ESSAY I. Of our ATTACHMENT to OBJECTS of DISTRESS.

A NOTED French author, who makes critical reflections upon poetry and painting, undertakes a subject, at­tempted by others unsuccessfully, which is, to account for the strong Attachment we have to Objects of Distress, not real objects only, but even fictitious. ‘It is not ea­sy (says he) to account for the pleasure we take in poetry and painting, which has often a strong resemblance to affliction, and of which the symptoms are sometimes the same with those of the most lively sor­row. The arts of poetry and painting are never more applauded than when they succeed in giving pain. A secret charm attaches us to representations of this na­ture, at the very time our heart, full of anguish, rises up against its proper pleasure. [Page 2] I dare undertake this paradox, (continues our author) and to explain the foundation of this sort of pleasure which we have in po­etry and painting; an undertaking that may appear bold, if not rash, seeing it promises to account to every man for what passes in his own breast, and for the secret springs of his approbation and dislike.’ Our author is extremely sensible of the difficulty of his subject; and no wonder, for it has a deep foundation in human nature.

LET us follow him in this difficult under­taking. He lays it down as a preliminary, that our wants and necessities are our only motives to action, and that in relieving us from them consists all natural pleasure: and in this, by the way, he agrees with Mr. Locke in his chapter of Power, sect. 37. and 43. This account of our natural pleasures shall be afterwards examined. What we have at present to attend to, is the following funda­mental proposition laid down by our author: ‘That man by nature is designed an active [Page 3] being: that inaction, whether of body or mind, draws on languor and disgust; and that this is a cogent motive to fly to any sort of occupation for relief. Thus (adds he) we fly by instinct to every object that can excite our passions, and keep us in agi­tation, not rebuted by the pain such objects often give us, which causes vexatious days and sleepless nights: but man, notwith­standing, suffers more by being without passions, than by the agitation they occasi­on.’ This is the sum of his first section. In the second he goes on to apply his prin­ciple to particular cases. The first he gives is that of compassion, whereby we are natu­rally impelled to dwell upon the miseries and distresses of our fellow creatures, though thereby we come to be partakers of their suf­ferings; an impulse that he observes is en­tirely owing to the above principle, which makes us chuse occupation, however painful, rather than be without action. Another is that of publick executions. ‘We go in crouds (says he) to a spectacle the most [Page 4] horrid that man can behold, to see a poor wretch broke upon the wheel, burnt a­live, or his intrails torn out: the more dreadful the scene, the more numerous the spectators. Yet one might foresee, even without experience, that the cruel circumstances of the execution, the deep groans and anguish of a fellow creature, must make an impression, the pain of which is not to be effaced but by a long course of time. But the attraction of agi­tation is far more strong upon most people, than the joint powers of reflection and experience.’ He goes on to mention the strange delight the Roman people had in the entertainments of the amphithe­atre; criminals exposed to be torn to pieces by wild beasts, and gladiators in troops set out to butcher one another. He takes this occa­sion to make the following observation upon the English nation: ‘So tender hearted is that people, that they observe humanity towards their greatest criminals. They al­low of no such thing as torture, alledging [Page 5] it better to let a criminal go unpunished, than to expose an innocent person to those torments which are authorised in other Christian countries to extort a confession from the guilty. Yet this people, so respect­ful of their kind, have an infinite pleasure in prize-fighting, bull-beating, and such other savage spectacles.’ He concludes, with showing, that it is this very horror of inac­tion, which makes people every day precipi­tate themselves into play, and deliver them­selves over to cards and dice. ‘None but fools and sharpers (says he) are moved to play by hope of gain. The generality of mankind are directed by another mo­tive. They neglect those diversions where skill and address are required, chusing ra­ther to risque their fortunes at games of mere chance, which keep their minds in continual motion, and where every throw is decisive.’

THIS is our author's account of the mat­ter fairly stated. It has, I acknowledge, an air of truth, but the following considerati­ons [Page 6] convince me that is not solid. In the first place, if the pain of inaction be the mo­tive which carries us to such spectacles as are above mentioned, we must expect to find them frequented by none but those who are opprest with idleness. But this will not be found the truth of the matter. All sorts of people flock to such spectacles. Pictures of danger, or of distress, have a secret charm which attracts men from the most serious occupations, and operates equally upon the active and the indolent. In the next place, were there nothing in these spectacles to attract the mind, abstracting from the pain of inaction, there would be no such thing as a preference of one object to another, upon any other ground than that of agi­tation; and the more the mind was agi­tated, the greater would be the attraction of the object: but this is contrary to experience. There are many objects of horror and dis­taste, which agitate the mind exceedingly, that even the idlest fly from: and a more apt in­stance need not be given, than what our au­thor [Page 7] himself cites from Livy, ^† who, speak­ing of Antiochus Epiphanes, has the follow­ing words: Gladiatorum munus Romanae con­suetudinis primò majore cum terrore hominum insuetorum ad tale spectaculum, quam volup­tate dedit. Deinde saepiùs dando, et familia­re oculis gratumque id spectaculum fecit, et ar­morum studium plerisque juvenum accendit. Such bloody spectacles behoved undoubtedly to make, at first, a greater impression than af­terwards, when by repetition they were ren­dered familiar: yet this circumstance was so far from being an attraction to the Grecians, that it raised in them aversion and horror. Upon the same account, the Bear-garden, which is one of the chief entertainments of the English, is held in abhorrence by the French, and other polite nations. It is too savage an entertainment, to be relished by those of a refined taste.

IF man is considered as a being, whose only view, in all his actions, is either to at­tain [Page 8] pleasure, or to avoid pain, we must con­clude pleasure and pain to be his only im­pulses to action. Upon that supposition, it would be hard, if not impossible, to give any satisfactory account why we should chuse, with our eyes open, to frequent entertain­ments which must necessarily give us pain. But when we more attentively examine hu­man nature, we discover many and various impulses to action, independent of pleasure and pain. Let us follow out this thought, because it may probably lead to a solution of the problem.

WHEN we attend to the impressions made by external objects, or to any of our impres­sions, we find few of them so simple as to be altogether without modification. Im­pressions are either strong or weak, distinct or confused, &c. There is no division of im­pressions more comprehensive than into a­greeable or disagreeable. Some slight im­pressions there may be, which give us little or no pleasure, or pain: but these may be [Page 9] neglected in the present inquiry. The bulk of our impressions may certainly be distin­guished into pleasant and painful. It is un­necessary, and would perhaps be in vain, to search for the cause of this difference a­mong our impressions. More we cannot say than that such is the constitution of our na­ture, so contrived by the Author of all things, in order to answer wise and good purposes.

THERE is another circumstance to be at­tended to in these impressions; that Desire enters into some of them, Aversion into others. With regard to some objects, we feel a desire of possessing and enjoying them: other ob­jects raise our aversion, and move us to avoid them. At the same time, desire and aversion are not separate impressions, but modificati­ons only; each making a part of the total im­pression, raised by the agreeable, or disagree­able object. The pleasure, for example, of a fine garden, and the desire of possessing it, are not different impressions, but only parts of that entire impression which is caused by the object. [Page 10] The impression made by any object is one, tho' it may be annalized into parts. It does not belong to the present subject, to inquire in what instances Desire is raised by agreeable objects; for desire does not accompany a­greeable impressions in every instance: but it must be carefully attended to, that Aver­sion does not make a part, or enter into the composition of every painful impression. Ob­jects of horror and terror, loathsome ob­jects, and many others, raise aversion. But there are many impressions, some of them of the most painful sort, which have no de­gree of aversion in their composition. Grief is a most painful passion or impression, and yet is the farthest of any thing from being mixed with any degree of aversion. On the contrary, we cling to the object which raises our grief, and love to dwell upon it. Compassion is an instance of the like nature. Objects of distress raise no aversion in us, tho' they give us pain. Desire always makes a part of the impression, desire to afford re­lief.

[Page 11] IN infancy, appetite and passion, and the desires and aversions accompanying them, are our sole impulses to action. But in the progress of life, when we learn to distin­guish the objects around us as contributing to pleasure or pain, we acquire, by degrees, impulses to action of a different sort. Self-love is a strong motive to search about for every thing that may conduce to happiness. Self-love operates by means of reflection and experience; and every object, so soon as discovered to contribute to our happiness, raises of course a desire of possessing. Hence it is that pleasure and pain are the only mo­tives to action, so far as self-love is concern­ed. But our appetites and affections, as a­bove explained, are very different in their nature. These operate by direct impulse, without the intervention of reason, and an­swer to what is called instinct in brute crea­tures. As they are not influenced by any sort of reasoning, the view of shunning mi­sery, or acquiring happiness, makes no part of the impulsive cause. It is true, that the [Page 12] gratification of our affections and appetites is for the most part attended with pleasure; and it is also true, that, in giving way to a particular appetite, the view of pleasure may, by a reflex act, become an additional motive to the action. But these things must not be confounded with the direct impulse arising from the appetite or affection, which, as I have said, operates blindly, and in the way of instinct, without any view to consequen­ces.

AND to ascertain the distinction betwixt actions directed by self-love, and actions di­rected by particular appetites and passions, it must be further remarked, that though, for the most part, pleasure is the consequence of indulging appetites and passions, it is not ne­cessarily, nor indeed universally so. If the lat­ter be made out, the former will be evident; because there cannot be a necessary connec­tion betwixt two things, which are in some instances separated. That pleasure is not al­ways the consequence of indulging our ap­petites [Page 13] and passions, will be plain from induc­tion. Revenge gratified against the man we hate is attended with pleasure. 'Tis a very different case, where we have taken offence at a man we love. Friendship will not allow me, however offended, to hurt my friend. ‘I cannot find in my heart to do him mis­chief; but I would have him made sensible of the wrong he has done me.’ Revenge, thus denied a vent, recoils and preys upon the vitals of the person offended. It displays itself in peevishness and bad humour, which must work and ferment, till time, or ac­knowledgment of the wrong, carry it off. This sort of revenge is turned against the man himself who is offended; and examples there are of persons in this pettish humour, working great mischief to themselves, in order to make the offenders sensible of the wrong. Thus, nothing is more common than to find a young woman, disappointed in love, ready to throw herself away upon the first worth­less fellow that will ask her the question. This indeed is indulging the passion of re­venge, [Page 14] but without any concomitant plea­sure or satisfaction. Far from it: the great­er the degree of indulgence, the greater the pain. My next instance will be still more satisfactory. Every one must have observed, that when the passion of grief is at its height, the very nature of it is to shun and fly from every thing which tends to give ease or comfort. He rushes on to misery, by a sort of sympathy with the person for whom he is grieved. Why should I be happy when my friend is no more? is the language of this passion. In these circumstances, the man is truly a self-tormentor. And here we have a singular phoenomenon in human nature, an appetite after pain, an inclination to ren­der one's self miserable. This goes further than even self-murder; a crime that is ne­ver perpetrated but in order to put an end to misery, when it rises to such an height as to be insupportable.

WE now see how imperfect the descripti­on is of human nature, given by Mr. Locke, [Page 15] and by our French author. They acknow­ledge no motive to action, but what arises from self-love; measures laid down to at­tain pleasure, or to shun pain. Our parti­cular appetites and affections, and the de­sires and aversions involved in them, are left entirely out of the system. And yet we may say, with some degree of probability, that we are more influenced by these than by self-love. We further discover by this in­quiry, what is of great importance to the subject in hand, that, as happiness is not al­ways the impulsive motive to action, so nei­ther is it always the effect of an indulged passion. Nay, we find this very singular phoenomenon in human nature a direct ap­petite or desire, in some instances, after pain. So various is human nature, and so compli­cated its acting powers, that it is not readily to be taken in at one view.

AND now we return to our subject, af­ter having unfolded those principles of ac­tion with which it is connected. It may be [Page 16] gathered from what is above laid down, that nature, which designed us for society, has connected us strongly together, by a parti­cipation of the joys and miseries of our fel­low creatures. We have a strong sympa­thy with them; we partake of their afflicti­ons; we grieve with them and for them; and, in many instances, their misfortunes af­fect us equally with our own. Let it not therefore appear surprising, that people, in­stead of shunning objects of misery, chuse to dwell upon them; for this is truly as natu­ral as indulging grief for our own misfor­tunes. And it must be observed at the same time, that this is wisely ordered by provi­dence: were the social affections mixt with any degree of aversion, even when we suf­fer under them, we should be inclined, up­on the first notice of an object of distress, to drive it from our sight and mind, instead of affording relief.

NOR ought we to judge of this principle, as any way vitious or faulty: for besides, [Page 17] that it is the great cement of human socie­ty, we ought to consider, that, as no state is exempt from misfortunes, mutual sympa­thy must greatly promote the security and happiness of mankind. And 'tis a much more comfortable situation, that the pros­perity and preservation of each individual should be the care of the whole species, than that every man, as the single inhabi­tant of a desert island, should be left to stand or fall by himself, without prospect of re­gard, or assistance from others. Nor is this all. When we consider our own character and actions in a reflex view, we cannot help approving of this tenderness and sympathy in our nature; we are pleased with ourselves for being so constituted, we are conscious of inward merit; and this is a continual source of satisfaction.

To open this subject a little further, it must be observed, that naturally we have a strong desire to be acquainted with the history of our fellow creatures. We judge of their ac­tions, [Page 18] approve or disapprove, condemn or acquit; and in this the busy mind has a won­derful delight. Nay, we go further. We enter deep into their concerns, take a side; we partake of joys and distresses, with those we favour, and show a proportional aversion to others. This turn of mind makes histo­ry, novels and plays the most universal and favourite entertainments. And indeed this is no more than what is to be expected from man as a sociable creature; and we may venture to affirm, that the most sociable have the greatest share of this sort of curiosity, and the strongest attachment to such en­tertainments.

TRAGEDY is an imitation or representa­tion of human characters and actions. 'Tis a feigned history which generally makes a stronger impression, than what is real; be­cause, if it be a work of genius, incidents will be chosen to make the deepest impressi­ons, and will be so conducted, as to keep the mind in continual suspense and agitation, [Page 19] beyond what commonly happens in real life. By a well wrought tragedy, all the social passions are roused. The first scene is scarce ended before we are engaged. We take a sudden affection to some of the personages represented. We come to be attached to them as to our bosom-friends, and hope and fear for them, as if the whole were a true history, instead of a fable.

To a dry philosopher, unacquainted with theatrical entertainments, it may appear sur­prising, that imitation should have such an effect upon the mind, and that the want of truth and reality should not prevent the operation of our passions. But whatever may be the physical cause, one thing is evi­dent, that this aptitude of the mind of man, to receive impressions from feigned, as well as from real objects, contributes to the no­blest purposes of life. Nothing conduces so much to improve the mind, and confirm it in virtue, as being continually employed in surveying the actions of others, entering into [Page 20] the concerns of the virtuous, approving of their conduct, condemning vice, and show­ing an abhorrence at it; for the mind ac­quires strength by exercise, as well as the body. But were there no opportunity for this sort of discipline, but from scenes of re­al life, the generality of men would be little the better for it, because such scenes do but rarely occur. They are not frequent even in history. But, in compositions where li­berty is allowed of fiction, it must be want of genius, if the mind is not sufficiently exercised, till it acquire the greatest sensibi­lity, and the most confirmed habits of vir­tue.

Thus, tragedy engages our affections, not less than true history. Friendship, concern for the virtuous, abhorrence of the vitious, compassion, hope, fear, and the whole train of the social passions, are roused and exer­cised by both of them equally.

THIS may appear to be a fair account of the attachment we have to theatrical en­tertainments: [Page 21] but when the subject is more narrowly examined, some difficulties occur, to which the principles above laid down will scarce afford a satisfactory answer. 'Tis no wonder that young people flock to such en­tertainments. The love of novelty, desire of occupation, beauty of action, are strong attractions: and if one is once engaged, of whatever age, by entering into the interests of the personages represented, the attraction turns strong beyond measure, and the story must be followed out, whatever be the con­sequence. The foresight of running one's self into grief and affliction will not disen­gage. But people generally turn wise by experience; and it may appear surprising, when distress is the never failing effect of such entertainments, that persons of riper judgment should not shun them altogether. Does self-love ly asleep in this case, which is for ordinary so active a principle? When one considers the matter a priori, he will not hesitate to draw a conclusion to this pur­pose, that as repeated experience must, at the [Page 22] long run, make us wise enough to keep out of harm's way; deep tragedies, for that rea­son, will be little frequented by persons of reflexion. Yet the contrary is true in fact; the deepest tragedies being the most fre­quented by persons of all ages, especially by those of delicate feelings, upon whom the strongest impressions are made. A man of that character, who has scarce got the better of the deep distress he was thrown into the night before by a well acted tragedy, does, in his closet, coolly and deliberately resolve to go to the next entertainment of the kind, without feeling the smallest obstruction from self-love.

THIS leads to a speculation, perhaps one of the most curious that belongs to human nature. Contrary to what is generally un­derstood, the above is a palpable proof, that even self-love does not always operate to a­void pain and distress. In examining how this is brought about, there will be discover­ed an admirable contrivance in human na­ture, [Page 23] to give free scope to the social affecti­ons. Let us review what is above laid down: in the first place, that of the painful passi­ons, some are accompanied with aversion, some with desire: in the next place, that of the painful passions, accompanied with de­sire, the gratification of some produces plea­sure, such as hunger and thirst, revenge, &c. others pain and distress, such as grief. Now, upon the strictest examination, the follow­ing proposition will be found to hold true in fact; that the painful passions, which, in the direct feeling, are free from any degree of aversion, have as little of it in the reflex act. Or, to express the thing more familiar­ly, when we reflect upon the pain we have suffered by our concern for others, there is no degree of aversion mixt with the reflecti­on, more than with the pain itself, which is the immediate effect of the object. For illustration's sake, let us compare the pain which arises from compassion with any bo­dily pain. Cutting one's flesh is not only accompanied with strong aversion in the di­rect [Page 24] feeling, but with an aversion equally strong in reflecting upon the action after­wards. We feel no such aversion in reflect­ing upon the mental pains above described. On the contrary, when we reflect upon the pain which the misfortune of a friend gave us, the reflection is accompanied with an eminent degree of satisfaction. We approve of ourselves for suffering with our friend, value ourselves the more for that suffering, and are ready to undergo chearfully the like distress upon the like occasion.

WHEN we examine those particular passi­ons, which though painful, not only in the first impression, but also in the gratification, if I may call it so, are yet accompanied with no aversion; we find they are all of the social kind, arising from that eminent principle of sympathy, which is the cement of human society. The social passions are accompanied with appetite for indulgence, when they give us pain, not less than when they give us pleasure. We submit willingly [Page 25] to such painful passions, and reckon it no hardship to suffer under them. In this con­stitution, we have the consciousness of regu­larity and order, and that it is right and meet we should suffer after this manner. Thus the moral affections, even such of them as produce pain, both in the first feel­ing, and in the indulgence of the passion, are none of them attended with any degree of aversion, not even in reflecting upon the distress they often bring us under. And this observation tends to set the moral affections in a very distinguished point of view, in op­position to those that are either malevolent, or merely selfish.

Many and admirable are the springs of action in human nature, and not one more admirable than what is now unfolded. Com­passion is a most valuable principle, which connects people in society by ties strong­er than those of blood. Yet compassi­on is a painful emotion, and is often ac­companied with pain in the indulgence. Were it accompanied with any degree of a­version, [Page 26] even in reflecting upon the distress it occasions, after the distress is over, that aversion would, by degrees, blunt the passi­on, and at length cure us of what we would be apt to reckon a weakness or disease. But the author of our nature has not left his work imperfect. He has given us this noble principle entire, without a counter-balance, so as to have a vigorous and universal opera­tion. Far from having any aversion to pain, occasioned by the social principles, we re­flect upon such pain with satisfaction, and are willing to submit to it upon all occasi­ons with chearfulness and heart-liking, just as much as if it were a real pleasure.

AND now the cause of the attachment we have to Tragedy is fairly laid open, and comes out in the strongest light. The soci­al passions, put in motion by it, are often the occasion of distress to the spectators. But our nature is so happily constituted, that distress, occasioned by the exercise of the so­cial passions, is not an object of the small­est [Page 27] aversion to us, even when we reflect coolly and deliberately upon it. Self-love does not carry us to shun affliction of this sort. On the contrary, we are so fram­ed, as willingly and chearfully to submit to it upon all occasions, as if it were a real and substantial good. And, thus, Tragedy is al­lowed to seize the mind with all the diffe­rent charms which arise from the exercise of the social passions, without the least obstacle from self-love.

HAD our author reflected on the sym­pathising principle, by which we are led, as by a secret charm, to partake of the miseries of others, he would have had no occasion of recurring to so imperfect a principle as that of aversion to inaction, to explain this seem­ing paradox, that a man should voluntarily chuse to give himself pain. Without enter­ing deep into philosophy, he might have had hints in abundance from common life to explain it. In every corner, persons are to be met with of such a sympathising tem­per, [Page 28] as to chuse to spend their lives with the diseased and distressed. They partake with them in their afflictions, enter heartily into their concerns, and sigh and groan with them. These pass their lives in sadness and despondency, without having any other satis­faction than what arises upon the reflection of having done their duty.

