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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?
We
have, indeed, experience of ideas which fall into order of themselves, and
without any known cause. But, I am sure, we have a much larger experience of
matter which does the same; as, in all instances of generation and vegetation,
where the accurate analysis of the cause exceeds all human comprehension. We
have also experience of particular systems of thought and of matter which have
no order; of the first in madness, of the second in corruption. Why, then,
should we think, that order is more essential to one than the other? And if it
requires a cause in both, what do we gain by your system, in tracing the
universe of objects into a similar universe of ideas? The first step which we
make leads us on for ever. It were, therefore, wise in us to limit all our
inquiries to the present world, without looking further. No satisfaction can
ever be attained by these speculations, which so far exceed the narrow bounds
of human understanding.
It
was usual with the PERIPATETICS, you know, CLEANTHES, when the cause of any
phenomenon was demanded, to have recourse to their faculties or occult
qualities; and to say, for instance, that bread nourished by its nutritive
faculty, and senna purged by its purgative. But it has been discovered, that
this subterfuge was nothing but the disguise of ignorance; and that these
philosophers, though less ingenuous, really said the same thing with the
sceptics or the vulgar, who fairly confessed that they knew not the cause of
these phenomena. In like manner, when it is asked, what cause produces order
in the ideas of the Supreme Being; can any other reason be assigned by you,
Anthropomorphites, than that it is a rational faculty, and that such is the
nature of the Deity? But why a similar answer will not be equally satisfactory
in accounting for the order of the world, without having recourse to any such
intelligent creator as you insist on, may be difficult to determine. It is
only to say, that such is the nature of material objects, and that they are
all originally possessed of a faculty of order and proportion. These are only
more learned and elaborate ways of confessing our ignorance; nor has the one
hypothesis any real advantage above the other, except in its greater
conformity to vulgar prejudices.
You
have displayed this argument with great emphasis, replied CLEANTHES:
You
seem not sensible how easy it is to answer it. Even in common life, if I
assign a cause for any event, is it any objection, PHILO, that I cannot assign
the cause of that cause, and answer every new question which may incessantly
be started? And what philosophers could possibly submit to so rigid a rule?
philosophers, who confess ultimate causes to be totally unknown; and are
sensible, that the most refined principles into which they trace the
phenomena, are still to them as inexplicable as these phenomena themselves are
to the vulgar. The order and arrangement of nature, the curious adjustment of
final causes, the plain use and intention of every part and organ; all these
bespeak in the clearest language an intelligent cause or author. The heavens
and the earth join in the same testimony: The whole chorus of Nature raises
one hymn to the praises of its Creator. You alone, or almost alone, disturb
this general harmony. You start abstruse doubts, cavils, and objections: You
ask me, what is the cause of this cause? I know not; I care not; that concerns
not me. I have found a Deity; and here I stop my inquiry. Let those go
further, who are wiser or more enterprising.
I
pretend to be neither, replied PHILO: And for that very reason, I should never
perhaps have attempted to go so far; especially when I am sensible, that I
must at last be contented to sit down with the same answer, which, without
further trouble, might have satisfied me from the beginning. If I am still to
remain in utter ignorance of causes, and can absolutely give an explication of
nothing, I shall never esteem it any advantage to shove off for a moment a
difficulty, which, you acknowledge, must immediately, in its full force, recur
upon me. Naturalists indeed very justly explain particular effects by more
general causes, though these general causes themselves should remain in the
end totally inexplicable; but they never surely thought it satisfactory to
explain a particular effect by a particular cause, which was no more to be
accounted for than the effect itself. An ideal system, arranged of itself,
without a precedent design, is not a whit more explicable than a material one,
which attains its order in a like manner; nor is there any more difficulty in
the latter supposition than in the former.
But
to show you still more inconveniences, continued PHILO, in your
Anthropomorphism, please to take a new survey of your principles. Like effects
prove like causes. This is the experimental argument; and this, you say too,
is the sole theological argument. Now, it is certain, that the liker the
effects are which are seen, and the liker the causes which are inferred, the
stronger is the argument. Every departure on either side diminishes the
probability, and renders the experiment less conclusive. You cannot doubt of
the principle; neither ought you to reject its consequences.
All
the new discoveries in astronomy, which prove the immense grandeur
and
magnificence of the works of Nature, are so many additional arguments
for
a Deity, according to the true system of Theism; but, according to
your
hypothesis of experimental Theism, they become so many objections,
by
removing the effect still further from all resemblance to the effects
of
human art and contrivance. For, if LUCRETIUS[Lib. II. 1094], even
following
the old system of the world, could exclaim,
Quis
regere immensi summam, quis habere profundi Indu manu validas potis est
moderanter habenas? Quis pariter
coelos omnes convertere? et omnes Ignibus aetheriis terras suffire feraces?
Omnibus inque locis esse omni tempore praesto?
