Chapter entitled “Religious Belief” (pages 85-96) from
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF CHARLES DARWIN
(Barlow, Nora ed. 1958. The autobiography of
Charles Darwin 1809-1882. With the original omissions restored. Edited
and with appendix and notes by his grand-daughter Nora Barlow. London:
Collins.) Full book available at: http://darwin-online.org.uk/content/frameset?itemID=F1497&viewtype=text&pageseq=1
Religious Belief
DURING THESE two years I was led to think much about religion. 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, to see that the Old
Testament from its manifestly false history of the world, with the
Tower of Babel, the rainbow as a sign, etc., etc., and from its attributing
to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted
than the sacred books of the Hindoos, or the beliefs of any barbarian.
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, would he 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,—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. Beautiful as is the morality of the New Testament, it can hardly
be denied that its perfection depends in part on the interpretation
which we now put on metaphors and allegories.
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, and have never since doubted even
for a single second that my conclusion was correct. I can indeed
hardly see how anyone ought to wish Christianity to be true; for
if so the plain language of the text seems to show that the men who
do not believe, and this would include my Father, Brother and almost
all my best friends, will be everlastingly punished.
And this is a damnable doctrine.(1)
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
of 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. Everything in
nature is the result of fixed laws.
But I have discussed this subject at the end of my book on the Variation
of Domestic Animals and Plants,(2) 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 a 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 harmonises 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 or disadvantageous
to the possessor) of all beings have been developed through natural
selection, or the survival of the fittest, together with use or habit,(3)
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 the 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 in 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 these often suffer greatly without any moral improvement. A being
so powerful and so full of knowledge as a God who could create the
universe, is to our finite minds omnipotent and omniscient, and it
revolts our understanding to suppose that his benevolence is not
unbounded, for what advantage can there be in the sufferings of millions
of the lower animals throughout almost endless time? 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. But it cannot be doubted that
Hindoos, Mahomadans and others might argue in the same manner and
with equal force in favour of the existence of one God, or of many
Gods, or as with the Buddists of no God. There are also many barbarian
tribes who cannot be said with any truth to believe in what we call
God: they believe indeed in spirits or ghosts, and it can be explained,
as Tyler and Herbert Spencer have shown, how such a belief would
be likely to arise.
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,(4) nothing shows me 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(5) 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 animal, be trusted when it draws
such grand conclusions? May not these be the result of the connection
between cause and effect which strikes us as a necessary one, but
probably depends merely on inherited experience? Nor must we overlook
the probability of the constant inculcation in a belief in God on
the minds of children producing so strong and perhaps an inherited
effect on their brains not yet fully developed, that it would be
as difficult for them to throw off their belief in God, as for a
monkey to throw off its instinctive fear and hatred of a snake.(6)
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.
A man who has no assured and ever present belief in the existence
of a personal God or of a future existence with retribution and reward,
can have for his rule of life, as far as I can see, only to follow
those impulses and instincts which are the strongest or which seem
to him the best ones. A dog acts in this manner, but he does so blindly.
A man, on the other hand, looks forwards and backwards, and compares
his various feelings, desires and recollections. He then finds, in
accordance with the verdict of all the wisest men that the highest
satisfaction is derived from following certain impulses, namely the
social instincts. If he acts for the good of others, he will receive
the approbation of his fellow men and gain the love of those with
whom he lives; and this latter gain undoubtedly is the highest pleasure
on this earth. By degrees it will become intolerable to him to obey
his sensuous passions rather than his higher impulses, which when
rendered habitual may be almost called instincts. His reason may
occasionally tell him to act in opposition to the opinion of others,
whose approbation he will then not receive; but he will still have
the solid satisfaction of knowing that he has followed his innermost
guide or conscience.—As for myself I believe that I have acted
rightly in steadily following and devoting my life to science. I
feel no remorse from having committed any great sin, but have often
and often regretted that I have not done more direct good to my fellow
creatures. My sole and poor excuse is much ill-health and my mental
constitution, which makes it extremely difficult for me to turn from
one subject or occupation to another. I can imagine with high satisfaction
giving up my whole time to philanthropy, but not a portion of it;
though this would have been a far better line of conduct.
