… commit it then to the flames…

"It's clouding over," said Sophie.

"Are you going to talk about Berkeley now?"

Alberto sat staring down at the table. He finally turned and looked out of the window.

"He was the next of the three British empiricists. But as he is in a category of his own in many ways, we will first concentrate on David Hume, who lived from 1711 to 1776. He stands out as the most important of the empiricists. He is also significant as the person who set the great philosopher Immanuel Kant on the road to his philosophy."

"Doesn't it matter to you that I'm more interested in Berkeley's philosophy?"

"Yes, it's muggy."

"That's of no importance. Hume grew up near Edinburgh in Scotland. His family wanted him to take up law but he felt 'an insurmountable resistance to everything but philosophy and learning.' He lived in the Age of Enlightenment at the same time as great French thinkers like Voltaire and Rousseau, and he traveled widely in Europe before returning to settle down in Edinburgh toward the end of his life. His main work, A Treatise of Human Nature, was published when Hume was twenty-eight years old, but he claimed that he got the idea for the book when he was only fifteen."

"I see I don't have any time to waste."

"But if I were going to formulate my own philosophy, it would be quite different from anything I've heard up to now."

"You are right, of course. But Hume was a philosopher who thought in a different way. More than any other philosopher, he took the everyday world as his starting point. I even think Hume had a strong feeling for the way children -- the new citizens of the world -- experienced life."

"You have already begun."

"Is there anything in particular that's missing?"

"Well, to start with, all the philosophers you have talked about are men. And men seem to live in a world of their own. I am more interested in the real world, where there are flowers and animals and children that are born and grow up. Your philosophers are always talking about 'man' and 'humans,' and now here's another treatise on 'human nature.' It's as if this 'human' is a middle-aged man. I mean, life begins with pregnancy and birth, and I've heard nothing about diapers or crying babies so far. And hardly anything about love and friendship."

"As an empiricist, Hume took it upon himself to clean up all the woolly concepts and thought constructions that these male philosophers had invented. There were piles of old wreckage, both written and spoken, from the Middle Ages and the rationalist philosophy of the seventeenth century. Hume proposed the return to our spontaneous experience of the world. No philosopher 'will ever be able to take us behind the daily experiences or give us rules of conduct that are different from those we get through reflections on everyday life,' he said."

"In the time of Hume there was a widespread belief in angels. That is, human figures with wings. Have you ever seen such a creature, Sophie?"

"Sounds promising so far. Can you give any examples?"

"I'd better listen then."

"Dumb question."

"No."

"But you have seen a human figure?"

"Of course, but not on a human figure."

"You have also seen wings?"

"So, according to Hume, an 'angel' is a complex idea. It consists of two different experiences which are not in fact related, but which nevertheless are associated in man's imagination. In other words, it is a false idea which must be immediately rejected. We must tidy up all our thoughts and ideas, as well as our book collections, in the same way. For as Hume put it: If we take in our hands any volume… let us ask, 'Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning quantity or number?' No. 'Does it contain any experimental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence?' No. Commit it then to the flames, for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion."

"That was drastic."

"But the world still exists. More fresh and sharply outlined than ever. Hume wanted to know how a child experiences the world. Didn't you say that many of the philosophers you have heard about lived in their own world, and that you were more interested in the real world?"

"Something like that."

"Hume could have said the same thing. But let us follow his train of thought more closely."

"I'm with you."

"Hume begins by establishing that man has two different types of perceptions, namely impressions and ideas. By 'impressions' he means the immediate sensation of external reality. By 'ideas' he means the recollection of such impressions."

"If you burn yourself on a hot oven, you get an immediate 'impression.' Afterward you can recollect that you burned yourself. That impression insofar as it is recalled is what Hume calls an 'idea.' The difference is that an impression is stronger and livelier than your reflective memory of that impression. You could say that the sensation is the original and that the idea, or reflection, is only a pale imitation. It is the impression which is the direct cause of the idea stored in the mind."

"Could you give me an example?"

"I follow you -- so far."

"Important? How can you ask? Even though philosophers may have been preoccupied with a number of pseudoproblems, you mustn't give up now over the construction of an argument. Hume would probably agree with Descartes that it is essential to construct a thought process right from the ground."

