01 /8t. P3 /3-^y

Accessions

UA6

Shelf ^so.

M£

PJJBLIC,

Boston Public Library

Do not write in this book or mark it with pen or
pencil. Penalties for so doing are imposed by the
Revised Laws of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

This book was issued to the borrower on the date
last stamped below.

y<-r ,;

.•' UK..-.--— ~,v --rri

1.

1 13 I

1 IS*

:

1 NO. 609; 7.31.36; SOOM.

NATURAL THEOLOGY:

M- ■ „ .EVIDENCES s>

- EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES

OF THE DEITT,

COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES OF
NATURE.

'iS^??-^

BY WILLIAM PALEY, D. D.

ARCHDEACON OF CARLISLE.

PHILADELPHIA:

PRINTED FOR JOHN MORGAN, NO. 51, SOUTH SECOND-STREET,
BY H. MAXWELL, NO. 25, NORTH SECOND-STREET.

/ 1802.

/

v '» V.

V,

% V ^

s

TO THE

HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND

SHUTE HARRINGTON, LLJD

LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM.

MY LORD,

THE following Work was under-
taken at your Lordship's recommendation;
and, amongst other motives, for the purpose
of making the most acceptable return I could
make for a great and important benefit confer-
red upon me.

It may be unnecessary, yet not, perhaps,
quite impertinent, to state to your Lordship
and to the reader, the several inducements
that have led me once more to the press. The
favour of my first and ever honoured patron
had put me in possession of so liberal a pro-
vision in the church, as abundantly to satisfy
my wants, and much to exceed my pretensions.
Your I^ordship's munificence, in conjunction

iv DEDICATION.

with that of some other excellent Prelates,
who regarded my services with the partiality
with which your Lordship was pleased to
consider them, hath since placed me in eccle-
siastical situations, more than adequate to
every object of reasonable ambition. In the
meantime, a weak, and, of late, a painful state
of health, deprived me of the power of dis-
charging the duties of my station, in a manner
at all suitable, either to my sense of those du-
ties, or to my most anxious wishes concerning
them. My inability for the public functions
of my profession, amongst other consequences,
left me much at leisure. That leisure was not
to be lost. It was only in my study that I
could repair my deficiencies in the church. It
was only through the press that I could speak.
These circumstances, in particular, entitled
your Lordship to call upon me for the only
species of exertion of which I was capable,
and disposed me without hesitation to obey
the call in the best manner that I could. In
the choice of a subject I had no place left for
doubt : in saying which, I do not so much re-
fer, either to the supreme importance of the
subject, or to any scepticism concerning it
with which the present times are charged, as I
do, to its connection with the subjects treated
of in my former publications. The following
discussion alone was wanted to make up my
works into a system : in which works, such as
they are, the public have now before them,

DEDICATION. v

the evidences of natural religion, the evidences
of revealed religion, and an account of the du-
ties that result from both. It is of small im-
portance, that they have been written in an
order, the very reverse of that in which they
ought to be read. I commend therefore the
present volume to your Lordship's protection,
not only as, in all probability, my last labour,
but as the completion of a consistent and com-
prehensive design.

Hitherto, My Lord, I have been speaking
of myself and not of my Patron. Your
Lordship wants not the testimony of a dedi-
cation ; nor any testimony from me : I con-
sult therefore the impulse of my own mind
alone when I declare, that in no respect has
my intercourse with your Lordship been more
gratifying to me, than in the opportunities,
which it has afforded me, of observing your
earnest, active, and unwearied solicitude, for
the advancement of substantial Christianity;
a solicitude, nevertheless, accompanied with
that candor of mind, which suffers no subor-
dinate differences of opinion, when there is a
coincidence in the main intention and object,
to produce any alienation of esteem, or dimi-
nution of favour. It is fortunate for a coun-
try, and honourable to its government, when
qualities and dispositions like these are placed
in high and influencing stations. Such is the
sincere judgment which I have formed of your
Lordship's character, and of its public value :

otf DEDICATION.

my personal obligations I can never forget.
Under a due sense of both these considera-
tions, I beg leave to subscribe myself, with
great respect and gratitude,
My Lord,
Your Lordship's faithful

And most devoted servant,

WILLIAM PALEY.

iB:shop Wearmouthy
July, 1802.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAP. PA&le

I. State of the Argument 1

II. State of the Argument continued 7

III. Application of the Argument 14

IV. Of the succession of Plants and Animals 36

V. Application of the Argument continued 41

VI. The Argument Cumulative 55

VII. Of the Mechanical and Immechanical functions of Ani-
mals and Vegetables 5?

VIII. Of Mechanical Arrangement in the Human Frame...

Of the Bones » 6?

IX. Of the Muscles 6$

X. Of the Vessels of Animal Bodies 106

XI. Of the Animal Structure regarded as a Mass 135

XII. Comparative Anatomy 15Q

XIII. Peculiar Organizations ..« 171

XIV. Prospective Contrivances..... 179

XV. Relations 186

XVI. Compensation 19$

XVII. The Relation of Animated Bodies to Inanimate Nature 20?
XVin. Instincts .» 21$

XIX. Of Insects., 22?

XX. Of Plants 265

XXI. Of the Elements 28Q

XXII. Astronomy 287

XXIII. Personality of the Deity 306

XXIV. Of the Natural Attributes of the Deity 329

XXV. Of the Unity of the Deity , 335

XXVI. The Goodness of the Deity 339

XXVII. Conclusion «.-...* 293

NATURAL THEOLOGY;

OR,

EVIDENCES OF THE EXISTENCE AND ATTRIBUTES
OF THE DEITY,

COLLECTED FROM THE APPEARANCES OF NATURE.

CHAPTER I.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

IN crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my
foot against a stone, and were asked how the stone
came to be there, I might possibly answer, that,
for any thing I knew to the contrary, it had lain there
forever : nor would it perhaps be very easy to shew
the absurdity of this answer. But suppose I had
found a watch upon the ground, and it should be
inquired how the watch happened to be in that
place, I should hardly think of the answer which I
had before given, that, for any thing I knew, the
watch might have always been there. Yet why
should not this answer serve for the watch, as well
as for the stone ? Why is it not as admissible in the
second case, as in the first ? For this reason, and for
no other, viz. that, when we come to inspect the
watch, we perceive (what we could not discover in

,2 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

the stone) that its several parts are framed and put
together for a purpose, e. g. that they are so formed
snd adjusted as to produce motion, and that motion
so regulated as to point out the hour of the day ;
that, if the several parts had been differently shaped
from what they are, of a different size from what
they are, or placed after any other manner, or in
any other order, than that in which they are placed,
either no motion at all would have been carried on
In the machine, or none which would have answered
the use, that is now served by it. To reckon up a
few of the plainest of these parts, and of their offices,
all tending to one result : — We see a cylindrical box
containing a coiled elastic spring, which, by its
endeavour to relax itself, tarns round the box.
We next observe a flexible chain (artificially wrought
for the sake of flexure) communicating the action of
the spring from the box to the fusee. We then
find a series of wheels, the teeth of which, catch
in, and apply to, each other,- conducting the motion
from the fusee to the balance, and from the balance
to the pointer; and at the same time, by the size
and shape of those wheels, so regulating that motion,
as to terminate in causing an index, by an equable
and measured progression, to pass over a given
space in a given time. We take notice that the
wheels are made of brass, in order to keep them
from rust; the springs of steel, no other metal
being so elastic; that over the face of the watch
there is placed a glass, a material employed in no
other part of the work, but, in the room of which,
if there had been any other than a transparent sub-
stance, the hour could not be seen without opening
the case. This mechanism being observed (it
requires indeed an examination of the instrument,
and perhaps some previous knowledge of the sub-
ject, to perceive and understand it; but being once,

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT, $

as we have said, observed and understood), the infer-
ence, we think, is inevitable; that the watch must
have had a maker ; that there must have existed,
at some time and at some place or other, an artificer
or artificers, who formed it for the purpose which
we find it actually to answer; who comprehended its
construction, and designed its use,

I. Nor would it, I apprehend, weaken the conclu-
sion, that we had never seen a watch made ; that we
had never known an artist capable of making one ;
that we were altogether incapable of executing such
a piece of workmanship ourselves, or of understand-
ing in what manner it was performed ; all this being
no more than what is true of some exquisite remains
of ancient art, of some lost arts, and to the generality
of mankind, of the more curious productions of
modern manufacture. Does one man in a million
know how oval frames are turned? Ignorance of this
kind exalts our opinion of the unseen and unknown
artist's skill, if he be unseen and unknown, but raises
no doubt in our minds of the existence and agency
of such an artist, at some former time, and in some
place or other. Nor can I perceive that it varies at
all the inference, whether the question arise concern-
ing a human agent, or concerning an agent of a dif-
ferent species, or an agent possessing, in some,
respects, a different nature.

II. Neither, secondly, would it invalidate our
conclusion, that the watch sometimes went wrong,
or that it seldom went exactly right. The purpose
of the machinery, the design, and the designer,
might be evident, and in the case supposed would
be evident, in whatever way we accounted for the
irregularity of the movement, or whether we could
account for it or not. It is not necessary that a ma-
chine be perfect, in order to shew with what design
it was made: still less necessary, where the only

4, STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

question is, whether it were made with any design
at all.

III. Nor, thirdly, would it bring any uncertainty
into the argument, if there were a few parts of the
watch, concerning which we could not discover, or
had not yet discovered, in what manner they con-
duced to the general effect; or even some parts,
concerning which we could not ascertain, whether
they conduced to that effect in any manner whatever.
For, as to the first branch of the case; if, by the
loss, or disorder, or decay of the parts in question,
the movement of the watch were found in fact to
be stopped, or disturbed, or retarded, no doubt
would remain in our minds as to the utility or in-,
tention of these parts, although we should be un-
able to investigate the manner according to which,
or the connection by which, the ultimate effect de-
pended upon their action or assistance: and the more
complex is the machine, the more likely is this ob-
scurity to arise. Then, as to the second thing sup-
posed, namely, that there were parts, which might
be spared without prejudice to the movement of the
watch, and that we had proved this by experiment,
— these superfluous parts, even if we were completely
assured that they were such, would not vacate the
reasoning which we had instituted concerning other
parts. The indication of contrivance remained, with
respect to them, nearly as it was before.

IV. Nor, fourthly, would any man in his senses
think the existence of the watch, with its various
machinery, accounted for, by being told that it was
one out of possible combinations of material forms ;
that whatever he had found in the place where he
found the watch, must have contained some internal
configuration or other; and that this configuration
might be the structure now exhibited, viz. of the
works of a watch, as well as a different structure.

-STATE OF THE ARGUMENT. ^

V. Nor, fifthly, would it yield his inquiry more
satisfaction to be answered, that there existed in
things a principle of order, which had disposed the
parts of the watch into their present form and situa-
tion. He never knew a watch made by the principle
of order ; nor can he even form to himself an idea of
what is meant by a principle of order, distinct from
the intelligence of the watch-maker.

VI. Sixthly, he would be surprised to hear, that
the mechanism of the watch was no proof of contri-
vance, only a motive to induce the mind to think so :

VII. And not less surprised to be informed, that
the watch in his hand was nothing more than the re-
sult of the laws of metallic nature. It is a perversion
of language to assign any law, as the efficient, opera-
tive, cause of any thing. A law presupposes an agent;
for it is only the mode, according to which an agent
proceeds: it implies a power; for it is the order, ac-
cording to which that power acts. Without this
agent, without this power, which are both distinct
from itself, the law does nothing; is nothing. The
expression, " the law of metallic nature," may sound
strange and harsh to a philosophic ear, but it seems
quite as justifiable as some others which are more
familiar to him, such as " the law of vegetable na-
ture"— " the law of animal nature," or indeed as " the
law of nature" in general, when assigned as the cause
of phenomena, in exclusion of agency and power ;
or when it is substituted into the place of these.

VIII. Neither, lastly, would our observer be dri-
ven out of his conclusion, or from his confidence in
its truth, by being told that he knew nothing at all
about the matter. He knows enough for his argu-
ment. He knows the utility of the end : he knows
the subserviency and adaptation of the means to the
end. These points being known, his ignorance of

& STATE OF THE ARGUMENT.

other points, his doubts concerning other points,
affect not the certainty of his reasoning. The con-
sciousness of knowing little, need not beget a distrust
of that which he does know.

[ 7 ]

CHAPTER II.

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

SUPPOSE, in the next place, that the per-
son, who found the watch, should, after some time,
discover, that, in addition to all the properties which
he had hitherto observed in it, it possessed the un-
expected property of producing, in the course of its
movement, another watch like itself; (the thing is
conceivable;) that it contained within it a mecha-
nism, a system of parts, a mould for instance, or a
complex adjustment of laths, files, and other tools,
evidently and separately calculated for this purpose;
let us inquire, what effect ought such a discovery to
have upon his former conclusion?

I. The first effect would be to increase his admi-
ration of the contrivance, and his conviction of the
consummate skill of the contriver. Whether he re*
garded the object of the contrivance, the distinct ap-
paratus, the intricate, yet in many parts intelligible,
mechanism by which it was carried on, he would
perceive, in this new observation, nothing but an ad-
ditional reason for doing what he had already done ;
for referring the construction of the watch to design,
and to supreme art. If that construction without this
property, or, which is the same thing, before this pro-
perty had been noticed, proved intention and art to
have been employed about it; still more strong would
the proof appear, when he came to the knowledge of
this further property, the crown and perfection of all
the rest.

8 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

II. He would reflect, that though the watch before
him were, in some sense, the maker of the watch,
which was fabricated in the course of its movements,
yet it was in a very different sense from that, in which
a carpenter, for instance, is the maker of a chair; the
author of its contrivance, the cause of the relation of
its parts to their use. With respect to these, the
first watch was no cause at all to the second : in no
such sense as this, was it the author of the constitu-
tion and order, either of the parts which the new
watch contained, or of the parts by the aid and in-
strumentality of which it was produced. We might
possibly say, but with great latitude of expression,
that a stream of water ground corn : but no latitude
of expression would allow us to say, no stretch of
conjecture could lead us to think, that the stream of
water built the mill, though it were too ancient for us
to know who the builder was. What the stream of
water does in the affair is neither more nor less than
this; by the application of an unintelligent impulse to
a mechanism previously arranged, arranged indepen-
dently of it, and arranged by intelligence, an effect is
produced, viz. the corn is ground. But the effect
results from the arrangement. The force of the
stream cannot be said to be the cause or author of
the effect, still less of the arrangement. Understand-
ing and plan in the formation of the mill were not
the less necessary, for any share which the water has
in grinding the corn : yet is this share the same, as
that which the watch would have contributed to the
production of the new watch, upon the supposition
assumed in the last section. Therefore,

III. Though it be now no longer probable, that
the individual watch which our observer had found,
was made immediately by the hand of an artificer,
yet doth not this alteration in any wise affect the in-
ference, that an artificer had been originally em-

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 9.

ployed and concerned in the production. The
argument from design remains as it was. Marks of
design and contrivance are no more accounted for
now, than they were before. In the same thing, we
may ask for the cause of different properties. We
may ask for the cause of the colour of a body, of its
hardness, of its heat; and these causes may be all dif-
ferent. We are now asking for the cause of that
subserviency to an use, that relation to an end, which
we have remarked in the watch before us. No an-
swer is given to this question by telling us that a
preceding watch produced it. There cannot be de-
sign without a designer; contrivance without a con-
triver; order without choice; arrangement, without
any thing capable of arranging ; subserviency and re-
lation to a purpose, without that which could intend
a purpose; means suitable to an end, and executing
their office in accomplishing that end, without the
end ever having been contemplated, or the means
accommodated to it. Arrangement, disposition of
parts, subserviency of means to an end, relation of
instruments to an use, imply the presence of intelli-
gence and mind. No one, therefore, can rationally
believe, that the insensible, inanimate watch, from
which the watch before us issued, was the proper
cause of the mechanism we so much admire in it;
could be truly said to have constructed the instru-
ment, disposed its parts, assigned their office, deter-
mined their order, action, and mutual dependency,
combined their several motions into one result, and
that also a result connected with the utilities of other
beings. Ail these properties, therefore, are as much
unaccounted for, as tiiey were before.

IV. Nor is any thing gained by running the diffi-
culty further back, i. e. by supposing the watch be*
fore us to have been produced from another wTatch,
that from a former, and so on indefinitely. Our go-

10 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

ing back ever so far brings us no nearer to the least
degree of satisfaction upon the subject. Contrivance
is still unaccounted for. We still want a contriver.
A designing mind is neither supplied by this suppo-
sition, nor dispensed with. If the difficulty were di-
minished the further we went back, by going back
indefinitely we might exhaust it. And this is the
only case to which this sort of reasoning applies.
Where there is a tendency, or, as we increase the
number of terms, a continual approach towards a li-
mit, there, by supposing the number of terms to be
what is called infinite, we may conceive the limit to
be attained : but where there is no such tendency or
approach, nothing is effected by lengthening the se-
ries. There is no difference as to the point in ques-
tion, (whatever there may be as to many points) be-
tween one series and another; between a series which
is finite, and a series which is infinite. A chain,
composed of an infinite number of links, can no more
support itself, than a chain composed of a finite num-
ber of links. And of this we are assured, (though
we never can have tried the experiment) because,
by increasing the number of links, from ten for in-
stance to a hundred, from a hundred to a thousand,
&c. we make not the smallest approach, we observe
not the smallest tendency, towards self support.
There is no difference in this respect (yet there may
be a great difference in several respects) between a
chain of a greater or less length, between one chain
and another, between one that is finite and one that
is indefinite. This very much resembles the case
before us. The machine, which we are inspecting,
demonstrates, by its construction, contrivance and
design. Contrivance must have had a contriver;
design, a designer; whether the machine immediately
proceeded from another machine, or not. That cir-
cumstance alters not the case. That odier machine

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 1%

may, in like manner, have proceeded from a former
machine: nor does that alter the case: contrivance
must have had a contriver. That former one from
one preceding it: no alteration still: a contriver is
still necessary. No tendency is perceived, no ap-
proach towards a diminution of this necessity. It is
the same with any and every succession of these
machines; a succession of ten, of a hundred, of a
thousand; with one series as with another; a series
which is finite, as with a series which is infinite.
In whatever other respects they may differ, in this
they do not. In all equally, contrivance and design
are unaccounted for.

The question is not simply, How came the first
watch into existence? which question, it may he pre-
tended, is done away by supposing the series of
wratches thus produced from one another to have been
infinite, and consequently to have had no such first,
for which it was necessary to provide a cause. This,
perhaps, would have been nearly the state of the
question, if nothing had been before us but an unor-
ganised, unmechanised, substance, without mark or
indication of contrivance. It might be difficult to
shew that such substance could not have existed
from eternity, either in succession (if it were possi-
ble, which I think it is not, for unorganised bodies
to spring from one another), or by individual perpe-
tuity. But that is not the question now. To suppose
it to be so, is to suppose that it made no difference
whether we had found a watch or a stone. As it is,
the metaphysics of that question have no place; for,
in the watch which we are examining, are seen con-
trivance, design; an end, a purpose; means for the
end, adaptation to the purpose. And the question,
which irresistibly presses upon our thoughts, is,
whence this contrivance and design. The thing re-
quired is the intending mind, the adapting hand, the

V2 STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

intelligence by which that hand was directed. This
question, this demand, is not shaken off, by increas-
ing a number or succession of substances, destitute
of these properties; nor the more, by increasing that
number to infinity. If it be said, that, upon the sup-
position of one watch being produced from another
in the course of that other's movements, andby means
of the mechanism within it, we have a cause for the
watch in my hand, viz. the watch from which it pro-
ceeded, I deny, that for the design, the contrivance,
the suitableness of means to an end, the adaptation of
instruments to an use (all which we discover in the
watch), wTe have any cause whatever. It is in vain,
therefore, to assign a series of such causes, or to
allege that a series may be carried back to infinity;
for I do not admit that we have yet any cause at all of
the phenomena, still less any series of causes either
finite or infinite. Here is contrivance, but no con-
triver: proofs of design, but no designer.

V. Our observer would further also reflect, that the
maker of the watch before him, was, in truth and
reality, the maker of every watch produced from it;
there being no difference (except that the latter ma-
nifests a more exquisite skill) between the making of
another watch with his own hands by the mediation
of files, laths, chisels, Sec. and the disposing, fixing,
and inserting, of these instruments, or of others equi-
valent to them, in the body of the watch already
made, in such a manner, as to form a new watch in
the course of the movements which he had given to
the old one. It is only working by one set of tools,
instead of another.

The conclusion which the first examination of
the watch, of its works, construction, and movement
suggested, was, that it must have had, for the cause
and author of that construction, an artificer, who un-
derstood its mechanism, and designed its use. This

STATE OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 13

conclusion is invincible. A second examination pre-
sents us with a new discovery. The watch is found,
in the course of its movement, to produce another
watch, similar to itself: and not only so, but we per-
ceive in it a system of organization, separately cal-
culated for that purpose. What effect would this
discovery have, or ought it to have, upon our former
inference? What, as hath already been said, but to
increase, beyond measure, our admiration of the skill,
which had been employed in the formation of such a
machine? Or shall it, instead of this, all at once turn
us round to an opposite conclusion, viz. that no art
or skill whatever has been concerned in the business,
although all other evidences of art and skill remain
as they were, and this last and supreme piece of art
be now added to the rest? Can this be maintained
without absurdity? Yet this is atheism,

[ 14 ]

CHAPTER III.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT*

1 HIS is atheism : for every indication of
contrivance, every manifestation @f design, which
existed in the watch, exists in the works of nature;
with the difference, on the side of nature, of being
greater and more, and that in a degree which exceeds
all computation. I mean that the contrivances of
nature surpass the contrivances of art, in the com-
plexity, subtlety, and curiosity of the mechanism;
and still more, if possible, do they go beyond them
in number and variety : yet, in a multitude of cases,
are not less evidently mechanical, not less evidently
contrivances, not less evidently accommodated to
their end, or suited to their office, than are the most
perfect productions of human ingenuity.

I know no better method of introducing so large a
subject, than that of comparing a single thing with a
single thing; an eye, for example, with a telescope.
As far as the examination of the instrument goes,
there is precisely the same proof that the eye was
made for vision, as there is that the telescope was
made for assisting it. They are made upon the same
principles; both being adjusted to the laws by which
the transmission and refraction of rays of light are
regulated. I speak not of the origin of the laws
themselves; but, such laws being fixed, the con-
struction, in both cases, is adapted to them. For
instance; these laws require, in order to produce the
same effect, that the rays of light, in passing from

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. IS

water into the eye, should be refracted by a more
coir/ex surface, than when it passes out of air into
the eye. Accordingly we find, that the eye of a fish,
in that part of it called the crystalline lense, is much
rounder than the eye of terrestrial animals. What
plainer manifestation of design can there be than this
difference ? What could a mathematical instrument-
maker have done more, to shew his knowledge of
his principle, his application of that knowledge, his
suiting of his means to his end; I will not say to dis-
play the compass or excellency of his skill and art,
for in these all comparison is indecorous, but to tes-
tify counsel, choice, consideration, purpose?

To some it may appear a difference sufficient to
destroy all similitude between the eye and the tele-
scope, that the one is a perceiving organ, the other
an unperceiving instrument. The fact is, that they
are both instruments. And, as to the mechanism,
at least as to mechanism being employed, and even
as to the kind of it, this circumstance varies not the
analogy at all. For observe, what the constitution
of the eye is. It is necessary, in order to produce
distinct vision, that an image or picture of the object
be formed at the bottom of the eye. Whence this
necessity arises, or how the picture is connected with
the sensation, or contributes to it, it may be difficult,
nay we will confess, if you please, impossible for us
to search out. But the present question is not con-
cerned in the inquiry. It may be true, that, in this,
and in other instances, we trace mechanical contri-
vance a certain way ; and that then we come to some-
thing which is not mechanical, or which is inscru-
table. But this affects not the certainty of our
investigation, as far as we have gone. The differ-
ence between an animal and an automatic statue,
consists in this, — that, in the animal, we trace the
mechanism to a certain point, and then we are stop-

16 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

ped; either the mechanism becoming too subtile for
our discernment, or something else beside the known
laws of mechanism taking place; whereas, in the au-
tomaton, for the comparatively few motions of which
it is capable, we trace the mechanism throughout.
But, up to the limit, the reasoning is as clear and
certain in the one case as the other. In the exam-,
pie before us, it is a matter of certainty, because
it is a matter which experience and observation
demonstrate, that the formation of an image at
the bottom of the eye is necessary to perfect vision.
The image itself can be shewn. Whatever af-
fects the distinctness of the image, affects the dis-
tinctness of the vision. The formation then of
such an image being necessary (no matter how), to
the sense of sight, and to the exercise of that sense,
the apparatus by which it is formed is constructed
and put together, not only with infinitely more art,
but upon the self-same principles of art, as in the
telescope or the camera obscura. The perception
arising from the image may be laid out of the ques-
tion: for the production of the image, these are in-
struments of the same kind. The end is the same;
the means are the same. The purpose in both is
alike; the contrivance for accomplishing that purpose
is in both alike. The lenses of the telescope, and
the humours of the eye bear a complete resemblance
to one another, in their figure, their position, and in
their power over the rays of light, viz. in bringing
each pencil to a point at the right distance from the
lense; namely, in the eye, at the exact place where the
membrane is spread to receive it. How is it possi-
ble, under circumstances of such close affinity, and
under the operation of equal evidence, to exclude
contrivance from the one, yet to acknowledge the
proof of contrivance having been employed, as the
plainest and clearest of all propositions in the other?

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 17

The resemblance between the two cases is still
more accurate, and obtains in more points than we
have yet represented, or than we are, on the first
view of the subject, aware of. In dioptric telescopes
there is an imperfection of this nature. Pencils of
light, in passing through glass lenses, are separated
into different colours, thereby tingeing the object,
especially the edges of it, as if it were viewed through
a prism. To correct this inconvenience had been
long a desideratum in the art. At last it came into
the mind of a sagacious optician, to inquire how this
matter was managed in the eye; in which there was
exactly the same difficulty to contend with, as in the
telescope. His observation taught him, that, in the
eye, the evil was cured by combining together lenses
composed of different substances, i. e. of substances
which possessed different refracting powers. Our
artist borrowed from thence his hint; and produced
a correction of the defect by imitating, in glasses
made from different materials, the effects of the dif-
ferent humours through which the rays of light pass
before they reach the bottom of the eye. Could this
be in the eye without purpose, which suggested to
the optician the only effectual means of attaining that
purpose ?

But further; there are other points, not so much
perhaps of strict resemblance between the two, as of
superiority of the eye over the telescope; yet, of a
superiority, which being founded in the laws that
regulate both, may furnish topics of fair and just
comparison. Two things were wanted to the eye,
which were not wanted, at least in the same degree,
to the telescope; and these were, the adaptation of
the organ, first, to different degrees of light; and, se-
condly, to the vast diversity of distance at which ob-
jects are viewed by the naked eye, viz. from a few
inches to as many miles. These difficulties present

D

IS APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

not themselves to the maker of the telescope. He
wants all the light he can get; and he never directs
his instrument to objects near at hand. In the eye,
both these cases were to be provided for;' and for the
purpose of providing for them a subtile and appro-
priate mechanism is introduced.

I. In order to exclude excess of light, when it is
excessive, and to render* objects visible under ob-
scurer degrees of it, when no more can be had; the
hole or aperture in the eye, through which the light
enters, is so formed, as to contract or dilate itself for
the purpose of admitting a greater or less number of
rays at the same time. The chamber of the eye is a
camera obscura, which, when the light is too small,
can enlarge its opening; when too strong, can again
contract it; and that without any other assistance than
that of its own exquisite machinery. It is further
also, in the human subject, to be observed, that this
hole in the eye, which we call the pupil, under all its
different dimensions, retains its exact circular shape.
This is a structure extremely artificial. Let an artist
only try to execute the same. He will find that his
threads and strings must be disposed with great con-
sideration and contrivance, to make a circle, which
shall continually change its diameter, yet preserve
its form. This is done in the eye by an application
of fibres, i. e. of strings, similar, in their position and
action, to what an artist would and must employ, if
he had the same piece of workmanship to perform.

II. The second difficulty which has been stated,
was the suiting of the same organ to the perception
of objects that lie near at hand, within a few inches,
we will suppose, c the eye, and of objects which
were placed at a considerable distance from it, that,
for example, cf as many furlongs (I speak in both
cases of the distance at which distinct vision can be
exercised). Now, this, according to the principle^

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 19

of optics, that is, according to the laws by which the
transmission of light is regulated, (and these laws are
fixed), could not be done, without the organ itself
undergoing an alteration, and receiving an adjust-
ment, that might correspond with the exigency of
the case, that is to say, with the different inclination
to one another under which the rays of light reached
it. Rays issuing from points placed at a small dis-
tance from the eye, and which consequently must en-
ter the eye in a spreading or diverging order, cannot,
by the same optical instrument in the same state, be
brought to a point, i. e. be made to form an image,
in the same place with rays proceeding from objects
situated at a much greater distance, and which rays
arrive at the eye in directions nearly, and physically
speaking, parallel. It requires a rounder lense to do
it. The point of concourse behind the lense must
fall critically upon the retina, or the vision is confu-
sed; yet, this point, by the immutable properties of
light, is carried further back, when the rays proceed
from a near object, than when they are sent from one
that is remote. A person, who was using an optical
instrument, would manage this matter by changing,
as the occasion required, his lense or his telescope;
or by adjusting the distance of his glasses with his
hand or his screw: but how is it to be managed in
the eye ? What the alteration was, or in what part of
the eye it took place, or by what means it wras effec-
ted (for, if the known laws which govern the refrac-
tion of light be maintained, some alteration in the
state of the organ there must be), had long formed a
subject of inquiry and conjecture. The change,
though sufficient for the purpose, is so minute as to
elude ordinary observation. Some very late disco-
veries, deduced from a laborious and most accurate
inspection of the structure and operation of the or-
gan; seem at length to have ascertained the media-

SO APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

tiical alteration which the parts of the eye undergo.
It is found, that by the action of certain muscles,
called the straight muscles, and which action is the
most advantageous that could be imagined for the
purpose, — it is found, I say, that, whenever the eye
is directed to a near object, three changes are pro-
duced in it at the same time, all severally contribu-
ting to the adjustment required. The cornea, or
outermost coat of the eye, is rendered more round
and prominent; the crystalline lense underneath is~
pushed forwards; and the axis of vision, as the depth
of the eye is called, is elongated. These changes in
the eye vary its power over the rays of light in such
a manner and degree as to produce exactly the ef-
fect which is wanted, viz. the formation of an image
upon the retina, whether the rays come to the eye in
a state of divergency, which is the case when the
object is near to the eye, or come parallel to one an-
other, which is the case when the object is placed at
a distance. Can any thing be more decisive of con-
trivance than this is? The most secret laws of optics
must have been known to the author of a structure
endowed with such a capacity of change. It is, as
though an optician, when he had a nearer object to
view, should rectify his instrument by putting in
another glass, at the same time drawing out also his
tube to a different length.

Observe a new-born child lifting up its eyelids.
What does the opening of the curtain discover? The
anterior part of two pellucid globes, which, when
they come to be examined, are found to be construct-
ed upon strict optical principles; the self-same prin-
ciples upon . which we ourselves construct optical
instruments. We find them perfect for the purpose
of forming an image by refraction; composed of
parts executing different offices; one part having ful-
filled its office upon the pencil of light, delivering it

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT Jl

over to the action of another part; that to a third, and
so onward: the progressive action depending for its
success upon the nicest, and minutest adjustment
of the parts concerned; yet, these parts so in fact
adjusted, as to produce, not by a simple action or
effect, but by a combination of actions and effects,
the result which is ultimately wanted. And foras-
much as this organ would have to operate under dif-
ferent circumstances, with strong degrees of light,
and with weak degrees, upon their objects^ and upon
remote ones, and these differences demanded, ac-
cording to the lawTs by wThich the transmission of
light is regulated, a corresponding diversity of struc-
ture; that the aperture, for example, through which
the light passes, should be larger or less; the lenses
rounder or flatter, or that their distance from the tab-
let, upon which the picture is delineated, should be
shortened or lengthened: this, I say, being the case
and the difficulty, to which the eye was to be adapt-
ed, we find its several parts capable of being occa-
sionally changed, and a most artificial apparatus pro-
vided to produce that change. This is far beyond
the common regulator of a watch, which requires
the touch of a foreign hand to set it; but is not alto-
gether unlike Harrison's contrivance for making a
watch regulate itself, by inserting within it a machin-
ery, which, by the artful use of the different expan-
sion of metals, preserves the equability of the mo-
tion under all the various temperatures of heat and
cold in which the instrument may happen to be
placed. The ingenuity of this last contrivance has
been justly praised. Shall, therefore, a structure
which differs from it, chiefly by surpassing it, be ac-
counted no contrivance at all? or, if it be a contri-
vance, that it is without a contriver?

But this, though much, is not the whole: by dif-
ferent species of animab the faculty we are describ-

22 APPLICATION OV THE ARGUMENT.

ing is possessed, in degrees suited to the different
range of vision which their mode of life, and of pro-
curing their food, requires. Birds, for instance, in
general, procure their food by means of their beak;
and the distance between the eye and the point of the
beak being small, it becomes necessary that they
should have the power of seeing very near objects
distinctly. On the other hand, from being often
elevated much above the ground, living in air, and
moving through it with great velocity, they require,
for their safety, as well as for assisting them in des-
crying their prey, a power of seeing at great distance;
a power, of which, in birds of rapine, surprising ex-
amples are given. The fact accordingly is, that two
peculiarities are found in the eyes of birds, both
tending to facilitate the change upon which the ad-
justment of the eye to different distances depends.
The one is a bony, yet, in most species, a flexible
rim or hoop, surrounding the broadest part of the
eye, which, confining the action of the muscles to
that part, increases the effect of their lateral pressure
upon the orb, by which pressure its axis is elongat-
ed for the purpose of looking at very near objects.
The other is, an additional muscle called the marsu-
pium, to draw, upon occasion, the crystalline lense
back> and so fit the same eye for the viewing of very
distant objects. By these means the eyes of birds
can pass from one extreme to another of their scale
of adjustment, with more ease and readiness than the
eyes of other animals.

The eyes of fishes also, compared with those of
terrestrial animals, exhibit certain distinctions of
structure, adapted to their state and element. We
have already observed upon the figure of the crystal-
line compensating by its roundness the density of the
medium through which their light passes. To
which we have to add, that the eyes of fish, in their

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 23

natural and indolent state, appear to be adjusted to
near objects, in this respect differing from the human
eye, as well as those of quadrupeds and birds. The
ordinary shape of the fish's eye being in a much high-
er degree convex than that of land animals, a corres-
ponding difference attends its muscular conformation,
viz. that it is throughout calculated for flattening the
eye.

The iris also in the eyes of iish does not admit of
contraction. This is a great difference, of which the
probable reason is, that the diminished light in water
is never too strong for the retina.

In the eel, which has to work its head through
sand and gravel, the roughest and harshest substan-
ces, there is placed before the eye, and at some dis-
tance from it, a transparent, horny, convex case,
or covering, which, without obstructing the sight,
defends the organ. To such an animal, could any
thing be more wanted, or more useful?

Thus, in comparing together the eyes of different
kinds of animals, we see, in their resemblances and
distinction, one general plan laid down, and that plan
varied with the varying exigencies to which it is to
be applied.

There is one property, however, common, I be-
lieve, to all eyes, at least to all which have been exa-
mined,* namely, that the optic nerve enters the bot-
tom of the eye, not in the centre or middle, but a
little on one side; not in the point where the axis of
the eye meets the retina, but between that point and
the nose. — The difference which this makes is, that
no part of an object is unperceived by both eyes at
the same time.

In considering vision as achieved by the means of
an image formed at the bottom of the eye, we can

* The eye of the seal or sea calf, I understand, is an exception, Mem.
Acad. Far is, 1701, p. 123.

34 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

never reflect without wonder upon the smallness, yet
correctness, of the picture, the subtility of the touch,
the fineness of the lines. A landscape of five or six
square leagues is brought into a space of half an inch
diameter; yet the multitude of objects which it con-
tains are all preserved; are all discriminated in their
magnitudes, positions, figures, colours. The pros-
pect from Hampstead-Hill is compressed into the
compass of a six-pence, yet circumstantially repre-
sented. A stage coach travelling at its ordinary
speed for half an hour, passes, in the eye, only over
one-twelfth of an inch, yet is this change of place in
the image distinctly perceived throughout its whole
progress; for it is only by means of that perception
that the motion of the coach itself is made sensible to
the eye. If any thing can abate our admiration of
the smallness of the visual tablet compared with the
extent of vision, it is a reflection, which the view of
nature leads us, every hour, to make, viz. that, in the
hands of the Creator, great and little are nothing.

Sturmius held, that the examination of the eye
was a cure for atheism. Beside that conformity to
optical principles which its internal constitution dis-
plays, and which alone amounts to a manifestation of
intelligence having been exerted in its structure ; be-
side this, which forms, no doubt, the leading charac-
ter of the organ, there is to be seen, in every thing
belonging to it and about it, an extraordinary degree
of care, and anxiety for its preservation, due, if we
may so speak, to its value and its tenderness. It is
lodged in a strong, deep, bony socket, composed by
the junction of seven different bones*, hollowed out
at their edges. In some few species, as that of the
coatimondif, the orbit is not bony throughout; but
whenever this is the case, the upper, which is the

• Heister, sect. 89. f Mem, R. Ac. Paris, p. IIP.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 25

deficient part, is supplied by a cartilaginous ligament;
a substitution which shews the same care. Within
this socket it is imbedded in fat, of all animal sub-
stances the best adapted both to its repose and motion.
It is sheltered by the eyebrows, an arch of hair, which,
like a thatched penthouse, prevents the sweat and
moisture of the forehead from running down into it.

But it is still better protected by its I id. Of the
superficial parts of the animal frame, I know none
which, in its office and structure, is more deserving
of attention than the eye-lid. It defends the eye; it
wipes it; it closes it in sleep. Are there, in any
work of art whatever, purposes more evident than
those which this organ fulfils; or an apparatus for
executing those purposes more intelligible, more
appropriate, or more mechanical? If it be overlooked
by the observer of nature, it can only be because it
is obvious and familiar. This is a tendency to be
guarded against. We pass by the plainest instances,
whilst we are exploring those which are rare and
curious; by which conduct of the understanding, we
sometimes neglect the strongest observations, being
taken up with others, which, though more recondite
and scientific, are, as solid arguments, entitled to
much less consideration.

In order to keep the eye moist and clean, which
qualities are necessary to its brightness and its use,
a wash is constantly supplied by a secretion for the
purpose; and the superfluous brine is conveyed to
the nose through a perforation in the bone as large as
a goose quill. When once the fluid has entered the
nose, it spreads itself upon the Inside of the nostril,
and is evaporated by the current of warm air, which,
in the course of respiration, is continually passing
over it. Can any pipe or outlet for carrying off the
waste liquor from a dye-house or a distillery, be more
mechanical than this is? It is easily perceived that

E

26 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

the eye must want moisture; but could the want of
the eye generate the gland which produces the tear,
or bore the hole by which it is discharged — a hole
through a bone ?

It is observable that this provision is not found in
fish, the element in which they live supplying a con-
stant lotion to the eye.

It were, however, injustice to dismiss the eye as a
piece of mechanism, without noticing that most ex-
quisite of all contrivances, the nictitating membrane,
which is found in the eyes of birds and of many qua-
drupeds. Its use is to sweep the eye, which it does
in an instant; to spread over it the lachrymal humor;
to defend it also from sudden injuries; yet not totally,
when drawn upon the pupil, to shut out the light.
The commodiousness with which it lies folded up in
the upper corner of the eye, ready for use and action,
and the quickness with which it executes its purpose,
are properties known and obvious to every observer;
but, what is equally admirable, though not quite so
obvious, is the combination of two different kinds of
substance, muscular and elastic, and of two different
kinds of action, by which the motion of this mem-
brane is performed. It is not, as in ordinary cases,
by the action of two antagonist muscles, one pulling
forward and the other backward, that a reciprocal
change is effected; but it is thus: The membrane
itself is an elastic substance, capable of being drawn
out by force like a piece of elastic gum, and by its
own elasticity returning, when the force is removed,
to its former position. Such being its nature, in
order to fit it up for its office it is connected by a
tendon or thread with a muscle in the back part of
the eye; this tendon or thread, though strong, is so
fine, as not to obstruct the sight, even when it passes
across it; and the muscle itself being placed in the
back part of the eye, derives from its situation the

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. '27

-advantage, not only of being secure, but of being
out of the way; which it would hardly have been in
any position that could be assigned to it in the ante-
rior part of the orb, where its function lies. When
the muscle behind the eye contracts, the membrane,
by means of the communicating thread, is instantly
drawn over the fore-part of it. When the muscular
contraction (which is a positive, and, most probably,
a voluntary effort,) ceases to be exerted, the elasticity
alone of the membrane brings it back again to its
position.* Poes not this, if any thing can do it,
bespeak an artist, master of his work, acquainted
with his materials? " Of a thousand other things,' '
say the French Academicians, " we perceive not the
contrivance, because we understand them only by
the effects, of which we know not the causes; but
we Irere treat of a machine, all the parts whereof are
visible; and which need only be looked upon to dis-
cover the reasons of its motion and action.")-

In the configuration of the muscle, which, though
placed behind the eye, draws the nictitating mem-
brane over the eye, there is, what the authors, just
now quoted., deservedly call a marvellous mechanism.
I suppose this structure to be found in other ani-
mals ; but, in the Memoirs from which this account
is taken, it is anatomically demonstrated only in the
cassowary. The muscle is passed through a loop
formed by another muscle ; and is there inflected, as
if it were round a pulley. This is a peculiarity; and
observe the advantage of it. A single muscle with a
straight tendon, which is the common muscular
form, would have been sufficient, if it had had power
to draw far enough. But the contraction, necessary

* Phil. Trans. 1796.

t Memoirs-for a Natural History of Animals by the Royal Academy of
Sciences at PariSj done into English bv Order of the Royal Society, 1701,
p.. 249.

28 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

to draw the membrane over the whole eye, required
a longer muscle than could lie straight at the bottom
of the eye. Therefore, in order to have a greater
length in a less compass, the cord of the main muscle
makes an angle. This, so far, answered the end $
but, still further, it makes an angle, not round a fixed
pivot, but round a loop formed by another muscle ;
which second muscle, whenever it contracts, of course
twitches the first muscle at the point of inflection,
and thereby assists the action designed by both.

One question may possibly have dwelt in the rea-
der's mind during the perusal of these observations,
namely, Why should not the Deity have given to
the animal the faculty of vision at once? Why this
circuitous perception; the ministry of so many
means? an element provided for the purpose; reflec-
ted from opaque substances, refracted through trans-
parent ones; and both according to precise laws:
then, a complex organ, an intricate and artificial ap-
paratus, in order, by the operation of this element,
and in conformity with the restrictions of these laws,
to produce an image upon a membrane communica-
ting with the brain? Wherefore all this? Why
make the difficulty in order only to surmount it? If
to perceive objects by some other mode than that of
touch, or objects which lay out of the reach of that
sense, were the thing purposed, could not a simple
volition of the Creator have communicated the capa-
city ? Why resort to contrivance, where power is
omnipotent? Contrivance, by its very definition and
nature, is the refuge of imperfection. To have re-
course to expedients, implies difficulty, impediment,
restraint, defect of power. This question belongs
to the other senses, as well as to sight; to the gene-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 19

ral functions of animal life, as nutrition, secretion,
respiration; to the economy of vegetables ; and in-
deed to almost all the operations of nature. The
question therefore is of very wide extent; and,
amongst other answers which may be given to it,
beside reasons of which probably we are ignorant,
one answer is this. It is only by the display of con-
trivance, that the existence, the agency, the wisdom
of the Deity, could be testified to his rational crea-
tures. This is the scale by which we ascend to all
the knowledge of our Creator which we possess, so
far as it depends upon the phenomena, or the works
of nature. Take away this, and you take away from
us every subject of observation, and ground of rea-
soning; I mean as our rational faculties are formed at
present. Whatever is done, God could have done,
without the intervention of instruments or means:
but it is in the construction of instruments, in the
choice and adaptation of means, that a creative intelli-
gence is seen. It is this which constitutes the order
and beauty of the universe. God, therefore, has
been pleased to prescribe limits to his own power,
and to work his ends within those limits. The ge-
neral laws of matter have perhaps the nature of these
limits; its inertia, its re-action; the laws which go-
vern the communication of motion, the refraction
and reflection of light, the constitution of fluids non-
elastic and elastic, the transmission of sound through
the latter; the laws of magnetism, of electricity; and
probably others yet undiscovered. These are gene-
ral laws ; and when a particular purpose is to be effec-
ted, it is not by making a new law, nor by the sus-
pension of. the old ones, nor by making them wind
and bend and yield to the occasion (for nature with
great steadiness adheres to, and supports them), but
it is, as we have seen in the eye, by the interposition
of an apparatus corresponding with these laws, and

SO APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

suited to the exigency which results from them, that
the purpose is at length attained. As we have said,
therefore, God prescribes limits to his power, that
he may let in the exercise, and thereby exhibit de-
monstrations, of his wisdom. For then, i. e. such
laws and limitations being laid down, it is as though
one Being should have fixed certain rules; and, if
wre may so speak, provided certain materials ; and,
afterwards, have committed to another Being, out of
these materials, and in subordination to these rules,
the task of drawing forth a creation: a supposition
which evidently leaves room, and induces indeed a
necessity, for contrivance. Nay, there may be many
such agents, and many ranks of these. We do not
advance this as a doctrine either of philosophy or of
religion; but we say that the subject may safely be
represented under this view, because the Deity, act-
ing himself by general laws, will have the same con-
sequences upon our reasoning, as if he had pre-
scribed these laws to another. It has been said, that
the problem of creation was, " attraction and matter
being given, to make a world out of them:" and, as
above explained, this statement perhaps does not
convev a false ideae

We have made choice of the eye as an instance
upon which to rest the argument of this chapter.
Some single example was to be proposed; and the
eye offered itself under the advantage of admitting of
-a strict comparison with optical instruments. The
ear, it is probable, is no less artificially and mecha-
nically adapted to its office, than the eye. But we
know less about it; we do not so well understand the
action, the use, or the mutual dependency of its internal
parts. Its general form, however, both external and

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. St

internal, is sufficient to shew that it is an instrument
adapted to the reception of sound; that is to say, al-
ready knowing that sound consists in pulses of the
air, we perceive in the structure of the ear, a suita-
bleness to receive impressions from this species of
action, and to propagate these impressions to the
brain. For of what does this structure consist? An
external ear (the concha), calculated, like an ear-
trumpet, to catch and collect the pulses of which
we have spoken ;- — in large quadrupeds, turning to
the sound, and possessing a configuration, as well as
motion, evidently fitted for the office: of a tube which
leads into the head, lying at the root of this outward
ear, the folds and sinuses thereof tending and con-
ducting the air towards it: of a thin membrane, like
the pelt of a drum, stretched across this passage upon
a bony rim: of a chain of moveable, and infinitely-
curious, bones, forming a communication, and the
only communication that can be observed, between
the membrane last mentioned and the interior chan-
nels and recesses of the skull: of cavities, similar in
shape and form to wind instruments of music, being
spiral or portions of circles: of the eustachian tube,
like the hole in a drum, to let the air pass freely inta
and out of the barrel of the ear, as the covering mem-
brane vibrates, or as the temperature may be altered ;
the whole labyrinth hewn out of a rock : that is,
wrought into the substance of the hardest bone of
the body. This assemblage of connected parts con-
stitutes together an apparatus, plainly enough rela-
tive to the transmission of sound, or of the impulses
received from sound, and onlv to be lamented in not
being better understood.

The communication within, formed by the small
bones of the ear, is, to look upon, more like what we
are accustomed to call machinery, than any thing I
am acquainted with in animal bodies, It seems evi-

32 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

clently designed to continue towards the sensorium
the tremulous motions which are excited in the
" membrane of the tympanum/' or what is better
known by the name of the " drum of the ear."
The compages of bones consists of four, which are
so disposed, and so hinge upon one another, as that,
if the membrane, the drum of the ear, vibrate, all the
four are put in motion together ; and by the result of
their action, work the base of that which is the last
in the series, upon an aperture which it closes, and
upon which it plays, and which aperture opens into the
tortuous canals that lead to the brain. This last bone
of the four is called the stapes. The office of the
drum of the ear is to spread out an extended surface,
capable of receiving the impressions of sound, and
of being put by them into a state of vibration. The
office of the stapes is to repeat these vibrations. It
is a repeating frigate, stationed more within the line.
From which account of its action may be understood,
how the sensation of sound will be excited, by any
thing which communicates a vibratory motion to the
stapes, though not, as in all ordinary cases, through the
intervention of the membrana tympani. This is done
by solid bodies applied to the bones of the skull, as
by a metal bar held at one end between the teeth, and
touching at the other end a tremulous body. It
likewise appears to be done, in a considerable degree,
by the air itself, even when this membrane, the drum
of the ear, is greatly damaged. Either in the natural
or preternatural state of the organ, the use of the
chain of bones is to propagate the impulse in a
direction towards the brain, and to propagate it with
the advantage of a lever; which advantage consists
in increasing the force and strength of the vibration,
and at the same time diminishing the space through
which it oscillates: both of which changes may aug-

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 33

ment or facilitate the still deeper action of the audi-
tory nerves.

The benefit of the eustachian tube to the organ,
may be made out upon known pneumatic principles.
Behind the drum of the ear is a second cavity or bar-
rel, called the tympanum. The eustachian tube is-
a slender pipe, but sufficient for the passage of air,
leading from this cavity into the back part of the
mouth. Now it would not have done to have had a
vacuum in this cavity; for, in that case, the pressure
of the atmosphere from without would have burst
the membrane which covered it. Nor would it have
done to have filled the cavity with lymph or any other
secretion; which would necessarily have obstructed,
both the vibration of the membrane, and the play of
the small bones. Nor, lastly, would it have done to
have occupied the space with confined air, because
the expansion of that air by heat, or its contraction
by cold, would have distended or relaxed the cover-
ing membrane, in a degree inconsistent with the
purpose which it was assigned to execute. The only
remaining expedient, and that for which the eusta-
chian tube serves, is to open to this cavity a com-
munication with the external air. In one word; it
exactly answers the purpose of the hole in a drum.

The membrana tympani itself, likewise, deserves
all the examination which can be made of it. It is
not found in the ears of fish; which furnishes an ad-
ditional proof of what indeed is indicated by every
thing about it, that it is appropriated to the action of
air, or of an elastic medium. It bears an obvious
resemblance to the pelt or head of a drum, from
which it takes its name. It resembles also a drum
head in this principal property, that its use depends
upon its tension. Tension is the state essential to it.
Now we know that, in a drum, the pelt is carried
over a hoop, and braced, as occasion requires, by the

I /

34 APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT.

means of strings attached to its circumference. In
the membrane of the ear, the same purpose is pro-
vided for, more simply, but not less mechanically,
nor less successfully, by a different expedient, viz.
by the end of a bone (the handle of the malleus)
pressing upon its centre. It is only in very large
animals that the texture of this membrane can be
discerned. In the Philosophical Transactions for
the year 1800, (vol. i.) Mr. Everard Home has gi-
ven some curious observations upon the ear, and the
drum of the ear, of an elephant. He discovered in
it, what he calls a radiated muscle, that is, straight
muscular fibres, passing along the membrane from
the circumference to the centre; from the bony rim
which surrounds it, towards the handle of the mal-
leus to which the central part is attached. This mus-
cle he supposes to be designed to bring the membrane
into unison with different sounds : but then he also
discovered, that this muscle itself cannot act, unless
the membrane be drawn to a stretch, and kept in a
due state of tightness, by what may be called a fo-
reign force, viz. the action of the muscles of the
malleus. Our author, supposing his explanation of
the use of the parts to be just, is wrell founded in the
reflection which he makes upon it; ct that this mode
of adapting the ear to different sounds, is one of the
most beautiful applications of muscles in the body ;
the mechanism is so simple^ and the variety of effects
so great "

In another volume of the Transactions above re-
ferred to, and of the same year, two most curious
cases are related, of persons who retained the sense
of hearing, not in a perfect, but in a very considera-
ble degree, notwithstanding the almost total loss of
the membrane we have been describing. In one of
these cases, the use here assigned to that membrane,
of modifying the impressions of sound by change of

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT. 35

tension, was attempted to be supplied by straining
the muscles of the outward ear. " The external
ear," we are told, " had acquired a distinct motion
upward and backward, which was observable when-
ever the patient listened to any thing which he did
not distinctly hear; when he was addressed in a whis-
per, the ear was seen immediately to move; when the
tone of voice was louder, it then remained altogether
motionless."

It appears probable, from both these cases, that a
collateral, if not principal, use of the membrane, is to
cover and protect the barrel of the ear which lies be-
hind it. Both the patients suffered from cold; one,
" a great increase of deafness from catching cold;"
the other, " very considerable pain from exposure
to a stream of cold air." Bad effects therefore fol-
lowed from this cavity being left open to the external
air; yet, had the author of nature shut it up by any
other cover, than what was capable, by its texture,
of receiving vibrations from sound, and, by its con-
nection with the interior parts, of transmitting those
vibrations to the brain, the use of the organ, so far
as we can judge, must have been entirely obstructed.

S3 OF THE SUCCESSION OF

CHAPTER IV.

OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS.

1 HE generation of the animal no more ac-
counts for the contrivance of the eve or ear, than,
upon the supposition stated in a preceding chapter,
the production of a watch by the motion and mechan-
ism of a former watch, would account for the skill
and intention evidenced in the watch so produced;
than it would account for the disposition of the
wheels, the catching of their teeth, the relation of the
several parts of the works to one another and to their
common end, for the suitableness of their forms and
places to their offices, for their connection, their ope-
ration, and the useful result of that operation. I do
insist most strenuously upon the correctness of this
comparison; that it holds as to every mode of specific
propagation; and that whatever was true of the watch,
under the hypothesis above mentioned, is true of
plants and animals.

I. To begin with the fructification of plants. Can
it be doubted but that the seed contains a particular
organization? Whether a latent plantule with the
means of temporary nutrition, or whatever else it be,
it incloses an organization suited to the germination
of a new plant. Has the plant which produced the
seed any thing more to do with that organization,
than the watch would have had to do with the struc-
ture of the watch which was produced in the course
of its mechanical movement? I mean, Has it any
thing at all to do with the contrivance? The maker

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 37

and contriver of one watch, when he inserted within
it a mechanism suited to the production of another
watch, was in truth, the maker and contriver of that
other watch. All the properties of the new watch
were to be referred to his agency: the design mani-
fested in it, to his intention: the art, to him as the
artist: the collocation of each part, to his placing:
the action, effect, and use, to his counsel, intelli-
gence, and workmanship. In producing it by the
intervention of a former watch, he was only working
by one set of tools instead of another. So it is with
the plant, and the seed produced by it. Can any
distinction be assigned between the two cases; be-
tween the producing watch, and the producing plant?
both passive, unconscious substances; both, by the
organization which was given to them, producing
their like, without understanding or design ; both,
that is, instruments.

II. From plants we may proceed to oviparous ani-
mals; from seeds to eggs. Now I say, that the bird
has die same concern in the formation of the egg
which she lays, as the plant has in that of the seed
which it drops ; and no other, nor greater. The
internal constitution of the egg is as much a secret
to the hen, as if the hen were inanimate. Her will
cannot alter it, or change a single feather of the chick.
She can neither foresee nor determine of which sex
her brood shall be, or how many of either : yet the
thing produced shall be, from the first, very different
in its make, according to the sex which it bears. So
far therefore from adapting the means, she is not be-
forehand apprized of the effect. If there be concealed
within that smooth shell a provision and a prepara-
tion for the production and nourishment of a new
animal, they are not of her providing or preparing :
if there be contrivance, it is none of hers. Although,

W OF THE SUCCESSION OF

therefore, there be the difference of life and percep-
tivity between the animal and the plant, it is a dif-
ference which enters not into the account. It is a
foreign circumstance. It is a difference of proper-
ties not employed. The animal function and the
vegetable function are alike destitute of any design
which can operate upon the form of the thing pro-
duced. The plant has no design in producing the
seed, no comprehension of the nature or use of what
it produces: the bird with respect to its egg, is not
above the plant with respect to its seed. Neither the
one nor the other bears that sort of relation to what
proceeds from them, which a joiner does to the chair
which he makes. Now a cause, which bears this
relation to the effect, is what we want, in order to
account for the suitableness of means to an end, the
fitness and fitting of one thing to another: and this
cause the parent plant or animal does not supply.

It is further observable concerning the propagation
of plants and animals, that the apparatus employed
exhibits no resemblance to the thing produced ; in
this respect holding an analogy with instruments and
tools of art. The filaments, anther se, and stigmata
of fiowers, bear no more resemblance to the young
plant, or even to the seed, which is formed by their
intervention, than a chisel or a plane does to a table or
a chair. What then are the filaments, antherse, and
stigmata of plants, but instruments, strictly so called?

III. We may advance from animals which bring
forth eggs, to animals which bring forth their young
alive; and, of this latter class, from the lowest to the
highest; from irrational to rational life, from brutes
to the human species; without perceiving, as we
proceed, any alteration whatever in the terms of the
comparison. The rational animal does not produce
its offspring with more certainty or success than the

PLANTS AND ANIMALS. S9

irrational animal; a man than a quadruped, a qua-
druped than a bird; nor (for we may follow the gra-
dation through its whole scale) a bird than a plant;
nor a plant than a watch, a piece of dead mechanism,
would do, upon the supposition which has already
so often been repeated. Rationality therefore has
nothing to do in the business. If an account must
be given of the contrivance which we observe; if it-
be demanded, whence arose either the contrivance
by which the young animal is produced, or the con-
trivance manifested in the young animal itself, it is
not from the reason of the parent that any such ac-
count can be drawn. He is the cause of his off-
spring in the same sense as that in which a gardener
is the cause cf the tulip which grows upon his par-
terre, and in no other. We admire the flower; we
examine the plant; we perceive the conduciveness
of many of its parts to their end and office ; we ob-
serve a provision for its nourishment, growth, pro-
tection, and fecundity; but we never think of the
gardener in all this. We attribute nothing of this
to his agency ; yet it may still be true, that, without
the gardener, we should not have had the tulip. Just
so is it with the succession of animals even of the
highest order. For the contrivance discovered in
the structure of the thing produced, we want a con-
triver. The parent is not that contriver. His
consciousness decides that question. He is in
total ignorance why-tkat which is produced took its
present form rather than any other. It is for him
only to be astonished by the effect. We can no more
look therefore to the intelligence of the parent ani-
mal for what we are in search of, a cause of relation
and of subserviency of parts to their use, which re
lation and subserviency we see in the procreated
body, than we can refer the internal conformation of
an acorn to the intelligence of the oak from which it

40

dropped, or the structure of the watch to the intelli-
gence of the watch which produced it; there being
no difference, as far as argument is concerned, be-
tween an intelligence which is not exerted, and an
intelligence which does not exist.

t 41 J

CHAPTER V.

APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED.

-LIVERY observation which was made, in
our first chapter, concerning the watch, may be re-
peated with strict propriety concerning the eye; con-
cerning animals; concerning plants; concerning,
indeed, all the organized parts of the works of na-
ture. As,

I. When we are inquiring simply after the exist-
ence of an intelligent Creator, imperfection, inaccu-
racy, liability to disorder, occasional irregularities,
may subsist, in a considerable degree, without in-
ducing any doubt into the question: just as a watch
may frequently go wrong, seldom perhaps exactly
right, may be faulty in some parts, defective in,
some, without the smallest ground of suspicion from
thence arising,, that it was not a watch; not made; or
not made for the purpose ascribed to it. When
faults are pointed out, and when a question is started
concerning the skill of the artist, or the dexterity with
which the work is executed, then indeed, in order to
defend these qualities from accusation, we must be
able, either to expose some intractableness and im-
perfection in the materials, or point out some invinci-
ble difficulty in the execution, into which imperfection
and difficulty, the matter of complaint may be re-
solved ; or, if we cannot do this, we must adduce such
specimens of consummate art and contrivance pro-
ceeding from the same hand, as may convince the
inquirer, of the existence, in the case before him, of

43 APPLICATION OF THE

impediments like those which we have mentioned,
although, what from the nature of the case is very-
likely to happen, they be unknown and unperceived
by him. This we must do in order to vindicate the
artist's skill, or, at least, the perfection of it; as we
must also judge of his intention, and of the provi-
sions employed in fulfilling that intention, not from
an instance in which they fail, but from the great plu-
rality of instances in which they succeed. But,
after all, these are different questions from the ques-
tion of the artist's existence; or, which is the same,
whether the thing before us be a work of art or not:
and the questions ought always to be kept separate
in the mind. So likewise it is in the works of na-
ture. Irregularities and imperfections are of little or
no weight in the consideration, when that conside-
ration relates simply to the existence of a Creator.
When the argument respects his attributes, they are
of weight; but are then to be taken in conjunction
(the attention is not to rest upon them, but they are
to be taken in conjunction) with the unexceptionable
evidences which we possess, of skill, power, and be-
nevolence, displayed in other instances; which evi*
dences may, in strength, number, and variety be
such, and may so overpower apparent blemishes, as
to induce us, upon the most reasonable ground, to
believe, that these last ought to be referred to some
cause, though we be ignorant of it, other than de-
fect of knowledge or of benevolence in the author.

II. There may be also parts of plants and animals,
as there were supposed to be of the watch, of which,
in some instances, the operation, in others, the use
is unknown. These form different cases; for the
operation may be unknown, yet the use be certain.
Thus it is with the lungs of animals. It does not, I
think, appear, that we are acquainted with the action
of the air upon the blood, or in what manner that

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. a

action is communicated by the lungs; yet we find
that a very short suspension of their office destroys
the life of the animal. In this case, therefore, we
may be said to know the use, nay we experience the
necessity, of the organ, though we be ignorant of its
operation. Nearly the same thing may be observed
of what is called the lymphatic system. We suffer
grievous inconveniencies from its disorder, without
being informed of the office which it sustains in the
economy of our bodies. There may possibly also
be some few examples of the second class, in which
not only the operation is unknown, but in which ex-
periments may seem to prove that the part is not
necessary; or may leave a doubt, how far it is even
useful to the plant or animal in which it is found.
This is said to be the case with the spleen; which has
been extracted from dogs, without any sensible in-
jury to their vital functions. Instances of the form-
er kind, namely, in which we cannot explain the
operation, may be numerous; for they will be so in
proportion to our ignorance. They will be more or
fewer to different persons, and in different stages of
science. Every improvement of knowledge diminish-
es their number. There is hardly, perhaps, a year
passes, that does not, in the works of nature, bring
some operation, or some mode of operation, to light,
which was before undiscovered, probably unsupected.
Instances of the second kind, namely, where the part
appears to be totally useless, I believe to be extreme-
ly rare: compared with the number of those, of which
the use is evident, they are beneath any assignable
proportion; and perhaps, have never been submitted
to a trial and examination sufficiently accurate, long
enough continued, or often enough repeated. No ac-
counts which I have seen are satisfactory. The mu-
tilated animal may live and grow fat, as was the case
of thedogdeprived of itsspleen, yet may be defective in

44 APPLICATION OF THE

some other of its functions; which, whether they can
all, or in what degree of vigour and perfection, be
performed, or how long preserved, without the ex-
tirpated organ, does not seem to be ascertained by
experiment. But to this case, even were it fully
made out, may be applied the consideration which
we suggested concerning the watch, viz. that these
superfluous parts do not negative the reasoning
which we instituted concerning those parts which
are useful, and of which we know the use. The
indication of contrivance, with respect to them, re-
mains as it was before.

III. One atheistic way of replying to our observa-
tions opon the works of nature, and to the proofs of
a Deity which we think that we perceive in them, is
to tell us, that all which we see must necessarily have
had some form, and that it might as well be its pre-
sent form as any other. Let us now apply this an-
swer to the eye, as we did before to the watch..
Something or other must have occupied that place in
the animal's head; must have filled up, we will say,
that socket: we will say also, that it must have been
of that sort of substance which we call animal sub-
stance, as flesh, bone, membrane, cartilage, Sec. but
that it should have been an eye, knowing as we do
what an eye comprehends, viz. that it should have
consisted, first, of a series of transparent lenses (very
different, by the bye, even in their substance, from
opaque materials of which the rest of the body is,
in general at least, composed; and with which the
whole of its surface, this single portion of ft except-
ed, is covered): secondly, of a black cloth or canvass
(the only membrane of the body which is black)
spread out behind these lenses, so as to receive the
image formed by pencils of light transmitted through
them ; and placed at the precise geometrical distance
at which, and at which alone, a distinct image could

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 45

•be formed, namely, at the concourse of the refracted
rays : thirdly, of a large nerve communicating be-
tween this membrane and the brain ; without which
the action of light upon the membrane, however
modified by the organ, would be lost to the pur-
poses of sensation. That this fortunate conforma-
tion of parts should have been the lot, not of one in-
dividual out of many thousand individuals, like the
great prize in a lottery, or like some singularity in
nature, but the happy chance of a whole species; nor
of one species out of many thousand species, with
which we are acquainted, but of by far the greatest
number of all that exist; and that under varieties,
not casual or capricious, but bearing marks of being
suited to their respective exigencies; that all this
should have taken place, merely because something
must have occupied those points in every animal's
forehead; or, that all this should be thought to be
accounted for, by the short answer " that whatever
was there must have had some form or other," is too
absurd to be made more so by any argumentation.
We are not contented with this answer, we find no
satisfaction in it, by way of accounting for appear-
ances of organization far short of those of the eye,
such as we observe in fossil shells, petrified bones,
or other substances which bear the vestiges of ani-
mal or vegetable recrements, but which, either in
respect of utility, or of the situation in which they
are discovered, may seem accidental enough. It is
no way of accounting even for these things, to say
that the stone, for instance, which is shewn to us,
(supposing the question to be concerning a petrifi-
cation,) must have contained some internal confor-
mation or other. Nor does it mend the answer to
add, with respect to the singularity of the conforma-
tion, that, after the event, it is no longer to be com-
puted what the chances were against it. This is

46 APPLICATION OF THE

always to be computed, when the question is whether
an useful or imitative conformation be the produce
of chance or not. I desire no greater certainty in
reasoning, than that by which chance is excluded
from the present disposition of the natural world.
Universal experience is against it. What does
chance ever do for us ? In the human body, for in-
stance, chance, i. e. the operation of causes without
design, may produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pim-
ple, but never an eye. Amongst inanimate substan-
ces, a clod, a pebble, a liquid drop, might be; but
never was a watch, a telescope, an organized body
of any kind, answering a valuable purpose by a com-
plicated mechanism, the effect of chance. In no
assignable instance hath such a thing existed without
intention somewhere.

IV. There is another answer which has the same
effect as the resolving of things into chance; which
answer would persuade us to believe, that the eye,
the animal to which it belongs, every other animal,
every plant, indeed every organized body which we
see, are only so many out of the possible varieties
and combinations of being, which the lapse of infi-
nite ages has brought into existence; that the pre-
sent world is the relict of that variety; millions of
other bodily forms and other species having perished,
being by the defect of their constitution incapable of
preservation, or of continuance by generation. Now
there is no foundation whatever for this conjecture
in any thing which we observe in the works of na-
ture:'no such experiments are going on at present;
no such energy operates as that which is here sup*
posed, and which should be constantly pushing into
existence new varieties of beings: nor are there any
appearances to support an opinion, that every possi-
ble combination of vegetable or animal structure has
formerly been tried, Multitudes of conformations,

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 47

both of vegetables and animals, may be conceived
capable of existence and succession, which yet do
not exist. Perhaps almost as many forms of plants
might have been found in the fields, as figures of
plants can be delineated upon paper. A countless
variety of animals might have existed which do not
exist. Upon the supposition here stated, we should
see unicorns and mermaids, sylphs and centaurs; the
fancies of painters and the fables of poets realized by
examples. Or, if it be alleged that these may trans-
gress the limits of possible life and propagation, we
might, at least, have notions of human beings with-
out nails upon their fingers, with more or fewer fin-
gers and toes than ten, some with one eye, others
with one ear, with one nostril, or without the sense
of smelling at all. All these, and a thousand other
imaginable varieties, might live and propagate. We
may modify any one species many different ways,
all consistent with life, and with the actions neces-
sary to preservation, although affording different de-
grees of conveniency and enjoyment to the animal.
And if we carry these modifications through the dif-
ferent species which are known to subsist, their num-
ber would be incalculable. No reason can be given
why, if these deperdits ever existed, they have now
disappeared. Yet, if all possible existences have
been tried, they must have formed part of the cata-
logue.

