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by
David Hume
It
has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that though the ancient philosophers conveyed
most of their instruction in the form of dialogue, this method of composition
has been little practised in later ages, and has seldom succeeded in the hands
of those who have attempted it. Accurate and regular argument, indeed, such as
is now expected of philosophical inquirers, naturally throws a man into the
methodical and didactic manner; where he can immediately, without preparation,
explain the point at which he aims; and thence proceed, without interruption,
to deduce the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in
conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer desires,
by departing from the direct style of composition, to give a freer air to his
performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and Reader, he is apt to run
into a worse inconvenience, and convey the image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or,
if he carries on the dispute in the natural spirit of good company, by
throwing in a variety of topics, and preserving a proper balance among the
speakers, he often loses so much time in preparations and transitions, that
the reader will scarcely think himself compensated, by all the graces of
dialogue, for the order, brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them.
There
are some subjects, however, to which dialogue-writing is peculiarly adapted,
and where it is still preferable to the direct and simple method of
composition.
Any
point of doctrine, which is so obvious that it scarcely admits of dispute, but
at the same time so important that it cannot be too often inculcated, seems to
require some such method of handling it; where the novelty of the manner may
compensate the triteness of the subject; where the vivacity of conversation
may enforce the precept; and where the variety of lights, presented by various
personages and characters, may appear neither tedious nor redundant.
Any
question of philosophy, on the other hand, which is so OBSCURE and UNCERTAIN,
that human reason can reach no fixed determination with regard to it; if it
should be treated at all, seems to lead us naturally into the style of
dialogue and conversation. Reasonable men may be allowed to differ, where no
one can reasonably be positive. Opposite sentiments, even without any
decision, afford an agreeable amusement; and if the subject be curious and
interesting, the book carries us, in a manner, into company; and unites the
two greatest and purest pleasures of human life, study and society.
Happily,
these circumstances are all to be found in the subject of NATURAL RELIGION.
What truth so obvious, so certain, as the being of a God, which the most
ignorant ages have acknowledged, for which the most refined geniuses have
ambitiously striven to produce new proofs and arguments? What truth so
important as this, which is the ground of all our hopes, the surest foundation
of morality, the firmest support of society, and the only principle which
ought never to be a moment absent from our thoughts and meditations? But, in
treating of this obvious and important truth, what obscure questions occur
concerning the nature of that Divine Being, his attributes, his decrees, his
plan of providence? These have
been always subjected to the disputations of men; concerning these human
reason has not reached any certain determination. But these are topics so
interesting, that we cannot restrain our restless inquiry with regard to them;
though nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction, have as yet been the
result of our most accurate researches.
This
I had lately occasion to observe, while I passed, as usual, part of the summer
season with CLEANTHES, and was present at those conversations of his with
PHILO and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately some imperfect account. Your
curiosity, you then told me, was so excited, that I must, of necessity, enter
into a more exact detail of their reasonings, and display those various
systems which they advanced with regard to so delicate a subject as that of
natural religion. The remarkable contrast in their characters still further
raised your expectations; while you opposed the accurate philosophical turn of
CLEANTHES to the careless scepticism of PHILO, or compared either of their
dispositions with the rigid inflexible orthodoxy of DEMEA. My youth rendered
me a mere auditor of their disputes; and that curiosity, natural to the early
season of life, has so deeply imprinted in my memory the whole chain and
connection of their arguments, that, I hope, I shall not omit or confound any
considerable part of them in the recital.
After
I joined the company, whom I found sitting in CLEANTHES’s library, DEMEA
paid CLEANTHES some compliments on the great care which he took of my
education, and on his unwearied perseverance and constancy in all his
friendships. The father of PAMPHILUS, said he, was your intimate friend:
The
son is your pupil; and may indeed be regarded as your adopted son, were we to
judge by the pains which you bestow in conveying to him every useful branch of
literature and science. You are no more wanting, I am persuaded, in prudence,
than in industry. I shall, therefore, communicate to you a maxim, which I have
observed with regard to my own children, that I may learn how far it agrees
with your practice. The method I follow in their education is founded on the
saying of an ancient, “That students of philosophy ought first to learn
logics, then ethics, next physics, last of all the nature of the gods.”
[Chrysippus apud Plut: de repug: Stoicorum] This science of natural theology,
according to him, being the most profound and abstruse of any, required the
maturest judgement in its students; and none but a mind enriched with all the
other sciences, can safely be entrusted with it.
Are
you so late, says PHILO, in teaching your children the principles of religion?
Is there no danger of their neglecting, or rejecting altogether those opinions
of which they have heard so little during the whole course of their education?
It is only as a science, replied DEMEA, subjected to human reasoning and
disputation, that I postpone the study of Natural Theology. To season their
minds with early piety, is my chief care; and by continual precept and
instruction, and I hope too by example, I imprint deeply on their tender minds
an habitual reverence for all the principles of religion. While they pass
through every other science, I still remark the uncertainty of each part; the
eternal disputations of men; the obscurity of all philosophy; and the strange,
ridiculous conclusions, which some of the greatest geniuses have derived from
the principles of mere human reason. Having thus tamed their mind to a proper
submission and self-diffidence, I have no longer any scruple of opening to
them the greatest mysteries of religion; nor apprehend any danger from that
assuming arrogance of philosophy, which may lead them to reject the most
established doctrines and opinions.
Your
precaution, says PHILO, of seasoning your children’s minds early with piety,
is certainly very reasonable; and no more than is requisite in this profane
and irreligious age. But what I chiefly admire in your plan of education, is
your method of drawing advantage from the very principles of philosophy and
learning, which, by inspiring pride and self-sufficiency, have commonly, in
all ages, been found so destructive to the principles of religion. The vulgar,
indeed, we may remark, who are unacquainted with science and profound inquiry,
observing the endless disputes of the learned, have commonly a thorough
contempt for philosophy; and rivet themselves the faster, by that means, in
the great points of theology which have been taught them. Those who enter a
little into study and study and inquiry, finding many appearances of evidence
in doctrines the newest and most extraordinary, think nothing too difficult
for human reason; and, presumptuously breaking through all fences, profane the
inmost sanctuaries of the temple. But CLEANTHES will, I hope, agree with me,
that, after we have abandoned ignorance, the surest remedy, there is still one
expedient left to prevent this profane liberty. Let DEMEA’s principles be
improved and cultivated: Let us become thoroughly sensible of the weakness,
blindness, and narrow limits of human reason: Let us duly consider its
uncertainty and endless contrarieties, even in subjects of common life and
practice: Let the errors and deceits of our very senses be set before us; the
insuperable difficulties which attend first principles in all systems; the
contradictions which adhere to the very ideas of matter, cause and effect,
extension, space, time, motion; and in a word, quantity of all kinds, the
object of the only science that can fairly pretend to any certainty or
evidence. When these topics are displayed in their full light, as they are by
some philosophers and almost all divines; who can retain such confidence in
this frail faculty of reason as to pay any regard to its determinations in
points so sublime, so abstruse, so remote from common life and experience?
When the coherence of the parts of a stone, or even that composition of parts
which renders it extended; when these familiar objects, I say, are so
inexplicable, and contain circumstances so repugnant and contradictory; with
what assurance can we decide concerning the origin of worlds, or trace their
history from eternity to eternity?
