The Idea of Necessary Connection

48. The great advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral consists in this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always clear and determinate, the smallest distinction between them is immediately perceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mistaken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isosceles and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on all occasions, the definition for the term defined: Or even when no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended. But the finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding, the various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves distinct, easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our power to recal the original object, as often as we have occasion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is gradually introduced into our reasonings: Similar objects are readily taken to be the same: And the conclusion becomes at last very wide of the premises.

48. The mathematical sciences have a great advantage over the moral sciences. Their ideas can be perceived by the senses, so they are always clear and precise. Even the smallest difference between them is immediately apparent. The same terms always express the same ideas, without ambiguity or change. An oval is never mistaken for a circle, nor a hyperbola for an ellipse. Isosceles and scalene triangles are distinguished by more exact boundaries than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If a term is defined in geometry, the mind readily substitutes the definition for the term whenever it occurs. Even without a definition, the object itself can be presented to the senses. In this way, the object can be understood clearly and consistently. But the mind's finer feelings, the workings of understanding, and the various stirrings of the passions easily escape our notice when we reflect on them, though they really are distinct. Nor can we recall the original object whenever we need to consider it. As a result, ambiguity gradually enters our reasoning. Similar objects are easily mistaken for the same object. In the end, the conclusion strays very far from the premises.

One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvantages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility, retains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reasoning, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of quantity and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposition in Euclid so simple, as not to consist of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the human mind through a few steps, we may be very well satisfied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws a bar to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or metaphysical sciences is the obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of thought, requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our progress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often discovered by chance, and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent enquiry. As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have received less improvement than either geometry or physics, we may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this respect among these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of the former, require superior care and capacity to be surmounted.

We can safely say, however, that if we consider these sciences properly, their advantages and disadvantages nearly balance out. This puts them on an equal footing. The mind can more easily keep the ideas of geometry clear and precise. But to reach the more difficult truths of geometry, it must follow a much longer and more complex chain of reasoning. It must also compare ideas that are much farther apart. Moral ideas, on the other hand, tend to become obscure and confused without extreme care. But arguments in moral inquiries are always much shorter. They also have far fewer intermediate steps leading to a conclusion than arguments in the sciences of quantity and number. In fact, hardly any proposition in Euclid is so simple that it has fewer parts than a sound moral argument. By a sound moral argument, I mean one that does not descend into fantasy and fanciful notions. When we trace the principles of the human mind through a few steps, we may be quite satisfied with our progress. After all, nature soon blocks all our inquiries into causes and forces us to acknowledge our ignorance. The chief obstacle to progress in the moral or metaphysical sciences, then, is the obscurity of the ideas and the ambiguity of the terms. The main difficulty in mathematics is the length of the reasoning and the range of thought needed to reach any conclusion. Perhaps our progress in natural philosophy is chiefly slowed by a lack of suitable experiments and observed phenomena. These are often discovered by chance. Even the most careful and wise inquiry cannot always find them when they are needed. Moral philosophy seems so far to have made less progress than either geometry or physics. We may therefore conclude that, if there is any difference among these sciences in this respect, the difficulties obstructing moral philosophy require greater care and ability to overcome.

49. There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary connexion, of which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species of philosophy.

49. No ideas in metaphysics are more obscure and uncertain than those of power, force, energy or necessary connection. Yet we constantly need to discuss them in all our investigations. In this section, we will therefore try to establish the precise meaning of these terms, if possible. This may remove some of the obscurity so often complained of in this kind of philosophy.

It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dispute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of any thing, which we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured¹⁰ to explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed up definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and render them altogether precise and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the impressions or original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their correspondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry.

