# A Letter to Adam Smith LL.D. on the Life, Death, and Philosophy of his friend David Hume Esq./A Letter, etc.

A
LETTER, &c.
SIR,
You have been lately employed in embalming a philosopher; his body, I believe I must say; for concerning the other part of him, neither you nor he seem to have entertained an idea, sleeping or waking. Else, it surely might have claimed a little of your care and attention; and one would think, the belief of the soul's existence and immortality could do no ​harm, if it did no good, in a Theory of Moral Sentiments. But every gentleman understands his own business best.
Will you do an unknown correspondent the honour, Sir, to accept a few plain remarks, in a free and easy way, upon the curious letter to Mr. Strahan, in which this ever memorable operation of embalming is performed? Our Philosopher's account of his own life will likewise be considered, as we go along.
Trust me, good Doctor, I am no bigot, enthusiast, or enemy to human learning—Et ego in Arcadiâ—I have made many a ​hearty meal, in private, upon Cicero and Virgil, as well as Mr. Hume. Few persons (though, perhaps, as Mr. Hume says, upon a like occasion, "I ought not to judge on that subject") have a quicker relish for the productions of genius, and the beauties of composition. It is therefore as little in my intention, as it is in my power, to prejudice the literary character of your friend. From some of his writings I have received great pleasure, and have ever esteemed his History of England to have been a noble effort of Matter and Motion. But when a ​man takes it into his head to do mischief, you must be sensible, Sir, the Public has always reason to lament his being a clever fellow.
I hope it will not be deemed vanity in me likewise to say, that I have in my composition large proportion of that, which our inimitable Shakespeare styles, the milk of human kindness. I never knew what envy or hatred was; and am ready, at all times, to praise, wherever I can do it, in honour and conscience. David, I doubt not, was, as you affirm, a social agreeable person, of a convivial turn, told a good story, and ​played well at "his favourite game of whist." I know not that John the Painter did the same. But there is no absurdity in the supposition. If he did not, he might have done it—Doctor, be not offended—I mean no harm. I would only infer thus much, that I could not, on that account, bring myself absolutely to approve his odd fancy of firing all the dockyards in the kingdom.
Concerning the philosophical opinions of Mr. Hume you observe, that "men will, no doubt, judge variously." They are certainly at liberty so to do, ​because the author himself did the same. Sometimes, to be sure, he esteemed them ingenious, deep, subtle, elegant, and calculated to diffuse his literary fame to the ends of the world. But, at other times, he judged very differently; very much so, indeed. "I dine, says he, I play a game at back-gammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends; and when, after three or four hours amusement, I would return to these speculations, they appear so cold, so strained, and so ridiculous, that I cannot find in my heart to enter into ​them any farther". Now, Sir, if you will only give me leave to judge, before dinner, of Mr. Hume's philosophy, as he judged of it after dinner, we shall have no farther dispute upon that subject. Only I could wish, if it were possible, to have a scheme of thought, which would bear contemplating, at any time of the day; because, otherwise, a person must be at the expence of maintaining a brace of these metaphysical Hobby-Horses, one to mount ​in the morning, and the other in the afternoon.
After all, Sir, friend as I am to freedom of opinion (and no one living can be more so) I am rather sorry, methinks, that men should judge so variously of Mr. Hume's philosophical speculations. For since the design of them is to banish out of the world every idea of truth and comfort, salvation and immortality, a future state, and the providence, and even existence of God, it seems a pity, that we cannot be all of a mind about them, though we might have formerly liked to hear the author crack a joke, over a ​bottle, in his life time. And I could have been well pleased to have been informed by you, Sir, that, before his death, he had ceased to number among his happy effusions tracts of this kind and tendency.
