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David Hume was born in
Edinburgh on the 26th of April 1711 (old style). The house of his birth
is unknown, but his father records that he was born ' within the Tron
Parish,' then in the midst of the city. His inheritance was a favoured
one. He was a healthy child, of a happy family, the home being in a
beautiful district of Berwickshire. He had the companionship of a
brother and sister, was in the midst of home comforts, and he had around
the house, with its park, its trees, and its banks sloping down to the
Whitadder, all facilities a boy can have for the frolics of childhood,
and for experiencing the stimulating influences of nature.
His father, Joseph Hume
of Ninewells, which is near by Chirnside, was a member of the Faculty of
Advocates, who, however, did not practise at the Bar, but led the life
of a country gentleman, dwelling constantly in the midst of his family.
David's mother was a daughter of Sir David Falconer of Newton, Lord
President of the Court of
Session, 1682-1685. Both
of David Hume's parents were thus in the midst of associations of the
legal profession, and they had free access to the literary life of
Edinburgh.
The Humes of Ninewells
were a remote branch of the family of Lord Home of Dunglas. In
Drummond's Histories of Noble British Families [Pickering, 1846, vol.
ii., p. 27. t See also Chambers' Book of Days, April 26.] the Humes of
Ninewells are placed along with the Dunbars and Dundases as belonging to
the same stock as the Earls of Home. The name ' Hume' is variously
written in the old records—Hwme, Huyme, Horn, and Home. Our philosopher
stuck to ' Hume,' maintaining it to be the correct form.
In Drummond's work a
drawing of Ninewells is given, which shows a house of three storeys and
attic. The front door is entered by steps, with an iron hand-rail on
both sides. The ground floor is sunk below the level of the front steps,
but the slope of the bank towards the Whitadder is such that this storey
must have appeared in the rear completely above ground. The old house is
a substantial country structure, after the manner of lairds' houses
common over the south of Scotland. The present house was built in 1838.
As soon as the family
were ready, after the birth of David, for the long journey, they
returned to their country mansion, bringing to their home the new
arrival, a child of marked individuality, who was afterwards to make a
stir in the world. Ninewells was the scene of David Hume's early
training, and to this quiet country dwelling he returned again and again
in subsequent life, finding its retirement favourable to the abstract
thought and the historical studies in which he delighted.
A visit to Ninewells
explains this attraction, for it presents a typical piece of quiet
lowland scenery. It is reached by rail, on the branch line from Reston
to Duns. Chirnside is about a mile from the station bearing its name. On
approaching the village its houses are seen in two long lines stretching
over the ridge of a steep hill, on the road to Ayton and Eyemouth. Those
who dwell on the height have a splendid view across the Whitadder, over
miles of country, closed in by ' Cheviot's mountains lone,' a famous
portion of the Scottish borders. Before entering the village the road to
Berwick-on-Tweed, which is only about nine miles distant, passes off to
the right. Hume was accustomed to head his letters, 'Ninewells, near
Berwick.' On the first bend along this road Ninewells comes into view.
From the road there is an easy descent towards the plateau on which the
new house stands. In passing round the present house it is seen that
terraces have been formed overlooking the Whitadder. These are obviously
accompaniments of the modern house, suggesting that in the surroundings
familiar to David Hume a more gradual declivity led the boys to the
Whitadder, a stream greatly esteemed by anglers in bygone times. 'Ninewells'
has its name from a series of springs a little above the house, forming
a burn which runs to the Whitadder. The only feature of the olden times
is found in the offices, built to the west, constituting three sides of
a square. The steps to the coachman's house are hollowed in the middle,
and an old stone vase, set over the water trough, bears tokens of having
come from the old mansion house. Around these offices David must often
have shared in sport when fun ran high.
Few particulars as to the
early life of David Hume are left on record. He early suffered by the
loss of his father, who having died when he was still an infant, had not
the opportunity of aiding in the mental development of his youngest
child. The mother became the sole ruler of the family, and lived not
only to train all her children, but to witness the literary success of
her youngest boy. She was devoted to the welfare of her children. In My
Own Life, written by David Hume when he was sixty-five years of age, he
describes his mother as 'a woman of singular merit, who, though young
and handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating of
her children.' That she gained a large influence over them is certain.
We cannot determine what was the debt of obligation which David owed to
his mother, but, without doubt, it was a heavy one. Before her death
occurred he was in his thirty-eighth year and widely known in the
literary world. When the announcement of her decease reached him in
London, the Hon. Mr Boyle tells that when he entered Hume's room ' he
found him in the deepest affliction and in a flood of tears.' These were
the tokens of the sacred regard he cherished for her memory, and of his
consciousness of the profound influence she had exerted over his life.
