_Reader._ Everything in nature speaks of God; but you, doctor, seem quite
insensible to the eloquence of creation.
_Büchner._ I deny the eloquence of creation. Indeed, “design in nature has
ever been, and is still, one of the chief arguments in favor of the theory
which ascribes the origin and preservation of the world to a ruling and
organizing creative power. Every flower which unfolds its blossoms, every
gust of wind which agitates the air, every star which shines by night,
every wound which heals, every sound, everything in nature, affords to the
believing teleologist an opportunity for admiring the unfathomable wisdom
of that higher power. Modern science has pretty much emancipated itself
from such empty notions, and abandons these innocent studies to such as
delight in contemplating nature rather with the eyes of the feeling than
with those of the intellect” (p. 89).
_Reader._ This is no reason why you should blind yourself to the evidence
of the facts. Every one knows that Masonic science hates teleology. No
wonder at that. This science emancipates itself, not from empty notions,
as you say, but from the very laws of reasoning. Free thought would cease
to be free, if it did not emancipate itself from logic. Yet, since free‐
thinkers “abandon to us the innocent study” of teleology, would it not be
prudent in them to avoid talking on what they are unwilling to study? How
can they know that we contemplate nature “rather with the eyes of the
feeling than with those of the intellect”? Do they suppose that order and
design are objects of the feeling rather than of the intellect?
_Büchner._ I will tell you what our conviction is. “The combination of
natural materials and forces must, in giving rise to the variety of
existing forms, have at the same time become mutually limited and
determined, and must have produced corresponding contrivances, which,
superficially considered, appear to have been caused by an external
power.” Our reflecting reason is the sole cause of this apparent design,
which is nothing but the necessary consequence of the combination of
natural materials and forces. Thus, as Kant says, “our intellect admires a
wonder which it has created itself” (p. 90).
_Reader._ Beware of blunders, doctor! You have just said that our notion
of design in nature was caused by our feeling, not by our intellect; but
you now say that the sole cause of that notion is our reflecting reason,
and maintain, on Kant’s authority, that the same notion is a creation of
our intellect. Can contradiction be more evident?
Again, if our reflecting reason is the sole cause of our perception of
design in nature, surely we are right in admitting that there is design in
nature, and you are wrong in denying it. For, if the design were only
_apparent_, as you pretend, imagination might be fascinated by it, but
“reflecting reason” would never cause us to perceive it. On the other
hand, if you distrust “reflecting reason,” what else will you trust in its
stead?
Moreover, how did you not observe that Kant’s proposition, “Our intellect
admires a wonder which it has created itself,” contains a false
supposition? The intellect cannot create to itself any notion of design;
it can only perceive it in the things themselves: and it would never
affirm the existence of design in nature, unless it perceived its
objective reality. Hence our intellect admires a wonder which it
perceives, not a wonder which it creates.
Furthermore, you wish us to believe that what we term design “is nothing
but a necessary consequence of some combinations.” But why did you omit
that all such combinations presuppose definite conditions, and that these
conditions originally depend on the will of the Creator? Your book on
_Force and Matter_ is nothing but a necessary consequence of a combination
of types, ink, and paper. Does it follow that the book is not the work of
a designing doctor? You see how defective your reasoning is. You have
nearly succeeded in proving the contrary of what you intended.
_Büchner._ But “how can we speak of design, knowing the objects only in
one form and shape, and having no idea how they would appear to us in any
other? What natural contrivance is there which might not be imagined to be
rendered more perfect in design? We admire natural objects without
considering what an infinite variety of other contrivances and forms has
slumbered, and is still dormant, in the lap of nature. It depends on an
accident whether or not they will enter into existence” (p. 90).
_Reader._ I apprehend, doctor, that your notion of design is neither clear
nor correct. The “form and shape” of the objects is not what _we_ call
design. Design, in nature, is _the ordination of all things to an end_. It
is therefore the natural aptitude of things to a definite end, and not
their form or shape, that reveals the existence of design in nature. It is
not even the absolute perfection of a thing that reveals design: it is
only its relative perfection, that is, its proportion to the end for which
it is created. Hence we have the right to admire natural objects for their
adaptation to certain ends, without considering the infinite variety of
other contrivances slumbering in the lap of nature. For, if the existing
contrivances are proportionate to their ends, there is design, whatever we
may say of the possibility of other contrivances, and even of other words.
_Büchner._ “Numbers of arrangements in nature, apparently full of design,
are nothing but the result of the influence of external natural
conditions” (p. 90).
_Reader._ Yes; but these natural conditions are themselves the result of
design, since they are all controlled by a superior mind.
