The path I have taken was new to me, after all I had read on the subject. I examined what I had gathered from others by my own principles; and according as I found it tally with collateral circumstances, I concluded in its favour. When, on the other hand, I found a disagreement, I was apprized immediately of some mistake: and this I found constantly owing to the narrowness of the combinations upon which it had been founded.
The great danger of running into error upon particular points relating to this subject, proceeds from our viewing them in a light too confined, and to our not attending to the influence of concomitant circumstances, which render general rules of little use. Men of parts and knowledge[knowledge] seldom fail to reason consequentially on every subject; but when their inquiries are connected with the complicated interests of society, the vivacity of an author’s genius is apt to prevent him from attending to the variety of circumstances which render every consequence, almost, which he can draw, uncertain. To this I ascribe the habit of running into what the French call Systemes. These are no more than a chain of contingent consequences, drawn from a few fundamental maxims, adopted, perhaps, rashly. Such systems are mere conceits; they mislead the understanding, and efface the path to truth. An induction is formed, from whence a conclusion, called a principle, is drawn; but this is no sooner done, than the author extends its influence far beyond the limits of the ideas present to his understanding, when he made his deduction.
The imperfection of language engages us frequently in disputes merely verbal; and instead of being on our guard against the many unavoidable ambiguities attending the most careful speech, we place a great part of our learning when at school, and of our wit when we appear on the stage of the world, in the prostitution of language. The learned delight in vague, and the witty in equivocal terms. In general, we familiarize ourselves so much with words, and think so little, when we speak and write, that the signs of our ideas take the place of the images which they were intended to represent.
Every true proposition, when understood, must be assented to universally. This is the case always, when simple ideas are affirmed or denied of each other. No body ever doubted that sound is the object of hearing, or colour that of sight, or that black is not white. But whenever a dispute arises concerning a proposition, wherein complex ideas are compared, we may often rest assured, that the parties do not understand each other. Luxury, says one, is incompatible with the prosperity of a state. Luxury is the fountain of a nation’s welfare and happiness, says another. There may, in reality, be no difference in the sentiments of these two persons. The first may consider luxury as prejudicial to foreign trade, and as corrupting the morals of a people. The other may consider luxury as the means of providing employment for such as must live by their industry, and of promoting an equable circulation of wealth and subsistence, through all the classes of inhabitants. If each of them had attended to the combination of the other’s complex idea of luxury, with all its consequences, they would have rendered their propositions less general.
The difference, therefore, of opinion between men is frequently more apparent than real. When we compare our own ideas, we constantly see their relations with perspicuity; but when we come to communicate those relations to other people, it is often impossible to put them into words sufficiently expressive of the precise combination we have made in our own minds.
This being the case, I have avoided, as much as possible, condemning such opinions as I have taken the liberty to review; because I have examined such only as have been advanced by men of genius and reputation: and since all matters of controversy regard the comparison of our ideas, if the terms we use to express them were sufficiently understood by both parties, most political disputes would, I am persuaded, be soon at an end.
Here it may be objected, that we frequently adopt an opinion, without being able to give a sufficient reason for it, and yet we cannot gain upon ourselves to give it up, though we find it combated by the strongest arguments.
To this I answer, that in such cases we do not adhere to our own opinions, but to those of others, received upon trust. It is our regard for the authority, and not for the opinion, which makes us tenacious: for if the opinion were truly our own, we could not fail of seeing, or at least we should not long be at a loss in recollecting the ground upon which it is built. But when we assent implicitly to any political doctrine, there is no room for reason: we then satisfy ourselves with the persuasion that those whom we trust have sufficient reasons for what they advance. While our assent therefore is implicit, we are beyond conviction; not because we do not perceive the force of the arguments brought against our opinion, but because we are ignorant of the force of those which can be brought to support it: and as no body will sell what belongs to him, without being previously informed of its value, so no body will give up an implicit opinion, without knowing all that can be said for it. To this class of men I do not address myself in my inquiries.
But I insensibly run into a metaphysical speculation, to prove, that in political questions it is better for people to judge from experience and reason, than from authority; to explain their terms, than to dispute about words; and to extend their combinations, than to follow conceits, however decorated with the name of systems. How far I have avoided such defects, the reader will determine.
Every writer values himself upon his impartiality; because he is not sensible of his fetters. The wandering and independent life I have led may naturally have set me free, in some measure, from strong attachments to popular opinions. This may be called impartiality. But as no man can be deemed impartial, who leans to any side whatever, I have been particularly on my guard against the consequences of this sort of negative impartiality, as I have found it sometimes carrying me too far from that to which a national prejudice might have led me.