"Hume emphasizes further that both an impression and an idea can be either simple or complex. You remember we talked about an apple in connection with Locke. The direct experience of an apple is an example of a complex impression."

"Sorry to interrupt, but is this terribly important?"

"Hume's point is that we sometimes form complex ideas for which there is no corresponding object in the physical world. We've already talked about angels. Previously we referred to crocophants. Another example is Pegasus, a winged horse. In all these cases we have to admit that the mind has done a good job of cutting out and pasting together all on its own. Each element was once sensed, and entered the theater of the mind in the form of a real 'impression.' Nothing is ever actually invented by the mind. The mind puts things together and constructs false 'ideas.'"

"Okay, okay."

"Do you have an example or two?"

"In Hume's day, there were a lot of people who had very clear ideas of 'heaven' or the 'New Jerusalem.' You remember how Descartes indicated that 'clear and distinct' ideas in themselves could be a guarantee that they corresponded to something that really existed?"

"All right, then. Hume wanted to investigate every single idea to see whether it was compounded in a way that does not correspond to reality. He asked: From which impression does this idea originate? First of all he had to find out which 'single ideas' went into the making of a complex idea. This would provide him with a critical method by which to analyze our ideas, and thus enable him to tidy up our thoughts and notions."

"Yes, I see. That is important."

"I said I was not especially forgetful."

"We soon realize that our idea of 'heaven' is compounded of a great many elements. Heaven is made up of 'pearly gates,"streets of gold,"angels' by the score and so on and so forth. And still we have not broken everything down into single elements, for pearly gates, streets of gold, and angels are all complex ideas in themselves. Only when we recognize that our idea of heaven consists of single notions such as 'pearl,"gate,"street,"gold,"white-robed figure,' and 'wings' can we ask ourselves if we ever really had any such 'simple impressions.'"

"He was very clever. What about Descartes having a clear and distinct idea of God?"

"We did. But we cut out and pasted all these 'simple impressions' into one idea."

"That's just what we did. Because if there is something we humans do when we visualize, it's use scissors and paste. But Hume emphasizes that all the elements we put together in our ideas must at some time have entered the mind in the form of 'simple impressions.' A person who has never seen gold will never be able to visualize streets of gold."

"Hume had an answer to that too. Let's say we imagine God as an infinitely 'intelligent, wise, and good being.' We have thus a 'complex idea' that consists of something infinitely intelligent, something infinitely wise, and something infinitely good. If we had never known intelligence, wisdom, and goodness, we would never have such an idea of God. Our idea of God might also be that he is a 'severe but just Father'-- that is to say, a concept made up of 'severity','justice,' and 'father.' Many critics of religion since Hume have claimed that such ideas of God can be associated with how we experienced our own father when we were little. It was said that the idea of a father led to the idea of a 'heavenly father.'"

"Anyway, Hume opposed all thoughts and ideas that could not be traced back to corresponding sense perceptions. He said he wanted to 'dismiss all this meaningless nonsense which long has dominated metaphysical thought and brought it into disrepute.' But even in everyday life we use complex ideas without stopping to wonder whether they are valid. For example, take the question of T -- or the ego. This was the very basis of Descartes's philosophy. It was the one clear and distinct perception that the whole of his phi-losophy was built on."

"I hope Hume didn't try to deny that I am me. He'd be talking off the top of his head."

"Sophie, if there is one thing I want this course to teach you, it's not to jump to conclusions."

"Sorry. Go on."

"Maybe that's true, but I have never accepted that God had to be a man. Sometimes my mother calls God 'Godiva,' just to even things up."

"No, why don't you use Hume's method and analyze what you perceive as your 'ego.'"

"First I'd have to figure out whether the ego is a single or a complex idea."

"And what conclusion do you come to?"

"I really have to admit that I feel quite complex. I'm very volatile, for instance. And I have trouble making up my mind about things. And I can both like and dislike the same people."

"Does that worry you?"

"In other words, the 'ego concept' is a 'complex idea.'"

"I'm very changeable. I'm not the same today as I was when I was four years old. My temperament and how I see myself alter from one minute to the next. I can suddenly feel like I am a 'new person.'"

"Okay. So now I guess I must figure out if I have had a corresponding 'complex impression' of my own ego. And I guess I have. I always had, actually."