_Büchner._ “Animals inhabiting the north have a thicker fur than those of
the south; and likewise the hair and feathers of animals become thicker in
winter and fall out in summer. Is it not more natural to consider these
phenomena as the effect of changes in the temperature, than to imagine a
heavenly tailor who takes care of the summer and winter wardrobes of the
various animals? The stag was not endowed with long legs to enable him to
run fast, but he runs fast because his legs are long” (p. 91).
_Reader._ These remarks are puerile, doctor, and I might dispense with
answering them; yet I observe that, as cold does not foster vegetation, it
is not in the north, but in the south, that the fur of animals should grow
thicker. At any rate, the “heavenly tailor,” who clothes the lilies of the
field, does not forget the wardrobe of animals, whether in the north or in
the south, in summer or in winter; for his is the world, and from his hand
the needs of every creature are supplied. As to the stag, you are likewise
mistaken. “He runs fast because his legs are long”; but how does it follow
from this that he was not endowed with long legs to enable him to run
fast? Does the one exclude the other? Would you say that your works are
known because they have been published, and therefore they have not been
published to make them known? Your blunder is evident.
_Büchner._ “Things are just as they are, and we should not have found them
less full of design had they been different” (p. 91).
_Reader._ This, if true, would prove that our “reflecting reason” cannot
exclude design from creation. If things had been different, the design
would have been different. Even conflicting arrangements may be full of
design; even the destruction of the best works of nature may be full of
design: for the Author of nature is at liberty to do with it as he
pleases. If, for instance, all the new‐born babies were hereafter to be
males, we could not escape the consequence that the Author of nature
designed to put an end to human generation. Whatever may be the order of
things, we cannot deny design without insulting the wisdom of our Maker
and Lord.
This consideration suffices to answer all your queries and objections.
“Nature,” you say, “has produced a number of beings and contrivances in
which no design can be detected” (p. 94). What of that? Can you deny that
men act with some design, only because you cannot detect it? There are
beings, you add, “which are frequently more apt to disturb than to promote
the natural order of things” (_ibid._) This merely shows that the natural
order of things is changeable—a truth which you had the courage to deny
when speaking of miracles.
“The existence of dangerous animals has ever been a thorn in the side of
theologians, and the most comical arguments have been used to justify
their existence” (_ibid._) This is not true. No theologian has ever denied
that dangerous animals fulfil some design in nature. And as to “comical
arguments,” I think, doctor, that it is in your pages that we can best
find them. “We know, on the other hand, that very innocent, or even
useful, animals have become extinct, without nature taking any means to
preserve their existence” (p. 95). This proves nothing at all. If God’s
design could be fulfilled with their extinction, why should they have been
preserved? “For what purpose are the hosts of diseases and of physical
evils in general? Why that mass of cruelties and horrors which nature
daily and hourly practises on her creatures? Could a being acting from
goodness and benevolence endow the cat, the spider, and man with a nature
capable of these horrors and cruelties?” (p. 96). This is the dark side of
the picture; and yet there is design in all this. If I wished to make a
“comical argument,” I might say that “the hosts of diseases” are, after
all, very profitable to the M.D., who cannot live without them. But the
true answer is, that the present order of things, as even the pagan
philosophers recognized, is designed as a period of probation preparatory
to a better life. We now live on a field of battle, amid trials calculated
to stir up our energies and to mend or improve our character. We sow in
tears, that we may reap in joy. Such is the design of a Being “acting from
goodness and benevolence.” You do not understand this; but such is the
truth. As to cats and spiders, you must bear in mind that they are not
worse than the wolf, the tiger, or other animals providing for their own
subsistence by the destruction of other living beings. If this be
“cruelty,” how can you countenance it yourself by allowing the appearance
at your table of killed animals?
Your other remarks are scarcely worthy of being quoted, as they prove
nothing but your impertinence and presumption. You seem to put to God the
dilemma: “Either let Büchner know all the secrets of your providence, or
he will rebel against you, and even deny your existence.” You ask, Why
this and why that? And because your weak brain fails to suggest the
answer, you immediately conclude that things happen to be what they are,
without a superior mind controlling their course. This is nice logic
indeed! “Why should the vertebral column of man terminate in an appendage
perfectly useless to him?” “Why should certain animals possess the organs
of both sexes?” “Why are certain other animals so prolific that in a few
years they might fill the seas and cover the earth, and find no more space
or materials for their offspring?” “Why does nature produce monsters?”
These questions may or may not be answered; but our ignorance is not the
measure of things, and the existence of design in nature remains an
unquestionable fact. Is not the very structure of our own bodies a
masterpiece of design? A physician, like you, cannot plead ignorance on
the subject.
_Büchner._ Yet nature cannot have a design in producing monstrosities. “I
saw in a veterinary cabinet a goat fully developed in every part, but born
without a head. Can we imagine anything more absurd than the development
of an animal the existence of which is impossible from the beginning?
