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God is a
Being of Great But Limited Power
by John Stuart Mill
The most important quality of an opinion on any
momentous subject is its truth or falsity. It is
indispensable that the subject of religion should
be reviewed from time to time, and that its
questions should be tested by the same methods, and
on the same principles as any of the speculative
conclusions drawn by physical science.
Whatever ground there is to believe in an author
of nature is derived from the appearances of the
universe. The argument from design is grounded
wholly on our experience of the appearances of the
universe. It is, therefore, a far more important
argument for theism that any other.
The order of nature exhibits certain qualities
that are found to be characteristic of such things
as are made by an intelligent mind for a purpose.
We are entitled from this great similarity in the
effects to infer similarity in the cause, and to
believe that things which it is beyond the power of
man to make, but which resemble the works of man in
all but power, must also have been made by
intelligence armed with a power greater than
human.
The argument from design is not drawn from mere
resemblances in nature to the works of human
intelligence, but from the special character of
those resemblances. The circumstances in which it
is alleged that the world resembles the works of
man are not circumstances taken at random, but are
particular instances of a circumstance which
experience shows to have a real connection with an
intelligent origin; the fact, namely, of conspiring
to an end or purpose.
To show this, it will be convenient to handle,
not the argument from design as a whole, but some
one of the most impressive cases of it, such as the
structure of the eye or the ear. It is maintained
that the structure of the eye proves a designing
mind. The argument may be analyzed as follows:
1. The parts of which the eye is composed, and
the arrangement of these parts, resemble one
another in this very remarkable respect, that they
all conduce to enabling the animal to see. These
parts and their arrangement being as they are, the
animal sees. This is the only marked resemblance we
can trace among the different parts of the eye;
beyond the general likeness in composition which
exists among all other parts of the animal.
2. Now, the combination of the parts of the eye
had a beginning in time and must therefore have
been brought together by a cause or causes. The
number of instances (of such parts being brought
together to enable organisms to see) is immensely
greater than is required to exclude the possibility
of a random or chance concurrence of independent
causes. We are therefore warranted in concluding
that what has brought all these parts together was
some cause common to them all. And, since the parts
agree in the single respect of combining to produce
sight, there must be some connection between the
cause which brought the parts together, and the
fact of sight.
3. Now sight, being a fact which follows the
putting together of the parts of the eye, can only
be connected with the production of the eye as a
final cause, not an efficient cause; since all
efficient causes precede their effects. But a final
cause is a purpose, and at once marks the origin of
the eye as proceeding from an intelligent will.
Of what value is this argument? Is intelligent
will, or creative forethought, the only hypothesis
that will account for the facts? I regret to say
that it is not. Creative forethought is not the
only link by which the origin of the mechanism of
the eye may be connected with the fact of sight.
There is another connecting link on which attention
has been greatly fixed by recent speculation. This
is the principle of natural selection, of "the
survival of the fittest."
This principle of the survival of the fittest
does not pretend to account for the origin of
sensation, of of animal or vegetable life. It
assumes the existence of some one or more very low
forms of organic life, in which there are no
complex adaptations. It next assumes, as experience
warrants us in doing, that many small variations
from those simple types would be thrown out, which
would be transmissible by inheritance, some of
which would be advantageous to the creature in its
struggle for existence and others disadvantageous.
The forms which are advantageous would always tend
to survive; and those which are disadvantageous, to
perish. Thus there would be a constant, though
slow, general improvement of the type as it
branched out into many different varieties, until
it might attain to the most advanced examples which
now exist.
It must be acknowledged that there is something
very startling, and prima facie improbable
in this hypothetical history of nature.
With reference to the eye, for example, it would
require us to suppose that the primeval animal
could not see, and had at most such slight
preparation for seeing as might be constituted by
some chemical action of light upon its cellular
structure; that an accidental variation (mutation)
would produce a variety that could see in some
imperfect manner; that this peculiarity would be
transmitted by inheritance while other variations
continued to take place in other directions; that a
number of races would thus be produced who, by the
power of even imperfect sight, would have a great
advantage over all other races which could not see
and would in time extirpate them from all places
except perhaps from a few very peculiar situations
underground. Fresh variations would give rise to
races with better and better seeing powers until we
might at last reach as extraordinary a combination
of structures and functions as are seen in the eye
of man and of the more important animals.
Of this theory, when pushed to this extreme
point, all that can now be said is that it is not
so absurd as it looks; and that the analogies which
have been discovered in experience, favorable to
its possibility, far exceed what anyone could have
supposed beforehand. Whether it will ever be
possible to say more than this is at present
uncertain.
Leaving this remarkable speculation to whatever
fate the progress of discovery may have in store
for it, I think it must be allowed that, in the
present state of our knowledge, the adaptations in
nature afford a large balance of probability in
favor of creation by intelligence. It is equally
certain that this is no more than a
probability.
The question of the existence of a Deity
standing thus, it is next to be considered what
sort of Deity do the indications point to? What
attributes are we warranted, by the evidence which
nature accords of a creative mind, in assigning to
that mind?
It needs no showing that the power, if not the
intelligence, must be so far superior to that of
man as to surpass all human estimate. But from this
to omnipotence and omniscience there is a wide
interval. And the distinction is of immense
importance.
For I shall argue that the net result of natural
theology, on the question of the divine attributes
is this: a Being of great but limited power; how,
or by what, limited we cannot even conjecture; of
great, perhaps unlimited intelligence; who desires
and pays some regard to the happiness of His
creatures but who seems to have other motives of
action for which He cares more, and who can hardly
be supposed to have created the universe for that
purpose alone.
Every indication of design in the cosmos is so
much evidence against the omnipotence of the
designer. For what is meant by design?
Contrivance, the adaptation of means to end. But
the necessity for contrivance, the need of
employing "means" to achieve an "end," is a
consequence of the limitation of power.
Who would have recourse to means, to attain his
end, if his mere wish or word was enough? The very
idea of means implies that the means have an
efficacy which the direct action of the being who
employs them has not. Otherwise, they are not means
but an encumbrance.
A man does not use machinery to move his arms;
unless he is paralyzed, i.e., has not the power to
do so directly by his volition.
But, if the use of contrivance is a sign of
limited power, how much more so is the careful and
skillful choice of contrivance? Could we speak of
"wisdom in the selection of means," if he who
selects them could, by his mere will, have achieved
the same results without them, or by any other
means? Wisdom and contrivance are shown in
overcoming difficulties, and there is no room for
difficulties, and so no room for wisdom or
contrivance, in an omnipotent being.
Any evidences of design in nature, therefore,
distinctly imply that the author of nature worked
under limitations; that he was obliged to adapt
himself to conditions and independent of his will,
and to attain his ends by such arrangements as
those conditions admitted of.
On this hypothesis, the Deity had to work out
His ends by combining materials of given nature and
properties. This did require skill and contrivance;
and the means by which it is effected are often
such as justly excite our wonder and admiration.
But, exactly because it requires wisdom, skill,
contrivance, it implies limitation of power.
It may be said: An omnipotent Creator, though
under no necessity of employing contrivances such
as man must use, thought fit to do so in order to
leave traces by which man might recognize his
Creator's hand.
The answer is: This equally supposes a limit to
the Deity's omnipotence, for it is a contrivance to
achieve an end. Moreover, if it was His will that
man should know that they and the world are His
work, He, being omnipotent, had only to will that
they should be aware of it.
Excerpted from Three Essays
on Religion, by John Stuart Mill
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