Belief Is A Feeling

We can never be induced to believe any matter of fact, except when its cause or effect is present to us.

But few have asked themselves: What is the nature of that belief arising from the relation of cause and effect?

I think this dilemma is inevitable.

Either the belief is:

• some new idea, such as that of reality or existence which we join to the simple conception of an object, or
• it is merely a peculiar feeling.

Two arguments may indicate that it is not a new idea annexed to the simple conception.

1. We have no abstract idea of existence, separable from the idea of particular objects.

Therefore, it is impossible that this idea of existence can:

• be annexed to the idea of any object, or
• form the difference between a simple conception and belief.

2. The mind:

• has the command over all its ideas, and
• can separate, unite, mix, and vary them, as it pleases.

If belief consisted merely in a new idea annexed to the conception, it would be in a man’s power to believe what he pleased.

Therefore, we may conclude that belief consists merely in:

• a certain feeling, and
• in something that does not depend on the will, but must arise from causes and principles we are not masters of.

When we are convinced of any matter of fact, we do nothing but conceive it with a feeling different from what attends the mere reveries of the imagination.

When we express our incredulity on any fact, we mean that the arguments for the fact do not produce that feeling.

If the belief did not consist in a feeling different from our mere conception, then whatever objects were presented by the wildest imagination would be on an equal footing with the most established truths founded on experience.

Only feeling can distinguish the one from the other.

It is an undoubted truth that belief is nothing but a peculiar feeling different from the simple conception.

What then is the nature of this feeling? Is it analogous to any other sentiment?

This question is important.

If it is not analogous to any other sentiment, we must:

• despair of explaining its causes, and
• must consider it as an original principle of the human mind.

If it is analogous, we may:

• explain its causes from analogy, and
• trace it up to more general principles.

The objects of conviction have a greater solidity than the loose and indolent reveries of a castle-builder.

They strike us with more force.
They are more present to us.

The mind:

• has a firmer hold of them,
• is more actuated and moved by them,
• acquiesces in them, and
• fixes and reposes itself on them.

In short, the objects of conviction approach nearer to the impressions which are:

• immediately present to us, and
• analogous to many other operations of the mind.

This conclusion can only be evaded by asserting that belief consists in some feeling, distinguishable from its simple conception.

This feeling does not:

• modify the conception, and
• render it more present and intense.

This feeling is only annexed to its simple conception in the same way that will and desire are annexed to conceptions of good and pleasure.

But I hope that the following considerations will be enough to remove this hypothesis.

This hypothesis is directly contrary to:

• experience, and
• our immediate consciousness.

To men, reasoning is merely an operation of our thoughts or ideas.

No matter how those ideas may be varied to the feeling, nothing ever enters into our conclusions but ideas or our fainter conceptions. For example, when I hear a voice in the next room from a person I know, this impression from my senses immediately conveys my thoughts to him with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself with the same qualities and relations that I knew they had. These ideas take faster hold of my mind, than the ideas of an enchanted castle. They are different to the feeling. But there is no separate impression with them. It is the same case when I remember: the several incidents of a journey, or the events of any history. Every particular fact is there the object of belief. Its idea is modified differently from the fanciful descriptions of a castle-builder. But no distinct impression attends every distinct conception of matter of fact. This is the subject of plain experience. This experience can be disputed when the mind has been agitated with doubts. The mind then fixes and rests itself in one settled belief after: taking the object in a new point of view, or being presented with a new argument. In this case, there is a feeling separate from the conception. The passage from doubt and agitation to tranquility and rest conveys a pleasure to the mind. But suppose I see the legs of a moving person, while some object conceals the rest of his body. The imagination spreads out the whole figure. I give him a head, shoulders, breast and neck. This whole operation is performed by the thought or imagination alone. The transition is immediate. The ideas presently strike us. Their customary connection with the present impression varies and modifies them. But they produce no act of the mind, distinct from this peculiarity of conception. Anyone who examines his own mind will find this to be true. The mind has a steadier conception of what it takes to be matter of fact, than of fictions. Why then look any farther, or multiply suppositions unnecessarily? We can explain the causes of the firm conception, but not the causes of any separate impression. The causes of the firm conception exhaust the whole subject. Nothing is left to produce any other effect. An inference concerning a matter of fact is nothing but the idea of an object that is: frequently conjoined, or associated with a present impression. This is the whole of it. Every part is needed to explain the more steady conception, from analogy. Nothing remains capable of producing any distinct impression. The effects of belief, in influencing the passions and imagination, can all be explained from the firm conception. There is no need to have recourse to any other principle. These arguments were enumerated in the foregoing volumes. They sufficiently prove that belief only modifies the idea or conception. They render it different to the feeling, without producing any distinct impression. We may ask philosophers two important questions: Is there anything to distinguish belief from the simple conception beside the feeling of sentiment? Is this feeling just a firmer conception, or a faster hold that we take of the object?

If philosophers assent to my conclusion, the next business is to: examine the analogy between belief and other acts of the mind, and find the cause of the firmness and strength of conception. This is not difficult. The transition from a present impression, always enlivens and strengthens any idea. When any object is presented, the idea of its usual attendant immediately strikes us as something real. It is felt, rather than conceived. It approaches the impression, from which it is derived, in its force and influence. I have proved this. I cannot add any new arguments to it.