Your precaution, says, Philo, of seasoning your childrens minds early

with piety, is certainly very reasonable; and no more than is requisite

in this profane and irreligious age. But what I chiefly admire in your

plan of education, is your method of drawing advantage from the very

principles of philosophy and learning, which, by inspiring pride and

self-sufficiency, have commonly, in all ages, been found so destructive

to the principles of religion. The vulgar, indeed, we may remark, who

are unacquainted with science and profound inquiry, observing the

endless disputes of the learned, have commonly a thorough contempt for

philosophy; and rivet themselves the faster, by that means, in the

great points of theology which have been taught them. Those who enter

a little into study and inquiry, finding many appearances of evidence

in doctrines the newest and most extraordinary, think nothing too

difficult for human reason; and, presumptuously breaking through all

fences, profane the inmost sanctuaries of the temple. But Cleanthes

will, I hope, agree with me, that, after we have abandoned ignorance,

the surest remedy, there is still one expedient left to prevent this

profane liberty. Let Demea's principles be improved and cultivated:

Let us become thoroughly sensible of the weakness, blindness, and

narrow limits of human reason: Let us duly consider its uncertainty and

endless contrarieties, even in subjects of common life and practice:

Let the errors and deceits of our very senses be set before us; the

insuperable difficulties which attend first principles in all systems;

the contradictions which adhere to the very ideas of matter, cause and

effect, extension, space, time, motion; and in a word, quantity of all

kinds, the object of the only science that can fairly pretend to any

certainty or evidence. When these topics are displayed in their full

light, as they are by some philosophers and almost all divines; who

can retain such confidence in this frail faculty of reason as to pay

any regard to its determinations in points so sublime, so abstruse,

so remote from common life and experience? When the coherence of the

parts of a stone, or even that composition of parts which renders it

extended; when these familiar objects, I say, are so inexplicable,

and contain circumstances so repugnant and contradictory; with what

assurance can we decide concerning the origin of worlds, or trace their

history from eternity to eternity?

While Philo pronounced these words, I could observe a smile in the

countenance both of Demea and Cleanthes. That of Demea seemed to

imply an unreserved satisfaction in the doctrines delivered: But, in

Cleanthes's features, I could distinguish an air of finesse; as if he

perceived some raillery or artificial malice in the reasonings of Philo.

You propose then, Philo, said Cleanthes, to erect religious faith on

philosophical scepticism; and you think, that if certainty or evidence

be expelled from every other subject of inquiry, it will all retire to

these theological doctrines, and there acquire a superior force and

authority. Whether your scepticism be as absolute and sincere as you

pretend, we shall learn by and by, when the company breaks up: We shall

then see, whether you go out at the door or the window; and whether

you really doubt if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its

fall; according to popular opinion, derived from our fallacious senses,

and more fallacious experience. And this consideration, Demea, may, I

think, fairly serve to abate our ill-will to this humorous sect of the

sceptics. If they be thoroughly in earnest, they will not long trouble

the world with their doubts, cavils, and disputes: If they be only in

jest, they are, perhaps, bad railers; but can never be very dangerous,

either to the state, to philosophy, or to religion.

In reality, Philo, continued he, it seems certain, that though a

man, in a flush of humour, after intense reflection on the many

contradictions and imperfections of human reason, may entirely renounce

all belief and opinion, it is impossible for him to persevere in

this total scepticism, or make it appear in his conduct for a few

hours. External objects press in upon him; passions solicit him; his

philosophical melancholy dissipates; and even the utmost violence upon

his own temper will not be able, during any time, to preserve the poor

appearance of scepticism. And for what reason impose on himself such

a violence? This is a point in which it will be impossible for him

ever to satisfy himself, consistently with his sceptical principles.

So that, upon the whole, nothing could be more ridiculous than the

principles of the ancient Pyrrhonians; if in reality they endeavoured,

as is pretended, to extend, throughout, the same scepticism which they

had learned from the declamations of their schools, and which they

ought to have confined to them.

In this view, there appears a great resemblance between the sects of

the Stoics and Pyrrhonians, though perpetual antagonists; and both

of them seem founded on this erroneous maxim, That what a man can

perform sometimes, and in some dispositions, he can perform always,

and in every disposition. When the mind, by Stoical reflections, is

elevated into a sublime enthusiasm of virtue, and strongly smit with

any _species_ of honour or public good, the utmost bodily pain and

sufferings will not prevail over such a high sense of duty; and it is

possible, perhaps, by its means, even to smile and exult in the midst

of tortures. If this sometimes may be the case in fact and reality,

much more may a philosopher, in his school, or even in his closet,

work himself up to such an enthusiasm, and support in imagination the

acutest pain or most calamitous event which he can possibly conceive.

But how shall he support this enthusiasm itself? The bent of his mind

relaxes, and cannot be recalled at pleasure; avocations lead him

astray; misfortunes attack him unawares; and the _philosopher_ sinks

by degrees into the _plebeian_.

I allow of your comparison between the Stoics and Sceptics, replied

Philo. But you may observe, at the same time, that though the mind

cannot, in Stoicism, support the highest flights of philosophy, yet,

even when it sinks lower, it still retains somewhat of its former

disposition; and the effects of the Stoic's reasoning will appear in

his conduct in common life, and through the whole tenor of his actions.

The ancient schools, particularly that of Zeno, produced examples of

virtue and constancy which seem astonishing to present times.

Vain Wisdom all and false Philosophy.

Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm

Pain, for a while, or anguish; and excite

Fallacious Hope, or arm the obdurate breast

With stubborn Patience, as with triple steel.

In like manner, if a man has accustomed himself to sceptical

considerations on the uncertainty and narrow limits of reason, he

will not entirely forget them when he turns his reflection on other

subjects; but in all his philosophical principles and reasoning, I dare

not say in his common conduct, he will be found different from those,

who either never formed any opinions in the case, or have entertained

sentiments more favourable to human reason.

To whatever length any one may push his speculative principles of

scepticism, he must act, I own, and live, and converse, like other men;

and for this conduct he is not obliged to give any other reason, than

the absolute necessity he lies under of so doing. If he ever carries

his speculations farther than this necessity constrains him, and

philosophizes either on natural or moral subjects, he is allured by a

certain pleasure and satisfaction which he finds in employing himself

after that manner. He considers besides, that every one, even in common

life, is constrained to have more or less of this philosophy; that

from our earliest infancy we make continual advances in forming more

general principles of conduct and reasoning; that the larger experience

we acquire, and the stronger reason we are endued with, we always

render our principles the more general and comprehensive; and that

what we call _philosophy_ is nothing but a more regular and methodical

operation of the same kind. To philosophize on such subjects, is

nothing essentially different from reasoning on common life; and we

may only expect greater stability, if not greater truth, from our

philosophy, on account of its exacter and more scrupulous method of

proceeding.

But when we look beyond human affairs and the properties of the

surrounding bodies: when we carry our speculations into the two

eternities, before and after the present state of things; into the

creation and formation of the universe; the existence and properties of

spirits; the powers and operations, of one universal Spirit existing

without beginning and without end; omnipotent, omniscient, immutable,

infinite and incomprehensible: We must be far removed from the smallest

tendency to scepticism not to be apprehensive, that we have here got

quite beyond the reach of our faculties. So long as we confine our

speculations to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticism, we make

appeals, every moment, to common sense and experience, which strengthen

our philosophical conclusions, and remove, at least in part, the

suspicion which we so justly entertain with regard to every reasoning

that is very subtile and refined. But, in theological reasonings, we

have not this advantage; while, at the same time, we are employed upon

objects, which, we must be sensible, are too large for our grasp, and

of all others require most to be familiarized to our apprehension. We

are like foreigners in a strange country, to whom every thing must seem

suspicious, and who are in danger every moment of transgressing against

the laws and customs of the people with whom they live and converse. We

know not how far we ought to trust our vulgar methods of reasoning in

such a subject; since, even in common life, and in that province which

is peculiarly appropriated to them, we cannot account for them, and are

entirely guided by a kind of instinct or necessity in employing them.

All sceptics pretend, that, if reason be considered in an abstract

view, it furnishes invincible arguments against itself: and that we

could never retain any conviction or assurance, on any subject, were

not the sceptical reasonings so refined and subtile, that they are

not able to counterpoise the more solid and more natural arguments

derived from the senses and experience. But it is evident, whenever our

arguments lose this advantage, and run wide of common life, that the

most refined scepticism comes to be upon a footing with them, and is

able to oppose and counterbalance them. The one has no more weight than

the other. The mind must remain in suspense between them; and it is

that very suspense or balance, which is the triumph of scepticism.

But I observe, says Cleanthes, with regard to you, Philo, and all

speculative sceptics, that your doctrine and practice are as much at

variance in the most abstruse points of theory as in the conduct of

common life. Wherever evidence discovers itself, you adhere to it,

notwithstanding your pretended scepticism; and I can observe, too, some

of your sect to be as decisive as those who make greater professions of

certainty and assurance. In reality, would not a man be ridiculous, who

pretended to reject Newton's explication of the wonderful phenomenon

of the rainbow, because that explication gives a minute anatomy

of the rays of light; a subject, forsooth, too refined for human

comprehension? And what would you say to one, who, having nothing

particular to object to the arguments of Copernicus and Galilæo for

the motion of the earth, should withhold his assent, on that general

principle, that these subjects were too magnificent and remote to be

explained by the narrow and fallacious reason of mankind?

There is indeed a kind of brutish and ignorant scepticism, as you well

observed, which gives the vulgar a general prejudice against what they

do not easily understand, and makes them reject every principle which

requires elaborate reasoning to prove and establish it. This species of

scepticism is fatal to knowledge, not to religion; since we find, that

those who make greatest profession of it, give often their assent, not

only to the great truths of Theism and natural theology, but even to

the most absurd tenets which a traditional superstition has recommended

to them. They firmly believe in witches, though they will not believe

nor attend to the most simple proposition of Euclid. But the refined

and philosophical sceptics fall into an inconsistence of an opposite

nature. They push their researches into the most abstruse corners of

science; and their assent attends them in every step, proportioned

to the evidence which they meet with. They are even obliged to

acknowledge, that the most abstruse and remote objects are those which

are best explained by philosophy. Light is in reality anatomized: The

true system of the heavenly bodies is discovered and ascertained. But

the nourishment of bodies by food is still an inexplicable mystery:

The cohesion of the parts of matter is still incomprehensible. These

sceptics, therefore, are obliged, in every question, to consider

each particular evidence apart, and proportion their assent to the

precise degree of evidence which occurs. This is their practice in all

natural, mathematical, moral, and political science. And why not the

same, I ask, in the theological and religious? Why must conclusions

of this nature be alone rejected on the general presumption of the

insufficiency of human reason, without any particular discussion of the

evidence? Is not such an unequal conduct a plain proof of prejudice and

passion?

Our senses, you say, are fallacious; our understanding erroneous; our

ideas, even of the most familiar objects, extension, duration, motion,

full of absurdities and contradictions. You defy me to solve the

difficulties, or reconcile the repugnancies which you discover in them.

