Lesson 5: Philosophy of Religion–Arguments for the Existence of God
Philosophy of religion is typically concerned with the nature and existence of God.
This folder contains the YouTube videos which explain the different arguments for the existence of God.
This folder contains readings concerning arguments for the existence and non-existence of God.
Epistemology is the branch of philosophy that deals with knowledge. In this lesson we discuss the various attempts to define knowledge and consider the case for skepticism, the view that knowledge is ultimately impossible.
This lesson introduces epistemology by exploring the definition of knowledge and the challenge of skepticism.
Lesson 4 Learning Outcomes
At the end of this lesson, students will be able to:
1. Read, analyze, and critique texts about epistemology.
2. Demonstrate knowledge of key concepts, major arguments, problems, and terminology in the philosophy by identifying the origins, historical developments, key figures, and general emphases of epistemology.
3. Present logically persuasive arguments.
4. Demonstrate critical thinking skills in evaluation and application of philosophical concepts to various aspects of life by
· evaluating the merits and demerits of the philosophical approaches of key figures in the history of epistemology;
· applying each of these philosophical approaches to particular problems.
Lesson 4 Checklist
Open the folder on the definition of knowledge, then:
· view the video about the different kinds of knowledge
· view the video about the Gettier problem
Utilitarianism
John Stuart Mill
Copyright ©
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All rights reserved. Jonathan Bennett
[Brackets] enclose editorial explanations. Small ·dots· enclose material that has been added, but can be read as
though it were part of the original text. Occasional •bullets, and also indenting of passages that are not quotations,
are meant as aids to grasping the structure of a sentence or a thought. Every four-point ellipsis . . . . indicates the
omission of a brief passage that seems to present more difficulty than it is worth.
First launched: September 2005 Last amended: April 200
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Contents
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4
·Higher and Lower Pleasures· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
·Happiness as an Aim· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
·Self-Sacrifice· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
11
·Setting the Standard too High?· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
12
·Is Utilitarianism Chilly?· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
3
·Utilitarianism as ‘Godless’· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
15
·Expediency· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
·Time to Calculate?· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
6
·Bad Faith· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
7
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Chapter 4: What sort of proof can be given for the principle of utility? 24
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill
Chapter 5: The connection between justice and utility 28
·Punishment· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
·Wages· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
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·Taxation· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
ii
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 1: General remarks
Chapter 1: General Remarks
Little progress has been made towards deciding the contro-
versy concerning the criterion of right and wrong. Among all
the facts about the present condition of human knowledge,
the state of this controversy is •most unlike what might
have been expected and •most indicative significant of the
backward state in which theorizing on the most important
subjects still lingers. That is how little progress has been
made! From the dawn of philosophy the question concerning
the summum bonum [Latin, = ‘the greatest good’] or, what is the
same thing, concerning the foundation of morality, has
•been regarded as the main problem in speculative
thought,
•occupied the most gifted intellects, and
•divided them into sects and schools, vigorously war-
ring against one another.
And after more than two thousand years the same discus-
sions continue! Philosophers still line up under the same
opposing battle-flags, and neither thinkers nor people in
general seem to be any nearer to being unanimous on the
subject than when young Socrates listened to old Protagoras
and asserted the theory of utilitarianism against the popular
morality of the so-called ‘sophist’ (I’m assuming here that
Plato’s dialogue is based on a real conversation). [Except on
page
14
, ‘popular’ is used in this work only to mean ‘of the people’, with
no implication about being liked.]
It is true that similar confusion and uncertainty, and
in some cases similar disagreements, exist concerning the
basic principles of all the sciences—even including the one
that is thought to be the most certain of them, namely
mathematics—without doing much harm, and usually with-
out doing any harm, to the trustworthiness of the conclu-
sions of those sciences. This seems odd, but it can be
explained: the detailed doctrines of a science usually •are
not deduced from what are called its first principles and
•don’t need those principles to make them evident. If this
weren’t so, there would be no science more precarious, and
none whose conclusions were more weakly based, than
algebra. This doesn’t get any of its certainty from what
are commonly taught to learners as its •elements ·or first
principles·, because •these, as laid down by some of its most
eminent teachers, are as full of fictions as English law and as
full of mysteries as theology. The truths that are ultimately
accepted as the first principles of a science are really the last
results of metaphysical analysis of the basic notions that
are involve in the science in question. Their relation to the
science is not that of •foundations to a building but of •roots
to a tree, which can do their job equally well if they are never
dug down to and exposed to light. But though in science the
particular truths precede the general theory, the reverse of
that might be expected with a practical art such as morals
or legislation. [Here an ‘art’ is any activity requiring a set of rules or
techniques, and ‘practical’ means ‘having to do with human conduct’.]
All action is for the sake of some end; and it seems natural to
suppose that rules of action must take their whole character
and colour from the end at which actions aim. When we are
pursuing something, a clear and precise conception of what
we are pursuing would seem to be the first thing we need,
rather than being the last we are to look forward to. One
would think that a test ·or criterion· of right and wrong must
be •the means of discovering what is right or wrong, and not
•a consequence of having already discovered this.
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 1: General remarks
The difficulty can’t be avoided by bringing in the popu-
lar theory of a natural ·moral· faculty, a sense or instinct
informing us of right and wrong. For one thing, the ‘criterion’
dispute includes a dispute about whether there is any such
moral instinct. And, anyway, believers in it who have
any philosophical ability have been obliged to abandon the
idea that it—·the moral faculty or ‘moral sense’ or moral
intuition·—picks out what is right or wrong in this or that
•particular case in the way that our other senses pick up
the sight or sound that is actually present ·in the •particular
concrete situation·. Our moral faculty, according to all those
of its friends who are entitled to count as thinkers, supplies
us only with the •general principles of moral judgments; it
belongs with reason and not with sense-perception; what we
can expect from it are the abstract doctrines of morality,
and not the perception of morality in particular concrete
situations. The intuitionist school of ethics insists on the
necessity of general laws just as much as does the inductive
school (as we might label it). They both agree that ·knowing·
the morality of an individual action is not a matter of •direct
perception but of the •application of a law to an individual
case. The two schools mostly agree also in what moral laws
they recognize; but they differ on
•what makes those moral laws evident, and
•what give them their authority.
According to the intuitionists, the principles of morals are
evident a priori: if you know the meanings of the terms in
which they are expressed, you’ll have to assent to them.
According to the inductivists, •right and wrong are questions
of observation and experience just as •truth and falsehood
are. But both schools hold equally that morality must be
deduced from principles; and the intuitive school affirm
as strongly as the inductive does that there is a science of
morals—·i.e. an organized system containing basic axioms
from which the rest can be rigorously deduced·. Yet they
seldom attempt to provide a list of the a priori principles that
are to serve as the premises of the science; and they almost
never make any effort to reduce those various principles to
one first principle, one first all-purpose ground of obligation.
Instead, they either •treat the ordinary precepts of morals
as though they had a priori authority or •lay down as the
all-purpose groundwork of those maxims some general moral
principle that is much less obviously authoritative than the
maxims themselves and hasn’t ever been widely accepted.
Yet to support their claims there ought to be one fundamental
principle or law at the root of all morality; or if there are sev-
eral of them, •they should be clearly rank-ordered in relation
to one another, and •there should be a self-evident principle
or rule for deciding amongst them when they conflict ·in a
particular case·.
The lack of any clear recognition of an ultimate standard
may have •corrupted the moral beliefs of mankind or made
them uncertain; on the other hand, the bad effects of this de-
ficiency may have •been moderated in practice. To determine
how far things have gone in the •former way and how far in
the •latter would require a complete critical survey of past
and present ethical doctrine. But it wouldn’t be hard to show
that whatever steadiness or consistency mankind’s moral
beliefs have achieved has been mainly due to the silent influ-
ence of a standard that hasn’t been ·consciously· recognised.
In the absence of an acknowledged first principle, ethics has
been not so much a •guide to men in forming their moral
views as a •consecration of the views they actually have; but
men’s views—both for and against—are greatly influenced by
what effects on their happiness they suppose things to have;
and so the principle of utility—or, as Bentham eventually
called it, ‘the greatest happiness principle’—has had a large
share in forming the moral doctrines even of those who
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 1: General remarks
most scornfully reject its authority. And every school of
thought admits that the influence of actions on happiness
is a very significant and even predominant consideration in
many of the details of morals, however unwilling they may
be to allow the production of happiness as the fundamental
principle of morality and the source of moral obligation. I
might go much further and say that a priori moralists can’t
do without utilitarian arguments (I am not talking about the
ones who don’t think they need to argue at all!). It is not my
present purpose to criticise these thinkers; but I can’t refrain
from bringing in as an illustration a systematic treatise by
one of the most illustrious of the a priori moralists, the
Metaphysics of Ethics by Kant. This remarkable man, whose
system of thought will long remain one of the landmarks
in the history of philosophical thought, lays down in that
treatise a universal first principle as the origin and ground
of moral obligation:
Act in such a way that the rule on which you act
could be adopted as a law by all rational beings.
But when he begins to derive any of the actual duties of
morality from this principle he fails, almost grotesquely, to
show that there would be any contradiction—any logical
impossibility, or even any physical impossibility—in the
adoption by all rational beings of the most outrageously
immoral rules of conduct. All he shows is that the universal
adoption of such rules would have consequences that no-one
would choose to bring about.
In the present work I shall, without further discussion
of the other theories, try to contribute something towards
the understanding and appreciation of the Utilitarian or
Happiness theory, and towards such proof as it can be given.
Obviously this can’t be ‘proof’ in the ordinary and popular
meaning of that word. Questions about ultimate ends can’t
be settled by direct proof. You can prove something to be
good only by showing that it is a means to something that
is admitted without proof to be good. The art of medicine is
proved to be good by its conducing to health, but how is it
possible to prove that health is good? The art of music is
good because (among other reasons) it produces pleasure,
but what proof could be given that pleasure is good? So if it
is claimed that
•there is a comprehensive formula that covers every-
thing that is good in itself, and
•whatever else is good is not good as an end but as a
means ·to something that is covered by the formula·,
the formula may be accepted or rejected but it can’t be
given what is commonly called a ‘proof’. But we shouldn’t
infer that its acceptance or rejection must depend on blind
impulse or arbitrary choice. There is a broader meaning of
the word ‘proof’ in which this question is as capable of ·being
settled by· ‘proof’ as any other of the disputed questions in
philosophy. The subject is within reach of the faculty of
reason, which doesn’t deal with it solely by ·moral· intuitions
·such as the intuitionists believe in·. Considerations can
be presented that are capable of determining the intellect
either to give or withhold its assent to the doctrine; and this
is equivalent to proof.
We shall examine presently what sort of thing these con-
siderations are and how they apply to the question at hand.
In doing this we shall be examining what rational grounds
can be given for accepting or rejecting the utilitarian formula.
But if there is to be rational acceptance or rejection, the
formula should first be correctly understood. I believe that
•the chief obstacle to acceptance of the utilitarian principle
has been people’s very imperfect grasp of its meaning, and
that if the misunderstandings of it—or even just the very
gross ones—could be cleared up, the question would be
greatly simplified and a large proportion of its difficulties
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
removed. So before I embark on the philosophical grounds
that can be given for assenting to the utilitarian standard, I
shall offer some illustrations of the doctrine itself; aiming to
•show more clearly what it is,
•distinguish it from what it is not, and
•dispose of such of the practical objections to it as
come from or are closely connected with mistaken
interpretations of its meaning.
Having thus prepared the ground, I shall afterwards try to
throw as much light as I can on the question, considered as
one of philosophical theory.
Chapter 2: What utilitarianism is
Some people have supposed that those who stand up for
‘utility’ as the test of right and wrong use that term in the
restricted and merely colloquial sense in which ‘utility’ is
opposed to pleasure. A passing remark is all that needs to
be given to that ignorant blunder. [This is probably a protest
against, among other things, a school-master in Dickens’s fine novel
Hard Times, whose approach to education insisted on what is ‘useful’
and flatly opposed any kind of pleasure.] I owe an apology to the
philosophical opponents of utilitarianism for even briefly
seeming to regard them as capable of so absurd a misunder-
standing. The blunder is all the more extraordinary given
that another of the common charges against utilitarianism is
the opposite accusation that it bases everything on pleasure
(understood very crudely). One able writer has pointedly
remarked that the same sort of persons, and often the very
same persons, denounce the theory ‘as impracticably dry
when the word “utility” precedes the word “pleasure”, and
as too practicably voluptuous when the word “pleasure”
precedes the word “utility” ’! Those who know anything
about the matter are aware that every writer from Epicurus
to Bentham who maintained the theory of ‘utility’ meant
by it not •something to be contrasted with pleasure but
•pleasure itself together with freedom from pain; and instead
of opposing the useful to the agreeable or the ornamental,
they have always declared that ‘useful’ includes these among
other things. Yet the common herd, including the herd
of writers—not only in newspapers and magazines but in
intellectually ambitious books—are perpetually falling into
this shallow mistake. Having caught up the word ‘utilitarian’,
while knowing nothing whatever about it but its sound, they
habitually express by it keeping out or neglecting pleasure in
some of its forms, such as beauty, ornament and amusement.
And when the term ‘utility’ is ignorantly misused in this way,
it isn’t always in criticism of utilitarianism; occasionally it
occurs when utilitarianism is being complimented, the idea
being that utility is something •superior to frivolity and the
mere pleasures of the moment, ·whereas really it •includes
them·. This perverted use is the only one in which the
word ‘utility’ is popularly known, and the one from which
the young are now getting their sole notion of its meaning.
Those who introduced the word, but who had for many
years stopped using it as a doctrinal label, may well feel
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
themselves called upon to resume it, if by doing so they can
hope to contribute anything towards rescuing it from this
utter degradation.1
The doctrine that the basis of morals is utility, or the
greatest happiness principle, holds that actions are right
in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong in
proportion as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness.
By ‘happiness’ is meant pleasure and the absence of pain;
by ‘unhappiness’ is meant pain and the lack of pleasure. To
give a clear view of the moral standard set up by the theory,
much more needs to be said, especially about what things
the doctrine includes in the ideas of pain and pleasure, and
to what extent it leaves this as an open question. But these
supplementary explanations don’t affect the theory of life on
which this theory of morality is based—namely the thesis
that
pleasure and freedom from pain are the only things that
are desirable as ends, and that
everything that is desirable at all is so either •for the
pleasure inherent in it or •as means to the promotion
of pleasure and the prevention of pain.
(The utilitarian system has as many things that are desirable,
in one way or the other, as any other theory of morality.)
Now, such a theory of life arouses utter dislike in many
minds, including some that are among the most admirable in
feeling and purpose. The view that life has (as they express
it) no higher end —no better and nobler object of desire and
pursuit—than pleasure they describe as utterly mean and
grovelling, a doctrine worthy only of pigs. The followers of
Epicurus were contemptuously compared with pigs, very
early on, and modern holders of the utilitarian doctrine are
occasionally subjected to equally polite comparisons by its
German, French, and English opponents.
·Higher and Lower Pleasures·
When attacked in this way, the Epicureans have always
answered that it is not they but their accusers who represent
human nature in a degrading light, because the accusation
implies that human beings are capable only of pleasures
that pigs are also capable of. If this were true, there’d
be no defence against the charge, but then it wouldn’t
be a charge; for if the sources of pleasure were precisely
the same for humans as for pigs, the rule of life that is
good enough for them would be good enough for us. The
comparison of the Epicurean life to that of beasts is felt
as degrading precisely because a beast’s pleasures do not
satisfy a human’s conceptions of happiness. Human beings
have •higher faculties than the animal appetites, and once
they become conscious of •them they don’t regard anything
as happiness that doesn’t include •their gratification. Admit-
tedly the Epicureans were far from faultless in drawing out
the consequences of the utilitarian principle; to do this at
all adequately one must include—·which they didn’t·—many
Stoic and some Christian elements. But every Epicurean
theory of life that we know of assigns to the •pleasures
of the intellect, of the feelings and imagination and of the
moral sentiments a much higher value as pleasures than
1 I have reason to believe that I am the first person who brought the word ‘utilitarian’ into ·general· use. I didn’t invent it, but adopted it from a
passing expression in Mr. Galt’s Annals of the Parish. After using it as a label for several years, he and others abandoned it because of their growing
dislike for anything resembling a badge or slogan marking out a sect. But as a name for •one single opinion, not •a set of opinions—to stand for the
recognition of utility as a standard, not any particular way of applying the standard—the term fills a gap in the language, and offers in many cases a
convenient way of avoiding tiresome long-windedness.
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
to •those of mere sensation. But it must be admitted that
when utilitarian writers have said that mental pleasures
are better than bodily ones they have mainly based this on
mental pleasures being more permanent, safer, less costly
and so on—i.e. from their circumstantial advantages rather
than from their intrinsic nature. And on all these points
utilitarians have fully proved their case; but they could, quite
consistently with their basic principle, have taken the other
route—occupying the higher ground, as we might say. It
is quite compatible with the principle of utility to recognise
that some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more
valuable than others. In estimating ·the value of· anything
else, we take into account •quality as well as •quantity; it
would be absurd if the value of pleasures were supposed to
depend on •quantity alone.
‘What do you mean by “difference of quality in pleasures”?
What, according to you, makes one pleasure •more valuable
than another, merely as a pleasure, if not its being •greater
in amount?’ There is only one possible answer to this.
Pleasure P1 is more desirable than pleasure P2 if: all
or almost all people who have had experience of both
give a decided preference to P1, irrespective of any
feeling that they ought to prefer it.
If those who are competently acquainted with both these
pleasures place P1 so far above P2 that •they prefer it even
when they know that a greater amount of discontent will
come with it, and •wouldn’t give it up in exchange for
any quantity of P2 that they are capable of having, we are
justified in ascribing to P1 a superiority in quality that so
greatly outweighs quantity as to make quantity comparatively
negligible.
Now, it is an unquestionable fact that the way of life
that employs the higher faculties is strongly preferred ·to
the way of life that caters only to the lower ones· by people
who are equally acquainted with both and equally capable of
appreciating and enjoying both. Few human creatures would
agree to be changed into any of the lower animals in return
for a promise of the fullest allowance of animal pleasures;
•no intelligent human being would consent to be a fool,
•no educated person would prefer to be an ignoramus,
•no person of feeling and conscience would rather be
selfish and base,
even if they were convinced that the fool, the dunce or the
rascal is better satisfied with his life than they are with
theirs. . . . If they ever think they would, it is only in cases of
unhappiness so extreme that to escape from it they would
exchange their situation for almost any other, however unde-
sirable they may think the other to be. Someone with higher
faculties •requires more to make him happy, •is probably
capable of more acute suffering, and •is certainly vulnerable
to suffering at more points, than someone of an inferior type;
but in spite of these drawbacks he can’t ever really wish
to sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of existence.
Explain this unwillingness how you please! We may attribute
it to
•pride, a name that is given indiscriminately to some of
the most and to some of the least admirable feelings
of which human beings are capable;
•the love of liberty and personal independence (for the
Stoics, that was one of the most effective means for
getting people to value the higher pleasures); or
•the love of power, or the love of excitement, both of
which really do play a part in it.
But the most appropriate label is a sense of dignity. All
human beings have this sense in one form or another, and
how strongly a person has it is roughly proportional to how
well endowed he is with the higher faculties. In those who
have a strong sense of dignity, their dignity is so essential
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
to their happiness that they couldn’t want, for more than a
moment, anything that conflicts with it.
Anyone who thinks that this preference takes place at a
sacrifice of happiness—anyone who denies that the superior
being is, other things being anywhere near equal, happier
than the inferior one—is confusing two very different ideas,
those of happiness and of contentment. It is true of course
that the being whose capacities of enjoyment are low has the
greatest chance of having them fully satisfied ·and thus of
being contented·; and a highly endowed being will always feel
that any happiness that he can look for, given how the world
is, is imperfect. But he can learn to bear its imperfections,
if they are at all bearable; and they won’t make him envy
the person who isn’t conscious of the imperfections only
because he has no sense of the good that those imperfections
are imperfections of —·for example, the person who isn’t
bothered by the poor quality of the conducting because he
doesn’t enjoy music anyway·. It is better to be a human
being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates
dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool or the pig
think otherwise, that is because they know only their own
side of the question. The other party to the comparison
knows both sides.
‘But many people who are capable of the higher pleasures
do sometimes, under the influence of temptation, give prefer-
ence to the lower ones.’ Yes, but this is quite compatible with
their fully appreciating the intrinsic superiority of the higher.
Men’s infirmity of character often leads them to choose the
nearer good over the more valuable one; and they do this just
as much when •it’s a choice between two bodily pleasures
as when •it is between a bodily pleasure and a mental one.
They pursue sensual pleasures at the expense of their health,
though they are perfectly aware that health is the greater
good, ·doing this because the sensual pleasures are nearer·.
‘Many people who begin with youthful enthusiasm for
everything noble, as they grow old sink into laziness and
selfishness.’ Yes, this is a very common change; but I
don’t think that those who undergo it voluntarily choose
the lower kinds of pleasures in preference to the higher.
I believe that before they devote themselves exclusively to
the lower pleasures they have already become incapable of
the higher ones. In most people a capacity for the nobler
feelings is a very tender plant that is easily killed, not only
by hostile influences but by mere lack of nourishment; and
in the majority of young persons it quickly dies away if their
jobs and their social lives aren’t favourable to keeping that
higher capacity in use. Men lose their high aspirations as
they lose their intellectual tastes, because they don’t have
time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict
themselves to lower pleasures not because they deliberately
prefer them but because they are either •the only pleasures
they can get or •the only pleasures they can still enjoy. It may
be questioned whether anyone who has remained equally
capable of both kinds of pleasure has ever knowingly and
calmly preferred the lower kind; though throughout the
centuries many people have broken down in an ineffectual
attempt to have both at once.
I don’t see that there can be any appeal against this
verdict of the only competent judges! On a question as to
which is the better worth having of two pleasures, or which
of two ways of life is the more agreeable to the feelings
(apart from its moral attributes and from its consequences),
the judgment of those who are qualified by knowledge of
both must be admitted as final—or, if they differ among
themselves, the judgment of the majority among them. And
we can be encouraged to accept this judgment concerning the
quality of pleasures by the fact that there is no other tribunal
to appeal to even on the question of quantity. What means
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
do we have for deciding which is the more acute of two pains,
or the more intense of two pleasurable sensations, other
than the collective opinion of those who are familiar with
both? ·Moving back now from quantity to quality·: there are
different kinds of pain and different kinds of pleasure, and
every pain is different from every pleasure. What can decide
whether a particular ·kind of· pleasure is worth purchasing
at the cost of a particular ·kind of· pain, if not the feelings
and judgment of those who are experienced ·in both kinds·?
When, therefore, those feelings and judgments declare the
pleasures derived from the higher faculties to be preferable in
kind, apart from the question of intensity, to those that can
be enjoyed by animals that don’t have the higher faculties,
their opinion on this subject too should be respected.
I have dwelt on this point because you need to understand
it if you are to have a perfectly sound conception of utility
or happiness, considered as the governing rule of human
conduct. But you could rationally accept the utilitarian
standard without having grasped ·that people who enjoy the
higher pleasures are happier than those who don’t·. That’s
because the utilitarian standard is not •the agent’s own
greatest happiness but •the greatest amount of happiness
altogether; and even if it can be doubted whether a noble
character is always happier because of its nobleness, such
a character certainly makes other people happier, and the
world in general gains immensely from its existence. So
utilitarianism would achieve its end only through the general
cultivation of nobleness of character, even if
each individual got benefit only from the nobleness of
others, with his own nobleness serving to reduce his
own happiness.
But mere statement of this last supposition [the indented one
just above] brings out its absurdity so clearly that there is no
need for me to argue against it.
·Happiness as an Aim·
According to the greatest happiness principle as I have
explained it, the ultimate end. . . ., for the sake of which
all other things are desirable (whether we are considering
our own good or that of other people) is an existence as free
as possible from pain and as rich as possible in enjoyments.
This means rich in •quantity and in •quality; the test of
•quality, and the rule for measuring it against •quantity,
being the preferences of those who are best equipped to
make the comparison—equipped, that is, by the range of
their experience and by their habits of self-consciousness
and self-observation. If the greatest happiness of all is (as
the utilitarian opinion says it is) •the end of human action, is
must also be •the standard of morality; which can therefore
be defined as:
the rules and precepts for human conduct such that:
the observance of them would provide the best pos-
sible guarantee of an existence such as has been
described—for all mankind and, so far as the nature
of things allows, for the whole sentient creation.
Against this doctrine, however, another class of objectors
rise up, saying that the rational purpose of human life and
action cannot be happiness in any form. For one thing, it is
unattainable, they say; and they contemptuously ask ‘What
right do you have to be happy?’, a question that Mr. Carlyle
drives home by adding ‘What right, a short time ago, did you
have even to exist?’. They also say that men can do without
happiness; that all noble human beings have felt this, and
couldn’t have become noble except by learning the lesson
of . . . .renunciation. They say that thoroughly learning and
submitting to that lesson is the beginning and necessary
condition of all virtue.
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
If the first of these objections were right, it would go to
the root of the matter; for if human beings can’t have any
happiness, the achieving of happiness can’t be the end of
morality or of any rational conduct. Still, even if human
beings couldn’t be happy there might still be something to
be said for the utilitarian theory, because utility includes not
solely •the pursuit of happiness but also •the prevention or
lessening of unhappiness; and if the •former aim is illusory
there will be all the more scope for —and need of —the •latter.
At any rate, that will be true so long as mankind choose to
go on living, and don’t take refuge in the simultaneous act
of suicide recommended under certain conditions by ·the
German poet· Novalis. But when someone positively asserts
that ‘It is impossible for human life to be happy’, if this isn’t
something like a verbal quibble it is at least an exaggeration.
If ‘happiness’ is taken to mean a continuous state of highly
pleasurable excitement, it is obvious enough that this is
impossible. A state of exalted pleasure lasts only moments,
or—in some cases and with some interruptions—hours or
days. Such an experience is the occasional •brilliant flash
of enjoyment, not its •permanent and steady flame. The
philosophers who have taught that happiness is the end of
life were as fully aware of this as those who taunt them. The
‘happiness’ that they meant was not a life of rapture; but
a life containing some moments of rapture, a few brief
pains, and many and various pleasures; a life that is
much more active than passive; a life based on not
expecting more from life than it is capable of providing.
A life made up of those components has always appeared
worthy of the name of ‘happiness’ to those who have been
fortunate enough to obtain it. And even now many people
have such an existence during a considerable part of their
lives. The present wretched education and wretched social
arrangements are the only real hindrance to its being attain-
able by almost everyone. [In Mill’s day ‘education’ tended to have a
broader meaning than it does today, and to cover every aspect of a young
person’s upbringing.]
‘If human beings are taught to consider happiness as
the end of life, they aren’t likely to be satisfied with such a
moderate share of it.’ On the contrary, very many people
have been satisfied with much less! There seem to be two
main constituents of a satisfied life, and each of them has
often been found to be, on its own, sufficient for the purpose.
They are tranquillity and excitement. Many people find that
when they have much tranquillity they can be content with
very little pleasure; and many find that when they have much
excitement they can put up with a considerable quantity of
pain. It is certainly possible that a man—and even the mass
of mankind—should have both tranquillity and excitement.
So far from being incompatible with one another, they are
natural allies: prolonging either of them is a preparation
for the other, and creates a wish for it. The only people
who don’t desire excitement after a restful period are those
in whom laziness amounts to a vice; and the only ones
who dislike the tranquillity that follows excitement—finding
it •dull and bland rather than •pleasurable in proportion
to the excitement that preceded it—are those whose need
for excitement is a disease. When people who are fairly
fortunate in their material circumstances don’t find sufficient
enjoyment to make life valuable to them, this is usually
because they care for nobody but themselves. If someone
has neither public nor private affections, that will greatly
reduce the amount of excitement his life can contain, and
any excitements that he does have will sink in value as the
time approaches when all selfish interests must be cut off
by death. On the other hand, someone who leaves after him
objects of personal affection, especially if he has developed a
fellow-feeling with the interests of mankind as a whole, will
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
retain as lively an interest in life on the eve of his death as
he had in the vigour of youth and health. Next to selfishness,
the principal cause that makes life unsatisfactory is lack of
mental cultivation [= ‘mental development’]. I am talking here
not about minds that are cultivated as a philosopher’s is,
but simply minds that have been open to the fountains
of knowledge and have been given a reasonable amount
of help in using their faculties. A mind that is cultivated
in that sense will find inexhaustible sources of interest in
everything that surrounds it—in the objects of nature, the
achievements of art, the imaginations of poetry, the incidents
of history, human events in the past and present as well
as their prospects in the future. It is possible to become
indifferent to all this, even when one hasn’t yet exhausted a
thousandth part of it; but that can happen only to someone
who from the beginning has had no •moral or human interest
in these things, and has looked to them only to •satisfy his
curiosity.
·These two prime requirements of happiness—•mental
cultivation and •unselfishness—shouldn’t be thought of as
possible only for a lucky few·. There is absolutely no reason
in the nature of things why an amount of •mental culture
sufficient to give an intelligent interest in science, poetry, art,
history etc. should not be the inheritance of everyone born
in a civilised country; any more than there’s any inherent
necessity that any human being should be a •selfish egotist
whose only feelings and cares are ones that centre on his
own miserable individuality. Something far superior to this
is, even now, common enough to give plenty of indication
of what the human species may become. Genuine private
affections and a sincere interest in the public good are possi-
ble, though to different extents, for every rightly brought up
human being. In a world containing so much to interest us,
so much for us to enjoy, and so much needing to be corrected
and improved, everyone who has a moderate amount of
these moral and intellectual requirements—·unselfishness
and cultivation·—is •capable of an existence that may be
called enviable; and such a person will certainly •have this
enviable existence as long as
•he isn’t, because of bad laws or conditions of servitude,
prevented from using the sources of happiness that
are within his reach; and
•he escapes the positive evils of life—the great sources
of physical and mental suffering—such as poverty,
disease, and bad luck with friends and lovers (turning
against him, proving to be worthless, or dying young).
So the main thrust of the problem lies in the battle against
these calamities. In the present state of things, poverty
and disease etc. can’t be eliminated, and often can’t even
be lessened much; and it is a rare good fortune to escape
such troubles entirely. Yet no-one whose opinion deserves
a moment’s consideration can doubt that most of the great
positive evils of the world are in themselves removable, and
will (if human affairs continue to improve) eventually be
reduced to something quite small. Poverty, in any sense
implying suffering, could be completely extinguished by the
wisdom of society combined with the good sense and gen-
erosity of individuals. Even that most stubborn of enemies,
•disease, could be indefinitely reduced in scope by good
physical and moral education and proper control of noxious
influences [= ‘air- and water-pollution’]; while the progress of
science holds out a promise of still more direct conquests
over •this detestable foe. And every advance in that direction
reduces the probability of events that would cut short our
own lives or —more important to us—the lives of others
in whom our happiness is wrapped up. As for ups and
downs of fortune, and other disappointments connected with
worldly circumstances, these are principally the effect of
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
gross foolishness, of desires that got out of control, or of bad
or imperfect social institutions.
In short, all the large sources of human suffering are
to a large extent —and many of them almost entirely—
conquerable by human care and effort. Their removal is
grievously slow, and a long succession of generations will
perish in the battle before the conquest is completed and
this world becomes what it easily could be if we had the will
and the knowledge to make it so. Yet despite this, every mind
that is sufficiently intelligent and generous to play some part
(however small and inconspicuous) in the effort will draw a
noble enjoyment from the contest itself—an enjoyment that
he couldn’t be induced to give up by any bribe in the form of
selfish indulgence.
And this leads to the right response to the objectors
who say that we can, and that we should, do without
happiness. It is certainly possible to do without happiness;
nineteen-twentieths of mankind are compelled to do without
it, even in those parts of our present world that are least deep
in barbarism. And it often happens that a hero or martyr
forgoes it for the sake of something that he values more than
his individual happiness. But what is this ‘something’ if
it isn’t the happiness of others or something required for
·their· happiness? It is noble to be capable of resigning
entirely one’s own share of happiness, or the chances of it;
but no-one engages in self-sacrifice just so as to engage in
self-sacrifice! He must have some end or purpose. You may
say: ‘The end he aims at in his self-sacrifice is not ·anyone’s·
happiness; it is virtue, which is better than happiness.’ In
response to this I ask: Would the sacrifice be made if the hero
or martyr didn’t think it would spare others from having to
make similar sacrifices? Would it be made if he thought that
his renunciation of happiness for himself would produce
no result for any of his fellow creatures except to make
their situation like his, putting them in also in the position of
persons who have renounced happiness? All honour to those
who can give up for themselves the personal enjoyment of life,
when by doing this they contribute worthily to increasing the
amount of happiness in the world; but someone who does
it, or claims to do it, for any other purpose doesn’t deserve
admiration any more than does the ascetic living on top of
his pillar. He may be a rousing proof of what men can do,
but surely not an example of what they should do.
·Self-Sacrifice·
Only while the world is in a very imperfect state can it
happen that anyone’s best chance of serving the happiness of
others is through the absolute sacrifice of his own happiness;
but while the world is in that imperfect state, I fully admit
that the readiness to make such a sacrifice is the highest
virtue that can be found in man. I would add something
that may seem paradoxical: namely that in this ·present
imperfect· condition of the world •the conscious ability to do
without happiness gives the best prospect of bringing about
such happiness as is attainable. For nothing except that
•consciousness can raise a person above the chances of life
by making him feel that fate and fortune—let them do their
worst!—have no power to subdue him. Once he feels that, it
frees him from excessive anxiety about the evils of life and
lets him (like many a Stoic in the worst times of the Roman
Empire) calmly develop the sources of satisfaction that are
available to him, not concerning himself with the uncertainty
regarding how long they will last or the certainty that they
will end.
Meanwhile, let utilitarians never cease to claim that they
have as much right as the Stoic or the Transcendentalist to
maintain the morality of devotion to a cause as something
11
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
that belongs to them. The utilitarian morality does recognise
that human beings can sacrifice their own greatest good
for the good of others; it merely refuses to admit that the
sacrifice is itself a good. It regards as wasted any sacrifice
that doesn’t increase, or tend to increase, the sum total
of happiness. The only self-renunciation that it applauds
is devotion to the happiness, or to some of the means to
happiness, of others. . . .
I must again repeat something that the opponents of
utilitarianism are seldom fair enough to admit, namely that
the happiness that forms the utilitarian standard of what
is right in conduct is not •the agent’s own happiness but
•that of all concerned. As between his own happiness and
that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly
impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator. [Here
and everywhere Mill uses ‘disinterested’ in its still-correct meaning = ‘not
self -interested’ = ‘not swayed by any consideration of how the outcome
might affect one’s own welfare’.] In the golden rule of Jesus of
Nazareth we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility.
To
do as you would be done by, and to
love your neighbour as yourself
constitute the ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. As
the ·practical· way to get as close as possible to this ideal,
·the ethics of· utility would command two things. (1) First,
laws and social arrangements should place the happiness
(or what for practical purposes we may call the interest) of
every individual as much as possible in harmony with the
interest of the whole. (2) Education and opinion, which
have such a vast power over human character, should use
that power to establish in the mind of every individual an
unbreakable link between •his own happiness and •the good
of the whole; especially between •his own happiness and
•the kinds of conduct (whether doing or allowing) that are
conducive to universal happiness. If (2) is done properly,
it will tend to have two results: (2a) The individual won’t
be able to conceive the possibility of being personally happy
while acting in ways opposed to the general good. (2b) In
each individual a direct impulse to promote the general good
will be one of the habitual motives of action, and the feelings
connected with it will fill a large and prominent place in
his sentient existence. This is the true character of the
utilitarian morality. If those who attack utilitarianism see it
as being like this, I don’t know •what good features of some
other moralities they could possibly say that utilitarianism
lacks, •what more beautiful or more elevated developments
of human nature any other ethical systems can be supposed
to encourage, or •what motivations for action that aren’t
available to the utilitarian those other systems rely on for
giving effect to their mandates.
·Setting the Standard too High?·
The objectors to utilitarianism can’t be accused of always
representing it in a •discreditable light. On the contrary,
objectors who have anything like a correct idea of its disin-
terested character sometimes find fault with utilitarianism’s
standard as being •too high for humanity. To require people
always to act from the •motive of promoting the general
interests of society—that is demanding too much, they say.
But this is to mistake the very meaning of a standard of
morals, and confuse the •rule of action with the •motive for
acting. It is the business of ethics to tell us what are our
duties, or by what test we can know them; but no system of
ethics requires that our only motive in everything we do shall
be a feeling of duty; on the contrary, ninety-nine hundredths
of all our actions are done from other motives, and rightly
12
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
so if the •rule of duty doesn’t condemn them. It is especially
unfair to utilitarianism to object to it on the basis of this
particular misunderstanding, because utilitarian moralists
have gone beyond almost everyone in asserting that the
motive has nothing to do with the morality of the action
though it has much to do with the worth of the agent. He
who saves a fellow creature from drowning does what is
morally right, whether his motive is duty or the hope of being
paid for his trouble; he who betrays a friend who trusts him
is guilty of a crime, even if his aim is to serve another friend
to whom he is under greater obligations.
Let us now look at actions that are done from the motive
of duty, in direct obedience to ·the utilitarian· principle: it
is a misunderstanding of the utilitarian way of thinking to
conceive it as implying that people should fix their minds on
anything as wide as the world or society in general. The great
majority of good actions are intended not for •the benefit of
the world but for parts of the good of the world, namely •the
benefit of individuals. And on these occasions the thoughts
of the most virtuous man need not go beyond the particular
persons concerned, except to the extent that he has to assure
himself that in benefiting those individuals he isn’t violating
the rights (i.e. the legitimate and authorised expectations)
of anyone else. According to the utilitarian ethics the object
of virtue is to multiply happiness; for any person (except
one in a thousand) it is only on exceptional occasions that
he has it in his power to do this on an extended scale, i.e.
to be a public benefactor; and it is only on these occasions
that he is called upon to consider public utility; in every
other case he needs to attend only to private utility, the
interest or happiness of some few persons. The only people
who need to concern themselves regularly about so large
an object as society in general are those ·few· whose actions
have an influence that extends that far. ·Thoughts about the
general welfare do have a place in everyone’s moral thinking·
in the case of refrainings—things that people hold off from
doing, for moral reasons, though the consequences in the
particular case might be beneficial. The thought in these
cases is like this: ‘If I acted in that way, my action would
belong to a class of actions which, if practised generally,
would be generally harmful, and for that reason I ought not
to perform it.’ It would be unworthy of an intelligent agent
not to be consciously aware of such considerations. But the
amount of regard for the public interest implied in this kind
of thought is no greater than is demanded by every system of
morals, for they all demand that one refrain from anything
that would obviously be pernicious to society; ·so there is no
basis here for a criticism of utilitarianism in particular·.
·Is Utilitarianism Chilly?·
The same considerations dispose of another reproach against
the doctrine of utility, based on a still grosser misunderstand-
ing of the purpose of a standard of morality and of the very
meanings of the words ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. It is often said
that utilitarianism •makes men cold and unsympathising;
that it •chills their moral feelings towards individuals; that it
•makes them attend only to
•the dry and hard consideration of the consequences
of actions,
leaving out of their moral estimate
•the ·personal· qualities from which those actions
emanate.
If this means that they don’t allow their judgment about the
rightness or wrongness of an action to be influenced by their
opinion of the qualities of the person who does it, this is
a complaint not against •utilitarianism but against •having
any standard of morality at all; for certainly no known ethical
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
standard declares that an action is good or bad because it
is done by a good or a bad man, still less because it is done
by a lovable, brave or benevolent man, or by an unfriendly,
cowardly or unsympathetic one. These considerations ·of
personal virtue· are relevant to how we estimate persons,
not actions; and the utilitarian theory in no way conflicts
with the fact that there are other things that interest us
in persons besides the rightness and wrongness of their
actions. The Stoics, indeed, with the paradoxical misuse
of language which was part of their system and by which
they tried to raise themselves to a level at which their only
concern was with virtue, were fond of saying that he who
has virtue has everything; that it is the virtuous man, and
only the virtuous man, who is rich, is beautiful, is a king.
But the utilitarian doctrine doesn’t make any such claim on
behalf of the virtuous man. Utilitarians are well aware that
there are other desirable possessions and qualities besides
virtue, and are perfectly willing to allow to all of them their
full worth. They are also aware that •a right action doesn’t
necessarily indicate a virtuous character, and that •actions
that are blamable often come from ·personal· qualities that
deserve praise. When this shows up in any particular case,
it modifies utilitarian’s estimation not of the act but of the
agent. They do hold that in the long run the best proof of
a good character is good actions; and they firmly refuse to
consider any mental disposition as good if its predominant
tendency is to produce bad conduct. This, which I freely
grant, makes utilitarians unpopular with many people; but
this is an unpopularity that they must share with everyone
who takes seriously the distinction between right and wrong;
and the criticism is not one that a conscientious utilitarian
need be anxious to fend off.
