CHAPTER II.

PHILOSOPHY OF DESIGN.

The argument from Design in Nature has been made familiar to most

readers in Natural Theology by Paley's well-known book. It is probable

that no argument has ever been more praised, and at the same time

more strongly controverted. Our business lies, of course, with the

controversy; and we must say a few words on our present mode of dealing

with it.

Nothing could be more useless than to repeat illustrative examples

of Design already thrice told by an endless variety of treatises. Of

so wide a subject everything may be quoted as an illustration, from

a pebble to a world, if only the principle illustrated--the pivot on

which the argument turns--be understood and admitted. In modern times,

this turning-point is precisely the centre of the dispute. Untrained

minds misapprehend the meaning of the word Design, and are further

still from apprehending the real force of argument from analogy. And

when these subjects come to be discussed by skilled writers, various

questions are always raised which generally issue in irreconcilable

differences of opinion.

Our plan here will be to take the argument in its best-known shape,

and examine it from the points of view occupied by several classes

of objectors, beginning, as is reasonable, with the most popular

difficulties and misapprehensions. It does not seem necessary to load

the page with references to controversialists of the ordinary sort,

particularly as we endeavour to look at the whole question through

their eyes.

Respecting the more philosophic questions it is necessary to observe,

that the Evolution-theory will not form a topic of the present chapter.

It is excluded for two reasons. One, that we are now trying to put a

value on the argument from Design _per se_, and not to compare it with

rival theories. The other reason springs from the subject of Evolution

itself--it is too extensive to be thus briefly treated--and the sum of

this Essay must be taken together as furnishing a counter statement

to the manner in which it has been employed by certain of its ardent

advocates.[14]

We hope for a further advantage from the method proposed. The cause of

truth ought to gain from being looked at on more than one side; and,

whatever be the worth and true effect of reasoning from Design, we may

expect by this method to display it adequately.

The word itself, like all figurative terms--or words used in a

secondary sense--is by no means free from ambiguity. It has, in common

parlance, several shades of signification. Design being the centre of

Paley's argument, and containing the one idea which gives force to all

the rest: his first object was to fix the sense in which he employed

it. He did so by using an illustration.

To explain by comparison is always a popular resource, some serious

drawbacks notwithstanding. Almost every one prefers that an author

should use a sparkling similitude which tells a great deal, rather

than write what looks like a grammar and dictionary of his science.

Analysis and induction require thought on the part of him who employs

them--thought also on the part of a reader determined to understand

what he reads. Paley saw all this thoroughly, and at the beginning

of his book employed the now celebrated comparison taken from a

watchmaker and a watch. His judgment received support from the

popularity he enjoyed, and from the way in which everybody borrowed his

illustration.[15]

Yet Paley's deference to the popular understanding gave rise to the

first general misapprehension of his treatise. He sets out from a kind

of surprise--the surprise his readers would feel at finding a watch

upon a heath. Now this feeling was immediately alleged as a conclusive

objection against Paley's comparison, and as a ground for distrusting

the whole argument founded upon it. The world, it was said, cannot be

likened to a watch, nor yet to any other sort of mechanism. Between

things natural, and the things which men make, the difference is not

a mere contrast of perfection with imperfection. The real reason why

we are surprised to see Paley's watch lying on a moor--and not at all

surprised to see Paley's stone lying beside it--springs from this

very difference. And though the history of a stone, common, coarse,

and worthless, is really more wonderful than the history of any watch,

and though the stone has an infinitely longer pedigree, we should

never speak or think of it in the same way. We feel that the objects

are dissimilar, and our surprise testifies the fact. A heath is given

up to nature, a watchmaker's shop to art. The watch is out of place

among stones, the stone among watches. The idea raised at the outset,

therefore, is that Art and Nature would seem to be thoroughly unlike.

At a first view of the subject, these remarks appear open to one

obvious rejoinder. The sort of surprised feeling which Paley describes,

is not in itself a proof of real unlikeness. A weed is a plant out

of place; we do not expect thriving crops of cabbage or teazle in a

carefully kept rose-garden, nor gooseberry bushes amongst azaleas. The

proudest flower that blossoms is a weed in a vineyard, in a plot of

opium-poppies, or mixed with other herbs medicinal. So, too, a rough

diamond would not be out of place in a watchmaker's shop; but if we

saw a stone of no selling value inside a case of watches we should

certainly experience some surprise. And the feeling would remain even

though we were quite unable to explain how the poor pebble differed

chemically from the priceless gem. We know that the latter would appear

to a jeweller's customers like a rose among flowers, but the former

worthless as a weed. The jeweller would consider it a trespasser fit

only to be turned out of doors.

But does this rejoinder satisfactorily dispose of the difficulty? Is

not the true reason why we might observe with some wonder a watch lying

upon a moor resolvable into the fact of our knowing its use and being

quite sure that some one had dropped it there?[k] A savage might not

feel in the least surprised, unless, indeed, he happened to suppose

that the watch was a kind of animal he had never seen before, and took

notice of the singular sound it made. In this event he would probably

break it to pieces without discovering the purpose or mode of its

contrivance.

Throughout all disputatious matter, a thought on one side leads to a

thought upon the other--at least, amongst tolerably fair people. The

idea which we have just imagined our savage to entertain respecting a

watch suggests a further question. What effect ought in reason to be

produced upon cultured minds by the contemplation of some unknown or

half-comprehended phenomenon?--a question this, closely bearing upon

the whole subject under discussion. Now surely it is from intelligent

wonder--a contrast of the unknown with what we already know--a feeling

of mystery to be solved by us, that inquiry and science perpetually

spring. A fossil-shell, the former habitation of a marine animal, found

upon some mountain top, presents a contrast and a mystery of this kind.

Moreover, the highest triumph of inquiring science is the discovery,

not of difference anywhere, but rather of resemblances in objects

apparently diverse. An uninquiring mind will never perceive any common

attribute, either ideal or structural, between a stone and a watch.

But did Paley himself perceive any such community of attribute? So

far does he appear from the perception that he speaks of the stone as

an "unorganised, unmechanised substance, without mark or indication

of contrivance," and adds, "It might be difficult to show that such

substance could not have existed from eternity." Paley's day was meagre

in natural science, and Paley was as meagrely acquainted with its

results as he was with metaphysical philosophy. Few people, however,

even now-a-days, know enough of the laws which govern inorganic

products to find their investigation a slight or easy task. For a

purpose of comparison with any human work or mechanism, most inquirers

will prefer having recourse with Paley to the world of organisation.

The flower and fructification of a plant or shrub growing on the heath

beside Paley's watch, though carelessly passed over a thousand times,

and exciting no surprise from anything unusual in its _habitat_, will,

when observed, raise the most sincere admiration. And the same may be

said of the bony skeleton of the lizard[16] racing round plant and

shrub, the forehand of the mole which burrows beneath them, and the

wing of the bat circling nightly in upper air.

Take, then, replies the objector, an organism, vegetable or animal,

whichever you or Paley may prefer. The difficulty formerly urged at

once recurs, slightly altered in shape, but with augmented point and

force. Your organisms are not put together like the parts of a watch

(_undique collatis membris_)--brass from this place, steel from that,

and so on, with china dial-plate, covering-glass, and gold case.

All these things were apart in nature, they were severally chosen,

manipulated, and brought together. What we see is a successful union of

materials possessing inherent adaptation to definite purposes--such as

the freedom of brass from rust, or the superior elasticity of steel,

qualities indicating the skill and workmanlike knowledge of some human

artificer, and showing by their utilization the truth of what was

before asserted. Watches and worlds, the products of Art and of Nature,

are obviously and thoroughly unlike.

