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that is, he admits the truth of Mr Hume's dilemma to hold, in by far the most numerous cases, unless where the probability of the miracle can be shown. But no such probability can be shown, except in the case of a beneficent religion. A miracle for no purpose or a bad purpose, is the most improbable thing in the world; and we are of the opinion of Mr Hume and Mr Playfair, that all the testimony in the world could not prove it. Suppose the Christian Religion were a tissue of wickedness and absurdity like the superstitions of the Hindus, would it be possible to prove the truth of the miracles wrought in evidence of it? Certainly not. But being the religion that it is, nothing can be more probable, than that it was introduced into the world in a miraculous manner. The probability of the miracles being once established, then all the evidence which goes to prove them has its effect upon the mind, like the evidence for any other facts ;-but were the religion which they support utterly a bominable in itself, then we maintain, that it would be impossible to give any credit to them. Mr Playfair, however, excludes the subject of religion altogether, and is merely speak ing of violations of the laws of nature with a reference to philosophy and the conduct of life, and he is quite right in saying, that where the laws of nature are distinctly established, the evidence for any violation of them ought never once to be looked at. This applies very accurately to all stories in profane history which speak of such violations, and to all the foolish stories of witches and ghosts which once prevailed, to the great annoyance of men in common life. Here an argument such as Mr Hume's is a very convenient one. The facts are utterly incredible, and, therefore, the evidence which supports them is not so much as to be examined. It may be very curious and very staggering, -but still it is much more probable that it should be false, than that the events should be true. If there is no probability to be found for miracles in such circumstances, the evidence which details them ought never to be inquired into.

We certainly wish that Mr Playfair had stated more fully the limitation of his doctrine, as Mr Hume did

not limit it in that manner, and we know, that Mr Playfair regretted his not having done so. We had not the honour of being very intimately ac quainted with that amiable and enlightened man, but we shall ever consider it as a fortunate circumstance that we happened to call on him a few days after the outcry was first raised against his doctrine, when he immediately entered upon the subject with that simplicity and candour for which he was so eminent. He stated, that he regretted exceedingly his having been misunderstood, which he had not thought possible, as there was not the slightest appearance of an insidious sneer against religion in all his paper, and as he truly and sincerely was thinking solely of physical events, without any reference to religion. He wished, he said, that he had been more explicit, since the mistake had taken place, as he could very easily have shown, that there must be a moral probability for all such miracles as are credible, and, if they want this, he then maintained that he was correct in his position, that no testimony could prove them. We

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the substance of the conversation above alluded to, as it made a great impression upon me, though, at this distance of time, I may be unable to state the precise words. It was in the year 1814, a week or two after the publication of the paper in question, that it took place. Mr Playfair himself opened the subject, and seemed very anxious that the misapprehension which had gone abroad should be removed. He said a hasty and inconsiderate attack had been made upon him, which, he thought, drift of his paper would ever have been beone who candidly weighed the whole trayed into. He conceived it to be quite plain, that, in that speculation, he was occupied solely with reasonings that had no reference to religion at all, and the exception which he had made he had thought sufficiently explicit on that point. I re member distinctly his then expressing his regret that he had not spoken more at large of the moral probability of reli gious miracles, which, in his view of which their evidence mainly rested. the question, was the circumstance upon This, he said, he could very easily have done, but that the scope of his argument did not lead him into that consideration. 1 recollect farther, that he said he thought of going to Sir Henry Moncreiff, and making the same explanation to

" I cannot possibly be mistaken as to

are ourselves very much of the same opinion, an opinion which, if it is not sound, is certainly quite innocent, and is not, we think, such as will justify any one for saying of the person who holds it, supposing him to be a clergyman, that he is "laying aside his gown and sneering at miracles !"

DIALOGUES ON NATURAL AND RE

VEALED RELIGION.

