PART I.

THE INFLUENCE OF SCIENCE UPON RELIGION.

I.

I propose to consider, in a series of three papers, the influence of

Science upon Religion. In doing this I shall seek to confine myself to

the strictly rational aspect of the subject, without travelling into any

matters of sentiment. Moreover, I shall aim at estimating in the first

instance the kind and degree of influence which has been exerted by

Science upon Religion in the past, and then go on to estimate the

probable extent of this influence in the future. The first two papers

will be devoted to the past and prospective influence of Science upon

Natural Religion, while the third will be devoted to the past and

prospective influence of Science upon Revealed Religion[19].

Few subjects have excited so much interest of late years as that which I

thus mark out for discussion. This can scarcely be considered a matter

of surprise, seeing that the influence in question is not only very

direct, but also extremely important from every point of view. For

generations and for centuries in succession Religion maintained an

undisputed sway over men's minds--if not always as a practical guide in

matters of conduct, at least as a regulator of belief. Even among the

comparatively few who in previous centuries professedly rejected

Christianity, there can be no doubt that their intellectual conceptions

were largely determined by it: for Christianity being then the only

court of appeal with reference to all these conceptions, even the few

minds which were professedly without its jurisdiction could scarcely

escape its indirect influence through the minds of others. But as side

by side with the venerable institution a new court of appeal was

gradually formed, we cannot wonder that it should have come to be

regarded in the light of a rival to the old--more especially as the

searching methods of its inquiry and the certain character of its

judgements were much more in consonance with the requirements of an age

disposed to scepticism. And this spirit of rivalry is still further

fostered by the fact that Science has unquestionably exerted upon

Religion what Mr. Fiske terms a 'purifying influence.' That is to say,

not only are the scientific methods of inquiry after truth more

congenial to sceptical minds than are the religious methods (which may

broadly be defined as accepting truth on authority), but the results of

the former have more than once directly contradicted those of the

latter: science has in several cases incontestably demonstrated that

religious teaching has been wrong as to matters of fact. Further still,

the great advance of natural knowledge which has characterized the

present century, has caused our ideas upon many subjects connected with

philosophy to undergo a complete metamorphosis. A well-educated man of

the present day is absolutely precluded from regarding some of the

Christian dogmas from the same intellectual standpoint as his

forefathers, even though he may still continue to accept them in some

other sense. In short, our whole key of thinking or tone of thought

having been in certain respects changed, we can no longer anticipate

that in these respects it should continue to harmonize with the

unalterable system of theology.

Such I conceive to be the ways in which Science has exerted her

influence upon Religion, and it is needless to dwell upon the potency of

their united effect. No one can read even a newspaper without perceiving

how great this effect has been. On the one hand, sceptics are

triumphantly confident that the light of dawning knowledge has begun

finally to dispel the darkness of superstition, while religious persons,

on the other hand, tremble to think what the future, if judged by the

past, is likely to bring forth. On both sides we have free discussion,

strong language, and earnest canvassing. Year by year stock is taken,

and year by year the balance is found to preponderate in favour of

Science.

This being the state of things of the present time, I think that with

the experience of the kind and degree of influence which Science has

exerted upon Religion in the past, we have material enough whereby to

estimate the probable extent of such influence in the future. This,

therefore, I shall endeavour to do by seeking to define, on general

principles, the limits within which it is antecedently possible that the

influence in question can be exercised. But in order to do this, it is

necessary to begin by estimating the kind and degree of the influence

which has been exerted by Science upon Religion in the past.

Thus much premised, we have in the first place to define the essential

nature both of Science and of Religion: for this is clearly the first

step in an analysis which has for its object an estimation of the actual

and possible effects of one of these departments of thought upon the

other.

Science, then, is essentially a department of thought having exclusive

reference to the Proximate. More particularly, it is a department of

thought having for its object the explanation of natural phenomena by

the discovery of natural (or proximate) causes. In so far as Science

ventures to trespass beyond this her only legitimate domain, and seeks

to interpret natural phenomena by the immediate agency of supernatural

or ultimate causes, in that degree has she ceased to be physical

science, and become ontological speculation. The truth of this statement

has now been practically recognized by all scientific workers; and terms

describing final causes have been banished from their vocabulary in

astronomy, chemistry, geology, biology, and even in psychology.

Religion, on the other hand, is a department of thought having no less

exclusive reference to the Ultimate. More particularly, it is a

department of thought having for its object a self-conscious and

intelligent Being, which it regards as a Personal God, and the

fountain-head of all causation. I am, of course, aware that the term

Religion has been of late years frequently used in senses which this

definition would not cover; but I conceive that this only shows how

frequently the term in question has been abused. To call any theory of

things a Religion which does not present any belief in any form of

Deity, is to apply the word to the very opposite of that which it has

hitherto been used to denote. To speak of the Religion of the

Unknowable, the Religion of Cosmism, the Religion of Humanity, and so

forth, where the personality of the First Cause is not recognized, is as

unmeaning as it would be to speak of the love of a triangle, or the

rationality of the equator. That is to say, if any meaning is to be

extracted from the terms at all, it is only to be so by using them in

some metaphorical sense. We may, for instance, say that there is such a

thing as a Religion of Humanity, because we may begin by deifying

Humanity in our own estimation, and then go on to worship our ideal. But

by thus giving Humanity the name of Deity we are not really creating a

new religion: we are merely using a metaphor, which may or may not be

successful as a matter of poetic diction, but which most assuredly

presents no shred of value as a matter of philosophical statement.

Indeed, in this relation it is worse than valueless: it is misleading.

Variations or reversals in the meanings of words are not of uncommon

occurrence in the ordinary growth of languages; but it is not often that

we find, as in this case, the whole meaning of a term intentionally and

gratuitously changed by the leaders of philosophical thought. Humanity,

for example, is an abstract idea of our own making: it is not an object

any more than the equator is an object. Therefore, if it were possible

to construct a religion by this curious device of metaphorically

ascribing to Humanity the attributes of Deity, it ought to be as

logically possible to construct, let us say, a theory of brotherly

regard towards the equator, by metaphorically ascribing to it the

attributes of man. The distinguishing features of any theory which can

properly be termed a Religion, is that it should refer to the ultimate

source, or sources, of things: and that it should suppose this source to

be of an objective, intelligent, and personal nature. To apply the term

Religion to any other theory is merely to abuse it.

From these definitions, then, it appears that the aims and methods of

Science are exclusively concerned with the ascertaining and the proof of

the proximate How of things and processes physical: her problem is, as

Mill states it, to discover what are the fewest number of (phenomenal)

data which, being granted, will explain the phenomena of experience. On

the other hand, Religion is not in any way concerned with causation,

further than to assume that all things and all processes are ultimately

due to intelligent personality. Religion is thus, as Mr. Spencer says,

'an _à priori_ theory of the universe'--to which, however, we must add,

'and a theory which assumes intelligent personality as the originating

source of the universe.' Without this needful addition, a religion would

be in no way logically distinguished from a philosophy.

From these definitions, then, it clearly follows that in their purest

forms, Science and Religion really have no point of logical contact.

Only if Science could transcend the conditions of space and time, of

phenomenal relativity, and of all human limitations, only then could

Science be in a position to touch the supernatural theory of Religion.

But obviously, if Science could do this, she would cease to be Science.

In soaring above the region of phenomena and entering the tenuous aether

of noumena, her present wings, which we call her methods, would in such

an atmosphere be no longer of any service for movement. Out of time, out

of place, and out of phenomenal relation, Science could no longer exist

as such.