By way of answer, it might be observed that in organization we do

really see very distinct constituents combined. In a plant, for

instance, there is the combination of a growing point, a humus or

pabulum that feeds it, and the stimuli, air, water, light, and all

the "skiey influences" by which its passive vitality is excited

and sustained. We see plant life, by reason of these concurrent

adaptations, swelling into leaf, stem, bud, corolla, and fruit,

throughout all the brighter tribes of vegetable beauty that bloom

apparent to the unassisted eye. And the like holds true respecting

animals, but with increased variety and complication of conditions,

made necessary by their higher mode of existence. The marvels of

their many powers, habits, and perfections of form and movement are

great, but greater still the vast multitude of ministering aids put in

requisition to ensure their earliest appearance and after continuance

in life and enjoyment. When we contemplate microscopic Nature, a like

sweep of combination is again evident to the skilful naturalist, and

excites his constant wonder, especially when observed in connection

with the exquisite finish of minute creatures and their infinitesimal

parts, both alike unperceived by our ordinary human senses. And a

similar idea of invisible, and perhaps almost incomprehensible, harmony

might be raised by a consideration of the elements, metallic and

non-metallic, brought together in numberless inorganic productions, as

well as of the forces which bind them in hard cohesion, and give them

such properties as we may discover in the commonest block of granite.

And what if we could extend our field of view to a world--to the

universe?

The answer suggested by this last paragraph has its value, and the

principle involved in it will occur for our scrutiny further on. But

at present this train of thought, if pursued, might be likened to the

weed we spoke of,--it would not be altogether in place here. The truth

is that the whole objection thus parried appears more out of place

still, and is therefore itself not a flower, but a weed of popular

rhetoric. And the reason of its irrelevancy is plain. Paley's argument

does not really turn upon the similitude of any two objects of simple

apprehension, but upon an analogical comparison; the discovery, that

is, of the likeness between two ratios, a process known in common life

under the name of Proportion. Hence it is from the illative force of

analogy that this topic of Design derives its value. The analogy does,

in fact, serve a double purpose,--- _first_ to explain, and _secondly_

to prove. We had better look at it from both points of view.

The easiest method for making an _illustrative_ analogy intelligible is

to state it in old-fashioned style as a rule of three sum; the fourth

term being the conclusion which completes it. "As a watch is to the

watchmaker, so is creation, (exemplified by such and such a specimen,)

to its Creator." That is to say, there exists some ratio or relation

connecting the watch and the watchmaker, which exists also between the

world and its Creator.

To see its _illative_ force used as an argument, we need only alter the

position of the four terms, and state our proportion as is more usual

in modern day. "As the watch is to such and such specimens of creation,

so is the watchmaker to the Author of any and all of these things."

In the _first_ statement Paley's similitude is displayed in full as an

asserted illustration of Design. The watch is a thing contrived--that

is, a design realized, and the maker is its contriver. Just so, is the

world a Design realized by its Creator. And it appears plainly implied

in the assertion, that even as the little watch shows the limited power

and intelligence of its maker, so the vast and unfathomable universe

illustrates the infinite power and wisdom of its incomprehensible

Author.

The _second_ mode of statement displays the force of Paley's analogy

viewed as a chain of reasoning. The watch is _not like_ the world, but

there is something in common between them, and this something it is

Paley's purpose, and the purpose of his various continuators, to show

at the greatest convenient length. Now such community of character must

be sufficient to establish a further community still. When we see a

watch we are sure it had a designer,--the watchmaker; and here, again,

Paley means to argue that from every example of contrivance which we

can adduce and examine, the same inference ensues, and always must

ensue. Therefore (he concludes) from the immeasurable designed world we

infer the world's omnipotent Designer.

The chief Divine attributes (as, for example, omnipotence) are dwelt

upon by Paley towards the close of his treatise. But it seems well to

insert the adjective at once. Most thinking persons admit that whoever

believes in a Creator may find from the physical Cosmos and its

"Mysterious worlds untravelled by the sun,"

ample reason for justifying the noblest of such adjectives. They

generally go further, and allow that any Theist finds in these endless

marvels a full confirmation of his faith--there is, as Coleridge says,

a whole universe at hand to ratify the decision. But what many educated

people who concede thus much disallow, is the sufficient witness of

Design standing by itself to prove what it may fairly corroborate or

even extend. To illustrate, confirm, or widen what is already held a

truth is one thing; to serve as its sole sufficient witness is another.

This conclusiveness some deny, and more scruple to affirm. And one of

the drawbacks in arguing from analogy seems to be, that all except the

most philosophically trained minds experience a sort of hesitation

in estimating its force--a hesitation which they are at a loss to

define in words. Consequently, the attack upon its adequacy is always

difficult to answer; so many various shades of negation must be classed

together for brevity's sake, and met by one or two general lines of

defence. The safest way, probably, is to make the negative classes as

wide as possible, and to put the scientific doubts in their most fatal

form of expression. And it appears hard to imagine anything really

destructive of evidence which may not be brought under one of the two

following heads. There may be, first, a failure of evidence when it

is not strong enough in its facts and circumstances to justify the

conclusion drawn--when, in short, it proves too little. Secondly, it is

worthless, if its acceptance so damages the position occupied by those

who employ it, that their purpose is thereby destroyed, their _locus

standi_ demolished--in other words, they have proved too much.

May we not, then, presume it impossible to bring worse charges against

any argument than whatever can be urged in support of these two

accusations? And we will _first_ put the well-known analogy on its

trial for proving too much, because it is from anxiety to avoid this

charge that most analogical reasoners are apt to risk proving too

little.

Admit, say Paley's most decided antagonists, the relevancy of an

argument from human art. It must be taken to show the Creator of the

Universe as Theists conceive and acknowledge Him. Let us at once ask

in what light He is thereby represented? Is it not, so to speak, as a

supreme Anthropomorphic[l] Craftsman sketching a vast plan or design,

and moulding the materials necessary for its realization? We begin with

the remark that His work--the world--must show some traces of that

plastic process and the hand of its Moulder. The requirement seems just

and reasonable, and is commonly answered by an appeal to what have been

termed the records of creation, the structure of the heavens, and the

structure of the earth. Thus, for example, we are referred to Geology

and Palæontology, and are led from age to age, and type to type. In

passing from one formation to another we seem (as Goethe said) to catch

Nature in the fact. At all events the plastic process is everywhere

traceable, and to its evidences the Theist points with triumph.

But no intelligent objector can stop here. He will next inquire what

on theistic principles was the origin of this material substance so

constantly undergoing transformation. Most sceptical thinkers put the

inquiry in a trenchant manner; they not only demand to be answered,

but they prescribe beforehand the sort of answer to be returned. It is

useless, they tell us, to speak of archetypes existing in the Divine

mind, and to illustrate them by the creative thought of musician or

sculptor, of painter or of poet. The hard, coarse world must be looked

at as it is: an actual material habitation for sorrowing and sinful

human creatures; its physical conditions, imperfect in that respect,

unhappily corresponding too well with the low moralities of its tenants.

Now, they say, if we examine Paley's common-sense analogy no one

can at all doubt what answer is suggested there. The steel of the

watch-spring, the brass of the wheel-work, and other materials for all

the curious mechanical contrivances required, were taken into account

by the watch-designer when he formed his design. Had it been otherwise

he could not have calculated on finding the necessary strength,

elasticity, resistance to rust, and other properties on which Paley

dwells so distinctly. In like manner, it has been said by some physical

science Christians since Paley's time: "Let matter and its primary

properties be presupposed, and the argument from Design is easy." True,

but it seems quite as easy to suppose the world itself eternal. And we

know that this supposition was adopted by pagan philosophers, to whom

it appeared the easiest of all beliefs.

But other philosophic pagans, holding clearly that the world

had a beginning, conceived its First Cause to be like Paley's

Designer--analogous to an earthly workman. They carried out the analogy

thoroughly--more thoroughly than modern writers, and believed both

Artificer and the matter from which He shaped the visible universe,

self-subsistent, indestructible, and co-eternal.