I have not capacity for so great an undertaking: I have not leisure

for it: I perceive it to be superfluous. Your own conduct, in every

circumstance, refutes your principles, and shows the firmest reliance

on all the received maxims of science, morals, prudence, and behaviour.

I shall never assent to so harsh an opinion as that of a celebrated

writer,[2] who says, that the Sceptics are not a sect of philosophers:

They are only a sect of liars. I may, however, affirm (I hope without

offence), that they are a sect of jesters or railers. But for my

part, whenever I find myself disposed to mirth and amusement, I shall

certainly choose my entertainment of a less perplexing and abstruse

nature. A comedy, a novel, or at most a history, seems a more natural

recreation than such metaphysical subtilties and abstractions.

In vain would the sceptic make a distinction between science and common

life, or between one science and another. The arguments employed in

all, if just, are of a similar nature, and contain the same force and

evidence. Or if there be any difference among them, the advantage lies

entirely on the side of theology and natural religion. Many principles

of mechanics are founded on very abstruse reasoning; yet no man who has

any pretensions to science, even no speculative sceptic, pretends to

entertain the least doubt with regard to them. The Copernican system

contains the most surprising paradox, and the most contrary to our

natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our very senses: yet even

monks and inquisitors are now constrained to withdraw their opposition

to it. And shall Philo, a man of so liberal a genius and extensive

knowledge, entertain any general undistinguished scruples with regard

to the religious hypothesis, which is founded on the simplest and most

obvious arguments, and, unless it meets with artificial obstacles, has

such easy access and admission into the mind of man?

And here we may observe, continued he, turning himself towards Demea,

a pretty curious circumstance in the history of the sciences. After

the union of philosophy with the popular religion, upon the first

establishment of Christianity, nothing was more usual, among all

religious teachers, than declamations against reason, against the

senses, against every principle derived merely from human research

and inquiry. All the topics of the ancient academics were adopted by

the fathers; and thence propagated for several ages in every school

and pulpit throughout Christendom. The Reformers embraced the same

principles of reasoning, or rather declamation; and all panegyrics on

the excellency of faith, were sure to be interlarded with some severe

strokes of satire against natural reason. A celebrated prelate too,[3]

of the Romish communion, a man of the most extensive learning, who

wrote a demonstration of Christianity, has also composed a treatise,

which contains all the cavils of the boldest and most determined

Pyrrhonism. Locke seems to have been the first Christian who ventured

openly to assert, that _faith_ was nothing but a species of _reason_;

that religion was only a branch of philosophy; and that a chain of

arguments, similar to that which established any truth in morals,

politics, or physics, was always employed in discovering all the

principles of theology, natural and revealed. The ill use which Bayle

and other libertines made of the philosophical scepticism of the

fathers and first reformers, still farther propagated the judicious

sentiment of Mr Locke: And it is now in a manner avowed, by all

pretenders to reasoning and philosophy, that Atheist and Sceptic are

almost synonymous. And as it is certain that no man is in earnest when

he professes the latter principle, I would fain hope that there are as

few who seriously maintain the former.

Don't you remember, said Philo, the excellent saying of Lord Bacon

on this head? That a little philosophy, replied Cleanthes, makes a

man an Atheist: A great deal converts him to religion. That is a very

judicious remark too, said Philo. But what I have in my eye is another

passage, where, having mentioned David's fool, who said in his heart

there is no God, this great philosopher observes, that the Atheists

now-a-days have a double share of folly; for they are not contented to

say in their hearts there is no God, but they also utter that impiety

with their lips, and are thereby guilty of multiplied indiscretion and

imprudence. Such people, though they were ever so much in earnest,

cannot, methinks, be very formidable.

But though you should rank me in this class of fools, I cannot forbear

communicating a remark that occurs to me, from the history of the

religious and irreligious scepticism with which you have entertained

us. It appears to me, that there are strong symptoms of priestcraft in

the whole progress of this affair. During ignorant ages, such as those

which followed the dissolution of the ancient schools, the priests

perceived, that Atheism, Deism, or heresy of any kind, could only

proceed from the presumptuous questioning of received opinions, and

from a belief that human reason was equal to every thing. Education had

then a mighty influence over the minds of men, and was almost equal in

force to those suggestions of the senses and common understanding, by

which the most determined sceptic must allow himself to be governed.

But at present, when the influence of education is much diminished,

and men, from a more open commerce of the world, have learned to

compare the popular principles of different nations and ages, our

sagacious divines have changed their whole system of philosophy, and

talk the language of Stoics, Platonists, and Peripatetics, not that of

Pyrrhonians and Academics. If we distrust human reason, we have now no

other principle to lead us into religion. Thus, sceptics in one age,

dogmatists in another; whichever system best suits the purpose of these

reverend gentlemen, in giving them an ascendant over mankind, they are

sure to make it their favourite principle, and established tenet.

It is very natural, said Cleanthes, for men to embrace those

principles, by which they find they can best defend their doctrines;

nor need we have any recourse to priestcraft to account for so

reasonable an expedient. And, surely nothing can afford a stronger

presumption, that any set of principles are true, and ought to be

embraced, than to observe that they tend to the confirmation of true

religion, and serve to confound the cavils of Atheists, Libertines, and

Freethinkers of all denominations.

[1] Chrysippus apud Plut. de repug. Stoicorum.

[2] L'art de penser.

[3] Mons. Huet.

PART II.

I must own, Cleanthes, said Demea, that nothing can more surprise

me, than the light in which you have all along put this argument.

By the whole tenor of your discourse, one would imagine that you

were maintaining the Being of a God, against the cavils of Atheists

and Infidels; and were necessitated to become a champion for that

fundamental principle of all religion. But this, I hope, is not by any

means a question among us. No man, no man at least of common sense,

I am persuaded, ever entertained a serious doubt with regard to a

truth so certain and self-evident. The question is not concerning the

*BEING, but the $NATURE of *GOD. This, I affirm, from the infirmities

of human understanding, to be altogether incomprehensible and unknown

to us. The essence of that supreme Mind, his attributes, the manner

of his existence, the very nature of his duration; these, and every

particular which regards so divine a Being, are mysterious to men.

Finite, weak, and blind creatures, we ought to humble ourselves in his

august presence; and, conscious of our frailties, adore in silence his

infinite perfections, which eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,

neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive. They are

covered in a deep cloud from human curiosity: It is profaneness to

attempt penetrating through these sacred obscurities: And, next to the

impiety of denying his existence, is the temerity of prying into his

nature and essence, decrees and attributes.

But lest you should think that my _piety_ has here got the better of my

_philosophy_, I shall support my opinion, if it needs any support, by

a very great authority. I might cite all the divines, almost, from the

foundation of Christianity, who have ever treated of this or any other

theological subject: But I shall confine myself, at present, to one

equally celebrated for piety and philosophy. It is Father Malebranche,

who, I remember, thus expresses himself.[1] 'One ought not so much,'

says he, 'to call God a spirit, in order to express positively what

he is, as in order to signify that he is not matter. He is a Being

infinitely perfect: Of this we cannot doubt. But in the same manner

as we ought not to imagine, even supposing him corporeal, that he is

clothed with a human body, as the Anthropomorphites asserted, under

colour that that figure was the most perfect of any; so, neither

ought we to imagine that the spirit of God has human ideas, or bears

any resemblance to our spirit, under colour that we know nothing

more perfect than a human mind. We ought rather to believe, that as

he comprehends the perfections of matter without being material....

he comprehends also the perfections of created spirits without being

spirit, in the manner we conceive spirit: That his true name is, _He

that is_; or, in other words, Being without restriction, All Being, the

Being infinite and universal.'

After so great an authority, Demea, replied Philo, as that which

you have produced, and a thousand more which you might produce, it

would appear ridiculous in me to add my sentiment, or express my

approbation of your doctrine. But surely, where reasonable men treat

these subjects, the question can never be concerning the _Being_,

but only the _Nature_, of the Deity. The former truth, as you well

observe, is unquestionable and self-evident. Nothing exists without a

cause; and the original cause of this universe (whatever it be) we call

God; and piously ascribe to him every species of perfection. Whoever

scruples this fundamental truth, deserves every punishment which

can be inflicted among philosophers, to wit, the greatest ridicule,

contempt, and disapprobation. But as all perfection is entirely

relative, we ought never to imagine that we comprehend the attributes

of this divine Being, or to suppose that his perfections have any

analogy or likeness to the perfections of a human creature. Wisdom,

Thought, Design, Knowledge; these we justly ascribe to him; because

these words are honourable among men, and we have no other language

or other conceptions by which we can express our adoration of him.

But let us beware, lest we think that our ideas anywise correspond to

his perfections, or that his attributes have any resemblance to these

qualities among men. He is infinitely superior to our limited view and

comprehension; and is more the object of worship in the temple, than of

disputation in the schools.

In reality, Cleanthes, continued he, there is no need of having

recourse to that affected scepticism so displeasing to you, in order

to come at this determination. Our ideas reach no farther than our

experience: We have no experience of divine attributes and operations:

I need not conclude my syllogism: You can draw the inference yourself.

And it is a pleasure to me (and I hope to you too) that just reasoning

and sound piety here concur in the same conclusion, and both of them

establish the adorably mysterious and incomprehensible nature of the

Supreme Being.

Not to lose any time in circumlocutions, said Cleanthes, addressing

himself to Demea, much less in replying to the pious declamations of

Philo; I shall briefly explain how I conceive this matter. Look round

the world: contemplate the whole and every part of it: You will find it

to be nothing but one great machine, subdivided into an infinite number

of lesser machines, which again admit of subdivisions to a degree

beyond what human senses and faculties can trace and explain. All these

various machines, and even their most minute parts, are adjusted to

each other with an accuracy which ravishes into admiration all men who

have ever contemplated them. The curious adapting of means to ends,

throughout all nature, resembles exactly, though it much exceeds, the

productions of human contrivance; of human design, thought, wisdom,

and intelligence. Since therefore the effects resemble each other, we

are led to infer, by all the rules of analogy, that the causes also

resemble; and that the Author of Nature is somewhat similar to the

mind of man, though possessed of much larger faculties, proportioned

to the grandeur of the work which he has executed. By this argument

_a posteriori_, and by this argument alone, do we prove at once the

existence of a Deity, and his similarity to human mind and intelligence.

I shall be so free, Cleanthes, said Demea, as to tell you, that from

the beginning I could not approve of your conclusion concerning the

similarity of the Deity to men; still less can I approve of the mediums

by which you endeavour to establish it. What! No demonstration of

the Being of God! No abstract arguments! No proofs _a priori_! Are

these, which have hitherto been so much insisted on by philosophers,

all fallacy, all sophism? Can we reach no farther in this subject than

experience and probability? I will not say that this is betraying

the cause of a Deity; But surely, by this affected candour, you give

advantages to Atheists, which they never could obtain by the mere dint

of argument and reasoning.

