And the late Archbishop of Paris,—the same who fell before the barricades, a martyr to Charity if not to Truth, and who seems to have had a wakeful eye on the progress of philosophic speculation,—took occasion, in a preface to the Abbé Maret's "Theodicée," to declare that Lamennais' system was obnoxious to the Church, because of its opposition to the doctrine of Rational Certitude: "Tout le monde sait que le clergé de France avait repoussé le systeme de M. de Lamennais precisément à cause de son opposition a la Certitude Rationnelle constanment professée dans nos ecoles; et tout le monde peu savoir que les Bossuet, les Fenelon, les Descartes out raisonné, et que nous aussi nous raisonnons et discutons avec nos accusateurs," ... "preuve irrécusable que le Rationalisme et la Raison sont deux choses fort differentes."[249]

Perrone has given a similar testimony, and we cannot doubt that the more thoughtful adherents of Romanism must be sensible of the danger which is involved in any attempt to combine Rational Skepticism with Dogmatic Authority.

It were well, however, if they would reconsider their position with reference to this whole question, in its more general bearings in conection with their doctrine as to the rule of faith; and weigh, with candid impartiality, the arguments which have been adduced by Protestant writers on the subject.[250]

CHAPTER IX.

Such is the new name under which Atheism has recently appeared among not a few of the tradesmen and artisans of the metropolis and provincial towns of Great Britain. In literature, it is represented by Mr. G. J. Holyoake, the author of an answer to Paley, the editor of "The Reasoner," and a popular lecturer and controversialist, whose public discussions are duly reported in that periodical, and occasionally reprinted in a separate form.[251] The extensive circulation which these and similar tracts have already obtained, the number of affiliated societies which have been formed in many of the chief centres of manufactures and commerce, the zeal and boldness of popular itinerant lecturers, and the urgent demands which have been incessantly made for the extension of their machinery by means of a propaganda fund, are all indications of a tendency, in some quarters, towards a form of unbelief, less speculative and more practical, but only on that account more attractive to the English mind, and neither less insidious nor less dangerous than any of the philosophical theories of Atheism.

Mr. Holyoake, it is true, abjures the name both of an Atheist and Infidel. We admire the prudence of his policy, but cannot subscribe to the correctness of his reasons for doing so. "Mr. Southwell," he says, "has taken an objection to the term Atheism. We are glad he has. We have disused it a long time.... We disuse it, because Atheist is a worn-out word. Both the ancients and the moderns have understood by it one without God, and also without morality. Thus the term connotes more than any well-informed and earnest person accepting it ever included in it; that is, the word carries with it associations of immorality, which have been repudiated by the Atheist as seriously as by the Christian. Non-theism is a term less open to the same misunderstanding, as it implies the simple non-acceptance of the Theist's explanation of the origin and government of the world."[252]

But "Non-theism" was afterwards exchanged for "Secularism," as a term less liable to misconstruction, and more correctly descriptive of the real import of the theory. "Secularists was, perhaps, the proper designation of all who dissented extremely from the religious opinions of the day."—"Freethinking is the Secular sphere; drawing its line of demarcation between time and eternity, it works for the welfare of man in this world"—"The Secularist is the larger and more comprehensive designation of the Atheist."[253] With all this coyness and fastidiousness about names, there can be no doubt that the character of the system is essentially atheistic: "We refuse to employ the term God, not having any definite idea of it which we can explain to others,—not knowing any theory of such an existence as will enable us to defend that dogma to others. We therefore prefer the honest, though unusual designation of Atheist; not using it in the sense in which it is commonly employed, as signifying one without morality, but in its stricter sense of describing those without any determinate knowledge of Deity."[254] "That the Atheist does consider matter to be eternal is perfectly correct; and for this reason, no Atheist could make use of such a term as that matter originally possessed, or originally was; whatever is eternal has no origin, beginning, or end.... Organized plants and animals—man also with his noble intellect—are not now at least produced by supernatural causes; and the Atheist, without positively asserting that there must have been a beginning to life in this earth, argues that if a plant, an animal, or a man, can be produced at this time without supernatural interference, so also a first plant, a first animal, or a first man, may have been naturally produced in this earth under the right circumstances,—circumstances which probably cannot occur in the present condition of our globe. Our difficulties and our ignorance are not in the least dispelled, but on the contrary complicated and increased, by the adoption of the ancient belief in a Supernatural Contriver and Maker, who, after existing from eternity in absolute void and solitude, suddenly proceeded to create the universe out of nothing or out of himself."[255] The editor thinks "the course to be taken is to use the term Secularists as indicating general views, and accept the term Atheist at the point at which Ethics declines alliance with Theology; always, however, explaining the term Atheist to mean 'not seeing God,' visually or inferentially; never suffering it to be taken (as Chalmers, Foster, and many others represent it) for Anti-theism, that is, hating God, denying God, as hating implies personal knowledge as the ground of dislike, and denying implies infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof."[256]

These extracts are sufficient to illustrate the peculiar character of this popular form of Infidelity. It is not a philosophical system, although philosophical terms are often employed by its advocates; it does not even profess to solve, as the theory of Development does, any of the great problems of Nature. We shall offer a brief statement of its distinctive peculiarities, as it is developed by Mr. Holyoake, and suggest some considerations which should be seriously pondered by those who may be tempted to exchange Christianity for Secularism.

1. The theory of Secularism is a form, not of dogmatic, but of skeptical, Atheism; it is dogmatic only in denying the sufficiency of the evidence for the being and perfections of God. It does not deny, it only does not believe, His existence. There may be a God notwithstanding; there may even be sufficient evidence of His being, although some men cannot, or will not, see it. "They do not deny the existence of God, but only assert that they have not sufficient proof of His existence."[257] "The Non-theist takes this ground. He affirms that natural reason has not yet attained to (evidence of) Supernatural Being. He does not deny that it may do so, because the capacity of natural reason in the pursuit of evidence of Supernatural Being is not, so far as he is aware, fixed."—"The power of reason is yet a growth. To deny its power absolutely would be hazardous; and in the case of a speculative question, not to admit that the opposite views may in some sense be tenable, is to assume your own infallibility,—a piece of arrogance the public always punish by disbelieving you when you are in the right."[258] Accordingly the thesis which Mr. Holyoake undertook to maintain in public discussion was couched in these terms:—"That we have not sufficient evidence to believe in the existence of a Supreme Being independent of Nature;"[259] and so far from venturing to deny His existence, he makes the important admission, that "denying implies infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof."