If the objection means only this:
Many utilitarians look on the morality of actions, as
measured by the utilitarian standard, in too exclusive
a manner, and don’t put enough emphasis on the
other beauties of character that go towards making a
human being lovable or admirable,
this may be admitted. Utilitarians who have cultivated their
moral feelings but not their sympathies or their artistic
perceptions do fall into this mistake; and so do all other
moralists under the same conditions. What can be said in
excuse of other moralists is equally available for utilitarians,
namely that if one is to go wrong about this, it is better to
go wrong on that side, ·rather than caring about lovability
etc. and ignoring the morality of actions·. As a matter of fact,
utilitarians are in this respect like the adherents of other
systems: there is every imaginable degree of rigidity and of
laxity in how they apply their standard ·of right and wrong·:
some are puritanically rigorous, while others are as forgiving
as any sinner or sentimentalist could wish! But on the whole,
a doctrine that highlights the interest that mankind have
in the repression and prevention of conduct that violates
the moral law is likely to do as good a job as any other in
turning the force of public opinion again such violations. It
is true that the question ‘What does violate the moral law?’
is one on which those who recognise different standards
of morality are likely now and then to differ. But ·that
isn’t a point against utilitarianism·; difference of opinion
on moral questions wasn’t first introduced into the world by
utilitarianism! And that doctrine does supply a tangible and
intelligible way—if not always an easy one—of deciding such
differences.
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
·Utilitarianism as ‘Godless’·
It may be worthwhile to comment on a few more of the
common misunderstandings of utilitarian ethics, even those
that are so obvious and gross that it might appear impossible
for any fair and intelligent person to fall into them. ·It might
appear impossible but unfortunately it isn’t·: the crudest
misunderstandings of ethical doctrines are continually met
with in the deliberate writings of persons with the greatest
claims both to high principle and to philosophy. That
is because people—even very able ones—often take little
trouble to understand the likely influence of any opinion
against which they have a prejudice, and are unaware of
this deliberate ignorance as a defect. We quite often hear the
doctrine of utility denounced as a godless doctrine. If this
mere assumption needs to be replied to at all, we may say
that the question depends on what idea we have formed of
the moral character of the Deity. If it is true that God desires
the happiness of his creatures above all else, and that this
was his purpose in creating them, then utilitarianism, far
from being a godless doctrine, is the most deeply religious
of them all. If the accusation is that utilitarianism doesn’t
recognise the revealed will of God as the supreme law of
morals, I answer that a utilitarian who believes in the perfect
goodness and wisdom of God has to believe that whatever
God has thought fit to reveal on the subject of morals must
fulfil the requirements of utility in a supreme degree. Others
besides utilitarians have held this:
The Christian revelation was intended (and is fitted)
to bring into the hearts and minds of mankind a spirit
that will enable them to find for themselves what is
right, and incline them to do right when they have
found it; rather than to tell them —except in a very
general way—what it is. And we need a doctrine of
ethics, carefully followed out, to know what the will of
God is.
We needn’t discuss here whether this is right; because what-
ever aid religion—either natural or revealed—can provide to
ethical investigation is as open to the utilitarian moralist as
to any other. He is as entitled to cite it as God’s testimony to
the usefulness or hurtfulness of a course of action as others
are to cite it as pointing to a transcendental law that has no
connection with usefulness or happiness.
·Expediency·
Again, utilitarianism is often slapped down as an immoral
doctrine by giving it the name ‘Expediency’, and taking
advantage of the common use of that term to contrast it
with ‘Principle’. But when ‘expedient’ is opposed to ‘right’,
it usually means what is expedient for the particular interest
of the agent himself, as when a high official sacrifices the
interests of his country in order to keep himself in place.
When it means anything better than this, it means what is
expedient for some immediate temporary purpose, while vio-
lating a rule whose observance is much more expedient. The
‘expedient’ in this sense, instead of being the same thing as
the •useful, is a branch of the •hurtful. For example, telling
a lie would often be expedient for escaping some temporary
difficulty or getting something that would be immediately
useful to ourselves or others. But (1) the principal support
of all present social well-being is people’s ability to trust
one another’s assertions, and the lack of that trust does
more than anything else to keep back civilisation, virtue,
everything on which human happiness on the largest scale
depends. Therefore (2) the development in ourselves of a
sensitive feeling about truthfulness is one of the most useful
things that our conduct can encourage, and the weakening of
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Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
that feeling is one of the most harmful. Finally, (3) any devia-
tion from truth—even an unintentional one—does something
towards weakening the trustworthiness of human assertion.
For these reasons we feel that (4) to obtain an immediate
advantage by violating such an overwhelmingly expedient
rule is not expedient, and that someone who acts in that
way does his bit towards depriving mankind of the good,
and inflicting on them the harm, involved in the greater or
less reliance that they can place in each other’s word, thus
acting as though he were one of mankind’s worst enemies.
Yet all moralists agree that even this rule ·about telling the
truth·, sacred as it is, admits of possible exceptions. The
chief one is the case where the withholding of some fact
from someone would save an individual (especially someone
other than oneself) from great and undeserved harm, and
the only way of withholding it is to lie about it. (Examples:
keeping information ·about the whereabouts of a weapon·
from a malefactor, keeping bad news from a person who
is dangerously ill.) But in order that this exception ·to the
truth-telling rule· doesn’t extend itself beyond the need for
it, and has the least possible effect of weakening reliance
on truth-telling, it ought to be recognised, and if possible its
limits should be defined; and if the principle of utility is good
for anything, it must be good for weighing these conflicting
utilities against one another, and marking out the region
within which one or the other dominates.
·Time to Calculate?·
Again, defenders of utility often find themselves challenged
to reply to such objections as this: ‘Before acting, one doesn’t
have time to calculate and weigh the effects on the general
happiness of any line of conduct.’ This is just like saying:
‘Before acting, one doesn’t have time on each occasion to read
through the Old and New Testaments; so it is impossible
for us to guide our conduct by Christianity.’ The answer to
the objection is that there has been plenty of time, namely,
the whole past duration of the human species. During all
that time, mankind have been learning by •experience what
sorts of consequences actions are apt to have, this being
something on which all the morality of life depends, as well
as all the prudence [= ‘decisions about what will further one’s own
interests’]. The objectors talk as if the start of this course of
•experience had been put off until now, so that when some
man feels tempted to meddle with the property or life of
someone else he has to start at that moment considering
for the first time whether murder and theft are harmful to
human happiness! Even if that were how things stand, I
don’t think he would find the question very puzzling. . . .
If mankind were agreed in considering utility to be the
test of morality, they would of course—it would be merely
fanciful to deny it—reach some agreement about what is
useful, and would arrange for their notions about this to
be taught to the young and enforced by law and opinion.
Any ethical standard whatever can easily be ‘shown’ to work
badly if we suppose •universal idiocy to be conjoined with
it! But on any hypothesis short of •that, mankind must by
this time have acquired positive beliefs as to the effects of
some actions on their happiness; and the beliefs that have
thus come down ·to us from the experience of mankind· are
the rules of morality for the people in general—and for the
philosopher until he succeeds in finding something better. I
admit, or rather I strongly assert, that
•philosophers might easily find something better, even
now, on many subjects; that
•the accepted code of ethics is not God-given; and that
•mankind have still much to learn about how various
kinds of action affect the general happiness.
16
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 2: What utilitarianism is
The corollaries from the principle of utility, like the rules
of every practical art, can be improved indefinitely, and
while the human mind is progressing they are constantly
improving.
But to consider the intermediate rules of morality as
unprovable is one thing; to pass over them entirely, trying to
test each individual action directly by the first principle, is
another. It is a strange notion that having a •first principle is
inconsistent with having •secondary ones as well. When you
tell a traveller the location of the place he wants to get to, you
aren’t forbidding him to use landmarks and direction-posts
along the way! The proposition that happiness is the end
and aim of morality doesn’t mean that no road ought to be
laid down to that goal, or that people going to it shouldn’t be
advised to take one direction rather than another. Men
really ought to stop talking a kind of nonsense on this
subject –nonsense that they wouldn’t utter or listen to with
regard to any other practically important matter. Nobody
argues that the art of navigation is not based on astronomy
because sailors can’t wait to calculate the Nautical Almanack.
Because they are rational creatures, sailors go to sea with
the calculations already done; and all rational creatures
go out on the sea of life with their minds made up on the
common questions of right and wrong, as well as on many of
the much harder questions of wise and foolish. And we can
presume that they will continue to do so long as foresight
continues to be a human quality. Whatever we adopt as
the fundamental principle of morality, we need subordinate
principles through which to apply it; the absolute need for
them is a feature of all ·moral· systems, so it doesn’t support
any argument against any one system in particular. To argue
solemnly in a manner that presupposes this:
No such secondary principles can be had; and
mankind never did and never will draw any general
conclusions from the experience of human life
is as totally absurd, I think, as anything that has been
advanced in philosophical controversy.
·Bad Faith·
The remainder of the standard arguments against utilitarian-
ism mostly consist in blaming it for •the common infirmities
of human nature and •the general difficulties that trouble
conscientious persons when they are shaping their course
through life. We are told that a utilitarian will be apt to make
his own particular case an exception to moral rules; and
that when he is tempted ·to do something wrong· he will see
more utility in doing it than in not doing it. But is utility the
only morality that can provide us with excuses for evil doing,
and means of cheating our own conscience? ·Of course not·!
Such excuses are provided in abundance by •all doctrines
that recognise the existence of conflicting considerations as
a fact in morals; and this is recognized by every doctrine
that any sane person has believed. It is the fault not •of any
creed but •of the complicated nature of human affairs that
rules of conduct can’t be formulated so that they require
no exceptions, and hardly any kind of action can safely be
stated to be either always obligatory or always condemnable.
Every ethical creed softens the rigidity of its laws by
giving the morally responsible agent some •freedom to adapt
his behaviour to special features of his circumstances; and
under every creed, at the •opening thus made, self-deception
and dishonest reasoning get in. Every moral system allows
for clear cases of conflicting obligation. These are real
difficulties, knotty points both in the •theory of ethics and
in the •practical personal matter of living conscientiously.
In practice they are overcome, more or less successfully,
according to the person’s intellect and virtue; but it can’t
17
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
be claimed that having an ultimate standard to which con-
flicting rights and duties can be referred will make one less
qualified to deal with them! If utility is the basic source of
moral obligations, utility can be invoked to decide between
obligations whose demands are incompatible. The ·utility·
standard may be hard to apply, but it is better than having
no standard. In other systems, the moral laws all claim
independent authority, so that there’s no common umpire
entitled to settle conflicts between them; when one of them is
claimed to have precedence over another, the basis for this is
little better than sophistry, allowing free scope for personal
desires and preferences (unless the conflict is resolved by the
unadmitted influence of considerations of utility). It is only
in these cases of conflict between secondary principles that
there is any need to appeal to first principles. In every case
of moral obligation some secondary principle is involved; and
if there is only one, someone who recognizes that principle
can seldom be in any real doubt as to which one it is.
Chapter 3: What will motivate us to obey the principle of utility?
The question is often asked, and it is a proper question in
relation to any supposed moral standard,
What is its sanction? [= ‘What is the reward for conforming
to it and/or the punishment for not doing so?’]
What are the motives to obey it?
or more specifically,
What is the source of its obligation? Where does it get
its binding force from?
It is a necessary part of moral philosophy to provide the
answer to this question. It often takes the shape of an
objection to the utilitarian morality in particular, as though
it were specially applicable to that; but really it arises in
regard to all standards. It arises, in fact, whenever someone
is called on to adopt a standard ·that is new to him·, or
to put morality on some basis on which he hasn’t been
accustomed to rest it. The only morality that presents itself
to the mind with the feeling of being in itself obligatory is the
customary morality, the one that education and opinion have
•consecrated; and when a person is asked to believe that this
morality derives its obligation from some general principle
around which custom has not thrown the same •halo, he
finds the demand paradoxical; the supposed corollaries seem
to have a more binding force than the original theorem; the
superstructure seems to stand better without its supposed
foundation than with it. He says to himself, ‘I feel that I
am bound not to rob or murder, betray or deceive; but why
am I bound to promote the general happiness? If my own
happiness lies in something else, why may I not give that the
preference?’
If the utilitarian philosophy’s view of the nature of the
moral sense is correct, this difficulty will always present
itself, until the influences that form moral character have
taken the same hold of the •principle that they have taken
of some of its •consequences. That will be the time when
the improvement of education brings about something that
Christ certainly intended should come about, namely that
18
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
the •feeling of unity with our fellow-creatures should be
as deeply rooted in our character, and feel to us to be as
completely a part of our nature as the •horror of crime is in
an ordinarily well brought up young person. While we are
waiting for that day to come, the difficulty has no special
application to the doctrine of utility, but is inherent in every
attempt to analyse morality and organize it under principles.
Unless the first principle already has in men’s minds as
much sacredness as any of its applications, this process
always seems to deprive the applications of a part of their
sanctity.
The principle of utility either has, or perfectly well could
have, all the sanctions that belong to any other system of
morals. Those sanctions are either external or internal. I
needn’t spend long on the external sanctions. They are
the hope of favour and the fear of displeasure from
•our fellow creatures or from •the ruler of the universe,
and also
whatever sympathy or affection we may have for •them,
or whatever love and awe we may have towards •Him,
inclining us to do ·what they want or· what He wants,
independently of selfish consequences.
Obviously there is no reason why all these motives for
conforming to moral principles shouldn’t attach themselves
to the utilitarian morality as completely and as powerfully
as to any other. Indeed, the motives that refer to our fellow
creatures are sure to do so, insofar as people are intelligent
enough ·to make the connection·. Here is why. Whether
or not there is any basis of moral obligation other than the
general happiness, men do want happiness; and however
imperfect a particular person’s conduct may be, he does
desire and commend all conduct by others that promotes his
happiness. With regard to the religious motive: if men believe
in the goodness of God (as most of them say they do), those
who think that conduciveness to the general happiness is
the essence of good, or even just the criterion of good, must
believe that general happiness is also what God approves.
So
•the whole force of external reward and punishment,
whether physical or moral and whether coming from
God or from our fellow men,
together with
•everything that human nature is capable of in the way
of disinterested devotion to God or to man,
become available ·as sanctions· to enforce ·obedience to·
the utilitarian morality, in proportion as that morality is
recognised. And the more the techniques of education and
general cultivation are put to work on this, the stronger the
sanctions will be.
That’s enough about external sanctions. The internal
sanction of duty is one and the same, whatever our standard
of duty may be. It is a feeling in our own mind, a more
or less intense pain that comes with violations of duty;
and in properly cultivated moral natures it rises in the
more serious cases into shrinking from the violation as
an impossibility. When this feeling is disinterested, and
connected with the pure idea of duty and not with some
particular form of it or with any of the merely accessory
circumstances, it is the essence of •conscience; though in
•that complex phenomenon as it actually exists the simple
fact ·of pure conscience· is usually all encrusted over with
associated feelings derived
from sympathy,
from love and even more from fear;
from all the forms of religious feeling;
from memories of childhood and of all our past life;
from self-esteem, desire for the esteem of others, and
occasionally even self-abasement.
19
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
It seems to me that this extreme complicatedness is the
origin of the sort of mystical character which is apt to be
attributed to the idea of moral obligation and which leads
people to think that the idea ·of moral obligation· can’t
possibly attach itself to any objects except the ones that,
by a supposed mysterious law, are found in our present
experience to arouse it. Its binding force, however, consists
in the existence of a mass of feeling that must be broken
through in order to do what violates our standard of right;
and if we do nevertheless violate that standard, the feelings
will probably have to be encountered afterwards in the form
of remorse. Whatever theory we have of the nature or origin
of conscience, this is what it essentially consists of.
Since the ultimate sanction of all morality (external mo-
tives apart) is a subjective feeling in our own minds, I see
nothing awkward for the utilitarian in the question ‘What
is the sanction of the utilitarian standard?’ We can answer,
‘It is the same as of all other moral standards—namely
the conscientious feelings of mankind.’ Undoubtedly this
sanction has no binding force for those who don’t have
the feelings it appeals to; but these people won’t be more
obedient to any other moral principle than to the utilitarian
one. No morality of any kind has any hold on them except
through external sanctions. Meanwhile the feelings do exist,
a fact in human nature; and experience shows that they are
real and that they can act with great power on people in
whom they have been duly developed. No reason has ever
been shown why they can’t be developed to as great intensity
in connection with the utilitarian rule of morals as with any
other.
I realize that some people are inclined to believe that a
person who sees in moral obligation
a transcendental fact, an objective reality belonging
to the province of ‘things in themselves’
is likely to be more obedient to moral obligation than one
who believes it to be
entirely subjective, being rooted purely in human
consciousness.
But whatever a person’s opinion may be on this metaphysical
point, the force he is really urged by is his own subjective
feeling, and the •power of the force is exactly measured by
the •strength of the feeling. No-one’s belief that
duty is an objective reality
is stronger than the belief that
God is an objective reality;
yet the belief in God, apart from the expectation of actual re-
ward and punishment, operates on conduct only through the
subjective religious feeling, and the power of the operation is
proportional to the strength of the feeling. The sanction, so
far as it is disinterested, is always in the mind itself; so the
thought of the transcendental moralists ·I am discussing·
must be this:
This sanction won’t exist in the mind unless it is
believed to have its root outside the mind. If a person
can say to himself ‘What is now restraining me—what
is called my conscience—is only a feeling in my own
mind’, he may draw the conclusion that when the
feeling ceases the obligation also ceases, and that if
he finds the feeling inconvenient he may disregard it
and try to get rid of it.
But is this danger confined to the utilitarian morality? Does
the belief that moral obligation has its seat outside the mind
make the feeling of it too strong for you to get rid of it? The
facts are otherwise—so much so that all moralists admit
and lament how easy it is for conscience to be silenced or
stifled in most people’s minds. People who never heard
of the principle of utility ask themselves ‘Need I obey my
conscience?’ just as often as do utilitarians. Those whose
20
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
conscientious feelings are so weak as to allow them to ask
this question, if they answer ‘Yes’ they will do so not because
•they believe in the transcendental theory but because of
•the external sanctions.
It isn’t necessary for present purposes to decide whether
the feeling of duty is innate or implanted [i.e. whether it is part
of our natural birthright or is acquired along the way through education
or whatever]. Assuming it to be innate, the question remains
as to what duties the feeling naturally attaches itself to;
for the philosophic supporters of the innateness theory are
now agreed that ·what is given to us innately·—what we
have an intuitive perception of—is the •principles of morality
and not its •details. If there is anything innate in all this,
I don’t see why the feeling that is innate shouldn’t be the
feeling of •concern for the pleasures and pains of others. If
any principle of morals is intuitively obligatory, I should say
it must be •that one. If so, intuitive ·innatist· ethics would
coincide with utilitarian ethics, and there would be no further
quarrel between them. Even as things stand, although the
intuitive moralists believe that there are other intuitive moral
obligations, they do already believe that this —·the obligation
to seek the welfare of others·—is one; for they all hold that
a large portion of morality turns on the consideration that
should be given to the interests of our fellow-creatures. So
if the belief in the transcendental origin of moral obligation
does give any additional force to the internal sanction, it
appears to me that the utilitarian principle already has the
benefit of it.
On the other hand, if the moral feelings are not innate
but acquired (as I think they are), that doesn’t make them
any less natural. It is natural for man to speak, to reason,
to build cities, to cultivate the ground, though these are
acquired abilities. The moral feelings are indeed not ‘a part
of our nature’ in the sense of being detectably present in all
of us; but this is a sad fact admitted by the most strenuous
believers in the transcendental origin of those feelings. Like
the other acquired capacities I have referred to, the moral
faculty, if not a part of our nature, is a natural outgrowth
from it. Like them, it can to a certain small extent spring
up spontaneously and can be brought by cultivation to a
high degree of development. Unfortunately, it can —by a
sufficient use of external sanctions and of the force of early
impressions—be cultivated in almost any direction; so that
there is hardly anything so absurd or so mischievous that
these influences can’t make it act on the human mind with
all the authority of conscience. To doubt that the same power
might be given by the same means to the principle of utility,
even if it had no foundation in human nature, would be
flying in the face of all experience.
But while the culture of the intellect continues, purely
artificial moral associations gradually give way through the
dissolving force of analysis. If this were the case:
•The feeling of duty when associated with utility seems
as arbitrary ·as any of those others·;
•There is no prominent part of our make-up, no pow-
erful class of feelings, with which that association
harmonizes, making us feel it as congenial and inclin-
ing us not only to encourage it in others (for which we
have abundant ·self·-interested motives), but also to
value it in ourselves; in short,
•Utilitarian morality has no natural basis in our feel-
ings,
—in that case it might well happen that this association ·of
duty with utility· was analysed away, even after it had been
implanted by education. But there is this basis of powerful
natural sentiment; and this will constitute the strength of
the utilitarian morality once general happiness is recognised
as the ethical standard. This firm foundation is that of
21
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
the social feelings of mankind; the desire to be in unity
with our fellow creatures. It is already a powerful force in
human nature, and fortunately one of those that tend to be
made stronger—even without being explicitly taught —by
the influences of advancing civilisation. The social state is
at once so natural, so necessary and so habitual to a man
that, except in some unusual circumstances or an effortful
thought-experiment, he never thinks of himself as anything
but a member of a group; and this association becomes
stronger and stronger as mankind moves further from the
state of savage independence. Thus, any condition that is
essential to a state of society becomes more and more an
inseparable part of each person’s conception of the state of
things that he is born into and that is the destiny of a human
being.
Now society between human beings—except in the re-
lation of master to slave—is obviously impossible on any
other basis than that the interests of all are to be consulted.
Society between •equals can only exist on the understanding
that the interests of all are to be regarded •equally. And
since in all states of civilisation every person except an
absolute monarch has equals, everyone is obliged to live on
these terms with somebody; and in every age some advance
is made towards a state in which it will be impossible to
live permanently with anybody except on terms of equality.
In this way people grow up unable to think of a state of
total disregard of other people’s interests as one they could
possibly live in. They have to conceive of themselves as at
least refraining from all the most harmful crimes and (if
only for their own protection) living in a state of constant
protest against them. They are also familiar with the fact of
co-operating with others and of acting (at least for the time
being) in the interests of a group rather than of themselves
as individuals. So long as they are co-operating, their
purposes are identified with those of others; there is at
least a temporary feeling that the interests of others are their
own interests. All strengthening of social ties and all healthy
growth of society gives to each individual a stronger personal
interest in •acting with regard for the welfare of others; and
it also leads him to identify his •feelings more and more with
their good, or at least with an even greater degree of concern
for it in his actions. He comes, as though instinctively,
to be conscious of himself as a being who pays regard to
others as a matter of course. The good of others becomes
to him a thing naturally and necessarily to be attended to,
like any of the physical conditions of our existence. Now,
however •much or little of this feeling a person has, he has
the strongest motives both of ·self·-interest and of sympathy
to express this feeling in his behaviour, and to do all he can
to encourage it in others; and even if he has •none of it
himself, it is as much in his interests as in anyone else’s that
others should have it. Consequently the smallest seeds of the
feeling are laid hold of and nourished by the •contagion of
sympathy and the •influences of education; and a complete
web of supporting association is woven around it by the
powerful force of the external sanctions. [Regarding ‘contagion’:
Mill means merely that through sympathy a feeling can be passed on
from one person to another.]
As civilisation goes on, this way of thinking about our-
selves and about human life is increasingly felt to be natural.
Every step in political improvement makes it more so, by
•removing the sources of conflicts of interest, and
•removing the inequalities in legal status between
individuals or classes, because of which it is still prac-
ticable to disregard the happiness of large portions of
mankind.
As the human mind improves, there is a steady increase
in the influences that tend to generate in each individual a
22
Utilitarianism John Stuart Mill 3: What will motivate us?
feeling of unity with all the rest; a feeling which in its perfect
state would make him never think of or want any benefit for
himself if it didn’t also involve benefits for all the rest. Now
suppose this were the case:
This feeling of unity is taught as a religion. The whole
force of education, of institutions and of opinion is
directed—as it used to be in the case of religion—
to making every person grow up from infancy sur-
rounded on all sides both by people who have the
feeling of unity, who say they have it, and who act on
it.
I don’t think that anyone who can realize this conception
[= ‘make it real to himself in his mind’] will have any doubts about
the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction for the happiness
morality. To any student of ethics who finds the realization
difficult [i.e. who can’t get a real sense of what it would be like if the
above scenario came true], I recommend that he get help from
the second of M. Comte’s two principal works, the Traité
de politique positive. I have the strongest objections to the
system of politics and morals presented in that book; but I
think it has more than adequately shown the possibility of
•giving to the service of humanity, even without help
from a belief in God, both the psychological power and
the social effectiveness of a religion; and •making it
take hold of human life and colour all thought, feeling
and action far more thoroughly than any religion has
ever done; the danger being not that it might be insuf-
ficient but that it might be so excessive as to interfere
unduly with human freedom and individuality.
This feeling ·of unity· that constitutes the binding force
of the utilitarian morality on those who accept it doesn’t
have to wait until . . . .everyone has it. It’s true that in the
comparatively early state of human advancement in which
we now live, a person can’t feel such total sympathy with
everyone else that he couldn’t do anything that would work
against their interests; but even now a person in whom the
social feeling is at all developed can’t bring himself to think
of the rest of his fellow creatures as struggling rivals with
him for the means of happiness, rivals whom he must want
to see defeated in their aims so that he can succeed in his.
The deeply rooted conception that every individual has of
himself as a social being, even now, tends to make him feel it
as one of his natural wants that his feelings and aims should
harmonize with those of his fellow creatures. (If differences
of opinion and of mental culture make it impossible for him
to share many of their actual feelings—perhaps even make
him denounce and defy those feelings—he still needs to be
aware that his real aim doesn’t conflict with theirs, and that
he isn’t •opposing but •promoting what they really wish for,
namely their own good.) In most individuals this feeling ·of
unity· is much weaker than their selfish feelings, and is often
entirely lacking. But to those who have it, it bears all the
marks of a natural feeling. It doesn’t present itself to their
minds as •a superstition they were brought up in or •a law
forced on them by the power of society, but as •an attribute
that it would be bad for them to lack. This conviction is
the ultimate sanction of the greatest happiness morality. It
is this that •makes any mind with well-developed feelings
work with rather than against the outward motives to care
for others, the motives provided by what I have called ‘the
external sanctions’; and when those sanctions are absent or
act in an opposite direction, •constitutes in itself an internal
binding force that is strong in proportion to the sensitiveness
and thoughtfulness of the ·person’s· character. Apart from
people whose mind is a moral blank, few could bear to lay
out their course of life on the plan of paying no regard to
others except in ways that would serve their own interests.
23
Chapter 2: What utilitarianism is
·Higher and Lower Pleasures·
·Happiness as an Aim·
·Self-Sacrifice·
·Setting the Standard too High?·
·Is Utilitarianism Chilly?·
·Utilitarianism as `Godless’·
·Expediency·
·Time to Calculate?·
·Bad Faith·
Chapter 3: What will motivate us to obey the principle of utility?
38
THE TELEOLOGICAL
ARGUMENT
Robin Collins
Introduction
Design arguments have a long history, probably being the most commonly cited
argument for believing in a deity
.
In ancient India, for instance, the argument from
design was advanced by the so-called Nyaya (or logical-atomist) school (100–1000
ce), which argued for the existence of a deity based on the order of the world, which
they compared both to human artifacts and to the human body (Smart 1964: 153–4).
In the West, the design argument goes back to at least Heraclitus (500 bce). It
reached its highpoint with the publication of Paley’s Natural Theology (1802), which
primarily appealed to the intricate structure of plants and animals as evidence for
design. With the advent of Darwin’s theory of evolution, this version of the argument
underwent an almost fatal blow, although it has gained a small following since the
1990s among advocates of the so-called intelligent design movement. By far the
most widely cited evidence for design, however, is that from findings in physics and
cosmology during the twentieth century. In this chapter we will mainly focus on the
evidence from the so-called fine-tuning of the cosmos for conscious, embodied life
(CEL), although we will briefly look at other evidence from the beauty and elegance
of the laws of nature.
the evidence of fine-tuning
Many examples of this fine-tuning can be given, a few of which we will briefly recount
here. One particularly important category of fine-tuning is that of the constants of
physics. The constants of physics are a set of fundamental numbers that, when plugged
into the laws of physics, determine the basic structure of the universe. An example of
such a constant is the gravitational constant G that is part of Newton’s law of gravity,
F 5 GM1M2/r
2. G essentially determines the strength of gravity between two masses.
If one were to double the value of G, for instance, then the force of gravity between
any two masses would double.
Routledge Companion to Philosophy of Religion, edited by Chad Meister, and Paul Copan, Taylor & Francis Group, 2012. ProQuest Ebook
Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/tccd-ebooks/detail.action?docID=1114699.
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ROBIN COLLINS
412
So far, physicists have discovered four forces in nature: gravity, the weak nuclear
force, electromagnetism, and the strong nuclear force that binds protons and neutrons
together in an atom. As measured in a certain set of standard dimensionless units
(Barrow and Tipler 1986: 292–5), gravity is the least strong of the four forces, and the
strong nuclear force is the strongest, being a factor of 1040 – or ten thousand billion,
billion, billion, billion – times stronger than gravity.
Various calculations show that the strength of each of the forces of nature must
fall into a very small CEL-permitting region for CEL to exist. As just one example,
consider gravity. Compared to the total range of forces, the strength of gravity must
fall in a relatively narrow range in order for CEL to exist. If we increased the strength
of gravity a billion-fold, for instance, the force of gravity on a planet with the mass
and size of the earth would be so great that organisms anywhere near the size of human
beings, whether land-based or aquatic, would be crushed. (The strength of materials
depends on the electromagnetic force via the fine-structure constant, which would
not be affected by a change in gravity.) Even a much smaller planet of only 40 feet in
diameter – which is not large enough to sustain organisms of our size – would have a
gravitational pull of one thousand times that of earth, still too strong for organisms of
our brain size, and hence level of intelligence, to exist. As astrophysicist Martin Rees
notes, ‘In an imaginary strong gravity world, even insects would need thick legs to
support them, and no animals could get much larger’ (Rees 2000: 30). Other calcula-
tions show that if the gravitational force were increased by more than a factor of 3000,
the maximum lifetime of a star would be a billion years, thus severely inhibiting the
probability of CEL evolving (Collins 2003). Of course, a three-thousand-fold increase
in the strength of gravity is a lot, but compared to the total range of the strengths of
the forces in nature (which span a range of 1040, as we saw above), it is very small,
being one part in a billion, billion, billion, billion.
There are other cases of the fine-tuning of the constants of physics besides the
strength of the forces, however. Probably the most widely discussed (and esoteric)
among physicists and cosmologists is the fine-tuning of what is known as the
cosmological constant. This is a number in Einstein’s theory of general relativity that
influences the expansion rate of the universe. If the cosmological constant were not
fine-tuned to within an extremely narrow range – one part in 1053 or even 10120 of its
‘theoretically possible’ range of values – the universe would expand so rapidly that all
matter would quickly disperse, and thus galaxies, stars, and even small aggregates of
matter could never form (see, e.g., Rees 2000: 95–102, 154–5; Collins 2003).
Besides the constants of physics, however, there is also the fine-tuning of the laws.
If the laws of nature were not just right, CEL would probably be impossible. For
example, consider again the four forces of nature. If gravity (or a force like it) did
not exist, masses would not clump together to form stars or planets and hence the
existence of complex CEL would be seriously inhibited, if not rendered impossible;
if the electromagnetic force didn’t exist, there would be no chemistry; if the strong
force didn’t exist, protons and neutrons could not bind together and hence no atoms
with atomic numbers greater than hydrogen would exist; and if the strong force were
a long-range force (like gravity and electromagnetism) instead of a short-range force
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THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
413
that only acts between protons and neutrons in the nucleus, all matter would either
almost instantaneously undergo nuclear fusion and explode or be sucked together
forming a black hole.
Similarly, other laws and principles are necessary for CEL. As the prominent
Princeton physicist Freeman Dyson points out (1979: 251), if the Pauli-exclusion
principle did not exist, which dictates that no two fermions can occupy the same
quantum state, all electrons would occupy the lowest atomic orbit, eliminating
complex chemistry; and if there were no quantization principle, which dictates that
particles can only occupy certain discrete allowed quantum states, there would be no
atomic orbits and hence no chemistry since all electrons would be sucked into the
nucleus.
Finally, in his book Nature’s Destiny, the biochemist Michael Denton extensively
discusses various higher-level features of the natural world, such as the many unique
properties of carbon, oxygen, water, and the electromagnetic spectrum, that are
conducive to the existence of complex biochemical systems. As one of many examples
Denton presents, both the atmosphere and water are transparent to electromagnetic
radiation in a thin band in the visible region, but are transparent nowhere else except
to radio waves. If, instead, either of them absorbed electromagnetic radiation in the
visible region, the existence of terrestrial CEL would be seriously inhibited, if not
rendered impossible (Denton 1998: 56–7). These higher-level coincidences indicate a
deeper level fine-tuning of the fundamental laws and constants of physics.
As the above examples indicate, the evidence for fine-tuning is extensive, even
if one has doubts about some individual cases. As the philosopher John Leslie has
pointed out, ‘clues heaped upon clues can constitute weighty evidence despite doubts
about each element in the pile’ (Leslie 1988: 300). At the very least, these cases of
fine-tuning show the truth of Freeman Dyson’s observation that there are many ‘lucky
accidents in physics’ (1979: 251) without which CEL would be impossible.
the argument formulated
Now it is time to consider the way in which the existence of a fine-tuned universe
supports theism. In this section, I will argue that the evidence of fine-tuning primarily
gives us a reason for preferring theism over what could be called the naturalistic
single-universe hypothesis (NSU): the hypothesis that there is only one universe, and
it exists as a brute fact. (We will examine the typical alternative explanation of the
fine-tuning offered by many atheists – what I call the ‘many-universes hypothesis’ – in
a section below.) We will present our argument for the case of the fine-tuning of the
constants, but with some modifications it will apply to the other types of fine-tuning
for CEL mentioned above.
Although the fine-tuning argument against the NSU can be cast in several different
forms – such as inference to the best explanation – I believe the most rigorous way
of formulating the argument is in terms of what is often called the likelihood principle,
a standard principle of confirmation theory (e.g., see Sober 2002). Simply put, the
principle says that whenever we are considering two competing hypotheses, an observation
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ROBIN COLLINS
414
counts as evidence in favor of the hypothesis under which the observation has the highest
probability (or is the least improbable). Since the type of probability in the likelihood
principle is what is known as epistemic probability (see below), the likelihood principle
can be reworded more intuitively in terms of what could be called the surprise principle:
namely, whenever we are considering two competing hypotheses, an observation
counts as evidence in favor of the hypothesis under which it is least surprising.
Moreover, the degree to which the observation counts in favor of one hypothesis over
another is proportional to the degree to which the observation is more probable (or
less surprising) under the one hypothesis than the other.
Using this principle, we can develop the fine-tuning argument in a two-step form
as follows:
Premise (1) The existence of a fine-tuned universe with CEL is not highly
improbable (or surprising) under theism.
Premise (2) The existence of a fine-tuned universe with CEL is very
improbable (surprising) under the NSU.
Conclusion: From premises (1) and (2) and the likelihood principle, it follows
that the fine-tuning data provides significant evidence to favor the design
hypothesis over the NSU.
At this point, we should pause to note two features of this argument. First, the
argument does not say that the fine-tuning evidence proves that the universe was
designed, or even that it is likely that the universe was designed. Indeed, of itself it
does not even show that we are epistemically warranted in believing in theism over
the NSU. In order to justify these sorts of claims, we would have to look at the full
range of evidence both for and against the design hypothesis – something I am not
doing in this chapter. Rather, the argument merely concludes that the fine-tuning
significantly supports theism over the NSU. (I say ‘significantly supports’ because
presumably the ratio of probabilities for the fine-tuning under theism versus the NSU
is quite large.)
In this way, the evidence of the fine-tuning argument is much like a defendant’s
DNA being found on the murder weapon, in a trial. By the ‘likelihood’ or ‘surprise
principle,’ the DNA on the murder weapon provides significant evidence that
the defendant is guilty because its existence would be much more surprising if the
defendant were innocent than if he were guilty. Yet one could not conclude merely
from the DNA alone that the defendant is guilty, for there could be other counter-
vailing evidence, such as the testimony of reliable witnesses that he was not at the
scene of the crime. The DNA would still count as significant evidence of guilt, but
this evidence would be counterbalanced by the testimony of the witnesses. Similarly
the evidence of fine-tuning significantly supports theism over the NSU, though it does
not itself show that, everything considered, theism is the most plausible explanation
of the existence of a universe with CEL.
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THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
415
Support for the premises
Support for Premise (1): Premise (1) is easy to support and somewhat less controversial
than premise (2). The argument in support of it can be simply stated as follows: since
God is an all-good being, and in and of itself it is good for intelligent, conscious beings to
exist, it is not highly surprising or highly improbable that God would create a world that could
support CEL. Thus, the fine-tuning is not highly improbable under theism.
Support for Premise (2): Upon looking at the data, many people find it very obvious
that the fine-tuning is highly improbable under the NSU. And it is easy to see why
when we think of the fine-tuning in terms of various analogies. In the ‘dart-board
analogy,’ for example, the theoretically possible values for fundamental constants of
physics can be represented as a dart-board that fills the whole galaxy, and the condi-
tions necessary for CEL to exist as a small inch-wide target. Accordingly, from this
analogy it seems obvious that it would be highly improbable for the fine-tuning to
occur under the NSU – that is, for the dart to hit the target by chance.
Now some philosophers, such as Keith Parsons (1990: 182), object to the claim
that the fine-tuning is highly improbable under the NSU by arguing that since we
only have one universe, the notion of the fine-tuning of the universe being probable
or improbable is meaningless.
Although I do not have space to provide a full-scale response to this objection, I
will briefly sketch an answer. The first is to note that the relevant notion of probability
occurring in the fine-tuning argument is a widely recognized type of probability called
epistemic probability (e.g., see Hacking 1975; Plantinga 1993: chs. 8 and 9). Roughly,
the epistemic probability of a proposition can be thought of as the degree of confi-
dence or belief we rationally should have in the proposition. Further, the conditional
epistemic probability of a proposition R on another proposition S – written as P(R/S)
– can be defined as the degree to which the proposition S of itself should rationally lead
us to expect that R is true. Under the epistemic conception of probability, therefore,
the statement that the fine-tuning of the cosmos is very improbable under the NSU is to
be understood as making a statement about the degree to which the NSU would or
should, of itself, rationally lead us to expect cosmic fine-tuning.
The notion of itself is important here. The rational degree of expectation should
not be confused with the degree to which one should expect the constants of physics
to fall within the CEL range if one believed the NSU. For even those who believe in
this hypothesis should expect the constants of physics to be CEL-permitting since this
follows from the fact that we are alive. Rather, the conditional epistemic probability in
this case is the degree to which the NSU of itself should lead us to expect constants of
physics to be CEL-permitting. This means that in assessing the conditional epistemic
probability in this and other similar cases, one must exclude contributions to our
expectations arising from other information we have, such as that we are alive. In
the case at hand, one way of doing this is by means of the following sort of thought
experiment. Imagine a disembodied being with mental capacities and a knowledge
of physics comparable to that of the most intelligent physicists alive today, except
that the being does not know whether the values of the constants of physics allow
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ROBIN COLLINS
416
for CEL to arise. Further, suppose that this disembodied being believed in the NSU.
Then, the degree that being should rationally expect the constants of physics to be
CEL-permitting will be equal to our conditional epistemic probability, since its expec-
tation is solely a result of its belief in the NSU, not other factors such as its awareness
of its own existence.
Given this understanding of the notion of conditional epistemic probability, it is not
difficult to see that the conditional epistemic probability of a constant of physics having
a CEL-permitting value under the NSU will be much smaller than under theism. The
reason is simple when we think about our imaginary disembodied being. If such a being
were a theist, it would have some reason to believe that the values of constants would
fall into the CEL-permitting region (see the argument in support of premise (1) above).
On the other hand, if the being were a subscriber to the NSU, it would have no reason
to think the value would be in the CEL-permitting region instead of any other part of
the ‘theoretically possible’ region R. Thus, the being has more reason to believe the
constants would fall into the CEL-permitting region under theism than the NSU; that
is, the epistemic probability under theism is larger than under the NSU, or put differ-
ently, the existence of a CEL-permitting universe is more surprising under the NSU
than theism. How much more surprising? That depends on the degree of fine-tuning.
Here, I will simply note that it seems obvious that in general the higher the degree
of fine-tuning – that is, the smaller the width of the CEL-permitting range is to the
‘theoretically possible’ range – the greater the surprise under the NSU, and hence the
greater the ratio of the two probabilities. To go beyond these statements and to assign
actual epistemic probabilities (or degrees of surprise) under the NSU – or to further
justify these claims of improbability – would require defending a version of the proba-
bilistic principle of indifference, which is beyond the scope of this chapter.
Objections to the argument
As powerful as the fine-tuning argument against the NSU is, several major objections
have been raised to it by both atheists and theists. In this section, we will consider
some of these objections in turn.
Objection 1: more fundamental law objection
One criticism of the fine-tuning argument is that, as far as we know, there could be a
more fundamental law under which the constants of physics must have the values they
do. Thus, given such a law, it is not improbable that the known constants of physics
fall within the CEL-permitting range. Besides being entirely speculative, the problem
with postulating such a law is that it simply moves the improbability of the fine-
tuning up one level, to that of the postulated physical law itself. As the astrophysicists
Bernard Carr and Martin Rees note, ‘even if all apparently anthropic coincidences
could be explained [in terms of some grand unified theory], it would still be remarkable
that the relationships dictated by physical theory happened also to be those propitious
for CEL’ (Carr and Rees 1979: 612).