AND if this account of the matter be just, we may be assured, that those who are most compassionate in their temper will be fondest of Tragedy, which affords them a large field for indulging the passion. And indeed admirable are the effects brought a­bout by this means: for, passions as they gather strength by indulgence, so they de­cay by want of exercise. Persons in pro­sperity, unacquainted with distress and mise­ry, are apt to grow hard-hearted. Tragedy is an admirable resource in such a case. It serves to humanize the temper, by supplying feigned objects of pity, which have nearly the same effect to exercise the passion that [Page 29] real objects have. And thus it is, that we are carried by a natural impulse to deal deep in affliction, occasioned by representa­tions of feigned misfortunes; and the passi­on of pity alone would make us throng to such representations, were there nothing else to attract the mind, or to afford satisfaction.

IT is owing to curiosity, that public ex­ecutions are so much frequented. Sensible people endeavour to correct an appetite, which, upon indulgence, gives pain and a­version, and, upon reflection, is attended with no degree of self-approbation. Hence it is, that such spectacles are the entertain­ment of the vulgar chiefly, who allow them­selves blindly to be led by the present in­stinct, with little attention whether it be conducive to their good or not.

AND as for prize-fighting and gladiatori­an shows, nothing animates and inspires us more than examples of courage and bravery. We catch the spirit of the actor, and turn [Page 30] bold and intrepid as he appears to be. On the other hand, we enter into the distresses of the vanquished, and have a sympathy for them in proportion to the gallantry of their behaviour. No wonder then, that such shows are frequented by persons of the best taste. We are led by the same principle, that makes us fond of perusing the lives of heroes and of conquerors. And it may be observed by-the-by, that such spectacles have an admirable good effect in training up the youth to boldness and resolution. In this, therefore, I see not that foreigners have rea­son to condemn the English taste. Spec­tacles of this sort deserve encouragement from the state, and to be made an object of public policy.

As for gaming, I cannot bring myself to think that there is any pleasure in having the mind kept in suspense, and as it were upon the rack, which must be the case of those who venture their money at games of hazard. Inaction and idleness are not by [Page 31] far so hard to bear. I am satisfied that the love of money is at the bottom. Nor is it a solid objection, that people will neglect games of skill and address, to venture their money at hazard; for this may be owing to indo­lence, diffidence, or impatience. There is indeed a curious speculation with regard to this article of gaming, that pleasure and pain attend good and bad success at play, inde­pendent of the money lost or win. It is a plain case, that good luck raises our spirits, as bad luck depresses them, without regard to consequences: and it seems extremely clear, that our concern at game, when we play for trifles, is owing to this very thing. What may be the root of this affection, is not so obvious. But as it is not necessarily connected with our present theme, I shall leave it to be investigated by others.

ESSAY II. Of the FOUNDATION and PRINCIPLES of the LAW of NATURE.

ESSAY III. Of LIBERTY and NECESSITY.

WHEN we apply our thoughts to the contemplation of final causes, no subject more readily presents itself than the natural world, which is stamped with the brightest characters of wisdom and goodness. The moral world, being less in view, has been generally overlooked, tho' it yields not to the other in rich materials. Man's in­ward system, accurately surveyed, will be found not less admirable than the external system, of which he makes a part. The subject is the more curious, that the traces of wisdom and design, discernible in our in­ternal frame, ly more out of common sight. They are touches, as it were, of a finer pencil, and of a nicer hand, than are disco­vered in the natural world. Thought is more subtile than motion, and more of exquisite art is displayed in the laws of voluntary ac­tion, [Page 152] than there is place for in adjusting the laws of mere matter.

AN extreme beautiful scene opens to our view, when we consider with what proprie­ty the ideas, feelings, and whole constituti­on of the mind of man, correspond to his present state. The impressions he receives, and the notions he forms, are accurately ad­apted to the useful purposes of life, tho' they do not correspond in every instance to the philosophic truth of things. It was not intended that man should make profound discoveries. He is framed to be more an active than a contemplative being; and his views both of the natural and moral world are so adjusted, as to be made subservient to correctness of action rather than of belief. Several instances there are of perceptions, which, for want of a more proper term, may be called deceitful; because they differ from the real truth. But man is not there­by in the least misled. On the contrary, the ends of life and action are better pro­vided [Page 153] for by such artifice, than if these per­ceptions were more exact copies of their ob­jects.

IN the natural world, somewhat of this kind is generally admitted by modern phi­losophers. It is found, that the representati­ons of external objects, and their qualities conveyed by the senses, sometimes differ from what philosophy discovers these ob­jects, and their qualities to be. Thus a sur­face appears smooth and uniform, when its roughness is not such as to be hurtful. The same surface, examined with a microscope, is found to be full of ridges and hollows. Were man endowed with a microscopic eye, the bodies that surround him, would appear as different from what they do at present, as if he were transported into another world. His ideas, upon that supposition, would in­deed be more agreeable to strict truth, but they would be far less serviceable in com­mon life. Further, it is now universally admitted, that the qualities called secundary, [Page 154] which we by natural instinct attribute to matter, belong not properly to matter, nor exist really without us. Colour in particular is a sort of visionary beauty, which nature has spread over all her works. It is a wonderful artifice, to present objects to us thus differently distinguished: to mark them out to the eye in various attires, so as to be best known and remembered: and to paint on the fancy, gay and lively, grand and striking, or sober and melancholy scenes: whence many of our most pleasurable and most affecting sensations arise. Yet all this beauty of colours, with which heaven and earth appear clothed, is a sort of romance and illusion. For, among external objects, to which colours are attributed by sense, there is really no other distinction, than what arises from a difference in the size and ar­rangement of the constituent parts, where­by the rays of light, are reflected or re­fracted in such different ways, as to paint various colours on the retina of the eye. From this, and other instances of the same kind which might be adduced, it appears, [Page 155] that our perceptions some times, are less ac­commodated to the truth of things, than to the end for which our senses are designed. Nature, at the same time, has provided a re­medy; for she seldom or never leaves us without means of discovering the deception, and arriving at the truth. And it is won­derful, that, even when we act upon these de­ceitful impressions, we are not betrayed in­to any thing that is hurtful. On the con­trary, life and action are better provided for, and the ends of our being fulfilled to more advantage, than if we conducted ourselves by the strictest truth of things.

LET us carry on this speculation from the natural to the moral world, and examine whether there are not here also, analogous instances of deceitful impressions. This will lead us into an unbeaten tract. We are to open a scene entirely new; which, like most other things that are new, may perhaps surprize the reader. But he will suspend his judgment, 'till he has leisurely reviewed [Page 156] the whole: and then let him pronounce, whether our hypothesis does not solve all the phoenomena: whether it does not tally with the nature of man, and illustrate the wisdom and goodness of the author of his nature.

That nothing can happen without a cause, is a principle embraced by all men, the illi­terate and ignorant as well as the learned. Nothing that happens is conceived as hap­pening of itself, but as an effect produced by some other thing. However ignorant of the cause, we notwithstanding conclude, that every event must have a cause. We should perhaps be at a loss to deduce this principle, from any premises, by a chain of reasoning: but feeling affords conviction, where reason leaves us in the dark. We perceive, we feel the proposition to be true. And, indeed, a sentiment, common to all, must be founded on the common nature of all. Curiosity is one of the earliest passions that are discovered in children; and their [Page 157] curiosity runs on nothing more than to have causes and reasons given them, why such a thing happened, or how it came about. Historians and politicians make it their chief concern, to trace the causes, of actions, the most mysterious not excepted. Be an event ever so extraordinary, the feeling of its be­ing an effect, is not in the least weakened, even with the vulgar, who, rather than as­sign no cause, recur to the operation of in­visible powers. What is a cause with re­spect to its proper effect, is considered as an effect with respect to some prior cause, and so backward without end. Events thus viewed, in a train of causes and effects, should naturally be considered, one would think, as necessary and fixed: for the relation be­twixt a cause and its effect implies some­what precise and determinate, and leads our thoughts to what must be, and cannot be o­therways than it is.

That we have such a feeling as is above described, is not to be controverted: and [Page 158] yet, when we search further into human nature, a feeling of an opposite kind is dis­covered, a feeling of chance or contingency in events; which is not less deeply rooted in our nature than the former. However strange it may appear, that man should be com­posed of such inconsistencies, the fact must notwithstanding be admitted. This feeling of chance or contingency is most conspicu­ous, when we look forward to future events. Some things we indeed always consider, as certain or necessary, such as the revoluti­on of seasons, and the rising and setting of the sun. These, as experience teaches, are regulated by fixed laws. But many things ap­pear to us loose, fortuitous, uncertain. Uncer­tain not only with respect to us, on account of our ignorance of the cause, but uncertain in themselves, or not tied down, and prede­termined to fall out, by any invariable law. We naturally make a distinction betwixt things that must be, and things that may be, or may not be. Thus we have a feeling of chance or of contingency in events, in which [Page 159] that other feeling, of the dependency of e­vents upon precise and determinate causes, appears to be lost.

WHEN we consider in what view our own actions are perceived by the mind, there is something which is equally strange and surprising. It is admitted by all men, that we act from motives. The plain man, as well as the philosopher, feels the connecti­on betwixt an action and its motive, to be so strong, that, from this feeling, both of them reason with full confidence about the future actions of others. That an avariti­ous man, will take every fair opportunity of acquiring riches, is as little doubted, as that rain and sun-shine will make plants grow. Why, but because the motive of gain, is judged to operate, as certainly and infallibly, upon his temper, as heat and moisture upon the soil, each to produce its proper effect? If we are uncertain what part a man will act, the uncertainty arises, not from our doubting whether he will act from a mo­tive; [Page 160] for this is never called in question: it arises from our not being able to judge, what the motive is, which, in his present circum­stances, will prevail. It being then a natu­ral feeling, that actions are so connected with their proper motives, as necessarily to arise from the temper, character, and other cir­cumstances of the agent, it should seem, that all the train of human actions, would occur to our minds as necessary and fixed. Yet human actions do not always appear to us in this light. It is a matter of fact, that the feeling varies, according to the dif­ferent positions of the object. Previous to any particular action, we indeed always judge, that the action will be the necessary result of some motive. But has a man done what is wrong and shameful? Instantly the feeling varies. We accuse, and we condemn him, for acting the wrong and shameful part. We conceive that he had a power of acting otherways, and ought to have acted otherways. The whole train of our feeling, in a moment, accommodate themselves to [Page 161] the supposition of his being entirely a free agent.

THESE are phaenomena in human na­ture, of a very singular kind: feelings, which on both sides are natural, and yet clash with each other: every event admitted to have a necessary cause; and yet many events sup­posed contingent: every action admitted ne­cessarily to flow from a determining motive; and yet the same action, in an after view, considered and judged of as free. Our feel­ings are no doubt the test of truth; which is so evident, that, in many instances, no other means are afforded us for coming at the truth. The few exceptions that are disco­vered by reason or experience, serve the more to confirm the general rule. But the feelings we have now laid open can be no test of truth; because, in contradictory pro­positions, truth cannot ly on both sides. There is no other way to get out of this la­byrinth of doubts and difficulties, than to enter upon a strict survey both of the natu­ral [Page 162] and moral world, which may possibly lead to a discovery of what is really the truth of the matter. Let us then proceed, with impartiality and attention, to inquire what we are to believe, concerning contin­gency in events, and liberty or necessity in human actions: whether our feelings can be reconciled to each other, and reconciled to truth; or whether there be not here some of those deceitful feelings, which we have al­ready hinted in some other instances to be­long to our nature.

TAKING a view of the natural world, we find all things there proceeding in a fixed and settled train of causes and effects. It is a point which admits of no dispute, that all the changes produced in matter, and all the different modifications it assumes, are the re­sult of fixed laws. Every effect is so pre­cisely determined, that no other effect could, in such circumstances, have possibly result­ed from the operation of the cause: which holds even in the minutest changes of the [Page 163] different elements, as all philosophers ad­mit. Casual and fluctuating as these seem, their smallest variation is a necessary effect of pre-established laws. There is a chain of causes and effects which hang one upon an­other, running thro' this whole system; and not the smallest link of the chain can be broken, without altering the whole con­stitution of things, or suspending the regu­lar operation of the laws of nature. Here then, in the material world, there is nothing that can be called contingent; nothing that is left loose; but every thing must be precise­ly what it is, and be found in that state in which we find it.

IN the moral world, this does not appear so clearly. Man is the actor here. He is endowed with will, and he acts from choice. He has a power of beginning motion, which is subject to no mechanical laws; and there­fore he is not under what is called physical necessity. He has appetites and passions which prompt him to their respective gratifi­cations: [Page 164] but he is under no necessity of blind ly submitting to their impulse. For reason has a power of restraint. It suggests motives from the cool views of good and evil. He de­liberates upon these. In consequence of his deliberation he chuses: and here, if any­where, lyes our liberty. Let us examine to what this liberty amounts. That motives have some influence in determining the mind, is certain; and that they have this influence in different degrees, is equally certain. The sense of honour and gratitude, for in­stance, are powerful motives to serve a friend. Let the man's private interest con­cur; and the motives become more power­ful. Add the certain prospect of poverty, shame, or bodily suffering, if he shall act a different part; and you leave him no choice: the motives to action are rendered irresist­ible. Motives being once allowed to have a determining force in any degree, it is ea­sy to suppose the force so augmented, by ac­cumulation of motives, as to leave little free­dom to the mind, or rather none at all. In [Page 165] such instances, there is no denying that we are under a necessity to act. And tho' this, to be sure, is not physical necessity, as aris­ing not from the laws of matter, but from the constitution of the mind; yet the con­sequence is equally certain, fixed and una­voidable, in the case of moral, as of physical necessity. This is so true, that, in some in­stances, these two kinds of necessity seem to coincide, so as scarcely to be distinguished. A criminal walks to the scaffold in the midst of his guards. No man will deny that he is under an absolute necessity in this case. Why? because he knows, that if he refuses to go, they will drag him. I ask, Is this a physical, or a moral necessity? The answer, at first view, is not obvious; for the dis­tinction betwixt these two seems lost. And yet, strictly speaking, it is only a moral ne­cessity: for it is the force of a motive which determines the criminal to walk to the scaf­fold; to wit, that resistance is vain, because the guards are neither to be forced nor corrupted. The idea of necessity, howe­ver, [Page 166] in the minds of the spectators, when they view the criminal in this situation, is not less strong, than if they saw him bound and carried on a sledge. Nothing is more common, than to talk of an action which one must do, and cannot avoid. He was compelled to it, we say; and it was impos­sible he could act otherways: when, at the same time, all the compulsion we mean, is only the application of some very strong mo­tive to the mind. This shows, that, in the judgment and feeling of all mankind, a mo­tive may, in certain circumstances, carry in it the power of rendering an action necessa­ry. In other words, we expect such an ac­tion in consequence of such a motive, with equal confidence, as when we expect to see a stone fall to the ground when it is dropt from the hand.

THIS, it will be said, may hold in some in­stances, but not in all. For, in the greater part of human actions, there is a real feeling of liberty. When the mind hesitates betwixt [Page 167] two things, examines and compares, and at last comes to a resolution, is there any compulsi­on or necessity here? No compulsion, it is granted; but as to necessity, let us pause and examine more accurately. The resolu­tion being taken, the choice being made, upon what is it founded? Certainly upon some motive, however silent or weak: for no mortal ever came to a determination, with­out the influence of some motive or other. If this be an undoubted fact, it follows of consequence, that the determination must result, from that motive, which has the great­est influence for the time; or from what ap­pears the best and most eligible upon the whole. If motives be of very different kinds, with regard to strength and influence, which we feel to be the case; it is involved in the very idea of the strongest motive, that it must have the strongest effect in determin­ing the mind. This can no more be doubt­ed of, than that, in a balance, the greater weight must turn the scale.

[Page 168] HERE perhaps we shall be interrupted. Men are not always rational in their determinati­ons: they often act from whim, passion, humour, things as loose and variable as the wind. This is admitted. But, suppose the motive which determines the mind, to be as whimsical and unreasonable as you please, its influence, however, is equally necessary with that of the most rational motive. An indolent man, for instance, is incited to ac­tion, by the strongest considerations, which reason, virtue, interest, can suggest. He wa­vers and hesitates; at last resists them all, and folds his arms. What is the cause of this? Is it that he is less under the power of motives than another man? By no means. The love of rest is his motive, his prevail­ing passion: and this is as effectual to fix him in his place, as the love of glory or riches are, to render active, the vain or the covetous. In short, if motives are not under our pow­er or direction, which is confessedly the fact, we can, at bottom, have no liberty. We are so constituted, that we cannot exert a single [Page 169] action, but with some view, aim or purpose. At the same time, when two opposite mo­tives present themselves, we have not the power of an arbitrary choice. We are di­rected, by a necessary determination of our nature, to prefer the strongest motive.

IT is true, that, in disputing upon this subject of human liberty, a man may attempt to show, that motives have no necessary in­fluence, by eating perhaps the worst apple that is before him, or, in some such trifling instance, preferring an obviously lesser good to a greater. But is it not plain, that the humour of showing that he can act against motives, is, in this case, the very motive of the whimsical preference?

A COMPARISON instituted betwixt mo­ral and physical necessity may possibly throw additional light upon this subject. Where the motives to any action are perfectly full, cogent and clear, the feeling of liberty, as we showed before, entirely vanishes. In [Page 170] other cases, where the field of choice is wider, and where opposite motives counter­balance and work against each other, the mind fluctuates for a while, and feels itself more loose: but, in the end, must as neces­sarily be determined to the side of the most powerful motive, as the balance, after seve­ral vibrations; must incline to the side of the preponderating weight. The laws of mind, and the laws of matter, are in this respect per­fectly similar; tho', in making the comparison, we are apt to deceive ourselves. In form­ing a notion of physical necessity, we seldom think of any force, but what has visibly a full effect. A man in prison, or tied to a post, must remain there. If he is dragged along, he cannot resist. Whereas motives, which, from the highest to the lowest, are very different, do not always produce sen­sible effects. Yet, when the comparison is accurately instituted, the very same thing holds in the actions of matter. A weak mo­tive makes some impression: but, in opposi­tion to one more powerful, it has no effect [Page 171] to determine the mind. In the precise same manner, a small force will not overcome a great resistance; nor the weight of an ounce in one scale, counter-balance a pound in the other. Comparing together the actions of mind and matter, similar causes will, in both equally, produce similar effects.

BUT admitting all that has been contend­ed for, of the necessary influence of mo­tives, to bring on the choice or last judg­ment of the understanding, it is urged by Dr. Clark, that man is still a free agent, be­cause he has a power of acting, or beginning motion according to his will. In this, he places human liberty, that motives are not physical efficient causes of motion ^*. We agree with the doctor, that the immediate efficient cause of motion is not the motive, but the will to act. No person ever held, that the pleasure of a summer-evening, when a man goes abroad into the fields, is [Page 172] the immediate cause of the motion of his feet. But what does this observation avail, when the prevailing motive, the will to act, and the action itself, are three things insepa­rably linked together? The motive, accord­ing to his own concession, necessarily deter­mines the will; and the will necessarily pro­duces the action, unless it be obstructed by some foreign force. Is not the action, by consequence, as necessary, as the will to act; tho the motive be the immediate cause of the will only, and not of the action or be­ginning of motion? What does this author gain, by showing, that we have a power of beginning motion, if that power never is, never can be, exerted, unless in consequence of some volition or choice, which is necessa­rily caused? But, says he, it is only a moral necessity which is produced by motives; and a moral necessity, he adds, is no necessity at all, but is consistent with the highest liberty. If these words have any meaning, the dispute is at an end. For moral necessity, being that sort of necessity which affects the mind, [Page 173] and physical necessity that which affects matter, it is plain, that, in all reasonings concerning human liberty, moral necessity, and no other, is meant to be established. The laws of action, we say, which respect the human mind, are as fixed as those which respect matter. The different nature of these laws, occasions the fixed consequences of the one to be called moral, and of the other to be called physical necessity. But the idea of necessary, certain, unavoidable, equally agrees to both. And to say that moral necessity is no necessity at all, because it is not physi­cal necessity, which is all that the doctor's argument amounts to, is no better, than to argue, that physical necessity is no necessity at all, because it is not moral necessity.

ONE great source of confusion, in reflect­ing upon this subject, seems to be, our not distinguishing betwixt necessity and con­straint. In common language, these are used as equivalent terms; but they ought to be distinguished when we treat of this subject. A person, having a strong desire to escape, [Page 174] remains in prison, because the doors are guarded. Finding his keepers gone, he makes his escape. His escape now is as ne­cessary, i. e. as certain and infallible a con­sequence of the circumstances he finds him­self in, as his confinement was before; tho', in the one case there is constraint, in the other none. In this lyes the liberty of our actions, in being free from constraint, and in acting according to our inclination and choice. But as this inclination and choice is unavoidably caused or occasioned by the prevailing motive; in this lyes the necessi­ty of our actions, that, in such circumstances, it was impossible we could act otherways. In this sense all our actions are equally ne­cessary.

THE preceeding reasonings may perhaps make a stronger impression, by being reduc­ed into a short argument, after this manner. No man can be conceived to act without some principle leading him to action. All our principles of action resolve into desires and aversions; for nothing can prompt us to [Page 175] move or exert ourselves in any shape, but what presents some object to be either pur­sued or avoided. A motive is an object so operating upon the mind, as to produce ei­ther desire or aversion. Now, liberty as op­posed to moral necessity, must signify a pow­er in the mind, of acting without or against motives; that is to say, a power of acting without any view, purpose or design, and even of acting in contradiction to our own desires and aversions, or to all our principles of action; which power, besides that no man was ever conscious of it, seems to be an ab­surdity altogether inconsistent with a rati­onal nature.