For—(let me come a little closer to you, Doctor, if you please, upon this subject—Don't be under any apprehensions—my name does not begin with a B—) Are you sure, and can you make us sure, that there really exist no such things as a God, and a future state of rewards and punishments? If so, all is well. Let us then, in our last hours, read Lucian, and play ​at whist, and droll upon Charon and his boat; let us die as foolish and insensible, as much like our brother philosophers, the calves of the field, and the asses of the desart, as we can, for the life of us. But—if such things be—as they most certainly are—Is it right in you, Sir, to hold up to our view, as "perfectly wise and virtuous", the character and conduct of one, who seems to have been possessed with an incurable antipathy to all that is called Religion; and who strained every nerve to explode, ​suppress, and extirpate the spirit of it among men, that it's very name, if he could effect it, might no more be had in remembrance? Are we, do you imagine, to be reconciled to a character of this sort, and fall in love with it, because it's owner was good company, and knew how to manage his cards? Low as the age is fallen, I will venture to hope, it has grace enough yet left, to resent such usage as this.
You endeavour to entertain us with some pleasant conceits that were supposed by Mr. Hume to pass between himself and old Charon. The philo​sopher tells the old gentleman, that "he had been endeavouring to open the eyes of the Public;" that he was "correcting his works for a new edition," from which great things were to be expected; in short, "if he could but live a few years longer (and that was the only reason why he would wish to do so) he might have the satisfaction of seeing the downfal of some of the prevailing systems of superstition."
We all know, Sir, what the word superstition denotes, in Mr. Hume's vocabulary, and ​against what Religion his shafts are levelled, under that name. But, Doctor Smith, do you believe, or would you have us to believe, that it is Charon, who calls us out of the world, at the appointed time? Doth not he call us out of it, who sent us into it? Let me, then, present you with a paraphrase of the Wish, as addressed to him, to whom it should, and to whom alone, with any sense and propriety, it can be addressed.—Thus it runs—
"Lord, I have only one reason why I would wish to live. Suffer me so to do, I most humbly beseech thee, ​yet a little while, till mine eyes shall behold the success of my undertaking to overthrow, by my metaphysics, the faith which thy son descended from heaven to plant, and to root out the knowlege and the love of thee from the earth."
Here are no rhetorical figures, no hyperbole's, or exaggerations. The matter is even so. I appeal, in the face of the world, Sir, to yourself, and to every man, who can read and understand the writings of Mr. Hume, whether this be not, in plain, honest English, the drift of his philosophy, as it is called; ​for the propagation of which alone he wished to live; and concerning which you are pleased to say coolly, "men will judge variously, every one approving or condemning these opinions, according as they happen to coincide or disagree with his own." Our thoughts are very naturally carried back, upon this occasion, to the author of the first philosophy, who likewise engaged to open the eyes of the Public—He did so; but the only discovery they found themselves able to make, was,———that they were naked.
​You talk much, Sir, of our philosopher's gentleness of manners, good nature, compassion, generosity, charity. Alas, Sir, whither were they all fled, when he so often sate down calmly and deliberately to obliterate from the hearts of the human species every trace of the knowlege of God and his dispensations; all faith in his kind providence, and fatherly protection; all hope of enjoying his grace and favour, here, or hereafter; all love of him, and of their brethren for his sake; all the patience under tribulation, all the comforts, in time of sorrow, derived from these fruitful and perennial ​sources? Did a good man think himself able, by the force of metaphysic incantation, in a moment, to blot the sun out of heaven, and dry up every fountain upon earth, would he attempt to do it?—Tully had but a faint glimpse of the country towards which we are all travelling; yet, so pleasing was any the most imperfect and shadowy prospect into futurity, that Tully declared, no man should ravish it from him. And surely, Tully was a phi​losopher, as well as Hume. O had he seen the light which shone upon Hume, he would not have closed his eyes against it; had the same cup been offered to him, he would not have dashed it untasted from him!