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THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
417
For the theist, then, the development of a grand unified theory would not undercut
the case for design, but would only serve to deepen our appreciation of the ingenuity
of the creator. Instead of separately fine-tuning each individual parameter, in this view,
the designer simply carefully chose those laws that would yield CEL-permitting values
for each parameter.
Objection 2: other forms of CEL objection
Another objection commonly raised against the fine-tuning argument is that as far as
we know, other forms of CEL could exist even if the constants of physics were different.
So, it is claimed, the fine-tuning argument ends up presupposing that all forms of CEL
must be like us. One answer to this objection is that many cases of fine-tuning do not
make this presupposition. If, for example, the cosmological constant were much larger
than it is, matter would disperse so rapidly that no planets, and indeed no stars, could
exist. Without stars, however, there would exist no stable energy sources for complex
material systems of any sort to evolve. So, all the fine-tuning argument presupposes
in this case is that the evolution of CEL requires some stable energy source. This is
certainly a very reasonable assumption.
Objection 3: the ‘Who Designed God?’ objection
Perhaps the most common objection that atheists raise to the argument from design,
of which the fine-tuning argument is one instance, is that postulating the existence
of God does not solve the problem of design but merely transfers it up one level,
to the question of who designed God. One response to the above argument is that
it only relies on comparison of the epistemic probabilities of fine-tuning under the
two different hypotheses, not on whether the new hypothesis reduces the overall
complexity of one’s worldview. As an analogy, if complex, intricate structures (such
as aqueducts and buildings) existed on Mars, one could conclude that their existence
would support the hypothesis that intelligent, extraterrestrial beings existed on Mars
in the past, even if such beings are much more complex than the structures to be
explained.
Second, however, for reasons entirely independent of the argument from design,
God has been thought to have little, if any internal complexity. Indeed, medieval
philosophers and theologians often went as far as advocating the doctrine of divine
simplicity, according to which God is claimed to be absolutely simple, without any
internal complexity. So, atheists who push this objection have a lot of arguing to do to
make it stick. (For a more detailed treatment of the ‘Who Designed God?’ objection,
see Collins 2005.)
the many-universes hypothesis
Another objection to considering fine-tuning as evidence for design is one that takes
us almost into the realm of science fiction: the proposal that there are a very large
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ROBIN COLLINS
418
number of universes, each with different values for the fundamental parameters of
physics. If such multiple universes exist, it would be no surprise that the parameters in
one of them would have just the right values for the existence of CEL, just as in the
case where if enough lottery tickets were generated, it would be no surprise that one
of them turned out to be the winning number.
How did these universes come into existence? Typically, the answer is to postulate
some kind of physical process, what I will call a ‘universe generator.’ Against the
naturalistic version of the universe-generator hypothesis, one could argue that the
universe generator itself must be ‘well designed’ to produce even one CEL-sustaining
universe. After all, even a mundane item such as a bread-making machine, which
only produces loaves of bread instead of universes, must be well-designed as an
appliance and have just the right ingredients (flour, yeast, gluten, and so on) in just
the right amounts to produce decent loaves of bread. Indeed, as I have shown in detail
elsewhere (Collins 2009), if one carefully examines the most popular and most well-
developed universe-generator hypothesis – that arising out of inflationary cosmology
– one finds that it contains just the right fields and laws to generate CEL-permitting
universes. Eliminate or modify one of the fields or laws by just a little bit, and no
CEL-sustaining universes would be produced. If this is right, then invoking some sort
of universe generator as an explanation of fine-tuning only pushes the issue of design
up one level to the question of who or what designed it.
Besides the universe generator hypothesis, a very small minority of scientists
and philosophers have proposed what could be called a metaphysical many-universe
hypothesis, according to which universes are thought to exist on their own without
being generated by any physical process. Typically, advocates of this view – such as
the late Princeton University philosopher David Lewis (1986) and the University of
Pennsylvania astrophysicist Max Tegmark (1998) – claim that every possible set of
laws is instantiated in some universe or another. One problem with this hypothesis
is that it cannot explain why we inhabit a universe that is so orderly and has such
low initial entropy: it is much more likely for there to exist local islands with the
sort of order necessary for CEL than for the entire universe to have such an ordered
arrangement. Thus, their hypothesis cannot explain the highly ordered character of
the universe as a whole.
Among others, George Schlesinger has raised this objection against Lewis’s
hypothesis (1984). This sort of objection was raised against a similar explanation
of the high degree of order in our universe offered by the famous physicist Ludwig
Boltzmann, and has generally been considered fatal to Boltzmann’s explanation
(Davies 1974: 103).
Despite these objections and the fact that the multiple-universe hypothesis
typically has been advanced by naturalists as an alternative explanation to design, I
am not objecting to the notion of many universes itself. I actually believe that theists
should be open to the idea that God created our universe by means of a universe
generator. It makes some sense that an infinitely creative deity would create other
universes, not just our own.
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THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
419
Other evidences for design
Besides the fine-tuning for CEL, there are other significant evidences for design
based on the findings of physics and cosmology, such as the extraordinary degree
of beauty, elegance, harmony, and ingenuity exhibited by the fundamental mathe-
matical structure of the universe. For instance, Nobel Prize-winning physicist Steven
Weinberg, himself an atheist, devotes a whole chapter of his book, Dreams of a Final
Theory (ch. 6, ‘Beautiful theories’), to explaining how the criteria of beauty and
elegance are commonly used to guide physicists in formulating the right laws. Because
this beauty and elegance has been so successful in guiding physicists in developing
highly successful theories, it is difficult to claim that this beauty and elegance is
merely in the eye of the beholder. Today, this use of beauty and elegance as a guide is
particularly evident in the popularity of superstring theory, which is widely considered
the most feasible candidate for a truly fundamental theory in physics. Yet, it is almost
entirely motivated by considerations of elegance, having no direct experimental
support in its favor (Greene 1999: 214).
Now such beauty, elegance, and ingenuity make sense if the universe was designed
by God. I would contend, however, that apart from some sort of design hypothesis,
there is no reason to expect the fundamental laws to be elegant or beautiful. The
metaphysical many-universes hypothesis, for example, cannot in any obvious way
explain why our universe has such an elegant and beautiful fundamental structure,
since under this hypothesis there would be many, many universes that contained
observers in which the underlying mathematical structure would not be beautiful.
Thus theism makes more sense of this aspect of the world than atheism, whether that
atheism is of the single-universe or many-universe variety (see Collins 2009). Similar
things could be said about the fact that the world is arranged in just the right way so
that we can understand its underlying structure, something which could be called the
‘discoverability’ of the laws of physics, as for example discussed by Eugene Wigner
(1960) and Mark Steiner (1998).
Conclusion
In this chapter, I have argued that the fine-tuning of the cosmos for CEL provides
strong evidence for preferring theism over the NSU. I then argued that although one
can partially explain the fine-tuning of the constants of physics by invoking some
sort of many-universes generator, we have good reasons to believe that the many-
universe generator itself would need to be well designed, and hence that hypothesizing
some sort of many-universes generator only pushes the case for design up one level. I
further argued that other features of the structure of the universe, such as the beauty
and elegance of the laws of nature, also suggest design. When all the evidence is
considered, I believe, one has a good cumulative case argument for a designer – that is,
an argument in which many lines of evidence point to the same conclusion. Of course,
one would need additional arguments, such as those offered by Richard Swinburne
(2004: ch. 5), to conclude that the designer is the theistic God.
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ROBIN COLLINS
420
See also David Hume (Chapter 15), Immanuel Kant (Chapter 16), Creation and
divine action (Chapter 35), The cosmological argument (Chapter 37), Problems with
theistic arguments (Chapter 45), Science and the improbability of God (Chapter 46),
Religion and science (Chapter 71).
References
Barrow, J. and F. Tipler (1986) The Anthropic Cosmological Principle, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Carr, B. J. and M. J. Rees (1979) ‘The Anthropic Cosmological Principle and the structure of the physical
world,’ Nature 278 (12 April): 605–12.
Collins, R. (2003) ‘The evidence for fine-tuning,’ in N. Manson (ed.) God and Design, London: Routledge.
—— (2005) ‘Hume, fine-tuning and the Who Designed God? objection,’ in J. Sennett and D. Groothius
(eds) In Defense of Natural Theology: A Post-Humean Assessment, Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.
—— (2009) ‘A theistic perspective on the Multiverse Hypothesis,’ in B. Carr (ed.) Universe or Multiverse?,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Davies, P. (1974) The Physics of Time Asymmetry, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
Denton, M. (1998) Nature’s Destiny: How the Laws of Biology Reveal Purpose in the Universe, New York:
Free Press.
Dyson, F. (1979) Disturbing the Universe, New York: Harper & Row.
Greene, B. (1999) The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate
Theory, New York: W. W. Norton.
Hacking, I. (1975) The Emergence of Probability: A Philosophical Study of Early Ideas About Probability,
Induction and Statistical Inference, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Leslie, J. (1988) ‘How to draw conclusions from a fine-tuned cosmos,’ in R. Russell, W. R. Stoeger, and
G. V. Coyne (eds) Physics, Philosophy and Theology: A Common Quest for Understanding, Vatican City
State: Vatican Observatory Press.
Lewis, D. (1986) On the Plurality of Worlds, New York: Blackwell.
Parsons, K. (1990) ‘Is there a case for Christian theism?’, in J. P. Moreland and K. Nielsen (eds) Does God
Exist? The Great Debate, Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson.
Plantinga, A. (1993) Warrant and Proper Function, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rees, M. (2000) Just Six Numbers: The Deep Forces that Shape the Universe, New York: Basic Books.
Schlesinger, G. (1984) ‘Possible worlds and the mystery of existence,’ Ratio 26: 1–18.
Smart, N. (1964) Doctrine and Argument in Indian Philosophy, London: Allen & Unwin.
Sober, E. (2002) ‘Bayesianism – its scope and limits,’ in R. Swinburne (ed.) Bayes’s Theorem, Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Steiner, M. (1998) The Applicability of Mathematics as a Philosophical Problem, Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Swinburne, R. (2004) The Existence of God, 2nd edn, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Tegmark, M. (1998) ‘Is “the theory of everything” merely the ultimate ensemble theory?’, Annals of Physics
270: 1–51. Preprint at http://arxiv.org/abs/gr-qc/9704009.
Weinberg, S. (1992) Dreams of a Final Theory, New York: Vintage Books.
Wigner, E. (1960) ‘The unreasonable effectiveness of mathematics in the natural sciences,’ Communications
on Pure and Applied Mathematics 13: 1–14. Available at http://www.dartmouth.edu/~matc/MathDrama/
reading/Wigner.html.
Further reading
Holder, R. (2004) God, the Multiverse, and Everything: Modern Cosmology and the Argument from
Design, Aldershot, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. (Argues that the evidence of fine-tuning supports
theism.)
Leslie, J. (1989) Universes, London: Routledge. (Explores the question of multiple universes as an alter-
native to a design explanation of fine-tuning.)
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http://arxiv.org/abs/gr-qc/9704009
http://www.dartmouth.edu/~matc/MathDrama/reading/Wigner.html
http://www.dartmouth.edu/~matc/MathDrama/reading/Wigner.html
THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
421
—— (ed.) (1998) Modern Cosmology and Philosophy, Amherst, NY: Prometheus. (Articles exploring the
implications of modern cosmology for philosophy and teleology.)
Manson, N. (ed.) (2003) God and Design: The Teleological Argument and Modern Science, New York:
Routledge. (Twenty-one authors vigorously debate the merits of divine teleology, from the realm of
biology to cosmology.)
Manson, N. and J. Richards (eds) (2005) Philosophical Issues in Intelligent Design, Special Issue of
Philosophia Christi ns 7/2 (December). (Contains a debate about whether the fine-tuning can be
considered improbable.)
Robson, J. (ed.) (1987) Origin and Evolution of the Universe: Evidence for Design? Montreal: McGill Queen’s
University Press. (Explores whether biology and cosmology provide evidence for design.)
Susskind, L. (2005) The Cosmic Landscape: String Theory and the Illusion of Intelligent Design, New York:
Little, Brown & Co. (A leading physicist presents the many-universes hypothesis based on superstring
theory, claiming that it eliminates the need to appeal to a design explanation of the fine-tuning.)
Routledge Companion to Philosophy of Religion, edited by Chad Meister, and Paul Copan, Taylor & Francis Group, 2012. ProQuest Ebook
Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/tccd-ebooks/detail.action?docID=1114699.
Created from tccd-ebooks on 2020-07-09 09:57:51.
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7
The Ontological Argument
The Ontological Argument was first thought of by St Anselm almost a thousand
years ago.1 The essence of the argument can be stated very briskly.
1. God, by definition, is a perfect being.
2. It is better to exist than not to exist.
Therefore, God exists.
In an argument, one may define terms however one wishes, and premise 1 just
reports one aspect—indeed, I have argued, the central one—of the theistic
definition of God. So if anything goes wrong with the argument, then it must be
in premise 2. But premise 2 looks pretty obviously right as well. Consider the
question: which of these would be better for you: that you be vaporized now with
a ray gun and thus that you cease to exist or that you continue to exist?
However small an amount of benefit or enjoyment you’re receiving from
reading this, I doubt if you’ll really think you’d be better off if you didn’t exist.
Of course, we can all imagine a situation where someone’s life was so bad that it
would be better for them if they ceased to exist—maybe the Spartan boy I told
you about in an earlier chapter was in such a situation. However, if the person in
question was in all other ways well off, it would certainly be better for him or her
if he or she existed rather than not; and God is obviously going to be maximally
well off in all other respects, so it’s obviously going to be better for him (and
indeed us) if he exists. The claim that it’s better to exist than not to exist seems
then—minor and irrelevant quibbling aside—right.
Both the premises of the Ontological Argument seem to be obviously true; taken
together they seem to lead in an obviously deductively valid way to the conclusion
that God exists, which was something not so obviously true. If God’s by definition
perfect, then of course—given that it’s better to exist than not to exist—he’ll have
to exist. It’s impossible for the premises to both be true and yet the conclusion false
and it’s obvious that both the premises are true. So it seems as if we’ve got a
deductively sound argument for the existence of God the soundness of which is
more obvious than is the existence of God. The Ontological Argument then seems
to satisfy our criteria for being a good argument. It seems to, but does it?
♦ ♦ ♦
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Account: tarrant
It’s easier to spot that something has gone wrong with the Ontological Argument
than it is to describe what it is that has gone wrong with it. One way of seeing that
something has gone wrong with the Ontological Argument is to consider that if
it worked, one could generate parallel arguments ad infinitum that proved the
existence of any sort of entity one cared to mention. Allow me to introduce one
such parallel argument.
The Senior Common Room butler at my college is pretty good at keeping us
all in order. For example, there was one occasion, early on in my membership of
the Senior Common Room, when I was dining at High Table. The main course
arrived—to be served silver-service style by the butler. I was one of the first to be
served, and scooted one slice of whatever it was off the salver, then prepared to
take a second. The butler leaned forward slightly and sotto voce advised me, ‘One
is usually considered sufficient, sir.’ I was a bit miffed at this, but left the second
portion on the salver, which proceeded in his hands down the table towards the
end, where the Senior Tutor was sitting. As it arrived there, I noticed that there
had been exactly the right number of portions on the salver to mean that the
Senior Tutor—the last to be served—took the last one. Had I taken a second
portion earlier on, then the Senior Tutor would have been left without any main
course; the assembled eyes of the Senior Common Room would have then
worked their way back along the table, unerringly seeking out where this prob-
lem had originated. Ultimately, they would have fallen on me, merrily munching
my way through two portions. Were it not for the timely intervention of the
butler, my career at my college might have been cut rather short.
So, as you can tell, my college’s butler is pretty good at keeping people out of
scrapes. But even he isn’t the best possible butler; even he can’t quite be a Jeeves
to my Wooster, which is—one might reasonably hypothesize—more of a sign of
how much of a Wooster I am than how little a Jeeves he is. In any case, reflection
on this incident prompts me to think that it would certainly be rather handy to
have a butler at one’s side throughout one’s life, ready to assist one in making
one’s way through the world with wise sotto voce advice. Let me define the term
‘Jeeves’ to mean the best possible butler for you. So, Jeeves will—by definition—
always be on hand for you whenever you might need him.
1. Jeeves I define as the best possible butler for you.
2. If there is a better analysis of the Ontological Argument than this, it
would be better for Jeeves to be right by your side now, handing you this
better analysis.
Therefore, Jeeves must be right by your side now, handing you a better
analysis of the Ontological Argument than this one.
This argument seems as good as the Ontological Argument for the existence of
God. The first premise simply reports my definition of ‘Jeeves’, so there’s
nothing to be argued with there. The second premise reports the fact that if there
The Existence of God126
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Account: tarrant
were such a thing as a better analysis of the Ontological Argument than this,
then, as it would be better if you were reading this better analysis, so a better
butler would be one who was by your side with such an analysis. That seems to
follow pretty obviously. Yet from these two premises it follows that Jeeves must
be right by your side with a better analysis than this. Look for him. Is he there?
No. The only way to escape the conclusion that he must be there seems to be to
claim that this is the best possible analysis that one might attempt of the
Ontological Argument. I might be happy to rest content with this conclusion,
but I doubt that you are.
The objection that if the Ontological Argument worked, then my Jeeves
argument and similar sorts of arguments would also work is sometimes called the
‘Overload Objection’ to the Ontological Argument; if the Ontological Argument
worked, then we could overload the universe with all sorts of entities like Jeeves.
♦ ♦ ♦
So, something’s gone wrong with the Ontological Argument. What exactly?
First, premise one is rather ambiguous. Is this premise using the term ‘God’ to
pick something out and then attributing a property, albeit an essential one, to it,
just as you might say that this book here—waving it around—is by definition
something that has pages? Well, if so, we could not know that the term ‘God’
had secured reference without already knowing the conclusion of this argument,
that there is a God, so premise 1 would not be one that could be known to be
true with more certainty than we knew the conclusion, that there is a God. This
would be sufficient to undercut any claim that the Ontological Argument—
however deductively sound—is good. However, if premise 1 is not using the
term ‘God’ to pick out something and then attribute a property to that thing,
then it must mean something like ‘If there is a God, then he is by definition
perfect’, but if that’s what premise 1 really means, then although it can be known
to be true without first needing to know that there is a God, it cannot support
the conclusion that God exists but only—at best—the conclusion that if there is
a God, then he exists. This conclusion is a rather unexciting one. We all knew
that anyway. So premise 1, despite my initial enthusiasm for it, is in fact deeply
questionable.
Despite this being a sufficient reason to reject the Ontological Argument, for
the sake of completeness if nothing else we must look at the second premise. The
second premise is also the one on which most philosophical criticism has
focused. The second premise is ‘It is better to exist than not to exist.’ What can
be said against this second premise?
♦ ♦ ♦
One can beat around the bush for quite a long time here, but eventually one gets
to the point that was first made by Kant: existence is not a predicate. Let me
explain what Kant meant.
The Ontological Argument 127
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Account: tarrant
I talked earlier about this book and a couple of the properties that it had: one
of these properties was that it was, I guessed, then being held by you. I’m
guessing it’s got that property again now. Kant’s point would be that while it is
indeed a bona fide property of this book that it is being held by you, it’s not a
bona fide property of it that it exists; saying that existence isn’t a predicate is a
way of saying that existence isn’t a property that objects have. So, the following
sentences as spoken by me are true (I’m supposing): ‘This book is being held by
you’ and ‘This book exists,’ but—according to Kant—there’s a crucial difference
between these two sentences. The first really does predicate something of the
book. It picks out the book and asserts of it that it has a property, the property of
being held by you. The second sentence, despite its grammatical similarity with
the first, does not—according to Kant—do this. It doesn’t pick out the book and
assert of it that it has a property, the property of existence. What does it do then?
Answering that question is a bit more tricky. To do so I have to augment what
Kant said with something said by a later philosopher, Gottlob Frege, and it’s
going to take a moment or two for me to set out all the ideas we need if we are to
understand what Frege said.
First then, I want to introduce a distinction between what I’m going to call
concrete objects and what I’m going to call abstract objects. Examples of con-
crete objects would be things like this book; the chair you’re currently sitting on;
and your right hand. Examples of abstract objects would be things like the nature
of education; the current government’s misconception of the nature of education;
its consequent policies with respect to universities; and—to move away from my
particular concerns—the number five. On what basis do we decide whether a
given thing is a concrete or an abstract object; or indeed do we decide on any
basis at all? (It may be that the distinction is a brute one—incapable of explica-
tion in terms of anything else.) This question is not an easy one to answer, but
fortunately for my present purposes we don’t need to answer it, assuming as
I think it safe to assume that we all have a pretty good grasp on the distinction
through the examples I’ve just given.
Armed then with the distinction between concrete and abstract objects, let’s
consider the concrete objects that are the chairs in the room in which you sit. Let
me suppose for the sake of argument that there are three of them. It’s natural for
you to group the chairs in the room together in your mind for the purposes of
discussion into one set, the set of chairs in the room. The set of chairs in the
room is an abstract object the members of which are concrete objects. The
abstract object that is the set of chairs in the room has properties that its concrete
members do not have. It has the property of having a quarter of the number of
members as the abstract object that is the set of chair legs in the room has (I’m
assuming). The individual concrete objects that are the chairs in the room could
not be said to have a quarter of the number of members as the set of chair legs in
the room; that wouldn’t make sense. The individual concrete objects that are the
chairs in the room have properties that the abstract object that is the set of chairs
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in the room does not have; they each have upholstered seats (I’m assuming). The
abstract object that is the set of chairs in the room could not be said to have an
upholstered seat; that would not make sense either.
Now, consider the following two sentences as they might be spoken by you:
‘The chairs in this room have upholstered seats’ and ‘The chairs in this room
are three in number.’ If one wasn’t thinking too carefully, one might say that
each of these sentences had the same subject—the chairs in the room in which
you sit—and predicated different things of that subject, having upholstered seats
and being three in number. But with Frege’s help we can now see that the real
subject of these two sentences is actually different, despite their similar grammar.
The first sentence takes the concrete objects that are the chairs in the room as its
subject; the second takes the abstract object that is the set of chairs in the room as
its subject. The first is saying that the chairs in the room have a certain property,
the property of having upholstered seats; the second is saying that the set of
chairs in this room has a certain property, the property of having three members.
With this in hand, we now have the tools to understand Frege’s interpretation of
existence.
Consider the sentence as uttered by you, ‘The chairs in this room exist.’ What
is the true subject of this sentence? Is it the concrete objects that are the chairs in
the room? No. Is it the set of chairs in this room? Yes. Saying that the chairs in
the room exist is saying that the set of chairs in the room does not have zero
members. Saying ‘X exists’ is not then actually saying anything about X. It’s
saying something of the abstract object that is the set of those things that’s picked
out by the concept of X and it’s saying of it that it’s not the set with zero
members. So, according to Kant and Frege, existence is not a property of con-
crete objects; existence isn’t something that objects do, like breathing, only
quieter. Rather, when one says that X exists one asserts something, not about X,
but about the set of Xs and what one asserts is that the set of Xs is not the empty
set, the empty set being the set with zero members. If there is a God, then the set
of Gods is not the empty set, but the fact that the set of Gods is not then the
empty set is not a fact about God; it isn’t a property of the concrete object that is
God that the abstract object that is the set of Gods is not empty.
Once we’ve shown with Kant and Frege’s help that existence is not a property
of God even if he does exist, premise 2 of the Ontological Argument can be seen
to collapse. If existence is not a property of God even if he does exist, then it
cannot be a property that it is better for him if he has.
How then to explain our intuition that one’s ceasing to exist would be bad?
We have seen already that what would make one’s permanently ceasing to exist
bad for one is that it would frustrate one’s flourishing and one’s desires. Never
having existed would not have frustrated any flourishing or desires, so even
though it is not good for one that one was brought into existence, death would
be bad for one if it was permanently ceasing to exist, which is why—as we’ve
seen—if there’s a God, he’ll ensure that our deaths are not our permanently
The Ontological Argument 129
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ceasing to exist. It’s not bad for the brother that I never had that he never existed;
it would be bad for the sisters that I do have if they permanently ceased to exist.
So, to sum up my conclusions with regard to the Ontological Argument: the
first premise is true—on both interpretations of it—if and only if theism is true;
it is false on the interpretation of it that would be necessary for the argument to
be a deductively valid one for theism if theism is false. This is a sufficient reason
for us to conclude that the Ontological Argument is not a good argument for
theism. The second premise is false if existence is not a predicate, which it is not.
This too is sufficient for us to conclude that the Ontological Argument is not a
good argument for theism. The Ontological Argument fails in two ways then as a
deductive argument and—starting as it does from pure categories a priori—it
cannot be turned into an inductive argument. I therefore conclude that the
Ontological Argument does not provide any reasons for believing that ‘There is a
God’ is true.
♦ ♦ ♦
This is the ‘classic’ version of the Ontological Argument and one so central to the
tradition that other ‘versions’, in so far as they differ from it, run the risk of not
counting as versions simply by virtue of their doing so. However, if we think of
the essence of the Ontological Argument as simply its proceeding ‘from pure
categories a priori’, then there are arguments that are recognizably different from
the classic version and yet deserve to be considered versions of the Ontological
Argument. I’ll close this chapter by discussing such arguments in terms of a
rather generalized instance of them. It will be helpful, before I do this, to say a
word or two about the notion of possible worlds as it is used in the presentation
of arguments of this sort.
I began the book by using the word ‘world’ to refer to the physical universe as
a whole, so that I might describe the perplexity that I claimed we have all felt at
some moment in our lives when contemplating the world as a whole; the world
as a whole raises in some sense a question to which we think God might be the
answer. ‘World’ in this sense means ‘universe’; in this sense of ‘world’, God
himself could not then be a resident of the world; if he exists, he exists outside the
world; he has to in order to explain it. The important point to note now is that
the notion of worlds in play when we talk of possible worlds in this context is
different. Possible worlds in this context are to be understood as ways that
everything might be or might have been. Thus, at least prima facie, it seems
logically possible both that there’s a God of the sort we’ve been discussing in the
first half of this book and also logically possible that there’s not. Neither involves
a contradiction in terms. If that’s right, then—using this new notion of world—
we might say that there’s a possible world in which the physical universe (the
world in my original sense) is as it is and there’s a God on top and there’s a
possible world in which the physical universe is as it is and there’s no God on
top. God’s a resident of the first world and not of the second. Theists think that
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the actual world is the first—the physical universe plus God (and perhaps various
other supernatural beings)—and physicalists think that the actual world is the
second—simply the physical universe as a whole.2
Consider then this argument:
1. It is possible that God exists, i.e. he does exist in some possible world.
2. If God exists in some possible world, then he exists in every possible world.
Therefore, God exists in every possible world, including the actual world,
i.e. he actually exists.
The premises of this argument seem right. After all, we’ve just said that it is
possible that God exists, which is the same as saying that he does exist in some
possible world. And, even if it wasn’t one of God’s essential properties, given that
it’s obviously going to be better to exist necessarily rather than merely con-
tingently, then, if there is a God, he’s going to have that form of existence, he’s
going to exist in every possible world. So the premises seem right and the
conclusion seems to follow deductively from them.
Again, perhaps the best way to see that something has gone wrong with this
argument is to see that if this argument worked, then a parallel argument would
also work, one that we won’t want to say works. In this case, the reason we won’t
want to say that the parallel argument works is not because its working would
‘overload’ the universe but because we can’t say that both arguments work as the
second one working is incompatible with the first one working. This is the
parallel argument:
1. It is possible that God does not exist, i.e. he does not exist in some
possible world.
2. If God does not exist in some possible world, then he doesn’t exist in
every possible world.
Therefore, God doesn’t exist in every possible world, including the actual
world, i.e. he doesn’t actually exist.
Surely we have no less (non-question-begging) reason to believe premise 1 of
the parallel argument than we do premise 1 of the original argument. The first
five chapters have established that the concept of God is internally consistent; it
describes an entity that it is logically possible exists and that it is logically possible
does not exist. So something’s gone wrong with this version of the ontological
argument. What?
The answer lies in the ambiguity of the word ‘possible’ and the notion of
possible worlds. The first five chapters have established that the concept of God
is consistent, so God’s existence is logically possible, which amounts to there
being no inconsistency in saying that God exists. This, we may say, is indeed
equivalent to God’s existing in some logically possible world, so let’s take
premise 1 of the original argument in this way: it is logically possible that God
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exists, i.e. he does exist in some logically possible world. As such, we may agree
with premise 1. But that God exists in some logically possible world (indeed in
an infinite number of them) does not entail that he exists in all logically possible
worlds, as suggested by premise 2. Rather, God’s non-existence is also logically
possible; there is no inconsistency in saying that God does not exist. So God does
not exist in some logically possible world, indeed he doesn’t exist in an infinite
number of them. So we may reject premise 2 and thus the argument. If
we take the word ‘possible’ to mean metaphysically possible, then we must accept
the second premise. If God does exist in some metaphysically possible world,
then he exists in every metaphysically possible world because if there is a God,
he’s that on which everything else metaphysically depends. But then of course we
have no (non-question-begging) reason to accept the first premise, that it’s
metaphysically possible that God exists. Whether or not we think that this is true
depends on whether or not we believe there’s a God. So this version of the
Ontological Argument also fails as a good argument.
All versions of the Ontological Argument then fail to respect the categorical
difference between manœuvring within a concept and discovering whether that
concept, however understood, does or does not have an instantiation.3 If we’re
going to find evidence of God’s existence—a reason to believe that there’s a
God—we’ll have to consider more than the mere concept of God. Where shall
we look? The only place we can: the world that he’s supposed to have created.
We must see if he’s left any evidence of his existence there. It has seemed to many
that it’s obvious that he has. Let us turn then to the Argument to Design.
The Existence of God132
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EBSCO Publishing : eBook Collection (EBSCOhost) – printed on 5/17/2017 4:18 PM via TARRANT COUNTY
COLLEGE DISTRICT
AN: 186624 ; Mawson, T. J..; Belief in God : An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion
Account: tarrant
David Hume’s Design Argument
• Cleanthes is the advocate for the design
argument: “The order and arrangement of
nature, the intricate adjustment of things to
their purposes, the plain use and intended
purpose of every part and organ of a plant or
animal… all these announce in the clearest
language an intelligent cause or author” (part
4).
• Like effects prove like causes – the basis for
empirical arguments.
– (Similar effects have similar causes.)
– If there are two different effects that are similar
then we can infer that the causes are also similar.
– Water quenches my thirst and gatorade quenches
my thirst; therefore drinking gatorade seems to be
a similar cause as drinking water.
1. A house has an architect.
1. The universe has a designer.
– Cleanthes claims that the universe and a house
have similar effects, therefore they have similar
causes.
Objections to Design Argument
• Philo claims that Cleanthes argument has the
following negative consequences:
1. In our experiences with the universe we have
not experienced infinity; hence the cause of
the universe cannot be infinite.
2. Nature contains many imperfections such as
illnesses, natural disasters, etc. So we cannot
attribute perfection to the cause of the
universe.
• It is possible that there could be more than
one designer; that is, the existence of a well-
designed universe is consistent with multiple
designers.
• Let us concede that the universe is designed,
the following three scenarios are all just as
plausible:
1. This world was only the first rough attempt of
some infant god, who afterwards abandoned it,
ashamed of his poor performance.
2. This universe is the work of some dependent,
inferior god, whose superiors hold it up for
ridicule.
3. This universe was produced by some god in his
old age and near-senility, and ever since his
death the world has continued without further
guidance, activated by the first shove he gave to
it and the active force that he built into it.
The Argument from a First Cause
• This argument presents us with a divine being
of classical theism.
• God’s attributes include:
– All-powerful
– All-knowing
– All-loving
– Eternal
– Infinite
– Necessarily exists (which implies that it is
impossible for God to not exist) – if God
necessarily exists, then this is the explanation for
God’s existence.
• The argument stated:
1. Either the universe has always existed for an
infinite amount of time without cause or
there is an ultimate cause for the universe.
2. It is incoherent to suggest that the universe
could exist uncaused.
3. Therefore there must be a necessary ultimate
cause for the universe.
• To claim that the universe could exist without
a cause is absurd because we are suggesting
that there is not a reason for the existence of
the universe.
– The universe is uncaused.
• Objections to the argument from a first cause:
– If God necessarily exists, then to conceive of God’s
non-existence is incoherent; take the following
two statements
1. God does not exist.
2. 2 + 2 = 5
– (1) is coherent whereas (2) is incoherent: if God
necessarily exists, then (1) should not be possible.
• Other objections
1. Perhaps matter itself is necessary and needs no
explanation for its existence.
2. An eternal universe needs no explanation for its
existence, because cause implies a previous
time. If the universe is eternal there was no
previous time to the existence of the universe.
The Ontological Argument
1. God, by definition is a perfect being.
2. It is better to exist than not to exist.
3. Therefore, God exists.
• Both premises (1) and (2) seem correct.
• First objection: Overload Objection
1. Sally, by definition is a perfect unicorn.
2. It is better to exist than not to exist.
3. Therefore, Sally exists.
• The Overload Objection suggests that our
argument for Sally the Unicorn’s existence
works if the ontological argument works.
• Hence, if the ontological argument is correct
then the universe is overloaded with entities
like Sally
– The biggest problem with the Overload Objection
is that there may not be any agreement on the
definition of a perfect unicorn
– Whereas there is a general consensus about the
definition for a perfect being.
• Second objection: premise (1) is ambiguous:
– Does ‘God’ pick out an actual being or is ‘God’
simply referring to the concept of ‘God’?
• Third objection: existence is not a predicate
– Existence is not a property that objects have
– We distinguish between concrete objects and
abstract objects.
– Concrete objects: your right hand; the chair you
are sitting on, etc.
– Abstract objects: the number five; the color red,
etc.
– Is God a concrete object or abstract object?
– Asserting that something exists implies that we
are discussing an abstract object. (The concept of
God.)
– Even if God does exist, existence cannot be a
property.
• Objection 4: the existence of God is not
necessary.
– It is logically possible that God exists.
– It is logically possible that God does not exist.
Contemporary Virtue Ethics
By Karen Stohr
Types of Virtue Ethics
• Agent-based: a right-action is defined in
terms of a virtuous agent. This is a fully agent-
centered ethical theory.
• Agent-prior: agent-evaluations are not the
most fundamental concept, but derive
evaluations by evaluating agents.
• Agent-focused: emphasizes character traits
over rules and principles
Aristotle’s Influence
• Aristotle’s virtue ethics are perhaps agent-
prior.
• For Aristotle virtue requires particular actions
and particular emotional responses.
– Emotions should allows the virtuous person to
correctly view the world and understand it.
• The doctrine of the mean: a virtuous action is
the mean between excess and deficienty.
• Practical wisdom is necessary to acquire the
virtues and the virtues are necessary to
acquire practical wisdom.
• In order to live well humans must fulfill their
natural purpose.
– Fulfilling one’s purpose means that one is acting in
accordance with one’s design.
Virtue & Flourishing
• The question is whether one who acts
virtuously will flourish? Or can one flourish
despite not acting virtuously?
– According to Aristotle the virtuous individual will
live well and flourish.
• Some theories of virtue identify virtue with
empathy towards other persons.
– There is not a connection between virtue and
living well.
Some General Issues
• Virtue ethics do not supply rules or
procedures for ethical deliberation.
• Virtue ethics suggests that some moral
dilemmas might be irresolvable.
– Moral luck might be a fundamental feature of
morality.
Three Contemporary Trends
1. Separating virtuous individuals from living
well; that is, someone can be virtuous and
not flourish.
2. The prevalence of virtue ethics in medical
ethics, environmental ethics, and business
ethics.
3. The development of a conception of
character and how that relates to virtue.
Contemporary Virtue Ethics
By Karen Stohr
Types of Virtue Ethics
• Agent-based: a right-action is defined in
terms of a virtuous agent. This is a fully agent-
centered ethical theory.
• Agent-prior: agent-evaluations are not the
most fundamental concept, but derive
evaluations by evaluating agents.
• Agent-focused: emphasizes character traits
over rules and principles
Aristotle’s Influence
• Aristotle’s virtue ethics are perhaps agent-
prior.
• For Aristotle virtue requires particular actions
and particular emotional responses.
– Emotions should allows the virtuous person to
correctly view the world and understand it.
• The doctrine of the mean: a virtuous action is
the mean between excess and deficienty.
• Practical wisdom is necessary to acquire the
virtues and the virtues are necessary to
acquire practical wisdom.
• In order to live well humans must fulfill their
natural purpose.
– Fulfilling one’s purpose means that one is acting in
accordance with one’s design.
Virtue & Flourishing
• The question is whether one who acts
virtuously will flourish? Or can one flourish
despite not acting virtuously?
– According to Aristotle the virtuous individual will
live well and flourish.
• Some theories of virtue identify virtue with
empathy towards other persons.
– There is not a connection between virtue and
living well.
Some General Issues
• Virtue ethics do not supply rules or
procedures for ethical deliberation.
• Virtue ethics suggests that some moral
dilemmas might be irresolvable.
– Moral luck might be a fundamental feature of
morality.
Three Contemporary Trends
1. Separating virtuous individuals from living
well; that is, someone can be virtuous and
not flourish.
2. The prevalence of virtue ethics in medical
ethics, environmental ethics, and business
ethics.
3. The development of a conception of
character and how that relates to virtue.
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
David Hume
Copyright ©
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All rights reserved. Jonathan Bennett
[Brackets] enclose editorial explanations. Small ·dots· enclose material that has been added, but can be read as
though it were part of the original text. Occasional •bullets, and also indenting of passages that are not quotations,
are meant as aids to grasping the structure of a sentence or a thought. Every four-point ellipsis . . . . indicates the
omission of a brief passage that seems to present more difficulty than it is worth. Longer omissions are reported
with square brackets in normal-sized type.
First launched: July 200
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Last amended: November 200
7
Contents
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
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54
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Pamphilus to Hermippus
Letter from Pamphilus to Hermippus
It has been remarked that though the ancient philosophers
mostly taught through dialogues, the dialogue form hasn’t
been much used in recent times, and has seldom succeeded
when people have tried it. ·There is a good reason for this·.
Philosophical enquirers these days are expected to produce
precise and orderly arguments; and someone aiming at those
will naturally proceed with a methodical exposition in which
he can, right at the outset, explain the point he wants to
establish, and then proceed without interruption to present
his proofs of it. It hardly seems natural to present a system
in conversation. And ·there is also another disadvantage
of the dialogue form·. By departing from the direct style
of composition the dialogue-writer hopes to give a freer air
to his performance, and to avoid the appearance of Author
and Reader; but he risks running into something worse,
conveying the image of Teacher and Pupil. And if he avoids
that by conducting the dispute in the natural spirit of good
company, throwing in a variety of arguments, and preserving
a proper balance among the speakers, he often spends so
much time setting things up, and moving from one line of
thought to another, that the reader will hardly think that the
order, brevity, and precision which have been lost are made
up for by all the graces of dialogue.
There are some subjects, however, for which dialogue-
writing is especially suitable, and preferable to the direct
and simple method of composition. ·I shall describe two of
them; apart from their suitability for the dialogue form they
are utterly unalike, though it will turn out that one big topic
includes both·.
Any point of doctrine that is •so obvious that it can hardly
be questioned, but at the same time •so important that it
deserves to be taught repeatedly, seems to require some
such method of handling it. In a dialogue, the novelty of the
manner of presentation may make up for •the triteness of the
subject; and the liveliness of the conversation may •reinforce
the teaching. Also, the variety of different angles from which
the characters in the dialogue approach the subject may
appear neither tedious nor redundant.
On the other hand, any question of philosophy that is
so obscure and uncertain that human reason can’t reach a
secure conclusion about it seems to lead us naturally into
the style of dialogue and conversation. Reasonable men may
be allowed to differ on a topic regarding which no-one can
reasonably be confident. And opposing views, even without
any decision as to which is right, provide an agreeable way
of passing the time; and if the subject is challenging and
interesting, the dialogue puts us (in a way) into the company
of the characters in it. Thus a dialogue can unite the two
greatest and purest pleasures of human life, study and the
company of others.
Fortunately, all those features are to be found in the
subject of NATURAL RELIGION. What truth is so obvious, so
certain, as that there exists a God? People in the most igno-
rant ages have believed this, and the most refined geniuses
have worked to produce new proofs and arguments for it.
And what truth is so important as this? It is the ground of
all our hopes, the surest foundation of morality, the firmest
support of society, and the only principle that ought never
to be a moment absent from our thoughts and meditations.
But when we dig into this obvious and important truth, we
run into obscure questions about the nature of that divine
being, his attributes, his decrees, his plan of providence.
1
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 1
Men have always disagreed about these matters, and human
reason hasn’t definitely settled them. But these topics are
so important that we can’t restrain our restless enquiry
into them, even though our most accurate researches have
yielded nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction.
I recently had a chance to observe this—·that is, the
suitability of natural religion as a theme for dialogue·—when
I was spending part of the summer season with Cleanthes,
as I usually do, and was present at the conversations he
had with Philo and Demea—the ones I recently sketched to
you. My sketch made you so curious to know more (you
said) that I can’t forbear to give you a more detailed report
on their reasonings, and to display the various systems that
they defended relating to this delicate subject of natural
religion. The characters of the three men are remarkably
different, and this raised your expectations even higher. You
contrasted the careful philosophical methods of Cleanthes
with the casual scepticism of Philo, and contrasted each of
those with the rigid inflexible orthodoxy of Demea. Being
young, I listened but didn’t speak; and my intense youthful
interest in the whole conversation imprinted on my memory
the whole chain and connection of their arguments. I hope
and think that my account of the conversation won’t omit or
muddle any considerable part of it.
