_Examination of the Proofs offered by DESCARTES, MALEBRANCHE, NEWTON,
&c_.
If the evidence of Clarke did not prove satisfactory--if the theologians
of his day disputed the manner in which he handled his subject--if they
were disposed to think he had not established his argument upon
proper foundations, it did not seem probable that either the system of
Descartes, the sublime reveries of Malebranche, or the more methodical
mode adopted by Newton, were at all likely to meet with a better
reception; the same objections will lie against them all, that they have
not demonstrated the existence of their immaterial substances; although
they have incessantly spoken of them, as if they were things of which
they had the most intimate knowledge. Unfortunately this is a rock which
the most sublime geniuses have not been competent to avoid: the most
enlightened men have done little more than stammer upon a subject which
they have all concurred in considering of the highest importance; which
they unceasingly hold forth as the most necessary for man to know;
without at the same time considering he is not in a condition to
occupy himself with objects inaccessible to his senses--which his mind,
consequently, can never grasp--which his utmost research cannot bring
into that tangible shape by which alone he can be enabled to form a
judgment.
To the end that we may be convinced of that want of solidity which the
greatest men have not known how to give to the proofs they have
offered, but which they have successively imagined has established their
positions, let us briefly examine what the most celebrated philosophers,
what the most subtile metaphysicians have said. For this purpose we will
begin with Descartes, the restorer of philosophy among the moderns, to
whose sublime errors we are indebted for the effulgent truths of the
Newtonian system. This great man himself tells us, "All the strength of
argument which I have hitherto used to prove the existence of immaterial
substances, consists in this, that I acknowledge it would not be
possible, my nature was such as it is, that is to say, that I should
have in me the idea of immateriality, if this incorporeity did not truly
exist; this same immateriality, of which the idea is in me, possesses
all those high perfections of which our mind can have some slight idea,
without however being able to comprehend them." In another place he
says, "We must necessarily conclude from this alone, that because I
exist, and have the idea of immateriality, that is to say, of a most
perfect being, the existence is therefore most evidently demonstrated."
There are not, perhaps, many except Descartes himself, to whom this
would appear quite so conclusive; who would be impressed with the
conviction which he seems to imagine is so very substantive.
_First_, We shall reply to Descartes, it is not a warrantable deduction,
that because we have an idea of a thing, we must therefore conclude it
exists; to give validity to such a mode of reasoning would be productive
of the greatest mischief; would, in fact, tend to subvert all human
institutions. Our imagination presents us with the idea of a sphinx, or
of an hippogriff, besides a thousand other fantastical beings; are we,
on that authority, to insist that these things really exist? Is the
mere circumstance of our having an idea of various parts of nature,
discrepantly jumbled together, without any other evidence as to the
assemblage, a sufficient warrantry for calling upon mankind to accredit
the existence of such heterogeneous masses? If a philosopher of the most
consummate experience, of the greatest celebrity, one who enjoyed the
confidence of mankind above every other, was to detail the faculties
and perfections of these visionary beings, although he should hold them
forth as the perfection of all natural combinations, would, I say, any
reasonable being lend himself to the asseveration?
_Secondly_, It is obvious that the mere circumstance of existence,
does not prove the absolute existence of any thing anterior to itself;
although in man, as well as the other beings of nature, it is evidence
that something has existed before him. If this argument was to be
admitted, are they aware how far it, would carry them? To maintain
that the existence of one being demonstrably proves the existence of
an anterior being, would be, in fact, denying that any thing was
self-existent. The fallacy of such a position is too glaring to need
refutation.
_Thirdly_, It is not possible he should have a distinct, positive idea
of immateriality, of which be, as well as the theologian, labours to
prove the existence. It is impossible for man, for a material being, to
form to himself a correct idea, or indeed any idea, of incorporeity; of
a substance without extent, acting upon nature, which is corporeal;
a truth which it may not be presuming too much to say we have already
sufficiently proved.
_Fourthly_, It is equally impossible for man to have any clear, decided
idea of perfection, of infinity, of immensity, and other theological
attributes. To Descartes we must therefore reply as we have done to Dr.
Clarke on his twelfth proposition.
Thus nothing can well be less conclusive than the proofs upon which
Descartes rests the existence of immateriality. He gives it thought
and intelligence, but how conceive these qualities without a subject to
which they may adhere? He pretends that we cannot conceive it but "as a
power which applies itself successively to the parts of the universe."
Again, he says, "that an immaterial substance cannot be said to have
extent, but as we say of fire contained in a piece of iron, which has not,
properly speaking, any other extension than that of the iron itself."
According to these notions we shall be justified in taxing him with
having announced in a very clear, in a most unequivocal manner,
that this is nature herself: this indeed is a pure Spinosism; it was
decidedly on the principles of Descartes that Spinosa drew up his
system; in fact it flows out of it consecutively.
We might, therefore, with great reason, accuse Descartes of atheism,
seeing that he very effectually destroys the feeble proofs he adduces
in support of his own hypothesis; we have solid foundation for insisting
that his system overturns the idea of the creation, because if from
the modification we subtract the subject, the modification itself
disappears: and if, according to the Cartesians, this immateriality is
nothing without nature, they are complete Spinosians, with another name.
If incorporeity is the motive-power of this nature, it no longer exists
independently; it, in fact, exists no longer than the subject to which
it is inherent subsists. Thus no longer existing independently, it will
exist only while the nature which it moves shall endure; without
matter, without a subject to move, to preserve, what is to become of it,
according to this doctrine, or rather according to this elucidation of a
system which is in itself untenable?
It will be obvious from this, that Descartes, far from establishing on
a rocky foundation the existence of this immateriality, totally destroys
his own system. The same thing will necessarily happen to all those who
reason upon his principles; they will always finish by confuting him,
and by contradicting themselves. The same want of just inference, the
same discrepancy, will obtrude themselves in the principles of the
celebrated Father Malebranche; which, if considered with the slightest
attention, appear to conduct directly to Spinosism; in fact, can any
thing be more in unison with the language of Spinosa himself, than to
say, as does Malebranche, "that the universe is only an emanation from
God; that we see every thing in God, that every thing we see is only
God; that God alone does every thing that is done; that all the action,
with every operation that takes place in nature, is God himself; in a
word, that God is every being and the only being." Is not this formally
asserting that nature herself is God? Moreover, at the same time
Malebranche assures us we see every thing in God, he pretends that it is
not yet clearly demonstrated that matter and bodies have existence; that
faith alone teaches us these mysteries, of which, without it, we should
not have any knowledge whatever. In reply, it might be a very fair
question, how the existence of the being who created matter can be
demonstrated, if the existence of this matter itself be yet a problem?