WITH regard to things supposed so equal as to found no preference of one to another, it is not necessary to enter into any intricate inquiry, how the mind in such cases is di­rected. Tho' it should be admitted, that where there is no sort of motive to influ­ence the mind, it may exert a power of act­ing arbitrarily, this would not affect the pre­ceeding [Page 176] reasonings, in which, the existence of a motive being once supposed, we have shown the mind to be necessarily determined. Ob­jects, so balanced one against another with perfect equality, if such instances are to be found, must be so few, and in matters so trivial (as in the common instance of eggs) that they can have very inconsiderable influ­ence upon human life. It may well admit of a doubt, whether the mind be, in any case, left altogether destitute of a motive to determine its choice betwixt two objects. For, tho' the objects should be themselves perfectly e­qual, yet various circumstances arising from minute unobserved specialitics, of fancy, cus­tom, proximity of place, &c. may turn the scale in favours of one of the objects, to make it the motive of election. The un­easiness one is conscious of, when in this state of suspense, betwixt two things equally balanced, searching and casting about for some ground of choice; this uneasiness, I say, sufficiently shows, that to act altogether [Page 177] arbitrary is unnatural, and that our consti­tution fits us to be determined by motives.

BUT now a thought comes across the mind, which demands attention. How hard is the lot of the human species, to be thus tied down and fixed to motives; subjected by a necessary law to the choice of evil, if evil happen to be the prevailing motive, or if it mislead us under the form of our greatest in­terest or good! How happy to have had a free independent power of acting contrary to motives, when the prevailing motive has a bad tendency! By this power, we might have pushed our way to virtue and happi­ness, whatever motives were suggested by vice and folly to draw us back; or we might, by arbitrary will, have refrained from act­ing the bad part, tho' all the power of mo­tives concurred to urge us on. So far well; but let us see whither this will carry us. This arbitrary power being once supposed, may it not be exerted against good motives as well as bad ones? If it does us good by [Page 178] accident, in restraining us from vice, may it not do us ill by accident, in restraining us from virtue? and so shall we not be thrown loose altogether? At this rate, no man could be depended upon. Promises, oaths, vows, would be in vain; for nothing can ever bind or fix a man who is influenced by no mo­tive. The distinction of characters would be at an end; for a person cannot have a cha­racter, who has no fixed or uniform princi­ples of action. Nay, moral virtue itself, and all the force of law, rule and obligation, would, upon this hypothesis, be nothing. For no creature can be the subject of ra­tional or moral government, whose actions, by the constitution of its nature, are inde­pendent of motives; and whose will is ca­pricious and arbitrary. To exhort, to in­struct, to promise, or to threaten, would be to no purpose. In short, such a creature, if such could exist, would be a most bi­zarre and unaccountable being: a mere absurdity in nature, whose existence could serve no end. Were we so constituted, as [Page 179] always to be determined by the moral sense, even against the strongest counter-motives, this would be consistent with human nature, because it would preserve entire the con­nection, that, by an unalterable law, is esta­blished betwixt the will and the prevailing motive. But, to break this connection alto­gether, to introduce an unbounded arbitrary liberty, in opposition to which, motives should not have influence, would be, instead of amending, to deform and unhinge the whole human constitution. No reason have we therefore to regret, that we find the will necessarily subjected to motives. The truth of this general position must coincide with our wish, unless we would rather have man to be, a whimsical and ridiculous, than a rational and moral being.

THUS far then we have advanced in our argument, that all human actions proceed in a fixed and necessary train. Man being what he is, a creature endowed with a cer­tain degree of understanding, certain passi­ons [Page 180] and principles, and placed in certain circumstances, it is impossible he should will or chuse otherways, than in fact he wills or chuses. His mind is passive in receiving im­pressions of things as good or ill: accord­ing to these impressions, the last judgment of the understanding is necessarily formed; which the will, if considered as different from the last judgment of the understand­ing, necessarily obeys, as is fully shown; and the external action is necessarily connect­ed with the will, or the mind's final deter­mination to act.

IN the course of this reasoning, we have abstracted from all controversies about Di­vine Prescience and Decree. Tho' in fact, from what has been proved, it appears, that the Divine Being decrees all future events. For he who gave such a nature to his crea­tures, and placed them in such circumstan­ces, that a certain train of actions behov­ed necessarily to follow; he, I say, who did so, and who must have foreseen the conse­quences, [Page 181] did certainly resolve or decree that events should fall out, and men should act as they do. Prescience indeed is not, pro­perly speaking, any cause of events. For events do not happen, because they are fore­seen; but because they are certainly to hap­pen, therefore they are capable of being fore­seen. Tho' prescience does not cause, yet it undoubtedly supposes, the certain futuriti­on (as schoolmen speak) of events. And, were there not causes which render the ex­istence of future events certain, it would in­volve a contradiction to maintain, that fu­ture events could be certainly foreseen. But I avoid carrying the reader any further in­to such thorny disputes.

THE sum of what we have discovered concerning contingency in events, and liber­ty in actions is this. Comparing together the moral and the natural world, every thing is as much the result of established laws in the one as in the other. There is nothing in the whole universe that can properly be [Page 182] called contingent, that may be, or may not be; nothing loose and fluctuating in any part of nature; but every motion in the na­tural, and every determination and action in the moral world, are directed by immutable laws: so that, whilst these laws remain in their force, not the smallest link of the uni­versal chain of causes and effects can be broken, nor any one thing be otherways than it is ^*.

[Page 183] THE doctrine of universal necessity being thus laid fairly open, and proved to be the true system of the universe; we return to take a more deliberate view of the feelings of contingency and liberty, than was neces­sary in broaching the subject. And, as we must now admit, perhaps reluctantly, that these feelings are in reality of the delusive kind, our next and only remaining theme will be to unravel, if possible, this curious mystery, by trying to reach the purpose of endowing man with feelings, so contra­dictory to the truth of things.

AND to begin with a review of the feel­ing of contingency. It is certain, that, in our ordinary train of thinking, things never oc­cur to us in the light above set forth. A multitude of events appear to us as depend­ing upon ourselves to cause or to prevent: and we readily make a distinction betwixt events, which are necessary, i. e. which must be, and events which are contingent, i. e. which may [Page 184] be, or may not be. This distinction is with­out foundation in truth: for all things that fall out, either in the natural or moral world, are, as we have seen, alike necessary, and a­like the result of fixed laws. Yet, how much soever a philosopher may be convinced of this, the distinction betwixt things necessary, and things contingent, remains as much with him, in the common train of his thoughts, as with any other man. We act universally upon this supposed distinction. Nay, it is in truth the foundation of all the labour, care and industry of mankind. To illustrate this by an example; constant expe­rience has taught us, that death is a necessa­ry event. The human frame is not made to last, as it is, for ever; and therefore no man thinks of acquiring a natural immorta­lity. But the particular time of our death appears a contingent event. However cer­tain it be, that the precise time and man­ner of each man's death, is determined by a train of preceeding causes, not less necessa­ry than the hour of the sun's rising or setting [Page 185] to-morrow, yet no person is in the least af­fected by this doctrine. In the care of pro­longing life, every man is conducted by the feeling he has, of the contingency of the time of his death; which, to a certain term of years, he considers as depending in a great measure upon himself, by caution against ac­cidents, due use of exercise, medicine, &c. To these means, he applies himself with the same diligence, as if there was, in fact, no necessary train of causes, to fix the period of his life. In short, whoever attends to his own practical ideas; whoever reflects upon the meaning of these words, which occur in all languages, of things possible, contingent, that are in our power to cause or prevent; whoever, I say, reflects upon such words, will clearly see, that they suggest certain feelings, or natural notions, repugnant to the doctrine above established, of universal ne­cessity ^*.

[Page 186] WHAT then shall be done in this case, where truth contradicts the common feel­ings and natural notions of mankind; where it presents to us, with irresistible evidence, a system of universal necessity upon which we never act; but are so formed, as to conduct [Page 187] ourselves by a system of notions quite oppo­site? Shall we sacrifice abstract truth to feel­ing? or shall we stand by truth, and force our feelings into compliance? Neither of these will do. Truth is too rigid to bend to mere feeling; and our feelings are inca­pable of being forced by speculation. The attempt is vain, pugnantia secum, frontibus adversis, componere. Let us be honest then. Let us fairly own, that the truth of things is on the side of necessity; but that it was necessary for man to be formed, with such feelings and notions of contingency, as would fit him for the part he has to act. This thought requires illustration.

THE Deity is the first cause of all things. He formed, in his infinite mind, the great plan or scheme, upon which all things were to be governed; and put it in execution, by establishing certain laws, both in the natural and moral world, which are fixed and im­mutable. By virtue of these laws, all things proceed in a regular train of causes and ef­fects, [Page 188] bringing about those events which are comprehended in the original plan, and ad­mitting the possibility of none other. This universe is a vast machine, winded up and set a going. The several springs and wheels act unerringly one upon another. The hand advances, and the clock strikes, pre­cisely as the artist has determined. Whoe­ver has just ideas, and a true taste of philo­sophy, will see this to be the real theory, of the universe; and that, upon any other the­ory, there can be no general order, no whole, no plan, no means nor end in its administration. In this plan, man, a ratio­nal creature, was to bear his part, and to ful­fill certain ends, for which he was designed. He was to appear as an actor, and to act with consciousness and spontaneity. He was to exercise thought and reason, and to receive the improvements of his nature, by the due use of these rational powers. Consequently it was necessary, that he should have some idea of liberty; some feeling of things pos­sible and contingent, things depending upon [Page 189] himself to cause, that he might be led to a proper exercise of that activity, for which he was designed. To have had his instinctive feelings, his practical ideas, formed upon the scheme of universal necessity; to have seen himself a part of that great machine, wind­ed up, and set a going, by the author of his nature, would have been altogether incon­gruous to the ends he was to fulfill. Then, indeed, the ignava ratio, the inactive doc­trine of the Stoicks, would have followed. Conceiving nothing to be contingent, or de­pending upon himself to cause, there would have been no room for fore-thought about futurity, nor for any sort of industry and care: he would have had no motives to ac­tion, but immediate sensations of pleasure and pain. He must have been formed like the brutes, who have no other principle of action, but mere instinct. The few instincts he is at present endowed with, would have been altogether insufficient. He must have had an instinct to sow, another to reap. He must have had instincts to pursue every con­veniency, [Page 190] and perform every office of life. In short, reason and thought could not have been exercised in the way they are, that is, man could not have been man, had he not been furnished with a feeling of contingen­cy. In this, as in all things else, the Di­vine Wisdom and Goodness are most admi­rable. As, in the natural world, the Al­mighty has adapted our senses, not to the discovery of the intimate nature and essen­ces of things, but to the uses and conveni­encies of life; as he has, in several instan­ces, exhibited natural objects to us, not in their real, but in a sort of artificial view, clothed with such distinctions, and produc­ing such sensations as are for the benefit of man: so he has exhibited the intellectual world to us, in a like artificial view, clothed with certain colours and distinctions, ima­ginary, but useful. Life is conducted ac­cording to this artificial view of things, and, by our speculations, is not in the least affect­ed. Let the philosopher meditate in his closet upon abstract truth; let him be ever [Page 191] so much convinced of the settled, necessary, train of causes and effects, which leaves no­thing, properly speaking, in his power; yet, the moment he comes forth into the world, he acts as a free agent. And, what is won­derful, tho' in this he acts upon a false sup­position, yet he is not thereby misled from the ends of action, but, on the contrary, ful­fills them, to the best advantage. Long ex­perience has made him sensible, that some things, such as the sun's rising and setting, depend upon immutable laws. This is contradicted by no feeling, as it is no way for his benefit, that he should act upon a­ny other supposition, Such things he rec­kons upon as necessary. But there are other things, which depend upon the spontancous choices of men, or upon a concurrence of natural and moral causes. As to these, he has not knowledge enough, to foresee and determine by what law they will happen: and his ignorance of the event, is made to have the same effect upon his mind, as if the event were what we vulgarly call contin­gent. [Page 192] Its uncertainty as to him produces the same feeling, and stirs him up to the same activity, as if it were uncertain in itself, and had no determined cause of its futurition. This feeling then of contingency, and all the ideas connected with it, may be treated as secondary qualities, which have no real existence in things; but, like other seconda­ry qualities, are made to appear as existing in events, or belonging to them, in order to serve the necessary purposes of human life.

Some objections shall be considered, after discussing the other branch of the disquisi­tion concerning liberty of action. These subjects are so closely connected, that they cannot fail to throw light upon each other. Contingency in events is analogous to liber­ty in actions. The one is a supposed quali­ty of the thing; the other of the actor.

The extent of human liberty is above as­certained. It consists in spontaneity, or act­ing according to our inclination and choice. [Page 193] It may be therefore distinguished from con­straint, but must not be opposed to necessi­ty. For, as has been fully shown, the mind, in the most calm choice, the most deliberate action, is necessarily, i. e. unavoidably and certainly, determined by the prepollent mo­tive. When we examine accurately, how far our feelings correspond to this system; we find, as was hinted before, first, that, an­tecedent to any particular action, we gene­rally think and reason upon the scheme of necessity. In considering or guessing at fu­ture events, we always conclude, that a man will act consistently with his character; we infer what his actions will be, from the knowledge we have of his temper, and the motives that are fitted to influence it; and never dream of any man's having a power of acting against motives. Here we have a ve­ry weak feeling, if any at all, of liberty, as distinguished from necessity: and wisely so ordered, that a clue, as it were, might be afforded, to guide us in the labyrinth of fu­ture actions, which, were it not for the con­nection [Page 194] betwixt an action and its motive, would appear like a rope of sand, loose and unconnected; and no means left of reason­ing upon, or foreseeing future actions. It is to be observed in the next place, that, dur­ing the action, the feeling begins to vary; and, unless in cases where the motive is so strong and overbearing, as to approach to the nature of constraint; unless, in these, a man has a feeling of liberty, or of a power of acting otherways than he is doing. But, in the third place, it is principally in reflect­ing and passing judgment upon a past action, that the feeling of liberty is sensible and strong. Then it is, that our actions are not considered as proceeding in a necessary una­voidable train: but we accuse and blame o­thers, for not having acted the part they might and ought to have acted, and condemn our­selves, and feel remorse, for having been guil­ty of a wrong we might have refrained from. The operations of moral conscience plainly proceed upon this supposition, that there is such a power in man of directing [Page 195] his actions, as rendered it possible for the person accused, to have acted a better part. This affords an argument, which the advo­cates for liberty have urged in its full force, against the doctrine of necessity. They rea­son thus: If actions be necessary, and not in our own power, and if we know it to be so, what ground can there be for reprehen­sion and blame, for self-condemnation and remorse? If a clock had understanding to be sensible of its own motions, knowing, at the same time, that they proceed according to necessary laws, could it find fault with itself for striking wrong? Would it not blame the artist, who had ill adjusted the wheels on which its movements depended? So that, upon this scheme, say they, all the moral constitution of our nature is over­turned. There is an end to all the operati­ons of conscience about right and wrong. Man is no longer a moral agent, nor the sub­ject of praise or blame for what he does.

[Page 196] THIS difficulty is great, and never has been surmounted by the advocates for ne­cessity. They endeavour to surmount it, by reconciling feeling to philosophic truth, in the following manner. We are so constitut­ed, they say, that certain affections, and the actions which proceed from them, appear o­dious and base; and others agreeable and lovely; that, wherever they are beheld, ei­ther in ourselves or others, the moral sense necessarily approves of the one, and con­demns the other; that this approbation is immediate and instinctive, without any re­flection on the liberty or necessity of acti­ons; that, on the contrary, the more any person is under the power of his affections and passions, and, by consequence, the great­er necessity he is under, the more virtuous or vicious he is esteemed.

BUT this account of the matter is not sa­tisfactory. All that is here said, is in the main true, but is not the whole truth. I appeal to any man who has been guilty of a bad action, which gives him uneasiness, whe­ther [Page 197] there is not somewhat more in the inward feeling, than merely a dislike or disapprobation of the affection, from which his action proceeded? whether the pain, the cruciatus of remorfe, is not founded on the notion of a power he has over his will and actions, that he might have for­born to do the ill thing? and whether it is not upon this account, that he is gall­ed within, angry at himself, and confess­es himself to be justly blameable? An unea­siness somewhat of the same kind, is felt up­on the reflection of any foolish or rash acti­on, committed against the rules of wisdom. The sting is indeed much sharper, and for very wise reasons, when a man has trespass­ed against the rules of strict morality. But, in both cases, the uneasiness proceeds upon the supposition, that he was free, and had it in his power to have acted a better part. This indeed is true, that to be so entirely under the power of any bad passion, (lust, for in­stance, or cruelty) as to be incapable of act­ing otherways than they direct, constitutes [Page 198] a very hateful character. I admit, that all such ill affections are naturally, and in them­selves, the objects of dislike and hatred, where­ever they are beheld. But I insist upon it, that mere dislike and hatred, are not the whole, but only a part of the moral feeling. The person, thus under the dominion of bad passions, is accused, is condemned, singly up­on this ground, that it was thro' his own fault he became so subject to them; in other words, that it was in his power, to have kept his mind free from the enslaving influ­ence of corrupt affections. Were not this the case, brute animals might be the objects of moral blame, as well as man. Some beasts are reckoned savage and cruel, others treacherous and false: we dislike, we hate creatures so ill constituted: but we do not blame nor condemn them, as we do rational agents; because they are not supposed to have a sense of right and wrong, nor free­dom and power of directing their actions ac­cording to that inward rule. We must therefore admit, that the idea of freedom, [Page 199] of a power of regulating our will and acti­ons according to certain rules, is essential to the moral feeling. On the system of u­niversal necessity, abstracted from this feel­ing, tho' certain affections and actions might excite our approbation, and others our dis­like, there could be no place for blame or remorse. All the ideas would entirely va­nish, which at present are suggested by the words ought and should, when applied to mo­ral conduct.

HERE then is another instance of a natu­ral feeling, opposed to philosophic truth, a­nalogous to what is before considered. It is the more remarkable, that it has given rise to those disputes about liberty and ne­cessity, which have subsisted thro' all ages in the inquiring world; which, since the ear­liest accounts of philosophy, have run thro' all different sects of philosophers, and have been ingrafted into most of the religious sys­tems. We are now able, I imagine, to give a clear and satisfactory account why the dif­ferent [Page 200] parties never could agree; because, in truth, the feeling of liberty, which we have, does not agree with the real fact. Those who were boldest in their inquiries, traced out the philosophic truth: they saw that all things proceeded in a necessary train of cau­ses and effects, which rendered it impossible for them, to act otherways than they did; and to this system they adhered, without yielding to natural feelings. Those again, who had not courage to oppose the first and most obvious feelings of their heart, stopped short, and adhered to liberty. It is observ­able, that the side of liberty has always been the most popular, and most generally embraced: and, upon this system, all popu­lar discourses and exhortations must needs proceed. Even those persons, whose phi­losophical tenets are built upon the system of necessity, find themselves obliged to de­sert that system, in popular argument, and to adopt the stile and language of those who espouse liberty. Among the antients, the great assertors of necessity were the Stoicks; [Page 201] a severe and rigid sect, whose professed doc­trine it was, to subdue all our feelings to philosophy. The Platonics, Academics and Epicureans, who embraced a softer scheme of philosophy, and were more men of the world than the Stoics, leaned to the side of liberty. Both parties have their own advantages in reasoning; and both, when pushed, run into difficulties, from which they can never extricate themselves. The advocates for liberty talk with great ad­vantage upon the moral powers of man, and his character as an accountable being: but are at a loss, how to give any view of the universe, as a regular pre-adjusted plan; and when urged with the connection betwixt the motive and the action, and the necessa­ry train of causes and effects, which results from admitting it to be a fixed connection, they find themselves greatly embarrassed. Here the patrons of necessity triumph. They have manifestly all the advantages of speculative argument; whilst they fail in ac­counting for man's moral powers, and struggle [Page 202] in vain to reconcile to their system, the tes­timony which conscience clearly gives to freedom.

LET us then fairly acknowledge, concern­ing both these classes of philosophers, that they were partly in the right, and partly in the wrong. They divided, as it were, the truth betwixt them. The one had abstract reason on their side: the other had natu­ral feeling. In endeavouring to reconcile these opposites, both parties failed; and the vain attempt has rendered the controversy difficult and perplexed. After having as­certained the foundation, upon which the doctrine of necessity is built, and which seems incapable of being shaken, let us fair­ly and candidly take our nature as we find it, which will lead us to this conclusion, that tho' man, in truth, is a necessary agent, having all his actions determined by fixed and im­mutable laws; yet that, this being concealed from him, he acts with the conviction of be­ing a free agent. It is concealed from him, [Page 203] I say, as to the purposes of action: for whatever discoveries he makes as a philoso­pher, these affect not his conduct as a man. In principle and speculation, let him be a most rigid fatalist; he has nevertheless all the feelings which would arise from power over his own actions. He is angry at himself when he has done wrong. He praises and blames just like other men: nor can all his principles set him above the reach of self-condemnation and remorse, when consci­ence at any time smites him. It is true, that a man of this belief, when he is seeking to make his mind easy, after some bad action, may reason upon the principles of necessity, that, according to the constitution of his nature, it was impossible for him to have acted any other part. But this will give him little re­lief. In spite of all reasonings, his remorse will subsist. Nature never intended us to act upon this plan; and our natural princi­ples are too deeply rooted, to give way to phi­losophy. This case is precisely similar to that of contingency. A feeling of liberty, [Page 204] which I now scruple not to call deceitful, is so interwoven with our nature, that it has an equal effect in action, as if we were real­ly endued with such a power.

