Part 3

How the most absurd argument, replied CLEANTHES, in the hands of a man of ingenuity and invention, may acquire an air of probability! Are you not aware, PHILO, that it became necessary for Copernicus and his first disciples to prove the similarity of the terrestrial and celestial matter; because several philosophers, blinded 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 than the abstruse cavils of those philosophers who denied motion; and ought to be refuted in the same manner, by illustrations, examples, and instances, rather than by serious argument and philosophy.

How even the most absurd argument can sound plausible in the hands of a clever, inventive man, replied CLEANTHES! Are you not aware, PHILO, why Copernicus and his first followers had to prove that earthly and heavenly matter were alike? Some philosophers had denied the similarity, blinded by old theories and supported by some appearances available to the senses. But Theists have no need to prove that Nature’s works resemble human creations. The resemblance is obvious and undeniable. The same matter, a similar form: what more is needed to show a similarity between their causes? What more is needed to establish that all things originate in a divine purpose and intention? I must tell you frankly, your objections are no better than the obscure quibbles of those philosophers who denied motion. And your objections should be refuted in the same way, through illustrations, examples, and specific cases, rather than serious philosophical argument.

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: Suppose, that the words delivered not only contain a just sense and meaning, but convey some instruction altogether worthy of a benevolent Being, superior 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 objections (if they merit that appellation) which lie against the system of Theism, may also be produced against this inference.

Suppose, then, that a clear voice came from the clouds. Suppose the voice was far louder and more melodious than any voice human skill could ever produce. Suppose the voice reached all nations at the same instant, speaking to each in its own language and dialect. Suppose the words not only made good sense but offered instruction entirely worthy of a benevolent Being superior to humanity. Could you hesitate for even a moment about the cause of this voice? Would you not immediately attribute the voice to some design or purpose? Yet, as far as I can see, all the same objections raised against Theism could also challenge this conclusion. That is, if those objections deserve the name.

Might you not say, that all conclusions concerning 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 consequently, that a rational, wise, coherent speech proceeded, you know 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.

Could you not argue that all conclusions about matters of fact rest on experience? When we hear a voice speaking in the dark, we infer that a person is there. You might say we draw that conclusion only because similar effects lead us to infer similar causes. But this extraordinary voice differs greatly from any human voice in its loudness, reach, and command of all languages. So, you might argue, we have no reason to suppose the causes of these voices are at all alike. Would you then conclude that a rational, wise, coherent speech came from some chance whistling of the winds? Its source, you would say, is unknown to you, rather than any divine reason or intelligence. You clearly recognize your own objections in these quibbles. And I hope you also clearly see that those objections cannot possibly carry more weight in one case than 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, invariable language, common to every individual of human race; and that books are natural productions, which perpetuate themselves in the same manner with animals and vegetables, by descent and propagation. Several expressions of our passions contain a universal language: all brute animals have a natural speech, which, however limited, 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 organised body, the propagation of an Iliad or Aeneid is an easier supposition than that of any plant or animal.

But to make this example still closer to the case of the universe, I will make two assumptions. Neither assumption involves anything absurd or impossible. Suppose there is a natural, universal language that never changes and is shared by every human being. Suppose also that books are natural products that reproduce themselves through descent and reproduction, just like animals and plants. Several expressions of our emotions form a universal language. All animals have a natural language that, however limited, is very understandable to members of their own species. And even the finest work of eloquence has infinitely fewer parts and less intricate design than the simplest living body. So it is easier to suppose that an Iliad or Aeneid could reproduce than that any plant or animal could.

Suppose, therefore, that you enter into your library, thus peopled by natural volumes, containing the most refined reason and most exquisite beauty; could you possibly open one of them, and doubt, that its original cause bore the strongest analogy to mind and intelligence? When it reasons and discourses; when it expostulates, argues, 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 original parent proceeded not from thought and design? Your obstinacy, I know, reaches not that degree of firmness: even your sceptical play and wantonness would be abashed at so glaring an absurdity.