On the other hand, Religion in its purest form is equally incompetent to

affect Science. For, as we have already seen, Religion as such is not

concerned with the phenomenal sphere: her theory of ontology cannot have

any reference to the How of phenomenal causation. Hence it is evident

that, as in their purest or most ideal forms they move in different

mental planes, Science and Religion cannot exhibit interference.

Thus far the remarks which I have made apply equally to all forms of

Religion, as such, whether actual or possible, and in so far as the

Religion is _pure_. But it is notorious that until quite recently

Religion did exercise upon Science, not only an influence, but an

overpowering influence. Belief in divine agency being all but universal,

while the methods of scientific research had not as yet been distinctly

formulated, it was in previous generations the usual habit of mind to

refer any natural phenomenon, the physical causation of which had not

been ascertained, to the more or less immediate causal action of the

Deity. But we now see that this habit of mind arose from a failure to

distinguish between the essentially distinct characters of Science and

Religion as departments of thought, and therefore that it was only so

far as the Religion of former times was impure--or mixed with the

ingredients of thought which belong to Science--that the baleful

influence in question was exerted. The gradual, successive, and now all

but total abolition of final causes from the thoughts of scientific men,

to which allusion has already been made, is merely an expression of the

fact that scientific men as a body have come fully to recognize the

fundamental distinction between Science and Religion which I have

stated.

Or, to put the matter in another way, scientific men as a body--and,

indeed, all persons whose ideas on such matters are abreast of the

times--perceive plainly enough that a religious explanation of any

natural phenomenon is, from a scientific point of view, no explanation

at all. For a religious explanation consists in referring the observed

phenomenon to the First Cause--i.e. to merge that particular phenomenon

in the general or final mystery of things. A scientific explanation, on

the other hand, consists in referring the observed phenomenon to its

physical causes, and in no case can such an explanation entertain the

hypothesis of a final cause without abandoning its character as a

scientific explanation. For example, if a child brings me a flower and

asks why it has such a curious form, bright colour, sweet perfume, and

so on, and if I answer, Because God made it so, I am not really

answering the child's question: I am merely concealing my ignorance of

Nature under a guise of piety, and excusing my indolence in the study of

botany. It was the appreciation of this fact that led Mr. Darwin to

observe in his _Origin of Species_ that the theory of creation does not

serve to explain any of the facts with which it is concerned, but merely

re-states these facts as they are observed to occur. That is to say, by

thus merging the facts as observed into the final mystery of things, we

are not even attempting to explain them in any scientific sense: for it

would be obviously possible to get rid of the necessity of thus

explaining any natural phenomenon whatsoever by referring it to the

immediate causal action of the Deity. If any phenomenon were actually

to occur which did proceed from the immediate causal action of the

Deity, then _ex hypothesi_, there would be no physical causes to

investigate, and the occupation of Othello, in the person of a man of

science, would be gone. Such a phenomenon would be miraculous, and

therefore from its very nature beyond the reach of scientific

investigation.

Properly speaking, then, the religious theory of final causes does not

explain any of the phenomena of Nature: it merely re-states the

phenomena as observed--or, if we prefer so to say, it is itself an

ultimate and universal explanation of all possible phenomena taken

collectively. For it must be admitted that behind all possible

explanations of a scientific kind, there lies a great inexplicable,

which just because of its ultimate character, cannot be merged into

anything further--that is to say, cannot be explained. 'It is what it

is,' is all that we can say of it: 'I am that I am' is all that it could

say of itself. And it is in referring phenomena to this inexplicable

source of physical causation that the theory of Religion essentially

consists. The theory of Science, on the other hand, consists in the

assumption that there is always a practically endless chain of physical

causation to investigate--i.e. an endless series of phenomena to be

explained. So that, if we define the process of explanation as the

process of referring observed phenomena to their adequate causes, we may

say that Religion, by the aid of a general theory of things in the

postulation of an intelligent First Cause, furnishes to her own

satisfaction an ultimate explanation of the universe as a whole, and

therefore is not concerned with any of those proximate explanations or

discovery of second causes, which form the exclusive subject-matter of

Science. In other words, we recur to the definitions already stated, to

the effect that Religion is a department of thought having, as such,

exclusive reference to the Ultimate, while Science is a department of

thought having, as such, no less exclusive reference to the Proximate.

When these two departments of thought overlap, interference results, and

we find confusion. Therefore it was that when the religious theory of

final causes intruded upon the field of scientific inquiry, it was

passing beyond its logical domain; and seeking to arrogate the function

of explaining this or that phenomenon _in detail_, it ceased to be a

purely religious theory, while at the same time and for the same reason

it blocked the way of scientific progress[20].

This remark serves to introduce one of the chief topics with which I

have to deal--viz. the doctrine of Design in Nature, and thus the whole

question of Natural Religion in its relation to Natural Science. In

handling this topic I shall endeavour to take as broad and deep a view

as I can of the present standing of Natural Religion, without waiting to

show step by step the ways and means by which it has been brought into

this position, by the influence of Science.

In the earliest dawn of recorded thought, teleology in some form or

another has been the most generally accepted theory whereby the order of

Nature is explained. It is not, however, my object in this paper to

trace the history of this theory from its first rude beginnings in

Fetishism to its final development in Theism. I intend to devote myself

exclusively to the question as to the present standing of this theory,

and I allude to its past history only in order to examine the statement

which is frequently made, to the effect that its general prevalence in

all ages and among all peoples of the world lends to it a certain degree

of 'antecedent credibility.' With reference to this point, I should say,

that, whether or not the order of Nature is due to a disposing Mind, the

hypothesis of mental agency in Nature--or, as the Duke of Argyll terms

it, the hypothesis of 'anthropopsychism'--must necessarily have been the

earliest hypothesis. What we find in Nature is the universal prevalence

of causation, and long before the no less universal equivalency between

causes and effects--i.e. the universal prevalence of natural law--became

a matter of even the [vaguest] appreciation, the general fact that

nothing happens without a cause of some kind was fully recognized.

Indeed, the recognition of this fact is not only presented by the

lowest races of the present day, but, as I have myself given evidence to

show, likewise by animals and infants[21]. And therefore, it appears to

me probable that those psychologists are right who argue that the idea

of cause is intuitive, in the same sense that the ideas of space and

time are intuitive--i.e. the instinctive or [inherited] effect of

ancestral experience.

Now if it is thus a matter of certainty that the recognition of

causality in Nature is co-extensive with, and even anterior to, the

human mind, it appears to me no less certain that the first attempt at

assigning a cause of this or that observed event in Nature--i.e. the

first attempts at a rational explanation of the phenomena of

Nature--must have been of an anthropopsychic kind. No other explanation

was, as it were, so ready to hand as that of projecting into external

Nature the agency of volition, which was known to each individual as the

apparent fountain-head of causal activity so far as he and his

neighbours were concerned. To reach this most obvious explanation of

causality in Nature, it did not require that primitive man should know,

as we know, that the very conception of causality arises out of our

sense of effort in voluntary action; it only required that this should

be the fact, and then it must needs follow that when any natural

phenomenon was thought about at all with reference to its causality, the

cause inferred should be one of a psychical kind. I need not wait to

trace the gradual integration of this anthropopsychic hypothesis from

its earliest and most diffused form of what we may term polypsychism

(wherein the causes inferred were almost as personally numerous as the

effects contemplated), through polytheism (wherein many effects of a

like kind were referred to one deity, who, as it were, took special

charge over that class), up to monotheism (wherein all causation is

gathered up into the monopsychism of a single personality): it is enough

thus briefly to show that from first to last the hypothesis of

anthropopsychism is a necessary phase of mental evolution under existing

conditions, and this whether or not the hypothesis is true.