It seems hardly disputable that all our ideas are simply copies of our impressions. In other words, we cannot think of anything we have not previously felt through our external or internal senses. I have tried¹⁰ to explain and prove this claim. I have also expressed the hope that applying it properly may bring greater clarity and precision to philosophical reasoning than people have achieved so far. Complex ideas may perhaps be well understood through definitions. A definition simply lists the parts, or simple ideas, that make up a complex idea. But suppose we have traced definitions back to the simplest ideas and still find some ambiguity and obscurity. What resource do we have then? How can we shed light on these ideas and make them entirely precise and clear to our minds? We can bring forward the impressions or original feelings from which the ideas are copied. These impressions are all strong and perceptible. They leave no room for ambiguity. Not only are the impressions themselves fully clear, but they may also shed light on the corresponding ideas that remain obscure. In this way, we may perhaps gain a new microscope or kind of optical instrument for the moral sciences. It may enlarge the most minute and simple ideas until we can readily grasp them. We may then know them as well as the largest and most perceptible ideas we can investigate.

50. To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression; and in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived.

50. To fully understand the idea of power or necessary connection, then, let us examine the impression behind it. To find that impression more surely, let us search all the sources it could possibly come from.

When we look about us towards external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects: Consequently, there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary connexion.

When we look at external objects and consider how causes operate, we can never discover any power or necessary connection. In no single instance do we find a quality that binds the effect to the cause. We find nothing that makes the effect an inevitable consequence of the cause. We find only that one event does in fact follow the other. When one billiard ball strikes another, the second ball moves. That is all the outward senses perceive. The mind feels no sensation or inward impression from this succession of events. So, in any single instance of cause and effect, there is nothing that can suggest the idea of power or necessary connection.

From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by mere dint of thought and reasoning.

When we first encounter an object, we can never guess what effect it will have. But if the mind could discover the power or energy of a cause, we could foresee its effect without experience. We could immediately state the effect with certainty through thought and reasoning alone.

In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out any other event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are continually shifting, and one object follows another in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any power, which can be the original of this idea.¹¹

In reality, no part of matter ever reveals any power or energy through its observable qualities. Nor do these qualities give us reason to imagine that matter could produce anything or be followed by another object we could call its effect. Solidity, extension, and motion are all complete in themselves. They never point to any other event that may result from them. The scenes of the universe are constantly changing, and one object follows another without interruption. But the power or force that drives the whole machine is completely hidden from us. It never reveals itself in any observable quality of a body. We know that heat in fact constantly accompanies flame. But we have no basis even to guess or imagine what connection exists between them. Therefore, the idea of power cannot come from observing individual instances of bodies acting. This is because no bodies ever reveal any power that could be the source of this idea.¹¹

51. Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination. This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and on the command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.

51. External objects, as they appear to our senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connection through their actions in particular cases. So let us see whether this idea comes from reflecting on the operations of our own minds. Perhaps it is copied from an inner impression. Someone might say that we are conscious of an inner power at every moment. We feel that we can move parts of our body or direct our mental faculties simply by willing it. An act of will produces movement in our limbs or brings a new idea into our imagination. We are conscious of this influence of the will. From it, we gain the idea of power or energy. We are also certain that we and all other intelligent beings possess power. On this account, then, the idea of power is an idea of reflection. It arises from reflecting on the operations of our own minds and on the will's control over both the organs of the body and the faculties of the soul.

52. We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only by experience, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion of our body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry.

52. We will examine this claim, beginning with the will’s influence over the organs of the body. We may observe that this influence is a fact that, like all other natural events, can be known only through experience. It can never be predicted from any apparent force or power in the cause. No such force or power can be seen connecting the cause to its effect and making the effect an inevitable consequence. Our body moves when our will commands it to do so. We are aware of this at every moment. But we are not directly aware of how this happens, or of the power by which the will performs such an extraordinary act. Indeed, this power must forever escape even our most careful investigation.

For first; is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most refined thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power; we must know its connexion with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both these substances; by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the other.