But, moreover, the division of organized sub-
stances into animals and vegetables, and the distri-
bution and sub-distribution of each into genera and
species, which distribution is not an arbitrary act of
the mind, but is founded in the order which prevails
in external nature, appear to me to contradict the sup-
position of the present world being the remains of an
indefinite variety of existences; of a variety which
rejects all plan. The hypothesis teaches, that every

48 APPLICATION OF THE

possible variety of being hath, at one time or other,
found its way into existence (by what cause or in
what manner is not said), and that those which were
badly formed, perished : but how or why those which
survived should be cast, as we see that plants and
animals are cast, into regular classes, the hypothesis
does not explain; or rather the hypothesis is incon-
sistent with this phenomenon.

The hypothesis, indeed, is hardly deserving of the
consideration which we have given to it. What
should we think of a man, who, because we had
never ourselves seen watches, telescopes, stocking-
mills, steam-engines, &c. made; knew not how they
were made; or could prove by testimony when they
were made, or by whom; — would have us believe
that these machines, instead of deriving their curious
structures from the thought and design of their in-
ventors and contrivers, in truth derive them from no
other origin than this; that, a mass of metals and
other materials having run when melted into all pos-
sible figures, and combined themselves in all possible
forms and shapes and proportions, these things which
we see, are what were left from the accident, as best
worth preserving; and, as such, are become the re-
maining stock of a magazine, which, at one time or
other, has, by this means, contained every mechan-
ism, useful and useless, convenient and inconvenient,
into which such like materials could be thrown? I
cannot distinguish the hypothesis as applied to the
works of nature, from this solution, which no one
would accept, as applied to a collection of machines.
V. To the marks of contrivance discoverable in
animal bodies-, and to the argument deduced from
them, in proof of design, and of a designing Creator,
,this turn is sometimes attempted to be given, viz.
that the parts were not intended for the use, but that
the use arose out of the parts. This distinction is

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 40

intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his mahogany
with fish- skin; yet it would be too much to assert
that the skin of the dog-fish was made rough and
granulated on purpose for the polishing of wood, and
the use of cabinet-makers. Therefore the distinc-
tion is intelligible. But I think that there is very
little place for it in the works of nature. When
roundly and generally affirmed of them, as it hath
sometimes been, it amounts to such another stretch
of assertion, as it would be to say, that all the imple-
ments of the cabinet-maker's workshop, as well as
his fish- skin, were substances accidentally configu-
rated, which he had picked up, and converted to his
use; that his adzes, saws, planes, and gimlets, were
not made, as we suppose, to hew, cut, smooth, shape
out, or bore wood with; but that, these things being
made, no matter with what design, or whether with
any, the cabinet-maker perceived that they were ap-
plicable to his purpose, and turned them to ac-
count.

But, again; so far as this solution is attempted to
be applied to those parts of animals the action of
which does not depend upon the will of the animal,
it is fraught with still more evident absurdity. Is it
possible to believe that the eye was formed without
any regard to vision; that it was the animal itself
which found out, that, though formed with no such
intention, it would serve to see with; and that the use
of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted from this
discovery, and the animal's application of it? The
same question may be asked of the ear; the same of
all the senses. None of the senses fundamentally de-
pend upon the election of the animal: consequently
neither upon his sagacity, nor his experience. It is
the impression which objects make upon them that
constitutes their use. Under that impression he is
passive. He may bring objects to the sense, or with-

50 APPLICATION OF THE

in its reach; he may select these objects; but over
the impression itself he has no power, or very little;
and that properly is the sense.

Secondly, there are many parts of animal bodies
which seem to depend upon the will of the animal in
a greater degree than tne senses do, and yet with re-
spect to which this solution is equally unsatisfactory.
If we apply the solution to the human body, for in-
stance, it forms itself into questions upon which no
reasonable mind can doubt; such as, whether the
teeth were made expressly for the mastication of
food, the feet for walking, the hands for holding; or
whether, these things being as they are, being in
fact in the animal's possession, his own ingenuity
taught him that they were convertible to these pur-
poses, though no such purposes were contemplated
in their formation.

All that there is of the appearance of reason in this
way of considering the subject is, that, in some cases,
the organization seems to determine the habits of the
animal, and its choice, to a particular mode of life;
which, in a certain sense, may be called " the use
arising out of the part." Now to all the instances,
in which there is any place for this suggestion, it
may be replied, that the organization determines the
animal to habits beneficial and salutary to itself; and
that tliis effect would not be seen so regularly to fol-
low, if the several organizations did not bear a con-
certed and contrived relation to the substances by
which the animal was surrounded. They would,
otherwise, be capacities without objects; powers
without employment. The web foot determines,
you say, the duck to swim: but what would that
avail, if there were no water to swim in? The strong,
hooked bill, and sharp talons, of one species of bird,
determine it to prey upon animals; the soft straight
bill, and weak claws, of another species, determine-

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. 51

it to pick up seeds: but neither determination could
take effect in providing for the sustenance of the
birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did not
lie within their reach. The peculiar conformation
of the bill, and tongue, and claws of the woodpecker,
determines that bird to search for his food amongst
the insects lodged behind the bark, or in the wood,
of decayed trees; but what would this profit him if
there were no trees, no decayed trees, no insects
lodged under their bark, or in their trunk? The pro-
boscis with which the bee is furnished, determines
him to seek for honey; but what would that signify,
if flowers supplied none? Faculties thrown down
upon animals at random, and without reference to
the objects amidst which they are placed, would not
produce to them the services and benefits which we
see: and if there be that reference, then there is in-
tention.

Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to
plants. The parts of plants answer their uses, with-
out any concurrence from the will or choice of the
plant.

VI. Others have chosen to refer every thing to a
principle of order in nature. A principle of order is
the word: but what is meant by a principle of order,
as different from an intelligent Creator, has not been
explained either by definition or example : and, with-
out such explanation, it should seem to be a mere
substitution of words for reasons, names for causes.
Order itself is only the adaptation of means to an end:
a principle of order therefore can only signify the
mind and intention which so adapts them. Or, were
it capable of being explained in any other sense, is
there any experience, any analogy, to sustain it?
Was a watch ever produced by a principle of order?
and why might not a watch be so produced, as well
as an eye?

S2 APPLICATION OF THE

Furthermore, a principle of order, acting blindly
and without choice, is negatived by the observation,
that order is not universal; which it would be, if it
issued from a constant and necessary principle; nor
indiscriminate, which it would be, if it issued from
an unintelligent principle. Where order is wanted,
there we find it; where order is not wanted, i. e.
where, if it prevailed, it would be useless, there wc
do not find it. In the structure of the eye (for we
adhere to our example), in the figure and position of
its several parts, the most exact order is maintained.
In the forms of rocks and mountains, in the lines
which bound the coasts of continents and islands, in
the shape of bays and promontories, no order what-
ever is perceived, because it would have been super-
fluous. No useful purpose would have arisen from
moulding rocks and mountains into regular solids,
bounding the channel of the ocean by geometrical
curves, or from the map of the world resembling a
table of diagrams in Euclid's Elements or Simp-
son's Conic Sections.

VII. Lastly, the confidence which we place in our
observations upon the works of nature, in the marks
which we discover of contrivance, choice, and de-
sign, and in our reasoning upon the proofs afforded
us, ought not to be shaken, as it is sometimes at-
tempted to be done, by bringing forward to our view
our own ignorance, or rather the general imperfec-
tion of our knowledge, of nature. Nor, in many
cases, ought this consideration to affect us, even
when it respects some parts of the subject imme-
diately under our notice. True fortitude of under-
standing consists in not suffering what we know to
be disturbed by what we do not know. If we per-
ceive an useful end, and means adapted to that end,
we perceive enough for our conclusion. If these
things be clear, no matter what is obscure The ar-

ARGUMENT CONTINUED. K3

gument is finished. For instance; if the utility of
vision to the animal which enjoys it, and the adapta-
tion of the eye to this office be evident and certain
(and I can mention nothing which is more so), ought
it to prejudice the inference which we draw from
these premises, that we cannot explain the use of
the spleen? Nay more; if there be parts of the eye,
viz. the cornea, the crystalline, the retina, in their
substance, figure and position, manifestly suited to
the formation of an image by the refraction of rays
of light, at least as manifestly as the glasses and tubes
of a dioptric telescope are suited to that purpose, it
concerns not the proof which these afford of design
and of a designer, that there may perhaps be other
parts, certain muscles, for instance, or nerves, in the
same eye, of the agency or effect of which we can
give no account; any more than we should be in-
clined to doubt, or ought to doubt, about the con-
struction of a telescope, viz. for what purpose it was
constructed, or whether it were constructed at all,
because there belonged to it certain screws and pins,
the use or action of which we did not comprehend.
I take it to be a general way of infusing doubts and
scruples into the mind, to recal to it its own igno-
rance, its own imbecility; to tell us that upon these
subjects we know little; that little imperfectly; or ra-
ther, that we know nothing properly about the matter.
These suggestions so fall in with our conscious-
nesses, as sometimes to produce a general distrust
of our faculties and our conclusions. But this is an
unfounded jealousy. The uncertainty of one thing,
does not necessarily affect the certainty of another
thing. Our ignorance of many points need not sus-
pend our assurance of a few. Before we yield, in any
particular instance, to the scepticism which this sort
of insinuation would induce, we ought accurately to
ascertain, whether our ignorance or doubt concern

M APPLICATION OF THE ARGUMENT, &c.

those precise points upon which our conclusion rests.
Other points are nothing. Our ignorance of other
points may be of no consequence to these; though
they be points, in various respects, of great impor-
tance. A just reasoner removes from his conside-
ration, not only what he knows, but what he does not
know, touching matters not strictly connected with
his argument, i. e. not forming the very steps of his
deduction : beyond these, his knowledge and his ig-
norance are alike irrelative.

I SS ]

CHAPTER VI.

THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

vVERE there no example in the world of
contrivance except that of the eye, it would be alone
sufficient to support the conclusion which we draw
from it, as to the necessity of an intelligent Creator.
It could never be got rid of: because it could not be
accounted for by any other supposition, which did
not contradict all the principles we possess of know-
ledge; the principles according to which, things do,
as often as they can be brought to the test of expe-
rience, turn out to be true or false. Its coats and hu-
mours, constructed, as the lenses of a telescope are
constructed, for the refraction of rays of light to a
point, which forms the proper action of the organ;
the provision in its muscular tendons for turning its
pupil to the object, similar to that which is given to
the telescope by screws, and upon which power of
direction in the eye, the exercise of its office as art
optical instrument depends; the further provision for
its defence, for its constant lubricity and moisture,
which we see in its socket and its lids, in its gland
for the secretion of the matter of tears, its outlet or
communication with the nose for carrying off the li-
quid after the eye is washed with it; these provisions
compose altogether an apparatus, a system of parts,
a preparation of means, so manifest in their design,
so exquisite in their contrivance, so successful in
their issue, so precious and so infinitely beneficial
in their use, as, in my opinion, to bear down all

56 THE ARGUMENT CUMULATIVE.

doubt that can be raised upon the subject. And what
I wish, under the title of the present chapter, to ob-
serve, is, that, if other parts of nature were inaccessi-
ble to our inquiries, or even if other parts of nature
presented nothing to our examination but disorder
and confusion, the validity of this example would
remain the same. If there were but one watch in
the world, it would not be less certain that it had a
maker. If we had never in our lives seen any but
one single kind of hydraulic machine; yet, if of that
one kind we understood the mechanism and use, we
should be as perfectly assured that it proceeded from
the hand, and thought, and skill of a workman, as if
we visited a museum of the arts, and saw collected
there twenty different kinds of machines for drawing
water, or a thousand different kinds for other pur-
poses. Of this point each machine is a proof, inde-
pendently of all the rest. So it is with the evidences
of a divine agency. The proof is not a conclusion,
which lies at the end of a chain of reasoning, of
which chain each instance of contrivance is only a
link, and of which, if one link fail, the whole falls;
but it is an argument separately supplied by every
separate example. An error in stating an example
affects only that example. The argument is cumu-
lative in the fullest sense of that term. The eye
proves it without the ear; the ear without the eye.
The proof in each example is complete; for when the
design of the part, and the conduciveness of its
structure to that design, is shewn, the mind may set
itself at rest: no future consideration can detract any-
thing from the force of the example.

[ 5T ]

CHAPTER VII.

OF THE MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS
AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES.

IT is not that every part of an animal or
vegetable has not proceeded from a contriving mind;
or that every part is not constructed with a view to
its proper end and purpose, according to the laws
belonging to, and governing, the substance or the
action made use of in that part; or that each part is
not so constructed, as to effectuate its purpose whilst
it operates according to these laws; but it is, because
these laws themselves are not in all cases equally-
understood; or, what amounts to nearly the same
thing, are not equally exemplified in more simple
processes, and more simple machines; that we lay
down the distinction, here proposed, between the
mechanical parts, and other parts, of animals and
vegetables.

For instance ; the principle of muscular motion,
viz. upon what cause the swelling of the belly of the
muscle, and consequent contraction of its tendons,
either by an act of the will or by involuntary irrita-
tion, depends, is wholly unknown to us. The sub-
stance employed, whether it be fluid, gaseous, elas-
tic, electrical, or none of these, or nothing resembling
these, is also unknown to us; of course the laws be-
longing to that substance, and which regulate its
action, are unknown to us. We see nothing similar
to this contraction in any machine which we can
make, or any process which we can execute. So

2

5% MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

far (it is confessed) we are in ignorance; but no
further. This power and principle, from whatever
cause it proceeds, being assumed, the collocation of
the fibres to receive the principle, the disposition of
the muscles for the use and application of the power,
is mechanical; and is as intelligible as the adjustment
of the wires and strings by which a puppet is moved.
We see, therefore, as far as respects the subject
before us, what is not mechanical in the animal frame,
and what is. The nervous influence (for we are often
obliged to give names to things which we know little
about)— I say the nervous influence, by which the
belly or middle of the muscle is swelled, is not me-
chanical. The utility of the eifect we perceive; the
means, or the preparation of means, by which it is
produced, we do not. But obscurity as to the ori-
gin of muscular motion brings no doubtfulness into
our observations upon the sequel of the process.
Which observations relate, 1st, to the constitution
of the muscle; in consequence of which constitution,
the swelling of the belly or middle part is necessarily
and mechanically followed by a contraction of the
tendons: 2dly, to the number and variety of the mus-
cles, and the corresponding number and variety of
useful powers which they supply to the animal;
which is astonishingly great: 3dly, to the judicious
(if we may be permitted to use that term, in speaking
of the author, or of the works, of nature), to the wise
and well contrived disposition of each muscle for its
specific purpose; for moving the joint this way, and
that way, and the other way ; for pulling and drawing
the part, to which it is attached, in a determinate and
particular direction; which is a mechanical opera-
tion, exemplified in a multitude of instances. To
mention only one; The tendon of the trochlear mus-
cle of the eye, to the end that it may draw in the line
required, is passed through a cartilaginous ring, at

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, ETC. 59

which it is reverted, exactly in the same manner as
a rope in a ship is carried over a block or round a
stay, in order to make it pull in the direction which
is wanted. All this, as we have said, is mechanical;
and is as accessible to inspection, as capable of being
ascertained, as the mechanism of the automaton in
the Strand. Suppose the automaton to be put in mo-
tion by a magnet (which is probable), it will supply
us with a comparison very apt for our present pur-
pose. Of the magnetic effluvium we know perhaps
as little as we do of the nervous fluid. But magne-
tic attraction being assumed (it signifies nothing from
what cause it proceeds), we can trace, or there can
be pointed out to us, with perfect clearness and cer-
tainty, the mechanism, viz. the steel bars, the wheels,
the joints, the wires, by which the motion so much
admired is communicated to the fingers of the image:
and to make any obscurity, or difficulty, or contro-
versy in the doctrine of magnetism, an objection to
our knowledge or our certainty concerning the con-
trivance, or the marks of contrivance, displayed in
the automaton, would be exactly the same thing, as
it is to make our ignorance (which we acknowledge)
of the cause of nervous agency, or even of the sub-
stance and structure of the nerves themselves, a
ground of question or suspicion as to the reasoning
which we institute concerning the mechanical part
of our frame. That an animal is a machine, is a
proposition neither correctly true, nor wholly false.
The distinction which we have been discussing will
serve to shew how far the comparison, which this
expression implies, holds ; and wherein it fails. And,
whether the distinction be thought of importance or
not, it is certainly of importance to remember, that
there is neither truth nor justice in endeavouring to
bring a cloud over our understandings, or a distrust
into our reasonings upon this subject, by suggesting

60 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

that we know nothing of voluntary motion, of irrita-
bility, of the principle of life, of sensation, of animal
heat, upon all which the animal functions depend;
for our ignorance of these parts of the animal frame
concerns not at all our knowledge of the mechanical
parts of the same frame. I contend, therefore, that
there is mechanism in animals; that this mechanism
is as properly such, as it is in machines made by art;
that this mechanism is intelligible and certain; that it
is not the less so, because it often begins or termi-
nates with something which is not mechanical; that
whenever it is intelligible and certain, it demonstrates
intention and contrivance, as well in the works of
nature as in those of art; and that it is the best de-
monstration which either can afford.

But, whilst I contend for these propositions, I do
not exclude myself from asserting that there may be,
and that there are, other cases, in which, although
we cannot exhibit mechanism, or prove indeed that
mechanism is employed, we want not sufficient evi-
dence to conduct us to the same conclusion.

There is what may be called the chymical part of
our frame; of which, by reason of tne imperfection
of our chymistry, we can attain to no distinct know-
ledge: 1 mean, not to a knowledge, either in degree
or kind, similar to that which we possess of the me-
chanical part of our frame. It does not therefore
afford the same species of .argument as that which
mechanism affords; and yet it may afford an argu-
ment in a high degree satisfactory. The gastric
juice, or the liquor which digests the food in the sto-
machs of animals, is of this class. Of all menstrua
it is the most active, the most universal. In the hu-
man stomach, for instance, consider what a variety
of strange substances, and how widely different from
one another, it, in a few hours, reduces to one uni-
form pulp, milk, or mucilage. It seizes upon every

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, ETC. 61

thing, it dissolves the texture of almost every thing,
that comes in its way. The flesh of perhaps all ani-
mals; the seeds and fruits of die greatest number of
plants; the roots and stalks and leaves of many, hard
and tough as they are, yield to its powerful pervasion.
The change wrought by it is different from any chy-
mical solution which we can produce, or with which
we are acquainted, in this respect as well as many
others, that, in our chymistry, particular menstrua
act only upon particular substances. Consider more-
ever that this fluid, stronger in its operation than a
caustic alkali or mineral acid, than red precipitate or
aqua fortis itself, is nevertheless as mild, and bland,
and inoffensive to the touch or taste, as saliva or gum
water, which it much resembles. Consider, I say,
these several properties of the digestive organ, and
of the juice with which it is supplied, or rather with
which it is made to supply itself, and you will confess
it to be entitled to a name, which it has sometimes
received, that of" the chymical wonder of animal
nature."

Still we are ignorant of the composition of this
fluid, and of the mode of its action; by which is
meant that we are not capable, as we are in the me-
chanical part of our frame, of collating it with the
operations of art. And this I call the imperfection
of our chymistry; for, should the time ever arrive,
which is not perhaps to be despaired of, when w7e can
compound ingredients, so as to form a solvent, which
will act in the manner in which the gastric juice acts,
we may be able to ascertain the chymical principles
upon which its efficacy depends, as well as from w hat
part, and by what concoction, in the human body,
these principles are generated and derived.

In the meantime, ought that, which is in truth the
defect of our chymistry, to hinder us from acquies-
cing in the inference, which a production of nature,

62 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANIOAL PARTS

by its place, its properties, its action, its surprising
efficacy, its invaluable use, authorises us to draw in
respect of a creative design?

Another most subtle and curious function of ani-
mal bodies is secretion. This function is semi-
chymical and semi-mechanical; excedmgly import-
ant and diversified in its effects, but obscure in i+s
process and in its apparatus. The importance of the
secretory organs is but too well attested by the dis-
eases, which an excessive, a deficient or a vitiated
secretion is almost sure of producing. A single
secretion being wrong, is enough to make life mise-
rable; or sometimes to destroy it. Nor is the vari-
ety less than the importance. From one and the
same blood (I speak of the human body) about, twen-
ty different fluids are separated; in their sensible
properties, in taste, smell, colour, and consistency;
the most unlike one another that is possible; thick,
thin, salt, bitter, sweet: and, if from our own we
pass to other species of animals, we find amongst
their secretions not only the most various, but the
most opposite properties; the most nutritious aliment,
the deadliest poison; the sweetest perfumes, the
most fetid odours. Of these the greater part, as the
gastric juice, the saliva, the bile, the slippery muci-
lage which lubricates the joints, the tears which
moisten the eye, the wax which defends the ear, are,
after they are secreted, made use of in the animal
economy; are evidently subservient, and are actually
contributing to the utilities of the animal itself.
Other fluids seem to be separated only to be rejected.
That this also is necessary (though why it was ori-
ginally necessary, w7e cannot tell) is shewn by the
consequence of the separation being long suspended;
which consequence is disease and death. Akin to
secretion, if not the same thing, is assimilation, by
which one and the same blood is converted into bone,

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, ETC. 08

muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons; things
as different as the wood and iron, canvass and cord-
age, of which a ship with its furniture is composed.
We have no operation of art wherewith exactly to
compare all this, for no other reason perhaps than
that all operations of art are exceeded by it. No
chymical election, no chymical analysis or resolution
of a substance into its constituent parts, no mechan-
ical sifting or division, that we are acquainted with,
in perfection or variety come up to animal secretion.
Nevertheless the apparatus and process are obscure:
not to say, absolutely concealed from our inquiries. In
a few, and only a few instances, we can discern a little
of the constitution of a gland. In the kidneys of large
animals we can trace the emulgent artery dividing it-
self into an infinite number of branches; their extremi-
ties every where communicating with little round
bodies, in the substance of which bodies the secret of
the machinery seems to reside, for there the change is
made. We can discern pipes laid from these round
bodies towards the pelvis, which is a bason within the
solid of the kidney. We can discern these pipes joining
and collecting together into larger pipes; and when
so collected, ending in innumerable papillae, through,
which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into
its receptacle. This is all we know of the mechan-
ism of a gland, even in the case in which it seems
most capable of being investigated. Yet to pro-
nounce that we know nothing of animal secretion, or
nothing satisfactorily, and with that concise remark
to dismiss the article from our argument, would be
to dispose of the subject very hastily and very irra-
tionally. For the purpose which we want, that of
evincing intention, we know a great deal. And
what we know is this. We see the blood carried by
a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. We see an
organized apparatus, be its construction or action

64 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS

what it will, which we call that gland. We see the
blood, or part of the blood, after it has passed through
and undergone the action of the gland, coming from
it by an emulgent vein or artery, i. e. by another
pipe or conduit. And we see also at the same time
a new and specific fluid issuing from the same gland
by its excretory duct, i. e. by a third pipe or conduit;
which new fluid is in some cases discharged out of
the body, in more cases retained within it, and there
executing some important and intelligible office.
Now supposing, or admitting, that we know nothing
of the proper internal constitution of a gland, or of
the mode of its acting upon the blood; then our situa-
tion is precisely like that of an unmechanical looker-
on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a
carding machine, or a threshing-machine at work,
the fabric and mechanism of which, as well as all
that passes within, is hidden from his sight by the
outside case; or, if seen, would be too complicated
for his uninformed, uninstructed understanding to
comprehend. And what is that situation? This
spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a mate-
rial enter the machine, as unground grain the mill,
raw cotton the carding- machine, sheaves of un-
threshed corn the threshing-machine; and, when he
casts his eye to the other end of the apparatus, he sees
the material issuing from it in a new state; and, what
is more, in a state manifestly adapted to future uses;
the grain in meal fit for the making of bread, the
wool in rovings ready for spinning into threads, the
sheaf in corn dressed for the mill. Is it necessary
that this man, in order to be convinced, that design,
that intention, that contrivance has been employed
about the machine, should be allowed to pull it in
pieces; should be enabled to examine the parts se-
parately ; explore their action upon one another, or
their operation, whether simultaneous or successive,

AND FUNCTIONS OF ANIMALS, ETC. 6*

upon the material which is presented to them? He
may long to do this to gratify his curiosity; he may
desire to do it to improve his theoretic knowledge;
or he may have a more substantial reason for request-
ing it, if he happen, instead of a common visitor, to
be a mill- wright by profession, or a person sometimes
called in to repair such-like machines when out of
order ; but, for the purpose of ascertaining the exist-
ence of counsel and design in the formation of the
machine, he wants no such intromission or privity.
What he sees is sufficient. The effect upon the ma-
terial, the change produced in it, the utility of that
change for future applications, abundantly testify, be
the concealed part of the machine or of its construc-
tion what it will, the hand and agency of a contriver.
If any confirmation were wanting to the evidence
which the animal secretions afford of design, it may
be derived, as hath been already hinted, from their
variety, and from their appropriation to their place
and use. They all come from the same blood ; they
are all drawn off by glands; yet the produce is very
different, and the difference exactly adapted to the
work which is to be done, or the end to be an-
swered. No account can be given of this without
resorting to appointment. Why, for instance, is the
saliva, which is diffused over the seat of taste, insi-
pid, whilst so many others of the secretions, the
urine, the tears, and the sweat, are salt? Why does
the gland within the ear separate a viscid substance,
which defends that passage; the gland in the upper
angle of the eye, a thin brine, which washes the ball?
Why is the synovia of the joints mucilaginous; the
bile bitter, stimulating, and soapy ? Why does the
juice, which flows into the stomach, contain powers,
which make that bowel, the great laboratory, as it is
by its situation the recipient, of the materials of fu-
ture nutrition ? These are all fair questions; and no

&

66 MECHANICAL AND IMMECHANICAL PARTS, Sec.

answer can be given to them, but what calls in intel-
ligence and intention.

My object in the present chapter has been to teach
three things: first, that it is a mistake to suppose,
that, in reasoning from the appearances of nature, the
imperfection of our knowledge proportionally affects
the certainty of our conclusion ; for in many cases it
does not affect it at all: secondly, that the different
parts of the animal frame may be classed and distri-
buted, according to the degree of exactness with
which we can compare them with works of art:
thirdly, that the mechanical parts of our frame, or,
those in which this comparison is most complete, al-
though constituting, probably, the coarsest portions
of nature's workmanship, are the properest to be
alleged as proofs and specimens of design.

[ 67 3

CHAPTER VIII.

OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT IN THE HUMAtf
FRAME.

WE proceed therefore to propose certain
examples taken out of this class; making choice of
such, as, amongst those which have come to our
knowledge, appear to be the most striking, and the
best understood; but obliged, perhaps, to postpone
botii these recommendations to a third, that of the
example being capable of explanation without plates
or figures, or technical language.

OF THE BONES.

I. I challenge any man to produce, in the joints
and pivots of the most complicated, or the most
flexible, machine, that was ever contrived, a con-
struction more artificial, or more evidently artificial,
than that which is seen in the vertebrae of the human
neck. Two things were to be done. The head was
to have the power of bending forward and backward,
as in the act of nodding, stooping, looking upward
or "downward; and, at the same time, of turning itself
round upon the body to a certain extent, the quad-
rant we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hundred and
twenty degrees of a circle. For these two purposes,
two distinct contrivances are employed. First, The
head rests immediately upon the uppermost of the
vertebree, and is united to it by a hinge joint; upon
which joint the head plays freely forward and back-

68 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

ward, as far either way as is necessary, or as the liga-
ments allow: which was the first thing required.
But then the rotatory motion is unprovided for.
Therefore, secondly, to make the head capable of this,
a further mechanism is introduced; not between the
head and the uppermost bone of the neck, where the
hinge is, but between that bone, and the bone next
underneath it. It is a mechanism resembling a tenon
and mortice. This second, or uppermost bone but
one, has what anatomists call a process, viz. a pro-
jection, somewhat similar, in size and shape, to a
tooth; which tooth, entering a corresponding hole
or socket in the bone above it, forms a pivot or axle,
upon which that upper bone, together with the head
which it supports, turns freely in a circle ; and as far
in the circle, as the attached muscles permit the head
to turn. Thus are both motions perfect, without in-
terfering with each other. When we nod the head,
we use the hinge joint, which lies between the head
and the first bone of the neck. When we turn the
head round, we use the tenon and mortice, which
runs between the first bone of the neck and the se-
cond. We see the same contrivance, and the same
principle, employed in the frame or mounting of a
telescope. It is occasionally requisite, that the ob-
ject end of the instrument be moved up and down, as
well as horizontally, or equatorially. For the verti-
cal motion there is a hinge upon which the telescope
plays: for» the horizontal or equatorial motion, an
axis upon which the telescope and the hinge turn
round together. And this is exactly the mechanism
which is applied to the motion of the head : nor will
any one here doubt of the existence of counsel and
design, except it be by that debility of mind, which
can trust to its own reasonings in nothing.

We may add, that it was, on another account also,
expedient, that the motion of the head backward and

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 69

forward should be performed upon the upper surface
of the first vertebrae : for, if the first vertebrae itself
had bent forward, it would have brought the spinal
marrow, at the very beginning of its course, upon
the point of the tooth.

II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike
the last in its object, but different and original in its
means, is seen in what anatomists call the fore -arm;
that is, in the arm between the elbow and the wrist.
Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two motions
are wanted ; a motion at the elbow backward and for-
ward, which is called a reciprocal motion; and a ro-
tatory motion, by which the palm of the hand, as oc-
casion requires, may be turned upward. How is
this managed? The fore-arm, it is well known, con-
sists of two bones, lying along-side each other, but
touching only towards the ends. One, and only one,
of these bones, is joined to the cubit, or upper part
of the arm, at the elbow; the other alone, to the hand
at the wrist. The first, by means, at the elbow, of
a hinge joint (which allows only of motion in the
same plane), swings backward and forward, carrying
along with it the other bone, and the whole fore-arm.
In the meantime, as often as there is occasion to turn
the palm upward, that other bone, to which the hand
is attached, rolls upon the first, by the help of a
groove or hollow near each end of one bone, to
which is fitted a corresponding prominence in the
other. If both bones had been joined to the cubit
or upper arm at the elbow, or both to the hand at the
wrist, the thing could not have been done. The first
was to be at liberty at one end, and the second at
the other: by which means the two actions may be
performed together. The great bone, which carries
the fore-arm, may be swinging upon its hinge at the
elbow, at the very time, that the lesser bone, which
carries the hand, may be turning round it in the.

70 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

grooves. The management also of these grooves,
or rather of the tubercles and grooves, is very obser-
vable. The two bones are called the radius and the
ulna. Above, i. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle
of the radius plays into a socket of the ulna; whilst
below, i. e. towards the wrist, the radius finds the
socket, and the ulna the tubercle. A single bone in
the fore -arm, with a ball and socket joint at the el-
bow, which admits of motion in all directions, might,
in some degree, have answered the purpose, of both
moving the arm, and turning the hand. But how
much better it is accomplished by the present me-
chanism, any person may convince himself, who
puts the ease and quickness, with which he can shake
his hand at the Wrist circularly (moving likewise, if
he pleases, his arm at the elbow at the same time),
In competition with the comparatively slow and la-
borious motion, with which his arm can be made to
turn round at the shoulder, by the aid of a ball and
socket joint.

III. The spine or back bone is a chain of joints of
very wonderful construction. Various, difficult, and
almost inconsistent offices were to be executed by
the same instrument. It was to be firm, yet flexible
(now I know no chain made by art, which is both
these; for by firmness I mean, not only strength, but
stability); firm, to support the erect position of the
bod}' ■; flexible, to allow of the bending of the trunk
in all degrees of curvature. It was further also,
which is another, and quite a distinct purpose from
the rest, to become a pipe or conduit for the safe
conveyance from the brain of the most important
fluid of the animal frame, that, namely, upon which
all voluntary motion depends, the spinal marrow; a
substance, not only of the first necessity to action, if
not to life, but of a nature so delicate and tender, so
susceptible and so impatient of injury, as that any

IN THE HUMAN FRAME 71

unusual pressure upon it, or any considerable ob-
struction of its course, is followed by paralysis or
death. Now the spine w as not only to furnish the
main trunk for the passage of the medullary sub-
stance from the brain, but to give out, in the course
of its progress, small pipes therefrom, which, being
afterwards indefinitely subdivided, might, under the
name of nerves, distribute this exquisite supply to
every part of the body. The same spine was also
to serve another use not less wanted than the preced-
ing, viz. to afford a fulcrum, stay, or basis (or more
properly speaking a series of these) for the insertion
of the muscles which are spread over the trunk of the
body; in which trunk there are not, as in the limbs,
cylindrical bones, to which they can be fastened, and
likewise, which is a similar use, to furnish a support
for the ends of the ribs to rest upon.

Bespeak of a workman a piece of mechanism which
shall comprise all these purposes, and let him set
about to contrive it; let him try his skill upon it; let
him feel the difficulty of accomplishing the task,
before he be told how the same thing is effected in the
animal frame. Nothing will enable him to judge so
well of the wisdom which has been employed: no-
thing will dispose him to think of it so truly. First,
for the firmness, yet flexibility, of the spine, it is
composed of a great number of bones (in the human
subject of twenty-four) joined to one another, and.
compacted together, by broad bases. The breadth
of the bases upon which the parts severally rest, and
the closeness of the junction, give to the chain its firm-
ness and stability; the number of parts, and conse-
quent frequency of joints, its flexibility. Which
flexibility, we may also observe, varies in different
parts of the chain : is least in the back, where strength
more than flexure is wanted; greater in the loins,
which it was necessary should be more supple than

rft OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT.

the back; and greatest of all in the neck, for the
free motion of the head. Then, secondly, in order
to afford a passage for the descent of the medullary
substance, each of these bones is bored through in
the middle in such a manner, as that, when put toge-
ther, the hole in one bone falls into a line, and
corresponds, with the holes in the two bones conti-
guous to it. By which means, the perforated pieces,
when joined, form an entire, close, uninterrupted
channel : at least whilst the spine is upright and at
rest. But, as a settled posture is inconsistent with
its use, a great difficulty still remained, which was to
prevent the vertebras shifting upon one another, so as
to break the line of the canal as often as the body
moves or twists; or the joints gaping externally,
whenever the body is bent forward, and the spine,
thereupon, made to take the form of a bow. These
dangers, which are mechanical, are mechanically
provided against. The vertebrae, by means of their
processes and projections, and of the articulations
which some of these form with one another, at their
extremeties, are so locked in and confined, as to
maintain, in what are called the bodies or broad
surfaces of the bones, the relative position nearly
unaltered; and to throw the change and the pressure,
produced by flexion, almost entirely upon the inter-
vening cartilages, the springiness and yielding nature
of whose substance admits of all the motion which
is necessary to be performed upon them, without any
chasm being produced by a separation of the parts.
I say of all the motion which is necessary; for, al-
though we bend our backs to every degree almost
of inclination, the motion of each vertebra is very
small: such is the advantage which we receive from
the chain being composed of so many links, the
spine of so many bones. Had it consisted of three
or four bones only, in bending the body the spinal

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 73

marrow must have been bruised at every angle. The
reader need not be told that these intervening carti-
lages are gristles ; and he may see them in perfection
in a loin of veal. Their form also favours the same
intention. They are thicker before than behind, so
that, when we stoop forward, the compressible sub-
stance of the cartilage, yielding in its thicker and an-
terior part to the force which squeezes itf brings the
surfaces of the adjoining vertebrae nearer to the being
parallel with one another than they were before, in-
stead of increasing the inclination of their planes,
which must have occasioned a fissure or opening be-
tween them. Thirdly, For the medullary canal giv-
ing out in its course, and in a convenient order, a
supply of nerves to different parts of the body, notches
are made in the upper and lower edge of every ver-
tebra; two on each edge; equi-distant on each side
from the middle line of the back. When the verte-
brae are put together, these notches, exactly fitting,
form small holes, through which the nerves, at each
articulation, issue out in pairs, in order to send their
branches to every part of the body, and with an equal
bounty to both sides of the body. The fourth pur-
pose assigned to the same instrument, is the insertion
of the bases of the muscles, and the support of the
ends of the ribs: and for this fourth purpose, espe-
cially the former part of it, a figure, specifically suited
to the design, and unnecessary for the other purposes,
is given to the constituent bones. Whilst they are
plain, and round, and smooth towards the front,
where any roughness or projection might have
wounded the adjacent viscera, they run out, behind,
and on each side, into long processes, to which pro-
cesses the muscles necessary to the motions of the
trunk are fixed; and fixed with such art, that, whilst
the vertebrae supply a basis for the muscles, the mus-

74 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

cles help to keep these bones in their position, or b}r
their tendons to tie them together.

That most important, however, and general pro-
perty, viz. the strength of the compages, and the se-
curity against luxation, was to be still more specially
consulted; for where so many joints were concerned,
and where, in every one, derangement would have
been fatal, it became a subject of studious precaution.
For this purpose, the vertebras are articulated, that
is, the moveable joints between them are formed, by
means of those projections of their substance, which
we have mentioned under the name of processes;
and these so lock in with, and overwrap, one another,
as to secure the body of the vertebrae, not only from
accidentally slipping, but even from being pushed,
out of its place, by any violence short of that which
would break the bone. I have often remarked and
admired this structure in the chine of a hare. In this,
as in many instances, a plain observer of the animal
ceconomy may spare himself the disgust of being
present at human dissections, and yet learn enough
for his information and satisfaction, by even examin-
ing the bones of the animals which come upon his
table. Let him take, for example, into his hands, a
piece of the clean-picked bone of a hare's back; con-
sisting, we will suppose, of three vertebrae. He will
find the middle bone of the three, so implicated by
means of its projections or processes, with the bone
on each side of it, that no pressure which he can use,
will force it out of its place between them. ' It will
give way neither forward, nor backward, nor on
either side. In whichever direction he pushes, he
perceives, in the form, or junction, or overlapping of
the bones, an impediment opposed to his attempt; a
check and guard against dislocation. In one part of
the spine, he will find a still further fortifying expe-

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. $j

dient, in the mode according to which the ribs are
annexed to the spine. Each rib rests upon two ver-
tebrae. That is the thing to be remarked, and any-
one may remark it in carving a neck of mutton. The
manner of it is this: the end of the rib is divided by
a middle ridge into two surfaces, which surfaces are
joined to the bodies of two contiguous vertebrae, the
ridge applying itself to the intervening cartilage.
Now this is the very contrivance which is employed
in the famous iron bridge at my door at Bishop-
Wear mouth; and for the same purpose of stability;
viz. the cheeks of the bars, which pass between the
arches, ride across the joints, by which the pieces
composing each arch are united. Each cross bar
rests upon two of these pieces at their place of junc-
tion; and by that position resists, at least in one di-
rection, any tendency in either piece to slip out of
its place. Thus perfectly, by one means or the other,
is the danger of slipping laterally, or of being drawn
aside out of the line of the back provided against:
and, to withstand the bones being pulled asunder lon-
gitudinally, or in the direction of the line, a strong
membrane runs from one end of the chain to the
other, sufficient to resist any force which is ever
likely to act in the direction of the back, or parallel
to it, and consequently to secure the whole combi-
nation in their places. The general result is, that
not only the motions of the human body necessary
for the ordinary offices of life are performed with
safety, but that it is an accident hardly ever heard of,
that even the gesticulations of a harlequin distort his
spine.

Upon the whole, and as a guide to those who may
be inclined to carry the consideration of this subject
further, there are three views under which the spine
ought to be regarded, and in all which it cannot fail
to excite our admiration. These views relate to its

Id OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

articulations, its ligaments, and its perforation; and
to the corresponding advantages which the body de-
rives from it, for action, for strength, and for that,
which is essential to every part, a secure communi-
cation with the brain.

The structure of the spine is not in general diffe-
rent in different animals. In the serpent tribe, how-
ever, it is considerably varied; but with a strict
reference to the conveniency of the animal. For,
whereas in quadrupeds the number of vertebrae is
from thirty to forty, in the serpent it is nearly one
hundred and fifty : whereas in men and quadrupeds
the surfaces of the bones are flat, and these flat sur-
faces laid one against the other, and bound tight by
sinews ; in the serpent, the bones play one within ano-
ther like a ball and socket*, so that they have a free
motion upon one another in every direction: that is
to say, in men and quadrupeds firmness is more con-
sulted; in serpents, pliancy. Yet even pliancy is not
obtained at the expense of safety. The backbone of
a serpent, for coherence and flexibility, is one of the
most curious pieces of animal mechanism, with which
we are acquainted. The chain of a watch (I mean
the chain which passes between the spring-barrel and
the fusee) which aims at the same properties, is but
a bungling piece of workmanship in comparison with
that of which we speak.

IV. The reciprocal enlargement and contraction
of the chest to allow for the play of the lungs, depends
upon a simple yet beautiful mechanical contrivance,
referable to the structure of the bones which inclose
it. The ribs are articulated to the back bone, or ra-
ther to its side projections, obliquely; that is, in their
natural position they bend or slope from the place of
articulation downwards. But the basis upon which

• Der. Pbys. Theol. p. 396.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 77

they Test at this end being fixed, the consequence of
the obliquity, or the inclination downwards, is, that,
when they come to moVe, whatever pulls the ribs
upwards, necessarily, at the same time, draws them
out; and that, whilst the ribs are brought to a right
angle with the spine behind, the sternum, or part of
the chest to which they are attached in front, is thrust
forward. The simple action, therefore, of the eleva-
ting muscles does the business; whereas, if the ribs
had been articulated with the bodies of the vertebrae
at right angles, the cavity of the thorax could never
have been further enlarged by a change of their posi-
tion. If each rib had been a rigid bone, articulated
at both ends to fixed bases, the whole chest had been
immovable. Keill has observed, that the breast-
bone, in an easy inspiration, is thrust out one tenth
of an inch; and he calculates that this, added to what
is gained to the space within the chest by the flatten-
ing or descent of the diaphragm, leaves room for
forty-two cubic inches of air to enter at every drawing
in of the breath. When there is a necessity for a
deeper and more laborious inspiration, the enlarge-
ment of the capacity of the chest may be so increased
by effort, as that the lungs may be distended with
seventy or a hundred such cubic inches*. The tho-
rax, says Schelhammer, forms a kind of bellows,
such as never have been, nor probably will be, made
by any artificer.

V. The patella, or knee-pan, is a curious little
bone ; in its form and office unlike any other bone of
the body. It is circular; the size of a crown piece;
pretty thick; a little convex on both sides, and cover-
ed with a smooth cartilage. It lies upon the front of
the knee; and the powerful tendons, by which the leg
is brought forward, pass through it (or rather it makes

* An at. p, 229.

n OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

a part of their continuation) from their origin in the
thigh to their insertion in the tibia. It protects both
the tendon and the joint from any injury which either
might suffer, by the rubbing of one against the other,
or by the pressure of unequal surfaces. It also gives
to the tendons a very considerable mechanical advan-
tage by altering the line of their direction, and by
advancing it further out from the centre of motion;,
and this upon the principles of the resolution of force,
upon which principles all machinery is founded.
These are its uses. But what is most observable in
it is, that it appears to be supplemental, as it were,
to the frame; added, as it should almost seem, after-
ward; not quite necessary, but very convenient. It
is separate from the other bones; that is, it is not
connected with any other bones by the common
mode of union. It is soft, or hardly formed, in in-
fancy; and produced by an ossification, of the incep-
tion or progress of which, no account can be given
from the structure or exercise of the part.

VI. The shoulder-blo.de is in some material res-
pects, a very singular bone; it appearing to be made
so expressly for its own purpose, and so indepen-
dently of every other reason. In such quadrupeds as
have no collar bones, which are by far the greater
number, the shoulder-blade has no bony communi-
cation with the trunk, either by a joint, or process,
or in any other way. It does not grow to, or out of,
any other bone of the trunk. It does not apply to
any other bone of the trunk (I know not whether
this be true of any second bone in the body, except
perhaps the os hyoides). In strictness, it forms no
part of the skeleton. It is bedded in the flesh; at-
tached only to the muscles. It is no other than a
foundation bone for the arm, laid in, separate, as it
were, and distinct, from the general ossification. The
lower limbs connect themselves at the hip with bones

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 79

which form part of the skeleton; but, this connection,
in the upper limbs, being wanted, a basis, where-
upon the arm might be articulated, was to be sup-
plied by a detached ossification for the purpose.

I. The above are a few examples of bones made
remarkable by their configuration: but to almost all
the bones belong joints ; and in these, still more
clearly than in the form or shape of the bones them-
selves, are seen both contrivance and contriving wis-
dom. Every joint is a curiosity, and is also strictly
mechanical. There is the hinge joint, and the mor-
tice and tenon joint ; each as manifestly such, and as
accurately defined, as any which can be produced
out of a cabinet-maker's shop. And one or the other
prevails, as either is adapted to the motion which is
wanted: e. g. a mortice and tenon, or ball and socket
joint, is not required at the knee, the leg standing in
need only of a motion backward and forward in the
same plane, for which a hinge joint is sufficient: a
mortice and tenon, or ball and socket joint, is want-
ed at the hip, that not only the progressive step may
be provided for, but the interval between the limbs
may be enlarged or contracted at pleasure. Now
observe what would have been the inconveniency,
i. e. both the superfluity and the defect of articulation,
if the case had been inverted; if the ball and socket
joint had been at the knee, and the hinge joint at
the hip. The thighs must have been kept constantly
together, and the legs have been loose and straddling.
There would have been no use that we know of, in
being able to turn the calves of the legs before: and
there would have been great confinement by restrain-
ing the motion of the thighs to one plane. The dis-
advantage would not have been less, if the joints at
the hip, and the knee had been both of the same sort;
both balls and sockets, or both hinges: yet why, in-
dependently of utility, and of a Creator who consult-

$0 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

ed that utility, should the same bone (the thigh-bone)
be rounded at one end, and channelled at the other?

The hinge joint is not formed by a bolt passing
through the two parts of the hinge, and thus keep-
ing them in their places ; but by a different expedient.
A strong, tough, parchment-like membrane, rising
from the receiving bones, and inserted all round the
received bones a little below their heads, incloses the
joint on every side. This membrane ties, confines,
and holds the ends of the bones together; keeping
the corresponding parts of the joint, i. e. the relative
convexities and concavities, in close application to
each other.

For the ball and socket joint ', beside the membrane
already described, there is in some important joints,
as an additional security, a short, strong, yet flexible
ligament, inserted, by one end into the head of the
ball, by the other into the bottom of the cup; which
ligament keeps the two parts of the joint so firmly
in their place, that none of the motions which the
limb naturally performs, none of the jerks and twists
to which it is ordinarily liable, nothing less indeed
than the utmost and the most unnatural violence, can
pull them asunder. It is hardly indeed imagina-
ble, how great a force is necessary, even to stretch,
still more to break, this ligament; yet so flexible is
it, as to oppose no impediment to the suppleness of
the joint. By its situation also, it is inaccessible to
injury from sharp edges. , As it cannot be ruptured,
such is its strength ; so it cannot be cut, except by
an accident which would sever the limb. If I had
been permitted to frame a proof of contrivance, such
as might satisfy the most distrustful inquirer, I
know not whether I could have chosen an example
of mechanism more unequivocal, or more free from
objection, than this ligament. Nothing can be more
mechanical; nothing, however subservient to the

IN THE HUMAN FRAME". 81

safety, less capable of being generated by the action
of the joint. I would particularly solicit the reader's
attention to this provision, as it is found in the head
of the thigh bone; to its strength, its structure, and
its use. It is an instance upon which I lay my hand.
One single fact, weighed by a mind in earnest, leaves
oftentimes the deepest impression. For the pur-
pose of addressing different understandings and dif-
ferent apprehensions, for the purpose of sentiment,
for the purpose of exciting admiration of the Crea-
tor's works, we diversify our views, we multiply
examples-; but, for the purpose of strict argument,
one clear instance is sufficient: and not only suffici-
ent, bat capable, perhaps, of generating a firmer
assurance than what can arise from a divided atten-
tion.

The ginglymus, or hinge joint, does not, it is
manifest, admit of a ligament of the same kind with
that of the ball and socket joint, but it is always for-
tified by the species of ligament of which it does ad-
mit. The strong, firm, investing membrane above
described, accompanies it in every part: and, in par-
ticular joints, this membrane, wThich is properly a
ligament, is considerably stronger on the sides than
either before or behind, in order that the convexities
may play true in their concavities, and not be subject
to slip sideways, which is the chief danger; for the
muscular tendons generally restrain the parts from
going further than they ought to go in the plane of
their motion. In the knee, which is a joint of this
form, and of great importance, there are superadded to
the common provisions for the stability of the joint,
two strong ligaments which cross each other, and cross
each other in such a manner, as to secure the joint
from being displaced ift any assignable direction. u I
think," says Chese^den, " that the knee cannot be

M

m OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

completely dislocated without breaking the cross liga-
merits*." We can hardly help comparing this with
the binding up of a fracture, where the fillet is al-
most always strapped across, for the sake of giving
firmness and strength to the bandage.

Another no less important joint, and that also of
the ginglymus sort, is the ankle; yet, though impor-
tant, (in order, perhaps, to preserve the symetry
and lightness of the limb) small, and, on that ac-
count, more liable to injury. Now this joint is
strengthened, i. e. is defended from dislocation, by
two remarkable processes or prolongations of the
bones of the leg, which processes form the protube-
rances that we call the inner and outer ankle. It is
part of each bone going down lower than the other
part, and thereby overlapping the joint: so that, if
the joint be in danger of slipping outward, it is
curbed by the inner projection, i. e. that of the tibia;
if inward, by the outer projection, i. e. that of the
fibula. Between both, it is locked in its position.
I know no account that can be given of this struc-
ture except its utility. Why should the tibia ter-
minate, at its lower extremity with a double end,
and the fibula the same, but to barricade the joint on
both sides by a continuation of part of the thickness
of the bone over it?

The joint at the shoulder compared with the joint
at the hip, though both ball and socket joints, disco-
ver a difference in their form and proportions, well
suited to the different offices which the limbs have to
execute. The cup or socket at the shoulder is much
shallower and flatter than it is at the hip, and is also
in part formed of cartilage set round the rim of the
cup. The socket, into which the head of the thigh-
bone is inserted, is deeper, and made of more solid

• Ches. Anat. ed. 7ih, p. 45.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 8*

materials. This agrees with the duties assigned to
each part. The arm is an instrument of motion, prin-
cipally, if not solely. Accordingly the shallowness
of the socket at the shoulder, and the yieldingness of
the cartilaginous substance with which its edge is set
round, and which in fact composes a considerable
part of its concavity, are excellently adapted for the
allowance of a freer motion and a wider range; both
which the arm wants. Whereas the lower limb,
forming a part of the column of the body; having to
support the body, as well as to be the means of its lo-
comotion; firmness was to be consulted as well as
action. With a capacity for motion, in all directions
indeed, as at the shoulder, but not in any direction to
the same extent as in the arm, was to be united sta-
bility, or resistance to dislocation. Hence the deeper
excavation of the socket; and the presence of a less
proportion of cartilage upon the edge.

The suppleness and pliability of the joints we
every moment experience; and the firmness of animal
articulation, the property we have hitherto been con-
sidering, may be judged of from this single obser-
vation, that, at any given moment of time, there are
millions of animal joints in complete repair and use,
for one that is dislocated; and this notwithstanding
the contortions and wrenches to which the limbs of
animals are continually subject.

II. The joints, or rather, the ends of the bones
which form them, display also, in their configuration,
another use. The nerves, blood-vessels, and tendons,
which are necessary to the life, or for the motion, of
the limbs, must, it is evident, in their way from the
trunk of the body to the place of their destination,
travel over the moveable joints; and it is no less
evident, that, in this part of their course, they will
have, from sudden motions and from abrupt changes
of curvature, to encounter the danger of compression,

U OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

attrition, or laceration. To guard fibres so tender
against consequences so injurious, their path is in
those parts protected with peculiar care: and that by
a provision in the figure of the bones themselves.
The nerves which supply the fore-arm, especially
the inferior cubital nerves, are at the elbow conduct-
ed, by a kind of covered way, between the condyls,
or rather under the inner extuberances of the bone,
which composes the upper part of the arm*. At the
knee the extremity of the thigh-bone is divided by a
sinus or cliff into two heads or protuberances; and
these heads on the back part stand out beyond the
cylinder of the bone. Through the hollow, which
lies between the hind parts of these two heads, that
is to say, under the ham, between the ham-strings,
and within the concave recess of the bone formed by
the extuberances on each side; in a word, along a
defile, between rocks, pass the great vessels and
nerves which go to the legf. Who led these vessels
by a road so defended and secured? In the joint at the
shoulder, in the edge of the cup which receives the
head of the bone, is a notch which is joined or cover-
ed at the top with a ligament. Through this hole,
thus guarded, the blood-vessels steal to their desti-
nation in the arm, instead of mounting over the edge
of the concavity $.

III. In all joints, the ends of the bones, which
work against each other, are tipped with gris-
tle. In the ball and socket joint, the cup is lined,
and the ball capped with it. The smooth surface, the
elastic and unfriable nature of cartilage, render it of
all substances the properest for the place and purpose.
I should therefore have pointed this out amongst the
foremost of the provisions which have been made in
the joints for the facilitating of their action, had it

* dies. An. p. 255, ed. 7th. f lb. p. 35. J lb. 30.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 85

not been alleged, that cartilage in truth is only nas-
cent or imperfect bone; and that the bone in these
places is kept soft and imperfect, in consequence of
a more complete and rigid ossification being pre-
vented from taking place by the continual motion and
rubbing of the surfaces. Which being so, what
we represent as a designed advantage, is an unavoid-
able effect. I am for from being convinced that this
is a true account of the fact; or that, if it were so,
it answers the argument. To me, the surmounting
of the ends of the bones with gristle, looks more like
a plating with a different metal, than like the same
metal kept in a different state by the action to which
it is exposed. At all events we have a great particu-
lar benefit, though arising from a general constitu-
tion : but this last not being quite what my argument
requires, lest I should seem by applying the instance,
to overrate its value, I have thought it fair to state the
question which attends it.

IV. In some joints, very particularly in the knees,
there are loose cartilages or gristles between the
bones, and within the joint, so that the ends of the
bones, instead of working upon one another, work
upon the intermediate cartilages. Cheselden has
observed*, That the contrivance of a loose ring is
practised by mechanics, where the friction of the
joints of any of their machines is great; as between
the parts of crook hinges of large gates, or under the
head of the male screw of large vices. The car-
tilages of which wTe speak have very much of the form
of these rings. The comparison moreover shews
the reason why we find them in the knees rather than
in other joints. It is an expedient, we have seen,
which a mechanic resorts to, only when some strong
and heavy work is to be done. So here the thigh

* lb. p. 13.

86 OF MECHANICAL ARRANGEMENT

bone has to achieve its motion at the knee, with the
whole weight of the body pressing upon it, and often,
as in rising from our seat, with the whole weight of
the body to lift. It should seem also from Chesel-
den's account, that the slipping and sliding of the loose
cartilages, though it be probably a small and obscure
change, humoured the motion of the end of the thigh
bone, under the particular configuration which was
necessary to be given to it for the commodious action
of the tendons; and which configuration requires what
he calls a variable socket, that is, a concavity, the
lines of which assume a different curvature in differ-
ent inclinations of the bones.

V. We have now done with the configuration;
but there is also in the joints, and that common to
them all, another exquisite provision, manifestly
adapted to their use, and concerning which there can,
I think, be no dispute; namely, the regular supply
of a mucilage, more emollient and slippery than oil
itself, which is constantly softening and lubricating
the parts that rub upon each other, and thereby di-
minishing the effect of attrition in the highest possi-
ble degree. For the continual secretion of this
important linament, and for the feeding of the cavi-
ties of the joint with it, glands are fixed near each
joint; the excretory ducts of which glands, dripping
with their balsamic contents, hang loose like fringes
w7ithin the cavity of the joints. A late improvement
in what are called friction wheels, which consists of
a mechanism so ordered, as to be regularly dropping
oil into a box, which incloses the axis, the nave, and
certain balls upon which the nave revolves, may be
said, in some sort, to represent the contrivance in the
animal joint; with this superiority, however, on the
part of the joint, viz. that here, the oil is not only
dropped, but made.

IN THE HUMAN FRAME. 87

In considering the joints, there is nothing, per-
haps, which ought to move our gratitude more than
the reflection, how well they wear. A limb shall
swing upon its hinge, or play in its socket, many
hundred times in an hour, for sixty years together,
without diminution of its agility: which is a long
time for any thing to last; for any thing so much
worked and exercised as the joints are. This dura-
bility 1 should attribute, in part, to the provision
which is made for the preventing of wear and tear,
first, by the polish of the cartilaginous surfaces, se-
condly, by the healing lubrication of the mucilage;
and, in part, to that astonishing property of animal
constitutions, assimilation, by which, in every por-
tion of the body, let it consist of what it will, sub-
stance is restored, and waste repaired.

Moveable joints, I think, compose the curiosity of
bones; but their union, even where no motion is in-
tended or wanted, carries marks of mechanism and
of mechanical wisdom. The teeth, especially the
front teeth, are one bone fixed in another like a peg
driven into a board. The sutures of the skull are
like the edges of two saws clapped together, in such
a manner as that the teeth of one enter the intervals
of the other. We have sometimes one bone lapping
over another, and planed down at the edges; some-
times also the thin lamella of one bone received into
a narrow furrow of another. In all which varieties we
seem to discover the same design, viz. firmness of
juncture, without clumsiness in the seam.

£ 88 ]

CHAPTER IX.

OF THE MUSCLES.

MUSCLES, with their tendons, are the in-
struments by which animal motion is performed. It
will be our business to point out instances in which,
and properties with respect to which, the disposition
of these muscles is as strictly mechanical, as that of
the wires and strings of a puppet.

I. We may observe, what I believe is universal,
an exact relation between the joint and the muscles
which move it. Whatever motion, the joint, by its
mechanical construction, is capable of performing,
that motion, the annexed muscles, by their position,
are capable of producing. For example ; . if there be,
as at the knee and elbow, a hinge joint, capable of mo-
tion only in the same plane, the leaders, as they are
called, i» e. the muscular tendons, are placed in direc-
tions parallel to the bone, so as, by the contraction or
relaxation of the muscles to which they belong, to
produce that motion and no other. If these joints
were capable of a freer motion, there are no muscles
to produce it. Whereas at the shoulder and the hip,
where the ball and socket joint allows by its con-
struction of a rotatory or sweeping motion, tendons
are placed in such a position, and pull in such a di-
rection, as to produce the motion of which the joint
admits. For instance, the sartorius or taylor's mus-
cle, arising from the spine, running diagonally across
the thigh, and taking hold of the inside of the main
bone of the leg a little below the knee, enables us, by

OF THE MUSCLES. 89

its contraction, to throw «one leg and thigh over the
other; giving effect, at the same time, to the ball and
socket joint at the hip, and the hinge joint at the knee.
There is, as we have seen, a specific mechanism in
the bones for the rotatory motions of the head and
hands: there is, also, in the oblique direction of the
muscles belonging to them, a specific provision for
the putting of this mechanism of the bones into ac-
tion. And mark the consent of uses. The oblique
muscles would have been inefficient without the arti-
culation: the articulation would have been lost, with-
out the oblique muscles. It may be proper however
to observe with respect to the bead, although I think
it does not vary the case, that its oblique motions
and inclinations are often motions in a diagonal,
produced by the joint action of muscles lying in
straight directions. But, whether the pull be single
or combined, the articulation is always such, as to
be capable of obeying the action of the muscles.
The oblique muscles attached to the head, are like-
wise so disposed, as to be ^capable of steadying the
globe, as well as of moving it. The head of a new-
born infant is often obliged to be filleted up. After
death the head drops, and rolls in every direction.
So that it is by the equilibre of the muscles, by the
aid of a considerable and equipollent muscular force
in constant exertion, that the head maintains its erect
posture. The muscles here supply, what would
otherwise be a great defect in the articulation: for
the joint in the neck, although admirably adapted to
the motion of the head, is insufficient for its support.
It is not only by the means of a most curious struc-
ture of the bones that a man turns his head, but by
virtue of an adjusted muscular power, that he even
holds it up.

As another example of what we are illustrating,
viz. conformity of use between die bones and the

N

90 OF THE MUSCLES.

muscles, it has been observed of the different verte-
brae, that their processes are exactly proportioned to
the quantity of motion which the other bones allow
of, and which the respective muscles are capable of
producing.

II. A muscle acts only by contraction. Its force
is exerted in no other way. When the exertion
ceases it relaxes itself, that is, it returns by relaxa-
tion to its former state; but without energy. This is
the nature of the muscular fibre: and being so, it is
evident that the reciprocal energetic motion of the
limbs, by which we mean motion w it h force in op-
posite directions, can only be produced by the instru-
mentality of opposite or antagonist muscles ; of
flexors and extensors answering to each other. For
instance, the biceps and brachiseus interims muscles
placed in the front part of the upper arm, by their
contraction, bend the elbow; and with such degree of
force, as the case requires, or the strength admits of.
The relaxation of these muscles, after the effort,
would merely let the fore-arm drop down. For the
back stroke, therefore, and that the arm may not only-
bend at the elbow, but also extend and straighten it-
self with force, other muscles, the longus and brevis
brachiseus externus, and the anconeus, placed on the
hinder part of the arm, by their contractile twitch
fetch back the fore-arm into a straight line with the
cubit, with no less force than that with which it was
bent out of it. The same thing obtains in all the
limbs, and in every moveable part of the body. A
finger is not bent and straightened, without the con-
traction of two muscles taking place. It is evident
therefore that the animal functions require that par-
ticular disposition of the muscles which we describe
by the name of antagonist muscles. And they are
accordingly so disposed. Every muscle is provided
with an adversary. They act like two sawers in a

OF THE MUSCLES. 91

pit by an opposite pull: and nothing surely can more
strongly indicate design and attention to an end than
their being thus stationed; than this collocation. The
nature of the muscular fibre being what it is, the
purposes of the animal could be answered by no
other. And not only the capacity for motion, but
the aspect and symmetry of the body is preserved
by the muscles being marshalled according to this
order, e. g. the mouth is held in the middle of the
face, and its angles kept in a state of exact corres-
pondency, by two muscles drawing against, and ba-
lancing, each other. In a hemiplegia, when the
muscle on one side is weakened, the muscle on the
other side draws ihe mouth awry.

III. Another property of the muscles, which could
only be the result of care, is their being almost uni-
versally so disposed, as not to obstruct or interfere
with one another's action. I know but one instance
in which this impediment is perceived. We cannot
easily swallow whilst we gape. This, I understand,
is owing to the muscles employed in the act of de-
glutition being so implicated with the muscles of the
lower jaw, that, whilst these last are contracted, the
former cannot act with freedom. The obstruction
is, in this instance, attended with little inconve-
niency; but it shewTs what the effect is, where it does
exist; and what loss of faculty there would be, if it
were more frequent. Now when we reflect upon
the number of muscles, not fewer than four hundred
and forty- six in the human body, known and named*,
how contiguous they lie to each other, in layers, as
it were, over one another, crossing one another,
sometimes embedded in one another, sometimes per-
forating one another, an arrangement, which leaves

■ Keill's Anat. p. 295, ed. 3i.

n OF THE MUSCLES.

to each its liberty and its full play, must necessarily
require meditation and counsel.

IV. The following is oftentimes the case with the
muscles. Their action is wanted where their situa-
tion would be inconvenient. In which case the body
of the muscle is piaced in some commodious posi-
tion at a distance, and made to communicate with
the point of action, by slender strings or wires. If
the muscles, which move the fingers, had been placed
in the palm or back of the hand, they would have
swelled that part to an awkward and clumsy thick-
ness. The beauty, the proportions, of the part, would
have been destroyed. They are therefore disposed
in the arm, and even up to the elbow; and act by long
tendons, strapped down at the wrist, and passing un-
der the ligament to the fingers, and to the joints of
the fingers, which they are. severally to move. In
like manner, the muscles which move the toes/and
many of the joints of the foot, how gracefully are
they disposed in the calf of the leg, instead of form-
ing an unwieldy tumefaction in the foot itself? The
observation may be repeated of the muscle which
draws the nictitating membrane over the eye. Its
office is in the front of the eye; but its body is lodged
in the back part of the globe, where it lies safe, and
where it incumbers nothing.

V. The great mechanical variety in the figure of
the muscles may be thus stated. It appears to be a
fixed law, that the contraction of a muscle shall be
towards its centre. Therefore the subject for me-
chanism on each occasion is, so to modify the figure,
and adjust the position, of the muscle, as to produce
the motion required, agreeably with this law. This
can only be done by giving to different muscles, a
diversity of configuration, suited to their several
offices, and to their situation with respect to the work
which they have to perform. On which account

OF THE MUSCLES. 9$

we find them under a multiplicity of forms, and al-
titudes; sometimes with double, sometimes with
treble tendons, sometimes with none; sometimes
one tendon to several muscles, at other times one
muscle to several tendons. The shape of the organ
is susceptible of an incalculable variety, whilst the
original property of the muscle, the law and line of
its contraction, remains the same; and is simple.
Herein the muscular system may be said to bear a
perfect resemblance to our works of art. An artist
does not alter the native quality of his materials, or
their laws of action. He takes these as he finds them.
His skill and ingenuity are employed in turning
them, such as they are, to his account, by giving to
the parts of his machine a form and relation, in which
these unalterable properties may operate to the pro-
duction of the effects intended.

VI. The ejaculations can never too often be re-
peated. How many things must go right for us to
be an hour at ease ! How many more, to be vigorous
and active! Yet vigour and activity are, in a vast
plurality of instances, preserved in human bodies,
notwithstanding that they depend upon so great a
number of instruments of motion, and notwithstand-
ing that the defect or disorder sometimes of a very
small instrument, of a single pair, for instance, out
of the four hundred and forty-six muscles which are
employed, may be attended with grievous inconve-
niency. There is piety and good sense in the follow-
ing observation taken out of the Religious Philoso-
pher, " With much compassion," says this writer,
" as well as astonishment at the goodness of our lov-
ing Creator, have I considered the sad state of a cer-
tain gentleman, who, as to the rest, was in pretty
good health, but only wanted the use of these two
little muscles that serve to lift up the eyelids, and so
had almost lost the use of his sight, being forced, as

9l OF THE MUSCLES.

long as this defect lasted, to shove up his eyelids
every moment with his own hands!" In general we
may remark how little those, who enjoy the perfect
use of their organs, know the comprehensiveness of
the blessing, the variety of their obligation. They
perceive a result, but they think little of the multi-
tude of concurrences and rectitudes which go to
form it.

Beside these observations, which belong to the
muscular organ as such, we may notice some advan-
tages of structure which are more conspicuous in
muscles of a certain class or description than in
others. Thus,

I. The variety, quickness, and precision, of which
muscular motion is capable, are seen, I think, in no
part so remarkably as in the tongue. It is worth any
man's while to watch the agility of his tongue; the
wonderful promptitude with which it executes
changes of position, and the perfect exactness. Each
syllable of articulated sound requires for its utterance
a specific action of the tongue, and of the parts ad-
jacent to it. The disposition and configuration of
the mouth, appertaining to every letter and word, is
not only peculiar, but, if nicely and accurately at-
tended to, perceptible to the sight; insomuch that
curious persons have availed themselves of this cir-
cumstance to teach the deaf to speak, and to under-
stand what is said by others. In the same person,
and after his habit of speaking is formed, one, and
only one, position of the parts, will produce a given
articulate sound correctly. How instantaneously are
these positions assumed and dismissed; how numer-
ous are the permutations, how various, yet how in-
fallible? Arbitrary and antic variety is not the thing
we admire; but variety obeying a rule, conducing to
an effect, and commensurate with exigencies infinitely
diversified. I believe also that the anatomy of the

OF THE MUSCLES. 9S

tongue corresponds with these observations upon its
activity. The muscles of the tongue are so numer-
ous, and so implicated with one another, that they
cannot be traced by the nicest dissection; neverthe-
less, which is a great perfection of the organ, neither
the number, nor the complexity, nor what might seem
to be, the entanglement of iis fibres, in any wise
impede its motion, or render the determination or
success of its efforts uncertain.

I here intreat the reader's permission to step a
little out of my way to consider the parts of the
mouth in some of their other properties. It has been
said, and that by an eminent physiologist, that, when-
ever nature attempts to work two or more purposes
by one instrument, she does both or all imperfectly.
Is this true of the tongue regarded as an instrument
of speech, and of taste; or regarded as an instrument
of speech, of taste, and of deglutition? So much
otherwise, that many persons, that is to say, nine
hundred and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand,
by the instrumentality of this one organ, talk, and
taste, and swallow, very well. In fact the constant
warmth and moisture of the tongue, the thinness of
the skin, the papillae upon its surface, qualify this
organ for its office of tasting, as much as its inextri-
cable multiplicity of fibres do for the rapid movements
which are necessary to speech. Animals which feed
upon grass, have their tongues covered with a perfo-
rated skin, so as to admit the dissolved food to the
papillae underneath, which, in the meantime, remain
defended from the rough action of the unbruised
spiculae.

