After DEMEA's departure, CLEANTHES and PHILO continued the conversation
in the following manner. Our friend, I am afraid, said CLEANTHES, will
have little inclination to revive this topic of discourse, while you are
in company; and to tell truth, PHILO, I should rather wish to reason with
either of you apart on a subject so sublime and interesting. Your spirit
of controversy, joined to your abhorrence of vulgar superstition, carries
you strange lengths, when engaged in an argument; and there is nothing so
sacred and venerable, even in your own eyes, which you spare on that
occasion.
I must confess, replied PHILO, that I am less cautious on the subject of
Natural Religion than on any other; both because I know that I can never,
on that head, corrupt the principles of any man of common sense; and
because no one, I am confident, in whose eyes I appear a man of common
sense, will ever mistake my intentions. You, in particular, CLEANTHES,
with whom I live in unreserved intimacy; you are sensible, that
notwithstanding the freedom of my conversation, and my love of singular
arguments, no one has a deeper sense of religion impressed on his mind,
or pays more profound adoration to the Divine Being, as he discovers
himself to reason, in the inexplicable contrivance and artifice of
nature. A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes every where the most
careless, the most stupid thinker; and no man can be so hardened in
absurd systems, as at all times to reject it. That Nature does nothing in
vain, is a maxim established in all the schools, merely from the
contemplation of the works of Nature, without any religious purpose; and,
from a firm conviction of its truth, an anatomist, who had observed a new
organ or canal, would never be satisfied till he had also discovered its
use and intention. One great foundation of the Copernican system is the
maxim, That Nature acts by the simplest methods, and chooses the most
proper means to any end; and astronomers often, without thinking of it,
lay this strong foundation of piety and religion. The same thing is
observable in other parts of philosophy: And thus all the sciences almost
lead us insensibly to acknowledge a first intelligent Author; and their
authority is often so much the greater, as they do not directly profess
that intention.
It is with pleasure I hear GALEN reason concerning the structure of the
human body. The anatomy of a man, says he [De formatione foetus], discovers
above 600 different muscles; and whoever duly considers these, will find,
that, in each of them, Nature must have adjusted at least ten different
circumstances, in order to attain the end which she proposed; proper
figure, just magnitude, right disposition of the several ends, upper and
lower position of the whole, the due insertion of the several nerves,
veins, and arteries: So that, in the muscles alone, above 6000 several
views and intentions must have been formed and executed. The bones he
calculates to be 284: The distinct purposes aimed at in the structure of
each, above forty. What a prodigious display of artifice, even in these
simple and homogeneous parts! But if we consider the skin, ligaments,
vessels, glandules, humours, the several limbs and members of the body;
how must our astonishment rise upon us, in proportion to the number and
intricacy of the parts so artificially adjusted! The further we advance
in these researches, we discover new scenes of art and wisdom: But descry
still, at a distance, further scenes beyond our reach; in the fine
internal structure of the parts, in the economy of the brain, in the
fabric of the seminal vessels. All these artifices are repeated in every
different species of animal, with wonderful variety, and with exact
propriety, suited to the different intentions of Nature in framing each
species. And if the infidelity of GALEN, even when these natural sciences
were still imperfect, could not withstand such striking appearances, to
what pitch of pertinacious obstinacy must a philosopher in this age have
attained, who can now doubt of a Supreme Intelligence!
Could I meet with one of this species (who, I thank God, are very rare),
I would ask him: Supposing there were a God, who did not discover himself
immediately to our senses, were it possible for him to give stronger
proofs of his existence, than what appear on the whole face of Nature?
What indeed could such a Divine Being do, but copy the present economy of
things; render many of his artifices so plain, that no stupidity could
mistake them; afford glimpses of still greater artifices, which
demonstrate his prodigious superiority above our narrow apprehensions;
and conceal altogether a great many from such imperfect creatures? Now,
according to all rules of just reasoning, every fact must pass for
undisputed, when it is supported by all the arguments which its nature
admits of; even though these arguments be not, in themselves, very
numerous or forcible: How much more, in the present case, where no human
imagination can compute their number, and no understanding estimate their
cogency!
I shall further add, said CLEANTHES, to what you have so well urged, that
one great advantage of the principle of Theism, is, that it is the only
system of cosmogony which can be rendered intelligible and complete, and
yet can throughout preserve a strong analogy to what we every day see and
experience in the world. The comparison of the universe to a machine of
human contrivance, is so obvious and natural, and is justified by so many
instances of order and design in Nature, that it must immediately strike
all unprejudiced apprehensions, and procure universal approbation.
