PAMPHILUS to HERMIPPUS.

IT has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that, though the ancient philoſophers conveyed moſt of their inſtruction in the form of dialogue, this method of compoſition has been little practi⯑ſed in later ages, and has ſeldom ſucceeded in the hands of thoſe, who have attempted it. Accurate and regular argument, indeed, ſuch as is now ex⯑pected of philoſophical enquirers, naturally throws a man into the methodical and didactic manner; where he can immediately, without preparation, explain the point, at which he aims; and thence [] [...] [2] proceed, without interruption, to deduce the proofs, on which it is eſtabliſhed. To deliver a SYSTEM in converſation ſcarcely appears natu⯑ral; and while the dialogue-writer deſires, by de⯑parting from the direct ſtyle of compoſition, to give a freer air to his performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and Reader, he is apt to run into a worſe inconvenience, and convey the image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or if he carries on the diſpute in the natural ſpirit of good com⯑pany, by throwing in a variety of topics, and pre⯑ſerving a proper balance among the ſpeakers; he often loſes ſo much time in preparations and tranſi⯑tions, that the reader will ſcarcely think himſelf compenſated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the order, brevity, and preciſion, which are ſa⯑crificed to them.

There are ſome ſubjects, however, to which dialogue-writing is peculiarly adapted, and where it is ſtill preferable to the direct and ſimple me⯑thod of compoſition.

Any point of doctrine, which is ſo obvious, that it ſcarcely admits of diſpute, but at the ſame time ſo important, that it cannot be too often in⯑culcated, ſeems to require ſome ſuch method of handling it; where the novelty of the manner may compenſate the triteneſs of the ſubject, where the vivacity of converſation may enforce the precept, and where the variety of lights, preſented by va⯑rious perſonages and characters, may appear nei⯑ther tedious nor redundant.

[3] Any queſtion of philoſophy, on the other hand, which is ſo obſcure and uncertain, that human reaſon can reach no fixed determination with re⯑gard to it; if it ſhould be treated at all; ſeems to lead us naturally into the ſtyle of dialogue and converſation. Reaſonable men may be allowed to differ, where no one can reaſonably be poſitive: Oppoſite ſentiments, even without any deciſion, afford an agreeable amuſement: and if the ſub⯑ject be curious and intereſting, the book carries us, in a manner, into company, and unites the two greateſt and pureſt pleaſures of human life, ſtudy and ſociety.

Happily, theſe circumſtances are all to be found in the ſubject of NATURAL RELIGION. What truth ſo obvious, ſo certain, as the BEING of a God, which the moſt ignorant ages have ac⯑knowledged, for which the moſt refined geniuſes have ambitiouſly ſtriven to produce new proofs and arguments? What truth ſo important as this, which is the ground of all our hopes, the ſureſt foundation of morality, the firmeſt ſupport of ſo⯑ciety, and the only principle, which ought never to be a moment abſent from our thoughts and me⯑ditations? But in treating of this obvious and important truth; what obſcure queſtions occur, concerning the NATURE of that divine being; his attributes, his decrees, his plan of providence? Theſe have been always ſubjected to the diſputa⯑tions of men: Concerning theſe, human reaſon has not reached any certain determination: But [4] theſe are topics ſo intereſting, that we cannot re⯑ſtrain our reſtleſs enquiry with regard to them; though nothing but doubt, uncertainty and con⯑tradiction have, as yet, been the reſult of our moſt accurate reſearches.

This I had lately occaſion to obſerve, while I paſſed, as uſual, part of the ſummer-ſeaſon with CLEANTHES, and was preſent at thoſe con⯑verſations of his with PHILO and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately ſome imperfect ac⯑count. Your curioſity, you then told me, was ſo excited, that I muſt of neceſſity enter into a more exact detail of their reaſonings, and diſplay thoſe various ſyſtems, which they advanced with regard to ſo delicate a ſubject as that of Natural Religion. The remarkable contraſt in their cha⯑racters ſtill farther raiſed your expectations; while you oppoſed the accurate philoſophical turn of CLEANTHES to the careleſs ſcepticiſm of PHILO, or compared either of their diſpoſitions with the rigid inflexible orthodoxy of DEMEA. My youth rendered me a mere auditor of their diſputes; and that curioſity natural to the early ſeaſon of life, has ſo deeply imprinted in my memory the whole chain and connection of their arguments, that, I hope, I ſhall not omit or confound any conſider⯑able part of them in the recital.

PART I.

AFTER I joined the company,Part I. whom I found ſitting in CLEANTHES's library, DEMEA paid CLEANTHES ſome compliments, on the great care, which he took of my educa⯑tion, and on his unwearied perſeverance and con⯑ſtancy in all his friendſhips. The father of PAM⯑PHILUS, ſaid he, was your intimate friend: The ſon is your pupil, and may indeed be regarded as your adopted ſon; were we to judge by the pains which you beſtow in conveying to him every uſe⯑ful branch of literature and ſcience. You are no more wanting, I am perſuaded, in prudence than in induſtry. I ſhall, therefore, communicate to you a maxim which I have obſerved with regard to my own children, that I may learn how far it agrees with your practice. The method I fol⯑low in their education is founded on the ſaying of an ancient, ‘That ſtudents of philoſophy ought firſt to learn Logics, then Ethics, next Phyſics, laſt of all, the Nature of the Gods ^*.’ This ſcience of Natural Theology, according to him, being the moſt profound and abſtruſe of any, required the matureſt judge⯑ment in its ſtudents; and none but a mind, en⯑riched with all the other ſciences, can ſafely be entruſted with it.

[6] Are you ſo late, ſays PHILO, in teaching your children the principles of religion? Is there no danger of their neglecting or rejecting altogether thoſe opinions, of which they have heard ſo little, during the whole courſe of their educa⯑tion? It is only as a ſcience, replied DEMEA, ſubjected to human reaſoning and diſputation, that I poſtpone the ſtudy of Natural Theology. To ſeaſon their minds with early piety is my chief care; and by continual precept and inſtruction, and I hope too, by example, I imprint deeply on their tender minds an habitual reverence for all the principles of religion. While they paſs through every other ſcience, I ſtill remark the uncertainty of each part, the eternal diſputations of men, the obſcurity of all philoſophy, and the ſtrange, ridiculous concluſions, which ſome of the greateſt geniuſes have derived from the prin⯑ciples of mere human reaſon. Having thus tamed their mind to a proper ſubmiſſion and ſelf-diffi⯑dence, I have no longer any ſcruple of opening to them the greateſt myſteries of religion, nor apprehend any danger from that aſſuming arro⯑gance of philoſophy, which may lead them to re⯑ject the moſt eſtabliſhed doctrines and opinions.

Your precaution, ſays PHILO, of ſeaſoning your childrens minds with early piety, is certain⯑ly very reaſonable; and no more than is requi⯑ſite, in this profane and irreligious age. But what I chiefly admire in your plan of education, is your method of drawing advantage from the [7] very principles of philoſophy and learning, which, by inſpiring pride and ſelf-ſufficiency, have com⯑monly, in all ages, been found ſo deſtructive to the principles of religion. The vulgar, indeed, we may remark, who are unacquainted with ſcience and profound enquiry, obſerving the end⯑leſs diſputes of the learned, have commonly a tho⯑rough contempt for Philoſophy; and rivet them⯑ſelves the faſter, by that means, in the great points of Theology, which have been taught them. Thoſe, who enter a little into ſtudy and enquiry, finding many appearances of evidence in doctrines the neweſt and moſt extraordinary, think nothing too difficult for human reaſon; and preſumptu⯑ouſly breaking through all ſences, profane the inmoſt fanctuaries of the temple. But CLEAN⯑THES will, I hope, agree with me, that, after we have abandoned ignorance, the ſureſt remedy, there is ſtill one expedient left to prevent this profane liberty. Let DEMEA's principles be im⯑proved and cultivated: Let us become thorough⯑ly ſenſible of the weakneſs, blindneſs, and nar⯑row limits of human reaſon: Let us duly conſider its uncertainty and endleſs contrarieties, even in ſubjects of common life and practice: Let the errors and deceits of our very ſenſes be ſet before us; the inſuperable difficulties, which attend firſt principles in all ſyſtems; the contradictions, which adhere to the very ideas of matter, cauſe and ef⯑fect, extenſion, ſpace, time, motion; and in a word, quantity of all kinds, the object of the [8] only ſcience, that can fairly pretend to any cer⯑tainty or evidence. When theſe topics are diſ⯑played in their full light, as they are by ſome philoſophers and almoſt all divines; who can re⯑tain ſuch confidence in this frail faculty of reaſon as to pay any regard to its determinations in points ſo ſublime, ſo abſtruſe, ſo remote from common life and experience? When the coherence of the parts of a ſtone, or even that compoſition of parts, which renders it extended; when theſe familiar objects, I ſay, are ſo inexplicable, and contain circumſtances ſo repugnant and contradictory; with what aſſurance can we decide concerning the origin of worlds, or trace their hiſtory from e⯑ternity to eternity?

While PHILO pronounced theſe words, I could obſerve a ſmile in the countenance both of DE⯑MEA and CLEANTHES. That of DEMEA ſeem⯑ed to imply an unreſerved ſatisfaction in the doc⯑trines delivered: But in CLEANTHES's features, I could diſtinguiſh an air of fineſſe; as if he per⯑ceived ſome raillery or artificial malice in the rea⯑ſonings of PHILO.

You propoſe then, PHILO, ſaid CLEANTHES, to erect religious faith on philoſophical ſcepticiſm; and you think, that if certainty or evidence be expelled from every other ſubject of enquiry, it will all retire to theſe theological doctrines, and there acquire a ſuperior force and authority. Whether your ſcepticiſm be as abſolute and ſin⯑cere as you pretend, we ſhall learn by and by, [9] when the company breaks up: We ſhall then ſee, whether you go out at the door or the window; and whether you really doubt, if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its fall; according to popular opinion, derived from our fallacious ſenſes and more fallacious experience. And this conſideration, DEMEA, may, I think, fairly ſerve to abate our ill-will to this humorous ſect of the ſceptics. If they be thoroughly in earneſt, they will not long trouble the world with their doubts, cavils, and diſputes: If they be only in jeſt, they are, perhaps, bad ralliers, but can ne⯑ver be very dangerous, either to the ſtate, to philoſophy, or to religion.

In reality, PHILO, continued he, it ſeems cer⯑tain, that though a man, in a fluſh of humour, after intenſe reflection on the many contradictions and imperfections of human reaſon, may entirely renounce all belief and opinion; it is impoſſible for him to perſevere in this total ſcepticiſm, or make it appear in his conduct for a few hours. External objects preſs in upon him: Paſſions ſo⯑licit him: His philoſophical melancholy diſſipates; and even the utmoſt violence upon his own tem⯑per will not be able, during any time, to preſerve the poor appearance of ſcepticiſm. And for what reaſon impoſe on himſelf ſuch a violence? This is a point, in which it will be impoſſible for him ever to ſatisfy himſelf, conſiſtently with his ſceptical principles: So that upon the whole nothing could be more ridiculous than the principles of the an⯑cient [10] PYRRHONIANS; if in reality they endea⯑voured, as is pretended, to extend throughout, the ſame ſcepticiſm, which they had learned from the declamations of their ſchools, and which they ought to have confined to them.

In this view, there appears a great reſemblance between the ſects of the STOICS and PYRRHO⯑NIANS, though perpetual antagoniſts: and both of them ſeem founded on this erroneous maxim, That what a man can perform ſometimes, and in ſome diſpoſitions, he can perform always, and in every diſpoſition. When the mind, by Stoical reflections, is elevated into a ſublime enthuſiaſm of virtue, and ſtrongly ſmit with any ſpecies of honour or public good, the utmoſt bodily pain and ſufferance will not prevail over ſuch a high ſenſe of duty; and 'tis poſſible, perhaps, by its means, even to ſmile and exult in the midſt of tortures. If this ſometimes may be the caſe in fact and reality, much more may a philoſopher, in his ſchool, or even in his cloſet, work himſelf up to ſuch an enthuſiaſm, and ſupport in imagi⯑nation the acuteſt pain or moſt calamitous event, which he can poſſibly conceive. But how ſhall he ſupport this enthuſiaſm itſelf? The bent of his mind relaxes, and cannot be recalled at plea⯑ſure: Avocations lead him aſtray: Misfortunes attack him unawares: And the philoſopher ſinks by degrees into the plebeian.

I allow of your compariſon between the STOICS and SCEPTICS, replied PHILO. But you may [11] obſerve, at the ſame time, that though the mind cannot, in Stoiciſm, ſupport the higheſt flights of philoſophy, yet even when it ſinks lower, it ſtill retains ſomewhat of its former diſpoſition; and the effects of the Stoic's reaſoning will appear in his conduct in common life, and through the whole tenor of his actions. The ancient ſchools, particularly that of ZENO, produced examples of virtue and conſtancy, which ſeem aſtoniſhing to preſent times.

In like manner, if a man has accuſtomed him⯑ſelf to ſceptical conſiderations on the uncertainty and narrow limits of reaſon, he will not entirely forget them when he turns his reflection on other ſubjects; but in all his philoſophical prin⯑ciples and reaſoning, I dare not ſay, in his com⯑mon conduct, he will be found different from thoſe, who either never formed any opinions in the caſe, or have entertained ſentiments more fa⯑vourable to human reaſon.

To whatever length any one may puſh his ſpe⯑culative principles of ſcepticiſm, he muſt act, I own, and live, and converſe like other men; and for this conduct he is not obliged to give [12] any other reaſon, than the abſolute neceſſity he lies under of ſo doing. If he ever carries his ſpeculations farther than this neceſſity conſtrains him, and philoſophiſes, either on natural or mo⯑ral ſubjects, he is allured by a certain pleaſure and ſatisfaction, which he finds in employing him⯑ſelf after that manner. He conſiders beſides, that every one, even in common life, is conſtrain⯑ed to have more or leſs of this philoſophy; that from our earlieſt infancy we make continual ad⯑vances in forming more general principles of con⯑duct and reaſoning; that the larger experience we acquire, and the ſtronger reaſon we are en⯑dued with, we always render our principles the more general and comprehenſive; and that what we call philoſophy is nothing but a more regular and methodical operation of the ſame kind. To philoſophiſe on ſuch ſubjects is nothing eſſentially different from reaſoning on common life; and we may only expect greater ſtability, if not great⯑er truth, from our philoſophy, on account of its exacter and more ſcrupulous method of proceed⯑ing.

But when we look beyond human affairs and the properties of the ſurrounding bodies: When we carry our ſpeculations into the two eternities, before and after the preſent ſtate of things; into the creation and formation of the univerſe; the exiſtence and properties of ſpirits; the powers and operations of one univerſal ſpirit, exiſting without beginning and without end; omnipotent, [13] omniſcient, immutable, infinite, and incompre⯑henſible: We muſt be far removed from the ſmalleſt tendency to ſcepticiſm not to be apprehen⯑ſive, that we have here got quite beyond the reach of our faculties. So long as we confine our ſpeculations to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticiſm, we make appeals, every moment, to common ſenſe and experience, which ſtrengthen our philoſophical concluſions, and remove (at leaſt, in part) the ſuſpicion, which we ſo juſtly entertain with regard to every reaſoning, that is very ſubtile and refined. But in theological rea⯑ſonings, we have not this advantage; while at the ſame time we are employed upon objects, which, we muſt be ſenſible, are too large for our graſp, and of all others, require moſt to be familiariſed to our apprehenſion. We are like foreigners in a ſtrange country, to whom every thing muſt ſeem ſuſpicious, and who are in danger every moment of tranſgreſſing againſt the laws and cu⯑ſtoms of the people, with whom they live and converſe. We know not how far we ought to truſt our vulgar methods of reaſoning in ſuch a ſubject; ſince, even in common life and in that province, which is peculiarly appropriated to them, we cannot account for them, and are entirely guided by a kind of inſtinct or neceſſity in em⯑ploying them.

All ſceptics pretend, that, if reaſon be conſi⯑dered in an abſtract view, it furniſhes invincible arguments againſt itſelf, and that we could ne⯑ver [14] retain any conviction or aſſurance, on any ſubject, were not the ſceptical reaſonings ſo re⯑fined and ſubtile, that they are not able to coun⯑terpoiſe the more ſolid and more natural argu⯑ments, derived from the ſenſes and experience. But it is evident, whenever our arguments loſe this advantage, and run wide of common life, that the moſt refined ſcepticiſm comes to be upon a footing with them, and is able to oppoſe and counterbalance them. The one has no more weight than the other. The mind muſt remain in ſuſpenſe between them; and it is that very ſuſpenſe or balance, which is the triumph of ſcepticiſm.

But I obſerve, ſays CLEANTHES, with regard to you, PHILO, and all ſpeculative ſceptics, that your doctrine and practice are as much at variance in the moſt abſtruſe points of theory as in the con⯑duct of common life. Where-ever evidence diſ⯑covers itſelf, you adhere to it, notwithſtanding your pretended ſcepticiſm; and I can obſerve too ſome of your ſect to be as deciſive as thoſe, who make greater profeſſions of certainty and aſſu⯑rance. In reality, would not a man be ridicu⯑lous, who pretended to reject NEWTON's expli⯑cation of the wonderful phenomenon of the rain⯑bow, becauſe that explication gives a minute ana⯑tomy of the rays of light; a ſubject, forſooth, too refined for human comprehenſion? And what would you ſay to one, who having nothing parti⯑cular to object to the arguments of COPERNICUS [15] and GALILAEO for the motion of the earth, ſhould with-hold his aſſent, on that general prin⯑ciple, That theſe ſubjects were too magnificent and remote to be explained by the narrow and fal⯑lacious reaſon of mankind?

There is indeed a kind of brutiſh and ignorant ſcepticiſm, as you well obſerved, which gives the vulgar a general prejudice againſt what they do not eaſily underſtand, and makes them reject e⯑very principle, which requires elaborate reaſoning to prove and eſtabliſh it. This ſpecies of ſcepti⯑ciſm is fatal to knowledge, not to religion; ſince we find, that thoſe who make greateſt profeſſion of it, give often their aſſent, not only to the great truths of Theiſm, and natural theology, but even to the moſt abſurd tenets, which a traditional ſu⯑perſtition has recommended to them. They firm⯑ly believe in witches; though they will not be⯑lieve nor attend to the moſt ſimple propoſition of EUCLID. But the refined and philoſophical ſcep⯑tics fall into an inconſiſtence of an oppoſite na⯑ture. They puſh their reſearches into the moſt abſtruſe corners of ſcience; and their aſſent at⯑tends them in every ſtep, proportioned to the evidence, which they meet with. They are e⯑ven obliged to acknowledge, that the moſt ab⯑ſtruſe and remote objects are thoſe, which are beſt explained by philoſophy. Light is in reality anatomized: The true ſyſtem of the heavenly bodies is diſcovered and aſcertained. But the nouriſhment of bodies by food is ſtill an inexpli⯑cable [16] myſtery: The coheſion of the parts of mat⯑ter is ſtill incomprehenſible. Theſe ſceptics, there⯑fore, are obliged, in every queſtion, to conſider each particular evidence apart, and proportion their aſſent to the preciſe degree of evidence, which occurs. This is their practice in all natu⯑ral, mathematical, moral, and political ſcience. And why not the ſame, I aſk, in the theological and religious? Why muſt concluſions of this nature be alone rejected on the general preſump⯑tion of the inſufficiency of human reaſon, without any particular diſcuſſion of the evidence? Is not ſuch an unequal conduct a plain proof of prejudice and paſſion?

Our ſenſes, you ſay, are fallacious, our under⯑ſtanding erroneous, our ideas even of the moſt familiar objects, extenſion, duration, motion, full of abſurdities and contradictions. You defy me to ſolve the difficulties, or reconcile the repug⯑nancies, which you diſcover in them. I have not capacity for ſo great an undertaking: I have not leiſure for it: I perceive it to be ſuperfluous. Your own conduct, in every circumſtance, refutes your principles; and ſhows the firmeſt reliance on all the received maxims of ſcience, morals, prudence, and behaviour.

I ſhall never aſſent to ſo harſh an opinion as that of a celebrated writer^*, who ſays, that the ſcep⯑tics are not a ſect of philoſophers: They are only [17] a ſect of liars. I may, however, affirm, (I hope, without offence) that they are a ſect of jeſters or ralliers. But for my part, whenever I find myſelf diſpoſed to mirth and amuſement, I ſhall certainly chuſe my entertainment of a leſs perplexing and abſtruſe nature. A comedy, a novel, or at moſt a hiſtory, ſeems a more natural recreation than ſuch metaphyſical ſubtilties and abſtractions.

In vain would the ſceptic make a diſtinction be⯑tween ſcience and common life, or between one ſcience and another. The arguments, employed in all, if juſt, are of a ſimilar nature, and contain the ſame force and evidence. Or if there be any difference among them, the advantage lies entire⯑ly on the ſide of theology and natural religion. Many principles of mechanics are founded on very abſtruſe reaſoning; yet no man, who has any pretenſions to ſcience, even no ſpeculative ſceptic, pretends to entertain the leaſt doubt with regard to them. The COPERNICAN ſyſtem contains the moſt ſurpriſing paradox, and the moſt contrary to our natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our very ſenſes: yet even monks and inquiſi⯑tors are now conſtrained to withdraw their oppo⯑ſition to it. And ſhall PHILO, a man of ſo libe⯑ral a genius, and extenſive knowledge, entertain any general undiſtinguiſhed ſcruples with regard to the religious hypotheſis, which is founded on the ſimpleſt and moſt obvious arguments, and, unleſs it meets with artificial obſtacles, has ſuch eaſy acceſs and admiſſion into the mind of man?

[18] And here we may obſerve, continued he, turn⯑ing himſelf towards DEMEA, a pretty curious cir⯑cumſtance in the hiſtory of the ſciences. After the union of philoſophy with the popular religion, upon the firſt eſtabliſhment of Chriſtianity, no⯑thing was more uſual, among all religious teach⯑ers, than declamations againſt reaſon, againſt the ſenſes, againſt every principle, derived merely from human reſearch and enquiry. All the topics of the ancient Academics were adopted by the Fa⯑thers; and thence propagated for ſeveral ages in every ſchool and pulpit throughout Chriſtendom. The Reformers embraced the ſame principles of reaſoning, or rather declamation; and all pane⯑gyrics on the excellency of faith were ſure to be interlarded with ſome ſevere ſtrokes of ſatire a⯑gainſt natural reaſon. A celebrated prelate too^*, of the Romiſh communion, a man of the moſt extenſive learning, who wrote a demonſtration of Chriſtianity, has alſo compoſed a treatiſe, which contains all the cavils of the boldeſt and moſt de⯑termined PYRRHONISM. LOCKE ſeems to have been the firſt Chriſtian, who ventured openly to aſſert, that faith was nothing but a ſpecies of reaſon, that religion was only a branch of philo⯑ſophy, and that a chain of arguments, ſimilar to that which eſtabliſhed any truth in morals, poli⯑tics, or phyſics, was always employed in diſcover⯑ing all the principles of theology, natural and re⯑vealed. [19] The ill uſe, which BAYLE and other li⯑bertines made of the philoſophical ſcepticiſm of the fathers and firſt reformers, ſtill farther propa⯑gated the judicious ſentiment of Mr LOCKE: and it is now, in a manner, avowed, by all pretenders to reaſoning and philoſophy, that Atheiſt and Sceptic are almoſt ſynonymous. And as is cer⯑tain, that no man is in earneſt, when he profeſſes the latter principle; I would fain hope, that there are as few, who ſeriouſly maintain the former.

Don't you remember, ſaid PHILO, the excel⯑lent ſaying of Lord BACON on this head? That a little philoſophy, replied CLEANTHES, makes a man an Atheiſt: a great deal converts him to re⯑ligion. That is a very judicious remark too, ſaid PHILO. But what I have in my eye is another paſſage, where, having mentioned DAVID's fool, who ſaid in his heart there is no God, this great philoſopher obſerves, that the Atheiſts now-a-days have a double ſhare of folly: for they are not con⯑tented to ſay in their hearts there is no God, but they alſo utter that impiety with their lips, and are thereby guilty of multiplied indiſcretion and im⯑prudence. Such people, though they were ever ſo much in earneſt, cannot, methinks, be very formidable.

But though you ſhould rank me in this claſs of fools, I cannot forbear communicating a remark, that occurs to me from the hiſtory of the reli⯑gious and irreligious ſcepticiſm, with which you have entertained us. It appears to me, that there [20] are ſtrong ſymptoms of prieſtcraft in the whole progreſs of this affair. During ignorant ages, ſuch as thoſe which followed the diſſolution of the ancient ſchools, the prieſts perceived, that Athe⯑iſm, Deiſm, or hereſy of any kind, could only proceed from the preſumptuous queſtioning of received opinions, and from a belief, that human reaſon was equal to every thing. Education had then a mighty influence over the minds of men, and was almoſt equal in force to thoſe ſuggeſtions of the ſenſes and common underſtanding, by which the moſt determined ſceptic muſt allow himſelf to be governed. But at preſent, when the influence of education is much diminiſhed, and men, from a more open commerce of the world, have learned to compare the popular prin⯑ciples of different nations and ages, our ſagacious divines have changed their whole ſyſtem of philo⯑ſophy, and talk the language of STOICS, PLA⯑TONISTS, and PERIPATETICS, not that of PYRRHONIANS and ACADEMICS. If we diſtruſt human reaſon, we have now no other principle to lead us into religion. Thus, ſceptics in one age, dogmatiſts in another; whichever ſyſtem beſt ſuits the purpoſe of theſe reverend gentlemen, in giving them an aſcendant over mankind, they are ſure to make it their favorite principle, and e⯑ſtabliſhed tenet.