He himself acknowledges "that we can have no distinct demonstration of
the existence of any other being than of that which is necessary;" he
further adds, "that if it be closely examined, it will be seen, that it
is not even possible to know with certitude, if God be or be not truly
the creator of a material, of a sensible world." According to these
notions, it is evident, that, following up the system of Malebranche,
man has only his faith to guarantee the existence of the world; yet
faith itself supposes its existence; if it be not, however, certain that
it does exist, and the Bishop of Cloyne, Dr. Berkeley, has also held
this in doubt, how shall we be persuaded that we must believe the
oracles which have been delivered to a visionary world?
On the other hand, these notions of Malebranche completely overturns all
the theological doctrines of free agency. How can the liberty of man's
action be reconciled with the idea that it is the Divinity who is the
immediate mover of nature; who actually gives impulse to matter and
bodies, without whose immediate interference nothing takes place; who
pre-determines his creatures to every thing they do? How can it be
pretended, if this doctrine is to be accredited, that human souls have
the faculty of forming thoughts--have the power of volition--are in
a condition to move themselves--have the capacity to modify their
existence? If it be supposed with the theologians, that the conservation
of the creatures in the universe is a continued creation, must it not
appear, that being thus perpetually recreated, they are enabled to
commit evil? It will then be a self-evident fact, that, admitting the
system of Malebranche, God does every thing, and that his creatures
are no more than passive instruments in his hands. Under this idea they
could not be answerable for their sins, because they would have no means
of avoiding them. Under this notion they could neither have merit or
demerit; they would be like a sharp instrument in their own hands, which
whether it was applied to a good or to an evil purpose, it would
attach to themselves, not to the instrument: this would annihilate
all religion: it is thus that theology is continually occupied with
committing suicide.
Let us now see, if the immortal Newton, the great luminary of science,
the champion of astronomical truth, will afford us clearer notions, more
distinct ideas, more certain evidence of the existence of immaterial
substances. This great man, whose comprehensive genius unravelled
nature, whose capacious mind developed her laws, seems to have
bewildered himself, the instant he lost sight of them. A slave to the
prejudices of his infancy, he had not the courage to hold the lamp
of his own enlightened understanding to the agent theology has so
gratuitously associated with nature; he has not been able to allow
that her own peculiar powers were adequate to the production of that
beautiful phenomena, he has with such masterly talents so luminously
explained. In short, the sublime Newton himself becomes an infant when
he quits physics, when he lays aside demonstration, to lose himself in
the devious sinuosities, in the inextricable labyrinths, in the delusive
regions of theology. This is the manner in which he speaks of the
Divinity:
"This God," says he, "governs all, not as the soul of the world, but
as the lord and sovereign of all things. It is in consequence of
his sovereignty that he is called the Lord God, [Greek letters],
_pantokrator_, the universal emperor. Indeed the word God is relative
and relates itself with slaves; the Deity is the dominion or the
sovereignty of God, not over his own body, as those think who look upon
God as the soul of the world, but over slaves."
From this it will be seen that Newton, as well as the theologians, makes
the Divinity a pure spirit, who presides over the universe as a monarch,
as a lord paramount; that is to say, what man defines in earthly
governors, despot, absolute princes, powerful monarchs, whose
governments have no model but their own will, who exercise an unlimited
power over their subjects, transformed into slaves; whom they usually
compel to feel in a very grievous manner the weight of their authority.
But according to the ideas of Newton, the world has not existed from
eternity, the staves of God have been formed in the course of time; from
this it would be a just inference, that before the creation of the world
the god of Newton was a sovereign without subjects. Let us see if this
truly great philosopher is more in unison with himself in the subsequent
ideas which he delivers on this subject.
"The supreme God," he says, "is an eternal, infinite, and absolutely
perfect being; but however perfect a being may be, if he has no
sovereignty he is not the supreme God. The word God signifies Lord,
but every lord is not god; it is the sovereignty of the spiritual Being
which constitutes God; it is the true sovereignty which constitutes the
true God; it is the supreme sovereignty which constitutes the supreme
God; it is a false sovereignty which constitutes a false god. From true
sovereignty, it follows, that the true God is living, intelligent,
and powerful; and from his other perfections, it follows, that he is
supremely or sovereignly perfect. He is eternal, infinite, omniscient;
that is to say, he exists from eternity, and will never have an end; he
governs all, and he knows every thing that is done, or that can be done.
He is neither eternity nor infinity, but he is eternal and infinite; he
is not space or duration, but he exists and is present." The term here
used is _adest_, which appears to have been placed there to avoid saying
that God is contained in space.
In all this unintelligible series, nothing is to be found but incredible
efforts to reconcile the theological attributes, the abstract with the
human qualities, which have been ascribed to the Divinity; we see in
it negative qualities, which can no longer be suitable to man, given,
however, to the Sovereign of nature, whom he has supposed a king.
However it may be, this picture always supposes the Supreme God to have
occasion for subjects to establish his sovereignty. It makes God stand
in need of man for the exercise of his empire; without these, according
to the text, he would not be a king; he could have had no empire when
there was nothing: but if this description of Newton was just, if it
really represented the Divinity, we might be very fairly permitted to
ask, Does not this Spiritual King exercise his spiritual empire in vain,
upon refractory beings, who do not at all times do that which he is
willing they should; who are continually struggling against his power;
who spread disorder in his states? This Spiritual Monarch, who is master
of the minds, of the souls, of the wills, of the passions of his slaves,
does he leave them the freedom of revolting against him? This infinite
Monarch, who fills every thing with his immensity, who governs all, does
he also govern the man who sins; does he direct his actions; is he
in him when he offends his God? The devil, the false god, the evil
principle, hath he not, according to this, a more extensive empire than
the true God, whose projects, if we are to believe the theologians, he
is unceasingly overturning? In earthly governments the true sovereign
is generally considered to be him whose power in a state influences the
greater number of his subjects. If, then, we could suppose him to be
omnipresent, that is, present in all places, should we not say he was
the sad witness to all the outrages committed against his authority,
and we should not entertain a very exalted opinion of his power if he
permitted them to continue. This, it is true, would be arguing upon a
monarch of this world, still it would be the language held by observers.