One record lingers,
which, if it be trustworthy, gives us a glimpse into boyhood's years,
and shows his mother's judgment of her younger son. ' Oor Davie is a
fine, gude-natured crater, but uncommon wake-minded.' This is
delightful; it hardly could be an invention. It is, however, perplexing
to Huxley, as, indeed, it must be to those who are strangers to our
vernacular. Hill Burton is hardly more successful, however, in supposing
that it resulted from observation and his phlegmatic disposition {Life,
I., 294.) How could his mother attribute weakness to a son who was 'an
intellectual athlete?' This is Huxley's question. Let a Scotchman
consider in what sense a Scotch mother would make such an admission. If
Huxley had lived in her day, and said to her what he has written, what
amusement, indignation, and then amazement would have swept through her
mind as she heard his note of bewilderment. Imagine Davie's questioning
and doubting when others had no doubt, and it will appear in no way
unnatural that she should consider her boy 'fashed wi' a wake-ness.' It
is undesignedly suggestive that this story seems to Burton appropriately
introduced in relation with the mother's death when Hume is speaking of
his religious opinions (vol. i., 294). Go back to his boyhood days.
Imagine the childish chatter of her Benjamin, such as would never cross
the lips of John or of his sister. In this, I fancy, we find the
occasion for her remark on his 'misguided' queries. A mother's
affectionate interest is here even when she notes the apparently
senseless character of many of his questions. That John kept in the
beaten track was to her no proof of intellectual force. But Davie had
quite distinguishing marks. He was ' a rale gude-hearted crater;' this a
mother could appreciate, and all friends of his later life recognised
it; and yet he was but' uncommon wake-minded,' as witness his questions
flying around a mother's ears, and needing some kind of answer, though
hardly deserving any. Those child utterances, which seem weak when first
heard, often testify to a direction of thought not common in child life.
This distinction is aptly put by Rousseau, who says, 'Nothing is more
difficult than to distinguish in infancy real stupidity from that
apparent and deceptive stupidity which is the indication of strong
characters' (Rousseau's Emile, Payne's Transl., p. 67). These utterances
are seemingly too strong to be attributed to a child. Hume's mother
marked the uncommon, and, not unnaturally, credited it to his 'wakeness.'
She would have been startled, probably irritated, had she been told that
she meant to suggest 'stupidity' as characteristic of her Davie, even
when his talk showed a disregard of common sense. His was an uncommon
weakness, associated with uncommon acuteness.
Hume's mother was a woman
of penetration. How David appreciated her devotion we have seen, and his
words tell us how much her children had recognised her ability, as well
as her affection. Mr Burton gives us this description of her. ' Mrs Hume
was evidently an accomplished woman, worthy of the sympathy and respect
of her distinguished son, and could not have failed to see and to
appreciate from its earliest dawnings the originality and power of his
intellect. Her portrait, which I have seen, represents a thin but
pleasing countenance, expressive of great intellectual acuteness' (Life
of Hume, I., p. 294).
David Hume owed a large
part of his education to his mother. Her power shines through his.
During his school training he won no special distinction. His ability
was not of the kind that shines in the routine of school work. His
progress and his promise were, however, undoubted. He was sent too early
to the University of Edinburgh to reap the full advantage of academic
study. The disadvantage of this was great, but his was not a mind to be
led by teachers, even in philosophy, however much he might have gained
by academic discipline. Even at sixteen years of age * he gives evidence
of a penetration and acuteness of thought which tell of the influence of
philosophy in his early training—his mother's philosophy certainly, with
as much of academic influence as he had received. This freely flowing
letter is a precious bit of self-revelation. ' I am entirely confined to
myself and library since we parted.
Ea sola voluntas
Solamenque malt.
And indeed to me they are
not a small one; for I take no more of them than I please; for I hate
task-reading, and I diversify them at pleasure—sometimes a philosopher,
sometimes a poet—which change is not unpleasant nor disserviceable
neither. . . . The philosopher's wise man, and the poet's husbandman
agree in peace of mind, in a liberty and independency on fortune, and
contempt of riches, power, and glory. Everything is placid and quiet in
both; nothing perturbed or disordered. . . . My peace of mind is not
sufficiently confirmed by philosophy to withstand the blows of fortune.
This greatness, elevation of soul is to be found only in study and
contemplation—this can alone teach us to look down on human accidents.
You must allow me to talk thus, like a philosopher; 'tis a subject I
think much on, and could talk all day long of. But I know I must not
trouble you. Wherefore I wisely practise my rules, which prescribe to
check our appetite; and, for a mortification, shall descend from these
superior regions to low and ordinary life; and so far as to tell you
that John has bought a horse; he thinks it neither cheap nor dear. It
cost six guineas.' |