First, is any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul and body? Through this union, a supposedly spiritual substance gains influence over a material one. The most refined thought can move the coarsest matter. Suppose a secret wish gave us the power to move mountains or control the planets in their orbits. Even that vast authority would be no more extraordinary or beyond our understanding. But if consciousness revealed any power or energy in the will, we would have to know that power. We would have to know its connection to its effects. We would have to know the secret union of soul and body and the nature of both substances. We would have to know how that union and their natures allow one substance to act on the other in so many cases.

Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a like authority; though we cannot assign any reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference between one and the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver? This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries, and no farther.

Secondly, we cannot control all the organs of the body equally. Yet we can give no reason for this remarkable difference between organs except what experience tells us. Why does the will influence the tongue and fingers, but not the heart or liver? This question would never puzzle us if we were aware of a power in the first case but not the second. We would then see, without relying on experience, why the will’s control over the body’s organs has these particular limits. We would fully understand the power or force by which the will acts. So we would also know why its influence reaches exactly those limits and no further.

A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, at first to move them, and employ them in their usual offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever conscious of any power. We learn the influence of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches us, how one event constantly follows another; without instructing us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inseparable.

A man may suddenly become paralyzed in a leg or arm, or may have just lost a leg or arm. At first, he often tries to move the affected limbs and use them as usual. He is just as conscious of having power to command those limbs as a healthy man is of having power to move a limb in its natural condition. But consciousness never deceives us. So in neither case are we ever conscious of any power. We learn what our will can do through experience alone. And experience teaches us only that one event regularly follows another. It does not reveal the hidden connection that binds the two events together and makes them inseparable.

Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more minute and more unknown, through which the motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an inward sentiment or consciousness, is, to the last degree mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event: Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the one intended, is produced: This event produces another, equally unknown: Till at last, through a long succession, the desired event is produced. But if the original power were felt, it must be known: Were it known, its effect also must be known; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that to move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension?

Thirdly, anatomy teaches us that voluntary motion does not act directly on the limb that moves. Instead, it acts on certain muscles, nerves, and animal spirits, and perhaps on something even smaller and less understood. Motion passes through these in stages before reaching the limb whose movement we directly intend. Could anything prove more clearly that the power behind this whole process is utterly mysterious and beyond understanding? Far from knowing this power directly and fully through an inner feeling or awareness, we do not understand it at all. The mind wills a certain event. Immediately, another event occurs that we know nothing about and that is entirely different from what we intended. This event produces another, equally unknown event. Finally, after a long succession of events, the desired event occurs. But if we felt the original power, we would know it. If we knew the power, we would also know its effect, since all power relates to its effect. And vice versa, if we do not know the effect, we cannot know or feel the power. How can we be aware of a power to move our limbs when we have no such power? We have only the power to move certain animal spirits. Though these spirits eventually produce the movement of our limbs, they work in a way that is wholly beyond our understanding.

We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of the will is a matter of common experience, like other natural events: But the power or energy by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.¹²

From all this, I hope we may confidently conclude, without being reckless, that our idea of power does not come from any feeling or awareness of power within ourselves. This is true when we move our bodies or use our limbs for their proper purposes. Common experience shows that our limbs move when we will them to, just as it shows us other natural events. But the power or energy that produces this movement is unknown and inconceivable, just as it is in other natural events.¹²

53. Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the contemplation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy.

53. Should we then claim that we are aware of a power or energy in our own minds? By an act or command of our will, we bring a new idea to mind and focus on it. We consider the idea from every angle. Finally, when we think we have examined it carefully enough, we dismiss it and turn to another idea. I believe the same arguments will show that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy.

First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the effect: For these are supposed to be synonimous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the other? This is a real creation; a production of something out of nothing: Which implies a power so great, that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a command of the will: But the manner, in which this operation is performed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.

