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“ART.I — Philosophical Essays; to which are subjoined, Copious Notes, Critical and Explanatory, and a Supplementary Narrative; with an Appendix. By James Ogilvie. Philadelphia. 1816. 8vo. pp. 413,” The Analectic Magazine, vol. 9 (January 1817), pp. 1–32; selection from pp. 6–29.
Anonymous
The Analectic Magazine was published in 16 volumes at Philadelphia from 1813 to 1821. Its full-title described its contents accurately as “Comprising original reviews, biography, analytical abstracts of new publications, translations from French journals, and selections from the most esteemed British reviews.” Its first editor was Washington Irving. In 1817, when this review of James Ogilvie’s Philosophical Essays was published, the journal’s editor was Thomas Isaac Wharton. The reviewer is critical of Ogilvie’s essay, “On The Nature, Extent, and Limits of Human Knowledge, so far as it is Founded in the Relation of Cause and Effect, and Concerns Mind and Matter,” and shows a nuanced understanding of Hume’s philosophical scepticism. The reviewer argues for a position that is in some ways similar to that of modern Hume scholars who see Hume as a “mitigated sceptic.” On the Analectic Magazine see Neal L. Edgar, A History and Bibliography of American Magazines, 1810–1820 (Metuchen, 1975), pp. 103–104; API, p. 28; Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, 1741–1850 (Cambridge, 1938), pp. 279–83; Albert H. Smyth, The Philadelphia Magazines and Their Contributors, 1741–1850 (1892; reprinted Freeport, 1970), pp. 123, 145, 178–9.
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We shall now proceed to detail our reasons for the belief which we have once or twice hinted, — that the author before us has mistaken the scope and aim of Hume’s Essay ‘concerning Human Understanding.’ His mistake is the common one of supposing, that the reasonings of that philosopher were intended to have application in the concerns and pursuits of real life; — a supposition which Hume himself endeavoured to prevent in the Section on the different Species of Philosophy, and which is, moreover, at direct variance with the uniform and explicit language of his subsequent speculations.* In the Section alluded to he enters into a formal division of moral philosophy into two kinds, — the active and the speculative; the former of which considers man as an agent, influenced in his conduct by taste and sentiment, — while the latter views him rather in the light of a reasonable, than of an active, being, — and endeavours, by a narrow scrutiny of human nature, to develop those laws ‘which regulate our understanding, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object, action, or behaviour.’ The active philosophy is carried along with us at every step of life; while the speculative is never meddled with, except in the anticipated death of academic seclusion. It is the latter alone which Hume professedly considers in his Inquiry concerning the human mind: — and the pains which he has taken to impress the reader with the assurance, that all his philosophy is merely speculative, might, one would think, have secured him against those prejudicial imputations with which his memory has been so much overloaded. This ‘philosophy (says he) being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any influence over our conduct and behaviour.’ Farther on in the Inquiry he tells us again, — after some sceptical arguments on the subject of cause and effect, — that ‘though none but a fool or a madman will ever pretend to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide to human life; it may surely be allowed a philosopher to have so much curiosity at least, as to examine the principle of human nature which gives this mighty authority to experience.’ A similar caution occurs in the very next Section.* ‘Nor need we fear (says he) that our endeavours to limit our inquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings of common life, and carry doubts so far as to destroy all action, as well as speculation. Nature will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever.’ We have often heard it urged as a triumphant refutation of this philosophy, — that Hume himself, its great author and professor, conducted in ordinary life exactly as the veriest plebeian, who never dreamed of philosophical speculation. ‘My practice, you say, (anticipates the ‘Sceptical Doubter’) refutes my doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to learn the foundation of this inference.’ Again he assures us that ‘the feelings of our sentiments (we do not answer for the accuracy of this expression), the agitations of our passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all the conclusions of speculative philosophy, and reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.’ And he has summed up the whole in the energetic sentence, — ‘Be a philosopher; but, with all your philosophy, be still a man.’
We have been induced to protract these quotations,† because we believe there is no mistake more extensive than that of supposing, that Hume’s philosophy was intended to influence the actions of man, — and because no writer, so far as we can recollect, has taken pains to prove, at any length, how completely such a supposition is discountenanced by the explicit phraseology of that philosopher himself. The whole of the Essay under consideration is vitiated by the same mistake; and we may judge how extensive must be its prevalence, when we observe it embraced by such a man as Mr. Ogilvie. Nothing, in fact, more thoroughly establishes the complete practical inutility of Hume’s speculation concerning causes, than the attempt of our author to make it the basis of conclusions in the active philosophy of real life. Cause and effect, according to that philosopher, is nothing more than an invariable conjunction of two objects or events; and all we know about the relation between them is, that, upon the presentation of the one, our mind irresistibly infers the appearance of the other. Now mere conjunction does not involve any particular arrangement; and accordingly it is inferable from the doctrine we have just stated, that a cause does not necessarily antecede its effect. All the necessity there can be in the case is, that, either antecedently, or collaterally, or consecutively, one object or event, to which we give the name of cause, — should be infallibly conjoined, both in place and in time, with another object or event, to which we apply the term effect. We have already thrown out a hint or two respecting the absurdity of such a doctrine; and we only wish in this place to subjoin, that it has evidently given rise to Mr. Ogilvie’s definition of human knowledge. If we grant the accuracy of Hume’s speculation, it will necessarily follow, that all definitions of that term must include the circumstance of what our author calls arrangement; and the only objection which we should then have to urge against the definition which he has given would be, that, — instead of embracing the ascertainment of real causes, which, in our opinion, is the very essence of human knowledge, — it proceeds upon the supposition, that all the causes are already ascertained, and considers the word as having relation merely to the proper arrangement of those causes. Even in speculation, therefore, we think Mr. Ogilvie has not given the true meaning of human knowledge. — But what we most object to is, that he should make his own definition the very beam on which he hangs a chain of consequences relative to the real business of active life. His master never intended to have his philosophy so applied; and we venture to affirm, that utter discomfiture will attend every attempt to establish such an application.