If
TULLY [De. nat. Deor. Lib. I] esteemed this reasoning so natural, as to put it
into the mouth of his EPICUREAN:
“Quibus
enim oculis animi intueri potuit vester Plato fabricam illam tanti operis, qua
construi a Deo atque aedificari mundum facit? quae molitio? quae ferramenta?
qui vectes? quae machinae? qui ministri tanti muneris fuerunt? quemadmodum
autem obedire et parere voluntati architecti aer, ignis, aqua, terra
potuerunt?”
If
this argument, I say, had any force in former ages, how much greater must it
have at present, when the bounds of Nature are so infinitely enlarged, and
such a magnificent scene is opened to us? It is still more unreasonable to
form our idea of so unlimited a cause from our experience of the narrow
productions of human design and invention.
The
discoveries by microscopes, as they open a new universe in miniature, are
still objections, according to you, arguments, according to me. The further we
push our researches of this kind, we are still led to infer the universal
cause of all to be vastly different from mankind, or from any object of human
experience and observation.
And
what say you to the discoveries in anatomy, chemistry, botany?...
These surely are no objections, replied CLEANTHES; they only discover
new instances of art and contrivance. It is still the image of mind reflected
on us from innumerable objects. Add, a mind like the human, said PHILO. I know
of no other, replied CLEANTHES. And the liker the better, insisted PHILO. To
be sure, said CLEANTHES.
Now,
CLEANTHES, said PHILO, with an air of alacrity and triumph, mark the
consequences. First, By this method of reasoning, you renounce all claim to
infinity in any of the attributes of the Deity. For, as the cause ought only
to be proportioned to the effect, and the effect, so far as it falls under our
cognisance, is not infinite; what pretensions have we, upon your suppositions,
to ascribe that attribute to the Divine Being?
You will still insist, that, by removing him so much from all
similarity to human creatures, we give in to the most arbitrary hypothesis,
and at the same time weaken all proofs of his existence.
Secondly,
You have no reason, on your theory, for ascribing perfection to the Deity,
even in his finite capacity, or for supposing him free from every error,
mistake, or incoherence, in his undertakings. There are many inexplicable
difficulties in the works of Nature, which, if we allow a perfect author to be
proved a priori, are easily solved, and become only seeming difficulties, from
the narrow capacity of man, who cannot trace infinite relations. But according
to your method of reasoning, these difficulties become all real; and perhaps
will be insisted on, as new instances of likeness to human art and
contrivance. At least, you must acknowledge, that it is impossible for us to
tell, from our limited views, whether this system contains any great faults,
or deserves any considerable praise, if compared to other possible, and even
real systems. Could a peasant, if the Aeneid were read to him, pronounce that
poem to be absolutely faultless, or even assign to it its proper rank among
the productions of human wit, he, who had never seen any other production?
But
were this world ever so perfect a production, it must still remain uncertain,
whether all the excellences of the work can justly be ascribed to the workman.
If we survey a ship, what an exalted idea must we form of the ingenuity of the
carpenter who framed so complicated, useful, and beautiful a machine? And what
surprise must we feel, when we find him a stupid mechanic, who imitated
others, and copied an art, which, through a long succession of ages, after
multiplied trials, mistakes, corrections, deliberations, and controversies,
had been gradually improving? Many worlds might have been botched and bungled,
throughout an eternity, ere this system was struck out; much labour lost, many
fruitless trials made; and a slow, but continued improvement carried on during
infinite ages in the art of world-making. In such subjects, who can determine,
where the truth; nay, who can conjecture where the probability lies, amidst a
great number of hypotheses which may be proposed, and a still greater which
may be imagined?
And
what shadow of an argument, continued PHILO, can you produce, from your
hypothesis, to prove the unity of the Deity? A great number of men join in
building a house or ship, in rearing a city, in framing a commonwealth; why
may not several deities combine in contriving and framing a world? This is
only so much greater similarity to human affairs. By sharing the work among
several, we may so much further limit the attributes of each, and get rid of
that extensive power and knowledge, which must be supposed in one deity, and
which, according to you, can only serve to weaken the proof of his existence.
And if such foolish, such vicious creatures as man, can yet often unite in
framing and executing one plan, how much more those deities or demons, whom we
may suppose several degrees more perfect!
To
multiply causes without necessity, is indeed contrary to true philosophy: but
this principle applies not to the present case. Were one deity antecedently
proved by your theory, who were possessed of every attribute requisite to the
production of the universe; it would be needless, I own, (though not absurd,)
to suppose any other deity existent. But while it is still a question, Whether
all these attributes are united in one subject, or dispersed among several
independent beings, by what phenomena in nature can we pretend to decide the
controversy? Where we see a body
raised in a scale, we are sure that there is in the opposite scale, however
concealed from sight, some counterpoising weight equal to it; but it is still
allowed to doubt, whether that weight be an aggregate of several distinct
bodies, or one uniform united mass. And if the weight requisite very much
exceeds any thing which we have ever seen conjoined in any single body, the
former supposition becomes still more probable and natural. An intelligent
being of such vast power and capacity as is necessary to produce the universe,
or, to speak in the language of ancient philosophy, so prodigious an animal
exceeds all analogy, and even comprehension.