Part 1
After I joined the group whom I found sitting in Cleanthes’
library, Demea paid Cleanthes some compliments on the
great care he took of my education, and on his unwearied
perseverance and constancy in all his friendships. Pam-
philus’s father, he said, was your intimate friend; the son is
your pupil, and we might think him to be your adopted son
if we judged by the trouble you take in bringing to him every
useful branch of literature and science. I am sure that you
are as prudent as you are hard-working; so I shall tell you a
maxim that I have followed with regard to my own children,
wanting to know how far it agrees with your upbringing
of Pamphilus. The method I follow in the education of my
children is based on the saying of an ancient: Students of
philosophy ought first to learn logic, then ethics, next physics,
last of all the nature of the gods. Because this science of
natural theology is the most profound and abstruse of any,
he held, students of it need mature judgment, and it can’t
safely be entrusted to a mind that isn’t already enriched
with all the other sciences. [In this work ‘science’ means something
like ‘systematic, disciplined, theoretical treatment’. It covers more than
‘science’ does today.]
Do you leave it as late as that, Philo asked, to teach your
children the principles of religion? Isn’t there a risk that
they will neglect or even outright reject those religious views
of which they have heard so little during the whole of their
education?
Demea replied: I postpone the study of natural theology
as a science that is open to human reasoning and contro-
versy, but only as a science. My chief concern with my
children is to bring piety into their minds while they are
2
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
young. By continual teaching (and also by example, I hope), I
imprint deeply on their young minds a habitual reverence for
all the principles of religion. While they pass through every
other branch of knowledge, I comment on the uncertainty
of each branch, on the eternal controversies of men, on the
obscurity of all philosophy, and on the strange, ridiculous
conclusions that some of the greatest geniuses have derived
from the principles of mere human reason. Having thus
tamed their mind to a proper submission and distrust of
their own abilities, I no longer hesitate to open to them the
greatest mysteries of religion; and I see no risk that the
presumptuous arrogance of philosophy will lead them to
reject the most established doctrines and opinions.
Your precaution of bringing piety into your children’s
minds early on, said Philo, is certainly very reasonable; it
is indeed needed in this profane and irreligious age. But
what I admire most in your plan of education is your way
of getting advantage from the very principles of philosophy
and learning which, by inspiring pride and self-sufficiency,
have often throughout the centuries been found to be so
destructive to the principles of religion. ·They are not so with
everyone, admittedly·. Common folk with no experience of
science and profound enquiry, when they see how learned
people are endlessly disputing, often have a thorough con-
tempt for philosophy; and that makes them hold even more
firmly to the great points of theology that they have been
taught. People who enter a little way into study and enquiry
•think they find evidence to support new and extraordinary
doctrines; •come to think that nothing is too difficult for
human reason; and presumptuously •break through all
fences and •profane the holiest places in the temple. Our
best protection ·against such arrogance in religious matters·
is ignorance; but after we have abandoned that we still
have—as I hope Cleanthes will agree—one way remaining to
us to prevent this profane liberty ·of laying down the law in
religious matters·. What we should do is to adopt improved
and cultivated versions of Demea’s principles ·concerning our
proneness to error and confusion·. Let us become thoroughly
aware of the weakness, blindness, and narrowness of human
reason, paying proper attention to its uncertainty and its
endless contradictions, even in ordinary everyday subjects;
let the errors and deceits of our senses be kept in mind;
the insuperable difficulties surrounding the basic principles
of every intellectual system; the contradictions involved in
the very ideas of matter, cause and effect, extension, space,
time, motion—in short, all kinds of ideas of quantity of all
kinds, though quantity is the topic of ·mathematics·, the
only science that has any claim to certainty or self-evidence.
When these topics are displayed in their full light, as they
are by some philosophers and almost all religious writers,
who can remain confident enough of his frail reason to give
heed to anything it tells him on topics that are so sublime,
so abstruse, and so remote from common life and experience
·as the existence and nature of God·? When ·we realize
that· really familiar things—like the holding-together of the
parts of a stone, or even the structure of it that makes it
an extended thing—are so inexplicable and involve such
contradictions, how confidently can we reach conclusions
about the origin of worlds, or trace their history from eternity
to eternity?
As Philo spoke, I noticed that both Demea and Cleanthes
were smiling. Demea’s smile seemed to express total satisfac-
tion with what Philo was saying; but, in Cleanthes’ features
I discerned an air of knowing amusement, as though he saw
in Philo’s reasonings some kind of teasing or trap-setting.
You propose then, Philo, said Cleanthes, to erect reli-
gious faith on ·a basis of· philosophical scepticism; and you
think that if certainty is expelled from every other subject of
3
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
enquiry it will retreat into these theological doctrines, where
it will be stronger and more authoritative than ever. Whether
your scepticism is as absolute and sincere as you claim is
something we shall learn later on, when we end this little
meeting: we’ll see then whether you leave the room through
the door or the window; and whether you really doubt that
your body has gravity and can be injured by its fall—which is
what people in general think on the basis of their fallacious
senses and more fallacious experience. And I think that this
consideration ·of the test of scepticism in everyday life· can
fairly serve to make us less angry with this whimsical sect of
the sceptics. If they are wholly sincere, they won’t trouble
the world for much longer with their doubts, niggles, and
disputes; and if they are only joking, they may perhaps be
bad comedians but they can never be very dangerous to the
state, to philosophy, or to religion.
In reality, Philo, he went on, it seems certain that even if
a man entirely renounces all beliefs and opinions, doing this
in a rush of blood to the head after intense thought about
the contradictions and imperfections of human reason, he
can’t persevere in this total scepticism, or make it show in
his conduct for more than a short time. External objects will
press in on him; his passions will call to him; his philosophi-
cal gloom will dissipate; and he won’t be able to preserve his
poor appearance of scepticism—however hard he works on
himself to do so. And what reason has he to work on himself
in that way? He’ll never be able to answer that question
satisfactorily, consistently with his sceptical principles. So
that on the whole nothing could be more ridiculous than the
principles of the ancient Pyrrhonians [= extreme sceptics], if they
really did try—as it has been claimed that they did—to apply
to the whole of life the same scepticism that they learned
from class-room lectures, which is where they ought to have
confined it.
From this angle the Stoics seem to be very like their
perpetual antagonists the Pyrrhonians. Each sect seems
to be based on this erroneous maxim: What a man can
do sometimes and in some moods he can do always and in
every mood. When Stoical reflections raise the mind into a
frenzy of virtue, and impress it with a sense of some kind of
honour or public good, extreme bodily pain and sufferings
won’t prevail over such a high sense of duty; and it may even
be possible for someone to smile and rejoice in the middle
of being tortured. If this sometimes actually happens, how
much more can a philosopher in his classroom or study work
himself up to such a frenzy, and imagine himself bearing
the acutest pain he can conceive! But how is he to maintain
the frenzy itself? His frame of mind relaxes, and he cannot
brace it up again just by wanting to do so; other activities
lead him astray; misfortunes attack him unawares; and the
philosopher gradually sinks into being an ordinary person.
I accept your comparison between the Stoics and Sceptics,
replied Philo. Still, although the Stoic mind can’t maintain
the highest flights of philosophy, even when it sinks lower
it still retains something of its former disposition; and the
effects of the Stoic’s reasoning will appear in his conduct
in everyday life, flavouring all of his actions. The ancient
schools of philosophy, particularly that of Zeno, produced
examples of virtue and steadfastness which seem astonishing
to us today:
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.
(Milton, Paradise Lost ii)
4
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
Similarly, if a man has accustomed himself to sceptical
thoughts about the uncertainty and narrowness of reason,
he won’t entirely forget them when he turns his thought
onto other subjects. In all his philosophical principles and
reasoning—though I daren’t say in his everyday conduct!—he
will be found to be different from those who never formed
any opinions on this topic and from those who have thought
about it and taken a more favourable view of human reason.
[In this paragraph, Philo uses ‘philosophy’ to mean ‘philosophy or
science’, apparently with his eye mainly on science. For ease of reading,
‘philosophy’ and its cognates are replaced by ‘science’ and its cognates
throughout the paragraph.] However far anyone pushes his
speculative principles of scepticism, he must—I admit—act
and live and talk like other men; but the only reason he needs
to give for this conduct is that it is absolutely necessary
for him behave thus. If he goes further in this direction
than he needs to for sheer survival, and engages in scientific
enquiries into various non-human and human subjects, ·this
doesn’t show that he is insincere in his scepticism; because
his reason for this scientific theorizing is just that· he is
drawn to it by a certain pleasure and satisfaction that he
finds in employing himself in that way. He’s also aware •that
everyone, even in common life, is forced to conduct himself
in greater or lesser degree like a scientist: •that from our
earliest infancy we make continual advances in forming more
general principles of conduct and reasoning; •that as our
experience widens and our reason strengthens, we make our
principles more general and comprehensive; and •that what
we call ‘science’ is nothing but a more regular and methodical
process of the same kind. To engage in scientific enquiry
into such subjects is essentially the same as reasoning about
common life; and we may only expect greater stability, if not
greater truth, from our science, on account of its more exact
and careful method of proceeding.
But when we look beyond human affairs and the prop-
erties of the material things around us—when we carry our
speculations into
•the two eternities, before and after the present state
of things,
•the creation and formation of the universe,
•the existence and properties of spirits,
•the powers and operations of one universal spirit ex-
isting without beginning and without end, omnipotent,
omniscient, unchanging, infinite, and incomprehen-
sible
—when we consider any of this, we would have to be very
unsceptical not to worry that we have here gone quite
beyond the reach of our faculties! So long as we confine
our theorizing to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticism, we
make continual appeals to common sense and experience;
these appeals strengthen our philosophical and scientific
conclusions, and at least partly remove the suspicion that
we rightly have regarding any reasoning that is very subtle
and delicate. But in theological reasonings we don’t have
this advantage ·of being able to appeal to common experience
just when we have most need of it·, while we are thinking
about objects which—we must be aware—are too large for
our grasp, and need more than any others to be presented
to our minds in a way that will make them familiar to us. We
are like foreigners in a strange country, to whom everything
must seem suspicious, and who are in danger every moment
of breaking the laws and customs of the people with whom
they live and talk. We don’t know how far we ought to
trust our ordinary vulgar methods of reasoning in such a
·theological· subject, because even in everyday life—in the
area that is specially suited to them—we can’t explain or
justify them, and are entirely guided by a kind of instinct or
necessity in employing them.
5
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
All sceptics claim that if reason is considered abstractly,
it provides invincible arguments against itself, and that
we could never retain any opinion or confidence on any
subject if it were not that the sceptical reasonings ·in which
reason discredits itself· are so refined and subtle that they
can’t outweigh the more solid and more natural arguments
derived from the senses and experience. But it is obvious
that when our arguments lose this advantage ·of solidity and
naturalness·, and run wide of everyday life, the most refined
scepticism comes to be on an equal footing with them and
can oppose and counterbalance them. Neither side has more
weight than the other. The mind must remain suspended
between them; and that suspense or balance is the triumph
of scepticism.
But I observe with regard to you, Philo, and to all theoret-
ical sceptics, says Cleanthes, that your doctrine is at odds
with your behaviour—just as much in the most abstruse
points of theory as in the conduct of everyday life. Wherever
evidence is found, you adhere to it, despite your supposed
scepticism; and I can observe, too, that some of your fellow-
sceptics are as decisive as those who claim higher levels of
certainty and assurance. Really, wouldn’t it be ridiculous
for someone to say that he rejected Newton’s explanation
of the wonderful phenomenon of the rainbow, because that
explanation gives a minute anatomy of the rays of light—‘a
subject’ (says this absurd sceptic) ‘too refined for human
comprehension’? And what would you say to someone
who, finding no fault with the arguments of Copernicus and
Galileo for the motion of the earth, nevertheless withheld
his assent on the general ground that these subjects are too
magnificent and remote to be explained by the narrow and
deceitful reason of mankind?
There is indeed a kind of •crude and ignorant scepticism,
as you rightly remarked, that gives common people a general
prejudice against things they can’t easily understand, and
makes them reject every principle that requires elaborate
reasoning to prove and establish it. This sort of scepticism
is fatal to knowledge, not to religion; for we find that many
of those who most strenuously profess it give their assent
not only to the great truths of theism and natural theology,
but even to the most absurd doctrines that traditional su-
perstition has recommended to them. They firmly believe in
witches, though they refuse to believe or attend to the most
simple proposition in Euclid’s geometry. But the •refined
and philosophical sceptics fall into an inconsistency of an
opposite kind. They push their researches into the most
abstruse corners of science, and at every step they accept
propositions in proportion to the evidence for them that
they meet with. They are even obliged to admit that the
most abstruse and remote objects are the ones that are best
explained by science. •Light is in reality anatomized. •The
true system of the heavenly bodies is discovered. But •the
nourishment of bodies by food is still a mystery that we
can’t explain. The •holding together of the parts of matter is
still incomprehensible. ·Light is abstruse, and the heavenly
bodies are remote; but nourishment and the firmness of
pebbles are neither. So the refined sceptics cannot draw a
general line in those terms·. These sceptics, therefore, are
obliged in every enquiry to consider each particular bit of
evidence separately, and to proportion their assent to the
precise strength of the evidence they find. This is what
they actually do in all natural, mathematical, moral, and
political science. And why not the same, I ask, in theological
and religious studies? Why should we confine to them
the practice of rejecting conclusions, without looking into
the evidence that has been offered, on the general ground
that human reason is insufficient? Isn’t this discriminatory
attitude a plain proof of prejudice and passion?
6
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
Our senses, you say, are fallacious; our understanding
is erroneous; our ideas—even of the most familiar objects:
extension, duration, motion—are full of absurdities and
contradictions. You defy me to solve the difficulties or
reconcile the inconsistencies that you find in them. I haven’t
the skill for so great an undertaking; I haven’t leisure for
it; I see that there’s no need for it. 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 accept the celebrated Arnauld’s extravagant
statement that the sceptics are not a sect of philosophers—
only a sect of liars! But I will say—no offence meant—that
they are a sect of comedians or teasers. For my part,
though, whenever I find myself wanting fun and amusement,
I shall certainly choose for my entertainment something less
puzzling and abstruse ·than sceptical philosophy·. A comedy,
a novel, or at most a history, seems a more natural recreation
than such metaphysical subtleties and abstractions.
It is no use for the sceptic to distinguish science from com-
mon life, or one science from another. The arguments that he
uses, if they are sound, hold good in each of these areas and
have just as much force in one as in another. Or if there is
any difference among them, the advantage lies entirely on the
side of theology and natural religion—·the advantage, that is,
of having the strength to resist scepticism·. Many principles
of mechanics are based on very abstruse reasoning, yet
nobody with any degree of scientific competence claims to be
in the least doubt concerning to them—nor indeed does any
theoretical sceptic. The Copernican system contains ·the
thesis that the sun doesn’t go around the earth, which is·
the most surprising paradox, and the one most contrary
to our natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our
very senses; yet even monks and inquisitors have had to
withdraw their opposition to it. Then we have the religious
hypothesis, which is based on the simplest and most obvious
arguments, and is easily accepted by the mind of man unless
it is blocked by artificial obstacles. Will Philo, a thoughtful
and knowledgeable man, cast doubt on it because of the
supposed unreliability of the human faculties in general, with
no special reference to the religious hypothesis in particular?
And here we may observe (he went on, turning towards
Demea) a rather curious fact in the history of the sciences.
After philosophy was joined to the religion of the people,
when Christianity was first established, religious teachers
commonly denounced reason, the senses, and every principle
derived merely from human research and enquiry. The
Fathers of the Church took up all the themes of the ancient
Academics [here = ‘sceptics’], which then spread from them
down the years into every school and pulpit in Christendom.
The Reformers embraced the same principles of reasoning, or
rather denunciation, and all flowery praise of the excellency
of •faith was sure to be spiced with some cutting jibes against
natural •reason. A celebrated Roman Catholic bishop, too, a
man of the most extensive learning who wrote a demonstra-
tion of Christianity, has also written a book containing all the
fault-finding of the boldest and most determined Pyrrhon-
ism. ·It took centuries for this contempt for reason to die
down·. Locke seems to have been the first Christian to risk
saying openly •that faith is nothing but a species of reason,
•that religion is only a branch of philosophy, and •that the
arguments that have always been used in discovering all
the principles of theology, natural and revealed, are just
like those that have been used to establish truths in morals,
politics, or physics. The miserable use that Bayle and other
free-thinkers made of the philosophical scepticism of the
Church Fathers and first reformers—·namely, their use of it
as a weapon against religion·—had the effect of widening the
7
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 1
acceptance of Locke’s sensible opinion; and now all those
who claim to be thinkers assert, in a way, that ‘atheist’ and
‘sceptic’ are almost synonymous. And just as it is certain
that no man would sincerely declare himself a sceptic, I
venture to hope that there are as few who seriously maintain
atheism.
Don’t you remember, said Philo, the excellent saying of
Lord Bacon on this topic? That a little philosophy, replied
Cleanthes, makes a man an atheist: a great deal converts
him to religion. That’s a very sensible remark too, said
Philo. But what I have in mind is another passage where,
having mentioned David’s ‘fool who said in his heart that
there is no God’, this great philosopher observes that the
atheists nowadays are double fools; for they aren’t contented
to say in their hearts that there is no God but also utter that
impiety with their lips, which makes them guilty of multiplied
indiscretion and imprudence. Such people, however serious
and sincere they are, cannot be much of a threat, I think.
But even at the risk of your counting me as one of this
class of fools, I can’t forbear to say something that occurs
to me, arising out of the history of religious and irreligious
scepticism with which you have entertained us. It seems
to me that there are strong symptoms of priestcraft in that
whole course of events. During ignorant ages, such as those
following the abolition of the ancient schools, the priests
saw that atheism, deism [= a thin belief in a higher power, not
necessarily a personal one], or heresy of any kind could only come
from the presumptuous questioning of common opinions,
and from the belief that human reason is equal to every
task. In those times •education had a great influence over
the minds of men, and was almost equal in power to •the
suggestions of the senses and common understanding, by
which the most determined sceptic must admit that he is
governed. But these days, when education has much less
influence, and men’s increased contacts throughout the
world have taught them to compare the principles that are
accepted in different nations and ages, our cunning divines
have changed their whole system of philosophy, and talk
the language of Stoics, Platonists, and Aristotelians, not
that of Pyrrhonians and Academics. If we distrust human
reason, we have now no other principle to lead us into
religion. These reverend gentlemen can be depended on to
identify the system that best suits their purpose of keeping
an ascendancy over mankind—it may be scepticism in one
age, dogmatism in another—and making it their favourite
principle and established doctrine.
It is very natural, said Cleanthes, for men to embrace
the principles by which they find they can best defend their
doctrines; we can account for this reasonable behaviour
without dragging priestcraft into the story. And, surely
nothing can afford a stronger support for the truth of a
set of principles than to observe that they tend to confirm
true religion, and serve to silence the complaints of atheists,
libertines, and freethinkers of all kinds.
8
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 2
Part 2
I must admit, Cleanthes, said Demea, that nothing could
surprise me more than the light in which you have all
along put this argument. By the whole trend and tone
of your remarks, one would think you were maintaining
the existence of a God against the objections of atheists
and infidels; and that you felt a need to stand up for that
fundamental principle of all religion. But I hope there is no
question here about the existence of a God. I am sure that
no man—or anyway no man of common sense—ever had a
serious doubt regarding such a certain and self-evident truth.
The question is not about the existence but about the nature
of God. Because of the infirmities of human understanding, I
contend, the nature of God is entirely incomprehensible and
unknown to us. The •essence of that supreme mind, •his
attributes, •his way of existing, •his way of lasting through
time—all these are mysterious to men, as is everything else
concerning such a divine being. Finite, weak, and blind
creatures such as we are ought to humble ourselves in his
august presence; and, conscious of our frailties, stand in
silent wonder at his infinite perfections, which eye has not
seen, ear has not heard, neither has it entered into the heart
of man to conceive. They are hidden from human curiosity
by a deep cloud. It is insulting to God to try to penetrate
these sacred obscurities. The audacity of prying into God’s
nature and essence, his decrees and attributes, is second
only to the impiety of denying his existence.
Lest you should think that my piety has here overpowered
my philosophy, I shall support my opinion—if it needs any
support—by a very great authority. I could cite ·in my sup-
port· almost any writer since the foundation of Christianity
who has ever treated this or any other theological subject;
but for now I shall confine myself to just one, who is equally
famous for piety and philosophy. It is Father Malebranche,
whom I remember as expressing himself thus:
One ought to call God a spirit not so much to express
positively what he is as to signify that he is not matter.
He is an infinitely perfect being; this we cannot doubt.
But just as we oughtn’t to imagine, even supposing
him corporeal, that he has a human body (as the
anthropomorphites asserted, on the grounds that
the human shape is the most perfect of any), so we
oughtn’t to imagine that the spirit of God has human
ideas, or bears any resemblance to our spirit, on the
grounds that we know nothing more perfect than a
human mind. We ought rather to believe that just as
he includes within himself the perfections of matter
without being material, he includes within himself
also the perfections of created spirits without being
spirit according to our conception of spirit. We ought
to believe that his true name is He that is, or in other
words Being without restriction, All being, the being
infinite and universal.
After so great an authority as that, Demea, replied Philo,
and a thousand more that you could produce, it would
appear ridiculous in me to add my own view or express my
approval of your doctrine. But, surely, when reasonable men
discuss these subjects their topic is never the existence of
God but only his nature. That he exists is, as you well ob-
serve, unquestionable and self-evident. Nothing exists with-
out a cause; and the original cause of this universe (whatever
it may be) we call ‘God’, and piously ascribe to him every kind
of perfection. Whoever questions this fundamental truth
9
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
deserves every punishment that philosophers can inflict on
one another, namely, the greatest ridicule, contempt, and
disapproval. But all perfection is entirely relative, so we
ought never to imagine that we understand the attributes of
this divine being, or to suppose that his perfections are in
any way analogous or similar to the perfections of a human
creature. Wisdom, thought, design, knowledge—it is proper
for us to ascribe these to him, because those words are
honourable among men, and we have no other language
or other conceptions by which to express our wonder at
his glory. But let us be careful not to think that our ideas
·of wisdom, thought, etc.· in any way correspond to his
perfections, or that his attributes have any resemblance
to these qualities of men. He is infinitely superior to our
restricted view and limited understanding, and is more the
object of worship in the temple than of debate in the schools.
In reality, Cleanthes, he went on, we can arrive at this
position without help from the pretend-scepticism that you
so dislike. ·Here is how·:
Our ideas reach no further than our experience.
We have no experience of divine attributes and opera-
tions.
I needn’t conclude my syllogism: you can draw the inference
yourself. And it is a pleasure to me (and I hope to you too)
that valid reasoning and sound piety here work together
to the same conclusion, and both of them establish the
wondrously mysterious and incomprehensible nature of the
supreme being.
I shan’t beat about the bush, said Cleanthes, addressing
himself to Demea. Still less shall I reply to Philo’s pious
speeches. What I shall do is to explain briefly how I conceive
this matter. Look round the world, contemplating the whole
thing and every part of it; you’ll find that it is nothing
but one big machine subdivided into an infinite number
of smaller ones, which in their turn could be subdivided to a
degree beyond what human senses and faculties can trace
and explain. All these various machines, and even their
most minute parts, are adjusted to each other so precisely
that everyone who has ever contemplated them is filled with
wonder. The intricate fitting of means to ends throughout
all nature is just like (though more wonderful than) the
fitting of means to ends in things that have been produced
by us—products of human designs, thought, wisdom, and
intelligence. Since the effects resemble each other, we are
led to infer by all the rules of analogy that the causes are
also alike, and that the author of nature is somewhat similar
to the mind of man, though he has much larger faculties to
go with the grandeur of the work he has carried out. By this
argument a posteriori, and by this argument alone, do we
prove both that there is a God and that he resembles human
mind and intelligence.
I have to tell you, Cleanthes, said Demea, that from the
beginning, I could not approve of your conclusion about the
similarity of God to men; still less can I approve of your
ways of trying to establish it. What! No demonstration that
God exists! No abstract arguments! No a priori proofs! [An
a priori argument is one that proceeds by sheer thinking, making no use
of contingent facts about what the world is like. An argument that does
appeal to such facts is called a posteriori, which is what Cleanthes says
that his argument is.] What about the ones that have in the
past been so much insisted on by philosophers—are they
all fallacious, all mere tricks? Do experience and probability
mark the limit to how far we can go in this subject? I
won’t say that this is betraying the cause of a God; but,
surely, by this show of even-handedness you provide atheists
with advantages that they could never have obtained purely
through argument and reasoning.
10
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
My main reservation about what Cleanthes has said,
Philo remarked, is not so much that he bases all religious
arguments on experience as that his arguments seem not
to be the most certain and unbreakable even of that inferior
·experience-based· kind. That a stone will fall, that fire
will burn, that the earth has solidity, we have observed
thousands of times; and when any new instance of this sort
is presented we don’t hesitate to draw the usual conclusion—
·this stone will fall, this fire will burn, the earth that I
am about to put my right foot on is solid·. The exact
similarity of the cases gives us a perfect assurance of a
similar outcome; and we never want or look for stronger
evidence than that. But the evidence is less strong when
the cases are less than perfectly alike; any reduction in
similarity, however tiny, brings a corresponding reduction
in the strength of the evidence; and as we move down
that scale we may eventually reach a very weak analogy,
·leading to a conclusion· that is confessedly liable to error
and uncertainty. After having observed •the circulation of
the blood in human creatures, we have no doubt that •it
circulates in Titius and Maevius. But from •its circulation in
frogs and fishes it is only a presumption—though a strong
one, from analogy—that •blood circulates in men and other
animals. The analogical reasoning is even weaker when we
infer •the circulation of the sap in plants from our experience
that •the blood circulates in animals; and those who hastily
followed that imperfect analogy between plants and animals
have been found by more accurate experiments to have been
mistaken.
If we see a house, Cleanthes, we conclude with the
greatest certainty that it had an architect or builder; because
this is precisely the kind of effect that we have experienced
as coming from that kind of cause. But surely you won’t say
•that the universe is so like a house that we can with the
same certainty infer a similar cause, or •that the analogy is
here entire and perfect. The unlikeness in this case is so
striking that the most you can offer ·on the basis of it· is a
guess, a conjecture, a presumption about a similar cause;
and I leave it to you to consider how that offering will be
received in the world!
If I granted that the proofs of the existence of a God
amount to no more than a guess or conjecture, replied Clean-
thes, that wouldn’t be well received, and I would deservedly
be blamed and detested. But is it such a slight resemblance
between how means are fitted to ends in a house and how
they are fitted in the universe? The way things are fitted to
their purposes? The order, proportion, and arrangement of
every part? Steps of a staircase are plainly designed so that
human legs can use them in climbing; and this inference
·from how the steps can be used to their purpose· is certain
and infallible. Human legs are also designed for walking and
climbing; and this inference ·from how legs can be used to
their purpose·, I admit, is not quite so certain, because of the
dissimilarity you have pointed out; but does that downgrade
it to mere presumption or conjecture?
Good God! exclaimed Demea, interrupting him, what
have we come to? Earnest defenders of religion admitting
that the proofs of a God fall short of being perfectly evident!
And you, Philo, whose help I depended on in proving the
worshipful mysteriousness of God’s nature—do you assent
to all these extreme opinions of Cleanthes? For how else can
I describe them? And why should I tone down my criticism
when such principles are advanced, supported by such an
authority ·as Cleanthes·, in the presence of such a young
man as Pamphilus?
You seem not to grasp, replied Philo, that I argue with
Cleanthes in his own way: I hope that by showing him the
dangerous consequences of his views I shall finally bring him
11
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
to share our opinion. But what bothers you most, I notice,
is Cleanthes’ account of the argument a posteriori. You find
that that argument ·in his version of it· is likely to slip out of
your grasp and vanish into thin air; you think Cleanthes has
so disguised it that you can hardly believe he has presented
it properly. Now, however much I may disagree in other ways
with the dangerous principles of Cleanthes, I must admit
that he has fairly presented that argument; and I shall try to
set it out for you in such a way that you will no longer view
it with suspicion.
If a man were to set aside everything he knows or has
seen, he would be entirely unable to work out, merely from
his own ideas, what the universe must be like, or to think one
state of affairs to be more likely than another. Nothing that
he clearly conceives could be thought to be impossible or to
imply a contradiction, so every fanciful story his imagination
comes up with would be on an equal footing with every other;
and he could give no valid reason for sticking to one idea or
system and rejecting the others that are equally possible.
Next step in the argument: after he opens his eyes and
sees the world as it really is, he can’t at first tell what the
cause was of any one event, much less of the totality of
things or of the universe. He might start his imagination
rambling, and it might bring in to him an infinite variety of
reports and stories. These would all be possible, but because
they would all be equally possible he could never from his
own resources explain satisfactorily why he prefers one of
them to the rest. Experience alone can point out to him the
true cause of anything that happens.
Now, Demea, this method of reasoning leads to something
that Cleanthes himself has tacitly admitted, namely: order,
arrangement, or the suitability of things for various purposes
(like the suitability of legs for walking) is not of itself any
proof that a designer has been at work, except in cases where
experience has shown us that such order, arrangement, etc.
is due to a designer. For all we can know a priori, matter
may have a source of order within it, just as mind does,
having it inherently, basically, ·not acquired from somewhere
else·. [The interpolation in this next bit is longer than most. To make it
easier to recognize, it is flagged by *asterisks rather than ·small dots·.]
When a number of elements come together in an exquisite
arrangement, *you may think it harder to conceive that
•they do this of their own accord than to conceive that
•some designer put them into that arrangement. But that
is too quick and careless. Think about what is involved in
a designer’s arranging them: it means that he creates the
arrangement in his mind, assembling in the appropriate way
the ideas of the elements in question. But, then, how does
that happen? I put it to you*, it is no harder to conceive that
•the elements are caused to come together into this
arrangement by some unknown cause that is internal
to them,
than it is to conceive that
•the ideas of these elements come together in that ar-
rangement in the great universal mind, being caused
to do so by a similarly unknown cause that is internal
to that mind.
These two suppositions are agreed to be equally possible;
but according to Cleanthes experience shows us a difference
between them. Throw several pieces of steel together, without
shape or form: they will never arrange themselves so as to
compose a watch. Stone, and mortar, and wood, without an
architect, never erect a house. But we see that the ideas in
a human mind arrange themselves so as to form the plan
of a watch or house, though we haven’t the faintest notion
of how they do this. So experience shows that minds—and
not matter—have a built-in principle of order. From similar
effects we infer similar causes. The way means are fitted to
12
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
ends in the universe at large is like the way means are fitted
to ends in a machine designed by a human being. The cause
of the machine, therefore, must be similar to the cause of
the universe.
I was, I admit, shocked by this assertion of a resemblance
between God and human creatures. I can’t help seeing
it as implying such a lowering of the supreme being that
no right-thinking Theist could put up with it. With your
assistance, therefore, Demea, I shall try to defend what you
justly call the worshipful mysteriousness of God’s nature,
and shall refute this reasoning of Cleanthes, provided he
agrees that I have presented it fairly.
When Cleanthes had agreed to this, Philo, after a short
pause, proceeded in the following manner.
In the meantime I shan’t disagree much with your theses
•that all inferences concerning matters of fact are based on
experience, and •that all experimental reasoning is based
on the supposition that similar causes prove similar effects,
and similar effects prove similar causes. But please notice
how extremely cautious good thinkers are in transferring a
discovered result to a similar case. These thinkers are not
perfectly confident in applying their past observation to some
other particular phenomenon, unless the ·old and new· cases
are exactly similar. Every alteration in the circumstances
·of the cause· raises a doubt about the outcome; and it
requires new experiments to prove for sure that the new
circumstances have no causal significance. A change in
size, position, arrangement, age, disposition of the air or
of surrounding bodies—any of these may bring with it the
most unexpected consequences. Unless the objects are quite
familiar to us, it is much too bold to expect confidently
that when a cause has been found to have a certain effect
another cause, differing from the earlier one in one of these
ways, will have the same effect. The slow and deliberate
steps of scientists, here if anywhere, are in contrast with the
precipitate march of common men who, hurried along by the
smallest similarity, are incapable of pondering or making
distinctions.
·Which group, Cleanthes, have you just shown yourself
to belong to?· You are usually cool and philosophical in
these matters, but has your usual attitude been preserved
in the stride you have taken in likening •the universe to
•houses, ships, furniture, and machines, inferring from
their similarity in some respects a similarity in their causes?
Thought, design, intelligence, such as we discover in men
and other animals, is just one of the springs and forces of the
universe, along with heat and cold, attraction and repulsion,
and a hundred others that we observe daily. It is an active
cause through which (we find) certain particular parts of
nature produce alterations in other parts. But can it be
proper to argue from parts to the whole? Doesn’t the great
disproportion ·between part and whole· bar all comparison
and inference? From observing the growth of a hair, can we
learn anything about how men come into being? Would the
way a leaf blows—even if we knew this perfectly—teach us
anything about how a tree grows?
Anyway, even if we do take the operations of one part of
nature on another as our basis for a judgment about the
origin of the whole (which is something we should never do),
why would we select as our basis such a tiny, weak, limited
cause as the reason and design of animals on this planet
seems to be? This little agitation of the brain that we call
‘thought’—what special privilege does it have that entitles
it to serve as the model of the whole universe? It looms
large for us because we are always in the presence of it; but
sound philosophy ought carefully to guard against this kind
of natural illusion.
13
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
So far from admitting, continued Philo, that •the opera-
tions of a part entitle us to draw any conclusion about •the
origin of the whole, I won’t even allow •any one part to justify
conclusions about •another part, if the two are very unlike
one another. Is there any reasonable ground to conclude that
the inhabitants of other planets have thought, intelligence,
reason, or anything similar to these faculties that men have?
When nature has operated in such a wide variety of ways
on this small planet, can we think that she incessantly
copies herself throughout the rest of this immense universe?
Also, it seems likely enough that thought occurs only in this
narrow corner, and even here its sphere of action is very
limited—·namely, to affecting the movements of the bodies
of some animals·. So what can justify taking thought to be
the original cause of everything? Such a jump is worse than
that of a peasant whose idea of the government of kingdoms
is based on how he runs his own household!
But even if we were perfectly sure that thought and reason
similar to ours is to be found throughout the whole universe,
and even if its activity elsewhere in the universe is vastly
greater in scope and more powerful than it appears to be
on this planet, still I cannot see that the operations of •a
world that is fully constituted, arranged and adjusted can
properly be extended to •a world that is in its embryo state,
and is still moving towards that finished constitution and
arrangement. By observation we know a certain amount
about how a finished animal moves, is nourished, stays
alive; but we should be cautious about transferring that
knowledge speculatively to the growth of a foetus in the
womb, and still more to the formation of an animalcule
in the testes of its male parent. [‘animalcule’ = ‘tiny animal’. It
was commonly thought that the animal is formed in miniature in the
father’s body, the mother’s contribution being merely to provide it with
somewhere to grow.] Even our limited experience shows us that
nature has an infinite number of causes and principles which
incessantly reveal themselves as circumstances change. It
would be absurdly rash of us to claim to know what new and
unknown principles would be at work in such a new and
unknown situation as that of the formation of a universe.
A very small part of this great system of the universe,
during a very short time, is very imperfectly revealed to us,
Do we then pronounce confidently about the origin of the
whole?
Admirable conclusion! At this time on this little planet
stone, wood, brick, iron, brass are not ordered or arranged
except through human artifice and contrivance; therefore the
universe couldn’t originally attain its order and arrangement
without something similar to human artifice. But is one part
of nature a rule for another part that is very different from
it? Is it a rule for the whole? Is a very small part a rule for
the universe? Is nature in one situation a certain rule for
nature in another situation vastly different from the former?
·Is nature at work in our considerably developed universe a
certain rule for nature at work in starting a universe?·
And can you blame me, Cleanthes, if I here imitate the
wise caution of Simonides? According to the famous story,
Hiero asked him ‘What is God?’, and Simonides asked for a
day to think about it, and then two days more; and in that
way he continually prolonged his time for thinking about it,
without ever producing a definition or description. Could
you even blame me if I answered straight off that I didn’t
know what God is, and was aware that this subject lies
vastly beyond the reach of my faculties? You might cry
‘Sceptic!’ and ‘Tease!’ as much as you pleased; but having
found the imperfections and even contradictions of human
reason when it is exercised on so many other subjects that
are much more familiar than this one, I would never expect
any success from reason’s feeble conjectures concerning a
14
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 2
subject that is so elevated and so remote from the sphere
of our observation. When two sorts of objects have always
been observed to be conjoined together, custom leads me
to infer the existence of ·an object of· one ·sort· wherever I
see the existence of ·an object of· the other ·sort·; and I call
this an argument from experience. But it is hard to see how
this ·pattern of· argument can be appropriate in our present
case, where the objects ·we are considering don’t fall into
sorts, but· are single, individual, without parallel or specific
resemblance. And will anyone tell me with a straight face
that an orderly universe must arise from some thought and
artifice like human thought and artifice, because we have
experience of it? To make this reasoning secure, we would
need to have had experience of the origins of worlds; it isn’t
sufficient, surely, to have seen ships and cities arise from
human artifice and contrivance.
Philo was going on in this vigorous manner, somewhere
between joking and seriousness (it seemed to me), when he
noticed signs of impatience in Cleanthes, and immediately
stopped. What I wanted to cut in with, said Cleanthes,
is only the suggestion that you stop abusing terms, using
common everyday expressions to subvert philosophical rea-
sonings. You know that common people often distinguish
‘reason’ from ‘experience’, even where the question relates
only to a matter of fact and existence; though it is found
that where that kind of ‘reason’ is properly analysed it turns
out to be nothing but a sort of experience. To prove ‘by
experience’ that the universe was originated by a mind
is no more contrary to common speech than to prove ‘by
experience’ that the earth moves. A fault-finder could raise
against the Copernican system all the objections that you
have urged against my reasonings. ‘Have you other earths’,
he might say, ‘which you have seen to move? Have. . . ’
Yes! interrupted Philo, we do have other earths. Isn’t
the moon another earth, which we see to turn round its
centre? Isn’t Venus another earth, where we see the same
thing? Aren’t the revolutions of the sun also a confirmation—
through analogy—of the same theory? Aren’t all the planets
that revolve around the sun earths? Aren’t the satellites
of Jupiter and Saturn moons that move around the sun
along with their primary planets? These analogies and
resemblances—and others that I haven’t mentioned—are
the only evidence for the Copernican system. It is for you to
consider whether you have any analogies of the same kind
to support your theory.
In reality, Cleanthes, he went on, the modern system of
astronomy is now so thoroughly accepted by all enquirers,
and has become such an essential a part of the education
even of small children, that we are often not very scrupulous
about examining the reasons for it. It is now become a matter
of mere scholarly curiosity to study the first writers on that
subject—the ones who had the full force of prejudice against
them, and had to present their arguments in every possible
light in order to render them popular and convincing. But if
we peruse Galileo’s famous Dialogues concerning the system
of the world, we shall find that that great genius—one of
the greatest who ever existed—first put all his efforts into
proving that there is no basis for the distinction commonly
made between ‘elementary’ and ‘celestial’ substances. The
Aristotelian scientists, relying on sensory illusions, had made
a great deal of this distinction; they had laid it down that
‘celestial’ substances cannot be generated, altered, or in any
way affected, and they had assigned all the opposite qualities
to ‘elementary’ substances. But Galileo, beginning with the
moon, proved its similarity in every detail to the earth—its
convex shape, its natural darkness when not illuminated
·by the sun·, its density, its distinction into solid and liquid,
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
the variations of its phases, the mutual illuminations of the
earth and moon, their mutual eclipses, the unevenness of
the moon’s surface, and so on. After many examples of this
kind relating to all the planets, men saw that these bodies
were proper objects of experience, and that their similarity to
one another entitled us to extend the same arguments and
phenomena from one to another.
This cautious proceeding of the astronomers implicitly
condemns your argument, Cleanthes; or, rather, it points to
the fact that the subject on which you are engaged exceeds
all human reason and enquiry. Can you claim to show
any such similarity between the structure of a house and
the generation of a universe? Have you ever seen nature
in a situation that resembles the first arrangement of the
elements ·at the beginning of the universe·? Have worlds
ever been formed under your eye; and have you had leisure
to observe the whole progress of world-making, from the first
appearance of order to its final consummation? If you have,
then cite your experience, and deliver your theory.
Part 3
In the hands of an ingenious and inventive person, replied
Cleanthes, even the most absurd argument can be made to
seem plausible! Don’t you realize, Philo, •that Copernicus
and his first disciples had to prove the similarity of terrestrial
to celestial matter because various scientists—blinded by old
systems, and supported by some empirical evidence—had
denied that similarity? but •that theists don’t in the same
way have to prove the similarity of the works of nature to
those of human artifice, because this similarity is self-evident
and undeniable? The works of nature are made of the same
stuff as are human artifacts, and the two are alike in form
also; what more is needed to show an analogy between
their causes, and to show that the origin of all things is
a divine purpose and intention? Your objections, to put it
bluntly, are no better than the elaborate arguments used by
the philosophers who denied that anything moves; and they
ought to be refuted in the same way as those, by illustrations,
examples, and instances, rather than by serious argument
and philosophy. ·That is how I shall oppose your arguments·.