What I chiefly scruple in this subject, said Philo, is not so much

that all religious arguments are by Cleanthes reduced to experience,

as that they appear not to be even the most certain and irrefragable

of that inferior kind. That a stone will fall, that fire will burn,

that the earth has solidity, we have observed a thousand and a thousand

times; and when any new instance of this nature is presented, we draw

without hesitation the accustomed inference. The exact similarity

of the cases gives us a perfect assurance of a similar event; and a

stronger evidence is never desired nor sought after. But wherever you

depart, in the least, from the similarity of the cases, you diminish

proportionably the evidence; and may at last bring it to a very weak

_analogy_, which is confessedly liable to error and uncertainty. After

having experienced the circulation of the blood in human creatures, we

make no doubt that it takes place in Titius and Mævius: But from its

circulation in frogs and fishes, it is only a presumption, though a

strong one, from analogy, that it takes place in men and other animals.

The analogical reasoning is much weaker, when we infer the circulation

of the sap in vegetables from our experience that the blood circulates

in animals; and those, who hastily followed that imperfect analogy, are

found, by more accurate experiments, to have been mistaken.

If we see a house, Cleanthes, we conclude, with the greatest certainty,

that it had an architect or builder; because this is precisely that

species of effect which we have experienced to proceed from that

species of cause. But surely you will not affirm, that the universe

bears such a resemblance to a house, that we can with the same

certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy is here entire and

perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking, that the utmost you can here

pretend to is a guess, a conjecture, a presumption concerning a similar

cause; and how that pretension will be received in the world, I leave

you to consider.

It would surely be very ill received, replied Cleanthes; and I should

be deservedly blamed and detested, did I allow, that the proofs of a

Deity amounted to no more than a guess or conjecture. But is the whole

adjustment of means to ends in a house and in the universe so slight a

resemblance? The economy of final causes? The order, proportion, and

arrangement of every part? Steps of a stair are plainly contrived, that

human legs may use them in mounting; and this inference is certain and

infallible. Human legs are also contrived for walking and mounting; and

this inference, I allow, is not altogether so certain, because of the

dissimilarity which you remark; but does it, therefore, deserve the

name only of presumption or conjecture?

Good God! cried Demea, interrupting him, where are we? Zealous

defenders of religion allow, that the proofs of a Deity fall short

of perfect evidence! And you, Philo, on whose assistance I depended

in proving the adorable mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, do you

assent to all these extravagant opinions of Cleanthes? For what other

name can I give them? or, why spare my censure, when such principles

are advanced, supported by such an authority, before so young a man as

Pamphilus?

You seem not to apprehend, replied Philo, that I argue with Cleanthes

in his own way; and, by showing him the dangerous consequences of his

tenets, hope at last to reduce him to our opinion. But what sticks most

with you, I observe, is the representation which Cleanthes has made of

the argument _a posteriori_; and finding that that argument is likely

to escape your hold and vanish into air, you think it so disguised,

that you can scarcely believe it to be set in its true light. Now,

however much I may dissent, in other respects, from the dangerous

principles of Cleanthes, I must allow that he has fairly represented

that argument; and I shall endeavour so to state the matter to you,

that you will entertain no farther scruples with regard to it.

Were a man to abstract from every thing which he knows or has seen, he

would be altogether incapable, merely from his own ideas, to determine

what kind of scene the universe must be, or to give the preference

to one state or situation of things above another. For as nothing

which he clearly conceives could be esteemed impossible or implying

a contradiction, every chimera of his fancy would be upon an equal

footing; nor could he assign any just reason why he adheres to one idea

or system, and rejects the others which are equally possible.

Again; after he opens his eyes, and contemplates the world as it really

is, it would be impossible for him at first to assign the cause of

any one event, much less of the whole of things, or of the universe.

He might set his fancy a rambling; and she might bring him in an

infinite variety of reports and representations. These would all be

possible; but being all equally possible, he would never of himself

give a satisfactory account for his preferring one of them to the rest.

Experience alone can point out to him the true cause of any phenomenon.

Now, according to this method of reasoning, Demea, it follows, (and is,

indeed, tacitly allowed by Cleanthes himself), that order, arrangement,

or the adjustment of final causes, is not of itself any proof of

design; but only so far as it has been experienced to proceed from

that principle. For aught we can know _a priori_, matter may contain

the source or spring of order originally within itself, as well as

mind does; and there is no more difficulty in conceiving, that the

several elements, from an internal unknown cause, may fall into the

most exquisite arrangement, than to conceive that their ideas, in the

great universal mind, from a like internal unknown cause, fall into

that arrangement. The equal possibility of both these suppositions is

allowed. But, by experience, we find, (according to Cleanthes), that

there is a difference between them. Throw several pieces of steel

together, without shape or form; they will never arrange themselves

so as to compose a watch. Stone, and mortar, and wood, without an

architect, never erect a house. But the ideas in a human mind, we see,

by an unknown, inexplicable economy, arrange themselves so as to form

the plan of a watch or house. Experience, therefore, proves, that there

is an original principle of order in mind, not in matter. From similar

effects we infer similar causes. The adjustment of means to ends is

alike in the universe, as in a machine of human contrivance. The

causes, therefore, must be resembling.

I was from the beginning scandalized, I must own, with this

resemblance, which is asserted, between the Deity and human creatures;

and must conceive it to imply such a degradation of the Supreme Being

as no sound Theist could endure. With your assistance, therefore,

Demea, I shall endeavour to defend what you justly call the adorable

mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, and shall refute this reasoning of

Cleanthes, provided he allows that I have made a fair representation of

it.

When Cleanthes had assented, Philo, after a short pause, proceeded in

the following manner.

That all inferences, Cleanthes, concerning fact, are founded on

experience; and that all experimental reasonings are founded on the

supposition that similar causes prove similar effects, and similar

effects similar causes; I shall not at present much dispute with

you. But observe, I entreat you, with what extreme caution all just

reasoners proceed in the transferring of experiments to similar cases.

Unless the cases be exactly similar, they repose no perfect confidence

in applying their past observation to any particular phenomenon.

Every alteration of circumstances occasions a doubt concerning the

event; and it requires new experiments to prove certainly, that the

new circumstances are of no moment or importance. A change in bulk,

situation, arrangement, age, disposition of the air, or surrounding

bodies; any of these particulars may be attended with the most

unexpected consequences: And unless the objects be quite familiar to

us, it is the highest temerity to expect with assurance, after any of

these changes, an event similar to that which before fell under our

observation. The slow and deliberate steps of philosophers here, if

any where, are distinguished from the precipitate march of the vulgar,

who, hurried on by the smallest similitude, are incapable of all

discernment or consideration.

But can you think, Cleanthes, that your usual phlegm and philosophy

have been preserved in so wide a step as you have taken, when you

compared to the universe houses, ships, furniture, machines, and, from

their similarity in some circumstances, inferred a similarity in their

causes? Thought, design, intelligence, such as we discover in men

and other animals, is no more than one of the springs and principles

of the universe, as well as heat or cold, attraction or repulsion,

and a hundred others, which fall under daily observation. It is an

active cause, by which some particular parts of nature, we find,

produce alterations on other parts. But can a conclusion, with any

propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole? Does not the great

disproportion bar all comparison and inference? From observing the

growth of a hair, can we learn any thing concerning the generation of a

man? Would the manner of a leaf's blowing, even though perfectly known,

afford us any instruction concerning the vegetation of a tree?

But, allowing that we were to take the _operations_ of one part of

nature upon another, for the foundation of our judgment concerning the

_origin_ of the whole, (which never can be admitted), yet why select

so minute, so weak, so bounded a principle, as the reason and design

of animals is found to be upon this planet? What peculiar privilege

has this little agitation of the brain which we call _thought_, that

we must thus make it the model of the whole universe? Our partiality

in our own favour does indeed present it on all occasions; but sound

philosophy ought carefully to guard against so natural an illusion.

So far from admitting, continued Philo, that the operations of a part

can afford us any just conclusion concerning the origin of the whole,

I will not allow any one part to form a rule for another part, if the

latter be very remote from the former. Is there any reasonable ground

to conclude, that the inhabitants of other planets possess thought,

intelligence, reason, or any thing similar to these faculties in men?

When nature has so extremely diversified her manner of operation in

this small globe, can we imagine that she incessantly copies herself

throughout so immense a universe? And if thought, as we may well

suppose, be confined merely to this narrow corner, and has even there

so limited a sphere of action, with what propriety can we assign it for

the original cause of all things? The narrow views of a peasant, who

makes his domestic economy the rule for the government of kingdoms, is

in comparison a pardonable sophism.

But were we ever so much assured, that a thought and reason, resembling

the human, were to be found throughout the whole universe, and were

its activity elsewhere vastly greater and more commanding than it

appears in this globe; yet I cannot see, why the operations of a world

constituted, arranged, adjusted, can with any propriety be extended

to a world which is in its embryo-state, and is advancing towards

that constitution and arrangement. By observation, we know somewhat

of the economy, action, and nourishment of a finished animal; but we

must transfer with great caution that observation to the growth of a

foetus in the womb, and still more to the formation of an animalcule in

the loins of its male parent. Nature, we find, even from our limited

experience, possesses an infinite number of springs and principles,

which incessantly discover themselves on every change of her position

and situation. And what new and unknown principles would actuate her in

so new and unknown a situation as that of the formation of a universe,

we cannot, without the utmost temerity, pretend to determine.

A very small part of this great system, during a very short time,

is very imperfectly discovered to us; and do we thence pronounce

decisively concerning the origin of the whole?

Admirable conclusion! Stone, wood, brick, iron, brass, have not, at

this time, in this minute globe of earth, an order or arrangement

without human art and contrivance; therefore the universe could not

originally attain its order and arrangement, without something similar

to human art. But is a part of nature a rule for another part very wide

of the former? Is it a rule for the whole? Is a very small part a rule

for the universe? Is nature in one situation, a certain rule for nature

in another situation vastly different from the former?

And can you blame me, Cleanthes, if I here imitate the prudent reserve

of Simonides, who, according to the noted story, being asked by Hiero,

_What God was_? desired a day to think of it, and then two days more;

and after that manner continually prolonged the term, without ever

bringing in his definition or description? Could you even blame me, if

I had answered at first, _that I did not know_, and was sensible that

this subject lay vastly beyond the reach of my faculties? You might cry

out sceptic and rallier, as much as you pleased: but having found, in

so many other subjects much more familiar, the imperfections and even

contradictions of human reason, I never should expect any success from

its feeble conjectures, in a subject so sublime, and so remote from the

sphere of our observation. When two _species_ of objects have always

been observed to be conjoined together, I can _infer_, by custom, the

existence of one wherever I _see_ the existence of the other; and

this I call an argument from experience. But how this argument can

have place, where the objects, as in the present case, are single,

individual, without parallel, or specific resemblance, may be difficult

to explain. And will any man tell me with a serious countenance, that

an orderly universe must arise from some thought and art like the

human, because we have experience of it? To ascertain this reasoning,

it were requisite that we had experience of the origin of worlds; and

it is not sufficient, surely, that we have seen ships and cities arise

from human art and contrivance.