In this eternity of matter and its native inflexibilities, these

great heathen thinkers found an apology for what they considered

the failure of creative power--misshapen things, monstrosities, and

imperfections. The Creator never desired them, but His will was

thwarted by the material He worked in. Against this dualism the early

Fathers protested. Will the modern Theist (his assailants ask) deny

himself, and affirm two independent and self-existent principles;

or will he deny the parallelism asserted in Paley's analogy? Can he

conscientiously believe that its issue is a worthy representation of

the Divine and omnipotent Creator? If not, it has failed by proving too

much[m].

raised. Who can help seeing that several of them lie equally against

all rational theories which have ever been suggested to account for the

origin of that sorrow and evil which we see and acknowledge everywhere?

And does not the same remark apply to every attempt at solving the

antithesis of mind and matter? Some thoughtful men have believed that

they could see their way to a solution; others believe it altogether

above human reason, and point with a kind of triumph to the failures

of philosophy. However this may be, the mournful moral enigma,[17]

and the unexplained antithesis underlying our knowledge of nature,

attach themselves equally to every possible conception of the universe,

religious or irreligious, common-sense or metaphysical. They have no

special connection with our argument from Design, and ought not in

fairness to be brought as objections against it.

The more real question just now is, whether Paley's mechanical analogy

was to blame for introducing the problem of cosmical matter into the

discussion.

On this question the opinions of competent and unprejudiced judges

disagree. By an eminent and accomplished writer the case is summed

up as follows, in the Harveian Oration for 1865. Having previously

included the material factor under mechanical adaptation as

distinguished from art in the highest sense, Dr. Acland goes on to

say (page 13): "The illustration of the watch so quaintly employed by

Nieuwentyt, and so entirely appropriated by Paley, only in a coarse

way suggests the parallel between infinite art and common mechanical

skill. It has done some mischief to the cause it advocates, by making

familiar a rude illustration, which minds without imagination, or void

of constructive power, have accepted as a recognised explanation of the

_method of operation_ by an Infinite Creative Will."

Paley's critics should however observe, that he did not himself

intend the objectionable inference. Probably he never even perceived

that it might be drawn from his comparison. Abstract inquiries

connected with Theism, he banished to the end of his book, where they

are discussed in a manner little calculated to satisfy any readers

who have ever felt them as substantial difficulties.[18] But then,

he would most likely have referred these persons to the writings of

professed metaphysicians. It may be wise for us to take warning both

by what Paley did and by what he left undone. Some deeper questions

are indispensable to the argument from Design, but we shall follow

his example so far as to avoid such disquisitions as were current in

his day under the name of metaphysics. On the other hand we shall

draw the required data from that critical Fact-philosophy of Mind and

Human Nature, which forms to so many thinkers the birth-star of a new

science, one amongst the rising hopes of our nineteenth century.

Meantime, our business on hand is to rebut the present accusation of

proving too much, brought against Paley's analogy. We shall try to

complete our answer by setting his argument in the point of view under

which he evidently meant it to be looked at.

Either as an illustration or as a means of proof, Analogy need not hold

in more than a single point; provided only that this single point is

clear and well-established--resting, for example, on a moral law or a

causal _nexus_. Any one who desires to make an analytical investigation

into this law of inference will receive valuable aid from Ueberweg's

Logic, §§ 131 and 2, particularly if compared with § 129.

To a common-sense mind we may give sufficient satisfaction by adducing

one or two good analogies. Thus, for instance, the duties of a

religious minister are often explained by saying that he ought to be

the shepherd of his flock; that is, his relation to his people ought

to resemble that of the shepherd to his sheep. We all understand how

truly is here expressed a world of watchful care. But are all points of

the relation to be implied? May the spiritual pastor ever become the

slayer or the salesman of his flock?

Again,--writers upon political subjects some years ago used very

commonly to quote from the days of Alfred the Great supposed precedents

for our most modern constitutional _dicta_. In many cases the thing

defended was a legitimate outgrowth of the precedent cited; but

to pronounce the two _identical_ seemed sufficiently absurd. In

confutation of some such absurdities, clever men argued that the body

corporate has, like the individual body, its childhood, growth, and

maturity. The argument became generally accepted, and got extended to

the distinctions between healthy increase and sickly degeneration, with

other like inferences. The further conclusion was next drawn, that

every national body resembles the human frame in a necessary decay, and

inevitable mortality. Now, whatever opinion may be entertained as to

the fact of a death-rate of nationalities, nothing seems more certain

than that those who first employed the comparison never contemplated

this particular corollary. Whether their first use of it was wise

or unwise, has been, like Paley's Watch-analogy, a matter of some

considerable dispute.

The general subject of Analogy, rightly or wrongly extended, admits of

wider illustration.

Simile and metaphor are often compressed analogies, and many of them

gain in beauty from expansion. Pope's celebrated comparison of the

traveller ascending the Alps with the student who scales the heights of

literature; and how

"Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise;"

is a good example of a poet's successfully expanding his own thought.

Still more exquisitively true to nature is the final parallel drawn in

Coleridge's description of the divided friends who stood apart,--

"Like cliffs which had been rent asunder,"

while the marks of a former union lingered indestructible. Perhaps

few readers of "Christabel" ever looked at Lodore, and "its scars

remaining," without feeling how aptly they represent traces of

thought and affection engraved upon the soul of man, deeper and more

imperishable than the primæval rocks between which the "dreary sea" now

flows.

The wonderful force of many among Shakespeare's metaphors is derived

from compressed analogy. But by expanding

"The slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune,"

we should form no better conception of the goddess; and the next line,

"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,"

might easily be turned into nonsense! Like Paley's "watch," the "sea"

holds true only in one point. Shakespeare had before his eye the image

of multitudinous vastness. But what arms could we take up to stem the

billows of a swelling tide?

No one can read many commentators on the Scripture without feeling

how groundless are numberless conclusions arrived at by extending

Scriptural analogies beyond their just limits. Preachers and platform

speakers are still more guilty. Not content with straining Holy Writ,

they add to the mischief by pressing into their service comparisons

of double meaning. The above quoted word "sea," has long been a

much-enduring similitude in its relation to the countries and islands

of the earth. What is it really to us, the earth's inhabitants? Our

highway and bond of union? or a waste of waters given to divide rivals,

as Horace phrases it, "_Oceano dissociabili_"? The last is the oldest

metaphor.[19]

Enough has been said upon various analogies to show how frequently even

in their widest use (that of illustration), the effect of extending

them beyond their one salient point, is utter confusion. And with

respect to illative analogy, this rule becomes obviously more stringent

still. Paley meant it to be observed strictly as regards his own

analogous reasoning.

But the caution itself must be cautiously applied, where the salient

point on which the inference turns is too superficial, or too weak

to stand alone. And this is the very thing we have to discuss

next,--because a _second_ accusation brought against the argument from

Design is, that by reason of weakness in its pivot, it proves far too

little.

This second charge is less usual amongst popular than scientific

writers, and most of us may learn something by sifting it. Their

position may be described in few words as standing thus:--

All examples which men can, of their own knowledge, connect with

Design, fall under one sole class, and from this class alone they

can argue. It contains the products of human workmanship and

manufacture--and nothing else. By its characteristic processes (which

together with their result make the sum of what we know about this

class) it is so essentially dissociated from the products of Nature,

that any appearance of design common between them must be pronounced

superficial in the absence of stronger _nexus_. But since proof of

such _nexus_ remains wanting, Paley's analogy is worthless. It will

be observed that the effect of this position is to sever between

human works and natural things quite as completely as did the popular

objection which we put first in our list of assaults upon Paley. Yet,

though these conclusions may seem suspiciously coincident, the grounds

of argument are really distinct. Scientific persons do not compare two

objects natural and artificial, nor yet their two sets of constituents,

and say, "These are unlike." They argue rather that the relative or

proportionate likeness asserted is insufficiently made out, and that

when it is said "Design implies a designer," people are speaking of

design worked out in the known way of workmen. We (they observe) need

not _deny_ a designer of the world, but we desiderate evidence of his

actual workmanship. By this we shall know that he first conceived and

then realized the alleged design. We do not feel convinced by being

shown certain organic _somethings_ in their perfect state, and being

told to observe how very like contrivances they are. They may be very

like, certainly, but we want assurances that they can be nothing else.

