'5 i'5.\l ^ PRINCETON, N. J. ^ Presented by A , G . Ccx-me-roin, P^ JJ • BR 50 .H64 1847 ' Hopkins, Mark, 1802-1887. Miscellaneous essays and discourses MISCELLANEO V^is^^ ESSAYS AND DISCOURSES, MARK HOPKINS, D. D., PRESIDENT OF WILLIAMS COLLEGE. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY T. R. MARVIN, No. 24 Congress Street. 1847. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, By T. R. Marvin, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. ADVERTISEMENT. The author of the following pieces desires to say that they are not published in this form at his suggestion, or for his benefit. They are all either discourses or lectures prepared for specific occasions, and not originally intended for the press ; and he would not himself have so far presumed on their permanent interest as to hazard their republication. He has consented to add a single discourse not previously published ; the others appear as before. Imperfect as he is conscious they are, he yet hopes they may be acceptable to personal friends ; and it will certainly be a source of gratification to him, and a ground of gratitude, if they shall be found to add any thing to the literature of the country, or shall do any thing for the promotion of truth and goodness. May 27, 1847. CONTENTS. TACK On Mystery, . . . . . . . 9 [First published in the American Journal of Science and Arts, April, 1828. J On the Argument from Nature for the Divine Existence, IB [American Quarterly Observer, Oct. 1833.] On Human Happiness, ..... 46 [American Quarterly Observer, Oct. 1834.] On Originality, ...... 81 [Biblical Repository, Oct. 1835.] Connection between Taste and Morals : Lecture I., . 101 Lecture H., . 126 Address, delivered before the Porter Rhetorical Society of the Theological Seminary, Andover, Sept. 5, 1837, . . 147 Address, delivered at the twenty-fourth Anniversary of the American Bible Society, May 14, 1840, . 170 Address, delivered in South Hadley, Ms., at the Third Anni- versary of the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, July 30, 1840, 177 Address, delivered before the Medical Class at Pittsfield, Nov. 4, 1840, 197 Address, delivered at the dedication of Williston Seminary, at ^ East Hampton, Ms., Dec. 1, 1841, . . . .214 J Ikaugural Discourse, delivered at Williams College, Sept. ^— 15, 1836, 232 Address, delivered before the Society of Alumni of Williams College, at the Celebration of the Semi-Centennial Amii- versary, Aug. 16, 1843, . . . . .256 Sermon, occasioned by the death of the Rev. Edward Dorr Griffin, D. D., delivered in the Chapel of Williams College, Nov. 26, 1837, 288 VI PAGE Sermon, occasioned by the doutli of Prof. Ebenezer Kellogg, delivered in the Cliiirch in Williamstown, on Sabbath Afternoon, Oct. 11, 1846, . . . . .311 Sermon, delivered before His Excellency Edward Everett, Governor, His Honor George Hull, Lieutenant Governor, tlie Honorable Council, and the Legislature of Massachu- setts, on the Anniversary Election, Jan. 2, 1839, . . 332 Sermon, delivered before the Pastoral Association of Massa- chusetts, in Park Street Church, Boston, May 30, 1843, . 356 Sermon, delivered at Pittsfield, on the occasion of the Berk- shire Jubilee, Aug. 22, 1844, . • . .379 Sermon, preached before the Annual Convention of the Con- gregational Ministers of INIassachusetts, in Boston, May 29, 1845, 405 (^ Sermon, before the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, at the Thirty- Sixth Annual Meeting, Brooklyn, N. Y., September, 1845, . . .430 ( Sermon, delivered at Plymouth, at the Anniversary of the Landing of the Pilgrims, Dec. 22, 1846, . . .458 (^Sermon, delivered before the American and Foreign Sabbath Union, May, 1847, . . . . .489 ESSAYS AND DISCOURSES. MISCELLANIES. ON MYSTERY. We may well suppose that the first feeling of Adam was a feeling of mystery. With the conviction, elemen- tary in every mind, that there can be no effect without a cause ; with the consciousness of his own inexplicable being ; creation, in its original brightness, bursting at once upon his view, and indicating itself through all his senses ; he must have felt that mystery enveloped himself and all that he beheld. Accordingly, " As new waked from soundest sleep," said he, " Soft on the flowery bank I found me laid, Straight toward heaven my wandering eyes I turned. And gazed awhile the ample sky. Thou sun, said I, fair light, And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay, And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell. Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here." That was a sublime moment — such an one as none of his descendants, under the deadening influence of the familiarity attendant on gradual perception, can ever enjoy. But his descendants have shared largely of the emotion ; and who of us, as we too have gazed the bright earth, and the ample sky, has not found himself insensibly falling into this original feeling, and one 2 10 bewildering sense of the mystery of being and its phe- nomena engross his soul ? But it is not only in these moments of higher and intenser feeling that it arises ; life is full of it, and to a thoughtful mind, it is constantly springing up. The philosophy of our emotions consists in a knowl- edge of the occasions on which they arise ; and as the exertion of great power is essential to the sublime, and slight incongruities to the ridiculous, so there must be somewhat in mysterious facts which renders them myste- rious. To ascertain what this is, and how far mystery can be solved, will be the objects of the present inquiry. Some remarks will also be made on the nature, extent, and practical bearing of the emotion. I shall first speak of the mystery of particular facts, and of the solution which it is ordinarily supposed to admit ; and then of the mystery of general laws. To discover the true foundation of this emotion, it is neces- sary to distinguish it from ignorance, with which it is often confounded. Mystery does indeed imply ignorance, and in the removal of both, the principle of curiosity is involved ; but there may be ignorance without mystery. In an ignorance of any disconnected fact, or class of facts, as of topography, or chronology, there is and can be no mystery. One may be ignorant of the year in which the battle of Actium was fought, and unable to ascertain it ; but it is simple ignorance, there is no mystery about it ; it may have happened, and no reason can be given why it should not have happened, in one year as well as in another. One may be ignorant whether Actium was in Europe or in Asia ; but he has only to consult authori- ties and his curiosity is satisfied, but no mystery is solved. Further, though there be a connection between facts, yet if the rule by which their cause operates be entii'ely unknown, there can be no mystery. This is the case in 11 the blowing of winds, and for the most part in human conduct ; which last, however, is so much governed by known principles, that it may become mysterious when conduct runs greatly counter to its ordinary course. I am now prepared to observe, first, that those events are mysterious which apparently conflict with a