Whoever attempts to weaken this theory, cannot pretend to succeed by
establishing in its place any other that is precise and determinate: It
is sufficient for him if he start doubts and difficulties; and by remote
and abstract views of things, reach that suspense of judgement, which is
here the utmost boundary of his wishes. But, besides that this state of
mind is in itself unsatisfactory, it can never be steadily maintained
against such striking appearances as continually engage us into the
religious hypothesis. A false, absurd system, human nature, from the
force of prejudice, is capable of adhering to with obstinacy and
perseverance: But no system at all, in opposition to a theory supported
by strong and obvious reason, by natural propensity, and by early
education, I think it absolutely impossible to maintain or defend.
So little, replied PHILO, do I esteem this suspense of judgement in the
present case to be possible, that I am apt to suspect there enters
somewhat of a dispute of words into this controversy, more than is
usually imagined. That the works of Nature bear a great analogy to the
productions of art, is evident; and according to all the rules of good
reasoning, we ought to infer, if we argue at all concerning them, that
their causes have a proportional analogy. But as there are also
considerable differences, we have reason to suppose a proportional
difference in the causes; and in particular, ought to attribute a much
higher degree of power and energy to the supreme cause, than any we have
ever observed in mankind. Here then the existence of a DEITY is plainly
ascertained by reason: and if we make it a question, whether, on account
of these analogies, we can properly call him a mind or intelligence,
notwithstanding the vast difference which may reasonably be supposed
between him and human minds; what is this but a mere verbal controversy?
No man can deny the analogies between the effects: To restrain ourselves
from inquiring concerning the causes is scarcely possible. From this
inquiry, the legitimate conclusion is, that the causes have also an
analogy: And if we are not contented with calling the first and supreme
cause a GOD or DEITY, but desire to vary the expression; what can we call
him but MIND or THOUGHT, to which he is justly supposed to bear a
considerable resemblance?
All men of sound reason are disgusted with verbal disputes, which abound
so much in philosophical and theological inquiries; and it is found, that
the only remedy for this abuse must arise from clear definitions, from
the precision of those ideas which enter into any argument, and from the
strict and uniform use of those terms which are employed. But there is a
species of controversy, which, from the very nature of language and of
human ideas, is involved in perpetual ambiguity, and can never, by any
precaution or any definitions, be able to reach a reasonable certainty or
precision. These are the controversies concerning the degrees of any
quality or circumstance. Men may argue to all eternity, whether HANNIBAL
be a great, or a very great, or a superlatively great man, what degree of
beauty CLEOPATRA possessed, what epithet of praise LIVY or THUCYDIDES is
entitled to, without bringing the controversy to any determination. The
disputants may here agree in their sense, and differ in the terms, or
vice versa; yet never be able to define their terms, so as to enter into
each other's meaning: Because the degrees of these qualities are not,
like quantity or number, susceptible of any exact mensuration, which
may be the standard in the controversy. That the dispute concerning
Theism is of this nature, and consequently is merely verbal, or perhaps,
if possible, still more incurably ambiguous, will appear upon the
slightest inquiry. I ask the Theist, if he does not allow, that there is
a great and immeasurable, because incomprehensible difference between the
human and the divine mind: The more pious he is, the more readily will he
assent to the affirmative, and the more will he be disposed to magnify
the difference: He will even assert, that the difference is of a nature
which cannot be too much magnified. I next turn to the Atheist, who, I
assert, is only nominally so, and can never possibly be in earnest; and I
ask him, whether, from the coherence and apparent sympathy in all the
parts of this world, there be not a certain degree of analogy among all
the operations of Nature, in every situation and in every age; whether
the rotting of a turnip, the generation of an animal, and the structure
of human thought, be not energies that probably bear some remote analogy
to each other: It is impossible he can deny it: He will readily
acknowledge it. Having obtained this concession, I push him still further
in his retreat; and I ask him, if it be not probable, that the principle
which first arranged, and still maintains order in this universe, bears
not also some remote inconceivable analogy to the other operations of
nature, and, among the rest, to the economy of human mind and thought.