Is the spirituality of the Divinity well supported by those who say he
fills all space, who from that instant give him extent, ascribe to him
volume, make him correspond with the various points of space? This is
the very reverse of an immaterial substance.
"God is one," continues Newton, "and he is the same for ever, and every
where, not only by his virtue alone, or by his energy, but also by his
substance." But how are we to conceive that a being who is in continual
activity, who produces all the changes which beings undergo, can always
be himself the same? What is to be understood by either this virtue or
this energy? These are relative terms, which do not present any clear,
distinct idea to our mind, except as they apply to man: what are we,
however, to understand by the divine substance? If this substance be
spiritual, that is, devoid of extent, how can there exist in it any
parts? How can it give impulse to matter, how set it in motion? How can
it even be conceived by mortals?
Nevertheless Newton informs us, "that all things are contained in him,
and are moved in him, but without reciprocity of action: God experiences
nothing by the motion of bodies; these experience no resistance whatever
by his omnipresence." It would here appear that he clothes the Divinity
with that which bears the character of vacuum--of nothing; without
that, it would be almost impossible not to have a reciprocal action
or relation between these substances, which are either penetrated or
encompassed on all sides. It must be obvious, that in this instance our
scientific author does not distinctly understand himself.
He proceeds, "It is an incontestible truth, that God exists necessarily,
and the same necessity obliges to exist always and every where: from
whence it follows, that he is in every thing similar to itself; he is
all eyes, all ears, all brains, all arms, all feeling, all intelligence,
all action; but in a mode by no means human, by no means corporeal, and
which is totally unknown to us. In the same manner as a blind man has
no idea of colours, it is that we have no idea of the mode in which
God feels and understands." The necessary existence of the Divinity
is precisely the thing in question; it is this existence that it was
needful to have verified by proofs as clear, by evidence as distinct, by
demonstration as strong, as gravitation and attraction. One would have
hardly thought it possible the expansive capabilities of Newton
would not have compassed it. But oh, unrivalled genius! so mighty,
so powerful, so colossal, while yet you was a geometrician; so
insignificant, so weak, so inconsistent; when you became a theologian;
that is to say, when you reasoned upon that which can neither be
calculated, nor submitted to experience; how could you think of speaking
to us on a subject which, by your own confession is to you just what a
picture is to a man born blind? Wherefore quit nature, which had already
explained to you so much? Why seek in imaginary spaces those causes,
those powers, that energy, which she would have distinctly pointed
out to you, had you been willing to have consulted her with your usual
sagacity? The gigantic, the intelligent Newton, suffers himself to be
hoodwinked--to be blinded by prejudice; he has not courage to look a
question fairly in the face, when that question involves notions which
habit has rendered sacred to him; he turns his eyes from truth, he casts
behind him his experience, he lulls to sleep his reason, when it becomes
necessary to probe opinions full of contradictions, yet fraught with the
best interests of humanity.
Let us, however, continue to examine how far the most transcendent
genius is capable of leading himself astray, when once he abandons
experience, when once he chains up his reason, when once he suffers
himself to be guided by his imagination.
"God," continues the father of modern philosophy, "is totally destitute
of body and of corporeal figure; here is the reason why he cannot be
either seen, touched, or understood; and ought not to be adored under
any corporeal form." What idea, however, can be formed of a being who
is resembled by nothing of which we have any knowledge? What are the
relations that can be supposed to exist between such very dissimilar
beings? When man renders this being his adoration, does he not, in fact,
in despite of himself, make him a being similar to his own species; does
he not suppose that, like himself, he is sensible to homage--to be won
by presents--gained by flattery; in short, he is treated like a king
of the earth, who exacts the respect, demands the fealty, requires the
obedience of all who are submitted to him. Newton adds, "we have ideas
of his attributes, but we do not know that it is any one substance; we
only see the figures and the colours of bodies; we only hear sounds; we
only touch the exterior surfaces; we only scent odours; we only taste
flavours: no one of our senses, no one of our reflections, can shew us
the intimate nature of substances: we have still less ideas of God."
If we have an idea of the attributes of God, it is only because we
clothe him with those which belong to ourselves; which we never do more
than aggrandize, which we only augment or exaggerate; we then mistake
them for those qualities with which we were at first acquainted. If in
all those substances which are pervious to our senses, we only know them
by the effects they produce on us, after which we assign them qualities,
at least these qualities are something tangible, they give birth to
clear and distinct ideas. This superficial knowledge, however slender
it may be, with which our senses furnish us, is the only one we can
possibly have; constituted as we are, we find ourselves under the
necessity of resting contented with it, and we discover that it is
sufficient for our wants; but we have not even the most superficial idea
of immateriality, or a substance distinguished from all those with which
we have the slightest acquaintance. Nevertheless, we hear men hourly
reasoning upon it, disputing about its properties, advancing its
faculties, as if they had the most demonstrable evidence of the fact;
tearing each other in pieces, because the one does not readily admit
what the other asserts, upon a subject which no man is competent to
understand.
