Chapter II: 1734-1739. æt. 23-27 (1)

Hume leaves Bristol for France--Paris--Miracles at the Tomb of
the Abbé Paris--Rheims--La Flêche--Associations with the Abbé
Pluche and Des Cartes--Observations on French Society and
Manners--Story of La Roche--Return to Britain.--Correspondence
with Henry Home--Publication of the first and second volume of
The Treatise of Human Nature--Character of that Work--Its
Influence on mental Philosophy.

We have no account of Hume's sojourn in Bristol, except his own very brief statement, that "in a few months," he "found that scene totally unsuitable" to him.[48:1] He must have proceeded to France about the middle of the year 1734, and he thus describes in his "own life," his motives and intentions. "I went over to France, with a view of prosecuting my studies in a country retreat; and I there laid that plan of life, which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature."

His subsequent letters show that he proceeded in the first instance to Paris, where he remained for a short time. Not long before his arrival there, some occurrences had taken place which were afterwards prominently referred to in his philosophical writings. A Jansenist, distinguished by his sanctity and the wide circle of his charities--the Abbé Paris, having died, a tomb was erected over his remains in the cemetery of St. Médard. Thither the poor, whom the good man had succoured in life, repaired to bless his memory and pray for the state of his soul. But it was discovered that this devotion was speedily rewarded; for the sick were cured, the blind saw, all manner of miracles were performed; and the evidence of their genuineness was considered so satisfactory, that the Jesuits were never able to impugn them--an instance which it might be well for every one to recall to mind who is told of phenomena out of the ordinary course of nature being authenticated by the testimony of respectable and enlightened people. At length, this series of miracles became offensive to the government--there was no saying how far the matter might proceed. It was resolved that there should be no more miracles performed at the tomb of the Abbé Paris: the gates of the cemetery were closed, and the miracles necessarily came to an end. This occurred in the year 1732, just two years before Hume's visit; and it will easily be imagined that the references to these wonderful events which he would hear in conversation, suggested many trains of thought to the young philosopher. It was not long afterwards, and probably while all this was very fresh in his memory, that the principal theory of his Essay on Miracles was suggested to him. In that Essay he says:

"Many of the miracles of Abbé Paris were proved immediately by witnesses before the officialty or bishop's court at Paris, under the eye of Cardinal Noailles, whose character for integrity and capacity was never contested even by his enemies.

"His successor in the archbishopric was an enemy to the Jansenists, and for that reason promoted to the see by the court. Yet twenty-two rectors or curés of Paris, with infinite earnestness, press him to examine those miracles, which they assert to be known to the whole world, and indisputably certain. But he wisely forbore."

And farther on:--

"No less a man than the Duc de Chatillon, a duke and peer of France, of the highest rank and family, gives evidence of a miraculous cure, performed upon a servant of his, who had lived several years in his house with a visible and palpable infirmity.

"I shall conclude with observing, that no clergy are more celebrated for strictness of life and manners than the secular clergy of France, particularly the rectors or curés of Paris, who bear testimony to these impostures."

An illustration of his notice of what was passing around him in Paris, occurs in the following passage in his "Natural History of Religion."

"I lodged once at Paris in the same hotel with an ambassador from Tunis, who, having passed some years at London, was returning home that way. One day I observed his Moorish excellency diverting himself under the porch, with surveying the splendid equipages that drove along; when there chanced to pass that way some Capucin friars, who had never seen a Turk, as he, on his part, though accustomed to the European dresses, had never seen the grotesque figure of a Capucin: and there is no expressing the mutual admiration with which they inspired each other. Had the chaplain of the embassy entered into a dispute with these Franciscans, their reciprocal surprise had been of the same nature. Thus all mankind stand staring at one another; and there is no beating it into their heads, that the turban of the African is not just as good or as bad a fashion as the cowl of the European.--'He is a very honest man,' said the Prince of Sallee, speaking of De Ruyter; 'it is a pity he were a Christian.'"

After leaving Paris, he resided at Rheims in the province of Champagne, about eighty miles north-east of the metropolis. Thence he addressed to his friend Michael Ramsay the following letter, full of observation and thought.

HUME _to_ MICHAEL RAMSAY.

"_Rheims, September 12, 1734._

"MY DEAR MICHAEL,--I suppose you have received two letters from me, dated at Paris, in one of which was enclosed a letter to my Lord Stair. I am now arrived at Rheims, which is to be the place of my abode for some considerable time, and where I hope both to spend my time happily for the present, and lay up a stock for the future. It is a large town, containing about forty thousand inhabitants, and has in it about thirty families that keep coaches, though, by the appearance of the houses, you would not think there was one. I am recommended to two of the best families in town, and particularly to a man, who they say is one of the most learned in France.[52:1] He is just now in the country, so that I have not yet seen him; though, if I had seen him, it would be some time before I could contract a friendship with him, not being yet sufficient master of the language to support a conversation; which is a great vexation to me, but which I hope in a short time to get over. As I have little more than this to say about business, I shall use the freedom to entertain you with any idle thoughts that come into my head, hoping at least you will excuse them, if not be pleased with them, because they come from an absent friend.