However reluctant, he must give his assent. Where then, cry I to both
these antagonists, is the subject of your dispute? The Theist allows,
that the original intelligence is very different from human reason: The
Atheist allows, that the original principle of order bears some remote
analogy to it. Will you quarrel, Gentlemen, about the degrees, and enter
into a controversy, which admits not of any precise meaning, nor
consequently of any determination? If you should be so obstinate, I
should not be surprised to find you insensibly change sides; while the
Theist, on the one hand, exaggerates the dissimilarity between the
Supreme Being, and frail, imperfect, variable, fleeting, and mortal
creatures; and the Atheist, on the other, magnifies the analogy among all
the operations of Nature, in every period, every situation, and every
position. Consider then, where the real point of controversy lies; and if
you cannot lay aside your disputes, endeavour, at least, to cure
yourselves of your animosity.
And here I must also acknowledge, CLEANTHES, that as the works of Nature
have a much greater analogy to the effects of our art and contrivance,
than to those of our benevolence and justice, we have reason to infer,
that the natural attributes of the Deity have a greater resemblance to
those of men, than his moral have to human virtues. But what is the
consequence? Nothing but this, that the moral qualities of man are more
defective in their kind than his natural abilities. For, as the Supreme
Being is allowed to be absolutely and entirely perfect, whatever differs
most from him, departs the furthest from the supreme standard of
rectitude and perfection.
It seems evident that the dispute between the Skeptics and Dogmatists
is entirely verbal, or at least regards only the degrees of doubt and
assurance which we ought to indulge with regard to all reasoning; and such
disputes are commonly, at the bottom, verbal, and admit not of any precise
determination. No philosophical Dogmatist denies that there are
difficulties both with regard to the senses and to all science, and that
these difficulties are in a regular, logical method, absolutely
insolvable. No Skeptic denies that we lie under an absolute necessity,
notwithstanding these difficulties, of thinking, and believing, and
reasoning, with regard to all kinds of subjects, and even of frequently
assenting with confidence and security. The only difference, then, between
these sects, if they merit that name, is, that the Sceptic, from habit,
caprice, or inclination, insists most on the difficulties; the Dogmatist,
for like reasons, on the necessity.
These, CLEANTHES, are my unfeigned sentiments on this subject; and these
sentiments, you know, I have ever cherished and maintained. But in
proportion to my veneration for true religion, is my abhorrence of vulgar
superstitions; and I indulge a peculiar pleasure, I confess, in pushing
such principles, sometimes into absurdity, sometimes into impiety. And
you are sensible, that all bigots, notwithstanding their great aversion
to the latter above the former, are commonly equally guilty of both.
My inclination, replied CLEANTHES, lies, I own, a contrary way. Religion,
however corrupted, is still better than no religion at all. The doctrine
of a future state is so strong and necessary a security to morals, that
we never ought to abandon or neglect it. For if finite and temporary
rewards and punishments have so great an effect, as we daily find; how
much greater must be expected from such as are infinite and eternal?
How happens it then, said PHILO, if vulgar superstition be so salutary to
society, that all history abounds so much with accounts of its pernicious
consequences on public affairs? Factions, civil wars, persecutions,
subversions of government, oppression, slavery; these are the dismal
consequences which always attend its prevalency over the minds of men. If
the religious spirit be ever mentioned in any historical narration, we
are sure to meet afterwards with a detail of the miseries which attend
it. And no period of time can be happier or more prosperous, than those
in which it is never regarded or heard of.
The reason of this observation, replied CLEANTHES, is obvious. The proper
office of religion is to regulate the heart of men, humanise their
conduct, infuse the spirit of temperance, order, and obedience; and as
its operation is silent, and only enforces the motives of morality and
justice, it is in danger of being overlooked, and confounded with these
other motives. When it distinguishes itself, and acts as a separate
principle over men, it has departed from its proper sphere, and has
become only a cover to faction and ambition.
