Part 12

After DEMEA's departure, CLEANTHES and PHILO continued the conversation in the following manner. Our friend, I am afraid, said CLEANTHES, will have little inclination to revive this topic of discourse, while you are in company; and to tell truth, PHILO, I should rather wish to reason with either of you apart on a subject 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.

After DEMEA left, CLEANTHES and PHILO continued their conversation as follows. I fear our friend will have little desire to discuss this topic again while you are present, said CLEANTHES. To be honest, PHILO, I would prefer to discuss such a profound and important subject with each of you separately. Your love of debate, combined with your hatred of common superstition, leads you to strange extremes when you argue. At such times, you spare nothing, however sacred and worthy of respect it may be, even in your own eyes.

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 conversation, 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 reason, 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 conviction 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 system is the maxim, That Nature acts by the simplest methods, and chooses the most proper means to any end; and astronomers often, without 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 directly profess that intention.

I must admit, replied PHILO, that I speak less cautiously about Natural Religion than about any other subject. One reason is that I know I can never undermine the principles of anyone with common sense on this subject. Another is my confidence that anyone who considers me a man of common sense will never misunderstand my intentions. You, in particular, CLEANTHES, know me through our close and open friendship. You know how freely I speak and how much I enjoy unusual arguments. Yet no one feels religion more deeply or worships the Divine Being more profoundly than I do. I worship him as he reveals himself to reason through nature’s inexplicably intricate workings. Purpose, intention, and design are apparent everywhere, even to the most careless and stupid thinker. No one can be so committed to absurd systems of thought as to reject design at all times. Every school of thought accepts the principle that Nature does nothing in vain. This principle comes simply from observing Nature’s works, without any religious purpose. An anatomist firmly convinced of its truth would never rest after discovering a new organ or channel in the body. The anatomist would keep searching until its use and purpose had also been discovered. One major foundation of the Copernican system is the principle that Nature uses the simplest methods. According to this principle, Nature also chooses the most suitable means for any end. So astronomers often lay this strong foundation for devotion and religion without realizing it. The same happens in other branches of philosophy. Thus, almost all the sciences lead us, without our noticing, to acknowledge an original intelligent Creator. Their authority is often all the greater because they do not openly set out to establish this conclusion.

It is with pleasure I hear GALEN reason concerning the structure of the human body. The anatomy of a man, says he [De formatione foetus], discovers above 600 different muscles; and whoever duly considers these, will find, that, in each of them, Nature must have adjusted at least ten different circumstances, 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, above forty. What a prodigious display of artifice, 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 astonishment rise upon us, in proportion to the number and intricacy of the parts so artificially adjusted! The further we advance in these researches, we discover new scenes of art and wisdom: But descry still, at a distance, further scenes beyond our reach; in the fine internal structure of the parts, in the economy of the brain, in the fabric of the seminal vessels. All these artifices are repeated in every different species 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 withstand such striking appearances, to what pitch of pertinacious obstinacy must a philosopher in this age have attained, who can now doubt of a Supreme Intelligence!

I enjoy hearing GALEN reason about the structure of the human body. Human anatomy, he says [De formatione foetus], reveals more than 600 different muscles. Anyone who carefully considers these muscles will find that Nature must have adjusted at least ten features in each muscle. These adjustments were needed to achieve her intended purpose. They include the proper shape, the right size, and the correct arrangement of the muscle’s ends. They also include its overall position, above and below, and the proper attachment of nerves, veins, and arteries. So, in the muscles alone, more than 6,000 distinct plans and purposes must have been conceived and carried out. He calculates that there are 284 bones, with more than forty distinct purposes served by the structure of each. What an extraordinary display of skill, even in these simple parts, each made of uniform material! But consider the skin, ligaments, vessels, glands, bodily fluids, and the various limbs and other parts of the body. How much greater must our astonishment grow with the number and complexity of the parts so skillfully arranged! The further we pursue these studies, the more examples of skill and wisdom we discover. But we still glimpse further examples beyond our reach. These lie in the delicate internal structure of the parts, the organization of the brain, and the construction of the seminal vessels. All these skillful arrangements are repeated in every different animal species, with wonderful variety and precise fitness. They suit Nature’s different purposes in forming each species. Even GALEN’s unbelief could not withstand such striking evidence, although these natural sciences were still incomplete. If so, how stubbornly must a philosopher today cling to doubt about 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 discover 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 economy of things; render many of his artifices so plain, that no stupidity could mistake them; afford glimpses of still greater artifices, which demonstrate his prodigious superiority above our narrow apprehensions; and conceal altogether a great many from such imperfect creatures? Now, according 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 themselves, very numerous or forcible: How much more, in the present case, where no human imagination can compute their number, and no understanding estimate their cogency!