Thus viewed, I do not think that 'the general consent of mankind' is a

fact of any argumentative weight in favour of the anthropopsychic

theory--so far, I mean, as the matter of causation is concerned--whether

this be in fetishism or in the teleology of our own day: the general

consent of mankind in the larger question of theism (where sundry other

matters besides causation fail to be considered) does not here concern

us. Indeed, it appears to me that if we are to go back to the savages

for any guarantee of our anthropopsychic theory, the pledge which we

receive is of worse than no value. As well might we conclude that a

match is a living organism, because this is to the mind of a savage the

most obvious explanation of its movements, as conclude on precisely

similar grounds that our belief in teleology derives any real support

from any of the more primitive phases of anthropopsychism.

It seems to me, therefore, that in seeking to estimate the evidence of

design in Nature, we must as it were start _de novo_, without reference

to anterior beliefs upon the subject. The question is essentially one to

be considered in the light of all the latest knowledge that we possess,

and by the best faculties of thinking that we (the heirs of all the

ages) are able to bring to bear upon it. I shall, therefore, only allude

to the history of anthropopsychism in so far as I may find it necessary

to do so for the sake of elucidating my argument.

And here it is needful to consider first what Paley called 'the state of

the argument' before the Darwinian epoch. This is clearly and tersely

presented by Paley in his classical illustration of finding a watch upon

a heath--an illustration so well known that I need not here re-state it.

I will merely observe, therefore, that it conveys, as it were in one's

watch-pocket, the whole of the argument from design; and that it is not

in my opinion open to the stricture which was passed upon it by Mill

where he says,--'The inference would not be from marks of design, but

because I already know by direct experience that watches are made by

men.' This appears to me to miss the whole point of Paley's meaning, for

there would be obviously no argument at all unless he be understood to

mean that the evidence of design which is supposed to be afforded by

examination of the watch, is supposed to be afforded by this examination

only, and not from any of the direct knowledge alluded to by Mill. For

the purposes of the illustration, it must clearly be assumed that the

finder of the watch has no previous or direct knowledge touching the

manufacture of watches. Apart from this curious misunderstanding, Mill

was at one with Paley upon the whole subject.

Again, it is no real objection to the argument or illustration to say,

as we often have said, that it does not account for the watchmaker. The

object of the argument from design is to _prove_ the existence of a

designer: not to _explain_ that existence. Indeed, it would be suicidal

to the whole argument in its relation to Theism, if the possibility of

any such explanation were entertained; for such a possibility could only

be entertained on the supposition that the being of the Deity admits of

being explained--i.e. that the Deity is not ultimate.

Lastly, the argument is precisely the same as that which occurs in

numerous passages of Scripture and in theological writings all over the

world down to the present time. That is to say, everywhere in organic

nature we meet with innumerable adaptations of means to ends, which in

very many cases present a degree of refinement and complexity in

comparison with which the adaptations of means to ends in a watch are

but miserable and rudimentary attempts at mechanism. No one can know so

well as the modern biologist in what an immeasurable degree the

mechanisms which occur in such profusion in nature surpass, in every

form of excellence, the highest triumphs of human invention. Hence at

first sight it does unquestionably appear that we could have no stronger

or better evidence of purpose than is thus afforded. In the words of

Paley: 'arrangement, disposition of parts, subserviency of means to an

end, relation of instruments to a use, imply the presence of

intelligence and mind.'

But next the question arises, Although such things certainly [may][22]

imply the presence of mind as their explanatory cause, are we entitled

to assume that there can be in nature no other cause competent to

produce these effects? This is a question which never seems to have

occurred to Paley, Bell, Chalmers, or indeed to any of the natural

theologians up to the time of Darwin. This, I think, is a remarkable

fact, because the question is one which, as a mere matter of logical

form, appears to lie so much upon the surface. But nevertheless the fact

remains that natural theologians, so far as I know without exception,

were satisfied to assume as an axiom that mechanism could have no cause

other than that of a designing mind; and therefore their work was

restricted to tracing out in detail the number and the excellency of the

mechanisms which were to be met with in nature. It is, however, obvious

that the mere accumulation of such cases can have no real, or logical,

effect upon the argument. The mechanisms which we encounter in nature

are so amazing in their perfections, that the attentive study of any one

of them would (as Paley in his illustration virtually, though not

expressly, contends) be sufficient to carry the whole position, if the

assumption be conceded that mechanism can only be due to mind. Therefore

the argument is not really, or logically, strengthened by the mere

accumulation of any number of special cases of mechanism in nature, all

as mechanisms similar in kind. Let us now consider this argument.

If we are disposed to wonder why natural theologians prior to the days

of Darwin were content to assume that mind is the only possible cause of

mechanism, I think we have a ready answer in the universal prevalence of

their belief in special creation. For I think it is unquestionable that,

upon the basis of this belief, the assumption is legitimate. That is to

say, if we start with the belief that all species of plants and animals

were originally introduced to the complex conditions of their several

environments suddenly and ready made (in some such manner as watches are

turned out from a manufactory), then I think we are reasonably entitled

to assume that no conceivable cause, other than that of intelligent

purpose, could possibly be assigned in explanation of the effects. It

is, of course, needless to observe that in so far as this previous

belief in special creation was thus allowed to affect the argument from

design, that argument became an instance of circular reasoning. And it

is, perhaps, equally needless to observe that the mere fact of

evolution, as distinguished from special creation--or of the gradual

development of living mechanisms, as distinguished from their sudden

and ready-made apparition--would not in any way affect the argument from

design, unless it could be shown that the process of evolution admits

the possibility of some other cause which is not admitted by the

hypothesis of special creation. But this is precisely what is shown by

the theory of evolution as propounded by Darwin. That is to say, the

theory of the gradual development of living mechanisms propounded by

Darwin, is something more than a theory of gradual development as

distinguished from sudden creation. It is this, but it is also a theory

of a purely scientific kind which seeks to explain the purely physical

causes of that development. And this is the point where natural science

begins to exert her influence upon natural theology--or the point where

the theory of evolution begins to affect the theory of design. As this

is a most important part of our subject, and one upon which an

extraordinary amount of confusion at the present time prevails, I shall

in my next paper carefully consider it in all its bearings.

FOOTNOTES:

[19] [The third paper is not published because Romanes' views on the

relation between science and faith in Revealed Religion are better and

more maturely expressed in the Notes.--ED.]

[20] To avoid misunderstanding I may observe that in the above

definitions I am considering Religion and Science under the conditions

in which they actually exist. It is conceivable that under other

conditions these two departments of thought might not be so sharply

separated. Thus, for instance, if a Religion were to appear carrying a

revelation to Science upon matters of physical causation, such a

Religion (supposing the revelation were found by experiment to be true)

ought to be held to exercise upon Science a strictly legitimate

influence.

[21] _Mental Evolution in Animals_, pp. 155-8.

[22] [I have put 'may' in place of 'do' for the sake of argument.--ED.]

II.

Suppose the man who found the watch upon a heath to continue his walk

till he comes down to the sea-shore, and suppose further that he is as

ignorant of physical geography as he is of watch-making. He soon begins

to observe a number of adaptations of means to ends, which, if less

refined and delicate than those that formed the object of his study in

the watch, are on the other hand much more impressive from the greatly

larger scale on which they are displayed. First, he observes that there

is a beautiful basin hollowed out in the land for the reception of a

bay; that the sides of this basin, which from being near its opening are

most exposed to the action of large rolling billows, are composed of

rocky cliffs, evidently in order to prevent the further encroachment of

the sea, and the consequent destruction of the entire bay; that the

sides of the basin, which from being successively situated more inland

are successively less and less exposed to the action of large waves, are

constituted successively of smaller rocks, passing into shingle, and

eventually into the finest sand: that as the tides rise and fall with as

great a regularity as was exhibited by the movements of the watch, the

stones are carefully separated out from the sand to be arranged in

sloping layers by themselves, and this always with a most beautiful

reference to the places round the margin of the basin which are most in

danger of being damaged by the action of the waves. He would further

observe, upon closer inspection, that this process of selective

arrangement goes into matters of the most minute detail. Here, for

instance, he would observe a mile or two of a particular kind of seaweed

artistically arranged in one long sinuous line upon the beach; there he

would see a wonderful deposit of shells; in another place a lovely

little purple heap of garnet sand, the minute particles of which have

all been carefully picked out from the surrounding acres of yellow sand.