Philo was proceeding in this vehement manner, somewhat between jest

and earnest, as it appeared to me, when he observed some signs of

impatience in Cleanthes, and then immediately stopped short. What I had

to suggest, said Cleanthes, is only that you would not abuse terms, or

make use of popular expressions to subvert philosophical reasonings.

You know, that the vulgar often distinguish reason from experience,

even where the question relates only to matter of fact and existence;

though it is found, where that _reason_ is properly analyzed, that

it is nothing but a species of experience. To prove by experience

the origin of the universe from mind, is not more contrary to common

speech, than to prove the motion of the earth from the same principle.

And a caviller might raise all the same objections to the Copernican

system, which you have urged against my reasonings. Have you other

earths, might he say, which you have seen to move? Have....

Yes! cried Philo, interrupting him, we have other earths. Is not the

moon another earth, which we see to turn round its centre? Is not

Venus another earth, where we observe the same phenomenon? Are not the

revolutions of the sun also a confirmation, from analogy, of the same

theory? All the planets, are they not earths, which revolve about the

sun? Are not the satellites moons, which move round Jupiter and Saturn,

and along with these primary planets round the sun? These analogies

and resemblances, with others which I have not mentioned, are the sole

proofs of the Copernican system; and to you it belongs to consider,

whether you have any analogies of the same kind to support your theory.

In reality, Cleanthes, continued he, the modern system of astronomy

is now so much received by all inquirers, and has become so essential

a part even of our earliest education, that we are not commonly very

scrupulous in examining the reasons upon which it is founded. It is now

become a matter of mere curiosity to study the first writers on that

subject, who had the full force of prejudice to encounter, and were

obliged to turn their arguments on every side in order to render them

popular and convincing. But if we peruse Galilæo's famous Dialogues

concerning the system of the world, we shall find, that that great

genius, one of the sublimest that ever existed, first bent all his

endeavours to prove, that there was no foundation for the distinction

commonly made between elementary and celestial substances. The schools,

proceeding from the illusions of sense, had carried this distinction

very far; and had established the latter substances to be ingenerable,

incorruptible, unalterable, impassible; and had assigned all the

opposite qualities to the former. But Galilæo, beginning with the moon,

proved its similarity in every particular to the earth; its convex

figure, its natural darkness when not illuminated, its density, its

distinction into solid and liquid, the variations of its phases, the

mutual illuminations of the earth and moon, their mutual eclipses, the

inequalities of the lunar surface, &c. After many instances of this

kind, with regard to all the planets, men plainly saw that these bodies

became proper objects of experience; and that the similarity of their

nature enabled us to extend the same arguments and phenomena from one

to the other.

In this cautious proceeding of the astronomers, you may read your

own condemnation, Cleanthes; or rather may see, that the subject in

which you are engaged exceeds all human reason and inquiry. Can you

pretend to show any such similarity between the fabric of a house, find

the generation of a universe? Have you ever seen nature in any such

situation as resembles the first arrangement of the elements? Have

worlds ever been formed under your eye; and have you had leisure to

observe the whole progress of the phenomenon, from the first appearance

of order to its final consummation? If you have, then cite your

experience, and deliver your theory.

[1] Recherche de la Verité, liv. 3, cap. 9.

PART III.

How the most absurd argument, replied Cleanthes, in the hands of a

man of ingenuity and invention, may acquire an air of probability!

Are you not aware, Philo, that it became necessary for Copernicus

and his first disciples to prove the similarity of the terrestrial

and celestial matter; because several philosophers, blinded by old

systems, and supported by some sensible appearances, had denied this

similarity? but that it is by no means necessary, that Theists should

prove the similarity of the works of Nature to those of Art; because

this similarity is self-evident and undeniable? The same matter, a

like form; what more is requisite to show an analogy between their

causes, and to ascertain the origin of all things from a divine purpose

and intention? Your objections, I must freely tell you, are no better

than the abstruse cavils of those philosophers who denied motion; and

ought to be refuted in the same manner, by illustrations, examples and

instances, rather than by serious argument and philosophy.

Suppose, therefore, that an articulate voice were heard, in the clouds,

much louder and more melodious than any which human art could ever

reach: Suppose, that this voice were extended in the same instant

over all nations, and spoke to each nation in its own language and

dialect: Suppose, that the words delivered not only contain a just

sense and meaning, but convey some instruction altogether worthy of a

benevolent Being, superior to mankind: Could you possibly hesitate a

moment concerning the cause of this voice? and must you not instantly

ascribe it to some design or purpose? Yet I cannot see but all the

same objections (if they merit that appellation) which lie against the

system of Theism, may also be produced against this inference.

Might you not say, that all conclusions concerning fact were founded

on experience: that when we hear an articulate voice in the dark,

and thence infer a man, it is only the resemblance of the effects

which leads us to conclude that there is a like resemblance in the

cause: but that this extraordinary voice, by its loudness, extent, and

flexibility to all languages, bears so little analogy to any human

voice, that we have no reason to suppose any analogy in their causes:

and consequently, that a rational, wise, coherent speech proceeded, you

know not whence, from some accidental whistling of the winds, not from

any divine reason or intelligence? You see clearly your own objections

in these cavils, and I hope too you see clearly, that they cannot

possibly have more force in the one case than in the other.

But to bring the case still nearer the present one of the universe,

I shall make two suppositions, which imply not any absurdity or

impossibility. Suppose that there is a natural, universal, invariable

language, common to every individual of human race; and that books

are natural productions, which perpetuate themselves in the same

manner with animals and vegetables, by descent and propagation.

Several expressions of our passions contain a universal language: all

brute animals have a natural speech, which, however limited, is very

intelligible to their own species. And as there are infinitely fewer

parts and less contrivance in the finest composition of eloquence, than

in the coarsest organized body, the propagation of an Iliad or Æneid is

an easier supposition than that of any plant or animal.

Suppose, therefore, that you enter into your library, thus peopled by

natural volumes, containing the most refined reason and most exquisite

beauty; could you possibly open one of them, and doubt, that its

original cause bore the strongest analogy to mind and intelligence?

When it reasons and discourses; when it expostulates, argues, and

enforces its views and topics; when it applies sometimes to the pure

intellect, sometimes to the affections; when it collects, disposes, and

adorns every consideration suited to the subject; could you persist in

asserting, that all this, at the bottom, had really no meaning; and

that the first formation of this volume in the loins of its original

parent proceeded not from thought and design? Your obstinacy, I know,

reaches not that degree of firmness: even your sceptical play and

wantonness would be abashed at so glaring an absurdity.

But if there be any difference, Philo, between this supposed case and

the real one of the universe, it is all to the advantage of the latter.

The anatomy of an animal affords many stronger instances of design than

the perusal of Livy or Tacitus; and any objection which you start in

the former case, by carrying me back to so unusual and extraordinary a

scene as the first formation of worlds, the same objection has place on

the supposition of our vegetating library. Choose, then, your party,

Philo, without ambiguity or evasion; assert either that a rational

volume is no proof of a rational cause, or admit of a similar cause to

all the works of nature.

Let me here observe too, continued Cleanthes, that this religious

argument, instead of being weakened by that scepticism so much

affected by you, rather acquires force from it, and becomes more firm

and undisputed. To exclude all argument or reasoning of every kind,

is either affectation or madness. The declared profession of every

reasonable sceptic is only to reject abstruse, remote, and refined

arguments; to adhere to common sense and the plain instincts of

nature; and to assent, wherever any reasons strike him with so full

a force that he cannot, without the greatest violence, prevent it.

Now the arguments for Natural Religion are plainly of this kind; and

nothing but the most perverse, obstinate metaphysics can reject them.

Consider, anatomize the eye; survey its structure and contrivance;

and tell me, from your own feeling, if the idea of a contriver does

not immediately flow in upon you with a force like that of sensation.

The most obvious conclusion, surely, is in favour of design; and it

requires time, reflection, and study, to summon up those frivolous,

though abstruse objections, which can support Infidelity. Who can

behold the male and female of each species, the correspondence of

their parts and instincts, their passions, and whole course of life

before and after generation, but must be sensible, that the propagation

of the species is intended by Nature? Millions and millions of such

instances present themselves through every part of the universe; and

no language can convey a more intelligible irresistible meaning, than

the curious adjustment of final causes. To what degree, therefore, of

blind dogmatism must one have attained, to reject such natural and such

convincing arguments?

Some beauties in writing we may meet with, which seem contrary to

rules, and which gain the affections, and animate the imagination, in

opposition to all the precepts of criticism, and to the authority of

the established masters of art. And if the argument for Theism be, as

you pretend, contradictory to the principles of logic; its universal,

its irresistible influence proves clearly, that there may be arguments

of a like irregular nature. Whatever cavils may be urged, an orderly

world, as well as a coherent, articulate speech, will still be received

as an incontestable proof of design and intention.

It sometimes happens, I own, that the religious arguments have not

their due influence on an ignorant savage and barbarian; not because

they are obscure and difficult, but because he never asks himself any

question with regard to them. Whence arises the curious structure of

an animal? From the copulation of its parents. And these whence? From

_their_ parents? A few removes set the objects at such a distance, that

to him they are lost in darkness and confusion; nor is he actuated by

any curiosity to trace them farther. But this is neither dogmatism

nor scepticism, but stupidity: a state of mind very different from

your sifting, inquisitive disposition, my ingenious friend. You can

trace causes from effects: You can compare the most distant and

remote objects: and your greatest errors proceed not from barrenness

of thought and invention, but from too luxuriant a fertility, which

suppresses your natural good sense, by a profusion of unnecessary

scruples and objections.

Here I could observe, Hermippus, that Philo was a little embarrassed

and confounded: But while he hesitated in delivering an answer, luckily

for him, Demea broke in upon the discourse, and saved his countenance.

Your instance, Cleanthes, said he, drawn from books and language, being

familiar, has, I confess, so much more force on that account: but is

there not some danger too in this very circumstance; and may it not

render us presumptuous, by making us imagine we comprehend the Deity,

and have some adequate idea of his nature and attributes? When I read

a volume, I enter into the mind and intention of the author: I become

him, in a manner, for the instant; and have an immediate feeling and

conception of those ideas which revolved in his imagination while

employed in that composition. But so near an approach we never surely

can make to the Deity. His ways are not our ways. His attributes are

perfect, but incomprehensible. And this volume of nature contains a

great and inexplicable riddle, more than any intelligible discourse or

reasoning.

The ancient Platonists, you know, were the most religious and devout

of all the Pagan philosophers; yet many of them, particularly

Plotinus, expressly declare, that intellect or understanding is not

to be ascribed to the Deity; and that our most perfect worship of him

consists, not in acts of veneration, reverence, gratitude, or love;

but in a certain mysterious self-annihilation, or total extinction of

all our faculties. These ideas are, perhaps, too far stretched; but

still it must be acknowledged, that, by representing the Deity as so

intelligible and comprehensible, and so similar to a human mind, we are

guilty of the grossest and most narrow partiality, and make ourselves

the model of the whole universe.