But we should be greatly disinclined to believe ‘in the shade’ what we knew could have no reality ‘in open day’: and we shall, accordingly, proceed to examine very briefly whether, even in speculation, the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy can be supported by valid reasoning. The great argument against the received doctrine concerning causation is, that, as all we are capable of perceiving consists in the uniform accompaniment or conjunction of two objects, which we customarily denominate cause and effect, we have no philosophical right to conclude, that the one takes place in consequence of any indissoluble or necessary connexion with that which accompanies, or is conjoined to it. We are totally incapable of perceiving the peculiar efficiency, or igVrzVia of the antecedent object, which operates to the necessary production of the subsequent event; and the only legitimate conclusion is, therefore, that the former can be nothing more than the ‘occasion’ upon which the latter makes its appearance. Throughout his Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, Hume is constantly calling upon us to exhibit the ‘tie’ which binds one event to another, in the way of cause and effect; — and because we are unable to produce some connecting principle as visible and as tangible as a tow-string, he triumphantly infers, that no such connexion should be believed to exist. The obvious objection to such a doctrine is, that it proves a great deal too much; — for if, indeed, our incapacity to perceive, or to conceive, a particular thing, is a conclusive argument against its existence, we shall find ourselves obliged to prune away a great many of the most important parts both of physical and of moral science. There are some ideas which, on account of their magnitude, — and there are others which, in consequence of their minuteness, — the mind finds itself utterly inadequate to embrace or to get hold of; and yet we reason about such ideas with as much confidence, as if they could he comprehended with the utmost ease and clearness. Thus, though it is utterly impossible to have an adequate idea of a point, or of an infinite line, we nevertheless employ both these ideas in a great variety of mathematical reasonings. — There are also a great multitude of external phenomena which exceed, on both sides, the limits of our perceptive powers. Motion, for example, is often too tardy, and as often too rapid, for the cognizance of sensation. We can perceive neither the advancement of a dial-pointer, nor the circumvolution of a top; and yet nothing would be more repugnant to our reason than the inference, that both were absolutely stationary. Instances of this sort might be indefinitely multiplied; — but enough has been said, we apprehend, to convince our readers, that the mere incapability to perceive an object, or an event, is not, of itself, a conclusive argument against the existence of that object or event.
After providing to his own satisfaction, that no connexion subsists between any two objects, Hume undertakes to explain our meaning when we make use of the phraseology in which the common belief on the subject is always expressed. According to his explanation, ‘there is nothing further in the case’ than an association of ideas, — insomuch that after the repeated conjunction of two objects, or events, the idea excited by the appearance of the one comes at last to be so indissolubly united to that which is produced by the appearance of the other, that the former never enters the understanding without bringing the latter along with it.* ‘When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only, that they have acquired a connexion in our thoughts, and give rise to this inference (of the effect from the cause,) by which they become proofs of each other other’s existence.’† Again, he says a little farther on, ‘had not objects a regular conjunction with each other, we should never have entertained any notion of cause and effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference, which is the only connexion that we can have any comprehension of’.‡ Now we apprehend that the same reasoning which our sceptic employs against the belief of a connexion between objects, is equally cogent against the hypothesis of a connexion between ideas. Indeed we think it is more so; — for if we can have no ‘comprehension of any thing like a visible or tangible connexion between things which are themselves both visible and tangible, — how much less can we have a ‘comprehension of such a connecting principle between things which are themselves neither visible nor tangible! We think those sorry philosophers whom the ‘sifting humour’ and ‘inquisitive disposition’ of Hume has been ‘pushing from one corner into another,’ have here a fair opportunity of turning upon their persecutor, — and of invoking him either to abandon his philosophy, or to exhibit the ‘tie’ of connexion which binds together any two associated ideas.
Nor is this the only ‘corner’ of absurdity into which they might ‘push’ Mr. Hume. It follows as an obvious consequence of his principles, that all our casual and incongruous associations are so many instances of cause and effect,* — or, in the words of the doctrine itself, whenever any particular object or event excites an idea in the mind, which in its train introduces the idea of any other object or event, the first object or event is to be considered as the cause of the second. Nothing is a more common subject of remark, than the inexplicable capriciousness of association; and if the mere conjunction of two ideas is all the connexion we can ‘comprehend’ between cause and effect, there is hardly any absurdity or contradiction which may not be proved to form a part of the regular course of nature. Indeed Hume himself has so logically adhered to his doctrine as to be betrayed into manifest absurdities. Thus in his argument against the existence of miracles, he speaks of the conjunction between an event and a report, as a legitimate example of cause and effect. ‘As the evidence derived from human testimony (says he, p. 126) is founded on past experience, so it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability, according as the conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of objects, has been found to be constant or variable.’ Now though our philosopher seems here to be himself a little diffident of his own principles, — taking occasion to remark that ‘this species of reasoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and effect,’ and subjoining that ‘he shall not dispute about a word,’ — we think a due regard to self-consistency must oblige him to acknowledge, that the conjunction abovementioned is precisely conformable to his own definition of cause and effect. Yet what can appear more absurd than to place the report of an event among the legitimate and necessary effects of its existence!
