited to a ball which she would go to with 
 all her heart but the old ladv thinks it impro- 
 per ; therefore she stays at home and says she 
 does it sorely against her Will. Ask her whe- 
 ther any body could have hindered if she had 
 resolved positively upon going. No, says she, 
 but to be sure I would not go when I knew it 
 must have disobliged my aunt: I should have 
 been a gi'eat fool if I had. You see here by 
 saying I w^ ould not go, she looks upon the stay- 
 ing at home as an act of her AVill, and thus the 
 AVill appears to act against itself; which were 
 impossible if Will stood for the same thing in 
 both sentences. This leads us to another 
 sense of the word wherein it signifies a dictate 
 of prudence, a judgment or decision of the 
 understanding, whose office it is, not that of 
 the Will, to discern the expedience and pro- 
 priety of measures proposed for our conduct. 
 But because our judgment many times influ- 
 ences our actions, and perhaps we flatter our- 
 selves it does so always, therefore we denomi- 
 nate it our Will, by a like mistake of the 
 cause for the power working the effect. 
 
 Do not we frequently join will and pleasure 
 together as synonymous terms ? Now not to 
 insist that pleasure is no action but a feeling 
 of the mind, we use this expression upon occa- 
 sions wherein it cannot relate to our active 
 pov/er. It is his Majesty's will and pleasure 
 
 that
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 27 
 
 that the parhament should assemble : what 
 has this to do with the faculty of the King ? 
 the members must come by their own activity, 
 they derive no motion, nor power of motion 
 from the crown. Oh ! but the King must do 
 some act whereby to signify his pleasure, or 
 they will not know what to do in obedience 
 thereto. Who doubts it? But when we speak 
 of will and pleasure we do not understand the 
 act of declaring, nor any power exerted to 
 perform it, but the thing so declared ; and 
 what is that but the royal judgment that such 
 assembling will be for his service. 
 
 When we are called upon to curb, to re- 
 strain, to deny our Wills, what are we to 
 understand by these exhortations? or how 
 shall we go about to practice them ? Why by 
 resolving strongly not to let our Will have its 
 bent. But is it in our power to resolve ? Yes, 
 you may pluck up a resolution if you will 
 take pains. This Will then whereby we form 
 the resolution must be different from that we 
 controul : which carries an appearance of two 
 Wills, one counteracting the other. Hence 
 Man has been often represented as containing 
 two persons within him : the old man and 
 the new, the flesh and the spirit, reason and 
 passion, the intellectual and sensitive soul, 
 Plato's charioteer and pair of horses; each ha- 
 ving a Will of its own, perpetually thwarting, 
 
 contending,
 
 28 Faculties of the Mind. [chap, l 
 
 contendinsr, and strucjo'lino; with each other, 
 sometimes one getting the direction of our 
 actions and sometimes the other. Neverthe- 
 less when we reflect that these actions are all 
 of our own performance, we are at a nonplus 
 to determine which of these Wills is our own, 
 and which of these persons ourselves. 
 
 15. To sjet rid of the ambisiuitv clini^ing^ 
 to vulgar terms, the words Volition and \'el- 
 leity have been coined, and applied, one to 
 that Will which gets the mastery, and theother 
 to that controuled thereby. Thus the young 
 lady who excused herself from thx., invitation 
 had a velleity to go but a volition to stay away. 
 But velleity can scarce be called a power, for 
 a power which never operates is no power at 
 all: Velleity gives birth to none of our mo- 
 tions, it may strive and struggle a little, but 
 volition always carries tlie day. Our actions 
 constantly follow our volition, such as that is 
 such are they, and what action of those in our 
 power we shall perfonii depends solely there- 
 upon. Yet neither can we deem volition the 
 same as power, since the one may be where 
 the other is not: a man who sits still may have 
 the power to walk, but he has not the volition, 
 and that is the only reason why he does not 
 Avalk. Again, our powers, as Mr. Locke has 
 shewn, are indifferent to every action within 
 their compass: but a perfect indifterence is no 
 
 volition.
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 29 
 
 volition, it produces nothing bat a total in- 
 dolence, nor does volition come until the 
 mind exerts itself upon something. There- 
 fore volition is not so much a power as tlic 
 turn or direction of our power upon particular 
 occasions : just as the turn of the wind is not 
 a power, but only the direction the wind 
 takes at any time. Yet the clouds constantly 
 follow the turn of the wind, such as that is 
 such are their courses, and it depends solely 
 thereupon to determine whether they shall 
 travel to the east or to the west, to the north 
 or to the south : nevertheless, nobody can 
 think the turn of the wind is the force or 
 power by which the wind carries the clouds 
 alono". 
 
 16. Nor does there want room to believe 
 that the double sense of the word understand- 
 ing has given rise to many disputes. Whether 
 the Will always follows the last act of the 
 understanding or no. For observing that we 
 are generally prompted to action by something 
 we discern pleasant or expedient, and being 
 taught to look upon every discernment as au 
 exertion of the understanding faculty, we 
 conceive our motions governed by our under- 
 standing. Then again finding that gommon 
 usage, the standard of language, has appro- 
 priated understanding to knowledge, judg- 
 ment, reason, the result of thought or expe- 
 rience
 
 30 Faculties of the Mind. [cHAP. 1. 
 
 rience from which we too frequently and no- 
 toriously swerve in our conduct, we bewilder 
 ourselves in mazes without ever coming to an 
 issue. And when we canvass the point with 
 one another, which ever side of the question 
 we take, it will be easy for an anta2i:onist to 
 produce expressions from authors or persons 
 of undoubted credit proving the contrary. 
 Nor shall we be able to satisty our opponent 
 or ourselves, because we cannot settle what 
 is properly an act of the understanding, and 
 whether it be the same with an act of the 
 faculty. 
 
 Mr. Locke complains of the faculties being 
 spoken of and represented as so many distinct 
 agents : not that I suppose any body ever 
 seriously believed them such, but b}^ talking 
 frequently of the understanding, discerning, 
 judging, representing things to the mind or 
 determining the Will, and of the Will obeying 
 or disobeying the understanding, or directing 
 our active powers, we slide insensibly into an 
 imagination or temporary persuasion of their 
 being agents and proceed in our reasonings 
 upon that supposition, which must necessarily 
 many times mislead and confound us. But 
 neither he nor I can descry any other agent in 
 the mind besides the mind itself: nor can I 
 distinguish any more than two steps in the 
 action of the mind, the discerning what is to 
 
 be
 
 CHAP. 1.] Faculties of the Mind. 31 
 
 be done, and the doing it; or any more than 
 three substances concerned in the whole pro- 
 cess, the object, the mind, and the subject 
 whereon it operates. Thus when upon seeing 
 an orange tossed at your head, you instantly 
 hold up your hand to save your face: the 
 orange is the object, the mind is the discerner 
 and sole actor upon your hand, which is the 
 subject. Or more accurateh% the further end 
 of the optic nerve, or that other substance, if 
 any such there be, whereof the idea of the 
 orange is the modification, we call the object; 
 and that inner end of some nerve or other 
 nearer substance employed by the mind in 
 moving the arm, is the subject. 
 
 17. Perhaps I may be thought too nice in 
 the last part of this explanation, but there are 
 folks who push their refinements a bar's length 
 beyond me, and draw out the process of action 
 much farther than I can pretend to. For 
 besides our active power, they in their great 
 bounty give us an elective power too, without 
 which the former cannot wag a finger ; and 
 according to their way of discoursing, the mat- 
 ter seems to stand thus. Understanding and 
 passion, like two council, plead their causes 
 on opposite sides, while the Will, an arbitrary 
 monarch, sits umpire between them, and by 
 virtue of its prerogative or elective power 
 gives the preference to either as it pleases, 
 
 without
 
 32 Faculties of (he Mind. [chap. i. 
 
 without regard to the weight of their argu- 
 ments, or creates a new preference not sug- 
 gested by either: this being done the bill 
 goes to the understanding, which discerning 
 the preference so given, pronounces it Good, 
 and adds the sanction of its judgment 
 thereto: then it returns back to the volition 
 where it receives the roval assent, and is from 
 thence transmitted to the active powers as 
 officei's of government in order to be caiTied 
 into immediate execution. 
 
 Wherefore in hopes of escaping all these 
 perplexities, I shall crave leave to call the 
 faculties by other names, to wit, the active 
 power, or simply power, activity or energy 
 of the mind, and the passive power, percep- 
 tivity or discernment: for I think these can- 
 not be mistaken for agents having powers of 
 their own, nor for instruments distinct from 
 the mind, and employed by it in the per- 
 fonuance of its works^. Nevertheless, as one 
 is never more easily understood than when 
 usino- the lan^uao-e current in voo-ue, I shall 
 not totally discard the old terms Understand- 
 ing, Will, and Volition, nor scruple applying 
 them to the faculties as often as I can do it 
 safely, and when the occasion introducing 
 or context accompanying them shall ascer- 
 tain their meaning beyond all danger of 
 misapprehension. 
 
 CUAP.
 
 I 33 ] 
 
 ) 
 
 I 
 
 CHAP. Hi 
 
 ACTION. 
 
 I HAVE heard of a formal old gentlemau 
 who, finding his horse uneasy under the 
 saddle, alighted and called to his servant 
 in the following manner. Tom, take off the 
 saddle which is upon my bay horse and lay 
 it upon the ground, then take the saddle 
 from thy grey horse and put it upon my bay 
 horse ; lastly put the other saddle upon thy 
 grey horse. The fellow gaped all the while 
 at this long preachment and at last cried out, 
 Lack-a-day, Sir, could not you have said at 
 once> Change the saddles ? We see here 
 how many actions are comprised under those 
 three little words, Change the saddles, and 
 yet the master, for all his exactness, did not 
 particularize the tenth part of them ; hfting 
 up the flap of the saddle, pulling the strap, 
 raising the tongue, drawing out the buckle, 
 taking up the saddle, pulling it towards him, 
 stooping to lay it down, lifting up his 
 body again, and so forth. But had he staid 
 to enumerate all the steps his man must 
 take in executing his orders, they would not 
 have got home by dinner time. Therefore 
 expedience reconnnends compendious farms 
 
 VOL. I. D of
 
 34f Action. [chap. c. 
 
 of speech for common use, and puts us often 
 upon expressing a long course of action by a 
 single word, else we could make no dispatch 
 in our discourses with one another : for were 
 we to describe all the motions we make in 
 any busmess transacted, we must spend more 
 time in the narrative than we did in the per- 
 formance. 
 
 But our horseman, though by far too mi- 
 nute and circumstantial for the fine gentle- 
 man, was not enough so for the philosopher. 
 Whoever would penetrate into the nature of 
 things, must not take them in the lump, but 
 examine their several parts and operations 
 separately. The anatomist when he Vvould 
 teach you the structure of the human body 
 does not content himself with telling you it 
 has head, limbs, body, and bowels, for this 
 you knew before and was knowledge enough 
 for common occasions : he lays open the 
 muscles, injects the veins, traces the neiTes, 
 examines the glands, their strainers, vessels, 
 and tunicles. And the naturalist goes further, 
 he describes the little bladders whereof every 
 fibre consists, their communication with 
 one another, the nitro-aerious fluid pervading 
 them, distending their coats, therebj^ shorten- 
 ing the string and producing muscular 
 motion. 
 
 Thus
 
 CHAP. 2.] Action. 33 
 
 Thus to become intimately acquainted with 
 our mind we must, as I may say, dissect it, 
 that is, analyze action into its first constituent 
 parts. The action of the Drama or Epopee, 
 the critics say must be one and entire, or the 
 performance will prove defective. To that 
 of a play they allow the compass of a natural 
 day ; that of the Iliad takes in, I think, twenty 
 nine days, and that of the ^Eneid six years. 
 We may look upon actions of this enormous 
 bulk till we are tired without learning any 
 thino; from thence concerning^ tlie structure of 
 the mind : let us therefore consider Avhat is 
 truly and properly a single action, and try 
 how far that will help us in our researches. 
 
 2. A sinole action I take to be so much 
 as we can perform at once, for the present mo- 
 ment only lies in our power nor does our 
 activity reach any farther. What our future 
 actions shall be, depends upon our future vo- 
 litions ; we may determine and resolve long 
 before hand, but it is well known our resolu- 
 tions frequently change, and when the time 
 of execution comes, we shall do what is then 
 in our minds, not what we had there before, 
 if the two happen to differ. 
 
 I will not pretend to calculate how many 
 
 actions we may perform in any given space 
 
 of time, as some have computed how many 
 
 particles of air would lie in an inch ; but cer- 
 
 D o tainly
 
 S6 Action. [chap 2- 
 
 tainly the motions of our mind are extremely 
 quick. AVhen upon finding yourself thirsty 
 in a sultry day you snatch up a cup of liquor, 
 if after you have gotten it half way up, you 
 espy a wasp floating on the surface, you thrust 
 it instantly from you ; which shows that one 
 volition is not sufficient to lift your hand to 
 your mouth, for you see the mind may take 
 a contrary turn in that little interval. How 
 nimble are the motions of the fencer and the 
 tennis player ! the hand perpetually follows 
 the eye and moves as fast as the objects can 
 strike upon that ; but between every impulse 
 of the object and every motion of the hand, 
 an entire perception and volition must inter- 
 vene. How readily do our words occur to 
 us in discourse, and as readily find utterance 
 at the tongue the moment they present them- 
 selves ! The tongue does not move mechani- 
 cally like a clock which once wound up will 
 go for a month, but receives every motion and 
 forms every modulation of voice by particu- 
 lar direction from the mind. Objects and 
 ideas rise continually in view, they pass 
 without ceasing before us, vary, appear and 
 vanish; for what is so quick as thought? Yet 
 volition keeps pace Avith perception and 
 sometimes perhaps out-strips it : for in speak- 
 ing the word Mind the whole idea seems to 
 present in one perception, but there must be 
 
 four
 
 CHAP. 2.] Action, 37 
 
 four several volitions to guide the tongue suc- 
 cessively in pronouncing the four different 
 letters. Not that volition runs more ground 
 than perception but follows close with une- 
 qual steps, like young lulus after his father: 
 for Avhen you read you see the whole word 
 together, and consequently the D before you 
 pronounce the M. 
 
 3. In very nice works we lie under a neces- 
 sity of spinning very fine, but though we are 
 obliged sometimes to split the hair we need 
 not quarter .it. Therefore I shall call one 
 action so much as passes between each per- 
 ception and the next, although this action 
 produce several cotemporary motions. And 
 any body may see with half an eye that our 
 larger actions, such as we speak of in com- 
 mon conversation, consist of those under 
 actions : for as days, months, years, and all 
 measurable portions of time are made up of 
 moments, so all our performances and trans- 
 actions are made up of momentary acts. A 
 walk consists of steps, a game at chess of 
 moves, a description of particulars, a narration 
 of circumstances, and discourse in general, 
 whether serious or trifling, laboured or careless, 
 of words and syllables, each whereof must have 
 its distinct volition to give it effect. 
 
 Nor does there need much penetration to 
 observe how sociably the two faculties lead 
 
 one
 
 38 Action. [chap.. 2. 
 
 one another as I may say hand in hand, not 
 only in entering upon our works but through 
 all the steps necessary to compleat them. If 
 you would walk to any place, it is not enough 
 to use your understanding before you set out 
 in choosing the nearest or most commodious 
 way, but you must use your eyes all along to 
 conduct your steps : for should you shut them 
 a moment, you might chance to run against a 
 post or tread beside the path. If 3^ou are to 
 discouse on any subject, when you have 
 chosen your matter and settled ypur form, the 
 business is not all done; you must consult 
 your judgment from time to time during the 
 delivery for proper expressions and proper 
 tones of voice. Even your perpetual gabblers, 
 who let their tongues run before their wits, 
 cannot proceed with one faculty alone, for 
 though they talk without thinking, they do 
 not talk without perceiving : their ideas draAV 
 through their imagmation in a string, though 
 it proves indeed only a rope of sand with- 
 out pertinence and without coherence. 
 
 4. But these single acts, though confined to 
 a moment of time, may contain several co- 
 existent parts. For we make many motions 
 together by one and the same exertion of 
 our activity ; we may reach out our hands, step 
 with our feet, look with our ej-es, speak and 
 think at once. And the like may be said of 
 
 per-
 
 CHAP, 2.] Action. 39 
 
 perception, for wc can see, hear, feel, dis- 
 cern, remember, all at the same instant. I 
 know not whether I may have occasion here- 
 after to consider the parts of action, but for 
 the present I stick to my definition before laid 
 down, terming the whole scene of ideas pre- 
 sented together to our view one perception, 
 and the whole exertion of our activity, upon 
 how many subjects soever operating, one vo- 
 lition, which though without duration may 
 have a large scope: just as your mathematical 
 surfaces which, though void of thickness, may 
 extend to a very spacious circumference. 
 
 The not observing the shortness of action, 
 has given occasion I believe to the notion 
 mentioned at the end of the last chapter con- 
 cerning distinct agents and various powers in 
 the mind : for by help of this clue we may 
 unravel the mystery, and discover that what 
 was esteemed the act of several agents, was in- 
 deed successive acts of the mind exerting her 
 two faculties at different times. When several 
 ideas present themselves together, the mind 
 cannot always judge immediately between 
 them, for their colours change for awhile, fad- 
 ing and glowing alternately, or the scales of 
 j udgment and inclination rise and fall by turns ; 
 the mind being sensible of this, sees nothing 
 better than to hold them in her attention un- 
 til the colours settle or the balance fixes ; as 
 
 soon
 
 40 Actio7i. [chap. 2. 
 
 soon as that happens she perceives which of 
 them is the stronger, and this some people 
 fancy done by an elective power, wherewith 
 the Will gives a preference of its own, because 
 the preference follows in consequence of a vo- 
 luntary attention. Or perhaps a new colour j 
 sparkles out unperceived before, or a new 
 weight falls into the scale : and this they call 
 creating a preference. When the preference 
 becomes visible, the mind instantly discerns 
 it, and pronounces the object good whereon 
 it alights ; and having now no further use for 
 contemplation, she looks out for proper mea^ 
 sures of execution, which as soon as they 
 occur she puts immediately in practice. 
 
 5. Nor will it be useless to take notice that 
 in common speech we confine action to out- 
 ward motions and exercises of our bodily 
 powers : as when we distinguish between an 
 active and a sedantary life, between seasons 
 of action and seasons of deliberation : which 
 expressions look as if we thought ourselves 
 totally inactive in the latter, and so indeed 
 we naturally may at first-sight because we can 
 show no effects of our activity. But every 
 volition produces some effect although not 
 always discernible ; and every production of 
 our own, be it of a fleeting thought or a per- 
 manent work, springs from some volition. If 
 a man retires from business into his closet, we 
 
 cannot
 
 CHAP. 2.] Action. 41 
 
 cannot necessarily conclude he does nothing 
 there ; for whatever indolent posture he may 
 throw his body into, his mind may find con- 
 stant employment all the while. Now the 
 mind has only one active power to serve her 
 upon all occasions: therefore acting and 
 thinking are the same with respect to the 
 power enabling us to go through them ; they 
 differ only in the subjects operated upon. 
 When the mind withdraws from the world, 
 she may roam about her own habitation ; 
 when she ceases to act upon the limbs, she 
 may nevertheless act upon herself, that is, 
 raise ideas to pass in review before her. 
 
 6. There is another division of action I find 
 made by Mr. Locke into action properly so 
 called, and forbearance, which latter he scorns 
 to think requires the interposition of the Will 
 as much as the former : thus if a man asks his 
 fi'iend to take a walk, it is equally an exertion 
 of his Will w^hether he refuses or accepts the 
 offer. But I cannot readily understand how a 
 mere forbearance to act is any exercise of our 
 active power at all : it seems to me rather a 
 discernment of the other faculty that we do 
 not like the thing proposed, which discern- 
 ment or dislike we have seen before is fre-. 
 quently taken for our Will. What we call 
 a forbearance I apprehend to be generally a 
 phoice of some otlier action. We will not 
 
 walk
 
 43 Action. [chap. 2. 
 
 walk because we had rather ride, or talk, or 
 think, or do something else : we forbear to act 
 because we would consider first what is proper 
 to be done; or we forbear to dehberate any 
 longer because the time of action is at hand. 
 When we make several motions togetlier we 
 may forbear one and continue the rest, for 
 while alking and discoursing with a compa- 
 nion we may point at some distant object, 
 which after he has seen we may let our hand 
 fall to our side : but this I do not look upon 
 as any volition of ours, it is rather a ceasing 
 of volition with respect to the arm, which falls 
 down by its own gravity not by our power, and 
 would do the same were we at that instant 
 utterly to lose our active faculty. Neverthe- 
 less it must be owned that forbearance is 
 sometimes the sole point we set our minds 
 upon and take pains to effect. When Rich 
 sits as an equestrian statue in one of his panto- 
 mimes, we take him for the very marble he 
 represents, for he moves neither head nor 
 body nor limbs, he wags neither eye nor finger, 
 but continues wholly inactive ; what he 
 thinks of all the while, whether of the au- 
 dience or profits of the house neither you nor 
 I can tell, but if any such thoughts rove in 
 his fancy their rovings are accidental, his 
 mind beiup- intent on nothing else but for- 
 bearance from all manner of motion. We 
 
 cannot
 
 'CHAP.2.J Action. 43 
 
 cannot deny this attention to be an effort of 
 the mind, bat then it is not a forbearance, it 
 is an actual watching of the ideas as they rise, 
 and excluding such as would prompt him to 
 motion. Perhaps his face itches, or the stir- 
 rup presses against his ancle, and lie wants 
 to relieve himself, but checks those desires as 
 fast as they start up, and if by this care he can 
 avoid every volition to move, his purpose is 
 answered Avithout any thing further to be done. 
 For our limbs do not move of themselves, nor 
 unless we will to move them : therefore that 
 they remain motionless is not owing to voli- 
 tion, but to the absence of volition. 
 
 Should we think the limbs do not move be- 
 cause we will Not to move them, this would 
 be sliding back into the vulgar sense of the 
 w^ord Will, wherein it stands for inclination 
 or judgment: for a Will not to move is an 
 act of the other faculty, being no more than 
 a dislike to motion, or a discernment of its 
 impropriety, which produces no volition nor 
 exertion of our activity at all upon the object 
 so discerned. 
 
 7. Some immoveable postures we keep 
 ourselves in by a conthmal effort of the mind. 
 If our statue holds up a truncheon in the right 
 hand, he must keep his arm in that position 
 by his own strength : but this cannot, in any 
 light, be deemed a forbearance, for if he for- 
 bears
 
 4* Action. [chap. 2. " 
 
 bears to exert himself but for a moment, the 
 arm will fall downwards by its own weight. 
 
 If there is any such thing as a total forbear- 
 ance of action, I conceive it must be in reverie 
 after a fatigue, or when Ave lie down in order 
 to sleep. Ideas run to and fro in our fancy 
 uncalled, without attention, without prefer- 
 ance or rejection of any thing occurring, and 
 the mind seems to remain entirely passive. 
 But since whatever passes does not proceed 
 from volition, where shall we find marks of 
 any volition at all ? "Were we to suppose the 
 mind utterly divested of her active power just 
 at her entrance upon the scene, I do not see 
 how any thing could fall out otherwise than 
 it does. 
 
 8. But we very rarely find a necessity of 
 considerino; action so minutely as to distino;uish 
 the restraining; those workinos of imaoination, 
 which would excite us inadvertently to mo- 
 tions we choose to avoid, from the forbearance 
 consequent thereupon ; and since forbearance 
 often recpiires a stronger effort of the mind 
 than action itself, for it will cost us more 
 pains to forbear cutting faces, swearing, or 
 any other foolish habit we have got than to 
 practise them, therefore I shall not scruple to 
 ascribe forbearance to volition, for so it may 
 be remotely though not directly ; and after the 
 example of Mr. Locke, to include that toge- 
 ther
 
 CHAP. 2.] Action. 45 
 
 ther with any actual exercise of our powers 
 under the general name of action. 
 
 9. One remark more shall conclude the 
 chapter. In speaking of action, besides the 
 several co-existent motions and several succes- 
 sive volitions before-mentioned, we ordinarily 
 comprehend several operations of other agents 
 acting in a series towards compleating the pur- 
 pose we had in view, provided we conceive 
 them necessarily consequent upon our volition. 
 Thus when Roger shot the hawk hovering 
 over his master's dovehouse, he only pulled 
 the trigger, the action of the spring drove 
 down the flint, the action of the flint struck 
 fire into the pan, the action of the fire set the 
 powder in. a blaze, tliat of the powder forced 
 out the shot, that of the shot wounded the 
 bird, and that of gravity brought her to the 
 ground. But all this we ascribe to Roger, for 
 we say he brought down the felon ; and if we 
 think the shot a nice one, applaud him for 
 having done a clever feat. So likewise we 
 claim the actions of other persons for our own, 
 whenever we expect tlicy will certainly 
 follow as we shall direct. When Svquire 
 Peremptory distrained his tenant for rent, 
 peihaps he did no more than write his orders 
 in a letter, this his servant carried to the post, 
 the postman conveyed it into the country, 
 where it was delivered to the steward, who 
 
 sent
 
 46 Action, [chap. ^. 
 
 sent his ckrk to make the distress. Yet we 
 ascribe the whole to the Squire's own doing, 
 for we say he distrained his tenant, and call 
 it a prudent or a cruel act, according as we 
 think of the circumstances of the case. 
 
 Hence the law maxim, he that does a 
 thing by another, does it himself; which 
 though valid in Westminster-hall will not hold 
 good in the schools of metaphysics, for there 
 w^e shall find nothing an act of the mind that 
 is not the immediate product of her volition. 
 But for the uses of prudence and morality we 
 must recur back ao;ain to the common Ian- 
 guage, because we cannot judge of the merits 
 of mens doings without taking the conse- 
 quences into our idea of the action. Pulling 
 a trigger, or drawing characters upqn paper, 
 are neither good nor bad, right nor wrong, 
 considered in tliemselves : but as the trigger 
 so pulled shall occasion the slaughter of a man, 
 or of some vermin, or only a bounce in the 
 air; as the characters so drawn shall tend to 
 the necessary security of our property, or to 
 bring a hardship upon our neighbour, or shall 
 carry no meaning at all, we pronounce the 
 action prudent or idle, moral or wicked. 
 
 CHAP,
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 CAUSES OF ACTION. 
 
 Jl HiLOSOPHERS of old have observed seve- 
 ral causes necessary to concur in producing 
 an effect ; and have distributed them into 
 several classes, which they have distmguislied 
 by epithets of their own invention. Who- 
 ever will look into Seneca, may find the 
 causes of Plato, of Aristotle and some others, 
 amountino; 1 think to eidit or ten classes a- 
 piece. But since those sages have given us 
 different lists, I presume the matter of distri- 
 bution to be arbitrary, being left to every 
 one's discretion to rank his causes under such 
 classes as he shall judge most convenient to 
 himself in marshalling his thoughts. 
 
 I shall not set myself to study for a com- 
 pleat list of the causes contributing to human 
 action, but shall name only such as occur at 
 present; which are the material, the formal, 
 the ideal, the final, the instrumental and 
 the efficient. Thus when you sit dov/n to an 
 entertainment, the victuals are the material 
 cause of your eating, for you could not eat if 
 there were none ; their v/holesomness and pa- 
 latableness the formal, for if they were raw 
 or corrupted or in any unsuitable form 3'ou 
 
 would
 
 48 Causes of Action. [chap. 3* 
 
 Avoukl not eat them ; your sight of them and 
 knowledge of their qiiaUties the ideal, for 
 without them 3^ou would not know how to 
 proceed in eating, the gratification of your 
 appetite the final, for if you had not this end 
 in view you would scarce think it worth while 
 to eat ; your knife and fork the instrumental, 
 for without them you could not cut your 
 meat : and the mind or body the efficient, for 
 by them you perform the action of eating. I 
 sav mind or body disjunctively, with reference 
 to the different lights in which you may re- 
 gard them : for if you consider the eating as 
 an act of the mind, then is the mind the sole 
 eflRcient, and the hands and mouth only in- 
 strumental causes ; but if as an act of the 
 man, then the whole compound, mind and 
 bodv together is the etficient cause. 
 
 I do not intend a dissertation upon all these 
 causes severally in their order : some I may 
 dwell more largely upon, others perhaps I may 
 scarce ever mention again, nor do I give the 
 above as a compleat list to which no new 
 articles could be added. For my aim is not 
 mere curiosity or theory, how much soever I 
 may seem to deal that wa}^ ; I have something 
 useful in my eye, though it lies at a distance, 
 and I must travel many a weary step before 
 I can arrive at it. 
 
 But
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action, 4P 
 
 But as I would not run on of my own head 
 without regard to the sentmients of any body 
 else, I must observe that there are persons who 
 deny the mind to be any efficient cause at all, 
 and they being men of learning, probity, and 
 reputation, it would not be civil to pass by 
 them without exchanging a word or two. 
 
 2. Dr. Hartley gives us a very different ac- 
 count of sensation and muscular motion from 
 all we ever learned before from our masters 
 and tutors. We used to hear that the mus- 
 cles and oro:ans were so many bundles of 
 nerves and fibres, Avhich were little hollow 
 pipes containing a very fine liquor called ani- 
 mal spirits; that these spirits were the caniers 
 serving us in our traffic upon all occasions, 
 perpetually hurrying to and fro, some carry- 
 ing sensation from external objects to the 
 mind, and others bringing back motion from 
 thence to the limbs. But he tells us the 
 nerves are solid capilaments, having neither 
 hoUowness nor liquor within them, but sur- 
 rounded on all sides with ether, which is a 
 subtile fluid extremely moveable and elastic, 
 intimately pervading all bodies whatever, even 
 the most compact and solid. That the nerves 
 lie constantly upon the stretch like the strings 
 of a harpsichord, and like them, quiver and 
 vibrate upon the slightest touch received at 
 either end, which vibrating causes similar vi- 
 brations in the circum-ambient ether. That 
 VOL. I. E those
 
 50 Causes of Action. [chap. 5v 
 
 those vibrations of ether, which he calls sen- 
 sory vibratiuncles, excite perceptions in the 
 mind, and at the same time agitate the ether 
 standing round the muscular fibres, which agi- 
 tation, termed by him motory vibratiuncles, 
 causes those fibres to vibrate and propagate 
 their motion along one another quite to the 
 fingers ends. That tlie sensory vibratiuncles, 
 like waves raised in a pond upon throwing in 
 a stone, extend to distant parts out of view, 
 and being reverberated by the banks, recoil 
 again at other times, or mixing together form 
 new vibratiuncles, thereby furnishing us wuth 
 ideas of reflection. 
 
 Thus the mind remains totally inactive, 
 reduced to one faculty alone, for the Will, 
 which he terms expressly a certain state of 
 the vibratiuncles, belongs to the ether, not to 
 her: she sits a spectator onl}^ and not an agent 
 of all we perform, she may indeed discern 
 what is doing, but has no share in what is 
 done : like the fly upon the chariot w'heel, she 
 fancies herself raising a cloud of dust, but 
 contributes nothino' towards increasing; it: she 
 may lay mighty schemes, and rejoice in the 
 execution, but in reality does nothing herself; 
 she can neither move the limbs nor call ideas 
 to her reflection, the whole being brought to 
 pass by the action of vibratiuncles upon one 
 another. The mind in this case resembles a 
 man who thrusts his hand among the works 
 
 of
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action. 51 
 
 of a clock, lie may feel the movements, and^ 
 by long practice, may acquire a skillin distin- 
 guishing the hours, and knowing when the 
 clock will strike ; if he perceives the hour of 
 dinner approach, this may set his mouth a 
 watering, and raise an appetite of hunger, 
 which he thinks influences his AVill to strike, 
 and thereby give notice to the cook that it is 
 time to take up dinner. 
 
 3. On the other hand, the late bishop of 
 Cloyne goes into a contrary extreme, for he 
 allows us neither ether, nor nerves, nor organs, 
 nor limbs, nor external substances, nor space, 
 nor distance. He does not deny we have 
 perceptions of all these matters, but saj's, we 
 have no communion with the things them- 
 selves, nor can penetrate into them, and there- 
 fore can know nothing of their existence, our 
 knowledge consisting wholly of perceptions 
 existent only in the mind : and since we 
 find some perceptions totally dissimilar from 
 any thing in the objects exciting them, as 
 colour, sound, pain, and pleasure, how can 
 we assure ourselves the rest are not so like- 
 wise, such as magnitude, solidity, figure, 
 situation and motion ? Therefore for au2:ht 
 we can tell, our perceptions may arise from 
 other guised objects than those whereto we 
 attribute them, or perhaps may all flow con- 
 tinually from one and the same source : and 
 because they possibly may, he concludes, by 
 
 :e 2 an
 
 52 Causes of Actio?}. [chap. s. 
 
 an inference common among persons of lively 
 imagination, that they certainly do. Thus 
 the life of man turns out a mere vision and 
 delusion. We dream of taking long journies, 
 traversing countries, encompassing the globe, 
 but really never stir a foot from home : we 
 please ourselves with the thought of conversing 
 among an infinite variety of objects, whereas 
 in good truth we sit in perpetual solitude, 
 havino' nothins; but ourselves to converse with. 
 For Hampsted hill you stand upon, HaiTow, 
 London, Blackheath, Banstead Down, you 
 see from thence, are not those enormous piles 
 and masses lying miles asunder from each 
 other, as 3'ou suppose, but only perceptions 
 huddled together into a mathematical pointin 
 your mmd ; nor with your utmost stretch can 
 you carry your eye an inch beyond yourself. 
 
 But here occurs an objection from the re- 
 gularity of perceptions arising upon the appli- 
 cation of proper objects to excite them, which 
 seldom frustrate our expectation. When my 
 fingers are cold, upon holding them to the 
 fire I shall find them grow warm : if then I 
 have neither fingers nor fire, how comes it 
 that I feel a real w^annth from an imaginary 
 fire ? If I have neither mouth nor meat, how 
 comes it that I taste the savour of visionary 
 roast beef .^ Oh ! says the right reverend, our 
 perceptions nre thrown upon us by an invisi- 
 ble
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action, 55 
 
 ble intelligent agent, who supplies them in 
 such regular order that they may seem to 
 come in a chain of cavises and effects. If you 
 have a perception of cold in your fingers, and 
 of a fire in the room, this is followed by a 
 perception of approaching them to the 
 fire, which again is followed by a per- 
 ception of warmth. And this succession of 
 perceptions often extends to different per- 
 sons, in order to keep up our intercourse with 
 one another. If you chance to perceive your- 
 self thirty, there succeeds a perception of 
 ringing the bell, this is succeeded by a per- 
 ception in your servant of hearing his master 
 rmg and running up stairs to receive his or- 
 ders, next in succession comes your fancy of 
 seeing him stand in the room, upon which, 
 though you have neither tongue nor voice, 
 you fancy yourself bidding him bring you 
 some beer, then he instantly fancies he runs 
 down and fetches up the mug, and lastly, 
 your fancy of quenching your thirst closes 
 the whole imaginary scene. 
 
 4. Thus these two gentlemen represent the 
 mind as an idle insignificant thing, never ac- 
 ting at all, but always gaping and staring at 
 what passes. Both equally divest her of all 
 employment whatsoever, though in different 
 ways: one by finding other hands to compleat 
 all her business for her, and so leaving her no 
 work to do: and the other by sweeping away 
 
 her
 
 54f Causes of Action. [chap. 3. 
 
 her \vhole stock of materials, and so leaving 
 her nothing to work upon. 
 
 But though thej seem to stand directly in 
 my way, I have so little spirit of opposition 
 that I shall not endeavour to push them down 
 if I can ^ny how slip by them, Wherefore 
 to avoid dispute I shall pvit myself upon the 
 countrv, leaving; the matter in issue to a fair 
 trial by my neighbours, upon a full and fair 
 examination of such evidence as their own 
 experience shall offer, ^nd as I find the 
 opinions above cited have not made many 
 converts among mankind, I need not be in 
 much pain for the verdict. 
 
 In the mean while I shall venture to proceed 
 upon these Postulata: That the bodies we 
 daily see and handle, actually exist in as great 
 variety of magnitudes, forms, and situations, 
 as we commonly suppose, and our operations 
 upon them are of our own performance : that 
 AVestminster-hall is bigger than a nutshell, 
 and the Moon somewhat higher than the 
 weather-cock : that the cloaths I wear are not 
 the same tiling with the glass window I look 
 at ; that I hold a real pen, and have a real pa^ 
 per before me, thatniy hand would not write 
 unless I moved it, that the thoughts I write 
 down are the products of my own labour and 
 is>tudy, and that the ideas floating in my br^iu 
 would produce neither meditation nor outward 
 
 action,
 
 aiAP. 3.J Causes of Action. 55 
 
 action, if I forbore to exert myself. All who 
 are willing to grant me thus much, may listen 
 as long as they find me to their liking ; the 
 rest may turn their heads aside as from one 
 who builds without a foundation. 
 
 5. Yet upon second thoughts I wish these 
 latter would cast a glance or two more upon 
 me, as they might possibly find something 
 turning to their account. For who knows 
 what effect the characters I draw upon paper 
 may produce upon the ether within them ? 
 The rays of light reflected from thence, strik- 
 ing upon their eyes, may possibly excite sen- 
 sory vibratiuncles affecting their minds with 
 some little degree of pleasure ; or rolling 
 round their better shaped understanding, may 
 recoil again in more improved forms, exhi- 
 biting useful measures of conduct, and at the 
 same time raising motory vibratiuncles proper 
 for carr3dng the same into practice. Or on the 
 other system, who knows what a train of ima- 
 ginations my perception of scribbling may 
 drag after it ? When we reflect how ready the 
 mechanical members of our literary common- 
 Avealth are to entertain ideas of presenting 
 every thing they can get to the public, it will 
 not appear unlikely that some printer may 
 fancy himself printing off the fancies I seem to 
 write down, and then some bookseller may 
 fancy himself spreading op^n a book in his 
 
 shop
 
 56 Causes of Action. [chap. s. 
 
 shop window ; the next in succession raay be 
 some idle passenger, who having httle else to 
 do, ma>^ fancy himself perusing the pages; this 
 perchance may introduce a perception of 
 something amusing, or by great good luck of 
 some useful observation, which may possibl}^ 
 draw after it a perception of benefit received 
 in the practice. 
 
 If I can light upon any little hint which 
 may do real service to somebody or other, I 
 care not through what channels it is conveyed : 
 whether by tlic ordinary methods of persua- 
 sion, illustration and argumentation, as com- 
 monly apprehended, or by agitating the sen- 
 sorial and motorial ether, or by beginning a 
 succession of perceptions. I trouble not my 
 head for the means, so they prove effectual 
 to the purpose intended. 
 
 Having thus slid through the crowd without 
 jostling an}' bod}^ which pleases me better 
 than if I had overthrown half a dozen oppo- 
 nents; and gotten behind them into my for- 
 mer track, Avith an open road before me, I 
 shall even jog on soberly and quietly inquest 
 of whatever I can find deserving notice. 
 
 6. But notwithstanding that we have as- 
 sumed the mind an efficient cause, we must ac- 
 knowledge she has not strength enough to do 
 our business alone without some foreign help. 
 Not that I pretend to hmit the mind's inter- 
 nal
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action. 57 
 
 nal efficacy, or to determine exactly how 
 gxeat or how small it may be : for aught I 
 know she may have force sufficient to remove 
 mountains, could she apply her force imme- 
 diately to the whole width of their bases; but 
 this is not her case with respect to the limbs 
 employed in our service. The old notion of 
 the mind's existing like the estate of a copar- 
 cener in law jargon per my and per tout, or 
 being all in every part throughout the whole 
 human frame, has been long since exploded : 
 we now rest convinced that the mind does not 
 act herself upon the limbs but draws them 
 to and fro by tendons, muscles, nerves, and 
 fibres; which latter our anatomists have traced 
 to the brain, where they find them grow smal- 
 ler and smaller till at last they quite lose them 
 through their extreme minuteness : and though 
 we cannot thoroughly agree where she resides, 
 yet wherever her place of residence be, she 
 keeps constantly there in kingly state, never 
 mak ing wanton excursions to the toes or fingers, 
 but exercising her executive power upon them 
 by the ministry of those imperceptible fibres. 
 Now there needs not much ar2:ument to 
 show that if you are to act upon bodies at a 
 distance by some string or other medium, you 
 cannot exert more strength upon them than 
 your medium will bear: consequently the 
 mind, be she as mighty as a giant, can impart 
 
 no
 
 58 Causes of Action. [chap. 5. 
 
 no more of her might to the limbs than her 
 fibres arc capable of conveying : Avhat could 
 Goliah or Sampson do if you allowed them 
 only a single cobweb to work Avith ? They 
 would not have power to stir a silver thimble ; 
 for if they ^vent to push, the string would 
 bend, if to pull, it would break. Yet when 
 one tossed his weavers beam and the other 
 carried the gates of Gaza, they performed 
 their prodigious feats by tender filaments 
 slighter than a cobweb, undiscernible with a 
 microscope. 
 
 7. To solve this difficulty we are put in 
 mind that the human body is a most admi- 
 rably contrived machine, and by machinery 
 a small power may be made to perform the 
 Avorks of a greater : and we are shown 
 strings of bladders representing the nerves, 
 which upon blowing into them will shorten 
 considerably and draw after them whatever 
 hangs to the end of the string. But let us 
 consider what all 3'our writers upon the me- 
 chanical powers agree in, that no machinery 
 whatever can lessen the momentum necessary 
 for performing any work required, which 
 momentiun is compounded of the strength of 
 tlie power and the velocity wherewith it 
 moves : therefore, if you would lessen the 
 power you must encrease the velocit3Mn pro- 
 portion, to make the product of both when 
 
 multiplied
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action. 59 
 
 jnultiplied together, equal. Thus a man by 
 help of a lever may raise double the weight 
 he could lift bv his own strenoth, but then 
 that end of the lever he holds must move 
 double the space the weight passes through in 
 rising. I have seen a curious engine com- 
 pounded of wheels, screws, and pulleys, where- 
 by a lady, with a single hair of her head, 
 mi2;ht raise a stone of two hundred weight : 
 the hah' was fastened to a wheel somethin<r 
 like the flyer of a jack, and in raising the 
 weight an inch, the wheel turned round as 
 many inches as there Avould have required 
 hairs to lift up the stone directly without any 
 enoine at all. 
 
 Let us now reflect on the greatness of our 
 works, tor great I may call them compared 
 to those Tinder threads we have to work 
 with, as likewise how suddenly we often 
 perform them, and we shall scarce find time 
 to make up for the deficiency of our strength 
 by an encrease of our velocity. I remem- 
 ber when I attended a course of experi- 
 ments at the university, we were told a man's 
 greatest strength lay in the muscles of his 
 hams, and in order to try their force, an iron 
 ring was screwed into the floor having a 
 pretty strong cord tied to it ; this one of the 
 company wound round his waist, then stand- 
 ing just over the ring and raising up his bod}^ 
 
 broke
 
 60 Causes of Action. [chap. 3. 
 
 broke the cord asunder by main strength. 
 At the same time our professor told us that 
 if a machine were contrived to move by 
 weights, and act with the force exerted by all 
 the muscles of a man of ordinary size when 
 he jumps from the ground, it would require 
 a weight of I think thirty thousand pounds. 
 Now suppose a person sees a huge stone rolling 
 directly towards him, which he did not observe 
 till it was just ready to strike him, how -nim- 
 bly will he jump out of the way! But if the 
 mind performed this leap by an inflation of 
 bladders with her nitro-aerious breath, she 
 must either give so strong a puff as would 
 burst their flimsy coats into atoms like an ex- 
 plosion of gunpowder, or if she breathed in 
 such gentle manner as not to hurt them, she 
 would want time for the length of her puff • 
 for the current of her breath must run at least 
 the space of a mile to throw up the whole 
 body an inch, which cannot be conceived pos- 
 sible in so little an instant of time as between 
 the discernment of the danger and springing 
 up of the feet from the ground. 
 
 8. Wherefore it seems more than probable 
 the mind has always some good friend at hand 
 ready to assist her weakness, and the main of 
 that strength she exerts upon the limbs comes 
 from some other quarter than her own store- 
 house. Whether this help flows from the 
 
 ani-
 
 CHAP. 3.] Causes of Action. 6l 
 
 animal spirits, ether, or that unknown pressure 
 causing gravitation and cohesion, or what else 
 you please, it is no matter: but that there is 
 another force within us besides our own, ca- 
 pable of acting upon the muscles, we may be 
 convinced by convulsive motions, wherein the 
 mind has no concern, nor volition any share, 
 yet the}^ sometimes imitate, and generally ex- 
 ceed the vigour of our voluntary actions. 
 Perhaps there lies a mighty weight of some 
 subtile fluid thrown from our animal circula- 
 tion, and bearing constantly against the orifices 
 of our nerves, but prevented from entering by 
 certain little sliding valves kindly provided by 
 nature for our use : the mind then has nothing 
 more to do than draw aside the valves, and iu 
 rushes the torrent. The mind in this case 
 works like the miller of an overshot mill, he 
 has shoots lying over every one of his wheels, 
 stopped by flash-boards at their upper ends, 
 ao;ainst which the water lies bearino; alwavs 
 ready to drive the Avheels whenever it caa 
 find a passage : so the miller by drawing a 
 little board, which any child might pull up 
 with a finger, turns the stream upon this 
 wheel or that as he pleases, and twirls round a 
 massive stone which he could not stir with 
 both his arms. But as comparisons seldom 
 go on all four, the mill and the human ma- 
 chine differ in one respect; the miller, when 
 
 he
 
 62 Causes of Action, [chap, s. 
 
 he takes up bis flashes, lays them it may be on 
 the bank, goes whistling into his mill, and 
 thinks no more till his grist is ground, for the 
 Avater will work on for ever unless he shuts it 
 out again : but the valves used by the mind 
 fall back aoain of themselves when the mind 
 withdraws her activity. Therefore if you 
 would point with your hand at some object 
 for any time, you must continue to exert your- 
 self all the while : for the moment the mind 
 forbears her volition, the valves close, the 
 stream ceases to flow upon the brachial mus- 
 cles, and the arm no longer supported falls 
 to your side. Then again the likeness returns 
 upon disorders in each : for should an eel 
 wTiggle under any of the flash boards, this 
 might give the water a passage without any 
 act of the miller : or should some flood buoy 
 them quite out of their places, and pour down 
 a larger stream than usual,, th^ wheels might 
 turn with more violence than the miller could 
 throw upon them at other times. So some 
 foulness of our juices may work under the- 
 valves keepmg them open whether we will 
 or no; or the boiling of a fever may stretch 
 them beyond their natural width, and pro- 
 duce convulsions stron2:er than anv thinothe 
 mind can efffect by her volition. 
 
 Nevertheless, as we ascribe the grinding of 
 ourcorn to aa act of the miller, because he sets . 
 
 the
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 63 
 
 tlie mill at work when and in what manner 
 he pleases ; we may with equal justice ascribe 
 our actions to the performance of the mind, 
 because it depends entirely upon her of what 
 kind they shall be. If we consider them as 
 acts of the minft, they extend no further than 
 to drawing back the valves, whereof she re- 
 mains the sole efficient cause : if as acts of 
 the man, we may still deem her an efficient 
 cause, because the other powers co-operating 
 stand always ready in waiting for her direc- 
 tion, and whatev er happens afterwards follows 
 necessarily in the nerves, muscles or limbs, in 
 consequence of the motion by her first begun. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 IDEAL CAUSES, 
 
 Under the class of ideal causes I conr 
 prehend all those notices of our senses 
 and judgments of our understanding, which 
 direct us from time to time in every step 
 of our proceedings : which is giving a larger 
 compass than I believe Plato allowed them, 
 for he understood by an ideal cause only 
 that plan or design of any work laid in our 
 own thought before we go about it. Thus 
 when a painter draws a pictuie, whether 
 
 from
 
 64 Ideal Causes, [chap. 4. 
 
 from some original or by his own fancy, he 
 takes his idea either from the original stand- 
 ing be tore him or from some archetype of 
 his own invention. But besides this arche- 
 type, I conceive other ideal causes necessary 
 to finish the picture : our pafnter must have 
 an idea of his canvas, his pallet, his bmshes, 
 his colours, he must know where they lie, what 
 they will do, and how to handle them ; and 
 must receive fresh information continually 
 from his eves, his hands, and his reflec- 
 tion, or he will make but bungling work. 
 Nor is this archetype wanting except only for 
 works of desion and contrivance : whether 
 Plato required an ideal cause for all our com- 
 mon actions I know not, but this nobody 
 will deny me, that we cannot proceed in the 
 least of them without repeated directions 
 from our senses or reflection. We can neither 
 walk nor write nor cut our victuals without 
 using our eyes, or feeling, and applying some 
 Httle deo-ree of attention. AVhatever we o;o 
 about, we must have some notion of the thino; 
 we mean to do, and of the means or motions 
 proper to perform it. 
 