All the _sentiments_ of the human mind, gratitude, resentment, love,

friendship, approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain

reference to the state and situation of man, and are calculated for

preserving the existence and promoting the activity of such a being

in such circumstances. It seems, therefore, unreasonable to transfer

such sentiments to a supreme existence, or to suppose him actuated by

them; and the phenomena besides of the universe will not support us in

such a theory. All our _ideas_ derived from the senses are confessedly

false and illusive; and cannot therefore be supposed to have place in

a supreme intelligence: And as the ideas of internal sentiment, added

to those of the external senses, compose the whole furniture of human

understanding, we may conclude, that none of the _materials_ of thought

are in any respect similar in the human and in the divine intelligence.

Now, as to the _manner_ of thinking; how can we make any comparison

between them, or suppose them any wise resembling? Our thought is

fluctuating, uncertain, fleeting, successive, and compounded; and

were we to remove these circumstances, we absolutely annihilate its

essence, and it would in such a case be an abuse of terms to apply to

it the name of thought or reason. At least if it appear more pious

and respectful (as it really is) still to retain these terms, when we

mention the Supreme Being, we ought to acknowledge, that their meaning,

in that case, is totally incomprehensible; and that the infirmities

of our nature do not permit us to reach any ideas which in the least

correspond to the ineffable sublimity of the Divine attributes.

PART IV.

It seems strange to me, said Cleanthes, that you, Demea, who are so

sincere in the cause of religion, should still maintain the mysterious,

incomprehensible nature of the Deity, and should insist so strenuously

that he has no manner of likeness or resemblance to human creatures.

The Deity, I can readily allow, possesses many powers and attributes of

which we can have no comprehension: But if our ideas, so far as they

go, be not just, and adequate, and correspondent to his real nature,

I know not what there is in this subject worth insisting on. Is the

name, without any meaning, of such mighty importance? Or how do you

mystics, who maintain the absolute incomprehensibility of the Deity,

differ from Sceptics or Atheists, who assert, that the first cause of

all is unknown and unintelligible? Their temerity must be very great,

if, after rejecting the production by a mind, I mean a mind resembling

the human, (for I know of no other), they pretend to assign, with

certainty, any other specific intelligible cause: And their conscience

must be very scrupulous indeed, if they refuse to call the universal

unknown cause a God or Deity; and to bestow on him as many sublime

eulogies and unmeaning epithets as you shall please to require of them.

Who could imagine, replied Demea, that Cleanthes, the calm

philosophical Cleanthes, would attempt to refute his antagonists

by affixing a nickname to them; and, like the common bigots and

inquisitors of the age, have recourse to invective and declamation,

instead of reasoning? Or does he not perceive, that these topics

are easily retorted, and that Anthropomorphite is an appellation as

invidious, and implies as dangerous consequences, as the epithet of

Mystic, with which he has honoured us? In reality, Cleanthes, consider

what it is you assert when you represent the Deity as similar to a

human mind and understanding. What is the soul of man? A composition

of various faculties, passions, sentiments, ideas; united, indeed,

into one self or person, but still distinct from each other. When it

reasons, the ideas, which are the parts of its discourse, arrange

themselves in a certain form or order; which is not preserved entire

for a moment, but immediately gives place to another arrangement. New

opinions, new passions, new affections, new feelings arise, which

continually diversify the mental scene, and produce in it the greatest

variety and most rapid succession imaginable. How is this compatible

with that perfect immutability and simplicity which all true Theists

ascribe to the Deity? By the same act, say they, he sees past,

present, and future: His love and hatred, his mercy and justice, are

one individual operation: He is entire in every point of space; and

complete in every instant of duration. No succession, no change, no

acquisition, no diminution. What he is implies not in it any shadow of

distinction or diversity. And what he is this moment he ever has been,

and ever will be, without any new judgment, sentiment, or operation. He

stands fixed in one simple, perfect state: nor can you ever gay, with

any propriety, that this act of his is different from that other; or

that this judgment or idea has been lately formed, and will give place,

by succession, to any different judgment or idea.

I can readily allow, said Cleanthes, that those who maintain the

perfect simplicity of the Supreme Being, to the extent in which you

have explained it, are complete Mystics, and chargeable with all the

consequences which I have drawn from their opinion. They are, in a

word, Atheists, without knowing it For though it be allowed, that the

Deity possesses attributes of which we have no comprehension, yet

ought we never to ascribe to him any attributes which are absolutely

incompatible with that intelligent nature essential to him. A mind,

whose acts and sentiments and ideas are not distinct and successive;

one, that is wholly simple, and totally immutable, is a mind which has

no thought, no reason, no will, no sentiment, no love, no hatred; or,

in a word, is no mind at all. It is an abuse of terms to give it that

appellation; and we may as well speak of limited extension without

figure, or of number without composition.

Pray consider, said Philo, whom you are at present inveighing against.

You are honouring with the appellation of _Atheist_ all the sound,

orthodox divines, almost, who have treated of this subject; and you

will at last be, yourself, found, according to your reckoning, the

only sound Theist in the world. But if idolaters be Atheists, as, I

think, may justly be asserted, and Christian Theologians the same, what

becomes of the argument, so much celebrated, derived from the universal

consent of mankind?

But because I know you are not much swayed by names and authorities,

I shall endeavour to show you, a little more distinctly, the

inconveniences of that Anthropomorphism, which you have embraced; and

shall prove, that there is no ground to suppose a plan of the world to

be formed in the Divine mind, consisting of distinct ideas, differently

arranged, in the same manner as an architect forms in his head the plan

of a house which he intends to execute.

It is not easy, I own, to see what is gained by this supposition,

whether we judge of the matter by _Reason_ or by _Experience_. We are

still obliged to mount higher, in order to find the cause of this

cause, which you had assigned as satisfactory and conclusive.

If _Reason_ (I mean abstract reason, derived from inquiries _a priori_)

be not alike mute with regard to all questions concerning cause and

effect, this sentence at least it will venture to pronounce, That

a mental world, or universe of ideas, requires a cause as much, as

does a material world, or universe of objects; and, if similar in its

arrangement, must require a similar cause. For what is there in this

subject, which should occasion a different conclusion or inference? In

an abstract view, they are entirely alike; and no difficulty attends

the one supposition, which is not common to both of them.

Again, when we will needs force _Experience_ to pronounce some

sentence, even on these subjects which lie beyond her sphere, neither

can she perceive any material difference in this particular, between

these two kinds of worlds; but finds them to be governed by similar

principles, and to depend upon an equal variety of causes in their

operations. We have specimens in miniature of both of them. Our own

mind resembles the one; a vegetable or animal body the other. Let

experience, therefore, judge from these samples. Nothing seems more

delicate, with regard to its causes, than thought; and as these causes

never operate in two persons after the same manner, so we never find

two persons who think exactly alike. Nor indeed does the same person

think exactly alike at any two different periods of time. A difference

of age, of the disposition of his body, of weather, of food, of

company, of books, of passions; any of these particulars, or others

more minute, are sufficient to alter the curious machinery of thought,

and communicate to it very different movements and operations. As far

as we can judge, vegetables and animal bodies are not more delicate

in their motions, nor depend upon a greater variety or more curious

adjustment of springs and principles.

How, therefore, shall we satisfy ourselves concerning the cause of that

Being whom you suppose the Author of Nature, or, according to your

system of Anthropomorphism, the ideal world, into which you trace the

material? Have we not the same reason to trace that ideal world into

another ideal world, or new intelligent principle? But if we stop, and

go no farther; why go so far? why not stop at the material world? How

can we satisfy ourselves without going on _in infinitum_? And, after

all, what satisfaction is there in that infinite progression? Let us

remember the story of the Indian philosopher and his elephant. It was

never more applicable than to the present subject. If the material

world rests upon a similar ideal world, this ideal world must rest upon

some other; and so on, without end. It were better, therefore, never

to look beyond the present material world. By supposing it to contain

the principle of its order within itself, we really assert it to be

God; and the sooner we arrive at that Divine Being, so much the better.

When you go one step beyond the mundane system, you only excite an

inquisitive humour which it is impossible ever to satisfy.

To say, that the different ideas which compose the reason of the

Supreme Being, fall into order of themselves, and by their own nature,

is really to talk without any precise meaning. If it has a meaning, I

would fain know, why it is not as good sense to say, that the parts

of the material world fall into order of themselves and by their own

nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible, while the other is not so?

We have, indeed, experience of ideas which fall into order of

themselves, and without any _known_ cause. But, I am sure, we have

a much larger experience of matter which does the same; as, in all

instances of generation and vegetation, where the accurate analysis of

the cause exceeds all human comprehension. We have also experience of

particular systems of thought and of matter which have no order; of the

first in madness, of the second in corruption. Why, then, should we

think, that order is more essential to one than the other? And if it

requires a cause in both, what do we gain by your system, in tracing

the universe of objects into a similar universe of ideas? The first

step which we make leads us on for ever. It were, therefore, wise in

us to limit all our inquiries to the present world, without looking

farther. No satisfaction can ever be attained by these speculations,

which so far exceed the narrow bounds of human understanding.

It was usual with the Peripatetics, you know, Cleanthes, when the cause

of any phenomenon was demanded, to have recourse to their _faculties_,

or _occult qualities_; and to say, for instance, that bread, nourished

by its nutritive faculty, and senna purged by its purgative. But it

has been discovered, that this subterfuge was nothing but the disguise

of ignorance; and that these philosophers, though less ingenuous,

really said the same thing with the sceptics or the vulgar, who

fairly confessed that they knew not the cause of these phenomena.

In like manner, when it is asked, what cause produces order in the

ideas of the Supreme Being; can any other reason be assigned by you,

Anthropomorphites, than that it is a _rational_ faculty, and that

such is the nature of the Deity? But why a similar answer will not be

equally satisfactory in accounting for the order of the world, without

having recourse to any such intelligent creator as you insist on, may

be difficult to determine. It is only to say, that _such_ is the nature

of material objects, and that they are all originally possessed of a

_faculty_ of order and proportion. These are only more learned and

elaborate ways of confessing our ignorance; nor has the one hypothesis

any real advantage above the other, except in its greater conformity to

vulgar prejudices.

You have displayed this argument with great emphasis, replied

Cleanthes: You seem not sensible how easy it is to answer it. Even in

common life, if I assign a cause for any event, is it any objection,

Philo, that I cannot assign the cause of that cause, and answer every

new question which may incessantly be started? And what philosophers

could possibly submit to so rigid a rule? philosophers, who confess

ultimate causes to be totally unknown; and are sensible, that the most

refined principles into which they trace the phenomena, are still to

them as inexplicable as these phenomena themselves are to the vulgar.

The order and arrangement of nature, the curious adjustment of final

causes, the plain use and intention of every part and organ; all these

bespeak in the clearest language an intelligent cause or author. The

heavens and the earth join in the same testimony: The whole chorus of

Nature raises one hymn to the praises of its Creator. You alone, or

almost alone, disturb this general harmony. You start abstruse doubts,

cavils, and objections: You ask me, what is the cause of this cause? I

know not; I care not; that concerns not me. I have found a Deity; and

here I stop my inquiry. Let those go farther, who are wiser or more

enterprising.