It is admitted, then, by the Secularist himself,—that there may be a God,—that there may be evidence of His existence,—that it may yet be discovered in the progress of natural reason,—and that to deny any one of these possibilities would be to assume "infallibility," or to arrogate "infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof." Now, we humbly conceive that there is enough in these admissions, if not to disarm the Secular polemic, yet to shut up every seriously reflecting man, not, perhaps, to the instant recognition of a Divine Being, but certainly to the duty of earnest, patient, and persevering inquiry. It was with this view that both Chalmers and Foster penned those powerful passages which seem to have left some impression on the mind even of Mr. Holyoake, not for the purpose, as he seems to imagine, of confounding Atheism with Anti-theism, but for the very opposite purpose of discriminating between the two, so as to show that, the one being impossible, the other can afford no security against the possible truth of Religion. And every word of warning which they convey should tell with powerful effect on Mr. Holyoake's conscience, after the admissions which he has deliberately made, especially when he is engaged in the cheerless task of undermining the faith of multitudes in their "Father which is in heaven."

Dr. Chalmers devotes a chapter of his "Natural Theology" to illustrate "the duty which is laid upon men by the possibility or even the imagination of a God." He does not overlook, on the contrary he founds upon, the distinction between Skeptical and Dogmatic Atheism. "Going back," he says, "to the very earliest of our mental conceptions on this subject, we advert first to the distinction, in point of real and logical import, between unbelief and disbelief. There being no ground for affirming that there is a God, is a different proposition from there being ground for affirming that there is no God.... The Atheist does not labor to demonstrate that there is no God; but he labors to demonstrate that there is no adequate proof of there being one. He does not positively affirm the position, that God is not; but he affirms the lack of evidence for the position, that God is. Judging from the tendency and effect of his arguments, an Atheist does not appear positively to refuse that a God may be; but he insists that He has not discovered Himself, whether by the utterance of His voice in audible revelation, or by the impress of His hand upon visible nature. His verdict on the doctrine of a God is only that it is not proven; it is not, that it is disproven. He is but an Atheist: he is not an Anti-theist."

Mr. Holyoake can scarcely fail to recognize in these words a correct and graphic delineation of his own position and sentiments. Now, says Dr. Chalmers, "there is a certain duteous movement which the mind ought to take, on the bare suggestion that a God may be.... The certainty of an actual God binds over to certain distinct and most undoubted proprieties. But so also may the imagination of a possible God; in which case, the very idea of a God, even in its most hypothetical form, might lay a responsibility even upon Atheists.... The very idea of a God will bring along with it an instant sense and recognition of the moralities and duties that would be owing to Him. Should an actual God be revealed, we clearly feel that there is a something which we ought to be and to do in regard to Him. But more than this: should a possible God be imagined, there is a something not only which we feel that we ought, but there is a something which we actually ought to do or to be, in consequence of our being visited by such an imagination.... To this condition there attaches a most clear and incumbent morality. It is to go in quest of that unseen Benefactor, who, for aught I know, has ushered me into existence, and spread so glorious a panorama around me. It is to probe the secret of my being and my birth; and, if possible, to make discovery whether it was indeed the hand of a Benefactor that brought me forth from nonentity, and gave me place and entertainment in that glowing territory which is lighted up with the hopes and happiness of living men. It is thus that the very conception of a God throws a solemn responsibility after it."[260]

It is a dangerous mistake, then, to imagine either that we can ever know that there is no God, or that we can get rid of all responsibility by merely doubting His existence. Atheism, in so far as it is dogmatic, must, in his own language, "arrogate infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof;" and in so far as it is merely skeptical, it can afford no security against the fears and forebodings which doubt on such a subject must necessarily awaken in every thoughtful mind. And this consideration will become only the more solemn and impressive the longer we reflect upon it. Mr. Holyoake, however, is far from being consistent in his various statements on this subject. For not content with saying, "Most decidedly I believe that the present order of Nature is insufficient to prove the existence of an intelligent Creator," he adds that "no imaginable order, that no contrivance, however mechanical, precise, or clear, would be sufficient to prove it."[261] At one time he tells us that "an increasing party respectfully and deferentially avow their inability to subscribe to the arguments supposed to establish the existence of a Being distinct from Nature." At another, "We have always held that the existence of Deity is 'past finding out,' and we have held that the time employed upon the investigation might more profitably be devoted to the study of humanity." Again, "That central point in all religious belief—the existence of God—has not yet been approached in a frank spirit. The very terms of the assertion are as yet an enigma in language, the fact is yet a problem in philosophy; the world possesses as yet no adequate logic for that province of our speculation which lies beyond our immediate experience."[262] "Man must die to solve the problem of Deity's existence."[263] "The existence of God is a problem to which the mathematics of human intelligence seems to me to furnish no solution,"[264] "a problem without a solution, a hieroglyphic without an interpretation, a gordian knot still untied, a question unanswered, a thread still unravelled, a labyrinth untrod."[265] That there is here a strong expression of Skeptical Atheism is evident; but is there not something more? Does not Skeptical Atheism insensibly transform itself into Dogmatic, when doubt respecting the sufficiency of the evidence is combined with a denial of the possibility of any satisfactory proof, or of the capacity of the human mind to reach it, here or hereafter? Yet the plea is the want of sufficient evidence now; and this plea is urged in connection with the admission that "the power of reason is yet a growth," and that although "it has not yet attained to evidence of Supernatural Being," the denial of it "would imply infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof." Mr. Holyoake does not deny that there may be a God, distinct from Nature and superior to it; but he denies, first of all, the sufficiency of the evidence to which we appeal, embracing here that form of Atheism which is merely skeptical; and he denies, secondly, the possibility of any sufficient proof, for "no imaginable order would be sufficient," and the whole "subject exceeds human comprehension," embracing, in this instance, that form of Atheism which is strictly dogmatic, if not in affirming that there is no God, yet in affirming that it is impossible He can ever be known to exist. What then becomes of his cautious limitations,—"The fact is yet a problem in philosophy."—"The world possesses as yet no adequate logic for that province of speculation"—"Men must die to solve the problem of Deity's existence?" Is it still a problem, and one, too, which may after all be solved, and solved even in the affirmative? If it be, why may it not be solved before death? or what other evidence will there be after death? And as to the plea of insufficient evidence, what is its precise meaning? Does it mean merely that it has hitherto failed to convince himself and his associates? If so, how can he tell that it may not yet flash upon him with irresistible power, and that he too, like his former associate, Mr. Knight, may be able to say, "By the blessing of God, the exercise of those mental powers which He has bestowed upon me has led me to the conclusion that He exists. There is a God."[266] If it means more than this, will he say that it is insufficient for others as well as for him? But why, if others believe on the ground of that evidence, and if, according to his favorite theory, belief is the inevitable result of evidence? Is his belief, or theirs, the measure of truth? Does he not know that multitudes have passed through the same dreary shade of unbelief in which he is still involved, and have afterwards emerged into the clear light of faith, discovering what they now wonder they had overlooked before, and saying with heartfelt humility and gratitude, "One thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see"?[267] But what has their belief, or his unbelief, to do with the great, the momentous fact? The truth, whatever it be, is independent of both: and it is the truth, and not our apprehensions of it, it is the evidence, and not our belief or doubt, that is the subject of inquiry. Will it be affirmed, then, either that the supposed existence of God is intrinsically incredible, and as such incapable of proof, or that the evidence is insufficient, in the sense of being illogical and inconclusive? This is the ultimate ground of atheistic unbelief, and here the Skeptical unites and blends with the Dogmatic form of Infidelity.