We want to have shown us some work _being_ done, and to ascertain

that it is carried on in a workmanlike manner. Then we shall say with

confidence, Here is the active hand of a designer. To compress our

requisition into a single sentence,--We want not only to catch Nature

in the fact, but also to ascertain that Nature's way of performing the

fact has something essentially humanlike about it.

To see our meaning clearly (add these objectors) take the instance of

some marvellous work of man's art previously unknown to us. We could,

if we perceived the _marks_ of human fabrication, reason from a watch,

or some other well known machine, to the conclusion that some person

had designed it. In other words, we should feel sure that we were

looking at a new product of skill, which differed from what we had seen

before in the degree of excellence attained. The difference we feel in

our transition from Art to Nature appears, on the contrary, to be a

difference not only between more or less perfect products or processes,

but a thorough difference of kind in the whole _manner_ of bringing

about the results placed before our eyes. Or put the case (they

continue) as a piece of circumstantial evidence. We say positively of

this or that machine, They are contrivances, things designed, because

we know the _history_ of their manufacture. We feel positive, because

we are arguing from a plain patent fact to a hidden but absolutely

essential condition, without which the fact could not exist. As regards

natural products we have not got the fact--we do not know the history

of their production. We cannot say, Here is the process, because the

processes of Nature are mostly unknown to us. Paley therefore would

have us assume the fact and argue from it; first to design, next, to

something more hidden still,--a Designer. Yet what we _do_ know of

natural processes is not encouraging; there is visible about them more

unlikeness than likeness to the processes employed by man. The truth

may be surmised, that Paley was always seeing in his own examples the

footprints, as he thought, of a Designer. Hence he affirmed Design,

and then argued back again in a never-ending circle. There is really

no reason why he should have travelled round such a circuit. If his

argument shows anything, it shows a Designer at once.[n]

With some risk of tediousness, this last attack on Paley has been

detailed at great length, and placed (as the present writer believes)

in several of its most formidable shapes[o]. But for additional

security of fair dealing with the strongest of all objections--one

which, if established, would be a death-blow to all argument on the

subject (since its _ultimatum_ is unconditional surrender)--for these

reasons, then, and in order to satisfy the most rigorous understanding,

let it be finally rehearsed in the words of a most eminent physicist

whom no one will accuse of haste, oversight, or credulity. To this

rehearsal the Professor adds what is to us more important still,--his

judgment on the point at issue.

But before quoting Professor Baden Powell, it may be worth while to

make two short notes on the few preceding paragraphs. Let us take the

last paragraph first.

It really does appear that marks of Design and the footprints of a

Designer are in common sense very nearly one and the same thing. If we

concentrate our attention on the former, we are looking at an object

on the side of certain properties,--that is, of certain subjectively

perceived relations. For instance, we may think of the eye only as an

optical instrument wonderfully constituted, and enumerate the parts of

its visual apparatus. But the moment we speak of this apparatus as a

provision _intentionally_ made for sight, we have introduced the idea

of a Designer in the strongest sense of the word. Now, it is difficult

to think of anything as an example of intelligent arrangement, and

at the same time give no hint even to our own thoughts of arranging

Intelligence. We can hardly look through a pane of glass and admire the

perfect transparency of _one_ surface to the exclusion of the _other_!

We are not now speaking of what _might_ be done, if attempted by a man

so profoundly skilled in analytics that

"He could distinguish, and divide

A hair 'twixt south and south-west side."

We are rather speaking of what it is _natural_ to do. And it may be

doubted whether anybody thinks of a design _as_ design very long

without thinking also of the Designer.

One other remark is suggested by the reference to _process_ as

contradistinguished from _product_. Here, again, the real question

is, How far is such a distinction maintainable in fact? Does it rest

upon any definite separation in Nature? The exact contradictory is the

truth; taking the world as it is, the distinction, though clear in

thought, becomes essentially fluent when objectively regarded. What

we call a production one moment, we say is a process the next. You

have, for example, a galvanic current, produced by certain chemical

combinations, and often a product _per se_ of some importance. Yet the

current itself is a part of the electrotyping process. Suppose this

done, you have your electrotype--your coin,--a hard fact,--a solid

production, bright, beautiful, admirable! But we will suppose you,

while devising all this, to have a further view;--the coin is to be

employed in the process of imposture. Here again comes a result--a

great fraud committed; but this is not all. The fraudulent procedure

turns out a very useful police-trap, and your chemical combination

sends the last actor on the scene to Portland, for at least ten years.

Consider in this brief history the scientific arrangements, material

conditions, and workmanlike execution, discernible in its earlier

parts; then, see how mind becomes gradually predominant, and how Law,

based on ideas of corrective justice, enters the series. Add the

judge and jury, and you admit the force of intellect,--deliberating,

deciding, putting further activities in motion; till, perhaps, if the

reformatory process succeeds, Portland may have the honour of giving to

society the welcome product of (as times go) a passably honest man. We

might really frame a curious inquiry as respects this flowing tide of

process and production, production and process, with its commingling

currents and waves which seem to interrupt each other like circles of

diffracted light. We might ask which of all these parts of the moving

diorama is most distinctly human. I believe most people would say,

those scenes in which mind, not mere workmanship, is most evidently

discernible.

Professor Powell seems to have thought so too. The difficulty we have

been discussing he states as an objection requiring solution.[20]

"In those cases most nearly approaching the nature of human works,

such as the varied and endless changes in matter going on in the

_laboratory of nature_, the results, even when most analogous to those

obtained in human laboratories, yet present no marks of the process or

of the means employed, by which to recognise the analogous workman;

and in all the grander productions, the incessant evolutions of

vegetable and animal life, which no human laboratory can produce,--in

the structure of earth and ocean, or the infinite expanse of the

heavens and their transcendent mechanism, still further must we be

from finding any analogy to the works of man, or, by consequence, any

analogy to a personal individual artificer."

The next paragraph contains his own judgment.

"But the more just view of the case is that which arises from

the consideration that the real evidence is that of _mind_ and

_intelligence_; for here we have a proper and strict analogy. _Mind_

directing the operations of the laboratory or the workshop, is no

part of the _visible apparatus_, nor are its operations seen in

_themselves_--they are visible only in their _effects_;--and from

effects, however dissimilar in magnitude or in kind, yet agreeing

in the one grand condition of _order_, _adjustment_, profound and

recondite connexion and dependence, there is the same evidence and

outward manifestation of INVISIBLE INTELLIGENCE, as vast and

illimitable as the universe throughout which those manifestations are

seen."

This second extract may be analysed into distinct propositions somewhat

as follows:--

In a manufactory,--

Mind is no part of the visible apparatus--nor are its operations

visible,--

But the effects make the operations manifest.--

In the universe,--

Effects may be seen differing from Human productions in many ways,--but

agreeing in one common characteristic,--order--adjustment--hidden

interdependence.

Such effects make manifest the operation of an Invisible Intelligence

as vast as the Universe itself.

The majority of people might suppose this a conclusive inference from

Nature to the Being of a Personal God. But Professor Powell does not

so intend it; and therefore some readers may feel disposed to blame

his use of words. It is, however, only fair that before so doing, they

should carefully consider his whole mode of apprehending the subject in

its completeness. And the easiest way of understanding Powell is, most

probably, to compare him with Paley.

The latter is confident that when he has derived the design and

arrangement of the world from a mind analogous to the mind of man, but

immeasurably vast as the Universe which man inhabits,--little more need

be said. He thinks the infinite intelligence thus demonstrated, is

clearly no other than the Great First Cause, and Creator of all things.

"Contrivance, if established, appears to me to prove everything which

we wish to prove." This sentence begins Chap. xxiii., and the rest of

Paley's Natural Theology is intended to demonstrate and verify its

correctness.

Powell thinks that the step from a mind or intelligence, even if

conceived illimitable as the Universe, to a First Cause, Supreme Mind,

or Moral Cause, is a very much longer ascent[p] than Paley thought it.