If I met anyone of this kind (who, thank God, are very rare), I would ask him: Suppose there were a God who did not reveal himself directly to our senses. Could he give stronger evidence of his existence than we see throughout Nature? Indeed, what could such a Divine Being do except reproduce the present arrangement of things? He could make many of his designs so clear that no amount of stupidity could mistake them. He could offer glimpses of still greater designs, showing how far his abilities exceed our limited understanding. And he could hide many other designs entirely from creatures as imperfect as we are. Now, by all the rules of sound reasoning, a fact must be accepted as undisputed when every possible argument supports it. That holds even when the arguments the fact allows are neither very numerous nor very strong. How much more must we accept the fact in this case! Here, no human imagination can count the arguments, and no understanding can measure their force!

I shall further 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 experience in the world. The comparison of the 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 apprehensions, and procure universal approbation. Whoever attempts to weaken this theory, cannot 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 difficulties; 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 system, human nature, from the force of prejudice, is capable of adhering to with obstinacy and perseverance: But no system at all, in opposition to a theory supported by strong and obvious reason, by natural propensity, and by early education, I think it absolutely impossible to maintain or defend.

I would add to your excellent arguments, said CLEANTHES, that one great advantage of Theism is its account of the universe’s origin. It is the only such account that can be made understandable and complete. Yet throughout, it can closely resemble what we see and experience every day. Comparing the universe to a human-made machine is obvious and natural. So many examples of order and design in Nature support the comparison. It must therefore immediately strike every unprejudiced mind and win universal approval. Anyone trying to weaken this theory cannot hope to succeed by replacing it with another precise, definite theory. Raising doubts and difficulties is enough for such a critic. Through distant, abstract ways of viewing things, the critic may reach a state of suspended judgment. That is the most the critic hopes to achieve. But this state of mind is unsatisfying in itself. Nor can anyone steadily maintain such uncertainty against the striking appearances that continually draw us toward the religious explanation. The force of prejudice can make human beings cling stubbornly and persistently to a false, absurd system. But I think maintaining or defending no system at all is absolutely impossible against a theory with such support. That theory is supported by strong, obvious reasoning, by our natural inclinations, and by our early education.

So little, replied PHILO, do I esteem this suspense of judgement in the present case to be possible, that I am apt to suspect there enters somewhat 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 argue at all concerning them, that their causes have a proportional analogy. But as there are also considerable differences, we have reason to suppose 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 question, 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 controversy? No man can deny the analogies between the effects: To restrain ourselves from inquiring concerning the causes is scarcely possible. From this inquiry, 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 expression; what can we call him but MIND or THOUGHT, to which he is justly supposed to bear a considerable resemblance?

I find it so hard to believe that we can suspend judgment in this case, replied PHILO, that I suspect something. This controversy may be more of a dispute over words than people usually imagine. The works of Nature clearly bear a strong resemblance to things made by human skill. By all the rules of sound reasoning, if we reason about these works at all, we should draw a conclusion. Their causes must resemble each other to a corresponding degree. But there are also considerable differences between these works, so we have reason to expect corresponding differences between their causes. In particular, we should attribute far greater power and energy to the supreme cause than we have ever observed in humans. Here, then, reason clearly establishes the existence of a DEITY. Given these similarities, can we properly call him a mind or intelligence? We may reasonably suppose a vast difference between him and human minds. But despite that difference, isn't the question of what to call him merely a dispute over words? No one can deny the similarities between the effects. We can hardly stop ourselves from investigating their causes. The sound conclusion from this investigation is that the causes also resemble each other. Suppose we are not satisfied with calling the first and supreme cause a GOD or DEITY, and want another expression. What can we call him but MIND or THOUGHT, which he is rightly supposed to resemble considerably?