PART III.—Objections Answered. CLEANTHES now began to speak as follows: Your observations, Philo, have brought to my mind a reflection which I have often made on the unexpected and apparently unaccountable effects produced by the study of natural philosophy on the minds of many ingenious inquirers in the present age. The views which the improvements in that science have opened into the secrets of nature have been such, as one should suppose, excellently adapted to increase our admiration of the wisdom of God, and to place the proofs of his existence beyond all possibility of dispute. In ancient times, the wisest among the philosophers, although without the advantages which modern science has conferred, yet accumulated, from their observation of natural phenomena, proofs upon this point which no candid mind could resist; how has it happened that the philosophers of the present age, surrounded on every hand, and wherever they direct their inquiries, by "confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ," should yet, by a wonderful perversity of ingenuity, overlook them all; and while every discovery which they make is adding something to the august magnificence of the temple of nature, why should they have become more

him, but I do not know whether or not
he did so. I have never heard of an ob-
jection on religious grounds having been
made to any other of Mr Playfair's papers
in the Edinburgh Review,so that the
charge against him comes at last to this,
that he published in that Review many of
the finest speculations on scientific subjects
which have been written in our day,-a
charge, to which, I suppose, there is no
man of science in the British dominions,
whether clergyman or layman, who would
have any great aversion to plead guilty.
R. M.

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and more blind to the presence of that Almighty power which resides in the Holy of Holies? I am not disposed to think slightingly of philosophy, and I wish not to think unfavourably of man; but really these facts sometimes discompose my admiration of the one, and my natural sympathy with the other, and I am almost tempted to join the cry of the bigots, and to say that philosophy is a forbidden fruit, and that the absurd curio sity of the human mind is ever working its own misery and ruin.

I can easily enter into your feelings upon this subject, replied Philo; at the same time, if it will help to reconcile you to science and its votaries, I think it is not difficult to point out the causes of the singular anomaly which you mention. The more that science becomes extended, the more is it necessary that those who labour in it should confine their view to particular departments; and though in each of these the most striking instances of design may be discovered, yet while they are contemplated apart, and without a reference to the whole scheme of nature, they rather appear to be curious than great, and do not suggest any strong impression of the wisdom from which they originate. The ancient philosophers, who knew much less than the moderns of the minute instances of design discovered in every part of nature, were yet more in the habit of contemplating the system as a whole, and were therefore more likely to be impressed with the religious sentiments of reve rence and admiration.

You will remark, too, that the inquiries of philosophy, as it has been improved by Lord Bacon, relate more to the methods by which things are accomplished, than to the designs which are had in view; in other words, the investigation of final causes has been banished from science, and, the attention of the philosopher is limited to the investigation of the order of events, without inquiring into the contrivance from which it originates. He takes the machine of nature to pieces,-he examines the manner in which its various movements are conducted, and although, in the course of this employment, contrivance must constantly be suggested to him, yet his thoughts are solely directed to the visible appearances be

fore him. If a man is occupied in examining the constitution of a watch, he will not be so apt to think of the watchmaker, as if he merely considered it as an instrument designed for pointing out the hour. This is no reproach to the modern method of philosophizing, but only shews in what manner it may have accidentally contributed to the unfortunate result which you have noticed.

There is another circumstance, too, which may have tended to disunite religion and philosophy. We are first taught the principles of religion on the authority of revelation, and as they commonly seem to be sufficiently well grounded upon that foundation, we are apt to be indifferent about any other. Philosophers, indeed, come but too often to entertain doubts of that ground of belief, but so far from looking for any other, their views of religion are apt entirely to vanish from their minds when the authority of revelation has lost its hold. They can scarcely expect in any other principles so imposing an aspect of reality, and when that system, which divines have exhausted all their learning and reasoning to support, seems to be giving way, they can seldom be prevailed on to look anywhere else for the traces of Deity. At first sight, too, the philosophy of nature appears at times to afford arguments against revelation, and, in so doing, it seems, at the same time, to loosen the foundations of religion in general. Thus divines and philosophers occupy two partics in the world of letters, and although it is to be hoped there are many inquirers who do not belong exclusively to either side, but who borrow lights from both, it is not to be wondered at, that the two parties should have been formed, and that no small animosity should prevail between them.

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The superstitions of antiquity, on the other hand, could have no such evil influence on the religious sentiments of philosophers: They never formed any very serious part of the principles of men of reflection, and while it was thought proper to treat them with public respect, nature was still the great book which the wise and the contemplative resorted to. I know, Cleanthes, it is your opinion that it is a misfortune for mankind

that any other has ever been held up to them. I am thankful that this opinion is no longer mine. But you seem in deep thought, Pamphilus, (continued Philo, turning to me,)— pray may I be favoured with the subject of your meditations?

