Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
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David Hume >> Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
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9 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
by David Hume
PAMPHILUS TO HERMIPPUS
It has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that though the ancient philosophers
conveyed most of their instruction in the form of dialogue, this method
of composition has been little practised in later ages, and has seldom
succeeded in the hands of those who have attempted it. Accurate and
regular argument, indeed, such as is now expected of philosophical
inquirers, naturally throws a man into the methodical and didactic
manner; where he can immediately, without preparation, explain the point
at which he aims; and thence proceed, without interruption, to deduce
the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in
conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer
desires, by departing from the direct style of composition, to give a
freer air to his performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and
Reader, he is apt to run into a worse inconvenience, and convey the
image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or, if he carries on the dispute in the
natural spirit of good company, by throwing in a variety of topics, and
preserving a proper balance among the speakers, he often loses so much
time in preparations and transitions, that the reader will scarcely
think himself compensated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the order,
brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them.
There are some subjects, however, to which dialogue-writing is peculiarly
adapted, and where it is still preferable to the direct and simple method
of composition.
Any point of doctrine, which is so obvious that it scarcely admits of
dispute, but at the same time so important that it cannot be too often
inculcated, seems to require some such method of handling it; where the
novelty of the manner may compensate the triteness of the subject; where
the vivacity of conversation may enforce the precept; and where the
variety of lights, presented by various personages and characters, may
appear neither tedious nor redundant.
Any question of philosophy, on the other hand, which is so OBSCURE and
UNCERTAIN, that human reason can reach no fixed determination with regard
to it; if it should be treated at all, seems to lead us naturally into
the style of dialogue and conversation. Reasonable men may be allowed to
differ, where no one can reasonably be positive. Opposite sentiments,
even without any decision, afford an agreeable amusement; and if the
subject be curious and interesting, the book carries us, in a manner,
into company; and unites the two greatest and purest pleasures of human
life, study and society.
Happily, these circumstances are all to be found in the subject of
NATURAL RELIGION. What truth so obvious, so certain, as the being of a
God, which the most ignorant ages have acknowledged, for which the most
refined geniuses have ambitiously striven to produce new proofs and
arguments? What truth so important as this, which is the ground of all
our hopes, the surest foundation of morality, the firmest support of
society, and the only principle which ought never to be a moment absent
from our thoughts and meditations? But, in treating of this obvious and
important truth, what obscure questions occur concerning the nature of
that Divine Being, his attributes, his decrees, his plan of providence?
These have been always subjected to the disputations of men; concerning
these human reason has not reached any certain determination. But these
are topics so interesting, that we cannot restrain our restless inquiry
with regard to them; though nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and
contradiction, have as yet been the result of our most accurate
researches.
This I had lately occasion to observe, while I passed, as usual, part of
the summer season with CLEANTHES, and was present at those conversations
of his with PHILO and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately some imperfect
account. Your curiosity, you then told me, was so excited, that I must,
of necessity, enter into a more exact detail of their reasonings, and
display those various systems which they advanced with regard to so
delicate a subject as that of natural religion. The remarkable contrast
in their characters still further raised your expectations; while you
opposed the accurate philosophical turn of CLEANTHES to the careless
scepticism of PHILO, or compared either of their dispositions with the
rigid inflexible orthodoxy of DEMEA. My youth rendered me a mere auditor
of their disputes; and that curiosity, natural to the early season of
life, has so deeply imprinted in my memory the whole chain and connection
of their arguments, that, I hope, I shall not omit or confound any
considerable part of them in the recital.
