CHARLES DARWIN (1809-1882)
excerpt
from a letter of 1876
This letter is packed with a variety
of ideas. Darwin reveals himself to be a typical 19th century agnostic
by the time of this letter. He begins with a variety of brief objections
to Christian beliefs. Among other things, the progress of science
has convinced him that events occur because of the "fixed laws of nature,"
not because of interventions by divine or supernatural powers.
Darwin once learned well the natural
theology of William Paley's book by that name, in which Paley argued
that the extraordinary complexity of even a single organism could not have
come about by chance. The only alternative to chance, said Paley,
is design. But by this time, of course, Darwin had offered a 3rd
possibility -- his theory of natural selection.
Darwin also addresses a common question
about the extent of suffering in the world. If on the whole nature
produces happiness in organisms, might that not be a sign of a benevolent
Designer at work? Darwin has a double response.
Darwin also looks at a common theological
position, that even if the design of nature cannot prove God's existence,
intense inner religious experience can. (Eliade offers a 20th century
version of this.) But Darwin points out flaws in that argument also.
So in the end he takes the word agnostic quite literally: he cannot
know whether God exists.
As you read, reflect on his arguments
to see how much sense they make to you. Some of them are stated a
bit obscurely and will be hard to make full sense of. In any case
you may find this a fascinating peek into the mind of one of the most influential
thinkers in Western history. [See the book by Daniel Dennet, Darwin's
Dangerous Idea.]
Darwin's Letter
Whilst on board the Beagle I was quite orthodox, and I remember
being heartily laughed at by several of the officers (though themselves
orthodox) for quoting the Bible as an unanswerable authority on some point
of morality. I suppose it was the novelty of the argument that amused
them. But I had gradually come by this time, i.e. 1836 to 1839, to
see that the Old Testament was no more to be trusted than the sacred books
of the hindoos. The question then continually rose before my mind
and would not be banished,--is it credible that if God were now to make
a revelation to the Hindoos, he would permit it to be connected with the
belief in Vishnu, Siva, &c., as Christianity is connected with the
Old Testament? This appeared to me utterly incredible.
By further reflecting that the clearest evidence would be requisite
to make any sane man believe in the miracles by which Christianity is supported,--and
that the more we know of the fixed laws of nature the more incredible do
miracles become,--that the men at that time were ignorant and credulous
to a degree almost incomprehensible by us,--that the Gospels cannot be
proved to have been written simultaneously with the events,--that they
differ in many important details, far too important, as it seemed to me,
to be admitted as the usual inaccuracies of eye-witnesses;--by such reflections
as these, which I give not as having the least novelty or value, but as
they influenced me, I gradually came to disbelieve in Christianity as a
divine revelation. The fact that many false religions have spread over
large portions of the earth like wild-fire had some weight with me.
But I was very unwilling to give up my belief; I feel sure of this,
for I can well remember often and often inventing day-dreams of old letters
between distinguished Romans, and manuscripts being discovered at Pompeii
or elsewhere, which confirmed in the most striking manner all that was
written in the Gospels. But I found it more and more difficult, with
free scope given to my imagination, to invent evidence which would suffice
to convince me. Thus disbelief crept over me at a very slow rate,
but was at last complete. The rate was so slow that I felt no distress.
Although I did not think much about the existence of a personal God
until a considerably later period of my life, I will here give the vague
conclusions to which I have been driven. The old argument from design
in Nature, as given by Paley, which formerly seemed to me so conclusive,
fails, now that the law of natural selection has been discovered.
We can no longer argue that, for instance, the beautiful hinge of a bivalve
shell must have been made by an intelligent being, like the hinge of a
door by man. There seems to be no more design in the variability
of organic beings, and in the action of natural selection, than in the
course which the wind blows. But I have discussed this subject at
the end of my book on the Variations of Domesticated Animals and Plants,'
and the argument there given has never, as far as I can see, been answered.
But passing over the endless beautiful adaptations which we everywhere
meet with, it may be asked how can the generally beneficent arrangement
of the world be accounted for? Some writers indeed are so much impressed
with the amount of suffering in the world, that they doubt, if we look
to all sentient beings, whether there is more of misery or of happiness;
whether the world as a whole is a good or bad one. According to my
judgment happiness decidedly prevails, though this would be very difficult
to prove. If the truth of this conclusion be granted, it harmonizes
well with the effects which we might expect from natural selection.
If all the individuals of any species were habitually to suffer to an extreme
degree, they would neglect to propagate their kind; but we have no reason
to believe that this has ever, or at least often occurred. Some other
considerations, moreover, lead to the belief that all sentient beings have
been formed so as to enjoy, as a general rule, happiness.