While
PHILO pronounced these words, I could observe a smile in the countenance both
of DEMEA and CLEANTHES. That of DEMEA seemed to imply an unreserved
satisfaction in the doctrines delivered: But, in CLEANTHES’s features, I
could distinguish an air of finesse; as if he perceived some raillery or
artificial malice in the reasonings of PHILO.
You
propose then, PHILO, said CLEANTHES, to erect religious faith on philosophical
scepticism; and you think, that if certainty or evidence be expelled from
every other subject of inquiry, it will all retire to these theological
doctrines, and there acquire a superior force and authority. Whether your scepticism be as absolute and sincere as you
pretend, we shall learn by and by, when the company breaks up: We shall then
see, whether you go out at the door or the window; and whether you really
doubt if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its fall; according to
popular opinion, derived from our fallacious senses, and more fallacious
experience. And this consideration, DEMEA, may, I think, fairly serve to abate
our ill-will to this humorous sect of the sceptics.
If they be thoroughly in earnest, they will not long trouble the world
with their doubts, cavils, and disputes: If they be only in jest, they are,
perhaps, bad raillers; but can never be very dangerous, either to the state,
to philosophy, or to religion.
In
reality, PHILO, continued he, it seems certain, that though a man, in a flush
of humour, after intense reflection on the many contradictions and
imperfections of human reason, may entirely renounce all belief and opinion,
it is impossible for him to persevere in this total scepticism, or make it
appear in his conduct for a few hours. External objects press in upon him;
passions solicit him; his philosophical melancholy dissipates; and even the
utmost violence upon his own temper will not be able, during any time, to
preserve the poor appearance of scepticism. And for what reason impose on
himself such a violence? This is a point in which it will be impossible for
him ever to satisfy himself, consistently with his sceptical principles. So
that, upon the whole, nothing could be more ridiculous than the principles of
the ancient PYRRHONIANS; if in reality they endeavoured, as is pretended, to
extend, throughout, the same scepticism which they had learned from the
declamations of their schools, and which they ought to have confined to them.
In
this view, there appears a great resemblance between the sects of the STOICS
and PYRRHONIANS, though perpetual antagonists; and both of them seem founded
on this erroneous maxim, That what a man can perform sometimes, and in some
dispositions, he can perform always, and in every disposition. When the mind,
by Stoical reflections, is elevated into a sublime enthusiasm of virtue, and
strongly smit with any species of honour or public good, the utmost bodily
pain and sufferings will not prevail over such a high sense of duty; and it is
possible, perhaps, by its means, even to smile and exult in the midst of
tortures. If this sometimes may be the case in fact and reality, much more may
a philosopher, in his school, or even in his closet, work himself up to such
an enthusiasm, and support in imagination the acutest pain or most calamitous
event which he can possibly conceive. But how shall he support this enthusiasm
itself? The bent of his mind relaxes, and cannot be recalled at pleasure;
avocations lead him astray; misfortunes attack him unawares; and the
philosopher sinks by degrees into the plebeian.
I
allow of your comparison between the STOICS and SKEPTICS, replied PHILO. But
you may observe, at the same time, that though the mind cannot, in Stoicism,
support the highest flights of philosophy, yet, even when it sinks lower, it
still retains somewhat of its former disposition; and the effects of the Stoic’s
reasoning will appear in his conduct in common life, and through the whole
tenor of his actions. The ancient schools, particularly that of ZENO, produced
examples of virtue and constancy which seem astonishing to present times.
Vain
Wisdom all and false Philosophy.
Yet
with a pleasing sorcery could charm
Pain,
for a while, or anguish; and excite Fallacious Hope, or arm the obdurate
breast With stubborn Patience, as with triple steel.
In
like manner, if a man has accustomed himself to sceptical considerations on
the uncertainty and narrow limits of reason, he will not entirely forget them
when he turns his reflection on other subjects; but in all his philosophical
principles and reasoning, I dare not say in his common conduct, he will be
found different from those, who either never formed any opinions in the case,
or have entertained sentiments more favourable to human reason.
To
whatever length any one may push his speculative principles of scepticism, he
must act, I own, and live, and converse, like other men; and for this conduct
he is not obliged to give any other reason, than the absolute necessity he
lies under of so doing. If he ever carries his speculations further than this
necessity constrains him, and philosophises either on natural or moral
subjects, he is allured by a certain pleasure and satisfaction which he finds
in employing himself after that manner. He considers besides, that every one,
even in common life, is constrained to have more or less of this philosophy;
that from our earliest infancy we make continual advances in forming more
general principles of conduct and reasoning; that the larger experience we
acquire, and the stronger reason we are endued with, we always render our
principles the more general and comprehensive; and that what we call
philosophy is nothing but a more regular and methodical operation of the same
kind. To philosophise on such subjects, is nothing essentially different from
reasoning on common life; and we may only expect greater stability, if not
greater truth, from our philosophy, on account of its exacter and more
scrupulous method of proceeding.
But
when we look beyond human affairs and the properties of the surrounding
bodies: when we carry our speculations into the two eternities, before and
after the present state of things; into the creation and formation of the
universe; the existence and properties of spirits; the powers and operations
of one universal Spirit existing without beginning and without end;
omnipotent, omniscient, immutable, infinite, and incomprehensible: We must be
far removed from the smallest tendency to scepticism not to be apprehensive,
that we have here got quite beyond the reach of our faculties. So long as we
confine our speculations to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticism, we
make appeals, every moment, to common sense and experience, which strengthen
our philosophical conclusions, and remove, at least in part, the suspicion
which we so justly entertain with regard to every reasoning that is very
subtle and refined. But, in theological reasonings, we have not this
advantage; while, at the same time, we are employed upon objects, which, we
must be sensible, are too large for our grasp, and of all others, require most
to be familiarised to our apprehension. We are like foreigners in a strange
country, to whom every thing must seem suspicious, and who are in danger every
moment of transgressing against the laws and customs of the people with whom
they live and converse. We know not how far we ought to trust our vulgar
methods of reasoning in such a subject; since, even in common life, and in
that province which is peculiarly appropriated to them, we cannot account for
them, and are entirely guided by a kind of instinct or necessity in employing
them.
All
sceptics pretend, that, if reason be considered in an abstract view, it
furnishes invincible arguments against itself; and that we could never retain
any conviction or assurance, on any subject, were not the sceptical reasonings
so refined and subtle, that they are not able to counterpoise the more solid
and more natural arguments derived from the senses and experience. But it is
evident, whenever our arguments lose this advantage, and run wide of common
life, that the most refined scepticism comes to be upon a footing with them,
and is able to oppose and counterbalance them. The one has no more weight than
the other. The mind must remain in suspense between them; and it is that very
suspense or balance, which is the triumph of scepticism.
But
I observe, says CLEANTHES, with regard to you, PHILO, and all speculative
sceptics, that your doctrine and practice are as much at variance in the most
abstruse points of theory as in the conduct of common life. Wherever evidence
discovers itself, you adhere to it, notwithstanding your pretended scepticism;
and I can observe, too, some of your sect to be as decisive as those who make
greater professions of certainty and assurance. In reality, would not a man be
ridiculous, who pretended to reject NEWTON’s explication of the wonderful
phenomenon of the rainbow, because that explication gives a minute anatomy of
the rays of light; a subject, forsooth, too refined for human comprehension?
