As ever,
David Hume comes across as a logical positivist of the eighteenth century. For
him, it seems that there are three possible positions to take on any natural
phenomenon, belief or custom. First, something may be known. Where science has
trod, where theory has been discussed and where findings have been demonstrated
and then reproduced, Hume will admit no deviation of interpretation. Everything
else is folly. Secondly, something may be widely assumed but as yet it remains
unproven. Though he regularly alludes to such phenomena, he actually rarely
analyses consequences of taking a particular standpoint, or pronounces on
whether such things, perhaps at a later date, might become known. Throughout
his pronouncements on such topics, he reveals himself to be as unquestioning of
his assumed culture as anyone who espouses religion. An illustration of this
tendency would be his regular reference to “savages”, people who don’t really qualify as human beings. These beings tend to
live in Africa, in “jungles” or even in Asia. These are, of course, my own
tongue-in-cheek words. He does not question the labels he uses, or their
existence as such. But he repeats the position and clearly sees no reason to
question it, despite the fact that it is not a “known” fact, in terms of there
existing any kind of proof – or, for that matter, even evidence.
The third
category in Hume’s thought relates to things that are unknown. Not only do
these phenomena exist outside his concept of science in that they cannot be
tested, but also, they defy description in a way that human beings can
comprehend them. It is in this third category, the unknown, that human beings
find fertile ground for their pronouncements of religion.
What is
known is adequately described by this passage: “if the cause be
known only by the effect, we never ought to describe to it any qualities beyond
what our precise the requisite to produce the effect: nor can we, by any rules
of just reasoning, return back from the cause, and other effects from it, beyond
those by which alone it is known to us.” Here the process of scientific
inference is raised to the status of a rational god, perhaps. But it is
rational…
What is
assumed but not proven is illustrated by this assertion: “I
am sensible, that, according to the past experience of mankind, friendship is
the chief joy of human life, and moderation the only source of tranquility and
happiness. I never balance between the virtuous and the vicious course of life;
but I’m sensible, that, to a well-disposed
mind, every advantage is on the side of the former.” The assertion exists because he
believes it, and can cite evidence, but he does not have proof. But equally he does
not admit belief, believing that at some point the quality may be tested and
proven, perhaps.
What is
unknown, outside of human inference facilitated by a scientific method, then
becomes explained by speculation, or invention. Human beings hold up a mirror
to the universe, and in its see themselves and interpret phenomena beyond their
understanding as mere aspects of themselves. “…there is an
universal tendency among mankind to conceive all beings like themselves, and to
transfer to every object, those qualities with which they are familiar
acquainted, and of which they are intimately conscious. We find human faces in
the moon, arm is in the clouds; and buy a natural propensity, if not corrected
by experience and reflection, ascribe, malice, or goodwill to everything, that
hurts or pleases us. Hence the frequency and beauty of […] poetry; where trees,
mountains and streams are personified, and the inanimate parts of nature,
acquire sentiment and passion. although these poetical figures and expressions
gain not on the belief, they may serve, at least, to prove a certain tendency
in the imagination, without which they could neither be beautiful nor natural…
philosophers cannot entirely exempt themselves from this natural frailty, but
have often described it to inanimate matter the horror of a vacuum […] and
sympathies, and other affections of human nature. The absurdity is not less,
while we cast our eyes upwards; and transferring, as is to usual, human
passions, and infirmities to the deity, representing him as a jealous as
jealous and revengeful, capricious and partial, and, in short, a wicked and
foolish man, in every respect, but his superior power and authority.”
Personally,
I have often wondered why, given our knowledge of the universe and our place
within it, why the religious continue to use personal pronouns and human labels
to refer to gods. “He, Father, Lord” are common: “it” and “thing” are not. In a
reconstructed terminology, “The Lord is my Shepherd” would thus become “It is a
thing”. Without the completely human dimension, the phrase becomes meaningless.
With the human dimension raised to a status of essential, the phrase no longer
describes anything that might not be earth-bound.
Hume
expands on this elsewhere: “…the great source of our mistake in
this subject, and of the unbounded license of conjecture, which we indulge, is,
that we consider ourselves, as in the place of the Supreme Being, and conclude,
that he will, on every occasion, observe the same conduct […] in his situation,
would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But, besides that the ordinary
course of nature may convince us that almost everything is regulated by
principles and maxims very different from ours, besides this, I say, it must
evidently appear contrary to all rules of analogy to reason, from the
intentions and projects of men, to those of Being so different, and so much
superior.” He also
equates the tendency to adopt religious believe to ignorance: “…it
seems certain, that, according to the natural progress of human thought, the
ignorant multitude must first entertain some groveling and familiar notion of
superior powers, before they stretch the conception to that perfect Being, will
be stowed order on the whole frame of nature.” He does however admit that there are possibilities for
the committed: “A little philosophy, says Lord Bacon, makes men atheists: a
great deal reconciles them to religion.”
Dialogues and Natural History of Religion are a superb illustration of what
drove David Hume towards his eighteenth-century version of logical positivism.
They come here with copious notes, where the numerous classical illusions are
clarified, and where the author’s references to contemporary writers and texts,
now forgotten, are referenced.
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