 2. Yet if we consider carefully how small a 
 part of our actions is properly our own, there 
 will appear something very mysterious and 
 unaccountable in them : for we shall find that 
 strictly speaking we have no idea of any one 
 
 thing
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 65 
 
 thing we do, nor of the manner how we do it. 
 I have shown in my last chapter that we do 
 not move our hmbs ourselves, and have sup- 
 posed certain valves which open to let in the 
 stream that moves them : I do not warrant 
 this for a right account of the matter, having 
 given it for want of a better, and until a bet- 
 ter shall be given I may find excuse for conti- 
 nuing to use this. In a former place, upon 
 the subject of voluntary reflection, I have 
 supposed certain channels, by stopping some 
 of which, we can turn the current of our 
 imagination into any course we like best : 
 perhaps nature may have furnished us with 
 valves too here to serve us for stoppers. 
 How little share then of our mightiest per- 
 formances can we justly claim to ourselves ? 
 Our own proper action, the action of our 
 mind, extends no further than to opening 
 the valves, nor perhaps so far neither ; for 
 she may have little imperceptible fibres to 
 pull them by. Yet she neither sees nor 
 feels either valve or fibre, nor has any 
 notion or perception of them : she knows not 
 how many they be, where they lie, nor to 
 what they fasten. 
 
 If the master of a large family had his 
 study hung round with bells, one reaching 
 to the dressing room, another to the nursery, 
 another to the kitchen, another to the stable, 
 
 VOL. I. r and
 
 66 Ideal Causes. [chap. 4. 
 
 and so to each of his offices : when he went 
 to use them, besides his knowledge of the 
 person he would call, he must know the 
 proper bell, in what quarter of the room it 
 hangs ; common sense must direct him that 
 he is to stretch out his hand to the handle 
 and pull downwards rather than lift up, and 
 his eye must guide the motion of his hand in 
 taking hold : for were the bells newly put 
 up, and he not instructed in their several uses, 
 or were he left quite in the dark, he might 
 pitch upon the w^rong as well as the right, 
 and fetch up the cook when he desired to see 
 my lady or wanted to speak w^ith the coach- 
 man. 
 
 In like fashion the closet of our mind is 
 hung round with multitudes of strings reach- 
 ing to the eyes, the mouth, the hands, the 
 feet, and every member of our body : we 
 know not their number, their situation, nor 
 the member to which they respectively be- 
 long ; we know not which lies on the right 
 side or the left, in the cieling or the floor, 
 before or behind ; nor the manner in which 
 we must proceed to work, whether by push- 
 ing or pulling, by lifting up or weighing 
 down, by screwing, turning, or driving as 
 with the stroke of a hammer. Yet have 
 we all our limbs perfectly at command, we 
 put them upon sendees, which they do not 
 
 fail
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 67 
 
 fail to execute according to our expectations^ 
 and all this without knowing what we do to 
 compass our intentions. We feel a desire of 
 helping ourselves to victuals, and strait our 
 arm stretches out towards the dish ; we want 
 to be on the other side the room, and in- 
 stantly our foot steps forward to convey us. 
 Whence then have we this surprising dex- 
 terity in a state of utter darkness ? How 
 do we escape perpetually making egregious 
 blunders ? How comes it that we never pull 
 the wrong string since wx cannot discern or 
 distinguish them from one another ? How 
 comes it that we never kick about with our 
 legs when we would handle with our arms, 
 that we do not toss up our nose instead of 
 turning our eyes, that we do not loll out our 
 tongue when we go to chew our meat ? To 
 such questions as these I can give no other 
 answer than by an exclamation. How Avon- 
 derful are the works of nature ! how admi- 
 rable her contrivance in all parts of this our 
 human machine ! exceeding the skill of man 
 to find out, the utmost stretch of our under- 
 standing to comprehend ! 
 
 3. But here, perhaps, Dr. Hartley, if he be 
 not gone out of hearing, may give me a Hip, 
 and call out, Prithee friend, do not think to 
 slip so easily by me ; I must stop you with a 
 remark or two upon your last observation. 
 
 F 2 You
 
 68 Ideal Causes. [ciiap. 4. 
 
 You say the mind draws her valves without 
 any discernment of what she does, therefore 
 their opening is not owing to discernment 
 since it may be effected without any : but 
 you require an ideal cause for every action 
 of the mind, therefore must not we conclude 
 that this motion of the valves is not an act of 
 the mind but of some corporeal agent whicli 
 can act by impulse without an}' idea at all ? 
 You admit that those discernments we have 
 are not of the action nor of the instrument 
 primarily emplo^^ed, but of some remote con- 
 sequence v.\)rked thereby. You have an idea 
 of speaking, but none of the measures you 
 must take to perform it : therefore you have 
 not an adequate ideal cause, because your 
 idea does not take in the valves opening to 
 the muscles of your mouth and tongue, 
 which valves you must nevertheless draw up 
 before you can bring out your words. May 
 not we then presume that discernment is not 
 the cause but concomitant of action, or co- 
 .effect of the same cause, given us for our en- 
 tertainment rather than use in directing our 
 conduct ; and we are led only to esteem it 
 the cause of our motions by seeing it con- 
 stantly proceed them.^ just as we say the 
 sw^allows bring us summer because they 
 come always before it ; not that they have 
 any hand in lengthening our days, ripening 
 
 our
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Cai/ses. 69 
 
 our corn, or producing other effects of sum- 
 mer. 
 
 You may remember I have told you of a 
 German of great repute among our brethren 
 of the faculty, who asserts that all our auto- 
 matic motions, that is, our motions purely 
 mechanical, such as the circulation of the 
 blood and other juices, were originally vohm- 
 tary : so that the child before birth works 
 out that whole plan of animal economy 
 which is to support and serve him during his 
 state of manhood, by his own industry du- 
 ring his state of gestation. If you will not 
 believe this outlandish man, believe your own 
 senses. Your breath comes and goes of its 
 own accord when you do not think of it, 
 when 3^ou do, it seems your own act : for 
 upon the lungs being full you perceive them 
 vmeasy, which puts you upon puffing out their 
 contents ; upon their becoming empty 3^ou 
 feel a want of fresh air, which urges you to 
 draw in a supply. In sound sleep, fainting, or 
 extacy, the lungs continue their pla}^ v/hich 
 you must allow they do mechanically at a 
 time when the mind remains wholly senseless 
 and inactive : while awake and well, your 
 lungs make their strokes at regular and equal 
 intervals if 3^ou let them alone, yet you may 
 lengthen, shorten, accelerate or retard their 
 motions as often as you please to interfere. 
 
 To
 
 70 Ideal Causes. [chap. 4. 
 
 To read the long periods of Demosthenes or 
 Cicero, you must stretch them far be3'ond 
 their natural length : to make your stops 
 rightly, to lay your accents or emphasis pro- 
 perly, you must break, encrease or abate of 
 their violence from time to time, as occasion 
 shall require. i\ll this the young shoolbo}' 
 must leara to do with laborious application 
 of mind ; but 3'ou, who have been long enured 
 to the work, I suppose perform it so easily 
 that, upon having attended closely to the 
 sense of your author for a while, you cannot 
 afterwards resolve with yourself whether it 
 were your own particular volition or some 
 mechanical power that accommodated the 
 length of your breath to the length of your 
 sentences, and the checks, the strength, and 
 softness of that, to your various modulations 
 of voice. 
 
 Since then we find our automatic and vo- 
 luntary actions so similar as that we cannot 
 well distinguish them asunder; since what 
 was once voluntary becomes afterwards auto- 
 matic and what we sometimes acknowledge 
 mechanical appears at others an effect of de- 
 sign : may not we fairly conclude them both 
 of the same kind, effected alike by the mu- 
 tual action of vibratiuncles, and that our 
 discernment is not a direction to us what we 
 shall do, but a foresiglit only of what will be 
 
 done ?
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 71 
 
 done? For what needs volition to produce an 
 event that may as well come to pass without 
 it ? The rco;ioa of our active ether extends 
 much wider than the prospect of the mind, so 
 that she sees a part only and not the whole of 
 what passes there : the tides, which he near 
 enough to excite perception in the foetus, may 
 remove further off upon the growth of the 
 body : and those, which ordinarily roll a little 
 beyond our ken, may be brought within dis- 
 tance by attention. In both cases the vibra- 
 tiuncles, whether near or remote, hold on their 
 course after the same manner : the only dif- 
 ference is this, in one case we discern them, 
 or as you call it, the ideas they exhibit, in 
 the other we do not. When we see what is 
 doing preparatory to action, we judge it vo- 
 luntary ; when we know nothing of the mat- 
 ter, we account it automatic 
 
 4. Now against this second attack I shall 
 make the same defence as I did upon the 
 former, namely, by an appeal to my neigh- 
 bours, desiring them to determine the matter 
 between us : and that they may have some 
 particular case tojudge upon, I shall offer them 
 a feigned issue in imitation of those directed 
 out of the court of chancery. Suppose the 
 mind of a man separated from his body with- 
 out any of those diseases, accidents, or dis- 
 orders in the latter, which ordinarily bring on 
 
 our
 
 72 Ideal Causes. [chap. 4. 
 
 our dissolution : let the limbs, the muscles, 
 the fibres, the juices, the ether, if any such 
 there be, remain in the same state as before : 
 how would this body behave after the separa- 
 tion ? I in my declaration must aver that though 
 the pulse might continue to beat, the animal 
 secretions be carried on and the lungs to play, 
 it would do nothing further: its palate in some 
 few hours might come into that state w^hich 
 affects us with hunger, but having no sensa- 
 tion, it would not call for dinner, walk down 
 stairs, sit at table, help itself to victuals, nor 
 converse with the company. The Doctor 
 in his plea, to be consistent with himself, must 
 insist that it would perform all this and every 
 thing else one might expect from a reasonable 
 creature : and thus the point is brought to an 
 issue. 
 
 Or if the court should think it beneath 
 their dignity to take cognizance of a fictitious 
 case which never actuall}^ happens, I shall 
 present them with one that ma}^ have fallen 
 under their own observation. Have they 
 never seen a careless nurse sitting by candle 
 light with a young baby in her arms, gabbling 
 among her gossips, without attention to her 
 charge ? The child stretches out its hand to 
 play with the candle, and upon touching the 
 flame instantly snatches it away, crying and 
 squalling as if its little heart would break. 
 
 Here
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 73 
 
 Here then was a volition, that is in the doc- 
 tor's language, a certain state of the sensory 
 vibratiuncles, proper to agitate such motory 
 as would have continued the motion of the 
 hand until the fingers had grasped the snuff. 
 What tlien breaks off this motion and turns 
 it to a contrar}^ ; is it solely the action of the 
 flame in putting the tide of vibratiuncles into 
 a new course ? or is it the smart felt by the 
 child, which influences it to exert its activity 
 in a different manner ? But the dicernment 
 of pain belongs confessedly to the mind alone: 
 how different notions soever we may have of 
 colour, magnitude, distance, all who have 
 seriously thought upon the matter unani- 
 mously agree to place the sensation of pain 
 in the mind itself, not in any objects, organs 
 or fluids, contributing to excite it, This then 
 is the question waiting for a determination ; 
 and if there should be hands holden up on 
 both sides, I shall demand a division. As 
 many as are of opinion that the soul-less body 
 above mentioned would neither eat nor drink 
 nor talk like other folks ; or that the child, 
 were it not for the sense of pain, would still 
 go on to play with the candle after its fingers 
 were burnt, come along with me : as many 
 as are of the contrary, turn back again after 
 the doctor. 
 
 For I think we may go each his several 
 
 way
 
 74» Ideal Causes. [chap. 4. 
 
 way without being solicitous for the success 
 of our cause, as we need not alter our mea- 
 sures according to the verdict. He well 
 knows how strong tlie tide of vibratiuncles 
 runs which sets the fingers a scribbling, and 
 that it would be labour lost to endeavour at 
 stopping them; and indeed why should he 
 desire to do so unless he sees them running 
 into dangerous currents ? Nor can I find rea- 
 son for pursuing a different plan upon either 
 principle: my design drives at bringing men 
 better acquainted with their mind and that 
 inner part of their constitution wherewith 
 it has immediate intercourse, in hopes they 
 may strike out some light therefrom, which 
 may direct them to the better management of 
 their faculties. If I shall be so happy as to 
 succeed in any single instance of an addi- 
 tion to their stock of useful knowledge, it is 
 all one whether this improves their judgment 
 and puts them upon thinking or acting for 
 themselves, or whether it agitates their 
 ether into salutary vibratiuncles which shall 
 do their business for them whether they 
 will or no. I shall find my intention equally 
 answered in both cases, and the service I 
 may do will rise to the same amount in the 
 upshot. 
 
 5. Upon a review of this whole chapter, 
 without entering into a nice disquisition of 
 
 what
 
 CHAP. 4.] Ideal Causes. 75 
 
 what motions are of our own operation and 
 what purely mechanical, we may justly con- 
 clude that in all voluntary actions the mind 
 must have a discernment, if not of the very 
 act she performs, yet of some bodily motion 
 or other distant consequence effected thereby: 
 and for the most part we take continual direc- 
 tion from our senses, our judgment, and our 
 experience, shaping the manner of our pro- 
 ceedings according to the notices they afford 
 us : which justifies me in ranking ideas among 
 the causes of action. 
 
 But as it is a hard matter to please every 
 bod}^ many people perhaps will chide me for 
 staying so long to talk with the doctor. What 
 a pother do you make, say they, about no- 
 thing ! what a deal of pains to convince us the 
 sun shines at noon-day ! Every child sees that 
 we cannot move without the direction of our 
 senses. Common sense and common experi- 
 ence inform us that we never discourse with- 
 out a notion of conveying our thoughts to 
 one another ; that we never do any thing 
 without having an idea of something we 
 would be at. 
 
 In excuse to this rebuke, I beg leave to ob- 
 serve, that Ave do not always advert to what 
 we perfectly know, and in reasoning upon 
 abstruse matters often mistake, for want of 
 reflection upon things we are extremely well 
 
 acquainted
 
 76 Ideal Causes. [chap. 4. 
 
 acquainted with. Therefore they may look 
 upon me, not as unveiUng a secret unknown 
 to them betbre, but as pointing out an obser- 
 vation they cannot fail of making themselves 
 upon such notice ; and desiring them to bear 
 in mind as an axiom to be employed upon 
 further occasion, That we have ideal causes 
 of our proceedings and shape our actions from 
 time to time according to the models by them 
 exhibited. Besides, they may please to re- 
 uiember I told them in my introduction, that 
 mv architecture partakes of the military kind: 
 I must provide ao^ainst attacks as well as for 
 commodious habitation. And by another 
 fifmre I compared the land of metaph3'sics to 
 a wilderness abounding in b>"-paths and intri- 
 cate mazes : while we travel the plain road 
 of common sense, we shall meet with pro- 
 found speculatists who will ever}' now and 
 then be drawing some of the company aside 
 into the wood : therefore it behoves us to get 
 acquainted with all the turnings and wind- 
 inf^s before hand, that v» e may know where 
 to look for our lost sheep and how to bring 
 them back again. In the mean while, those 
 who were not inveigled, may sit down upon 
 the turf until they see us come out of the 
 bushes again, and their good nature no doubt 
 will pardon an excursion that was needless to 
 them but necessary for their fellow-travellers. 
 
 Such
 
 CHAP. 5.] Molives. 77 
 
 Such necessities may possibly occur more 
 than once, we may be put to prove that snow- 
 is white, that we know our own houses, or 
 remember any thing happening to us yes- 
 terday : and upon these occasions we must 
 take the method we have done ah'eady of 
 submitting ourselves to a trial by jury. There 
 is no more received rule in logic than this. 
 Against persons denying principles there is no 
 argumentation : when we have to deal with 
 an adversary of this cast, all pleadings are vain ; 
 we must proceed directly to an issue appeal- 
 ing to common sense and experience for the 
 truth of our principle, after stripping it of 
 all that sophism and equivocation wherewith 
 it has been artfully overclouded, and re- 
 ducing the question in dispute to a naked fact 
 or single proposition which any body can 
 judge of and understand. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 MOTIVES. 
 
 Having in my list of causes assigned a 
 particular class to the final, I shall treat 
 of them distinctly, though in reality they 
 are a species of the ideal, as the latter are of 
 our ideas in general. For many ideas pass in 
 
 review
 
 78 Motives. [ciiAr. 5. 
 
 review before us which have no share at all 
 in our actions : and many serve us for a 
 guidance in our conduct which yet did not 
 prompt us to pursue it. While we stand talk- 
 ing at a window, passengers may go by with- 
 out drawing our attention : we see them move 
 along, but do nothing different nor in a dif- 
 ferent manner from what we should have 
 done had they not appeared : the sight of our 
 companion and our knowledge of language 
 direct us which way to turn our head and 
 how to express ourselves : these ideas per- 
 haps we had before we entered upon our dis- 
 course, which we do not begin till another 
 idea arises, probably of entertainment or of 
 giving or receiving some information. When 
 a man walks, he may see bushes growing by 
 the wayside, cows grazing in the field, birds 
 flying in the air, without regarding or mak- 
 ing any use of the notices they otfer : these- 
 then are part of his ideas but not ideal causes, 
 which are the shape of his path and several 
 marks whereby he knows his way; j^et 
 neither are these the final cause but health, 
 exercise, diversion, business, or some other 
 end, he proposes to himself in walking. 
 
 This final cause we commonly style the 
 Motive, by a metaphor taken from me- 
 chanical engines Avhich cannot play without 
 some spring or other mover to set them at 
 
 work :
 
 CHAP. 5.] Motives. 79 
 
 work : and because we find action usually 
 follows upon the suggestion of proper mo- 
 tives, therefore we conceive them moving the 
 mind to exert herself. Thus, by a like figure, 
 we hear her fiequently compared to a ba- 
 lance, and the motives to weights hanging in 
 either scale. But if we will apply this com- 
 parison to the mind, I think it suits her bet- 
 ter in the exercises of her understanding; than 
 in her volitions ; for 'tis the judgment poizes 
 the motives in its scale to try which of them 
 preponderate, nor does volition ensue until 
 the Aveight be determined. 
 
 Some there are who will not allow the 
 mind to act upon motives at all, or at least 
 assign her a limited power which she exer- 
 cises sometimes of acting against or without 
 them or of giving them a weight which docs 
 not naturally belong to them; they say she 
 plays tricks with her balance, like a juggling 
 shopkeeper who slides his little finger slily 
 along one side of the beam, and by pressing 
 upon it, makes twelve ounces of plumbs draw- 
 up a pound of lead. It must be owned to 
 our shame that we too frequently practise 
 these scurvy tricks to cheat those who have 
 dealings with us, and what is more fatal, to 
 cheat ourselves into error and mischief: butl 
 hope to make it appear in due time that this is 
 done, not by a free will of indifierence over- 
 powering
 
 80 Motives. [chap. 5, 
 
 powering the force of our motives, but by 
 privately slipping in or stealing out the 
 weights in either scale, which we often get a 
 habit of doing so covertly that we are not 
 aware of the fraud ourselves. 
 
 2. Now how shall we manage to steer 
 safely between two opposite extremes ? The 
 doctors Hartley and Berkeley would not al- 
 low the mind an efficient cause of her own 
 actions : the maintainers of indifference make 
 her not only the efficient cause of her actions 
 but of their causes too, for they will have 
 it that her activity supplies the place of final 
 causes or gives force to motives. 
 
 I shall remark in the first place that they 
 distinguish between acting and choosing, to 
 which latter only they ascribe the privilege 
 of indifference. Whether such distinction 
 has any foundation in nature I have aheady 
 suggested some reasons to question, and may 
 canvass the point more thoroughly hereafter 
 when a proper occasion shall offer. But since 
 they admit we never proceed to action with- 
 out motives, that our choice sometimes arises 
 from the decision of our judgment without 
 our interposition, and that motives often 
 operate so forcibly we cannot resist them: 
 this is going a great way, and it will be but 
 one little step further to show that acting 
 upon our ideas is acting as well as upon our 
 
 limbs:
 
 Chap. 5.] Motives. 81 
 
 limbs : which will entitle us to enquire upon 
 the subject of those choices we make in con- 
 sequence of something done by ourselves, 
 whether some motive does not influence us in 
 every thing we do towards bringing on the 
 determination. 
 
 In the next place I would beg leave to ask 
 them, how they become so well acquainted 
 with their own actions beforehand as to lay 
 schemes and plans for their future conduct 
 and depend upon their adherence thereto? I 
 suppose they do not pretend to the spirit of 
 prophecy, and without that, I do not see how 
 we can know any future event, otherwise than 
 by our knowledge of the causes: for an event, 
 independent on antecedent causes, must re- 
 main absolutely contingent until it comes to 
 pass. Yet do they lay claim to commendation 
 for their steadiness in adhering to their plan : 
 the mind then must remain indifferent during: 
 the whole time of such adherence, else they 
 would forfeit their claim which they rest solely 
 upon the right exercise of this privilege. For 
 did not the mind retain her freewill of in- 
 difterence either to keep or to break a reso- 
 lution already taken, how much soever we 
 might applaud them for resolving, we could 
 owe them no applause for performing. 
 
 Then as to their resting the merit of ac- 
 tions solely upon the due use of this freedom 
 
 VOL. I. G of
 
 82 Motives. [chap. 5. 
 
 of indifference without which, say they, we 
 shall have no room to praise or blame, to re- 
 ward or punish : have patience and perhaps 
 in the sequel of these enquiries we may find 
 other sources of distributive justice besides 
 this privilege. What if we should discover 
 approbation and censure so little inconsistent 
 w^ith the efficacy of motives that they act 
 y^ themselves as such, and become due solely 
 ' for the influence they are likely to have upon 
 our behaviour. 
 
 But as I find the work of improving my 
 own know^ledge much more agreeable to my 
 taste than that of battling the opinions of 
 others, I shall leave my antagonists in pos* 
 session of their indifference for the present, if 
 they still think fit to claim it after all the 
 evidence produced against their title by j\Ir. 
 Locke: and shall proceed in my considera- 
 tion of final causes in hopes thereby to kill 
 two birds with one stone. For while in pur- 
 suit of my journey minding only my owil 
 business,! ma}^ happen to discover motives for 
 every species of action, and then indifferenco 
 must quit the field of course as having no- 
 thing to do there. Nor can we take a better 
 method for the recovery of our right than by 
 enclosing the whole contested ground piece 
 by piece until there be not a spot left where- 
 on
 
 CHAP. 5.] Motives. 83 
 
 on the liberty of indifference may rest its 
 foot. 
 
 3. To prevent mistakes when I speak of 
 the efficacy of motives and of their moving 
 the mind to exert herself, I desire it may be 
 understood that these are figurative expres- 
 sions ; and I do not mean thereby to deny 
 the efficacy of the mind, or to assert any mo- 
 tion, force, or impulse imparted to her from 
 the motives, as there is to one billiard ball 
 from another upon their striking : but only 
 to observe that motives give occasion to the 
 mind to exert her endeavours in attainino* 
 whatever they invite her to, which she does 
 by her own inherent activity, not by any 
 power derived from them. And all man- 
 kind understand the matter so, except perhaps 
 come few persons of uncommon sense and 
 superfine understandings. When the poet 
 makes Behnda ask What mov'd my mmd with 
 youthful lords to roam ? would he have you 
 believe that vanity, pleasure, desire of con- 
 quest, hope of an advantageous match, or 
 any other motive you can assign, made all 
 those motions contained in the idea of roam- 
 ing. No surely, it was the lady herself by 
 her own vigour and sprightliness. When 
 she sits down to her toilet, unnumbered trea- 
 sures ope at once. What opes the treasures ? 
 Why the maid, with her hands, not with 
 
 G 2 her
 
 84 Motives.' [chap. 5. 
 
 her desire of tiffing out her mistress in a kill- 
 ing attire. And it is this agency of the mind 
 which denominates an action ours, for what- 
 ever proceeds from other efficient causes does 
 not belong to us. Therefore you see when 
 the maid had Sylphs to work for her, he de- 
 scribes the perfonnance, though done by her 
 hands, to them instead of her, And Betty V 
 prais'd for labours not her own. 
 
 Nobody will deny that we sometimes 
 act upon motives, that we follow where 
 they lead us, and that we should have acted 
 otherwise had they not presented or had 
 other motives appeared in the opposite scale 
 to outweigh them. How many people flock 
 to hear Handel play upon the organ ! they 
 follow him to the Havmarket, to Covent 
 Garden, to the Foundling Hospital ; had he 
 not been to perform the}^ never would have 
 stirred from home, but if their Doctor had 
 told them that going abroad might prove fa- 
 tal to their health, tliev would have forborne. 
 Therefore motives have a natural efficacy to 
 put us upon action, and we need no other 
 spring to move us so long as we have store of 
 them : nor need we fear tlie want of a conti- 
 nual suppl}^ when we consider how many oc- 
 casions of life, of amusement, of business we 
 have to provide for, and how many idle fan- 
 cies to gratify. 
 
 But
 
 CHAV-. 5.] Motives. 85 
 
 But we run into frequent mistakes concern- 
 ing the operation of motives for Avant of first 
 settling accurately with ourselves what they 
 be. A motive I conceive is the prospect of 
 some end actually in view of the mind at the 
 time of action and urging to attain it : where- 
 as we are apt to take for motives any reasons 
 we can alledge in justification of our conduct. 
 If any body should ask why you make your 
 stated meals of breakfast, dinner^ and supper, 
 every day, I warrant you would answer, vvhy, 
 I could not live without eating. But reflect 
 a little with yourself. Do you think of starv- 
 ing every time you run dow^n stairs to dinner ? 
 Do not you go because jou are hungry, be- 
 cause you like the victuals, because you will 
 not make the family w\iit, because it is your 
 usual hour ? How then can the preservation 
 of life, which is the farthest of any thing 
 from your thoughts, be your motive of eat- 
 ing ? If you would dissuade a debauchee from 
 his courses, you tell him of the discredit he 
 %vill bring upon himself from all \vise and ju- 
 dicious persons : yet he still goes on as be- 
 fore, and this you call acting against a pow- 
 erful motive. But is it so in fact with him ? 
 Perhaps the approbation of your musty sober 
 fellows weighs nothing in his estimation, he 
 feels no other weight in his scale besides the 
 
 grali-.
 
 86 Motives. [chap, 5. 
 
 oTatificalion of appetite ; therefore he follows 
 the only motive inclining him to action. 
 
 4. But as Hermogenes was -a singer even 
 when he did not sing ; and the cobler re- 
 tains his appellation after he has shut up his 
 stall and sits among his fellow topers at the 
 two-penny club; so motives still preserve 
 their character with us while they lie dormant 
 in the box and do not operate in the scale. 
 If we know a man has covetousness or ambi- 
 tion, we impute all his actions to that motive : 
 so that a politician cannot take an airing but 
 we suppose him going on some deep design, 
 nor a miser step into his closet but we con- 
 clude him counting over his bags. But be- 
 sides our general motives of conduct, we have 
 man}'^ little desires and whimsies which come 
 in every now and then for a share of our mo- 
 tions ; and unless we get acquainted with 
 these, we cannot account for a man's beha- 
 viour in particular instances. 
 
 Few of us I hope are without some pru- 
 dential motives in store, and those being the 
 most creditable we would willingly ascribe 
 all our motions to them, not observing what 
 other inducements may slip in unawares to 
 weigh down the scale or so cover it as to 
 leave no admittance for an}" thing else : for 
 inclination and humour so mimic the garb 
 and gestures of reason that we take them for 
 
 her
 
 CHAP, 5.] Motives. 87 
 
 her very self. Sometimes two motives occur 
 together both incitino; to the same action, 
 and in this case we cannot rightly tell to 
 which it belongs : because we can judge the 
 efficacy of causes no otherwise than by their 
 effects. This last deceit is greatly promoted 
 by that aptness of inclination to draw reason 
 after her, not as a friend to consult with, but 
 as an advocate to support her cause : for rea- 
 son, which ought always to keep upon the 
 bench, too often descends to the bar, and 
 then we take her arguments for judgments 
 of court, an<l applaud ourselves for having 
 paid them a due obedience. AVhen theminister 
 labours to extend the prerogative which he 
 has under his own management, he thinks 
 himself all the while pursuing the public 
 good : when the parson vexes his parishioners 
 with lawsuits, he, good man, would be con- 
 tented with his present income, but he must 
 not injure his successors : when the young girl 
 chooses her mate for black eyes, white teeth, 
 a frolic air and sprightly prattle, she despises 
 all mercenary views and pays regard onl}^ to 
 solid merit and happiness. 
 
 In short, we shall find it extremely difficult 
 with our utmost care and circumspection to 
 know our real motives, as well in general, 
 what stock of them we have, as what weighed 
 with us upon every particular occasion. For 
 
 we
 
 83 Motives. [chap. 5^ 
 
 "we seldom attend to our motive at the instant 
 of its operation, and if we go to recal it after- 
 wards to our reflection, another shall start 
 up in its place. Nor do we know the true 
 weight of our motives before trial. While 
 we hold them in the scale of contemplation 
 they feel exceeding heavy, whereupon we con- 
 fidently form resolutions of bearing pain, en^ 
 counterino;dano;ers and surmounting; difficul- 
 ties, supposing that our motive fastened there- 
 to, like lead to a bludgeon, will give it a force 
 that shall bear down all opposition ; but when J 
 the time of action comes they are found ' 
 wanting in the balance and lie lighter than 4 
 feather. 
 
 There is a vulgar saying, That we measure 
 other folks corn by our own bushel : thercr 
 fore Ave wonder at their proceeding when ruur 
 ning in a different channel from our own, 
 because we judge of their sentiments by those 
 we feel ourselves. One is apt to cry, I 
 should have done otherwise had I been in 
 such an one's place, that is, had you had the 
 same materials, abilities, or opportunities as 
 he : but are you sure you should have acted 
 otherwise had you had the same notions, 
 ways of thinking, and motives too, without any 
 mixture of those you now possess ? For our 
 desires vary as much as our faces, and what 
 w^orks powerfully upon one, may have no in- 
 fluence
 
 QIAP. 5.] Motives. 89 
 
 fluence at all upon another. If we see a per- 
 son bringing great damage upon one who has 
 never offended him, without any inducement 
 either of pleasure or profit to himself, we 
 stand in astonishment that any body can be- 
 have so absurdly without the least motive to 
 urge him ; and ascribe his procedure to mere 
 perverseness of Will. For we find no motives 
 in our own storehouse that could engage him: 
 resentment, gratification of some appetite or 
 self-interest, may have surprised us sometimes 
 into unwarrantable actions, but we feel no 
 temptation to do mischief for mischief's 
 sake, and therefore can conceive no such in 
 another. But there are tempers with whom 
 mischief itself acts as a powerful motive ; 
 some dispositions there are utterly void of hu- 
 manity, whose place is supplied by a love of 
 injustice and cruelty : even freak and wan- 
 tonness may do much upon a mind where there 
 is no consideration either of benevolence or 
 prudence to weigh against them. 
 
 5. Motives frequently introduce and give 
 Jife to one another. Your coachman entered 
 into your service for a livehhood, this led him 
 to obey your orders, which directed him to 
 take care of your horses ; this put him upon 
 providing hay for them, and that induced 
 Jiim to enquire where the best was to be had. 
 While on his way to the market, he thinks of 
 
 nothing
 
 90 Motives. [chap. 5. 
 
 nothing but the shortest road to get thither ; 
 this therefore is the sole motive he has now 
 in view: but if the prior motives had not 
 operated, none of the subsequent would have 
 had any influence upon him. 
 
 For the most part we portion our time into 
 large actions tending; to some distant end not 
 presently accomplished, which consists of un- 
 der parts, and admits man}^ bye actions not 
 belonging to the principal. He that travels 
 to York, goes most likeh^ upon some business: 
 he divides his journey into several stages, and 
 while upon each, thinks of nothing but getting, 
 well to his inn : this then is his motive for 
 the time. On the road he finds himself 
 wear}^ and ahghts, or-thirsty and stops at the 
 door of some public house, or perhaps he 
 enters into discourse with the passengers in 
 going along, or stands still to look at some 
 magnificent building. All these have separate 
 motives of their own ; refreshment, thirst, 
 amusement, or curiosity, which bear no rela- 
 tion to his main design. 
 
 AVhile we work, or study, or converse, wo 
 often change our posture, turn our eyes and 
 make many side motions having no connection 
 with the purpose we are about. But have we 
 not motives for those excrescencics of action ? 
 W e feel ourselves uneas}^ in one posture and 
 therefore exchange it for another, we look out 
 
 for
 
 CHAP. 5.] Motms. 91 
 
 for new objects because those before us have 
 cloyed our eyes, we find some trifling amuse^ 
 ment in every exercise of our activity. For 
 employment seldom so totally engages us as 
 to fill up all the spaces of our time, but rest- 
 lessness, whimsy, or habit, come in to supply 
 the vacancies. The busy mind of man can* 
 not lie a moment inactive : she works inces- 
 santly with both her faculties while awake, 
 and if her weightier motives suspend their ac- 
 tion ever so little, some lighter will slip in to 
 keep her in play : for she has often been com- 
 pared to an exceeding fine balance that will 
 turn with the slightest hair when nothing lies 
 in the opposite scale ; and she has her drawers 
 stocked with the grains of fancy as well as the 
 pounds of reason. 
 
 While one motive urges to action, another 
 may model the shape of it. When a grave 
 divine and povvdered fop enter the room 
 together, civility prompts them alike to pay 
 their compliments to the company, but de- 
 cency leads one to a sober manly deportment, 
 ^,nd affectation drives the other into a mincing 
 step, a fantastic air and an over-dejicacy of 
 expression. 
 
 The designs that generate our larger ac- 
 tions take time in the forming, we see them 
 grow by degrees to maturity and have leisure 
 to contemplate them : but the ideas causing 
 
 our
 
 9'2 Motives. [chap. 5. 
 
 our lesser motions, like lightning, flash, strike, 
 and vanish ; they pass so swiftly we cannot 
 get a look at them nor remember their ex- 
 istence. Besides, our weighty moments having 
 the largest influence upon our lives, deserve 
 cur greatest regard, and we commonly apply 
 our whole attention to them, overlooking all 
 the rest so far as scarce to know we have any 
 such belonging to us, or to mistake them for 
 something else. Therefore we say, The mo- 
 tive of prudence, but the impulse of fancy, 
 the force of habit, or the sally of imagina- 
 tion : and sometimes term the motion of these 
 latter mechanical, supposing volition had no 
 share in them, or at other times ascribe them 
 to the privilege of indifference for want of 
 discerning the motive that made a difference 
 between one idle motion and another. But 
 whoever desires a thorough acquaintance with 
 the mind, ought to bestow some thoughts 
 upon her little motives since they have so 
 considerable a share in our actions, and if we 
 are not aware of them will so cover the scale 
 as to prevent the weighty motive from re- 
 entering, or slip in at improper times, thereby- 
 producing a total avocation from the business 
 in hand, or at least an interruption of our 
 proceedings. 
 
 6. Nor must I omit to take notice of a cer- 
 fciin maj^ic that seems to alter the condition 
 
 of
 
 CHAP. 5.] Motives, 95 
 
 of our motives : they fluctuate and vary un- 
 accountably, fading and regaining their co* 
 lours, losing and retrieving their weight. An 
 idea, that yesterday appeared vivid and strong, 
 shall to-day show no sign of vigour at all : 
 we still see it in the same form and position of 
 parts as before, but it looks pale and lifeless, 
 and feels as nothing in our hand. A thing we 
 were extremely fond of at one time, Ave care 
 not a pin for at another ; what we admire this 
 hour, we despise the next. Even virtue and 
 pleasure have their seasons of engaging ; not 
 only as they appear or disappear to our 
 thoughts, but v/hen we have a full and distinct 
 view of their features, we do not always find 
 them strike upon us with equal alurement. 
 
 This fluctuation of our motives I believe 
 has opened another door to the notion of a 
 freev/i]l of indifference ; for observing tliat 
 the mind does not always proceed to action 
 instantly upon the suggestion of motives, that 
 others of them often prevail than we should 
 expect, that she resists the strongest passions 
 and breaks through the firmest resolutions ; 
 wx conclude she has an authority of her own 
 independent of the motives, so that they can- 
 not act until havincr first received her roval 
 assent, but she can give any of them a pre- 
 ference without regard to their respective 
 weights, and by taking part with inclination 
 
 can
 
 94 Motives^. [chap. 5* 
 
 can give it strength to overpower judgment, 
 or by siding with the latter enable it to master 
 the former. But all this may as well be ac- 
 counted for by the variable quality of mo- 
 tives : while they continue changing their 
 colours the balance keeps nodding to and fro, 
 the mind perceives she has not a just estima- 
 tion of their weights, and this is a motive Avith 
 her to suspend action until the balance settles, 
 and then it is the preponderating weight, not 
 the mind, that sinks down the scale. When 
 you have formed a resolution, so long as the 
 considerations inducing you to make it retain 
 their original vigour, and those you rejected 
 their original weakness, and no new matter 
 not taken at first into consideration interferes, 
 you will surely adhere to your resolution : but 
 if the tables turn, if that which was strongest 
 becomes weakest, or fresh inducements not 
 provided against before fall into the opposite 
 scale, you will as surely break it. And that 
 such accidents frequently happen, every one 
 may satisfy himself who will attend carefully 
 to the difference there is in our ideas of a thmg 
 between the time of resolving and the time of 
 
 executmg. 
 
 Tis true we do sometimes pla}'' tricks Avith 
 Our balance, making it incline to either side 
 as we please ; but then this is done by art, 
 not by strength or authority, and always 
 
 brought
 
 CHAP. 5.] Motives. 95 
 
 brought about by the application of motives. 
 For we have a power over our ideas, as has 
 been remarked before, by stopping some of 
 their channels to turn them into what other 
 courses we like best, thereby t^xcluding some 
 ideas, and calling up others to our thoughts. 
 We may close our ears against the admoni- 
 tions of wisdom, or may hear them without 
 attending, or may fill our imagination with 
 something else that shall hinder them from 
 entering : but it impeaches not the weight of 
 a motive, nor shows 5'Our superior strength, 
 that it does not operate when you will not 
 let it come into the scale. And whoever 
 watches himself narrowly when he practises 
 this juggling, may always discern some 
 motive of prejudice, favour, wilfulness, or 
 shame of being overcome, which puts him 
 upon the artifice : so that the mind will be 
 found not so perfectly indiiferent as she 
 pretends in the very exercise of her indif- 
 ference. 
 
 7. Here I shall take the liberty to stop a 
 moment while 1 recommend it to every man 
 to study diligently his motives of action ; to 
 examine what stock he has, as well of the 
 permanent as of the transient kind, as well of 
 his grand undertakings as of his sudden mo- 
 tions and manners of proceeding ; what are 
 their respective weights, either absolutely or 
 
 compa-
 
 c)6 Motives, [chap. ^, 
 
 comparatively with one another : to remark 
 how they introduce or mutually affect each 
 other, how they fluctuate, their seasons of 
 vigour and faiatness ; to distinguish what 
 motive actually swayed with him upon every 
 particular occasion. If he can do all this 
 compleatly he will discover the impositions 
 of others, and what is better, will avoid im- 
 posing upon himself, which i& the worst of 
 all deceits. As the world goes we lie under 
 a necessity sometimes of alledging specious 
 motives which did not influence us. A man 
 asks you to lend him money which you have 
 reason to think he will not repay, but you 
 dare not tell him so, then you must put him 
 off* with excuses : but you ought always to 
 know vour ov.^n real motive. If the mind 
 ever exerts a power of willing as well as 
 acting, she performs that work by the in- 
 strumentality of motives, for therein lies her 
 whole strength. When she perfectly knows 
 her tools, where they lie, what they will do, 
 and when they are in proper order, she may 
 take her measures surely with respect to her 
 moral and piudcntial conduct, and attain 
 what the poet calls a life unacquainted 
 w^ith disappointment. In short, I look upon 
 the study of our motives as conducing more 
 than any one thing to that most useful of all 
 sciences, The knowledge of oneself. 
 
 8. We
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 97 
 
 8. We have seen how the same considera- 
 tions db not weigh ahke with different per- 
 sons, nor with the same person at different 
 times ; how they fluctuate and vary, their 
 colours change to and fro, their weight di- 
 minishes, vanishes, and returns again, their 
 form and parts continuing all along the same. 
 Hence it appears that motives are compound 
 ideas, containing something whereon the force 
 of the whole and its title to be deemed a final 
 cause depends, which when wanting it loses 
 its essence : for a motive having lost its force 
 is no motive at all, nor the cause of any 
 thing. It remains then that we turn our 
 thoughts to seek for that ingredient which 
 gives efiicacy to the compound and denomi- 
 nates it a motive, 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 SATISFACTION. 
 
 Pleasure seems at first sidit to bid the 
 fairest for being that ingredient w^iich gives 
 weight to our motives, and we find by ex- 
 perience in multitudes of instances that 
 it proves a sufficient inducement with us 
 to act, for we perform many of our actions 
 VOL. I. H because
 
 98 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 because we like them. And perhaps this may 
 be the thing according to some notions of plea- 
 sure, for the word is not alwa3's taken precisely 
 in the same sense. But it is the safest way to 
 settle the meaning of our words by the stand- 
 ard of custom, and if we understand the 
 term as it is commonly imderstood, we sliall 
 find pleasure often insufficient to perform the 
 office of a motive, for we do many things 
 against our liking. Pleasure in vulgar esti^ 
 mation stands opposed to business, duty, 
 works of use and necessity : yet in all these 
 we feel some engagement, self-approbation or 
 complacence of mind, that carries us through 
 with them. Pleasures, usually so called, often 
 lose their gust, they satiate and cloy upon 
 repetition, and nauseate instead of inviting. 
 Therefore Mr. Locke has fixed upon the term 
 Satisfaction as being more extensive, compre- 
 hending all that complacence we feel as well 
 in business as diversion, as well in the works 
 of prudence as in the starts of fanc3\ I can- 
 not follow a better authority, especially as I 
 find nothing within my own experience or 
 observation to contradict it: therefore shall 
 adopt his term Satisfaction to express that vi- 
 vifvino; in<^redicnt which oivcs life and vioour 
 to our motives. But to prevent misapprehen- 
 sion I think it necessary to subjoin a few re- 
 mar ks^
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfactioji. 99 
 
 marks, in order to ascertain what I conceive 
 we both understand by Satisfaction. 
 
 ^. In the first place, I scarce need to take 
 notice of what is obvious to every one, that 
 we are not always hi so happy a situation as to 
 choose between enjoyments whicli we will 
 prefer ; we are sometimes reduced to the hard 
 necessity of choosing between evils which of 
 them we judge the lightest. The pleuretic 
 lying on his left side does not expect pleasure 
 by turning to the other; he has no more in 
 view than a diminution of pain. Mischief 
 and displeasure seize upon us unawares, and 
 we think of nothing but how to deliver our- 
 selves from them : dangers threaten, and our 
 care tends solely to escape them. Now in 
 all these cases we are prompted to what we 
 do by uneasiness, therefore uneasiness has an 
 efficacy to set us at work as well as satisfac- 
 tion; and accordingly Mr. Locke has given 
 them both for distinct principles of action, 
 though I have blended them together into one. 
 But this I do not from any variance in opinion 
 but for convenience and shortness sake : and I 
 think the junction may be made without any 
 violence, for as a penny saved is a penny got- 
 ten, and the miser looks upon it as an actual 
 gain if he can procure the abatement of a 
 payment, so every diminution or avoidance of 
 uneasiness is an approach towards satisfaction. 
 II Q, Therefore,
 
 100 Satisfaction, [CHAP. 6. 
 
 Therefore, though I may speak of them apart 
 whenever necessity shall so require, yet for 
 the generality I shall consider satisfaction 
 onh% and hope what I say of this will, with 
 very little variation, be found applicable to 
 the other. 
 
 3. In the second place, if any man desires 
 to know what satisfaction is, he must not ex- 
 pect to learn it by definition from me, I can 
 help him no further than b}^ pointing out 
 where he may find it himself. Let him re- 
 flect on what he feels when any thing happens 
 that pleases him, when he sits down to a 
 well furnished table with a good appetite, 
 when he reads a divertino; book, when he 
 receives news of some desirable event, when 
 he looks back upon some performance for 
 which he can applaud himself. Nor let him 
 stop here, but carry on his contemplation to 
 the common occurrences of life : when he 
 applies to the business of his profession, or 
 gives orders to his servant, or hears a news- 
 paper, or takes his hat off the pin to go 
 abroad, he will find that complacence in his 
 most ordinary actions which renders life* va- 
 luable. For bare existence has no other 
 worth than as it serves for a basis to happi- 
 ness, for we cannot be happy without being 
 at all : but we all value our lives at a high 
 rate, which we could not do, considering how 
 
 thinly
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction, 101 
 
 thinly pleasures are scattered in the world, 
 unless we found something satisfactory in al- 
 most every thing we do upon the most trifling 
 occasions. Some men live contentedly with- 
 out pleasure, as that stands in the vulgar sense 
 for an intense degree of enjoyment; but your 
 melancholic persons, after having lost that 
 glee which others feel in every common ex- 
 ercise of their powers, quickly grow weary of 
 life. Therefore we must look upon satisfac- 
 tion as the general term, containing under it 
 joy, delight, pleasure, amusement, compla- 
 cence, engagement, content, as the several 
 stages. The lowest degree of Scxtisfaction 
 suffices to put us in motion when no higher 
 intervenes ; in our idle hours or vacant spaces 
 of time we turn our eyes to look at a butter- 
 fly, or put down our hands to remove the flap 
 of our waistcoat that had gotten between us 
 and the chair. For the mind uses a nicer ba- 
 lance than the master of the mint : a cobweb 
 will draw down the scale when nothing ofllsrs 
 to counterpoise. Her understanding indeed 
 is liable to mistake, being ill served by its 
 ideas, which exhibit things frequently under 
 wrong appearances, but her volition follows ex- 
 actly according to her apprehension of things. 
 4. When the mind has no grand purpose 
 in view, she can fully content herself with any 
 little trifle that presents ; if she finds herself 
 
 easy.
 
 102 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 easy, and pleasure does not solicit, nor business 
 urge, nor danger threaten, she rests perfectlj 
 satisfied with her condition, desirino; nothino: 
 further. Which induced Hieron3^mus to place 
 happiness in vacuity or absence of pain, 
 that is, in mere ease ; supposing the sweetest 
 pleasures engage us no otherwise than by cre- 
 ating a want of themselves, which fills us 
 with an uneasiness we cannot remove with- 
 out attaining them. But I may venture to 
 refer it to the first man you meet in the 
 street, whether there is not a real and sensible 
 difierence between actual pleasure and the 
 bare absence of pain : for if this were suffi- 
 cient to constitute happiness, we must be 
 happy during every sound nap or fainting fit ; 
 because white the senses are gone so that we 
 feel nothing, we certainly do not feel pain. 
 
 The same consideration I suppose led Epi- 
 curus to maintain that all pleasures were equal 
 m degree, and differed only in kind, for the 
 lowest of them satisfies the mind and the 
 highest can do no more : therefore a ^ man 
 finds as compleat satisfaction in pulling up 
 tlie heel of his slipper in a morning, as he 
 does in recovering his only child that had 
 been stolen away last week by a gipsey. But 
 this contradicts dail}'' experience, which tes- 
 tifies that we find a much greater relish in 
 ^onie pleasures than we do in others. A man 
 
 may
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisf action. 103 
 
 may sit picking his fingers after dinner ^ith 
 perfect tranquillity of mind, but this is no- 
 thing to compare with the joy he feels on 
 hearino' the voice of an intimate friend at the 
 door. Nor is it true that the mind can satisfy 
 herself with little pleasures, unless when 
 greater are not to be had or not apprehended 
 in the imagination; who would not leave 
 his trifling amusements upon being invited to 
 a diversion he is extremely fond of, if no pru- 
 dential or other motive withhold him ? Why 
 need the mind ever suspend her choice be- 
 tween two pleasures proposed until she has 
 determined which is the greater, if either of 
 them would answer her purpose alike ? There- 
 fore when several satisfactions offer together, 
 that apprehended the greatest always pre- 
 vails and carries away volition from the rest : 
 nor can it be said to do so by the uneasiness 
 of wanting it, for though we sometimes 
 would forego an opportunity but that we 
 fear we shall blame ourselves for having 
 slipped it, yet this is not always the case ; 
 we frequently quit a lesser pleasure for a 
 greater instantly upon summons, without the 
 least thought of what we might suffer by a 
 self denial. There is the hke difference of 
 degree in uneasiness ; when several accost us 
 at once, we fly that which presses the hardest. 
 
 So if satisfaction pulls^ one way and uneasiness 
 
 drives
 
 104» Satisfaction. [chap. C. 
 
 drives another, which ever is the strongest 
 overpowers the other and gives the turn to 
 our motion. 
 