And what would you say to one, who, having nothing particular to object to the
arguments of COPERNICUS and GALILEO for the motion of the earth, should
withhold his assent, on that general principle, that these subjects were too
magnificent and remote to be explained by the narrow and fallacious reason of
mankind?
There
is indeed a kind of brutish and ignorant scepticism, as you well observed,
which gives the vulgar a general prejudice against what they do not easily
understand, and makes them reject every principle which requires elaborate
reasoning to prove and establish it. This species of scepticism is fatal to
knowledge, not to religion; since we find, that those who make greatest
profession of it, give often their assent, not only to the great truths of
Theism and natural theology, but even to the most absurd tenets which a
traditional superstition has recommended to them. They firmly believe in
witches, though they will not believe nor attend to the most simple
proposition of Euclid. But the refined and philosophical sceptics fall into an
inconsistence of an opposite nature. They
push their researches into the most abstruse corners of science; and their
assent attends them in every step, proportioned to the evidence which they
meet with. They are even obliged to acknowledge, that the most abstruse and
remote objects are those which are best explained by philosophy. Light is in
reality anatomised. The true system of the heavenly bodies is discovered and
ascertained. But the nourishment of bodies by food is still an inexplicable
mystery. The cohesion of the parts of matter is still incomprehensible. These
sceptics, therefore, are obliged, in every question, to consider each
particular evidence apart, and proportion their assent to the precise degree
of evidence which occurs. This is their practice in all natural, mathematical,
moral, and political science. And why not the same, I ask, in the theological
and religious? Why must conclusions of this nature be alone rejected on the
general presumption of the insufficiency of human reason, without any
particular discussion of the evidence? Is not such an unequal conduct a plain
proof of prejudice and passion?
Our
senses, you say, are fallacious; our understanding erroneous; our ideas, even
of the most familiar objects, extension, duration, motion, full of absurdities
and contradictions. You defy me to solve the difficulties, or reconcile the
repugnancies which you discover in them. I have not capacity for so great an
undertaking: I have not leisure for it:
I
perceive it to be superfluous. Your own conduct, in every circumstance,
refutes your principles, and shows the firmest reliance on all the received
maxims of science, morals, prudence, and behaviour.
I
shall never assent to so harsh an opinion as that of a celebrated writer [L’Arte
de penser], who says, that the Sceptics are not a sect of philosophers: They
are only a sect of liars. I may, however, affirm (I hope without offence),
that they are a sect of jesters or raillers.
But for my part, whenever I find myself disposed to mirth and
amusement, I shall certainly choose my entertainment of a less perplexing and
abstruse nature. A comedy, a novel, or at most a history, seems a more natural
recreation than such metaphysical subtleties and abstractions.
In
vain would the sceptic make a distinction between science and common life, or
between one science and another. The arguments employed in all, if just, are
of a similar nature, and contain the same force and evidence. Or if there be
any difference among them, the advantage lies entirely on the side of theology
and natural religion. Many principles of mechanics are founded on very
abstruse reasoning; yet no man who has any pretensions to science, even no
speculative sceptic, pretends to entertain the least doubt with regard to
them. The COPERNICAN system contains the most surprising paradox, and the most
contrary to our natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our very senses:
yet even monks and inquisitors are now constrained to withdraw their
opposition to it. And shall PHILO, a man of so liberal a genius and extensive
knowledge, entertain any general undistinguished scruples with regard to the
religious hypothesis, which is founded on the simplest and most obvious
arguments, and, unless it meets with artificial obstacles, has such easy
access and admission into the mind of man?
And
here we may observe, continued he, turning himself towards DEMEA, a pretty
curious circumstance in the history of the sciences. After the union of
philosophy with the popular religion, upon the first establishment of
Christianity, nothing was more usual, among all religious teachers, than
declamations against reason, against the senses, against every principle
derived merely from human research and inquiry.
All the topics of the ancient academics were adopted by the fathers;
and thence propagated for several ages in every school and pulpit throughout
Christendom. The Reformers embraced the same principles of reasoning, or
rather declamation; and all panegyrics on the excellency of faith, were sure
to be interlarded with some severe strokes of satire against natural reason. A
celebrated prelate [Monsr. Huet] too, of the Romish communion, a man of the
most extensive learning, who wrote a demonstration of Christianity, has also
composed a treatise, which contains all the cavils of the boldest and most
determined PYRRHONISM. LOCKE seems to have been the first Christian who
ventured openly to assert, that faith was nothing but a species of reason;
that religion was only a branch of philosophy; and that a chain of arguments,
similar to that which established any truth in morals, politics, or physics,
was always employed in discovering all the principles of theology, natural and
revealed. The ill use which BAYLE and other libertines made of the
philosophical scepticism of the fathers and first reformers, still further
propagated the judicious sentiment of Mr.
LOCKE: And it is now in a manner avowed, by all pretenders to reasoning
and philosophy, that Atheist and Sceptic are almost synonymous. And as it is
certain that no man is in earnest when he professes the latter principle, I
would fain hope that there are as few who seriously maintain the former.
Don’t
you remember, said PHILO, the excellent saying of LORD BACON on this head?
That a little philosophy, replied CLEANTHES, makes a man an Atheist: A great
deal converts him to religion. That is a very judicious remark too, said
PHILO. But what I have in my eye is another passage, where, having mentioned
DAVID’s fool, who said in his heart there is no God, this great philosopher
observes, that the Atheists nowadays have a double share of folly; for they
are not contented to say in their hearts there is no God, but they also utter
that impiety with their lips, and are thereby guilty of multiplied
indiscretion and imprudence. Such people, though they were ever so much in
earnest, cannot, methinks, be very formidable.
But
though you should rank me in this class of fools, I cannot forbear
communicating a remark that occurs to me, from the history of the religious
and irreligious scepticism with which you have entertained us.
It appears to me, that there are strong symptoms of priestcraft in the
whole progress of this affair. During ignorant ages, such as those which
followed the dissolution of the ancient schools, the priests perceived, that
Atheism, Deism, or heresy of any kind, could only proceed from the
presumptuous questioning of received opinions, and from a belief that human
reason was equal to every thing. Education had then a mighty influence over
the minds of men, and was almost equal in force to those suggestions of the
senses and common understanding, by which the most determined sceptic must
allow himself to be governed. But at present, when the influence of education
is much diminished, and men, from a more open commerce of the world, have
learned to compare the popular principles of different nations and ages, our
sagacious divines have changed their whole system of philosophy, and talk the
language of STOICS, PLATONISTS, and PERIPATETICS, not that of PYRRHONIANS and
ACADEMICS. If we distrust human reason, we have now no other principle to lead
us into religion. Thus, sceptics in one age, dogmatists in another; whichever
system best suits the purpose of these reverend gentlemen, in giving them an
ascendant over mankind, they are sure to make it their favourite principle,
and established tenet.
It
is very natural, said CLEANTHES, for men to embrace those principles, by which
they find they can best defend their doctrines; nor need we have any recourse
to priestcraft to account for so reasonable an expedient.
And, surely nothing can afford a stronger presumption, that any set of
principles are true, and ought to be embraced, than to observe that they tend
to the confirmation of true religion, and serve to confound the cavils of
Atheists, Libertines, and Freethinkers of all denominations.