"When I parted from Paris, the Chevalier Ramsay gave me as his advice, to observe carefully, and imitate as much as possible, the manners of the French. For, says he, though the English, perhaps, have more of the real politeness of the heart, yet the French certainly have the better way of expressing it. This gave me occasion to reflect upon the matter, and in my humble opinion it is just the contrary: viz., that the French have more real politeness, and the English the better method of expressing it. By real politeness I mean softness of temper, and a sincere inclination to oblige and be serviceable, which is very conspicuous in this nation, not only among the high but low; in so much that the porters and coachmen here are civil, and that, not only to gentlemen, but likewise among themselves; so that I have not yet seen one quarrel in France, though they are every where to be met with in England.[53:1] By the expressions of politeness, I mean those outward deferences and ceremonies which custom has invented, to supply the defect of real politeness or kindness, that is unavoidable towards strangers, or indifferent persons, even in men of the best dispositions in the world. These ceremonies ought to be so contrived, as that, though they do not deceive nor pass for sincere, yet still they please by their appearance, and lead the mind by its own consent and knowledge into an agreeable delusion. One may err by running into either of the two extremes; that of making them too like truth or too remote from it: though we may observe, that the first is scarce possible, because whenever any expression or action becomes customary, it can deceive nobody. Thus, when the Quakers say, 'your friend,' they are as easily understood, as another, that says, 'your humble servant.' The French err in the contrary extreme, that of making their civilities too remote from truth, which is a fault, though they are not designed to be believed; just as it is a transgression of rules in a dramatic poet to mix any improbabilities with his fable, though 'tis certain that, in the representation, the scenes, lights, company, and a thousand other circumstances, make it impossible he can ever deceive.

"Another fault I find in the French manners, is that, like their clothes and furniture, they are too glaring. An English fine gentleman distinguishes himself from the rest of the world, by the whole tenor of his conversation, more than by any particular part of it; so that though you are sensible he excels, you are at a loss to tell in what, and have no remarkable civilities and compliments to pitch on as a proof of his politeness. These he so smooths over, that they pass for the common actions of life, and never put you to[55:1] trouble of returning thanks for them. The English politeness is always greatest where it appears least.

"After all, it must be confessed that the little niceties of French behaviour, though troublesome and impertinent, yet serve to polish the ordinary kind of people, and prevent rudeness and brutality. For in the same manner as soldiers are found to become more courageous in learning to hold their muskets within half an inch of a place appointed; and your devotees feel their devotion increase by the observance of trivial superstitions, as sprinkling, kneeling, crossing, &c.; so men insensibly soften towards each other in the practice of these ceremonies. The mind pleases itself by the progress it makes in such trifles, and while it is so supported, makes an easy transition to something more material. And I verily believe it is for this reason that you scarce ever meet with a clown or an ill-bred man in France.

"You may perhaps wonder that I, who have stayed so short time in France, and who have confessed that I am not master of their language, should decide so positively of their manner. But you will please to observe, that it is with nations as with particular men, where one trifle frequently serves more to discover the character, than a whole train of considerable actions. Thus, when I compare our English phrase of 'humble servant,' which likewise we omit upon the least intimacy, with the French one of 'the honour of being your most humble servant,' which they never forget,--this, compared with other circumstances, lets me clearly see the different humours of the nations. This phrase, of the honour of doing or saying such a thing to you, goes so far, that my washing-woman to-day told me, that she hoped she would have the honour of serving me while I staid at Rheims; and what is still more absurd, it is said by people to those who are very much their inferiors.

"Before I conclude my letter, I must tell you that I hope you will excuse my rudeness, if I use the freedom (?)[56:1] to desire of you that, the next time you do me the honour of writing to me, you will be so good as to sit down a day before the post goes away; for I cannot help being afraid that, in your haste, you have omitted many things, which otherwise I would have had the honour and satisfaction of hearing from you. When you are so good as to condescend to write, please to direct so:--'A Monsieur--Monsieur David Hume, gentilhomme, Ecossois, chez Monsieur Mesier, au Peroquet verd, proche la porte au Ferron, Rheims.'"[56:2]

Hume states, in his "own life," that he passed "three years" very agreeably in France. We find from a letter to Principal Campbell,[57:1] that two of these years were spent at La Flêche, and that he had some communication with the members of the Jesuits' College there. He says, "It may perhaps amuse you to learn the first hint, which suggested to me that argument which you have so strenuously attacked. I was walking in the cloisters of the Jesuits' College of La Flêche, a town in which I passed two years of my youth, and engaged in a conversation with a Jesuit of some parts and learning, who was relating to me, and urging some nonsensical miracle performed lately in their convent, when I was tempted to dispute against him; and as my head was full of the topics of my Treatise of Human Nature, which I was at that time composing, this argument immediately occurred to me, and I thought it very much gravelled my companion; but at last he observed to me, that it was impossible for that argument to have any solidity, because it operated equally against the Gospel as the Catholic miracles;--which observation I thought proper to admit as a sufficient answer. I believe you will allow, that the freedom at least of this reasoning makes it somewhat extraordinary to have been the produce of a convent of Jesuits, though perhaps you may think the sophistry of it savours plainly of the place of its birth."