general law previously known, or with a theory, which, as a ground of reference, is equivalent to a general law ; or in other words, that mystery lies in the apparent contra- diction between particular facts and. general principles, where we conceive that there ought to be agreement ; and secondly, that the only solution of which mystery admits, is a discovery of the manner in which the mysterious fact conforms to the general law. These positions I proceed to illustrate. For those facts which can be referred to a general law, a reason can be given, and they are not generally deemed mysterious. If we inquire the cause of sound, we are referred to vibrations, and our inquiry is satisfied. It is a general law that vibrations produce sound. If we inquire why heavy bodies descend, we are, in the same manner, satisfied by a reference to gravitation. But let a fact conflict with the general law, — let vibration come to an organ seemingly perfect, and no sound be produced ; let a stone thrown into the air remain suspended, — and there is a mystery at once ; there are curiosity and wonder blended together, and these form mystery, as expectation and desire form hope. But to mention instances which actually occur. We are informed that the north star has no actual motion ; we observe that it has no apparent motion ; but since the earth moves, this fact is mysterious, till we learn the effect of distance in destroying parallax ; then the mys- tery vanishes. On first learning the tendency of all matter to all matter, the ascent of smoke and light bodies is an apparent exception, and a mystery to him who is 12 unacquainted with the weight of the atmosphere ; but when this fact is known, the mystery is solved, and the general law confirmed. Again : a pendulum of given length vibrates seconds at the equator. It is found that a longer one is required at the poles. This is a mystery till it is ascertained that the earth is a spheroid flattened at the poles, and then the mystery is solved. Such apparent exceptions to her general laws are the mysteries which nature presents, and which it is the business and delight of philosophers thus to solve, by showing their conformity to the general law. In the origin and growth of a new science the general principle is the same, though somewhat modified. Sup- pose we have hitherto known of motion only as commu- nicated by impulse and gravitation, — by accident a magnet is applied to a piece of iron, and the iron approaches it. It is mysterious. Experiments are performed, and a bar of iron magnetized and balanced on a pivot, is found to point invariably north and south. This is another mys- tery. These facts are published, and philosophers over the world are in commotion. Experiments, dissertations, and treatises succeed, till the facts are all ascertained, a science formed, and a name given to it. And now, if we are asked why the iron approaches the magnet, we say that it is by the influence of magnetism, and the mystery is solved. This sketch applies with perfect truth to the formation and growth of every physical science. If the facts can be reduced to no order, as was long the case in astronomy, no science is formed, and philosophers con- tinue to observe, form theories, and make experiments till they eflect it. If they succeed in some measure, as in electricity, but many facts still remain anomalous, the science is imperfect. If no anomalous fact remain, as in astronomy, the science is perfect. What the facts are, and the manner in which they conform to the general law, is all philosophy can know, all it can teach. Thus 13 physical science is but a history of facts which take place in a certain determinate order, and diti'ers from other history in nothing but the assurance which it brings with it, that in this, past and future experience will inva- riably accord. In theology and morals, our theory, or the obvious dic- tates of the luiderstanding, are in place of the general law ; and facts that conflict with these, are mysterious. Our whole nature leads us to the conclusion that the object of God in his creation and government, must be happiness. The extent to which evil and misery prevail, is a mystery. When we shall see the bearing of all this on the general and greatest good, then will this mystery be " finished." Our practical feelings tell us that we are free and accountable agents ; but the possibility of this is to some minds a mystery. Upon them the conviction of the contrary comes with all the force of a demon- stration ; drives out the belief, if not the sense of guilt ; destroys the force of motives ; and in the fierce struggle of feeling and conviction, prostrates the best powers of the man. This mystery would be solved, by a knowl- edge of the manner in which motives act upon us. Of this kind are most of the mysteries mentioned in the Scriptures. ' That you may understand,' says St. Paul, ' my knowledge in the mystery of Christ, that the Gen- tiles should be fellow-heirs, and partakers of the promise.' To a Jew, whose conviction it had been from childhood, that the Gentiles were to be excluded, their reception was a mystery. It is obvious from the above, that facts may, in this sense of it, be mysterious to one person and not to another ; may be so to ourselves at one stage of our inquiries, and not at another. Anomalous facts are dis- tressing to a well constituted and philosophic mind, and few pleasures are greater than the unexpected reconcile- ment of a perplexing phenomenon with our theory ; or, 14 what is the same thing if our theory be true, with the general rule. But when, by an induction of particulars, we infer the law itself, as did Newton that of gravitation, it is a discovery in the highest sense, and no earthly pleasure is more sublime. It is no wonder that his frame trembled, as the mystery that had brooded over a chaos of facts was solved at once, and that he relinquished to another the details of the calculation. But could all facts be thus reduced, and every science, in the sense above mentioned, become perfect, would mystery cease, and our knowledge become perfect ? To all practical purposes it would. Nature is uniform, and we have the most entire conviction that as she is to-day, she will continue till her dissolution. If then we knew perfectly the laws by which her sequences are regulated, facts would become emphatically of the nature of lan- guage, announcing what was to come. It would enable us to exercise far more perfectly the high prerogative of man, as the interpreter of nature, and to consult more surely for our happiness as prophets of future events. It would confer upon us the nil adniirari of the wise man, and nothing could surprise us. Humble as it may appear, it is the only true and practical knowledge, and if we think of attaining farther, we are ignorant of our powers and pursue a phantom. But the human mind does not rest at this point. Men of every age have felt, as we do, that there was a higher and deeper mystery beyond, and asked after the mys- terious power which carried the general law into eftect. To the mystery of general laws, therefore, we now proceed. I have