I
must own, CLEANTHES, said DEMEA, that nothing can more surprise me, than the
light in which you have all along put this argument. By the whole tenor of
your discourse, one would imagine that you were maintaining the Being of a
God, against the cavils of Atheists and Infidels; and were necessitated to
become a champion for that fundamental principle of all religion. But this, I
hope, is not by any means a question among us. No man, no man at least of
common sense, I am persuaded, ever entertained a serious doubt with regard to
a truth so certain and self-evident. The question is not concerning the being,
but the nature of God. This, I affirm, from the infirmities of human
understanding, to be altogether incomprehensible and unknown to us. The
essence of that supreme Mind, his attributes, the manner of his existence, the
very nature of his duration; these, and every particular which regards so
divine a Being, are mysterious to men. Finite, weak, and blind creatures, we
ought to humble ourselves in his august presence; and, conscious of our
frailties, adore in silence his infinite perfections, which eye hath not seen,
ear hath not heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.
They are covered in a deep cloud from human curiosity. It is profaneness to
attempt penetrating through these sacred obscurities. And, next to the impiety
of denying his existence, is the temerity of prying into his nature and
essence, decrees and attributes.
But
lest you should think that my piety has here got the better of my
philosophy,
I shall support my opinion, if it needs any support, by a very
great
authority. I might cite all the divines, almost, from the foundation
of
Christianity, who have ever treated of this or any other theological
subject:
But I shall confine myself, at present, to one equally celebrated
for
piety and philosophy. It is Father MALEBRANCHE, who, I remember, thus
expresses himself [Recherche de la Verite. Liv. 3. Chap.9]. “One ought not
so much,” says he, “to call God a spirit, in order to express positively
what he is, as in order to signify that he is not matter. He is a Being
infinitely perfect: Of this we cannot doubt. But in the same manner as we
ought not to imagine, even supposing him corporeal, that he is clothed with a
human body, as the ANTHROPOMORPHITES asserted, under colour that that figure
was the most perfect of any; so, neither ought we to imagine that the spirit
of God has human ideas, or bears any resemblance to our spirit, under colour
that we know nothing more perfect than a human mind.
We ought rather to believe, that as he comprehends the perfections of
matter without being material.... he comprehends also the perfections of
created spirits without being spirit, in the manner we conceive spirit:
That
his true name is, He that is; or, in other words, Being without restriction,
All Being, the Being infinite and universal.”
After
so great an authority, DEMEA, replied PHILO, as that which you have produced,
and a thousand more which you might produce, it would appear ridiculous in me
to add my sentiment, or express my approbation of your doctrine. But surely,
where reasonable men treat these subjects, the question can never be
concerning the Being, but only the Nature, of the Deity. The former truth, as
you well observe, is unquestionable and self-evident. Nothing exists without a
cause; and the original cause of this universe (whatever it be) we call God;
and piously ascribe to him every species of perfection. Whoever scruples this
fundamental truth, deserves every punishment which can be inflicted among
philosophers, to wit, the greatest ridicule, contempt, and disapprobation. But
as all perfection is entirely relative, we ought never to imagine that we
comprehend the attributes of this divine Being, or to suppose that his
perfections have any analogy or likeness to the perfections of a human
creature. Wisdom, Thought, Design, Knowledge; these we justly ascribe to him;
because these words are honourable among men, and we have no other language or
other conceptions by which we can express our adoration of him. But let us
beware, lest we think that our ideas anywise correspond to his perfections, or
that his attributes have any resemblance to these qualities among men. He is
infinitely superior to our limited view and comprehension; and is more the
object of worship in the temple, than of disputation in the schools.
In
reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, there is no need of having recourse to that
affected scepticism so displeasing to you, in order to come at this
determination. Our ideas reach no further than our experience. We have no
experience of divine attributes and operations. I need not conclude my
syllogism. You can draw the inference yourself. And it is a pleasure to me
(and I hope to you too) that just reasoning and sound piety here concur in the
same conclusion, and both of them establish the adorably mysterious and
incomprehensible nature of the Supreme Being.
Not
to lose any time in circumlocutions, said CLEANTHES, addressing himself to
DEMEA, much less in replying to the pious declamations of PHILO; I shall
briefly explain how I conceive this matter. Look round the world: contemplate
the whole and every part of it: You will find it to be nothing but one great
machine, subdivided into an infinite number of lesser machines, which again
admit of subdivisions to a degree beyond what human senses and faculties can
trace and explain. All these various machines, and even their most minute
parts, are adjusted to each other with an accuracy which ravishes into
admiration all men who have ever contemplated them. The curious adapting of
means to ends, throughout all nature, resembles exactly, though it much
exceeds, the productions of human contrivance; of human designs, thought,
wisdom, and intelligence. Since,
therefore, the effects resemble each other, we are led to infer, by all the
rules of analogy, that the causes also resemble; and that the Author of Nature
is somewhat similar to the mind of man, though possessed of much larger
faculties, proportioned to the grandeur of the work which he has executed. By
this argument a posteriori, and by this argument alone, do we prove at once
the existence of a Deity, and his similarity to human mind and intelligence.
I
shall be so free, CLEANTHES, said DEMEA, as to tell you, that from the
beginning, I could not approve of your conclusion concerning the similarity of
the Deity to men; still less can I approve of the mediums by which you
endeavour to establish it. What! No demonstration of the Being of God! No
abstract arguments! No proofs a priori! Are these, which have hitherto been so
much insisted on by philosophers, all fallacy, all sophism? Can we reach no
further in this subject than experience and probability? I will not say that
this is betraying the cause of a Deity:
But
surely, by this affected candour, you give advantages to Atheists, which they
never could obtain by the mere dint of argument and reasoning.
What
I chiefly scruple in this subject, said PHILO, is not so much that all
religious arguments are by CLEANTHES reduced to experience, as that they
appear not to be even the most certain and irrefragable of that inferior kind.
That a stone will fall, that fire will burn, that the earth has solidity, we
have observed a thousand and a thousand times; and when any new instance of
this nature is presented, we draw without hesitation the accustomed inference.
The exact similarity of the cases gives us a perfect assurance of a similar
event; and a stronger evidence is never desired nor sought after. But wherever
you depart, in the least, from the similarity of the cases, you diminish
proportionably the evidence; and may at last bring it to a very weak analogy,
which is confessedly liable to error and uncertainty. After having experienced
the circulation of the blood in human creatures, we make no doubt that it
takes place in TITIUS and MAEVIUS. But from its circulation in frogs and
fishes, it is only a presumption, though a strong one, from analogy, that it
takes place in men and other animals. The analogical reasoning is much weaker,
when we infer the circulation of the sap in vegetables from our experience
that the blood circulates in animals; and those, who hastily followed that
imperfect analogy, are found, by more accurate experiments, to have been
mistaken.
If
we see a house, CLEANTHES, we conclude, with the greatest certainty, that it
had an architect or builder; because this is precisely that species of effect
which we have experienced to proceed from that species of cause. But surely
you will not affirm, that the universe bears such a resemblance to a house,
that we can with the same certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy
is here entire and perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking, that the utmost
you can here pretend to is a guess, a conjecture, a presumption concerning a
similar cause; and how that pretension will be received in the world, I leave
you to consider.
