experienced that.’1”
“I would say that was a miracle—or something supernatural.”
“So you believe there are two natures—a ‘natural’ and a ‘supernatural.’ Aren’t
you on the way back to the rationalistic claptrap?”
“Maybe, but I still think the stone will fall to the ground every time I let go.”
“Why?”
“Now you’re being horrible.”
“I’m not horrible, Sophie. It’s never wrong for a philosopher to ask questions.
We may be getting to the crux of Hume’s philosophy. Tell me how you can be so cer-
tain that the stone will always fall to the earth.”
“I’ve seen it happen so many times that I’m absolutely certain.”
“Hume would say that you have experienced a stone falling to the ground many
times. But you have never experienced that it will always fall. It is usual to say that
the stone falls to the ground because of the law of gravitation. But we have never
experienced such a law. We have only experienced that things fall.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not completely. You say you believe the stone will fall to the ground because
you have seen it happen so many times. That’s exactly Hume’s point. You are so used
to the one thing following the other that you expect the same to happen every time
you let go of a stone. This is the way the concept of what we like to call ‘the
unbreakable laws of nature’ arises.”
“Did he really mean it was possible that a stone would not fall?”
“He was probably just as convinced as you that it would fall every time he tried
it. But he pointed out that he had not experienced why it happens.”
“Now we’re far away from babies and flowers again!”
“No, on the contrary. You are welcome to take children as Hume’s verification.
Who do you think would be more surprised if the stone floated above the ground for
an hour or two—you or a one-year-old child?”
“I guess I would.”
“Why?”
“Because I would know better than the child how unnatural it was.”
“And why wouldn’t the child think it was unnatural?”
“Because it hasn’t yet learned how nature behaves.”
“Or perhaps because nature hasn’t yet become a habit?”
“I see where you’re coming from. Hume wanted people to sharpen their
awareness.”
“So now do the following exercise: let’s say you and a small child go to a magic
show, where things are made to float in the air. Which of you would have the most
fun?”
“I probably would.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because I would know how impossible it all is.”
“So... for the child it’s no fun to see the laws of nature being defied before it has
learned what they are.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“And we are still at the crux of Hume’s philosophy of experience. He would
have added that the child has not yet become a slave of the expectations of habit; he is
thus the more open-minded of you two. I wonder if the child is not also the greater
philosopher? He comes utterly without preconceived opinions. And that, my dear
Sophie, is the philosopher’s most distinguishing virtue. The child perceives the world