before alluded to the fundamental prin- ciple of conception by which it is absurd to suppose an effect without a cause, and by which Adam was suscepti- ble of the emotion of mystery ; and it is by the operation of this that we feel the mystery of general laws. A per- manent and universal tendency is obvious, but the cause 15 is concealed. To solve the mystery of these, it is neces- sary to find some cause still more general, to which they may all be referred. With regard to such a cause various hypotheses have been formed, all of which however are entirely unsatisfactory except that which resolves all effects into the immediate agency of one mighty and intelligent Being. This would doubtless have been gen- erally adopted, were it not, that though the cause at work in general operates like a wise and intelligent agent, yet if it be artificially thwarted, it will still go on, and form ludicrous, abortive, and monstrous combinations. If then we suppose it to operate otherwise than by a surd neces- sity, we must conclude that such operations are called for by the general scheme of Providence, to announce (which is of great importance) the stability, in all cases, of the general rule. If this hypothesis be adopted, we may consider every general law as a single fact, and all general laws as a class of facts, referable to the simple volition of the Deity as their cause. In such a case, the volition takes the place of the general law, as being that to which every thing is to be referred ; and the mystery remains in the fact that volition can communicate motion at all, and in the existence and infinite energy of the will exerted. This sublime view of the universe and its Author, we may perhaps hereafter fully take in and enjoy. In all this, however, it will be perceived that we have merely traced causes more limited to those more general, but have not proceeded one step in removing the obscu- rity which hangs over existence and the nature of causa- tion. It will also be perceived, since a general law is only an abstract name for a uniform mode of operation, which name can have no efficiency, that the power which operates according to the law, must be immediately exerted in producing every individual eff*ect ; and that if the law be mysterious, the particular facts, from an obser- vation of which the law was inferred, must, truly and 16 philosophically speaking, be equally so. It will then follow that every event is in fact equally mysterious, — yes, every event ; and it is familiarity alone that deadens the sense of it. From this universal mystery, it results, that the cre- ation of the world, the resurrection of the dead, the mode of God's being, and all those facts which, from their nature, admit to us of no experience, or analogy, but still involve no contradiction or absurdity, are to be believed on good testimony, however far they may be removed from the course of our experience, or strange to our man- ner of conception. Since all events are equally mysteri- ous, we ought, as philosophers, on equal testimony, to believe one thing as readily as another, and upon sufficient testimony, to believe any thing that is not absurd. Pure spiritual existence is much more simple in the conception, than the complex manner in which we exist, and we may easily suppose that when the rumor of man's creation reached the other world, some skeptical spirit may have entered into a disquisition on the possibility of such a mode of being. It must have appeared, if not impossible and absurd, at least highly improbable ; and testimony alone could have been appealed to, by his fellows, who knew as little of the nature of the case as himself. The feeling excited by mystery, is, as I have said, a union of wonder and curiosity, and when the mystery is deep, becomes a sublime, and at the same time a hum- bling emotion. Having, as we have seen, its foundation in a principle of order, and always implying the con- viction of this, it necessarily involves the higher powers of intellect, and affords, what philosophers have some- times been at a loss to find, a ground of distinction between man and the brutes. We may therefore esteem it, notwithstanding it implies ignorance, an evidence of our dignity. It is obvious also, that it must most fre- quently arise in contemplative and philosophic minds. 17 Of its uses, we may say, that as it is, in great minds, a deep and absorbing feeling, it gives a powerful stimulus to physical inquiry ; that it enters largely into the devo- tions of the pious, and affords an occasion for the exercise of the highest possible faith, and the most sublime confidence in the divine administration ; and that with- out it, the present state, as a scene of discipline, would be essentially changed. Even in the way of argument, important conclusions may sometimes be deduced from it, as that for a future state of rewards and punishments from the mystery of the present mode of administration. Of the essence of mind or matter we have not, and perhaps no finite being can have, the power of forming an elementary conception. But aside from this, we see, from what has been said, that the intelligence and experi- ence which we may hope for hereafter, may enable us to solve all those difficulties which we now term the mysteries of Providence, to reduce every physical fact to its general law, (consequently to behold the universe without an anomaly,) and to refer all general laws imme- diately to the volition of the Almighty. That will indeed be a noble elevation of being to attain unto, when, as clearly and as directly as the rays of light emanate from the sun, every being and event shall seem to flow from the energies of Omnipotence and the depths of ineffable love. But though all mystery may thus far be removed, clouds and darkness must still rest upon the existence, creative energy, and attributes of the Great Cause uncaused, and the darkness of '' excessive bright '' forever encompass His throne. 18 ON THE ARGUMENT FROM NATURE FOR THE DIVINE EXISTENCE. With the history of the Bridgewater treatises, of which this is the third, * our readers are probably acquainted. Their design is to illustrate the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the creation. This has been done with great ability by Mr. Whewell, in the department assigned to him. But it will be remembered that it is one thing to illustrate the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, supposing his existence to be already proved ; and quite another, to prove his existence from such indications as nature exhib- its. The difference between a treatise on some branch of natural philosophy or natural history, and one on natural theology, seems to be that in the latter, physical and efficient causes are considered only so far as is neces- sary to illustrate the final causes or uses of things, and that then these final causes are made premises from which to infer the existence and attributes of God. This is the mode of argument adopted in the work before us. It is our purpose, before noticing this work, to make some observations on the place which the argument from design, as exhibited in external nature, holds in producing * Astronomy and General Physics considered with reference to Natural Theology. By the Rev. William Whewell, M. A., Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Cambridge. 