Suppose •that an articulate voice were heard in the
clouds, much louder and more melodious than any human
voice could ever be; suppose further •that this voice were
heard at the same time in all nations, and that it spoke to
each nation in its own language and dialect; suppose, finally,
•that the words spoken from the sky were not only mean-
ingful but conveyed some instruction that was altogether
worthy of a benevolent being who was superior to mankind.
If all that occurred, could you possibly hesitate for a moment
over the cause of this voice? Wouldn’t you be compelled to
ascribe it, straight off, to some design or purpose? Yet if you
did come to that conclusion, your inference would be open
to all the same objections (if they deserve such a label) that
are brought against the system of theism.
16
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 3
Here’s the position you seem to be committed to:
All conclusions about matters of fact are based on
experience: when we hear an articulate voice in the
dark and infer that a man has spoken, it is only the
resemblance of the effects which leads us to conclude
that there is a similar resemblance in the causes.
But this extraordinary voice from the sky is loud and
wide-ranging and flexible as to languages, which no
human voice is; so we have no reason to suppose
its cause is like the cause of human speech. So this
rational, wise, coherent speech came from we know
not where—perhaps an accidental whistling of the
winds—and not from any divine reason or intelligence.
You can see clearly your own objections in these objections;
and I hope you also see clearly that one lot is no better than
the other.
But to bring the case still nearer our present topic of the
universe, I shall make two suppositions, which—·though
they are weird and not true·—don’t involve any absurdity or
impossibility. Suppose •that there is a natural, universal, in-
variable language, common to every individual of the human
race; and •that books are natural products which perpetuate
themselves in the same way as animals and plants do, by
descent and propagation. ·These suppositions aren’t as
wildly far from fact as you might think·. •We do have a
kind of universal language, embedded in some expressions
of our passions; and all the lower animals have a natural
speech, which, however limited, is very intelligible to their
own species. And •as the finest and most eloquent text
is infinitely less complex and intricate than the coarsest
organism, the propagation of an Iliad or Aeneid is easier to
suppose than that of any plant or animal.
Well, now: suppose you enter your library, the shelves
of which are full of natural volumes, containing the most
refined reasoning and most exquisite beauty; could you
possibly open one of them and doubt that its original cause
bore the strongest analogy to mind and intelligence? When
it reasons and discourses; when it expostulates, argues,
and enforces its views and lines of thought; when it appeals
sometimes to the pure intellect, sometimes to the feelings;
when it takes up every consideration suited to the subject,
decorates it and deals with it; could you still say that all this
basically had no meaning, and that thought and planning
had no role to play when this volume first came into being
in the loins of its original parent? I know you aren’t as
obstinate as that; even your irresponsible scepticism would
be ashamed to assert such a glaring absurdity.
Furthermore, Philo, if there is any difference between my
‘two suppositions’ case and the real state of affairs in the
universe, it is the latter that suits my argument better. The
anatomy of an animal presents many stronger instances of
design than the reading of Livy or Tacitus does; and any
objection which you start in the ‘real world’ case, demanding
that we attend to such an unusual and extraordinary scene
as the first formation of worlds, holds equally in the ‘two
suppositions’ case with its vegetating library. So choose
sides, Philo, without ambiguity or evasion; either assert that
a rational book needn’t have a rational cause, or admit a
similar cause for all the works of nature.
Let me add, Cleanthes went on, that this religious argu-
ment, instead of being weakened by the scepticism that you
keep parading, is actually strengthened by it, becoming more
firm and undisputed. To reject all argument and reasoning
is either affectation or madness. Every reasonable sceptic
rejects only argumentation that is abstruse, remote, and
intricate; sticks to common sense and the plain instincts of
nature; and assents to things the reasons for which strike
him with so much force that it would take him an enormous
17
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 3
effort not to assent. Now the arguments for natural religion
are plainly of this ·forceful, almost irresistible· kind; and
nothing but the most perverse and obstinate metaphysics
can reject them. Think about the anatomy of the eye,
consider its structure and design, and then tell me—doesn’t
the idea of a designer immediately come into your mind with
a force like that of a sensation? The most obvious conclusion,
surely, is in favour of a designer; and it requires time,
reflection, and study to bring to mind objections—which
are frivolous although they are abstruse—which can support
atheism. Who can see the male and female of each species,
the fit between their bodies, their instincts, their passions,
and their whole course of life before and after generation,
without being aware that the propagation of the species is
intended by nature? Millions and millions of such instances
present themselves through every part of the universe; and
•the intricate fit of things to their purposes conveys an
intelligible and obvious meaning at least as well as does any
•language. What level of blind dogmatism would you have to
reach to reject such natural and convincing arguments?
However you may carp at it, the argument that likens an
orderly world to a coherent, articulate speech will still be
accepted as an incontestable proof of design and intention
·in the causation of the world·. If this argument for theism
conflicts with the principles of logic, as you claim it does,
its irresistible power over nearly everyone clearly shows that
there may be arguments that are good although they break
the rules. ·Don’t dismiss this as special pleading, for we do
sometimes accept rule-breaking performances as good, even
as excellent·. We sometimes encounter beauties in writing
that seem contrary to the rules, and yet gain our affections
and enliven our imaginations in opposition to all the literary
doctrines and to the authority of the established literary
masters.
It sometimes happens, I admit, that the religious ar-
guments don’t have the influence they should have on an
ignorant savage and barbarian; not because they are obscure
and difficult, but because the savage never asks himself
any of the questions on which they depend. Where does
the intricate structure of an animal come from? From the
copulation of its parents. And where do the parents come
from? From their parents. Repeat this a few times and the
objects come to be at such a distance from the savage that
he loses them in darkness and confusion; and he has no
curiosity to trace them further. But this is neither dogmatism
nor scepticism, but stupidity: a state of mind very different
from your close-arguing, question-raising disposition, my
ingenious friend! You can trace causes from effects; you
can compare the most distant and remote objects; and your
greatest errors proceed not from barrenness of thought and
invention, but from too luxuriant a fertility, which suppresses
your natural good sense by a profusion of unnecessary
doubts and objections.
Here I could observe that Philo was a little embarrassed
and confused; but while he hesitated in giving an answer,
Demea broke in on the conversation—luckily for Philo!
Your example involving books and language, he said to
Cleanthes, gets much of its force from being familiar; but
isn’t there some danger in this very familiarity? May it not
lead us to get above ourselves, by making us imagine we
comprehend God and have some adequate idea of his nature
and attributes? When I read a book I enter into the mind
and intention of the author: at that moment I become him,
in a way, and have an immediate feeling and conception
of the ideas that revolved in his imagination when he was
writing. But we can never come as close as that to God.
His ways are not our ways. His attributes are perfect, but
incomprehensible. And his ‘book’ of nature contains a great
18
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 3
and inexplicable riddle, more than any intelligible discourse
or reasoning.
The ancient Platonists, you know, were the most religious
and devout of all the pagan philosophers; yet many of
them, particularly Plotinus, expressly declare that intellect
or understanding is not to be ascribed to God, and that our
most perfect worship of him consists not in acts of vener-
ation, reverence, gratitude, or love but rather in a certain
mysterious self-annihilation, or total extinction of all our
faculties. These ideas are perhaps too far stretched; but still
·there is a truth buried in them·: it must be admitted that by
representing God as so intelligible and comprehensible, and
so similar to a human mind, we are guilty of the grossest and
most narrow self-centredness, making ourselves the model
of the whole universe.
All the sentiments of the human mind—gratitude, re-
sentment, love, friendship, approval, blame, pity, imitation,
envy—clearly involve the state and situation of man, and
are calculated for preserving the existence and promoting
the activity of beings like us in circumstances like ours.
So it seems unreasonable to transfer such sentiments to a
supreme being, or to suppose that he is moved by them;
besides which, the phenomena of the universe won’t support
us in such a theory. All our •ideas derived from the senses
are confusedly false and deceptive, and so can’t be supposed
to have a place in a supreme intelligence; and the whole
stock of the human understanding consists of those together
with •the ideas of the external senses, ·and we can’t attribute
the latter to God, who is in no way passive and so doesn’t
have senses as we do·. We may conclude that none of the
•materials of thought in the human intelligence are in any
respect like those of the divine intelligence. Now, as to the
•manner of thinking: how can we make any comparison
between them, or suppose them to be in any way alike? Our
thought is fluctuating, uncertain, fleeting, successive, and
compounded [= ‘made up of little elements of thought’]; and these
features of it belong to its essence, so that it would be an
abuse of words to apply the name of ‘thought’ or ‘reason’ to
anything that wasn’t fluctuating, uncertain, etc. At least, if
it seems more pious and respectful (as it really is) still to
use these words when we speak of the supreme being, we
should admit that their meaning as applied to him is totally
incomprehensible, and that the weakness of our nature
prevents us from having any ideas that correspond in the
least to the ineffable sublimity of God’s attributes.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 4
Part 4
It seems strange to me, said Cleanthes, that you, Demea,
who are so sincere in the cause of religion, should still
maintain the mysterious, incomprehensible nature of God,
and should insist so strenuously that he in no way resembles
human creatures. I freely admit that God has many powers
and attributes that we can’t comprehend; but if our ideas
of him are not, as far as they go, true and adequate and in
conformity with his real nature, I don’t know what remains
that is worth discussing in this subject. Is the name, without
any meaning, of such vast importance? And how do you
mystics, who maintain the absolute incomprehensibility of
God, differ from sceptics or atheists who assert that the first
cause of everything is unknown and unintelligible? They
reject the view that the world was produced by a mind, by
which I mean a mind like the human one (for I don’t know
of any other kind). They must be •very bold if they then go
on to claim to know what other specific intelligible cause
produced the world; and ·if they don’t make that claim, and
admit that the cause is unknown to them·, they must be
•very scrupulous indeed if they refuse to call the unknown
cause of everything a ‘God’ or ‘Deity’, and to bestow on him
as many high-flown praises and meaningless epithets as you
may ask them to.
Who could imagine, replied Demea, that Cleanthes—the
calm philosophical Cleanthes—would attempt to refute his
antagonists by sticking a label on them (·namely the label
‘mystic’·) and, like the common bigots and inquisitors of our
time, resort to invective and rhetoric instead of reasoning?
Doesn’t he realize that his kind of attack can go either way,
and that ‘anthropomorphite’ is as damaging and threatening
a label, bringing as much danger with it, as the epithet
‘mystic’ with which he has honoured me? [‘Anthropo-morphite’
comes from Greek meaning ‘human-shaped’. An anthropomorphite is
someone who holds that God is like a man.] In reality, Cleanthes,
consider what you are saying when you represent God as
similar to a human mind and understanding. What is the
mind of man? It is made up of many different faculties,
passions, sentiments and ideas; they are indeed united into
one self or person, but they are still distinct from each
other. When a man’s mind reasons, the ideas that are
the parts of its ·mental· discourse arrange themselves in
a certain form or order; and this is not preserved intact for a
moment, but immediately makes way for a new arrangement
·of ideas·. New opinions, new passions, new affections,
new feelings arise, which continually diversify the mental
scene, and produce in it the greatest variety and most rapid
succession imaginable. How is this compatible with that
perfect unchangingness and simplicity—·‘simplicity’ in the
sense of ‘not having parts’·—which all true theists ascribe to
God? According to them, he sees past, present, and future
in a single act; his love and hatred, his mercy and justice,
are one individual operation; he is entirely present at every
point in space, and exists completely at every instant of time.
God’s nature doesn’t involve the slightest hint of difference or
variation: there is no sequence of events in him, he doesn’t
change, he doesn’t gain or lose anything. What he is now is
what he has always been, and always will be, without any
change in what he thinks, feels, or does. He stands fixed
in one simple, perfect state; and it can never be correct to
say that this act of his is different from that, or that this
judgment or idea is one that he had only recently, and that
it will in time be followed by some other judgment or idea.
20
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 4
I can readily allow, said Cleanthes, that those who
maintain that God is perfectly simple ·in the sense you have
given to this, and· to the extent that you have just expressed,
are complete mystics, and are guilty of all the consequences
that I have derived from their opinion. They are, in a word,
atheists without knowing it. For though we may grant
that God has attributes •that we cannot understand, still
we ought never to ascribe to him any attributes •that are
absolutely incompatible with the thinking nature that is
essential to him. A ‘mind’ whose acts and feelings and ideas
are not distinct and successive, a ‘mind’ that is wholly simple
and totally unchanging, is a ‘mind’ that has no thought, no
reason, no will, no sentiment, no love, no hatred. In short, it
isn’t a mind at all! It is an abuse of words to call it a ‘mind’,
on a par with speaking of a region of space that has no shape,
or of number that isn’t composed of smaller numbers.
Think who your targets are! said Philo. You confer the
title ‘atheist’ on almost all the sound, orthodox theologians
who have treated this subject; and you will end up finding
that by your criteria you are the only sound theist in the
world. But if idolaters are atheists (as I think they can fairly
be said to be), and if Christian theologians are also atheists
(·as you have implied·), what is left of the famous argument
·for theism· from the universal consent of mankind?
But I know that names and authorities don’t carry much
weight with you, so I’ll try to show you a little more clearly
the drawbacks of that anthropomorphism that you have
embraced; and I shall prove that there is no basis for the
view that a plan of the world was formed in God’s mind,
consisting of distinct ideas, differently arranged, in the way
an architect forms in his head the plan of a house that he
intends to build.
It isn’t easy to see what is gained by this supposition
·that God had such a plan·, whether we steer by reason
or by experience. You have offered this supposed plan as
a satisfactory and conclusive cause ·of the world. But we
cannot leave it at that, for· we still have to raise the further
question about the cause of this cause. ·Looking for an
answer, let us first consult •reason, then •experience·.
If •reason (I mean abstract reason, involving a priori
thoughts) is not equally silent with regard to all questions
concerning cause and effect, it will at least venture to say
this much:
A mental world (or universe of ideas) stands in as
much need of a cause as does a material world (or
universe of objects); and, if the mental world is similar
in its arrangement to the material one, their causes
must be similar.
For there is nothing here to give rise to a different conclusion
or inference ·regarding one world from what we can conclude
regarding the other·. Looked at abstractly, they are entirely
alike; and any problem concerning either of them is equally
a problem for the other.
If we turn to •experience, compelling it to say something
on these subjects that lie beyond its sphere, ·it replies that· it
can’t see any significant difference between these two kinds
of worlds, so far as causation is concerned: it finds them to
be governed by similar principles, and to depend on an equal
variety of causes in their operations. We have specimens in
miniature of both sorts of world: our mind resembles the
one, a plant or animal the other. So let experience judge
from these samples, ·which are within its sphere·. Nothing
seems more intricate in its causes than thought is. Because
these causes never operate in the same way in two people,
we never find two people who think exactly alike. Indeed,
one person doesn’t think in exactly the same way at any two
times. A difference of age, of the disposition of his body,
of weather, of food, of company, of books, of passions—any
21
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 4
of these details, and others that are less conspicuous, are
sufficient to alter the precise machinery of thought and cause
very different movements and operations in it. As far as we
can judge, plants and animal bodies are no more intricate in
their motions, and don’t depend on a greater variety or more
precise adjustment of springs and forces.
Now, as well as the question concerning •the cause of
the being whom you suppose to be the author of nature,
your system of anthropomorphism confronts us with another
question, concerning the cause of •the mental world that
you see as causing the material world—·that is, the cause
of •God’s plan·. How can we satisfy ourselves about that?
Haven’t we the same reason to see that mental world as
caused by another mental world, or new force of thinking?
But if we stop there, ·refusing to raise the question about the
cause of God’s plan·, why do we go as far as God’s plan? Why
not stop at the material world? How can we satisfy ourselves
without going on to infinity? Not that there is any satisfaction
in the infinite sequence ·of causes of causes of. . . ·. Let
us remember the story of the Indian philosopher and his
elephant: ·he thought that the earth needed something to
hold it up, and supposed it rested on an elephant, which he
then supposed rested on a tortoise. . . ·. The story was never
more applicable than it is to the present subject, ·switching
from a spatial to a causal interpretation of ‘rest on’·. If the
material world rests ·causally· on a mental world that is
similar to it, this mental world must rest on some other; and
so on without end. It would be better, therefore, never to
look beyond the present material world. By supposing it to
contain within itself the causes of its order, we are really
taking it to be God; and the sooner we arrive at that divine
being, the better. When you go one step beyond the system
of the familiar world, you only stir people up into asking
questions that can’t possibly be answered.
You may say ‘The different ideas that make up God’s plan
fall into order of themselves, and by their own nature’, but
that has no precise meaning. If it has a meaning, I would
like to know why it is not equally good sense to say ‘The
parts of the material world fall into order of themselves, and
by their own nature’. Can one opinion be intelligible, when
the other isn’t?
We do indeed have experience of ideas that fall into order
of themselves, and without any known cause ·outside them·.
But I am sure we have much more experience of matter
that does the same—for example in every case of generation
and vegetation, where it is beyond our capacities to work
out what the causes are [in this work ‘generation’ usually = the
whole process through which animals have offspring, and ‘vegetation’ =
the corresponding process for plants]. We have also experience
of particular systems of thought and of matter that have
no order—of thought in madness, of matter in the decay
of dead organisms. So why should we think that order
is more essential to one than to the other? And if order
requires a cause in both, what advantage does your system
give us when it takes the ·material· universe of objects to
be caused by a similar ·mental· universe of ideas? Our first
step ·beyond the material world· leads us on for ever. So it
would be wise of us to limit all our enquiries to the present
world, without looking beyond it. We can get no satisfaction
from these speculations that so far exceed the narrow limits
of human understanding.
As you know, Cleanthes, when the ancient Aristotelians
were asked about the cause of some phenomenon, they
usually replied in terms of their concepts of faculty or occult
quality. Asked why bread nourishes, for instance, they would
say that bread nourishes by its •‘nutritive faculty’, and that
senna purges by its •‘purgative faculty’. But it has turned
out that this device was merely a disguise for ignorance,
22
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 4
and that those philosophers were really saying—though less
openly—the same thing as the sceptics and the plain people
say when they candidly admit that they don’t know what
causes these phenomena. Well, now, when we ask what
causes order in the ideas of God, can you anthropomorphites
give any answer except that the cause is a •‘rational faculty’,
and that such is the nature of God? If that is acceptable, then
it is hard to see why it isn’t equally acceptable to account for
the world’s order in a similar way—·appealing to ‘faculties’
and ‘natures’ that material things have·—without having
recourse to any such thinking creator as you insist on. It
is only to say that this is the ‘nature’ of material objects,
and that they all have an inherent ‘faculty’ of order and
proportion; which are merely more learned and elaborate
ways of admitting ignorance. The comparable story about
God’s plan is no better than this one about the material
world—except in being closer to the prejudices of common
people.
You have presented this argument with great emphasis,
replied Cleanthes, apparently not realizing how easy it is
to answer it. When in everyday life I assign a cause for
some event, Philo, is it any objection that I can’t assign the
cause of that cause, and answer every new question that
may endlessly be raised? [In reading the next bit, remember that
in Hume’s day ‘philosopher’ covered scientists as well.] What philoso-
phers could possibly submit to so rigid a rule? Philosophers
admit that ultimate causes are totally unknown; and they
are aware that the most refined principles which they use
to explain the phenomena are as inexplicable to them as
the phenomena themselves are to the common people. ·So
there can be no question of their agreeing that it’s no use
assigning a cause unless you also assign the cause of the
cause·. The order and arrangement of nature, the intricate
adjustment of things to their purposes, the plain use and
intended purpose of every part and organ ·of a plant or
animal·—all these announce in the clearest language an
intelligent cause or author. The heavens and the earth join
in the same testimony: the whole chorus of nature raises one
hymn to the praises of its creator. You alone, or almost alone,
disturb this general harmony. You start abstruse doubts,
complaints, and objections; you ask me, what is the cause
of this cause? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I have found
a God, and with that I stop my enquiry. Let those who are
wiser or more enterprising go further.
I don’t claim to be wiser or more enterprising, replied
Philo: and for that very reason I might never have tried to
go so far; especially when I’m aware that I must eventually
settle for the same answer that I might—saving myself all
that trouble—have settled for from the beginning. If I am
still to remain in utter ignorance of causes, and can’t give
a full explanation of anything, I shall never think it is an
advantage to shove off for a moment a difficulty which (you
admit) must immediately come back to me with its full force.
Natural scientists indeed very properly explain particular
effects by more general causes, even when these general
causes themselves are in the end totally inexplicable; but
surely they never think it satisfactory to explain a particular
effect by a particular cause that is no more explicable than
the effect itself. A •system of ideas, arranged by itself without
a prior design, is not a whit more explicable than a •material
system that attains its order in the same way; there is no
more difficulty in the latter supposition than in the former.
23
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 5
Part 5
But to show you still more inconveniences in your an-
thropomorphism, continued Philo, please look again at your
principles. Like effects prove like causes. This is the ·basis
for every· •empirical argument, and you say that it is also the
only ·basis for the· •theological argument. Now, it is certain
that the more similar the observed effects, and the more
similar the causes that are inferred, the stronger is the argu-
ment. Every move away from similarity, between the effects
or between the causes, lowers the probability and makes
the empirical argument less conclusive. You can’t doubt the
principle; so you oughtn’t to reject its consequences.
According to •the true system of theism, all the new
discoveries in astronomy, which prove the immense grandeur
and magnificence of the works of nature, are further ar-
guments for the existence of a God; according to •your
hypothesis of empirical theism they become objections, by
moving the universe still further from all resemblance to the
effects of human skill and contrivance. If the argument for
genuine theism had force in earlier times, how much more
force it must have now, when the bounds of nature are so
infinitely enlarged and such a magnificent scene is opened
to us? [As evidence of its support in ancient times, Philo
quotes (in Latin) from Lucretius and Cicero. Then:] It is still
more unreasonable to form our idea of the cause of such an
unlimited effect on the basis of our experience of ·the causes
of· the narrow products of human design and invention.
The discoveries by microscopes, as they open a new
universe in miniature, are arguments ·for theism· according
to me, whereas to you they are objections to it. The further
we push our researches of this kind, the more we are led to
infer that the universal cause of it all is vastly different from
mankind, and from anything of which we have empirical
knowledge.
And what do you have to say about the discoveries in
anatomy, chemistry, botany?. . .
Those surely are not objections, interrupted Cleanthes;
they only reveal new instances of skill and contrivance. It
is still the image of mind reflected on us from innumerable
objects. Add, a mind like the human, said Philo. That’s the
only kind I know, replied Cleanthes. And the more like the
better, insisted Philo. To be sure, said Cleanthes.
Now, Cleanthes, said Philo, pouncing with an air of
triumph, note the consequences! •First, by this method
of reasoning, you give up all claim to infinity in any of the
attributes of God. For, as the cause ought to be proportioned
to the effect, and the effect—so far as we know—is not
infinite, what right have we (on your theory) to ascribe infinity
to God? You will still have to say that when we remove him
so far from similarity to human creatures, we give in to the
most arbitrary hypothesis and at the same time weaken all
proofs of his existence.
•Secondly, your theory gives you no reason to ascribe
perfection to God even in his capacity as a finite being, or
to suppose him to be free from every error, mistake, or
incoherence in his activities. Consider the many inexplicable
difficulties in the works of nature—·illnesses, earthquakes,
floods, volcanoes, and so on·. If we think we can prove a
priori that the world has a perfect creator, all these calamities
become unproblematic: we can say that they only seem to us
to be difficulties because we with our limited intellects can’t
follow all the infinitely complex details of which they are a
part. But according to your line of argument these difficulties
24
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 5
are real; indeed they might be emphasized as new instances
of the world’s likeness to the products of human skill and
contrivance! You must, at least, admit that we with our
limited knowledge can’t possibly tell whether this system con-
tains any great faults, or deserves any considerable praise,
when compared to other possible systems and perhaps even
when compared to real ones. If the Aeneid were read to a
peasant, could he judge it to absolutely faultless? Could
he even give it proper place in a ranking of the products
of human intelligence—he who had never seen any of the
others?
Even if this world were a perfect product, we still couldn’t
be sure whether all the excellences of the work could justly
be ascribed to the workman. When we survey a ship, we
may get an exalted idea of the ingenuity of the carpenter
who built such a complicated, useful, and beautiful machine.
But then we shall be surprised to find that the carpenter
is a stupid tradesman who imitated others, and followed
a trade which has gradually improved down the centuries,
after multiplied trials, mistakes, corrections, deliberations,
and controversies. ·Perhaps our world is like that ship·.
It may be that many worlds were botched and bungled,
throughout an eternity, before our present system was built;
much labour lost, many useless trials made, and a slow but
continued improvement carried on during infinite ages in
the world-making trade. In such subjects as this, who can
•determine what is true—who indeed can even •guess what
is probable—when so many hypotheses can be put forward,
and even more can be imagined?
And what shadow of an argument, continued Philo, can
you produce, from your hypothesis, to prove that God is one
being? A great many men join together to build a house or
ship, to found and develop a city, to create a commonwealth;
why couldn’t several gods combine in designing and making
a world? This would only serve to make divine activities more
like human ones. By sharing the work among several gods
we can reduce still further the attributes of each one of them;
we can get rid of the extensive power and knowledge that
we have to suppose the one God to possess (if there is only
one)—the extent of power and knowledge which, according
to you, serves merely to weaken the argument for God’s
existence. And if such foolish, vicious creatures as men can
often unite in forming and carrying out one plan, think how
much more could be done by those gods or semi-gods whom
we may suppose to be quite a lot more perfect than we are!
To multiply causes without necessity is indeed contrary
to true philosophy; but that principle doesn’t apply to our
present case. If your theory had already established that
there is one God who had every attribute needed for the pro-
duction of the universe, then, I admit, it would be needless
(though not absurd) to suppose that any other god existed.
But while we are still confronting the question:
Are all these attributes united in one thing that has
them all, or are they shared out among several inde-
pendent beings?
what phenomena in nature can we point to as supplying the
answer? When we see a body raised in a scale, we are sure
that in the opposite scale—even if we can’t see it—there is
some counterbalancing weight equal to it; but we can still
question whether that weight is •a heap of many distinct
bodies, or rather •one uniform united mass; ·for example,
whether it is •a handful of pebbles or •a single lump of
lead·. And if the weight needed for the counterbalancing
is very much greater than we have ever seen any single
body to possess, •the former supposition becomes still more
probable and natural ·than •the latter. As with weights,
so with creators·. An intelligent being of such vast power
and ability as is necessary to produce the universe—or, to
25
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 5
speak in the language of ancient philosophy, so prodigious
an animal—goes beyond any analogy with ourselves, and
indeed goes beyond what we can understand.
Furthermore, Cleanthes: men are mortal, and renew their
species by generation, and so do all living creatures. The
two great sexes of male and female, says Milton, animate the
world. Why shouldn’t this universal and essential feature of
our condition also apply to those numerous and limited gods
·that I am saying you should argue for·? And that brings us
back to the ancient tales about the birth of the gods.
Indeed, why not become a perfect anthropomorphite?
Why not assert that God is—or that each god is—corporeal,
having eyes, a nose, mouth, ears, etc.? Epicurus maintained
that no man has ever seen reason except in someone of
human shape, and that therefore the gods must have that
shape. This inference was deservedly ridiculed by Cicero,
but by your standards it is solid and philosophical.
In a word, Cleanthes, someone who follows your hypothe-
sis can perhaps assert or conjecture that
The universe at some time arose from something like
design.
But beyond that he can’t make a case for any further details,
and is left to fill in his theology by wildly imagining or
guessing the rest. For all he knows, the world is very faulty
and imperfect by certain higher standards, ·which opens
the doors to all sorts of ‘theologies’, no one of which he can
refute. Here are just three of them·. This world was only
•the first rough attempt of some infant god, who afterwards
abandoned it, ashamed of his poor performance; it is •the
work of some dependent, inferior god, whose superiors hold
it up for ridicule; it was •produced by some god in his old
age and near-senility, and ever since his death the world
has continued without further guidance, activated by the
first shove he gave to it and the active force that he built
into it. You rightly give signs of horror, Demea, at these
strange suppositions; but these—and a thousand more like
them—are Cleanthes’ suppositions, not mine. As soon as
the attributes of God are supposed to be finite, all these
suppositions get a foot-hold. Speaking for myself, I can’t see
that having such a wild and unsettled a system of theology
is in any way preferable to having none at all—·that is, being
an atheist·.
I absolutely disown these suppositions! exclaimed Clean-
thes; but they don’t fill me with horror, especially when put
forward in the casual way in which you throw them off. On
the contrary, they give me pleasure when I see that even
when giving your imagination completely free rein, you don’t
get rid of the hypothesis of design in the universe, but are
obliged to rely on it at every turn. That concession is what I
stick to, and I regard it as a sufficient foundation for religion.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 6
Part 6
It must be a flimsy building, said Demea, that can be
erected on such a shaky foundation! While we are uncertain
whether there is one god or many, whether God or the gods
to whom we owe our existence are perfect or imperfect, sub-
ordinate or supreme, dead or alive, what trust or confidence
can we put in them? What devotion or worship can we
offer them? What veneration or obedience give to them?
This theory of religion becomes altogether useless for all the
·practical· purposes of life, and even when it is considered
merely as a speculative theological theory, the uncertainty
you attribute to it must render it totally precarious and
unsatisfactory,
To make it still more unsatisfactory, said Philo, I’ve
thought of another hypothesis that must seem probable
when evaluated in terms of the method of reasoning that
Cleanthes insists on so much. He takes the basis for all
religion to be this:
Similar effects arise from similar causes.
But there is another principle of the same kind, equally cer-
tain and supported in the same way by experience. namely:
Where several known circumstances are observed to
be similar, the unknown will also be found similar.
Example: if we see the limbs of a human body, we conclude
that it is accompanied by a human head, even if we can’t see
it. Second example: if we see a small part of the sun through
a crack in a wall, we conclude that if the wall were removed
we would see the whole sun, In short, this type of inference
is so obvious and familiar that there can be no doubts as to
its soundness.
Now, if we survey the universe far as we know it, it bears
a great resemblance to an animal or organic body, and seems
to be driven by a source of life and motion like the one that
drives organisms. •A continual circulation of matter in it
produces no disorder; •a continual waste in every part is
incessantly repaired; •the different parts of the whole system
are seen to act in harmony with one another; and •each part
·of the world· or member ·of an organism·, in doing its proper
job, operates both for its own preservation and for that of
the whole. From all this I infer the the world is an animal,
and that God is the MIND of the world, driving it and being
affected by it.
You have too much learning, Cleanthes, to be at all
surprised by this opinion, which as you know was main-
tained by almost all the theists of antiquity, and is the main
theology that one finds in their discourses and reasonings.
For though the ancient philosophers sometimes reason from
final causes, ·pointing to evidence of purpose in the world·,
as if they thought the world to be something God made, yet
their favourite idea seems to have been that the world is
God’s body, which is organized in such a way that it obeys
his commands (·just as your body is so organized that—for
example—when you decide to raise your arm it rises·). The
universe is more like a human body than like the works of
human skill and planning; so if it is ever appropriate to liken
the whole of nature to any facts about us, with all our limits,
it seems that the ancient analogy ·between the universe and
our body· is sounder than the modern one ·between the
universe and the things we make·.
The former theory also has many other advantages that
recommended it to the ancient theologians. ·Here is one
important one·. Nothing clashed more with all their notions,
because nothing clashes more with common experience, than
27
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 6
mind without body—the idea of a purely mental substance,
which they didn’t understand and of which they hadn’t
observed a single instance throughout all of nature. They
knew mind and body because they felt both; they also knew
an order, arrangement, organization, or internal machinery in
both mind and body, again because they felt both; so it was
bound to seem reasonable to transfer this experience ·of
themselves· to the universe. That is to suppose that neither
the divine mind nor the divine body came first, and that
each of them has an order and arrangement that is naturally
inherent in it and inseparable from it.
So here is a new sort of anthropomorphism, Cleanthes,
for you to think about; and it’s a theory that doesn’t seem
to be open to any great difficulties. I’m sure you are above
such theoretical prejudices as to find any more difficulty
in supposing an animal body to be ordered and organized
originally, of itself, or from unknown causes than in suppos-
ing a mind to be ordered in that way. ·So you might think
that likening the universe to an animal body doesn’t require
supposing that is driven by a mind, a divine mind·. But
the common prejudice that body and mind ought always to
accompany each other ought not to be entirely neglected, for
it is based on common experience, which is the only guide
you claim to follow in all these theological enquiries. If you
say that our limited experience is an inadequate standard by
which to form opinions about the unlimited extent of nature,
then you will be entirely abandoning your own hypothesis,
and will have to adopt our mysticism (as you call it), and
admit that God’s nature is absolutely incomprehensible,
I admit, replied Cleanthes, that this theory had never
before occurred to me, though it is a pretty natural one. I
can’t give an opinion about it until I have had more time
to think it over. You are very scrupulous indeed, said
Philo—·more scrupulous than I am·: if you had presented
me with a system of yours, I wouldn’t have been half as
cautious and reserved in starting objections and difficulties
to it. However, if anything does occur to you, please tell us.
Why then, replied Cleanthes, it seems to me that though
the world does in many ways resemble an animal body, this
analogy is also defective in many important respects: •no
organs of sense; •no seat of thought or reason; •no one
precise origin of motion and action. In short, it seems to be
more like a plant than an animal, and that weakens your
inference to the mind of the world.
Secondly, your theory seems to imply the eternity of
the world; and that thesis, I believe, can be refuted by
the strongest reasons and probabilities. I shall suggest an
argument against it—one that I think hasn’t been insisted on
by any writer. ·First, though, we should look at a different
and less strong argument for the world’s having had a
beginning·. It is argued that the arts and sciences came
into existence only recently, ·and so the world’s past is fairly
short·. This inference has some force, but perhaps it can be
refuted—·or, rather, its premise can be undercut·—by a point
concerning the nature of human society. We continually
revolve between ignorance and knowledge, between liberty
and slavery, between riches and poverty; so our limited
experience doesn’t enable us to foretell with confidence what
outcomes may or may not be expected. Ancient learning
and history seem to have been in great danger of entirely
perishing after the influx of the barbarous nations ·into the
Roman empire·; and if these convulsions had continued a lit-
tle longer, or been a little more violent, we would probably not
have known now what happened in the world a few centuries
ago. Indeed, the Latin language would have been utterly lost
if it weren’t for the superstition of the Popes, who preserved a
little Latin jargon so as to keep their church looking ancient
and universal. With Latin lost, the western world would have
28
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 6
been totally barbarous, and so wouldn’t have been in a fit
state to receive the Greek language and learning that came
to them after the sacking of Constantinople. When learning
and books had been extinguished, even the practical arts,
skills, and trades would have fallen into considerable decay;
and it is easy to imagine that in that case fable or tradition
might ascribe to those arts a much later origin than they
actually had. ·And so, by parity of argument, we are not
entitled to confidence that we aren’t doing the same thing,
because the records of vastly earlier arts and sciences have
been wiped out·. This common argument against the eternity
of the world, therefore, seems a little precarious.
But here is what seems to be the basis for a better
argument. Lucullus was the first person who brought
cherry-trees from Asia to Europe; yet that tree thrives so
well in many European climates that it grows in the woods
without being cultivated. Is it possible that throughout a
whole eternity no European ever visited Asia and thought of
transplanting such a delicious fruit into his own country?
If it was once transplanted and propagated ·before the time
of Lucullus·, how could it ever afterwards perish? Empires
may rise and fall, liberty and slavery succeed alternately,
ignorance and knowledge give place to each other—but the
cherry-tree will still remain in the woods of Greece, Spain,
and Italy, and will never be affected by the revolutions of
human society.
It is less than two thousand years since vines were
transplanted into France, though there is no climate in the
world more favourable to them. It is less than three centuries
since horses, cows, sheep, pigs, dogs, and corn were first
known in America. Is it possible that during the revolutions
of a whole eternity there never arose a Columbus who could
put Europe into communication with that continent? We
may as well imagine that all men would wear stockings for
ten thousand years, and never have the sense to think of
garters to tie them. All these seem convincing proofs that the
world is young, indeed a mere infant; because the argument
involving them is based on principles that are more constant
and steady than those by which human society is governed
and directed. It would take a total convulsion of the elements
to destroy all the European animals and vegetables that are
now to be found on the American continent.
Well, what argument have you against such convulsions?
replied Philo. Strong and almost incontestable evidence can
be found over the whole earth that every part of this planet
has for centuries been entirely covered with water. And even
if order is inseparable from matter and inherent in it, still
matter may be susceptible of many and great revolutions
through the endless periods of eternal duration. We can see
that in the changes and collapses of which we have had ex-
perience the world has merely passed from one state of order
to another; and matter can’t ever stay in a totally disordered
and confused state. Still, the constant changes that occur in
every part of the material world seem to suggest ·that· some
such general transformations ·sometimes occur·. What we
see in the parts we may infer in the whole—at any rate
that’s the pattern of argument on which you rest your whole
theory. And if I had to defend some particular system of this
type (which I would never do willingly!), I find none of them
more plausible than the theory that ascribes to the world
an eternal inherent ordering force, though accompanied by
great and continual revolutions and alterations. This at once
solves all the difficulties; and if the solution is too lacking in
detail to be entirely complete and satisfactory, it is at least
a theory that we must eventually accept, whatever ·more
detailed· system we embrace. How could things have been
as they are if there were not an original inherent principle of
order somewhere—in thought or in matter? It doesn’t matter
29
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 7
in the slightest which of these—·thought or matter·—we
prefer. No hypothesis, whether sceptical or religious, should
make room for chance; everything is surely governed by
steady, inviolable laws. And if the inmost essence of things
were laid open to us, we would then discover a scene of which
at present we can have no idea. Instead of wondering at the
order of natural things, we would see clearly that it was
absolutely impossible for their ordering to be different—even
in some tiny detail—from what it is in actuality.
If anyone wanted to revive the ancient pagan theology
which maintained, as we learn from Hesiod, that this planet
was governed by 30,000 gods who arose from the unknown
powers of nature, you would naturally object, Cleanthes, that
nothing is gained by this hypothesis, and that it’s as easy
to suppose all men and animals—more numerous, but less
perfect—to have sprung immediately from a source of that
kind. Push the same inference a step further and you will
find that a large society of gods is no harder to explain than
one universal God who contains within himself the powers
and perfections of the whole society. So you must allow that
all these systems—scepticism, polytheism, and theism—are
on an equal footing when judged by your principles. That
shows you that your principles are wrong.
Part 7
In thinking about the ancient system of ·God as· the mind
of the world, Philo continued, I have just been struck by
a new idea. If it is right, it comes close to subverting all
your reasoning, and destroying even the first inferences in
which you place such confidence. If the universe resembles
•animal bodies and plants more than it does •the works of
human skill, it is more probable that its cause resembles
the cause of •the former than the cause of •the latter; so
its origin ought to be ascribed to •generation or vegetation
rather than to •reason or design. So your conclusion is lame
and defective, even according to your own principles.
Please expand this argument a little, said Demea, for I
haven’t properly grasped it in the concise form in which you
have expressed it.
Our friend Cleanthes, replied Philo, as you have heard,
asserts that since no question of fact can be answered except
through experience, the existence of a God cannot be proved
in any other way. The world, he says, resembles things made
by human skill; so its cause must also resemble the cause
of human artifacts. I note in passing that the operation of
one very small part of nature, namely man, on another very
small part, namely the inanimate matter lying within his
reach, is the basis on which Cleanthes judges of the origin
of the whole of nature; he measures the vast whole by the
same individual standard as he does the tiny parts. But I
shan’t press that point. ·If we are going to argue from parts
to the whole, let us at least be careful about what parts we
select for this special treatment·. I affirm that some parts of
the universe other than the machines of human invention
30
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 7
are still more like the fabric of the world than machines are,
and therefore point to a better conjecture about the origin of
this whole system of the universe. These parts are animals
and plants. The world plainly resembles an animal or a plant
more than it does a watch or a knitting-loom. Its cause is
therefore more likely to resemble the cause of the former
·than to resemble the cause of the latter·. The cause of the
former is generation or vegetation. So we can conclude that
the cause of the world is something similar or analogous to
generation or vegetation.
But how is it conceivable, said Demea, that the world
can arise from anything similar to vegetation or generation?
Very easily, replied Philo. ·Here is one way it could
happen·. Just as a tree sheds its seeds into the neighbouring
fields and produces other trees, so the great plant, the world
or this planetary system, produces within itself certain seeds
which it scatters into the surrounding chaos in which they
grow into new worlds. A comet, for instance, is the •seed of a
world; and after it has been fully ripened by passing from sun
to sun and star to star, it is at last tossed into the unformed
elements which everywhere surround this universe, and
immediately sprouts up into a new system.
Or we might suppose this world to be an animal. (There
is no advantage in this, but let’s try it just for variety.) So:
a comet is the •egg of this animal; and just as an ostrich
lays its egg in the sand, where the egg hatches without any
further care, and produces a new animal, so. . .
I understand you, interrupted Demea, but what wild,
arbitrary suppositions are these? What data have you for
such extraordinary conclusions? Is the slight, imaginary
resemblance of the world to a plant or an animal sufficient to
support conclusions about the world based on what happens
with plants or animals? Ought objects that are in general so
widely different be taken as a standard for each other?