First, We must admit that knowing a power means knowing the feature of a cause that enables it to produce an effect. These are supposed to mean the same thing. So we must know both the cause and the effect, and the relation between them. But do we claim to know the nature of the human soul and of an idea? Or do we know how the soul is able to produce an idea? This is a genuine creation, the production of something out of nothing. It implies a power so great that it may at first seem beyond any being less than infinite. At least we must admit that the mind does not feel or know such a power. It cannot even conceive of such a power. We feel only the event itself: an idea comes into existence after an act of will. But how this happens, and the power that produces it, are entirely beyond our understanding.

Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well as its command over the body; and these limits are not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect, but only by experience and observation, as in all other natural events and in the operation of external objects. Our authority over our sentiments and passions is much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these boundaries, or show why the power is deficient in one case, not in another.

Secondly, the mind’s control over itself is limited, just as its control over the body is. We do not learn these limits through reason or any knowledge of the nature of cause and effect. We learn them only through experience and observation, as with all other natural events and the actions of external objects. Our control over our feelings and passions is much weaker than our control over our ideas. Even our control over our ideas is confined within very narrow limits. Can anyone claim to explain the ultimate reason for these limits? Can anyone show why our power falls short in one case but not in another?

Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different times. A man in health possesses more of it than one languishing with sickness. We are more master of our thoughts in the morning than in the evening: Fasting, than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these variations, except experience? Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mechanism or structure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and which, being entirely unknown to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown and incomprehensible?

Thirdly, this self-control varies greatly at different times. A healthy person has more self-control than someone weakened by illness. We have more control over our thoughts in the morning than in the evening, and when fasting than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these differences, except what experience tells us? Where, then, is the power we claim to be aware of? Is there not some hidden mechanism or arrangement of parts on which the effect depends? This mechanism may be in a spiritual substance, a material substance, or both. It is entirely unknown to us, making the power or energy of the will equally unknown and impossible to understand.

Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power, by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience as that of which we are possessed, to convince us that such extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of volition.

Willing is surely an act of the mind that we know well enough. Reflect on willing. Consider it from every angle. Do you find any creative power in the act of willing? Does willing create a new idea out of nothing and, with a kind of Fiat, imitate the all-powerful Maker? If I may put it this way, the Maker brought all the varied scenes of nature into existence. Far from being aware of this power in the will, we need the reliable experience we have to convince us that such extraordinary effects ever result from a simple act of willing.

54. The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the more common and familiar operations of nature—such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of bodies by food: But suppose that, in all these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immediately expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena, such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have recourse to some invisible intelligent principle¹³ as the immediate cause of that event which surprises them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the common powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able to comprehend anything like Connexion between them.

54. Most people find no difficulty in explaining the more common and familiar workings of nature. These include the fall of heavy objects, the growth of plants, the reproduction of animals, and the nourishment of bodies by food. In all these cases, people suppose that they perceive the very force or energy of the cause. They suppose that this force connects the cause with its effect and makes its operation forever infallible. Long habit gives them a certain way of thinking. When a cause appears, they immediately expect its usual result with confidence. They can hardly imagine that any other event could result from it. Only when they encounter extraordinary phenomena, such as earthquakes, epidemics, and wonders of any kind, do they struggle to identify a proper cause. They also struggle to explain how the cause produces the effect. In such difficulties, people commonly turn to some invisible intelligent principle¹³ as the immediate cause of the surprising event. They think the event cannot be explained by the ordinary powers of nature. But philosophers look a little further. They immediately see that the energy of the cause is as hard to understand in the most familiar events as in the most unusual. Experience teaches us only that objects are frequently Conjoined. We can never comprehend anything like a Connexion between them.

55. Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every event which appears in nature. They pretend that those objects which are commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing but occasions; and that the true and direct principle of every effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should for ever be conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that one billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has derived from the author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in the government of the universe. But philosophers advancing still in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant of the power on which depends the mutual operation of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind; nor are we able, either from our senses or consciousness, to assign the ultimate principle in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body; and that they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind; but that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy in the will that produces local motion in our members: It is God himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command that motion which we erroneously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy, it is not the will which creates that idea: It is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present to us.