But
further, CLEANTHES: men are mortal, and renew their species by generation; and
this is common to all living creatures. The two great sexes of male and
female, says MILTON, animate the world. Why must this circumstance, so
universal, so essential, be excluded from those numerous and limited deities?
Behold, then, the theogony of ancient times brought back upon us.
And
why not become a perfect Anthropomorphite? Why not assert the deity or deities
to be corporeal, and to have eyes, a nose, mouth, ears, &c.?
EPICURUS maintained, that no man had ever seen reason but in a human
figure; therefore the gods must have a human figure. And this argument, which
is deservedly so much ridiculed by CICERO, becomes, according to you, solid
and philosophical.
In
a word, CLEANTHES, a man who follows your hypothesis is able perhaps to
assert, or conjecture, that the universe, sometime, arose from something like
design: but beyond that position he cannot ascertain one single circumstance;
and is left afterwards to fix every point of his theology by the utmost
license of fancy and hypothesis. This world, for aught he knows, is very
faulty and imperfect, compared to a superior standard; and was only the first
rude essay of some infant deity, who afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his
lame performance: it is the work only of some dependent, inferior deity; and
is the object of derision to his superiors: it is the production of old age
and dotage in some superannuated deity; and ever since his death, has run on
at adventures, from the first impulse and active force which it received from
him. You justly give signs of horror, DEMEA, at these strange suppositions;
but these, and a thousand more of the same kind, are CLEANTHES’s
suppositions, not mine. From the moment the attributes of the Deity are
supposed finite, all these have place. And I cannot, for my part, think that
so wild and unsettled a system of theology is, in any respect, preferable to
none at all.
These
suppositions I absolutely disown, cried CLEANTHES: they strike me, however,
with no horror, especially when proposed in that rambling way in which they
drop from you. On the contrary, they give me pleasure, when I see, that, by
the utmost indulgence of your imagination, you never get rid of the hypothesis
of design in the universe, but are obliged at every turn to have recourse to
it. To this concession I adhere steadily; and this I regard as a sufficient
foundation for religion.
It
must be a slight fabric, indeed, said DEMEA, which can be erected on so
tottering a foundation. While we are uncertain whether there is one deity or
many; whether the deity or deities, to whom we owe our existence, be perfect
or imperfect, subordinate or supreme, dead or alive, what trust or confidence
can we repose in them? What devotion or worship address to them? What
veneration or obedience pay them? To all the purposes of life the theory of
religion becomes altogether useless: and even with regard to speculative
consequences, its uncertainty, according to you, must render it totally
precarious and unsatisfactory.
To
render it still more unsatisfactory, said PHILO, there occurs to me another
hypothesis, which must acquire an air of probability from the method of
reasoning so much insisted on by CLEANTHES. That like effects arise from like
causes: this principle he supposes the foundation of all religion. But there
is another principle of the same kind, no less certain, and derived from the
same source of experience; that where several known circumstances are observed
to be similar, the unknown will also be found similar. Thus, if we see the
limbs of a human body, we conclude that it is also attended with a human head,
though hid from us. Thus, if we
see, through a chink in a wall, a small part of the sun, we conclude, that,
were the wall removed, we should see the whole body. In short, this method of
reasoning is so obvious and familiar, that no scruple can ever be made with
regard to its solidity.
Now,
if we survey the universe, so far as it falls under our knowledge, it bears a
great resemblance to an animal or organised body, and seems actuated with a
like principle of life and motion. A continual circulation of matter in it
produces no disorder: a continual waste in every part is incessantly repaired:
the closest sympathy is perceived throughout the entire system: and each part
or member, in performing its proper offices, operates both to its own
preservation and to that of the whole. The world, therefore, I infer, is an
animal; and the Deity is the SOUL of the world, actuating it, and actuated by
it.
You
have too much learning, CLEANTHES, to be at all surprised at this opinion,
which, you know, was maintained by almost all the Theists of antiquity, and
chiefly prevails in their discourses and reasonings. For though, sometimes,
the ancient philosophers reason from final causes, as if they thought the
world the workmanship of God; yet it appears rather their favourite notion to
consider it as his body, whose organisation renders it subservient to him. And
it must be confessed, that, as the universe resembles more a human body than
it does the works of human art and contrivance, if our limited analogy could
ever, with any propriety, be extended to the whole of nature, the inference
seems juster in favour of the ancient than the modern theory.