 Happy is it for us that we can content 
 ourselves with a small pittance of satisfaction, 
 for else our lives would pass most uncomfort- 
 ably: poignant pleasures and high delights 
 rarely come in our Avay, and we should have 
 nothing but uneasiness to fill up the large in- 
 tervals between them. How miserably would 
 the shopkeeper and the artisan spend their 
 days if they could work no longer than 
 while the dread of starvino; huns; over them ! 
 This perhaps might drive tliein into their se- 
 veral occupations at first, but their work fur- 
 nishes them with an amusement that wholh'^ 
 engages their thoughts, and while they con- 
 tent themselves with finishino; their tasks, thev 
 remove the evil without having it perpetually 
 stare them in the face. What enterprize of 
 moment could we perform ? what business 
 requiring a length of time could we compleat, 
 if we might never stir without some very 
 powerful incitement to spur us .^ How many 
 useful acquirements should we miss, if the ap- 
 prehension of their being useful were not 
 enough to move us, without having some par- 
 ticular signal ser\^ice they will do us under 
 contemplation ? our dearest pleasures seldom 
 drop into our mouths, but we must do many- 
 things
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 105 
 
 things to prepare for their reception, and 
 what we do preparatory thereto i)artakes of 
 the nature of bushiess. For how Uvely ex- 
 pectations soever we may entertain at our en- 
 trance upon an undertaking, they cannot keep 
 up their vigour during the course of a long 
 work, which we pursue with that quiet com- 
 placency accompanying our ordinary motions. 
 It has been commonly observed that a man 
 can never succeed in any science, art, or pro- 
 fession, unless he takes a liking to it, but the 
 liking here requisite need not arise to that 
 high pitch as to render the fatigues of his 
 profession an uninterrupted scene of trans- 
 port or delight. Hence we fmd that our gentle 
 satisfactions, taken together in their whole 
 amount, are much more valuable than our 
 higher enjoyments ; as exceeding them great- 
 ly in number, as furnishing us principally 
 with employment for our time, and as serv- 
 ing us in our most useful and important oc- 
 casions. 
 
 5. In the third place I shall remark, that 
 -although I have assigned satisfaction for the 
 active ingredient of our motive, yet, if we ex- 
 amine the matter strictly, it is not very satis- 
 faction but the prospect or idea of it; for 
 these are difl^erent : one may have the full idea 
 of a toothach one does not feel, and of a di- 
 version one does not partake of. Now we 
 
 do
 
 106 Satisfaction. [cilAP. 6, 
 
 do not use to enter upon action but for some 
 end, which end is some satisfactory percep- 
 tion attainable thereby. Even when we 
 walk for walking sake, it is not the bare mo- 
 tion, but the pleasant feel of our limbs or of 
 the air, that excites us. But this perception 
 follows upon the action and had no existence 
 at the instant when the motive operated. 
 Therefore it is not the substance, but the 
 prospect or expectance of satisfaction, which 
 makes that part of the compound rendering it 
 a motive. And this expectance, though some- 
 times fallacious, suffices to put us in motion : 
 the child, that went to play with the candle, 
 expected pleasure but found only smart ; and 
 the coward, who runs away from his own 
 shadow, expected a mischief that would not 
 have attacked him. 
 
 Since then expectation is not the same with 
 the thing expected, it follows that wc may 
 pursue satisfaction without being in a state of 
 enjoyment, and fly uneasiness without being 
 in a state of suffering. The former does not 
 often happen, because being founded upon de- 
 lusion, we soon discover our expectations to be 
 delusive upon trial, which then changes our 
 prospect and we change our measures accord- 
 ingly. Yet it does happen sometimes, for 
 those who have made pleasures their constant 
 employment, quickly cloy themselves with 
 
 the
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 107 
 
 the frequent repetition of them, yet still 
 pursue them with delusive hopes of the same 
 relish they used to find heretofore, and run 
 from diversion to diversion in restless expecta- 
 tion of an enjoyment they cannot attain. But 
 uneasiness exciting us to avoid it, may con- 
 tinue to operate without delusion : for if we 
 find our endeavours upon trial effectual to 
 ward off a mischief, this will encourage us to 
 repeat them as often as the danger presents, 
 and so long as we can keep evil aloof, we shall 
 not fall into a state of suffering. If two old 
 acquaintance, who had not met for some 
 years before, were to espy one another on the 
 opposite sides of the Haymarket, probably 
 they would run together into the middle of 
 the street, if the weather were fine and the 
 ground dry, where they would join in an 
 agreeable conversation : in the midst of their 
 discoui^e they see a coach fifty yards off driv- 
 ing directly towards them, I suppose they 
 Avould remove out of the way to one side or 
 other, still continuing their talk. Whattlien 
 is it puts them upon this action? not satis- 
 faction, for they propose no addition to thai 
 by changing their ground : it is no other than 
 the uneasiness of being trampled upon by the 
 horses, which because they can avoid without 
 trouble,makes no interruption of their enjoy- 
 ment. He that walks along Cheapside must 
 
 turn
 
 108 Satisfaction. [chap. 6, 
 
 turn and wind perpetually to avoid jostling 
 the other passengers : the prospect of uneasi- 
 ness he would feel upon running against peo- 
 ple, induces him to all those motions, which 
 yet makes no abatement of any satisfaction he 
 may have in the errand he goes upon, nor 
 throws him into a state of suffering. 
 
 6. For my fourth remark, I shall observe that 
 present satisfaction is the end we constantly 
 have in view on proceeding to action. Nor 
 does this contradict what I have just been 
 endeavouring to prove, for by present satis- 
 faction I would not be understood so strictly 
 as to mean the satisfaction we actually have 
 at the instant of acting : Tor this is no subject 
 of action, nor can receive alteration thereby. 
 We cannot unfeel the pain we feel by any 
 effort of ours, nor does the pleasure we now 
 have need an effort to procure it. But the 
 satisfaction we propose in every exertion of 
 our activity is that of the moment next imme- 
 diately ensuing, and this may be called present 
 satisfaction without any impropriety of speech. 
 For we are constantly told the present time 
 only is in our power, the past being gone 
 and the future lying out of our reach : but 
 this present time is in reality the next suc- 
 ceeding instant, that alone being the subject 
 of our power, for we do not act in order to 
 obtain what we have already. Perceptions 
 
 flow
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 109 
 
 flow in upon us without intermission, and 
 we generally have a foresight of them before 
 they come, as also a power many times to 
 alter their course by the proper application of 
 objects or management of our organs : there- 
 fore we keep constantly upon the look out ; 
 while we see that such perceptions as we like 
 will rise of their own accord, we have nothing 
 to do, when they will not, we use our activity 
 to procure them. In all action there are three 
 things to be considered, the prospect or ex- 
 pectation, the action itself, and the percep- 
 tion to be introduced thereby: the first has 
 no other value than as it directs us what ac- 
 tion to pursue, nor the second than as it 
 tends to procure the third, so that our busi- 
 ness lies in helping ourselves to procure satis- 
 factory or escape uneasy perceptions. But 
 as we must every instant have some percep- 
 tion or other, we must provide for the next 
 ensuing perception, and as soon as that is had, 
 another to follow immediately after furnishes 
 us with the like employment : so that our 
 wants, starting up successively without inter- 
 mission, require a continual supply ; which 
 confines our cares to the present moment, 
 leaving the provision for future moments to 
 our subsequent endeavours. 
 
 This accounts for what Mr. Locke has fully 
 proved to be fact, that good, the greater good 
 
 acknow-
 
 110 Satisfaction, [chap. 6. 
 
 acknowledged and apprehended to be such, 
 does not always determine the Will : and I 
 may add, it never does unless by means of the 
 satisfaction we feel in making advances to- 
 wards it ; for if any distant advantage can 
 raise in us a desire of attaining it, the gratifi- 
 cation of this desire will afford a present satis- 
 faction. And that remote good and evil have 
 such effect upon vis daily experience bears wit- 
 ness : Ave flatter ourselves often with distant 
 hopes and shudder at future dangers, we con- 
 template with pleasure the prospect of enjoy- 
 ments afar off", and look with horror upon mis- 
 fortunes before they come. Suppose a per- 
 son, in whose knowledge and veracity j^ou 
 could fully confide, should say to you. Sir, 
 you shall continue in plent}^ and the possession 
 of every thing you can desire to-day and to- 
 morrow, but the third day your estate shall 
 be seized, your children carried into bondage, 
 and your body afflicted with painful distem- 
 pers : would not the news fill you with a 
 cruel anxiety ? On the other hand, had you 
 been tormented with the gout for a long 
 while, and after having tried many remedies 
 to no purpose had lost all hopes of relief, 
 should vou receive the like assurance that in 
 two days time you should be set at ease and 
 p)erfectly cured : should not you feel an exhi- 
 larating joy that would overpower the pangs 
 
 of
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. Ill 
 
 of your distemper? And the like happens pro- 
 portionably upon the prospect of any thing 
 useful or detrimental, pleasurable or trouble- 
 some, in a loAver degree. 
 
 7. This presentiment of the future makes 
 the great privilege of human nature, for were 
 we void of it we shovdd have nothing but ap- 
 petite to follow like the brute creatures : but 
 our concern for the morrow creates another 
 appetite which prompts us to escape mischiefs 
 that must be guarded against beforehand, and 
 pursue great advantages that require much 
 time and labour to attain. It likewise lengthens 
 our pleasures beyond their natural measure, 
 for enjoyment generally holds only for a little 
 moment, but expectation, hope, and successful 
 pursuit, often supply us with a constand fund 
 of delight for a long season. But on the other 
 hand it is attended with some inconveniences, 
 by tormenting us sometimes with unavoidable 
 evils before they come near us, and making 
 us tremble at imaginary dangers that would 
 never have fallen upon us. 
 
 And these derivative satisfactions fluctuate 
 as much as the original : for we do not al- 
 ways find equal relish in the same enjoyment, 
 nor does the prospect of it always appear in 
 colours equally vivid. Neither can we ob- 
 serve any other rule in this change of colours 
 than that they generally heighten upon the 
 
 nearer
 
 112 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 nearer approach of the enjo}niient. But the 
 very prospect of an attainable good, or an 
 avoidable evil, commonly proves satisfactory; 
 therefore, however it may sometimes happen 
 otherwise, for the most part we continue in 
 a state of enjoyment, in some degree or other, 
 during the pursuit of a benefit we hope to 
 acquire, or avoidance of a mischief we can 
 easily ward oftl Whence comes the saying 
 Hope makes the heart glad. 
 
 8. Fifthly,! shall take notice that satifaction 
 always attracts and uneasiness always repels ; 
 and either of them operates according to the 
 present occasion. If some advantage invites, 
 we set ourselves instantly to pursue it ; if a 
 greater starts up in view, we quit the former 
 and run after the latter : if mischief ap- 
 proaches, w^e set ourselves to prevent it ; and 
 while it continues to hang; over us, we con- 
 tinue our efforts to keep it aloof. Therefore 
 to me it seems that both satisfaction and un- 
 easiness have a like efficacy to make us either 
 change or adhere to our measures as occasion 
 shall require. But Mr. Locke ascribes the 
 change of action solely to uneasiness, and the 
 continuance of it to satisfaction: it behoves 
 me then to give my reasons for departing from 
 so great an authority. 
 
 I shall alledge first, that, properly speaking, 
 there is no such thing as a continuance of 
 
 action,
 
 tHAP. 61] Satisfaction. 113 
 
 action, all our perceptions and all our voli- 
 tions being transient and momentary. What 
 we term a continuance is indeed only a repe- 
 tition of successive perceptions and voliiions 
 of the same kind: just as a spout continues 
 to run while it pours forth innumerable drops 
 without any interval between. So if you 
 stare at the same picture for half an hour to- 
 gether, the sight comes by successive rays of 
 light affecting your eyes in the same manner, 
 and the perceptions raised thereby, although 
 exactly similar, are individually distinct. And 
 if you keep pointing with a stick for the same 
 tune, successive volitions hold up your hand, 
 for should you forbear to repeat them, your 
 arm would fall instantly to your side. 
 
 But waving this nicety, let us consider a 
 series of motions, all proceeding upon one 
 plan and with the same design, as a continu- 
 ance of action : yet I think one may produce 
 instances wherein we depart from our design 
 and change our measures without being driven 
 by the lash of uneasiness. Suppose a man 
 sitting down to his harpsichord intending to 
 play through an opera of Corclli : in the midst 
 of his diversion enters a messenger to tell him, 
 that, if he will come away directly to the mi- 
 nister, he may be instated in a considerable 
 preferment he had long wished and ardently 
 sought for. Is it uneasiness or joy that makes 
 
 VOL. I. I him
 
 1 1 4 Satisfaction . [chap, G. 
 
 him leave his music and run to catch up his 
 hat? Suppose a company of young folks 
 agreeably entertained in dancing; somebody 
 tells them of a fine fire-work just going to be 
 played off in a neighbouring garden : I will 
 not ensure they shall not all Rm instantly to 
 the window. When their curiosity a little 
 abates and before the sight begins to cloy, 
 some one puts them in mind of their dancing, 
 perha})S the rest take the admonition and 
 they run back to their sport as hastily as they 
 quitted it. Surel}^ this is a change of action 
 and a departure from the plan laid down for 
 the employment of the night : Yet I appeal 
 to any gentleman or lady, who may have ex- 
 perienced such an incident, whether they feel 
 the least spice of uneasiness either in break- 
 ins: off their diversion or returnini^ to it 
 again. On the other hand, suppose a man 
 travelling through a lonely forest infested 
 with a gang of desperate villains, who 
 murder all they meet, he sees them com- 
 ing towards him and has but just time 
 to jump into a stinking bog where he can 
 hide his head behind a little bush : the 
 rogues halt at a small distance from him, 
 where they sit chattering perhaps an hour 
 or two, all which time I suppose he will 
 hardly quit his lurking hole. Now what 
 is it holds him to this continuance of ac- 
 
 tion ?
 
 CiiAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 115 
 
 tion ? is it satisfaction ? He sees none and 
 expects none by sticking up to the shoulders 
 in dirt and nastiness. Is it any other than 
 the uneasy dread of falHng into their hands, 
 ^vhere he can expect nothing but misery and 
 destruction ? 
 
 9. But I am so averse to differing from 
 Mr. Locke, that whenever I cannot bring 
 my notions to tally with his, I hunt about 
 for all expedients to reconcile them, so that 
 I may hold my own consistently with those 
 he entertains. And such expedient is most 
 likely to be found by observing upon the un- 
 steadiness and variableness of language. The 
 most careful, as well as the giddy, use their 
 words in various significations. Your men 
 of close application, though taking their 
 terms from the common lano;uao;e, find them- 
 selves under a necessity of recasting them 
 in a mould of their own, to fit them for 
 purposes that were not wanted in the usual 
 intercourses of life : and sometimes the 
 moulds they severally use differ from one 
 another in some little particular. What if 
 this should be the case between Mr. Locke 
 and myself? Might we not then think the 
 same at bottom Avhile we express ourselves 
 by opposite sides of a contradiction ? Per- 
 haps, what he calls a continuance of action 
 I should call a continuance of courses : and 
 
 so 
 I 2
 
 116 Sathf action. [chap. 6 
 
 so there is no repugnance, because we are 
 not talking of the same thing. 
 
 Now in order to understand what I mean 
 by courses, please to take notice that we 
 have each of us a set of views, aims, and 
 desires, leading us into those courses of be- 
 haviour which fill up the employment of 
 our lives : and though we may frequently 
 step aside out of one tract into another, we 
 still continue to pursue courses of the same 
 set. The word carries this sense in common 
 conversation when we speak of virtuous or 
 vicious courses : nor is a man reckoned to 
 alter his courses because he quits the exercise 
 of one virtue, or gratification of one vicious 
 appetite, for that of another, as opportunity 
 occurs. Neither does every turning after 
 other pursuits at inten als make a discontinu- 
 ance of the first : for some are of such a na- 
 ture as not to be compleated but by returning 
 to the work at distant seasons with large gaps 
 and spaces intenening. Thus a man may 
 continue a course of physic though he dis- 
 patches business, takes divei-sions, and does 
 many things between whiles. Therefore Mr. 
 Locke would probably say of the man that 
 left his harpsichord to get a place, that he had 
 two desires directing his courses, the love of 
 music, and of money or honour, and when 
 the latter drew him away from the former, 
 
 here
 
 CHAP. 6.] Safhf action. 117 
 
 here was no change of measures, but the con- 
 tinuance of a pursuit he had long since been 
 engaged in. The dancers were following a 
 course of pleasure Avhich kept them on in the 
 same road how much soever particular ob- 
 jects might vary. That the poor traveller 
 was held in his quagmire by self-preservation, 
 which is a main principle influencing us in 
 the course of our lives, and which we never 
 throw aside until some hard pressure of fortune 
 shall make us uneasy with our being. 
 
 And that Mr. Locke had these courses in 
 view appears manifest from the instances he 
 makes use of in support of his assertion; 
 which are that of " an idle fellow whom you 
 " shall not move to industry, convince him 
 '' never so much of the advantage plenty 
 " has over poverty, make him see and own 
 *' never so plainly that the handsome con- 
 " veniences of life are better than nasty 
 " penury, so long as he can content himself 
 " with the latter and finds no uneasiness in 
 " it. And of a worldling, who, though never 
 *' so well persuaded of the advantages of 
 " virtue, that it is as necessary to a man, 
 " who has any great aims, as food to life, 
 *' yet enters not upon any action in pursuit of 
 '* this confessed greater good until he hungers 
 "' and thirsts after righteousness, and feels an 
 ^' uneasiness in the want of it." 
 
 Now
 
 118 Satisfaction. [CHAf , 6. 
 
 Now I shall not deny that we seldom, if 
 ever, fail to continue our courses of action so 
 long as they prove satisfactory, nor change 
 them until they become insipid and cloy, or 
 lead into inconveniences that give us a dis? 
 gust of them. Neither can you well reclaim 
 a man from vicious coui'ses by the offer of 
 satisfaction, for you have none to propose 
 that will be such to him : the pleasure and 
 ease of virtue arise from the practice of it, 
 and he who has never practised it will see 
 nothing inviting in it. Therefore you must 
 begin with loim by representing the mischiev-r 
 Gus tendency of his evil doings, and if you 
 can bring him to a dread and abhorrence of 
 them, which shall make him uneasy under the 
 apprehension of them, you may prevail upon 
 him to change his measures. There are in- 
 deed, besides the satisfaction your proficients 
 in virtue feel in every exercise of it, certain 
 rewards and fruits that any man would de- 
 sire, but these operate at first by the uneasi- 
 ness they create in the want of them. For 
 when a man has taken a resolution of pur- 
 chasing those rewards, the solicitations of old 
 habits will frequently draw him back into his 
 old courses, upon which the uneasiness and 
 vexation of having failed in his resolution 
 may drive him to renew it again, and while 
 he adheres, the uneasiness of denying his other 
 
 desires
 
 HAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 119 
 
 desires still torments him : so that he must 
 remain in a state of uneasiness while the 
 change is making, and until it be compleated 
 by the old habits entirely losing their vigour. 
 Which makes good the observation of ancient 
 and modern ages, that the paths of virtue are 
 thorny and rugged at their entrance, but lead 
 into a pleasant and delightful country. 
 
 10. Thus, though I have represented action 
 in a diftcrent light from ]\Ir. Locke, we must 
 not therefore be thought to differ in substance, 
 but in our manner of handlino; it. For though 
 I do not pretend to a clearer, perhaps I may 
 to a more microscopic eye : I consider action 
 more minutelj'-j endeavouring to analj^ze it 
 into its primary parts. Now the shape and 
 other circumstances belonging to the parts 
 may vary greatly from those of the whole. 
 Look upon your table and you see it round 
 or square, or of some other regular form : 
 hold your eye near the wood and you will 
 perceive it waving in veins, or running in lon- 
 gitudinal fibres : the httle particles composing 
 it attract and cohere strong!}^ to one another, 
 but the table neither attracts nor coheres to 
 the paper, the ink-bottle, nor the pen-knife }^ou 
 lay upon it. So if a habit of drinking be taken 
 as one action, it may always be continued so 
 long as a man can satisfy himself in the prac- 
 
 tige,
 
 120 Satisfaction. [chap. 6- 
 
 tice, and always broken off as soon as the un- 
 easiness of a gout, or other mischief brought 
 upon him thereby, shall exceed his fondness 
 for the liquor : and yet the single acts whereof 
 that large action consists may spring from 
 satisfaction or uneasiness, indifferently, as ei- 
 ther happens to present. For he may change 
 his bottle either because he dislikes that stand- 
 ing before him, or because he pleases himself 
 with the thought of tasting another sort ; 
 and he may stay sometime at the tavern for' 
 the pleasure of the company, and continue 
 there after that pleasure ceases, to avoid the 
 uneasiness of going home, where he will not 
 know what to do with himself. 
 
 Since then nature has furnished me with 
 a microscope, why should I not accept her 
 favour, for she bestows not the slightest of 
 her gifts in vain ? The Temple of Knowledge" 
 cannot be built without the concurrent la- 
 bours of many artificers working with various 
 qualifications. Who then shall blame me 
 for making such use as I can of my little ta* 
 lent in pursuing minute discoveries that per- 
 sons of larger views overlook ? Should I fail 
 of doing any good service myself, somebody 
 else may turn them to better advantage : for 
 it is no uncommon thing in the sciences, as 
 well as arts and manufactures, to see one man 
 
 prepare
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 121 
 
 prepare materials for another to work up. 
 However, if my health and spirits hold, I shall 
 strive hard but I will make some texture out 
 of my materials that a man shall find conve- 
 nient for his service, without sending it to 
 another operator to be finished. 
 
 11. 1 hope matters are pretty well accom- 
 modated with Mr. Locke in regard to the 
 diflSculty before mentioned : bull donotknow 
 how I shall come off* with him upon another 
 point, where he speaks of the uneasiness of 
 desire, and makes desire constantly accom- 
 panied with uneasiness. I can go with him 
 half way, so far as to admit that desire often 
 creates us cruel uneasinesses, and that the 
 smart of their wounds rises in proportion to 
 the intenseness of our desire. But this hap- 
 pens only when desire meets with a disap- 
 pointment ; when two incompatible desires 
 urge strongly at once, both of which cannot 
 be gratified; when some hindrance checks 
 or at least: retards desire. For while desire 
 runs on smoothly in its cou^'se towards attain- 
 ment, while we want nothing besides the 
 object we pursue, while no bar stands across 
 the way, nor difficulty occurs to check our 
 speed, for my part I can see nothing but 
 continual satisfaction accompanying the pro- 
 gress. 
 
 I may sa}'' with Mr. Dryden, " Old as I 
 
 ''am,
 
 122 Satisfaction. [chap. 6, 
 
 *' am, for lady's love unfit, The power of 
 " beauty I remember yet." I still bear iii 
 mind the days of my courtship, which in the 
 lano'uaoe of all men is called a season of de- 
 sire; 3'et, unless I strangely forget myself, it 
 proved to me a season of satisfaction too. 
 But, saj^s Mr. Locke, it is better to marry 
 than to burn, where we may see what it is 
 that chiefly drives men into a conjugal life. 
 This, for ought I know, might be the motive 
 with some men, who, being of an unsociable 
 and undomestic turn, can see nothing good 
 in matrimony, but submit to it as a lesser evil 
 delivering them from a greater. And I can 
 excuse an old batchelor for entertaining so 
 despicable a notion of a state he never expe- 
 rienced the pleasures of himself Others it 
 may be make their engagements too hastily, 
 and then would break them oft^ again through 
 the shame of doing a foolish thing, till the 
 smart of their burnings becomes intolerable, 
 and drives them headlono- into the matri- 
 monial net. But this, thanks to my stars, 
 was not my case: my own judgment, upon 
 mature deliberation, and the approbation of 
 my iVicnds, gave leave for desire to take its 
 course. I might feel some scorchings in my 
 youthful days when it would have been im- 
 prudent to quench them, and while the ob- 
 ject of desire lay at an uudiscernible distance : 
 
 but
 
 CHAP, 6.] Satisfaction. 123 
 
 but as the prospect drew nearer, and desire had 
 jLicence to begin its career, it had no more 
 the fierceness of a furnace but became a gen- 
 tle riame casting forth a pleasing exhilarating 
 warmth. Perhaps I might meet with some 
 littlerubs in the way thatgave medisturbance: 
 if my fair one spake a civil word to any tall, 
 well-bred young fellow, I might entertain 
 some idle apprehensions lest he should sup- 
 plant xne. When 1 took a hackney coach to 
 visit her, if we were jammed in between the 
 carts, perhaps I might fret and fume, and 
 utter many an uneasy Pish ; but as soon as 
 we got through the stop, though desire abated 
 pot, every shadow of uneasiness fled away. 
 As near as I can remember, during the whole 
 scene, desire, close attended by satisfaction, di- 
 rected all my steps, and occupied all my mo- 
 ments: it awaked with me in the morning, 
 and was the last idea swept away by sleep : it 
 invigorated me in business, it heightened my 
 diversions, it gave me life when in company, 
 and entertained me with delightful reflec- 
 tions when alone. Nor did it fail of accom- 
 panying me to the altar, where, laying aside its 
 sprightliness and gaiety, as unsuitable to the 
 solemnity of the occasion, it became more 
 calm and decent, exhibiting the prospect of 
 an agreeable companion, who should double 
 the enjoyments and alleviate the troubles of 
 
 life;
 
 I24« Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 life ; who should case me from the burthen of 
 houshold cares and assist me in bringing up a 
 rising family ; whose conversation should be 
 a credit to me abroad, and a continual feast to 
 me at home. Nor yet did possession put an 
 end to desire, which found fresh fuel to keep it 
 alive from time to time, in mutual intercourses 
 of kindness and hearty ii'iendship, in commu- 
 nication of interests, counsels and sentiments; 
 and could often teed upon the merest trifles. 
 How often, having picked up some little piece 
 of news abroad, has desire quickened my pace 
 to prattle it over at home ! how often, upon 
 hearing of something curious in the shops, 
 have I gone to buy it with more pleasure than 
 the keenest sportsman goes after his game ! 
 Thus desire, leading delight hand in hand, at- 
 tended us for many years, still retaining its 
 first vigour although a little altered in shape 
 and complexion ; until my other half was 
 torn away from me. Then indeed desire left 
 me, for it had nothing now to rest upon, and 
 with it fled joy, delight, content, and all 
 those under desires that used to put me upon 
 the common actions of the day ; for I could 
 like nothing, find amusement in nothing, and 
 care for nothins; : and in then stead jsuc- 
 ceeded melancholy, tastelessness, and perpe- 
 tual restlessness. And though I called in all my 
 philosophy to rescue me from this disconsolate 
 
 condition,
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 125 
 
 condition, it could not relieve me presently, 
 but had a long struggle before it could get 
 the better of nature. 
 
 12. I doubt not there are many persons in 
 the world, who, having been as happily paired, 
 could read the account here given of myself 
 as feelingly as ever I wrote it. As for your 
 determined bachelors or injudicious husbands 
 %vho have married only for money, or for 
 beauty, or for a frolic, or for a bedfellow, or 
 for they did not well know why, though they 
 may think me romantic, yet I suppose they 
 have had desires of their own of some sort or 
 other ; eitlier of raising a fortune, or of pre- 
 ferment, or of building, or of gardening, or of 
 sports, or of dress, or of acquisitions in learn- 
 ing, which have engaged them inlong pursuits. 
 And I believe wc shall all give in our verdict 
 unanimously upon the positive evidence of our 
 own several experience. That our desires 
 have furnished us with the greatest part of 
 our enjoyments in life ; and that desire so 
 long as it can move on succesfully without 
 rub or disappointment, without wanting fuel 
 to feed it, and without pain or unlucky acci- 
 dents intervening, has supplied us with a con- 
 tinual fund of satisfaction. But when desire 
 grows languid for want of fresh matter to 
 work upon, when it cannot, like a wanton 
 bird, hop about fiom twig to twig, from 
 bush to bush, continuing its play, then the 
 
 time
 
 126 Satisfaction, [chap. 6* 
 
 time hangs heavy upon our hands : when i: 
 meets with crosses or delays, when it rises to 
 impatience, or is of such a nature as to re- 
 quire an immediate gratification that cannot 
 be had ; then indeed vexation and uneasiness 
 find a ready entrance. 
 
 That the uneasiness Mr. Locke found in 
 desire, proceeds from some of those causes, 
 may appear by the examples he produces in 
 proof of it. Desire, says he^ deferred, makes 
 the heart sick. Leave out the participle De- 
 ferred, and the rest of the sentence will not 
 hold true. Change it for another, and we may 
 lay down the contrary as a maxim ; for desire 
 promoted makes the heart glad. Therefore 
 desire is not i?n its own nature a state of un- 
 easiness, nor unless rendered so by disappoint* 
 ment or delay. Give me children, says Ra- 
 chael, or I die ; but this was not till after a 
 long course of barrenness she began to despair 
 of having any; when Joseph was coming, 
 we hear no more of such exclamations, yet 
 I suppose she still continued to desire it 
 might prove a boy. Where he speaks of the 
 uneasiness of hunger and thirst, surely he must 
 have in his thoughts the cravings of a person 
 almost dying with either, rather than the 
 common returns of appetite at stated seasons 
 during health. I speak only for myself, 
 when I sit down to dinner I feel no uneasiness 
 
 in
 
 citAV. 6.] Satisfaction. 127 
 
 in being hungry, but rather rejoice at having 
 a good appetite, frgm whence I expect a 
 better reUsh to my victuals than any sauces 
 could give them. How do other people fare 
 upon the like occasion ? If on coming home 
 from a journey in hot weather, you find your- 
 self faintish and droughty, and call for a glass 
 of wine and water, have you not a pleasure in 
 seeing the wine pour from the bottle or 
 sparkle in the glass, even before you bring it 
 to your mouth ? And does not this pleasure 
 arise from your desire ? for you would feel 
 it no longer on the like prospect after having 
 fully quenched your thirst. Pretty bottle, 
 says Sganarelle, how sweet are thy little glug 
 glugs ! how envied would be my lot wert 
 thou to keep always full for all my pourings ! 
 Desire then gave the glugs their sweetness, 
 for Sganarelle was in a state of desire, not of 
 fruition, when he solaced himself with their 
 music, the liquor having not yet entered his 
 lips : nor was there I suppose any thing veiy 
 harmonious in the sound, or any other charm 
 besides the assurance of his bottle beins; full, 
 and the means of accomplishing his desire 
 abundantly at hand. 
 
 Could uneasiness alone determine the Will, 
 how wretched must the condition of man- 
 kind appear ! for the Will never ceases 
 working from morning to night : we are al- 
 ways
 
 128 Satisfaction. [chap. 6, 
 
 ways a doing, but should have nothing to do 
 unless to deliver ourselves from uneasinesses 
 . following close upon one another's heels. Hu- 
 man life from beginning to end would be no- 
 thing but a restless endeavour to throw off an 
 evil we could never totally remove, and would 
 exhibit one continued scene of uninterrupted 
 uneasiness. But, kind nature be praised ! our 
 condition is not quite so forlorn and comfort- 
 less. We have our hours, and those of ac- 
 tivity too, wherein we can employ ourselves 
 with satisfaction and delight : and since in 
 those pleasurable seasons we do not stand 
 idle, there must be something else besides 
 uneasiness capable of urging us to action. 
 
 13. Mr. Locke it seems once held that 
 ancient, and till his time universally received 
 opinion, That good, the greater good, under- 
 stood and appreliended to be such, deter- 
 mined the Will: he first discovered that it was 
 always something present, and no distant 
 good, that gave the turn to our activity ; for 
 which I acknowledge myself and the world 
 greatly obliged to him ; for an important and 
 leading discovery it v;as, as it has let us more 
 than anything into the secret springs of human 
 action. But since new discoveries are seldom 
 perfected at once, may I be permitted to offer 
 at an improvement, and add, that present sa- 
 tisfaction, as well as present uneasiness, is ca- 
 pable
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 129 
 
 pable of performing the office. I know that 
 distant good does often operate by the un- 
 easy want we have of it, by the shame, the 
 vexation, the regret, we feel in shpping our 
 opportunity of gaining it, but it has like- 
 wise a quality of throwing a sensible satisfac- 
 tion upon every step we take in advancing 
 towards it. Which latter I conceive wants 
 not efficacy, especially in those who have a 
 strong attachment to virtue and prudence, or 
 as Mr. Locke expresses it, who hunger and 
 thirst after righteousness, any more than the 
 former, to determine volition : and according 
 as the one or the other actuates our motions, 
 we pursue the object of our desire through the 
 flowery meads of delight, or the thorny paths 
 of trouble and self-denial. 
 
 14. But it may be said that, according to 
 my own doctrine (§ 8), satisfaction and uneasi- 
 ness are not so incompatible but the one may 
 move us while the other possesses us : there- 
 fore why may not uneasiness be the sole in- 
 citement constantly spurring to action, with- 
 out necessarily rendering our motions uneasy, 
 while we can keep it aloof by continual efforts 
 to escape it ? I do not forget what I have 
 there laid down, that one may fly uneasiness 
 without being in a state of suffering ; for the 
 prospect of the next ensuing moment moves 
 us to action, but the feel of the present deno- 
 
 voL. I. K miuates
 
 130 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 minatcs our condition : now one ma)^ have 
 the prospect of a very different sort of ground 
 from that one stands upon. Delightful is it, 
 savs Lucretius, to stand upon firm land and 
 see the mariners tossing and toiling in a tem- 
 pestuous sea. Delightful to behold the bloody 
 scenes of war spread over a spacious field 
 without sharing in the danger yourself. Not 
 because there is any pleasure in seeing others 
 tormented, but because the prospect of evils 
 from which your:5elf are exempt is delightful. 
 Nor I suppose would your delight be the less 
 if you were to do something towards escaping 
 the danger, provided you had certain and easy 
 tneans at hand for effe'cting your escape : were 
 you on board the fleet, but stepping mto a 
 boat that should land you safe before the stomi 
 beoan to rage ; or in the army, and mounting 
 an easy pad that should carry you far enough 
 out of harm's way before the battle joined. 
 But where Mr. Locke treats of the uneasiness 
 eivins: birth to our actions. I cannot under- 
 stand him of the prospect but of very uneasi- 
 ness itself; which to my thinking cannot consist 
 with a stclte of enjoyment, but must necessa- 
 rily, according to the degree of it, throw the 
 mind into a state of siitreriag so long as it 
 continues and as often as it returns. " For to 
 the question, What determines the ^Vill ? he 
 answei-s, Some uneasiness a man is at present 
 
 under.
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 131 
 
 under. So that it is not timely caution 
 against an approaching mischief, but the pres- 
 sure of uneasiness actually felt, that alone suf- 
 fices to set us at work : and this equally the 
 same whether the avoidance of evil or attain- 
 ment of distant good be the object of our 
 endeavours. For, says he, there is a desire of 
 ease from pain, and another of absent positive 
 good, in which latter also the desire and un- 
 easiness is equal : as much as we desire any 
 absent good so much are we in pain for it. 
 Now whether the prospect of absent attain- 
 able good does always fill us with a painful 
 want and uneasiness I have some reasons to 
 doubt : but shall defer giving them until I 
 have gone through my next observation, 
 which may render what 1 have to say upon 
 this point more easily intelligible. 
 
 15. For my sixth remark I shall lay down 
 That satisfaction and uneasiness often beoet 
 and introduce each other: the bare escape 
 from pain gives a sensible pleasure, and tlie 
 loss of any great pleasure grieves us : what- 
 ever affects us strongly of either kind generally 
 leaves its contrary behind. In time to come, 
 says Eneas, we shall find entertainment in 
 reflecting on the hardships we now undergo. 
 For past sufferings, not likely to return, are of- 
 ten a feast to the mind ; and past pleasures we 
 ean no longer enjoy, remembered with regret. 
 
 K o A man
 
 132 Satisfaction. [chap. G, 
 
 A man just recovered from a fever, finds en- 
 joyment in the ver}'^ deliverance from his dis- 
 ease ; he can pass the day agreeabl}^ though 
 with his servants only about hira, in a manner 
 he would have thought insipid, lonely, and 
 irksome, at another time ; for he satisfies 
 himself with ease, and wants nothing further 
 to divert him. Thus a great deal of our good 
 springs out of evil; we should often rust in 
 idleness, and feel the time heavy upon our 
 hands, were it not for pain, difficulty, and 
 danger, which rouse us to action ; and though 
 they make us smart for the present, repay us 
 a])undantly afterwards by affording a greater 
 satisfaction in having surmounted them, than 
 they gave us trouble in surmounting. 
 
 On the other hand, suppose a man provided 
 with plenty of all conveniences, and means of 
 ordinary amusement, and fully contented with 
 his present situation: yet tell him of some 
 hio'h diversion s^oin^: forward in the neicrh- 
 bourhood which he must not partake of, and 
 you may perhaps raise a want in him that 
 shall vitiate all his other enjoyments, and 
 throw him into a state of disquiet and uneasi- 
 ness. For I shall never deny that strong de- 
 sires do frequently raise an uneasy want of 
 the object they fasten upon ; nor that this does 
 sometimes prevail where the satisfaction of 
 advancing towards the object would not: but I 
 
 conceive
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 133 
 
 conceive this is not always the case, but that 
 desire sometimes operates by the satisfaction of 
 pursuing, and sometimes by the uneasiness of 
 wanting, the thing desired. If a lazy fellow 
 has some acquisition greatly to his liking 
 proposed, he may make a few faint motions 
 at first, and please himself with the prospect 
 of possessing it, but his indolence puts him oif 
 from day to day from using any significant 
 endeavours ; he then begins to reflect with 
 himself, finds the completion of his wishes no 
 nearer than at first setting out ; this raises an 
 uneasy want of them which grows greater 
 and greater by degrees, till at last it over- 
 powers his slothfulness and makes him set his 
 hand in good earnest to the plough. 
 
 16. That uneasiness is the motive in most 
 of those instances mentioned by Mr. Locke I 
 shall readily agree, and might produce others 
 wherein uneasines-s does the w^ork, although 
 pleasure in the eye of the world runs away 
 with the credit of it : for many times it is not 
 easy to discern which of the two determined 
 the Will. Your debauchees, your triflers, and 
 very fashionable people, who make pleasure 
 their sole employment, I doubt not find de- 
 light in it at first ; but pleasure too often re- 
 peated abates of its relish and at length 
 becomes wholly insipid : yet still they run on 
 the same round of diversions, thinking they 
 
 follow
 
 134* Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 follow pleasure all the while, and so indeed 
 thev do, though not with satisfaction, but for 
 waut of something else to amuse them, or 
 throuoh the cravings of an unnatural appe- 
 tite brought upon them by custom. Follow 
 them to their clubs, and you may hear them 
 sing without joy, laugh without being pleased, 
 and thrum over the same jests till they grow 
 thread-bare. View them in their routs, and 
 they run on the same roll of compliments and 
 common expressions, talking incessantly with- 
 out having any thing to say. Peep upon 
 them at their toilets, and you will perceive 
 dress to be a labour undergone to avoid ap- 
 pearing hideous and out of mode among com- 
 pany. Some real satisfactions they may have 
 when any thing new or unexpected engages 
 their fancy : but chiefly I believe in going on 
 the way to their parties, which is a kind of 
 business, being an action undertaken not for 
 its own sake, but for some end : the}" may 
 then rejoice at having thrown otT the insup- 
 portable burden of time, and escaped the 
 misery of staying at home alone, or may flatter 
 themselves with the same relish in their di- 
 versions they used formerly to enjoy ; for de- 
 lusive expectations will satisfy the mind so 
 long as the delusion holds. Thus the cloven- 
 footed tyrant inveigles the unwary with exor* 
 bitant wages at first, but having once bound 
 
 them
 
 riiAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 135 
 
 them to his service, by rendering them unfit 
 for any otlier, he shortens their allowance, 
 giving them no more than just enough to 
 persuade them they earn something, and 
 for the most part lashes them through his 
 drudgery with scourges, or pinches them with 
 his. iron claws. 
 
 Now let us do justice on all sides, and con- 
 fess honestly that the virtuous man does not 
 always find delight in the practice of his vir- 
 tues. There is a joy, a complacence of mind 
 which I hope every one of us feels upon 
 acting right : but there is likewise a shame, 
 a vexation, a compunction, upon acting 
 wrong : and this latter often serves to keep 
 us steady in our good courses when the other 
 would have failed. Could we behold virtue 
 naked, says Plato, ^vc should find her so di- 
 vinely charming that we could never like -my 
 thino; else : but virtue is a modest viroin 
 she will not let 3'ou see her naked until you 
 are wedded to her ; she displays a hand, an 
 arm, a cheek, at a time, as you get furth* into 
 her familiarity. Therefore how much soever 
 young admirers may be smitten with her at 
 first sight, while covered with her veil, this 
 like all sudden desires cannot hold its vigour: 
 but the solicitations of passion or old vicious 
 habits will draw them from their pursuit, 
 unless the general persuasion of her being a 
 
 consummate
 
 136 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 consummate beauty shall raise a want of her 
 acquaintance that may overpoise all uneasi- 
 ness beside. As for those who are become 
 intimate with the lovely creature, they may 
 see so much of her beauties, and retain such 
 a taste of her sweetness, as shall fill them with 
 a warm and steady delight, sufficient to make 
 them surmount difficulties and troubles with 
 pleasure : and if I may so say, render uneasi- 
 ness itself perfectly easy. I can imagine it pos- 
 sible in theor}^ that a man may have so strong 
 a relish for the practice of virtue, as may make 
 his condition happy under the greatest pain: 
 that he may look upon all present sufferings 
 as nothing for the exceeding weight of glory 
 that lies in store hereafter. For I know any 
 strong desire has power sometimes to pluck 
 out the sting of pain : I have experienced 
 it myself in little complaints, such as an 
 aching corn or a grumbling tooth, which 
 though I have felt, I have despised and not 
 wished to remove when eager in the pursuit of 
 something greatly to my fancy. But I much 
 question whether the acquisition of so strong 
 a desire as shall keep a man easy in Phalaris 's 
 bull, be practicable among the sons of Adam: 
 it is a great matter if we can raise inclination 
 enough to carry us through common difficul- 
 ties and troubles without being hurt by them. 
 Therefore unless we had an ahorreace of vice 
 
 and
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 137 
 
 and felt a want of virtue when absent, as well 
 as a delight in her company when present, 
 we should make very little advance in our 
 progress towards her. 
 
 Thus the lives of all men, the virtuous 
 and the vicious alike, though not in equal 
 proportion, are checquered ; not only with 
 respect to the vicissitudes of health and dis- 
 temper, success and disappointment, favours 
 and frowns of fortune attending them, but 
 also to the motives of joy or vexation, con- 
 tent or disquiet, spurring on alternately to 
 action. Desire, like a smiling Angel, and its 
 bastard offspring Want, like the knight of the 
 ill-favoured face, direct our conduct by turns. 
 While some idle passion passing by holds 
 desire in chat, the other jumps into the box ; 
 as soon as the intruder can be got rid of, the 
 rightful coachman resumes his seat. While 
 he holds the reins we roll smoothly and cur- 
 rently along, feasting our e^^es upon the glad- 
 some prospect before us ; but when his de- 
 puty drives, clouds of noisome dust obstruct 
 our view, we feel the carriage jolt and hob- 
 ble, tossing us to and fro, and knocking our 
 joints perpetually against the sides. For ac- 
 cording as desire or want actuate our motions, 
 we are in a state of enjoyment or a state of 
 suffering: and this whether our object be 
 
 some
 
 138 Satisfaction, [chap. (T. 
 
 some distant good, or the removal from some 
 approaching evil. 
 
 1 7. Now after what has been laid down 
 under this sixth remark, nobody will expect 
 me to controvert with Mr. Locke, that desire 
 often begets uneasiness, and how much we 
 desire an absent positive good, so much we 
 are in pain for it : but this I appreliend never 
 happens until something obstructs our ad- 
 vances towards the good desired. AVant does 
 not come before, nor does the child use to 
 be older than the parent. A\^e cannot be said 
 to want wl at we m y have when we please, 
 or are in the ready way to obtain, yet we de- 
 sire it, ( r el e we should not proceed in the 
 way. Some desires do not tend to immediate 
 gratification : if a man, fond of hunting, meets 
 with friends Avho propose a match for the 
 next day, he may desire to make one among 
 thorn, and give orders to his servant relative 
 thereto, w^ithout any want of the diversion, 
 M hich, were it offered, he would not choose to 
 go upon directly, nor until he had prepared 
 himself by a good night's rest for the fatigue. 
 What w^e possess we cannot be thought to 
 want, though we may desire the continuance 
 of it ; but that is for our future occasions, 
 not to remove an}^ present imeasiness. Every 
 man having just received his last year's in- 
 come, desires 1 suppose to receive his next 
 
 also.
 
 CH>P. t).] Satisfaction. 139 
 
 also, but he does not want it, nor, had he it 
 in hand, and were a prudent man, would he 
 make use of it for his expenses of the current 
 year. We all desire life and health, and do 
 many things for their preservation ; but while 
 in vigoui-, peace, and plenty, what want do 
 we feel of cither ? Can we never choose a food 
 because it is wholesome, nor take an agree- 
 able exercise to mend our constitution, unless 
 driven by approaching sickness, or affrighted 
 by the king of terrors staring us in the face ? 
 We all desire the fresh air we breathe, but 
 must we never walk into the fields to enjoy a 
 purer draught, imtil almost suffocated hy the 
 smoke of town ? 
 
 18. Besides, although every considerable 
 desire may have its opposite want, and either 
 of them be capable of inciting us to action, 
 when we seek for the motive we must con- 
 sider what actually operated. For the mind 
 may have many motives in store which do 
 not always enter the scale, and when they do 
 not, have no share in weighing down the 
 balance. AVhatever otlier folks might do> 
 Mr. Locke, I dare say, would agf'ee with me^ 
 that an action can be ascribed to no motive 
 that was not present in the thought or imagi* 
 nation at the time of acting. A man goes to 
 the playhouse thinking only to see the play, 
 and there meets with an intimate acquaint- 
 ance
 
 140 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 tance, in whose conversation he takes great 
 dehght. Perhaps he did not know the other 
 would be there ; perhaps he had heard it last 
 week, but utterly forgot it again : amuse- 
 ment then was his motive ; the meeting his 
 friend had no share in his motions ; although, 
 had that occurred to his thoughts, he would 
 have gone ten times more readily. Therefore, 
 to discover the true spring of action, it is not 
 enough to know that want is capable of per- 
 forming the office of a spring, but we must 
 examine whether we had such want in view 
 at the instant of bestining ourselves. The 
 hard student, says Mr. Locke, will not leave 
 his studies for the pleasures of appetite, but 
 when hung^er beo-ins to make him uneasv, then 
 away he goes to remove it. But is this the 
 case with every student ? When I have been 
 staring all the morning at the light of nature, 
 till I have stared myself almost blind, I find 
 my spirits want recreation : I then throw 
 aside my papers sometime before dinner ; the 
 veriest trifle suits my purpose best, the phi- 
 losopher can loll out at window like miss 
 Gawkey, to see the wheelbarrow trundle, or 
 the butcher's dog carry tlie tray, and is per- 
 fectly contented with his situation as being 
 fittest for the present occasion. Presently the 
 bell rings, and down run I into the parlour. 
 Now did Whitefield and Westley endeavour to 
 
 stop
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction, Hi 
 
 stop me, bellowing out their exhortations to 
 abstinence, self-denial, and mortification, 
 possibly I might fret a good deal, and the 
 uneasiness of wanting my dinner urge me to 
 exert all my might in brushing by them. But 
 by good luck they do not honour me with 
 their acquaintance, nor have I any of their 
 revelations commanding me to austerities : so 
 that the thought of starving, or of w hat I 
 should suffer by missing a meal, never once 
 enters into my head, and therefore cannot be 
 the motive actuating my motions. 
 
 But neither does it appear to me universally 
 true, that how much we desire absent good so 
 much we are in pain for it. There are many 
 little goods weighty enough to turn the mental 
 scale, but not strong enough to give us pain. 
 We have numberless gentle desires continu- 
 ally prompting us to common actions, yet too 
 feeble to beget any offspring. When these 
 prompt us, if the object can be readily come 
 at, it is very well : if not, we give ourselves no 
 further concern, nor think it worth any trouble 
 to procure ; we feel no w ant, no pain, nor 
 disappointment, in the miss of it. Sometimes 
 I walk to and fro in my garden in the country, 
 intending only to ruminate on some trifle or 
 other; perhaps I espy a peach that l(5oks ripe 
 and inviting, and I reach out my hand to 
 pluck it. Should my gardener tell me, Sir^ 
 
 I thought
 
 142 Satisfaction. [chap. 6 
 
 I thoiie;ht to have resented that for tlie com- 
 pany yoa expect to morrow, or should any 
 other Uttle reason occur to stop me, I should 
 forbear ; but if nothmg intervenes, 1 go on 
 to compleat my purpose. Now, when I re- 
 flect on the state of my mind on such oc- 
 casions, and examine mine ideas with the 
 closest application of the microscope, as well 
 when I gratify my fancy as when I restrain 
 it, I cannot discern the least pain, or want, 
 or uneasiness imaginable : and therefore crave 
 leave to conclude that something else, besides 
 want and uneasiness, is capable of deter- 
 mining me to the use of my powers. 
 