It is very natural, ſaid CLEANTHES, for men to embrace thoſe principles, by which they find they can beſt defend their doctrines; nor need we [21] have any recourſe to prieſtcraft to account for ſo reaſonable an expedient. And ſurely, nothing can afford a ſtronger preſumption, that any ſet of principles are true, and ought to be embraced, than to obſerve, that they tend to the confirma⯑tion of true religion, and ſerve to confound the cavils of Atheiſts, Libertines, and Freethinkers of all denominations.

PART II.

I muſt own, CLEANTHES, ſaid DEMEA, that nothing can more ſurpriſe me, than the light, in which you have, all along, put this argument. By the whole tenor of your diſcourſe, one would imagine that you were maintaining the Being of a God, againſt the cavils of Atheiſts and Infidels; and were neceſſitated to become a champion for that fundamental principle of all religion. But this, I hope, is not, by any means, a queſtion among us. No man; no man, at leaſt, of common ſenſe, I am perſuaded, ever entertained a ſerious doubt with regard to a truth, ſo certain and ſelf-evident. The queſtion is not concerning the BEING, but the NATURE of GOD. This I affirm, from the infirmities of human underſtand⯑ing, to be altogether incomprehenſible and un⯑known to us. The eſſence of that ſupreme mind, his attributes, the manner of his exiſtence, the very nature of his duration; theſe and every par⯑ticular, [22] which regards ſo divine a Being,Part II. are my⯑ſterious to men. Finite, weak, and blind crea⯑tures, we ought to humble ourſelves in his auguſt preſence, and, conſcious of our frailties, adore in ſilence his infinite perfections, which eye hath not ſeen, ear hath not heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive. They are covered in a deep cloud from human curioſity: It is profaneneſs to attempt penetrating through theſe ſacred obſcurities: And next to the impiety of denying his exiſtence, is the teme⯑rity of prying into his nature and eſſence, decrees and attributes.

But leſt you ſhould think, that my piety has here got the better of my philoſophy, I ſhall ſupport my opinion, if it needs any ſupport, by a very great authority. I might cite all the divines al⯑moſt, from the foundation of Chriſtianity, who have ever treated of this or any other theological ſubject: But I ſhall confine myſelf, at preſent, to one equally celebrated for piety and philoſophy. It is Father MALEBRANCHE, who, I remember, thus expreſſes himſelf^*. ‘One ought not ſo much (ſays he) to call God a ſpirit, in order to expreſs poſitively what he is, as in order to ſignify that he is not matter. He is a Being infinitely perfect: Of this we cannot doubt. But in the ſame manner as we ought not to i⯑magine, even ſuppoſing him corporeal, that he [23] is clothed with a human body, as the AN⯑THROPOMORPHITES aſſerted, under colour that that figure was the moſt perfect of any; ſo neither ought we to imagine, that the Spirit of God has human ideas, or bears any reſem⯑blance to our ſpirit; under colour that we know nothing more perfect than a human mind. We ought rather to believe, that as he com⯑prehends the perfections of matter without be⯑ing material........he comprehends alſo the perfections of created ſpirits, without be⯑ing ſpirit, in the manner we conceive ſpirit: That his true name is, He that is, or in other words, Being without reſtriction, All Being, the Being infinite and univerſal.’

After ſo great an authority, DEMEA, replied PHILO, as that which you have produced, and a thouſand more, which you might produce, it would appear ridiculous in me to add my ſenti⯑ment, or expreſs my approbation of your doc⯑trine. But furely, where reaſonable men treat theſe ſubjects, the queſtion can never be concern⯑ing the Being, but only the Nature of the Deity. The ſormer truth, as you well obſerve, is unqueſtionable and ſelf-evident. Nothing ex⯑iſts without a cauſe; and the original cauſe of this univerſe (whatever it be) we call GOD; and piouſly aſcribe to him every ſpecies of perfec⯑tion. Whoever ſcruples this fundamental truth, deſerves every puniſhment, which can be inflicted among philoſophers, to wit, the greateſt ridicule, [24] contempt and diſapprobation. But as all perfec⯑tion is entirely relative, we ought never to ima⯑gine, that we comprehend the attributes of this divine Being, or to ſuppoſe, that his perfections have any analogy or likeneſs to the perfections of a human creature. Wiſdom, Thought, De⯑ſign, Knowledge; theſe we juſtly aſcribe to him; becauſe theſe words are honourable among men, and we have no other language or other concep⯑tions, by which we can expreſs our adoration of him. But let us beware, left we think, that our ideas any wiſe correſpond to his perfections, or that his attributes have any reſemblance to theſe qualities among men. He is infinitely ſu⯑perior to our limited view and comprehenſion; and is more the object of worſhip in the temple than of diſputation in the ſchools.

In reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, there is no need of having recourſe to that affected ſcepticiſm, ſo diſpleaſing to you, in order to come at this determination. Our ideas reach no far⯑ther than our experience: We have no experi⯑ence of divine attributes and operations: I need not conclude my ſyllogiſm: You can draw the inference yourſelf. And it is a pleaſure to me (and I hope to you too) that juſt reaſoning and ſound piety here concur in the ſame concluſion, and both of them eſtabliſh the adorably myſte⯑rious and incomprehenſible nature of the Supreme Being.

Not to loſe any time in circumlocutions, ſaid [25] CLEANTHES, addreſſing himſelf to DEMEA, much leſs in replying to the pious declamations of PHILO; I ſhall briefly explain how I conceive this matter. Look round the world: contem⯑plate the whole and every part of it: You will find it to be nothing but one great machine, ſubdivided into an infinite number of leſſer ma⯑chines, which again admit of ſubdiviſions, to a degree beyond what human ſenſes and faculties can trace and explain. All theſe various ma⯑chines, and even their moſt minute parts, are adjuſted to each other with an accuracy, which raviſhes into admiration all men, who have ever contemplated them. The curious adapting of means to ends, throughout all nature, reſembles exactly, though it much exceeds, the produc⯑tions of human contrivance; of human deſign, thought, wiſdom, and intelligence. Since there⯑fore the effects reſemble each other, we are led to infer, by all the rules of analogy, that the cauſes alſo reſemble; and that the Author of Na⯑ture is ſomewhat ſimilar to the mind of man; though poſſeſſed of much larger faculties, pro⯑portioned to the grandeur of the work, which he has executed. By this argument a poſteriori, and by this argument alone, do we prove at once the exiſtence of a Deity, and his ſimilarity to human mind and intelligence.

I ſhall be ſo free, CLEANTHES, ſaid DEMEA, as to tell you, that from the beginning I could not approve of your concluſion concerning the [26] ſimilarity of the Deity to men; ſtill leſs can I ap⯑prove of the mediums, by which you endeavour to eſtabliſh it. What! No demonſtration of the Being of a God! No abſtract arguments! No proofs a priori! Are theſe, which have hitherto been ſo much inſiſted on by philoſophers, all fallacy, all ſophiſm? Can we reach no farther in this ſubject than experience and probability? I will not ſay, that this is betraying the cauſe of a Deity: But ſurely, by this affected candor, you give advan⯑tages to Atheiſts, which they never could obtain, by the mere dint of argument and reaſoning.

What I chiefly ſcruple in this ſubject, ſaid PHILO, is not ſo much, that all religious argu⯑ments are by CLEANTHES reduced to experience, as that they appear not to be even the moſt cer⯑tain and irrefragable of that inferior kind. That a ſtone will fall, that fire will burn, that the earth has ſolidity, we have obſerved a thouſand and a thouſand times; and when any new in⯑ſtance of this nature is preſented, we draw with⯑out heſitation the accuſtomed inference. The exact ſimilarity of the caſes gives us a perfect aſ⯑ſurance of a ſimilar event; and a ſtronger evi⯑dence is never deſired nor ſought after. But where-ever you depart, in the leaſt, from the ſimilarity of the caſes, you diminiſh proportion⯑ably the evidence; and may at laſt bring it to a very weak analogy, which is confeſſedly liable to error and uncertainty. After having experienced the circulation of the blood in human creatures, [27] we make no doubt, that it takes place in TITIUS and MAEVIUS: But from its circulation in frogs and fiſhes, it is only a preſumption, though a ſtrong one, from analogy, that it takes place in men and other animals. The analogical reaſon⯑ing is much weaker, when we infer the circula⯑tion of the ſap in vegetables from our experience, that the blood circulates in animals; and thoſe, who haſtily followed that imperfect analogy, are found, by more accurate experiments, to have been miſtaken.

If we ſee a houſe, CLEANTHES, we conclude, with the greateſt certainty, that it had an archi⯑tect or builder; becauſe this is preciſely that ſpecies of effect, which we have experienced to proceed from that ſpecies of cauſe. But ſurely you will not affirm, that the univerſe bears ſuch a reſemblance to a houſe, that we can with the ſame certainty infer a ſimilar cauſe, or that the analogy is here entire and perfect. The diſſi⯑militude is ſo ſtriking, that the utmoſt you can here pretend to is a gueſs, a conjecture, a pre⯑ſumption concerning a ſimilar cauſe; and how that pretenſion will be received in the world, I leave you to conſider.

It would ſurely be very ill received, replied CLEANTHES; and I ſhould be deſervedly bla⯑med and deteſted, did I allow, that the proofs of a Deity amounted to no more than a gueſs or conjecture. But is the whole adjuſtment of means to ends in a houſe and in the univerſe [28] ſo ſlight a reſemblance? The oeconomy of final cauſes? The order, proportion, and arrange⯑ment of every part? Steps of a ſtair are plainly contrived, that human legs may uſe them in mounting; and this inference is certain and in⯑fallible. Human legs are alſo contrived for walk⯑ing and mounting; and this inference, I allow, is not altogether ſo certain, becauſe of the diſſimi⯑larity which you remark; but does it, therefore, deſerve the name only of preſumption or con⯑jecture?

Good God! cried DEMEA, interrupting him, where are we? Zealous defenders of religion al⯑low, that the proofs of a Deity fall ſhort of perfect evidence! And you, PHILO, on whoſe aſſiſtance I depended, in proving the adorable myſteriouſneſs of the Divine Nature, do you aſſent to all theſe extravagant opinions of CLEANTHES? For what other name can I give them? Or why ſpare my cenſure, when ſuch principles are ad⯑vanced, ſupported by ſuch an authority, before ſo young a man as PAMPHILUS?

You ſeem not to apprehend, replied PHILO, that I argue with CLEANTHES in his own way; and by ſhowing him the dangerous conſequences of his tenets, hope at laſt to reduce him to our opinion. But what ſticks moſt with you, I ob⯑ſerve, is the repreſentation which CLEANTHES has made of the argument a poſteriori; and finding, that that argument is likely to eſcape your hold and vaniſh into air, you think it ſo diſguiſed, [29] that you can ſcarcely believe it to be ſet in its true light. Now, however much I may diſſent, in other reſpects, from the dangerous principles of CLEANTHES, I muſt allow, that he has fair⯑ly repreſented that argument; and I ſhall endea⯑vour ſo to ſtate the matter to you, that you will entertain no farther ſcruples with regard to it.

Were a man to abſtract from every thing which he knows or has ſeen, he would be altoge⯑ther incapable, merely from his own ideas, to determine what kind of ſcene the univerſe muſt be, or to give the preference to one ſtate or ſi⯑tuation of things above another. For as nothing which he clearly conceives, could be eſteemed impoſſible or implying a contradiction, every chi⯑mera of his fancy would be upon an equal foot⯑ing; nor could he aſſign any juſt reaſon, why he adheres to one idea or ſyſtem, and rejects the others, which are equally poſſible.

Again; after he opens his eyes, and contem⯑plates the world, as it really is, it would be im⯑poſſible for him, at firſt, to aſſign the cauſe of any one event; much leſs, of the whole of things or of the univerſe. He might ſet his Fancy a rambling; and ſhe might bring him in an infinite variety of reports and repreſentations. Theſe would all be poſſible; but being all equally poſ⯑ſible, he would never, of himſelf, give a ſatisfac⯑tory account for his preferring one of them to the reſt. Experience alone can point out to him the true cauſe of any phenomenon.

[30] Now according to this method of reaſoning, DEMEA, it follows (and is, indeed, tacitly al⯑lowed by CLEANTHES himſelf) that order, ar⯑rangement, or the adjuſtment of final cauſes is not, of itſelf, any proof of deſign; but only ſo far as it has been experienced to proceed from that principle. For aught we can know a priori, matter may contain the ſource or ſpring of order originally, within itſelf, as well as mind does; and there is no more difficulty in conceiving, that the ſeveral elements, from an internal un⯑known cauſe, may fall into the moſt exquiſite ar⯑rangement, than to conceive that their ideas, in the great, univerſal mind, from a like internal, unknown cauſe, fall into that arrangement. The equal poſſibility of both theſe ſuppoſitions is al⯑lowed. But by experience we find, (according to CLEANTHES) that there is a difference be⯑tween them. Throw ſeveral pieces of ſteel to⯑gether, without ſhape or form; they will never arrange themſelves ſo as to compoſe a watch: Stone, and mortar, and wood, without an ar⯑chitect, never erect a houſe. But the ideas in a human mind, we ſee, by an unknown, inex⯑plicable oeconomy, arrange themſelves ſo as to form the plan of a watch or houſe. Experience, therefore, proves, that there is an original prin⯑ciple of order in mind, not in matter. From ſimilar effects we infer ſimilar cauſes. The ad⯑juſtment of means to ends is alike in the univerſe, [31] as in a machine of human contrivance. The cauſes, therefore, muſt be reſembling.

I was from the beginning ſcandaliſed, I muſt own, with this reſemblance, which is aſſerted, between the Deity and human creatures; and muſt conceive it to imply ſuch a degradation of the Supreme Being as no found Theiſt could en⯑dure. With your aſſiſtance, therefore, DEMEA, I ſhall endeavour to defend what you juſtly call the adorable myſteriouſneſs of the Divine Nature, and ſhall refute this reaſoning of CLEANTHES; provided he allows, that I have made a fair re⯑preſentation of it.

When CLEANTHES had aſſented, PHILO, af⯑ter a ſhort pauſe, proceeded in the following man⯑ner.

That all inferences, CLEANTHES, concerning fact, are founded on experience, and that all ex⯑perimental reaſonings are founded on the ſuppo⯑ſition, that ſimilar cauſes prove ſimilar effects, and ſimilar effects ſimilar cauſes; I ſhall not, at preſent, much diſpute with you. But obſerve, I intreat you, with what extreme caution all juſt reaſoners proceed in the transferring of experiments to ſimilar caſes. Unleſs the caſes be exactly ſi⯑milar, they repoſe no perfect confidence in ap⯑plying their paſt obſervation to any particular phe⯑nomenon. Every alteration of circumſtances oc⯑caſions a doubt concerning the event; and it re⯑quires new experiments to prove certainly, that the new circumſtances are of no moment or im⯑portance. [32] A change in bulk, ſituation, arrange⯑ment, age, diſpoſition of the air, or ſurround⯑ing bodies; any of theſe particulars may be at⯑tended with the moſt unexpected conſequences: And unleſs the objects be quite familiar to us, it is the higheſt temerity to expect with aſſurance, after any of theſe changes, an event ſimilar to that which before fell under our obſervation. The ſlow and deliberate ſteps of philoſophers, here, if any where, are diſtinguiſhed from the precipi⯑tate march of the vulgar, who, hurried on by the ſmalleſt ſimilitude, are incapable of all diſcern⯑ment or conſideration.

But can you think, CLEANTHES, that your uſual phlegm and philoſophy have been preſerved in ſo wide a ſtep as you have taken, when you compared to the univerſe houſes, ſhips, furniture, machines; and from their ſimilarity in ſome circumſtances inferred a ſimilarity in their cauſes? Thought, deſign, intelligence, ſuch as we diſco⯑ver in men and other animals, is no more than one of the ſprings and principles of the univerſe, as well as heat or cold, attraction or repulſion, and a hundred others, which fall under daily ob⯑ſervation. It is an active cauſe, by which ſome particular parts of nature, we find, produce al⯑terations on other parts. But can a concluſion, with any propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole? Does not the great diſproportion bar all compariſon and inference? From obſer⯑ving the growth of a hair, can we learn any thing [33] concerning the generation of a man? Would the manner of a leaf's blowing, even though per⯑fectly known, afford us any inſtruction concern⯑ing the vegetation of a tree?

But allowing that we were to take the opera⯑tions of one part of nature upon another for the foundation of our judgement concerning the ori⯑gin of the whole (which never can be admitted) yet why ſelect ſo minute, ſo weak, ſo bounded a principle as the reaſon and deſign of animals is found to be upon this planet? What peculiar privilege has this little agitation of the brain which we call thought, that we muſt thus make it the model of the whole univerſe? Our partiality in our own favour does indeed preſent it on all oc⯑caſions; but ſound philoſophy ought carefully to guard againſt ſo natural an illuſion.

So far from admitting, continued PHILO, that the operations of a part can afford us any juſt concluſion concerning the origin of the whole, I will not allow any one part to form a rule for an⯑other part, if the latter be very remote from the former. Is there any reaſonable ground to con⯑clude, that the inhabitants of other planets poſ⯑ſeſs thought, intelligence, reaſon, or any thing ſimilar to theſe faculties in men? When Nature has ſo extremely diverſified her manner of opera⯑tion in this ſmall globe; can we imagine, that ſhe inceſſantly copies herſelf throughout ſo im⯑menſe a univerſe? And if thought, as we may well ſuppoſe, be confined merely to this narrow [34] corner, and has even there ſo limited a ſphere of action; with what propriety can we aſſign it for the original cauſe of all things? The narrow views of a peaſant, who makes his domeſtic oe⯑conomy the rule for the government of kingdoms, is in compariſon a pardonable ſophiſm.

But were we ever ſo much aſſured, that a thought and reaſon, reſembling the human, were to be found throughout the whole univerſe, and were its activity elſewhere vaſtly greater and more commanding than it appears in this globe: yet I cannot ſee, why the operations of a world, con⯑ſtituted, arranged, adjuſted, can with any pro⯑priety be extended to a world, which is in its embryo-ſtate, and is advancing towards that con⯑ſtitution and arrangement. By obſervation, we know ſomewhat of the oeconomy, action, and nouriſhment of a finiſhed animal; but we muſt transfer with great caution that obſervation to the growth of a foetus in the womb, and ſtill more, to the formation of an animalcule in the loins of its male parent. Nature, we find, even from our limited experience, poſſeſſes an infinite num⯑ber of ſprings and principles, which inceſſantly diſcover themſelves on every change of her poſi⯑tion and ſituation. And what new and unknown principles would actuate her in ſo new and un⯑known a ſituation, as that of the formation of a univerſe, we cannot, without the utmoſt temerity, pretend to determine.

A very ſmall part of this great ſyſtem, during [35] a very ſhort time, is very imperfectly diſcovered to us: and do we thence pronounce deciſively concerning the origin of the whole?

Admirable concluſion! Stone, wood, brick, iron, braſs, have not, at this time, in this minute globe of earth, an order or arrangement without human art and contrivance: therefore the univerſe could not originally attain its order and arrange⯑ment, without ſomething ſimilar to human art. But is a part of nature a rule for another part very wide of the former? Is it a rule for the whole? Is a very ſmall part a rule for the uni⯑verſe? Is nature in one ſituation, a certain rule for nature in another ſituation, vaſtly different from the former?

And can you blame me, CLEANTHES, if I here imitate the prudent reſerve of SIMONIDES, who, according to the noted ſtory, being aſked by HIERO, What God was? deſired a day to think of it, and then two days more; and after that manner continually prolonged the term, with⯑out ever bringing in his definition or deſcription? Could you even blame me, if I had anſwered at firſt, that I did not know, and was ſenſible that this ſubject lay vaſtly beyond the reach of my fa⯑culties? You might cry out ſceptic and rallier as much as you pleaſed: but having found, in ſo many other ſubjects, much more familiar, the imperfections and even contradictions of human reaſon, I never ſhould expect any ſucceſs from its feeble conjectures, in a ſubject, ſo ſublime, and [36] ſo remote from the ſphere of our obſervation. When two ſpecies of objects have always been obſerved to be conjoined together, I can infer, by cuſtom, the exiſtence of one, where-ever I ſee the exiſtence of the other: and this I call an argument from experience. But how this argu⯑ment can have place, where the objects, as in the preſent caſe, are ſingle, individual, without pa⯑rallel, or ſpecific reſemblance, may be difficult to explain. And will any man tell me with a ſerious countenance, that an orderly univerſe muſt ariſe from ſome thought and art, like the human; be⯑cauſe we have experience of it? To aſcertain this reaſoning, it were requiſite, that we had ex⯑perience of the origin of worlds; and it is not ſufficient ſurely, that we have ſeen ſhips and cities ariſe from human art and contrivance.........

PHILO was proceeding in this vehement man⯑ner, ſomewhat between jeſt and earneſt, as it ap⯑peared to me; when he obſerved ſome ſigns of impatience in CLEANTHES, and then immediate⯑ly ſtopped ſhort. What I had to ſuggeſt, ſaid CLEANTHES, is only that you would not abuſe terms, or make uſe of popular expreſſions to ſub⯑vert philoſophical reaſonings. You know, that the vulgar often diſtinguiſh reaſon from experience, even where the queſtion relates only to matter of fact and exiſtence; though it is found, where that reaſon is properly analyzed, that it is nothing but a ſpecies of experience. To prove by ex⯑perience the origin of the univerſe from mind is [37] not more contrary to common ſpeech than to prove the motion of the earth from the ſame principle. And a caviller might raiſe all the ſame objections to the COPERNICAN ſyſtem, which you have urged againſt my reaſonings. Have you other earths, might he ſay, which you have ſeen to move? Have.

Yes! cried PHILO, interrupting him, we have other earths. Is not the moon another earth, which we ſee to turn round its centre? Is not Venus another earth, where we obſerve the ſame phenomenon? Are not the revolutions of the ſun alſo a confirmation, from analogy, of the ſame theory? All the planets, are they not earths, which revolve about the ſun? Are not the ſatellites moons, which move round Jupiter and Saturn, and along with theſe primary planets, round the ſun? Theſe analogies and reſem⯑blances, with others, which I have not mention⯑ed, are the ſole proofs of the COPERNICAN ſy⯑ſtem: and to you it belongs to conſider, whether you have any analogies of the ſame kind to ſup⯑port your theory.

In reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, the mo⯑dern ſyſtem of aſtronomy is now ſo much recei⯑ved by all enquirers, and has become ſo eſſential a part even of our earlieſt education, that we are not commonly very ſcrupulous in examining the reaſons, upon which it is founded. It is now be⯑come a matter of mere curioſity to ſtudy the firſt writers on that ſubject, who had the full force of [38] prejudice to encounter, and were obliged to turn their arguments on every ſide, in order to render them popular and convincing. But if we peruſe GALILAEO's famous Dialogues concerning the ſy⯑ſtem of the world, we ſhall find, that that great genius, one of the ſublimeſt that ever exiſted, firſt bent all his endeavours to prove, that there was no foundation for the diſtinction commonly made between elementary and celeſtial ſubſtances. The ſchools, proceeding from the illuſions of ſenſe, had carried this diſtinction very far; and had eſtabliſhed the latter ſubſtances to be ingene⯑rable, incorruptible, unalterable, impaſſable; and had aſſigned all the oppoſite qualities to the for⯑mer. But GALILAEO, beginning with the moon, proved its ſimilarity in every particular to the earth; its convex figure, its natural darkneſs when not illuminated, its denſity, its diſtinction into ſolid and liquid, the variations of its phaſes, the mutual illuminations of the earth and moon, their mutual eclipſes, the inequalities of the lunar ſurface, &c. After many inſtances of this kind, with regard to all the planets, men plainly ſaw, that theſe bodies became proper objects of expe⯑rience; and that the ſimilarity of their nature en⯑abled us to extend the ſame arguments and phe⯑nomena from one to the other.

In this cautious proceeding of the aſtronomers, you may read your own condemnation, CLEAN⯑THES; or rather may ſee, that the ſubject in which you are engaged exceeds all human reaſon and [39] enquiry. Can you pretend to ſhow any ſuch ſi⯑milarity between the fabric of a houſe, and the generation of a univerſe? Have you ever ſeen Nature in any ſuch ſituation as reſembles the firſt arrangement of the elements? Have worlds ever been formed under your eye? and have you had leiſure to obſerve the whole progreſs of the pheno⯑menon, from the firſt appearance of order to its final conſummation? If you have, then cite your experience, and deliver your theory.

PART III.