And so will all religion, said PHILO, except the philosophical and
rational kind. Your reasonings are more easily eluded than my facts. The
inference is not just, because finite and temporary rewards and
punishments have so great influence, that therefore such as are infinite
and eternal must have so much greater. Consider, I beseech you, the
attachment which we have to present things, and the little concern which
we discover for objects so remote and uncertain. When divines are
declaiming against the common behaviour and conduct of the world, they
always represent this principle as the strongest imaginable (which indeed
it is); and describe almost all human kind as lying under the influence
of it, and sunk into the deepest lethargy and unconcern about their
religious interests. Yet these same divines, when they refute their
speculative antagonists, suppose the motives of religion to be so
powerful, that, without them, it were impossible for civil society to
subsist; nor are they ashamed of so palpable a contradiction. It is
certain, from experience, that the smallest grain of natural honesty and
benevolence has more effect on men's conduct, than the most pompous views
suggested by theological theories and systems. A man's natural
inclination works incessantly upon him; it is for ever present to the
mind, and mingles itself with every view and consideration: whereas
religious motives, where they act at all, operate only by starts and
bounds; and it is scarcely possible for them to become altogether
habitual to the mind. The force of the greatest gravity, say the
philosophers, is infinitely small, in comparison of that of the least
impulse: yet it is certain, that the smallest gravity will, in the end,
prevail above a great impulse; because no strokes or blows can be
repeated with such constancy as attraction and gravitation.
Another advantage of inclination: It engages on its side all the wit and
ingenuity of the mind; and when set in opposition to religious
principles, seeks every method and art of eluding them: In which it is
almost always successful. Who can explain the heart of man, or account
for those strange salvos and excuses, with which people satisfy
themselves, when they follow their inclinations in opposition to their
religious duty? This is well understood in the world; and none but fools
ever repose less trust in a man, because they hear, that from study and
philosophy, he has entertained some speculative doubts with regard to
theological subjects. And when we have to do with a man, who makes a
great profession of religion and devotion, has this any other effect upon
several, who pass for prudent, than to put them on their guard, lest they
be cheated and deceived by him?
We must further consider, that philosophers, who cultivate reason and
reflection, stand less in need of such motives to keep them under the
restraint of morals; and that the vulgar, who alone may need them, are
utterly incapable of so pure a religion as represents the Deity to be
pleased with nothing but virtue in human behaviour. The recommendations
to the Divinity are generally supposed to be either frivolous
observances, or rapturous ecstasies, or a bigoted credulity. We need not
run back into antiquity, or wander into remote regions, to find instances
of this degeneracy. Amongst ourselves, some have been guilty of that
atrociousness, unknown to the Egyptian and Grecian superstitions, of
declaiming in express terms, against morality; and representing it as a
sure forfeiture of the Divine favour, if the least trust or reliance be
laid upon it.
But even though superstition or enthusiasm should not put itself in
direct opposition to morality; the very diverting of the attention, the
raising up a new and frivolous species of merit, the preposterous
distribution which it makes of praise and blame, must have the most
pernicious consequences, and weaken extremely men's attachment to the
natural motives of justice and humanity.
Such a principle of action likewise, not being any of the familiar
motives of human conduct, acts only by intervals on the temper; and must
be roused by continual efforts, in order to render the pious zealot
satisfied with his own conduct, and make him fulfil his devotional task.
Many religious exercises are entered into with seeming fervour, where the
heart, at the time, feels cold and languid: A habit of dissimulation is
by degrees contracted; and fraud and falsehood become the predominant
principle. Hence the reason of that vulgar observation, that the highest
zeal in religion and the deepest hypocrisy, so far from being
inconsistent, are often or commonly united in the same individual
character.
The bad effects of such habits, even in common life, are easily imagined;
but where the interests of religion are concerned, no morality can be
forcible enough to bind the enthusiastic zealot. The sacredness of the
cause sanctifies every measure which can be made use of to promote it.
The steady attention alone to so important an interest as that of eternal
salvation, is apt to extinguish the benevolent affections, and beget a
narrow, contracted selfishness. And when such a temper is encouraged, it
easily eludes all the general precepts of charity and benevolence.
Thus, the motives of vulgar superstition have no great influence on
general conduct; nor is their operation favourable to morality, in the
instances where they predominate.
Is there any maxim in politics more certain and infallible, than that
both the number and authority of priests should be confined within very
narrow limits; and that the civil magistrate ought, for ever, to keep his
fasces and axes from such dangerous hands? But if the spirit of popular
religion were so salutary to society, a contrary maxim ought to prevail.
The greater number of priests, and their greater authority and riches,
will always augment the religious spirit. And though the priests have the
guidance of this spirit, why may we not expect a superior sanctity of
life, and greater benevolence and moderation, from persons who are set
apart for religion, who are continually inculcating it upon others, and
who must themselves imbibe a greater share of it? Whence comes it then,
that, in fact, the utmost a wise magistrate can propose with regard to
popular religions, is, as far as possible, to make a saving game of it,
and to prevent their pernicious consequences with regard to society?