By these latter terms he meant--as Paley did--the Divine Personality

believed in by Theists, and evidenced, _first_, as mind by a reign

of law, order, and arrangement, so far as the world can evidence

Him;--but manifest, _secondly_, in His higher nature as the fountain

and originator of law--that is, a true Cause, a manifestation due to

the causal structure of our own human minds. The point of difference is

the length of the step to be taken from Law to Causation; but Powell

agrees with his predecessor in asserting it, though arduous, to be

absolutely safe. The point he insists on is that we cannot take it by

a contemplation of the world without us only. "Ever-present _mind_" he

says,[21] "is a direct inference from the universal order of nature,

or rather only another mode of expressing it. But of the _mode_ of

existence of that mind we can infer nothing."

From this view he draws conclusions in opposite directions.

Pantheism,[22] the co-existence or identification of mind with

matter, "is at best a mere gratuitous hypothesis, and as such

wholly unphilosophical in itself, and leading to many preposterous

consequences." There are also grounds on which Theism appears certain

and Pantheism extravagant, absurd, and contradictory.[23] To see

these grounds we are to carry out the analogy given us by the common

characteristics of order, adjustment, and interdependence visible

through their effects as in the human workshop or laboratory, so, too,

in the vast illimitable Universe, and described in our second extract

as manifestations of Mind or invisible Intelligence. In the paragraph

immediately following that extract,[24] he continues:--

"It is by _analogy_ with the exercise of intellect, and the volition,

or power of moral causation, of which we are conscious within

ourselves, that we speak of the _Supreme Mind_ and _Moral Cause_ of

the Universe, of whose operation, order, arrangement and adaptation,

are the external manifestations. _Order_ implies what by _analogy_

we call _intelligence_; subserviency to an observed end implies

intelligence _foreseeing_ which by analogy, we call _Design_."

The last sentence of the paragraph now quoted is very remarkable.

The eminent writer directs attention to a distinction between two

several inferences which can be drawn from the observed manifestations

of Order, and of Foresight. From the first, he says, we infer

Intelligence, from the latter we infer Design. It seems singular that

Powell should have defined this distinction so clearly, and made no

further use of it.

He might naturally have insisted upon the separate and diverse

evidences thus afforded by the physical world. Amid the variety of

human minds, some may feel impressed by the contemplation of Nature in

one of these ways, some in the other. To many persons the magnificent

spectacle of a law-governed Universe, infinitely manifold yet

everywhere harmonious, appears to justify the belief in one supreme

Reason and sovereign Will. Separate parts of this same Universe--or

the whole in its entirety of vastness--when considered as manifesting

purpose--that is, intentional adaptation to separate ends or to one

end--are to other minds a more convincing line of thought.

With many writers on Natural Theology the different shades of meaning

implied in the word Design[25] may prevent clearness of conception in

this respect. But our author (like Paley) appears to use this word in

its strongest signification.

And this usage of Powell's brings into view another point in his

reasoning even more singular than the one to which we have just

adverted. Surely, if in the natural world we observe the manifestations

of an Intelligence foreseeing an End, and employing means in

subserviency to that end, it seems strange to conclude that respecting

the mode of existence of such Intelligence we can infer nothing,

yet the words occur on the very next page. It would seem almost an

impossibility to suppose such a mind existing as anything less than a

Personality under the twofold aspect of a Reason and a Will. Paley's

common sense drew this conclusion at once, and very profound thinkers

have agreed with Paley on the topic. "That," says F. H. Jacobi, "which,

in opposition to Fate, makes God into a true God, is called Foresight.

Where it is, there alone is Reason; and where Reason is, there also is

Foresight. Foresight in itself is Spirit, and to that only which is of

Spirit do those feelings of admiration, awe, and love, which announce

its existence, correspond. We can indeed declare of any object that

it is beautiful or perfect, without previously knowing how it became

so, whether with or without the operation of Foresight;--but the power

which caused it so to be, _that_ we cannot admire, if it produced the

object, without aim or purpose, according to laws of mere Necessity of

Nature."[26]

In point of fact Professor Powell was himself of the same opinion, for

in another place he writes thus:--

"Now, the bare fact of order and arrangement is on all hands

undisputed, though commonly most inadequately understood and

appreciated.

"The inference of design, intention, forethought, is something

_beyond_ the last mentioned truth, and not to be _confounded with it_.

This implies intelligent agency, or moral causation. Hence again, we

advance to the notion of distinct existence, or what is sometimes

called personality; and thence proceed to ascribe the other Divine

attributes and perfections as centring in that independent Being."[27]

It appears only just to the Archdeacon that we should notice this

variation of language on the part of his censor.[28] Of this variation

itself the true account seems undoubtedly to be as follows. The writer

was engaged in tracing the progress of conviction in his own mind.

He first observes order, adjustment, interdependence, throughout

the Universe. Hence he is penetrated by the impression of pervading

Intelligence. Next, he perceives that these results could never have

taken place unless foreseen and provided for by a designed subserviency

of means to ends, and this convinces him of the Personality of that

universal Mind. Finally, he draws, from the analysis of Causation, a

full definition of the great Originator of all things.

The fact, however, remains that each of these gradations of reasoning

may be stated just as easily and more logically as separate and

convergent lines of thought, because each can be rested on a separate

combination of proofs. But the elucidation of this subject cannot be

compressed into few words, and must be deferred to our fifth and sixth

chapters.

Still there is a very peculiar and special satisfaction in following

the path of argument which persuaded an acute and practised reasoner,

accomplished in several departments of knowledge, and himself of a turn

of mind which would appear naturally adapted to the utmost refinements

of sceptical investigation. We shall, therefore, now return to our

comparison of Powell with his predecessor.

These two distinguished writers do, in fact, come at last to the

same conclusion. But they reach it through a difference in the paths

travelled over by such logic of evidence as may after all seem natural

enough to a theological pleader on one side, and on the other to a

scientific physicist.

Professor Powell, of course, leads us more deeply than his predecessor

into the thorny thickets surrounding Natural Theology. No one can read

his essays without remarking the subtlety of his thought, which to

many readers appears over refined, and to some as employed on points

in themselves unimportant. Mr. Baden Powell's own deliberate judgment

was the other way, as we find from the last[29] of his considerable

performances on our subject. "Points," he writes, "which may be seen to

involve the greatest difficulty to more profound inquirers, are often

such as do not occasion the least perplexity to ordinary minds, but are

allowed to pass without hesitation.... On the other hand, exceptions

held forth as fatal by the shallow caviller are seen by the more deeply

reflecting in all their actual littleness and fallacy."

We may add that a subtle argument is often like a sharp thin blade,

cutting clean into the very heart of a question. If it indeed prove

a home thrust, few things ought to be more fearlessly and cheerfully

welcomed by those who desire to dissect out the naked, intrinsic truth.

We will, therefore, dissect a little deeper, following the Professor's

track of demonstration.

We find him, then, reaching down to a _septum_, or, as botanists prefer

to speak, a strong dissepiment between a _law of Nature_ or _physical

causation_, and a _true Cause_ in the highest and most emphatic

sense[q].