All men of sound reason are disgusted with verbal disputes, which abound so much in philosophical and theological inquiries; 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 are employed. But there is a species of controversy, which, from the very nature of language and of human ideas, is involved in perpetual ambiguity, and can never, by any precaution or any definitions, be able to reach a reasonable certainty or precision. These are the controversies concerning the degrees of any quality or circumstance. Men may argue to all eternity, whether HANNIBAL be a great, or a very great, or a superlatively great man, what degree of beauty CLEOPATRA possessed, what epithet of praise LIVY or THUCYDIDES is entitled to, without bringing the controversy to any determination. The disputants 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 other's meaning: Because the degrees of these qualities are not, like quantity or number, susceptible of any exact mensuration, which may be the standard in the controversy. That the dispute concerning Theism is of this nature, and consequently is merely verbal, or perhaps, if possible, still more incurably ambiguous, will appear upon the slightest inquiry. 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 affirmative, and the more will he be disposed to magnify the difference: He will even assert, that the difference is of a nature which cannot be too much magnified. I next turn to the Atheist, who, I assert, is only nominally so, and can never possibly be in earnest; and I ask him, whether, from the coherence and apparent sympathy in all the parts of this world, there be not a certain 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. Having obtained this concession, I push him still further 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 economy of human mind and thought. However reluctant, he must give his assent. Where then, cry I to both these antagonists, is the subject of your dispute? The Theist allows, that the original intelligence is very different from human reason: The Atheist allows, that the original principle of order bears some remote analogy to it. Will you quarrel, Gentlemen, about the degrees, and enter into a controversy, which admits not of any precise meaning, nor consequently of any determination? If you should be so obstinate, I should not be surprised to find you insensibly change sides; 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, magnifies the analogy among all the operations of Nature, in every period, every situation, and every position. Consider then, where the real point of controversy lies; and if you cannot lay aside your disputes, endeavour, at least, to cure yourselves of your animosity.

All people of sound reason are disgusted by disputes over words, so common in philosophical and theological inquiries. The only remedy is to define terms clearly, make the ideas in each argument precise, and use terms consistently. But one kind of controversy remains endlessly ambiguous because of the very nature of language and human ideas. No precautions or definitions can give such controversies reasonable certainty or precision. These are disputes about the degree of some quality or circumstance. People may argue forever about whether HANNIBAL was a great, a very great, or a supremely great man. They may debate how beautiful CLEOPATRA was, or what words of praise LIVY or THUCYDIDES deserves, without ever settling anything. The disputants may agree in meaning but differ in words, or agree in words but differ in meaning. Yet they may never manage to define their terms so that each understands the other's meaning. Unlike quantities or numbers, degrees of these qualities cannot be measured exactly to provide a standard for settling the dispute. Even the slightest inquiry will show that the dispute about Theism is of this kind, and therefore merely verbal. Or perhaps, if possible, the dispute is even more incurably ambiguous. I ask the Theist whether he admits a vast, immeasurable difference between the human and divine minds. The difference is immeasurable because it is beyond our understanding. The more devout he is, the more readily he will agree, and the more he will magnify the difference. He will even claim that the difference cannot be exaggerated. I next turn to the Atheist, who, I maintain, is an atheist in name only and cannot possibly be sincere. I ask whether the world's interconnected parts and their apparent harmony suggest some resemblance among all of Nature's operations. Does that resemblance not extend to every setting and every age? Do a rotting turnip, an animal's reproduction, and the workings of human thought not probably bear some distant resemblance? He cannot possibly deny this resemblance. He will readily acknowledge it. Having gained this concession, I press him further as he retreats. I ask about the principle that first gave this universe order and still maintains that order. Is it not probable that this principle also bears some distant, inconceivable resemblance to Nature's other operations? And does that resemblance not extend to the workings of the human mind and thought? However reluctant he may be, he must agree. Where, then, I ask both opponents, is the point of your dispute? The Theist admits that the original intelligence is very different from human reason. The Atheist admits that the original principle of order bears some distant resemblance to human reason. Will you quarrel, gentlemen, over degrees? Will you enter a controversy that can have no precise meaning and therefore no definite resolution? If you remain so stubborn, I would not be surprised to find you gradually changing sides without noticing. On one side, the Theist exaggerates the difference between the Supreme Being and frail, imperfect, changeable, short-lived, mortal creatures. On the other, the Atheist magnifies the resemblance among all of Nature's operations, in every age, setting, and position. Consider, then, where the real point of disagreement lies. And if you cannot put aside your disputes, at least try to rid yourselves of your hostility.

And here I must also acknowledge, CLEANTHES, that as the works of Nature have a much greater analogy to the effects of our art and contrivance, 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 men, 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 furthest from the supreme standard of rectitude and perfection.

And here I must also admit something, CLEANTHES. Nature’s works resemble the products of our skill and planning far more than the results of our kindness and justice. So we have reason to infer that the Deity’s natural abilities resemble human abilities more closely than his moral qualities resemble human virtues. But what follows? Only that human moral qualities fall further short of perfection than human natural abilities do. For the Supreme Being is accepted as absolutely and entirely perfect. So whatever differs most from him falls furthest short of the highest standard of goodness and perfection.