HOW the moſt abſurd argument, replied CLEANTHES, in the hands of a man of ingenui⯑ty and invention, may acquire an air of probabi⯑lity! Are you not aware, PHILO, that it became neceſſary for COPERNICUS and his firſt diſciples to prove the ſimilarity of the terreſtrial and ce⯑leſtial matter; becauſe ſeveral philoſophers, blind⯑ed by old ſyſtems, and ſupported by ſome ſenſible appearances, had denied this ſimilarity? But that it is by no means neceſſary, that Theiſts ſhould prove the ſimilarity of the works of Nature to thoſe of Art; becauſe this ſimilarity is ſelf-evident and undeniable? The ſame matter, a like form: what more is requiſite to ſhow an analogy between their cauſes, and to aſcertain the origin of all things from a divine purpoſe and intention? Your objections, I muſt freely tell you, are no better [40] than the abſtruſe cavils of thoſe philoſophers,Part III. who denied motion; and ought to be refuted in the ſame manner, by illuſtrations, examples, and in⯑ſtances, rather than by ſerious argument and phi⯑loſophy.

Suppoſe, therefore, that an articulate voice were heard in the clouds, much louder and more melodious than any which human art could ever reach: Suppoſe, that this voice were extended in the ſame inſtant over all nations, and ſpoke to each nation in its own language and dialect: Sup⯑poſe, that the words delivered not only contain a juſt ſenſe and meaning, but convey ſome inſtruc⯑tion altogether worthy of a benevolent being, ſu⯑perior to mankind: could you poſſibly heſitate a moment concerning the cauſe of this voice? and muſt you not inſtantly aſcribe it to ſome deſign or purpoſe? Yet I cannot ſee but all the ſame ob⯑jections (if they merit that appellation) which lie againſt the ſyſtem of Theiſm, may alſo be produ⯑ced againſt this inference.

Might you not ſay, that all concluſions concern⯑ing fact were founded on experience: that when we hear an articulate voice in the dark, and thence infer a man, it is only the reſemblance of the effects, which leads us to conclude that there is a like reſemblance in the cauſe: but that this extraordinary voice, by its loudneſs, extent, and flexibility to all languages, bears ſo little analogy to any human voice, that we have no reaſon to ſuppoſe any analogy in their cauſes: and conſe⯑quently, [41] that a rational, wiſe, coherent ſpeech proceeded, you knew not whence, from ſome accidental whiſtling of the winds, not from any divine reaſon or intelligence? You ſee clearly your own objections in theſe cavils; and I hope too, you ſee clearly, that they cannot poſſibly have more force in the one caſe than in the other.

But to bring the caſe ſtill nearer the preſent one of the univerſe, I ſhall make two ſuppoſitions, which imply not any abſurdity or impoſſibility. Suppoſe, that there is a natural, univerſal, inva⯑riable language, common to every individual of human race, and that books are natural produc⯑tions, which perpetuate themſelves in the ſame manner with animals and vegetables, by deſcent and propagation. Several expreſſions of our paſ⯑ſions contain a univerſal language: all brute ani⯑mals have a natural ſpeech, which, however li⯑mited, is very intelligible to their own ſpecies. And as there are infinitely fewer parts and leſs contrivance in the fineſt compoſition of eloquence, than in the coarſeſt organized body, the propaga⯑tion of an Iliad or Aeneid is an eaſier ſuppoſi⯑tion than that of any plant or animal.

Suppoſe, therefore, that you enter into your li⯑brary, thus peopled by natural volumes, contain⯑ing the moſt refined reaſon and moſt exquiſite beauty: could you poſſibly open one of them, and doubt, that its original cauſe bore the ſtrong⯑eſt analogy to mind and intelligence? When it reaſons and diſcourſes; when it expoſtulates, ar⯑gues, [42] and enforces its views and topics; when it applies ſometimes to the pure intellect, ſometimes to the affections; when it collects, diſpoſes, and adorns every conſideration ſuited to the ſubject: could you perſiſt in aſſerting, that all this, at the bottom, had really no meaning, and that the firſt formation of this volume in the loins of its origi⯑nal parent proceeded not from thought and de⯑ſign? Your obſtinacy, I know, reaches not that degree of firmneſs: even your ſceptical play and wantonneſs would be abaſhed at ſo glaring an ab⯑ſurdity.

But if there be any difference, PHILO, between this ſuppoſed caſe and the real one of the univerſe, it is all to the advantage of the latter. The ana⯑tomy of an animal affords many ſtronger inſtances of deſign than the peruſal of LIVY or TACI⯑TUS: and any objection which you ſtart in the former caſe, by carrying me back to ſo unuſual and extraordinary a ſcene as the firſt formation of worlds, the ſame objection has place on the ſuppoſition of our vegetating library. Chuſe, then, your party, PHILO, without ambiguity or evaſion: aſſert either that a rational volume is no proof of a rational cauſe, or admit of a ſimilar cauſe to all the works of nature.

Let me here obſerve too, continued CLEAN⯑THES, that this religious argument, inſtead of being weakened by that ſcepticiſm, ſo much af⯑fected by you, rather acquires force from it, and becomes more firm and undiſputed. To [43] exclude all argument or reaſoning of every kind is either affectation or madneſs. The declared profeſſion of every reaſonable ſceptic is only to reject abſtruſe, remote and refined arguments; to adhere to common ſenſe and the plain inſtincts of nature; and to aſſent, where-ever any reaſons ſtrike him with ſo full a force, that he cannot, without the greateſt violence, prevent it. Now the arguments for Natural Religion are plainly of this kind; and nothing but the moſt perverſe, obſtinate metaphyſics can reject them. Conſider, anatomize the eye: Survey its ſtructure and con⯑trivance; and tell me, from your own feeling, if the idea of a contriver does not immediately flow in upon you with a force like that of ſenſa⯑tion. The moſt obvious concluſion ſurely is in favour of deſign; and it requires time, reflection and ſtudy to ſummon up thoſe frivolous, though abſtruſe objections, which can ſupport Infide⯑lity. Who can behold the male and female of each ſpecies, the correſpondence of their parts and inſtincts, their paſſions and whole courſe of life before and after generation, but muſt be ſen⯑ſible, that the propagation of the ſpecies is in⯑tended by Nature? Millions and millions of ſuch inſtances preſent themſelves through every part of the univerſe; and no language can convey a more intelligible, irreſiſtible meaning, than the curious adjuſtment of final cauſes. To what de⯑gree, therefore, of blind dogmatiſm muſt one [44] have attained, to reject ſuch natural and ſuch convincing arguments?

Some beauties in writing we may meet with, which ſeem contrary to rules, and which gain the affections, and animate the imagination, in oppoſition to all the precepts of criticiſm, and to the authority of the eſtabliſhed maſters of art. And if the argument for Theiſm be, as you pre⯑tend, contradictory to the principles of logic; its univerſal, its irreſiſtible influence proves clear⯑ly, that there may be arguments of a like irre⯑gular nature. Whatever cavils may be urged; an orderly world, as well as a coherent, articu⯑late ſpeech, will ſtill be received as an inconteſt⯑able proof of deſign and intention.

It ſometimes happens, I own, that the religious arguments have not their due influence on an ig⯑norant ſavage and barbarian; not becauſe they are obſcure and difficult, but becauſe he never aſks himſelf any queſtion with regard to them. Whence ariſes the curious ſtructure of an ani⯑mal? From the copulation of its parents. And theſe whence? From their parents? A few re⯑moves ſet the objects at ſuch a diſtance, that to him they are loſt in darkneſs and confuſion; nor is he actuated by any curioſity to trace them farther. But this is neither dogmatiſm nor ſcep⯑ticiſm, but ſtupidity; a ſtate of mind very differ⯑ent from your ſifting, inquiſitive diſpoſition, my ingenious friend. You can trace cauſes from ef⯑fects: You can compare the moſt diſtant and [45] remote objects: and your greateſt errors proceed not from barrenneſs of thought and invention, but from too luxuriant a fertility, which ſuppreſſes your natural good ſenſe, by a profuſion of un⯑neceſſary ſcruples and objections.

Here I could obſerve, HERMIPPUS, that PHILO was a little embarraſſed and confounded: But while he heſitated in delivering an anſwer, luckily for him, DEMEA broke in upon the diſcourſe, and ſaved his countenance.

Your inſtance, CLEANTHES, ſaid he, drawn from books and language, being familiar, has, I confeſs, ſo much more force on that account; but is there not ſome danger too in this very circumſtance; and may it not render us preſump⯑tuous, by making us imagine we comprehend the Deity, and have ſome adequate idea of his nature and attributes? When I read a volume, I enter into the mind and intention of the au⯑thor: I become him, in a manner, for the in⯑ſtant; and have an immediate feeling and con⯑ception of thoſe ideas, which revolved in his i⯑magination, while employed in that compoſition. But ſo near an approach we never ſurely can make to the Deity. His ways are not our ways. His attributes are perfect, but incomprehenſible. And this volume of Nature contains a great and inexplicable riddle, more than any intelligible diſcourſe or reaſoning.

The ancient PLATONISTS, you know, were the moſt religious and devout of all the Pagan [46] philoſophers: yet many of them, particularly PLOTINUS us, expreſsly declare, that intellect or underſtanding is not to be aſcribed to the Deity, and that our moſt perfect worſhip of him conſiſts, not in acts of veneration, reverence, gratitude or love; but in a certain myſterious ſelf-anni⯑hilation or total extinction of all our faculties. Theſe ideas are, perhaps, too far ſtretched; but ſtill it muſt be acknowledged, that, by repreſent⯑ing the Deity as ſo intelligible, and comprehen⯑ſible, and ſo ſimilar to a human mind, we are guilty of the groſſeſt and moſt narrow partiality, and make ourſelves the model of the whole uni⯑verſe.

All the ſentiments of the human mind, grati⯑tude, reſentment, love, friendſhip, approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain re⯑ference to the ſtate and ſituation of man, and are calculated for preſerving the exiſtence, and promoting the activity of ſuch a being in ſuch circumſtances. It ſeems therefore unreaſonable to transfer ſuch ſentiments to a ſupreme exiſtence, or to ſuppoſe him actuated by them; and the phenomena, beſides, of the univerſe will not ſup⯑port us in ſuch a theory. All our ideas, derived from the ſenſes are confeſſedly falſe and illuſive; and cannot, therefore, be ſuppoſed to have place in a ſupreme intelligence: And as the ideas of internal ſentiment, added to thoſe of the exter⯑nal ſenſes, compoſe the whole furniture of hu⯑man underſtanding, we may conclude, that none [47] of the materials of thought are in any re⯑ſpect ſimilar in the human and in the divine intelligence. Now as to the manner of think⯑ing; how can we make any compariſon between them, or ſuppoſe them any wiſe reſembling? Our thought is fluctuating, uncertain, fleeting, ſucceſſive, and compounded; and were we to re⯑move theſe circumſtances, we abſolutely annihi⯑late its eſſence, and it would, in ſuch a caſe, be an abuſe of terms to apply to it the name of thought or reaſon. At leaſt, if it appear more pious and reſpectful (as it really is) ſtill to retain theſe terms, when we mention the Supreme Be⯑ing, we ought to acknowledge, that their mean⯑ing, in that caſe, is totally incomprehenſible; and that the infirmities of our nature do not per⯑mit us to reach any ideas, which in the leaſt cor⯑reſpond to the ineffable ſublimity of the divine attributes.

PART IV.

IT ſeems ſtrange to me, ſaid CLEANTHES, that you, DEMEA, who are ſo ſincere in the cauſe of religion, ſhould ſtill maintain the myſte⯑rious, incomprehenſible nature of the Deity, and ſhould inſiſt ſo ſtrenuouſly, that he has no man⯑ner of likeneſs or reſemblance to human crea⯑tures. The Deity, I can readily allow, poſſeſſes many powers and attributes, of which we can [48] have no comprehenſion:Part IV. But if our ideas, ſo far as they go, be not juſt, and adequate, and cor⯑reſpondent to his real nature, I know not what there is in this ſubject worth inſiſting on. Is the name, without any meaning, of ſuch mighty importance? Or how do you MYSTICS, who maintain the abſolute incomprehenſibility of the Deity, differ from Sceptics or Atheiſts, who aſ⯑ſert, that the firſt cauſe of all is unknown and unintelligible? Their temerity muſt be very great, if, after rejecting the production by a mind; I mean, a mind, reſembling the human (for I know of no other) they pretend to aſſign, with certainty, any other ſpecific, intelligible cauſe: And their conſcience muſt be very ſcru⯑pulous indeed, if they refuſe to call the univerſal, unknown cauſe a God or Deity; and to beſtow on him as many ſublime eulogies and unmeaning epithets, as you ſhall pleaſe to require of them.

Who could imagine, replied DEMEA, that CLEANTHES, the calm, philoſophical CLEAN⯑THES, would attempt to refute his antagoniſts, by affixing a nick-name to them; and like the common bigots and inquiſitors of the age, have recourſe to invective and declamation, inſtead of reaſoning? Or does he not perceive, that theſe topics are eaſily retorted, and that ANTHRO⯑POMORPHITE is an appellation as invidious, and implies as dangerous conſequences, as the epithet of MYSTIC, with which he has honoured us? In reality, CLEANTHES, conſider what it [49] is you aſſert, when you repreſent the Deity as ſimilar to a human mind and underſtanding. What is the ſoul of man? A compoſition of va⯑rious faculties, paſſions, ſentiments, ideas; uni⯑ted, indeed, into one ſelf or perſon, but ſtill diſ⯑tinct from each other. When it reaſons, the ideas, which are the parts of its diſcourſe, ar⯑range themſelves in a certain form or order; which is not preſerved entire for a moment, but imme⯑diately gives place to another arrangement. New opinions, new paſſions, new affections, new feel⯑ings ariſe, which continually diverſify the mental ſcene, and produce in it the greateſt variety, and moſt rapid ſucceſſion imaginable. How is this compatible, with that perfect immutability and ſimplicity, which all true Theiſts aſcribe to the Deity? By the ſame act, ſay they, he ſees paſt, preſent, and future: His love and his hatred, his mercy and his juſtice, are one individual opera⯑tion: He is entire in every point of ſpace; and complete in every inſtant of duration. No ſucceſ⯑ſion, no change, no acquiſition, no diminution. What he is implies not in it any ſhadow of diſ⯑tinction or diverſity. And what he is, this mo⯑ment, he ever has been, and ever will be, with⯑out any new judgement, ſentiment, or operation. He ſtands fixed in one ſimple, perfect ſtate; nor can you ever ſay, with any propriety, that this act of his is different from that other, or that this judge⯑ment or idea has been lately formed, and will give place, by ſucceſſion, to any different judgement or idea.

[50] I can readily allow, ſaid CLEANTHES, that thoſe who maintain the perfect ſimplicity of the Supreme Being, to the extent in which you have explained it, are complete MYSTICS, and charge⯑able with all the conſequences which I have drawn from their opinion. They are, in a word, A⯑THEISTS, without knowing it. For though it be allowed, that the Deity poſſeſſes attributes, of which we have no comprehenſion; yet ought we never to aſcribe to him any attributes, which are abſolutely incompatible with that intelligent na⯑ture, eſſential to him. A mind, whoſe acts and ſentiments and ideas are not diſtinct and ſucceſ⯑ſive; one, that is wholly ſimple, and totally im⯑mutable; is a mind, which has no thought, no reaſon, no will, no ſentiment, no love, no ha⯑tred; or in a word, is no mind at all. It is an abuſe of terms to give it that appellation; and we may as well ſpeak of limited extenſion with⯑out figure, or of number without compoſition.

Pray conſider, ſaid PHILO, whom you are at preſent inveighing againſt. You are honouring with the appellation of Atheiſt all the ſound, or⯑thodox divines almoſt, who have treated of this ſubject; and you will, at laſt be, yourſelf, found, according to your reckoning, the only ſound Theiſt in the world. But if idolaters be Atheiſts, as, I think, may juſtly be aſſerted, and Chriſtian Theologians the ſame; what becomes of the ar⯑gument, ſo much celebrated, derived from the univerſal conſent of mankind?

[51] But becauſe I know you are not much ſwayed by names and authorities, I ſhall endeavour to ſhow you, a little more diſtinctly, the inconve⯑niencies of that Anthropomorphiſm, which you have embraced; and ſhall prove, that there is no ground to ſuppoſe a plan of the world to be formed in the divine mind, conſiſting of diſtinct ideas, differently arranged; in the ſame manner as an architect forms in his head the plan of a houſe which he intends to execute.

It is not eaſy, I own, to ſee, what is gained by this ſuppoſition, whether we judge of the matter by Reaſon or by Experience. We are ſtill obliged to mount higher, in order to find the cauſe of this cauſe, which you had aſſigned as ſatisfactory and concluſive.

If Reaſon (I mean abſtract reaſon, derived from enquiries a priori) be not alike mute with regard to all queſtions concerning cauſe and effect; this ſentence at leaſt it will venture to pronounce, That a mental world, or univerſe of ideas, requires a cauſe as much, as does a material world, or u⯑niverſe of objects; and if ſimilar in its arrange⯑ment muſt require a ſimilar cauſe. For what is there in this ſubject, which ſhould occaſion a different concluſion or inference? In an abſtract view, they are entirely alike; and no difficulty attends the one ſuppoſition, which is not com⯑mon to both of them.

Again, when we will needs force Experience to pronounce ſome ſentence, even on theſe ſubjects, [52] which lie beyond her ſphere; neither can ſhe perceive any material difference in this particular, between theſe two kinds of worlds, but finds them to be governed by ſimilar principles, and to depend upon an equal variety of cauſes in their operations. We have ſpecimens in miniature of both of them. Our own mind reſembles the one: A vegetable or animal body the other. Let Ex⯑perience, therefore, judge from theſe ſamples. Nothing ſeems more delicate with regard to its cauſes than thought; and as theſe cauſes never operate in two perſons after the ſame manner, ſo we never find two perſons, who think ex⯑actly alike. Nor indeed does the ſame perſon think exactly alike at any two different periods of time. A difference of age, of the diſpoſition of his body, of weather, of food, of company, of books, of paſſions; any of theſe particulars, or others more minute, are ſufficient to alter the curious machinery of thought, and communicate to it very different movements and operations. As far as we can judge, vegetables and animal bodies are not more delicate in their motions, nor depend upon a greater variety or more curi⯑ous adjuſtment of ſprings and principles.

How therefore ſhall we ſatisfy ourſelves con⯑cerning the cauſe of that Being, whom you ſup⯑poſe the Author of Nature, or, according to your ſyſtem of Anthropomorphiſm, the ideal world, into which you trace the material? Have [53] we not the ſame reaſon to trace that ideal world into another ideal world, or new intelligent prin⯑ciple? But if we ſtop, and go no farther; why go ſo far? Why not ſtop at the material world? How can we ſatisfy ourſelves without going on in infinitum? And after all, what ſatisfaction is there in that infinite progreſſion? Let us remem⯑ber the ſtory of the INDIAN philoſopher and his elephant. It was never more applicable than to the preſent ſubject. If the material world reſts up⯑on a ſimilar ideal world, this ideal world muſt reſt upon ſome other; and ſo on, without end. It were better, therefore, never to look beyond the preſent material world. By ſuppoſing it to con⯑tain the principle of its order within itſelf, we really aſſert it to be God; and the ſooner we arrive at that divine Being ſo much the better. When you go one ſtep beyond the mundane ſy⯑ſtem, you only excite an inquiſitive humour, which it is impoſſible ever to ſatisfy.

To ſay, that the different ideas, which com⯑poſe the reaſon of the Supreme Being, fall into order, of themſelves, and by their own nature, is really to talk without any preciſe meaning. If it has a meaning, I would fain know, why it is not as good ſenſe to ſay, that the parts of the material world fall into order, of themſelves, and by their own nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible, while the other is not ſo?

We have, indeed, experience of ideas, which fall into order, of themſelves, and without any [54] known cauſe: But, I am ſure, we have a much larger experience of matter, which does the ſame; as in all inſtances of generation and ve⯑getation, where the accurate analyſis of the cauſe exceeds all human comprehenſion. We have alſo experience of particular ſyſtems of thought and of matter, which have no order; of the firſt, in madneſs; of the ſecond, in corruption. Why then ſhould we think, that order is more eſſen⯑tial to one than the other? And if it requires a cauſe in both, what do we gain by your ſyſtem, in tracing the univerſe of objects into a ſimilar univerſe of ideas? The firſt ſtep, which we make, leads us on for ever. It were, therefore, wiſe in us, to limit all our enquiries to the preſent world, without looking farther. No ſatisfaction can ever be attained by theſe ſpeculations, which ſo far exceed the narrow bounds of human un⯑derſtanding.

It was uſual with the PERIPATETICS, you know, CLEANTHES, when the cauſe of any phenomenon was demanded, to have recourſe to their faculties or occult qualities, and to ſay, for inſtance, that bread nouriſhed by its nu⯑tritive faculty, and ſenna purged by its purga⯑tive: But it has been diſcovered, that this ſub⯑terfuge was nothing but the diſguiſe of ignorance; and that theſe philoſophers, though leſs ingenu⯑ous, really ſaid the ſame thing with the ſceptics or the vulgar, who fairly confeſſed, that they knew not the cauſe of theſe phenomena. In like [55] manner, when it is aſked, what cauſe produces order in the ideas of the Supreme Being, can any other reaſon be aſſigned by you, Anthro⯑pomorphites, than that it is a rational faculty, and that ſuch is the nature of the Deity? But why a ſimilar anſwer will not be equally ſatisfac⯑tory in accounting for the order of the world, without having recourſe to any ſuch intelligent creator, as you inſiſt on, may be difficult to de⯑termine. It is only to ſay, that ſuch is the na⯑ture of material objects, and that they are all o⯑riginally poſſeſſed of a faculty of order and pro⯑portion. Theſe are only more learned and ela⯑borate ways of confeſſing our ignorance; nor has the one hypotheſis any real advantage above the other, except in its greater conformity to vulgar prejudices.

You have diſplayed this argument with great emphaſis, replied CLEANTHES: You ſeem not ſenſible, how eaſy it is to anſwer it. Even in common life, if I aſſign a cauſe for any event; is it any objection, PHILO, that I cannot aſſign the cauſe of that cauſe, and anſwer every new queſtion, which may inceſſantly be ſtarted? And what philoſophers could poſſibly ſubmit to ſo ri⯑gid a rule? philoſophers, who confeſs ultimate cauſes to be totally unknown, and are ſenſible, that the moſt refined principles, into which they trace the phenomena, are ſtill to them as inex⯑plicable as theſe phenomena themſelves are to the vulgar. The order and arrangement of nature, [56] the curious adjuſtment of final cauſes, the plain uſe and intention of every part and organ; all theſe beſpeak in the cleareſt language an intel⯑ligent cauſe or author. The heavens and the earth join in the ſame teſtimony: The whole chorus of Nature raiſes one hymn to the praiſes of its creator: You alone, or almoſt alone, diſ⯑turb this general harmony. You ſtart abſtruſe doubts, cavils, and objections: You aſk me, what is the cauſe of this cauſe? I know not; I care not; that concerns not me. I have found a Deity; and here I ſtop my enquiry. Let thoſe go farther, who are wiſer or more enterpriſing.

I pretend to be neither, replied PHILO: and for that very reaſon, I ſhould never perhaps have attempted to go ſo far; eſpecially when I am ſen⯑ſible, that I muſt at laſt be contented to ſit down with the ſame anſwer, which, without farther trouble, might have ſatisfied me from the begin⯑ning. If I am ſtill to remain in utter ignorance of cauſes, and can abſolutely give an explication of nothing, I ſhall never eſteem it any advantage to ſhove off for a moment a difficulty, which, you acknowledge, muſt immediately, in its full force, recur upon me. Naturaliſts indeed very juſtly explain particular effects by more general cauſes; though theſe general cauſes themſelves ſhould re⯑main in the end totally inexplicable: but they never ſurely thought it ſatisfactory to explain a particular effect by a particular cauſe, which was no more to be accounted for than the effect itſelf. [57] An ideal ſyſtem, arranged of itſelf, without a precedent deſign, is not a whit more explicable than a material one, which attains its order in a like manner; nor is there any more difficulty in the latter ſuppoſition than in the former.

PART V.

BUT to ſhow you ſtill more inconveniencies, continued PHILO, in your Anthropomorphiſm; pleaſe to take a new ſurvey of your principles. Like effects prove like cauſes This is the ex⯑perimental argument; and this, you ſay too, is the ſole theological argument. Now it is certain, that the liker the effects are, which are ſeen, and the liker the cauſes, which are inferred, the ſtronger is the argument. Every departure on ei⯑ther ſide diminiſhes the probability, and renders the experiment leſs concluſive. You cannot doubt of the principle: neither ought you to re⯑ject its conſequences.

