scire.” Even now it is not uncommonly supposed that the knowledge of causes is something different from other knowledge, and consists, as it were, in getting possession of the keys of nature. A single word may thus act as a spell, and throw the clearest intellect into confusion, as I have often thought that Locke was thrown into confusion when endeavouring to find a meaning for the word power.1 In Mill’s System of Logic the term cause* seems to have re-asserted its old noxious power. Not only does Mill treat the Laws of Causation as almost coextensive with science, but he so uses the expression as to imply that when once we pass within the circle of causation we deal with certainties.
The philosophical danger which attaches to the use of this word may be thus described. A cause is defined as the necessary or invariable antecedent of an event, so that when the cause exists the effect will also exist or soon follow. If then we know the cause of an event, we know what will certainly happen; and as it is implied that science, by a proper experimental method, may attain to a knowledge of causes, it follows that experience may give us a certain knowledge of future events. But nothing is more unquestionable than that finite experience can never give us certain knowledge of the future, so that either a cause is not an invariable antecedent, or else we can never gain certain knowledge of causes. The first horn of this dilemma is hardly to be accepted. Doubtless there is in nature some invariably acting mechanism, such that from certain fixed conditions an invariable result always emerges. But we, with our finite minds and short experience, can never penetrate the mystery of those existences which embody the Will of the Creator, and evolve it throughout time. We are in the position of spectators who witness the productions of a complicated machine, but are not allowed to examine its intimate structure. We learn what does happen and what does appear, but if we ask for the reason, the answer would involve an infinite depth of mystery. The simplest bit of matter, or the most trivial incident, such as the stroke of two billiard balls, offers infinitely more to learn than ever the human intellect can fathom. The word cause covers just as much untold meaning as any of the words substance, matter, thought, existence.
Confusion of Two Questions.
The subject is much complicated, too, by the confusion of two distinct questions. An event having happened, we may ask—
No one would assert that the mind possesses any faculty capable of inferring, prior to experience, that the occurrence of a sudden noise with flame and smoke indicates the combustion of a black powder, formed by the mixture of black, white, and yellow powders. The greatest upholder of à priori doctrines will allow that the particular aspect, shape, size, colour, texture, and other qualities of a cause must be gathered through the senses.
The question whether there is any cause at all for an event, is of a totally different kind. If an explosion could happen without any prior existing conditions, it must be a new creation—a distinct addition to the universe. It may be plausibly held that we can imagine neither the creation nor annihilation of anything. As regards matter, this has long been held true; as regards force, it is now almost universally assumed as an axiom that energy can neither come into nor go out of existence without distinct acts of Creative Will. That there exists any instinctive belief to this effect, indeed, seems doubtful. We find Lucretius, a philosopher of the utmost intellectual power and cultivation, gravely assuming that his raining atoms could turn aside from their straight paths in a self-determining manner, and by this spontaneous origination of energy determine the form of the universe.2 Sir George Airy, too, seriously discussed the mathematical conditions under which a