"Perhaps our modern sceptics are ignorant, that without the belief of a god, and the hope of immortality, the miseries of human life would often be insupportable. But can I suppose them in a state of total and invincible stupidity, utter strangers to the human heart, and to human affairs? Sure, they would not thank me for such a supposi​tion. Yet this I must suppose, or I must believe them to be the most cruel, the most perfidious, and the most profligate of men. Caressed by those who call themselves the great, ingrossed by the formalities of life, intoxicated with vanity, pampered with adulation, dissipated in the tumult of business, or amidst the vicissitudes of folly, they perhaps have little need and little relish for the consolations of religion. But let them know, that in the solitary scenes of life, there is many an honest and tender heart pining with incurable ​anguish, pierced with the sharpest sting of disappointment, bereft of friends, chilled with poverty, racked with disease, scourged by the oppressor; whom nothing but trust in Providence, and the hope of a future retribution could preserve from the agonies of despair. And do they, with sacrilegious hands, attempt to violate this last refuge of the miserable, and to rob them of the only comfort that had survived the ravages of misfortune, malice, and tyranny? Did it ever happen, that the influence of their execrable tenets disturbed the ​tranquillity of virtuous retirement, deepened the gloom of human distress, or aggravated the horrors of the grave? Is it possible, that this may have happened in many instances? Is it probable, that this hath happened in one single instance?—Ye traitors to human kind, ye murderers of the human soul, how can ye answer for it to your own hearts! Surely, every spark of your generosity is extinguished for ever, if this consideration do not awaken in you the keenest remorse, and make you wish in bitterness of soul—But I remonstrate in ​vain. All this must have often occurred to you, and been as often rejected, as utterly frivolous. Could I enforce the present topic by an appeal to your vanity, I might possibly make some impression. But to plead with you on the principles of benevolence, or generosity, is to address you in a language ye do not, or will not, understand; and as to the shame of being convicted of absurdity, ignorance, or want of candour, ye have long ago proved yourselves superior to the sense of it.—But let not the lovers of truth be discouraged. Atheism can​not be of long continuance, nor is there much danger of it's becoming universal. The influence of some conspicuous characters hath brought it too much into fashion; which, in a thoughtless and profligate age, it is no difficult matter to accomplish. But when men have retrieved the powers of serious reflection, they will find it a frightful phantom; and the mind will return gladly and eagerly to it's old endearments. One thing we certainly know; the fashion of sceptical and metaphysical systems passeth away. Those unnatural productions, the ​vile effusion of a hard and stupid heart, that mistakes it's own restlessness for the activity of genius, and it's own captiousness for sagacity of understanding, may, like other monsters, please awhile by their singularity; but the charm is soon over; and the succeeding age will be astonished to hear, that their fore-fathers were deluded, or amused, with such fooleries."
You, Sir, have read the preceding paragraph before; but this Letter may come into the hands of many, who have not. It is the alarum bell to the admirers of Mr. Hume; and ​should be rung in their ears, till succeeded by the last trumpet.
And now, Sir, will you give me leave to ask you a few questions? Why all this hurry and bustle, this eagerness to gratify the pretended impatience of "the Public," and satisfy it, that our philosopher lived and died perfectly composed and easy? Was there, then, any suspicion, in Scotland, that he might not, at times, be quite so composed and easy as he should have been? Was there any particular book ever written against him, that shook his system to pieces about his ears, and re​duced it to a heap of ruins, the success and eclat of which might be supposed to have hurt his mind, and to have affected his health? Was there any author, whose name his friends never dared to mention before him, and warned all strangers, that were introduced to him, against doing it, because he never failed, when by any accident it was done, to fly out into a transport of passion and swearing? Was ​it deemed necessary, or expedient, on this account, that he should represent himself, and that you should represent him, to have been perfectly secure of the growth and increase of his philosophic reputation, as if no book had been written, which had impaired it; it hav​ing been judged much easier to dissemble the fall of Dagon, than to set him upon his stumps again? I am a South Briton, and, consequently, not acquainted with what passes so far in the opposite quarter. You, Sir, can inform us how these things are; and likewise, when the great work of benevolence and charity, of wisdom and virtue, shall be crowned by the publication of a treatise designed to prove the soul's mortality, and another, to justify and recommend self murder; for which, without doubt, the present and every future age will ​bless the name of the gentle and amiable author.
Upon the whole, Doctor, your meaning is good; but I think you will not succeed, this time. You would persuade us, by the example of David Hume Esq; that atheism is the only cordial for low spirits, and the proper antidote against the fear of death. But, surely, he who can reflect, with complacency, on a friend thus misemploying his talents in his life, and then amusing himself with Lucian, whist, and Charon, at his death, may smile over Babylon in ruins; esteem the earthquake, which destroyed Lisbon, an ​agreeable occurrence; and congratulate the hardened Pharaoh, on his overthrow in the Red sea. Drollery, in such circumstances, is neither more nor less than
Would we know the baneful and pestilential influences of false philosophy on the human heart? We need only contemplate them in this most deplorable instance of Mr. Hume.