Every expedient which he tries for so humble a purpose is surrounded with
inconveniences. If he admits only one religion among his subjects, he
must sacrifice, to an uncertain prospect of tranquillity, every
consideration of public liberty, science, reason, industry, and even his
own independency. If he gives indulgence to several sects, which is the
wiser maxim, he must preserve a very philosophical indifference to all of
them, and carefully restrain the pretensions of the prevailing sect;
otherwise he can expect nothing but endless disputes, quarrels, factions,
persecutions, and civil commotions.
True religion, I allow, has no such pernicious consequences: but we must
treat of religion, as it has commonly been found in the world; nor have I
any thing to do with that speculative tenet of Theism, which, as it is a
species of philosophy, must partake of the beneficial influence of that
principle, and at the same time must lie under a like inconvenience, of
being always confined to very few persons.
Oaths are requisite in all courts of judicature; but it is a question
whether their authority arises from any popular religion. It is the
solemnity and importance of the occasion, the regard to reputation, and
the reflecting on the general interests of society, which are the chief
restraints upon mankind. Custom-house oaths and political oaths are but
little regarded even by some who pretend to principles of honesty and
religion; and a Quaker's asseveration is with us justly put upon the same
footing with the oath of any other person. I know, that POLYBIUS
[Lib. vi. cap. 54.] ascribes the infamy of GREEK faith to the prevalency of
the EPICUREAN philosophy: but I know also, that Punic faith had as bad a
reputation in ancient times as Irish evidence has in modern; though we
cannot account for these vulgar observations by the same reason. Not to
mention that Greek faith was infamous before the rise of the Epicurean
philosophy; and EURIPIDES [Iphigenia in Tauride], in a passage which I
shall point out to you, has glanced a remarkable stroke of satire against
his nation, with regard to this circumstance.
Take care, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, take care: push not matters too far:
allow not your zeal against false religion to undermine your veneration
for the true. Forfeit not this principle, the chief, the only great
comfort in life; and our principal support amidst all the attacks of
adverse fortune. The most agreeable reflection, which it is possible for
human imagination to suggest, is that of genuine Theism, which represents
us as the workmanship of a Being perfectly good, wise, and powerful; who
created us for happiness; and who, having implanted in us immeasurable
desires of good, will prolong our existence to all eternity, and will
transfer us into an infinite variety of scenes, in order to satisfy those
desires, and render our felicity complete and durable. Next to such a
Being himself (if the comparison be allowed), the happiest lot which we
can imagine, is that of being under his guardianship and protection.
These appearances, said PHILO, are most engaging and alluring; and with
regard to the true philosopher, they are more than appearances. But it
happens here, as in the former case, that, with regard to the greater
part of mankind, the appearances are deceitful, and that the terrors of
religion commonly prevail above its comforts.
It is allowed, that men never have recourse to devotion so readily as
when dejected with grief or depressed with sickness. Is not this a proof,
that the religious spirit is not so nearly allied to joy as to sorrow?
But men, when afflicted, find consolation in religion, replied CLEANTHES.
Sometimes, said PHILO: but it is natural to imagine, that they will form
a notion of those unknown beings, suitably to the present gloom and
melancholy of their temper, when they betake themselves to the
contemplation of them. Accordingly, we find the tremendous images to
predominate in all religions; and we ourselves, after having employed the
most exalted expression in our descriptions of the Deity, fall into the
flattest contradiction in affirming that the damned are infinitely
superior in number to the elect.
I shall venture to affirm, that there never was a popular religion, which
represented the state of departed souls in such a light, as would render
it eligible for human kind that there should be such a state. These fine
models of religion are the mere product of philosophy. For as death lies
between the eye and the prospect of futurity, that event is so shocking
to Nature, that it must throw a gloom on all the regions which lie beyond
it; and suggest to the generality of mankind the idea of CERBERUS and
FURIES; devils, and torrents of fire and brimstone.
It is true, both fear and hope enter into religion; because both these
passions, at different times, agitate the human mind, and each of them
forms a species of divinity suitable to itself. But when a man is in a
cheerful disposition, he is fit for business, or company, or
entertainment of any kind; and he naturally applies himself to these, and
thinks not of religion. When melancholy and dejected, he has nothing to
do but brood upon the terrors of the invisible world, and to plunge
himself still deeper in affliction. It may indeed happen, that after he
has, in this manner, engraved the religious opinions deep into his
thought and imagination, there may arrive a change of health or
circumstances, which may restore his good humour, and raising cheerful
prospects of futurity, make him run into the other extreme of joy and
triumph. But still it must be acknowledged, that, as terror is the
primary principle of religion, it is the passion which always
predominates in it, and admits but of short intervals of pleasure.