55. Many philosophers therefore think that reason obliges them to appeal in every case to the same principle. Ordinary people appeal to this principle only in cases that seem miraculous and supernatural. These philosophers acknowledge mind and intelligence as the ultimate and original cause of all things. But they also regard mind and intelligence as the immediate and sole cause of every event in nature. They claim that objects commonly called causes are really nothing but occasions. The true and direct source of every effect, they say, is not any power or force in nature. It is an act of will by the Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should always be joined together. We might say that one billiard ball moves another through a force it received from the author of nature. But these philosophers say that the Deity himself moves the second ball by a particular act of will. The first ball’s impact prompts him to act, in accordance with the general laws he has set for governing the universe. But as philosophers continue their inquiries, they discover that we are completely ignorant of the power behind how bodies act on one another. We are equally ignorant of the power behind how mind acts on body or body on mind. Neither our senses nor our consciousness can tell us the ultimate source of this power in either case. The same ignorance therefore leads these philosophers to the same conclusion. They claim that the Deity is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body. They say that our sense organs do not produce sensations in the mind when external objects affect them. Instead, a particular act of will by our all-powerful Maker produces a sensation in response to such a movement in the organ. Likewise, no power in the will produces movement in our limbs. God himself chooses to support our will, which is powerless in itself. He commands the movement that we mistakenly attribute to our own power and effectiveness. Nor do philosophers stop there. They sometimes extend the same reasoning to the mind’s internal operations. Our mental perception or conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When we deliberately turn our thoughts to an object and form an image of it in our imagination, our will does not create that idea. It is the universal Creator who reveals the idea to the mind and makes it present to us.

56. Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession: They rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so much to celebrate. It argues surely more power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures than to produce every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with such perfect foresight that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than if the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.

56. According to these philosophers, then, God is present in everything. They accept that nothing exists except by his will and that nothing has any power except by his permission. But they are not content with these principles. They strip nature and all created beings of every power. They do this to make their dependence on God seem even more evident and immediate. But they do not consider that this theory diminishes rather than magnifies the grandeur of the divine attributes they profess to celebrate. Surely it shows more power for God to give lesser creatures some power than to produce everything by his own immediate will. It also shows more wisdom to design the structure of the world with perfect foresight from the beginning. For then the world can serve all the purposes of providence by its own operation. This shows more wisdom than if the great Creator had to adjust its parts at every moment and breathe life into all the wheels of that immense machine.

But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may suffice.

But if we want a more philosophical refutation of this theory, perhaps the following two reflections may be enough.

57. First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal energy and operation of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human reason, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so extraordinary, and so remote from common life and experience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory; and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of verisimilitude and experience, we may be assured that this fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch afterwards.¹⁴

57. First, it seems to me that this theory of the Supreme Being’s power and action in everything is too bold to convince anyone who fully understands the weakness and narrow limits of human reason. However logical the chain of arguments leading to the theory may be, its conclusions are extraordinary and far removed from ordinary life and experience. So we must strongly suspect, if not be absolutely certain, that the argument has carried us beyond the reach of our abilities. We have entered fairyland long before reaching the final steps of our theory. Once there, we have no reason to trust our usual methods of argument or to think our usual analogies and probabilities carry any weight. Our line is too short to measure the depth of such immense abysses. We may flatter ourselves that something like plausibility and experience guides our every step. But we can be sure that this supposed experience carries no weight when we apply it to subjects entirely outside the sphere of experience. We shall return to this point later.¹⁴

Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other: Their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible: But are we not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive that motion may arise from impulse than that it may arise from volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both cases¹⁵.