Our author goes on "We only have a knowledge of God by his attributes,
by his properties, by the excellent and wise arrangement which he
has given to all things, and by their FINAL CAUSES: we admire him
in consequence of his perfections." I repeat, that we have no real
knowledge of the Divinity; that we borrow his attributes from ourselves;
but it is evident these cannot be suitable to the Universal Being, who
neither can have the same nature nor the same properties as particular
beings; it is nevertheless after ourselves that we assign him
intelligence, wisdom, perfection, in subtracting from them what we call
defects. As to the order, or the arrangement of the universe, man finds
it excellent, esteems it the perfection of wisdom, as long as it is
favorable to his species; or when the causes which are co-existent with
himself do not disturb his own peculiar existence; otherwise he is apt
to complain of confusion, and final causes vanish: he then attributes to
an immutable God, motives equally borrowed from his own peculiar mode
of action, for deranging the beautiful order he so much admires in the
universe. Thus it is always in himself, that is, in his own individual
mode of feeling, that he draws up the ideas of the order, the wisdom,
the excellence, the perfection which he ascribes to the Deity; whilst
the good as well as the evil which take place in the world, are
the necessary consequence of the essence of things; of the general,
immutable laws of nature; in short, of the gravitation, of the repulsion
of matter; of those unchangeable laws of motion, which Newton himself
has so ably thrown into light; but which he has by a strange fatuity
forborne to apply when the question was concerning the cause of these
phenomena, which prejudice has refused to the capabilities of nature. He
goes on, "We revere, and we adore God, on account of his sovereignty:
we worship him like his slaves; a God destitute of sovereignty, of
providence, and of final causes, would be no more than nature and
destiny." It is true that superstition enjoins man to adore its gods
like ignorant slaves, who tremble under a master whom they know not; he
certainly prays to them on all occasions, sometimes requesting nothing
less than an entire change in the essence of things, to gratify
his capricious desires, and it is perhaps well for him they are not
competent to grant his request: in the origin, as we have shewn, these
gods were nothing more than nature acting by necessary laws, clothed
under a variety of fables; or necessity personified under a multitude of
names. However this may be, we do not believe that true religion,
that sterling worship which renders man grateful, whilst it exalts the
majesty of the Divinity, requires any such meanness from man that
he should act like a slave; he is rather expected to sit down to the
banquet prepared for him, with all the dignity of an invited guest;
under the cheering consciousness of a welcome that is never accorded
to slaves; nothing is required at his hands, but that he should conduct
himself temperately in the banquetting-house; that he should be grateful
for the good cheer he receives; that he should have virtue; (which we
have already sufficiently explained is to render himself useful, by
making others happy); that he should not by pertinaciously setting up
whimsical opinions, and insisting on their adoption by his neighbour,
disturb the harmony of the feast; that he should be sufficiently
intelligent to know when he is really felicitous, and not seek to put
down the gaiety of his fellow guests; but that he should rise from
the board satisfied with himself, contented with others; in short, to
comprise the whole in a trite axiom of one of the Greek philosophers, he
should learn the invaluable secret, "to _bear_ and _forbear_."
But to proceed. Newton tells us, "that from a physical and blind
necessity, which should preside every where, and be always the same,
there could not emanate any variety in the beings; the diversity which
we behold, could only have its origin in the ideas and in the will of a
being which exists necessarily;" but wherefore should not this diversity
spring out of natural causes, from matter acting upon matter; the action
of which either attracts and combines various yet analogous elements, or
else separates beings by the intervention of those substances which have
not a disposition to unite? Is not bread the result of the combination
of flour, yeast and water? As for the blind necessity, as it is
elsewhere said, we must acknowledge it is that of which we are ignorant,
either of its properties or its energies; of which being blind ourselves
we have no knowledge of its mode of action. Philosophers explain all the
phenomena that occur by the properties of matter; and though they feel
the want of a more intimate acquaintance with natural causes, they do
not therefore the less believe them deducible from these properties or
these causes. Are, therefore, the philosophers atheists, because they
do not reply, it is God who is the author of these effects? Is the
industrious workman, who makes gunpowder, to be challenged as an
atheist, because he says the terrible effects of this destructive
material, which inspired the native Americans with such awe, which
raised in their winds such wonder, are to be ascribed to the junction of
the apparently harmless substances of nitre, charcoal and sulpher, set
in activity by the accession of trivial scintillations, produced from
the collision of steel with flint, merely because some bigoted _Priest
of the Sun_, who is ignorant of the composition, chooses to think it is
not possible such a striking phenomenon could be the work of any thing
short of the secret agents, whom he has himself appointed to govern the
world?
"It is allegorically said that God sees, hears, speaks, smiles, loves,
hates, desires, gives, receives, rejoices, grows angry, fights, makes,
or fashions, &c. because all that is said of God, is borrowed from the
conduct of man, by an imperfect analogy." Man has not been able to act
otherwise, for want of being acquainted with nature and her eternal
course: whenever he has imagined a peculiar energy which he has not been
able to fathom, he has given it the name of God; and he has then made
him act upon the self-same principles, as he himself would adopt,
according to which he would act if he was the master. It is from this
proneness to _Theanthropy_, that has flowed all those absurd, and
frequently dangerous ideas, upon which are founded the superstitions of
the world; who all adore in their gods either natural causes of which
they are ignorant, or else powerful mortals of whose malice they stand
in awe. The sequel will shew the fatal effects that have resulted
to mankind from the absurd ideas they have very frequently formed to
themselves of the Divinity; that nothing could be more degrading to
him, more injurious to themselves, than the idea of comparing him to
an absolute sovereign, to a despot, to a tyrant. For the present let
us continue to examine the proofs offered in support of their various
systems.
It is unceasingly repeated that the regular action, the invariable
order, which reigns in the universe, the benefits heaped upon mortals,
announce a wisdom, an intelligence, a goodness, which we cannot refuse
to acknowledge, in the cause which produces these marvellous effects. To
this we must reply, that it is unquestionably true that not only these
things, but all the phenomena he beholds, indicate the existence of
something gifted very superiorly to erring man; the great question,
however, is one that perhaps will never be solved, what is this being?
Is this question answered by heaping together the estimable qualities
of man? Speaking with relation to ourselves, which is all that the
theologian really does, although in such numerous regions he pretends
to do a great deal more, we can apply the terms goodness, wisdom,
intelligence, the best with which we are acquainted, to this being for
the want of having those that may be appropriate; but I maintain, this
does not, in point of fact, afford us one single idea of the _Great
Cause of causes_; we admire his works; and knowing that what we approve
highly in our own species, we attribute to their being wise, we say the
Divinity displays wisdom. So far it is well; but this, after all, is a
human quality. If we consult experience, we shall presently be convinced
that our wisdom does not bear the least affinity to the actions
attributed to the Divinity. To get at this a little closer, we must
endeavour to find out what we do not call wisdom in man; this will help
us to form an estimate, how very incompetent we are to describe the
qualities of a being that differs so very materially from ourselves.