There
are many other advantages, too, in the former theory, which recommended it to
the ancient theologians. Nothing more repugnant to all their notions, because
nothing more repugnant to common experience, than mind without body; a mere
spiritual substance, which fell not under their senses nor comprehension, and
of which they had not observed one single instance throughout all nature. Mind
and body they knew, because they felt both: an order, arrangement,
organisation, or internal machinery, in both, they likewise knew, after the
same manner: and it could not but seem reasonable to transfer this experience
to the universe; and to suppose the divine mind and body to be also coeval,
and to have, both of them, order and arrangement naturally inherent in them,
and inseparable from them.
Here,
therefore, is a new species of Anthropomorphism, CLEANTHES, on which you may
deliberate; and a theory which seems not liable to any considerable
difficulties. You are too much superior, surely, to systematical prejudices,
to find any more difficulty in supposing an animal body to be, originally, of
itself, or from unknown causes, possessed of order and organisation, than in
supposing a similar order to belong to mind. But the vulgar prejudice, that
body and mind ought always to accompany each other, ought not, one should
think, to be entirely neglected; since it is founded on vulgar experience, the
only guide which you profess to follow in all these theological inquiries. And
if you assert, that our limited experience is an unequal standard, by which to
judge of the unlimited extent of nature; you entirely abandon your own
hypothesis, and must thenceforward adopt our Mysticism, as you call it, and
admit of the absolute incomprehensibility of the Divine Nature.
This
theory, I own, replied CLEANTHES, has never before occurred to me, though a
pretty natural one; and I cannot readily, upon so short an examination and
reflection, deliver any opinion with regard to it. You are very scrupulous,
indeed, said PHILO: were I to examine any system of yours, I should not have
acted with half that caution and reserve, in starting objections and
difficulties to it. However, if any thing occur to you, you will oblige us by
proposing it.
Why
then, replied CLEANTHES, it seems to me, that, though the world does, in many
circumstances, resemble an animal body; yet is the analogy also defective in
many circumstances the most material: no organs of sense; no seat of thought
or reason; no one precise origin of motion and action. In short, it seems to
bear a stronger resemblance to a vegetable than to an animal, and your
inference would be so far inconclusive in favour of the soul of the world.
But,
in the next place, your theory seems to imply the eternity of the world; and
that is a principle, which, I think, can be refuted by the strongest reasons
and probabilities. I shall suggest an argument to this purpose, which, I
believe, has not been insisted on by any writer. Those, who reason from the
late origin of arts and sciences, though their inference wants not force, may
perhaps be refuted by considerations derived from the nature of human society,
which is in continual revolution, between ignorance and knowledge, liberty and
slavery, riches and poverty; so that it is impossible for us, from our limited
experience, to foretell with assurance what events may or may not be expected.
Ancient learning and history seem to have been in great danger of entirely
perishing after the inundation of the barbarous nations; and had these
convulsions continued a little longer, or been a little more violent, we
should not probably have now known what passed in the world a few centuries
before us. Nay, were it not for the superstition of the Popes, who preserved a
little jargon of Latin, in order to support the appearance of an ancient and
universal church, that tongue must have been utterly lost; in which case, the
Western world, being totally barbarous, would not have been in a fit
disposition for receiving the GREEK language and learning, which was conveyed
to them after the sacking of CONSTANTINOPLE. When learning and books had been
extinguished, even the mechanical arts would have fallen considerably to
decay; and it is easily imagined, that fable or tradition might ascribe to
them a much later origin than the true one. This vulgar argument, therefore,
against the eternity of the world, seems a little precarious.
But
here appears to be the foundation of a better argument. LUCULLUS was the first
that brought cherry-trees from ASIA to EUROPE; though that tree thrives so
well in many EUROPEAN climates, that it grows in the woods without any
culture. Is it possible, that throughout a whole eternity, no EUROPEAN had
ever passed into ASIA, and thought of transplanting so delicious a fruit into
his own country? Or if the tree was once transplanted and propagated, how
could it ever afterwards perish? Empires may rise and fall, liberty and
slavery succeed alternately, ignorance and knowledge give place to each other;
but the cherry-tree will still remain in the woods of GREECE, SPAIN, and
ITALY, and will never be affected by the revolutions of human society.
It
is not two thousand years since vines were transplanted into FRANCE, though
there is no climate in the world more favourable to them. It is not three
centuries since horses, cows, sheep, swine, dogs, corn, were known in AMERICA.
Is it possible, that during the revolutions of a whole eternity, there never
arose a COLUMBUS, who might open the communication between EUROPE and that
continent? We may as well imagine, that all men would wear stockings for ten
thousand years, and never have the sense to think of garters to tie them. All
these seem convincing proofs of the youth, or rather infancy, of the world; as
being founded on the operation of principles more constant and steady than
those by which human society is governed and directed. Nothing less than a
total convulsion of the elements will ever destroy all the EUROPEAN animals
and vegetables which are now to be found in the Western world.
And
what argument have you against such convulsions? replied PHILO.