It
would surely be very ill received, replied CLEANTHES; and I should be
deservedly blamed and detested, did I allow, that the proofs of a Deity
amounted to no more than a guess or conjecture. But is the whole adjustment of
means to ends in a house and in the universe so slight a resemblance? The
economy of final causes? The order, proportion, and arrangement of every part?
Steps of a stair are plainly contrived, that human legs may use them in
mounting; and this inference is certain and infallible. Human legs are also
contrived for walking and mounting; and this inference, I allow, is not
altogether so certain, because of the dissimilarity which you remark; but does
it, therefore, deserve the name only of presumption or conjecture?
Good
God! cried DEMEA, interrupting him, where are we? Zealous defenders of
religion allow, that the proofs of a Deity fall short of perfect evidence! And
you, PHILO, on whose assistance I depended in proving the adorable
mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, do you assent to all these extravagant
opinions of CLEANTHES? For what other name can I give them? or, why spare my censure, when such principles are advanced,
supported by such an authority, before so young a man as PAMPHILUS?
You
seem not to apprehend, replied PHILO, that I argue with CLEANTHES in his own
way; and, by showing him the dangerous consequences of his tenets, hope at
last to reduce him to our opinion. But what sticks most with you, I observe,
is the representation which CLEANTHES has made of the argument a posteriori;
and finding that that argument is likely to escape your hold and vanish into
air, you think it so disguised, that you can scarcely believe it to be set in
its true light. Now, however much I may dissent, in other respects, from the
dangerous principles of CLEANTHES, I must allow that he has fairly represented
that argument; and I shall endeavour so to state the matter to you, that you
will entertain no further scruples with regard to it.
Were
a man to abstract from every thing which he knows or has seen, he would be
altogether incapable, merely from his own ideas, to determine what kind of
scene the universe must be, or to give the preference to one state or
situation of things above another. For as nothing which he clearly conceives
could be esteemed impossible or implying a contradiction, every chimera of his
fancy would be upon an equal footing; nor could he assign any just reason why
he adheres to one idea or system, and rejects the others which are equally
possible.
Again;
after he opens his eyes, and contemplates the world as it really is, it would
be impossible for him at first to assign the cause of any one event, much less
of the whole of things, or of the universe. He might set his fancy a rambling;
and she might bring him in an infinite variety of reports and representations.
These would all be possible; but being all equally possible, he would never of
himself give a satisfactory account for his preferring one of them to the
rest. Experience alone can point out to him the true cause of any phenomenon.
Now,
according to this method of reasoning, DEMEA, it follows, (and is, indeed,
tacitly allowed by CLEANTHES himself,) that order, arrangement, or the
adjustment of final causes, is not of itself any proof of design; but only so
far as it has been experienced to proceed from that principle. For aught we
can know a priori, matter may contain the source or spring of order originally
within itself, as well as mind does; and there is no more difficulty in
conceiving, that the several elements, from an internal unknown cause, may
fall into the most exquisite arrangement, than to conceive that their ideas,
in the great universal mind, from a like internal unknown cause, fall into
that arrangement. The equal possibility of both these suppositions is allowed.
But, by experience, we find, (according to CLEANTHES), that there is a
difference between them. Throw several pieces of steel together, without shape
or form; they will never arrange themselves so as to compose a watch. Stone,
and mortar, and wood, without an architect, never erect a house. But the ideas
in a human mind, we see, by an unknown, inexplicable economy, arrange
themselves so as to form the plan of a watch or house.
Experience, therefore, proves, that there is an original principle of
order in mind, not in matter. From similar effects we infer similar causes.
The adjustment of means to ends is alike in the universe, as in a machine of
human contrivance. The causes, therefore, must be resembling.
I
was from the beginning scandalised, I must own, with this resemblance, which
is asserted, between the Deity and human creatures; and must conceive it to
imply such a degradation of the Supreme Being as no sound Theist could endure.
With your assistance, therefore, DEMEA, I shall endeavour to defend what you
justly call the adorable mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, and shall refute
this reasoning of CLEANTHES, provided he allows that I have made a fair
representation of it.
When
CLEANTHES had assented, PHILO, after a short pause, proceeded in the following
manner.
That
all inferences, CLEANTHES, concerning fact, are founded on experience; and
that all experimental reasonings are founded on the supposition that similar
causes prove similar effects, and similar effects similar causes; I shall not
at present much dispute with you. But observe, I entreat you, with what
extreme caution all just reasoners proceed in the transferring of experiments
to similar cases. Unless the cases be exactly similar, they repose no perfect
confidence in applying their past observation to any particular phenomenon.
Every alteration of circumstances occasions a doubt concerning the event; and
it requires new experiments to prove certainly, that the new circumstances are
of no moment or importance. A change in bulk, situation, arrangement, age,
disposition of the air, or surrounding bodies; any of these particulars may be
attended with the most unexpected consequences: And unless the objects be
quite familiar to us, it is the highest temerity to expect with assurance,
after any of these changes, an event similar to that which before fell under
our observation. The slow and deliberate steps of philosophers here, if any
where, are distinguished from the precipitate march of the vulgar, who,
hurried on by the smallest similitude, are incapable of all discernment or
consideration.
But
can you think, CLEANTHES, that your usual phlegm and philosophy have been
preserved in so wide a step as you have taken, when you compared to the
universe houses, ships, furniture, machines, and, from their similarity in
some circumstances, inferred a similarity in their causes?
Thought, design, intelligence, such as we discover in men and other
animals, is no more than one of the springs and principles of the universe, as
well as heat or cold, attraction or repulsion, and a hundred others, which
fall under daily observation. It is an active cause, by which some particular
parts of nature, we find, produce alterations on other parts. But can a
conclusion, with any propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole? Does
not the great disproportion bar all comparison and inference? From observing
the growth of a hair, can we learn any thing concerning the generation of a
man? Would the manner of a leaf’s blowing, even though perfectly known,
afford us any instruction concerning the vegetation of a tree?
But,
allowing that we were to take the operations of one part of nature upon
another, for the foundation of our judgement concerning the origin of the
whole, (which never can be admitted,) yet why select so minute, so weak, so
bounded a principle, as the reason and design of animals is found to be upon
this planet? What peculiar privilege has this little agitation of the brain
which we call thought, that we must thus make it the model of the whole
universe? Our partiality in our own favour does indeed present it on all
occasions; but sound philosophy ought carefully to guard against so natural an
illusion.
So
far from admitting, continued PHILO, that the operations of a part can afford
us any just conclusion concerning the origin of the whole, I will not allow
any one part to form a rule for another part, if the latter be very remote
from the former. Is there any reasonable ground to conclude, that the
inhabitants of other planets possess thought, intelligence, reason, or any
thing similar to these faculties in men? When nature has so extremely
diversified her manner of operation in this small globe, can we imagine that
she incessantly copies herself throughout so immense a universe? And if
thought, as we may well suppose, be confined merely to this narrow corner, and
has even there so limited a sphere of action, with what propriety can we
assign it for the original cause of all things? The narrow views of a peasant,
who makes his domestic economy the rule for the government of kingdoms, is in
comparison a pardonable sophism.