This same Jesuits' College of La Flêche, is familiar to the philosophical reader as the seminary in which Des Cartes was educated. The place which Hume had just left, has been seen to be associated with the birth and residence of a distinguished opponent of the Cartesian theory. We now find him perfecting his work in that academic solitude, where Des Cartes himself was educated, and where he formed his theory of commencing with the doubt of previous dogmatic opinions, and framing for himself a new fabric of belief. The coincidence is surely worthy of reflective association, and it is perhaps not the least striking instance of Hume's unimaginative nature, that in none of his works, printed or manuscript, do we find an allusion to the circumstance, that while framing his own theories, he trod the same pavement that had upwards of a century earlier borne the weight of one whose fame and influence on human thought was so much of the same character as he himself panted to attain.

It is to Hume's early sojourn in France that we must assign the time and the scene of Mackenzie's pleasant fiction, called the "Story of La Roche," published in the Mirror of 1779. It is generally admitted that the writer's materials were merely the character and habits of the philosopher, and that there was no groundwork for the narrative in any incident that had actually occurred. But the story must be taken as the observations of an acute perception, and a finely adjusted taste, upon Hume's character; and our reliance on the accuracy of the picture is enhanced by the circumstance that Smith, deceived by its air of reality, expressed his wonder that Hume had never told him of the incident.[58:1]

The opening description is in these words:--

"More than forty years ago, an English philosopher, whose works have since been read and admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in France. Some disappointments in his native country had first driven him abroad, and he was afterwards induced to remain there, from having found in this retreat, where the connexions even of nature and language were avoided, a perfect seclusion and retirement, highly favourable to the development of abstract subjects, in which he excelled all the writers of his time.

"Perhaps in the structure of such a mind as Mr. ----'s, the fine and more delicate sensibilities are seldom known to have place; or, if originally implanted there, are in a great measure extinguished by the exertions of intense study and profound investigation. Hence the idea of philosophy and unfeelingness being united, has become proverbial; and, in common language, the former word is often used to express the latter. Our philosopher had been censured by some, as deficient in warmth and feeling: but the mildness of his manners has been allowed by all; and it is certain, that if he was not easily melted into compassion, it was at least not difficult to awaken his benevolence."

The impression of the actions of a kind, charitable, and tolerant disposition, conveyed by the circumstances of the narrative, cannot be represented without incorporating it in full; and it will probably be thought that one or two passing sketches of character, such as the above, are all that should be taken into a work like the present, from a book accessible to every reader. Thus, when the housekeeper comes with the account of the distresses of the poor protestant clergyman and his daughter:

"Her master laid aside the volume in his hand, and broke off the chain of ideas it had inspired. His night-gown was exchanged for a coat, and he followed his gouvernante to the sick man's apartment."

Again,--

"La Roche found a degree of simplicity and gentleness in his companion, which is not always annexed to the character of a learned or a wise man. His daughter, who was prepared to be afraid of him, was equally undeceived. She found in him nothing of that self-importance which superior parts, or great cultivation of them, is apt to confer. He talked of every thing but philosophy or religion; he seemed to enjoy every pleasure and amusement of ordinary life, and to be interested in the most common topics of discourse: when his knowledge or learning at any time appeared, it was delivered with the utmost plainness, and without the least shadow of dogmatism."

And not less distinctly are the following sentences the echo of Mackenzie's own observations of the character and habits of the philosopher, that they are put in the varied shape of dialogue and narrative.

"You regret, my friend," said [La Roche,] "when my daughter and I talk of the exquisite pleasure derived from music, you regret your want of musical powers and musical feelings; it is a department of soul, you say, which nature has almost denied you, which, from the effects you see it have on others, you are sure must be highly delightful. Why should not the same thing be said of religion? Trust me, I feel it in the same way, an energy, an inspiration, which I would not lose for all the blessings of sense or enjoyments of the world. . . . . . And it would have been inhuman in our philosopher to have clouded, even with a doubt, the sunshine of this belief.

"His discourse was very remote from metaphysical disquisition or religious controversy. Of all men I ever knew, his ordinary conversation was the least tinctured with pedantry or liable to dissertation. With La Roche and his daughter it was perfectly familiar. The country round them, the manners of the villagers, the comparison of both with those of England, remarks on the works of favourite authors, or the sentiments they conveyed, and the passions they excited, with many other topics in which there was an equality, or alternate advantage among the speakers, were the subjects they talked on."