Strong and almost incontestable proofs may be traced over the whole
earth, that every part of this globe has continued for many ages entirely
covered with water. And though order were supposed inseparable from matter,
and inherent in it; yet may matter be susceptible of many and great
revolutions, through the endless periods of eternal duration. The incessant
changes, to which every part of it is subject, seem to intimate some such
general transformations; though, at the same time, it is observable, that all
the changes and corruptions of which we have ever had experience, are but
passages from one state of order to another; nor can matter ever rest in total
deformity and confusion. What we see in the parts, we may infer in the whole;
at least, that is the method of reasoning on which you rest your whole theory.
And were I obliged to defend any particular system of this nature, which I
never willingly should do, I esteem none more plausible than that which
ascribes an eternal inherent principle of order to the world, though attended
with great and continual revolutions and alterations. This at once solves all
difficulties; and if the solution, by being so general, is not entirely
complete and satisfactory, it is at least a theory that we must sooner or
later have recourse to, whatever system we embrace. How could things have been
as they are, were there not an original inherent principle of order somewhere,
in thought or in matter? And it is very indifferent to which of these we give
the preference. Chance has no place, on any hypothesis, sceptical or
religious. Every thing is surely governed by steady, inviolable laws. And were
the inmost essence of things laid open to us, we should then discover a scene,
of which, at present, we can have no idea. Instead of admiring the order of
natural beings, we should clearly see that it was absolutely impossible for
them, in the smallest article, ever to admit of any other disposition.
Were
any one inclined to revive the ancient Pagan Theology, which maintained, as we
learn from HESIOD, that this globe was governed by 30,000 deities, who arose
from the unknown powers of nature: you would naturally object, CLEANTHES, that
nothing is gained by this hypothesis; and that it is as easy to suppose all
men animals, beings more numerous, but less perfect, to have sprung
immediately from a like origin. Push the same inference a step further, and
you will find a numerous society of deities as explicable as one universal
deity, who possesses within himself the powers and perfections of the whole
society. All these systems, then, of Scepticism, Polytheism, and Theism, you
must allow, on your principles, to be on a like footing, and that no one of
them has any advantage over the others. You may thence learn the fallacy of
your principles.
But
here, continued PHILO, in examining the ancient system of the soul of the
world, there strikes me, all on a sudden, a new idea, which, if just, must go
near to subvert all your reasoning, and destroy even your first inferences, on
which you repose such confidence. If the universe bears a greater likeness to
animal bodies and to vegetables, than to the works of human art, it is more
probable that its cause resembles the cause of the former than that of the
latter, and its origin ought rather to be ascribed to generation or
vegetation, than to reason or design. Your conclusion, even according to your
own principles, is therefore lame and defective.
Pray
open up this argument a little further, said DEMEA, for I do not rightly
apprehend it in that concise manner in which you have expressed it.
Our
friend CLEANTHES, replied PHILO, as you have heard, asserts, that since no
question of fact can be proved otherwise than by experience, the existence of
a Deity admits not of proof from any other medium. The world, says he,
resembles the works of human contrivance; therefore its cause must also
resemble that of the other. Here we may remark, that the operation of one very
small part of nature, to wit man, upon another very small part, to wit that
inanimate matter lying within his reach, is the rule by which CLEANTHES judges
of the origin of the whole; and he measures objects, so widely
disproportioned, by the same individual standard. But to waive all objections
drawn from this topic, I affirm, that there are other parts of the universe
(besides the machines of human invention) which bear still a greater
resemblance to the fabric of the world, and which, therefore, afford a better
conjecture concerning the universal origin of this system. These parts are
animals and vegetables. The world
plainly resembles more an animal or a vegetable, than it does a watch or a
knitting-loom. Its cause, therefore, it is more probable, resembles the cause
of the former. The cause of the former is generation or vegetation. The cause,
therefore, of the world, we may infer to be something similar or analogous to
generation or vegetation.
But
how is it conceivable, said DEMEA, that the world can arise from any thing
similar to vegetation or generation?
Very
easily, replied PHILO. In like manner as a tree sheds its seed into the
neighbouring fields, and produces other trees; so the great vegetable, the
world, or this planetary system, produces within itself certain seeds, which,
being scattered into the surrounding chaos, vegetate into new worlds. A comet,
for instance, is the seed of a world; and after it has been fully ripened, by
passing from sun to sun, and star to star, it is at last tossed into the
unformed elements which every where surround this universe, and immediately
sprouts up into a new system.
Or
if, for the sake of variety (for I see no other advantage), we should suppose
this world to be an animal; a comet is the egg of this animal: and in like
manner as an ostrich lays its egg in the sand, which, without any further
care, hatches the egg, and produces a new animal; so...
I
understand you, says DEMEA: But what wild, arbitrary suppositions are these!
What data have you for such extraordinary conclusions? And is the slight,
imaginary resemblance of the world to a vegetable or an animal sufficient to
establish the same inference with regard to both? Objects, which are in
general so widely different, ought they to be a standard for each other?
Right,
cries PHILO: This is the topic on which I have all along insisted.