Prof. Lotze of Göttingen surpasses himself in the following remarks on
monstrosities: ‘If the fœtus is without a brain, it would be but
judicious, in a force having a free choice, to suspend its action, as this
deficiency cannot be compensated. But, inasmuch as the formative forces
continue their action, that such a miserable and purposeless creature may
exist for a time, appears to us strikingly to prove that the final result
always depends upon the disposition of purely mechanical definite forces,
which, once set in motion, proceed straight on, according to the law of
inertia, until they meet with an obstruction.’ This is plain language” (p.
99). Again, monstrosities “may be produced artificially by injuries done
to the fœtus or to the ovum. Nature has no means of remedying such an
injury. The impulse once given is, on the contrary, followed in a false
direction, and in due time a monstrosity is produced. The purely
mechanical process, in such cases, can be easily recognized. Can the idea
of a conscious power acting with design be reconciled with such a result?
And is it possible that the hand of the Creator should thus be bound by
the arbitrary act of man?” (pp. 101, 102).
_Reader._ That nature “cannot have a design in producing monstrosities” is
a groundless assertion, as nature tends always to produce perfect beings,
though sometimes its work is marred by obstacles which it has no power to
remove. You saw “a goat fully developed in every part, but born without a
head.” Here the design is evident. Nature wished to produce a perfect goat
as usual, but failed. “If the fœtus is without a brain, it would be
judicious, in a force having a free choice, to suspend its action.” This
is another groundless assertion; for, if by _force_ you mean the forces of
matter, they have no free choice, and cannot suspend their action; and if
by _force_ you mean God, you presume too much, as you do not know his
design. A fœtus without a brain, like a goat without a head, proclaims the
imperfection of natural causes; and this very imperfection proclaims their
contingency and the existence of a Creator. Thus, a fœtus without a brain
may be the work of design; for God’s design is not to raise nature above
all deficiencies, but to show his infinite perfection in the works of an
imperfect nature. That “the hand of the Creator should be bound by the
arbitrary act of men” is a third groundless assertion. Man may injure the
fœtus, and God can restore it to a healthy condition; but nothing obliges
him to do so. If he did it, it would be a miracle; and miracles are not in
the order of nature. It follows that, when monstrosities are produced,
they are not merely the result of mechanical forces, but also of God’s
action, without which no causation is possible.
But you ask, “Can the idea of a conscious power acting with design be
reconciled with such a result?” I answer that it can be reconciled very
well. In fact, those effects which proceed directly from God alone, must
indeed be perfect according to their own kind, inasmuch as God’s working
is never exposed to failure; but those effects which do not proceed
directly from God alone, but are produced by creatures with God’s
assistance, may be imperfect, ugly, and monstrous. You may have a
beautiful hand; but, if you write with a bad pen, your writing will not be
beautiful. You may be a great pianist; but, if your instrument is out of
tune, your music will be detestable. Whenever two causes, of which the one
is instrumental to the other, concur to the production of the same effect,
the imperfection of the instrumental cause naturally entails the
imperfection of the effect. God’s action is perfect; but the action of his
instruments may be imperfect; and it is owing to such an imperfection that
the result may be a monstrosity.
But, to complete this explanation, it is necessary to add that, in the
production of their natural effects, creatures are more than instrumental.
The primary cause, God, and the secondary causes, creatures, are both
_principal_ causes of natural effects; though the latter are subordinate
to the influence of the former. Both God and the creature are total
causes; that is, the effect entirely depends on the secondary, as it
entirely depends on the primary cause, though in a different manner; for
the influx of the primary cause is general, while that of the secondary
cause is particular. Hence these two causes bear to the effect produced by
them the same relation as two premises bear to their conclusion. God’s
influence is to the effect produced what a general principle or a major
proposition is to the conclusion; whilst the creature’s influence is to
the same effect what a minor proposition or the application of the general
principle is to the conclusion. Take, for instance, the general truth,
“Virtue is a rational good,” as a major proposition. This general truth
may be applied in different manners, and lead to different conclusions,
good or bad, according as the application is right or wrong. If you
subsume, “Temperance is a virtue,” you will immediately obtain the good
conclusion that “Temperance is a rational good.” But, if you subsume,
“Pride is a virtue,” you will reach the monstrous conclusion that “Pride
is a rational good.” Now, this conclusion, however monstrous, could not be
drawn without the general principle; and yet its monstrosity does not
arise from the general principle, but only from its wrong application.
Thus the general principle remains good and true in spite of the bad and
false conclusion. And in the same manner the influence of the first cause
on natural effects remains good and perfect, though the effects
themselves, owing to the influence of the secondary causes, are imperfect
and monstrous.
You now understand, I hope, how the exceptional production of
monstrosities can be reconciled with the idea of a conscious power acting
with design.