But
were we ever so much assured, that a thought and reason, resembling the human,
were to be found throughout the whole universe, and were its activity
elsewhere vastly greater and more commanding than it appears in this globe;
yet I cannot see, why the operations of a world constituted, arranged,
adjusted, can with any propriety be extended to a world which is in its embryo
state, and is advancing towards that constitution and arrangement. By
observation, we know somewhat of the economy, action, and nourishment of a
finished animal; but we must transfer with great caution that observation to
the growth of a foetus in the womb, and still more to the formation of an
animalcule in the loins of its male parent. Nature, we find, even from our
limited experience, possesses an infinite number of springs and principles,
which incessantly discover themselves on every change of her position and
situation. And what new and unknown principles would actuate her in so new and
unknown a situation as that of the formation of a universe, we cannot, without
the utmost temerity, pretend to determine.
A
very small part of this great system, during a very short time, is very
imperfectly discovered to us; and do we thence pronounce decisively concerning
the origin of the whole?
Admirable
conclusion! Stone, wood, brick, iron, brass, have not, at this time, in this
minute globe of earth, an order or arrangement without human art and
contrivance; therefore the universe could not originally attain its order and
arrangement, without something similar to human art. But is a part of nature a rule for another part very wide of
the former?
Is
it a rule for the whole? Is a very small part a rule for the universe?
Is nature in one situation, a certain rule for nature in another
situation vastly different from the former?
And
can you blame me, CLEANTHES, if I here imitate the prudent reserve of
SIMONIDES, who, according to the noted story, being asked by HIERO, What God
was? desired a day to think of it, and then two days more; and after that
manner continually prolonged the term, without ever bringing in his definition
or description? Could you even blame me, if I had answered at first, that I
did not know, and was sensible that this subject lay vastly beyond the reach
of my faculties? You might cry out sceptic and railler, as much as you
pleased: but having found, in so many other subjects much more familiar, the
imperfections and even contradictions of human reason, I never should expect
any success from its feeble conjectures, in a subject so sublime, and so
remote from the sphere of our observation. When two species of objects have
always been observed to be conjoined together, I can infer, by custom, the
existence of one wherever I see the existence of the other; and this I call an
argument from experience. But how this argument can have place, where the
objects, as in the present case, are single, individual, without parallel, or
specific resemblance, may be difficult to explain. And will any man tell me
with a serious countenance, that an orderly universe must arise from some
thought and art like the human, because we have experience of it? To ascertain
this reasoning, it were requisite that we had experience of the origin of
worlds; and it is not sufficient, surely, that we have seen ships and cities
arise from human art and contrivance...
PHILO
was proceeding in this vehement manner, somewhat between jest and earnest, as
it appeared to me, when he observed some signs of impatience in CLEANTHES, and
then immediately stopped short. What I had to suggest, said CLEANTHES, is only
that you would not abuse terms, or make use of popular expressions to subvert
philosophical reasonings. You know, that the vulgar often distinguish reason
from experience, even where the question relates only to matter of fact and
existence; though it is found, where that reason is properly analysed, that it
is nothing but a species of experience. To prove by experience the origin of
the universe from mind, is not more contrary to common speech, than to prove
the motion of the earth from the same principle. And a caviller might raise
all the same objections to the Copernican system, which you have urged against
my reasonings. Have you other earths, might he say, which you have seen to
move? Have...
Yes!
cried PHILO, interrupting him, we have other earths. Is not the moon another
earth, which we see to turn round its centre? Is not Venus another earth,
where we observe the same phenomenon? Are not the revolutions of the sun also
a confirmation, from analogy, of the same theory? All the planets, are they
not earths, which revolve about the sun? Are not the satellites moons, which
move round Jupiter and Saturn, and along with these primary planets round the
sun? These analogies and resemblances, with others which I have not mentioned,
are the sole proofs of the COPERNICAN system; and to you it belongs to
consider, whether you have any analogies of the same kind to support your
theory.
In
reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, the modern system of astronomy is now so
much received by all inquirers, and has become so essential a part even of our
earliest education, that we are not commonly very scrupulous in examining the
reasons upon which it is founded. It is now become a matter of mere curiosity
to study the first writers on that subject, who had the full force of
prejudice to encounter, and were obliged to turn their arguments on every side
in order to render them popular and convincing. But if we peruse GALILEO’s
famous Dialogues concerning the system of the world, we shall find, that that
great genius, one of the sublimest that ever existed, first bent all his
endeavours to prove, that there was no foundation for the distinction commonly
made between elementary and celestial substances. The schools, proceeding from
the illusions of sense, had carried this distinction very far; and had
established the latter substances to be ingenerable, incorruptible,
unalterable, impassable; and had assigned all the opposite qualities to the
former. But GALILEO, beginning with the moon, proved its similarity in every
particular to the earth; its convex figure, its natural darkness when not
illuminated, its density, its distinction into solid and liquid, the
variations of its phases, the mutual illuminations of the earth and moon,
their mutual eclipses, the inequalities of the lunar surface, &c.
After many instances of this kind, with regard to all the planets, men
plainly saw that these bodies became proper objects of experience; and that
the similarity of their nature enabled us to extend the same arguments and
phenomena from one to the other.
In
this cautious proceeding of the astronomers, you may read your own
condemnation, CLEANTHES; or rather may see, that the subject in which you are
engaged exceeds all human reason and inquiry. Can you pretend to show any such
similarity between the fabric of a house, and the generation of a universe?
Have you ever seen nature in any such situation as resembles the first
arrangement of the elements? Have worlds ever been formed under your eye; and
have you had leisure to observe the whole progress of the phenomenon, from the
first appearance of order to its final consummation?
If you have, then cite your experience, and deliver your theory.
How
the most absurd argument, replied CLEANTHES, in the hands of a man of
ingenuity and invention, may acquire an air of probability! Are you not aware,
PHILO, that it became necessary for Copernicus and his first disciples to
prove the similarity of the terrestrial and celestial matter; because several
philosophers, blinded by old systems, and supported by some sensible
appearances, had denied this similarity? but that it is by no means necessary,
that Theists should prove the similarity of the works of Nature to those of
Art; because this similarity is self-evident and undeniable? The same matter,
a like form; what more is requisite to show an analogy between their causes,
and to ascertain the origin of all things from a divine purpose and intention? Your objections, I must freely tell you, are no better than
the abstruse cavils of those philosophers who denied motion; and ought to be
refuted in the same manner, by illustrations, examples, and instances, rather
than by serious argument and philosophy.
Suppose,
therefore, that an articulate voice were heard in the clouds, much louder and
more melodious than any which human art could ever reach:
Suppose,
that this voice were extended in the same instant over all nations, and spoke
to each nation in its own language and dialect:
Suppose,
that the words delivered not only contain a just sense and meaning, but convey
some instruction altogether worthy of a benevolent Being, superior to mankind:
Could you possibly hesitate a moment concerning the cause of this voice? and
must you not instantly ascribe it to some design or purpose? Yet I cannot see
but all the same objections (if they merit that appellation) which lie against
the system of Theism, may also be produced against this inference.
Might
you not say, that all conclusions concerning fact were founded on experience:
that when we hear an articulate voice in the dark, and thence infer a man, it
is only the resemblance of the effects which leads us to conclude that there
is a like resemblance in the cause: but that this extraordinary voice, by its
loudness, extent, and flexibility to all languages, bears so little analogy to
any human voice, that we have no reason to suppose any analogy in their
causes: and consequently, that a rational, wise, coherent speech proceeded,
you know not whence, from some accidental whistling of the winds, not from any
divine reason or intelligence? You see clearly your own objections in these
cavils, and I hope too you see clearly, that they cannot possibly have more
force in the one case than in the other.
