sensible meaning; so we conclude that he regards brutes as automata, and was thinking of design as coextensive merely with general conceptions. Not concerning ourselves with the difficulty he may have in drawing a line between the simpler judgments and affections of man and those of the highest-endowed brutes, we subserve our immediate ends by remarking that the automatic theory would seem to be one which can least of all dispense with design, since, either in the literal or current sense of the word, undesigned automatism is, as near as may be, a contradiction in terms. As the automaton man constructs manifests the designs of its maker and mover, so the more efficient automata which man did not construct would not legitimately suggest less than human intelligence. And so all adaptations in the animal and vegetable world which irresistibly suggest purpose (in the sense now accepted) would also suggest design, and, under the law of parsimony, claim to be thus interpreted, unless some other hypothesis will better account for the facts. We will consider, presently, if any other does so.

We here claim only that some beings other than men design, and that the adaptations of means to ends in the structure of animals and plants, in so far as they carry the marks of purpose, carry also the implication of having been designed. Also, that the idea or hypothesis of a designing mind, as the author of Nature-however we came by it-having possession of the field, and being one which man, himself a designer, seemingly must needs form, cannot be rivaled except by some other equally adequate for explana

tion, or displaced except by showing the illegitimacy of the inference. As to the latter, is the common apprehension and sense of mankind in this regard well grounded? Can we rightly reason from our own intelligence and powers to a higher or a supreme intelligence ordering and shaping the system of Nature?

His

A very able and ingenious writer upon "The Evidences of Design in Nature," in the Westminster Review for July, 1875, maintains the negative. article may be taken as the argument in support of the position assumed by "P. C. W.," in the Contemporary Review above cited. It opens with the admission that the orthodox view is the most simple and apparently convincing, has had for centuries the unhesitating assent of an immense majority of thinkers, and that the latest master-writer upon the subject disposed to reject it, namely, Mill, comes to the conclusion 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 proceeds to attack not so much the evidence in favor of design as the foundation upon which the whole doctrine rests, and closes with the prediction that sooner or later the superstructure must fall. And, truly, if his reasonings are legitimate, and his conclusions just, "Science has laid the axe to the tree."

"Given a set of marks which we look upon in human productions as unfailing indications of design," he asks, "is not the inference equally legitimate when we recognize these marks in Nature? To gaze on such a universe as this, to feel our hearts exult within us in the fullness of existence, and to offer in explanation of such beneficent provision no other word but

Chance, seems as unthankful and iniquitous as it seems absurd. Chance produces nothing in the human sphere; nothing, at least, that can be relied upon for good. Design alone engenders harmony, consistency; and Chance not only never is the parent, but is constantly the enemy of these. How, then, can we suppose Chance to be the author of a system in which everything is as regular as clock-work? . . . . The hypothesis of Chance is inadmissible."

There is, then, in Nature, an order; and, in "P. C. W.'s" sense of the word, a manifest purpose. Some sort of conception as to the cause of it is inevitable, that of design first and foremost. "Why"— the Westminster Reviewer repeats the question— "why, if the marks of utility and adaptation are conclusive in the works of man, should they not be considered equally conclusive in the works of Nature?" His answer appears to us more ingenious than sound. Because, referring to Paley's watch,—

"The watch-finder is not guided solely in his inference by marks of adaptation and utility; he would recognize design in half a watch, in a mere fragment of a watch, just as surely as in a whole time-keeper. . . . Two cog-wheels, grasping each other, will be thought conclusive evidence of design, quite independently of any use attaching to them. And the inference, indeed, is perfectly correct; only it is an inference, not from a mark of design, properly so called, but from a mark of human workmanship. . . . No more is needed for the watch-finder, since all the works of man are, at the same time, products of design; but a great deal more is requisite for us, who are called upon by Paley to recognize design in works in which this stamp, this label of human workmanship, is wanting. The mental operation required in the one case is radically different from that performed in the other; there is no parallel, and Paley's demonstration is totally irrelevant.""

1 Hume, in his "Essays," anticipated this argument. But he did

But, surely, all human doings are not "products of design;" many are contingent or accidental. And why not suppose that the finder of the watch, or of the watch-wheel, infers both design and human workmanship? The two are mutually exclusive only on the supposition that man alone is a designer, which is simply begging the question in discussion. If the watch-finder's attention had been arrested by not rest on it. His matured convictions appear to be expressed in statements such as the following, here cited at second hand from Jackson's "Philosophy of Natural Theology," a volume to which a friend has just called our attention:

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Though the stupidity of men," writes Hume, "barbarous and uninstructed, be so great that they may not see a sovereign author in the more obvious works of Nature, to which they are so much familiarized, yet it scarce seems possible that any one of good understanding should reject that idea, when once it is suggested to him. A purpose, an intention, a design, is evident in everything; and when our comprehension is so far enlarged as to contemplate the first rise of this visible system, we must adopt, with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intelligent cause or author. The uniform maxims, too, which prevail throughout the whole frame of the universe, naturally, if not necessarily, lead us to conceive this intelligence as single and undivided, where the prejudices of education oppose not so reasonable a theory. Even the contrarieties of Nature, by discovering themselves everywhere, become proofs of some consistent plan, and establish one single purpose or intention, however inexplicable and incomprehensible."("Natural History of Religion," xv.)

"In many views of the universe, and of its parts, particularly the latter, the beauty and fitness of final causes strike us with such irresistible force that all objections appear (what I believe they really are) mere cavils and sophisms."-("Dialogues concerning Natural Religion," Part X.)

"The order and arrangement of Nature, the curious adjustment of final causes, the plain use and intention of every part and organ, all these bespeak in the clearest language an intelligent cause or author." -(Ibid., Part IV.)

a different object, such as a spider's web, he would have inferred both design and non-human workmanship. Of some objects he might be uncertain whether they were of human origin or not, without ever doubting they were designed, while of others this might remain doubtful. Nor is man's recognition of human workmanship, or of any other, dependent upon his comprehending how it was done, or what particular ends it subserves. Such considerations make it clear that "the label of human workmanship" is not the generic stamp from which man infers design. It seems equally clear that "the mental operation required in the one case" is not so radically or materially "different from that performed in the other" as this writer would have us suppose. The judgment respecting a spider's web, or a trap-door spider's dwelling, would be the very same in this regard if it preceded, as it occasionally might, all knowledge of whether the object met with were of human or animal origin. A dam across a stream, and the appearance of the stumps of trees which entered into its formation, would suggest design quite irrespective of and antecedent to the considerable knowledge or experience which would enable the beholder to decide whether this was the work of men or of beavers. Why, then, should the judgment that any particular structure is a designed work be thought illegitimate when attributed to a higher instead of a lower intelligence than that of man? It might, indeed, be so if the supposed observer had no conception of a power and intelligence superior to his own. But it would then be more than "irrelevant;" it would be im