There are other absurd conclusions involved in this account of cause and effect; but we cannot make room for their specification here; — and indeed the way to confute Hume, is not that of demonstrating his absurdity. He has all the advantage of his antagonist; for the more you push him into uncertainty, by adventuring beyond the limits of human understanding, the greater will be the triumph of his academical or sceptical philosophy. He is sure to sing Te Deum after every defeat; or, in his own words, ‘he will be the first to join the laugh against himself when you have driven him into ‘some dangerous dilemma.’ In fact the very essence of scepticism seems to consist in drawing us over the boundaries of the human mind, and then taking occasion to deduce a sweeping conclusion of general ignorance; — in first alluring us beyond our depth, and then laughing at us because we are incapable of touching the bottom. Thus, because our faculties are inadequate to the conception of that peculiar principle which causes bodies to cohere with one another, or to gravitate towards the centre of the earth, our sceptic concludes with the reflection, that ‘the most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger portions of our ignorance.’ And ‘thus (continues he) the observation of human blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us, at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude it.’ Similar reflections occur in every part of his Essays on Human Understanding. He asks, ‘what is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact?’ And when it is answered, that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect, — he inquires again, ‘what is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation?’ ‘Experience,’ is the answer: — but then, says he, ‘what is the foundation of all conclusions from experience?’ And when he has thus persecuted us till we have transgressed our intellectual limits, he tells with a ‘knowing’ air of triumph, that we had ‘better make a merit of our ignorance’ by frankly confessing it at once.
The truth is, that no science could stand the test of Hume’s ‘sifting humour;’ for all our reasonings must necessarily proceed from some principles for which we can give no reason, — otherwise they could have neither beginning nor end; and the attempt, therefore, to push our inquiries into the nature of those principles, is at once to break up the very foundations of human knowledge.* There is not a proposition in the whole field of mathematics, that does not proceed upon postulata for which we can give no proof, except that of their self-evidence; and if, therefore, we must acknowledge our ‘ignorance’ because we are unable to tell what those postulata are founded upon, the clearest and most perfect of sciences is reduced to one confused mass of chaotic uncertainty. But surely no conclusion appears more unphilosophical than, that we know nothing, because we are not omniscient, — or that we have no power at all, because we are not omnipotent.* Human understanding may certainly be comprehensive, without being boundless; and the mere fact that it has some limits is not equivalent to its having no extent.
We are now prepared to say a word or two, by way of positive argument, in favour of the common notion relative to cause and effect. According to Hume’s doctrine, every effect is so ‘distinct and arbitrary’ an event, that it cannot be concluded to have been connected with any antecedent event — inasmuch as our idea of conjunction, — the term which he almost invariably employs to express the relation under view, — includes nothing more than a juxtaposition in time and in place. If, however, we scrutinize the subject more narrowly, and mark the circumstances which attend any given instance of cause and effect, we shall, if we mistake not, observe such a mutual change both in the antecedent, and in the consecutive, event, as impresses on the mind an inference of connexion, with a cogency of evidence which it is absolutely incapable of resisting. To adopt an example which is employed by Hume on all occasions; when one billiard-ball is impelled against another, it is demonstrable, that the second gains exactly as much motion as the other loses. Now human understanding is not able to resist the conclusion, that, between these two balls, there was some connecting principle, — some conductor, — or some sort of medium, call it what you will, — by which a certain quantity of motion has been transferred from the one to the other. Whether it be a subtile fluid, like electricity, — or whether there be a species of volition in one or in both of the balls, — we can never be able to determine; but that, in some way or other, these two objects have contrived to pass a given ratable quantity of motion from one to the other, is as conclusively evident as that they have each a separate and independent existence. Between all causes and effects the circumstances indicative of a connexion are not so unequivocal as those between the impulse of the one ball, and the motion of the second; but in almost every instance of the same sort, there are diagnostics sufficiently apparent to convince the mind, that the first event was absolutely necessary to the production of the other.*
But the ascertainment of this connexion is, in all cases, greatly subsequent to our belief of its existence: and it becomes, therefore, another part of Hume’s ‘inquisitive’ philosophy, to discover that principle of our nature which leads us to believe, that certain objects and events are somehow endowed with inherent efficiency to produce certain other objects and events. This question is totally different from that which we have just done examining; though the author before us very strangely confounds the two, in the statement he gives of Hume’s conclusions on the subject. ‘We are indebted (says he, p. 43.) to the sagacity of that philosopher, for the first satisfactory elucidation of the all-important fact, that our knowledge of cause and effect does and can embrace nothing more, than a perception and belief, of the uniform antecedence of one event, and sequence of another.’† Now, it is a plain matter of fact, that the existence of our belief in a necessary connexion is never once called in question throughout the Inquiry; and that the great object of the ‘arch-sceptic’ was to ascertain, whether human reason had any part in the formation of such a belief. His great principle is, — that ‘in all reasonings from experience there is a step taken by the mind (namely, the conclusion that an object which has, in time past, been followed by a particular event, will also, in time to come, be followed by a like event) which is not supported by any argument or process of the understanding;’ and in the language of Locke’s philosophy, he calls for the ‘medium, the interposing ideas,‡ which join propositions so very wide of each other?’ He takes great pains to establish the thesis, — that there is a vast difference between our belief of past effects from certain causes, and our anticipation of similar effects from similar causes. ‘From a body of like colour and consistence with bread, (says he, p. 46.) we look for like nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, ‘I have found, in all past instances, such sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers:’ And when he says, ‘Similar sensible qualities will always be conjoined with similar secret powers;’ he is not guilty of a tautology; nor are these propositions in any respect the same.’ Now, for our own parts, we cannot perceive the ‘wide’ difference here attempted to be shown; and we are inclined to think that — so far from being in ‘no respect the same’ — the two propositions of Mr. Hume would be completely ‘tautologous’ in the languages of those nations, who have no idea of distributions into moods and tenses. Such languages do exist. The Nootkian is an example: and whenever the members of that tribe express themselves, either in their own or in any other tongue, they uniformly reduce all voices to the active — all moods to the indicative — and all tenses to the present. Of this fact our readers will find abundant proofs in Jewitt’s Narrative of a Three Years’ Residence among that Tribe. When Maquina, for example, told the Armorour that his life should be spared upon the condition of his swearing to be a slave for life, — ‘John I speak — You no say, No: You say, No — daggers come;’* — he involved the indicative and the subjunctive moods, as well as the present and the future tense; — and yet it is all crowded into one mood and one tense. Perhaps we could not have adduced a better example to prove that the mind, in the case supposed; does not take so ‘wide’ a ‘step’ as Hume would represent; inasmuch as human understanding, it appears to us, could not so easily pass from one of his propositions to the other, unless they were in many ‘respects the same.’