I have still asserted, that we have no data to establish any system of
cosmogony. Our experience, so imperfect in itself, and so limited both in
extent and duration, can afford us no probable conjecture concerning the whole
of things. But if we must needs fix on some hypothesis; by what rule, pray,
ought we to determine our choice? Is there any other rule than the greater
similarity of the objects compared? And does not a plant or an animal, which
springs from vegetation or generation, bear a stronger resemblance to the
world, than does any artificial machine, which arises from reason and design?
But
what is this vegetation and generation of which you talk? said DEMEA.
Can you explain their operations, and anatomise that fine internal
structure on which they depend?
As
much, at least, replied PHILO, as CLEANTHES can explain the operations of
reason, or anatomise that internal structure on which it depends. But without
any such elaborate disquisitions, when I see an animal, I infer, that it
sprang from generation; and that with as great certainty as you conclude a
house to have been reared by design. These words, generation, reason, mark
only certain powers and energies in nature, whose effects are known, but whose
essence is incomprehensible; and one of these principles, more than the other,
has no privilege for being made a standard to the whole of nature.
In
reality, DEMEA, it may reasonably be expected, that the larger the views are
which we take of things, the better will they conduct us in our conclusions
concerning such extraordinary and such magnificent subjects.
In this little corner of the world alone, there are four principles,
reason, instinct, generation, vegetation, which are similar to each other, and
are the causes of similar effects. What a number of other principles may we
naturally suppose in the immense extent and variety of the universe, could we
travel from planet to planet, and from system to system, in order to examine
each part of this mighty fabric? Any one of these four principles above
mentioned, (and a hundred others which lie open to our conjecture,) may afford
us a theory by which to judge of the origin of the world; and it is a palpable
and egregious partiality to confine our view entirely to that principle by
which our own minds operate. Were this principle more intelligible on that
account, such a partiality might be somewhat excusable: But reason, in its
internal fabric and structure, is really as little known to us as instinct or
vegetation; and, perhaps, even that vague, indeterminate word, Nature, to
which the vulgar refer every thing, is not at the bottom more inexplicable.
The effects of these principles are all known to us from experience; but the
principles themselves, and their manner of operation, are totally unknown; nor
is it less intelligible, or less conformable to experience, to say, that the
world arose by vegetation, from a seed shed by another world, than to say that
it arose from a divine reason or contrivance, according to the sense in which
CLEANTHES understands it.
But
methinks, said DEMEA, if the world had a vegetative quality, and could sow the
seeds of new worlds into the infinite chaos, this power would be still an
additional argument for design in its author. For whence could arise so
wonderful a faculty but from design? Or how can order spring from any thing
which perceives not that order which it bestows?
You
need only look around you, replied PHILO, to satisfy yourself with regard to
this question. A tree bestows order and organisation on that tree which
springs from it, without knowing the order; an animal in the same manner on
its offspring; a bird on its nest; and instances of this kind are even more
frequent in the world than those of order, which arise from reason and
contrivance. To say, that all this order in animals and vegetables proceeds
ultimately from design, is begging the question; nor can that great point be
ascertained otherwise than by proving, a priori, both that order is, from its
nature, inseparably attached to thought; and that it can never of itself, or
from original unknown principles, belong to matter.
But
further, DEMEA; this objection which you urge can never be made use of by
CLEANTHES, without renouncing a defence which he has already made against one
of my objections. When I inquired concerning the cause of that supreme reason
and intelligence into which he resolves every thing; he told me, that the
impossibility of satisfying such inquiries could never be admitted as an
objection in any species of philosophy. “We must stop somewhere”, says he;
“nor is it ever within the reach of human capacity to explain ultimate
causes, or show the last connections of any objects. It is sufficient, if any
steps, so far as we go, are supported by experience and observation.” Now,
that vegetation and generation, as well as reason, are experienced to be
principles of order in nature, is undeniable. If I rest my system of cosmogony
on the former, preferably to the latter, it is at my choice. The matter seems
entirely arbitrary. And when CLEANTHES asks me what is the cause of my great
vegetative or generative faculty, I am equally entitled to ask him the cause
of his great reasoning principle. These questions we have agreed to forbear on
both sides; and it is chiefly his interest on the present occasion to stick to
this agreement. Judging by our limited and imperfect experience, generation
has some privileges above reason: for we see every day the latter arise from
the former, never the former from the latter.
Compare,
I beseech you, the consequences on both sides. The world, say I, resembles an
animal; therefore it is an animal, therefore it arose from generation. The
steps, I confess, are wide; yet there is some small appearance of analogy in
each step. The world, says CLEANTHES, resembles a machine; therefore it is a
machine, therefore it arose from design. The steps are here equally wide, and
the analogy less striking. And if he pretends to carry on my hypothesis a step
further, and to infer design or reason from the great principle of generation,
on which I insist; I may, with better authority, use the same freedom to push
further his hypothesis, and infer a divine generation or theogony from his
principle of reason. I have at least some faint shadow of experience, which is
the utmost that can ever be attained in the present subject. Reason, in
innumerable instances, is observed to arise from the principle of generation,
and never to arise from any other principle.
