hope too you see clearly, that they cannot possibly have more force in
the one case than in the other.

But to bring the case still nearer the present one of the universe, I
shall make two suppositions, which imply not any absurdity or
impossibility. Suppose that there is a natural, universal, invariable
language, common to every individual of human race; and that books are
natural productions, which perpetuate themselves in the same manner with
animals and vegetables, by descent and propagation. Several expressions
of our passions contain a universal language: all brute animals have a
natural speech, which, however limited, is very intelligible to their own
species. And as there are infinitely fewer parts and less contrivance in
the finest composition of eloquence, than in the coarsest organised body,
the propagation of an Iliad or Aeneid is an easier supposition than that
of any plant or animal.

Suppose, therefore, that you enter into your library, thus peopled by
natural volumes, containing the most refined reason and most exquisite
beauty; could you possibly open one of them, and doubt, that its original
cause bore the strongest analogy to mind and intelligence? When it
reasons and discourses; when it expostulates, argues, and enforces its
views and topics; when it applies sometimes to the pure intellect,
sometimes to the affections; when it collects, disposes, and adorns every
consideration suited to the subject; could you persist in asserting, that
all this, at the bottom, had really no meaning; and that the first
formation of this volume in the loins of its original parent proceeded
not from thought and design? Your obstinacy, I know, reaches not that
degree of firmness: even your sceptical play and wantonness would be
abashed at so glaring an absurdity.