19 the belief of a God in mankind at large ; and also on the real import and logical validity of that argument. It by no means follows, because the argument from design is generally stated as the formal proof of the being of a God, that it is therefore the real ground of our belief; for it often happens that we are ourselves fully convinced of a truth, and yet, when we would convince others, we are obliged to adduce arguments, and invent media of proof, entirely different from those on which our own conviction rests. Thus, a man may have such. a sense of the excellence of the Scriptures, and of their applicability to his own case, as to be perfectly satisfied on this ground alone, that they are authentic and in- spired ; and yet, if he would prove this to another, he must resort to arguments entirely distinct from this — he must go to what are called the external evidences. In the infancy of society, — and many nations are yet in their infancy, — before science has made her researches, nothing can be more obscure and perplexing than the operations of nature. Design itself is often concealed, is often but obscurely perceived, and unity of design is not perceived at all ; and yet we find mankind holding on to their belief in a God, with a strength altogether dispro- portioned to the clearness with which design can possibly be discovered. If we consider, too, the great importance to the race of a belief in a God, and th« analogy of nature in regard to the mode in which essential ideas are furnished, we may perhaps think it probable that thijs great idea was not intended to be entirely dependent on the varying process of induction from premises without. It may apj)ear probable that religion, to which the idea of God is fundamental, which is afterwards to shoot higher and spread wider in its influence than any other power, should have its roots in the very foundation and elements of the soul of man. It is only on the supposition of something of this kind in the original constitution of 20 man, that the common definition of him as a religious animal can be sustained. Influenced by these and similar considerations, several philosophers have asserted that the idea of God is innate ; by which we suppose them to mean, that it is elementary to the human mind, and necessarily arises from the devel- opment of its faculties and in the circumstances in which it is placed. This is certainly the caise with a number of primary truths, the proof of which, just in proportion as they are elementary, is at the same time difficult and superfluous. Take for instance that of personal identity. No one doubts this, yet there are few who would not be puzzled to prove it. We may invent arguments concern- ing it, we may seem to be convinced by them, they may be in fact conclusive, and yet we are in the end no more certain of the thing itself than we were before. That the idea and belief of a God are in some such relation to us, arising with more or less distinctness from the development of our faculties, seems probable, as hinted above, from the very general agreement of man- kind on this subject. No other instance can be adduced of such general agreement on any subject, the ground of which is to be found in reasoning from premises that are without. Except in mathematical truths, mankind differ in every thing that is derived from deduction, and nothing can be more diverse than their opinions. But in regard to their belief in a God, however different and futile may have been the reasons by which they proved it to themselves, yet they seem, in general, to have been equally certain of the thing ; showing that they rather sought arguments for what they believed before on grounds so elementary that they found it difficult to give an account of them, than that their belief was the con- sequence of their arguments. If our limits would permit, we should like to enter upon the question of the reality and legitimacy of such 21 an idea. This, however, is not our intention. If we suppose it to exist, it is still desirable to have a form of proof corresponding to that of the external evidence for the Scriptures. It is desirable that we should be able to state distinctly such data as shall be assented to by those who deny the existence or authority of first impressions, to divest our proof of the obscurity, which, to many minds, hangs £iround our spontaneous and elementary ideas, and to bring the argument within the province of our reflective and logical powers. There is no man who does not find his convictions strengthened, when his orig- inal and obscure impressions are thus confirmed by a logical process of the understanding. But if we do not suppose such an elementary belief in a God, then is it doubly important that we should state our argument from other sources in the best manner we may, since it is only from its connection with him that human nature finds either dignity or hope. An argument, the want of which is thus indicated, is supposed by many to be found in the order and harmony of the external universe. This argument has been adduced from the earliest times, and either from its coin- ciding with previous opinions, or from its intrinsic Aveight, has been generally thought conclusive. Still there have always been those who contested its validity. The ground anciently assumed by those who denied the force of this argument, was entirely different from that which is taken in modern times. The mechanism of the heavens was then undisclosed ; nothing comparatively was known of the structure of animals or vegetables, or of the processes by which life is sustained. Nothing was known of chemistry, or electricity, or magnetism, or of the weight of the atmosphere, or of the properties of light. Hypothesis assumed the place of observation, and so long as men endeavored, from preconceived notions, to prescribe the mode in which God ought to act, rather 22 than to observe how he did act, it is clear that the figments of the human imagination must have been taken as the standard and measure of the wisdom of God. Accordingly, the question then was, not whether perfect, or at least extended order and harmony would prove the existence of God, but whether there was such order and harmony in nature. It was the sensible reply of one of the Byzantine emperors, when a priest endeavored to illustrate to him the wisdom of God from the mechanism of the heavens as then understood, that he thought he could construct them better himself But the progress of modern science has put this question forever at rest. Every new discovery has added force to the conviction of design, as involved in the production and maintenance of the present system of things, and no man at all acquainted with any department of nature, would now say that he thought he could arrange it better himself. So far indeed have investigations of this kind been car- ried, and so full is nature of design and purpose, from the