And yet, although Hume disagreed with both sides, and found their quarrels somewhat tiresome, he did not wish to eliminate parties. They encouraged fierce animosities among men who should be assisting one another and weakened the government.4 Still, they were inevitable and even beneficial. As the exact balance between the republican and monarchical part of the English constitution was delicate and uncertain, there were bound to be different opinions about what it ought to be. There was no way of settling the question forever because the power of the king varies with the character of the king, and what might suffice to counterbalance the Crown in one case might be too little or too much in another.1 Most reasonable men might agree to preserve a mixed government, but they were bound to disagree on the particulars. Therefore, “However the nation may fluctuate between them the parties themselves will always subsist, so long as we are governed by a limited monarchy.”2 There were inconveniences to parties, but they had to be endured in order to enjoy the blessings of a mixed government.
Instead of endorsing Bolingbroke’s call for a single party, Hume suggested that party conflicts might be softened. He even praised the growing interest in a coalition because it tended “to prevent all unreasonable insult and triumph of the one party over the other, to encourage moderate opinions, to find the proper medium in all disputes, to persuade each that its antagonists may possibly be sometimes in the right, and to keep a balance in the praise and blame which we bestow on either side.”3 But if a coalition had been likely, Hume might have been found on the other side, stirring up party differences. He looked for a moderation of disagreement, not for its disappearance. A balance between evils was the best one could hope for.
It is disconcerting then to find that on other questions Hume takes a stand, even lays down general rules, as if for all men and all times. But he is speaking with the authority of prudence, not science, as a man who has learned wisdom more than truth. And his notion of prudence implied that any attempt to settle political questions scientifically was chimerical and dangerous. The adimportant but subtle difference between the rules of a prudent man and the laws of a social scientist never concerned Hume,1 because the possibility of social science in the twentieth-century sense was not an issue in his day. He was thinking of other opponents.
He was arguing against three sorts of people: those, like Clarke or Hobbes, who tried to deduce rules for human conduct from what Hume regarded as metaphysical absurdities; those, like Berkeley, who denied a natural order because they affirmed man’s direct dependence on God (the appearance of gravitation in some instances did not justify, Berkeley said, concluding it was universal, because God might act sometimes in one way, and sometimes in another, “just as He sees convenient”); those, like Bolingbroke, who, in order to undo Walpole, argued that a government should stand or fall on the merits of the governors. Against the first, Hume was anxious to show that views about politics and morals must be drawn from what men are ready like, not from imaginary pictures of human nature; against the second, he wished to establish the existence of a natural order that is safe from divine interference; the last he wished to persuade that violent abuse of a minister is both unnecessary and dangerous because the nature of a government depends mainly on constitutional arrangements and laws which should not be lightly challenged. He argued, therefore, for experimental knowledge, that is, for experience against “hypotheses” in the sense of metaphysical or a priori principles. And he tried to show that experience revealed the persistence of certain regularities that did not conform to the abstract principles preferred by philosophers, and could not be destroyed by either human or divine will.
Yet when he spoke of an experimental science of man, Hume did not mean it strictly. In fact, he sharply distinguished between the “experimental” and the “scientific” methods, and regarded them as opposed to one another. In speaking of the correct method in morals, he says,
we can only expect success, by following the experimental method, and deducing general maxims from a comparison of particular instances. The other scientific method, where a general abstract principle is first established, and is afterwards branched out into a variety of inferences and conclusions, may be more perfect in itself, but suits less the imperfection of human nature, and is a common source of illusion and mistake in this as well as in other subjects.1
He was not proposing to “explain” the causes of human phenomena, but only to gather correct observations of human nature and arrange them in some orderly fashion. Even in the Treatise, he intended not to explain why men thought as they did, but only to describe what occurred when they thought. For despite his admiration for Newton, and his adaptation of Newton’s method for his psychology, Hume had a simpler and more consistent view of science.
Newton held that science was incomplete as long as it remained purely descriptive; science had to discover causes, which could, Newton suggested, be seen in phenomena. And he sometimes spoke about gravity as if it were a force implied by the phenomena observed, thus justifying those disciples who persisted in treating gravitation as an explanatory principle. Newton, of course, had no wish to deny, as Hume did, a human capacity for understanding the nature of things. This led him at other times to insist that the theory of gravitation was purely descriptive, so as to avoid any dangerous suggestion that God was unnecessary. But Hume was anxious to restrict science to description, for the opposite reason, because he wished to deny any link to God, which would be implied in a human power to discover causes in the strict sense. Science to Hume meant an orderly body of knowledge disclosing that things in fact behave in certain ways; why they do so must remain an eternal mystery because knowledge of causes, in the sense of seeing the inner nature from which effects flow, is beyond man. Nor was Hume any readier to accept scientific explanation in the later sense of a hypothesis or “leap” beyond experience. He was content to forego explanation altogether and to stay with experience. He would confine himself to observing the appearance of effects in different circumstances:
For to me it seems evident, that the essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with that of external bodies, it must be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers and qualities otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and the observation of those particular effects, which result from its different circumstances and situations. And tho’ we must endeavour to render all our principles as universal as possible, by tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, ’tis still certain we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends to discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.1
In the Treatise, where Hume was arguing against the philosophers and theologians, he defended generalizations about human affairs in order to deny free will. He did this, however, not because he wished to advocate determinism, but because the belief in free will was part of the prevailing theological dogma that separated man from the natural world. To say that man had free will was, Hume thought, tantamount to declaring that human behaviour was uncaused, and that every common sense notion about human behaviour was unfounded. It implied that there was no regularity in human life, and knowledge about it had to be independent of experience. Against those who removed man from nature in this way, Hume pointed out that “It is at least possible” that “the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes.”2 Moreover, he reminded them, politics, war, commerce, indeed everything in human