Secondly, I find no force in the arguments behind this theory. It is true that we do not know how bodies act on one another. Their force or energy is entirely beyond our understanding. But are we not equally ignorant of how a mind acts on itself or on a body? Are we not equally ignorant of the force by which it acts, even when that mind is the supreme mind? How, I ask you, do we gain any idea of that force? We have no feeling or awareness of this power in ourselves. Our only idea of the Supreme Being comes from reflecting on our own faculties. If ignorance were a good reason for rejecting something, we would have to deny all energy in the Supreme Being. We would have to deny it just as much in the Supreme Being as in the most ordinary matter. Surely we understand the operations of one just as little as those of the other. Is it harder to imagine that motion may arise from a push than from an act of will? All we know is that we are profoundly ignorant in both cases¹⁵.

58. But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length: We have sought in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion in all the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances of the operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing but one event following another, without being able to comprehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on body—where we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie which binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: So that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one instance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely without any meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.

58. But let us bring this argument to a conclusion, since it has already gone on too long. We have searched in vain for an idea of power or necessary connection in every source we might suppose it comes from. In individual cases where bodies act, our closest scrutiny reveals only one event following another. We cannot understand any force or power by which the cause acts, or any connection between the cause and its supposed effect. We face the same difficulty when we consider how the mind acts on the body. We observe the body moving after the mind wills it to move. But we cannot observe or conceive the tie between the movement and the act of will. Nor can we observe or conceive the energy by which the mind produces this effect. The will’s control over its own faculties and ideas is no more understandable. So, in all of nature, there appears to be no instance of a connection that we can conceive. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another, but we can never observe any tie between them. They seem joined, but never connected. We can have no idea of anything that has never appeared to our outward senses or inward feeling. So the necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of connection or power at all. These words have absolutely no meaning, whether used in philosophical reasoning or in everyday life.

59. But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object which is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or experiment where we have observed a particular event to follow upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular species of event has always, in all instances, been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some connexion between them; some power in the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.

59. But one way of avoiding this conclusion remains, and we have not yet examined its source. When a natural object or event appears, no amount of insight allows us to discover, or even guess, what will result from it without experience. Nor can we foresee anything beyond what is immediately present to memory and the senses. Even after one observation or experiment in which we see one event follow another, we cannot form a general rule or predict what will happen in similar cases. It is rightly considered an unforgivable recklessness to judge the whole course of nature from a single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when one particular kind of event has always been joined with another in every instance, we no longer hesitate to predict one when the other appears. Nor do we hesitate to use the reasoning that alone can assure us of any matter of fact or existence. We then call one object Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some connection between them. We suppose that one has some power by which it unfailingly produces the other, operating with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.

It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion among events arises from a number of similar instances which occur of the constant conjunction of these events; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of power or necessary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contemplate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one instance, from which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed several instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only that they have acquired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they become proofs of each other's existence: A conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the understanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and capacity.

It seems, then, that our idea of a necessary connection between events comes from many similar instances of those events constantly occurring together. No single instance can ever suggest that idea, no matter how we examine it. But suppose that each instance is exactly like every other. Then there is only one difference between a single instance and many instances. After repeated instances, the mind is led by habit to expect one event when the other appears. It also comes to believe that the expected event will occur. We feel this connection in the mind, as the imagination habitually moves from one object to the other. This feeling or impression is the source of our idea of power or necessary connection. There is nothing more to it. Examine the subject from every side, and you will never find another source for that idea. This is the only difference between a single instance, which can never give us the idea of connection, and many similar instances, which can suggest it. Suppose a man sees motion passed from one object to another by impact for the first time. He might see it when two billiard balls strike each other. He could not say that the two events were connected: he could say only that they occurred together, or were conjoined. After he has observed several such instances, he says that the events are connected. What has changed to give rise to this new idea of connexion? Only this: he now feels the events to be connected in his imagination. He can also readily predict that one event will occur when the other appears. So, when we say that one object is connected with another, we mean only that they have become connected in our thoughts. They lead us to infer the existence of one from the other, and so become proofs of each other's existence. This conclusion is somewhat extraordinary, but it seems to rest on sufficient evidence. General distrust of our understanding will not weaken that evidence. Nor will a skeptical suspicion of every new and extraordinary conclusion. No conclusions could be more agreeable to skepticism than those that reveal the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and ability.