Such a separation is not to be sought from a writer of Paley's date,

when the modern notion of law was unformed, or rather was in process

of formation. Thus Newton's discoveries were thought by many persons

irreligious, because the stability of the heavens appeared like

something necessarily determined. Respecting this opinion, Powell

observes (and from his point of view with truth), that "such necessity

of reason is the highest proof of design." Paley, on the contrary,

felt inclined to despair of discovering much evidence of Design in

Astronomy, but he looked upon the starry heavens as affording the

most ample and glorious confirmation of the agency of an intelligent

Creator, when proved from some other source. In his next chapter (the

23rd) he proceeds to reprehend the mistaken sense of law, growing up

amongst physicists in his own day. "It will," he says, "be made to take

the place of power, and still more, of intelligent power," and will

"be assigned for the cause of anything or of any property of anything

that exists." In this remark he shows his accustomed penetration. Law,

antecedent and consequent, with their series of physical evolutions,

have been talked of by men who confuse physics and metaphysics, as

if they could thereby account for a whole universe.[30] Now, from

this cloudy confusion[r], Professor Powell is exempt. He accepts (as

obviously he must accept) the natural-science idea of law, which looks

at it as an orderly expression of force, and tells us that "law and

order, physical causation and uniformity of action are the elevated

manifestations of Divinity, creation and providence."[31] But from

the conception of Mind or Intelligence thus given us, which, though

invisible to the eye, is yet, in its effects, plainly visible, he

distinguishes, over and over again, the idea of a true originating

first Cause.[32] We see the necessity of a moral Cause as distinguished

from a physical antecedent, when we survey Nature. But Nature does

not contain the idea in an explicit shape. She only necessitates its

acceptance. This idea, we find, he tells us, manifest in our own moral

nature,--by analogy we discern it in the Divine. He likewise severely

blames those who commingle in words the two contrasted thoughts and

lines of inference, and mentions Coleridge and Sterling[33] by way of

example. As concerns his own mode of establishing the idea of causation

in its proper and peculiar force, Professor Powell agrees with a large

number of metaphysicians, ancient and modern. It might seem superfluous

to name as an instance the late Dean Mansel, were not a passage in his

"Prolegomena" so full of good matter on the topic.[34]

In this view of causation, then, Powell advanced nothing new. But what

he did advance was really valuable. The man who can rise no higher than

law or succession as he sees it impressed on outward nature, stands in

a totally different position from the man whose insight into Reason

and Will has shown him the idea of true Causation. For, he has seen

that whoever is the author of his own act, does something which puts

in movement a new series of antecedence and consequence,--a new train

of events, the issue of which no man can foresee;--though of what has

come, and is coming, he, the individual man, is the truly responsible

cause[s]. But if _he_ can introduce into the order of the outward world

a new antecedent carrying after it a chain of new consequents, what

shall he think respecting the absolute Cause of all worlds, things and

beings, the thinker himself included? Who shall persuade him to deny

the reasonableness of a Providence following creation? Who can reprove

the man when he feels and asserts his own moral power, for a belief in

Miracles? Above all, who will demonstrate that prayer is inefficacious,

if we can rise (as Baden Powell says we can rise) "by _analogy_

with the exercise of intellect, and the volition, or power of moral

causation, of which we are conscious within ourselves, to the Supreme

Mind and Moral Cause of the universe?"

It is no slight praise to say that Professor Powell clearly saw,

and no less clearly expressed, a truth not always apprehended among

physicists. By giving it expression, he rendered a substantial service

to Natural Theology. It is, indeed, a serious drawback and impediment

to Natural Theologians that their argument requires some acquaintance

with more than one wide field of knowledge. They have to reason from

the material world,--they have also to reason from the world of mind;

and in countries like England, France, and Germany, where division of

labour penetrates every calling, literary as well as manufacturing, a

combination of this sort is a matter of infrequent occurrence. To this

retarding circumstance may be ascribed the want of progress in several

mixed sciences,[35] which, like the subject we are treating, occupy two

distinct tracts of border-land territory.

The separating wall between Law and Cause built up by Professor Powell,

was founded on fact, and will probably remain unshaken. But he added to

it a theoretical limitation of the term, Natural Theology, which, like

many changes in verbal usage, does not appear defensible,--particularly

as its bad effects are plainly shown in Professor Powell's own book.

Within two pages of the passage on Causation last quoted, he startles

the unwary reader by saying (p. 173) that "Natural Theology confessedly

'proves too little,' because it cannot rise to the metaphysical

idea or scriptural representation of God." It is generally vain to

inquire what may be meant by "Metaphysical." Few people are aware

that everybody, learned or unlearned, talks metaphysics either well

or ill; and usually (as M. Jourdain talked prose) without knowing it.

The epithet "metaphysical" figures often enough as another name for

what is unintelligible;--and most Englishmen apply it to all "ideas"

not strictly commercial or practical. Here it seems to stand along

with Scripture, in opposition to Natural Theology; while the latter

term is in turn opposed to the science of the human mind. Yet does not

Powell distinctly trace a Mind and Intelligence analogous to the mind

and intelligence of Man, throughout the world of outward Nature; and

does he not further determine that this same analogy, fairly carried

out, leads to what he _now_ calls "the metaphysical idea, or scriptural

representation of God?" In other words, when discussing the question

of Evidence, he finds Mind pervading outward Nature,--he treats Mind

as the ordering and sovereign part of the Natural world, which visibly

shows the effect of its invisible direction, and bids us follow up this

higher nature in its analogies to God, of Whose operation the order

and arrangement of the Universe are external manifestations. But, when

he speaks of Natural Theology, that higher nature seems to disappear;

intellect, volition, and the power of moral causation, slip out of

sight, and are blotted from his catalogue of natural facts. Human

nature must thus be treated as no part of universal Nature, in order

that a needlessly narrow and purely theoretical fence may be drawn

round the science of Natural Theology! Natural Theology and Natural

Religion are, in truth, terms originally adopted as mere antitheses

to Revelation. The _first_ signifies what mankind might have known,

or may know, of the Divine Being, prior to, or apart from, any direct

message sent by Himself. The _second_ is intended to comprehend those

relations between that Divine Being and ourselves, which must ensue

immediately upon the acceptance of Theism.[36] The _ideas_ expressed by

these two terms are as old as Revelation itself,--a strong reason why

their meaning should not be lightly altered.[37] But this antithetic

usage was never intended to prejudge the question whether the results

of Natural Theology and Religion do not coincide to a very great extent

with the teaching of revelation. Much less was there any idea of

answering this question in the negative, as a hasty reader of certain

isolated passages in Professor Powell's book might easily be led to

answer it.[38]

Our strictures may be aptly concluded by a quotation taken from another

recent writer. Professor Newman understands the evidence of Design in

the same breadth of meaning which we have attached to it. Under it he

comprehends the evidence of Mind naturally known to us, as may be seen

by the following extracts:--

"A lung," says Mr. Newman,[39] "bears a certain relation to the air,

a gill to the water, the eye to light, the mind to truth, human

hearts to one another: is it gratuitous and puerile to say that

these relations imply design? There is no undue specification here,

no antagonist argument, no intrusion of human artifice: we take the

things fresh from nature. In saying that lungs _were intended_ to

breathe, and eyes to see, we imply an argument from Fitness to Design,

which carries conviction to the overwhelming majority of cultivated

as well as uncultivated minds.... If such a fact stood alone in

the universe, and no other existences _spoke of Design_, it would

probably remain a mere enigma to us; but when the whole human world is

pervaded by similar instances, not to see a Universal Mind in nature

appears almost a brutal insensibility.... Of the physical structure

of mind, no one pretends to know anything; but this does not weaken

our conviction that the mind was meant to discern truth. Why should

any philosopher resist this judgment? One thing might justify him;

namely, if there were strong _à priori_ reasons for disbelieving that

Mind exists anywhere except in man. But the case is just the reverse.

That puny beings who are but of yesterday, and presently disappear,

should alone possess that which of all things is highest and most

wonderful, is _à priori_ exceedingly unplausible. As Socrates and

Cicero have pointedly asked: 'Whence have we picked it up?' Its source

is not in ourselves: there must surely be a source beyond us. Thus the

tables are turned: we must _primâ facie_ expect to find Mind in the

Universe, acting on some stupendous scale, and of course imperfectly

understood by us. Consequently, such Fitnesses as meet our view on all

sides bring a reasonable conviction that Design lies beneath them. To

confess this, is to confess the doctrine of an _intelligent Creator_,

although we pretend not to understand anything concerning the mode,

stages, or time of Creation. _Adding now the conclusions drawn

from the Order of the universe_, we have testimony, adapted to the

cultivated judgment, that there is a Boundless, Eternal, Unchangeable,

Designing Mind, not without whom this system of things coheres: and

this Mind we call GOD."