All the new diſcoveries in aſtronomy, which prove the immenſe grandeur and magnificence of the works of Nature, are ſo many additional ar⯑guments for a Deity, according to the true ſy⯑ſtem of Theiſm: but according to your hypothe⯑ſis of experimental Theiſm, they become ſo many objections, by removing the effect ſtill far⯑ther from all reſemblance to the effects of human [58] art and contrivance.Part V. For if LUCRETIUS^*, even following the old ſyſtem of the world, could ex⯑claim,

If Tully ^† eſteemed this reaſoning ſo natural as to put it into the mouth of his EPICUREAN. Quibus euim oculis animi intueri potuit veſter Plato fabricam illam tanti operis, qua conſtrui a Deo atque aedificari mundum facit? quae mo⯑litio? quae ferramenta? qui vectes? quae ma⯑chinae? qui miniſtri tanti muneris fuerunt? quemadmodum autem obedire et parere volun⯑tati architecti aer, ignis, aqua, terra potue⯑runt? If this argument, I ſay, had any force in former ages; how much greater muſt it have at preſent; when the bounds of Nature are ſo in⯑finitely enlarged, and ſuch a magnificent ſcene is opened to us? It is ſtill more unreaſonable to form our idea of ſo unlimited a cauſe from our experience of the narrow productions of human deſign and invention.

The diſcoveries by microſcopes, as they open a new univerſe in miniature, are ſtill objections, [59] according to you; arguments, according to me. The farther we puſh our reſearches of this kind, we are ſtill led to infer the univerſal cauſe of all to be vaſtly different from mankind, or from any object of human experience and obſervation.

And what ſay you to the diſcoveries in anatomy, chymiſtry, botany? — Theſe ſurely are no ob⯑jections, replied CLEANTHES: they only diſco⯑ver new inſtances of art and contrivance. It is ſtill the image of mind reflected on us from innu⯑merable objects. Add, a mind like the hu⯑man, ſaid PHILO. I know of no other, re⯑plied CLEANTHES. And the liker the bet⯑ter, inſiſted PHILO. To be ſure, ſaid CLE⯑ANTHES.

Now, CLEANTHES, ſaid PHILO, with an air of alacrity and triumph, mark the conſequences. Firſt, By this method of reaſoning, you renounce all claim to infinity in any of the attributes of the Deity. For as the cauſe ought only to be propor⯑tioned to the effect, and the effect, ſo far as it falls under our cogniſance, is not infinite; what pretenſions have we, upon your ſuppoſitions, to aſcribe that attribute to the divine Being? You will ſtill inſiſt, that, by removing him ſo much from all ſimilarity to human creatures, we give into the moſt arbitrary hypotheſis, and at the ſame time, weaken all proofs of his exiſtence.

Secondly, You have no reaſon, on your theory, for aſcribing perfection to the Deity, even in his finite capacity; or for ſuppoſing him free from [60] every error, miſtake, or incoherence in his un⯑dertakings. There are many inexplicable diffi⯑culties in the works of Nature, which, if we al⯑low a perfect author to be proved a priori, are eaſily ſolved, and become only ſeeming difficul⯑ties, from the narrow capacity of man, who can⯑not trace infinite relations. But according to your method of reaſoning, theſe difficulties become all real; and perhaps will be inſiſted on, as new in⯑ſtances of likeneſs to human art and contrivance. At leaſt, you muſt acknowledge, that it is impoſ⯑ſible for us to tell, from our limited views, whe⯑ther this ſyſtem contains any great faults, or de⯑ſerves any conſiderable praiſe, if compared to other poſſible, and even real ſyſtems. Could a peaſant, if the AENEID were read to him, pro⯑nounce that poem to be abſolutely faultleſs, or even aſſign to it its proper rank among the pro⯑ductions of human wit; he, who had never ſeen any other production?

But were this world ever ſo perfect a produc⯑tion, it muſt ſtill remain uncertain, whether all the excellencies of the work can juſtly be aſcri⯑bed to the workman. If we ſurvey a ſhip, what an exalted idea muſt we form of the ingenuity of the carpenter, who framed ſo complicated uſeful and beautiful a machine? And what ſurpriſe muſt we feel, when we find him a ſtupid mechanic, who imitated others, and copied an art, which, through a long ſucceſſion of ages, after multiplied trials, miſtakes, corrections, deliberations, and [61] controverſies, had been gradually improving? Many worlds might have been botched and bun⯑gled, throughout an eternity, ere this ſyſtem was ſtruck out: much labour loſt: many fruit⯑leſs trials made: and a ſlow, but continued im⯑provement carried on during infinite ages in the art of world-making. In ſuch ſubjects, who can determine, where the truth; nay, who can con⯑jecture where the probability, lies; amidſt a great number of hypotheſes which may be propoſed, and a ſtill greater number, which may be ima⯑gined?

And what ſhadow of an argument, continued PHILO, can you produce, from your hypotheſis, to prove the unity of the Deity? A great num⯑ber of men join in building a houſe or ſhip, in rearing a city, in framing a commonwealth: why may not ſeveral deities combine in contriving and framing a world? This is only ſo much greater ſimilarity to human affairs. By ſharing the work among ſeveral, we may ſo much farther limit the attributes of each, and get rid of that extenſive power and knowledge, which muſt be ſuppoſed in one deity, and which, according to you, can on⯑ly ſerve to weaken the proof of his exiſtence. And if ſuch fooliſh, ſuch vicious creatures as man can yet often unite in framing and executing one plan; how much more thoſe deities or daemons, whom we may ſuppoſe ſeveral degrees more per⯑fect?

To multiply cauſes, without neceſſity, is in⯑deed [62] contrary to true philoſophy: but this prin⯑ciple applies not to the preſent caſe. Were one deity antecedently proved by your theory, who were poſſeſſed of every attribute, requiſite to the production of the univerſe; it would be needleſs, I own (though not abſurd) to ſuppoſe any other deity exiſtent. But while it is ſtill a queſtion, Whether all theſe attributes are united in one ſubject, or diſperſed among ſeveral independent beings: by what phenomena in nature can we pretend to decide the controverſy? Where we ſee a body raiſed in a ſcale, we are ſure that there is in the oppoſite ſcale, however concealed from ſight, ſome counterpoiſing weight equal to it: but it is ſtill allowed to doubt, whether that weight be an aggregate of ſeveral diſtinct bodies, or one uniform united maſs. And if the weight requiſite very much exceeds any thing which we have ever ſeen conjoined in any ſingle body, the former ſuppoſition becomes ſtill more probable and natural. An intelligent being of ſuch vaſt power and capacity, as is neceſſary to produce the univerſe, or, to ſpeak in the language of ancient philoſophy, ſo prodigious an animal, exceeds all analogy and even comprehenſion.

But farther, CLEANTHES; men are mortal, and renew their ſpecies by generation; and this is common to all living creatures. The two great ſexes of male and female, ſays MILTON, ani⯑mate the world. Why muſt this circumſtance, ſo univerſal, ſo eſſential, be excluded from thoſe [63] numerous and limited deities? Behold then the theogony of ancient times brought back upon us.

And why not become a perfect Anthropomor⯑phite? Why not aſſert the deity or deities to be corporeal, and to have eyes, a noſe, mouth, ears, &c.? EPICURUS maintained, that no man had ever ſeen reaſon but in a human figure; therefore the gods muſt have a human figure. And this argument, which is deſervedly ſo much ridiculed by CICERO, becomes, according to you, ſolid and philoſophical.

In a word, CLEANTHES, a man, who follows your hypotheſis, is able, perhaps, to aſſert, or conjecture, that the univerſe, ſometime, aroſe from ſomething like deſign: but beyond that po⯑ſition he cannot aſcertain one ſingle circumſtance, and is left afterwards to fix every point of his the⯑ology, by the utmoſt licence of fancy and hypo⯑theſis. This world, for aught he knows, is very faulty and imperfect, compared to a ſuperior ſtandard; and was only the firſt rude eſſay of ſome infant deity, who afterwards abandoned it, aſhamed of his lame performance: it is the work only of ſome dependent, inferior deity; and is the object of deriſion to his ſuperiors: it is the production of old age and dotage in ſome ſuper⯑annuated deity; and ever ſince his death, has run on at adventures, from the firſt impulſe and active force, which it received from him. You juſtly give ſigns of horror, DEMEA, at theſe ſtrange ſuppoſitions: but theſe, and a thouſand [64] more of the ſame kind, are CLEANTHES's ſup⯑poſitions, not mine. From the moment the attri⯑butes of the Deity are ſuppoſed finite, all theſe have place. And I cannot, for my part, think, that ſo wild and unſettled a ſyſtem of theology is, in any reſpect, preferable to none at all.

Theſe ſuppoſitions I abſolutely diſown, cried CLEANTHES: they ſtrike me, however, with no horror; eſpecially, when propoſed in that ram⯑bling way, in which they drop from you. On the contrary, they give me pleaſure, when I ſee, that, by the utmoſt indulgence of your imagina⯑tion, you never get rid of the hypotheſis of de⯑ſign in the univerſe; but are obliged, at every turn, to have recourſe to it. To this conceſſion I adhere ſteadily; and this I regard as a ſufficient foundation for religion.

PART VI.

IT muſt be a ſlight fabric, indeed, ſaid DE⯑MEA, which can be erected on ſo tottering a foundation. While we are uncertain, whether there is one deity or many; whether the deity or deities, to whom we owe our exiſtence, be perfect or imperfect, ſubordinate or ſupreme, dead or alive; what truſt or confidence can we repoſe in them? What devotion or worſhip ad⯑dreſs to them? What veneration or obedience pay them? To all the purpoſes of life, the theory [65] of religion becomes altogether uſeleſs:Part VI. and even with regard to ſpeculative conſequences, its un⯑certainty, according to you, muſt render it total⯑ly precarious and unſatisfactory.

To render it ſtill more unſatisfactory, ſaid PHILO, there occurs to me another hypotheſis, which muſt acquire an air of probability from the method of reaſoning ſo much inſiſted on by CLE⯑ANTHES. That like effects ariſe from like cauſes: this principle he ſuppoſes the foundation of all religion. But there is another principle of the ſame kind, no leſs certain, and derived from the ſame ſource of experience; That where ſeveral known circumſtances are obſerved to be ſimilar, the unknown will alſo be found ſimilar. Thus, if we ſee the limbs of a human body, we con⯑clude, that it is alſo attended with a human head, though hid from us. Thus, if we ſee, through a chink in a wall, a ſmall part of the ſun, we con⯑clude, that, were the wall removed, we ſhould ſee the whole body. In ſhort, this method of reaſon⯑ing is ſo obvious and familiar, that no ſcruple can ever be made with regard to its ſolidity.

Now if we ſurvey the univerſe, ſo far as it falls under our knowledge, it bears a great reſem⯑blance to an animal or organized body, and ſeems actuated with a like principle of life and motion. A continual circulation of matter in it produces no diſorder: a continual waſte in every part is inceſſantly repaired: the cloſeſt ſympathy is per⯑ceived throughout the entire ſyſtem: and each [66] part or member, in performing its proper offices, operates both to its own preſervation and to that of the whole. The world, therefore, I infer, is an animal, and the Deity is the SOUL of the world, actuating it, and actuated by it.

You have too much learning, CLEANTHES, to be at all ſurpriſed at this opinion, which, you know, was maintained by almoſt all the Theiſts of antiquity, and chiefly prevails in their diſcour⯑ſes and reaſonings. For though ſometimes the ancient philoſophers reaſon from final cauſes, as if they thought the world the workmanſhip of God; yet it appears rather their favorite notion to conſider it as his body, whoſe organization renders it ſubſervient to him. And it muſt be confeſſed, that as the univerſe reſembles more a human body than it does the works of human art and contrivance; if our limited analogy could ever, with any propriety, be extended to the whole of nature, the inference ſeems juſter in fa⯑vour of the ancient than the modern theory.

There are many other advantages too, in the former theory, which recommended it to the an⯑cient Theologians. Nothing more repugnant to all their notions, becauſe nothing more repugnant to common experience, than mind without body; a mere ſpiritual ſubſtance, which fell not under their ſenſes nor comprehenſion, and of which they had not obſerved one ſingle inſtance throughout all nature. Mind and body they knew, becauſe they felt both: an order, arrangement, organi⯑zation, or internal machinery in both they like⯑wiſe [67] knew, after the ſame manner: and it could not but ſeem reaſonable to transfer this experience to the univerſe, and to ſuppoſe the divine mind and body to be alſo coeval, and to have, both of them, order and arrangement naturally inherent in them, and inſeparable from them.

Here therefore is a new ſpecies of Anthropo⯑morphiſm, CLEANTHES, on which you may de⯑liberate; and a theory which ſeems not liable to any conſiderable difficulties. You are too much ſuperior ſurely to ſyſtematical prejudices, to find any more difficulty in ſuppoſing an animal body to be, originally, of itſelf, or from unknown cauſes, poſſeſſed of order and organization, than in ſuppoſing a ſimilar order to belong to mind. But the vulgar prejudice, that body and mind ought always to accompany each other, ought not, one ſhould think, to be entirely neglected; ſince it is founded on vulgar experience, the on⯑ly guide which you profeſs to follow in all theſe theological enquiries. And if you aſſert, that our limited experience is an unequal ſtandard, by which to judge of the unlimited extent of nature; you entirely abandon your own hypotheſis, and muſt thenceforward adopt our Myſticiſm, as you call it, and admit of the abſolute incomprehenſi⯑bility of the Divine Nature.

This theory, I own, replied CLEANTHES, has never before occurred to me, though a pretty na⯑tural one; and I cannot readily, upon ſo ſhort an examination and reflection, deliver any opinion [68] with regard to it. You are very ſcrupulous, indeed, ſaid PHILO; were I to examine any ſy⯑ſtem of yours, I ſhould not have acted with half that caution and reſerve, in ſtarting objections and difficulties to it. However, if any thing oc⯑cur to you, you will oblige us by propoſing it.

Why then, replied CLEANTHES, it ſeems to me, that, though the world does, in many circum⯑ſtances, reſemble an animal body; yet is the ana⯑logy alſo defective in many circumſtances, the moſt material: no organs of ſenſe; no ſeat of thought or reaſon; no one preciſe origin of mo⯑tion and action. In ſhort, it ſeems to bear a ſtronger reſemblance to a vegetable than to an a⯑nimal, and your inference would be ſo far incon⯑cluſive in favour of the ſoul of the world.

But in the next place, your theory ſeems to im⯑ply the eternity of the world; and that is a prin⯑ciple, which, I think, can be refuted by the ſtrongeſt reaſons and probabilities. I ſhall ſuggeſt an argument to this purpoſe, which, I believe, has not been inſiſted on by any writer. Thoſe, who reaſon from the late origin of arts and ſci⯑ences, though their inference wants not force, may perhaps be refuted by conſiderations, derived from the nature of human ſociety, which is in continual revolution, between ignorance and knowledge, liberty and ſlavery, riches and pover⯑ty; ſo that it is impoſſible for us, from our limi⯑ted experience, to foretell with aſſurance what e⯑vents may or may not be expected. Ancient [69] learning and hiſtory ſeem to have been in great danger of entirely periſhing after the inundation of the barbarous nations; and had theſe convul⯑ſions continued a little longer, or been a little more violent, we ſhould not probably have now known what paſſed in the world a few centuries before us. Nay, were it not for the ſuperſtition of the Popes, who preſerved a little jargon of LATIN, in order to ſupport the appearance of an ancient and univerſal church, that tongue muſt have been utterly loſt: in which caſe, the Weſtern world, being totally barbarous, would not have been in a fit diſpoſition for receiving the GREEK language and learning, which was conveyed to them after the ſacking of CONSTANTINOPLE. When learn⯑ing and books had been extinguiſhed, even the mechanical arts would have fallen conſiderably to decay; and it is eaſily imagined, that fable or tradition might aſcribe to them a much later ori⯑gin than the true one. This vulgar argument, therefore, againſt the eternity of the world, ſeems a little precarious.

But here appears to be the foundation of a better argument. LUCULLUS was the firſt that brought cherry-trees from ASIA to EUROPE; though that tree thrives ſo well in many EU⯑ROPEAN climates, that it grows in the woods without any culture. Is it poſſible, that, through⯑out a whole eternity, no EUROPEAN had ever paſſed into ASIA, and thought of tranſplanting ſo delicious a fruit into his own country? Or if [70] the tree was once tranſplanted and propagated, how could it ever afterwards periſh? Empires may riſe and fall; liberty and ſlavery ſucceed alter⯑nately; ignorance and knowledge give place to each other; but the cherry-tree will ſtill remain in the woods of GREECE, SPAIN and ITALY, and will never be affected by the revolutions of human ſociety.

It is not two thouſand years ſince vines were tranſplanted into FRANCE; though there is no climate in the world more favourable to them. It is not three centuries ſince horſes, cows, ſheep, ſwine, dogs, corn were known in AMERICA. Is it poſſible, that, during the revolutions of a whole eternity, there never aroſe a COLUMBUS, who might open the communication between EUROPE and that continent? We may as well imagine, that all men would wear ſtockings for ten thou⯑ſand years, and never have the ſenſe to think of garters to tie them. All theſe ſeem convincing proofs of the youth, or rather infancy of the world; as being founded on the operation of principles more conſtant and ſteady, than thoſe by which human ſociety is governed and direct⯑ed. Nothing leſs than a total convulſion of the elements will ever deſtroy all the EUROPEAN animals and vegetables, which are now to be found in the Weſtern world.

And what argument have you againſt ſuch convulſions? replied PHILO. Strong and almoſt inconteſtable proofs may be traced over the whole [71] earth, that every part of this globe has continued for many ages entirely covered with water. And though order were ſuppoſed inſeparable from matter, and inherent in it; yet may matter be ſuſceptible of many and great revolutions, through the endleſs periods of eternal duration. The in⯑ceſſant changes, to which every part of it is ſub⯑ject, ſeem to intimate ſome ſuch general tranſ⯑ſormations; though at the ſame time, it is ob⯑ſervable, that all the changes and corruptions, of which we have ever had experience, are but paſſages from one ſtate of order to another; nor can matter ever reſt in total deformity and confu⯑ſion. What we ſee in the parts, we may infer in the whole; at leaſt, that is the method of reaſoning, on which you reſt your whole theory. And were I obliged to defend any particular ſy⯑ſtem of this nature (which I never willingly ſhould do) I eſteem none more plauſible, than that which aſcribes an eternal, inherent principle of order to the world; though attended with great and continual revolutions and alterations. This at once ſolves all difficulties; and if the ſolution, by being ſo general, is not entirely complete and ſatisfactory, it is, at leaſt, a theory, that we muſt, ſooner or later, have recourſe to, whatever ſy⯑ſtem we embrace. How could things have been as they are, were there not an original, inherent principle of order ſomewhere, in thought or in matter? And it is very indifferent to which of theſe we give the preference. Chance has no [72] place, on any hypotheſis, ſceptical or religious. Every thing is ſurely governed by ſteady, invio⯑lable laws. And were the inmoſt eſſence of things laid open to us, we ſhould then diſcover a ſcene, of which, at preſent, we can have no idea. Inſtead of admiring the order of natural beings, we ſhould clearly ſee, that it was abſo⯑lutely impoſſible for them, in the ſmalleſt article, ever to admit of any other diſpoſition.

Were any one inclined to revive the ancient Pa⯑gan Theology, which maintained, as we learn from Heſiod, that this globe was governed by 30,000 deities, who aroſe from the unknown powers of nature: you would naturally object, CLEAN⯑THES, that nothing is gained by this hypotheſis; and that it is as eaſy to ſuppoſe all men and ani⯑mals, beings more numerous, but leſs perfect, to have ſprung immediately from a like origin. Puſh the ſame inference a ſtep farther; and you will find a numerous ſociety of deities as expli⯑cable as one univerſal deity, who poſſeſſes, with⯑in himſelf, the powers and perfections of the whole ſociety. All theſe ſyſtems, then, of Scep⯑ticiſm, Polytheiſm, and Theiſm, you muſt allow, on your principles, to be on a like footing, and that no one of them has any advantages over the others. You may thence learn the fallacy of your principles.

PART VII.

BUT here,Part VII. continued PHILO, in examining the ancient ſyſtem of the ſoul of the world, there ſtrikes me, all on a ſudden, a new idea, which, if juſt, muſt go near to ſubvert all your reaſon⯑ing, and deſtroy even your firſt inferences, on which you repoſe ſuch confidence. If the uni⯑verſe bears a greater likeneſs to animal bodies and to vegetables, than to the works of human art, it is more probable, that its cauſe reſembles the cauſe of the former than that of the latter, and its origin ought rather to be aſcribed to ge⯑neration or vegetation than to reaſon or deſign. Your concluſion, even according to your own principles, is therefore lame and defective.

Pray open up this argument a little farther, ſaid DEMEA. For I do not rightly apprehend it, in that conciſe manner, in which you have ex⯑preſſed it.

Our friend CLEANTHES, replied PHILO, as you have heard, aſſerts, that ſince no queſtion of fact can be proved otherwiſe than by experi⯑ence, the exiſtence of a Deity admits not of proof from any other medium. The world, ſays he, reſembles the works of human contrivance: Therefore its cauſe muſt alſo reſemble that of the other. Here we may remark, that the opera⯑tion of one very ſmall part of nature, to wit [74] man, upon another very ſmall part, to wit that inanimate matter lying within his reach, is the rule, by which CLEANTHES judges of the ori⯑gin of the whole; and he meaſures objects, ſo widely diſproportioned, by the ſame individual ſtandard. But to wave all objections drawn from this topic; I affirm, that there are other parts of the univerſe (beſides the machines of human invention) which bear ſtill a greater reſemblance to the fabric of the world, and which therefore afford a better conjecture concerning the univer⯑ſal origin of this ſyſtem. Theſe parts are animals and vegetables. The world plainly reſembles more an animal or a vegetable, than it does a watch or a knitting-loom. Its cauſe, therefore, it is more probable, reſembles the cauſe of the former. The cauſe of the former is generation or vegetation. The cauſe, therefore, of the world, we may infer to be ſomething ſimilar or analagous to generation or vegetation.

But how is it conceivable, ſaid DEMEA, that the world can ariſe from any thing ſimilar to ve⯑getation or generation?

Very eaſily, replied PHILO. In like manner as a tree ſheds its ſeed into the neighbouring fields, and produces other trees; ſo the great ve⯑getable, the world, or this planetary ſyſtem, pro⯑duces within itſelf certain ſeeds, which, being ſcattered into the ſurrounding chaos, vegetate into new worlds. A comet, for inſtance, is the ſeed of a world; and after it has been fully [75] ripened, by paſſing from ſun to ſun, and ſtar to ſtar, it is at laſt toſt into the unformed elements, which every where ſurround this univerſe, and immedialy ſprouts up into a new ſyſtem.

Or if, for the ſake of variety (for I ſee no o⯑ther advantage) we ſhould ſuppoſe this world to be an animal; a comet is the egg of this animal; and in like manner as an oſtrich lays its egg in the ſand, which, without any farther care, hatch⯑es the egg, and produces a new animal; ſo.......I underſtand you, ſays DEMEA: But what wild, arbitrary ſuppoſitions are theſe? What data have you for ſuch extraordinary concluſions? And is the ſlight, imaginary reſemblance of the world to a vegetable or an animal ſufficient to eſtabliſh the ſame inference with regard to both? Ob⯑jects, which are in general ſo widely different; ought they to be a ſtandard for each other?

Right, cries PHILO: This is the topic on which I have all along inſiſted. I have ſtill aſſerted, that we have no data to eſtabliſh any ſyſtem of coſ⯑mogony. Our experience, ſo imperfect in it⯑ſelf, and ſo limited both in extent and duration, can afford us no probable conjecture concerning the whole of things. But if we muſt needs fix on ſome hypotheſis; by what rule, pray, ought we to determine our choice? Is there any other rule than the greater ſimilarity of the objects com⯑pared? And does not a plant or an animal, which ſprings from vegetation or generation, bear a ſtronger reſemblance to the world, than does [76] any artificial machine, which ariſes from reaſon and deſign?

But what is this vegetation and generation of which you talk, ſaid DEMEA? Can you explain their operations, and anatomize that fine internal ſtructure, on which they depend?

As much, at leaſt, replied PHILO, as CLE⯑ANTHES can explain the operations of reaſon, or anatomize that internal ſtructure, on which it depends. But without any ſuch elaborate diſ⯑quiſitions, when I ſee an animal, I infer, that it ſprang from generation; and that with as great certainty as you conclude a houſe to have been reared by deſign. Theſe words, generation, reaſon, mark only certain powers and energies in nature, whoſe effects are known, but whoſe eſſence is incomprehenſible; and one of theſe principles, more than the other, has no privilege for being made a ſtandard to the whole of na⯑ture.

In reality, DEMEA, it may reaſonably be ex⯑pected, that the larger the views are which we take of things, the better will they conduct us in our concluſions concerning ſuch extraordinary and ſuch magnificent ſubjects. In this little cor⯑ner of the world alone, there are four prin⯑ciples, Reaſon, Inſtinct, Generation, Vegeta⯑tion, which are ſimilar to each other, and are the cauſes of ſimilar effects. What a num⯑ber of other principles may we naturally ſuppoſe in the immenſe extent and variety of the univerſe, could we travel from planet to planet and from [77] ſyſtem to ſyſtem, in order to examine each part of this mighty fabric? Any one of theſe four principles above mentioned (and a hundred o⯑thers, which lie open to our conjecture) may afford us a theory, by which to judge of the o⯑rigin of the world; and it is a palpable and e⯑gregious partiality, to confine our view entirely to that principle, by which our own minds ope⯑rate. Were this principle more intelligible on that account, ſuch a partiality might be ſome⯑what excuſeable: But reaſon, in its internal fa⯑bric and ſtructure, is really as little known to us as inſtinct or vegetation; and perhaps even that vague, undeterminate word, Nature, to which the vulgar refer every thing, is not at the bot⯑tom more inexplicable. The effects of theſe principles are all known to us from experience: But the principles themſelves, and their manner of operation are totally unknown: Not is it leſs intelligible, or leſs conformable to experience to ſay, that the world aroſe by vegetation from a ſeed ſhed by another world, than to ſay that it aroſe from a divine reaſon or contrivance, ac⯑cording to the ſenſe in which CLEANTHES un⯑derſtands it.