PART 1
After I joined the company, whom I found sitting in CLEANTHES's library,
DEMEA paid CLEANTHES some compliments on the great care which he took of
my education, and on his unwearied perseverance and constancy in all his
friendships. The father of PAMPHILUS, said he, was your intimate friend:
The son is your pupil; and may indeed be regarded as your adopted son,
were we to judge by the pains which you bestow in conveying to him every
useful branch of literature and science. You are no more wanting, I am
persuaded, in prudence, than in industry. I shall, therefore, communicate
to you a maxim, which I have observed with regard to my own children,
that I may learn how far it agrees with your practice. The method I
follow in their education is founded on the saying of an ancient, "That
students of philosophy ought first to learn logics, then ethics, next
physics, last of all the nature of the gods." [Chrysippus apud Plut: de
repug: Stoicorum] This science of natural theology, according to him,
being the most profound and abstruse of any, required the maturest
judgement in its students; and none but a mind enriched with all the other
sciences, can safely be entrusted with it.
Are you so late, says PHILO, in teaching your children the principles of
religion? Is there no danger of their neglecting, or rejecting altogether
those opinions of which they have heard so little during the whole course
of their education? It is only as a science, replied DEMEA, subjected to
human reasoning and disputation, that I postpone the study of Natural
Theology. To season their minds with early piety, is my chief care; and
by continual precept and instruction, and I hope too by example, I
imprint deeply on their tender minds an habitual reverence for all the
principles of religion. While they pass through every other science, I
still remark the uncertainty of each part; the eternal disputations of
men; the obscurity of all philosophy; and the strange, ridiculous
conclusions, which some of the greatest geniuses have derived from the
principles of mere human reason. Having thus tamed their mind to a proper
submission and self-diffidence, I have no longer any scruple of opening
to them the greatest mysteries of religion; nor apprehend any danger from
that assuming arrogance of philosophy, which may lead them to reject the
most established doctrines and opinions.
Your precaution, says PHILO, of seasoning your children's minds early
with piety, is certainly very reasonable; and no more than is requisite
in this profane and irreligious age. But what I chiefly admire in your
plan of education, is your method of drawing advantage from the very
principles of philosophy and learning, which, by inspiring pride and
self-sufficiency, have commonly, in all ages, been found so destructive
to the principles of religion. The vulgar, indeed, we may remark, who are
unacquainted with science and profound inquiry, observing the endless
disputes of the learned, have commonly a thorough contempt for
philosophy; and rivet themselves the faster, by that means, in the great
points of theology which have been taught them. Those who enter a little
into study and study and inquiry, finding many appearances of evidence in
doctrines the newest and most extraordinary, think nothing too difficult
for human reason; and, presumptuously breaking through all fences,
profane the inmost sanctuaries of the temple. But CLEANTHES will, I hope,
agree with me, that, after we have abandoned ignorance, the surest
remedy, there is still one expedient left to prevent this profane
liberty. Let DEMEA's principles be improved and cultivated: Let us become
thoroughly sensible of the weakness, blindness, and narrow limits of
human reason: Let us duly consider its uncertainty and endless
contrarieties, even in subjects of common life and practice: Let the
errors and deceits of our very senses be set before us; the insuperable
difficulties which attend first principles in all systems; the
contradictions which adhere to the very ideas of matter, cause and
effect, extension, space, time, motion; and in a word, quantity of all
kinds, the object of the only science that can fairly pretend to any
certainty or evidence. When these topics are displayed in their full
light, as they are by some philosophers and almost all divines; who can
retain such confidence in this frail faculty of reason as to pay any
regard to its determinations in points so sublime, so abstruse, so remote
from common life and experience? When the coherence of the parts of a
stone, or even that composition of parts which renders it extended; when
these familiar objects, I say, are so inexplicable, and contain
circumstances so repugnant and contradictory; with what assurance can we
decide concerning the origin of worlds, or trace their history from
eternity to eternity?
While PHILO pronounced these words, I could observe a smile in the
countenance both of DEMEA and CLEANTHES. That of DEMEA seemed to imply an
unreserved satisfaction in the doctrines delivered: But, in CLEANTHES's
features, I could distinguish an air of finesse; as if he perceived some
raillery or artificial malice in the reasonings of PHILO.
You propose then, PHILO, said CLEANTHES, to erect religious faith on
philosophical scepticism; and you think, that if certainty or evidence be
expelled from every other subject of inquiry, it will all retire to these
theological doctrines, and there acquire a superior force and authority.