I pretend to be neither, replied Philo: And for that very reason, I

should never perhaps have attempted to go so tar; especially when I

am sensible, that I must at last be contented to sit down with the

same answer, which, without farther trouble, might have satisfied me

from the beginning. If I am still to remain in utter ignorance of

causes, and can absolutely give an explication of nothing, I shall

never esteem it any advantage to shove off for a moment a difficulty,

which, you acknowledge, must immediately, in its full force, recur

upon me. Naturalists indeed very justly explain particular effects by

more general causes, though these general causes themselves should

remain in the end totally inexplicable; but they never surely thought

it satisfactory to explain a particular effect by a particular cause,

which was no more to be accounted for than the effect itself. An ideal

system, arranged of itself, without a precedent design, is not a whit

more explicable than a material one, which attains its order in a like

manner; nor is there any more difficulty in the latter supposition than

in the former.

PART V.

But to show you still more inconveniences, continued Philo, in your

Anthropomorphism, please to take a new survey of your principles.

_Like effects prove like causes_. This is the experimental argument;

and this, you say too, is the sole theological argument. Now, it is

certain, that the liker the effects are which are seen, and the liker

the causes which are inferred, the stronger is the argument. Every

departure on either side diminishes the probability, and renders the

experiment less conclusive. You cannot doubt of the principle; neither

ought you to reject its consequences.

All the new discoveries in astronomy, which prove the immense grandeur

and magnificence of the works of Nature, are so many additional

arguments for a Deity, according to the true system of Theism; but,

according to your hypothesis of experimental Theism, they become

so many objections, by removing the effect still farther from all

resemblance to the effects of human art and contrivance. For, if

Lucretius,[1] even following the old system of the world, could exclaim,

Quis regere immensi summam, quis habere profundi

Indu manu validas potis est moderanter habenas?

Quis pariter coelos omnes convertere? et omnes

Ignibus ætheriis terras suffire feraces?

Omnibus inque locis esse omni tempore præsto?

If Tully[2] esteemed this reasoning so natural, as to put it into

the mouth of his Epicurean: 'Quibus enim oculis animi intueri potuit

vester Plato fabricam illam tanti operis, qua construi a Deo atque

ædificari mundum facit? quæ molito? quæ ferramenta? qui vectes? quæ

machinæ? qui minstri tanti muneris fuerunt? quemadmodum autem obedire

et parere voluntati architecti aer, ignis, aqua, terra potuerunt?' If

this argument, I say, had any force in former ages, how much greater

must it have at present, when the bounds of Nature are so infinitely

enlarged, and such a magnificent scene is opened to us? It is still

more unreasonable to form our idea of so unlimited a cause from our

experience of the narrow productions of human design and invention.

The discoveries by microscopes, as they open a new universe in

miniature, are still objections, according to you, arguments, according

to me. The farther we push our researches of this kind, we are still

led to infer the universal cause of all to be vastly different from

mankind, or from any object of human experience and observation.

And what say you to the discoveries in anatomy, chemistry, botany?...

These surely are no objections, replied Cleanthes; they only discover

new instances of art and contrivance. It is still the image of mind

reflected on us from innumerable objects. Add, a mind _like the human_,

said Philo. I know of no other, replied Cleanthes. And the liker the

better, insisted Philo. To be sure, said Cleanthes.

Now, Cleanthes, said Philo, with an air of alacrity and triumph, mark

the consequences. _First_, By this method of reasoning, you renounce

all claim to infinity in any of the attributes of the Deity. For,

as the cause ought only to be proportioned to the effect, and the

effect, so far as it falls under our cognizance, is not infinite; what

pretensions have we, upon your suppositions, to ascribe that attribute

to the Divine Being? You will still insist, that, by removing him so

much from all similarity to human creatures, we give in to the most

arbitrary hypothesis, and at the same time weaken all proofs of his

existence.

_Secondly_, You have no reason, on your theory, for ascribing

perfection to the Deity, even in his finite capacity, or for

supposing him free from every error, mistake, or incoherence, in his

undertakings. There are many inexplicable difficulties in the works of

Nature, which, if we allow a perfect author to be proved _a priori_,

are easily solved, and become only seeming difficulties, from the

narrow capacity of man, who cannot trace infinite relations. But

according to your method of reasoning, these difficulties become all

real; and perhaps will be insisted on, as new instances of likeness to

human art and contrivance. At least, you must acknowledge, that it is

impossible for us to tell, from our limited views, whether this system

contains any great faults, or deserves any considerable praise, if

compared to other possible, and even real systems. Could a peasant,

if the Æneid were read to him, pronounce that poem to be absolutely

faultless, or even assign to it its proper rank among the productions

of human wit, he, who had never seen any other production?

But were this world ever so perfect a production, it must still remain

uncertain, whether all the excellences of the work can justly be

ascribed to the workman. If we survey a ship, what an exalted idea must

we form of the ingenuity of the carpenter who framed so complicated,

useful, and beautiful a machine? And what surprise must we feel, when

we find him a stupid mechanic, who imitated others, and copied an art,

which, through a long succession of ages, after multiplied trials,

mistakes, corrections, deliberations, and controversies, had been

gradually improving? Many worlds might have been botched and bungled,

throughout an eternity, ere this system was struck out; much labour

lost, many fruitless trials made; and a slow, but continued improvement

carried on during infinite ages in the art of world-making. In such

subjects, who can determine, where the truth; nay, who can conjecture

where the probability lies, amidst a great number of hypotheses which

may be proposed, and a still greater which may be imagined?

And what shadow of an argument, continued Philo, can you produce, from

your hypothesis, to prove the unity of the Deity? A great number of

men join in building a house or ship, in rearing a city, in framing a

commonwealth; why may not several deities combine in contriving and

framing a world? This is only so much greater similarity to human

affairs. By sharing the work among several, we may so much farther

limit the attributes of each, and get rid of that extensive power and

knowledge, which must be supposed in one deity, and which, according to

you, can only serve to weaken the proof of his existence. And if such

foolish, such vicious creatures as man, can yet often unite in framing

and executing one plan, how much more those deities or demons, whom we

may suppose several degrees more perfect!

To multiply causes without necessity, is indeed contrary to true

philosophy: but this principle applies not to the present case. Were

one deity antecedently proved by your theory, who were possessed

of every attribute requisite to the production of the universe; it

would be needless, I own, (though not absurd), to suppose any other

deity existent. But while it is still a question, Whether all these

attributes are united in one subject, or dispersed among several

independent beings, by what phenomena in nature can we pretend to

decide the controversy? Where we see a body raised in a scale, we

are sure that there is in the opposite scale, however concealed from

sight, some counterpoising weight equal to it; but it is still allowed

to doubt, whether that weight be an aggregate of several distinct

bodies, or one uniform united mass. And if the weight requisite very

much exceeds any thing which we have ever seen conjoined in any single

body, the former supposition becomes still more probable and natural.

An intelligent being of such vast power and capacity as is necessary

to produce the universe, or, to speak in the language of ancient

philosophy, so prodigious an animal exceeds all analogy, and even

comprehension.

But farther, Cleanthes: Men are mortal, and renew their species by

generation; and this is common to all living creatures. The two great

sexes of male and female, says Milton, animate the world. Why must

this circumstance, so universal, so essential, be excluded from those

numerous and limited deities? Behold, then, the theogony of ancient

times brought back upon us.

And why not become a perfect Anthropomorphite? Why not assert the deity

or deities to be corporeal, and to have eyes, a nose, mouth, ears, &c.?

Epicurus maintained, that no man had ever seen reason but in a human

figure; therefore the gods must have a human figure. And this argument,

which is deservedly so much ridiculed by Cicero, becomes, according to

you, solid and philosophical.

In a word, Cleanthes, a man who follows your hypothesis is able perhaps

to assert, or conjecture, that the universe, sometime, arose from

something like design: but beyond that position he cannot ascertain one

single circumstance; and is left afterwards to fix every point of his

theology by the utmost license of fancy and hypothesis. This world, for

aught he knows, is very faulty and imperfect, compared to a superior

standard; and was only the first rude essay of some infant deity, who

afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his lame performance: it is the

work only of some dependent, inferior deity; and is the object of

derision to his superiors: it is the production of old age and dotage

in some superannuated deity; and ever since his death, has run on at

adventures, from the first impulse and active force which it received

from him. You justly give signs of horror, Demea, at these strange

suppositions; but these, and a thousand more of the same kind, are

Cleanthes's suppositions, not mine. From the moment the attributes of

the Deity are supposed finite, all these have place. And I cannot, for

my part, think that so wild and unsettled a system of theology is, in

any respect, preferable to none at all.

These suppositions I absolutely disown, cried Cleanthes: they strike

me, however, with no horror, especially when proposed in that

rambling way in which they drop from you. On the contrary, they give

me pleasure, when I see, that, by the utmost indulgence of your

imagination, you never get rid of the hypothesis of design in the

universe, but are obliged at every turn to have recourse to it. To

this concession I adhere steadily; and this I regard as a sufficient

foundation for religion.

[1] Lib. xi. 1094.

[2] De Nat Deor. lib. i.

PART VI.

It must be a slight fabric, indeed, said Demea, which can be erected

on so tottering a foundation. While we are uncertain whether there is

one deity or many; whether the deity or deities, to whom we owe our

existence, be perfect or imperfect, subordinate or supreme, dead or

alive, what trust or confidence can we repose in them? What devotion or

worship address to them? What veneration or obedience pay them? To all

the purposes of life the theory of religion becomes altogether useless:

and even with regard to speculative consequences, its uncertainty,

according to you, must render it totally precarious and unsatisfactory.

To render it still more unsatisfactory, said Philo, there occurs to me

another hypothesis, which must acquire an air of probability from the

method of reasoning so much insisted on by Cleanthes. That like effects

arise from like causes: this principle he supposes the foundation of

all religion. But there is another principle of the same kind, no less

certain, and derived from the same source of experience; that where

several known circumstances are observed to be similar, the unknown

will also be found similar. Thus, if we see the limbs of a human body,

we conclude that it is also attended with a human head, though hid from

us. Thus, if we see, through a chink in a wall, a small part of the

sun, we conclude, that, were the wall removed, we should see the whole

body. In short, this method of reasoning is so obvious and familiar,

that no scruple can ever be made with regard to its solidity.

Now, if we survey the universe, so far as it falls under our knowledge,

it bears a great resemblance to an animal or organized body, and

seems actuated with a like principle of life and motion. A continual

circulation of matter in it produces no disorder: a continual waste in

every part is incessantly repaired: the closest sympathy is perceived

throughout the entire system: and each part or member, in performing

its proper offices, operates both to its own preservation and to that

of the whole. The world, therefore, I infer, is an animal; and the

Deity is the soul of the world, actuating it, and actuated by it.

You have too much learning, Cleanthes, to be at all surprised at this

opinion, which, you know, was maintained by almost all the Theists of

antiquity, and chiefly prevails in their discourses and reasonings.