56 OF THE MUSCLES.

There are brought together within the cavity of the
mouth more distinct uses, and parts executing more
distinct offices, than I think can be found lying so
near to one another, or within the same compass,
in any other portion of the body: viz. teeth of differ-
ent shape, first for cutting, secondly for grinding :
muscles, most artificially disposed for carrying on
the compound motion of the lower jaw, half lateral
and half vertical, by which the mill is worked, foun-
tains of saliva^ springing up in different parts of the
cavity for the moistening of the food, whilst the mas-
tication is going on: glands to feed the fountains: a
muscular constriction of a very peculiar kind in the
back part of the cavity, for the guiding of the prepar-
ed aliment into its passage towards the stomach, and
in many cases for carrying it along that passage: for,
although we may imagine this to be done simply by
the weight of the food itself, it in truth is not so, even
in the upright posture of the human neck ; and most
evidently is not the case with quadrupeds, with a
horse, for instance, in which, when pasturing, the
food is thrust upward by muscular strength, instead
of descending of its own accord.

In the meantime, and within the same cavity, is
going on another business, altogether different from
what is here described, that of respiration and speech.
In addition, therefore, to all that has been mentioned,
we have a passage opened, from this cavity to the
kings, for the admission of air, exclusively of every
other substance: we have muscles, some in the
larynx, and without number in the tongue, for the
purpose of modulating that air in its passage, with a
variety, a compass, and precision, of which no other
musical instrument is capable. And, lastly, which
in my opinion crowns the whole as a piece of ma-
chinery, we have a specific contrivance for dividing
the pneumatic part from the mechanical, and for pre-

OF THE MUSCLES. 97

venting one set of actions interfering with the other.
Where various functions are united, the difficulty is
to guard against the inconveniencies of a too great
complexity. In no apparatus put together by art,
and for the purposes of art, do I know such multifa-
rious uses so aptly combined as in the natural organ-
ization of the human mouth; or where the structure,
compared with the uses, is so simple. The mouth,
with all these intentions to serve, is a single cavity;
is one machine; with its parts neither crowded nor
confused, and each unembarrassed by the rest: each
at least at liberty in a degree sufficient for the end
to be attained. If we cannot eat and sing at the same
moment, we can eat one moment and sing the next;
the respiration proceeding freely all the while.

There is one case, however, of this double office,
and drat of the earliest necessity, which the mouth
alone could not perform; and that is, carrying on to-
gether the two actions of sucking and breathing.
Another rout, therefore, is opened for the air, name-
ly, through the nose, which lets the breath pass
backward and forward, whilst the lips, in the act of
sucking, are necessarily shut close upon the body,
from which the nutriment is drawn. This is a cir-
cumstance, which always appeared to me worthy of
notice. The nose would have been necessary, al-
though it had not been the organ of smelling. The
making it the seat of a sense, was superadding a new
use to a part already wanted : wras taking a wise ad-
vantage of an antecedent and a constitutional neces-
sity.

But to return to that, which is the proper subject
of the present section, the celerity and precision of
muscular motion. These qualities may be particu-

9S OF THE MUSCLES.

larly observed in the execution of many species of
instrumental music, in which the changes produced
by the hand of the musician are exceedingly rapid;
are exactly measured, even when most minute; and
display, on the part of the muscles, an obedience of
action, alike wonderful for its quickness and its cor-
rectness.

Or let a person only observe his own hand whilst
he is writing; the number of muscles, which are
brought to bear upon the pen; how the joint and
adjusted operation of several tendons is concerned
in every stroke, yet that five hundred such strokes
are drawn in a minute. Not a letter can be turned
without more than one or two or three tendinous con-
tractions, definite, both as to the choice of the tendon,
and as to the space through which the contraction
moves ; yet how currently does the work proceed ?
and, w7hen we look at it, how faithful have the mus-
cles been to their duty, how true to the order which
endeavour or habit hath inculcated? For let it be
remembered, that, whilst a man's hand writing is the
same, an exactitude of order is preserved, whether he
write well or ill. These two instances of music and
writing, shew not only the quickness and precision
of muscular action, but the docility.

II. Regarding the particular configuration of mus-
cles, sphincter or circular muscles appear to me ad-
mirable pieces of mechanism. It is the muscular
power most happily applied; the same quality of the
muscular substance, but under a new modification.
The circular disposition of the fibres is strictly me-
chanical; but, though the most mechanical, is not
the only thing in sphincters which deserves our notice.
The regulated desrree of contractile force with which
they are endowed, sufficient for retention, yet vinci-
ble v. hen requisite; together with their ordinary state
of actual contraction, by means of which their de-

OF THE MUSCLES. 09

pendence upon the will is not constant but occasional,
gives to them a constitution of which the conveni-
ency is inestimable. This their semi- voluntary
character, is exactly such as suits with the wants and
functions of the animal.

III. We may also, upon the subject of muscles,
observe, that many of our most important actions are
achieved by the combined help of different muscles.
Frequently, a diagonal motion is produced, by the
contraction of tendons, pulling in the direction of the
sides of the parallelogram. This is the case, as hath
been already noticed, with some of the oblique nu-
tations of the head. Sometimes the number of co-
operating muscles is very great. Dr. Nieuentyt, in
the Leipsic Transactions, reckons up a hundred mus-
cles that are employed every time we breathe : yet we
take in, or let out, our breath, without reflecting what
a work is thereby performed; what an apparatus is
laid in of instruments for the service, and how many
such contribute their assistance to the effect. Breath-
ing with ease is a blessing of every moment: yet, of
all others, it is that which we possess with the least
consciousness. A man in an asthma is the only man
who knows how to estimate it.

IV. Mr. Home has observed*, that the most im-
portant and the most delicate actions are performed
in the body by the smallest muscles: and he men-
tions, as his examples, the muscles which have been
discovered in the iris of the eye and the drum of the
ear. The tenuity of these muscles is astonishing.
They are microscopic hairs; must be magnified to
be visible; yet are they real effective muscles; and
not only such, but the grandest and most precious of
our faculties, sight and hearing, depend upon their
health and action.

* Phil. Trans, part i. 1300, p 8,

100 OF THE MUSCLES.

V. The muscles act in the limbs with what &
called a mechanical disadvantage. The muscle at
the shoulder, by which the arm is raised, is fixed
nearly in the same manner, as the load is fixed upon
a steelyard, within a few decimals, we will say, of an
inch, from the centre upon which the steelyard turns.
In this situation, we find that a very heavy draught
is no more than sufficient to countervail the force of
a small lead plummet, placed upon the long arm of
the steelyard, at the distance of perhaps fifteen or
twenty inches from the centre, and on the other side
of it. And this is the disadvantage which is meant.
And an absolute disadvantage, no doubt, it would be,
if the object were to spare the force of muscular con-
traction. But observe how conducive is this con-
stitution to animal conveniency. Mechanism has
always in view one or other of these two purposes;
either to move a great weight slowly, and through a
small space; or to move a light weight rapidly,
through a considerable sweep. For the former of
these purposes, a different species of lever, and a dif-
ferent collocation of the muscles, might be better
than the present : but for the second, the present
structure is the true one. Now so it happens, that
the second, and not the first, is that which the occa-
sions of animal life principally call for. In what
concerns the human body, it is of much more conse-
quence to any man to be able to carry his hand to his
head with due expedition, than it would be to have
the power of raising from the ground a heavier load
(of two or three more hundred weight, we will sup-
pose), than he can lift at present. This last is a fa-
culty, which, upon some extraordinary occasions,
he may desire to possess ; but the other is what he
wants and uses every hour or minute. In like man-
ner, a husbandman or a gardener will do more exe-
cution, by being able to carry his scythe, his rake,.

OF THE MUSCLES. 101

or his flail, with a sufficient dispatch through a suffi-
cient space, than if, with greater strength, his mo-
tions were proportionately more confined and slow.
It is the same with a mechanic in the use of his tools.
It is the same also with other animals in the use of
their limbs. In general, the vivacity of their motions
would be ill exchanged for greater force under a
clumsier structure.

We have offered our observations upon the struc-
ture of muscles in general; we have also noticed cer-
tain species of muscles ; but there are also single
muscles, which bear marks of mechanical contri-
vance, appropriate as well as particular. Out of
many instances of this kind we select the following.

I. Of muscular actions, even of those which are
well understood, some of the most curious are inca-
pable of popular explanation; at least without the aid
of plates and figures. This is in a great measure the
case, with a very familiar, but, at the same time, a
very complicated motion, that of the lower jaw; and
with the muscular structure by which it is produced.
One of the muscles concerned, may, however, be
described in such a manner, as to be, I think, suffi-
ciently comprehended for our present purpose. The
problem is to pull the lower jaw down. The obvious
method should seem to be, to place a straight mus-
cle, viz. to fix a string from the chin to the breast,
the contraction of which would open the mouth, and
produce the motion required at once. But it is evi-
dent that the form and liberty of the neck forbid a
muscle being laid in such a position; and that, con-
sistently with the preservation of this form, the mo-
tion, which we want, must be effectuated, by some
muscular mechanism disposed further back in the
jaw. The mechanism adopted is as follows. A cer-
tain muscle called the digastric rises on the side of
the face, considerably above the insertion of the lower

102 OF THE MUSCLES.

jaw; and comes down, being converted in its progress
into a round tendon. Now it is evident, that the
tendon, whilst it pursues a direction descending to-
wards the jaw, must, by its contraction, pull the jaw
up, instead of down. What then was to be done ?
This, we had, is done. The descending tendon,
when it is got low enough, is passed through a loop,
or ring, or pulley, in the os hyoides, and then made
to ascend; and, having thus changed its line of direc-
tion, is inserted into the inner part of the chin: by
which device, viz. the turn at the loop, the action of
the muscle (which in all muscles is contraction) that
before would have pulled the jaw up, now as necessa-
rily draws it down. " The mouth," saith Heister,
" is opened by means of this trochlea in a most won-
derful and elegant manner."

II. What contrivance can^e more mechanical than
the following, viz. a slit in one tendon to let another
tendon pass through it? This structure is found in
the tendons which move the toes and fingers. The
long tendon, as it is called, in the foot, which bends
the first joint of the toe, passes through the short ten-
don which bends the second joint; which course al-
lows to the sinew more liberty and a more commo-
dious action than it would otherwise have been capa-
ble of exerting*. There is nothing, I believe, in a
silk or cotton mill; in the belts, or straps, or ropes,
by which motion is communicated from one part of
the machine to another, that is more artificial, or more
evidently so, than this perforation.

III. The next circumstance which I shall mention,
under this head of muscular arrangement, is so deci-
sive a mark of intention, that it always appeared to
me, to supersede, in some measure, the necessity of
seeking for any other observation upon the subject:

* Ches. Anat. p. 93, 119.

OF THE MUSCLES. 10S

and that circumstance is, the tendons, which pass
from the leg to the foot, being bound down by a li-
gament at the ancle. The foot is placed at a consi-
derable angle with the leg. It is manifest, therefore,
that flexible strings, passing along the interior of the
angle, if left to themselves, would, when stretched,
start from it. The obvious preventive is to tie them
down. And this is done in fact. Across the instep,
or rather just above it, the anatomist finds a strong
ligament; under which the tendons pass to the foot.
The effect of the ligament as a bandage, can be made
evident to the senses; for if it be cut, the tendons
start up. The simplicity, yet the clearness of this
contrivance, its exact resemblance to established
resources of art, place it amongst the most indubita-
ble manifestations of design with which we are ac-
quainted.

There is also a further use to be made of the pre-
sent example, and that is, as it precisely contradicts
the opinion, that the parts of animals may have been
all formed by what is called appetency, i. e. endea-
vour, perpetuated, and imperceptibly working its
effect, through an incalculable series of generations.
We have here no endeavour, but the reverse of it;
a constant renitency and reluctance. The endeavour
is all the other way. The pressure of the ligament
constrains the tendons; the tendons react upon the
pressure of the ligament. It is impossible that the
ligament should ever have been generated by the ex-
ercise of the tendon, or in the course of that exer-
cise, forasmuch as the force of the tendon perpendi-
cularly resists the fibre which confines it, and is con-
stantly endeavouring, not to form, but to rupture and
displace, the threads, of which the ligament is com-
posed.

104 OF THE MUSCLES.

Keill has reckoned up, in the human body,. four
hundred and forty-six muscles, dissectible and des-
cribable; and hath assigned an use to every one of
the number. This cannot be all imagination.

Bishop Wilkins hath observed from Galen, that
there are, at least, ten several qualifications to be at-
tended to in each particular muscle, viz. its proper
figure, its just magnitude, its fulcrum, its point of
action supposing the figure to be fixed, its collocation
with respect to its two ends the upper and the lower,
the place, the position of the whole muscle, the in-
troduction into it of nerves, arteries, veins. How
are things, including so many adjustments, to be
made; or, when made, how are they to be put toge-
ther, without intelligence?

I have sometimes wondered, why we are not struck
with mechanism in animal bodies, as readily and as
strongly as we are struck with it, at first sight, in a
watch or a mill, One reason of the difference may
be, that animal bodies are, in a great measure, made
up of soft, flabby, substances, such as muscles and
membranes; whereas we have been accustomed to
trace mechanism in sharp lines, in the configuration
of hard materials, in the moulding, chiseling, and
filing into shapes, such articles as metals or wood.
There is something, therefore, of habit in the case:
but it is sufficiently evident, that there can be no pro-
per reason for any distinction of the sort. Mechan-
ism may be displayed in the one kind of substance,
as well as in the other.

Although the few instances we have selected, even
as they stand in our description, are nothing short,
perhaps, of logical proofs of design, yet it must not
be forgotten, that, in every part of anatomy, des-

OF THE MUSCLES. 105

cription is a poor substitute for inspection. It was
well said by an able anatomist*, and said in reference
to the very part of the subject which we have been
treating of, " Imperfecta haec musculorum descriptio,
non minus arida estlegentibus, quam inspectantibus
fuerit jucunda eorundem prseparatio. Elegantissi-
ma enim mechanices artificia, creberrime in illis
obvia, verbis nonnisi obscure exprimuntur ; carnium
autem ductu, tendinum colore, insertionum propor-
tione, et trochlearium distributione, oculis exposita,
omnem superant admirationem."

Sterno in Bias. Anat. Animal, p. 2. c. 4.

[ 106 ]

CHAPTER X.

OF THE THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

1 HE circulation of the blood, through the
bodies of men and quadrupeds, and the apparatus by
which it is carried on, compose a system, and testify
a contrivance, perhaps the best understood of any
part of the animal frame. The lymphatic vessels,
or the nervous system, may be more subtile and in-
tricate; nay, it is possible that in their structure they
may be even more artificial than the sanguiferous;
but we do not know so much about them.

The utility of the circulation of the blood, I assume
as an acknowledged point. One grand purpose is
plainly answered by it; the distributing to every
part, every extremity, every nook and corner, of the
body, the nourishment which is received into it by
one aperture. What enters at the mouth, finds its
way to the fingers* ends. A more difficult mechani-
cal problem could hardly I think be proposed, than
to discover a method of constantly repairing the
waste, and of supplying an accession of substance to
every part, of a complicated machine at the same
time.

This system presents itself under two views : first,
the disposition of the blood vessels, i. e. the laying of
the pipes; and, secondly, the construction of the en-
gine at the centre, viz. the heart, for driving the blood
through them.

I. The disposition of the blood-vessels, as far as re-
gards the supply of the body, is like that of the water

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 10*

pipes in a city, viz. large and main trunks branching
off by smaller pipes (and these again by still narrower
tubes) in every direction, and towards every part, in
which the fluid, which they convey, can be wanted.
So far the water pipes, which serve a town, may re-
present the vessels, which carry the blood from the
heart. But there is another thing necessary to the
blood, which is not wanted for the water; and that
is, the carrying of it back again to its source. For
this office a reversed system of vessels is prepared,
which, uniting at their extremities with the extremi-
ties of the first system, collects the divided and sub-
divided streamlets, first by capillary ramifications into
larger branches, secondly by these branches into
trunks; and thus returns the blood (almost exactly
inverting the order in which it went out) to the foun-
tain from whence its motion proceeded. All which
is evident mechanism.

The body, therefore, contains two systems of blood-
vessels, arteries and veins. Between the constitution
of the systems there are also two differences, suited
to the functions which the systems have to execute.
The blood, in going out, passing always from wider
into narrower tubes; and, in coming back, from nar-
rower into wider; it is evident, that the impulse
and pressure upon the sides of the blood-vessels,
will be much greater in one case than the other.
Accordingly, the arteries which carry out the blood,
are formed with much tougher and stronger coats,
than the veins which bring it back. That is one
difference: the other is still more artificial, or, if I
may so speak, indicates, still more clearly, the care
and anxiety of the artificer. Forasmuch as in the
arteries, by reason of the greater force with which the
blood is urged along them, a wound or rupture
would be more dangerous, than in the veins, these
vessels are defended from injury, not only by their tex-

108 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

ture, but by their situation; and by every advantage
of situation which can be given to them. They are
buried in sinuses, or they creep along grooves,
made for them, in the bones ; for instance, the under
edge of the ribs is sloped and furrowed solely for the
passage of these vessels. Sometimes they proceed
in channels, protected by stout parapets on each sice:
which last description is remarkable in the bones of
the fingers, these being hollowed out, on the under
side, like a scoop, and with such a concavity that the
finger may be cut across to the bone without hurting
the artery which runs along it. At other times, the
arteries pass in canals wrought in the substance, and
in the very middle of the substance, of the bone:
this takes place in the lower jaw; and is found where
there would, otherwise, be danger of compression by
sudden curvature. All this care is wonderful, yet
not more than what the importance of the case re-
quired. To those, who venture their lives in a
ship it has been often said, that there is only an inch
board between them and death; but in the body it-
self, especially in the arterial sy stem, there is, in many
parts,- only a membrane, a skin, a thread. For
which reason this system lies deep under the inte-
guments; whereas the veins, in which the mischief
that ensues from injuring the coats is much less, lie
in general above the arteries; come nearer to the sur-
face; are more exposed.

I It may be further observed concerning the two
systems taken together, that, though the arterial,
with its trunk and branches and small twigs, may be
imagined to issue or proceed, in other words to grow
from the heart, like a plant from its root, or the fi-
bres of a leaf from its foot-stalk (which however, were
it so, would be only to resolve one mechanism into
another), yet the venal, the returning system, can
never be formed in this manner. The arteries might

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 109

go on shooting out from their extremities, i. e.
lengthening and subdividing indefinitely; but an in-
verted system, continually uniting its streams, in-
stead of dividing, and thus carrying back what the
other system carried out, could not be referred to
the same process.

II. The next thing to be considered is the engine
which works this machinery, viz. the heart. For
our purpose it is unnecessary to ascertain the prin-
ciple upon which the heart acts. Whether it be
irritation excited by the contact of the blood, by the
influx of the nervous fluid, or whatever else be the
cause of its motion, it is something, which is capa-
ble of producing, in a living muscular fibre, recipro-
cal contraction and relaxation. This is the power
wre have to work with: and the inquiry is, how this
power is applied in the instance before us. There is
provided in the central part of the body a hollow mus-
cle, invested with spiral fibres, running in both di-
rections, the layers intersecting one another; in some
animals, however, appearing to be semi-circular ra-
ther than spiral. By the contraction of these fibres,
the sides of the muscular cavities are necessarily
squeezed together, so as to force out from them any
fluid which they may at that time contain: by the re-
laxation of the same fibres, the cavities are in their
turn dilated; and, of course, prepared to admit every
fluid which may be poured into them. Into these
cavities are inserted the great trunks, both of the ar-
teries which carry out the blood, and of the veins
which bring it back. This is a general account of
the apparatus: and the simplest idea of its action is,
that, by each contraction, a portion of blood is forced
as by a syringe into the arteries; and, at each dila-
tation, an equal portion is received from the veins.
This produces, at each pulse, a motion and change in
the mass of blood, to the amount of what the cavity

110 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

contains, which in a full grown human heart, I under-
stand, is about an ounce, or two table-spoons full.
How quickly these changes succeed one another, and
by this succession how sufficient they are to support
a stream or circulation throughout the system, may
be understood by the following computation,
abridged from Keill's Anatomy, p. 117. ed. 3.
" Each ventricle will at least contain one ounce of
blood. The heart contracts four thousand times in
one hour; from which it follows, that there passes
through the heart, every hour, four thousand ounces,
or three hundred and fifty pounds, of blood. Now
the whole mass of blood is said to be about twenty-
five pounds, so that a quantity of blood equal to the
whole mass of blood passes through the heart fourteen
times in one hour; which is about once every four
minutes." Consider what an affair this is, when we
come to very large animals. The aorta of a whale is
larger in the bore than the main pipe of the water-
works at London Bridge; and the water roaring in
its passage through that pipe, is inferior, in impetus
and velocity, to the blood gushing from the whale's
heart. Hear Dr. Hunter's account of the dissection
of a whale. " The aorta measured a foot diameter.
Ten or fifteen gallons of blood is thrown out of the
heart at a stroke with an immense velocity, through
a tube of a foot diameter. The whole idea fills the
mind with wonder*."

The account which we have here stated, of the in-
jection of blood into the arteries by the contraction,
and of the corresponding reception of it from the veins
by the dilatation, of the cavities of the heart, and of
the circulation being thereby maintained through the
blood-vessels of the body, is true, but imperfect.
The heart performs this office," but it is in conjunc-

* Dr. Hunter's account of the dissection of a whale. Phil. Trans,

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. Ill

tion with another of equal curiosity and importance.
It was necessary that the blood should be succes-
sively brought into contact, or contiguity, or proxi-
mity with the air. I do not know that the chvmical
reason, upon which this necessity is founded, has
been yet sufficiently explored. It seems to be made
appear, that the atmosphere which we breathe is a
mixture of two kinds of air; one pure and vital, the
other, for the purposes of life, effete, foul, and noxi-
ous: that when we have drawn in our breath, the
blood in the lungs imbibes from the air, thus brought
into contiguity with it, a portion of its pure ingre-
dient; and, at the same time, gives out the effete or
corrupt air which it contained, and which it carried
away, along with the halitus, every time we expire.
At least; by comparing the air which is breathed
from the lungs, with the air before it enters the lungs,
it is found to have lost some of its pure part, and to
have brought away with it an addition of its impure
part. Whether these experiments satisfy the ques-
tion, as to the need which the blood stands in, of be-
ing visited by continual accesses of air, is not for us
to inquire into; nor material to our argument: it is
sufficient to know, that, in the constitution of most
animals such a necessity exists, and that the air, by
some means or other, must be introduced into a near
communication with the blood. The lungs of ani-
mals are constructed for this purpose. They con-
sist of blood-vessels and air-vessels lying close to
each other; and wherever there is a branch of the
trachea or windpipe, there is a branch accompanying
it of the vein and artery, and the air-vessel is always
in the middle between the' blood-vessels-. The in-
ternal surface of these vessels, upon which the appli-

* Kei'll's Anat. p. 121.

112 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

cation of the air to the blood depends, would, if
collected and expanded, be, in a man, equal to a su-
perficies of fifteen feet square. Now in order to give
the blood in its course the benefit of this organization
(and this is the part of the subject with which we are
chiefly concerned), the following operation takes
place. As soon as the blood is received by the heart
from the veins of the body, and before that it is sent
out again into its arteries, it is carried, by the force
of the contraction of the heart, and by means of a se-
parate and supplementary artery, to the lungs, and
made to enter the vessels of the lungs; from which,
after it has undergone the action, whatever it be, of
that vise us, it is brought back by a large vein once
more to the heart, in order, when thus concocted and
prepared, to be from thence distributed- anew into
the system. This assigns to the heart a double of-
fice. The pulmonary circulation is a system within
a system; and one action of the heart is the origin of
both.

For this complicated function, four cavities be-
come necessary; and four are accordingly provided:
two, called ventricles, which send out the blood, viz.
one into the lungs, in the first instance ; the other
into the mass, after it has returned from the lungs:
two others also, called auricles, which receive the
blood from the veins; viz. one, as it comes imme-
diately from the body ; the other, as the same blood
comes a second time after its circulation through the
lungs. So that there are two receiving cavities, and
two forcing cavities. The structure of the heart has
reference to the lungs, for without the lungs one of
each would have been sufficient. The translation of
the blood in the heart itself is after this manner. ' The
receiving cavities respectively communicate with the
forcing cavities, and, by their contraction, unload

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 113

the received blood into them. The forcing cavities,
when it is their turn to contract, compel the same
blood into the mouths of the arteries.

The account here given will not convey to a rea-
der ignorant of anatomy, any thing like an accurate
notion of the form, action, or use of the parts (nor
can any short and popular account do this), but it is
abundantly sufficient to testify contrivance; and, al-
though imperfect, being true as far as it goes, may
be relied upon for the only purpose for which we
offer it, the purpose of this conclusion.

" The wisdom of the Creator," saith Hamburgher,
"is in nothing seen more gloriously than in the
heart." And how well doth it execute its office I
An anatomist, who understood the structure of the
heart, might say beforehand that it would play: but
he would expect, I think, from the complexity of its
mechanism, and the delicacy of many of its parts,
that it should always be liable to derangement, or that
it would soon work itself out. Yet shall this won-
derful machine go, night and day, for eighty years
together, at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes
every twenty-four hours, having, at every stroke, a
great resistance to overcome; and shall continue this
action for this length of time, without disorder, and
without weariness.

But further; from the account, which has been
given of the mechanism of the heart, it is evident
that it must require the interposition of valves; that
the success indeed of its action must depend upon
these, for when any one of its cavities contracts, the
necessary tendency of the force will be to drive the
inclosed blood, not only into the mouth of the artery
where it ought to go, but also back again into the
mouth of the vein from which it flowed. In like
manner, when by the relaxation of the fibres the
same cavity is dilated, the blood would not only run

114 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

into it from the vein, which was the course intend-
ed, but back from the artery, through which it ought
to be moving forward. The way of preventing a
reflux of the iiuid, in both these cases, is to fix valves;
which, like flood-gates, may open a way to the stream
in one direction, and shut up the passage against it
in another. The heart, constituted as it is, can no
more work without valves than a pump can. When
the piston descends in a pump, if it were not for the
stoppage by the valve beneath, the motion would only
thrust down the water which it had before drawn up.
A similar consequence would frustrate the action of
the heart. Valves, therefore, properly disposed, i. e.
properly with respect to the course of the blood which
it is necessary to promote, are essential to the con-
trivance. And valves so disposed are, accordingly,
provided. A valve is placed in the communication
between each auricle and its ventricle, lest when the
ventricle contracts, part of the blood should get back
again into the auricle, instead of the whole entering,
as it ought to do, the mouth of the artery. A valve
is also fixed at the mouth of each of the great arteries
which take the blood from the heart: leaving the
passage free, so long as the blood holds its proper
course forward; closing it, whenever the blood, in
consequence of the relaxation of the ventricle, would
attempt to flow back. There is some variety in the
construction of these valves, though all the valves of
the body act nearly upon the same principle, and are
destined to the same use. In general they consist
of a thin membrane, lying close to the side of the
vessel, and consequently allowing an open passage
whilst the stream runs one way, but thrust out from
the side by the fluid getting behind it, and opposing
the passage of the blood, when it would flow the
other way. Where more than one membrane is
employed, the different membranes only compose one

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 115

valve. Their joint action fulfils the office of a valve:
for instance; over the entrance of the right auricle of
the heart into the right ventricle, three of these skins
or membranes are fixed; of a triangular figure; the
bases of the triangles fastened to the flesh; the sides
and summits loose ; but, though loose, connected by
threads of a determinate length Avith certain small
fleshy prominences adjoining. The effect of this
construction is, that, when the ventricle contracts,
the blood endeavouring to escape in all directions,
and amongst other directions pressing upwards, gets
between these membranes and the sides of the pas-
sage; and thereby forces them up into such a posi-
tion, as that, together, they constitute, when raised,
a hollow cone (the strings, before spoken of, hinder-
ing them from proceeding or separating further);
which cone, entirely occupying the passage, prevents
the return of the blood into the auricle. A shorter'
account of the matter may be this: So long as the
blood proceeds in its proper course, the membranes
which compose the valve are pressed close to the
side of the vessel, and occasion no impediment to
the circulation; when the blood would regurgitate,
they are raised from the side of the vessel, and meet-
ing in the middle of its cavity, shut up the channel.
Can any one doubt of contrivance here; or is it pos-
sible to shut our eyes against the proof of it?

This valve also, is not more curious in its struc-
ture, than it is important in its office. Upon the play
of the valve, even upon the proportioned length of
the strings or fibres which check the ascent of the
membranes, depends, as it should seem, nothing less
than the life itself of the animal. We may here like-
wise repeat, what we before observed concerning
some of the ligaments of the body, that they could
not be formed by any action of the parts themselves.
There are cases, in which, although good uses ap-

116 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

pear to arise from the shape or configuration of a
part, yet that shape and configuration itself may seem
to be produced by the action of the part, or by the
action or pressure of adjoining parts. Thus the
bend, and the internal smooth concavity of the ribs,
may be attributed to the equal pressure of the soft
bowels; the particular shape of some bones and
joints, to the traction of the annexed muscles, or to
the position of contiguous muscles. But valves
could not be so formed. Action and pressure are all
against them. The blood, in its proper course, has
no tendency to produce such things; and, in its im-
proper or reflected current, has a tendency to prevent
their production. Whilst we see therefore the use
and necessity of this machinery, we can look to no
other account of its origin or formation than the in-
tending mind of a Creator. Nor can we without
admiration reflect, that such thin membranes, such
weak and tender instruments, as these valves are,
should be able to hold out for seventy or eighty
years.

Here also we cannot consider but with gratitude,
how happy it is that our vital motions are involun-
tary. We should have enough to do, if we had to
keep our hearts beating, and our stomachs at work.
Did these things depend, we will not say upon our
effort, but upon our bidding, our care, or our atten-
tion, they would leave us leisure for nothing else.
We must have been continually upon the watch, and
continually in fear: nor would this constitution have
allowed of sleep.

It might perhaps be expected, that an organ so
precious, of such central and primary importance, as
the heart is, should be defended by a case. The fact
is, that a membranous purse or bag, made of strong
tough materials, is provided for it ; holding the heart
within its cavity; sitting loosely and easily about it;

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 117

guarding its substance, without confining its motion;
and containing likewise a spoonful or two of water,
just sufficient to keep the surface of the heart in a
state of suppleness and moisture. How should such
a loose covering be generated by the action of the
heart? Does not the inclosing of it in a sac, answer-
ing no other purpose but that inclosure, shew the
care that has been taken of its preservation?

One use of the circulation of the blood (probably
amongst other uses) is to distribute nourishment to
the different parts of the body. How minute and
multiplied the ramifications of the blood-vessels, for
that purpose, are; and how thickly spread, over at
least the superficies of the body, is proved by the
single observation, that we cannot prick the point of
a pin into the flesh, without drawing blood, i. e.
without finding a blood-vessel. Nor, internally, is
their diffusion less universal. Blood-vessels run
along the surface of membranes, pervade the sub-
stance of muscles, penetrate the bones. Even into
every tooth, we trace, through a small hole in the
root, an artery to feed the bone, as well as a vein to
bring back the spare blood from it; both which, with
the addition of an accompanying nerve, form a thread
only a little thicker than a horse-hair.

Wherefore, when the nourishment taken in at the
mouth, has once reached, and mixed itself with, the
blood, every part of the body is in the way of being
supplied with it. And this introduces another grand
topic, namely, the manner in which the aliment gets
into the blood; which is a subject distinct from the
preceding, and brings us to the consideration of ano-
ther entire system of vessels.

II. For this necessary part of the animal oeconomy,
an apparatuses provided, in a great measure, capable
of being, what anatomists call, demonstrated, that is,
shewn in the dead body; and a line or course of con-

118 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

veyance, which we can pursue by our examina-
tions.

First, the food descends by wide passages into the
intestines, undergoing two great preparations on its
way, one, in the mouth by mastication and moisture,
(can it be doubted with what design the teeth were
placed in the road to the stomach, or that there was
choice in fixing them in this situation?) the other,
by digestion in the stomach itself. Of this last sur-
prising dissolution I say nothing; because it is chy-
mistry, and I am endeavouring to display mechanism.
The figure and position of the stomach (I speak all
along with a reference to the human organ) are cal-
culated for detaining the food long enough for the
action of its digestive juice. It has the shape of the
pouch of a bagpipe; lies across the body; and the
pylorus, or passage by which the food leaves it, is
somewhat higher in the body, than the cardia or ori-
fice by which it enters ; so that it is by the contrac-
tion of the muscular coat of the stomach, that the
contents, after having undergone the application of
the gastric menstruum, are gradually pressed out.
In dogs and cats, this action of the coats of the sto-
mach has been displayed to the eye. It is a slow and
gentle undulation, propagated from one orifice of the
stomach to the other. For the same reason that I
omitted, for the present, offering any observation |
upon the digestive fluid, I shall say nothing concern-
ing the bile or the pancreatic juice, further than to
observe upon the mechanism, viz. that from the
glands in which these secretions are elaborated, pipes
are laid into the first of the intestines, through which
pipes the product of each gland Hows into that bowel,
and is there mixed with the aliment, as soon almost
as it passes the stomach: adding also as a remark,
how grievously this same bile offends the stomach
itself, yet cherishes the vessel that lies next to it.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 119

Secondly, We have now the aliment in the intes-
tines, converted into pulp, and, though lately consist-
ing of perhaps ten different viands, reduced to nearly
an uniform substance, and to a state fitted for yielding
its essence, which is called chyle, but which is milk,
or more nearly resembling milk than any other liquor
with which it can be compared. For the straining
off of this fluid from the digested aliment in the course
of its lonpr progress through the body, myriads of
capillary tubes, i. e. pipes as small as hairs, open
their orifices into the cavity of every part of the in-
testines. These tubes, which are so fine and slender
as not to be visible unless when distended with chyle,
soon unite into larger branches. The pipes, formed
by this union, terminate in glands, from which other
pipes of a still larger diameter arising, carry the
chyle, from all parts, into a common reservoir or re-
ceptacle. This receptacle is a bag, large enough to
hold about two table spoons full; and from this vessel
a duct or main pipe proceeds, climbing up the back
part of the chest, and then creeping along the gullet
till it reach the neck. Here it meets the river. Here
it discharges itself into a large vein, which soon con-
veys the chyle, now flowing along with the old blood,
to the heart. This whole route can be exhibited to
the eye. Nothing is left to be supplied by imagin-
ation or conjecture. Now, beside the subserviency
of this whole structure to a manifest and necessary
purpose, we may remark two or three separate parti-
culars in it, which shew, not only the contrivance,
but the perfection of it. We may remark, first, the
length of the intestines, which, in the human subject,
is six times that of the body. Simply for a passage,
these voluminous bowels, this prolixity of gut, seems
in no wise necessary; but, in order to allow time
and space for the successive extraction of the chyle
from the digested aliment, namely, that the chyle,

120 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

which escapes the lacteals of one part of the guts, may-
be taken up by those of some other part, the length
of the canal is of evident use and conduciveness.
Secondly, we must also remark their peristaltic mo-
tion; which is made up of contractions, following
one another like waves upon the surface of a fluid,
and not unlike what we observe in the body of an
earthworm crawling along the ground; and which is
effected by the joint action of longitudinal and of
spiral, or rather perhaps of a great number of sepa-
rate semi- circular fibres. This curious action pushes
forward the grosser part of the aliment, at the same
time that the more subtile parts, which we call chyle,
are, by a series of gentle compressions, squeezed
into the narrow orifices of the lacteal veins. Thirdly,
It was necessary that these tubes, which we deno-
minate lacteals, or their mouths at least, should be
made as narrow as possible, in order to deny admis-
sion into the blood to any particle, which is of size
enough to make a lodgement afterwards in the small
arteries, and thereby to obstruct the circulation: and
it was also necessary that this extreme tenuity should
be compensated by multitude ; for a large quantity
of chyle (in ordinary constitutions, not less, it has
been computed, than two or three quarts in a day) is,
by some means or other, to be passed through them.
Accordingly, we find the number of the lacteals ex-
ceeding all powers of computation; and their pipes
so fine and slender, as not to be visible, unless filled,
to the naked eye; and their orifices, which open into
the intestines, so small, as not to be discernible even
by the best microscope. Fourthly, The main pipe
which carries the chyle from the reservoir to the
blood, viz. the thoracic duct, being fixed in an almost
upright position, and wanting that advantage of pro-
pulsion which the arteries possess, is furnished with
a succession of valves to check the ascending fluid,

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 121

when once it has passed them, from falling back.
These valves look upwards, so as to leave the ascent
free, but to prevent the return of the chyle, if for want
of sufficient force to push it on, its weight should at
any time cause it to descend. Fifthly, The chyle
enters the blood in an odd place, but perhaps the most
commodious place possible, viz. at a large vein in
the neck, so situated with respect to the circulation,
as speedily to bring the mixture to the heart. And
this seems to be a circumstance of great moment;
for had the chyle entered the blood at any artery, or
at a distant vein, the fluid, composed of the old and
the new materials, must have performed a consider-
able part of the circulation, before it received that
churning in the lungs, which is, probably, necessary
for the intimate and perfect union of the old blood
with the recent chyle. Who could have dreamt of a
communication between the cavity of the intestines
and the left great vein of the neck ? Who could have
suspected that this communication should be the me-
dium through which all nourishment is derived to the
body; Or this the place, where, by a side inlet, the
important junction is formed between the blood
and the material which feeds it?

We postponed the consideration of digestion, lest
it should interrupt us in tracing the course of the
food to the blood; but, in treating of the alimentary-
system, so principal a part of the process cannot be
omitted.

Of the gastric juice, the immediate agent, by
which that change which food undergoes in our
stomachs is effected, we shall take our account,
from the numerous, careful, and varied experiments,
of the Abbe Spallanzani.

1. It is not a simple diluent, but a real solvent. A
quarter of an ounce of beef had scarce touched the
stomach of a crow, when the solution began.

1122 OF THE VESSELS OP ANIMAL BODIES.

2. It has not the nature of saliva: it has not the
nature of bile; but is distinct from both. By expe-
riments out of the body it appears, that neither of
these secretions acts upon alimentary substances, in
the same manner as the gastric juice acts.

3. Digestion is not putrefaction; for it resists
putrefaction most pertinaciously; nay, not only
checks its further progress, but restores putrid sub-
stances.

4. It is not a fermentative process; for the solu-
tion begins at the surface, and proceeds towards the
centre, contrary to the order in which fermentation
acts and spreads.

5. It is not the digestion of heat; for the cold
maw of a cod or sturgeon will dissolve the shells of
crabs and lobsters, harder than the sides of the sto-
mach which contains them.

In a word, animal digestion carries about it the
marks of being a power and a process, completely
sui generis; distinct from every other; at least from
every chymical process with which we are acquaint-
ed. And the most wonderful thing about it is its
appropriation; its subserviency to the particular
economy of each animal. The gastric juice of an
owl, falcon or kite, wTill not touch grain; no not even
to finish the macerated and half digested pulse, which
is left in the crops of the sparrows that the bird de-
vours. In poultry, the trituration of the gizzard, and
the gastric juice, conspire in the work of digestion.
The gastric juice will not dissolve the grain whilst it
is whole. Grains of barley inclosed in tubes or
spherules are not affected by it. But if the same
grain be by any means broken or ground, the gastric
juice immediately lays hold of it. Here then is
wanted, and here we find, a combination of mechan-
ism and chymistry. For the preparatory grinding,
the gizzard lends its mill. And, as all Still work

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 123

should be strong, its structure is so, beyond that of
any other muscle belonging to the animal The
internal coat also, or lining of the gizzard, is, for the
same purpose, hard and cartilaginous. But, foras-
much as this is not the sort of animal substance suit-
ed for the reception of glands, or for secretion, the
gastric juice, in this family, is not supplied, as in
membranous stomachs, by the stomach itself, but
by the gullet, in which the feeding glands are plac-
ed, and from which it trickles down into the stomach.

In sheep, the gastric fluid has no effect in digest-
ing plants unless they have been previously masticat-
ed. It only produces a slight maceration; neaily
such as common water would produce, in a degree
of heat somewhat exceeding the medium temperature
of the atmosphere. But, provided that the plant has
been reduced to pieces by chewing, the gastric juice
then proceeds with it, first by softening its substance;
next by destroying its natural consistency; and, last-
ly, by dissolving it so completely, as not even to
spare the toughest and most stringy parts, such as the
nerves of the leaves.

So far our accurate and indefatigable Abbe. Dr.
Stevens of Edinburgh, in 1777, found by experi-
ments tried with perforated balls, that the gastric
juice of the sheep and the ox speedily dissolved ve-
getables, but made no impression upon beef, mutton,*
and other animal bodies. Dr. Hunter discovered a
property of this fluid, of a most curious kind; viz.
that, in the stomachs of animals which feed upon
flesh, irresistibly as this fluid acts upon animal sub-
stances, it is only upon the dead substance, that it
operates at all. The living fibre suffers no injury
from lying in contact with it. Worms and insects
are found alive in the stomachs of such animals.
The coats of the human stomach, in a healthy state,
are insensible to its presence; yet, in cases of sudden

124 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

death, (wherein the gastric juice, not having been
weakened by disease, retains its activity,) it has been
known to eat a hole through the bowel which con-
tains it*. How nice is this discrimination of action,
yet how necessary ?

But to return to our hydraulics.

III. The gall bladder is a very remarkable con-
trivance. It is the reservoir of a canal. It does not
form the channel itself, i. e. the direct communication
between the liver and the intestine, which is by ano-
ther passage, viz. the ductus hepaticus, continued
under the name of the ductus communis; but it lies
adjacent to this channel, joining it by a duct of its
own, the ductus cysticus: by which structure it is
enabled, as occasions may require, to add its contents
to, and increase, the flow of bile into the duodenum.
And the position of the gall bladder is such as to ap-
ply this structure to the best advantage. In its na-
tural situation it touches the exterior surface of the
stomach, and consequently is compressed by the
distension of that vessel: the effect of which com-
pression is, to force out from the bag, and send into
the duodenum, an extraordinary quantity of bile, to
meet the extraordinary demand which the repletion of
the stomach by food is about to occasionf . Chesel-
den describes^ the gall bladder as seated against the
duodenum, and thereby liable to have its fluid pressed
out, by the passage of the aliment through that ca-
vity; which likewise will have the effect of causing
it to be received into the intestine, at a right time,
and in a due proportion.

There may be other purposes answered by this
contrivance; and it is probable, that there are. The
contents of the gall bladder are not exactly of the
same kind as what passes from the liver through the

* Phil. Transac. vol. lxii. p. 447. > Keill's Anat. p. 64.

\ Anat. p. 164.

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 125

direct passage*. It is possible that the gall may be
changed, and for some purposes meliorated, by
keeping.

The entrance of the gall duct into the duodenum
furnishes another observation. Whenever either
smaller tubes are inserted into larger tubes, or tubes
into vessels and cavities, such receiving tubes, ves-
sels, or cavities, being subject to muscular constric-
tion, we always find a contrivance to prevent regur-
gitation. In some cases valves are used; in other
cases, amongst which is that now before us, a diffe-
rent expedient is resorted to : which may be thus
described. The gall duct enters the duodenum ob-
liquely : after it has pierced the first coat, it runs near
two fingers breadth between the coats, before it opens
into the cavity of the intestinef. The same contri-
vance is used in another part, where there is exactly
the same occasion for it, viz. in the insertion of the
ureters into the bladder. These enter the bladder
near its neck, running obliquely for the space of an
inch between its coatsj. It is, in both cases, suffi-
ciently evident, that this structure has a necessary
mechanical tendency to resist regurgitation; for
whatever force acts in such a direction as to urge the
fluid back into the orifices of the tubes, must, at the
same time, stretch the coats of the vessels, and,
thereby, compress that part of the tube, which is in-
cluded between them.

IV. Amongst the vessels of the human body, the
pipe which conveys the saliva from the place where
it is made, to the place where it is wanted, deserves
to be reckoned amongst the most intelligible pieces
of mechanism with which we are acquainted. The
saliva, we all know, is used in the mouth; but much
of it is manufactured on the outside of the cheek, by

* Keill from Malpighius, p 63. f Keill's Anat. p. 62.

X Ches. Anat. p. 260.

126 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

the parotid gland, which lies between the ear and the
angle of the lower jaw. In order to carry the secre-
ted juice to its destination, there is laid from the gland
on the outside, a pipe, about the thickness of a wheat
straw, and about three fingers breadth in length;
which, after riding over the masseter muscle, bores
for itself a hole through the very middle of the cheek;
enters by that hole, which is a complete perforation
of the buccinator muscle, into the mouth; and there
discharges its fluid very copiously.

V. Another exquisite structure, differing indeed
from the four preceding instances, in that it does not
relate to the conveyance of fluids, but still belonging,
like these, to the class of pipes or conduits of the
body, is seen in the larynx. We all know, that there
go down the throat two pipes, one leading to the
stomach, the other to the lungs ; the one being the
passage for the food, the other for the breath and
voice: we know also that both these passages open
into the bottom of the mouth; the gullet, necessarily,
for the conveyance of food; and the windpipe, for
speech and the modulation of sound, not much less
so: therefore the difficulty was, the passages being so
contiguous, to prevent the food, especially the liquids,
which we swallow into the stomach, from entering
the windpipe, i. e. the road to the lungs; the conse-
quence of which error, when it does happen, is per-
ceived by the convulsive throes that are instantly
produced. This business, which is very nice, is
managed in this manner. The gullet (the passage
for food) opens into the mouth like the cone or upper
part of a funnel, the capacity of which forms indeed
the bottom of the mouth. Into the side of this fun-
nel, at the part which lies the lowest, enters the wind-
pipe, by a chink or slit, with a lid or flap, like a little
tongue, accurately fitted to the orifice. The solids
or liquids which we swallow, pass over this lid or

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 1ST

ilap, as they descend by the funnel into the gullet.
Both the weight of the food, and the action of the
muscles concerned in swallowing, contribute to keep
the lid close down upon the aperture, whilst any
thing is passing; whereas, by means of its natural
cartilaginous spring, it raises itself a little, as soon
as the food is passed, thereby allowing a free inlet
and outlet for the respiration of air by the lungs.
And we may here remark the almost complete suc-
cess of the expedient, viz. how seldom it fails of its
purpose, compared with the number of instances in
which it fulfils it. Reflect, how frequently we swal-
low, how constantly we breathe. In a city feast, for
example, what deglutition, what anhelation! yet does
this little cartilage, the epiglottis, so effectually inter-
pose its office, so securely guard the entrance of the
windpipe, that, whilst morsel after morsel, draught
after draught, are coursing one another over it, an
accident of a crumb or a drop slipping into this pas-
sage, (which nevertheless must be opened for the
breath every second of time), excites, in the whole
company, not only alarm by its danger, but surprise
by its novelty. Not two guests are choked in a cen-
tury.

There is no room for pretending, that the action
of the parts may have gradually formed the epi-
glottis : I do not mean in the same individual, but in
a succession of generations. Not only the action of
the parts has no such tendency, but the animal could
not live, nor consequently the parts act, either without
it, or with it in a half formed state. The species was
not to wait for the gradual formation or expansion of
a part, which was, from the first, necessary to the
life of the individual.

Not only is the larynx curious, but the whole wind*
pipe possesses a structure, adapted to its peculiar,
office. It is made up (as any one may perceive by,

128 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES.

putting his fingers to his throat) of stout cartila-
ginous ringlets, placed at small and equal distances
from one another. Now this is not the case with any-
other of the numerous conduits of the body. The
use of these cartilages is to keep the passage for the
air constantly open ; which they do mechanically. A
pipe with soft membranous coats, liable to collapse
and close when empty, would not have answered
here ; although this be the general vascular structure,
and a structure which serves very well for those tubes,
which are kept in a state of perpetual distension by
the fluid they inclose, or which afford a passage to
solid and protruding substances.

Nevertheless, (which is another particularity well
worthy of notice,) these rings are not complete, that
is, are not cartilaginous and stiff all round; but their
hinder part, which is contiguous to the gullet, is
membranous and soft, easily yielding to the disten-
sions of that organ occasioned by the descent of so-
lid food. The same rings are also bevelled off at
the upper and lower edges, the better to close upon
one another, when the trachea is compressed or short-
ened.

The constitution of the trachea may suggest like-
wise another reflection. The membrane which lines
its inside, is, perhaps, the most sensible, irritable,
membrane of the body. It rejects the touch of a
crumb of bread, or a drop of water, with a spasm
which convulses the whole frame ; yet, left to itself,
and its proper office, the intromission of air alone,
nothing can be so quiet. It does not even make itself
felt : a man does not know that he has a trachea. This
capacity of perceiving with such acuteness ; this im-
patience of offence, yet perfect rest and ease when let
alone; are properties, one would have thought, not
likely to reside in the same subject. It is to the
junction however of these almost inconsistent quali-

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. l£9

ties, in this as well as in some other delicate parts of
the body, that we owe our safety and our comfort;
our safety to their sensibility, our comfort to their
repose.

The larynx, or rather the whole windpipe taken
together, (for the larynx is only the upper part of the
windpipe,) beside its other uses, is also a musical
instrument, that is to say, it is mechanism expressly
adapted to the modulation of sound; for it has been
found upon trial, that, by relaxing or tightening the
tendinous bands at the extremity of the windpipe,
and blowing in at the other end, all the cries and
notes might be produced, of which the living animal
was capable. It can be sounded, just as a pipe or
flute is sounded. Birds, says Bonnet, have, at the
lower end of the windpipe, a conformation like the
reed of a hautboy for the modulation of their notes.
A tuneful bird is a ventriloquist. The seat of the
song is in the breast.

The use of the lungs in the system has been said to
be obscure: one use however is plain, though, in some
sense, external to the system, and that is, the forma-
tion, in conjunction with the larynx, of voice and
speech. They are, to animal utterance, what the
bellows are to the organ.

For the sake of method, we have considered ani-
mal bodies under three divisions, their bones, their
muscles, and their vessels : and we have stated our
observations upon these parts separately. But this is
to diminish the strength of the argument. The wis-
dom of the Creator is seen, not in their separate but
their collective action; in their mutual subserviency
and dependence ; in their contributing together to one
effect, and one use. It has been said, that a man can-

130 OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL EOBIES.

not lift his hand to his head without finding enough
to convince him of the existence of a God. And it
is well said; for he has only to reflect, familiar as this
action is, and simple as it seems to be, how many
things are requisite for the performing of it; how-
many things which we understand, to say nothing
of many more, probably, which we do not; viz. first,
a long, hard, strong cylinder, in order to give to the
arm its firmness and tension; but which, being rigid,
and, in its substance, inflexible, can only turn upon
joints: secondly, therefore, joints for this purpose,
one at the shoulder to raise the arm, another at the
elbow to bend it; these joints continually fed with a
soft mucilage to make the parts slip easily upon one
another, and held together by strong braces to keep
them in their position: then, thirdly, strings and
wires, i. e. muscles and tendons, artificially inserted
for the purpose of drawing the bones in the direc-
tions in which the joints allow them to move. Hi-
therto we seem to understand the mechanism pretty
well; and understanding this, we possess enough for
our conclusion: nevertheless we have hitherto only a
machine standing still; a dead organization; an appa-
ratus. To put the system in a state of activity (to
set it at work) a further provision is necessary, viz.
a communication with the brain by means of nerves.
We know the existence of this communication, be-
cause we can seethe communicating threads, and can
trace them to the brain: its necessity we also know,
because, if the thread be cut, if the communica-
tion be intercepted, the muscle becomes paralytic:
but beyond this we know little; the organization
being too minute and subtile for our inspection.

To what has been enumerated, as officiating in the
single act of a man's raising his hand to his head, must
be added likewise, all that is necessary, and all that
contributes, to the growth, nourishment, and susten-

^

OF THE VESSELS OF ANIMAL BODIES. 131

tation of the limb, the repair of its waste, the preser-
vation of its health: such as the circulation of the
blood through every part of it: its lymphatics, ex-
halants, absorbents; its excretions and integuments.
All these share in the result; join in the effect: and
how all these, or any of them, come together without
a designing, disposing intelligence, it is impossibly
to conceive.

U2 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

CHAPTER XL

OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE REGARDED AS A MASS,

Contemplating an animal body in its

collective capacity, we cannot forget to notice, what
a number of instruments are brought together, and
often within how small a compass. In a Canary bird,
for instance, and in the ounce of matter which com-
poses its body (but which seems to be all employed,)
we have instruments, for eating, for digesting, for
nourishment, for breathing, for generation, for run-
ning, for flying, for seeing, for hearing, for smelling;
each appropriate; each entirely different from all the
rest.

The human, or indeed the animal frame, considered
as a mass or assemblage, exhibits in its composition
three properties, which have long struck my mind,
as indubitable evidences, not only of design, but of
a great deal of attention and accuracy in prosecuting
the design.

I. The first is, the exact correspondency of the
two sides of the same animal; the right hand an-
swering to the left, leg to leg, eye to eye, one side
of the countenance to the other; and with a precision,
to imitate which in any tolerable degree forms one of
the difficulties of statuary, and requires, on the part
of the artist, a constant attention to this property of
his work, distinct from every other.

It is the most difficult thing that can be to get a
wig made even; yet how seldom is the face awry?
And what care is taken that it should not be so, the

REGARDED AS A MASS. 133

anatomy of its bones demonstrates. The upper part
of the face is composed of thirteen bones, six on each
side, answering each to each, and the thirteenth, with-
out a fellow, in the middle: the lower part of the face
is in like manner composed of six bones, three on
each side, respectively corresponding, and the lower
jaw in the centre. In building an arch could more
be done in order to make the curve true, i. e. the
parts eoui -distant from the middle, alike in figure
and position?

The exact resemblance of the eyes, considering
how compounded this organ is in its structure, how
various and how delicate are the shades of colour
with which its iris is tinged, how differently, as to
effect upon appearance, the eye may be mounted in
its socket, and how differently in different heads eyes
actually are set, is a property of animal bodies much
to be admired. Of ten thousand eyes, I don't know
that it would be possible to match one, except with
its own fellow; or to distribute them into suitable
pairs by any other selection than that which obtains.
This regularity of the animal structure is rendered
more remarkable by the three following considera-
tions. First, the limbs, separately taken, have not
this correlation of parts ; but the contrary of it. A
knife drawn down the chine cuts the human body into
two parts, externally equal and alike; you cannot
draw a straight line which will divide a hand, a foot,
the leg, the thigh, the cheek, the eye, the ear, inta
two parts equal and alike. Those parts which are
placed upon the middle or partition line of the body,
or which traverse that line, as the nose, the tongue,
the lips, may be so divided, or, more properly speak-
ing, are double organs; but other parts cannot. This
shews that the correspondency which wre have been
describing does not arise by any necessity in the
nature of the subject; for, if necessary, it would be

134 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

universal, whereas it is observed only in the system
or assemblage: it is not true of the separate parts:
that is to say, it is found where it conduces to beauty
or utility; it is not found, where it would subsist at
the expence of both. The two wings of a bird always
correspond; the two sides of a feather frequently do
not. In centipedes, millepedes, and that whole tribe
of insects, no two legs on the same side are alike;
yet there is the most exact parity between the legs
opposite to one another.

2. The next circumstance to be remarked, is, that,
whilst the cavities of the body are so configurated,
as, externally, to exhibit the most exact correspon-
dency of the opposite sides, the contents of these ca-
vities have no such correspondency. A line drawn
down the middle of the breast divides the thorax into
two sides exactly similar; yet these two sides inclose
very d liferent contents. The heart lies on the left
side ; a lobe of the lungs on the right; balancing each
other, neither in size nor shape. The same thing
holds of the abdomen. The liver lies on the right
side, without any similar viscus opposed to it on the
left. The spleen indeed is situated over against the
liver; but agreeing with the liver, neither in bulk nor
form. There is no equipollency between these.
The stomach is a vessel, both irregular in its shape,
and oblique in its position. The foldings and doub-
lings of the intestines do not present a parity of sides.
Yet that symmetry which depends upon the corre-
lation of the sides, is externally preserved throughout
the whole trunk : and is the more remarkable in the
lower parts of it, as the integuments are soft; and
the shape, consequently, is not, as the thorax is by
its ribs, reduced by natural stays. It is evident,
therefore, that the external proportion does not arise
from any equality in the shape or pressure of the in-
ternal contents. What is it indeed but a correction

REGARDED AS A MASS. 135

of inequalities ? an adjustment, by mutual compen-
sation of anomalous forms into a regular congeries ?
the effect, in a word, of artful, and, if we might be
permitted so to speak, of studied collocation ?

3. Similar also to this, is the third observation;
that an internal inequality in the feeding vessels is so
managed, as to produce no inequality in parts which
were intended to correspond. The right arm answers
accurately to the left, both in size and shape; but the
arterial branches, which supply the two arms, do not
go oif from their trunk, in a pair, in the same man-
ner, at the same place, or at the same angle. Under
which want of similitude, it is very difficult to con-
ceive how the same quantity of blood should be
pushed through each artery: yet the result is right;
the two limbs, which are nourished by them, per-
ceive no difference of supply, no effects of excess or
deficiency.

Concerning the difference of manner, in which the
subclavian and carotid arteries, upon the different
sides of the body, separate themselves from the aorta,
Cheselden seems to have thought, that the advantage
which the left gain by going off at a much acuter an-
gle than the right, is made up to the right by their
going off together in one branch*. It is very possi-
ble that this may be the compensating contrivsince:
and, if it be so, how curious, how hydrostaticai!

II. Another perfection of the animal mass is the
package, I know nothing which is so surprising.
Examine the contents of the trunk of any large ani-
mal. Take notice how soft, how tender, how intri-
cate they are; how constantly iff action, how
necessary to life. Reflect upon the danger of any in-
jury to their substance, any derangement of their po-
sition, any obstruction to their office. Observe the

* Ches. Anat. p. 134, eel. 7. *

1S6 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

heart pumping at the centre, at the rate of eighty
strokes in a minute : one set of pipes carrying ihe
stream away from it, another set, bringing, in its
course, the fluid back to it again: the lungs perform-
ing their elaborate office, viz. distending and con-
tracting their many thousand vesicles, by a recipro-
cation which cannot cease for a minute: the stomach
exercising its poweiful chymistry: the bowels si-
lently propelling the changed aliment; collecting from
it, as it proceeds, and transmitting to the blood an in-
cessant supply of prepared and assimilated nourish-
ment: that blood pursuing its course; the liver, the
kidneys, the pancreas, the parotid, with many other
known and distinguishable glands, drawing off from
it, all the while, their proper secretions. These se-
veral operations, together with others more subtile
but less capable of being investigated^ are going on
within us, at one and the same time. Think of this;
and then observe how the body itself, the case which
holds this machinery, is rolled, and jolted, and tossed
about, the mechanism remaining unhurt, and with
very little molestation even of its nicest motions.
Observe a rope dancer, a tumbler, or a monkey ;
the sudden inversions and contortions which the in^
ternal parts sustain by the postures into which their
bodies are thrown; or rather observe the shocks,
which these parts, even in ordinary subjects, some-
times receive from falls and bruises, or by abrupt
jerks and twists, without sensible, or with soon re-
covered damage. Observe this, and then reflect how
firmly every part must be secured, how carefully sur-
rounded, how well tied down and packed together.

This property of animal bodies has never, I think,
been considered under a distinct head, or so fully as
it deserves. I mav be allowed therefore, in order to
verify my observation concerning it, to set forth a
short anatomical detail, though it oblige me to use

REGARDED AS A MASS. 137

more technical language, than I should wish to in-
troduce into a work of this kind.

1 . The heart (such care is taken of the centre of
life) is placed between two soft lobes of the lungs;.
is tied to the mediastinum and to the pericardium,
which pericardium is not only itself an exceedingly
strong membrane, but adheres firmly to the duplica-
ture of the mediastinum, and, by its point, to the mid-
dle tendon of the diaphragm. The heart is also
sustained in its place by the great blood-vessels
which issue from it*.

2. The lungs are tied to the sternum by the me-
diastinum, before; to the vertebras by the pleura,
behind. It seems indeed to be the very use of the
mediastinum (which is a membrane that goes,
straight through the middle of the thorax, from the
breast to the back) to keep the contents of the tho-
rax in their places; in particular to hinder one lobe
of the lungs from incommoding another, or the parts
of the lungs from pressing upon each other when we
lie on one sidef.

3. The liver is fastened in the body by two liga-
ments; the first, which is large and strong, comes
from the covering of the diaphragm, and penetrates
the substance of the liver; the second is the umbili-
cal vein, which, after birth, degenerates into a liga-
ment. The first, which is the principal, fixes the
liver in its situation, whilst the body holds an erect
posture; the second prevents it from pressing upon
the diaphragm when we lie down; and both together
sling or suspend the liver when we lie upon our
backs, so that it may not compress or obstruct the
ascending vena cavaj, to which belongs the impor-
tant office of returning the blood from the body to
the heart.

• Keill's Anat. p. 107. ed. 3. t Ib- n9-

| Ches. Anat. p. 162.

138 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

4. The bladder is tied to the navel by the urachus
transformed into a ligament : thus, what was a pas-
sage for urine to the foetus becomes, after birth, a
support or stay to the bladder. The peritonaeum
also keeps the viscera from confounding themselves
with, or pressing irregularly upon, the bladder: for
the kidneys and bladder are contained in a distinct
duplicature of that membrane, being thereby parti-
tioned off from the other contents of the abdomen.

5. The kidneys are lodged in a bed of fat.

6. The pancreas or sweetbread is strongly tied to
the peritonaeum, which is the great wrapping sheet,
that incloses all the bowels contained in the lower
belly*.

7. The spleen also is confined to its place by an
adhesion to the peritonaeum and diaphragm, and by
a connection with the omentumf . It is possible, in
my opinion, that the spleen may be merely a stuffing,
a soft cushion to fill up a vacancy or hollow, which
unless occupied, would leave the package loose and
unsteady: for supposing that it answers no other
purpose than this, it must be vascular, and admit of
a circulation through it, in order to be kept alive, or
be a part of a living body.

8. The omentum, epiploon, or cawl, is an apron,
tucked up, or doubling upon itself, at its lowest part.
The upper edge is tied to the bottom of the stomach,
to the spleen, as hath already been observed, and to
part of the duodenum. The reflected edge, also, after
forming the doubling, comes up behind the front
flap, and is tied to the colon and adjoining visceraf .

9. The septa of the brain, probably, prevent one
part of that organ from pressing with too great a
weight upon another part. The processes of the
dura mater divide the cavity of the skull, like so

* Keill's Atiat. p. 57. t Chcs- An&- P- 167'

I lb. p. 149.

REGARDED AS A MASS. 13§

many inner partition walls; and, thereby, confine each
hemisphere and lobe of the brain to the chamber
which is assigned to it, without its being liable to
rest upon, or intermix with, the neighbouring parts.
The great art and caution of packing, is to prevent
one thing hurting another. This, in the head, the
chest, and the abdomen, of an animal body, is,
amongst other methods, provided for, by membran-
ous partitions and wrappings, which keep the parts
separate.

The above may serve as a short account of the
manner, in which the principal viscera are sustained
in their places. But, of the provisions for this pur-
pose, by far, in my opinion, the most curious, and
where also such a provision was most wanted, is in
the guts. It is pretty evident, that a long narrow
tube (in man about five times the length of the body)
laid from side to side in folds upon one another,
winding in oblique and circuitous directions, com-
posed also of a soft and yielding substance, must,
without some extraordinary precaution for its safety,
be continually displaced by the various, sudden, and
abrupt motions of the body which contains it. I
should expect, that, if not bruised or wounded by
every fall, or leap, or twist, it would be entangled,
or be involved with itself; or, at the least, slipped
and shaken out of the order in which it is disposed,
and which order is necessary to be preserved for
the carrying on of the important functions, which it
has to execute in the animal ceconomy. Let us see
therefore how a danger so serious, and yet so natu-
ral to the length, narrowness, and tubular form of
the part, is provided against. The expedient is ad-
mirable, and it is this. The intestinal canal, through-
out its whole process, is knit to the edge of a broad
fat membrane, called the mesentery. It forms the
margin of this mesentery, being stitched and fastened

140 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE.

to it like the edging of a ruffle; being four times as
long as the mesentery itself, it is, what a sempstress
would call, " gathered on" to it. This is the nature
of the connection of the gut with the mesentery; and,
being thus joined to, or rather made a part of the me-
sentery, it is folded and wrapped up together with it.
Now the mesentery, having a considerable dimension
in breadth, being in its substance, withal, both thick
and suety, is capable of a close and safe folding, in
comparison of what the intestinal tube would admit
of, if it had remained loose. The mesentery like-
wise not only keeps the intestinal canal in its proper
place and position under all the turns and windings of
its course, but sustains the numberless small vessels,
the arteries, the veins, the lympheducts, and, above
all, the lacteals, which lead from or to almost every
point of its coats and cavity. This membrane, which
appears to be the great support and security of the
alimentary apparatus, is itself strongly tied to the first
three vertebrae of the loins*.

III. A third general property of animal forms is
beauty. I do not mean relative beauty, or that of one
individual above another of the same species, or of
one species compared with another species; but I
mean, generally, the provision which is made, in the
body of almost every animal, to adapt its appearance
to the perception of the animals with which it con-
verses. In our own species, for example, only con-
sider what the parts and materials are, of which the
fairest body is composed; and no further observation
will be necessary to shew, how well these things are
wrapped up, so as to form a mass, which shall be
capable of symmetry in its proportion, and of beauty
in its aspect; how the bones are covered, the bowels
concealed, the roughnesses of the muscles smoothed

* Keill's Anat. p. 45.

REGARDED AS A MASS. 141

and softened; and how over the whole is drawn an
integument, which converts the disgusting materials
of a dissecting-room into an object of attraction to
the sight, or one, upon which it rests, at least, with
ease and satisfaction. Much of this effect is to be
attributed to the intervention of the cellular or adipose
membrane, which lies immediately under the skin ;
is a kind of lining to it; is moist, soft, slippery, and
compressible; every where filiing up the interstices
of the muscles, and forming thereby their roundness
and flowing line, as well as the evenness and polish
of the whole surface.

All which seems to be a strong indication of design,
and of a design studiously directed to this purpose.
And it being once allowed, that such a purpose ex-
isted with respect to any of the productions of nature,
we may refer, with a considerable degree of probabi-
lity, other particulars to the same intention; such as
the teints of flowers, the plumage of birds, the furs
of beasts, the bright scales of fishes, the painted
wings of butterflies and beetles, the rich colours and
spotted lustre of many tribes of insects.

There are parts also of animals ornamental, and
the properties by which they are so, not subservient,
that we know of, to any other purpose. The trides
of most animals are very beautiful, without conduc-
ing at all, by their beauty, to the perfection of vision;
and nature could in no part have employed her pencil
to so much advantage, because no part presents it-
self so conspicuously to the observer, or communi-
cates so great an effect to the whole aspect.

In plants, especially in the flowers of plants, the
principle of beauty holds a still more considerable
place in their composition; is still more confessed
than in animals. Why, for one instance out of a
thousand, does the corolla of the tulip, when advanc-
ed to its size and maturity, change its colour? The

142 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

purposes, so far as we can see, of vegetable nutrition,
might have been carried on as well by its continuing
green. Or, if this could not be, consistently with
the progress of vegetable life, why break into such a
variety of colours? This is no proper effect of age,
or of declension in the ascent of the sap; for that,
like the autumnal teints, would have produced one
colour in one leaf, with marks of fading and wither-
ing. It seems a lame account, to call it, as it has
been called, a disease of the plant. Is it not more
probable, that this property, which is independent,
as it should seem, of the wants and utilities of the
plant, was calculated for beauty, intended for display?
A ground, I know, of objection, has been taken
against this whole topic of argument, namely, that
there is no such thing as beauty at all: in other words,
that whatever is useful and familiar comes of course
to be thought beautiful; and that things appear to be
so, only by their alliance with these qualities. Our
idea of beauty is capable of being so modified by habit,
by fashion, by the experience of advantage or plea-
sure, and by associations arising out of that experi-
ence, that a question has been made, whether it be
not altogether generated by these causes, or would
have any proper existence without them. It seems,
however, a carrying of the conclusion too far, to deny
the existence of the. principle, viz. a native capacity
of perceiving beauty, on account of the influence, or
the varieties proceeding from that influence, to which
it is subject: seeing that principles the most acknow-
ledged, are liable to be afected in the same manner.
I should rather argue thus. The question respects
objects of sight. Now every other sense hath its
distinction of agreeable and disagreeable. Some
tastes offend the palate, others gratify it. In brutes
and insects, this distinction is stronger, and more
regular, than in man. Every horse, ox, sheep,

REGARDED AS A MASS. 143

swine, when at liberty to choose, and when in a natu-
ral state, that is, when not vitiated by habits forced
upon it, eats and rejects the same plants. Many in-
sects which feed upon particular plants, will rather
die than change their appropriate leaf. All this looks
like a determination in the sense itself to particular
tastes. In like manner, smells affect the nose with
sensations pleasurable or disgusting. Some sounds
or compositions of sound, delight the ear, others tor-
ture it. Habit can do much in all these cases, (and
it is well for us that it can; for it is this powder which
reconciles us to many necessities,) but has the dis-
tinction, in the mean time, of agreeable and disagree-
able, no foundation in the sense itself? What is true
of the other senses is most prabably true of the eye,
(the analogy is irresistible) viz. that there belongs to
it an original constitution, fitted to perceive pleasure
from some impressions, and pain from others.