"So the feeling of having an unalterable ego is a false perception. The perception of the ego is in reality a long chain of simple impressions that you have never experienced simultaneously. It is 'nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed one another with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement,' as Hume expressed it. The mind is 'a kind of theater, where several perceptions successively make their appearance; pass, re-pass, slide away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations.' Hume pointed out that we have no underlying 'personal identity' beneath or behind these perceptions and feelings which come and go. It is just like the images on a movie screen. They change so rapidly we do not register that the film is made up of single pictures. In reality the pictures are not connected. The film is a collection of instants."

"I guess it does."

"Does that mean you give up the idea of having an unalterable ego?"

"By Buddha. It's almost uncanny how similarly the two formulate their ideas. Buddha saw life as an unbroken succession of mental and physical processes which keep people in a continual state of change. The infant is not the same as the adult; I am not the same today as I was yesterday. There is nothing of which I can say 'this is mine,' said Buddha, and nothing of which I can say 'this is me.' There is thus no T or unalterable ego."

"Who by?"

"A moment ago you believed the opposite. I should add that Hume's analysis of the human mind and his rejection of the unalterable ego was put forward almost 2,500 years earlier on the other side of the world."

"I think I give in."

"In continuation of the idea of an unalterable ego, many rationalists had taken it for granted that man had an eternal soul."

"Is that a false perception too?"

"According to Hume and Buddha, yes. Do you know what Buddha said to his followers just before he died?"

"Yes, that was typically Hume."

"No, how could I?"

"What's that?"

"'Decay is inherent in all compound things. Work out your own salvation with diligence.' Hume could have said the same thing. Or Democritus, for that matter. We know at all events that Hume rejected any attempt to prove the immortality of the soul or the existence of God. That does not mean that he ruled out either one, but to prove religious faith by human reason was rationalistic claptrap, he thought. Hume was not a Christian, neither was he a confirmed atheist. He was what we call an agnostic."

"I see."

"An agnostic is someone who holds that the existence of God or a god can neither be proved nor disproved. When Hume was dying a friend asked him if he believed in life after death. He is said to have answered: It is also possible that a knob of coal placed upon the fire will not burn."

"The answer was typical of his unconditional open-mindedness. He only accepted what he had perceived through his senses. He held all other possibilities open. He rejected neither faith in Christianity nor faith in miracles. But both were matters of faith and not of knowledge or reason. You might say that with Hume's philosophy, the final link between faith and knowledge was broken."

"You say he didn't deny that miracles can happen?"

"That didn't mean that he believed in them, more the opposite. He made a point of the fact that people seemed to have a powerful need of what we today would call 'supernatural' happenings. The thing is that all the miracles you hear of have always happened in some far distant place or a long, long time ago. Actually, Hume only rejected miracles because he had never experienced any. But he had not experienced that they couldn't happen either."

"So you believe there are two natures -- a 'natural' and a 'supernatural.' Aren't you on the way back to the rationalistic claptrap?"

"I would say that was a miracle -- or something supernatural."

"You'll have to explain that."

"Maybe, but I still think the stone will fall to the ground every time I let go."

"According to Hume, a miracle is against the laws of nature. But it is meaningless to allege that we have experienced the laws of nature. We experience that a stone falls to the ground when we let go of it, and if it didn't fall -- well, then we experienced that.'1"

"I'm not horrible, Sophie. It's never wrong for a philosopher to ask questions. We may be getting to the crux of Hume's philosophy. Tell me how you can be so certain that the stone will always fall to the earth."

"I've seen it happen so many times that I'm absolutely certain."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Now you're being horrible."

"Why?"

"Not completely. You say you believe the stone will fall to the ground because you have seen it happen so many times. That's exactly Hume's point. You are so used to the one thing following the other that you expect the same to happen every time you let go of a stone. This is the way the concept of what we like to call 'the unbreakable laws of nature' arises."

"Hume would say that you have experienced a stone falling to the ground many times. But you have never experienced that it will always fall. It is usual to say that the stone falls to the ground because of the law of gravitation. But we have never experienced such a law. We have only experienced that things fall."

"I probably would."

"I guess I would."

"Now we're far away from babies and flowers again!"