blade of grass to the sun in the heavens, that she now seems to stand as one great transparency, through which the workings of a designing agent may be seen. And not only so, but apparent discrepancies have been so reconciled, particular events have been so traced to gen- eral laws, and such a convergency and principle of unity has been traced in the laws themselves, as to force upon the scientific inquirer the conviction, that this designing agent, whatever its nature or attributes in other respects may be, must be one. But while science advanced, and the evidence of design was indicated, the ground of controversy was changed, and speculative atheism increased. That great feature of nature, ascertauied by the inductive logic, that she works by general laws, which are universal and unswerving under all circumstances, began to stand out more and more prominently. From some circumstances which we 23 shall point out presently, connected with this invariable operation of the laws of nature, men began to rest in the laws themselves as a sufficient account of the events which took place according to them, or at most, to attrib- ute their existence and efficacy to the workings of some unreflective, unconscious, adaptive energy, like the plastic nature of Cudworth, or wluit has been called the " soul of the world." This is doubtless the strong hold of modern atheism. We call it atheism, because, though it admits, as it must, an energy in nature, it denies the moral character of God ; it destroys accountability, and puts in the place of our Father who is in heaven, a blind and remorseless destiny. It is not, however, atheists alone, who, since the revela- tions of modern science, have thought that the existence of a being at all corresponding to our idea of God, could not be proved from the light of nature. The religious and philosophical Pascal was of this opinion ; and recent- ly the same opinion has been common among the German philosophers. It has also been embraced by some in England and in this country.* Our inquiry, then, is, why this argument has not been more universally con- vincing ; and whether design, manifested according to fixed laws, is so encumbered and obscured as to render less imperative the logical conviction of a divine and free superintendence ? The question, it will be remembered, is not whether some power exists, for that is conceded ; not whether that power can contrive, for its resources in that way are evidently indefinitely great; but whether that power is a distinct, free, personal agent. If this be not true, then have we no relations to God which our moral nature can recognize, and his existence is not worth the trouble of proof. * See Coleridge's Aiils to Retlection, p. 119, with llic note l>y Prcsideal Marsh. 24 It may be difficult to define, exactly, in what personality consists; but our idea of it is distinct, and is implied in almost every action of our lives. No one can fail to per- ceive how wide is the gulf which separates him from a thing, or from a brute, which is, so far as law and right are concerned, a thing ; and no one can believe that any addition, in kind, to the powers of the brute, can make it approximate to an equality with himself. Man is of a different nature. The transition from the brutes to man, in the ascending series of creation, was like that from inanimate to animate being ; and when nature made it, she passed a chasm across which no bridge can ever be thrown. There is a vast difference between a spire of grass and the oak that shades it ; still that spire possesses every thing in kind that belongs to the tree, and is equal- ly removed from the largest mass of unorganized matter. As the difference between that spire and mere matter, so is that between man and the brutes ; as the difference between the same spire and the oak above it, so is that between man and the seraphim and cherubim above. The chief distinctive characteristics of man and the elements of personality, seem to be, reason, by which Ave mean here the power of distinguishing the necessary and the universal ; reflection, sometimes termed self-conscious- ness, by which we become at the same time the subject and the object of thought ; free-will ; and the power of perceiving moral relations, which last is by some supposed to belong to reason. Whether each of these implies all the others, we need not now inquire ; but so far as we can observe, no one of them belongs to any brute ; and by the deprivation of any one of them, we should feel our personality impaired. Each of these powers must enter into every rational conception of God, as a personal agent, in distinction from nature, or some blind principle, possessing an efficacy but without personality — in dis- tinction from some voluble spirit, like the air, unconscious 25 and necessitated, which mere naturalists love to contem- plate as working in and rolling through all things. All valid argument for the existence of God, must pro- ceed on the ground of the necessary connection between every effect, or, to speak more accurately, between every event, and some adequate cause. The relation between an event and its cause, is a fundamental law of human belief. We can no more conceive of an event without a cause, than we can conceive of body without space. How the ideas of space and of causation come into the mind, it is not our present business to inquire. That they are necessarily there is certain ; and if any man denies their existence, he gives the lie to his own consciousness, and has no ground for the assertion of any thing. In arguing from the effect to the cause, we are not bound to admit in the cause any thing different in kind from that which we find in the effect. By this it is not meant that there must be in the cause every thing that is found in the effect, for then the creation of matter, and the existence of sin, except as eternal, would have been impossible ; but that we are bound to infer in the cause no higher powers than are requisite to produce the effect. To do more, would be contrary to a fundamental maxim of the Newtonian logic. It was said by bishop Berkley, that we have the same evidence for the existence of God, that we have for that of our fellow-man. When we look at his body, the material envelope, it is not the man which we see ; but from the indications of intelligence manifested through the medium of his body, we infer that that which is truly the man exists, though it escapes the cognizance of the senses. With equal, and precisely the same reason, when we discover marks of design hi na- ture, do we conclude, though it ''works unseen," that there is a designing agent. But two orders of intelligence fall under our observation, that of brutes, and of men. To 4 26 each of these belongs the power of contrivance and de- sign ; but to man, something distinctive and superior is added. If, therefore, we see in the works of nature noth- ing different in kind from the manifestations of design ex- hibited by the brutes, then we have no reason to suppose in the power, whatever it may be, which regulates those works, any thing superior to that which exists in them ; but if. on the other hand, we see evidence of the higher kind of intelligence which belongs to man, then have we the same evidence for the existence of that intelligence, in such a manner as to constitute the rational idea of God, as we have to suppose that man himself exists. In order to determine this point, it is necessary to com- pare the operations of nature with those of animals and of man respectively, and to observe in what respects they agree and in what they differ. In doing this, we remark, first, as was noticed above, that there is in brutes, as well as in nature, the power of contrivance and design, and that this power, though limited in its sphere, yet seems, within that sphere, to be equally perfect and unerring with that possessed by nature. Nothing can be more artificial, more precisely adapted to its purpose, or, the end being given, show a more perfect capacity of attaining it, than the comb of the bee. There is not only contrivance, but in this case, as in many others, there is also prospective contrivance, which is justly men- tioned by writers on natural theology, as making a strong case. The preparation by the bee, without instruction or experience, of honey and wax, against a time of need, is analogous to that by nature of the lungs, before birth. Instances of this kind it is needless to particularize. From the single fact that brutes contrive, we must infer, either that they are persons, or that contrivance does not prove personality. But it will be said that this is instinct,. and that writers on natural theology refer the constitution of instincts to some higher power. Be it so ; but as it is 27 only instinct that is produced, since like produces like, it may have been only a more extended and powerful instinct that produced it. A name is nothing. We call the prin- ciple by which animals are actuated instinct; but call it what we may, we see a being having a sensorium, having individuality and distinct organization, producing effects similar to those produced by nature, and yet not furnish- ing the least evidence of personality. If, therefore, there may be an individual power, entirely dissevered from reason and conscience, and yet producing such results, who shall limit the extent to which it may reach, or the effect, that is within its own proper sphere, which it may produce ? We remark, secondly, that in their conformity to fixed laws, and in their variation from them, according to cir- cumstances, there is a striking analogy between the works of nature and those of animals. A perfect instinct we conceive of as acting blindly and uniformly, without any variation whatever. But no animal, so far as we know, has an instinct of this kind. They all possess a power of accommodating themselves more or less to peculiar emer- gencies, and in some instances this adaptive power extends so far, as apparently to border on the province of reason. Thus, it was observed by Huber, that <' those ants who lay the foundation of a wall, or chamber, or gallery, from working separately, occasion now and then a want of co- incidence in the parts of the same or different objects. Such examples are of no unfrequent occurrence, but they by no means embarrass them. What follows proves that the workman, on discovering his error, knew how to rec- tify it. A wall had been erected, with the view of sus- taining a vaulted ceiling, still incomplete, that had been projected from the wall of the opposite chamber. The workman who began constructing it had given it too little elevation to meet the opposite partition on which it was to rest. Had it been continued on the original plan, it 28 must infallibly have met the wall at about one half of its height. This state of things very forcibly arrested my attention, when one of the ants, arriving at the place, and visiting the works, appeared to be struck by the difficulty that presented itself ; but this it as soon obviated, by taking down the ceiling, and raising the wall upon which it re- posed. It then, in my presence, constructed a new ceiling with the fragments of the former one." Bees, when transported to warm climates, soon cease their accumula- tions of honey. Some birds that build their nests upon the branches in regions where they are secure, suspend them by a cord when exposed to the attacks of serpents or monkeys. Cases of this kind among larger animals are so common that they need not be specified. An example or two of the same kind will illustrate a multitude of others, that occur in the works of nature. If the large vessel, that supplies a portion of the body with blood, be cut or tied, nature will set herself at work, and will en- large in a surprising manner the small and circuitous ves- sels leading to the same part, and thus, notwithstanding the interruption of her original plan, will effect her pur- pose, viz. the nourishment of that part. Or, if it should be said that it is the increased pressure of the blood that enlarges the vessels mechanically, though every physiolo- gist knows that this is not the fact, then we may take the instance of the head of a bone displaced from its socket. In this case, there will be deposited around it, after a time, a substance much resembling cartilage, and something like a new socket will be formed, giving it all the ease of position, and facility of motion, of which its situation is susceptible. In general, however, the laws of operation, both of nature and of animals, are uniform. Let them alone, thwart them in nothing, and nothing can be more perfect than the result, or more admirable than the means taken to accomplish it. But whatever power of varying from these laws, to meet particular emergencies, nature 29 possesses, this power, call it what we may, animals possess in a still more striking degree. We remark, thirdly, that if brutes or nature be thwarted in their operations, in a particular manner, or to a certain extent, they will still pursue those operations, in a manner which seems equally abortive and absurd. A bee will fly against a window glass a hundred times, and still be no wiser for it. The blue fly will deposit its eggs upon the ictodes fmtida. The hen will continue to lay her eggs, though they are constantly removed ; and she will, as mentioned by Paley, sit upon those which have not been fecundated, though it is certain they never can hatch. In nature, instances of this kind are innumerable. Girdle a tree, with the exception of a small space, and, though it is evident that nature can never accomplish her original purpose of nourishing the tree, and producing fruit, yet will she pursue, year after year, her languid and inefficient attempts. If the seed of an annual plant be sown in the fall, it will sprout and grow so long as it can, though it is certain that the ensuing winter will destroy it ; whereas, if the operations of nature were analogous to those of man, she would cause it to lie over the winter before it sprouted, and it would then become a perfect plant. If the duct leading from the parotid gland to the mouth be cut off, nature still secretes the fluid in that gland, not only to no good purpose, but to the entire