Nothing(7) is more remarkable than the spread of scepticism or rationalism
during the latter half of my life. Before I was engaged to be married,
my father advised me to conceal carefully my doubts, for he said
that he had known extreme misery thus caused with married persons.
Things went on pretty well until the wife or husband became out of
health, and then some women suffered miserably by doubting about
the salvation of their husbands, thus making them likewise to suffer.
My father added that he had known during his whole long life only
three women who were sceptics; and it should be remembered that he
knew well a multitude of persons and possessed extraordinary power
of winning confidence. When I asked him who the three women were,
he had to own with respect to one of them, his sister-in-law Kitty
Wedgwood, that he had no good evidence, only the vaguest hints, aided
by the conviction that so clear-sighted a woman could not be a believer.
At the present time, with my small acquaintance, I know (or have
known) several married ladies, who believe very little more than
their husbands. My father used to quote an unanswerable argument,
by which an old lady, a Mrs Barlow, who suspected him of unorthodoxy,
hoped to convert him:—" Doctor, I know that sugar is sweet
in my mouth, and I know that my Redeemer liveth."
Footnotes:
(1) Mrs. Darwin annotated this passage (from "and have never
since doubted"…. to "damnable doctrine") in
her own handwriting. She writes:—"I should dislike the
passage in brackets to be published. It seems to me raw. Nothing
can be said too severe upon the doctrine of everlasting punishment
for disbelief—but very few now wd. call that 'Christianity,'
(tho' the words are there.) There is the question of verbal inspiration
comes in too. E. D." Oct. 1882. This was written six months
after her husband's death, in a second copy of the Autobiography
in Francis's handwriting. The passage was not published. See Introduction.—N.
B.
(2) My father asks whether we are to believe that the forms are
preordained of the broken fragments of rock which are fitted together
by man to build his houses. If not, why should we believe that the
variations of domestic animals or plants are preordained for the
sake of the breeder? "But if we give up the principle in one
case,…no shadow of reason can be assigned for the belief that
variations alike in nature and the result of the same general laws,
which have been the groundwork through natural selection of the formation
of the most perfectly adapted animals in the world, man included,
were intentionally and specially guided."—Variations of
Animals and Plants, 1st Edit. vol. ii. p. 431.—F. D.
(3) "together with use or habit" added later. The many
corrections and alterations in this sentence show his increasing
preoccupation with the possibility of other forces at work besides
Natural Selection. See P. 15—N. B.
(4) Addendum added later to end of paragraph—N. B.
(5) Addendum of four lines added later. In Charles's MS. copy the
interleaved addition is in his eldest son's hand. In Francis's copy
it is in Charles's own hand.—N. B.
(6) Added later. Emma Darwin wrote and asked Frank to omit this
sentence when he was editing the Autobiography in 1885. The letter
is as follows:—
"Emma Darwin to her son Francis. 1885.
My dear Frank,
There is one sentence in the Autobiography which I very much wish
to omit, no doubt partly because your father's opinion that all morality
has grown up by evolution is painful to me; but also because where
this sentence comes in, it gives one a sort of shock—and would
give an opening to say, however unjustly, that he considered all
spiritual beliefs no higher than hereditary aversions or likings,
such as the fear of monkeys towards snakes.
I think the disrespectful aspect would disappear if the first part
of the conjecture was left without the illustration of the instance
of monkeys and snakes. I don't think you need consult William about
this omission, as it would not change the whole gist of the Autobiography.
I should wish if possible to avoid giving pain to your father's religious
friends who are deeply attached to him, and I picture to myself the
way that sentence would strike them, even those so liberal as Ellen
Tollett and Laura, much more Admiral Sullivan, Aunt Caroline, &c.,
and even the old servants.
Yours, dear Frank,
E. D."
This letter appeared in Emma Darwin by Henrietta Litchfield in
the privately printed edition from the Cambridge University Press
in 1904. In John Murray's public edition of 1915 it was omitted.—N.
B.
(7) This paragraph has a note by Charles:—"Written in
1879—copied out Apl. 22, 1881." Probably refers also to
previous paragraph.—N. B.
T.A.C.D. G