For though, sometimes, the ancient philosophers reason from final

causes, as if they thought the world the workmanship of God; yet it

appears rather their favourite notion to consider it as his body, whose

organization renders it subservient to him. And it must be confessed,

that, as the universe resembles more a human body than it does the

works of human art and contrivance, if our limited analogy could ever,

with any propriety, be extended to the whole of nature, the inference

seems juster in favour of the ancient than the modern theory.

There are many other advantages, too, in the former theory, which

recommended it to the ancient theologians. Nothing more repugnant

to all their notions, because nothing more repugnant to common

experience, than mind without body; a mere spiritual substance,

which fell not under their senses nor comprehension, and of which

they had not observed one single instance throughout all nature. Mind

and body they knew, because they felt both: an order, arrangement,

organization, or internal machinery, in both, they likewise knew, after

the same manner: and it could not but seem reasonable to transfer this

experience to the universe; and to suppose the divine mind and body

to be also coeval, and to have, both of them, order and arrangement

naturally inherent in them, and inseparable from them.

Here, therefore, is a new species of _Anthropomorphism_, Cleanthes,

on which you may deliberate; and a theory which seems not liable to

any considerable difficulties. You are too much superior, surely, to

_systematical prejudices_, to find any more difficulty in supposing

an animal body to be, originally, of itself, or from unknown causes,

possessed of order and organization, than in supposing a similar order

to belong to mind. But the _vulgar prejudice_, that body and mind

ought always to accompany each other, ought not, one should think, to

be entirely neglected; since it is founded on _vulgar experience_,

the only guide which you profess to follow in all these theological

inquiries. And if you assert, that our limited experience is an

unequal standard, by which to judge of the unlimited extent of nature;

you entirely abandon your own hypothesis, and must thenceforward

adopt our Mysticism, as you call it, and admit of the absolute

incomprehensibility of the Divine Nature.

This theory, I own, replied Cleanthes, has never before occurred to me,

though a pretty natural one; and I cannot readily, upon so short an

examination and reflection, deliver any opinion with regard to it. You

are very scrupulous, indeed, said Philo: were I to examine any system

of yours, I should not have acted with half that caution and reserve,

in starting objections and difficulties to it. However, if any thing

occur to you, you will oblige us by proposing it.

Why then, replied Cleanthes, it seems to me, that, though the world

does, in many circumstances, resemble an animal body; yet is the

analogy also defective in many circumstances the most material: no

organs of sense; no seat of thought or reason; no one precise origin of

motion and action. In short, it seems to bear a stronger resemblance

to a vegetable than to an animal, and your inference would be so far

inconclusive in favour of the soul of the world.

But, in the next place, your theory seems to imply the eternity of

the world; and that is a principle, which, I think, can be refuted by

the strongest reasons and probabilities. I shall suggest an argument

to this purpose, which, I believe, has not been insisted on by any

writer. Those, who reason from the late origin of arts and sciences,

though their inference wants not force, may perhaps be refuted by

considerations derived from the nature of human society, which is in

continual revolution, between ignorance and knowledge, liberty and

slavery, riches and poverty; so that it is impossible for us, from

our limited experience, to foretel with assurance what events may or

may not be expected. Ancient learning and history seem to have been

in great danger of entirely perishing after the inundation of the

barbarous nations; and had these convulsions continued a little longer,

or been a little more violent, we should not probably have now known

what passed in the world a few centuries before us. Nay, were it not

for the superstition of the Popes, who preserved a little jargon of

Latin, in order to support the appearance of an ancient and universal

church, that tongue must have been utterly lost; in which case, the

Western world, being totally barbarous, would not have been in a fit

disposition for receiving the Greek language and learning, which was

conveyed to them after the sacking of Constantinople. When learning

and books had been extinguished, even the mechanical arts would have

fallen considerably to decay; and it is easily imagined, that fable or

tradition might ascribe to them a much later origin than the true one.

This vulgar argument, therefore, against the eternity of the world,

seems a little precarious.

But here appears to be the foundation of a better argument. Lucullus

was the first that brought cherry-trees from Asia to Europe; though

that tree thrives so well in many European climates, that it grows

in the woods without any culture. Is it possible, that throughout a

whole eternity, no European had ever passed into Asia, and thought of

transplanting so delicious a fruit into his own country? Or if the tree

was once transplanted and propagated, how could it ever afterwards

perish? Empires may rise and fall, liberty and slavery succeed

alternately, ignorance and knowledge give place to each other; but the

cherry-tree will still remain in the woods of Greece, Spain and Italy,

and will never be affected by the revolutions of human society.

It is not two thousand years since vines were transplanted into France,

though there is no climate in the world more favourable to them. It

is not three centuries since horses, cows, sheep, swine, dogs, corn,

were known in America. Is it possible, that during the revolutions

of a whole eternity, there never arose a Columbus, who might open

the communication between Europe and that continent? We may as well

imagine, that all men would wear stockings for ten thousand years, and

never have the sense to think of garters to tie them. All these seem

convincing proofs of the youth, or rather infancy, of the world; as

being founded on the operation of principles more constant and steady

than those by which human society is governed and directed. Nothing

less than a total convulsion of the elements will ever destroy all

the European animals and vegetables which are now to be found in the

Western world.

And what argument have you against such convulsions? replied Philo.

Strong and almost incontestable proofs may be traced over the whole

earth, that every part of this globe has continued for many ages

entirely covered with water. And though order were supposed inseparable

from matter, and inherent in it; yet may matter be susceptible of many

and great revolutions, through the endless periods of eternal duration.

The incessant changes, to which every part of it is subject, seem to

intimate some such general transformations; though, at the same time,

it is observable, that all the changes and corruptions of which we

have ever had experience, are but passages from one state of order to

another; nor can matter ever rest in total deformity and confusion.

What we see in the parts, we may infer in the whole; at least, that

is the method of reasoning on which you rest your whole theory. And

were I obliged to defend any particular system of this nature, which I

never willingly should do, I esteem none more plausible than that which

ascribes an eternal inherent principle of order to the world, though

attended with great and continual revolutions and alterations. This at

once solves all difficulties; and if the solution, by being so general,

is not entirely complete and satisfactory, it is at least a theory that

we must sooner or later have recourse to, whatever system we embrace.

How could things have been as they are, were there not an original

inherent principle of order somewhere, in thought or in matter? And it

is very indifferent to which of these we give the preference. Chance

has no place, on any hypothesis, sceptical or religious. Every thing

is surely governed by steady, inviolable laws. And were the inmost

essence of things laid open to us, we should then discover a scene,

of which, at present, we can have no idea. Instead of admiring the

order of natural beings, we should clearly see that it was absolutely

impossible for them, in the smallest article, ever to admit of any

other disposition.

Were any one inclined to revive the ancient Pagan Theology, which

maintained, as we learn from Hesiod, that this globe was governed

by 30,000 deities, who arose from the unknown powers of nature: you

would naturally object, Cleanthes, that nothing is gained by this

hypothesis; and that it is as easy to suppose all men animals, beings

more numerous, but less perfect, to have sprung immediately from a

like origin. Push the same inference a step farther, and you will find

a numerous society of deities as explicable as one universal deity,

who possesses within himself the powers and perfections of the whole

society. All these systems, then, of Scepticism, Polytheism, and

Theism, you must allow, on your principles, to be on a like footing,

and that no one of them has any advantage over the others. You may

thence learn the fallacy of your principles.

PART VII.

But here, continued Philo, in examining the ancient system of the soul

of the world, there strikes me, all on a sudden, a new idea, which, if

just, must go near to subvert all your reasoning, and destroy even your

first inferences, on which you repose such confidence. If the universe

bears a greater likeness to animal bodies and to vegetables, than to

the works of human art, it is more probable that its cause resembles

the cause of the former than that of the latter, and its origin ought

rather to be ascribed to generation or vegetation, than to reason or

design. Your conclusion, even according to your own principles, is

therefore lame and defective.

Pray open up this argument a little farther, said Demea, for I do not

rightly apprehend it in that concise manner in which you have expressed

it.

Our friend Cleanthes, replied Philo, as you have heard, asserts, that

since no question of fact can be proved otherwise than by experience,

the existence of a Deity admits not of proof from any other medium. The

world, says he, resembles the works of human contrivance; therefore

its cause must also resemble that of the other. Here we may remark,

that the operation of one very small part of nature, to wit man, upon

another very small part, to wit that inanimate matter lying within

his reach, is the rule by which Cleanthes judges of the origin of

the whole; and he measures objects, so widely disproportioned, by the

same individual standard. But to waive all objections drawn from this

topic, I affirm, that there are other parts of the universe (besides

the machines of human invention) which bear still a greater resemblance

to the fabric of the world, and which, therefore, afford a better

conjecture concerning the universal origin of this system. These parts

are animals and vegetables. The world plainly resembles more an animal

or a vegetable, than it does a watch or a knitting-loom. Its cause,

therefore, it is more probable, resembles the cause of the former. The

cause of the former is generation or vegetation. The cause, therefore,

of the world, we may infer to be something similar or analogous to

generation or vegetation.

But how is it conceivable, said Demea, that the world can arise from

any thing similar to vegetation or generation?

Very easily, replied Philo. In like manner as a tree sheds its seed

into the neighbouring fields, and produces other trees; so the great

vegetable, the world, or this planetary system, produces within itself

certain seeds, which, being scattered into the surrounding chaos,

vegetate into new worlds. A comet, for instance, is the seed of a

world; and after it has been fully ripened, by passing from sun to sun,

and star to star, it is at last tossed into the unformed elements which

every where surround this universe, and immediately sprouts up into a

new system.

Or if, for the sake of variety (for I see no other advantage), we

should suppose this world to be an animal; a comet is the egg of this

animal: and in like manner as an ostrich lays its egg in the sand,

which, without any farther care, hatches the egg, and produces a new

animal; so ... I understand you, says Demea: But what wild, arbitrary

suppositions are these! What _data_ have you for such extraordinary

conclusions? And is the slight, imaginary resemblance of the world to

a vegetable or an animal sufficient to establish the same inference

with regard to both? Objects, which are in general so widely different,

ought they to be a standard for each other?

Right, cries Philo: This is the topic on which I have all along

insisted. I have still asserted, that we have no _data_ to establish

any system of cosmogony. Our experience, so imperfect in itself, and

so limited both in extent and duration, can afford us no probable

conjecture concerning the whole of things. But if we must needs fix

on some hypothesis; by what rule, pray, ought we to determine our

choice? Is there any other rule than the greater similarity of the

objects compared? And does not a plant or an animal, which springs from

vegetation or generation, bear a stronger resemblance to the world,

than does any artificial machine, which arises from reason and design?

But what is this vegetation and generation of which you talk, said

Demea? Can you explain their operations, and anatomize that fine

internal structure on which they depend?

As much, at least, replied Philo, as Cleanthes can explain the

operations of reason, or anatomize that internal structure on which

_it_ depends. But without any such elaborate disquisitions, when I

see an animal, I infer, that it sprang from generation; and that with

as great certainty as you conclude a house to have been reared by

design. These words, _generation, reason_, mark only certain powers

and energies in nature, whose effects are known, but whose essence is

incomprehensible; and one of these principles, more than the other, has

no privilege for being made a standard to the whole of nature.