 19. Whence then comes it that Mr. Locke 
 and I entertain so different notions concern- 
 ing desire ? For Ave are both careful plodding 
 folks ; not used to do things hastily, but sift- 
 ing: our thouo'hts, and weiahins: our words be- 
 fore we deal them out. Is the difference 
 owing to the microscopic make of mine eye, 
 that sees minuter goods, smaller actions, slen- 
 derer desires, than other people ? or is there 
 some fallacy, some equivocation, some vari- 
 ous use of language, that keeps us asunder .'' 
 Perhaps what 1 take for desire, while suc- 
 cessful in its eareer. lie may call joy or hope, 
 or by some other name. Perhaps all that we 
 do in pursuit of the same object, though I 
 should tbink it a series uf distinct actions, 
 
 and
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 143 
 
 and distinct volitions, he may consider as one 
 action, and one determination of the Will, 
 which, while retaining its full vigour, and the 
 purpose not compleated, we do not depart 
 from to make a new determination until press- 
 ed by some urgent want or uneasiness. Thus 
 if your hard student determines at breakfast 
 to study so many hours, and then take an air- 
 ing abroad, Avhile he turns over his books, or 
 when he throws them aside, here is no deter- 
 mination made of the Will, for that was done 
 once for all in the morning : nor can you draw 
 him from his plan before the determined time 
 by any solicitations of pleasure, but should 
 his head ache, or his stomach cry cupboard, 
 the uneasiness of that mie:ht drive him into 
 a new course of action different from that he 
 had determined upon before. I wish some- 
 body would help us to a clue to guide through 
 this labyrinth, and bring us together again, 
 for I am never better satisfied with myself 
 than' when travelling in his company. In the 
 mean while, though I reverence his authority 
 beyond that of all others, whether ancient or 
 modern, in matters relating to human nature, 
 yet he will excuse me for adhering to my 
 own judgment until it shall be altered by 
 better information ; for he, I am sure, would 
 be the last man in the world to impose an au- 
 
 thoritv
 
 144 Satisfaction. [chap. 6, 
 
 thority upon any body, or desire to draw fol- 
 lowers by any other force than the conviction 
 of their own judgment. Yet I still hope the 
 difference is not a variance of sentiment, but 
 of expression, or of the manner wherein we 
 consider the same subject ; and that we travel 
 the same road, though by different branches. 
 But as one cannot go on currently in any other 
 way than that one is acquainted with, I shall 
 continue to proceed in my own track, trusting 
 that we shall quickly be found walking hand 
 in hand again, and speaking almost the same 
 language. 
 
 20. In the seventh place let it be noted, 
 that neither satisfaction nor uneasiness ever 
 enter the mind without some other sensation 
 or idea to introduce them. For as you can- 
 not have the pleasure of sweetness without 
 putting something sweet into your mouth, 
 nor the delight of a prospect without having 
 some delightful prospect to look upon, so 
 neither can you procure satisfaction without 
 seeing or hearing, or contemplating or reflect- 
 ing, on something satisfactory. And that the 
 satisfaction is something distinct from the con- 
 comitant ideas, appears manifest, because it 
 may be separated from them : for the same ob- 
 ject, presenting in the same shape and features, 
 affects us variously, being sometimes alluring 
 
 and
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 145 
 
 and at other times insipid. One may be ex- 
 tremely desirous of seeing a particular pla}^ but 
 being disappointed this week, may not care a 
 farthing for it the next, according as one hap- 
 pens to be differently disposed: the play is the 
 same, the actors the same, and the opportuni- 
 ties the same with those you wished for before, 
 nor can you find any other difference than only 
 the relish. This makes good what I observed 
 before, that all motives are compound ideas, 
 for though satisfaction be the only ingredient 
 weighing in the scale, others are necessary to 
 serve as a vehicle for conveying it to the mind. 
 
 21. The eighth particular relating to satis- 
 faction follows naturally from the last : for if 
 we cannot have satisfaction but by applying 
 some vehicle to convey it, it behoves us to look 
 out for the proper vehicles containing the de- 
 sired ingredient within them. Nature makes 
 up the mixtures herself, nor have we any hand 
 in the composition : sugar has its sweetness, 
 gall its bitterness, success its joy, and disap- 
 pointment its vexation, by her provision ; we 
 can neither alter nor diminish the relish of 
 things by our own power. Sometimes she 
 shifts her ingredients, taking out satisfaction 
 and leaving the vehicle insipid, or substituting 
 uneasiness in its room : but even these changes 
 of taste are of her making, being effected by 
 the variable nature of our palates disposed to 
 
 VOL.1. L different
 
 146 Satisfaction, [chap. 6\ 
 
 dift'erent viands at different times, nor can 
 we help ourselves to restore them at pleasure 
 to their former state, but must take objects as 
 we find them, according to the pressing dis- 
 position either of our body or mind. This 
 nobody will deny, nor say that when salt has^ 
 lost its savour we have wherewith to salt it ; 
 or that we can always raise the same fondness 
 we had for a particular diversion the other 
 day, or make nothing of a fatigue we used to 
 undergo with cheerfulness. 
 
 22. Thus far we go on currently, without 
 opponent or contradiction ; but in this di- 
 vided disputatious world one must not ex- 
 pect to travel any road long without a check. 
 There are people, namely, your sticklers for 
 indifferency of Will, who pretend that nature 
 has left some of her vehicles empty, indiffe- 
 rent to receive either satisfaction or uneasiness 
 as we please to sprinkle it upon them, or 
 mingled up others so loosely that we can pick 
 out the vivifying ingredient, and throw in its 
 opposite, thus changing the quality of a mo- 
 tive, and rendering that satisfactory which 
 was naturally distasteful. Not that they deny 
 volition always follows the last act of the un- 
 derstanding, but, say they, we have a certain 
 degi'ee of power to give colours to our ideas, 
 and controul the understanding, so as to make 
 it pronounce sentence against the clearest de- 
 cision
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 147 
 
 cision of judgment, or strongest solicitation of 
 passion. 
 
 Here I have the pleasure of returning into 
 my old alliance again, and joining forces with 
 Mr. Locke, whom I find as little inclined to 
 this notion of indifFerency as myself. Those 
 he had to deal with, it seems, had delivered 
 themselves so obscurely concerning this ante- 
 cedent indifference, as they called it, that he 
 could not tell where they placed it : whether 
 between the thought and judgment of the 
 understanding, and the decree of the Will, 
 where there appears no room for any thing, 
 or before the former, Avhich is a state of 
 darkness exhibiting no object whereon to ex- 
 ercise our power. But by a book not ex- 
 tant in his time. Dr. King upon the Origin of 
 Evil, and his profound commentator, I can 
 discern where they place this supposed indif- 
 ference, to wit, between the thought and 
 judgment of the understanding; that is, be- 
 tween the action being proposed, and the pre- 
 ference of that action, or its forbearance: and 
 the matter according to their representation 
 stands thus. The mind sits in judgment be- 
 tween several objects offered to her option ; 
 arguments occur in favour of either, and unex- 
 ceptionable evidences are produced ; she sees 
 plainly w^hich has the strongest cause, yet gives 
 judgment for the weakest, by virtue of her 
 
 L 2 arbitrary
 
 148 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 arbitrary power. Or some council makes a 
 motion of course, which never used to be de- 
 nied, and which there is no reason for denying, 
 nevertheless she will reject it, merely because 
 she will. So the province of inditTerence 
 lies between tlie trial and the judgment, 
 which the understanding pronounces by par- 
 ticular direction from the Will, annexing the 
 idea of best to that which had it not before, 
 and this the understanding having discerned, 
 gives judgment accordingly : and that idea 
 the Will annexes by her own sole authority, 
 after full cognizance of the cause, without 
 regard to the merits, and uninfluenced by any 
 motive at all. But there is reall}^ no motive 
 inducing the mind to annex this idea, if any 
 such power she has ? for acting upon our ideas 
 is an act, as well as acting upon our limbs, 
 and she does not use to enter upon action of 
 any kind, unless for some end proposed, or to 
 obtain some effect she conceives will prove 
 satisfactory. Nor must we take understanding 
 here in the vulgar sense Tor the judgment of 
 reason, but for every discernment of the per- 
 ceptive faculty, including the suggestions of 
 fancy, and impulses of passion ; which may 
 start up unawares, and whisper the judge in 
 the ear just before giving sentence, altliough 
 they had not spoken a word during the whole 
 course of the trial. 
 
 Your
 
 GHAT*. 6,] Satisfaction. 149 
 
 Your abettors of indifference, being solemn 
 folks, deal altogether in general terms and 
 abstract reasonings ; but to my thinking, the 
 abstract is seen clearest in the concrete, for 
 ideas fluctuate in our reflection, nor can we 
 hold them long in the same state. If you 
 would judge between two oranges you have 
 seen a little while ago, which is the deeper 
 coloured, you will think sometimes the one, 
 and sometimes the other: but set them close 
 together and fix your eye upon them, this will 
 keep your idea of both steady, so that you 
 jnay quickly perceive which is the redder and 
 which the paler. Therefore I wish they had 
 ^'iven us instances of some particular actions, 
 wherein they apprehended this privilege of 
 indifference is exerted, but since they have 
 thought it below their dignity, or unbe- 
 coming their gravity, I shall attempt to do it 
 for them, and if I can hit upon proper sam- 
 ples to their mind, we shall not rest in specu- 
 lation alone, but shall see by experience whe- 
 ther, in actions esteemed the most indifferent, 
 there is not some motive actually prevailing 
 upon us to perform them. 
 
 23. But I must observe by the way, that 
 the trial above described, is a very complex 
 action, consisting of many single acts, each of 
 which must have its several volition and se- 
 veral end in view, following one another so 
 
 close
 
 150 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 close, that there is no where room for the 
 power of indifferency to interfere. But as 
 the crentlemen we have to deal with seem 
 unprovided with a microscope, I shall not 
 trouble them with minute objects nor such 
 as cannot be discerned with the naked eye ; 
 and therefore shall present them with larger 
 actions, suitable to their organs, and consider 
 the whole compound as one body. 
 
 Since then, they place the merit of their 
 behaviour in the right use of this power of 
 indifferency, one may expect to find the effects 
 of it most apparent in the most arduous ex- 
 ercises of virtue. Suppose then a good man, 
 solicited by temptations, attacked by threat- 
 enings, urged by tortures, to betray his coun- 
 try, yet he bravely resists all opposition : but 
 has he not a thorough persuasion of the ad- 
 vantacres of well doino- ? has he not a strong 
 desire of fulfilling his duty, and a vehement 
 abhorrence of treachery ? These must move 
 him to take up his resolution, and support him 
 in going through with it: for another who 
 had not such motives, or had them in a lower 
 degree, would undoubtedly decline the task 
 or fail upon trial. If they should urge that 
 all men have the like motives, would they 
 but listen to them : those who alledge this, 
 must have a different idea of motives from 
 that we have given before, and overlook the 
 
 distinction
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 151 
 
 distinction between a motive and a good rea- 
 <son for doing a thing. For how reasonable 
 soever it may be to act right, yet to him 
 who does not discern the expedience, or can 
 {satisfy himself in the foregoing it, and feel no 
 uneasiness in the want of it, it is no motive 
 at all. 
 
 What will t1iey say of the perfect wise man, 
 would not he, if there were any such, adhere 
 to the dictates of his judgment without devi- 
 ating in a single instance? Yet he, I suppose, 
 proceeds in all his measures upon the motive 
 of their rectitude. So long as the matter re- 
 mained doubtful, he would remain indifferent 
 to either side, and would all that while suspend 
 his action : but the moment expedience be- 
 came manifest, his indifference would vanish, 
 nor would he delay the determination of his 
 AVill. What will they say of those imperfect 
 wise men we have upon earth ? Have they not 
 a quick sense of honour, and love of right con- 
 duct ? And are they not therefore good and 
 deserving because this motive influences the 
 greatest part of their actions, and because 
 they cannot bchohj villany and meanness with 
 indifference ? Do the judicious and the Avorthy 
 less enjoy or less use this most noble privilege 
 of human nature than the gay, the giddy, and 
 the thoughtless, whose conduct is much more 
 unaccountable, who frequently act upon no 
 
 visihk
 
 152 Sat isf act 1071 [chap. 6. 
 
 visible motive at all, or run counter to the 
 "\veiQ;htiest ? 
 
 Why do they ever exhort us to this or that 
 kind of behaviour, or to make a right use of 
 our privilege ? Does not this imply an opi- 
 nion that they may prevail upon us thereby 
 to o^ive a risfht turn to our indiflerence ? There- 
 fore indiflerence it seems may be operated 
 upon b}^ exhortation, and may as well be car^ 
 ried on by the same through the execution of 
 its purpose. But what are exhortations besides 
 the suggestion of motives to do a thing? which 
 were needless if we might do the same without 
 any motive at all ; and useless if actions per- 
 formed upon motives had no morality in 
 them, nor any action were valuable unless 
 for so much of it as proceeded from our power 
 of indifference. 
 
 i\Iost probably the notion of this power 
 took rise from an inaccuracy of thought oc- 
 casioned by an inaccuracy of language. De- 
 sire, says Mr. Locke, so constantly accom- 
 panies our actions that it is frequently taken 
 for Will, and confounded with it in our dis- 
 courses. I have observed in a former place, 
 that Will and pleasure are reputed synony- 
 mous terms, nor would it be thought a dif- 
 ferent question should one ask. Will you have 
 such a thing ? or Do you desire or please to 
 have it ? The preference of one thing above 
 
 another
 
 €?JAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 153 
 
 another, either in our judgment or incHna- 
 tion, is often styled the choice of our Will : 
 and when some authority or obligation 
 compels us to do the thing we dislike, we 
 call it acting unwillingly, or against our Will. 
 It would be hard to produce an instance 
 of any man going through with an arduous 
 undertaking, without having it strongly at 
 heart, without a desire of the work to be 
 compleated thereby, or without feeling a 
 want of it, upon being obstructed in his pro- 
 gress. I would ask the champions for indif- 
 ference, whether, when they have made a 
 wrong use of their power, for possibly they 
 may trip once in a while, they do not feel a 
 shame, a vexation, a disappointment, in re- 
 flecting thereupon ; which could not well 
 happen, if they had no desire of improving 
 their opportunities. But this desire, which 
 often has an efficacy to overpower the 
 strongest motives, they confound with the 
 Will, and finding nothing previous in the 
 thought that should give birth to it,, they sup- 
 pose it self-begotten, and thence wisely con- 
 clude the Will has a power of determining 
 itself, and of infusing satisfaction into that, 
 which nature had mingled up with uneasiness. 
 There is a desire, having no other object than 
 the restraint of desire : for men virtuously in- 
 clined find their passions and appetites per- 
 petually
 
 loi Satisfaction. [CUAV. 6. 
 
 petually drawing them aside out of their road : 
 this gives them a jealousy of such intruders, 
 and when desires solicit strongly, although 
 not ursiino; to anv thinoj mischievous or im- 
 proper, yet they will not comply merely be- 
 cause they will not let their passions get the 
 master}'' over them, nor acquire a strength too 
 great to be resisted at other times. Now this 
 desire of restraining desire, our profound spe- 
 culatists mistake again for the Will, to which, 
 therefore they attribute a power of controul- 
 ing desire, without aid of any counter-weight 
 whatsoever, and of making an election, like 
 the King by a conge d'elire, in virtue of its 
 royal prerogative. 
 
 24. Let us next turn to the abusers of 
 their privilege. A man is urged to some 
 useful attainment : you make him sensible of 
 *" the good fruits dependant upon it, so as to 
 raise in him some desire of gathering them : 
 3'ou convince him there is nothing dithcult in 
 the pursuit, nothing irksome, nothing thwart- 
 ing his other inclinations, yet 3^ou cannot get 
 him to stir. But is there not some secret 
 passion, some habit, some humour, some 
 averseness to trouble, that lies in the way r If 
 3'ou cannot presently discover the rub, it does 
 not follow there is none ; for the heart of 
 man is deceitful above all things, contain- 
 ing many springs unknown, even to the 
 
 owner.
 
 cflAP. 6.] Satisfaction, 155 
 
 owner. But if you have any knowledge of 
 human nature and intimacy with the person, 
 it is ten to one but you may discern the ob- 
 stacle, which you find to be something that 
 acts as a powerful motive upon him, though 
 it might w^eigh nothing with yourself. Since 
 then, upon closer examination, you can gene- 
 rally distinguish a motive where there ap- 
 peared none before, it may be presumed 
 there is one when it escapes your search: 
 therefore those instances of wrong manage- 
 ment are too uncertain a foundation to build 
 the doctrine of indifferency upon. 
 
 But now and then you shall meet with 
 persons, who being recommended to do some- 
 thing advantageous to themselves, which they 
 would have liked well enough, and been fond 
 of, had it first occurred to their own thoughts, 
 yet reject it out of mere crossness : the moreT' 
 you urge them with motives, the stronger 
 they set themselves against it. But con- 
 sider whether the bare having of their Will 
 is not an engaging motive with most men. 
 Liberty of itself is sweet, and to have the 
 command of our motions without controul, 
 what we all in some measure desire. This 
 desire, when excessive, is thought owing to 
 a pervcrseness of Will, which can run con- 
 trary to all motives, either of expedience 
 or inclination ; but it may generally be traced 
 
 to
 
 156 Satisfaction. [chap. C. 
 
 to another source : for obstinate people are 
 either such as have been constantly humoured 
 b}'^ those about them, or else persons of 
 shallow understanding. Fools are credulous 
 at first, till having been frequently deceived, 
 they contiact a jealousy of all mankind, and 
 see no chance of obtaining any thing they like, 
 unless by rejecting whatever shall be proposed 
 by another. Besides there is a kind of honour 
 in doing as we will : and honour operates as 
 a mighty incentive to action. But you will ask, 
 do I conceive there is any honour in persisting 
 obstinately to do just as we will, without re- 
 gard to motives dissuading us from it ? Truly 
 I cannot answer the question so generally 
 proposed, but must give my opinion disjunc- 
 tively. AVhen done in opposition to passion, 
 danger, fatigue, or pain, which we will not 
 suffer to drive us from any thing we have a 
 mind to, I applaud it highly : when in con- 
 tradiction to good advice or the suggestions of 
 reason, I censure it as highly. For tenacious- 
 ness, even of a resolution taken for opposition 
 sake, serves cither to good or bad purposes : 
 when to the former, it is called steadiness and 
 bravery ; when to the latter, pcrverseness and 
 obstinacy. But whether you, or I, or the 
 world, allow it to be honour, or no, there are 
 those who certainly esteem it such ; like the 
 miser in Horace, who^ being hissed by the po- 
 pulace,
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction, 157 
 
 pulace, applauded himself at home in count- 
 ing over his bags ; as appears manifestly by 
 the shame and vexation they feel upon fail- 
 ing of their Will) and the triumph and ex- 
 ultation they express upon prevailing. 
 
 Were the Will indifferent to all motives, and 
 could give itself the turn without any previous 
 cause influencing it thereto, all our actions, 
 those of them at least that are moral, must 
 remain absolutely contingent. How then can 
 we depend upon any man that he will keep 
 this or that tenor of conduct ? Yet we daily 
 repose a full confidence in one man, because 
 we know he w^ill deal honestly by us, and 
 refuse it to another who we know would betray 
 us. Oh ! say they, the one has acquired a 
 rectitude, and the other a perverseness of Will. 
 What do they mean by this rectitude and 
 perverseness of Will ? A pen^erseness of mind 
 I can understand, when satisfaction or desire 
 fixes upon pernicious or deceitful views, and 
 continually moves the Will to pursue them. 
 If they will allow this to be a perverseness of 
 Will, I have no objection : but then this de- 
 pends upon a quality in the AVill to follow 
 desire starting up perpetually to the thought, 
 and he who has this desire strono:er than 
 any other, cannot remain indifferent whe- 
 ther he shall gratify it, or no. Other per- 
 verseness, I know none, but were there 
 any other it must equally destroy indiffer- 
 ence,
 
 158 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 ence, for we see this perverseness once con- 
 tracted determines the Will afterwards to act 
 perversely as often as opportunity shall offer : 
 so the Will remains no longer at liberty to 
 follow or reject the instigations of perverse- 
 ness nor is it the less bound for having 
 brought the thraldom upon itself : as a man 
 who sells himself to the plantations is no less 
 a servant, than the felon transported thither 
 by judgment of law. 
 
 25. Thus the doctrine of indifferency, can- 
 vassed narrowly, contradicts and overthrows 
 itself: for if indifterency be a privilege inhe- 
 rent in human nature, it can never depart from 
 us, for we cannot lose our nature while we 
 continue to be men. Then, although the 
 Will should have given itself a perverseness, 
 it might as well give itself a rectitude again, 
 and vice versa, as often as it pleased without 
 any previous cause or motive: and the beha- 
 viour of men would be totally uncertain and 
 unsteady, for we should act right or wrong, 
 prudently or foolishly, just as indifference 
 happened to take the turn. But if indiffe- 
 rency, b}^! know not what magic, cancontroul 
 itself and persevere in the turn it has once 
 taken, then we have our independency on 
 prior causes only upon some few occasions, 
 that is, when we arc to enter upon a new 
 course of action, which having once deter- 
 mined, we proceed therein mechanically, like 
 
 a ball
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 159 
 
 a ball put in motion, by virtue of the impulse 
 lirst imparted. If this be the case, and merit 
 or demerit extend no further than while the 
 Will can act independently, why do your 
 indiiferencists ever punish for acts done in 
 consequence of a perverseness already con- 
 tracted ? As soon as the perverseness appears, 
 they ought to examine the degree of it, and ap- 
 point a punishment adequate thereto, which 
 the party having sufl'ered, has paid his pe- 
 nalty, and remains no longer obnoxious to the 
 law : his independency is now gone, and no- 
 thing happening during its absence, can upon 
 their principles be imputed to his account. 
 Nevertheless, we find them forward enough 
 to punish again for subsequent offences, pro- 
 ceeding from a perverse turn of Will, visible 
 many years before. Will they plead that the 
 power of indilFerency is a limited power, 
 and that the Will may give itself so strong a 
 determination, as it cannot afterwards resist by 
 its own strength, therefore they throw in the 
 terrors of punishment in counterbalance, to 
 bring the Aveights so nearly equal, that the 
 power of indifterency nmy suffice to turn the 
 scale ? Let them have a care how they al- 
 ledge this, because it will tear up the maiu 
 foundation whereon they build their doctrine 
 of indifference, namely, that without it there 
 could be no demerit, and consequently no 
 
 room
 
 160 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 room for punishment: for here' we see there 
 is room for punishment, which may be law- 
 fully iniiicted, not solely ^vith reference to 
 past offences, but also as a necessary remedy 
 to prevent the commission of them for the 
 future. If they give us this inch, perhaps we 
 may take an ell, and shew by parity of reason, 
 that the justice of rewards and punishments 
 may remain in full extent, although there 
 should be no such power as that of indif- 
 ference. 
 
 What do they mean by a determination 
 of the ^Vill carrying us through a long course 
 of behaviour ? Do tliey conceive volition a 
 permanent act, extending to a long series of 
 performances ? Surely they never reflected 
 with themselves upon the operation of their 
 own A\'ills, nor the manner of their own mo- 
 tions. We have it uDon Mr. Locke's au- 
 thority that the mind is capable of but one 
 determination to one action at once : and his 
 judgment stands confirmed by daily expe- 
 rience. Successive volitions keep us inces- 
 santly in play, each performs its several act, 
 and has the sole direction of our powers for 
 the present moment, both themselves and 
 their effects being instantaneous and transi- 
 tory, nor does one operate by any force re- 
 ceived from a former. Whatever we may 
 will to-day to dp to-morrow, ^ve shall perform 
 
 or
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 161 
 
 or omit, according as we shall then be in the 
 mind : for the actions of to-morrow depend 
 upon the morrow's volitions, which are deter- 
 mined either bv some motive occurrino; at the 
 time, or else by the power of indifferenc}^ then 
 exerted. Therefore, to talk of the Will })y a 
 single act giving birth to many successive mo^ 
 tions, and casting a perverseness upon itself 
 that shall continue for days^ months, and 
 years, is talking unintelligibly : the con- 
 tinuance of a thino; in its own nature mo-^ 
 mentary, being a contradiction in terms. 
 
 Were indifferency a privilege appendant 
 to human nature, one would think all men 
 should possess it in equal degree : but we see 
 the same temptations overcome some men 
 which others can resist, although both strive 
 equally against them. Must we not then 
 ascribe their different success either to the va- 
 riety of colours wherein the same objects ap- 
 pear to different minds, or to the various 
 strength of other motives they have to oppose 
 against them ? I knew an old gentleman, whoj 
 being pressed by his physicians to go out in his 
 chariot every day, as the only thing capable 
 of relieving him in his infirmities, acknow- 
 ledged the expedience of then* advice, and 
 wished to follow it, yet could never muster 
 up resohition enough to do as he desired. 
 Wliat now was become of iiis power of in- 
 
 VOL, T. M diiferenc^^
 
 162 Satisfadim. [chap. 6. 
 
 (liffercncy, which was supposed able to con- 
 troiil any motives, but could not here act in 
 concurrence with the weightiest? Yet he 
 could choose for himself upon other occasions, 
 and actriii'htly when tempted to the contrary : 
 and could even go out wlien he fancied some- 
 thing of moment called him. May we not 
 then loolv out for some secret motive to ac- 
 count for this difference of behaviour ? He 
 had been a man of business, unused to stir, 
 unless upon some affair of importance, and 
 had contracted an aversion to your idle jaunts, 
 taken for amusement onlv, as fit for none 
 but women and tritiers ; therefore could not 
 brook his mind to descend to them, although 
 tiiey were become matters of moment, by 
 being necessary to his health. 
 
 20*. Hitherto v\'e have considered important 
 actions, such as are undertaken with delibe- 
 ration and design, or upon some distant 
 purpose in jnospect. \(e will now take a 
 view of sudden and trilling motions, which 
 scarce seem to have any motive inducino; us to 
 them, and therefore may be thought to pro- 
 ceed from the sole power of the AVill. But 
 there needs no great sagacity to observe, that, 
 the very want of emiployment creates an un- 
 easiness, and almost every exertion of our 
 activity aftbrds a small degree of satisfaction, 
 which, whatever first starts up to the fancy, 
 
 prompts
 
 CHAI^.6.] Satisfadim. 163 
 
 prompts us to pursue. Whoever will take 
 the trouble to watch men in their idle hours, 
 will find a certain regularity in things done 
 without regard to any rule : some habit acting 
 unitbrmlj^ sets them for the most part at 
 work. For though difterent persons amuse 
 themselves differently in an infinite variety of 
 ways, each adheres steadily to his own kind of 
 amusement, and acts most in character when 
 he thinks of it least. Therefore, one man 
 whistles, another sings, another dances, ano- 
 ther plays with his fingers, when he has notlung 
 else to do. Which shews that the W ill has 
 not an indifference, even with regard to trifles, 
 but catches, from time to time, at such little 
 motives as custom has taught to rise most 
 readily in the imagination. One may dis- 
 cern the like causes in those bye motions 
 which fill up the vacant spaces of time during 
 our engagement in some earnest pursuit ; 
 when^ve set ourselves to think intensely, few 
 of us leave our limbs entirely at rest, but give 
 them various employment for every little in* 
 terval while thought stops, and until itcanfind 
 an issue; some play with their buttons, some 
 twist their knee strings, or rub the table, or 
 kick their leg to and fro, or practise some 
 innocent trick they have fallen into by acci- 
 dent, or catched by imitation from some- 
 body else, Now in times of study or business, 
 
 M 2 the
 
 164< Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 the determination of the Will tends solely 
 towards the principal end "vve labour to 
 attain, the power of indifferency is all ex- 
 erted that M-ay: yet we see any idle habit 
 can give a motion of its own to the Will, 
 which, like a cord drawn to the stretch by a 
 mighty force, may notwithstanding be bent 
 to this side, or that, by the slightest lateral 
 pressure. 
 
 Even in cases Avhere the objects proposed to 
 our option appear indiiferent, as well to 
 judgment as inclination, and the Will seems 
 to determine by arbitrary poAver, because 
 there is nothing else to give the preference; 
 yet a prying eye may discover some latent 
 motive that escaped the general notice. Sup- 
 pose you call upon a friend just after dinner, 
 before the bottles and glasses are removed, 
 lie asks, Will you take a glass of wine with 
 us? Thank you, Sh', I do not care if I do, 
 Shall I help you to red or white ? Any that 
 you have upon the table. Here are both. 
 That that stands next your hand. See both 
 bottles stand equally near. A\ hy, then, white 
 if you please. This little dialogue, happening 
 frequently between friends, exhibits as much 
 indifference as the mind of man can well be 
 in : for we suppose neither wine disagreeing 
 with your stomach, or displeasing to your 
 palate, you had drank as much as vou cared 
 
 for
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 165 
 
 for before you came out, but a glass extraor- 
 dinary will do you no harm, yet you are will- 
 ing to be sociable, and therefore accept his 
 offer, but civility makes you refer the choice 
 of your wine to him, and the same civility 
 prompts you afterwards to choose that which 
 will give him the least trouble: but finding 
 this will not do, and perceiving that further 
 compliments would be troublesome, you take 
 the first that occurs ; for you cannot pro- 
 nounce the words White and Red together, 
 and as you want to end the dispute, which- 
 ever comes quickest to the tongue's end, is 
 therefore fittest to relieve you from this 
 v/£int. 
 
 Why should choice be deemed an act of 
 the Will, when the understanding many times 
 presents a choice ready made, without staying 
 for the Will to assist in the production ? An 
 ambassador, making his public entry, throws 
 out money among the populace : a porter, 
 scrambling among the crowd, spies a half- 
 croAvn and a sixpence lying upon the ground 
 he can get either, but has not time for both, 
 so he takes up the half crown, not for any 
 preference thrown upon it by his Will, but 
 tiom his knowledge that this piece Avill 
 ^;() five times as far at market as the other. 
 Many times the AVill acts without any choice^ 
 ;it c)ll : a man hears a sudden cry of fire ; he 
 
 starts
 
 166 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 starts up instantly from his seat, and runs to 
 see what is the matter. The alarm banishes 
 all other ideas, he has not a thought of any 
 anv tiling else he would not choose to do, nor 
 even of forbearance from all kind of action. 
 The wanton sallies of fancy proceed more 
 from thoughtlessness than wrong election : 
 ideas come in one by one without a compe- 
 titor, and the mind follows the present 
 whimsy, for want of seeing the incxpedience 
 or impropriety attending it. Can this be 
 called a choice ? which in the very na- 
 ture of it implies a judgment between se- 
 veral things, and a preference of one above 
 another: but when one object only lies 
 in view, there can be no preference, nor 
 can one choose, but take that which alone 
 is presented. 
 
 27. But I find there are persons of all cha* 
 racters in the interests of indifference. Those 
 of a humourous turn, not being good at argu- 
 ment, endeavour to ridicule our doctrine of 
 motives, by putting the case of an ass placed 
 between two bundles of excellent hay, both 
 equally alluring to his sense, w^ho, they say, 
 must starve in the midst of plenty, for want of 
 being able to prefer either. It is no uncom- 
 mon thing for wit to outrun discretion, there- 
 fore I would caution these jokers to beware 
 how they anger their solemn friends of their 
 
 OVv'U
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 167 
 
 own persuasion. For if the beasts cannot live 
 without a power of indifferency, what be- 
 comes of the noble privilege peculiar to hu- 
 man nature ? It is rather a benefit we share 
 in common with our brother asses, wlio, by 
 the right use of it, may merit as glorious re- 
 wards as ourselves. But we contemplative 
 folks are not to be jested out of our notions, 
 nor shall I scruple to own that their supposi- 
 tion is true in theory : and so it would have 
 been, had they put the case of a sharpened 
 pole, ten feet long, set upright upon a marble 
 pavement, with the centre of gravity directly 
 over the point, which would remain for ever 
 in that posture if nothing meddled with it. 
 But I question whether such experiments be 
 practicable : let them trj^ if they can, to place 
 the ass, the pole, or their own mind, in such 
 a situation. Should the beast shake his head 
 ever so little, this may bring it nearer to one 
 bundle, which will make the scent of that 
 become the stronger : the least breath of air, 
 or brush of a fly's wing is enough to throw 
 down the pole: and imagination continually 
 supplies us wdth motives, eithergreat or small, 
 either of judgment or fancy, sufficient to put 
 the mental balance in motion. 
 
 Of the two, I believe instances of such an 
 inability to act for want of motives, more 
 likely to be met with in men than asses : I 
 
 mvself
 
 l68 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 myself have met with them in my time. I 
 remember once calling upon a friend in the 
 Temple, to take a walk, we came down stairs 
 presently, and then began to talk of the course 
 we should steer. I found him irresolute, but 
 would not interpose, having a curiosity to 
 see the event: the business was whether we 
 should go to the Park, or to Ishngton, we had 
 uo particular call to either, and both appeared 
 cquall}^ agreeable. I believe we stood a full 
 quarter of an hour in the court, before he 
 could determine ; for he was a man of gra- 
 vity, used to weigh his motives carefull}^ and 
 had rejected the nnpulses of fancy, vintil they 
 had entirely lost their force : so he had no-^ 
 thing to sway w^ith him, for you may suppose 
 there could be no weighty reasons for prcfer- 
 ino; one tour before the other. Where now 
 w^as his power of indifferency, which had he 
 possessed in the lowest degree, might have 
 helped him out at this dead lift "^ 
 
 Such hesitancies as these are weeds of the^ 
 richest soils, being most frequently found in 
 serious, considerate, and industrious tempers : 
 but they will grow in more barren grounds. 
 I have been pestered with them upon my own 
 estate in former days, till I found out the se- 
 cret of nourishing a crop of fancies, in those 
 ^pots which judgment would not cover. I 
 cncJeavour first to take directiou from my 
 
 reason,
 
 €HAP. 6.] Satisfaction. I69 
 
 reason, but if that has no commands, I give 
 up the reins to fancy ; if fancy presents me 
 with double objects, I toss up cross or pile 
 rather than lose time in hesitating : for em- 
 ployment upon any motive, the best to be 
 had, is better than no employment at all. I 
 never could reap any service in those cases 
 from indifierence, for, so long as that lasts, I 
 can do nothing at all : nor could I ever re- 
 move it unless by suggesting something expe- 
 dient, or amusing to my imagination, which 
 might urge me to bestir myself. 
 
 28. Thus have we examined every species 
 of action, trifling and momentous, sudden and 
 deliberate, fantastic and judicious, in search 
 of an indifference to the preponderancy of 
 motives, but in vain : nor is indifference any 
 where to be found, unless in a suspension of 
 action, while the motives hang doubtful, and 
 the mind waits until some of them shall pre- 
 ponderate. I think now we may fahly con- 
 clude the mind enjoys no such privilege as 
 this boasted power of indifFerency. Nor 
 would it be a valuable privilege if we had it : 
 for as the turns it takes must be absolutely 
 contingent, depending upon no prior cause, 
 there is an even chance it might turn as well 
 to our detriment as our advantage ; nor could 
 we ever pursue a plan, or lay our measures 
 Durely, or compleat any long work, for want 
 
 of
 
 170 Satisfaction, [chap. (5. 
 
 of a sufficient dependance upon our own be- 
 haviour, or that of other persons; for the 
 hazard of wrono; elections disconcerting; our 
 schemes, would discourage us from attempt- 
 ing any thing. Should you send for a surgeon 
 tj bleed you to-moiTow, you could never 
 depend upon his attendance ; profit, credit, 
 duty, his adherence to his profession, may 
 urge him to come, but these operate only as 
 motives, and neither 3^ou nor he can tell but 
 his Will to-morrow, by virtue of its arbitrary 
 power, may annex the idea of Best to the re- 
 fusal of his assistance. Nobody can pretend 
 here tliat the motives are so strong as to ex- 
 ceed the power of his Will to controul them : 
 for certainly he may stay at home if he will, 
 nor will his legs or his chariot bring him 
 without some act of his Will to order their 
 motion. 
 
 29. But is it never in a man's power to 
 change the pleasantness or unpleasantness, 
 that is, the satisfaction or uneasiness accom- 
 panying any sort of action .^^ Yes, says Mr. 
 Locke, it is plain in many cases he can. One 
 may change the displeasingness or indifferency 
 in actions into pleasure and desire, b}^ doing 
 Avhat lies in one's powder to^^ ards effecting it, 
 A due consideration will do it in some cases, 
 and practice, application, and custom inmost. 
 But he no where says it may be don'e by mere 
 
 . dint
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. I7I 
 
 dint of volition, or otherwise than by the use 
 of proper means, which means must lie with- 
 in our reach, or we cannot procure the change. 
 Is your tea bitter ? You may sweeten it by 
 putting in a knob of sugar : but not if there 
 be no sugar in the dish. Does your meat 
 taste insipid ? You may give it a relish by 
 sprinkling a little salt : but not if the salt have 
 lost its savour. So should you feel an averse- 
 ness to labour, you may conquer it by con- 
 templating the credit of industry, or, shame of 
 idleness ; or the good fruits expected from 
 your labours : but not if you have no value 
 for reputation, nor desire of any particular be- 
 nefit, attainable by diligence gi^eater than your 
 love of indolence. For I look upon it as an 
 invariable rule, that you can never bring a man 
 into the liking of any thing disagreeable, unless 
 by means of something "he already likes ap- 
 pearing connected therewith, or attainable 
 solely thereby. Bread or tobacco, says Mr, 
 Locke, may be neglected, Avhen shewn useful 
 to health, because of an indifference or dis- 
 relish to them : reason and consideration atfirst 
 recommends and begins their trial, and use 
 finds, or custom makes them pleasant. That 
 this is so in virtue too, is very certain. Thus in 
 his opinion, our very virtues derive from other 
 sources than the power of indifferency. But 
 if bread appears insipid, tobacco nauseous, or 
 
 virtue
 
 172 Satisfaction. [chap. 6* 
 
 virtue disagreeable to the present taste, no 
 man can render them otherwise or suddenly 
 alter his palate, solely by willing it. 
 
 AVith respect to ourselves, indeed, we have 
 another expedient for changing the state of 
 our motives, by that command we have in 
 some measure over our organs both of sensa- 
 tion and reflection. For as we can turn our 
 eyes upon any object of the scene before us, 
 and shut them against the light, or wink wdien 
 it strikes too strongly upon them ; so we can 
 close the organs of reflection, bringing parti* 
 cular ideas to our notice, and thereby throw 
 the course of thought into another channel : 
 or, where we cannot entirely dam up the 
 passage, wc may sometimes obstruct it, 
 thereby reducing the current to a smaller 
 stream. This way we can, and very fre- 
 qucntb/ do, alterthe colour of our motives, by 
 throwing a stronger attention upon them, or 
 by removing, or obscuring their competitors. 
 But when we take the latter method, it is no 
 impeachment of the eflicacy of motives that 
 they do not strike when you shut your eyes 
 upon them, or discern them faintly, nor mark 
 of absolute power in the Will that it is 
 forced to thrust out of sight, a motive whicli 
 it coidd not resist : and when the former, it is 
 tfic reflection, not the AVill, that adds colour 
 to the motive. For, as when you put sugav 
 
 intq
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfactio7i. 173 
 
 into your mouth, it is the sugar, not yourself, 
 that affects your palate with sweetness, not- 
 Avithstancling you put it in yourself: so when 
 you throw a strong attention upon some par- 
 ticular idea, it is the state of your organs, not 
 your Will', that heightens its colours, although 
 you put them into that state by an act of your 
 Will. Certain it is, we do sometimes pluck 
 up a resolution to surmount a pain, a labour, 
 a danger, Avithout suggesting fresh reasons 
 to encourage us, and this I take to be done by 
 some such method as that above spoken of: 
 for earnest, eager resolution is a kind of tem- 
 porary passion, brought upon us by our own 
 procurement, and it is well known we may 
 work ourselves up by degrees into almost any 
 passion, by dwelling upon ideas, fomenting it 
 without admission of others. Upon these 
 occasions, I conceive the mind raises an ex- 
 traordinary motion in some parts of the ani- 
 mal circulation, which then runs more ra- 
 pidly than while under command in the ser- 
 vice of our ordinary purposes. For it seems 
 apparent from the quick violent starts of mo- 
 tion, the ferment of spirits, the solicitous 
 turn of countenance, usual in times of vigor- 
 ous resolution, that the body bears no in- 
 considerable share in the business. 
 
 30. This power over the organs I take to 
 be indeed the grand privilege of human na- 
 ture,
 
 174 Satisfaction, [chap. 6. 
 
 ture, for I can discern nothing of it in the 
 bnite creation. It is true our notions con- 
 cerning them amount at most only to conjec- 
 ture, for we know not certainly what passes 
 within them, nor in what manner they pro- 
 ceed to action. Remembrance, fancy, and 
 some degree of knowledge, cannot well be 
 denied them ; unless you suppose them mere 
 machines, which, though perhaps it cannot be 
 demonstratively disproved, there is not the 
 least shadow of positive evidence to prove that 
 they are : but their ideas come up uncalled, 
 being occasioned, for the most part, either by 
 sensible objects, or the motions of their animal 
 juices, or particular state of their bodies : nor 
 can I discern any such thing as voluntary re- 
 flection, or any controul of fancy belonging to 
 them ; which therefore remains the peculiar 
 propert}'^ of man. From hence spring all our 
 virtues, all our rules of prudence, all our mea- 
 sures of conduct, and upon this principally, 
 though not entirely, stands the justice of re- 
 ward and punishment ; for we reward and pu- 
 nish the beasts, to bring them thereby to do 
 something we like, or deter them from some- 
 thing we dislike. If our opponents will accept 
 of this power in lieu of their indifferency, as 
 equally serviceable to all useful purposes, they 
 are heartily welcome, but I cannot allow them 
 that both are the same thing. For indifferency 
 
 implies
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 175 
 
 implies a power in the will, of furnishing the 
 idea of Best out of its own store and by its 
 own sole authority, without recourse to any 
 contrivance or artifice to obtain it. And 
 because a man may give the preference be- 
 tween two objects proposed to his option, 
 either by suggesting considerations, recom- 
 mending the one and dissuading the other, or 
 by throwing a stronger attention upon one 
 and witholding it from the other, it no more 
 shows an indifferency of the Will, or a power 
 of annexing Best to w hat appears Worst in the 
 judgment, than because one may make a 
 pebble outshine a diamond, either by covering 
 them with different kinds of paint, or by di- 
 minishing the light falling upon the latter, and 
 increasing that upon the former, it shows an 
 indifferency in the eye, or a power of annex- 
 ing lustre to objects naturally obscure. 
 
 31. Besides, whoever will diligentl}^ examine 
 the state of his mind, when he gives this 
 supposed arbitrary preference, will always 
 find opposite desires accosting him at those 
 times, to one of Avhich he harbours a secret 
 prepossession or favour, therefore practises 
 every art to make that prevail in his imagina- 
 tion : and this alike in the rioht or the wrono; 
 exercises of his power. If pleasure, profit, or 
 resentment, solicit to act, and the still voice 
 of conscience whispers to forbear : one man 
 
 has
 
 176 Satisfaction. [CHAP. 6. 
 
 has a love of virtue which he cannot easily 
 forego, therefore he suppresses all instigations 
 of passion that might draw him aside, for he 
 Avill not suffer his beloved and valued object 
 to be wrested from him ; or fortifies himself 
 in his desire, b}^ considerations proper for that 
 purpose, or the earnest contemplation of what 
 he used always to behold with delight ; ano- 
 ther man has a favourite inclination which he 
 longs to gratif}^ but reason puts in her nega- 
 ti^ e : therefore he stifles the cries of reason, or 
 turns a deaf ear against them, lest tJiey 
 should importune him too much; or hunts 
 for any excuses or palliations he can muster 
 up ; or casts a wistful look upon his darling, 
 whom he is unwilling to leave, and contem- 
 plates so long until all other ideas are ba- 
 nished out of his thought. Thus, in reality, 
 the preference is already given, before we enter 
 upon the act, whereby we fancy ourselves 
 conferring it, nor was the mind indifferent 
 whether such act should be perfoniied or no : 
 and the subsequent determination or idea of 
 Best thrown into the doubtful scale, comes 
 from the means used to effect it, not from 
 the NA'ill. But if you ascribe it to the Will be- 
 cause that applies the means, you might with 
 better reason ascril>e it to the predominant 
 inclination, because that puts tlie AVill upon 
 making such application. For whatever the 
 
 Will
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 177 
 
 Will does towards annexing the idea of Best, 
 even supposing it to do the business without 
 employing any other means than its own inhe-» 
 rentpower; nevertheless, it acts herein ministe- 
 rially, not authoritatively, but in service of th© 
 favourite desire, to which therefore the credit 
 and merit of the performance belongs. 
 
 32. What has been said concerning the 
 methods and organs employed in bringing 
 about a determination of the mind, accounts 
 for the limitation of that power, and the dif- 
 ficulty attending the exercise of it : for our 
 organs can perform their office for a certain 
 time but no longer* A man may walk a mile 
 with pleasure, but when he has walked five 
 he may find it fatiguing ; nor perhaps can he 
 walk twenty at all, because his legs tire long 
 before. So he may hold up a weight at arms 
 length for some time ; but cannot keep in 
 that posture for ever, for the muscles of his 
 arm will grow weary. The same may be said 
 of satiety, which proceeds from an alteration 
 in our organs, as weariness does from an al- 
 teration in the state of our muscles. We may 
 like venison prodigiously for a day or two, 
 but should be terribly cloyed had we nothing 
 else to feed upon during the whole season : 
 for the palate being over-clogged, no longer 
 receives the flavour in the same manner as 
 before. This of course limits our power to 
 
 VOL. I. K that
 
 178 Sathfcidioiu [cHAP. 6. 
 
 that proportion of labour the instruments we 
 have to serve us are capable of bearing, and 
 confines our activity to that compass of time 
 whereto the relish of things may extend. 
 But I know of no labour, no difficulty, no 
 satiety, in pure acts of the mind : we are 
 never tu'ed of commanding so long as our 
 limbs and organs are not tired of executing : 
 we Will from morning to night without in- 
 termission, and without trouble ; and though 
 out employments often fatigue and nauseate, 
 let but some new desire give play to a quite 
 diflerent set of organs, and the mind runs 
 after it with as much freshness and eagerness 
 as if it had never done any thing. Upon 
 coming home quite wearied down with a long 
 journey, a man may give orders for his con- 
 veniences and refreshments to be brought 
 him, perhaps with more ease and relish than 
 he had in first mounting his horse. After 
 a long morning spent in liard study, we could 
 easily find volition enough to continue the 
 work, but that our head aches, our spirits 
 fail, and nature can no longer bear the fa- 
 tigue : wherefore labour of mind is as often 
 called labour of brain, and more 4ruly be- 
 longs to the latter than the former. Even 
 at nidit, when all kind of action becomes 
 irksome, it is not the AVill but the eye that 
 draws strav/s, for the mind does not desire to 
 
 sleep
 
 tHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 179 
 
 sleep so long as the body can hold awake. 
 What then should limit our power with re- 
 spect to any thing we can do by barely willing 
 it? Why do we ever strive to exert such 
 power and fail in the attempt ? or why do 
 we succeed at one time and fail at another ? 
 A man may as easily will to walk a hundred 
 miles as one, or to lift up the house as to take 
 up his slipper, if he can believe himself able ; 
 every one sees why he cannot do either^ 
 namely, from the deficiency of his strength : 
 but what the Will has once performed, it then 
 had strength to perform ; what then is become 
 of this strength that it cannot perform the 
 same again ? Does the Will grow feeble and 
 vigorous by turns, like the muscles, upon la- 
 bour or rest ? If we assign for cause, that 
 the Will used some medium before which 
 now is wanting, the difference may be ac- 
 counted for much better than by any varia- 
 tion of strength in tlie Will itself. 
 
 History informs us that Mutius Scevola 
 held. his hand in the fire till it w^as burnt to 
 the bone ; therefore burning w as susceptible 
 of the idea of Best : why then could not you 
 and I pluck up the like resolution ? But per- 
 haps we can annex the idea to some objects 
 he could not. One man can restrain his ap- 
 petite of meats and drinks, but cannot refuse 
 the offers of ambition : another can reject all 
 
 N ^ temp-
 
 190 ' Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 temptations of unlawful gain, but cannot resist 
 the impulses of anger. Is there then a strong 
 and a weak side in the Will ? or are the Wills 
 of men cast in different moulds ? One may 
 readily conceive how the various degrees of 
 resolution may arise from the strength of 
 spirits, texture of brain, habit, education, or 
 turn of imagination, but from the consitution 
 or mould of the Will it seems inexplicable. 
 When we take up a strong resolution, we 
 find pains and difficulty in keeping it, and 
 often faint in the midway after having made 
 a very good beginning. A pain or trouble 
 that a man has borne patiently for a while, 
 shall sometimes fairly overcome him without 
 growing stronger, merely by tiring him out. 
 This, not to repeat what I have said before 
 of the effects visible upon the body, shews 
 that there are organs or nerves employed 
 upon those occasions which require labour to 
 keep them upon the stretch, and can serve us 
 no longer than to a certain period, but ma}^ 
 acquire strength, like our limbs, by constant 
 use and practice. 
 