We most certainly should not call him a wise man, who having built a
beautiful residence, should himself set it on fire; and thus destroy
what he had laboured so much to bring to perfection: yet this happens
every day in nature, without its being in any manner a warrantry for
us to charge her with folly. If therefore we were to form our judgments
after our own puny ideas of wisdom, what should we say? Why, in point
of fact, just what the man does, who, thinking he has had too much rain,
implores fine weather? Which, properly translated, is neither more nor
less than giving the Divinity to understand he best knows what is proper
for himself. The just, the only fair inference to be drawn from this,
is, that we positively know nothing about the matter; that those who
pretend they do, would, if it was upon any other subject, he suspected
of having an unsound mind. We do not mean to insist that we are in the
right, but we mean to aver that the object of this work is not so much
either to build up new systems, or to put down old ones, as by shewing
man the inconclusiveness of his reasonings upon matters not accessible
to his comprehension--to induce him to be more tolerant to his
neighbour--to invite him to be less rancorous against those who do not
see with his eyes--to hold forth to him motives for forbearance, against
those whose system of faith may not exactly harmonize with his own--to
render him less ferocious in support of opinions, which, if he will
but discard his prejudices, he may find not so solidly bottomed as he
imagines. All we know is scarcely more than that the motion we witness
in the universe is the necessary consequence of the laws of matter; that
the uniformity of this motion is evidence of their immutability; that it
is not too much to say it cannot cease to act in the manner it does, as
long as the same causes operate, governed by the same circumstances.
We evidently see that motion, however regular in our mind, that order,
however beautiful to our admiring optics, yields to what we term
disorder, to that which we designate frightful confusion, as soon as new
causes, not analogous to the preceding, either disturb or suspend
their action. We further know that a better knowledge of nature,
the consequence of time, the result of patient, laborious, physical
researches, with the comparison of facts and the application of
experience, has enabled man in many instances to divert from himself the
evil effects of inevitable causes, which anterior to these discoveries
overwhelmed his unhappy progenitors with ruin. How far these salutary
developements are to be carried by industry, what may be achieved by
honesty, what light is to be gathered from the recession of prejudice,
the wisest among men is not competent to decide. Certain it is, that
phenomena which for ages were supposed to denounce the anger of the
Deity against mankind, are now well understood to be common effects of
natural causes.
Order, as we have elsewhere shewn, is only the effects which result
to ourselves from a series of motion; there cannot be any disorder
relatively to the great whole; in which all that takes place is
necessary; in which every thing is determined by laws which nothing can
change. The order of nature may be damaged or destroyed relatively to
ourselves, but it is never contradicted relatively to herself, since she
cannot act otherwise than she does: if we attribute to her the evils we
sustain, we are equally obliged to acknowledge we owe to her the good we
experience.
It in said, that animals furnish a convincing proof of the powerful
cause of their existence; that the admirable harmony of their parts, the
mutual assistance they lend each other, the regularity with which
they fulfill their functions, the preservation of these parts, the
conservation of such complicated wholes, announce a workman who unites
wisdom with power; in short, whole tracts of anatomy and botany have
been copied to prove nothing more than that these things exist, for of
the power that produced them there cannot remain a doubt. We shall never
learn more from these erudite tracts, save that there exists in nature
certain elements with an aptitude to attraction; a disposition to unite,
suitable to form wholes, to induce combinations capable of producing
very striking effects. To be surprised that the brain, the heart, the
arteries, the veins, the eyes, the ears of an animal, act as we see
them--that the roots of plants attract juices, or that trees produce
fruit, is to be surprised that a tree, a plant, or an animal exists at
all. These beings would not exist, or would no longer be that which we
know they are, if they ceased to act as they do: this is what happens
when they die. If the formation, the combination, the modes of action,
variously possessed by these beings, if their conservation for a season,
followed by their destruction or dissolution, prove any thing, it is the
immutability of those laws which operate in nature: we cannot doubt
the power of nature; she produces all the animals we behold, by the
combination, of matter, continually in motion; the harmony that subsists
between the component parts of these beings, is a consequence of the
necessary laws of their nature, and of that which results from their
combination. As soon as this accord ceases, the animal is necessarily
destroyed: from this we must conclude that every mutation in nature
is necessary; is only a consequence of its laws; that it could not be
otherwise than it is, under the circumstances in which it is placed.
Man, who looks upon himself as the _chef d'oeuvre_, furnishes more than
any other production a proof of the immutability of the laws of nature:
in this sensible, intelligent, thinking being, whose vanity leads him
to believe himself the sole object of the divine predilection, who forms
his God after his own peculiar model, we see only a more inconstant,
a more brittle machine; one more subject to be deranged by its
extreme complication, than the grosser beings: beasts destitute of our
knowledge, plants that vegetate, stones devoid of feeling, are in many
respects beings more highly favored than man: they are at least exempted
from the sorrows of the mind--from the torments of reflection--from that
devouring, chagrin to which he is so frequently a prey. Who is he who
would not be a plant or a stone, every time reminiscence forces upon his
imagination the irreparable loss of a beloved object? Would it not
be better to be an inanimate mass, than a restless, turbulent,
superstitious being, who does nothing but tremble under the imaginary
displeasure of beings of his own creation; who to support his own gloomy
opinions, immolates his fellow creatures at the shrine of his idol; who
ravages the country, and deluges the earth with the blood of those who
happen to differ from him on a speculative point of an unintelligible
creed? Beings destitute of life, bereft of feeling, without memory, not
having the faculties of thought, at least are not afflicted by the idea
of either the past, the present, or the future; they do not at any rate
believe themselves in danger of becoming eternally unhappy, because they
way have reasoned badly; or because they happened to be born in a land
where truth has never yet shed its refulgent beams on the darkened mind
of perplexed mortals.
Let it not then be said that we cannot have an idea of a work, without
also having an idea of the workman, as distinguished from his work: the
savage, when he first beheld the terrible operation of gunpowder,
did not form the most distant idea that it was the work of a man like
himself. Nature is not to be contemplated as a work of this kind; she is
self-existent. In her bosom every thing is produced: she is an immense
elaboratory, provided with materials, who makes the instruments of which
she avails herself in her operations. All her works are the effects of
her own energies; of those agents which she herself produces; of those
immutable laws by which she sets every thing in activity. Eternal,
indestructible elements, ever in motion, combine themselves variously,
and thus give birth to all beings, to all the phenomena which fill the
weak eyes of erring mortals with wonder and dismay; to all the effects,
whether good or bad, of which man experiences the influence; to all the
vicissitudes he undergoes, from the moment of his birth until that of
his death; to order and to confusion, which he never discriminates but
by the various modes in which he is affected: in short, to all those
miraculous spectacles with which he occupies his meditation--upon which
he exercises his reason--which frequently spread consternation over the
surface of the earth. These elements need nothing when circumstances
favour their junction, save their own peculiar properties, whether
individual or united, with the motion that is essential to them, to
produce all those phenomena which powerfully striking the senses of
mankind, either fill him with admiration, or stagger him with alarm.