"Did he really mean it was possible that a stone would not fall?"

"Because I would know better than the child how unnatural it was."

"So now do the following exercise: let's say you and a small child go to a magic show, where things are made to float in the air. Which of you would have the most fun?"

"Because it hasn't yet learned how nature behaves."

"He was probably just as convinced as you that it would fall every time he tried it. But he pointed out that he had not experienced why it happens."

"And why would that be?"

"Or perhaps because nature hasn't yet become a habit?"

"I see where you're coming from. Hume wanted people to sharpen their awareness."

"No, on the contrary. You are welcome to take children as Hume's verification. Who do you think would be more surprised if the stone floated above the ground for an hour or two -- you or a one-year-old child?"

"Why?"

"And why wouldn't the child think it was unnatural?"

"Because I would know how impossible it all is."

"So… for the child it's no fun to see the laws of nature being defied before it has learned what they are."

"I guess that's right."

"Every time I feel prejudice I get a bad feeling."

"When Hume discusses the force of habit, he concentrates on 'the law of causation.' This law establishes that everything that happens must have a cause. Hume used two billiard balls for his example. If you roll a black billiard ball against a white one that is at rest, what will the white one do?"

"And we are still at the crux of Hume's philosophy of experience. He would have added that the child has not yet become a slave of the expectations of habit; he is thus the more open-minded of you two. I wonder if the child is not also the greater philosopher? He comes utterly without preconceived opinions. And that, my dear Sophie, is the philosopher's most distinguishing virtue. The child perceives the world as it is, without putting more into things than he experiences."

"If the black ball hits the white one, the white one will start to move."

"I see, and why will it do that?"

"Because it was hit by the black one."

"So we usually say that the impact of the black ball is the cause of the white ball's starting to move. But remember now, we can only talk of what we have actually experienced."

"I have actually experienced it lots of times. Joanna has a pool table in her basement."

"Hume would say the only thing you have experienced is that the white ball begins to roll across the table. You have not experienced the actual cause of it beginning to roll. You have experienced that one event comes after the other, but you have not experienced that the other event happens because o/the first one."

"Isn't that splitting hairs?"

"No, it's very central. Hume emphasized that the expectation of one thing following another does not lie in the things themselves, but in our mind. And expectation, as we have seen, is associated with habit. Going back to the child again, it would not have stared in amazement if when one billiard ball struck the other, both had remained perfectly motionless. When we speak of the 'laws of nature' or of 'cause and effect,' we are actually speaking of what we expect, rather than what is 'reasonable.' The laws of nature are neither reasonable nor unreasonable, they simply are. The expectation that the white billiard ball will move when it is struck by the black billiard ball is therefore not innate. We are not born with a set of expectations as to what the world is like or how things in the world behave. The world is like it is, and it's something we get to know."

"Like what?"

"I'm beginning to feel as if we're getting off the track again."

"Well, because I have seen a whole herd of black horses doesn't mean that all horses are black."

"Not if our expectations cause us to jump to conclusions. Hume did not deny the existence of unbreakable 'natural laws,' but he held that because we are not in a position to experience the natural laws themselves, we can easily come to the wrong conclusions."

"Yes, I see."

"In the question of cause and effect, there can be many people who imagine that lightning is the cause of thunder because the thunder comes after the lightning. The example is really not so different from the one with the billiard balls. But is lightning the cause of thunder?"

"And although I have seen nothing but black crows in my life, it doesn't mean that there's no such thing as a white crow. Both for a philosopher and for a scientist it can be important not to reject the possibility of finding a white crow. You might almost say that hunting for 'the white crow' is science's principal task."

"No, of course not."

"An empiricist of our own century, Bertrand Russell, has provided a more grotesque example. A chicken which experiences every day that it gets fed when the farmer's wife comes over to the chicken run will finally come to the conclusion that there is a causal link between the approach of the farmer's wife and feed being put into its bowl."

"Both thunder and lightning are due to an electric discharge. So in reality a third factor causes them both."

"No, one day the farmer's wife comes over and wrings the chicken's neck."

"Not really, because actually they both happen at the same time."

"Right."

"But one day the chicken doesn't get its food?"

"Yuck, how disgusting!"