It seems evident that the dispute between the Skeptics and Dogmatists is entirely verbal, or at least regards only the degrees of doubt and assurance which we ought to indulge with regard to all reasoning; and such disputes are commonly, at the bottom, verbal, and admit not of any precise determination. No philosophical Dogmatist denies that there are difficulties both with regard to the senses and to all science, and that these difficulties are in a regular, logical method, absolutely insolvable. No Skeptic denies that we lie under an absolute necessity, notwithstanding these difficulties, of thinking, and believing, and reasoning, with regard to all kinds of subjects, and even of frequently assenting with confidence and security. The only difference, then, between these sects, if they merit that name, is, that the Sceptic, from habit, caprice, or inclination, insists most on the difficulties; the Dogmatist, for like reasons, on the necessity.

The dispute between the Skeptics and Dogmatists seems clearly to be entirely about words. Or at least, it concerns only how much doubt and confidence we should allow ourselves in all reasoning. Such disputes are usually, at bottom, about words and cannot be settled precisely. No philosophical Dogmatist denies that both our senses and all branches of knowledge present difficulties. Nor does any Dogmatist deny that systematic, logical methods are utterly unable to resolve these difficulties. No Skeptic denies that, despite these difficulties, we have no choice but to think, believe, and reason about all kinds of subjects. We must even frequently accept conclusions with confidence and certainty. So there is only one difference between these schools, if they deserve that name. Through habit, whim, or preference, the Skeptic places the greatest emphasis on the difficulties. For similar reasons, the Dogmatist places the greatest emphasis on the necessity.

These, CLEANTHES, are my unfeigned sentiments on this subject; and these sentiments, you know, I have ever cherished and maintained. But in proportion to my veneration for true religion, 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 aversion to the latter above the former, are commonly equally guilty of both.

These, CLEANTHES, are my sincere feelings on this subject. As you know, I have always held and defended these views. But the more I revere true religion, the more I detest common superstitions. I confess that I take particular pleasure in pushing such principles sometimes into absurdity, sometimes into impiety. And you know that all bigots, though they hate impiety far more than absurdity, are usually equally guilty of both.

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

I admit, replied CLEANTHES, that I lean the other way. Religion, however corrupted, is still better than no religion at all. Belief in an afterlife is such a strong and necessary safeguard for morality that we should never abandon or neglect it. For we see every day how strongly limited, temporary rewards and punishments affect people. If so, how much greater an effect should we expect from infinite and eternal rewards and punishments?

How happens it then, said PHILO, if vulgar superstition be so salutary to society, that all history abounds so much with accounts of its pernicious consequences on public affairs? Factions, civil wars, persecutions, subversions of government, 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.

How, then, said PHILO, if popular superstition is so beneficial to society, is all history so full of accounts of its harmful effects on public affairs? Factions, civil wars, persecution, the overthrow of governments, oppression, slavery: these are the grim consequences of superstition. They always follow when superstition dominates people’s minds. If religious fervor is ever mentioned in a historical account, we are sure to find descriptions of the resulting miseries. And no periods can be happier or more prosperous than those when religious fervor is neither noticed nor heard of.

The reason of this observation, replied CLEANTHES, is obvious. The proper office of religion is to regulate the heart of men, humanise 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 principle over men, it has departed from its proper sphere, and has become only a cover to faction and ambition.

The reason for this observation, replied CLEANTHES, is obvious. Religion’s proper role is to guide people’s hearts, make their behavior more humane, and encourage moderation, order, and obedience. Religion works quietly and only reinforces the motives of morality and justice. Because of this, its influence risks being overlooked and mistaken for those other motives. When religion stands out and acts as a separate force guiding people, it has stepped outside its proper role. It has become nothing more than a cover for political division and ambition.

And so will all religion, said PHILO, except the philosophical and rational kind. Your reasonings are more easily eluded than my facts. The inference is not just, because finite and temporary rewards and punishments have so great influence, that therefore such as are infinite and eternal must have so much greater. Consider, I beseech you, the attachment which we have to present things, and the little concern which we discover for objects so remote and uncertain. When divines are declaiming against the common behaviour and conduct of the world, they always represent this principle as the strongest imaginable (which indeed it is); and describe almost all human kind as lying under the influence of it, and sunk into the deepest lethargy and unconcern about their religious interests. Yet these same divines, when they refute their speculative antagonists, 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 honesty and benevolence has more effect on men's conduct, than the most pompous views suggested by theological theories and systems. A man's natural inclination works incessantly upon him; it is for ever present to the mind, and mingles itself with every view and consideration: whereas religious motives, where they act at all, operate only by starts and bounds; and it is scarcely possible for them to become altogether habitual to the mind. The force of the greatest gravity, say the philosophers, is infinitely small, in comparison 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.