HAVING explained, at full length, this re­markable feeling of liberty, and examined, as we went along, some arguments against necessity that are founded upon it; we now proceed to handle this feeling, as we have done that of contingency, with regard to its final cause. And in this branch of our na­ture are displayed the greatest wisdom, and the greatest goodness. Man must be so con­stituted, in order to attain the proper im­provement of his nature, in virtue and hap­piness. Put the case, he were entirely di­vested of his present ideas of liberty: sup­pose him to see and conceive his own nature, and the constitution of things, in the light of strict philosophic truth; in the same light they are beheld by the deity: to conceive him­self, and all his actions, necessarily linked into the great chain of causes and effects, which [Page 205] renders the whole order both of the natural and moral world unalterably determined in every article: suppose, I say, our natural feelings, our practical ideas to suit and tally with this, which is the real plan; and what would follow? Why, an entire derangement of our present system of action, especially with regard to the motives which now lead us to virtue. There would still indeed be ground for the love of virtue, as the best constitution of nature, and the only sure foundation of happiness; and, in this view, we might be grieved when we found our­selves deficient in good principles. But this would be all. We could feel no inward self-approbation on doing well, no remorse on doing ill; because both the good and the ill were necessary and unavoidable. There would be no more place for applause or blame among mankind: none of that gene­rous indignation we now feel at the bad, as persons who have abused and perverted their rational powers: no more notion of ac­countableness for the use of those powers: no [Page 206] sense of ill desert, or just punishment annex­ed to crimes as their due; nor of any reward merited by worthy and generous actions. All these ideas, and feelings, so useful to men in their moral conduct, vanish at once with the feeling of liberty. There would be field for no other passions but love and hatred, sorrow and pity: and the sense of duty, of being obliged to certain things which we ought to perform, must be quite extinguish­ed; for we can have no conception of mo­ral obligation, without supposing a power in the agent over his own actions.

IT appears then most fit and wise, that we should be endued with a sense of liberty; without which, man must have been ill qua­lified for acting his present part. That ar­tificial light, in which the feeling of liberty presents the moral world to our view, an­swers all the good purposes of making the actions of man entirely dependent upon him­self. His happiness and misery appear to be in his own power. He appears praise­worthy [Page 207] or culpable, according as he im­proves or neglects his rational faculties. The idea of his being an accountable crea­rure arises. Reward seems due to merit; punishment to crimes. He feels the force of moral obligation. In short, new passions arise, and a variety of new springs are set in motion, to make way for new exertions of reason and activity. In all which, tho' man is really actuated by laws of necessary influ­ence, yet he seems to move himself: and whilst the universal system is gradually carri­ed on to perfection by the first mover, that powerful hand, which winds up and directs the great machine, is never brought into sight.

IT will now be proper to answer some ob­jections, which may be urged against the doctrine we have advanced. One, which at first, may seem of considerable weight, is, that we found virtue altogether upon a deceitful feeling of liberty, which, it may be alledged, is neither a secure nor an honourable foun­dation. [Page 208] But, in the first place, I deny that we have founded it altogether upon a deceitful feeling. For, independent of the deceitful feeling of liberty, there is in the nature of man a firm foundation for virtue. He must be sensible that virtue is essentially prefer­able to vice; that it is the just order, the perfection and happiness of his nature. For, supposing him only endued with the prin­ciple of self-love; this principle will lead him to distinguish moral good from evil, so far as to give ground for loving the one, and hating the other: as he must needs see that benevolence, justice, temperance, and the other virtues, are the necessary means of his happiness, and that all vice and wic­kedness introduce disorder and misery. But man is endued with a social as well as a self­ish principle, and has an immediate satisfac­tion and pleasure in the happiness of others, which is a further ground for distinguishing and loving virtue. All this, I say, takes place, laying aside the deceitful feeling of liberty, and supposing all our notions to be [Page 209] adjusted to the system of necessity. I add, that there is nothing in the above doctrine, to exclude the perception, of a certain beauty and excellency in virtue, according to lord Shaftesbury and the antient Philosophers; which may, for ought we know, render it lovely and admirable to all rational beings. It appears to us, unquestionably, under the form of intrinsick excellency, even when we think not of its tendency to our happi­ness. Ideas of moral obligation, of remorse, of merit, and all that is connected with this way of thinking, arise from, what may be called, a wise delusion in our nature concern­ing liberty: but, as this affects only a certain modification of our ideas of virtue and vice, there is nothing in it, to render the foundati­on of virtue, either unsecure or dishonourable. Unsecure it does not render it, because, as now observed, virtue partly stands firm up­on a separate foundation, independent of these feelings; and even where built upon these feelings, it is still built upon human nature. For though these feelings of li­berty [Page 210] vary from the truth of things, they are, nevertheless, essential to the nature of man. We act upon them, and cannot act otherways. And therefore, tho' the dis­tinction betwixt virtue and vice, had no other foundation but these feelings, (which is not the case) it would still have an immoveable and secure foundation in human nature. As for the supposed dishonour done to virtue, by resting its authority, in any degree, on a de­ceitful feeling, there is so little ground for this part of the objection, that, on the con­trary, our doctrine most highly exalts vir­tue. For the above described artificial sense of liberty, is wholly contrived to support virtue, and to give its dictates the force of a law. Hereby it is discovered to be, in a sin­gular manner, the care of the Deity; and a peculiar sort of glory is thrown around it. The Author of nature, has not rested it, up­on the ordinary feelings and principles of human nature, as he has rested our other affections and appetites, even those which are most necessary to our existence. But a [Page 211] sort of extraordinary machinery is introduc­ed for its sake. Human nature is forced, as it were, out of its course, and made to re­ceive a nice and artificial set of feelings; merely that conscience may have a com­manding power, and virtue be set as on a throne. This could not otherways be brought about, but by means of the deceit­ful feeling of liberty, which therefore is a greater honour to virtue, a higher recom­mendation of it, than if our conceptions were, in every particular, correspondent to the truth of things.

A SECOND objection which may be urg­ed against our system, is, that it seems to re­present the Deity, as acting deceitfully by his creatures. He has given them certain ideas of contingency in events, and of liberty in their own actions, by which he has, in a manner, forced them to act upon a false hy­pothesis; as if he were unable, to carry on the government of this world, did his crea­tures conceive things, according to the real [Page 212] truth. This objection is, in a great measure, obviated, by what we observed in the intro­duction to this essay, concerning our sensible ideas. It is universally allowed by modern philosophers, that the perceptions of our ex­ternal senses, are not always agreeable to strict truth, but so contrived, as rather to an­swer the purposes of use. Now, if it be called a deceit in our senses, not to give us just representations of the material world, the Deity must be the author of this deceit, as much as he is, of that which prevails in our moral ideas. But no just objection can ly against the conduct of the Deity, in either ease. Our senses, both internal and exter­nal, are given us for different ends and pur­poses; some to discover truth, others to make us happy and virtuous. The senses which are appropriated to the discovery of truth, unerringly answer their end. So do the senses, which are appropriated to virtue and happiness. And, in this view, it is no ma­terial objection, that the same sense does not answer both ends. As to the other part of [Page 213] the objection, that it must imply imperfecti­on in the Deity, if he cannot establish virtue but upon a delusive foundation; we may be satisfied how fallacious this reasoning is, by reflecting upon the numberless appearances, of moral evil and disorder in this world. From these appearances, much more strong­ly, were there any force in this reasoning, might we infer imperfection in the Deity; seeing the state of this world, in many par­ticulars, does not answer the notions we are apt to form, of supreme power conducted by perfect wisdom and goodness. But, in truth, there is nothing in our doctrine, which can justly argue imperfection in the Deity. For it is abundantly plain, first, that it is a more perfect state of things, and more worthy of the Deity, to have all events going on with unbroken order, in a fixed train of causes and effects; than to have every thing desultory and contingent. And, if such a being as man, was to be placed in this world, to act his present part; it was necessary, that he should have a notion of contingency in e­vents, [Page 214] and of liberty in his own actions. The objection therefore, on the whole, amounts to no more, than that the Deity cannot work contradictions. For, if it was fit and wise, that man should think and act, as a free agent, it was impossible this could be otherways accomplished, than by endowing him with a sense of liberty: and if it was also fit and wise, that universal necessity should be the real plan of the universe, this sense of liber­ty could be no other than a deceitful one.

ANOTHER objection may perhaps be rais­ed against us in this form. If it was necessa­ry for man to be constituted, with such an artificial feeling, why was he endowed with so much knowledge, as to unravel the mys­tery? What purpose does it serve, to let in just so much light, as to discover the disguis­ed appearance of the moral world, when it was intended, that his conduct should be ad­justed to this disguised appearance? To this, I answer, first, that the discovery, when made, cannot possibly be of any bad consequence; [Page 215] and next, that a good consequence, of very great importance, results from it. No bad consequence, I say, ensues from the discove­ry, that liberty and contingency are deceit­ful feelings; for the case is confessedly pa­rallel in the natural world, where no harm has ensued. After we have discovered, by philosophy, that several of the appearances of nature, are only useful illusions, that seconda­ry qualities exist not in matter, and that our sensible ideas, in various instances, do not correspond to philosophic truth; after these discoveries are made, do they, in the least, affect even the philosopher himself in ordi­nary action? Does not he, in common with the rest of mankind, proceed, as it is fit he should, upon the common system of ap­pearances and natural feelings? As little, in the present case, do our speculations about liberty and necessity, counteract the plan of nature. Upon the system of liberty we do, and must act: and no discoveries, made con­cerning the illusive nature of that feeling, are [Page 216] capable of disappointing, in any degree, the intention of the Deity.

BUT this is not all. These discoveries are also of excellent use, as they furnish us with one of the strongest arguments, for the existence of the Deity, and as they set the wisdom and goodness of his providence, in the most striking light. Nothing carries in it more express characters of design; nothing can be conceived more opposite to chance, than a plan so artfully contrived, for adjust­ing our impressions and feelings to the pur­poses of life. For here things are carried off, as it were, from the straight line; taken out of the course, in which they would of them­selves proceed; and so moulded, as forcibly, and against their nature, to be subservient to man. His mind does not receive the impres­sion of the moral world, in the same man­ner, as wax receives the impression of a seal. It does not reflect the image of it, in the same manner, as a mirror reflects its images: it has a peculiar cast and turn given to its [Page 217] conceptions, admirably ordered to exalt vir­tue, to the highest pitch. These concepti­ons are indeed illusive, yet, which is wonder­ful, it is by this very circumstance, that, in man, two of the most opposite things in na­ture, are happily reconciled, liberty and neces­sity; having this illustrious effect, that in him are accumulated, all the prerogatives both of a necessary and free agent. The discovery of such a marvelous adjustment, which is more directly opposed to chance, than any other thing conceiveable, must necessarily give us the strongest impressi­on of a wise designing cause. And now a sufficient reason appears, for suffering man to make this surprising discovery. The Al­mighty has let us so far into his councils, as to afford the justest foundation, for admiring and adoring his wisdom. It is a remark wor­thy to be made, that the capacities of man seem, in general, to have a tendency beyond the wants and occasions of his present state. This has been often observed with respect to his wishes and desires. The same holds [Page 218] as to his intellectual faculties, which, some­times, as in the instance before us, run be­yond the limits of what is strictly necessary for him to know, in his present circumstan­ces, and let in upon him some glimmerings of higher and nobler discoveries. A veil is thrown over nature, where it is not useful for him to behold it. And yet, sometimes, by turning aside that veil a very little, he is admitted to a fuller view; that his admiration of nature, and the God of nature, may be increased; that his curiosity and love of truth may be fed; and, perhaps, that some augurium, some intimation, may be given, of his being designed for a future, more exalt­ed period of being; when attaining the full maturity of his nature, he shall no longer stand in need of artificial impressions, but shall feel and act according to the strictest truth of things.

ESSAY I. Of BELIEF.

BELIEF is a term so familiar, as to have escaped the inquiry of all philosophers, except the author of the treatise of human nature. And yet the subject is, by no means, so plain as to admit of no doubts nor difficul­ties. This author has made two propositions sufficiently evident; first, that belief is not any separate action or perception of the mind, but a modification of our perceptions, or a certain manner of conceiving propositions. 2d, That it does not accompany every one of our perceptions. A man, in some circumstances, sees objects double, but he does not believe them to be double. He can form the idea of a golden mountain: he can form the idea of it, as of a certain size, and as existing in a certain place: but he does not believe it to be existing.

HAVING proved that belief is not a se­parate perception, but only a modification [Page 222] of some perceptions, our author goes on to explain the nature of this modification. And his doctrine is, that belief making no altera­tion upon the idea, as to its parts and compo­sition, must consist in the lively manner of conceiving the idea; and that, in reality, a lively idea and belief are the same. I have a high opinion of this author's acuteness and penetration; but no authority can prevail with me to embrace such a doctrine. For, at this rate, credulity and a lively imagination would be always connected, which does not hold in fact. Poetry and painting produce lively ideas, but they seldom produce belief. For my part, I have no difficulty to form as lively a conception of Cesar's dying in his bed, descanting upon the vanity of ambition, or dictating rules of government to his suc­cessor, as of his being put to death in the senate-house. Nothing is told with more vivacity, than the death of Cyrus, in a pitch­ed battle with the queen of the Scythians, who dipped his head, as we are told, in a vessel full of blood, saying, ‘Satiate thyself [Page 223] with blood, of which thou wast ever thir­sty.’ Yet, upon comparing circumstan­ces and authors, the more probable opinion is, that Cyrus died in his bed.

IT may be observed, at the same time, that the conclusion is very lame, which this author draws from his premises. Belief makes no alteration upon the idea, as to its parts and composition. It can only therefore consist in a modification of the idea. But does it follow, that it consists in a lively concepti­tion of the idea, which is but one of many modifications? There is not here the sha­dow of an inference.

OUR author indeed urges, that true histo­ry takes fast hold of the mind, and presents its objects in a more lively manner, than any fabulous narration can do. Every man must judge for himself: I cannot admit this to be my case. History, no doubt, takes fast­er hold of the mind, than any fiction told in the plain historical stile. But can any [Page 224] man doubt, who has not an hypothesis to de­fend, that poetry makes a stronger impressi­on than history? Let a man, if he has feelings, attend the celebrated Garrick in the character of Richard, or in that of king Le­ar; and he will find, that dramatic repre­sentations make strong and lively impressi­ons, which history seldom comes up to.

BUT now, if it shall be supposed, that history presents its objects in a more lively manner, than can be done by dramatic or epic poetry; it will not therefore follow, that a lively idea is the same with belief. I read a passage in Virgil. Let it be the episode of Nisus and Euryalus. I read a passage in Li­vy, sciz. the sacking of Rome by the Gauls. If I have a more lively idea of the latter sto­ry, I put it to my author, to point out the cause of this effect. He surely will not af­firm, that it is the force of expression, or harmony of numbers: for, in these parti­culars, the historian cannot be compared to the poet. It is evident, that no other satis­factory [Page 225] account of the matter can be given, but this, that Livy's superior influence up­on the imagination, is the effect of his being considered, as a true historian. The most, then, that our author can make of his obser­vation, supposing it to hold true in fact, is, that the authority of the historian produces belief, and that belief produces a more live­ly idea, than any fabulous narration can do. The truth of the matter is, that belief and a lively conception, are really two distinct modi­fications of the idea; which, tho' often con­joined, are not only separable in the imagi­nation, but in fact are often separated. Truth, indeed, bestows a certain degree of vivacity upon our ideas. At the same time, I cannot admit, that history exceeds drama­tic or epic poetry, in conveying a lively con­ception of facts; because it appears evident, that, in works of imagination, the want of truth, is more than compensated by senti­ment and language.

[Page 226] SOMETIMES, indeed, belief is the result of a lively impression. A dramatic representa­tion is one instance, when it affects us so much, as to draw off the attention from eve­ry other object, and even from ourselves. In this situation, we don't consider the actor, but conceive him to be the very man whose character he assumes. We have that very man before our eyes. We perceive him as existing and acting, and believe him to be existing and acting. This belief, however, is but momentary. It vanishes, like a dream, so soon as we are rouzed by any trivial cir­cumstance, to a consciousness of ourselves, and of the place we are in. Nor is the live­ly impression, even in this case, the cause of belief, but only the occasion of it, by di­verting the attention of the mind, from it­self and its situation. It is in some such manner, that the idea of a spectre in the dark, which fills the mind, and diverts it from itself, is, by the force of imagination, converted into a reality. We think we see [Page 227] and hear it. We are convinced of it, and believe the matter to be so.

REJECTING therefore this author's opi­nion, the real truth appears to be this. There is a certain peculiar manner of perceiving objects, and conceiving propositions, which, being a simple feeling, cannot be described, but is expressed by the word belief. The causes of this modification, termed belief, are the authority of my own senses, and the authority of others, who either relate facts upon the authority of their senses, or what they have heard at second or third hand. So that belief, mediately or immedi­ately, is founded upon the authority of our senses. We are so constituted by nature, as to put trust in our senses. Nor, in general, is it in our power to disbelieve our senses: they have authority with us irresistible. There is but one exception that I can think of. Finding, by experience, that we have been sometimes led into an error, by trust­ing some particular perceptions, the remem­brance [Page 228] of these instances, counter-balances the authority of our perception in the like cases, and either keeps the mind suspended, or, perhaps, makes it rest in a conviction, that the perception is erroneous.

WITH regard to the evidence of my own senses, tho' I cannot admit, that the essence of belief consists in the vivacity of the im­pression, I so far agree with our author, that vivacity and belief, in this case, are al­ways conjoined. A mountain I have once seen, I believe to be existing, tho' I am a thousand miles from it; and the image or idea I have of that mountain, is more lively and more distinct, than of any I can form merely by the force of imagination. But this is far from being the case, as above ob­served, of ideas raised in my mind by the force of language.

BELIEF arising from the evidence of o­thers, rests upon a different foundation. Ve­racity and a disposition to believe, are corre­sponding [Page 229] principles in the nature of man; and, in the main, these principles are so ad­justed, that men are not often deceived. The disposition we have to believe, is qualified by the opinion we have of the witness, and the nature of the story he relates. But, sup­posing a concurrence of all other circum­stances to prompt our belief, yet, if the speak­er pretends only to amuse, without confining himself to truth, his narration will not, in the smallest degree, prompt our belief; let him enliven it with the strongest colours that poetry is master of.

I HAVE only to add, that tho' our own senses, and the testimony of others, are the proper causes of belief; yet that these causes are more or less efficacious, according to the temper of mind we are in at the time. Hope and fear are influenced by passion, so is belief. Hope and fear are modifications of our con­ception of future events. If the event be agree­able, and the probability of its existence, be great, our conception of its existence takes [Page 230] on a modification, which is called hope. If the event be extremely agreeable, and the probability of its existing do greatly pre­ponderate, our hope is increased proportion­ally, and sometimes is converted into a firm belief, that it will really happen. Upon weak minds, the delightfulness of the ex­pected event, will of itself have that effect. The imagination, fired with the prospect, augments the probability, 'till it convert it to a firm persuasion or belief. On the other hand, if fear get the ascendent, by a con­ceived improbability of the existence of the event, the mind desponds, and fear is con­verted into a firm belief, that the event will not happen. The operations of the mind are quite similar, where the event in view is disagreeable.

ESSAY II. Of the IDEA of SELF and of PERSONAL IDENTITY.

HAD we no original impressions but those of the external senses, accord­ing to the author of the treatise of human nature, we never could have any conscious­ness of self; because such consciousness can­not arise from any external sense. Man­kind would be in a perpetual reverie; ideas would be constantly floating in the mind; and no man be able to connect his ideas with himself. Neither could there be any idea of personal identity. For a man, cannot consi­der himself to be the same person, in different circumstances, when he has no idea or con­sciousness of himself at all.

BEINGS there may be, who are thus con­stituted: but man is none of these beings. It is an undoubted truth, that he has an o­riginal feeling, or consciousness of himself, [Page 232] and of his existence; which, for the most part, accompanies every one of his impressi­ons and ideas, and every action of his mind and body. I say, for the most part; for the faculty or internal sense, which is the cause of this peculiar perception, is not al­ways in action. In a dead sleep, we have no consciousness of self. We dream sometimes without this consciousness: and even some of our waking hours pass without it. A reverie is nothing else, but a wandering of the mind through its ideas, without carrying along the perception of self.

THIS consciousness or perception of self, is, at the same time, of the liveliest kind. Self-preservation is every one's peculiar du­ty; and the vivacity of this perception, is ne­cessary to make us attentive to our own in­terest, and, particularly, to shun every appear­ance of danger. When a man is in a reve­rie, he has no circumspection, nor any man­ner of attention to his own interest.