"You see a black cat cross the street. Later that day you fall and break your arm. But that doesn't mean there is any causal link between the two incidents. In science, it is especially important not to jump to conclusions. For instance, the fact that a lot of people get well after taking a particular drug doesn't mean it was the drug that cured them. That's why it's important to have a large control group of patients who think they are also being given this same medicine, but who are in fact only being given flour and water. If these patients also get well, there has to be a third factor -- such as the belief that the medicine works, and has cured them."

"The fact that one thing follows after another thus does not necessarily mean there is a causal link. One of the main concerns of philosophy is to warn people against jumping to conclusions. It can in fact lead to many different forms of superstition."

"How come?"

"What is it then?"

"I think I'm beginning to see what empiricism is."

"It is our sentiments. If you decide to help someone in need, you do so because of your feelings, not your reason."

"But there must be a limit somewhere. Everyone knows it's wrong to kill."

"What if I can't be bothered to help?"

"Hume also rebelled against rationalist thought in the area of ethics. The rationalists had always held that the ability to distinguish between right and wrong is inherent in human reason. We have come across this idea of a so-called natural right in many philosophers from Socrates to Locke. But according to Hume, it is not reason that determines what we say and do."

"That, too, would be a matter of feelings. It is neither reasonable nor unreasonable not to help someone in need, but it could be unkind."

"I don't know if I agree."

"According to Hume, everybody has a feeling for other people's welfare. So we all have a capacity for compassion. But it has nothing to do with reason."

"It's not always so unwise to get rid of another person, Sophie. If you wish to achieve something or other, it can actually be quite a good idea."

"I don't know."

"Was that a logical reason?"

"Hey, wait a minute! I protest!"

"Maybe you can try and explain why one shouldn't kill a troublesome person."

"'That person wants to live too. Therefore you ought not to kill them."

"What you did was to draw a conclusion from a descriptive sentence -- That person wants to live too'-- to what we call a normative sentence: 'Therefore you ought not to kill them.' From the point of view of reason this is nonsense. You might just as well say 'There are lots of people who cheat on their taxes, therefore I ought to cheat on my taxes too.' Hume said you can never draw conclusions from is sentences to ought sentences. Nevertheless it is exceedingly common, not least in newspaper articles, political party programs, and speeches. Would you like some examples?"

"Please."

"'More and more people want to travel by air. Therefore more airports ought to be built.' Do you think the conclusion holds up?"

"No. It's nonsense. We have to think of the environment. I think we ought to build more railroads instead."

"Sometimes it is said that 'this law has been passed by the Senate, therefore all citizens in this country ought to abide by it.' But frequently it goes against people's deepest convictions to abide by such conventions."

"Or they say: The development of new oilfields will raise the population's living standards by ten percent. Therefore we ought to develop new oilfields as rapidly as possible."

"Definitely not. We have to think of the environment again. And anyway, the standard of living in Norway is high enough."

"Yes, I understand that."

"That's a hair-raising assertion."

"So we have established that we cannot use reason as a yardstick for how we ought to act. Acting responsibly is not a matter of strengthening our reason but of deepening our feelings for the welfare of others. "Tis not contrary to reason to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of my finger,' said Hume."

"It's maybe even more hair-raising if you shuffle the cards. You know that the Nazis murdered millions of Jews. Would you say that there was something wrong with the Nazis' reason, or would you say there was something wrong with their emotional life?"

"I should hope not."

"There was definitely something wrong with their feelings."

"But we need not stick to the most grotesque examples. If a flood disaster renders millions of people homeless, it is our feelings that determine whether we come to their aid. If we are callous, and leave the whole thing to 'cold reason,' we might think it was actually quite in order that millions of people die in a world that is threatened by overpopulation."

"It makes me mad that you can even think that."

"Many of them were exceedingly clear-headed. It is not unusual to find ice-cold calculation behind the most callous decisions. Many of the Nazis were convicted after the war, but they were not convicted for being 'unreasonable.' They were convicted for being gruesome murderers. It can happen that people who are not of sound mind can be acquitted of their crimes. We say that they were 'not accountable for their actions.' Nobody has ever been acquitted of a crime they committed for being unfeeling."

"And notice it's not your reason that gets mad."

"Okay, I got it."