60. And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the present? For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which are removed from the present testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed about this relation: Yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to the first are followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed. The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may, therefore, suitably to this experience, form another definition of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that circumstance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have no idea of this connexion, nor even any distinct notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds: Or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of these two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it.¹⁶

60. What stronger example could there be of the surprising ignorance and weakness of human understanding? Surely, if there is any relation between objects that matters for us to know perfectly, it is cause and effect. All our reasoning about matters of fact or existence is based on this relation. Only through cause and effect can we gain any assurance about objects beyond the present evidence of memory and the senses. The only immediate use of all the sciences is to teach us how to control and regulate future events through their causes. Our thoughts and inquiries are therefore concerned with this relation at every moment. Yet our ideas about cause and effect are so imperfect that we cannot properly define a cause except by referring to something external and foreign to it. Similar objects are always followed by similar objects. We know this from experience. Based on this experience, we may define a cause as an object followed by another, where all objects similar to the first are followed by objects similar to the second. Or, in other words, where, if the first object had not existed, the second would never have existed. The appearance of a cause always leads the mind, through a habitual transition, to the idea of its effect. We know this too from experience. Based on this experience, we may form another definition of a cause. We may call it an object followed by another, whose appearance always leads the mind to think of the other. But both definitions are drawn from circumstances external to the cause. We cannot remedy this problem or reach a more complete definition that identifies what connects a cause with its effect. We have no idea of this connection. We do not even have a clear notion of what we want to know when we try to conceive of it. For example, we say that the vibration of this string causes this particular sound. But what do we mean by that statement? We mean either that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds. Or we mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that, when one appears, the mind anticipates the senses and immediately forms an idea of the other. We may consider cause and effect in either of these two ways. But beyond them, we have no idea of this relation.¹⁶

61. To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section: Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or sentiment; and where we cannot find any impression, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all single instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many uniform instances appear, and the same object is always followed by the same event; we then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in the thought or imagination between one object and its usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from a number of similar instances, and not from any single instance, it must arise from that circumstance, in which the number of instances differ from every individual instance. But this customary connexion or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance in which they differ. In every other particular they are alike. The first instance which we saw of motion communicated by the shock of two billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to any instance that may, at present, occur to us; except only, that we could not, at first, infer one event from the other; which we are enabled to do at present, after so long a course of uniform experience. I know not whether the reader will readily apprehend this reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract reasonings there is one point of view which, if we can happily hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject than by all the eloquence and copious expression in the world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are more adapted to them.

61. To sum up the reasoning of this section: Every idea is copied from an earlier impression or feeling. Where we cannot find an impression, we can be certain that there is no idea. In any single instance of bodies or minds acting, nothing produces an impression of power or necessary connection. So no single instance can suggest an idea of power or necessary connection. But when we see many instances that are alike, the same object is always followed by the same event. We then begin to form the notion of cause and connection. We feel a new feeling or impression. It is a habitual connection in thought or imagination between one object and what usually accompanies it. This feeling is the source of the idea we are looking for. The idea arises from a number of similar instances, not from any single instance. So it must arise from the way the number of instances differs from each individual instance. But this habitual connection or transition in the imagination is the only difference. In every other respect, the instances are alike. Let us return to the obvious example of motion passed from one billiard ball to another by a collision. The first instance we saw is exactly like any instance we may see now, with one exception. At first, we could not infer one event from the other. Now we can, after such a long course of consistent experience. I do not know whether the reader will readily grasp this reasoning. I fear that more words or more ways of presenting it would only make it more obscure and complicated. In all abstract reasoning, there is one point of view that, if we can find it, explains the subject better than all the eloquence and abundant expression in the world. We should try to find that point of view. We should save elaborate rhetoric for subjects better suited to it.