But when driven to this last resort, and before taking up the position which it is concerned to defend, Secularism puts forth certain preliminary pleas, partly in the way of self-defence, and partly with the view of exciting prejudice against the cause of Theism.[268] "I make no pretence," says Mr. Holyoake, "to account for everything. I do not pretend to account for what I find in Nature. I do not feel called upon to account for it. I do not know that I am required to account for it." ... "A man will come to me and say, Can you account for this? Can you account for that? Now he expects me to tell him all about everything, just as though I was present at the beginning of Nature, and knew all its manifestations. If I cannot do it, he will not admit my plea of ignorance;—he will not admit the propriety of my saying, I do not know." He is not bound to explain either the past or the future: "What went before and what will follow me I regard as two black impenetrable curtains, which hang down at the two extremities of human life, and which no living man has yet drawn aside.... A deep silence reigns behind this curtain; no one once within will answer those he has left without; all you can hear is a hollow echo of your question, as if you shouted into a chasm."[269] And can a mind that is capable of writing thus be content to discard Religion from his thoughts on the sorry pretext that he is not bound to account for the phenomena of Nature? One would expect at least a thoughtful, serious, and earnest spirit, even were it a spirit of doubt, in one surrounded with such solemn mysteries, gazing on these black impenetrable curtains, listening to the hollow echo from that awful chasm: nay, that seriousness might be expected to deepen into sadness, too intensely real to be soothed by the plea of ignorance, or assuaged otherwise than by the light of truth. But to say, "I do not pretend to account for what I find in Nature," what is this but to discard the whole question, to give it up as one insoluble, at least by him, and to leave to others the problems which have ever exercised the noblest and most gifted minds? Mr. Holyoake is not bound, indeed, to explain everything, and he mistakes if he supposes that any one expects this at his hand. There are many subjects on which even a man of science must ingenuously confess his ignorance, and many more so little connected with the interests and duties of life as to have only a very slight claim on his interest and attention. But Religion is not one of these: it is so closely related to the welfare and the duty of men, and has such a direct bearing on the conscience, that it demands and deserves the serious attention of all; and no one who undertakes to instruct his fellow-men, and especially when he attempts to overthrow their most sacred convictions, is entitled to turn round and say, "I do not pretend to account for what I find in Nature." He is bound to give some intelligible answer to the question, What is the cause of these marvellous phenomena which I behold? and what is the ground of that religious belief which has always prevailed in the world?

But Mr. Holyoake is deterred from any attempt to answer such questions by its amazing presumption: "The assumption is,—we may look through Nature up to Nature's God. That seems to me to imply a power, a capacity, an endowment, which repels me at the outset. If we are to deal with the common sense of probability, I say I am repelled by the amazing probability which is against me if I am to deal with the assumption of distinctness,—that I can look from Nature up to Nature's God. Why, in the presence of this shadowy form of things, before which all men stand in awe and dread, in the presence of so many mysteries and marvels which art is unable to unravel, which philosophy is unable to explain, it seems to me an immense endowment when a man can say with confidence, I look through Nature, and beyond Nature, up to Nature's God. I say the presumption of the thing does repel me."—"Let the profound sense of our own littleness, which here creeps in upon us, check the dogmatic spirit and arrest the presumptuous world; we stand in the great presence of Nature, whose inspiration should be that of modesty, humility, and love."—"When my friend talks so much about matter, ... his reasoning proceeds upon this very great hypothesis, namely, that he knows all that matter can do, and all that it cannot do. If he does not know that, I wonder by what right he says so plainly that the wonders he observes in Nature are not the work of Nature, but of some Being above Nature. That which repels me from that aspect of the argument is its amazing presumption, the amount of knowledge it implies."[270] Foster's argument against Dogmatic Atheism seems to have made some impression on Mr. Holyoake, since he makes the important admission that "the denial of a God implies infinite knowledge as the ground of disproof," but it is here retorted against Dogmatic Theism; and Unbelief, at other times so arrogant in its pretensions, so confident in the powers of reason, and so proud of the prerogatives of man, borrows the cloak of modesty from the wardrobe of true science, and assumes an attitude of deep humility. At other times Mr. Holyoake does not scruple to sit in judgment on what God,—supposing such a Being to exist,—could or could not do; on what He could or could not permit to be done;—He could not create a moral and responsible agent, and leave him to fall; He could not require or receive any satisfaction for sin; He could not hear or answer the prayers of his people; He could not inflict penal suffering, or allow it to be permanent. There is no presumption, it would seem, in determining what God could or could not do; but "when we stand in the great presence of Nature," her inspiration should be "that of modesty and humility." But presumption does not consist in looking at what we can see, or aiming to know what may be known; and it is a bastard humility, not the true modesty of science, which would turn away from the contemplation of any truth, however sublime, that is exhibited in the light of its appropriate evidence. We are not concerned to deny that it is "a great endowment" which enables men to discern in Nature a manifestation of God; it is a great endowment, but not too great for the mind of man, if he was made in "the image and likeness of God;" a small mirror may reflect the sun. Is it presumptuous in the mind of man to scale the heavens, and trace the planets in their course, and calculate their distances, their orbits, and their motions in the illimitable fields of space? And if the sublime truths of Astronomy are not interdicted to our faculties, simply because there is a natural evidence in the light of which they may be clearly discerned, why should it be presumptuous to look from Nature up to Nature's God, if in Nature we behold a mirror in which His perfections are displayed? If there be presumption on either side, does it not lie rather with those who virtually deny the power of God to make Himself known,—His power to create a world capable of exhibiting His perfections, and a mind adapted to that world capable of discerning the perfections which are therein displayed? There might be modesty, there might be humility in the ingenuous confession of ignorance, saying, "I do not know;" but there can be neither in the confidence which affirms that "no imaginable order would be sufficient" to prove the existence of God, for what is this but to say that "he knows all that matter can do, and all that it cannot do," or be made to do?