But
to bring the case still nearer the present one of the universe, I shall make
two suppositions, which imply not any absurdity or impossibility. Suppose that
there is a natural, universal, invariable language, common to every individual
of human race; and that books are natural productions, which perpetuate
themselves in the same manner with animals and vegetables, by descent and
propagation. Several expressions of our passions contain a universal language:
all brute animals have a natural speech, which, however limited, is very
intelligible to their own species. And as there are infinitely fewer parts and
less contrivance in the finest composition of eloquence, than in the coarsest
organised body, the propagation of an Iliad or Aeneid is an easier supposition
than that of any plant or animal.
Suppose,
therefore, that you enter into your library, thus peopled by natural volumes,
containing the most refined reason and most exquisite beauty; could you
possibly open one of them, and doubt, that its original cause bore the
strongest analogy to mind and intelligence? When it reasons and discourses;
when it expostulates, argues, and enforces its views and topics; when it
applies sometimes to the pure intellect, sometimes to the affections; when it
collects, disposes, and adorns every consideration suited to the subject;
could you persist in asserting, that all this, at the bottom, had really no
meaning; and that the first formation of this volume in the loins of its
original parent proceeded not from thought and design? Your obstinacy, I know,
reaches not that degree of firmness: even your sceptical play and wantonness
would be abashed at so glaring an absurdity.
But
if there be any difference, PHILO, between this supposed case and the real one
of the universe, it is all to the advantage of the latter. The anatomy of an
animal affords many stronger instances of design than the perusal of LIVY or
TACITUS; and any objection which you start in the former case, by carrying me
back to so unusual and extraordinary a scene as the first formation of worlds,
the same objection has place on the supposition of our vegetating library.
Choose, then, your party, PHILO, without ambiguity or evasion; assert either
that a rational volume is no proof of a rational cause, or admit of a similar
cause to all the works of nature.
Let
me here observe too, continued CLEANTHES, that this religious argument,
instead of being weakened by that scepticism so much affected by you, rather
acquires force from it, and becomes more firm and undisputed. To exclude all
argument or reasoning of every kind, is either affectation or madness. The
declared profession of every reasonable sceptic is only to reject abstruse,
remote, and refined arguments; to adhere to common sense and the plain
instincts of nature; and to assent, wherever any reasons strike him with so
full a force that he cannot, without the greatest violence, prevent it. Now
the arguments for Natural Religion are plainly of this kind; and nothing but
the most perverse, obstinate metaphysics can reject them. Consider, anatomise
the eye; survey its structure and contrivance; and tell me, from your own
feeling, if the idea of a contriver does not immediately flow in upon you with
a force like that of sensation. The most obvious conclusion, surely, is in
favour of design; and it requires time, reflection, and study, to summon up
those frivolous, though abstruse objections, which can support Infidelity. Who
can behold the male and female of each species, the correspondence of their
parts and instincts, their passions, and whole course of life before and after
generation, but must be sensible, that the propagation of the species is
intended by Nature? Millions and millions of such instances present themselves
through every part of the universe; and no language can convey a more
intelligible irresistible meaning, than the curious adjustment of final
causes. To what degree, therefore, of blind dogmatism must one have attained,
to reject such natural and such convincing arguments?
Some
beauties in writing we may meet with, which seem contrary to rules, and which
gain the affections, and animate the imagination, in opposition to all the
precepts of criticism, and to the authority of the established masters of art.
And if the argument for Theism be, as you pretend, contradictory to the
principles of logic; its universal, its irresistible influence proves clearly,
that there may be arguments of a like irregular nature. Whatever cavils may be
urged, an orderly world, as well as a coherent, articulate speech, will still
be received as an incontestable proof of design and intention.
It
sometimes happens, I own, that the religious arguments have not their due
influence on an ignorant savage and barbarian; not because they are obscure
and difficult, but because he never asks himself any question with regard to
them. Whence arises the curious structure of an animal? From the copulation of its parents. And these whence? From
their parents? A few removes set
the objects at such a distance, that to him they are lost in darkness and
confusion; nor is he actuated by any curiosity to trace them further. But this
is neither dogmatism nor scepticism, but stupidity: a state of mind very
different from your sifting, inquisitive disposition, my ingenious friend. You
can trace causes from effects: You can compare the most distant and remote
objects: and your greatest errors proceed not from barrenness of thought and
invention, but from too luxuriant a fertility, which suppresses your natural
good sense, by a profusion of unnecessary scruples and objections.
Here
I could observe, HERMIPPUS, that PHILO was a little embarrassed and
confounded: But while he hesitated in delivering an answer, luckily for him,
DEMEA broke in upon the discourse, and saved his countenance.
Your
instance, CLEANTHES, said he, drawn from books and language, being familiar,
has, I confess, so much more force on that account: but is there not some
danger too in this very circumstance; and may it not render us presumptuous,
by making us imagine we comprehend the Deity, and have some adequate idea of
his nature and attributes? When I read a volume, I enter into the mind and
intention of the author: I become him, in a manner, for the instant; and have
an immediate feeling and conception of those ideas which revolved in his
imagination while employed in that composition. But so near an approach we
never surely can make to the Deity. His ways are not our ways. His attributes
are perfect, but incomprehensible. And this volume of nature contains a great
and inexplicable riddle, more than any intelligible discourse or reasoning.
The
ancient PLATONISTS, you know, were the most religious and devout of all the
Pagan philosophers; yet many of them, particularly PLOTINUS, expressly
declare, that intellect or understanding is not to be ascribed to the Deity;
and that our most perfect worship of him consists, not in acts of veneration,
reverence, gratitude, or love; but in a certain mysterious self-annihilation,
or total extinction of all our faculties.
These ideas are, perhaps, too far stretched; but still it must be
acknowledged, that, by representing the Deity as so intelligible and
comprehensible, and so similar to a human mind, we are guilty of the grossest
and most narrow partiality, and make ourselves the model of the whole
universe.
All
the sentiments of the human mind, gratitude, resentment, love,
friendship,
approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain
reference
to the state and situation of man, and are calculated for
preserving
the existence and promoting the activity of such a being in such
circumstances. It seems, therefore, unreasonable to transfer such sentiments
to a supreme existence, or to suppose him actuated by them; and the phenomena
besides of the universe will not support us in such a theory. All our ideas,
derived from the senses, are confessedly false and illusive; and cannot
therefore be supposed to have place in a supreme intelligence: And as the
ideas of internal sentiment, added to those of the external senses, compose
the whole furniture of human understanding, we may conclude, that none of the
materials of thought are in any respect similar in the human and in the divine
intelligence. Now, as to the manner of thinking; how can we make any
comparison between them, or suppose them any wise resembling? Our thought is
fluctuating, uncertain, fleeting, successive, and compounded; and were we to
remove these circumstances, we absolutely annihilate its essence, and it would
in such a case be an abuse of terms to apply to it the name of thought or
reason. At least if it appear more pious and respectful (as it really
is) still to retain these terms, when we mention the Supreme Being, we ought
to acknowledge, that their meaning, in that case, is totally incomprehensible;
and that the infirmities of our nature do not permit us to reach any ideas
which in the least correspond to the ineffable sublimity of the Divine
attributes.