I have been considering (replied I) to what extent your former arguments have carried us, and I cannot help thinking that you have made rather too large a leap from your premises to your conclusion. I will admit, if you will, that the traces of design are irresistibly suggested to us, when we contemplate the appearances of nature-I will even go as far as you seem to wish, (though I am not quite sure but that it is somewhat too far,) and say that, to our understanding, design is as apparent as the appearances themselves are to our senses. But, in order to reach the notion of Deity, we must not only discover design, but mind you seem to identify the two. I admit that our commen idea of design regards it solely as an attribute of mind,-but may it not exist as a quality of nature, and be only one of the principles of things, and stand on the same footing with attraction, magnetism, electricity, or any of the other powers which seem to govern the universe?

I thought, Pamphilus, (replied Philo,) that you had agreed with me in acknowledging, that those other powers, as you now call them, in imitation of the materialists, were only methods of operation, and that they could only justly be denominated powers, inasmuch as they supposed the previous exercise of volition. What do we call the phenomena of attraction, of magnetism, or of electricity, except certain relative arrangements in the particles of matter?-and when we give the name of power to any of these operations, we only mean to say that there is a power by which they are carried on. In their regularity we read design;-design, as you have owned, naturally suggests to us the notion of mind, and the only way in which mind acts is by volition: the only notion of cause and effect which we can form is volition and its consequences;-all the operations of nature, therefore, appear to us effects, and we give the name of power to the agency which produces them.

I grant you, (said I,) Philo, all this

is very natural, but I do not see the proof on which its reality is established. You have got design, but where is mind, volition, and all the other train of your deductions ?

Well then, (said Philo,) if you will not give me mind and volition, I will deny those powers which you wish to palm upon me. I say still that these are mere arrangements, and that they indicate nothing but design separate from the perceptions with which they affect the senses. Design, therefore, will be the only principle by which nature is regulated.

Admit this, (said I,) and we have not yet found the Deity. Design upon this supposition will be merely a principle of nature, not an attribute of mind, and it is only an intelligent mind, not a principle of arrangement, which can be the object of any sentiments of religion.

However Cleanthes (replied Philo) may despise my sceptical tendencies, I cannot but think that they may at times lead to truth; for instance, Pamphilus, all your present difficulty seems to arise from a mysterious re verence which you have conceived for that thing which you are pleased to call mind, and which we sceptics sometimes treat with no very marked deference. Indeed, we have gone so far as to doubt of its existence. You who seem to understand it so well, must at least know what you mean when you speak of your own mind. But I suppose you will find, upon examination, that it is only its attributes of which you are conscious, or of which you know any thing; and the thinking substance itself will make but a very poor figure in your apprehension.

No matter for that, (replied I,) I am still satisfied of its existence.

You are conscious (replied Philo) of the existence of certain operations of thought and of action, which are connected together by fixed laws. This system or combination of operations you call yourself, or your mind. In its constitution, as well as in the great system of nature, you may trace the influence of design superior to your own, and what if this thing which you call the substance of mind, and which seems to you so admirable and divine, be nothing more than that arrangement and connection between your various faculties, which derives

all its unity and dignity from bearing the stamp of an higher intelligence? You may say then, if you will, that you have no idea of God, except as the designing principle of all existence: mind owes its arrangement to this principle, as well as matter, and must be an object, therefore, of inferior reverence.

Indeed, Philo, (said Cleanthes,) I cannot but be of Pamphilus's opinion, that it is not the mere power of intelligence which excites our religious sentiments, but our notion that there is some being in whom it resides, and whom we suppose as in some degree resembling ourselves in nature, though greatly beyond us in all perfection.