2. Secularism admits the existence of a self-existent and eternal Being, and thereby recognizes the fundamental law of Causality on which the Theistic proof depends, while it forces upon us the question whether these attributes should be ascribed to Nature or to God.

"I am driven," says Mr. Holyoake, "to the conclusion that the great aggregate of matter which we call 'nature' is eternal, because we are unable to conceive a state of things when nothing was. There must always have been something, or there could be nothing now. This the dullest feel. Hence we arrive at the idea of the eternity of matter. And in the eternity of matter we are assured of the self-existence of matter, and self-existence is the most majestic of attributes, and includes all others."[271] "If Natural Theologians were content to stop where they prove a superior something to exist, Atheists might be content to stop there too, and allow Theologians to dream in quiet over their barren foundling."[272] "If I supposed that the Christian meant no more than that something exists independently of Nature, that it may be boundless, that it may be limited, that it may be one, that it may be many beings, if I supposed nothing more than that was meant, then surely I would not occupy your time or my own in discussing a question so barren of practical consequences."—"If we reason about it, unless we take refuge in the idea of a creation which we cannot understand, we must come to the conclusion that Nature is self-existent, and that attribute is so majestic,—the power of being independent of any ruler,—the power of being independent of the law of other beings,—seems so majestic as fairly to be supposed to include all others; for that which has power to be has power to act, for the power to be is the most majestic of all forms of action."[273]

It is here admitted that there must be a self-existent, independent, and eternal Being, that self-existence is an attribute so majestic that it may be fairly said to include all others, that the Being to whom it belongs is exempt from the conditions of other beings, and that the power to act is involved in the power to be. It is assumed, indeed, that these attributes may belong to Nature, and that Nature is mere matter; but, reserving this point for the present, are we not warranted in saying that his doctrine, as stated by himself, involves the same profound mysteries, and is embarrassed by the same difficulties, which are often urged as objections to the theory of Religion, and that it is, at the very least, as incomprehensible, as the doctrine which affirms the existence of God? Suppose there were simply an equality in this respect between the Theistic and Atheistic hypothesis, that both were alike incomprehensible and incapable of an adequate explanation, still the former might be more credible and more satisfactory to reason than the latter, since in the one we have an intelligent and designing Cause, such as accounts for the existence of other minds and the manifold marks of design in Nature, whereas in the other all the phenomena of thought, and feeling, and volition, as well as all the instances of skilful adjustment and adaptation, must be resolved into the power of self-existent, but unintelligent and unconscious matter.

Further it is admitted, not only that we may, but that we must, proceed on the principle of Causality, the fundamental axiom of Theology; for "there must always have been something, or there could be nothing now." This principle or law of human thought leads him up to a region which far transcends his present sensible experience, and guides him to the stupendous height of self-existent and eternal Being. It is assumed and applied to prove the self-existence and eternity of matter. But if it be a valid principle of reason, its application may be equally legitimate when it is employed, in conjunction with the manifest evidence of moral as distinct from physical causation, to prove the self-existence and eternity of a supreme intelligent Cause. A principle such as this cannot, from its very nature, be limited within the range of our present sensible experience. We are told, indeed, that "if we look over the nature of our own impressions, we find we always shall begin with things which lie below reason, with things plainer than reason, with things which need no demonstration. Such is the nature of the human mind, that we all begin in this sphere of equal knowledge, we begin under the dominion of the senses, and whatever comes within that wants no demonstration, wants no proof, wants no logic; it is the constant, it is the most indubitable, it is the most indisputable of all our knowledge. And if the question of the being of a God came within that sphere, if it was found amongst those indisputable truths, if it was found to be a matter of sense, then there would be no occasion for us to reason at all about it: it could not be a matter of controversy, because it never would be a matter of dispute."[274] Certain first principles of reason are admitted, but only, it would seem, with reference to matters of sense; but why, if there be such a principle of reason as compels the Atheist himself to acknowledge a Self-existent and Eternal Being? Is this a matter of sense? Is it not a conclusion of reason,—founded, no doubt, on present sensible experience, but far transcending it,—and yet self-evident and irresistible as intuition itself? And if reason may thus rise from the contingent and variable to the conception and belief of the self-existent and eternal, why may it not be equally valid as a proof of a supreme, intelligent First Cause?