Right! exclaimed Philo: that is what I have been insisting
on all along. I have gone on asserting that we have no
data to establish any system of cosmogony [= ‘theory, system,
or story about the origin of the world’]. Our experience, which is
so imperfect in itself and which covers such small stretches
of space and time, can’t give us any probable conjecture
concerning the whole of things. But if we have to settle
for some hypothesis, tell me what rule we can use to make
our choice. Is there any rule except ·the one that bases
the greater acceptability of an hypothesis on· the greater
similarity of the objects compared? And doesn’t a plant or
an animal that arises from vegetation or generation resemble
the world more closely than does any artificial machine that
arises from reason and design?
But what is this vegetation and generation of which you
talk? said Demea. Can you explain how they work, and lay
out the details of that fine internal structure on which they
depend?
I can do that, replied Philo, at least as well as Cleanthes
can explain how reason works, or lay out in detail the
internal structure on which it depends! But I don’t need
to go into all that: it is enough that when I see an animal, I
infer that it arose from generation, and am as sure of this as
you are when you infer that a house arose from design. The
words ‘generation’ and ‘reason’ serve merely to label certain
powers and energies in nature. We know the effects of these
powers, but have no grasp of their essence; and neither of
them has a better claim that the other to be made a standard
for the whole of nature.
In fact, Demea, we can reasonably expect that the wider
the range of facts that we take in, the better they will guide us
in our conclusions about such extraordinary and magnificent
subjects. In this little corner of the world alone, there are
four principles [here = ‘driving forces’ or ‘sources of energy’]:
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 7
reason, instinct, generation, vegetation,
that are similar to each other and are the causes of similar
effects. How many other principles can we naturally suppose
to be at work in the immense extent and variety of the
universe—principles that we might discover if we could travel
from planet to planet, and from system to system, so to
examine each part of this mighty structure? Any one of the
above four principles (and a hundred others which lie open
·if not to our senses, then at least· to our conjecture) can
give us a theory about the origin of the world; and to confine
our view entirely to the one of the four that governs how
our own minds operate—·namely, reason·—is to be guilty of
gross bias. If reason were more intelligible to us than the
other three principles because it governs our minds, there
would be some excuse for our bias in its favour; but ·that
isn’t how things stand, because· the internal structure of
reason is really as little known to us as are the structures of
instinct and vegetation. Even that vague, indeterminate word
‘nature’, which common people drag in to explain everything,
·stands for something that· is basically no more inexplicable
than reason. Our experience shows us the effects of these
principles; but the principles themselves, and their ways of
working, are totally unknown to us. To say:
The world arose by vegetation from a seed shed by
another world
is not less intelligible, or less in harmony with experience,
than to say:
The world arose from a divine reason or plan,
taking this in the sense in which Cleanthes understands it.
But if the world did have a vegetative quality, said Demea,
and could sow the seeds of new worlds into the infinite chaos,
I would see this power as a further argument for design in
its author. For where could such a wonderful power come
from if not from design? How can order spring from anything
which doesn’t perceive the order which it gives?
You need only look around you, replied Philo, to get the
answer to this question. A tree •gives order and organization
to the tree that arises from it, without •knowing that order;
similarly with an animal and its offspring, a bird and its
nest. There are in the world more examples of this kind
than there are instances of order arising from reason and
planning. To say that all this order in animals and plants
proceeds ultimately from design is to assume the very point
that is at issue. The only way to settle the point ·in favour
of design· would be to prove a priori both that •order is from
its own nature inseparably attached to thought, and that
•order is prevented from belonging to matter, either by its
own nature or by some unknown basic principle.
Furthermore, Demea, the objection you have just brought
can’t be made by Cleanthes unless he gives up a defence
that he used against one of my objections. When I asked
about the cause of that supreme reason and intelligence
from which he derives everything else, Cleanthes said this:
The impossibility of answering such questions is never
a legitimate objection in any kind of philosophy. We
must stop somewhere; and ·wherever we stop, more
questions can be raised, because· humans will never
be able to explain ultimate causes, or to show the
absolutely basic connections between things. All that
should be demanded is that whatever steps we do
take be supported by experience and observation.
Now it can’t be denied that order in nature is found by
experience to come from •vegetation and generation, as well
as from •reason. It is for me to choose whether to base
my system of cosmogony on •the former rather than on
•the latter. The choice seems entirely arbitrary. And when
Cleanthes asks me what the cause is of my vegetative or
generative faculty, I am equally entitled to ask him what
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 7
causes his reasoning principle. We have agreed to pass up
these questions on both sides, and in our present context
it is in his interests to stick to this agreement. Judging by
our limited and imperfect experience, generation has some
privileges over reason: for we see every day reason arise
from generation—·for example, my reason, which has in its
causal ancestry my parent’s begetting of me·—but never see
generation arise from reason.
Please compare the consequences on both sides. •The
world, I say, resembles an animal, so it is an animal, so it
arose from generation. The steps in that argument are jumps,
I admit, but each of them involves some small appearance
of analogy ·between world and animal·. •The world, says
Cleanthes, resembles a machine, so it is a machine, so it
arose from design. These steps are jumps too, and here the
analogy—·between world and machine·—is less striking. And
if he claims to push one step further than my hypothesis, by
inferring that design or reason caused the great principle of
generation which I have emphasized, I have a better right
to push one step further than his hypothesis, by inferring
that a divine generation or god-birth caused his principle of
reason. I have empirical evidence on my side, because reason
is observed in countless cases to arise from generation, and
never to arise from any other source. This is ·admittedly
only· a faint shadow of evidence for my hypothesis, but on
this topic faint shadows are the best we can do.
The ancient mythologists were so struck with this analogy
that they all explained the origin of nature in terms of birth
and copulation. Plato too, so far as he is intelligible, seems
to have adopted some such notion in his Timaeus.
The Brahmins assert that the world arose from an in-
finitely large spider who spun this whole complicated mass
from his bowels, and then annihilates all or some of it by
absorbing it again and taking it into his own essence. Here
is a kind of cosmogony that strikes us as ridiculous because
a spider is a negligible little animal whose doings we are
never likely to take for a model of the whole universe. Still,
even for us on our planet, this is a new kind of analogy ·for
us to think about·. If there were (as there well might be)
a planet wholly inhabited by spiders, this inference would
seem there as natural and secure against criticism as the
one that here ascribes the origin of all things to design and
intelligence, as explained by Cleanthes. He will find it hard
to give a satisfactory reason why an orderly system might
not be spun from the belly as well as from the brain,
I must say, Philo, replied Cleanthes, that the task you
have undertaken, of raising doubts and objections, suits
you better than it does anyone else alive; it seems in a way
natural and unavoidable to you. You are so fertile in your
inventions that I am not ashamed to admit that I can’t,
straight off, solve in a disciplined way such out-of-the-way
difficulties as you keep launching at me, though I can clearly
see in a general way that they are wrong. I have no doubt that
you are at present in the same position as I am, not having
any solution as ready to hand as the objection. And you
must be aware that common sense and reason are entirely
against you, and that whimsical hypotheses like the ones
you have produced may puzzle us but can never convince
us.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 8
What you ascribe to the fertility of my invention, replied
Philo, comes purely from the nature of the subject. In topics
that are suited to our limited human reason there is often
only one view that carries probability or conviction with
it; and to a man of sound judgment all other suppositions
appear entirely absurd and fanciful. But in questions like
our present one, a hundred mutually contradictory views
can ·get some kind of support, because each· preserves a
kind of imperfect analogy; so here, ·with all those contenders
and no clear winner·, invention has full scope to exert itself.
I believe that I could, in an instant and with no great effort
of thought, propose still further systems of cosmogony that
would have some faint appearance of truth, though the odds
are a thousand—indeed a million—to one against any of
them, or yours, being the true system.
For instance, what if I should revive the old Epicurean
hypothesis? This is commonly and I think rightly regarded as
the most absurd system ever yet proposed; but I suspect that
with a few alterations it might be given a faint appearance
of probability. Instead of supposing matter to be infinite, as
Epicurus did, let us suppose it to be finite ·and also suppose
space to be finite, while still supposing time to be infinite·.
A finite number of particles ·in a finite space· can have only
a finite number of transpositions; and in an infinitely long
period of time every possible order or position of particles
must occur an infinite number of times. So this world, with
all its events right down to the tiniest details, has already
been produced and destroyed and will again be produced
and destroyed an unlimited number of times. No-one who
properly grasps the difference between infinite and finite will
have any trouble with this conclusion.
But this presupposes, said Demea, that matter can come
to move without any voluntary agent or first mover [= ‘without
any agent that causes the motion by willing or deciding that it shall
occur’].
And where’s the difficulty in that? replied Philo. •In
advance of experience every outcome is as hard to credit and
as incomprehensible as every other; and •after experience
every outcome is as easy to believe and as intelligible as
every other. Matter often starts to move through gravity,
through elasticity, through electricity, without any known
voluntary agent; and to suppose that in all these cases there
is an unknown voluntary agent is merely to put forward an
hypothesis—and one that has no advantages. That unaided
matter should put itself into motion is as conceivable a priori
as that it should be put into motion by mind and intelligence.
Besides, why can’t motion have been passed from object
to object by impact, and the same (or nearly the same) stock
of it go on being maintained in the universe? The motion
lost in one process is gained in the opposite process. [Hume
wrote: ‘As much is lost by the composition of motion, as much is gained
by its resolution.’] And whatever the causes of it are, the fact
is certain that matter is and always has been in continual
agitation, as far as human experience or tradition reaches.
In the whole universe right now there is probably not one
particle of matter at absolute rest.
Philo went on: And this very consideration that we have
stumbled on in the course of the argument suggests yet
another hypothesis of cosmogony that isn’t entirely absurd
and improbable. Is there a system, an order, an arrangement
of things, through which matter can •preserve the perpetual
agitation that seems essential to it and yet •maintain a
34
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 8
constancy in the forms it produces? [Philo may be using ‘form’
to refer to any regularly ordered part of the physical world, but he is
evidently thinking mainly of organisms, especially animals.] Yes, there
certainly is such an arrangement, for this is actually the case
with the present world ·in which •matter is constantly mov-
ing, and yet •many forms and structures remain the same·.
If matter moves continually and has only a finite number
of orderings into which it can fall ·assuming that matter
and space are both finite·, it must ·eventually· produce this
arrangement or order that the world actually has; and by its
very nature this order once it is established supports itself
for many ages, if not to eternity. But wherever matter is
poised, arranged, and adjusted in such a way as to continue
in perpetual motion and yet preserve a constancy in the
forms, the state of affairs is bound to have the very same
appearance of planning and skill that we observe at present.
•Every part of each form must be related to each other part
of it and to the whole form; and the whole form itself must
be related to the other parts of the universe—•to the element
in which the form subsists, •to the materials with which it
repairs its waste and decay, •and to every other form which
is hostile or friendly towards it. A defect in any of those
respects—·as when •arteries fail to carry blood to the brain,
or •a trout becomes unable to get oxygen out of the water
it swims in, or •a heron becomes unable to escape hawks
or to capture fish·—destroys the form; and the matter of
which it is composed is again set loose, and is thrown into
irregular motions and fermentations until it unites itself
to some other regular form, ·for example by being eaten·.
If no such form is prepared to receive it, and if there is a
great quantity of this corrupted matter in the universe, the
universe itself comes to be entirely disordered; and this holds
true whether what is destroyed is •the feeble embryo of a
world in its first beginnings or •the rotten carcass of a world
drifting into old age and infirmity. In either case a chaos
ensues, until through countlessly (though not infinitely)
many re-arrangements there come to be, yet again, some
forms whose parts and organs are so adjusted that they
enable the forms to stay in existence while the matter in
them continually changes.
I shall try to put all this differently. Suppose that matter
is thrown into some position by a blind, unguided force. It
is obvious that this first position must in all probability be
utterly confused and disorderly, with no resemblance to the
human artifacts which display, along with a symmetry of
parts, an adjustment of means to ends, and a tendency to
self-preservation. If the ·original· actuating force ceases after
this first operation ·and stops imparting motion to matter·,
matter will have to remain for ever in disorder, and continue
to be an immense chaos without any proportion or activity.
But suppose that the actuating force (whatever it may be)
still continues to drive matter along, this first position will
immediately give place to a second, which will likewise in all
probability be as disorderly as the first, and so on through
many series of changes and revolutions. No particular order
or position ever stays unaltered for a moment. The original
force, still at work, gives a perpetual restlessness to matter.
Every possible state of affairs is produced, and instantly
destroyed. If a glimpse or dawn of order appears for a
moment, it is instantly hurried away, reduced to a confusion,
by that never-ceasing force which drives every part of the
material world.
Thus the universe goes on for many ages in a continuous
series of states of chaos and disorder. But couldn’t it happen
that it eventually settles down, not so as to lose its motion
and active force (for we are assuming that that is inherent in
it), but so as to preserve a uniformity of appearance through
all the hubbub of its moving parts? This is what we find
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 8
to be the actual state of the universe at present. Every
individual is perpetually changing, and so is every part of
every individual; and yet the whole appears to be the same.
·A tiny example: a rabbit takes in pure air and breathes
out foul air, it drinks water and emits urine, it eats grass
and extrudes faeces; and yet through all this change in
its constituent matter it appears to us as the very same
rabbit·. Isn’t this state of affairs one that might be hoped
for—indeed, one that would be sure to arise—out of the
eternal revolutions of unguided matter; and couldn’t this
account for all the appearances of wisdom and planning
that the universe contains? Think about this a little and
you’ll find that if matter did arrive at this set-up, in which
forms seem to be stable while their parts are really moving
and changing with them, that would provide a plausible and
perhaps a true solution of the problem ·of explaining the
appearance of design in the universe·.
So it’s pointless to stress the uses of the parts in animals
or plants, and their intricate interplay between the parts. I’d
like to know how an animal could survive if its parts were
not so inter-related! When an animal’s parts lose those inter-
relations, don’t we find that it immediately dies and that its
decaying flesh and blood try some new form? It happens
indeed that the parts of the world are so well adjusted to
one another that some regular form immediately lays claim
to this decaying matter; if that didn’t happen, could the
·biological· world continue to exist? Wouldn’t it die along
with the ·individual· animal, and ·its constituent matter· go
through new positions and relationships, until—after a vast
but finite series of changes—it falls at last into an order such
as the one we actually have?
It is just as well, replied Cleanthes, that you told us that
this hypothesis came to you suddenly in the course of the
argument. If you had taken the time to examine it, you
would soon have seen the insuperable objections that it is
open to. You say that no form can survive unless it has
the powers and organs needed for survival; some new order
or arrangement must be tried, ·and another, and another·,
and so on without interruption until at last some order
that can support and maintain itself happens to come into
existence. But according to this hypothesis, what brings
about the many conveniences and advantages that men and
all animals have? •Two eyes, two ears, aren’t absolutely
necessary for the survival of the species. •The human race
could have existed and continued without there being any
horses, dogs, cows, sheep, and those innumerable fruits
and products which bring us satisfaction and enjoyment.
•If no camels had been created for the use of man in the
sandy deserts of Africa and Arabia, would the world have
been dissolved? •If no magnet had been formed so as to give
that wonderful and useful direction to the compass-needle,
would human society and the human species have been
immediately extinguished? The rules by which nature works
are in general far from lavish, but still instances of this kind
are far from being rare; and any one of them is a sufficient
proof that a design—a benevolent design—gave rise to the
order and arrangement of the universe.
At least you can safely conclude, said Philo, that the
hypothesis I put forward is not yet complete and perfect;
and I readily admit that. But can we ever reasonably expect
greater success in any attempts of this nature? Can we ever
hope to construct a system of cosmogony that will be free
of exceptions and in no way conflict with our limited and
imperfect experience of the analogy of nature? Your own
theory surely can’t claim to be as good as that, even though
you have embraced anthropomorphism so as to improve the
theory’s conformity to common experience. Let us try it out
yet again. •In all instances that we have ever encountered,
36
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 8
ideas are copied from real objects. You reverse this order,
and make thought come first. •In all instances that we have
ever encountered, thought has no influence on matter except
where that matter is so conjoined with thought as to have an
equal reciprocal influence on it. All that an animal can move
immediately are parts of its own body ·and the condition of
those can in return affect the animal’s mental states·; and
indeed, the equality of action and reaction seems to be a
universal law of nature. Your theory implies a contradiction
to this experience. It would be easy to assemble plenty more
such difficulties, especially in the supposition of a mind or
system of thought that is eternal, in other words an animal
that was never born and will never die. These instances can
teach us all to be moderate in our criticisms of each other,
and let us see that just as •no system of this kind ought
ever to be accepted on the basis of a slight analogy, so •none
should be rejected on account of a small incongruity. For
that is a drawback from which, we can reasonably hold, no
system of cosmogony is exempt.
Every religious system is held ·by many people· to be
subject to great and insuperable difficulties. Each disputant
has his period of triumph while he carries on an offensive
war, and exposes the absurdities, barbarities, and pernicious
doctrines of his antagonist. But religious systems taken all
together provide the sceptic with a complete ·and permanent·
triumph; for he tells the disputants that •no system of
cosmogony ought ever to be accepted, for the simple reason
that •no system of anything ought ever to be accepted if it
is absurd. A total suspension of judgment is here our only
reasonable resource. And given that we commonly see that
among theologians every attack succeeds and every defence
fails, how complete a victory must come to someone who
remains always on the offensive against all mankind, and
has himself no fixed position or abiding city that he is ever
obliged to defend?
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 9
Part 9
But if there are so many difficulties in the a posteriori
argument, said Demea, hadn’t we better stay with the simple
and sublime a priori argument which cuts off all doubt and
difficulty with a single blow, by offering to us an infallible
knock-down proof? Furthermore, this argument lets us
prove •the infinity of God’s attributes—·that he is infinitely
wise, infinitely good, infinitely powerful, and so on·—which,
I am afraid, can never be established with certainty in any
other manner. For how can an infinite cause be inferred
from an effect that is finite, or that may be finite for all we
know to the contrary? •The unity of God’s nature, also, is
very hard—if not absolutely impossible—to infer merely from
observing the works of nature; even if it is granted that the
plan of the universe is all of a piece, that isn’t enough to
ensure us of God’s unity. Whereas the a priori argument. . .
Cleanthes interrupted: You seem to reason, Demea, as
if those advantages and conveniences in the abstract ·a
priori· argument were full proofs of its soundness. But in
my opinion we should first settle what argument with all
these advantages you choose to insist on; and then we can
try to decide what value to put on it—doing this better by
looking at the argument itself than by considering its useful
consequences.
The argument that I would insist on, replied Demea,
is the common one: Whatever exists must have a cause
or reason for its existence, as it is absolutely impossible
for anything to produce itself, or be the cause of its own
existence. In working back, therefore, from effects to causes,
we must either (1) go on tracing causes to infinity, without
any ultimate cause at all, or (2) at last have recourse to some
ultimate cause that is necessarily existent ·and therefore
doesn’t need an external cause·. Supposition (1) is absurd,
as I now prove:
In the ·supposed· infinite chain or series of causes and
effects, each single effect is made to exist by the power
and efficacy of the cause that immediately preceded it;
but the whole eternal chain or series, considered as a
whole, is not caused by anything; and yet it obviously
requires a cause or reason, as much as any particular
thing that begins to exist in time. We are entitled
to ask why this particular series of causes existed
from eternity, and not some other series, or no series
at all. If there is no necessarily existent being, all
the suppositions we can make about this are equally
possible; and there is no more absurdity in •nothing’s
having existed from eternity than there is in •the series
of causes that constitutes the universe. What was it,
then, that made something exist rather than nothing,
and gave existence to one particular possibility as
against any of the others? •External causes? We are
supposing that there aren’t any. •Chance? That’s a
word without a meaning. Was it •Nothing? But that
can never produce anything.
So we must ·adopt supposition (2), and· have recourse to
a necessarily existent being, who carries the reason of his
existence in himself and cannot be supposed not to exist
without an express contradiction. So there is such a being;
that is, there is a God.
I know that Philo loves raising objections, said Cleanthes,
but I shan’t leave it to him to point out the weakness of your
metaphysical reasoning. Your argument seems to me so
obviously ill-grounded, and ·even if it succeeded· to offer so
38
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 9
little help to the cause of true piety and religion, that I shall
myself venture to show what is wrong with it.
I start by remarking that there is an evident absurdity
in claiming to demonstrate—or to prove by any a priori
arguments—any matter of fact.
•Nothing is demonstrable unless its contrary implies a
contradiction.
•Nothing that is distinctly conceivable implies a contra-
diction.
•Whatever we conceive as existent, we can also con-
ceive as non-existent.
•So there is no being whose non-existence implies a
contradiction.
•So there is no being whose existence is demonstrable.
I offer this argument as entirely decisive, and am willing to
rest the whole controversy on it.
You claim that God is a necessarily existent being; and the
friends of your line of argument try to explain this necessity
of his existence by saying that if we knew his whole essence
or nature, we would perceive it to be as impossible for •him
not to exist as for •twice two not to be four. But obviously
this can never happen, while our faculties remain the same
as they are now. It will always be possible for us at any
time to conceive the non-existence of something we formerly
conceived to exist; the mind can never have to suppose some
object to remain always in existence, in the way in which we
always have to conceive twice two to be four. So the words
‘necessary existence’ have no meaning—or (the same thing)
no meaning that is consistent.
Furthermore, if we do go along with this claimed expla-
nation of necessary existence, why shouldn’t the material
universe be the necessarily existent being? We dare not
claim to know all the qualities of matter; and for all we
can tell, matter may have some qualities which, if we knew
them, would make •matter’s non-existence appear as great
a contradiction as •twice two’s being five. I have found only
one argument trying to prove that the material world is not
the necessarily existent being; and this argument is derived
from the contingency both of the matter and the form of the
world. ‘Any particle of matter’, Dr Clarke has said, ‘can be
conceived to be annihilated; and any form can be conceived
to be altered. Such an annihilation or alteration, therefore,
is not impossible.’ But it seems very biased not to see that
the same argument applies just as well to God, so far as we
have any conception of him; and that our mind can at least
imagine God to be non-existent or his attributes to be altered.
If something is to make his non-existence appear impossible,
or his attributes unalterable, it must be some qualities of his
that we don’t know and can’t conceive; but then no reason
can be given why these qualities may not belong to matter.
As they are altogether unknown and inconceivable, they can
never be proved incompatible with ·the nature of matter as
we know· it.
A further objection: in tracing an eternal series of items, it
seems absurd to ask for a general cause or first author ·of the
entire series·. How can something that exists from eternity
have a cause, since the causal relation implies •priority in
time and •a beginning of existence?
Also: in such a chain or series of items, each part is
caused by the part that preceded it, and causes the one that
follows. So where is the difficulty? But the whole needs a
cause! you say. I answer that the uniting of these parts into
a whole, like the uniting of several distinct counties into one
kingdom, or several distinct members into one organic body,
is performed merely by an arbitrary act of the mind and has
no influence on the nature of things. If I showed you the
particular causes of each individual in a collection of twenty
particles of matter, I would think it very unreasonable if you
39
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
then asked me what was the cause of the whole twenty. The
cause of the whole is sufficiently explained by explaining the
cause of the parts.
Your reasonings, Cleanthes, may well excuse me from
raising any further difficulties, said Philo, but I can’t resist
bringing up another point. Arithmeticians have noted that
every product of 9 has integers which add up to 9 or to some
lesser product of 9. Thus, of 18, 27, and 36, which are
products of 9, you make 9 by adding 1 to 8, 2 to 7, and
3 to 6. Thus, 369 is a product also of 9; and if you add
3, 6, and 9, you make 18, which is a lesser product of 9.
To a superficial observer this splendid regularity may be
wondered at as the effect either of •chance or •design; but a
skillful algebraist immediately concludes it to be the work of
•necessity, and demonstrates that it must forever result from
the nature of these numbers. Isn’t it probable, I now ask,
that the whole way the universe works depends on this sort
of necessity, though no human algebra can provide a key
that solves the difficulty? Instead of wondering at the order
of natural beings, mightn’t it be that if we could penetrate
into the intimate nature of bodies we would clearly see why
it was absolutely impossible for them to be inter-related in
any other way? So you run a great risk when you introduce
this idea of necessity into the present question, because it
naturally supports an inference that is directly opposite to
the religious hypothesis!
Anyway, continued Philo, dropping all these abstractions
and staying with more familiar topics, I venture to remark
that the a priori argument has seldom been found very
convincing, except to people with metaphysical minds, who
have accustomed themselves to abstract reasoning and who
·have developed bad intellectual habits, because·, finding
in mathematics that the understanding frequently leads
through darkness to truths that at first didn’t appear to be
true, they have transferred the same habit of thinking to
subjects where it isn’t appropriate. Other people, even ones
who have good sense and strong inclinations in favour of
religion, always feel that there is something wrong with such
arguments ·as the a priori argument for the existence of
God·, even though they may not be able to explain distinctly
what the defect is; which is a certain proof that men always
did and always will derive their religion from sources other
than this sort of reasoning.
Part 10
It is my opinion, I admit, replied Demea, that each man
somehow feels in his heart the truth of religion, and that
what leads him to seek protection from ·God·, the being
on whom he and all nature depend, is not any reasoning
but rather his consciousness of his own weakness and
misery. Even the best scenes of life are so troubling or so
unpleasant that all our hopes and fears look to the future. We
incessantly look forward, and try through prayers, adoration
and sacrifice to appease those unknown powers who, we
find by experience, can so thoroughly afflict and oppress
40
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 10
us. Wretched creatures that we are! What help would there
be for us amid the innumerable ills of life if religion didn’t
suggest some ways of reconciling ourselves with God and
soothe the terrors with which we are incessantly agitated
and tormented?
I am indeed convinced, said Philo, that the best and
indeed the only method of bringing everyone to a proper
sense of religion is by making them see clearly the misery
and wickedness of men. And for that purpose a talent for
eloquence and strong imagery is more needed than a talent
for reasoning and argument. What need is there to prove
something that everyone feels within himself? It is only
necessary to make us feel it, if possible, more strongly and
intimately.
Indeed, replied Demea, the people are sufficiently con-
vinced of this great and melancholy truth. These phrases:
the miseries of life
the unhappiness of man
the general corruptions of our nature
the unsatisfactory enjoyment of pleasures, riches,
honours
have become almost proverbial in all languages. And who
can doubt something that all men declare from their own
immediate feeling and experience?
On this point, said Philo, the learned are in perfect agree-
ment with the common people; and in all literature, religious
and otherwise, the topic of human misery has been stressed
with the most pathetic eloquence that sorrow and melancholy
could inspire. The works of the poets—whose testimony has
extra authority because they speak from feeling, without a
system—abound in images of this sort. From Homer down to
Dr. Edward Young, the whole inspired tribe ·of poets· have
always been aware that if they are to present human life in
a way that fits what each individual person sees and feels it
as being like, they will have to represent it in that way.
As for authorities, replied Demea, you needn’t hunt for
them. Look around this library of Cleanthes. I venture to
guess that—except for authors of particular sciences such
as chemistry or botany, who have no occasion to treat of
human life—almost every one of those innumerable writers
has, somewhere or other, been led by his sense of human
misery to testify to it and complain of it. At any rate, the
odds are that almost all of them have written in that way;
and as far as I can remember no author has gone to the
opposite extreme of denying human misery.
There you must excuse me, said Philo: Leibniz has denied
it. He is perhaps the first who ventured on such a bold
and paradoxical opinion; or, anyway, the first who made it
essential to his philosophical system.1
Given that he was the first, replied Demea, mightn’t that
very fact have made him realize that he was wrong? For
is this a subject on which philosophers can claim to make
discoveries, especially as late in history as this? And can
any man hope by a simple denial to outweigh the united
testimony of mankind, based on sense and consciousness?
(I say ‘a simple denial’ because the subject scarcely admits
of reasoning.)
And, he added, why should man claim to be exempt from
the fate of all the other animals? The whole earth, believe
me, Philo, is cursed and polluted. A perpetual war goes on
among all living creatures. Need, hunger, and deprivation
stimulate the strong and courageous; fear, anxiety and terror
agitate the weak and infirm. •The first entrance into life
brings distress to the new-born infant and to its wretched
1 It was maintained by Dr. King and a few others, before Leibniz, but not by any as famous as that German philosopher.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 10
mother; •weakness, impotence and distress accompany each
stage of that life: and •eventually it reaches its end in agony
and horror.
Observe too, says Philo, nature’s intricate devices for
embittering the life of every living being. The stronger ones
prey on the weaker, and keep them in perpetual terror and
anxiety. The weaker, in their turn, often prey on the stronger,
and vex and trouble them, giving them no respite. Think of
the innumerable race of insects that either are bred on the
body of an animal or, flying about, put their stings into him
These insects are themselves tormented by others that are
even smaller. And thus on every hand, before and behind,
above and below, every animal is surrounded by enemies
that constantly seek his misery and destruction.
Man alone, said Demea, seems to be a partial exception
to this rule. For by coming together in society men can easily
master lions, tigers, and bears, whose greater strength and
agility naturally enable them to prey on him.
On the contrary, exclaimed Philo, it is just here that
we can most clearly see how uniform and equal nature’s
maxims are! It is true that man can by combining surmount
all his real enemies and become master of the whole animal
kingdom; but doesn’t he immediately conjure up imaginary
enemies, the demons of his imagination, who haunt him
with superstitious terrors and blast every enjoyment of life?
He imagines that they see his pleasure as a crime, and that
his food and leisure annoy and offend them. Even his sleep
and dreams bring him new materials for anxious fear; and
death, his refuge from every other ill, presents only the dread
of endless and innumerable woes. The wolf’s attack on the
timid flock is no worse than what superstition does to the
anxious feelings of wretched mortals.
Besides, Demea, think about this very society through
which we get the upper hand over those wild beasts, our
natural enemies: what new enemies it raises against us!
What woe and misery it causes! Man is the greatest enemy of
man. Oppression, injustice, contempt, disrespect, violence,
sedition, war, slander, treachery, fraud—men use these to
torment one another, and they would soon dissolve the
society they had formed if they weren’t afraid that even
greater ills would come from their doing so.
These external injuries, said Demea, that we suffer from
animals, from men, and from all the elements, do indeed
form a frightful catalogue of woes; but they are nothing in
comparison to the ones that arise within ourselves from the
illnesses of our mind and body. How many people lie under
the lingering torment of diseases? Hear the pathetic list of
the great poet.
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs,
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans: DESPAIR
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch.
And over them triumphant DEATH his dart
Shook: but delay’d to strike, though oft invok’d
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.
(Milton, Paradise Lost 11)
The disorders of the mind, continued Demea, though
they are more secret may be no less dismal and vexatious.
Remorse, shame, anguish, rage, disappointment, anxiety,
fear, dejection, despair; who has ever passed through life
without cruel attacks from these tormentors? Many people
have scarcely ever felt any better sensations than those!
Labour and poverty, so hated by everyone, are the certain
fate of the majority, and the privileged few who enjoy leisure
and wealth never reach contentment or true happiness. All
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 10
the goods of life put together would not make a very happy
man; but all the ills together would make a wretch indeed!
Life can indeed be made unsatisfactory by almost any one of
the ills (and who can be free from every one?), or indeed by
the lack of any one good (and who can possess all?).
If an alien suddenly arrived in this world, I would show
him, as a specimen of its ills, a hospital full of diseases, a
prison crowded with criminals and debtors, a field of battle
with corpses all over it, a fleet of ships sinking in the ocean,
a nation suffering under tyranny, famine, or plague. To turn
the cheerful side of life to him and give him a notion of its
pleasures, where should I take him? to a ball, to an opera,
to court? He might reasonably think that I was only showing
him other kinds of distress and sorrow.
There is no way to escape such striking instances, said
Philo, except by explaining them away—and that makes
the indictment even more severe. Why, I ask, have all men
in all ages complained incessantly of the miseries of life?
Someone replies: ‘They have no good reason: they complain
only because they are disposed to be discontented, regretful,
anxious.’ I reply: what greater guarantee of misery could
there be than to have such a wretched temperament?
‘But if they were really as unhappy as they claim,’ says
my antagonist, ‘why do they stay alive?’
Not satisfied with life, afraid of death. [Milton, Paradise
Lost 11]
This is the secret chain that holds us, I reply. We are terrified,
not bribed, into continuing our existence.
‘It is only a false delicacy’, he may insist, ‘which a few
refined spirits permit themselves, and which has spread
these complaints among the whole race of mankind.’ And
what is this delicacy, I ask, which you blame? Isn’t it just
a greater awareness of all the pleasures and pains of life?
And if the man of a delicate, refined cast of mind, by being
so much more •alive than the rest of the world, is only made
so much more •unhappy, what conclusion should we reach
about human life in general?
‘If men remained at rest,’ says our adversary, ‘they would
be at ease. ·Through all their busy, ambitious activity· they
are willing makers of their own misery.’ No! I reply: leisure
makes them anxious and slack. ·Not that it would do any
good for them to give up leisure, for· activity and ambition
bring disappointment, vexation, and trouble.
I can see something like what you describe in some others,
replied Cleanthes: but I confess that I feel little or nothing
of it in myself, and I hope it isn’t as common as you make it
out to be.
If you don’t feel human misery yourself, exclaimed De-
mea, I congratulate you on your happy uniqueness! Others,
seemingly the most prosperous, haven’t been ashamed to
give voice to their complaints in the saddest tones. Let us
attend to the great, the fortunate emperor Charles V when,
tired with human grandeur, he resigned all his extensive
dominions into the hands of his son. In the last speech
he made on that memorable occasion, he publicly testified
that the greatest prosperities he had ever enjoyed had been
mixed with so many adversities that he could truly say that
he had never enjoyed any satisfaction or contentment. But
did the retired life in which he hoped to shelter give him any
greater happiness? If we can believe his son’s account, he
started to regret his abdication on the very day he abdicated.
Cicero’s fortune rose from small beginnings to the greatest
glory and fame; yet his letters to friends as well as his
philosophical discourses contain ever so many pathetic
complaints about the ills of life. And suitably to his own
experience, he introduces Cato—the great, the fortunate
Cato—protesting in his old age that if a new life were his for
the asking, he would turn it down.
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Ask yourself, ask anyone you know, whether they would
be willing to live over again the last ten or twenty years
of their lives. No! but the next twenty, they say, will be
better. . . . Human misery is so great that it reconciles
even contradictions! And so people eventually come to
complain about the shortness of life and, in the same breath,
complaining of its pointlessness and sorrow.
And is it possible, Cleanthes, said Philo, that after all
these reflections, and countless others that might be sug-
gested, you still stick to your anthropomorphism, and assert
that the moral attributes of God—his justice, benevolence,
mercy, and uprightness—are of the same nature as these
virtues in human creatures? We grant that •his power is
infinite: whatever he wills to happen does happen. But
neither man nor any other animal is happy; therefore God
doesn’t will their happiness. His •knowledge is infinite: he
is never mistaken in his choice of means to any end. But
the course of nature doesn’t lead to human or animal hap-
piness; therefore nature isn’t established for that purpose.
Through the whole range of human knowledge, there are no
inferences more certain and infallible than these. Well, then,
in what respect do his benevolence and mercy resemble the
benevolence and mercy of men?
Epicurus’s old questions have still not been answered. •Is
he willing to prevent evil, but not able? then he is impotent.
•Is he able, but not willing? then he is malevolent. •Is he
both able and willing? then where does evil come from? [In
this work, as in all writings on the ‘problem of evil’, the topic is the entire
range of bad states of affairs, including every kind of suffering; it is not
confined to the extreme moral badness that ‘evil’ stands for today.]
You ascribe a purpose and intention to nature, Cleanthes,
and I think you are right about that. But what, I ask you,
is the aim of all the intricately designed machinery that
nature has displayed in all animals? ·Here is my answer
to that·. The aim is simply the preservation of individuals,
and the continuance of the species. It seems enough for
nature’s purpose if the species is merely enabled to stay in
existence, without any care or concern for the happiness of
its individual members. No means for this are provided, no
machinery aimed purely at giving pleasure or ease, no store
of pure joy and contentment, no gratification without some
lack or need to go with it. ·Or perhaps not quite none, but·
at least the few phenomena of this nature are outweighed by
opposite phenomena of greater importance.
Our sense of music, harmony, and indeed beauty of all
kinds gives satisfaction without being absolutely necessary to
the preservation and propagation of the species. But contrast
that with the racking pains that arise from gouts, gravels,
migraines, toothaches, rheumatisms, where the injury to
the animal machinery is either small ·so that no pain-signal
is needed· or incurable ·so that no pain-signal is useful·.
Joy, laughter, play, frolic, seem to be gratuitous satisfactions
that don’t lead to anything further; and spleen, melancholy,
discontent, superstition, are pains that also lead nowhere.
How then does God’s benevolence display itself according to
you anthropomorphites? It is only we ‘mystics’ (as you were
pleased to call us) who can account for this strange mixture
of phenomena, by deriving it from divine attributes that are
infinitely perfect but incomprehensible.
At last, Philo, said Cleanthes with a smile, you have let
us see what you have been up to! Your long agreement with
Demea surprised me a little, but now I see that all along
you were preparing to train your guns on me. And I must
admit that you have now come to a subject that is worthy
of your notable spirit of opposition and controversy. If you
can make good on your present point, and prove mankind
to be unhappy or corrupted, there is an immediate end to
all religion. For what is the point of establishing the natural
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attributes of God while his moral attributes are still doubtful
and uncertain?
You’re very quick to object, replied Demea, to innocent
opinions that are the most widely accepted, even among
religious and devout people. I’m immensely surprised to
find this theme of the wickedness and misery of man being
charged with, of all things, atheism and profaneness. Haven’t
all pious divines and preachers who have lavished their
rhetoric on this rich topic given a solution for any difficulties
that may come with it? This world is a mere point in
comparison with the universe; this life is a mere moment
in comparison with eternity. The present evil phenomena,
therefore, are set right in other regions and at some future
time. And ·when that happens· the eyes of men, being
then opened to broader views of things, ·will· see the whole
connection of general laws, and with admiring wonder trace
God’s benevolence and justice through all the mazes and
intricacies of his providence.
No! replied Cleanthes, No! These arbitrary suppositions
can never be admitted; they are contrary to visible and
unchallenged facts. How can any cause be known except
from its known effects? How can any hypothesis be proved
except from the experienced phenomena? To base one
hypothesis on another is to build entirely in the air; and
the most we ever achieve through these conjectures and
fictions is to show that our opinion is possible; we can never
in this way establish that it is true.
The only way to support divine benevolence—and it is
what I willingly accept—is to deny absolutely the misery and
wickedness of man. Your pictures ·of the human condition·
are exaggerated; your melancholy views are mostly fictitious;
your conclusions are contrary to fact and experience. Health
is more common than sickness; pleasure than pain; happi-
ness than misery. I calculate that for each vexation that we
meet with we get a hundred enjoyments.
Your position is extremely doubtful, replied Philo, but
even if we allow it you must at the same time admit that
if pain is •less frequent than pleasure it is infinitely •more
violent and lasting. One hour of pain is often able to outweigh
a day, a week, a month of our ordinary tepid enjoyments;
and some people pass days, weeks, and months in the most
acute torments! Pleasure hardly ever rises to the height of
ecstasy and rapture; and it can never continue for any time
at its highest pitch and altitude. The spirits evaporate, the
nerves relax, the body is out of order, and the enjoyment
quickly degenerates into fatigue and uneasiness. But pain
often—good God, how often!—rises to torture and agony;
and the longer it continues the more thoroughly it becomes
genuine agony and torture. Patience is exhausted, courage
fades, melancholy seizes us, and nothing puts an end to
our misery except the removal of its cause—or another
event that is the sole cure of all evil though our natural
foolishness leads us to regard it with still greater horror and
consternation.
All this is obvious, certain, and important, continued
Philo, but I shan’t go on about it. I do take the opportunity
to warn you, Cleanthes, that you have taken your stand
on most dangerous ground, and without realizing it have
introduced a total scepticism into the most essential articles
of natural and revealed theology. What! no way to give
religion a sound basis unless we allow the happiness of
human life, and maintain that a continued existence even in
this world—with all our actual pains, infirmities, vexations,
and follies—is satisfactory and desirable! This is contrary
to everyone’s feeling and experience; ·which means that· it
is contrary to an authority so well established that nothing
can undercut it. No decisive proofs can ever be produced
against this authority; nor is it possible for you to compute,
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 10
estimate, and compare all the pains and all the pleasures in
the lives of all men and of all animals; and so when you rest
the whole system of religion on a claim which from its very
nature must for ever be uncertain, you tacitly admit that the
system is equally uncertain.
Animal happiness, or at least human happiness, in this
life exceeds its misery—no-one will ever believe this, or at
any rate you’ll never be able to prove it. But even if we grant
it to you, your argument has still achieved nothing; for this is
far from what we expect from infinite power, infinite wisdom,
and infinite goodness. Why is there any misery at all in the
world? Not by chance, surely. From some cause, then. Is
it from the intention of God? But he is perfectly benevolent.
Is it contrary to his intention? But he is almighty. Nothing
can shake the solidity of this reasoning, so short, so clear,
so decisive—unless we say that these subjects exceed all
human capacity, and that our common measures of truth
and falsehood are not applicable to them; a thesis I have
all along insisted on, but which you have from the outset
rejected with scorn and indignation.