Not to mention, that these fits of excessive, enthusiastic joy, by
exhausting the spirits, always prepare the way for equal fits of
superstitious terror and dejection; nor is there any state of mind so
happy as the calm and equable. But this state it is impossible to
support, where a man thinks that he lies in such profound darkness and
uncertainty, between an eternity of happiness and an eternity of misery.
No wonder that such an opinion disjoints the ordinary frame of the mind,
and throws it into the utmost confusion. And though that opinion is
seldom so steady in its operation as to influence all the actions; yet it
is apt to make a considerable breach in the temper, and to produce that
gloom and melancholy so remarkable in all devout people.
It is contrary to common sense to entertain apprehensions or terrors upon
account of any opinion whatsoever, or to imagine that we run any risk
hereafter, by the freest use of our reason. Such a sentiment implies both
an absurdity and an inconsistency. It is an absurdity to believe that the
Deity has human passions, and one of the lowest of human passions, a
restless appetite for applause. It is an inconsistency to believe, that,
since the Deity has this human passion, he has not others also; and, in
particular, a disregard to the opinions of creatures so much inferior.
To know God, says SENECA, is to worship him. All other worship is indeed
absurd, superstitious, and even impious. It degrades him to the low
condition of mankind, who are delighted with entreaty, solicitation,
presents, and flattery. Yet is this impiety the smallest of which
superstition is guilty. Commonly, it depresses the Deity far below the
condition of mankind; and represents him as a capricious DEMON, who
exercises his power without reason and without humanity! And were that
Divine Being disposed to be offended at the vices and follies of silly
mortals, who are his own workmanship, ill would it surely fare with the
votaries of most popular superstitions. Nor would any of human race merit
his favour, but a very few, the philosophical Theists, who entertain, or
rather indeed endeavour to entertain, suitable notions of his Divine
perfections: As the only persons entitled to his compassion and
indulgence would be the philosophical Sceptics, a sect almost equally
rare, who, from a natural diffidence of their own capacity, suspend, or
endeavour to suspend, all judgement with regard to such sublime and such
extraordinary subjects.
If the whole of Natural Theology, as some people seem to maintain,
resolves itself into one simple, though somewhat ambiguous, at least
undefined proposition, That the cause or causes of order in the universe
probably bear some remote analogy to human intelligence: If this
proposition be not capable of extension, variation, or more particular
explication: If it affords no inference that affects human life, or can
be the source of any action or forbearance: And if the analogy, imperfect
as it is, can be carried no further than to the human intelligence, and
cannot be transferred, with any appearance of probability, to the other
qualities of the mind; if this really be the case, what can the most
inquisitive, contemplative, and religious man do more than give a plain,
philosophical assent to the proposition, as often as it occurs, and
believe that the arguments on which it is established exceed the
objections which lie against it? Some astonishment, indeed, will
naturally arise from the greatness of the object; some melancholy from
its obscurity; some contempt of human reason, that it can give no
solution more satisfactory with regard to so extraordinary and
magnificent a question. But believe me, CLEANTHES, the most natural
sentiment which a well-disposed mind will feel on this occasion, is a
longing desire and expectation that Heaven would be pleased to dissipate,
at least alleviate, this profound ignorance, by affording some more
particular revelation to mankind, and making discoveries of the nature,
attributes, and operations of the Divine object of our faith. A person,
seasoned with a just sense of the imperfections of natural reason, will
fly to revealed truth with the greatest avidity: While the haughty
Dogmatist, persuaded that he can erect a complete system of Theology by
the mere help of philosophy, disdains any further aid, and rejects this
adventitious instructor. To be a philosophical Sceptic is, in a man of
letters, the first and most essential step towards being a sound,
believing Christian; a proposition which I would willingly recommend to
the attention of PAMPHILUS: And I hope CLEANTHES will forgive me for
interposing so far in the education and instruction of his pupil.
CLEANTHES and PHILO pursued not this conversation much further: and as
nothing ever made greater impression on me, than all the reasonings of
that day, so I confess, that, upon a serious review of the whole, I
cannot but think, that PHILO's principles are more probable than DEMEA's;
but that those of CLEANTHES approach still nearer to the truth.