Speaking of Nature as self-existent and eternal, Mr. Holyoake ascribes such attributes to it as might seem to imply a leaning towards Pantheism, rather than the colder form of mere material Atheism. "It seems to me," he says, "that Nature and God are one; in other words, that the God whom we seek is the Nature whom we know." But he afterwards states, with clearness and precision, in what respects Secularism accords with, and differs from, Pantheism: "The term, God, seems to me inapplicable to Nature. In the mouth of the Theist, God signifies an entity, spiritual and percipient, distinct from matter. With Pantheists, the term God signifies the aggregate of Nature,—but Nature as a being, intelligent and conscious. It is my inability to subscribe to either of these views which constitutes me an Atheist. I cannot rank myself with the Theists, because I can conceive of nothing beyond Nature, distinct from it, and above it.... The Theist, therefore, I leave; but while I go with the Pantheist so far as to accept the fact of Nature in the plenitude of its diverse, illimitable, and transcendent manifestations, I cannot go further and predicate with the Pantheist the unity of its intelligence and consciousness!"[275] He holds, therefore, that self-existence is an attribute of Nature, that this attribute is so majestic that it may be fairly held to include all others, and that, while intelligence and consciousness exist, he cannot affirm their unity in Nature, or regard "Nature as a being, intelligent and conscious." Whence it follows that he can give no other account of the living, intelligent, active, and responsible beings which inhabit the world, than that they came into existence, he knows not how, and that they have the ultimate ground of their existence in a necessary, underived, and eternal being, which is neither intelligent nor self-conscious!

3. Secularism seeks to invalidate the proof from marks of design in Nature by attempting to show, either that it is merely analogical, and can, therefore, afford no certainty, or that, if it were certain, it could prove nothing, because, by an extension of the same principle, it must prove too much.

Such is the pith and substance of Mr. Holyoake's argument in his singular pamphlet entitled, "Paley refuted in his own Words." He first of all endeavors to invalidate the proof from design by assuming that it is a mere argument from analogy, and that at the best analogy can afford no ground of certainty, although it may possibly suggest a probable conjecture: "It may be said that analogy fails to find out God, and this must be admitted, it being no more than was to be expected. The God of Theology being infinite, it is no subject for analogy.... No conceivable analogy can prove a creation. Creation is without an analogy.... No analogy can prove creation, because no analogy can prove what it does not contain, namely, an example of creation."[276] "Analogy, the specious precursor of reason, would suggest the personality of the powers which awed and cheered man. Reason sends us to facts as the only positive grounds of positive conclusions; but in the childhood of intellect and experience, likelihood is mistaken for certainty, and probability for fact. In the disturbed reflection of man's image on the wall, as it were, of the universe, arose the idea of God." ... "I say, if that is all you mean by your argument, that it is merely a matter of analogy, if it is only a matter of partial resemblance, I say you can get from it no complete proof; that if you merely found it upon partial resemblance, there is no demonstration there whatever, and your cause is no better, no sounder than I have before described it,—as being merely your conjecture about a Being independent of Nature; it is merely a conjecture, merely a suggestion, just like my own conjecture, just like my own suggestion about Nature being that one great Being about which we are all concerned."[277]

But not content with assailing analogy as incapable of leading to any certain conclusion, he changes his tactics, and seems at least to do homage to it, while he insists only on its extension. "The argument of design," he says, "is unquestionably the most popular ever developed, and the most seductive ever displayed. It has the rare merit of making the existence of God, which is the most subtle of all problems, appear a mere truism,—and the proofs of such existence, which have puzzled the wisest of human heads, seem self-evident." This tribute, however, must be read in the light of his chosen motto,—"The existence of a watch proves the existence of a watch-maker; a picture indicates a painter; a house announces an architect. See here are arguments of terrible force for children."[278] "I took up," he says, "Dr. Paley's book, ... and I agreed with myself to admit, as I read, whatever appeared plausible. I did so, and my objection to my author was this: Upon the grounds of analogy and experience I found Paley insisted that design implies a designer, that this designer must be a person, and that this person is God: but the analogy which had been the guide to his feet, and the experience which had been a lamp to his path, were suddenly abandoned, and at the very moment when their assistance seemed to promise curious revelations."—"Two modes of refutation are open; to attack the principle, or pursue the analogy. Geoffroy St. Hilaire has taken one course. I take the other. If, in the investigation of this question, it be legitimate to employ analogy in one part, it must be legitimate to employ it in like respects in another.... Analogy was Paley's alpha, it must be made also his omega."[279] In pursuing this course, he makes large concessions, such as might seem at first sight to involve the very principles on which the Theistic proof depends. "That design implies a designer, I am disposed to allow; and that this designer must be a person, I am quite inclined to admit. Thus far goes Paley, and thus far I go with him.... His general position, that design proves a personal designer, is so natural, so easy, and so plausible, that it invites one to admit it, to see where it will lead, and what it will prove."—"Paley tells us that God is a person. He insists upon it as a legitimate inference from his premises, nor would it be easy to disturb his conclusion.... From Paley's premises, it is the clearest of all inferences. Design must have a designer, because whatever we know of designers has taught us that a designer is a person. All analogy is in favor of this inference. This is Paley's reasoning upon the subject, and it is too natural, too rigid, and too cogent to be escaped from."[280] Here we have an apparent admission of the principle on which the argument of design is based, but it is apparent only, and is afterwards withdrawn. It was used to serve a temporary purpose, and as soon as that purpose was served, it was thrown aside, although it had been described as "so natural, so easy, and so plausible, that it invites one to admit it," as "too natural, too rigid, and too cogent to be escaped from." "When I made the admission, I was going in the footsteps of Paley, and adopting his own phraseology: then I came to the conclusion to see whether it was right, and then I gave it up; when I found it led me to a contrary result, then I gave it up; what I supposed to be design in the opening of my argument is no longer design. My reverend friend is wrong in supposing that I admit design, and yet refuse to admit the force of the design argument."[281] And what is the reason which now induces him to deny the existence of design in Nature, and to withdraw all the admissions he had previously made? Why, simply because he conceives that, by a legitimate extension of the same analogy, the design argument may be pushed to a reductio ad absurdum, so as to prove first the existence of an organized person, "an animal God," and, secondly, an infinite series of such organized persons, since one such must necessarily presuppose another, and that again another, and so on in infinitum. For there are two stages in his extension of the analogy. In the first, it is extended so far as to show that the person to whom design is ascribed must necessarily be an organized Being: in the second, it is still further extended, so as to show that, being organized, that person must also have had a designer or maker, since organization is held to imply design, and design to imply a designer. And thus the analogy, when extended, does not lead up to one Supreme Mind, the Infinite and Eternal Creator of all things, but to an organized being, himself exhibiting marks of design in his organization, and requiring therefore, like every organism, a prior cause, and, by parity of reason, an eternal succession or infinite series of such causes.