I do not however know that the argument which
alleges beauty as a final cause, rests upon this con-
cession. We possess a sense of beauty, however
we come by it. It in fact exists. Things are not
indifferent to this sense: all objects do not suit it:
many, which we see, are agreeable to it; many others
disagreeable. It is certainly not the effect of habit
upon the particular object, because the most agree-
able objects are often the most rare; many, which
are very common, continue to be offensive. If they
be made supportable by habit, it is all which habit
can do; they never become agreeable. If this sense,
therefore, be acquired, it is a result ; the produce of
numerous and complicated actions of external objects
upon the senses, and of the mind upon its sensations.
With this result there must be a certain congruity
to enable any particular object to please : and that
congruity, we contend, is consulted in the aspect
which is given to animal and vegetable bodies.

144 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

IV. The skin and covering of animals is that upon
which their appearance chiefly depends, and it is that
part which, perhaps, in all animals is most decorated;
and most free from impurities. But were beauty,
or agreeableness of aspect, entirely out of the ques-
tion, there is another purpose answered by this inte-
gument, and by the collocation of the parts of the
body beneath it, which is of still greater importance;
and that purpose is concealment. Were it possible
to view through the skin the mechanism of our bo-
dies, the sight would frighten us out of our wits.
<c Durst we make a single movement," asks a lively
French writer, " or stir a step from the place we were
in, if we saw our blood circulating, the tendons
pulling, the lungs blowing, the humours nitrating,
and all the incomprehensible assemblage of fibres,
tubes, pumps, valves, currents, pivots, which sustain
an existence, at once so frail, and so presumptuous?"
V. Of animal bodies, considered as masses, there
is another property, more curious than it is gene-
rally thought to be; which is the faculty of standing:
and it is more remarkable in two-legged animals than
in quadrupeds, and, most of all, as being the tallest,
and resting upon the smallest base, in man. There
is more, I think, in the matter than we are aware of.
The statue of a man, placed loose upon its pedestal,
would not be secure of standing half an hour. You
are obliged to fix its feet to the block by bolts and
solder, or the first shake, the first gust of wind, is
sure to throw it down. Yet this statue shall express
all the mechanical proportions of a living model. It
is not therefore the mere figure, or merely placing
the centre of gravity within the base, that is sufficient.
Either the law of gravitation is suspended in favour
of living substances, or something more is done for
them, in order to enable them to uphold their pos-
ture. There is no reason whatever to doubt, but

REGARDED AS A MASS. 145

that their parts descend by gravitation in the same
manner as those of dead matter. The gift therefore
appears to me to consist in a faculty of perpetually
shifting the centre of gravity, by a set^ of obscure
indeed, but of quick balancing actions, so as to keep
the line of direction, which is a line drawn from that
centre to the ground, within its prescribed limits.
Of these actions it may be observed, first, that they
in part constitute what we call strength. The dead
body drops down. The mere adjustment therefore
of weight and pressure, which may be the same the
moment after death as the moment before, does not
support the column. In cases also of extreme weak-
ness the patient cannot stand upright. Secondly;
that these actions are only in a small degree volun-
tary. A man is seldom conscious of his voluntary
powers in keeping himself upon his legs. A child
learning to walk is the greatest posture- master in the
world: but art, if it may be so called, sinks into
habit; and he is soon able to poise himself in a great
variety of attitudes without being sensible either of
caution or effort. But still there must be an aptitude
of parts upon which habit can thus attach; a previ-
ous capacity of motions which the animal is thus
taught to exercise: and the facility, with which this
exercise is acquired, forms one object of our admi-
ration. What parts are principally employed, or in
what manner each contributes its office, is, as hath
already been confessed, difficult to explain. Perhaps
the obscure motion of the bones of the feet mav have
their share in this effect. They are put in action
by every slip or vacillation of the body, and seem to
assist in restoring its balance. Certain it is, that
this circumstance in the structure of the foot, viz.
i its being composed of many small bones, applied to,
and articulating with, one another, by diversely
shaped surfaces, instead of being made of one piece?

146 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

like the last of a shoe, is very remarkable. I sup-
pose also that it would be difficult to stand firm upon
stilts or wooden legs, though their base exactly imi-
tated the figure and dimensions of the sole of the foot.
The alternation of the joints, the knee joint bending
backward, the hip joint forward; the flexibility, in
every direction, of the spine, especially in the loins
and neck, appear to be of great moment in preserving
the equilibrium of the body. With respect to this
last circumstance it is observable, that the vertebras
are so confined by ligaments as to allow no more slip-
ping upon their bases, than what is just sufficient to
break the shock which any violent motion may occa-
sion to the body. A certain degree also of tension
of the sinews appears to be essential to an erect pos-
ture; for it is by the loss of this, that the dead or pa-
ralytic body drops down. The whole is a wonderful
result of combined powers, and of very complicated
operations.

We have said that this property is the most worthy
of observation in the human body : but a bird, rest-
ing upon its perch, or hopping upon a spray, affords no
mean specimen of the same faculty. A chicken runs
off* as soon as it is hatched from the egg; yet a
chicken, considered geometrically, and with relation
to its centre of gravity, its line of direction, and its
equilibrium, is a very irregular solid. Is this gift,
therefore, or instruction? May it not be said to be
with great attention, that nature hath balanced the
body upon its pivots?

I observe also in the same bird a piece of useful
mechanism of this kind. In the trussing of a fowl,
upon bending the legs and thighs up towards the
body, the cook finds that the claws close of their own
accord. Now let it be remembered, that this is the
position of the limbs, in which the bird rests upon
its perch. And in this position it sleeps in safety;

REGARDED AS A iMASS. 147

for the claws do their office in keeping hold of the
support, not by any exertion of voluntary power,
which sleep might suspend, but by the traction of
the tendons, in consequence of the attitude which the
legs and thighs take by the bird sitting down, and to
which the mere weight of the body gives the force
that is necessary.

VI. Regarding the human body as a mass; regard-
ing the general conformations which obtain in it;
regarding also particular parts in respect to those
conformations; we shall be led to observe what I
call " interrupted analogies." The following are
examples of what I mean by these terms: and I don't
know, how such critical deviations can, by any pos-
sible hypothesis, be accounted for, without design.

1. All the bones of the body are covered with a
periosteum, except the teeth; where it ceases, and an
enamel of ivory, which saws and files will hardly
touch, comes into its place. No one can doubt of
the use and propriety of this difference; of the
u analogy" being thus " interrupted;" of the rule,
which belongs to the conformation of the bones,
stopping where it does stop : for, had so exquisitely
sensible a membrane as the periosteum, invested the
teeth, as it invests every other bone of the body, their
action, necessary exposure, and irritation, would have
subjected the animal to continual pain. General as
it is, it was not the sort of integument which suited
the teeth. What they stood in need of, was a strong,
hard, insensible, defensive coat : and exactly such a
covering is given to them, in the ivory enamel which
adheres to their surface.

2. The scarf-skin, which clothes all the rest of
the body, gives way, at the extremities of the toes
and fingers, to nails, A man has only to look at his
hand, to observe with what nicety and precision, that
covering, which extends over every other part, is

148 OF THE ANIMAL STRUCTURE

here superseded by a different substance and a dif-
ferent texture. Now, if either the rule had been
necessary, or the deviation from it accidental, this
effect would not be seen. When I speak of the rule
being necessary, I mean the formation of the skin
upon the surface being produced by a set of causes
constituted without design, and acting, as all ignorant
causes must act, by a general operation. Were this
the case, no account could be given of the operation
being suspended at the fingers' ends, or on the back
part of the fingers, and not on the fore part. On the
other hand ; if the deviation were accidental, an error,
an anomalism; were it any thing else than settled by
intention ; we should meet with nails upon other
parts of the body. They wculd be scattered over
the vurfkce, like warts or pimples.

3. All the great cavities of the body are inclosed
by membranes except the skull. Why should not
the brain be content with the same covering as that
which serves for the other principal organs of the
body ? The heart, the lungs, the liver, the stomach,
the bowels, have all soft integuments, and nothing
else. The muscular coats are all soft and mem-
branous. 1 can see a reason for this distinction in
the final cause, but in no other. The importance of
the brain to life, (which experience proves to be im-
mediate), and the extreme tenderness of its substance,
make a solid case more necessary for it, than for any
other part: and such a case the hardness of the skull
supplies. When the smallest portion of this natural
casquet is lost, how carefully, yet how imperfectly,
is it replaced by a plate of metal? If an anatomist
should say, that this bony protection is not confined
to die brain, but is extended along the course of the
spine, I answer, that he adds strength to the argu-
ment. If he remark, that the chest also is fortified
by bones, I reply, that I should have alleged this in-

REGARDED AS A MASS. 149

stance myself, if the ribs had not appeared subser-
vient to the purpose of motion, as well as of defence.
What distinguishes the skull from every other cavity-
is, that the bony covering completely surrounds its
contents, and is calculated, not for motion, but solely
for defence. Those hollows likewise and inequali-
ties, which we observe in the inside of the skull,
and which exactly fit the folds of the brain, answer
the important design of keeping the substance of
the brain steady, and of guarding it against con-
cussions.

[ "o 3

CHAPTER XII.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY

VV HENEVER we find a genera! plan pur-
sued, yet with such variations in it, as are, in each
case, required by the particular exigency of the sub-
ject to which it is applied, we possess, in such plan
and such adaptation, the strongest evidence, that can
be afforded, of intelligence and design; an evidence,
which the most completely excludes every other hy-
pothesis. If the general plan proceeded from any
fixed necessity in the nature of things, how could it
accommodate itself to the various wants and uses
which it had to serve, under different circumstances,
and on different occasions-3 Arkwright's mill was in-
vented for the spinning of cotton. We see it em-
ployed for the spinning of wool, flax, and hemp, with
such modifications of the original principle, such
variety in the same plan, as the texture of those dif-
ferent materials rendered necessary. Of the machine's
being put together with design, if it were possible to
doubt, whilst we saw it only under one mode, and in
one form; when we came to observe it in its different
applications, with such changes of structure, such
additions, and supplements, as the special and par-
ticular use in each case demanded, we could not re-
fuse any longer our assent to the proposition, u that
intelligence, properly and strictly so called (including
under that name, foresight, consideration, reference
to utility), had been employed, as well in the primi-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 151

tive plan, as in the several changes and^ accommo-
dations which it is made to undergo."

Very much of this reasoning is applicable to what
has been called Comparative Anatomy. In their ge-
neral (economy, in the outlines of the plan, in the
construction as well as offices of their principal parts,
there exists, between all large terrestrial animals, a
close resemblance. In all, life is sustained, and the
I f nourished, by nearly the same apparatus. The
heart, the lungs, the stomach, the liver, the kidneys,
are much alike in all. The same fluid (for no dis-
tinction of blood has been observed) circulates
through their vessels, and nearly in the same order.
The same cause, therefore, whatever that cause was,
has been concerned in the origin; has governed the
production of these different animal forms.

When we pass on to smaller animals, or to the in-
habitants of a different element, the resemblance be-
comes more distant and more obscure, but still the
plan accompanies us.

And what we can never enough commend, and
which it is our business at present to exemplify, the
plan is attended through ail its varieties and deflec-
tions, by subserviencies to special occasions and uti-
lities.

I. The covering of different animals (though, whe-
ther I am correct in classing this under their ana-
tomy, I don't know) is the first thing which presents
itself to our observation; and is, in truth, both for
its variety, and its suitableness to their several na-
tures, as much to be admired as any part of their
structure. We have bristles, hair, wool, furs, fea-
thers, quills, prickles, scales; yet in this diversity
both of material and form, we cannot change one ani-
mal's coat for another, without evidently changing it
for the worse: taking care however to remark, that
these coverings are, in many cases, armour as well

152 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

as clothing; intended for protection, as well as
warmth.

The human animal is the only one which is naked,
and the only one which can clothe itself. This is
one of the properties which renders him an animal of
all climates, and of all seasons. He can adapt the
warmth or lightness of his covering to the tempera-
ture of his habitation. Had he been born with a
fleece upon his back, although he might have been
comforted by its warmth in high latitudes, it would
have oppressed him by its weight and heat, as the
species spread towards the equator.

What art, however, does for men, nature has, in
many instances, done for those animals which are
incapable of art. Their clothing, of its own accord,
changes with their necessities. This is particular-
ly the case with that large tribe of quadrupeds which
are covered with furs. Every dealer in hare-skins,
and rabbit-skins, knows how much the fur is thick-
ened by the approach of winter. It seems to be a
part of the same constitution and the same design,
that wool, in hot countries, degenerates, as it is called,
but in truth (most happily for the animal's ease) passes
into hair; whilst, on the contrary, that hair, in the
dogs of the polar regions, is turned into wool, or
something very like it. To which may be referred,
what naturalists have remarked, that bears, wolves,
foxes, hares, which do not take the water, have the
fur much thicker on the back than the beiiv: whereas
in the beaver it is the thickest upon the belly; as are
the feathers in the water fowl. We know the final
cause of all this; and we know no other.

The covering of birds cannot escape the most vul-
gar observation. Its lightness, its smoothness, its
warmth: the disposition of the feathers all inclined
backward, the down about their stem, the overlap-
ping of their tips, their different configuration in dif~

COMPARATIVE ANATOM\. 155

Ferent parts, not to mention the variety of their
colours, constitute a vestment for the body, so
beautiful, and so appropriate to the life which the
animal is to lead, as that, I think, we should have had
no conception of any thing equally perfect, if we had
never seen it, or can now imagine any thing more so.
Let us suppose (what is possible only in supposition)
a person who had never seen a bird, to be presented
with a plucked pheasant, and bid to set his wits to
work, how to contrive for it a covering which shall
unite the qualities of warmth, levity, and least resist-
ance to the air, and the highest degree of each; giv-
ing it also as much of beauty and ornament as he
could afford. He is the person to behold the work of
the Deity, in this part of his creation, with the senti-
ments which are due to it.

The commendation, which the general aspect of
the feathered world seldom fails of exciting, will be
increased by further examination. It is one of those
cases in which the philosopher has more to admire,
than the common observer. Every feather is a
mechanical wonder. If we look at the quill, we find
properties not easily brought together, strength and
lightness. I know few things more remarkable,
than the strength and lightness of the very pen, with
which I am writing. If we cast our eye to the up-
per part of the stem, we see a material, made for the
purpose, used in no other class of animals, and in
no other part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic.
The pith, also, which feeds the feather, is, amongst
animal substances, sui generis; neither bone, flesh,
membrane, nor tendon.

But the artificial part of a feather is the beard, or,
as it is sometimes I believe called, the vane. By
the beards are meant, what are fastened on each side
the stem, and what constitute the breadth of the fea-
ther; what we usually strip off, from one side or both,

x

154 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

when we make a pen. The separate pieces, or lami-
nae, of which the beard is composed, are called threads,
sometimes filaments, or rays. Now the first thing
which an attentive observer will remark is, how
much stronger the beard of the feather shews itself
to be, when pressed in a direction perpendicular to
its plane, than when rubbed, either up or down, in
the line of the stem; and he will soon discover the
structure which occasions this difference, viz. that
the laminae whereof these beards are composed, are
fiat, and placed with their fiat sides towa;ds each
other; by which means, whilst they easily bend for
the approaching of each other, as any one may per-
ceive by drawing his finger ever so lightly upwards,
they are much harder to bend out of their plane,
which is the direction in which they have to encoun-
ter the impulse and pressure of the air; and in which
their strength is wanted, and put to the trial.

This is one particularity in the structure of a fea-
ther: a second is still more extraordinary. Whoever
examines a feather, cannot help taking notice, that
the threads or laminae of which we have been speak-
ing, in rheir natural state unite; that their union is
something more than the mere apposition of loose
surfaces; that they are not parted asunder without
some degree of force; that nevertheless there is no
glutinous cohesion between them; that, therefore, by
some mechanical means or other, they catch or clasp
among themselves, thereby giving to the beard or
vane its closeness and compactness of texture. Nor
is this all: when two laminae, which have been sepa-
rated by accident or force, are brought together again,
they immediately reclasp: .the connection, whatever
it was, is perfectly recovered, and the beard of the
feather becomes as smooth and firm as if nothing
had happened to it. Draw your fingerdown the fea-
ther, which is against the grain, and you break, pro-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 15$

bably, the junction of some of the contiguous threads;
draw your finger up the feather, and you restore ail
things to their former state. This is no common
comrivance; and now for the mechanism by which
it is effected. The threads or laminae above men-
tioned are interlaced with one another; and the inter-
lacing is performed by means of an infinite number
of fibres or teeth, which the lamina? shoot forth on
each side, and which hook and grapple together. A
friend of mine counted fifty of these fibres in one
twentieth of an inch. These fibres are crooked ; but
curved after a different manner; for those, which pro-
ceed from the thread on the side towards the extre-
mity of the feather, are longer, more flexible, and
bent downward : whereas those which proceed from
the side towards the beginning or quill end of the
feather are shorter, firmer, and turn upwards. The
process then which takes place is as follows. When
two laminae are pressed together, so that these long
fibres are forced far enough over the short ones, their
crooked parts fall into the cavity made by the crooked
parts of the others: just as the latch that is fastened
to a door, enters into the cavity of the catch fixed to
the door post, and, there hooking itself, fastens the
door; for it is properly in this manner, that one
thread of a feather is fastened to the other.

This admirable structure of the feather, which it
is easy to see with the microscope, succeeds per-
fectly for the use to which nature has designed it,
which use was, not only that the laminae might be
united, but that when one thread or lamina has been
separated from another by some external violence, it
might be reclasped with sufficient facility and expe-
dition*.

• The above account is taken from Memoirs for a Natural History of
Animals Uy the Royal Academy of Paris, published lfOl, p< 219-

15$ COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and
fibres, of hooks and teeth, is wanting; and we see the
consequence of the want. The filaments hang loose
and separate from one another, forming only a kind
of down; which constitution of the feathers, how- *
ever it may fit them for the flowing honours of a lady's
head-dress, may be reckoned an imperfection in the
bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of these feathers,
although they may greatly assist it in running, do not
serve for flight.

But under the present division of our subject, our
business with feathers is, as they are the covering of
the bird. And herein a singular circumstance occurs.
In the small order of birds which winter with us,
from a snipe downwards, let the external colour of
the feathers be what it will, their Creator has univer-
sally given them a bed of black down next their bo-
dies. Black, we know, is the warmest colour: and
the purpose here is, to keep in the heat, arising from
the heart and circulation of the blood. It is further
likewise remarkable, that this is not found in larger
birds; for which there is also a reason. Small birds
are much more exposed to the cold than large ones;
forasmuch as they present, in proportion to their
bulk, a much larger surface to the air. If a turkey
was divided into a number of wrens, supposing the
shape of the turkey and the wren to be similar, the
surface of all the wrens would exceed the surface of
the turkey, in the proportion of the length, breadth,
(or, of any homologous line) of a turkey to that of a
wren; which would be perhaps a proportion often to
one. It was necessary therefore that small birds
should be warmer clad than large ones; and this
seems to be the expedient, by which that exigency is
provided for.

II. In comparing different animals, I know no part
of their structure which exhibits greater variety, or,

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 157

in that variety, a nicer accommodation to their re-
spective conveniency, than that which is seen in the
different formations of their mouths. Whether the
purpose be the reception of aliment merely, or the
catching of prey, the picking up of seeds, the crop-
ping of herbage, the extraction of juices, the suction
of liquids, the breaking and grinding of food, the
taste of that food, together with the respiration of air,
and in conjunction with the utterance of sound; these
various offices are assigned to this one part, and, in
different species, provided for, as they are wanted, by
its different constitution. In the human species,
forasmuch as there are hands to convey the food to
the mouth, the mouth is flat, and by reason of its
flatness fitted only for reception: whereas the pro-
jecting jaws, the wide rictus, the pointed teeth, of the
dog and his affinities, enable them to apply their
mouths to snatch and seize the objects of their pur-
suit. The full lips, the rough tongue, the corrugated
cartilaginous palate, the broad cutting teeth, of the
ox, the deer, the horse and the sheep, qualify this
tribe for browsing upon their pasture; either gather-
ing large mouthfuls at once, where the grass is long,
which is the case with the ox in particular; or biting
close, where it is short, which the horse and the sheep
are able to do, in a degree that one could hardly ex-
pect. The retired under jaw of a swine works in the
ground, after the protruding snout, like a prong or
ploughshare, has made its way to the roots upon
which it feeds. A conformation so happy was not
the gift of chance.

In birds this organ assumes a new character; new
both in substance and in form, but, in both, wonder-
fully adapted to the wants and uses of a distinct mode
of existence. We have, no longer, the fleshy lips,
the teeth of enamelled bone; but we have, in the
place of these two parts, and to perform the office of

158 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

both, a hard substance (of the same nature with that
which composes the nails, claws, and hoofs of qua-
drupeds) cut out into proper shapes, and mechanically
suited to the actions which are wanted. The sharp
edge and tempered point of the sparrow's bill, picks
almost every kind of seed from its concealment in
the plant ; and not only so, but hulls the grain, breaks
and shatters the coats of the seed, in order to get at
the kernel. The hooked beak of the hawk tribe, se-
parates the flesh from the bones of the animals which
it feeds upon, almost with the cleanness and preci-
sion of a dissector's knife. (The butcher bird, trans-
fixes its prey upon the spike of a thorn, whilst it picks
its bones.) In some birds of this class, we have the
cross bill, i. e. both the upper and lower bill hooked,
and their tips crossing. The spoon bill, enables the
goose to graze, to collect its food from the bottom of
pools, or to seek it amidst the soft or liquid sub-
stances with which it is mixed. The long tapering
bill of the snipe and woodcock, penetrates still deeper
into moist earth, which is the bed in which the food
of that species is lodged. This is exactly the instru-
ment which the animal wanted. It did not want
strength in its bill, which was inconsistent with the
slender form of the animal's neck, as well as unneces-
sary for the kind of aliment upon which it subsists;
but it wanted length to reach its object.

But the species of bill which belongs to birds that
live by suction, deserves to be described in its parti-
cular relation to that office. They are what natural-
ists call serrated or dentated bills; the inside of them,
towards the edge, being thickly set with parallel or
concentric rows, of short, strong, sharp-pointed
prickles. These, though they should be called teeth,
are not for the purpose of mastication, like the teeth
of quadrupeds ; nor yet, as in fish, for the seizing and
retaining of their prey; but for a quite different use.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 159

They form a filter. The duck by means of them
discusses the mud ; examining, with great accu-
racy, the puddle, the brake, every mixture which
is likely to contain her food. The operation is
thus carried on. The liquid or semiliquid sub-
stances, in which the animal has plunged her bill, she
draws, by the action of her lungs, through the narrow
interstices which lies between these teeth; catching,
as the stream passes across her beak, whatever it may
happen to bring along with it, that proves agreeable
to her choice, and easily dismissing all the rest.
Now suppose the purpose to have been, out of a
mass of confused and heterogeneous substances, to
separate for the use of the animal, or rather to ena-
ble the animal to separate for its own, those few par-
ticles which suited its taste and digestion, what
more artificial, or more commodious, instrument of
selection, could have been given to it, than this natu-
ral filter? It has been observed also, what must ena-
ble the bird to choose aud distinguish with greater
acuteness, as well, probably, as what increases its
gratification and its luxury, that the bills of this spe-
cies are furnished with large nerves, that they are
covered with a skin, and that the nerves run down to
the very extremity. In the curlew, woodcock, and
snipe, there are three pairs of nerves, equal almost to
the optic nerve in thickness, which pass first along
the roof of the mouth, and then along the upper chap,
down to the point of the bill, long as the bill is.

But to return to the train of our observations.
The similitude between the bills of birds and the
mouths of quadrupeds, is exactly such, as, for the
sake of the argument, might be wished for. It is
near enough to shew the continuation of the same
plan: it is remote enough to exclude the supposition
of the difference being produced by action or use.
A more prominent contour, or a wider gape, might

160 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

be resolved into the effect of continued efforts, on the
part of the species, to thrust out the mouth, or open
it to the stretch. But by what course of action, or
exercise, or endeavour, shall we get rid of the lips,
the gums, the teeth; and acquire, in the place of them,
pincers of horn? By what habit shall we so com-
pletely change, not only the shape of the part, hut
the substance of which it is composed? The truth is,
if we had seen no other than the mouths of quadru-
peds, we should have thought no other could have
been formed: little could we have supposed, that all
the purposes of a mouth, furnished with lips, and
armed with teeth, could be answered by an instrument
which had none of these; could be supplied, and
that with many additional advantages, by the hard-
ness, and sharpness, and figure, of the bills of birds.

Every thing about the animal mouth is mechani-
cal. The teeth of fish, have their points turned
backwards, like the teeth of a wool or cotton-card.
The teeth of lobsters, work one against another, like
the sides of a pair of shears. In many insects, the
mouth is converted into a pump or sucker, fitted at
the end sometimes with wimble, sometimes with a
forceps; by which double provision, viz. of the tube
and the penetrating form of the point, the insect first
bores through the integuments of its prey, and then
extracts the juices. And, what is most extraordin-
ary of all, one sort of mouth, as the occasion requires,
shall be changed into another sort. The caterpillar
could not live without teeth; in several species, the
butterfly formed from it, could not use them. The
old teeth, therefore, are cast off with the exuviae of
the grub; a new and totally different apparatus assumes
their place in the fly. Amidst these novelties of
form, we sometimes forget that it is, all the while,
the animal's mouth; that, whether it be lips, or teeth,
or bill, or beak, or shears, or pump, it is the same

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 161

part diversified: and it is also remarkable, that under
all the varieties of configuration with which we are
acquainted, and which are very great, the organs of
taste and smelling are situated near each other.

III. To the mouth adjoins the gullet; in this part
also, comparative anatomy discovers a difference of
structure adapted to the different necessities of the
animal. In brutes, because the posture of their neck
conduces little to the passage of the aliments, the
fibres of the gullet, which act in this business, run in
two close spiral lines, crossing each other: in men,
these fibres run only a little obliquely from the upper
end of the oesophagus to the stomach, into which, by
a gentle contraction, they easily transmit the descend-
ing morsels; that is to say, for the more laborious
deglutition of animals, which thrust their food up
instead of down, and also through a longer passage,
a proportionably more powerful apparatus of muscles
is provided; more powerful, not merely by the
strength of the fibres, which might be attributed to
the greater exercise of their force, but in their collo-
cation, which is a determinate circumstance, and
must have been original.

IV. The gullet leads to the intestines: here, like-
wise, as before, comparing quadrupeds with man,
under a general similitude we meet with appropriate
differences. The valvulse conniventes, or, as they
are by some called, the semilunar valves, found in
the human intestine, are wanting in that of brutes.
These are wrinkles or plaits of the innermost coat of
the guts, the effect of which, is to retard the progress
of the food through the alimentary canal. It is easy to
understandhowmuch more necessray such a provision
may be to the body of an animal of an erect posture,
and in which, consequently, the weight of the food is
added to the action of the intestine, than in that of a
quadruped, in which the course of the food, from its

y

162 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

entrance to its exit, is nearly horizontal: but it is
impossible to assign any cause, except the final cause,
for this distinction actually taking place. So far as
depends upon the action of the part, this structure
was more to be expected in a quadruped than in a
man. In truth, it must, in both, have been formed,
not by action, but in direct opposition to action, and
to pressure: but the opposition, which would arise
from pressure, is greater in the upright trunk than in
any other. That theory, therefore, is pointedly
contradicted by the example before us. The struc-
ture is found, where its generation, according to the
method by which the theorist would have it generat-
ed, is the most difficult; but (observe) it is found,
where its effect is most useful.

The different length of the intestines in carnivo-
rous and herbivorous animals has been noticed on a
former occasion. The shortest, I believe, is that of
some birds of prey, in which the intestinal canal is
little more than a straight passage from the mouth to
the vent. The longest is in the deer kind. The
intestines of a Canadian stag, four feet high, measur-
ed ninety-six feet*. The intestine of a sheep, un-
ravelled, measures thirty times the length of the
body. The intestine of a wild cat is only three times
the length of the body. Universally, where the sub-
stance upon which the animal feeds, is of slow con-
coction, or yields its chyle with more difficulty,
there the passage is circuitous and dilatory, that time
and space may be allowed for the change and the ab-
sorption which are necessary. Where the food is
soon dissolved, or already half assimilated, an unne-
cessary, or, perhaps, hurtful detention is avoided, by
giving to it a shorter and a readier route.

* Mem. of Acad. Paris, 1701, p. 170i

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 163

V. In comparing the bones of different animals, we
are struck, in the bones of birds, with a propriety,
which could only proceed from the wisdom of an in-
telligent and designing Creator. In the bones of an
animal which is to fly, the two qualities required, are
strength and lightness. Wherein, therefore, do the
bones of birds (I speak of the cylindrical bones) dif-
fer, in these respects, from the bones of quadrupeds ?
In three properties, first, their cavities are much lar-
ger in proportion to the weight of the bone, than in
those of quadrupeds : secondly, these cavities are
empty : thirdly, the shell is of a firmer texture, than
is the substance of other bones. It is easy to ob-
serve these particulars, even in picking the wring or
leg of a chicken. Now, the weight being the same,
the diameter, it is evident, will be greater in a hol-
lowT bone than a solid one ; and, with the diameter,
as every mathematician can prove, is increased, ce-
teris paribus, the strength of the cylinder, or its re-
sistance to breaking. In a word ; a bone of the same
weight mvov\(\ nothavebeensostrong in any other form;
and, to have made it heavier, would have incommod-
ed the animal's flight. Yet this form could not be
acquired by use, or the bone become hollow and
tubular by exercise. What appetency could excavate
a bone ?

VI. The lungs also of birds, as compared with the
lungs of quadrupeds, contain in them a provision,
distinguishingly calculated for this same purpose of
levitation ; namely, a communication (not found in
other kinds of animals)between the air-vessels of the
lungs and the cavities of the body : so that by the in-
tromission of air from one to the other, at the will, as
it should seem, of the animal, its body can be occasi-
onally puffed out, and its tendency to descend in the
air, or its specific gravity, made less. The bodies of
birds are blown up from their lungs, which no other
animal bodies are ; and thus rendered buoyant.

1 64 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

VII. All birds are oviparous. This, likewise, car-
ries on the work of gestation, with as little increase
as possible of the weight of the body. A gravid ute-
rus would have-been a troublesome burthen to a bird
in its |ig!ht. The advantage, in this respect, of an
oviparous procreation is, that, whilst the whole brood
are hatched together, the eggs are excluded singly,
and at considerable intervals. Ten, fifteen, or twenty
young; birds may be produced in one cletch or covey,
yet the parent bird has never been encumbered by
the load of more than one full grown egg at one
time.

VIII. A principal topic of comparison between
animals, is in their instruments of motion. These
come before us under three divisions, feet, wings,
and fins. I desire any man to say, which of the three
is best fitted for its use: or whether the same con-
summate art be not conspicuous in them all. The
constitution of the elements, in which the motion is
to be performed, is very different. The animal
action must necessarily follow that constituti on. The
Creator therefore, if we might so speak, had to pre-
pare for different situations, for different difficulties:
yet the purpose is accomplished not less success-
fully, in one case than the other. And, as between
wings and the corresponding limbs of quadrupeds,
it is accomplished without deserting the general idea.
The idea is modified, not deserted. Strip a wing of
its feathers, and it bears no obscure resemblance to
the fore-leg of a quadruped. The articulations at
the shoulder and the cubitus are much alike; and,
what is a closer circumstance, in both cases the
upper part of the limb consists of a single bone, the
lower part of two.

But, fitted up with its furniture of feathers and
quills, it becomes a wonderful instrument; more ar-
tificial than its first appearance indicates, though that

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 165

be very striking: at least, the use, which the bird
makes of its wings in flying, is more complicated,
and more curious, than is generally known. One
thing is certain; that, if the flapping of the wings in
flight were no more than the reciprocal motion of the
same surface in opposite directions, either upwards
and downwards, or estimated in any oblique line,
the bird would lose as much by one motion, as she
gained by another. The skylark could never ascend
by such an action as this; for, though the stroke upon
the air by the under side of her wing would carry
her up, the stroke from the upper side, when she
raised her wing again, would bring her down. In
order, therefore, to account for the advantage which
the bird derives from her wings, it is necessary to
suppose, that the surface of the wing, measured upon
the same plane, is contracted, whilst the wind is
drawn up ; and let out to its full expansion, when it
descends upon the air for the purpose of moving the
body by the re-action of that element. Now the
form and structure of the wing, its external con-
vexity, the disposition, and particularly the over-
lapping, of its larger feathers, the action of the mus-
cles and joints of the pinions, are all adapted to this
alternate adjustment of its shape and dimensions.
Such a twist, for instance, or semirotatory motion,
is given to the great feathers of the wing, that they
strike the air with their Rat side, but rise from the
stroke slantwise. The turning of the oar in rowing,
whilst the rower advances his hand for a new stroke,
is a similar operation to that of the feather, and takes
its name from the resemblance. I believe that this
faculty is not found in the great feathers of the tail.
This is the place also for observing, that the pinions
are so set on upon the body, as to bring down the
wings, not vertically, but in a direction obliquely
tending towards the tail: which motion, by virtue of

166 COMPARATF/E ANATOMY.

the common resolution of forces, does two things at
the same time; supports the body in the air, and car-
ries it forward.

The steerage of a bird in its flight is effected
partly by the wings, but, in a principal degree, by the
tail. And herein we meet with a circumstance not
a little remarkable. Birds with long legs have short
tails; and, in their Bight, place their legs close to
their bodies, at the same time stretching them out
backwards as far as they can. In this position the
legs extend beyond the rump, and become the rud-
der; supplying that steerage which the tail could
not.

From the wings of birds, the transition is easy to
Xhzfins of fish. They are both, to their respective
tribes; the instruments of their motion; but, in the
work which they have to do, there is a considerable
difference, founded in this circumstance. Fish, un-
like birds, have very nearly the same specific gravity
with the element in which they move. In the case
offish, therefore, there is little or no weight to bear
■up: what is wanted, -is only an impulse sufficient to
carry the body through a resisting medium, or to
maintain the posture, or to support or restore the ba-
lance of the body, which is always the most unsteady
where there is no weight to sink it. For these ofil-
ces the fins are as large as necessary, though much
smaller than wings, their action mechanical, their
position, and the muscles by which they are moved,
in the highest degree, convenient. The following
short account of some experiments upon fish, made
for the purpose of ascertaining the use of their fins,
will be the best confirmation of what we assert. In
most fish, beside the great fin, the tail, we find two
pair of fins upon the sides, two single fins upon the
back, and one upon the belly, or rather between the
belly and the tail. The balancing use of these or-

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. W

gans is proved in this manner. Of the large-headed
fish, if you cut off the pectoral fins, i. e. the pair
which lies close behind the gills, the head falls prone
to the bottom : if the right pectoral fin only be cut off,
the fish leans to that side; if the ventral fin on the
same side be cut away, then it loses its equilibrium
entirely : if the dorsal and ventral fins be cut off, the
fish reels to the right and left. When the fish dies,
that is, when the fins cease to play, the belly turns
upwards. The use of the same parts for motion is
seen in the following observations upon them when
put in action. The pectoral, and more particularly
the ventral fins, serve to raise and depress the fish :
when the fish desires to have a retrograde motion, a
stroke forward with the pectoral fin effectually pro-
duces it: if the fish desire to turn either way, a single
blow with the tail the opposite way, sends it round
at once: if the tail strike both ways, the motion pro-
duced by the double lash is progressive; and enables
the fish to dart forward with an astonishing velocity*.
The result is, not only, in some cases, the most ra-
pid, but, in all cases, the most gentle, pliant, easy,
I animal motion, with which we are acquainted. How-
I ever, when the tail is cut off, the fish loses all mo-
I tion, and gives itself up to where the water impels it.
The rest of the fins, therefore, so far as respects mo-
tion, seem to be merely subsidiary to this. Tn their
mechanical use, the anal fin may be reckoned the keel,
the ventral fins, out-riggers; the pectoral muscles, the
oars : and if there be any similitude between these
parts of a boat and a fish, observe, that it is not the
resemblance of imitation, but the likeness which
arises from applying similar mechanical means to the
same purpose.

• Goldsmith's Hist, of An. Nat. vol. vi. p. 154.

168 COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

We have seen that the tail in the fish is the great
instrument of motion. Now, in cetaceous or warm-
blooded fish, which are obliged to rise every two or
three minutes to the surface to take breath, the tail,
unlike what it is in other fish, is horizontal; its
stroke, consequently, perpendicular to the horizon,
which, is the right direction for sending the fish to
the top, or carrying it down to the bottom.

Regarding animals in their instruments of motion,
we have only followed the comparison through the
first great division of animals into beasts, birds, and
fish. If it were our intention to pursue the conside-
ration further, I should take in that generic distinc-
tion amongst birds, the web foot of water fowl. It is
an instance which may be pointed out to a child.
The utility of the web to water fowl, the inutility to
land fowl, are so obvious, that it seems impossible to
notice the difference without acknowledging the de-
sign. I am at a loss to know, how those who deny
the agency of an intelligent Creator, dispose of this
example. There is nothing in the action of swim-
ming, as carried on by a bird upon the surface of the
water, that should generate a membrane between the
toes. As to that membrane, it is an exercise of con-
stant resistance. The only supposition I can think
of is, that all birds have been originally water fowl,
and web footed; that sparrows, hawks, linnets, &c.
which frequent the land, have, in process of time,
and in the course of many generations, had this part
worn away by treading upon hard ground. To such
evasive assumptions must atheism always have re-
course; and, after all, it confesses that the structure
of the feet of birds, in their original form, was criti-
cally adapted to their original destination. The web
feet of amphibious quadrupeds, seals, otters, &c. fall
under the same observation.

COMPARATIVE ANATOMY. 16»

IX. The Jive senses are common to most large ani-
mals: nor have we much difference to remark in
their constitution ; or much however which is refera-
ble to mechanism.

The superior sagacity of animals which hunt their
prey, and which, consequently, depend for their liveli-
hood upon their nose, is well known, in its use; but
not at all known in the organization which pro-
duces it.

The external ears of beasts of prey, of lions, tigers,
wolves, have their trumpet part or concavity stand-
ing forwards, to seize the sounds which are before
them, viz. the sounds of the animals, which they pur-
sue or watch. The ears of animals of flight are turned
backward, to give notice of the approach of their
enemy from behind, when he may steal upon them
unseen. This is a critical distinction; and is me-
chanical: but it may be suggested, and, I think, not
without probability, that it is the effect of continued
habit.

The eyes of animals which follow their prey by
night, as cats, owls, <ka possess a faculty, not given
to those of other species, namely, of closing the pu-
pil entirely. The final cause of which seems to be
this. It was necessary for such animals to be able to
descry objects with very small degrees of light.
This capacity depended upon the superior sensibility
of the retina; that is, upon its being affected by the
most feeble impulses. But that tenderness of struc-
ture, which rendered the membrane thus exquisitely
sensible, rendered it also liable to be offended by the
access of stronger degrees of light. The contractile
range therefore of the pupil is increased in these ani-
mals, so as to enable them to close the aperture en-
tirely; which includes the power of diminishing it in
every degree; whereby at all times such portions,

1 TO COMPARATIVE ANATOMY.

and only such portions of light are admitted, as may
be received without injury to the sense.

There appears to be also in the figure, and in some
properties of the pupil of the eye, an appropriate re-
lation to the wants of different animals. In horses,
oxen, goats, sheep, the pupil of the eye is elliptical;
the transverse axis being horizontal: by which struc-
ture, although the eye be placed on the side of the
head, the anterior elongation of the pupil catches the
forward rays, or those which come from objects im-
mediately in front of the animal's face.

C m 3

CHAPTER XIII.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

1 BELIEVE that all the instances which I
shall collect under this title, might, consistently
enough with technical language, have been placed
under the head of Comparative Anatomy, But there
appears to me an impropriety in the use which that
term hath obtained: it being, in some sort, absurd,
to call that a case of comparative anatomy, in which
there is nothing to " compare;" in which a confor-
mation is found in one animal, which hath nothing
properly answering to it in another. Of this kind
are the examples which I have to propose in the pre-
sent chapter; and the reader will see that, though
some of them be the strongest, perhaps, he will
meet with under any division of our subject, they
must necessarily be of an unconnected and miscella-
neous nature. To dispose them, however, into
some sort of order, we will notice, first, particulari-
ties of structure which belong to quadrupeds, birds,
and fish, as such, or to many of the kinds included
in these classes of animals; and then, such particu-
larities as are confined to one or two species.

I. Along each side of the neck of large quadru-
peds > runs a stiff robust cartilage, which butchers
call the pax wax. No person can carve the upper
end of a crop of beef without driving his knife
against it. It is a tough, strong, tendinous sub-
stance, braced from the head to the middle of the
back; its office is to assist in supporting the weight

173 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

of the head. It is a mechanical provision, of which
this is the undisputed use; and it is sufficient, and
not more than sufficient, for the purpose which it
has to execute. The head of an ox or a horse is a
heavy weight, acting at the end of a long lever,
(consequently with a great purchase,) and in a direc-
tion nearly perpendicular to the joints of the support-
ing neck. From such a force, so advantageously
applied, the bones of the neck would be in constant
danger of dislocation, if they were not fortified by
this strong tape. No such organ is found in the hu-
man subject, because, from the erect position of the
head, (the pressure of it acting nearly in the direction
of the spine,) the junction of the vertebrae appears to
be sufficiently secure without it. The care of the
Creator is seen where it is wanted. This cautionary-
expedient is limited to quadrupeds.

IL The oil with which birds prune their feathers,
and the organ which supplies it, is a specific provi-
sion for the winged creation. On each side of the
rump of birds is observed a small nipple, yielding up-
on pressure a butter-like substance, which the bird
extracts by pinching the pap with its bill. With this
oil or ointment, thus procured, the bird dresses its
coat -f and repeats the action as often as its own sen-
sations teach it that it is in any part wanted, or as the
excretion may be sufficient for the expense. The
gland, the pap, the nature and quality of the excret-
ed substance, the manner of obtaining itfromits lodg-
ment in the body, the application of it when obtained,
form, collectively, an evidence of intention, which it
is not easy to withstand. Nothing similar to it is
found in unfeathered animals. What blind conatus
of nature should produce it in birds \ should not pro-
duce it in beasts ?

III. The air biadder also oi^jish, affords a plainand
direct instance, not only of contrivance?- but strictly

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS* 173

of that species of contrivance, which we denominate
mechanical. It is a philosophical apparatus in the
body of an animal. The principle of the contrivance
is clear : the application of the principle is also clear.
The use of the organ to sustain, and, at will, also to
elevate, the body of the fish in the water, is proved
by observing, what has been tried, that, when the
bladder is burst, the fish grovels at the bottom ; and
also, that flounders, soles, skaits, which are with-
out the air bladder, seldom rise in the water, and that
with effort. The manner in which the purpose is at-
tained, and the suitableness of the means to the end,
are not difficult to be apprehended. The rising and
sinking of a fish in water, so for as it is independent
of the stroke of the fins and tail, can only be regulated
by the specific gravity of the body. When the blad-
der, contained in the body of the fish, is contracted,
which the fish probably possesses a muscular power of
doing, the bulk of the fish is contracted along with it ;
whereby since the absolute weight remains the same,
the specific gravity, which is the sinking force, is in-
creased, and the fish descends : on the contrary, when
in consequence of the relaxation of the muscles, the
elasticity of the inclosed, and now compressed air,
restores the dimensions of the bladder, the tendency
downwards becomes proportionably less than it was
before, or is turned into a contrary tendency. These
are known properties of bodies immersed in a fluid.
The enamelled figures, or little glass bubbles, in a jar
of water, are made to rise and fall by the same arti-
fice. A diving machine might be made to ascend
and descend upon the like principle ; namely, by in-
troducing into the inside of it an air vessel, which by its
contraction would diminish, and by its distension en-
large, the bulk of the machine itself, and thus render it
specifically heavier, or specifically lighter, than the
water which surrounds it* Suppose this to be done ;

174 PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

and the artist to solicit a patent for his invention. The
inspectors of the model, whatever they might think of
the use or value of the contrivance, could, by no pos-
sibility, entertain a question in their minds, whether it
were a contrivance or not. No reason has ever been
assigned, no reason can be assigned, why the conclu-
sion is not as certain in the fish, as in the machine ;
why the argument is not as firm, in one case as the
other.

It would be very worthy of inquiry, if it were pos-
sible to discover, by what method an animal, which
lives constantly in water, is able to supply a reposito-
ry of air. The expedient, whatever it be, forms
part, and perhaps the most curious part, of the pro-
vision. Nothing similar to the air bladder is found
in land animals; and a life in the water has no natural
tendency to produce a bag of air. Nothing can be
further from an acquired organization than this is.

These examples mark the attention of the Creator
to three great kingdoms of his animal creation, and to
their constitution as such. The example which stands
next in point of generality, belonging to a large tribe
of animals, or rather to various species of that tribe,
is the poisonous tooth of serpents.

I. TYhe fang of a viper is a clear and curious ex-
ample of mechanical contrivance. It is a perforated
tooth, loose at the root ; in its quiet state lying down
flat upon the jaw, but furnished with a muscle, which,
with a jerk, and by the pluck as it were of a string,
suddenly erects it. Under the tooth, close to its root,
and communicating with the perforation, lies a small
bag containing the venom. When the fang is raised,
the closing of the jaw presses its root against the bag
underneath; and the force of this compression sends
out the fluid, and, with a considerable impetus,
through the tube in the middle of the tooth. What
more unequivocal or effectual apparatus could be de-

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. 175

vised, for the double purpose of at once inflicting the
wound and injecting the poison ? Yet, though lodged
in the mouth, it is so constituted, as, in its inoffensive
and quiescent state, not to interfere with the animal's
ordinary office of receiving its food. It has been ob-
served also, that none of the harmless serpents, the
black snake, the blind worm, <kc. have these fangs,
but teeth of an equal size, not moveable, as this is,
but fixed into the jaw.

II. In being the property of several different spe-
cies, the preceding example is resembled by that
which I shall next mention, which is the bag of the
oppossum. This is a mechanical centrivance, most
properly so called. The simplicity of the expedient
renders the contrivance more obvious than many
others; and by no means, less certain. A false skin
under the belly of the animal, forms a pouch, into
which the young litter are received at their birth;
where they have an easy and constant access to the
teats; in which they are transported by the dam from
place to place; where they are at liberty to run in and
out, and where they find a refuge from surprise and
danger. It is their cradle, their conveyance, and
aheir asylum. Can the use of this structure be
doubted of? Nor is it a mere doubling of the skin,
but it is a new organ, furnished with bones and mus-
cles of its own. Two bones are placed before the os
pubis, and joined to that bone as their base. These
support, and give a fixture to, the muscles, which
serve to open the bag. To these muscles there are
antagonists, which serve in the same manner to shut
it: and this office they perform so exactly, that, in
the living animal, the opening can scarcely be dis-
cerned, except when the sides are forcibly drawn
asunder*. Is there any action in this part of die

* Goldsmith's Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 144.

17<> PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

animal, any process arising from that action, by
which these members could be formed ? any account
to be given of the formation, except design?

III. As a particularity, yet appertaining to more
species than one: and also as strictly mechanical; we
may notice a circumstance in the structure of the
claws of certain birds. The middle claw of the heron
and cormorant, is toothed and notched like a saw.
These birds are great fishers, and these notches as-
sist them in holding their slippery prey. The use
is evident; but the structure such, as cannot at all be
accounted for by the effort of the animal, or the ex-
ercise of the part. Some other fishing birds have
these notches in their bills; and for the same pur-
pose. The gannet, or Soland goose, has the side
of its bill irregularly jagged, that it may hold its prey
the faster. Nor can the structure in this, more
than in the former case, arise from the manner of
employing the part. The smooth surfaces, and
soft flesh of fish, were less likely to notch the bills
of birds, than the hard bodies upon which many other
species feed.

We now come to particularities strictly so called;
as being limited to a single species of animal. Of
these I shall take one from a quadruped and one
from a bird.

I. The stomach of the camel is well known to re-
tain large quantities of water, and to retain it un-
changed for a considerable length of time. This
property qualifies it for living in the desert. Let us
see, therefore, what is the internal organization,
upon which a faculty, so rare and so beneficial, de-
pends. A number of distinct sacks or bags (in a
dromedary thirty of these have been counted) are
observed to lie between the membranes of the second
stomach, and to open into the stomach near the top
by small square apertures. Through these orifices.

PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS. \77

after the stomach is full, the annexed bags are filled
from it. And the water so deposited, is, in the first
place, not liable to pass into the intestines; in the
second place, is kept separate from the solid aliment;
and, in the third place, is out of the reach of the di-
gestive action of the stomach, or of mixture with the
gastric juice. It appears probable, or rather certain,
that the animal, by the conformation of its muscles,
possesses the power of squeezing back this water
from the adjacent bags into the stomach, whenever
thirst excites it to put this power in action.

II. The tongue of the wood-pecker ', is one of those
singularities, which nature presents us with, when a,
singular purpose is to be answered. It is a particu-
lar instrument for a particular use; and what else but
design ever produces such ? The wood-pecker lives
chiefly upon insects, lodged in the bodies of decayed
or decaying trees. For the purpose of boring into
the wood, it is furnished with a bill, straight, hard, an-
gular, and sharp. When, by means of this piercer,
it has reached the cells of the insects, then comes the
office of its tongue; which tongue is first, of such a
length that the bird can dart it out three or four inches
from the bill, in this respect differing greatly from
every other species of bird ; in the second place, it is
tipped with a stiff, sharp, bony thorn ; and, in the
third place, which appears to me the most remarka-
ble property of all, this tip is dentated on both sides,
like the beard of an arrow or the barb of a hook. The
description of the part declares its use. The bird,
having exposed the retreats of the insects by the as-
sistance of its bill, with a motion inconceivably quick,
launches out at them this long tongue; transfixes them
upon the barbed needle at the end of it; and thus
draws its prey within its mouth. If this be not me-
chanism, what is? Should it be said, that, by conti-
nual endeavours to shoot out the tongue to the stretch,

2 a

its PECULIAR ORGANIZATIONS.

the wood-pecker species may by degrees have length-
ened the organ itself, beyond that of other birds,
what account can be given of its form ; of its tip ,?
How, in particular, did it get its barbs, its dentation I
These barbs, in my opinion, wherever they occur,
are decisive proofs of mechanical contrivance.

III. I shall add one more example for the sake of
its novelty. It is always an agreeable discovery,
when, having remarked in an animal an extraordi-
nary structure, we come at length to find out an un-
expected use for it. The following narrative, which
Goldsmith has taken from Buffon, furnishes an in-
stance of this kind. The babyrouessa, or Indian
hog, a species of wild boar found in the East-Indies,
has two bent teeth, more than half a }rard long, grow-
ing upwards, and, which is the singularity, from the
upper jaw. These instruments are not wanted for
defence, that service being provided for by two tusks
issuing from the under jaw, and resembling those of
the common boar. Nor does the animal use them
for defence. They might seem therefore to be both
a superfluity and an incumbrance. But observe the
event. The animal hitches one of these bent upper
teeth upon the branch of a tree, and then suffers its
whole body to swing from it. This is its manner of
taking repose, and of consulting for its safety. It
continues the whole night suspended by its tooth,
both easy in its posture, and secure; being out of
the reach of animals which hunt it for prey*.

* Goldsmith's Nat. Hist. vol. iii. p. 195.

I in 3

CHAPTER XIV.

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

I CAN hardly imagine to myself a more dis-
tinguishing mark, and, consequently, a more certain
proof of design, than preparation, i. e. the providing
of things beforehand, which are not to be used until
a considerable time afterwards; for this implies a con-
templation of the future, which belongs only to in-
telligence.

Of these prospective contrivances the bodies of
animals furnish various examples.

I. The human teeth afford an instance, not only of
prospective contrivance, but of the completion of the
contrivance being designedly suspended. They are
formed within the gums, and there they stop: the
fact being, that their further advance to maturity
would not only be useless to the new-born animal, but
extremely in its way; as it is evident that the act of
sucking, by which it is for some time to be nourished,
will be performed with more ease both to the nurse
and to the infant, whilst the inside of the mouth, and
edges of the gums, are smooth and soft, than if set
with hard pointed bones. By the time they are
wanted, the teeth are ready. They have been lodged
within the gums for some months past, but detained,
as it were, in their sockets, so long as their further
protrusion would interfere with the office to which
the mouth is destined. Nature, namely, that intelli-
gence which was employed in creation, looked be-
yond the first year of the infant's life ; yet, whilst she

180 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

was providing for functions which were after that
term to become necessary, was careful not to incom-
mode those which preceded them. What renders it
more probable that this is the effect of design is, that
the teeth are imperfect, whilst all other parts of the
mouth are perfect. The lips are perfect, the tongue
is perfect; the cheeks, the jaws, the palate, the
pharynx, the larynx, are all perfect. The teeth alone
are not so. This is the fact with respect to the hu-
man mouth: the fact also is, that the parts above enu-
merated, are called into use from the beginning;
whereas the teeth would be only so many obstacles
and annoyances, if they were there. When a con-
trary order is necessary, a contrary order prevails*
In the worm of the beetle, as hatched from the egg,
the teeth are the first things which arrive at perfec-
tion. The insect begins to gnaw as soon as it escapes
from the shell, though its other parts be only gradually
advancing to their maturity.

What has been observed of the teeth, is true of
the horns of animals ; and for the same reason. The
horn of a calf or lamb does not bud, or at least does
not sprout to any considerable length, until the ani-
mal be capable of browsing upon its pasture; because
such a substance upon the forehead of the young ani-
mal, would very much incommode the teat of the
dam in the office of giving suck.

But in the case of the teeth, of the human teeth at
least, the prospective contrivance looks still further.
A succession of crops is provided, and provided from
the beginning; a second tier being originally formed
beneath the first, which do not come into use till
several years afterwards. And this double or sup-
ple cory provision meets a difficulty in the mechanism
of the mouth, which would have appeared almost un-
surmountable. The expansion of the jaw, (the con-
sequence of the proportionable growth of the animad,

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 181

and of its skull) necessarily separates the teeth of the
first set, however compactly disposed, to a distance
from one another, which would be very inconvenient.
In due time therefore, i. e. when the jaw has attained
a great part of its dimensions, a new set of teeth
springs up, (loosening and pushing out the old ones
before them) more exactly fitted to the space which
they are to occupy, and rising also in such close
ranks, as to allow for any extension of line which the
subsequent enlargement of the head may occasion.
II. It is not very easy to conceive a more evidently
prospective contrivance, than that which, in all vivi-
parous animals, is found in the milk of the female
parent. At the moment the young animal enters the
world, there is its maintenance ready for it. The
particulars to be remarked in this economy are nei-
ther few nor slight. We have, first, the nutritious
quality of the fluid, unlike, in this respect, every
other excretion of the body; and in which nature
hitherto remains unimitated, neither cookery nor chy-
mistry having been able to make milk out of grass:
we have, secondly, the organ for its reception and re-
tention: we have, thirdly, the excretory duct, an-
nexed to it: and we have, lastly, the determination
of the milk to the breast, at the particular juncture
when it is about to be wanted. We have all these
properties in the subject before us; and they are all
indications of design. The last circumstance is the
strongest of any. If I had been to guess beforehand,
I should have conjectured, that, at the time when
there was an extraordinary demand of nourishment
in one part of the system, there would be the least
likelihood of a redundancy to supply another part.
The advanced pregnancy of the female has no intelli-
gible tendency to fill the breasts with milk. The
lacteal system is a constant wonder: and it adds to
other causes of our admiration, that the number of

182 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

the teats or paps in each species is found to hear a
proportion to the number of the young. In the sow,
the hitch, the rabbit, the cat, the rat, which have nu-
merous litters, the paps are numerous and are disposed
along the whole length of the belly: in the cow and
mare they are few. The most simple account of
this, is to refer it to a designing Creator.

But, in the argument before us, we are entitled to
consider not only animal bodies when framed, but
the circumstances under which they are framed.
And, in this view of the subject, the constitution of
many of their parts, is, most strictly, prospective.

III. The eye is of no use, at the time when it is
formed. It is an optical instrument made in a dun-
geon; constructed for the refraction of light to a focus^
and perfect for its purpose, before a ray of light has
had access to it; geometrically adapted to the proper-
ties and action of an element, with which it has no
communication. It is about indeed to enter into that
communication; and this is precisely the thing which
evidences intention. It is providing for the future
in the closest sense which can be given to these
terms; for it is providing for a future change: not for
the then subsisting condition of the animal; not for
any gradual progress or advance in that same condi-
tion; but for a new state, the consequence of a great
and sudden alteration, which the animal is to under-
go at its birth. Is it to be believed that the eye was
formed, or, which is the same thing, that the series
of causes was fixed by which the eye is formed, with-
out a view to this change; without a prospect of that
condition, in which its fabric, of no use at present,
is about to be of the greatest ; without a considera-
tion of the qualities of that element, hitherto entirely
excluded, but with which it was hereafter to hold so
intimate a relation ? A young man makes a pair of
spectacles for himself against he grows old: for which

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. 183

spectacles he has no want or use whatever at the time
he makes them. Could this be done without know-
ing and considering the defect of vision to which ad-
vanced age is subject? Would not the precise suita-
bleness of the instrument to its purpose, of the remedy
to the defect, of the convex lense to the flattened eye,
establish the certainty of the conclusion, that the
case, afterwards to arise, had been considered before-
hand, speculated upon, provided for? all which are
exclusively the acts of a reasoning mind. The eye
formed in one state, for use only in another state, and
in a different state, affords a proof no less clear of
destination to a future purpose ; and a proof propor-
tionably stronger, as the machinery is more compli-
cated, and the adaptation more exact.

IV. What has been said of the eye, holds equally
true of the lungs. Composed of air vessels, where
there is no air; elaborately constructed for the alter-
nate admission and exclusion of an elastic fluid,
where no such fluid exists; this great organ, with the
whole apparatus belonging to it, lies collapsed in the
foetal thorax, yet in order, and in readiness for action^
the first moment that the occasion requires its ser-
vice. This is having a machine locked up in store
for future use; which incontestably proves, that the
case was expected to occur, in which this use might
be experienced; but expectation is the proper act of
intelligence. Considering the state in which an ani-
mal exists before its birth, I should look for nothing
less in its body than a system of lungs. It is like
finding a pair of bellows in the bottom of the sea ; of
no sort of use in the situation in which they are
found ; formed for an action which was impossible to
be exerted ; holding no relation or fitness to the ele-
ment which surrounds them, but both to another
element in another place.

184 PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES.

As part and parcel of the same plan, ought to be
mentioned, in speaking of the lungs, the provisionary
contrivances of the foramen ovale and ductus arte-
riosus. In the foetus, pipes are laid for the passage
of the blood through the lungs; but, until the lungs
be inflated by the inspiration of air, that passage is
impervious, or in a great degree obstructed. What
then is to be done ? What would an artist, what would
a master, do upon the occasion? He would endea-
vour, most probably, to provide a temporary pas-
sage, which might carry on the communication
required, until the other was open. Now this is the
thing, which is, actually, done in the heart. Instead
of the circuitous rout through the lungs, which the
blood afterwards takes, before it get from one auricle
of the heart to the other; a portion of the blood passes
immediately from the right auricle to the left,
through a hole, placed in the partition, which sepa-
rates these cavities. This hole anatomists call the
foramen omale. There is likewise another cross cut,
answering the same purpose, by what is called the
ductus arteriosus, lying between the pulmonary ar-
tery and the aorta. But both expedients are so
strictly temporary, that, after birth, the one passage
is closed, and the tube which forms the other shri-
velled up into a ligament. If this be not contrivance,
what is?

But, forasmuch as the action of the air upon the
blood in the lungs, appears to be necessary to the
perfect concoction of that fluid, i. e. to the life and
health of the animal, (otherwise the shortest rout
might still be the best,) how comes it to pass that the
foetus lives, and grows, and thrives, without it? The
answer is, that the blood of the foetus is the mother's;
that it lias undergone that action in her habit; that
one pair of lungs serves for both. When the ani-

PROSPECTIVE CONTRIVANCES. US

mals are separated, a new necessity arises; and to
meet this necessity as soon as it occurs, an organi-
zation is prepared. It is ready for its purpose: it
only waits for the atmosphere: it begins to playr the
moment the air is admitted to it.

2 *

C 186 ]

CHAPTER XV.

RELATIONS.

WHEN several different parts contribute
to one effect; or, which is the same thing, when an
effect is produced by the joint action of different in-
struments; the fitness of such parts or instruments to
one another, for the purpose of producing, by their
united action, the effect, is what I call relation: and
wherever this is observed in the works of nature or
of man, it appears to me to carry along with it decisive
evidence of understanding, intention, art. In exa-
mining, for instance, the several parts of a wateb, the
spring, the barrel, the chain, the fusee, the balance,
the wheels of various sizes, forms, and positions,
what is it which would take the observer's attention,
as most plainly evincing a construction, directed by.
thought, deliberation, and contrivance ? It is the
suitableness of ihese parts to one another, first, in the
succession and order in which they act; and, se-
condly, with a view to the effect finally produced.
Thus, referring the spring to the wheels, he sees, in
it, that which originates and upholds their motion ;
in the chain, that which transmits the motion to the
fusee ; in the fusee, that which communicates it to
the wheels ; in the conical figure of the fusee, if he
refer back again to the spring, he sees that which
corrects the inequality of its force. Referring the
wheels to one another, he notices, first, their teeth,
which would have been without use or meaning, if
there had been only one wheel, or if the wheels had

RELATIONS. 187

had no connection between themselves, or common
bearing upon some joint effect ; secondly, the cor-
respondency of their position, so that the teeth of one
wheel catch into the teeth of another ; thirdly, the
proportion observed in the number of teeth of each
wheel, which determines the rate of going. Refer-
ring the balance to the rest of the w^orks, he saw7,
when he came to understand its action, that which
rendered their motions equable. Lastly, in looking
upon the index and face of the watch, he saw the use
and conclusion of the mechanism, viz. marking the
succession of minutes and hours ; but all depending
upon the motions within, all upon the system of in-
termediate actions between the spring and the pointer.
What thus struck his attention in the several parts
of the watch he might probably designate by one ge-
neral name of " relation :" and observing, with re-
spect to all the cases whatever, in which the origin
and formation of a thing could be ascertained by evi-
dence, that these relations were found in things pro-
duced by art and design, and in no other things, he
would rightly deem of them as characteristic of such
productions. To apply the reasoning here descri-
bed to the works of nature.

The animal ceconomy is full; is made up of these
relations,

I. There are first, what, in one form or other,
belong to all animals, the parts and powers which
successively act upon their food Compare this
action with the process of a manufactory. In man
and quadrupeds, the aliment is, first, broken and
bruised by mechanical instruments of mastication,
viz. sharp spikes or hard knobs, pressing against,
or rubbing upon, one another: thus ground and
comminuted, it is carried by a pipe into the
stomach, where it waits to undergo a great chymical
action, which we call digestion: when digested, it is

188 RELATIONS.

delivered through an orifice, which opens and shuts
as there is occasion, into the first intestine: there,
after being mixed with certain proper ingredients,
poured through a hole in the side of the vessel,
it is further dissolved : in this state, the milk,
chyle, or part which is wanted, and which is suited
for animal nourishment, is strained off by the mouths
of very small tubes, opening into the cavity of
the intestines: thus freed from its grosser parts, the
percolated fluid is carried by a long, winding, but
traceable course, into the main stream of the old
circulation; which conveys it, in its progress, to
every part of the body. Now I say again, compare
this with the process of a manufactory; with the
making of cyder, for example, the bruising of
the apples in the mill, the squeezing of them when
so bruised in the press, the fermentation in the vat,
the bestowing of the liquor thus fermented in
the hogsheads, the drawing off into bottles, the
pouring out for use into the glass. Let any one
shew me any difference between these two cases, as
to the point of contrivance. That which is at
present under our consideration, the " relation" of
the parts successively employed, is not more clear in
the last case, than in the first. The aptness of the
jaws and teeth to prepare the food for the stomach,
is, at least, as manifest, as that of the cyder^mill to
crush the apples for the press. The concoction of
the food in the stomach is as necessary for its future
use, as the fermentation of the stum in the vat is to
the perfection of the liquor. The disposal of the
aliment afterwards; the action and change which
it undergoes; the rout which it is made to take,
in order that, and until that, it arrive at its destination,
is more complex indeed and intricate, but, in the
midst of complication and intricacy, as evident and
certain, as is the apparatus of cocks, pipes, tunnels,

RELATIONS. 1S9

for transferring the cycler from one vessel to another,
of barrels and bottles for preserving it till fit for use,
or of cups and glasses for bringing it, when wanted,
to the lip of the consumer. The character of the
machinery is in both cases this, that one part
answers to another part, and every part to the final
result.

This parallel between the alimentary operation
and some of the processes of art, might be car-
ried further into detail. Spallanzani has remarked*
a circumstantial resemblance between the stomachs
of gallinaceous fowls and the structure of corn-mills.
Whilst the two sides of the gizzard perform the
office of the mill stones, the craw or crop supplies
the place of the hopper. When our fowls are
abundantly supplied with meat they soon fill their
craw; but it does not immediately pass thence into
the gizzard. It always enters in very small quantities,
in proportion to the progress of trituration: in like
manner as in a mill a receiver is fixed above the two
large stones which serve for grinding the corn;
which receiver, although the corn be put into it
by bushels, allows the grain to dribble only in
small quantities into the central hole in the upper
mill-stone.

But we have not done with the alimentary history.
There subsists a general relation between the
external organs of an animal by which it procures
its food, and the internal powers by which it digests
it. Birds of prey, by their talons and beaks, are
qualified to seize and devour many species, both of
other birds, and of quadrupeds. The constitution of
the stomach agrees exactly with the form of the
members. The% gastric juice of a bird of prey, of
an owl, a falcon, or a kite, acts upon the animal fibre

* Diss. I. sec. lto

190 RELATIONS.

alone; will not act upon seeds or grasses at all. On
the other hand, the conformation of the mouth of the
sheep or the ox is suited for browsing upon herbage.
Nothing about these animals is fitted for the pursuit
of living prey. Accordingly it has been found by
experiments, tried not many years ago with
perforated balls, that the gastric juice of ruminating
animals, such as the sheep and the ox, speedily
dissolves vegetables, but makes no impression upon
animal bodies. This accordancy is still more
particular. The gastric juice even of graminivorous
birds, will not act upon the grain, whilst whole and
entire. In performing the experiment of digestion
with the gastric juice in vessels, the grain must be
crushed and bruised, before it be submitted to the
menstruum, that is to say, must undergo by art,
without the body, the preparatory action which the
gizzard exerts upon it within the body, or no
digestion will take place. So strict is the relation
between the offices assigned to the digestive organ;
between the mechanical operation, and the chymical
process.

II. The relation of the kidneys to the bladder, and
of the ureters to both, i. e. of the secreting organ to
the vessel receiving the secreted liquor, and the pipe
laid from one to the other for the purpose of convey-
ing it from one to the other, is as manifest as it is
amongst the different vessels employed in a distillery,
or in the communications between theni. The ani-
mal structure, in this case, being simple, and the parts
easily separated, it forms an instance of correlation
which may be presented by dissection to every eye,
or which, indeed, without dissection is capable of be-
ing apprehended by every understanding. This cor-
relation of instruments to one another fixes intention
somewhere.

RELATIONS. 191

Especially when every other solution is negatived
by the conformation. If the bladder had been merely
an expansion of the ureter, produced by retention of
the fluid, there ought to have been a bladder for each
ureter. One receptacle, fed by two pipes, issuing
from different sides of the body, yet from both con-
veying the same fluid, is not to be accounted for by
any such supposition as this.

III. Relation of parts to one another accompanies
us throughout the whole animal ceconomy. Can any
relation be more simple, yet more convincing, than
this, that the eyes are so placed as to look in the di-
rection in which the legs move and the hands work?
It might have happened very differently, if it had been
left to chance. There were, at least, three quarters
of the compass out of four to have erred in. Any
considerable alteration in the position of the eye, or
the figure of the joints, would have disturbed the
line, and destroyed the alliance between the sense
and the limbs.

IV. But relation perhaps is never so striking, as
when it subsists, not between different parts of the
same thing, but between different things. The re-
lation between a lock and a key is more obvious, than
:it is between different parts of the lock. A bow was
designed for an arrow, and an arrow for a bow ; and
the design is more evident for their being separate
implements.

Nor do the works of the Deity want this clearest
species of relation. The sexes are manifestly made
for each other. They form the grand relation of ani-
mated nature; universal, organic, mechanical; sub-
sisting, like the clearest relations of art, in different
individuals; unequivocal, inexplicable without de-
sign:

So much so, that, were every other proof of con-
trivance in nature dubious or obscure, this alone

192 RELATIONS.

would be sufficient. The example is complete. No-
thing is wanting to the argument. I see no way-
whatever of getting over it.