To take stumbling-blocks out of the reader's way has been the main

object of this Chapter. It has discussed the meaning and force of

several words. The discussion may have seemed somewhat intricate,--but

if honest, and, so far as it goes, thorough, no one will deny its

utility. For facts are known to us as words, and words are facts to

our intellect, since they express our apprehension of objects. They

are, in brief, the interpreters of a world-wide human consciousness.

And in the strength of consciousness our knowledge stands, if it does

stand;--unfaithful to consciousness, it must fall, and ought to die the

death of a traitor.[40]

The word most discussed has been that one upon which turns the best

known argument by Natural Theology--"Design." We trust also, that it

may hereafter gain additional clearness under sidelights from other

trains of thought.[41] And what next follows will be essentially a

discussion of thoughts and things--in which words are to be treated

less as their representatives, and more as our servants and implements.

For this Chapter will have been written to very little purpose if the

reader has failed to perceive that Natural Theology[42] includes at

the very least two distinct elements--two separate sets of premises

drawn from different sources. One of these factors rests upon our

human knowledge of the natural world we live in--the other requires a

deeper kind of knowledge, and one far less cultivated upon inductive

principles--the knowledge, that is to say, of our own nature--our

essential humanity and self-ness.

The investigation of this last element is of paramount importance for

the purpose we have in hand, since, without some ascertained principles

and conditions of truth, men may fold their hands and view all behind

and above the moving diorama of present impressions as ideas sublime

but hopeless[43]--too high for us, who surely can never attain to

them. The plan, therefore, of this essay is to take from the point now

reached a fresh start--to set out, not from a consideration of what we

may desire to know, but of how much or how little can be known, and the

conditions of our knowing it.

An honest wish to be sure of one single thing soon shows us the

impediments we meet in making quite sure of anything. Soon, also, we

painfully learn that these impediments arise from _two_ persistent sets

of causes. Difficulties on the one hand occasioned by the obscurity,

complication, or many-sidedness of objects actually existing _in

rerum naturâ_. Difficulties on the other hand, which, like barnacles

and remoræ attached to a good ship's wooden bottom, act as drags

and retardations on our own apprehending faculties. Barnacle-like,

they can only be kept at a distance or detached by carefully-devised

contrivances. And these again give rise to troubles of other

kinds,--just as copper-sheathed keels or iron vessels are not without

their drawbacks.

The inquiry we propose will have a great collateral advantage, both to

him who doubts and to him who accepts Theism. For we shall at least

get rid of what may fairly be termed a stupid prejudice. Persons who

read and think little, are apt to base upon their own ignorance a vague

presumption that the path of knowledge is plain and easy, until men

try to know God. _Then_ all is hard; the pleasant path becomes a rough

and toilsome road. Others who read, but think less than they read,

are aware that very real obstacles beset all deep inquiry, yet form

hazy and imperfect notions as to the true extent of those obstacles.

They little think how often we are all obliged to accept and maintain

first truths;--difficulties objective, and difficulties subjective,

notwithstanding.

Of one practical conclusion resulting from these difficulties, we

may feel assured beforehand. Many objects of the greatest interest

and importance to truth can never be truly known as they are in

themselves;--our utmost hope is to know, not them, but as much as we

can discover respecting them. And sometimes this limited knowledge is

invaluable. If it does not gratify our natural desire for speculation,

it may often guide and govern our lives. Unspeakably important, for

example, in itself and in its consequences, must be an affirmative

answer to our anxious question concerning the existence of a God.

* * * * *

COROLLARY.--It plainly appears from what has been said, that

the knowledge of an "efficient cause" (in physics) does not, and

cannot, at all preclude the inquiry after a purpose or "final cause";

but, on the contrary, leads to its investigation. In a watch's action,

the former is represented by the moving power--that is, the spring; the

latter, by the watch's function--that of indicating hours, minutes,

and seconds. Would any uninformed person, examining a watch for the

first time, and knowing no more than what he sees,--be able to give to

himself any real account of the watch, if spring, train of wheel-work,

and pointers, were shown him; but _no_ hint given of the purpose and

object of the _whole_ construction? Now, to tell him this, would be

to convey the _idea_,--a principle which resides in Mind, and in Mind

alone;--and, so residing, leads to intelligent adaptation;--that is,

a law or laws apprehended by the active exercise of certain mental

faculties.

Let the intelligent reader ask himself whether _any_ functional

structure can be comprehended on _any_ lower terms?--As however this

latter question will be fully discussed further on, it is unnecessary

to say more respecting it at present.

ADDITIONAL NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS TO CHAPTER II.

A.--ON THE ABSTRACT REASONINGS INVOLVED IN NATURAL THEOLOGY.

In his discourse on Natural Theology, Lord Brougham writes thus (p.

78):--"The whole reasoning proceeds necessarily upon the assumption

that there exists a being or thing separate from, and independent of,

matter, and conscious of its own existence, which we call _mind_. For

the argument is, 'Had I to accomplish this purpose, I should have used

some such means'; or, 'Had I used these means, I should have thought

I was accomplishing some such purpose.' Perceiving the adaptation of

the means to the end, the inference is, that some being has acted

as we should ourselves act, and with the same views. But when we so

speak, and so reason, we are all the while referring to an intelligent

principle or existence; we are referring to our mind, and not to our

bodily frame."... "The belief that mind exists is essential to the

whole argument by which we infer that the Deity exists. This belief ...

is the foundation of Natural Theology in all its branches; and upon

the scheme of materialism no rational, indeed no intelligible, account

can be given of a first cause, or of the creation or government of the

universe."

In a foot-note, Lord Brougham adds:--"It is worthy of observation that

not the least allusion is made in Dr. Paley's work to the argument here

stated, although it is the foundation of the whole of Natural Theology.

Not only does this author leave entirely untouched the argument _à

priori_ (as it is called), and also all the inductive arguments derived

from the phenomena of mind, but he does not even advert to the argument

upon which the inference of design must of necessity rest--that design

which is the whole subject of his book. Nothing can more evince his

distaste or incapacity for metaphysical researches. He assumes the very

position which alone sceptics dispute. In combating him they would

assert that he begged the whole question; for certainly they do not

deny, at least in modern times, the _fact_ of adaptation. As to the

fundamental doctrine of causation, not the least allusion is ever made

to it in any of his writings,--even in his Moral Philosophy."

It is when reviewing this last-named treatise that Dr. Whewell remarks

(History of Moral Philosophy, p. 169):--

"The fact is that Paley had no taste, and therefore we may be allowed

to say that he had little aptitude, for metaphysical disquisitions.

In this there would have been no blame, if he had not entered into

speculations which, if they were not metaphysically right, must be

altogether wrong. We often hear persons declare that they have no

esteem for metaphysics, and intend to shun all metaphysical reasonings;

and this is usually the prelude to some specimen of very _bad_

metaphysics: for I know no better term by which to designate the

process of misunderstanding and confounding those elements of truth

which are supplied by the relations of our own ideas. That Paley had no

turn or talent for the reasoning which depends on such relations, is

plain enough."

The reader may with little trouble collect for himself what is meant

by bad metaphysics from the following extracts. The first is Lord

Macaulay's criticism on the metaphysics of the Schools, which he

introduces into his essay on Francis Bacon, as follows:--

"By stimulating men to the discovery of useful truth, he" (Bacon)

"furnished them with a motive to perform the inductive process

well and carefully. His predecessors had been, in his phrase, not

interpreters, but anticipators of nature. They had been content with

the first principles at which they had arrived by the most scanty and

slovenly induction. And why was this? It was, we conceive, because

their philosophy proposed to itself no practical end--because it was

merely an exercise of the mind. A man who wants to contrive a new

machine or a new medicine has a strong motive to observe accurately

and patiently, and to try experiment after experiment. But a man who

merely wants a theme for disputation or declamation has no such motive.