prevention of the curative process which she would otherwise carry on. But the instance most in point, and we mention it because it is so, is in the formation of monsters. In these cases, from some accident, the powers of nature are thwarted ; but instead of giving up her work, as it seems to us an intelligent agent would do, she will go on, an-d form the most fantastic and useless combinations, still, however, struggling after her original plan. She will produce an eye in the chest, she will cause an arm to grow from the back, she will constitute animal structures entirely inca- 30 pable of sustaining life — machines that will not go ; she will even make them so misshapen and unwieldy, that they must necessarily destroy her own works in the per- son of the mother herself. Thus far, then, the analogy between the works of na- ture, and those of animals, is very striking. They may both be compared in their operations to a blind man pass- ing along a narrow track, whose course is guided by a string stretched in the same direction, along which he passes his fingers. So long as he holds to the string, he steps with perfect security, but the moment he loses that, he gropes and stumbles ; he continues his exertions indeed, but they are quite in the dark, and can hardly fail to be either nugatory or pernicious. It will be seen that in this parallel, which might be ex- tended, we have contrasted, and perhaps sufficiently for our present purpose, the active powers in nature with those in man. Nature is apparently necessitated and uni- form ; man is free and diverse in his actions. The existence of general and inexorable laws certainly does not preclude that of a personal being. There are many and good reasons, why, if such a being exists, it would be proper for him to carry on his administration by such laws. It may be, it probably is, the best way ; but still, so long as they move on in their unvarying consis- tency, we cannot infer from them alone, the existence of a being who is above law, who is not necessitated, who has in himself any thing other and higher than the laws themselves manifest. Could this uniformity be once broken up, could this rigid order be once infringed for a good and manifest rea- son, it would change the whole face of the argument. Could we once see gravitation suspended when the good man is thrown by his persecutors from the top of the rock ; could we see a chariot and horses of fire descend and deliver the righteous from the universal laAV of death ; 31 could we see the sun stand still in heaven that the wicked might be overthrown ; then should we be assured of a per- sonal power with a distinct will, whose agents and minis- ters these laws were. Such an event would be a miracle, an event in its moral relations of the most amazing import. Such attestations of his being, we believe God has given, and given, too, in reference to this very feeling of indefi- niteness, of generality, of want of personality in the su- preme power, which the operation of general laws, ne- cessarily confounding all moral distinctions, has a tenden- cy to produce. But if such events have happened, they are not a part of nature, it is not nature that tells us of them, and it is only with her that we are at present con- cerned. Whatever may be thought of these views, as bearing upon the argument from design, they will not be without their uses if they indicate more clearly than has some- times been done, those peculiarities of design as mani- fested through general laws, by which, so far as it is un- connected with the heart, an atheistic impression is pro- duced. To illustrate these, in connection with the argu- ment from design, still farther, we shall make a few ob- servations of somewhat wider compass. There are two properties commonly ascribed to the works of nature, which if they can be proved from her own light, would seem to imply personahty in the agent. These are wisdom and goodness. Objections to the wisdo?n of nature, are derived from two sources. The first is the independent mode in which her laws act with reference to each other, the result of which is an apparent want of consistency, or of mutual understanding between her several departments. A wise man does not destroy with one hand what he has been at much pains to construct with the other. The tendency of animals to devour each other, may perhaps, when op- posed to the instinct of self-preservation, be considered as 32 a case of this kind. True it is that life is preserved and perpetuated, but it is only on the condition of death. "Life," it is true, "seats herself upon the sepulchre," but then she digs the sepulchre upon which she sits ; and nature, so far as she is carnivorous, seems as it were an animal that lives only by preying upon itself. But in- stances are more striking when taken from provinces of nature more distinct from each other. In one of her de- partments, we see innumerable blossoms put forth and elaborated with the nicest care, containing, to an indefinite extent, the germs of future fruitfulness ; in another de- partment, we see the frost come, and, without remorse, cut them off in a moment. In the man falling from a precipice, we see nature, with one hand carrying on, with her wonted assiduity, the processes of life, while with the other, she is dashing him to destruction. The conflagra- tion and tempest proceed with equal fury, whether they war with the laws of life or spend themselves upon inani- mate matter. But the chief difficulty in discovering wis- dom from the works of nature, arises from the fact that the real and ultimate end of her works is not discoverable by her light alone. Wisdom and knowledge are by no means identical. Wisdom is judged of from the end pur- sued ; knowledge, fron^ the means taken in pursuing it. Man is always a knowing, but not often a wise being. His contrivances are fitted to his ends, but his ends are folly. In inquiring, then, after the wisdom of nature, we must observe, not the means which she employs, not any subordinate end, but whether we can discover any ulti- mate end, and if so, what that is. In looking for an ultimate end of nature, we should doubtless expect to find it, if any where, in man, since he is the epitome and crown of all that we behold. But when we observe the uncertainty and brevity of his life, heat and cold, hunger and thirst, poverty and disease, pressing upon him in that little space, when we see how 33 all his faculties, and life itself, are, as it were, sported with, wnfen we see the grinning idiot and the moody or raving maniac, when we see the pestilence sweep him suddenly into the grave, regardless of his aims or his hopes, when we see him in no way more respected in any of nature's operations than the meanest insect, we cannot suppose that the end of all this mighty scheme is to be found in him. This conviction is especially strengthened when we consider the disorder of the passions, all " the oppressions that are done under the sun," and in generalj how the events in the moral world, whether man has to do with nature that brings all things alike to all, or whether he has to do with his fellow-men, conflict