But methinks, ſaid DEMEA, if the world had a vegetative quality, and could ſow the ſeeds of new worlds into the infinite chaos, this power would be ſtill an additional argument for deſign in its author. For whence could ariſe ſo won⯑derful a faculty but from deſign? Or how can [78] order ſpring from any thing, which perceives not that order which it beſtows?

You need only look around you, replied PHILO, to ſatisfy yourſelf with regard to this queſtion. A tree beſtows order and organization on that tree, which ſprings from it, without knowing the order: an animal, in the ſame manner, on its offspring: a bird, on its neſt: and inſtances of this kind are even more frequent in the world, than thoſe of order, which ariſe from reaſon and contrivance. To ſay that all this order in animals and vegetables proceeds ul⯑timately from deſign, is begging the queſtion; nor can that great point be aſcertained otherwiſe than by proving a priori, both that order is, from its nature, inſeparably attached to thought, and that it can never, of itſelf, or from original unknown principles, belong to matter.

But farther, DEMEA; this objection, which you urge, can never be made uſe of by CLE⯑ANTHES, without renouncing a defence, which he has already made againſt one of my objec⯑tions. When I enquired concerning the cauſe of that ſupreme reaſon and intelligence, into which he reſolves every thing; he told me, that the impoſſibility of ſatisfying ſuch enquiries could never be admitted as an objection in any ſpecies of philoſophy. We muſt ſtop ſomewhere, ſays he; nor is it ever within the reach of human capacity to explain ultimate cauſes, or ſhow the laſt connections of any objects. It is ſuffi⯑cient, [79] if the ſteps, ſo far as we go, are ſup⯑ported by experience and obſervation. Now, that vegetation and generation, as well as reaſon, are experienced to be principles of order in na⯑ture, is undeniable. If I reſt my ſyſtem of coſ⯑mogony on the former, preferably to the latter, 'tis at my choice. The matter ſeems entirely arbitrary. And when CLEANTHES aſks me what is the cauſe of my great vegetative or gene⯑rative faculty, I am equally intitled to aſk him the cauſe of his great reaſoning principle. Theſe queſtions we have agreed to forbear on both ſides; and it is chiefly his intereſt on the preſent occaſion to ſtick to this agreement. Judging by our limited and imperfect experience, generation has ſome privileges above reaſon: For we ſee e⯑very day the latter ariſe from the former, never the former from the latter.

Compare, I beſeech you, the conſequences on both ſides. The world, ſay I, reſembles an ani⯑mal, therefore it is an animal, therefore it aroſe from generation. The ſteps, I confeſs, are wide; yet there is ſome ſmall appearance of analogy in each ſtep. The world, ſays CLEANTHES, re⯑ſembles a machine, therefore it is a machine, therefore it aroſe from deſign. The ſteps here are equally wide, and the analogy leſs ſtriking. And if he pretends to carry on my hypotheſis a ſtep farther, and to infer deſign or reaſon from the great principle of generation, on which I inſiſt; I may, with better authority, uſe the ſame free⯑dom [80] to puſh farther his hypotheſis, and infer a divine generation or theogony from his principle of reaſon. I have at leaſt ſome faint ſhadow of experience, which is the utmoſt, that can ever be attained in the preſent ſubject. Reaſon, in innu⯑merable inſtances, is obſerved to ariſe from the principle of generation, and never to ariſe from any other principle.

HESIOD, and all the ancient Mythologiſts, were ſo ſtruck with this analogy, that they uni⯑verſally explained the origin of nature from an a⯑nimal birth, and copulation. PLATO too, ſo far as he is intelligible, ſeems to have adopted ſome ſuch notion in his TIMAEUS.

The BRAMINS aſſert, that the world aroſe from an inſinite ſpider, who ſpun this whole com⯑plicated maſs from his bowels, and annihilates af⯑terwards the whole or any part of it, by abſorb⯑ing it again, and reſolving it into his own eſſence. Here is a ſpecies of coſmogony, which appears to us ridiculous; becauſe a ſpider is a little contemp⯑tible animal, whoſe operations we are never like⯑ly to take for a model of the whole univerſe. But ſtill here is a new ſpecies of analogy, even in our globe. And were there a planet, wholly in⯑habited by ſpiders, (which is very poſſible) this inference would there appear as natural and irre⯑fragable as that which in our planet aſcribes the origin of all things to deſign and intelligence, as explained by CLEANTHES. Why an orderly ſy⯑ſtem may not be ſpun from the belly as well as [81] from the brain, it will be difficult for him to give a ſatisfactory reaſon.

I muſt confeſs, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, that, of all men living, the taſk which you have undertaken, of raiſing doubts and objections, ſuits you beſt, and ſeems, in a manner, natural and unavoidable to you. So great is your fertili⯑ty of invention, that I am not aſhamed to acknow⯑ledge myſelf unable, on a ſudden, to ſolve regu⯑larly ſuch out-of-the-way difficulties as you inceſ⯑ſantly ſtart upon me: though I clearly ſee, in ge⯑neral, their fallacy and error. And I queſtion not, but you are yourſelf, at preſent, in the ſame caſe, and have not the ſolution ſo ready as the objection; while you muſt be ſenſible, that com⯑mon ſenſe and reaſon is entirely againſt you, and that ſuch whimſies as you have delivered, may puzzle, but never can convince us.

PART VIII.

WHAT you aſcribe to the fertility of my inven⯑tion, replied PHILO, is entirely owing to the na⯑ture of the ſubject. In ſubjects, adapted to the narrow compaſs of human reaſon, there is com⯑monly but one determination, which carries pro⯑bability or conviction with it; and to a man of ſound judgement, all other ſuppoſitions, but that one, appear entirely abſurd and chimerical. But in ſuch queſtions, as the preſent, a hundred con⯑tradictory [82] views may preſerve a kind of imper⯑fect analogy;Part VIII. and invention has here full ſcope to exert itſelf. Without any great effort of thought, I believe that I could, in an inſtant, propoſe o⯑ther ſyſtems of coſmogony, which would have ſome faint appearance of truth; though it is a thouſand, a million to one, if either yours or any one of mine be the true ſyſtem.

For inſtance; what if I ſhould revive the old EPICUREAN hypotheſis? This is commonly, and I believe, juſtly, eſteemed the moſt abſurd ſyſtem, that has yet been propoſed; yet, I know not, whether, with a few alterations, it might not be brought to bear a faint appearance of pro⯑bability. Inſtead of ſuppoſing matter infinite, as EPICURUS did; let us ſuppoſe it finite. A finite number of particles is only ſuſceptible of finite tranſpoſitions: and it muſt happen, in an eternal duration, that every poſſible order or poſition muſt be tried an infinite number of times. This world, therefore, with all its events, even the moſt minute, has before been produced and de⯑ſtroyed, and will again be produced and de⯑ſtroyed, without any bounds and limitations. No one, who has a conception of the powers of in⯑finite, in compariſon of finite, will ever ſcruple this determination.

But this ſuppoſes, ſaid DEMEA, that matter can acquire motion, without any voluntary agent or firſt mover.

And where is the difficulty, replied PHILO, of that ſuppoſition? Every event, before experience, [83] is equally difficult and incomprehenſible; and e⯑very event, after experience, is equally eaſy and intelligible. Motion, in many inſtances, from gra⯑vity, from elaſticity, from electricity, begins in mat⯑ter, without any known voluntary agent; and to ſuppoſe always, in theſe caſes, an unknown vo⯑luntary agent, is mere hypotheſis; and hypothe⯑ſis attended with no advantages. The beginning of motion in matter itſelf is as conceivable a pri⯑ori as its communication from mind and intelli⯑gence.

Beſides; why may not motion have been pro⯑pagated by impulſe through all eternity, and the ſame ſtock of it, or nearly the ſame, be ſtill up⯑held in the univerſe? As much as is loſt by the compoſition of motion, as much is gained by its reſolution. And whatever the cauſes are, the fact is certain, that matter is, and always has been in continual agitation, as far as human experience or tradition reaches. There is not probably, at preſent, in the whole univerſe, one particle of matter at abſolute reſt.

And this very conſideration too, continued PHILO, which we have ſtumbled on in the courſe of the argument, ſuggeſts a new hypotheſis of coſmogony, that is not abſolutely abſurd and im⯑probable. Is there a ſyſtem, an order, an oeco⯑nomy of things, by which matter can preſerve that perpetual agitation, which ſeems eſſential to it, and yet maintain a conſtancy in the forms, which it produces? There certainly is ſuch an [84] oeconomy: for this is actually the caſe with the preſent world. The continual motion of matter, therefore, in leſs than infinite tranſpoſitions, muſt produce this oeconomy or order; and by its very nature, that order, when once eſtabliſhed, ſup⯑ports itſelf, for many ages, if not to eternity. But where-ever matter is ſo poized, arranged, and adjuſted as to continue in perpetual motion, and yet preſerve a conſtancy in the forms, its ſituation muſt, of neceſſity, have all the ſame appearance of art and contrivance, which we obſerve at pre⯑ſent. All the parts of each form muſt have a re⯑lation to each other, and to the whole: and the whole itſelf muſt have a relation to the other parts of the univerſe; to the element, in which the form ſubſiſts; to the materials, with which it re⯑pairs its waſte and decay; and to every other form, which is hoſtile or friendly. A defect in any of theſe particulars deſtroys the form; and the matter, of which it is compoſed, is again ſet looſe, and is thrown into irregular motions and fermentations, till it unite itſelf to ſome other re⯑gular form. If no ſuch form be prepared to re⯑ceive it, and if there be a great quantity of this corrupted matter in the univerſe, the univerſe it⯑ſelf is entirely diſordered; whether it be the fee⯑ble embryo of a world in its firſt beginnings, that is thus deſtroyed, or the rotten carcaſs of one, languiſhing in old age and infirmity. In either caſe, a chaos enſues; till finite, though innume⯑rable revolutions produce at laſt ſome forms, [85] whoſe parts and organs are ſo adjuſted as to ſup⯑port the forms amidſt a continued ſucceſſion of matter.

Suppoſe, (for we ſhall endeavour to vary the expreſſion) that matter were thrown into any po⯑ſition, by a blind, unguided force; it is evident that this firſt poſition muſt in all probability be the moſt confuſed and moſt diſorderly imaginable, without any reſemblance to thoſe works of human contrivance, which, along with a ſymmetry of parts, diſcover an adjuſtment of means to ends and a tendency to ſelf-preſervation. If the actua⯑ting force ceaſe after this operation, matter muſt remain for ever in diſorder, and continue an im⯑menſe chaos, without any proportion or activity. But ſuppoſe, that the actuating force, whatever it be, ſtill continues in matter, this firſt poſition will immediately give place to a ſecond, which will likewiſe in all probability be as diſorderly as the firſt, and ſo on, through many ſucceſſions of changes and revolutions. No particular order or poſition ever continues a moment unaltered. The original force, ſtill remaining in activity, gives a perpetual reſtleſſneſs to matter. Every poſſible ſi⯑tuation is produced, and inſtantly deſtroyed. If a glimpſe or dawn of order appears for a moment, it is inſtantly hurried away and confounded, by that never-ceaſing force, which actuates every part of matter.

Thus the univerſe goes on for many ages in a continued ſucceſſion of chaos and diſorder. But [86] is it not poſſible that it may ſettle at laſt, ſo as not to loſe its motion and active force (for that we have ſuppoſed inherent in it) yet ſo as to preſerve an uniformity of appearance, amidſt the conti⯑nual motion and fluctuation of its parts? This we find to be the caſe with the univerſe at preſent. Every individual is perpetually changing, and e⯑very part of every individual, and yet the whole remains, in appearance, the ſame. May we not hope for ſuch a poſition, or rather be aſſured of it, from the eternal revolutions of unguided mat⯑ter, and may not this account for all the appear⯑ing wiſdom and contrivance, which is in the uni⯑verſe? Let us contemplate the ſubject a little, and we ſhall find, that this adjuſtment, if attained by matter, of a ſeeming ſtability in the forms, with a real and perpetual revolution or motion of parts, affords a plauſible, if not a true ſolution of the difficulty.

It is in vain, therefore, to inſiſt upon the uſes of the parts in animals or vegetables and their curious adjuſtment to each other. I would fain know how an animal could ſubſiſt, unleſs its parts were ſo adjuſted? Do we not find, that it imme⯑diately periſhes whenever this adjuſtment ceaſes, and that its matter corrupting tries ſome new form? It happens, indeed, that the parts of the world are ſo well adjuſted, that ſome regular form immediately lays claim to this corrupted matter: and if it were not ſo, could the world ſubſiſt? Muſt it not diſſolve as well as the animal, and [87] paſs through new poſitions and ſituations; till in a great, but finite ſucceſſion, it fall at laſt into the preſent or ſome ſuch order?

It is well, replied CLEANTHES, you told us, that this hypotheſis was ſuggeſted on a ſudden, in the courſe of the argument. Had you had leiſure to examine it, you would ſoon have perceived the inſuperable objections, to which it is expoſed. No form, you ſay, can ſubſiſt, unleſs it poſſeſs thoſe powers and organs, requiſite for its ſubſiſt⯑ence: ſome new order or oeconomy muſt be tried, and ſo on, without intermiſſion; till at laſt ſome order, which can ſupport and maintain it⯑ſelf, is fallen upon. But according to this hypo⯑theſis, whence ariſe the many conveniencies and advantages, which men and all animals poſſeſs? Two eyes, two ears, are not abſolutely neceſſary for the ſubſiſtence of the ſpecies. Human race might have been propagated and preſerved, without horſes, dogs, cows, ſheep, and thoſe innumerable fruits and products, which ſerve to our ſatisfac⯑tion and enjoyment. If no camels had been cre⯑ated for the uſe of man in the ſandy deſerts of AFRICA and ARABIA, would the world have been diſſolved? If no loadſtone had been framed to give that wonderful and uſeful direction to the needle, would human ſociety and the human kind have been immediately extinguiſhed? Though the maxims of Nature be in general very frugal, yet inſtances of this kind are far from be⯑ing rare; and any one of them is a ſufficient [88] proof of deſign, and of a benevolent deſign, which gave riſe to the order and arrangement of the univerſe.

At leaſt, you may ſafely infer, ſaid PHILO, that the foregoing hypotheſis is ſo far incomplete and imperfect; which I ſhall not ſcruple to allow. But can we ever reaſonably expect greater ſuc⯑ceſs in any attempts of this nature? Or can we ever hope to erect a ſyſtem of coſmogony, that will be liable to no exceptions, and will contain no circumſtance repugnant to our limited and imperfect experience of the analogy of Nature? Your theory itſelf cannot ſurely pretend to any ſuch advantage; even though you have run into Authropomorphiſm, the better to preſerve a conformity to common experience. Let us once more put it to trial. In all inſtances which we have ever ſeen, ideas are copied from real ob⯑jects, and are ectypal, not archetypal, to expreſs myſelf in learned terms: You reverſe this order, and give thought the precedence. In all inſtances which we have ever ſeen, thought has no in⯑fluence upon matter, except where that matter is ſo conjoined with it, as to have an equal re⯑ciprocal influence upon it. No animal can move immediately any thing but the members of its own body; and indeed, the equality of action and re-action ſeems to be an univerſal law of Na⯑ture: But your theory implies a contradiction to this experience. Theſe inſtances, with many more, which it were eaſy to collect, (particularly [89] the ſuppoſition of a mind or ſyſtem of thought that is eternal, or in other words, an animal in⯑generable and immortal) theſe inſtances, I ſay, may teach, all of us, ſobriety in condemning each other; and let us ſee, that as no ſyſtem of this kind ought ever to be received from a ſlight a⯑nalogy, ſo neither ought any to be rejected on account of a ſmall incongruity. For that is an inconvenience, from which we can juſtly pro⯑nounce no one to be exempted.

All religious ſyſtems, it is confeſſed, are ſub⯑ject to great and inſuperable difficulties. Each diſputant triumphs in his turn; while he carries on an offenſive war, and expoſes the abſurdities, barbarities, and pernicious tenets of his antago⯑niſt. But all of them, on the whole, prepare a complete triumph for the Sceptic; who tells them, that no ſyſtem ought ever to be embraced with regard to ſuch ſubjects: For this plain reaſon, that no abſurdity ought ever to be aſſented to with regard to any ſubject. A total ſuſpenſe of judge⯑ment is here our only reaſonable reſource. And if every attack, as is commonly obſerved, and no defence, among Theologians, is ſucceſsful; how complete muſt be his victory, who remains always, with all mankind, on the offenſive, and has himſelf no fixed ſtation or abiding city, which he is ever, on any occaſion, obliged to deſend?

PART IX.

BUT if ſo many difficulties attend the argu⯑ment a poſteriori, Part IX. ſaid DEMEA; had we not better adhere to that ſimple and ſublime argument a priori, which, by offering to us infallible de⯑monſtration, cuts off at once all doubt and diffi⯑culty? By this argument too, we may prove the INFINITY of the divine attributes, which, I am afraid, can never be aſcertained with certainty from any other topic. For how can an effect, which either is finite, or, for aught we know, may be ſo; how can ſuch an effect, I ſay, prove an infinite cauſe? The unity too of the Divine Nature, it is very difficult, if not abſolutely im⯑poſſible, to deduce merely from contemplating the works of nature; nor will the uniformity a⯑lone of the plan, even were it allowed, give us any aſſurance of that attribute. Whereas the ar⯑gument a priori......

You ſeem to reaſon, DEMEA, interpoſed CLE⯑ANTHES, as if thoſe advantages and convenien⯑cies in the abſtract argument were full proofs of its ſolidity. But it is firſt proper, in my opinion, to determine what argument of this nature you chuſe to inſiſt on; and we ſhall afterwards, from itſelf, better than from its uſeful conſequences, endeavour to determine what value we ought to put upon it.

[91] The argument, replied DEMEA, which I would inſiſt on is the common one. Whatever exiſts muſt have a cauſe or reaſon of its exiſtence; it being abſolutely impoſſible for any thing thing to produce itſelf, or be the cauſe of its own exiſt⯑ence. In mounting up, therefore, from effects to cauſes, we muſt either go on in tracing an infinite ſucceſſion, without any ultimate cauſe at all, or muſt at laſt have recourſe to ſome ulti⯑mate cauſe, that is neceſſarily exiſtent: Now that the firſt ſuppoſition is abſurd may be thus proved. In the infinite chain or ſucceſſion of cauſes and effects, each ſingle effect is determined to exiſt by the power and efficacy of that cauſe, which immediately preceded; but the whole e⯑ternal chain or ſucceſſion, taken together, is not determined or cauſed by any thing: and yet it is evident that it requires a cauſe or reaſon, as much as any particular object, which begins to exiſt in time. The queſtion is ſtill reaſonable, Why this particular ſucceſſion of cauſes exiſted from eternity, and not any other ſucceſſion, or no ſucceſſion at all. If there be no neceſſarily-exiſtent being, any ſuppoſition, which can be formed, is equally poſſible; nor is there any more abſurdity in Nothing's having exiſted from eter⯑nity, than there is in that ſucceſſion of cauſes, which conſtitutes the univerſe. What was it then, which determined ſomething to exiſt ra⯑ther than nothing, and beſtowed being on a par⯑ticular poſſibility, excluſive of the reſt? Exter⯑nal [92] cauſes, there are ſuppoſed to be none. Chance is a word without a meaning. Was it Nothing? But that can never produce any thing. We muſt, therefore, have recourſe to a neceſſarily-exiſtent Being, who carries the REA⯑SON of his exiſtence in himſelf; and who can⯑not be ſuppoſed not to exiſt without an expreſs contradiction. There is conſequently ſuch a Be⯑ing, that is, there is a Deity.

I ſhall not leave it to PHILO, ſaid CLEAN⯑THES, (though I know that the ſtarting objec⯑tions is his chief delight) to point out the weak⯑neſs of this metaphyſical reaſoning. It ſeems to me ſo obviouſly ill-grounded, and at the ſame time of ſo little conſequence to the cauſe of true piety and religion, that I ſhall myſelf venture to ſhow the fallacy of it.

I ſhall begin with obſerving, that there is an evident abſurdity in pretending to demonſtrate a matter of fact, or to prove it by any arguments a priori. Nothing is demonſtrable, unleſs the contrary implies a contradiction. Nothing, that is diſtinctly conceivable, implies a contradiction. Whatever we conceive as exiſtent, we can alſo conceive as non-exiſtent. There is no being, therefore, whoſe non-exiſtence implies a contra⯑diction. Conſequently there is no being, whoſe exiſtence is demonſtrable. I propoſe this argu⯑ment as entirely deciſive, and am willing to reſt the whole controverſy upon it.

It is pretended that the Deity is a neceſſarily-exiſtent [93] exiſtent being; and this neceſſity of his exiſt⯑ence is attempted to be explained by aſſerting, that, if we knew his whole eſſence or nature, we ſhould perceive it to be as impoſſible for him not to exiſt as for twice two not to be four. But it is evident, that this can never happen, while our faculties remain the ſame as at preſent. It will ſtill be poſſible for us, at any time, to conceive the non-exiſtence of what we formerly conceived to exiſt; nor can the mind ever lie under a ne⯑ceſſity of ſuppoſing any object to remain always in being; in the ſame manner as we lie under a neceſſity of always conceiving twice two to be four. The words, therefore, neceſſary exiſt⯑ence, have no meaning; or, which is the ſame thing, none that is conſiſtent.

But farther; why may not the material uni⯑verſe be the neceſſarily-exiſtent Being, according to this pretended explication of neceſſity? We dare not affirm that we know all the qualities of matter; and for aught we can determine, it may contain ſome qualities, which, were they known, would make its non-exiſtence appear as great a contradiction as that twice two is five. I find only one argument employed to prove, that the material world is not the neceſſarily-exiſtent Be⯑ing; and this argument is derived from the con⯑tingency both of the matter and the form of the world. ‘Any particle of matter,’ 'tis ſaid^* [94] ‘may be conceived to be annihilated; and any form may be conceived to be altered. Such an annihilation or alteration, therefore, is not impoſſible.’ But it ſeems a great partiality not to perceive, that the ſame argument extends equally to the Deity, ſo far as we have any con⯑ception of him; and that the mind can at leaſt imagine him to be non-exiſtent, or his attributes to be altered. It muſt be ſome unknown, in⯑conceivable qualities, which can make his non⯑exiſtence appear impoſſible, or his attributes un⯑alterable: And no reaſon can be aſſigned, why theſe qualities may not belong to matter. As they are altogether unknown and inconceivable, they can never be proved incompatible with it.

Add to this, that in tracing an eternal ſucceſ⯑ſion of objects, it ſeems abſurd to enquire for a general cauſe or firſt author. How can any thing, that exiſts from eternity, have a cauſe; ſince that relation implies a priority in time and a beginning of exiſtence?

In ſuch a chain too, or ſucceſſion of objects, each part is cauſed by that which preceded it, and cauſes that which ſucceeds it. Where then is the difficulty? But the WHOLE, you ſay, wants a cauſe. I anſwer, that the uniting of theſe parts into a whole, like the uniting of ſeveral diſtinct counties into one kingdom, or ſeveral diſtinct members into one body, is per⯑formed merely by an arbitrary act of the mind, and has no influence on the nature of things. Did I ſhow you the particular cauſes of each in⯑dividual [95] in a collection of twenty particles of matter, I ſhould think it very unreaſonable, ſhould you afterwards aſk me, what was the cauſe of the whole twenty. That is ſufficiently explained in explaining the cauſe of the parts.

Though the reaſonings, which you have urged, CLEANTHES, may well excuſe me, ſaid PHILO, from ſtarting any farther difficulties; yet I can⯑not forbear inſiſting ſtill upon another topic. 'Tis obſerved by arithmeticians, that the products of 9 compoſe always either 9 or ſome leſſer pro⯑duct of 9; if you add together all the characters, of which any of the former products is compoſed. Thus, of 18, 27, 36, which are products of 9, you make 9 by adding 1 to 8, 2 to 7, 3 to 6. Thus 369 is a product alſo of 9; and if you add 3, 6, and 9, you make 18, a leſſer product of 9^*. To a ſuperficial obſerver, ſo wonderful a regularity may be admired as the effect either of chance or deſign; but a ſkilful algebraiſt imme⯑diately concludes it to be the work of neceſſity, and demonſtrates, that it muſt for ever reſult from the nature of theſe numbers. Is it not pro⯑bable, I aſk, that the whole oeconomy of the u⯑niverſe is conducted by a like neceſſity, though no human algebra can furniſh a key, which ſolves the difficulty? And inſtead of admiring the or⯑der of natural beings, may it not happen, that, could we penetrate into the intimate nature of [96] bodies, we ſhould clearly ſee why it was abſolute⯑ly impoſſible, they could ever admit of any other diſpoſition? So dangerous is it to introduce this idea of neceſſity into the preſent queſtion! and ſo naturally does it afford an inference directly oppoſite to the religious hypotheſis!