HESIOD,
and all the ancient mythologists, were so struck with this analogy, that they
universally explained the origin of nature from an animal birth, and
copulation. PLATO too, so far as he is intelligible, seems to have adopted
some such notion in his TIMAEUS.
The
BRAHMINS assert, that the world arose from an infinite spider, who spun this
whole complicated mass from his bowels, and annihilates afterwards the whole
or any part of it, by absorbing it again, and resolving it into his own
essence. Here is a species of cosmogony, which appears to us ridiculous;
because a spider is a little contemptible animal, whose operations we are
never likely to take for a model of the whole universe. But still here is a
new species of analogy, even in our globe. And were there a planet wholly
inhabited by spiders, (which is very possible,) this inference would there
appear as natural and irrefragable as that which in our planet ascribes the
origin of all things to design and intelligence, as explained by CLEANTHES.
Why an orderly system may not be spun from the belly as well as from the
brain, it will be difficult for him to give a satisfactory reason.
I
must confess, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, that of all men living, the task which
you have undertaken, of raising doubts and objections, suits you best, and
seems, in a manner, natural and unavoidable to you. So great is your fertility
of invention, that I am not ashamed to acknowledge myself unable, on a sudden,
to solve regularly such out-of-the-way difficulties as you incessantly start
upon me: though I clearly see, in general, their fallacy and error. And I
question not, but you are yourself, at present, in the same case, and have not
the solution so ready as the objection: while you must be sensible, that
common sense and reason are entirely against you; and that such whimsies as
you have delivered, may puzzle, but never can convince us.
What
you ascribe to the fertility of my invention, replied PHILO, is entirely owing
to the nature of the subject. In subjects adapted to the narrow compass of
human reason, there is commonly but one determination, which carries
probability or conviction with it; and to a man of sound judgement, all other
suppositions, but that one, appear entirely absurd and chimerical. But in such
questions as the present, a hundred contradictory views may preserve a kind of
imperfect analogy; and invention has here full scope to exert itself. Without
any great effort of thought, I believe that I could, in an instant, propose
other systems of cosmogony, which would have some faint appearance of truth,
though it is a thousand, a million to one, if either yours or any one of mine
be the true system.
For
instance, what if I should revive the old EPICUREAN hypothesis? This is
commonly, and I believe justly, esteemed the most absurd system that has yet
been proposed; yet I know not whether, with a few alterations, it might not be
brought to bear a faint appearance of probability. Instead of supposing matter
infinite, as EPICURUS did, let us suppose it finite.
A
finite number of particles is only susceptible of finite transpositions:
and
it must happen, in an eternal duration, that every possible order or position
must be tried an infinite number of times. This world, therefore, with all its
events, even the most minute, has before been produced and destroyed, and will
again be produced and destroyed, without any bounds and limitations. No one,
who has a conception of the powers of infinite, in comparison of finite, will
ever scruple this determination.
But
this supposes, said DEMEA, that matter can acquire motion, without any
voluntary agent or first mover.
And
where is the difficulty, replied PHILO, of that supposition? Every event,
before experience, is equally difficult and incomprehensible; and every event,
after experience, is equally easy and intelligible. Motion, in many instances,
from gravity, from elasticity, from electricity, begins in matter, without any
known voluntary agent: and to suppose always, in these cases, an unknown
voluntary agent, is mere hypothesis; and hypothesis attended with no
advantages. The beginning of motion in matter itself is as conceivable a
priori as its communication from mind and intelligence.
Besides,
why may not motion have been propagated by impulse through all eternity, and
the same stock of it, or nearly the same, be still upheld in the universe? As
much is lost by the composition of motion, as much is gained by its
resolution. And whatever the causes are, the fact is certain, that matter is,
and always has been, in continual agitation, as far as human experience or
tradition reaches. There is not probably, at present, in the whole universe,
one particle of matter at absolute rest.
And
this very consideration too, continued PHILO, which we have stumbled on in the
course of the argument, suggests a new hypothesis of cosmogony, that is not
absolutely absurd and improbable. Is there a system, an order, an economy of
things, by which matter can preserve that perpetual agitation which seems
essential to it, and yet maintain a constancy in the forms which it produces?