Whether your scepticism be as absolute and sincere as you pretend, we
shall learn by and by, when the company breaks up: We shall then see,
whether you go out at the door or the window; and whether you really
doubt if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its fall; according
to popular opinion, derived from our fallacious senses, and more
fallacious experience. And this consideration, DEMEA, may, I think,
fairly serve to abate our ill-will to this humorous sect of the sceptics.
If they be thoroughly in earnest, they will not long trouble the world
with their doubts, cavils, and disputes: If they be only in jest, they
are, perhaps, bad raillers; but can never be very dangerous, either to
the state, to philosophy, or to religion.
In reality, PHILO, continued he, it seems certain, that though a man, in
a flush of humour, after intense reflection on the many contradictions
and imperfections of human reason, may entirely renounce all belief and
opinion, it is impossible for him to persevere in this total scepticism,
or make it appear in his conduct for a few hours. External objects press
in upon him; passions solicit him; his philosophical melancholy
dissipates; and even the utmost violence upon his own temper will not be
able, during any time, to preserve the poor appearance of scepticism. And
for what reason impose on himself such a violence? This is a point in
which it will be impossible for him ever to satisfy himself, consistently
with his sceptical principles. So that, upon the whole, nothing could be
more ridiculous than the principles of the ancient PYRRHONIANS; if in
reality they endeavoured, as is pretended, to extend, throughout, the
same scepticism which they had learned from the declamations of their
schools, and which they ought to have confined to them.
In this view, there appears a great resemblance between the sects of the
STOICS and PYRRHONIANS, though perpetual antagonists; and both of them
seem founded on this erroneous maxim, That what a man can perform
sometimes, and in some dispositions, he can perform always, and in every
disposition. When the mind, by Stoical reflections, is elevated into a
sublime enthusiasm of virtue, and strongly smit with any species of
honour or public good, the utmost bodily pain and sufferings will not
prevail over such a high sense of duty; and it is possible, perhaps, by
its means, even to smile and exult in the midst of tortures. If this
sometimes may be the case in fact and reality, much more may a
philosopher, in his school, or even in his closet, work himself up to
such an enthusiasm, and support in imagination the acutest pain or most
calamitous event which he can possibly conceive. But how shall he support
this enthusiasm itself? The bent of his mind relaxes, and cannot be
recalled at pleasure; avocations lead him astray; misfortunes attack him
unawares; and the philosopher sinks by degrees into the plebeian.
I allow of your comparison between the STOICS and SKEPTICS, replied
PHILO. But you may observe, at the same time, that though the mind
cannot, in Stoicism, support the highest flights of philosophy, yet, even
when it sinks lower, it still retains somewhat of its former disposition;
and the effects of the Stoic's reasoning will appear in his conduct in
common life, and through the whole tenor of his actions. The ancient
schools, particularly that of ZENO, produced examples of virtue and
constancy which seem astonishing to present times.
Vain Wisdom all and false Philosophy.
Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm
Pain, for a while, or anguish; and excite
Fallacious Hope, or arm the obdurate breast
With stubborn Patience, as with triple steel.
In like manner, if a man has accustomed himself to sceptical
considerations on the uncertainty and narrow limits of reason, he will
not entirely forget them when he turns his reflection on other subjects;
but in all his philosophical principles and reasoning, I dare not say in
his common conduct, he will be found different from those, who either
never formed any opinions in the case, or have entertained sentiments
more favourable to human reason.
To whatever length any one may push his speculative principles of
scepticism, he must act, I own, and live, and converse, like other men;
and for this conduct he is not obliged to give any other reason, than the
absolute necessity he lies under of so doing. If he ever carries his
speculations further than this necessity constrains him, and
philosophises either on natural or moral subjects, he is allured by a
certain pleasure and satisfaction which he finds in employing himself
after that manner. He considers besides, that every one, even in common
life, is constrained to have more or less of this philosophy; that from
our earliest infancy we make continual advances in forming more general
principles of conduct and reasoning; that the larger experience we
acquire, and the stronger reason we are endued with, we always render our
principles the more general and comprehensive; and that what we call
philosophy is nothing but a more regular and methodical operation of the
same kind. To philosophise on such subjects, is nothing essentially
different from reasoning on common life; and we may only expect greater
stability, if not greater truth, from our philosophy, on account of its
exacter and more scrupulous method of proceeding.