[Page 233] 'TIS remarkable, that one has scarce any chance to fall asleep, 'till this perception vanish. Its vivacity keeps the mind in a certain degree of agitation, which bars sleep. A fall of water disposes to sleep. It fixes the attention, both by sound and sight, and, without creating much agitation, occu­pies the mind, so as to make it forget itself. Reading of some books has the same effect.

IT is this perception, or consciousness of self, carried through all the different sta­ges of life, and all the variety of action, which is the foundation of personal identity. It is, by means of this perception, that I consider myself to be the same person, in all varieties of fortune, and every change of circumstance.

THE main purpose of this short essay, is to introduce an observation, that it is not by any argument or reasoning, I conclude my­self to be the same person, I was ten years ago. This conclusion rests entirely upon the feeling [Page 234] of identity, which accompanies me through all my changes, and which is the only con­necting principle, that binds together, all the various thoughts and actions of my life. Far less is it by any argument, or chain of reasoning, that I discover my own existence. It would be strange indeed, if every man's existence was kept a secret from him, 'till the celebrated argument was invented, that co­gito ergo sum. And if a fact, that, to com­mon understanding, appears self-evident, is not to be relied on without an argument; why should I take for granted, without an argument, that I think, more than that I exist? For surely I am not more conscious of thinking, than of existing.

UPON this subject, I shall just suggest a thought, which will be more fully insisted on afterwards; that any doctrine, which leads to a distrust of our senses, must land in universal scepticism. If natural feelings, whether from internal or external senses, are not admitted as evidence of truth, I can­not [Page 235] see, that we can be certain of any fact whatever. It is clear, from what is now ob­served, that, upon this sceptical system, we can­not be certain even of our own existence ^*.

ESSAY III. Of the AUTHORITY of our SENSES.

IN a former essay are pointed out some in­stances, in which our senses may be call­ed deceitful ^*. They are of two sorts. One is, when the deception is occasioned by in­disposition of the organ, remoteness of place, grossness of the medium, or the like; which distort the appearances of objects, and make them be seen double, or greater or less, than they really are. In such instances, the per­ception is always faint, obscure or confus­ed: and they noway invalidate the authori­ty of the senses, in general, when, abstract­ing from such accidental obstructions, the perception is lively, strong and distinct. In the other sort, there is a deception establish­ed by the laws of nature; as in the case of secondary qualities, taken notice of in that essay; whence it was inferred, that nature does not always give us such correct per­ceptions, as correspond to the philosophic [Page 238] truth of things. Notwithstanding of which, the testimony of our senses still remains, as a sufficient ground of confidence and trust. For, in all these cases, where there is this sort of established deception, nature furnishes means for coming at the truth. As in this very in­stance of secondary qualities, philosophy ea­sily corrects the false appearances, and teach­es us, that they are rather to be considered, as impressions made upon the mind, than as qualities of the object. A remedy being thus provided to the deception, our belief, so far as it can be influenced by reason, is the more confirmed, with regard to our other sensati­ons, where there is no appearance of illusi­on. But this is not the whole of the matter. When any sense presents to our view, an ap­pearance that may be called deceitful, we plainly discover some useful purpose intend­ed. The deceit is not the effect of an im­perfect or arbitrary constitution; but wisely contrived, to give us such notice of things, as may best suit the purposes of life. From this very consideration, we are the more confirm­ed [Page 239] in the veracity of nature. Particular in­stances, in which, our senses are accommo­dated to the uses of life, rather than to the strictness of truth, are rational exceptions, which serve, the more firmly, to establish the general rule. And, indeed, when we have nothing but our senses to direct our conduct, with regard to external objects, it would be strange, if there should be any just ground, for a general distrust of them. But there is no such thing. There is nothing to which all mankind are more necessarily determin­ed, than to put confidence in their senses. We entertain no doubt of their authority, be­cause we are so constituted, that it is not in our power to doubt.

WHEN the authority of our senses is thus founded on the necessity of our nature, and confirmed by constant experience, it cannot but appear strange, that it should come into the thought of any man to call it in questi­on. But the influence of novelty is great; and when a bold genius, in spite of common [Page 240] sense, and common feelings, will strike out new paths to himself, 'tis not easy to foresee, how far his airy metaphysical notions may carry him. A late author, who gives us a treatise concerning the principles of human knowledge, by denying the reality of ex­ternal objects, strikes at the root of the au­thority of our senses, and thereby paves the way to the most inveterate scepticism. For what reliance can we have upon our senses, if they deceive us in a point so material? If we can be prevailed upon, to doubt of the reality of external objects, the next step will be, to doubt of what passes in our own minds, of the reality of our ideas and per­ceptions. For we have not a stronger con­sciousness, nor a clearer conviction of the one, than of the other. And the last step will be, to doubt of our own existence; for it is shown in the essay immediately forego­ing, that we have no certainty of this fact, but what depends upon sense and feeling.

[Page 241] IT is reported, that doctor Berkeley, the author of the abovementioned treatise, was moved to adopt this whimsical opinion, to get free of some arguments, urged by materi­alists against the existence of the Deity. If so, he has been unhappy in his experiment; for this doctrine, if it should not lead to u­niversal scepticism, affords, at least, a shrewd argument in favours of Atheism. If I can only be conscious of what passes in my own mind, and if I cannot trust my senses, when they give me notice of external and indepen­dent existences; it follows, that I am the only being in the world; at least, that I can have no evidence from my senses, of any other being, body or spirit. This is certainly an un­wary concession; because it deprives us of our principal, or only, inlet to the knowledge of the Deity. Laying aside sense and feel­ing, this learned divine will find it a difficult task, to point out by what other means it is, that we make the discovery of the above im­portant truth. But of this more afterwards.

[Page 242] WERE there nothing else in view, but to establish the reality of external objects, it would be scarce worth while, to bestow much thought, in solving metaphysical paradoxes against their existence, which are better con­futed by common sense and experience. But, as the above doctrine appears to have very extensive consequences, and to strike at the root of the most valuable branches of hum­an knowledge; an attempt to re-establish the authority of our senses, by detecting the fal­lacy of the arguments that have been urged against it, may, it is hoped, not be unaccept­able to the public. The attempt, at any rate, is necessary in this work, the main pur­pose of which is, to show that our senses, ex­ternal and internal, are the true sources, from whence the knowledge of the Deity is de­rived to us.

IN order to afford satisfaction upon a sub­ject, which is easier felt than exprest, it will be proper, to give a distinct analysis of the o­perations of those senses, by which we per­ceive [Page 243] external objects. And, if this be once clearly apprehended, it will not be a matter of difficulty, to answer the several objections, which have been urged against their exist­ence.

THE impressions of the external senses are of different kinds. Some we have at the organs of sense, such as smelling, tasting, touching. Some are made upon us as from a distance, such as hearing and seeing. From the sense of feeling, are derived the impressi­ons of body, solidity and external existence. Laying my hand upon this table, I perceive a thing smooth and hard, pressing upon my hand, and which is perceived as more distant from me, than my hand is. From the sight, we have the impressions of motion and of co­lour; and from the sight as well as from the touch, those of extension and figure. But it is more material to observe, upon the present subject, that from sight as well as touch, we have the impression of things [Page 244] as having an independent and continued or permanent existence.

LET us endeavour to explain this modifi­cation of independency and permanent ex­istence of the objects of sight and touch, for it is a cardinal point. To begin with the objects of sight. I cast my eye upon a tree, and perceive colour, figure, extention, and sometimes motion. If this be a com­plete analysis of the perception, substance is not discoverable by sight. But upon atten­tively examining this perception, to try if there be any thing more in it, I find one cir­cumstance omitted, that the above particulars, are not perceived as so many separate exist­ences, having no relation to each other, but as closely united and connected. When look­ing around on different objects, I perceive colour in one quarter, motion in a second, and extension in a third; the appearance these make in my mind, are in nothing similar to the impression made by a tree, where the extension, motion, and other qualities, are [Page 245] introduced into the mind, under the modi­fication of an intimate connection and uni­on. But in what manner are they united and connected? Of this, every person can give an account, that they are perceived as inhering in, or belonging to some substance or thing, of which they are qualities; and that, by their reference to this substance or thing, they are thus closely united and connected. Thus it is, that the impression of substance, as well as of qualities, is derived from sight. And it is also to be attended to, as a part of the total impression, that as the qualities appear to belong to their substance, and to inhere in it, so both the substance and its qualities, which we call the tree, are perceived as al­together independent of us, as really exist­ing, and as having a permanent existence.

A SIMILAR impression is made upon us, by means of the sense of feeling. It is ob­served above, that, from the touch, we have the impressions, of body, solidity and exter­nal [Page 246] existence; and we have, from the same sense, the impressions of softness and hard­ness, smoothness and roughness. Now, when I lay my hand upon this table, I have an impression, not only of smoothness, hard­ness, figure and extension, but also of a thing I call body, of which the above are per­ceived as qualities. Smoothness, hardness, extension and figure are felt, not as separate and unconnected existences, but as inher­ing in and belonging to something I call bo­dy, which is really existing, and which has an independent and permanent existence. And it is this body, with its several qualities, which I express by the word table.

THE above analysis of the impressions of sight and touch, will be best illustrated, by a comparison with the impressions made by the other senses. I hear a sound, or I feel a smell. Attending to these impressi­ons, I perceive nothing but sound or smell. They are not perceived as the qualities or properties of any body, thing or substance. [Page 247] They make their appearance in the mind as simple existences; and there is no impressi­on made of independency, or permanent existence. Did seeing and feeling carry us no further, we never could have the least conception of substance.

'TIS not a little surprising, that philoso­phers, who discourse so currently of qualities, should affect so much doubt and hesitation a­bout substance; seeing these are relative ideas, and imply each other. For what other rea­son do we call figure a quality, but that we perceive it, not as a separate existence, but as belonging to something that is figured; and which thing we call substance, because it is not a property of any other thing, but is a thing which subsists by itself, or has an in­dependent existence. Did we perceive fi­gure, as we perceive sound, it would not be considered as a quality. In a word, a qua­lity is not intelligible, unless upon suppositi­on of some other thing, of which it is the quality. Sounds indeed, and smells are also [Page 248] considered as qualities. But this proceeds from habit, not from original perception. For, having once acquired the distinction be­twixt a thing and its qualities, and finding sound and smell, more to resemble qualities than substances, we readily come into the use of considering them as qualities.

ANOTHER thing is to be observed with regard to those things, which are perceived as qualities by the sight and touch; that we cannot form a conception of them, indepen­dent of the beings to which they belong. It is not in our power, to separate, even in imagination, colour, figure, motion and ex­tension from body or substance. There is no such thing as conceiving motion by itself, abstracted from some body which is in mo­tion. Let us try ever so often, our attempts will be in vain, to form an idea of a triangle independent of a body which has that figure. We cannot conceive a body that is not fi­gured; and we can as little conceive a figure without a body; for this would be to con­ceive [Page 249] a figure, as having a separate existence, at the same time, that we conceive it, as hav­ing no separate existence; or to conceive it, at once, to be a quality, and not a quality. Thus it comes out, that substance, as well as quality, makes a part, not only of every per­ception of sight and touch, but of every con­ception we can form, of colour, figure, exten­sion and motion. Taking in the whole train of our ideas, there is not one more familiar to us, than that of substance, a being or thing which has qualities.

WHEN these things are considered, I can­not readily discover, by what wrong con­ception of the matter, Mr. Locke has been led, to talk so obscurely and indistinctly of the idea of substance. 'Tis no wonder, he should be difficulted, to form an idea of sub­stance in general, abstracted from all proper­ties, when such abstraction is altogether be­yond the reach of our conception. But there is nothing more easy, than to form an idea of any particular substance with its pro­perties. [Page 250] Yet this has some how escaped him. When he forms the idea of a horse or a stone, he admits nothing into the idea, but a collection of several simple ideas of sensible qualities ^† ‘And because, says he, we cannot conceive how these qualities should subsist alone, nor one in another, we sup­pose them existing in, and supported by some common subject; which support, we denote by the name substance, tho' it be certain, we have no clear or distinct idea of that thing we suppose a support.’ A single question would have unfolded the whole mystery. How comes it, that we cannot conceive qualities to subsist alone, nor one in another? Mr. Locke himself must have given the following answer, that the thing is not conceiveable; because a proper­ty or quality cannot subsist without the thing to which it belongs; for, if it did, that it would cease to be a property or quality. Why then does he make so faint an infe­rence, as that we suppose qualities existing in, and supported by some common subject? It [Page 251] is not a bare supposition: it is an essential part of the idea: it is necessarily suggested to us by sight and touch. He observes that we have no clear nor distinct idea of substance. If he means, that we have no clear nor distinct idea of substance abstract­ed from its properties, the thing is so true, that we can form no idea of substance at all, abstracted from its properties. But it is also true, that we can form no idea of properties, ab­stracted from a substance. The ideas both of substance and of quality are perfectly in the same condition, in this respect; which, 'tis sur­prising, philosophers should so little attend to. At the same time, we have clear and distinct ideas, of many things as they exist; tho' perhaps we have not a complete idea of any one thing. We have such ideas of things, as serve to all the useful purposes of life. 'Tis true, our senses don't reach be­yond the external properties of beings. We have no direct perception of the essence and internal properties of any thing. These we discover from the effects produced. But had we senses directly to perceive the essence and [Page 252] internal properties of things, our idea of them would indeed be more full and complete, but not more clear and distinct, than at pre­sent. For, even upon that supposition, we could form no notion of substance, but by its properties internal and external. To form an idea of a thing abstracted from all its properties, is impossible.

THE following is the sum of what is above laid down. By sight and touch, we have the impressions of substance and body, as well as of qualities. It is not figure, extension, mo­tion, that we perceive; but a thing figured, extended and moving. As we cannot form an idea of substance abstracted from quali­ties, so we cannot form an idea of qualities abstracted from substance. They are rela­tive ideas, and imply each other. This is one point gained. Another is, that the idea of substance or body, thus attained, compre­hends in it, independent and permanent ex­istence; that is, something which exists in­dependent of our perceptions, and remains the same, whether we perceive it or not.

[Page 253] IN this manner are we made sensible of the real existence of things without us. The feeling is so strong, and the conviction which makes a part of the feeling, that sceptical arguments, however cunningly devised, may puzzle, but can never get the better: for such is our constitution, that we can enter­tain no doubt of the authority of our senses, in this particular. At the same time, every sort of experience confirms the truth of our perceptions. I see a tree at a distance, of a certain shape and size. Walking forward, I find it in its place, by the resistance it makes to my body; and, so far as I can discover by touch, it is of the same shape and size, which my eye represents it to be. I return day af­ter day, year after year, and find the same object, with no other variation, but what the seasons and time produce. The tree is at last cut down. It is no longer to be seen or felt.

To overthrow the authority of our sen­ses, a few particular instances, in which they [Page 254] appear fallacious, are of no weight. And to confirm this branch of the argument, we need but compare the evidence of our sen­ses, with the evidence of human testimony. The comparison cannot fail to afford satis­faction. Veracity, and a disposition to rely upon human evidence, are corresponding principles, which greatly promote society. Among individuals, these principles are found to be of different degrees of strength. But, in the main, they are so proportioned to each other, that men are not often deceived. In this case, it would be but a bad argument, that we ought not to give credit to any man's testimony, because some men are defective in the principle of veracity. The only ef­fect such instances have, or ought to have, is to correct our propensity to believe, and to bring on a habit of suspending our belief, 'till circumstances be examined. The evi­dence of our senses, rises undoubtedly much higher, than the evidence of human testimo­ny. And if we continue to put trust in the latter, after many instances of being deceiv­ed, [Page 255] we have better reason to put trust in the former, were the instances of being deceiv­ed equally numerous; which is plainly not the fact. When people are in sound health of mind and body, they are very seldom mis-led by their senses.

IF I have been so lucky, as to put this subject in its proper light, it will not be a difficult task to clear it of any doubts which may arise, upon perusing the above mentioned treatise. The author boldly de­nies the existence of matter, and the re­ality of the objects of sense; contending, that there is nothing really existing without the mind of an intelligent being; in a word, re­ducing all to be a world of ideas. ‘It is an opinion strangely prevailing among men, (says he) that houses, mountains, rivers, and, in a word, all sensible objects, have an existence, natural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the understand­ing.’ He ventures to call this a manifest contradiction; and his argument against the [Page 256] reality of these objects, is in the following words. ‘The forementioned objects are things perceived by sense. We cannot perceive any thing, but our own ideas or perceptions; therefore, what we call men, houses, mountains, &c. can be nothing else but ideas or perceptions.’ This ar­gument shall be examined afterwards, with the respect that is due to its author. It shall only be taken notice of by the way, that, supposing mankind to be under so strange and unaccountable a delusion, as to mistake their ideas for men, houses, mountains, &c. it will not follow, that there is in this, any manifest contradiction, or any contradiction at all. For deception is a very different thing from contradiction. But he falls from this high pretension, in the after part of his work, to argue more consistently, ‘that, suppos­ing solid, figured, and moveable substan­ces, to exist without the mind, yet we could never come to the knowledge of this ^*.’ Which is true, if our senses [Page 257] bear no testimony of the fact. And he adds ^*, ‘that, supposing no bodies to exist without the mind, we might have the ve­ry same reasons for supposing the existence of external bodies, that we have now:’ which may be true, supposing only our sen­ses to be fallacious.

THE doctor's fundamental proposition is, that we can perceive nothing but our own ideas or perceptions. This, at best, is an ambiguous expression. For, taking percep­tion or sensation in its proper sense, as signi­fying every object we perceive, it is a mere identical proposition, sciz. that we perceive nothing but what we perceive. But, taking the doctor's proposition as he intended it, that we can have no perception or conscious­ness of any thing, but what exists in our own minds, he had certainly no reason to take this assertion for granted; and yet he has never once attempted a proof of it: tho', in so bold an undertaking, as that of annihilat­ing [Page 258] the whole universe, his own mind ex­cepted, he had no reason to hope, that an assertion, so singular, and so contradictory to common sense and feeling, would be taken upon his word. It may be true, that it is not easy to explain, nor even to comprehend, by what means we perceive external objects. But our ignorance is, in most cases, a very indifferent argument against matter of fact. At this rate, he may take upon him equal­ly to deny the bulk of the operations in the natural world, which have not hitherto been explained by him, or others. And at, bot­tom, 'tis perhaps as difficult to explain the manner of perceiving our own ideas, or the impressions made upon us, as to explain the manner of perceiving external objects. The doctor, besides, ought to have considered, that by this bold doctrine, he, in effect, sets bounds to the power of nature, or of the Author of nature. If it was in the power of the Almighty, to bestow upon man, a facul­ty of perceiving external objects, he has cer­tainly done it. For, supposing the existence [Page 259] of external objects, we have no conception, how they could be otherways manifested to us, than in fact they are. Therefore, the doctor was in the right to assert, that a fa­culty in man to perceive external objects, would be a contradiction, and consequently a privilege not in the power of the Deity to bestow upon him. He perceived the neces­sity of carrying his argument so far; at the same time, sensible that this was not to be made out, he never once attempts to point at any thing like a contradiction. And if he cannot prove it to be a contradiction, the question is at an end; for, supposing only the fact to be possible, we have the very highest evidence of its reality, that our na­ture is capable of, no less than the testimo­ny of our senses.

IT has been urged in support of the above doctrine, that nothing is present to the mind, but the impressions made upon it, and that it cannot be conscious of any thing but what is present. This difficulty is easily solved. [Page 260] For the proposition, that we cannot be con­scious of any thing but what is present to the mind, or passes within it, is taken for granted, as if it were self-evident. And yet the direct contrary is an evident fact, sciz. that we are conscious of many things which are not present to the mind; that is, which are not, like impressions and ideas, within the mind. Nor is there any manner of difficul­ty to conceive, that an impression may be made upon us, by an external object, in such a manner, as to raise a direct percepti­on of the external object itself. When we attend to the operations of the external senses, the impressions made upon us by external objects, are discovered to have very different effects. In some instances we feel the im­pression, and are conscious of it, as an im­pression. In others, being quite unconsci­ous of the impression, we perceive only the external object. And to give full satisfacti­on to the reader, upon the present subject, it may perhaps not be fruitless, briefly to run over the operations of the several exter­nal [Page 261] senses, by which the mind is made con­scious of external objects, and of their pro­perties.

AND first, with regard to the sense of smelling, which gives us no notice of ex­ternal existences. Here the operation is of the simplest kind. It is no more but an impression made at the organ, which is per­ceived as an impression. Experience, 'tis true, and habit, lead us to ascribe this parti­cular impression to some external thing as its cause. Thus, when a particular impression is made upon us, termed the sweet smell of a rose, we learn to ascribe it to a rose, tho' there is no such object within view, because that peculiar impression upon the organ of smelling, is always found to accompany the sight and touch of the body, called a rose. But that this connection is the child of ex­perience only, will be evident from the fol­lowing considerations; that, when a new smell is perceived, we are utterly at a loss, what cause to ascribe it to; and, that when a child feels a smell, it is not led to assign it [Page 262] to any cause whatever. In this case, there can be no other difficulty, but to compre­hend, in what manner the mind becomes conscious of an impression, made upon the body. Upon which, it seems sufficient to ob­serve, that we are kept entirely ignorant, in what manner the soul and body are connect­ed; which is no singular case. But, from our ignorance of the manner of this connec­tion, to deny the reality of external existen­ces, reducing all to a world of ideas, is in re­ality not less whimsical, than if one, after admitting the reality of external existen­ces, should go about to deny, that we have any perception of them; merely because we cannot fully account for the manner of this perception, nor how a material substance can communicate itself to the mind, which is spi­rit and not matter. The same observations may be applied to the sense of hearing; with this difference only, that a sound is not per­ceived, at least not originally, as an impressi­on made at the organ, but merely as an ex­istence in the mind.