There certainly is such an economy; for this is actually the case with the
present world. The continual motion of matter, therefore, in less than
infinite transpositions, must produce this economy or order; and by its very
nature, that order, when once established, supports itself, for many ages, if
not to eternity. But wherever matter is so poised, arranged, and adjusted, as
to continue in perpetual motion, and yet preserve a constancy in the forms,
its situation must, of necessity, have all the same appearance of art and
contrivance which we observe at present. All the parts of each form must have
a relation to each other, and to the whole; and the whole itself must have a
relation to the other parts of the universe; to the element in which the form
subsists; to the materials with which it repairs its waste and decay; and to
every other form which is hostile or friendly. A defect in any of these
particulars destroys the form; and the matter of which it is composed is again
set loose, and is thrown into irregular motions and fermentations, till it
unite itself to some other regular form. If no such form be prepared to
receive it, and if there be a great quantity of this corrupted matter in the
universe, the universe itself is entirely disordered; whether it be the feeble
embryo of a world in its first beginnings that is thus destroyed, or the
rotten carcass of one languishing in old age and infirmity. In either case, a
chaos ensues; till finite, though innumerable revolutions produce at last some
forms, whose parts and organs are so adjusted as to support the forms amidst a
continued succession of matter.
Suppose
(for we shall endeavour to vary the expression), that matter were thrown into
any position, by a blind, unguided force; it is evident that this first
position must, in all probability, be the most confused and most disorderly
imaginable, without any resemblance to those works of human contrivance,
which, along with a symmetry of parts, discover an adjustment of means to
ends, and a tendency to self-preservation. If the actuating force cease after
this operation, matter must remain for ever in disorder, and continue an
immense chaos, without any proportion or activity. But suppose that the
actuating force, whatever it be, still continues in matter, this first
position will immediately give place to a second, which will likewise in all
probability be as disorderly as the first, and so on through many successions
of changes and revolutions. No particular order or position ever continues a
moment unaltered. The original force, still remaining in activity, gives a
perpetual restlessness to matter. Every possible situation is produced, and
instantly destroyed. If a glimpse or dawn of order appears for a moment, it is
instantly hurried away, and confounded, by that never-ceasing force which
actuates every part of matter.
Thus
the universe goes on for many ages in a continued succession of chaos and
disorder. But is it not possible that it may settle at last, so as not to lose
its motion and active force (for that we have supposed inherent in it), yet so
as to preserve an uniformity of appearance, amidst the continual motion and
fluctuation of its parts? This we find to be the case with the universe at
present. Every individual is perpetually changing, and every part of every
individual; and yet the whole remains, in appearance, the same. May we not
hope for such a position, or rather be assured of it, from the eternal
revolutions of unguided matter; and may not this account for all the appearing
wisdom and contrivance which is in the universe? Let us contemplate the
subject a little, and we shall find, that this adjustment, if attained by
matter of a seeming stability in the forms, with a real and perpetual
revolution or motion of parts, affords a plausible, if not a true solution of
the difficulty.
It
is in vain, therefore, to insist upon the uses of the parts in animals or
vegetables, and their curious adjustment to each other. I would fain know, how
an animal could subsist, unless its parts were so adjusted? Do we not find,
that it immediately perishes whenever this adjustment ceases, and that its
matter corrupting tries some new form? It happens indeed, that the parts of
the world are so well adjusted, that some regular form immediately lays claim
to this corrupted matter: and if it were not so, could the world subsist? Must
it not dissolve as well as the animal, and pass through new positions and
situations, till in great, but finite succession, it falls at last into the
present or some such order?
It
is well, replied CLEANTHES, you told us, that this hypothesis was suggested on
a sudden, in the course of the argument. Had you had leisure to examine it,
you would soon have perceived the insuperable objections to which it is
exposed. No form, you say, can subsist, unless it possess those powers and
organs requisite for its subsistence: some new order or economy must be tried,
and so on, without intermission; till at last some order, which can support
and maintain itself, is fallen upon. But according to this hypothesis, whence
arise the many conveniences and advantages which men and all animals possess?
Two eyes, two ears, are not absolutely necessary for the subsistence of the
species. Human race might have been propagated and preserved, without horses,
dogs, cows, sheep, and those innumerable fruits and products which serve to
our satisfaction and enjoyment. If no camels had been created for the use of
man in the sandy deserts of AFRICA and ARABIA, would the world have been
dissolved? If no lodestone had
been framed to give that wonderful and useful direction to the needle, would
human society and the human kind have been immediately extinguished? Though
the maxims of Nature be in general very frugal, yet instances of this kind are
far from being rare; and any one of them is a sufficient proof of design, and
of a benevolent design, which gave rise to the order and arrangement of the
universe.
At
least, you may safely infer, said PHILO, that the foregoing hypothesis is so
far incomplete and imperfect, which I shall not scruple to allow.
But
can we ever reasonably expect greater success in any attempts of this
nature?
Or can we ever hope to erect a system of cosmogony, that will be
liable
to no exceptions, and will contain no circumstance repugnant to
our
limited and imperfect experience of the analogy of Nature? Your
theory
itself cannot surely pretend to any such advantage, even though
you
have run into Anthropomorphism, the better to preserve a conformity
to
common experience. Let us once more put it to trial. In all instances
which
we have ever seen, ideas are copied from real objects, and are
ectypal,
not archetypal, to express myself in learned terms: You reverse
this
order, and give thought the precedence. In all instances which we
have
ever seen, thought has no inf