Suppose, then, you enter your library, populated by naturally produced books containing the finest reasoning and the most exquisite beauty. Could you open one and doubt that its original cause bore the strongest resemblance to a mind and intelligence? The book reasons and discusses. It challenges, argues, and presses its points and themes. It appeals sometimes to reason alone, sometimes to the emotions. It gathers, arranges, and embellishes every consideration relevant to its subject. Could you still insist that all this was, at bottom, really meaningless? Could you insist that the book’s first formation in its original parent’s reproductive organs involved no thought or design? I know your stubbornness does not go that far. Even your playful, reckless skepticism would be put to shame by so obvious an absurdity.

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 anatomy of an animal affords many stronger instances of design than the perusal of LIVY or TACITUS; 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. Choose, 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.

But if this imagined case differs at all from the actual universe, PHILO, the difference entirely favors the universe. An animal’s anatomy offers many stronger examples of design than reading LIVY or TACITUS does. You may object by taking me back to the unusual and extraordinary scene of worlds first forming. But the same objection applies to our imagined growing library. So choose your side, PHILO, without ambiguity or evasion. Either claim that a rational book provides no proof of a rational cause, or accept a similar cause for all nature’s works.

Let me here observe too, continued CLEANTHES, that this religious argument, instead of being weakened by that scepticism so much affected by you, rather acquires force from it, and becomes more firm and undisputed. To 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, wherever 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, anatomise the eye; survey its structure and contrivance; 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 sensation. 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 Infidelity. 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 sensible, that the propagation of the species is intended 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 degree, therefore, of blind dogmatism must one have attained, to reject such natural and such convincing arguments?

Let me also point out, continued CLEANTHES, that this religious argument gains strength from the scepticism you so eagerly embrace. Rather than weakening the argument, your scepticism makes it firmer and harder to dispute. Rejecting all argument or reasoning of every kind is either a pose or madness. Every reasonable sceptic claims only to reject arguments that are obscure, far-fetched, and overly subtle. He follows common sense and the natural instincts of human beings. And he accepts reasons whenever they strike him so forcefully that only the greatest effort could prevent his agreement. Now the arguments for Natural Religion are plainly of this kind. Only the most perverse, stubborn metaphysical reasoning can reject them. Consider the eye. Dissect it and examine its structure and the way its parts work together. Then tell me, from your own experience, whether the idea of a designer immediately strikes you as forcefully as sensation. Surely the most obvious conclusion points to design. It takes time, reflection, and study to produce the flimsy, though obscure, objections that can support religious disbelief. Who can observe the male and female of each species without recognizing that Nature intends the species to reproduce? Consider how their parts and instincts correspond, their passions, and their whole course of life before and after reproduction. Millions upon millions of such examples appear throughout every part of the universe. No language can express a clearer, more irresistible meaning than the intricate way things are fitted to their purposes. How blindly dogmatic, then, must someone become to reject arguments so natural and convincing?

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 pretend, contradictory to the principles of logic; its universal, its irresistible influence proves clearly, that there may be arguments of a like irregular nature. Whatever cavils may be urged, an orderly world, as well as a coherent, articulate speech, will still be received as an incontestable proof of design and intention.

Some beautiful passages in writing seem to break the rules, yet win our hearts and stir our imaginations. They do so against all the rules of criticism and the authority of the established masters of art. And if the argument for Theism contradicts the principles of logic, as you claim, consider its universal, irresistible influence. That influence clearly proves that there may be arguments that break the rules in a similar way. Whatever objections may be raised, an orderly world will still be accepted as undeniable proof of design and intention. So will a coherent, clearly expressed speech.

It sometimes happens, I own, that the religious arguments have not their due influence on an ignorant 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 animal? From the copulation of its parents. And these whence? From their parents? A few removes 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 further. But this is neither dogmatism nor scepticism, but stupidity: a state of mind very different from your sifting, inquisitive disposition, my ingenious friend. You can trace causes from effects: You can compare the most distant and 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 unnecessary scruples and objections.