V. The teats of animals, which give suck, bear a
relation to the mouth of the suckling progeny ; parti-
cularly to the lips and tongue. Here also, as before,
is a correspondency of parts ; which parts subsist in
different individuals.

These are general relations, or the relations of
parts which are found, either in all animals, or in large
classes and descriptions of animals. Particular re-
lations, or the relations which subsist between the
particular configuration of one or more parts of cer-
tain species of animals, and the particular configura-
tion of one or more other parts of the same animal,
(which is the sort of relation, that is, perhaps, most
striking), are such as the following.

I. In the swan; the web foot, the spoon bill, the
long neck, the thick down, the graminivorous sto-
mach, bear all a relation to one another, inasmuch
as they all concur in one design, that of supplying
the occasions of an aquatic fowl, floating upon the
surface of shallow pools of water, and seeking its
food at the bottom. Begin with any one of these
particularities of structure, and observe how the rest
follow it. The web foot qualifies the bird for swim-
ming ; the spoon bill enables it to graze. But how
is an animal, floating upon the surface of pools of wa-
ter, to graze at the bottom, except 6y the mediation
of a long neck? A long neck accordingly is given to
it. Again, a warm-blooded animal, which was to pass
its life upon water, required a defence against the
coldness of that element. Such a defence is furnished
to the swan, in the muffin which its body is wrapped.
But all this outward apparatus would have been in
vain, if the intestinal system had not been suited to
the digestion of vegetable substances. I say suited

RELATIONS. 193

to the digestion of vegetable substances: for it is
well known, that there are two intestinal systems
found in birds, one with a membranous stomach and
a gastric juice, capable of dissolving animal sub-
stances alone; the other with a crop and gizzard, cal-
culated for the moistening, bruising, and afterwards
digesting, of vegetable aliment.

Or set off with any other distinctive part in the
body of the swan ; for instance, with the long neck.
The long neck, without the web foot, would have
been an incumbrance to the bird; yet there is no
necessary connection between a long neck and a web
foot. In fact they do not usually go together. How
happens it, therefore, that they meet, only when a
particular design demands the aid of both?

II. This mutual relation, arising from a subser-
viency to a common purpose, is very observable also
in the parts of a mole. The strong short legs of that
animal, the palmated feet, armed with sharp nails,
the pig-like nose, the teeth, the velvet coat, the small
external ear, the sagacious smell, the sunk protected
eye, all conduce to the utilities, or to the safety, of
its underground life. It is a special purpose, speci-
ally consulted throughout. The form of the feet fixes
the character of the animal. They are so many
shovels : they determine its action to that of rooting
in the ground; and every thing about its body agrees
with this destination. The cylindrical figure of the
mole, as well as the compactness of its form, .arising
from the terseness of its limbs, proportionally lessens
its labour; because, according to its bulk, it thereby
requires the least possible quantity of earth to be re-
moved for its progress. It has nearly the same struc-
ture of the face and jaws as a swine, and the same
office for them. The nose is sharp, slender, tendi-
nous, strong; with a pair of nerves going down to
the end of it. The plush covering, which, by the

2 c

194 RELATIONS.

smoothness, closeness, and polish of the short piles
that compose it, rejects the adhesion of almost every
species of earth, defends the animal from cold and wet,
and from the impediment, which it would experience
try the mould sticking to its body. From soils of all
kinds the little pioneer comes forth bright and clean.
Inhabiting dirt, it is, of all animals, the neatest.

But what I have always most admired in the mole
is its eyes. This animal occasionally visiting the sur-
face, and wanting, for its safety and direction, to be
informed when it does so, or when it approaches it, a
perception of light was necessary. I do not know
that the clearness of sight depends at all upon the size
of the organ. What is gained by the largeness or
prominence of the globe of the eye is width in the
field of vision. Such a capacity would be of no use
to an animal which was to seek its food in the dark.
The mole did not want to look about it; nor would a
large advanced eye have been easily defended from
the annoyance, to which the life of the animal must
constantly expose it. How indeed was the mole,
working its way under ground, to guard its eyes at
all? In order to meet this difficulty, the eyes are made
scarcely larger than the head of a corking pin; and
these minute globules are sunk so deep in the skull,
and lie so sheltered within the velvet of its covering,
as that any contraction of what may be called the
eyebrows, not only closes up the apertures which
lead to the eyes, but presents a cushion, as it were*
to any sharp or protruding substance, which might
push against them. This aperture even in its ordi-
nary state is like a pin hole in a piece of velvet,
scarcely pervious to loose particles of earth.

Observe then, in this structure, that which we call
relation. There is no natural connection between a
small sunk eye and a shovel palmated foot. Palma-
ted feet might have been joined with goggle eyes;

RELATIONS. 195

or small eyes might have been joined with feet of any
other form. What was it therefore which brought
them together in the mole? That which brought to-
gether the barrel, the chain, and the fusee, in a watch:
design; and design, in both cases, inferred, from the
relation which the parts bear to one another in the
prosecution of a common purpose. As hath already
been observed, there are different ways of stating the
relation, according as we set out from a different part.
In the instance before us, we may either consider the
shape of the feet, as qualifying the animal for that
mode of life and inhabitation, to which the structure
of its eye confines it; or we may consider the struc-
ture of the eye, as the only one which would have
suited with the action to which the feet are adapted.
The relation is manifest, whichever of the parts re-
lated we place first in the order of our consideration.
In a word : the feet of the mole are made for digging ;
the neck, nose, eyes, ears and skin, are peculiarly
adapted to an underground life: and this is what I
call relation.

[ 196 ]

CHAPTER XVI.

COMPENSATION.

Compensation is a species of relation.

It is relation, when the defects of one part, or of one
organ, are supplied by the structure of another part,
or of another organ. Thus,

I. The short, unbending neck of the elephant, is
compensated by the length and flexibility of his pro-
boscis. He could not have reached the ground with-
out it: or, if it be supposed that he might have fed
upon the fruit, leaves, or branches of trees, how was
he to drink? Should it be asked, Why is the ele-
phant's neck so short? it may be answered that the
weight of a head so heavy could not have been sup-
ported at the end of a longer lever. To a form there-
fore, in some respects necessary, but in some
respects also inadequate to the occasions of the ani-
mal, a supplement is added, which exactly makes up
the deficiency under which he laboured.

If it be suggested, that this proboscis may have
been produced in a long course of generations, by
the constant endeavour of the elephant to thrust out
his nose, (which is the general hypothesis by which
it has lately been attempted to account for the forms
of animated nature,) I would ask, how was the
animal to subsist in the mean time; during the
process; until this prolongation of snout were com-
pleted ? What was to become of the individual, whilst
the species was perfecting ?

COMPENSATION. 19T

Oar business at present is, simply to point out the
relation, which this organ bears to the peculiar figure
of the animal, to which it belongs. And, herein, all
things correspond. The necessity of the elephant's
proboscis arises from the shortness of his neck; the
shortness of the neck is rendered necessary by the
weight of the head. Were we to enter into an
examination of the structure and anatomy of the
proboscis itself, we should see in it one of the most
curious of all examples of animal mechanism. The
disposition of the ringlets and fibres, for the purpose,
first, of forming a long cartilaginous pipe; secondly,
of contracting and lengthening that pipe; thirdly, of
turning it in every direction at the will of the animal ;
with the superaddition, at the end, of a fleshy pro-
duction, of about the length and thickness of a finger,
and performing the office of a finger, so as to pick up
a straw from the ground; these properties of the
same organ, taken together, exhibit a specimen, not
only of design, (which is attested by the advantage,)
but of consummate art, and, as I may say, of elaborate
preparation, in accomplishing that design.

II. The hook in the wing of a bat, is strictly
a mechanical, and, also, a compensating contrivance.
At the angle of its wing there is a bent claw, exactly
in the form of a hook, by which the bat attaches
itself to the sides of rocks, caves, and buildings,
laying hold of crevices, joinings, chinks, and rough-
nesses. It hooks itself by this claw ; remains
suspended by this hold ; takes its flight from this
position: which operations compensate for the
decrepitude of its legs and feet. Without her hook,
the bat would be the most helpless of all animals. She
can neither run upon her feet, nor raise herself from
the ground. These inabilities are made up to her by
the contrivance in her wing: and in placing a claw on

198 COMPENSATION.

that part, the Creator has deviated from the analogy
observed in winged animals. A singular defect
required a singular substitute.

III. The crane kind are to live and seek their
food amongst the waters; yet, having no web feet,
are incapable of swimming. To make up for this
deficiency, they are furnished with long legs for
wading, or long bills for groping; .or usually with
both. This is compensation* But I think the true
reflection upon the present instance is, how every
part of nature is tenanted by appropriate inhabitants.
Not only is the surface of deep waters peopled by
numerous tribes of birds that swim, but marshes and
shallow pools are furnished with hardly less numerous
tribes of birds that wade.

IV. The common parrot has, in the structure of its
beak, both an inconveniency, and a compensation for
it. When I speak of an inconveniency, I have a
view to a dilemma which frequently occurs in the
works of nature, viz. that the peculiarity of structure
by which an organ is made to answer one purpose,
necessarily unfits it for some other purpose. This
is the case before us. The upper bill of the parrot
is so much hooked, and so much overlaps the
lower, that, if, as in other birds, the lower chap
alone had motion, the bird could scarcely gape wide
enough to receive its food: yet this hook and over-
lapping of the bill could not be spared, for it forms
the very instrument by which the bird climbs: to
say nothing of the use which it makes of it in
breaking nuts, and the hard substances upon which
it feeds. How therefore has nature provided for the
opening of this occluded mouth? By making the
upper chap moveable, as well as the lower. In most
birds the upper chap is connected, and makes but one
piece with the skull ; but, in the parrot, the upper

COMPENSATION. 199

chap is joined to the bone of the head by a strong
membrane, placed on each side of it, which lifts and
depresses it at pleasure.*

V. The spider's web is a compensating contrivance.
The spider lives upon flies, without wings to pursue
them; a case, one would have thought, of great
difficulty, yet provided for; and provided for by
a resource, which no stratagem, no effort of the
animal, could have produced, had not both its exter-
nal and internal structure been specifically adapted
to the operation.

VI. In many species of insects the eye is fixed; and
consequently without the power of turning the pupil
to the object. This great defect is however perfectly
compensated; and by a mechanism which we should
not suspect. The eye is a multiplying glass; with a
lense looking in every direction, and catching every
object. By which means, although the orb of the
eye be stationary, the field of vision is as ample as
that of other animals; and is commanded on every
side. When this lattice work was first observed,
the multiplicity and minuteness of the surfaces must
have added to the surprise of the discovery. Adams
tells us, that fourteen hundred of these reticulations
have been counted in the two eyes of a drone bee.

In other cases, the compensation is effected by the
number and position of the eyes themselves. The
spider has eight eyes, mounted upon different parts
of the head, two in front, two in the top of the head,
two on each side. These eyes are without motion;
but, by their situation, suited to comprehend every
view, which the wants or safety of the animal render
it necessary for it to take.

VII. The Memoirs for the Natural History of
Animals, published by the French Academy, A. D.

* Goldsmith's Nat. Hist. vol. v. p. 2/r4.

200 COMPENSATION.

1687, furnish us with some curious particulars in the
eye of a camelion. Instead of two eyelids it is
covered by an eyelid with a hole in it. This singular
structure appears to be compensatory, and to answer
to some other singularities in the shape of the
animal. The neck of the camelion is inflexible. To
make up for this, the eye is so prominent, as that
more than half of the ball stands out of the head. By
means of which extraordinary projection, the pupil of
the eye can be carried by the muscles in every
direction, and is capable of being pointed towards
every object. But then so unusual an exposure of
the globe of the eye, requires for its lubricity
and defence, a more than ordinary protection of
eyelid, as well as more than ordinary supply of
moisture; yet the motion of an eyelid, formed accord-
ing to the common construction, would be impeded,
as it should seem, by the convexity of the organ. The
aperture in the lid meets this difficulty. It enables the
animal to keep the principal part of the surface of the
eye under cover, and to preserve it in a due state of
humidity, without shutting out the light; or without
performing every moment a nictitation, which, it is
probable, would be more laborious to this animal
than to others.

VIII. In another animal, and in another part of
the animal oeconomy, the same Memoirs describe a
most remarkable substitution. The reader will re-
member what we have already observed concerning
the intestinal canal; that its length, so many times
exceeding that of the body, promotes the extraction
of the chyle from the aliment, by giving room for the
lacteal vessels to act upon it through a greater space.
This long intestine, wherever it occurs, is, in other
animals, disposed in the abdomen from side to side
in returning folds. But, in the animal now under
our notice, the matter is managed otherwise. The

COMPENSATION. 201

same intention is mechanically effectuated; but by a
mechanism of a different kind. The animal of which
I speak, is an amphibious quadruped, which our au-
thors call the alopecias, or sea fox. The intestine is
straight from one end to the other : but in this straight,
and consequently short intestine, is a winding, cork-
screw, spiral passage, through which, the food, not
without several circumvolutions, and in fact by a
long rout, is conducted to its exit. Here the short-
ness of the gut is compensated by the obliquity of
the perforation.

IX. But the works of the Deity are known by ex-
pedients. Where we should look for absolute des-
titution; where we can reckon up nothing but wants;
some contrivance always comes in to supply the pri-
vation. A snail, without wTings, feet, or thread,
climbs up the stalks of plants, by the sole aid of a vis-
cid humour discharged from her skin. She adheres
to the stems, leaves, and fruits of plants, by means of
a sticking plaster. A muscle, which might seem,
by its helplessness, to lie at the mercy of every wave
that went over it, has the singular powrer of spinning,
strong, tendinous threads, by which she moors her
shell to rocks and timbers. A cockle, on the con-
trary, by means of its stiff tongue, works for itself a
shelter in the sand. The provisions of nature extend
to cases the most desperate. A lobster has a diffi-
culty in its constitution so great, that one could hardly
conjecture before-hand how nature would dispose of
it. In most animals, the skin grows with their
growth. If, instead of a soft skin, there be a shell,
still it admits of a gradual enlargement. If the shell,
as in the tortoise, consist of several pieces, the acces-
sion of substance is made at the sutures. Bivalve
shells grow bigger by receiving an accretion at their
edge: it is the same with spiral shells at their mouth.
The simplicity of their form admits of this. But the

2 B

302 COMPENSATION.

lobster's shell being applied to the limbs of the body,
as well as to the body itself, allows not of either of the
modes of growth which are observed to take place in
other shells. Its hardness resists expansion; and its
complexity renders it incapable of increasing its size
by addition of substance to its edge. How then was
the growth of the lobster to be provided for? Was
room to be made for it in the old shell, or was it to
be successively fitted with new ones? If a change of
shell became necessary, how was the lobster to ex-
tricate himself from his present confinement? How
was he to uncase his buckler, or draw his legs out of
his boots? The process, which fishermen have ob-
served to take place, is as follows. At certain sea-
sons, the shell of the lobster grows soft; the animal
swells its body; the seams open, and the claws burst
at the joints. When the shell is thus become loose
upon the body, the animal makes a second effort, and
by a tremulous, spasmodic motion, casts it off. In
this state the liberated, but defenceless, fish, retires
into holes in the rock. The released body now sud-
denly pushes its growth. In about eight- and-forty
hours, a fresh concretion of humour upon the sur-
face, i. e. a new shell, is formed, adapted in every
part to the increased dimensions of the animal. This
wonderful mutation is repeated every year.

If there be imputed defects without compensation,
I should suspect that they were defects only in ap-
pearance. Thus, the body of the sloth has often been
reproached for the slowness of its motions, which
has been attributed to an imperfection in the forma-
tion of its limbs. But it ought to be observed, that
it is this slowness, which alone suspends the voracity
of the animal. He fasts during his migration from
one tree to another; and this fast may be necessary
for the relief of his over-charged vessels, as well as to
allow time for the concoction of the mass of coarse

COMPENSATION. 20*

and hard food which he has taken into his stomach.
The tardiness of his pace seems to have reference to
the capacity of his organs, and to his propensities with
respect to food; h. e. is calculated to counteract the
effects of repletion.

Or there may be cases, in which a defect is arti-
ficial, and compensated by the very cause which pro-
duces it. Thus the sheep, in the domesticated state
in which we see it, is destitute of the ordinary means
of defence or escape; is incapable either of resistance
or flight. But this is not so with the wild animal.
The natural sheep is swift and active: and, if it lose
these qualities when it comes under the subjection of
man, the loss is compensated by his protection.
Perhaps there is no species of quadruped whatever,
which suffers so little as this does, from the depreda-
tion of animals of prey.

For the sake of making our meaning better un-
derstood, we have considered this business of com-
pensation under certain particularities of constitu-
tion, in which it appears to be most conspicuous.
This view of the subjest necessarily limits the in-
stances to single species of animals. But there are
compensations, perhaps, not less certain, which ex-
tend over large classes, and to large portions, of liv-
ing nature.

I. In quadrupeds, the deficiency of teeth is usually
compensated by the faculty of rumination. The
sheep, deer, and ox tribe, are without fore teeth in
the upper jaw. These ruminate. The horse and
ass are furnished with teeth in the upper jaw, and do
not ruminate. In the former class the grass and hay
descend into the stomach, nearly in the state in which
they are cropped from the pasture, or gathered from
the bundle. In the stomach they are softened by the
gastric juice, which in these animals is unusually co-
pious. Thus softened, and rendered tender, they are

204 COMPENSATION.

returned a second time to the action of the mouthy
where the grinding teeth complete at their leisure
the trituration which is necessary, but which was
before left imperfect. I say the trituration which is
necessary; for it appears from experiments that the
gastric fluid of sheep, for example, has no effect in
digesting plants, unless they have been previously
masticated; that it only produces a slight maceration,
nearly as common water would do in a like degree of
heat: but that, when once vegetables are reduced to
pieces by mastication, the fluid then exerts upon them
its specific operation. Its first effect is to soften them,
and to destroy their natural consistency: it then
goes on to dissolve them; not sparing even the
toughest parts, such as the nerves of the leaves*.

I think it very probable that the gratification also
of the animal is renewed and prolonged by this fa-
culty. Sheep, deer, and oxen, appear to be in a state
of enjoyment whilst they are chewing the cud. It
is then, perhaps, that they best relish their food.

II. In birds, the compensation is still more strik-
ing. They have no teeth at all. What have they
then to make up for this severe want:? I speak of
graminivorous and herbivorous birds ; such as com*-
mon fowls, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigeons, &x. for
it is concerning these alone that the question need
be asked. All these are furnished with a peculiar
and most powerful muscle, called the gizzard; the
inner coat of which is fitted up with rough plaits,
which, by a strong friction against one another,
break and grind the hard aliment, as effectually, and
by the same mechanical action, as a coffee-mill would
do. It has been proved by the most correct expe-
riments, that the gastric juice of these birds will not
operate upon the entire grain; not even when softened

* Spal. Diss. III. sec. cxl.

COMPENSATION. 505

by. water or macerated in the crop. Therefore with-
out a grinding machine within its body; without the
trituration of the gizzard; a chicken would have
starved upon a heap of corn. Yet why should a bill
and a gizzard go together? Why should a gizzard
never be found where there are teeth ?

Nor does the gizzard belong to birds as such.
A gizzard is not found in birds of prey. Their food
requires not to be ground down in a mill. The com-
pensatory contrivance goes no further than the neces-
sity. In both classes of birds, however, the digestive
organ within the body, bears a strict and mechanical
relation to the external instruments for procuring
food. The soft membranous stomach, accompanies
the hooked, notched, beak; the short, muscular legs;
the strong, sharp, crooked talons: the cartilaginous
stomach, attends that conformation of bill and toes,
which restrains the bird to the picking of seeds or the
cropping of plants.

III. But to proceed with our compensations. A
very numerous and comprehensive tribe of terres-
trial animals are entirely without feet ; yet locomo-
tive; and, in a very considerable degree, swift in their
motion. How is the want of feet compensated? It
is done by the disposition of the muscles and fibres
of the trunk. In consequence of the just collocation,
and by means of the joint action of longitudinal and
annular fibres, that is to say, of strings and rings, the
body and train of reptiles are capable of being reci-
procally shortened and lengthened, drawn up and
stretched out. The result of this action is a progres-
sive, and, in some cases, a rapid movement of the
whole body, in any direction to which the will of
the animal determines it. The meanest creature is
a collection of wonders. The play of the rings in
an earth-worm, as it crawls; the nndulatory motion
propagated along the body ; the beards or prickles*

306 COMPENSATION.

with which the annuli are armed, and which the ani-
mal can either shut up close to its body, or let out to
lay hold of the roughnesses of the surface upon which
it creeps; and, the power arising from all these, of
changing its place and position, affords, when com-
pared with the provisions for motion in other animals,
proofs of new and appropriate mechanism. Suppose
that we had never seen an animal move upon the
ground without feet, and that the problem was, mus-
cular action, i. e. reciprocal contraction and relaxa-
tion being given, to describe how such an animal
might be constructed, capable of voluntarily chang-
ing place. Something, perhaps, like the organiza-
tion of reptiles, might have been hit upon by the
ingenuity of an artist; or might have been exhibited
in an automaton, by the combination of springs, spi-
ral wires, and ringlets : but to the solution of the
problem would not be denied, surely, the praise of in-
vention and of successful thought; least of all could
it ever be questioned, whether intelligence had been
employed about it, or not.

[ 2or 3

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES TQ
INANIMATE NATURE.

WE have already considered relation, and
under different views; but it was the relation of
parts to parts, of the parts of an animal to other parts
of the same animal, or of another individual of the
same species.

But the bodies of animals hold, in their constitution
and properties, a close and important relation to
natures altogether external to their own; to inanimate
substances, and to the specific qualities of these, e. g.
they hold a strict relation to the elements by which
they are surrounded.

I. Can it be doubted, whether the ivings of
birds bear a relation to air, and the fins of fish ta
water? They are instruments of motion, severally
suited to the properties of the medium in which the
motion is to be performed: which properties are
different. Was not this difference contemplated,
when the instruments were differently constituted?

II. The structure of the animal ear depends for
its use not simply upon being surrounded by a
fluid, but upon the specific nature of that fluid.
Every fluid would not serve: its particles must
repel one another; it must form an elastic medium :
for it is by the successive pulses of such a medium,
that the undulations excited by the sounding body
are carried to the organ; that a communication is
formed between the object and the sense; which

208 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

must be done, before the internal machinery of the
ear, subtile as it is, can act at all.

HI. The organs of speech, and voice, and respira-
tion, are, no less than the ear, indebted for the
success of their operation, to the peculiar qualities
of the fluid, in which the animal is immersed. They,
therefore, as well as the ear, are constituted upon the
supposition of such a fluid, i. e. of a fluid with such
particular properties, being always present. Change
the properties of the fluid, and the organ cannot act:
change the organ, and the properties of the fluid
would be lost. The structure therefore of our
organs, and the properties of our atmosphere, are
made for one another. Nor does it alter the relation,
whether you allege the organ to be made for the
element, (which seems the most natural way of con-
sidering it,) or the element as prepared for the organ.

IV. But there is another fluid with which we
have to do; with properties of its own ; with laws of
acting, and of being acted upon, totally different from
those of air or water: — and that is light. To this new,
this singular element; to qualities perfectly peculiar,
perfectly distinct and remote from the qualities of
any other substance with which we are acquainted,
an organ is adapted, an instrument is correctly adjust-
ed, not less peculiar amongst the parts of the body,
not less singular in its form, and, in the substance of
which it is composed, not less remote from the
materials, the model, and the analogy of any other
part of the animal frame, than the element to which
it relates, is specific amidst the substances with which
we converse. If this does not prove appropriation, I
desire to know what would prove it.

Yet the element of light and the organ of vision,
however related in their office and use, have no con-
nection whatever in their original. The action of
rays of light upon the surfaces of animals has no

TO INANIMATE NATURE. *<*

tendency to breed eyes in their heads. The sun
might shine forever upon living bodies without the
smallest approach towards producing the sense of
sight. On the other hand also, the animal eye does
not generate or emit light.

V. Throughout the universe there is a wonderful
proportioning of one thing to another. The size
of animals, of the human animal especially, when
considered with respect to other animals, or to the
plants which grow around him, is such, as a regard to
his conveniency would have pointed out. A giant or
a pigmy could not have milked goats, reaped corn,
or mowed grass; we may add, could not have rode a
horse, trained a vine, shorn a sheep, with the same
bodily ease as we do, if at all. A pigmy would have
been lost amongst rushes, or carried off by birds of
prey.

It may be mentioned likewise, that, the model and
the materials of the human body being what they are,
a much greater bulk would have broken down by
its own weight. The persons of men, who much
exceed the ordinary stature, betray this tendency.

VI. Again; and which includes a vast variety of
particulars, and those of the greatest importance,
how close is the suitableness of the earth and sea to
their several inhabitants; and of these inhabitants
to the places of their appointed residence ?

Take the earth as it is; and consider the corres-
pondency of the powers of its inhabitants with the
properties and condition of the soil which they
tread. Take the inhabitants as they are ; and consider
the substances which the earth yields for their use.
They can scratch its surface, and its surface supplies
all which they want. This is the length of their
faculties; and such is the constitution of the globe,
and their own, that this is sufficient for all their
occasions.

2 £

210 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES

When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land
to water, we pass through a great change; but an
adequate change accompanies us of animal forms and
functions, of animal capacities and wants, so that
correspondency remains. The earth in its nature is
very different from the sea, and the sea from the
earth ; but one accords with its inhabitants, as
exactly as the other.

VII. The last relation of this kind which I shall
mention is that of sleep to night. And it appears to
me to be a relation which was expressly intended.
Two points are manifest: first, that the animal
frame requires sleep; secondly, that night brings
with it a silence, and a cessation of activity, which
allows of sleep being taken without interruption, and
without loss. Animal existence is made up of action
and slumber: nature has provided a season for each.
An animal, which stood not in need of rest, would
always live in daylight. An animal, which, though
made for action, and delighting in action, must
have its strength repaired by sleep, meets by its
constitution the returns of day and night. In the
human species for instance, were the bustle, the
labour, the motion of life, upheld by the constant
presence of light, sleep could not be enjoyed with-
out being disturbed by noise, and without expense
of that time, which the eagerness of private interest
would not contentedly resign. It is happy therefore
for this part of the creation, I mean that it is
conformable to the frame and wants of their consti-
tution, that nature, by the very disposition of her
elements, has commanded, as it were, and imposed
upon them, at moderate intervals, a general in-
termission of their toils, their occupations, and
pursuits.

But it is not for man, either solely or principally,
that night is made. Inferior, but less perverted

TO INANIMATE NATURE. %1X

natures, taste its solace, and expect its return, with
greater exactness and advantage than he does. I have
often observed, and never observed but to admire, the
satisfaction no less than the regularity, with which
the greatest part of the irrational world yield to
this soft necessity, this grateful vicissitude; how
comfortably, the birds of the air, for example,
address themselves to the repose of the evening ;
with what alertness they resume the activity of the
day.

Nor does it disturb our argument to confess, that
certain species of animals are in motion during the
night, and at rest in the day. With respect even to
them it is still true, that there is a change of condition
in the animal, and an external change corresponding
with it. There is still the relation, though inverted.
The fact is, that the repose of other animals sets
these at liberty, and invites them to their food or
their sport.

If the relation of sleep to night, and, in some
instances, its converse, be real, w7e cannot reflect
without amazement upon the extent to which it
carries us. Day and night are things close to us :
the change applies immediately to our sensations : of
all the phenomena of nature, it is the most familiar
to our experience : but, in its cause, it belongs to the
great motions which are passing in the heavens.
Whilst the earth glides round her axle, she ministers
to the alternate necessities of the animals dwelling
upon her surface, at the same time that she obeys the
influence of those attractions, which regulate the
order of many thousand worlds. The relation there-
fore of sleep to night, is the relation of the inhabi-
tants of the earth to the rotation of their globe;
probably it is more: it is a relation to the system, of
which that globe is a part ; and, still further, to the
congregation of systems, of which theirs is only one.

212 THE RELATION OF ANIMATED BODIES, Sec.

If this account be true, it connects the meanest indi-
vidual with the universe itself; a chicken roosting
upon its perch, with the spheres revolving in the
firmament.

But if any one object to our representation, that the
succession of day and night, or the rotation of the
earth upon which it depends, is not resolvable into
central attraction, we will refer him to that which
certainly is, — to the change of the seasons. Now
the constitution of animals susceptible of torpor,
bears a relation to winter, similar to that which
sleep bears to night. Against not only the cold, but
the want of food, which the approach of winter
induces, the preserver of the world has provided, in
many animals by migration, in many others by torpor.
As one example out of a thousand, the bat, if it did
not sleep through the winter, must have starved, as
the moths and flying insects, upon which it feeds,
disappear. But the transition from summer to winter
carries us into the very midst of physical astronomy,
that is to say, into the midst of those laws which
govern the solar system at least, and probably all the
heavenly bodies. ,

211

CHAPTER XVIII.

INSTINCTS.

1HE order may not be very obvious, by
which I place instincts next to relations. But I
consider diem as a species of relation. They contri-
bute, along with the animal organization, to a joint
effect, in which view they are related to that organiza-
tion. In many cases they refer from one animal to
another animal: and when this is the case, become
strictly relations in a second point of view.

An instinct is a propensity prior to experience,
and independent of instruction. We contend, that
it is by instinct that the sexes of animals seek each
other; that animals cherish their offspring; that the
young quadruped is directed to the teat of its dam ;
that birds build their nests and brood with so much
patience upon their eggs ; that insects which do not
sit upon their eggs, deposit them in those particular
situations, in which the young, when hatched, find
their appropriate food; that it is instinct, which
carries the salmon, and some other fish, out of the
sea into rivers, for the purpose of shedding their
spawn in fresh water.

We may select out of this catalogue the incuba-
tion of eggs. I entertain no doubt, but that a couple
of sparrows hatched in an oven, and .kept separate
from the rest of their species, would proceed as other
sparrows do, in every office which related to the pro-
duction and preservation of their brood. Assuming
this fact, the thing is inexplicable upon any other

214 INSTINCTS.

hypothesis, than that of an instinct, impressed upon
the constitution of the animal. For, first, what should
induce the female bird to prepare a nest before she
lays her eggs? It is in vain to suppose her to be pos-
sessed of the faculty of reasoning; for no reasoning
will reach the case. The fullness or distention which
she might feel in a particular part of her body, from
the growth and solidity of the egg within her, could
not possibly inform her, that she was about to pro-
duce something, which, when produced, was to be
preserved and taken care of. Prior to experience,
there was nothing to lead to this inference, or to this
suspicion. The analogy was all against it; for. in
every other instance, what issued from the body was
cast out and rejected.

But, secondly, let us suppose the egg to be pro-
duced into day : How should birds know that their
eggs contain their young; there is nothing either in
the aspect, or in the internal composition of an egg,
which could lead even the most daring imagination
to a conjecture, that it was hereafter to turn out, from
under its shell, a living perfect bird. The form of
the egg bears not the rudiments of a resemblance to
that of the bird. Inspecting its contents, we find
still less reason, if possible, to look for the result
which actually takes place. If we should go so far,
as, from the appearance of order and distinction in the
disposition of the liquid substances which we noticed
in the egg, to guess that it might be designed for
the abode and nutriment of an animal, (which would
be a very bold hypothesis,) we should expect a tad-
pole dabbling in the slime, much rather than a dry,
winged, feathered creature; a compound of parts and
properties impossible to be used in a state of confine-
ment in the eggy and bearing no conceivable relation,
either in quality or material, to any thing observed in
it. From the white of an egg, would any one look

INSTINCTS. 315

for the feather of a goldfinch? or expect from a sim-
ple uniform mucilage, the most complicated of all
machines, the most diversified of all collections of
substances? nor would the process of incubation, for
some time at least, lead us to suspect the event.
Who that saw red streaks, shooting in the fine mem-
brane which divides the white from the yolk, would
suppose that these were about to become bones and
limbs? Who, that espied two discoloured points first
making their appearance in the cicatrix, would have
had the courage to predict, that these points were to
grow into the heart and head of a bird? It is difficult
to strip the mind of its experience. It is difficult to
resuscitate surprise, when familiarity has once laid the
sentiment asleep. But could we forget all that we
know, and which our sparrows never knew, about
oviparous generation; could we divest ourselves of
every information, but what we derived from reason-
ing upon the appearances or quality discovered in the
objects presented to us, I am convinced that Harle-
quin coming out of an egg upon the stage, is not
more astonishing to a child, than the hatching of a
chicken both would be, and ought to be, to a philo*
sopher.

But admit the sparrow by some means to know,
that within that egg was concealed the principle of a
future bird, from what chymist was she to learn, that
•warmth was necessary to bring it to maturity, or that
the degree of warmth, imparted by the temperature of
her own body, was the degree required ?

To suppose, therefore, that the female bird acts in
this process from a sagacity and reason of her own,
is to suppose her to arrive at conclusions, which there
are no premises to justify. If our sparrow, sitting
upon her eggs, expect young sparrows to come out
of them, she forms, I will venture to say, a wild and
*xtravagent expectation, in opposition to present ap-

216 INSTINCTS.

pearances, and to probability. She must have pene-
trated into the order of nature, further than any
faculties of ours will carry us : and it hath been well
observed, that this deep sagacity, if it be sagacity,
subsists in conjunction with great stupidity, even in
relation to the same subject. " A chymical opera-
tion," says Addison, " could not be followed with
greater art or diligence, than is seen in hatching a
chicken: yet is the process carried on without the
least glimmering of thought or common sense. The
hen will mistake a piece of chalk for an egg; is in-
sensible of the increase or diminution of their num-
ber; does not distinguish between her own, and those
of another species; is frightened when her supposi-
tious breed of ducklings take the water."

But it will be said, that what reason could not do
for the bird, observation, or instruction, or tradition
might. Now if it be true, that a couple of sparrows
brought up from the first in a state of separation from
all other birds, would build their nest, and brood upon
their eggs, then there is an end of this solution*
What can be the traditionary knowledge of a chicken
hatched in an oven?

Of young birds taken in their nests, a few species
breed, when kept in cages; and they which do so,
build their nests nearly in the same manner as in the
wild state, and sit upon their eggs. This is sufficient
to prove an instinct, without having recourse to ex-
periments upon birds, hatched by artificial heat, and
deprived, from their birth, of all communication with
their species : for we can hardly bring ourselves to
believe, that the parent bird informed her unfledged
pupil of the history of her gestation, her timely pre-
paration of a nest, her exclusion of the eggs, her long
incubation, and of the joyful eruption at last of her
expected offspring: all which the bird in the cage

INSTINCTS. 21/

must have learnt in her infancy, if we resolve her con-
duct into institution.

Unless we will rather suppose that she remembers
her own escape from the egg; had attentively ob-
served the conformation of the nest in which she was
nurtured; and had treasured up her remarks for fu-
ture imitation. Which is not only extremely im-
probable, (for who that sees a brood of callow bLxls
in their nest, can believe that they are taking a plan
of their habitation ?) but leaves unaccounted for, one
principal part of the difficulty, " the preparatior of the
nest before the laying of the egg," This she could
not gain from observation in her infancy.

It is remarkable also, that the hen sits upon eggs,
which she has laid without any communication with
the male; and which are therefore necessarily unfruit-
ful. That secret she is not let into. Yet, if incu-
bation had been a subject of instruction or of tradition,
it should seem that this distinction would have formed
part of the lesson : whereas the instinct of nature is
calculated for a state of nature; the exception, here
alluded to, taking place, chiefly, if not solely, amongst
domesticated fowls, in which nature is forced out of
her course.

There is another case of oviparous ceconomy,
which is still less likely to be the effect of education,
than it is even in birds, namely, that of moths and
butterflies, which deposite their eggs in the precise
substance, that of a cabbage for example, from which,
not the butterfly herself, but the caterpillar which is
to issue from her egg, draws its appropriate food.
The butterfly cannot taste the cabbage. Cabbage is
no food for her : yet in the cabbage, not by chance,
but studiously and electively, she lays her egg.
There are, amongst many other kinds, the willow ca-
terpillar, and the cabbage caterpillar; but we never
And upon a willow, the caterpillar which eats the cab-

2 F

SIS INSTINCTS.

bage ; nor the reverse. This choice, as appears to
me, cannot in the butterfly proceed from instruction.
She had no teacher in her caterpillar state. She ne-
ver knew her parent. I do not see, therefore, how
knowledge acquired by experience, if it ever were
such, could be transmitted from one generation to
another. There is no opportunity either for instruc-
tion or imitation. The parent race is gone before
the new brood is hatched. And, if it be original
reasoning in the butterfly, it is profound reasoning
indeed. She must remember her caterpillar state, its
tastes and habits; of which memory she shews no
signs whatever. She must conclude from analogy,
for here her recollection cannot serve her, that the
little round body, which drops from her abdomen,
will at a future period produce a living creature, not
like herself, but like the caterpillar which she re-
members herself once to have been. Under the in-
fluence of these reflections she goes about to make
provision for an order of things, which, she con-
cludes, will, some time or other, take place. And it
is to be observed, that not a few out of many, but
that all butterflies argue thus, all draw this conclu-
sion, all act upon it.

But suppose the address, and the selection, and the
plan, which we perceive in the preparations which
many irrational animals make for their young, to be
traced to some probable origin; still there is left to
be accounted for, that which is the source and foun-
dation of these phenomena, that which sets the whole
at work, the errapyii, the parental affection, which I
contend to be inexplicable upon any other hypo-
thesis than that of instinct.

For we shall, hardly, I imagine, in brutes, refer
their conduct towards their offspring to a sense of
duty, or of decency, a care of reputation, a compliance
with public manners, with public laws, or with rules

INSTINCTS. 219

of life built upon a long experience of their utility.
And all attempts to account for the parental affection
from association, I think, fail. With what is it as-
sociated ? Most immediately with the throes of par-
turition, that is, with pain, and terror, and disease.
The more remote, but not less strong association,
that which depends upon analogy, is all against it.
Every thing else, which proceeds from the body, is
cast away and rejected.

In birds, is it the egg which the hen loves? or is
it the expectation which she cherishes of a future
progeny, that keeps her upon her nest? What cause
has she to expect delight from her progeny ? Can any
rational answer be given to the question, why, prior
to experience, the brooding hen should look for plea-
sure from her chickens? It does not, I think, appear,
that the cuckoo ever knows her young: yet, in her
way, she is as careful in making provision for them,
as any other bird. She does not leave her egg in
every hole.

The salmon suffers no surmountable obstacle to
oppose her progress up the stream of fresh rivers.
And what does she do there ? She sheds a spawn,
which she immediately quits, in order to return to the
sea; and this issue of her body she never afterwards
recognizes in any shape whatever. Where shall we
find a motive for her efforts, and her perseverance ?
Shall we seek it in argumentation, or in instinct? The
violet crab of Jamaica performs a fatiguing march,
of some months continuance, from the mountains to
the sea side. When she reaches the coast, she casts
her spawn into the open sea; and sets out upon her
return home.

Moths and butterflies, as hath already been ob-
served, seek out for their eggs, those precise situa-
tions and substances, in which the offspring caterpillar
will find its appropriate food. That dear caterpillar

220 INSTINCTS.

the parent butterfly must never see. There are no
experiments to prove that she would retain any know-
ledge of it, if she did. How shall we account for her
conduct? I do not mean for her art and judgment in
selecting and securing a maintenance for her young,
but for the impulse upon which she acts. What
should induce her to exert any art, or judgment, or
choice, about the matter? The undisclosed grub, the
animal, which she is destined not to know, can hardly
be the object of a particular affection, if we deny the
influence of instinct. There is nothing, therefore,
left to her, but that, of which her nature seems inca-
pable, an abstract anxiety for the general preservation
of the species; a kind of patriotism; a solicitude lest
the butterfly race should cease from the creation.

Lastly, the principle of association will not explain
the discontinuance of the affection when the young
animal is grownup. Association, operating in its
usual way, would rather produce a contrary effect.
The object would become more necessary by habits
of society: whereas birds and beasts, after a certain
time, banish their offspring; disown their acquaint-
ance ; seem to have even no knowledge of the objects
which so lately engrossed the attention of their minds,
and occupied the industry and labour of their bodies.
This change, in different animals, takes place at dif-
ferent distances of time from the birth; but the time
always corresponds with the ability of the young ani-
mal to maintain itself ; never anticipates it. In the spar-
row tribe, when it is perceived that the young brood
can fly and shift for themselves, then the parents for-
sake them forever ; and, though they continue to live
together, pay them no more attention than they do to
other birds in the same flock*. I believe the same
thing is true of all gregarious quadrupeds.

• Goldsmith's Nat. Hist. vol. iv. p. 244.

INSTINCTS. 221

In this part of the case the variety of resources,
expedients, and materials, which animals of the same
species are said to have recourse to, under different
circumstances and when differently supplied, makes
nothing against the doctrine of instincts. The thing
which we want to account for is the propensity. The
propensity being there, it is probable enough that it
may put the animal upon different actions according
to different exigences. And this adaptation of re-
sources may look like the effect of art and consider-
ation, rather than of instinct; but still the propensity
is instinctive. For instance, suppose what is related
of the wood- pecker to be true, that, in Europe, she de-
posites her eggs in cavities, which she scoops out in
the trunks of soft or decayed trees, and in which ca-
vities the eggs lie concealed from the eye, and in some
sort safe from the hand, of man ; but that, in the forests
of Guinea and the Brasiis, which man seldom fre-
quents, the same bird hangs her nest to the twigs of
tall trees; thereby placing them out of the reach of
monkeys and snakes, i. e. that in each situation she
prepares against the danger which she has most occa-
sion to apprehend: suppose I say this to be true, and
to be alleged, on the part of the bird that builds
these nests, as evidence of a reasoning and distin-
guishing precaution, still the question returns, whence
the propensity to build at all?

Nor does parental affection accompany generation
by any universal law of animal organization, if such
a thing were intelligible. Some animals cherish their
progeny with the most ardent fondness, and the most
assiduous attention; others entirely neglect them :
and this distinction always meets the constitution of
the young animal, with respect to its wants and ca-
pacities. In many, the parental care extends to the
young animal; in others, as in all oviparous fish, it is
confined to the e^, and even, as to that, to the dis-

m, INSTINCTS.

posal of it in its proper element. Also, as there is
generation without parental affection, so is there pa-
rental instinct, or what exactly resembles it, without
generation. In the bee tribe, the grub is nurtured
neither by the father nor the mother, but by the neu-
tral bee. Probably the case is the same with ants.

I am not ignorant of a theory, which resolves in-
stinct into sensation; which asserts, that what ap-
pears to have a view and relation to the future, is the
result only of the present disposition of the animal's
body, and of pleasure or pain experienced at the
time. Thus the incubation of eggs is accounted for
by the pleasure which the bird is supposed to receive
from the pressure of the smooth convex surface of
the shells against the abdomen, or by the relief, which
the mild temperature of the egg may afford to the heat
of the lower part of the body, which is observed at
this time to be increased beyond its usual state. This
present gratification is the only motive with the hen
for sitting upon her nest: the hatching of the chickens
is, with respect to her, an accidental consequence.
The affection of viviparous animals for their young,
is in like manner solved by the relief, and perhaps the
pleasure, which they receive from giving suck.
The young animal's seeking, in so many instances,
the teat of its dam, is explained from the sense of
smell, which is attracted by the odour of the milk.
The salmon's urging its wa}^ up the stream of fresh
water rivers, is attributed to some gratification or re-
freshment, which, in this particular state of the fish's
body, she receives from the change of element. Now
of this theory it may be said,

First, that, of the cases which require solution,
there are few, to which it can be applied with tole-
rable probability; — that there are none, to which it
can be applied without strong objections, furnished
bv the circumstances of the case. The attention of

INSTINCTS. 22S

the cow to its calf, and of the ewe to its lamb, appear
to be prior to their sucking. The attraction of the
calf or lamb to the teat of the dam is not explained by
simply referring it to the sense of smell. What
made the scent of the milk so agreeable to the lamb
that it should follow it up with its nose, or seek with
its mouth the place from which it proceeded? No ob-
servation, no experience, no argument could teach
the new dropped animal, that the substance, from
which the scent issued, was the material of its food.
It had never tasted milk before its birth. None of
the animals, which are not designed for that nourish-
ment, ever offer to suck, or to seek out any such
food. What is the conclusion, but that the suges-
cent parts of animals are fitted for their use, and the
knowledge of that use put into them ?

We assert, secondly, that, even as to the cases in
which the hypothesis has the fairest claim to consi-
deration, it does not at all lessen the force of the ar-
gument for intention and design. The doctrine of
instincts, is that of appetencies, superadded to the
constitution of an animal, for the effectuating of a
purpose beneficial to the species. The above stated
solution would derive these appetencies from organ-
ization; but then this organization is not less spe-
cifically, not less precisely, and, therefore, not less
evidently adapted to the same ends, than the appeten-
cies themselves would be upon the old hypothesis.
In this way of considering the subject, sensation sup-
plies the place of foresight: but this is the effect of
contrivance on the part of the Creator. Let it be
allowed, for example, that the hen is induced to brcod
upon her eggs by the enjoyment or relief, which, in
the heated state of her abdomen, she experiences
from the pressure of round smooth surfaces, or from
the application of a temperate warmth. How comes
this extraordinary heat or itching, or call it what ycu

224 INSTINCTS.

will, which you suppose to be the cause of the bird's
inclination, to be felt, just at the time when the in-
clination itself is wanted; when it tallies so exactly
with the internal constitution of the egg, and with the
help which that constitution requires in order to
bring it to maturity? In my opinion, this solution,
if it be accepted as to the fact, ought to increase, ra-
ther than otherwise, our admiration of the contri-
vance. A gardener lighting up his stoves, just when
he wants to force his fruit, and when his trees re-
quire the heat, gives not a more certain evidence of
design. So again; when a male and female sparrow
come together, they do not meet to confer upon the
expediency of perpetuating their species. As an ab-
stract proposition, they care not the value of a barley
corn whether the species be perpetuated, or not.
They follow their sensations; and all those conse-
quences ensue, which the wisest counsels could have
dictated, which the most solicitous care of futurity,
which the most anxious concern for the sparrow
world, could have produced. But how do these con-
sequences ensue? The sensations, and the constitu-
tion upon which they depend, are as manifestly di-
rected to the purpose which we see fulfilled by them;
and the train of intermediate effects, as manifestly
laid and planned with a view to that purpose, that is
to say, design is as completely evinced by the pheno-
mena, as it would be, even if we suppose the opera-
tions to begin, or to be carried on, from what some
will allow to be alone properly called instincts, that is,
from desires directed to a future end, and having no
accomplishment or gratification distinct from the at-
tainment of that end.

In a word; I should say to the patrons of this opi-
nion, Be it so: be it, that those actions of animals
which we refer to instinct, are not gone about with
any view to their consequences, but that they are at-

INSTINCTS. 325

tended in the animal with a present gratification, and
are pursued for the sake of that gratification alone;
what does all this prove, but that the prospection,
which must be somewhere, is not in the animal, but
in the Creator?

In treating of the parental affection in brutes, our
business lies rather with the origin of the principle,
than with the effects and expressions of it. Writers
recount these with pleasure and admiration. The
conduct of many kinds of animals towards their
young, has escaped no observer, no historian, of na-
ture. " How will they caress them," says Derham,
" with their affectionate notes; lull and quiet them
with their tender parental voice; put food into their
mouths; cherish, and keep them warm; teach them to
pick, and eat, and gather food for themselves; and,
in a word, perform the part of so many nurses, de-
puted by the sovereign Lord and preserver of the
world, to help such young and shiftless creatures?"
Neither ought it, under this head, to be forgotten,
how much the instinct costs the animal which feels
it ; how much a bird, for example, gives up, by sit-
ting upon her nest; how repugnant it is to her organ-
ization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal,
formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the
very season when every thing invites her abroad:
what is more; an animal delighting in motion, made
for motion, all whose motions are so easy and so
free, hardly a moment, at other times, at rest, is, for
many hours of many days together, fixed to her nest,
as close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and
wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that situa-
tion, but I recognise an invisible hand, detaining the
contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for a
purpose, as the event proves, the most worthy of the
sacrifice, the most important, the most beneficial.

2 c

226 INSTINCTS.

But the loss of liberty is not the whole of what the
procreant bird suffers. Harvey tells us, that he has
often found the female wasted to skin and bone by
sitting upon her eggs.

One observation more, and I will dismiss the sub-
ject. The pairing of birds, and the non-pairing of
beasts, forms a distinction, between the two classes,
which shews that the conjugal instinct is modified
with a reference to utility founded in the condition of
the offspring. In quadrupeds, the young animal
draws its nutriment from the body of the dam. The
male parent neither does, nor can, contribute any part
to its sustentation. In the feathered race, the young
bird is supplied by an importation of food, to procure
and bring home which, in a sufficient quantity for the
demand of a numerous brood, requires the industry
of both parents. In this difference we see a reason,
for the vagrant instinct of the quadruped, and for the
faithful love of the feathered mate.

I 227 ]

CHAPTER XIX.

OF INSECTS.

vVE are not writing a system of natural
history ; therefore, we have not attended to the classes,
into which the subjects of that science are distributed.
What we had to observe concerning different species
of animals, fell easily, for the most part, within the
divisions, which the course of our argument led us
to adopt. There remain, however, some remarks
upon the insect tribe, which could not properly be
introduced under any of these heads; and which
therefore we have collected into a chapter by them-
selves.

The structure, and the use of the parts, of insects,
are less understood than that of quadrupeds and birds,
not only by reason of their minuteness, or the mi-
nuteness of their parts, (for that minuteness we can,
in some measure, follow with glasses) but also, by
reason of the remoteness of their manners and modes
of life from those of larger animals. For instance;
Insects, under all their varieties of form, are endowed
with antenna ^ which is the name given to those
long feelers that rise from each side of the head; but
to what common use or want of the insect kind, a
provision so universal is subservient, has not yet been
ascertained; and it has not beeu ascertained, because
it admits not of a clear, or very probable, compari-
son, with any organs which we possess ourselves, or
with the organs of animals which resemble ourselves
in their functions and faculties, or with which we are

22S OF INSECTS.

better acquainted than we are with insects. We
want a ground of analogy. This difficulty stands in
our way as to some particulars in the insect constitu-
tion which we might wish to be acquainted with.
Nevertheless, there are many contrivances in the
bodies of insects, neither dubious in their use, nor
obscure in their structure, and mosf properly mecha-
nical. These form parts of our argument.

I. The elytra, or scaly wings of the genus of
scarabaeus or beetle, furnish an instance of this kind.
The true wing of the animal is a light transparent
membrane, finer than the finest gauze, and not unlike
it. It is also when expanded, in proportion to the
size of the animal, very large. In order to protect
this delicate structure, and, perhaps, also to preserve
it in a due state of suppleness and humidity, a strong,
hard, case is given to it, in the shape of the horny
wing which we call the elytron. When the animal
is at rest, the gauze wings lie folded up under this
impenetrable shield. When the beetle prepares for
flying, he raises the integument, and spreads out his
thin membrane to the air. And it cannot be
observed without admiration, what a tissue of
cordage, i. e. of muscular tendons, must run, ia
various and complicated, but determinate directions,
along this fine surface, in order to enable the animal,
either to gather it up into a certain precise form,
whenever it desires to place its wings under the
shelter which nature hath given to them; or to
expand again their folds, when wanted for action.

In some insects, the elytra cover the whole body;
in others, half; in others, only a small part of it;
but in all they completely hide and cover the true
wings. Also,

Many or most of the beetle species lodge in holes
in the earth, environed by hard, rough, substances,
and have frequently to squeeze their way through

OF INSECTS. 223

narrow passages ; in which situation, wings so
tender, and so large, could scarcely have escaped in-
jury, without both a firm covering to defend them,
and the capacity of collecting themselves up under its
protection.

II. Another contrivance, equally mechanical, and
equally clear, is the a%vl or borer fixed at the tails of
various species of files; and with which they pierce,
in some cases, plants; in others, wood; in others, die
skin and flesh of animals; in others, the coat of
the chrysalis of insects of a different species from
their own; and in others, even lime, mortar, and
stone. I need not add, that having pierced the sub-
stance, they deposit their eggs in the hole. The
descriptions, which naturalists give of this organ,
are such as the following. It is a sharp-pointed
instrument, which, in its inactive state, lies concealed
in the extremity of the abdomen, and which the
animal draws out at pleasure, for the purpose of
making a puncture in the leaves, stem, or bark of
the particular plant, which is suited to the nourish-
ment of its young. In a sheath, which divides
and opens whenever the organ is used, there is
inclosed, a compact, solid, dentated stem, along
which runs a gutter or groove, by which groove, after
the penetration is effected, the egg, assisted, in some
cases, by a peristaltic motion, passes to its destined
lodgment. In the oestrum or gadfly, the wimble
draws out like the pieces of a spy-glass; the last
piece is armed with three hooks, and is able to
bore throus;h the hide of an ox. Can anv thins:
more be necessary to display the mechanism, than
to relate the fact ?

III. The stings of insects, though for a different
purpose, are, in their structure, not unlike the
piercer. The sharpness to which the point in all of
them is wrought; the temper and firmness of the*

33* OF INSECTS,

substance of which it is composed ; the strength of
the muscles by which it is darted out, compared with
the smallness and weakness of the insect, and with
the soft or friable texture of the rest of the body ; are
properties of the sting to be noticed, and not a little to
be admired. The sting of a bee will pierce through a
goatskin glove. It penetrates the human skin more
readily than the finest point of a needle. The action
of the sting affords an example of the union of
chymistry and mechanism, such as, if it be not a
proof of contrivance, nothing is. First, as to the
chymistry ; how highly concentrated must be the
venom i which, in so small a quantity, can produce
such powerful effects? And in the bee wre may
observe, that this venom is made from honey, the
only food of the insect, but the last material from
which I should have expected, that an exalted poison
could, by any process or digestion whatsoever, have
been prepared. In the next place, with respect to
the mechanism, the sting is not a simple, but a
compound instrument. The visible sting, though
drawn to a point exquisitely sharp, is in strictness
only a sheath; for, near to the extremity, may be
perceived by the microscope two minute orifices,
from which orifices, in the act of stinging, and, as it
should seem, after the point of the main sting has
buried itself in the flesh, are launched out two subtile
rays, which may be called the true or proper stings,
as being those, through which the poison is infused
into the puncture already made by the exterior
sting. I have said that chymistry and mechanism
are here united: by which observation I meant,
that all this machinery would have been useless,
telum imbelle, if a supply of poison, intense in
quality, in proportion to the smallness of the drop,
had not been furnished to it by the chymical elabo-
ration which was carried on in the insect's body:

OF INSECTS. 2&1

and that, on the other hand, the poison, the result of
this process, could not have attained its effect, or
reached its enemy, if, when it was collected at the
extremity of the abdomen, it had not found there a
machinery, fitted to conduct it to the external
situations in which it was to operate, viz. an awl to
bore a hole, and a syringe to inject the fluid. Yet
these attributes, though combined in their action,
are independent in their origin. The venom does not
breed the sting; nor does the sting concoct the
venom.

IV. The. proboscis, with which many insects are
endowed, comes next in order to be considered. It
is a tube attached to the head of the animal. In the
bee, it is composed of two pieces, connected by a
joint : for, if it were constantly extended, it would be
too much exposed to accidental injuries: therefore, in
its indolent state, it is doubled up by means of the
joint, and in that position lies secure under a scaly-
penthouse. In many species of the butterfly, the
proboscis, when not in use, is coiled up like a watch-
spring. In the same bee, the proboscis serves the
office of the mouth, the insect having no other: and
how much better adapted it is, than a mouth would
be, for the collecting of the proper nourishment of the
animal, is sufficiently evident. The food of the bee is
the nectar of flowers; a drop of syrup, lodged deep in
the bottom of the corollas, in the recesses of the
petals, or down the neck of a monopetalous glove.
Into these cells the bee thrusts its long narrow
pump, through the cavity of which it sucks up this
precious fluid, inaccessible to every other approach.
The ringlets of which the proboscis of the bee is
composed, the muscles by which it is extended and
contracted, form so many microscopical wonders.
The agility also, with which it is moved, can hardly
fail to excite admiration. But it is enough for

2S2 GF INSECTS.

our purpose to observe in general, the suitableness of
the structure to the use, of the means to the end, and
especially the wisdom, by which nature has departed
from its most general analogy (for animals being
furnished with mouths is such) when the purpose
could be better answered by the deviation.

In some insects, the proboscis, or topgue, or
trunk, is shut up in a sharp-pointed sheath, which
sheath, being of a much liner texture than the
proboscis itself, as well as sharpened at the point,
pierces the substance which contains the food, and
then opens within the wound, to allow the inclosed
tube, through which the juice is extracted, to
perform its office. Can any mechanism be plainer
than this is; or surpass this ?

V. The metamorphosis of insects from grubs into
moths and flies, is an astonishing process. A hairy
caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly. Observe
the change. We have four beautiful wings, where
there were none before ; a tubular proboscis, in the
place of a mouth with jaws and teeth ; six long legs,
instead of fourteen feet. In another case, we see a
white, smooth, soft worm, turned into a black, hard,
crustaceous beetle, with gauze wings. These, as I
said, are astonishing processes, and must require, as
it should seem, a proportionably artificial apparatus.
The hypothesis which appears to me most probable
is, that, in the grub, there exist at the same time
three animals, one within another, all nourished by
the same digestion, and by a communicating circu-
lation ; but in different stages of maturity. The
latest discoveries, made by naturalists, seem to fa-
vour this supposition. The insect already equipped
with wings, is descried under the membranes both
of the worm and nymph. In some species, the pro-
boscis, the antennae, the limbs and wings of the fly,
have been observed to be folded up within the body

OF INSECTS. 253

of the caterpillar ; and with such niceity, as to occu-
py a small space only under the two first rings. This
being so, the outermost animal, which beside its
own proper character, serves as an integument to
the other two, being the furthest advanced, dies, as
we suppose, and drops off first. The second, the pu-
pa or chrysalis, then offers itself to observation. This
also, in its turn, dies ; its dead and brittle husk falls
to pieces, and makes way for the appearance of the
fly or moth. Now, if this be the case, or indeed
whatever explication be adopted, we have a prospec-
tive contrivance of the most curious kind : we have
organizations three deep, yet a vascular system,
which supplies nutrition, growth, and life, to all of
them together.

VI. Almost all insects are oviparous. Nature
keeps her butterflies, moths and caterpillars, locked
up during the winter in their egg state ; and we have
to admire the various devices, to which, if we may
so speak, the same nature hath resorted, for the se-
curity of the egg. Many insects inclose their eggs
in a silken web ; others cover them with a coat of
hair, torn from their own bodies ; some glue them
together ; and others, like the moth of the silkworm,
glue them to the leaves upon which they are deposi-
ted, that they may not be shaken off by the wind, or
washed away by rain : some again make incisions
into leaves, and hide an egg in each incision ; whilst
some envelope their eggs with a soft substance, which
forms the first aliment of the young animal; and some
again make a hole in the earth, and, having stored it
with a quantity of proper food, deposite their egg in
it. In all which we are to observe, that the expe-
dient depends, not so much upon the address of the
animal, as upon the physical resources of his con-
stitution.

2h

254 OF INSECTS.

The art also with which the young insect is coiled
tip in the egg, presents, where it can be examined,
a subject of great curiosity. The insect, furnished \
with all the members which it ought to have, is rolled
up into a form which seems to contract it into the least
possible space ; by which contraction, notwithstand-
ing the smallness of the egg, it has room enough in
its apartment, and to spare. This folding of the limbs
appears to me to indicate a special direction ; for, if
it were merely the effect of compression, the colloca-
tion of the parts would be more various than it is.
In the same species, I believe, it is always the same.

These observations belong to the whole insect tribe,
or to a great part of them. Other observations are
limited to fewer species ; but not, perhaps, less im-
portant or satisfactory.

I. The organization in the abdomen of the silk-
worm or spider, whereby these insects form their
thread, is as incontestably mechanical, as a wire-
drawer's mill. In the body of the silkworm are two
bags, remarkable for their form, position, and use.
They wind round the intestine ; when drawn out
they are ten inches in length, though the animal it-
self be only two. Within these bags, is collected a
glue ; and communicating with the bags, are two paps
or outlets, perforated, like a garter, by a number of
small holes. The glue or gum, being passed through
these minute apertures, forms hairs of almost imper-
ceptible fineness; and these hairs, when joined, com-
pose the silk which we wind off from the cone, in
which the silkworm has warpped itself up : in the
spider the web is formed of this thread. In both cases,
the extremity of the thread, by means of its adhesive
quality, is first attached by the animal to some ex-
ternal hold ; and the end being now fastened to a
point, the insect, by turning round its body, or by re-
ceding from that point, draws out the thread through

OF INSECTS. 255

the holes above described, by an operation, as hath
been observed, exactly similar to the drawing of
wire. The thread, like the wire, is formed by the
hole through which it passes. In one respect there
is a difference. The wire is the metal unaltered, ex-
cept in figure. In the animal process, the nature of
the substance is somewhat changed, as well as the
form : for, as it exists within the insect, it is a soft,
clammy, gum or glue. The thread acquires, it is
probable, its firmness and tenacity from the action of
the air upon its surface, in the moment of exposure :
and a thread so fine is almost all surface. This pro-
perty, however, of the paste, is part of the contrivance.

The mechanism itself consists of the bags, or re-
servoirs, into which the glue is collected, and of
the external holes communicating with these bags :
and the action of the machine is seen, in the forming
of a thread, as wire is formed, by forcing the material
already prepared, through holes of proper dimensions.
The secretion is an act too subtle for our disernment,
except as we perceive it by the produce. But one
thing answers to another : the secretory glands to
the quality and consistence required in the secreted
substance ; the bag to its reception. The outlets
and orifices are constructed, not merely for relieving
the reservoirs of their burthen, but for manufactur-
ing the contents into a form and texture, of great
external use, or rather indeed of future necessity, to
the life and functions of the insect.

II. Bees, under one character or other, have fur-
nished every naturalist with a set of observations.
I shall, in this place, confine myself to one; and
that is the relation which obtains between the wax
and the honey. No person, who has inspected a
bee-hive, can forbear remarking, how commodi-
ously the honey is bestowed in the comb; and
amongst other advantages, how effectually the fer-

256 OF INSECTS*

mentation of the honey is prevented by distributing
it into small cells. The fact is, that when the honey
is separated from the comb, and put into jars, it
runs into fermentation, with a much less degree of
heat than what takes place in a hive. This may be
reckoned a nicety: but independently of any nicety
in the matter, I would ask, what could the bee do
with the honey, if it had not the wax ? how, at least,
could it store it up for winter? The wax, therefore,
answers a purpose with respect to the honey; and the
honey constitutes that purpose with respect to the
wax. This is the relation between them. But the
two substances, though, together, of the greatest use,
and, without each other, of little, come from a differ-
ent origin. The bee finds the honey, but makes the
wax. The honey is lodged in the nectaria of flowers,
and probably undergoes little alteration; is merely
collected: whereas the wax is a ductile tenacious
paste, made out of a dry powder, not simply by
kneading it with a liquid, but by a digestive process
in the body of the bee. What account can be ren-
dered of facts so circumstanced, but that the animal,
being intended to feed upon honey, was, by a pecu-
liar external configuration, enabled to procure it ? that,
moreover, wanting the honey when it could not be
procured at all, it was further endued with the no
less neeesaary faculty of constructing repositories
for its preservation? which faculty, it is evident, must
depend, primarily, upon the capacity of providing
suitable materials. Two distinct functions go to
make up the ability. First, the power in the bee,
with respect to wax, of loading the farina of flowers
upon its thighs: microscopic observers speak of the
spoon- shaped appendages, with which the thighs of
bees are beset for this very purpose: but inasmuch as
the art and will of the bee may be supposed to be
concerned in this operation, there is, secondly, that

OF INSECTS. 35?

which doth not rest in art or will, a digestive faculty
which converts the loose powder into a stiff substance.
This is a just account of the honey and the honey
comb: and this account, through every part, carries
a creative intelligence along with it.

The sting also of the bee has this relation to the
honey, that it is necessary for the protection of a
treasure which invites so many robbers.

III. Our business is with mechanism. In the
panorpa tribe of insects, there is a forceps in the
tail of the male insect, with which he catches and
holds the female. Are a pair of pincers more
mechanical, than this provision, in their structure ? or
is any structure more clear and certain in its design?

IV. St. Pierre tells us,* that in a fly with six feet,
(I do not remember that he describes the species)
the pair next the head, and the pair next the tail,
have brushes at their extremities, with which the fly
dresses, as there may be occasion, the anterior or the
posterior part of its body; but that the middle pair
have no such brushes, the situation of these legs not
admitting of the brushes, if they were there, being
converted to the same use. This is a very exact
mechanical distinction.

V. If the reader, looking to our distributions of
science, wish to contemplate the chymistry, as well
as the mechanism of nature, the insect creation will
afford him an example. I refer to the light in the
tail of a glow -worm. Two points seem to be agreed
upon by naturalists concerning it: first, that it is
phosphoric; secondly, that its use is to attract the
male insect. The only thing to be inquired after,
is the singularity, if any such there be, in the
natural history of this animal, which should render
a provision of this kind more necessary for ity than

* Vol. i. p. 342.

258 OF INSECTS.

for other insects. That singularity seems to be the dif-
ference, which subsists between the male and the fe-
male; which difference is greater than what we find in
any other species of animal whatever. The glow-worm
is a female caterpillar; the male of which is a fly ;
lively, comparatively small, dissimilar to the female
in appearance; probably also as distinguished from
her in habits, pursuits, and manners, as he is unlike
in form and external constitution. Here then is the
adversity of the case. The caterpillar cannot meet
her companion in the air. The winged rover
disdains the ground. They might never therefore
be brought together, did not this radiant torch
direct the volatile mate to his sedentary female.

In this example we also see the resources of art
anticipated. One grand operation of chymistry is the
making of phosphorus ; and it was thought an inge-
nious device, to make phosphoric matches supply
the place of lighted tapers. Now this very thing is
done is the body of the glow-worm. The phospho-
rus is not only made, but kindled; and caused to emit
a steady and genial beam, for the purpose which is
here stated, and which I believe to be the true one.

VI. Nor is the last the only instance that entomo-
logy affords, in which our discoveries, or rather our
projects, turn out to be imitations of nature. Some
years ago, a plan was suggested, of producing pro-
pulsion by re-action in this way. By the force of a
steam engine, a stream of water was to be shot out of
the stern of a boat ; the impulse of which stream upon
the water in the river, was to push the boat itself
forward : it is, in truth, the principle by which sky-
rockets ascend in the air. Of the use or the practi-
cability of the plan I am not speaking; nor is it my
concern to praise its ingenuity; but it is certainly a
contrivance. Now, if naturalists are to be believed,
it is exactlv the device, which nature has made use of,

OF INSECTS. 259

for the motion of some species of aquatic insects.
The larva of the dragon fly, according to Adams,
swims by ejecting water from its tail; is driven for-
ward by the re-action of water in the pool upon the
current issuing in a direction backward from its
body.

VII. Again ; Europe has lately been surprised by
the elevation of bodies in the air by means of a bal-
loon. The discovery consisted in finding out a
manageable substance, which was, bulk for bulk,
lighter than air; and the application of the discovery
was, to make a body composed of this substance
bear up, along with its own weight, some heavier
body which was attached to it. This expedient, so
new to us, proves to be no other than what the au-
thor of nature has employed in the goss amir spider.
We frequently see this spider's thread floating in the
air, and extended from hedge to hedge, across a
road or brook of four or five yards width. The ani-
mal which forms the thread, has no wings where-
with to fly from one extremity to the other of this
line ; nor muscles to enable it to spring or dart to so
great a distance. Yet its creator hath laid for it a
path in the atmosphere; and after this manner.
Though the animal itself be heavier than air, the
thread which it spins from its bowels is specifically
> lighter. This is its balloon. The spider left to it-
| self would drop to the ground ; but, being tied to its
! thread, both are supported. We have here a very
: peculiar provision: and to a contemplative eye it is a
; gratifying spectacle, to see this insect wafted on her
thread, sustained by a levity not her own, and traver-
sing regions, which, if we examined only the body of
the animal, might seem to have been forbidden to its
nature.

.260 OF INSECTS.

I must now crave the reader's permission to in-
troduce into this place, for want of a better, an obser-
vation or two upon the tribe of animals, whether
belonging to land or water, which are covered by
shells.