But when we look beyond human affairs and the properties of the
surrounding bodies: when we carry our speculations into the two
eternities, before and after the present state of things; into the
creation and formation of the universe; the existence and properties of
spirits; the powers and operations of one universal Spirit existing
without beginning and without end; omnipotent, omniscient, immutable,
infinite, and incomprehensible: We must be far removed from the smallest
tendency to scepticism not to be apprehensive, that we have here got
quite beyond the reach of our faculties. So long as we confine our
speculations to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticism, we make
appeals, every moment, to common sense and experience, which strengthen
our philosophical conclusions, and remove, at least in part, the
suspicion which we so justly entertain with regard to every reasoning
that is very subtle and refined. But, in theological reasonings, we have
not this advantage; while, at the same time, we are employed upon
objects, which, we must be sensible, are too large for our grasp, and of
all others, require most to be familiarised to our apprehension. We are
like foreigners in a strange country, to whom every thing must seem
suspicious, and who are in danger every moment of transgressing against
the laws and customs of the people with whom they live and converse. We
know not how far we ought to trust our vulgar methods of reasoning in
such a subject; since, even in common life, and in that province which is
peculiarly appropriated to them, we cannot account for them, and are
entirely guided by a kind of instinct or necessity in employing them.
All sceptics pretend, that, if reason be considered in an abstract view,
it furnishes invincible arguments against itself; and that we could never
retain any conviction or assurance, on any subject, were not the
sceptical reasonings so refined and subtle, that they are not able to
counterpoise the more solid and more natural arguments derived from the
senses and experience. But it is evident, whenever our arguments lose
this advantage, and run wide of common life, that the most refined
scepticism comes to be upon a footing with them, and is able to oppose
and counterbalance them. The one has no more weight than the other. The
mind must remain in suspense between them; and it is that very suspense
or balance, which is the triumph of scepticism.
But I observe, says CLEANTHES, with regard to you, PHILO, and all
speculative sceptics, that your doctrine and practice are as much at
variance in the most abstruse points of theory as in the conduct of
common life. Wherever evidence discovers itself, you adhere to it,
notwithstanding your pretended scepticism; and I can observe, too, some
of your sect to be as decisive as those who make greater professions of
certainty and assurance. In reality, would not a man be ridiculous, who
pretended to reject NEWTON's explication of the wonderful phenomenon of
the rainbow, because that explication gives a minute anatomy of the rays
of light; a subject, forsooth, too refined for human comprehension? And
what would you say to one, who, having nothing particular to object to
the arguments of COPERNICUS and GALILEO for the motion of the earth,
should withhold his assent, on that general principle, that these
subjects were too magnificent and remote to be explained by the narrow
and fallacious reason of mankind?
There is indeed a kind of brutish and ignorant scepticism, as you well
observed, which gives the vulgar a general prejudice against what they do
not easily understand, and makes them reject every principle which
requires elaborate reasoning to prove and establish it. This species of
scepticism is fatal to knowledge, not to religion; since we find, that
those who make greatest profession of it, give often their assent, not
only to the great truths of Theism and natural theology, but even to the
most absurd tenets which a traditional superstition has recommended to
them. They firmly believe in witches, though they will not believe nor
attend to the most simple proposition of Euclid. But the refined and
philosophical sceptics fall into an inconsistence of an opposite nature.