And so will all religion, said PHILO, except the philosophical and rational kind. Your arguments are easier to evade than my facts. Limited, temporary rewards and punishments have a great influence. But we cannot therefore conclude that infinite, eternal ones must have a much greater influence. Consider, I beg you, our attachment to things in the present. Consider how little we care about things so distant and uncertain. When religious teachers denounce the world's ordinary behavior, they always describe this attachment as the strongest force imaginable. And indeed it is. They describe almost all humanity as being under its influence, sunk in utter apathy and indifference toward their religious interests. Yet these same teachers take a different position when answering their theoretical opponents. They assume that religious motives are so powerful that civil society could not survive without them. Nor are they ashamed of such an obvious contradiction. Experience makes one thing certain. The smallest grain of natural honesty and kindness affects people's conduct more than the grandest visions offered by theological theories and systems. A person's natural inclinations work constantly. They are always present in the mind and enter into every thought and consideration. Religious motives, by contrast, act only in fits and starts, where they act at all. It is hardly possible for religious motives to become fully habitual in the mind. The greatest gravitational force, philosophers say, is infinitely small compared with the slightest push. Yet the smallest gravitational force will certainly overcome a powerful push in the end. For no strokes or blows can be repeated as constantly as attraction and gravity act.

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 regard 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 effect upon several, who pass for prudent, than to put them on their guard, lest they be cheated and deceived by him?

Personal desire has another advantage: it enlists all the mind’s wit and ingenuity on its side. When desire conflicts with religious principles, it tries every method and trick to evade them. In this, desire almost always succeeds. Who can explain the human heart? Who can account for the strange justifications and excuses people use to satisfy their consciences when following their desires against their religious duty? The world understands this well. Only fools trust someone less because they hear that study and philosophy have led him to some theoretical doubts about theology. And what happens when we deal with someone who makes a great show of religion and devotion? For several people considered prudent, does this show do anything but put them on guard against being cheated and deceived by him?

We must further consider, that philosophers, who cultivate reason and reflection, stand less in need of such motives to keep them under the restraint 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 pleased with nothing but virtue in human behaviour. The recommendations to the Divinity are generally supposed to be either frivolous observances, or rapturous ecstasies, or a bigoted credulity. We need not run back into antiquity, or wander into remote regions, to find instances of this degeneracy. Amongst ourselves, some have been guilty of that atrociousness, unknown to the Egyptian and Grecian superstitions, of declaiming in express terms, against morality; and representing it as a sure forfeiture of the Divine favour, if the least trust or reliance be laid upon it.

We must also consider that philosophers, who cultivate reason and reflection, have less need for such motives to remain moral. Ordinary people, who alone may need these motives, are utterly incapable of so pure a religion. Such a religion presents the Deity as pleased by nothing in human behavior except virtue. People generally suppose that divine favor is won through trivial rituals, ecstatic raptures, or blindly accepting beliefs out of bigotry. We need not look back to ancient times or travel to distant lands to find examples of this corruption. Even among ourselves, some have committed an outrage unknown in Egyptian and Grecian superstitions: openly speaking out against morality. They claim that people are certain to lose divine favor if they place even the slightest trust in moral conduct.

But even though superstition or enthusiasm should not put itself in direct opposition to morality; the very diverting of the attention, the raising up a new and frivolous species of merit, the preposterous distribution which it makes of praise and blame, must have the most pernicious consequences, and weaken extremely men's attachment to the natural motives of justice and humanity.

But even if superstition or religious fanaticism does not directly oppose morality, it still diverts people's attention. It creates a new and trivial kind of merit and assigns praise and blame absurdly. These effects must have deeply harmful consequences and greatly weaken people's commitment to the natural motives for justice and humanity.

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 roused 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 degrees contracted; and fraud and falsehood become the predominant principle. Hence the reason of that vulgar observation, that the highest zeal in religion and the deepest hypocrisy, so far from being inconsistent, are often or commonly united in the same individual character.

Such a motive for action is also unlike the familiar motives of human behavior, so it influences people only intermittently. It must be stirred up through constant effort so that the religious zealot feels satisfied with his own conduct. That effort is also needed to make him carry out his religious duties. Many religious practices are performed with apparent enthusiasm, even when the heart feels cold and listless. Gradually, a habit of pretending develops, and deceit and dishonesty become the dominant motive. This explains the common observation that the greatest religious zeal and the deepest hypocrisy are far from incompatible. They are often, or even commonly, found together in the same person.

The bad effects of such habits, even in common life, are easily imagined; but where the interests of religion are concerned, no morality can be forcible enough to bind the enthusiastic zealot. The sacredness of the cause sanctifies every measure which can be made use of to promote it.

The harmful effects of such habits are easy to imagine, even in everyday life. But when religious interests are at stake, no moral rule is strong enough to restrain a religious fanatic. The holiness of the cause makes every means of advancing it seem holy too.