But it is confessed, at the same time, that they are not exactly identical; and we think it may also be conceded to Hume, that the mind here takes a step, for which a philosopher might reasonably demand an explanation. ‘If the mind be not engaged by argument to make this step, it must be induced by some other principle of equal weight and authority. What that principle is, may well be worth the pains of inquiry.’† Now, we apprehend, that every step of the mind from one proposition to another, is an act of inference,‡ or reasoning, and that the ‘principle’ here alluded to must, when discovered, be considered as that intermediate idea ‘which join the propositions’ mentioned in our last paragraph. — We think, too, in the first place, that the principle in question is not experience. ‘Experience (says Hume, Sec. IV. Pt. II. and we suppose no one will object to the definition), can be allowed to give direct and certain information only of those precise objects, and that precise period of time, which fell under its cognizance.’ But we have nearly as much confidence in anticipation, as in memory; and it behoves [sic] us to inquire, therefore, by what peculiarity of the human constitution we are led to apply past experience to future phenomena? The Sceptical Doubter resolves the question by supposing, that the reiterated conjunction of two events, in the way of cause and effect, imparts to the mind a custom or habit of expecting the one, upon the appearance of the other. This supposition, again, is founded upon another supposition, — that the mind could not, from one instance only of the conjunction of two events, be led to anticipate the second on the future appearance of the first. ‘No man (says Hume) having seen only one body move after being impelled by another, could infer, that every body will move after a like impulse. ‘Tis only after a long course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular event.’ And he accordingly asks for ‘the sake of information,’ why the mind cannot draw, from one instance, a conclusion which is thus drawn from a hundred instances, that are acknowledged to be precisely similar to that one? Now the misfortune was, that our sceptical inquirer here laboured under a false conception of the fact. No part of our constitution is more the subject of common remark, than the propensity of the mind to consider even casual conjunctions as examples of cause and effect, — and to look for the future sequence of any particular event, which in only a single past instance, we have observed to succeed another particular event. The author before us has occasion to make the same remark, p. 48; and indeed, it is, as he says, so ‘notorious’ a truth, that we can hardly conceive how it should have escaped the sagacity of Hume. The supposition of custom, therefore, is inadequate to account for the phenomenon; for custom depends, of course, upon the repetition of similar instances.* We must have recourse, then, to some more comprehensive principle; and, for our own parts, we can see none which satisfies us so well as that which was first propounded, in a formal way, by Turgot; afterwards alleged by Reid; and subsequently illustrated and insisted upon more fully, by his disciple, Mr. Stewart; — the principle, namely, that, in all our reasonings about contingent truth, we rely implicitly upon the continuance and stability of the laws of nature. We may add, that, besides the quotation in our last note, even Hume himself has frequent occasion to observe the reliance here alluded to, — though he nowhere seems to consider it as an ultimate general principle of intellectual philosophy. ‘Every part of mixed mathematics (says he, Sceptical Doubts, Part I.) goes upon the supposition, that certain laws are established by nature in her operation.’ — ‘All our experimental conclusions (he observes again, Part II.) proceed upon the supposition, that the future will be comfortable to the past.’ — ‘All inferences from experience (id. ibid.) suppose, as their foundation, that the future will resemble the past.’ — These, and several other similar passages, which might be adduced, are sufficient to show us, that the author had now and then a glimpse of what we consider as the true ‘foundation’ of all our reasoning about contingent truth: — And it is something in confirmation of the doctrine we have espoused, that the language here transcribed is almost identical with that which Mr. Stewart employs when treating of the same subject.*
We are now prepared to state the qualifications with which we use the parse — necessary connexion. And, in the first place, we must not be understood to mean, that there exists, in any cause, an independent, essential, and indestructible energy or efficiency by which it must, from all eternity, have been fitted to produce its appropriate effect. All we mean is, — that so long as the order and laws of nature are suffered to remain unaltered, the same or similar causes must and will produce the same or similar effects; — and we apprehend that this is the only sense in which the word necessity can be at all applicable to the phenomena of the physical universe. We are aware that the term is open on all sides to the cavil of superficial criticism; and we have, therefore, endeavoured to prevent any such treatment, by explaining as well as we could, the signification in which we have intended to use it.