They push their researches into the most abstruse corners of science; and
their assent attends them in every step, proportioned to the evidence
which they meet with. They are even obliged to acknowledge, that the most
abstruse and remote objects are those which are best explained by
philosophy. Light is in reality anatomised. The true system of the
heavenly bodies is discovered and ascertained. But the nourishment of
bodies by food is still an inexplicable mystery. The cohesion of the
parts of matter is still incomprehensible. These sceptics, therefore, are
obliged, in every question, to consider each particular evidence apart,
and proportion their assent to the precise degree of evidence which
occurs. This is their practice in all natural, mathematical, moral, and
political science. And why not the same, I ask, in the theological and
religious? Why must conclusions of this nature be alone rejected on the
general presumption of the insufficiency of human reason, without any
particular discussion of the evidence? Is not such an unequal conduct a
plain proof of prejudice and passion?
Our senses, you say, are fallacious; our understanding erroneous; our
ideas, even of the most familiar objects, extension, duration, motion,
full of absurdities and contradictions. You defy me to solve the
difficulties, or reconcile the repugnancies which you discover in them. I
have not capacity for so great an undertaking: I have not leisure for it:
I perceive it to be superfluous. Your own conduct, in every circumstance,
refutes your principles, and shows the firmest reliance on all the
received maxims of science, morals, prudence, and behaviour.
I shall never assent to so harsh an opinion as that of a celebrated
writer [L'Arte de penser], who says, that the Sceptics are not a sect of
philosophers: They are only a sect of liars. I may, however, affirm
(I hope without offence), that they are a sect of jesters or raillers.
But for my part, whenever I find myself disposed to mirth and amusement,
I shall certainly choose my entertainment of a less perplexing and abstruse
nature. A comedy, a novel, or at most a history, seems a more natural
recreation than such metaphysical subtleties and abstractions.
In vain would the sceptic make a distinction between science and common
life, or between one science and another. The arguments employed in all,
if just, are of a similar nature, and contain the same force and
evidence. Or if there be any difference among them, the advantage lies
entirely on the side of theology and natural religion. Many principles of
mechanics are founded on very abstruse reasoning; yet no man who has any
pretensions to science, even no speculative sceptic, pretends to
entertain the least doubt with regard to them. The COPERNICAN system
contains the most surprising paradox, and the most contrary to our
natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our very senses: yet even
monks and inquisitors are now constrained to withdraw their opposition to
it. And shall PHILO, a man of so liberal a genius and extensive
knowledge, entertain any general undistinguished scruples with regard to
the religious hypothesis, which is founded on the simplest and most
obvious arguments, and, unless it meets with artificial obstacles, has
such easy access and admission into the mind of man?
And here we may observe, continued he, turning himself towards DEMEA, a
pretty curious circumstance in the history of the sciences. After the
union of philosophy with the popular religion, upon the first
establishment of Christianity, nothing was more usual, among all
religious teachers, than declamations against reason, against the senses,
against every principle derived merely from human research and inquiry.
All the topics of the ancient academics were adopted by the fathers; and
thence propagated for several ages in every school and pulpit throughout
Christendom. The Reformers embraced the same principles of reasoning, or
rather declamation; and all panegyrics on the excellency of faith, were
sure to be interlarded with some severe strokes of satire against natural
reason. A celebrated prelate [Monsr. Huet] too, of the Romish communion,
a man of the most extensive learning, who wrote a demonstration of
Christianity, has also composed a treatise, which contains all the cavils
of the boldest and most determined PYRRHONISM. LOCKE seems to have been the
first Christian who ventured openly to assert, that faith was nothing but
a species of reason; that religion was only a branch of philosophy; and
that a chain of arguments, similar to that which established any truth in
morals, politics, or physics, was always employed in discovering all the
principles of theology, natural and revealed. The ill use which BAYLE and
other libertines made of the philosophical scepticism of the fathers and
first reformers, still further propagated the judicious sentiment of Mr.
LOCKE: And it is now in a manner avowed, by all pretenders to reasoning
and philosophy, that Atheist and Sceptic are almost synonymous. And as it
is certain that no man is in earnest when he professes the latter
principle, I would fain hope that there are as few who seriously maintain
the former.
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