 3S. After all, the very expression of a powe? 
 belonging to the W ill, when used in philo- 
 sophical discourses, will not bear a strict ex- 
 amination. Will, in the vulgar sense, stands 
 for a pressing inclination, or strong convic- 
 tion of judgment, to which we may properly 
 
 enough
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 181 
 
 enough ascribe the power of making labour 
 pleasant and difficulties easy. But if we go 
 into the land of abstraction and study the 
 language current there, what must we under- 
 stand by Will but the turn of the mind's acti- 
 vity ? The mind has power to move our limbs 
 and organs of reflection, but none of them 
 will move by the bare possession of this power 
 unless it be directed some particular way, and 
 this direction we call our Will : therefore our 
 actions all depend upon the W ill, such as 
 our volitions are such will they be. So the 
 wind has power to drive the clouds or ships 
 along, but there being such a force in winds 
 avails nothing unless it be turned to some 
 particular point of the compixss : therefore 
 the courses of the vessel depend upon the 
 turn of the wind, for it cannot get into port 
 while the wind sets a contrary way. Now 
 to talk of a power of the turn of the power 
 of the wind would be accounted mere jaigon : 
 and how much better is it to contend for a 
 power of the turn of the power of the mind ? 
 Y'et have we been talking and arguhig all 
 along in that style, nor could do otherwise * 
 for one must speak like other folks if one 
 would speak to be understood, and this may 
 plead our excuse. For custom has a despotic 
 authority in matters of language, so far as 
 to render even nonsense and absurdity re- 
 putable
 
 182 Satisfaction, [chap. 6, 
 
 putable by turning them into propriety of 
 speech. 
 
 34. Is there then no Hberty at all in human 
 action? no freedom of Will? Are we under 
 a constant necessity, and our motions all 
 brought upon us by the cogency of causes, 
 without our intervention or power to controul ? 
 By no means : neither Mr. Locke nor I ever 
 di'eamt of such a notion. As for necessity, I 
 cannot be suspected of inclining to that since 
 the little conference I had with doctor Hart- 
 ley upon the road. For freedom of action, 
 Mr. Locke strongly asserts it ; but we both 
 apprehend it to consist in our being so cir- 
 cumstanced as that action ^^dll follow or not 
 upon our willing to do it or forbear : nor will 
 our present opposers I believe controvert this 
 point with us. When upon using our endea- 
 vours towards something lying within the 
 compass of our natural powers, some obstacle 
 would prevent their taking effect, then is our i 
 liberty gone : when no such hindrance inter- 
 venes but that we shall effect our purpose or 
 not according as we try for it or forbear, then 
 are we free; and never the less so for be- 
 ing influenced thereto by consideration of 
 judgment or instigation of fancy. He that 
 relieves a family in distress gives his money 
 freely although he does it upon motives of 
 charity or compassion or particular kindness, 
 
 and
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 183 
 
 and would have kept his money in his pocket 
 had he not had those or any other induce- 
 ments Avhatever to part ^vith it. He that goes 
 to stir his fire is not at hberty while anybody 
 holds back his hand, but the moment they 
 let him alone, his liberty returns, and he acts 
 freely, though he falls a poking for the sake of 
 warming himself: and even though he should 
 resolve to bear the cold in his toes till he can 
 bear it no longer, still when he puts forth his 
 hand to relieve himself it is his own free act, 
 for the poker would not have stirred of itself 
 had not he meddled with it, neither would 
 the muscles of his arm have operated to ex- 
 tend it without some act of the mind to 
 begin their motion. 
 
 S5, As to freedom of Will how much so- 
 ever Mr. Locke may seem to reject it in 
 words, where he declares liberty as little ap- 
 plicable to Will as swiftness to sleep or 
 squareness to virtue, yet I do not apprehend 
 him denying it in substance, nor that he 
 would count me heterodox for holding what 
 I take to be generally understood by freewill. 
 For I conceive the exercise of this to be only 
 a particular species of action performed in 
 raising up ideas or fixing them in the mind, 
 which shall determine us to such volitions as 
 we want. And this we may and do practise 
 every day of our lives : we determine upon 
 
 things
 
 184 Satisfaction, [cHAP. 6. 
 
 things beforehand and execute them punc- 
 tually, we form resolutions for difficult un- 
 dertakings, we collect reasons to support us 
 in them, we foitify ourselves with motives, 
 we inculcate them deep in our imagination, 
 and afterwards find they produce the effect 
 we expected. Thus we have a power over our 
 future volitions, and in respect of that power, 
 are capable either of liberty or restraint. For 
 if any obligation or compulsion prevents us 
 from exerting this power, or any prevaihng 
 dread or inclination obstructs so that it can- 
 hot take effect, though Ave still remain at 
 liberty to act, we are are not at liberty to will 
 as we desire: if no such obstruction or hind- 
 rance lies in the way, we are perfectly free 
 both to will and to do. And after the deter- 
 mination made, our hberty still remains to 
 change it by the like methods whereby we 
 established it at first, though we shall never 
 employ them unless we happen to view the 
 matter in a different light from that we saw it 
 in before. Nor is liberty the less for our being 
 prompted to use it this way or that by reasons 
 or motives inducing us thereto. But here we 
 must distinguish between want of liberty and 
 w^ant of power: for om' title to freedom accru- 
 ing to us only in respect of our power, we can 
 be capable either of liberty or restraint no fur- 
 ther than our power extends. He that goes to 
 
 push
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. 185 
 
 push down a stone wall, fails in hiiS attempt 
 through a defect of strength, not of liberty, 
 provided you do not restrain him from thrust- 
 ing and shoving against it as long as he 
 pleases. So we may attempt in vain to o^^r-. 
 come the terror of any great pain or danger, 
 without an impeachment of our free will. 
 None of us but may, if he will, thrust his hand 
 into burning coals like Scevola, for the hand 
 will undoubtedly obey the orders of the 
 mind, should she so direct ; but we cannot 
 bring our mind to such a pitch of resolution, 
 because we have not command enough over 
 our imagination, nor motives in store suffi- 
 cient to overbalance the smart of the fire. Yet 
 nothing hinders us from trying, therefore we 
 are at liberty to exert such power over our 
 Will as we have ; and if any strong desire 
 incite us, we shall employ our organs of 
 imagination however inadequate to the task, 
 so long as we can retain any hope of pre- 
 vailing, there being no encouragement to 
 try where we are sure to fail of success. 
 For there is a manifest diflerence between 
 the two cases ; where some secret reluctance 
 prevents us from using our best endeavours 
 to bring the mind into a right temper, and 
 where we set about it heartily, and in good 
 earnest, but want strength to compass our 
 design. 
 
 Therefore
 
 186 Satisfaction, [cHAr. o 
 
 Therefore I am not for expunging the ten 
 freewill out of our vocabulary, nor against ex- 
 horting men to raise their Wills to a prope 
 pitch, when some laborious enterprize is to be 
 gone upon. But there is no occasion to 
 trouble them with niceties concerning their 
 manner of going to'w^ork, for though they 
 have not the power of indifFerency to deter 
 mine their Will without the use of means, yet 
 if yovi can once stir up in them an unreserved 
 desire of exerting themselves, they will hit 
 upon the proper means, w^ithout knowing 
 what they be: just as w^e move our limbs 
 by touching the nerve leading to each parti- 1 
 cular muscle, without knowing what nerves 
 we have, or where they lie. The common 
 notions of liberty serve well enough for the 
 common uses of life ; and were it possible 
 totally to eradicate them, there must ensue a 
 total stagnation of business and cessation of all I 
 activity whatever : for nobody would stir a \ 
 finger, or resolve upon any future measures of 
 conduct, if he conceived himself not at liberty 
 either to act or will otherwise than necessity 
 should urge him. They may contain some 
 inconsistencies which men of plain sense dafl 
 not see, and so never perplex themselves 
 therewith, nor yet suffer any inconveniences 
 from this their want of discernment. The 
 young lady spoken of some time ago who 
 
 staid 
 
 \
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction, 187 
 
 staid away from the ball because her aunt 
 disapproved of it, could say she had a good 
 Will to go, and forbore much against her 
 Will, yet declare in the next breath that she 
 might have gone if she would, but chose to 
 stay at home, because she v/ould not disoblis!:e 
 the old gentlewoman. She saw no contra- 
 diction in these expressions, nevertheless ap- 
 pears to have been a sensible girl by this in- 
 stance of self-denial, and I doubt not had dis- 
 cretion enough to gratify her inchnations, or 
 restrain them, whenever either were most pro- 
 per: and this perhaps without having ever 
 heard of the terms Velleity and Volition ; nor 
 had anybody done her a kindnes that had 
 taught her them, for she could not have con- 
 ducted herself better, had she known them 
 ever so well. 
 
 36. But when we would penetrate into 
 the depths of philosophy, we cannot proceed 
 to any good purpose, without a philosophical 
 microscope : therefore before we begin the 
 attempt, we ought to examine whether nature 
 has furnished us with a good one, and whe- 
 ther we have brought it into due order by 
 care and application. How much soever peo- 
 ple may make themselves merry with me for 
 talking of my microscope, I shall not be 
 laughed out of it while I find it so necessary 
 for discovering the secrets of human nature. 
 
 And
 
 188 Satisfaction, [chap. 6, 
 
 And I can comfort myself the easier, because 
 I observe our reprovers themselves very fond 
 of usmg something hkeit : but they have only 
 a common magnifying glass, such as we give 
 children to play with, which just enables 
 them to discern objects not obvious to the 
 naked eye, but does not exhibit a perfect view 
 of their shape and colour ; therefore they see 
 distinctions without a difference, and perplex 
 instead of instructing mankind. But the pos- 
 sessors of a good microscope see the diffe- 
 rence too, Avhich they either find immaterial 
 or turn to some useful service : it is observ- 
 able they never unsettle the minds of men, nor 
 combat with received opinions, and though 
 they may seem to oppose them for a while, 
 it is only in order to establish them upon a 
 more solid foundation, to render them more 
 clearly intelligible, or purif}- them from en'or 
 and extravagance. They have many things 
 to discourse of not cognisable by the vulgar, 
 for which they must find/ names and phrases 
 not current in ordinary traffic : hence it comes 
 that philosophy has a language peculiar to 
 herself, a little different from that of common 
 conversation, from which nevertheless it 
 ought to vary as little as possible. But your 
 half-reasoners, getting a smattering of the lan- 
 guage, without a thorough knowledge, lose 
 their mother tongue, and acquire no other in 
 
 lieu,
 
 CHAP. 6.] Satisfaction. I89 
 
 lieu, so they are fit to converse neither with 
 the vulgar nor the learned : for they puzzle the 
 former with their shrewd observations, and 
 stand in the way of the latter with their cavils 
 and blunders. They add nothing to the 
 public stock of knowledge, but deal altoge- 
 ther in objections, without knowing how to 
 solve them, or being able to understand a so- 
 lution when given : and if they take up an 
 opinion at hap-hazard, they fortify them- 
 selves in it by throwing a cloud of dust over 
 whatever shall be offered to undeceive them, 
 and thus if they can escape conviction by 
 confounding themselves, they look upon it as 
 a compleat victory. 
 
 Enough has been said, and perhaps mom 
 than enough, upon indifference ; but I have 
 still a long chapter in reserve for human li- 
 berty, together with those three concomitants 
 which never fail to enter the thoughts when 
 contemplating freedom of Will, Necessity, 
 Certainty, and Fatality. But this I must 
 postpone until I have gathered suflicient 
 materials, which I hope to pick up here and 
 there in the progress of my search : and 
 when I have gotten matters together prepa- 
 ratory for the task, I have such confidence in 
 the microscope, having already found it ser- 
 viceable upon many occasions, that 1 doubt 
 not to follow, without losing or breakina; the 
 
 threads.
 
 190 Satisfaction, [chap. 6. 
 
 threads, all the twistings and crossings, and 
 entanglements in those intricate subjects that 
 have hitherto perplexed the learned world ; 
 for men of plain understandings would never 
 trouble their heads about them were they let 
 alone by the others. All my concern is where 
 to get a good pencil to delineate exactly 
 what I see, so as to make it apparent to an^ 
 other. I wish it w^ere invariably true w4iat 
 I find laid down by many, That clear con- 
 ception produces clear expression ; but I have 
 often experienced the contrar}^ myself, and 
 Tully, that great master of language, main- 
 tains there is a particular art of conveying 
 one's thoughts without dropping by the way 
 any thing of that precision and colour belong- 
 ing to them in our own minds. When the 
 time comes I shall try to do my best, than 
 which nobody can desire more ; and in the 
 mean while shall return back to the course 
 wherein I was proceeding. 
 
 37. The ninth and last remark I have to 
 make upon satisfaction and uneasiness is this^ 
 That they are perceptions of a kind peculiar 
 to themselves, analogous to none others we 
 have, yet capable of joining company with 
 any others. We neither hear, nor see, nor 
 taste, nor imagine them, yet find some degree 
 or other of them in almost every thing we hear^ 
 or see, or taste, or reflect upon. But though 
 
 they
 
 CHAP. G.] Satisfaction. 19 1 
 
 they often change their companions, they 
 never change their nature : the same thing 
 may become uneasy that before was satisfac- 
 tory, but satisfaction never cloys, and uneasi- 
 ness never loses its sting. Sometimes nature 
 assigns them their places on her original con- 
 stitution of the subjects, and sometimes cus^ 
 tom, practice or accident, introduce them. 
 To some sensations and refl-cctions they ad- 
 here strongly, not to be removed at ail or not 
 without much labour, time, and difficulty; and 
 upon others they sit so lightly that the least 
 breath of air can blow them away. They 
 have their seasons of absence and residence, 
 lasting longer or shorter as it happens, and 
 often trip nimbly from object to object without 
 tarrying a moment upon any: and when se- 
 parated make no other difference in the idea 
 they leave, than that of their being gone. 
 For in a picture that you looked upon at first 
 with delio-ht and afterwards with indifference, 
 you shall perceive no alteration of form or co- 
 lour or other circumstance than that it once 
 gave you pleasure, but now affords you none. 
 Sometimes they propagate their own likeness 
 upon difierent subjects, at others, they come 
 into one another's places successively in the 
 same. One while they come and go unac- 
 countably, at another one may discern the 
 causes oi their migration : for an idea, whereto 
 
 satis-
 
 193 Satisfaction. [chap. 6. 
 
 satisfaction was annexed, entering into a com- 
 pound which is afterwards divided again, the j 
 satisfaction shall rest upon a different part 
 from that whereto it was at first united : and- 
 a satisfactory end shall render the means con- 
 ducive thereto satisfactory after the end is 
 removed out of view. Some things please by 
 their novelty, and others displease from their 
 strangeness : custom brings the latter to be 
 pleasant, but repetition makes the formei* 
 nauseous. 
 
 All which seems to indicate that there is 
 some particular spring or nerve appropriated 
 to aflect us with satisfaction or uneasiness, 
 which never moves unless touched by some of 
 the nerves bringing us our other ideas : and 
 that the body, being a very complicated ma-^ 
 chine, as well in the grosser as the finer of its 
 organs, they delight or disturb us in various 
 degrees according as in the variety of their 
 play they approach nearer or remove furthei' 
 from the springs of satisfaction or uneasinesSi 
 For as the difference of our ideas depends pro- 
 bably upon the form, or magnitude, or motion, 
 or force of the organs exhibiting them, one 
 cannot suppose the same organ by the varia* 
 tions of its play affecting us either with plea- 
 sure or pain without producing an alteration 
 in our ideas. Now Avhat those springs are, 
 were they lie, or by what kind of motion 
 
 they
 
 CHAP, 7.] Sensation. 193 
 
 tlicy operate upon us either way, I shall not 
 attempt to describe : nor is it necessary we 
 should know so much, for if we can learn 
 what will give us pleasure or pain, and how 
 to procure the one and avoid the other, we 
 ought to rest fully contented without knowing 
 the manner in which they produce their eifect. 
 And in order to attain so much knowledge as 
 we want, I shall endeavour to examine how 
 our ideas form into compounds, and how satis- 
 faction becomes united to them, or is trans- 
 ferred from one to another. 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 SENSATION. 
 
 Sensation, as we learn from Mr. Locke, 
 and may find by our own observation, is the 
 first inlet and grand source of knowledge, sup- 
 plying us with all our ideas of sensible qua- 
 lities; which, together Avith other ideas arising 
 from them, after their entrance into the mind, 
 complete our stores of knowledge and ma- 
 terials of reason. 
 
 Sensations come to us from external objects 
 striking upon our senses. When I say ex- 
 ternal, I mean with respect to the mind ; for 
 
 VOL. I, o many
 
 19-t Sensation. [chap. 7. 
 
 many of them lie within the body, and for 
 the most part reach us by our sense of feel- 
 ing. Hunger and thirst, weariness, drowsi- 
 ness, the pain of diseases, repletion after a 
 good meal, the pleasure of exercise and of a | 
 good flow of spirits, are all of this kind. But 
 sometimes v\'e receive sensations by our other 
 senses too, coming from no object without us: 
 as in the visions and noises frequent in high 
 fevers ; the nauseous tastes accompanying 
 other distempers, and the noisome smell re- 
 maining many days with some persons after 
 catching an infection of the small-pox. For 
 whatever in our composition affects our senses 
 in the same manner as external objects used 
 to do, excites a sensation of the same kind in 
 the mind. 
 
 I shall not go about to describe what are 
 to be understood by external objects, for any 
 man may know them better by his own com- 
 mon sense than b}' any explanation of mine: 
 but I think it worth wliile to observe that 
 the}^ are not alwa3'S either the original or im- 
 mediate causes Q-ivino; birth to our sensations. 
 ^Vhen we look uj)on a picture, the sun or 
 candle shining upon it primarily, and the 
 rays reflected from it and image penciled 
 upon our retina subsequentl}', produce the 
 idea in our mind : yet we never talk of see- 
 ing them but the picture, which we account 
 
 the
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensation, 195 
 
 the sole object of our vision. So when Miss 
 Curteous entertains you with a lesson upon 
 her harpsichord, both she and the instrument 
 are causes operating to your dehght, for you 
 thank her for the favour, and may speak in- 
 differently of hearing the one or the other : 
 but when you consider what is the object of 
 your hearing, you will not call it either the 
 lady or the harpsichord, but the music. 
 
 2. It is remarkable that although both vi- 
 sible and sonorous bodies act equally by me- 
 diums, one of light and the other of air vi- 
 brating upon our organs, yet in the forme 
 case we reckon the body the object, but in 
 the latter the sound of the air: I suppose 
 because we can more readily and frequently 
 distinguish the place, figure, and other qua- 
 lities, of bodies we see than of those affecting 
 our other senses. We have smells in our noses 
 but cannot tell what occasioned them ; tastes 
 remain in our mouths after spitting out the 
 nauseous thing that offended us : Ave may feel 
 warmth without knowing from whence it pro- 
 ceeds; and the blow of a stick, after the stick 
 itself has been thrown into the fire and con- 
 sumedi x4nd that this distinction of bodies 
 denominates them objects of vision, appears 
 further because some^ having in a course of 
 experiments been shown a calve's eye whereon 
 they see the miniature of a landscape lying 
 
 o 2 befoic
 
 196 Sematim. [chap. 7. 
 
 before it delineated, very learnedly insist that 
 the image penciled on the backside of our 
 eye, and not the body therein represented, is 
 the object we behold. But unless like Aris- 
 totle they hold the mind to be existing iu 
 every part of our frame, they must allow that 
 neither is this image the immediate object erf 
 our discernment, but some motion or confi- 
 guration of the optic nerves, propagated from 
 thence to the sensory. Therefore it is the 
 safest w^ay to take that for the object which 
 men generalJ}'^ esteem to be such : for should 
 we run into a nice investigation of the causes 
 successively operating to vision, we shall never 
 be able to settle whether the object of our 
 lucubrations be the candle, or the lijrht flowins: 
 thence, or the letters of our book, or the hght 
 reflected from thence, or the print of them 
 upon our eye, or the motion of our nerves. If 
 we once depart from the common construction 
 of language, and will not agree with others, 
 that we see the lines we read, we may as well 
 insist that we see the candle, or the optic 
 nerves, as the image in our retina. 
 " But Avith reo;ard to the sense of hearine: 
 there is no such difficulty started, because 
 you cannot, by disecting a calf's ear, exhibit 
 any thing therein to your scholars similar to 
 the lowings of a cow which the calf heard 
 when alive. AVherefore learned and simple 
 
 agree
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensatio7i. 197 
 
 aarce in calling; sound the object of hearino; : 
 nevertheless every one knows that it must pro- 
 ceed from the cry of some animal, play of 
 some instrument, collision, or other action of 
 some body making the sound. AVhen ima- 
 gination works without any thing external to 
 strike upon the senses, we call our ideas the 
 objects of our thought, because we cannot 
 discern any thing else from whose action 
 they should arise : yet this does not hinder 
 but that such of them at least, as come upon 
 us involuntaril3% may proceed from something 
 in our humours, or animal circulation, con- 
 veying them to the mind : and were we as 
 familiarly acquainted with these as Ave are 
 with visible bodies, we should call them the 
 objects. 
 
 3. Our manner of talking, that the senses 
 convey ideas from objects without us, impUes 
 as if ideas were somethino- brou2;ht from thence 
 to the mind ; but whether they really be so, is 
 more than we know, or whether there be any 
 resemblance between them and the bodies ex- 
 hibiting them. The sense of hearing bids the 
 fairest for such conveyance; for when you 
 strike upon a bell, you put it thereby into a 
 tremulous motion, which agitates the air with 
 the like tremori^ ; and those again generate 
 similar vibrations in the auditory nerves, 
 
 and
 
 198 Sensation, [chap. 7, 
 
 and perhaps propagate the same onward to 
 that fibre, or last substance, whose modifica- 
 tion is the idea affecting us with sound. 
 
 Colours seem agreed on all hands to be not 
 existing in bodies after the same manner as 
 they appear to our apprehension. The learned 
 tell you they are nothing but a certain con- 
 figuration in the surfaces of objects adapted 
 to reflect some particular rays of light and 
 absorb the rest : and though the unlearned 
 speak of colours as being in the bodies exhi- 
 biting them, I take this to proceed only from 
 the equivocal sense of the word colour, which 
 stands indifferently either for the sensation, 
 or the quality of exciting it. For if you 
 question the most illiterate person breathing, 
 you will always find him ascribing the sen- 
 sation to the mind alone, and the quality of 
 raising it to the object alone, though perhaps 
 he might call both by the name of colour : 
 but he will never fancy the rose has any 
 sensation of its ov/n redness, nor, could 3^our 
 mind and sensory be laid open to his view 
 Avhen you look upon a rose, would he ever 
 expect to find any redness there. The like 
 may be said of heat and cold, which signify 
 as well our sensations as the modifications 
 of bodies occasioning them : therefore, though 
 we say the fire is hot, and makes u5 hot, we 
 
 do
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensation, 199 
 
 do not mean the same thing by the same 
 word in both places. When nurse sets 
 her child's pannikin upon the fire to warm, 
 she does not imaoine the fire will infuse a 
 sensation of heat into the pap, but only will 
 communicate a like quality of raising warmth 
 in her, should she thrust her finger, or the tip 
 of her tonoue into it : and when she feels her- 
 self warmed by the fire, she never dreams 
 that this feeling will impart its likeness to 
 the child, without application of her warm 
 hands, or a double clout having received 
 the hke quality of warming from the fire. 
 When we talk of fire meltins; metals, or burn- 
 mg combustibles by the intenseness of its 
 heat, we mean the quality it has of producing 
 the alterations we see made in those bodies ; 
 and this we denominate heat, from that best 
 known effect we find it have upon ourselves, in- 
 raising a burning smart in our flesh, whenever 
 we approach near enough. Therefore, those, 
 who would find fault with us for attributins; 
 colour, heat, and cold, to inanimate bodies, 
 take us up before we were down ; for by such 
 expressions we do not understand the sensa- 
 tions, but the qualities giving rise to them, 
 Avhich qualities really belong to the bodies : 
 that I shall stand by my plain neighbours in 
 maintaining snow to be white, fire hot, ice 
 cold, lillies sweet, poppies stinking, pork 
 
 savourv.
 
 200 Sensatio7K [cil:\p. 7. 
 
 savoury, wormwood bitter, and the like, which 
 they may justly do, without offence either to 
 propriety of speech, or to sound philosophy. 
 4. We are not troubled with the like 
 shrewd objections against pleasure and pain, 
 satisfaction and uneasiness, because those are 
 commonly appropriated to the perceptions of 
 the mind, and not spoken of as residing in 
 bodies without us. Yet we lay ourselves open 
 to criticism here too, as often as we talk of 
 a pain in our toes, or a tickling in the palms of 
 our hands, for it might be alledged the limbs 
 are incapable of feeling either, and can only 
 raise sensations of them in the mind. And 
 we might as justly be charged with incorrect- 
 ness, in complaining of our mind being un- 
 easy, and our bed being uneasy; but our de- 
 fence shall be, that the term carries a different 
 force in the two parts of this sentence; for 
 every child knows that if the bed becomes un- 
 easy by the feathers clotting together into hard 
 knobs, it is not because the lumps give un- 
 easiness to the bed itself, but because they 
 will make any one uneasy that shall lie upon 
 them. But though pleasure and pain be per- 
 ceptions, yet we may have an idea of them in 
 their absence, or even in the presence of their 
 contraries : foi' we often remember past plea- 
 sures, when gone from us, with regret, and 
 think of an evil we have escaped with joy 
 
 at
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensation. 301 
 
 at the deliverance ; and this regret, or joy 
 increases in proportion to the strength and 
 clearness we have of the enjoyment or suffer- 
 ing, we now expect to feel no more. 
 
 Magnitude, figure, and motion, are reputed 
 both by learned and vulgar to reside in the 
 bodies wherein we observe them ; yet it can- 
 not be denied, that they suffer alterations ia 
 their conveyance to the mind, whether that 
 be made through the sight, or the touch; 
 they being all motion in the rays of light, 
 the organs or other channels wherealong they 
 pass, and that a different kind of motion 
 from any in the bodies themselves. Nor, on 
 arriving at the seat of the mind, can we say 
 they reassume the same form they had at first 
 setting out : magnitude assuredly does not, 
 for when we look upon the cupola of St. 
 Paul's, we cannot suppose any thing within 
 us of equal size with the object it represents ; 
 nor do we know whether there be any thing 
 of similar figure ; and when we see a chariot 
 drive swiftly before us, it is hardly probable, 
 that the ends of our fibres imitate that whirl- 
 ing motion we discern in the wheels. But 
 since it is the received opinion that mag- 
 nitude, figure, and motion, are in the bodies 
 such as we apprehend them to be, I shall 
 take it for granted, nor shall I urge the 
 changes they may receive in their passage to 
 
 the
 
 202 Sensation, [chap. 7. 
 
 the mind as an argument to the contrary, 
 because I know that in other cases, ideas 
 may be conveyed by mediums very dissimilar 
 to themselves : when we read, or hear read, 
 the description of a palace, or a garden, a 
 battle, or a procession, there is nothing in the 
 letters we look upon, or the sounds we hear 
 uttered, at all resembling the scenes they de- 
 scribe, nevertheless, we have a full and clear 
 conception of all the circumstances relating 
 to them, conveyed either way to our under- 
 standing. As for solidity, when distinguished 
 from hardness, I apprehend we have no di- 
 rect sensation of that, but gather it from our 
 observation of the resistance of bodies against 
 one another, and of their constantly thrusting 
 them away before they can enter into their 
 
 places. 
 
 5. Sensations from external objects come 
 to us ordinarily through certain mediums, 
 either of light, air, or effluvia, feeling only 
 excepted, which, for the most part, requires 
 that the substance exciting it, should lie in 
 contact with some part of our body ; yet, 
 things intensely hot, or cold, we can feel at 
 a distance. But, vv^hen the causes of sensation 
 have reached the surface of our body, we must 
 Tiot think they have done their business there, 
 for perception lies not at the eyes, or the ears, 
 or the nose, or the tongue, or the fingers ends ; 
 
 therefore,
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensation. 203 
 
 therefore, the influences of objects, after en- 
 tering the body, have several stages to pass 
 through in their progress towards the seat of 
 perception. Ha>w many of these stages there 
 may be, I shall not pretend to reckon up, but 
 I suspect them to be very numerous, and that 
 the parts of our machine, like the wheels of a 
 clock, titmsmit their influence to one another 
 successively, through a long series of motions. 
 But it seems convenient to divide them into 
 two classes, which I shall call the bodily, and 
 the mental organs, as this division tallies 
 vrell enough with our usual manner of ex- 
 pressing ourselves, concerning what passes 
 Avithin us. For we have many ideas arising 
 involuntarily to our imagination, besides others 
 we call up to our remembrance by our own 
 activity ; and upon all these occasions, the 
 whole transaction is esteemed to be carried 
 on by the mind alone, without intervention 
 of the body, without impulse of external 
 objects, and by the sole working of our 
 thoughts. But we have shown in a former 
 place, that the idea perceived, must be some- 
 thing numerically distinct from the thing 
 perceiving it, and that there are certain me- 
 diums employed in exhibiting it to our view, 
 as well when it comes of its own accord, as 
 upon call; for which reason, we find parti-* 
 cular ideas more or less ea.sily introduced, ac- 
 cording
 
 204 Sensation. [chap. 7. 
 
 cording as our mind stands dif^posed to enter- 
 tain them. Whence it follows that there is 
 an organization in the mind itself, which 
 throws up objects to our thought, or, which 
 we use to bring them there, when nothing 
 external interferes, and the senses remain in- 
 active : and this is what I understand by the 
 mental organs. 
 
 6. But since I have spoken of mental or* 
 gans, and extended the machinery of our 
 frame quite into the mind itself, it is necessary, 
 for avoiding the scandal that might be taken 
 hereat, to observe that the word Mind, as used 
 in our ordinary discourses, is an equivocal 
 term : for we suppose our knowledge of all 
 kinds, to be contained in the mincl, and yet 
 speak of incidents bringing particular things to 
 our mind which we knew before : but if Mind 
 were the same in both places, it were absurd 
 to talk of bringing a thing to mind which was 
 there already. Therefore, Mind sometimes 
 stands, in the philosophical sense, for that part 
 of us which acts and perceives, or as Tully 
 expresses it, which wills, which lives, whichhas 
 vigour, and to this mind I ascribe no organ-' 
 ization : for I conceive perception to be what 
 it is at once, unchangeable and momentary, 
 having no progress from one place to ano- 
 ther, hke the influence of objects transmitted 
 from channel to channel, along our organs. 
 
 In
 
 CHAP. 7.] Sensation. 205 
 
 In like manner I apprehend action^ while 
 exerted by the mind, to be instantaneous 
 and invariable, until reaching the first subject 
 whereon the mind acts, where it becomes 
 impulse, and continues such during its pas- 
 sage to the extremities of our limbs, in the 
 same manner as motion propagated from 
 body to body impelling one another. Now 
 whether this philosophical mind be still a 
 compound, or a pure and simple substance, 
 whether material or immaterial, I have hi- 
 therto forborne to examine : I may, one time 
 or other, do my best towards discussing this 
 very point fully, when, whatever I may prove 
 to others, my own opinion thereon will ap- 
 pear sufficiently manifested ; though at pre- 
 sent I choose to leave the question undecided, 
 as being too early to take in hand. 
 
 But we frequently use Mind, in the vulgar 
 sense, for the repository of our ideas, as when 
 we talk of storing up kno\Yledge in the mind, 
 of enriching her with learning, or adorning 
 her with acomplishments : for those stores 
 and treasures are certainly no)t in the mind 
 spoken of in the former paragraph, because 
 then we must actually perceive them all, so 
 long as they remain in our possession ; but I 
 defy any man, with his utmost efforts, to call 
 to mind the thousandth part of all the know- 
 ledge he has in store ; where then is that 
 
 stock
 
 206 Sensation. [chap. 7. 
 
 stock of knowledge which lies dormant and 
 unperceived ? If you understand something of 
 mathematics and somethino; of agriculture ; 
 while busy in giving orders to your bailiff for 
 the management of 3^our grounds, your mind 
 continues wholly intent upon the latter, nor 
 do you perceive any one mathematical truth. 
 AVhat then is become of your mathematical 
 knowledge in the interim ? You have not lost 
 it, you still retain it in possession, but where 
 shall we seek for its re^dence ? It is not in 
 your closet, it is not in your hand, yet it lies 
 somewhere within your custody : and where 
 else can we place it with any propriety of 
 speech, unless in your mindy which you have 
 improved with the acquisition of that science? 
 But this mind, which discerns not w^hat it 
 possesses, must be something different from 
 that whereby }^ou perceive whatever you ha^ e 
 under immediate contemplation. Now con- 
 i^erning the vulgar mind I shall not scruple to 
 pronounce, because I may do it without of- 
 fence to any body, that it is a compound con- 
 sisting of parts ; one vigorous and percipient, 
 which is strictly the mind, the other inert and 
 insensible, furnishing objects for the former to 
 perceive : which latter I w^ould call the repo- 
 sitory of ideas, containing under parts in all 
 probability of a corporeal nature, distributed 
 into channels, filaments, or organs ; and that 
 
 our
 
 , CHAP. 7.] Sensation, 207 
 
 our knowledge, that is, our ideas, or the 
 causes of them, he here ready for use, and 
 proceed mechanically from organ to organ, 
 until their last operation, whereby they raise 
 in us perceptions. In short, I take the am- 
 biguity of the word Mind to arise from the 
 grossness of our conceptions : for though the 
 mind alone be properly ourselves, and all else 
 of the man an adjunct or instrument em- 
 ployed thereby, yet in our ordinary conversa- 
 tions we consider the body, the limbs, the 
 flesh, and the skin, as parts of ourselves, nay 
 sometimes even our cloaths, it being usual to 
 say You have dirted me, or have wetted me, 
 when somebody has happened to splash either 
 upon one's coat. And when we go to distin- 
 guish between the body and the mind, we do 
 not separate them carefully enough in our 
 thoughts, but take some of the finer parts of 
 the former into our idea of the latter. 
 
 7. This imperfect division of man into his 
 two constituent parts, has introduced an in- 
 accuracy and contrariety into our expressions, 
 which whoever shall try to escape in discours- 
 ing upon human nature, will perhaps find it 
 impracticable : for though we may model our 
 thoughts for ourselves, we must take our lan- 
 guage from other people. I had intended at 
 first setting out to appropriate Mind to the 
 percipient part, but have found myself insen- 
 
 siblv
 
 208 Sensation. ' [chap. 7. 
 
 sibly drawn in to employ it in another signi^ 
 fication upon several occasions : nor could I 
 avoid doing so without coining new terms 
 and new phrases, which might have looked 
 uncouth, absti'use, and obscure, arid formed 
 a language not current in any coutitry upon 
 earth. But to deliver oneself intelligiblj' one 
 must adopt the conceptions and idioms com- 
 mon amono; mankind : and we find talents, 
 qualifications, and accomplishments, gene- 
 rally ascribed to the mind, which I conceive 
 depend upon the difference of our organiza- 
 tion. This led me into the notion of mental 
 organs, which I beg leave still to pursue, 
 and to speak indifferently of mind in the 
 philosophical or vulgar sense, as either shall 
 best suit my purpose. If any body shall think 
 me worth a little careful attention, he may 
 quickly perceive, by the context or occasion, 
 in which signification I employ the term at 
 any particular time : but it was necessary to 
 warn him of the double meanino;, because 
 without such caution I might have been 
 grossly misunderstood, and thought to ad- 
 vance doctrines the farthest in the world 
 from my sentiments. 
 
 Sensations from bodies we are conversant 
 with come to us mostly through external me- 
 diums first, then through our bodil}^ and lastly 
 thi'ough our mental organs ; and the workings 
 
 of
 
 tHAP. 7.] ' Sensation. 209 
 
 of our thoughts require no other conveyance 
 than the latter : therefore, these, in all cases, 
 are the immediate causes exhibiting ideas to 
 our perception. For the mind sits retired in 
 kingly state, nothing external, nothing bodily 
 being admitted to her presence : and though 
 in sensation, the notice be received from things 
 without us, they only deliver their message 
 to the mental organs, which by them is car- 
 ried into the royal cabinet. Thus, whether 
 we see and hear, or whether we remember 
 what we have formerly seen and heard, the 
 mind receives her perception directly by 
 the same hand : and how much soever sensi- 
 ble objects may give us information remotely, 
 the pictures of them in our imagination, 
 are what we immediately discern, as Avell 
 as when they arise there without any appa* 
 rent external cause, nor do Ave ordinarily dis- 
 tinguish them any otherwise, than by find- 
 ing the former more lively and vigorous than 
 the latter : for which reason, in dreams and 
 strong impressions of fancy we sometimes 
 mistake them for real sensations. 
 
 VOL. t. P CHAP-
 
 ( t 21^ ] 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 
 As we have all been children before \\-e 
 ivere men, we have, I doubt not, amused 
 ourselves at that season with many childish 
 diversions ; one of which, we may remember, 
 was that of burning a small stick at the end 
 to a live coal, and whisking it round to make 
 sold lace, as we called it. We little thought 
 then of making experiments in philosophy, 
 but Vie may turn this innocent amusement ta 
 that use in our riper years, by gathering from 
 thence, that our organs can continue sensation 
 after the impulse of objects exciting it is 
 over. For the coal is in one point only at 
 one instant of time, and can be seen nowhere 
 else than where it is ; yet there appears an 
 entire circle of fire, which could not happen. 
 Unless the light, coming from it at every 
 point, put the optic nerves into a motion, that 
 lasted until the object returned unto the 
 same point again, nor unless this motion 
 raised the same perception in the mind, as 
 it did upon the first striking of the light* 
 For if the stick be not twirled swiftly enough, 
 so as that it cannot make a second impres- 
 sion from the same point, before the motion 
 excited in the optics by the first is gver, you 
 
 w-iJl
 
 CHAP. 8.] Reflection* 211 
 
 ^vill not see a whole fiery ring, but a lucid 
 spot passing successively through every part 
 of the circle. He that has been in a great mob, 
 and dinned with mcessant noise, clamour, 
 and shouting, if he can get suddenly into a 
 close place, and shut himself up from their 
 hearing, will still have the sound ring for a 
 w^hile in his ears. So likewise upon receiving 
 the blow of a stick, we feel the stroke wheu 
 the stick touches us no more. From all which 
 instances it is manifest that our oro;ans, beino; 
 once put in motion by external objects, can 
 excite sensations of the same kind, for some 
 little time after the objects have ceased to 
 act. 
 
 2. But beyond this little time, and after all 
 sensation is quite over, there will often remain 
 an idea of what we have seen, or heard, or 
 felt, and this I call an idea of reflection. 
 Fiom hence it appears, that our mental or- 
 gans have a like quality with the bodily, of 
 conveying perception to the mind, when the 
 causes setting them at work no longer ope- 
 rate. For what the impulse of objects is to 
 the optic or auditory nerves, that the impulse 
 of these latter is to the mental organs: yet 
 we see the idea of an object may be retained 
 after both those impulses are over. How 
 long these mental organs may continue their 
 play by themselves 1 shall not pretend to 
 
 p 2 ascertain,
 
 212 Tlejicctiofiu [chap. ^- 
 
 ascertain, but certainly much longer than the 
 bodily, and probably until thrown into a new 
 course by fresh impulses, or until quieted by 
 sleep. But we know from experience that ob- 
 jects sometimes make so strong an impressiotk 
 upon our senses, that the idea of them will 
 remain a considerable while beyond the power 
 of all other ideas to efface, or of our utmost en- 
 deavours to exclude it. Which to me seems a 
 sufficient evidence to prove the existence of 
 these mental organs, and to show that what- 
 ever throws our ideas of reflection upon us, 
 has a force and motion of its own^ independent 
 of the mind. 
 
 Let any man look steadfastly against the 
 window when there is a bright sky behind ity 
 and then, shutting his eyes, clap his hand close 
 over them : I Avould not have him repeat the 
 experiment often, it being hurtful to the eyes, 
 but he may try for once without any great 
 damare : and he will still see an imao;e of the 
 window distinguished into frame and panes. 
 This image will grow languid by degrees, and 
 then vivid again at intervals, the glass will 
 change iaio various colours, red, yellow, blue, 
 and green, succeeding one another; the bars 
 of the sash will encroach upon the panes, 
 throwing them out of their square, into an 
 irregular form; sometimes the frame Avill ap- 
 pear luminous, and the glass dark, and after 
 
 thq;
 
 .ciiAP. 8.] Reflection, 213 
 
 the whole image has vanished, it will return 
 again several times before it takes its final 
 leave. 
 
 In like manner, any scene we have beheld 
 earnestly for a wliilc, will hang afterwards 
 upon the fancy, and while we contemplate it 
 there, we shall find the objects varying their 
 forms, their colours fading and glowing by 
 turns ; from whence proceeds that fluctuation 
 of ideas I laave often spoken of before : and 
 after having been quite gone out of our 
 thoughts, they W'ill frequently return again 
 wdth the same vigour as at first. But there is 
 this difference between the play of our sensi- 
 tive and our reflective organs, that in a few 
 minutes, the image abovje mentioned will to- 
 tally fly off, never to appear more, unless you 
 renew it, by taking another look at the w' in- 
 dow : but ^\\ object we have once seen, may 
 recuragainto our reflectionafterdays, months, 
 and years, without any fresh application to the 
 senses : and that the ideas of things we are 
 frequently conversant with, thereby grow gra- 
 dually more fixed and steady, Were one 
 to mark out the space of a yard, from the 
 edge of a long table, he would touch some 
 particular spot w^ith his pencil, then he would 
 shift it to another farther off', or nearer, and 
 then perhaps to one between both; nor would 
 lie be able to satisfy himself presently, because 
 
 his
 
 2l4f Tieflection, [chap. 8, 
 
 his idea of a yard would lengthen, shorten, 
 and dance to and fro : and when at last he 
 had made his mark, it is tew to one but upon 
 applying a rule he would find himself mis- 
 taken. Or were he to match a silk for a lady, 
 without carrying a pattern to the shop, when 
 he had seveval pieces of different hues spread 
 before him upon the counter, he would be a 
 good while before he could fix upon the right: 
 for his idea of the colour would fluctuate in 
 his imagination, corresponding sometimes 
 A^ith those of a darker shade, and sometimes 
 •with those of a lighter, or appearing by turns, 
 to have more of the green mixture, or of the 
 red : and after all his care, he would run a 
 2:reat hazard of beino- chid when he came 
 home, for brinoinn; a colour that would not 
 suit. But the mercer, who does nothing all day 
 long but measure and tumble about his silks, 
 upon seeing the lady's gown can run home, 
 and fetch a piece that shall match it exactly, 
 and can cut off her quantity by guess, without 
 the trouble of takino; his ell to measure it. 
 
 3. Reflection then, as hitherto considered is; 
 only a continuation or repetition of sensa- 
 tions ; and thus it is that our senses furnish us 
 with the first stock of materials we have to 
 work upon, in the absence of external objects. 
 For Ave conceive ourselves as having tliesp 
 ideas in store, deposited somewhere m what 
 
 is
 
 €£iAf. 8.] IReflection, 215 
 
 k vuloarlv called the mind, even Avlien we do 
 not actually perceive them. We commonly 
 say a blind man has no knoAvledge of colours, 
 but a man with his e}^e sight perfect has, al- 
 though perhaps at the time of speaking, he 
 has no colour under contemplation ; and we 
 esteem it a part of the stock of knowledge he 
 possesses : but this knowledge, while lying dor* 
 mant and unperceived, I take to be nothing 
 else besides the disposition of his internal or-r 
 gans to receive such forms and motions fi'om 
 other causes, as thc}^ have been first put into 
 by visible objects striking upon the optics, 
 
 I have before declared that by tlie term 
 ideas, 1 do not understand the very percep^ 
 tions of the mind, but the figure, motion, or 
 other modification, of some interior fibres, 
 animal spirits, or other substances, imme- 
 diately causing perception ; which substance*? 
 I have since called the mental organs. Now, 
 I do not apprehend that from our seeing any 
 strange creature, as an elephant, or rhino- 
 ceros, to our reflecting on it again a 3'ear 
 afterwards the same modification remains 
 within us during the whole interval : for 
 then our internal organs must be as numerous 
 as the ideas we possess, which, conside^ng 
 the prodigious multitude of them we have in 
 store, seems inconceivable. But one substance 
 iuay be susceptiblp of various modifications, 
 
 at
 
 2l6 Refection. [chap. 8. 
 
 at different times, and as the same optic 
 nerves serve to convey red, yellow, or green, 
 according to the rays striking upon them, so 
 the same internal organs may exhibit various 
 ideas according to the impulse they receive 
 from elsewhere. Therefore it was, that I 
 ascribed our whole stock of dormant know- 
 ledge to the disposition of the latter. For the 
 ideas composing that stock, strictly speaking, 
 exist nowhere, bat our possession of them is 
 none other than our having a disposition in 
 the mental organs to fall readily into them ; 
 which disposition they first acquired from the 
 action of the senses : for Mr. Locke has suffi- 
 ciently proved that no colour or other simple 
 sensible idea ever occurs to the thought, until 
 it has been once introduced by sensation. 
 
 4. But those ideas before mentioned havins: 
 gained admittance through the avenues of 
 sensation, do by their mutual action upon one 
 another, and by their operation upon the 
 mind, or of the mind upon them, generate new 
 ideas, which the senses were not caj^able of 
 conveying : such as willing, discerning, re- 
 membering, comparison, relation, power, and 
 innumerable others. And this proves a se- 
 cond fund for supplying us with materials for 
 our knowledge, which materials so stored up 
 in the understanding, as well as those of the 
 former sort, I conceive to be, when appearing 
 
 to
 
 CHAP. 8.] Refection, 217 
 
 to view, none other than modilfications of our 
 internal organs, and Avhen dormant, disposi- 
 tions of the same organs. Not that I look 
 upon actual volition or perception as nothing 
 else besides the motion, figure, or other modi- 
 fication of some organ, but the ideas of those 
 acts are different from the acts themselves, as 
 remaining with us often in their absence. 
 One may have the idea of comparing without 
 actually making comparisons, of remembering 
 what one has now forgot, and of willing or dis- 
 cerning things one does not at present will or 
 discern. And one may have the idea of the 
 operations of another person's mind, the ori- 
 ginal whereof we certainly cannot immediately 
 perceive, but apprehend them by representa^ 
 tions of them formed in our own imagination. 
 So, on the other hand, we sometimes act and 
 discern without reflecting or perceiving that 
 we do so ; and it often costs great pains to 
 carry with us an idea of our operations, even 
 at the time of performing them. 
 
 5. If any one shall desire me to explain 
 how the play of an organ can aflect us with 
 the perception of remembrance, volition, dis- 
 cernment, and the like, let him first explain 
 how external objects, which he must acknow- 
 ledge to act by their figure, motion, and im-^ 
 pulse, excite perceptions of colour, sound, 
 taste, and other sensations ; and when he has 
 
 given
 
 218 Ilcflcction. [chap. 8, 
 
 given a thorough and clear account of this 
 matter, I shall not despair from the lights he 
 f>hall therein suggest, as clearly to explain the 
 other : but while such lights are wanting, I 
 must own them both inexplicable. Never-r 
 theless, tl-e fact is too notorious to be denied, 
 liow little soever we may be able to account 
 for it : continual experience testifying that 
 nature has established such a connection be- 
 tween the motions of matter and perceptions 
 of mind, that one frequently begets the other. 
 "We reason and discourse every da}' of the 
 past and future operations of our own mind, 
 and those of other people, and when we do 
 so, we must undoubtedly perceive the terms 
 concerning which we afiirm or deny any- 
 thing : but there can be no perceiving without 
 an object to be perceived ^mmerically and 
 substantially distinct from that which per- 
 ceives, and what is more likely to be this ob- 
 ject than some modification of our internal 
 organs ? But when sound sleep, or a fainting 
 fit, has cut off the communication between 
 our animal motions and the mind, we can no 
 more laise ideas of our own acts than we can 
 of sensations. Both sorts start up involunta-? 
 lily, as well in dreams as in our waking hours; 
 both occur more or less readily according to 
 the health, fulness or emptiness, or other dis- 
 position of the body ; and both sometime^ 
 
 force
 
 CHAP. 8.] Reflection. 210 
 
 force themselves upon us against our strongest 
 
 endeavours to remove them. From whence 
 
 it seems undeniably to follow, that whatever 
 
 throws up ideas of all kinds to our reflection, 
 
 has a force of its own indcpendant of the 
 
 mind, and belonging to something else: and 
 
 ' therefore their repository is not in the mind, 
 
 unless understood in that vulgar sense wherein 
 
 it comprehends a mixture and organization 
 
 of corporeal parts. At least this approaches 
 
 nearer towards an explication than what men 
 
 generally satisfy themselves with, to wit. That 
 
 by reason of pur vital union, there is so closo 
 
 a connection between the mind and the body, 
 
 that according as the latter stands disposed, 
 
 she can more or less easily perform those 
 
 acts whicli they esteem her to perform by 
 
 herself alone, without aid or instrumentality 
 
 pf the body. 
 