Again, he would notice that the streams which come down to the bay are

all flowing in channels admirably dug out for the purpose; and, being

led by curiosity to investigate the teleology of these various streams,

he would find that they serve to supply the water which the sea loses by

evaporation, and also, by a wonderful piece of adjustment, to furnish

fresh water to those animals and plants which thrive best in fresh

water, and yet by their combined action to carry down sufficient mineral

constituents to give that precise degree of saltness to the sea as a

whole which is required for the maintenance of pelagic life. Lastly,

continuing his investigations along this line of inquiry, he would find

that a thousand different habitats were all thoughtfully adapted to the

needs of a hundred thousand different forms of life, none of which

could survive if these habitats were reversed. Now, I think that our

imaginary inquirer would be a dull man if, as the result of all this

study, he failed to conclude that the evidence of Design furnished by

the marine bay was at least as cogent as that which he had previously

found in his study of the watch.

But there is this great difference between the two cases. Whereas by

subsequent inquiry he could ascertain as a matter of fact that the watch

was due to intelligent contrivance, he could make no such discovery with

reference to the marine bay: in the one case intelligent contrivance as

a cause is independently demonstrable, while in the other case it can

only be inferred. What, then, is the value of the inference?

If, after the studies of our imaginary teleologist had been completed,

he were introduced to the library of the Royal Society, and if he were

then to spend a year or two in making himself acquainted with the

leading results of modern science, I fancy that he would end by being

both a wiser and a sadder man. At least I am certain that in learning

more he would feel that he is understanding less--that the archaic

simplicity of his earlier explanations must give place to a matured

perplexity upon the whole subject. To begin with, he would now find that

every one of the adjustments of means to ends which excited his

admiration on the sea-coast were due to physical causes which are

perfectly well understood. The cliffs stood at the opening of the bay

because the sea in past ages had encroached upon the coast-line until

it met with these cliffs, which then opposed its further progress; the

bay was a depression in the land which happened to be there when the sea

arrived, and into which the sea consequently flowed; the successive

occurrence of rocks, shingle, and sand was due to the actions of the

waves themselves; the segregation of sea-weeds, shells, pebbles, and

different kinds of sand, was due to their different degrees of specific

gravity; the fresh-water streams ran in channels because they had

themselves been the means of excavating them; and the multitudinous

forms of life were all adapted to their several habitats simply because

the unsuited forms were not able to live in them. In all these cases,

therefore, our teleologist in the light of fuller knowledge would be

compelled to conclude at least this much--that the adaptations which he

had so greatly admired when he supposed that they were all due to

contrivance in anticipation of the existing phenomena, cease to furnish

the same evidence of intelligent design when it is found that no one of

them was prepared beforehand by any independent or external cause.

He would therefore be led to conclude that if the teleological

interpretation of the facts were to be saved at all, it could only be so

by taking a much wider view of the subject than was afforded by the

particular cases of apparent design which at first appeared so cogent.

That is to say, he would feel that he must abandon the supposition of

any _special_ design in the construction of that particular bay, and

fall back upon the theory of a much more _general_ design in the

construction of one great scheme of Nature as a whole. In short he would

require to dislodge his argument from the special adjustments which in

the first instance appeared to him so suggestive, to those general laws

of Nature which by their united operation give rise to a cosmos as

distinguished from a chaos.

Now I have been careful thus to present in all its more important

details an imaginary argument drawn from inorganic nature, because it

furnishes a complete analogy to the actual argument which is drawn from

organic nature. Without any question, the instances of apparent design,

or of the apparently intentional adaptation of means to ends, which we

meet with in organic nature, are incomparably more numerous and

suggestive than anything with which we meet in inorganic nature. But if

once we find good reason to conclude that the former, like the latter,

are all due, not to the immediate, special and prospective action of a

contriving intelligence (as in watch-making or creation), but to the

agency of secondary or physical causes acting under the influence of

what we call general laws, then it seems to me that no matter how

numerous or how wonderful the adaptations of means to ends in organic

nature may be, they furnish one no other or better evidence of design

than is furnished by any of the facts of inorganic nature.

For the sake of clearness let us take any special case. Paley says, 'I

know of no better method of introducing so large a subject than that of

comparing a single thing with a single thing; an eye, for example, with

a telescope.' He then goes on to point out the analogies between these

two pieces of apparatus, and ends by asking, 'How is it possible, under

circumstances of such close affinity, and under the operation of equal

evidence, to exclude contrivance in the case of the eye, yet to

acknowledge the proof of contrivance having been employed, as the

plainest and clearest of all propositions in the case of the telescope?'

Well, the answer to be made is that only upon the hypothesis of special

creation can this analogy hold: on the hypothesis of evolution by

physical causes the evidence in the two cases is _not_ equal. For, upon

this hypothesis we have the eye beginning, not as a ready-made structure

prepared beforehand for the purposes of seeing, but as a mere

differentiation of the ends of nerves in the skin, probably in the first

instance to enable them better to discriminate changes of temperature.

Pigment having been laid down in these places the better to secure this

purpose (I use teleological terms for the sake of brevity), the

nerve-ending begins to distinguish between light and darkness. The

better to secure this further purpose, the simplest conceivable form of

lens begins to appear in the shape of small refractive bodies. Behind

these sensory cells are developed, forming the earliest indication of a

retina presenting a single layer. And so on, step by step, till we

reach the eye of an eagle.

Of course the teleologist will here answer--'The fact of such a gradual

building up is no argument against design: whether the structure

appeared on a sudden or was the result of a slow elaboration, the marks

of design in either case occur in the structure as it stands.' All of

which is very true; but I am not maintaining that the fact of a gradual

development _in itself_ does affect the argument from design. I am

maintaining that it only does so because it reveals the possibility

(excluded by the hypothesis of sudden or special creation) of the

structure having been proximately due to the operation of physical

causes. Thus, for the value of argument, let us assume that natural

selection has been satisfactorily established as a cause adequate to

account for all these effects. Given the facts of heredity, variation,

struggle for existence, and the consequent survival of the fittest, what

follows? Why that each step in the prolonged and gradual development of

the eye was brought about by the elimination of all the less adapted

structures in any given generation, i.e. the selection of all the better

adapted to perpetuate the improvement by heredity. Will the teleologist

maintain that this selective process is itself indicative of special

design? If so, it appears to me that he is logically bound to maintain

that the long line of seaweed, the shells, the stones and the little

heap of garnet sand upon the sea-coast are all equally indicative of

special design. The general laws relating to specific gravity are at

least of as much importance in the economy of nature as are the general

laws relating to specific differentiation; and in each illustration

alike we find the result of the operation of known physical causes to be

that of selection. If it should be argued in reply that the selection in

the one case is obviously purposeless, while in the other it is as

obviously purposive, I answer that this is pure assumption. It is

perhaps not too much to say that every geological formation on the face

of the globe is either wholly or in part due to the selective influence

of specific gravity, and who shall say that the construction of the

earth's crust is a less important matter in the general scheme of things

(if there is such a scheme) than is the evolution of an eye? Or who

shall say that because we see an apparently intentional adaptation of

means to ends as the result of selection in the case of the eye, there

is no intention served by the result of selection in the case of the

sea-weeds, stones, sand, mud? For anything that we can know to the

contrary, the supposed intelligence may take a greater delight in the

latter than in the former process.