We are now prepared, also, to make a remark or two upon the manner in which Priestly, and our author after him, have contrived to find, fault with Reid for having applied the word instinctive to the abovementioned reliance upon the permanency of nature’s laws. Mr. Ogilvie does not appear to have perused the apology which Mr. Stewart has made for this slight violation of vernacular purity;* and we shall, therefore, repeat, after the last mentioned writer, ‘that in applying this term to characterize certain judgments of the mind, — although it is not employed with unexceptionable propriety, — its employment is by no means a departure from the practice of nearly all the philosophers who preceded Dr. Reid.’ In addition to the instances which Mr. Stewart has been at the pains of adducing from other authors, we can also quote a few from Hume, the metaphysician in whom Mr. Ogilvie seems chiefly to place his trust. While treating of this very subject, ‘all these operations (he tells us) are a species of instincts.’ When the same subject comes up a little further on, ‘ ’tis more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of nature (he remarks) to secure so necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency;’ and in the next sentence he observes still more at length, that ‘as nature has taught us the use of our limbs, without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they are actuated; so she has implanted in us an instinct which carries forward the thought in a correspondent course to that which she has established among external objects.’ So again he states explicitly in his Essay on the Reason of Animals, ‘that all experimental reasoning is nothing but a species of instinct,’ &c. Indeed there is no other word in our language which can so adequately characterize this process of the understanding. A principle of action, of which we can neither date the origin, nor trace the progress, though it differ from real instinct, in being acquired, instead of innate, — is nevertheless so very nearly similar, in its effects, to that part of our constitution, that for want of a distinctive term, it may well enough be denominated a species of instinct.
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We shall not be able to examine in any detail the illustrations which our author has given of the relation between cause and effect; — nor to repeat, after him, the conclusions which are now pretty generally admitted, relative to the futility of inquiring into the nature either of mind, or of matter.
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For the same reason that induced us to decline a detailed statement of our author’s speculations concerning cause and effect, we shall omit to make particular mention of the twelve conclusions which he thinks are deducible from his analysis.
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There are two conclusions, — deducible, as our author supposes, from his analysis of cause and effect, — which perhaps it would be unpardonable to pass over in silence; — the conclusions, we mean, which refer, first, to the existence of Deity, and secondly, to the existence of miracles. With regard to the former we shall give Mr. Ogilvie an opportunity to use his own phraseology.
‘From this analysis, we derive one of the strongest a posteriori proofs, (perhaps the strongest a posteriori proof,) of the existence of a Deity, that human reason can discover or invent: if the phenomena of the material universe, (like the steps of a mathematical demonstration,) were necessarily and immutably connected, it would be unreasonable to look beyond the phenomena, for the efficient cause of their concatenation, in the order of cause and effect: but as the succession of events, does not appear to be necessarily connected, we are irresistibly led to infer, that the order in which they succeed each other, has been established and appointed by an omniscient, and, consequently omnipotent being: and that every indication of harmony and order, every tendency to produce and diffuse happiness, which the universe displays, is not only a shining evidence of the existence of the Deity, but an evidence also, of the divine attributes, that claim the adoration, love, and worship, of all his rational creatures.’ — pp. 91, 92.
Now, we are very sure that an inference of this sort must be supported by considerations widely different from those embraced in the doctrine which our author has adopted, relative to cause and effect; and that, in fact, an inference directly at variance with the one here drawn is legitimately deducible both from his own essay, and from his master’s speculations on the same subject. If we are to consider every example of cause and effect as a mere conjunction of two events, — or as a case of mere antecedence and consequence, — we must necessarily believe, also, that the only foundation of our inference from the one to the other, in time to come, is the experience we have of the manner in which they have accompanied or followed each other in time past. In Hume’s own language, the two things are quite ‘distinct and arbitrary;’ nor can we discover either in the first, or in the second, the least circumstance from which we might conclude that their succession, or conjunction, was the result of any connecting principle, or necessary causation. The obvious consequence is, — that no object or event can be inferred to have had a cause, unless at some time or other, we have seen a similar object or event, preceded by another in close and direct conjunction. Nay the antecedence and consequence must have passed repeatedly under our own eyes before the object or event or question can, according to this doctrine, be considered as having any thing like what we denominate a cause. Now, when we come to extend this principle beyond the petty phenomena of our own little ‘spot which men call earth,’ and bring the total universe, as one single object, under the supervision of the mental eye, we find ourselves utterly incapable of concluding that it had a cause; for who has ever witnessed the production of such a phenomenon? Who has ever seen a universe come from the hands of a Creator, or preceded by any other object or event whatsoever?
Another obvious consequence of Hume’s doctrine is, — that we never can have any notion of the efficiency by which one event is rendered adequate to the production of another. All we know about the matter is, that the first goes immediately before the second; and the conclusion is, that any other event might take the place of either, without disturbing, in the least, our ideas relative to the propriety of association. Even if the ‘philosopher’ should grant, therefore, — what we know he must be less sagacious than Hume* to think of granting, — that every object and event is logically concluded to have a cause, he still has a strong hold of impregnable scepticism in the denial of our possibility to point out the powers and attributes of that cause. If he suffers us to infer that the universe had a cause, he will dispute our right of attempting to define what sort of a cause it was. We are granted the simple fact, — that some object or event was immediately antecedent to the appearance of the universe; but whether it was material, or intellectual, — whether, in short, it was God or not, — we cannot make our premises bear us out in concluding. Turn the doctrine on whatever side you will, therefore, it is inevitably destructive of all belief in a Supreme Being.