Nor can one, after having quoted so much, avoid giving the concluding sentence, in which the philosopher contemplates the old clergyman's grief for the loss of his daughter, and at the same time that he perceives its bitterness and intensity, is made aware of the consolations which the bereaved old man finds in religion, and "rejoices that such consolation" is his.

"Mr. ----'s heart was smitten; and I have heard him long after confess, that there were moments when the remembrance overcame him even to weakness; when, amidst all the pleasures of philosophical discovery, and the pride of literary fame, he recalled to his mind the venerable figure of the good La Roche, and wished that he had never doubted."

The account of his sojourn in France is thus given in his "own life:"--"During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La Flêche, in Anjou, I composed my 'Treatise of Human Nature.' After passing three years very agreeably in that country, I came over to London in 1737."

We must now follow him to London, where we find him occupied in carrying his "Treatise of Human Nature," through the press. One of his early friends was his namesake Henry Home, afterwards Lord Kames, who pursued, but with unequal step, the same path with himself. Home was fifteen years the elder of the two, and had joined the bar in 1723. He had already published some of his professional works; but it was at a subsequent period of his life, and when he perhaps became emulous of the fame of his friend, that he attempted works in ethics, metaphysics, and criticism. During many years of continued intimacy, these two distinguished men enjoyed each other's mutual respect; but, in their early intercourse, when his senior had for some time occupied a prominent position in the eye of the public, we naturally find Hume writing about his great project in a tone of modest deference.

HUME _to_ HENRY HOME.

"_London, December 2, 1737._

"DEAR SIR,--I am sorry I am not able to satisfy your curiosity by giving you some general notion of the plan upon which I proceed. But my opinions are so new, and even some terms I am obliged to make use of, that I could not propose, by any abridgment, to give my system an air of likelihood, or so much as make it intelligible. It is a thing I have in vain attempted already, at a gentleman's request in this place, who thought it would help him to comprehend and judge of my notions, if he saw them all at once before him. I have had a greater desire of communicating to you the plan of the whole, that I believe it will not appear in public before the beginning of next winter. For, besides that it would be difficult to have it printed before the rising of the parliament, I must confess I am not ill pleased with a little delay, that it may appear with as few imperfections as possible. I have been here near three months, always within a week of agreeing with my printers; and you may imagine I did not forget the work itself during that time, where I began to feel some passages weaker for the style and diction than I could have wished. The nearness and greatness of the event roused up my attention, and made me more difficult to please, than when I was alone in perfect tranquillity in France. But here I must tell you one of my foibles. I have a great inclination to go down to Scotland this spring to see my friends; and have your advice concerning my philosophical discoveries; but cannot overcome a certain shamefacedness I have to appear among you at my years, without having yet a settlement, or so much as attempted any. How happens it that we philosophers cannot as heartily despise the world as it despises us? I think in my conscience the contempt were as well founded on our side as on the other.

"Having a franked letter, I was resolved to make use of it; and accordingly enclose some '_Reasonings concerning Miracles_,'[63:1] which I once thought of publishing with the rest, but which I am afraid will give too much offence, even as the world is disposed at present. There is something in the turn of thought, and a good deal in the turn of expression, which will not perhaps appear so proper, for want of knowing the context: but the force of the argument you'll be judge of, as it stands. Tell me your thoughts of it. Is not the style too diffuse? though, as that was a popular argument, I have spread it out much more than the other parts of the work. I beg of you to show it to nobody, except to Mr. Hamilton, if he pleases; and let me know at your leisure that you have received it, read it, and burnt it. Your thoughts and mine agree with respect to Dr. Butler, and I would be glad to be introduced to him. I am at present castrating my work, that is, cutting off its nobler parts; that is, endeavouring it shall give as little offence as possible, before which, I could not pretend to put it into the Doctor's hands. This is a piece of cowardice, for which I blame myself, though I believe none of my friends will blame me. But I was resolved not to be an enthusiast in philosophy, while I was blaming other enthusiasms. If ever I indulge myself in any, 'twill be when I tell you that I am, dear Sir, yours."[64:1]

Butler, to whom Hume is thus found desiring an introduction, had, in the immediately preceding year, published "The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature;" and it appears that Hume courted the attention of the author of that clear logical work to those speculations of his own, which, in the opinion of the world in general, have so opposite a tendency to that of the "Analogy." The following letter, acknowledging an introduction from Home, and dated 4th March, 1738, tells its own tale.