Every one who believes, as I do, that all the corporeal and mental organs
(excepting those which are neither advantageous nor disadvantageous to
the possessor) of all beings have been developed through natural selection,
or the survival of the fittest, together with use or habit, will admit
that these organs have been formed so that their possessors may compete
successfully with other beings, and thus increase in number. now
an animal may be led to pursue that course of action which is most beneficial
to the species by suffering, such as pain, hunger, thirst, and fear; or
by pleasure, as in eating and drinking, and in the propagation of the species,
&c.; or by both means combined, as in the search for food. But
pain or suffering of any kind, if long continued, causes depression and
lessens the power of action, yet is well adapted to make a creature guard
itself against any great or sudden evil. Pleasurable sensations,
on the other hand, may be long continued without any depressing effect;
on the contrary, they stimulate the whole system to increased action.
Hence it has come to pass that most or all sentient beings have been developed
in such a manner, through natural selection, that pleasurable sensations
serve as their habitual guides. We see this in the pleasure from
exertion, even occasionally from great exertion of the body or mind,--in
the pleasure of our daily meals, and especially in the pleasure derived
from sociability, and from loving our families. The sum of such pleasures
as these, which are habitual or frequently recurrent, give, as I can hardly
doubt, to most sentient beings an excess of happiness over misery, although
many occasionally suffer much. Such suffering is quite compatible
with the belief in Natural Selection, which is not perfect in its action,
but tends only to render each species as successful as possible in the
battle for life with other species, in wonderfully complex and changing
circumstances.
That there is much suffering in the world no one disputes. Some
have attempted to explain this with reference to man by imagining that
it serves for his moral improvement. But the number of men in the
world is as nothing compared with that of all other sentient beings, and
they often suffer greatly without any moral improvement. This very
old argument from the existence of suffering against the existence of an
intelligent First Cause seems to me a strong one; whereas, as just remarked,
the presence of much suffering agrees well with the view that all organic
beings have been developed through variation and natural selection.
At the present day the most usual argument for the existence of an intelligent
God is drawn from the deep inward conviction and feelings which are experienced
by most persons. Formerly I was led by feelings such as those just
referred to (although I do not think that the religious sentiment was ever
strongly developed in me), to the firm conviction of the existence of God,
and of the immortality of the soul. In my Journal I wrote that whilst
standing in the midst of the grandeur of a Brazilian forest, "it is not
possible to give an adequate idea of the higher feelings of wonder, admiration,
and devotion, which fill and elevate the mind." I well remember my
conviction that there is more in man than the mere breath of his body.
But now the grandest scenes would not cause any such convictions and feelings
to rise in my mind. It may be truly said that I am like a man who
has become colour-blind, and the universal belief by men of the existence
of redness makes my present loss of perception of not the least value as
evidence. This argument would be a valid one if all men of all races
had the same inward conviction of the existence of one God; but we know
that this is very far from being the case. Therefore I cannot see
that such inward convictions and feelings are of any weight as evidence
of what really exists. The state of mind which grand scenes formerly
excited in me, and which was intimately connected with a belief in God,
did not essentially differ from that which is often called the sense of
sublimity; and however difficult it may be to explain the genesis of this
sense, it can hardly be advanced as an argument for the existence of God,
any more than the powerful though vague and similar feelings excited by
music.
With respect to immortality, nothing shows me [so clearly] how strong
and almost instinctive a belief it is, as the consideration of the view
now held by most physicists, namely, that the sun with all the planets
will in time grow too cold for life, unless indeed some great body dashes
into the sun, and thus gives it fresh life. Believing as I do that
man in the distant future will be a far more perfect creature than he now
is, it is an intolerable thought that he and all other sentient beings
are doomed to complete annihilation after such long-continued slow progress.
To those who fully admit the immortality of the human soul, the destruction
of our world will not appear so dreadful.
Another source of conviction in the existence of God, connected with
the reason, and not with the feelings, impresses me as having much more
weight. This follows from the extreme difficulty or rather impossibility
of conceiving this immense and wonderful universe, including man with his
capacity of looking far backwards and far into futurity, as the result
of blind chance or necessity. When thus reflecting I feel compelled
to look to a First Cause having an intelligent mind in some degree analogous
to that of man; and I deserve to be called a Theist. This conclusion
was strong in my mind about the time, as far as I can remember, when I
wrote the 'Origin of Species;' and it is since that time that it has very
gradually, with many fluctuations, become weaker. But then arises
the doubt, can the mind of man, which has, as I fully believe, been developed
from a mind as low as that possessed by the lowest animals, be trusted
when it draws such grand conclusions?
I cannot pretend to throw the least light on such abstruse problems.
The mystery of the beginning of all things is insoluble by us; and I for
one must be content to remain an Agnostic.