The relation of cause and effect, as we have endeavoured to explain it, involves no such conclusions as these. It is an unquestionable fact, — let philosophers dispute ever so much about the foundation on which it lies, — that from the circumstances invariably attending the phenomena which have come within our cognizance, from the uniform certainty that, with due examination, we can always find a reason for the events which fall under our supervision, — we are irresistibly led to the general conclusion that every object must have a cause. When all the examples of experience are added together, this general inference may be considered as the sum which stands at the foot: — and we find it formed n the mind so very early in life, that even children who are scarcely able to lisp a question are extremely anxious to know the reasons of things. — But, along with our belief in the existence of causes, we receive, also, a notion of their comparative adequacy. We learn from experience that a force or momentum which can move a billiard-ball would be inadequate to impel a thirty-two-pound cannon-shot; and we are taught farther by natural philosophy, that the momenta, which are respectively adequate to the impulsion of both, may be measured with arithmetical precision. From the same instructor, also, we acquire the additional information, that momentum itself is resolvable into the two elements of weight and velocity; — insomuch that by making up with the one what is wanting of the other, we are able to move the greatest mass of matter with the least, or the least with the greatest. From such examples as this, we acquire a notion of adequacy; and whenever we are attempting to investigate the cause of any anomolous event, this circumstance forms an essential and an invariable part of our reflections. — From the foregoing considerations we are impressed with the irresistible conclusion that the universe must have proceeded from a cause; from what we have just been saying, we acquire, at the same time, a conviction that, to be adequate, such a cause must have exceeded immeasurably any power within the sphere of our knowledge; and the mind finds itself obliged, therefore, to take refuge in the supposition of omnipotence. Beyond this we cannot go. There can be no cause of omnipotence.
With regard to Mr. Ogilvie’s argument in favour of miracles we have to observe, that it proceeds upon an assumption which, by the person he is combating, would be considered as altogether false and gratuitous. Perhaps Hume, were he alive, would be the last person in the world to profess ‘a conscientious belief (p. 145) in the existence of God;’ and our author would, therefore, find himself contending with an antagonist who, without trying the temper of his weapon or the force of his blows, would deprive him at once of the very ground on which he stood. In disputing with a sceptic it is doubly necessary to be assured, first of all, that our fundamental propositions are such as he acknowledges to be tenable: and without examining particularly the reasoning of the author before us, therefore, or requiring of Hume any other concession than such as he has voluntarily made, we shall proceed to offer one or two brief remarks in oppugnation of his celebrated argument against the existence of miracles.
‘An absurd consequence, if necessary, (says he, Of Liberty and Necessity, Pt. II; and we only quote his own language in order to take nothing for granted which he would not concede) proves the original doctrine to be absurd.’ No absurdity can be greater than that the same principle should prove a thing to be, and not to be, at the same time; and if, therefore, we can demonstrate that Hume’s rule on this subject is equally conclusive both against, and in favour of, the existence of miracles, we suppose the principle itself must be given up as absurd. The great object is to ascertain the degree of confidence which we may rationally place in human testimony: — ‘and in all cases, (according to Hume) we must balance the opposite experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the superior evidence. An hundred instances on one side, and fifty on another, afford a very doubtful expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of assurance.’ Now the great defect of this rule is, that it proves too much. If it is admitted to be true, we can establish the veracity of the veriest liar in the world, — and prove that any extraordinary event of which we have testimony, both did, and did not, occur. We prove its occurrence by examining the character of the witness; and we demonstrate its non-occurrence by investigating the nature of the event. It is a received truth, — and Hume himself acknowledges in one place, — that the great body of mankind are to be considered as worthy of belief.* Let us, therefore, ‘balance the opposite experiments’ or ‘deduct the smaller number from the greater,’ and, if this doctrine is to be practised upon, we must be necessarily influenced to believe the testimony, — notwithstanding the knavery and mendacity of the witness is known and acknowledged. His veracity has the ‘hundred chances to one’ in its favour; and the validity of his evidence is, therefore, weighted in the balance and not found wanting.
But, on the other hand, nothing can be clearer than that, from the very nature of the thing, the extraordinary event in question could never have taken place. Our process here must also be that of ‘balancing and deduction.’ Rarity is the very quintessence of the extraordinary: — and accordingly when we came to balance the probabilities, we should find, on counting up the ‘instances’ for ‘both sides,’ that the number against the event is perhaps a thousand, while that in its favour is not more than a dozen. Deduct and balance as before; and it would be indubitably established that no such event could possibly have taken place. The odds are fearfully against it; and ‘with the wise and learned’ — ‘the judicious and knowing,’ — therefore, the testimony in its favour can never be of the least possible weight.
Perhaps we shall be better understood by adducing an instance. Let us suppose, then, that a person who was an eyewitness of the fact, should bring us the intelligence, that, in the transition of the steam-boat over the Delaware, one of the passengers fell overboard and was drowned. It would be our first business to establish the veracity of our informer; and this is very easily done by deducting the number of liars from the great body of mankind. If neither of the sums was precisely numerable, the balancing of proportions must be resorted to; and perhaps the result would be that 100 men will speak the truth, for one who would tell a lie. The passenger, therefore, was clearly drowned. — But, in the next place, we must examine the nature of the event: — and the result of our inquiries would probably be that 1000 men had passed the river in that very steamboat, and yet not one of them had fallen overboard or was drowned. ‘Deduct the smaller number of chances from the greater,’ and it is indisputable that the man in question could never have fallen overboard. Indeed, when this doctrine comes to be generalized, it amounts to precisely this, — that the majority of instances which give rise to a rule is conclusive against the smaller number which form the exceptions; — a proposition which is so much at variance with the common sense of mankind, that the existence of exceptions is proverbially considered as proving the validity of the rule.