"I shall not trouble you with any formal compliments or thanks, which would be but an ill return for the kindness you have done me in writing in my behalf, to one you are so little acquainted with as Dr. Butler; and, I am afraid, stretching the truth in favour of a friend. I have called upon the Doctor, with a design of delivering him your letter, but find he is at present in the country. I am a little anxious to have the Doctor's opinion. My own I dare not trust to; both because it concerns myself, and because it is so variable, that I know not how to fix it. Sometimes it elevates me above the clouds; at other times, it depresses me with doubts and fears; so that, whatever be my success, I cannot be entirely disappointed. Somebody has told me that you might perhaps be in London this spring. I should esteem this a very lucky event; and notwithstanding all the pleasures of the town, I would certainly engage you to pass some philosophical evenings with me, and either correct my judgment, where you differ from me, or confirm it where we agree. I believe I have some need of the one, as well as the other; and though the propensity to diffidence be an error on the better side, yet 'tis an error, and dangerous as well as disagreeable.--I am, &c.

"I lodge at present in the Rainbow Coffeehouse, Lancaster Court."[65:1]

The transactions between authors and booksellers are seldom accompanied by any formidable array of legal formalities; but Hume and his publishers seem to have thought it necessary to bind each other in the most stringent manner, to the performance of their respective obligations, by "articles of agreement, made, concluded, and agreed, upon the 26th day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight, and in the twelfth year of the reign of our sovereign lord King George the Second,--between David Hume of Lancaster Court of the one part, and John Noone of Cheapside, London, bookseller, of the other part." By this very precise document, it is provided, that "the said David Hume shall and will permit and suffer the said John Noone to have, hold, and enjoy, the sole property, benefit, and advantage of printing and publishing the first edition of the said book, not exceeding one thousand copies thereof." The author, in return, receives £50, and twelve bound copies of the book.[66:1] The transaction is on the whole creditable to the discernment and liberality of Mr. Noone. It may be questioned, whether, in this age, when knowledge has spread so much wider, and money is so much less valuable, it would be easy to find a bookseller, who, on the ground of its internal merits, would give £50 for an edition of a new metaphysical work, by an unknown and young author, born and brought up in a remote part of the empire. These articles refer to the first and second of the three volumes of the "Treatise of Human Nature;" and they were accordingly published in January, 1739. They include "Book I. Of the Understanding," and "Book II. Of the Passions."

It has been generally and justly remarked, that the Treatise is among the least systematic of philosophical works--that it has neither a definite and comprehensive plan, nor a logical arrangement. It was, indeed, so utterly deficient in the former--there was so complete a want of any projected scope of subject which the author was bound to exhaust in what he wrote--that an attempt to divide and subdivide the matter after it had been written, according to a logical arrangement, would only, as a sort of _experimentum crucis_, have exposed the imperfect character of the original plan. The author, therefore, very discreetly allowed his matter to be arranged as the subjects of which he treated had respectively suggested themselves, and bestowed on his work a title rather general than comprehensive,--a title, of which all that can be said of its aptness to the subject is, that no part of his book can be said to be wholly without it, while he might have included an almost incalculable multitude of other subjects within it. He called it simply "A Treatise of Human Nature;" and by a subsidiary title, explanatory rather of his method than definitive of his matter, he called it "an attempt to introduce the experimental method of reasoning into moral subjects."

The purely metaphysical,[67:1] and, at the same time, the most original portion of the work, and that which has most conspicuously rendered itself a constituent part of the literature of intellectual philosophy, is "Book I. Of the Understanding." "Book II. Of the Passions," contains mixed metaphysics and ethics, with occasional notices of phenomena, which, though Hume does not, other writers would be likely to connect with physiological inquiries. The third book, "Of Virtue and Vice in General," published a year later, is of an ethical character, being an inquiry into the origin and proper system of morals, and an application of the system to government and politics.

The "Treatise of Human Nature" afforded materials for the criticism of two very distinct classes of writers. The one consisted of men imbued with a spirit of inquiry kindred to that of Hume, and a genius capable of appreciating his services in the cause of truth; who, as the teachers of systems of which they were themselves the architects, had to attack or to defend the principles promulgated in the Treatise, according as these differed from or corresponded with their own. It is in the writings of these men that the true immortality of Hume as a philosopher consists. Whether they find in him great truths to acknowledge, or subtle and plausible errors to attack, they are the vital evidence of the originality of his work, of the genius that inspired it, and of its great influence on human thought and action. The other class of critics are those who, in pamphlets, or works more ambitious but not rising in real solidity above that fugitive class, or in occasional digressions from other topics, have endeavoured to prejudice the minds of their readers against the principles of the Treatise, by exaggeration, or by the misapplication of their metaphysical doctrines to the proceedings of every-day life,--a set of literary efforts of quick production and as quick decay.

To the former class of authors, it is of course not within the scope of the present writer's ambition to belong, and he sees no occasion to attempt to imitate the latter. In a work, however, which professes to give a life of David Hume, it is necessary to say something about the "Treatise of Human Nature;" and as a preliminary to such an attempt, it may be well to mark the boundaries within which the writer conceives that the duty he has assumed calls on him for a description of the work, neither impugning nor defending any of the opinions it sets forth.