But I will be contented to shift back from this position—
·doing this voluntarily·, for I deny that you can ever force
me out of it. I will allow ·for purposes of argument· that
pain or misery in man is compatible with infinite power and
goodness in God, even when these attributes are understood
in your way: what help do all these concessions give to
your position? A mere possible compatibility is not sufficient.
You must prove ·the existence of· these pure, unmixed,
and uncontrollable attributes from the present mixed and
confused phenomena, and from these alone. A hopeful
undertaking! Even if the phenomena were ever so pure and
unmixed, because they are finite they would be insufficient
for your purpose. How much more ·inadequate· when they
are also so jarring and discordant!
Here, Cleanthes, I find I can relax in my argument.
Here I triumph! When we argued earlier about the natural
attributes of intelligence and design, I needed all my sceptical
and metaphysical subtlety to escape your grasp. In many
views of the universe and of its parts, particularly its parts,
the beauty and fitness of final causes strike us with such
irresistible force that all objections seem to be (as I think they
really are) mere fault-finding and trickery; and then we can’t
imagine how we could ever give weight to them. But there is
no view of human life or of the condition of mankind from
which we can smoothly infer the moral attributes ·of God·, or
learn about that infinite benevolence, conjoined with infinite
power and infinite wisdom, which we must discover by the
eyes of faith alone. ·But now the tables are turned!· It is
now your turn to tug the labouring oar, and to defend your
philosophical subtleties against the dictates of plain reason
and experience.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 11
I don’t mind admitting, said Cleanthes, that I have been
inclined to suspect that the frequent repetition of the word
‘infinite’, which we meet with in all theological writers, has
the flavour of praise more than of philosophy; and that any
purposes of reasoning, and any purposes even of religion,
would be better served if we contented ourselves with more
accurate and moderate expressions. The terms ‘admirable’,
‘excellent’, ‘superlatively great’, ‘wise’, and ‘holy’—these suf-
ficiently fill the imaginations of men, and anything that
goes further than they do ·has two drawbacks: it· •leads
into absurdities, and it •has no influence on our feelings or
beliefs. ·The way someone feels about a God who is ‘infinitely
great’ is exactly the way he would feel about a God who
is superlatively great·. Thus in our present subject if we
abandon all human analogy, as you seem to want, Demea,
I am afraid we abandon all religion and are left with no
conception of ·God·, the great object of our admiring wonder.
If we keep the human analogy ·while also staying with
‘infinite’·, we’ll never be able to reconcile •any mixture of evil
in the universe with •infinite attributes; much less can we
ever infer the attributes from the facts about what evil there
is in the universe. But if we suppose the author of nature
to be ·only· finitely perfect, though far more perfect than
mankind, we can give a satisfactory account of natural and
of moral evil, and every bad phenomenon can be explained
and harmonized with the rest. A lesser evil may then be
chosen in order to avoid a greater; inconveniences may be
put up with in order to reach a desirable end; and, in brief,
benevolence, guided by wisdom, and limited by neces-
sity
can produce just such a world as the one we have. You, Philo,
who are so prompt at launching views and reflections and
analogies, I would be glad to hear—at length and without
interruption—your opinion of this new theory of mine. If it
turns out to deserve our attention, we can later take our
time about shaping it up and filling in details.
My opinions, replied Philo, aren’t worth being made a
mystery of; so without more ado I’ll tell you what occurs to
me regarding this present subject. It must be admitted, I
think, that if a being who had very limited intelligence and
was utterly unacquainted with our universe were assured
that it is the product of a being who, though finite, is very
good, wise, and powerful, this would lead him beforehand
to expect something different from what our experience
shows the universe to be like; he would never imagine,
merely from being informed that •the cause is very good,
wise, and powerful that •the effect could be as full of vice
and misery and disorder as it appears to be in this life.
Supposing now that this person were brought into our world,
still sure that it was the workmanship of that sublime and
benevolent being; he might be surprised at the discrepancy
with what he had expected; but he wouldn’t retract his
former belief ·about the cause of the universe· if that was
founded on any very solid argument; for ·a person with· such
a limited intelligence must be aware of his own blindness and
ignorance, and must admit that these phenomena ·of vice,
misery etc.· may have explanations that he’ll never be able
to understand. But suppose that this creature is not—as
we are not—convinced in advance of a supreme intelligence,
benevolent and powerful, but is left to infer such a belief from
the appearances of things; this entirely alters the case, and
he will never find any reason for such a conclusion. He may
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
be fully convinced of the narrow limits of his understanding;
but this won’t help him to make an inference concerning
the goodness of superior powers, because he has to make
that inference from what he knows, not from what he is
ignorant of. The more you exaggerate his weakness and
ignorance, the more cautious you make him, and the more
you make him suspect that such subjects are beyond the
reach of his faculties. You are obliged, therefore, to reason
with him merely from the known phenomena, and to drop
every arbitrary supposition or conjecture.
If I showed you a house or palace where •there wasn’t
one convenient or agreeable apartment, where •the windows,
doors, fireplaces, passages, stairs, and the whole arrange-
ment of the building were the source of noise, confusion,
fatigue, darkness, and the extremes of heat and cold, you
would certainly blame the planning of the building without
any further examination. It would be no use for the architect
to display his subtlety, and to prove to you that if this door
or that window were altered something worse would follow.
What he says may be strictly true: it may be that it would
only make things worse to alter one detail while leaving the
other parts of the building unchanged. But you would still
say in general that if the architect had had skill and good
intentions he could have planned the whole building, and
inter-related its parts, in such a way as to remedy all or most
of these inconveniences. His ignorance of such a plan—even
your own ignorance of such a plan—will never convince you
that it is impossible. If you find any inconveniences and de-
fects in the building, you will always—straight off—condemn
the architect.
In short, I repeat the question: Is the world, considered
over-all and as it appears to us in this life, different from
what a limited being like a man would expect beforehand
from a very powerful, wise, and benevolent God? It must
be a strange prejudice to assert that it isn’t. And from this
I conclude that however consistent the world may be (on
certain assumptions and with allowances made) with the
idea of such a God, it can never provide us with an inference
to his existence. The consistency is not absolutely denied,
only the inference. Conjectures, especially when infinity is
excluded from God’s attributes, may perhaps be sufficient to
prove a consistency, but they can never be foundations for
any inference.
There seem to be four circumstances on which depend all
or most of the troubles that beset conscious creatures; and
it isn’t impossible that all these circumstances are necessary
and unavoidable. We know so little beyond common life—we
know indeed so little of common life—that when it comes
to the way a universe is arranged •any conjecture, however
wild, may be correct ·so far as we can tell to the contrary·;
and •any conjecture, however plausible, may be erroneous
·so far as we can tell to the contrary·. The human under-
standing, in this deep ignorance and obscurity, ought to be
sceptical, or at least cautious, and oughtn’t to accept any
hypothesis whatever, especially ones that aren’t supported
by any appearance of probability. I claim that this is the case
with regard to all the causes of evil, and the circumstances
on which it depends. None of them appears to human reason
to be in the slightest necessary or unavoidable; and we can’t
suppose them to be so without letting our imaginations run
wild.
(1) The first circumstance that introduces evil is the
device or arrangement of the animal creation by which
pains as well as pleasures are employed to rouse creatures
to action, and make them alert in the great work of self-
preservation. Now it seems to human understanding that
pleasure alone, in its various levels of intensity, would suffice
for this purpose. It could have been like this:
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
All animals are constantly in a state of enjoyment;
but when they are urged by any of the necessities of
nature—such as thirst, hunger, weariness—instead
of pain they feel a lessening of pleasure, and this
prompts them to seek whatever it is that is needed for
their survival.
Men pursue pleasure as eagerly as they avoid pain—or,
anyway, they could have been so constituted that this was
true of them. So it seems clearly possible to carry on the
business of life without any pain. Why then is any animal
ever subjected to such a sensation? If animals can be free
from it for an hour, they could be free from it all the time; and
·their being subject to pain is a positive fact about them, not
a mere absence of something it might have been impossible to
provide·: it required a particular arrangement of their organs
to produce pain, just as it did to endow them with sight,
hearing, or any of the senses. Shall we conjecture—without
any appearance of reason for it—that such an arrangement
was necessary? and shall we build on that conjecture as we
would on the most certain truth?
(2) But a capacity for pain would not of itself produce
pain if it weren’t for something else, namely the world’s
being governed by general laws; and this seems to be in no
way necessary for a very perfect being. It is true that if each
thing that happens were caused by an individual volition
on God’s part, the course of nature would be perpetually
broken, ·there would be no dependable regularities, and so·
no man could employ his reason in the conduct of life. But ·if
some such volitions threatened to have that effect·, mightn’t
other particular volitions remedy this inconvenience? In
short, might not God exterminate all misfortune, wherever
it was to be found, and make everything all good, ·through
judiciously placed individual volitions, and thus· without
any preparation or long chains of causes and effects?
Besides, we should bear in mind that in the present
arrangement of the world the course of nature, though
supposed to be entirely regular, appears to us not to be
so; many events are uncertain, and many disappoint our
expectations. Countless kinds of happenings whose causes
are unknown and variable—for example health and sick-
ness, calm and tempest—have a great influence both on
the fortunes of particular persons and on the prosperity of
whole communities; and indeed all human life depends in a
way on such happenings. So a being who knows the secret
workings of the universe might easily, by particular volitions,
turn all these happenings to the good of mankind and make
the whole world happy, without revealing himself in any
operation. A fleet whose purposes were useful to society
might always meet with a fair wind. Good rulers might
enjoy sound health and long life. Persons born to power
and authority might be endowed with good temperaments
and virtuous dispositions. A few outcomes such as these,
regularly and wisely brought about, would change the face
of the world; and yet they would no more seem to disturb the
course of nature or thwart human conduct than does the
present arrangement of things where the causes are secret,
and variable, and complex. Some small touches given to
Caligula’s brain in his infancy might have converted him
into a Trajan. One wave a little higher than the rest, by
burying Caesar and his fortune in the bottom of the ocean,
might have restored liberty to a considerable part of mankind.
There may, for all we know, be good reasons why Providence
doesn’t intervene in this manner; but we don’t know them;
and though the mere supposition that such reasons exist
may be sufficient to save the conclusion concerning the
Divine attributes ·from being refuted by the observed facts·,
it can surely never be sufficient to establish that conclusion.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
If (2) everything in the universe is governed by general
laws, and if (1) animals are made capable of pain, it seems
almost inevitable that some misfortune will arise in the
various collisions of matter, and the various agreements and
clashes between general laws; but such misfortune would be
very rare if it weren’t for. . .
(3) . . . the third of the four factors that I proposed to
mention. It is the great frugality with which all powers
and abilities are distributed to every particular being. The
organs and capacities of all animals are so well organized
and so well fitted to their preservation that—judging by
history and tradition—there appears never yet to have been a
species that was extinguished in the universe. Every animal
has the endowments it needs; but these endowments are
given out with such careful economy—·giving each creature
only the bare necessities for its survival·—that if anything
considerable is taken away from them the creature is entirely
destroyed. Wherever one power is increased, there is a
proportional lessening of the others. Animals that excel in
speed are commonly lacking in strength. Those that have
both are either imperfect in some of their senses or are
oppressed with the most craving wants. The human species,
whose chief excellence is reason and foresight, has more
needs and fewer bodily advantages than any of the others:
·think of how humans would be situated if they were· without
clothes, without weapons, without food, without lodging,
without any convenience of life except what they owe to their
own skill and hard work. In short, nature seems to have
calculated exactly what her creatures need, and—like a stern
employer—has granted them little more than the powers or
endowments that are strictly sufficient to meet those needs.
An indulgent parent would have provided a great deal extra,
so as to guard against unforeseen events and to secure the
happiness and welfare of the creature in the worst crises. He
would not have left us in a condition where every course of
life is surrounded with precipices to such an extent that the
least departure from the true path—whether by mistake or by
necessity—is bound to involve us in misery and ruin. Some
reserve, some ·emergency· fund, would have been provided
to ensure happiness; and our powers and our needs wouldn’t
have been so strictly balanced against each other. The author
of nature is inconceivably powerful; his force is supposed to
be great, even if not limitless; and there’s no reason we can
find why he should be so strictly frugal in his dealings with
his creatures. If his power is extremely limited, he’d have
done better to create fewer animals, and to have endowed
these with more means for being happy and staying alive. A
builder is never regarded as prudent if he tackles a plan that
he hasn’t the materials to finish.
In order to remedy most of the misfortunes of human
life I don’t require that man should have the wings of the
eagle, the swiftness of the stag, the force of the ox, the
arms of the lion, the scales of the crocodile or rhinoceros;
much less do I demand the intelligence of an angel. I will
settle for an increase in one single power or capacity of his
mind: let him be endowed with a greater liking for work, a
more vigorous bounce and activity of mind, a more constant
tendency to get on with his business. If the whole species
possessed naturally the same high level of diligence that
many individuals cultivate in themselves, the immediate
and necessary result of this endowment would be the most
beneficial consequences, with no taint of anything bad.
Almost all the moral evils of human life, as well as its natural
evils, arise from •idleness; and if our species had been built
so as to be inherently free of •this vice or infirmity, the
immediate result would have been the perfect cultivation
of land, the improvement of arts and manufactures, the
exact performance of every office and duty, and men would
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
straight away have reached the state of society that ·as
things are· is only imperfectly achieved by the best regulated
government. But as hard-workingness is a power, and indeed
the most valuable of all the powers, nature seems to be
determined to follow her usual policy and to bestow it on
men with a very sparing hand; and to punish him severely
for not having enough of it rather than to reward him for
his achievements. She has built him in such a way that
nothing but the strongest need can force him to work, ·and
she exploits that fact in order to get him to work·: she uses
all his other wants to overcome, at least in part, his lack
of diligence, thus endowing him •·through hardship and
need· with some share of a faculty that she has deprived him
of •naturally. Here our demands can be agreed to be very
humble, and thus all the more reasonable. If we required
the endowments of sharper intellect and wiser judgment, of
a more delicate taste for beauty, of more sensitive feelings
of benevolence and friendship, we might be told •that we
were impiously claiming to break the order of nature, •that
we wanted to raise ourselves to a higher level of being, •that
the gifts that we ask for, not being suitable to our state and
condition, would only bring us misery. But it is hard—I dare
to repeat it, it is hard—that when we are placed in a world so
full of wants and necessities, where almost every being and
element is either our foe or refuses its assistance, we should
also have our own temperament to struggle with, and should
be deprived of the only faculty—·namely, an inclination for
hard work·—that can protect us from these multiplied evils.
(4) The fourth factor leading to the misery and misfortune
of the universe is the inaccurate workmanship of all the
workings and principles of the great machine of nature. It
must be admitted that most parts of the universe seem to
serve some purpose, and in most cases the removal of a part
would produce a visible defect and disorder in the whole. The
parts all hang together; and you can’t change one without
affecting the rest, more or less. But at the same time it must
be observed that none of these parts or powers, however
useful, are so accurately adjusted that they keep precisely
within the limits of their usefulness; all of them are apt much
of the time to run to one extreme or the other. This grand
product, ·the universe·, is so unfinished in every part, and is
carried out with such coarse brush-strokes, that one would
think that its maker hadn’t yet put on its finishing touches.
Thus, winds are needed to blow away smoke and fog and
noxious fumes, and to help men in navigation: but often
they grow to being tempests and hurricanes, and then they
become pernicious. Rains are necessary to nourish all the
plants and animals of the earth; but often there are droughts
and often the rain is excessive. Heat is needed for life and
vegetation, but isn’t always found at the right level. The
health and prosperity of the animal depend on the making
and mixing of the fluids and juices of its body, but the
parts ·of these fluids· don’t dependably perform their proper
function. The passions of the mind—ambition, vanity, love,
anger—are extremely useful, but they often overflow their
banks and cause the greatest convulsions in society. Ev-
erything in the universe, however advantageous, frequently
becomes pernicious through there being too much or too
little of it; and nature has not guarded effectively against
all disorder or confusion. The irregularity is perhaps never
so great as to destroy any species, but is often sufficient to
involve individuals in ruin and misery.
There are the four factors on which all or most natural evil
depends. If (1) all living creatures were incapable of feeling
pain, or if (2) the world were governed by particular volitions,
evil never could have found its way into the universe; and if
(3) animals were endowed with a large stock of powers and
faculties, beyond what they strictly need for survival, or if
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
(4) the various springs and principles of the universe were
so accurately devised as to preserve always the temperate
middle level ·and not run to extremes·, there would have been
very little misfortune compared to what we feel at present.
What then shall we say about all this? Shall we say that
the universe could easily have been designed so as to be
different in these four respects? This decision seems too
presumptuous for creatures as blind and ignorant as we
are. Let us be more modest in our conclusions. Let us allow
that if the goodness of God (I mean a goodness like human
goodness) could be established by any respectable a priori
argument, these phenomena, however unfortunate, wouldn’t
be sufficient to undercut that principle ·of God’s goodness·;
for the phenomena might be easily reconcilable to it in some
way we don’t know about. But we should still maintain that
as God’s goodness is not antecedently established, and has
to be inferred from the phenomena, there can be no grounds
for such an inference when there are so many misfortunes
in the universe, and while these misfortunes could—as far
as human understanding can be allowed to judge on such
a subject—easily have been remedied. I am sceptic enough
to allow that the bad appearances, notwithstanding all my
reasonings, may be compatible with such ·divine· attributes
as you suppose; but surely they can never prove these
attributes. The conclusion ·that God is good· cannot result
from scepticism, but must arise from the phenomena and
from our confidence in the reasonings through which we
draw conclusions from these phenomena.
Look around this universe. What an immense profusion
of beings, animated and organized, conscious and active!
You admire this prodigious variety and fruitfulness. But
look a little more closely at these living things (the only ones
worth thinking about). How hostile and destructive they are
to each other! How far they all are from being able to achieve
their own happiness! How contemptible or odious they are
to the spectator! The whole picture is one of a blind nature
impregnated by some powerful life-giving force and pouring
forth from her lap, without discernment or parental care, her
maimed and abortive children!
Here the Manichaean system—·according to which the
universe is governed by two fundamental forces, one good
and the other bad·—comes to mind as a good hypothesis
to solve the difficulty. No doubt it is in some respects very
attractive, and its giving a plausible account of the strange
mixture of good and ill that appears in life makes it more
probable than the common hypothesis ·of a single benevolent
God·. But if on the other hand we think about the perfect
uniformity and agreement of the parts of the universe, we
shan’t discover in it any signs of a malevolent being’s battle
against a benevolent one. There is indeed an opposition of
•pains and pleasures in the feelings of conscious creatures;
but aren’t all the operations of nature carried on by an
opposition of forces, of •hot and cold, •moist and dry, •light
and heavy? The true conclusion is that the original source
of all things is entirely indifferent to all these forces, and
no more prefers •good above evil •than heat above cold, or
•drought above moisture, or •light above heavy.
Four hypotheses can be formed concerning the first
causes of the universe: that they are endowed with per-
fect goodness; that they have perfect malice; that they are
opposite, and have both goodness and malice; that they have
neither goodness nor malice. Mixed phenomena can never
prove the two former unmixed principles; and the uniformity
and steadiness of general laws seem to oppose the third. The
fourth, therefore, seems by far the most probable—·that is,
that the first causes of the universe are neutral with regard
to good and bad·.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 11
What I have said about •natural evil also applies with little
or no change to •moral evil: we have no more reason to infer
that the uprightness of the supreme being resembles human
uprightness than that his benevolence resembles human
benevolence. Indeed, it will be thought that we have more
reason to exclude from him moral feelings such as ours,
because many people think that moral evil predominates
over moral good more than natural evil above natural good.
But even if this is rejected, and even if the virtue that
mankind has is acknowledged to be much superior to the
vice, still as long as there is any vice at all in the universe you
anthropomorphites will be very puzzled over how to account
for it. You must assign a cause for it, without bringing in
the first cause. But every effect must have a cause, and that
cause must have another, and so you must either carry on
the sequence ad infinitum or bring it to an end with that
original principle who is the ultimate cause of all things. . .
Wait! Wait! exclaimed Demea: where is your imagination
taking you? I allied myself with you in order to prove the
incomprehensible nature of the divine being, and to refute
the principles of Cleanthes who wants to measure everything
by human rules and standards. But now I find you agreeing
with all the views of the greatest libertines and infidels,
and betraying that holy cause which you seemed earlier
to embrace. Are you secretly, then, a more dangerous enemy
than Cleanthes himself?
Has it taken you this long to see that? replied Cleanthes.
Believe me, Demea, your friend Philo has from the outset
been amusing himself at my expense and at yours; and I
must admit that the incautious reasoning of our common
theology has given him all too good a handle for ridicule. The
total infirmity of human reason, the absolute incomprehensi-
bility of God’s nature, the great and universal misery and the
still greater wickedness of men—these are strange themes,
surely, to be so fondly cherished by orthodox churchmen and
professors. In ages of stupidity and ignorance, indeed, these
principles may safely be espoused; and it may be that the
best way to promote superstition is to encourage mankind
in its blind bewilderment, its lack of confidence, its gloom.
But at present. . .
Don’t blame the trouble so much on the ignorance of these
reverend gentlemen, interrupted Philo. They know how to
change their style with the times. Formerly it was a most
popular line in theology to maintain that human life is empty
and miserable, and to exaggerate all the ills and pains that
men undergo. But in recent years we have found theologians
beginning to withdraw from this position, and to maintain,
though still with some hesitation, that even in this life there
are more goods than evils, more pleasures than pains. •When
religion depended entirely on temperament and education,
it was thought proper to encourage gloom; for indeed men
are most ready to appeal to superior powers when they are
feeling gloomy. •But now that men have learned to form
principles and draw conclusions, ·so that religion depends
on arguments rather than merely on how you feel and how
you have been indoctrinated·, it is necessary to bring some
different guns to bear, and to make use of arguments that
can survive at least some scrutiny and examination. This
change of tactics is the same (and from the same causes) as
the one I formerly remarked on with regard to scepticism.
In this way Philo continued to the last his spirit of
opposition, and his condemnation of established opinions.
But I could see that Demea didn’t at all like the last part of
what he said; and soon after that he made some excuse or
other to leave the group.
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume
Part 12
After Demea’s departure, Cleanthes and Philo continued
the conversation in the following manner. Our friend, I am
afraid, said Cleanthes, won’t be much inclined to revive this
topic of discussion in a group containing you; and to tell
you the truth, Philo, on a subject that is so elevated and
that matters so much I would prefer to reason with you,
or with Demea, alone. Your spirit of controversy, joined to
your hatred of common superstition, carries you to strange
lengths when you are engaged in an argument; and on such
an occasion you don’t spare anything, however sacred and
venerable it is, even in your own eyes.
I must admit, replied Philo, that I am less cautious on
the subject of natural religion than on any other; both
because •I know that I can never corrupt the principles
(concerning religion) of any man of common sense, and
because •I am confident that no-one who sees me as a man
of common sense will ever misunderstand my intentions.
You, in particular, Cleanthes, with whom I live in unreserved
intimacy—you are aware that despite the freedom of my
conversation and my love of unusual arguments, no-one
has a deeper sense of religion impressed on his mind than I
do, or offers more profound adoration to the divine being as
he reveals himself to our reason in the inexplicable design
and artfulness of nature. The most careless, the most
stupid, thinker sees everywhere a purpose, an intention,
a design; and no man can be so hardened in absurd systems
as to reject that at all times. That nature does nothing in
vain is a maxim established in all the universities, merely
on the strength of observing the works of nature, without
any religious purpose; and from a firm conviction of its
truth an anatomist who had observed a new organ or canal
·in an animal body· would never be satisfied until he had
also discovered what it does and what it is for. One great
foundation of the Copernican system is the maxim that
nature acts by the simplest methods, and chooses the most
proper means to any end; and astronomers often, without
thinking of it, lay this strong foundation ·stone on which can
be erected the edifice· of piety and religion. The same thing
is observable in other branches of learning; and thus almost
all the sciences lead us insensibly to acknowledge a first
thinking author; and their authority is often all the greater
for the fact that they don’t openly say that that’s what they
mean to do.
It is with pleasure that I hear Galen reason concerning
the structure of the human body. The anatomy of a man, he
says, reveals more than
60
0 different muscles; and anyone
who studies these will find that in each of them nature must
have taken into account at least ten different circumstances,
in order to achieve the end that she proposed:
•right shape, •right size, •right disposition of the sev-
eral ends, •the upper and •lower position of the whole
muscle, the proper insertion of the various •nerves,
•veins, and •arteries;
so that in the muscles alone more than 6,000 different plans
and intentions must have been formed and carried out. He
calculates that there are 284 bones, and that the structure
of each of them aims at more than forty purposes. What
an enormous display of planning, even in these simple and
homogeneous parts! But if we consider the skin, ligaments,
blood-vessels, glands, bodily fluids, the various limbs and
members of the body—how our astonishment must increase
in proportion to the number and intricacy of the parts so
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
artfully related to one another! As we go further in these
researches, we discover new scenes of skill and wisdom;
but we can tell that further down the smallness scale there
are yet other scenes, beyond our ·perceptual· reach, in the
fine internal structure of the parts, in the organization of
the brain, in the build of the seminal vessels. All these
devices are repeated in every different species of animal,
with wonderful variety, and in each case exactly right for
the intentions of nature in forming the species in question.
And if Galen’s irreligion couldn’t withstand such striking
appearances, even when these natural sciences were still
imperfect, a scientist today must indeed be stubbornly
obstinate if he can doubt that there is a supreme intelligence!
If I met with one of this sort (thank God, they are very
rare), I would ask him: Supposing there were a God who
didn’t reveal himself immediately to our senses—·enabling
us to see or feel or hear him·—could he possibly give stronger
proofs of his existence than the proofs that do appear on
the whole face of nature? What indeed could such a divine
being do but •copy the present arrangement of things, •make
many of his artifices so obvious that no stupidity could
mistake them, •provide glimpses of still greater artifices that
demonstrate his prodigious superiority above our narrow
minds, and •conceal a great many of them altogether from
such imperfect creatures ·as we are·? Now, according to all
rules of sound reasoning, every factual proposition counts
as indisputable when it is supported by all the arguments
that its nature admits of, even if those arguments aren’t in
themselves very numerous or strong; how much more this
applies in the present case where no human imagination can
compute the number of the arguments and no understanding
can take in how strong they are!
I shall add, said Cleanthes, to what you have so well
urged that one great advantage of the principle of theism
is that it’s the only system of cosmogony that can be made
intelligible and complete while also preserving throughout a
strong analogy to what we see and experience in the world
every day. The comparison of the universe to a machine of
human design is so obvious and natural, and is justified
by so many examples of order and design in nature, that it
must immediately occur to all unprejudiced minds, and win
universal approval. Whoever wants to weaken this theory
can’t claim to succeed by •establishing in its place any other
that is precise and determinate, ·for there is no such rival·:
it is sufficient for him if he raises doubts and difficulties,
and by remote and abstract views of things reaches that
•suspense of judgment which on this topic is the most he
can wish for. But •this state of mind, as well as being
in itself unsatisfactory, can never be steadily maintained
against such striking appearances as continually draw us
into the religious hypothesis. Human nature is capable,
through the force of prejudice, of obstinately persevering in a
false, absurd system; but I think it is absolutely impossible
to maintain or defend having no system at all, in opposition
to a theory that is supported by strong and obvious reasons,
by natural propensity, and by early education.
I have so little respect for this suspension of judgment
about the existence of God, said Philo, that I’m inclined to
suspect that this controversy is more of a verbal dispute than
is usually imagined. That the works of nature are very like
the products of ·human· ingenuity is evident; and according
to all the rules of good reasoning we ought to infer—if we ar-
gue at all about them—that their causes are correspondingly
alike. But as there are also considerable differences ·between
the works of nature and human products·, we have reason to
suppose that their causes are correspondingly unalike, and
that in particular we ought to attribute a much higher degree
of power and energy to the supreme cause than to any we
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
have ever observed in mankind. Here then the existence of a
God is plainly discovered by reason: and if there is a question
as to whether these analogies entitle us to call him a mind
or intelligence, given the vast difference that can reasonably
be supposed to exist between him and human minds, what
is this but a mere verbal controversy? No man can deny the
likenesses between the effects; to hold back from •enquiring
about the causes is scarcely possible. From •this enquiry
the legitimate conclusion is that the causes are also alike in
some respects; and if we aren’t contented with calling the
first and supreme cause ·only· a ‘God’ or ‘deity’ but want to
find other words to apply to him, what can we call him but
‘mind’ or ‘thought’, given that he is justly supposed to bear a
considerable resemblance to minds?
All sensible people are annoyed by verbal disputes, which
occur so often in philosophical and theological enquiries; and
it is found that the only remedy for this misuse ·of language·
comes from clear definitions, from the precision of the ideas
that enter into any argument, and from strictly keeping to
the meanings of the terms one uses. But there is one sort
of controversy which, from the very nature of language and
of human ideas, is involved in perpetual ambiguity and can
never, by any precaution or any definitions, reach a reason-
able certainty or precision. These are the controversies about
the degrees of any quality or circumstance. •Was Hannibal
a great, or a very great, or a superlatively great man? •How
beautiful was Cleopatra? •What term of praise is Livy or
Thucydides entitled to? Men may argue to all eternity about
such questions without ever settling on agreed answers. The
disputants may here agree in what they think, and differ in
the words they use—or vice versa—and yet never be able to
define their terms so as to understand each other’s meaning.
That’s because the degrees of these qualities, unlike quantity
or number, can’t be measured on any exact scale that could
be the standard in the controversy. The slightest enquiry
reveals that the dispute concerning theism is of this nature,
and consequently is merely verbal—or perhaps still more
incurably ambiguous, if that is possible. •I ask the theist if
he doesn’t agree that the difference between the human mind
and the divine mind is great and (because it is incomprehen-
sible) immeasurable; and the more pious he is •the readier
he will be to agree, and the more he will be disposed to
magnify the difference; he will even assert that the difference
is so great that it would be impossible to exaggerate how
great it is. I next turn to the atheist—who I say is only
nominally an atheist, and can’t possibly be seriously so—and
•I ask him whether, judging by the coherence and apparent
co-ordination among all the parts of this world, there isn’t
a certain similarity among all the operations of nature, in
every situation and in every age—whether
the rotting of a turnip,
the coming into existence of an animal, and
the structure of human thought,
are not energies that probably bear some remote analogy to
each other—and •he can’t possibly deny it; ·indeed·, he will
readily acknowledge it. Having obtained this concession from
him, I push the self-described ‘atheist’ back still further: I
ask him if it isn’t likely that the source that first ordered this
universe ·in general· and still keeps it in order bears also
some remote and hard-to-grasp analogy to the ·particular·
operations of nature, including the arrangements that pro-
duce the human mind and thought. However reluctantly, he
must say Yes. Then I ask both these antagonists:
What are you arguing about? The theist allows that
the original intelligence is very different from human
reason; the atheist allows that the original source of
order bears some remote analogy to it. Will you quar-
rel, gentlemen, about the degrees ·of difference and of
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
similarity·, and enter into a controversy that can’t be
made precise and thus can’t be settled? If you were to
persist obstinately, I wouldn’t be surprised to find you
unknowingly changing sides—•the theist exaggerating
the dissimilarity between the supreme being and frail,
imperfect, variable, fleeting, and mortal creatures,
while •the atheist exaggerates the similarity that there
is among all the operations of nature, at every time
and in every place and circumstance! Consider, then,
what you are really disagreeing about, and if you can’t
set aside the disagreement, at least ·realize that it
concerns the place of certain dissimilarities on a scale
for which there is no precise measure, and thus· try
to cure yourselves of your hostility to one another.
And here I must also acknowledge, Cleanthes, that as the
works of nature are more like the effects of our •skill and
planning than they are like the effects of our •benevolence
and justice, we have reason to infer that God’s •non-moral
attributes have a greater resemblance to those of men than
his •moral attributes have to human virtues. But what
follows from that? Only that man’s moral qualities are more
defective in their kind than are his non-moral abilities—·for
example, that man’s justice is a worse sample of justice than
his cleverness is a sample of cleverness·. For it is agreed
that God is absolutely and entirely perfect, so whatever
differs most from him departs the furthest from the supreme
standard of moral uprightness and perfection.2
These, Cleanthes, are my undisguised views on this
subject; and you know that I have upheld and valued
them for a long time. But my veneration for true religion
is matched by my abhorrence of common superstitions,
and I admit that I get a special pleasure out of pushing
superstitions—sometimes into absurdity, sometimes into
impiety. All bigots hate impiety more than they do absurdity,
but, as you are well aware, they are often equally guilty of
both.
My inclination, replied Cleanthes, lies in a different
direction. Religion, however corrupted, is still better than
no religion at all. The doctrine of a future state is so strong
and necessary a security to morals that we never ought to
abandon or neglect it. For if finite and temporary rewards
and punishments have such a great effect as we daily find
that they do, how much greater must be expected from
rewards and punishments that are infinite and eternal?
If common superstition is so good for society, said Philo,
then how does it happen that history is so full of accounts
of its pernicious effects on public affairs? Factions, civil
wars, persecutions, subversions of government, oppression,
slavery—these are the dismal consequences which always
accompany a prevalence of superstition in the minds of
men. Whenever an historical narrative mentions the religious
spirit, we are sure to find later in the story some details of the
miseries that come with it. No period of time can be happier
or more prosperous than those in which the religious spirit
is never honoured or heard of.
2 It seems obvious that the dispute between the sceptics and dogmatists is entirely verbal; or at any rate it only concerns how much doubt or assurance
we should have in all our reasoning, and disputes about that are often basically verbal, and can’t be definitively settled. •No philosophical dogmatist
denies that there are difficulties both with regard to the senses and to all science, and that these difficulties absolutely cannot be resolved in a
regular, logical manner. •No sceptic denies that we, despite these difficulties, cannot get out of thinking, and believing, and reasoning with regard to
all kinds of subjects, or of often assenting to things with confidence and security. So the only difference between these sects (if that is what they are)
is that the sceptic—from habit, whim, or inclination—insists most on the difficulties; the dogmatist, for like reasons, insists on the necessity.
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The reason for this, replied Cleanthes, is obvious. The
proper role of religion is to regulate the heart of men, human-
ize their conduct, infuse the spirit of temperance, order, and
obedience; and as it works silently, and only strengthens
the motives of morality and justice, it is in danger of being
overlooked and being confused with those other motives.
When religion calls attention to itself and acts as a separate
motive force in men—·instead of being only a good influence
on all the other motive forces·—it has left its proper sphere
and has become only a cover for faction and ambition.
And so will all religion, said Philo, except the philosophi-
cal and rational kind. Your reasonings are easier to escape
from than are my facts. ‘Because finite and temporary
rewards and punishments have so great influence, therefore
infinite and eternal ones must have so much greater’—this
reasoning is not sound. Consider, I beg you, how much
we care about present things, and how little concern we
express for objects as remote and uncertain ·as the rewards
or punishments promised in the after-life·. When preachers
declaim against the common behaviour and conduct of the
world, they always represent this principle ·of concern for
what is close· as the strongest imaginable (which indeed
it is); and they describe most of mankind as lying under
its influence, and sunk into the deepest lethargy and lack
of concern for their religious interests. Yet these same
religious spokesmen, defending religion against attacks, take
the motives of religion to be so powerful that civil society
couldn’t survive without them; and they aren’t ashamed of
this obvious contradiction. Experience shows us, for sure,
that •the smallest grain of natural honesty and benevolence
has more effect on men’s conduct than •the most grandly
inflated views suggested by theological theories and systems.
A man’s natural inclination works on him all the time; it is
always present to his mind, and mingles itself with every
view and consideration; whereas religious motives, where
they act at all, operate only by fits and starts, and it is
scarcely possible for them to become altogether habitual to
the mind. The force of the greatest gravitational pull, say
the physicists, is incomparably smaller than the force of
the least push; yet it is certain that the smallest gravity will
eventually prevail over a large push, because no strokes or
blows can be repeated with such constancy as attraction and
gravitation.
Another advantage that inclination has ·in the tussle with
duty·: it brings into play on its side all the sharpness and
ingenuity of the mind, and when it is placed in opposition
to religious principles it seeks every method and device for
eluding them—and it nearly always succeeds! Who can
explain the heart of man, or account for those strange special-
pleadings and excuses with which people let themselves off
when they are following their inclinations in opposition to
their religious duty? This is well understood in the world;
and only fools would trust a man less because they heard
that study and philosophy have given him some speculative
doubts with regard to theological subjects. And when we
have dealings with a man who makes a great profession of
religion and devotion, doesn’t this put many sensible people
on their guard against being cheated and deceived by him?
We must further consider that philosophers, who cultivate
reason and reflection, have less need of such ·religious·
motives to keep them under the restraint of morals; and
that common people—the only ones who may need religion
·to keep them in order·—can’t possibly have a religion so
pure that it represents God as being pleased with nothing
but virtue in human behaviour. Pleas for God’s favour are
generally understood to be either frivolous observances, or
rapturous ecstasies, or a bigoted credulity ·and therefore not
to reflect or to encourage moral seriousness·. We needn’t
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Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
go back to ancient times, or wander into remote places,
to find instances of this degeneracy ·of religion divorced
from morality·. Amongst ourselves some people have been
guilty of something atrocious that ·even· the Egyptian and
Greek superstitions were not guilty of, namely, speaking out
explicitly against morality, saying that if one puts the least
trust or reliance in morality one will certainly lose favour
with God.
And even if superstition or fanaticism didn’t put itself
in direct opposition to morality, it would still have the
most pernicious consequences, greatly weakening men’s
attachment to the natural motives of justice and humanity.
It would do this because of •its diverting of the attention
·away from morality·, •its raising up of a new and frivolous
sort of ·supposed· merit, and •the preposterous way in which
it distributes praise and blame.
Such a ·religious· action-driver, not being one of the
familiar motives of human conduct, acts only intermittently
on a person’s temperament; and it has to be roused by
continual efforts in order to render the pious zealot satisfied
with his own conduct and make him fulfil his devotional
task. Many religious exercises are begun with seeming
fervour although the person’s heart at the time feels cold
and apathetic; he gradually acquires a habit of covering
up his true feelings; and fraud and falsehood ·eventually·
become the predominant force ·in his mind·. This explains
the common observation that •the highest zeal in religion
and •the deepest hypocrisy, so far from being inconsistent,
are often or usually united in the same individual person.
The bad effects of such habits, even in ordinary everyday
life, are easily imagined; but where the interests of religion
are concerned, no morality can be strong enough to con-
strain the fanatical zealot. The sacredness of his cause—·he
thinks·—sanctifies anything that he does to promote it.
Steadily and exclusively attending to something as impor-
tant to oneself as eternal salvation is apt to extinguish one’s
benevolent feelings and to generate a narrow, contracted
selfishness. And when such a temperament is encouraged,
it easily eludes all the general precepts of charity and benev-
olence.
Thus, the motives of common superstition have no great
influence on general conduct, and where they do predomi-
nate their influence is not favourable to morality.
Is any maxim in politics more certain and infallible than
the one saying that •the number and •the authority of priests
should be confined within very narrow limits, and that the
civil magistrate ought never to allow the instruments of
his authority fall into such dangerous hands ·as those of
priests·? But if the spirit of popular religion [= ‘the religion of
ordinary people’] were as salutary to society ·as its defenders
say it is·, a contrary maxim ought to prevail, ·reflecting a
line of thought like the following: The more priests there are
in law and government, the better·. A greater number of
priests, and their greater authority and riches, will always
increase the religious spirit. And though the priests have the
guidance of •this spirit, ·we can expect them also to develop
ever greater moral decency in •their feelings·. Why should we
not expect a superior sanctity of life, and greater benevolence
and moderation, from people who are set apart for religion,
who are continually preaching it to others, and who must
themselves imbibe a greater share of it?
Then how does it come about that in fact the most that
a wise ruler can propose with regard to popular religions
is, as far as possible, to make a saving game of it [= ‘to
minimize losses without expecting any gains’], and to prevent their
pernicious consequences with regard to society? Every
means he uses to carry out this modest purpose is sur-
rounded with inconveniences. •If he allows only one religion
59
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
among his subjects, he must sacrifice every consideration of
public liberty, science, reason, industry, and even his own
independence—all this in return for an uncertain prospect
of ·religious· peace. •If he allows several sects, which is
the wiser course for him to follow, he must preserve a very
philosophical even-handedness regarding all of them, and
carefully restrain the claims of the dominant sect; other-
wise he can expect nothing but endless disputes, quarrels,
factions, persecutions, and civil commotions.
True religion, I admit, has no such pernicious conse-
quences; but we have to concern ourselves ·not with true
religion, but· with religion as it has commonly been found
in the world. And I am not discussing the speculative thesis
of theism: being a philosophical theory, it must share in the
beneficial influence of philosophy, while also suffering from
philosophy’s drawback of being accepted by very few people.
Oaths are required in all courts of law, but does their
authority arise from any popular religion? ·I say No·. The
chief restraints on mankind are •the solemnity and impor-
tance of the occasion, •a concern for one’s reputation, and
•reflection on the general interests of society. Custom-house
oaths [= ‘declarations about what one is importing or exporting’] and
political oaths are not regarded as binding even by some
who claim to abide by principles of honesty and religion; and
we rightly put a Quaker’s •assertion on the same footing
as the •oath of any other person. I know that Polybius as-
cribes the notorious untrustworthiness of the Greeks to the
prevalence of the Epicurean philosophy; but I know also that
Carthaginian promises had as bad a reputation in ancient
times as Irish testimony does today, and we can’t account
for these general impressions in the same way, ·namely the
influence of Epicurean philosophy·. Not to mention that the
Greeks were already notoriously untrustworthy before the
rise of the Epicurean philosophy, and Euripides has aimed a
remarkable stroke of satire against his nation, with regard
to trustworthiness.