 6. This second class of ideas alone is what 
 Mr. Locke understands by ideas of reflection, 
 but I have extended the term to the other 
 class too, which we receive originally by the 
 senses, as judging it most convenient for my 
 purpose so to do. For I ma}^ have frequent 
 occasion to speak of ideas of all kinds, not 
 coming immediately from sensation, by one 
 general name, and could not find a properer 
 for them than that of reflection. If I use 
 the term a little difierently from what has 
 
 bcea
 
 220 Combination of Ideas. [chap. §. 
 
 been done before me, it is no more than com- 
 mon among persons who treat on these sub- 
 jects : tor every man has a wa}^ of modeling 
 bis thoughts peculiar to himself, and must 
 necessarily accommodate his language to his 
 manner of thinking. Nor can any uncertainty 
 or perplexity ensue from such liberty, pro- 
 vided it be taken sparingl3'', and proper warn- 
 ing given whenever it is taken. And I have 
 the better excuse in the present instance, be- 
 cause Air. Locke himself h;is a little departed 
 from the common language. For Reflection 
 in ordinary discourse denotes a voluntarj' act, 
 whereby we tarn back our thoughts upon 
 some past occurrence, or hold something 
 imder contemplation in the mind, or draw 
 consequences from what has been so con- 
 templated ; whereas ideas of reflection many 
 times start up of themselves and vanish, with- 
 out our reflectino; on them at all, or doini>: 
 any thing to introduce or procure them. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 COMBINJTIOy OF IDEAS. 
 
 jb ROM the ideas tlius received by sensation 
 and reflection, there grows a new stock, 
 framed up of these as of so many materials, by 
 
 their
 
 tiiAP. g] Comhination of Ideas, 221 
 
 their uniting together in various assemblages 
 and connections. This their junction I choose 
 to call by the name of Combination, as being 
 more comprehensive than Composition, the 
 term usually employed. For our ideas com- 
 bine toi^ether in two several manners : one 
 by composition, when they so mix, and as 
 I may say melt together as to form one single 
 complex idea, generally denoted by one 
 name, as a man, a table, a dozen ; the other 
 by association, when they appear in couples 
 strongly adhering to each other, but not 
 blended into the same mass, as darkness and 
 apparitions, the burst of a cannon or push of 
 a drawn sword, and the dread of mischief 
 accompanying them. For when w^e think of 
 a man we conceive him to })c one thing, and 
 his body, limbs, rationality, with other ingre- 
 dients of his essence, as oarts of the same 
 whole : but when we reflect on a naked sword, 
 ive do not consider that and the terror occa- 
 sioned thereby as parts of any compound, 
 although the one constaiitly attends tlie other, 
 beyond all possibility of separating them ill 
 the mind of a fearful person. 
 
 2. To begin with composition, wherein I 
 shall not attempt to reckon up^ how many 
 sorts of complex ideas vv e have, that having 
 been done already by Mr. Locke much better 
 than I can pretend to, but shall exarnine how 
 
 com-
 
 222 Combination of Ideas, [chap. g. 
 
 composition itself is effected, which it did not 
 fall in his wa}'' directly to consider : though 
 if it had, I am apt to think he would have 
 ascribed more to the ministry and organiza- 
 tion of our corporeal parts than has usually 
 been done, as one may gather from the hint 
 he gives in his chapter of association, (| (>)> 
 where he says, " That habits of thinking in 
 " the understanding, as well as of deter* 
 ** mining in the Will, seem to be but trains 
 " of motion 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." 
 
 3» Composition, I apprehend, is preceded 
 by a selection of some ideas from the rest, 
 exhibited at the same time to our view, as a 
 necessary preparative thereto. For as a lad>^» 
 who would make a curious piece of shell- 
 work, must first pick out the proper shells 
 from the drawers wherein they lie before she 
 can dispose them into figures, so there can be 
 no compound formed in the imagination un- 
 til the particular ideas M'hereof it is to consist 
 be disengaged from all others presented in 
 company with them. This separation is 
 
 partly
 
 CHAP. 9] Comhination of Ideas. 223 
 
 partly made by the objects themselves striking 
 more strongly upon the senses, and appearing 
 eminently above their fellows; but I con- 
 ceive the mind has a principal share in the 
 business, by turning her notice upon some 
 particular objects, preferably to others stand- 
 ing together before her. 
 
 Nature at first presents her objects in a^ 
 chaos, or confused multitude, wherein there 
 is nothingdistinct, nothing connected. AVhcu 
 the new born babe comes into the world, the 
 sight of things in the chamber, the gablings 
 and handhngs of the gossips, and perhaps 
 some smells and tastes, rush in at all the five 
 avenues of sensation, and accost the mind in 
 one act of perception. The nurse's arms 
 appear no more belonging to her body, thau 
 the wamscotseen on each side of them: and 
 the midwife's voice has no more relation 
 to her person, than to the bed-post. But as 
 objects do not strike with equal force, the 
 more glaring and striking give a stronger im- 
 pulse to the organs, which continue the mo- 
 tion imparted therefrom, after that of the 
 feebler impulses have entirely ceased; and 
 thus the former become selected in the refiec- 
 tion out of the rest entering in company with 
 them. And as our organs acquire a disposi- 
 tion of falling more rgadily into modifications 
 
 thcv
 
 224 Comhinaiion of Ideas, [chap, g, 
 
 they have been thrown into before, hence 
 frequency of appearance produces the same 
 effect with vigour of impression, and sensa- 
 tions continually repeated, become distin- 
 guished from others received more rarely. 
 
 4. Both those causes, strength of impres- 
 sion and frequency of appearance are greatly 
 assisted by the operation of the mind : for 
 some objects affecting us agreeably, and others 
 appearing indifferent, she fixes her notice 
 upon the former, for sake of the satisfaction 
 received therefrom which gives them an ad- 
 vantage above their fellows. Every one re- 
 marks how constantly the eyes of a young 
 child follow the candle about the room whi- 
 thersoever 3"ou carry it : and when we come 
 to man's estate, we often pursue particular 
 objects through all the motions and turnings 
 they make before us. We have not indeed 
 quite the same command over our ears, and 
 other senses, yet among variety of sounds, 
 smells, tastes, or touches, accosting us at the 
 same time, we can pick out some in disregard 
 to the rest; and we can do the like with respect 
 to different senses. A man who reads in a 
 room where there is company talking, may 
 mind his book without taking notice of any- 
 thing they say, or may listen to their discourse, 
 without minding a word of what he reads. 
 
 Thii
 
 <CHAP. 9.] Comhination of Ideas. 5225 
 
 This culling of particular objects from the 
 w^hole number exliibited to view, I call turn- 
 ing the mental eye or directing the notice, by 
 which I would not be understood as exactly 
 describing the operation of the mind herein, 
 (for I do not ascribe to her a blind side and a 
 light, nor suppose her actually turning to the 
 right or the left by a loco-motion,) but as 
 using a figurative expression borrowed from 
 the motion of the bodily eye producing the 
 same effect. For how wide soever the circle 
 of our vision may extend, whatever lies in 
 the centre against which the eye is levelled 
 directly, affects the sense more strongly than 
 other things equall}^ lucid lying nearer the 
 circumference. * Wherefore the notice we 
 take of particular objects not only occasions 
 their leaving a stronger impression, but their 
 agreeableness makes this application of the 
 notice to be more frequently repeated upon 
 them than upon others less engaging. But 
 when I speak of the notice which conduces so 
 much to the first selection of our ideas, I do not 
 mean that thought and I'cflection we apply 
 in our riper years to things we contemplate, 
 for such a careful exercise of the faculties 
 Jittle children can scarce be supposed capable 
 of; but that transient and cursory observation 
 the mind makes upon certain conspicuous or 
 pleasing objects passing in review before her, 
 
 VOL. I. Q without
 
 22€ Combination of Ideas, [chap, o, 
 
 without designing it a moment beforehand or 
 reflecting on it a moment afterwards. 
 
 5. But objects that shine eminently above 
 their fellows, or on which the notice fixes, are 
 not ahvays single objects ; for two or more 
 may appear equally conspicuous, or may give 
 a pleasure jointly which each of them sepa- 
 rately could not have afforded : this happening 
 often, cements them together and makes them 
 coalesce into one assemblage. Another cause 
 of coalescence arises from objects constantly 
 presenting themselves together : most of the 
 bodies \ve are conversant amongst being com- 
 pound bodies, the parts of them preserve their 
 contiguity to one another while they mov^ 
 from place to place, although they change their 
 situation with respect to other bodies sur- 
 rounding them ; hence the ideas of those 
 parts uniting together form an assemblage. 
 AVhen nurse walks about the room, she carries 
 her arms along with her, but not the wain- 
 scot seen on each side of them : when she 
 goes out, every part of her disappears, and 
 when she returns, the Avhole of her figure 
 presents again to the eye, and by frequent 
 use becomes apprehended by the child in one 
 complex idea. Nor can it be doubted what 
 efiicacy the consorting of ol)jects has towards 
 compounding them, when we reflect that we 
 scarce know our ow^n acquaintance in an un- 
 usual
 
 tiiAP. 9.3 Combinaiion of Ideas, 227 
 
 Usual dress, and how surprizing alteratioii a 
 diiFerent coloured wig makes in a man'is per- 
 son : so that the cloaths we have been ac- 
 customed to see v/orn seem to enter into our 
 complex idea of the wearer. So like^vise ideas 
 that use or conveniency has led us to consider 
 frequently together become a compound, as a 
 yoke of oxen, a flock of sheep, a city, a county. 
 We have seen how sensations, after their 
 disappearance, leave ideas of themselves be- 
 hind in the reflection, and if other sensations 
 follow immediately and constantly while 
 those ideas are fresh, they unite into an as^ 
 semblage. Thus the taste of sugar in our 
 mouths joins with the colour we saw before 
 putting it in and the hardness we felt while 
 we held it in our hands, and the ideas of a cer- 
 tain colour, consistenc}' , and sweetness, make 
 the complex of sugar. }jy degrees we add more 
 ingredients to the compound, further experi- 
 ence informing us of other qualities constantly 
 attending what we have already comprehend- 
 ed under the idea of sugar wheneyer they have 
 an opportunity of showing themselves, and 
 hence we learn that sugar is brittle, dissolvable, 
 clammy, and astringent- For the complex or 
 essence ofbodies is madeupof the qualities we 
 find them have of affecting us in several man- 
 ners, or of working changes in other bodies, 
 or of undergoing changes from them. 
 
 Q 2 6, Com'
 
 228 Comhination of Ideas. [cuaP. 9, 
 
 6. Composition makes us esteem the things 
 united therein as one, for how many soevei: 
 present themselves to our thought in one as- 
 semblage we look upon as one thing, and 
 that although they maybe actually disunited. 
 Thus if a bed be taken to pieces for conve- 
 niency of carriage, upon being asked where 
 it is, we say in the great chest, and if the 
 chest contain nothing else, we conclude it 
 Avas filled with that one piece of furniture. 
 But having frequent occasion to consider 
 things so compounded separatel}^, we then 
 see them different and distinct from one 
 another, as the curtains, the tester, the head- 
 board, aad so forth: at other times, we 
 view them under both considerations at once, 
 and thence get the idea of whole and parts, 
 for we call the several things forming an 
 assemblage parts of the same compound ; 
 thus by a kind of contradiction conceiving 
 them at the same time as one and man3\ 
 
 With regard to the species of things, we 
 are greatly determined in our notions by 
 the names affixed to them : for ice, although 
 nothing but water congealed, is esteemed a 
 different kind of thing from water ; but lead, 
 whether cold or melted, still retains its name 
 and is reckoned the same metal. Were we 
 to define lead or water, I suppose we should 
 call one a solid and the other a fluid sub- 
 stance,
 
 diAP. 9] Comhination of Ideas, 229 
 
 stance, esteeming these their natural states, 
 although we raay have seen them put into 
 the contrary by violence : but when we reflect 
 that cold is no more than a privation of heat, 
 I do not know why we should look upon 
 fluidity as the natural state of water, which, 
 unless acted upon by a certain degree of 
 warmth, will of itself form into a consistency. 
 J3ut we call that the natural state which falls 
 most commonly under our obsen^ation; there- 
 fore, if we had lived in Saturn, we should 
 doubtless have given but one name to ice and 
 water, and defined it a solid body, although 
 we might now and then have seen it liquefied 
 in a furnace ; as on the other hand, had we 
 jDcen born in Mercury, we should have 
 deemed lead a fluid bod}^ although by keep- 
 ing it a long while at the bottom of a deep 
 well, we might have found it sometimes co- 
 agulate. 
 
 7. We get a stock of ideas of the second 
 class pretty early, those I mean strictly called 
 ideas of reflection : and the}^ run into assem- 
 blages in the same manner, and from the same 
 causes already spoken of; sometimes with 
 one another only, but more commonly in 
 conjunction with those of the other class de- 
 rived originally from sensation : being often 
 either thrown upon the notice by the work- 
 in<js of imagination, or the mind being invited 
 
 to
 
 230 Combination of Ideas. [chap. 9. 
 
 to turn her notice upon them by use and 
 convenience, which always carries some de- 
 gree of satisfaction. 
 
 Few of our assemblages are without §ome. 
 reflective ideas of the one sort or the other, 
 not excepting those which are reckoned to 
 come immediately by sensation. AVe talk ot\ 
 seeing cubes and globes, but in reality our 
 sense exhibits no such objects to the mind : 
 we can at most see onl}^ three sides of the 
 former, and one hemisphere of the latter, but 
 imagination supplies what is wanting to com- 
 pleat their figures. It has been said that all 
 things strike upon the eyes in a flat surface, 
 ^nd that our former acquaintance with the 
 objects makes them apj^ear standing out one 
 before another: thus much is certain, that 
 the figures lie level in a picture, wherefore the 
 roundness and protuberance we discern iu 
 them cannot come from the sense, but must 
 be drawn from our internal fund. Whenever 
 wa hear a noise, there enters instantly with it 
 an idea of some instrument, or string, or ani- 
 mal, or clashing bodies, we apprehend making 
 the sound. We can scarce look a stranger in 
 the face Avithout entertaining some notion of 
 his character and temper of mind, which we 
 conceive conveyed by sensation, for we think 
 he looks morose or heavy, or courteous or 
 gpnsible : it is true, w^e arc often out in our 
 
 guess.
 
 CHAP. 9.] Comlination of Ideas, 251 
 
 guess, and change it upon further observation, 
 but some conjecture constantly occurs at first 
 sight, and together with his outward figure 
 forms our complex idea of his person. And 
 though the characters of our familiar ac- 
 quaintance are too well known to depend 
 upon a single view, yet their present dispo- 
 sition may appear visible upon their counte- 
 nance ; and we may see them dejected or joy- 
 ful, serious or frolicsome, in the same glance 
 wherewith we behold their features. 
 
 8. In process of time, when we become 
 capable of care and attention, we join many 
 ideas that would not have consorted of them- 
 selves, nor occurred to that common notice 
 w^e are led to take of things by their present 
 agreeableness. And our conversation and in* 
 tercourse with other people daily furnish us 
 with new assemblages : for by perpetually 
 communicating our ideas to one another, we 
 become possessed of multitudes that our own 
 experience would never have exhibited, nor 
 our own sagacity worked out. In short, what- 
 ever cause ocupies the mind strongly or fre^ 
 quently with any set of ideas, thereby joins 
 them into one compovmd. 
 
 Here we see the benefit of industry and 
 ;5ociety, as they tend greatly to enlarge our 
 stock of complex ideas, which are the princi- 
 pal basis of knowledge : for were it confined 
 
 to
 
 
 Comhinaiion of Ideas. [chap. 9. 
 
 to simple ideas alone, it would be very scant}^, 
 and of little service to us in the conduct of 
 life. We could not tell what to apply for 
 satisfying our appetites of hunger and thirst, 
 were not the sight of aliments connected with 
 the idea of their palatableness: and in general, 
 our ideal causes of action perhaps are all of 
 them compounds ; as are undoubtedly all our 
 final causes, they containing an idea of satis- 
 factory joined to whatever we apprehend pos-t 
 sessing that quality. 
 
 9. There being multitudes of the samo 
 thino's subservient to us all for our uses and 
 pleasures, causes a great similitude in the as- 
 semblages of all men, The common com- 
 plex ideas of a chair, a table, of fire, water, 
 victuals, drink, of honesty, gratitude, obh- 
 gation, and other things we have frequent 
 occasion to take notice of in the daily course 
 of our lives, are much the same in every one. 
 But as we divide into various professions, and 
 fall upon difllsrent ways of observation, there 
 is likewise a great diversity in men's ideas ; 
 so that the same collection of materials, 
 presented to several imaginations, shall run 
 surprisingly into various assortments, accord- 
 ing as they have been respectively accus- 
 tomed. Carry a number of persons equally 
 clear sighted upon a hill, from whence they 
 have an extensive prospect with a variety of 
 
 objects
 
 CHAP. 9.] Comhination of Ideas. 333 
 
 objects before them : tlie farir.er sees turnip 
 and corn grounds, meadow, pasture, and co- 
 pice ; the soldier observes eminences, vallej^s, 
 morasses and defiles ; the mathematician de- 
 scries parallelograms, triangles, and scale- 
 nums, in the fields and hedges ; the country 
 attorney distinguishes parishes, hamlets, ma-^ 
 nors and boundaries of estates; the poet 
 beholds shady groves, sportful flocks and 
 verdant lawns ; the painter discerns variety of 
 colours, contrast of light and shades ; the 
 relioious man discovers materials for buildino- 
 provisions for eating, for drinking, for cloath- 
 ing, for the necessities and conveniences of 
 life, accompanied Avith a thought of the 
 giver of those blessings, and all this instantly 
 without any endeavour of their own; ou 
 the contrary, were they to try to form one 
 another's compositions they would find great 
 trouble and diflSculty in the undertaking, 
 ajid perhaps could not do it compleatly at 
 last. 
 
 10. As our acquaintance with objects en- 
 creases, Ave add fresh ingredients to the com- 
 pounds formed of them in our imagination ; 
 therefore those we have occasion the most 
 frequently and carefully to coi^sider become 
 the most com[)rehensivc assemblages. By 
 this means, manufacturer3, artisans, scholars, 
 and others following any particular occupa- 
 tion,
 
 ^34 Comhination of Ideas. [chap. 9, 
 
 tion, have a fuller idea of the things belongs 
 ingto their respective trades or sciences than 
 other persons. The idea of the Iliad in the 
 Tulgar, perhaps, contains no more than an 
 old storv of a sieo;e wrote in Greek verse : but 
 together with this, there arises in the mind of 
 the poet or critic, ideas of the fable, the cha- 
 racters, the sentiments, the figures, the dic- 
 tion, any of which being altered, they would 
 not acknowledge it to be the work of Homer, 
 Yellowness, hardness, ^nd valuableness, in 
 commerce, seem to constitute the Avhole com- 
 plex of gold in common persons, to which 
 the goldsmith, refiner, and naturalist, add 
 malleability, ductility, specific gravity, dis- 
 solubility in aqua regia, and indissolubiht}^ in 
 all other menstruums, besides other quali- 
 ties, which never enter into the head of au 
 ordinary man. 
 
 By thus adding daily to our compositions, 
 they grov/ so bulky, that we cannot take 
 them in at one glance, but are forced to turn 
 them about, a^ we would some very compli- 
 cated piece of workmanship, in order to view 
 them a side at a time« He that knows the 
 properties of gold most compleatl}', cannot 
 brino; them all into his thou2:ht at once, he 
 may run through them successively in a very 
 short space of time, but can never make them 
 all appear together at the same instant : nay, 
 
 should
 
 CHAP. 9.] Conihination of Ideas. 235 
 
 should he go to give a full and accurate defi- 
 nition, it is odds but another person may sug- 
 ges- something that he has overlooked. But 
 however this be admitted or not, certain it is, 
 we do not always think of every particular 
 belonging to the compounds under our con- 
 sideration : nor can it be supposed, that every 
 time we tell over a few guineas Ave have a 
 thought of ductility, and many other qualities 
 we know residing in them. Yet upon every 
 idea being excited, some part at least of the 
 assemblage whereto it belongs almost con- 
 stantly occurs : we cannot st^e the face of a 
 man, hear the barking of 4 dog, or smell the 
 sweetness of a rose, without thought of some- 
 thing more than the bare sight, or sound, or 
 smell : and how many soever ideas thus start 
 up in company, we find them closely con- 
 nected together, and apprehend them as 
 component parts of one complex. 
 
 11. This partial appearance of our com- 
 pounds suits extremely well with the nar- 
 rpAvness of our conception. The ideas of 
 things most familiar to us, contain a multitude 
 of particulars, and were the whole tribe to 
 rush in upon us at once, they would so fill the 
 mind as to leave room for nothing else, at 
 least we should find them too unwieldy and 
 unmanageable to do us any service. For a 
 f^higle ide^,, how complicated soever, can at 
 
 most
 
 236 Combination of Ideas. [Chap. g. 
 
 most afford us only a present amusement ; it 
 is necessary for use, that Ave should have two 
 or more together in view : without this wa 
 could neither compare nor distinguish them, 
 could discern neither their resemblance, nor 
 difference, nor relations, nor effects, neither 
 could we affirm, den}^, or reason, conceniing 
 tbem ; wherein the whole benefit we may 
 expect to reap from them consists. 
 
 On the other hand, no small inconvenience 
 arises from their not presenting before us 
 entire : for by this means our ideas conti- 
 nually fluctuate, not only by their colours 
 fading and glowing alternatelv, but by vary- 
 ing their shapes ; our assemblages turning 
 about perpetually, and presenting different 
 feces, or their component parts slipping 
 away, and others supplying their places, so 
 that we can scarce ever hold any thing steady 
 in our contemplation. Hence we are led to 
 reason erroneously, or misunderstand one ano-. 
 the!*, to discern resemblances, and draw con- 
 sequences upon one view, of the same things 
 which we do not fmd holding good upoi> 
 another. 
 
 To remedy this mischief, logicians take the 
 method of definition, but then if the defini- 
 tion descend too minutely into particulars, it 
 will perplex instead of helphig : therefore, 
 when we would settle the idea of an object, 
 
 we
 
 CHAP. 9.] Combination of Ideas - 237 
 
 we need bear in mind only so much of what 
 belongs to it, as may be sufficient for the oc- 
 casion. What good would it do the gold- 
 beater to think of tlie fusibility of his gold, or 
 that it will not evaporate in the furnace, like 
 lead or mercury ? the colour, malleability, 
 weight, and thickness, are all that he has any 
 concern with. Rhetoricians and poets employ 
 figures and copiousness of expression, to bring 
 that side of objects forward, which they 
 w ould have to strike fullest upon our notice : 
 they often use epithets contained in the things 
 whereto they are applied, as just properties, 
 verdant lawns, living men ; not that such epi- 
 thets add any thing to the signification, but 
 because they strike that partof the-assemblage 
 more strongly upon the mental e>'e, v/hich 
 might otherwise have been unobserved. 
 
 12. The circumstance, or situation things 
 appear in, joins to make a temporary assem- 
 blage together with the things, but docs not 
 coalesce so as to remain always in their com- 
 pany. A man running exhibits one complex 
 idea, wherein his motion is contained, the 
 same man standing, or sitting, presents ano- 
 ther: yet if we were to describe him to a 
 stranger, we should hardly take his running, or 
 sitting, into our description of his person. 
 Nevertheless, Ave cannot call those circum- 
 stances, whenever they occur, distinct ideas 
 
 from
 
 238 Comhination of Ideas. [chap, o; 
 
 from the man, but parts of the same com- 
 pomid, because they present instantly in the 
 same glance, and may be suggested where 
 they are not : as in statues and drawings of 
 {inimals in a moving posture, which strike 
 us vrith ideas of motion in figures really qui- 
 escent. Much less can we suppose them 
 distinct, when joined by that main bond of 
 composition, a name, as in the terms, windj 
 rain, a river, a torrent, a liorse race, which 
 severally express one complex idea, whereof 
 motion is a necessary ingredient ; for strike 
 that out, and the remainder will be esteemed 
 another thing, and deserving another appel- 
 lation; 
 
 13. I shall have the less to say upon Asso- 
 ciationi because of the near affinitv it bears 
 to CompositidUj depending upon the same 
 causes and subject to the same variations: and 
 perhaps composition is nothing more than an 
 association of the several ideas entering into 
 a complex. What shall be the one or the 
 other^ seems to depend generallj^ upon the 
 use of lan2:uao;e : for if thinos arisin^r to the 
 thought constantly in company, have a name 
 given them, we deem them compounded, if 
 none, we can only call them associated. 
 Kames being a receptacle, in great measure 
 necessarv for p^atherins; our ideas, and holding 
 them together in a complex : like those 
 
 cushions
 
 CHAP. 9.] Combination of Idea^. 239 
 
 cushions your gossips stick with pins in heartsj 
 lozenges, and various forms, against a lying- 
 in; the cushion is no part of the figure, yet if 
 that should chance to fall into the fire and be 
 consumed) the pins must all tumble down in 
 disorder, and the figures composed of them 
 vanish. It is not always easy to determine 
 when ideas combined t02:ether belono; to the 
 class of compounds or associates : perhaps the 
 connection between the looks and sentiments 
 of persons, which I have mentioned under 
 composition, others might call association : 
 nor is it very material to ascertain the limits 
 between the two classes exactly. But since 
 there are combinations which cannot with 
 any propriety be styled complex ideas, I 
 thought proper to take some notice of them 
 apart. 
 
 The principal of these, because the most 
 universally prevailing, and having the greatest 
 influence upon our thoughts and transac- 
 tions, is the association between words and 
 their signification. Nobody will deny that 
 sounds and characters are mere arbitrary 
 signs bearing no relation in nature to the 
 things they express, yet they become so 
 strongly connected by custom with our ideas 
 of the things, that they constantly start up in 
 the mind together, and mutually introduce 
 one another. For words, heard or read, in- 
 stantly
 
 540 Combination of Ideas. [chap. g. 
 
 stantly convey the meaning couched under 
 them, and our thoughts, upon common oc- 
 casions, find a ready utterance when we 
 would communicate them either by speaking 
 or writing. Nor does the junction between 
 words and their meaning depend upon the 
 Will, whether it shall take place or no. Were 
 a man unluckily obliged to sit and hear him- 
 self abused, he would be glad, I suppose, to 
 dissociate the grating words from the scandal 
 they contain, and reduce them to their pri- 
 mitive state of empty sounds, but will find it 
 impracticable : whence it appears that the 
 jseat of association lies in the organs, which 
 seem to conspire in this case to throw a dis- 
 pleasure upon the mind, that she would exert 
 all her power, if she had any, to escape. 
 
 14. And as our most compounded ideas 
 turn different sides of themselves to view, so 
 ideas, linked to a variety of others, usher in 
 different associates, according to the occasion 
 introducing; them. For besides the combina- 
 tion, there is likewise a kind of attraction be* 
 tween our ideas, so that those preceding ge- 
 nerally determine what associates shall make 
 their appearance; because our organs fall 
 more easily into motions, nearly the same 
 with those they have been already put into, 
 than they can strike out different ones. 
 Hence it comes to pass that many words, 
 
 having
 
 CHAP. 9-] Combination of Ideas, 241 
 
 having various significations, ahvaj^s suggest 
 that sense which the context requires. The 
 word Man is used for one of the human spe- 
 cies, for a male, for a full grown person, a 
 corpse, a statue, a picture, or a piece of wood 
 upon a chess-board, yet we never mistake the 
 meaning, being directed thereto by what gave 
 occasion for its being employed. Nor do 
 single words only carry a different force, ac- 
 cording to the sentence v/herein they stand, 
 but whole expressions too cast a lustre upon 
 one another, and the very structure of the 
 phrase gives a different aspect to the contents 
 from what they would have had if placed in 
 another order : in the due management of all 
 which consists a great part of the arts of ora- 
 tory and poetry. 
 
 I do not know how it is with other people, 
 but I find that upon coming home after an ab- 
 sence of some months, I have a fuller and 
 clearer idea of the scenes, persons, and places 
 in the neighbourhood, immediately upon com- 
 ing into the house, and before I have seen any 
 of them aojain, than I could have raised in the 
 morning while at a distance : as if the bare re- 
 moval from place to place gave a turn to the 
 imagination, like the stop of an organ, that 
 brings another set of pipes into play. 
 
 15. Upon this quality of coheiing in our 
 ideas was founded that art of memory men- , 
 VOL. I. R tioned
 
 2^2 Combination of Ideas. [c HAP. 9 
 
 tioned by Cicero, and as he tells us generally 
 ascribed to the invention of Simonides, who 
 hit upon it by an accident. For being at an 
 entertainment v/here there was a great num- 
 ber of guests, a^aessage carne that somebody 
 wanted earnestly to speak with him in the 
 street : in the interim, while he was gone out, 
 the house fell dovrn, and so crushed the com- 
 pany within, that when their relations came to 
 bury them, they could not possibly distinguish 
 the bodies from one another, until Simonides 
 pointed them out by remembering exactly 
 where every man had sat. From hence, ob- 
 serving the connection between objects and 
 their stations, he took the hint of his artificial 
 memor}', wherein he taught his scholars to 
 choose some spacious place, as a town, a park 
 or large gaixlen, with which, and all the turn- 
 ings, corners, plan, buildings, and parts be- 
 longing to it thej^should be perfectly familiar, 
 and then to fancv certain imaws resemblino; 
 the things they would remember, disposed 
 regularly in the several parts of that place. 
 Having done this carefully, when afterwards 
 they cast their thoughts upon the place, it 
 would appear replete with the images, each in 
 its proper order and situation wherein it had 
 been disposed. But the same place was to be 
 employed upon all occasions, for the figures 
 might be wiped away at pleasure, by substi- 
 tuting
 
 CHAP. 9.] Combination of Ideas, 243 
 
 tuting a new set in their room, which would 
 remain there so long as were wanting, or until 
 displaced by having successors assigned them. 
 Thus the association between images and their 
 stations was only temporary, not perpetual 
 like that of man and wife, but occasional, like 
 that of travellers in a stage coach, Avho look 
 upon themselves as one society during their 
 journey, but when that is ended, separate, per- 
 haps never to meet again : their places being 
 supplied the next day by another company, 
 and the same coach serving successivel}^ as 
 a cement for dilBferent societies. Something 
 like this artificial memory our ladies practise 
 every day; for when they are afraid of for- 
 getting any thing they purpose to do by and 
 by, they put their ring upon the wrong finger, 
 or pin a scrap of ribbon upon their stomacher: 
 when afterwards they chance to cast their eye 
 upon the ring or ribbon, they find the pur- 
 pose for which they put it there associated 
 therewith, and occurring instantly to their 
 memory. 
 
 16. There are many other sorts of asso- 
 ciation, which whoever desires to know, may 
 consult Mr. Locke's chapter upon that article, 
 lo which he may add others from his own ob- 
 servation, if he thinks it worth while to take 
 the pains. But though our ideas are often 
 made to cement by our bringing them toge- 
 
 R 2 thcr.
 
 244 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 ther, yet the association once formed, they 
 continue joined without any act of ours to 
 preserve their coherence. Like the diamonds 
 wliich a jeweller sticks in wax, in order to 
 show you the form he proposes to set them 
 in : they are held together by the tenacity 
 of wax, that is, by the properties of matter, 
 though it were the act of a man that pressed 
 them down so as to make them fasten. 
 
 CHAF. X 
 
 TRAILS. 
 
 Our combinations being most of them too 
 large to be taken in at one glance, turn up 
 their different sides, or introduce their several 
 associates successive!}' to the thought, exhi- 
 biting so much at a time as can easily find 
 entrance. Thus, when we think of man, 
 there occurs first perhaps the whole outward 
 human figure ; then the inward composition 
 of ^bowels, muscles, bones, and veins ; then 
 the faculties of digestion, loco-motion, serse^ 
 and reason. Or if we read a passage in Vir- 
 gil, the plain meaning of the words starts up 
 foremost to view ; afterwards the turn of 
 phrase, the grammar, the elegance of diction, 
 
 senti-
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. £45 
 
 sentiment, figures, and harmony. And as 
 some of the same materials obtain a place iu 
 several combinations, one complex idea gives 
 rise to another, by means of some particular 
 ingredient possessed in common by them both. 
 Thus it often happens that two things, very 
 different in themselves, introduce one another 
 by the intervention of some medium bearing 
 an affinity to both, though in different re- 
 spects, which serves as a link by which the 
 former draws in the latter. On hearins; the 
 report of a gun, one's thoughts may run upon 
 soldiers, upon their exercises, upon battles, 
 particularly that before Quebec : this may 
 put one in mind of Canada, of the fur trade, 
 of surprising stories told of the beavers, 
 their contrivance in building themselves 
 houses, of the sagacity of animals, of the 
 difference between instinct and reason, and 
 abundance of other speculations widely re- 
 mote from the sound of a gun. 
 
 2. Nobody but must have observed an apt- 
 ness in the fancy, and even the tongue, in 
 common chitchat, to roam and ramble when 
 left to itself without controul. Yet in our 
 most incoherent sallies there is generally a 
 coherence between single ideas and the next 
 immediately preceding and following, al- 
 though these two contain nothing similar to 
 one another. Perhaps our imagination would 
 
 rove
 
 246 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 rove always in this desultory manner, were it 
 to contain onl}'^ one combination at a time 
 without a mixture of any thing else : but an 
 idea, on being displaced by another, does not 
 wholly vanish, but leaves a spice and tincture 
 of itself behind, by which it operates with a 
 kind of attraction upon the subsequent ideas, 
 determining which of their associates they 
 shall introduce, namely, such as carry some 
 conformity vrith itself. Thus, if on going 
 to market to bu}^ oats for your horse, you 
 meet a waggon on the way, it might suggest 
 the idea of other carriages, of turnpike roads, 
 of commerce ; or of the axis in peritrochio 
 and five mechanical powers ; or of the mate- 
 rials composing it, of the several sorts of 
 timber, the principles of vegetation : but 
 that your horse's wants being already in your 
 thoughts, confine them to take a course rela- 
 tive thereto : so the waggon puts you in mind 
 of the owner being a considerable farmer, 
 who may supply you more conveniently and 
 cheaper than the market, the idea of the man 
 suo'O'ests not that of his wife and children, 
 nor of the country he came from, which have 
 nothing to do with 3 our first thought, but that 
 of his house, of the way thither, what you 
 shall say to him, whether he shall deliver 
 the corn home, or you shall fetch it. This 
 regular succession of ideas, all bearing a re- 
 ference
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 247 
 
 ference to some one purpose retained iii 
 view, is what we call a train ; and daily ex- 
 perience testifies how readily they follow one 
 another in this manner of themselves, without 
 any pains or endeavour of ours to introduce 
 them. 
 
 3. What first links ideas into trains, I tat^e 
 to be the succession of objects causing or lead- 
 ing to our satisfactions : for having observed 
 that things agreeable come to us through se- 
 veral steps, whenever the first of them is made, 
 it carries the thought on to all the rest, and 
 having perceived that our desires cannot be 
 gratified without using some means to obtain 
 them, imagination runs back to all that is ne- 
 cessary to be done for that purpose. The sight 
 or smell of victuals, putting into the child's 
 mouth, constantly preceding the taste of 
 them, excites an idea of that taste before the 
 palate can convey it; in a little while the 
 sight of the nurse coming in to bring the 
 pap becomes another link in the chain, to 
 which is afterwards added the sound of her 
 steps on entering the room, and the creaking 
 of the door when she opens it. In process of 
 time, the child, making various noises, per- 
 ceives that some of them have an influence 
 upon the nurse s motions : hence it gets an 
 imperfect notion of language, of cause, and 
 effect; and Avhen hanger presses, the little 
 
 imagination
 
 248 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 imagination runs backward to the ministry 
 of ttie nurse, and the sounds using to procure 
 it, which the child accordingly makes in order 
 to obtain a relief of its wants. 
 
 Desire, curiosity, amusement, voluntary at- 
 tention, or whatever else carries the notice 
 frequently through a number of ideas always 
 in the same series, links them into a train, 
 When we would learn any thing by heart, we * 
 read it over and over again, and find the words 
 fixed thereby in our memory, in the same 
 order as they lay in the page : but if we had 
 read inattentively, so that the notice had 
 rambled elsewhere, we should never have got 
 our lesson. Were the same scrap of a song to 
 be chanted in our ears for a month together, 
 I suppose we could not fail of learning it ex- 
 actly without any desire or endeavour so to do : 
 but if when the singer came it always hap- 
 pened that we were so earnestly intent upon 
 something else as to take no notice of him, he 
 would not work the like effect. 
 
 4. But though the mind by her notice begins 
 the formation of a train, there is something in 
 our internal mechanism that strengthens and 
 compleats the concatenation. It has been ge- 
 neraliy remarked by schoolboys, that after 
 having laboured the whole evening before a re- 
 petition day to get their lesson by heart, but 
 to very little purpose, when they rise in the 
 
 morning,
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 2i9 
 
 morning, they shall have it current at their 
 tongue's end v/ithout any further trouble. 
 Nor is it unusual A^dth persons of riper years, 
 upon being asked for a determination which 
 they cannot form, without a number of things 
 to be previously considered, to desire time to 
 sleep upon it : because with all their care to 
 digest their materials, they cannot do it com- 
 pleatly, but after a night's rest, or some recrea- 
 tion, or the mind being turned for a while into 
 a different course of thinking, upon her return 
 to the former ideas, she finds they have ranged 
 themselves anew during her absence, and in 
 such manner, as exhibits almost at one view all 
 their mutual relations, dependences, and con- 
 sequences. Which shows that our organs do 
 not stand idle the moment we cease to em- 
 ploy them, but continue the motions we put 
 them into, after they have gone out of our 
 sight, thereby working themselves to aglibness 
 and smoothness, and falling into a more re- 
 gular and orderly posture, than v/e could have 
 placed them in with all our skill and industry. 
 
 Our trains once well formed, whatever sug- 
 gests the first link, the rest follow readily of 
 their own accord: but as practice joins them 
 more firmly, so you find them hanging closer 
 or looser together, according to the degree 
 of strength they have acquired. There are 
 some, who, having gotten a thing by rote, can 
 
 go
 
 250 ' Trains. [chap, icu 
 
 go through it currently, at any time, without 
 mistake or hesita1:ion, but if you interrupt 
 them, they cannot go on, without repeating 
 what they had recited before from the begin- 
 ning. Generall}^ when we are out, a. single 
 word prompted will draw up the remainder of 
 the chain, and set us in our career again : but 
 what we are extremely perfect in, we caw 
 leave off and resume of ourselves, begin in 
 the middle, or take up any part at pleasure. 
 There have been persons, who have acquired 
 a surprising perfectness of this kind : I re- 
 member formerly to have seen a poor fellow, 
 in Moorfields, Avho used to stand there all 
 the day long, and get his living by repeating 
 the Bible : whoever gave him a halfpenny^ 
 might name a text any where in the old or 
 new Testament, which he would repeat di- 
 rectly, and proceed to the next vei-se, the 
 next chapter, the next book, and so on with- 
 out stopping, until another customer gave 
 him another cue. 
 
 5. But trains of this enormous length are 
 few, and wanted only upon extraordinary 
 occasions ; those which serve us for common 
 use, are innumerable, and extremely short, 
 nor should we find them commodious if they 
 were not so. For objects continually chang- 
 ino" before us, and sensations of various kinds 
 accosting us incessantly, there is very httle 
 
 scope
 
 CHAP. 10.]! Trains. 251 
 
 scope for reflection to range in, before the 
 notice is engaged by something else : and the 
 purposes directing our observation from time 
 to time being various, if our trains were not 
 very numerous, we should not so readily as 
 we do, find enow of them suited for canying 
 on the course of thought we desire. By 
 continual use, our trains multiply and open 
 into one another, which gives a facility to 
 our motions, and makes the imagination like 
 a wilderness, cut into a multitude of short 
 alleys, communicating together by gentle 
 and almost imperceptible windings, where 
 one may pursue an object seen at a distance, 
 without much deviating from the strait 
 line, or take a compass without losing our 
 way. Besides, the smallness of our trains, 
 and their being mutually interwoven, fur- 
 nishes more play for the fancy ; for a thread 
 stretched out lengthways, you can view onljr 
 two ways, either backward or forward, but 
 the same being worked up into a curious 
 cypher, presents an abundance of mazes, 
 wherein the eye can wander with an endless 
 variety. 
 
 How helpful these little involuntary trains 
 are to us, upon all occasions, may appear ma- 
 nifest, without much consideration. What is 
 the difference between a number of words as 
 they lie in a dictionary, or in some well wrote 
 
 page?
 
 252 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 page ? for in both we know their several 
 meaning, but in the former, they represent a 
 succcsbion of loose incoherent assemblages, 
 whereas in the latter, they appear linked in 
 trains familiar to our imagination. Nor let 
 it be objected, that the author may lead us 
 into a course of thinking we never travelled in 
 before ; for though the course may be new, 
 the component parts of it, that is, the phrases, 
 the structure, and idiom of language, must 
 be of our old acquaintance, or we shall not 
 understand him. 
 
 The learned languages are taught at school 
 by rules, but we may remember how tediously 
 we proceeded, while forced to have recourse 
 every foot to our rules, either in construing or 
 composing : wherefore their use is only to 
 bring our ideas of words into trains corres- 
 ponding with the concords, and other rules of 
 grammar : when this is done compleatly, by 
 long practice we may forget our rules, as I 
 believe most of us do, and yet without them 
 we find the nominative or the adjective, at 
 the beginning of a sentence, lead naturally 
 and of its own accord to the verb, or substan- 
 tive at the further end. And though we learn 
 our mother tongue without rule, only by hear- 
 ing it continually chimed in our ears, yet 
 until it be sufficiently formed into trains, we 
 find the child express itself imperfectly, and 
 
 in
 
 CHAP, 10.] Trains. 255 
 
 in broken sentences. In a language we are 
 masters of, wliile we read currently on, the 
 sense of wliat we read seems wholly to occupy 
 the imagination, yet, for all that, the mind 
 can find room for something of her own: how 
 quick soever the eye may pass along, the 
 thought flies still quicker, and will make little 
 excursions between one word and the next, 
 or pursue reflections of its own, at the same 
 time it attends to the reading. Hence arises 
 the dilFerence, so necessary to be taken notice 
 of, between the letter and the spirit, for 
 whoever stops at the former, will be very 
 little the better for what he reads : but this 
 spirit must be drawn from our trains, which 
 the author excites, but does not infuse. It has 
 been remarked as one quality of the sublime 
 and of fine humour, that the}^ convey a great 
 deal more than they express, but this More 
 must be something the mind has already in 
 store, and they only draw it up to view : 
 theiefore, sublimit}^' of style, and delicacy of 
 wit are lost upon the vulgar, who having no 
 proper trains to be excited, descry nothing 
 beyond the obvious meaning of the words, and 
 for that reason, are more taken with plain lan- 
 guage, and broad jokes, as leading into trains 
 of thought, to which they have been accus- 
 tomed. Wit depends chiefly upon allusion for 
 its supplies, and metaphor and many other 
 
 fissures
 
 234 Trains, [chap. lo. 
 
 figures of speech derive from the same source: 
 but what is allusion, besides the suggesting 
 ideas already famihar to the imagination ? 
 Transition is the art of leading the mind by- 
 gentle and eas\' turnings, so that she finds 
 herself unawares in a new field, without per- 
 ceiving when she quitted that she was en- 
 gaged in before. 
 
 6. What has been remarked just now con- 
 cerning the manner of learning languages, 
 may as justly be applied to all the arts and 
 sciences in general, and to the common ac- 
 tions of life: for in our first attempts upon 
 them, while v. e are forced 'to dig up every 
 thing by dint of application, how slowly, and 
 aukwardly, and imperfectly do we proceed ! 
 but when we have furnished ourselves with 
 proper trains, that will spring up of their owi> 
 accord, upon touching a link of them, then 
 we can i>;o on expeditiously, readily, and per- 
 fectl3^ For it has been shown in the chapter 
 of Action, that those commonly called so, 
 consist of many single acts, each of which 
 must have its idea directing to perform it: but 
 our thought and care reach no further than to 
 the main action, the particular parts of it must 
 be thrown up by imagination. Therefore the 
 machiner'' of our oroans bears at least an 
 equal share with the mind, in all our trans- 
 actions, for she ouly chooses what shall be 
 
 done
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains, Si55 
 
 done next, but the several means, and minute 
 steps necessary for executing it, occur with* 
 out our seeking. Nor yet would they so occur, 
 unless the}" had been inured by practice to 
 follow one another successively: from whence 
 it appears, that the disposition of our organs 
 to fall into little series of motions spontane- 
 ously, is the thing that gives us all our dex- 
 terity and expertness in every kind of ac- 
 tion. 
 
 Trains are most commonly taken notice of 
 in the memory, because there are the longest, 
 and consequently the most visible • and those 
 little trains, which serve us upon ordinary 
 occasions, depend upon the same disposition 
 of our organs, though we do not usually call 
 them Remembrance, unless they occur with 
 that additional circumstance of their havincp 
 been in our thought before. Yet we can 
 often discern their reference to memor}^ as 
 appears from our usually justifying ourselves 
 upon being criticised at any time for speaking 
 or actmg improperly, by alledging that we 
 remember others saying, or doing the same 
 upon the like occasion. Wherefore, the an- 
 cients made Mnemosyne the mother of the 
 Muses, supposing memory the groundwork 
 and foundation of all skill and learninor: nor 
 is it improbable that the structure of a man's 
 organs, which enables him to remember well, 
 
 mav
 
 256 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 may render him equally capable of any other 
 accomplishment, with proper cultivation. 
 
 7. As much a paradox as it may seem, I 
 shall not scruple to assert, that if it were not 
 for our trains, we could not have that enter- 
 tainment we receive from novelty : for things 
 so far out of the w^ay of all former experi- 
 ence, as that we cannot tell what to think of 
 them, appear strange and uncouth; but there 
 is a difference between strano-eness and novel- 
 ty : the latter belongs to objects that work 
 new openings into old trains, and so give 
 them a play that was not common to them 
 before : or else renew a former course of 
 thoiidit, that has been Ions: intermitted. For 
 we may observe that a new pla3% a new pat- 
 tern of flowered silk, or a new any thing, does 
 not please, if it does not in any respect re- 
 semble what we have seen of the kind before, 
 or does not suggest some little trains of re- 
 flection, besides the bare sight : and after we 
 have forgotten it for a time, it may give us the 
 pleasure of novelty again. If objects engage 
 us in trains that will not readily coincide, they 
 xaise our wonder: but the trains, by being 
 often brought together, open into one another 
 at last, whence comes the vulgar saying, that 
 a wonder lasts but nine days. I shall leave it 
 to the critics to settle the precise limits be- 
 tween wonder, admiration, amazement, and 
 
 astonish-
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains, 257 
 
 astonishment ; and only observe that in all of 
 them there is a stoppage of the thought, ^ 
 which being unable to remain entirely mo- 
 tionless, makes little excursions, but finds the 
 trains abrubt, and crossing one another, being 
 perpetually checked and diverted from its 
 usual courses by the object that holds it en- 
 gaged. 
 
 As letters united together compose words, 
 words compose sentences, and sentences dis- 
 courses, so our ideas run into assemblages 
 and associations, these link in trains, and a 
 texture of trains makes larger trains or courses 
 of thinking : and each species of junction 
 opens a wider field for the mind to expatiate 
 in, for composition greatly encreases variety : 
 eight bells tolled singly can give only eight 
 sounds, but above forty thousand changes 
 may be rung upon them. But as the occa- 
 sions of life and objects surrounding us per- 
 petually require us to alter our course of at- 
 tention, our trains branch out into several 
 others, and we are easily diverted into a new ,^ 
 track, provided it be done by gentle turnings, 
 and through openings to which we have been 
 accustomed. 
 
 8. This disposal of ideas into trains, and 
 their being interwoven togetlier in a manner 
 suitable to our occasions, gives birth to Order; 
 which consists not in any number or species 
 
 VOL. I. s of
 
 258 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 of ideas, but in their introducing one another 
 in such successions as shall readily' answer our 
 purposes. There are persons who have laid 
 in vast heaps of knowledge, which lie confus- 
 edly, and are of no service to them, for want 
 of proper clues to guide into evpy spot and 
 corner of their imagination : but when a man 
 has worked up his ideas into trains, and 
 taught them b}^ custom to communicate ea- 
 sil}^ with one another, then arises order, and 
 then he may reap all the benefit they are ca- 
 pable of conveying ; for he may travel over 
 an\" series of them without losing bis thread, 
 and find any thing he wants without difficult}'. 
 In or is it material for his own private use in 
 what manner his trains lie, provided they be 
 wrought into some uniform plan: but with 
 respect to his intercourse amongst other peo- 
 ple. It is very material that he should range his 
 ideas in a manner conformable to their ways 
 of thinking, or they will find nothing regular 
 in them. Were the methodical schoolman 
 and polite pretty fellow to mix in the same 
 company, the discourses of each would ap- 
 pear easy, clear, and pertinent, to those of 
 Tiis own class, but perplexed, dr}', and unen- 
 gaging, to those of the opposite ; for your 
 close deductions of reason seem a heap of 
 rubbish to the man of the world; and the 
 conversations of the latter, while he keeps up 
 ' -^ " ^ the
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 259 
 
 the ball of discourse for a whole evening with 
 smart expressions that come in always pat 
 upon the occasion, are a mere volubility of 
 words, with no more coherence than a rope 
 of sand to one that has immured himself in 
 a college. The discourses of either present 
 the same succession of ideas to the hearer 
 that was in the mind of the speaker, but that 
 succession exhibits nothing regular or coherent 
 to the former, because it does not run in trains 
 famihar to his apprehension. For what is re- 
 gularity to one man may be all confusion to 
 another: which proves order to be relative, and 
 to derive its existence from the cast of our ima- 
 
 gination. 
 
