Hume and a Broom

by David Mannings

(From Desmond Henry, Medieval Logic and Metaphysics, London: Hutchinson, 1972, pp 118-120)

One day David Hume, while walking up the steps of his club, received and unusually lively impression of being tumbled back down to the street by the vigorous action of a sweeper with a broom. The sweeper hastened to the bottom of the steps and helped the philosopher to his feet.

'Begging your pardon, sir!' he said, pulling off his cap, 'But I was thinking about my broom, as you might say, and how it's served me these thirty years, so I didn't see you coming, sir.'

Hume perceived the broom and observed that it was remarkably well-preserved, considering its daily employment over thirty years. The sweeper raised his cap again - perhaps to Hume, or possibly out of respect for the broom.

'Yes, sir!' he said, 'That's on account of the new 'ead. You see, sir, I gives it a new 'ead every summer.' He replaced his cap.

'Nevertheless,' said Hume, 'the handle is likewise in excellent condition. Quite remarkable!'

'Yes, sir,' said the sweeper, removing his cap - this time to knock the dust from Hume's hose, 'That'll be on account of the new 'andle I gives it every winter.'

'Come, come, my good man!' smiled Hume, 'We can only attribute identity to this broom provided all the parts continue uninterruptedly and invariably the same.' It was charming to observe the mental confusions of the lower orders.

The fellow did, indeed, seem perplexed.

'All the parts, sir?' He made as if to remove his cap, but it was already off. But not all, sir. After all, if it loses a bristle... .'

'If some small or inconsiderable part be added to the mass,' Hume explained kindly, 'or be subtracted from it: though this absolutely destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking, yet as we seldom think so accurately, we scruple not to pronounce a mass of matter the same, where we find so trivial an alteration.'

The sweeper replaced his cap, visibly cheered.

'You 'ad me worried for a minute, sir! I likes to think it's the same broom been 'anded down from father to son... .'

''Tis the proportion of the change that counts,' said Hume, taking a pinch of snuff to soothe his rising irritation. How tiresome these fellows could be! 'A broom cannot undergo a change amounting to one half of its mass and preserve its identity. You would have to supply good reasons indeed to call it the same.'

'But I've always used it for the same job, this broom. Steps and portico, You won't find me using it for the 'all or the street. No sir! This is the steps broom: always 'as been.'

'I'll grant you,' said Hume, 'a combination of the parts to some common end or purpose lends weight to your claim. The common end, in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their variations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination from one situation of the body to another.' Hume had for some time suspected that Locke had distant relations among the lower classes. Here, peradventure, was one of them.

'And it's always been kept in the same place,' insisted the sweeper, 'under the servants' stairs.'

'Indeed!', said Hume.

'And it's always been used by the same person. No one else touches it, sir; not this broom.'

'No doubt!' Hume began to mount the steps again, but was accosted by the sweeper at the top. The fellow had again removed his cap and, in his eagerness, handed it to Hume, thus freeing both hands with which he gripped the broom violently. Hume took the cap without noticing, so upset was he by this time.

'The 'andle wouldn't be no use without the 'ead, would it, sir? And the 'ead wouldn;t be no use by itself, if I may put it so bold,' said the sweeper. The philosopher muttered something about 'sympathy of parts' and said, ''Pon my soul!', though he knew this to be without significance. Then, to hide his feelings, he tried to take snuff from the sweeper's cap.

'See here, my good fellow!' he said, determined to settle the matter. 'You have a distinct idea of that broom handle which remains invariable until such time as it wears out. Whereupon you change it.' The sweeper nodded. Hume continued, 'You have also a distinct idea of several different objects, namely the old broom handles and heads and their replacements, existing in succession, and connected together by a close relation.' He paused to hand the sweeper his cap. 'This, my good man, affords as perfect a notion of diversity as if there were no manner of relation among the objects.' He paused again, and the sweeper nodded.

''Tis certain,' Hume concluded, 'that in your common way of thinking, the former idea of identity or sameness is confounded with the latter idea of diversity.' He turned towards the club door. Dr Mandeville and Mr Hutcheson would have set up the backgammon board by now, and would not like to be kept waiting. 'Good day to you!', he said, and tossed the sweeper a coin.

'One moment, sir!' said the sweeper. 'If I may be so bold, sir. Tell me then, is the 'andle the broom, or is the 'ead the broom? If the 'ead's the broom or the 'andle's the broom, then this broom is two brooms, and at the same time 'alf a broom.'

'It is indeed!' said Hume, who was beginning to be worried, for he suspected that he might have tossed the fellow a whole penny by mistake. Confound him!

Dr Henry, a formal logician and medievalist, goes on to discuss and analyze the writings of the scholastic philosopher Peter Abelard on these and cognate confusions.

I hope the web publication of this entertaining empiricist fantasy breaks no copyright. If it does, please contact me:
Anthony Gary Brown, 2003