It
seems strange to me, said CLEANTHES, that you, DEMEA, who are so sincere in
the cause of religion, should still maintain the mysterious, incomprehensible
nature of the Deity, and should insist so strenuously that he has no manner of
likeness or resemblance to human creatures. The Deity, I can readily allow,
possesses many powers and attributes of which we can have no comprehension:
But if our ideas, so far as they go, be not just, and adequate, and
correspondent to his real nature, I know not what there is in this subject
worth insisting on. Is the name, without any meaning, of such mighty
importance? Or how do you mystics, who maintain the absolute
incomprehensibility of the Deity, differ from Sceptics or Atheists, who
assert, that the first cause of all is unknown and unintelligible? Their
temerity must be very great, if, after rejecting the production by a mind, I
mean a mind resembling the human, (for I know of no other,) they pretend to
assign, with certainty, any other specific intelligible cause: And their
conscience must be very scrupulous indeed, if they refuse to call the
universal unknown cause a God or Deity; and to bestow on him as many sublime
eulogies and unmeaning epithets as you shall please to require of them.
Who
could imagine, replied DEMEA, that CLEANTHES, the calm philosophical
CLEANTHES, would attempt to refute his antagonists by affixing a nickname to
them; and, like the common bigots and inquisitors of the age, have recourse to
invective and declamation, instead of reasoning? Or does he not perceive, that
these topics are easily retorted, and that Anthropomorphite is an appellation
as invidious, and implies as dangerous consequences, as the epithet of Mystic,
with which he has honoured us? In reality, CLEANTHES, consider what it is you
assert when you represent the Deity as similar to a human mind and
understanding. What is the soul of man? A composition of various faculties,
passions, sentiments, ideas; united, indeed, into one self or person, but
still distinct from each other. When it reasons, the ideas, which are the
parts of its discourse, arrange themselves in a certain form or order; which
is not preserved entire for a moment, but immediately gives place to another
arrangement. New opinions, new
passions, new affections, new feelings arise, which continually diversify the
mental scene, and produce in it the greatest variety and most rapid succession
imaginable. How is this compatible with that perfect immutability and
simplicity which all true Theists ascribe to the Deity? By the same act, say
they, he sees past, present, and future: His love and hatred, his mercy and
justice, are one individual operation: He is entire in every point of space;
and complete in every instant of duration. No succession, no change, no
acquisition, no diminution. What he is implies not in it any shadow of
distinction or diversity. And what he is this moment he ever has been, and
ever will be, without any new judgement, sentiment, or operation. He stands
fixed in one simple, perfect state: nor can you ever say, with any propriety,
that this act of his is different from that other; or that this judgement or
idea has been lately formed, and will give place, by succession, to any
different judgement or idea.
I
can readily allow, said CLEANTHES, that those who maintain the perfect
simplicity of the Supreme Being, to the extent in which you have explained it,
are complete Mystics, and chargeable with all the consequences which I have
drawn from their opinion. They are, in a word, Atheists, without knowing it.
For though it be allowed, that the Deity possesses attributes of which we have
no comprehension, yet ought we never to ascribe to him any attributes which
are absolutely incompatible with that intelligent nature essential to him. A
mind, whose acts and sentiments and ideas are not distinct and successive;
one, that is wholly simple, and totally immutable, is a mind which has no
thought, no reason, no will, no sentiment, no love, no hatred; or, in a word,
is no mind at all. It is an abuse of terms to give it that appellation; and we
may as well speak of limited extension without figure, or of number without
composition.
Pray
consider, said PHILO, whom you are at present inveighing against.
You are honouring with the appellation of Atheist all the sound,
orthodox divines, almost, who have treated of this subject; and you will at
last be, yourself, found, according to your reckoning, the only sound Theist
in the world. But if idolaters be Atheists, as, I think, may justly be
asserted, and Christian Theologians the same, what becomes of the argument, so
much celebrated, derived from the universal consent of mankind?
But
because I know you are not much swayed by names and authorities, I shall
endeavour to show you, a little more distinctly, the inconveniences of that
Anthropomorphism, which you have embraced; and shall prove, that there is no
ground to suppose a plan of the world to be formed in the Divine mind,
consisting of distinct ideas, differently arranged, in the same manner as an
architect forms in his head the plan of a house which he intends to execute.
It
is not easy, I own, to see what is gained by this supposition, whether we
judge of the matter by Reason or by Experience. We are still obliged to mount
higher, in order to find the cause of this cause, which you had assigned as
satisfactory and conclusive.
If
Reason (I mean abstract reason, derived from inquiries a priori) be not alike
mute with regard to all questions concerning cause and effect, this sentence
at least it will venture to pronounce, That a mental world, or universe of
ideas, requires a cause as much, as does a material world, or universe of
objects; and, if similar in its arrangement, must require a similar cause. For
what is there in this subject, which should occasion a different conclusion or
inference? In an abstract view, they are entirely alike; and no difficulty
attends the one supposition, which is not common to both of them.
Again,
when we will needs force Experience to pronounce some sentence, even on these
subjects which lie beyond her sphere, neither can she perceive any material
difference in this particular, between these two kinds of worlds; but finds
them to be governed by similar principles, and to depend upon an equal variety
of causes in their operations. We have specimens in miniature of both of them.
Our own mind resembles the one; a vegetable or animal body the other. Let
experience, therefore, judge from these samples. Nothing seems more delicate,
with regard to its causes, than thought; and as these causes never operate in
two persons after the same manner, so we never find two persons who think
exactly alike. Nor indeed does the same person think exactly alike at any two
different periods of time. A difference of age, of the disposition of his
body, of weather, of food, of company, of books, of passions; any of these
particulars, or others more minute, are sufficient to alter the curious
machinery of thought, and communicate to it very different movements and
operations. As far as we can judge, vegetables and animal bodies are not more
delicate in their motions, nor depend upon a greater variety or more curious
adjustment of springs and principles.
How,
therefore, shall we satisfy ourselves concerning the cause of that Being whom
you suppose the Author of Nature, or, according to your system of
Anthropomorphism, the ideal world, into which you trace the material?
Have we not the same reason to trace that ideal world into another
ideal world, or new intelligent principle? But if we stop, and go no further;
why go so far? why not stop at the material world? How can we satisfy
ourselves without going on in infinitum? And, after all, what satisfaction is
there in that infinite progression? Let us remember the story of the Indian
philosopher and his elephant. It was never more applicable than to the present
subject. If the material world rests upon a similar ideal world, this ideal
world must rest upon some other; and so on, without end. It were better,
therefore, never to look beyond the present material world. By supposing it to
contain the principle of its order within itself, we really assert it to be
God; and the sooner we arrive at that Divine Being, so much the better. When
you go one step beyond the mundane system, you only excite an inquisitive
humour which it is impossible ever to satisfy.
To
say, that the different ideas which compose the reason of the Supreme Being,
fall into order of themselves, and by their own nature, is really to talk
without any precise meaning. If it has a meaning, I would fain know, why it is
not as good sense to say, that the parts of the material world fall into order
of themselves and by their own nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible,
while the other is not so?