The following extracts will place the progressive steps of his argument in a clear, if not convincing light: "By reasoning from analogy, Paley infers that there is a personal, intelligent being, the author of all design, whom he christens Deity. But what kind of a person is a Deity? If a person, is it organized like a person? Whence came it? How did it originate? Was it formed, as it is said to have formed us?... I ask, has the person of Deity an organization? because, if it be unreasonable to suppose design without a designer, it is surely as unreasonable to suppose a person without an organization, to the full contradiction of all analogy and all experience." ... "Every person is organized. No person was ever known without an organization. The term person implies it. All analogy, all experience are in favor of this truth. This is so plain as to be admitted almost before it is stated.... No person ever knew of consciousness separate from an organization in which it was produced. No man ever knew of thought distinct from an organization in which it was generated.... Shelley says that 'Intelligence is only known to us as a mode of animal being.' ... We have great authority,—the authority of universal and uncontradicted experience,—for limiting the properties of mind to organization.... If intelligence is without an organization, design may be without a designer; because there are the same experience and analogy to support the organization, as there are to support the design argument."[282]

But "organization proves contrivance.... If, then, every known organization is redolent with contrivance, and teems with marks of design, by what analogy can we conclude that Deity's organization is devoid of these properties?"—"Shelley thus states the case,—'From the fitness of the universe to its end, you infer the necessity of an intelligent Creator. But if the fitness of the universe to produce certain effects be thus conspicuous and evident, how much more exquisite fitness to this end must exist in the author of this universe!... how much more clearly must we perceive the necessity of this very Creator's creation, whose perfections comprehend an arrangement far more accurate and just! The belief of an infinity of creative and created gods, each more eminently requiring an intelligent author of his being than the foregoing, is a direct consequence of the premises.'"—"Hence from design, designers, and persons, we have stepped to organization and contrivance, and arrive at a contriver again."[283]

Such is the outline of his argument. He seems to think that if there be any flaw in it, the only assailable point must be his extension of the analogy: "In the chain of analogies which Paley commenced, and which I have continued, I believe there is no defective link. The principle of assailment, if any, is the extension of the analogies beyond the Paley point.... With the extension commences my responsibility. He who proves an irrelevancy in it answers my book." This is, no doubt, a vulnerable point, but we venture to think that it is not the only one. His whole reasoning seems to proceed on an unsound view of the nature and conditions of the argument, and is radically defective in at least three respects.

It is not correct to say that the argument of design, is a mere argument from analogy. Were it so, it might, like many another process of mere analogical reasoning, yield no more than a probable conclusion or a plausible conjecture. But in the case before us, the conclusion is strictly and properly an inductive inference. It may be suggested by the perception of analogy, but it is founded on the principle of causality. It is capable, therefore, of yielding, not a mere probability, but an absolute certainty. The fact that analogy is so far concerned in the process cannot weaken a conclusion which rests ultimately on a fundamental law of reason, the ground-principle of all induction. It is true, no doubt, that were we destitute of the conscious possession of intelligence, will, and design, we should be utterly incapable of forming these conceptions, or applying them to the interpretation of Nature; and in a loose sense, it may be said that we are guided by the analogy of our own experience to the belief in an intelligent First Cause; but mere analogy would not produce that belief without the great law of causality, which demands an adequate cause for every effect, nor is this law deprived of its necessary and absolute certainty merely because it comes into action along with, and is stimulated by, the perception of obvious analogies. Is it not equally true, that it is only by our own mental consciousness that we are qualified to conceive of other minds, and that we are, to a certain extent, guided by analogy to the belief that our fellow-men are possessed, like ourselves, of intelligence and design? But who would say that this conclusion is no more than a probable conjecture, or that, depending as it does in part on the analogy of our own experience, it cannot yield absolute certainty? In so far as it is merely analogical, it might be only more or less probable; but being founded also on the law of causality, it is an inductive inference, and, as such, one of the most certain convictions of the human mind.

"Therefore a supernatural contriver,—God,—must exist."[284]

Combine the perfection of analogy with the principle of causality, and you have not only the verisimilitude or likelihood which prepares the way for belief, but also a positive proof resting on a fundamental law of reason. The inference of intelligence from marks of design in nature is not one of analogy, but of strict and proper induction; and accordingly we must either deny that there are marks of design in nature, thereby discarding the analogy, or do violence to our own reason by resisting the fundamental law of causality, thereby discarding the inductive inference. And of these two unavoidable alternatives, Mr. Holyoake seems to prefer the former: he will venture to deny the existence of design in nature, rather than admit the existence of design and resist the inevitable inference of a designing cause; for he is compelled in the long run to come round to this desperate confession, "What I supposed to be design in the opening of my argument is no longer design. My reverend friend is wrong in supposing that I admit design, and yet refuse to admit the force of the design argument."

But if he mistakes the general nature and conditions of the argument when he speaks of it as if it were a mere argument from analogy, his extension of the analogy, and the reasonings founded on it, are equally unjustifiable and inconclusive. He forgets that analogy proceeds on a partial resemblance in some respects, between things which differ in other respects, and that even induction itself requires a perfect resemblance only in those respects on which the inference depends. There may be such a resemblance between the marks of design in nature and in art as to warrant the inference of a contriver in both; and yet in other respects there may be a dissimilarity which cannot in the least affect the validity or the certainty of that inference. It is only when we extend the analogy beyond the inductive point, that the conclusion becomes, in some cases, merely probable, in others altogether doubtful. If we advance a step further than we are warranted to go by obvious and certain analogies, our conclusions must be purely conjectural, and cannot be accepted as inductive inferences. From what we know of this world, and of God's design in it to make Himself known to His intelligent creatures, we may infer, with some measure of probability, that other worlds may also be inhabited by beings capable, like ourselves, of admiring His works, and adoring His infinite perfections; but if we go further, and infer either that all these worlds must now be inhabited, or that the inhabitants must be in all respects constituted as we are, we pass far beyond the point to which our knowledge extends, and enter on the region of mere conjecture. And so when Mr. Holyoake extends the analogy, so as to include not only the marks of design, on which the inductive inference rests, but also the forms of organization, with which in the case of man, intelligence is at presented associated, although not identified, he goes beyond the point at which analogy and induction combine to give a certain conclusion, and introduces a conjectural element, which may well render his own inferences extremely doubtful, but which can have no effect in weakening the grounds of our confidence in the fundamental law, which demands an adequate cause for the marks of design in nature.