[Page 263] IN the senses of tasting and touching, we are conscious not only of an impression made at the organ, but also of a body which makes the impression. When I lay my hand upon this table, the impression is of a hard smooth body, which resists the moti­on of my hand. In this impression, there is nothing to create the least suspicion of fal­lacy. The body acts where it is, and it acts merely by resistance. There occurs not, therefore, any other difficulty in this case, than that mentioned above, sciz. after what manner an impression made at an organ of the body, is communicated to, or perceived by the mind. We shall only add upon this head, that touch alone, which is the least intricate of all our feelings, is sufficient to overthrow the doctor's whole pompous system. We have, from that sense, the full­est and clearest perception of external ex­istences, that can be conceived, subject to no doubt, ambiguity, nor even cavil. And this perception, must, at the same time, support [Page 264] the authority of our senses, when they give us notice of external existences.

WHAT remains to be examined, is the sense of seeing, which, 'tis presumed, the doctor had principally an eye to, in arguing against the reality of external existences. And indeed, the operation of perceiving objects at a distance, is so curious, and so singular, that it is not surprising, a rigid philosopher should be puzzled about it. In this case, there is a difficulty, which applies with some shew of strength, and which possibly has had weight with our author, tho' it is never once mentioned by him. It is, that no being can act but where it is, and that a body, at a distance, cannot act upon the mind, more than the mind upon it. I must candidly own, that this argument appears to evince the necessity, of some intermediate means, in the act of vision. One means is suggested by matter of fact. The image of a visible object, is painted upon the retina of the eye. And it is not more difficult to [Page 265] conceive, that this image may be some how conveyed to the mind, than to conceive the manner of its being painted upon the retina. This circumstance puts the operation of vi­sion, in one respect, upon the same footing, with that of touching; both being perform­ed by means of an impression made at the organ. There is indeed this essential diffe­rence, that the impression of touch is felt as such, whereas the impression of sight is not felt: we are not conscious of any such im­pression, but merely of the object itself, which makes the impression.

AND here a curious piece of mechanism presents itself to our view. Tho' an impres­sion is made upon the mind, by means of the image painted upon the retina, whereby the external object is perceived; yet nature has carefully concealed this impression from us, in order to remove all ambiguity, and to give us a distinct feeling of the object itself, and of that only. In touching and tasting, the impression made at the organ, is so close­ly [Page 266] connected with the body which makes the impression, that the perception of the impression, along with that of the body, cre­ates no confusion nor ambiguity, the body being felt as operating where it really is. But were the impression of a visible object felt, as made at the retina, which is the organ of sight, all objects behoved to be seen as with­in the eye. It is doubted among naturalists, whether outness or distance is at all discover­able by sight, and whether that appearance be not the effect of experience. But bodies, and their operations, are so closely connected in place, that were we conscious of an organic impression at the retina, the mind would have a constant propensity to place the body there also; which would be a circumstance extremely perplexing, in the act of vision, as setting feeling and experience in perpetual opposition; enough to poison all the plea­sure we enjoy by that noble sense.

FOR so short-sighted a creature as man, it is the worst reason in the world for denying [Page 267] any well attested fact, that we cannot ac­count for the manner by which it is brought about. It is true, we cannot explain, after what manner it is, that, by the intervention of the rays of light, the beings, and things around us, are laid open to our view; but it is mere arrogance, to pretend to doubt of the fact, upon that account; for it is, in effect, maintaining, that there is nothing in nature, but what we can explain.

THE perception of objects at a distance, by intervention of the rays of light, in­volves no inconsistency nor impossibility. And unless this could be asserted, we have no reason nor foundation to with-hold that assent to a matter of fact, which is due to the authority of our senses. And after all, this particular step of the operation of vision, is, at bottom, not more difficult to be conceiv­ed or accounted for, than the other steps, of which no man entertains a doubt. It is, per­haps, not easy to explain, how the image of an external body is painted upon the retina tuni­ca. [Page 268] And no person pretends to explain, how this image is communicated to the mind. Why then should we hesitate about the last step, to wit the perception of external objects, more than about the two former, when they are all equally supported, by the most unexceptionable evidence. The whole operation of vision far surpasses human know­ledge: but not more, than the operation of magnetism, electricity, and a thousand other natural appearances; and our ignorance of the cause, ought not to make us suspect de­ceit in the one case, more than in the other.

WE shall conclude this subject, with the following reflection. Whether our percep­tion of the reality of external objects, corre­sponds to the truth of things, or whether it be a mere illusion, is a question, which, from the nature of the thing, cannot admit of a strict demonstration. One thing is certain, that, supposing the reality of external ob­jects, we can form no conception of their being displayed to us, in a more lively and [Page 269] convincing manner, than in fact is done. Why then call a thing in doubt, of which we have as good evidence, as human nature is capable of receiving? But we cannot call it in doubt, otherways than in speculation, and even then, but for a moment. We have a thorough conviction of the reality of exter­nal objects; it rises to the highest certainty of belief; and we act, in consequence of it, with the greatest security of not being de­ceived. Nor are we in fact deceived. When we put the matter to a trial, every experi­ment answers to our perceptions, and con­firms us more and more in our belief.

ESSAY IV. Of our IDEA of POWER.

THE subject proposed to be handled in the present essay is the idea of power, and its origin. This term is found in all languages: we talk familiarly, of a power in one body, to produce certain effects, and of a capacity in another body, to have cer­tain effects produced upon it. Yet authors have differed strangely, about the foundati­on of these ideas; and, after all that has been said, it seems yet to be a matter of uncer­tainty, whether they are suggested by reason, by experience, or by what other means. This subject deserves our attention the more, that the bulk of useful knowledge depends upon it. Without some insight into causes and their effects, we should be a very imper­fect race of beings. And, with regard to the present undertaking, this subject must not, at any rate, be overlooked; because from it, principally, is derived any know­ledge [Page 272] we have of the Deity, as will be after­wards made evident.

POWER denotes a simple idea, which, upon that account, cannot admit of a defini­tion. But no person is, nor can be at a loss, about the meaning. Every action we perceive, gives us a notion of power; for a produc­tive cause is implied in our perception of e­very action or event ^*; and the very idea of cause comprehends a power of producing its effect. Let us only reflect upon the per­ception we have, when we see a stone thrown into the air out of one's hand. In the per­ception of this action, are included, contigu­ity of the hand and stone, the motion of the person's hand with the stone in it, and the separate motion of the stone, following the other circumstances in point of time. The first circumstance is necessary, to put the man in a condition to exert his power upon the stone; the second is the actual exertion of the power; and the last is the effect produc­ed [Page 273] by that exertion. But these circumstan­ces, which include both contiguity and suc­cession, make no part of the idea of power; which is conceived or felt as an inherent pro­perty subsisting in the man, not merely when he is exerting it, but even when he is at rest. That all men have this very idea, is a fact not to be controverted. The only doubt is, whence it is derived; from what source it springs.

THAT reason cannot help us out, will be evident. For reason must always have some object to employ itself upon. There must be known Data or principles, to lead us to the discovery of things, which are connected with these Data or principles. But with regard to power, which makes a necessary connection betwixt a cause and its effect, we have no Data nor principles to lead us to the discovery. We are not acquainted with the beings and things about us, otherways than by certain qualities and properties, obvious to the external sen­ses. Power is none of these; nor is there [Page 274] any connection which we can discover, be­twixt power and any of these. In a word, we have not the least foundation for conclud­ing power in any body, till it once exert its power. If it be urged, that the effects pro­duced are Data, from which, we can infer a cause by a process of reasoning, and con­sequently, a power in the cause to produce these effects; I answer, that when a new thing or quality is produced, when in gene­ral any change is brought about, it is ex­tremely doubtful, whether, by any process of reasoning, we can conclude it to be an effect, so as necessarily to require a cause of its exist­ence. That we do conclude it to be an ef­fect, is most certain. But that we can draw any such conclusion, merely from reason, I don't clearly see. What leads me, I confess, to this way of thinking, is, that men of the greatest genius have been unsuccessful, in at­tempting to prove, that every thing which be­gins to exist, must have a cause of its existence. ‘Whatever is produced (says Mr. Locke) without any cause, is produced by nothing; [Page 275] or, in other words, has nothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no more than it can be something.’ This is obviously begging the question. To af­firm that nothing is the cause, is taking for granted that a cause is necessary; which is the very point undertaken to be made out. Doctor Clarke's argument labours under the same defect. ‘Every thing (he says) must have a cause; for if any thing wanted a cause, it would produce itself; that is, exist before it existed, which is impossible.’ If a thing can exist without a cause, there is no necessity it should produce itself, or that any thing should produce it. In short, there does not appear to me any contradiction in the above proposition, that a thing may begin to exist without a cause: and therefore, I dare not declare the fact to be impossible. But sense and feeling afford me a conviction, that nothing begins to exist without a cause, tho' reason cannot afford me a demonstration of it. This matter will be opened afterwards. At present, it is sufficient to observe, that the [Page 276] conviction in this case is complete, and car­ries so much authority with it, as scarce to admit of a bare conception, that the thing can possibly be otherways. This subject, at the same time, affords a new instance of what we have had more than once occasion to ob­serve. Fond of arguments drawn from the nature of things, we are too apt to apply such arguments without discretion; and to call that demonstration, which, at bottom, is no­thing but a conviction from sense and feel­ing. Our perceptions, which work silently, and without effort, are apt to be overlook­ed; and we vainly imagine, we can demon­strate every proposition, which we perceive to be true.

IT will be pretty obvious, that the idea of power is not deducible from experience, more than from reason. We can learn no­thing merely from experience, but that two objects may have been constantly conjoined in time past, such as fire and heat, the sun and light. But, in the first place, all that [Page 277] can be gathered from such facts, comes far short of our idea of cause and effect, or of a power in one body to produce some change in another. In the second place, experience, which relates only to the actions of the par­ticular bodies we are acquainted with, can­not aid us to discover power in any body, that we have not formerly seen in action. Yet, from the very first operation of such a body, we have the perception of cause and effect, which therefore cannot be from ex­perience. And, in the last place, as experi­ence in no case reaches to futurity, our idea of power, did it depend upon experience, could only look backward: with regard to every new production, depending upon caus­es even the most familiar, we should be ut­terly at a loss to form any idea of power.

IT being now evident, that our idea of power is not derived, either from reason or experience, we shall endeavour to trace out the true foundation of this idea. Running over the subject, the following thoughts oc­cur, [Page 278] which I shall set before the reader, in their natural order. As man, in his life and actions, is necessarily connected, both with the animate and inanimate world; he would be utterly at a loss to conduct himself, with­out some acquaintance with the beings a­round him, and their operations. His ex­ternal senses give him all the intelligence that is necessary, not only for being, but for well­being. They discover to him, in the first place, the existence of external things. But this would not be sufficient, unless they also discovered to him their powers and operati­ons. The sense of seeing is the principal means of his intelligence. I have explained, in a former essay, that peculiar manner of perception, by which we discover the exist­ence of external objects. And when these are put in motion, whereby certain things follow, 'tis by another peculiar manner of perception, that we discover a relation be­twixt certain objects, which makes one be termed the cause, the other the effect. I need scarce repeat again, that there is no ex­plaining [Page 279] simple feelings and perceptions, o­therways than by suggesting the terms which denote them. All that can be done in this case, is to request of the reader, to attend to what passes in his mind, when he sees one billiard ball struck against another, or a tree, which the wind is blowing down, or a stone thrown into the air out of one's hand. We are obviously so constituted, as not only to perceive the one body acting, and exerting its power; but also to perceive, that the change in the other body is produced by means of that action or exertion of power. This change we perceive to be an effect; and we perceive a necessary connection betwixt the action and the effect, so as that the one must unavoidably follow the other.

As I discover power in external objects, by the eye, so I discover power in my mind, by an internal sense. By one act of the will ideas are raised. By another act of the will, my limbs are put in motion. Attending to these operations, I perceive or feel the mo­tion [Page 280] of the limbs, and the entry of the ide­as, to follow necessarily from the act of the will. In other words, I perceive or feel these to be effects, and the act of the will to be the cause.

AND that this feeling is involved in the very perception of the action, without taking in either reason or experience, may be illus­trated by some plain observations. There is no relation more familiar, even to children, than that of cause and effect. The first time a child lifts a bit of bread, the perception it has of this action, not only includes a con­junction of the hand with the bread, and that the motion of the latter follows the motion of the former; but it likeways in­cludes that peculiar modification, which is exprest by a power in the hand to lift the bread. Accordingly, we find no expression more familiar among infants and rusticks, nor better understood than I can do this, I can do that. Further, as things are best illustrated by their contraries, let us put the case of a [Page 281] being, if there is such a one, who, in view­ing external objects, has no idea of substance, but only of qualities; and who, in viewing motion, does not feel the change produced by it, to be an effect, or any way connected with the motion, further than as following it in point of time. It appears extremely e­vident, that this supposed being can never have the idea of body, or of its powers. Rea­son or experience can never give it the idea of body or substance, and far less of their powers.

IT is very true, we cannot discover power in any object, as we discover the object itself, merely by intuition. But the moment an alte­ration is produced by any object, we perceive that the object has a power to produce that alteration; which leads to denominate the one a cause, and the other an effect. I don't assert that we can never be in a mistake about this matter. Children often err, by attri­buting an effect to one cause instead of ano­ther, or by considering that to be a cause, [Page 282] which is not. Mistakes of this kind are cor­rected by experience. But they prove the reality of the perception of power, just as much as where our perceptions are agree­able to the truth of things.

AND with regard to the fallibility of the sense of seeing, when it points out to us cau­ses and effects, the comparison may be just­ly instituted, betwixt it and belief. The fa­culty which regulates belief is not infallible. It sometimes leads us into errors. Nei­ther is the faculty infallible, by which we discern one thing to be a cause, another to be an effect. Yet both are exerted with sufficient certainty, to guide us through life, without many capital errors.

THE author of the treatise of human na­ture, has employed a world of reasoning, in searching for the foundation of our idea of power and of necessary connection. And, after all his anxious researches, he can make no more of it, but ‘That the idea of ne­cessary [Page 283] connection, alias power or energy, arises from a number of instances, of one thing always following another, which connects them in the imagination; where­by we can readily foretel the existence of the one from the appearance of the o­ther.’ And he pronounces, ‘That this connection can never be suggested from any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions ^*.’ Thus he places the essence of necessary connecti­on, or power, upon that propensity, which custom produces, to pass from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. And from these premises, he draws a conclusion of a very extraordinary nature, and which he him­self acknowledges to be not a little paradox­ical. His words are: ‘Upon the whole, necessity is something that exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us even to form the most distant idea of it, considered as a quality in bodies. The efficacy or energy in causes, is neither [Page 284] placed in the causes themselves, nor in the Deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles; but belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two or more objects in all past instances. 'Tis here that the real power of causes is plac­ed, along with their connection and ne­cessity ^*.’

HE may well admit this doctrine to be a violent paradox, because, in reality, it con­tradicts our natural feelings, and wages war with the common sense of mankind. We cannot put this in a stronger light than our author himself does, in forming an objecti­on against his own doctrine. ‘What! the efficacy of causesly in the determination of the mind! as if causes did not operate en­tirely independent of the mind, and would not continue their operation, even tho' there was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason concerning them. This [Page 285] is to reverse the order of nature, and to make that secondary which is really pri­mary. To every operation there is a pow­er proportioned; and this power must be placed on the body that operates. If we remove the power from one cause, we must ascribe it to another. But to remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being that is noways related to the cause, or effect, but by perceiving them, is a gross absurdi­ty, and contrary to the most certain princi­ples of human reason ^†.’ In short, no­thing is more clear, than that, from the ve­ry sight of bodies in motion, we have the idea of power, which connects them toge­ther, in the relation of cause and effect. This power is perceived as a quality in the acting body, and by no means is an operation of the mind, or an easy transition of thought from one object to another. And there­fore, flatly to deny our perception of such a quality in bodies, as our author does, is tak­ing upon him to contradict a plain matter of [Page 286] fact, of which all the word can give testimo­ny. He may be at a loss, indeed, to discover the source of this perception, because he can neither derive it, nor the idea of substance, from his own principles. But it has been more than once observed, that it is too bold, to deny a fact, supported by the best evi­dence, merely because one is at a loss to dis­cover the cause. At the same time, there is no manner of difficulty to lay open the foundation of these perceptions. Both of them are impressions of sight, as is clearly made out above.

AND to show, that our author's account of this matter comes far short of truth, it will be plain from one or two instances, that tho' a constant connection of two ob­jects, may, by habit or custom, produce a si­milar connection in the imagination; yet that a constant connection, whether in the imagination, or betwixt the objects them­selves, does by no means come up to our idea of power. Far from it. In a gar­rison, [Page 287] the soldiers constantly turn out at a certain beat of the drum. The gates of the town are opened and shut regularly, as the clock points at a certain hour. These facts are observed by a child, grow up with him, and turn habitual during a long life. In this instance, there is a constant connection be­twixt objects, which is attended with a simi­lar connection in the imagination: yet the person above supposed, if not a changeling, never imagined, the beat of the drum to be the cause of the motion of the soldiers; nor the pointing of the clock to a certain hour, to be the cause of the opening or shutting of the gates. He perceives the cause of these o­perations to be very different; and is not led into any mistake by the above circumstances, however closely connected. Let us put ano­ther instance still more apposite. Such is the human constitution, that we act necessarily, upon the existence of certain perceptions or motives. The prospect of victuals makes a hungry man accelerate his pace. Respect to an antient family moves him to take a wife. [Page 288] An object of distress prompts him to lay out his money, or venture his person. Yet no man dreams a motive to be the cause of action; tho', if the doctrine of necessity hold true, here is not only a constant, but a ne­cessary connection ^*.

FROM the instance last given, it appears, that constant connection, and the other cir­cumstances mentioned by our author, are far from coming up to our idea of power. [Page 289] There may be even a necessary connection betwixt two objects, without putting them in the relation of cause and effect, and with­out involving a power in the one to produce the other. Our author, then, attempts ra­ther too bold an enterprize, when he un­dertakes to argue mankind out of their sen­ses and feelings. That we have such a feel­ing of power, as is above described, is a fact that cannot admit of the smallest controver­sy. And all that is left him, would he ar­gue with any prospect of success, is to ques­tion, whether this feeling does, in fact, cor­respond to the truth of things. But he will not undertake so stubborn a task, as to prove this a delusive feeling; when he must be sen­sible of the wonderful harmony, that subsists betwixt it and the reality of causes and their effects. We have no reason to suspect deceit in this case, more than with regard to many other senses, some of which remain to be unfolded, that are wrought into the consti­tution of man, for wise and good purposes, [Page 290] and without which, he would be a very ir­regular and defective being.

AND were it necessary to say more upon a subject, which indeed merits the utmost attention; we have, if I mistake not, this author's own evidence for us; which I consider as no mean evidence in any case; and which must be held of the greatest au­thority, when given against himself. And this evidence he gives in his philosophical es­says. For tho', in this work, he continues to maintain ‘That necessity exists only in the mind, not in objects, and that it is not possible for us even to form the most di­stant idea of it, considered as a quality in bodies;’ yet, in the course of the argu­ment, he more than once discovers, that he himself is possessed of an idea of power, con­sidered as a quality in bodies, tho' he has not attended to it. Thus he observes ^*, ‘That nature conceals from us, those pow­ers and principles, on which the influ­ence [Page 291] of objects entirely depends.’ And of these powers and principles, he gives seve­ral apt instances, such as a power or quality in bread to nourish; a power by which bo­dies persevere in motion. This is not only owning an idea of power as a quality in bo­dies, but also owning the reality of this power. In another passage ^†, he observes, ‘That the particular powers, by which all natural operations are performed, never ap­pear to the senses;’ and ‘that experi­ence does not lead us to the knowledge of the secret power by which one object produces another.’ What leads us to the knowledge of this secret power, is not at present the question. But here is the au­thor's own acknowledgment, that he has an idea of a power in one object to produce a­nother; for he certainly will not say, that he is here making use of words, without having any ideas annexed to them. In one passage in particular ^*, he talks distinctly and expli­citly of ‘A power in one object, by which [Page 292] it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.’ No master of language can give a description of power, considered as a qua­lity in bodies, in more apt or more expres­sive terms. So difficult it is to stifle, or to disguise natural feelings and sentiments ^*.