I admit that religious arguments sometimes fail to have their proper influence on an ignorant savage or barbarian. This is not because the arguments are obscure or difficult, but because he never asks himself any questions about them. Where does an animal’s intricate structure come from? From its parents mating. And where did those parents come from? From their parents? After a few generations, the ancestors become so remote that he loses sight of them in darkness and confusion. Nor does curiosity drive him to trace their origins further. But this lack of curiosity is neither dogmatism nor skepticism. It is stupidity, a state of mind very different from your probing, questioning nature, my clever friend. You can trace causes from effects. You can compare even the most distant and remote things. And your greatest errors arise not from a lack of thought and imagination, but from an overabundance of them. This excessive inventiveness overwhelms your natural good sense with a flood of unnecessary doubts 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.

At this point, HERMIPPUS, I could see that PHILO was a little embarrassed and confused. But while PHILO hesitated to answer, DEMEA luckily interrupted the discussion and saved him from further embarrassment.

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 presumptuous, 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 author: I become him, in a manner, for the instant; and have an immediate feeling and conception of those ideas which revolved in his imagination 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.

Your example, CLEANTHES, he said, comes from books and language. I admit that its familiarity makes it much more persuasive. But isn't there also some danger in that very familiarity? Might it make us presumptuous, leading us to imagine that we understand God? Might we think we have an adequate idea of his nature and attributes? When I read a book, I enter into the author's mind and intentions. In a way, I become the author for a moment. I immediately feel and grasp the ideas that passed through his imagination as he wrote. But surely we can never come so close to God. His ways are not our ways. His attributes are perfect, but beyond our understanding. And this book of nature contains a great, inexplicable riddle rather than any understandable argument or reasoning.

The ancient PLATONISTS, you know, were the most religious and devout of all the Pagan philosophers; yet many of them, particularly PLOTINUS, 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-annihilation, or total extinction of all our faculties. These ideas are, perhaps, too far stretched; but still it must be acknowledged, that, by representing the Deity as so intelligible and comprehensible, 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 universe.

As you know, the ancient PLATONISTS were the most religious and devout of all the Pagan philosophers. Yet many of them, particularly PLOTINUS, explicitly say that intellect or understanding should not be attributed to God. They also say that our most perfect worship of him does not consist of veneration, reverence, gratitude, or love. Instead, it consists of a mysterious annihilation of the self, or the complete shutting down of all our faculties. Perhaps these ideas go too far. But we must still acknowledge our extreme and narrow bias in portraying God as so understandable and comprehensible. By making him so similar to a human mind, we make ourselves the model for the whole universe.

All the sentiments of the human mind, gratitude, resentment, love, friendship, approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain reference 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 support 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 external senses, compose the whole furniture of human understanding, we may conclude, that none of the materials of thought are in any respect similar in the human and in the divine intelligence. Now, as to the manner of thinking; 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 remove these circumstances, we absolutely annihilate 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 Being, we ought to acknowledge, that their meaning, in that case, is totally incomprehensible; and that the infirmities of our nature do not permit us to reach any ideas which in the least correspond to the ineffable sublimity of the Divine attributes.

All the feelings of the human mind clearly relate to human conditions and circumstances. These include gratitude, resentment, love, friendship, approval, blame, pity, rivalry, and envy. Such feelings serve to preserve human life and encourage activity under those conditions. So it seems unreasonable to attribute such feelings to a supreme being, or suppose that such feelings move him. Besides, the workings of the universe do not support such a theory. All our ideas drawn from the senses are admittedly false and misleading. We therefore cannot suppose that such ideas exist in a supreme intelligence. Ideas drawn from inner feelings, together with ideas drawn from the external senses, make up the whole of human understanding. So we may conclude that human and divine intelligence share no similarity whatsoever in the materials of thought. Now consider the way each intelligence thinks. How can we compare human and divine thinking, or suppose they resemble each other in any way? Our thought is changeable, uncertain, fleeting, made up of successive moments, and composed of different parts. If we removed these features, we would completely destroy the essence of thought. In that case, calling what remained thought or reason would misuse those words. Still, retaining these words when speaking of the Supreme Being may seem more devout and respectful, as indeed it is. If so, we should at least admit that their meaning in this case is completely beyond our understanding. We should also admit that our human limitations prevent us from forming any ideas even remotely matching God's indescribably sublime attributes.