Take care, Philo, replied Cleanthes, take care! Don’t
push matters too far; don’t allow your zeal against false
religion to undermine your reverence for the true. Don’t
give up this ·religious· principle, which is the chief, the only
great comfort in life, and our principal support amidst all
the attacks of adverse fortune. The most agreeable reflection
that the human imagination can possibly suggest is that of
genuine theism, which represents us as the workmanship of
a being who is perfectly good, wise, and powerful; a being
who created us to be happy and who, having implanted in
us immeasurable desires for good things, will prolong our
existence to all eternity, taking us into an infinite variety
of scenes in order to satisfy those desires, and make our
happiness complete and lasting. To be under the guardian-
ship and protection of such a divine being is the happiest
prospect we can imagine—second only (if this comparison is
permissible) to the happiness of the divine being himself.
That picture of how a person seems to relate to religion,
said Philo, is most engaging and alluring, and when the
person is a true philosopher it is more than just seeming.
But here as before, with regard to the greater part of mankind
the appearances are deceitful, and the terrors of religion
commonly prevail over its comforts.
It is common knowledge that men never seek help from
devotion so readily as when they are dejected with grief or
depressed by sickness. Doesn’t that show that the religious
spirit is not so closely tied to joy as it is to sorrow?
But when men are afflicted they find consolation in
religion, replied Cleanthes.
Sometimes, said Philo; but it is natural to imagine that
when they apply themselves to the contemplation of those
unknown Beings—·the Gods of their religion·—they will form
60
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
a notion of them that is suitable to their own present gloom
and melancholy. Accordingly, we find in every religion that
the images of God as fearsome predominate over all the other
images of him; and we ourselves, after using the most exalted
language in our descriptions of God, fall into the flattest
contradiction when we affirm that the damned infinitely
outnumber those who are chosen to be saved.
I venture to assert that there has never been a popular
religion which represented the state of departed souls in
such a way as to make it a good thing from the human point of
view that there should be such a state. These fine models of
religion ·that you speak of so cheerfully, Cleanthes·, are the
mere product of philosophy ·and get no grip on the ordinary
thoughts and feelings of ordinary people·. When plain folk
try to imagine the after-life, death intervenes between the
mind’s eye and the object; and death is so shocking to nature
that it throws a gloom on all the regions that lie on the far
side of it, and suggests to the general run of people the
idea of Cerberus and Furies, devils, and torrents of fire and
brimstone.
It is true that both •fear and •hope enter into religion,
because both those passions agitate the human mind from
time to time, and each of them forms a kind of divinity
suitable to itself. But when a man is in a cheerful frame of
mind he is fit for business, or company, or entertainment
of any kind, and he naturally turns his attention to these
and doesn’t think of religion. When gloomy and dejected,
·on the other hand, he hasn’t the spirit or energy to apply
himself to anything in this world, so· all he can do is to
brood on the terrors of the after-world, and ·thus· make
his condition worse than ever. It may indeed happen that
after he has in this way engraved the religious opinions deep
into his thought and imagination, some change of health
or circumstances restores his good-humour and, raising
cheerful prospects of the after-life, send him to the other
extreme of joy and triumph. But still it must be admitted
that, as terror is the driving force of religion, it is the passion
that always predominates in it, and allows for only short
periods of pleasure.
A further point: these bouts of excessive, extravagant joy,
by exhausting the spirits, always prepare the way for equal
bouts of superstitious terror and dejection. The happiest
state of mind is ·not frenzied joy, but· balanced calm. But
it is impossible for a man to remain long in that state when
he thinks that he lies in such profound darkness and un-
certainty •between an eternity of happiness and an eternity
of misery. No wonder that •such an opinion unhinges the
ordinary frame of the mind and throws it into the utmost
confusion. And though •that opinion is seldom so steady in
its operation that it influences all the person’s actions, it is
apt to make considerable inroads on his temperament, and
to produce the gloom and melancholy that are so noticeable
in all devout people.
It is contrary to common sense to be anxious or terrified
·about what may happen to us in the after-life· on account
of any opinion that we have, or to imagine that the freest
use of our reason will run us into any risk in the hereafter.
Such a view implies both an absurdity and an inconsistency.
It is an absurdity to believe that God has human passions,
and indeed one of the lowest of them, namely a restless
appetite for applause. It is an inconsistency to believe that
God has this human passion but doesn’t have others also,
and especially a disregard for the opinions of creatures so
much inferior.
To know God, says Seneca, is to worship him. All other
worship—·that is, all worship that goes beyond expressing
one’s knowledge that God exists·—is indeed absurd, supersti-
tious, and even impious. It degrades God to the low condition
61
Dialogues concerning Natural Religion David Hume Part 12
of ordinary men, who are delighted to be approached with
entreaties, requests, presents, and flattery. Yet this is
the least of the impieties of which superstition is guilty.
Commonly, superstition pushes God down to a level far
below that of mankind, and represents him as a capricious
demon who exercises his power without reason and without
humanity! If God were inclined to be offended at the vices
and follies of silly mortals who are his own workmanship,
the devotees of most popular superstitions would be in for
a very bad time. None of the human race would deserve
his •favour except for a very few, •the philosophical theists,
who have—or at any rate try to have—suitable notions of
his divine perfections; and the only persons entitled to his
•compassion and leniency would be •the philosophical scep-
tics, an almost equally small sect, whose natural modesty
about their own capacities leads them to suspend—or try
to suspend—all judgment with regard to such sublime and
extraordinary subjects.
If the whole of natural theology, as some people seem
to maintain, boils down to one simple, though somewhat
ambiguous or at least undefined proposition:
•The cause or causes of order in the universe probably
bear some remote analogy to human intelligence;
if •this proposition can’t be extended, varied, or explained
in more detail; if •it yields no inference that affects human
life or can be the source of any action or forbearance from
acting; and if •the analogy, imperfect as it is, extends only
to human intelligence, and can’t plausibly be transferred
to the other qualities of the mind—if all this really is the
case, what can the most curious, thoughtful, and religious
man do except •give a plain, philosophical assent to the
proposition as often as it comes up, and •believe that the
arguments on which it is based outweigh the objections
against it? He will naturally feel somewhat unnerved by the
greatness of the object, ·that is, by the thought of the cause
of the universe·; somewhat sad that the object is hidden
from him; somewhat contemptuous of human reason for
its inability to make a better job of such an extraordinary
and magnificent question. But believe me, Cleanthes, the
most natural feeling that a well-disposed mind will have
on this occasion is a longing desire and expectation [Hume’s
phrase] that God will be pleased to remove or at least to lessen
this profound ignorance, by giving mankind some particular
revelation, revealing the nature, attributes, and operations
of the divine object of our faith. A person who has a sound
sense of the imperfections of natural reason will eagerly fly to
revealed truth, while the haughty dogmatist, persuaded that
he can erect a complete system of theology with no help but
that of philosophy, will disdain any further aid and will reject
this help from the outside. To be a philosophical sceptic is,
in a man of letters, the first and most essential step towards
being a sound, believing Christian; a proposition which I
would willingly recommend to the attention of Pamphilus:
and I hope Cleanthes will forgive me for interposing so far in
the education and instruction of his pupil.
Cleanthes and Philo did not pursue this conversation
much further; and as nothing ever made greater impression
on me than all the reasonings of that day, so I confess that
on carefully looking over the whole conversation I cannot
help thinking that Philo’s principles are more probable than
Demea’s, but that those of Cleanthes approach still nearer
to the truth.
62
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Lesson 7: Ethical Theories, Consequentialism
Ethical theories attempt to answer the question ‘what is a right or good action?’ Do we look at the results of an action to determine rightness or does motivation matter? Perhaps we should look at the character of the agent who is performing the action. In this lesson we explore the idea that morality is determined by observing and evaluating the consequences of action.
This folder contains material on Egoism and Contemporary views of Ethical Egoism .
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/egoism/
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/hobbes-moral/
This folder contains material on Utilitarian Ethics.
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/mill-moral-political/
107
14
Kantian ethics
ONORA O’NEILL
i Introduction
I K (1724–1804) was one of the most important European philosophers since antiquity; many would say simply that heMMANUEL ANT
is the most important. He lived a notoriously uneventful life in the remote Prussian town of Königsberg (now Kaliningrad in the
USSR), and published an array of significant works in his later years. His writings on ethics are marked by an unswerving
commitment to human freedom, to the dignity of man, and to the view that moral obligation derives neither from God, nor from
human authorities and communities, nor from the preferences or desires of human agents, but from reason.
His writings are difficult and systematic; to understand them it helps to keep the following three things separate. First, there is
Kant’s ethics, contained in his writings of the 1780s and 1790s. Secondly, there is ‘Kant’s ethics’, a (mainly unfavourable) account of
Kant’s ethics developed by his early and influential critics and still often attributed to Kant. This position has an independent life in
current debates. Thirdly, there is ‘Kantian ethics’, a much broader term which covers both Kant’s ethics and ‘Kant’s ethics’ and is also
used as a (mainly admiring) label for a range of contemporary ethical positions which claim descent from Kant’s ethics, but which
diverge from Kant in many ways.
ii Kant’s ethics: the critical background
Kant’s ethics is to be found in his (1785), (1787), Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals Critique of Practical Reason The
(1797), (whose two parts, and are often publishedMetaphysics of Morals The Metaphysical Elements of Justice The Doctrine of Virtue
separately), as well as in his (1793) and a large number of essays on political, historical andReligion within the Limits of Reason Alone
religious themes. However, the fundamental moves that determine the shape of this work are most fully discussed in Kant’s
masterpiece, (1781), and an account of his ethics has to be set in the wider context of the ‘criticalThe Critique of Pure Reason
philosophy’ which he develops there.
This philosophy is in the first place critical in a negative sense. Kant argues against most of the metaphysical claims of his
rationalist predecessors, and in particular against their supposed proofs of the existence of God. On his account our thinking has to be
undertaken from a human standpoint, and we can vindicate no claims about any transcendent reality to which we have no access. The
knowledge claims that we can vindicate must therefore be about a reality that meets the condition of being experienceable by us.
Hence an inquiry into the structure of our cognitive capacities yields a guide to the aspects of that empirical reality which we can know
without referring to particular experiences. Kant argues that we can know a priori that we inhabit a natural world of spatially and
temporally extended objects that are causally connected.
Kant is distinctive for insisting that this causal order and our claims to knowledge are restricted to the natural world, but that we
have no reason to think that the knowable natural world is all there is. On the contrary, we have and cannot do without a conception of
ourselves as agents and as moral beings which makes sense only on the assumption that we have free will. Kant argues that free will
and natural causality are compatible, provided that human freedom – the capacity to act autonomously – is not taken to be an aspect of
the natural world. Causality and freedom apply in separate domains; knowledge is restricted to the former and morality to the latter.
Kant’s resolution of the problem of freedom and determinism is the most controversial and fundamental feature of his moral
philosophy, and the one that creates the greatest difference between his thought and that of nearly all twentieth-century writing on
ethics, including most that is classified as ‘Kantian ethics’.
The central question around which Kant arranges his discussion of ethics is ‘What ought I do?’. He tries to identify the maxims, or
fundamental principles of action, that we ought to adopt. His answer is developed without reference to any supposedly objective
account of the good for man, such as those proposed by the perfectionist positions that we associate with Plato, Aristotle and much
Christian ethics. Nor does he base his position on claims about whatever subjective conceptions of the good, desires, preferences, or
commonly shared moral beliefs we may happen to have, in the way that utilitarians and communitarians do. As in his metaphysics, so
in his ethics, he neither introduces claims about a moral reality that transcends our experience nor assigns moral weight to actual
beliefs. He repudiates both the realist and theological framework within which natural law theory and accounts of the virtues had been
developed, and the appeal to a contingent consensus of feeling or belief on which many eighteenth (and twentieth!) century writers
rely.
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iii Kant’s ethics: universal law and the construction
of duty
Kant’s central move is to construct the principles of ethics according to rational procedures. Although he begins his Groundwork
(which is short, famous and difficult) by identifying a as the only unconditional good, he denies that the principles of goodgood will
willing can be fixed by reference to an objective good or at which they aim. Rather than assuming a determinate account of thetelos
good, and using this as the basis for determing what we ought to do, he uses an account of the principles of ethics to determine what it
is to have a good will. He asks only one rather minimal question: what maxims or fundamental principles could be adopted by a
plurality of agents without assuming specific about the agents’ desires or their social relations? Principles that cannot serveanything
for a plurality of agents are to be rejected: the thought is that nothing could be a moral principle which cannot be a principle for all.
Morality begins with the rejection of non-universalizable principles. This idea is formulated as a demand, which Kant calls ‘the
Categorical Imperative’, or more generally the Moral Law. In its best known version it runs: ‘Act only on the maxim through which
you can at the same time will that it be a universal law’. This is the keystone of Kant’s ethics, and is used to classify the maxims
agents may adopt.
An example of the use of the Categorical Imperative would be this: an agent who adopts a maxim of promising falsely could not
‘will it as a universal law’. For if she were (hypothetically) to do so she would be committed to the predictable result that trust would
break down so that she could not act on her initial maxim of promising falsely. This thought experiment reveals that a maxim of false
promising is not universalizable, hence cannot be included among the shared principles of any plurality of beings. The maxim of
rejecting false promising is morally required; the maxim of promising falsely morally forbidden. It is important to note that Kant does
not think false promising wrong because of its presumed unpleasant effects (as utilitarians would) but because it cannot be willed as a
universal principle.
The rejection of a maxim of false promising, or of any other non-universalizable maxim, is compatible with a wide variety of
courses of action. Kant distinguishes two modes of ethical assessment. In the first place we might evaluate the maxims that agents
adopt. If we could discern these we would be able to pick out those who reject non-universalizable principles (so have morally worthy
principles) and those who adopt non-universalizable principles, (so have morally unworthy principles). Kant speaks of those who hold
morally worthy principles as acting ‘out of duty’. However, Kant also holds that we do not have certain knowledge either of our own
or of others’ maxims. We normally infer agents’ maxims or underlying principles from the pattern of their action, yet no pattern will
pick out a unique maxim. For example, the activity of the genuinely honest shopkeeper may not differ from that of the reluctantly
honest shopkeeper, who deals fairly only out of desire for a good business reputation and would cheat if a safe opportunity arose.
Hence for ordinary purposes we can often do no more than concern ourselves with outward conformity to maxims of duty, rather than
with claims that an act was done out of such a maxim. Kant speaks of action that would have to be done by anyone who had a morally
worthy maxim as action ‘in accordance with duty’. Such action is obligatory and its omission forbidden. Evidently, many acts accord
with duty although they were not done out of maxims of duty. However, even this notion of outward duty has been defined by
reference to being indispensable in a given situation for one who holds underlying principles of acting out of duty. This is in sharp
contrast with contemporary accounts of duty which identify it with patterns of outward action. Kant’s question ‘What ought I do?’
therefore receives a double answer. I ought at best to base my life and action on the rejection of non-universalizable maxims, and so
lead a morally worthy life whose acts are done out of duty; but even if I fail to do this I ought at least to make sure to do any acts that
would be indispensable if I had such a morally worthy maxim.
Kant’s more detailed account of duty introduces (versions of) certain traditional distinctions. He contrasts duties to self and others,
and under each of these distinguishes perfect and imperfect duties. duties are complete, in the sense that they hold for allPerfect
agents in all their actions with all possible others. In addition to refraining from false promising, refraining from coercion and violence
are examples of principles of perfect duties to others; they are obligations which can be met for all others, (to which negative liberty
rights may correspond). Kant derives principles of obligation by introducing one further assumption: he takes it that we notimperfect
only have to deal with a plurality of rational agents who share a world, but that these agents are not self-sufficient, hence are mutually
vulnerable. Such agents, he argues, could not rationally will that a principle of refusing to help others or of neglecting to develop one’s
own potential be universally adopted: since they know that they are not self-sufficient, they know that to will such a world would be
(irrationally) to will away indispensable means to at least some of their own ends. The principles of not neglecting to help those in
need or to develop one’s own potential are, however, less complete (hence imperfect) principles of obligation. For we cannot help all
others in all needed ways, nor can we develop all possible talents in ourselves. Hence these obligations are necessarily selective as
well as indeterminate. They lack counterpart rights and are the basis for imperfect duties. The implications of this account of duties are
most fully developed in the , whose first part deals with the principles of justice that are matters of perfectMetaphysics of Morals
obligation and whose second part deals with the principles of virtue that are matters of imperfect obligation.
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iv Kant’s ethics: respect for persons
Kant develops his basic lines of thought along a number of parallel (he claims equivalent) tracks. The Categorical Imperative is
formulated in a number of strikingly different versions. The formulation discussed above is known as ‘The Formula of Universal
Law’, and is said to be the ‘strictest’. The one that has had the greatest cultural impact is the so-called ‘Formula of the End in Itself’,
which demands that we treat ‘humanity in your own person or in the person of any other never simply as a means but always at the
same time as an end’. This second-order principle is once again a constraint on the maxims we adopt; it is a highly articulated version
of a demand for respect for persons. Instead of demanding that we check that all could adopt the same maxims, it demands less
directly that we act in ways that respect, so leave intact, others’ capacities to act (and so, in effect, leave them able to act on the
maxims we ourselves adopt). The Formula of the End in Itself is also used to distinguish two sorts of moral failure. To use another is
to treat him or her as a thing or tool and not as an agent. On Kant’s account to use another is not merely a matter of doing something
the other does not actually want or consent to, but of doing something to which the other consent. For example, deceivers makecannot
it for their victims to consent to the deceiver’s project. Unlike most other appeals to consent as a criterion of legitimate (orimpossible
just) action, Kant (in keeping with his basic philosophical position) appeals neither to the hypothetical consent of ideally rational
beings, nor to the historically contingent consent of actual others. He asks what is needed to make it possible for others either to
dissent or consent. This does not mean that actual dissent may be coercively overridden on the grounds that consent has at least been
made possible – for the very act of overriding actual dissent will itself coerce, hence make consent impossible. Kant’s contention is
that the principles we must adopt if we are not to use others will be the very principles of justice that were identified by considering
which principles are universalizable for rational beings.
Correspondingly, Kant interprets the moral failure of not treating others as ‘ends’ as an alternative basis for an account of the
virtues. To treat others who are specifically human in their finitude – hence vulnerable and needy – as ‘ends’ requires that we support
one another’s (fragile) capacities to act, to adopt maxims and to pursue their particular ends. Hence it requires at least some support for
others’ projects and purposes. Kant holds that this will require at least a limited beneficence. Although he does not establish an
unrestricted obligation of beneficence, such as utilitarians hold to, he does argue for an obligation to reject a policy of refusing needed
help. He also argues that systematic failure to develop one’s own potential amounts to disrespect for humanity and its capacities for
rational agency ‘in one’s own person’. Failure to treat others or oneself as ends is once again seen as a failure of virtue or imperfect
obligation. Imperfect obligations cannot prescribe universal performance: we can neither help all in need, nor develop all possible
talents. We can, however, refuse to make indifference of either sort basic to our lives – and may find that rejecting principled
indifference demands a lot. Even a commitment of this nature, taken seriously, will demand much. If we honour it, we have on Kant’s
account shown respect for persons and specifically for human dignity.
The remaining formulations of the Categorical Imperative bring together the perspectives of one who seeks to act on principles that
all others could share, and one who seeks to act on principles that respect all others’ capacities to act. Kant makes use of traditional
Christian rhetoric and of Rousseau’s conception of the social contract to formulate the image of a ‘Kingdom of Ends’ where each is
simultaneously legislator and bound by law, where each is autonomous (literally: self-legislating) on condition that what is legislated
is respect for others’ like status as ‘legislators’. For Kant, as for Rousseau, to be autonomous is no mere matter of wilfulness or
independence from others or from social conventions; it is to have the mode of self-control that takes account of others’ like moral
status. To be Kantianly autonomous is to act morally.
v Kant’s ethics: the problems of freedom, religion
and history
This basic structure of thought is developed in many different directions. Kant presents arguments to suggest why we should think of
the Categorical Imperative as a principle of reason that is binding on us. He explores what is involved in moving from a principle to its
concrete application to actual situations. He discusses the relationship between moral principles and our actual desires and inclinations.
He develops the political implications of the Categorical Imperative, which include a republican constitution and respect for freedom,
especially of religion and speech. He sketches a still influential programme for seeking international peace. He explores how his
system of moral thought is connected to traditional religious claims. Many objections of principle and of detail have been raised. Some
of the less fundamental objections can be conveniently discussed under the heading of ‘Kant’s ethics’. However, the most central
objection demands independent discussion.
This objection is that Kant’s basic framework is incoherent. His account of human knowledge leads to a conception of human
beings as parts of nature, whose desires, inclinations and actions are susceptible of ordinary causal explanation. Yet his account of
human freedom demands that we view human agents as capable of self-determination, and specifically of determination in accordance
with the principles of duty. Kant is apparently driven to a dual view of man: we are both (natural, causally determined)phenomenal
beings and (non-natural, selfdetermining) beings. Many of Kant’s critics have held that this dual-aspect view of humannoumenal
beings is ultimately incoherent.
In the Kant tackles the difficulty by proposing that provided we accept certain ‘postulates’ we canCritique of Practical Reason
make sense of the idea of beings who are part both of the natural and of the moral order. The idea is that if we postulate a benevolent
God, then the moral virtue at which free agents aim can be compatible with, indeed proportioned to, the happiness at which natural
Co
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beings aim. Kant speaks of such perfect co-ordination of moral virtue and happiness as the highest good. Producing the highest good
will take a long time: so we have to postulate immortal souls as well as divine providence. This picture has been lampooned time and
again. Heine depicted Kant as a bold revolutionary who killed deism: then timidly conceded that practical reason could ‘prove’ God
after all. Nietzsche less kindly likens him to a fox who escapes – then slinks back into the cage of theism.
In later writings Kant dropped both the idea of a guaranteed co-ordination of virtue and rewarding happiness (he thought this might
undermine true virtue) and the demand that we postulate immortality, understood as everlasting life (see ). HeThe End of All Things
offers a variety of historized versions of the thought that we can make sense of our status as free beings who are part of nature only if
we adopt certain postulates. For example, he suggests that we must at least for the possibility of moral improvement in humanhope
history, and so for a co-ordination of the moral and natural ends of mankind. The various historicized accounts he offersthis-worldly
of the postulates of practical reason are aspects and precursors of a this-worldly account of human destiny that we associate with the
revolutionary tradition, and specially with Marx. However, Kant did not renounce a religious interpretation of claims about human
origins and destiny. In his late work he depicts Christian scriptures as a temporal narrativeReligion within the Limits of Reasons Alone
which can be understood as a ‘symbol of morality’. The interpretation of this work, which got Kant into trouble with the Prussian
censors, presents many problems. However, it is at least clear that he does not reintroduce theological claims to serve as a foundation
for morality, but rather uses his moral theory as a lens for reading scripture.
If Kant did not go back on his original repudiation of theological foundations, an understanding of the connection he sees between
nature and morality remains problematic. One way of understanding it may be by relying on the idea, which he uses in ,Groundwork
that nature and freedom do not belong in two independent worlds, or metaphysical realities, but rather constitute two ‘standpoints’. We
must see ourselves both as parts of the natural world and as free agents. We cannot without incoherence do without either of these
standpoints, although we cannot integrate them, and can do no more than understand thay are compatible. On such a reading, wethat
can have no insight into the ‘mechanics’ of human freedom, but can understand that without freedom in the activity of cognition,
which lies behind our very claims to know, a causally ordered world would be unknown to us. Hence it is impossible for us to think
freedom away. For practical purposes this may be enough: for these we do not need to human freedom. However, we are leftprove
trying to conceptualize the hiatus between the natural order and human freedom, and must also commit ourselves to some version of
the ‘postulates’ or ‘hopes’ that connect the two. At the very least a commitment to acting morally in the world depends on assuming
(postulating, hoping) that the natural order is not wholly incompatible with moral intentions.
vi ‘Kant’s ethics’
Many other criticisms of Kant’s ethics recur so often that they have acquired an independent life as elements of ‘Kant’s ethics’. Some
hold that these criticisms do not apply to Kant’s ethics, others that they are decisive reasons for rejecting Kant’s position.
(1) . The commonest charge against Kant’s ethics is the allegation that the Categorical Imperative is empty, trivial orFormalism
purely formal and identifies no principles of duty. The charge has been widely made by Hegel, by J. S. Mill and in many
contemporary works. On Kant’s own view the demand for universalizable maxims is a demand that our fundamental principles
be fit for adoption by all. This condition can seem pointless: for cannot well-formed act-description be prescribed by aany
universal principle? Are principles such as ‘steal when you can’ or ‘kill when it isn’t risky’ universalizable? This reductio ad
of universalizability is achieved by replacing Kant’s Categorical Imperative with a different principle. The Formulaabsurdum
of Universal Law demands not just that we formulate a universal principle incorporating some act-description that applies to a
given act. It demands that an agent’s maxim, or fundamental principle, be such that the agent can ‘will it as universal law’. The
test requires commitment to the normal, predictable consequences of principles to which the agent is committed and to normal
standards of instrumental rationality. When maxims are non-universalizable this is typically because commitment to the
consequences of their universal adoption would be incompatible with commitment to the means of acting on them (e.g. we
cannot be committed both to the results of universal false promising, and to preserving the means to promising, hence to false
promising).
Kant’s account of universalizability differs from related principles (universal prescriptivism, Golden Rules) in two major
respects. First, it does not refer to what is desired or preferred, not even to what it is desired or preferred should be universally
done. Second, it is a procedure only for picking out the maxims that must be rejected if the fundamental principles of a life or a
society are to be universalizable. Non-universalizable principles are identified in order to discover the side constraints on the
more specific principles agents may adopt. These side constraints enable us to identify more specific but still indeterminate
principles of obligation. (For a different account of universalizability, see Article 40, UNIVERSAL PRESCRIPTIVISM.)
(2) . This is the claim that Kant’s ethics, far from being empty and formalistic, leads to rigidly insensitive rules, and soRigorism
cannot take account of differences between cases. However, universal principles need not mandate uniform treatment; indeed
they may mandate differentiated treatment. Principles such as ‘taxation should be proportionate to ability to pay’ or ‘the
punishment must fit the crime’ are universal in scope but demand differentiated treatment. Even principles that do not
specifically mandate differentiated treatment will be indeterminate, so leave room for differentiated application.
(3) . Those who concede that Kant’s arguments identify some principles of duty, but do not impose rigid uniformity,Abstraction
often advance a further version of the formalism charge. They will say that Kant identifies ethical principles, but that these
principles are ‘too abstract’ to guide action, hence his theory is not action-guiding. Kant’s principles of duty certainly are
abstract, and he does not provide a detailed set of instructions for following them. There is no moral algorithm of the sort
utilitarianism might provide if we had sufficiently full information about all options. Kant emphasizes that the application of
principles to cases involves judgement and deliberation. He also maintains that principles are and must be abstract: they are
side-constraints (not algorithms) and can only guide (not make) decisions. The moral life is a matter of finding ways of actingCo
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that meet all obligations and violate no moral prohibitions. There is no automatic procedure for identifying such actions, or all
such actions. However, for moral practice we begin by making sure that the specific acts we have in mind are not incompatible
with acts on maxims of duty.
(4) . This criticism points out that Kant’s ethics identifies a set of principles which may comeConflicting grounds of obligation
into conflict. The demands of fidelity and of helpfulness, for example, may clash. This criticism is true of Kant’s ethics, as for
any ethic of principles. Since ‘trade-offs’ between differing obligations are not part of the theory, there is no routine procedure
for dealing with conflicts. On the other hand, since the theory is only a set of side constraints on action, the central demand is to
find some action that falls within all constraints. Only when no such action can be found does the problem of multiple grounds
of obligation arise. Kant has nothing very illuminating to say about these cases; the charge made by advocates of virtue ethics
(e.g. Bernard Williams, Martha Nussbaum), that he does not say enough about the regret that may be appropriate when some
moral commitment has unavoidably to be violated or neglected, is apposite.
(5) . A group of serious criticisms of Kant’s moral psychology occurs throughout the secondaryPlace of the inclinations
literature. In particular it is said that Kant requires that we act ‘out of the motive of duty’, hence not out of inclination, and so is
driven to the claim that action which we enjoy cannot be morally worthy. This grim interpretation, perhaps first suggested by
Schiller, involves a tangle of difficult issues. By acting ‘out of the motive of duty’, Kant means only that we act on a maxim of
duty and so experience a feeling of ‘reverence for the law’. This reverence is a to and not the of moral worth. Itresponse source
is compatible with action being in line with our natural inclinations and so enjoyed. On one view the apparent conflict between
duty and inclination is only epistemological; we can know for sure that we act out of duty only if inclination is lacking. On other
views, the issue runs deeper, and leads to a more serious charge that Kant cannot account for wrongdoing.
(6) . This charge is that Kant can allow only for free action which is fully autonomous – i.e. done on aNo account of wrongdoing
principle that meets the constraint that all others can do likewise – and for action which reflects only natural desires and
inclinations. Hence he cannot allow for free, imputable but wrong action. Clearly Kant thinks he can give an account of wrong
doing, for he frequently gives examples of imputable wrongdoing. This charge probably reflects a failure to keep separate the
claim that free agents must be capable of acting autonomously (in the distinctive Rousseauian or Kantian sense which links
autonomy with morality) with the claim that free agents always act autonomously. Imputability requires the capacity to act
autonomously but this capacity may not always be exercised. Wrongful acts are indeed not autonomous, but they are chosen
rather than inflicted mechanically by our desires or inclinations.
vii Kantian ethics
Kant’s ethics and the image of his ethics which often replaces it in modern debates do not exhaust Kantian ethics. This term is now
often used to cover any of a range of quasi-Kantian positions or commitments in ethics. Sometimes the usage is very broad. Certain
writers will talk of Kantian ethics when they have in mind theories of rights, or more generally action-based rather than result-based
moral thinking, or any position that treats the right as prior to the good. In these cases the points of resemblance to Kant’s ethics are
fairly general – for example, concern with universal principles and respect for persons, or more specifically for human rights. In other
cases a more structural resemblance may be indicated – for example, a commitment to a single non-utilitarian supreme moral
principle, or to the view that ethics is based on reason. The specific understanding of Kantian ethics varies very much from context to
context.
The most definite Kantian programme in ethics recently has been that of John Rawls, who has labelled one stage in the
development of his theory ‘Kantian constructivism’. Many features of Rawls’s work are clearly Kantian, above all his conception of
ethical principles as determined by constraints on principles chosen by rational agents. However, Rawls’s constructivism assumes a
quite different account of rationality from Kant’s. Rawls identifies the principles that be chosen by instrumentally rationalwould
beings to whom he ascribes certain sparsely specified ends – not the principles that consistently be chosen regardless ofcould
particular ends. This produces far-ranging differences between Rawls’s work, even at its most Kantian, and Kant’s ethics. Others who
use the label ‘Kantian’ in ethics are even more loosely related to Kant – for example, many of them offer no account of the virtues, or
even deny that an account is possible; many treat rights rather than obligations as fundamental; nearly all rely on a preference-based
theory of action and an instrumental account of rationality, all of which are incompatible with Kant’s ethics.
viii The Kantian legacy
Kant’s ethics remains the paradigmatic and most influential attempt to vindicate universal moral principles without reference to
preferences or to a theological framework. The hope of identifying universal principles, which is so apparent in discussions of justice
and in the human rights movement, is constantly challenged by communitarian and historicist insistence that we cannot appeal beyond
the discourse and traditions of particular societies, and by utilitarian insistence that principles derive from preferences. For those who
find neither of these routes compelling, the neo-Kantian slogan ‘Back to Kant’ remains a challenge which they must explore or refute.
References
Works by Kant
Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals; trans. H. J. Paton, as (London: Hutchinson, 1953).The Moral LawCo
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Critique of Practical Reason: trans. L. W. Beck (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1977).
Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone; trans. T. M. Greene, and H. H. Hudson (New York: Harper and Row, 1960).
The Metaphysic of Morals. There is no English translation of the entire work. The first part appears as The Metaphysical Elements of
, trans. J. Ladd (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1965), and the second as , trans. M. Gregor (New York:Justice The Doctrine of Virtue
Harper and Row, 1964). Both translations contain the introduction to the .Metaphysic of Morals
Also two anthologies of his shorter writings – H. Reiss, ed.: (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970)Kant’s Political Writings
and L. W. Beck, ed.: , Library of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1963).On History
Other references
Nussbaum, M.: (Cambridge: Cambridge UniversityThe Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy
Press, 1986).
Rawls, J.: (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971).A Theory of Justice
_____: ‘Kantian constructivism and moral theory’, , LXXVII (1980), 515–72.Journal of Philosophy
Williams, B.: (London: Fontana, 1985).Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy
Further reading
Works on Kant’s ethics
Beck, L. W.: (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960).A Commentary on Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason
H. Paton, (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1947).The Categorical Imperative
O’Neill, O.: (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989).Constructions of Reason: Explorations of Kant’s Practical Philosophy
For discussion of ‘Kant’s ethics’
MacIntyre, A.: (London: Duckworth, 1981).After Virtue
For recent Kantian ethics
Nozick, R.: (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974).Anarchy, State and Utopia
Gewirth, A.: (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982).Human Rights: Essays on Justifications and Applications
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Preamble
Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable
rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice
and peace in the world,
Whereas disregard and contempt for human rights have resulted in barbarous
acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind, and the advent of a world
in which human beings shall enjoy freedom of speech and belief and freedom
from fear and want has been proclaimed as the highest aspiration of the common
people,
Whereas it is essential, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse, as a last
resort, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression, that human rights should be
protected by the rule of law,
Whereas it is essential to promote the development of friendly relations between
nations,
Whereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their
faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person
and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote
social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom,
Whereas Member States have pledged themselves to achieve, in cooperation
with the United Nations, the promotion of universal respect for and observance of
human rights and fundamental freedoms,
Whereas a common understanding of these rights and freedoms is of the
greatest importance for the full realization of this pledge,
Now, therefore,
The General Assembly,
Proclaims this Universal Declaration of Human Rights as a common standard of
achievement for all peoples and all nations, to the end that every individual and
every organ of society, keeping this Declaration constantly in mind, shall strive by
teaching and education to promote respect for these rights and freedoms and by
progressive measures, national and international, to secure their universal and
effective recognition and observance, both among the peoples of Member States
themselves and among the peoples of territories under their jurisdiction.
Article I
All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are
endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a
spirit of brotherhood.
Article 2
Everyone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration,
without distinction of any kind, such as race, colour, sex, language, religion,
political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status.
Furthermore, no distinction shall be made on the basis of the political,
jurisdictional or international status of the country or territory to which a person
belongs, whether it be independent, trust, non-self-governing or under any other
limitation of sovereignty.
Article 3
Everyone has the right to life, liberty and the security of person.
Article 4
No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be
prohibited in all their forms.
Article 5
No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment
or punishment.
Article 6
Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.
Article 7
All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal
protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any
discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such
discrimination.
Article 8
Everyone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals
for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him by the constitution or by law.
Article 9
No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.
Article 10
Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent
and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his rights and obligations and of any
criminal charge against him.
Article 11
1. Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed
innocent until proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he
has had all the guarantees necessary for his defence.
2. No one shall be held guilty of any penal offence on account of any act or
omission which did not constitute a penal offence, under national or
international law, at the time when it was committed. Nor shall a heavier
penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the time the penal
offence was committed.
Article 12
No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home
or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has
the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.
Article 13
1. Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the
borders of each State.
2. Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to
return to his country.
Article 14
1. Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from
persecution.
2. This right may not be invoked in the case of prosecutions genuinely
arising from non-political crimes or from acts contrary to the purposes and
principles of the United Nations.
Article 15
1. Everyone has the right to a nationality.
2. No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his nationality nor denied the right to
change his nationality.
Article 16
1. Men and women of full age, without any limitation due to race, nationality
or religion, have the right to marry and to found a family. They are entitled
to equal rights as to marriage, during marriage and at its dissolution.
2. Marriage shall be entered into only with the free and full consent of the
intending spouses.
3. The family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is
entitled to protection by society and the State.
Article 17
1. Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with
others.
2. No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property.
Article 18
Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right
includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in
community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in
teaching, practice, worship and observance.
Article 19
Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes
freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart
information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.
Article 20
1. Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association.
2. No one may be compelled to belong to an association.
Article 21
1. Everyone has the right to take part in the government of his country,
directly or through freely chosen representatives.
2. Everyone has the right to equal access to public service in his country.
3. The will of the people shall be the basis of the authority of government;
this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine elections which shall
be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by secret vote or by
equivalent free voting procedures.
Article 22
Everyone, as a member of society, has the right to social security and is entitled
to realization, through national effort and international co-operation and in
accordance with the organization and resources of each State, of the economic,
social and cultural rights indispensable for his dignity and the free development
of his personality.
Article 23
1. Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and
favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment.
2. Everyone, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal
work.
3. Everyone who works has the right to just and favourable remuneration
ensuring for himself and his family an existence worthy of human dignity,
and supplemented, if necessary, by other means of social
protection.
4. Everyone has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of
his interests.
Article 24
Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of
working hours and periodic holidays with pay.
Article 25
1. Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and
well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing
and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security
in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or
other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.
2. Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance. All
children, whether born in or out of wedlock, shall enjoy the same social
protection.
Article 26
1. Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free, at least in the
elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be
compulsory. Technical and professional education shall be made
generally available and higher education shall be equally accessible to all
on the basis of merit.
2. Education shall be directed to the full development of the human
personality and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and
fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding, tolerance and
friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups, and shall further
the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace.
3. Parents have a prior right to choose the kind of education that shall be
given to their children.
Article 27
1. Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the
community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and
its benefits.
2. Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests
resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the
author.
Article 28
Everyone is entitled to a social and international order in which the rights and
freedoms set forth in this Declaration can be fully realized.
Article 29
1. Everyone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full
development of his personality is possible.
2. In the exercise of his rights and freedoms, everyone shall be subject only
to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of
securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others
and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public order and the
general welfare in a democratic society.
3. These rights and freedoms may in no case be exercised contrary to the
purposes and principles of the United Nations.
Article 30
Nothing in this Declaration may be interpreted as implying for any State, group or
person any right to engage in any activity or to perform any act aimed at the
destruction of any of the rights and freedoms set forth herein.
Preamble
Article I
Article 2
Article 3
Article 4
Article 5
Article 6
Article 7
Article 8
Article 9
Article 10
Article 11
Article 12
Article 13
Article 14
Article 15
Article 16
Article 17
Article 18
Article 19
Article 20
Article 21
Article 22
Article 23
Article 24
Article 25
Article 26
Article 27
Article 28
Article 29
Article 30
Lesson 8: Ethical Theories, Deontology
Ethical theories attempt to answer the question ‘what is a right or good action?’ Do we look at the results of an action to determine rightness or does motivation matter? Perhaps we should look at the character of the agent who is performing the action. In this lesson we explore the idea of doing one’s duty for the right reasons. In addition, we explore the notion of having rights.
This folder contains introductory material to Immanuel Kant’s (1724-1804) duty ethics.
https://www.earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant1785
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kant-moral/
This folder contains material on the foundation and theory of rights.
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/rights-human/
Final Essay Assignment
You are to write an essay explaining and evaluating what you learned in this course The purpose of this assignment is for you to demonstrate your understanding of one of the central debates in philosophy by explaining what you learned about that issue.
Your essay must be 2-3 pages, double-spaced, in 12-point font.
I will be evaluating your essay based on the following criteria.
Regarding your content development, you will be graded based on the quality of your writing. I expect you to start with an introduction that motivates the project and plainly states what you learned and finish with a conclusion that both summarizes your evaluation of the position clearly and explores implications or limitations of your assessment. In addition, your essay must have a clear and logical organizational plan as well, with ideas, sentences, and paragraphs building naturally in support of your thesis. To accomplish this, you must make sure your organizational plan would be obvious to the reader, and you must use transitional words, phrases, and sentences to show how your sentences and paragraphs relate to each other and to your thesis.
To demonstrate your mastery of the relevant conventions of philosophical writing, you will need to provide a clear and complete explanation of the position you are discussing. In addition, you will also need to provide a clear and complete explanation of the relevant alternative views discussed in the lesson and draw a clear contrast between all of these views.
To demonstrate your understanding of the context and purpose of this assignment, you should provide a clear example that illustrates to the reader the relevance of this debate to your life. Your example needs to be realistic, and you need to come up with it on your own. You will also need to explain how the example illustrates the position under discussion.
Concerning the appropriate use of sources and evidence, I expect you to explain and evaluate the relevant arguments or considerations from the lessons both for and against the position under discussion, in detail and with clarity. In your evaluation of each argument, you will need to explain whether the premises are true, whether the reasoning is valid, and why you think so. Further, you will need to consider and assess at least one possible objection to each argument and then provide a sufficiently compelling overall evaluation of the argument in light of this objection.
Finally, to demonstrate your control of syntax and mechanics, I expect you to skillfully communicate your meaning to the reader with clarity and virtually no grammatical mistakes. Overall, your essay must be clear, with well-developed paragraphs, complete and grammatical sentences, and words chosen for their precise meanings.
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