But supposing for a moment that it was impossible to conceive the work,
without also conceiving the workman, who watches over his work, where
must we place this workman? Shall it be interior or exterior to his
production? Is he matter and motion, or is he only space or the vacuum?
In all these cases either he would be nothing, or he would be contained
in nature: as nature contains only matter and motion, it must be
concluded that the agent who moves it is material; that he is corporeal;
if this agent be exterior to nature, then we can no longer form any
idea of the place which he occupieth: neither can we better conceive an
immaterial being; nor the mode in which a spirit without extent can
act upon matter from which it is separated. These unknown spaces, which
imagination has placed beyond the visible world, can have no existence
for a being, who with difficulty sees down to his feet; he cannot paint
to his mind any image of the power which inhabit them; but if he is
compelled to form some kind of a picture, he must combine at random the
fantastical colours which he is ever obliged to draw from the world he
inhabits: in this case he will really do no more than reproduce in idea,
part or parcels of that which he has actually seen; he will form a whole
which perhaps has no existence in nature, but which it will be in vain
he strives to distinguish from her; to place out of her bosom. When he
shall be ingenuous with himself, When he shall be no longer willing to
delude others, he will be obliged to acknowledge, that the portrait he
has painted, although in its combination it resembles nothing in the
universe, is nevertheless in all its constituent members an exact
delineation of that which nature presents to our view. Hobbes in his
_Leviathan_ says, "The universe, the whole mass of things, is corporeal,
that is to say, body; and hath the dimensions of magnitude, namely,
length, breadth, and depth: also every part of body is likewise body,
and hath the like dimensions; and consequently every part of the
universe is body; and that which is not body, is no part of the
universe; and because the universe is all, that which is no part of it
is nothing; and consequently no where: nor does it follow from hence,
that spirits are nothing, for they have dimensions, and are therefore
really bodies; though that name in common speech be given to such bodies
only as are visible, or palpable, that is, that have some degree of
opacity: but for spirits they call them incorporeal; which is a name
of more honour, and may therefore with more piety be attributed to God
himself, in whom we consider not what attribute expresseth best his
nature, which is incomprehensible; but what best expresseth our desire
to honour him."
It will be insisted that if a statue or a watch were shewn to a savage,
who had never before seen either, he would not be able to prevent
himself from acknowledging that these things were the works of some
intelligent agent of greater ability, possessing more industry than
himself: it will be concluded from thence, that we are in like manner
obliged to acknowledge that the universe, that man, that the various
phenomena, are the works of an agent, whose intelligence is more
comprehensive, whose power far surpasses our own. Granted: who has ever
doubted it? the proposition is self-evident; it cannot admit of even a
cavil. Nevertheless we reply, in the _first place_, that it is not to
be doubted that nature is extremely powerful; diligently industrious:
we admire her activity every time we are surprised by the extent, every
time we contemplate the variety, every time we behold those complicated
effects which are displayed in her works; or whenever we take the pains
to meditate upon them: nevertheless, she is not really more industrious
in one of her works than she is in another; she is not fathomed with
more ease in those we call her most contemptible productions, than she
is in her most sublime efforts: we no more understand how she has been
capable of producing a stone or a metal, than the means by which she
organized a head like that of the illustrious Newton. We call that
man industrious who can accomplish things which we cannot; nature is
competent to every thing: as soon therefore as a thing exists, it is a
proof she has been capable of producing it: but it is never more than
relatively to ourselves that we judge beings to be industrious: we
then compare them to ourselves; and as we enjoy a quality which we call
intelligence, by the assistance of which we accomplish things, by which
we display our diligence, we naturally conclude from it, that those
works which most astonish us, do not belong to her, but are to be
ascribed to an intelligent being like ourselves, but in whom we make the
intelligence commensurate with the astonishment these phenomena excite
in us; that is to say, in other words, to our own peculiar ignorance,
and the weakness incident to our nature.
In the _second place_, we must observe, that the savage, to whom either
the statue or the watch is brought, will or will not have ideas of human
industry: if he has ideas of it, he will feel that this watch or
this statue, way be the work of a being of his own species, enjoying
faculties of which he is himself deficient: if he has no idea of it, if
he has no comprehension of the resources of human art, when he beholds
the spontaneous motion of the watch, he will be impressed with the
belief that it is an animal, which cannot be the work of man. Multiplied
experience confirms this mode of thinking which is ascribed to the
savage. The Peruvians mistook the Spaniards for gods, because they made
use of gunpowder, rode on horseback, and came in vessels which sailed
quite alone. The inhabitants of the island of Tenian being ignorant
of fire before the arrival of Europeans, the first time they saw it,
conceived it to be an animal who devoured the wood. Thus it is, that the
savage, in the same manner as many great and learned men, who believe
themselves much more acute, will attribute the strange effects that
strike his organs, to a genius or to a spirit; that is to say, to an
unknown power; to whom he will ascribe capabilities of which he believes
the beings of his own species are entirely destitute: by this he will
prove nothing, except that he is himself ignorant of what man is capable
of producing. It is thus that a raw unpolished people raise their eyes
to heaven, every time they witness some unusual phenomenon. It is thus
that the people denominate all those strange effects, with the natural
causes of which they are ignorant, miraculous, supernatural, divine; but
these are not by reasonable persons therefore considered proofs of what
they assert: as the multitude are generally unacquainted with the cause
of any thing, every object becomes a miracle in their eyes; at least
they imagine God is the immediate cause of the good they enjoy--of the
evil they suffer. In short, it is thus that the theologians themselves
solve every difficulty that starts in their road; they ascribe to God
all those phenomena, of the causes of which either they are themselves
ignorant, or else unwilling that man should be acquainted with the
source.