It seems to be right that some attempt should be made to describe the character and strength of the author's intellect, and the method of its operations; and to give a view of the fundamental characteristic principles by which he professes to distinguish his own philosophy from that of other writers on metaphysical subjects. An attempt should also be made to tell in what respect Hume has made incidental suggestions which have either been admitted as new truths in metaphysics, or have, as original but perhaps fallacious suggestions, afforded to other thinkers the means of establishing truths. These being the general objects to be kept in view, there is no intention to take them in any precise order, or to exhaust them in remarks on this one work. To attempt an analysis of the work would be out of place. There can be no more repulsive matter for reading than condensed metaphysics; and probably there is nothing less instructive than those abridgments, which, necessarily suppressing the author's discursive arguments, appeal almost entirely to the memory. To seize on and give a descriptive rather than an analytical account of the prominent features of the system, will be the chief aim of these remarks. Moreover, the Treatise bears on subjects which are nearly all recalled in its author's subsequent works; and while there are some things in the critical history of Hume's opinions which may be appropriately viewed in connexion with his first publication, there are others which it may be more expedient to examine when he is found reconsidering the subjects in his later works; and again, others which may be viewed in a general attempt to describe the extent of his literary achievements.

The Treatise has been already spoken of as embracing two great objects, metaphysics and ethics; or three, if politics be considered as distinct from ethics. The great leading principle of the metaphysical department, and a principle which is never lost sight of in any part of the book, is, that the materials on which intellect works are the _impressions_ which represent immediate sensation, whether externally as by the senses, or internally as by the passions, and _ideas_ which are the faint reflections of these impressions. Thus to speak colloquially, when I see a picture, or when I am angry with some one, there is an _impression_; but when I think about this picture in its absence, or call to recollection my subsided anger, what exists in either case is an _idea_. Hume looked from words to that which they signified, and he found that where they signified any thing, it must be found among the things that either are or have been impressions. The whole varied and complex system of intellectual machinery he found occupied in the representation, the combination, or the arrangement of these raw materials of intellectual matter. If I say I see an object, I give expression to the fact, that a certain impression is made on the retina of my eye. If I convey to the person I am speaking to an accurate notion of what I mean, I awaken in his mind ideas left there by previous impressions, brought thither by his sense of sight.[70:1] Thus, in the particular case of the external senses, when they are considered as in direct communication between the mind and any object, there are impressions: when the senses are not said to be in communication with the object, the operations of the mind in connexion with it, are from vestiges which the impressions have left on the mind; and these vestiges are called ideas, and are always more faint than the original impressions themselves. And a material circumstance to be kept in view at the very threshold of the system is, that there is no specific and distinct line drawn between impressions and ideas. Their difference is in degree merely--the former are stronger, the latter weaker. There is no difference in kind; and there is sometimes doubt whether that which is supposed to be an impression may not be a vivid idea, and that which is supposed to be an idea a faint impression.

When Hume examined, with more and more minuteness, the elements of the materials on which the mind works, he could still find nothing but these impressions and ideas. Looking at language as a machinery for giving expression to thought, he thus established for himself a test of its adaptation to its right use,--a test for discovering whether in any given case it really served the purpose of language, or was a mere unmeaning sound. As he found that there was nothing on which thought could operate but the impressions received through sensation, or the ideas left by them, he considered that a word which had not a meaning to be found in either of these things, had no meaning at all. He looked upon ideas as the goods with which the mind was stored; and on these stores, as being of the character of impressions, while they were in the state of coming into the mind. When any one, then, in reasoning, or any other kind of literature, spoke of any thing as existing, the principle of his theory was, that this storehouse of idealized impressions should be searched for one corresponding to the term made use of. If such an impression were not found, the word was, so far as our human faculties were concerned, an unmeaning one. Whether there was any existence corresponding to its meaning, no one could say: all that the sceptical philosopher could decide was, that, so far as human intellect was put in possession of materials for thought, it had nothing to warrant it in saying, that this word represented any thing of which that intellect had cognizance.

This limitation of the material put at the disposal of the mind, was largely illustrated in the course of the work; and the illustrations assumed some such character as this:--Imaginative writers present us with descriptions of things which never, within our own experience, have existed,--of things which, we believe, never have had existence. Yet, however fantastic and heterogeneous may be the representations thus presented to our notice, there is no one part, of which we form a conception, that is any thing more than a new arrangement of ideas that have been left in the mind by impressions deposited there by sensation. The most extravagant of eastern or classical fictions there find their elements. If it be a three-headed dog, a winged horse, a fiery dragon, or a golden palace, that is spoken of, the reader who forms a conception of the narrative puts it together with the ideas left in his mind by impressions conveyed through the external senses. If a spectre is said to be raised, it may be spoken of as not denser than the atmosphere, yet the attributes that bring a conception of it to the intellect are the form and proportions of a human being,--expression, action, and habiliments: all elements the ideas of which the mind has received through the impressions of the senses. If words were used in a book of fiction which did not admit of being thus realized by the mind putting together a corresponding portion of the ideas stored up within it--supplying, as it were, the described costume from this wardrobe--then, according to Hume's philosophy, the word would be a sound without meaning. He maintained a like rule as to books of philosophy. If the authors used terms which were not thus represented in the storehouse of the matter of thought and language, they were not reasoning on what they knew; they were not using words as the signs of things signified, but printing unmeaning collections of letters, or uttering senseless sounds.