But dropping all theſe abſtractions, continued PHILO; and confining ourſelves to more familiar topics; I ſhall venture to add an obſervation, that the argument a priori has ſeldom been found very convincing, except to people of a metaphy⯑ſical head, who have accuſtomed themſelves to abſtract reaſoning, and who finding from mathe⯑matics, that the underſtanding frequently leads to truth, through obſcurity, and contrary to firſt appearances, have transferred the ſame habit of thinking to ſubjects, where it ought not to have place. Other people, even of good ſenſe and the beſt inclined to religion, feel always ſome de⯑ficiency in ſuch arguments, though they are not perhaps able to explain diſtinctly where it lies. A certain proof, that men ever did, and ever will derive their religion from other ſources than from this ſpecies of reaſoning.

PART X.

IT is my opinion, I own, replied DEMEA, that each man feels, in a manner, the truth of religion within his own breaſt; and from a con⯑ſciouſneſs [97] of his imbecility and miſery,Part. X. rather than from any reaſoning, is led to ſeek protection from that Being, on whom he and all nature is de⯑pendent. So anxious or ſo tedious are even the beſt ſeenes of life, that futurity is ſtill the object of all our hopes and fears. We inceſſantly look forward, and endeavour, by prayers, adoration, and ſacrifice, to appeaſe thoſe unknown powers, whom we find, by experience, ſo able to afflict and oppreſs us. Wretched creatures that we are! what reſource for us amidſt the innumerable ills of life, did not Religion ſuggeſt ſome methods of atonement, and appeaſe thoſe terrors, with which we are inceſſantly agitated and tormented?

I am indeed perſuaded, ſaid PHILO, that the beſt and indeed the only method of bringing e⯑very one to a due ſenſe of religion, is by juſt re⯑preſentations of the miſery and wickedneſs of men. And for that purpoſe a talent of eloquence and ſtrong imagery is more requiſite than that of reaſoning and argument. For is it neceſſary to prove, what every one feels within himſelf? 'Tis only neceſſary to make us feel it, if poſſible, more intimately and ſenſibly.

The people, indeed, replied DEMEA, are ſufficiently convinced of this great and melancholy truth. The miſeries of life, the unhappineſs of man, the general corruptions of our nature, the unſatisfactory enjoyment of pleaſures, riches, ho⯑nours; theſe phraſes have become almoſt pro⯑verbial [98] in all languages. And who can doubt of what all men declare from their own immediate feeling and experience?

In this point, ſaid PHILO, the learned are perfectly agreed with the vulgar; and in all let⯑ters, ſacred and profane, the topic of human miſery has been inſiſted on with the moſt pathetic eloquence, that ſorrow and melancholy could inſpire. The poets, who ſpeak from ſentiment, without a ſyſtem, and whoſe teſtimony has there⯑fore the more authority, abound in images of this nature. From HOMER down to Dr YOUNG, the whole inſpired tribe have ever been ſenſible, that no other repreſentation of things would ſuit the feeling and obſervation of each indivi⯑dual.

As to authorities, replied DEMEA, you need not ſeek them. Look round this library of CLEANTHES. I ſhall venture to affirm, that, except authors of particular ſciences, ſuch as chy⯑miſtry or botany, who have no occaſion to treat of human life, there is ſcarce one of thoſe innu⯑merable writers, from whom the ſenſe of human miſery has not, in ſome paſſage or other, extort⯑ed a complaint and confeſſion of it. At leaſt, the chance is entirely on that ſide; and no one author has ever, ſo far as I can recollect, been ſo extravagant as to deny it.

There you muſt excuſe me, ſaid PHILO: LEIBNITZ has denied it; and is perhaps the [99] firſt^*, who ventured upon ſo bold and para⯑doxical an opinion; at leaſt, the firſt, who made it eſſential to his philoſophical ſyſtem.

And by being the firſt, replied DEMEA, might he not have been ſenſible of his error? For is this a ſubject, in which philoſophers can propoſe to make diſcoveries, eſpecially in ſo late an age? And can any man hope by a ſimple denial (for the ſubject ſcarcely admits of reaſoning) to bear down the united teſtimony of mankind, founded on ſenſe and conſciouſneſs?

And why ſhould man, added he, pretend to an exemption from the lot of all other animals? The whole earth, believe me, PHILO, is curſed and polluted. A perpetual war is kindled a⯑mongſt all living creatures. Neceſſity, hunger, want, ſtimulate the ſtrong and courageous: Fear, anxiety, terror, agitate the weak and infirm. The firſt entrance into life gives anguiſh to the new-born infant and to its wretched parent: Weakneſs, impotence, diſtreſs, attend each ſtage of that life: and 'tis at laſt finiſhed in agony and horror.

Obſerve too, ſays PHILO, the curious artifices of Nature, in order to imbitter the life of every living being. The ſtronger prey upon the weaker, [100] and keep them in perpetual terror and anxiety. The weaker too, in their turn, often prey upon the ſtronger, and vex and moleſt them without relaxation. Conſider that innumerable race of inſects, which either are bred on the body of each animal, or flying about infix their ſtings in him. Theſe inſects have others ſtill leſs than themſelves, which torment them. And thus on each hand, before and behind, above and below, every ani⯑mal is ſurrounded with enemies, which inceſſantly ſeek his miſery and deſtruction.

Man alone, ſaid DEMEA, ſeems to be, in part, an exception to this rule. For by combination in ſociety, he can eaſily maſter lions, tygers, and bears, whoſe greater ſtrength and agility natural⯑ly enable them to prey upon him.

On the contrary, it is here chiefly, cried PHI⯑LO, that the uniform and equal maxims of Na⯑ture are moſt apparent. Man, it is true, can, by combination, ſurmount all his real enemies, and become maſter of the whole animal creation: but does he not immediately raiſe up to himſelf ima⯑ginary enemies, the daemons of his fancy, who haunt him with ſuperſtitious terrors, and blaſt e⯑very enjoyment of life? His pleaſure, as he imagines, becomes, in their eyes, a crime: his food and repoſe give them umbrage and offence: his very ſleep and dreams furniſh new materials to anxious fear: and even death, his refuge from every other ill, preſents only the dread of endleſs and innumerable woes. Nor does the [101] wolf moleſt more the timid flock, than ſuperſti⯑tion does the anxious breaſt of wretched mortals.

Beſides, conſider, DEMEA; this very ſociety, by which we ſurmount thoſe wild beaſts, our natural enemies; what new enemies does it not raiſe to us? What woe and miſery does it not occaſion? Man is the greateſt enemy of man. Oppreſſion, injuſtice, contempt, contumely, violence, ſedi⯑tion, war, calumny, treachery, fraud; by theſe they mutually torment each other: and they would ſoon diſſolve that ſociety which they had formed, were it not for the dread of ſtill greater ills, which muſt attend their ſeparation.

But though theſe external inſults, ſaid DEMEA, from animals, from men, from all the elements, which aſſault us, form a frightful catalogue of woes, they are nothing in compariſon of thoſe, which ariſe within ourſelves, from the diſtemper⯑ed condition of our mind and body. How many lie under the lingering torment of diſeaſes? Hear the pathetic enumeration of the great poet.

[102] The diſorders of the mind, continued DEMEA, though more ſecret, are not perhaps leſs diſmal and vexatious. Remorſe, ſhame, anguiſh, rage, diſappointment, anxiety, fear, dejection, deſpair; who has ever paſſed through life without cruel in⯑roads from theſe tormentors? How many have ſcarcely ever felt any better ſenſations? Labour and poverty, ſo abhorred by every one, are the certain lot of the far greater number: and thoſe few privileged perſons, who enjoy eaſe and opu⯑lence, never reach contentment or true felicity. All the goods of life united would not make a very happy man: but all the ills united would make a wretch indeed; and any one of them al⯑moſt (and who can be free from every one) nay often the abſence of one good (and who can poſ⯑ſeſs all) is ſufficient to render life ineligible.

Were a ſtranger to drop, on a ſudden, into this world, I would ſhow him, as a ſpecimen of its ills, an hoſpital full of diſeaſes, a priſon crowded with malefactors and debtors, a field of battle ſtrowed with carcaſes, a fleet foundering in the ocean, a nation languiſhing under tyranny, fa⯑mine, or peſtilence. To turn the gay ſide of life to him, and give him a notion of its pleaſures; whither ſhould I conduct him? to a ball, to an opera, to court? He might juſtly think, that I was only ſhowing him a diverſity of diſtreſs and ſorrow.

There is no evading ſuch ſtriking inſtances, ſaid PHILO, but by apologies, which ſtill farther [103] aggravate the charge. Why have all men, I aſk, in all ages, complained inceſſantly of the miſeries of life?. — They have no juſt reaſon, ſays one: theſe complaints proceed only from their diſcon⯑tented, repining, anxious diſpoſition — And can there poſſibly, I reply, be a more certain foundation of miſery, than ſuch a wretched tem⯑per?

But if they were really as unhappy as they pre⯑tend, ſays my antagoniſt, why do they remain in life? —.

This is the ſecret chain, ſay I, that holds us. We are terrified, not bribed to the continuance of our exiſtence.

It is only a falſe delicacy, he may inſiſt, which a few refined ſpirits indulge, and which has ſpread theſe complaints among the whole race of man⯑kind. — And what is this delicacy, I aſk, which you blame? Is it any thing but a greater ſenſibility to all the pleaſures and pains of life? and if the man of a delicate, refined temper, by being ſo much more alive than the reſt of the world, is only ſo much more unhappy; what judgement muſt we form in general of human life?

Let men remain at reſt, ſays our adverſary; and they will be eaſy. They are willing artificers of their own miſery. — No! reply I; an an⯑xious [104] languor follows their repoſe: diſappoint⯑ment, vexation, trouble, their activity and ambi⯑tion.

I can obſerve ſomething like what you mention in ſome others, replied CLEANTHES: but I con⯑feſs, I feel little or nothing of it in myſelf; and hope that it is not ſo common as you repreſent it.

If you feel not human miſery yourſelf, cried DEMEA, I congratulate you on ſo happy a ſingu⯑larity. Others, ſeemingly the moſt proſperous, have not been aſhamed to vent their complaints in the moſt melancholy ſtrains. Let us attend to the great, the fortunate Emperor, CHARLES V, when, tired with human grandeur, he reſigned all his extenſive dominions into the hands of his ſon. In the laſt harangue, which he made on that memorable occaſion, he publicly avowed, that the greateſt proſperities which he had e⯑ver enjoyed, had been mixed with ſo many ad⯑verſities, that he might truly ſay he had never enjoyed any ſatisfaction or contentment But did the retired life, in which he ſought for ſhelter, afford him any greater happineſs? If we may credit his ſon's account, his repentance commen⯑ced the very day of his reſignation.

CICERO's fortune, from ſmall beginnings, roſe to the greateſt luſtre and renown; yet what pa⯑thetic complaints of the ills of life do his familiar letters, as well as philoſophical diſcourſes, con⯑tain? And ſuitably to his own experience, he in⯑troduces CATO, the great, the fortunate CATO, [105] proteſting in his old age, that, had he a new life in his offer, he would reject the preſent.

Aſk yourſelf, aſk any of your acquaintance, whether they would live over again the laſt ten or twenty years of their life. No! but the next twenty, they ſay, will be better:

Thus at laſt they find (ſuch is the greatneſs of hu⯑man miſery; it reconciles even contradictions) that they complain, at once, of the ſhortneſs of life, and of its vanity and ſorrow.

And is it poſſible, CLEANTHES, ſaid PHILO, that after all theſe reflections, and infinitely more, which might be ſuggeſted, you can ſtill perſevere in your Anthropomorphiſm, and aſſert the moral attributes of the Deity, his juſtice, benevolence, mercy, and rectitude, to be of the ſame nature with theſe virtues in human creatures? His power we allow infinite: whatever he wills is exe⯑cuted: but neither man nor any other animal are happy: therefore he does not will their happi⯑neſs. His wiſdom is infinite: he is never miſta⯑ken in chuſing the means to any end: but the courſe of Nature tends not to human or animal felicity: therefore it is not eſtabliſhed for that purpoſe. Through the whole compaſs of human knowledge, there are no inferences more certain and infallible than theſe. In what reſpect, then, [106] do his benevolence and mercy reſemble the bene⯑volence and mercy of men?

EPICURUS's old queſtions are yet unanſwered.

Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? then is he impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then is he malevolent. Is he both able and will⯑ing? whence then is evil?

You aſcribe, CLEANTHES, (and I believe juſtly) a purpoſe and intention to Nature. But what, I beſeech you, is the object of that curious artifice and machinery, which ſhe has diſplayed in all animals? The preſervation alone of individuals and propagation of the ſpecies. It ſeems enough for her purpoſe, if ſuch a rank be barely upheld in the univerſe, without any care or concern for the happineſs of the members, that compoſe it. No reſource for this purpoſe: no machinery, in order merely to give pleaſure or eaſe: no fund of pure joy and contentment: no indulgence without ſome want or neceſſity, accompanying it. At leaſt, the ſew phenomena of this nature are over⯑balanced by oppoſite phenomena of ſtill greater importance.

Our ſenſe of muſic, harmony, and indeed beauty of all kinds gives ſatisfaction, without be⯑ing abſolutely neceſſary to the preſervation and propagation of the ſpecies. But what racking pains, on the other hand, ariſe from gouts, gra⯑vels, megrims, tooth-achs, rheumatiſms; where the injury to the animal-machinery is either ſmall or incurable? Mirth, laughter, play, frolic, ſeem [107] gratuitous ſatisfactions, which have no farther tendency: ſpleen, melancholy, diſcontent, ſuper⯑ſtition, are pains of the ſame nature. How then does the divine benevolence diſplay itſelf, in the ſenſe of you Anthropomorphites? None but we Myſtics, as you were pleaſed to call us, can account for this ſtrange mixture of phenomena, by deriving it from attributes, infinitely perfect, but incomprehenſible.

And have you at laſt, ſaid CLEANTHES ſmi⯑ling, betrayed your intentions, PHILO? Your long agreement with DEMEA did indeed a little ſurpriſe me; but I find you were all the while crecting a concealed battery againſt me. And I muſt confeſs, that you have now fallen upon a ſubject, worthy of your noble ſpirit of oppoſition and controverſy. If you can make out the pre⯑ſent point, and prove mankind to be unhappy or corrupted, there is an end at once of all religion. For to what purpoſe eſtabliſh the natural attributes of the Deity, while the moral are ſtill doubtful and uncertain?

You take umbrage very eaſily, replied DEMEA, at opinions the moſt innocent, and the moſt ge⯑nerally received even amongſt the religious and devout themſelves: and nothing can be more ſur⯑priſing than to find a topic like this, concerning the wickedneſs and miſery of man, charged with no leſs than Atheiſm and profaneneſs. Have not all pious divines and preachers, who have indul⯑ged their rhetoric on ſo fertile a ſubject; have [108] they not eaſily, I ſay, given a ſolution of any dif⯑ficulties, which may attend it? This world is but a point in compariſon of the univerſe: this life but a moment in compariſon of eternity. The preſent evil phenomena, therefore, are rectified in other regions, and in ſome future period of ex⯑iſtence. And the eyes of men, being then open⯑ed to larger views of things, ſee the whole con⯑nection of general laws, and trace, with adora⯑tion, the benevolence and rectitude of the Deity, through all the mazes and intricacies of his provi⯑dence.

No! replied CLEANTHES, No! Theſe arbi⯑trary ſuppoſitions can never be admitted, con⯑trary to matter of fact, viſible and uncontrovert⯑ed. Whence can any cauſe be known but from its known effects? Whence can any hypotheſis be proved but from the apparent phenomena? To eſtabliſh one hypotheſis upon another is build⯑ing entirely in the air; and the utmoſt we ever attain, by theſe conjectures and fictions, is to aſcertain the bare poſſibility of our opinion; but never can we, upon ſuch terms, eſtabliſh its reality.

The only method of ſupporting divine bene⯑volence (and it is what I willingly embrace) is to deny abſolutely the miſery and wickedneſs of man. Your repreſentations are exaggera⯑ted: Your melancholy views moſtly fictitious: Your inferences contrary to fact and experience. Health is more common than ſickneſs: Pleaſure than pain: Happineſs than miſery. And for one [109] vexation, which we meet with, we attain, upon computation, a hundred enjoyments.

Admitting your poſition, replied PHILO, which yet is extremely doubtful; you muſt, at the ſame time, allow, that, if pain be leſs frequent than pleaſure, it is infinitely more violent and durable. One hour of it is often able to out⯑weigh a day, a week, a month of our common inſipid enjoyments: And how many days, weeks, and months are paſſed by ſeveral in the moſt a⯑cute torments? Pleaſure, ſcarcely in one inſtance, is ever able to reach ecſtaſy and rapture: And in no one inſtance can it continue for any time at its higheſt pitch and altitude. The ſpirits e⯑vaporate; the nerves relax; the fabric is diſor⯑dered; and the enjoyment quickly degenerates into fatigue and uneaſineſs. But pain often, good God, how often! riſes to torture and a⯑gony; and the longer it continues, it becomes ſtill more genuine agony and torture. Patience is exhauſted; courage languiſhes; melancholy ſeizes us; and nothing terminates our miſery but the removal of its cauſe, or another event, which is the ſole cure of all evil, but which, from our natural folly, we regard with ſtill greater horror and conſternation.

But not to inſiſt upon theſe topics, continued PHILO, though moſt obvious, certain, and im⯑portant; I muſt uſe the freedom to admoniſh you, CLEANTHES, that you have put the con⯑troverſy upon a moſt dangerous iſſue, and are, [110] unawares introducing a total Scepticiſm into the moſt eſſential articles of natural and revealed the⯑ology. What! no method of fixing a juſt foun⯑dation for religion, unleſs we allow the happineſs of human life, and maintain a continued exiſt⯑ence even in this world, with all our preſent pains, infirmities, vexations, and follies, to be eligible and deſireable! But this is contrary to every one's feeling and experience: It is contrary to an au⯑thority ſo eſtabliſhed as nothing can ſubvert: No deciſive proofs can ever be produced againſt this authority; nor is it poſſible for you to com⯑pute, eſtimate, and compare all the pains and all the pleaſures in the lives of all men and of all a⯑nimals: And thus by your reſting the whole ſy⯑ſtem of religion on a point, which, from its very nature, muſt for ever be uncertain, you tacitly confeſs, that that ſyſtem is equally uncertain.

But allowing you, what never will be be⯑lieved; at leaſt, what you never poſſibly can prove, that animal, or at leaſt, human happineſs in this life exceeds its miſery; you have yet done nothing: For this is not, by any means, what we expect from infinite power, infinite wiſdom, and infinite goodneſs. Why is there any miſery at all in the world? Not by chance ſurely. From ſome cauſe then. Is it from the intention of the Deity? But he is perfectly benevolent. Is it contrary to his intention? But he is almighty. Nothing can ſhake the ſolidity of this reaſoning, ſo ſhort, ſo clear, ſo deciſive; except we aſſert, [111] that theſe ſubjects exceed all human capacity, and that our common meaſures of truth and falſe⯑hood are not applicable to them; a topic, which I have all along inſiſted on, but which you have, from the beginning, rejected with ſcorn and in⯑dignation.

But I will be contented to retire ſtill from this intrenchment: For I deny that you can ever force me in it: I will allow, that pain or miſery in man is compatible with infinite power and goodneſs in the Deity, even in your ſenſe of theſe attri⯑butes: What are you advanced by all theſe con⯑ceſſions? A mere poſſible compatibility is not ſufficient. You muſt prove theſe pure, unmixt, and uncontrollable attributes from the preſent mixt and confuſed phenomena, and from theſe alone. A hopeful undertaking! Were the phe⯑nomena ever ſo pure and unmixt, yet being finite, they would be inſufficient for that pur⯑poſe. How much more, where they are alſo ſo jarring and diſcordant?

Here, CLEANTHES, I find myſelf at eaſe in my argument. Here I triumph. Formerly, when we argued concerning the natural attributes of intelligence and deſign, I needed all my ſcepti⯑cal and metaphyſical ſubtilty to elude your graſp. In many views of the univerſe, and of its parts, particularly the latter, the beauty and fitneſs of final cauſes ſtrike us with ſuch irreſiſtible force, that all objections appear (what I believe they really are) mere cavils and ſophiſms; nor can [112] we then imagine how it was ever poſſible for us to repoſe any weight on them. But there is no view of human life or of the condition of man⯑kind, from which, without the greateſt violence, we can infer the moral attributes, or learn that infinite benevolence, conjoined with infinite power and infinite wiſdom, which we muſt diſcover by the eyes of faith alone. It is your turn now to tug the labouring oar, and to ſupport your phi⯑loſophical ſubtilties againſt the dictates of plain reaſon and experience.

PART XI.

I ſcruple not to allow, ſaid CLEANTHES, that I have been apt to ſuſpect the frequent repetition of the word, infinite, which we meet with in all theological writers, to favour more of panegyric than of philoſophy, and that any purpoſes of reaſoning, and even of religion, would be better ſerved, were we to reſt contented with more ac⯑curate and more moderate expreſſions. The terms, admirable, excellent, ſuperlatively great, wiſe, and holy; theſe ſufficiently fill the imagi⯑nations of men; and any thing beyond, beſides that it leads into abſurdities, has no influence on the affections or ſentiments. Thus, in the pre⯑ſent ſubject, if we abandon all human analogy, as ſeems your intention, DEMEA, I am afraid we abandon all religion, [...] retain no concep⯑tion [113] of the great object of our adoration.Part XI. If we preſerve human analogy, we muſt for ever find it impoſſible to reconcile any mixture of evil in the univerſe with infinite attributes; much leſs, can we ever prove the latter from the former. But ſuppoſing the Author of Nature to be finite⯑ly perfect, though far exceeding mankind; a ſatisfactory account may then be given of natural and moral evil, and every untoward phenome⯑non be explained and adjuſted. A leſs evil may then be choſen, in order to avoid a greater: In⯑conveniencies be ſubmitted to, in order to reach a deſirable end: And in a word, benevolence, regulated by wiſdom, and limited by neceſſity, may produce juſt ſuch a world as the preſent. You, PHILO, who are ſo prompt at ſtarting views, and reflections, and analogies; I would gladly hear, at length, without interruption, your opinion of this new theory; and if it deſerve our attention, we may afterwards, at more leiſure, reduce it into form.

My ſentiments, replied PHILO, are not worth being made a myſtery of; and therefore, with⯑out any ceremony, I ſhall deliver what occurs to me, with regard to the preſent ſubject. It muſt, I think, be allowed, that, if a very limited intel⯑ligence, whom we ſhall ſuppoſe utterly unac⯑quainted with the univerſe, were aſſured, that it were the production of a very good, wiſe, and powerful being, however finite, he would, from his conjectures, form beforehand a different [114] notion of it from what we find it to be by expe⯑rience; nor would he ever imagine, merely from theſe attributes of the cauſe, of which he is in⯑formed, that the effect could be ſo full of vice and miſery and diſorder, as it appears in this life. Suppoſing now, that this perſon were brought into the world, ſtill aſſured, that it was the work⯑manſhip of ſuch a ſublime and benevolent Being; he might, perhaps, be ſurpriſed at the diſap⯑pointment; but would never retract his former belief, if founded on any very ſolid argument; ſince ſuch a limited intelligence muſt be ſenſible of his own blindneſs and ignorance, and muſt allow, that there may be many ſolutions of thoſe phenomena, which will for ever eſcape his com⯑prehenſion. But ſuppoſing, which is the real caſe with regard to man, that this creature is not antecedently convinced of a ſupreme intelli⯑gence, benevolent, and powerful, but is left to gather ſuch a belief from the appearances of things; this entirely alters the caſe, nor will he ever find any reaſon for ſuch a concluſion. He may be fully convinced of the narrow limits of his underſtanding; but this will not help him in forming an inference concerning the goodneſs of ſuperior powers, ſince he muſt form that inference from what he knows, not from what he is igno⯑rant of. The more you exaggerate his weakneſs and ignorance, the more diffident you render him, and give him the greater ſuſpicion, that ſuch ſubjects are beyond the reach of his fa⯑culties. [115] You are obliged, therefore, to reaſon with him merely from the known phenomena, and to drop every arbitrary ſuppoſition or con⯑jecture.

