seamen; and M/ARS\ of warriors. The husbandman cultivates his field
under the protection of C/ERES\; and the merchant acknowledges the
authority of M/ERCURY\. Each natural event is supposed to be
governed by some intelligent agent; and nothing prosperous or
adverse can happen in life, which may not be the subject of peculiar
prayers or thanksgivings.[2]

     It must necessarily, indeed, be allowed, that, in order to
carry men's attention beyond the present course of things, or lead
them into any inference concerning invisible intelligent power, they
must be actuated by some passion, which prompts their thought and
reflection; some motive, which urges their first enquiry. But what
passion shall we here have recourse to, for explaining an effect of
such mighty consequence? Not speculative curiosity surely, or the
pure love of truth. That motive is too refined for such gross
apprehensions; and would lead men into enquiries concerning the
frame of nature, a subject too large and comprehensive for their
narrow capacities. No passions, therefore, can be supposed to work
upon such barbarians, but the ordinary affections of human life; the
anxious concern for happiness, the dread of future misery, the
terror of death, the thirst of revenge, the appetite for food and
other necessaries. Agitated by hopes and fears of this nature,
especially the latter, men scrutinize, with a trembling curiosity,
the course of future causes, and examine the various and contrary
events of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still
more disordered and astonished, they see the first obscure traces of
divinity.

             S/ECT\. III. <The same subject continued>.

                                  

     We are placed in this world, as in a great theatre, where the
true springs and causes of every event are entirely concealed from
us; nor have we either sufficient wisdom to foresee, or power to
prevent those ills, with which we are continually threatened. We
hang in perpetual suspence between life and death, health and
sickness, plenty and want; which are distributed amongst the human
species by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft
unexpected, and always unaccountable. These <unknown causes>, then,
become the constant object of our hope and fear; and while the
passions are kept in perpetual alarm by an anxious expectation of
the events, the imagination is equally employed in forming ideas of
those powers, on which we have so entire a dependance. Could men
anatomize nature, according to the most probable, at least the most
intelligible philosophy, they would find, that these causes are
nothing but the particular fabric and structure of the minute parts
of their own bodies and of external objects; and that, by a regular
and constant machinery, all the events are produced, about which
they are so much concerned. But this philosophy exceeds the
comprehension of the ignorant multitude, who can only conceive the
<unknown causes> in a general and confused manner; though their
imagination, perpetually employed on the same subject, must labour
to form some particular and distinct idea of them. The more they
consider these causes themselves, and the uncertainty of their
operation, the less satisfaction do they meet with in their
researches; and, however unwilling, they must at last have abandoned
so arduous an attempt, were it not for a propensity in human nature,
which leads into a system, that gives them some satisfaction.

     There is an universal tendency among mankind to conceive all
beings like themselves, and to transfer to every object, those
qualities, with which they are familiarly acquainted, and of which
they are intimately conscious. We find human faces in the moon,
armies in the clouds; and by a natural propensity, if not corrected
by experience and reflection, ascribe malice or good- will to every
thing, that hurts or pleases us. Hence the frequency and beauty of
the <prosopopoeia> in poetry; where trees, mountains and streams are
personified, and the inanimate parts of nature acquire sentiment and
passion. And though these poetical figures and expressions gain not
on the belief, they may serve, at least, to prove a certain tendency
in the imagination, without which they could neither be beautiful
nor natural. Nor is a river-god or hamadryad always taken for a mere
poetical or imaginary personage; but may sometimes enter into the
real creed of the ignorant vulgar; while each grove or field is
represented as possessed of a particular  or invisible
power, which inhabits and protects it. Nay, philosophers cannot
entirely exempt themselves from this natural frailty; but have oft
ascribed to inanimate matter the horror of a , sympathies,
antipathies, and other affections of human nature. The absurdity is
not less, while we cast our eyes upwards; and transferring, as is
too usual, human passions and infirmities to the deity, represent
him as jealous and revengeful, capricious and partial, and, in
short, a wicked and foolish man, in every respect but his superior
power and authority. No wonder, then, that mankind, being placed in
such an absolute ignorance of causes, and being at the same time so
anxious concerning their future fortune, should immediately
acknowledge a dependence on invisible powers, possessed of sentiment
and intelligence. The <unknown causes>, which continually employ
their thought, appearing always in the same aspect, are all
apprehended to be of the same kind or species. Nor is it long before
we ascribe to them thought and reason and passion, and sometimes
even the limbs and figures of men, in order to bring them nearer to
a resemblance with ourselves.

     In proportion as any man's course of life is governed by
accident, we always find, that he encreases in superstition; as may
particularly be observed of gamesters and sailors, who, though, of
all mankind, the least capable of serious reflection, abound most in
frivolous and superstitious apprehensions. The gods, says