In the _third place_, the savage, in opening the watch, and examining
its parts, will perhaps feel, that this machinery announces a work which
can only be the result of human labour. He will perhaps perceive, that
they very obviously differ from the immediate productions of nature,
whom he has not observed to produce wheels made of polished metal. He
will further notice, perhaps, that these parts when separated, no longer
act as they did when they were combined; that the motion he so much
admired, ceases when their union is broken. After these observations, he
will attribute the watch to the ingenuity of man; that is to say, to
a being like himself, of whom he has some ideas, but whom he
judges capable to construct machines to which he is himself utterly
incompetent. In short, he will ascribe the honour of his watch to a
being known to him in some respects, provided with faculties very far
superior to his own; but he will be at an immense distance from the
belief, that this material work, whose ingenuity pleases him so much,
can be the effect of an immaterial cause; or of an agent destitute of
organs, without extent; whose action upon material beings cannot be
within, the sphere of his comprehension. Nevertheless, man, when he
cannot embrace the causes of things, does not scruple to insist that
they are impossible to be the production of nature, although he is
entirely ignorant how far the powers of this nature extend; to what
her capabilities are equal. In viewing the world, we must acknowledge
material causes for many of those phenomena which take place in it;
those who study nature are continually adding fresh discoveries to
this list of physical causes; science, as she enriches the intellectual
stores of human enjoyment, every day throws a broader light on the
energies of nature, which _prejudice_, aided by its almost inseparable
companion, _ignorance_, would for ever bind down in the fetters of
impotence.
Let us not, however, be told, that pursuing this hypothesis, we
attribute every thing to a blind cause--to the fortuitous concurrence
of atoms--to chance. Those only are called blind causes of which we know
not either the combination, the laws, or the power. Those effects are
called fortuitous, with whose causes man is unacquainted; to which his
experience affords him no clue; which his ignorance prevents him from
foreseeing. All those effects, of which he does not see the necessary
connection with their causes, he attributes to chance. Nature is not a
blind cause; she never acts by chance; nothing that she does would
ever be considered fortuitous, by him who should understand her mode of
action--who had a knowledge of her resources--who was intelligent in her
ways. Every thing that she produces is strictly necessary--is never more
than a consequence of her eternal, immutable laws; all is connected in
her by invisible bonds; every effect we witness flows necessarily from
its cause, whether we are in a condition to fathom it, or whether we are
obliged to let it remain hidden from our view. It is very possible there
should be ignorance on our part; but the words spirit, intelligence,
will not remedy this ignorance; they will rather redouble it, by
arresting our research; by preventing us from conquering those
impediments which obstruct us in probing the natural causes of the
effects, with which our visual faculties bring us acquainted.
This may serve for an answer to the clamour of those who raise perpetual
objections to the partizans of nature, by unceasingly accusing them with
attributing every thing to chance. Chance is a word devoid of sense,
which furnishes no substantive idea; at least it indicates only the
ignorance of its employers. Nevertheless, we are triumphantly told, it
is reiterated continually, that a regular work cannot be ascribed to the
concurrence of chance. Never, we are informed, will it be possible to
arrive at the formation of a poem such as the Iliad, by means of letters
thrown together promiscuously or combined at random. We agree to it
without hesitation; but, ingenuously, are the letters which compose a
poem thrown with the hand in the manner of dice? It would avail as much
to say, we could not pronounce a discourse with the feet. It is nature,
who combines according to necessary laws, under given circumstances, a
head organized in a mode suitable to bring forth a poem: it is nature
who assembles the elements, which furnish man with a brain competent to
give birth to such a work: it is nature, who, through the medium of the
imagination, by means of the passions, in consequence of the temperament
which she bestows upon man, capacitates him to produce such a
masterpiece of fancy; such a never-fading effort of the mind: it is his
brain modified in a certain manner, crowded with ideas, decorated with
images, made fruitful by circumstances, that alone can become the matrix
in which a poem can be conceived--in which the matter of it can be
digested: this is the only womb whose activity could usher to an
admiring world, the sublime stanzas which develope the story of the
unfortunate Priam, and immortalize their author. A head organized like
that of Homer, furnished with the same vigour, glowing with the same
vivid imagination, enriched with the same erudition, placed under the
same circumstances, would necessarily, and not by chance, produce the
poem of the Iliad; at least, unless it be denied that causes similar in
every thing must produce effects perfectly identical. We should without
doubt be surprised, if there were in a dice-box a hundred thousand dice,
to see a hundred thousand sixes follow in succession; but if these dice
were all cogged or loaded, our surprise would cease: the particles of
matter may be compared to cogged dice, that is to say, always producing
certain determinate effects under certain given circumstances; these
particles being essentially varied in themselves, countless in their
combinations, they are cogged in myriads of different modes. The head
of Homer, or of Virgil, was no more than an assemblage of particles,
possessing peculiar properties; or if they will, of dice cogged by
nature; that is to say, of beings so combined, of matter so wrought, as
to produce the beautiful poems of the Iliad or the Aeneid. As much may
be said of all other productions: indeed, what are men themselves but
cogged dice--machines into which nature has infused the bias requisite
to produce effects of a certain description? A man of genius produces a
good work, in the same manner as a tree of a good species, placed in
a prolific soil, cultivated with care, grafted with judgment, produces
excellent fruit.
Then is it not either knavery or puerility, to talk of composing a
work by scattering letters with the hand; by promiscuously mingling
characters; or gathering together by chance, that which can only result
from a human brain, with a peculiar organization, modified after a
certain manner? The principle of human generation does not develope
itself by chance; it cannot be nourished with effect, expanded into
life, but in the womb of a woman: a confused heap of characters, a
jumble of symbols, is nothing more than an assemblage of signs, whose
proper arrangement is adequate to paint human ideas; but in order that
these ideas may be correctly delineated, it is previously requisite that
they should have been conceived, combined, nourished, connected,
and developed in the brain of a poet; where circumstances make them
fructify, mature them, and bring them forth in perfection, by reason of
the fecundity, generated by the genial warmth and the peculiar energy
of the matrix, in which these intellectual seeds shall have been placed.
Ideas in combining, expanding, connecting, and associating themselves,
form a whole, like all the other bodies of nature: this whole affords
us pleasure, becomes a source of enjoyment, when it gives birth to
agreeable sensations in the mind; when it offers to our examination
pictures calculated to move us in a lively manner. It is thus that the
history of the Trojan war, as digested in the head of Homer, ushered
into the world with all the fascinating harmony of numbers peculiar to
himself, has the power of giving a pleasurable impulse to heads, who by
their analogy with that of this incomparable Grecian, are in a capacity
to feel its beauties.