The system, if it were to be classed under the old metaphysical divisions, was one of nominalism. Such words as shape, colour, hardness, roughness, &c. the author of the Treatise could only admit to have a meaning in as far as they signified ideas in the mind; and these ideas could only be there as the relics of impressions derived through the senses. Thus, general terms, such as the categories of Aristotle, could have no existence except in so far as they represented and called up particulars. Of the abstract term colour, our notion is derived solely from the ideas left in the mind by the actual impressions made through the senses. Heat, cold, and largeness, so far as these words represent what is really in the mind, have no other foundation.

The application of this system to the mathematics, and to natural philosophy, was so startling as to afford to some readers almost a _reductio ad absurdum_. The infinite divisibility of matter was arraigned by Hume as so far from being a truth, that it was not even capable of being conceived by the mind, which had never yet received any impressions through the senses corresponding to the expression. Every man had seen matter divided--some into smaller fragments than others; but where our ideas, derived from actual experiment, stopped in minuteness of division, the conception of divisibility stopped also. The truth of geometrical demonstration, as applicable to practice, he did not deny; but he maintained, or rather seemed to maintain, for his reasoning here is of a highly subtle order, that we have a conception of these operations only in as far as they concur with really existing things, or, more properly speaking, with the ideas in the mind conveyed thither by the senses. Of the point, which has no breadth, depth, or length; of the straight line, which is deficient in the first and second, and not in the last of these qualities, he denied that we could have an idea, unless that idea were just as much the representative of an actual existence as any other idea is.

Infinity of space was an expression to which he had an objection on similar grounds; it had no idea corresponding to it lodged in the mind. Of space finite in various quantities, the mind possessed ideas stored up from repeated impressions, and by adding these ideas together, more or less vastness in the conception of finite space was afforded. But any thing beyond this definitive increase, attested as it was by the senses, the mind had no means of conceiving. Whatever might be in another intellectual world, there was no idea corresponding to infinity of space in the mind of man. It thence followed, that space unoccupied was a conception of which the mind was incapable, because the impressions originally conveyed to the mind were the medium through which the conception of space existed, and where there were no ideas of such impressions, an aggregate idea of space was wanting. In the same manner it was held, that it was in a succession of impressions, with ideas corresponding, that the conception of time consisted, and that without such a succession, time would be a thing unknown and unconceived. Our ideas of numbers he found to be but the collected ideas of the impressions of the units of which the senses have received distinct impressions; and in confirmation of this he appealed to the distinctness of our notion of small numbers, which our mind has been accustomed to find represented by units, and our imperfect conception of those large numbers, which we have never had presented to us in detail. How readily we have a notion of six, but how imperfectly the mind receives the conception of six millions; how clearly we perceive, in units, the difference between six and twelve, but how imperfect is our notion of the difference between six millions and twelve millions.[75:1]

All human consciousness being of these two materials, impressions and ideas, the answer to the question, What knowledge have we of an external world, resolved itself into this, that there were certain impressions and ideas which we supposed to relate to it--further we knew not. When we turn, according to this theory, from the external world, and, looking into ourselves, ask what certainty we have of separate self-existence, we find but a string of impressions and ideas, and we have no means of linking these together into any notion of a continuous existence. Such is that boasted thing the human intellect, when its elements are searched out by a rigid application of the sceptical philosophy of Hume. Not a thing separate and self-existent, which was, and is, and shall continue; but a succession of mere separate entities, called in one view impressions, in another ideas.[76:1]

It may make this brief sketch more clear, to notice a circumstance in the history of philosophy, which, perhaps, serves better in an incidental manner to mark the boundaries of the field of Hume's inquiry, than many pages of discursive description. The transcendentalists took him up as having examined the materials solely, on which pure reason operates; not pure reason itself. They said that he had examined the classes of matter which come before the judge, but had omitted to describe the judge himself, the extent of his jurisdiction, and his method of enforcing it. They maintained, that all these things, which with Hume appeared to be the constituent elements of philosophy, were nothing but the materials on which philosophy works,--that to presume them to be of service presupposed a reason which could make use of them,--that Hume himself, while thus speculating and telling us that his mind consisted but of a string of ideas, left behind by certain impressions, was himself making use of that pure reason which was in him before the ideas or impressions existed, and was through that power adapting the impressions and ideas to use. He characterized his system as "an attempt to introduce the experimental method of reasoning into moral subjects:" but they said that there was another and a preliminary matter of inquiry--the faculty, to speak popularly, which suggested what experiments should be made, and judged of their results.