Did I ſhow you a houſe or palace, where there was not one apartment convenient or agree⯑able; where the windows, doors, fires, paſſages, ſtairs, and the whole oeconomy of the building were the ſource of noiſe, confuſion, fatigue, dark⯑neſs, and the extremes of heat and cold; you would certainly blame the contrivance, without any farther examination. The architect would in vain diſplay his ſubtilty, and prove to you, that if this door or that window were altered, great⯑er ills would enſue. What he ſays, may be ſtrictly true: The alternation of one particular, while the other parts of the building remain, may only augment the inconveniencies. But ſtill you would aſſert in general, that, if architect had had ſkill and good intentions, he might have form⯑ed ſuch a plan of the whole, and might have adjuſted the parts in ſuch a manner, as would have remedied all or moſt of theſe inconvenien⯑cies. His ignorance, or even your own igno⯑rance of ſuch a plan, will never convince you of the impoſſibility of it. If you find many incon⯑veniencies and deformities in the building, you will always, without entering into any detail, condemn the architect.

In ſhort, I repeat the question: Is the world, conſidered in general, and as it appears to us in [116] this life, different from what a man or ſuch a li⯑mited Being would, beforehand, expect from a very powerful, wiſe, and benevolent Deity? It muſt be ſtrange prejudice to aſſert the contrary. And form thence I conclude, that, however con⯑ſiſtent the world may be, allowing certain ſuppo⯑ſitions and conjectures, with the idea of ſuch a Deity, it can never afford us an inference con⯑cerning his exiſtence. The conſiſtence is not abſolutely denied, only the inference. Conjec⯑tures, eſpecially where infinity is excluded from the divine attributes, may, perhaps, be ſufficient to prove a conſiſtence; but can never be founda⯑tions for any inference.

There ſeem to be four circumſtances, on which depend all, or the greateſt part of the ills, that moleſt ſenſible creatures; and it is not impoſ⯑ſible but all theſe circumſtances may be neceſſary and unavoidable. We know ſo little beyond common life, or even of common life, that, with regard to the oeconomy of a univerſe, there is no conjecture, however wild, which may not be juſt; nor any one, however plauſible, which may not be erroneous. All that belongs to hu⯑man underſtanding, in this deep ignorance and obſcurity, is to be ſceptical, or at leaſt cautious; and not to admit of any hypotheſis, whatever; much leſs, of any which is ſupported by no ap⯑pearance of probability. Now this I aſſert to be the caſe with regard to all the cauſes of evil, and the circumſtances, on which it depends. None [117] of them appear to human reaſon, in the leaſt degree, neceſſary or unavoidable; nor can we ſuppoſe them ſuch, without the utmoſt licence of imagination.

The firſt circumſtance which introduces evil, is that contrivance or oeconomy of the animal crea⯑tion, by which pains, as well as pleaſures, are employed to excite all creatures to action, and make them vigilant in the great work of ſelf-pre⯑ſervation. Now pleaſure alone, in its various de⯑grees, ſeems to human underſtanding ſufficient for this prupoſe. All animals might be conſtantly in a ſtate of enjoyment; but when urged by any of the neceſſities of nature, ſuch as thirſt, hun⯑ger, wearineſs; inſtead of pain, they might feel a diminution of pleaſure, by which they might be prompted to ſeek that object, which is neceſſary to their ſubſiſtence. Men purſue pleaſure as ea⯑gerly as they avoid pain; at leaſt, might have been ſo conſtituted. It ſeems, therefore, plainly poſſible to carry on the buſineſs of life without any pain. Why then is any animal ever render⯑ed ſuſceptible of ſuch a ſenſation? If animals can be free from it an hour, they might enjoy a perpetual exemption from it; and it required as particular a contrivance of their organs to produce that feeling, as to endow them with ſight, hear⯑ing, or any of the ſenſes. Shall we conjecture, that ſuch a contrivance was neceſſary, without any appearance of reaſon? and ſhall we build on that conjecture as on the moſt certain truth?

[118] But a capacity of pain would not alone pro⯑duce pain, were it not for the ſecond circum⯑ſtance, viz. the conducting of the world by ge⯑neral laws; and this ſeems no wiſe neceſſary to a very perfect being. It is true; if every thing were conducted by particular volitions, the courſe of nature would be perpetually broken, and no man could employ his reaſon in the conduct of life. But might not other particular volitions re⯑medy this inconvenience? In ſhort, might not the Deity exterminate all ill, where-ever it were to be found; and produce all good, without any preparation or long progreſs of cauſes and effects?

Beſides, we muſt conſider, that, according to the preſent oeconomy of the world, the courſe of Nature, though ſuppoſed exactly regular, yet to us appears not ſo, and many events are uncertain, and many diſappoint our expectations. Health and ſickneſs, calm and tempeſt, with an infinite number of other accidents, whoſe cauſes are un⯑known and variable, have a great influence both on the fortunes of particular perſons and on the proſperity of public ſocieties: and indeed all hu⯑man life, in a manner, depends on ſuch acci⯑dents. A being, therefore, who knows the ſecret ſprings of the univerſe, might eaſily, by particu⯑lar volitions, turn all theſe accidents to the good of mankind, and render the whole world happy, without diſcovering himſelf in any operation. A fleet, whoſe purpoſes were ſalutary to ſociety, might always meet with a fair wind: Good princes [119] enjoy ſound health and long life: Perſons, born to power and authority, be framed with good tempers and virtuous diſpoſitions. A few ſuch events as theſe, regularly and wiſely conducted, would change the face of the world; and yet would no more ſeem to diſturb the courſe of Na⯑ture or confound human conduct, than the pre⯑ſent oeconomy of things, where the cauſes are ſe⯑cret, and variable, and compounded. Some ſmall touches, given to CALIGULA's brain in his infancy, might have converted him into a TRA⯑JAN: one wave, a little higher than the reſt, by burying CAESAR and his fortune in the bottom of the ocean, might have reſtored liberty to a conſi⯑derable part of mankind. There may, for aught we know, be good reaſons, why Providence in⯑terpoſes not in this manner; but they are un⯑known to us: and though the mere ſuppoſition, that ſuch reaſons exiſt, may be ſufficient to ſave the concluſion concerning the divine attributes, yet ſurely it can never be ſufficient to eſtabliſh that concluſion.

If every thing in the univerſe be conducted by general laws, and if animals be rendered ſuſcep⯑tible of pain, it ſcarcely ſeems poſſible but ſome ill muſt ariſe in the various ſhocks of matter, and the various concurrence and oppoſition of general laws: But this ill would be very rare, were it not for the third circumſtance, which I propoſed to mention, viz. the great frugality, with which all powers and faculties are diſtributed to every par⯑ticular [120] being. So well adjuſted are the organs and capacities of all animals, and ſo well fitted to their preſervation, that, as far as hiſtory or tradi⯑tion reaches, there appears not to be any ſingle ſpecies, which has yet been extinguiſhed in the u⯑niverſe. Every animal has the requiſite endow⯑ments; but theſe endowments are beſtowed with ſo ſcrupulous an oeconomy, that any conſi⯑derable diminution muſt entirely deſtroy the crea⯑ture. Where-ever one power is encreaſed, there is a proportional abatement in the others. Ani⯑mals, which excel in ſwiftneſs, are commonly de⯑fective in force. Thoſe, which poſſeſs both, are either imperfect in ſome of their ſenſes, or are oppreſſed with the moſt craving wants. The hu⯑man ſpecies, whoſe chief excellency is reaſon and fagacity, is of all others the moſt neceſſitous, and the moſt deficient in bodily advantages; without cloaths, without arms, without food, without lodging, without any convenience of life, except what they owe to their own ſkill and induſtry. In ſhort, Nature ſeems to have formed an exact cal⯑culation of the neceſſities of her creatures; and like a rigid maſter, has afforded them little more powers or endowments, than what are ſtrictly ſuf⯑ficient to ſupply thoſe neceſſities. An indulgent parent would have beſtowed a large ſtock, in or⯑der to guard againſt accidents, and ſecure the happineſs and welfare of the creature, in the moſt unfortunate concurrence of circumſtances. Every courſe of life would not have been ſo ſurrounded [121] with precipices, that the leaſt departure from the true path, by miſtake or neceſſity, muſt involve us in miſery and ruin. Some reſerve, ſome fund would have been provided to enſure happineſs; nor would the powers and the neceſſities have been adjuſted with ſo rigid an oeconomy. The au⯑thor of Nature is inconceivably powerful: his force is ſuppoſed great, if not altogether inexhauſt⯑ible: nor is there any reaſon, as far as we can judge, to make him obſerve this ſtrict frugality in his dealings with his creatures. It would have been better, were his power extremely limited, to have created fewer animals, and to have endowed theſe with more faculties for their happineſs and preſervation. A builder is never eſteemed pru⯑dent, who undertakes a plan, beyond what his ſtock will enable him to finiſh.

In order to cure moſt of the ills of human life, I require not that man ſhould have the wings of the eagle, the ſwiftneſs of the ſtag, the force of the ox, the arms of the lion, the ſcales of the crocodile or rhinoceros; much lefs do I demand the ſagacity of an angel or cherubim. I am con⯑tented to take an encreaſe in one ſingle power or faculty of his ſoul. Let him be endowed with a greater propenſity to induſtry and labour; a more vigorous ſpring and activity of mind; a more con⯑ſtant bent to buſineſs and application. Let the whole ſpecies poſſeſs naturally an equal diligence with that which many individuals are able to at⯑tain by habit and reflection; and the moſt bene⯑ficial [122] conſequences, without any allay of ill, is the immediate and neceſſary reſult of this endowment. Almoſt all the moral, as well as natural evils of human life ariſe from idleneſs; and were our ſpe⯑cies, by the original conſtitution of their frame, exempt from this vice or infirmity, the perfect cultivation of land, the improvement of arts and manufactures, the exact execution of every office and duty, immediately follow; and men at once may fully reach that ſtate of ſociety, which is ſo imperfectly attained by the beſt-regulated govern⯑ment. But as induſtry is a power, and the moſt valuable of any, Nature ſeems determined, ſuit⯑ably to her uſual maxims, to beſtow it on men with a very ſparing hand; and rather to puniſh him ſeverely for his deficiency in it, than to re⯑ward him for his attainments. She has ſo con⯑trived his frame, that nothing but the moſt vio⯑lent neceſſity can oblige him to labour; and ſhe employs all his other wants to overcome, at leaſt in part, the want of diligence, and to endow him with ſome ſhare of a faculty, of which ſhe has thought fit naturally to bereave him. Here our demands may be allowed very humble, and there⯑fore the more reaſonable. If we required the en⯑dowments of ſuperior penetration and judgement, of a more delicate taſte of beauty, of a nicer ſenſibility to benevolence and friendſhip; we might be told, that we impiouſly pretend to break the order of Nature, that we want to exalt our⯑ſelves into a higher rank of being, that the pre⯑ſents [123] which we require, not being ſuitable to our ſtate and condition, would only be pernicious to us. But it is hard; I dare to repeat it, it is hard, that being placed in a world ſo full of wants and neceſſities; where almoſt every being and element is either our foe or refuſes its aſſiſtance — we ſhould alſo have our own temper to ſtruggle with, and ſhould be deprived of that faculty, which can alone fence againſt theſe multiplied evils.

The fourth circumſtance, whence ariſes the miſery and ill of the univerſe, is the inaccurate workmanſhip of all the ſprings and principles of the great machine of nature. It muſt be acknow⯑ledged, that there are few parts of the uni⯑verſe, which ſeem not to ſerve ſome purpoſe, and whoſe removal would not produce a viſible defect and diſorder in the whole. The parts hang all to⯑gether; nor can one be touched without affecting the reſt, in a greater or leſs degree. But at the ſame time, it muſt be obſerved, that none of theſe parts or principles, however uſeful, are ſo accurately adjuſted, as to keep preciſely within thoſe bounds, in which their utility conſiſts; but they are, all of them, apt, on every occaſion, to run into the one extreme or the other. One would imagine, that this grand production had not received the laſt hand of the maker; ſo little finiſhed is every part, and ſo coarſe are the ſtrokes, with which it is executed. Thus, the winds are requiſite to convey the vapours along the ſurface of the globe, and to aſſiſt men in na⯑vigation: [124] but how oft, riſing up to tempeſts and hurricanes, do they become pernicious? Rains are neceſſary to nouriſh all the plants and animals of the earth: but how often are they defective? how often exceſſive? Heat is requiſite to all life and vegetation; but is not always found in the due proportion. On the mixture and ſecretion of the humours and juices of the body depend the health and proſperity of the animal: but the parts perform not regularly their proper function. What more uſeful than all the paſſions of the mind, am⯑bition, vanity, love, anger? But how oft do they break their bounds, and cauſe the greateſt convulſions in ſociety? There is nothing ſo ad⯑vantageous in the univerſe, but what frequently becomes pernicious, by its exceſs or defect; nor has Nature guarded, with the requiſite accuracy, againſt all diſorder or confuſion. The irregulari⯑ty is never, perhaps, ſo great as to deſtroy any ſpecies; but is often ſufficient to involve the indi⯑viduals in ruin and miſery.

On the concurrence, then, of theſe four cir⯑cumſtances does all, or the greateſt part of natu⯑ral evil depend. Were all living creatures inca⯑pable of pain, or were the world adminiſtered by particular volitions, evil never could have found acceſs into the univerſe: and were animals en⯑dowed with a large ſtock of powers and faculties, beyond what ſtrict neceſſity requires; or were the ſeveral ſprings and principles of the univerſe ſo accurately framed as to preſerve always the juſt [125] temperament and medium; there muſt have been very little ill in compariſon of what we feel at pre⯑ſent. What then ſhall we pronounce on this oc⯑caſion? Shall we ſay, that theſe circumſtances are not neceſſary, and that they might eaſily have been altered in the contrivance of the univerſe? This deciſion ſeems too preſumptuous for crea⯑tures, ſo blind and ignorant. Let us be more modeſt in our concluſions. Let us allow, that, if the goodneſs of the Deity (I mean a goodneſs like the human) could be eſtabliſhed on any tolerable reaſons a priori, theſe phenomena, however un⯑toward, would not be ſufficient to ſubvert that principle; but might eaſily, in ſome unknown manner, be reconcilable to it. But let us ſtill aſ⯑ſert, that as this goodneſs is not antecedently e⯑ſtabliſhed, but muſt be inferred from the pheno⯑mena, there can be no grounds for ſuch an infer⯑ence, while there are ſo many ills in the univerſe, and while theſe ills might ſo eaſily have been re⯑medied, as far as human underſtanding can be allowed to judge on ſuch a ſubject. I am Sceptic enough to allow, that the bad appearances, not⯑withſtanding all my reaſonings, may be compati⯑ble with ſuch attributes as you ſuppoſe: But ſure⯑ly they can never prove theſe attributes. Such a concluſion cannot reſult from Scepticiſm; but muſt ariſe from the phenomena, and from our confidence in the reaſonings, which we deduce from theſe phenomena.

Look round this univerſe. What an immenſe [126] profuſion of beings, animated and organized, fenſible and active! You admire this prodigious variety and fecundity. But inſpect a little more narrowly theſe living exiſtences, the only beings worth regarding. How hoſtile and deſtructive to each other! How inſufficient all of them for their own happineſs! How contemptible or o⯑dious to the ſpectator! The whole preſents no⯑thing but the idea of a blind Nature, impregnated by a great vivifying principle, and pouring forth from her lap, without diſcernment or parental care, her maimed and abortive children.

Here the MANICHAEAN ſyſtem occurs as a pro⯑per hypotheſis to ſolve the difficulty: and no doubt, in ſome reſpects, it is very ſpecious, and has more probability than the common hypotheſis, by giving a plauſible account of the ſtrange mix⯑ture of good and ill, which appears in life. But if we conſider, on the other hand, the perfect uniformity and agreement of the parts of the u⯑niverſe, we ſhall not diſcover in it any marks of the combat of a malevolent with a benevolent be⯑ing. There is indeed an oppoſition of pains and pleaſures in the feelings of ſenſible creatures: but are not all the operations of Nature carried on by an oppoſition of principles, of hot and cold, moiſt and dry, light and heavy? The true concluſion is, that the original ſource of all things is entirely indifferent to all theſe principles, and has no more regard to good above ill than to heat above cold, [127] or to drought above moiſture, or to light above heavy.

There may four hypotheſes be framed concern⯑ing the firſt cauſes of the univerſe; that they are endowed with perfect goodneſs, that they have perfect malice, that they are oppoſite and have both goodneſs and malice, that they have neither goodneſs nor malice. Mixt phenomena can ne⯑ver prove the two former unmixt principles, And the uniformity and ſteadineſs of general laws ſeems to oppoſe the third. The fourth, there⯑fore, ſeems by far the moſt probable.

What I have ſaid concerning natural evil will apply to moral, with little or no variation; and we have no more reaſon to infer, that the recti⯑tude of the ſupreme Being reſembles human rec⯑titude than that his benevolence reſembles the hu⯑man. Nay, it will be thought, that we have ſtill greater cauſe to exclude from him moral ſenti⯑ments, ſuch as we feel them; ſince moral evil, in the opinion of many, is much more predomi⯑nant above moral good than natural evil above na⯑tural good.

But even though this ſhould not be allowed, and though the virtue, which is in mankind, ſhould be acknowledged much ſuperior to the vice; yet ſo long as there is any vice at all in the univerſe, it will very much puzzle you An⯑thropomorphites, how to account for it. You muſt aſſign a cauſe for it, without having recourſe to the firſt cauſe. But as every effect muſt have [128] a cauſe, and that cauſe another; you muſt either carry on the progreſſion in infinitum, or reſt on that original principle, who is the ultimate cauſe of all things —

Hold! Hold! cried DEMEA: Whither does your imagination hurry you? I joined in alliance with you, in order to prove the incomprehenſible nature of the divine Being, and refute the prin⯑ciples of CLEANTHES, who would meaſure e⯑very thing by a human rule and ſtandard. But I now find you running into all the topics of the greateſt libertines and infidels; and betraying that holy cauſe, which you ſeemingly eſpouſed. Are you ſecretly, then, a more dangerous enemy than CLEANTHES himſelf?

And are you ſo late in perceiving it? replied CLE⯑ANTHES. Believe me, DEMEA; your friend PHI⯑LO, from the beginning, has been amuſing him⯑ſelf at both our expence; and it muſt be con⯑feſſed, that the injudicious reaſoning of our vul⯑gar theology has given him but too juſt a handle of ridicule. The total infirmity of human reaſon, the abſolute incomprehenſibility of the Divine Nature, the great and univerſal miſery and ſtill greater wickedneſs of men; theſe are ſtrange to⯑pics ſurely to be ſo fondly cheriſhed by orthodox divines and doctors. In ages of ſtupidity and ignorance, indeed, theſe principles may ſafely be eſpouſed; and perhaps, no views of things are more proper to promote ſuperſtition, than ſuch as encourage the blind amazement, the dif⯑fidence, [129] and melancholy of mankind. But at preſent. —

Blame not ſo much, interpoſed PHILO, the ignorance of theſe reverend gentlemen. They know how to change their ſtyle with the times. Formerly it was a moſt popular theological topic to maintain, that human life was vanity and mi⯑ſery, and to exaggerate all the ills and pains, which are incident to men. But of late years, divines, we find, begin to retract this poſition, and maintain, though ſtill with ſome heſitation, that there are more goods than evils, more plea⯑ſures than pains, even in this life. When reli⯑gion ſtood entirely upon temper and education, it was thought proper to encourage melancholy; as indeed, mankind never have recourſe to ſupe⯑rior powers ſo readily as in that diſpoſition. But as men have now learned to form principles, and to draw conſequences, it is neceſſary to change the batteries, and to make uſe of ſuch arguments as will endure, at leaſt ſome ſcrutiny and exami⯑nation. This variation is the ſame (and from the ſame cauſes) with that which I formerly re⯑marked with regard to Scepticiſm.

Thus PHILO continued to the laſt his ſpirit of oppoſition, and his cenſure of eſtabliſhed opinions. But I could obſerve, that DEMEA did not at all reliſh the latter part of the diſcourſe; and he took occaſion ſoon after, on ſome pretence or other, to leave the company.

PART XII.

After DEMEA's departure,Part XII. CLEANTHES and PHILO continued the converſation in the fol⯑lowing manner. Our friend, I am afraid, ſaid CLEANTHES, will have little inclination to re⯑vive this topic of diſcourſe, while you are in com⯑pany; and to tell truth, PHILO, I ſhould rather wiſh to reaſon with either of you apart on a ſub⯑ject, ſo ſublime and intereſting. Your ſpirit of controverſy, joined to your abhorrence of vulgar ſuperſtition, carries you ſtrange lengths, when engaged in an argument; and there is nothing ſo ſacred and venerable, even in your own eyes, which you ſpare on that occaſion.

I muſt confeſs, replied PHILO, that I am leſs cautious on the ſubject of Natural Religion than on any other; both becauſe I know that I can never, on that head, corrupt the principles of any man of common ſenſe, and becauſe no one, I am confident, in whoſe eyes I appear a man of common ſenſe, will ever miſtake my intentions. You in particular, CLEANTHES, with whom I live in unreſerved intimacy; you are ſenſible, that, notwithſtanding the freedom of my conver⯑ſation, and my love of ſingular arguments, no one has a deeper ſenſe of religion impreſſed on his mind, or pays more profound adoration to the divine Being, as he diſcovers himſelf to rea⯑ſon, [131] in the inexplicable contrivance and artifice of Nature. A purpoſe, an intention, a deſign ſtrikes every where the moſt careleſs, the moſt ſtupid thinker; and no man can be ſo hardened in abſurd ſyſtems, as at all times to reject it. That Nature does nothing in vain, is a maxim eſtabliſhed in all the ſchools, merely from the contemplation of the works of Nature, without any religious purpoſe; and, from a firm convic⯑tion of its truth, an anatomiſt, who had obſerved a new organ or canal, would never be ſatisfied, till he had alſo diſcovered its uſe and intention. One great foundation of the COPERNICAN ſy⯑ſtem is the maxim, That Nature acts by the ſimpleſt methods, and chuſes the moſt proper means to any end; and aſtronomers often, with⯑out thinking of it, lay this ſtrong foundation of piety and religion. The ſame thing is obſervable in other parts of philoſophy: And thus all the ſciences almoſt lead us inſenſibly to acknowledge a firſt intelligent Author; and their authority is often ſo much the greater, as they do not di⯑rectly profeſs that intention.

It is with pleaſure I hear GALEN reaſon con⯑cerning the ſtructure of the human body. The anatomy of a man, ſays he^*, diſcovers above 600 different muſcles; and whoever duly con⯑ſiders theſe, will find, that in each of them Na⯑ture muſt have adjuſted at leaſt ten different cir⯑cumſtances, [132] in order to attain the end which ſhe propoſed; proper figure, juſt magnitude, right diſpoſition of the ſeveral ends, upper and lower poſition of the whole, the due inſertion of the ſeveral nerves, veins, and arteries: So that in the muſcles alone, above 6000 ſeveral views and intentions muſt have been formed and executed. The bones he calculates to be 284: The diſtinct purpoſes, aimed at in the ſtructure of each, a⯑bove forty. What a prodigious diſplay of arti⯑fice, even in theſe ſimple and homogeneous parts? But if we conſider the ſkin, ligaments, veſſels, glandules, humours, the ſeveral limbs and members of the body; how muſt our aſto⯑niſhment riſe upon us, in proportion to the num⯑ber and intricacy of the parts ſo artificially ad⯑juſted? The farther we advance in theſe re⯑ſearches, we diſcover new ſcenes of art and wiſ⯑dom: But deſcry ſtill, at a diſtance, farther ſcenes beyond our reach; in the fine internal ſtructure of the parts, in the oeconomy of the brain, in the fabric of the ſeminal veſſels. All theſe artifices are repeated in every different ſpe⯑cies of animal, with wonderful variety, and with exact propriety, ſuited to the different intentions of Nature, in framing each ſpecies. And if the infidelity of GALEN, even when theſe natural ſciences were ſtill imperfect, could not with⯑ſtand ſuch ſtriking appearances; to what pitch of pertinacious obſtinacy muſt a philoſopher in [133] this age have attained, who can now doubt of a Supreme Intelligence?

Could I meet with one of this ſpecies (who, I thank God, are very rare) I would aſk him: Suppoſing there were a God, who did not diſ⯑cover himſelf immediately to our ſenſes; were it poſſible for him to give ſtronger proofs of his exiſtence, than what appear on the whole face of Nature? What indeed could ſuch a divine Being do, but copy the preſent oeconomy of things; render many of his artifices ſo plain, that no ſtupidity could miſtake them; afford glimpſes of ſtill greater artifices, which demon⯑ſtrate his prodigious ſuperiority above our nar⯑row apprehenſions; and conceal altogether a great many from ſuch imperfect creatures? Now ac⯑cording to all rules of juſt reaſoning, every fact muſt paſs for undiſputed, when it is ſupported by all the arguments, which its nature admits of; even though theſe arguments be not, in them⯑ſelves, very numerous or forcible: How much more, in the preſent caſe, where no human ima⯑gination can compute their number, and no un⯑derſtanding eſtimate their cogency?