For the sake of clearness I have assumed that the physical causes with

which we are already acquainted are sufficient to explain the observed

phenomena of organic nature. But it clearly makes no difference whether

or not this assumption is conceded, provided we allow that the observed

phenomena are all due to physical causes of some kind, be they known or

unknown. That is to say, in whatever measure we exclude the hypothesis

of the direct or immediate intervention of the Deity in organic nature

(miracle), in that measure we are reducing the evidence of design in

organic nature to precisely the same logical position as that which is

occupied by the evidence of design in inorganic nature. Hence I conceive

that Mill has shown a singular want of penetration where, after

observing with reference to natural selection, 'creative forethought is

not absolutely the only link by which the origin of the wonderful

mechanism of the eye may be connected with the fact of sight,' he goes

on to say, 'leaving this remarkable speculation (i.e. that of natural

selection) to whatever fate the progress of discovery may have in store

for it, in the present state of knowledge the adaptations in nature

afford a large balance of probability in favour of creation by

intelligence.' I say this passage seems to me to show a singular want of

penetration, and I say so because it appears to argue that the issue

lies between the hypothesis of special design and the hypothesis of

natural selection. But it does not do so. The issue really lies between

special design and natural causes. Survival of the fittest is one of

these causes which has been suggested, and shown by a large accumulation

of evidence to be probably a true cause. But even if it were to be

disproved as a cause, the real argumentative position of teleology would

not thereby be effected, unless we were to conclude that there can be no

other causes of a secondary or physical kind concerned in the

production of the observed adaptations.

I trust that I have now made it sufficiently clear why I hold that if we

believe the reign of natural law, or the operation of physical causes,

to extend throughout organic nature in the same universal manner as we

believe this in the case of inorganic nature, then we can find no better

evidence of design in the one province than in the other. The mere fact

that we meet with more numerous and apparently more complete instances

of design in the one province than in the other is, _ex hypothesi_,

merely due to our ignorance of the natural causation in the more

intricate province. In studying biological phenomena we are all at

present in the intellectual position of our imaginary teleologist when

studying the marine bay: we do not know the natural causes which have

produced the observed results. But if, after having obtained a partial

key in the theory of natural selection, we trust to the large analogy

which is afforded by the simpler provinces of Nature, and conclude that

physical causes are everywhere concerned in the production of organic

structures, then we have concluded that any evidence of design which

these structures present is of just the same logical value as that which

we may attach to the evidence of design in inorganic nature. If it

should still be urged that the adaptations met with in organic nature

are from their number and unity much more suggestive of design than

anything met with in inorganic nature, I must protest that this is to

change the ground of argument and to evade the only point in dispute.

No one denies the obvious fact stated: the only question is whether any

number and any quantity of adaptations in any one department of nature

afford other or better evidence of design than is afforded by

adaptations in other departments, when all departments alike are

supposed to be equally the outcome of physical causation. And this

question I answer in the negative, because we have no means of

ascertaining the extent to which the process of natural selection, or

any other physical cause, is competent to produce adaptations of the

kind observed.

Thus, to take another instance of apparent design from inorganic nature,

it has been argued that the constitution of the atmosphere is clearly

designed for the support of vegetable and animal life. But before this

conclusion can be established upon the facts, it must be shown that life

could exist under no other material conditions than those which are

furnished to it by the elementary constituents of the atmosphere. This,

however, it is clearly impossible to show. For anything that we can know

to the contrary, life may actually be existing upon some of the other

heavenly bodies under totally different conditions as to atmosphere; and

the fact that on this planet all life has come to be dependent upon the

gases which occur in our atmosphere, may be due simply to the fact that

it was only the forms of life which were able to adapt themselves

(through natural selection or other physical causes) to these particular

gases which could possibly be expected to occur--just as in matters of

still smaller detail, it was only those forms of life that were suited

to their several habitats in the marine bay, which could possibly be

expected to be found in these several situations. Now, if a set of

adjustments so numerous and so delicate as those on which the relations

of every known form of life to the constituent gases of the atmosphere

are seen to depend, can thus be shown not necessarily to imply the

action of any disposing intelligence, how is it possible to conclude

that any less general exhibitions of adjustment imply this, so long as

every case of adjustment, whether or not ultimately due to design, is

regarded as proximately due to physical causes?

In view of these considerations, therefore, I think it is perfectly

clear that if the argument from teleology is to be saved at all, it can

only be so by shifting it from the narrow basis of special adaptations,

to the broad area of Nature as a whole. And here I confess that to my

mind the argument does acquire a weight which, if long and attentively

considered, deserves to be regarded as enormous. For, although this and

that particular adjustment in Nature may be seen to be proximately due

to physical causes, and although we are prepared on the grounds of the

largest possible analogy to infer that all other such particular cases

are likewise due to physical causes, the more ultimate question arises,

How is it that all physical causes conspire, by their united action, to

the production of a general order of Nature? It is against all analogy

to suppose that such an end as this can be accomplished by such means

as those, in the way of mere chance or 'the fortuitous concourse of

atoms.' We are led by the most fundamental dictates of our reason to

conclude that there must be some cause for this co-operation of causes.

I know that from Lucretius' time this has been denied; but it has been

denied only on grounds of _feeling_. No possible _reason_ can be given

for the denial which does not run counter to the law of causation

itself. I am therefore perfectly clear that the only question which,

from a purely rational point of view, here stands to be answered is

this--Of what nature are we to suppose the _causa causarum_ to be?

On this point only two hypotheses have ever been advanced, and I think

it is impossible to conceive that any third one is open. Of these two

hypotheses the earliest, and of course the most obvious, is that of

mental purpose. The other hypothesis is one which we owe to the

far-reaching thought of Mr. Herbert Spencer. In Chapter VII of his

_First Principles_ he argues that all causation arises immediately out

of existence as such, or, as he states it, that 'uniformity of law

inevitably follows from the persistence of force.' For 'if in any two

cases there is exact likeness not only between those most conspicuous

antecedents which we distinguish as the causes, but also between those

accompanying antecedents which we call the conditions, we cannot affirm

that the effects will differ, without affirming either that some force

has come into existence or that some force has ceased to exist. If the

co-operative forces in the one case are equal to those in the other,

each to each, in distribution and amount; then it is impossible to

conceive the product of their joint action in the one case as unlike

that in the other, without conceiving one or more of the forces to have

increased or diminished in quantity; and this is conceiving that force

is not persistent.'

Now this interpretation of causality as the immediate outcome of

existence must be considered first as a theory of causation, and next as

a theory in relation to Theism. As a theory of causation it has not met

with the approval of mathematicians, physicists, or logicians, leading

representatives of all these departments of thought having expressly

opposed it, while, so far as I am aware, no representative of any one of

them has spoken in its favour[23]. But with this point I am not at

present concerned, for even if the theory were admitted to furnish a

full and complete explanation of causality, it would still fail to

account for the harmonious relation of causes, or the fact with which we

are now alone concerned. This distinction is not perceived by the

anonymous author 'Physicus,' who, in his _Candid Examination of Theism_,

lays great stress upon Mr. Spencer's theory of causation as subversive

of Theism, or at least as superseding the necessity of theistic

hypothesis by furnishing a full explanation of the order of Nature on

purely physical grounds. But he fails to perceive that even if Mr.

