[1] p. 317 [Book I, part I., sec. III.]
So the ‘Positivist’ juggles with ‘phenomena’.
202. Thus the way is prepared for the juggle which the modern popular logic performs with the word ‘phenomenon’—a term which gains acceptance for the theory that turns upon it because it conveys the notion of a relation between a real order and a perceiving mind, and thus gives to those who avail themselves of it the benefit of an implication of the ‘noumena’ which they affect to ignore. Hume’s inconsistency, however, stops far short of that of his later disciples. For the purpose of detraction from the work of thought he availed himself, indeed, of that work as embodied in language, but only so far as was necessary to his destructive purpose. He did not seriously affect to be reconstructing the fabric of knowledge on a basis of fact. There occasionally appears in him, indeed, something of the charlatanry of common sense in passages, more worthy of Bolingbroke than himself, where he writes as a champion of facts against metaphysical jargon. But when we get behind the mask of concession to popular prejudice, partly ironical, partly due to his undoubted vanity, we find much more of the ancient sceptic than of the ‘positive philosopher.’
Essential difference, however, between Hume and the ‘Positivist’.
203. The ancient sceptic (at least as represented by the ancient philosophers), finding knowledge on the basis of distinction between the real and apparent to be impossible, discarded the enterprise of arriving at general truth in opposition to what appears to the individual at any particular instant, and satisfied himself with noting such general tendencies of expectation and desire as would guide men in the conduct of life and enable them to get what they wanted by contrivance and persuasion. [1] Such a state of mind excludes all motive to the ‘interrogation of nature,’ for it recognises no ‘nature’ but the present appearance to the individual; and this does not admit of being interrogated. The ‘positive philosopher’ has nothing in common with it but the use, in a different sense, of the word ‘apparent.’ He plumes himself, indeed, on not going in quest of any ‘thing-in-itself’ other than what appears to the senses; but he distinguishes between a real and apparent in the order of appearance, and considers the real order of appearance, having a permanence and uniformity which belong to no feeling as the individual feels it, to be the true object of knowledge. No one is more severe upon ‘propensities to believe,’ however spontaneously suggested by the ordinary sequence of appearances, if they are found to conflict with the order of nature as ascertained by experimental interrogation; i.e. with a sequence observed (it may be) in but a single instance. Which of the two attitudes of thought is the more nearly Hume’s, will come out as we proceed. It was just with the distinction between the ‘real and fantastic,’ as Locke had left it, that he had to deal; and, as will appear, it is finally by a ‘propensity to feign,’ not by a uniform order of natural phenomena, that he replaces the real which Locke, according to his first mind, had found in archetypal things and their operations on us.
[1] Cf. Plato’s ‘Protagoras,’ 323, and ‘Theaetetus,’ 167, with the concluding paragraphs of the last part of the first book of Hume’s ‘Treatise on Human Nature.’
He adopts Berkeley’s doctrine of ideas, but without Berkeley’s saving suppositions,
204. We have seen that Berkeley, having reduced ‘simple ideas’ to their simplicity by showing the illegitimacy of the assumption that they report qualities of a matter which is itself a complex idea, is only able to make his constructive theory march by the supposition of the reality and knowability of ‘spirit’ and relations. ‘Ideas’ are ‘fleeting, perishable passions;’ but the relations between them are uniform, and in virtue of this uniformity the fleeting idea may be interpreted as a symbol of a real order. But such relations, as real, imply the presence of the ideas to the constant mind of God, and, as knowable, their presence to a like mind in us. We have further seen how little Berkeley, according to the method by which he disposed of ‘abstract general ideas,’ was entitled to such a supposition. Hume sets it aside; but the question is, whether without a supposition virtually the same he can represent the association of ideas as doing the work that he assigned to it.
… in regard to ‘spirit’,
205. His exclusion of Berkeley’s supposition with regard to ‘spirit’ is stated without disguise, though unfortunately not till towards the end of the first book of the ‘Treatise on Human Nature,’ which could not have run so smoothly if the statement had been made at the beginning. It follows legitimately from the method, which he inherited, of ‘looking into his mind to see how it wrought.’ ‘From what impression,’ he asks, ‘could the idea of self be derived? It must be some one impression that gives rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any impression, but that to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to have a reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression must continue invariably the same through the whole course of our lives, since self is supposed to exist after that manner. But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never all exist at the same time. It cannot, therefore, be from any of these impressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and, consequently, there is no such idea.’ Again: ‘When I enter most intimately into what is called myself, I always stumble on some particular perception of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe anything but the perception. When my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long am I insensible of myself, and may truly be said not to exist.’ Thus ‘men are nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions that succeed each other with inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux or movement. Our eyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our thought is still more variable than our sight. … nor is there any single power of the soul which remains unalterably the same perhaps for one moment…. There is properly no simplicity in the mind at one time nor identity at different’. [1]