with our natural sense of order and of right. But if this end cannot be found in man, much less can it in the inferior animals, or in any thing unconscious, however beautifully organized. The instant indeed that this world is viewed as a prepara- tory dispensation, the whole face of things is changed. The instant we regard this visible and material structure as a temporary staging which is to stand only till the com- pletion of the true building, which is moral, spiritual, per- fect, eternal, that instant do we discover an end worthy of this amazing scene of things, that instant do we discover wisdo'tn. But this idea, nature and the works of nature do not give. To whatever extent it has existed in the minds of men, it has existed there, not from a philosophi- cal examination of the works of nature, but from tradi- tion, and from reflecting upon the operations and forebod- ings of their own minds. If we suppose, as believers in revelation do, that the ultimate end of the present system is the establishment of such a moral and permanent gov- ernment, then, to suppose that we can discover wisdom in it, without a knowledge of that end, is much the same as to suppose that we could discover wisdom in the contriv- ances for picking and carding cotton without knowing that cloth was to be made of it. Show us the cloth, the 5 34 ultimate end, and then we are willing to admit that there is wisdom in the arrangements, though we may not un- derstand them all ; but no elaborateness of contrivance for a nugatory end, or for no end at all, can discover wisdom. What we would say then, is, that the true end of the works of nature being out of and beyond themselves, is not discoverable from them ; and that without some knowledge of what the end is in any work, we cannot tell whether there is wisdom displayed in it or not. It may be true, that to a mind of great compass, like that of Bishop Butler, certain general tendencies are discoverable in nature, towards a great moral result, and these, when discovered, go strongly to confirm the direct evidence for that result ; but they are not obvious to the mass of man- kind, and, when taken by themselves, are so obscure as to leave the greatest and best minds in distressing perplexity. Several of the remarks made in regard to wisdom, ap- ply equally to the subject of goodness, as discoverable from the works of nature. If wisdom be not discover- able, then goodness cannot be, since goodriess is a part of wisdom. HoAv can it be known of any thing whether it be good, if the end or purpose of it be not known? Par- ticular subordinate ends may be known, but heathen na- tions were entirely uncertain of the ultimate end of the present state of things. Certain it is, as Butler remarks, that many of the wisest among them considered this world as a place of punishment for the delinquencies of some former state of being. It would seem probable that the opinions of mankind on this subject might vary, as they were situated in different regions or in different circum- stances. *' Don't you suppose," said a brahmin to an American missionary, pointing to a bearer who was toiling in the sun, ''that that man is in hell? " The Greenlander amidst his snows, the slave toiling all his life long under the lash, with no knowledge of a futurity, can hardly feel that the present world is greatly good to them. So So discrepant have been the appearances of nature, the prin- ciples of good and evil have been so blended together, that many nations have imagined the existence of two beings to whom they have imputed the origin of all things, the one benevolent, the other malevolent. Between these, they have fancied a continual struggle, and not sel- dom have they chiefly worshipped and endeavored to pro- pitiate the malevolent being. They knew of the sunshine and the breezes, of the flowers and the fruits; but they knew, also, of tlie volcano and the earthquake, of the tempest and the pestilence. In estimating any scheme, we judge of it, not so much by particular parts, as by the manner in which it works. However it may come to pass, it is matter of experience that unmixed happiness is not to be found, and that there has been and still is an ap- palling amount of misery on this earth. Judging then from nature only, from the result, must not the conclusion be, that there must have been a deficiency either of power or of goodness, in that which was the origin of all things, whatever it may have been ? But if we reason with perfect strictness, we shall see that these beneficent contrivances may not have been the result of goodness. In order to this, we must make a dis- tinction between beneficence and goodness. The sun is beneficent ; God is good. Goodness is the intentional production of happiness, but there may be beneficence or usefulness without this. The parent animal does many things which conduce to the comfort of its young, but no one supposes it to have goodness, in the proper sense of the term. If there be an adaptive, necessitated, imper- sonal being, such as atheists mean by nature, its adapta- tions must tend to something, and why not to happiness as well as to any thing else ? How can we know that these contrivances arise from any thing higher than that which causes the parent bird to build its nest and line it with soft feathers for its young ? Nature, the mother of 36 all, may be a beneficent instinct, and there exist no per- sonal and good being. We admit that when we follow the development of contrivance in nature, and observe the infinity of her re- sources, when we observe the simplicity of her plan, and the diversity of her operations, how perfectly she descends to the minute, and how easily she wields the vast, it would be natural to connect with the power working all this, the highest attributes of intelligence with which we are acquainted. To do this would be the eager aspiration of every heart rightly affected ; but if what has been said be correct, logical accuracy does not compel the deduction, and the argument from design falls short of being a strict proof of the existence of a personal God. Contrivance manifested, no doubt proves a contriver, but this is by no means sufficient to furnish us with the elements of his character whom we adore as Lord of all. The inquiry then naturally arises, whether we have such a formal proof as has been sought for in the argument from design. We think we have, though it seems to have been generally overlooked by writers on this subject. To attain this, neglecting the particular argument from design, we must press the more general one from cause to effect ; we must carry it upward, not merely midway in the series of effects, but must make it comprise the highest and noblest of all known effects. In doing this we remark, that as the eye beholds all things else, but is invisible to itself, so the 7imid, which apprehends other things, too often overlooks and fails to consider itself as a part of that creation which it contem- plates. In looking for the evidence of a creative mind, where should we expect to find it but in mind created ? As Akenside says of beauty and sublimity, " Min