Reading: Hume Speaks:
Hume Speaks: The Life and Thought of David Hume
Biography: Reflections on My Life
Ah, where does one begin? My name is David Hume, and I was born in 1711, in Edinburgh, Scotland, a city rich in culture and intellect. I am often remembered as a philosopher and historian, but my early years were spent in pursuit of a career in law. That, however, did not last long. You see, I was never quite drawn to the courtroom or the legal profession, much to my family’s disappointment. My mind was restless, constantly questioning, constantly challenging what was taken for granted.
At the age of 18, I embarked on a journey to reshape my future. I retreated to La Flèche, in France, to live in seclusion and devote myself entirely to philosophical study. Those years of quiet reflection were the foundation for my A Treatise of Human Nature, which I completed when I was just 26. Though the work was initially met with little fanfare, it would later become the cornerstone of my intellectual legacy. In it, I sought to apply the rigor of the scientific method to the study of human nature itself. If we can study the external world empirically, why not human thought and behavior?
In the years that followed, I would write many essays, and my works ranged far beyond philosophy. I found myself increasingly drawn to history, politics, and ethics, publishing The History of England—a work which became far more popular in my lifetime than my philosophical writings. But even as I engaged with political and historical subjects, my skepticism about human knowledge and religious beliefs remained at the center of my work.
Now that you know the course of my life, allow me to share the ideas that shaped both my own thinking and much of modern philosophy.
Philosophical Views: Skepticism, Empiricism, and the Limits of Human Understanding
At the heart of my philosophy lies a deep skepticism about what we can truly know. I was influenced by the empiricist tradition of John Locke and George Berkeley, but I took their ideas much further. If knowledge comes from experience, as Locke said, then we must critically examine what experience can actually tell us. The result of my inquiry led me to unsettling conclusions: reason is not as powerful as we think, and much of what we claim to know rests on shaky foundations.
Impressions and Ideas: The Building Blocks of the Mind
In my Treatise of Human Nature and later works, I argued that the contents of the human mind can be divided into two types: impressions and ideas. Impressions are the immediate, vivid sensory experiences we have—such as seeing the color red or feeling pain. Ideas, on the other hand, are the faint copies of these impressions that we recall in our minds—our memories and thoughts about experiences.
I wrote:
"All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct kinds, which I shall call impressions and ideas. The difference betwixt these consists in the degrees of force and liveliness, with which they strike upon the mind."
(A Treatise of Human Nature, Book I, Part I)
This distinction laid the groundwork for much of my skepticism. For if all our ideas are merely the faint copies of impressions, what can we say about the origin of those impressions themselves? How reliable are our senses in conveying the true nature of reality?
The Problem of Causality: A Challenge to Certainty
One of my most radical and enduring critiques was my analysis of causality. Philosophers had long assumed that the world operates in accordance with cause and effect—when we observe one event following another, we infer a causal connection between the two. But I questioned this assumption. How do we know, with certainty, that one event causes another? What if our belief in causality is nothing more than a habit of the mind, formed by repeated experience?
In my Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, I explained:
"We may observe a conjunction of two objects, that is, one may perceive that the objects are contiguous in time and place; but there is no revelation, no impression, of the necessary connection itself."
(An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Section VII)
In other words, we never directly perceive a causal connection; we only see that one event follows another. The idea of causality, then, is something our minds impose on the world based on repeated experience, but it is not something we can prove with certainty.
This skepticism about causality had far-reaching implications. If causality cannot be known with certainty, then how can we trust the conclusions of science, which relies on the assumption of cause and effect? My critique challenged the foundations of knowledge itself, casting doubt on what human reason could ultimately achieve.
The Self: A Bundle of Perceptions
Another of my famous challenges was to the idea of a permanent, unified self. Descartes had claimed, Cogito, ergo sum—I think, therefore I am—suggesting that the self was a stable, continuous entity. But I saw no evidence for this. When I looked inward, I did not find a singular, enduring self. Instead, I found only a collection of fleeting impressions and ideas, constantly shifting and changing.
I wrote:
"For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, 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."
(A Treatise of Human Nature, Book I, Part IV)
Thus, the self, as commonly understood, is an illusion. It is nothing more than a "bundle of perceptions," with no underlying, unchanging substance. This view of the self further eroded the philosophical belief in a stable, knowable reality.
Religion: A Skeptical Approach to Belief
It would be impossible to discuss my work without mentioning my thoughts on religion. I approached religion with the same skepticism I applied to other forms of knowledge. In Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, I presented a critical examination of the traditional arguments for the existence of God, particularly the argument from design. The idea that the complexity and order of the universe prove the existence of an intelligent designer was, to me, flawed.
I argued that human beings, by nature, are inclined to project order and purpose onto the world, even when none exists. Our minds are quick to assume that because things appear designed, there must be a designer. But, as I had already shown with my critique of causality, the connections we perceive between events and objects are often the product of habit, not necessity.
In Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, I wrote:
"A wise man... proportions his belief to the evidence. A hundred instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful conclusion."
(Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, Part I)
I was cautious in my conclusions, and while I did not openly deny the existence of God, I maintained that we could not arrive at religious belief through reason alone. My skepticism left many traditional religious arguments in doubt, and my critique of miracles—where I argued that it is more rational to believe in natural explanations than in supernatural events—made me a controversial figure in religious circles.
Ethics: A Foundation in Human Sentiment
Despite my skepticism, I did not abandon all hope for human understanding. In the realm of ethics, I took a more optimistic view. I argued that morality does not come from reason but from sentiment. Human beings are naturally inclined toward feelings of sympathy and benevolence, and it is these emotions, not cold rationality, that form the foundation of moral behavior.
In An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, I wrote:
"Morality is more properly felt than judged of; though this feeling or sentiment is usually so soft and gentle, that we are apt to confound it with an idea, according to our common custom of taking all things for the same, which have any near resemblance to each other."
(An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, Appendix I)
For me, morality was not based on divine commands or rational calculations but on human nature. We feel approval or disapproval based on how actions affect the happiness or suffering of others, and it is from these feelings that our moral judgments arise.
Influence on Modern Philosophy: A Lasting Legacy
As I look back on my work, I see how my ideas have shaped the course of modern philosophy. My skepticism about causality and knowledge left a profound mark on thinkers like Immanuel Kant, who famously said that my writings "awakened [him] from his dogmatic slumbers." Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason was, in many ways, an attempt to respond to the challenges I posed about the limits of human understanding.
My work also laid the groundwork for the later development of empiricism and scientific skepticism, particularly in the philosophy of science. The problem of induction, which I raised in my critique of causality, continues to be a topic of debate among philosophers of science.
In the realm of ethics, my emphasis on sentiment as the foundation of moral judgment influenced later moral philosophers, including utilitarians like Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill.
Conclusion: My Place in the Modern World
As I reflect on my life and ideas, I see that my work was never about tearing down human knowledge for the sake of destruction. Rather, I sought to bring humility to our understanding of what we can know, to remind us of the limits of reason and the fallibility of human judgment. I did not reject knowledge, but I questioned the certainty with which it was often proclaimed.
If my work has a lasting lesson, it is this: We must approach the world with a spirit of inquiry, but also with a deep awareness of our own limitations. In the end, human understanding is fragile, but it is also beautiful in its capacity for wonder and discovery. The true philosopher, I believe, is one who embraces both the power and the limitations of the mind.