When one ponders the field of philosophy and the point of pursuing it, the individual finds himself posing various questions. Often these can take shape as quite meaningful and deep queries into fundamental aspects of reality. I am a firm believer in the notion that if a saying or a proposed mode of operation has made you think, then that thing is worth thinking about. I would go so far as to apply the same general rule to the asking of questions.
If it is something which can be asked, even if easily avoidable, should it not be asked to exhaust all possibilities of error? Perhaps this question itself deserves examination prior to its being asked in the first place. Nevertheless, asking questions is what philosophers do; they are thinkers. They suggest questions, even questions which they personally have no answers to.
However, one philosopher, in particular, rose up in the 18th century who believed much of the work, much of the thinking, of his philosophical predecessors was simply foolish. He would be one to find great fault with the acts of the Greek Fathers and would view thinking about a First Cause to be a bunch of nonsensical waste of time. This was David Hume.
Hume specialized in tackling topics regarding the very process of thinking and knowing. The pinnacle of his contribution to philosophy is summed up in the thesis: all ideas are copies of impressions – with impressions being mental experiences such as those induced by the senses and ideas being mere memories of impressions, notions reflective of past experiences. This thesis has since been widely accepted as the key to empiricism.
In his discourse on philosophy and thinking in general, Hume stated that he sees the old school abstruse philosophy as a pointless, meaningless endeavor. In Hume’s philosophy, if an answer to a question can not be given, then the question itself is empty. More than that, such a question should never be asked at all (despite the perplexing notion that one might not know whether there is an answer or not if the question never gets asked). It seems Hume wants to shut down certain ways of thinking. Here, Hume shows some slight resemblance to Descartes’ train of thought.
Hume thinks certain questions do not deserve to be asked; in a sense, it seems, he feels them simply don’t deserve an answer – even if there could be one. And Descartes, stating that sources which were wrong in one thing cannot be trusted in anything else, wants to silence the voices of certain thinkers and their bodies of work. It sounds like both philosophers were seeking to put different limitations on the scope of philosophy.
Healthy skepticism is something to be admired, but overlooking details which may be important is by no means an honorable attribute. Hume does something few rational people would: widely criticize and ignore both faith and science. As an empiricist, he denies even thinking of the existence of God or of a personal soul. One could see it simply follow that the man would be overly skeptical when it came to discerning those supposed acts attributed to the supernatural.
Hume strongly disliked miracles, as he did prophecies as well. His primary example for miracles were those Christian-based events which he would have taken to be twisted myths at their best or fairy tales at worst. He sees miracles as fundamentally necessary to Christianity, and he was quite right in this view as the utter fulfillment and most ecstatic moment of Christianity came in the miracle of Christ’s Resurrection. But Hume’s further and deeper comprehension of a miracle’s definition is not entirely accurate. He would believe that Christians see miracles as being probable when, in fact, most perceive these to be rare, unlikely, and improbable. Hence they are supernatural, above the natural order of things. A man who was as dead as a doornail spontaneously coming back to life is certainly a miraculous feat to boast. It sounds remarkable, unbelievable. Here, in seeing that Hume’s own view of a miracle was flawed, if one wanted to just be a real “Descartes” about it, he would dismiss Hume and all of his philosophy.
However, I believe that this manner of learning is quite flawed itself. An idea that has made you think about it is worth thinking about. And any question, regardless if it can be answered, deserves to be asked. Overlooking David Hume’s mishap on a miracle’s definition by those whom he sees as needing it so badly, we should look at how impressions, or rather the lack thereof, figures into Hume’s understanding of experience and knowledge. There are two chief manners in which knowledge is traditionally approached in philosophy: through a rational process (a priori) or through thoughts rooted in past experiences (a posteriori).
Hume believed some ideas were based on something other than reason, preferring the a posteriori method of coming to knowledge. (For Plato, sensory experiences and rational principles worked hand-in-hand. He covered both his bases this way.) Anyway, whether rationalism or empiricism is employed, Hume would doubtlessly still argue that ideas are rooted in prior impressions. Now, within the philosophical realm, I pose this question: If a miracle is an impossibility (more specifically an “impossibility” which did not occur), then where did the notion of it come from? In other words, how was the idea of a miracle fabricated with there being no previous, grounded impressions on which it could be based? How does a natural being come up with a supernatural idea of a supernatural event?
Furthermore, where did the notion of God and the capacity for miracles originate? How did it come to be? Surely, if God cannot be factored into existence, then there should exist no impressions of such a Being. There ought not to be impressions of miracles, yet there are. (Even Descartes, who had some slight influence over Hume’s work, would conclude that an individual human could not concoct the notion of God without some external suggestion.)
Rather than answering these questions, Hume dismisses them and shies away from them, claiming they are not worth his time. He’s dodging a bullet which might do harm to his thesis. He does not want these questions being asked; he does not want people looking into certain affairs. Hume’s philosophy, in practice, puts a constraint on certain modes of thinking. Hume isn’t searching for an expansion of views or even of knowledge for that matter. Some horizons should not be sought after; one should simply not strive to answer certain difficult, important questions.
The mathematician should just drop what she’s doing in the midst of searching for a response to an as-yet unsolved equation. After all, if an answer seems to be far from readily available, it should not be asked in the first place. I’m sure if Hume tweaked his work or spent some time really pondering the questions above, he would come to some fair conclusions. But what makes his stance more absurd than certain aspects already are is that he had the capability to delve into deeper questions regarding the First Cause and what some may call the supernatural, and he deliberately chose to ignore these inquiries.
Of Intellect and Interest 