Spencer's theory were conceded fully to explain all the facts of

causality, it would in no wise tend to explain the cosmos in which these

facts occur. It may be true that causation depends upon the 'persistence

of force': it does not follow that all manifestations of force should on

this account have been directed to occur as they do occur. For, if we

follow back any sequence of physical causation, we soon find that it

spreads out on all sides into a network of physical relations which are

literally infinite both in space (conditions) and in time (antecedent

causes). Now, even if we suppose that the persistence of force is a

sufficient explanation of the occurrence of the particular sequence

contemplated so far as the exhibition of force is there concerned, we

are thus as far as ever from explaining the _determination_ of this

force into the particular channel through which it flows. It may be

quite true that the resultant is determined as to magnitude and

direction by the components; but what about the magnitude and direction

of the components? If it is said that they in turn were determined by

the outcome of previous systems, how about these systems? And so on till

we spread away into the infinite network already mentioned. Only if we

knew the origin of all series of all such systems could we be in a

position to say that an adequate intelligence might determine beforehand

by calculation the state of any one part of the universe at any given

instant of time. But, as the series are infinite both in number and

extent, this knowledge is clearly out of the question. Moreover, even if

it could be imagined as possible, it could only be so imagined at the

expense of supposing an origin of physical causation in time; and this

amounts to supposing a state of things prior to such causation, and out

of which it arose. But to suppose this is to suppose some extra-physical

source of physical causation; and whether this supposition is made with

reference to a physical event occurring under immediate observation

(miracle), or to a physical event in past time, or to the origin of all

physical events, it is alike incompatible with any theory that seeks to

give a purely physical explanation of the physical universe as a whole.

It is, in short, the old story about a stream not being able to rise

above its source. Physical causation cannot be made to supply its own

explanation, and the mere persistence of force, even if it were conceded

to account for particular cases of physical sequence, can give no

account of the ubiquitous and eternal direction of force in the

construction and maintenance of universal order.

We are thus, as it were, driven upon the theory of Theism as furnishing

the only nameable explanation of this universal order. That is to say,

by no logical artifice can we escape from the conclusion that, as far

as we can see, this universal order must be regarded as due to some one

integrating principle; and that this, so far as we can see, is most

probably of the nature of mind. At least it must be allowed that we can

conceive of it under no other aspect; and that if any particular

adaptation in organic nature is held to be suggestive of such an agency,

the sum total of all adaptations in the universe must be held to be

incomparably more so. I shall not, however, dwell upon this theme since

it has been well treated by several modern writers, and with special

cogency by the Rev. Baden Powell. I will merely observe that I do not

consider it necessary to the display of this argument in favour of

Theism that we should speak of 'natural laws.' It is enough to take our

stand upon the [broadest] general fact that Nature is a system, and that

the order observable in this system is absolutely universal, eternally

enduring, and infinitely exact; while only upon the supposition of its

being such is our experience conceived as possible, or our knowledge

conceived as attainable.

Having thus stated as emphatically as I can that in my opinion no

explanation of natural order can be either conceived or named other than

that of intelligence as the supreme directing cause, I shall proceed to

two other questions which arise immediately out of this conclusion. The

first of these questions is as to the presumable character of this

supreme Intelligence so far as any data of inference upon this point are

supplied by our observation of Nature; and the other question is as to

the strictly formal cogency of any conclusions either with reference to

the existence or the character of such an intelligence[24]. I shall

consider these two points separately.

No sooner have we reached the conclusion that the only hypothesis

whereby the general order of Nature admits of being in any degree

accounted for is that it is due to a cause of a mental kind, than we

confront the fact that this cause must be widely different from anything

that we know of Mind in ourselves. And we soon discover that this

difference must be conceived as not merely of degree, however great, but

of kind. In other words, although we may conclude that the nearest

analogue of the _causa causarum_ given in experience is the human mind,

we are bound to acknowledge that in all fundamental points the analogy

is so remote that it becomes a question whether we are really very much

nearer the truth by entertaining it. Thus, for instance, as Mr. Spencer

has pointed out, our only conception of that which we know as Mind in

ourselves is the conception of a series of states of consciousness. But,

he continues, 'Put a series of states of consciousness as cause and the

evolving universe as effect, and then endeavour to see the last as

flowing from the first. I find it possible to imagine in some dim way a

series of states of consciousness serving as antecedent to any one of

the movements I see going on; for my own states of consciousness are

often indirectly the antecedents to such movements. But how if I attempt

to think of such a series as antecedent to _all_ actions throughout the

universe ...? If to account for this infinitude of physical changes

everywhere going on, "Mind must be conceived as there," "under the guise

of simple-dynamics," then the reply is, that, to be so conceived, Mind

must be divested of all attributes by which it is distinguished; and

that, when thus divested of its distinguishing attributes the conception

disappears--the word Mind stands for a blank.'

Moreover, 'How is the "originating Mind" to be thought of as having

states produced by things objective to it, as discriminating among these

states, and classing them as like and unlike; and as preferring one

objective result to another?'[25]

Hence, without continuing this line of argument, which it would not be

difficult to trace through every constituent branch of human psychology,

we may take it as unquestionable that, if there is a Divine Mind, it

must differ so essentially from the human mind, that it becomes

illogical to designate the two by the same name: the attributes of

eternity and ubiquity are in themselves enough to place such a Mind in a

category _sui generis_, wholly different from anything which the analogy

furnished by our own mind enables us even dimly to conceive. And this,

of course, is no more than theologians admit. God's thoughts are above

our thoughts, and a God who would be comprehensible to our intelligence

would be no God at all, they say. Which may be true enough, only we must

remember that in whatever measure we are thus precluded from

understanding the Divine Mind, in that measure are we precluded from

founding any conclusions as to its nature upon analogies furnished by

the human mind. The theory ceases to be anthropomorphic: it ceases to be

even 'anthropopsychic': it is affiliated with the conception of mind

only in virtue of the one fact that it serves to give the best

provisional account of the order of Nature, by supposing an infinite

extension of some of the faculties of the human mind, with a concurrent

obliteration of all the essential conditions under which alone these

faculties are known to exist. Obviously of such a Mind as this no

predication is logically possible. If such a Mind exists, it is not

conceivable as existing, and we are precluded from assigning to it any

attributes.

Thus much on general grounds. Descending now to matters of more detail,

let us assume with the natural theologians that such a Mind does exist,

that it so far resembles the human mind as to be a conscious, personal

intelligence, and that the care of such a Mind is over all its works.

Even upon the grounds of this supposition we meet with a number of large

and general facts which indicate that this Mind ought still to be

regarded as apparently very unlike its 'image' in the mind of man. I

will not here dwell upon the argument of seeming waste and purposeless

action in Nature, because I think that this may be fairly met by the

ulterior argument already drawn from Nature as a whole--viz. that as a

whole, Nature is a cosmos, and therefore that what to us appears

wasteful and purposeless in matters of detail may not be so in relation

to the scheme of things as a whole. But I am doubtful whether this

ulterior argument can fairly be adduced to meet the apparent absence in

Nature of that which in man we term morality. For in the human mind the

sense of right and wrong--with all its accompanying or constituting

emotions of love, sympathy, justice, &c.--is so important a factor, that

however greatly we may imagine the intellectual side of the human mind

to be extended, we can scarcely imagine that the moral side could ever

become so apparently eclipsed as to end in the authorship of such a work

as we find in terrestrial nature. It is useless to hide our eyes to the

state of matters which meets us here. Most of the instances of special

design which are relied upon by the natural theologian to prove the

intelligent nature of the First Cause, have as their end or object the

infliction of painful death or the escape from remorseless enemies; and

so far the argument in favour of the intelligent nature of the First

Cause is an argument against its morality. Again, even if we quit the

narrower basis on which teleological argument has rested in the past,

and stand that argument upon the broader ground of Nature as a whole, it

scarcely becomes less incompatible with any inference to the morality

of that Cause, seeing that the facts to which I have alluded are not

merely occasional and, as it were, outweighed by contrary facts of a

more general kind, but manifestly constitute the leading feature of the

scheme of organic nature as a whole: or, if this were held to be

questionable, it could only follow that we are not entitled to infer

that there is any such scheme at all.