He is therefore content with premises grounded on assumption, or on

the most scanty and hasty induction. Thus, we conceive, the schoolmen

acted. On their foolish premises they often argued with great ability;

and as their object was "assensum subjugare, non res" (Nov. Org. I.

Aph. 29), to be victorious in controversy, not to be victorious over

nature, they were consistent. For just as much logical skill could be

shown in reasoning on false as on true premises."[44] Of course, if

any genuine metaphysical philosophy exists at all, its right and real

object must be to try and discover true premises of the more abstract

sort--premises, the truth of which affects the procedure of all the

ancillary series.[45]

Our next quotation contains Hume's sentence of execution rather than

critique upon metaphysics as he saw them in connection with dogmatic

theology. First, for his fiery anathema:--

"When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc

must we make? If we take in our hand any volume of divinity or School

metaphysics, for instance, let us ask, _Does it contain any abstract

reasoning concerning quantity or number?_ No. _Does it contain any

experimental reasoning concerning matters of fact and existence?_ No.

Commit it then to the flames: For it can contain nothing but sophistry

and illusion." (Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, § XII.) Alas

for certain of Hume's own speculations!

The student of Positivism knows how this fierce invective was echoed

and re-echoed by Comte and his followers. They, however, omitted the

qualifying word "School," which Hume prefixed to metaphysics. With

Comte, metaphysic of every kind was "anathema maranatha"; and even

psychology got excommunicated, by way of making "a clean sweep."

Hume, on the contrary, had an idea of what philosophy ought to be, and

thus outlined his preparation for a Metaphysic of the Future:--

"The only method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse

questions, is to inquire seriously into the nature of human

understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its powers and

capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such remote and abstruse

subjects. We must submit to this fatigue in order to live at ease ever

after: and must cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to

destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some persons,

affords a safeguard against this deceitful philosophy, is, with others,

overbalanced by curiosity; and despair, which at some moments prevails,

may give place afterwards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate

and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all persons

and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert that abstruse

philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up with

popular superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to careless

reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.

"Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate inquiry, the

most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many

positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the

powers and faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning

the operations of the mind, that though most intimately present to

us, yet, whenever they become the object of reflection, they seem

involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those lines and

boundaries which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are

too fine to remain long in the same aspect or situation, and must be

apprehended, in an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from

nature, and improved by habit and reflection. It becomes, therefore, no

inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different operations

of the mind, to separate them from each other, to class them under

their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming disorder in which

they lie involved, when made the object of reflection and inquiry.

This task of ordering and distinguishing, which has no merit when

performed with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses,

rises in its value when directed towards the operations of the mind,

in proportion to the difficulty and labour which we meet with in

performing it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography,

or delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at

least a satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious this science

may appear (and it is by no means obvious), the more contemptible still

must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and

philosophy." Ibid. Section I.

It seems worth while to consider what the effects might have been, had

Hume been faithful to his own idea.[46] In the first place he would

have remedied the weakness pointed out by Macaulay in the premises of

the schoolmen, which were in fact little better than sententious maxims

often derived from mistranslated passages of Scripture, one-sided

opinions of the Fathers, and other sources of doubtful value. These,

Hume would have abscided altogether, and rested his "true metaphysics"

upon such principles as survived a searching inquiry into the

conditions of Human knowledge. Hence, secondly, he would have rendered

a great service to Divinity itself, which can never be benefited

by such arguments as have been described, but must look for a safe

alliance to a synthesis of Faith and Reason. And in the third place he

might have probably given to his country a critical Philosophy adapted

to English modes of Thought. Kant's mind was fired by a spark of

Hume's kindling, but when we think what might have been the shape and

acceptance of Kant in this country had Hume heralded him by a critique

of Reason, it is impossible to read the great Scotchman's writings

without a feeling of disappointment.[47]

It would however be unjust to omit the fact that Hume did really

entertain a serious intention of dealing with these difficult

questions. Thus much is expressed in his earliest work, and we may

conjecture that literary disappointment was at least one cause of that

later preference for "easy philosophy" which contrasts so strongly with

the programme of his treatise on Human Nature. Few programmes were ever

more vigorously outlined, than the ensuing.

"From hence," he says, "in my opinion, arises that common prejudice

against metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those

who profess themselves scholars, and have a just value for every

other part of literature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not

understand those on any particular branch of science, but every kind of

argument, which is any way abstruse, and requires some attention to be

comprehended. We have so often lost our labour in such researches, that

we commonly reject them without hesitation, and resolve, if we must for

ever be a prey to errors and delusions, that they shall at least be

natural and entertaining. And, indeed, nothing but the most determined

scepticism, along with a great degree of indolence, can justify this

aversion to metaphysics. For, if truth be at all within the reach

of human capacity, 'tis certain it must lie very deep and abstruse;

and to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest

geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed

sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend to no such advantage

in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it a strong

presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious."--Treatise on

Human Nature, Introduction, p. 12.

In these sentences Hume has sufficiently condemned the vulgar

objections brought against abstract reasoning. Deep and difficult

questions can be discussed in no other manner; and what is often called

a popular treatise on some subject of philosophic inquiry can never

be more than a statement of its writer's opinions, or possibly of his

sentimental prejudices.

The next paragraph contains Hume's earliest[48] sketch of that critical

inquiry into Human Nature on which he proposed to base all future

philosophy. It is of course deeply interesting.

"'Tis evident that all the sciences have a relation, greater or

less, to human nature; and that however wide any of them may seem to

run from it, they still return back by one passage or another. Even

_Mathematics_, _Natural Philosophy_, and _Natural Religion_, are in

some measure dependent on the science of MAN; since they lie

under the cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and

faculties.

"'Tis impossible to tell what changes and improvements we might make in

these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force

of human understanding, and could explain the nature of the ideas we

employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings. And these

improvements are the more to be hoped for in natural religion, as it

is not content with instructing us in the nature of superior powers,

but carries its views further, to their disposition towards us, and our

duties towards them; and consequently we ourselves are not only the

beings that reason, but also one of the objects concerning which we

reason."

"If, therefore, the sciences of mathematics, natural philosophy, and

natural religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man,

what may be expected in the other sciences, whose connection with

human nature is more close and intimate?... In these four sciences of

_Logic_, _Morals_, _Criticism_, and _Politics_, is comprehended almost

everything which it can any way import us to be acquainted with, or

which can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the human mind.

"Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in

our philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method,

which we have hitherto followed, and instead of taking now and then a

castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital

or centre of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once

masters of, we may everywhere else hope for an easy victory. From this

station we may extend our conquests over all those sciences which more

intimately concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure

to discover more fully those which are the objects of pure curiosity.

There is no question of importance, whose decision is not comprised

in the science of man; and there is none, which can be decided with

any certainty, before we become acquainted with that science. In

pretending, therefore, to explain the principles of human nature, we in

effect propose a complete system of the sciences, built on a foundation

almost entirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with

any security."[49] Ibid. pp. 13-14.

The present writer has a special interest in citing these passages,

because they do in fact defend as well as describe the procedure of his

very next chapter.

Such then at an early age was Hume's keen-edged critical appreciation

of those intellectual conditions required for a Philosophy of the

Sciences, or as he calls it, the "true Metaphysics." In order to

supplement his clever and clear idea by a very practical delineation

of the metaphysical territory, we turn to another great thinker, the

founder of our modern natural science, the great Lord Verulam.[50]

Bacon divides Philosophy according to its objects, which are

three,--God, Nature, Man. Take, then, Natural Philosophy; it is well

said that the truth of nature lies deeply hidden, and it is also well

said that the Producer imitates Nature. Natural Philosophy divides

itself accordingly into the inquisition of causes and the production

of effects; it is both speculative and operative. There is indeed

an intercourse between causes and effects, and both these kinds of

knowledge. All true and fruitful Natural Philosophy has a double scale

or ladder,--ascendent and descendent; ascending from experiment to

first causes; descending thence to fresh experiment and always fresh

productiveness.[51]