I. The shells of snails are a wonderful, a mecha-
nical, and, if one might so speak concerning the
works of nature, an original contrivance. Other
animals have their proper retreats, their hybernacula
also or winter quarters, but the snail carries these
about with him. He travels with his tent; and this
tent, though, as was necessary, both light and thin, is
completely impervious either to moisture or air. The
young snail comes out of its tgg with the shell upon
its back ; and the gradual enlargement which the shell
receives, is derived from the slime excreted by the
animal's skin. Now the aptness of this excretion to
the purpose, its property of hardening into a shell,,
and the action, whatever it be, of the animal, where-
by it avails itself of its gift, and of the constitution of
its glands, (to say nothing of the work being com-
menced before the animal is born), are things, which,
can, with no probability, be referred to any other
cause than to express design; and that not on the part
of the animal alone, in which design, though it might
build the house, could not have supplied the material.
The will of the animal could not determine the qua-
lity of the excretion. Add to which, that the shell of
a snail, with its pillar and convolution, is a very ar-
tificial fabric; whilst a snail, as it should seem, is the
most numb and unprovided of all artificers. In the
midst of variety, there is likewise a regularity, which
would hardly be expected. In the same species of

OF INSECTS. 261

snail the number of turns is, usually, if not always,
the same. The sealing up of the mouth of the
shell by the snail, is also well calculated for its
warmth and security ; but the cerate is not of the
same substance with the shell.

II. Much of what has been observed of snails
belongs to shell fish and their shells, particularly to
those of the univalve kind; with the addition of two
remarks. One of which is upon the great strength
and hardness of most of these shells. I do not know,
whether, the weight being given, art can produce so
strong a case as are some of these shells. Which
defensive strength suits well with the life of an
animal, that has often to sustain the dangers of
a stormy element and a rocky bottom, as well as the
attacks of voracious fish. The other remark is,
upon the property, in the animal excretion, not
only of congealing, but of congealing or, as a
builder would call it, setting in water, and into a
cretaceous substance, firm and hard. This property
is much more extraordinary, and, chymically
speaking, more specific, than that of hardening in
the air; w7hich may be reckoned a kind of exsiccation,
like the drying of clay into bricks.

III. In the bivahe order of shell fish, cockles,
muscles, oysters, Sec. what contrivance can be so
simple or so clear, as the insertion, at the back, of a
tough, tendinous, substance, that becomes, at once,
the ligament which binds the two shells together, and
the hinge upon which they open and shut ?

IV. The shell of a lobster's tail, in its articulations
and overlappings, represents the jointed part of a coat
of mail; or rather, which I believe to be the truth*
a coat of mail is an imitation of a lobster's shell.
The same end is to be answered by both: the same
properties, therefore, are required in both, namely,
hardness and flexibility, a covering which may

2 i

.262. OF INSECTS.

guard the part without obstructing its motion. For
this double purpose, the, art of man, expressly
ex:ercised upon the subject, has not been able to
devise any thing better than Wjiat nature presents to
his observation. Is not this therefore mechanism,
which the mechanic, having a similar purpose in
view, adopts? Is the structure of a coat of mail to
be referred to art? Is the same structure of the
lobster, conducing to the same use, to be referred to
any thing less than art ?

Some, who may acknowledge the imitation, and
assent to the inference which we draw from it, in
the instance before us, may be disposed, possibly,
to ask, why such imitations are not more frequent
than they are', if it be true, as we allege, that the
same principle of intelligence, design, and mechanical
contrivance, was exerted ifi*ihe formation of natural
bodies, as we employ in the making of the various
instruments by which our purposes are served. The
answers to this question are, first, that it seldom
happens, that precisely the same purpose, and no
other, is pursued in any work which we compare of
nature and of art; secondly, that it still seldomer
happens, that we can imitate -nature, if we would.
Our materials and our workmanship are equally
deficient. Springs and wdres, and cork and leather,
produce a poor substitute for an arm or a hand. In
the example which we have selected, I mean of
a lobster's shell compared with a coat of mail, these
difficulties stand less in the way, than in almost
any other that can be assigned; and the consequence
is, as we .have seen, that art gladly borrows from
nature her contrivance, and imitates it closely.

OF INSECTS 263

But to return to insects. I think it is in this class,
of animals, above all others, especially \\ hen we take
in the multitude of species which the microscope
discovers, that we are struck with what Cicero has
called " the insatiable variety of nature." There
are said to be six thousand species of flies; seven
hundred and sixty butterflies; each different from all
the rest, (St. Pierre). The same writer tells us from
his own observation, that thirty-seven species of
winged insects, with distinctions well expressed,
visited a single strawberry plant in the course of
three weeks.* Ray observed, within the compass
of a mile or two of his own house, two hundred
kinds of butterflies, nocturnal and diurnal. He
likewise asserts, but, I think, without any grounds
of exact computation, that the number of species of
insects, reckoning all sorts of them, may not be
short of ten thousand, f And in this vast variety of
animal forms, (for the observation is not confined to
insects, though more applicable perhaps to them than
to any other class,) we are sometimes led to take
notice of the different methods, or rather of the
studiously diversified methods, by which one and the
same purpose is attained. In the article of breathing,
for example, which was to be provided for in some
way or other, beside the ordinary varieties of lungs,
gills, and breathing-holes, (for insects in general
respire, not by the mouth, but through holes in the
sides,) the nymphas of gnats have an apparatus to
raise their backs to the top of the water, and so take
breath. The hydrocanthari do the like by thrusting

* Vol. i. p. 3. f Wisd. of God, p. 23.

264 OF INSECTS.

their tails out of the water.* The maggot of the
eruca labra has a long tail, one part sheathed within
another, (but which it can draw out at pleasure,)
with a starry tuft at the end, by which tuft, when
expanded upon the surface, the insect both supports
itself in the water, and draws in the air which is
necessary. In the article of natural clothing, we have
the skins of animals invested with scales, hair,
feathers, mucus, froth ; or itself turned into a shell or
crust: in the no less necessary article of offence and
defence, we have teeth, talons, beaks, horns, stings,
prickles, with (the most singular expedient for the
same purpose) the power of giving the electric shock,
and, as is credibly related of some animals, of driving
away their pursuers by an intolerable foetor, or of
blackening the water through which they are pursued.
The consideration of these appearances might induce
us to believe, that variety itself, distinct from every
other reason, was a motive in the mind of the
Creator, or with the agents of his will.

To this great variety in organized life the Deity
has given, or perhaps there arises out of it, a
corresponding variety of animal appetites. For the
final cause of this we have not far to seek. Did
all animals covet the same element, retreat or food, it
is evident how much fewer could be supplied and
accommodated, than what at present live conveniently
together, and find a plentiful subsistence. What one
nature rejects, another delights in. Food, which is
nauseous to one tribe of animals, becomes, by that
very property which makes it nauseous, an alluring
dainty to another tribe. Carrion is a treat to dogs,
ravens, vultures, fish. The exhalations of corrupted
substances attract flies by crowds. Maggots revel in
putrefaction.

* Derham, p. 7.

C 265 ]

CHAPTER XX.

OF PLANTS.

I THINK a designed and studied mechan-
ism to be in general, more evident in animals, than in
plants: and it is unnecessary to dwell upon a weaker
argument, where a stronger is at hand. There are,
however, a few observations upon the vegetable king-
dom, which lie so directly in our way, that it would
be improper to pass them by without notice.

The one great intention of nature in the structure
of plants, seems to be the perfecting of the seed; and,
what is part of the same intention, the preserving of
it until it be perfected. This intention shews itself,
in the first place, by the care which appears to be
taken to protect and ripen, by every advantage which
can be given to them of situation in the plant, those
\ parts which most immediately contribute, to fructi-
ification, viz. the antherse, the stamina, and the stig-
imata. These parts are usually lodged in the centre,
the recesses, or the labyrinths of the flower; during
their tender and immature state, are shut up in the
stalk, or sheltered in the bud; as soon as they have
acquired firmness of texture sufficient to bear expo-
sure, and are ready to perform the important office
which is assigned to them, they are disclosed to the
light and air, by the bursting of the stem or the ex-
pansion of the petals: after which they have, in many
cases, by the very form of the flower during its blow,
the light and warmth reflected upon them from the
concave side of the cup. What is called also the

265 OF PLANTS.

sleep of plants, is the leaves or petals disposing them-
selves in such a manner as to shelter the young stem,
buds, or fruit. They turn up, or they fall down,
according as this purpose renders either change of
position requisite. In the growth of corn, whenever
the plant begins to shoot, the two upper leaves of the
stalk join together; embrace the ear; and protect it
till the pulp has acquired a certain degree of con-
sistency. In some water plants, the flowering and
fecundation are carried on ivitbin the stem, which
afterwards opens to let loose the impregnated seed*.
The pea or papilionaceous tribe inclose the parts of
fructification within a beautiful folding of the internal
blossom, sometimes called from its shape the boat or
keel; itself also protected under a penthouse formed
by the external petals. This structure is very arti-
ficial; and, what adds to the value of it though it may
diminish the curiosity, very general. It has also this
further advantage (and it is an advantage strictly me-
chanical) that all the blossoms turn their backs to the
wind, whenever the gale blows strong enough to en-
danger the delicate parts upon which the seed de-
pends. I have observed this a hundred times in a,
field of peas in blossom. It is an aptitude which re-
sults from the figure of the flower, and, as we have
said, is strictly mechanical; as much so, as the turn-
ing of a weather-board or tin cap upon the top of a
chimney. Of the poppy, and of many similar species
of flowers, the head, while it is growing, hangs down,
a rigid curvature in the upper part of the stem giving
to it that position; and in that position it is impene-
trable by rain or moisture. When the head has ac-
quired its size, and is ready to open, the stalk erects
itself, for the purpose, as it should seem, of present-
ing the flower, and, with the flower, the instruments

• Phil. Trans, part. ii. 17&6, p 60%

OF PLANTS. 367

of fructification, to the genial influence of the sun's
rays. This always struck me as a curious property;
and specifically, as well as originally, provided for in
the constitution of the plant: for, if the stem be only

nt by the weight of the head, how comes it to
.aighten itself when the head is the heaviest? These
"nstances shew the attention of nature to this princi-
pal object, the safety and maturation of the parts upon
which the seed depends.

In trees, especially in those which are natives of
colder climates, this point is taken up earlier. Many
of these trees (observe in particular the ash and the
horse chesnut) prodouce the embryos of the leaves
and flowers in one year, and bring them to perfec-
tion the following. There is a winter therefore to be
got over. Now what we are to remark is, how na-
ture has prepared for the trials and severities of that
season. These tender embryos, are, in the first place,
wrapped up with a compactness, which no art can imi-
tate : in which state, they compose what we call the
bud. This is not all. The bud itself is inclosed in
scales ; which scales are formed from the remains of
past leaves, and the rudiments of future ones. Nei-
ther is this the whole. In the coldest climates a
third preservative is added, by the bud having a coat
of gum or resin, which being congealed, resists
the strongest frosts. On the approach of warm wea-
ther this gum is softened, and ceases to be a hin-
drance to the expansion of the leaves and flowers.
All this care is part of that system of provisions which
has for its object and consummation, the production
and perfecting of the seeds.

The seeds themselves are packed up in a capsule,
a vessel composed of coats, which compared with
the rest of the flower, are strong and tough. From this
vessel projects a tube, through which tube the farina,
or some subtle fecundating effluvium that issues from

268 OF PLANTS.

it, is admitted to the seed. And here also occurs a
mechanical variety, accommodated to the different
circumstances under which the same purpose is7 to
be accomplished. In flowers which are erect, the
pistil is shorter than the stamina ; and the pollen,
shed from the antherae into the cup of the flower, is
catched in its descent by the head of the pistil, called
the stigma. But now is this managed when thefiowers
hang down, (as does the crown imperial, for instance,)
and in which position, the farina, in its fall, would be
carried from the stigma, and not towards it ? The
relative length of the parts is now inverted. The pis-
til in these flowers is usually longer, instead of shor-
ter, than the stamina, that its protruding summit may
receive the pollen as it drops to the ground. In some
cases, (as in the nigella,) where the shafts of the pis-
tils or styles are disproportionably long, they bend
down their extremities upon the antherse, that the ne-
cessary approximation may be effected.

But (to pursue this great work in its progress,)
the impregnation, to which all this machinery relates,
being completed, the other parts of the flower fade
and drop off, whilst the gravid seed-vessel, on the con-
trary, proceeds to encrease its bulk, always to a great,
and in some species, (in the gourd, for example, and
melon,) to a surprising comparative size ; assuming
in different plants an incalculable variety of forms,
but all evidently conducing to the security of the
seed. By virtue of this process, so necessary, but
so diversified, we have the seed, at length, in stone
fruits and nuts, incased in a strong shell, the shell it-
self inclosed in a pulp or husk, by which the seed
within is, or hath been, fed ; or, more generally (as
in grapes,oranges, and the numerous kinds of berries)
plunged overhead in a glutinous syrup, contained
within a skin or bladder : at other times (as in apples
and pears) embedded in the heart of a firm fleshy

OF PLANTS. 269

substance ; or (as in strawberries) pricked into the
surface of a soft pulp.

These and many more varieties exist in what we
call fruits.* In pulse, and grain, and grasses ; in
trees, and shrubs, and flowers ; the variety of the
seed-vessels is incomputable. We have the seeds (as
in the pea tribe) regularly disposed in parchment
pods, which, though soft and membranous, complete-
ly exclude the wet even in the heaviest rains ; the pod
also, not seldom (as in the bean) lined with a fine
down ; at other times (as in the senna) distended like
a blown bladder : or we have the seed enveloped in
wool (as in the cotton plant), lodged (as in pines)
between the hard and compact scales of a cone ; or
barricadoed (as in the artichoke and thistle) with
spikes and prickles ; in mushrooms, placed under a
penthouse ; in ferns, within slits in the back part of
the leaf; or (which is the most general organization
of all) we find them covered by strong, close, tuni-
cles, and attached to the stem according to an order
appropriated to each plant, as is seen in the several
kinds of grain, and of grasses.

In which enumeration what we have first to
notice is, unity of purpose under variety of

* From the conformation of fruits alone, one might be led, even with-
out experience, to suppose, that part of this provision was destined for
the utilities of animals. As limited to the plant, the provision itself
seems to go beyond its object. The flesh of an apple, the pulp of an
orange, the meat of a plum, " the fatness of the olive," appear to be
more than sufficient for the nourishing of the seed or kernel. The event
shews that this redundancy, if it be one, ministers to the support and gra-
tification of animal natures : and when we observe a provision to be
more than sufficient for one purpose, yet wanted for another purpose, it
is not unfair to conclude that both purposes were contemplated together,
Ic favours this view of the subject to remark, that fruits are not (which
they might have been) ready altogether, but that they ripen in succes-
sion throughout a greatpart of the year ; seme in summer; some in au-
tumn; that some require the slow maturation of the winter, and supply
the spring: also that the coldest fruits grow in the hotest places. Cu-
cumbers, pineapples, melons, are the natural produce of warm climates,
and contribute greatly, by their coolness, to the refreshment of the inha-
bitants of those countries.

2 K

270 OF PLANTS.

expedients. Nothing can be more single than the
design; more diversified than the means. Pellicles,
shells, pulps, pods, husks, skins, scales armed with
thorns, are all employed in prosecuting the same
intention. Secondly; we may observe, that, in all
these cases, the purpose is fulfilled within a just
and limited degree. We can perceive, that, if the
seeds of plants were more strongly guarded than
they are, their greater security would interfere with
other uses. Many species of animals would suffer,
and many perish, if they could not obtain access to
them. The plant would over-run the soil; or the
seed be wasted for want of room to sow itself. It
is, sometimes, as necessary to destroy particular
species of plants, as it is, at other times, to encourage
their growth. Here, as in many cases, a balance is to
be maintained between opposite uses. The provisions
for the preservation of seeds appear to be directed,
chiefly against the inconstancy of the elements, or the
sweeping destruction of inclement seasons. The
depredations of animals, and the injuries of accidental
violence, are allowed for in the abundance of the
increase. The result is, that, out of the many
thousand different plants which cover the earth, not
a single species, perhaps, has been lost since the
creation.

When nature has perfected her seeds, her next
care is to disperse them. The seed cannot answer
its purpose, while it remains confined in the capsule.
After the seeds therefore are ripened, the pericarpium
opens to let them out; and the opening is not like an
accidental bursting, but, for the most part, is
according to a certain rule in each plant. What I
have always thought very extraordinary, nuts and
shells, which we can hardly crack with our teeth,
divide and make way for the little tender sprout
which proceeds from the kernel. Handling the nut,

OF PLANTS. 371

I could hardly conceive how the plantule was ever
to get out of it. There are cases, it is said, in
which the seed-vessel by an elastic jerk, at the
moment of its explosion, casts the seed to a distance.
We all however know, that many seeds (those of
most composite flowers, as of the thistle, dandelion,
&x.) are endowed with what are not improperly
called w i ngs; that is, downy appendages, by which
they are enabled to float in the air, and are carried
oftentimes by the wind to great distances from the
plant which produces them. It is the swelling also of
this downy tuft within the seed-vessel, that seems to
overcome the resistance of its coats, and to open
a passage for the seed to escape.

But the constitution of seeds is still more admirable
than either their preservation or their dispersion. In
the body of the seed of every species of plant, or
nearly of every one, provision is made for two grand
purposes: first, for the safety of the germ; secondly,
for the temporary support of the future plant. The
sprout, as folded up in the seed, is delicate and brittle,
beyond any other substance. It cannot be touched
without being broken. Yet, in beans, peas, grass-
seeds, grain, fruits, it is so fenced on all sides, so
shut up and protected, that, whilst the seed itself is
rudely handled, tossed into sacks, shovelled into
heaps, the miniature plant, the sacred particle,
remains unhurt. It is wonderful also, how long many
kinds of seed, by the help of their integuments, and
perhaps of their oils, stand out against decay. A grain
of mustard seed has been known to lie in the earth for
a hundred years; and, as soon as it had acquired a
favourable situation, to shoot as vigorously as if just
gathered from the plant. Then, as to the second
point, the temporary support of the future plant, the
matter stands thus. In grain, and pulse, and kernels,
and pippins, tire germ composes a very small part of

•272 OF PLANTS.

the seed. The rest consists of a nutritious substance,
from which the sprout draws its aliment for some
considerable time after it is put forth; viz. until the
fibres, shot out from the other end of the seed,
are able to imbibe juices from the earth, in a
sufficient quantity for its demand. It is owing to this
constitution, that we see seeds sprout, and the sprouts
make a considerable progress without any earth at
all. It is an ceconornv also, in which we remark a
close analogy between the seeds of plants, and the
eggs of animals. The same point is provided for,
in the same manner, in both. In the egg, the residence
of the living principle, the cicatrix, forms a very
minute part of the contents. The white, and the
white only, is expended in the formation of the
chicken. The yolk, very little altered or diminished,
is wrapped up in the abdomen of the young bird,
when it quits the shell; and serves for its nourishment,
till it has learnt to pick its own food. This perfectly
resembles the first nutrition of a plant. In the
plant, as well as in the animal, the structure has
every character of contrivance belonging to it: in
both it breaks the transition from prepared to
unprepared aliment: in both it is prospective and
compensatory. In animals which suck, this inter-
mediate nourishment is supplied by a different
source.

In all subjects the most common observations are
the best, when it is their truth and strength which
have made them common. There are, of this sort,
two concerning plants, which it falls within our plan
to notice. The first relates to, what has already
been touched upon, their germination. When a
grain of corn is cast into the ground, this is the
change which takes place. From one end of the
grain issues a green sprout: from the other a number
of white fibrous threads. How can this be explain-

OF PLANTS. 27:1

ed? Why not sprouts from both ends? Why not
fibrous threads from both ends? To what is the
.difference to be referred, but to design; to the
different uses which the parts are thereafter to
serve; uses which discover themselves in the sequel
of the process ? The sprout, or plumule, struggles
into the air; and becomes the plant, of which, from
the first, it contained the rudiments: the fibres shoot
into the earth ; and, thereby, both fix the plant to the
ground, and collect nourishment from the soil for its
support. Now, what is not a little remarkable, the
parts issuing from the seed take their respective direc-
tions, into whatever position the seed itself happens
to be cast. If the seed be thrown into the wrongest
possible position, that is, if the ends point in the
ground the reverse of what they ought to do, every
thing, nevertheless, goes on right. The sprout, after
being pushed down a little way, makes a bend and
turns upwards; the fibres, on the contrary, after
shooting at first upwards, turn down. Of this extra-
ordinary vegetable fact an account has lately been
attempted to be given. " The plumule, it is said, is
stimulated by the air into action, and elongates itself
when it is thus most excited: the radicle is stimulated
by moisture, and elongates itself when it is thus
most excited. Whence one of these grows upward
in quest of its adapted object, and the other down-
ward."* Were this account better verified by experi-
ment than it is, it only shifts the contrivance. It
does not disprove the contrivance; it only removes
it a little further back. Who, to use our author's
own language, " adapted the objects ?" Who gave
such a quality to these connate parts, as to be
Susceptible of different " stimulation:" as to be
« excited" each only by its own element, and precise-
ly by that, which the success of the vegetation

* Darwin's Pbytologia, p. 144.

2?4 OF PLANTS.

requires? I say, " which the success of the vegetation
requires," for the toil of the husbandman would
have been in vain; his laborious and expensive pre-
paration of the ground in vain; if the event must,
after all, depend, upon the position in which the
scattered seed was sown. Not one seed out of a
hundred would fall in a right direction.

Our second observation is upon a general property
of climbing plants, which is strictly mechanical. In
these plants, from each knot or joint, or as botanists
call it, axilla of the plant, issue, close to each other,
two shoots; one, bearing the flower and fruit, the
other, drawn out into a wire, a long, tapering, spiral
tendril, that twists itself round any thing which lies
within its reach. Considering, that, in this class,
two purposes are to be provided for (and together)
fructification and support, the fruitage of the plant,
and the sustentation of its stalk, what means could
be used more effectual, or, as I have said, more me-
chanical, than what this structure presents to our
eyes? Why or how, without a view to this double
purpose, do two shoots, of such different and appro-
priate forms, spring from the same joint, from conti-
guous points of the same stalk? It never happens thus
in robust plants, or in trees. " We see not," says
Ray, " so much as one tree, or shrub, or herb, that
hath a firm and strong stem, and that is able to mount
up and stand alone without assistance, furnished
tujth these tendrils.''' Make only so simple a com-
parison as that between a pea and a bean. Why-
does the pea put forth tendrils, the bean not; but
because the stalk of the pea cannot support itself, the
stalk of the bean can: We may add also, as a cir-
cumstance not to be overlooked, that, in the pea
tribe, these clasps do not make their appearance, till
they are wanted; till the plant has grown to a height
to stand in need of support.

OF PLANTS. 275

This word " support," suggests to us a reflection
upon a property of grasses, of corn, and canes. The
hollow stems of these classes of plants, are set, at cer-
tain intervals, with joints. These joints are not
found in the trunks of trees, or in the solid stalks of
plants. There may be other uses of these joints;
but the fact is, and it appears to be, at least, one pur-
pose designed by them, that they corroborate^^ stem ;
which, by its length and hollowness, would, other-
wise, be too liable to break or bend.

Grasses are Nature's care. With these she clothes
the earth: with these she sustains its inhabitants.
Cattle feed upon their leaves ; birds upon their smaller
seeds; men upon the larger; for few readers need be
told that the plants, which produce our bread corn,
belong to this class. In those tribes, which are more
generally considered as grasses, their extraordinary
means and powers of preservation and increase, their
hardiness, their almost unconquerable disposition to
spread, their faculties of reviviscence, coincide with
the intention of nature concerning them. They thrive
under a treatment by which other plants are des-
troyed. The more their leaves are consumed, the
more their roots increase. The more they are tram-
pled upon, the thicker they grow. Many of the
seemingly dry and dead leaves of grasses revive, and
renew their verdure, in the spring. In lofty moun-
tains, where the summer heats are net sufficient to
ripen the seeds, grasses abound, which are viviparous,
and consequently able to propagate themselves with-
out seed. It is an observation likewise which has
often been made, that herbivorous animals attach
themselves to the leaves of grasses; and, if at liberty
in their pastures to range and choose, leave untouched
the straws which support the flowers*.

* With. Bot. Arr. vol. i. p. 28. ed. 2d.

%76 OF PLANTS.

The general properties of vegetable nature, or pro-
perties common to large portions of that kingdom,
are almost all which the compass of our argument
allows to bring forward. It is impossible to follow
plants into their several species. We may be allowed,
however, to single out three or four of these species
as worthy of a particular notice, either by some sin-
gular mechanism, or by some peculiar provision, or
by both.

I. In Dr. Darwin's Botanic Garden, line 395, note,
is the following account of the vallisneria, as it has
been observed in the river Rhone. " They have
roots at the bottom of the Rhone. The flowers of
the female plant float on the surface of the water,
and are furnished with an elastic, spiral, stalk, which
extends or contracts as the water rises or falls ; this
rise or fall, from the torrents which flow into the ri-
ver, often amounting to many feet in a few hours.
The flowers of the male plant are produced under
water; and, as soon as the fecundating farina is ma-
ture, they separate themselves from the plant ; rise to
the surface; and are wafted by the air, or borne by
the currents, to the female flowers." Our attention
in this narrative will be directed to two particulars;
first to the mechanism, the " elastic, spiral, stalk"
wrhich lengthens or contracts itself according as the
water rises or falls ; secondly, to the provision which
is made for bringing the male flower, which is produ-
ced under wrater, to the female flower which floats
upon the surface.

II. My second example I take from Withering.
Arrang. vol. ii. p. 209. ed. 3. " The cuscuta euro-
poea is a parasitical plant. The seed opens, and puts
forth a little spiral body which does not seek the
earth to take root; but climbs in a spiral direction,
from right to left, up other plants, from which, by
means of vessels, it draws its nourishment.,, The

OF PLANTS. 277

" little spiral body" proceeding from the seed is to
be compared with the fibres which seeds send out in
ordinary cases; and the comparison ought to regard
both the form of the threads and the direction. They
are straight ; this is spiral. They shoot downwards ;
this points upwards. In the rule, and in the excep-
tion, we equally perceive design.

III. A better known parasitical plant is the ever-
green shrub, called the misseltoe. What we have to
remark in it, is a singular instance of compensation.
No art hath yet made these plants take root in the
earth. Here therefore might seem to be a mortal
defect in their constitution. Let us examine how
this defect is made up to them. The seeds are en-
dued with an adhesive quality so tenacious, that, if
they be rubbed upon the smooth bark of almost any
tree, they will stick to it. And then what follows?
Roots springing from their seeds, insinuate their
fibres into the woody substance of the tree; and the
event is, that a misseltoe plant is produced the next
winter*. Of no other plant do the roots refuse to
shoot in the ground ; of no other plant do the seeds
possess this adhesive, generative, quality, when ap-
plied to the bark of trees.

IV. Another instance of the compensatory system
is in the autumnal crocus or meadow saffron, fcholci-
cum autumnalej. I have pitied this poor plant a
thousand times. Its blossom rises out of the ground
in the most forlorn condition possible ; without a
sheath, a fence, a calyx, or even a leaf to protect it;
and that, not in the spring, not to be visited by sum-
mer suns, but under all the disadvantages of the de-
clining year. When we come however to look more
closely into the structure of this plant, we find that,
instead of its being neglected, nature has gone out of

• lb. p. 203.
2 L

'278 OF PLANTS.

her course to provide for its security, and to make
up to it for all its defects. The seed-vessel, which in
other plants is situated within the cup of the flower,
or just beneath it, in this plant lies buried ten or
twelve inches under ground within the bulbous root.
The tube of the flower, which is seldom more than a
few tenths of an inch long, in this plant extends down
to the root. The styles always reach the seed-ves-
sel; but it is in this, by an elongation unknown to
any other plant. All these singularities contribute to
one end. " As this plant blossoms late in the year,
and, probably, would not have time to ripen its seeds
before the access of winter which would destroy them,
Providence has contrived its structure such, that this
important office may be performed at a depth in the
earth out of reach of the usual effects of frost*."
That is to say, in the autumn nothing is done above
ground but the business of impregnation ; which is
an affair between the antherse and the stigmata. The
maturation of the impregnated seed, which in other
plants proceeds within a capsule, exposed together
with the rest of the flower to the open air, is here
carried on, and during the whole winter, within the
heart, as we may say, of the earth, that is, " out of
the reach of the usual effects of frost." But then a
new difficulty presents itself. Seeds, though per-
fected, are known not to vegetate at this depth in the
earth. Our seeds therefore, though so safely lodged,
would, after all, be lost to the purpose for which all
seeds are intended. Lest this should be the case,
u a second admirable provision is made to raise
them above the surface when they are perfected, and
to sow them at a proper distance:" viz. the germ
grows up in the spring, upon a fruit- stalk, accom-
panied with leaves. The seeds now, in common

• lb. p. 360.

OF PLANTS. 279

with those of other plants, have the benefit of the
summer, and are sown upon the surface. The order
of vegetation externally is this. The plant produces
its flowers in September ; its leaves and fruits in the
spring following.

V. I give the account of the dionsea muscipula,
an extraordinary American plant, as some late au-
thors have related it; but, whether we be yet enough,
acquainted with the plant to bring every part of this
account to the test of repeated and familiar observa-
tion, I am unable to say. Its leaves are jointed, and
furnished with two rows of strong prickles; their sur-
faces covered with a number of minute glands,
which secrete a sweet liquor, that allures the ap-
proach of flies. When these parts are touched by
the legs of flies, the two lobes of the leaf instantly
spring up, the rows of prickles lock themselves fast
together, and squeeze the unwary animal to death*."
Here, under a new model, we recognise the ancient
plan of nature; viz. the relation of parts and provi-
sions to one another, to a common offlce, and to the
utility of the organized body to which they belong.
The attracting syrup, the rows of strong prickles,
their position so as to interlock, the joints of the
leaves; and, what is more than the rest, that singular
irritability of their surfaces, by which they close at a
touch ; all bear a contributory part in producing an
effect, connected either with the defence, or with the
nutrition, of the plant.

* Smellie's Phil, of Nat. Hist. vol. i. p. 5.

I 280 ]

CHAPTER XXL

THE ELEMENTS.

\VHEN we come to the elements, we take
leave of our mechanics ; because we come to those
things, of the organization of which, if they be or-
ganized, we are confessedly ignorant. This igno-
rance is implied by their name. To say the truth,
our investigations are stopped long before we arrive
at this point. But then it is for our comfort to find,
that a knowledge of the constitution of the elements
is not necessary for us. For instance, as Addison
has well observed, " we know water sufficiently,
when we know how to boil, how to freeze, how to
evaporate, how to make it fresh, how to make it run
or spout out, in what quantity and direction we please,
without knowing what water is." The observation
of this excellent writer has more propriety in it now,
than it had at the time it was made: for the consti-
tution, and the constituent parts, of water, appear in
some measure to have been lately discovered; yet it
does not, I think, appear, that we can make any bet-
ter or greater use of water since the discovery, than
we did before it.

We can never think of the elements without re-
flecting upon the number of distinct uses which
are consolidated in the same substance. The
air supplies the lungs, supports fire, conveys
sound, reflects light, diffuses smells, gives rain, wafts
ships, bears up birds. e|v^to$ r« km™; water, beside
maintaining its own inhabitants, is the universal nou-

THE ELEMENTS. S81

risher of plants, and through them of terrestrial ani-
mals; is the basis of their juices and fluids: dilutes
their food, quenches their thirst, floats their burdens.
Fire warms, dissolves, enlightens; is the great pro-
moter of vegetation and life, if not necessary to the
support of both.

We might enlarge, to almost any length we pleas-
ed, upon each of these uses; but it appears to me
almost sufficient to state them. The few remarks,
which I judge it necessary to add, are as follow.

I. Air is essentially different from earth. There
appears to be no necessity for an atmosphere's invest-
ing our globe: (the moon has none:) yet it does
invest it; and we see how many, how various, and
how important are the purposes which it answers to
every order of animated, not to say of organized,
beings, which are placed upon the terrestrial surface.
I think that every one of these uses will be under-
stood upon the first mention of them, except it be
that of reflecting light, which may be explained thus.
If I had the power of seeing only by means of rays
coming directly from the sun, whenever I turned my
back upon the luminary, I should find myself in dark-
ness. If I had the power of seeing by reflected light,
yet by means only of light reflected from solid mas-
ses, these masses would shine, indeed, and glisten,
but it would be in the dark. The hemisphere, the
sky, the world, could only be illuminated, as it is illu-
minated, by the light of the sun being from all sides,
and in every direction, reflected to the eye, by par-
ticles, as numerous, as thickly scattered, and as
widely diffused, as are those of the air.

Another general quality of the atmosphere is, the
power of evaporating fluids. The adjustment of this
quality to our use is seen in its action upon the sea.
In the sea, water and salt are mixed together most
intimately; yet the atmosphere- raises the water, and

2sa THE ELEMENTS.

leaves the salt. Pure and fresh as drops of rain de-
scend, they are collected from brine. If evaporation
be solution, (which seems to be probable,) then the
air dissolves the water and not the salt. Upon what-
ever it be founded, the distinction is critical; so
much so, that, when we attempt to imitate the pro-
cess by art, we must regulate our distillation with
great care and nicety, or, together with the water, we
get the bitterness, or, at least, the distastefulness of
the marine substance : and, after all, it is owing to
this original elective power in the air, that we can
effect the separation which we wish, by any art or
means whatever.

By evaporation water is carried up into the air; by
the converse of evaporation it falls down upon the
earth. And how does it fall? Not by the clouds
being all at once reconverted into water, and descend-
ing, like a sheet; not in rushing down in columns
from a spout; but in moderate drops, as from a cul-
lender. Our watering-pots are made to imitate show-
ers of rain. Yet, a priori, I should have thought
either of the two former methods more likely to have
taken place than the last.

By respiration, flame, putrefaction, air is rendered
unfit for the support of animal life. By the constant
operation of these corrupting principles, the whole
atmosphere, if there were no restoring causes, would
come at length to be deprived of its necessary degree
of purity. Some of these causes seem to have been
discovered, and their efficacy ascertained by experi-
ment. And so far as the discovery has proceeded,
it opens to us a beautiful and a wonderful ceconomy.
Vegetation proves to be one of them. A sprig of
mint, corked up with a small portion of foul air placed
in the light, renders it again capable of supporting
life or flame. Here therefore is a constant circula-
tion of benefits maintained between the two greal

THE ELEMENTS. 283

provinces of organized nature. The plant purifies,
what the animal had poisoned: in return, the con*
taminated air is more than ordinarily nutritious to
the plant. Agitation with water turns out to be
another of these restoratives. The foulest air, shaken
in a bottle with water for a sufficient length of time,
recovers a great degree of its purity. Here then
again, allowing for the scale upon which nature
works, we see the salutary effects of storms and tem-
pests. The yesty waves, which confound the heaven
and the sea, are doing the very thing which is done
in the bottle. Nothing can be of greater importance
to the living creation, than the salubrity of their at-
mosphere. It ought to reconcile us therefore to these
agitations of the elements, of which we sometimes
deplore the consequences, to know, that they tend
powerfully to restore to the air that purity, which so
many causes are constantly impairing.

II. In water, what ought not a little to be admir-
ed, are those negative qualities which constitute its
purity. Had it been vinous, or oleaginous, or acid ;
had the sea been filled, or the rivers flowed, with wine
or milk ; fish, constituted as they are, must have
died ; plants, constituted as they are, would have wi-
thered ; the lives of animals, which feed upon plants,
must have perished. Its very insipidity, which is
one of those negative qualities, renders it the best of
all menstrua. Having no taste of its own, it becomes
the sincere vehicle cf every other. Had there been a
taste in water, be it what it might, it would have in-
fected every thing we ate or drank, with an impor-
tunate repetition of the same flavor.

Another thing in this element, not less to be admi-
red, is the constant round which it travels ; and by
which, without suffering either adulteration or waste,
it is continually offering itself to the wants of the ha-
bitable globe. From the sea are exhaled those va-

-284 THE ELEMENTS.

pours which form the clouds. These clouds descend
in showers, which, penetrating into the crevices of
the hills, supply springs. Which springs flow in lit-
tle streams into the vallies ; and, there uniting, be-
come rivers. Which rivers, in return, feed the
ocean. So there is an incessant circulation of the
same fluid ; and not one drop probably more or less
now, than there was at the creation. A particle of
water takes its departure from the surface of the sea,
in order to fulfil certain important offices to the earth;
and having executed the service which was assigned
to it, returns to the besom which it left.

Some have thought that we have too much water
upon the globe ; the sea occupying above three quar-
ters of its whole surface. But the expanse of ocean,
immense as it is, may be no more than sufficient to
fertilize the earth. Or, independently of this reason,
I know not why the sea may not have as good a right
to its place as the land. It may proportionably sup-
port as many inhabitants ; minister to as large an ag-
gregate of enjoyment. The land only affords a habi-
table surface ; the sea is habitable to a great depth.

III. Of fire, we have said that it dissolves. The
only idea probably which this term raised in the rea-
der's mind was, that of fire melting metals, resins,
and some other substances, fluxing ores, running
glass, and assisting us in many of our operations, chy-
mical or culinary. Now these are only uses of an
occasional kind, and gives us a very imperfect notion
of what fire does for us. The grand importance of
this dissolving power, the great office indeed of fire
in the oeconomy of nature, is keeping things in a state
of solution, that is to say, in a state of fluidity. Were
it not for the presence of heat, or of a certain degree of
it, all fluids would be frozen. The ocean itself
would be a quarry of ice ; universal nature stiff and
dead.

THE ELEMENTS. 28S

We see, therefore, that the elements bear, not only
a strict relation to the constitution of organized bo-
dies, but a relation to each other. Water could not
perform its office to the earth without air ; nor exist,
as water, without fire.

IV. Of light, (whether we regard it as of the
same substance with fire, or as a different substance,)
it is altogether superfluous to expatiate upon the use.
No man disputes it. The observations, therefore,
which I shall offer, respect that little which we seem
to know of its constitution.

Light passes from the sun to the earth in eleven mi-
nutes ; a distance, which it would take a cannon ball
twenty- five years in going over. Nothing more need
be said to shew the velocity of light. Urged by such
a velocity, with what force must its particles drive
against, I will not say the eye, the tenderest of ani-
mal substances, but every substance, animate or in-
animate, which stands in its way ? It might seem to
be a force sufficient to shatter to atoms the hardest
bodies.

How then is this effect, the consequence of such
prodigious velocity, guarded against ? By a propor-
tionable minuteness of the particles of which light is
composed. It is impossible for the human mind to
imagine to itself any thing so small as a particle of
light. But this extreme exility, though difficult to
conceive, is easy to prove. A drop of tallow, ex-
pended in the wick of a farthing candle, shall shed
forth rays sufficient to fill a hemisphere of a mile di-
ameter ; and to fill it so full of these rays, that an
aperture not larger than the pupil of an eye, where-
ever it be placed within the hemisphere, shall be sure
to receive some of them. What floods of light are
continually poured from the sun we cannot estimate ;
but the immensity of the sphere which is filled with
its particles, even if it reached no further than the

2 m

286 THE ELEMENTS.

orbit of the earth, we can in some sort compute :
and we have reason to believe, that, throughout this
whole region, the particles of light lie, in latitude
at least, near to one another. The spissitude of the
sun's rays at the earth is such, that the number which
falls upon a burning glass of an inch diameter, is
sufficient, when concentrated, to set wood on fire.

The tenuity and the velocity of particles of light,
as ascertained by separate observations, may be said
to be proportioned to each other : both surpassing
our utmost stretch of comprehension : but propor-
tioned. And it is this proportion alone, which con-
verts a tremendous element into a welcome visitor.

It has been observed to me by a learned friend, as
having often struck his mind, that, if light had been
made by a common artist, it would have been of one
uniform colour : whereas, by its present composition,
we have that variety of colours, which is of such in-
finite use to us for the distinguishing of objects;
which adds so much to the beauty of the earth, and
augments the stock of our innocent pleasures.

With which may be joined another reflection, viz.
that, considering light as compounded of rays of seven
different colours, (of which there can be no doubt,
because it can be resolved into these rays by simply
passing it through a prism,) the constitutent parts
must be well mixed and blended together, to produce
a fluid, so clear and colourless, as a beam of light is,
when received from the sun.

C ssr ]

CHAPTER XXII.

ASTRONOMY.*

MY opinion of Astronomy has always been,
that it is not the best medium through which to
prove the agency of an intelligent Creator ; but that,
this being proved, it shews beyond all other sciences,
the magnificence of his operations. The mind, which
is once convinced, it raises to sublimer views of the
Deity, than any other subject affords; but is not so
well adapted, as some other subjects are, to the
purpose of argument. We are destitute of the
means of examining the constitution of the heavenly
bodies. The very simplicity of their appearance is
against them. We see nothing, but bright points,
luminous circles, or the phases of spheres reflecting
the light which falls upon them. Now we deduce
design from relation, aptitude, and correspondence of
parts. Some degree therefore of complexity is.
necessary to render a subject fit for this species of
argument. But the heavenly bodies do not, except
perhaps in the instance of Saturn's ring, present
themselves to our observation as compounded of
parts at all. This, which may be a perfection in
them, is a disadvantage to us, as inquirers after their
nature. They do not come within our mechanics.
And what we say of their forms, is true of their
motions. Their motions are carried on without any

* For the articles in this chapter marked with an asterisk, I am
indebted to some obliging communications, received (through the hands
of the Lord Bishop of Elphin) from the Rev. J. Brinkley, M. A. Andrew's
Professor of Astronomy in the University of Dublin.

288 ASTRONOMY.

sensible intermediate apparatus: whereby we arc
cut off from one principal ground of argumentation
and analogy. We have nothing wherewith to com-
pare them; no invention, no discovery, no operation
or resource of art, wiiich, in this respect, resembles
them. Even those things which are made to imitate
and represent them, such as orreries, planetaria,
ccelestial globes, &c. bear no affinity to them, in the
cause and principle by which their motions are
actuated. I can assign for this difference a reason
of utility, viz. a reason why, though the action of
terrestrial bodies upon each other be, in almost all
cases, through the intervention of solid or fluid sub-
stances, yet central attraction does not operate in this
manner. It was necessary that the intervals between
the planetary orbs should be devoid of any inert
matter either fluid or solid, because such an interven-
ing substance would, by its resistance, destroy
those very motions, which attraction is employed to
preserve. This may be a final cause of the difference ;
but still the difference destroys the analogy.

Our ignorance, moreover, of the sensitive natures,
by which other planets are inhabited, necessarily
keeps from us the knowledge of numberless utilities,
relations, and subserviencies, which we perceive
upon our own globe.

After all; the real subject of admiration is, that we
understand so much of astronomy as we do. That
an animal confined to the surface of one of the planets;
bearing a less proportion to it, than the smallest mi-
croscopic insect does to the plant it lives upon; that
this little, busy, inquisitive creature, by the use of
senses which were given to it for its domestic neces-
sities, and by means of the assistance of those senses
which it has had the art to procure, should have been
enabled to observe the whole system of worlds to
which; its own belongs; the changes of place of the

ASTRONOMY. 2S§

immense globes which compose it; and with such
accuracy, as to mark out, beforehand, the situation
in the heavens in which they will be found at any
future point of time; and that these bodies, after sail-
ing through regions of void and trackless space,
should arrive at the place where they were expected,
not within a minute, but within a few seconds of a
minute, of the time prefixed and predicted: all this is
wonderful, whether we refer our admiration to the
constancy of the heavenly motions themselves, or to
the perspicacity and precision with which they have
been noticed by mankind. Nor is this the whole,
nor indeed the chief part, of what astronomy teaches.
By bringing reason to bear upon observation, (the
acutest reasoning upon the exactest observation,)
the astronomer has been able, out of the confusion
(for such it is) under which the motions of the
heavenly bodies present themselves to the eye of a
mere gazer upon the skies, to elicit their order and
their real paths.

Our knowledge therefore of astronomy is admira-
ble though imperfect: and, amidst the confessed de-
siderata and desideranda, which impede our investi-
gation of the wisdom of the Deity, in these the
grandest of his works, there are to be found, in the
phenomena, ascertained circumstances and laws,
sufficient to indicate an intellectual agency in three
of its principal operations, viz. in chusing, in deter-
mining, in regulating; in chasing, out of a boundless
variety of suppositions which were equally possible,
that which is beneficial; in determining, what, left to
itself, had a thousand chances against conveniency,
for one in its favour; in regulating subjects, as to
quantity and degree, which, by their nature, were
unlimited with respect to either. It will be our busi-
ness to ofTer, under each of these heads, a few instan-
ces, such as best admit of a popular explication.

\

290 ASTRONOMY.

I. Amongst proofs of choice, one is, fixing the
source of light and heat in the cetitre of the system.
The s.un is ignited and luminous; the planets which
move round him, cold and dark. There seems to be
no antecedent necessity for this order. The sun
might have been an opaque mass: some one, or two,
or more, or any, or all, of the planets, globes of fire.
There is nothing in the nature of the heavenly bodies,
which requires that those which are stationary should
be on fire, that those which move should be cold; for,
in fact, comets are bodies on fire, yet revolve round
a centre: nor does this order obtain between the pri-
mary planets and their secondaries, which are alt
opaque. When we consider, therefore, that the sun
is one; that the planets going round it are, at least,
seven ; that it is indifferent to their nature which are
luminous and which are opaque; and also, in what
order with respect to each other, these two kinds of
bodies are disposed; we may judge of the improba-
bility of the present arrangement taking place by
chance.

If, by way of accounting for the state in which we
find the solar system, it be alleged (and this is one
amongst the guesses of those who reject an intelligent
Creator) that the planets themselves are only cooled
or cooling masses, and were once, like the sun, many
thousand times hotter than red hot iron; then it fol-
lows, that the sun also himself must be in his pro-
gress towards growing cold; which puts an end to
the possibility of his having existed, as he is, from
eternity. This consequence arises out of the hypo-
thesis with still more certainty, if we make a part of
it, what the philosophers who maintain it, have usu-
ally taught, that the planets were originally masses of
matter struck off, in a state of fusion, from the body
of the sun, by the percussion of a comet, or by a
shock from some other cause with which we are not

ASTRONOMY. 251

-acquainted: for, if these masses, partaking of the
nature and substance of the sun's body, have in pro-
cess of time lost their heat, that body itself, in time
likewise, no matter in how much longer time, must
lose its heat also; and therefore be incapable of an
eternal duration in the state in which we see it, either
for the time to come, or the time past.

The preference of the present to any other mode
of distributing luminous and opaque bodies I take to
be evident. It requires more astronomy than I am
able to lay before the reader, to shew, in its particu-
lars, what would be the effect to the system, of a dark
body at the centre, and of one of the planets being
luminous: but I think it manifest, without either
plates or calculation, first, that, supposing the neces-
sary proportion of magnitude between the central and
the revolving bodies to be preserved, the ignited
planet would not be sufficient to illuminate and warm
the rest of the system ; secondly, that its light and
heat wrould be imparted to the other planets, much
more irregularly than light and heat are now received
from the sun.

(*) II. Another thing, in which a choice appears
to be exercised; and in which, amongst the possibi-
lities out of which the choice was to be made, the
number of those which were wrong, bore an infinite
proportion to the number of those which were right,
is in what geometricians call the axis of rotation.
This matter I will endeavour to explain. The earth,
it is well known, is not an exact globe, but an oblate
spheroid, something like an orange. Now the axes
of rotation, or the diameters upon which such a body
may be made to turn round, are as many as can be
drawn through its centre to opposite points upon its
whole surface: but of these axes none are permanent,
except either its shortest diameter, i. e. that which
passes through the heart of the orange from the place

292 ASTRONOMY.

where the stalk is inserted into it, and which is but
one; or its longest diameters, at right angles with the
former, which must all terminate in the single cir-
cumference which goes round the thickest part of the
orange. This shortest diameter is that upon which
in fact the earth turns; and it is, as the reader sees,
what it ought to be, a permanent axis: whereas, had
blind chance, had a casual impulse, had a stroke or
push at random, set the earth a-spinning, the odds
were infinite, but that they had sent it round upon a
wrong axis. And what would have been the conse-
quence ? The difference between a permanent axis
and another axis is this. When a spheroid in a state
of rotatory motion gets upon a permanent axis, it
keeps there; it remains steady and faithful to its po-
sition ; its poles preserve their direction with respect
to the plane and to the centre of its orbit: but, whilst
it turns upon an axis which is not permanent, (and
the number of those, we have seen, infinitely exceeds
the number of the other), it is always liable to shift
and vacillate from one axis to another, with a corres-
ponding change in the inclination of its poles. There-
fore, if a planet once set off revolving upon any other
than its shortest, or one of its longest axes, the poles
on its surface would keep perpetually changing, and
it never would attain a permanent axis of rotation.
The effect of this unfixedness and instability would
be, that the equatorial parts of the earth might be-
come the. polar, or the polar the equatorial; to the
utter destruction of plants and animals, which are not
capable of interchanging their situations, but are re-
spectively adapted to their own. As to ourselves,
instead of rejoicing in our temperate zone, and an-
nually preparing for the moderate vicissitude, or ra-
ther the agreeable succession of seasons, which we
experience and expect, we might come to be locked
up in the ice and darkness of the arctic circle, with

ASTRONOMY. S93

bodies neither inured to its rigors, nor provided with
shelter or defence against them. Nor would it be
much better, if the trepidation of our pole, taking an
opposite course, should place us under the heats of a
vertical sun. But, if it would fare so ill with the hu-
man inhabitant, who can live under greater varieties
of latitude than any other animal, still more noxious
would this translation of climate have proved to life in
the rest of the creation ; and, most perhaps of all, in
plants. The habitable earth, and its beautiful variety,
might have been destroyed, by a simple mischance
in the axis of rotation.

(*) III. All this however proceeds upon a sup-
position of the earth having been formed at first an
oblate spheroid. There is another supposition ; and,
perhaps, our limited information will not enable us to
decide between them. The second supposition is,
that the earth, being a mixed mass somewhat fluid,
took, as it might do, its present form, by the joint
action of the mutual gravitation of its parts and its
rotatory motion. This, as we have said, is a point
in the history of the earth, which our observations
are not sufficient to determine. For a very small
depth below the surface (but extremely small, less,
perhaps, than an eight thousandth part, compared
with the depth of the centre) we find vestiges of an^
cient fluidity. But this fluidity must have gone down
many hundred times further than we can penetrate,
to enable the earth to take its present oblate form;
and, whether any traces of this kind exist to that
depth, we are ignorant. Calculations were made a
few years ago of the mean density of the earth, by
comparing the force of its attraction with the force of
attraction of a rock of granite, the bulk of which could
be ascertained : and the upshot of the calculation was,
that the earth upon an average, through its whole
sphere, has twice the density of granite, or about five

2 N

294 ASTRONOMY.

times that of water. Therefore it cannot be a hollow
shell, as some have formerly supposed: nor can its
internal parts be occupied by central fire, or by wa-
ter. The solid parts must greatly exceed the fluid
parts: and the probability is, that it is a solid mass
throughout, composed of substances, more pon-
derous the deeper we go. Nevertheless, we may
conceive the present face of the earth to have origi-
nated from the revolution of a sphere, covered with a
surface of a compound mixture; the fluid and solid
parts separating, as the surface became quiescent.
Here then comes in the moderating hand of the
Creator. If the water had exceeded its present pro-
portion, even but by a trifling quantity compared
with the whole globe, all the land would have been
covered: had there been much less than there is,
there would not have been enough to fertilize the
continent. Had the exsiccation been progressive,
such as we may suppose to have been produced by
an evaporating heat, how came it to stop at the point
at which we see it? Why did it not stop sooner;
why at all ? The mandate of the Deity will account
for this: nothing else will.

VI. Of centripetal forces. By virtue of the sim-
plest law that can be imagined, viz. that a body con-
tinues in the state in which it is, whether of motion
or rest; and, if in motion, goes on in the line in which
it was proceeding, and wTith the same velocity, unless
there be some cause for change: by virtue, I say, of
this law, it comes to pass (what may appear to be a
strange consequence) that cases arise, in which at-
traction, incessantly drawing a body towards a centre,
never brings, nor ever will bring, the body to that
centre, but keep it in eternal circulation round it. If
it were possible to lire off a cannon ball with a velo-
city of five miles in a second, and the resistance of
the air could be taken away, the cannon ball would

ASTRONOMY. 295

for ever wheel round the earth, instead of falling
down upon it. This is the principle which sustains
the heavenly motions. The Deity having appointed
this law to matter, than which, as we have said be-
fore, no law could be more simple, has turned it to a
wonderful account in constructing planetary systems.

The actuating cause in these systems, is an attrac-
tion which varies reciprocally as the square of the
distance : that is, at double the distance, has a quarter
of the force; at half the distance, four times the
strength; and so on. Now, concerning this law of
variation, we have three things to observe; first,
that attraction, for any thing we know about it, was
just as capable of one law of variation as of another :
secondly; that, out of an infinite number of possible
laws, those which were admissible for the purpose of
supporting the heavenly motions, lay within certain
narrow limits: thirdly; that of the admissible laws,
or those which come within the limits prescribed,
the law that actually prevails is the most beneficial.
So far as these propositions can be made out, we
may be said, I think, to prove choice and regulation ;
choice, out of boundless variety; and regulation, of
that which, by its own nature, was, in respect of
the property regulated, indifferent and indefinite.

I. First, then, attraction, for any thing we know
about it, was originally indifferent to all laws of
variation depending upon change of distance, i. e. just
as susceptible of one law7 as of another. It might have
been the same at all distances. It might have in-
creased as the distance increased. Or it might have
diminished with the increase of the distance, yet in
ten thousand different proportions from the present.
It might have followed no stated law at all. If attraction
be, what Cotes with many other Newtonians have
thought it, a primordial property of matter, not de-
pendent upon, or traceable to, any material cause,

226 ASTRONOMY.

then, by the very nature and definition of a primordial
property, it stood indifferent to all laws. If it be the
agency of something immaterial, then also, for any
thing we know of it, it was indifferent to all laws. If
the revolution of bodies round a centre depend upon
vortices, neither are these limited to one law more
than another.

There is, I know, an account given of attraction,
which should seem, in its very cause, to assign to it
the law, which we find it to observe, and which,
therefore, makes that law, a law, not of choice, but
of necessity: and it is the account, which ascribes
attraction to an emanation from the attracting body.
It is probable, that the influence of such an emanation
will be proportioned to the spissitude of the rays, of
which it is composed: which spissitude, supposing
the rays to issue in right lines on all sides from a
point, will be reciprocally as the square of the
distance. The mathematics of this solution we do
not call in question: the question with us is, whether
there be any sufficient reason to believe, that attrac-
tion is produced by an emanation. For my part, I am
totally at a loss to comprehend, how particles stream-
ing from a centre, should draw a body towards it.
The impulse, if impulse it be, is all the other way.
Nor shall we find less difficulty in conceiving, a
conflux of particles, incessantly flowing to a centre,
and carrying down all bodies along with it, that centre
also itself being in a state of rapid motion through
absolute space; for, by what source is the stream fed,
or what becomes of the accumulation? Add to which,
that it seems to imply a contrariety of properties,
to suppose an aethereal fluid to act but not to resist ;
powerful enough to carry down bodies with great
force towards a centre, yet, inconsistently with the
nature of inert matter, powerless and perfectly yield-
ing with respect to the motions which result from the

astronomy. :sr

projectile impulse. By calculations drawn from
ancient notices of eclipses of the moon, we can
prove, that, if such a fluid exist at all, its resistance
has had no sensible effect upon the moon's motion
for two thousand live hundred years. The truth is,
except this one circumstance of the variation of the
attracting force at different distances agreeing with
the variation of the spissitude, there is no reason
whatever to support the hypothesis of an emanation ;
and, as it seems to me, almost insuperable reasons
against it.

II. (*) Our second proposition is, that, whilst
the possible laws of variation were infinite, the admis-
sible laws, or the laws compatible with the preser-
vation of the system, lay within narrow limits. If
the attracting force had varied according to any di-
rect law of the distance, let it have been what it would,
great destruction and confusion would have taken
place. The direct simple proportion of the distance
would, it is true, have produced an ellipse ; but the
perturbing forces would have acted with so much ad-
vantage, as to be continually changing the dimen-
sions of the ellipse, in a manner inconsistent with
our terrestrial creation. For instance ; if the planet
Saturn, so large and so remote, had attracted the
earth, both in proportion to the quantity of matter
contained in it, which it does ; and also in any pro-
portion to its distance, i. e. if it had pulled the har-
der for being the further off, (instead of the reverse
of it,) it would have dragged the globe which we in-
habit out of its course, and have perplexed its mo-
tions, to a degree incompatible with our security,
our enjoyments, and probably our existence. Of the
inverse laws, if the centripetal force had changed as
the cube of the distance, or in any higher proportion,
that is, (for I speak to the unlearned,) if, at double
the distance, the attractive force had been diminish-

298 ASTRONOMY.

ed to an eighth part, or to less than that, the conse-
quence would have been, that the planets, if they once
began to approach the sun would have fallen into his
body ; if they once, though by ever so little, increas-
ed their distance from the centre, would for ever have
receded from it. The laws therefore of attraction,
by which a system of revolving bodies could be up-
held in their motions, lie within narrow limits, com-
pared with the possible laws. I much underrate the
restriction, when I say, that in a scale of a mile they
are confined to an inch. All direct ratios of the
distance are excluded, on account of danger from
perturbing forces : all reciprocal ratios, except what
lie beneath the cube of the distance, by the demon-
strable consequence, that every the least change of
distance, would, under the operation of such laws,
have been fatal to the repose and order of the system.
We do not know, that is, we seldom reflect, how in-
terested we are in this matter. Small irregularities
may be endured ; but, changes within these limits
being allowed for, the permanency of our ellipse is a
question of life and death to our whole sensitive
world.

III. (*) That the subsisting law of attraction falls
within the limits which utility requires, when these
limits bear so small a proportion to the range of pos-
sibilities, upon which chance might equally have cast
it, is not, with any appearance of reason, to be account-
ed for, by any other cause than a regulation proceed-
ing from a designing mind. But our next proposition
carries the matter somewhat further. We say, in
the third place, that, out of the different laws which
lie within the limits of admissible laws, the best is
made choice of ; that there are advantages in this
particular law which cannot be demonstrated to be-
long to any other law; and concerning some of which,
it can be demonstrated that they do not belong to any
other.

ASTRONOMY. 599

(*) 1. Whilst this law prevails between each par-
ticle of matter, the united attraction of a sphere, com-
posed of that matter, observes the same law. This
property of the law is necessary, to render it applica-
ble to a system composed of spheres, but it is a pro-
perty which belongs to no other law of attraction
that is admissible. The law of variation of the unit-
ed attraction is in no other case the same as the law
of attraction of each particle, one case excepted, and
that is of the attraction varying directly as the dis-
tance ; the inconveniency of which law in other re-
spects we have already noticed.

(*) 2. Under the subsisting law, the apsides, the
returning points, or points of greatest and least dis-
tance from the centre, are quiescent, and, therefore
the body moves every revolution in exactly the same
path relative to the attracting centre : which it would
not do, under any other law whatever except that of
the direct ratio of the distance, which we have seen
to be objectionable. The planetary system required
that the law of attraction should be a law which gave
an orbit returning into itself. Now, out of an in-
finite number of laws, admissible and inadmissible,
out of a vast variety even of admissible laws, there
are few, except the actual law, which would do this.
Here then is choice.

(*) 3. All systems must be liable to perturbations
And therefore to guard against these perturbations,
or rather to guard against their running to destructive
lengths, is perhaps the strongest evidence of care and
foresight that can be given. Now we are able to
demonstrate of our law of attraction, what can be
demonstrated of no other, and what qualifies the dan-
gers which arise from cross but unavoidable influen-
ces, that the action of the parts of our system upon
one another will not cause permanently increasing
irregularities, but merely periodical ones: that is,

300 ASTRONOMY.

they will come to, a limit, and then go back again.
This we can demonstrate only of a system, in which
the following properties concur, viz. that the force
shall be inversely as the square of the distance; the
masses of the revolving bodies small, compared with
that of the body at the centre ; the orbits not much
inclined to one another; and their eccentricity little.
In such a system the grand points are secure. The
mean distances and periodic times, upon which de-
pend our temperature, and the regularity of our year,
are constant The eccentricities, it is true, will still
vary, but so slowly, and to so small an extent, as to
produce no inconveniency from fluctuation of tempe-
rature and season. The same as to the obliquity of
the planes of the orbits. For instance, the inclina-
tion of the ecliptic to the equator will never change
above two degrees, (out of ninety,) and that will re-
quire many thousand years in performing.

It has been rightly also remarked, that, if the
great planets Jupiter and Saturn had moved in lower
spheres, their influences would have had much more
effect as to disturbing the planetary motions than they
now have. While they revolve at so great distances
from the rest, they act almost equally on the Sun and
on the inferior planets, which has nearly the same
consequence as not acting at all upon either.

If it be said that the planets might have been sent
round the Sun in exact circles, in which case, no
change of distance from the centre taking place, the
law of variation of the attracting power would have
never come in question; one law would have served
as well as another; an answer to the scheme may be
drawn from the consideration of these same perturb-
ing forces. The system retaining in other respects
its present constitution, though the planets had been
at first sent round in exact circular orbits, they could
not have kept them : and if the law of attraction had

ASTRONOMY. SOI

not been what it is, (or, at least, if the prevailing law
had transgressed the limits above assigned,) every
evagation would have been fatal; the planet once
drawn, as drawn it necessarily must have been, out
of its course, would have wandered in endless error.
(*) V. What we have seen in the law of the cen-
tripetal force, viz. a choice guided by views of utili-
ty, and a choice of one law out of thousands which
might equally have taken place, we see no less in
the figures of the planetary orbits. It was not enough
to fix the law of the centripetal force, though by the
wisest choice, for, even under that law, it was still
competent to the planets to have moved in paths pos-
sessing so great a degree of eccentricity, as, in the
course of every revolution, to be brought very near
to the sun, and carried away to immense distances
from him. The comets actually move in orbits of
this sort: and, had the planets done so, instead of
going round in orbits nearly circular, the change
from one extremity of temperature to another must,
in ours at least, have destroyed every animal and plant
upon its surface. Now, the distance from the centre
at which a planet sets off, and the absolute force of
attraction at that distance, being fixed, the figure of
his orbit, its being a circle, or nearer to, or further
off from, a circle, viz. a rounder or a longer oval,
depends upon two things, the velocity with which,
and the direction in which, the planet is projected.
And these, in order to produce a right result, must
be both brought within certain narrow limits. One,
and only one, velocity, united with one, and only one,
direction, will produce a perfect circle. And the
velocity must be near to this velocity, and the direc-
tion also near to this direction, to produce orbits, such
as the planetary orbits are, nearly circular; that is,
ellipses with small eccentricities. The velocity and
the direction must both be right. If the velocity be

2 o

SOS ASTRONOMY.

wrong, no direction will cure the error; if the direc-
tion be in any considerable degree oblique, no velo-
city will produce the orbit required. Take for exam-
ple the attraction of gravity at the surface of the earth.
The force of that attraction being what it is, out of
all the degrees of velocity, swift and slow, with which
a ball might be shot off, none would answer the pur-
pose of which we are speaking but what was nearly
that of five miles in a second. If it were less than
that, the body would not get round at all, but would
come to the ground: if it were in any considerable
degree more than that, the body would take one of
those eccentric courses, those long ellipses, of which
we have noticed the inconveniency. If the velocity
reached the rate of seven miles in a second, or went
beyond that, the ball would fly off from the earth, and
never be heard of more. In like manner with respect
to the direction; out of the innumerable angles in
which the ball might be sent off, I mean angles formed
with a line drawn to the centre, none would serve but
what was nearly a right one; out of the various di-
rections in which the cannon might be pointed,
upwards and downwards, every one would fail, but
what was exactly or nearly horizontal. The same
thing holds true of the planets ; of our own amongst
the rest. We are entitled therefore to ask, and to
urge the question, Why did the projectile velocity,
and projectile direction of the earth happen to be
nearly those which would retain it in a circular form ?
Why not one of the infinite number of velocities, one
of the infinite number of directions, which would
have made it approach much nearer to, or recede
much further from, the sun?

The planets going round, all in the same direction,
and all nearly in the same plane, afforded to Buffon a
ground for asserting, that they had all been shivered
from the sun by the same stroke of a comet, and by

ASTRONOMY, 303

that stroke projected into their present orbits. Now,
beside that this is to attribute to chance the fortunate
concurrence of velocity and direction which we have
been here noticing, the hypothesis, as I apprehend,
is inconsistent with the physical laws by which the
heavenly motions are governed. If the planets were
struck off from the surface of the sun, they would re-
turn to the surface of the sun again. Or, if, to get
rid of this difficulty, we suppose, that the same violent
blow, which shattered the sun's surface, and sepa-
rated large fragments from it, pushed also the sun
himself out of his place; a question of no less diffi^
culty presents itself, namely, when once put into mo-
tion, what should stop him. The hypothesis is also
contradicted by the vast difference which subsists be-
tween the diameters of the planetary orbits. The
distance of Saturn from the sun (to say nothing of
the Georgium Sidus) is nearly five-and-twenty times
that of Mercury; a disparity, which it seems impos-
sible to reconcile with Buffon's scheme. Bodies
starting from the same place, with whatever difference
of direction or velocity they set off, could not have
been found at these different distances from the centre,
still retaining their nearly circular orbits. They must
have been carried to their proper distances, before
they were projected*.

* " If we suppose the matter of the system to be accumulated in the
centre by its gravity, no mechanical principles, with the assistance of
this power of gravity, could separate the vast mass into such parts as
the sun and planets; and, after carrying them to their different distances,
project them in their several directions, preserving still the equality of
action and re-action, or the state of the centre of gravity of the system-
Such an exquisite structure of things could only arise from the contri-
vance and powerful influences of an intelligent, free, and most potent
agent. The same powers, therefore, which, at present, govern the ma-
terial universe, and conduct its various motions, are very different from
those, which were necessary, to have produced it from nothing, or to
have disposed it in the admirable form, in which it now proceeds."—)
Madattrin's Account of Newton's Phil. p. 407, ed, S.

304 ASTRONOMY.

To conclude: In astronomy, the great thing is to
raise the imagination to the subject, and that often-
times, in opposition to the impression made upon the
senses. An illusion, for example, must be got over,
arising from the distance at which we view the hea-
venly bodies, viz. the apparent slowness of their mo-
tions. The moon shall take some hours in getting
half a yard from a star which it touched. A motion
so deliberate, we may think easily guided. But what
is the fact? The moon, in fact, is, all this while,
driving through the heavens, at the rate of conside-
rably more than two thousand miles in an hour;
which is more than double of that, with which a ball
is shot off from the mouth of a cannon. Yet is this
prodigious rapidity as much under government, as if
the planet proceeded ever so slowly, or were con-
ducted in its course inch by inch. It is also difficult
to bring the imagination to conceive (what yet, to
judge tolerably of the matter, it is necessary to con-
ceive) how loose, if we may so express it, the hea-
venly bodies are. Enormous globes, held by nothing,
confined by nothing, are turned into free and bound-
less space, each to seek its course by the virtue of an
invisible principle; but a principle, one, common, and
the same, in all; and ascertainable. To preserve
such bodies from being lost, from running together
in heaps, from hindering and distracting one another's
motions, in a degree inconsistent with any continu-
ing order ; h. e. to cause them to form planetary sys-
tems, systems that, when formed, can be upheld,
and, most especially, systems accommodated to the
organized and sensitive natures which the planets
sustain, as we know to be the case, where alone we
can know what the case is, upon our earth: all this
requires an intelligent interposition, because it can be
demonstrated concerning it, that it requires an ad-

ASTRONOMY. 305

justment of force, distance, direction, and velocity,
out of the reach of chance to have produced; an ad-
justment, in its view to utility similar to that which
we see in ten thousand subjects of nature which are
nearer to us, but in power, and in the extent of space
through which that power is exerted, stupendous.

But many of the heavenly bodies, as the sun and
fixed stars, are stationary. Their rest must be the
effect of an absence or of an equilibrium of attractions.
It proves also that a projectile impulse was originally
given to some of the heavenly bodies, and not to
others. But further; if attraction act at all distances,
there can be only one quiescent centre of gravity in
the universe: and all bodies whatever must be ap-
proaching this centre, or revolving round it. Accord-
ing to the first of these suppositions, if the duration,
of the world had been long enough to allow of it, all
its parts, all the great bodies of which it is composed,
must have been gathered together in a heap round
this point. No changes however which have been
observed, afford us the smallest reason for believing
that either the one supposition or the other is true:
and then it will follow, that attraction itself is con-
trolled or suspended by a superior agent ; that there is
a power above the highest of the powers of materia!
nature; a will which restrains and circumscribes the
operations of the most extensive.