 Objects stand in order when their situation 
 corresponds with that of our ideas : and as 
 the moulds of all imas-inations are similar in 
 some respects, hence we term things regular 
 or irregular as they tally or not w^ith the trains 
 w^hicli the ideas of mankind most generally 
 fall into. Straight lines and easy curves the 
 notice can readily run along, and by tra- 
 veling frequentl}^ in those tracks they become 
 familiar: wherefore fio-ures consistino- of them, 
 such as squares, triangles, circles, spirals, 
 serpentine lines, parallel rows, and raj^s di- 
 verging at equal angles from one centre, are 
 esteemed regular, because objects placed in 
 them link of their own accord into lines, and 
 
 s 2 the
 
 260 Trains. [chap.io. 
 
 the mind has but a few parts to put together, 
 ill order to form the whole figm'e, and can 
 range over them by paths to which it has 
 been accustomed : v/hereas the same objects 
 being jumbled together promiscuously^ each 
 of them becomes a separate part unconnected 
 with the rest, and the whole is too numerous 
 for the mind to manage ; nor can she find any 
 
 x^passage leading to them successively one after 
 another. Tor the same reason, syrr^metry and 
 proportion contribute greatly to order, be- 
 cause the one gives dispatch to the e3'e, by 
 enabling it to take in objects by pairs, and the 
 other smooths the passage over them by the 
 mutual dependance of parts. But the mind 
 must have been enured to observe proportion, 
 or it vrill lose the benefit resulting thereirom ; 
 therefore we see that common persons do not 
 discern half the regularity in a fine building, 
 or other piece of well-proportioned work- 
 manship, that is obvious to connoisseurs ; 
 
 - and that they do discern any, is owing to the 
 degree of skill in proportion, which few men 
 are without. 
 
 9. Order may be produced without chang- 
 ing the position of things, only by removing 
 whatever would obstruct the eye in its passage 
 along them. When a young lady cuts a cu- 
 rious figure out of paper, she gives no new 
 po>iition to the several parts of her figure, for 
 
 they
 
 CHAP. 10.] Traim. 9^1 
 
 they had the same situation with respect to one 
 another while they lay in the whoie paper as 
 after they have passed through her hands. 
 And indeed every sheet of paper contains all 
 the figures that any clean-fingered dainsel 
 can cut out of it : therefore the o])eratrix is so 
 far from creating the figure, that she spoils all 
 others that mioht have been formed out of the 
 same sheet, so that for one she seems to make 
 she really destroys a thousand. Nevertheless, 
 she produces order and regularity where there 
 was none before, only by snipping avv^ay the 
 supeiiiuities of the paper from her figure, and 
 thereby leading the eye along all the mazes 
 aud windings comprehended therein. 
 
 As order consists in the correspondence of 
 objects with our ideas, it is all one whether 
 the former be placed in figures familiar to our 
 appi'ehension, or whether the latter be worked 
 into trains conformable to the position of 
 things we behold : order will ensue alike in 
 both pases. Ne>v prospects generally appear 
 irregular, until by frequeiit contemplating 
 they grow into form without any real altera- 
 tion in the scenes : nor is there any thing so 
 irregular but by pains and long acquaintance 
 may be brought tQ lie in older in our imagi- 
 nation. What can be more a wilderness than 
 the great town of L;)ndQia to strangers r they 
 
 can
 
 263 Trains. [chap. io» 
 
 can scarce stir a hundred yards without losing 
 themselves. But the pennj'-ppstman finds no 
 perplexit}^ in his walks to. any part of it : he 
 reads only.the name of the street, or court, or 
 alley ia his superscription, and instantly the 
 way thither occurs to his thought. Were some 
 fairy while he sleeps ta- dispose the houses 
 into straightlines, crossing each other at riglit 
 angles like the streets of Babylon, he might 
 not perhaps, at first, find his way about the 
 town so readily as he does at present. 
 
 10. Whatever situation men have accus- 
 tomed themselves to place things in is order 
 to them, though perhaps nothing like it to 
 any body else. When one steps into the shop 
 of a country chandler, or haberdasher of small 
 wares, one is apt to wonder hoAv they find 
 every thing so readily as they do : but custom 
 has brought their ideas into a conformity with 
 the position of their wares,- so that upon any 
 particular thing being asked for, their thought 
 runs in train to the proper drawer ; and were 
 we to place their goods otherwise, though in 
 a manner we should think more regular, they 
 might justly complain we had put them out of 
 order. We studious folks generally have each 
 of us a way of placing our implements peculiar 
 to ourselves, the ink-glass. must stand just in 
 this spot,, the penknife in. tliat, the pens in 
 
 another,
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains, 263 
 
 another, and the books and papers have their 
 several stations allotted them, sothatwen^ay 
 presently reach what v/e want without loss of 
 time or interruption of our studies. As soon 
 as our back is turned, in comes the maid to 
 clean the room : she cannot dust the table 
 wh.le it remains covered, so she removes all 
 our things, and never replaces them as they 
 were before. Not but that the wrench is care- 
 ful enough to set all to rights again, but her 
 idea of order being different from ours, she Jays 
 the foHo underneath, then the papers upon it, 
 blank or written as they come to hand, and 
 the smaller things on top of all ; so that on 
 our return we find every thino; at the same 
 time in the neatest order and the utmost con- 
 fusion, for we are forced to tumble over the 
 whole parcel to come at any individual we 
 want. 
 
 Thus order often respects convenience ; for 
 w^e say things are in their places when they 
 lie handy for our purposes, so that we can 
 execute them without interrupting or de- 
 viating from the plan of action we had laid 
 down. Nor does use give occasion to order 
 less frequently than convenience: when things 
 stand in such a situation as to produce some 
 advantage that would not have accrued fioni 
 them in any other, w^e say tliey are in older, 
 
 and
 
 264 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 and the want of that situation we call disorder. 
 Thus, disorders of the body, of the air, or the 
 elements, are nothing but such commixtures of 
 their parts as destroy the soundness of health, 
 disturb the animal functions, or stop the pro- 
 gress of vegetation ; and without a reference 
 to some such consequences as these, we should 
 not term them disorders. And this kind of or- 
 der, resulting from use and convenience, refers 
 either to the disposition of things we have usu- 
 ally beheld them in, or to the train of thought 
 of some agent placing them in that manner. 
 For though chance might once in a while dis- 
 pose matters very cleverly for our purpose, we 
 should not conceive them the more orderly 
 upon that account. If a traveller, upon per- 
 ceiving himself thirsty, should immediately 
 espy a bough of ripe apples hanging over his 
 head, and wanting a stone to beat them down, 
 should find one lying just before him, and a 
 little further a knife to pare them, dropped by 
 some careless passenger ; all this would sug- 
 gest nothing of order, unless he supposed 
 them laid there on purpose. 
 
 What we call the order of nature does not 
 consist only in the position of things consi- 
 dered iu themselves, but either in their be- 
 ing so disposed as to produce the uses de- 
 rived from them, or their moving in rotation 
 
 by
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 265 
 
 by constant returns of the same changes. 
 Under the former view, we see the bodies of 
 this vast fabric of tlie world, minute and 
 large, the. fibres of plants, the vessels of ani- 
 mals, the luminaries of heaven, contributing 
 in their several stations to the support and 
 conveniences of life, and other purposes, in a 
 manner we could not in any degree imitate in 
 things under our own management, without 
 design and contrivance : which, therefore, 
 leads our thoughts into trains composing the 
 plan exhibited thereby. Under the latter 
 view, we observe the stated successions of 
 night and day, the vicissitudes of seasons, 
 the progress of vegetation from the seed to 
 the blade, the bud, the flower, and the seed 
 again, the stages of growth in animals, the 
 circumvolutions of the firmament; and having 
 joined our observations into a system, there 
 springs up order therefrom, which increases 
 in proportion as we can add new branches 
 to our scheme. In ancient times, the fixed 
 stars, only, w^ere esteemed regular,, as rising 
 and setting always at equal intervals, and 
 keeping their positions with respect to one 
 another, while the other seven, being thouglit 
 reducible to no certain rule, were styled 
 Planets or Wanderers : but later discoveries 
 having brought their motions too into a 
 
 system,
 
 266 Traiiu. [chap. 10. 
 
 system, we now admire the wonderful regu- 
 larity of their courses. 
 
 Nor let it be said there was an order in 
 all these particulars, before men took notice 
 of it; for if we place order in the position of 
 thin OS taken absolutely without reference to 
 our ideas, there will be no such thing as dis- 
 order in nature. Every number of things, 
 not excepting the wildest productions of 
 chance, must lie in some position or other : 
 and were there an understanding pliable, 
 and comprehensive enough to strike out trains 
 immediately among any collection of objects, 
 and discern their respective situations, as 
 clearly as we do in scenes the most familiar to 
 our acquaintance, it would not know what 
 in-egularity was. Therefore, if we make a 
 distinction between orderly and disorderly, or 
 the latter term has any meaning in language, 
 it must belong to such positions of things, as 
 do not correspond in their parts with any 
 courses our ideas usually fall into, nor are 
 reducible to any system in our imagination. 
 
 11. Did order exist in things, there could 
 not be an order of time and of causes : for 
 there exists no more than one point of time, 
 and one step of causation in every moment : 
 but this single object is not capable of order, 
 unless in conjunction with the series of events 
 
 preceding,
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 267 
 
 preceding, or to follow after, which being 
 never existent together, cannot be the resi« 
 dence of any quality. Therefore it is the 
 ideas of past and future occurrences brought 
 too:ether in the mind, that renders them ca- 
 pable of order, which they then receive, 
 when she can discern their connections and 
 dependencies upon one another. If we con- 
 sider objects CO- existing together in the same 
 scene, we shall find that though they can have 
 no more than one position at once, they may 
 contain a variety of orders. The spots of a 
 chess-board lie in eight equal rows, with their 
 flat sides turned towards each other: they 
 lie likewise in fifteen unequal rows of lo- 
 zenges, touching at the angles, the middle- 
 most having eight spots in length, the next 
 on each side seven a piece; and so falling 
 off until you come to single ones at the 
 corners : and they lie also in squares in- 
 closed within one another, the innermost 
 consisting of four spots, the next of twelve 
 or four on a side ; the third of twenty, or 
 six on a side ; and the outermost of twenty- 
 eight, or eight on a side. These three forms of 
 order, besides others that might be traced out, 
 are generated in tlie imagination, and may be 
 changed, or cast into one another at pleasure, 
 successively, without making any alteration in 
 the chess-board, only^by the eye compounding 
 
 its
 
 268 Trains. [chap. lo. 
 
 its objects variously, and running along in 
 different courses of observation. 
 
 12. But those courses, or the component 
 parts of them, must be such as were familiar 
 to us before, or we must render them fami- 
 liar by practice and application. And what 
 is more remarkable, after we have brought 
 our thoughts to run currently along a train of 
 ideas, they cannot always run back again the 
 contrary way, although in the same track. 
 Take a sheet of paper written on one side in 
 a fair legible hand, an easy style, and familiar 
 language, turn it upside down, or hold it 
 against a strong light, with the back part to- 
 wards you, and though you have a full and 
 clear view of the writing, you see nothing but 
 perplexity and confusion : you must pick out 
 letter b}^ letter, and s] ell every word as you 
 go along. If any particular form of objects, 
 or their situation, with respect to one another^ 
 constituted the essence of order, this could 
 not happen, for the form of things does not 
 depend upon their postures : a man does not 
 lose his human shape by being set upon his 
 head, nor does a horse undergo a metamor- 
 phosis every time he rolls upon his back, 
 neither do the words lose their places, nor the 
 letters their joinings, by a different manner 
 of holding the paper: but the mind has 
 always been used to read them from left to 
 
 right,
 
 CHAP. 10.] Trains. 269 
 
 right, and therefore cannot follow' in any 
 other course. What then, is there a right 
 hand and a left in the mind itself.'^ or have 
 her perceptions a loco-motion, which can 
 proceed only in one particular direction "^ Let 
 us rather attribute the cause to the motion of 
 our internal organs, running mechanically in 
 the courses to which they have been ac- 
 customed. For as the blood circulates from 
 the heart to the arteries, and returns back 
 again through the veins, but cannot take a 
 contrary round, beginning first at the veins, 
 and thence proceeding to the arteries ; so the 
 channels of our ideas give them a free passage 
 in that course they have been used to, but 
 close against them upon their return. Our 
 mental organs, indeed, are of so soft and pli- 
 ble temper, as that they may be brought to 
 admit trains passing through them either way, 
 for there are some fio;ures we comprehend 
 presently whichever part of them first catches 
 the eye : but then this must be effected by 
 long practice, by frequently running them 
 over, backwards and forwards in our thoughts, 
 or, by havino- been used to see them in all 
 aspects wherein they can be placed. 
 
 But though order subsists only in the con- 
 formity of our trains, with the position of ob- 
 jects, yet is it not produced by a voluntary 
 act pf th(? mind: for we cannot see order 
 
 wherever
 
 270 Trains. [chap, lo* 
 
 -wherever we please, nor can we avoid seeing 
 it in some subjects, if we will contemplate 
 them at all : which 1 suppose has made it be 
 imao;ined that thin o's were essentially and ab- 
 solutely regular or irregular in themselves. 
 The mind, as we have shown before, may, by 
 painful application, bring any set of objects, 
 how confused soever to lie in trains, or the 
 same may be brought to pass without indus- 
 try, by long and intimate acquaintance : but 
 when the organs have once acquired a habit 
 of throwing up ideas in that manner, corres- 
 ponding with the situation of objects, they 
 will afterwards exhibit order upon sight of 
 them Vr-ithout aid of the mind, and solely 
 by virtue of their own machinery. 
 
 13. I have but one or two observations more 
 to make upon trains, which are, that they 
 grow quicker by continual use, and if short, 
 unite at last into combinations, or if long, the 
 middle links frequently drop out, or pass so 
 swiftly as not to touch the notice. When 
 children learn to read, they join the letters 
 and syllables in trains to form words, and the 
 words to form sentences. By degrees the}" 
 do this faster, and in process of time the 
 whole word or sentence arises to their view in 
 one assemblage. ^Vhen we would recollect 
 the members of a family, where we are tole- 
 rably well acquainted, we find the ideas of 
 
 them
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 271 
 
 them introduce one another in trains, but after 
 having lived, or conversed daily among them 
 for some time, upon hearing the name of the 
 house, the whole association of persons be- 
 longing to it starts up instantly to our fancy. 
 And when the channels of our ideas are worn 
 'smooth by constant use, the current runs too 
 rapid for the notice to keep pace with it. I 
 have met with persons who could understand 
 more of what they read in Latin or French, 
 than in English, because their mother tongue 
 affording too easy a passage to their thoughts, 
 they skim lightly over the surface, and 
 never touch the greater part lying at the 
 bottom. 
 
 CHAT. XI, 
 
 JUDGMENT, 
 
 ^^ARiiow as we must acknowledge our 
 .capacities to be, they can nevertheless give 
 haibour to several ideas, and several com- 
 binations at the same time. External objects 
 continually pour a variety of sensations upon 
 us, which do not so fill the imagination, but 
 that reflection still finds room to throw in 
 other ideas from her own store. And when 
 
 the
 
 272? Judgment. [chap. li. 
 
 tlie notice touches upon two or more ideas 
 together, there general!}" arises another, not 
 compounded or extracted from them, but 
 generated by them, to wit, an idea of com- 
 parison, resemblance, identity, difference, 
 relation, distance, number, situation, or other 
 circumstance belonging to them : all which, 
 in metaphysical language, are comprehended 
 under the general term of Judgment, which 
 in common speech, we distribute into several 
 species, as knowledge, discernment, opinion, 
 and appearance, not indeed very accurately, 
 as not always adhering inviolably to that di- 
 vision, but often using them promiscuously 
 for one another. 
 
 2. Single ideas may be expressed by single 
 words, as a man, a colour, motion, gratitude ; 
 for upon hearincy the sound, the whole idea 
 associated therewith starts up 'instantly to the 
 thought: but to express a judgment, you 
 must employ a proposition, which always con- 
 tains three parts at least, namely, the terms, 
 and the judgment passed upon them, as man 
 is an animal, fire consumes wood, one egg 
 resembles another, for though we have sen- 
 tences consisting only of two Avords, as 
 Peter lives, Thomas sleeps, the earth moves, 
 which therefore seem to contain no more 
 than one term, yet that there is another im- 
 plied appears manifest, because w^e may ex- 
 press
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 27^ 
 
 press that other, without adding any thing to 
 the sense : for Peter is alive, Thomas asleep, 
 the earth in motion, convey not a whit more 
 than was conveyed by the shorter sentences 
 above cited. And though many times one of 
 the terms be comprehended v/ithin the other, 
 as beiilg an ingredient of the assemblage ex- 
 pressed thereby, yet must it be taken out from 
 the assemblage, and stand apart, before we can 
 judge any thing concerning it. The idea of 
 man includes that of life, activity, reason, and 
 several other particulars ; but this idea contem- 
 plated ever so long, will make no proposition, 
 nor produce any judgment, unless some of 
 those particulars be considered in the abstract, 
 and beheld in the same view as it were by the 
 side of the concrete ; and then we can discern 
 that man is a living, an active, or a rational 
 creature. But this abstract is as much a com- 
 pleat idea, when compared with assemblages 
 comprehending it within them, as when com- 
 pared with others that do not : the idea of 
 sweetness being as distinct from that of sugar 
 whereof it is affirmed, as from that of gall 
 whereof it is denied : and he that thinks of 
 the former, has no fewer ideas in his mind, 
 than he that thinks of the latter. 
 
 3. That judgment likewise, although the 
 production of the terms, for we cannot judge 
 without something in our thoughts to judge 
 
 vpL. I, T upon.
 
 27-* Judgment. [Chap, lu 
 
 upon, is nevertheless a distinct idea from the 
 roots wliereout it grows, cannot be doubted 
 when we reflect, that many things occur to 
 our view, and aftect our notice in some de- 
 gree, without our passing any judgment upon 
 them. We may see leaves falling from the 
 trees, birds flying in the air, or cattle grazing 
 upon the ground, without afiirming, or deny- 
 ing, or thinking any thing concerning them : 
 and yet perhaps we had taken so much no- 
 tice of them, that, upon being asked a minute 
 afterwards, we could remember what we had 
 seen. A man may have beheld a field from 
 his w^indow a hundred times, without ever ob- 
 serving whether it were square, or pentangular, 
 and yet the figure was exhibited to his view 
 every time he looked upon it : and we have 
 observations suggested to us sometimes, upon 
 things extremely familiar to our acquaintance, 
 which we acknowledge very obvious, when 
 put in mind of them, although we never hit 
 upon them ourselves. It is notorious thai 
 men judge variously of the same objects, 
 and so do the several faculties of the same 
 man upon many occasions ; Appearance, 
 which is the judgment of sense, being o{>- 
 posite to Opinion, or the judgment of un- 
 derstanding. For we believe the sun to be 
 an immense globe, much larger than all the 
 countries ^ve ever travelled over, while it ap- 
 pears
 
 CHAP. It.] Judgment. 27$ 
 
 pears at the same lime to our eyes, but as a 
 little bowl, that one might roll about in a 
 bushel. And though the apparent magnitude 
 of objects is supposed to depend upon the 
 angle they subtend at our eye, nevertheless 
 our familiarity with them changes our estima- 
 tion of their bulk. Why does the sun look 
 smaller than the house, and yet a man at 
 twenty yards distance, does not look smaller 
 than your hand, although you might quite 
 cover him from your sight by holding it up 
 at arms-length before you ? Unless because 
 we continually see men close by our side, 
 whereas we never saw the sun so near as to 
 subtend a greater angle than the house. 
 
 4. Hence it follows incontestably, that 
 judgment is an act of reflection^ never thrown 
 upon us by external objects, but something 
 done upon the ideas after their entrance. 
 Therefore the schoolmen reckon it a second 
 act of the mind, distinct from the first, called 
 simple apprehension, whereby w^e receive the 
 id^as conveyed by sensation, or turned up by 
 the workin2:s of imaoination. But if it be an 
 act of the mind, it is, as v/ell as apprehension, 
 an act of her perceptive faculty, wherein 
 the mind remains purely passive, and only 
 receives what some other agent strikes upon 
 her. For judgment is not a voluntary act, 
 any further than that in many cases we may 
 
 T2 choose
 
 376 Judgment, [chap. U. 
 
 choose whether we will consider things atten- 
 tively enough to discern their relations or re- 
 semblances : but this we have not always in 
 our option, for sometimes they force upon us, 
 whether we will or no ; and when we fix our 
 attention voluntarily, the judgment formed 
 thereupon is not the work of the mind, for 
 she cannot discern snow to be green, nor 
 twenty to be less than fifteen, but must take 
 such estimation as results of its own aocord, 
 li'om the subject she contemplates. It is true 
 we sometimes judge amiss through the fault 
 of our Vv ill, when we had materials before us 
 for doing better, but this we do by the power 
 we have over our ideas to overlook, or as it 
 were, squint upon some, and hold others in a 
 steadier view ; but what is done by the in- 
 btmmentality of ideas, although remotely our 
 own act, and therefore justly chargeable at 
 our door, is nevertheless the immediate ope- 
 ration of the instrument; just as an impression 
 is made by the seal, although we press it do>vn 
 upon the wax ourselves. 
 
 5. Since then the mind is purely passive in 
 the act of judging, as well as of apprehending, 
 we must seek for some agent to produce that 
 effect upon her: and what can this be beside* 
 the mental organs ? I shall not pretend to ex- 
 plain by what particular figure or motion 
 they do their work; for we cannot pry into a 
 
 man's
 
 CHAP. II.] Judgment. 277 
 
 man's sensory while he thinks, to discern 
 what disposition of the fibres in any case 
 either of sensation or reflection, affects him 
 with this or that perception : but it seems 
 undeniable that they must have a different 
 modification, when they enable us to pass a 
 judgment, from that whereby they exhibit 
 the ideas whereon we judge. For else why 
 do not all objects, when clearly discerned, 
 suggest all the relations they stand in to one 
 another, or all the comparisons that may be 
 drawn between them, or why do men judge so 
 variously upon the same subject? The papist 
 thinks persecution a duty, the protestant 
 thinks it none ; they both have the same terms 
 in their thought, and therefore so far their 
 organs are modified alike, but they judge of 
 them differently, and that judgment is not of 
 their own making, but something they discern 
 in their view of the objects they contemplate; 
 consequently the modification exhibiting this 
 part of their view, being different in one from 
 what it was in the other, cannot be the same 
 with that which was alike in both. One may 
 read the words, Persecution, Duty, without 
 any connecting verb between them, and in 
 that state they convey the ideas of the things 
 expressed by them compleat; if we proceed 
 to affirm or deny the one of the other, we may 
 perceive our prospect enlarged beyond the 
 
 bare
 
 C7S Judgment. [chap. n. 
 
 bare sense of those two disjointed terms; but 
 there can be no increase of prospect, without 
 the accession of another object to behold, 
 which must be some new modification super- 
 added to the former, or generated thereby. 
 
 6. As judgment seems an act subsequent to 
 the apprehension of the subject w^iereon it is 
 pronounced, one -would expect there should 
 be some time intervening between the one and 
 the other, and so^ in fact we often find there 
 is, for we sometimes hold objects a consider- 
 able while in contemplation before we can 
 decide concernino; them : but in thino;s fami- 
 liar to our knowledge, the judgment rises in- 
 stantaneously, and in the same view with the 
 objects, by that quality we have observed be- 
 lono;ing to ideas following in train, of quick- 
 ening their pace by degrees, until at last 
 they coincide into one combination. A man 
 knows his own horse, his own house, his 
 bosom friend, immediately upon sight, with- 
 out waiting for any further operation to be 
 made upon the ideas presented by his optics. 
 And this is what we call the evidence of sense, 
 -which we abuse, without reason, for perpetu- 
 ally deceiving us : whereas the senses cannot 
 well deceive, because, strictly speaking, they 
 never inform us of any thing, they throw in 
 their ideas, but the opinion entertained there- 
 upon is generated by the reflection. At least, 
 ' we
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment, 279 
 
 we make them depose things of which they 
 cannot give us sufficient information. Is it 
 not thought vouching the testimony of the 
 senses, when, upon being asked how you 
 know that alderman Punctual sits in Guild- 
 hall, you answer, Because I see him there ? 
 That John is in the kitchen, Because I hear 
 him talking ? That there is such a passage in 
 Virgil, Because I read it there? An utter 
 stranger to John and the Alderman, or one 
 who had not learned to read, would know this 
 never the more for any thing he should see or 
 hear, but if his senses are as acute as yours, 
 they throw in the very same sensations upon 
 him as they do upon you : therefore if they 
 furnish you with an evidence he has not, they 
 must fetch that evidence from some other 
 quarter than the eyes or the ears. When we 
 talk of seeing tables, chairs, and such like 
 common objects, we ascribe more to the 
 senses than properly belongs to them ; for we 
 see only colours, it is our former knowledge of 
 things that informs us what they are. Nqr 
 let it be said, that though we may attribute 
 too much to the senses, yet something remains 
 justly their due, because upon being shown a 
 thing we never saw before, though we can- 
 not tell particularly what it is, nor what name 
 to call it by, we may nevertheless see that it 
 is made of wood or steel, that it is soft or 
 
 hard,
 
 280 Judgment. [CHAP. U. 
 
 hard, stiff or limber : for this partial know- 
 ledge arises from the former acquaintance Ave 
 have had Avith wood or steel, or the usual 
 look of things, upon their hardening or soft- 
 ening, or the posture they fall into by their 
 flexibility. Therefore if a statue of exquisite 
 workmanship has the same look in the limbs 
 and drapery, that we have never used to see 
 in stone, but see continually in flesh and gar- 
 ments, we say it look soft and pliant. 
 
 7. Even distance and figure, which seem 
 to bid the fairest for being judgments of 
 sense, do not come solely from thence ; for 
 we find people judge very diff*erently of dis- 
 tances any thing remote, according as they 
 have used themselves to observe them : and 
 though we judge a little better of things near 
 us, because we have perpetual occasion to 
 take notice of their situation, yet there are few 
 persons who can always tell whether two 
 shelves of a bookcase, standing just before 
 them, lie further apart than any other two, 
 until they measure them. I have read a 
 printed account of a boy, who being born 
 blind, was brought to his sight by couching, 
 at the age of fourteen : after being permit- 
 ted to go abroad some time, one evening he 
 was lost, and upon searching, they found him 
 upon the leads of the house. It seems he 
 had been in the street, and upon seeing the 
 
 Moon
 
 CHAP. U.] Judgmeni. 281 
 
 Moon peep a little over the roof, he was going 
 to climb up the tiles in order to catch her: 
 which shews he had no idea of the remoteness 
 either of the Moon, or of the pavement from 
 the gutter where he stood, or else he would 
 have been afraid, as much as any of us, of 
 venturing for fear of breaking his neck. I 
 will not vouch for the truth of this story, 
 but it seems very probable, if we may beheve 
 what has been held by many learned men, 
 that a person on coming to the use of his 
 sightj would imagine every thing lying close 
 to his eye : and that our knowledge of dis- 
 tance is an art we acquire by degrees, as we 
 grow more and more familiar with objects 
 surrounding us ; and therefore cannot be in- 
 infused by our optics, which transmit no fewer 
 nor other rays of light from objects the first 
 time we behold them, than the thousandth. 
 
 8. Neither does the idea of figure come 
 entirely from the senses. Three of them 
 have no pretence to make the conveyance, 
 and one of the two claiming that privilege, 
 I mean the touch, cannot be applied at once 
 to bodies of any magnitude ; but we must 
 run our finger over the surface and judge of 
 them by piece-meal, not only upon what we 
 feel, but upon what we have felt the moment 
 before ; so that our evidence results from the 
 joint testimony of sense and memory. And 
 
 for
 
 ^82 Judgment, [chap. ii. 
 
 for things that we may grasp Avithin our 
 Jiands, we turn them round and round be- 
 fore we determine, nor then can do it ex- 
 actly if they be a little iiTCgular. Clap a flat 
 iron sensibly hot or cold upon a man's naked 
 back, and let him describe, if he can, the 
 exact shape of the piece, or whether the angles 
 be obtuse or acute : perhaps he might guess 
 nearer if laid upon his hand, because the 
 hand has been more exercised in judgments 
 of this kind, not that it has a quicker sense 
 of feeling than many other parts of our 
 flesh. Nobody can tell the shape of the 
 gout or cholic he feels, which yet he might 
 be expected to do, if the figure were included 
 in the sensation of feeling: neither can one 
 determine the shape of a bruise by the smart, 
 though one may by pressing the parts of it 
 successively with a finger. And that we 
 gather the form of things from sight as well 
 as touch, seems to indicate that they are not 
 ideas of sensation, for the senses all have 
 their distinct provinces allotted them, sensa- 
 tions entering at one avenue, cannot find a 
 passage through the others. But waving 
 this argument, if the two senses gave evi- 
 dence of figure, they ought always to agree 
 in their testimony immediately upon exami- 
 nation, which, whether they door no, let the 
 works of painting and sculpture determine. 
 
 In
 
 CHAP, n.] Judgment, 283 
 
 In the letters between Locke and Molyneux 
 we find both those gentlemen, and they tell 
 us, all others upon maturely considering the 
 question, agreed that a blind man perfectly 
 well acquainted with globes and cubes, 
 would not, upon being suddenly endued with 
 sight, be able to distinguish thereby, which 
 was the globe, and which the cube. And I 
 may propose another question, whether a man 
 having often seen globes and cubes, but never 
 touched any thing of either form, would not 
 be as much puzzled to know them apart, 
 upon being put into his hands in the dark. 
 Whoever resolves these questions in the ne- 
 gative, must acknowledge that neither sense, 
 without some previous acquaintance, can give 
 evidence of figures very well known to us 
 by the other : and they cannot be said to 
 agree in their testimony, when the old sense, 
 prompted by experience, deposes positively, 
 while the new, although conveying all that 
 mere sensation can convey, professes to know 
 nothing of the matter. 
 
 9. Did the eyes transmit the idea of 
 figure by immediate sensation, they would 
 exhibit one and the same in all prospects, 
 to wit, the circle or ellipsis bounding the 
 scene before us, for all objects lying within 
 that compass strike upon the optics promise, 
 cuously, the chairs together with the wainscot 
 
 around
 
 284 Judgment. [ciiAP. ii. 
 
 around them, and the floor seen between 
 their frames, the books close to one another, 
 and touching the shelves whereon they stand : 
 wherefore it is the notice, not the eye, that 
 runs the lines of separation between one 
 thing and another, Avithout which their fi- 
 gures could not be ascertained. We have 
 shown in speaking of order, how fancy may 
 cast objects into various forms, while the sen- 
 sations excited by them remain exactly the 
 same : the marshalling the spots of a chess- 
 board into parallel rows, or lozenges, or en- 
 veloping squares, still holding the board in 
 one position, was not the work of our optics, 
 but of some more internal cause. Even 
 colours, although conveyed directly by vision, 
 are not distinguished from one another by 
 the sight alone, for we may see cattle in the 
 fields without regarding their difterence of 
 colour : and when we do regard it afterwards, 
 it is bv an act of reflection, no new sensation 
 being obtained upon the second view which 
 we had not in the former. From whence we 
 may conclude, that sensation operates no 
 further than to throw materials into the 
 imagination to be worked up there : and that 
 the business of selection, composition, asso- 
 ciation, comparison, distinction, and judg- 
 ment, belongs to other powers operating after 
 the senses have done their oflSce. 
 
 10. Never-
 
 .CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 285 
 
 10. Nevertheless, the evidence of sense 
 being an expression current among mankind, 
 I am very far from desiring to discard it, on 
 the contrary, I shall employ, and may lay 
 great stress upon it myself, as occasion shall 
 offer : all I meant by the foregoing observa- 
 tions was to explain my sentiments of what 
 is to be understood by the expression, which 
 I conceive to denote, not any thing thrown 
 in upon us from external objects, but that 
 judgment occurring to the thought instantly 
 and involuntarily, without deduction of rea-^ 
 son, or chain of consequences, upon ideas 
 being exhibited by our senses. And I so 
 little undervalue this evidence, that, in my 
 present opinion, I think it never ought to be, 
 and perhaps never is, rejected, unless when 
 overpowered by other evidence of the same 
 kind, or by reasonings grounded thereupon. 
 Why do we beheve a stick to be strait, 
 although appearing crooked in water, but 
 because upon drawing it out we see the 
 crookedness vanish, or running our finger 
 along, we feel no bend where there seemed 
 to be one ? Why do we believe the sun an 
 immense body, notwithstanding its apparent 
 smallness, but for reasons drawn from the 
 phenomena of that and other objects we 
 have seen at various distances, and from 
 various situations. 
 
 11. Our
 
 286 Judgment, [chap. lU 
 
 11. Our internal sense or reflection fur- 
 nishes us with an evidence of the like kind ; 
 for we judge as commonly, as instantaneously, 
 and as necessarily, upon objects we remember, 
 as upon those we have before our eyes. 
 These judgments are often weaker and less 
 steady than those of immediate sensation ^ 
 our ideas continually fluctuating, and vary- 
 ing both in colour and shape : but if we can 
 fix them by contemplation or habitude, the 
 judgments resulting from them strike as vi- 
 gorously as those of the senses. And even 
 in their unsettled state, although we cannot 
 judge critically and fully, yet we may discern 
 something clearly concerning them, because 
 their fluctuation keeps within certain limits 
 sufficient to answer our purpose. The idea 
 of an elephant never contracts so small as to 
 come within the compass of that of a mouse, 
 therefore we can always tell which has the 
 greater bulk : yet perhaps our ideas of both 
 are so variable, that we could not determine 
 between two elephants or two mice upon the 
 pictures of them in our memory, without 
 seeing the creatures stand together side by 
 side. Nor are confused ideas utterly inca- 
 pable of suggesting any clear conception 
 concerning them : Mr. Locke says we have 
 a very confused idea of substance, yet who 
 does not know the ditfereace between sub- 
 stance
 
 CHAP, u.] Judgment. 287 
 
 stance and shadow ? Avhich latter too seems 
 to lie a little confused in the minds of many 
 learned men, for they think they have done 
 notably when they define shadow the absence 
 of light : but the words of this definition 
 contain an idea of light, for you must have 
 the thing in your thought whereof you pre- 
 dicate the absence, and I appeal to every 
 man, whether he finds the idea either of hoht 
 or absence occur whenever he looks upon a 
 shadow: nevertheless we can think currently 
 and talk intelligibly of shadows, their figures, 
 magnitudes, and motions, and so we can of 
 substances, their qualities, and modifications, 
 without perhaps having a quite clear and ade- 
 quate idea of either. 
 
 12. Ideas of reflection, strictly so called, 
 generate judgments no less than those derived 
 originally from sensation: justice, mercy, ap- 
 probation, virtue, dut}^, and other abstracted 
 ideas, being as frequently made the terms of 
 a proposition, both in our thoughts and dis- 
 courses, as colours, sounds, or touches, and 
 their relations, similitudes, and differences, as 
 obviously discerned when we are gotten as 
 well acquainted with them. For let us observe, 
 that the internal sense, as well as the external, 
 onl}^ exhibits objects to our apprehension, and 
 they generate the judgments: now though the 
 child be boru some time after the first entrance 
 
 ■ " of
 
 288 Judgment. [chap, tl, 
 
 of the father, j^et when grown to strength and 
 maturit}^ it may accompany him hand ill 
 hand, and come together into our presence* 
 Wherefore the faculty of judging, both in the 
 mental sense and the bodil}^, is an art acquired 
 by time and practice, not an essential quality 
 of the objects to make an impression of con- 
 formity or disagreement upon us as soon as 
 apprehended. 
 
 13. The schoolmen make a third act of 
 the mind, which they call Ratiochiation, and 
 we may style the generation of a judgment 
 from others actually in our understanding : 
 for what is reasoning but discerning the 
 agreement of two ideas between themselves 
 by their agreement with some third "^ and 
 ■what is the fruit of reasoning but to beget an 
 assent to some proposition we were ignorant 
 of before ? While assent depends upon our 
 view of the premisses, the new judgment is 
 yet in embryo ; but when perfectly formed, 
 when it can stand alone, and still adhere to 
 the conclusion after the premisses drop out of 
 sight, then it becomes of the same nature and 
 has the same force upon us with the evidence 
 of sense. For we hold many things assuredly 
 for truth, and that perhaps upon very good 
 ■foundation, although we have absolutely for- 
 gotten the reasons first inducing us to believe 
 them. And this assurance, we gain some- 
 times
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 289 
 
 times very quickly, if we did not, we could 
 make but little dispatch in business, it being 
 impossible to retain the whole chain of reason- 
 ing in our thoughts when it runs to any consi- 
 derable length : therefore, if we could not rest 
 satisfied in the conviction left by the premisses 
 upon a short view of them, we should never 
 arrive at the conclusion desired. 
 
 14. There are various degrees of strength in 
 judgments, from the lowest surmise to notion, 
 opinion, persuasion, and the highest assurance, 
 which we call certainty : for we do not believe 
 what weather it will be to-morrow, or what 
 we read in a newspaper, with the same force 
 of conviction as what objects we see before 
 our eyes, or what we have done ourselves a 
 quarter of an hour ago. If our premisses are 
 uncertain, they can throw no stronger light 
 upon the conclusion than they had them- 
 selves, or rather than belonged to the weaker, 
 if they happen to differ in lustre: nevertheless, 
 where there are many conspiring to illustrate 
 one point, they may supply by number what 
 they want in vigour; as one may make a 
 prodigious glare with rush candles provided 
 one lights up enow of them. This we com- 
 monly find the case in public rumours, 
 which, though perhaps little heeded the 
 first time we hear them, yet when current in 
 every body's rnouth, seldom fail of gaining 
 
 VOL. I. . TJ our
 
 2Q0 Judgment. [chap. il, 
 
 our assent. So likewise experiments made 
 for discovering the properties of bodies do 
 not always satisfy immediately, until by re- 
 peated trials we find them constantly pro- 
 ducing the same effect. Repetition likewise 
 of the same evidence sometimes will answer 
 the purpose equally with multitude of wit- 
 nesses : many people taking up an opinion, 
 slender at first, and upon slight grounds, have 
 by mere habitude of assenting, worked it up 
 at last into a firm persuasion, without any 
 additional proof. Nay, a bare assertion, fre- 
 quently reiterated, may supply the place of 
 evidence : scarce any body but has found oc- 
 casion to remark how the tenets of a sect or 
 party, continually chimed in men's ears with- 
 out any argument to support them, have been 
 at length received as articles of faith, some- 
 times even in spite of the most opposite sen- 
 timents entertained before. And Archbishop 
 Tillotson assures us, there have been persons 
 w^ho have told a lie so often till they have ac- 
 tually believed it themselves. 
 
 15. And as opinions generate, so they die 
 away again by degrees ; not only by the force 
 of opposite evidence overpovrering them, but 
 b}*^ a kind of natural decay. Facts w^e have 
 read in history, problems we have seen de- 
 moubtrated in Euclid, having been long out 
 of our thoughts, sink into slight opinions ; we 
 
 think
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judginent. 291 
 
 think they are so as we conceive, but we are 
 not sure ; and upon further disuse the evidence 
 of them may be actually forgot, so that though 
 the terms be suggested, or we remember such 
 matters have been treated of, we can give no 
 assent to them at all. Besides, any one who 
 will take pains may observe that his judg- 
 ment upon the same point is not always 
 stead}'', but varies according to the humour 
 or disposition of his spirits : nay, if he holds 
 the same proposition under contemplation a 
 considerable time, he will find the judgment 
 fluctuate while the terms remain unaltered, 
 it will strike sometimes fuller, and sometimes 
 fainter, by intervals, without any apparent 
 cause or argument occurring to occasion the 
 change. A man in liquor judges diversely 
 from what he does in his sober senses : pas- 
 sion notoriouly perverts the judgment, warp- 
 ing it this way or that, according as best 
 suits its purposes, and giving a stronger or 
 a weaker bias, in proportion to the violence 
 whereto it rises : when we wish a thing to be 
 true, we therefore believe it so, desire per- 
 forming the office of evidence. I grant this 
 most frequently happens through a partial 
 consideration, the notice fixing upon such 
 ideas as make for the favourite opinion, and 
 turning away from all others that might 
 overthrow it; but one may perceive that in- 
 
 u 0. clination
 
 292 Judgment. [cha!». ii. 
 
 clination sometimes operates upon the judg- 
 ment alone, without making any alteration 
 either in the number or colour of the terms 
 whereon it is passed. The very same argu- 
 rnents, attended to carefully and impartially, 
 do not always make an equal impression in 
 times of joy or melancholy, in vigorous health, 
 or upon a death bed, when relating to things 
 near or remote, in laying a plan of future 
 operations, or entering upon the execution : 
 and this not only by new thoughts occurring, 
 v/hich we had overlooked before, but by a 
 new estimation of the same objects casting a 
 difrerent light upon one another. 
 
 lo. Let us now look back upon the several 
 changes a judgment may pass through ac- 
 cording as time or other causes increase or 
 abate, or suspend its vigour. A man's own 
 thoughts may suggest, or he may have sug- 
 gested by another person, a matter of fact, a 
 theorem of mathematics, an axiom of natural 
 philosophy, or a maxim of morality, whereof 
 he may clearly apprehend the terms without 
 giving any assent to it; he may then be 
 brought to a full conviction of it by setting 
 proper proofs before him, which conviction 
 may remain after the proofs are quite slipped 
 out of his memory : if he thinks no more of 
 it for a considerable while, his persuasion 
 may dwindle into a vague opinion, and in 
 
 further
 
 CHAP. 1 1 .] Judgment. 293 
 
 further lime wholly vanish away, so that he 
 may now view the same terms with no spark 
 of assent more than he did at the beginning. 
 At all these times the mind does no more 
 than observe the ideas in her thoughts, and if 
 she judges variously, that diversity is not 
 owing to any act of hers, but to the different 
 state of her imagination : she plays the spec- 
 tator only, discerning the prospect before her, 
 and whether she shall see a full or a faint evir 
 dence, or none at all, depends upon what her 
 organs of reflection shall exhibit. This we 
 readily acknowledge in memory, which is 
 one species of judgment ; for what is remem- 
 bering, but having the idea of a thing we 
 know we had seen before t every body will 
 allow that we remember past events accord- 
 ing to the traces of them remaining in our 
 memory, and when those traces sometimes 
 happen to be altered, we remember wrong : 
 nor ha§ remembrance been unfrequently com- 
 pared to reading a wTitten memorandum, 
 which beirig obliterated gives us imperfect 
 information, or none at all ; or being erase4 
 or interlined in our absence, leads us into 
 mistakes. And one might as aptly apply the 
 comparison to all other kinds of knowledge, 
 which being nothing but the perception of 
 what lies in our understanding, may be called 
 reading the characters exhibited by our mental 
 
 organs,
 
 294* Judgment. [chap. ii. 
 
 organs, and whatever changes the inscription 
 there must of course produce a hke alteration 
 in our perceptions. 
 
 17. From hence arises a curious question, 
 Whether, if it were possible for two men to 
 transport their minds suddenly into one an- 
 other's seats, each would not instantly lose his 
 own ideas and acquire those of the other. 
 I think it cannot be doubted the exchange 
 ^'ould be compleat with respect to sensation, 
 for the senses must convey all their notices to 
 the present inhabitant, not being able to 
 reach the former occupier now removed to 
 a distance. It seems probable that each 
 would be able to repea nvhatever the other 
 had learned by heart, and remember occur- 
 rences happening to him : and if arts and 
 sciences have their foundation in memory, 
 he would slide at once into possession of all 
 the other s accomplishments. Perhaps it may 
 be thought going too far to suppose they 
 would adopt each other's sentiments, opinions 
 and consciousness, but it would be hard to 
 demonstrate there would not be a thorouo-h 
 exchange in these respects too : i^o that the 
 Papist might laugh at all revealed- religion as 
 being a thing ridiculous in itself, and th(^ 
 freethinker contend tooth and nail for the 
 pope^s infalhbihty : the methodist might 
 dearly discern at one glance the absolute im- 
 
 possibility
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgmmit. 295 
 
 possibility of miracles, and the rationalist 
 hear revelations conveyed in a whisper, with 
 an evidence greater than that of sense : the 
 philosopher might see there is no enjoyment 
 but in the hurry of company, or a round of 
 fashionable diversions, and the giddy girl 
 discern the vanity of all sensual gratifications, 
 and find herself never less alone than when 
 alone : the saint might tremble at the dread 
 of punishment, being conscious of villanies 
 he never committed, and the murderer look 
 back with jo}^ upon a life of innocence, aed 
 feel the comforts of a conscience void of 
 offence. 
 
 18. These and such like speculations have 
 put some persons quite out of conceit with 
 their understandings, whicli they say are in- 
 capable of certainty, having no mark to dis- 
 tinguish between that and full assurance, re- 
 presenting the same things variously at diffe- 
 rent times, and therefore not to be depended 
 upon : for who would credit a witness that 
 should contradict in one breath what he had 
 deposed in another ? And indeed if we will 
 consider the matter impartially, we must needs 
 lay aside all claim to absolute certainty of 
 external objects, of past occurrences, or the 
 success of our most common endeavours : for 
 our knowledge of all these depends upon 
 sense, memory, or experience, which we 
 
 have
 
 296 Judgment. [chap. n. 
 
 have sometimes found fallacious, and this 
 fixes such a blemish upon their characters, 
 that we can never be certain they are not 
 so. The utmost that we can know of them 
 is, that in some instances they have constantly 
 agreed in the same story, but for this we must 
 trust our memory: and yet even this amounts 
 no hioher than to a negative evidence that 
 
 CD O 
 
 Ave have never been able to detect them, 
 though what we may do in time to come re- 
 mains still unknown. Even mathematical de- 
 monstration depends upon the faithfulness of 
 our memory, to preserve the evidence thrown 
 from the principles in every step of our pro- 
 gress. Therefore it is possible there may be 
 no pictures in the room, though I see them 
 before mine eyes ; that I never was in my 
 garden, though I remember walking there 
 this morning; that sugar will not melt in 
 warm water, though I have seen it melted a 
 thousand times ; that the angles of a triangle 
 are not equal to two right angles, though I 
 have read it demonstrated in Euclid. For 
 who has seen through all the compass of 
 nature, so as to know without possibility of a 
 mistake what powers there are, yet undisco- 
 vered by any man, which may alter the pro- 
 perties of bodies, and vary their operations 
 upon one another, make impressions upon 
 our senses in the manner of external objects, 
 
 work
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 297 
 
 work traces in our memory, draw pictures in 
 our imagination, or stamp judgments upon 
 our understanding, without any of those 
 causes to which we currently ascribe them. 
 
 19. Our knowledge never surpasses the de- 
 gree of assurance we have in our minds, and 
 constantly keeps even pace with it: for 
 whatever other folks may think of us, we 
 always think ourselves that we know for cer- 
 tain what we are firmly persuaded of. The 
 highest pitch to which assurance ever rises is, 
 when we can form no conception how things 
 can possibly be otherwise than as we appre- 
 hend them : thus we rest assured the fruit 
 grows out of the earth through the tree, be- 
 cause we cannot conceive how it should come 
 there any other way : but do we certainly 
 know there are no possibilities of which we 
 cannot form any conception "^ Nor does assu- 
 rance mount to a less height when we do not 
 than when we cannot conceive any thing to 
 bring it lower : we often persuade ourselves 
 things must be so and so, because we cannot 
 account for their phenomena otherwise, yet 
 perhaps another person may suggest an ac- 
 count that shall satisfy us of the contrary. A 
 man in his sleep, entertains as full persuasion 
 of the reality of his dreams, as he does of any 
 thing else at other times ; when he wakes, he 
 sees they are mere delusion, not by discovering 
 
 any
 
 598 Judgment, [chap, il 
 
 any defect in the persuasion itself, but by 
 other knowledge derived from former expe- 
 rience ; and when this is withdrawn by the 
 return of sleep, he falls into the like delusion 
 again. If you convince a man of an error he 
 was strongly possessed of, you do it, not by 
 showing the insufficiency of his former ap* 
 pearanccs to beget assent, but by suggesting 
 new ones from arguments not occurring to 
 him before. Nobody will deny we have 
 some assurances that are fallacious, others 
 that are true ; but we can see no difference in 
 the countenance of the one or the other while 
 they remain our persuasion: when they have 
 been driven out by opposite evidence, like 
 servants whose faults you seldom hear of till 
 they are turned away, then indeed we may 
 discover their delusiveness, but then they are 
 no longer our judgment; every judgment, 
 while it is our present judgment, carries the 
 same face of veracity. For let us remem- 
 ber that a judgment is a different modifi- 
 cation of the organs from those which repre- 
 sented the bare terms whereon it was passed 
 to our apprehension ; therefore if I believed a 
 thing yesterday, but am convinced of the 
 contrary to day, though I may recal at plea- 
 sure the ideas of the terms, I shall not find the 
 same character of judgment with them that 
 accompanied them then ; so I see my mistake 
 
 by
 
 CHAP. 1 1 .] Judgment. 299 
 
 by having a different representation of the 
 matter now in my mind, but whatever cha- 
 racters of a judgment we read in the under- 
 standing, we have no test to try v/hether it be 
 genuine or counterfeit. Therefore for ought 
 I can demonstrate to the contrar}^ Bishop 
 Berkeley may be in the right, and that infinite 
 variety of objects nature seems to present us, 
 may be purely imaginary, and life one con- 
 tinued scene of delusion from the cradle to 
 the grave. 
 