Mr. Ferrier has shown that "the senses are only contingent conditions of knowledge; in other words, it is possible that intelligences different from the human (supposing that there are such) should apprehend things under other laws, or in other ways, than those of seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling; or more shortly, our senses are not laws of cognition or modes of apprehension which are binding on intelligence necessarily and universally."—"A contingent law of knowledge" is defined as "one which, although complied with in certain cases in the attainment of knowledge, is not enforced by reason as a condition which must be complied with wherever knowledge is to take place. Knowledge is thus possible under other conditions than the contingent laws to which certain intelligences may be subject; in other words, there is no contradiction in affirming that an intelligent being may have knowledge of some kind or other without having such senses as we have."[285]

The application of analogy as a principle of judgment is subject to certain well-known limitations, which cannot be disregarded without serious risk of error. They are well stated by Dr. Hampden: "There are two requisites in order to every analogical argument:—1. That the two, or several particulars concerned in the argument should be known to agree in some one point; for otherwise they could not be referable to any one class, and there would consequently be no basis to the subsequent inference drawn in the conclusion. 2. That the conclusion must be modified by a reference to the circumstances of the particular to which we argue. For herein consists the essential distinction between an analogical and an inductive argument. Since, in an inductive argument, we draw a general conclusion, we have no concern with the circumstantial peculiarity of individual instances, but simply with their abstract agreement. Whereas, on the contrary, in an analogical argument, we draw a particular conclusion, we must enter into a consideration of the circumstantial peculiarity of the individual instance, in order to exhibit the conclusion in that particular form which we would infer. Whence it follows, that whilst by induction we obtain absolute conclusions, by analogy we can only arrive at relative conclusions, or such as depend for their absolute and entire validity on the coincidence of all the circumstances of the particular inferred with those of the particular from which the inference is drawn." Again: "The circumstances to which we reason may be considered of threefold character. They are either known or unknown. If they are known, they are either (1.) Such as we have no reason to think different, in any respect from those under which our observations have been made; or (2.) Such as differ in certain known respects from these last. (3.) They are unknown, where we reason concerning truths of which, from the state of our present knowledge, from the nature of our faculties, or from the accident of our situation as sojourners upon earth, we are totally ignorant."[286]

With these necessary limitations, suggested by the different circumstances in which analogy is applied, we shall have little difficulty in disposing of Mr. Holyoake's extension of Dr. Paley's argument. Not content with resemblance in some respects, he requires a sameness in all. He would exclude all dissimilarity, forgetting that analogy denotes a certain relation between two or more things which in other respects may be entirely different. We may see a resemblance between the marks of design in nature and the ordinary effects of design in art; and that perception of design gives rise to an intuitive conviction or inductive inference of a designing cause: thus far we proceed under the guidance of analogy, but on the sure ground of induction. If we go beyond this, and insist that the designing cause must be in all respects like ourselves, that if we be organized, He must be organized, that if we act by material organs He must act by the same, we exceed the limits of legitimate reasoning, and enter on the region of pure conjecture. But such conjectures, groundless as they are, and revolting as every one must feel them to be, can have no effect in shaking our confidence in the valid induction by which we infer from marks of design in nature the existence of a designing Cause.

It can scarcely be necessary to enlarge on the gratuitous assumptions on which this extension of the argument is made to rest;—such as that "every person is organized," that "all power is a mere attribute of matter," that "no man ever knew of thought distinct from an organization in which it was generated." The only fragment of truth that can be detected in these assumptions is the fact that we have, in our present state, no experience of intelligence apart from the organization with which it is here associated: but will this warrant the inference that intelligence cannot exist apart from organization, or that the one is the mere product of the other? It may be a good and valid inference from the marks of design in nature, that a designing cause must exist; for this inference, although suggested by analogy, is founded on induction, which requires a perfect resemblance only in those respects on which the inference depends. But to go beyond this, and to insist that the designing cause must be organized, because we have no experience of intelligence apart from organization, is to make our experience the measure of possible being, and to exclude, surely on very insufficient grounds, all notion of purely spiritual personality. In "extending the analogy beyond the Paley point," Mr. Holyoake is arguing from the particular case of man to another case, which resembles it in some respects, but may differ from it in others; and similar as they are in the one point of living, designing intelligence, they may, for aught he knows, differ in many other respects. And this we hold to be a sufficient answer to his argument, especially when it is combined with the consideration that the assumptions on which that argument is based are purely gratuitous, namely, that "every person is organized," and that there is no "thought distinct from an organization in which it is generated." By these assumptions, his theory connects itself with the grossest Materialism; and that subject has been sufficiently discussed in a separate chapter.