Nature, as red in tooth and claw with ravin, is thus without question a

large and general fact that must be considered by any theory of

teleology which can be propounded. I do not think that this aspect of

the matter could be conveyed in stronger terms than it is by

'Physicus[26],' whom I shall therefore quote:--

'Supposing the Deity to be, what Professor Flint maintains that he

is--viz. omnipotent, and there can be no inference more transparent than

that such wholesale suffering, for whatever ends designed, exhibits an

incalculably greater deficiency of beneficence in the divine character

than that which we know in any, the very worst, of human characters. For

let us pause for one moment to think of what suffering in Nature means.

Some hundreds of millions of years ago some millions of millions of

animals must be supposed to have become sentient. Since that time till

the present, there must have been millions and millions of generations

of millions and millions of individuals. And throughout all this period

of incalculable duration, this inconceivable host of sentient organisms

have been in a state of unceasing battle, dread, ravin, pain. Looking to

the outcome, we find that more than one half of the species which have

survived the ceaseless struggle are parasitic in their habits, lower and

insentient forms of life feasting on higher and sentient forms; we find

teeth and talons whetted for slaughter, hooks and suckers moulded for

torment--everywhere a reign of terror, hunger, sickness, with oozing

blood and quivering limbs, with gasping breath and eyes of innocence

that dimly close in deaths of cruel torture! Is it said that there are

compensating enjoyments? I care not to strike the balance; the

enjoyments I plainly perceive to be as physically necessary as the

pains, and this whether or not evolution is due to design.... Am I told

that I am not competent to judge the purposes of the Almighty? I answer

that if there are _purposes_, I _am_ able to judge of them so far as I

can see; and if I am expected to judge of His purposes when they appear

to be beneficent, I am in consistency obliged also to judge of them when

they appear to be malevolent. And it can be no possible extenuation of

the latter to point to the "final result" as "order and beauty," so long

as the means adopted by the "_Omnipotent Designer_" are known to have

been so [terrible]. All that we could legitimately assert in this case

would be that, so far as observation can extend, "He cares for animal

perfection" _to the exclusion of_ "animal enjoyment," and even to the

_total disregard_ of animal suffering. But to assert this would merely

be to deny beneficence as an attribute of God[27].'

The reasoning here appears as unassailable as it is obvious. If, as the

writer goes on to say, we see a rabbit panting in the iron jaws of a

spring trap, and in consequence abhor the devilish nature of the being

who, with full powers of realizing what pain means, can deliberately

employ his whole faculties of invention in contriving a thing so

hideously cruel; what are we to think of a Being who, with yet higher

faculties of thought and knowledge, and with an unlimited choice of

means to secure His ends, has contrived untold thousands of mechanisms

no less diabolical? In short, so far as Nature can teach us, or

'observation can extend,' it does appear that the scheme, if it is a

scheme, is the product of a Mind which differs from the more highly

evolved type of human mind in that it is immensely more intellectual

without being nearly so moral. And the same thing is indicated by the

rough and indiscriminate manner in which justice is allotted--even if it

can be said to be allotted at all. When we contrast the certainty and

rigour with which any offence against 'physical law' is punished by

Nature (no matter though the sin be but one of ignorance), with the

extreme uncertainty and laxity with which she meets any offence against

'moral law,' we are constrained to feel that the system of legislation

(if we may so term it) is conspicuously different from that which would

have been devised by any intelligence which in any sense could be called

'anthropopsychic.'

The only answer to these difficulties open to the natural theologian is

that which is drawn from the constitution of the human mind. It is

argued that the fact of this mind having so large an ingredient of

morality in its constitution may be taken as proof that its originating

source is likewise of a moral character. This argument, however, appears

to me of a questionable character, seeing that, for anything we can tell

to the contrary, the moral sense may have been given to, or developed

in, man simply on account of its utility to the species--just in the

same way as teeth in the shark or poison in the snake. If so, the

occurrence of the moral sense in man would merely furnish one other

instance of the intellectual, as distinguished from the moral, nature of

God; and there seems to be in itself no reason why we should take any

other view. The mere fact that to _us_ the moral sense seems such a

great and holy thing, is doubtless (under any view) owing to its

importance to the well-being of our species. In itself, or as it appears

to other possible beings intellectual like ourselves, but existing under

unlike conditions, the moral sense of man may be regarded as of no more

significance than the social instincts of bees. More particularly may

this consideration apply to the case of a Mind existing, according to

the theological theory of things, wholly beyond the pale of anything

analogous to those social relations out of which, according to the

scientific theory of evolution, the moral sense has been developed in

ourselves[28].

The truth is that in this matter natural theologians begin by assuming

that the First Cause, if intelligent, _must_ be moral; and then they are

blinded to the strictly logical weakness of the argument whereby they

endeavour to sustain their assumption. For aught that we can tell to the

contrary, it may be quite as 'anthropomorphic' a notion to attribute

morality to God as it would be to attribute those capacities for

sensuous enjoyment with which the Greeks endowed their divinities. The

Deity may be as high above the one as the other--or rather perhaps we

may say as much external to the one as to the other. Without being

supra-moral, and still less immoral, He may be un-moral: our ideas of

morality may have no meaning as applied to Him.

But if we go thus far in one direction, I think, _per contra_, it must

in consistency be allowed that the argument from the constitution of the

human mind acquires more weight when it is shifted from the moral sense

to the religious instincts. For, on the one hand, these instincts are

not of such obvious use to the species as are those of morality; and,

on the other hand, while they are unquestionably very general, very

persistent, and very powerful, they do not appear to serve any 'end' or

'purpose' in the scheme of things, unless we accept the theory which is

given of them by those in whom they are most strongly developed. Here I

think we have an argument of legitimate force, although it does not

appear that such was the opinion entertained of it by Mill. I think the

argument is of legitimate force, because if the religious instincts of

the human race point to no reality as their object, they are out of

analogy with all other instinctive endowments. Elsewhere in the animal

kingdom we never meet with such a thing as an instinct pointing

aimlessly, and therefore the fact of man being, as it is said, 'a

religious animal'--i.e. presenting a class of feelings of a peculiar

nature directed to particular ends, and most akin to, if not identical

with, true instinct--is so far, in my opinion, a legitimate argument in

favour of the reality of some object towards which the religious side of

this animal's nature is directed. And I do not think that this argument

is invalidated by such facts as that widely different intellectual

conceptions touching the character of this object are entertained by

different races of mankind; that the force of the religious instincts

differs greatly in different individuals even of the same race; that

these instincts admit of being greatly modified by education; that they

would probably fail to be developed in any individual without at least

so much education as is required to furnish the needful intellectual

conceptions on which they are founded; or that we may not improbably

trace their origin, as Mr. Spencer traces it, to a primitive mode of

interpreting dreams. For even in view of all these considerations the

fact remains that these instincts _exist_, and therefore, like all other

instincts, may be supposed to have a _definite_ meaning, even though,

like all other instincts, they may be supposed to have had a _natural

cause_, which both in the individual and in the race requires, as in the

natural development of all other instincts, the natural conditions for

its occurrence to be supplied. In a word, if animal instincts generally,

like organic structures or inorganic systems, are held to betoken

purpose, the religious nature of man would stand out as an anomaly in

the general scheme of things if it alone were purposeless. Hence we have

here what seems to me a valid inference, so far as it goes, to the

effect that, if the general order of Nature is due to Mind, the

character of that Mind is such as it is conceived to be by the most

highly developed form of religion. A conclusion which is no doubt the

opposite of that which we reached by contemplating the phenomena of

biology; and a contradiction which can only be overcome by supposing,

either that Nature conceals God, while man reveals Him, or that Nature

reveals God while man misrepresents Him.