The steady attention alone to so important an interest as that of eternal salvation, is apt to extinguish the benevolent affections, and beget a narrow, contracted selfishness. And when such a temper is encouraged, it easily eludes all the general precepts of charity and benevolence.

Simply focusing constantly on something as important as eternal salvation tends to extinguish feelings of kindness. Such constant attention also tends to breed a narrow, inward-looking selfishness. And when this attitude is encouraged, it easily evades all general rules of charity and kindness.

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

So the motives inspired by common superstition have little influence on behavior in general. Nor do these motives promote morality when they dominate.

Is there any maxim in politics more certain and infallible, than that both the number and authority of priests should be confined within very narrow 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 always 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 greater benevolence and moderation, from persons who are set apart for religion, who are continually 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 magistrate can propose with regard to popular religions, is, as far as possible, to make a saving game of it, and to prevent their pernicious consequences with regard to society? Every expedient which he tries for so humble a purpose is surrounded with inconveniences. If he admits only one religion among his subjects, he must sacrifice, to an uncertain prospect of tranquillity, every consideration of public liberty, science, reason, industry, and even his own independency. If he gives indulgence to several sects, which is the wiser maxim, he must preserve a very philosophical indifference to all of them, and carefully restrain the pretensions of the prevailing sect; otherwise he can expect nothing but endless disputes, quarrels, factions, persecutions, and civil commotions.

Is any rule in politics more certain and infallible than this: priests must be strictly limited in number and authority? And must not civil rulers always keep the instruments of state power out of such dangerous hands? But if the spirit of popular religion were so beneficial to society, the opposite rule should prevail. More priests, with greater authority and wealth, will always strengthen the religious spirit. And although priests direct this spirit, why should we not expect them to lead holier lives? Why should we not expect greater kindness and moderation from people set apart for religion? They constantly teach religion to others and must absorb a greater share of its spirit themselves. Why, then, is limiting the damage the most a wise ruler can hope to achieve with popular religions? Why can he aim only to prevent, as far as possible, their harmful effects on society? Every measure he tries for so modest a purpose comes with drawbacks. If he allows only one religion among his subjects, he must sacrifice public liberty, science, reason, and industry. He must even sacrifice his own independence, all for an uncertain prospect of peace. If he tolerates several sects, which is the wiser policy, he must remain philosophically indifferent to them all. He must also carefully restrain the dominant sect's claims to authority. Otherwise, he can expect nothing but endless disputes, quarrels, factions, persecutions, and civil unrest.

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.

True religion, I admit, has no such harmful consequences. But we must discuss religion as it has commonly existed in the world. I am not concerned here with the theoretical belief called Theism. As a form of philosophy, Theism must share philosophy’s beneficial influence. At the same time, Theism must share philosophy’s disadvantage of always being limited to very few people.

Oaths are requisite in all courts of judicature; but it is a question whether their authority arises from any popular religion. It is the solemnity and importance of the occasion, the regard to reputation, and the reflecting on the general interests of society, which are the chief restraints upon 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 person. I know, that POLYBIUS [Lib. vi. cap. 54.] ascribes the infamy 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 Epicurean philosophy; and EURIPIDES [Iphigenia in Tauride], in a passage which I shall point out to you, has glanced a remarkable stroke of satire against his nation, with regard to this circumstance.

Oaths are required in all courts of law. But whether their authority comes from any popular religion is open to question. The main restraints on people are the seriousness and importance of the occasion, concern for reputation, and society’s general interests. Even some who claim to uphold honesty and religion pay little attention to customs oaths and political oaths. And we rightly give a Quaker’s solemn affirmation the same standing as anyone else’s oath. I know that POLYBIUS [Lib. vi. cap. 54.] blames the notorious untrustworthiness of GREEK promises on the spread of EPICUREAN philosophy. But I also know that Punic promises had as bad a reputation in ancient times as Irish testimony does today. Yet we cannot explain these common judgments by the same cause. Besides, Greek promises were notorious for unreliability before Epicurean philosophy arose. And EURIPIDES [Iphigenia in Tauride] sharply satirized his own nation on this point in a passage I will show you.

Take care, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, take care: push not matters too far: allow not your zeal against false religion to undermine your veneration for the true. Forfeit not this principle, the chief, the only great comfort in life; and our 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 immeasurable desires of good, will prolong our existence to all eternity, and will transfer us into an infinite variety of scenes, in order to satisfy those desires, and render our felicity complete and durable. Next to such a Being himself (if the comparison be allowed), the happiest lot which we can imagine, is that of being under his guardianship and protection.