But in truth we regard the whole discussion on organization as a huge and unnecessary excrescence on his argument, for he would have come to his point quite as effectually, and much more directly, had he said nothing at all about an organized being, and insisted merely on one, whether material or spiritual, possessing powers of intelligence, contrivance, and design; for it is evidently on the existence of such a being, and not on the arrangements or adaptations of his organic parts, that his main argument depends, namely, that such a being implies also a contriver, and that again another, and so on in an endless series. Whatever force belongs to his argument lies here: it consists, not in the evidence of design arising from material organization, but in the necessity of a cause adequate to account for a being possessing intelligence, purpose, and will. The existence of an endless series of such beings is impossible, and the supposition of it is absurd; and Mr. Holyoake himself admits a self-existent, underived, and eternal Being,—a being exempt, therefore, from all the conditions of time and causality to which others are subject,—while he ascribes the origin of intelligent, self-conscious beings to Nature, which is "neither intelligent nor self-conscious," rather than to God, the father of spirits, Himself a Spirit, infinite, omniscient, and almighty. He ascribes the existence of intelligent, self-conscious, personal moral agents to a power called Nature, which he cannot venture to call "a person," nor even "an animal being," and of which he "cannot predicate with the Pantheist the unity of its intelligence and consciousness." His theory, in so far as it is intelligible, seems to have a stronger affinity with Pantheism than he appears to suppose. Were he to define the meaning of the word Nature,—a word so often used in a vague, indefinite sense,[287]—he would find that his idea bears a close resemblance to that of the German school,[288] who speak of the first being as the Indifference of the different,—a certain vague, undetermined, inexplicable entity, possessing no distinctive character or peculiar attributes, whose existence is necessary, but not as a living, self-conscious, and active being, while it is the cause of all life and intelligence and activity in the universe; in short, a mere abstraction of the human mind. To some such cause, if it can be called a cause, Mr. Holyoake ascribes all the phenomena of the universe; or he leaves them utterly unaccounted for, and takes refuge in an eternal series of derived and dependent beings, without attempting to assign any reason for their existence. He undertakes to account for nothing. He leaves the great problem unsolved, and discards it as insoluble. "Mr. Harrison demanded of me, where the first man came from? I said, I did not know; I was not in the secrets of Nature." "I cannot accept, says one, the theory of progressive development, it is so intricate and unsatisfying." "If something must be self-existent and eternal, says another, why may not matter and all its properties be that something?" "The Atheist holds that the universe is an endless series of causes and effects ad infinitum, and therefore the idea of a first cause is an absurdity and a contradiction."[289] In short, the eternity of the world is assumed, the origin of new races is left unexplained, and no account whatever is given of the order which everywhere exists in Nature. In the last resort, he takes refuge in the plea of ignorance. His only answer is, "I do not know, I am not in the secrets of Nature."

But how does his extension of Paley's argument justify the position which he now assumes? Or how can it invalidate the admissions which he had previously made? That extension of the argument, even were it supposed to be legitimate, amounts simply to this, that a designer must be an organized being, and, as such, must have had a cause. But what analogy suggests, or what law of reason requires, an infinite series of such causes? And what is there in this extension of the argument that should exclude the idea of a First Cause? It is thought, indeed, that by connecting intelligence with organization, we may succeed at least in excluding His infinity, His omnipresence, and other attributes which are ascribed to the Most High: but the main stress of the argument rests not on the fact of organization, but on the supposed necessity of an endless series of contrivers to account for the existence of any one intelligent being, whether organized or not is of little moment. Now, this is a mere assumption, an assumption entirely destitute of proof, an assumption which is not necessarily involved even in the proposed extension of the analogy: for all that the analogy, however extended, can possibly require is a cause adequate to the production of designing minds, and that cause may be a self-existent, underived, and eternal Being. Let the analogy be extended ever so far, it must reach a point at which we are compelled, by the fundamental law of causality, to rise to a self-existent Being, exempt from all conditions of time, space, and causality. Mr. Holyoake admits the very same truth in regard to Nature which we maintain in regard to God: "I am driven to the conclusion that Nature is eternal, because we are unable to conceive a state of things when nothing was.... And in the eternity of matter, we are assured of the self-existence of matter, and self-existence is the most majestic of all attributes, and includes all others;" it is "the power of being independent of the law of other beings." Now, what is there in the proposed extension of the analogy that should exclude the idea of a self-existent First Cause, or shut us up to the admission of an endless series of designing causes? And still further, what is there in the proposed extension of the analogy which should invalidate the argument from design, or induce Mr. Holyoake to give it up, and to withdraw the concessions which he had previously made in regard to it? These concessions must be supposed to have been honestly made in deference to the claims of truth, and they are not in the least affected by the extension of the analogy. It is still true, if it ever was, that order prevails in Nature; and this is admitted: "If by Atheism is meant the belief that all that we see in Nature is the result of chance, of a fortuitous concourse of atoms, nothing would be so absurd as Atheism. Nothing can be more evident than that law and order prevail in Nature, that every species of matter, organic or inorganic, is impressed with certain laws, according to which all its properties and movements are regulated.... In denying, therefore, the existence of a personal, intelligent Deity, we do not admit that there is any chance, contingency, or disorder in Nature: we do not deny, but absolutely affirm, the constant and universal operation of law and order. This we do, because it is a matter of fact of obvious and daily experience."[290] Again, it is still true, if it ever was, that design implies a designer; and this, says Mr. Holyoake, "I am disposed to allow; and that this designer must be a person, I am quite inclined to admit. Thus far goes Paley, and, therefore, thus far I go with him. His general position, that design proves a personal designer, is so natural, so easy, and so plausible, that it invites one to admit it.... Paley insists upon it as a legitimate inference from his premises, nor would it be easy to disturb his conclusion.... This is Paley's reasoning upon the subject, and it is too natural, too rigid, and too cogent to be escaped from." Now, what is there in the proposed extension of the analogy that can invalidate either of these admissions, or that should induce us to set aside both? Extend the analogy ever so far, it is still true that law and order prevail in Nature, that design implies a designer, and that a designer must be a person. And how does Mr. Holyoake save his consistency? Simply by stretching the analogy till it snaps asunder; he begins by extending, and ends in destroying it; he admits it at first, merely "to see where it will lead and what it will prove," and finding that it must imply an organized designer, and an endless series of such beings, "he gives it up," and denies the existence of design altogether. There is a hiatus, it would seem,—an impassable gulf,—between the admission that law and order prevail in Nature, and the conclusion that law and order are manifestations of design: "What I supposed to be design in the opening of my argument is no longer design. My reverend friend is wrong in supposing that I admit DESIGN, and yet refuse to admit the force of the design argument," On the supposition, then, that law and order are manifestations of design, the design argument might be valid and conclusive: but "no conceivable order" could prove the existence of God; why? Because no conceivable order could be a manifestation of design. But how is this proved by the extension of the analogy? Does it not amount to a denial of the analogy itself? And is it not an instructive fact that his abortive attempt to disprove the design argument, results, not in the denial of the inductive inference, but in the exclusion of the very analogy which he proposed to extend, not in shaking the validity of the proof, but in disputing the fact on which it is based? The extension of the analogy cannot prove either that law and order are not manifestations of design, or that there may be design without a personal designer; all that it could prove, even were it legitimate, would be the existence of an organized instead of a spiritual Being, which, on the supposition of its self-existence,—a supposition which is not excluded by the argument, since that majestic attribute, which may be fairly held to "include all others," is expressly admitted,—neither requires nor admits of an infinite series of contrivers.