In reality, Demea, it may reasonably be expected, that the larger the

views are which we take of things, the better will they conduct us in

our conclusions concerning such extraordinary and such magnificent

subjects. In this little corner of the world alone, there are four

principles, _reason, instinct, generation, vegetation_, which are

similar to each other, and are the causes of similar effects. What a

number of other principles may we naturally suppose in the immense

extent and variety of the universe, could we travel from planet to

planet, and from system to system, in order to examine each part of

this mighty fabric? Any one of these four principles above mentioned,

(and a hundred others which lie open to our conjecture), may afford

us a theory by which to judge of the origin of the world; and it is

a palpable and egregious partiality to confine our view entirely to

that principle by which our own minds operate. Were this principle

more intelligible on that account, such a partiality might be somewhat

excuseable: But reason, in its internal fabric and structure, is

really as little known to us as instinct or vegetation; and, perhaps,

even that vague, undeterminate word, _Nature_, to which the vulgar

refer every thing, is not at the bottom more inexplicable. The

effects of these principles are all known to us from experience;

but the principles themselves, and their manner of operation, are

totally unknown; nor is it less intelligible, or less conformable to

experience, to say, that the world arose by vegetation, from a seed

shed by another world, than to say that it arose from a divine reason

or contrivance, according to the sense in which Cleanthes understands

it.

But methinks, said Demea, if the world had a vegetative quality, and

could sow the seeds of new worlds into the infinite chaos, this power

would be still an additional argument for design in its author. For

whence could arise so wonderful a faculty but from design? Or how can

order spring from any thing which perceives not that order which it

bestows?

You need only look around you, replied Philo, to satisfy yourself with

regard to this question. A tree bestows order and organization on that

tree which springs from it, without knowing the order; an animal in

the same manner on its offspring; a bird on its nest; and instances

of this kind are even more frequent in the world than those of order,

which arise from reason and contrivance. To say, that all this order

in animals and vegetables proceeds ultimately from design, is begging

the question; nor can that great point be ascertained otherwise than by

proving, _a priori_, both that order is, from its nature, inseparably

attached to thought; and that it can never of itself, or from original

unknown principles, belong to matter.

But farther, Demea; this objection which you urge can never be made

use of by Cleanthes, without renouncing a defence which he has already

made against one of my objections. When I inquired concerning the

cause of that supreme reason and intelligence into which he resolves

every thing; he told me, that the impossibility of satisfying such

inquiries could never be admitted as an objection in any species of

philosophy. _We must stop somewhere_, says he; _nor is it ever within

the reach of human capacity to explain ultimate causes, of show the

last connections of any objects. It is sufficient, if any steps, so

far as we go, are supported by experience and observation_. Now, that

vegetation and generation, as well as reason, are experienced to be

principles of order in nature, is undeniable. If I rest my system of

cosmogony on the former, preferably to the latter, it is at my choice.

The matter seems entirely arbitrary. And when Cleanthes asks me what is

the cause of my great vegetative or generative faculty, I am equally

entitled to ask him the cause of his great reasoning principle. These

questions we have agreed to forbear on both sides; and it is chiefly

his interest on the present occasion to stick to this agreement.

Judging by our limited and imperfect experience, generation has some

privileges above reason: for we see every day the latter arise from the

former, never the former from the latter.

Compare, I beseech you, the consequences on both sides. The world, say

I, resembles an animal; therefore it is an animal, therefore it arose

from generation. The steps, I confess, are wide; yet there is some

small appearance of analogy in each step. The world, says Cleanthes,

resembles a machine; therefore it is a machine, therefore it arose from

design. The steps are here equally wide, and the analogy less striking.

And if he pretends to carry on _my_ hypothesis a step farther, and

to infer design or reason from the great principle of generation, on

which I insist; I may, with better authority, use the same freedom

to push farther _his_ hypothesis, and infer a divine generation or

theogony from his principle of reason. I have at least some faint

shadow of experience, which is the utmost that can ever be attained in

the present subject. Reason, in innumerable instances, is observed to

arise from the principle of generation, and never to arise from any

other principle.

Hesiod, and all the ancient mythologists, were so struck with this

analogy, that they universally explained the origin of nature from an

animal birth, and copulation. Plato too, so far as he is intelligible,

seems to have adopted some such notion in his Timæus.

The Brahmins assert, that the world arose from an infinite spider,

who spun this whole complicated mass from his bowels, and annihilates

afterwards the whole or any part of it, by absorbing it again, and

resolving it into his own essence. Here is a species of cosmogony,

which appears to us ridiculous; because a spider is a little

contemptible animal, whose operations we are never likely to take for

a model of the whole universe. But still here is a new species of

analogy, even in our globe. And were there a planet wholly inhabited by

spiders, (which is very possible), this inference would there appear

as natural and irrefragable as that which in our planet ascribes the

origin of all things to design and intelligence, as explained by

Cleanthes. Why an orderly system may not be spun from the belly as well

as from the brain, it will be difficult for him to give a satisfactory

reason.

I must confess, Philo, replied Cleanthes, that of all men living, the

task which you have undertaken, of raising doubts and objections,

suits you best, and seems, in a manner, natural and unavoidable to

you. So great is your fertility of invention, that I am not ashamed

to acknowledge myself unable, on a sudden, to solve regularly such

out-of-the-way difficulties as you incessantly start upon me: though

I clearly see, in general, their fallacy and error. And I question

not, but you are yourself, at present, in the same case, and have not

the solution so ready as the objection: while you must be sensible,

that common sense and reason are entirely against you; and that such

whimsies as you have delivered, may puzzle, but never can convince us.

PART VIII.

What you ascribe to the fertility of my invention, replied Philo,

is entirely owing to the nature of the subject. In subjects adapted

to the narrow compass of human reason, there is commonly but one

determination, which carries probability or conviction with it; and to

a man of sound judgment, all other suppositions, but that one, appear

entirely absurd and chimerical. But in such questions as the present, a

hundred contradictory views may preserve a kind of imperfect analogy;

and invention has here full scope to exert itself. Without any great

effort of thought, I believe that I could, in an instant, propose other

systems of cosmogony, which would have some faint appearance of truth;

though it is a thousand, a million to one, if either yours or any one

of mine be the true system.

For instance, what if I should revive the old Epicurean hypothesis?

This is commonly, and I believe justly, esteemed the most absurd

system that has yet been proposed; yet I know not whether, with a few

alterations, it might not be brought to bear a faint appearance of

probability. Instead of supposing matter infinite, as Epicurus did, let

us suppose it finite. A finite number of particles is only susceptible

of finite transpositions: and it must happen, in an eternal duration,

that every possible order or position must be tried an infinite number

of times. This world, therefore, with all its events, even the most

minute, has before been produced and destroyed, and will again be

produced and destroyed, without any bounds and limitations. No one, who

has a conception of the powers of infinite, in comparison of finite,

will ever scruple this determination.

But this supposes, said Demea, that matter can acquire motion, without

any voluntary agent or first mover.

And where is the difficulty, replied Philo, of that supposition? Every

event, before experience, is equally difficult and incomprehensible;

and every event, after experience, is equally easy and intelligible.

Motion, in many instances, from gravity, from elasticity, from

electricity, begins in matter, without any known voluntary agent:

and to suppose always, in these cases, an unknown voluntary agent,

is mere hypothesis; and hypothesis attended with no advantages. The

beginning of motion in matter itself is as conceivable _a priori_ as

its communication from mind and intelligence.

Besides, why may not motion have been propagated by impulse through all

eternity, and the same stock of it, or nearly the same, be still upheld

in the universe? As much is lost by the composition of motion, as much

is gained by its resolution. And whatever the causes are, the fact is

certain, that matter is, and always has been, in continual agitation,

as far as human experience or tradition reaches. There is not probably,

at present, in the whole universe, one particle of matter at absolute

rest.

And this very consideration too, continued Philo, which we have

stumbled on in the course of the argument, suggests a new hypothesis

of cosmogony, that is not absolutely absurd and improbable. Is there a

system, an order, an economy of things, by which matter can preserve

that perpetual agitation which seems essential to it, and yet maintain

a constancy in the forms which it produces? There certainly is such

an economy; for this is actually the case with the present world.

The continual motion of matter, therefore, in less than infinite

transpositions, must produce this economy or order; and by its very

nature, that order, when once established, supports itself, for many

ages, if not to eternity. But wherever matter is so poized, arranged,

and adjusted, as to continue in perpetual motion, and yet preserve a

constancy in the forms, its situation must, of necessity, have all the

same appearance of art and contrivance which we observe at present. All

the parts of each form must have a relation to each other, and to the

whole; and the whole itself must have a relation to the other parts

of the universe; to the element in which the form subsists; to the

materials with which it repairs its waste and decay; and to every other

form which is hostile or friendly. A defect in any of these particulars

destroys the form; and the matter of which it is composed is again set

loose, and is thrown into irregular motions and fermentations, till it

unite itself to some other regular form. If no such form be prepared

to receive it, and if there be a great quantity of this corrupted

matter in the universe, the universe itself is entirely disordered;

whether it be the feeble embryo of a world in its first beginnings

that is thus destroyed, or the rotten carcase of one languishing in

old age and infirmity. In either case, a chaos ensues; till finite,

though innumerable revolutions produce at last some forms, whose parts

and organs are so adjusted as to support the forms amidst a continued

succession of matter.

Suppose (for we shall endeavour to vary the expression), that matter

were thrown into any position, by a blind, unguided force; it is

evident that this first position must, in all probability, be the

most confused and most disorderly imaginable, without any resemblance

to those works of human contrivance, which, along with a symmetry of

parts, discover an adjustment of means to ends, and a tendency to

self-preservation. If the actuating force cease after this operation,

matter must remain for ever in disorder, and continue an immense chaos,

without any proportion or activity. But suppose that the actuating

force, whatever it be, still continues in matter, this first position

will immediately give place to a second, which will likewise in all

probability be as disorderly as the first, and so on through many

successions of changes and revolutions. No particular order or position

ever continues a moment unaltered. The original force, still remaining

in activity, gives a perpetual restlessness to matter. Every possible

situation is produced, and instantly destroyed. If a glimpse or dawn

of order appears for a moment, it is instantly hurried away, and

confounded, by that never-ceasing force which actuates every part of

matter.

Thus the universe goes on for many ages in a continued succession

of chaos and disorder. But is it not possible that it may settle at

last, so as not to lose its motion and active force (for that we

have supposed inherent in it), yet so as to preserve an uniformity

of appearance, amidst the continual motion and fluctuation of its

parts? This we find to be the case with the universe at present.

Every individual is perpetually changing, and every part of every

individual; and yet the whole remains, in appearance, the same. May we

not hope for such a position, or rather be assured of it, from the

eternal revolutions of unguided matter; and may not this account for

all the appearing wisdom and contrivance which is in the universe?

Let us contemplate the subject a little, and we shall find, that this

adjustment, if attained by matter of a seeming stability in the forms,

with a real and perpetual revolution or motion of parts, affords a

plausible, if not a true solution of the difficulty.