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 practised 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 expected of philosophical inquirers, 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 proceed, without interruption, to deduce the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer desires, by departing 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 company, by throwing in a variety of topics, and preserving a proper balance among the speakers, he often loses so much time in preparations and transitions, that the reader will scarcely think himself compensated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the order, brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them.

People have noted, my HERMIPPUS, that ancient philosophers presented most of their teaching through dialogue. Yet later writers have rarely used this form, and those who have tried it have seldom succeeded. Philosophical thinkers today are expected to offer precise, orderly arguments. Such arguments naturally lead a writer toward a systematic, instructional style. With this approach, the writer can immediately explain his aim, without any preparation. He can then proceed without interruption to work through the proofs supporting his point. Presenting a whole system of thought through conversation hardly seems natural. By avoiding a direct style, the dialogue writer hopes to make his work feel freer. He also hopes to avoid the appearance of an author addressing a reader. Yet he is likely to create something worse: the impression of a schoolmaster instructing a pupil. Or he may conduct the debate in the natural spirit of pleasant conversation. If he does so, he introduces various topics and gives the speakers a fair share of the conversation. But he often spends so much time setting things up and moving between topics that the reader hardly feels compensated. All the charms of dialogue scarcely make up for the order, brevity, and precision sacrificed 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 method of composition.

Some subjects, however, are especially well suited to writing in dialogue form. For these subjects, dialogue is still preferable to a direct, straightforward style of writing.

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 inculcated, 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 various personages and characters, may appear neither tedious nor redundant.

Some teachings are so obvious that they hardly allow for debate, yet so important that they cannot be repeated too often. Such teachings seem to call for an approach like this. A fresh way of presenting them may make up for the familiarity of the subject. Lively conversation may drive the lesson home. And the different perspectives offered by people with different characters may seem neither tedious nor repetitive.

Any question of philosophy, on the other hand, which is so OBSCURE and UNCERTAIN, that human reason can reach no fixed determination with regard 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 subject 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.

On the other hand, some philosophical questions are so OBSCURE and UNCERTAIN that human reason can reach no firm conclusion. If such questions are discussed at all, dialogue and conversation seem the natural form. Reasonable people may be allowed to disagree when no one can reasonably be certain. Opposing views offer pleasant entertainment, even when no conclusion is reached. And if the subject is intriguing and interesting, the book brings us, in a way, into company. It thus combines the two greatest and purest pleasures of human life: study and companionship.

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 acknowledged, 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 society, and the only principle which ought never to be a moment absent from our thoughts and meditations? 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 disputations of men; concerning these human reason has not reached any certain determination. But these are topics so interesting, that we cannot restrain our restless inquiry with regard to them; though nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction, have as yet been the result of our most accurate researches.

Fortunately, all these conditions are met in the subject of NATURAL RELIGION. What truth is so obvious or so certain as the existence of a God? Even the most ignorant ages have acknowledged God's existence. The most brilliant minds have eagerly sought to offer new proofs and arguments for it. What truth is so important as God's existence? It is the basis of all our hopes, the surest foundation of morality, and the strongest support of society. It is the one principle that should never, even for a moment, leave our thoughts and reflections. But when we examine this obvious and important truth, what difficult questions arise about the nature of that Divine Being? What questions arise about his attributes, his decrees, and his plan for governing the world? People have always debated these questions, and human reason has reached no certain conclusions about them. Yet these topics are so interesting that we cannot restrain our restless desire to investigate them. We keep searching, though even our most careful investigations have so far produced nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction.

This I had lately occasion to observe, while I passed, as usual, part of the summer season with CLEANTHES, and was present at those conversations of his with PHILO and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately some imperfect account. 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 characters still further 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 considerable part of them in the recital.

I recently had occasion to observe this while spending part of the summer with CLEANTHES, as I usually do. I was present during his conversations with PHILO and DEMEA, which I recently described to you in a somewhat incomplete account. You told me then that your curiosity was so stirred that I must give a more detailed account of their arguments. I must also explain the various systems of thought they proposed on so delicate a subject as natural religion. The striking contrast between their characters raised your expectations still further. You contrasted CLEANTHES’ precise philosophical thinking with PHILO’s casual skepticism. You also compared each man’s outlook with DEMEA’s strict, unbending orthodoxy. Because I was young, I only listened to their debates. And the curiosity natural to youth fixed the whole sequence of their arguments and their connections deeply in my memory. So I hope that, in recounting their arguments, I will neither leave out nor confuse any important part.