We are aware of the two answers which Hume would make to the observations in the foregoing paragraphs. He would tell us, in the first place, that ‘the very same principle (Of Miracles, Pt. 1.) which gives a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of the witness, gives us also,’ to be sure, ‘another degree of assurance against the fact:’ but then ‘from this contradiction necessarily arise a counterpoise, and mutual destruction of belief and authority.’ Now to us the legitimate conclusion seems to be that a ‘principle’ which thus produces a flat and palpable ‘contradiction’ is radically and essentially absurd. Contradiction is the very last extreme of absurdity; and ‘an absurd consequence (see above, p. 25) proves the original doctrine to be absurd.’ — But there is, besides, a great absurdity enveloped in the mysterious expression — ‘mutual destruction of belief and authority;’ a phrase which, being interpreted, means nothing less than that, as the two conclusions destroy each other, neither the event, nor the testimony, nor any thing connected with the one or the other, could ever have had existence: — and this, again, is to discredit the direct and immediate evidence of our own eyes and ears. Read Hume’s remarks upon the evidence of sense, at the beginning of Part I.
Our sceptic’s second answer would be, that, as the drowning of a man was not miraculous, the rule proposed could have no legitimate application to such an event. In the prosecution of his argument on this subject, Hume unfortunately stumbled upon the instance of a tropical prince’s disbelieving, that, in more northern climates, the intensity of cold had the effect of reducing water to a state of hardness; and as he perceived that such an example struck at the very root of the doctrine, he endeavoured to explain it away by an amusing note, in which we are told, for our satisfaction, that ‘the operations of cold upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but whenever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness.’ Nothing, we apprehend, can be more unquestionable than this; and yet it does not prevent us from seeing, that the conclusion of the Indian was exactly accordant with Mr. Hume’s reasoning, and directly contradictory of notorious matter of fact. The congelation of water in tropical countries would be almost as much a miracle as the restoration of sight in a person by the mere touch of the hand; and yet to conclude that water could not be frozen there, or any where else, against the direct testimony of veracious eye-witnesses, would be considered as ridiculous and absurd. Here, then, Mr. Hume has been at the pains to exhibit his own infallible rule in the act of discrediting the existence of facts, which he and all of us acknowledge to be of notorious and ordinary occurrence. — To say, that the rule cannot be applicable to cases in which the laws of nature are not suspended, is surely to draw distinctions where ordinary eyes can see no difference; for if the rule is applicable to one class of facts which lie without the regular course of things, we are utterly incapable of perceiving why it should apply to others which are in the very same predicament. A miracle may be called the sublime of extraordinary phenomena; but from that point there are almost infinite degrees of strangeness and rarity; and if the rule of ‘deduction and balancing’ is applicable to the one, we cannot find a good reason why it should not be so to all the rest. Certainly the language in which his principle is expressed does not recognize any such distinction: — And whether, upon the whole, this rule of Hume’s ought to be ‘an everlasting check’ to our belief in well attested miracles, we shall leave our readers to determine.
We have to observe, in quitting this subject, that notwithstanding the many absurdities which, in our opinion, are the unavoidable consequences of the sceptical philosophy, we believe it to be a logical and fair deduction from the metaphysical systems of the profoundest philosophers who preceded Hume: and we venture to assert, that there is hardly a proposition in the whole Inquiry concerning Human Understanding which may not be ultimately traced to Locke’s erroneous doctrine about ideas. The scepticism of Hume unfortunately took the wrong direction; — inasmuch, as, instead of doubting the validity of the principles upon which the received system was founded, he credulously took the whole for granted, and only busied his ingenuity in the superstruction of such doctrines as he clearly perceived must find support in those principles. Had he asked himself the question, — whether, in fact, the ideas in our minds are copies or resemblances of external phenomena, — his sagacity would have soon reduced him to a negative answer; for when he came to run over a variety of ideas, — which his inquisitive mind would have done immediately, — he would have discovered that, the greatest part of those ideas could not possibly be endowed with figure. Our notions of hardness, colour, heat, — and, indeed, all those ideas which are not obtained through the single sense of sight, have nothing in them that can be conceived to resemble the objects from which they are derived. It was left for Dr. Reid to make this discovery; and it is only by reasoning similar to that of which he is the author, that we are enabled to break up the foundations, and consequently to overthrow the fabric, of Hume’s philosophical speculations. And here we take occasion to repeat, that they are speculations merely. In action we should, perhaps, accord exactly with the sceptic; and it is only from his philosophy that we should profess our dissent. ‘Cum Patrone Epicureo mihi omnia sunt: nisi quod philosophia vehementer ab eo dissentio.’ Cic. ad Memmium.