IF the foregoing arguments have not pre­vailed, may not the following argument hope for success? Figure the simplest of all cases; a man rising from his seat, to walk through the room; and try to analyse the perception of this simple event. In the first place, is the man active or passive? Is he moved, or does he move himself? No mor­tal is at a loss to understand these questions; and no mortal is at a loss to answer them. We have a distinct perception or feeling, that the man is not moved, but moves; or, which is the same, moves himself. Let us exa­mine, in the next place, what is involved in the perception or feeling we have, when we [Page 293] see this man walking. Do we not say fami­liarly, does not a child say, that he can walk? And what other thing do we mean by this expression, than that he has a power to walk? Does not the very idea of walking include in it a power to walk? In this instance, our author, unhappily for his argument, has nei­ther contiguity nor succession to recur to, for explaining his idea of power, imperfect as it is. And therefore, with regard to this instance, he must either admit, that we have an idea of power, considered as a quality in objects, or take upon him to deny, that we have any idea of power at all: for it is evi­dent, that the idea of power, when it com­prehends only a single object, can never be resolved into a connection in the imaginati­on, betwixt two or more objects. We have thus the feeling of power from every action, be it of the simplest kind that can be figur­ed. And having once acquired the idea of power exerted by an animal, to put itself in motion, we readily transfer that idea to the actions of bodies, animate and inanimate, up­on [Page 294] each other. And, after all, with due re­gard to an author of very acute parts, I cannot help observing, that there is, per­haps, not one idea of all the train, which is more familiar to us, or more universal, than the idea of power.

HAVING thus ascertained the reality of our idea of power, as a quality in bodies, and traced it to its proper source, I shall close this essay with some observations upon caus­es and their effects. That we cannot disco­ver power in any object, otherways than by seeing it exert its power, is above observed. Therefore, we can never discover any ob­ject to be a cause, otherways than by the effect produced. But with regard to things caused or produced, the case is very diffe­rent. For we can discover an object to be an effect, after the cause is removed, or when it is not at all seen. For instance, no one is at a loss to say, that a table or a chair is an effect produced. A child will ask, who made it? We perceive every event, every [Page 295] new object, to be an effect or production, the very conception of which involves the idea of a cause. Hence the maxim, ‘That nothing can fall out, nothing begin to exist, without a cause;’ in other words, ‘That every thing which begins to exist must have a cause:’ a maxim universally recognised, and admitted by all mankind as self-evident. Nor can this be attributed to experience. The feel­ing is original, regarding singular objects and events, the causes of which are utterly unknown, not less than objects and events, which depend upon familiar causes. Chil­dren and rusticks are conscious of this feel­ing, equally with those who have the most consummate experience of nature, and its operations ^*.

FURTHER, the perception we have of a­ny object, as an effect, includes in it the feel­ing of a cause proportioned to the effect. If the object be an effect properly adapted to some end, the perception of it necessarily in­cludes [Page 296] an intelligent designing cause. If the effect be some good end brought about by proper means, the perception necessarily in­cludes a designing and benevolent cause. Nor is it in our power, by any sort of con­straint, to vary these feelings, or to give them a different modification from what they have by nature. It may be in our power to conceive, but it is not in our power to believe, that a fine piece of painting, a well wrote poem, or a beautiful piece of architecture, can ever be the effect of chance, or of blind fatality. The supposition, indeed, so far as we can discover, does not involve any incon­sistency in the nature of things. It may be possible, for any reason we have to the con­trary, that a blind and undesigning cause may be productive of excellent effects. But our senses discover, what reason does not, that every object, which appears beautiful as adapted to an end or purpose, is the effect of a designing cause; and that every object, which appears beautiful as fitted to a good end or purpose, is the effect of a designing [Page 297] cause; and that every object, which ap­pears beautiful as fitted to a good end or purpose, is the effect of a designing and benevolent cause. We are so constituted, that we can entertain no doubt of this, if we would. And, so far as we gather from experience, we are not deceiv'd.

ESSAY V. Of our KNOWLEDGE of FUTURE EVENTS.

WHILE we are tied to this globe, some knowledge of the beings around us, and of their operations, is necessary; because, without it, we should be utterly at a loss how to conduct ourselves. This sub­ject is handled in two former essays. But were our knowledge limited to this subject, it would not be sufficient for our well-be­ing, and scarce for our preservation. It is likeways necessary, that we have some know­ledge of future events; for about these we are mostly employed. A man will not sow, if he has not a prospect of reaping: he will not build a house, if he has not some securi­ty, that it will stand firm for years. Man is possest of this valuable branch of know­ledge: he can foretel future events. There is no doubt of the fact. The difficulty on­ly is, what are the means employed in mak­ing [Page 300] the discovery. It is, indeed, an establish­ed maxim, that the course of nature con­tinues uniformly the same; and that things will be as they have been. But, from what premises we draw this conclusion, is not ob­vious. Uniformity in the operations of na­ture, with regard to time past, is discovered by experience. But of future time, having no experience, the maxim assuredly cannot be derived from that source. Neither will reason help us out. It is true, the produc­tion of one thing by another, even in a single instance, implies a power; and this power is necessarily connected with its effect. But as power is an internal property, not discov­erable but by the effects produced, we can never, by any chain of reasoning, conclude, power to be in any body, except in the in­stant of operation. The power, for ought we know, may be at an end from that very instant. We cannot so much as conclude, from any deduction of reason, that this earth, the sun, or any one being, will exist to-morrow. And, supposing their future ex­istence [Page 301] to be discoverable by reason, we are not so much acquainted with the nature or essence of any one thing, as to discover a necessary connection betwixt it and its pow­ers, that the one subsisting, the other must also subsist. There is nothing so easy to con­ceive, as that the most active being, shall at at once be deprived of all its activity: and a thing that may be conceived, can never be proved inconsistent or impossible. An ap­peal to past experience, will not carry us through. The sun has afforded us light and heat from the beginning of the world. But what reason have we to conclude, that its power of giving light and heat must conti­nue; when it is as easy to conceive powers to be limited in point of time, as to con­ceive them perpetual? If to help us our here, we have recourse to the wisdom and goodness of a Supreme Being, as establishing permanent general laws; the difficulty is, that we have no Data, from whence to conclude, in the way of reasoning, that these general laws must continue invariably the [Page 302] same without end. It is true, the conclusi­on is actually made, but it must be referred to some other source. For reasoning will not aid us, more than experience does, to draw any one conclusion, from past to fu­ture events. It is certain, at the same time, that the uniformity of nature's operations, is a maxim admitted by all mankind. Tho' altogether unassisted either by reason or ex­perience, we never have the least hesitation to conclude, that things will be as they have been; in so much that we trust our lives and fortunes upon this conclusion. I shall endeavour to trace out the principle, upon which this important conclusion is founded. And this subject will afford, 'tis hoped, a fresh instance of the admirable correspond­ence, which is discovered betwixt the nature of man, and his external circumstances. What is already made out, will lead us directly to our point. If our conviction of the unifor­mity of nature, is not founded upon reason nor experience, it can have no other foun­dation but sense and feeling. The fact tru­ly [Page 303] is, that we are so constituted, as, by a ne­cessary determination of nature, to transfer our past experience to futurity, and to have a direct perception or feeling of the constan­cy and uniformity of nature. This percep­tion or feeling must belong to an internal sense, because it evidently has no relation to any of our external senses. And an argument, which has been more than once stated in the foregoing essays, will be found decisive up­on this point. Let us suppose a being, which has no perception or notion of the unifor­mity of nature: such a being will never be able to transfer its past experience to futuri­ty. Every event, however conformable to past experience, will come equally unexpect­ed to this being, as new and rare events do to us; tho' possibly without the same sur­prise.

THIS sense of constancy and uniformity in the works of nature, is not confined to the subject above handled, but displays it­self, remarkably, upon many other objects. [Page 304] We have a conviction of a common nature in beings, which are similar in their appear­ances. We expect a likeness in their consti­tuent parts, in their appetites, and in their conduct. We not only lay our account with uniformity of behaviour, in the same indivi­dual, but in all the individuals of the same species. This principle has such influence, as even to make us hope for constancy and uniformity, where experience would lead us to the opposite conclusion. The rich man never thinks of poverty, nor the distressed of relief. Even in this variable climate, we cannot readily bring ourselves to believe, that good or bad weather will have an end. Nay, it governs our notions in law-matters, and is the foundation of the maxim, ‘That alteration or change of circumstances is not to be presumed.’ Influenced by the same principle, every man acquires a certain uniformity of manner, which spreads itself upon his thoughts, words and actions. In our younger years, the effect of this princi­ple is less remarkable, being opposed by a [Page 305] variety of passions, which, as they have dif­ferent, and sometimes opposite tendencies, occasion a fluctuation in our conduct. But, so soon as the heat of youth is over, this principle, acting without counter-balance, seldom fails to bring on a punctual regulari­ty in our way of living, which is extremely remarkable in most old people.

ANALOGY is one of the most common sources of reasoning; the force of which is universally admitted. The conviction of e­very argument founded on analogy, arises from this very sense of uniformity. Things similar, in some particulars, are presumed to be similar in every particular.

IN a word, as the bulk of our views and actions have a future aim, some knowledge of future events is necessary, that we may a­dapt our views and actions to natural events. To this end, the Author of our nature has done two things. He has established a con­stancy and uniformity in the operations of [Page 306] nature. And he has impressed upon our minds, a conviction or belief of this constan­cy and uniformity, and that things will be as they have been.

ESSAY VI. Of our DREAD of SUPERNATURAL POWERS in the DARK.

A VERY slight view of human nature is sufficient to convince us, that we were not dropt here by accident. This earth is fitted for man, and man is fitted for inhabit­ing this earth. By means of instinctive fa­culties, we have an intuitive knowledge of the things that surround us; at least of such things by which we may be affected. We can discover objects at a distance. We discern them in their connection of cause and effect; and their future operations are laid open, as well as their present. But in this grand ap­paratus of instinctive faculties, by which the secrets of nature are disclosed to us, one fa­culty seems to be with-held; tho' in appear­ance the most useful of all; and that is, a faculty to discern, what things are noxious, and what are friendly. The most poison­ous fruits have sometimes the fairest colours; [Page 308] and the savage animals partake of beauty with the tame and harmless. And when other particulars are inquir'd into, it will be found, by induction, that man has no origi­nal feeling of what is salutary to him, and what is hurtful.

IT is natural to inquire why this instinct is with-held, when it appears to be the de­sign of nature, to furnish us plentifully with instincts, for the discovery of useful truths. With regard to this matter, it is too bold an undertaking for man to dive into all the secrets of his maker. We ought to rest contented with the numerous instances we have of good order and good purpose, which must afford us a rational conviction, that good or­der and good purpose take place universal­ly. At the same time, a rational account may be suggested of this matter. We have a conviction, that there is nothing redun­dant or superfluous in the operations of na­ture. Different means are never afforded us to bring about the same end. Experience, [Page 309] so far as it can go, is given us for acquiring knowledge; and instinct only, where expe­rience cannot aid us. 'Tis true, instinct is a more compendious way of discovering use­ful truths. But man was intended an active being, and therefore left to his own industry, as much as possible.

MAN then is placed in this world, amidst a great variety of objects, the nature and ten­dency of which are unknown to him, other­ways than by experience. In this situation, he would be in perpetual danger, had he not some faithful monitor, to keep him constant­ly upon the watch against harm. This mo­nitor is the propensity he has to be afraid of new objects; such especially which have no peculiar beauty to raise his desire. A child, to whom all nature is strange, dreads the ap­proach of every object; and even the face of man is frightful to it. The same timidity and suspicion may be observed in travellers, who converse with strangers, and meet with unknown appearances. Upon the first sight of [Page 310] an herb or fruit, we apprehend the worst, and suspect it to be noxious. An unknown ani­mal is immediately conceived to be dange­rous. The more rare phaenomena of na­ture, the causes of which are unknown to the vulgar, never fail to strike them with terror. From this induction, it is clear, that we dread unknown objects. They are al­ways surveyed with an emotion of fear, 'till experience discovers them to be harmless.

THIS dread of unknown objects, is sup­posed to enter into the constitution of all sen­sitive beings, but is most remarkable in the weak and defenceless. The more feeble and delicate the creature is, the more shy and ti­morous it is observed to be. No creature is, by nature, more feeble and delicate than man; and this principle is to him of admir­able use, to keep him constantly upon his guard, and to balance the principle of curi­osity, which is prevalent in man above all o­ther creatures, and which, left to itself, would often betray him into fatal accidents.

[Page 311] THE dread of unknown objects is apt to fire the imagination, so as to magnify their supposed evil qualities and tendencies. For it is a well known truth, that passion has a wonderful effect upon the imagination. The less we know of a new object, the greater li­berty we take, to dress it up in frightful co­lours. The object is forthwith conceived to have all those dreadful qualities, which are suggested by the imagination; and the same terror is raised, as if those qualities were real and not imaginary ^*.

AGAIN, where the new and unknown objects have any thing dreadful in appear­ance, this circumstance, joined with our na­tural propensity to dread unknown objects, will raise terror even in the most resolute. If the evils, dreaded from such objects, are known neither in quality nor degree; the i­magination, being under no restraint, figures the greatest evils, both in kind and magni­tude, that can be conceived. Where no im­mediate harm ensues, the mind, by the im­pulse [Page 312] it has received, transports itself into fu­turity, and imagines the strange forms to be presages of direful calamities. Hence it is, that the uncommon phaenomena of nature, such as comets, eclipses, earthquakes, and the like, are, by the vulgar, held as forerun­ners of uncommon events. Grand objects make a deep impression upon the mind, and give force to that passion which occupies it at the time. The above appearances being un­common, if not altogether new, dispose the mind to terror; which, aided by the emotion arising from the grandeur of the objects, produces great agitation, and a violent appre­hension of danger.

THE strongest and most familiar instance of our natural propensity to dread unknown objects, is the fear that seizes many young persons in the dark; which is a phaenomenon that has not been accounted for, with any de­gree of satisfaction. Light disposes the mind to chearfulness and courage. Darkness, on the contrary, depresses the mind, and disposes [Page 313] it to fear. Any object alarms the mind, when it is already prepared by darkness, to receive impressions of fear. The object, which, in the dark, is seen but obscurely, leaves the heated imagination at full liberty, to bestow upon it the most dreadful appearance. This phantom of the imagination, conceived as a reality, unhinges the mind, and throws it into a fit of distraction. The imagination, now heated to the highest degree, multiplies the dreadful appearances to the utmost bounds of its conception. The object be­comes a spectre, a devil, a hobgoblin, some­thing more terrible than ever was seen or described.

A VERY few accidents of this kind, having so powerful an effect, are sufficient to intro­duce an association between darkness and malignant powers. And when once this asso­ciation is formed, there is no occasion for the appearance of an object to create terror. Frightful ideas croud into the mind, and aug­ment the fear, which is occasioned by dark­ness. The imagination becomes ungovern­able, [Page 314] and converts these ideas into real ap­pearances.

THAT the terror occasioned by darkness, is entirely owing to the operations of the i­magination, will be evident from a single re­flection, that in company no such effect is produced. A companion can afford no se­curity against supernatural powers. But a companion has the same effect with sun­shine, to chear the mind, and preserve it from gloominess and despondency. The i­magination is thereby kept within bounds, and under due subjection to sense and reason.

ESSAY VII. Of our KNOWLEDGE of the DEITY.

THE arguments a priori for the exist­ence and attributes of the Deity, are urged, with the greatest shew of reason, in the sermons preached at Boyle's lectures. But the sermons upon this subject, tho' they command my strictest attention, never have gained my heart. On the contrary, they al­ways give me a sensible uneasiness; the cause of which I have been at a loss to discover, tho' now I imagine I can explain it. Such deep me­taphysical reasoning, if it afford any convicti­on, is surely not adapted to the vulgar and illi­terate. Is the knowledge of God, then, reserv­ed for persons of great study and deep think­ing? Is a vail thrown over the eyes of the rest of mankind? This thought always returned upon me, and gave me pain. If there really exists a being, who made, and who governs the world; and, if it be his purpose to dis­play himself to his rational creatures; it is [Page 316] not consistent with any idea we can form of the power and wisdom of this being, that his purpose should be defeated; which plain­ly is the case, in a great measure, if he is on­ly to be discovered, and but obscurely, by a very small part of mankind. At the same time, to found our knowledge of the Dei­ty solely upon reasoning, is not agreeable to the analogy of nature. We are not left to gather our duty by abstract reasoning, nor indeed by any reasoning. It is engraved up­on the table of our hearts. We adapt our actions to the course of nature, by mere in­stinct, without reasoning, or even experience. Therefore, if we can trust to analogy, we ought to expect, that God will discover him­self to us, in some such manner, as may take in all mankind, the vulgar and illiterate, as well as the deep thinking philosopher.

IF these abstruse arguments, however, are relished by the learned and speculative, 'tis so far well. I cannot help acknowledging, that they afford me no conviction, at least, [Page 317] no solid and permanent conviction. We know little about the nature of things, but what we learn from a strict attention to our own nature. That nothing can begin to exist without a cause, is sufficiently evident from sense and feeling ^*. But that this can be demonstrated by any argument a priori, drawn from the nature of things, I have not observed ^†. And if demonstration fail us in the very outsetting, we cannot hope for its assistance in the after steps. If any one being can begin to exist without a cause, e­very being may; upon which supposition, we never can hope for a demonstration, that any one being must be eternal. But, if this difficulty shall be surmounted, we have ano­ther to struggle with. Admitting that some­thing has existed from all eternity, I find no Data to determine a priori, whether this world has existed of itself from all eternity, in a constant succession of causes and ef­fects; or whether it be an effect produced [Page 318] by an Almighty Power. It is indeed hard to conceive a world eternal and self-existent, where all things are carried on by blind fate, without design or intelligence. And yet I can find no demonstration to the contrary. If we can form any obscure notion of one intelligent being, existing from all eternity, it appears not more difficult to form a notion of a succession of beings, with or without intelligence; or a notion of a perpetual suc­cession of causes and effects.

IN short, difficulties press both ways. But, these difficulties, when examined, do not a­rise from any inconsistency in our ideas. They are occasioned, merely, by the limit­ed capacity of the mind of man. We can­not comprehend an eternity of existence. It is too bulky an object. It eludes our grasp. The mind is like the eye. It can­not take in an object that is very great or very little. This, plainly is the source of our difficulties, when we attempt speculati­ons so remote from common apprehension. Abstract reasoning upon such a subject, must [Page 319] lead into endless perplexities. It is indeed less difficult to conceive one eternal un­changeable being who made the world, than to conceive a blind chain of causes and ef­fects. At least, we are disposed to the for­mer, as being more agreeable to the imagi­nation. But as we cannot find any incon­sistency in the latter supposition, we cannot justly say that it is demonstrably false.

GIVE me leave to add, that to bring out such abstruse and intricate speculations into any clear and persuasive light, is at any rate scarce to be expected. And if, after the utmost straining, they remain obscure and unaffecting, it is evident to me, that they must have a bad tendency. Persons of a peevish and gloomy cast of mind, finding no conviction from that quarter, will be for­tisied in their propensity to believe that all things happen by blind chance; that there is no wisdom, order or harmony in the go­vernment of this world; and consequently that there is no God.

[Page 320] BEING therefore little sollicitous about ar­guments a priori, for the existence of a Deity, which are not proportioned to the capacity of man, I apply myself with zeal and chear­fulness, to search for the Deity in his works; for by these we must discover him, if he has thought proper to make himself known. And the better to manage the inquiry, I shall endeavour to make out three proposi­tions; 1st, That if there is a being who is the maker and governor of the world, it is agreeable to any notions we can form of his government, that he should make some dis­covery of himself to his intelligent creatures. 2dly, That in fact he has done so. And 3dly, That he has done so in a manner a­greeable to the nature of man, and analo­gous to his other operations.

THERE certainly cannot be a more dis­couraging thought to man, than that the world was formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms, and that all things are carried on by blind impulse. Upon that supposition, [Page 321] he can have no security for his life; nor for his continuing to be a moral agent and an intelligent creature, even for a moment. Things have been carried on with regularity and order. But chance may, in an instant, throw all things into the most horrid and dismal confusion. We can have no solid com­fort in virtue, when it is a work of mere chance; nor can we justify our reliance up­on the faith of others, when the nature of man rests upon so precarious a foundation. Every thing must appear gloomy, dismal and disjointed, without a Deity to unite this world of beings into one beautiful and har­monious system. These considerations, and many more that will occur upon the first re­flection, afford a very strong conviction, if there is a wise and good Being, who super­intends the affairs of this world, that he will not conceal himself from his rational crea­tures. Can any thing be more desirable, or more substantially useful, than to know, that there is a Being from whom no secrets are hid, to whom our good works are acceptable, [Page 322] and even the good purposes of our hearts; and whose government, directed by wisdom and benevolence, ought to make us rest se­cure, that nothing does or will fall out, but according to good order? This sentiment, rooted in the mind, is an antidote to all misfortune. Without it, life is at best but a confused and gloomy scene.

AND this leads to a different considerati­on, which makes our knowledge of a bene­volent Deity of the greatest importance to us. Tho' natural and moral evil are far from prevailing in this world, yet so much of both is scattered over the face of things, as to create some degree of doubt, whether there may not be a mixture of chance, or of ill-will, in the government of this world. But, once supposing the superintendency of a good being, these evils are no longer considered as such. A man restrains himself from un­lawful pleasures, tho' the restraint gives him pain. But then he does not consider this pain, as an evil to repine at. He submits to [Page 323] it voluntarily and with satisfaction, as one does to grief for the loss of a friend; being conscious that it is right and fit for him to be so affected. In the same manner, he sub­mits to all the evils of this life. Having con­fidence in the good government of the De­ity, he is persuaded that every thing hap­pens for the best, and therefore that it is his duty to submit to whatever happens. This unfolds a scene so enlivening, and so productive of chearfulness and good hu­mour, that we cannot readily think, if there is a benevolent Deity, that he will with-hold from his creatures so invaluable a blessing.