 20. But then have we no certainty of the 
 judgments we pass upon ideas in our own 
 minds, though we should have none of exter- 
 nal objects ? What though our senses, our 
 memory, our experience, may deceive us, yet 
 surely we may know what their representa- 
 tions are, and judge of -their similitude or di- 
 versity, without any possibility of mistake : 
 for the ideas present before us we see directly 
 and intuitivel}^ not through any medium 
 which might falsify their appearance, nor by 
 footsteps of them left behind, which might 
 alter in shape. If I hold no real pen in my 
 hand, nor see any real table before me, have 
 I not an absolute knowledge of the appearance 
 of both being in my imagination ? and may 
 not I pass an unerring judgment upon those 
 appearances ? Cannot I discern certainly that 
 my idea of the pen differs from that of tiie 
 
 table
 
 300 Judgment. [chap. \\. 
 
 table in colour, shape, position, contexture of 
 parts, flexibility, and other particulars ? If I 
 never learned my mother tongue but had it 
 inspired into me just now by the organs of 
 my reflection being made to fall suddenly into 
 their present modifications, do not I under- 
 stand the meaning of words now in my 
 thought, and see clearly what sense is asso- 
 ciated respectively to each of them ? Though 
 there should be neither lines nor angles in na- 
 ture, have we not distinct notions of either, 
 and may we not pronounce safely, that a line 
 drawn between two others from their point of 
 contact, forms two angles, both together 
 equal to the angle formed by the two outer- 
 most lines ? Thus while the judgment keeps 
 within the compass of ideas immediately ex- 
 hibited, it seems possessed of absolute cer- 
 tainty : but vrhen confined to these narrow 
 limits, it can be of little use to us, more than 
 bare amusement, nor answer any of our pur- 
 poses in life. How unerring judgments soever 
 we may pass upon our ideas of the pen and 
 the ink-glass, yet if those ideas happen not to 
 coD'espond with the things themselves, we 
 may puddle about for ever without getting 
 up a drop of ink to write with. And if experi- 
 ence has deceived us in the properties of 
 wood and fire, though we reason ever so justly 
 upon the ideas we have of them, we shall 
 
 never
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 301 
 
 never be able to warm ourselves by throwing 
 a load of billets upon the hearth. 
 
 21. But our present enquiry regards only 
 the certainty, not the usefulness, of our know- 
 ledge : let us therefore, examine whether we 
 have that absolute certainty we are in quest 
 of, even in our judgments upon ideas actually 
 in our thoughts. In the first place let us call 
 to mind that the judgment, even in this case 
 as well as in all others, is something distinct 
 from the terms whereon it is passed ; there- 
 fore there is one step at least between our ap- 
 prehension of the terms and the judgment 
 resulting from them, and who can ever tell 
 what causes may possibly intervene to give 
 that step a wrong direction, or create a judg- 
 ment which we suppose to be the genuine 
 offspring of the terms ? In the next place, if 
 we had absolute certainty in our ideas, we 
 must be so well acquainted with it as to 
 know perfectly what it is, and should have a 
 standard in our minds whereby to try all 
 other judgments, nor ever after repose an 
 entire confidence in any where the proper 
 characteristic were v/antino*. In tlie third 
 place, our knowledge here too rises no higher 
 than to the fullest assurance built upon this 
 foundation, that wc cannot conceive any pos- 
 sibility how we should mistake concerning 
 ideas actually before us ; but we have shown 
 
 before
 
 302 Judgment. [chap. n. 
 
 before that inability of conception is not an 
 unexceptionable evidence. But lastly, tlie 
 judgments we make upon our ideas some- 
 times contradict and overthrow one another, 
 nor can we always satisfy ourselves whether 
 we really have those ideas in our minds upon 
 which we reason very currently. After the 
 discredit I have brought upon our senses I 
 must not say that we have seen two billiard 
 balls lying close to one another, and upon 
 pushing one of them with a stick they have 
 both moved along ; but be it a mere delusion, 
 nobody will deny we have had an idea of see- 
 ino; such an event in our time. Eet us consi- 
 der what judgments occur upon this little 
 phenomenon, that the hindmost ball moves 
 the foremost, that it cannot give motion be- 
 fore it has any, that it cannot have motion 
 before the other ball has moved away to make 
 room for it. These are judgments made 
 upon ideas actually in our understanding, yet 
 w^e see how inconsistent they are with each 
 other : therefore there must be some false 
 brother amono^ them thousfh v/e know not 
 how to discover him, for they all appear with 
 an equal air of certainty. Let us now exa- 
 mine the terms of our mental propositions, 
 and satisfy ourselves whether we have an 
 idea of mathematical points and mathema- 
 tical lines, before we presume to determine 
 
 any
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 303 
 
 any thing for certain concerning them : for if 
 we can form no conception of a line without 
 thickness noi* a point without any dimensions, 
 what certainty can we have of things whereof 
 we can form no conception? An angle does 
 not lie where we commonly measure it by 
 applying a graduated circle, but at the very 
 point of contact between the two lines, and 
 therefore is itself a point, and all points be- 
 ing destitute of dimensions we cannot con- 
 ceive one greater or less than another: yet 
 Avhen we affirm a difference in size between 
 two angles, the terms of our proposition are 
 a larger and a smaller point, which we con« 
 fidently pass our judgment upon without 
 havino' an idea of them in our ima2;ination. 
 Thus upon the whole I believe we had best 
 not pretend to be wiser than Socrates, and 
 quit claim to all certain knowledge except of 
 one thing, Avhich is that we know nothing. 
 But then again when we reflect that these ar- 
 guments against our having an absolute know- 
 ledge of any thing must necessarily destroy 
 themselves, we can lay no more stress upon 
 them than they have taught us to lay upon 
 those they overthrow : for if our judgments 
 upon ideas present in our imagination may 
 deceive us, the proofs of this very liableness 
 to deceive, being; drawn from ideas in our 
 imagination, may deceive us too ; so there still 
 
 remains
 
 304 Judgment. [chap, lu 
 
 remains a possibility that we may certainly 
 know some things, notwithstanding all the 
 evidence that can be produced to the con- 
 trary. Thus we find that single certain truth 
 left us a little before, to wit, that we know 
 nothing, now wrested out of our hands and 
 ourselves driven into arrant pyn'honism, as 
 being wholly uncertain whether we know 
 an}'^ thing or not. 
 
 22. We now find ourselves reduced to a 
 state of utter darkness and confusion, the 
 most uncomfortable and mortyfying imagin- 
 able, therefore it is no wonder if we are 
 willing to try all means for extricating our- 
 selves out of it : and for that purpose let us 
 review the thesis proposed at first entering 
 upon this question, which was, That our un- 
 derstandings are incapable of absolute cer- 
 tainty, and therefore not to be depended 
 upon. I fear we must admit the assumption, 
 but I think we may deny the consequence : 
 for thouo;h our knowledre never rise to cer- 
 tainty, it does not therefore follow that we may 
 never depend upon such knowledge as we 
 have. Nor indeed could we avoid it if we 
 had a mind ; the active powers of man can- 
 not stand idle, we must be doing something 
 or other every moment of our waking hours, 
 at least upon every action proposed we must 
 resolve either to do or forbear it : but all the 
 
 deter-
 
 tHAP. 11.] Jiidgynent. 305 
 
 determinations of the Will contain a judg- 
 ment that the action or forbearance will 
 prove beneficial or satisfactory, and this upon 
 less information in cases requiring haste than 
 we might have had if there had been time to 
 consider; which kind of judgments prevail 
 upon us all, without exception, the thought- 
 ful and the giddy, the wise and tlie foolish. 
 Therefore I can by no means agree with those 
 of the ancients who laid down that the per- 
 fect wise men would never assent Avithout 
 absolute certainty; for I suppose they would 
 not have him a lumpish indolent creature, 
 one should rather expect to find him more 
 active and busy than other people, but with- 
 out assent there can be no action, and a cer- 
 tain knowledge in the expedience of mea- 
 sures is not always to be had where neverthe- 
 less it is necessary to pursue some measures or 
 other. If the wise man upon a journey en- 
 quires the road of a stranger, will he never 
 assent to what is told him until he can assu- 
 redly know the character of the informant ? 
 or must he not believe he shall get home in 
 good time while there remains a possibility 
 that an earthquake, an inundation or an insur- 
 rection, may have barred up all the passages ? 
 Ijesides there are some cases v/herein the ful- 
 ness of assent conduces much to the success 
 of an enterprize : we may remember what 
 
 X ' Vircril
 
 506 Judgineiii, {CHAP. 11. 
 
 Virgil said, They can because they think they 
 can : a soldier fio-hts the better for believina; 
 he shall conquer, and any man might walk on 
 top of a wall as safely as along a boai'd in 
 bis chamber floor, if he could persuade him- 
 self he was in no danger of falling. Therefore 
 in these cases the wise man, who disposes all 
 things, even the ideas in his own imagination 
 for the best, would exert himself, or at least 
 recommend to others as the wisest thing they 
 could do, to banish all thouo;hts that mioht 
 abate the fulness of their persuasion, though 
 he might see at the same time there werQ 
 very oood 2;rounds for them. 
 
 25. If we examine into the nature of the 
 mind, we shall find that all evidence bqgets a 
 proportionable assent where there is no con- 
 4;rary evidence to oppose it : we may observ| 
 children extremel}^ credulous and trusting to 
 the representations of their senses : if they grow 
 more diffident afterwards, it is because expe- 
 rience informs them of the fallaciousness of 
 men and deceitfulness of the senses. And 
 w hen we come to riper years we proceed upon 
 the same rule, jdelding to any evidence where 
 we see no reason drawn from our former expe- 
 rience to the contrarv, nor do I imai>;ine the 
 wisest among us would do otherwise. It is a 
 stated maxim, both in law and common prac- 
 tice, that we should esteem every man honest 
 
 and
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 307 
 
 and sincere until something appears to im- 
 peach his character, and our judgments are 
 entitled to the same candid presumption : if 
 the first person we meet in the street tells us of 
 something happening in the next, we believe 
 him without reserve, unless the thing appear 
 unlikely, or contradict some other informa- 
 tion, or that we discern an archness in his ](5ok 
 that raises a suspicion he meant to banter us. 
 
 24. It seems almost a self-evident proposi- 
 tion that there must be assurance where there 
 is no doubt ; but diibitation in the nature of 
 it implies an assent to something, if not to 
 the thing doubted of, at least to the reasons 
 occurring for and against it : for if you see 
 none on one side, what can you doubt 
 about .^ Hence we find ourselves sometimes 
 wavering in our doubts, for as ideas fluctuate 
 in our imagination, if the evidence on one 
 side drops out of our thought or loses its 
 brightness for a moment, we find a temporary 
 persuasion of the other, and vice versa ; which 
 shows that even uncertain evidence (for both 
 cannot be true) naturally gains credit upon 
 the mind when appearing without a compe- 
 titor. Doubts indeed may sometimes seem to 
 arise from the weakness of evidence without 
 needing an antagonist to overthrow it : as 
 upon seeing a person at some distance in the 
 dusk of evening, you doubt whether it be 
 
 X e your
 
 508 Judgmeni. [chap. 11. 
 
 your friend or somebody else, merely from 
 the imperfection of the appearance without 
 having any particular reason to think it can- 
 not be him. But let us examine whether 
 there be not an opposition of evidence even in 
 cases of this kind : if you v>'ere upon a desert 
 island inhabited only by you two and could 
 just distinguish something walking upright, I 
 suppose you would make no doubt what it 
 was : therefore this imperfect appearance is 
 sufficient alone to work assurance when it has 
 nothing to stand in competition w^ith it. Per- 
 haps you will say that your reflection of there 
 being no other inhabitant con'oborates the 
 testimony of your sight, and both together do 
 the business by their united strength : but 
 should 3 ou alwaj's stay for that reflection be- 
 fore 3"ou gave your assent ? nay do not you 
 give it sometimes w^ien you have no such re- 
 flection to make ? For let us now change 
 the scene to the crowded streets of London : 
 wlien y^ou see something in Cheapsidc that 
 looks like a particular person, you take it to 
 be him at first glance, nor do you begin to 
 doubt until a second thought suo-o^ests that 
 hundreds of people pass along there, manj^ of 
 vrhom may resemble as much as you can see 
 of him by such an imperfect light. Some- 
 times indeed tlils suggestion occurs with the 
 iir;st thought, and then the doubt will be as 
 
 early
 
 ciTAP. 11.] Judgment. 309 
 
 early as the appearance : but this takes no- 
 thing from what I have been saying, for it is 
 no proof that an appearance is not sufficient 
 alone to work assurance, because it fails of 
 working it when not alone, but confronted 
 with something else. Nor is the case diffe- 
 rent in our most careful deliberations from 
 w4iat Ave have found it in sudden and tem- 
 porary assents : for what avails consideration 
 unless to discover the evidences on each side 
 the question, and weigh the merits between 
 them ? Let a man consider ever so long, 
 he will never reject the first judgment of 
 sense, until he finds it inconsistent with some 
 other appearance, or with his former ob- 
 servations, or with some judgment of his 
 understanding: even when we suspend our 
 assent only to think further of the matter, 
 though we may not have any particular rea- 
 son occurring to create a doubt, we have 
 that general reason of having experienced the 
 danger of hasty determination ; so that we 
 trust our understanding or our experience in 
 the very act of distrusting our senses. 
 
 25. Much the same may be said of proba- 
 bility that has been spoken above concerning 
 doubt, for we reckon a thing probable when 
 we discern reasons Avhy it should be, and others 
 why it should not be : but if we lose our as- 
 sent to the reasons on one side, the other w ill 
 
 no
 
 310 Judgment, - [chap, ii, 
 
 no longer remain a probability, but will gain 
 our fullest assurance. And even when w^e 
 seem to deem it probable only for want of 
 better evidence, still it is because we have 
 had experience of things being otherwise 
 under the like appearances. Perhaps there is 
 no other difference between doubt and proba- 
 bility than that in the former our ideas flue- 
 tuate, whereas in the latter they continue 
 steady : therefore we cannot estimate the 
 quantity of our doubts, atleast only in the gross, 
 as when we talk of doubting much, or doubting 
 a little of a thing, but how much or how little 
 we can never ascertain exactly; but we can 
 often calculate probabilities, as in chances 
 upon cards and dice, with a mathematical 
 nicety. And though we cannot do this with 
 equal precision in matters of morality, yet 
 many times w^e can discern clearly on which 
 side the probability lies : when we have once 
 gotten this discernment, after having satisfied 
 ourselves that we had examined all the lights 
 in our power relative to the matter in hand, 
 we generally dismiss those hanging on the 
 weaker side out of our thoutrhts, as beino; of 
 HO further service, but tending rather to dis- 
 turb us in the vigorous pursuit of our mea- 
 sures, and thereby turn the probability into 
 an unreserved assurance ; until some new light 
 occurring, or some change of circumstances 
 
 happen-
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 311 
 
 happening, shall make us judge it expedient 
 to resume the consultation afresh. Nor can 
 you ever unsettle a man in a determination he 
 has fixed upon, without at least suggesting 
 some suspicion that he may have determined 
 \yrong, to which suspicion he must assent, or 
 he will never hearken to your remonstrance. 
 Thus we find the mind never totally without 
 an assent to some judgment, either of her 
 senses or understanding, as well in times of 
 doubt and probability, as in those of firm per- 
 suasion, as well in contrariety as uniformity of 
 evidence, as well at the beginning and through- 
 out the Course of an enquiry as upon the final 
 determination. 
 
 26. How idle th.en is it to talk of the 
 wdse man's forbearing to do what all men 
 must do continually .? For though wisdom 
 niay perfect our nature, it cannot change it, 
 nor transform us into other creatures : tliere- 
 fore the wise man, as a man, must alwa\^s 
 assent to something, and if so, must assent 
 sometimes to uncertainties, unless you will 
 suppose him to have a full view of all the 
 lights that can fall upon every subject the 
 instant it starts up in his thoughts. Does he 
 never alter his juginent upon better infor* 
 mation ? Does he never profit by consider- 
 ation, so as to discern things otherwise than 
 he apprehended them .^ Do no arguments 
 
 ever
 
 312 Judgment, [chap. ii. 
 
 ever raise a scruple in him upon matters he 
 had no doubt of before ? If any of these cases 
 happen, then he once assented to an uncer- 
 taint}', oi% which is as bad, he afterwards 
 doubts or dissents from a certainty. I suppose 
 he ma}^ be allowed to dream sometimes in his 
 , sleep, and to take his dreams for realities as 
 much as the rest of us half-witted mortals : 
 therefore that noted liar Fancy gains undoubed 
 credit with him when the judgments of his un- 
 derstanding are shut out from his sight. Thus 
 we see the giving or witholding assent does 
 not depend upon the mind itself, but upon the 
 ideas she has to read in the organization : she 
 cannot lose her perceptive faculty, though 
 she may lose the use of it for want of objects 
 to exercise it upon ; nor does her eye grow dim 
 and strong alternately by night and by day : 
 it may be obscured, not impaired, by darkness, 
 nor do the vapours of sleep make any change 
 in the sight, but only in the prospect, and it is 
 in the nature of the mind to assent to whatever 
 appearances that exhibit when all other evi- 
 dence that might correct them is removed out 
 of her reach. Therefore the difference be- 
 tween a sleeping and a waking man does not 
 lie in the mind, unless understood in that 
 vulgar sense of the term comi)rehending a 
 corporeal organization, that which presents 
 ideas being differently disposed, not that which 
 
 per-
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment, 513 
 
 perceives them. And the same causes make 
 the difference between one man and another : 
 the wise man having many judgments in his 
 understanding which the foohsh wants, and 
 being exempt from many appearances which 
 mislead tlie other : nor does this derogate at 
 all from his merit, provided he have brought 
 his understanding into a better state by his 
 own good management and industry. 
 
 27. What then are we to understand when 
 we hear it asserted that the wise man never 
 assents to things uncertain ? Is it that he will 
 not assent without absolute certainty ? This 
 we have proved to be false in fact. Is it that 
 he will not assent where he discerns their un- 
 certainty ? This is saying nothing, for no man 
 assents to a thing at the same time while it 
 appears doubtful to him. The expression 
 then can mean nothing more than that he 
 will not assent rashly, like the common herd 
 of mankind, before he has examined the 
 matter as fully as opportunity will permit, or 
 the lights of his understanding enable him. 
 If he has canvassed the point to his satisfac- 
 tion formerly, he will still rest satisfied in the 
 consciousness of having done so, unless some 
 fresh information or suggestion not thought 
 of before should require a re-hearing. By fol- 
 lowing this practice often, he will become 
 acquainted with the degrees of evidence, so 
 
 as
 
 314* Judgment. [chap. ii. 
 
 as to measure them almost upon inspection, 
 and judge of the weight or fiivolousness of 
 objections, and will lay up a stock of prin- 
 ciples in his understanding which he may 
 trust to, so as to be able to make his decisions 
 quicker and surer, though less hastily, than 
 other people. 
 
 528. Look into Tully's Academics, and 
 other sceptical treatises, and you will find 
 arguments to invalidate the judgment of the 
 senses and undei'standing, drawn from ex- 
 amples wherein they have deceived us : but 
 how shall Ave know the truth of those in- 
 stances, unless we give credit to our expeii- 
 -ence informing us of them ? or what conclu- 
 sion can we draw from the facts, if we may 
 not depend upon any judgment of our under- 
 standing? If those who produce the argu- 
 ments, and cite the examples, do' not assent 
 to the force of the one, or truth of the other, 
 they trifle with us, and deseiTe no regard ; if 
 they do assent, they practise the very thing 
 they labour to prove unreasonable. Wliat their 
 real sentiments may be I shall not pretend to 
 guess, for they are an unfathomable sort of 
 people, but I think it impossible that one of 
 these two should not be the case with them : 
 either they assent without reserve to the judg- 
 ments they dispute against, only to show their 
 .skill in disputation, or if they really doubt, they 
 
 assent
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 315 
 
 assent with as little reserve to the grounds 
 they have for their doubting. Therefore we 
 need not make a scruple of assenting, after 
 having found that the wise man assents who 
 knows best what is proper, and the sceptic 
 assents in spite of all the pains he can take, 
 or contrivances he can devise to avoid it. 
 
 29. Thus this disquisition upon the falli- 
 bility of our judgment, Avhich at the begin- 
 ning perhaps might seem an attempt to un- 
 settle the minds of men, will, I hope, upon 
 taking the whole together, appear to have a 
 direct contrary tendency, and in that pro- 
 spect I entered upon it ; for I look upon this 
 as one of those sources of disputation which 
 must not be dabbled with ; we must drink 
 deep, or had better not taste at all, for we 
 shall find at bottom what may remedy any 
 disorder brought upon us by the surface. 
 Men commonly please themselves with a no- 
 tion of absolute certainty, and may enjoy 
 that pleasure so long as they remain un- 
 molested in the notion : but when a subtle 
 enemy approaches, they \n\\ find it an un- 
 tenable post, and must inevitably be ruined 
 unless they have another fortress to retire to 
 behind. Therefore I conceive nothing con- 
 duces more to ensure a tranquillity of mind 
 against all attacks than establishing these two 
 maxims, that knowledge, that is, absolute 
 
 cer-
 
 3l6 Judgment, [chap. ii. 
 
 certainty, ^vas not made for man, but that 
 man is so constituted as to do very well with- 
 out it. The former may mortify or disturb 
 us a little at first, but the other will set all 
 to rights again, and put us upon a firmer 
 footing than we stood on before : for while 
 placing our dependance solely upon certainty, 
 we could never be secure that our own ima- 
 gination in some melancholy mood, or the 
 arts of an adversary, might not start objections 
 to wrest our idea of certainty from us, and 
 then we should be left in a state of doubt and 
 despondency as having nothing to trust to : 
 but being possessed of these maxims, we may 
 allow the objections their full weight without 
 abating of our confidence in the measures we 
 proceed upon. 
 
 30. Hence arises that so much-used dis- 
 tinction between absolute and moral cer- 
 tainty : it is not in the nature of the latter to 
 exclude all possibility of mistake, and there- 
 fore it is not destroyed by the suggestion of 
 such a possibility ; but it is in the nature of 
 man to repose an entire acquiescence in it to 
 the exclusion of all doubt. And for the attain- 
 ableness of such certainty I appeal to every 
 man's experience, excepting those v/ho set 
 all their wits at work to undervalue it, nor 
 should I except them could they be depend- 
 ed upon to give an honest answer : but I 
 
 refer
 
 ciiAr. 11.] Judgment. Sl7 
 
 refer it to all others, whether they believe 
 them entertaining the 1 ast doujt of the 
 force of those arguments they bring to per- 
 suade us out of our senses. I shall not un- 
 dertake to give an exact definition of moral 
 certainty, which may comprize every thing 
 belono'ino; to the term, but I think a man 
 may be said to possess i^ when ho is con- 
 scious of having had all opportuniies of exa- 
 mining a thing, has considered it thoroughly 
 and impartially, and upon the issue ^finds a 
 clear j udgment remaining in his understanding 
 of its being true, with no probability of the 
 contraiy. This I believe all men confide in, 
 and I do not see what the wisest of us can 
 have better to rest his assurance upon. It 
 is true, every man is liable to mistakes, not- 
 withstanding all his care to escape them; 
 but if the error be invincible, you will not 
 blame him for assentins: to it as a truth, be- 
 cause nobody could have avoided doing so 
 under the like circumstances ; and if it were 
 owing to prejudice or hastiness, still the 
 fault does not lie in his adhering to what 
 appears to him as a certauity, but in his 
 negligence or partiality, while he had the 
 matter under examination. 
 
 31. Constant and uniform experience pro- 
 duces the like certainty, and this gives us 
 confidence in the evidence of sense, ofme- 
 
 m9iy,
 
 318 Jiidgfuento [cHAP, 11. 
 
 mory, and in the judgments of our under-» 
 standing, upon having found them testify the 
 same thing upon repeated trials. Nor will any 
 man distrust his senses, unless in those in- 
 stances wherein he has experienced their 
 giving fallacious appearances, as in a stick 
 seen crooked in "water, or a square tower seen 
 round at a distance. Neither will he dis- 
 trust his memory or his understanding, when 
 clear and positive, without some very strong 
 reasons suggested to the contrary, which his 
 understanding must approve of, and his senses, 
 or his memory bear witness to the facts 
 whereon they are grounded. Therefore we 
 may, Avithout imputation of folly, rest assured 
 that the tables, chairs, and other objects, really 
 exist in such figures and places as Ave see 
 them, that stone is hard, and wood combusti- 
 ble, that occurrences have really happened 
 to us as we remember, that two and two 
 make four, that a part cannot contain the 
 whole, that the principles of arts and sciences 
 are true, the conclusions appearing necessa- 
 rily to flow from them just, and our estab- 
 lished rules of conduct, and argumentation 
 right, until Ave shall find sufficient cause to 
 doubt of them. 
 
 32. For every thing, that may seem to 
 contradict an opinion, is not a sufficient cause 
 for doubting : the mind though coffix^ared to 
 
 an
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. Sip 
 
 an exceeding fine ballance, in that it will turn 
 with the slightest hair when nothing lies in 
 counterpoise, yet does not resemble it in all 
 respects; for where the weights are greatly 
 disproportionate, the heavy scale will press 
 down with as strong a force of assurance as if 
 the opposite scale had been absolutely empty. 
 Were a man, whom you know little of, to re- 
 late a fact not improbable in itself, you 
 would believe him, therefore he has some 
 weight with you : but if twenty persons of 
 undoubted veracity^should assert the contrary, 
 you would not give a jot the less credit to 
 them, than if the first man had said nothing. 
 So upon hearing a thing reported that we 
 judge utterly improbable, Ave give no heed 
 the first time, nor the second, but if repeated 
 in many companies, we begin to doubt whether 
 it may not be true : then each report must 
 have some weight singly, for a multitude of 
 nothings can make nothing, yet these small 
 weights have no effect at all until they con- 
 solidate, and by their number grow into a 
 great one. 
 
 SS, The vulgar are commonly very posi- 
 tive, thinking themselves possessed of absolute 
 certainty in almost every thing they know : 
 this happens from their weighing their evi- 
 dences singly, which will naturally produce 
 that effect : for we can judge of weights only 
 
 by
 
 320 Juclg?ne?2t. [chap. ii. 
 
 by their opposition, because any one thrown 
 in alone drives down the scale forcibly. But 
 the contemplative use themselves to compare 
 the judgments, as well of their senses, as of 
 their understanding, which they frequently 
 find contradictory ; therefore they abound in 
 doubts that never enter the head of a com- 
 mon man, which has occasioned doubting to 
 be reckoned the av^enue to philosoph}^ : but 
 if it be the avenue, it is no more, nor can 
 one arrive at the thing itself until one has 
 passed it, and he that sticks in the passage had 
 better not have attempted it. The use of 
 doubting is to prevent hasty decisions, and 
 lead to something more sure and certain than 
 we could have attained without it : for the 
 first notices of our understandins: direct to 
 many things for our benefit, therefore we 
 suffer damage by parting with them, unless 
 Ave supply their places by something else 
 more effectual for the purpose. 
 
 There is a moderation in all thingrs : a 
 man may as well doubt too much as too lit- 
 tle : nor let us run away with a notion that 
 a propensity to doubting shows a sagacity of 
 parts, for it may as well proceed from the 
 contrary quality. We have shown already 
 that in every doubt there is an assent to the 
 vaUdity of opposite evidences, for if the evi- 
 dence on either side appear invalid, the doubt 
 
 vanishes;
 
 CHAP. 11,] Judg/nent. 321 
 
 vanishes ; and we have observed that cur as- 
 sent is according to the character we read of 
 the judgment engraven upon the understand- 
 ing: but the understanding is most perfect 
 when it represents the characters of judg- 
 ments in the truest colours, neither stronger 
 nor weaker than they deserve. If it be fault}', 
 it may show the thing doubted of in too 
 faint and the cause of doubting in too glaring 
 alight, in which case the doubt will be 
 owing to the dulness not the quickness of the 
 organs. Perhaps a man of more sagacity 
 may have discerned the objection as soon as 
 the doubter, but discerned at the same time 
 that there was nothing in it. He whose 
 views are confined to one narrow point of 
 evidence, will think himself certain because 
 he sees nothing to oppose it ; if he can widen 
 them a little, he may discover something to 
 stagger his confidence ; but if he can open 
 them still further, he may discern what will 
 bring him again to a fixed determination : 
 and in the clearness and extensiveness of our 
 views sagacity chiefly consists, which gives 
 stronger marks of itself in a quickness of re- 
 solving doubts than a readiness of starting 
 them. We can measure evidences no other- 
 w^ise than by the weight we feel them have 
 upon us ; while the weights bear a near pro- 
 portion to one another, the doubtful beam 
 VOL, i V still
 
 S221 Judgment. [chap, ii 
 
 still nods from side to side ; but the excel- 
 lency of a balance lies, not ~iii having large 
 scales that will hold a number of weights, 
 but in turning upon the smallest difference. 
 Therefore there is a common sense or dis- 
 cretion infinitely preferable to brightness of 
 parts, which indeed has no other value than 
 to famish weig;hts for it to examine. Who- 
 ever is possessed of this qualit}'- will steer 
 equally clear of doubt and positiveness ; 
 though his scale may be small it will weigh 
 things exactly, he will distinguish the glare of 
 tinsel from the ponderancy of gold, he will 
 reject whatever makes nothing to the purpose 
 and take into consideration every thing per- 
 tinent that he has room for, and will be steady 
 in his opinions but not tenacious. AVhereas 
 your men of large capacities, if wanting in 
 this quality, get rid of vulgar errors only in 
 •exchange for others peculiar to themselves ; 
 they are quick at seeing things but not at 
 comparing them, they argue strongly but 
 cannot determine justly, and amidst all their 
 caution and reserve you may find them ob- 
 stinate in some absurdit}' that every body 
 else clearly discerns to be such with half an 
 eye. 
 
 S4. 3Vhen we reflect on our utter incapa- 
 city of attaining to absolute certainty, this is 
 enouoh, though not to make us doubt of the 
 
 clear
 
 ciTAP. 11.] Jtidgmcnt. 323 
 
 cJcar judgments of our understanding, yet to 
 make us acknowledge a possibility of their be- 
 ing erroneous : and this, if not overlooked, 
 must prevent every man from beino; so 
 wedded to an opinion as to turn a deaf ear 
 upon all evidence that can be offered against 
 it. Wherefore I must look upon those bigots 
 in religion or reason, for there are of both 
 sorts, as very little skilled in human nature, 
 who lay so great a stress upon one kind of 
 evidence as to think no other worth regard- 
 ing in competition Avith it. Some ascribe so 
 much to faith, built nevertheless upon human 
 testimony and tradition, as to set it above the 
 stronoest contradiction of the senses or the 
 understanding ; others, conceiving a thing 
 impossible in itself according to their abstract 
 notions, reject all evidence that can be 
 brought hi support of it without hearing. 
 Whereas, if we consult experience, it will 
 testify that all species of evidence have their 
 turns in prevailing upon us : generally we 
 accommodate our theory to the success we 
 lind it have upon trial, but sometimes we 
 correct our senses by our theory, as ir\ the 
 seeming annihilation of water over a fire, in 
 the beginning of motion by matter upon at- 
 traction, repulsion, explosion of gunpowder, 
 fermentation, and the lil^e. Sometimes we dis- 
 cover the ialsehond of a currently received 
 
 opinion
 
 324 Judgment. [chap. ii. 
 
 opinion by reason, at others are convinced of 
 things we thought impossible in nature by 
 concurrence of testimon)^ Why then should 
 we reject any means of information put into 
 our power ? For no channel can pour it in so 
 fully, but that another may convey more of 
 a kind we could not have expected. 
 
 A prudent man indeed will decline enquiry 
 when lie has room to think there is a design 
 and ability to impose upon him by sophistry, 
 or on the other hand when the motives al- 
 iedged for entering upon it appear trifling ; 
 and it must be left to his discretion to deter- 
 mine when either of these is or is not the 
 case : but he will never think himself so sure 
 of any point as to render all further examina- 
 tion needless upon Vrhatever grounds or by 
 '^^vhatever persons recommended. For my 
 part, as well persuaded as I am that two and 
 two make four, if I were to meet with a per- 
 son of credit, candour, and understanding, 
 who should seriously call it in question, I 
 would give him the hearing : for I am not 
 more certain of that than of the whole being 
 greater than a part, and yet I could myself 
 suggest some considerations that might seem 
 to controvert tliis point. The time that has 
 passed from all eternity before building the 
 tower' of Belus, was but a part of that time 
 which has passed to this day, and that still to 
 
 come
 
 CHAP. II.] Judgment. 355 
 
 come is a part only of that which was to 
 come in the days of Nimrod : and the time 
 before and after any moment you can assign, 
 are component parts of all time : yet one 
 cannot say whether either of these parts be 
 less than their wholes. Yet for all this, and 
 notwithstanding my acknowledging the falli- 
 bility of our clearest judgments, I cannot 
 find the least shadow of doubt in my mind 
 whether two and two make four, nor whether 
 the whole be greater than a part, but build 
 any thing I can upon them as upon sure and 
 certain principles. Nor am I singular in this 
 respect, for I obseiTe that other people as 
 well of great as small capacities do the same, 
 and sometimes give an unreserved assent to 
 things, even in cases where they themselves 
 acknowledge a possibility of mistake. For 
 we all acknowledge the uncertainty^ of life, 
 and that a man under the strongest appear- 
 ances of health, may be cut off in a moment 
 by an apoplexy or other sudden disorder, yet 
 %ve depend without reserve upon our commoa 
 actions of the day, and upon other persons 
 keeping their appointments : much more do 
 we hold, without scruple, such maxims as the 
 two above mentioned, whereof we cannot 
 conceive any possibility how they can be 
 otherwise than true, although there may be 
 possibiUties which we cannot conceive. 
 
 35. This
 
 526 Judgment. [chap. ii. 
 
 35. This moral certainty then, T^hich is 
 the portion of man, we must be understood 
 to mean when Ave speak of knowledge : 
 for whoever has all the information the na- 
 ture of the thing will admit of, with a 
 clear judgment of its being true, and no 
 scruple of doubt to the contrary, may be 
 said in propriety of speech to know it. 
 Therefore those who would prove that we 
 know nothing, because we have no absolute 
 certainty, are guilty of a gross abuse of lan- 
 guage, ascribing another sense to the term, 
 than the general consent of mankind has 
 allotted it. For no man who asks whether 
 you know that Mr. Such an one is in town, 
 means to enquire whether he may not be drop- 
 ped down dead since you saw him, or sent for 
 away upon some pressing occasion, which 
 3'ou could not foresee : nor if he asks any 
 other point of knowledge, will he under- 
 stand an}^ more by your answer, than that 
 3'ou have a reasonable assurance, without 
 any mixture of doubt of the truth of what 
 you tell him. And he that should say he 
 does not know where he breakfasted this 
 morning, what it is he holds in his hand, 
 what he shall do this afternoon, or when 
 the Moon will be at the full, when he 4ias 
 this reasonable assurance, would speak an 
 untruth, because he would convey, other 
 
 ideas
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment, 327 
 
 ideas to tUe hearer, than the expressions cany 
 in his own mind. 
 
 Therefore we may lawfully claim to know, 
 or be certain of some thinirs. for the common 
 use and propriety of language w^ill justify us 
 in so speaking ; and may place a full reliance 
 on those deductions which appear to flow ne- 
 cessarily from them, after examining ever}' 
 corner that might contain a latent fallacy, 
 for it is in our nature so to do. All sound rea- 
 soning must rest upon this basis, and what 
 has this basis to rest upon will never fail to 
 satisfy : this entire acquiescence then is the 
 utmost I aim at in the course of my present 
 enquiries, for I pretend not to absolute cer- 
 tainty. I endeavour to collect such particular 
 exercises of the faculties as I conceive every 
 man's experience will bear witness to be fact 
 when put in mind of them, and suggest such 
 observations as appear naturally I'esulting 
 therefrom. I make no new weights, nor 
 expect to be helpful any otherwise than by 
 handing those into the scale that lay neglec- 
 ted, or sorting them together in a manner not 
 done before; but I leave it to every onew^ho 
 shall vouchsafe me the hearin^:, to hold the 
 balance himself: if I should be so fortunate 
 as to procure a moral certainty, it is all I 
 desire, and all 1 need, for I do not fear its 
 having a proper eflect. 
 
 One
 
 528 Judgment. [chap. ii. 
 
 One inconvenience happens from acquies- 
 cence being our only mark of certainty, for it 
 2;ives us an unlucky bias, and makes us par- 
 tial in our judgment, because when evidence 
 offers in support of the thing we wish to be 
 true, the mind receives it with pleasure, and 
 mistakes that complacence for an acquies- 
 cence in the weight of the evidence. And per-^ 
 haps we should always labour under this in- 
 firmity, if the mischiefs, frequently consequent 
 upon such mistakes, didsuot teach us better 
 caution. Therefore we see children and per- 
 sons of little consideration very apt to judge 
 according to their desires, until experience and 
 proper observation upon that experience in 
 some measure remedy the evil : but we can 
 Tiever get rid of it entirely, wherefore the laws 
 Avill not allow a man to be judge or witness 
 in his own cause, nor can the most judicious 
 persons ever trust their judgment so securely 
 as in matters wherein their own interest or 
 inclination have no concern. 
 
 36. It has been currently held, that there 
 w^ere certain truths imprinted upon the mind 
 by nature, but since Mr. Locke has full}'' re- 
 futed the doctrine of innate ideas, another 
 opinion has been taken up, of the mind 
 having a particular faculty to judge between 
 her ideas, distinct from that whereby she 
 apprehends them: therefore w^e find three 
 
 kinds
 
 CHAP. 1 ] .] Judgment 329 
 
 kinds of operation ascribed to her, simple 
 Apprehension, Judgment, and Ratiocination, 
 and it is supposed there are some truths and 
 conclusions necessarily obvious to every man, 
 as soon as the ideas or the premisses are clearly 
 apprehended. But for my part, I can see no 
 foundation for such a triple capacit}-, the 
 single faculty of perception secmmg to me 
 sufficient for all those operations, according 
 to the prospect lying before us in the under- 
 standing. Nobody will deny that we acquire 
 the knowledge of some truths Ions; after being: 
 made acquainted with the terms whereof 
 they are affirmed, and learn rules of argu- 
 mentation by which we can make a use of 
 premisses that we could not do before; and 
 in process of time we retain those truths and 
 practise that manner of reasoning, after having 
 utterly forgotten the evidences and rules that 
 taught us them. Wherein then lies the dif- 
 ference between a man before and after he 
 has attained this knowledge ? Is it in his fa- 
 culty which receives an additional strength ? 
 oris it only in the objects he has to behold ? 
 He could look back upon his thoughts before 
 and clearly discern whatever they represented, 
 but found there only the naked terms : and 
 now he does no more than look back in the 
 same manner, but finds, besides the terms, a 
 judgment concerning them, which he does 
 
 not
 
 330 JudgmeiTt. [chap. h. 
 
 not create by any act of his, but discerns by 
 inspection upon the traces of his understand- 
 ing. Even the most obvious truths may be 
 overlooked, while the ideas they belong to are 
 in our thoughts ; a rnan may see two pair of 
 horses without ever considering that they 
 make four : but if the mind had several fa- 
 culties which were severally aftected by the 
 same ideas, since they must all be passive fa- 
 culties, one would expect that whatever is 
 present, and operates upon the mind, should 
 equally affect them all. If it be said we 
 overlook the judgment for want of reflecting, 
 I would ask ^vhat else is reficctino; besides 
 turnino; the mental eve inwards, which is the 
 same act in looking for judgments as for 
 naked ideas of terms, and differs only in 
 being directed to different objects. Therefore 
 while we speak of the mind and not of the 
 man, comprehending his body or finer organ- 
 ization, I can see no more reason to suppose 
 one faculty for apprehending, another for 
 iudging, and ' another for reasoning, than to 
 suppose one faculty for seeing blue, another 
 for yellow, and another for scarlet. 
 
 37. When I make judgment a distinct 
 idea from that of the terms, I do not mean 
 that it may be separated from them so as to 
 be discerned apart by itself, for one cannot 
 judge without some ideas to judge upon, but 
 
 this
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 331 
 
 this does not hinder its adding to the pros- 
 pect exhibited by the terms alone : for there 
 are ideas received by sensation, which cannot 
 subsist without others, and nevertheless are 
 really distinct from those whereon their sub- 
 sistence depends. We cannot see motion 
 without seeing soyie body move, yet none 
 will pretend our idea of motion is contained 
 in that of the body, which we had compleat 
 ^vhile we saw it at rest; but when put in 
 motion it presents a new idea it did not be- 
 fore, and we discern this new circumstance 
 of motion b}" the same sense of vision where- 
 with we discern the body itself. So we may 
 reflect on a cow and a sheep, without think- 
 ing whether one be larger than the other, 
 and when we make this second reflection, 
 though it cannot subsist without the former, 
 it has something more for its object, nor 
 does there need any other faculty to appre- 
 hend this additional object of the judgment, 
 than that whereby we apprehend the subjects 
 whereon it is passed. , *''^^' 
 
 38. But improvements in knowledge, as 
 well by reason as experience, arise from the 
 transferable nature of judgment: for the 
 premisses transfer their certainty to the con- 
 elusion, and particular facts transfer their de- 
 gree of evidence to the opinion they tead to 
 establish, until they grow into a certain expe- 
 rience.
 
 3d2 Judgment, [chap. ii. 
 
 rience. I do not reckon the translation made 
 ■while we cannot assent to the conclusion, 
 without contemplating the proofs : but when 
 we can use it as a principle, and whenever 
 we reflect upon it find the characteristic of 
 truth associated with it in the same combina- 
 tion. This we very frequently do, for we 
 have many judgments to which we give an 
 unreserved assent ; we are sensible we learned 
 them, though we cannot tell where, or when, 
 or how we learned them. Nay, sometimes 
 when we cannot recollect who told us of a 
 thing, we know we must have heard it some- 
 where, and not dreamed it, by the strength 
 of persuasion we find accompanying our 
 idea. 
 
 Yet our judgments cannot all come to us 
 this way, because we must have had some 
 previously to our entering upon it; experience 
 must have a beginning, and reason must have 
 some principles to build upon, already known 
 and assented to, before she goes to work 
 upon them. We begin to judge very early, 
 as early, or rather a moment earlier than we 
 begin to act, for we never act without an 
 apprehension of expedience in the action: 
 therefore the first iudijment we ever made 
 must precede the first action we ever per- 
 formed, and consequently must precede all 
 experience we could have of our own power 
 
 or
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment. 333 
 
 or the effects of it. The child docs not try 
 to throw off' its swaddlhig cloaths without a 
 judgment that the pressure it feels comes 
 from them, and that it may remove them by 
 struggUng. I do not propose this as the very 
 earliest act of human life, but whatever you 
 will suppose the earliest, was done for some 
 end which the fancy represented as desirable 
 and attainable. This first judgment, then, 
 arose without any manner of proof, not even 
 of prior experience, but was owing to the 
 ideas springing up spontaneously in the in- 
 fant fancy. Thus we see that that state of 
 our finer organization, or whatever el^e one 
 can assign for the mind to look upon in the 
 suggestions of fancy, has a natural efficacy to 
 excite a perception of judgments as well as 
 of other ideas. One modification affects us 
 with colours, another with sounds, another 
 with remembrance, another with assent : and 
 whatever, whether mechanical or other causes, 
 bring the organs into this disposition, the}^ will 
 have the like effect. Wherefore there is no 
 absurdity in conceiving it possible in theory, 
 that a man, by an immediate operation upon 
 his organs disposing them into a proper state, 
 may be brought to understand what he never 
 learned, to remember what he never saw, to 
 perceive truths instantaneously discoverable 
 only by long investigations of reason, and to 
 
 disccr^
 
 SS4^ Judgment'. [ciiap. i J , 
 
 discern others clear] v which no reason can 
 
 mvestioate. 
 
 59' But how consistent soever this may ap- 
 pear in speculation, the possibility of a thing- 
 does not prove it actually true, and if we 
 consult experience we shall find the contrary 
 to be fact ; all our knowledo-e beins; derived 
 from those sources to which we commonly 
 ascribe it, our senses, our memory, our rea- 
 son, or the testimony and instruction of 
 others. Therefore I am so far from ima- 
 gining our judgments to proceed from any 
 sudden irregular configuration of our organs, 
 that -perhaps I may be blamed for running 
 into an opposite extreme : for I conceive that 
 all our stores of knov/ledge, and skill in dis- 
 cernino; between one thing and another, was 
 acquired, not born witli us, but learned by 
 practice : if we had judgments any other 
 v/ay than those above mentioned in our in- 
 fancy, Ave have lost them, and possess nothing 
 now which was not once a new acquisition. 
 I have already declared my opinion concern- 
 ing the judgment of the senses, that a grown 
 person, on first coming to the use of any of 
 them, would not receive the same infor- 
 mation therefrom that we do ; and that we 
 attain our ideas of magnitude, figure, dis- 
 tance, and many other particulars, b}^ having 
 frenuent intercourse amons: obiects. And for
 
 cTtAP. ii.J Judgment. S3.7 
 
 judgments of the understanding, besides that 
 they cannot be liad before we arrive at the 
 use of understanding, the}^ for the most part 
 consist in generals ^vhich can be known only 
 by experience of particulars founded on the 
 evidence of the senses. There are some truths 
 esteemed self-evident, because supposed to 
 be assented to as soon as proposed : but I 
 question the fact, for I fancy one might meet 
 with children who do not know that two and 
 two make four, or that the whole cannot be 
 contained in a part, after they clearly under- 
 stand the meaning of the terms. We call 
 them self-evident, because we discern them 
 upon mspection, but so we do the figures and 
 distances of bodies, which has been shown 
 the effect of a skill attained by use. There 
 is as necessary a connection between nine 
 times four and thirty-six, as between twice 
 two and four; and we. find that butchers or 
 market women, who have constantly used 
 themselves to reckon by groats, judge of their 
 several amounts upon inspection without stay- 
 ing to compute : therefore those ideas opei'ate 
 ■upon them in the manner of self-evident 
 truths, which speak for themselves as soon as 
 admitted into the reflection. They do not 
 the like upon other persons who have not ac- 
 customed themselves to the like train of 
 thinking : but all men have had some experi- 
 ence
 
 336 Judgment. [chap. ik 
 
 ence, and made some observation upon things 
 daily occurring to their senses or reflection, 
 from whence tliCy gather that knowledge we 
 style self-evident, because we know not its ori- 
 ginal, nor remember the time when we were 
 without it 
 
 40. From what has been observed above, it 
 may be justly doubted whether, strictly speak* 
 ing, we have any such thing as first principles 
 of reason, but what we deem so are accessions 
 of knowledge derived from some channel 
 whose source we cannot discover. I do not 
 remark this with a view to depreciate such 
 knowledge, or lessen our dependance upon it 
 in all the uses of life : for I think where we 
 find a thing command our assent as soon as 
 proposed, agreed to by mankind in general, 
 and ^^'e can see nothing in all our stores of 
 experience suggesting a possibility of its be- 
 ing untrue, we may build upon it as upon a 
 sure foundation as well of our conduct as of 
 our reasonings. But my design tends to 
 show that nothing is above being made the 
 subject of examinatior> when an opening of- 
 fers : for those commonly esteemed .first prin- 
 ciples may be often traced to some higher 
 origin, and several of them not unfrequently 
 to one and the same. Therefore the rnore a 
 man thinks, especially upon points of moral- 
 ity, he w'ill find his principles the fewer, but 
 
 of
 
 CHAP. 11.] Judgment, 537 
 
 of more extensive influence; for many of 
 those he looked upon as such at first, will re- 
 solve themselves into conclusions from the 
 few that remain. By this means his reason- 
 ings will grow more clear and uniform, and 
 his improvements greater, for by tracing 
 points of knowledge, generally received, up 
 their channels, he may discern how they came 
 to prevail with mankind, and thence learn to 
 deduce others from the same stream with 
 equal effect and certainty. May I then be 
 permitted, in the sequel of these enquiries, to 
 question whether several things be evident in 
 themselves, or good or right in themselves, 
 which are commonly reputed such ? Not with 
 an intention to overthrow them, but with au 
 endeavour to discover why they are evident, 
 and why they are good or right : nor shall T 
 do this wantonly, oi* unless I apprehend some 
 advantage will accrue from the attempt. But 
 as 1 do not pretend always to penetrate quite 
 to the fountain head, shall content myself 
 with stopping at postulata, which I appre- 
 hend nobody will deny me, whenever finding 
 it impracticable or needless to go further. 
 
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