SECT.  LXXII.  Answer to the Objection of the Epicureans, who Ascribe all to Chance.

What would one say of a man who should set up for a subtle philosopher, or, to use the modern expression, a free-thinker, and who entering a house should maintain it was made by chance, and that art had not in the least contributed to render it commodious to men, because there are caves somewhat like that house, which yet were never dug by the art of man?  One should show to such a reasoner all the parts of the house, and tell him for instance:—Do you see this great court-gate?  It is larger than any door, that coaches may enter it.  This court has sufficient space for coaches to turn in it.  This staircase is made up of low steps, that one may ascend it with ease; and turns according to the apartments and stories it is to serve.  The windows, opened at certain distances, light the whole building.  They are glazed, lest the wind should enter with the light; but they may be opened at pleasure, in order to breathe a sweet air when the weather is fair.  The roof is contrived to defend the whole house from the injuries of the air.  The timber-work is laid slanting and pointed at the top, that the rain and snow may easily slide down on both sides.  The tiles bear one upon another, that they may cover the timber-work.  The divers floors serve to make different stories, in order to multiply lodgings within a small space.  The chimneys are contrived to light fire in winter without setting the house on fire, and to let out the smoke, lest it should offend those that warm themselves.  The apartments are distributed in such a manner that they be disengaged from one another; that a numerous family may lodge in the house, and the one not be obliged to pass through another’s room; and that the master’s apartment be the principal.  There are kitchens, offices, stables, and coach-houses.  The rooms are furnished with beds to lie in, chairs to sit on, and tables to write and eat on.  Sure, should one urge to that philosopher, this work must have been directed by some skilful architect; for everything in it is agreeable, pleasant, proportioned, and commodious; and besides, he must needs have had excellent artists under him.  “Not at all,” would such a philosopher answer; “you are ingenious in deceiving yourself.  It is true this house is pleasant, agreeable, proportioned, and commodious; but yet it made itself with all its proportions.  Chance put together all the stones in this excellent order; it raised the walls, jointed and laid the timber-work, cut open the casements, and placed the staircase: do not believe any human hand had anything to do with it.  Men only made the best of this piece of work when they found it ready made.  They fancy it was made for them, because they observe things in it which they know how to improve to their own conveniency; but all they ascribe to the design and contrivance of an imaginary architect, is but the effect of their preposterous imaginations.  This so regular, and so well-contrived house, was made in just the same manner as a cave, and men finding it ready made to their hands made use of it, as they would in a storm, of a cave they should find under a rock in a desert.”

What thoughts could a man entertain of such a fantastic philosopher, if he should persist seriously to assert that such a house displays no art?  When we read the fabulous story of Amphion, who by a miraculous effect of harmony caused the stones to rise, and placed themselves, with order and symmetry, one on the top of another, in order to form the walls of Thebes, we laugh and sport with that poetical fiction: but yet this very fiction is not so incredible as that which the free-thinking philosopher we contend with would dare to maintain.  We might, at least, imagine that harmony, which consists in a local motion of certain bodies, might (by some of those secret virtues, which we admire in nature, without being acquainted with them) shake and move the stones into a certain order and in a sort of cadence, which might occasion some regularity in the building.  I own this explanation both shocks and clashes with reason; but yet it is less extravagant than what I have supposed a philosopher should say.  What, indeed, can be more absurd, than to imagine stones that hew themselves, that go out of the quarry, that get one on the top of another, without leaving any empty space; that carry with them mortar to cement one another; that place themselves in different ranks for the contrivance of apartments; and who admit on the top of all the timber-roof, with the tiles, in order to cover the whole work?  The very children, that cannot yet speak plain, would laugh, if they were seriously told such a ridiculous story.