I ſhall farther add, ſaid CLEANTHES, to what you have ſo well urged, that one great advantage of the principle of Theiſm, is, that it is the only ſyſtem of coſmogony, which can be rendered intelligible and complete, and yet can throughout preſerve a ſtrong analogy to what we every day ſee and ex⯑perience in the world. The compariſon of the [134] univerſe to a machine of human contrivance is ſo obvious and natural, and is juſtified by ſo many inſtances of order and deſign in Nature, that it muſt immediately ſtrike all unprejudiced appre⯑henſions, and procure univerſal approbation. Whoever attempts to weaken this theory, can⯑not pretend to ſucceed by eſtabliſhing in its place any other, that is preciſe and determinate: It is ſufficient for him, if he ſtart doubts and difficul⯑ties; and by remote and abſtract views of things, reach that ſuſpenſe of judgement, which is here the utmoſt boundary of his wiſhes. But beſides, that this ſtate of mind is in itſelf unſatisfactory, it can never be ſteadily maintained againſt ſuch ſtriking appearances, as continually engage us into the religious hypotheſis. A falſe, abſurd ſy⯑ſtem, human nature, from the force of prejudice, is capable of adhering to, with obſtinacy and per⯑ſeverance: But no ſyſtem at all, in oppoſition to a theory, ſupported by ſtrong and obvious rea⯑ſon, by natural propenſity, and by early educa⯑tion, I think it abſolutely impoſſible to maintain or defend.

So little, replied PHILO, do I eſteem this ſuſ⯑penſe of judgement in the preſent caſe to be poſ⯑ſible, that I am apt to ſuſpect there enters ſome⯑what of a diſpute of words into this controverſy, more than is uſually imagined. That the works of Nature bear a great analogy to the productions of art is evident; and according to all the rules of good reaſoning, we ought to infer, if we ar⯑gue [135] at all concerning them, that their cauſes have a proportional analogy. But as there are alſo conſiderable differences, we have reaſon to ſup⯑poſe a proportional difference in the cauſes; and in particular ought to attribute a much higher degree of power and energy to the ſupreme cauſe than any we have ever obſerved in mankind. Here then the exiſtence of a DEITY is plainly aſcertained by reaſon; and if we make it a que⯑ſtion, whether, on account of theſe analogies, we can properly call him a mind or intelligence, notwithſtanding the vaſt difference, which may reaſonably be ſuppoſed between him and human minds; what is this but a mere verbal controver⯑ſy? No man can deny the analogies between the effects: To reſtrain ourſelves from enquiring concerning the cauſes is ſcarcely poſſible: From this enquiry, the legitimate concluſion is, that the cauſes have alſo an analogy: And if we are not contented with calling the firſt and ſupreme cauſe a GOD or DEITY, but deſire to vary the exprèſſion; what can we call him but MIND or THOUGHT, to which he is juſtly ſuppo⯑ſed to bear a conſiderable reſemblance?

All men of ſound reaſon are diſguſted with verbal diſputes, which abound ſo much in philo⯑ſophical and theological enquiries; and it is found, that the only remedy for this abuſe muſt ariſe from clear definitions, from the preciſion of thoſe ideas which enter into any argument, and from the ſtrict and uniform uſe of thoſe terms which [136] are employed. But there is a ſpecies of contro⯑verſy, which, from the very nature of language and of human ideas, is involved in perpetual am⯑biguity, and can never, by any precaution or any definitions, be able to reach a reaſonable certainty or preciſion. Theſe are the controver⯑ſies concerning the degrees of any quality or cir⯑cumſtance. Men may argue to all eternity, whe⯑ther HANNIBAL be a great, or a very great, or a ſuperlatively great man, what degree of beauty CLEOPATRA poſſeſſed, what epithet of praiſe LI⯑VY or THUCIDYDES is intitled to, without bring⯑ing the controverſy to any determination. The diſ⯑putants may here agree in their ſenſe, and differ in the terms, or vice verſa; yet never be able to define their terms, ſo as to enter into each others meaning: Becauſe the degrees of theſe qualities are not, like quantity or number, ſuſceptible of any exact menſuration, which may be the ſtand⯑ard in the controverſy. That the diſpute con⯑cerning Theiſm is of this nature, and conſequent⯑ly is merely verbal, or perhaps, if poſſible, ſtill more incurably ambiguous, will appear upon the ſlighteſt enquiry. I aſk the Theiſt, if he does not allow, that there is a great and immeaſurable, becauſe incomprehenſible, difference between the human and the divine mind: The more pious he is, the more readily will he aſſent to the affir⯑mative, and the more will he be diſpoſed to mag⯑nify the difference: He will even aſſert, that the difference is of a nature which cannot be too [137] much magnified. I next turn to the Atheiſt, who, I aſſert, is only nominally ſo, and can ne⯑ver poſſibly be in earneſt; and I aſk him, whe⯑ther, from the coherence and apparent ſympathy in all the parts of this world, there be not a cer⯑tain degree of analogy among all the operations of Nature, in every ſituation and in every age; whether the rotting of a turnip, the generation of an animal, and the ſtructure of human thought be not energies that probably bear ſome remote analogy to each other: It is impoſſible he can deny it: He will readily acknowledge it. Ha⯑ving obtained this conceſſion, I puſh him ſtill farther in his retreat; and I aſk him, if it be not probable, that the principle which firſt arranged, and ſtill maintains order in this univerſe, bears not alſo ſome remote inconceivable analogy to the other operations of Nature, and among the reſt to the oeconomy of human mind and thought. However reluctant, he muſt give his aſſent. Where then, cry I to both theſe anta⯑goniſts, is the ſubject of your diſpute? The Theiſt allows, that the original intelligence is very dif⯑ferent from human reaſon: The Atheiſt allows, that the original principle of order bears ſome remote analogy to it. Will you quarrel, Gen⯑tlemen, about the degrees, and enter into a con⯑troverſy, which admits not of any preciſe mean⯑ing, nor conſequently of any determination? If you ſhould be ſo obſtinate, I ſhould not to be ſurpriſed to find you inſenſibly change ſides; [138] while the Theiſt on the one hand exaggerates the diſſimilarity between the Supreme Being, and frail, imperfect, variable, fleeting, and mortal creatures; and the Atheiſt on the other magni⯑fies the analogy among all the operations of Nature, in every period, every ſituation, and e⯑very poſition. Conſider then, where the real point of controverſy lies, and if you cannot lay a⯑ſide your diſputes, endeavour, at leaſt, to cure yourſelves of your animoſity.

And here I muſt alſo acknowledge, CLEAN⯑THES, that, as the works of Nature have a much greater analogy to the effects of our art and con⯑trivance, than to thoſe of our benevolence and juſtice; we have reaſon to infer that the natural attributes of the Deity have a greater reſemblance to thoſe of man, than his moral have to human virtues. But what is the conſequence? Nothing but this, that the moral qualities of man are more defective in their kind than his natural abilities. For as the Supreme Being is allowed to be abſolutely and entirely perfect, whatever differs moſt from him departs the fartheſt from the ſupreme ſtandard of rectitude and perfec⯑tion^*

[139] Theſe, CLEANTHES, are my unfeigned ſenti⯑ments on this ſubject; and theſe ſentiments, you know, I have ever cheriſhed and maintained. But in proportion to my veneration for true re⯑ligion, is my abhorrence of vulgar ſuperſtitions; and I indulge a peculiar pleaſure, I confeſs, in puſhing ſuch principles, ſometimes into abſurdity, ſometimes into impiety. And you are ſenſible, that all bigots, notwithſtanding their great aver⯑ſion to the latter above the former, are common⯑ly equally guilty of both.

My inclination, replied CLEANTHES, lies, I own, a contrary way. Religion, however cor⯑rupted, is ſtill better than no religion at all. The doctrine of a future ſtate is ſo ſtrong and neceſ⯑ſary a ſecurity to morals, that we never ought to abandon or neglect it. For if finite and tempo⯑rary [140] rewards and puniſhments have ſo great an effect, as we daily find; how much greater muſt be expected from ſuch as are infinite and eter⯑nal?

How happens it then, ſaid PHILO, if vulgar ſuperſtition be ſo ſalutary to ſociety, that all hi⯑ſtory abounds ſo much with accounts of its per⯑nicious conſequences on public aſſairs? Factions, civil wars, perſecutions, ſubverſions of govern⯑ment, oppreſſion, ſlavery; theſe are the diſmal conſequences which always attend its prevalency over the minds of men. If the religious ſpirit be ever mentioned in any hiſtorical narration, we are ſure to meet afterwards with a detail of the miſeries, which attend it. And no period of time can be happier or more proſperous, than thoſe in which it is never regarded, or heard of.

The reaſon of this obſervation, replied CLE⯑ANTHES, is obvious. The proper office of re⯑ligion is to regulate the heart of men, humanize their conduct, infuſe the ſpirit of temperance, order, and obedience; and as its operation is ſilent, and only enforces the motives of morality and juſtice, it is in danger of being overlooked, and confounded with theſe other motives. When it diſtinguiſhes itſelf, and acts as a ſeparate prin⯑ciple over men, it has departed from its proper ſphere, and has become only a cover to faction and ambition.

And ſo will all religion, ſaid PHILO, except the philoſophical and rational kind. Your rea⯑ſonings [141] are more eaſily eluded than my facts. The inference is not juſt, becauſe finite and tempo⯑rary rewards and puniſhments have ſo great in⯑fluence, that therefore ſuch as are infinite and e⯑ternal muſt have ſo much greater. Conſider, I beſeech you, the attachment, which we have to preſent things, and the little concern which we diſ⯑cover for objects, ſo remote and uncertain. When divines are declaiming againſt the common beha⯑viour and conduct of the world, they always re⯑preſent this principle as the ſtrongeſt imaginable (which indeed it is) and deſcribe almoſt all hu⯑man kind as lying under the influence of it, and ſunk into the deepeſt lethargy and unconcern a⯑bout their religious intereſts. Yet theſe ſame di⯑vines, when they refute their ſpeculative antago⯑niſts, ſuppoſe the motives of religion to be ſo powerful, that, without them, it were impoſſible for civil ſociety to ſubſiſt; nor are they aſhamed of ſo palpable a contradiction. It is certain, from experience, that the ſmalleſt grain of natural ho⯑neſty and benevolence has more effect on mens conduct, than the moſt pompous views, ſuggeſted by theological theories and ſyſtems. A man's na⯑tural inclination works inceſſantly upon him; it is for ever preſent to the mind; and mingles itſelf with every view and conſideration: whereas reli⯑gious motives, where they act at all, operate on⯑ly by ſtarts and bounds; and it is ſcarcely poſ⯑ſible for them to become altogether habitual to the mind. The force of the greateſt gravity, ſay the philoſephers, is infinitely ſmall, in compariſon [142] of that of the leaſt impulſe; yet it is certain, that the ſmalleſt gravity will, in the end, prevail above a great impulſe; becauſe no ſtrokes or blows can be repeated with ſuch conſtancy as attraction and gravitation.

Another advantage of inclination: It engages on its ſide all the wit and ingenuity of the mind; and when ſet in oppoſition to religious principles, ſeeks every method and art of eluding them: In which it is almoſt always ſucceſsful. Who can explain the heart of man, or account for thoſe ſtrange ſalvos and excuſes, with which people ſatisfy themſelves, when they follow their inclinations, in oppoſition to their religious duty? This is well underſtood in the world; and none but fools ever repoſe leſs truſt in a man, becauſe they hear, that, from ſtudy and philoſophy, he has entertained ſome ſpeculative doubts with re⯑gard to theological ſubjects. And when we have to do with a man, who makes a great profeſſion of religion and devotion; has this any other ef⯑fect upon ſeveral, who paſs for prudent, than to put them on their guard, leſt they be cheated and deceived by him?

We muſt farther conſider, that philoſophers, who cultivate reaſon and reflection, ſtand leſs in need of ſuch motives to keep them under the re⯑ſtraint of morals: and that the vulgar, who alone may need them, are utterly incapable of ſo pure a religion, as repreſents the Deity to be plea⯑ſed with nothing but virtue in human behaviour. The recommendations to the Divinity are general⯑ly [143] ſuppoſed to be either frivolous obſervances, or rapturous ecſtaſies, or a bigotted credulity. We need not run back into antiquity, or wander into remote regions, to find inſtances of this degene⯑racy. Amongſt ourſelves, ſome have been guilty of that atrociouſneſs, unknown to the EGYPTIAN and GRECIAN ſuperſtitions, of declaiming, in ex⯑preſs terms, againſt morality, and repreſenting it as a ſure forfeiture of the divine favour, if the leaſt truſt or reliance be laid upon it.

But even though ſuperſtition or enthuſiaſm ſhould not put itſelf in direct oppoſition to mora⯑lity; the very diverting of the attention, the rai⯑ſing up a new and frivolous ſpecies of merit, the prepoſterous diſtribution, which it makes of praiſe and blame; muſt have the moſt pernicious conſe⯑quences, and weaken extremely mens attach⯑ment to the natural motives of juſtice and huma⯑nity.

Such a principle of action likewiſe, not being any of the familiar motives of human conduct, acts only by intervals on the temper, and muſt be rouzed by continual efforts, in order to render the pious zealot ſatisfied with his own conduct, and make him fulfil his devotional taſk. Many religious exerciſes are entered into with ſeeming fervour, where the heart, at the time, feels cold and languid: A habit of diſſimulation is by de⯑grees contracted: and fraud and falſehood be⯑come the predominant principle. Hence the rea⯑ſon of that vulgar obſervation, that the higheſt [144] zeal in religion and the deepeſt hypocriſy, ſo far from being inconſiſtent, are often or commonly united in the ſame individual character.

The bad effects of ſuch habits, even in com⯑mon life, are eaſily imagined: but where the in⯑tereſts of religion are concerned, no morality can be forcible enough to bind the enthuſiaſtic zealot. The ſacredneſs of the cauſe ſanctifies every mea⯑ſure, which can be made uſe of to promote it.

The ſteady attention alone to ſo important an in⯑tereſt as that of eternal ſalvation is apt to extin⯑guiſh the benevolent affections, and beget a nar⯑row, contracted ſelfiſhneſs. And when ſuch a temper is encouraged, it eaſily eludes all the ge⯑neral precepts of charity and benevolence.

Thus the motives of vulgar ſuperſtition have no great influence on general conduct; nor is their operation very favourable to morality, in the in⯑ſtances, where they predominate.

Is there any maxim in politics more certain and infallible, than that both the number and autho⯑rity of prieſts ſhould be confined within very nar⯑row limits, and that the civil magiſtrate ought, for ever, to keep his faſces and axes from ſuch dangerous hands? But if the ſpirit of popular religion were ſo ſalutary to ſociety, a contrary maxim ought to prevail. The greater number of prieſts, and their greater authority and riches will al⯑ways augment the religious ſpirit. And though the prieſts have the guidance of this ſpirit, why may we not expect a ſuperior ſanctity of life, and [145] greater benevolence and moderation, from per⯑ſons who are ſet apart for religion, who are con⯑tinually inculcating it upon others, and who muſt themſelves imbibe a greater ſhare of it? Whence comes it then, that in fact, the utmoſt a wiſe ma⯑giſtrate can propoſe with regard to popular reli⯑gions, is, as far as poſſible, to make a ſaving game of it, and to prevent their pernicious con⯑ſequences with regard to ſociety. Every expe⯑dient which he tries for ſo humble a purpoſe is ſurrounded with inconveniencies. If he admits only one religion among his ſubjects, he muſt ſa⯑crifice, to an uncertain proſpect of tranquillity, every conſideration of public liberty, ſcience, rea⯑ſon, induſtry, and even his own independency. If he gives indulgence to ſeveral ſects, which is the wiſer maxim, he muſt preſerve a very philoſo⯑phical indifference to all of them, and carefully reſtrain the pretenſions of the prevailing ſect; o⯑therwiſe he can expect nothing but endleſs diſ⯑putes, quarrels, factions, perſecutions, and civil commotions.

True religion, I allow, has no ſuch pernicious conſequences: but we muſt treat of religion, as it has commonly been found in the world; nor have I any thing to do with that ſpeculative tenet of Theiſm, which, as it is a ſpecies of philoſophy, muſt partake of the beneficial influence of that principle, and at the ſame time muſt lie under a like inconvenience, of being always confined to very few perſons.

[146] Oaths are requiſite in all courts of judicature; but it is a queſtion whether their authority ariſes from any popular religion. 'Tis the ſolemnity and importance of the occaſion, the regard to re⯑putation, and the reflecting on the general inter⯑eſts of ſociety, which are the chief reſtraints up⯑on mankind. Cuſtom-houſe oaths and political oaths are but little regarded even by ſome who pretend to principles of honeſty and religion: and a Quaker's aſſeveration is with us juſtly put upon the ſame footing with the oath of any other per⯑ſon. I know, that POLYBIUS^* aſcribes the in⯑famy of GREEK faith to the prevalency of the EPICUREAN philoſophy; but I know alſo, that PUNIC faith had as bad a reputation in ancient times, as IRISH evidence has in modern; though we cannot account for theſe vulgar obſervations by the ſame reaſon. Not to mention, that GREEK faith was infamous before the riſe of the EPICU⯑REAN philoſophy; and EURIPIDES^†, in a paſ⯑ſage which I ſhall point out to you, has glanced a remarkable ſtroke of ſatire againſt his nation, with regard to this circumſtance.

Take care, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, take care: puſh not matters too far: allow not your zeal againſt falſe religion to undermine your vene⯑ration for the true. Forfeit not this principle, the chief, the only great comfort in life; and our [147] principal ſupport amidſt all the attacks of adverſe fortune. The moſt agreeable reflection, which it is poſſible for human imagination to ſuggeſt, is that of genuine Theiſm, which repreſents us as the workmanſhip of a Being perfectly good, wiſe, and powerful; who created us for happineſs, and who, having implanted in us immeaſureable de⯑ſires of good, will prolong our exiſtence to all e⯑ternity, and will transfer us into an infinite varie⯑ty of ſcenes, in order to ſatisfy thoſe deſires, and render our felicity compleat and durable. Next to ſuch a Being himſelf (if the compariſon be al⯑lowed) the happieſt lot which we can imagine, is that of being under his guardianſhip and protec⯑tion.

Theſe appearances, ſaid PHILO, are moſt en⯑gaging and alluring; and with regard to the true philoſopher, they are more than appearances. But it happens here, as in the former caſe, that, with regard to the greater part of mankind, the ap⯑pearances are deceitful, and that the terrors of re⯑ligion commonly prevail above its comforts.

It is allowed, that men never have recourſe to devotion ſo readily as when dejected with grief or depreſſed with ſickneſs. Is not this a proof, that the religious ſpirit is not ſo nearly allied to joy as to ſorrow?

But men, when afflicted, find conſolation in re⯑ligion, replied CLEANTHES. Sometimes, ſaid PHILO: but it is natural to imagine, that they will form a notion of thoſe unknown beings, ſuit⯑ably [148] to the preſent gloom and melancholy of their temper, when they betake themſelves to the con⯑templation of them. Accordingly, we find the tremendous images to predominate in all reli⯑gions; and we ourſelves, after having employed the moſt exalted expreſſion in our deſcriptions of the Deity, fall into the flatteſt contradiction, in af⯑firming, that the damned are infinitely ſuperior in number to the elect.

I ſhall venture to affirm, that there never was a popular religion, which repreſented the ſtate of departed ſouls in ſuch a light, as would render it eligible for human kind, that there ſhould be ſuch a ſtate. Theſe fine models of religion are the mere product of philoſophy. For as death lies between the eye and the proſpect of futurity, that event is ſo ſhocking to Nature, that it muſt throw a gloom on all the regions, which lie beyond it; and ſuggeſt to the generality of mankind the idea of CERBERUS and furies; devils, and torrents of fire and brimſtone.

It is true; both fear and hope enter into reli⯑gion; becauſe both theſe paſſions, at different times, agitate the human mind, and each of them forms a ſpecies of divinity, ſuitable to itſelf. But when a man is in a chearful diſpoſition, he is fit for buſineſs or company or entertainment of any kind; and he naturally applies himſelf to theſe, and thinks not of religion. When melancholy, and dejected, he has nothing to do but brood up⯑on the terrors of the inviſible world, and to [149] plunge himſelf ſtill deeper in affliction. It may, indeed, happen, that after he has, in this manner, ingraved the religious opinions deep into his thought and imagination, there may arrive a change of health or circumſtances, which may reſtore his good humour, and raiſing chearful pro⯑ſpects of futurity, make him run into the other extreme of joy and triumph. But ſtill it muſt be acknowledged, that, as terror is the primary principle of religion, it is the paſſion, which al⯑ways predominates in it, and admits but of ſhort intervals of pleaſure.

Not to mention, that theſe fits of exceſſive, enthuſiaſtic joy, by exhauſting the ſpirits, always prepare the way for equal fits of ſuperſtitious ter⯑ror and dejection; nor is there any ſtate of mind ſo happy as the calm and equable. But this ſtate, it is impoſſible to ſupport, where a man thinks, that he lies, in ſuch profound darkneſs and un⯑certainty, between an eternity of happineſs and an eternity of miſery. No wonder, that ſuch an o⯑pinion disjoints the ordinary frame of the mind, and throws it into the utmoſt confuſion. And though that opinion is ſeldom ſo ſteady in its ope⯑ration as to influence all the actions; yet is it apt to make a conſiderable breach in the temper, and to produce that gloom and melancholy, ſo remark⯑able in all devout people.

It is contrary to common ſenſe to entertain ap⯑prehenſions or terrors, upon account of any opi⯑nion whatſoever, or to imagine that we run any [150] riſk hereafter, by the freeſt uſe of our reaſon. Such a ſentiment implies both an abſurdity and an inconſiſtency. It is an abſurdity to believe that the Deity has human paſſions, and one of the loweſt of human paſſions, a reſtleſs appetite for applauſe. It is an inconſiſtency to believe, that, ſince the Deity has this human paſſion, he has not others alſo; and in particular, a diſregard to the opi⯑nions of creatures, ſo much inferior.

To know God, ſays SENECA, is to worſhip him. All other worſhip is indeed abſurd, ſu⯑perſtitious, and even impious. It degrades him to the low condition of mankind, who are de⯑lighted with intreaty, ſolicitation, preſents, and ſlattery. Yet is this impiety the ſmalleſt of which ſuperſtition is guilty. Commonly, it depreſſes the Deity far below the condition of mankind; and repreſents him as a capricious daemon, who exerciſes his power without reaſon and without humanity! And were that divine Being diſpoſed to be offended at the vices and follies of ſilly mortals, who are his own workmanſhip; ill would it ſurely fare with the votaries of moſt popular ſuperſtitions. Nor would any of human race me⯑rit his favor, but a very few, the philoſophical Theiſts, who entertain, or rather indeed endea⯑vour to entertain, ſuitable notions of his divine perfections: As the only perſons, intitled to his compaſſion and indulgence, would be the philoſo⯑phical Sceptics, a ſect almoſt equally rare, who, from a natural diffidence of their own capacity, [151] ſuſpend, or endeavour to ſuſpend all judgement with regard to ſuch ſublime and ſuch extraordinary ſubjects.

If the whole of Natural Theology, as ſome people ſeem to maintain, reſolves itſelf into one ſimple, though ſomewhat ambiguous, at leaſt undefined propoſition, That the cauſe or cauſes of order in the univerſe probably bear ſome remote analogy to human intelligence: If this propoſition be not capable of extenſion, variation, or more particular explication: If it affords no inference that affects human life, or can be the ſource of any action or forbearance: And if the analogy, imperfect as it is, can be carried no farther than to the human intelligence; and cannot be transferred, with any appearance of probability, to the other qualities of the mind: If this really be the caſe, what can the moſt in⯑quiſitive, contemplative, and religious man do more than give a plain, philoſophical aſſent to the propoſition, as often as it occurs; and be⯑lieve that the arguments, on which it is eſtabliſh⯑ed, exceed the objections, which lie againſt it? Some aſtoniſhment indeed will naturally ariſe from the greatneſs of the object: Some melan⯑choly from its obſcurity: Some contempt of hu⯑man reaſon, that it can give no ſolution more ſatisfactory with regard to ſo extraordinary and magnificent a queſtion. But believe me, CLE⯑ANTHES, the moſt natural ſentiment, which a well-diſpoſed mind will feel on this occaſion, is [152] a longing deſire and expectation, that heaven would be pleaſed to diſſipate, at leaſt alleviate this profound ignorance, by affording ſome more particular revelation to mankind, and making diſ⯑coveries of the nature, attributes, and operations of the divine object of our faith. A perſon, ſea⯑ſoned with a juſt ſenſe of the imperfections of natural reaſon, will fly to revealed truth with the greateſt avidity: While the haughty Dogmatiſt, perſuaded, that he can erect a complete ſyſtem of Theology by the mere help of philoſophy, diſdains any farther aid, and rejects this adven⯑titious inſtructor. To be a philoſophical Sceptic is, in a man of letters, the firſt and moſt eſſen⯑tial ſtep towards being a ſound, believing Chri⯑ſtian; a propoſition, which I would willingly re⯑commend to the attention of PAMPHILUS: And I hope CLEANTHES will forgive me for interpo⯑ſing ſo far in the education and inſtruction of his pupil.

CLEANTHES and PHILO purſued not this con⯑verſation much farther; and as nothing ever made greater impreſſion on me, than all the rea⯑ſonings of that day; ſo, I confeſs, that, upon a ſerious review of the whole, I cannot but think, that PHILO's principles are more probable than DEMEA's; but that thoſe of CLEANTHES ap⯑proach ſtill nearer to the truth.