These sayings, Sir, may appear harsh; but they are salutary. And if departed spirits have any knowlege of what is passing ​upon earth, that person will be regarded by your friend as rendering him the truest services, who, by energy of expression, and warmth of exhortation, shall most contribute to prevent his writings from producing those effects upon mankind, which he no longer wishes they should produce. Let no man deceive himself, or be deceived by others. It is the voice of eternal truth, which crieth aloud, and faith to you, Sir, and to me, and to all the world—He that believeth on the Son, hath everlasting life; and be that believeth not the Son, shall not see ​life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.
By way of contrast to the behaviour of Mr. Hume, at the close of a life, passed without God in the world, permit me, Sir, to lay before yourself, and the Public, the last sentiments of the truly learned, judicious, and admirable Hooker, who had spent his days in the service of his Maker and Redeemer.
After this manner, therefore, spake the author of the Ecclesiastical Polity, immediately before he expired—
"I have lived to see, that this world is made up of pertur​bations; and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now apprehend to be near. And though I have, by his grace, loved him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to have a conscience void of offence, towards him, and towards all men; yet, if thou, Lord, shouldest be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? And therefore, where I have failed, Lord, shew mercy to me; for I plead not my righteousness, ​but the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, through His merits, who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a death, Lord, let it not be terrible, and then take thine own time; I submit to it. Let not mine, O Lord, but thy will be done!———God hath heard my daily petitions; for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace with me. From such blessed assurance I feel that inward joy, which this world can neither give, nor take from me. My conscience beareth me this witness; and this witness makes the thoughts ​of death joyful. I could wish to live, to do the church more service; but cannot hope it; for my days are past, as a shadow that returns not."
His worthy Biographer adds—"More he would have spoken, but his spirits failed him; and, after a short conflict between nature and death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so, he fell asleep———And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till, with the most glorious company of the Patriarchs and Apostles, ​and the most noble army of Martyrs and Confessors, this most learned, most humble, most holy man shall also awake to receive an eternal tranquillity, and with it a greater degree of glory, than common Christians shall be made partakers of."
Doctor Smith, when the hour of his departure hence shall arrive, will copy the example of the Believer, or the Infidel, as it liketh him best. I must freely own, I have no opinion of that reader's head, or heart, who will not exclaim, as I find myself obliged to do—
​Let me die the death of the Righteous, and let my last end be like his!
I am, Sir,
Your very sincere
Well-wisher, and
Humble Servant,
One of the People called CHRISTIANS.
* ↑ See 'Letter from Adam Smith, LL. D. to William Strahan, Esq.,' Kirkaldy, 9 November 1776. In: The life of David Hume, Esq.: London: printed for W. Strahan, 1777. (Wikisource-ed.).
* ↑ Life, p. 5.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 43.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 59.
* ↑ Treatise of Human Nature. I. 467. In the Postscript to this Letter, a view will be given of the Humian system, taken exactly as it appeared to it's author at six o'clock in the evening.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 47, et seq.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 62.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 50.
* ↑ Life, &c. p. 59.
* ↑ Quod si in hoc erro, quod animos hominum immortales esse credam, libenter erro; nec mihi hunc errorem, quo delector, dum vivo, extorqueri volo. de senectute, ad Fin.
* ↑ Preface to Life, &c.
* ↑ I was a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper." Life, p. 32. Yet even by what is said of the Reverends and Right Reverends —Bishop Warburton, Bishop Hurd, the Zealots (that is, the Christians) and of the resolution once taken to "change his name, and settle in France," because his writings did not meet with sufficient encouragement—by these circumstances, I say, there seems to have been something of the irritable in his constitution. But these are trifles. My quarry lies not this way, at present. I fly at nobler game. The atrocious wickedness of diffusing atheism through the land, is a subject which concerns every body.
* ↑ John iii. 36.