Be careful, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, be careful. Do not push things too far. Do not let your zeal against false religion undermine your reverence for true religion. Do not give up this belief, life's chief comfort, its only great comfort. It is also our main support through all the blows of misfortune. Nothing the human imagination can suggest is more comforting than the thought offered by genuine Theism. This belief presents us as the work of a perfectly good, wise, and powerful Being who created us for happiness. He has given us boundless desires for good and will keep us alive for all eternity. He will take us through an infinite variety of experiences to satisfy those desires and make our happiness complete and lasting. Apart from being such a Being himself, the happiest fate we can imagine is to be under his care and protection. That comparison is offered only if such a comparison may be allowed.

These appearances, said PHILO, are most engaging 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 appearances are deceitful, and that the terrors of religion commonly prevail above its comforts.

These appearances, said PHILO, are very appealing and attractive. For the true philosopher, they are more than appearances. But here, as in the earlier case, appearances are misleading for most people. The terrors of religion usually outweigh 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?

Everyone agrees that people turn to devotion most readily when weighed down by grief or illness. Doesn't this show that the religious spirit is more closely tied to sorrow than to joy?

But men, when afflicted, find consolation in religion, replied CLEANTHES. Sometimes, said PHILO: but it is natural to imagine, that they will form a notion of those unknown beings, suitably to the present gloom and melancholy of their temper, when they betake themselves to the contemplation of them. Accordingly, we find the tremendous images to predominate in all religions; and we ourselves, after having employed the most exalted expression in our descriptions of the Deity, fall into the flattest contradiction in affirming that the damned are infinitely superior in number to the elect.

But people find comfort in religion when they suffer, replied CLEANTHES. Sometimes, said PHILO. But we would naturally expect people’s ideas about those unknown beings to reflect their gloomy, melancholy mood when contemplating them. Accordingly, we find that terrifying images dominate all religions. And we ourselves, after describing the Deity in the most exalted terms, fall into the most blatant contradiction. We claim that those condemned to damnation infinitely outnumber those chosen for salvation.

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.

I will venture to say that no popular religion has ever presented the afterlife as something humanity would want to exist. Such appealing models of religion come from philosophy alone. For death stands between us and our view of the future beyond it. Death is so shocking to human nature that it must cast a gloom over everything beyond it. And so, for most people, death must bring to mind CERBERUS and FURIES, devils, and torrents of fire and brimstone.

It is true, both fear and hope enter into religion; 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 cheerful 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 upon the terrors of the invisible world, and to plunge himself still deeper in affliction. It may indeed happen, that after he has, in this manner, engraved 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 cheerful prospects 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 always predominates in it, and admits but of short intervals of pleasure.

It is true that both fear and hope play a part in religion. Both emotions stir the human mind at different times, and each creates a kind of god suited to itself. But when a man is cheerful, he is ready for work, company, or entertainment of any kind. He naturally turns to these activities and gives no thought to religion. When gloomy and dejected, he has nothing to do but brood over the terrors of the unseen world. In doing so, he sinks still deeper into misery. He may, in this way, impress religious beliefs deeply on his mind and imagination. Afterward, a change in his health or circumstances may restore his good spirits. By giving him cheerful hopes for the future, the change may carry him to the opposite extreme of joy and triumph. But we must still acknowledge that terror is the main source of religion. Terror therefore always remains its dominant emotion, allowing only brief 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 terror 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 uncertainty, between an eternity of happiness and an eternity of misery. No wonder that such an opinion disjoints the ordinary frame of the mind, and throws it into the utmost confusion. And though that opinion is seldom so steady in its operation as to influence all the actions; yet it is apt to make a considerable breach in the temper, and to produce that gloom and melancholy so remarkable in all devout people.

Not to mention that fits of excessive religious joy drain our energy, always preparing the way for equally intense fits of superstitious terror and despair. And no state of mind is happier than a calm and steady one. But no one can maintain such calm while feeling lost in profound darkness and uncertainty between eternal happiness and eternal misery. No wonder such a belief disrupts the mind’s normal balance and throws it into utter confusion. And although this belief seldom works consistently enough to influence every action, it tends to seriously disturb a person’s temperament. It also tends to produce the gloom and melancholy so noticeable in all devout people.

It is contrary to common sense to entertain apprehensions or terrors upon account of any opinion whatsoever, or to imagine that we run any 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 opinions of creatures so much inferior.

Fearing or dreading any opinion at all goes against common sense. So does imagining that using our reason as freely as possible puts us at any risk in the afterlife. Such a belief is both absurd and inconsistent. It is absurd to believe that the Deity has human passions, especially one of the lowest: a restless hunger for praise. It is also inconsistent to believe that, since the Deity has this human passion, he lacks other human passions. In particular, why would he lack indifference to the opinions of creatures so far beneath him?

