It Is... A Just Political Maxim, That

The Whole Is A Riddle, An Enigma, An Inexplicable Mystery. Doubt, Uncertainty, Suspence Of Judgment Appear The Only Result Of Ourmost Accurate Scrutiny, Concerning This Subject. But Such Is The Frailty Of Human Reason, And Such The Irresistible Contagion Of Opinion, That Even This Deliberate Doubt Could Scarcely Be Upheld; Did We Not Enlarge Our View, And Opposing One Species Of Superstition To Another, Set Them A Quarrelling; While We Ourselves, During Their Fury And Contention, Happily Make Our Escape Into The Calm, Though Obscure, Regions Of Philosophy.

Upon The Whole, Necessity Is Something, That Exists In The Mind, Not In Objects; Nor Is It Possible For Us Ever To Form The Most Distant Idea Of It, Consider'd As A Quality In Bodies. Either We Have No Idea Of Necessity, Or Necessity Is Nothing But That Determination Of Thought To Pass From Cause To Effects And Effects To Causes, According To Their Experienc'd Union.

Poets Themselves, Tho' Liars By Profession, Always Endeavour To Give An Air Of Truth To Their Fictions.

The Chief Benefit, Which Results From Philosophy, Arises In An Indirect Manner, And Proceeds More From Its Secret, Insensible Influence, Than From Its Immediate Application.

The Supposition That The Future Resembles The Past, Is Not Founded On Arguments Of Any Kind, But Is Derived Entirely From Habit.