There is still one other fact of a very wide and general kind presented

by Nature, which, if the order of Nature is taken to be the expression

of intelligent purpose, ought in my opinion to be regarded as of great

weight in furnishing evidence upon the ethical quality of that purpose.

It is a fact which, so far as I know, has not been considered by any

other writer; but from its being one of the most general of all the

facts relating to the sentient creation, and from its admitting of no

one single exception, I feel that I am not able too strongly to

emphasize its argumentative importance. This fact is, as I have stated

it on a former occasion, 'that amid all the millions of mechanisms and

instincts in the animal kingdom, there is no one instance of a mechanism

or instinct occurring in one species for the exclusive benefit of

another species, although there are a few cases in which a mechanism or

instinct that is of benefit to its possessor has come also to be

utilized by other species. Now, on the beneficent design theory it is

impossible to explain why, when all the mechanisms in the same species

are invariably correlated for the benefit of that species, there should

never be any such correlation between mechanisms in different species,

or why the same remark should apply to instincts. For how magnificent a

display of Divine beneficence would organic nature have afforded, if

all, or even some, species had been so inter-related as to minister to

each other's necessities. Organic species might then have been likened

to a countless multitude of voices all singing in one harmonious psalm

of praise. But, as it is, we see no vestige of such co-ordination; every

species is for itself, and for itself alone--an outcome of the always

and everywhere fiercely raging struggle for life[29].'

The large and general fact thus stated constitutes, in my opinion, the

strongest of all arguments in favour of Mr. Darwin's theory of natural

selection, and therefore we can see the probable reason why it is what

it is, so far as the question of its physical causation is concerned.

But where the question is, Supposing the physical causation ultimately

due to Mind, what are we to infer concerning the character of the Mind

which has adopted this method of causation?--then we again reach the

answer that, so far as we can judge from a conscientious examination of

these facts, this Mind does not show that it is of a nature which in man

we should call moral. Of course behind the physical appearances there

may be a moral justification, so that from these appearances we are not

entitled to say more than that from the fact of its having chosen a

method of physical causation leading to these results, it has presented

to us the appearance, as before observed, of caring for animal

perfection to the exclusion of animal enjoyment, and even to the total

disregard of animal suffering.

In conclusion, it is of importance to insist upon a truth which in

discussions of this kind is too often disregarded--viz. that all our

reasonings being of a character relative to our knowledge, our

inferences are uncertain in a degree proportionate to the extent of our

ignorance; and that as with reference to the topics which we have been

considering our ignorance is of immeasurable extent, any conclusions

that we may have formed are, as Bishop Butler would say, 'infinitely

precarious.' Or, as I have previously presented this formal aspect of

the matter while discussing the teleological argument with Professor Asa

Gray,--'I suppose it will be admitted that the validity of an inference

depends upon the number, the importance, and the definiteness of the

things or ratios known, as compared with the number, importance, and

definiteness of the things or ratios unknown, but inferred. If so, we

should be logically cautious in drawing inferences from the natural to

the supernatural: for although we have the entire sphere of experience

from which to draw an inference, we are unable to gauge the probability

of the inference when drawn--the unknown ratios being confessedly of

unknown number, importance, and degree of definiteness: the whole orbit

of human knowledge is insufficient to obtain a parallax whereby to

institute the required measurements or to determine the proportion

between the terms known and the terms unknown. Otherwise phrased, we may

say--as our knowledge of a part is to our knowledge of a whole, so is

our inference from that part to the reality of that whole. Who,

therefore, can say, even upon the hypothesis of Theism, that our

inferences or "idea of design" would have any meaning if applied to the

"All-Upholder," whose thoughts are not as our thoughts?'[30] And of

course, _mutatis mutandis_, the same remarks apply to all inferences

having a negative tendency.

As an outcome of the whole of this discussion, then, I think it appears

that the influence of Science upon Natural Religion has been uniformly

of a destructive character. Step by step it has driven back the apparent

evidence of direct or special design in Nature, until now this evidence

resides exclusively in the one great and general fact that Nature as a

whole is a Cosmos. Further than this it is obviously impossible that the

destructive influence of Science can extend, because Science can only

exist upon the basis of this fact. But when we allow that this great and

universal fact--which but for the effects of unremitting familiarity

could scarcely fail to be intellectually overwhelming--does betoken

mental agency in Nature, we immediately find it impossible to determine

the probable character of such a mind, even supposing that it exists. We

cannot conceive of it as presenting any one of the qualities which

essentially characterize what we know as mind in ourselves; and

therefore the word Mind, as applied to the supposed agency, stands for a

blank. Further, even if we disregard this difficulty, and assume that in

some way or other incomprehensible to us a Mind does exist as far

transcending the human mind as the human mind transcends mechanical

motion; still we are met by some very large and general facts in Nature

which seem strongly to indicate that this Mind, if it exists, is either

deficient in, or wholly destitute of, that class of feelings which in

man we term moral; while, on the other hand, the religious aspirations

of man himself may be taken to indicate the opposite conclusion. And,

lastly, with reference to the whole course of such reasonings, we have

seen that any degree of measurable probability, as attaching to the

conclusions, is unattainable. From all which it appears that Natural

Religion at the present time can only be regarded as a system full of

intellectual contradictions and moral perplexities; so that if we go to

her with these greatest of all questions: 'Is there knowledge with the

Most High?' 'Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?' the only

clear answer which we receive is the one that comes back to us from the

depths of our own heart--'When I thought upon this it was too painful

for me.'

FOOTNOTES:

[23] A note (of 1893) contains the following: 'Being, considered in the

abstract, is logically equivalent to Not-Being or Nothing. For if by

successive stages of abstraction, we divest the conception of Being of

attribute and relation we reach the conception of that which cannot be,

i.e. a logical contradiction, or the logical correlative of Being which

is Nothing. (All this is well expressed in Caird's _Evolution of

Religion_.) The failure to perceive this fact constitutes a ground

fallacy in my _Candid Examination of Theism_, where I represent Being as

being a sufficient explanation of the Order of Nature or the law of

Causation.'

[24] This promise is only partially fulfilled in the penultimate

paragraph of the essay.--ED.

[25] _Essays_, vol. iii. p. 246 et seq. The whole passage ought to be

consulted, being too long to quote here.

[26] In an essay on Prof. Flint's _Theism_, appended to the _Candid

Examination_.

[27] _A Candid Examination of Theism_, pp. 171-2.

[28] [I have, as Editor, resisted a temptation to intervene in the above

argument. But I think I may intervene on a matter of fact, and point out

that 'according to the theological theory of things,' i.e. according to

the Trinitarian doctrine, God's Nature consists in what is strictly

'analogous to social relations,' and He not merely exhibits in His

creation, but Himself _is_ Love. See, on the subject, especially, R.H.

Hutton's essay on the Incarnation, in his _Theological Essays_

(Macmillan).--ED.]

[29] _Scientific Evidences of Organic Evolution_, pp. 76-7.

[30] _Nature_, April 5, 1883.