MAN, at the same time, by his taste for beauty, regularity and order, is fitted for contemplating the wisdom and goodness dis­played in the frame and government of this world. These are proper objects of ad­miration and joy. It is not agreeable to the ordinary course of nature, that man should be endowed with an affection, with­out having a proper object to bestow it up­on. [Page 324] And as the providence of the Deity is the highest object of this affection, it would be unnatural, that he should be kept in ig­norance of it.

THESE, I admit, are but probable reasons for believing, that, if there is a benevolent Deity, it must be his intention to manifest himself to his creatures: but they carry a ve­ry high degree of probability, which leaves little room for doubt. At the same time, tho' it should be our fate, to search in vain for this object of our affection, we ought not however to despair, and, in that despair, to conclude there is no God. Let us but re­flect, that he has not manifested himself to all his creatures. The brutes apparently know nothing of him. And should we be disappointed in this search, the worst we can conclude, is, that for good and wise purpos­es, which we cannot dive into, he has thought proper to with-hold himself also from us. We certainly have no reason to convert our ignorance into an argument [Page 325] against his existence. Our ignorance brings us only a step lower, and puts us, so far, up­on a footing with the brute creation.

THE second and important branch of our disquisition, is, to ascertain this fact, that there is a Deity, and that he has manifested himself to us. I request only attention of my reader, and not any unreasonable con­cession. In a former essay ^*, two propositions are made out. The first is, that every thing which has a beginning, is perceived as a pro­duction or effect, which necessarily involves the idea of a cause. The second, that we necessarily transfer to the cause, whatever of contrivance or design is discovered in the ef­fect. Considering a house, garden, picture or statue in itself, it is perceived as beauti­ful. If we attend to these objects in a diffe­rent view, as things having a beginning, we perceive them to be effects, involving the i­dea of a cause. If again we consider them as artfully contrived to answer certain pur­poses, we perceive them to be the workman­ship [Page 326] of some person of skill. Nor are we deceived in these perceptions. Upon exami­nation, we find, that they correspond to truth and reality.

BUT not only are these objects perceived as effects, which we afterwards learn, from experience, to be the production of man. Natural objects, such as plants and animals, as well as all other objects which once were not, are also perceived as effects, or as the production of some cause. The question will always recur, how came it here? who made it? what is the cause of its existence?

WE are so accustomed to human arts, that every work of design and use will be attri­buted to man. But what if it exceed his known powers and faculties? This supposi­tion does not alter the nature of our feel­ings; but only leads us to a different cause, and, in place of man, to determine upon some superior power. If the object be con­sidered as an effect, it necessarily involves the [Page 327] idea of a cause. And the cause cannot be man, if the object of our perception be an effect far surpassing the power of man. This train of thinking leads us directly to our point. Attend but to the anatomy of the meanest plant: so much of art and of curi­ous mechanism is discovered in it, that it must be the production of some cause, far surpassing the power and intelligence of man. The scene opens more and more, when, pas­sing from plants to animals, we come to man, the most wonderful of all the works of na­ture. And when, at last, we take in, at one view, the natural and moral world, full of harmony, order and beauty; happily ad­justed in all its parts to answer great and glo­rious purposes; there is, in this grand pro­duction, necessarily involved, the perception of a cause, unbounded in power, intelligence and goodness.

THUS it is, that the Deity has manifested himself to us, by the means of principles wrought into our nature, which must infal­libly [Page 328] operate, upon viewing objects in their relation of cause and effect. We discover ex­ternal objects by their qualities of colour, figure, size and motion. In the perception of these qualities, connected after a certain manner, is comprehended, the feeling of the substance or thing, to which these qualities be­long. At the same time, we perceive this substance or thing, supposing it to have a be­ginning of existence, to be an effect produ­ced by some cause; and we perceive the pow­ers and properties of this cause from its ef­fects. If there is an aptitude in the effect to some end, we attribute to the cause, intelli­gence and design. If the effect produced be some thing that is good in itself, or that has a tendency to some good end or pupose, we attribute goodness to the cause, as well as intelligence and design. And this we do, not by any process of reasoning, but merely by perception and feeling. The Deity has not left his existence to be gathered from slip­pery and far-fetched arguments. We have but to open our eyes, to receive impressions [Page 329] of him almost from every thing we perceive. We discover his being and attributes, in the same manner that we discover external objects. We have but to appeal to our own perceptions; and none but those, who are so stubbornly hypothetical, as to deny the exist­ence of matter, against the evidence of their senses, can, seriously and deliberately, deny the existence of the Deity. In fine, there is a wonderful harmony established betwixt our perceptions and the course of nature. We trust to our perceptions, for the existence of external objects, and their past, present and future operations. We trust to these perceptions by the necessity of our nature, and, upon experience, find ourselves not de­ceived. Our perception of the Deity, is as distinct and authoritative, as that of external objects. And tho' here, we cannot have ex­perience to appeal to, the want of experi­ence can never afford an argument against the authority of any perception, where, from the nature of the thing, there can be no ex­perience. It is sufficient for conviction, that [Page 330] our perceptions in general correspond to the truth of things, wherever there is an oppor­tunity to try them by experience; and there­fore, we can have no cause to doubt of our perceptions in any case, where they are not contradicted by experience.

SO far the Deity is discoverable, by every person who goes but one step beyond the surface of things, and their mere existence. We may indeed behold the earth in its gayest dress, the heavens in all their glory, without having any perception, other than that of beauty, something in these objects that plea­ses and delights us. Many pass their lives, brutishly involved in the gross pleasures of sense, without having any feeling, at least, any strong or permanent feeling, of the Dei­ty; and possibly, this in general is the case of savages, before they are humanized by so­ciety and government. But the Deity can­not be long a secret from those who are ac­customed to any degree of reflection. No sooner are we enabled to relish beauties of [Page 331] the second and third class ^*; no sooner do we acquire a taste for regularity, order, de­sign, and good purpose, than we begin to per­ceive the Deity, in the beauty of the opera­tions of nature. Savages who have no con­sistent rule of conduct, who act by the blind impulse of passion and appetite, and who have only a glimmering of the moral sense, are but ill qualified to discover the Deity in his works. If they have little or no percep­tion of a just tenor of life, of the dignity of behaviour, and of the beauty of action, how should they perceive the beauty of the works of creation, and the admirable harmony of all the parts, in the great system of things? Being conscious of nothing but disorder and sensual impulse within, they cannot be con­scious of any thing better without them. Society teaches mankind self-denial, and im­proves the moral sense. Disciplined in so­ciety, the taste for order and regularity un­folds itself by degrees. The social affecti­ons [Page 332] gain the ascendant, and the morality of actions gets firm possession of the mind. In this improved state, the beauty of the crea­tion makes a strong impression; and, we can never cease admiring the excellency of that cause, who is the author of so many beautiful effects. And thus, to society we owe all the blessings of life, and, particularly, the know­ledge of the Deity, that most inestimable branch of human knowledge.

HITHERTO we have gone no further, than to point out the means by which we discover the Deity, and his attributes of pow­er, wisdom and goodness. So far are we carried by those wonderful principles in our nature, which discover the connection be­twixt cause and effect, and from the ef­fect discover the powers and properties of the cause. But there is one attribute of the Supreme Being, of the most essential kind, which remains to be unfolded. It is, what commonly passes under the name of self-existence, that he must have existed for [Page 333] ever; and consequently, that he cannot be considered as an effect, to require a cause of his existence; but, on the contrary, without being caused, that, mediately, or immediate­ly, he is the cause of all other things. A principle, we have had occasion, more than once, to mention, will make this evident, sciz. that nothing can begin to exist with­out a cause. Every thing which comes in­to existence, and once was not, is, by a ne­cessary determination of our nature, perceiv­ed as an effect, or as a production; the very conception of which, involves an adequate cause. Now, if every thing has a begin­ning, one being, at least, to wit, that which first came into existence, must be an effect or production without a cause, which is a di­rect inconsistency. If all beings had a be­ginning, there was a time, when the world was an absolute void; upon which supposi­tion, it is intuitively certain, that nothing could ever have come into existence. This proposition we feel to be true, and our feel­ing affords us, in this case, a more solid con­viction, [Page 334] than any demonstration can do. One being, therefore, must have existed from all eternity, who, as he is not an effect or production, cannot possibly be indebted for his existence to any other being. At the same time, as we can have no foundation for supposing the existence of more eternal beings than one, this one being must be the Deity; because, all other beings, mediately, or immediately, owe their existence to him. All other beings, as they are supposed to be produced in time, must have a cause of their existence, and, by the supposition, there can be no other cause but this eternal Being. The bulk of mankind, probably, in their no­tions of the Deity, scarce comprehend this attribute of self-existence. A man must be used, a good deal, to abstract reasoning, who of himself discovers this truth. But it is not difficult to explain it to others, after it is dis­covered. And it deserves well to be incul­cated; for, without it, our knowledge of the Deity must be extremely imperfect. His other attributes of power, wisdom and good­ness, [Page 335] are, in some measure, communicated to his creatures; but his attribute of self-exis­tence makes the strongest opposition imagin­able, betwixt him and his creatures.

A FEW words will suffice upon the third proposition, which, in a good measure, is al­ready explained. The essence of the Deity is far beyond the reach of our comprehensi­on. Were he to exhibit himself to us, in broad day-light, it is not a thing supposable, that he could be reached by any of our ex­ternal senses. The attributes of self-existence, wisdom, goodness and power, are purely in­tellectual. And therefore, so far as we can comprehend, there are no ordinary means to acquire any knowledge of the Deity, but by his works. And indeed, by means of that sense which discovers causes from their ef­fects, he has manifested himself to us in a fa­tisfactory manner, liable to no doubt nor error. And after all, what further evidence can we desire, when the evidence we have of his existence is little inferior to that we [Page 336] have of our own existence? Impressions or perceptions serve us for evidence in both cas­es ^*. Our own existence, indeed, is, of all facts, that which concerns us most; and, therefore, of our own existence we ought to have the highest certainty. Next to it, we have not, as it appears to me, a greater cer­tainty of any matter of fact, than of the ex­istence of the Deity. 'Tis, at least, equal to the certainty we have of external objects, and of the constancy and uniformity of the operations of nature, upon the faith of which our whole schemes of life are adjusted.

THE arguments a posteriori, which have been urged for the Being and attributes of the Deity, are generally defective. There is always wanting one link of the chain, to wit, that peculiar principle, upon which is founded our knowledge of causes and their ef­fects. But the calm perceptions, turning habi­tual by frequent repetition, are apt to be over­looked [Page 337] in our reasonings. Many a pro­position is rendered obscure, by much la­boured argument, for the truth of which, we need but appeal to our own percepti­ons. Thus, we are told, that the frame and order of the world, the wisdom and goodness displayed in every part of it, are an evident demonstration of the Being of a God. I confess, these things afford us full conviction of his Being. But, laying a­side perception and feeling, I should be ut­terly at a loss, by any sort of reasoning, to conclude the existence of any one thing, from that of any other thing. In particular, by what process of reasoning, can we demon­strate this conclusion to be true, that order and beauty must needs proceed from a de­signing cause? It is true, the idea of an effect involves the idea of a cause. But how does reason make out, that the thing we name an effect, may not exist of itself, as well as what we name a cause? If it be urged, that hu­man works, where means are apparently ad­justed to an end, and beautty and order dis­covered, [Page 338] are always known to be the effects of intelligence and design. True, they are: and as far as I have experience, I believe the fact to be so. But, where experience fails me, I desire to know, by what step, what link in the chain of reasoning, am I to con­nect my past experience with this inference, that in every case, I ought to form the same conclusion? If it be said, that nature prompts us to judge of similar instances, by former experience; this is giving up reason and de­monstration, to appeal to that very feeling, on which, I contend, the evidence of this truth must entirely rest. All the arguments a posteriori, may be resolved into this princi­ple; which, no doubt, has had its due influ­ence upon the writers who handle the pre­sent subject; tho', I must be allowed to say, it has not been explained, nor, perhaps, suffi­ciently understood by them; whereby, all of them have been led into the error, of stating as demonstrative reasoning, what is only an appeal to our senses. They reason, for ex­ample, upon the equality of males and fe­males, [Page 339] and hold the infinite odds against this equality, to be a demonstration, that matters cannot be carried on by chance. This, con­sidered as mere reasoning, does not con­clude; for, besides that chance is infinite in its varieties, there may be, some blind fata­lity, some unknown cause, in the nature of things, which produces this uniformity. But tho' reason cannot afford demonstration in this case, sense and feeling afford conviction. The equality of males and females, is one of the many instances which we know and feel to be the effects of a designing cause; and of which we can no more entertain a doubt, than of our own existence. The same principle, which unfolds to us the con­nection of causes and their effects, in the most common events, discovers this whole uni­verse to stand in the relation of an effect to a supreme cause.

To substitute feeling in place of reason and demonstration, may seem to put the evi­dence of the Deity upon too low a footing. [Page 340] But human reason is not so mighty an affair, as philosophers vainly pretend. It affords very little aid, in making original discoveries. The comparing of things together, and directing our inferences from feeling and experience, are its proper province. In this way, reason gives its aid, to lead us to the knowledge of the Deity. It enlarges our views of final caus­es, and of the prevalence of wisdom and good­ness. But the application of the argument from final causes, to prove the existence of a Deity, and the force of our conclusion, from beautiful and orderly effects to a designing cause, are not from reason, but from an inter­nal light, which shows things in their relation of cause and effect. These conclusions rest en­tirely upon sense and feeling; and it is sur­prising, that writers should overlook what is so natural, and so obvious. But the pride of man's heart, makes him desire to extend his discoveries, by dint of reasoning. For reason­ing is our own work. There is merit in acute­ness and penetration; and we are better [Page 341] pleased to assume merit to ourselves, than humbly to acknowledge, that, to the most important discoveries, we are directly led by the hand of the Almighty.

HAVING unfolded that principle, upon which I would rest the most important of all truths; objections must not be overlook­ed, such as appear to have weight: and I shall endeavour to give these objections their strongest effect, which ought to be done in every dispute, and which becomes more strict­ly a duty, in handling a subject, where truth is of the utmost importance.

CONSIDERING the above argument on all sides, I do not find, that it can be more advantageously combated, than by opposing to it, the eternity and self-existence of the world, governed by chance or blind fatality. 'Tis above admitted to be very difficult, by any abstract reasoning, to prove the inconsis­tency of this supposition. But we feel the inconsistency; for the frame and conduct of [Page 342] this world, contain in them, too much of wis­dom, art and foresight, to admit of the sup­position of chance or blind fatality. We are necessarily determined, by a principle in our nature, to attribute such effects to some intelligent and designing cause. Supposing this cause to be the world itself, we have, at least, got free of the supposition of chance and blind satality. And, if the world be a being, endued with unbounded power, in­telligence and benevolence, the world is the being we are in quest of; for we have no other idea of the Deity, but of an eternal and self-existent being, endued with power, wisdom and goodness. But the hypothesis, thus reformed, still contradicts our percepti­ons. The world is made up of parts, separ­able, and actually separated. The attributes of unbounded power, intelligence and bene­volence, do certainly not belong to this earth, and as little to the sun, moon or stars, which are not conceived to be even volun­tary agents. Therefore, these attributes must belong to a Being, who made the earth, [Page 343] sun, moon and stars, and who connects the whole together in one system.

A SECOND objection may be, that the above reasoning, by which we conclude the eternity and self-existence of one Being who made this world, does not necessarily infer such a conclusion, but only, an eternal suc­cession of such beings; which may be rec­koned a more natural supposition, and more agreeable to our feelings, than the idea of one eternal self-existent Being, without any cause of his existence.

IN matters so profound, it is difficult to form ideas with any degree of accuracy. I have observed above, that it is too much for man, to grasp, in his idea, an eternal Being, whose existence, upon that account, cannot admit of the supposition of a cause. To talk, as some of our metaphysical writers do, of an absolute necessity in the nature of the Be­ing, as the cause of his existence, is mere jargon. For we can conceive nothing more [Page 344] clearly, than that the cause must go before the effect, and that the cause cannot possibly be in the effect. But, however difficult it may be, to conceive one eternal Being, with­out a cause of its existence; it is not less dif­ficult, to conceive an eternal succession of beings, deriving their existence from each other. For, tho' every link be supposed a production, the chain itself exists without a cause, as well as one eternal Being does. Therefore, an eternal succession of beings, is not a more natural supposition, than one eternal self-existent Being. And taking it in a different light, it will appear a supposi­tion much less natural, or rather altogether unnatural. Succession in existence, imply­ing the successive annihilation of particulars, is indeed a very natural conception. But then, it is intimately connected with frail and dependent beings, and cannot, without the utmost violence to the conception, be applied to the Maker of all things, to whom, we naturally ascribe, perpetual existence, and every other perfection. And therefore, as [Page 345] this hypothesis of a perpetual succession, when applied to the Deity, is destitute of a­ny support from reason or experience, and is contradicted by every one of our natural feel­ings, there can be no ground for adopting it.

THE noted observation of Lucretius, that primos in orbe deos fecit timor, may be ob­jected; as it will be thought unphilosophical, to multiply causes for our belief of a Deity, when fear alone must have that effect. For my part, I have little doubt of the truth of the observation, taking it in its proper sense, that fear is the foundation of our belief of invisible malevolent powers. For it is evi­dent, that fear can never be the cause of our belief of a benevolent Deity. I have unfolded, in another essay ^*, the cause of our dread of malevolent invisible powers. And I am persuaded, that nothing has been more hurtful to religion, than the irregular propensity in our nature, to dread such pow­ers. Superficial thinkers are apt to confound [Page 346] these phantoms of the imagination, with the objects of our true and genuine perceptions. And finding so little reality in the former, they are apt to conclude the latter, also, to be a fiction. But, if they gave any sort of deliberate attention, they would soon learn, by the assistance of history, if not by origi­nal feeling, to distinguish these objects, as having no real connection with each other. Man, in his original savage state, is a shy and timorous animal, dreading every new object, and attributing every extraordinary e­vent, to some invisible malevolent power. Led, at the same time, by mere appetite, he has little idea of regularity and order, of the morality of actions, or of the beauty of na­ture. In this state, it is no wonder, he mul­tiplies his invisible malevolent powers, with­out entertaining any notion of a supreme Be­ing, the Creator of all things. As man rip­ens in society, and is benefited by the good­will of others, his dread of new objects gra­dually lessens. He begins to perceive regu­larity and order in the course of nature. He [Page 347] becomes sharp-sighted, in discovering causes from effects, and effects from causes. He ascends gradually, thro' the different orders of beings, and their operations, till he dis­covers the Deity, who is the cause of all things. And when we run over the history of man, it will be found to hold true in fact, that savages, who are most possest with the opinion of evil spirits, have, of all people, the least idea of a Deity; and, that as all civilized nations, without exception, entertain the firm belief of a Deity, so the dread of evil spirits wears out in every nation, in proportion to their gradual advances in social intercourse.

AND this leads to a reflection, which can­not fail to have universal influence. Man, in a savage and brutish state, is hurried a­way by every gust of passion, and by every phantom of the imagination. His powers and faculties are improved by education, and good culture. He acquires deep knowledge in the nature of things, and learns accurate­ly to distinguish truth from falsehood. What [Page 348] more satisfying evidence can we require, of the truth of our perceptions of the Deity, than to find these perceptions prevalent, in proportion, as mankind improve in the arts of life? These perceptions go hand in hand with the rational powers. As man increas­es in knowledge, and in the discerning fa­culties, his perceptions of the Deity become proportionally more strong, clear and autho­ritative. The universal conviction of a Dei­ty, which has, without exception, spread through all civilized nations, cannot possi­bly be without a foundation in nature. To insist that it may, is to insist, that an ef­fect may be without an adequate cause. Rea­son cannot be an adequate cause; because, our reasonings upon this subject, must, at best, be abstruse, and beyond the comprehen­sion of the bulk of mankind. Our know­ledge, therefore, of the Deity, must be found­ed on our perceptions and feelings, which are common to mankind. And it is agree­able to the analogy of nature, that God should discover himself to his rational crea­tures [Page 349] after this manner. If this subject be involved in any degree of obscurity, writers are to blame, who, in a matter of so great importance, ought to give no quarter to inac­curacy of thought or expression. But it is an error, common to the bulk of writers, to substitute reason for feeling. The faculty of perception, working silently, and without effort, is generally overlookt. And we must find a reason for every thing we judge to be true; tho' the truth of the proposition often depends, not upon reasoning, but upon mere feeling. It is thus, that morality has been brought under some obscurity, by metaphy­sical writers; and it is equally to be regret­ed, that the knowledge of the Deity has been brought under obscurity, by the same sort of writers.

HAVING settled the belief of a Deity up­on its proper basis, we shall proceed to take a general view of the attributes, which be­long to that great Being; and first,