from it, and which it does necessarily produce in every one." As has already been remarked, how much soever we may wish at once to be assured that things are certainly not true or certainly true, we are yet obliged laboriously to weigh what shews them to be probably not true or doubtful or probably true. According to Butler, "doubt as much presupposes evidence, lower degrees of evidence, as belief presupposes higher, and certainly higher still. Any one who will a little attend to the nature of evidence, will easily carry this observation on, and see that between no evidence at all, and that degree of it which affords ground of doubt, there are as many intermediate degrees, as there are between that degree which is the ground of doubt and demonstration.”*

It may be well to conclude this chapter with the following observations of Butler. "Probable evidence in its very nature affords but an imperfect kind of information; and is to be considered as relative only to beings of limited

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*He considers the case of an even chance to be that in which doubt is implied; and in using the expression "where there is no evidence at all," he contemplates a number of facts so and so circumstanced, which should accidentally come into the mind," against the truth of which there would be a presumption of millions to one.

capacities. For nothing, which is the possible object of knowledge, whether past, present, or future, can be probable to an infinite intelligence: since it cannot but be discerned, as it is in itself, certainly true or certainly false. But to us probability is the very guide of life."

CHAPTER V.

DIFFICULTIES OF THE INQUIRER.

BUT we may now suppose that our inquirer, having accompanied us in such a train of thought as has been developed in the preceding chapters, may find himself somewhat perplexed by the conclusions which have been exhibited: he may feel difficulty in admitting that things are, have been, will be, and in conducting himself agreeably to such admission; when confessedly the evidence is only of a probable and not of a demonstrative character; nay more, when it is presented under various shades and degrees of probability, to which it is difficult to assign a fixed and definite limit.

"I am willing (he may say) fully to recognize a great portion of what has been adduced. I know when I am angry, sorrowful, joyful. I am convinced of the reality of what I hear and see. Wherever, again, I admit the premises of a proposition in Euclid, I accept the inferences, which so inevitably follow that it is impossible

to deny them. Moreover I am not unwilling to receive testimony of a high order. Assuredly the Duke of Wellington did conquer the French at Waterloo. Ordinarily too I believe the assertions of witnesses whose character is irreproachable. But my mind being thus prepared to receive truths which I know directly,* and to admit the principle of inference, you require me to extend my concessions; not only to draw inferences which appear somewhat loose from things that I know immediately of my own knowledge, and to draw rigorously close inferences from premises of which I am obliged, with some difficulty perhaps, to infer the truth; but moreover, from premises in regard to which I feel difficulty, you bid me deduce inferences with respect to which I feel difficulty likewise; and so, even in matters of great importance, you would persuade me to Now though conclusions thus obtained may be supported with some colour of probability, still am I embarrassed: for my imagination points out ways, in which it is physically possible that I may be deceived; and what is there to guarantee me from error? But again, there is perhaps something more than mere imagination, i. e. evidence of real weight, shew

act.

* See Chap. III.

ing a possibility of the negative of such assertions as you, upon the strength of a certain body of probable evidence allege to be true; yet you still demand my assent to the truth of your allegations, as a preliminary to action. You speak even of a contest of probabilities. You lead me on, step by step, from admissions which I cannot avoid, until I find myself altogether startled by the contemplation of the position in which you endeavour to place me. For the truth of what you say, you appeal to experience. You declare that such is the common course of human life and conduct, and that indeed we are forced thus to act. You illustrate your assertion by reference to the course of proceedings in our courts of law and what is thus recognized by the common sense of men, is no doubt worthy of consideration.

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My experience, however, is limited. The prospect of life and action lies before me; while the retrospect is little more than that of boyhood. In regard to the trial at Norwich, may it not be said, that if the defence had been more skilfully conducted, the appearance of the case would have been much modified? The prisoner might have abstained from all irrelevant matter. He need not have adduced his improbable story, which was at once considered a falsehood. It