Hume may be found indirectly lamenting the fate of his own work on metaphysics, in his remarks on other works of a kindred character; and in these criticisms we have a clue to the expectations he had formed. In his well-known rapid criticism on the literature of the epoch of the civil wars, he says of Hobbes: "No author in that age was more celebrated both abroad and at home than Hobbes. In our times, he is much neglected: a lively instance how precarious all reputations founded on reasoning and philosophy! A pleasant comedy which paints the manners of the age, and exposes a faithful picture of nature, is a durable work, and is transmitted to the latest posterity. But a system, whether physical or metaphysical, owes commonly its success to its novelty; and is no sooner canvassed with impartiality, than its weakness is discovered."

Like the majority of literary prophecies dictated by feeling and not by impartial criticism, this one, whether as it refers to "The Leviathan," of which it is ostensibly uttered, or to the "Treatise of Human Nature," the fate of which doubtless suggested it, has proved untrue. The influence of Hobbes has revived, as that of the Treatise remained undiminished from the time when it was first fully appreciated. And in both cases their influence has arisen from that element which seems alone to be capable of giving permanent value to metaphysical thought. It is not that in either case the fundamental theory of the author is adopted, as the disciples of old imbibed the system of their masters, but that each has started some novelties in thought, and, either by themselves sweeping away prevailing fallacies, or suggesting to others the means of doing so, have cleared the path of philosophy. As a general system, the philosophy of Hobbes has been perhaps most completely rejected at those times when its incidental discoveries and suggestions made it most serviceable to philosophy, and were the cause of its being most highly esteemed. "Harm I can do none," says Hobbes, when speaking of the metaphysicians who preceded him, "though I err not less than they, for I leave men but as they are, in doubt and dispute." There is indeed nothing in the later history of metaphysical writing to show that the triumphs in that department of thought are to stretch beyond the establishment of incidental truths, the removal of fallacies, and the suggestion of theories that may teach men to think. The field is a republic: incidental merit has its praise, and is allowed its pre-eminence; but no one mind, it may safely be pronounced, holds in it that monarchical sway which Adam Smith retains over the empire of political economy. The ancient systems anterior to Christianity allowed of such empire. The pupil did not follow his master merely in this and that incidental truth developed, but adopted the system in all its details and proportions as his system and his creed. In later times it would probably be found that the most devoted admirers of great writers on metaphysics do not adopt their opinions in the mass; and it seems that men must now go elsewhere than to the produce of human reason, for the grand leading principles of the philosophy of belief and disbelief.

To those who hold that the writings of the great metaphysicians are thus to be esteemed on account, not of their fundamental principles, but of the truths they bring out in detail, a new theory is like a new road through an unfrequented country, valuable, not for itself, but for the scenery which it opens up to the traveller's eye. The thinker who adopts this view, often wonders at the small beginnings of philosophical systems--wonders, perhaps, at the circumstance of Kant having believed that his own system started into life at one moment as he was reading Hume's views of Cause and Effect. But the solution is ready at hand. We feel that the philosopher of Königsberg had in his mind the impulses that would have driven him into a new path had no Hume preceded him. We owe it to the Essay on Cause and Effect that it was the starting-point at which he left the beaten track; but, had it not attracted his attention, his path would have been as original, though not, perhaps, in the same direction. And so of Hume himself. If the main outline of his theory had never occurred to him, he would still have been a great philosopher; for in some form or other he would have found his way to those incidental and subsidiary discoveries, which are admitted to have reality in them by many who repudiate his general theory.

Of all the secondary applications of the leading principle of the Treatise, none has perhaps exercised so extensive an influence on philosophy, as this same doctrine of cause and effect. Looking to those separate phenomena, of which in common language we call the one the cause of the other, and the other the effect of that cause, he could see no other connexion between them than that the latter immediately followed the former. He found that the mind, proceeding on the inductive system, when it repeatedly saw two phenomena thus conjoined, expected, when that which had been in use to precede the other made its appearance, that the other would follow; and he found that by repeated experiment this expectation might be so far strengthened, that people were ready to stake their most important temporal interests on the occurrence of the phenomenon called the effect, when that called the cause had taken place. But if there were any thing else but this conjunction, of which a knowledge was demanded--if the unsatisfied investigator sought for some power in the one phenomenon which enabled it to be the fabricator of the other--the sceptical reasoner would answer, that for all he could say to the contrary such a thing might be, but he had no clue to that knowledge--no impression of any such quality passed into his intellect through sensation--his mind had no material committed to it by which the existence or non-existence of any such thing could be argued.