[ 306 ^

CHAPTER XXIII.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

CONTRIVANCE, if established, appears
to me to prove every thing which we wish to prove.
Amongst other things it proves the personality of the
Deity, as distinguished from what is sometimes called
nature, sometimes called a principle: which terms, in
the mouths of those who use them philosophically,
seem to be intended, to admit and to express an effi-
cacy, but to exclude and to deny a personal agent.
Now that which can contrive, which can design,
must be a person. These capacities constitute per-
sonality, for they imply consciousness, and thought.
They require that which can perceive an end or pur-
pose; as well as the power of providing means, and
of directing them to their end*. They require a
centre in which perceptions unite, and from which
volitions flow; which is mind. The acts of a mind
prove the existence of a mind: and in whatever a
mind resides is a person. The seat of intellect is a
person. We have no authority to limit the pro-
perties of mind to any particular corporeal form,
or any particular circumscription of space. These
properties subsist, in created nature, under a
great variety of sensible forms. Also every animated
being has its sensorium, that is, a certain portion of
space, within which perception and volition are
exerted. This sphere may be enlarged to an inde-

* Priestley's Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, p. 153, ed. 2.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 3or

finite extent; may comprehend the universe; and,
being so imagined, may serve to furnish us with as
good a notion, as we are capable of forming, of the
immensity of the divine nature, i. e. of a Being, in-
finite, as well in essence, as in power; yet neverthe-
less a person.

" No man hath seen God at any time." And
this, I believe, makes the great difficulty. Now it
is a difficulty, which chiefly arises from our not duly
estimating the state of our faculties. The Deity, it
is true, is the object of none of our senses: but re-
flect what limited capacities animal senses are. Many
animals seem to have but one sense, or perhaps two at
the most, touch and taste. Ought such an animal to
conclude against the existence of smells, sounds, and
colours? To another species is given the sense of
smelling. This is an advance in the knowledge of
the powers and properties of nature: but if this
favoured animal should infer from its superiority over
the class last described, that it perceived every thing
which was perceptible in nature, it is known to us,
though perhaps not suspected by the animal itself,
that it proceeded upon a false and presumptuous esti-
mate of its faculties. To another is added the sense
of hearing; which lets in a class of sensations entirely
unconceived by the animal before spoken of; not
only distinct, but remote from any which it had
ever experienced, and greatly superior to them. Yet
this last animal has no more ground for believing,
that its senses comprehend all things, and all properties
of things, which exist, than might have been claim-
ed by the tribes of animals beneath it: for we know,
that it is still possible to possess another sense, that
of sight, which shall disclose to the percipient a new
world. This fifth sense makes the animal what the
human animal is: but to infer that possibility stops
here; that either this fifth sense is the last sense, or

308 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

that the five comprehend all existence, is just as un-
warrantable a conclusion, as that which might have
been made by any of the different species which
possessed fewer, or even by that, if such there be,
which possessed only one. The conclusion of the one
sense animal, and the conclusion of the five sense
animal, stand upon the same authority. There may
be more and other senses than those which we
have. There may be senses suited to the perception
of the powers, properties, and substance of spirits.
These may belong to higher orders of rational
agents; for there is not the smallest reason for suppos-
ing that we are the highest, or that the scale of
creation stops with us.

The great energies of nature are known to us only
by their effects. The substances which produce
them, are as much concealed from our senses as the
divine essence itself. Gravitation, though constantly
present, though constantly exerting its influence,
though every where around us, near us, and within
us ; though diffused throughout all space, and
penetrating" the texture of all bodies with which we
are acquainted, depends, if upon a fluid, upon a
fluid, which, though both powerful and universal
in its operation, is no object of sense to us; if
upon any other kind of substance or action, upon
a substance and action from which we receive
no distinguishable impressions. Is it then to be
wondered at, that it should, in some measure, be the
same with the divine nature?

Of this however we are certain, that, whatever the
Deity be, neither the uni verse, nor any part of it which
we see, can be he. The universe itself is merely a
collective name : its parts are ail which are real ; or
which are things. Now inert matter is out of the
question ; and organized substances include marks
of contrivance. But whatever includes marks of con-

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 309

trivance, whatever, in its constitution, testifies de-
sign, necessarily carries us to some thing beyond it-
self, to some other being, to a designer prior to, and
out of, itself. No animal, for instance, can have con-
trived its own limbs and senses; can have been the au-
thor to itself of the design with which they were con-
structed. That supposition involves all the absurdi-
ty of self- creation, i. e. of acting without existing.
Nothing can be God, which is ordered by a wisdom
and a will, which itself is void of: which is indebt-
ed for any of its properties to contrivance ab extra.
The not having that in his nature which requires the
exertion of another prior being, (which property
is sometimes called self-sufficiency, and sometimes
self- comprehension,} appertains to the Deity, as his
essential distinction, and removes his nature from
that of all things which we see. Which considera-
tion contains the answer to a question that has some-
times been asked, namely, Why since something or
other must have existed from eternity, may not the
present universe be that something? The contrivance,
perceived in it, proves that to be impossible. No-
thing Gontrived, can, in a strict and proper sense, be
eternal, forasmuch as the contriver must have exist-
ed before the contrivance.

Wherever we see marks of contrivance, we are
led for its cause to an Intelligent author. And this
transition of the understanding is founded upon uni-
form experience. We see intelligence constantly
contriving, that is, we see intelligence constantly pro-
ducing effects, marked and distinguished by certain
properties; not certain particular properties, but by
a kind and class of properties, such as relation to an
end, relation of parts to one another, and to a com-
mon purpose. We see, wherever we are witnesses
to the actual formation of things, nothing except in-
telligence producing effects so marked and distin*

2 p

310 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

guished. Furnished with this experience, we view
the productions of nature. We observe them also
marked and distinguished in the same manner. We
wish to account for their origim Our experience
suggests a cause perfectly adequate to this account.
No experience, no single instance or example, can
be offered in favour of any other. In this cause there-
fore we ought to rest : in this cause the common
sense of mankind has in fact rested, because it agrees
with that, which, in all cases, is the foundation of
knowledge, the undeviating course of their experi-
ence. The reasoning is the same, as that, by which
we conclude any ancient appearances to have been
the effects of volcanos or inundations, namely, be-
cause they resemble the effects which fire and water
produce before our eyes ; and because we have ne-
ver known these effects to result from any other ope-
ration. And this resemblance may subsist in so ma-
ny circumstances, as not to leave us under the smallest
doubt in forming our opinion. Men are not deceived
by this reasoning ; for whenever it happens, as it
sometimes does happen, that the truth comes to be
known by direct information, it turns out to be what
was expected. In like manner, and upon the same
foundation, (which in truth is that of experience,) we
conclude that the works of nature proceed from in-
telligence and design, because, in the properties of
relation to a purpose, subserviency to an use, they
resemble what intelligence and design are constantly
producing, and what nothing except intelligence and
design ever produce at all. Of every argument,
which would raise a question as to the safety of this
reasoning, it may be observed, that, if such argu-
ment be listened to, it leads to the inference, not only
that the present order of nature is insufficient to prove
the existence of an intelligent Creator, but that no
imaginable order would be sufficient to prove it ; that

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 211

no contrivance, were it ever so mechanical, ever so
precise, ever so clear, ever so perfectly like those
which we ourselves employ, would support this con-
clusion. A doctrine, to which, I conceive, no sound
mind can assent.

The force however of the reasoning is sometimes
sunk by our taking up with mere names. We have
already noticed*, and we must here notice again, the
misapplication of the term u law," and the mistake
concerning the idea which that term expresses in
physics, whenever such idea is made to take the place
of power, and still more of an intelligent power, and,
as such, to be assigned for the cause of any thing, or
of any property of any thing, that exists. This is
what we are secretly apt to do when we speak of
organized bodies (plants, for instance, or animals)
owing their production, their form, their growth,
their qualities, their beauty, their use, to any law or
laws of nature : and when we are contented to sit
down with that answer to our inquiries concerning
them. I say once more, that it is a perversion of
language to assign any law, as the efficient, operative,
cause of any thing. A law presupposes an agent,
for it is only the mode according to which an agent
proceeds : it implies a power, for it is the order ac-
cording to which that power acts. Without this agent,
without this power, which are both distinct from it-
self, the " law" does nothing ; is nothing.

What has been said concerning " law," holds true
of mechanism. Mechanism is not itself power. Me-
chanism, without power, can do nothing. Let a watch
be contrived and constructed ever so ingeniously ; be
its parts ever so many, ever so complicated, ever so
finely wrought or artificially put together, it cannot
go without a weight or spring, i. e. without a force
independent of, and ulterior to its mechanism. The

• Gh. I. s. vii

312 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

spring acting at the centre, will produce different
motions and different results, according to the va-
riety of the intermediate mechanism. One and the
self same spring, acting in one and the same man-
ner, viz. by simply expanding itself, may be the
cause of a hundred different, and all useful move-
ments, if a hundred different and well devised sets
of wheels be placed between it and the final effect,
e. g. may point out the hour of the day, the day of
the month, the age of the moon, the position of
the planets, the cycle of the years, and many other
serviceable notices ; and these movements may fulfil
their purposes with more or less perfection, accord-
ing as the mechanism is better or worse contrived,
or better or worse executed, or in a better or worse
state of repair : but, ih all cases, it is necessary that
the spring act at the centre. The course of our rea-
soning upon such a subject would be this. By in-
specting the watch, even when standing still, we get
a proof of contrivance, and of a contriving mind, hav-
ing been employed about it. In the form and obvi-
ous relation of its parts we see enough to convince us
of this. If we pull the works in pieces, for the pur-
pose of a closer examination, we are still more fully
convinced. But, when we see the watch going, we
see proof of another point, viz. that there is a power
somewhere and somehow or other, applied to it ; a
power in action; that there is more in the subject than
the mere wheels of the machine ; that there is a se-
cret spring or a gravitating plummet ; in a word, that
there is force and energy, as well as mechanism.

So then, the watch in motion establishes to the
observer two conclusions : one ; that thought^ con-
trivance, and design, have been employed in the
forming, proportioning, and arranging of its parts ;
and that, whoever or wherever he be, or were, such
a contriver there is, or was: the other; that force or
power, distinct from mechanism, is, at this present

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY 313

time, acting upon it. If I saw a handmill even
at rest, I should see contrivance; but, if I saw it
grinding, I should be assured that a hand was at the
windlass, though in another room. It is the same
in nature. In the works of nature we trace
mechanism; and this alone proves contrivance: but
living, active, moving, productive nature, proves also
the exertion of a power at the centre ; for, wherever
the power resides, may be denominated the centre.

The intervention and disposition of what are
called u second causes" fall under the same observa-
tion. This disposition is or is not mechanism,
according as we can or cannot trace it by our senses,
and means of examination. That is all the difference
there is; and it is a difference which respects our
faculties, not the things themselves. Nowr where the
order of second causes is mechanical, what is here
said of mechanism strictly applies to it. But it would
be always mechanism (natural chymistry, for in-
stance, would be mechanism) if our senses were
acute enough to descry it. Neither mechanism,
therefore in the works of nature, nor the intervention
of what are called second causes, (for I think that
they are the same thing,) excuse the necessity of an
agent distinct from both.

If, in tracing these causes, it be said, that we find
certain general properties of matter, which have
nothing in them that bespeaks intelligence, I answer,
that, still, the managing of these properties, the
pointing and directing them to the uses which we
see made of them, demands intelligence in the highest
degree. For example, suppose animal secretions to
be elective attractions, and that such and such
attractions universally belong to such and such sub-
stances; in all which there is no intellect concerned;
still the choice and collocation of these substances,
the fixing upon right substances and disposing

314 . OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

them in right places, must be an act of intelligence.
What mischief would follow, were there a single
transposition of the secretery organs; a single mistake
in arranging the glands which compose them ?

There may be many second causes, and many
courses of second causes, one behind another, be-
tween what we observe of nature, and the Deity ;
but there must be intelligence somewhere ; there
must be more in nature than what we see ; and,
amongst the things unseen, there must be an intelli-
gent, designing, author. The philosopher beholds
with astonishment the production of things around
him. Unconscious particles of matter take their
stations, and severally range themselves in an order,
so as to become collectively plants or animals, i. e.
organized bodies, with parts bearing strict and
evident relation to one another, and to the utility of
the whole : and it should seem that these particles
could not move in any other way than as they do, for
they testify not the smallest sign of choice, or liberty,
or discretion. There may be plastic natures, particu-
lar intelligent beings, guiding these motions in each
case : or they may be the result of trains of mechanical
dispositions, fixed beforehand by an intelligent ap-
pointment, and kept in action by a power at the centre.
But in either case, there must be intelligence.

The minds of most men are fond of what they
call a principle, and of the appearance of simplicity,
in accounting for phaenomena. Yet this principle,
this simplicity, is sometimes nothing more than in
the name ; which name, comprises, perhaps, under it
a diversified, multifarious, or progressive operation,
distinguishable into parts. The power, in organized
bodies, of producing bodies like themselves, is one
of these principles. Give a philosopher this, and he
can get on. But he does not reflect, what this prin-
ciple, (if such he chuse to call it,) what this mode of

GF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 3\S

production requires; how much it presupposes; what
an apparatus of instruments, some of which are
strktly mechanical, is necessary to its success; what
a train it includes of operations and changes, one
succeeding another, one related to another, one
ministring to another; all advancing, by intermediate,
and, frequently, by sensible steps, to their ultimate
result. Yet, because the whole of this complicated
action is wrapped up in a single term, generation,
we are to set it down as an elementary principle;
and to suppose, that, when we have resolved the
things which we see into this principle, we have
sufficiently accounted for their origin, without the
necessity of a designing, intelligent Creator. The
truth is, generation is not a principle, but a process.
We might as well call the casting of metals a principle:
we might, so far as appears to me, as well call spin-
ning and weaving principles: and then, referring the
texture of cloths, the fabric of muslins and callicoes,
the patterns of diapers and damasks, to these as prin-
ciples, pretend to dispense with intention, thought,
and contrivance, on the part of the artist: or to dis-
pense, indeed, with the necessity of any artist at all,
either in the manufactory of the article, or in the
fabrication of the machinery by which the manufac-
tory was carried on.

And, after all, how, or in what sense, is it true*
that animals produce their like? A butterfly, with a
proboscis instead of a mouth, with four wings and
six legs, produces a hairy caterpillar, with jaws and
teeth, and fourteen feet. A frog produces a tadpole.
A black beetle, with gauze wings and a crusty cover-
ing, produces a white, smooth, soft worm : an ephe-
meron fly, a cod-bait maggot. These, by a progress
through different stages of life, and action, and en-
joyment, (and, in each state, provided with imple-
ments and organs appropriated to the temporary na-

316 O'F THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

ture which they bear), arrive at last at the form ancf
fashion of the parent animal. But all this is process,
not principle; and proves, moreover, that the pro-
perty of animated bodies of producing their like, be-
longs to them, not as a primordial property, not by any
blind necessity in the nature of things, but as the
effect of ceconomy, wisdom, and design; because the
property itself, assumes diversities, and submits to
deviations, dictated by intelligible utilities, and serv-
ing distinct purposes of animal happiness.

The opinion, which would consider " generation"
as a principle in nature; and which would assign this
principle as the cause, or endeavour to satisfy our
minds with such a cause, of the existence of organ-
ized bodies, is confuted, in my judgment, not only
by every mark of contrivance discoverable in those
bodies, for which it gives us no contriver, offers no
account, whatever; but also by the further considera-
tion, that things generated possess a clear relation to
things not generated. If it were merely one part of
a generated body bearing a relation to another part of
the same body, as the mouth of an animal to the
throat, the throat to the stomach, the stomach to the
intestines, those to the recruiting of the blood, and,
by means of the blood, to the nourishment of the
whole frame: or if it were only one generated body
bearing a relation to another generated body, as the
sexes of the same species to each other, animals of
prey to their prey, herbivorous and graminivorous
animals to the plants or seeds upon which they feed,
it might be contended, that the whole of this corres-
pondency was attributable to generation, the common
origin from which these substances proceeded. But
what shall we say to agreements which exist between
things generated and things not generated? Can it be
doubted, was it ever doubted, but that the kings of
animals bear a relation to the air, as a permanently

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 317

elastic fluid ? They act in it and by it: they cannot
act without it. Now, if generation produced the
animal, it did not produce the air; yet their proper-
ties correspond. The eye is made for light, and light
for the eye. The eye would be of no use without
light, and light perhaps of little without eyes: yet one
is produced by generation; the other not. The ear
depends upon undulations of air. Here are two sets
of motions ; first, of the pulses of the air; secondly,
of the drum, bones, and nerves of the ear; sets of
motions bearing an evident reference to each other:
yet the one, and the apparatus for the one, produced
by the intervention of generation; the other altogether
independent of it.

If it be said, that the air, the light, the elements,
the world itself, is generated, I answer, that I do not
comprehend the proposition. If the term mean any
thing, similar to what it means, when applied to
plants or animals, the proposition is certainly without
jbroof; and, I think, draws as near to absurdity, as
any proposition can do, which does not include a
contradiction in its terms. I am at a loss to con-
ceive, how the formation of the world can be com-
pared to the generation of an animal. If the terra
generation signify something quite different from
what it signifies upon ordinary occasions, it may, by
the same latitude, signify any thing. In which case
a word or phrase taken from the language of Ota-
heite, would convey as much theory concerning the
origin of the universe, as it does to talk of its being
generated.

We know a cause (intelligence) adequate to the
appearances, which we wish to account for: we have
this cause continually producing similar appearances:
yet, rejecting this cause, the sufficiency of which we
know, aiid the action of which is constantly before
our eyes, we are invited to resort to suppositions,

H

318 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

destitute of a single fact for their support, and con-
firmed by analogy with which we are acquainted.
Were it necessary to inquire into the motives of
men's opinions, I mean their motives separate from
their arguments, I should almost suspect, that, be-
cause the proof of a Deity drawn from the constitu-
tion of nature is not only popular but vulgar, (which
may arise from the cogency of the proof, and be in-
deed its highest recommendation), and because it is
a species almost of puerility to take up with it, for
these reasons, minds, which are habitually in search
of invention and originality, feel a resistless inclina-
tion to strike off into other solutions and other expo-
sitions. The truth is, that many minds are not so
indisposed to any thing which can be offered to them,
as they are to the flatness of being content with com-
mon reasons; and, what is most to be lamented,
minds conscious of superiority are the most liable to
this repugnancy.

The " suppositions" here alluded to all agree in
one character. They all endeavour to dispense with
the necessity in nature of a particular, personal, in-
telligence; that is to say, with the exertion of an in-
tending, contriving mind, in the structure and forma-
tion of the organized constitutions which the world
contains. They would resolve all productions into
unconscious energies, of a like kind, in that respect,
with attraction, magnetism, electricity, Sec. without
any thing further.

In this the old svstems of atheism and the new

if

agree. And I much doubt, whether the new schemes
have advanced any thing upon the old, or done more
than changed the terms of the nomenclature. For
instance, I could never see the difference between
the antiquated system of atoms, andBuffon's organic
molecules. This philosopher, having made a planet
by knocking off from the sun a piece of melted glass,

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 319

in consequence of the stroke of a comet; and having
set it in motion, by the same stroke, both round its
own axis and the sun, finds his next difficulty to be,
how to bring plants and animals upon it. In order
to solve this difficulty, we are to suppose the universe
replenished with particles, endowed with life, but
without organization or senses of their own; and en-
dowed also with a tendency to marshal themselves
into organized forms. The concourse of these par-
ticles, by virtue of this tendency, but wuhout intel-
ligence, will, or direction, (for I do not find that any
of these qualities are ascribed to them), has produced
the living forms which we now see.

Very few of the conjectures, which philosophers
hazard upon these subjects, have more of pretension
in them, than the challenging you to shew the direct
impossibility of the hypothesis. In the present
example, there seemed to be a positive objection to
the whole scheme upon the very face of it; which
was, that, if the case were as here represented, new
combinations ought to be perpetually taking place ;
new plants and animals, or organized bodies which
were neither, ought to be starting up before our eyes
every day. For this, however, our philosopher has
an answer. Whilst so many forms of plants and
animals are already in existence, and, consequently,
so many " internal molds," as he calls them, are pre-
pared and at hand, the organic particles run into these
molds, and are employed in supplying an accession
of substance to them, as well for their growth, as for
their propagation. By which means things keep
their ancient course. But, says the same philoso-
pher, should any general loss or destruction of the
present constitution of organized bodies take place,
the particles, for want of " molds" into which they
might enter, would run into different combinations.

320 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

and replenish the waste with new species of organized
substances.

Is there any history to countenance this notion ?
Is it known, that any destruction has been so re-
paired? any desert thus re-peopled?

So far as I remember, the only natural appearance
mentioned by our author, by way of fact whereon to
build his hypothesis, the only support on which it
rests, is the formation of worms in the intestines of
animals, which is here ascribed to the coalition of
superabundant organic particles, floating about in
the first passages ; and which have combined them-
selves into these simple animal forms, for want of
internal molds, or of vacancies in those molds, into
which they might be received. The thing referred
to is rather a species of facts, than a single fact ; as
some other cases may, with equal reason, be includ-
ed under it. But to make it a fact at all, or, in any
sort, applicable to the question, we must begin with
asserting an equivocal generation contrary to analogy,
and without necessity : contrary to an analogy, which
accompanies us to the very limits of our knowledge or
inquiries, for wherever, either in plants or animals,
we are able to examine the subject, we find procrea-
tion from a parent form ; without necessity, for I ap-
prehend that it is seldom difficult to suggest methods,
by which the eggs, or spawn, or yet invisible rudi-
ments of these vermin, may have obtained a passage
into the cavities in which they are found*. Add to
this, that their constancy to their species, which, I
believe, is as regular in these as in the other vermes,
decides the question against our philosopher, if, in
truth, any question remained upon the subject.

* I trust I may be excused, for not citing, as another fact which is
to confirm the hypothesis, a grave assertion of this writer, that the
branches of trees upon which the stag feeds, break out again in his horn's.
Suchjacts merit no discussion.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY: 321

Lastly ; these wonder-working instruments, these
" internal molds," what are they after all ? what,
when examined, but a name without signification ;
unintelligible, if not self- contradictory; at the best
differing nothing from the u essential forms" of the
Greek philosophy ? One short sentence of Buffon's
work exhibits his scheme as follows. " When this
nutritious and prolific matter, which is diffused
throughout all nature, passes through the internal
mold of an animal or vegetable, and finds a proper
matrix or receptacle, it gives rise to an animal or ve-
getable of the same species." Does any reader an-
nex a meaning to the expression, " internal mold,"
in this sentence ? Ought it then to be said, that,
though we have little notion of an internal mold, we
have not much more of a designing mind? The very
contrary of this assertion is the truth. When we
speak of an artificer or an architect, we talk of what
is comprehensible to our understanding, and fami-
liar to our experience. We use no other terms,
than what refer us for their meaning to our consci-
ousness and observation ; what express the constant
objects of both : whereas names, like that we have
mentioned, refer us to nothing ; excite no idea ;
convey a sound to the ear, but I think do no more.

Another system, which has lately been brought
forward, and with much ingenuity, is that of appeten-
cies. The principle, and the short account, of the
theory, is this. Pieces of soft, ductile, matter, being
endued with propensities or appetencies for particular
actions, would, by continual endeavours, carried on
through a long series of generations, work themselves
gradually into suitable forms ; and, at length, acquire,
though perhaps by obscure and almost impercepti-
ble improvements, an organization fitted to the action
which their respective propensities led them to exert.
A piece of animated matter, for example, that was

322 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

endued with a propensity X.ofly, though ever so shape-
less, though no other we will suppose than a round
ball to begin with, would, in the course of ages, if
^ot in a million of years, perhaps in a hundred mil-
lions of years, (for our theorists, having eternity
to dispose of, are never sparing in time,) acquire
ivings. The same tendency to loco-motion in an
aquatic animal, or rather in an animated lump which
might happen to be surrounded by water, would end
in the production oijins : in a living substance, con-
fined to the solid earth, would put out legs and feet ;
or, if it took a different turn, would break the body
into ringlets, and conclude by crawling upon the
ground.

Although I have introduced the mention of this
theory into this place, lam unwilling to give to it the
name of an atheistic scheme, for two reasons; first,
because, so far as I am able to understand it, the ori-
ginal propensities and the numberless varieties of them
(so different, in this respect, from the laws of mecha-
nical nature, which are few and simple) are, in the
plan itself, attributed to the ordination and appoint-
ment of an intelligent and designing Creator : se-
condly, because, likewise, that large postulatum, which
is all along assumed and presupposed, the faculty in
living bodies of producing other bodies organized
like themselves, seems to be referred to the same
cause ; at least is not attempted to be accounted for
by any other. In one important respect, however,
the theory before us coincides with atheistic systems,
viz. in that, in the formation of plants and animals,
in the structure and use of their parts, it does away
final causes. Instead of the parts of a plant or animal,
or the particular structure of the parts, having been in-
tended for the action or the use to which we see them
applied, according tothis theory they have themselves
grown out of that action, sprung from that use.

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 323

The theory therefore dispenses with that which we
insist upon, the necessity, in each particular case,
of an intelligent, designing, mind, for the contriving
and determining of the forms which organized bodies
bear. Give our philosopher these appetencies ; give
him a portion of living irritable matter (a nerve, or
the clipping of a nerve,) to work upon ; give also to
his incipient or progressive forms, the power, in every
stage ^f their alteration, of propagating their like ;
and, if lie is to be believed, he could replenish the
world with all the vegetable and animal productions
which we at present see in it.

The scheme under consideration is open to the
same objection with other conjectures of a similar
tendency, viz. a total defect of evidence. No changes,
like those which the theory requires, have ever been
observed. All the changes in Ovid's Metamorphoses
might have been effected by these appetencies, if the
theory were true; yet not an example, nor the pre-
tence of an example, is offered, of a single change
being known to have taken place. Nor is the order
of generation obedient to the principle upon which
this theory is built. The mammae* of the male have
not vanished by inusitation; nee curtorum, per multa
stecula, Judoeorum propagini deest prceputium. It
is easy to say, and it has been said, that the altera-
tive process is too slow to be perceived; that it has
been carried on through tracts of immeasurable time ;
and that the present order of things is the result of a
gradation,- of which no human record can trace the
steps. It is easy to say this; and yet it is still true,
that the hypothesis remains destitute of evidence.

• I confess myself totally at a loss to guess at the reason, either final or
efficient, for this part of the animal frame, unless there be some founda-
tion for an opinion, of which I draw the hint from a paper of Mr. Eve-
aard Home's, (Phil. Transac. 1799, p. 2 ) viz. that the mamm* of the
iostus may be formed before the sex is determined.

$» OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

The analogies which have been alleged are of the
following kind. The bunch of a camel, is said to be
no other than the effect of carrying burthens ; a ser-
vice in which the species has been employed from the
most ancient times of the world. The first race, by
the daily loading of the back, would probably find a
small grumous tumour to be formed in the flesh of that
part. The next progeny would bring this tumour
into the world with them. The life, to whi<*fo they
were destined, would increase it. The cause, which
first generated the tubercle, being continued, it would
go on, through every succession, to augment its size,
till it attained the form and the bulk under which it
now appears. This may serve for one instance :
another, and that also of the passive sort, is taken
from certain species of birds. Birds of the crane
kind, as the crane itself, the heron, bittern, stork,
have, in general, their thighs bare of feathers. This
privation is accounted for from the habit of wading
in water, and from the effect of that element to check
the growth of feathers upon these parts : in conse-
quence of which, the health and vegetation of the
feathers declined through each generation of the ani-
mal : the tender down, exposed to cold and wetness,
became weak, and thin, and rare, till the deteriora-
tion ended in the result which we see, of absolute
nakedness. I will mention a third instance because
it is drawn from an active habit, as the two last were
from passive habits ; and that is the pouch of the pe-
lican. The description, which naturalists give of this
organ is as follows: " From the lower edges of the
under chap, hangs a bag, reaching from the whole
length of the bill to the neck, which is said to be ca-
pable of containing fifteen quarts of water. This bag
the bird has a power of wrinkling up into the hollow
of the under chap. When the bag is empty it is not
seen: but when the bird has fished with success, it is

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 325

incredible to what an extent it is often dilated. The
first thing the pelican does in fishing, is to fill the bag;
and then it returns to digest its burthen at leisure.
The bird preys upon the large fishes, and hides them
by dozens in its pouch. When the bill is opened
to its widest extent, a person may run his head into
the bird's mouth ; and conceal it in his monstrous
pouch, thus adapted for very singular purposes*."
Now thisextraordinary conformation, is nothingmore,
say our philosophers, than the result of habit; not of
the habit or effort of a single pelican, or of a single race
of pelicans, but of a habit perpetuated through along
series of generations. The pelican soon found the con-
veniency, of reserving in its mouth, when its appe-
tite was glutted, the remainder of its prey, which is
fish. The fulness produced by this attempt, of course
stretched the skin which lies between the under
chaps, as being the most yielding part of the mouth.
Every distension increased the cavity. The original
bird, and many generations which succeeded him,
might find difficulty enough in making the pouch an-
swer this purpose : but future pelicans, entering up-
on life with a pouch derived from their progenitors,
of considerable capacity, would more readily accele-
rate its advance to perfection, by frequently pressing
down the sac with the weight offish which it might
now be made to contain.

These, or of this kind, are the analogies relied
upon. Now in the first place, the instances them-
selves are unauthenticated by testimony; and, in
theory, to say the least of them, open to great objec-
tions. Who ever read of camels without bunches,
or with bunches less than those with which they are
at present usually formed? A bunch, not unlike the
earners, is found between the shoulders of the buf-

* Goldsmith, vol. vi. p. 52.
2 R

326 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

faio; of the origin of which it is impossible to give
the account which is here given. In the second
example; Why should the application of water,
which appears to promote and thicken the growth of
feathers upon the bodies and breasts of geese and
swans and other water fowls, have divested of this co-
vering the thighs of cranes? The third instance,
which appears to me as plausible as any that can be
produced, has this against it, that it is a singularity
restricted to the species ; whereas, if it had its com-
mencement in the cause and manner which have been
assigned, the like conformation might be expected to
take place in other birds, which fed upon fish. How
comes it to pass, that the pelican alone was the in-
ventress, and her descendants the only inheritors, of
this curious resource?

But it is the less necessary to controvert the in-
stances themselves, as it is a straining of analogy be-
yond all limits of reason and credibility, to assert that
birds, and beasts, and fish, with all their variety and
complexity of organization, have been brought into
their forms, and distinguished into their several kinds
and natures, by the same process (even if that process
could be demonstrated, or had ever been actually
noticed) as might seem to serve for the gradual gene-
ration of a camel's bunch, or a pelican's pouch.

The solution, when applied to the works of nature
generally, is contradicted by many of the pheno-
mena, and totally inadequate to others. The liga-
ments or strictures, by which the tendons are tied
down at the angles of the joints, could, by no possi-
bility, be formed by the motion or exercise of the
tendons themselves; by any appetency exciting these
parts into action; or by any tendency arising there-
from. The tendency is all the other way: the cona-
tus in constant opposition to them. Length of time
does not help the case at all, but the reverse. The

OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY. 327

vahes also in the blood-vessels, could never be
formed in the manner, which our theorist proposes.
The blood, in its right and natural course, has no
tendency to form them. When obstructed or re-
fluent, it has the contrary. Those parts could not
grow out of their use, though they had eternity to
grow in.

The senses of animals appear to me altogether in-
capable of receiving the explanation of their origin
which this theory affords. Including under the word
" sense" the organ and the perception, we have no
account of either. How will our philosopher get at
vision, or make an eye? How should the blind ani-
mal affect sight, of which blind animals, we know,
have neither conception nor desire ? Affecting it, by
what operation of its will, by what endeavour to see,
could it so determine the fluids of its body, as to in-
choate the formation of an eye ? or, suppose the eye
formed, would the perception follow? The same of
the other senses. And this objection holds its force,
ascribe what you will to the hand of time, to the
power of habit, to changes, too slow to be observed
by man, or brought within any comparison which he
is able to make of past things with the present: con-
cede what you please to these arbitrary and unattested
suppositions, how will they help you ? Here is no in-
ception. No laws, no course, no powers of nature
which prevail at present, nor any analogous to these,
could give commencement to a new sense. And it
is in vain to inquire, how that might proceed, which
could never begin.

I think the senses, to be the most inconsistent with
the hypothesis before us, of any part of the animal
frame. But other parts are sufficiently so. The so-
lution does not apply to the parts of animals, which
have little in them of motion. If we could suppose
joints and muscles to be gradually formed by action

328 OF THE PERSONALITY OF THE DEITY.

and exercise, what action or exercise could form a
skull, or fill it with brains ? No effort of the animal
could determine the clothing of its skin. What co-
natus could give prickles to the porcupine or hedge-
hog, or to the sheep its fleece ?

In the last place ; what do these appetencies mean
when applied to plants? I am not able to give a
signification to the term, which can be transferred
from animals to plants; or which is common to both.
Yet a no less successful organization is found in
plants, than what obtains in animals. A solution is
wanted for one, as well as the other.

Upon the whole; after all the struggles of a
reluctant philosophy the necessary resort is to a
Deity. The marks of design are too strong to be
got over. Design must have had a designer. That
designer must have been a person That person is
God.

[ 32* ]

CHAPTER XXIV,

©F THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.

IT is an immense conclusion, that there is
a God; a perceiving intelligent, designing Being; at
the head of creation, and from whose will it proceeded.
The attributes of such a Being, suppose his reality to
be proved, must be adequate to the magnitude,
extent, and multiplicity of his operations: which are
not only vast beyond comparison with those per-
formed by any other power, but, so far as respects
our conceptions of them, infinite, because they are
unlimited on all sides.

Yet the contemplation of a nature so exalted,
however surely we arrive at the proof of its existence,
overwhelms our faculties. The mind feels its
powers sink under the subject. One consequence of
which is, that from painful abstraction the thoughts
seek relief in sensible images. From whence may
be deduced the ancient, and almost universal,
propensity to idolatrous substitutions. They are the
resources of a labouring imagination. False religions
usually fall in with the natural propensity : true
religions, or such as have derived themselves from
the true, resist it.

It is one of the advantages of the revelations
which we acknowledge, that, whilst they reject
idolatry with its many pernicious accompaniments,
they introduce the Deity to human apprehension,
under an idea more personal, more determinate, more
within its compass, than the theology of nature can

330 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.

do. And this tliey do by representing him exclusively
under the relation in which he stands to ourselves j
and, for the most part, under some precise character,
resulting from that relation, or from the history of
his providences. Which method suits the span of
our intellects much better, than the universality which
enters into the idea of God, as deduced from the
views of nature. When, therefore, these representa-
tions are well founded in point of authority, (for
all depends upon that,) they afford a condescension to
the state of our faculties, of which, those, who have
reflected most upon the subject, will be the first to
acknowledge the want and the value.

Nevertheless, if we be careful to imitate the
documents of our religion, by confining our explana-
tions to what concerns ourselves, and do not affect
more precision in our ideas than the subject allows
of, the several terms, which are employed to denote
the attributes of the Deity, may be made, even in
natural religion, to bear a sense, consistent with
truth and reason, and not surpassing our comprehen-
sion.

These terms are, omnipotence, omniscience,
omnipresence, eternity, self-existence, necessary
existence, spirituality.

" Omnipotence," " omniscience;" infinite power,
infinite knowledge, are superlatives; expressing our
conception of these attributes in the strongest, and
most elevated, tcrms^ which language supplies. We
ascribe power to the Deity under the name of
" omnipotence," the strict and correct conclusion
being, that a power, which could create such a
world as this is, must be, beyond all comparison,
greater than any which we experience in ourselves,
than any which we observe in other visible agents;
greater, also, than any which we can want, for our

OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY. 331

individual protection and preservation, in the Being
upon whom we depend. It is a power like-
wise, to which we arc not authorised by our obser-
vation or knowledge, to assign any limits of space or
duration.

Very much of the same sort of remark is applicable
to the term " omniscience," infinite knowledge, or
infinite wisdom. In strictness of language, there is
a difference between knowledge and wisdom ; wisdom
always supposing action, and action directed by it.
With respect to the first, viz. knowledge, the Creator
must know, intimately, the constitution and pro-
perties of the things which he created; which seems
also to imply a foreknowledge of their action upon
one another, and of their changes; at least, so far as
the same result from trains of physical and necessary
causes. His omniscience also, as far as respects
things present, is deducible from his nature, as an
intelligent being, joined with the extent, or rather the
universality, of his operations. Where he acts, he
is; and, where he is, he perceives. The wisdom of
the Deity, as testified in the works of creation,
surpasses all idea we have of wisdom, drawn from
the highest intellectual operations of the highest
class of intelligent Beings with whom we are acquaint-
ed; and, which is of the chief importance to us,
whatever be its compass or extent, which it is
evidently impossible that we should be able to de-
termine, it must be adequate to the conduct of that
order of things under which we live. And this is
enough. It is of very inferior consequence, by what
terms we express our notion, or rather our admiration
of this attribute. The terms, which the piety and the
usuage of language have rendered habitual to us, may
be as proper as any other. We can trace this attri-
bute much beyond what is necessary for any conclu-

322 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY.

sion to which we have occasion to apply it. The
degree of knowledge and power, requisite for the
formation of created nature, cannot, with respect to
us, be distinguished from infinite.

The divine " omnipresence" stands, in natural
theology, upon this foundation. In every part and
place of the universe, with which we are acquainted,
we perceive the exertion of a power, which we
believe, mediately or immediately, to proceed from
the Deity. For instance; in what part or point
of space, that has ever been explored, do we not
discover attraction ? In what regions, do we not
find light? In what accessible portion of our globe,
do not we meet with gravity, magnetism, electri-
city; together with the properties also and powers
of organized substances, of vegetable or of animated
nature ? Nay, further, we may ask, what kingdom
is there of nature, what corner of space, in which
there is any thing that can be examined by us,
where we do not fall upon contrivance and design?
The only reflection perhaps which arises in our
minds from this view of the world around us is,
that the laws of nature every where prevail; that they
are uniform and universal. But what do we mean
by the laws of nature, or by any law ? Effects are
produced by power, not by laws. A law cannot
execute itself. A law refers us to an agent. Now an
agency so general, as that we cannot discover its
absence, or assign the place in which some effect of
its continued energy is not found, may, in popular
language at least, and, perhaps, without much devia-
tion from philosophical strictness, be called universal:
and, with not quite the same, but with no incon-
siderable propriety, the person or Being, in whom
that power resides, or from whom it is derived, may
be taken to be omnipresent. He who upholds all

OF THE DEITY. 333

things by his power, may be said to be every where
present.

This is called a virtual presence. There is also
what metaphysicians denominate an essential ubi-
quity: and which idea the language of scripture
seems to favour: but the former, I think, goes as far
as natural theology carries us.

" Eternity," is a negative idea, clothed with a po-
sitive name. It supposes, in that to which it is ap-
plied, a present existence; and is the negation of a
beginning, or an end of that existence. As applied
to the Deity, it has not been controverted by those
who acknowledged a Deity at all. Most assuredly,
there never was a time in which nothing existed, be-
cause that condition must have continued. The
universal blank must have remained; nothing could
rise up out of it; nothing could ever have existed
since; nothing could exist now. In strictness, how-
ever, we have no concern with duration prior to that
of the visible world. Upori this article therefore of
theology, it is sufficient to know, that the contriver
necessarily existed before the contrivance.

" Self-existence," is another negative idea, viz.
the negation of a preceding cause, as of a progenitor,
a maker, an author, a creator.

" Necessary existence" means demonstrable exis-
tence.

" Spirituality" expresses an idea, made up of a
negative part, and of a positive part. The negative
part, consists in the exclusion of some of the known
properties of matter, especially of solidity, of the vis
inertia, and of gravitation. The positive part, com-
prises perception, thought, will, power, action, by
which last term is meant, the origination of motion;
the quality, perhaps, in which resides the essential
superiority of spirit over matter, 4< which cannot

2s

334 OF THE NATURAL ATTRIBUTES, Sec.

move, unless it be moved ; and cannot but move,
when impelled by another*." I apprehend that there
can be no difficulty in applying to the Deity both
parts of this idea.

Bishop Wilkins's Principles of Nat. Rel. p, 106.

C 335 ]

CHAPTER XXV.

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

OF the " unity of the Deity" the proof is,
the uniformity of plan observable in the universe.
The universe itself is a system; each part either de-
pending upon other parts, or being connected with
other parts by some common law of motion, or by
the presence of some common substance. One prin-
ciple of gravitation causes a stone to drop towards
the earth, and the moon to wheel round it. One law
of attraction carries all the different planets about the
sun. This philosophers demonstrate. There are
also other points of agreement amongst them, which
may be considered as marks of the identity of their
origin, and of their intelligent author. In all are found
the conveniency and stability derived from gravita-
tion. They all experience vicissitudes of days and
nights, and changes of season. They all, at least
Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, have the same advantages
from their atmospheres as we have. In all the planets
the axes of rotation are permanent. Nothing is more
probable, than that the same attracting influence,
acting according to the same rule, reaches to the fixed
stars : but* if this be only probable, another thing is
certain, viz. that the same element of light does.
The light from a fixed star affects our eyes in the
same manner, is refracted and reflected according to
the same laws, as the light of a candle. The velocity ox*
the light of the fixed stars, is also the same as the ve_
locity of the light of the sun, reflected from the satel.

336 THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

lites of Jupiter. The heat of the sun, in kind, dif-
fers nothing from the heat of a coal fire.

In our globe the case is clearer. New countries
are continually discovered, but the old laws of nature
are always found in them : new plants perhaps or
animals, but always in company with plants and ani-
mals, which we already know ; and always possessing
many of the same general properties. We never get
amongst such original, or totally different, modes of
existence, as to indicate, that we are come into the
province of a different Creator, or under the direc-
tion of a different will. In truth, the same order of
things attends us, wherever we go. The elements
act upon one another, electricity operates, the tides
rise and fall, the magnetic needle elects its position,
in one region of the earth and sea, as well as in ano-
ther. One atmosphere invests all parts of the globe,
and connects all : one sun illuminates ; one moon ex-
erts its specific attraction upon all parts. If there be
a variety in natural effects, as, e. g. in the tides of
different seas, that very variety is the result of the
same cause, acting under different circumstances.
In many cases this is proved ; in all is probable.

The inspection and comparison of living forms,
add to this argument examples without number. Of
all large terrestrial animals the structure is very much
alike. Their senses nearly the same. Their natu-
ral functions and passions nearly the same. Their
viscera nearly the same, both in substance, shape,
and office. Digestion, nutrition, circulation, secre-
tion, go on, in a similar manner, in all. The great
circulating fluid is the same : for, I think, no differ-
ence has been discovered in the properties of blood,
from whatever animal it be drawn. The experiment
of transfusion proves, that the blood of one animal
will serve for another. The skeletons also of the lar-
ger terrestrial animals, shew particular varieties, but

THE UNITY OF THE DEITY. 337

still under a great general affinity. The resemblance
is somewhat less, yet sufficiently evident, between
quadrupeds and birds. They are alike in five respects,
for one in which they differ.

In fish, which belong to another department, as it
were, of nature, the points of comparison become
fewer. But we never lose sight of our analogy , e. g.
we still meet with a stomach, a liver, a spine ; with
bile and blood; with teeth; with eyes, which eyes
are only slightly varied from our own, and which va-
riation, in truth, demonstrates, not an interruption,
but a continuance, of the same exquisite plan; for
it is the adaptation of the organ to the element, viz.
to the different refraction of light passing into the eye
out of a denser medium. The provinces, also, them-
selves of water and earth, are connected by the species
of animals which inhabit both ; and also by a large
tribe of aquatic animals, which closely resemble the
terrestrial in their internal structure : I mean the ce-
taceous tribe, which have hot blood, respiring lungs,
bowels, and other essential parts, like those of land
animals. This similitude, surely, bespeaks the
same creation and the same Creator.

Insects and shell fish appear to me to differ from
other classes of animals the most widely of any. Yet
even here, beside many points of particular resem-
blance, there exists a general relation of a peculiar
kind. It is the relation of inversion : the law of con-
trariety : namely, that, whereas, in other animals,
the bones, to which the muscles are attached, lie
within the body, in insects and shell fish they lie on
the outside of it. The shell of a lobster performs to
the animal the office of a bone, by furnishing to the
tendons that fixed basis or immoveable fulcrum,
without which mechanically they could not act. The
crust of an insect is its shell, and answers the like
purpose. The shell also of an ovster stands in the

338 THE UNITY OF THE DEITY.

place of a bone ; the bases of the muscles being fixed
to it, in the same manner, as, in other animals, they
are fixed to the bones. All which (under wonder-
ful varieties, indeed, and adaptations of form) con-
fesses an imitation, a remembrance, a carrying on, of
the same plan.^

The observations, here made, are equally applica-
ble to plants ; but I think unnecessary to be pursued.

It is a very striking circumstance, and alone suffi-
cient to prove all which we contend for, that, in this
part likewise of organized nature, we perceive a con-
tinuation of the sexual system.

Certain however it is, that the whole argument for
the divine unity, goes no further than to an unity of
counsel.

It may likewise be acknowledged, that no argu-
ments which we are in possession of, exclude the mi-
nistry of subordinate agents. If such there be, they
act under a presiding, a controlling, will ; because
they act according to certain general restrictions, by
certain common rules, and, as it should seem, upon a
general plan : but still such agents, and different
ranks, and classes, and degrees of them, may be em-
ployed.

I 339 ]

CHAPTER XXVL

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

1 HE proof of the divine goodness rests up-
on two propositions, each, as we contend, capable of
being made out by observations drawn from the ap-
pearances of nature.

The first is, " that, in a vast plurality of instances
in which contrivance is perceived, the design of the
contrivance is beneficial."

The second, il that the Deity has superadded plea-
sure to animal sensations, beyond what was necessa-
ry for any other purpose, or when the purpose, so far
as it was necessary, might have been effected by the
operation of pain."

First, " in a vast plurality of instances, in which
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contri-
vance is .beneficial."

No productions of nature display contrivance so
manifestly as the parts of animals : and the parts of
animals have all of them, I believe, a real, and, with
very few exceptions, all of them a known and intelli-
gible, subserviency to the use of the animal. Now,
when the multitude of animals is considered, the num-
ber of parts in each, their figure and fitness, the fa-
culties depending upon them, the variety of species,
the complexity of structure, the success, in so many
ca^es, and felicity of the result, we can never reflect,
without, the profoundest adoration, upon the charac-
ter of that Bein^from whom all these things have pro-
ceeded : we cannot help acknowledging, what an ex-
ertion of benevolence creation was ; of a benevolence,
how minute in its care, how vast in its comprehension.

340 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

When we appeal to the parts and faculties of ani-
mals, and to the limbs and senses of animals in par-
ticular, we state, I conceive, the proper medium of
proof for the conclusion which we wish to establish.
I will not say, that the insensible parts of nature are
made solely for the sensitive parts; but this I say, that,
when we consider the benevolence of the Deity, we
can only consider it in relation to sensitive Being.
Without this reference, or referred to any thing else,
the attribute has no object ; the term has no mean-
inn. Dead matter is nothing. The parts, therefore,
especially the limbs and senses, of animals, although
they constitute, in mass and quantity, a small portion
of the material creation, yet, since they alone are in-
struments of perception, they compose what may be
called the whole of visible nature, estimated with a
view to the disposition of its author. Consequent-
ly, it is in these that we are to seek his character. It
is by these that we are to prove, that the world was
made with a benevolent design.

Nor is the design abortive. It is a happy world
after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with
delighted existence. In a spring noon, or a summer
evening on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads
of happy beings crowd upon my view. "The insect
youth are on the wring." Swarms of new-born^zVs
are trying their pinions in the air. Their sportive
motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activi-
ty, their continual change of place without use or
purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation which
they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee
amongst the flowers in spring, is one of thecheerful-
lest objects that can be looked upon. Its life appears
to be all enjoyment ; so busy, and so pleased : yet it
is only a specimen of insect life, with which, by rea-
son of the animal being half domesticated, we hap-
pen to be better acquainted than we are with that of

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 341

others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable,
are equally intent upon their proper employments, and
under every variety of constitution, gratified, and
perhaps equally gratified, by the oiSces which the au-
thor of their nature has assigned to them. But the
atmosphere is not the only scene of enjoyment for the
insect race. Plants are covered with aphides, greedi-
ly sucking their juices, and constantly, as it should
seem, in the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted
but that this is a state of intense gratification. What
else should fix them so close to their operation,
and so long ? Other species are running about with
an alacrity in their motions which carries with it eve*
ry mark of pleasure. Large patches of ground are
sometimes half covered with these brisk and spright-
ly natures. If we look to what the waters produce,
shoals of the fry offish frequent the margins of rivers,
of lakes, and of the sea itself. These are so happy, that
they know not what to do with themselves. Their
attitudes, their vivacity ; their leaps out of the water,
their frolics in it, (which I have noticed a thousand
times with equal attention and amusement,) all con-
duce to shew their excess of spirits, and are simply
the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea side,
in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an
ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appear-
ance of a dark cloud, or, rather very thick mist, hang-
ing over the cdgQ of the water, to the height, perhaps,
of halfayard, and of the breadth of two or three yards,
stretching along the coast as far as the eye could
reach, and always retiring with the. water. When
this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be no-
thing else than so much space, filled with young
shrimps, in the act of bounding into the air from the
shallow margin of the water, or from the wet sand.
If any motion of a mute animal could express delight,
it was this : if they had meant to make signs of their

2 T

342 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

happiness, they could not have done it more intelli-
gibly. Suppose then, what I have no doubt of, each
individual of this number to be in a state of positive
enjoyment, what a sum, collectively, of gratification
and pleasure have we here before our view ?

The young of all animals appear to me to receive
pleasure simply from the exercise of their limbs and
bodily faculties, without reference to any end to be
attained, or any use to be answered by the exertion.
A child, without knowing any thing of the use of
language, is, in a high degree,, delighted with being
able to speak. Its incessant repetition of the few ar-
ticulate sounds, or perhaps, of the single word, which
it has learned to pronounce, proves this point clearly.
Nor is it less pleased with its first successful endea-
vours to walk, or rather to run, which precedes
walking) although entirely ignorant of the importance
of the attainment to its future life : and even without
applying it to any present purpose. A child is de-
lighted with speakingwithouthaving anything to say ;
and with walking, without knowing where to go.
And, prior to both these, I am disposed to believe,
that the waking hours of infancy are agreeably tak-
en up with the exercise of vision, or perhaps, more
properly speaking, with learning to s@e.

But it is not for youth alone, that the great Parent
of creation hath provided. Happiness is found with
the purring cat, no less than with the playful kitten;
in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in either
the sprightliness of the dance, or the animation of
the chace. To novelty, to acuteness of sensation, to
hope, to ardor of pursuit, succeeds, what is, in no
inconsiderable degree, an equivalent for them all,
je perception of ease." Herein is the exact difference
between the young and the old. The young are not
happy, but when enjoying pleasure; the old are
happy when free from pain. And this constitution

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 343

suits with the degrees of animal power which they
respectively possess. The vigor of youth was to be
stimulated to action by impatience of rest ; whilst,
to the imbecility of age, quietness and repose become
positive gratifications. In one important respect
the advantage is with the old. A state of ease is,
generally speaking, more attainable than a state of
pleasure. A constitution, therefore, which can enjoy
ease, is preferable to that which can taste only
pleasure. This same perception of ease oftentimes
renders old age a condition of great comfort; especially
when riding at its anchor, after a busy or tempestuous
life. It is well described by Rousseau, to be the
interval of repose and enjoyment, between the hurry
and the end of life. How far the same cause extends
to other animal natures cannot be judged of with
certainty. The appearance of satisfaction, with
which most animals, as their activity subsides, seek
and enjoy rest, affords reason to believe, that this
source of gratification is appointed to advanced life,
under all, or most, of its various forms. In the
species with which we are best acquainted, namely
our own, I am far, even as an observer of human
life, from thinking, that youth is its happiest season,
much less the only happy one: as a Christian, I am
willing to believe that there is a great deal of truth
in the following representation given by a very pious
writer, as well as excellent man.* " To the intelli-
gent and virtuous, old age presents a scene of
tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetites, of well
regulated affections, of maturity in knowledge, and
of calm preparation for immortality. In this serene
and dignified state, placed, as it were, on the confines
of two worlds, the mind of a good man, reviews
what is past with the complacency of an approving

Father's Instructions, by Dr. Percival of Manchester, p. 317,

544 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

conscience, and looks forward, with humble con-
fidence in the mercy of God, and with devout aspi-
rations, towards his eternal and ever increasing
favor."

What is seen in different stages of the same life,
is still more exemplified in the lives of different
animals. Animal enjoyments are infinitely diversified.
The modes of life, to which the organization of dif-
ferent animals respectively determines them, are not
only of various, but of opposite kinds. Yet each is
happy in its own. For instance; animals of prey,
live much alone; animals of a milder constitution, in
society. Yet the herring, which lives in shoals, and
the sheep, which lives in flocks, are not more happy
in a crowd, or more contented amongst their com-
panions, than is the pike, or the lion, with the deep
solitudes of the pool, or the forest.

But it will be said, that the instances which we
have here brought forward, whether of vivacity or
repose, or of apparent enjoyment derived from
either, are picked and favorable instances. We
answer that they are instances, nevertheless, which
comprise large provinces of sensitive existence; that
every case which we have described, is the case of
millions. At this moment, in every given moment
of time, how many myriads of animals are eating their
food, gratifying their appetites, ruminating in their
holes, accomplishing their wishes, pursuing their
pleasures, taking their pastimes ? In each individual
how many things must go right for kjto be at ease;
yet how large a proportion out of every species, are so
in every assignable instant ? Secondly, we contend, in
the terms of our original proposition, that throughout
the whole of life, as it is diffused in nature, and as far
as we are acquainted with it, looking to the average of
sensations, the plurality and the preponclerancy is in
favor of happiness by a vast excess. In our own

.Si

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 345

species, in which perhaps the assertion may be more
questionable than in any other, the prepollency of
good over evil, of health, for example, and ease, over
pain and distress, is evinced by the very notice which
calamities excite. What inquiries does the sickness
of our friends produce ? What conversation their
misfortunes? This shews that the common course of
things is in favor of happiness; that happiness is the
rule; misery, the exception. Were the order re-
versed, our attention would be called to examples of
health and competency, instead of disease and want.
One great cause of our insensibility to the good-
ness of the Creator is the very extensiveness of his
bounty. We prize but little, what we share only in
common with the rest, or with the generality, of our
species. When we hear of blessings^we think
forthwith of successes, of prosperous Tortunes, of
honors, riches, preferments, i. e. of those advantages
and superiorities over others, which we happen
either to possess, or to be in pursuit of, or to covet.
The common benefits of our nature entirely escape
us. Yet these are the great things. These consti-
tute, what most properly ought to be accounted
blessings of Providence; what alone, if we might so
speak, are worthy of its care. Nightly rest and daily
bread, the ordinary use of our limbs, and senses, and
understandings, are gifts which admit of no compari-
son with any other. Yet, because almost every man
we meet with possesses these, we leave them out of
our enumeration. They raise no sentiment: they
move no gratitude. Now, herein, is our judgment
perverted by our selfishness. A blessing ought in
truth to be the more satisfactory, the bounty at least
of the donor is rendered more conspicuous, by its
very diffusion, its commonness, its cheapness; by its
falling to the lot, and forming the happiness, of the
great bulk and body of our species, as well as of our-

346 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

selves. Nay even when we do not possess it, it ought
to be matter of thankfulness that others do. But we
have a different way of thinking. We court distinc-
tion. That I don't quarrel with: but we can see
nothing but what has distinction to recommend it.
This necessarily contracts our view of the Creator's
beneficence within a narrow compass; and most
unjustly. It is in those things which are so common
as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of the
divine benignity is perceived.

But pain, no doubt, and privations, exist, in nu-
merous instances, and to a degree, which, collec-
tively, would be very great, if they were compared
with any other thing than with the mass of animal
fruition. For the application, therefore, of our pro-
position toJ:hat mixed state of things which these
exceptionsinduce, two rules are necessary, and both,
I think, just and fair rules. One is, that we regard
those effects alone which are accompanied with proofs
of intention : ^The other, that, when we cannot re-
solve all appearances into benevolence of design, we
make the few give place to the many ; the little to the
great; that we take our judgment from a large and
decided preponderancy, if there be one.

I crave leave to transcribe into this place, what I
have said upon this subject in my Moral Philosophy.
H When God created the human species, either he
wished their happiness, or he wished their misery,
or he was indifferent and unconcerned about either.

u If he had wished our misery, he might have
made sure of his purpose, by forming our senses to
be so many sores and pains to us, as they are now
instruments of gratification and enjoyment; or by
placing us amidst objects, so ill suited to our per-
ceptions, as to have continually offended us, instead
of ministring to our refreshment and delight. He
might have made, for example, every thing we tasted

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 347

bitter; every thing we saw loathsome; every thing
we touched a sting; every smell a stench; and every
sound a discord.

" If he had been indifferent about our happiness
or misery, we must impute to our good fortune (as
all design by this supposition is excluded) both the
capacity of our senses to receive pleasure, and the
supply of external objects fitted to produce it.

" But either of these, and still more both of them,
being too much to be attributed to accident, nothing
remains but the first supposition, that God, when he
created the human species, wished their happiness;
and made for them the provision which he has made,
with that view, and for that purpose.

" The same argument may be proposed in diffe-
rent terms, thus: Contrivance proves design; and
the predominant tendency of the contrivance indicates
the disposition of the designer. The world abounds
with contrivances ; and all the contrivances which we
are acquainted with, are directed to beneficial pur-
poses. Evil no doubt exists ; but is never, that we
can perceive, the object of contrivance. Teeth are
contrived to eat, not to ache ; their aching now and
then is incidental to the contrivance, perhaps insepa-
rable from it : or even, if you will, let it be called a
defect in the contrivance ; but it is not the object of
it. This is a distinction which well deserves to be
attended to. In describing implements of husbandry,
you would hardly say of the sickle, that it is made to
cut the reaper's hand, though, from the construction
of the instrument, and the manner of using it, this
mischief often follows. But if you had occasion to
describe instruments of torture or execution, This
engine, you would say, is to extend the sinews ; this
to dislocate the joints; this to break the bones; this
to scorch the soles of the feet. Here pain and misery
are the very objects of the contrivance. Now, no-

S48 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

thing of this sort is to be found in the works of na-
ture. We never discover a train of contrivance to
bring about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever
discovered a system of organization, calculated to
produce pain and disease; or, in explaining the parts
of the human body, ever said, This is to irritate ;
this to inflame ; this duct is to convey the gravel to
the kidneys ; this gland to secrete the humour which
forms the gout : if by chance he come at a part of
which he knows not the use, the most he can say is,
that it is useless ; no one ever suspects that it is put
there to incommode, to annoy, or to torment."

The two cases which appear to me to have the
most of difficulty in them, as forming the most of
the appearance of exception to the representation here
given, are those of venomous animals, and of animals
preying upon one another. These properties of ani-
mals, wherever they are found, must, I think, be re-
ferred to design; because there is, in all cases of the
first, and in most cases of the second, an express
and distinct organization provided for the producing
of them. Under the first head, the fangs of vipers,
the stings of wasps and scorpions, are as clearly in-
tended for their purpose, as any animal structure is
for any purpose the most inconte stably beneficial.
And the same thing must, under the second head,
be acknowledged of the talons and beaks of birds, of
the tusks, teeth, and claws of beasts of prey, of the
shark's mouth, of the spider's web, and of numberless
weapons of offence belonging to different tribes of
voracious insects. We cannot, therefore, avoid the
difficulty by saying, that the effect was not intended.
The only question open to us is, whether it be ulti-
mately evil. From the confessed and felt imperfec-
tion of our knowledge, we ought to presume, that
there may be consequences of this ceconomy which
are hidden from us : from the benevolence which per-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 349

vades the general designs of nature, we ought also to
presume, that these consequences, if they could en-
ter into our calculation, would turn the balance on
the favourable side. Both these I contend to be rea-
sonable presumptions. Not reasonable presump-
tions, if these two cases were the only cases which
nature presented to our observation; but reasonable
presumptions under the reflection, that the cases in
question are combined with a multitude of intentions,
all proceeding from the same author, and all, except
these, directed to ends of undisputed utility. Of the
vindications, however, of this oeconomy, which we
are able to assign, such as most extenuate the diffi-
culty are the following.

With respect to venomous bites and stings, it may
be observed,

1. That, the animal itself being regarded, the fa-
culty complained of is good; being conducive, in all
cases, to the defence of the animal; in some cases,
to the subduing of its prey; and, in some probably,
to the killing of it, when caught, by a mortal wound
inflicted in the passage to the stomach, which may
be no less merciful to the victim, than salutary to the
devourer. In the viper, for instance, the poisonous
fang may do that, which, in other animals of prey, is
done by the crush of the teeth. Frogs and mice
might be swallowed alive without it.

2. But it will be said, that this provision, when it
comes to the case of bites, deadly even to human bo-
dies and to those of large quadrupeds, is greatly over-
done; that it might have fulfilled its use, and yet have
been much less deleterious than it is. Now I be-
lieve the case of bites, which produce death in large
animals, (of stings I think there are none), to be very
few. The experiments of the Abbe Fontana, which
were numerous, go strongly to the proof of this
point. He found that it required the action of fiv«

2 u-

§ft TftE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

exasperated vipers to kill a dog of a moderate size;
but that, to the killing of a mouse or a frog, a single
bite was sufficient; which agrees with the use which
we assign to the faculty. The Abbe seemed to be
of opinion, that the bite even of the rattlesnake would
not usually be mortal; allowing, however, that in
certain particularly unfortunate cases, as when the
puncture had touched some very tender part, pricked
a principal nerve for instance, or, as it is said, some
more considerable lymphatic vessel, death might
speedily ensue. «

3. It has been, I think, very justly remarked
concerning serpents, that, whilst only a few species
possess the venomous property, that property guards
the whole tribe. The most innocuous snake is
avoided with as much care as a viper. Now the
terror, with which large animals regard this class of
reptiles, is its protection; and this terror is founded
in the formidable revenge, which a few of the
number, compared with the whole, are capable of
taking. The species of serpents, described by
Linnaeus, amount to two hundred and eighteen, of
which thirty-two only are poisonous.

4. It seems to me, that animal constitutions are
provided, not only for each element, but for each
state of the elements, i. e. for every climate, and for
every temperature; and that part of the mischief
complained of, arises from animals (the human
animal most especially) occupying situations upon
the earth which do not belong to them, nor were
ever intended for their habitation. The folly and
wickedness of mankind, and necessities proceeding
from these causes, have driven multitudes of the
species to seek a refuge amongst burning sands,
whilst countries blessed with hospitable skies, and
with the most fertile soils, remain almost without a
liuman tenant. We invade the territories of wild

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 35-1

beasts and venomous reptiles, and then complain that
we are infested by their bites and stings. Some
accounts of Africa place this observation in a strong
point of view. " The deserts," says Adanson,
'" are entirely barren, except where they are found to
produce serpents; and in such quantities, that some
extensive plains are almost entirely covered with
them." These are the natures appropriated to the
situation. Let them enjoy their existence: let them
have their country. Surface enough will be left to
man, though his numbers were increased an hundred
fold, and left to him, where he might live, exempt
from these annoyances.

The second case, viz. that of animals devouring
one another, furnishes a consideration of much larger
extent. To judge, whether, as a general provision,
this can be deemed an evil, even so far as we under-
stand its consequences, which, probably, is a partial
understanding, the following reflections are fit to be
attended to.

1. Immortality upon this earth is out of the ques-
tion. Without death there could be no generation,
no sexes, no parental relation, i. e. as things are con-
stituted, no animal happiness. The particular dura-
tion of life, assigned to different animals, can form
no part of the objection; because, whatever that du-
ration was, whilst it remained finite and limited, it
might always be asked, why it was no longer. The
natural age of different animals varies from a single
day to a century of years. No account can be given
of this; nor could any be given, whatever other pro-
portion of life had obtained amongst them.

The term then of life in different animals being the
same as it is, the question is, what mode of taking it
away is the best even for the animal itself.

Now, according to the established order of nature,
(which we must suppose to prevail, or we cannot

35* THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

reason at all upon the subject), the three methods by
which life is usually put an end to, are acute diseases,
decay, and violence. The simple and natural life of
brutes, is not often visited by acute distempers; nor
could it be deemed an improvement, of their lot, if
they were. Let it be considered therefore, in what
a condition of suffering and misery a brute animal is
placed, which is left to perish by decay. In human
sickness or infirmity, there is the assistance of man's
rational fellow creatures, if not to alleviate his pains,
at least to minister to his necessities, and to supply
the place of his own activity. A brute, in his wild
and natural state, does every thing for himself. When
his strength therefore, or his speed, or his limbs, or
his senses fail him, he is delivered over, either to ab-
solute famine, or to the protracted wretchedness of a
life slowly wasted by scarcity of food. Is it then to
see the world filled with drooping, superannuated,
half starved, helpless and unhelped animals, that you
would alter the present system of pursuit and prey ?

2. Which system is also to them the spring of
motion, and activity on both sides. The pursuit of
its prey, forms the employment, and appears to con-
stitute the pleasure, of a considerable part of the ani-
mal creation. The using of the means of defence, or
flight, or precaution, forms also the business of ano-
ther part. And even of this latter tribe, we have no
reason to suppose, that their happiness is much mo-
lested by their fears. Their danger exists conti-
nually; and in some cases they seem to be so far
sensible of it, as to provide, in the best manner they
can, against it; but it is only when the attack is ac-
tually made upon them, that they appear to suffer
from it. To contemplate the insecurity of their con-
dition with anxiety and dread, requires a degree of
reflection, which (happily for themselves) they do not
possess. A bare, notwithstanding the number of

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. f,53

its dangers and its enemies, is as playful an animal as
any other.

3. But, to do justice to the question, the system of
animal destruction ought always to be considered in
strict connection with another property of animal
nature, viz. super fecundity. They are countervail-
ing qualities. One subsists by the correction of
the other. In treating, therefore, of the subject un-
der this view, (which is, I believe, the true one), our
business will be, first, to point out the advantages
which are gained by the powers in nature of a super-
abundant multiplication; and, then, to shew, that
these advantages are so many reasons for appointing
that system of animal hostilities, which we are en-
deavouring to account for.

In almost all cases nature produces her supplies
with profusion. A single cod fish spawns, in one
season, a greater number of eggs, than all the inha-
bitants of England amount to. A thousand other
instances of prolific generation might be stated,
which, though not equal to this, would carry on the
increase of the species with a rapidity which outruns
calculation, and to an immeasurable extent. The
advantages of such a constitution are two: first, that
it tends to keep the world always full; whilst, se-
condly, it allows the proportion between the several
species of animals to be differently modified, as diffe-
rent purposes require, or as different situations may
afford for them room and food. Where this vast fe-
cundity meets with a vacancy fitted to receive the
species, there it operates with its whole effect; there
it pours in its numbers, and replenishes the waste.
We complain of what we call the exorbitant multi-
plication of some troublesome insects, not rejecting
that large portions of nature might be left void with-
out it. If the accounts of travellers may be depended
upon, immense tracts of forest in North-America

554 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

would be nearly lost to sensitive existence if it were
not for gnats. " In the thinly inhabited regions of
America, in which the waters stagnate, and the cli-
mate is warm, the whole air is filled with crowds of
these insects. " Thus it is, that, where we looked
for solitude and deathlike silence, we meet with ani-
mation, activity, enjoyment; with a busy, a happy,
and a peopled world. Again ; hosts of mice are
reckoned amongst the plagues of the north-east part
of Europe; whereas vast plains in Siberia, as we learn
from good authority, would be lifeless without them.
The Caspian deserts are converted by their presence
into crowded warrens. Between the Volga and the
Yaik, and in the country of Hyrcania, the ground,
says Pallas, is in many places covered with little hills,
raised by the earth cast out in forming the burrows.
Do we then so envy these blissful abodes, as to pro-
nounce the fecundity by which they are supplied
with inhabitants, to be an evil; a subject of com-
plaint, and not of praise ? Further; by virtue of this
same superfecundity, what we term destruction, be-
comes almost instantly the parent of life. What we
call blights, are, oftentimes, legions, of animated be-
ings claiming their portion in the bounty of nature.
What corrupts the produce of the earth to us, prepares
it for them. And it is by means of their rapid mul-
tiplication, that they take possession of their pas-
ture: a slow propagation would not meet the oppor-
tunity.

But in conjunction with the occasional use of this
fruitfulness, we observe, also, that it allows the pro-
portion between the several species of animals to be
differently modified, as different purposes of uti-
lity may require. When the forests of America come
to be cleared, and the swamps drained, our gnats will
give place to other inhabitants. If the population of
Europe should spread to the north and the east, the

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 151

mice will retire before the husbandman and the shep-
herd, and yield their station to herds and flocks. In
what concerns the human species, it may be a part
of the scheme of Providence that the earth should be
inhabited by a shifting, or perhaps a circulating po-
pulation. In this oeconomy it is possible that there
may be the following advantages. When old coun-
tries are become exceedingly corrupt, simpler modes
of life, purer morals, and better institutions may rise
up in new ones, whilst fresh soils reward the cultiva-
tor with more plentiful returns. Thus the different
portions of the globe come into use in succession as
the residence of man ; and, in his absence, entertain
other guests, which by their rapid multiplication soon
fill the chasm. In domesticated animals we find the
effect of their fecundity to be, that we can always com-
mand numbers : we can always have as many of any
particular species as we please, or as we can support.
Nor do we complain of its excess; it being much
more easy to regulate abundance, than to supply
scarcity.