I am of the same opinion, (said Philo,) and Pamphilus admits, that when we once reach the notion of design, it is natural for us to suppose a mind, volition, and other attributes, but this he wants to have strictly demonstrated. Here I have recourse to the defensive weapons of scepticism, and tell him that the notion of mind, as of a single undivided being, is greatly derived from the consistency and harmony observed among its operations, and which, therefore, as well as the system of nature, supposes the existence of superior intelligence. If, therefore, he will not at once admit mind from the observation of design, I tell him, that design is superior to mind, or is the principle of its constitution, and if this should seem paradoxical, it is only saying, in other words, that the divine intelligence is in its being or essence of a loftier nature than mind, which, in strictness of speech, means only created mind. God may be only known to us as the principle of intelligence, but then it is very evident, that this principle must be more essentially intelligent than any other intelligence, and if our notion of substance or individuality of being, either in mind or matter, be derived, as I think probable, from that observed harmony and arrangement of parts, which indicates an unity of design; then, although we cannot class the divine nature under the common

*This notion of design, or intention, forms a part of many complex ideas, which have occasioned much perplexity to Philosophers, and is, in truth, the ingredient which has imperceptibly the greatest weight in their composition.

notion of substance, for that would be to suppose, that it had arranged and harmonized its own existence; and the exact notion of the Deity, accordingly, must be entirely above our comprehension: yet, what comes

nearest it is mind, because mind exhibits intelligence, and we may be very sure that there is nothing of substance in the highest sense which does not belong to the Deity, if we mean by this word any thing separable from the constitution or arrangement of things created and systematized.

But, indeed, Cleanthes, we are a gain getting too deeply into metaphysical difficulties, and it is not very wise, perhaps, in Pamphilus to push me beyond the limits of an humbler philosophy. It would be well for us, in this great inquiry, to keep in view the admirable caution of Calvin, "Hanc esse rectissimam Dei quærendi viam, et aptissimum ordinem: non ut audaci curiositate penetrare tentemus ad excutiendam ejus essentiam quæ adoranda potius est quam scrupulosius disquirenda: sed ut illum in suis operibus contemplemur, qui bús se propinquum nobis familiaremque reddit ac quodammodo communicat." If our understandings are satisfied, that design is as apparent in nature as any other appearance, we may admit at once that the great fountain of all intelligence is at least as honourably situated as any of the streams which are derived from it; and if this mighty faculty seems to fall into the class of what are called natural, that is to say, unintelligent powers; unless it be the attribute of a mind, and be associated with other attributes, then surely we may (to a void even a contradiction) allow that there must be a Divine mind in which this intelligence resides, and which must be endowed also with all the attributes that are suitable to the loftiness of the conception. Admit the infinite intelligence of the Deity, and every other perfection of mind or spirit will follow in its train.

You will pardon me, however, Philo, said I, even although you have ensconced yourself behind the formidable shield of Calvin, (I did not, by the way, conceive that there were such noble sayings in his terrific theology,) if I should accuse you of some of that tendency to mysticism, which was carried to so great an extent

by Demea, in our former conversation. You say the appearances of nature prove the existence of design. I ask you, is this design an attribute of mind? You reply, that we naturally think so, because we know nothing of design except in mind; but then you say, it is something greater than mind, because mind is itself a system formed by design. If then the Deity is mind, all those objections which you formerly started against the anthropomorphism of Cleanthes, may be urged against the hypothesis; if he is more than mind, or of a nature as you say entirely above our comprehension, are we not running into the mysticism of Demea?

I repeat again, (replied Philo,) that all we directly read in nature is the existence of design or intelligence. This is a quality which I perfectly understand, because I find it existing in myself. In myself it exists along with other qualities, the combination and assemblage of which I call my mind, and as this is the only mode in which I can conceive its existence, I naturally speak of it in every instance as being an attribute of mind. However, the intelligence which I discover in nature must exist in a mode of being different from my common idea of mind; because the only species of mind with which I am acquainted, is itself constituted or systematized, which cannot be the case with the divine mind. The truth then seems simply to be this, and it leads neither to anthropomorphism nor to mysticism. I discover the divine intelligence. I can only speak of intelligence as existing in a mind; at the same time the Divine cannot be of the same nature with the human mind. If you ask me what is that supreme nature, I cannot inform you,-I know as much as I want, however, when I have discovered its all-pervading wisdom.

I will only detain you on this part of the inquiry (replied I) with another little puzzle, in which, although I firmly believe there is no serious difficulty, it may yet be as well if we can unravel it. You told me a little while ago that I should have some difficulty in satisfying myself what I

See Hume's Dialogues on Natural Religion.

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