To know God, says SENECA, is to worship him. All other worship is indeed absurd, superstitious, and even impious. It degrades him to the low condition of mankind, who are delighted with entreaty, solicitation, presents, and flattery. 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 DEMON, 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 merit his favour, but a very few, the philosophical Theists, who entertain, or rather indeed endeavour to entertain, suitable notions of his Divine perfections: As the only persons entitled to his compassion and indulgence would be the philosophical Sceptics, a sect almost equally rare, who, from a natural diffidence of their own capacity, suspend, or endeavour to suspend, all judgement with regard to such sublime and such extraordinary subjects.

To know God, says SENECA, is to worship him. All other worship is indeed absurd, superstitious, and even irreverent. Such worship lowers God to the level of human beings, who delight in pleas, requests, gifts, and flattery. Yet this irreverence is the least of superstition’s offenses. Usually, superstition lowers the Deity far below human beings. It portrays him as an unpredictable DEMON, who uses his power without reason or compassion! And if that Divine Being took offense at the vices and follies of foolish mortals, his own creations, what then? Surely the followers of most popular superstitions would fare badly. Nor would any human beings deserve his favor except a very few, the philosophical Theists. They hold ideas worthy of his divine perfections, or rather, they try to hold such ideas. Likewise, the only people entitled to his compassion and leniency would be the philosophical Sceptics, an almost equally rare group. Their natural distrust of their own abilities leads them to withhold all judgment on such lofty and extraordinary subjects. Or rather, they try to withhold all judgment.

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 further 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 inquisitive, contemplative, and religious man do more than give a plain, philosophical assent to the proposition, as often as it occurs, and believe that the arguments on which it is established exceed the objections which lie against it? Some astonishment, indeed, will naturally arise from the greatness of the object; some melancholy from its obscurity; some contempt of human reason, that it can give no solution more satisfactory with regard to so extraordinary and magnificent a question. But believe me, CLEANTHES, the most natural sentiment which a well-disposed mind will feel on this occasion, is 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 discoveries of the nature, attributes, and operations of the Divine object of our faith. A person, seasoned 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 further aid, and rejects this adventitious instructor. To be a philosophical Sceptic is, in a man of letters, the first and most essential step towards being a sound, believing Christian; a proposition which I would willingly recommend to the attention of PAMPHILUS: And I hope CLEANTHES will forgive me for interposing so far in the education and instruction of his pupil.

Suppose all of Natural Theology comes down to one simple claim, as some people seem to maintain. The claim is somewhat ambiguous, or at least undefined: the cause or causes of order in the universe probably bear some distant resemblance to human intelligence. Suppose this claim cannot be extended, varied, or explained in greater detail. Suppose no conclusion drawn from this claim affects human life or gives anyone a reason to act or refrain from acting. And suppose this imperfect resemblance extends only to human intelligence. It cannot, with any apparent probability, extend to the mind’s other qualities. If all this is true, what more can even the most inquisitive, thoughtful, and religious person do? Such a person can simply accept the claim on philosophical grounds whenever it comes to mind. They can believe that the arguments supporting the claim outweigh the objections against it. Some amazement will naturally arise from the greatness of the subject, and some sadness from its obscurity. There will also be some contempt for human reason. Reason can offer no more satisfying answer to such an extraordinary and magnificent question. But believe me, CLEANTHES, a person with the right disposition will most naturally feel a longing and hopeful expectation. They will hope that Heaven might be pleased to dispel, or at least lessen, this profound ignorance. They will hope for a more detailed revelation to humanity about the divine being in whom we place our faith. Such a revelation would disclose more about that being’s nature, attributes, and actions. Anyone with a proper awareness of natural reason’s shortcomings will turn eagerly to revealed truth. By contrast, the arrogant Dogmatist believes he can build a complete system of Theology through philosophy alone. He scorns any further help and rejects revelation as an outside teacher. For a learned person, philosophical skepticism is the first and most essential step toward becoming a sound, believing Christian. I would gladly recommend this claim to PAMPHILUS’s attention. And I hope CLEANTHES will forgive me for intervening so far in his pupil’s education and instruction.

CLEANTHES and PHILO pursued not this conversation much further: and as nothing ever made greater impression on me, than all the reasonings 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 approach still nearer to the truth.

CLEANTHES and PHILO did not continue this conversation much further. Nothing has ever made a greater impression on me than all the arguments presented that day. So, after carefully reviewing the whole discussion, I confess I cannot help thinking that PHILO’s principles are more likely to be true than DEMEA’s. But CLEANTHES’ principles come even closer to the truth.