*Even Reid seems to have fallen into the error here alluded to. See particularly Essay II. chap. xx. on the Intellectual Powers. ‘The statesman continues to plod,’ &c. See also Essay VI. chap. iv.; where, in our opinion, there is an argument against Hume’s philosophy, which proves somewhat too much. Dr. Reid first quotes the passage of the sceptic, in which he acknowledges, that ‘Nature cures him of his philosophical delirium,’ and then subjoins, a little satirically, ‘what pity is it, that nature (whatever is meant by that personage), so kind in curing this delirium, should be so cruel as to cause it. Doth the same fountain send forth sweet water and bitter? Is it not more probable, that if the cure was the work of nature, the disease came from another hand, and was the work of the philosopher?’ Now, we have, on every hand, a great many instances in which nature both causes and cures diseases. To adduce an obvious one — water is so deleterious when suffered to stagnate, that the absolute quiescence of the whole ocean, for any length of time, would probably depopulate the globe; and accordingly it is prevented from becoming stagnant both by saline impregnation and by constant agitation. Here the poison and the antidote are both administered by the hand of the same ‘personage;’ and yet we suspect that Dr. Reid would hardly venture to be ironical on the subject.
*Sceptical Solution of Sceptical Doubts.
†We have not by any means transcribed all the passages in which Hume takes the pains to assure us, that his philosophy has nothing to do with active life. See particularly the latter paragraphs in Part II. of the Section on the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy.
*The doctrine is every where inculcated in such expressions as the following: — ‘We have already observed (Sec. V. Part II.) that nature has established connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea occurs to our thoughts, than it introduces its correlative,’ &c.
†Hume’s Essays, Vol. II. p. 87, of the London edition, duodecimo, 1765.
‡Id. ibid. p. 107.
*See Inquiry, Sec III.; where Hume himself resolves association into the three principles of contiguity, causation, and resemblance.
* ‘There are in every science (says D’Alembert) certain principles, true or supposed, which we lay hold of by a species of instinct; to which we must abandon ourselves without resistance: otherwise it would be necessary to admit in our principles a progress ad infinitum, — which would be equally absurd as a progress ad infinitum in actual causes and existences, — and which would render every thing uncertain, — without some fixed point beyond which we cannot proceed.’ Hume himself makes a similar remark. When his ‘pushing’ system has brought him to a conclusion, that all our inferences from experience must be founded in habit; ‘perhaps (says he) we can push our inquiries no farther; but must rest contented with it as an ultimate principle.’ The spirit of his philosophy should have carried him farther; and some votary of scepticism more ‘inquisitive’ than himself might drive him from this ‘corner,’ and follow him up, from dilemma to dilemma, in his own two-handed way, — nunc dextrâ ingeminans ictus, nunc ille sinistrâ.
*‘No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticims, than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human knowledge.’ Of the Idea of Necessary Connexion, Part II.
*The language even of Hume himself is sometimes quite as strong as this. One of his definitions of cause is, — ‘where if the first object had not been, the second never had existed.’ p. 88, Inquiry. And again ‘ ’tis universally allowed, (says he) that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a necessary force, and that every natural effect is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause, that no other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly have resulted from the operation of that cause.’ Inq. p. 93. This seems to be admitting, — if not a necessary connexion, — at least a necessary conjunction: and ‘provided we agree about the thing (p. 58) ’tis needless to dispute about the terms.’
†It is very seldom that Hume employs the words antecedence and consequence. The term conjoin, in all its variations, is his usual expression of the idea we have of cause and effect.
‡See Duncan’s Logic, b. iii. chap. i. sec. 1. Remote Relations Discovered by Means of Intermediate Ideas.
*Page 30.
†Sceptical Solution of Sceptical Doubts, Part II.
‡Hume himself almost uniformly uses this very word to denominate the intellectual operation in question. See the Inquiry, pp. 52, 53, et passim. Conclusion is another word which he often uses for the same purpose. We suppose Locke, and perhaps Reid, would call this mental step by the name of judgment. And yet the latter defines reasoning to be the ‘power (we should call it the act) of inferring, or drawing a conclusion.’ — Essay VII. on the Intellectual Powers, cap. 1. — We are inclined to think that, strictly speaking, there is no formal inference in the case; and that, in the language of the last mentioned philosopher, our ‘understanding’ here takes a step without the intermediation of its ‘crutch:’ but since Hume represents the mind as going, in the way of inference, from the past to the future, — which, according to all just lexicography, is but a definition of reasoning, — and since we pretend to do little else than to combat the sceptic on his own ground, we shall take it for granted that, by some medium or other, the mind actually draws a conclusion, when we expect similar effects from similar causes.
*Even Hume is, in one place, obliged to distort the meaning of the word habit, in order to warp his theory to fact. See Inquiry, sec. ix. ‘When we have lived any time, (says he) and have been accustomed to the uniformity of nature, we acquire a general habit, by which we always transfer the known to the unknown, and conceive the latter to resemble the former. By means of this general habitual principle, we regard even one experiment as the foundation of reasoning.’ No proposition is certainly more unquestionable, than that habit is the result of repetition, and is confined to those precise objects with which that repetition is conversant; nor any thing appear to us more inconceivable than this doctrine concerning a ‘general habit.’ When he calls it a ‘principle’ we agree with him; and have only then to accuse his self-contradiction, and to retract what we said in the text about the failure of his sagacity. See p. 47. of the Essay under consideration, where our author adopts the language of Hume again.
*See Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, Vol. II (Boston edition,) pp. 37, 38, 39, et seq. And also our Number for January, 1815, pp. 47–8–9.
*Philosophical Essays, Philadelphia edition, pp. 132–3–4.
*Of a Particular Providence and of a Future State. We suspect the author before us has forgotten this Essay.
*‘Men have commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity.’ Of Miralces, Pt. I. But we are far from alleging the proposition upon his single authority; inasmuch as in Part II. of the same Essay, he finds it expedient to say ‘that the knavery and folly of men are such common phenomena,’ &c.