But then this super fecundity, though of great occa-
sional use and importance, exceeds the ordinary ca-
pacity of nature to receive or support its progeny.
All superabundance supposes destruction, or must
destroy itself. Perhaps there is no species of terres-
trial animals whatever, which would not overrun the
earth, if it were permitted to multiply in perfect safe-
ty ; or of fish, which would not fill the ocean : at
least, if any single species were left to their natural
increase without disturbance or restraint, the food of
other species would be exhausted by their mainten-
ance. It is necessary, therefore, that the effects of
such prolific faculties be curtailed. In conjunction
with other checks and limits, all subservient to the
same purpose, are. the thinnings which take place
among animals, by their action upon one another.

556 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY,

In some instances we ourselves experience, very di-
rectly, the use of these hostilities. One species of
insects rids us of another species ; or reduces their
ranks. A third species perhaps keeps the second
within bounds : and birds or lizards are a fence
against the inordinate encrease by which even these
last might infest us. In other, more numerous, and
possibly more important instances, this disposition
of things, although less necessary or useful to us, and
of course less observed by us, may be necessary and
useful to certain other species ; or even for the pre-
venting of the loss of certain species from the universe:
a misfortune which seems to be studiously guarded
against. Though there may be the appearance of
failure in some of the details of Nature's works, in
her great purposes there never are. Her species ne-
ver fail. The provision which was originally made
for continuing the replenishment of the world has
proved itself to be effectual through a long succession
of ages.

What further shews, that the system of destruction
amongst animals holds an express relation to the sys-
tem of fecundity ; that they are parts indeed of one
compensatory scheme ; is, that, in each species, the
fecundity bears a proportion to the smallness of the
animal, to the weakness, to the shortness of its na-
tural term of life, and to the dangers and enemies by
which it is surrounded. An elephant produces but
one calf: a butterfly lays six hundred eggs. Birds
of prey seldom produce more than two eggs: the
sparrow tribe, and the duck tribe, frequently sit upon
a dozen. In the rivers, we meet with a thousand
minnows for one pike ; in the sea, a million of her-
rings for a single shark. Compensation obtains
throughout. Defencelessness and devastation are re-
paired by fecundity.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 35?

We have dwelt the longer upon these considera-
tions, because the subject to which they apply, name-
ly, that of animals devouring one another > forms the
chief, if not the only instance, in the works of the Dei-
ty, of an ceconomy, stamped by marks of design, in
which the character of utility can be called in ques-
tion. The case of venomous animals is of much in-
ferior consequence to the case of prey, and, in some
degree, is also included under it. To both cases it
is probable that many more reasons belong, than
those of which we are in posession.

Our first proposition, and that which we have hi-
therto been defending, was, " that in a vast plurality
of instances, in which contrivance is perceived, the
design of the contrivance is beneficial."

Our second proposition is, " that the Deity has ad-
ded pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was
necessary for any other purpose, or when the purpose,
so far as it was necessary, might have been effected
by the operation of pain."

This proposition may be thus explained. The
capacities, which, according to the established course
of nature, are necessary to the support or preserva-
tion of an animal, however manifestly they may be
the result of an organization contrived for the purpose,
can only be deemed an act or a part of the same will,
as that which decreed the existence of the animal it-
self; because, whether the creation proceeded from
a benevolent or a malevolent being, these capacities
must have been given, if the animal existed at all.
Animal properties therefore, which fall under this de-
scription, do not strictly prove the goodness of God.
They may prove the existence of the Deity : they may
prove a high degree of power and intelligence ; but
they do not prove his goodness ; forasmch as they
must have been found in any creation which was ca-
pable of continuance, although it is possible to sup-

2x

358 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

pose, that such a creation might have been produced
by a being whose views rested upon misery.

But there is a class of properties, which may be
said to be supperadded from an intention expressly
directed to happiness ; an intention to give a happy
existence distinct from the general intention of pro-
viding the means of existence ; and that is, of capaci-
ties for pleasure, in cases, wherein, so far as the con-
servation of the individual or of the species is con-
cerned, they were not wanted, or wherein the pur-
pose might have been secured by the operation of
pain. The provision which is made of a variety of
objects, not necessary to life, and ministring only to
our pleasures : and the properties given to the ne-
cessaries of life themselves, by which they contri*
bute to pleasure as well as preservation > shew a fur-
ther design, than that of giving existence*.

A single instance will make all this clear. Assum-
ing the necessity of food for the support of animal
life, it is requisite, that the animal be provided with
organs, fitted for the procuring, receiving, and di-
gesting of its food. It may be also necessary, that
the animal be impelled by its sensations to exert its
organs. But the pain of hunger would do all this.
Why add pleasure to the act of eating ; sweetness
and relish to food ? Why a new and appropriate sense
for the perception of the pleasure ? Why should the
juice of a peach applied to the palate,affect the part so
differently from what it does when rubbed upon the
palm of the hand ? This is a constitution, which, so
far as appears to me, can be resolved into nothing but
the pure benevolence of the Creator. Eating is ne-
cessary ; but the pleasure attending it is not necessa-

* See this topic considered in Dr. Balguy's treatise upon the Divine Be-
nevolence. This excellent author first, I think, proposed it ; and nearly
in the terms in which it is here stated. Some other observations also un-
der this, head are taken from that treatise.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 359

ry : and that this pleasure, depends not only upon our
being in possession of the sense of taste, which is
different from every other, but upon a particular state
of the organ in which it resides, a felicitous adapta-
tion of the organ to the object, will be confessed by
any one, who may happen to have experienced that
vitiation of taste which frequently occurs in fevers,
when every taste is irregular, and every one bad.

In mentioning the gratifications of the palate, it
may be said that we have made choice of a trifling
example* I am not of that opinion. They afford a
share of enjoyment to man; but to brutes, I believe,
that they are of very great importance. A horse at
liberty passes a great part of his waking hours in
eating. To the ox, the sheep, the deer, and other
ruminating animals, the pleasure is doubled. Their
whole time almost is divided between browsing upon
their pasture and chewing their cud. Whatever the
pleasure be, it is spread over a large portion of their
existence. If there be animals, such as the lupous
fish, which swallow their prey whole, and at once,
without any time, as it should seem, for either draw-
ing out, or relishing, the taste in the mouth, is it an
improbable conjecture that the seat of taste with
them is in the stomach,- or, at least, that a sense of
pleasure, whether it be taste or not, accompanies
the dissolution of the food in that receptacle, which
dissolution in general is carried on very slowly ? If
this opinion be right, they are more than repaid for
their defect of palate. The feast lasts as long as the
digestion.

In seeking for argument we need not stay to
insist upon the comparative importance of our
example, for the observation holds equally of all, or
of three at least, of the other senses. The necessary
purposes of hearing might have been answered with-
out harmony; of smell, without fragrance ; of vision,

£60 TOE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

without beauty. Now " If the Deity had been,
indifferent about our happiness or misery, we must
impute to our good fortune (as all design by this
supposition is excluded) both the capacity of cur
senses to receive pleasure, and the supply of exter-
nal objects fitted to excite it." I allege these as
two felicities, for they are different things yet both
necessary: the sense being formed, the objects which
were applied to it, might not have suited it; the ob-
jects being fixed, the sense might not have agreed
with them. A coincidence is here required which
no accident can account for. There are three possi-
ble suppositions upon the subject, and no more.
The first ; that the sense, by its original constitution,
suited the object: the second; that the object, by its
original constitution, suited the sense: the third; that
the sense is so constituted, as to be able, either univer-
sally, or within certain limits, by habit and fami-
liarity, to render every object pleasant. Whichever
of these suppositions we adopt, the effect evinces, on
the part of the Author of nature, a studious benevo-
lence. If the pleasures which we derive from any
of our senses, depend upon an original congruity
between the sense and the properties perceived by it,
we know by experience, that the adjustment de-
manded, with respect to the qualities which were
conferred upon the objects that surround us, not
only choice and selection, out of a boundless variety
of possible qualities with which these objects might
have been endued, but a proportioning also of degree,
because an excess or defect of intensity spoils the
perception, as much almost as an error in the kind
and nature of the quality. Likewise the degree of
dullness or acuteness in the sense itself, is no arbi*
trary thing, but in order to preserve the congruity
here spoken of, requires to be in an exact or near
correspondency with the strength of the impression.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY SGI

The dullness of the senses forms the complaint of
old age. Persons in fevers, and, I believe, in most
maniacal cases, experience great torment from their
preternatural acuteness. An increased, no less than
an impaired sensibility, induces a state of disease
and suffering.

The doctrine of a specific congruity between ani-
mal senses and their objects, is strongly favoured by
what is observed of insects in the election of their
food. Some of these will feed upon one kind of
plant or animal, and upon no other: some caterpillars
upon the cabbage alone; some upon the black cur-
rant alone. The species of caterpillar, which eats
the vine, will starve upon the elder; nor will that
which we find upon fennel, touch the rose bush.
Some insects confine themselves to two or three
kinds of plants or animals. Some again shew so
strong a preference, as to afford reason to believe
that, though they may be driven by hunger to others,
they are led by the pleasure of taste to a few particu-
lar plants alone ; and all this, as it should seem, inde-
pendently of habit or imitation.

But should we accept the third hypothesis, and
even carry it so far, as to ascribe every thing, which
concerns the question, to habit, (as in certain species,
the human species most particularly, there is reason
to attribute something) we have then before us an
animal capacity, not less perhaps to be admired, than
the native congruities which the other scheme adopts.
It cannot be shewn to result from any fixed necessity
in nature, that what is frequently applied to the senses
should of course become agreeable to them. It is,
so far as it subsists, a power of accommodation con-
sidered and provided by the author of their structure,
and forms a part of their perfection.

In whichever way we consider the senses, they ap-
pear to be specific gifts, ministring, not only to pre-

362 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

servation, but to pleasure. But what we usually call
the senses are probably themselves far from being the
only vehicles of enjoyment, or the whole of our con-
stitution, which is calculated for the same purpose.
We have many internal sensations of the most agree-
able kind, hardly referable to any of the five senses-
Some physiologists have held, that all secretion is
pleasurable; and that the complacency which in
health, without any external, assignable, object to
excite it> we derive from life itself, is the effect of
our secretions going on well within us. All this may
be true : but, if true, what reason can be assigned for
it, except the will of the Creator ? It may reasonably
be asked, why is any thing a pleasure ? and I know
no answer which can be returned to the question, but
that which refers it to appointment. We can give no
account whatever of our pleasures in the simple and
original perception ; and, even when physical sensa-
tions are assumed, we can seldom account for them
in the secondary and complicated shapes, in which
they take the name of diversions. I never yet met
with a sportsman, who could tell me in what the
sport consisted ; who could resolve it into its princi-
ple, and state that principle. I have been a great fol-
lower of fishing myself, and in its cheerful solitude
have passed some of the happiest hours of a sufficiently
happy life ; but, to this moment, I could never trace
out the source of the pleasure which it afforded me.
The " quantum in rebus inane," whether applied
to our amusements, or to our graver pursuits, (to
which, in truth, it sometimes equally belongs), is al-
ways an unjust complaint. If trifles engage, and if
trifles make us happy, the true reflection suggested
by the experiment, is upon the tendency of nature to
gratification and enjoyment; which is, in other words,
the goodness of its author towards his sensitive crea-
tion.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 365

Rational natures also, as such, exhibit qualities
which help to confirm the truth of our position. The
degree of understanding found in mankind, is usually
much greater than what is necessary for preservation.
The pleasure of choosing for themselves, and of pro-
secuting the object of their choice, should seem to
be an original source of enjoyment. The pleasures
received from things, great, beautiful, or new, from
imitation, or from the liberal arts, are, in some mea-
sure, not only superadded, but unmixed gratifica-
tions, having no pains to balance them*.

I do not know whether our attachment to property
be not something more than the mere dictate of rea-
son, or even than the mere effect of association. Pro-
perty communicates a charm to whatever is the
object of it. It is the first of our abstract ideas ; it
cleaves to us the closest and the longest. It endears
to the child its plaything, to the peasant his cottage,
to the landholder his estate. It supplies the place of
prospect and scenery. Instead of coveting the beauty
of distant situations, it teaches every man to find it
in his own. It gives boldness and grandeur to plains
and fens, tinge and colouring to clays and fallows.

All these considerations come in aid of our second
proposition. The reader will now bear in mind what
our two propositions wTere. They were, first; that,
in a vast plurality of instances, in which contrivance
is perceived, the design of the contrivance is benefi-
cial: secondly; that the Deity has added pleasure to
animal sensations beyond what was necessary for any
other purpose ; or when the purpose, so far as it was
necessary, might have been effected by the operation
of pain.

Whilst these propositions can be maintained, wc
are authorized to ascribe to the Deity the character

* Balguy on the Divine Benevolence;

364 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

of benevolence: and what is benevolence at all, must
in him be infinite benevolence, by reason of the infi-
nite, that is to say, the incalculably great, number of
objects, upon which it is exercised.

Of the origiw or. evil no universal solution has
been discovered: I mean no solution which reaches
to all cases of complaint. The most comprehensive
is that which arises from the consideration of general
rules. We may, I think, without much difficulty,
be brought to admit the four following points; first,
that important advantages may accrue to the universe
from the order of nature proceeding according to ge-
neral laws: secondly; that general laws, however well
set and constituted, often thwart and cross one an-
other: thirdly; that from these thwartings and cross-
ings frequent particular inconveniencies will arise:
and fourthly ; that it agrees with our observation to
suppose, that some degree of these inconveniencies
takes place in the works of nature. These points
may be allowed : and it may also be asserted that the
general laws with which we are acquainted, are di-
rected to beneficial ends* On the other hand, with
many of these laws we are not acquainted at all, or we
are totally unable to trace them in their branches and
in their operation: the effect of which ignorance is,
that they cannot be of importance to us as measures
by which to regulate our conduct. The conversation
of them may be of importance in other respects, or
to other beings, but we are uninformed of their value
or use: consequently when, and how far, they may
or may not be suspended, or their effects turned
aside, by a presiding and benevolent will, without in-
curring greater evils than those which would be

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 365

avoided. The consideration, therefore, of general
laws, although it may concern the question of the
origin of evil very nearly, (which I think it does),
rests in views disproportionate to our faculties, and
in a knowledge which we do not possess. It serves
rather to account for the obscurity of the subject, than
to supply us with distinct answers to our difficulties.
However, whilst we assent to the above stated pro-
positions as principles, whatever uncertainty we may
find hi the application, we lay a ground for believing,
that cases, of apparent evil, for which we can suggest
no particular reason, are governed by reasons, which
are more general, which lie deeper in the order of
second causes, and on that account are removed to a
greater distance from us.

The doctrine of imperfections, or, as it is called,
of evils of imperfection, furnishes an account, founded
like the former, in views of universal nature. The
doctrine is briefly this. It is probable that creation
may be better replenished, by sensitive beings of
different sorts, than by sensitive beings all of one
sort. It is likewise probable, that it may be better
replenished, by, different orders of beings rising one
above another in gradation, than by beings possessed
of equal degrees of perfection. Now a gradation of
such beings implies a gradation of imperfections.
No class can justly complain of the imperfections
which belong to its place in the scale, unless it were
allowable for it to complain, that a scale of being was
appointed in nature : for which appointment there ap-
pear to be reasons of wisdom and goodness.

In like manner, Jiniteness, or what is resolvable
into finiteness, in inanimate subjects, can never be a
just subject of complaint, because, if it were ever so,
it would be always so: we mean, that we can never
reasonably demand that things should be larger or

2 Y

36$ THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY;

more, when the same demand might be made, what^
ever the quantity or number was.

And to me it seems, that the sense of mankind has
so far acquiesced in these reasons, as that we seldom
complain of evils of this class, when we clearly per-
ceive them to be such. What I have to add there-
fore is, that we ought not to complain of some other
evils, which stand upon the same foot of vindication
as evils of confessed imperfection. We never com-
plain that the globe of our earth is too small: nor
should we complain, if it were even much smaller.
But where is the difference to us, between a less
globe, and part of the present being uninhabitable ?
The inhabitants of an island, may be apt enough to
murmur at the sterility of some parts of it, against
its rocks, or sands, or swamps; but no one thinks
himself authorised to murmur, simply because the
island is not larger than it is. Yet these are the
same griefs.

The above are the two metaphysical answers which
have been given to this great question. They are
not the worse for being metaphysical, provided they
be founded (which, I think, they are) in right rea-
soning; but they are of a nature too wide to be
brought under our survey, and it is often difficult to
apply them in the detail. Our speculations, there-
fore, are perhaps better employed when they confine
themselves within a narrower circle.

The observations which follow are of this more
limited, but more determinate kind.

Of bodily pain the principal observation, no doubt,
is, that which we have already made, and already
dwelt upon, viz. " that it is seldom the object of con-
trivance; that, when it is so, the contrivance rests
ultimately in good."

To which however may be added, that the annex-
ing of pain to the means of destruction is a salutary

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 367

provision: inasmuch as it teaches vigilance and cau-
tion; both gives notice of danger, and excites those
endeavours which may be necessary to preservation.
The evil consequence, which sometimes arises from
the want of that timely intimation of danger which
pain gives, is known to the inhabitants of cold coun-
tries by the example of frost-bitten limbs. I have
conversed with patients who have lost toes and fingers
by this cause. They have in general told me, that
they were totally unconscious of any local uneasiness
at the time. Some I have heard declare, that, whilst
they were about their employment, neither their si-
tuation, nor the state of the air, was unpleasant. They
felt no pain: they suspected no mischief: till, by the
application of warmth, they discovered, too late, the
fatal injury which some of their extremities had suf-
fered. I say that this shews the use of pain, and that
we stand in need of such a monitor. I believe also
that the use extends further than we suppose, or can
now trace; that to disagreeable sensations, we, and
all animals, owe, or have owed, many habits of action
which are salutary, but which are become so familiar
as not easily to be referred to their origin.

Pain also itself is not without its alleviations. It
may be violent and frequent; but it is seldom both
violent and long continued: and its pauses and inter-
missions become positive pleasures. It has the power
of shedding a satisfaction over intervals of ease,
which, I believe, few enjoyments exceed. A man
resting from a fit of the stone or gout, is, for the time,
in possession of feelings which undisturbed health
cannot impart. They may be dearly bought, but
still they are to be set against the price. And, in-
deed, it depends upon the duration and urgency of
the pain, whether they be dearly bought or not. I
am far from being sure, that a man is not a gainer by
suffering a moderate interruption of bodily ease for a

S68 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

couple of hours out of the four-and-twenty. Two
very common observations favour this opinion: one
is, that remissions of pain call forth, from those who
experience them, stronger expressions of satisfaction
and of gratitude towards both the author and the in-
struments of their relief, than are excited by advan-
tages of any other kind: the second is, that the spirits
of sick men do not sink in proportion to the acute -
ness of their sufferings; but rather appear to be
roused and supported, not by pain, but by the high
degree of comfort which they derive from its cessa-
tion, whenever that occurs: and which they taste with
a relish, that diffuses some portion of mental compla-
cency over the whole of that mixed state of sensa-
tions in which disease has placed them.

In connection with bodily pain may be considered
bodily disease, whedier painful or not. Few diseases
are fatal. I have before me the account of a dispen-
sary in the neighbourhood which states six years ex-
perience as follows : " admitted 6,420 — cured 5,476
—dead 234." And this I suppose nearly to agree
with what other similar institutions exhibit. Now,
in all these cases, some disorder must have been felt,
or the patients would not have applied for a remedy ;
yet we see how large a proportion of the maladies
which were brought forward, have either yielded to
proper treatment, or, what is more probable, ceased
of their own accord. We owe these frequent reco-
veries, and, where recovery does not take place, this
patience of the human constitution under many of the
distempers by which it is visted, to two benefactions
of our nature. One is, that she works within cer-
tain limits; allows of a certain latitude, within which
health may be preserved, and within the confines of
which it only suffers a graduated diminution. Diffe-
rent quantities of food, different degrees of exercise,
different portions of sleep, different states of the atmos-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 369

phere, are compatible with the possession of health.
So likewise is it with the secretions and excretions,
with many internal functions of the body, and with
the state probably of most of its internal organs.
They may vary considerably, not only without de-
stroying life, but without occasioning any high de»
gree of inconveniency. The other property of our
nature to which we are still more beholden, is its
constant endeavour to restore itself, when disordered,
to its regular course. The fluids of the body appear
to possess a power of separating and expelling any
noxious substance which may have mixed itself with
them. This they do, in eruptive fevers, by a kind of
despumation, as Sydenham calls it, analogous in
some measure to the intestine action by which fer-
menting liquors work the yest to the surface. The
solids, on their part, when their action is obstructed,
not only resume that action, as soon as the obstruc-
tion is removed, but they struggle with the impedi-
ment: they take an action as near to the true one, as
the difficulty and the disorganization, with which they
have to contend, will allow of.

Of mortal diseases the great use is to reconcile us
to death. The horror of death proves the value of life.
But it is in the power of disease to abate, or even
extinguish, this horror; which it does in a wonderful
manner, and, oftentimes, by a mild and imperceptible
gradation. Every man who has been placed in a
situation to observe it, is surprised with the change
which has been wrought in himself, when he com-
pares the view which he entertains of death upon
a sick bed, with the heart-sinking dismay with
which he should some time ago have met it in health.
There is no similitude between the sensations of a
man led to execution, and the calm expiring of a
patient at the close of his disease. Death to him is
only the last of a long train of changes: in his progress

$70 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

through which, it is possible that he may experience
no shocks or sudden transitions.

Death itself, as a mode of removal and of succes-
sion, is so connected with the whole order of our
animal world, that almost every thing in that world
must be changed, to be able to do without it. It may
seem likewise impossible to separate the fear of death
from the enjoyment of life, or the perception of that
fear from rational natures. Brutes are in a great
measure delivered from all anxiety on this account by
the inferiority of their faculties; or rather they seem
to be armed with the apprehension of death just
sufficiently to put them upon the means of preserva-
tion, and no further. But would a human being wish
to purchase this immunity by the loss of those men-
tal powers which enable him to look forward to the
future ?

Death implies separation: and the loss of those
whom we love must necessarily be accompanied
with pain. To the brute creation, nature seems
to have stepped in with some secret provision for
their relief, under the rupture of their attachments.
In their instincts towards their offspring, and of
their offspring to them, I have often been surprised to
observe, how ardently they love, and how soon they
forget. The pertinacity of human sorrow (upon
which time also, at length, lays its softening hand)
is probably, therefore, in some manner connected
with the qualities of our rational or moral nature.
One thing however is clear, viz. that it is better
that we should possess affections, the sources of so
many virtues and so many joys, although they be
exposed to the incidents of life, as well as the inter-
ruptions of mortality, than, by the want of them, be
reduced to a state of selfishness, apathy, and quietism.

Of other external evils (still confining ourselves to
what are called physical or natural evils) a consider-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 371

able part come within the scope of the following
observation. The great principle of human satisfac-
tion is engagement* It is a most just distinction,
which the late Mr. Tucker has dwelt upon so largely
in his works, between pleasures in which we are
passive, and pleasures in which we are active. And,
I believe, every attentive observer of human life
will assent to his position, that, however grateful
the sensations may occasionally be in which we are
passive, it is not these, but the latter class of our
pleasures, which constitute satisfaction ; which sup-
ply that regular stream of moderate and miscellaneous
enjoyments, in which happiness, as distinguished
from voluptuousness, consists. Now for rational
occupation, which is, in other words, for the very
material of contented existence, there would be no
place left, if either the things with which we had to
do were absolutely impracticable to our endeavours,
or if they were too obedient to our uses. A world
furnished with advantages on one side, and beset
with difficulties, wants, and inconveniencies on the
other, is the proper abode of free, rational, and
active natures, being the fittest to stimulate and
exercise their faculties. The very refractoriness of
the objects they have to deal with contributes to this
purpose. A w orld in which nothing depended upon
ourselves, however it might have suited an imaginary
race of beings, would not have suited mankind.
Their skill, prudence, industry; their various arts,
and their best attainments, from the application of
which they draw, if not their highest, their most
permanent gratifications, would be insignificant, if
things could be either molded by our volitions, or,
of their own accord, conformed themselves to ouir
views and wishes. Now it is in this refractoriness
that we discern the seed and principle of physical

372 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY

evil, as far as it arises from that which is external to
us.

Civil evils, or the evils of civil life, are much more
easily disposed of than physical evils ; because they
are, in truth, of much less magnitude, and also be-
cause they result by a kind of necessity, not only
from the constitution of our nature, but from a part
of that constitution which no one would wish to see
altered. The case is this. Mankind will in every
country breed up to a certain point of distress. That
point may be different in different countries or ages
according to the established usages of life in each.
It will also shift upon the scale, so as to admit of a
greater or less number of inhabitants, as the quantity
of provision which is either produced in the country
or supplied to it from others may happen to vary.
But there must always be such a point, and the spe-
cies will always breed up to it. The order of gene-
ration proceeds by something like a geometrical pro-
gression. The increase of provision, under circum-
stances even the most advantageous, can only assume
the form of an arithmetic series. Whence it follows,
that the population will always overtake the provision,
will pass beyond the line of plenty, and will continue
to encrease till checked by the difficulty of procuring
subsistence*. Such difficulty therefore, along with
its attendant circumstances, must be found in every
old country; and these circumstances constitute what
we call poverty, which, necessarily, imposes labour,
servitude, restraint.

It seems impossible to people a country with in-
habitants who shall be all in easy circumstances. For
suppose the thing to be done, there would be such
marrying and giving in marriage amongst them, as

• See this subject stated in a late Treatise upon Population.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 373

"Would in a few years change the face of affairs entire-
ly ; i. e. as would increase the consumption of those
articles, which supplied the natural or habitual wants
of the country, to such a degree of scarcity, as must
leave the greatest part of the inhabitants unable to
procure them without toilsome endeavours, or, out
of the different kinds of these articles, to procure any
kind except that which was most easily produced.
And this, in fact, describes the condition of the mass
of the community in all countries ; a condition un-
avoidably, as it should seem, resulting from the pro-
vision which is made in the human, in common with
allanimal constitutions, for the perpetuity and multi-
plication of the species.

It need not however dishearten any endeavours for
the public service, to know that population naturally
treads upon the heels of improvement. If the condi-
tion of a people be meliorated, the consequence will
be, either that the mean happiness will be increased,
or a greater number partake of it ; or, which is most
likely to happen, that both effects will take place to-
gether. There may be limits fixed by nature to both,
but they are limits not yet attained, nor even approach-
ed, in any country of the world.

And when we speak of limits at all, we have re-
spect only to provisions for animal wants. There
are sources, and means, and auxiliaries, and augmen-
tations of human happiness, communicable without
restriction of numbers ; as capable of being possess-
ed by a thousand persons, as by one. Such are those,
which flow from a mild, contrasted with a tyrannic
government, whether civil or domestic ; those which
spring from religion ; those which grow out of a
sense of security ; those which depend upon habits
of virtue, sobriety, moderation, order ; those, lastly,
which are founded in the possession of well directed
tastes and desires, compared with the dominion of

2z

374 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

tormenting, pernicious, contradictory, unsatisfied,
and unsatisfiable passions.

The distinctions of civil life are apt enough to be
regarded as evils, by those who sit under them : but,
in my opinion, with very little reason.

In the first place the advantages which the higher
conditions of life are supposed to confer, bear no
proportion in value to the advantages which are be-
stowed by nature. The gifts of nature always sur-
pass the gifts of fortune. How much, for example,
Is activity better than attendance ; beauty, than dress;
appetite, digestion, and tranquil bowels, than the ar-
tifices of cookery, or than forced, costly, and farfetch-
ed dainties ?

Nature has a strong tendency to equalization. Ha-
bit, the instrument of nature, is a great leveller ; the
familiarity which it induces, taking off the edge both
of our pleasures and our sufferings. Indulgences
which are habitual keep us in ease, and cannot be
carried much further. So that, with respect to the
gratifications of which the senses are capable, the
difference is by no means proportionable to the appa-
ratus. Nay, so far as superfluity generates fastidi-
ousness, the difference is on the wrong side.

It is not necessary to contend, that the advantages
derived from wealth are none, (under due regulations
they are certainly considerable) but that they are not
greater than they ought to be. Money is the sweet*,
ner of human toil; the substitute for coercion ; the
reconciler of labour with liberty. It is, moreover, the
stimulant of enterprise in all projects and undertak-
ings, as well as of diligence in the most beneficial
arts and employments. Now did affluence, when
possessed, contribute nothing to happiness, or no-
thing beyond the mere supply of necessaries; and
the secret should come to be discovered ; we might
be in danger of losing great part of the uses, which

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 275

are, at present, derived to us through this important
medium. Not only would the tranquillity of social life
be put in peril by the want of a motive to attach
men to their private concerns ; but the satisfaction
which all men receive from success in their respec-
tive occupations, which collectively constitutes the
great mass of human comfort, would be done away
in its very principle.

With respect to station, as it is distinguished from
riches, whether it confer authority over others, or be
invested with honors which apply solely to sentiment
and imagination, the truth is, that what is gained by
rising through the ranks of life, is not more than suf-
ficent to draw forth the exertions of those who are
engaged in the pursuits which lead to advancement,
and which, in general, are such as ought to be encou-
raged. Distinctions of this sort are subjects much
more of competition than of enjoyment : and in that
competition their use consists. It is not, as hath been
rightly observed, by what the Lord Mayor feels in
his coach, but by what the apprentice feels who
gazes at him, that the public is served.

As we approach the summits of human greatness,
the comparison of good and evil, With respect to per-
sonal comfort, becomes still more problematical;
even allowing to ambition all its pleasures. The
poet asks, V What is grandeur, what is power?" The
philosopher answers, " Constraint and plague ; et in
maxima quaque fortuna minimum licere." One very
common error misleads the opinion of mankind upon
this head, viz. that, universally, authority is pleasant,
submission painful. In the general course of human
affairs, the very reverse of this is nearer to the truth.
Command is anxiety, obedience ease.

Artificial distinctions sometimes promote real
equality. Whether they be hereditary, or be the
homage paid to office, or the respect attached by pub-

376 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

lie opinion to particular professions, they serve to
confront that grand and unavoidable distinction which
arises from property, and which is most overbearing
where there is no other. It is of the nature of pro-
perty, not only to be irregularly distributed, but to
run into large masses. Public laws should be so
constructed as to favour its diffusion as much as they
can. But all that can be done by laws, consistently
with that degree of government over his property
which ought to be left to the subject, will not be suf-
ficient to counteract this tendency. There must al-
ways therefore be the difference between rich and
poor; and this difference will be the more grinding,
when no pretension is allowed to be set up against it.
So that the evils, if evils they must be called,
which spring either from the necessary subordina-
tions of civil life, or from the distinctions which have,
naturally though not necessarily, grown up in most
societies, so long as they are unaccompanied by pri-
vileges injurious or oppressive to the rest of the com-
munity, are such, as may, even by the most depressed
ranks, be endured, with very little prejudice to their
comfort.

The mischiefs of w7hich mankind are the occasion
to one another, by their private wickednesses and
cruelties ; by tyrannical exercises of power, by rebel-
lions against just authority, by wars, by national jea-
lousies and competitions operating to the destruction
of their countries, or by other instances of miscon-
duct either in individuals or societies, are all to be
resolved into the character of man, as 2ifree agent.
Free agency in its very essence contains liability to
abuse. Yet, if you deprive man of his free agency,
you subvert his nature. You may have order from
him and regularity, as you may from the tides or the
trade winds, but you put an end to his moral charac-
ter, to virtue, to merit, to accountableness, to the use

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY 37r

indeed of reason. To which must be added the ob-
servation, that even the bad qualities of mankind
have an origin in their good ones. The case is this.
Human passions are either necessary to human wel-
fare, or capable of being made, and, in a great majo-
rity of instances, in fact made, conducive to its
happiness. These passions are strong and general;
and, perhaps, would not answer their purpose unless
they were so. But strength and generality, when it
is expedient that particular circumstances should be
respected, become, if left to themselves, excess and
misdirection. From which excess and misdirection
the vices of mankind (the causes, no doubt, of much
misery) appear to spring. This account, whilst it
shews us the principle of vice, shews us, at the same
time, the province of reason and of self-government;
the want also of every support which can be procured,
to either from the aids of religion; and that, without
having recourse to any native gratuitous malignity in
the human constitution. Mr. Hume in his posthu-
mous dialogues, asserts, indeed, of idleness or aver-
sion to labour, (which he states to lie at the root of a
considerable part of the evils which mankind suffer),
that it is simply and merely bad. But how does he
distinguish idleness from the love of ease? oris he
sure, ciiat the love of ease in individuals is not the
chief foundation of social tranquillity? It will be
found, I believe, to be true, that in every commu-
nity there is a large class of its members, whose idle-
ness is the best quality about them, being the correc-
tive of other bad ones. If it were possible, in every
instance, to give a right determination to industry,
we could never have too much of it. But this is
not possible, if men are to be free. And without
this, nothing would be so dangerous, as an inces-
sant, universal, indefatigable activity. In the civil

37B THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

world as well as in the material, it is the vis inertia
which keeps things in their order.

Natural theology has ever been pressed with
this question, Why, under the regency of a supreme
and benevolent Will, should there be, in the world,
so much, as there is, of the appearance of chance?

The question in its whole compass lies beyond our
reach, but there are not wanting, as in the origin of
evil, answers which seem to have considerable
weight in particular cases, and also to embrace a con-
siderable number of cases.

I. There must be chance in the midst of design:
by which we mean, that events which are not de-
signed, necessarily arise from the pursuit of events
which are designed. One man travelling to York
meets another man travelling to London. Their
meeting is by chance, is accidental, and so would
be called and reckoned, though the journeys which
produced the meeting, were, both of them, under-
taken with design and from deliberation. The
meeting, though accidental, was nevertheless hypo-
thetically necessary, (which is the only sort of
necessity that is intelligible); for, if the two journeys
were commenced at the time, pursued in the direc-
tion, and with the speed, in which and with which
they were in fact begun and performed, the meeting
could not be avoided. There was not, therefore, the
less necessity in it for its being by chance. Again,
the meeting might be the most unfortunate, though
the errands, upon which each party set out upon his
journey, were the most innocent or the most laudable.
The bye effect may be unfavorable, without impeach-

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 379

ment of the proper purpose, for the sake of which, the
train, from the operation of which these consequences
ensued, was put in motion. Although no cause act
without a good purpose, accidental consequences,
like these, may be either good or bad.

II. The appearance of chance will always bear a
proportion to the ignorance of the observer. The
cast of a die, as regularly follows the laws of motion,
as the going of a watch; yet, because we can trace
the operation of those laws through the works and
movements of the watch, and cannot trace them
in the shaking and throwing of the die, (though the
laws be the same, and prevail equally in both cases,)
we call the turning up of the number of the die
chance, the pointing of the index of the watch,
machinery, order, or by some name which excludes
chance. It is the same in those events which depend
upon the will of a free and rational agent. The verdict
of a jury, the sentence of a judge, the resolution of
an assembly, the issue of a contested election, will
have more or less of the appearance of chance, might
be more or less the subject of a wager, according as
we were less or more acquainted with the reasons
which influenced the deliberation. The difference
resides in the information of the observer; and not in
the thing itself; which, in all the cases proposed,
proceeds from intelligence, from mind, from counsel,
from design.

Now when this one cause of the appearance of
chance, viz. the ignorance of the observer, comes to
be applied to the operations of the Deity, it is easy
to foresee how fruitful it must prove of difficulties,
.and of seeming confusion. It is only to think of
the Deity to perceive, what variety of objects, what
distance of time, what extent of space and action,
his counsels may, or rather must, comprehend.
Can it be wondered at, that, of the purposes which

380 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

dwell in such a mind as this, so small a ;art should
be known to us? It is only necessary therefore to
bear in our thought, that, in proportion to the
inadequateness of our information, will be the
quantity, in the world, of apparent chance.

III. In a great variety of cases, and of cases
comprehending numerous subdivisions, it appears,
for many reasons, to be better, that events rise up
by chance, or, more properly speaking, with the
appearance of chance, than according to any observa-
ble rule whatever. This is not seldom the case
even in human arrangements. Each person's pkce
and precedency in a public meeting may be deter-
mined by lot. Work and labour may be allotted.
Tasks and burthens may be allotted*

Onerumque laborem

Partibus <>equabat justis, aut sorte trahebat.

Military service and station may be allotted. The
distribution of provision may be made by lot, as it is
in a sailor's mess; in some cases also, the distribu-
tion of favors may be made by lot. In all these cases
it seems to be acknowledged, that there are advantages
in permitting events to chance, superior to those,
which wTould or could arise from regulation. In all
these cases also, though events rise up in the way
of chance, it is by appointment that they do so.

In other events, and such as are independent of
human will, the reasons for this preference of uncer-
tainty to rule appear to be still stronger. For example,
it seems to be expedient, that the period of human
life should be uncertain. Did morality follow any
fixed rule, it would produce a security in those that
were at a distance from it, which would lead to the
greatest disorders, and a horror in those who
approached it, similar to that which a condemned
prisoner feels on the night before his execution.

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITV, 581

But, that death be uncertain, the young must some-
times die, as well as the old. Also were deaths
never sudden, they, who are in health, would be too
confident of life. The strong and the active, who
want most to be warned and checked, would live
without apprehension or restraint. On the other
hand; were sudden deaths very frequent, the sense of
constant jeopardy would interfere too much with the
degree of ease and enjoyment intended for us; and
human life be too precarious for the business and
interests which belong to it. There could not be
dependance either upon our own lives, or the lives
of those with whom we were connected, sufficient
to carry on the regular offices of human society. The
manner, therefore, in which death is made to occur,
conduces to the purposes of admonition, without
overthrowing the necessary stability of human affairs.

3isease being the forerunner of death, there is the
same reason for its attacks coming upon us under
the appearance of chance, as there is for uncertainty
in the time of death itself.

The seasons are a mixture of regularity and
chance. They are regular enough to authorise
expectation, whilst their being, in a considerable
degree, irregular, induces, on the part of the cultiva-
tors of the soil, a necessity for personal attendance, for
activity, vigilance, precaution. It is this necessity
which creates farmers; which divides the profit of the
soil between the owner and the occupier ; which, by
requiring expedients, by increasing employment,
and by rewarding expenditure, promotes agricultural
arts and agricultural life, of all modes of life the best.
I believe it to be found in fact, that where the soil is
the most fruitful and the seasons the most constant,
there the condition of the cultivators of the earth is the
most depressed. Uncertainty, therefore, has its use
even to those who sometimes complain of it the most.

3 a

<382 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

Seasons of scarcity themselves are not without their
advantages; the most conducive to health, to virtue,
to enjoyment. They call forth new exertions; they
set contrivance and ingenuity at work; they give
birth to improvements in agriculture and economy ;
they promote the investigation and management of
public resources.

Again; there are strong intelligible reasons, why
there should exist in human society great disparity of
wealth and station. Not only as these things are
acquired in different degrees, but at the first setting
out of life. In order, for instance, to answer the va-
rious demands of civil life, there ought to be amongst
the members of every civil society a diversity of edu-
cation, which can only belong to an original diversity
of circumstances. As this sort of disparity, which
ought to take place from the beginning of life, must,
ex hypothesi, be previous to the merit or demerit of
the persons upon whom it falls, can it be better dis-
posed of than by chance ? Parentage is that sort of
chancer yet it is the commanding circumstance,
which in general fixes each man's place in civil life,
along with every thing which appertains to its dis-
tinctions. It may be the result of a beneficial rule,
that the fortunes or honours of the father devolve upon
the son ; and, as it should seem, of a still more ne-
cessary rule, that the low or laborious condition of
the parent be communicated to his family; but, with
respect to the successor himself, it is the drawing
of a ticket in a lottery. Inequalities therefore of for-
tune, at least the greatest part of them, viz. those
which attend us from our birth, and depend upon our
birth, may be left, as they are left, to chance, without
any just cause for questioning the regency of a su-
preme Disposer of events.

But not only the donation, when by the necessity
of the case they must be gifts, but even tinsiacquira*

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 383

bility of civil advantages, ought, perhaps, in a consi-
derable degree, to lie at the mercy of chance. Some
would have all the virtuous rich, or, at least, removed
from the evils of poverty, without perceiving, I sup-
pose, the * consequence, that all the poor must be
wicked. And how such a society could be kept in
subjection to government has not been shewn, for
the poor, that is, they who seek their subsistence by
constant manual labour, must still form the mass of
the community; otherwise the necessary labour of
life could not oe carried on; the work would not be
done, which the wants of mankind in a state of civi-
lization, and still more in a state of refinement, re-
quire to be done.

It appears to be also true, that the exigencies of
social life call not only for an original diversity of
external circumstances, but for a mixture of diffe-
rent faculties, tastes, and tempers. Activity and
contemplation, restlessness and quiet, courage and
timiditv, ambition and contentedness, not to sav even
indolence and dullness, are all wanted in the world, all
conduce to the well going on of human affairs, just
as the rudder, the sails, and the ballast, of a ship, all
perform their part in the navigation. Now since
these characters require for their foundation, different
original talents, different dispositions, perhaps also
different bodily constitutions; and since, likewise, it
is apparently expedient, that they be promiscuously
scattered amongst the different classes of society, can
the distribution of talents, dispositions, and the con-
stitutions upon which they depend, be better made
than by chance?

The opposites of apparent chance, are constancy
and sensible interposition; every degree of secret di-
rection being consistent with it. Now of constancy ,
or of fixed and known rules, wre have seen in some
cases the inapplicability : and inconveniencies, which

S84 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

we do not see, might attend their application in other
cases.

Of sensible interposition we may be permitted to
remark, that a Providence, always and certainly dis-
tinguishable, would be neither more nor less than
miracles rendered frequent and common. It is dif-
ficult to judge of the state into which this would throw
us. It is enough to say, that it would cast us upon
a quite different dispensation from that under which
we live. It would be a total and radical change.
And the change would deeply affect, or perhaps sub-
vert, the whole conduct of human affairs. I can
readily believe, that, other circumstances being
adapted to it, such a state might be better than our
present state. It may be the state of other beings:
it may be ours hereafter. But the question with
which we are now concerned is, how far it would be
consistent with our condition, supposing it in other
respects to remain as it is? And in this question there
seem to be reasons of great moment on the negative
side. For instance, so long as bodily labour conti-
nues, on so many accounts, to be necessary for the
bulk of mankind, any dependency upon supernatural
aid, by unfixing those motives which promote exer-
tion, or by relaxing those habits which engender pa-
tient industry, might introduce negligence, inactivity,
and disorder, into the most useful occupations of hu-
man life; and thereby deteriorate the condition of hu-
man life itself.

As moral agents we should experience a still great-
er alteration, of which more will be said under the
next article.

Although therefore the Deity, who possesses the
power of winding and turning, as he pleases, the
course of causes which issue from himself, do in fact
interpose to alter or intercept effects, which without
such interposition would have taken place, yet it is

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 385

by no means incredible, that his Providence, which
always rests upon final good, may have made a re-
serve with respect to the manifestation of his inter-
ference, a part of the very plan which he has appoint-
ed for our terrestrial existence, and a part conform-
able with, or, in some sort, required by, other parts
of the same plan. It is at any rate evident, that a
large and ample province remains for the exercise of
Providence, without its being naturally perceptible
by us ; because obscurity, when applied to the inter-
ruption of laws, bears a necessary proportion to the
imperfection of our knowledge when applied to the
laws themselves, or rather to the effects, which these
laws, under their various and incalculable combina-
tions, would of their own accord produce. And if
it be said, that the doctrine of divine Providence, by
reason of the ambiguity under which its exertions
present themselves, can be attended with no practi-
cal influence upon our conduct ; that, although we
believe ever so firmly that there is a Providence ; we
must prepare, and provide, and act, as if they were
none ; I answer, that this is admitted : and that we
farther allege, that so to prepare, and so to provide,
is consistent with the most perfect assurance of the
reality of a Providence ; and not only so, but that it
is, probably, one advantage of the present state of
our information, that our provisions and preparations
are not disturbed by it. Or if it be still asked, of
what use at all then is the doctrine, if, it neither alter
our measures nor regulate our conduct, I answer
again, that it is of the greatest use, but that, it is a
doctrine of sentiment! and piety, not (immediately at
least) of action or conduct ; that it applies to the
consolation of men's minds, to their devotions, to
the excitement of gratitude, the support of patience,
the keeping alive and the strengthening of every mo-

386 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

tive for endeavouring to please our Maker ; and that
these are great uses.

Of all views under which human life has ever been
considered, the most reasonable in my judgment is
that, which regards it as a state of probation* If the
course of the world were separated from the con-
trivances of nature, I do not know that it would be
necessary to look for any other account of it, than
what, if it may be called an account, is contained in
the answer, that events rise up by chance. But
since the contrivances of nature decidedly evince
intention; and since the course of the world and the
contrivances of nature have the same author; we are,
by the force of this connection, led to believe, that the
appearance, under which events take place, is re-
concileable with the supposition of design on the part
of the Deity. It is enough that they be reconcileable
with this supposition (and it is undoubtedly true, that
they may be reconcileable, though we cannot recon-
cile them:) the mind, however, which contemplates
the works of nature, and, in those works, sees so
much of means directed to ends, of beneficial effects
brought about by wise expedients, of concerted
trains of causes terminating in the happiest results; so
much, in a word, of counsel, intention, and benevo-
lence : a mind, I say, drawn into the habit of thought
which these observations excite, can hardly turn its
view to the condition of our own species, without en-
deavouring to suggest to itself some purpose, some
design, for which the state in which we are placed is
fitted, and which it is made to serve. Now we assert
the most probable supposition to be., that it is a state
of moral probation ; and that many things in it suit
with this hypothesis, which suit with no other. It
is not a state of unmixed happiness, or of happiness
simply: it is not a state of designed misery, or of
misery simply ; it is not a state of retribution: it is

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 287

not a state of punishment. It suits with none of these
suppositions. It accords much better with the
idea of its being a condition calculated for the pro-
duction, exercise, and improvement, of moral quali-
ties, with a view to a future state, in which,
these qualities, after being so produced, exercised,
and improved, may, by a new and more favoring
constitution of things, receive their reward, or
become their own. If it be said, that this is to enter
upon a religious rather than a philosophical conside-
ration, I answer that the name of religion ought to
form no objection, if it shall turn out to be the case,
that the more religious our views are, the more proba-
ble they become. The degree of beneficence, of
benevolent intention, and of power, exercised in the
construction of sensitive beings, goes strongly in
favor, not only of a creative, but of a continuing care,
that is, of a ruling Providence. The degree of
chance which appears to prevail in the world requires
to be reconciled with this hypothesis. Now it itf
one thing to maintain the doctrine of Providence
along with that of a future state, and another thing,
without it. In my opinion the two doctrines must
stand or fall together. For although more of this
apparent chance, may perhaps, upon other principles,
be accounted for, than is generally supposed, yet a
future state alone rectifies all disorders; and if it can
be shewn that the appearance of disorder, is con-
sistent with the uses of life, as a preparatory state,
or that in some respects it promotes these uses, then,
so far as this hypothesis may be accepted, the ground
of the difficulty is done away.

In the wide scale of human condition, there is not
perhaps one of its manifold diversities, which does
not bear upon the design here suggested. Virtue
is infinitely various. There is no situation in which,
a_ rational being is placed, from that of the best in-

388 i HE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

structed Christian, down to the condition of the rudest
barbarian, which affords not room for moral agency ;
for the acquisition, exercise, and display of volunta-
ry qualities, good and bad. Health and sickness,
enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty, know-
ledge and ignorance, power and subjection, liberty
and bondage, civilization and barbarity, have all their
offices and duties, all serve for the formation of cha-
racter ; for, when we speak of a state of trial, it must
be remembered, that characters are not only tried, or
proved, or detected, but that they are generated also,
and forme d, by circumstances. The best dispositions
may subsist under the most depressed, the most af-
flicted fortunes. A West Indian slave, who, amidst
his wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my part,
look upon, as amongst the foremost of human candi-
dates for the rewards of virtue. The kind master of
such a slave, that is, he, who, in the exercise of an in-
ordinate authority, postpones, in any degree, his own
interest to his slave's comfort, is likewise a meri-
torious character ; but still he is inferior to his slave.
All however which I contend for, is, that these des-
tinies, opposite as they may be in every other view,
are both trials ; and equally such. The observation
may be applied to every other condition; to the whole
range of the scale, not excepting even its lowest ex-
tremity. Savages appear to us all alike, but it is
owing to the distance at which we view savage life,
that we perceive in it no discrimination of character.
I make no doubt, but that moral qualities, both good
and bad, are called into action as much, and that they
subsist in as great variety, in these inartificial soci-
eties, as they are, or do, in polished life. Certain at
least it is, that the good and ill treatment, which each
individual meets with, depends more upon the choice
andvoluntary conductof those abouthim, thanit does,
or ought to do, under regular civil institutions, and

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 380

the coercion of public laws. So again, to turn our
eyes to the other end of the scale, namely, that part
of it, which is occupied by mankind, enjoying the
benefits of learning together with the lights of revela-
tion, there also, the advantage is allalong probationary.
Christianity itself, I mean the revelation of Christi-
anity, is not only a blessing but a trial. It is one of
the diversified means by which the character is exer-
cised ; and they who require of Christianity, that the
revelation of it should be universal, may possibly be
found to require, that one species of probation should
be adopted, if not to the exclusion of others, at least
to the narrowing of that variety which the wisdom of
the Deity hath appointed to this part of his moral
oeconomy*.

Now if this supposition be well founded; that is,
if it be true, that our ultimate, or our most perma-
nent happiness, will depend, not upon the temporary
condition into which we are cast, but upon our be-
haviour in it; then is it a much more fit subject of
chance than we usually allow or apprehend it to be,
in what manner, the variety of external circumstances,
which subsist in the human world, is distributed
amongst the individuals of the species. " This life
being a state of probation, it is immaterial," says
Rousseau, " what kind of trials we experience in it,
provided they produce their effects." Of two agents,
who stand indifferent to the moral Governor of the
universe, one may be exercised by riches, the other
by poverty. The treatment of these two shall ap-
pear to be very opposite, whilst in truth it is the same:

* The reader will observe, that I speak of the revelation of Christia-
nity as distinct from Christianity itself. The dispensation may already
be universal. That part of mankind which never heard of Christ's name,
may nevertheless be redeemed, that is, be placed in a better condition
with respect to their future state, by his intervention; be the objects of
his benignity and intercession, as well as of the propitiary virtue of his
passion. But this is not " Natural Theology," therefore I will not dwell
longer upon it.

3 B

390 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

for, though in many respects, there be great dispari-
ty between the conditions assigned, in one main ar-
ticle there may be none, viz. in that they are alike
trials : have both their duties and temptations, not
less arduous or less dangerous, in one case than the
other : so that, if the final award follow the character,
the original distribution of the circumstances under
which that character is formed, may be defended up-
on principles not only of justice but equality. What
hinders, therefore, but that mankind may draw lots
for their condition ? They take their portion of facul-
ties and opportunities, as any unknown cause, or con-
course of causes, or as causes acting for other pur-
poses, may happen to set them out, but the event is
governed by that which depends upon themselves,
the application of what they have received. In divid-
ing the talents, no rule was observed ; none was ne-
cessary : in rewarding the use of them, that of the
most correct justice. The chief difference at last
appears to be, that the right use of more talents, i. e.
of a greater trust, will be more highly rewarded, than
the right use of fewer talents, i. e. of a less trust.
And since, for other purposes, it is expedient, that
there be an inequality of concredited talents here, as
well, probably, as an inequality of conditions hereaf-
ter, though all remuneratory, can any rule, adapted to
that inequality, be more agreeable even to our appre-
hensions of distributive justice, than this is ?

We have said, that the appearance of casualty^
which attends the occurrences and events of life, not
only does not interfere with its uses, as a state of pro-
bation, but that it promotes these uses.

Passive virtues, of all others the severest and the
most sublime; of all others, perhaps, the most accep-
table to the Deity ; would, it is evident, be excluded
from a constitution, in which happiness and misery
regularly followed virtue and vice. Patience and

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 391

composure under distress, affliction, and pain; a
stedfast keeping up of our confidence in God, and of
our reliance upon his final goodness, at the time when
every thing present is adverse and discouraging; and
(what is no less difficult to retain) a cordial desire for
the happiness of others, even when we are deprived of
our own: these dispositions, which constitute, per-
haps, the perfection of our moral nature, would not
have found their proper office and object in a state of
avowed retribution; and in which, consequently, en-
durance of evil would be only submission to punish-
ment.

Again; one man's sufferings may be another man's
trial. The family of a sick parent is a school of
filial piety. The charities of domestic life, and not
only these, but all the social virtues, are called out by
distress. But then, misery, to be the proper object
of mitigation, or of that benevolence which endea-
vours to relieve, must be really or apparently casual.
It is upon such sufferings alone that benevolence can
operate. For were there no evils in the world, but
what were punishments, properly and intelligibly
such, benevolence would only stand in the way of
justice. Such evils, consistently with the admini-
stration of moral government, could not be pre-
vented or alleviated, that is to say, could not be
remitted in whole or in part, except by the authority
which inflicted them, or by an appellate or superior
authority. This consideration, which is founded in
our most acknowledged apprehensions of the nature
of penal justice, may possess its weight in the Divine
councils. Virtue perhaps is the greatest of all ends.
In human beings relative virtues form a large part of
the whole. Now relative virtue presupposes, not
only the existence of evil, without which it could
have no object, no material to work upon, but that
evils bex apparently at least, misfortunes; that is, the

392 THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY.

effects of apparent chance. It may be in pursuance,
therefore, and in furtherance of the same scheme of
probation, that the evils of life are made so to present
themselves.

I have already observed that, when we let in reli-
gious considerations, we often let in light upon the
difficulties of nature. So in the fact now to be ac-
counted for, the degree of happiness, which we
usually enjoy in this life, may be better suited to a
state of trial and probation, than a greater degree
would be. The truth is, we are rather too much de-
lighted with the world, than too little. Imperfect,
broken, and precarious as our pleasures are, they are
more than sufficient to attach us to the eager pursuit
of them. A regard to a future state can hardly keep
its place as it is. If we were designed therefore to
be influenced by that regard, might not a more in-
dulgent system, a higher, or more uninterrupted
state of gratification, have interfered with the design?
At least it seems expedient, that mankind should be
susceptible of this influence, when presented to them;
that the condition of the world should not be such,
as to exclude its operation, or even to weaken it more
than it does. In a religious view (however we may
complain of them in every other) privation, disap-
pointment, and satiety, are not without the most sa-
lutary tendencies.

[ 393 ]

CHAPTER XXV II,

CONCLUSION.

IN all cases, wherein the mind feels itself in
danger of being confounded by variety, it is sure to
rest upon a few strong points, or perhaps upon a sin-
gle instance. Amongst a multitude of proofs, it is
one that does the business. If we observe in any
argument, that hardly two minds fix upon the same
instance, the diversity of choice shews the strength
of the argument, because it shews the number and
competition of the examples. There is no subject
in which the tendency to dwell upon select or single
topics is so usual, because there is no subject, of
which, in its full extent, the latitude is so great, as
that of natural history applied to the proof of an in-
telligent Creator. For my part, I take my stand in
human anatomy: and the examples of mechanism I
should be apt to draw out from the copious catalogue
which it supplies, are the pivot upon which the head
turns, the ligament within the socket of the hip joint,
the pulley or trochlear muscle of the eye, the epi-
glottis, the bandages which tie down the tendons of the
wrist and instep, the slit or perforated muscles at the
hands and feet, the knitting of the intestines to the
mesentery, the course of the chyle into the blood, and
the constitution of the sexes as extended throughout
the whole of the animal creation. To these instances,
the reader's memory will go back, as they are se-
verally set forth in their places: there is not one of
the number which I do not think decisive ; not one

394 CONCLUSION.

which is not strictly mechanical: nor have I read or
heard of any solution of these appearances, which, in
the smallest degree, shakes the conclusion that we
build upon them.

But, of the greatest part of those, who, either in
this book or any other, read arguments to prove the
existence of a God, it will be said, that they leave
off only where they began; that they were never
ignorant of this great truth, never doubted of it -f that
it does not therefore appear, what is gained by re-
searches from which no new opinion is learnt, and
upon the subject of which no proofs were wanted.
Now I answer, that, by investigation, the following
points are always gained, in favour of doctrines even
the most generally acknowledged, (supposing them to
be true,) viz. stability and impression. Occasions
will arise to try the firmness of our most habitual
opinions. And, upon these occasions, it is a matter
of incalculable use to feel our foundation; to find a
support in argument for what we had taken up upon
authority. In the present case, the arguments upon
which the conclusion rests, are exactly such, as a
truth of universal concern ought to rest upon. " They
are sufficiently open to the views and capacities of the
unlearned, at the same time that they acquire new
strength and lustre from the discoveries of the learn-
ed." If they had been altogether abstruse and recon-
dite, they wrould not have found their way to the
understandings of the mass of mankind; if they had
been merely popular, they might have wanted
solidity.

But, secondly, what is gained by research in the
stability of our conclusion, is also gained from it in
impression. Physicians tell us, that there is a great
deal of difference between taking a medicine, and the
medicine getting into the constitution. A difference
not unlike which, obtains with respect to those great

CONCLUSION. 395

moral propositions, which ought to form the direct-
ing principles of human conduct. It is one thing to
assent to a proposition of this sort; another, and a
very different thing, to have properly imbibed its
influence. I take the case to be this. Perhaps
almost every man living has a particular train of
thought, into which his mind falls, when at leisure
from the impressions and ideas that occasionally
excite it: perhaps also, the train of thought here
spoken of, more than any other thing, determines the
character. It is of the utmost consequence, therefore,
that this property of our constitution be well regu-
lated. Now it is by frequent or continued medita-
tion upon a subject, by placing a subject in different
points of view, by induction of particulars, by variety
of examples, by applying principles to the solution of
phenomena, by dwelling upon proofs and conse-
quences, that mental exercise is drawn into any
particular channel. It is by these means, at least,
that we have any power over it. The train of
spontaneous thought, and the choice of that train,
may be directed to different ends, and may appear to
be more or less judiciously fixed, according to the
purpose, in respect of which we consider it: but, in a
moral view, I shall not, I believe, be contradicted
when I say, that, if one train of thinking be more
desirable than another, it is that which regards the-
phenomena of nature with a constant reference to a
supreme intelligent Author. To have made this the
ruling, the habitual sentiment of our minds, is to have
laid the foundation of every thing which is religious.
The world from thenceforth becomes a temple, and
life itself one continued act of adoration. The change
is no less than this, that, whereas formerly God was
seldom in our thoughts, we can now scarcely look
upon any thing without perceiving its relation to
him. Every organized natural body, in the provisions

396 Conclusion.

which it contains for its sustentation and propagation
testifies a care on the part of the Creator expressly
directed to these purposes. We are on ail sides
surrounded by such bodies ; examined in their parts,
wonderfully curious; compared with one another, no
less wonderfully diversified. So that the mind, as
well as the eye, may either expatiate in variety and
multitude, or fix itself down to the investigation of
particular divisions of the science. And in either
case it will rise up from its occupation, possessed
by the subject, in a very different manner, and with
a very different degree of influence, from what a mere
assent to any verbal proposition which can be formed
concerning the existence of the Deity, at least that
merely complying assent with which those about us
are satisfied, and with which we are too apt to satisfy
ourselves, can or will produce upon the thoughts.
More especially may this difference be perceived, in
the degree of admiration and of awe, with which the
Divinity is regarded, when represented to the un-
derstanding by its own remarks, its own reflections,
and its own reasonings, compared with what is ex-
cited by any language that can be used by others.
The works of nature want only to be contemplated.
When contemplated, they have every thing in them
which can astonish by their greatness: for, of the
vast scale of operation, through which our discove-
ries carry us, at one end we see an intelligent Power
arranging planetary systems, fixing, for instance, the
trajectory of Saturn, or constructing a ring of a
hundred thousand miles diameter, to surround his
body, and be suspended like a magnificent arch over
the heads of his inhabitants; and, at the other,
bending a hooked tooth, concerting and providing
an appropriate mechanism, for the clasping and re-
clasping of the filaments of the feather of a humming
bird. We have proof, not only of both these works

t

CONCLUSION. *9T

proceeding from an intelligent agent, but of their
proceeding from the same agent: for, in the first
place, we can trace an identity of plan, a connection
of system, from Saturn to our own globe; and when
arrived upon our globe, we can, in the second place,
pursue the connection through all the organized,
especially the animated, bodies, which it supports.
We can observe marks of a common relation, as
well to one another, as to the elements of which their
habitation is composed. Therefore one mind hath
planned, or at least hath prescribed a general plan for
all these productions. One Being has been concerned
in all.

Under this stupendous Being we live. Our hap-
piness, our existence, is in his hands. All we ex-
pect must come from him. Nor ought we to feel
our situation insecure. In every nature, and in every
portion of nature, which we can descry, we find atten-
tion bestowed upon even the minutest parts. The
hinges in the wings of an earwig, and the joints of its
antennae, are as highly wrought, as if the Creator had
had nothing else to finish. We see no signs of diminu-
tion of care by multiplicity of objects, or of distrac-
tion of thought by variety. We have no reason to
fear, therefore our being forgotten, or overlooked, or
neglected.

The existence and character of the Deity, is, in
every view, the most interesting of all human specula-
tions. In none, however, it is more so, than as it fa-
cilitates the belief of the fundamental articles of Re-
velation. It is a step to have it proved, that there
must be something in the world more than what we
see. It is a further step to know, that, amongst the
invisible things of nature, there must be an intelli-
gent mind, concerned in its production, order, and
support. These points being assured to us by Na-
tural Theology, we may well leave to Revelation the
/3c

398 CONCLUSION.

disclosure of many particulars, which our researches
cannot reach, respecting either the nature of this Be-
ing as the original cause of all things, or his character
and designs as a moral governor; and not only so, but
the more full confirmation of other particulars, of which,
though they do not lie altogether beyond our reason-
ings and our probabilities, the certainty is by no
means equal to the importance. The true Theist
will be the first to listen to any credible communica-
tion of divine knowledge. Nothing which he has
learnt from Natural Theology, will diminish his de-
sire of further instruction, or his disposition to re-
ceive it with humility and thankfulness. He wishes
for light : he rejoices in light. His inward venera-
tion of this great Being, will incline him to attend
with the utmost seriousness, not only to all that can
be discovered concerning him by researches into na-
ture, but to all that is taught by revelation, which
gives reasonable proof of having proceeded from him.
But, above every other article of revealed religion,
does the anterior belief of a Deity, bear with the
strongest force, upon that grand point, which gives
indeed interest and importance to all the rest — the re-
surrection of the human dead. The thing might
appear hopeless, did we not see a power at work ade-
quate to the effect, a power under the guidance of
an intelligent will, and a power penetrating the inmost
recesses of all substance. I am far from justifying
the opinion of those, who "thought it a thing incre-
dible that God should raise the dead ;" but I ad-
mit that it is first necessary to be persuaded, that there
is a God to do so. This being thoroughly settled
in our minds, there seems to be nothing in this pro-
cess (concealed and mysterious as we confess it to
be,) which need to shock our belief. They who have
taken up the opinion, that the acts of the human mind
depend upon organization, that the mind itself in-

CONCLUSION. 399

deed consists in organization, are supposed to find a
greater difficulty than others do, in admitting a tran-
sition by death to a new state of sentient existence,
because the old organization is apparently dissolved.
But I do not see that any impracticability need be ap-
prehended even by these; or that the change, even upon
their hypothesis, is far removed from the analogy of
some other operations, which we know with certainty
that the Deity is carrying on. In the ordinary deri-
vation of plants and animals from one another, a par-
ticle, in many cases, minuter than all assignable, all
conceivable dimension; an aura, an effluvium, an in-
finitesimal ; determines the organization of a future
body: does no less than fix, whether that which is
about to be produced, shall be a vegetable, a merely-
sentient, or a rational being; an oak, a frog, or a phi-
losopher; makes all these differences; gives to the
future body its qualities, and nature, and species.
And this particle, from which springs, and by which
is determined a whole future nature, itself proceeds
from, and owes its constitution to, a prior body:
nevertheless, which is seen in plants most decisively,
the incepted organization, though formed within, and
through, and by a preceding organization, is not cor-
rupted by its corruption, or destroyed by its disso-
lution; but, on the contrary, is sometimes extricated
and developed by those very causes ; survives and
comes into action, when the purpose, for which it
was prepared, requires its use. Now an oeconomy
which nature has adopted, when the purpose was to
transfer an organization from one individual to ano-
ther, may have something analogous to it, when the
purpose is to transmit an organization from one state
of being to another state: and they who found thought
in organization, may see something in this analogy
applicable to their difficulties; for, whatever can trans-
mit a similarity of organization will answer their pur-

400 CONCLUSION.

pose, because, according even to their own theory, it
may be the vehicle of consciousness, and because con-
sciousness, without doubt, carries identity and. indi-
viduality along with it through all changes of form
or of visible qualities. In the most general case,
that, as we have said, of the derivation of plants and
animals from one another, the latent organization
is either itself similar to the old organization, or has
the power of communicating to new matter the old
organic form. But it is not restricted to this rule.
There are other cases, especially in the progress of
insect life, in which the dormant organization does
not much resemble that which incloses it, and still
less suits with the situation in which the inclosing
body is placed, but suits with a different situation to
which it is destined. In the larva of the libellula,
which lives constantly, and has still long to live,
under water, are descried the wings of a fly, which
two years afterwards is to mount into the air. Is there
nothing in this analogy ? It serves at least to shew,
that, even in the observable course of nature, organ-
izations are formed one beneath another; and, amongst
a thousand other instances, it shews completely, that
the Deity can mold and fashion the parts of material
nature, so as to fulfil any purpose whatever which he
is pleased to appoint.

They w7ho refer the operations of mind to a sub-
stance totally and essentially different from matter, as,
most certainly, these operations, though affected by
material causes, hold very little affinity to any pro-
perties of matter with which we are acquainted, adopt,
perhaps, a juster reasoning and a better philosophy;
and by these the considerations above suggested are
not wanted, at least in the same degree. But to such
as find, which some persons do find, an insuperable
difficulty in shaking off an adherence to those analo-
gies, which the corporeal world is continually sug*

CONCLUSION. 401

gesting to their thoughts; to such, I say, every con-
sideration will be a relief, which manifests the extent
of that intelligent power which is acting in nature,
the fruitfulness of its resources, the variety, and apt-
ness, and success of its means; most especially every
consideration, which tends to shew, that, in the trans-
lation of a conscious existence, there is not, even in
their own way of regarding it, any thing greatly be-
yond, or totally unlike, what takes place in such parts
(probably small parts) of the order of nature, as are
accessible to our observation.

Again; if there be those who think, that the con-
tractedness and debility of the human faculties in our
present state, seem ill to accord with the high des-
tinies which the expectations of religion point out to
us, I would only ask them, whether any one, who
saw a child two hours after its birth, could suppose
that it would ever come to understand fluxions*', or
who then shall say, what further amplification of in-
tellectual powers, what accession of knowledge, what
advance and improvement, the rational faculty, be its
constitution what it will, may not admit of, when
placed amidst new objects, and endowed with a sen-
sorium, adapted, as it undoubtedly will be, and as
our present senses are, to the perception of those sub-
stances, and of those properties of things, with which
our concern may lie.

Upon the whole; in every thing which respects
this awful, but, as w^e trust, glorious change, we have
a wise and powerful Being, (the author, in nature, of
infinitely various expedients for infinitely various
ends,) upon whom to rely for the choice and appoint-
ment of means, adequate to the execution of any
plan which his goodness or his justice may have
formed, for the moral and accountable part of his ter-

* See Search's Light of Nature, passim.

402 CONCLUSION.

restrial creation. That great office rests with him :
be it ours to hope and to prepare; under a firm and
settled persuasion, that, living and dying, we are his;
that life is passed in his constant presence, that death
resigns us to his merciful disposal.

THE END.

ftB £3 rs

.(Sept., 1886, 20,000)

BOSTON PUBLIC LIBBAEY,

One volume allowed at a time, and ^obtained only by
card ; to be kept 14 days (or seven days in" the case of fiction
and juvenile books published within one year) without fine ;
not to be renewed; to be reclaim aid by messenger after 21
days, who will collect 20 centagfcesides fine of 2 cents a day,
including Sundays and holidays; not to be lent out of the
borrower's household, and not to be transferred; to be re-
turned at this Hall. jf\

Borrowers hnd-ft'gj this book mutilated or unwarrantably
defaced, are exja^tte^L to report it; and also any undue delay
in the deliv^y/of books.

*** No t^rfftn can be established because of the failure of
any n^ti^e^o or from the Library, through the mail.

The record below must not be made or altered by borrower,

\

"/r

"1

i

1 igl

'S DfC 6

1 /

G.N0V 15

lb