From this it will be obvious, that nothing can be produced by chance;
that no effect can exist without an adequate cause for its existence;
that the one must ever be commensurate with the other. All the works of
nature grow out of the uniform action of invariable laws, whether our
mind can with facility follow the concatenation of the successive causes
which operate; or whether, as in her more complicated productions,
we find ourselves in the impossibility of distinguishing the various
springs which she sets in motion to give birth to her phenomena. To
nature, the difficulty is not more to produce a great poet, capable of
writing an admirable poem, than to form a glittering stone or a shining
metal which gravitates towards a centre. The mode she adopts to give
birth to these various beings, is equally unknown to us, when we have
not meditated upon it; frequently the most sedulous attention, the most
patient investigation affords us no information; sometimes, however,
the unwearied industry of the philosopher is rewarded, by throwing into
light the most mysterious operations. Thus the keen penetration of a
Newton, aided by uncommon diligence, developed the starry system,
which, for so many thousand years, had eluded the research of all the
astronomers by whom he was preceded. Thus the sagacity of a Harvey
giving vigour to his application, brought out of the obscurity in which
for almost countless centuries it had been buried, the true course
pursued by the sanguinary fluid, when circulating through the veins and
arteries of man, giving activity to his machine, diffusing life
through his system, and enabling him to perform those actions which
so frequently strike an astonished world with wonder and regret. Thus
Gallileo, by a quickness of perception, a depth of reasoning peculiar to
himself, held up to an admiring world, the actual form and situation of
the planet we inhabit; which until then had escaped the observation of
the most profound geniuses--the most subtle metaphysicians--the
whole host of priests; which when first promulgated was considered
so extraordinary, so contradictory to all the then received opinions,
either sacred or profane, that he was ranked as an atheist, as an
impious blasphemer, to hold communion with whom, would secure to the
communers a place in the regions of everlasting torment; in short, it
was held an heresy of such an indelible dye, that notwithstanding the
infallibility of his sacred function, Pope Gregory, who then filled the
papal chair, excommunicated all those who had the temerity to accredit
so abominable a doctrine.
Man is born by the necessary concurrence of those elements suitable to
his construction; he increases in bulk, corroborates his system, expands
his powers, in the same manner as a plant or a stone; which as well
as himself, are augmented in their volume, invigorated in their
capabilities, by the addition of homogeneous matter, that exists within
the sphere of their attraction. Man feels, thinks, receives ideas,
acts after a certain manner, that is to say, according to his organic
structure, which is peculiar to himself; that renders him susceptible of
modifications, of which the stone and the plant are utterly incapable.
On the other hand, the organization of these beings is of a nature
to enable them to receive other modifications, which man is not more
capacitated to experience, than the stone or the plant are those which
constitute him what he is. In consequence of this peculiar arrangement,
the man of genius produces works of merit; the plant when it is healthy
yields delicious fruits the stone when it is placed in a suitable matrix
possesses a glittering brilliance which dazzles the eyes of mortals;
each in their sphere of action both surprise and delight us; because we
feel that they excite in us sensations, that harmonize with what we call
order; in consequence of the pleasure they infuse, by the rarity, by the
magnitude, and by the variety of the effects which they occasion us
to experience. Nevertheless, that which is found most admirable in the
productions of nature, that which is most esteemed in the actions of
man, most highly valued in animals, most sought after in vegetation,
most in request among fossils, is never more than the natural effects
of the different particles of matter, diversely arranged, variously
combined, submitted to numerous modifications; from matter thus united
result organs, brains, temperament, taste, talents, all the multifarious
properties, all the multitudinous qualities, which discriminate the
beings whose multiplied activity make up the sum of what is designated
animated nature.
Nature then produces nothing but what is necessary; it is not by
fortuitous combinations, by chance throws, that she exhibits to our
view the beings we behold; all her throws are sure, all the causes
she employs have infallibly their effects. Whenever she gives birth to
extraordinary, marvellous, rare beings, it is, that the requisite order
of things the concurrence of the necessary productive causes, happens
but seldom. As soon as those beings exist, they are to be ascribed to
nature, equally with the most familiar of her productions; to nature
every thing is equally possible, equally facile, when she assembles
together the instruments or the causes necessary to act. Thus it seems
presumption in man to set limits to the powers of nature, which he so
very imperfectly understands. The combinations, or if they will, the
throws that she makes in an eternity of existence, can easily produce
all the beings that have existed: her eternal march must necessarily
bring forth, again and again, the most astonishing circumstances; the
most rare occurrences; those most calculated to rouse the wonder, to
elicit the admiration of beings, who are only in a condition to give
them a momentary consideration; who can get nothing more than a glimpse,
without ever having either the leisure or the means to search into
causes, which lie hid from their weak eyes, in the depths of Cimmerian
obscurity. Countless throws during eternity, with elements and
combinations varied almost to infinity, quite with relation to man,
suffice to produce every thing of which he has a knowledge, with
multitudes of other effects, of which he will never have the least
conception.
Thus, we cannot too often repeat to the metaphysicians, to the
supporters of immateriality, to the inconsistent theologians, who
commonly ascribe to their adversaries the most ridiculous opinions, in
order to obtain an easy, short-lived triumph in the prejudiced eyes
of the multitude; or in the stagnant minds of those who never examine
deeply; that chance is nothing but a word, as well as many other words,
imagined solely to cover the ignorance of those to whom the course of
nature is inexplicable--to shield the idleness of others who are too
slothful to seek into the properties of acting causes. It is not chance
that has produced the universe, it is self-existent; nature exists
necessarily from all eternity: she is omnipotent because every thing
is produced by her energies; she is omnipresent, because she fills
all space; she is omniscient, because every thing can only be what
it actually is; she is immovable, because as a whole she cannot be
displaced; she is immutable, because her essence cannot change, although
her forms may vary; she is infinite, because she cannot have any bounds;
she is all perfect, because she contains every thing: in short, she has
all the abstract qualities of the metaphysician, all the moral faculties
of the theologian, without involving any contradiction, since that which
is the assemblage of all, must of necessity contain the properties of
all.
However concealed may be her ways, the existence of nature is
indubitable; her mode of action is in some respects known to us.
Experience amply demonstrates we might, if we were more industrious,
become better acquainted with her secrets; but with an immaterial
substance, with a pure spirit, the mind of man can never become
familiar: he has no means by which he can picture to himself this
incomprehensible, this inconceivable quality: in despite therefore of
the roundness of assertion adopted by the theologian, notwithstanding
all the subtilties of the metaphysician, it will always be for man,
while he remains such as he now is, in the language of Doctor Samuel
Clarke, that, _of which nothing can with truth be affirmed_.