113
“HUME, THE INFIDEL,” The Friend; a Religious and Literary Journal, vol. 10, no. 39 (1 July 1837), p. 311.
Anonymous
This anecdote on “Hume, the Infidel” had been published earlier in America, including in New Haven, Connecticut, in The Religious Intelligencer, vol. 10 (May 1826), p. 776, under the title, “THE INFIDEL STAGGERED BY A CHILD.” It circulated in other magazines in the 1830s and 1840s, and was also picked up by newspapers, such as The Pittsburgh Gazette (on 16 March 1837, p. 2). Hume’s reception was suffering from a change to sentimental and romantic attitudes. It is not just history which records those. On The Friend, see selection #110. It is very difficult to say how much if any truth there is in this account. For a readable account of Hume’s life that gives attention to sorting out his religious views, see Roderick Graham, The Great Infidel: A Life of David Hume (East Lothian, 2004).
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For “The Friend.”
HUME, THE INFIDEL.
Hume, the celebrated infidel, philosopher, and author of a history of England, was dinning at the house of an intimate friend. After diner the ladies withdrew, and, in the course of conversation, Hume made some assertions which caused a gentleman present to observe to him, “If you can advance such sentiments as those, you certainly are what the world gives you credit for being, an infidel.” A little girl, whom the philosopher had often noticed, and with whom he had become a favourite, by bringing her little presents of toys and sweetmeats, happened to be playing about the room unnoticed: she, however, listened to the conversation, and on hearing the above expression, left the room, went to her mother, and asked her, “Mamma, what is an infidel?” “An infidel! my dear,” replied her mother, “why should you ask such a question? an infidel is so awful a character that I scarcely know how to answer you.” “Oh! do tell me, mamma,” returned the child, “I must know what an infidel is.” Struck with her eagerness, her mother at length relied, “An infidel is one who believes that there is no God, no heaven, no hell, no hereafter.” Some days afterwards, Hume again visited the house of his friend. On being introduced to the parlour he found no one there but his favourite little girl; he went to her, and attempted to take her up in his arms to kiss her, as he had been used to do; but the child shrunk with horror from his touch. “My dear,” said he, “what is the matter! do I hurt you?” “No,” she replied, “you do not hurt me, but I cannot kiss you, I cannot play with you.” “Why not, my dear?” “Because you are an infidel.” “An infidel! what is that?” “One who believes there is no God, no heaven, no hell, no hereafter.” “And are you not sorry for me my dear,” asked the astonished philosopher. “Yes, indeed, I am sorry!” returned the child with solemnity, “and I pray to God for you.” “Do you indeed? and what do you say?” “I say, O God, teach this man that thou art!” What a striking illustration of the words of sacred writ, “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained strength, because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and avenger.” (Ps. viii. 2.)
The infidel confessed himself so much struck with the seriousness and simplicity of the child, that it caused him some sleepless nights, and days of sharp mental conflict. However, it is to be lamented that he stifled his conviction, and went on to the very borders of eternity, vainly flattering himself that he should prove “like the beasts that perish.”